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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 xe-v-vt tf\Aj_ A. XC-- 
 
 .,
 
 AUTUMN HOURS

 
 AntTLinm 
 
 8
 
 AND 
 
 FIRES! DP] READING. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. C. M. KIRKLAND. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 
 CHARLES SCRTBNER, 145 NASSAU STREET. 
 
 1854.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S53, by 
 
 CHARLES SCKIBNEB, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District 
 of New York. 
 
 Stereotyped and Printed by 
 C. W. BENEDICT, 
 
 12 Spruce Strcc-t, N. Y.
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 SUNSET, . 
 AUTUMN, 
 
 SUMMER SOJOURN, 
 FAEM LIFE, . 
 CARLO, 
 
 FEOUTISPIEOE. 
 
 VIQHETTE. 
 
 05 
 
 282 
 868 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER, . . . . . . 11 
 
 SUMMERING, 23 
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE, 35 
 
 THE ISLAND, . . . . . . . v 61 
 
 THE ISLAND STORY, . .... 95 
 
 PROGNOSTICS, . 102 
 
 HOUSEKEEPING, 122 
 
 YENTURINGS 151 
 
 LIFE'S LESSONS, 166 
 
 THE WAY OF THE WORLD, lit 
 
 WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION, 204
 
 x CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 WESTERN TRAITS, 232 
 
 SAINTS OF OUR DAY, 240 
 
 WHAT MUST BE MUST, ...... 252 
 
 MAKING LOVE SCIENTIFICALLY, 265 
 
 AN INCIDENT IN DREAM-LAND, 214 
 
 THE VISION AND CREED OF PIERS PLOUGHMAN", . . 279 
 
 A LEGEND OF EAST ROCK, 289 
 
 THE HERMIT'S STORY, 294
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER, 
 
 LEST some one, with hard, critical brow, and eyes in which 
 sympathy never found a home, should ask us why we make 
 another book, let us think the matter over, and satisfy ourselves 
 on that point. Taken unawares, we might be at a loss ; for 
 even where reasons are plenty as blackberries, they sometimes 
 grow on very high branches, as our torn fingers and flounces at 
 this moment testify. Rural surroundings make us saucy and 
 independent, and we shall take advantage of the shelter of 
 these beetling rocks, and the murmur of this wild river, to say 
 forth boldy what we think of book-making. There is, at least, 
 a Brown Thresher on the sumach over our heads that thinks as 
 we do, for he pours forth his heart in good earnest, trusting 
 Providence for listeners, or finding a justification in the im 
 pulse. 
 
 Books are, in general, what we make them. To some they 
 are hardly more than a certain weight of paper and print, put 
 together in a guise more or less attractive, and forming a gen 
 teel article of furniture. Others, though they go deeper, meet 
 them always with a demurrer, and never open their covers 
 without being inspired with some disparaging thought, or some
 
 12 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTEP. 
 
 destructive criticism. To such, the representative of another's 
 thoughts and feelings always wears the aspect of an antagonist. 
 ' Do you bite your thumb at me, sir ?' asks one of the retainers 
 of a belligerent house, the moment he meets any body not 
 wearing his colors. ' I do bite my thumb, sir/ is the reply, 
 and this is sufficient excuse for a fight. Disputatious people 
 will seize still slighter occasions, and deal black eyes and 
 cracked crowns, like wild Irishmen, 'for the pleasure of it.' 
 Preserve us and our pages from such attentions ! We know 
 several persons who have reared, and who sustain, formidable 
 literary pretensions, upon no better foundation than a habit of 
 ridiculing and abusing every book they open. Simple hearers 
 think there must be knowledge where there is so much con 
 fidence, and measure the speaker's judgment by his self-com 
 placency ; so the fault-finders pass for critics. But, in truth, 
 ' we receive but what we give,' in this as in many other cases. 
 A mathematical treatise requires a prepared reader ; so does the 
 most unpretending volume, aiming at no higher destiny than 
 the innocent amusement of a listless hour. On our moods 
 must depend very much the value of any book to us, and of the 
 lighter books most of all. There are moments when this bird's 
 song would be, to the ear that now drinks it in with delight, a 
 mere ' iteration,' to which disgust might apply the harshest ad 
 jective. Yonder woody height, with its studs of rock and its 
 thick curtains of evergreen, is to the farmer an image of imper 
 tinent hindrance. It keeps the sunrise off his chilly corn-fields 
 two or three hours ; it harbors his stray cattle in unapproach 
 able fastnesses ; and is, in every way, and for every purpose 
 but the mere article of firewood, a very eye-sore to him. Yet 
 there sits a painter, sketching it with delight ; enriching his
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 13 
 
 portfolio with studies of single stones among its thousands, and 
 thinking himself happy when he can seize the character of one 
 of its mosses. Nature neither placed it there to please the 
 artist, nor will remove it to gratify the farmer. It is for those 
 who can use it, and pursues not those who cannot. 
 
 The multiplicity of books is not surprising. There needs 
 many to suit all ; and it is this that humble writers think of, 
 if they think of the matter at all, when they venture to call 
 attention and ask sympathy for their private thoughts. Some 
 body may be ready to listen, to be cheered ; even, perhaps, to 
 be a little instructed, sometimes, by another's fancies, or reflec 
 tions, or experience. The pleasure of being listened to, is very 
 great. There is even a necessity in the human mind to commu 
 nicate. The silent cell is ever the home of horror, distrust and 
 despair. It is the greatest of human misfortunes to be pre 
 cluded from speaking ; even to be hindered speaking out 
 thoughts of a particular class, has been thought, at no remote 
 period, cause enough of war to the knife, and the risk of all 
 else that man holds dearest. Speech, with reason or without 
 reason, in season and out of season, is one of the necessities ; 
 and personal intercourse being limited in a thousand ways, 
 there must be other means of transporting thought. Books, 
 then, become spiritual telegraphs ; they annoy none that let 
 them alone ; they answer some of the dearest needs of those 
 that use them. If conversation could be universal, there would 
 be less writing ; yet there would always be some, for ears 
 weary sooner than eyes. When friends live together, their 
 letter-cases need not be roomy, and posterity asks in vain for 
 their ' correspondence.' They have had it, be sure ; else they 
 had been no friends. Now, books are the correspondence of
 
 14 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 friends that have never seen each other. They conquer the 
 limitations of human intercourse, and unite those, who, if per 
 sonally present with each other, might never really and effec 
 tively meet. 
 
 For how hard it is to pierce or to surmount that semi-trans 
 parent wall of personality, which can only be sapped by long 
 and intimate intercourse, and never thrown down even by that ! 
 What is it that keeps us apart, when each would fain meet the 
 other ? Here, in these delicious shades where we are writing, 
 with earth, air, and sky preaching love and harmony, numbers 
 of human beings, every one more or less alive to the beauties 
 of scenery and the softening influence of agreeable circum 
 stances, pass each other, daily and hourly, with scarce a look 
 or word of recognition, though there is nothing but good will, 
 or, at worst, indifference, among them. But if by chance there 
 be one among them who has spoken to the world through a 
 book, that one is felt as an acquaintance ; the mind-portrait 
 having had a wide circulation, no introduction seems needed. 
 Here, then, is an excuse for books one of many. 
 
 Then look at the groups and solitary walkers, scattered 
 through these grounds ; in the park, among the rocks by the 
 stream, under the shadow of yon weeping elm, and on every 
 sofa and lounge in the great house. A book is in the hand or 
 the pocket of each, unless, indeed, as sometimes will happen, 
 the reader has been lulled by the silent friend into the most 
 benign of slumbers, and has let the volume fall. Happy 
 authors! to conduce to so much amusement to such sweet 
 repose ! Who would not make books ! 
 
 Tourists are proverbial for book-making, and certain critics 
 seem to feel annoyed by the propensity ; yet how natural is it !
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 15 
 
 ' To travel and not tell,' is superhuman. Now, to recite the 
 thing, with all its particulars, its episodes, its contrclems, its 
 raptures, separately, again and again, to each of your friends 
 it would take the forty mouths of a Hindoo idol. Some 
 attempt this, indeed, but their friends learn to avoid them. 
 If we have been present at a railroad catastrophe, we may tell 
 it once, or even twice, perhaps ; but if once we succumb to the 
 temptation to make it our cheval de bataille, we shall easily for 
 get which friend we have displayed it to, and buttons will be 
 left in our hands without scruple, the moment we begin. Now, 
 telling the thing in print is quite safe, and can offend no one, 
 intrude on no business hours, be to no one a twice-told tale. 
 So our mind is relieved at small cost. 
 
 Surely those travellers who have nothing to tell are provok 
 ing, if not stupid. There are some who will make the most 
 charming tour, be present at the most exciting show, boast of 
 the most delightful visits, yet never let a single particular 
 escape their lips, for the benefit of anxious and questioning- 
 stayers at home. They have seen all, enjoyed .all, and they are 
 content. An effort of recollection would cost them something, 
 and they do not care enough for your pleasure to make it 
 These are the very people to inveigh against the tourist's book- 
 making. Let us revenge ourselves by saying, that their imagi 
 nation has not strength of wing enough to follow the adven 
 tures of another, or even power to draw pictures from experi 
 ence that shall interpret those of others. They are like that 
 round, shorn, selfish-looking sun in a fog, that has light and 
 warmth enough, but communicates as little as it can, and atares 
 stolidly upon us, without putting down a single ladder of rays
 
 16 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 to help our imaginations. Give us the most garrulous tourist 
 
 Some stupid people have called books unsocial ; they are the 
 greatest of all promoters of sociability. Besides the more ob 
 vious use of interchanging, discussing, praising and abusing 
 them, they furnish a circulating medium of ideas, which, though 
 kept in mind-purses, and not carried about openly, really keep 
 society together, too ready at all times to fall apart through 
 misunderstanding. Ordinary, blundering talk expresses our 
 best thoughts but ill, and gives us an insufficient, and often a 
 mistaken notion of each other's powers ; 'but when an author, 
 
 s -* 
 
 with a certain air of professional knowingness, says what we 
 have been dimly thinking, we are as much relieved and bene- 
 fitted as when an accredited M. D. steps in and gravely pre 
 scribes the very thing we are doing for our friend. How many 
 conversations has ' the last number of Bleak House ' opened ! 
 How naturally we test and measure the congeniality or the 
 ability of our acquaintance, by ascertaining their opinion of 
 particular characters ! A young lady of our friends says she 
 never makes up a judgment of any body till she has found out 
 whether he ' understands Thackeray.' Now, what a pleasant 
 office is this of general mediator. Let us rejoice that authors 
 are so numerous, instead of grumbling at the creaking of our 
 shelves. In this short life, a short-cut to sympathy is certainly 
 very desirable, and books are the general revealers. 
 / They reveal us to ourselves as often as to each other. 
 Mirrors they often are to our faults and foibles ; mirrors, too, 
 to our nobler selves] less rarely than our modesty may suppose 
 disguised to us by accidental circumstances, such as want of 
 success, association with ungenerous or harsh people, or a lack
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. If 
 
 of high animal spirits, that almost greatest of earthly blessings. 
 Anderson's story of the Ugly Duck, who, accidentally looking at 
 himself in a pond, discovers that he is no duck, but a swan, 
 illustrates this inimitably. Diffident people draw much comfort 
 from books ; the more they shrink from free intercourse with 
 their kind, the more lifted up are they by unexpectedly confront 
 ing themselves in a good, i. e., an ideal light. ' As a man 
 thinketh, so is he ;' but we do not always recognize the value 
 of our own thoughts till we meet them among strangers, and in 
 holiday clothes. A daughter or sister is sometimes not dis 
 covered to be a beauty, until, by some chance, she is drest for 
 company, and seen with others of greater pretension ; then how 
 our respect for her increases 1 
 
 What flashes come to us from books, sometimes ; flashes that 
 seem meant for us alone, since others do not always perceive 
 them ; yet they light up all that will burn within us. We take 
 up a book with very little expectation ; somebody has told us 
 it is dull, perhaps ; and there, waiting for us, is just the inspi 
 ration, or the warning, or the medicine we have been wanting. 
 Strange power this, of mind over mind ; that thoughts that 
 have lain in another's brain or heart, like strangers, so little 
 kindred had they with those around them, shall come into mine 
 with a mission of health and love, proving the best kind of 
 relationship. When we speak, then, of ' suggestive ' books, we 
 say something for the writer and something for ourselves. A 
 tiny spark may cause the explosion of a magazine and shake 
 the earth, but the powder must be dry I 
 
 At different times of life we want different books, and to 
 prescribe long goody essays to young people is useless, let our 
 tyros be ever so docile. They cavtt read such things, or, if
 
 18 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 they can, it is a bad sign, and bespeaks ill health of body or 
 inind. Shall we, then, give them boundless range through the 
 fields of fiction ? The other extreme. We should cut a path 
 for them with our own hands, and be sure that it be full of 
 beauty and variety. Drilling enough there is, or should be, at 
 school ; mental gymnastics in plenty for the strengthening of 
 the intellectual muscles ; repose and amusement have their 
 claims, too, and are too apt to be forgotten. Most people, in 
 their training of the young, treat Nature as if she were an 
 idiot, capable only of unintelligible mutterings, not worth atten 
 tion. But in this way we may make drones or hypocrites of all 
 but the finest and highest spirits. Books that will excite curi 
 osity are among the best ; leading books, that make the reader 
 ' ask for more.' 
 
 Further on in life, we like speculative and didactic books, 
 interspersed among the poetical and imaginative. We have 
 begun to question ourselves and others, and to be anxious 
 about this wondrous being, and its duty and destiny, its mean 
 ing and end. Yet, even now, we prefer books that help, to 
 those that seem to satisfy. We are more interested in a com 
 panion than in a master. This is the season of theory-building, 
 and we make our fabric partly, but only partly, from other 
 people's materials. There is sometimes a passion for one par 
 ticular book or class of books, but, in general, we crave a 
 variety, out of which to pick almost exclusively one kind 
 of interest or amusement. At another period, the same book 
 will, curiously, afford us a new vein, such as we happen to be 
 searching for just then. 
 
 Later still, we love to read discussions of points, which our 
 own practice has long ago settled for us, and warnings which
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 19 
 
 we mentally apply, with a good deal of zeal, to other people. 
 The imagination being somewhat dulled, we preach, very con 
 scientiously, the superior value of reality, (as if imagination 
 were not reality ! ) and lament over the ' waste of time ' of 
 those who are still able to enjoy its delights. Fiction we 
 inveigh against ; not because it has ever led us astray, bat 
 because it may mislead others, or we have heard of its doing 
 so. This being led by isolated facts to forget universal prin 
 ciples, is the cause of a great deal of quackery in literature 
 and morals. Things are to be judged hurtful, not simply 
 because they have hurt some people, but because they are 
 hurtful in their nature. Invalids look solemn when they see 
 others eating pine-apples ; tolerably well people, even, will tell 
 you that strawberries are poison ; but are they so ? It is often 
 said that nobody is perfectly well, and it is equally correct to 
 assert that no one is wholly sane in mind ; care, therefore, is 
 always necessary, in selecting food for both body and mind. 
 But it is not dangerous to set a stout boy down to a good din 
 ner in all its variety ; neither do we believe it so to turn young 
 minds 'loose in a good library.' In both cases, tastes and 
 instincts may be trusted. Only let the dinner and the library, 
 be both really good. 
 
 We want different reading for the various times of day ; 
 in the morning the bracing, in the afternoon the discursive, in 
 the evening the social, the harmonizing, or, if possible, the 
 amusing. But there is no reading, now, purely amusing. 
 With everything that professes to be so, we must take a dose 
 of preventive, as poor little martyr children of 'careful' 
 mothers cannot have fruit until they have first swallowed lime- 
 water. The evening hours should not be spent laboriously, but
 
 20 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 pleasantly, if we would 'live long and see good days/ One 
 of the good novels or brilliant essays of the present day, read 
 aloud to the family circle, after tea, is more potent than cham 
 pagne in dispersing the day's cares or vexations. The sore or 
 weary track left in the mind by toil and trouble, is more effec 
 tually effaced by a bright, cheerful book, than by any more noisy 
 or showy expedient. Happy those who have discovered this 1 
 
 The times of year, too, ask their various tones of reading. 
 The book for January suits not well with the dog-days ; the 
 tender green of Spring harmonizes with one set of thoughts and 
 studies ; the mellow coloring of Autumn with another. There 
 are, indeed, books for all seasons ; a few written with such a 
 universality of sympathy and fitness, that in joy or sorrow, 
 at morning or evening, in summer or winter, we never open 
 them without finding, by a sort of miracle for is not genius a 
 perpetual miracle ? something exactly suited to our wants. 
 Putting aside the Book of books, as out of all question, this 
 remark applies especially to Shakspeare ; but there are also, at 
 whatever distance, other writers that never come amiss. In 
 general, however, we have our times of year for different classes 
 of books, and sometimes, when we are fastidious and whimsical, 
 feel that there are none too many. 
 
 Considering, then, the wondrous applicability of books to the 
 needs and notions of us all, and the welcome which the right 
 ones are sure to receive, it is not to be wondered at that some 
 of us love to write them. Especially does the writer who has 
 already found favor count upon an intimate and kindly recep 
 tion. The old-fashioned expression, ' Dear Reader,' has its pro 
 priety. Readers seem like old friends when we have been able 
 to interest them. Affection depends more on the heart and
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 21 
 
 mind than on the eyes, and those who sympathize with us in 
 thought and feeling soon become dear. We talk of ' favorite 
 authors ;' authors have favorite readers, too ; those who are 
 willing to be pleased 1 
 
 But, to ' leave face-making and begin,' let us not be 
 thought fanciful in offering our new book for the amusement 
 of those cool, delicious hours that relieve the summer exhaus 
 tion, and incline the mind to quiet reading. 
 
 The names of such books are nothing more than a sort of 
 poetic shadowing forth of their contents. If one writes a novel 
 or an essay, a satire or a poem, its title may be a direct and 
 natural growth of the subject or intent ; and even for a miscel 
 laneous gathering, grave and gay, it used to be distinctive 
 enough to call it such. Yet there has always been confessed 
 some difficulty about the naming of books, and the world has 
 been subject to periodical whims with regard to it. We all 
 know the quaint and absurd titles that have been given, not 
 only to fanciful and poetic tomes, but to the most solemn, warn 
 ing, and exhorting works. For ourselves, being imperatively 
 called upon to find an appellation for this third miscellany of 
 ours, (publishers are very tyrants in these matters 1) we 
 thought it not worth while to puzzle over the nice adaptation 
 of a name, but best to take the first comprehensive or vague 
 one that came obedient to our call, and trust to justifying it in 
 one way if we could not in all. In this, as in other respects, 
 we trust much to the indulgence of readers who have already 
 shown themselves kindly willing to be pleased. 
 
 ISLAND HOUSE, Belloioe Falls, Vermont, 
 Aug. 1, 1853.
 
 SUMMERING, 
 
 THE season of returning to town is apt to be the time when 
 we ask ourselves why we ever go away. Home looks so de 
 lightful after absence ; the joyous faces of meeting friends so 
 cheer our hearts, and lift our spirits above the influence of 
 fatigue and care, that we sometimes think it has been foolish to 
 leave all these pleasant things, to wander over the face of the 
 earth, to lie in strange beds, to toss on uneasy seas, to endure 
 the company of strangers, to renounce one's favorite employ 
 ments, and, above all, to relinquish the society of those whose 
 society is the chief pleasure of life to us. Yery wise people 
 reproach us with all this ; they say, what we cannot deny, that 
 we should have been much more comfortable at home ; that our 
 own houses are more comfortable than hotels, our own beds 
 than steamboat berths, our own dinners than any that we shall 
 find elsewhere. These sensible remarks make us quite ashamed 
 of our wanderings, perhaps. Comfort is so much the business 
 of life with most of us, that we are quite sensitive to the 
 reproach of having mistaken the way to it. The reasons for 
 going are less obvious than the reasons for staying, and the joy 
 of returning makes us feel them with peculiar force. 
 
 But do we remember that this joy of reunion and return is
 
 24 AUTUMN LEAVES. 
 
 purchased l.y the absence and the journey, with all their trials 
 and inconveniences, and could not have been felt without them ? 
 Iteration wears out even our best pleasures ; emotions are not 
 to be summoned at will ; the home that we have never left is not 
 the home that beams upon us after a temporary renunciation. 
 Love our friends as we may, we love them better after we have 
 lost sight of them for a while. Our employments tire, even in 
 proportion to the ardor with which we pursue them, and their 
 zest is only renewable on condition of some intervals of com 
 plete repose or change of object. So that for the mere pur 
 chase of intenser pleasure, it is worth while to refrain for a 
 time ; but there are stronger reasons for summer jaunting. 
 
 Supposing that our life has only a certain fixed amount of 
 power, arid that both happiness and duty command us to make 
 the most of this power for the work that is given us to do, 
 seasons of complete change and relaxation, even of new fatigue 
 and voluntary privation, in unaccustomed directions, must be 
 advantageous to our bodily and mental condition, since aching 
 heads, and pinched and anxious hearts, often admonish us that 
 too long perseverance in a single track is not congenial to so 
 varied a nature as ours. Even the unbroken enjoyment of 
 home luxuries and ease, is conducive to anything but strength, 
 either of character or muscles. City life, especially, is notori 
 ously unfavorable to vigorous and enduring health ; its excite 
 ments tend, more through their ceaselessness than their inten 
 sity, perhaps, to insanity and premature decay, or sudden 
 failure of the energies of nature. We are not of those who 
 believe city life to be necessarily unwholesome. It would be so 
 to animals, doubtless ; but man's bodily condition depends t so 
 much upon ample and judicious exercise of his mental and
 
 SUMMERING. 25 
 
 moral faculties, that some of the disadvantages of too close 
 contact with others, and of employments more sedentary than 
 those which are favorable to perfect health, are probably coun 
 teracted by the more wholesome uses he may make of brain 
 and heart, when surrounded by fellow beings, than when hi com 
 parative solitude. Such a country life as we can imagine, 
 might, indeed, unite all advantages ; but we are talking of the 
 actual, and not of the ideal. 
 
 Perhaps the best way of making the most of life, is that 
 which is practised by so many of our citizens living in the full 
 town and partaking of all its intellectual excitements and 
 means of culture, its cheering social amusements, its varied 
 human interests and religious instruction, for the colder part 
 of the year, while the fireside is so cosy and delightful ; and in 
 the summer learning a new chapter of life, finding out a new 
 set of powers, associating with a new round and variety of 
 character, discovering the ideas of other people on subjects on 
 which we might suppose there could be but one way of think 
 ing, and, in short, making ourselves as much new creatures as 
 possible, with a continual reserve of our old habits and a con 
 stant tendency and desire to return to them. To say nothing 
 of the wholesomeness of fresh air and hardy exercise the last 
 a theme hardly to be mentioned to ears polite, in a country 
 where it is not fashionable to be strong this way of parcelling 
 out life is certainly defensible, to say the least. One thing is 
 certain, that those who have most thoroughly and rationally 
 practised it are best prepared to defend it. 
 
 The question as to how and where the summer is to be spent, 
 is quite another one. To some, the plain farm-house, with the 
 early voices of birds, and the humbler noise of the farm-yard, 
 2
 
 26 AUTUMN LEAVES. 
 
 new milk for the children, tumbling in hay-mows and riding 
 without saddle for stout boys, and a thousand pretty country 
 sports for little girls ; long walks, and rides, and fishing excur 
 sions for the elder, and shaded seats at noon, and pleasant win 
 dows at sunset for all, afford the needful change. To others, 
 the sea-shore, with its variety and its sameness, its refreshing 
 surf and its moonlight beach, is more congenial, and braces the 
 limbs and spirits better. Others long for the excitement of 
 watering-places to balance the excitement of the city, as he 
 whose hands have become shaky with brandy must have his 
 coffee very strong to steady his nerves. Others, again, dream 
 of the novelties and wonders of foreign lands, and seek the 
 verification of their idea at the expense of a long sea voyage, 
 and the encounter of strange people and strange tongues. All 
 this while, the wise shake their heads, and congratulate them 
 selves upon being comfortable at home. 
 
 The money that is expended in this summer change, is a 
 prominent objection with most of those who condemn it. They 
 speak as if they, or any of us, lived by the law of necessity, 
 and never spent anything that could possibly be avoided. But, 
 in truth, this is so far from being the case, that these very com 
 fortable people will perhaps spend in the course of the year on 
 extra luxuries for the table, extra expenses in dress, or extra 
 indulgence of some sort, what would pay for the summer 
 recreation twice over. It is simply a question of spending 
 money in one way or the other for pleasure and advantage. 
 Perhaps the home luxuries are as injurious as the jaunt would 
 be beneficial ; that is our opinion, but it is not the opinion of 
 every one. 
 
 Some years ago, it was rather unusual for people of moderate
 
 SUMMERING. 2t 
 
 means to travel in summer. Most of our citizens contented 
 themselves with short trips, or, perhaps, a few weeks' boarding 
 in the country. But this was when our cities were smaller, 
 our modes of life less unnatural and exhausting, our social am 
 bition less pungent, perhaps our physiological ideas less rational. 
 With great opportunities for acquiring wealth, came great 
 anxiety to acquire it, and with this anxiety, and the success 
 consequent upon it, perhaps, much disease, suffering, and pre 
 mature decay. The wealthy were advised to travel, and soon 
 found reason to be glad they had done so ; and their example 
 has encouraged others, who, though not wealthy, are suffering, 
 to resort to the same remedy, instead of retiring into a sick 
 room and tiring the patience of the dyspepsia doctors. 
 
 But shall we all wait until we have a claim to be ranked 
 among the suffering ? Does worldly wisdom counsel that ? If 
 travelling cures, will it not also have a tendency to prevent 
 disease ? Many are beginning to think so ; and when they 
 find themselves wearied and overdone, do not sit down till dis 
 ease has crept over them unawares, but ward it off by refrain 
 ing from the toil that had threatened to produce it. It used 
 to be quite a proverb with the English and French, that all 
 Americans who came to see them. were ill. The remark is no 
 longer appropriate ; travelling abroad is no longer confined to 
 the rich and the sick. Health may be still a principal object 
 with many, but it is future health of mind as well as body. 
 Instruction, too, comes in as a leading motive ; not instruction 
 in the fashions, but in whatever the study of ages has been 
 able to bring to perfection. 
 
 It is a humane impulse, and it has a humanizing effect, to go 
 out among our kind ; to see other phases of character, other
 
 28 AUTUMN LEAVES. 
 
 modes of life, the result of other habits. It makes the heart 
 softer and more affectionate, to discover the good qualities hid 
 den under uncouth or even fashionable manners ; to become 
 accustomed to the peculiarities of others, and learn how ' use 
 lessens marvel/ and disgust, also. To go from home attacks 
 our imperious habits, and makes inroads upon our extravagant 
 appreciation of personal comforts. To teach humility, there is 
 nothing like it ; for what can be more exquisitely contrary to 
 our usual convictions, than the discovery how many nobodies 
 there are in the world of as much consequence as ourselves ? 
 In travelling, every grand, personal claim is brought down 
 to the vulgar test of money. Let us try to make our dignity, 
 or our family, or our reputation, serve us, instead of a full 
 purse, at any hotel ; our own cook-maid may take precedence 
 of us, if she choose to spend her savings while we attempt to 
 spare ours. Few will even criticize her manners, if her silks 
 be rich enough. Our threadbare gentility will need not only 
 vouchers but endorsers, if the pockets be not well lined. This 
 thought is good for us, though not pleasant. We take it like 
 medicine, but it cures without faith. We must pay in hard 
 cash for every extra grain of importance we indulge in. 
 Among friends and inferiors, assumption does a good deal ; 
 but when we are away from home it is instantly tested, 
 assayed, as it were ; not like gold, but by gold. Now, from a 
 little experience of this kind pride shrinks like a mimosa. We 
 dare not say it 
 
 Folds up Its tents, like the Arabs, 
 And silently steals away ; 
 
 but it falls back, at least, and bides its time. The world is far 
 from being one grand, general, Mutual Admiration Society. The
 
 SUMMERING. 29 
 
 eyes and manners of strangers tell us many new and some un 
 palatable truths, such as the tongue dares not utter ; but being 
 truths, that which is true within us runs to meet and greet 
 them, spite of our anger and disdain. Perhaps we thought our 
 turned silk looked as well as ever, until we saw it mirrored in 
 Mrs. Grundy's eyes ; but ours are instantly opened under the 
 influence of hers. We fancied our son a fine, genteel-looking 
 young man, until Miss Biggs and Miss Prim gave him the cold 
 shoulder on the approach of moustached and eye-glassed Mr. 
 Cackle. Then we fell to comparisons, and for comparisons 
 there must be judgment, and for judgment, when we are not 
 going to tell any body the result, sincerity ; and so we get to 
 the reality of things, and all our pleasant little delusions fly 
 away, and leave what may not look so pretty at first, but 
 is, after all, much more wholesome and more dignified. To be 
 obliged to content ourselves with our real claims is a great 
 gain, and it is bought by travel. 
 
 We can hardly be said, now-a-days, to obtain much real 
 information by travel. Panoramas and books have changed all 
 that the former, especially. When one of those three mile 
 pictures is burnt up, we may reasonably suspect the railroad 
 and steamboat people of the incendiarism. One cannot but 
 know beforehand just how every place under the sun is going 
 to look. Whoever has seen Battler's cosmoramas, has looked 
 out of the window at the scenes they represent, as long as he 
 liked. When we saw Quebec for the first time, it seemed as if 
 we had been gazing at it last week, so perfect was the tran 
 script in a great panorama not long since exhibited. The very 
 vessels anchored in the river were identical, and had never 
 moved. Niagara is as well known to the shop-boys of New
 
 30 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 York, as to the most conscientious tourist. Still we go, and 
 feel that we have learned something ; and we are right ; but it 
 is riot something that can be written down or pictured, any 
 where but in the individual mind. So much of the mountain 
 or the cataract as becomes a part of us and of our being, is an 
 inestimable gain ; nought else of all the costly accomplishment 
 of travel. 
 
 This is why travelled people are radically different from 
 others. And the fact that people who are always travelling 
 are good for nothing, does not conflict with our statement, but 
 rather confirms it, for they fail in the very point we have speci 
 fied. They furnish their minds with little else than a daguerre 
 otype or a panorama, destitute of the intelligent commentary 
 that alone makes such a show valuable. People who are rest 
 lessly racing the world over, year after year, come at length to 
 be emptied of all but the driest facts, without one grace of 
 imagination or combination. What they have seen has given 
 them just enough pleasure or knowledge to make all that is 
 present insipid ; and as to affections, the insatiable traveller 
 must systematically dry them up, in self-defense. Old Weller, 
 who had " thirty mile of chambermaids " in love with him, and 
 only laughed coolly in his sleeve at all of them, was, not to be 
 blamed, for how could he return their affection ? 
 
 The moon looks 
 
 On many brooks, 
 
 The brook can see no moon but this. 
 
 And a game so unequal must soon end. 
 
 So the love of travelling must have its limits. It is a passion 
 in some ; as much so as ambition or pity, and, like them,
 
 SUMMERING. 31 
 
 requires reasonable bounds. The moment we find ourselves 
 uneasy at home, we should cease to travel, and sedulously culti 
 vate home interests ; engage more earnestly in social life, and, 
 as far as possible, make ourselves necessary to the people among 
 whom it is our duty to live. For what state is so terrible as 
 isolation ? And isolation of mind is worse than all. The 
 heart must starve and dwindle when it loses the relish for its 
 natural food. 
 
 Travel, rightly used, makes us happier and more useful at home. 
 Freshened eyes give a happy shine to whatever they look upon, 
 and renewed good humor brightens not only our own faces but the 
 faces of others to us. Stagnation is the enemy of cheerfulness. 
 The black pool would run dancing and laughing in the sun, if it 
 had a proper outlet. When things do not go right with us, it is 
 half the time owing to a lack of animal spirits ; and much of our 
 discontent with others has the same source. Let any thing occur 
 to set the blood leaping through the veins, even something not par 
 ticularly pleasurable, and a thousand petty vexations and gloomy 
 thoughts fly off, we know not whither, showing that they had only 
 a phantom-life ; for the mind from the smallest materials forms 
 images according to its own nature or condition. Sir Walter 
 Scott, looking up from a Life of Byron which had absorbed 
 him for some time, saw Byron himself standing at no great dis 
 tance, every lineament perfect ; but when Scott had walked but 
 a few steps, the figure of his brother poet resolved itself into a 
 few shawls and plaids, that had been hanging in the hall, day 
 after day, unnoticed. So we have only to quit the occupation 
 that has fatigued the mind, and just stir the blood into a health 
 ful flow, to let daylight in upon the gloomiest megrims, and dis 
 cover that Providence has no particular spite against us, but
 
 32 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 offers us much more of happiness and comfort than we choose to 
 accept. But when this great object is accomplished, let us sit 
 down again, and remember that direct self-cultivation is by no 
 means the sole or the highest object of life. 
 
 The effect of grand scenery upon the mind is very decided, 
 and can hardly fail to tend towards good. There may be as 
 many wonders in a midge's wing as in Mont Blanc or the 
 Mammoth Cave ; but they are not wonders that affect the mind 
 in the same direction. Providence has so ordered it that the 
 objects most important to the great human family and most ac 
 cordant with our nature, are those which ask us aid of science 
 for their enjoyment and appreciation. There is probably no 
 rational being who is wholly unaffected by the grandeur of 
 mountains, the waving and the shadow of primeval woods, the 
 thunder of the mighty cataract. However dull and ignorant 
 the brain, the blood will thrill and the nerves shake at these 
 manifestations of Supreme power. Witness the deification of 
 natural objects in the early days of the world a form given to 
 thoughts and feelings which could find no vent or explanation 
 but worship. And worship is now the impulse, but with the 
 dignity and sanction of knowledge, which transfers the heart's 
 instinctive language from the most sublime of created objects to 
 Him who made them all, and who, from immeasurable distance, 
 inspires them with the charm which no human heart can wholly 
 resist. 
 
 But who can measure how greatly cultivation enhances the 
 power of these feelings not only direct but general cultivation ; 
 an acquaintance and familiarity, not only with the objects them 
 selves, but with what genius has said and shown of them. 
 Every real advance, intellectual or moral, tells on our power of
 
 SUMMERING. 33 
 
 admiration ; the loss or lessening of this power is one of the 
 surest signs of general deterioration. The nil admirari, which 
 some would-be fashionables affect, is an emulation towards the 
 owl and the tortoise. The habit of admiring is one of the 
 noblest ; it is next to the habit of loving. Ignorance and envy 
 are its opposites ; and the mind and heart may be so corrupted 
 by these as to resist the feelings of admiration, even when 
 merely inanimate objects are concerned. But the greatest souls 
 that have ever lived have owned the influences of natural 
 scenery most fully. Next to human interest, the poet and the 
 artist find their best inspiration in wild, sublime Nature. Even 
 the most verbose descriptions and the poorest paintings of natu 
 ral scenery show its power over the imagination ; for in no 
 other direction are men so apt to attempt the impossible, and to 
 fancy they have succeeded because memory supplied to them 
 selves all that their skill has been unequal to impart to others. 
 Let not, then, the impulse to summer travel be classed among 
 fashionable follies. It may be turned to poor account, indeed, 
 as witness the unsavory crowds, the steamy lights, the unwhole 
 some habits of too many of the retreats alternately made 
 1 fashionable' or ' vulgar' by the caprices of a few of the bolder 
 leaders of ton. If there be hundreds willing, rather than be 
 omitted from the list of notables, to swelter amid inconveniences 
 that they would not tolerate at a friend's house, there are thou 
 sands who roam during the hot months among the mountains 
 and lakes of their own country, or try the fresh breezes of 
 ocean and the wonders of foreign lands, from pure love of 
 nature and improvement ; who love the freshness of t'^e summer 
 morning, the forest shade at noon, the moonlit walk, the exciting 
 
 ascent of woody mountains, the roar of cataracts ; not because 
 3
 
 34 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 fashion has stamped them for the present, but because, from the 
 beginning, the Author of all good has placed between these 
 objects and the mind of man a sympathy and affinity, the 
 result of which is proof enough that it is His work and enjoys 
 His sanction and reward.
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE, 
 
 " The power of human mind had its growth in the wilderness ; much more mnst the 
 love and the conception of that Beauty whose every line and hue is, at the best, a faded 
 image of God's daily work and an attested ray of some star of creation, be given chiefly 
 In the places which He has gladdened by planting there the fir-tree and the pine. Not 
 within the walls of Florence, but among the far-away fields of her lilies, was the child 
 trained who was to raise the headstone of Beauty above the towers of watch and war." 
 
 EuSKitf 
 
 THERE are some people in the world, who, though not averse 
 to some of the aspects of fashionable life, yet dislike watering 
 places. To seek change by going where the whole dull round 
 of the winter is repeated ruminated, as it were ; to seek rural 
 beauty where nature is put in stocks and stays, and trodden 
 down and travestied in every possible way ; to seek retirement 
 where the crowd is more selfish and more encroaching even than 
 in town seems to them as absurd as odious. 
 
 These originals these contemners of an authority from which 
 there is no appeal, none the less confess a love of pleasure. 
 They do not claim to be above the need of relaxation satisfied 
 with variety in duty living martyrs to the serious and the sad 
 in life. They have their own simple and odd way of seeking 
 amusement ; a way so odd and so obscure that we have fancied
 
 36 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 a little sketch of it might possess for the fashionable world 
 something of the zest of novelty ; it is so natural for those who 
 live in a whirl of excitement to fancy that nobody can of choice 
 live out of it. Perhaps it will seem not life exactly, but only 
 existence. 
 
 True fashionable life is, however, but partially naturalized on 
 our fresh American soil, and in our unworn American hearts 
 In spite of our efforts to appear as if we were born to it, many 
 an inward whisper of demur writes itself upon our faces ; many 
 an awkward non-compliance shames our consistency, while it 
 does honor to our sincerity and humanity. Nature, nursed by 
 the mere shadow of our forests and the breath of our virgin 
 soil, is too strong for us. We have not yet been successfully 
 schooled into heartlessness! Love, and Charity, and Sympathy, 
 still yearn within us, though they are repudiated by Fashion, who 
 insists upon undivided sway. So those who would plead for 
 simple people and simple pleasures may yet hope a hearing. 
 
 Whether fifty years or five before the time at which we write, 
 it matters not for we treat of things with which exact chro 
 nology has nothing to do a circle of friends and neighbors, 
 living in and near a town used in summer as a watering-place, 
 resolved for once to avoid the tedious pleasures and lonely bustle 
 which the long days always brought about their homes, by re 
 treating to an undiscovered, or, at least, uncelebrated nook, 
 where nature had as yet leave to make what faces she liked, and 
 where no impertinent blunder of art had attempted to improve 
 her tournure. It seemed a somewhat rash experiment, this ;
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 37 
 
 for the selection of members of such a party, not being made by 
 secret ballot, could not be wholly candid and exclusive. It was 
 by no means certain that six weeks' of summer abandon would 
 not prove too much for the philosophy of some ; and that near 
 and constant intercourse, under circumstances of less that home- 
 convenience, might not end in unhappy revelations as to the 
 temper of others. But the experiment was worth trying, especi 
 ally as it was of too quiet and humble a kind to excite invidious 
 remark. 
 
 Then the thing had no unpleasant trammels about it. There 
 were no inclosing mountains about this " happy valley," forbid 
 ding egress to those who were tired of happiness. There was 
 even no fixed time for rustication ; nor were friends from with 
 out prohibited from joining the party for a longer or shorter 
 period, in case the taste for rurality should spread. Whatever 
 liberty can do for constancy was provided for, and the most 
 prudent examination of the materials of the mass discovered no 
 dangerous elements. There was not even too much friendship, 
 as might easily be, since friendship is at least as sensitive and 
 jealous as love. .No sentiment beyond kind neighborly feeling, 
 and the esteem which intelligent habitual intercourse engenders, 
 had prompted the choice of companionship ; the affinities were 
 all of the most harmless kind. Love was almost out of the 
 question, as will be seen when we have introduced our coterie 
 of seceders. 
 
 Speaking naturally, we begin with Miss Ingoldsby, because 
 her image rises first to our thoughts. She was one of those 
 women who are more lovely at five and twenty than at sixteen, 
 because their beauty lies largely in the expression of soul. 
 There was a wonderful depth of harmony in this young lady's
 
 38 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 face, that made one forget to notice the rich coloring of her 
 complexion, and the corresponding and heightening darkness of 
 eyes and hair which served as shadow to those velvet roses. 
 Tall, quiet, and perhaps a little stately 
 
 Her eyes alone smiled constantly ; her lips had serious sweetness, 
 And her front was calm the dimple rarely rippled on her cheek. 
 
 You could think of her only as unique ; you never thought of 
 likening her to any one else. Yet none had less the air of pre 
 tension, or even consciousness. She was always occupied, and, 
 whether with mind or fingers, never with self. Elegant tastes 
 she had, but they were for simple things things whose charm 
 or value depends not at all on exclusive possession. She talked 
 well, but not with intention ; or if with intention, only so for 
 the sake of others' pleasure or advantage ; never merely to 
 shine, or to make some chance scrap of knowledge tell, or to 
 frame in some poetical quotation. Cultivation made Miss In- 
 goldsby only more natural, for she had learned above all things 
 how hateful is affectation ; and indeed she had always had small 
 temptation that way, being inevitably charming, and living sur 
 rounded by eyes that assured her she was all they desired. 
 There is no telling how much ruinous affectation and unlovely 
 effort we might save if we yielded admiration and love more 
 generously. It is deprecation or defiance of expected criticism 
 that causes half the paltry airs that spoil society. Her father 
 was with her, and she was his earthly all ; no wonder she 
 walked with an unconscious queenliness, for what gives such 
 grace and tender dignity to the manners as the sense of being 
 wholly loved ? Would-be people felt her air to be a little re 
 served the ill-natured among them said haughty ; but if so, it
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 39 
 
 was only in self-defence. Refinement cannot always wholly dis 
 guise its suffering, and vulgarity bitterly regents the slightest 
 manifestation of distaste or weariness. But Miss Ingoldsby 
 was as generally liked as so admirable a woman could be, and 
 the love of her friends was a kind of quiet enthusiasm, which 
 did not flow out into the praise which stimulates envy. When 
 the summer-flitting was planned, the first thought was whether 
 Mr. and Miss Ingoldsby would be disposed to try it. 
 
 Mrs. Marston, and her son, an overgrown boy of sixteen, a 
 college sophomore, who fancied that study had injured his 
 health, are to be counted next ; Mrs. Marston, staid, reason 
 able, well-read, well-principled j the youth one just calculated 
 to keep such a mother's heart in a continual flutter. These 
 were near neighbors of the Ingoldsbys at home, and the families 
 had aa habitual liking for each other ; traditional, indeed, for 
 their forefathers had inhabited the very same spots, and left 
 many vestiges of their old neighborliness during the troublous 
 days of the Revolution. So they were well past the critical 
 stage, and took each other for granted very kindly a state of 
 things favorable to harmonious companionship, even where there 
 is no great mental or spiritual affinity. After these we come to 
 Mr. Berry, a bachelor, one of the soberest ; but so full of 
 thought, and feeling, and poetry, and all romantic lore, that no 
 one cared to inquire his age, which might have troubled him, 
 for, though something of a philosopher, he was human and un 
 married. His worst fault was a disposition to moralize, (some 
 said dogmatize) ; unless we consider as such his propensity 
 to quote poetry, of which ample proof will be found hereafter. 
 This habit proved infectious, too, or else the natural influ 
 ence of woods and fields waked up the latent fires of others
 
 40 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 of the party, so that they took to citing verses hugely, doubtless 
 to the secret scorn of those who respect only the tangible, or 
 who have not the blessing (?) of good memory. Miss Berry, 
 his sister, was a good deal younger, but seemed to have, found 
 time for nearly as much reading. She was shy and timid, how 
 ever, and brought out what she had to say with a manner at 
 once hesitating and abrupt. To those who knew her worth, 
 like these friends and neighbors, she was a delightful companion, 
 and the party would hardly have missed any body more, always 
 excepting Miss Ingoldsby. 
 
 Will any body be kind enough to inform us what is the origin 
 of the expression a grass-widow 1 
 
 In vain have we sought a plausible etymology for this strange 
 phrase, which yet seems fully naturalized among us, and which 
 has so usurped the function of defining a certain position, that 
 we know not how or where to find a substitute. It designates 
 a lady who is separated from her husband, not exactly by 
 divorce, but by circumstances which mutual affection is not 
 quite powerful enough to surmount. We have known a gentle 
 man to go to Europe for his health, intending to be absent a 
 summer or so, and there remain five years, frequently appoint 
 ing a time for his return. On the other hand, ladies have 
 been so fascinated by Italy, that they have continued to reside 
 there, leaving husband to make himself comfortable at hotels 
 and boarding-houses at home. For the honor of human nature, 
 be it observed that these things seldom occur where there are 
 children in the case. 
 
 Mrs. Whipple was called, in her neighborhood and at the 
 watering-places which she was fond of frequenting, a 'gr'ass- 
 widow,' and we must let the title stand for the position in which
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 41 
 
 she lived, not knowmgm)w to replace it by a better. A de 
 serted wife she was not, exactly, since she was as little disposed 
 to live with her husband as he could possibly be to seek her 
 society ; and they were on excellent terms, corresponding with 
 great regularity. Scandal had never breathed upon Mrs. 
 "Whipple's good name ; her behavior was unexceptionable ; she 
 never flirted ; she was no babbler, nor did she often make mis 
 chief. She dressed with all her might and all her means ; she 
 never missed a party of pleasure, or neglected the opportunity 
 for a visit ; she chaperoned young ladies and advised young 
 gentlemen ; she knit stockings for the poor and embroidered 
 slippers and smoking-caps for the rich ; she was an indefatiga 
 ble church-goer, and played a capital game of whist ; was an 
 adept in social etiquette, and an eloquent declaimer against the 
 follies and heartlessness of fashionable society. Like that 
 ingenious little figure, which, roll it where you will, has so many 
 and such even sides that it always stands firm, Mrs. Whipple 
 was invariably "all right" with regard to those around her. 
 Serious with the serious, she never interfered with the whims of 
 the gay. Not being inconveniently interested in any body in 
 particular, she was able to make herself agreeable to all, main 
 taining a friendly neutrality which interfered with no one's pri 
 vate likings or dislikings. We need not fill up this outline of 
 Mrs. Whipple's character, for all our readers have doubtless 
 seen a Mrs. Whipple. 
 
 Some people said she had one fault that she was an unblush 
 ing flatterer ; but this was when she flattered somebody else. 
 The subjects of her praise seldom complained. We have this 
 lady to add to our coterie, not, perhaps, because she fell into it 
 naturally, but because she was the guest of one of the members.
 
 42 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Why she accepted an invitation uncongenial with her habits, we 
 can only guess. Boundless curiosity was one of her character 
 istics, and perhaps the novelty of the plan tempted her. Or 
 she might have desired to see how what she called " sensible" 
 people a term which from her lips had always the suspicion of 
 a sneer would endure a. summer of rural seclusion. There is 
 nothing of which the world is more incredulous than professions 
 of distaste for what it loves best, especially when this distaste 
 refers to no special enthusiasm. 
 
 We are saved the necessity of sketching Mr. Aldis, the 
 nephew of Miss Berry and her brother, by a " Character" of 
 Tennyson's. If Charles Aldis had sat to the poet, the likeness 
 could have been no more life-like. 
 
 He spake of beauty : that the dull 
 
 Saw no divinity in grass, 
 
 Life in dead stones or spirit in air : 
 
 Then looking as it were In a glass, 
 
 He smoothed his chin and sleeked his hair 
 
 And said the earth was beautiful. 
 
 And so on. 
 
 This gentleman a specimen of a certain sickly and inert cul 
 tivation not uncommon among us was accompanied by his sis 
 ter, much like him in fact, but seeming something stronger, 
 .because we do not pay her sex the compliment of expecting so 
 much from it. A man's faults sometimes pass for almost graces 
 in a woman, even though we are far from acknowledging the 
 heresy of masculine and feminine virtues ; the characters of 
 man and woman may be sketched in lighter or deeper tints of 
 the same color, but the same primaries must serve. Anne 
 Aldis had, if any thing, the advantage as to depth, so that .she 
 seemed immeasurably superior to her brother.
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 43 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Shelton, a newly married couple, with Miss 
 Grove, Mrs. Shelton's sister, complete the circle. It is hard to 
 characterize newly married people ; they are generally either 
 very insipid or very artificial ; that is, they are either much oc 
 cupied with each other, or affecting not to be so ; and in either 
 case not very good company. But here were ample walks and 
 unsearchable rambles, and all about the little picturesque vil 
 lage which our refugees had chosen, such quiet coverts and 
 enticing labyrinths as make one believe in fairy land. 
 
 There were a thousand good reasons why Mr. Shelton and 
 his fair Egeria baptismally devoted to forest shades should 
 thread these mossy paths every day, and lose themselves and 
 become irretrievably bewildered, so that they could not find the 
 way home until dinner-time, or tea-time, as the case might be. 
 Meanwhile Miss Grove was left upon the hands of the public 
 for entertainment ; but, as she worked in crewels or crochet 
 without ceasing, she was happily raised above the accidents of 
 social life, and gave very little trouble to any one. 
 
 Grave Milton says 
 
 Coare complexions 
 
 And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply 
 The sampler, and to tease the housewife's wool ; 
 What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that, 
 Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn ? 
 
 But nature, though preparing Miss Grove for a teaser of worst 
 eds, had been more bounteous than this. She was a pretty 
 blonde girl, picturesque and ornamental at least, when you did 
 not examine too closely. We say no more at present, except 
 that the young lady wore very long ringlets, which she occasion 
 ally sewed or knit into her work, and then snatched out again,
 
 44 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 leaving not a few stray golden hairs to increase the value of 
 the fabric. 
 
 The village lay not exactly on the edge of the wide ocean, 
 but within sight of it, on the shore of a small cove, rocky and 
 wild as heart could wish we dare not name it, lest it be 
 thronged and spoiled next year. No steamboat had yet found 
 it out, nor did telegraph wires vibrate within a dozen miles of 
 it. The inhabitants, who were divided between fishing and 
 farming, sent a boy on horseback for the mail every Saturday, 
 and he often brought back nothing but a few newspapers. 
 The present accession altered this matter somewhat, of course ; 
 but even now the very atmosphere was loaded with stillness. 
 
 A piteous lot it -were to flee from man 
 Yet not rejoice in nature 
 
 And rejoicing in nature was the daily business of our party, a 
 taste in which they all agreed, whatever diversities might have 
 been found among them otherwise. They walked, they boated, 
 they rode ; they made the woods ring with careless talk, and 
 sounds meant on purpose for the echoes. The ladies tried to 
 learn the art of milking, but found the cows quite too much for 
 them ; and Miss Ingoldsby amused herself with feeding the 
 poultry, until she could not stir abroad without a train of 
 screaming, hopping, fluttering creatures, following her and peck 
 ing at her slippers. - Mr. Berry put on a gravely knowing air 
 when he talked with the farmers, but it was easy to see that he 
 was stealing knowledge which he was quite unable to repay in 
 kind. He was preparing for agricultural speeches in next win-
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 45 
 
 ter's legislature. As for Mr. Ingoldsby, being rather portly 
 in contour, he was not particularly fond of climbing rocks, or 
 jumping across rivulets with the aid of a long slender pole 
 favorite gymnastics with some of the party. So he generally 
 set out with a book in his pocket, or some newspapers if there 
 were any unexhausted, and, when he began to feel rather red 
 and short-breathed, would sit down in the shade, and, taking 
 out his glasses, soon -lose himself in contemplation we are bound 
 to say, for he stoutly denied that his cogitations ever partook 
 of the nature of slumber. His reading always turned to the 
 general benefit, however, for he remembered every thing worth 
 remembering, and was not too lazy or too selfish to tell it for 
 the pleasure of others, as so many readers are. The Sheltons, 
 we have said, were disposed to be erratic, but we must not 
 leave the impression that they were silly or ill-bred. They con 
 tributed their part to the current social feeling, and generously 
 allowed their absorption to be laughed at, without putting on 
 the old rusty defensive armor of dignified looks about it. Mrs. 
 Marston was always agreeable. She had great calmness of 
 spirit, and a power of saying just the thing that was needed at 
 the moment ; was willing to suggest plans and have them mod 
 ified or rejected ; stay behind when conveyance was scanty ; 
 give her opinion on any point in debate, whether she was inte 
 rested or not ; and, in short, made herself of as small account 
 as her friends would let her, as a sensible middle-aged lady 
 should, making up her mind that it was very natural for society 
 to be more occupied with younger claimants upon attention. 
 Mr. and Miss Aldis, Henry Marston, and Miss Grove, felt 
 themselves of a good deal of importance, and made very good 
 company for each other.
 
 46 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Miss Berry alone, of all the circle, had a passion. We are 
 eorry to disappoint the reader, but it was not the passion of 
 passions, but only an insane desire to gather sea-weed, or Algce 
 as the lady more euphoniously termed the wondrous films of 
 rose and purple, and gold and brown, that she waded after, and 
 gathered, and spread carefully and cunningly on cards. With 
 her great disk of a straw hat, and her quaint bathing costume, she 
 did make a most remarkable figure, slipping off mossy rocks into 
 crevices that looked black and shadowy and as if they were full 
 of eels ; or standing with all gravity, knee-high in water, gazing 
 fixedly as if she saw fairy castles, or were studying the pictured 
 clouds on the bay's fair bosom. But the water was not always 
 calm enough for these mystic rites, and Miss Berry, in her nat 
 ural form and unpossessed, was one of the most genial, chatty, 
 agreeable persons in the world. She had travelled, and with 
 profit, and was full of scraps of pleasant knowledge, which, as 
 she had gathered them for the pleasure of gathering, she dis 
 pensed for the pleasure of dispensing, or because they were the 
 natural outflowing of the current of pure and lively thought 
 within. Her cheerfulness was cloudless, and her ready smile 
 lightened and danced all over her face, till one forgot that its 
 dominant expression was serious. Society would be sadly off 
 without a few single women like Miss Berry, unabsorbed by 
 private cares, and at leisure for special offices of kindness. 
 
 She had not been a week at M before she was acquainted 
 
 with every man, woman and child in the settlement, and knew 
 something about their wants and difficulties ; but so quietly and 
 privately that no one suspected her of spending all the time 
 during which she was not visible, in devising liberal things for 
 all cases within her power.
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 47 
 
 To some apprehensions a circle composed of such materials as 
 we have here faintly sketched would be dull enough. No flirta 
 tion ! no balls ! no opportunity for display of dress or equi- 
 page ! In one word one magic word no excitement ! 
 
 Yet we aver that our party enjoyed every day and hour. 
 
 One proof we can offer, which perhaps will seem yet harder 
 to believe that they wrote a great many long letters. It is 
 true that this bespeaks a very quiet kind of happiness. We 
 are not disposed to withdraw from what is sometimes called 
 pleasure, to write ourselves down for absent friends. A certain 
 degree of calm is required for the introversion which makes 
 letter-writing agreeable, and we are not apt to find time for 
 this amid a round of exciting amusements. The mind must be 
 free from any irksome compression of circumstances ; the imag 
 ination must be gently stimulated ; the memory relieved from 
 present burthens ; time not marked out too severely by recur 
 ring duties ; the sympathies not too much drained by the daily 
 demand which none can shun who face the jostling of common 
 life. 
 
 All these conditions being fulfilled, how sweet is the memory 
 of the absent ; how tenderly the claims of old aflfection urge 
 themselves I Our very dreams renew the cherished images that 
 seem faded only because so delicately drawn. It is not at these 
 times that we criticise those we love. We paint them, indeed ; 
 we catch full-length views, which we never find time for when 
 we are with them ; but with what choice and tender touches ! 
 Here we are artistic, if ever. No charm is forgotten no defi 
 ciency remembered. The leading idea possesses us wholly, and 
 whatever could contradict it falls into gentle shadow under the 
 magic light of affection.
 
 48 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Yes we insist that feeling disposed to write letters is a sign 
 of happiness, for when we love we are happy. Would that this 
 our deep philosophy might shame some one out of saying " I 
 hate to write letters 1" 
 
 Tennyson has a sly touch at the picturesque of a lady's hand 
 writing, when he makes the Prince, trying to write lady-like, 
 scribble 
 
 In such a hand as -when a field of corn 
 Bows all its ears before the roaring East 
 
 But the satire which pretends that women would rather write 
 gracefully than legibly is hardly consistent with the other, which 
 ascribes to them a love of talking ; for surely nobody loves to 
 talk without being understood, and what else is writing ille 
 gibly ? 
 
 The amount of reading accomplished at M was not 
 
 very considerable. There are seasons when the mind is instinc 
 tively creative, whether we give it voice or not. At such times 
 reading has not its usual charm, though we may hardly suspect 
 why. We call the phase dreamy, and so perhaps it is ; but if 
 we had resolution to embody those dreams, they might be found 
 to deserve a more respectable name. Miss Ingoldsby was 
 oftener seen writing than reading, but she could not be per 
 suaded to give a rational and credible account of the multitude 
 of closely written scraps of paper which slipped into her port 
 folio. 
 
 The weather was so delicious that the bay seemed, in its 
 
 quietude, like
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 49 
 
 A blue summer ocean, far off and alone ; 
 
 and the motion of the oars dipping into its glossy bosom was 
 often all that broke its stillness. On one side was a bold, rocky 
 headland ; on the other a grassy point stretching down nearly 
 to the pebbly beach ; and when these were rounded, the shores 
 on either hand presented great variety of outline, and ample 
 facilities for bathing. Fishing was unpopular with the ladies, 
 and although the gentlemen made some desperate attempts to 
 become interested in it, they always seemed glad when their 
 pleasure of that kind was well over ; which was not so much to 
 be wondered at, as the ungentlemanly fishermen about them 
 were a good deal more successful. Mr. Berry confessed that he 
 never caught anything but cold, and so forswore angling alto 
 gether. Mrs. Shelton declared her husband's fishing-coat, with 
 its dozens of yawning pockets, horribly unbecoming to him, so 
 of course he gave it up. Mr. Aldis managed to pop into the 
 water, and had to be pulled out of it very unceremoniously by 
 two men in red flannel, which quite disgusted him. Henry 
 Marston alone persisted in sitting in the sun whole days, and 
 corning home with his nose blistered, and his fingers looking like 
 bunches of radishes, much to his mother's disquiet ; while Mr. 
 Ingoldsby joked him unmercifully about " silver hooks," and 
 promised to eat all the fish of his bonafide catching ; until one 
 evening Henry brought in an enormous bass, with ample vouch 
 ers for its being his lawful captive ; after which Mr. Ingoldsby 
 grew more respectful, and Henry more enthusiastic, as was to 
 be expected. 
 
 After all, however, Mr Berry cruelly started a doubt whether 
 Henry might not have bought the vouchers as well as the fish ! 
 4
 
 50 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " What do you suppose the people are saying of us at Lav- 
 ington, now ?" exclaimed Mrs. Whipple, as the party were gath 
 ered in a great old-fashioned porch at nightfall, watching the 
 sparkles on the water and the sparkles on the land, a wide 
 meadow near at hand furnishing myriads of fire-flies ; and lis 
 tening to the katy-dids, and inhaling the odors of a labyrinth 
 of honey-suckles and roses, that had grown, untrained, all about 
 the windows and doors of the antiquated house. 
 
 " Pitying us, no doubt," said Mr. Shelton. 
 
 " Abusing us, rather," said Mr. Berry. 
 
 " Oh no not abusing only thinking us very silly," said 
 Miss Ingoldsby. 
 
 " Or very romantic," Mr. Aldis thought. 
 
 Mrs. Marston imagined the prevailing idea to be that they 
 were very exclusive. 
 
 "So is every one who does not give a large party every time 
 he wants to ask a friend or two to dinner," said Mr. Ingoldsby. 
 " Exclusiveness is justly offensive where it is an object where 
 we exclude for the sake of excluding. The exclusiveness of 
 fashionable life excites odium only because it is well understood 
 to be deliberately practised, as a means of distinction. We 
 shall not be suspected of any thing of that kind, I hope and 
 believe." 
 
 " Perhaps the worst thing that will be said of us," said Miss 
 Berry, " may be that we fancy ourselves very sensible, and set 
 up to be wiser than our neighbors." 
 
 " An imputation that we ought to bear patiently," observed 
 her brother, " seeing that it comes very near the truth." 
 
 "Is it so ?" asked Miss Ingoldsby ; "I imagined we were 
 only rational."
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 51 
 
 " Yes, but to be rational, in so original a way, may be felt as 
 an imputation upon the rationality of those who choose a very 
 different mode of passing the summer." 
 
 " You may depend upon it," said Mrs. Marston, " we shall 
 be accused of having made a desperate effort at originality." 
 
 " We ought to be canonized for that, at least," said Mr. 
 Berry. " An American who ventures upon any thing original, 
 in the social way, is a hero, and stands a chance of being a 
 martyr. We are more completely the slaves of prescription 
 than any other people. Imitation is our national vice." 
 
 " We must not pride ourselves too much on originality in this 
 instance," said Miss Berry, " for I confess, as far as I had any 
 part in suggesting the idea, it was caught from a poem of Mrs. 
 Browning's a poem called The Island, which I dare say you all 
 know." 
 
 " Oh no, we don't, I'm sure," said half a dozen voices. 
 " You will repeat it for us, Miss Berry." 
 
 Miss Berry said she knew only a few verses of it those 
 which put the thought of such a quiet summer sojourn in her 
 head. 
 
 A boon, O world, a boon of thee 1 
 
 Now turn away thy face, 
 And loosen from thy clasp my hand, 
 
 And let me dream a space 1 
 
 My dream is of an island place 
 
 The distant seas are folding; 
 And over which, the only watch 
 
 Those trooped stars are holding: 
 These bright, still stars I they need not seom 
 Brighter or stiller in my dream I
 
 52 
 
 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Hills questioning the heavens for light 
 
 Ravines too deep to scan, 
 As if the wild earth mimicked there 
 
 The wilder heart of man : 
 Only it shall be greener tat 
 And gladder, than hearts ever are: 
 
 Around, above, the plumed trees 
 Their graeions shadows throw ; 
 
 Through whose clear fruit and blossoming 
 Where'er the sun may go, 
 
 Thegroand beneath he dee-ply stains, 
 
 As shining through cathedral panes. 
 
 But little needs the ground beneath 
 The shining from above her, 
 
 "Where many Pleiades ef flowers, 
 (Not one lost !)star her over ; 
 
 The rays of their unnumbered hue* 
 
 Being refracted by the dews. 
 
 Nor think each arched tree with each 
 
 Too closely interlaces 
 T" admit of vistas opening bread 
 
 And sweet, sun-basking place*, 
 Upon whose sward the antlered deer 
 View their own image, long and clear. 
 
 Unless they fainer would beheld 
 
 That image en the seas, 
 "Whene'er's a way through shelving rocks 
 
 And over-branehing trees, 
 Whose doves from half-closed lids espy 
 The green and purple fieh go by. 
 
 My soul in love bounds forwarder 
 To meet the bounding waves t 
 
 Beside them is the home for me, 
 "Within the coral cves: 
 
 And near me two or three may dwell 
 
 Whom dreams fntatie please as welt
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 53 
 
 I said that two or three might choose 
 
 Their caves beside mine own; 
 Those who would change i\e din of man 
 
 For nature's nobler tone 
 Man's veering lieart and careless eyes, 
 For nature's steadfast sympathies. 
 
 This last stanza, containing the germ of this social seclusion 
 which was not exclusion, Miss Berry repeated with especial 
 emphasis. She had a vast fund of romance in the bottom of 
 her good heart, and lived as much on poetry as any one can 
 who leads a life of active usefulness, or rather more, perhaps, 
 than any one can who does not lead a useful life. Those have 
 the best right to the poetry of life who fulfil all its uses. The 
 " calm, high, spheric tune" is heard only by the ear of labor. 
 Miss Berry's dark, piercing eyes always saw more than other 
 people's, because there was nothing human that did not interest 
 her, so that she had no seasons of vacuity none of those faint- 
 ings of egotism which we call low spirits. A benevolence that 
 knew no pause forbade stagnation, and the health of mind 
 which attended it brought health of body too. She was a 
 spirit of pure life wherever she appeared ; her very beauty was 
 inspiring. 
 
 Beauty ! had she then beauty ? Could the possessor of such 
 a soul be without it ? 
 
 The essence of all Beauty I call Love. 
 The attribute, the evidence, and end, 
 The consummation, to the inward sense, 
 Of Beauty apprehended from without, 
 1 still call Love. As form, when colorless, 
 Is nothing to the eye that pine tree there, 
 Without its black and green, being all a blank 
 So, without Love, is Beauty undiscerned 
 In man or angeL
 
 54 AUTUMN HOU-RS. 
 
 This beauty Miss Berry possessed in perfection, and it dif 
 fused itself like a rosy sunset hue wherever she lived and moved. 
 
 " They will expect you to write a book, Miss Berry," said 
 Mrs. Whipple, continuing the suggestion of what was the 
 thought at Lavington. 
 
 This alluded to a malicious report of some enemy of Miss 
 Berry's, that she had written books not generally believed, 
 however ; she was too pleasant and natural to fill out the pop 
 ular notion of an authoress. 
 
 She blushed, and asked what material could be found under 
 such circumstances. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know I dare say you can find some. What 
 do you think of describing ourselves and our doings ?" 
 
 " I protest against that," said Miss Ingoldsby. " I am so 
 idle and good-for-nothing, that I decline being put into print. 
 I propose rather that Miss Berry should devise a book on 
 morals and manners, culled from the substance of our sage con 
 versations. We are very wise, here ; and entertain virtuous 
 and highly commendable sentiments at small cost, since our 
 temptations are few. Suppose we give the world the advantage 
 of these by the aid of our friend's pen." 
 
 Miss Berry would not own that she possessed any power of 
 the kind described. 
 
 " It appears to me," she said, " that our book should be a 
 joint-stock affair, each member contributing something." 
 
 Of course, each person vehemently protested that he or she 
 was entirely unable to contribute any thing to such an under 
 taking, and the subject was dropped. 
 
 The world has lost much by this impression that to write 
 down one's thoughts for the sympathy, encouragement, or
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 55 
 
 instruction of others is a peculiar craft. But, in truth, the 
 lines of Wordsworth on a kindred theme might be applied to 
 those to whom the name of author is a bugbear : 
 
 Or haply by a temper too severe, 
 
 Or a nice backwardness, afraid of shame ; 
 
 Nor having e'er, as life advanced, been led 
 
 By circumstance to take unto Vie height 
 
 The measure of themselves, these favored beings, 
 
 All but a scattered, few live out their time 
 
 Husbanding that which they possess within, 
 
 And go to the grave unthougM of. Strongest minds 
 
 Are often those of whom the noisy world 
 
 Hears least. 
 
 The spontaneous effusion of thought would roll back at least a 
 part of the great tide of mere imitative or mechanical writing, 
 that threatens to overwhelm the public mind and patience. If 
 each one endowed by nature as the poet supposes, gave forth 
 that which he had an impulse to utter, and nothing else, we 
 should have more authors and fewer volumes ; the choicest 
 essence of every man's experience, and the most delicate aroma 
 of every fancy's flowering. Treasures are even now lying lost 
 in private letters, which would suffice for the germ of many a 
 work with which the press and the people groan. Pearls lie 
 ungathered in many a conversation, that would put to shame 
 the elaborate artificial gems that glitter in ostentatious efforts 
 at style and effect. As many people are wiser than they 
 know, as there are those not so wise as they think ; as many 
 need a fillip to their vanity, as there are that would be the bet 
 ter for an extinguisher on their conceit. The standard of 
 writing would be instantly raised, if the stores of wit and wis 
 dom, lovj and power, that warm life creates in the depths of
 
 56 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 many a dull-seeming mind, were conscientiously devoted to the 
 general good considered common property, of which the indi 
 vidual possessor is only one of the stewards. What are rubies, 
 so long as they are not brought out into the sun that formed 
 them ? They belong to the day, and fulfil their destiny when, 
 set in gold, they contribute to the world's beauty, or pass from 
 hand to hand as agents in the world's affairs. If it be culpable 
 to hoard our worldly goods when we see our brother have need, 
 it is worse to keep back our good thoughts far more needed 
 than food or raiment. " Man shall not live by bread alone." 
 
 See with what simplicity even Poetry is content to teach the 
 humblest truths : 
 
 Distempered nerves 
 
 Infect the thoughts ; the languor of the frame 
 Depresses the soul's vigor. Quit your couch 
 Cleave not so fondly to your moody cell ; 
 Nor let the hallowed powers that shed from Heaven 
 Stillness and rest, with disapproving eye 
 Look down upon your taper, through a watch 
 Of midnight hours unseasonably twinkling. 
 Take courage and withdraw yourself from ways 
 That run not parallel to Nature's course. 
 Rise with the lark ! your matins shall obtain 
 Grace, be their composition what it may, 
 If but with hers performed. 
 
 One might suppose such a homily taken from Armstrong's 
 Art of Health, but it is Wordsworth who condescends to lec 
 ture on early rising. Why are homely themes considered incon 
 sistent with great ones or the low with the high ? Why not 
 learn from Nature how common things borrow dignity from the 
 medium through which they pass ? If it were not for a petty 
 notion as to the graceful and the worthy, many a fresh thought
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 5f 
 
 would fall like dew ou the world's parched heart, instead of ex 
 haling in mere " peculiarity " is not that the word for those 
 who wish to be true to the inward promptings ? or dropping in 
 tears, through despair of sympathy or fellowship. 
 
 The sincere horror which many people feel at the name of 
 authorship is a mere delusion ; for who is shocked at being the 
 author of a long letter a veritable piece of composition ; of a 
 conservatory, an exhibition of taste ; or of a great blotchy 
 looking piece of worsted-work, a proof of misapplied perseve 
 rance ; or a new fashion, an attempt at invention ? But a 
 book ! Ah ! that is the bugbear. But if a book were simply 
 an ebullition a manifestation an expression of sentiment a 
 token of the within why should pride or diffidence have any 
 thing to do with it ? 
 
 Is a person supposed to be invariably proud of the book he 
 writes ? How often is it an engine of the keenest mortification, 
 from its failure to express his thought 1 Instead of being sus 
 pected of pride or vanity, the author deserves credit for humility, 
 when he throws himself before the world, saying " Here is my 
 thought do you like it ? I hope you do I To me it seems to 
 have a true life, and I sow it in hope that it may spring up and 
 bear fruit in other hearts." 
 
 If we were contented with things as they are if no pictures 
 of the possible ever colored the shifting surface of our thoughts 
 if the actual world were beautiful enough, and our actual lot in 
 it happy enough, to satisfy the longings of the divine within 
 us it would be less wonderful that we should feel no impulse 
 towards bringing our inner and higher selves into communica 
 tion with the secret hearts of those about us. People walking 
 at leisure over a flowery plain, with no fixed object in view, no
 
 58 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 difficulties to surmount, no advice to ask, no aid to give, might 
 naturally enough stray about in silence, caring little for each 
 other for want of a common object. But ascending a rugged 
 steep v beset with snares and pitfalls, and cheered by few pas 
 sages of beauty leading none the less to all that the imagina 
 tion and the heart were created to covet can we plod on, 
 with no need of sympathy, no interest in the success or failure 
 of others, no desire to make our hard-earned knowledge of 
 parts of the way useful to the toiling ? Especially when we 
 find flowers and fruit, is it generous not to tell ? 
 
 One good result of shaping and fixing our thoughts in words, 
 is the greater power and prominence given to the Ideal by thus 
 endowing it with a body something less spiritual than its own. 
 Its influence for good for refreshment for consolation; is 
 greater, both for ourselves and others, when we have caught 
 and held it while it can be examined and applied. We call its 
 effects illusion, sometimes ; are they not rather truth, and the 
 common and vulgar in which we are content to live the illu 
 sions ? 
 
 We are shy of confessing our Ideal ; the world's formalities 
 and pretended realities govern us with so deadly a power. 
 Heartless ridicule is the sharpest of swords to a sensitive mind. 
 Not all the consciousness of truth and worth that earnest sincer 
 ity of purpose inspires, can fully shield us from the fear of this ; 
 and many a thought is crushed into silence by despair of sympa 
 thy. In this view, authorship may indeed be deemed a craft or 
 mystery by itself, since it requires elements not found in every 
 character ; there is sensitiveness, yet it does, not suffice to 
 deter ; and seeming despair, yet, with a secret talismanic" drop 
 of hope at the core hope that amid the scorn of the many will
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 59 
 
 yet be found that precious elixir the sympathy of the few. 
 Without this, no one could write, even though he " understood 
 all mysteries." 
 
 There is no phantom that we chase more hopelessly than 
 Leisure. If it does not come to us, we need never give our 
 selves the trouble of pursuing it. If it be for us, we can find it 
 in town ; if not, we shall be as far from it in the country. We 
 carry ourselves and our habits with us wherever we go, and cir 
 cumstances, though important, have less to do with the disposi 
 tion of our time than we suppose. We never quite leave home 
 behind, or we should more easily be content with new scenes 
 and people. Every day of our refugees brought its full employ 
 ment with it ; each morning had its plan offspring mostly of 
 the doings of the day before. Every body wondered that there 
 was so little time for anything ! "I have not accomplished a 
 bit more here than I should have done at home !" murmured 
 Miss Grove, plaintively, over her worsted-work. 
 
 Rural amusements are particularly thievish of time, from the 
 fatigue they occasion. There is a sweet weariness after a day 
 in the fresh air, that leaves us fit for nothing but talking or 
 dreaming. This idle fallow state of mind and body is good for 
 both, let severe utilitarians say what they will. 
 
 " I feel positively ashamed," would Miss Ingoldsby excla'.m, 
 of my idleness. Not a single thing of any value have I done 
 since we came here. I brought books, they are almost un 
 opened ; work, I have hardly even thought of it. This will 
 never do ! See what an amount of spinning our hostess and
 
 60 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 her daughters have finished ! That huge pile of rolls in the 
 upper chamber is diminished more than half, andj;he basket of 
 skeins has grown proportionably. And this, besides all the 
 baking and butter-making for us for we eat as if we earned 
 our appetites !" 
 
 " I'm sure I earn mine," said her father ; " don't you call 
 rowing over to the island, yesterday, something ?" 
 
 " Why, father, you did not touch an oar !" said Miss Ingolds- 
 by, laughing. 
 
 " No, indeed ! it was quite enough to broil so far in the sun. 
 I shall not make many such expeditions with you. If you are 
 so fond of the island, why not encamp there ? there is plenty of 
 shelter ; those old huts are good enough for a party of romantic 
 ladies and gentlemen." 
 
 " ! that would be so nice 1" said all the young ladies at 
 once, and the thing was carried by acclamation. 
 
 " But beds !" said Mrs. Marston. 
 
 " 0, you might come back in the evening. To go over in the 
 morning, with provisions for the day, might do very well ; but 
 these broils for pretended fishings, I can't encourage. You might 
 give Elinor one of the caves on the north side for a House 
 of Industry, to which those who brought consciences with them 
 into the country could retire for certain portions of the day, 
 while we hardened ones, who came on purpose to be idle, could 
 find amusement for ourselves." 
 
 " And take naps undisturbed," said Miss Ingoldsby, slyly. 
 
 " Naps, indeed ! One can never meditate without being sus 
 pected of napping ! But really, I have reason to think our 
 hosts would be glad to have a little breathing time ; Mrs. Tor- 
 bet hints something about wanting to ' clean up ;' you know this
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 61 
 
 is her first experience of a constant house-full. She has hitherto 
 had only an occasional lodger or two an artist or a city fisher 
 man for short periods ; and as she received us at some sacrifice 
 to her orderly habits, I think it would be but kind to absent 
 ourselves as much as possible for a few days." 
 
 The idea took, amazingly ; the younger members of the party 
 thought it would be nice to sleep over there, too, but this 
 was vetoed. A few boat-loads of conveniences furnished the 
 two fishermen's huts quite satisfactorily to the zealous pick-nick 
 ers, and the vicinity of the island to the shore made supplies by 
 no means difficult. There was a perceptible brightening of eyes 
 and reddening of cheeks when the preparations were begun. 
 Such flying up and down stairs ! Such breathless consultations, 
 such wise housewifely expedients ! Time flew faster than ever, 
 and such sharp appetites were earned, that Mr. Ingoldsby ob 
 served he feared it would prove but a poor speculation for Mrs. 
 Torbet, after all. 
 
 THE ISLAND. 
 
 The first day was spent mostly in making arrangements and 
 saying how pleasant it was ; on the second, Miss Ingoldsby 
 established her House of Industry, and invited all well-disposed 
 persons to give it their countenance during certain warm hours 
 of the day. It was a sort of cavern, looking out upon the sea ; 
 rather broad than deep, but well fringed with shrubs and vines, 
 and easily eked out, as to shade, by the aid of a gay calico cur 
 tain of Mrs. Torbet's. There was a cool spring near, over 
 which it was proposed Mrs. Egeria should preside ; but this was 
 soon found to have the effect of depriving the commonwealth of
 
 62 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 the services of her Numa, instead of only fitting him for public 
 duty. Miss Berry discovered new exploring ground for her 
 favorite pursuit, and could not find much leisure for qivct home 
 industry ; but Mr. Berry, Mrs. Marston and Mrs. Whipple were 
 constant attendants at the House of Industry, while the circle 
 was fitfully enlarged by the rest, as rambling, fishing, boating, 
 or picking the small fruits that grew plentifully about the rocks, 
 gave them leisure, or made them desire repose. Mr Ingoldsby 
 felt it his duty to pay some attention to the preparations for 
 dinner, so that he lingered a good deal about the huts, where 
 that mundane affair was transacted. George Marston, being at 
 an age when the mere exertion of the muscles is pleasure, per 
 formed no small amount of rowing, and sometimes persuaded 
 Mr. Aldis to help him ; but that gentleman found the exercise 
 bad for his hands, his nerves, and his scrupulous delicacy of cos 
 tume. He preferred attending his sister and Miss Grove, who 
 frequently became so to speak a little weary of the grave 
 pursuits of the House of Industry, and planted themselves in a 
 narrow woody dell hard by, where they devotedly worked cush 
 ions, knit tidies, or braided slippers, while Mr. Aldis read poetry 
 to them, original and selected. 
 
 It is strange what a home feeling springs up under such cir 
 cumstances ; how a thousand pleasant domestic habits grow into 
 the day's doings, supplying the place of novelty, incident and 
 enterprise. Nature is ever ready to hint to us where to find the 
 sweetest and most constant pleasures, as soon as we can' be per 
 suaded to lay from our weary shoulders the burden of conven 
 tion. This living on the island and being driven to a multitude 
 of expedients and inventions to supply deficiencies, gave more 
 pleasure to all, than the most elaborate provision of comforts
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 63 
 
 could have done, that left uo room for personal exertion and 
 ingenuity. The ladies declared they were living their baby- 
 house days over again, playing dinner-and-tea-company ; 
 making one movable do the work of a dozen ; and the rudest 
 fragment seem an article of furniture or decoration, all by the 
 magic of imagination. 
 It was 
 
 Broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show 
 
 in the true spirit of the poet. Fancy, with the reins on her 
 neck, playing the pleasantest antics imaginable, and nobody to 
 point the reasonable finger, and bring on a feeling of silliness 
 and shame at the thought of being so easily amused. 
 
 This came, however ; for there was one day a most unex 
 pected and only half-welcome irruption from Lavington a 
 party who, being on a summer tour, had concluded, Apropos 
 to nothing to make a visit to their rusticating friends, and see 
 how they and solitude were agreeing. There was Miss In- 
 goldsby arranging a bouquet of wild flowers for the dinner 
 table, in a vase which had very much the look of a superannu 
 ated pitcher ; Mrs. Whipple preparing grasses for preservation 
 with fingers none of the cleanest ; Mrs. Marston helping the 
 tidy little maid of Mrs. Torbet to shell a great basket of fresh 
 peas ; all the young people scouring the rocks, and suffering all 
 sorts of disfigurements among the briers, in search of fruit for 
 the dessert ; Miss Berry ever so far out in the water, dripping 
 like a ncreid, and her brother watching her from the beach with 
 some anxiety, under shelter of an enormous -umbrella. Mr. 
 Ingoldsby alone retained some pretension to gentility, for he sat 
 on the shady side of the hut in which his daughter was flitting
 
 64 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 about, his handkerchief on his head, occasionally looking in at 
 the little window, of what was facetiously termed the saloon, 
 making remarks upon passing affairs in a dolce far nientt sort of 
 way, now exclaiming at Miss Berry's occupation, now wondering 
 when the young folks would return, now asking some fatherly 
 question about the dinner arrangements, which were ordinarily 
 not a little modified, perhaps benefited, by the care he had 
 learned to feel about such things, as he said, during a long 
 period of widowhood. 
 
 Upon our party, thus primitively and carelessly disposed, 
 down came a whole carriage-load of gay, idle, fashionable tra 
 vellers, full of questions and wonders, and not a little inclined 
 to quiz the simplicity which could enjoy a rusticity so absolute. 
 And we dare not aver that the philosophy of our friends was 
 wholly unruffled, when the new-comers examined into their daily 
 occupations and amusements, and could not hide their surprise 
 that that was all ! " Is it possible you can prefer this to a good 
 hotel ?" 
 
 Happy he who cannot be tempted to try his happiness by 
 another's standard ! 
 
 The younger members came in, like the Miss Flamboroughs, 
 " all blowsed and red with walking," and wanted to run away, 
 but there was no hiding-place but the other hut, with its cook 
 ing-stove and seething dinner. So they were obliged to show 
 their fragmentary selves, with whom the briers had made sad 
 havoc. Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon presented a tolerably decent 
 figure, for they had been reading in some cunning arbor in the 
 woods, not so far off but they could hear the fresh and high- 
 pitched voices of the visitors, and now descended, cool as possi 
 ble, to assist in doing the honors. Mr. Ingoldsby's great
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 65 
 
 solicitude was about the dinner ; but the housewifely thought 
 of Mrs. Torbet had foreseen the difficulty, and she was already 
 packing into the boat sundry good things which her time of res 
 pite had enabled her to prepare. So there was no lack, either 
 of eatables or appetite ; and the feast, though spread when the 
 sun had not long passed the meridian, was full of relish and 
 hilarity, all little embarrassments forgotten. 
 
 Every body who felt at home was now anxious to do the 
 honors, for the guests' enjoyment of the rural dinner had some 
 what modified the distrust with which they were first received. 
 Each point of view, every lovely woody dell, all the seaward 
 caves, were visited in turn, for the bounds were narrow, and 
 seemed still smaller when exhibited for admiration. 
 
 " I don't know how it is that we are so happy here," said 
 Miss Ingoldsby, apologetically, " unless it is that mankind has, 
 after all, a good deal of taste left for savagery. I confess this 
 place would lose great part of its charm for me if it were 
 habitually occupied by parties of pleasure. I love its freshness, 
 its rudeness, the mark of nature's fingers every where. I would 
 not have it ' improved ' for the world. 
 
 I love 
 
 A savage place, as holy and enchanted 
 
 As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted " 
 
 " You are quite poetical, I declare I" said one of the ladies. 
 
 "We came here on purpose," Mr. Berry replied ; "and Miss 
 Ingoldsby is trying hard not to be ashamed of it while you are 
 here." 
 
 " 0, it must be perfectly delightful," said the lady, suppress 
 ing a yawn. " I quite envy you 1" 
 
 Mrs. "Whipple was voluble in praise of the whole affair, for
 
 66 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 she had no idea of letting any one suppose she was tired of it. 
 She had never been so happy in her life, she said. 
 " Miss Ingoldsby is trying to win Milton's praise 
 
 Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth 
 Wisely hast shunned the Broad way 
 
 said Mr. Bradhurst, one of the newly arrived, thinking of the 
 crowded thoroughfare he was most familiar with. " And she 
 has shown her usual taste. But who is the lady in the water ?" 
 Mr. Berry said, laughing "Since it is the fashion to quote 
 Milton, 
 
 Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; 
 Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine. 
 She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit 
 Of her enraged step-dame, Guendolen, 
 Commended her fair innocence to the flood, 
 That stay'd her flight with his cross-flowing course. 
 The water-nymphs, that in the bottom stay'd, 
 Held up their pearled wrists and took her in, 
 Bearing her straight to aged Nereus' hall, 
 Who, piteous of her woes, rear'd her lank head 
 
 but whether he gave her that great straw hat I cannot say. 
 By mere mundane reckoning she is my sister, bewitched by 
 alga, but otherwise a woman of some sense and discretion." 
 " Miss Berry ! is it possible ? how she is transformed !" 
 And indeed she made a strange figure, wading painfully 
 towards the shore, not seeing the strangers at all her costume 
 a decided " Bloomer." All her party felt somewhat ashamed 
 of her, though ashamed of themselves for feeling so. 
 
 " She pursues beauty after her own fashion," said her bro 
 ther
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 6t 
 
 To her the meanest film that floats can bring 
 Thoughts that do almost lie too deep for sneers 
 
 Pardon me I was led on by stress of parody. As to my sis 
 ter's passion for those slimy pets of hers, I may characterize it 
 in the words of another, if you will allow a little license : 
 
 Her sanity of reason not impaired, 
 
 (whatever you may think from present appearances,) 
 
 Say rather, all her thoughts now flowing clear 
 From a clear fountain flowing, she looks round 
 And seeks for weeds, and flnds the weeds she seeks, 
 Until abhorrence and contempt are things 
 She only knows by name ; and, if she hear 
 From other mouths the language which they speak, 
 She is compassionate, and has no thought, 
 No feeling, that can overcome her love.' 1 
 
 Miss Berry had by this time reached the shore, and perceived 
 herself to be the observed of all observers. The great straw 
 hat could not conceal her blushes, but she soon found her selt- 
 possession, and stood quietly while the little maid wrung the 
 water from her skirts. 
 
 " You see how hard we work for amusement," she said. 
 
 " Why don't you confess the truth," said her brother, laugh 
 ing, " that we came here on purpose that we might be foolish 
 without being ridiculous ? All winter long the town compels a 
 pretence of wisdom, or its counterfeit, gravity ; and if we go 
 into the fashionable country, the necessity continues. Here we 
 have leave to air our nonsense and cultivate our whims." 
 
 "There must be plenty of time to live the 'inner life 'here," 
 said a gentleman of the new-comers, " if abstraction from earthly 
 things be essential to that "
 
 68 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " We are not so much abstracted as you might suppose," Mr. 
 Berry replied ; " we are getting acquainted with common things 
 we are looking down into the machinery of life drawing 
 sage conclusions as to the working of that machinery studying 
 humanity in the abstract, as it were." 
 
 " Precious little humanity you can see here, I should think 1" 
 said Mr. Bradhurst. 
 
 " What we do see is genuine ; and besides, we see a good deal 
 that is not here. You do not know the advantage that we 
 have for studying you all at a distance ; how philosophically we 
 scan your motions and spy out the secret of your pursuits. The 
 wise sayings we have uttered on human life and action and the 
 emptiness of worldly pursuits, would fill a respectable volume." 
 
 " I wish you would write them down, that we may quote 
 them to you next winter, when you are as deeply immersed as 
 ourselves all the more deeply for the self-complacency you are 
 gathering now, which will leave you more vulnerable than ever. 
 We'd ' bring your proverbs to confute your life.'" 
 
 " Like the rest of the world, we shall be so content with the 
 wise things we have said, that we can easily console ourselves 
 for the inconsistency of our doings. Besides, we have only to 
 adopt the popular philosophy, which teaches that our actions 
 are of small moment provided our sentiments be noble." 
 
 " On that plan," said Mr. Bradhurst, "I do not see but you 
 may lay up a large amount of virtue here, and have the privi 
 lege of drawing from your stock for a long time after. At any 
 rate, I hope you will write the book. I should be delighted to 
 see your sifting of these conventional ideas, to which we are all 
 so enslaved. One must have studied life from various stand 
 points, to do the thing well."
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 69 
 
 " We have something of the kind in contemplation," said 
 Miss Ingoldsby, " though whether it will be as wise a book as 
 you propose is not yet settled." 
 
 " Let it be a picture of fashionable life, by all means," said 
 Mr. Bradhurst, " with grave saws on the danger of wealth, and 
 recommendations to rural life and simplicity. Be sure you end 
 by making your heroine become a member of several charitable 
 societies." 
 
 " If I do, I shall make her say very wise things on the ad 
 vantages of combined effort " 
 
 " I dare say ! Ladies are never at a loss for ingenious reasons 
 to justify what they choose to do." 
 
 " Be sure,'- said Mr. Ingoldsby, " to let her grow so indiffer 
 ent to the things of this life as never to know what's for dinner 
 until she sees it on the table." 
 
 " Ah, papa," said Elinor, " that is a stroke at my poor 
 housekeeping." 
 
 " All literary ladies are alike," said her father, " and the 
 heroines they draw are like themselves, not very practical I" 
 
 " I wish you would write a novel, father," said Miss Ingolds 
 by ; "I should like to see your ideal women !" 
 
 " It would be a family portrait, I suspect," said Mr. Brad- 
 hurst, archly. 
 
 This visit was not entirely without results, for the random 
 talk it brought suggested some things to the minds of our 
 sojourners, and modified and systematized their employments a 
 little. What we say in joke is often half earnest ; and, while it 
 is allowed that this little truth accounts for a good deal of the
 
 70 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 iil-will that is in the world, it must also be conceded that good 
 ideas are sometimes suggested in joke, that would never have 
 been broached seriously. Mr. Bradhurst's hint of a book con 
 taining such views of fashionable life as would be likely to pre 
 sent themselves to a ruralizing party, who could be cheaply 
 wise while looking at the world from a distance, did not slide off 
 at once amid the other badinage of the hour. Several of the 
 party mused upon it, and felt that the Island, with its exciting 
 yet quiet life, and perfect abandon, ("wars ust the place for writ 
 ing, since it so much favored reflection and remark. 
 
 " If solitude thy steps hath ever led 
 To the wild ocean's echoing shore, 
 
 And thou hast lingered there 
 
 Until *he sun's broad orb 
 Seemed resting on the burnished wave, 
 
 Thou must have marked the line 
 Of purple gold that motionless 
 
 llung o'er the sinking sphere. 
 
 Miss Ingoldsby repeated these lines in a soft, musing voice, as 
 she looked from the beach that evening, after the guests had 
 departed, while the whole atmosphere was aglow with those 
 delicious sunset hues that seem like heaven let down upon a 
 peaceful, happy earth. Purple was the tint most felt, a purple 
 that gave the poet's " hyacinthine flow" to the dark locks of 
 the speaker ; but the fires had not all faded, for a light as of 
 ruddy gold was on her cheek, and on her whole figure, as she 
 stood, her light scarf fluttering in the rising wind of sunset. 
 
 " Unhappily for your quotation/' said Mrs. Marston, " you 
 cannot see the sun from here. 
 
 " How literal you are, Mrs. Marston ! I saw the sun when
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 71 
 
 I repeated the verses. Are one's bodily eyes all ? When a 
 poet suggests a picture, I do not care to compare items." 
 
 " Imagination makes the best clairvoyants," said Mr. Berry. 
 " Miss Ingoldsby is an excellent sleep-waker. A ' world beyond 
 the visual scope' is always open to her, while we, poor 
 outsiders, are straining our eyes and wits after the actual." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Berry, though I do not quite know 
 whether you are in jest or earnest. The impressions left on my 
 mind by beauty of any kind, are not, I am conscious, as denned 
 and accurate as they should be, and I have an instinctive fear 
 of examining and attempting to regulate them, lest they evapo 
 rate in the process." 
 
 " I was not jesting you are quite right why should you 
 analyze ? Leave that to the critics. Let them pick cater 
 while you enjoy. It is not every thing that will bear pulling to 
 pieces ; a cobweb is annihilated in the process, yet a cobweb, all 
 rainbowed over with sun and dew, is very beautiful. If one 
 should attempt to demonstrate the beauty of one of those 
 changeable silks that you ladies are so fond of, by drawing out 
 the threads to show how the effect is produced, what would be 
 come of the lustre and harmony ? There is no very close anal 
 ogy between the aspect of earth and sky at this hour and the 
 beauty of the human countenance ; yet I never see a rich even 
 ing, like this, close in after a brilliant day, without thinking of 
 the contrast between a laughing blonde and the dark splendor 
 of southern beauty, which seems to have absorbed the sunshine 
 that the other reflects." 
 
 " A scene like this," pursued Miss Ingoldsby, " excites emo 
 tion, and such emotion is so much better expressed in poetry 
 than in prose, that I am content to seize on the first lines which
 
 72 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 come naturally to my thoughts, even though to another they 
 may seem hardly descriptive." 
 
 " Their presenting themselves is proof that they are descrip 
 tive," said Mr. Berry. " The poet thought little of items. 
 One who knows, tells us how such things are prompted : 
 
 His spirit drank 
 
 The spectacle ' sensation, soul and form, 
 All melted into him: they swallowed up 
 His animal being; in them he did live, 
 And by them he did live ; they were his life. 
 In such access of inind, in such high hour 
 Of visitation from the living God, 
 Thought was not : in enjoyment it expired. 
 
 Why not use them in an equally liberal spirit ?" 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Berry," said Mrs. Marston, " your armory is so 
 well furnished with poetical reasons for whatever you choose to 
 support, that it is vain to contend with you. We must try to 
 see the sun where he is not, when you and Miss Ingoldsby will 
 it so." 
 
 " You will lose nothing by at least feeling him where he is 
 not," said Mr. Berry. " What a delicious haze is about us 
 now ! It is as if the air were filled with powdered gold." 
 
 " Yes like the Dantzic brandy that John Gray gave us one 
 day," said Henry Marston, who had been amusing himself by 
 switching up little wreaths of dry sea-weed, with a cane, which 
 habitually furnished a large part of his occupation when he was 
 not fishing. " I never in my life saw any thing so beautiful as 
 that brandy ! It was full of little bits of gold leaf, that moved 
 about as if they were alive." 
 
 Every body laughed at this odd association of sunset with a 
 rich liqueur, but it was not, after all, a very unnatural one.
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 73 
 
 Deliciousness of any kind is akin to deliciousness of every kind. 
 Perhaps each one of the company had, at the moment, in the 
 secret recesses of thought, some association with the scene, 
 which, if told, would have seemed hardly more directly connect 
 ed with it than Henry Marston's. But the boy, careless of 
 reputation and accustomed to sympathy, blurted out his rough 
 thought, while men and women, long subjected to the social 
 world, hid theirs, instinctively. 
 
 A pause ensued for convention, which forces us to be silent, 
 can hardly force us to talk, when the soul has flown off, with 
 wings just snatched from memory, to regions whither no common 
 companions can follow. The air was darkening, and that chill 
 coming which seems all the chillier for the glow of the past 
 hour. The far-off line where heaven and ocean leaned one 
 against the other was nearly lost in the blending color of the 
 two, and a silver gleam danced over the black waves in the 
 middle distance. Enough of sunset tone, however, lingered in 
 the air, to prolong the enchantment of the scene ; and the stars 
 flashed out, at first one by one, afterwards in quicker succession, 
 and then in troops, as if there was a festival in heaven, the out 
 ward signs of which were vouchsafed to mortal eyes. 
 
 " Do you know why the planet Yenus is so beautiful to us ?" 
 said Mr. Aldis, who was generally suspected of studying earthly 
 stars with much more devotion than heavenly ones. 
 
 Most of the party took the question for a conundrum, and 
 sundry desperate and some gallant guesses were hazarded. 
 
 " Oh no but really there is a reason. It is because she is 
 so ugly on a nearer view." 
 
 " Pray who has seen her nearer ?" said Mrs. Marston, always 
 disposed to be literal.
 
 74 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " Astronomy, ma'am," said Mr. Aldis, meekly. " It is under 
 stood seen, indeed, as well as if one were poised on the point 
 of one of our moon's horns, with a boundless privilege of exam 
 ination, that Venus is a mass of barren and cloud-capped 
 mountains, which reflect every ray of the sun. A soft, green, 
 arable surface would make a shabby evening star for us." 
 
 " Vive la laideur /" said Miss Ingoldsby. 
 
 "It is positively the only instance I ever knew in which ugli 
 ness was an advantage," said the gallant Aldis, with a look of 
 general application, meant to include all the ladies. He had 
 been in the habit of communicating this tid-bit of astronomic 
 information to his female friends, with an express reference to 
 the nice things it gave him occasion to say. 
 
 " You cannot deny that beauty is sometimes a disadvantage," 
 eaid Mrs. Marston. 
 
 " Oh, my dear madam," said Mr. Aldis, discomfitted at being 
 thus pushed from the pinnacle whence he meant to have dis 
 pensed a shower of pretty compliments, " what a sentiment ! 
 Beauty a disadvantage 1" 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Marston, in her quiet way, " unless 
 coquetry is commendable. Beauty certainly makes a great 
 many coquettes." 
 
 " Do you think so 1" exclaimed Miss Berry ; " I must say I 
 have fancied that security of pleasing preserved some pretty 
 women from those unhandsome efforts to attract interest which 
 constitute coquetry. Certainly some of the plainest women I 
 have known have been among the vainest." 
 
 " Unless we believe beauty to be the result of mere accident," 
 observed Mr. Berry, " we have a right to expect good qualities 
 where we find it, though Nature's fitnesses may in all cases be
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 75 
 
 marred, in a great degree, by untoward circumstances. I intu 
 itively look for goodness where I see beauty." 
 
 " That is rather a hard doctrine for us plain people," said 
 Mrs. Whipple. 
 
 " I hardly know any plain people," replied Mr. Berry, not 
 taking the bait ; " for the darkest complexion, the most oblique 
 nose, the worst marking with small-pox, does not make a face 
 ugly for me. I can discern the original beauty through all 
 those. It is only when the structure of the face is bad that I 
 find it absolutely devoid of beauty, and behind such faces I con 
 fess I never look for goodness, though culture and grace may 
 do much." 
 
 " I heard a painter say once," said Mrs. Whipple, " that he 
 had never been able to transfer to canvas the beauty he saw in 
 the plainest face, although to ordinary apprehension some of 
 these faces were ugly enough, and he was accused of ' flatter 
 ing' them." 
 
 " There must be some truth in the old proverb 
 Beauty lies 
 In lookers' eyes " 
 
 said Mr. Ingoldsby. 
 
 " So much," said Mr. Berry, " that I believe if a dozen 
 women, chosen indiscriminately, were passed in review before 
 twice as many men, every one of them would find an admirer 
 that is, one who would pronounce her handsomer than the rest." 
 
 "I see you are determined to console us, Mr. Berry," said 
 Mrs. Marston, laughing ; " you found your first observations 
 were getting you into trouble, and you are adroitly drawing off." 
 
 " On the contrary," he replied, " It is only want of space for 
 amplification that makes me seem to hold untenable opinions
 
 76 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 with regard to beauty. One does not want to seem a preacher, 
 under the light of an evening like this." 
 
 " Why not take your subject into our book ?" said Miss 
 Ingoldsby ; " there would be ample space for your ' opinions,' 
 odd as they may be." 
 
 " Agreed ! but we are all to help " 
 
 " Oh yes and then we can all put in our saws " 
 
 " Any thing but augers," said Mr. Ingoldsby. 
 
 Everybody laughed at this sally of the old gentleman, but as 
 the party returned home in the boat that evening, the book was 
 further discussed, and, in spite of modest disclaimers, fairly 
 planned and agreed upon. The rotation of authorship was to 
 be decided by lot ; each chapter to be read aloud in full con-, 
 clave, and accepted or rejected by candid vote, every body 
 promising not to be offended. Any amount of private consulta 
 tion was admissible, and no digression to be complained of; 
 the House of Industry to be given up for a certain number of 
 hours every morning to the writer of the day. 
 
 " We shall find Mrs. Shelton out, now," said Mr. Berry ; 
 " she cannot keep herself any longer so cunningly behind the 
 veil of silence." 
 
 The fair Egeria blushed, and said she feared she should make 
 a poor figure as a writer, but no one believed this, for she had 
 the air of one on whom nothing was lost ; one of those who 
 
 Fear 
 
 No petty customs or appearances, 
 Bnt think what others only dream about ; 
 And say what others dare but think ; and do 
 What others would but say ; and glory in 
 What others dared but do
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 77 
 
 As if she never school'd within her breast 
 One thought or feeling, but gave holiday 
 To all 
 
 And yet we must not let the poet betray us into giving an idea 
 that she was bold, or less than exquisitely feminine. The 
 world is so unused to candor in women, that it almost demands 
 disguise ; and to be true in speech, however gently, stamps a 
 woman an Amazon, in some apprehensions. Not so with our 
 friend Shelton, who loved this trait in Egeria, and met it well 
 by equal truthfulness, devoted as he was. This probably ac 
 counted for the fact that they were never tired of being 
 together, and talked but little with other people. They prom 
 ised to try a chapter between them, and Mr. Berry slyly advised 
 them to let it be one of their three-hour woodland talks. 
 
 That very evening the lots were drawn, and the first chapter 
 fell to the share of Mr. Berry, just as every body hoped it 
 would. 
 
 "Now don't be too hard upon us, Mr. Berry," said the 
 ladies ; " your first chapter will of course be the key of the 
 whole. Be merciful don't cut out too much work for us ! If 
 you plan a story, do not sketch out too many characters for us 
 to fill in ; if an essay, let it be a light one, not too learned " 
 
 " If I understand rightly," said the pioneer, " all we want is 
 some slight web, into which our various sentiments, called into 
 livelier life by this fostering shade and sunshine, may be woven, 
 for our delectation in after time, and in memory of our summer 
 sojourn. This is all, isn't it ? I am not sure but our circum 
 stances are better suited to thinking than to writing down our 
 thoughts. Cumberland said any beauty of outward objects 
 about his study distracted his attention and impoverished his
 
 78 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 fancy ; he loved best to write with a dead brick wall before 
 him." 
 
 " Oh the cave the House of Industry ! that is the very 
 place ! nothing but sky and ocean before you, and the vanish 
 ing line so far off that there seems no barrier between you and 
 the infinite. One's thoughts will come naturally and flow 
 smoothly there, untangled with conventions untinged with 
 prejudices. 0, we shall do great things, I foresee I" 
 
 So spake Miss Ingoldsby, the golden current of whose spirits 
 was already quickened by the new plan, and reflected a thou 
 sand pleasant, dancing fancies. She cheered on her kind bach 
 elor-friend to his work, and ushered him, in laughing state, to 
 the House of Industry, which she had new decked for the occa 
 sion, adding great branches of evergreen for more shade, and a 
 carpet, " lest the chill of the sand-floor should strike to the 
 writer's brain," she said. Over the little table was pinned a 
 scroll, on which figured this inscription, in antique character : 
 
 Here is a place 
 
 To meditate thy sylvan music in. 
 Doth not the work grow warmer with the hum 
 Of fervent bees, blithe murrnurers at their toil f 
 Here weary waif of life ! find happiness 
 Here make thy quletary ! O believe me, 
 Seclusion is the blesserlest estate 
 Life owns ! Would'^t be among the blest on earth, 
 Hie hither ! 
 
 " One would think you expected me to be very romantic," 
 said the debutant, " but if so you will be sadly disappointed ; 
 for those who are always borrowing poetry from other people 
 are sure to be hopelessly commonplace themselves. But run 
 away, all of you giglets and leave me to my dreams, such as 
 they may be."
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 79 
 
 The next evening but one in the old farm-parlor, after the 
 party had returned from the island, a solemn session was held 
 upon the first chapter of the new book, the reading of which 
 was intrusted to Miss Ingoldsby, as the blushful modesty of the 
 writer forbade his giving it voice himself. 
 
 " This I suppose is to be called the seedling chapter," said the 
 reader. 
 
 " Pray don't call it the preface 1 Prefaces are so dull 1" 
 exclaimed Miss Grove, and some of the others. 
 
 Mr. Berry waited very patiently till all had spoken, and then 
 said, " Any thing you like, but wait till it is accepted before 
 you name it." 
 
 Miss Ingoldsby began with the motto, from Spenser's Hymn 
 to Beauty, which we should love to quote entire, for its pith 
 and suggestiveness : 
 
 "How vainely then do ydle wits invent, 
 That beautie is nought else but mixture made 
 Of colours faire and goodly temp'rament 
 Of pure complexions that shall quickly fade 
 And passe away, like to a summer's shade ; 
 Or that it is but comely composition 
 Of parts well raeasur'd, with meet disposition I 
 
 * So, every spirit, as it is most pure, 
 And hath in it tbe more of heavenly light, 
 So it the fairer bodie doth procure 
 To habit in, and it more fairely dight 
 With chearfull grace and amiable sight; 
 For of the soule the bodie forme doth take ; 
 For soule is forme, and doth the bodie make." 
 
 " Monstrous long motto," said Mr. Ingoldsby. 
 
 " It contains the sense of the chapter," replied the author. 
 
 " Ah I that indeed I" said the old gentleman, dryly.
 
 80 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 "Three gentlemen were discussing as gentlemen sometimes 
 will the chances of happiness in matrimony, and the various 
 circumstances, cautions, errors and delusions, which influence or 
 affect those chances. 
 
 " Nothing would tempt me to marry a beauty," said one. 
 
 " Why not ?" inquired another. " If you had said that 
 nothing would tempt you to marry for beauty, I could have said 
 amen ; but surely beauty could be no objection." 
 
 " For my part," said the third, " although I would not marry 
 for beauty, I certainly would never marry without it." 
 
 Here were three friends, who agreed on most points, wholly 
 at variance on that important one, the choice of a wife. The 
 first who spoke had passed thirty, and began to look on 
 marriage as a terrible risk ; something on which a man must 
 beware of trusting his fancy ; a matter with which imagination 
 must have nothing to do. He thought married happiness, if 
 found at all, must be found mathematically each step tried 
 and proved, and the whole brought to irrefragable demonstra 
 tion. It was because this care was not taken, he said, that 
 there are so many unhappy matches in the world. 
 
 Beauty, therefore, as it proves nothing, he considered a 
 useless, or even a pernicious element in the calculation. " One 
 who wishes to steer by the compass dreads all distracting 
 forces. A man can judge more coolly of a woman's character 
 if there be no charms of face to warp his appreciation. Sweet 
 smiles may seem amiable ; a fair, smooth brow, gentle ; dimpled 
 cheeks, cheerful and good-humored. Time will spoil these 
 things, and then what remains ? It is better to build one's 
 hopes on solid foundations to love on rational principles.
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 81 
 
 How many evils would the adoption of this plan have pre 
 vented !" 
 
 Somebody once said, "the progress of science gives us reason 
 to hope that in time physicians will be able to ascertain and 
 cure the diseases of the human frame, with as much ease and 
 accuracy as the watchmaker discovers and regulates the aberra 
 tions of a time-piece." A comfortable prophecy, but unhappily 
 spoiled by a commentator, who remarks that when the progress 
 of science enables the watchmaker to mend a watch while it is 
 going, we may indeed hope to see the type realized in human 
 affairs. It is not difficult to apply this citation to the opinion 
 of our bachelor friend on matrimony. 
 
 The second speaker, still lingering in the fringes of the twen 
 ties, could not decide so philosophically as to the unimportance 
 of that which has, in a thousand ways and in all ages of the 
 world, vindicated its right to be considered as one of the great 
 moving forces of life. His own heart had told him that one 
 might as well reason against its pulsations, or attempt to force 
 back the blood which it sends rushing to the cheek at the very 
 sight of a beautiful face, as contemn the value or underrate the 
 power of personal loveliness. Thus sensible of its influence, he 
 was willing to assign beauty its due weight in that great 
 balance on which so much of life's hope depends, while he pru 
 dently decided that it ought not to bribe Fancy to turn the 
 scale. Wise young man 1 
 
 So young so wise they say do ne'er live long. 
 
 The third speaker had no air of rashness further than was 
 implied in the remark we have quoted. Not marry without 
 beauty ! He had seen almost thirty years, and as much of life,
 
 82 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 in a quiet way, as men generally see in that time ; and pos 
 sessed, among his friends, a reputation for unusual steadiness of 
 character. 
 
 " Why, Ellis," said the first speaker, " that is the last senti 
 ment I should have expected from you ! Is it possible you con 
 sider beauty a matter of such moment ?" 
 
 " How can I consider it otherwise ? I place it only where 
 Providence has placed it. Beauty is necessary to my happi 
 ness ; I was born to love it." 
 
 " Yes beauty in general not mere human beauty, how 
 ever." 
 
 " Mere human beauty ! What an expression ! Can one 
 see beauty in stars or flowers who does not see it a thousand 
 fold in the human countenance and figure ?" 
 
 "01 grant you a beautiful face is very charming, but we 
 were talking of marriage, which is a matter to be settled for 
 life. If beauty enter into the calculation, a man may be but 
 poorly off after it is gone, as it soon must be. Except as a sign 
 of the qualities which beauty ought to represent, I care little 
 for it in the choice of a wife, I mean." 
 
 " You grant me all I ask. It is as a sign that I consider it 
 essential, and lasting, too. True beauty cannot fade." 
 
 " Come, come you are wandering from the point leading us 
 off from the absurdity of your looking upon beauty as essential 
 in a wife, by transferring the assertion to the beauty which is 
 the result of inward excellence. On that kind we have no dis 
 pute with you." 
 
 " But you are mistaken if you suppose that my beauty is to 
 be merely symbolical. I insist on the outward graces of clear 
 complexion, bright eyes, harmonious features, and a graceful
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. g3 
 
 person. No hard-featured, angular, shrill-voiced angel would do 
 for me. Such must find mates in men like you, who scorn the 
 aid of imagination. I look upon a truly beautiful face as a sort 
 of transparency, made to glow and dazzle by the light behind 
 it. If the picture be opaque, some one else may peep and pry 
 after the lamp I cannot." 
 
 " It is plain to see that you do not believe in the goodness 
 of ugly girls." 
 
 " In their goodness, ys in their charminguess, no. If my 
 sister were very plain my affection for her would be none the 
 less, for in that case love began before criticism awoke. With 
 regard to any other woman it is different. There can be no 
 love without some degree of fascination, and with me there is no 
 fascination without beauty. " 
 
 " It is happy for women that all men are not of your mind. 
 As to myself, for instance, intellect is much more apt to en 
 danger my liberty than mere beauty." 
 
 " What intellect alone ! without feminine graces without 
 evidence of heart qualities ! Would you have your wife chop 
 logic with you think of convincing while you think of dining 
 talk blue to your visitors be on the watch for her rights 
 rather than her duties harden herself by theorizing and criti 
 cising ! Give me a woman to whom her husband and her 
 household are of the first importance, and who is able by her 
 
 sweet domestic graces, to console, to soften " Mr. Ellis 
 
 stopped, nearly out of breath with his own vehemence. 
 
 "Why, really," said his cooler friend, "I had no idea you 
 had studied this matter so deeply, or felt so warm an interest in 
 it. Has not your theory a practical basis is there not some
 
 g4 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 fair original of this fine picture ? or is your imagination the 
 
 sole artist ?" 
 
 Mr. Ellis blnshed a little, and did not reply directly. " My 
 notions," said he, " date from as far back as I have thought of 
 the subject at all. Woman seems to me to have a special office 
 in the world to be the chief harmonizer, consoler and beauti- 
 fier of human existence ; to be an angel of peace and mercy ; 
 to humble herself that she may be exalted, to obey that she 
 may rule ; endowed with a rare instinct of right, which fits her 
 for interposing between man's passions and his actions, to be an 
 impartial spectator and judge of the struggle of life, and a 
 guard against its worst temptations." 
 " And is beauty essential to all this ?" 
 " Certainly ; for she must first win man's heart, and get the 
 great power of imagination on her side. Without this, she can 
 be but as man to man. Her friendship with him, be it ever so 
 sincere and steady, will be subject to the dangers of dispute and 
 rivalry. Esteem there may be, but esteem does not exclude the 
 pride and self-reservation which so limit and chill ordinary 
 friendship." 
 
 " You would not have love without friendship ?" 
 " No but no sooner friendship without love." 
 " What do you think of this description of friendship ? I 
 am not sure but I may trace back some of my notions to it : 
 
 A flower which, fresh as Lapland roses are, 
 
 Lifts its bold head into the world's pure air, 
 
 And blooms most radiantly when others die 
 
 Health, hope and youth, and bright prosperity 
 
 And, with the light and odor of its bloom, 
 
 Shilling within the dungeon and the tomb * ,
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 5 
 
 " Think of it ? that it is love to be sure ! the more as the de 
 scription of the ' friend/ directly after, suits my idea of a wife 
 extremely well : 
 
 A lovely sonl, formed to be blessed and bless ; 
 A well of sealed aud sacred happiness ! 
 A lute, winch those whom love has taught to play, 
 Make music on, to cheer the roughest day. 
 
 I think I could be quite content with such friendship and such 
 a friend." 
 
 " But there is not a word about beauty !" 
 
 " That is presupposed. Don't you see that no mere mortal 
 could actually fulfil all these dreams, and that in order that they 
 may be enjoyed there must first be some illusion ? Illusion there 
 must be, and some find it in wealth, some in position, some in 
 accidental circumstances ; you, it seems, in intellect, which daz 
 zles and astonishes " 
 
 " There is no illusion about intellect." 
 
 " You might as well say there is no illusion about wealth 
 that a man who marries a rich wife for her money, gets all that 
 he expected. It is not so. Not supposing any decidedly mer 
 cenary motive, there is yet a charm about the appliances of 
 wealth which often makes young men sincerely think they are in 
 love, when in truth the same girl without money would never 
 attract them for a moment. So with your intellectual flame 
 the pleasure you find in her brilliancy leads you to fancy that 
 all is in unison with this charm. Now I hold that my illusion 
 is not only the most gracious but the most natural and safe, for 
 beauty is, after all, and even according to your chilly view, a 
 gymbol, which wealth is not, nor position, nor yet your idol, in 
 tellect."
 
 86 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " What did the poet mean by ' something than beauty dear 
 er ?' Is it not what we can all discern in the faces of those we 
 love r 
 
 " Certainly in the faces of those we already love. If my 
 beloved provided I had one were to lose her face by the 
 small-pox, I think I am sure I could love on, perhaps all the 
 more tenderly for a touch of pity. And so with the changes 
 wrought by time the original image would maintain its place, 
 and overpower, with its very shadow, all the creeping unseemli 
 ness and sad changes of years." 
 
 " It seems to me that pity may be an element of love ; and 
 if so, why not the pity which one feels for a very plain woman ?" 
 
 " I think pity a very unsafe foundation. If the cause be 
 lasting, one's life must be permanently the sadder ; if it be 
 temporary, there is danger that all charm may depart with it. 
 As to loving a plain woman through pity, it would certainly be 
 very generous, but rather dangerous ; unless one had thorough 
 ly tried the temper and durability of one's generosity before, for 
 such exalted states do not last. Besides, it would be very fool 
 ish in you to pick out, for your devotion, a woman who was 
 plain to you, since there might very likely be men to whom she 
 was not plain, and who would therefore have a more natural and 
 certain affinity with her." 
 
 " 0, then, your beauty is not altogether a thing of rule 
 something to be defined and inventoried, tested and decided 
 upon without appeal 1 You count affinity for something " 
 
 " For much, for it seems to be essential to that mysterious 
 thing which we call fascination, in these cases." 
 
 " If this affinity and this fascination are so. powerful, it is 
 strange there are so many unhappy marriages."
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. gf 
 
 " It is because men and women too set out with the idea 
 that fascination is just the thing they must resist ; that mar 
 riage, being a serious matter as it certainly is, and something 
 more terrible, even must be undertaken like the transfer of an 
 estate, with all the forms of law no poetry no trust no 
 glory no romance. They put the whole thing into the form 
 of a problem, and when all the ifs are answered properly, go on 
 in the comfortable conviction that they have acted wisely, when 
 in truth they have only been completing arrangements for pass 
 ing life in a sort of minor key the joy-chords renounced the 
 running bass of care and sorrow certain, while the heart-cheer 
 ing majors and soaring lark-trills which belong to love are out 
 of the question for ever." 
 
 " I do not see but you would banish prudence altogether " 
 
 ''Not at all but I would keep it in its place, which is 
 secondary, at best. I would have prudence do the work of pru 
 dence, not the work of love. When I marry if I ever do 
 marry you will probably think me very imprudent. I shall 
 not proceed scientifically. I shall be disposed to apply to that 
 subject what I remember reading on a different one ' Logical 
 processes cannot demonstrate every problem worthy of our faith. 
 The whole man must advance to the proof of a spiritual prob 
 lem, and he must test it by his totality of thought and feeling. 
 Then faith in a thing indemonstrable becomes a rational pro 
 longation of reason.' " 
 
 " You are more scientific than I, after all at least you 
 attempt to find a key which shall unlock all mysteries a 
 spiritual passe-partout. After all, I dare say we do not differ 
 essentially. You must remember that all I said at the begin 
 ning was that I would not marry a beauty. Now by a beauty
 
 88 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 I mean soi ething very different from a handsome woman. A 
 beauty is one whose outward loveliness is the most striking 
 thing about her the thing first thought of and mentioned 
 where she is spoken of her distinction, in short. It must 
 require an amount of excellence almost past hoping for, to bear 
 this without serious injury to the character. Such a woman is 
 subject to the insidious influence not only of direct and obvious 
 praise, against which we can imagine a rare specimen of the 
 sex to be on her guard, but of the continual and involuntary 
 flattery of every eye she meets a far subtler and more intoxi 
 cating incense, which must have intense operation, for good or 
 evil and who questions which ? on the habits of the mind. I 
 should fancy that in this, as in other cases, the more potent the 
 stimulus and the more fixed the habit, the more demoniac would 
 be the irritability which must result from its withdrawal. I 
 should be sorry to be the husband of a decaying beauty." 
 
 " You have but a poor opinion of the sex, evidently ; and you 
 do not believe as I do in the significance of beauty. Is it possi 
 ble you can call that face beautiful which has in it the expres 
 sion of a mean, narrow, egotistic soul ; a heart untouched by 
 generous affection a mind wholly occupied by trifles ?" 
 
 " No but a worshipper of beauty is liable to be so dazzled 
 by the magic of colors and lines, as not to perceive the real 
 character of the entire expression." 
 
 " I never saw a face in which character was not the first 
 thing that struck me. The human face is Heaven's title-page 
 to the great book of mind, and it gives truly the main topic, at 
 least. And unlike other title-pages, it grows clearer and more 
 legible with age. It may require a practical or even a pro 
 phetic eye to read it early ; but day by day its letters deepen
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 89 
 
 and increase in number, until at last it becomes a tolerable 
 table of contents." 
 
 "You grow figurative. Yet there are hypocrites " 
 " True but hypocrisy is written, too." 
 " Swedenborg thinks that the face is but a marred, distorted, 
 or imperfect manifestation or expression of the soul, here ; but 
 that in the other life it asserts its supremacy more fully, so that 
 the body is compelled to conform without reservation. This 
 change will, however, be gradual, and hypocrites, true to their 
 habits, will be the last to undergo it in its completeness. 
 When it is accomplished, they are to be the most hideous in 
 aspect of all sinners." 
 
 " They are so now ; but Swedenborg deserves the world's 
 gratitude for the picture. To be the ugliest man in eternity 
 what a destiny 1" 
 
 " Yes for you lovers of beauty I After all, except as an 
 expression of moral qualities, beauty must be a matter of taste 
 subject to no rules " 
 
 " What says our oracle in ' Modern Painters ?' ' Perfect 
 taste is the faculty of receiving the greatest possible pleasure 
 from those material sources which are attractive to our moral 
 nature in its purity and perfection. Taste, properly so called, is 
 the instinctive and instant preferring of one material object to 
 another, without any obvious reason, except that it is proper to 
 human nature in its perfection to do so. * * All our moral 
 feelings are so inwoven with our intellectual powers, that we 
 cinnot affect the one without in some degree addressing the 
 other ; and in all high ideas of beauty it is more than probable 
 that much of the pleasure depends on delicate and untraceable 
 perceptions of fitness, propriety and relation, which are purely
 
 90 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 intellectual. * * But yet there is no immediate exertion of 
 the intellect ; that is to say, if the person receiving even the 
 noblest ideas of simple beauty be asked why he likes the object 
 exciting them, he will not be able to give any distinct reason, 
 nor to trace in his mind any formed thought to which he can 
 appeal as a source of pleasure.' " 
 
 " All that is very true ; but I doubt whether the human face 
 is included, since its beauty is any thing but simple. The 
 ' Howadji' thinks the perfection of all beauty consists in bal 
 ance ' as the most exquisite of summer days so breathes balm 
 into a vigorous and healthy body that the individual exists 
 without corporeal consciousness, yet is then most corporeally 
 perfect. Beautiful balance, which is the character of perfection 
 in human character or nature, allows no prominent points. 
 Washington is undoubtedly always underrated in our judgment, 
 because he was so well proportioned ; and the finest musical 
 performance has such ease and quiet, and the colors and treat 
 ment of a fine picture give such propriety and harmony, that we 
 do not at once know how fine it is. It is the cutting of a razor 
 so sharply edged that we are riot conscious of it. We have all 
 seen the same thing in beautiful faces. The most permanent and 
 profound beauty did not thrill us ; but presently, like air to the 
 lungs, it was a necessity of inner life, while striking beauty is 
 generally a disproportion, and, so far, a monstrosity and a fault. 
 Men who feel beauty most profoundly are often unable to recall 
 the color of eyes and hair, unless, as with artists, there is an in 
 voluntary technical attention to those points. For beauty is 'a 
 radiance that cannot be analyzed, and which is not described 
 when you call it rosy. Wanting any word which shall express
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 91 
 
 it, is not the highest beauty the synonym of balance ?' Does 
 this seem to you just ?" 
 
 " I believe, in order fully to accept it, I should substitute 
 ' harmony' for ' balance.' But I love the Howadji for saying 
 that 'nothing in nature is purely ornamental.' This thought 
 hallows that insatiable thirst after beauty which the prudent 
 regard as a temptation and the narrow-minded as a sin. 
 
 We live by admiration, hope and love 
 
 yet how large a portion of mankind endeavor to stifle these im 
 pulses of nature, and to close up, by sordid cares, every avenue 
 provided by bounteous Heaven for pure and exalting pleasures 1 
 
 We need not seek pleasure ; it is enough to fit ourselves to 
 
 % 
 
 receive it. It is a flower whose odor the wise inhale in perfec 
 tion in the open air and hanging on its fresh stalk ; plucked 
 and crowded and deprived of wjiolesorne atmosphere, it brings 
 pain and death to those who seek it amiss. But shall we re 
 nounce its use ? The pursuit, of beauty may make heartless 
 egotists and sensualists, but it is none the less conducive, in 
 natures better tempered, to the highest virtue and religion." 
 
 Here Davidson, the younger of our three friends, gave an 
 unseemly yawn, to signalize his recovery from a nap, the natu 
 ral result of all this grave discussion. 
 
 "Where are you now?" he said; "who gives in? Has 
 Ellis converted you, Whitethorue ?" 
 
 " There was no need of conversion," said Mr. Whitethorne, 
 quietly. " We think very much alike in the main ; but Ellis, 
 having a personal interest in the matter, has gone further into 
 it than I have, and I chose to make him talk it out. I shall
 
 92 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 watch very closely to see how his theory answers in his own 
 case." 
 
 " On the other hand," said Ellis, " I shall remember our con 
 versation when I call to pay my respects to a very plain Mrs. 
 Whitethorne. But I will not look hard at you that would be 
 too savage." 
 
 " I give you leave ; the woman is not born yet that I shall 
 marry." 
 
 " 0, then you contemplate doing a very foolish thing some 
 years hence ? Very likely ; but don't say I led you into it." 
 
 " You may both please yourselves with theorizing, if you 
 will," said Davidson. " I am no philosopher or metaphysician, 
 but a very commonplace fellow, and shall content myself with 
 falling in love in the old-fashioned, headlong way. Here, in a 
 Reverie I have been reading, Mrs. Norton's I find myself and 
 my future admirably described : 
 
 " Let her be young, yet not a child, 
 
 Whose light and inexperienced mirth 
 Is all too winged and too wild 
 
 For sober earth : 
 
 Too rainbow-like such mirth appears, 
 And fades away in misty tears. 
 
 " Let youth's fresh roses still gently bloom 
 Upon her smooth and downy cheek ; 
 Yet let a shadow not a gloom, 
 
 But soft and meek 
 Tell that some sorrow she has known, 
 Though not a sorrow of her own. 
 
 " And let her eyes be of the gray, 
 
 The soft gray of the brooding dove, 
 Full of the sweet and tender ray 
 
 Of modest love : 
 
 For fonder shows that dreamy hue 
 Than lustrous black or heavenly blue.
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 93 
 
 " Let her be full of quiet grace ; 
 
 No sparkling wit, with sudden glow 
 Brightening her pure and chisell'd face 
 
 And placid brow ; 
 Not radiant to the stranger's eye ! 
 A creature easily passed by 
 
 (" Wit wouldn't do for me at all," said Davidson, parenthet 
 ically.) 
 
 "But who, once seen, with untold power 
 For ever haunts the yearning heart, 
 Kaised from the crowd that self-same hour 
 
 To dwell apart; 
 
 All sainted and enshrined to be 
 The idol of a memory." 
 
 " That's when I've fallen in love with her, you know ; that's 
 to be her distinction," continued Davidson, with a look of ex 
 quisite self-complacency, half-sincere, half-affected. 
 
 " Yery reasonable, indeed," said Ellis. All you ask is 
 
 No Angel, but a dearer being, all dipt 
 In Angel instincts breathing Paradise, 
 Interpreter between the gods and men. 
 
 Very reasonable !" 
 
 And the friends separated, each well content with his own 
 wisdom. 
 
 A dead pause followed the reading. Mr. Berry was tolerably 
 philosophical, as people having a due allowance of self-esteem 
 are able to be in such cases ; but we cannot deny that he felt a 
 little fidgety.
 
 94 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " Most righteous judge a sentence ! come prepare !" he 
 exclaimed, misapplying Shylock's words to his purpose. " Do 
 not keep me hanging by the waist, but finish me at once, merci 
 fully." 
 
 Nobody liked to speak first, but some one at length mur 
 mured 
 
 "Is it not rather grave ?" 
 
 " Yes and a little formal ?" said another 
 
 " Shouldn't you have described them a little, to give an inte 
 rest ?" was the third critic's hint 
 
 " And the place where they met" said Miss Grove, who 
 read novels in the intervals of her crewel doings 
 
 " What I most admire," said Miss Ingoldsby, " is the mercy 
 Mr. Berry has shown to those of us who are to follow, in not 
 providing such entanglements at the outset as might have 
 proved terribly hampering to our genius in the unravelling. He 
 has contented himself with the suggestion of the simplest possi 
 ble elements, and left us to weave our own webs after our own 
 fashion." 
 
 But Miss Ingoldsby's commendation did not save the chapter. 
 It was decided, una vnce, to be too grave, and the author with 
 drew it, promising heroically to take his chance anew, and try 
 again, if the lot should fall upon him. 
 
 The next trial resulted in a call upon Mrs. Marston, who de 
 clared that, with this warning before her, she should take car& 
 to be frivolous enough, at least. 
 
 " But remember what we said to Mr. Berry, and do not cut 
 out too much work for your successors," said one of the party.
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 95 
 
 " I do not think my invention will overflow into any great 
 Tariety of characters," said Mrs. Marston, laughing ; "I am 
 much more afraid of the sin of penuriousness. I suppose, 
 although Mr. Berry's chapter is condemned, I may make use of 
 his characters, if I please ?" 
 
 " certainly 1" and Mr. Berry declared he should feel 
 more than consoled for his failure if his suggestions proved of 
 use which was probably the lady's benevolent thought,- for 
 there was a lingering compunction in all hearts at the uncere 
 monious rejection of Mr. Berry's effort. 
 
 " I promise you my chapter will be very maternal," said Mrs. 
 Marston, "for I must draw on experience for inspiration." 
 
 Miss Ingoldsby read Mrs. Marston's chapter too: the com 
 pany having first decided to call the new undertaking 
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 
 
 Eacb several life yet opens with the view 
 Of that unblighted world where Adam drew 
 The breath of being : in each several mind, 
 However cramped, and fettered, and confined, 
 The innate power of beauty folded lies. 
 
 The bride was in her pearls milk-white ones on her neck 
 and arms, the gift of love, clear glittering ones dropping from 
 her eyes, joy's counterfeit of sorrow. All outward preparations 
 were finished, but she felt as if the inner were yet to begin
 
 96 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 so strange did the present, for which the past had so long been 
 laying the foundation, seem to her surprised thoughts. The 
 misty bridal veil hung across the mirror, waiting the summons 
 which must bring tears and fears and flutterings to a point ; 
 but there was another veil misty too, yet consciously felt 
 over the mind of the young girl, usually so clear and careless. 
 There are moments which reveal us to ourselves present our 
 past like one unbroken picture, and our future like a threat or a 
 promise, the awful alternative to be decided then and there. 
 These moments are God-given, but how seldom are they so re 
 garded ! We feel the compression from without more than the 
 impulse from within. " It is too late to think." Too late to 
 think ! It may be so with regard to a jaunt into the country, 
 when friends we have engaged are waiting ; but for a journey 
 from which there is no return is it ever too late ? 
 
 " There is guidance for each of us, and by lowly listening we 
 shall hear the right word." But circumstances so fill our ears 
 that we can hear nothing. 
 
 The clock on the mantel struck the half-hour. Bridesmaids 
 flitted about, like changing summer clouds in the rosy light of 
 morning. The attendants were giving the last, anxious glances 
 at the bride sole thought of the hour to see that no delicate 
 ordering of graces had been forgotten. There were deep con 
 sultations as to whether it would be practicable for her to carry 
 the wondrous gleaming fan with the bouquet and handkerchief. 
 
 " Katherine, darling," whispered good Aunt Susan, " there 
 are a few minutes yet ; send away all these giddy girls. I
 
 SEARCH AFTER PLEASURE. 97 
 
 want to talk to you a little, dear. Sit down by me on the sofa ;" 
 and she drew the ethereal white figure towards her. 
 
 " Oh dear Aunt I can't possibly sit down ! it would tum 
 ble my dress so !" said Katherine, through all her tears. The 
 outward was too much for the inward. 
 
 A pang shot through the good heart of Aunt Susan. She had 
 held fast her simplicity of soul through all life's changes and 
 temptations, and never could learn to believe in or be prepared 
 for any thing else in others. She half perceived how deeply 
 the prospect of a wealthy marriage, and the preparations for it, 
 which had made Katherine the single object of attention and 
 effort for some weeks, had already tinged the natural and happy 
 thoughts of the young girl. But she was all indulgence ; her 
 heart, quick as lightning, framed an excuse for the seeming friv 
 olity, and she yielded her point. 
 
 " Well, dear, we will stand, if you like it better" but the 
 change of position quite disconcerted the little speech she had 
 devised for the seemly unburdemnent of thoughts that would 
 not be kept down. 
 
 " Katherine, darling," she said, repressing the impulse to put 
 her arm round the graceful waist now guarded with grandeurs, 
 "all I wished to say to you was that that I hoped that I 
 was afraid that I wished you to be quite certain sure that 
 you love Mr. Ellis well enough " 
 
 " Oh Aunt Susan ! how can you ! do you think can you 
 suppose " and the bride looked as indignant as truth and na 
 ture would let her ; for Aunt Susan had touched the tender 
 place in her conscience, the place she had found too tender for 
 her own handling. 
 
 " Have patience with me, my love, and have courage to look 
 7
 
 98 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 at the truth, be it what it will. Have you ever asked yourself 
 the sinTple question Do I so love Mr. Ellis that I would not 
 only prefer him to all other men if I were again free to choose, 
 but that my happiness would be seriously affected if this mar 
 riage were not to take place ? Try to put out of the question 
 that you are engaged to him that all is ready for the marriage, 
 that it would be so terrible to retreat ! To marry under the 
 least delusion is far more terrible. Do try, my darling, to search 
 your heart, as you hope for happiness, your own or his. Just 
 think of that noble, generous creature waking up to the convic 
 tion that you had never truly loved him for himself that your 
 true, real heart is not his that you have been dazzled by cir 
 cumstances deceived by your own love of all that is beautiful, 
 that only imagination is on his side " 
 
 " Dear Aunt Susan, how can you talk so ? What has put 
 these thoughts into your head ? To be sure I love Mr. Ellis. 
 You know how good he is how kind and how devotedly he 
 loves me. I am sure you don't think I love any body else ?" 
 
 " No, indeed or I should never have allowed Mr. Ellis to 
 suppose you free. My fears have no reference to any other at 
 tachment, but only to the depth and fervor of this one. To 
 speak plainly as I can and must speak to you, my dearest 
 Mr. Ellis is ten years older than yourself his character is grave 
 and thoughtful his tastes are sober his ideas decided and 
 somewhat strict. He is excessively in love with you, and he 
 is rich. You know as well as I, my love, that it was your beauty 
 that first attracted him ; but your many excellent qualities have 
 won over his whole heart, and a strong nature like his loves 
 once and always. What I fear is that you may be unconsciously 
 deceiving yourself and him into a belief that your attachment is
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 99 
 
 of the same deep, devoted, exclusive character as his, while you 
 are perhaps more influenced than you suspect not more than is 
 natural in a young girl frugally bred by the prospect of a de 
 sirable position in society, and a life of elegance and indulgence. 
 It is this that I hope and pray you will consider. Do dear 
 love ! Never mind consequences I will take all that is possi 
 ble upon myself Do not mistake gratitude, pride, gratified van 
 ity, even approbation and respect for one of the best of men, 
 for love. Dear Kate life will not be all a play-day it is not, 
 even when we love ever so truly. Trials must come trials of 
 patience, of temper, of fortitude, of truth. It will not be suf 
 ficient that your husband loves you ; you must love him, too, to 
 make these things tolerable." 
 
 " I do, indeed ! dear, dear, good Aunt Susan," said Kathe- 
 rine, throwing her arms round her aunt's neck but carefully, 
 because of the lace on her sleeves ; " I do love him better 
 than any one else in the world except you " and she spoke 
 sincerely and warmly, for Aunt Susan's allusion to Mr. Ellis's 
 excellences had brought him up before her imagination in a sort 
 of glory. 
 
 " But you must love him more than you love me !" said Aunt 
 Susan, with a sigh which was not expressive of very full satis 
 faction. " Suppose I should tell you, now, that Mr. Ellis had 
 lost his fortune, and that you must prepare to begin your mar 
 ried life in a small house and in a very economical way :) 
 
 " What do you mean, dear Aunt Susan ?" exclaimed Kathe- 
 rine, suddenly pale with agitation. 
 
 Here was a sudden and loud rapping at the door. 
 
 " Mrs. Ashmore I Kate !"
 
 100 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 "Whatcfo you mean tell me r for pity's sake!" reiterated 
 the bride, never heeding the appointed summons. 
 
 " Only to ask you the simple question, my love 
 
 "But there is really no such thing? tell me is there ?" 
 
 " Katherine ! Mrs. Ashmore ! every one is waiting 1" whis 
 pered somebody through the keyhole. " Mr. Ellis is here do 
 come 1" 
 
 Aunt Susan could not speak she could hardly bear to part 
 with her Katherine thus ; she held her fast, as if that would 
 do any good. Her maternal, her virtuous, her holy instincts 
 had taken the alarm or rather the secret fears which had beset 
 her for weeks, had just then come to a crisis. 
 
 " There is no such thing, is there ?" said Katherine, with 
 quivering 1'ps 
 
 " No, dear ! no " said poor Aunt Susan ; and resigning the 
 object of her care with a secret prayer a prayer of faith she 
 opened the door to the bevy of bride-maidens, and a manly 
 face that promised all that face can promise of truth, honor, and 
 generous love 
 
 Love healer of all ills solver of all doubts sad indeed is 
 the bridal where thou art wanting I At this one, of Katherine 
 Fountain and Henry Ellis, Love presided, indeed, but hardly 
 with equal favor. To the bridegroom he gave all his enchant 
 ments ; and if the bride seemed less endowed, perhaps it was 
 only because of the greatness of the gifts on the other side. We 
 would be far from hinting that Katherine felt indifferent to the 
 man she was to marry one whose merits commanded affection 
 as well as respect ; but only that for want of greater insight 
 and fuller appreciation, her attachment hardly equalled his great 
 deserts, and would scarcely have satisfied the delicate require-
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 101 
 
 ments of his heart if he could have seen hers fully unveiled. 
 Katherine was of that shy and rather reserved character which 
 leaves a great deal for the imagination, and the imagination of 
 a lover asks no better background for its glowing pictures. 
 Young, unformed, but of dazzLng beauty, Katherine's very want 
 of cultivation had been converted into a charm for the accom 
 plished man of society. Disgusted with the flippant coldness of 
 pseudo-cultivation, real freshness of mind was of delicious prom 
 ise to him, and the idea not very distinctly developed of giv 
 ing this ductile mind all it needed to bring forth its latent power, 
 had been a fascinating one to him, from his first acquaintance with 
 Katherine. On her part, the very sense of Ellis's superiority 
 had in some degree scared away freedom and warmth from her 
 affection for him. Where there is decided mental inequality, 
 there may be respect, esteem, gratitude, pride, willing depend 
 ence, perfect trust but there can hardly be love in its highest 
 form. 
 
 But we have kept our bridal party too long waiting for the 
 bride. The veil, adjusted to the last degree of grace by skilful 
 hands, gave the sole charm lacking to her beauty, and with one 
 more parting kiss to Aunt Susan, she passed into the wavering 
 cloud of bride-maidens, not without a trace on her brow of the 
 single anxious thought called up by the recent conversation. 
 
 Mrs. Marston's opening chapter met with more favor than 
 Mr. Berry's had done. The young ladies were delighted with 
 the bride's beauty and with her marrying rich. They only 
 thought the book concluded as soon as begun. " What more
 
 102 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 can be said ? After a young lady is married, her history cannot 
 be interesting ;" at least Miss Grove thought novels about 
 married people were always stupid. 
 
 Other objections there were such as Mrs. Marston's not hav 
 ing indicated distinctly enough the direction of the story, but 
 this she said she purposely left open for her successors, only a 
 general agreement having been come to as to its tone. The 
 next lot fell upon Mrs. Shelton, who consented to serve only on 
 condition that she should be allowed to seek help from her hus 
 band. This, of course, was readily granted by the high 
 contracting powers, and the result was the chapter that fol 
 lows : 
 
 This chapter Mrs. Shelton chose to call 
 PROGNOSTICS. 
 
 Her short life 
 
 As tall of music as the crowded Juno 
 Of an unfallen orb. 
 
 The promise to the fatherless is fulfilled in the tenderness 
 which their condition awakens in the hearts of the good. How 
 often they seem better cared for than the children of the living 
 and prosperous 1 What a sacredness there is about our 
 thought of them the dead seeming all the while to fix their 
 searching, unwavering, undeceivable eyes upon our doings 
 toward them 1 Was not the uncle of the Babes in the Wood 
 the only cruel guardian uncle that ever lived I 
 
 Not such, at least, were Uncle and Aunt Ashmore, to whose 
 care Katherlne Fountain and her baby-brother were left when
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 103 
 
 their mother died, and their father became something worse 
 than dead. The busy world thought the good couple had 
 children enough of their own, and that their means were none 
 too wide for their needs. But with hearts that could hold the 
 world, their house had necessarily an elastic virtue too, and 
 both found plenty of room for the two poor, little, desolate 
 pretty creatures, whose unconsciously appealing looks would 
 have unlocked more obstinate doors. The boy was almost an 
 infant in arms ; Katherine a year or two older. Aunt Susan 
 had two of nearly their age a circumstance which she insisted 
 made it all the more convenient to attend to the new-comers. 
 So the little ones grew up together, Uncle Ashmore never 
 prospering extravagantly, but satisfied with finding himself no 
 worse off at the end of the year than at the beginning. Fru 
 gality and liberality went hand in hand in the establishment, as 
 they ought oftener to go. 
 
 There no forced efforts for delight were made, 
 
 Joy came with prudence and without parado ; 
 
 The common comfort they had all in view, 
 
 Light were their troubles and their wishes few; 
 
 Thrift made them easy for the coming day, 
 
 Eeligion took the fear of Death away ; 
 
 A cheerful spirit still insured content, 
 
 And Love smiled round them wheresoe'or they went. 
 
 It will be easily perceived that this was no splendid lot. 
 Where there are great, liberal hearts and no fortune, modest 
 wishes and industrious and economical habits must watch to 
 keep the peace. "Debt is a far worse wolf than poverty," said 
 Uncle Ashmore ; and his family were taught to think like him, 
 at the expense of many a pleasant indulgence that their neigh 
 bors boasted.
 
 104 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " Look at what we have, and not at what we haven't," was 
 another of his favorite sentences hard precept, but benign. 
 The philosopher who could say, "How many things are here 
 that I do not want 1" has few disciples in any age perhaps 
 fewer in ours than any. Temptations to expense are the most 
 insidious in the world ; taste seems to sanctify some of them, 
 and for the rest we appeal to nature or necessity. In this par 
 ticular, the two young Fountains proved, as they grew up, like 
 eaglets in a dove's nest. Good and amiable as they were, and 
 loving and grateful, they showed their alien blood by a thou 
 sand aspirings not perversely exhibited, but unconsciously be 
 trayed. Katherine was a beauty that seemed to account for 
 her love of dress, and a certain wilfulness that sometimes 
 grieved Aunt Susan. George was handsome, too, and popular 
 at school ; good-humored, but self-indulgent. The Ashmore 
 children were so much like their parents in gentle goodness, 
 that they looked up admiringly to the dazzling gifts of the 
 orphans, and yielded them a willing homage that had no taint 
 of envy. 
 
 Mrs. Ashmore was quite right when she said that Katherine's 
 beauty first attracted Mr. Ellis. He had been introduced to her 
 in the country, where she seemed a wood-nymph, in the graceful 
 simplicity of her dress and manners. Pure and happy, gently 
 excited by rural sights and sounds and all the beaming circle of 
 summer pleasures, and lustrous with flitting smiles and opal fan 
 cies, Katherine's fascinations were irresistible. To Ellis she 
 was only the more a delicious wonder for being found among 
 plain, unpretending people. He was any thing but a mere man, 
 of the world, in the ordinary sense of that term. He loved the 
 world for the good that is in it, but he was much better fitted
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 105 
 
 and more disposed to lead than to follow it. His taste, highly 
 cultivated and even fastidious, yet seldom interfered with his 
 strict interpretation of the rule of duty ; and even Katherine's 
 charms would have had little effect on him, beyond the passing 
 moment, if he had not felt sure that the source of all this 
 bewitching outward harmony was within. The sweetness of 
 her temper was as little to be doubted as the rosy whiteness of 
 her complexion ; her face was as full of quick intelligence as of 
 symmetry, and the glorious beauty of her eyes did not conceal 
 the gentle kindness that shone through them. Mr. Ellis felt 
 that he had never seen her equal, and he was right ; his only 
 error was in supposing her more developed than she was. 
 Aunt Susan's process, the result of tender affection and heav 
 enly instinct was any thing but a forcing one. It was her 
 nature to bear as much of every one's burdens as she possibly 
 could ; to make all the sacrifices, and take all the blame ; and 
 a more ingenious creature in contriving excuses for every one's 
 deficiencies but her own could not be found. This is the des 
 cription of no great disciplinarian, and the effect of training on 
 this plan was evident through the household, and particularly 
 shown in Katherine and her brother, who would have borne and 
 well repaid a stronger system. When Aunt Susan's elder chil 
 dren had reached the utmost to which direct instruction could 
 bring them, their cousins were yet in a forming state ; and 
 although their ability was evident, it was still uncharacterized 
 and almost unused. 
 
 To the imagination of a lover, however, it is not wonderful 
 that Katherine was all-perfect. 
 
 A man sometimes finds himself, at thirty, romantic for the 
 first time a phenomenon whose cause we leave to the explora-
 
 106 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 tions of the omniscient psychologists of our day. Mr. Ellis 
 fancied himself the coolest judge in the world ; but in truth, 
 from the time that he became fascinated by the excessive loveli 
 ness of Katherine's face and figure, it was only fancy. The 
 most commonplace of lovers could not have been further from 
 any thing that deserved the name of judgment. His devotion 
 filled the whole field of vision with a glory that seemed to him 
 to emanate from the central form ; and to the idol herself the 
 light was equally magical. " While I was happy I was amia 
 ble," says Madame De Stael, in the person of one of her hero 
 ines, hinting at once a point for self-examination, and a reason 
 for patience towards the unamiable. To be admired and loved 
 is an incentive to worthiness, in a generous nature ; only mean 
 souls grow arrogant by spontaneous homage. The love of such 
 a man as Henry Ellis naturally made Katherine an angel, and 
 so justified his most extravagant thoughts. That she should 
 give him in return as much of her heart as she was as yet conscious 
 of possessing was inevitable, and it was with entire sincerity 
 that she owned a preference which implied all he wished. The 
 marriage took place after a short engagement, for there seemed 
 no very obvious reason for a long one ; and the usual round of 
 gay bustle followed the wedding-jaunt. Katherine's trousseau 
 had been all that Uncle Ashmore's means would allow, and her 
 husband's gifts left nothing to wish for. The world presented a 
 new side to the young wife. What an easy, charming world it 
 was 1 No more longings after beautiful things no more talk 
 about economy no more visions of what might be ! Every 
 thing was, in actual possession. The exercise of refined taste 
 seemed a sufficient object in life, and harmony of wishes in that 
 direction ample security for married happiness.
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. iQf 
 
 The furnishing of a handsome house in Square gave de 
 lightful occupation for some weeks. There were so many 
 charming things to be examined, so many proportions to be 
 consulted, so many colors and blendings considered, that each 
 evening found Katherine as weary as if she had bean doomed to 
 wield the suicidal needle, to win a pittance that might defer 
 starvation. The power of indulging the taste for the first time 
 was intoxicating, and who can marvel ? The house seemed to 
 grow under her hands, as room after room assumed the aspect 
 and complexion of her choice. Mr. Ellis seldom interfered, 
 though his travelled taste might have corrected some errors in 
 the way of display, and certainly would have preferred that 
 works of Art should have been more prominent than the mere 
 upholstery and cabinet ware of which Katherine was but too 
 fond. Indeed it would have been wonderful if our young wife, 
 untaught in Art and surrounded in her native city by examples 
 of the most vulgar splendor, had been able wholly to avoid the 
 American vice of unmeaning gorgeousness, without plan or 
 principle of harmony. To have persuaded her to prefer a fine 
 landscape to a great mirror, would have been impossible, and 
 Ellis was too indulgent to insist on the picture without the 
 preference. He chose to wait until his wife's taste demanded 
 something more refined than the glitter she saw about her. 
 Even in matters which concerned himself personally, he yielded 
 every thing, for what she preferred soon seemed to him best. 
 
 A month or two went by in returning visits, card-leaving, and 
 receiving company. Mr. Ellis bore his part in all this most gal 
 lantly, though it required no extraordinary amount of sagacity 
 to perceive that after a certain time it began to weary his very 
 soul. Katherme, to whom it was a novelty, and who had or
 
 108 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 fancied she had nothing else to do, went on with heroic 
 strength, and evidently thought it was to be always so. 
 
 It would be curious to discover if we could discover how 
 large a part of young girls' notions of life and ideal of happi 
 ness and propriety is derived from fashionable novels. The 
 writers of those repositories of wisdom so crowd their pages 
 with splendid and fascinating images of the pleasures of society ; 
 make people so easy and gracefnl, so witty and wise, in 
 drawing-rooms and boudoirs ; paint dinners all elegance and 
 vivacity, balls all admiration and success that the inexperi 
 enced must fancy social life to be a picture of light and p^as- 
 ure, knowing no weariness, disgust, or disappointment. It takes 
 no great experience to cure the delusion, but it requires a cer 
 tain amount ; and to some natures the waking up from the 
 dream is not without bitterness. The disappointment that waits 
 upon unfounded expectations is not the least severe ; and it is 
 easy to seek in petulant injustice revenge for the mistake 
 None are more disposed to undervalue society than those who 
 once overrated its attractions. 
 
 But our bride is a long way off from this point as yet. 
 
 " Pray give me credit for having kept carefully within the 
 depths or shallows of my own experience," said Egeria, after 
 she had listened, with some tremors and blushes, to the reading 
 of her little effort. " I never knew, before, that I could write 
 any thing but a letter or a school exercise ; and indeed, with 
 out Mr. Shelton's suggestions I should not have dared attempt 
 any delineation of character. Yet I found a little reflection
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 109 
 
 bring me quite vividly what would be the probable result of the 
 training of Aunt Susan " 
 
 The chapter was graciously accepted, and Miss Berry chosen 
 by the lot as the next adventurer. 
 
 " / shall moralize, of course," she said, laughing ; "you know 
 me, of old." 
 
 But all said moralizing was sometimes in place, and, in treat 
 ing of the significance of Beauty, could hardly be omitted. 
 
 " We must have a Christmas dinner ! a family dinner," said 
 Mrs. Ellis to her husband, in council, after wedding visits had 
 somewhat slackened. " We will have Aunt Susan and Uncle 
 Ashmore, and all the children and George, and your sister and 
 Mr. Enfield and Mary, and your Uncle Deane " 
 
 " You musn't set your heart upon all that, dear," said Mr. 
 Ellis, "for I dare say your Uncle and Aunt will think we ought 
 to dine with them. The elder members of the family generally 
 claim the Christmas dinner." 
 
 " but I can easily persuade them ! They will come here, I 
 know, if I wish it." 
 
 Mr. Ellis felt as if it would be more kind and delicate not to 
 persuade them, but he did not say so He would hardly coun 
 tenance himself in thinking so, since Katherine was concerned 
 So the Christmas party was invited. 
 
 The Enfields were of that class wonderfully numerous among 
 us a class peculiar to our country who live at board because 
 their means will not allow of their being surrounded with pri-
 
 HO AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 vate splendor of their own ; of course they had no objection to 
 dining out on Christmas day. 
 
 But Aunt Susan and her husband were, as we have said, 
 people whose rich natures had resisted the world's petrifying 
 influences, and retained, in spite of the attrition of city life, the 
 freshness and simplicity which only good and warm hearts have 
 any right to. To them, accustomed as they had long been to 
 see their own board crowned wifh good cheer, and surrounded 
 by happy and beloved faces on Christmas day, the idea of dining 
 any where but at home was sadly against the grain, so that 
 they, for once, resisted Katherine pretty sturdily. But Kathe- 
 rine was in no humor to be resisted. There was a Champagne 
 flush about her life, now, that gave a heightened and illusive 
 color to whatever she desired, and urged her towards its attain 
 ment with an impetuosity unsuspected during her soft, embryo 
 days. It is a rare mental soil in which egotism does not grow 
 rapidly under the tropical sun of sudden prosperity ; and the 
 more imaginative the quality, the more luxuriant and overshad 
 owing the product. Experience of power made Katherine feel 
 (not think) herself omnipotent in her sphere, and she never 
 doubted but she could make Uncle and Aunt Ashmore, whom 
 she loved so dearly, happy in her way instead of their own. So 
 she prevailed, and they exchanged their comfortable dining- 
 room, with sprigs of box stuck in the window-panes, branches of 
 hemlock and wreaths of green forest fringe about the pictures, 
 and a bright, hospitable Christmas fire burning in the grate, for 
 their niece's too magnificent suite, curtained with satin and lace 
 till one could not distinguish the snow falling thick through the 
 air without, and warmed by a furnace in the cellar till you felt 
 uncertain whether a fan or a fire were most desirable.
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. HI 
 
 " Had not we better have a little fire, Katherine ?" said Mr. 
 Ellis ; " Aunt Susan will miss her cheerful corner-seat, I am 
 afraid." 
 
 " Fire ! oh dear, no I am sure it is very warm here !" And 
 she appealed to the thermometer, which tyrannizes over one's 
 natural and unanswerable sensations in so many houses. 
 
 Her mind's eye, if not her bodily one, was fixed on the pol 
 ished grates, which, though they had been left open at Mr. El- 
 lis's suggestion, for the very purpose now in question, she could 
 not bear to see defaced. So she did not consent, and the Ash- 
 mores arrived, opportunely for her, before there was time for 
 further debate. 
 
 There was a hearty as well as graceful welcome for these hon 
 ored guests, for whom Mr. Ellis had already learned to feel the 
 affection and reverence of a son. Katherine's delight was un 
 bounded, and animation and pleasure so heightened her beauty, 
 that her indulgent relatives looked at her with new pride, and a 
 hew sense of her right to power. George Fountain, as he kissed 
 his sister, brought out his own opinion, brother-like 
 
 " Why, Kate, you grow handsomer every day 1" 
 
 Katherine met her husband's eye, and blushed, not very pain 
 fully. 
 
 " Do you find it warm enough here, Auntie ?" said she, as 
 Aunt Susan took her seat on one of the half-dozen sofcis. (A 
 great defect of fashionable drawing-rooms is that they have no 
 natural social centre. They seem made for undistinguished 
 crowds, with no common interest or impulse.) 
 
 " dear, yes very warm !" said Aunt Susan, whose rosy 
 face wore a deeper hue than usual. She took a fan from her 
 pocket, and Katherine looked at Mr. Ellis as much as to say,
 
 112 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 "You see I was right." He did not remind her that the cheer 
 ful fire he had recommended need not have increased the heat. 
 
 " Mr. Enfield, Mrs. Enfield and Miss Enfield," said the ser 
 vant, opening the door, and the party thus announced by their 
 own order, came splendidly into the room, as if for a visit of 
 ceremony. 
 
 Mrs. Enfield was a stately lady, Mr. Enfield a nidging, insig 
 nificant little gentleman, with his hair brushed wildly upwards 
 to increase his apparent height ; Miss Eufield, a little, pale-faced 
 girl, with the very lightest hair, and large red lips rather scorn 
 ful in expression. Her hands and arms were of a papery white 
 ness, and so fleshless that her numerous bracelets and rings 
 seemed in constant danger of falling off. This delicacy her 
 mamma prized very highly, while to indifferent eyes it seemed a 
 presage either of early decay or a sort of half-life for a longer 
 period. 
 
 Mr. Deane came next, a pale, serious elderly man in black, 
 with hardly the face or spirits for a Christmas party ; but Kath- 
 erine's gracious manners and kind attentions soon won him to 
 some degree of cheerfulness. He was a widower, and had, not 
 long before, lost an only son his sole remaining child. He 
 seemed bent on watching George Fountain, who, full of life and 
 health, must have formed a striking memento of his loss. We 
 love to try every new sword in the old wound. 
 
 " Bless me 1 how hot you've got it here, Ellis I" said Mr. En- 
 field as soon as he had made his bow. " You will have to serve 
 us all up with the baked meats 1" 
 
 "Is there a fan, Mrs. Ellis?" said Mrs. Enfield, who, quite 
 aware that her husband's danger was that of insignificance, al 
 ways endeavored to .give dignity to his whims by assenting to
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. H3 
 
 them. The fan being brought, Mrs. Enfield condescended to 
 turn her attention to Aunt Susan. 
 
 " Shocking weather, Mrs. Ashmore ! Dreadful driving to 
 day !" 
 
 "We walked," said Aunt Susan. 
 
 " Oh ! did you, indeed ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Ashmore, my wife calls her India-rubbers 
 her iron-grays ; they carry her every where, and she is a coward 
 about riding." 
 
 Uncle and Aunt Ashmore were so old-fashioned that they still 
 dared to say " riding," although the English say " driving." 
 They adhered to the old Bible English. 
 
 "For my part," said Mr. Enfield, inspecting his patent leath 
 ers, " I found it quite enough to walk from the carriage to the 
 door." 
 
 " Yes I was nearly blown away," said his wife. " It was 
 horribly disagreeable." 
 
 " All for want of habit," said Mr. Ashmore. " The doctors 
 would not have so many cases of dyspepsia if every body walked. 
 1 Have a carriage/ says Emerson, ' and you lose your legs.' " 
 
 " 0, very likely," murmured Mr. Enfield, evidently quite con 
 tent to take the carriage without the legs. 
 
 The children now came bouncing in. Their happy faces and 
 joyous tones did something towards overcoming the ice of the 
 Enfields. The elder found amusement on the sofa-table ; little 
 Willie went into raptures at the Maltese cat that lay dosing on 
 a cushion ; while Susan, the image of her good mother, soon 
 planted herself in the window, to observe the storm and watch 
 the poor children, who were piteously endeavoring to find bits of 
 8
 
 114 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 wood or coal wherever the wind had blown the snow from patches 
 in the vacant lot at the corner. 
 
 " Oh, see ! the wind has carried off that little girl's cloak that 
 she was holding on with one hand while she picked up a long 
 piece of hoop ; and now she is running after it through the deep 
 drift ! See her poor red feet ! She has caught her cloak, now, 
 but there's a naughty boy has run off with her piece of hoop." 
 
 Mr. Ellis went to the window. "What's all this about cloaks 
 and hoops, Susie ?" said he. 
 
 " Oh there they go they have gone round the corner I 
 believe the wind blew them round. But there's a lady with 
 her umbrella loaded with wet snow ! She's coming here, I de 
 clare ! her umbrella is turned wrong side out, and her bon 
 net is almost off 1" 
 
 "It is Mrs. Dibble," said Mr. Ellis, "out on one of her ex 
 peditions of mercy, I have no doubt." 
 
 A ring was heard, and at the same moment a servant an 
 nounced dinner. 
 
 " Say we are at dinner, John," said Mrs. Ellis. 
 
 " Katherine, dear don't send away Mrs. Dibble and in such 
 a storm, too 1 Ask the lady in, John." 
 
 "Dibble !" exclaimed Mr. Eufield, sotto voce, "what a vulgar 
 name " 
 
 " And what a vulgar woman !" said his wife, a little louder, as 
 Mrs. Dibble entered the room breathless from the storm, her 
 hair blown about her face and her cheeks all wet and red. 
 Katherine had looked vexed, but her husband found time to 
 whisper, "It will be but for a moment Mrs. Dibble never 
 wastes her own time or any body's else." 
 
 " Excuse me," said the visitor, as soon as she had recovered
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 115 
 
 herself a little ; " I should hardly have dared to enter any other 
 
 nouse in Square in this way, and on Christmas day, too 
 
 but I felt sure of you." 
 
 She looked rather at Mr. than Mrs. Ellis as she said this, not 
 purposely, but by instinct. 
 
 " You will come in to dinner with us," said Katherine, kind 
 ly ; " our dinner is just on the table." 
 
 " Oh, thank you no," said Mrs. Dibble, and she arose at once. 
 " What I wished to say was, that there is a family absolutely 
 starving, within a few rods of your house, and I came to beg 
 something warm for them to eat, immediately." 
 " Starving !" was exclaimed on all sides 
 " Yes, indeed ! without a morsel for nearly two days a 
 mother and three little children, faint with hunger, and shut up 
 to die, for the poor soul had come to the awful resolution not to 
 try any longer." 
 
 A thrill of horror ran through the group ; Katherine's cheek 
 blanched, and tears came to her eyes. 
 
 " We will send something instantly," she said ; " let us go to 
 the dining-room." 
 
 It was easy to select from the abundance of delicacies there, 
 and Mrs Dibble's experience enabled her to choose with judg 
 ment. 
 
 "I will go !" said George Fountain. "Let me go I would 
 rather carry the basket than not " And he was off in a mo 
 ment, Mrs- Dibble following as fast as she could. 
 
 " You will at least come back and dine with us ?" said Kath 
 erine. 
 
 " No not to-day many thanks. I hope I have not spoiled 
 your Christmas dinner."
 
 116 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 But, to the honor of our human nature, be it said, such oc 
 currences will throw a damp over plenty and magnificence. The 
 contrast is too horrible ; and though it always exists, and we 
 know it, yet we cannot face its actual presence. Katherine was 
 full of contending emotions. There was certainly something a 
 little trying to a young housekeeper in the interruption. A 
 dinner is not perfect if it waits ten or fifteen minutes after it 
 should be eaten, and this was Katherine's first large dinner 
 
 But then the opposite thought that there are thousands who 
 have no dinner 1 
 
 " Yery odd woman that Mrs. Dibble I" said Mrs. Enfield. 
 " She is always engaged about other people's business." 
 
 " I fancy her husband would rather she should attend to her 
 own," said Mr. Enfield. 
 
 "These very benevolent people," said the lady, with a little 
 toss of the head, " are generally indifferent to the comfort of 
 those immediately dependent upon them. Home duties are not 
 showy enough for them." 
 
 Mrs. Ashmore and Katherine both looked ready to exclaim 
 at this sweeping judgment, but Mr. Ellis said, quietly 
 
 " I believe Mr. Dibble is very much of his wife's mind, and 
 feels willing she should give up a good deal of her time to the 
 care of the poor." 
 
 " Poor devil 1" said Mr. Enfield. " I dare say he tries to 
 make the best of it ; but I pity him, or any other man that has 
 a benevolent wife 1" 
 
 This was said with great self-complacency, and Mrs. Enfield 
 evidently felt as if she had received a compliment. 
 
 " I must confess," said Mr. Ashmore, " that I should not like
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 117 
 
 my wife to neglect home affairs for the sake of looking after the 
 poor." 
 
 "But isn't it possible," said Mr. Ellis, "to attend to the 
 poor, and to home affairs too ? I suppose I must not quote 
 Aunt Susan herself as an instance, here " with a smile full of 
 meaning at her " but I know another lady who is a wonder in 
 that way." 
 
 " I find it quite as much as I can do to attend to my own 
 duties !" said Mrs. Enfield, sharply. She was evidently rather 
 excited by her brother's remarks, for the marabouts and golden 
 fringes of her head-dress quivered as she spoke. "Nobody need 
 be poor, in this country," she continued, "if it were not for 
 dissipation and improvidence ; and to be always giving is only 
 an encouragement to vice. I'm sure I don't know who would 
 give me money, if I wanted it ! Do you, Mr. Ashmore ?" 
 
 " What we give sanctifies what is left," said Mr. Ashmore, 
 who had no idea of being understood to take sides against char 
 itable effort. " But I meant that I thought it would be hard 
 for me to make the sacrifice Mr. Ellis was speaking of." 
 
 " I think the kind of charity practised by Mr. and Mrs. Dib 
 ble a very difficult one," said Mr. Ellis ; " willingness to aid the 
 poor by personal services bespeaks a deeper sense of duty a 
 more self-denying virtue than the largest disposition to give, 
 which is often a mere impulse. Yinet speaks of a clergyman 
 who, after quietly listening to whatever of rude repulse the 
 coarsest nature could prevail upon itself to offer in reply to his 
 plea for the wretched, would say, with unruffled brow and 
 unshrinking perseverance ' Et mes pattvres T I should consi 
 der that man's claim to sainthood well established." 
 
 " I have tried it, myself," said Mr. Ashmore, " and I know
 
 118 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 the mean feeling that comes over one is so humiliating, and the 
 cold, stingy looks of those we apply to so provoking, that it 
 would be far easier to give the whole sum required, out of one's 
 own pocket, if that were possible." 
 
 "And yet," said Mr. Deane, "who denies that we ought to 
 be obliged to those who save us the time and trouble of search 
 ing out misfortune ? Like Spenser's Angels 
 
 They their silver bowers leave, 
 To come to succor them that succor want 
 And all for love and nothing for reward 1" 
 
 "Angels 1" exclaimed Mrs. Enfield, who soon wearied of any 
 subject not spiced with personality, " I think Mrs. Dibble is 
 very little like an angel ! She has nothing attractive about 
 her. She is always full of some idea of her own, and cannot 
 talk as other people do. Then how she looks ! Her bonnet is 
 a perfect sight, and she wears a cloak that makes her look like 
 one of her own proteges. The servants are afraid to let her 
 in!" 
 
 " I should really think," said Katherine, who coveted beauty 
 in every thing, " that it was not necessary for her to dress quite 
 so shabbily." 
 
 "I can tell you, dear, why she does so," said Aunt Susan. 
 " She appropriates only a certain sum yearly to her private ex 
 penses, and out of that, proportioned as it is to her husband's 
 means, must come her personal charities. So she hardly allows 
 herself what is becoming. I dare say she would be so'rry to 
 know she looked so shabby to others." 
 
 " How silly !" said Mrs. Enfield, half aside. 
 
 " I mean to have a talk with her about it one of these days,"
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 119 
 
 continued Aunt Susan. " It isn't any body's duty to look 
 ugly." 
 
 " Labor lost !" said Mrs. Enfield, whose temper seemed irri 
 tated by the justifying and respectful tone of Mrs. Dibble's 
 defenders. " Your true charitable phenomenon is always proud 
 as Lucifer and self-righteous as a pillar-saint I detest the 
 whole tribe." 
 
 Discussions of this kind have a wonderfully disturbing power 
 on some people. There is a pertinacious inner voice, not subject 
 to the rules of good society, which takes the side of truth and 
 goodness, coming vexatiously in aid of the argument or defence 
 from without. Conscience tells us 
 
 If every just man, that now pines with want, 
 Had but a moderate and beseeming share 
 Of that which lewdly-pampered Luxury 
 Now heaps upon some few with vast excess, 
 Nature's full blessings would be well-djspensed 
 In unsupertiuous, even proportion, 
 And she no whit encumbered with her store ; 
 And then the Giver would be better thanked, 
 His praise due paid. 
 
 When George Fountain returned, he gave the most heart 
 rending account of the poor fam'ly, intermixing his pity with 
 strong commendation of Mrs. Dibble. 
 
 Mr. Enfield pushed away his plate, and moved petulantly 
 several things which stood near it ; and when Katherine kindly 
 offered him various delicacies, declined them, shortly enough. 
 Mrs. Enfield immediately put on the air of an injured person. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ashmore had not savoir fnire enough to look as 
 if nothing had happened, though they tried with all their simple 
 might. The children, who had been able to keep up their own
 
 120 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 private fun for a while, at length began to be sensible of the 
 presence of a hostile element, and they fell into a staring silence. 
 
 Mr. Deane alone seemed to forget all in his admiring sympa 
 thy with George's humane enthusiasm. He sat down by him 
 and drew him into conversation, which, however, did not 
 become general. 
 
 The games in the drawing-room did something, and the tea 
 and coffee something more. Mrs. Enfield consented to play and 
 sing, and though see would attempt nothing but grand Italian 
 cavatinas, and Uncle Ashmore's old-fashioned ears did not quite 
 relish the foreign tone, yet really good music will speak for itself, 
 and he was delighted before he knew it, and so were all. Even 
 Mr. Enfield could not resist the general pleasure, the less as it 
 was due to his wife ; so music proved, in this case, what it should 
 always in this jarring world of ours, a compelling spirit of 
 health. The evening closed gaily, and Mrs. Ellis's first dinner 
 party would pass for a success, according to all the rules. 
 
 But when all had departed, and Katherine, alone with her 
 husband, was talking over the matter, she confessed that her 
 Christmas party had to her been a failure. 
 
 " I hardly know what was the reason," she said ; " but cer 
 tainly Aunt Susan and Uncle Ashmore were not in their usual 
 spirits. The children, even, were dull ; and then that malapro 
 pos visit of Mrs. Dibble She stopped, for her heart reproach 
 ed her. 
 
 Mr. Ellis was too generous to bring forward all the reasons 
 he could have suggested for the failure of the Chrstmas party. 
 
 " My sister and her husband," he said, are inharmonious peo 
 ple. They are spoiled by prosperity and indolence, and their 
 native good qualities are buried under a load of pride and ex-
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 121 
 
 clusiveness. They seem laboring to satisfy themselves with the 
 externals of life, and the rebellious longings of their hearts for 
 something better give them a discontented air. Then Mr. Deane 
 is too profoundly sad to be fully sympathetic with any gayety. 
 He seems interested in George, but in nothing and nobody else." 
 
 Katherine sat for some time in silence. Mrs. Dibble and her 
 errand passed in review, and it is toi be feared, although perhaps 
 the young wife would hardly have owned it to herself, that she 
 secretly referred the clouding over of the party to the unlucky 
 preference given by that lady to her house over any other 
 in the square. There was something officious about it some 
 thing that violated the bienseances, that obtruded uncomforta 
 ble images in the midst of luxury and happiness. In these days 
 the death's head is banished from the feast. " There must be 
 poor people there always have been and there always will be. 
 We are surrounded with them ; it is in vain to make ourselves 
 uncomfortable about any particular instance. People like Mrs. 
 Dibble, who go about ferreting them out, are always very disa 
 greeable. They forget every thing else ; take no interest in so 
 ciety." 
 
 Did Mrs. Ellis say these words to her husband ? Xo indeed 
 
 To speak them were a deadly sin I 
 
 And for having but thought them, her heart within 
 
 A treble penance must be done. 
 
 She reproached herself, all the while ; but the brightness of her 
 new lot had already begun to affect her general estimate of 
 things. All recollection of unhappiuess or want was distasteful. 
 An existence beautified by love, wealth, station, Art, refinement, 
 was her ideal of happiness. Such a picture her Lfe now pre-
 
 122 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 seiited in prospect ; and the view excluded, for the moment, all 
 sorrow, whether her own or others. She found no place in her 
 landscape for a 'brown tree/ unconscious that the glare was 
 even now injuring her moral sight. 
 
 "Ah ! Aunt Annie," said Miss Aldis, " now we know you 
 must have written a book I" 
 
 "Why, pray?" 
 
 " Because you have written such a long chapter, and in such 
 a little while 1" 
 
 " We shall see what your chapter will be," said some of the 
 rest, laughing. 
 
 " Mine ! oh, I wouldn't write one for the world ! The lot 
 had better not fall on me, for I should have to refuse." 
 
 But the perverse fates called her, the very next time, and she 
 could be saved from a fit of crying only by her uncle's promising 
 to serve in her stead. Mr. Berry said he began quite to long 
 to try his hand again, now that the lines had been marked out 
 a little. Of course nobody objected, but it may be imagined 
 how all laughed when the old bachelor announced the chapter as 
 
 HOUSEKEEPING. 
 
 " Look at the woman here, with the new soul 
 Like my own Psyche's ; fresh upon her lips 
 Alit, the visionary butterfly, 
 "Waiting my word to enter and make bright, 
 Or flutter off, and leave all blank as first , 
 
 " Had I green jars of malachite, this way 
 I'd range them where those sea-shells glisten above 
 Cresset* should hang, by right : this way we'd set 
 TLe purple carpets, as these mats are laid"
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 123 
 
 Happily the gayeties which follow a wedding do not last al 
 ways. There is a time to be sober, too, and this Mr. Ellis was 
 prepared fully to enjoy. Katherine thought she had been long 
 ing for it, but the fascinations of her new life were potent, and 
 her estimate of sobriety was not always that of her husband. 
 
 If contrast be au element of harmony in married life, no 
 couple could be better mated. The character of Ellis was one 
 of remarkable solidity ; his opinions had foundations ; he was 
 thorough in every thing. Born to fortune, his tastes had been 
 cultivated at home and refined by foreign travel ; his associates 
 were select, his intimacies few. How a man of his stamp hap 
 pened to be captivated with Katherine Fountain a girl whose 
 education had been imperfect, whose few accomplishments were 
 of a middling order, whose natural powers were in a manner stag 
 nant for want of healthful stimulus and a guiding spirit we 
 have already seen. Mr. Ellis's admiration of beauty, and his 
 firm belief in its significance, had led him to overlook all that 
 might to a cooler eye have been evident deficiency, in so exqnisite 
 a creature, the extreme worth of those who had trained her being 
 a sort of security that in the deeper accomplishments of the 
 heart she could not be wanting. A young woman brought up 
 under Aunt Susan's influence must have in her the genius of 
 good wifehood ; Katherine was sincere and not without serious 
 ness ; she was young, and there was time for every thing. If 
 she cared rather disproportionately for things essentially frivo 
 lous, that was natural at her age. It would be her husband's 
 delightful task to regulate and inform her taste, giving to every 
 object its due place, and gradually replacing the lower by the 
 higher. If she evinced an undue pertinacity at times, it was 
 the innate strength of her character, her high sense of duty, and
 
 124 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 her adherence to what seemed to her right. It needed only to 
 apply and confine this rigidity of will to subjects of importance, 
 to make it a most valuable quality, in a world half of whose 
 sins are sins of vacillation and want of courage. 
 
 So reasoned our sage lover ; and we can hardly wonder that 
 he thought beauty like his wife's must bespeak every virtue. 
 
 Her form had an undulating grace which not all the artifices 
 and constraints of fashion could have spoiled, and her movements, 
 unstudied and devoid of the tricks which caprice invents for the 
 distinction of soi-disant exclusives, were strikingly simple a 
 beauty not enough prized in our young women, and which, when 
 not, as in this case, a natural gift, is the fruit of only the best 
 training. With this expressive elegance of form and motion, 
 accorded a face in which color e.nd outline harmonized so sweet 
 ly that the eye was at a loss to analyze the charm. It was like 
 a cluster of dewy blossoms when the morning sun first shines 
 upon it, fusing its loveliness in light. No strong trait of char 
 acter had as yet written itself legibly on this delicate surface ; 
 it was only a tablet of excellent possibilities. The complexion 
 was lily-fair, and the cheek tinged only with a flitting rose, as 
 emotion quickened the eloquent blood. In expression, Kathe- 
 rine's face leaned a little to the sad ; for delicate beauty is never 
 wholly gay ; and this sweet sadness promises the sympathy and 
 tenderness whose lack even beauty fails to supply 
 
 The training of such a creature seems to the imagination no 
 heavy task, yet Henry Ellis discovered, before he had far passed 
 the threshold of married life, that to play the guiding spirit in 
 the transition from girl to woman is not an easy one for a lover. 
 Young love prompts praise, and is the happy parent of uncon 
 scious flattery ; and when love as true and tender ventures to
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 125 
 
 speak another language besides this its first, the sensitive ear is 
 apt to detect or fancy harshness, in the softest tones that can 
 frame words of reproof or even advice. It was not long before 
 Katherine began to feel herself wounded by difference of opin 
 ion, by objections, by hesitation, even. Her ideal was built up 
 of materials furnished only by her own imagination, and she 
 never suspected that a wife who wholly and ardently loved, would 
 have borrowed from the beloved one a thousand tints and graces 
 for the fabric, if not the very foundations. She felt her hus 
 band's superiority with pride, but not without a secret and un 
 recognized pain. He was so reasonable ! she did not relish the 
 unintentional compulsion of his calmer and better regulated 
 nature, and in her heart she called it an iron will, never suspect 
 ing the adamant of her own, by means of which she discovered, 
 or thought she discovered, the unyielding nature of his. Yet 
 these difficulties were but incipient. The early domestic skies 
 were rosy and tranquil, and only a trained eye could have dis 
 cerned in the horizon the hand's breadth of cloudy bar that 
 threatened their happy calm. 
 
 Mr. Ellis's first care had been to invite George Fountain to 
 become an inmate of his house, and his next to procure for him 
 the best instruction, and to give his really fine talents every op 
 portunity of development. This delighted Katherine, and she 
 acceded willingly to her husband's suggestion that she should 
 take part in such of George's lessons as befitted her, for the 
 sake of regular occupation during a portion of the morning, as 
 well as to supply certain deficiencies in her education. This 
 went on admirably. Katherine found herself all the more at 
 leisure for this regularity of employment, and the pleasure of 
 improvement began to make itself felt. Ellis looked on,
 
 126 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 delighted, and his own personal part in the labor of love was 
 not wanting. He turned Katherine's attention to books, and 
 read with her his favorite authors. Her taste, naturally good, 
 began to expand under cultivation, and her discrimination 
 unfolded itself in proportion. It was all a delicious voyage of 
 discovery, through summer seas, touching at islands of adven 
 ture and pleasant surprise, with a pilot who possessed the happy 
 power of guiding the winds and smoothing the waters at his 
 
 Love at the helm and pleasure in the breeze. 
 
 Mr. Deane was often present at these readings, and contrib 
 uted not a little by his taste and knowledge to their variety and 
 interest, while it was delightful to the young people to be able 
 somewhat to relieve the melancholy with which a series of mis 
 fortunes and disappointments had shadowed his life. He pos 
 sessed an easy fortune, but those were gone with whom he 
 could have enjoyed it, and failing health seemed to his some 
 what morbid feelings a reason for not making more resolute 
 efforts against the encroachments of sorrow. In George 
 Fountain he always took peculiar interest. A resemblance, 
 fancied or real, which Mr. Deane pleased himself with tracing 
 between George and his lost son, gave him a wonderful charm 
 in his eyes. Katherine, who was proud of her brother, soon 
 learned to love Mr. Deane, and the little party moved on as 
 amicably, and settled into as habitual affection, as if they had 
 lived together always. 
 
 And happy would it have been if this simple state of things 
 could have continued unchanged. Such seasons of calm, un 
 marked by exciting events, yet full of pure and wholesome life
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 127 
 
 and meaning, are the seed time of the future. But the plans 
 of life of those who live in society are much at the mercy of 
 
 circumstances. The library in Square had not been more 
 
 than a few months the scene of the studies and amusements 
 we have mentioned, when Mr. Ellis came in one morning, look 
 ing blank and almost vexed, and holding in his hand a note 
 from Mrs. Enfield. 
 
 " My sister writes me," he said, " that our cousin Mrs. St. 
 John, of Baltimore, is coming here for a few weeks ; and that 
 she hopes, as we are at housekeeping and she is not, we shall 
 ask her to stay with us." This was a compliment the Enfields 
 often paid their friends one of the dignified and convenient 
 results of boarding-house existence. 
 
 Katherine suppressed an exclamation of dismay, which she 
 felt would be unbecoming on the occasion of a first visit from 
 her husband's relations ; but a long perspective of interruption, 
 constraint, and forced gayety, with the dreaded figures of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Enfield intermixed, rose up before her startled imagi 
 nation. She remembered having heard something of what Mrs. 
 St. John's visits were, and that their annual recurrence had 
 been one motive for the Enfields' breaking up housekeeping. 
 
 " What shall I say, dear ?" said Ellis, with a smile that had 
 a dolorous twinkle in the eye. 
 
 " Oh, that we shall be very happy, of course," said Kathe 
 rine, smiling back in the same spirit, " though I own I feel my 
 incompetency to entertain Mrs. St. John." 
 
 " You need be under no uneasiness on that score," said her 
 husband, " for Mrs. St. John is a lady who always makes her 
 wishes known, and contrives to entertain herself wherever she 
 is."
 
 128 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 So Mrs. St. John came, and with her not only her own ser 
 vant, who was expected, but her son an.d his servant, who had 
 not even been mentioned. They arrived at night, and as Mrs. 
 St. John said, nearly dead with fatigue and exhaustion. 
 
 Here were four rooms to be occupied, instead of two, as 
 Katherine had expected. But the house was so ample that this 
 difficulty was but momentary. Not so that which arose when 
 Mrs. St. John was shown into her room. 
 
 " Charming !" she exclained, looking round with her glass. 
 " How very beautifully you have arranged every thing. But, 
 my dear Mrs. Ellis, I fear I shall have to be troublesome 
 enough to beg you will have those curtains removed, for I never 
 sleep under any thing of the sort ; I consider them extremely 
 unwholesome." 
 
 " Will draperies so light as these incommode you ?" said 
 Katherine, who thought with dismay of the attempt to take 
 down in a few minutes what the upholsterer had been hours in 
 putting up. 
 
 " yes, indeed I could not think of attempting to sleep 
 under them. The very idea is quite enough. Just allow the 
 servants to take them down, if you please, and I will return to 
 the drawing-room for a few minutes." 
 
 Mrs. St. John established herself on the sofa in an attitude 
 of elegant languor, requesting Katherine, who had been hoping 
 to slip away to attend to the demolition of her beautiful drape 
 ries, to sit by her side. She complained of excessive fatigue, 
 and required the incessant attention of her servant. After sev 
 eral things had been brought for her refreshment she seemed a 
 little revived, and asked Katherine to play something for her. 
 This was a new trial for our bride, whose music was but medi-
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 129 
 
 ocre ; so she endeavored to excuse herself, but there was no 
 escape. She felt herself to be succeeding pretty well, when 
 Mrs. St. John exclaimed, " My dear Mrs. Ellis 1 I forgot to 
 ask whether there are draperies in Eugene's room. If there 
 are, I fear I must trouble you to have those removed, too, for I 
 would not dare to allow him to sleep under them. His health 
 is very delicate 1" 
 
 Glad to escape the piano-forte, Katherine withdrew to give 
 the necessary orders. Mrs. St. John surveyed her retreating 
 form through her glass with the eye of a connoisseur. 
 
 " A beautiful creature 1" she said, encouragingly, to Mr. 
 Ellis. " You have really done honor to your taste. She wants 
 nothing but an air of fashion. Her tournure is elegant, though 
 I see her maid does not understand dressing her hair." 
 
 " She dresses her own hair," said Mr. Ellis. 
 
 " Oh ! it isn't possible ! How very odd ! Yiolet shall 
 dress it for her, and then you will see the difference." 
 
 Mr. Ellis felt that he did not care to see any difference ; but 
 knowing Mrs. St. John of old, he did not say so. Katherine 
 returned, after a while, looking, sooth to say, a little flushed 
 and uncomfortable. She felt as if she was already half turned 
 out of her own house. 
 
 After some little delay, the party were satisfactorily disposed 
 of, and the family had retired, when Mrs. St. John's maid rap 
 ped at Mrs. Ellis's door, saying her mistress could not sleep, and 
 would like a glass of champagne. 
 
 This brought, our host began to hope his cousin was now 
 comfortable for a few hours ; but in a moment a loud shriek 
 was heard, and every body was at once in commotion. 
 
 Yiolet had managed to send the champagne cork full in her
 
 130 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 mistress's face, whither a great part of the wine had followed it. 
 So the bed was to be changed, and fomentations to be applied 
 to the probable bruise, all which occupied several persons until 
 near morning. We can hardly say that the young housekeeper 
 bore all this with perfect equanimity. 
 
 " Patience, Katherine dear," said her husband. " Mrs. St. 
 John will settle down after a few days. Change of place 
 always makes her rather restless at first, but when she gets ac 
 customed to us she will become quieter. She is really a woman 
 of many good qualities, spoiled by indulgence ; one of those 
 who, instead of restraining their wants, feel it an absolute duty 
 to gratify them all. That she likes a thing, is a sufficient rea 
 son to her for requiring it ; that she does not like another, an 
 equally good reason for refusing to put up with it at all. In 
 this way she has become sensitive to the smallest inconvenience ." 
 
 Emerson says that " to him who wears shoes, the whole 
 earth is covered with leather ;" a deep lesson to such as carry 
 about with them habits calculated to do any thing but protect 
 them against the roughnesses of life. 
 
 Katherine had begun to feel a little anxious as to what this 
 disposition of her guest might require of her, but there was 
 something so imposingly elegant about Mrs. St. John's manner 
 of doing the most ungracious things, and she so lavished kind 
 words and expressions of endearment through all, that there 
 arose a kind of admiration and wonder which half neutralized 
 the vexation ; and our young wife, imaginative and new to life, 
 was excessively susceptible to such influences. She had Already 
 felt the first springings of an ambition of society, and Mrs. 
 St. John offered what was the most needed as to manner ex 
 ample, which good Aunt Susan and her simple circle had not
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 131 
 
 been able to supply. So Katherine, occupied in studying her 
 as a study, soon forgot, spite of private vexations, to judge of her 
 as a woman. 
 
 Breakfast the next morning were no simple affair, easily dis 
 patched and soon forgotten. There were so many things to be 
 changed before Mrs. St. John or her son could possibly touch a 
 morsel, and they had so leisurely a manner of proceeding, that 
 the morning was well advanced before it was finished. In the 
 first place, the lady felt the need of the morning sun, and to 
 breakfast in a room which did not receive it chilled her for all 
 day ; this was announced by her maid before Mrs. St. John rose, 
 as that lady did not wish to be dressed a moment too soon, for 
 fear of faintness. The table was accordingly removed to a room 
 on the other side of the house, and in due season Mrs. St. John 
 was notified that breakfast waited her convenience. On this as 
 surance she ventured to rise, and in just an hour made her ap 
 pearance below. Meanwhile her son had been exploring the 
 house, spending some time on the roof with his dog and George 
 Fountain, and sending his unhappy black boy up and down stairs 
 for various articles, which he threw into the garden in vain at 
 tempts to induce the too sensible brute to jump after them This 
 Eugene was a handsome creature, with his mother's soft eyes 
 and soft manners ; wholly untrained, except to follow his own 
 inclinations ; but by nature amiable enough, and not devoid of 
 ability. What with personal beauty and elegance of dress and 
 manner there was a splendor about them both that soon fascinat 
 ed Katherine, ever alive to whatever stimulates and gratifies the 
 aesthetic faculty. Not all the airs they took or the trouble they 
 gave could wholly disgust her, though her husband often looked 
 
 -
 
 ]32 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 at her, surprised that she could endure unruffled what was to his 
 sense of propriety and kindness so trying. 
 
 Breakfast over, and all the heatings and coolings and toast- 
 ings and fannings required by Mrs. St. John happily accomplish 
 ed, the hostess proposed to show her the house, which, being the 
 still fresh fruit of her taste, was a subject of some little natural 
 pride. Eugene and his dog accompanied them, in a skirmishing 
 sort of way in and out, before and after them, and making the 
 tour as much in the way of exercise as of examination. 
 
 " Eugene, my love 1" said his mother, " you shouldn't let 
 your dog jump on those cushions I There t he is on the bed I 
 You must really restrain him. You indulge him too much." 
 
 " Oh he's quite clean, mamma, I assure you,^ said Eugene j 
 " he has been well washed this morning." 
 
 " But perhaps he is damp, my dear." 
 
 " Oh, I fancy not \ 
 
 Certain tracks on the pillows spoke to the point, but the 
 dog was allowed to continue his innocent gambols. 
 
 Mrs. St. John admired judiciously, but found something to sug 
 gest in every room ; and Katherine seemed to herself to be un 
 der the influence of some magic eye-salve, so much did her 
 guest's remarks enlighten her as to the possibilities of her house. 
 Of the library, however, Mrs. St. John expressed unqualified ap 
 probation ; it was so quiet, so charmingly fitted up r and, open 
 ing into the conservatory, had the aspect of perpetual summer. 
 
 " You must positively let this be my domain while I stay with 
 you," she said ; " it is quite a little summer hearen I I adore 
 books and flowers, and then this bay-window on the garden, and 
 this luxurious divan ! you must really let me hare a little 
 bed here ; a mere sofa, or something of that sort. I don't mind
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 133 
 
 what it is, la such a delightful place, though while we are put 
 ting up a bed, it is certainly just as easy to have it a comfortable 
 one. You will, dearest Katherine, won't you ? you are so ami 
 able that one is not afraid to ask you for any thing !" 
 
 Katherine murmured something about the library's being her 
 husband's peculiar ground, but Mrs. St. John with the most in 
 sinuating smile, said, turning to Ellis, " Oh, Henry will not 
 mind ! He knows my odd ways, and will indalge ine, I know !" 
 And the thing was settled, nem. ton., and the state bedstead 
 which, with its delicate drapery, Katherine had thought the 
 prettiest thing that ever was seen, came inglorious into the li 
 brary, shorn of its honors, and looking only cumbrous and sadly 
 out of place. The removal 0f the bed brought with it that of 
 most of the furniture that belonged to it, and a general turn-out 
 in the library ensued. But the pleasure expressed by Mrs. St. 
 John was considered, by herself at least, ample consolation. " I 
 shall be so happy here I" she said ; " I shall hardly know when 
 to leave you J" 
 
 And truly she seemed quite content in her new quarters, dis 
 covering every day some new mode of rendering them still more 
 comfortable, such as begging Mrs. Ellis to allow Eugene to oc 
 cupy a small room adjoining, which had been used for some of 
 the morning lessons, now alas ! quite broken up. We need not 
 go further into particulars, but leave Mrs. St. John's ways to 
 the reader's imagination. 
 
 What is more important, Eugene became quite inseparable 
 from George Fountain, whose studies were pursued but nomi 
 nally .after the arrival of these absorbing guests. Every day 
 brought its plans and pleasures ; Mrs. St. John had a large cir 
 cle of fashionable friends, and the once quiet house in
 
 134 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Square was the rendezvous of many very elegant and important 
 people, who professed to have no business in life. Mr. Deane 
 and all sober friends were in the shade, at least, while the En- 
 fields and their set reigned triumphant. Parties followed parties, 
 for Mrs- St. John's delicacy of health never prevented her going 
 any where, and Katherine could seldom be excused from accom 
 panying her. 
 
 " I shall stay with you so short a time," would the fair guest 
 say; " you must gratify me ! Do, darling." And truth to say, 
 Katherine soon was nothing loth. 
 
 A new world was opening upon her a world of imposing ele 
 gance, accomplishment, enjoyment, and, above all, admiration, 
 for in it her beauty was as if new found. That all this proved 
 intoxicating, who can wonder ? Exquisitely dressed, with the 
 aid of her husband's indulgence and Mrs. St. John's practised 
 taste, Katherine found herself every where "the cynosure of 
 neighboring eyes," and in those eyes she read such confessions 
 of her loveliness as not all the more measured and principled 
 admiration of her husband could counterbalance. She even be 
 gan oh ! ungrateful heart of woman ! to fancy that Ellis had 
 never done her justice. The voice of flattery is louder than the 
 tender whisper of affection ; the praise of indifference far bolder 
 than the delicate homage of respect. Mr. Ellis saw with pain 
 his wife's gradual subjection to the influence of frivolity, but in 
 stinctively forbore direct remonstrance. Mrs. St. John's power 
 of fascination, her ceaseless efforts to draw Katherine into the 
 c'rcle in which she herself delighted to move, and the soft grace 
 with which she turned aside whatever objection he occasionally 
 interposed when some new entertainment was talked of, quite 
 baffled him. He resolved to await his cousin's departure, hoping
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 135 
 
 that with that much desired era he might once more find his 
 wife all his own. 
 
 Philosophize as we may about the folly of yielding to social 
 compulsions, they exert immense power over us all ; and, once 
 within their charmed circle, escape requires a degree of resolu 
 tion possessed by few. Why did not Henry Ellis at once rein 
 state his household gods, and banish by a word the unconscious 
 troubler of his peace ? Why did he allow his wife young, beau 
 tiful, and inexperienced to be caught in the vortex of fashion 
 able life, which his soul detested ? 
 
 These were perhaps some of the reasons : Mrs. St. John's 
 annual visit was usually a short one ; she was a widow, and 
 Henry one of her very few surviving relations. She was not a 
 person of evil intentions, and her manner was so gentle and per 
 suasive that to offend her would have seemed brutal. There was 
 nothing of positive and obvious evil threatened ; Katherine's 
 manners were so pure and unexceptionable that no breath of 
 slander could approach her ; her husband could only object to 
 some loss of her society, and as this was voluntary on her part, his 
 pride demurred a little at the thought of complaint. He suffered 
 certainly some feeling of estrangement ; his affection was disap 
 pointed, but of this Katherine seemed and was wholly uncon 
 scious, because she really knew little of the nature of deep and 
 exclusive attachment. In this way the thing went on from day 
 to day, Mrs. St. John ruling and overruling, Ellis secretly un 
 comfortable, not to say miserable, and Katherine perfectly 
 happy. 
 
 Upon the intimacy of the two young men there seemed to be 
 scarcely any check within the power of Mr. Ellis. He advised 
 George, continually, and endeavored to induce him to pursue
 
 136 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 his studies with some regularity ; but without apparent perverse- 
 ness, the young man yet managed to elude the kind care of his 
 brother-in-law. Brothers-in-law are not usually very bold or 
 very welcome advisers of young men. Aunt Susan and Uncle 
 Ashmore were alarmed and unhappy, and remonstrated, but with 
 as little effect. George's friend, Mr. Deane, who might in his 
 prime have had an influence over George for good, had been so 
 weakened by affliction that he aggravated the evil by supplying 
 him with the money required for a participation in young St. 
 John's expensive habits. Expense was the worst feature of 
 those habits as yet ; vice was only in perspective ; but such ex 
 pense would have been out of the question for George, without 
 the injudicious indulgence of Mr. Deane. Riding and driving, 
 trying and buying, comparing and exchanging horses, formed 
 the present passion of Eugene, and in these fancies he found a 
 ready coadjutor in George, characteristically inclined to the 
 same indulgence ; and the two young men immediately drew 
 about them several of like tastes and worse ones the very com 
 panions from whose influence and example George Fountain, 
 with his personal advantages, his facility and his disposition to 
 pleasure, required to be most carefully shielded. 
 
 Before the day fixed for Mrs. St. John's departure arrived, 
 she began to complain of her eyes. She could not imagine how 
 she had injured them ! but those who observed her late hours 
 and her general imprudence and self-indulgence, did not find it 
 very surprising that they exhibited symptoms of inflammation. 
 Here was a calamity ! A celebrated oculist was immediately 
 consulted, a dark room was prescribed, and a whole row of vials 
 displayed. Such curtainings and screenings ! such contrivings 
 of delicate nourishment, that the doctor's views and Mrs. St.
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 137 
 
 John's might be made to harmonize, the former forbidding 
 every thing but what was simple, the latter resolutely deter 
 mined to taste nothing that was not delicious. The house was 
 lik.e a hospital, although the disease was no more severe than 
 many a woman in different circumstances finds compatible with 
 the full performance of all her household duties. Catherine 
 was wholly taken up with her friend's misfortune, and learned 
 to speak of it in terms no less exaggerated than her own ; while 
 Ellis felt almost reconciled to the prolongation of the visit, by 
 the circumstance which kept both ladies at home. 
 
 But George Fountain paid dearer for the detention, for he 
 became more and more deeply acquainted and engaged with a 
 set of dissolute young men, decent in exterior, but in reality in 
 fected with every vice. Ellis in vain endeavored to keep 
 advised of his movements, and to convince Mr. Deane of the 
 danger of his protege. Mr. Deane contented himself with the 
 hackneyed observation that 'young men will be young men,' 
 continued to supply George with money, and allowed it to be 
 generally understood that he meant to make him his heir. 
 
 This gave the finishing stroke to George Fountain's self-re 
 straint. Mr. Deane had indeed but a moderate fortune, but to 
 a young man who had never had command of money it seemed 
 inexhaustible. A short career of extravagance proved perfectly 
 intoxicating to George's unbalanced mind, and before the state 
 of Mrs. St. John's eyes permitted her departure, he had 
 launched out into the most absurd expenses, and become one of 
 the leaders of the set in whose wake he had at first timidly fol 
 lowed. Dress was with him a mania, although he professed to 
 dislike ladies' society ; to be ' stylish ' had become his highest 
 ambition, and the imitation of ' fast ' men his only study. Even
 
 138 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Katherine, although the fashionable nonchalance he had acquired 
 rather dazzled her, secretly feared a moral change for the 
 worse ; although she habitually defended her brother from what 
 she called and thought the severe judgment of her husband, 
 more experienced friends regarded George and his pursuits and 
 his companions with grief and foreboding. The experience of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ashmore, joined with their unworldly purity of 
 estimate, filled them with the saddest prognostics. 
 
 " He will be just like his father 1" said Aunt Susan, weeping. 
 Unhappy the sou of whom the good say this with tears of 
 sorrow ! 
 
 " Remember, ladies, that I am all anxiety," said Mr. Berry, 
 as the reader ceased. "I have heard of a young lady who 
 after much flutter and announcement ' came out,' but, finding 
 that nobody paid her any attention, went in again. Xow as my 
 debut was a failure, I think I have shown enormous courage in 
 ' coming out ' a second time ; so pray be merciful 1" 
 
 They were so, of course, for could they expect human nature 
 to endure another rebuff? They praised the chapter 
 
 "With many a word of kindly cheer, 
 In pity half, and half sincere. 
 
 "If it is too long," said Mr. Berry, "give me some credit for 
 not going on and finishing the story, as I was strongly tempted 
 to do. One gets so interested in these things." 
 
 Fate selected Mr. Shelton next, and it was in vain he urged 
 that the chapter contributed by Egeria ought to satisfy the 
 law husbaud and wife being one. He was entangled in long
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 139 
 
 wreaths of grape-vine, and led to the House of Industry by 
 laughing girls, while Mr. Berry, enjoying his reluctance, cried 
 
 " Ha, Apollo ! floats his golden 
 Hair, all mist-like where he stands ; 
 While the muses hang enfolding 
 Knee, and foot with faint, wild hands ? 
 'Neath the clanging of thy bow, 
 Isiobe looked lost as thou !" 
 
 The only grace the victim could obtain was leave that Egor'a 
 should share his seclusion. This was mere policy, for he would 
 have done nothing but doleful things else. 
 
 " What boots the cunning pilot's skill 
 To tell which way to shape their course, 
 When he that steers will have his will 
 And drive them where he list, perforce. 
 So Reason shows the truth in vain 
 When fond Desire as king doth reign." 
 
 Once more in undisputed possession of his wife's society, 
 Henry Ellis set about a return to the habits of life that had 
 been productive of so much happiness before Mrs. St. John's 
 arrival. Masters were recalled, the library restored to its 
 proper calm, and the morning hours once more devoted to im 
 provement. But where was the presiding spirit of the place and 
 hour ? Her graceful semblance indeed was there ; she would 
 not unamiably resist her husband's wishes ; but she could not 
 recall her interest in the pursuits which had begun to charm her 
 before she ate of the tree of the knowledge of admiration and 
 excitement, Music alone she continued to pursue with enthusi-
 
 140 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 asm, because she liked it ; that she did not Hke other things 
 was now quite sufficient reason for declining to attend to them. 
 George, taking shelter under her example, disliked almost 
 every thing too ; and Ellis had the vexation of finding his 
 wishes thwarted and his judgment practically contemned, bjr 
 those whom of all others he sought to benefit. He remonstra 
 ted, but Katherine only wept, and George pouted. He offered 
 to make any change in plans, modes or teachers, but nothing 
 was proposed. This passive resistance was too much for even 
 his patience, and he gave up. He returned gradually to his 
 own favorite employments, and left his wife to hers, not without 
 a feeling of disappointment, as if a cloud had come between 
 him and the sun of his life. With George, however, he contin 
 ued to struggle, as he would have done with a predetermined 
 suicide. He accomplished at last the great object of removing 
 the young man into the family of a clergyman in the country, 
 with whom he was to study for at least one year, Mr. Deane 
 promising that during that period his now adopted son should 
 receive no money beyond a certain stipulated allowance, suffi 
 cient for necessary expenses. 
 
 When it was time for the gay world to retreat into the coun 
 try for the summer, Ellis proposed to his wife a tour which 
 should embrace several of the most striking points of interest, 
 and give him at the same time an opportunity of introducing 
 her to a beloved sister, whom the accidents of life had placed 
 in a remote county, where she lived in that sort of unsuperflu- 
 ous state which, while it allows comfort, forbids much journey 
 ing, and renders the occasional visit of a dear friend balm for a 
 whole year. 
 
 " My sister will be delighted to see you," said he, " and she
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 141 
 
 really has a right to see you. I engage beforehand that you 
 shall love her, for you cannot help it. She is the most loveable 
 creature in the world, and I long to see the two beings I love 
 best together. Then you have never seen the White Mountains, 
 nor the Lakes, nor Niagara " 
 
 " Xor any thing," said Katherine ; " but I was in hopes you 
 
 would be disposed to go to S . Mrs. Ainslie and Mrs. 
 
 Hartington and Madame de Blainville are going there, and all 
 the Prestons and Miss Demarest every body, in short." 
 
 If there was any thing that the soul of Henry Ellis hated, it 
 was a mere fashionable watering place, with " every body" for 
 society-r-a summer sojourn which owes its sole charm to the 
 momentary caprice of a few leaders of ton ; without recommen 
 dations of scenery, of healthfulness, of agreeable walks and 
 rides, or any thing else that rational human beings should con 
 sider in choosing a place of retreat from the wearing excite 
 ments and unhandsome emulations of the city. 
 
 " Katherine," he said, " is it possible you can like such a 
 
 place as S ! Surely, dear love, you have had enough of 
 
 the fatigue of company and dress this winter ! You are thin 
 you need recruiting repose." 
 
 " Travelling is not repose, I am sure," said Katherine, with 
 an air somewhat tinctured with displeasure. " If you think I 
 need nothing but repose, we had better stay at home." 
 
 Ellis felt pained by her manner, and by her forgetting to no 
 tice his desire to visit his sister. She remembered this after 
 wards, and said she would make his sister a visit if he wished it, 
 and with this rather ungracious consent he contented himself 
 as best he might. The result was a sort of compromise, six 
 weeks at S , and then a short tour and the proposed visit.
 
 142 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Katherme was soon immersed in preparations for this summer 
 recreation. She had very little time for her husband or Aunt 
 Susan, and complained every evening of fatigue. 
 
 " What can you have to do ?" said Aunt Susan ; " I am 
 sure, darling, you had every thing heart could wish, only last 
 fall, and you have had a good many new dresses since." 
 
 " Oh, I haven't a thing fit to wear at S ," said Kathe- 
 
 rine ; " ladies dress superbly there. Mr. Fitzgerald says that a 
 breakfast at S is like Madame Florette's show-rooms " 
 
 " It seems to me I wouldn't go there, then," said simple 
 Aunt Susan. " It must be more trouble than it's worth." 
 
 This remark was received in silence. 
 
 " What kind of people do you meet there, dear ?" continued 
 Mrs. Ashmore. 
 
 " 0, the first people in town " 
 
 " But do you like them particularly ?" 
 
 Katherme hesitated a little. She had not asked herself this. 
 
 "I do not know that 1 like them especially, but one likes to 
 be in the best society, and I certainly see nothing wrong about 
 fashionable people." 
 
 "If we should ask ourselves whether the same persons, 
 divested of the air of fashion, would be our chosen companions," 
 Ellis began 
 
 "I do not think that would be fair," said Katherine, with a 
 slight flush. " The air of fashion is a charm, of itself. People 
 of fashion are graceful and elegant. They understand life, and 
 know how to make it agreeable. I am sure you do not like 
 coarse people any better than I do." 
 
 " But does the only choice lie between coarse people and peo 
 ple of fashion, dear ? There are many cultivated and refined
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 143 
 
 people who have no desire to belong to the fashionable world, 
 and who borrow no charm from it." 
 
 " I cannot find them," said Katherine, pettishly ; "I know 
 plenty of disagreeable good people, but I find no pleasure in 
 their society." 
 
 Aunt Susan sighed. 
 
 " If all good people were like you, dear Aunty," she added, 
 repenting ; " but some of them are so unlovely !" 
 
 " There are worse sins than sins against taste," said Mr. Ellis. 
 " Allowing that good people are not as careful to be agreeable 
 as they ought to be, it may still be a question whether our vir 
 tue is not safer in their company. The experience of the world 
 says yes. It tells us of the insidious evils of a life of pleasure." 
 
 " You speak as if pleasure meant vice," said Katherine ; " / 
 think it means beauty, and grace, and innocent excitement, 
 whatever gratifies our taste without doing any body harm." 
 
 " I quite agree with you, dear," Ellis replied, willing to soothe 
 the irritation which he saw reddening the cheek of his be 
 loved ; " there is only a question of amount between us. Our 
 estimate is the same, but I should perhaps differ a little from 
 you as to the prominence to be given to pleasure as a pursuit. 
 I enjoy it most when it comes incidentally, and as the result of 
 other pursuits, and I cannot but think you will one day do so 
 too." 
 
 He stopped, for he hated to seem to lecture, and his wife for 
 bore to reply, for she did not wish to be convinced. A moment 
 after, he asked, 
 
 "Kate, dear, did you ever read Wordsworth's Ode to 
 Duty ?" 
 
 Katherine said "No."
 
 144 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " Pray read it, love ; I consider it one of our duties to learn 
 it by heart. You brought a stanza of it to my mind 
 
 " There are who ask not if thine eye 
 
 Be on them ; who, in love and truth 
 "Where no misgiving is, rely 
 
 Upon the genial sense of youth ; 
 Glad hearts! without reproach or blot, 
 "Who do thy work and know it not I 
 Oh ! if. through confidence misplaced, 
 They fail thy saving arms, dread Power, around them cast 1" 
 
 Katherine blushed, and tears filled her eyes. Ellis, drawing her 
 tenderly towards him, went on : 
 
 " Serene will be our days, and bright 
 And happy will our nature be, 
 "When Love is an unerring light 
 And joy its own security. 
 And they a blissful course may hold 
 Even now, who, not unwisely bold, 
 Live in the spirit of this creed, 
 Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need." 
 
 Katherine smiled up into her husband's face through her tears, 
 feeling, she knew not why, as if a new chord had been struck 
 between them. How often is poetry the interpreter between 
 heart and heart that might otherwise be slow to understand 
 each other ! 
 
 " I sometimes think you don't sympathize with me," she 
 said. 
 
 " Do you ever think your happiness is not mine ? that I have 
 a wish separate from you ? Naughty girl I I set you the 
 whole Ode to Duty as a task, and command you to repeat it to
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 145 
 
 me this day week, Madame Florette and the whole army of 
 dress-makers to the contrary notwithstanding." 
 
 "Ah I see you think I am wholly occupied with dress 
 makers and nonsense 1" 
 
 " Ben Jonson says ' rich apparel hath strange virtues ; it 
 maketh him that hath it without means esteemed for an excel 
 lent wit ; he that enjoys it with means puts the world in 
 remembrance of his means ; it helps the deformities of nature, 
 gives lustre to her beauties, and makes a continual holiday 
 where it shines.' Queen Elizabeth had three thousand gowns, 
 and she was a wise woman surely I" 
 
 Katherine was not above half satisfied with this gay answer. 
 She detected in it something like contempt for the pursuits of 
 which her heart confessed the charm. But the affection that 
 glowed and sparkled in her husband's eyes almost consoled her 
 for the satire. Aunt Susan inquired about the journey and the 
 time of return. 
 
 " And George is not to come home until October ?" 
 
 " Not on any consideration." 
 
 " You will certainly be here in time for Mary's marriage ?" 
 
 " Certainly without fail ! Nothing would tempt me to miss 
 dear Mary's marriage." 
 
 Mary Ashmore was to be married in October to a junior 
 partner of her father, " not rich," Aunt Susan said, " but good I" 
 Dear, good Aunt Susan ! who had been able to live half way 
 through this gilded, tinsel, hard world of ours, not only uncor- 
 rupted by its cold and false maxims, but absolutely untinged 
 by its pervading colors. Katherine, though partaking of her 
 nature, had yet some different elements in her composition ; so 
 
 the Ellises went to S . 
 
 10
 
 146 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 In its best aspect, life at a fashionable watering-place is a 
 scene of " strenuous idleness." Days undivided by regular em 
 ployment are necessarily long, and it therefore becomes an object 
 to kill Time. Towards this all ingenuity is directed self-inter 
 est stimulating the invention of hotel-keepers, and necessity that 
 of their guests, until at length killing Time becomes a pursuit, 
 and thus satisfying in some sort the craving of nature, 
 appeases her reproaches. We have heard of gentlemen racing 
 snails, and betting on push-pin, and ladies playing jack-straws 
 and gambling privately for bonbons, as resources against ennui at 
 a watering-place ; but these stories must refer to more simple 
 and "innocent days than ours. Idleness is no longer the worst 
 sin laid at the door of fashionable summer retreats. Idleness is 
 supposed, in some codes, to be a very commendable thing, in 
 summer ; a wholesome let-up after the laborious excitement of 
 the winter ; a salutary sleep of the over-wearied powers, driven 
 to their utmost tension during the remainder of the year ; and, 
 perhaps, allowing the strain to be necessary, the unbending of 
 the bow is necessary too. But idleness is a medicine that must 
 be pure in order to be efficacious. It will not do mixed with 
 the most pernicious stimulants the concentrated essence of the 
 drugs that did the mischief. We cannot cure the effect of late 
 hours, homceopathically, by sitting up later ; neutralize the ex 
 travagance of the winter by the greater extravagance of the 
 summer, or wipe out, by new flirtations, the scandal of the old ; 
 nor can we atone for the unwholesome practices of nine months 
 of the twelve, by still greater outrages upon nature during the 
 other three. Rural retirement is indeed salutary to jaded 
 spirits ; rural sights and sounds are balm to world-wearied 
 senses ; rural quiet a life-spring to exhausted brains. But it is
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 147 
 
 the farm-house, or the plain, rural residence, or the exhilarating 
 tour ; not the gay season at a great hotel, that can yield these. 
 Contrast the life of fashion at a watering-place, haunted by 
 those who seek in the country only a meaner city, with this 
 beautiful picture of summer hours renewing a mind worn with 
 noble labors. 
 
 How often, hither wandering down, 
 
 My Arthur found your shadows fair ; 
 
 And shook to all the liberal air 
 The dust and din and steam of town ! 
 
 O joy to him, in this retreat 
 
 Immantled in ambrosial dark, 
 
 To drink the cooler air, and mark 
 The landscape winking through the heat. 
 
 Nor less it pleased, in livelier moods, 
 Beyond the bounding hill to stray, 
 And break the livelong summer day 
 With banquet In the distant woods; 
 
 Whereat we glanced from theme to theme, 
 
 Discussed the books to love or hate. 
 
 Or touched the changes of the State, 
 Or threaded some Socratic dream. 
 
 But if I praised the busy town, 
 
 He loved to rail against it still, 
 
 For, " ground in yonder social mill, 
 We rub each other's angles down, 
 
 And merge," he said, " In form and gloss 
 The picturesque of man and man. 1 ' 
 
 No wonder that Katherine and her husband came to such 
 different opinions as to the best way of passing the summer, 
 when his ideal was that of the poet, while hers was shaped by 
 the counsels conscious and unconscious of Mrs. St. John.
 
 148 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " The sources of thought multiply beyond calculation the 
 sources of feeling, and, mingled, they rush together in a torrent 
 deep and strong." 
 
 Much of cultivation must yet pass into the murmuring cur 
 rent of our young wife's thoughts, before she will discover her 
 true self. Certain vases of rare and delicate device are so con 
 trived as not to disclose their most precious beauty until wine is 
 poured into them, and a lamp's rays set streaming through their 
 magic enamelling. High romantic lore was the wine that Kath- 
 erine's nature needed, and Love the lamp that must give life to 
 her loveliness. At present the outward filled and occupied her 
 wholly not, indeed, without an occasional misgiving as to the 
 dignity and permanence of her pleasures, but with an intoxica 
 tion that drowned importunate thoughts. Her husband, seeing 
 her error, waited with a noble patience for the awakening. 
 Firm in his creed that beauty so harmonious as hers must have 
 a deep and sacred significance, he watched the fusing elements 
 of her character, as the alchemist of old time gazed reveren 
 tially into the crucible which was to give to his longing eyes 
 pure gold or the solvent of all mysteries. The image of what 
 she would be was drawn so clearly on his heart, that whatever 
 seemed for the moment to differ from it was but as a passing 
 shadow, sure to leave the picture unchanged, or only the 
 brighter for the momentary eclipse. Katherine felt some secret 
 undefined consciousness of this, and had already learned to seek 
 approbation in her husband's eye, or to avoid that eye when she 
 felt it would not give the response she began to covet ; 'but the 
 bewildering round of emptiness in which she was now engaged, 
 drew her, by new attractions, further and further from this her 
 better home and centre, and the people with whom she associ-
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 149 
 
 ated managed very soon to give her husband in her eyes the air 
 of a sort of Mentor of undeniable wisdom, but given to incon 
 venient applications of it ; a person to be propitiated rather 
 than satisfied ; one who mistook lack of sympathy for disappro 
 bation, and incapacity to enjoy for moral distaste. Like a 
 child's fairy pinnace on a summer sea, Katheriue flitted before 
 the silly gale ; but there was all the while, lying under the 
 waves, a strong though slender thread, leading to a kind and 
 judicious hand, ever ready to draw the frail bark to its haven 
 of safety on the approach of danger. 
 
 Happy wife ! to be so loved by such a heart. Happy hus 
 band ! whose calm Love itself could not unbalance ; whose 
 tenderness was not weakness, nor his guiding restraint 5 who 
 could respect difference and wait for assimilation ; tempering 
 decision with indulgence, and jealously watching his own deepest 
 convictions lest they should tend to oppression. 
 
 Thus ended the chapter of Mr. Shelton, on which the judges 
 took occasion to quiz him a little, because he seemed so knowing 
 about the tactics of married life, and especially the whims aud 
 perverseness of young wives. 
 
 " O, my wife helped me, you know !" he said ; " she knew by 
 instinct all about being perverse, although she has not begun to 
 practise it yet. I consider it very fortunate that I hit upou 
 just such a subject ; ' forewarned forearmed,' you know. I 
 have her renunciation of all that's naughty, under her own 
 hand." 
 
 The chapter being accepted, Miss Ingoldsby was at last 
 chosen scribe.
 
 150 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " It is too bad," she said, " that I, who know nothing of 
 married life, should be fated to this chapter, where of course 
 our young wife must behave shockingly. It will really go 
 against my convictions, for it seems as if it would be easy to be 
 good, with such a husband." 
 
 " Don't you know that your very good men always have bad 
 wives ?" said Mrs. Whipple 
 
 " What a horrible libel upon our sex !" exclaimed Mrs. Mar- 
 ston. " If you mean weakly indulgent men, who are too indo 
 lent to treat their wives as if they were rational beings, I agree 
 with you ; but I do not call those good husbands ! A certain 
 kind of indulgence is merely covert insult to the supposed weak 
 ness and incompetency of the woman. I think our ' Woman's 
 Rights' people quite right in protesting against consideration 
 which is not respect." 
 
 " But we are not making our hero a merely indulgent hus 
 band" 
 
 " Pray make him a man, while you are about it ;" said Mr. 
 Ingoldsby, "not a milk-sop, so in love with his wife's pretty face 
 that he makes a baby of her I" 
 
 " I should like to see what kind of a hero you would draw, 
 papa," replied Elinor, laughing. 
 
 " A fine sturdy fellow, with a will of his own," said the old 
 gentleman ; " one that would have no nonsense t One that 
 would have blown Mrs. St. John sky-high 1 This Ellis lets 
 every body walk over him." 
 
 " Wait for the end," said the several authors and Mr. In 
 goldsby seemed quite content to wait. 
 
 Miss Ingoldsby's chapter was called
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 
 
 VENTURING S. 
 
 If ye are fair 
 
 Mankind will crowd about you, thick as when 
 Tho full-faced moon sits silver on the sea, 
 The eager waves lift up their gleaming heads, 
 Each shouldering for her smile. 
 
 After a fortnight at S , Mr. Ellis was obliged to return 
 
 to town on business, and just as he was considering how best to 
 leave Katherine in that giddy whirl, to his no small vexation 
 Mrs. St. John and her son arrived. 
 
 " Now there will be no difficulty," said Mrs. Ellis. 
 
 Her husband said nothing. 
 
 "Eugene can go with us every where," said Mrs. St. John. 
 
 There was but one direction in which it would have pleased 
 Mr. Ellis to see the young man escorting his mother viz. 
 directly back to Baltimore. 
 
 " Be prudent, dearest," said the anxious husband, at parting ; 
 " you are in a nest of cruel slanders and envies. Do not think 
 me over-careful if I advise you not to join in any party of pleas 
 ure while I am absent " 
 
 " You make me think of Blue-Beard," said Katherine, laugh 
 ing. 
 
 " Take care, then," said Ellis, " That Mrs. St. John does not 
 prove a ' Sister Anne' 1" 
 
 It would have been a treat to a cynical observer to watch 
 Mrs. St. John's course at S ; to see her, whom no luxury
 
 152 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 of appointments could satisfy, cooped up in a wretched little 
 nook ; her, whose delicacy at table almost prevented those about 
 her from enjoying any thing, seated at a reeking, buzzing, scuf 
 fling dinner of hundreds, where the utmost vulgarity of manners 
 and costume made elegance look tame, and taste faded, in com 
 parison ; her, for whose privacy no drawing-room could be 
 closely enough curtained from the light of common day, seated 
 in a staring parlor or walking a public piazza, surrounded by 
 strange women, and stared at by smoking men. The shadowy 
 and shrinking feebleness of last winter was changed into a de 
 fensive manner, as of one who must be prepared for emergen 
 cies and impertinences ; the calm self-complacency which had 
 distinguished her maintien where there was no threatening of 
 direct rivalry, had changed into an anxious look, which watched 
 and weighed each new-comer with painful or exulting self-com 
 parison. People, like pictures, have their own proper lights ; 
 
 and in the glaring cross-lights of S Mrs. St. John's grace 
 
 and charm were nearly lost. Even to Katherine's apprehen 
 sion, much of her goddess-ship slid off by such rude contact ; and 
 Mrs. St. John, though still and ever the " glass of fashion," 
 sank down among the approach ables, and shared her pedestal 
 with several other rulers of the hour, as well furnished as her 
 self with all that commands the lip-homage of places like 
 
 The amusement first proposed after Mr. Ellis's departure was 
 tableaux, and instantly the question arose, Is a tableaux party 
 a " party of pleasure ?" 
 
 " Decidedly not," Mrs. St. John said ; " a party of pleasure 
 meant going away somewhere, while this was to be held within
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 153 
 
 doors. A party of pleasure involved risks, quite out of the 
 question in this case ; and tableaux in particular, though rather 
 out of fashion, were so elegant, when properly (i. e. expensive 
 ly) done, and so free from all objection even to the most fastidi 
 ous, that they could not be included in Mr. Ellis's prohibition." 
 
 " It was not prohibition," Katherine said ; "it was only ad 
 vice." 
 
 " All the same 'thing, my dear ! A husband's advice is like 
 a royal invitation equivalent to a command. But as these tab 
 leaux cannot possibly be construed into an infringement of the 
 
 Awful rule, supremacy and sway, 
 
 that you seem to think his prerogative, I hope you will not re 
 fuse and so disoblige us all. It must require an immense amount 
 of amiability to be so submissive ! Happily for me, my poor 
 husband liked me to be independent. He never interfered with 
 my wishes any more than I did with his . He thought me quite 
 competent to judge for myself." 
 
 " I dare say you were so," said Katherine ; "I am not so 
 sure with regard to myself." 
 
 " What sweet meekness ! You are really the model wife, I 
 declare 1" 
 
 " Henry has had so much more experience," said Katherine, 
 " and his judgment is so much better than mine, that I always 
 feel bound to obey his wishes." 
 
 " Obey ! oh dear 1 I thought that word was forgotten, by 
 even the most dutiful wives." 
 
 " Call it what you will," replied Katherine, who felt a little 
 mortified at having used so old-fashioned an expression, " I think 
 it right to be guided by his advice."
 
 154 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " Your good aunt brought you up charmingly, my dear, and 
 your husband ought to be much obliged to her for it. But why 
 will you put such things in his head ? This is the very time to 
 establish your position ; if you begin now and of your own ac 
 cord for I am sure Henry does not desire it, to play the child 
 towards him, you must do it all your life, for men never yield an 
 inch once gained." 
 
 This idea of competition was new to Katherine, but it did not 
 wholly displease her. Mrs. St John was so much older than 
 herself, and had seen so much of the world, that her opinions 
 carried a sort of weight with them, especially as they almost 
 always favored Katherine's inclinations. So the tableaux car 
 ried it, the more easily as there was a possibility that Ellis might 
 return before the day proposed. 
 
 " Here is the list," said Mrs. St John, as she came into Kath 
 erine's room, after breakfast the next morning. " 'Joan of Arc 
 in prison' (Mrs. Vandewater will take that, I know ; her tall 
 masculine figure and black hair will just do.) 'Buckingham 
 and Fenella' (that was contrived to give a character to Miss 
 Pyne the great fortune she will be magnificently dressed, and 
 she's a dwarf, you know ;) ' Paul Clifford and his Companions, 
 drinking ' (that's for the young men.) ' Faust and Margaret ' 
 was proposed, but that's so common now, you know " 
 
 Katherine had never even heard of the characters. 
 
 "It isn't possible!" Mrs. St. John said. "Next comes 
 ' Greek fugitives after the massacre of Scio ' that will afford 
 opportunity for most picturesque dresses."
 
 THE ISLAND STORY 155 
 
 " And where are these dresses to come from at such short no 
 tice ?" asked Katherine. 
 
 " Oh, many of us have fancy dresses, from former occasions, 
 and every body has things that can be altered. Besides, many 
 elegant materials can be had here. Your maid will easily make 
 up any thing you will want." 
 
 " What character is proposed for me ?" 
 
 " We thought of the parting of Thekla and Max, in Wallen- 
 stein." 
 
 " A parting ! but who would be Max ?" 
 
 " Mr. Mansfield or indeed any of the tall handsome young 
 men " 
 
 " 0, indeed you must excuse me !" cried Katherine, blushing ; 
 " any thing of that kind would be quite out of the question. I 
 could not think of it !" 
 
 " Don't be prudish, my dear ! You have only to stand in at 1 
 titudes, looking at each other." 
 
 But Katherine's natural sense of propriety had warned her, 
 and she stood firm here. " You must think of something else," 
 she said. 
 
 " Well, there is ' Exchanging old Lamps for new ones ;' the 
 Princess giving Aladin's lamp to the old magician disguised as 
 a pedler. That allows a magnificent Turkish dress ; and Mr. 
 Sandford, who has been so many years in the East, has a book 
 of Oriental costumes, and- can give you every instruction. Miss 
 Morgan and her faithful swain, Mr. Pratt, will be delighted to 
 do Max and Thekla." 
 
 The dress of unlimited sumptuousness decided Katherine, who 
 undertook the Princess Badroul Boudour, and with the aid of 
 Mr. Sandford's costumes and exquisite suggestions, and the uim-
 
 156 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 ble fingers of the most invaluable of French maids, she was ar 
 rayed in robes of glory that would have satisfied the Princess 
 herself. Her dark hair, partly bound in a silver net, was braided 
 and tasselled with pearls, and her bosom covered with jewels, 
 row after row, till the the last, with its gorgeous solitaire, fell 
 below her waist. No glaring colors extinguished the delicacy 
 of her complexion. All was white, except the 'jelick' of rose 
 and silver, and a loose-sleeved robe of soft purple, that gave 
 beautiful relief to the splendors of the rest. Rich bracelets, and 
 a fan of white down, the handle of which was studded with 
 amethysts, finished the costume. No wonder Mrs. St John de 
 clared Katherine ' lovely as a dream ;' no wonder Katherine's 
 mirror confirmed the sentence. 
 
 Nothing was spared in the arrangements. Practised hands 
 took care of every particular, and not a point was neglected. 
 Soft, preparative music filled the intervals of darkness and an 
 ticipation, and when the curtain was withdrawn, a fine manly voice 
 recited a few lines of poetry, dimly tracing out the sentiment of 
 the tableau to be announced. When the company were placed, 
 a few notes from the trumpet commanded silence. Wild, exult 
 ing music, dying into a wail of sorrow, ushered in these verses : 
 
 "Heavenly guardian, maiden wonder! 
 Long shall France resound the day 
 When tliou earnest, clad in thunder, 
 Blasting thy tremendous way." 
 
 And Joan of Arc was announced. 
 
 The light and the darkness were so admirably managed that 
 the illusion was almost perfect, and as the curtain closed on the 
 heroic captive, kneeling on her straw, her hands crossed on her
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 157 
 
 bosom, her long hair lying as it were dead on her shoulders, and 
 her eyes upturned in prayer, a tempest of applause shook the 
 place. " Encore ! Encore !" was the cry but there were to 
 be no encores, which are always of questionable policy in tab- 
 leaux ; so the trumpet sounded and the music went on ; in a 
 strain half frolic, half sad, introducing Buckingham and Fe- 
 nella the courtier in a costume of faultless elegance the fairy 
 figure before him half enveloped in a veil of silver gauze, just 
 lifted by two snowy arms, so as to show a magnificent dress, and 
 a very sweet face, not quite fiery enough for Fenella's. This 
 picture, too, was very successful. 
 
 Next came Max and Thekla pale, desolate, despairing ; 
 with music of Beethoven and these wailing verses : 
 
 "A grief without a pang void, dark, and drear; 
 A stifled, death-like, unimpassioned grief, 
 Which finds no natural outlet or relief 
 In word, or sigh, or tear. 
 
 The world is empty the heart will die, 
 There's nothing to wish for beneath tho sky ! 
 Thou Holy One ! call thy child away I 
 I have lived and loved 1" 
 
 The performers of this scene were indeed an affianced pair, kept 
 in long suspense by the tenacious vitality of some unhappy un 
 cle or aunt, whose shoes they felt obliged to wait for ; so of 
 course their personation of Max and Thekla gave rise to many 
 a joke for to your fashionable joker nothing is sacred. They 
 made a very effective picture, but as the subject forbade the 
 charm of dress, it fell rather coldly after the dazzling scene that 
 preceded. A few young lovers in their secret hearts felt its
 
 158 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 power by sympathy ; but the company at large were impatient 
 for the next, Paul Clifford and his robber friends, carousing. 
 This was ushered in by no very sentimental strains, but by a 
 symphony that sounded very much like the old Irish song, 
 " Fill the bumper fair 1" The poetry was evidently designed to 
 hint at some refinement of the original idea of the scene ; it is 
 hardly in the spirit of Paul Clifford's carouse : 
 
 Not with a ray 
 
 Born where the winds of Shiraz play, 
 Or the fiery blood of the ripe Tokay. 
 
 But wine bring wine, 
 Flushing high with its growth divine, 
 In the crystal depths of iny soul to shine : 
 
 "Whose glow was caught 
 
 From the warmth which Fancy's summer brought 
 To the vintage fields of the Land of Thought 1 
 
 Paul and his companions looked very much at home, holding 
 up brimming glasses in various attitudes, as in the act of echo 
 ing a toast or swelling a chorus. The scene was highly approved, 
 though one of the spectators objected that it ought to have 
 been shown through an atmosphere dim with cigar smoke. 
 
 The ' Greek Fugitives ' made a splendid scene, the dresses 
 being fresh from a fancy ball of the past winter. 
 
 The Princess Badroul Boudour came next, beaming with 
 splendors through which shone the softer light of her beauty, 
 and contrasted artistically with the dai-k muffled figure of the 
 magician, whose basilisk eyes were fixed intensely on her inno 
 cent face. The Voice announced the Oriental vision thus : 
 
 Beautiful are the maids that glide 
 
 On summer eve through Yemen's glades, 
 And bright the glancing looks they hido
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 159 
 
 Beneath their litters 1 roseate veils; 
 And brides as delicate and fair 
 As the white jasmine flowers they -wear 
 Hath Teinen in her blissful climes, 
 
 Who, lulled in cool kiosk or bower 
 Before their mirrors count the time, 
 
 And grow still lovelier every hour. 
 Light as the angel-shapes that bless 
 An infant's dream, yet not the less 
 Eich in all woman's loveliness. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Vehement were the manifestations of admiration as the envi 
 ous curtain hid this exquisite picture, and loud the entreaties for 
 one encore only this one ! But this impartial rules forbade, 
 and the trumpet drowned applauses and murmurs in preparation 
 for tha next scene . 
 
 ' Little Nell and her Grandfather,' beautifully done, by a 
 lovely child and a tall, reverend figure stooping to her young 
 face as if to drink new life from its superabundance. After soft 
 music, the spirit of the picture was foreshadowed thus : 
 
 Love, strong as Death, shall conquer Death, 
 
 Through struggle made more glorious ; 
 This daughter stills her sobbing breath 
 
 Renouncing, yet victorious. 
 
 Behind the curtain, meanwhile, a difficulty had arisen. Miss 
 Henderson, who was to personate ' Calypso mourning the depart 
 ure of Ulysses,' was taken ill (only hysterical, some said), and 
 could not be ready, and the exquisite classic drapery which had 
 been prepared for her was going a begging for a wearer. It 
 was soon discovered that it would fit nobody but Mrs. Ellis, if 
 she would be "so good 1 as to take the trouble of dressing 
 again "
 
 160 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Katherine was very reluctant, but she had not learned to say 
 no ! so she was disrobed and draped for Calypso a name 
 known to her only through the pages of her school Telemaque. 
 
 Far lovelier than her eastern gorgeousness was this calm, sim 
 ple, Greek draping, relieved only by its purple border and a 
 slender tiara of gold, binding the beauteous forehead. The 
 legend ran thus : 
 
 Like a marble statue placed, 
 Looking o'er the watery waste, 
 
 "With its white, fixed gaze; 
 There this goddess sits her eye 
 Raised to the unpitying sky I 
 
 There, through weary days, 
 Has she asked of yonder main 
 Him it will not bring again. 
 
 The last picture was that beautiful one from Tennyson's 
 ' Princess,' where 
 
 Leaning deep in broidered down, tb,y sank 
 Their elbows : on a tripod in the midst 
 A fragrant flame rose, and before them glowed 
 Fruit, viand, blossom, amber wine and gold. 
 
 Ida, reclining among her maidens, asks for music, 
 
 And a maid 
 Of those beside her, smote her harp and sang : 
 
 This group was exquisite, both from the number and grace of 
 the figures and the perfection of the dresses and accessories. 
 The song came in well as an introduction : 
 
 Tears Idle tears I known not what they mean 
 Tears from the depth of some divine despair-^
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 161 
 
 Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, 
 In looking on the happy autumn fields, 
 And thinking of the days that are no more. 
 * * * * 
 
 Dear as remembered kisses after death, 
 And sweet as those by hopeless Fancy feigned 
 On lips that are for others ; deep as Love 
 Deep as first Love and wild with all regret 
 Death in Life, the days that are no more. 
 
 The damsel with the harp who 
 
 Ended with such passion, that the tear 
 She sang of shook and fell, an erring pearl, 
 Lost in her bosom 
 
 was Katherine again, whose classic Calypso costume had been 
 urged as a reason for pressing her into this service, the scene re 
 quiring as many characters as possible. 
 
 At the conclusion of the tableaux the ball-room was thrown 
 open, and dancing commenced, the characters of the evening 
 appearing in their fancy dresses. Katherine, surrounded by 
 admirers, and excited by the events of the evening, was the 
 heroine of the hour. Her manner had lost none of its quiet 
 ness, but the flush on her cheek and the dazzling brilliancy of 
 her eye confessed the intoxicating power of admiration. Mrs. 
 St. John fed the flame unweariedly ; Katherine, she declared, 
 was herself for the first time. 
 
 " The world has never known you yet, my dear ! You have 
 passed for a pretty woman ; but hereafter you are stamped as a 
 beauty. You may do as you like after this. Nothing too 
 lizarre for a beauty 1" 
 
 " Mrs. Ellis, allow me to introduce one of Paul Clifford's 
 11
 
 162 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 companions," said Eugene St. John, bringing George Fountain 
 to his sister. 
 
 " George !" was all that Katherine could say. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure ! why, you're not a bit glad to see me ! 
 This is giving a pleasant surprise to one's sister with a ven 
 geance ! What the deuce ails you, Kate ? Afraid father Ellis 
 won't like it, eh ? can't help it he must learn." 
 
 " But your promise, dear George," said Katherine, almost in 
 tears. " You promised positively " 
 
 " Oh, promises made under compulsion are not binding, you 
 know ! We have Paley's authority for that. When I was in 
 the screws between Ellis and Mr. Deane, I would have prom 
 ised any thing, rather than be lectured any longer. But never 
 mind all that 1 You are splendid to-night, I feel really proud 
 of you. Everybody is talking about you." 
 
 Katherine blushed. " Hush, George ! don't be so foolish. 
 You haven't told me yet how you happened to come." 
 
 " 0, a bird of the air carried the matter I heard there 
 were to be goings-on here, and I thought I would pop in upon 
 you. You did not see me at Paul Clifford's table, did you ?" 
 
 " No surely " 
 
 " I was there, snug enough, but I sat back, for fear seeing 
 me unexpectedly might confuse you when your turn came." 
 
 Katherine's excitement, which had not from the first been 
 without a secret background of uneasiness, had reached its 
 height and was at the turning-point when George presented 
 himself, and this occurrence hastened on the hour of depression ; 
 so that when to the world without she seemed at the top of her 
 triumph, she was in reality already paying dear for it. She was 
 too inexperienced to know why, but the events of the evening
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 16g 
 
 began now to assume a different aspect, and she was ready to 
 condemn herself for entering into the matter at all during her 
 husband's absence. While envy, hatred and malice and all un- 
 charitableness, were waked into sudden life by her supposed 
 usurpation of all the honors, she went to bed thoroughly sick 
 of herself and every body about her, and when she arose in the 
 morning and found that George and his companions had thought 
 proper to ' make a night of it' construing into night all the 
 hours until sunrise she began at once to wish for her husband's 
 return, and to dread the thought of his coming. She had 
 slightly mentioned the plan for tableaux when she wrote him, 
 but in his daily letter he had not once alluded to the subject ; 
 and though she had disregarded this silent objection, which she 
 nevertheless understood, yet in the retrospect it made her un 
 happy. So powerful an influence had the firm and manly char 
 acter of Ellis established already in the mind of his young wife, 
 in the midst of boundless indulgence. 
 
 Two days longer elapsed before Mr, Ellis returned quite long 
 enough to allow the tableaux party to have ripened its fruit of 
 scandal, misunderstanding and endless t : ttle-tattle. First of all 
 was the story of a miserable scene of debauch, in which George 
 
 Fountain, who had been attracted to S by the tableaux, was 
 
 the head and front, and next came a furious enmity on the part 
 of Miss Henderson against all and several who had been acces 
 sory to the transfer of her part of Calypso A o Mrs. Ellis. She 
 was " perfectly well only a little agitated and would have been 
 ready in a few moments, when Mrs. St. John and Mrs. Preston
 
 164 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 seized the opportunity and the excuse to thrust Mrs. Ellis into it ! 
 And Mrs. Ellis was very ready to consent, not satisfied with 
 having the most magnificent dress of all for her own character, 
 she must snatch at the classic one too ! the thing was too plain 1" 
 And a considerable party of gossips of no particular charming- 
 ness took part with the injured damsel. 
 
 On the other hand the war was maintained none the less 
 keenly that the party most concerned refrained from all share in 
 it. It was said that envy or jealousy of the Princess Badroul 
 Boudour was the soul cause of Miss Henderson's hysterics, and 
 that she would have controlled them if she had thought any one 
 else above all Mrs. Ellis would be found to take her place, as 
 that baffled her plan of creating a sensation by the omission of 
 one of the scenes promised in the programme etc. 
 
 As this was the only quarrel that concerned our heroine, we 
 omit specification of the rest, but they were many. 
 
 Mrs. St. John in vain endeavored to persuade Katherine to 
 be very guarded in her account of matters to her husband, and 
 above all to conceal from him the visit and disgrace of George 
 Fountain. The first mention of the subject brought a rush of 
 tears to the young wife's eyes, and she forstalled the grave ob 
 jections she sometimes dreaded, by giving her husband a full 
 history of the affair from beginning to end, and taking shame 
 and blame to herself for having been induced to appear in so 
 public a way without his presence for her shield and safety. 
 Mrs. St. John, whose ideas on some points were, like those of 
 many persons of her stamp, more vulgar than she 'fancied, 
 was shocked to hear Katherine say, weeping " I will never do 
 so again, Henry never 1" It was so childish ! she said, but 
 Mr. Ellis thought it most womanly ; and he felt that his wife
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 165 
 
 had never looked lovelier than when, with gentle eyes overflow 
 ing, she thus threw herself upon his tenderness, and owned her 
 need of aid and counsel, in matters which, to coarser apprehen 
 sions, might have seemed to need none. And when, as new 
 scandals had their fungous growth out of the first, her delicacy 
 received still deeper wounds, through cruel imputations and the 
 insinuations of malicious tongues, and she begged her husband 
 to take her from a scene which had now and forever lost all its 
 charm for her, he blessed the seeming chance which had brought 
 about this salutary lesson a lesson which had done more to 
 wards unveiling to Katherine the real spirit of the society in 
 which she had been ambitious to move, than whole homilies of 
 advice and warning from her best friends could have clone. 
 There are no lessons like those we give ourselves. 
 
 In case our readers should feel any interest in the after fate 
 of the Miss Henderson who figures somewhat conspicuously in 
 the present chapter, we may mention, in passing, that not long 
 after the wounding of that young lady's feelings by Mrs. Ellis, 
 Mr. Ellis observed in the papers a notice of her marriage to his 
 old friend Davidson, who, in his speculations in matrimony had 
 made it a point that his wife should be 
 
 " Not radiant to a stranger's eye 
 A creature easily posited by" 
 
 Miss Ingoldsby would not stay to hear the criticisms on her 
 chapter, but ran away as soon as it was finished. Perhaps she 
 was ashamed of having made public her idea of wifely duty. 
 
 " Good advice," said Mr. Shelton. 
 
 " Fine talk 1" old Mr. Ingoldsby muttered, to disguise the 
 pleasure he felt.
 
 166 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 The lot, now much narrowed, fell this time to Mrs. Whipple, 
 who declared she had never written a Hue in her life, but if Miss 
 Berry would help her 
 
 "Let us be rural, this time," said that lady ; "I am tired of 
 artificial life." 
 
 Here is the chapter : 
 
 LIFE'S LESSONS. 
 
 Henceforth I shall know 
 That Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pnra 
 No plot so narrow, be but Nature there, 
 No waste so vacant, but may well employ 
 Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart 
 Awake to Love and Beauty. 
 
 Piercefield was a little, commonplace, country village, boast 
 ing few people of any pretension to cultivation, but situated in 
 a romantically beautiful part of the country, where, if any 
 where, Nature might be considered as making amends for the 
 want of a more attractive human interest. Mr. Dudley, the 
 brother-in-law of Henry Ellis, had a large farm on the outskirts 
 of the village ; a farm so large that it absorbed all its own pro 
 ceeds year by year, since the only way to make it at all profita 
 ble was to cultivate it upon a large scale. This, in a region 
 where domestic service is considered a degradation, involved a 
 most onerous amount of care and labor on the part of the mis 
 tress, a devoted wife and mother, who had thrown herself wholly 
 into her husband's plans, and sacrificed herself to the rebuilding 
 of his fortune and credit without reserve. Katherine found 
 Mrs. Dudley a woman still in the prime of life ; past the dewy 
 freshness of her beauty, but hardly less lovely in its maturity. 
 The principal charm of her face to the common observer was
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 167 
 
 A smile that turns the sunny side o' the heart 
 On all the world, as if herself did win 
 By what she lavished 
 
 but there was a depth of expression behind that smile such as 
 belongs to a strong character only. 
 
 This lovely, equable temper and these cheerful spirits were 
 very necessary to Mr. Dudley, who, though a man of sense, had 
 been so depressed by misfortune that it required resolution of 
 the strongest wing to bear him up. The children looked up to 
 their father with reverence, but they ran to their mother with 
 love and confidence ; the whole vitality of the house seemed to 
 flow from that one gracious source. 
 
 It will readily be understood in what light such a sister would 
 be regarded by Henry Ellis, himself so warm, true, and good ; 
 of such a sunny temper and such purity of intent. They met, 
 after long separation, with a tenderness that only the good and 
 true can feel ; each looked into the other's eyes with the sense 
 of a whole life's love and memory ; and after a moment's inquir 
 ing pause one thought of the possible effect of those dividing 
 years, the recognition and the union were perfect 
 
 As when two dew-drops on the petal shake 
 To the same air, and tremble deeper down, 
 And slip at once, all fragrant, into one. 
 
 Katherine, very susceptible of all extraneous influences, soon 
 felt the power of this one of goodness dignified by elegant 
 manners and high cultivation. The behavior of Mrs. Dudley 
 under the most irksome duties, was a daily lesson as well as a 
 secret marvel to our young and over-indulged wife. How such 
 a woman full of all elegant tastes and capacities formed to
 
 168 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 shine in the most refined society could bring herself to perform 
 cheerfully the least attractive household labors ; to endure the 
 most vulgar and stolid minds about her, and to toil, conscien 
 tiously and without the appearance of disgust, for the improve 
 ment of even the least hopeful subjects, was indeed wonderful ; 
 in any country but ours it could hardly seem unaffected. She 
 was a woman able and willing to " die daily " to all she prized 
 of outward grace, living all the while the richest and most 
 precious life within herself, and giving it out, without stint, in 
 blessing all around her. Katherine, who knew little of any but 
 town life, felt herself in a new and strange school, and betook 
 herself to the requisite study, very conscientiously. 
 
 Mr. Dudley was a man of many virtues, but also of a great, 
 though unconscious selfishness. Whatever his wife did for him 
 or for others seemed to him no more than her duty, because it 
 accorded with her whole character ; whatever he himself did 
 that was commendable had its full value in his eyes, to say the 
 least, perhaps from a secret consciousness of the effort it cost 
 him to be generous in a single instance. When two such cha 
 racters as his meet in matrimony, the friction ends in consuming 
 flames, each claiming what the other is least willing to grant ; 
 but where the selfishness of one is met by boundless generosity 
 in the other, there is fitting like that of the cast to the mould 
 sharp points at one side finding suitable recessions on the oppos 
 ite. No pair could be better matched on this principle than 
 Mr. and Mrs. Dudley ; and Henry Ellis, while he saw his 
 brother-in-law's faults, had the satisfaction of thinking his sister 
 very happy. She felt that she was born " not to be ministered 
 unto, but to minister ;" and she accepted her lot with wonderful 
 satisfaction.
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 169 
 
 So, too, the life they led at Piercefield seemed, to his better 
 regulated judgment, one of great respectability and usefulness, 
 instead of a mere loss and burial, as Katherine called it. Their 
 fortune, moderate as it was, and requiring the strictest economy, 
 was much superior to that of their neighbors ; their cultivation 
 and refinement, and of course their resources, infinitely greater. 
 Their influence, therefore, was powerful for good, even though 
 the people about them did not willingly defer to them. There 
 is, unhappily, in the ruder portions of this land of liberty of 
 ours, an aversion to superiority of any kind especially to that 
 of mind and manners ; but as Providence has made the influ 
 ence of such superiority inevitable, it tells on even the most 
 ungracious subjects. Then Mrs. Dudley's extreme kindness of 
 heart and manner ; her devotion to the sick and suffering ; her 
 generous disposition, and the simplicity with which she was 
 content to live, made her, personally, very popular, and gave 
 the greatest force to her kind hints and suggestions of improve 
 ment. Without the harshness of Mrs. Mason, in the " Cottag 
 ers of Glenburnie," so long the type of the lady Mentor in low 
 and coarse life, who is described as saying the rudest things iu 
 her zeal to make people polite, Mrs. Dudley contrived, in a 
 thousand ways, to contribute to the civilization of all who came 
 in her way, principally by example, but also by precept, when 
 she could contrive to soften the implied reproof by a tangible 
 benefit. To fill a place like this, an instinct for doing good 
 must come in aid of principle ; for daily and hourly occasion for 
 the exercise of a benevolence which seems small but is great, 
 would weary any thing but instinct. 
 
 Katherine, however, could hardly help looking upon such a 
 life as that of Mrs. Dudley with pity almost horror. So con-
 
 HO AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 trary was it to her own cherished ideal of luxurious ease, so 
 unsuited to the delicacy and refinement of her sister-in-law, that 
 she soon began to return, by a natural revulsion, to her old 
 ideas of fashionable life. The very morning after the arrival of 
 the city visitors, as the family sat at breakfast, an ill-looking 
 man, rough as Hyrcanian bear, came in, and with his hat on 
 and an air of perfect nonchalance, demanded rather than asked, 
 some medicine or salve which Mrs. Dudley had been in the 
 habit of supplying to his wife, signifying at the same time that 
 he was in a hurry and could not wait a minute. Mrs. Dudley 
 left her guests and attended to his wants immediately, as if it 
 had been the most natural and reasonable thing in the world 
 a proceeding which brought Mrs. Dibble and the vexations of 
 the Christmas dinner to our young wife's mind. She soon 
 found, however, that this was the rule, not the exception, and 
 that Mrs. Dudley was in the habit of sacrificing her own pleas 
 ure, unreservedly, to the necessities of her poorer neighbors. 
 On one of these occasions she could not help saying "I should 
 think you would teach these people better manners by letting 
 them wait a little. One would suppose they thought they were 
 doing you a favor when they ask one." 
 
 " On the contrary," said Mrs. Dudley, " they never forget a 
 kindness. What seems to you rude carelessness, is often real, 
 pressing haste, or only bashfulness, which their pride makes them 
 anxious to conceal. They are unwearied when we are ill." 
 
 One morning a charming ride had been planned the horses 
 were standing saddled at the door, and Katherine and Mrs. 
 Dudley, both fully equipped en Amazone, and full of animation, 
 were about to set foot in hand for mounting, when a message 
 came from a poor woman a mile off, saying that her baby was
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. l%l 
 
 very, very ill, and she hoped Mrs. Dudley would come and 
 see it. 
 
 " Ah," said Mrs. Dudley, " poor Mrs. Green ! another of her 
 little sufferers with water on the brain, I dare say. Of course 
 nothing can save it, but I cannot refuse to go where my mere 
 presence will give so much comfort. You will excuse me, dear 
 Katherine, I know, though you cannot share my sympathy with 
 the mother, not having seen her former distress on these occa 
 sions." 
 
 So saying she went quietly to change her dress ; her horse 
 was put up, and the party went without her. 
 
 Another time, as soon as breakfast was over, Mrs. Dudley 
 said " This day shall be yours ! I have put aside or disposed 
 of every thing that could interrupt us, and we will have one 
 day's solid, home enjoyment always provided," she added, 
 checking herself, " that no poor soul has to be nursed. But I 
 do not know of any illness in the neighborhood. We will have 
 such a nice time 1" 
 
 A new book brought by Mr. Ellis was to be the groundwork 
 of this nice time, and the ladies with their sewing sat down to 
 enjoy it, while Mr. Dudley kept himself as quiet as he could, 
 not going out of the room about some farm-care more than once 
 in ten or fifteen minutes. The air was delicious ; a window 
 opening on the garden afforded the prospect of a flowery world, 
 and admitted its perfume ; the birds were singing as if there 
 were neither sin nor sorrow on earth. 
 
 " I really envy you, Eliza," said Ellis, stopping to enjoy the 
 scene. " There is something in these aspects of nature that 
 fills my mind with an indescribable calm, and I cannot help fan 
 cying that one might here possess one's soul in quiet, in a sense
 
 112 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 hardly to be expected in the city. Rural sights and sounds like 
 these have an effect on my whole being " 
 
 " Is Miss Dudley at home ?" said a voice in the entry, not ru 
 ral exactly but rustic and in walked a lady and her little girl, 
 to spend the day. 
 
 Here was a trial 1 No saying ' engaged ' or ' not at home ' ; 
 no guarding the avenues and looking over the banisters 1 
 
 Mrs. Dudley received the intruders so kindly that Katherine 
 almost concluded she must be perfectly indifferent to home com 
 fort. The elder visitor took out her knitting, and the little girl 
 asked for something to eat. The carpet was soon strewn with 
 fragments of bread and butter. This, too, Mrs. Dudley bore 
 with equanimity, and even Katherine could not imagine it was 
 because she was indifferent to neatness. 
 
 The good lady began telling Mrs. Dudley the history of her 
 troubles. Mr. Ellis and Mr. Dudley walked out. Katherine 
 soon fell asleep in her arm chair near the window. When she 
 awoke, the guest was still droning on, weeping occasionally ; 
 Mrs. Dudley all attention and sympathy. 
 
 "Who could have given your son such bad advice, Mrs. 
 Smith ?" she was saying, just as Katherine awoke ; and Mrs. 
 Smith began, nothing loth, on a new chapter of accidents. The 
 little girl was meanwhile amusing herself drumming on the 
 piano. 
 
 Katherine retreated to her room. " One must require no little 
 obtuseness," she soliloquized, " to endure such inflictions. Some 
 people have no sensitiveness 1" 
 
 After a while Mrs. Dudley came to her. " Come down now, 
 dear," she said, " poor Mrs. Smith has gone to lie down awhile. 
 The recital of her troubles has quite overcome her, although it
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 173 
 
 is a great comfort to her to find a listener. Her lot has been a 
 peculiarly hard one. She has been a willing martyr to her sou's 
 children two or three helpless little girls under the care of a 
 very bad step-mother, who, having one child of her own, seems 
 to desire nothing so much as to be rid of the others. If Mrs. 
 Smith had a home to take them to, she would gladly relieve the 
 cruel woman of the burden ; but her son has spent all her prop 
 erty, and she can live nowhere but with him, although his affec 
 tions are totally alienated from her. She could support herself, 
 but not without leaving the children to their fate, which she can 
 not think of. The greatest earthly comfort she has left is an 
 occasional hour of talk with me, recounting the sad circumstan 
 ces of her darlings, and asking advice in ever new difficulties oc 
 casioned by the manoeuvres of an unprincipled and selfish wo 
 man. One of the children is deaf and dumb, and on that ac 
 count the object of especial dislike to the step-mother, and solici 
 tude to the grandmother. I am sorry she happened to choose 
 to-day, dear, but I could not refuse to give her what little conso 
 lation is in my power." 
 
 Katherine's secret indignation against Mrs. Smith's trouble 
 some troubles was a little softened by this exposition, and when 
 the story was repeated to her husband his interest was immedi 
 ately excited. He caused himself to be introduced to Mr Smith, 
 who was not so much a bad-hearted man as weakly under the 
 influence of a bad woman. 
 
 After conversing awhile with this blinded father, Mr. Ellis 
 took occasion to speak of the little deaf-mute, and to urge her 
 being placed at the Institution, as the means of making her use 
 ful and happy. At first Smith quite scouted the idea, especially 
 on account of the expense ; but a little more talk on the part
 
 174 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 of Mr. Ellis induced him to listen with favor to the plan. And 
 when the rich man from town offered himself to take charge of 
 the little girl, to place her at the Institution, watch over her 
 welfare and see that she wanted for nothing, even the stepmother 
 was somewhat mollified, and the matter easily arranged. Our 
 respect for the humblest is immediately increased by finding them 
 cared for by important people. 
 
 " How glad I am, now, that poor Mrs. Smith happened to 
 come while you were here !" said Mrs. Dudley. "I might never 
 have thought to mention her troubles to you, Henry. One is so 
 apt to be absorbed by one's own affairs." 
 
 So large a part of the grandmother's solicitude was now re 
 moved, that she was like a new creature the next time she called. 
 The younger children could get along comparatively well, she 
 said, and the fact that the elder was under the protection of 
 Mr. Ellis, had already wrought a change in the household, 
 
 "Ah, Mrs. Dudley," said poor Mrs. Smith, " a blessing always 
 follows you ! No wonder you always seem so happy !" 
 
 To Henry Ellis his sister appeared so beautiful, and the uses 
 she made of ber difficult position so dignified and excellent, that 
 he could not help hoping that Katherine, under the influence of 
 such a life and character, would catch some new light on her 
 own path and its true end. If Mrs. Dudley had been deficient 
 in outward graces, he well knew disgust would have superseded 
 conviction. Katherine revolted so against whatever was not 
 beautiful, that no amount or tone of worth could interest her, if 
 accompanied by coarseness of manners and habits. But- even 
 here, where the beautiful harmony of real delicacy with great 
 sacrifice of personal tastes, in a way of life that would never be 
 chosen as the ideal home of delicacy, were exhibited in perfec-
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 175 
 
 tion, Mrs. Ellis, still fascinated by the outward, felt something 
 more nearly allied to horror than admiration. She saw, indeed, 
 the beauty and the virtue, and not with indifference, or wholly 
 without profit ; but her heart secretly longed for scenes like 
 some of those she had lived in since her marriage, and of which the 
 charm had not yet been exhausted. Spite of the admiration 
 and love she could not but feel for her sister-in-law, and her 
 sense of new light from many things she had seen and heard, 
 she Was quite as glad to quit Piercefield as she had been to es 
 cape from S , and when her husband expressed himself with 
 
 enthusiasm on the subject of Mrs. Dudley's character and useful 
 ness, he was pained to discover that the disagreeables of coun 
 try life were alone prominent in her mind. He took pains to 
 bring her to a juster estimate of the value and true pleasure of 
 life, by placing side by side some of the trials of city and coun 
 try life ; recalling the coarse and cruel things she herself had 
 noticed among people of great pretension to polish and cultiva 
 tion ; the grudging charity, the contrasted prodigality and 
 meanness, the heartless neglect and avoidance of poor relations 
 which is but too general among the prosperous ; the self-seeking 
 hospitality, the hollow friendship, the keen rivalry all that 
 rankles and festers under the gilded surface of town life, 
 but with little avail. Katherine persisted in thinking all 
 this tolerable, in preference to the outward coarseness of the 
 country. 
 
 "One can be virtuous in town," she said, "but I, at least, 
 could not be happy in the country." 
 
 " It is only an abstract question," her husband replied ; " a 
 question whether a life whose main object is personal indulgence 
 and enjoyment is the most beautiful, dignified and happy life "
 
 H6 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " I do not know I am no heroine I am willing to take the 
 risks and disadvantages of a life of elegance and ease," said 
 Katherine, " and leave self-denial to those who like it ! I 
 should be wretched to live as your sister does." 
 
 " You forget that her way of life is her own free choice her 
 offer of aid in retrieving her husband's affairs. Doesn't it seem 
 to you that any life acquires dignity under such circumstances ? 
 Would my sister appear more ' lady-like,' in your eyes, if she 
 had come with her children to my house, as I invited her to do, 
 while her husband underwent alone the toils and sacrifices neces 
 sary for the re-establishment of his fortune ? I cannot believe 
 it ! Her true character never made itself known until adversi 
 ty laid bare its roots. She might have passed for a merely 
 elegant woman, if Providence had not brought her to the test." 
 
 Katherine was silenced, if not convinced. 
 
 After this chapter was read, Mrs. Whipple said " I need 
 not tell you that I didn't write it." 
 
 Miss Berry sat with her eyes fixed upon the floor. 
 
 " I thought," said Mr. Ingoldsby, " that such high-flying sen 
 timents hardly sounded like you, Mrs. Whipple ! You ' love 
 the sweet security of streets,' and would find yourself as little 
 able to appreciate the charms of country life as I should, I dare 
 say. But who is to come next ?" 
 
 Only Miss Grove and Mr. Aldis remained, and as they had 
 taken the opportunity of the rest being engaged with the story 
 to fall desperately in love with each other, contrary to all the 
 statutes, any help from them was out of the question. They 
 begged off, and it was at last decided that the sketch should be
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 177 
 
 finished as best it might, by the general contribution and con 
 sultation of those who began it. 
 
 " Only make it very moral " said Mr. Ingoldsby, with a 
 comical grimace 
 
 " Now father, you are too bad 1" said Elinor ; " you know it 
 was begun with the express purpose of making it hold all our 
 wise saws " 
 
 " I can tell you," said her father, " if you 'rush into print' 
 the world will only laugh at your Utopian notions." 
 
 " Then the world ought to be ashamed of itself 1" said Miss 
 Elinor. 
 
 THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 
 
 God bends from out the depth and says 
 
 ' I gave thee the great gift of life ; 
 Wast thou not called in many ways ? 
 
 Are not my earth and heaven atstrife? 
 I gave thee of my seed to bow, 
 
 Bringest thou me my hundred-fold?' 
 Can I look up, with face aglow, 
 
 And answer ' Father, here is gold'? 
 
 George Fountain, recalled to town by the illness of Mr- 
 Deane, was now always at his sister's side with suggestions as to 
 what was proper or desirable suggestions which referred to 
 the notions of the gay young men (' whom call we gay ? The 
 innocent are gay ' ) the gay young men with whom he associ 
 ated. George's favorite word of commendation was ' Noble 1' 
 a dangerous word unless we fix its signification very accurately ; 
 his invariable epithet of condemnation ' Mean !' a term quite as 
 often misapplied by the thoughtless. His taste ruled his sister's 
 
 more than was wise or fitting, his position as one of the oracles 
 12
 
 178 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 of fashion giving him peculiar power on Katherine's weak side. 
 His feelings were congenial with her own ; his views of life 
 more generous and elegant than any one's, in her estimation. 
 The orphan fellow-feeling that had united them so closely during 
 early life, Katherine's marriage had done nothing to loosen, for 
 Ellis's extreme kindness of heart and boundless regard for his 
 wife had induced him rather to promote than discourage the 
 intimacy. Now, however, he was sometimes pained to observe 
 that where his views and George's happened to differ, as they 
 often did, the latter's were sure to prevail with Katherine ; 
 George taught her what to require and what to refuse ; his 
 opinion of her husband's plans and proceedings was the guide 
 of hers. George could even make the solid and principled gen 
 erosity of his brother-in-law appear meanness, when he chose to 
 contrast it with the lavish expenditure of people of similar for 
 tune. It is not wonderful that this state of things appeared in 
 different lights to Katherine and her husband. He judged as a 
 man, she felt as an idol, whose right it was to receive as offer 
 ing all that was precious, incurring no responsibility in return. 
 
 This is no uncommon phase of young wifehood, but a grave 
 Mentor might remind the worshipped that the position of an 
 idol is hardly consistent with the more honorable one of a duti 
 ful and true wife, Love's figures of speech to the contrary not 
 withstanding. The wise bride soon steps gracefully down from 
 the pedestal where she stood properly enough for awhile, to find 
 more secure and dignified footing nearer her husband's heart of 
 hearts that deeper and more serious heart which poets may not 
 sing about, but which a man gives to his duties, his responsibil 
 ities, his hopes and resolutions for time and eternity. It is in 
 jlose contact and communion with this that a wife must stand,
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 179 
 
 if she would realize the ancient symbol of two hearts pierced 
 through with one and the same arrow. Flowery bands there 
 may be, and the more the better ; but the arrow must be of 
 steel. 
 
 Mary Ashmore's wedding gave occasion to new differences of 
 opinion between Mrs. Ellis and her husband differences gently 
 urged on his part, but tenaciously adhered to on hers. Kathe- 
 rine's affection for her cous'n naturally showed itself in expen 
 sive g'fts ; she felt no hesitation in suggesting what would be 
 desirable, because she stood ready to supply whatever Aunt 
 Susan decided to be beyond her means. Mr. and Mrs. Ash- 
 more shook their heads at this ; they disapproved it and it 
 troubled them ; but it was one of the hardest things in the 
 world to resist. Ellis, too, remonstrated. 
 
 "Proportion, dearest Kate," he said, "is an element of 
 beauty. Do not fancy that I object to the cost of what you 
 are doing for Mary ; I desire only to see more reference to her 
 past habits and her probable lot in life. She will be obliged to 
 content herself with a plain and economical style of living, 
 which I fear will seem only the plainer for these gay gifts of 
 yours. I would give her an equal amount you and I can 
 never do enough for your aunt and her family but let it be in 
 some more suitable, if not useful form." . 
 
 Katherine did not relish this, although Ellis backed his re- 
 monstrance with a handsome gift in money to Mary from him 
 self. 
 
 " You want me to be as wise as yourself, Henry," she said. 
 " Every body gives elegant bridal gifts, now. A bride really 
 appears forlorn who has not splendid gifts and a rich trousseau 
 to show. Mary is too sensible a girl to suppose it is to be
 
 180 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 always so ; do let me indulge myself in getting her a few pretty 
 things perhaps the last she may have, poor girl ! I don't 
 think Sidney Parker will ever be rich he is too much like 
 Uncle Ashmore himself." 
 
 There was something in Katherine's mode of saying this that 
 implied no great respect for a man who was not likely to make 
 himself rich. 
 
 "Uncle Ashmore is too habitually generous ever to accumu 
 late much property," said Ellis. " He sees so many cases in 
 which a little money will do a great deal of good, that he can 
 not resolve to refrain for the sake of laying by more than a de 
 cent provision for his family. He does not even gratify himself 
 by doing good in a conspicuous way ; his bounty flows in those 
 silent and unconsidered channels which drain off the means of 
 showy charity. Far less does he desire to see his family wear 
 au appearance above their means." 
 
 " 0, nobody thinks of dressing according to their means," 
 said Katherine ; " the idea is exploded." 
 
 "You are a satirist, without knowing it," replied her husband. 
 "If I had said any thing as severe against the dishonesty in 
 duced by the prevalent passion for dress, you would have thought 
 me very harsh. But pray don't let us contribute more than our 
 share to the general evil." 
 
 But George prevailed, and Mary Ashmore, without other 
 dower than her parents' good name and her own sweetness of 
 character, entered upon her married life with an outfit that in sim 
 pler times would have befitted an heiress. 
 
 This is but a sample of the influence exercised by George 
 Fountain upon his sister trying, certainly, to her husband, but 
 of little moment compared with the deterioation observable in
 
 THE ISLAND STORY 181 
 
 George himself observable to every eye but Katherine's. His 
 habits, his companions, his sentiments, were all more and more 
 annoying to Mr. Ellis nearly as much so, perhaps, as was the 
 consciousness of Ellis's pure and searching eye to the young 
 roue. Both would have been heartily glad of a separation ; 
 but Ellis kept down the thought from love to his wife and a de 
 sire to benefit her brother, while George refrained from casting 
 loose this last anchor in the respectable, lest Mr. Deane should 
 take the alarm. How often, in families seemingly harmonious, 
 exist these opposing forces, so equally balanced that it would 
 take no more than a straw's weight to revolutionize the whole I 
 
 The Spring brought George Fountain a good excuse for 
 changing his quarters. Mrs. St. John did not make her annual 
 visit, but went to Paris instead. Another visitor, however, even 
 more important and importunate, and certainly more welcome, 
 made his appearance, in the shape of a little boy with dark 
 eyes the ' very moral ' of Katherine's and a habit of making 
 his wants known with very little scruple throughout the quiet 
 
 halls in Sqnare. Here was an affair ! It seemed to be 
 
 the deliberate conviction of the household that there never had 
 been a baby born before, so infinite were the preparations, and 
 agitations, and consultations about him and his mother. Aunt 
 Susan was young again ; the younger Ashmores had to be ex 
 cluded by main force ; the nurse ruled the house, and the new 
 papa's mild eyes glistened from morning till night, spite of the 
 efforts he made to be philosophically composed. All was pure 
 sunshine in his mind, for he felt sure that the opening of this
 
 182 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 new spring of natural tenderness would carry away all the rub 
 bish of Fashion that was threatening to incrust his wife's heart. 
 And at first it seemed so. But with the return of health and 
 strength came back the old solicitude about modes and magni 
 ficence ; and Aunt Susan's ways of thinking, and her notions of 
 the simplicity proper in all arrangements about the infant, were 
 set aside by the nurse's incessant suggestions that Mrs. Preston 
 had this and Mrs. Fitzgerald that ; such and such plans were 
 always pursued in Mrs. Basinghall's nurseries, and such and such 
 others had been condemned by Dr. Fairlove ; till all interest in 
 the child personally threatened to be swallowed up in arrange 
 ments for his making his debut in life under proper circumstances. 
 This folly came nearer to exhausting Ellis's patience than any 
 thing yet, and he tried both persuasion and authority against 
 it, but with little avail. The nurse was quite too much for him. 
 
 Kothing less than a country-house now met Katheriue's 
 ideas, and but one region offered an eligible site for this, in her 
 opinion ; that which included the summer residence of certain 
 persons whom she called her friends, though they had little in 
 common with her except the love of expense and show. Ellis 
 soon perceived that she had set her heart fully on this, and he 
 yielded with the best possible grace as he always did when he 
 yielded at all an example for all good husbands 1 
 
 Behold our friends, then, installed in what was to be styled, 
 by some stretch of poetry, a rural residence, though, except in 
 the lack of some few conveniences, it was to all intents and 
 purposes a city house, with nothing like country about it save 
 the trees and flowers. Town habits a phalanx of town ser 
 vants visitors most urban, who would have been amused to see 
 one of the neighboring farmers seated in the drawing-room, or
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 183 
 
 one of his daughters received except in a menial position 
 these made up the ruralizing of our heroine's ideal. Her visit 
 to Mrs. Dudley seemed only to have taught her what to avoid ; 
 she had no more communication with her rustic or even her 
 plain neighbors than if they had been Caffres or cannibals, and 
 considered herself as fully excused from caring for their weal or 
 
 woe as if she had been in Square, or studying political 
 
 economy. We need not say that this state of things accorded 
 but ill with Mr. Ellis's more humane and patriotic theories, and 
 it is to be confessed that, but for the baby, this summer would 
 have been one of little sympathy of enjoyment between husband 
 and wife. 
 
 Not that Mr. Ellis relished few husbands do, being entirely 
 superseded by his son ; finding himself of no account in compari 
 son with " the baby," and being unable to win his wife's atten 
 tion to any employment that had the slightest interest for him. 
 The house was practically a nursery, as far as its main object 
 of attention was concerned, and this did not accord, in any 
 degree, with its master's ideas of what was proper ; but with 
 his usual patience he bore all, and waited for better times. His 
 confidence in Katherine's good sense and good feeling was 
 unshaken, and he always looked forward with sure hope to the 
 time when she would be disposed of her own accord to remedy 
 what he disapproved. 
 
 George remained in town, in attendance on Mr. Deane, who 
 was becoming more and more feeble, and seemed likely soon to 
 lay down his earthly load. Mr. Ellis would fain have had the 
 old gentleman removed to his house, but this George opposed 
 resolutely, on the score that the invalid would be obliged to 
 change his physicians, and George now ruled Mr. Deane entirely.
 
 184 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Gay and handsome as ever, always good-humored and ready for 
 social enjoyment, he was universally popular, and had hosts of 
 friends. Katherine was very proud of her brother proud of 
 the abilities which every body said he had, although he had 
 never yet put them to any use beyond the pleasure of the 
 moment ; proud of his elegant, dashing manners, and of his 
 fashionable connections. She would fain have called her son 
 after him, but Mr. Ellis so urged the pleasure the compliment 
 would give Uncle and Aunt Ashmore, that she consented to 
 give him her uncle's name, feeling, however, that she made a 
 great sacrifice to her husband's wishes, for it had become a 
 sacrifice in Katherine's eyes to give up her own will in any 
 thing. 
 
 So the summer wore away, and then the autnmn and the 
 winter, in outward calm and secret conflict of feeling not the 
 conflict that results in quarrels and disaffection, but a state that 
 detracts much from happiness, corroding its substance day by 
 day, and lowering our expectations of it, until we learn to sub 
 stitute something else for it business, or pleasure, or vice, or 
 indifference. It is somewhat strange that, referring as we all 
 do, nominally, to one standard of thought and action, there 
 should be so many practical discrepancies. A heartier and 
 more intelligent reference to that standard would obviate so 
 many of them ! 
 
 Mr. Deane lingered, in prolonged suffering and sadder and 
 sadder decay, throughout the next winter. George was not neg 
 lectful of the sick bed, but rumors of the irregularity of his 
 habits had become public, and his handsome face began to tell 
 tales .of late hours and indulged passions, in the relaxing of its 
 clear-cut outlines and the inequality of its once perfect complex-
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 185 
 
 ion. His youthful freshness was already gone ; premature know- 
 ingness vulgarized his calm statuesque beauty ; Perseus was de 
 generating into Beau Brummell ; classic purity into conventional 
 pettiness. With his first beauty had departed his early good 
 nature, or at least the even flow of it ; alternations of wild gay- 
 ety and moody reserve now characterized his behavior, even to 
 his sister, who could no longer be blind to the unhappy change, 
 though she admitted it only with painful resistance. It was 
 long since Mr. Ellis had attempted in the least to influence his 
 brother-in-law, but now, at his wife's earnest entreaty, he sought 
 a private conversation with him, though with faint hope of be 
 ing of service. As he had expected, he met only angry replies, 
 and such insulting cautions not to undertake ' lecturing,' as re 
 quired all his self-command, and all his affection for Katherine 
 to enable him to bear. 
 
 Here was a speck of black reality in the midst of Katherine's 
 golden sky ! Some truths flashed out of it, however, and truth 
 is always worth what it costs. Katherine was a mother, now, 
 the mother of a son ; and George's misconduct reminded her 
 that a son is not a mere plaything a puppet to be dressed and 
 paraded, to feed the vanity of the hour ; or a fairy creature, 
 whose beauty is to prove a talisman against evil. A young 
 mother secretly refers every thing to the new object of interest, 
 and ours had a thousand fresh, enlightening thoughts of the 
 little one on her lap, as she wept over the unhappy condition 
 of her brother, though she was far from a full perception of his 
 deterioration or its cause. She began to suspect though dimly 
 that money cannot buy all that is desirable ; and the struggle 
 in her mind between the experience of to-day and the vague 
 notions of her past life was full of surprise as well as pain.
 
 186 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Things went on this way until Mr. Deane's death an event 
 long expected, and which Katherine and her husband now al 
 most of one mind as to George hoped might work a salutary 
 change upon the object of the poor old man's mistaken kindness. 
 George used to be deficient neither in generosity nor gratitude, 
 but who could recognize the ingenious, warm-hearted boy of the 
 Christmas dinner-party, in the blase, prematurely old, selfish and 
 grasping heir, who evidently felt relieved by the death of his 
 benefactor ? 
 
 The opening of the will was not calculated to calm the turbu 
 lent mind of the unhappy young man. Besides providing much 
 more largely than George had expected for some rather distant 
 relatives, Mr. Deane had hampered the residue of his property 
 with many cautious restrictions, all evidently referring to George's 
 habits of reckless expense ; and, to give the finishing stroke to 
 the heir's vexation, had left Henry Ellis sole trustee, with more 
 than usual discretionary power. George now, throwing off all 
 restraint, behaved like a madman, insulted his brother-in-law, 
 and cast his sister from him with expressions that cut her to the 
 heart. 
 
 Katherine, long self-deluded, was now utterly astounded, 
 frightened to the shelter of her husband's love and wisdom, by 
 her brother's fury his despair his threats against himself his 
 execrations of the very memory of his ill-judging friend. She 
 had as yet seen only the gentler side of human nature ; she 
 hardly suspected the existence of such passions as the once kind, 
 joyous, affectionate George Fountain exhibited under the stings 
 of his present position, so much worse, from causes unknown to 
 her, than it appeared outwardly. As in conscious weakness she 
 turned to her husband for support under this overwhelming afflic-
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 187 
 
 tion, she began to perceive the value of firmness united with 
 kindness like his, and to appreciate the difference between her 
 brother's splendid exterior and real selfishness, and the calm, bal 
 anced, considerate and seemingly exhaustless goodness of him 
 whom she had, by some strange delusion, learned to look upon 
 as an unsympathizing judge. Mr Ellis, exasperated as he had 
 been by George's insane conduct towards himself, went at once 
 into the most careful and patient examination of Mr. Deane's 
 affairs, and was shocked to find how little would be left at 
 George's command after the provisions of the will had been car 
 ried out, and the enormous expenses of the poor old man's long 
 illness at a fashionable hotel, and under the care of several phy 
 sicians, discharged. George must apply himself at once to the 
 study of a profession, and under what disadvantages ! 
 
 So thought Ellis in his kindness, but he little suspected then 
 what he soon after discovered with horror the extent of those 
 disadvantages. Deluded by extravagant ideas of Mr. Deane's 
 fortune, and thoroughly entangled with vicious companions, 
 George had in the course of a single year managed to dissipate 
 the whole and even more, by anticipation, and was now in debt 
 far beyond the compass of the estate which had been his ruin. 
 Besides this, surrounded by sharpers, he had been led, in his ig 
 norance, into transactions which might involve the total loss of 
 honor and credit. Mr. Ellis made this discovery, as we have 
 said, with horror ; to his wife it was absolute prostration . Her 
 excitement almost equalled George's own ; and when the first 
 grief had in a measure exhausted itself in tears, she displayed a 
 force of passion and resolution that astonished her husband. 
 
 " Save my brother, Henry !" she sobbed, clinging to him as 
 she would have clasped a life-buoy among midnight waves in a
 
 188 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 tempest ; " Save him, oh my husband, like yourself at any cost ! 
 I am ready to make all sacrifices to part with every thing, rather 
 than see George disgraced lost ruined ! my brother 
 my brother ! If my poor, poor mother had lived to see this 
 day 1" 
 
 Ellis, alarmed, agitated, yet conscious all the while of a se 
 cret pleasure in this evidence of deep feeling and unsuspected 
 strength in his wife, calmed and comforted her with promises of 
 aid, and professions worth something from him of an interest 
 in George's welfare second only to her own. 
 
 " Only be calm, dear love I" he said, " and let our kindness 
 to George be real. He has suffered enough already, poor fellow I 
 by mistaken kindness. To step in, at once, between him and 
 this great lesson, would be any thing but kind. Think of his 
 future life of his character all is at stake at this crisis. Even 
 his reputation is of minor importance, since reputation may be 
 earned ; but that, too ; shall be saved. Only be patient, and 
 let us act deliberately and with judgment." 
 
 We cannot follow this generous brother-in-law through the 
 difficulties and trials involved in these promises to his wife ; 
 enough that he fulfilled them all, and that she held fast by her 
 offer, made indeed in the first passionate grief and mortifica 
 tion which attended the discovery of her brother's position, but 
 perhaps suggested in part by an unconfessed distrust of the per 
 manent happiness of the life that had for a while so enchanted 
 her to undergo any sacrifice required for George's redemption. 
 She even went beyond her husband's thoughts, in desiring a 
 complete change of life in consequence of his payment of 
 George's debts ; and Ellis, not forgetting, in the delight inspir 
 ed by this realization of his best hopes of Katherine's character,
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 189 
 
 the possible temptations of old association after the storm of 
 feeling should have subsided, consented to a reduction of expen 
 ses further than was necessary, and allowed Katherine to follow 
 out the promptings of her enthusiasm, and regulate their new 
 establishment on a scale more moderate than he himself would 
 have ventured to propose, but which, nevertheless, accorded 
 very well with his principles and even his taste. 
 
 "Do not undertake more than you can bear, dear Kate" 
 he said, smiling. 
 
 "Never fear," she replied, " I am stronger than you think," 
 and truly her husband began to feel a sort of awe of this her 
 new power. Men of sense, even, are apt to be astonished at 
 any evidence of strength of character in women, perhaps natu 
 rally enough. 
 
 It would be difficult to give a just idea of all the circumstan 
 ces attending the new state of things. George, after going 
 through every phase of passion, rejecting all aid from his broth 
 er-in-law, saying every reckless word and doing every unwise 
 thing that an ungoverned young man might under the circum 
 stances contrive to crowd into the space of a few weeks, came 
 at last to see himself as he was, and to understand something 
 of Mr. Ellis's character. When he had reached this point, it is 
 not wonderful that he soon began to feel the humiliation proper 
 to the contrast. What Ellis's superiority in mere wisdom could 
 never have done, his inexhaustible patience and unmistakable 
 goodness accomplished. Here, as elsewhere, a life proved irre 
 sistible where arguments were powerless, and George's proud 
 heart at last bowed itself in confession and regret ; and while, 
 as much for his sister's sake as his own, he accepted the sacrifice 
 she was proud and happy to make with her husband's full con-
 
 190 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 sent, his spirit arose at once to the desire of reparation by self- 
 denial, labor, and the thorough renunciation of the delusions that 
 bad once so much power over him. 
 
 " But I must run away, Kate," he said ; " I cannot face the 
 sight of the change you and Henry make for my sake. Let me 
 bury myself in the country, for a time, at least." 
 
 " You need not quite bury yourself, George," said Mr. Ellis, 
 sm'ling ; " I dare say my sister would be happy to receive you, 
 if you would like to study with Mr. Dudley." 
 
 " O, if she would !" said Katherine ; "but I know she will! 
 she is all goodness." And tears filled her eyes as she recollected 
 how poorly she had once valued that goodness. 
 
 And George plunged into the study of law with all the impe 
 tuosity of devotion that he had been wasting on unworthy 
 pursuits, and met manfully the disagreeables attendant on his 
 new life and the total renunciation of his old companionship. 
 Trials there were, many and bitter, for no soul not utterly de- 
 praved ever passes out of the glare and gloom of vice into 
 purer light and air without horrible pangs of retrospection ; but 
 there was in George Fountain, as in his sister, a latent power, 
 of which the outward symmetry and harmony, that distinguished 
 them both, was Nature's gracious token. Stunted by evil cul 
 ture, thwarted by unhappy circumstances, misused and poisoned 
 under the allurements of vice, mind and body would have deteri 
 orated together ; but watched over and preserved from fatal 
 taint by pure influences in childhood, and borne up through 
 temptation and difficulty by such wisdom and kindness as' can 
 be found only among those who are at one with God and good 
 ness, the accord designed by Providence between beauty and 
 virtue was once more apparent ; and Katherine and her brother
 
 THE ISLAND STORY 191 
 
 seemed, to the few about them who knew all, more lovely in the 
 new light and glow of grateful and exalted feeling, than even in 
 the unruffled attractiveness of their earlier graces. 
 
 " This is your doing," said Katherine to her husband, in a 
 moment of grateful emotion ; and the few words and the look 
 that accompanied them, said more for the past and the future 
 than whole volumes of regrets and promises. Need we say that 
 he felt, in that moment, the reward of his patient love ? But 
 
 such hearts are their own reward. 
 
 * 
 
 "All-givers need no gifts." 
 
 These lines of Anne Lynch hint at the secret of such a charac 
 ter ; let us recommend them as a life-text : 
 
 Go forth in life, O Friend, not seeking love, 
 A mendicant, that, with imploring eye 
 And outstretched hand, asks of the passers-by 
 The alms his strong necessities may move. 
 For such poor love, to pity near allied, 
 Thy generous spirit may not stoop and wait, 
 A suppliant whose prayer may be denied, 
 Like a spurned beggar's at a palace gate; 
 But thy heart's affluence lavish uncontroll'd ; 
 The largess of thy love give full and free, 
 As monarchs in their progress scatter gold ; 
 And be thy heart like the exhaustless sea. 
 That must its -wealth of cloud and dew bestow 
 Though tributary streams or ebb or flow. 
 
 " Humph !" said Mr. Ingoldsby ; " I wish all these fine do 
 ings were true, but " 
 
 " But they could be, papa 1" exclaimed Elinor 
 " And have been," said Mrs. Marston, with the air of one 
 prepared to defend her position.
 
 192 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 But Mr. Ingoldsby only shook his head, and what sad things 
 are implied by such shakes of the head in old people! 
 
 " I am afraid George Fountain is going to turn out a spoon," 
 said Henry Marston 
 
 " You mean only silver, I suppose," said his mother, " not 
 gold. Would you rather see him a dagger, piercing the hearts 
 that loved him ?" 
 
 " Any thing not soft," said the youthful sage 
 
 " Nothing is so ' soft,' in your sense of the word, as wicked- 
 mess," was Mrs. Marston's reply to this sally ; " none require so 
 much courage as the good." . 
 
 "And now only one more chapter," said Miss Ingoldsby. 
 " See that flash of scarlet on the maple yonder, and the yellow 
 leaves on the locusts. We shall leave the woods when they are 
 in all their splendor. Who shall object to our American love 
 of gorgeous colors, when Providence sets us such an example 1" 
 
 " Providence does not put them upon man, or even woman, 
 though," said her father, laughing, " but only on plants, parro- 
 quets, rattle-snakes and the like " 
 
 " I think," said Mrs. Whipple, who felt a little stirred by this 
 glance at her tender point, " that Providence in not clothing us 
 at all, gave us all creation to choose out of." 
 
 " So think the Indians/' persisted her antagonist ; " and so 
 they stick feathers into their ears and bones through their 
 noses. It is all a matter of taste, certainly ; but I shall be 
 glad when we get beyond the aborigines in our choice of colors, 
 and begin to dress for beauty rather than for display of wealth. 
 Dress never would have called forth the censure of the wise, if 
 it had been used only to enhance human loveliness, and not to 
 gratify human pride."
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 193 
 
 " Dear me !" exclaimed Mrs. Whipple, puzzled by this heresy, 
 " then one ought to wear nothing but what is becoming 1 I 
 don't know what would become of the mantuamakers 1" 
 
 Far the most loved are they 
 Of whom Tame speaks not with her clarion-voice 
 In regal halls; the shades o'erhang their way; 
 The vale, with its deep fountains, is tbeir choice, 
 
 And gentle hearts rejoice 
 Around their steps, till silently they die, 
 As a stream shrinks from summer's burning eye. 
 
 This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point of existence, 
 
 Seed for the coming days ; without revocation departeth 
 
 Now from your lips the confession bethink ye before ye make answer 1 
 
 We have now to look upon the Ellises in a new position. 
 
 With what hope of success can we undertake the task of 
 showing happiness in a way of life neither rich nor poor lack 
 ing both the dignity of splendor and the picturesqueness of 
 poverty ; requiring no great and showy sacrifices, and admitting 
 of none of those magnificent virtues which are sure to bring 
 their reward of public praise as well as secret self-complacency ? 
 
 In the first place what did ' the world' say ? 
 
 If our hero and heroine had emerged from a plain mansion 
 into a palace, the world would have been deeply interested ; its 
 sympathies would have been excited, its affections active ; it 
 would have felt the force of the injunction to ' rejoice with those 
 that rejoice/ for it is a very amiable world under such circum 
 stances. To be sure it might have scrutinized a little the sources 
 of the golden stream ; it might have made scientific inquiries 
 into the nature of the chrysalis which gave a magnificent 
 13
 
 194 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 papillon to the sunshine ; while it would have conscientiously 
 endeavored to moderate the self-gratulation of the debutans by 
 suggesting as many mortifying drawbacks as possible. But it 
 would have smiled, and bowed, and gazed, and praised, most 
 satisfactorily. All the charming qualities of the happy pair 
 would have shone out anew, like jewels in a fresh and fashiona 
 ble setting. From commonplace people they would have flower 
 ed out into prodigies. 
 
 But as nobody but sentimentalists praise the sun when it goes 
 behind a cloud, so the amiable world was entirely content that 
 Mr. arid Mrs. Ellis, after a brief period of brilliance, should be 
 as retiring and retired as they pleased. As to the why and 
 wherefore, that certainly was a nine days' wonder. Losses 
 there had been none, that any body could discover ; ' specula 
 tion ' perhaps, but where ? It might be a fit of penuriousness, 
 on finding how much it took to keep up a handsome establish 
 ment and an expensive wife, for Ellis was always something of 
 a prig ! But the thought of his having paid his brother-in- 
 law's debts never entered any body's head. George was sup 
 posed to have done that, (foolishly !) out of Mr. Deane's prop 
 erty, leaving himself nothing. 
 
 We dare not say that what the world, lately so important to 
 Katherine, said of her change of appearance, was of no moment 
 to her. There were times, certainly, when this was the case, but 
 those were times of excitement, which do not last always. So 
 she was subject to alternations trials of feeling waverings of 
 resolution misgivings as to her own strength and for we do 
 not claim for our heroine a position beyond humanity doubts as 
 to whether so much was really required of her. We cannot 
 always bear in mind all the stringent particulars under which we
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 195 
 
 came to unusual and trying decisions ; so that after the benefit 
 of those decisions has begun to be felt, we are prone to question 
 their wisdom. This is one of the effects of the ' imperfection 
 of the instrument,' as the piano-tuners say ; a lack of perfect 
 proportion in the action of our powers. But Katherine had a 
 perpetual memory of George's altered lowered face, during 
 that miserable winter, when the radiant eyes of his guardian 
 angel must have been turned away, discouraged ; and a perpet 
 ual comfort in an occasional view of his cleared, animated, self- 
 respecting look under the toils of study, cheered by the con 
 sciousness of honest intent. The world did not believe in the 
 permanence of this change, for in all similar cases, from Prince 
 Hal downwards, it takes refuge in doubt from the mortifying 
 sense of the failure of its spells. Yet, happily, instances in 
 which it is at last forced into faith are neither few nor obscure. 
 It was curjous and affecting to see how much the old inti 
 macy of communion with the Ashmores revived under the new 
 circumstances. Not that Katherine had ever intentionally 
 chilled the dear friends of her infancy by word or look. She 
 had been disposed to load them with benefits, beyond their wil 
 lingness to accept, and she had given no little thought to the 
 ways and means of doing them good. But there is an irresisti 
 ble effect of great difference of position and outward circumstan 
 ces in keeping friends apart. The poorer feel it if the richer 
 do not ; and the space between grows insensibly wider, in spite 
 of the sincerest efforts on both sides to bridge it over. How 
 happy was good Aunt Susan to have the cold veil removed that 
 she had felt, if not seen, interposed between her darling and 
 herself ; and how happy was Katherine to find herself once 
 more nestling, as it were, under the beloved wing ! How much
 
 196 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 more at home did all feel in the new house, comfortable and 
 elegant as it was, than in the midst of too great profusion of 
 expense and ornament ! And how much more time there 
 seemed for hospitality, truly such, when a host of stately people 
 who had given no pleasure ceased coming because they were no 
 longer invited. The Enfields concealed their wonder and dis 
 gust under polite coolness, for they had ' no patience with such 
 absurdity.' Mrs. St. John wrote letters of condolence which 
 made Katherine laugh. 
 
 Besides the more obvious sources of the quiet happiness 
 which became gradually and gently the habit of our heroine in 
 her less splendid home, was one of which she had had no pre 
 vious conception, and for which she had laid no plan. The dis 
 charge of half her servants had brought her into more intimate 
 personal relations with her own domestic affairs. It may be 
 only a fancy of ours, that Providence has so decidedly fitted 
 woman for household cares, that she is never truly and healthily 
 happy without them ; but if it be a fancy, it is one which much 
 observation has confirmed. If there be any thing likely to 
 banish the fiend ennui from the dwellings of women of fortune, 
 it is the habit of assuming a moderate share of the daily cares 
 which go to make home home. To do every thing by proxy is 
 to deprive ourselves of a thousand wholesome, cheerful, innocent 
 interests ; to nourish our pride and indolence at the expense of 
 our affections ; to sacrifice the life of life to a notion of gentil 
 ity, poor, hollow and barren ; nay, is there not something 
 almost impious in scorning the position for which God so evi 
 dently designed woman, and living an artificial life of our own 
 devising, deputing our duties and privileges to hirelings ? 
 
 It is a singular delusion, this, of some women, and of Ameri-
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 197 
 
 can women in particular, for we know that even in England 
 women of fortune are much more truly domestic in their tastes 
 and habits than we. We remember a story of a certain Duchess 
 cleaning some picture-frames, when a protegee who happened to 
 be present, officiously desired to take the office upon herself. 
 
 " Child !" said her grace, " don't you suppose I should have 
 called a servant if I had not chosen to do it myself !" 
 
 The German ladies, with all their cultivation, take the most 
 intimate interest in householdry, and they are remarkable for 
 cheerfulness of temper, for natural and charming manners, and 
 for the intelligence and vivacity of their conversational powers. 
 Who knows but the terrible dearth of subjects of conversation 
 among us might be somewhat mitigated, if our ladies spent a 
 part of every morning among the various cares and duties, on 
 the proper performance of which so much of the comfort and 
 happiness of life depends, and which call into action far higher 
 powers than those required for the bald chit-chat of an evening 
 party, or the inanities of a morning call ? 
 
 The universal sentiment of men is in favor of active domestic 
 habits for women. It is said that men ' love to see women del 
 icate,' and so they do, doubtless. But does any moderate 
 amount of attention to home affairs deprive a lady of her deli 
 cacy ? It may prevent the delicacy of dyspepsia, but few gen 
 tlemen admire that. Indeed we have yet to discover the man 
 of sense who is displeased by his wife's personal care of the 
 comfort and economy of her house. Those whose lives are em 
 bittered by the lack of it are not far to seek. No houses are 
 regulated with such neatness, accuracy and elegance as those 
 in which the ladies of the family take a personal part in house 
 hold duties.
 
 198 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Goethe says of a young woman of his friends and a man of 
 genius is entitled to speak for his sex " After the death of her 
 mother, she displayed a high degree of activity as the head 
 of a numerous young family, and, alone, had sustained her father 
 in his widowhood. The future husband could thus hope an 
 equal blessing for himself and his descendants, and expect a de 
 cided domestic happiness. Every one confessed that she was a 
 woman to be wished for. She was one of those, who, if they 
 do not inspire vehement passion, are found to excite a universal 
 pleasure. A lightly formed, symmetrical figure a pure, healthy 
 nature, and the glad activity that arises from it ; an unembar 
 rassed care for daily necessities, with all these she was endowed. 
 The observation of these qualities was always agreeable to me, 
 and I always sought the society of those who possessed 
 them." 
 
 Yes we shall have all the gentlemen on our side when we 
 venture to think domestic employments suited to women of all 
 fortunes to universal womanhood, indeed. So we insist that 
 Katherine was happier, when, with less intervention of servants, 
 she took upon herself a certain share of the daily recurring du 
 ties. Especially with regard to her son did she find her happi 
 ness increased by discarding much of the hireling aid she had 
 for a while been persuaded to think necessary. Nature, no 
 longer repressed by stupid conventions, sprang up free and joy 
 ous in the heart of the young mother, and yielded all that 
 wealth of tender, indescribable, but most precious joys which 
 so richly repays the thousand cares and sacrifices of maternity. 
 In short if the Ellis sunshine seemed to the world without to 
 be somewhat obscured, it was only because the radiance was
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 199 
 
 concentrated within To those most concerned it certainly 
 seemed doubled. 
 
 " But there was no splendor, and it is in vain to preach that 
 splendor is undesirable." Cela depend. Splendor is of various 
 kinds. We talk sometimes of splendid talents, and we bow be 
 fore them ; and we think of splendid goodness, though we may 
 use another epithet. Neither of these was excluded from the 
 new regime. But in ordinary acceptation, splendor is the result 
 of lavish expenditure. Was that lacking ? To say nothing of 
 the gift to George a gift which he firmly determined should 
 prove only a loan, but which was nevertheless a free gift from 
 the givers what else the Ellises bestowed, by secret and open 
 channels, would have kept up the old dazzle, and saved the 
 world the trouble of all its conjectures. Uncle Ashmore fell 
 into some trouble through that good son-in-law of his perhaps 
 Mary's bridal gifts had induced extravagant notions into her 
 househouldry, but this we doubt, for Aunt Susan's daughter 
 would not be likely to go far wrong. Certainly some clouds 
 seemed impending over that happy family. 
 
 Katherine wept at the thought. "It will be so hard for dear 
 Uncle and Aunt Ashmore in their old days" she said. 
 
 Mr. Ellis only laughed. His wife looked up, astonished. 
 
 " Don't you know, dear Kate," said the quiet man, " that it 
 would hardly require more than what your shawls cost only a 
 few years ago, to free your uncle from his embarrassments? 
 And don't you know that not buying the shawls and fifty other 
 things that gave us no real pleasure, leaves us plenty of money 
 to do as we like with ?" 
 
 Katherine's eyes grew larger at this, and her husband contin 
 ued ;
 
 200 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " Forgive me, my dearest, for not having told you this 
 before ; for having allowed you to think our present moderate 
 style of living really necessary in prudence. When you proposed 
 the change, in your tender solicitude for George, I could hardly 
 refrain from assuring you at once that I could and would do all 
 you wished, without the need of any marked alteration in our 
 mode of life. But the desire that you should try something 
 which I earnestly believed more congenial to your fine, true 
 nature, was too tempting ! I allowed you to regulate matters 
 as you chose ; always intending, as soon as you had had time 
 for a fair trial, and an opportunity to know your real tastes, to 
 restore you to the former position and way of life if you deliber 
 ately preferred it. A thousand times I have been on the point 
 of saying this to you, but I confess you have seemed to me so 
 much more at home so much more my own so much more the 
 Katherine of my dearest dreams, in your simpler and more 
 natural form, that I could not, for very selfishness, find courage 
 to offer you a return to the old grandeur cold and sterile as it 
 seemed to me, and threatening a gradual obscuration of my 
 wife's best graces. But I offer it now, and without a shadow 
 of hesitation, for it was not the condition I feared, but your 
 estimation of it, and the habits of thought it seemed likely to 
 induce. Now with your present views and objects, and your 
 past experience I have no fears, and if you decide to return to 
 square, or a similar house, I shall bo entirely content." 
 
 Katherine did not receive this confession with indifference. 
 For a moment she felt something akin to resentment. Had she 
 then been allowed to make sacrifices for nothing ? Had she 
 been treated like a child, who must be deceived into being 
 good?
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 201 
 
 But it was only for a moment. The next brought more 
 gracious thoughts. One look at her husband one thought of 
 what he was of his patience, his unselfishness, his devotion to 
 her cleared her mental horizon at once. Light from his cha 
 racter seemed to irradiate her whole path, past and future. 
 
 With a gush of grateful tears she threw herself into his 
 arms 
 
 " Forgive you, Henry I" she said ; " forgive you for your love 
 and goodness for making me so happy ? What gentler 
 method could you have devised for awakening me from my 
 dream ? Dear husband dearest friend I owe myself to you. 
 Love and truth have revealed life to me. How could you have 
 answered it to yourself if you had let me sink into nothingness 
 under delusions so fatal 1" 
 
 "I know not," he replied ; "yet I confess I was completely 
 at a loss. Your convictions were brought about by means 
 wholly beyond any power of mine. We cannot devise and cre 
 ate circumstances to suit our wishes. Happy those who are 
 willing to use such as are offered by a benign Providence. 
 Still, dearest Kate, remember I am ready and willing to enlarge 
 our way of life whenever you desire it ; there may be very good 
 reasons for doing so." 
 
 " I shall never desire it," she replied, " for there is a sense of 
 weariness and disgust comes over me whenever I think of the life 
 we used to lead. Not that I pretend to have grown indifferent 
 to wealth, or the privileges it buys, or the consequence it gives. 
 I love to spend money as well as ever, but spending it without 
 display, and for objects which the world cannot appreciate, 
 seems to me a higher pleasure than any that show ever gave me. 
 Of mere luxury we have enough all that we can really enjoy j
 
 202 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 for I have discovered that whatever of it we provide beyond a 
 certain limit is not for ourselves, and becomes a burthen. If, 
 with abundant means, you were disposed to hoard," she added, 
 smiling, "I believe I should be a very bad wife ; but as you 
 love to spend too why, it seems to me we shall be very happy 
 as we are." 
 
 "Is that all ?" said Miss Grove, when the reader stopped. 
 
 "What more would you have?" said Mr. Berry ; " is not 
 every body very happy, and haven't we made out our case ?" 
 
 " But I thought you would have told us more about George 
 how he behaved, and whether he ever fell in love." 
 
 " you know it would be long before it was proper for 
 George to fall in love, and when he did there would be a great 
 deal to be said about it ; we must reserve that for other sum 
 mer hours in the House of Industry." 
 
 "I consider the permanence of the young wife's conversion so 
 ticklish a topic," said Mr. Ingoldsby, with his usual disposition 
 to a certain quizzical skepticism, " that I hold you very wise to 
 stop where you do. The brother's reformation I can believe in, 
 for it is easier to forsake vice than folly." 
 
 " Shall I tell you papa's creed only pretended, though 
 about women ?" said Elinor ; "he often repeats these lines : 
 
 ' Is It that for such outward ornament 
 Was lavished on their sex, that inward gifts 
 Were left, for haste, unfinished judgment scant, 
 Capacity not rais'd to apprehend 
 Or value what is best 
 In choice, but oftest to affect the wrong ?' " 
 
 " I could bury those lines so deep under a mountain of oppos-
 
 THE ISLAND STORY. 203 
 
 ite ones, from poets of all time," said Mr. Berry, " that it would 
 take another summer to find them. But tell us whether we 
 have proved our position ?" 
 
 " Hardly," said Mr. Ingoldsby ; " for after all, you have been 
 obliged to resolve Beauty into Yirtue." 
 
 " Not at all we have only shown that Beauty and Yirtue 
 are a twin growth, and cannot be separated without violence to 
 Nature." 
 
 " And do you feel entitled to end with a Q. E. D.?" 
 
 " We must leave the decision of that question with our read 
 ers."
 
 WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION, 
 
 CONSIDERING how highly every age has prized the history and 
 biography of previous times, it is matter of surprise that there 
 are not always found those who systematically record passing 
 events and delineate living characters. Fame is, indeed, in a 
 good degree, an affair of distance. It is difficult for friends, 
 associates, or contemporaries to be sure that actions or events, 
 which arise from the present condition of things, will seem as 
 important to posterity as to those who have an immediate inte 
 rest in the emergencies which gave them birth. But the desire 
 to know what has been done and said by those who have gone 
 before us who helped to prepare the world for the coming of 
 our day is so universal, and we are so often vexed to think we 
 know so little, that it seems wonderful that mere sympathy 
 should not lead us to prepare pleasant things of this sort for the 
 people whose pioneers we are. How delicious are the bits of 
 private history now and then fished up from the vast sea of 
 things forgotten 1 How we pounce upon some quaint diary, 
 some old hoard of seemingly insignificant letters, some enlight 
 ening passage in an old author, who little suspected his blunt 
 quill of playing the part of an elucidator of history ! What 
 could repay the world for the withdrawal from its knowledge of 
 the straight-forward fibs of Sir John Mandeville, illustrative as
 
 WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 205 
 
 they are of the state of general credulity in his day ? Or of 
 Pepys's Diary, or Horace Walpole's, or Madame de Sevigne's 
 letters, or Bozzy's inestimable jottings ? 
 
 Each and every generation lives in " a very remarkable age," 
 and it is obviously a high moral duty of somebody to write it 
 down, circumstantially, for the benefit of those who are destined, 
 through its preparing influence, to enter upon experiences still 
 more remarkable. Yet when we would seek materials for the 
 minute private history of a time, in the bosom of whose com 
 mon life were contained the characterizing elements of this 
 great empire as the rich satin folds of the tulip are traceable 
 in a bulb which looks very like that humble piece of domesticity, 
 an onion we are obliged to search as if for the proverbial 
 needle ; to dive into family records, dim with the dust of time, 
 or useless from the suspicious coloring of pride or affection ; to 
 call upon the East and the West, the North and the South, to 
 rummage the memory-garrets of their "oldest inhabitants ;" in 
 short, to pick, as it were, from thorns and briers by the way 
 side, stray locks of the material which should have been carded 
 and spun by the growers, ready for the weaving skill of the 
 present day. 
 
 All honor, then, to the patriotic labors of those to whom we 
 owe the gathering of these fragments ! Honor to Mrs. Ellet, 
 who has alone done for our Revolutionary mothers what so 
 many men have been zealous in doing for their own sex, ever 
 since the national struggle was ended. 
 
 No one perhaps will question, that the women of the Revo 
 lution bore a far larger share of its actual hardships and suffer 
 ings than the men. The life afield, shorn though it may be of 
 home comforts, has its poetry, its inspirations, its heroic element,
 
 206 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 for compensation of its ills. The very physical influence of 
 duties performed in the open air of excitement, exercise, vari 
 ety, and liberty, is enlivening and invigorating to mind and body 
 reciprocally. Military discipline, the stimulus of command 
 and of subordination, of regularity, of enterprise, of endurance, 
 has a tendency to maintain the spirits in a somewhat equable, 
 if not elated state, and to keep sad personal thoughts at bay. 
 Activity having a direct bearing upon the great object in view, 
 keeps up the heart more easily and more steadily than quieter 
 service can. It is, indeed, an attainment in philosophy to have, 
 and to be consoled and sustained by, the feeling that 
 
 " They also serve who only stand and wait" 
 
 To do is the great pleasure of life ; to suffer, or to be passive, is 
 a sustained effort of self-denial. 
 
 It was to this difficult service that the women of the Revolu 
 tion were called. The hard labor of waiting, in patient anxi 
 ety and a composure that did not exclude agony, while hus 
 bands, sous, fathers, brothers, went in search of danger, called 
 forth fortitude and faith far beyond that required for night- 
 watches under snowy skies, or forced marches without shoes. 
 To follow, with heart and eye, day after day, the ebbing life of 
 a darling child, whose father was far away and unconscious of 
 the blow that hung over him, drew more severely upon the 
 springs of life and hope than a wound in a skirmish or a baffled 
 enterprise. The women's lot, in those times, was the ingenious 
 prolongation of torture with which the savage takes care not to 
 kill torture that would nerve the impatient soul to pray for a 
 bullet, rather than to dread it. To prepare a loved one for the 
 camp and the battle, to see him depart, yet withhold the pro-
 
 WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 201 
 
 test that nature must prompt, were enough ; how much more 
 was it to combat his own misgivings at the thought of leaving 
 lonely and unprotected his dearer than life ; to nerve his heart 
 for the strife by a deep sympathy in his sense of wrong ; to 
 send him forth, in the spirit of the Greek matron, with a charge 
 to return with his shield or upon it ! The noble qualities called 
 forth by circumstances such as these, excite the imagination and 
 thrill the heart, till we are in danger of forgetting the hateful- 
 ness of war. A young girl throws herself between a threaten 
 ing pistol and her father's body, and by her intrepidity preserves 
 him from butchery ; and again, when she is threatened with 
 death if she refuses to give information of the course taken by 
 a party of her countrymen, bares her bosom to the shot of 
 a brutal marauder, who is only prevented from murder by the 
 shame or the humanity of a comrade who strikes up his weapon. 
 A wife, who has seen her husband shot down by a musket level 
 led over her own shoulder as she entreated for his life, after 
 wards keeps watch over his blood-stained corpse in a lonely 
 house, in the midst of enemies, resolute to protect the precious 
 remains from further outrage. Can men do these things ? 
 
 A war of invasion, whose success depended upon the devasta 
 tion it might be able to carry into private homes, fell, of course, 
 very heavily upon women, and awakened a spirit and called 
 forth a resistance which are habitually foreign to the sex. The 
 peculiarly feminine quality of fortitude was warmed by excite 
 ment and outrage into courage ; a sense of responsibility, and 
 the necessity of caring for the absent, produced prudence and 
 awakened ingenuity ; all frivolous interests were thrown out of 
 sight by the continual presence of important duties ; in short, 
 woman was forced, by the dread power of necessity, into the
 
 208 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 exercise of those noble qualities with which her Maker endowed 
 her when he gave her to be the helpmeet of man, qualities too 
 generally allowed to lie dormant under the circumstances of 
 common life, or suppressed because man, the ruler of her des 
 tiny, approves rather the lighter graces which threaten no com 
 petition in his own peculiar sphere of self-complacency. The 
 impression left by this simple record of woman's part in the 
 revolutionary struggle is that of the general tone of feeling 
 rather than of particular incidents of heroism ; we remember 
 not so much that particular women did or suffered particular 
 things, as that the whole tone of female society was raised. 
 The standard of behavior was a heroic one ; the emulation was 
 no longer who should be most fastidious and dependent ; who 
 should act the part of "the tender and delicate woman, which 
 would not adventure to set the sole of her foot upon the ground 
 for delicateness and tenderness," so favorite a role ordinarily, 
 that women will endure much rather than appear able to endure 
 any thing ; but who should utterly put away self, forget privi 
 leges, forego indulgences, encounter dangers ; who should bind 
 up wounds, walk noisome hospitals, convey intelligence, defend 
 the obnoxious. It seems, truly, to have been woman who held 
 the keys of the precious reservoir of Hope from which was 
 drawn strength to endure to the end. Invaders, far away from 
 their wives and daughters, may fight perfunctorily and fail ; 
 men drawn up in defence of their own firesides, and receiving 
 ever new supplies of energy and assurance from the home stores, 
 are irresistible. 
 
 But it is time to turn from our general view of the influence 
 of woman upon the great contest, to the contemplation of par" 
 ticular characters and incidents. And we begin naturally with
 
 WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 209 
 
 the mother of Washington, who struck the key-note of this high 
 harmony when she gave her faultless son to his country without 
 a tremor ; and who afterwards uttered as a comment upon the 
 homage offered him by a grateful nation " George was always 
 a good boy." The Spartan simplicity and dignity of this matron 
 make her a very classic. If without injury to the sterner fea 
 tures of this character, it were possible to infuse among its 
 elements some of the lighter feminine graces, we could find it in 
 our hearts to advise our young countrywomen to study it as the 
 type of American womanhood. 
 
 In the traits of many of the heroines of the earlier days of the 
 Revolution, we find a remarkable union of strength and softness, 
 courage and refinement, simplicity and shrewdness, the fruit of 
 patriotic sentiments engrafted on the habits and acquirements 
 of aristocratic society. Mrs. Reed, Mrs. Schuyler, Mrs. War 
 ren, Mrs. Montgomery, and many others, were of this class of 
 women. Their adventures are less striking ; but their charac 
 ters no less admirable, than those of women whom circumstances 
 brought into more conspicuous relation with the war. Mrs. 
 Knox was perhaps the most splendid of these ladies, both on 
 account of her elegance of person and manner, and the strength 
 and perseverance of her character. Her position in society was 
 next to that of Mrs. Washington, ever her intimate friend ; and 
 the aged officers who still survive, and love to talk of the scenes 
 and adventures of that day, never fail to speak of Mrs. Knox, 
 of her beauty, her wit, her gay and free manners, and the kindly 
 and hospitable manner in which she knew how to entertain 
 guests of every degree. 
 
 Like other women of marked intellectual power, who are ren 
 dered conspicuous by station, Mrs. Knox excited envy, and 
 14
 
 210 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 became occasionally the subject of severe and ungenerous 
 comment. Her very frankness, the result of conscious strength 
 and honesty, was turned against her by petty minds. Thus, a 
 traditional speech of hers, in the decline of life, purporting that, 
 if she could live her life over again, she would be "more of a 
 wife, more of a mother, more of a woman," than she had been, 
 has been interpreted as an expression of remorse ; while, in 
 truth, it is no insignificant proof of virtue. It was doubtless 
 prompted by the spirit of humility which implies a recognition 
 of the highest and purest motives of conduct. 
 
 Lest this remark and others, exceedingly natural and praise 
 worthy, currently ascribed to Mrs. Knox, should be miscon 
 strued to the disadvantage of a distinguished woman, whose 
 candor and modesty were enhanced, in the decline of life, by the 
 adoption of a religious standard of action, we venture to insert 
 a passage or two from a private letter, written by a still surviv 
 ing daughter, who feels a daughter's interest in the memory of 
 a beloved mother, while she carefully disclaims all wish to make 
 one so loved pass for 
 
 "The faultless monster whom the world ne'er saw.'* 
 
 "I claim for my mother no perfection of character ; she un 
 doubtedly had her share of the failings which attach to us all. 
 I am very conscious that the partiality of friends, and particu 
 larly of children, is too apt to give a brighter coloring to the 
 character of those who were so dear to them than truth will 
 warrant. In this case, however, I would say, that while ample 
 justice is done, as I think, to my mother's intellectual powers, 
 which were undoubtedly of a superior order, and gave her a 
 commanding influence in society, it may not perhaps be equally 
 acknowledged that she had heart as well as mind. Those who 
 knew her intimately would, I firmly believe, bear full testimony
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 211 
 
 to the warmth of her domestic attachments. A more devoted 
 wife and mother I never knew. The keenest sorrows of her I'.fe 
 sprung from this source. It was the w 11 of God to take from 
 her nine of her twelve children, previous to the still greater trial 
 of parting with the husband of her youth, the friend and com- 
 pan.on of many eventful years, and many scenes of joy and 
 sorrow ; and the anguish she endured on these trying occasions 
 gave abundant evidence that her heart was feelingly alive to the 
 tender and sacred claims of wife and mother. Yet I think it 
 very probable, that in the retrospect of a long life she may have 
 seen much to regret many duties imperfectly performed 
 instances innumerable in which a different course ought to have 
 been pursued. Feelings like these I have often heard her ex 
 press, and can now most fully sympathize with Her lot was 
 cast in the midst of all that was most attractive in our land ; 
 yet I do not believe in its busiest scenes she ever lost sight of 
 her more private and ind spensable duties." 
 
 After the conclusion of the war, and when the services of 
 General Knox were no longer required by the country, he re- 
 tired to a splendid country residence in Maine, where his wife 
 assisted him in dispensing a hospitality such as this country has 
 seldom seen. It is said to have been not unusual with them to 
 kill an ox and twenty sheep on Monday morning, to be con 
 sumed in the course of the week by a concourse of guests for 
 whom a hundred beds were daily made. Among the visitors 
 entertained here were the Duke de Liancourt, who was, as he 
 said, heir to three Dukedoms, yet without a suit of clothes to 
 his back, until supplied by General Knox ; Talleyrand, who 
 pretended that it was impossible for him to learn English, while 
 he had two masters and was believed to understand the language 
 thoroughly ; Lafayette, who remembered to inquire for his friend 
 Mrs. Knox, when he visited this country as " the nation's
 
 212 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 guest ;" and many others, who have figured on the stage of his 
 tory. At Boston, Louis Philippe and his brothers, the Dukes 
 de Montpensier and de Charolais, had been frequent visitors at 
 the house of General Knox, and found solace in the friendship 
 of its fair mistress ; and at all times and in all places where 
 this happy couple resided, their society was sought by the 
 great, the patriotic, and the distinguished. 
 
 The character and adventures of the Baroness de R'edesel 
 are well known, and as she did not belong to the patriot side, 
 we shall have nothing to say of her here. Not that we can 
 notice each of the heroines of the time, even by a word ; we 
 shall be obliged to content ourselves with recalling a few of 
 those whose position or adventures render them peculiarly 
 interesting or worthy of contemplation. 
 
 Lydia Darrah was a Quakeress of Philadelphia, who, while 
 entertaining perforce a party of the enemy, played the eavesdrop 
 per, and used the information she obtained at the keyhole to 
 save the Americans a surprise at White Marsh. Those who 
 approve of war cannot object to this mode of obtaining intelli 
 gence ; and the sagacity, courage and perseverance of the good 
 woman certainly deserve all the praise bestowed upon them 
 How Lydia stood with the Quaker meeting, after this exploit, 
 we are not informed. 
 
 "The celebrated Miss Franks" was noted for "the keenness 
 of her irony, and her readiness at repartee ;" but the sharp 
 speeches recorded of her are lacking in the delicacy which should 
 distinguish feminine wit. Mrs. Ellet's sketch of this loyalist 
 lady, converted late in life to more patriotic predilections, is 
 enlivened by an account of the " Mischianza," a festival given 
 by the British officers in Philadelphia, as a parting compliment
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 213 
 
 to Sir William Howe, on his departure for England, when he 
 was superseded by Sir Henry Clinton. This account of an 
 American festival of the olden time one of the very few for 
 mally recorded in our annals, is especially interesting, from 
 having been originally written by Major Andre, who contributed 
 largely to the more poetical portion of the festival. 
 
 "The entertainment was given on the 18th of May, 1178. It 
 commenced with a grand regatta, in three divisions. In the 
 first was the Ferret galley, on board of which were several gen 
 eral officers and ladies. In the centre, the Hussar galley bore 
 Sir William and Lord Howe, Sir Henry Clinton, their suite, 
 and many ladies. The Cornwallis galley brought up the rear 
 General Knyphausen and suite, three British generals, and 
 ladies, being on board. On each quarter of these galleys, and 
 forming their division, were five flat boats lined with green cloth, 
 and filled with ladies and gentlemen. In front were three flat 
 boats, with bands of music. Six barges rowed about each 
 flank, to keep off the swarm of boats in the river. The galleys 
 were dressed in colors and streamers ; the ships lying at anchor 
 were magnificently decorated ; and the transport ships with 
 colors flying, which extended in a line the whole length of the 
 city, were crowded, as well as the wharves, with spectators. 
 The rendezvous was at Knight's wharf, at the northern extrem 
 ity of the city The company embarked at half-past four, the 
 three divisions moving slowly down to the music. Arrived 
 opposite Market wharf, at a signal all rested on their oars, and 
 the music played " God save the King," answered by three 
 cheers from the vessels. The landing was at the Old Fort, a 
 little south of the town, and in front of the building prepared 
 for the company a few hundred yards from the water. This 
 regatta was gazed at from the wharves and warehouses by all 
 the uninvited population of the city. 
 
 " When the general's barge pushed for shore, a salute of 
 seventeen guns was fired from his Majesty's ship Roebuck ; and,
 
 214 AUTUMN HOLFR3 
 
 after an interval, seventeen from the Vigilant. The procession 
 advanced through an avenue formed by two files of grenadiers, 
 each supported by a line of light-horse. The avenue led to a 
 spacious lawn, lined with troops, and prepared for the exhibit. on 
 of a tilt and tournament. The music, and managers with favors 
 of white aud blue ribboas in their breasts, led the way, followed 
 by the generals and the rest of the company. 
 
 " In front, the building bounded the view through a vista 
 formed by two triumphal arches in a line with the landing place 
 Two pavilions, with rows of benches rising one above another, 
 received the ladies, while the gentlemen ranged themselves on 
 each side. On the front seat of each pavilion were seven young 
 ladies as princesses, in Turkish habits, and wearing in their 
 turbans the favors meant for the knights who contended. The 
 sound of trumpets was heard in the distance ; and a band of 
 knights in ancient habits of white aud red silk, mounted on gray 
 horses caparisoned in the same colors, attended by squires on 
 foot, heralds and trumpeters, entered the lists. Lord Cathcart 
 was chief of these knights ; and appeared in honor of Miss 
 Auchmuty. One of his esquires bore his lance, another his 
 shield ; and two black slaves in blue and white silk, with silver 
 clasps on their bare necks and arms, held his stirrups. The 
 band made the circuit of the square, saluting the ladies, and then 
 ranged themselves in a line with the pavJion, in which were the 
 ladies of their device. Their herald, after a flourish of trumpets, 
 proclaimed a challenge ; asserting the superiority of the ladies 
 of the Blended Rose, in wit, beauty, and accomplishment, and 
 offering to prove it by deeds of arms, according to the ancient 
 laws of chivalry. At the third repetition of the challenge, 
 another herald and trumpeters advanced from the other side of 
 the square, dressed in black and orange, and proclaimed defi 
 ance to the challengers, in the name of the knights of the 
 Burning mountain. Captain Watson, the chief, appeared in 
 honor of Miss Franks ; his device a heart with a wreath of 
 flowers ; his motto Love and Glory. This band also rode
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 215 
 
 round the lists, and drew up in front of the White Knights. 
 The gauntlet was thrown down and lifted ; the encounter took 
 place. After the fourth encounter, the two chiefs, spurring to 
 the centre, fought singly, till the marshal of the field rushed 
 between, and declared that the ladies of the Blended Rose and 
 the Burning Mountain were satisfied with the proofs of love and 
 valor already given, and commanded their knights to desist. 
 The bands then filed off in different directions, saluting the 
 ladies as they approached the pavilions. 
 
 " The company then passed m procession through triumphal 
 arches built in the Tuscan order, to a garden in front of the 
 building, and thence ascended to a spacious hall painted in imi 
 tation of Sienna marble. In this hall and apartment adjoining, 
 were tea and refreshments ; and the knights, kneeling, received 
 their favors from the ladies. On entering the room appropri 
 ated for the faro table, a cornucopia was seen filled with fruit 
 and flowers ; another appeared in goin<r out, shrunk, reversed, 
 and empty. The next advance was to a ball-room painted in 
 pale blue, pannelled with gold, with dropping festoons of flowers ; 
 the snrbase pink, with drapery festooned in blue. Eighty-five 
 mirrors, decked with flowers and ribbons, reflected the 1 ght from 
 thirty-four branches of wax lights. On the same floor were four 
 drawing-rooms with sideboards of refreshments, also decorated 
 and lighted up. The dancing continued till ten ; the windows 
 were then thrown open, and the fireworks commenced with a 
 magnificent bouquet of rockets. 
 
 " At twelve, large folding doors, which had hitherto been 
 concealed, were suddenly thrown open, discovering a splendid 
 and spacious saloon, richly painted, and brilliantly illuminated ; 
 the mirrors and branches decorated, as a'.so the upper table ; 
 which was set out according to Major Andre's account with 
 four hundred and thirty covers, and twelve hundred dishes. 
 When supper was ended, the herald and trumpeters of the 
 Blended Rose entered the saloon, and proclaimed the health of 
 the king and royal family followed by that of the knights and
 
 216 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 ladies ; each toast being accompanied by a flourish of music. 
 The company then returned to the ball-room, and the dancing 
 continued t.ll four o'clock." 
 
 How faded and old fashioned all this looks to the haughty 
 eyes of the present generation, when no one goes into company 
 intending to do any thing but criticise others! yet it makes one's 
 ancestors appear very amiable. Bonhommie is nearly obsolete, 
 for it requires simplicity, and a degree of confidence in others 
 that is a shield against ridicule. One thing is obvious, such 
 amusements suppose accomplished people. 
 
 This entertainment took place at the opening of the spring 
 which followed the dreadful winter at Valley Forge. After this 
 period, the scene of action was in a great measure changed to 
 the southern country, and the war took a more romantic char 
 acter. Savannah was surrendered to the British at the close of 
 1779, and on the 12th of May, 1781, Charleston capitulated, 
 and was occupied by Sir Henry Clinton, who from that centre 
 of operations harrassed the surrounding country at pleasure. 
 The bad faith of the British commander, by means of which one 
 portion of the inhabitants were terrified into adhesion to the 
 crown, nerved the hearts and arms of many more, who, under 
 every disadvantage, and at the imminent risk of all they held 
 dearest, commenced a partizan and skirmishing warfare, far more 
 wearing and distressing than the pitched battles at the North, 
 from the immediate dangers of which, at least, women and chil 
 dren and helpless age were safe. Circumstances like these nat 
 urally called forth a kind of personal heroism, for. which there is 
 little field in regular warfare. Instances not unfrequcntly 
 occurred, when all, for the moment, depended on the courage, 
 the ingenuity, the firmness, or the judgment of a woman ; when
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 217 
 
 children without hesitation risked their lives at the call of duty 
 or affection ; when the negro forgot the stupidity which his mas 
 ter is so fond of imputing to him, and under the stimulus of love 
 or pity, was inspired with an ingenuity of equivocation or a 
 boldness of defence quite at variance with his supposed charac 
 ter. The comparative simplicity of plantation life imparts a 
 healthful tone to love and friendship, and depth and constancy 
 to all the domestic affections ; and we love to think of the 
 women of the South as the guardian angels of their firesides or 
 their palmetto shades, ever ready, with sweet influences, to ward 
 off, as far as human creatures may, the curse of slavery, and 
 meliorate, as only gentle creatures can, its sting. 
 
 Mrs. Gibbes, the first lady on the Southern list, may serve as 
 a type of one class of the heroic women of the South. With the 
 quiet energy of a veteran commander, she prepared her house for 
 the reccpt.on of the invaders, after they had already surrounded 
 it, and that closely. She did not conquer, but she disarmed the 
 enemy, by opening the front door when all was ready, and show 
 ing the majestic form of her invalid husband, helpless in his 
 great arm-chair, and surrounded only by women and children. 
 And when her beautiful plantation was given up to ruthless pil 
 lage, and the officers became her compulsory guests, she contin 
 ued to preside at the head of her table, awing the intruders into 
 respect and decent order by the power of her presence. Flying 
 afterwards in the midst of a heavy fire from the river, and hav 
 ing under her charge, with the helpless husband, sixteen, child 
 ren, her own and those of her sister she discovers on reach 
 ing the neighboring plantation, towards which their fugitive 
 steps were directed, that a little boy one of her sister's is 
 missing.
 
 218 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " The roar of the distant guns was still heard, breaking at 
 short intervals the deep silence of the night. The chilly rain 
 was falling, and the darkness was profound. Yet the thought 
 of abandoning the helpless boy to destruction was agony to the 
 hearts of his relatives. In this extremity, the self-devotion of a 
 young girl interposed to save him. Mary Anna, the eldest 
 daughter of Mrs. Gibbes then only thirteen years of age, 
 determined to venture back, in spite of the fearful peril, alone- 
 The mother dared not oppose her noble resolution, which seemed 
 indeed an inspiration of heaven ; and she was permitted to go. 
 Hastening along the path with all the speed of which she was 
 capable, she reached the house, still in the undisturbed possess 
 ion of the enemy ; and entreated permission from the sentinel to 
 enter ; persisting, in spite of refusal, till by earnest importunity 
 of supplication, she gained her object. Searching anxiously 
 through the house, she found the child in a room in a third 
 story, and lifting him joyfully in her arms, carried him down, and 
 fled with him to the spot where her anxious parents were await 
 ing her return. The shot still flew thickly around her, frequently 
 throwing up the earth in her way ; but protected by the Provi 
 dence that watches over innocence, she joined the rest of the 
 family in safety." 
 
 Mrs. Martha Bratton, beginning her career of heroism by 
 defying the brutal Huck, at the head of his cavalry, and per 
 sisting in her refusal to say a word that should endanger her 
 husband's safety, finished it by blowing up a depot of powder 
 just as the enemy was approaching it. 
 
 "The officer in command, irritated to fury, demanded who had 
 dared to perpetrate such an act, and threatened instant and 
 severe vengeance upon the culprit. The intrepid woman to 
 whom he owed his disappointment, answered for herself. ' It 
 was I who did it,' she replied. ' Let the consequence be what
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 219 
 
 it will, 1 glory in having prevented the mischief contemplated by 
 the enemies of my country.' " 
 
 Mrs. Thomas was of similar spirit ; and we might enumerate 
 a host more, if the South were not so rich in heroines. Miss 
 Langstou, a girl of sixteen, already under British ban for having 
 been more than suspected of giving private information to her 
 countrymen, sets out on foot, alone at night, to cross a deep 
 river in order to warn her brother and his associates of a threat 
 ened attack. 
 
 " She entered the water ; but when in the middle of the ford, 
 became bewildered, and knew not which direction to take. The 
 hoarse rush of the waters, which were up to her neck the 
 blackness of the night the utter solitude around her the 
 uncertainty lest the next step should ingulph her past help, con 
 fused her ; and losing in a degree her self-possession, she wan 
 dered for some time in the channel, without knowing whither to 
 turn her steps. But the energy of a resolute will, under the 
 care of Providence, sustained her." 
 
 Mary Slocumb, the wife of a lieutenant of rangers, who was 
 absent with a party on duty when Tarleton took possession of 
 his plantation, had all the spirit of border chivalry, that of the 
 Ladye of Branksome herself, 
 
 "Through me no friend shall meet his doom; 
 Hera, \vhile I live, no foe finds room t" 
 
 In the war of words she was decidedly too much for Colonel 
 Tarleton, who gave his orders for scouring the country all the 
 more venomously in consequence of the defiant tone of her 
 answers to his searching questions, and her biting allusions to 
 his own ill-fortune at the battle of the Cowpens. A most stir-
 
 220 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 ring account of the various dangers and escapes of the daring 
 lieutenant and his family would grace our page but for its too 
 great length ; we pass on, therefore, to a later occurrence, 
 which includes a personal exploit of the lady. The country had 
 risen en masse to oppose the passage of the royal troops, who 
 were hurrying to join their standard at Wilmington. This corps 
 of fire-breathing volunteers "every man of whom had mischief 
 in him," as Mrs. Slocumb said, met McDonald and his High 
 landers at Moore's Creek, February 27th, 1776, and fought 
 there one of the bloodiest battles of that eventful year. Mary 
 Slocumb was at home what ? skirmishing with Colonel Tarle- 
 ton ? no dreaming ! Woman still, under all the unfeminine 
 porcupinishness induced by the unnatural circumstances of the 
 time. We must let her tell her own story. 
 
 "I lay whether waking or sleeping I know not I had 
 a dream ; yet it was not all a dream. (She used the words 
 unconsciously, of the poet who was not then in being.) I saw 
 distinctly a body wrapped in my husband's guard-cloak bloody 
 dead ; and others dead and wounded on the ground about 
 him. I saw them plainly and distinctly. I uttered a cry, and 
 sprang to my feet on the floor ; and so strong was the impress 
 ion on my mind, that I rushed in the direction the vision 
 appeared, and came up against the side of the house. The fire 
 in the room gave little light, and I gazed in every direction to 
 catch another glimpse of the scene. I raised the light ; every 
 thing was still and quiet. My child was sleeping, but my 
 woman was awakened by my crying out or jumping on the floor. 
 If ever I felt fear it was at that moment. Seated on the bnl, I 
 reflected a few moments and said aloud : ' I must go to him.' 
 I told the woman I could not sleep and would ride down the 
 road. She appeared in great alarm ; but I merely told her to 
 lock the door after me, and look after the child. I went to the
 
 THE WOMEN Of\ THE REVOLUTION. 221 
 
 stable, saddled my mare as fleet and easy a nag as ever trav 
 elled ; and in one minute we were tearing down the road at full 
 speed The cool night seemed after a mile or two's gallop to 
 bring reflection with it ; and I asked myself where I was going, 
 and for what purpose. Again and again I was tempted to turn 
 back ; but I was soon ten m.les from home, and my mind 
 became stronger every mile I rode. I should find my husband 
 dead or dying was as firmly my presentiment and conviction as 
 any fact in my life. When day broke I was some thirty miles 
 from home. I knew the general route our little army expected 
 to take, and had followed them without hesitation. About sun 
 rise, I came upon a group of women and children, standing and 
 sitting by the road-side, each one of them showing the same anx 
 iety of mind I felt. Stopping a few minutes I inquired if the 
 battle had been fought. They knew nothing, but were assem 
 bled on the road to catch intelligence. They thought Caswell 
 had taken the right of the Wilmington road, and gone towards 
 the northwest (Cape Fear). Again was I skimming over the 
 ground through a country thinly settled, and very poor and 
 swampy ; but neither my own spirits nor my beautiful nag's 
 failed in the least. We followed the well-marked trail of the 
 troops. 
 
 " The sun must have been well up, say eight or nine o'clock, 
 when I heard a sound like thunder, which I knew must be can 
 non. It was the first time I had ever heard a cannon. I stop 
 ped still ; when presently the cannon thundered again. The 
 battle was then fighting. What a fool ! my husband could not 
 be dead last night, and-the battle only fighting now ! Still, as 
 I am so near, I will go and see how they come out. So away 
 we went again, faster than ever ; and I soon found by the noise 
 of guns that I was near the fight. Again I stopped. I could 
 hear muskets, I could hear rifles, and I could hear shouting. I 
 spoke to my mare, and dashed on in the direction of the firing 
 and the shouts, now louder than ever. The blind path I had 
 been following brought me into the Wilmington road leading to
 
 222 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Moore's Creek Bridge, a few hundred yards below the bridge. 
 A few yards from the road, under a cluster of trees, were lying 
 perhaps twenty men. They were the wounded. I knew the 
 spot ; the very trees ; and the position of the men I knew as if 
 I had seen it a thousand times. I lia.d seen it all night ! I saw 
 all at once ; but in an instant my who'e Soul was centred in one 
 spot ; for there, wrapped in his bloody guard-cloak, was my hus 
 band's body ! How I passed the few yards from my saddle to 
 the place I never knew. I remember uncovering h's head and 
 seeing a face clothed with gore from a dreadful wound across 
 the temple. I put my hand on the bloody face ; 'twas warm ; 
 and an unknown vuice begged for water. A small camp-kettle 
 was lying near, and a stream of water was close by. I brought 
 it ; poured some in his mouth ; washed his face ; and behold 
 it was Frank Cogdell. He soon revived and could speak. I 
 was washing the wound in his head. Said he, ' It is not that ; 
 it is that hole in my leg that is killing me.' A puddle of blood 
 was stand.'ng on the ground about his feet. I took his knife, cut 
 away his trousers and stocking, and found the blood came from 
 a shot-hole through and through the fleshy part of his leg. I 
 looked about and could see nothing that looked as if it would do 
 for dressing wounds but some heart-leaves. I gathered a hand 
 ful and bound them tight to the holes ; and the bleeding stopped. 
 I then went to the others ; and Doctor ! I dressed the wounds 
 of many a brave fellow who did good lighting long after that 
 day ! I had not inquired for my husband ; but while I was busy 
 Caswell came up. He appeared very much surprised to see me ; 
 and was with his hat in his hand about to pay some compliment : 
 but I interrupted him by asking ' Where is my husband ?' 
 
 " ' Where he ought to be, madam ; in pursuit of the enemy. 
 But pray,' said he, ' how came you here ?' 
 
 "' Oh, I thought,' replied I, 'you would need nurses as well 
 as soldiers. See ! I have already dressed many of these good 
 fellows ; and here is one ' going to Frank, and lifting him up 
 with my arm under his head, so that he could drink some more
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 223 
 
 water ' would have died before any of you men could have 
 helped him.' 
 
 " ' I believe you,' said Frank. Just then I looked up, and my 
 husband, as bloody as a butcher, and as muddy as a ditcher, 
 stood before me. 
 
 " ' Why Mary !' he exclaimed, ' What are you doing there ?' 
 Hugging Frank Cogdell, the greatest reprobate in the army ?' 
 
 " In the middle of the n'.ght, I again mounted my mare and 
 started for home. Caswell and my husband wanted me to stay 
 till next morning, and they would send a party with me ; but 
 no ! I wanted to see my child, and I told them they could send 
 no party who could keep up with me. What a' happy ride I 
 had back ! and with what joy did I embrace my child as he ran 
 to meet me !" 
 
 Lest we should be wanting, both to Mrs. Slocumb and her 
 unwelcome guest Colonel Tarletou, we give a passage which 
 does credit to them both. 
 
 " When the British army broke up their encampment at the 
 plantation, a sergeant was ordered by Colonel Tarletou to stand 
 in the door till the last soldier had gone out, to ensure protec 
 tion to a lady whose noble bearing had insp'red them all with 
 the most profound respect. This order was obeyed : the guard 
 brought up the rear of that army in their march northward. 
 Mrs. Slocumb saw them depart with tears of joy ; and on her 
 knees gave thanks, with a full heart, to the Divine Being who 
 had protected her." 
 
 This lady lived, through all her toils and dangers, a happy 
 wife for sixty years, with the husband of her youth. In her 
 seventy-second year, being afflicted with a cancer in her hand, 
 she with characteristic bravery held it forth to the surgeon's 
 knife, declining the usual assistance. She died in 1836, her 
 husband in 1841, the patriarchs of their district.
 
 224 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 The exploit of Mrs. Motte, who furnished the arrows which 
 were to carry combustibles to the roof of her own new and val 
 uable mansion, is well known. It may not be equally so, that 
 after her husband's death, finding that through the disastrous 
 accidents of the times, his estate was insolvent, Mrs. Motte 
 determined to devote the remainder of her life to the honorable 
 task of paying his debts. 
 
 " Her friends and connections, whose acquaintance with her 
 affairs gave weight to their judgment, warned her of the appa 
 rent hopelessness of such an effort. But, steadfast in the prin 
 ciples that governed all her conduct, she persevered ; induced a 
 friend to purchase for her, on credit, a valuable body of rice- 
 land, then an uncleared swamp on the Santee built houses 
 for the negroes, who constituted nearly all her available pro 
 perty even that being encumbered with claims and took up 
 her own abode on the new plantation. Living in an humble 
 dwelling and relinquishing many of her habitual comforts she 
 devoted herself with such zeal, untiring industry, and indomita 
 ble resolution to the attainment of her object, that her success 
 triumphed over every difficulty, and exceeded the expectations 
 of all who had discouraged her. She not only paid her hus 
 band's debts to the full, but secured for her children and 
 descendants a handsome and unincumbered estate." 
 
 This is the heroism of peace, a far more difficult heroism, we 
 must take leave to say, than that of war, even for women. 
 Actions to be truly great must be performed without the stim 
 ulus of present excitement. The true dignity of such as this 
 will be recognized when war is forgotten, or remembered as an 
 almost impossible barbarism of past ages. 
 
 Further south, we come upon the exploit of a " war-woman " 
 indeed. Nancy Hart, a Georgian Amazon, hideous in person as
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 225 
 
 ferocious in nature, is represented as having shot a man or two 
 with her own hand, in her own house, and coolly recommended 
 the hanging of four more before her dooi, on a tree which may 
 still be seen. The stream near this Penthesilea's bower is called 
 "War-woman's Creek," in her honor. Nature makes strange 
 mistakes sometimes, and seems to have given the virago's hus 
 band the milk omitted in her own composition. At least, we 
 judge so from the fact that Nancy called him " a poor stick." 
 
 Mrs. Ellct's account of the women of Kentucky includes 
 many very interesting anecdotes, illustrative of Indian cruelty, 
 and female courage and patriotic feeling. The satisfaction with 
 which we read these touching records of American pioneer life 
 makes us regret, that so much more is doubtless lost than saved. 
 These tilings happened in days and regions belonging far less to 
 the pen than the axe and the rifle. It were worth a pilgrimage 
 through that land of " forest, flood and fell," to glean the frag 
 ments yet extant among those who must soon pass away. 
 
 There is a thrilling story of Wheeling, on the Ohio, then 
 called Fort Henry, whither, in 1777, a large Indian force was 
 brought by a notorious renegade and tory, Simeon Girty. 
 Within the fort were collected, as usual, all the helpless of the 
 neighborhood, and a garrison numbering barely twelve, includ 
 ing boys, the rest having been killed in an attempt to dislodge a 
 party of savages near the fort. The stockade was stormed by 
 the Indians, and defended by the marksmen within with good 
 hope, until it was discovered that the powder was exhausted. 
 The only supply lay in a house about sixty yards from the gate. 
 In this emergency, when all depended on obtaining the powder, 
 and the person who should seek it must become a mere target 
 for the savage horde without, a young girl, Elizabeth Zane, vol- 
 15
 
 226 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 unteered to be the messenger, insisting that no one else could be 
 as well spared. The blood thrills as we picture her, leaving the 
 fort on this desperate errand, reaching the house in safety, emerg 
 ing again with the keg of powder in her arms, and skimming the 
 ground toward the gate, amid a shower of bullets. But the 
 bullets had no billet for her, and she reached the fort in safety, 
 We need not say that her heroism saved her friends. 
 
 We have adopted something of geographical order in our 
 notice of particular persons ; but we proceed to call up several 
 characters, omitted in our pursuit of the more heroic and poeti 
 cal instances of feminine patriotism. 
 
 And first comes Mrs. Bache, the only daughter of Franklin. 
 Like many other ladies of that stirring and stimulating day, 
 she wrote many and good epistles. She begins her letters to her 
 father, " Honored Sir," and ends with saying " There is not a 
 young lady of my acquaintance but what desires to be remem 
 bered to you." The simplicity of her habits does credit to her 
 father, who, figuring at the court of France in his blue woollen 
 stockings, writes reprovingly to her about Philadelphia gaieties. 
 
 " But how could my dear papa give me so severe a reprimand 
 for wishing a little finery ? He would not, I am sure, if he knew 
 how much I have felt it. Last winter was a season of triumph 
 to the whigs, and they spent it gaily. You would not have had 
 me, I am sure, stay away from the Ambassador's or General's 
 entertainments, nor when I was invited to spend the day with 
 General Washington and his lady ; and you would have been 
 the last person, I am sure, to. have wished to see me dressed 
 with singularity. Though I never loved dress so much as to 
 wish to be particularly fine, yet I never will go out when I 
 cannot appear so as to do credit to my family and husband. . 
 . . . . I can assure my dear papa that Industry in this
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 227 
 
 country is by no means laid aside ; but as to spinning linen, we 
 cannot think of that till we have got that wove which we spun 
 three years ago. Mr. Duffield has bribed a weaver that lives 
 on his farm to weave me eighteen yards, by making him three 
 or four shuttles for nothing, and keeping it a secret from the 
 country people, who will not suffer them to weave for those in 
 town. This is the tlrrd weaver's it has been at, and many fair 
 promises I have had about it. 'Tis now done and whitening ; 
 but forty yards of the best remains at Liditz yet, that I was to 
 have had home a twelvemonth last month. Mrs. Keppele, who 
 is gone to Lancaster, is to try to get it done there for me ; but 
 not a thread will they weave but for hard money. My maid is 
 now spinning wool for winter stockings for the whole family, 
 which will be no difficulty in the manufactory, as I knit them 
 myself. T only mention these things that you may see that balls 
 are not the only reason that the wheel is laid aside. . . . 
 . . . . This winter approaches with so many horrors, that 
 I shall not wan* any thing to go abroad in, if I can be comfort 
 able at home. My spirits, which I have kept up during my 
 being drove about from place to pla,ce, much better than most 
 people's I meet with, have been lowered by nothing but the 
 depreciation of the money, which has been amazing lately, so 
 that home will be the place for me this winter, as I cannot get 
 a common winter cloak and hat but just decent under two hun 
 dred pounds ; as to gauze now it is fifty dollars a yard, 't!s 
 beyond my wish, and I should think it not only a shame but a 
 sin to buy it, if I had millions." 
 
 Mrs. Bache merits her place among the heroines of the 
 Revolution by personal services in the hour of deep need. 
 
 " In the patriotic effort of the ladies of Philadelphia, to fur 
 nish the destitute American soldiers with money and clothing 
 during the year 1780, Mrs Bache took a very active part. 
 After the death of Mrs. Reed, the duty of completing the col 
 lections and contributions devolved on her and four other ladies,
 
 228 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 as a sort of Executive Committee. The shirts provided were 
 cut out at her house. A letter to Dr. Franklin, part of which 
 has been published, shows how earnestly she was engaged in the 
 work. The Marquis de Chastellux thus describes a visit which 
 he paid her about this time : ' After this slight repast, which 
 only lasted an hour and a half, we went to Visit the ladies, 
 agreeable to the Philadelphia custom, where the morning is the 
 most proper hour for paying visits. We began by Mrs. Bache. 
 She merited all the anxiety we had to see her, for she is the 
 daughter of Mr. Frankljn Simple in her manners, like her 
 respected father, she possesses his benevolence. She conducted 
 us into a room filled with work, lately finished by the ladies of 
 Philadelphia. This work consisted neither of embroidered 
 tambour waistcoats, nor of net work edging, nor of gold and 
 silver brocade. It was a quantity of shirts for the soldiers of 
 Pennsylvania. The ladies bought the linen from their own 
 private purses, and took a pleasure in cutting them out and 
 sewing them themselves. On each shirt was the name of the 
 married or unmarried lady who made it ; and they amounted to 
 twenty-two hundred.' " 
 
 In another letter to her father, speaking of her having met 
 with General and Mrs. Washington several times, she adds, 
 " He always inquires after you in the most affectionate manner, 
 and speaks of you highly. We danced at Mrs. Powell's on your 
 birth-day, or night, I should say, in company together, and he 
 told me it was the anniversary of his marriage ; it was just 
 twenty years that night." Washington dancing! The statue 
 stepped down from its pedestal 1 
 
 Miss Mary Philipse, afterwards the wife of Captain Roger 
 Morris, who was attainted of treason, and suffered confiscation 
 in punishment of his " loyalty," is celebrated as having fasci 
 nated Washington, when, in his twenty-fourth year, he travelled
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION.' 229 
 
 from Virginia to Boston, on horseback, attended by his aides- 
 de-camp. He was entertained in New York at the house of 
 Mr. Beverley Robinson, whose wife was the sister of the charm 
 ing Mary Philipse. It seems quite problematical whether the 
 young chief actually offered himself and suffered the mortifica 
 tion of a refusal, but it is not disputed that his heart was 
 touched, and that the young lady might have been the wife of 
 the Commander-in-chief, and the lady of our first President, if 
 she had chosen. She is represented to have been one of those 
 who rule all about them by an irresistible charm, and the honor 
 in which her memory is held among her descendants proves that 
 Washington was wise in love as well as in war. 
 
 The wife of the traitor Arnold was the daughter of Edward 
 Shippen, Chief Justice of Pennsylvania, of a family distinguished 
 among the aristocracy of the day, and prominent after the 
 commencement of the contest among those who cherished 
 loyalist principles. She was a beautiful girl of eighteen when 
 she became the object of Arnold's attentions ; but although he 
 appears, even before marriage, to have imbued her with his own 
 discontented and rancorous feelings towards those who thwarted 
 his plans of selfish ambition, there is not a shadow of proof that 
 the knowledge of his treason did not fall on her, as on the coun 
 try, like a thunderbolt. But it cannot be pretended that she 
 was one of the women who help to keep men true and brave. 
 
 " She was young, gay, and frivolous ; fond of display and 
 admiration, and used to luxury ; she was utterly unfitted for the 
 duties and privations of a poor man's wife. A loyalist's daugh 
 ter, she had been taught to mourn over even the poor pageantry 
 of colonial rank and authority, and to recollect with pleasure 
 the pomp of those brief days of enjoyment, when military men 
 of noble station were her admirers.
 
 230 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 " Mrs. Arnold was at breakfast with her husband and the 
 aides-de-camp Washington and the other officers having not 
 yet come when the letter arrived which bore to the traitor the 
 first intelligence of Andre's capture. He left the room imme 
 diately, went to his wife's chamber, sent for her, and briefly 
 informed her of the necessity of his instant flight to the enemy. 
 This was, probably, the first intelligence she received of what 
 had been so long going on ; the news overwhelmed her, and 
 when Arnold quitted the apartment, he left her lying in a swoon 
 on the floor, 
 
 " Her almost frantic condition is described with sympathy by 
 Colonel Hamilton, in a letter written the next day : ' The 
 General,' he says, ' went to see her ; she upbraided him with 
 being in a plot to murder her child, raved, shed tears, and la 
 mented the fate of the infant All the sweetness 
 
 of beauty, all the loveliness of innocence, all the tenderness of a 
 wife, and all the fondness of a mother, showed themselves in her 
 appearance and conduct.' He, too, expresses his conviction that 
 she had no knowledge of Arnold's plan, till h's announcement 
 to her that he must banish himself from his country forever. 
 The opinion of other persons qualified to judge without preju 
 dice, acquitted her of the charge of having participated in the 
 treason. John Jay, writing from Madrid to Catharine Livings 
 ton, says ' All the world here are cursing Arnold, and pitying 
 his wife.' And Robert Morris writes ' Poor Mrs. Arnold ! 
 was there ever such an infernal villain !' 
 
 "Mrs. Arnold went from West Point to her father's house ; 
 but was not long permitted to remain in Philadelphia The 
 traitor's papers having been seized, by direction of the Executive 
 authorities, the correspondence with Andra was brought to 
 light ; suspicion rested on her ; and by an order of the Council, 
 dated Oct. 27th, she was required to leave the state, to return 
 no more during the continuance of the war. She accordingly 
 departed to join her husband in New York. The respect and 
 forbearance shown towards her on her journey through the
 
 THE WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 231 
 
 country, notwithstanding her banishment, testified the popular 
 belief in her innocence. M. de Marbois relates, that when she 
 stopped at a village where the people were about to burn 
 Arnold in effigy, they put it off till the next night." 
 
 Truth to say, these reminiscences of the women of our forming 
 day are so interesting, that we might extract more than half 
 the book if we should indulge our disposition to hold up to 
 honor the daughters of the various portions of this extensive 
 country, whose characters were brought out by the influences 
 and chances of the times. We owe them an incalculable debt, 
 to be repaid only by the best possible use of the blessings they 
 bequeathed us, and an interest in the future of our country equal 
 to that which inspired their efforts and sacrifices.
 
 WESTERN TRAITS, 
 
 IP there be a country on earth where hospitality is free and 
 hearty, it is ours. Whatever faults we may possess as a people, 
 this one virtue if virtue it may be called which is rather a 
 gratification than a sacrifice of the natural promptings is flour 
 ishing to a degree unknown elsewhere. It seems the spontane 
 ous and generous fruit of our overflowing prosperity ; the impul 
 sive rendering to the fellow-creature of the debt which we owe 
 to the All-bounteous Parent. When not crushed by self-in 
 duced Penury, or chilled by empty pride, the American heart 
 responds to the claim of the stranger with unerring, electric pre 
 cision. Whether guests are numbered in thousands, while the 
 government is called upon to play host, or the single stranger 
 knocks at the door of a log-cabin in the midst of a prairie, no 
 hesitation occurs as to the reception, refreshment, and aid of the 
 weary and discouraged traveller. If immigrants overflow our 
 alms-houses and hospitals, we build more ; accommodating the 
 surplus, meanwhile, by temporary arrangement, at any cost. If 
 private visiters come down upon us in avalanches, we turn the 
 house out of doors, and make beds in impossible places, rather 
 than refuse to open our doors to any one coming in the sacred 
 character of guest. If our national character suffer according 
 to certain English observers from the lack of the ennobling sea-
 
 WESTERN TRAITS. 233 
 
 timent of loyalty, we may console ourselves, at least in part, by 
 the reflection that a feeling and habit of hospitality is ennobling 
 too, and perhaps proves no less in favor of the country than the 
 other, especially since it often involves some sacrifice of time, incli 
 nation and worldly goods, while loyalty may, and often does 
 evaporate in words. It is easier to swing one's hat and ejacu 
 late, " God save the queen !" while we toss off a bumper, than 
 to receive a poor family, furnish them with food and lodging, 
 and speed them on their way. John Bull's loyalty has never 
 made him look more sweetly upon the tax-gatherer, or embrace 
 with fraternal warmth his Irish fellow-subjects ; while our hos 
 pitality opens its doors to those whom taxes drive out of their 
 homes, and to the Irish who flee before the tender mercies of 
 their more favored countrymen. There is a vast deal of spurious 
 but showy sentiment in the world. 
 
 But as a matter of individual and self-sacrificing virtue, com 
 mend us to the hospitality of the western settler. It extends 
 not only to his neighbors and friends, those who may possibly 
 have an opportunity of returning the kindness, but to business 
 visitors, tax-gatherers, duns ! Every decent (white) man is 
 asked to stay to dinner, whether he come to buy land or to 
 serve a writ. This good nature often subjects the inviter to 
 strange table-fellows, but your true Western man is not fastidi 
 ous. He will see ' unwashen hands/ on his knives and forks 
 rather than endure the thought of having transgressed the laws 
 of hospitality. 
 
 This feeling is peculiarly exhibited in the urgency with 
 which he invites his old parents to ' come out West,' for 
 getting the unavoidable dangers of the change. And it is 
 no less remarkable how many, unappalled by the prospect
 
 234 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 of leaving the home and the associations of youth, are finally 
 induced by affection or compelled by poverty to join their 
 prosperous children in their new abode. It will be long ere we 
 forget the coming of two old people the parents of our talka 
 tive neighbor, Mrs. Titmouse, whose log-house stood in a lonely 
 spot, where the deer ran past the windows to be shot, and the 
 fox took care of the chickens. Mrs. Titmouse was a perfect 
 Croton in conversation. Her daily talk was like streams, jets, 
 douches everything but the standing pool or the useful hydrant 
 which gives you just as much as you want. 
 
 "I want to speak to ye jist one minute," she would say, if 
 she caught you passing her door. " Sit down now, do ! here's 
 a seat" (wiping it with Sally Jane's sun-bonnet). "I've seen 
 the day when I could ha' gi'n ye a cheer that hadn't a broken 
 back. My old man's shiftless like, ever since he walked out of 
 the third story door of the mill, and hit his head and spoilt that 
 new cap o' his'n. That cap cost twelve shillin' if it cost a cop 
 per. He bought it down to Galpin's ; or rather I bought it, as 
 I may say, for I airnt the money by spinnin'. Spinnin' isn't 
 sich very bad business, after all, for I airnt enough by my wheel 
 last year to buy that 'ere cap, and them 'ere sashes, there in 
 the corner. If my old man warn't quite so shiftless, we should 
 ha' had something for winders besides cotton sheets, for them 
 sashes has sarved for hen-roosts this six months. Its ra'ly 
 astonishin' how hens does love to sleep where you don't want 
 'em to. They allers roosted on the teester of that bed till we 
 got them sashes. I'd rather have 'em there than on the bed, 
 though." 
 
 Thus much would be said while the chair was dusted and the
 
 WESTERN TRAITS. 235 
 
 visiter placed in it. Then would the good dame seat herself 
 upon the bed-side, and continue : 
 
 " Folks may think, seein' me so kind o' scant off, that I 
 hain't never been used to nothin' ; but I can tell ye my folks 
 down east is forehanded folks. I've got a cousin that keeps as 
 handsome a shoe-store as there is standin' between th.s and 
 Detroit. And my uncle's daughter, Malindy Brown, is married 
 to a cap'n of a vessel his boat runs on Connecticut river I 
 dare say you may have heard of him one Jabez Coffin. And 
 my cousin, Joe Binks, is a good farmer, with everything com 
 fortable. When I was down east he gi'n me lots o' things. 
 Look a here, now !" 
 
 And with the word, the speaker, in the vehemence of her 
 desire to produce proofs of her gentility, would hop up on the 
 block which served for a sort of stand by the side of the fire, 
 and reach down a huge bag of dried apples, which must be 
 "hefted" on the failing knees of the visiter, in proof of the 
 forehandedness of the friends who could afford to give such evi 
 dence of their interest in Mrs. Titmouse. "Theyv'e got apples 
 as plenty as taters," she would say, with a sigh, " and wool 
 and flax too, for all I'm so poor. But I'm goin' to have my 
 old father and mother come out here, to see how poor folks live, 
 and I don't believe but what they'll be pleased to see the open- 
 in's too." 
 
 The old father and mother did come, and were duly installed 
 in the " festered" bed, while everything that the poor farm 
 afforded was put in requisition for their comfort. Chinese exag 
 geration, " Every thing I have is yours," is literally acted upon 
 in the woods in such cases. No reserve is thought of, from the 
 best bed (though it be the only one) to the last fat chicken, if
 
 236 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 it will pleasure the honored guest, particularly if he come from 
 " the east," that land of dear and splendid memories. 
 
 But all Mrs. Titmouse's care did not succeed in warding off 
 the Destroyer, whose way was made easy by the weight of 
 years, the effects of hard work, the change of climate, and the 
 marsh malaria, which steamed up more venomously than usual, 
 in the autumn of the year in which they came to visit their flu 
 ent daughter. Both the old people died ; the man first, and 
 the wife of grief for her lost companion. Only four weeks inter 
 vened, and the second funeral under such circumstances drew 
 together the whole neighborhood. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Titmouse took her sorrow differently from other 
 people. When her friends came to honor the sad occasion, 
 they found the coffin on its tressels in the open air, under the 
 shade of an ancient tree, and the bereaved daughter hovering 
 about it with her usual appearance of assiduous inefficiency, and 
 an unceasing gush of words. She recounted again and again, 
 as new parties came in, the whole story of her invitation to her 
 parents, their acceptance, their journey ; what she had done 
 and tried to do for them while under her roof ; the first symp 
 toms of incipient fever ; the whole course of medical treatment ; 
 the approach of danger ; the fears and the regrets of the suffer 
 ers and herself ; the consolations of the minister ; the words of 
 the fatal hour (chiefly her own) ; the preparations for burial, 
 and the difficulty which occurred as to the digging of the graves, 
 because the money, which must be paid in advance, was, not 
 forthcoming. These comprised but a portion of the topics with 
 the discussion of which Mrs. Titmouse sought to relieve her 
 heart, while her apron was every moment lifted to her eyes, to
 
 WESTERN TRAITS. 237 
 
 wipe away the tears ever called up anew by the words associated 
 with all these sorrowful circumstances. 
 
 After the clergyman commenced his duties, habitual respect 
 dammed up the stream of talk ; but during the long drive to 
 the grave, and at the grave itself, Mrs. Titmouse found herself 
 refreshed enough to recommence the story of her woes. She 
 was glad, at any rate, she said, that the old folks had such 
 decent funerals. She didn't believe they would have had better 
 at " the east," though all their people were so forehanded ; and 
 she would never forget Mr. C.'s kindness in getting them graves 
 dug, and would pay him out of the very first spinning money 
 she got. As for her husband, she insisted he was so shiftless, 
 that there never would have been any graves dug if they had 
 waited for him. To be sure, he said his back was lame, but it 
 wasn't so lame but what he could sit on the counter at the store, 
 playing checkers Wtth that loafer, Levi Cram, until sun-down, 
 never thinking of what was to be done. 
 
 At the grave the complaint took the form of more vehement 
 lamentation. All the while they were lowering the body, Mrs. 
 Titmouse stood looking in and wringing her hands. " Oh, my 
 poor old father and mother ! I'm sorry enough that ever I 
 asked ye to come away from your comfortable home, out here 
 into the Michigan to die, away from every body ! Not but 
 what it's a good place to live and die in, and I'm sure I'm under 
 an everlastin' compliment to the neighbors for their kindness, 
 and particularly Mr. C., for having the graves dug, and lending 
 us his wagon ; and if our pigs turn out any thing, which I'm 
 afraid they won't, I shall certainly send Mr. C. one, besides 
 paying him in money. Or if the pigs shouldn't do well, perhaps 
 the chickens will. Any how, I'll find something, for I'm under
 
 238 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 an everlastin' compliment ; and hope when any of you gets into 
 trouble, you'll fiud them that's able and willin' to help ye, 
 though I wouldn't advise any one to bring their old father and 
 mother out here, for though it's a good country enough for them 
 that's strong and hearty, it ain't no place for old folks." 
 
 This is but a trifling specimen of Mrs. Titmouse's grief- 
 prompted oration ; for pen and ink are too slow to give any 
 idea of all that she managed to enunciate while the mould was 
 filling in. Her talking was so proverbial in the whole neighbor 
 hood, that a reprobate fellow in telling the particulars of a fit 
 of illness, which had brought him to the verge of the grave, 
 added : " But after all, the Lord was very good to me ; for he 
 never let old Mother Titmouse come near me, or I shouldn't 
 have sot here this day." 
 
 After our experience and observation, we cannot recommend 
 the emigration of people advanced in years, though we are far 
 from predicting for them the fate of Mrs. Titmouse's parents. 
 Under the most favorable circumstances, there are many priva 
 tions to be undergone in a new country ; and though the disor 
 ders which belong to a luxuriant soil in the first stages of its culti 
 vation, are not generally fatal to the young and robust, the con 
 stitution of the aged lacks stamina to rally after the first attack 
 But to those who do go, we can promise hospitality une 
 qualled in the richest dwellings of the old world The ready 
 hand, the hearty greeting, the offered bed, the bounteous table, 
 the best seat at the fire, await the traveller who comes to the 
 country with the intention to settle. Those who fly to the prai 
 ries in pursuit of a new pleasure, may sometimes meet the cold 
 shoulder indeed, some have made complaints of that sort ; but 
 our knowledge of western people assures us that if the other
 
 WESTERN TRAITS. 239 
 
 side could be heard, there would be good reason either of 
 haughty pride in the visiter, or. sad deficiency or unhappiness in 
 the house to account for any such departure from the uni 
 versal rule. 
 
 The very privations and difficulties of a new country lead to 
 a kindness which is founded upon the keenest sympathy. Pros 
 perity is but too apt to make us selfish and exacting, while it 
 increases our wants, and leaves us little to spare. But when 
 we have ourselves felt the needs which we observe in the new 
 comer when we have felt the heart-sickness which grows out 
 of fatigue strangeness remembrance of home, and uncertainty 
 as to the future all referring, not to mere luxuries and 
 superfluities, but to the first requisites of comfort, or even of 
 existence, the heart yearns with a fraternal tenderness toward 
 him who is treading in the steps we have but just quitted, and 
 we are willing to make the toils and sacrifices through which we 
 have passed available in smoothing the way for another.
 
 SAINTS OF OUR DAY, 
 
 THE disadvantageous position into which circumstances fruit 
 ful of good to a certain point, have helped to push our clergy, de 
 prives society in a great measure of the benefit of their example, 
 since their position differs so entirely from that of the rest of the 
 world, that nobody ever thinks of them as affording precedents 
 for other men's lives and doings. Every other man but the 
 clergyman has such a career of prosperity opened to him, in po 
 litics, commerce, the mechanic arts, law, or medicine, that for a 
 man of talents to decide on consecrating himself to the work of 
 the ministry, is equivalent to a vow of poverty. The ministry 
 is the only calling among us in which the greatest gifts and the 
 most severe labors, except under the most rare and fortunate 
 circumstances, bring only a meagre livelihood and no hope of 
 provision for a surviving family. Thus excluded from competi 
 tion and success, in the grand pursuit which maddens the world 
 all about him, who ever thinks of the clergyman as an example ? 
 Esteem and honor he has, no doubt, and abundant outward re 
 spect ; but he is looked upon as a man apart, and supposed to 
 be really more in sympathy with the women who form the larger 
 portion of his congregation, and take generally some slight share 
 in its duties, than with the men who can scarcely afford time 
 and attention for one service on Sunday, let the sermon have
 
 SAINTS OF OUR DAY. 241 
 
 cost ever so much time and thought, prayer and anxiety. This 
 being the case, the form of sainthood perhaps more needed 
 among us than any other, is a manifest superiority to the cor 
 ruption of riches, and a determination, known and read of all 
 men, to consecrate the fruits of industry and blessing to the 
 Lord who permits their in-gathering. The triumph of the rich 
 man over his riches is a great victory, now and here. Garlands 
 and civic crowns might well be adjudged to such a hero. He 
 must be. no devotee to poverty, no despiser of the thrift, the 
 enterprise and the glorious success of our conventional life ; but 
 one who, having entered largely into trade, and fully succeeded, 
 learns to make his gains the fuel of that holy fire which alone 
 has power to consume all selfishness in the career of charity. 
 
 Such a man, if we have rightly read various notices of his 
 character and actions, was the late Amos Lawrence, whom we 
 cannot forbear to mention when we think of some of the saintly 
 lives lately closed among us. Known alike as the .head of one 
 of the most distinguished commercial houses in the United 
 States, and as the most liberal dispenser of charity in the most 
 beneficent city in the world, we cannot but feel that he is indeed 
 an example of the virtue we most need. Nowhere is the influ 
 ence of wealth likely to be worse than where its duties are so 
 little determined by established requirements, or hereditary 
 obligations, and where every man is the exclusive controller of 
 his own possessions. Over all the temptations besetting the 
 wealthy class in our country, Amos Lawrence must be confessed 
 to have obtained a complete victory. He began as a poor boy; 
 he made his fortune by hard work ; he grew up under the spur 
 of emulation ; he dealt in a community where a moderate gener 
 osity would have conciliated the entire respect of the public; 
 16
 
 242 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 he was neither a partisan in politics, nor a sectarian in religion. 
 There seemed nothing, in short, to turn him aside from the 
 ordinary course of rising men about him ; going on to accumulate 
 indefinitely, bestowing liberally from time to time of his surplus 
 on special charities, but always adding house to house and barn 
 to barn, as the inevitable and laudable business of a wealthy 
 and prosperous man. 
 
 But Mr. Lawrence did no such thing. The moment he found 
 himself possessed of the means to satisfy the natural and proper 
 claims of his family, he determined, not to leave the cares and 
 labors of business for the enjoyment of leisure or self-cultivation, 
 but to consecrate all that should reward his future industry to 
 the immediate benefit of his fellow-men. He resolved never to 
 be any richer ; thus rebuking the spirit of accumulation, while 
 on the other hand he honored the spirit of enterprise, by contin 
 uing his activity, and devoting its proceeds to the necessities of 
 the less able or less fortunate. In pursuance of this plan, he is 
 believed to have given away, during the last twenty years of his 
 life, not less than half a million of dollars, an amount not more 
 remarkable than the mode in which it was distributed. He was 
 no lavish or fitful giver. He made it literally the principal 
 business of his life, during the period we have named, to search 
 out, by inquiry and reflection, the best and most useful forms of 
 Mberality. He spared no personal labor in the details of his 
 benevolence. The time and counsel, the sympathy and tender 
 ness he bestowed were in proportion to the constancy and 
 magnitude of his pecuniary donations. He was as careful in 
 distributing as if he had been responsible to a board of directors, 
 and yet as free as if he were the almoner of a fortune in which 
 he had no personal interest. The warmth of his heart never
 
 SAINTS OF OUR DAY. 243 
 
 encroached on the coolness of his head. The very qualities 
 essential to success in life came into play in achieving that 
 higher success which rightfully immortalizes his example. Col 
 lision with competitors had never hardened his heart, but only 
 taught him patience and pity. Business habits had not 
 blunted his sensibilities, dulled his fancy or starved his love of 
 nature, and his sympathy with poverty, with childhood, and 
 whatever else touches the best hearts. He needed no separa 
 tion from common life, no narrowing down of its duties, to 
 become a saint. He pursued his business with the same justice, 
 generosity, purity and truth, that presided over his benefactions. 
 He was as much a saint in making as in spending his fortune. 
 He exercised as benignant an influence over his clerks as over 
 his beneficiaries ; and let no young man go to ruin under his 
 eye, while he was providing for possible evils among those he 
 never saw. 
 
 Do we seem hasty in classing this man of goodness with 
 the saints ? It is true he would have shrunk with no simulated 
 blushes from the title ; but can any one of ordinary experience 
 suppose that such a character had not its foundations deep 
 in religiousness of heart ? " Of creeds laid in the understanding, 
 and not influencing the life," says President Hopkins, " he 
 thought little ; the tendency of his mind was to practical rather 
 than to doctrinal views. He believed in our Lord Jesus Christ 
 as a Saviour, and trusted in him for salvation. He was a man 
 of habitual prayer. The last time I visited him he said to me 
 that he had been restless during the night, and that the 
 only way in which he could get quieted was ' by getting 
 near to God.' " So all the building, fitly framed together 
 grew into a holy temple in the Lord. None that ever looked
 
 244 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 on the soft, sensitive countenance of that holy man, all farrowed 
 over as it was with smiles and tears ; or saw it kindle with the 
 rapture of devotion as he walked among the scenes of the 
 Nature he loved so enthusiastically ; or as he listened to the 
 appeals of religious truth ; none that ever heard him speak of the 
 sorrow or suffering of others, or was privileged to partake of his 
 own more immediate and private griefs, can think of Amos 
 Lawrence otherwise than as a true and blessed Saint. The city 
 of Boston owes a statue to his memory ; for his character was 
 intimately associated with his person, and his inspiring face 
 ought never to become unfamiliar in a community where his 
 name will never die. 
 
 Only in one city that we know of Genoa is there a place 
 hallowed all about by the statues of men who, from the means 
 and habits of private fortune and private life, have done some 
 great, quiet good to the state. The walls of the old hall of 
 San Giorgio seem endowed with sentient and tender life, 
 as the traveller reads, from modest scrolls, the records of civic 
 services done by those grave, plain citizens to their birth city. 
 One procured a remission of the tax on salt, long a burthen to 
 the poor ; another dowered many young maidens ; another 
 built a bridge much needed, and so on. Happy Genoa, that 
 reared and knew how to value such citizens ! Happy Boston, 
 that could line a great chamber as nobly ; wise Boston, if she 
 see fit to do it ! 
 
 We cannot estimate how much our great metropolis, New 
 York, might be able to do in this way, if she were disposed to 
 dedicate a pantheon to beneficence instead of wealth or talent. 
 She has at least her Peter Cooper, who, in the prime of his 
 days, consecrates at once, to a benevolent institution on the
 
 SAINTS OF OUR DAY. 245 
 
 largest scale, a sum nearly equal to that we have mentioned as 
 the twenty years' contribution of Mr. Lawrence to the good of 
 his native place. But canonization very properly awaits the 
 seal of death ; and we prefer to speak of a mildly shining light 
 just gone out, to our mortal apprehension, in the death of 
 Father Hopper, a Quaker of our city, and for almost three-quar 
 ters of a century known as the friend, advocate and helper of 
 all the wretched and the oppressed, of whatever name, creed or 
 color.* His bright, benignant face is now forever hidden from our 
 sight ; his cheery step will no more attract the reverent atten 
 tion of the stranger ; ws have no longer the benefit of his 
 advice when the wretched is to be saved or the erring admon 
 ished : but the remembrance of the just man will never die 
 out of the hearts that have known and loved him. 
 
 "The rich and the poor meet together, and the Lord is the 
 Father of them all," might stand for the motto of Mr. Hopper's 
 life. That the most remote of these two classes stood on the 
 same level of benevolent interest in his mind, his whole career 
 made obvious ; he was the last man to represent as naturally 
 opposite those whom God has always, even " to the end of the 
 world," made mutually dependent. He told the simple truth to 
 each with equal frankness ; he helped both with equal readiness. 
 The palace awed him no more than the hovel suggested 
 thoughts of superiorify. Nothing human however grand or 
 however degraded was a stranger to him. In the light which 
 came to him from Heaven, all stood alike children of the Great 
 
 * The slight sketch of Father Hopper, inserted here, is taken from a little book by 
 the present author, called the ' Helping Hand,' written for the benefit of the ' Home,' of 
 the New York Prison Association, so long an object of interest with him His life has 
 eince been published by Mrs. L. M. Child.
 
 246 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Father ; earthly distinctions disappearing the moment the sink 
 ing soul or the suffering body was in question. No amount of 
 depravity could extinguish his hope of reform ; no recurrence of 
 ingratitude could paralyze his efforts. Early and late, sup 
 ported or unsupported, praised or ridiculed he went forward to 
 the great work of relief, looking neither to the right hand nor 
 to the left ; and when the object was accomplished, he shrank 
 back into modest obscurity, only to wait till a new necessity 
 called for his re-appearance. Who can number the poor, ach 
 ing, conscious, despairing hearts that have felt new life come to 
 them from his kind words, his benignant smile, his " helping 
 hand ?" If the record of his long life could be fully written, 
 which it can never be, since every day and all day, in company, 
 in the family circle, with children, with prisoners, with the 
 insane " virtue went out of him" that no human observation 
 could measure or describe, what touching interest would be 
 added to the history of our poor and vicious population for 
 more than half a century past ; what new honor and blessing 
 would surround the venerated name of our departed friend and 
 leader ! 
 
 But he desired nothing of this. Without claiming for him a 
 position above humanity, which alone would account for a w.ll- 
 ingness to be wholly unrecognized as a friend of the afflicted, it 
 is not too much to say that no man was ever less desirous of 
 public praise or outward honor. He was even unwilling that 
 any care should be taken to preserve the remembrance of his 
 features, sweet and beautiful as they were, though he was 
 brought reluctantly to yield to the anxious wishes of his child 
 ren and friends, that the countenance on which every eye loved 
 to dwell, should not be wholly lost when the grave should close
 
 SAINTS OF OUR DAY. 247 
 
 above it. He loved to talk of interesting cases of reform and 
 recovery, both because these things occupied his mind, and 
 because every one loved to hear him ; but the hearer who made 
 these disclosures the occasion for unmeaning compliment, as if 
 he fancied a craving vanity to have prompted them, soon found 
 himself rebuked by the straight-forward and plain-spoken patri 
 arch. Precious indeed were those seasons of outpouring, when 
 one interesting recital suggested another, till the listener seemed 
 to see the whole mystery of prison-life and obscure wretchedness 
 laid open before him with the distinctness of a picture. For, 
 strange as it may seem, our friend had under his plain garb 
 unchanged in form since the days of Dr. Franklin, to go no 
 further back a fine dramatic talent, and could not relate the 
 humblest incident without giving a picturesque or dramatic 
 turn, speaking now for one character, now for another, with a 
 variety and discrimination very remarkable. This made his 
 company greatly sought, and as his strongly social nature read" 
 ily responded, his acquaintance was very large. To every one 
 that knew him personally, I can appeal for the truth and mod 
 eration of these views of his character and manners. 
 
 A few biographical items will close what I venture to offer 
 here. 
 
 Isaac T. Hopper was born December 3, 1111, in the township 
 of Deptford, Gloucester County, West Jersey, but spent a large 
 portion of his life in Philadelphia, where he served his appren 
 ticeship to the humble calling of a tailor. But neither the 
 necessity for constant occupation nor the temptations of youth 
 ful gaiety, prevented his commencing, even then, the devotion of 
 a portion of his time to the care of the poor and needy. He 
 had scarcely reached man's estate when we find him an active
 
 248 AUTUMN HOURS 
 
 member of a benevolent association, and his volumes of notes of 
 cases, plans and efforts, date back to that early period. To 
 that time also we are to refer the beginning of his warm anti- 
 slavery sentiment, a feeling so prominent and effective through 
 out his life, and the source of some of his noblest efforts and 
 sacrifices. For many years he served as Inspector of Prisons in 
 Philadelphia, and thus, by long and constant practical observa 
 tion, was accumulated that knowledge of the human heart, in its 
 darkest windings, that often astonished the objects of his care, 
 when they thought they had been able cunningly to blind his 
 eyes to their real character and intentions. After his removal 
 to New York, and when the occasion for his personal labors in 
 the cause of the slave had in some measure ceased or slackened, 
 he threw his whole heart into the Prison Association, whose aims 
 and plans of action were entirely in accordance with his views, 
 and indeed in a great degree based on his experience and advice. 
 The intent of the Prison Association is three-fold : first, to pro 
 tect and defend those who are arrested, and who, as is well 
 known, often suffer greatly from want of honest and intelligent 
 counsel ; secondly, to attend to the treatment and instruction 
 of convicts while in prison ; and thirdly, on their discharge to 
 render them such practical aid as shall enable the repentant to 
 return to society by means of the pursuit of some honest calling. 
 This latter branch occupied Father Hopper's time and atten 
 tion, and he devoted himself to it with an affectionate and 
 religious earnestness that ceased only with his life. No disposi 
 tion was too perverse for his efforts at reform ; no heart was 
 so black that he did not at least try the balm of healing upon 
 it ; no relapses could tire out his patience, which, without weak 
 waste of means, still, apostolically, went on, " hoping all things"
 
 SAINTS OF OUR DAY. 249 
 
 while even a dying spark of good feeling remained. Tip to 
 February 1852 did this venerable saint continue his abundant 
 labors ; when a severe cold co-operating with the decay of 
 nature, brought him his sentence of dismissal. He felt that it 
 was on the way, and with the serious grace that marked every 
 thing he did, he began at once to gather his earthly robes about 
 him and prepare for the great change, which no one could dread 
 less. It was hard for those who saw his ruddy cheek and 
 sparkling eye, his soft brown hair and sprightly movements, to 
 feel that the time of his departure was drawing nigh ; but he 
 knew and felt it, with more composure than his friends could 
 summon. It might well be said of this our beloved patriarch, 
 that " his eye was not dim, nor his natural force abated." To 
 the last of his daily journeyings through the city, for which he 
 generally used the rail-road, he would never allow the drivers to 
 stop for him to get on or off the car feeling, as he used smil 
 ingly to observe, "very jealous on that point." Few ever 
 passed him in the street without asking who he was ; for not 
 only did his primitive dress, his broad-brimmed hat, and his 
 antique shoe-buckles, attract attention, but the beauty and 
 benevolence of his face was sure to fix the eye of ordinary dis 
 cernment. He was a living temperance lecture, and those who 
 desire to preserve good looks could not ask a more infallible 
 recipe, than that sweet temper and out-flowing benevolence 
 which made his countenance please every eye. Gay and cheer 
 ful as a boy, he had ever some pleasant anecdote or amusing 
 turn to relate, and in all perhaps not one without a moral bear 
 ing, not thrust forward, but left to be picked out by the hearer 
 at his leisure. He seemed born to show how great strictness in 
 essentials could exist without the least asceticism in trifles. Any
 
 250 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 thing but a Simeon Stylites in his sainthood, he could go among 
 " publicans and sinners" without the least fear of being mista 
 ken by them for one of themselves. An influence radiated from 
 him that made itself felt in every company, though he would 
 very likely be the most modest man present. More gentlemanly 
 manners and address no court in Christendom need require ; his 
 resolute simplicity and candor, always under the guidance of a 
 delicate taste, never for a moment degenerated into coarseness, 
 or disregard even of the prejudices of others. His life, even In 
 these minute particulars, showed how the whole man was har 
 monized by the sense of being 
 
 " Ever in the great Taskmaster's eye." 
 
 He died on the 7th of May, 1852, in his eighty-first year, 
 and a public funeral in the Tabernacle brought together thous 
 ands desirous of showing respect to his memory. 
 
 Would we had more City missionaries like those we have 
 spoken of ! What a change would be wrought, even in our 
 great metropolis, by the labors of fifty such men as Amos 
 Lawrence, Peter Cooper and Isaac T. Hopper ! We will not 
 presume to indicate the particular work that each class might 
 undertake, but we see every day something fitted for every 
 hand. No need of seeking the far Indies for a field of noble 
 action. The success of the Five Points Mission, under the inde 
 fatigable care of Mr. Pease, is hint enough, though on a scale 
 so small. The marvel is that the men who have made fortunes 
 in the fostering lap of our great and prosperous city, can sit 
 down content without doing something proportionate for the pub 
 lic good for the benefit of their own children or successors, for
 
 SAINTS OF OUR DAY. 251 
 
 a memorial of gratitude to God and man. One would think 
 there were instances enough of the curse that attaches, by 
 a natural process, to wealth unblest, if the sweetness of doing 
 nobly were not inducement enough. May the day be not long 
 deferred when humanity and public spirit will not appear so 
 splendid as they do now ! 
 
 "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his 
 saints ;" precious should their lives be in the hearts of living 
 men. Such lives need little commendation ; simple description 
 is their best praise. They cannot be contemplated without 
 profit, let us hope without some attempt some hope at least 
 some wish towards imitation. Well says the prayer book : 
 " We bless Thy holy name for all Thy servants departed this 
 life in Thy faith and fear." The aroma of such lives is sanative 
 to all around. Preaching may fail, but a good life never ; 
 there is something in our nature that must ever respond and 
 thrill under the influence of heavenly charity. With these men, 
 it was no incident, but an object the object for which they 
 lived. They saw work to be done for their fellows and they 
 did it. It seems on this simple statement as if no man could do 
 otherwise and be a man ; yet by the condition of things around 
 us, how few there must be that view the duty of life under so 
 simple and true and wholesome an aspect !
 
 WHAT MUST BE MUST, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " I AM afraid you will educate Mary to death, my dear," said 
 Mr. Austin to his wife, in reply to a long detail of her plans 
 for the perfecting of this her only daughter. " Too much edu 
 cation is as bad as too little." 
 
 " Too much education, Mr. Austin ! who ever heard of such 
 a thing ? Everybody is complaining of the want of education 
 among us, and you, yourself, I am sure, often criticise young 
 ladies, and say they are miserably educated. But you are the 
 strangest man ! Haven't I always kept Mary under my own 
 eye, and had masters and governesses for her, instead of sending 
 her to a fashionable school, where she would have learned 
 frivolity and nonsense, and given up society that I might never 
 lose sight of her for a moment ? Haven't I watched even her 
 mantua-maker, and forbidden her to describe the finery of other 
 customers, and bought Mary's bonnets myself, without even 
 letting her try them on, lest she should become vain ? I am 
 sure I don't know what more a mother could do for a 
 child "
 
 WHAT MUST BE MUST. 253 
 
 " You forget, my dear," said Mr. Austin, quietly, " that I 
 warned you against doing too much, not too little. My fears 
 point rather toward Mary's becoming a mere automaton, for 
 want of the habit of thinking and acting for herself, than to any 
 deficiency in the list of her accomplishments. Mary is seven 
 teen now, and might be trusted, I think, to her own judgment 
 sometimes. But you know, I never interfere, my dear," Mr. 
 Austin concluded, as he saw a look of deep dejection settling on 
 the face of his wife. " I dare say you know best, but I thought 
 I would make the suggestion." And the good husband took 
 his hat and gloves and went off to his office, rather sorry that 
 he should have said a word which might grieve or discourage 
 the most anxious and self-devoted of mothers, even for the 
 benefit of the most precious of daughters. 
 
 Mrs. Austin, on her part, was made irremediably miserable 
 for the whole day. If she had a hobby, it was the education 
 of Mary. She had been a theorist on the subject of education 
 before she possessed a daughter on whom to practice ; and 
 when she had one, she began on the most profound principles 
 laid down in her favorite books before the child was a month 
 old. It proved no easy matter to adhere closely to rules, for, 
 to her surprise, she found many cases not provided for in any 
 of the books ; but she did what she could. When she could 
 not follow Mrs. Hamilton, she tried to find a precedent in 
 Rousseau, and when Mrs. Child failed her, she sought instruc 
 tion in Mrs. Chapone, or Locke, or Hannah More, or Dr. 
 Gregory, or some one of the good ladies who have given tons 
 of advice to the wives, mothers, grand-mothers and cousins of 
 England and America. And now to meet an implied censure 1 
 and from her husband, who had always approved of all she did,
 
 254 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 and contrasted Mary and her accomplishments with universal 
 girldom, so exultingly ! It was too much for her philosophy. 
 
 " Mother," said Mary, entering at the moment when all this 
 and much more had come full upon the unhappy parent ; 
 " Mother ! shall I wear my new dress to-day ?" 
 
 " Wear whatever you like, Mary," said Mrs. Austin, de 
 termined to begin at once to give Mary up to her own control, 
 a sort of despair nerving her for the sacrifice of her cherished 
 supervision. 
 
 Mary looked at her mother, scarcely trusting her ears. She 
 observed the cloud, and added, " Perhaps, mamma, you would 
 rather I should wear something else ?" 
 
 " No, my dear," was the sad-toned reply. And Mary with 
 drew in a complete puzzle, not knowing what to do in so trying 
 an emergency. She stood balancing between the new dress 
 she longed to wear, and the old one she more than half suspected 
 her mother wished her to put on, in a most painful uncertainty. 
 The new one was taken up and laid down a half dozen times, 
 and the old one glanced at as often ; the time for dressing al 
 most elapsed, and the first master's hour was on the point of 
 striking, and still Mary dutifully balanced. What a relief was 
 the sound of her mother's voice at the door. 
 
 " Mary, I think as the walking is very bad, and you are 
 going out, perhaps you had better reserve your new dress for 
 another day, but you can do just as you like." And both were 
 pleased the mother to think she had not controlled Mary, and 
 the daughter that she was saved the new trouble of deciding 
 for herself.
 
 WHAT MUST BE MUST. 255 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WAS Mary always so submissive ? She endeavored to be so, 
 for she was a good girl ; but she did not invariably succeed, for 
 she had been endowed by nature with a mind and heart, and 
 such things are apt to assert their rights in spite of education. 
 Habit has a wonderful influence, and makes things easy which 
 would else be intolerable. Mary had never known freedom of 
 any kind. She had always been surrounded .with tender re 
 straints, as if by a netting of strong wires, gilded, but impas 
 sable. Young companions had been selected for her, brought 
 in with a formal introduction and a command, implied at least, 
 to love and cherish ; but these expedients turned out, as such 
 , things always must, complete failures, and Mary preferred her 
 books, her music, her flowers and her needle-work, to such un 
 natural associations. So she grew up a perfect child, without 
 any of those precocious initiations into the ways of the world 
 which are so apt to be the consequence of unlimited acquaint 
 ance. She read many books, but they were either books of 
 direct instruction, conned at the rate of a certain number of 
 pages per day, or they were full of erasures, leaves pasted to 
 gether, and notes of qualification or dissent, the work of the 
 mother who had determined to be taste, conscience, and judg 
 ment to her daughter, until such time as she should have arrived 
 at years of discretion. When this important period was likely 
 to arrive it was not easy to say. At seventeen it was certainly 
 as far off as ever. 
 But this hint from Mr. Austin, this cruel blow from a qur*'"*
 
 256 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 whence it was least anticipated, this flash of unwelcome light, 
 which suggested nothing but darkness, changed the whole cur 
 rent of Mrs. Austin's life and Mary's. Such things come upon 
 us with double power when they give force and form to sus 
 picions which we have before entertained but would not acknow 
 ledge. An unpleasant sense of Mary's lack of individuality had 
 often, within a year or two, suggested itself to Mrs. Austin, 
 but she had crushed down the unwelcome thought, as a heresy 
 against the true theory of education. That was past now, 
 and her vexation was proportioned to the dissolution of a life 
 long dream. Mary must act for herself ; and in coming to this 
 resolution, her mother felt very much as she would have done 
 if cruel necessity had obliged her to throw her darling over 
 board at sea, to take her chance on a single plank. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MARY had never walked out alone in her life ; but the time 
 had now come when she must brave the dangers of the streets. 
 Her mother desired her to go down to Stewart's, but fortified 
 her with many directions and cautions, as to keeping on 
 the right side of the street, and looking on all sides before 
 crossing. 
 
 She was rather pleased with the novelty, and performed her 
 errand very well, though with somewhat of the timid and sus 
 picious air of a deaf and dumb person, who walks in the crowd 
 but not of it. On her return, a beautiful large dog attracted 
 her attention as she was crossing the street, and the next in-
 
 WHAT MUST BE MUST. 257 
 
 stant she was knocked down by a passing carriage, driven at 
 the furious rate so common among us. 
 
 The blow was slight, but it frightened her excessively, and 
 she was taken up and put into another carriage by the gentle 
 man to whom the dog belonged, before she fully recovered her 
 consciousness. As soon as she was sufficiently collected to 
 name her address, she found herself on the way home, be 
 wildered and amazed, but not so unhappy as might have been 
 expected. It was an adventure, and the gentleman was very 
 gentlemanly and not very old. 
 
 Arrived at her father's door, Mary, in all simplicity invited 
 her protector to come in, an invitation which he did not fail to 
 accept. Mrs. Austin, who had scarcely yet begun to expect 
 her daughter's return, was confounded at the accident, but yet 
 more so at the sight of the handsome young man. She thought 
 of certain old fables and fairy-tales, in which the very means 
 that are adopted to avert the decrees of fate, only operate to 
 secure their fulfilment. She saw, as in a magic mirror, all the 
 trouble that would follow this unfortunate rencontre, and she 
 could scarcely be civil to poor Philip Wentworth, who looked 
 very innocent and inoffensive, and handed her his card with an 
 air which said, " you see, my dear madam, you have nothing to 
 fear," while Mary related in her artless way the terrible ad 
 venture. 
 
 The protector made his call very short, and Mrs. Austin did 
 not invite him to repeat it. But Mary did, and he promised 
 quite readily. 
 
 " How could you do so, Mary ?" said Mrs. Austin. 
 
 "Why, dear mother, I thought you had f)rgotten it," said 
 
 Mary ; " and he is so pleasant." 
 17
 
 58 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THINGS went on after this, just as might have been expected. 
 Mrs. Austin's worst forebodings were realized. Philip Went- 
 worth continued to visit Mary, and Mary evidently liked him, 
 although she was not the girl to fall in love undutifully without 
 leave. Some young ladies read novels as some old ladies read 
 " Domestic Medicine," for the purpose of studying symptoms, 
 and discovering the true causes of their own " feelings." But 
 Mary had read few novels, and those not of the description of 
 which love forms the staple, so she had heard but little about 
 symptoms, and forgot that she had any " feelings." The edu 
 cation went on very much as usual, since the sad consequences 
 of trusting her out alone had fully convinced Mrs. Austin that 
 she had been premature in allowing her to think for herself. 
 She never went to balls, and not often to parties, and saw not 
 much society of any kind ; but when she did go out, it was 
 really odd to see how often she happened to meet Philip 
 Wentworth. 
 
 Now any young gentleman who shold have shown an especial 
 liking for Mary, would have been disagreeable to Mrs. Austin, 
 at least while Mary was so young ; and Philip Wentworth was 
 particularly unpleasing, because he had his fortune to make in 
 the first place, and also, because, secondly, he evinced quite too 
 much disposition to consider Mary as a free agent and to see 
 her act as one. Every possible obstacle was thrown in the way 
 of their intercourse, except absolutely forbidding Wentworth's 
 visits. This step the respectability of his connections and his
 
 WHAT MUST BE MUST. 259 
 
 own unexceptionable character forbade ; at least Mr. Austin 
 would not hear of it. There is no knowing what Mrs. Austin 
 might have done if she had followed out her own ideas of pru 
 dence. But in the midst of her perturbations, and when she 
 had got so far as to lose half of every night's sleep in cogi 
 tations, as to ways and means of preserving Mary from the 
 snares of matrimony, Philip Wentworth was fortunately obliged 
 to make a journey to the far South. He called to say farewell, 
 and Mrs. Austin almost groaned aloud, to see the look of undis- 
 girsed regret with which Mary gave him her hand at parting. 
 Mary was an artless child, and she lay silent on the sofa half 
 the evening after Philip's departure, and then opened the piano 
 and played voluntaries until bed-time. Mrs. Austin gave her 
 husband another look, which said as sufficiently as looks could, 
 " you see it is all over." 
 
 But the next morning Mary resumed her cheerfulness, and 
 after a few days seemed almost to have forgotten Philip. 
 Hope revived in Mrs. Austin's bosom, and when, after a few 
 weeks, Mr. Austin found himself called to spend a part 
 of the summer at the West, and invited his wife and daughter 
 to accompany him, the careful mother felt as if the game was in 
 her own hands. The journey, the new faces, the new world, 
 would do wonders. Young people are always absorbed in 
 the present, and Mary would soon forget Philip Wentworth. 
 She showed no great disposition for the trip, but acquiesced 
 quietly, and took all proper interest in the elegant outfit which 
 her mother thought proper to provide for this peculiar mode of 
 " coming out," the only one to which she meant ever to subject 
 Mary.
 
 260 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 C H AP T E R V. 
 
 On board the lake steamer our travellers found a very charm 
 ing old lady, who had resided for some years at the West, and 
 who, with the frankness characteristic of that social region, im 
 parted the fruits of her observation of settlers' life with a great 
 deal of vivacity and good nature She happened to be going to 
 the same hotel at Detroit, and as she remained there for several 
 days, the acquaintance had become pretty well ripened before 
 her son came with his carriage to take her home. At parting 
 she gave Mr. and Mrs. Austin and Mary a pressing invitation 
 to visit her in the country, an invitation which they promised to 
 accept before they left Detroit to return to the city. 
 
 Detroit is an exceedingly pleasant place for a sojourn. 
 Highly cultivated society, a charming situation, amusements of 
 all sorts, music, riding, driving, steal away the hours before one 
 is aware. Yet our Mary, instead of gaining in health and spir 
 its, evidently declined every day. The rosy cheek paled, the 
 bright eye was too much shaded by its pearly lid, the fingers let 
 fall their rings, through loss of their pretty roundness. Mrs. 
 Austin began to fear that the climate did not agree with her 
 darling, and urged Mr. Austin to hasten their return home. 
 But this was not a proper or even a prudent season for a return 
 to the city, and Mr. Austin proposed first a visit to Mrs. Ellery, 
 the pleasant old lady of the steamer. So to Meadowbank they 
 went and found a farmer's paradise flocks, herds, geese, chick 
 ens, turkeys, horses, dogs, and last a good, comfortable, spacious 
 house, well shaded, and within a few moments' walk of the
 
 WHAT MUST BE MUST. 261 
 
 primeval woods. The welcome was in proportion to all the 
 other abundance. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Austin could not but find all this very charm 
 ing for a day or two, though they were not the sort of people 
 for the country. But Mary ! Never was there a creature so 
 happy. It was her first sight of unmarred Nature, and all her 
 troubles, (if she had any,) were forgotten in the intoxication of 
 a sweet and most natural pleasure She rode, she ran, she 
 climbed fences, she milked cows, (or tried to do it,) she fed the 
 chickens till they followed her in flocks. She rambled in the 
 dense old woods with Mrs. Ellery's grand-children, from breakfast 
 time till dinner, in spite of all Mrs. Austin's fears of cougars 
 and rattle-snakes. This was evidently the place for her, what 
 ever it was to her father and mother, and they were reluctant to 
 propose the return for which their souls were longing. Besides 
 how to prolong a visit of those guests, who must consider them 
 selves only chance acquaintances ! It would never do, and Ma 
 ry was desired to prepare for the return to Detroit. Here was 
 a sad affair. Mary cried heartily, she could not help it. The 
 love of trees, and grass, and thronging domestic creatures, is a 
 fountain of pleasure to unspoiled hearts, and to Mary this 
 source of happiness was so new. Fortunately, good Mrs. 
 Ellery needed not the sight of her young guest's tear-stained 
 eyes, to impel her to kind urgency for a longer visit ; and when 
 Mr. and Mrs. Austin could not be prevailed upon, she begged 
 for Mary, until Mr. Austin was fain to yield. The idea of 
 leaving Mary behind, could not, at first, be made intelligible to 
 Mrs. Austin. The imprudence, the utter insanity of trusting a 
 child of that age alone, was too great. But her husband, who 
 had observed with delight Mary's spirits and returning roses,
 
 262 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 reminded her that the child could hardly be considered quite 
 alone, with good Mrs. Ellery, her son, and his wife, and their 
 children, not to mention the horses, cows, pigs, chickens and 
 lambs, with whom Mary was nearly as intimate and as happy. 
 He suggested too, that while she was in the woods she was not 
 near Philip Wentworth ; and we rather think it was this crown 
 ing argument, which he wisely reserved for the last, that decided 
 the point in Mary's favor. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The wild delight of flying about from morning till night 
 palled somewhat, after a few days, and Mary found her chief 
 pleasure in the grand old woods that skirted the ample farm of 
 Mrs, Ellery. Here she would wander, half pensively, " think 
 ing," of course "of nothing at all," or recline on some mossy 
 bank, while the children wreathed her hair with the thousand 
 wild flowers that bloomed in every spot to which the sun found 
 access.- So charming was the calm solitude, that she often 
 remained with her young companions in some favorite spot, un 
 til the westering sun, and the voice of lowing herds returning 
 to their milking, recalled her wandering thoughts. 
 
 It was on some such occasion, when a splendid sunset, such as 
 one sees to perfection in the country of the great lakes, detained 
 her later than usual, that she was alarmed by the bounds 
 of what she thought might be a wild animal, which approached 
 from the side next Mrs. Ellery's. In a moment it stood before 
 her, and proved to be only a large spotted dog, very much like
 
 WHAT MUST BE MUST. 263 
 
 the one which introduced her to Philip Wentworth a few 
 months before. 
 
 " Carlo 1" she said, and the fine fellow wagged his tail as 
 intelligibly as a dog could, and laid his head against her hand. 
 Could it be her old acquaintance ? 
 
 " Carlo 1" she said again, and bowed her head over him, till 
 the flowers fell from her head in showers on his broad back. 
 " Where is thy master ?" But this question was in her heart 
 only, when she raised her head and he stood before her. 
 
 To describe the blushes that ensued, would require an imagi 
 nation as vivid as that of Ole Bull's friend, the painter, who 
 heard scarlet in certain tones of the violin. The tones of Philip 
 Wentworth's voice produced a deep red color on Mary Austin's 
 cheeks, but we do not attempt to philosophize upon the fact. 
 Our readers must make what they can of it. 
 
 " How did you come here !" was Mary's first coherent ques 
 tion. 
 
 " I came, like little Red Riding Hood, to see my grand 
 mother," said Philip laughing ; " but I find you have been be 
 forehand with me, with your pot of butter, or custard, or some 
 thing which has stolen away her heart, while I was away." 
 And they went home together arm in arm, after a fashion which 
 would have made Mrs. Austin groan indeed, if she had been 
 perched in one of the great oaks, looking on. 
 
 That evening Mary never thought of writing to her mother, 
 to tell of this unforeseen accident ; but with morning came cool 
 reflection, and she sat down and wrote a long, dutiful letter, 
 mentioning, just before the close, that Mr. Wentworth had 
 arrived on a visit to his grandmother, Mrs. Ellery. This she 
 knew would bring her parents, post-haste ; and when she had
 
 264 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 thus discharged her conscience, she was not very sorry when 
 Mrs. Ellery informed her that as there was only a weekly mail, 
 her letter could not reach Detroit in several days. 
 
 We do not pretend to have been present at all the conversa 
 tions which may have passed between the two friends, thus re 
 united, when they thought themselves far asunder. We dare 
 say they had many adventures to relate, with descriptions of 
 people they had met in their travels and such like topics. We 
 have reason to believe they learned to understand each other 
 very well ; although we will answer for it that Wentworth was 
 too much of a man of honor to entrap the guileless Mary into 
 an engagement without the sanction of her parents. He had 
 been educated by old-fashioned people. 
 
 "There !" said Mrs. Austin to her husband, "you see, my 
 dear, what your plan of trusting Mary to her own guidance has 
 come to, at last ! I told you so ! I knew this would be the 
 consequence ! After all my care and anxiety, she is gone !" 
 and the good lady dropt some natural tears. 
 
 " Gone ! what are you thinking of, my dear ! instead of 
 losing a daughter we have gained a son, and a capital fellow he 
 is, too ; honorable, considerate, and as fond of Mary as you can 
 desire. All your care has met with its reward, and Philip will 
 bear witness to the fact a dozen years hence. Education has 
 done its part admirably thus far, but now that nature has 
 asserted her rights, it will go on more profitably than ever. 
 Mary will be quite a woman by the time she is ready to be 
 married !" 
 
 And this was all the comfort Mrs. Austin had from her hus 
 band, so unreasonable is the stronger sex.
 
 MAKING LOVE SCIENTIFICALLY, 
 
 " A monstrous spectacle upon the earth, 
 Beneath the pleasant sun, among the trees, 
 A being knowing not what LOVE is 1 
 
 A man that dares affect 
 To spend his life in service to his kind 
 For no reward of theirs, nor bound to them 
 By any tie. * * * * 
 
 There are strange punishments for such." 
 
 BEOWNINO'S Paracelsus. 
 
 AMOXG the Fabliaux of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries 
 is a laughable story of the philosopher Aristotle, who is repre 
 sented as saddled and bridled for the amusement of a malicious 
 beauty, and cantering about a garden under the weight of her 
 slender form, while Alexander, afterwards the Great, the pupil 
 of Aristotle, enjoys the joke from a window. It seems that the 
 sage, having discovered the devotion of his august disciple to 
 the lady in question, had reproved him very sharply for his 
 weak subjection to the tender passion ; representing love as 
 incompatible with the study of philosophy, and ridiculing the 
 idoa of a man of sense placing himself in the power of a woman, 
 naturally his inferior in the scale of creation. The pupil was a 
 good deal nettled by the severe remarks of his master, but he 
 concealed his vexation, and humbly promised that the fascina-
 
 266 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 tions of beauty should no longer seduce his thoughts from the 
 contemplation of wisdom. 
 
 But he had devised at subtle, we had almost said a savage 
 method of revenge upon his master, and very soon found an 
 opportunity of putting it in practice. In cold blood and with 
 malice aforethought, he managed to place the stern preacher of 
 prudence and self-command within point-blank range of the 
 lady's eyes, and won her over to use, in the service of his 
 revenge, all the powers of fascination which had proved effectual 
 in enslaving himself. The philosopher was of course very soon 
 charmed into forgetfulness of his grand dogmas, for your philoso 
 pher is proverbially weak at all weapons but his own. Beauty, 
 wit, grace, were put in requisition with the fullest success ; 
 coquetry added her freaks ; and, in a word, in a marvellously 
 short time, the wise man became a fool, as so many wise men 
 have done before him under the same circumstances. And thus 
 we arrive at the explanation of the scene with a sketch of which 
 we began. Among the incredible follies which the malicious 
 beauty devised for the humiliation of her awkward captive, was 
 a requisition on her part that he should suffer himself to be sad 
 dled and bridled, and accept, for the reward of his obedience, 
 the honor and delight of carrying his goddess about her garden. 
 He only stipulated for a scene closely shielded from vulgar eyes, 
 lest, by some accidental betrayal, his reputation as a teacher of 
 wisdom should suffer, and above all in the estimation of his royal 
 pupil. An inner court of the palace was therefore chosen, and 
 among its flowery alleys did the delighted sage prance with his 
 fair burden. But. in the very midst of his happiness a dread 
 sound a sound as of unhallowed laughter struck his ear, and 
 looking upward, he beheld in a window the face of the future
 
 MAKING LOVE SCIENTIFICALLY. 267 
 
 conqueror of the world, relaxed to its last capability in keen 
 relish of the joke. 
 
 History wisely stops htre, nor strives to express the inex 
 pressible, in describing the abasement of the great teacher and 
 example of philosophy, thus forced to be his own refuter. But 
 we can easily conjecture that from this time forth the pupil was 
 not troubled with any very severe remarks on the absurdity of 
 being in love ; unless, indeed, the teacher drew new unction for 
 his homilies from the bitterness of his own experience. 
 
 We see, then, that philosophy began very early to be consid 
 ered as the enemy or antidote of love. What foundation in 
 fact there may be for this notion, it is difficult to say, so few 
 successful experiments are on record. That it ought to be so 
 has always rather been taken for granted than proved. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton, however, was a man of realities, and of 
 him it may truly be said that science was his mistress. She 
 upheld his spirits, consoled his solitude, brought him recreation, 
 and absorbed his affections. He evidently thought with Mil 
 ton 
 
 How charming is divine Philosophy I 
 
 Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, 
 
 But musical as is Apollo's lute. 
 
 Is it not strange, by the way, that Shakspeare uses the very 
 same comparison in speaking of Love, the antagonist of Philoso 
 phy? 
 
 for valor, is not Love a Hercules? 
 Subtle as Sphinx ; as sweet and musical 
 As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair. 
 
 But so extremes meet.
 
 268 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Newton, however, was not always and at all periods wholly 
 invulnerable to the subtle shafts of the most insidious of ene 
 mies. We hold that a man must be thoroughly dipped bathed, 
 indeed in self-esteem, to render him proof against such arrows ; 
 but the youthful susceptibility of the sage weigher of the planets 
 proves that his immersion had not been complete. History 
 deigns, for once, probably in consideration of the eminence of 
 the subject, to record the fact of his having been, at a certain 
 time, deeply smitten with the daughter of the lady with whom 
 he lodged, an illustration of the well-known principle, that 
 attraction is so much the more potent as the attracting bodies 
 are nearer to each other. Whether he went so far as to enroll 
 her among the celestial phenomena we are not informed, but the 
 attraction seems to have been proved beyond a doubt, and we 
 have reason to suppose it was on the one side gravity, and on 
 the other magnetism or electricity. 
 
 One would think that love thus founded on the immutable 
 principles of science must have proved an exception to the 
 vulgar rule, and gone on with the precision and harmony of the 
 spheral ellipses. But our philosopher had discovered that, 
 besides attraction, there is another irresistible force in nature 
 that of repulsion. Now it was his habit to think out every 
 thing ; he said in his later days, that if in any respect he had 
 been more successful than other men, it was only by a habit of 
 thinking. Accordingly, we must suppose that he pondered 
 much and long upon the wonderfully curious attraction to which 
 he found himself subject, and speculated as to its probable 
 results. He speculated on the tremulousness which he observed 
 in himself under certain circumstances, as Le Terrier pursued 
 the chain of reasoning which ended in the discovery of a new
 
 MAKING LOVE SCIENTIFICALLY. 269 
 
 planet. But orfe of the conclusions to which his researches in 
 other directions had brought him, was, that however close may 
 seem the approach of any two bodies, there is always an actnal 
 space between them, produced by this said power of repulsion. 
 How then could he, a philosopher, be satisfied with the idea of 
 a union in which repulsion as well as attraction was to play its 
 part ? Was it not natural to refer the many unhappy mar 
 riages which had come under his notice to a want of recognition 
 of this fact in science ? How should he ascertain whether, in 
 this case, the repulsive power of the young lady might not over 
 come her attraction ? 
 
 He had spent the morning in his study, laboring to fix his 
 attention on the grand problem of the universe, but surprised 
 and vexed to find it wandering towards that insignificant, 
 comet-like nebula, a young woman, which no telescope that 
 has yet been invented has succeeded in following rapidly enough 
 to ascertain its laws of revolution. Moore has aptly expressed 
 the puzzle into which an astronomer might be thrown : 
 
 "Then awake till rise of snn, my dear, 
 But the sage's glass we'll shun, my dear; 
 Lest in watching the flight, 
 Of bodies of light, 
 He might happen to take thee for one, my dear I" 
 
 But our sage was too wise to try a telescopic view. He 
 adhered to his old rule of thinking, but found hosts of diffi 
 culties arise in the course of his investigation. He no doubt 
 tried figures, but they probably ran into such sums as 
 these " Two lips, indifferent red ; two gray eyes, with lids 
 to them ; one neck ; one chin ; and so forth." Or perhaps he 
 endeavored to set forth the substance of his thoughts in dia-
 
 270 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 grams, but found the angles anything but right ones, and 
 the straight lines strangely deviating into the line of beauty. 
 In this perplexity, we may fancy him summoned to the dinner- 
 table, and seated opposite the gentle disturber of his peace, eat 
 ing a delicate pudding 
 
 " Made by no hands, as you may guess, 
 But those of Fairly Fair '' 
 
 and, at the same time, devouring the maker with his eyes. 
 Anon he invites the maiden to a seat near the window, resolved 
 that certainty of some sort shall end this confusion of his geo 
 metrical pericranium. Once well placed, with green, waving 
 woods before him, and the soft summer wind playing balmily 
 about his brow, he falls again into his old trick of thinking, and 
 forgets the firm practical intent with which he challenged his 
 lady-love to a private interview. She, poor girl, had found but 
 few defences against the amiable countenance and mild, gentle 
 manly, serious manners of the young student, and her little 
 heart went pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, while he gazed out of the case 
 ment, she dl the while thinking he was but finding fitting words 
 wherein to declare his mind to her. He, meanwhile, has lighted 
 his pipe, and by its aid put on a more deeply reflective air than 
 before. But, alas ! the clouds which undulate and ascend 
 so beautifully from the meerschaum, do but suggest to the cogi 
 tating astronomer fresh thoughts of the peopled skies. He has 
 forgotten earth, and all earth's daughters ; his mind has de 
 scribed a parabolic curve, and alighted on frigid Saturn, the 
 aspiring smoke serving as a Jacob's ladder between the terres 
 trial and and the superlunary. By and by the fire burns low, 
 the ladder grows feeble ; the thoughts do not descend, but they
 
 MAKING LOVE SCIENTIFICALLY. 271 
 
 depute a ray of intelligence to renew the aerial rounds. Our 
 philosopher, conscious that something is wanting, puts forth his 
 hand ; it falls on the not unready fingers of the patient damsel. 
 She blushes, she trembles, she wonders within herself whether 
 propriety does not require that she should withdraw those poor 
 little digits. But ere she can settle this point satisfactorily to 
 both love and prudence, the youthful sage has decided it by 
 grasping her hand firmly, and raising it can it be that, in sud 
 den and momentary boldness, he is about to carry it to his lips ? 
 That were, indeed, to cut the gordian knot that seemed inextri 
 cable. But, no ! he stops he removes the pipe from his 
 mouth, and lowers it to meet the slender fore-finger of the 
 maiden. A moment more a shriek and Newton is a bache 
 lor for life ! 
 
 And the maiden did she exclaim, in the bitterness of her 
 heart, 
 
 " O star-eyed Science, hast thou wandered there 
 To waft us home the message of Despair ?" 
 
 Or did she quietly bless her own stars, that had, by timely 
 warning, saved her from a crazy spouse ? As for the lover, 
 being, as Sir David Brewster assures us, " destitute of the 
 faculty of imagination," he had probably understood literally the 
 poetical expression, " ivory fingers," and so concluded that a 
 young lady's pretty little index was the very thing for a tobacco 
 stopper ! 
 
 History is defined to be " philosophy teaching by example," 
 but this example of ours must be classed amongst the warnings. 
 Let us be just, however. Perhaps if some Niebuhr should sift 
 the records of an occurrence so long accepted by the world as a
 
 272 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 significant fact, we might come to a different conclusion as to 
 the real cause of the accident by means of which this promised 
 conjunction became a transit, and Newton was self-condemned 
 to an abstract contemplation of the literal, rather than an actual 
 enjoyment of the poetical heavens, while the bashful maiden 
 was lost, like a meteor, in a cloud of smoke. We should, our 
 selves be disposed to lay the blame on tobacco, and to look 
 upon this story of the philosophic outrage on the young lady's 
 finger as a sly invention of some wag, who, knowing that ridi 
 cule is more potent than argument, chose this way of sending 
 forth a " Counter-blast," less ponderous, but more pungent, than 
 the famous one of King James the First, of blessed memory. 
 What, indeed, could more surely enlist the gallantry of the 
 world against tobacco, than the thought that it could so obfus 
 cate the wits of the wisest as to lead to a cruel confounding of 
 animate with inanimate matter under such delicate circumstan 
 ces 1 Would any man, " as is a man," as Mrs. Cluppins says, 
 put himself under the influence of a narcotic which may lead 
 him to mistake a pretty girl for a stick, and treat her accord 
 ingly ? 
 
 It is pleasant to find that Newton, though he thus went off 
 in a tangent, under the influence of a disturbing force, did not 
 wholly renounce his allegiance to his chosen centre of attraction. 
 We are assured that he continued all his life to feel the soft 
 compulsion, and to follow with a quiet, but devoted attention, 
 the fortunes of her who had in youth been his acknowledged 
 cynosure. A tender friendship occupied the place from which 
 Love had been scared ; and our hero and heroine, after this 
 momentary perturbation, became " binary stars," which Sir
 
 MAKING LOVE SCIENTIFICALLY. 273 
 
 William Herschel informs us, " perform revolutions around each 
 other, each having its own orbit." The lady's included a hus 
 band and children ; but the philosopher finished his cycle with 
 out ring or moon, a crystalline sphere in the grand empyrean, 
 or region of perpetual serenity. 
 18
 
 AN INCIDENT IN DREAM-LAND, 
 
 IT happened once that Love proverbially touchy, we all 
 know took high offence at the neglect of his whilom sworn 
 friend and brother Hymen, who, he declared, had ceased to in 
 vite him to his magnificent parties in town. Finding his tem 
 per too warm upon the occasion, he sought the cooling influence 
 of rural shades, and there amused himself and forgot his pettish 
 enmity, in sending sportive arrows among groups of simple 
 nymphs and swains, as they raked the new-mown hay in com 
 pany, or pared the luscious peach or the firmer apple, to dry, in 
 gay festoons, " for winter, which they knew must come ;" or 
 husked the golden corn, or bound the lachrymose onion wreath- 
 wise upon its supporting wisp of straw. But, ere long, weary 
 ing of such inglorious sport not unlike that of the royal ennuye 
 who shot from his gilded balcony whole hecatombs of game, so 
 trapped that it could neither fight nor fly he left the rustic 
 herd, and took his way along the banks of a bright and rapid 
 stream, which rolled its gleaming waves through foliage of every 
 hue and outline, reflecting at times the sun, the snowy cloud, 
 the lamps of night, the leaden hue of storms, the appalling as 
 pect of the tempest all distinct at intervals, yet at intervals
 
 AN INCIDENT IN DREAM-LAND. 215 
 
 again fused, as it were, into one enchanting and harmonious 
 whole. Love called the stream Poetry, and declared that he 
 would always dwell by its side. 
 
 As he strayed along delighted, leaning occasionally over the 
 living mirror, that he might see how it enhanced the splendor 
 of his beauty, he beheld, reclining in the shadow of a rock, a 
 heavenly form, whose wings, folded in repose, and a celestial 
 halo round his brow, declared him still unchanged by contact 
 with the things of earth. By the radiance which shone 
 through his closed lids, and by the lyre clasped, even in sleep, 
 to his bosom, Love knew the bright visitant to be Genius. He 
 called him with his most persuasive voice and Love's tones are 
 almost irresistible but in vain. The sleeper's head was pil 
 lowed on a bed of poppies, and a drapery of deadly nightshade 
 hung from the rock which shaded him from the sun. " I must 
 see those rainbow pinions unfolded to the light !" said Love ; 
 " of all my claims to immortality, none could be so indisputable 
 as the subjugation of this glorious being to my power !" 
 
 And, selecting one of his keenest arrows, and new-stringing 
 his bow with a braided tress of golden hair, he wounded the 
 unguarded bosom of the slumberer. 
 
 The youth started opened his eyes, bright and dewy as the 
 first glad smile of morning, and spread wide his radiant wings 
 as if to find safety in flight. But he became conscious of the 
 sweet venom which was spreading through his veins, and. with 
 a glance half-reproachful, half-adoring, he bowed the knee to 
 Love and owned his resistless power, and asked his supreme 
 will. 
 
 " Sing 1" said the conqueror ; and the blended music of 
 voice and lyre filled the whole air, and, borne along by the
 
 276 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 waves, awakened to thrilling life all the spiritual things that 
 haunted the green recesses of that charmed spot. Love 
 crowned the captive with flowers, showered delicious odors 
 around his dazzling brow, brought honey in the comb white as 
 the foam on the billow, and presented to his eager lip a lily-cup 
 of sparkling wine. Wood-nymphs and naiads, hovering round, 
 beheld their own beautiful forms reflected in the crystalline 
 wings of the stranger, but though various and changeful as the 
 light of parting day, one face, and one only, was there seen in 
 every dress, recognized through every disguise. The forms and 
 masks were painted by Fancy, the one face was the work of 
 Truth. " And now," said victorious Love, " take me to thy 
 own bright sphere 1" 
 
 Prompt to obey, the pleased subject tried his glittering wings 
 for an upward flight. Alas ! overcome by the too sweet ban 
 quet, Genius sunk back upon the roses which the victor had 
 spread around him. The halo faded from his head ; his lyre 
 reclined against a myrtle mute, save when a breeze from the 
 languid south awakened a faint echo of its former power. 
 
 " Sleep then stupid thing !" said Love, enraged at the effect 
 of his own spells and he was about to shake over the lids of 
 the fainting captive the baleful dust of Oblivion, when a fearful 
 form appeared from a rugged wood at no great distance. His 
 hair hung in wild elf-locks about his wasted features, and his 
 squalid garments scarce concealed his meagre limbs. His eyes 
 seemed of stone, and in his hand was an iron sceptre, which has 
 often caused even Love to tremble. 
 
 "Ha ! Poverty !" said the baffled tyrant, as he flew to the 
 safe shelter of a neighboring tulip tree, yielding the field for the 
 moment to his old enemy, that he might watch the effect of his
 
 AN INCIDENT IN DREAM-LAND. 277 
 
 presence upon the glorious being whom his own arts had reduced 
 to utter helplessness. The flowers drooped ; the grass withered ; 
 and the breezes which a moment before had breathed of sum 
 mer, became chilly as if wafted from a wandering ice-berg. 
 With a sepulchral voice did the skeleton visitor call on Genius 
 to arise. 
 
 " Come ! let me see these gaudy wings of thine !" he said, 
 with a sneer. But the youth, shuddering, folded their filmy 
 leaves over his eyes, to shut out the hateful apparition. Pov 
 erty pushed him rudely with that cold iron sceptre, but the 
 torpedo touch seemed only still further to paralyze his faculties 
 " Thou dost not feel me yet !" exclaimed the fiend ; and even 
 as he spoke he took the form of a hideous dragon, whose folds, 
 surrounding the victim, began to narrow upon his shrinking 
 form, and, continually contracting the spiral circle, threatened 
 to crush him inevitably and irretrievably. 
 
 Then rose the noble youth, roused by the too eager malice 
 of his foe ; and shaking off alike the poppies of Indolence, and 
 the roses in which Love had enveloped him, he stretched his 
 glittering pinions, spurned the earth with his foot, and soaring 
 majestically toward heaven, looked down with scorn upon 
 scowling Poverty, while the radiance about his brow resumed 
 its power, and dazzled all but Love. That wily god, pursuing 
 the upward flight of Genius, strove again to entrap him by 
 means of certain nets of silk and gold, which he had found al 
 most always successful with the sons of earth, but the heaven- 
 born youth shook them off with a smile of contempt, while he 
 sang to his enchanted lyre a hymn so glorious, that earth's 
 inmost heart thrilled to the melody, and Love, for once, owned 
 himself in turn a captive.
 
 278 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Love has been since that time rather shy of attempting to 
 subdue Genius which we suppose is the reason why so many 
 of our poets are bachelors. Poverty claims to have been of 
 essential service to the susceptible child of Heaven, but we 
 never heard that Genius loved him any the better for it. 
 Hymen still plays his old tricks forgetting to invite Love to 
 his more splendid feasts, but condescending to admit him when 
 his rich friend Mammon is not expected. 
 
 E. STANSBURY.* 
 
 * NOTE. I found this little sketch, with others, in an unfinished 
 form, among my mother's papers. 0. M. K.
 
 THE VISION AND THE CREED OF PIERS 
 PLOUGHMAN, 
 
 WE are apt to declaim against the corruptions of the age in 
 which we live, and to imagine that no preceding one has equal 
 led it in all the crimes which might be expected to call down 
 the vengeance of Heaven upon nations or upon individuals. The 
 follies and vices of our own time are magnified to us by the 
 various passions, prejudices and prepossessions which help to 
 make up our estimate of passing events, while we judge of those 
 which transpired long since, with the coolness of abstraction and 
 the charity of indifference. 
 
 But the observation of the witty and wicked Lady Mary, 
 that in all her travels she had met but two kinds of people 
 men and women might serve all travellers and all time. Not 
 only in great affairs can we trace continual recurrence of the 
 same causes with the same consequences, but the very tattle of 
 a village or the jealousies of a household have had their proto 
 type thousands of years ago. Babies cry now-a-days in the 
 very same tones which served little Cain and Abel for the 
 expression of their sorrows ; and no less do the grown-up Cains 
 and Abels of our time make use of the very same modes of
 
 280 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 showing their different characters, that we find so strikingly 
 described in the most ancient of all histories. 
 
 The old-fashioned notion of the "dignity" of history has 
 given rise to continual efforts to hide this simplicity or sameness 
 in the true records of human action. It has been thought 
 necessary to dress up and render conspicuous a certain class of 
 events, while another class, perhaps far more efficient in produc 
 ing the real features of the age, are unnoticed and forgotten. 
 For these we must go to ancient rhymes and homely chronicles 
 compositions called forth by the spirit of the times, and not 
 encumbered with any character or "dignity" to support ; and 
 in their quaint and simple pages we shall find truths that writers 
 of more pretension shun to tell, or perhaps pass over as unworthy 
 of notice. 
 
 "The Vision and the Creed of Piers Ploughman," is one of 
 the most striking of these pictures of the times ; and the scarce 
 black-letter volume, to which formerly none but antiquaries had 
 access, is now " newly imprinted," with all its grotesque and 
 arabesque decorations, its vermilion letters, its frontispiece of 
 most original design and perspective the ploughman holding 
 the handles, and his faithful spouse bearing the goad which is to 
 urge to their duty a pair of the most extraordinary oxen and, 
 floating over all, the motto 0fOt< Spcett ge plOUflll HTltl 
 Sentt US feorite flltOlfe,* among William Pickering's resus 
 citations of the treasures of the olden time. To those who love 
 to have the stately and somewhat formal march of history 
 varied by an occasional quick-step, we recommend a perusal of 
 this work, of which we will here offer a short account. 
 This curious poem is supposed to be the work of a monk 
 
 * God speed the plough and send us corn enough.
 
 VISION AND CREED OF PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 281 
 
 some say a monk of Malvern, Robert Longlande or Langlande 
 by name, one of the many who quitted their monasteries to 
 advocate the cause of the Reformation. David Buchanan, 
 indeed, claims the honor for a canny Scot, but this is considered 
 rather an instance of patriotism than of critical acumen in the 
 commentator. The year 1362 is assigned as the date of 
 the performance. At this time, England, in common with the 
 rest of Europe, had lately been the theatre of dreadful calami 
 ties. Twelve years before, a pestilence had swept off one half 
 the population ; but this half being the poor and ill fed, the 
 higher classes, neglecting a warning which did not fall directly 
 upon themselves, became more cruel, oppressive, and licentious 
 than before. But another pestilence, as if commissioned to 
 arouse them from a guilty insensibility, soon after desolated 
 their ranks, spreading mourning and terror throughout the 
 haunts of splendid vice, and leaving the homes of the poor com 
 paratively untouched. Contemporaneously with this plague 
 came a tempest, whose sweeping ruin filled all hearts alike with 
 trembling and dismay. 
 
 At this awful juncture, when the public conscience was, as it 
 were, laid bare by the severity of Heaven, the satirist chose his 
 time. Some Latin poems attributed to Walter Mapes, and a 
 collection of political songs, containing, in small compass, all the 
 chief points of accusation against the different orders of society, 
 preceded the Vision of Piers Ploughman. Those who consider 
 songs and poems as too trivial to be mentioned among the great 
 events of such a period, must remember that one who had 
 enjoyed unusual opportunities for studying the moving causes of 
 human events, said that if he could have the making of the bal 
 lads of a nation, he would care little who made its laws.
 
 282 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 And even in our own unpoetic time we have ample evidence that 
 the fictions of Dickens, the " Rhymes," of Elliott and the songs 
 of Thomas Hood, have told, with marked and most important em 
 phasis, upon the feelings and sentiments of whole nations. Still 
 more potent must such things have been when literature was 
 anything but a drug and a bye-word ; and we think those err 
 little who look upon the satires of the fourteenth century as mo 
 mentous features in the aspect of the time. 
 
 The " Roman de, la Rose" had brought into vogue a new spe 
 cies of composition, and it seems to have afforded a model for 
 the style of our author, conveying instruction under the veil of 
 allegory. This circumstance, may, perhaps, be thought to detract 
 somewhat from its merit in a critical point of view ; but practically 
 it is really rather an advantage than a blemish ; since the natural 
 tediousness of allegorical writing is much relieved by an occasional 
 forgetfulness on the part of the author, which seems to excuse 
 the reader from the close attention required by a long two- 
 threaded story. 
 
 The Vision comes to one who, weary of the world, falls asleep 
 beside a stream, amid the soft and beautiful scenery of the Mal- 
 vern Hills. He sees a vast multitude assembled in a fair mead 
 ow, typifying the whole world of mankind ; attracted on one 
 side by the Tower of Truth, the right aim of man's pilgrimage, 
 and on the other by the " Dungeon of Care," the dwelling-place 
 of wrong more attractive in real life than in this poetical pic 
 ture : 
 
 A dongeon thereinne 
 With depe diches and derke 
 And dredfulle of sight.
 
 VISION AND CREED OF PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 283 
 
 We cannot follow out the impracticable intricacies of the 
 story ; "the fair ladye of leere,""the personification of holy 
 church, who offers to instruct the dreamer ; the lady Mede, 
 (earthly reward,) who attracts those whose mind is not firmly 
 fixed upon better things to come ; Cyvile, or Law, potent yet 
 slighted ; Conscience, who is proposed as a husband for lady 
 Mede, but declines the union ; Repentance and Hope, who per 
 suade the multitude to set out on a pilgrimage in search of 
 Truth ; Kyude, or Nature ; Do-well, Do-better, and Do-best, 
 very important personages, figure with a multitude of others 
 whose characters and offices are too complicated for analysis 
 within reasonable bounds. The conclusion of this thronging 
 march is rather unsatisfactory, being one of those "wherein 
 nothing is concluded," but the writer seems to have designed to 
 paint human life as it is ; in which case to have depicted a gen 
 eral amelioration of mankind as the result of any efforts or cir 
 cumstances, would have been as incorrect as the invariable prac 
 tice of the novelists of our time, who reward virtue with worldly 
 prosperity, in the very face of the daily dispensations of Provi 
 dence. 
 
 The language of the Vision is such as few can read without a 
 glossary, but this requisite is found at the conclusion of the vol 
 umes. Here is a specimen of the very simplest : 
 
 " No, quod Pacience paclently, 
 And out of his poke hente 
 Yitailles of grete virtues 
 For alle manere beestes, 
 And seide, " Lo here, liflode y-noghe! 
 If our bileve be trewe. 
 For lent nevere was lilj 
 But liflode wore shapen,
 
 284 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 Wher-of or wher-for 
 Or wher-by to libbe.' 1 
 
 The last quatrain is for encouragement assuring the hungry 
 that wherever there is life, there also " liflode" or livelihood is 
 provided. Unfortunately, the hungry man may reply, as we are 
 told one did since Piers Ploughman's day : 
 
 " Yes, your reverence ; but Providence sent the baby to my 
 house, and the victuals to yours!" 
 
 The work abounds with a sort of quaint wisdom, homely, but 
 genial ; expressed in a style half axiomatic, half mystical. The 
 whole tenor is as purely democratical as if it had seen the light 
 only since the French Revolution. Indeed Piers has been 
 called the sans-culotte of the fourteenth century. 
 
 The poem is considered a parfect specimen of the English 
 tongue before grammar was a science, and the study of it is 
 recommended as tending to elucidate many of the real difficul 
 ties of the language. It is a fine example of that style of versi 
 fication which was the only one in use among the Anglo-Sax 
 ons in the early times of their literature. Rhyming verse had 
 not yet been introduced into England. The characteristic of 
 the only versification attempted at the period, was a kind of 
 alliteration, so arranged that in every couplet there should be 
 two principal words in the first line beginning with the same let 
 ter, which letter must also be the initial of the first word on 
 which the stress of the voice falls in the second line. This kind 
 of poetry is mingled, after the thirteenth century, with rhyme ; 
 but in an irregular manner ; and purely alliterative poetry was 
 still in use among the lower orders when Piers Ploughman was 
 written. The adoption of it in satire seems to have a political 
 meaning, as referring the grave matters in question directly to
 
 VISION AND CREED OF PIERS PLOUGHMAN 285 
 
 the judgment of the common people. The simple, nncorrupted 
 heart of the Ploughman is represented as the dwelling-place of 
 virtue and truth ; while the great, with their insolent retainers, 
 appear as practicing every species of injustice and oppression, 
 the merchants every extreme of dishonesty, and even the 
 clergy the ruinous vices of extortion, intemperance and license, 
 not to speak of a total disregard of the duties of the sacred 
 office. And it was appropriate to clothe this unsparing view of 
 the state of the country in the poetry which was alone familiar 
 to that class of readers, who were held up in it as the represent 
 atives and guardians of all that was left of virtue and religion. 
 In this point of view the poem possesses much interest as a doc 
 ument of literary history, connected directly with the time at 
 which it appeared. 
 
 An attempt to modernize or rather to translate Piers Plough 
 man, was made, early in the present century. Here is a 
 specimen, followed by the original : 
 
 Next Avarice came ; but how he look 'd to eay 
 "Words I do want that rightly shall portray ; 
 Like leathern puise his shrivell'd cheeks did show, 
 Thick-lipp 'd, with two blar 'd eyes and beetle brow ; 
 In a torn thread-bare tabard was he clad, 
 "Which twelve whole winters now in wear he had. 
 
 ORIGINAL. 
 
 " And than came Coveitise 
 Kan I hym nanght discryve; 
 So hungrily and holwe 
 Biro Hervy hym Inked. 
 lie was bitel-browed 
 And blflber-lipped also,
 
 286 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 With two blered eighen 
 As a blynd hagge ; 
 And as a lethern purs 
 Lolled hise chekes 
 "Wei sidder than his chynne 
 Thei chyveld for elde 
 And in a tawny tabard 
 Of twelve winter age," &e. 
 
 The " newly imprinted " edition of William Pickerell, whose 
 emblematic device, after the true antique fashion, figures on the 
 title-page in a circle made up of (JtttlftltttttS and a greedy- 
 looking pike or pickerel is taken from a fine folio manuscript 
 on vellum, written in a large hand, undoubtedly contemporary 
 with the author of the poem, and in remarkably pure English, 
 with ornamented initial letters. The manuscript belongs to 
 Trinity College, Cambridge. 
 
 It is in this "Vision," that the celebrated prophecy occurs, 
 which mentions a king who shall extirpate monasteries, and 
 scatter monks and nuns to the four winds. 
 
 " Ac ther shal come a kyng 
 And confess yow religionses 
 And bete yow as the Bible telleth 
 For brekynge of youre rule ; 
 And amende monyals* 
 Monkes and chanons 
 And puter to her penannce 
 Ad pristinum statum Ire, 
 And barons with cries beten hem 
 Through Beatus-virres techynge 
 That hir barnes t dayman J 
 And blame yow foulo. 
 
 * Monyals nans. t Barnes children. J To claim.
 
 VISION AND CREED OF PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 281 
 
 And thanne freres In hir fraytor * 
 
 Shul fynden a keye 
 
 Of Oostantyn's cofres 
 
 In which is the catel 
 
 That Grcgorie's god children 
 
 Han y vele t despended. 
 
 And tbaune shall the Abbot of Abyngdone 
 
 And all his issue forevcre 
 
 Have a knock of a kynge 
 
 And incurable the wounde. 
 
 That this worthe soothe seek ye 
 
 That oft over-se the Bible," &c, Ac. 
 
 This prophecy is certainly remarkable, yet we can scarcely 
 consider it miraculous, since the excesses into which the religious 
 houses had fallen were such as to render it very likely that some 
 monarch, either virtuous or passionate, would make sweeping 
 work with them at no very distant date. If the sufferings of 
 the lower orders, the vices of the great, and the excesses of the 
 clergy were what the Vision describes them to have been, we 
 may marvel that the Ploughman did not foretell a shower of fire 
 which should purify the entire realm as well as the monasteries, 
 since professed moralists are generally not backward in prophe- 
 cying, and even invoking, the vengeance of Heaven npon other 
 people's sins. 
 
 As to the prophetic part, Philippe de Comines, as far back as 
 Edward lYth's time, says the English were never without some 
 prophecy or other to account for whatever events might occur. 
 These predictions, from the oracular form in which they were 
 delivered, had at least half the chances in their favor as 
 witness that which threatened evil to Edward IVth saying 
 
 * Fraytor refectory. t Yvele eviL
 
 288 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 that one whose name began with G, should succeed him ; a 
 prophecy which cost the life of George, Duke of Clarence, but 
 which was considered equally well fulfilled by the usurpation of 
 Gloster.
 
 A LEGEND OF EAST ROCK, 
 
 IT is many years since an individual of singular appearance 
 took up his abode in the vicinity of a populous town an unu 
 sual choice of place for one whom misfortune or misanthropy 
 seemed to have rendered averse to human society, but not 
 an injudicious one in this case, since the spot afforded the soli 
 tude of the desert without its remoteness from succor. 
 
 His humble dwelling, constructed with little skill or care, ad 
 scarcely discernible in the tangled thicket, was situated upon 
 a rough hill that rose with picturesque abruptness from the level 
 plain ; toward the town rocky and precipitous, but descending 
 on the opposite side with a softer outline. The gray rock was 
 in some places naked to the sun ; in others, covered with soil 
 for the most part closely wooded. One spot, in the very midst 
 of the deep shade, was susceptible of cultivation. It was but a 
 strip, but it repaid the rude culture of the recluse with food 
 sufficient for him, and served also to pasture two or three sheep 
 not doomed to bleed for their master's gratification, but to be 
 harnessed with strips of bark to a little cart, which served 
 him many useful purposes during the Summer, and when Autumn 
 blasts began to lay bare the branches, bore his few movables 
 toward the pleasant south. No one knew where he made 
 his winter abode ; but the flitting was regular as that of the 
 19
 
 290 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 birds, and when they and the flowers returned, back came our 
 hermit to his hovel on the rock. 
 
 When we first heard of his existence, he was seldom disturbed 
 or intruded upon. Curiosity had subsided, and the determined 
 silence of the recluse was not calculated to induce a chance vis 
 itor to repeat his visit. Strangers were sometimes taken to the 
 hermitage, but to those who had associated the flowing beard, 
 staff, cross and rosary with the idea of a hermit, our recluse 
 seemed but a poor representation of the class. He was a 
 coarse, rough-looking person, clothed in a sort of Robinson Cru 
 soe style ; and his whole air was one which the most romantic 
 imagination would have found it difficult to invest with the 
 character of saintly repose which always marks the hernm 
 of story. A student would sometimes terminate his ramble by 
 a short rest in the bough-roofed hovel, or a schoolboy spend his 
 Saturday afternoon in its neighborhood, for the sake of sharing 
 the contents of his basket with the lonely tenant ; and in such 
 cases the reception offered by the recluse was quiet but kind, 
 and the offered dainties usually repaid by the gift of some 
 of nature's treasures, which an out-door life enabled him 
 to procure. He would heat his rude oven, and bake apples 
 and potatoes for his guests, while they gathered berries or ram 
 bled through the craggy solitudes. But he scarcely ever spoke, 
 and most of his days were passed in absolute solitude. 
 
 The accounts I had heard aroused no little interest or curios 
 ity respecting this strange being, when I was one day informed 
 that the hermit was in the kitchen, and had as"ked leave to take 
 not exactly " the husks that the swine did eat" but a piece 
 of white bread which had been consigned to that base use by 
 an unthrifty maid, and which had caught his eye as he passed
 
 A LEGEND OF EAST ROCK. 291 
 
 her territory, driven from his wretched home by the pangs 
 of hunger. I had heard that he sometimes asked alms in 
 the kitchens of his young visitors, when from want of foresight 
 he found himself without provisions ; I was, therefore, not 
 surprised when I heard of his coming. Quite curious, however, 
 I followed my informant immediately, and found a tall, meagre 
 figure, clad in a sort of wrapper of the coarsest kind of blanket 
 ing, confined at the waist with a piece of rope. His hair 
 was " sable-silvered," and seemed utterly unconscious of comb or 
 scissors ; and his beard not " descending" but full and bushy, 
 concealed completely the mouth and chin, to which I usually 
 look for the expression of character. So much of his face 
 as could be seen showed little trace of refined sensibility. His 
 eye was cold and stern, and one found it difficult to believe 
 it had ever been otherwise ; yet I fancied who could forbear 
 fancying something, of an individual so singular in his appear 
 ance and habits ! that the deep furrows of his brow were not 
 the gradual work of time, but the more severe scoopings 
 of remorse or regret, and that they spoke of pangs such 
 as only the strong mind can suffer. 
 
 My gaze offended or disconcerted him, for he stepped without 
 the door, so as to screen himself from further scrutiny. I 
 hastened to repair the involuntary fault by addressing him 
 courteously, and inviting him to come in. He neither spoke 
 nor raised his eyes from the ground ; so, directing apart that 
 food should be set before him, I left him to dispose of 
 it at his pleasure, for it was evident that he was painfully shy, 
 and that my presence was both unexpected and unwelcome. 
 
 I heard of him occasionally through the Summer, but 
 nothing of novelty or interest until the hoarse voice of Autumn
 
 292 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 was heard on the hill, and the strides of approaching Winter 
 rustled among the dry leaves of the forest, when it was ascer 
 tained that the recluse still occupied h's airy summer bower, 
 being too unwell to commence his usual migration. Preparing 
 a few of the little comforts of the sick room, I accompanied h ! s 
 young friends to the rock, in hopes of d'scovering the nature of 
 his illness and be'ng able to contribute to its cure. 
 
 Forlorn and desolate indeed was the situation of the poor 
 solitary. He had been unable to gather in the produce of his 
 little plantation, and the corn was yet on the stalk, and the 
 potatoes in the ground. The trees, stripped of their covering, 
 110 longer afforded shelter to the m.serable hovel, and the her 
 mit lav exposed to the chilling wind, warmed only by the poor 
 sheep which huddled round him, having followed him to his 
 retreat for protection from the blast, or for the food which the 
 bare and frozen banks now denied them. 
 
 He received thankfully the provisions we offered, but re 
 sisted every proposal for removing him to a more comfortable 
 asylum, or even for improving the miserable pallet on which he 
 lay. He showed no symptoms of any particular disease, but a 
 general decline of the powers of life. His appearance was 
 much altered, and his face of a transparent paleness ; but this 
 might well have been occasioned by the want of such food as 
 his feeble appetite required. He felt quite sure he should 
 be better now, and said he had lain in bed only to keep himself 
 warm. Finding him resolute in rejecting farther aid, the young 
 people gathered a supply of fuel, and filled his kettle and hung 
 it over a good fire, and arranged the few comforts we had 
 brought on a rude shelf by the bedside, and we left him 
 to himself, feeling that however grateful he might be for
 
 A LEGEND OF EAST ROCK. 293 
 
 intended kindness, human society was evidently distasteful 
 to him. 
 
 It was evident to us all that he was much softened since 
 his illness. He no longer maintained an obstinate silence, nor 
 when he spoke was it with that deep hoarse voice which had 
 been remarkable before. There was more of refinement in his 
 language, and of intelligence in his eye ; and I could not help 
 thinking that the roughness I had noticed had been artificial 
 assumed only to suit the character he had adopted. Our young 
 people now visited him more frequently, and others, hearing of 
 his indisposition, offered more comforts than he would consent 
 to receive ; but he declined gradually, so gradually, indeed, 
 that those who saw him often were scarce aware of the change, 
 until one morn'ng he was found dead in his bed.* No clue to 
 his name or kindred was found among his poor effects ; but he 
 had consigned to one favored individual a memoir of his life, or 
 at least of that portion of it which had been passed among men. 
 Other papers there were the outpourings of a vehement spirit 
 of a rebellious and untamed heart, which had dared to sit in 
 judgment on the decrees of the Most High, and to draw from 
 the various calamities of life bold and blasphemous conclusions 
 against the justice and goodness of Providence. These were 
 of course committed to the flames ; but the short record of Irs 
 own disastrous career, written apparently in a different spirit, 
 and after he had ceased to " contend against God," is here 
 given, not without a hope that useful lessons may be derived 
 from the errors of a proud and self-deifying heart. 
 
 * Those of our readers who were acquainted with New Haven thirty-five years ago will 
 recognize in this sketch an attempt to describe the person known as ' The Hermit of East 
 Hock." We must be pardoned for imagininghis antecedents.
 
 294 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 THE HERMIT'S STORY, 
 
 My father was a substantial farmer. By unremitting industry 
 in early life he had amassed a few hundreds, and these had 
 become thousands by prudent management and rigid economy ; 
 so that from my earliest recollection he was at ease as to worldly 
 possessions. His own career having been thus prosperous, 
 he naturally desired that his only son should follow in his 
 footsteps, and with his noble farm inherit his fondness for 
 agricultural pursuits. Though deficient in education himself, he 
 allowed me its advantages, and I was many years at school, 
 with only the occasional interruption of a summons home when 
 haying or harvesting required the entire force of the household. 
 At such times my father spoke often to me of his wish that 
 I should be prepared to relieve him from the cares which 
 his years began to render irksome ; of my own good fortune in 
 being the inheritor of such a farm, and of his in having a 
 son capable of carrying out his plans of further improvement 
 but I was fated to disappoint him. Fated, did I say ! Let me 
 rather own that at school I imbibed a love of letters, but not a 
 sense of duty ; a high opinion of my own powers, and a secret 
 conviction that those powers would be wasted in the inglorious 
 occupation of tilling the ground. My thirst for knowledge 
 referred only to mental gratification ; and I pursued my studies 
 with an ardor of which those who have always had ready access 
 to the treasures of literature can have but little conception. 
 At home I scarce saw a book, beyond the Bible and a few ele 
 mentary works ; and when at college my eyes first opened upon
 
 THE HERMIT'S STORY. 295 
 
 the stores of ages, I became absolutely intoxicated with delight, 
 and rioted indiscriminately in whatever seemed for the moment 
 most desirable to my excited fancy. The result of this kind of 
 reading was anything but advantageous. Mental dissipation is 
 scarcely less injurious to the moral sense than is its ruinous 
 brother, vice. The generous and self-denying virtues are almost 
 as incompatible with the one as with the other. Under the influ 
 ence of my new-found pleasure, it cost me not a pang to disap 
 point the long-cherished hopes of my father, and it was with a 
 secret swell of conscious superiority that I announced to him my 
 resolution never to be a farmer. 
 
 His anger and his astonishment knew no bounds. He bit 
 terly lamented his folly in having sent me to college, " although," 
 as he observed, " there was nothing in the nature of learning to 
 make a fool of a boy." This was very true, yet the small and 
 ill-chosen and worse digested amount of it which I had imbibed, 
 had only filled my head with vanity, and my heart with unduti- 
 ful thoughts. The entreaties of my mother and sister delayed 
 the catastrophe for awhile. My father consented to try me at 
 business, and I condescended to be tried ; but nothing but 
 disaster ensued. When not willfully careless, I was ruinously 
 absent-minded, and it was not until I had killed half the cows, 
 by letting them spend the night in a field of clover, and spiked 
 the best horse on the tongue of a stage-coach, while I lay read 
 ing Thomson's Summer on the top of a load of hay, that my 
 poor father gave it up in despair. He gave me a small amount 
 of money, a horse, and a supply of clothing, and then, with 
 anger in his eye and grief and mortification in his heart, sent me 
 to seek my fortune where I could find a situation more congenial 
 to my taste.
 
 296 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 In spite of my headstrong folly, I could not but feel a little 
 misgiving as I turned my back on my home and on the kindest 
 of mothers, and prepared to try the wide world for a subsistence. 
 The " still small voice" that upbraided me with the sorrow of 
 my parents, I strove to silence by a determination to return to 
 them, when I should have earned a name and a fame that should 
 cover the waywardness of my youth, and crown their latter 
 days with pride and joy. As a stepping-stone to fortune, how 
 ever, it was necessary that I should immediately determine 
 upon some mode of earning a regular subsistence, and my pas- 
 sioa for books, not to say my incapacity for anything else, 
 pointed at once to the situation of a teacher. I had no dread 
 of this occupation. I ascribed the various satirical descriptions 
 of its horrors to the incapacity of those who had attempted it. 
 To a teacher qualified as I felt myself to be, I was confident the 
 whole favored district would throng ; and I anticipated with 
 'delight the astonishment of the natives, when they should 
 discover the attainments of their schoolmaster. 
 
 The first difficulty that occurred when I sought this delight 
 ful employment was the lack of proper testimonials. It had not 
 entered my miud that a person of my appearance and acquire 
 ments would need credentials among ignorant rustics ; bu u 
 I found, with no little disgust, that I was required to go 
 through with the whole formula of recoinnieiidatous and certifi 
 cates, and prove my title to the honor of teaching a district 
 school by as many papers as would have served to accredit 
 a minister plenipotentiary. A long interval occurred bei'oie 
 certificates could arrive from my Alma Mater, and by the time 
 I had been examined and entered upon my new duties, an 
 acquaintance with my patrons and their ch.ldreii had served to
 
 THE HERMIT'S STORY. 291 
 
 damp my ardor considerably. I dropped, by degrees, the hopes 
 of making orators and statesmen out of the materials committed 
 to my care ; and contented myself with the more modest hope 
 of eradicating some of the bad habits and ignorant conceits of 
 my pupils a sad and discouraging task. To write upon blank 
 paper is easy, but when the surface has already been scribbled 
 over, who can expect to produce fair and graceful lines ? 
 
 Most of my scholars were the sons of farmers, who had 
 no idea that the whole of a child's time ought to be given to the 
 school. Many omissions occurred, and those who did attend 
 regularly came to the writing-desk or the reading class with 
 hands hardened by labor, or heads preoccupied by more conge 
 nial ideas. These difficulties, however, lessened in no degree 
 the expectations of the parents. 
 
 " I expect," said one sturdy father to me, " that now we've 
 got sich a high-larnt master, my boy '11 write like copperplate 
 afore the quarter's out ;" and another, whose son spent a full 
 month in committing the multiplication table, told me, he hardly 
 knew how to spare him for three months, but he wanted he 
 should "larn surveying." 
 
 The proportion of reasonable parents and capable childreu 
 was lamentably small ; but all this I could have borne if I 
 had found what I expected abundant leisure for reading. 
 But alas ! the mornings and evenings, which were to have con 
 soled me for the most laborious drudgery, were not at my com 
 mand. That odious " boarding round " a custom which ought 
 to be abolished by statute gave me every week a new home, 
 if such sojourn may bear the sacred name of home ; and every 
 home seemed more uncomfortable than the last. One single 
 fire for the household, during all the morning business, made
 
 298 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 reading impossible in winter weather ; and in the evenings, 
 when, children and business being out of the way, 1 might have 
 had a chance by the fireside, I found myself so fagged by the 
 labors of the day, that even books had no charm which could 
 sustain my drooping eyelids. The comfortable and well ordered 
 home I had left often rose sweet and tempting upon my weary 
 soul ; but pride forbade me to confess iny error and seek again 
 its sheltering roof. I knew my father would be ready to receive 
 me at a word ; but that word I determined never to speak. 
 
 To a temperament such as mine, the trials at which I have 
 but hinted were unreasonably severe. Better regulated minds 
 would have found them much more tolerable ; to me they were 
 irons entering the soul, and I felt often tempted to fly from 
 them, as I had done from other and far less evils that had 
 thwarted my bent at home. I did, however, exercise sufficient 
 self-command to fulfil my agreement ; but no entreaties could 
 induce me to engage with the same set for another season ; and 
 with the pittance which my winter of torment had earned, I 
 set forward again, hoping to find some nook of earth where the 
 abilities which I still valued, though at a more reasonable rate, 
 might procure me a livelihood while I was deciding on a per 
 manent plan of life. 
 
 I came just at evening upon a lovely spot a village lying on 
 a small but rapid stream which flowed through a highly culti 
 vated valley. There was a mill with its busy, pleasant hum ; a 
 smith's shop round which the usual number of idlers were col 
 lected ; a neat tavern where there were no idlers at all ; one 
 pretty street through which, at this sunset hour, many fair 
 forms were flitting ; and, on the brow of a hill which overlooked 
 the whole, a church on whose taper spire the last rays of the
 
 THE HERMIT'S STORY. 299 
 
 sun seemed to linger with affectionate delay. I gazed with de 
 light, and, still as sanguine as ever, decided that this favored 
 spot should be my home for the present. A school' here, 
 I thought, could not be Kke other schools and, as far as my 
 own experience went, I was for once right. 
 
 There was no lack of testimonials this time, and I soon found 
 myself established in a select school, which promised better sup 
 port and more leisure than I had enjoyed in my former situ 
 ation. I entered upon my new duties with interest, but had 
 already begun to discover that all schools in the country are 
 alike in some particulars, when an incident occurred which 
 changed at once the bent of my repining thoughts, and the 
 whole color of my life. 
 
 Margaret , a beautiful girl whose health had from 
 
 childhood been so delicate as to prevent her from attending 
 school regularly, was now, in her seventeenth year, placed un 
 der my charge. Her father, the rich man of the neighborhood, 
 was anxious that Margaret should employ an interval of 
 improved strength in repairing, as far as possible, the deficien 
 cies of her early training, and he requested extra attention on 
 my part, in the shape of private lessons, which brought me 
 every evening to his house. 
 
 My imagination had often dwelt on the lovely beings who rise 
 under the creative wand of the poet, and I had sighed to think 
 that only in books may we hope to meet these shapes 
 of beauty, lit from within by souls yet more divine ; but 
 
 in Margaret d'd my charmed eyes discover more than 
 
 poet ever painted. The softest beauty a clear and most 
 ingenuous mind and a gentleness which can never be feigned 
 all the qualities which I should have chosen if I had been
 
 300 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 endowed, Pygmalion-like, with the power of giving life to the 
 dreams of fancy, were united in this fair creature. There 
 lacked only that knowledge which it was to be my blissful task 
 to impart, and which her young enthusiasm drank in as does 
 the thirsty earth the long delayed shower. How I rejoiced 
 that her mind had been no further cultivated ! I would not 
 that any other breath should aid the expansion of this tender 
 flower. And none other did : it was mine to watch its unfold 
 ing, and imbibe its fragrance ; mine to wear it in my heart of 
 hearts. Lessons which books do not furnish passed between 
 the master and the pupil. Margaret accepted my offered 
 heart, and as frankly gave her own in exchange ; and in less 
 than two years from the time when I first saw her she became 
 the dearer part of myself. 
 
 Is not this a trick of the imagination ? Have I the outcast 
 of society the disowned of Heaven the companion only of the 
 beasts that perish have / ever been the beloved of Margaret 
 the pride of our parents the approved and applauded of all 
 within our little circle ? Ts this cold and almost pulseless heart 
 the same which once swelled with triumph as I gazed on my 
 wife's sweet face, and fed my pride with the thought that if I 
 had tamely yielded to the inglorious lot marked out by my father, 
 I should never have found this the world's best treasure ? 
 Alas ! what darkness would have veiled that joyous scene if 
 Fate had foreshown, in the place of the happy bridegroom, the 
 squalid wretch whose appearance now scarcely claims kindred 
 with his species ! 
 
 My father, pleased with a wealthy and influential connection, 
 made generous provision for my outset in life. My sister had 
 married, and her husband proved a valuable substitute for an
 
 THE HERMIT'S STORY. 301 
 
 undutiful son. Th r s fortunate circumstance conveniently served 
 to quiet those troublesome whispers with which conscience 
 would occasionally beset me. Yet the sadness which had 
 become habitual to my mother's face, conveyed a reproach 
 to my better sense which selfish pr'de could never wholly 
 disregard. Every look of hers told me that no son-in-law 
 could ever supply my place to her ; and that the disappoint 
 ment occasioned by my cold-hearted desertion had thrown 
 a chilling shade on the evening of her days. But one glance at 
 my idol always sufficed to put to flight every repentant thought. 
 
 Yet the part of my life which I look back upon with the least 
 remorse is the period that immed : ately followed my marriage. 
 During those four happy years, inspired by the various excellen 
 ces in my wife's character, T labored assiduously to correct my 
 faults. I forgot my self-importance as far as possible, and 
 endeavored to promote the happiness of all around me, even at 
 the sacrifice of so > e of my own cherished inclinations. Imper 
 fect as were my efforts, they were s'ncere, and with my Marga 
 ret, at least, eminently successful. Never was the pure light of our 
 domestic happiness dimmed for a moment, even by the overflow 
 ings of that wayward self-will which had so often brought tears 
 to the eyes of my poor mother. How indeed conM I have lived 
 to tell th's sad s f ory, if to all the rest were added the recollec 
 tion that I had ever inflicted one pang on that loving heart ? 
 
 It was my intention, when I began this record, to have 
 passed over the incidents of my early life, and to have recalled 
 little more than the horrible catastrophe which has darkened 
 the sun and extinguished the stars to my blighted soul for so 
 many years. But with the attempt to say anything of myself, 
 human feelings and the natural longing for human sympathy
 
 302 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 revived at once within me. Recollections of the entire past 
 flooded my soul, and would have vent. Far different have long 
 been my contemplations, and who does not know that rebellious 
 thoughts br'ng their own just misery with them ? The very 
 consolation which I experience in the recital of my sorrows, 
 reproaches me with the insane folly of having withdrawn myself 
 from my kind until I am no longer fit for their communion. 
 But I must not lose time which I feel will be but short. 
 
 My father-in-law had large contracts connected with internal 
 improvements, and, besides keeping his accounts, I frequently 
 superintended the labors of his workmen in the quarry and in 
 the forest. The latter was to me an ever new delight. To ex 
 plore its tangled thickets, to roam through long branch-roofed 
 vistas until the resounding strokes of the woodman were lost in 
 the distance ; and then, amid the hush of noonday twilight, to 
 give myself up to romantic musings or to solemn contemplation, 
 was among the very few enjoyments that could reconcile me to 
 leaving my happy home, even for a day. 
 
 On one of these occasions, when I had strayed until hunger 
 overtook me, and I had begun to think the way home would 
 seem too long, I came unexpectedly upon an Indian wigwam. 
 Its inmates, a young man and his mother, received me with 
 grave courtesy ; and, at my request for food, the white-haired 
 squaw set before me corn-bread and succatash, with a calabash 
 of water, which was nectar to my eager thirst. The young 
 man, a tall and well-looking specimen of his race, was one whom 
 we had employed in searching for timber suited to our purposes, 
 and I took this opportunity to engage him to explore a new and 
 wild track for some trees of great size which were necessary at 
 that time. His manner had that cold and stern indifference
 
 THE HERMIT'S STORY. 303 
 
 which veils the fiery soul of his race ; but he promised compli 
 ance and I left him, having in vain tried to press upon himself 
 and his mother some compensation for my refreshment. 
 
 In consequence of my commission, Indian John, as this young 
 man was called in the neighborhood, came several times to my 
 house, and upon one occasion crossed my wife's path as she was 
 going out. It was then that I learned that Margaret had a 
 deep and unconquerable dread of au Indian. Her family 
 accounted for it by the circumstance of her having been fright 
 ened by one when a child. The occurrence, as repeated to me, 
 did not seem likely to have made so lasting an impression on the 
 mind of a girl brought up on the outskirts of civilization ; but it 
 proved to be indelibly imprinted on her imagination, and was 
 supposed to have been the first cause of her delicate health. A 
 country girl entrusted with the care of her when four or five 
 years old, took her one day into the woods near her father's, in 
 search of wild flowers ; and, leaving her under a tree to amuse 
 herself with those already gathered, penetrated further, hoping 
 to find some still brighter and more beautiful. In her absence 
 a drunken Indian found the child, and for mere mischief, as is 
 supposed, gave one of those shrill yells, said to be among the 
 most appalling of all earthly sounds. The girl, brought back 
 by the whoop, found Margaret in strong convulsions ; and for 
 some weeks she hovered between life and death, and afterward 
 suffered many years from the enfeebled condition of her nerves. 
 Ever since that time she had dreaded the sight of one of the 
 dark race, and I now understood why she had always declined 
 my invitations to go with me to the forest. She refrained from 
 mentioning her secret fears, for she shrunk from avowing what 
 she considered a silly weakness. With her a weakness was not
 
 304 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 a thing to be boasted of, but to be struggled against and over 
 come. 
 
 But now that I had discovered this tender point, I made it 
 my study to guard my beloved from every chance that could 
 excite such painful feelings.* I took measures to put an end to 
 Indian John's visits declining his services, and forbidding my 
 men to employ him. Still he had requests to prefer, occasion 
 ally ; and finding he continued to show himself at my door, I 
 represented to him my wife's fears, and foolishly bribed him to 
 absent himself. After this I found he would take advantage of 
 my absence to apply for food and money, as if determined to 
 enjoy the pleasure of tormenting one who dared to cast dishonor 
 on his haughty race. At length, distracted by his pertinacity, 
 I threatened and then struck him. He neither returned the 
 blow nor offered resistance, when I put him forth forcibly, for 
 bidding him ever to approach my doors again. 
 
 But Margaret never was at rest after that unhappy day. An 
 Indian, she said, never forgave ; and she was convinced, by the 
 diabolical glance which John cast upon me as I spurned him 
 from my door, that he would only wait some safe opportunity to 
 take his revenge. She thought not of herself her fears were 
 for me alone ; and I readily promised not to wander forth alone, 
 as had been my wont, but for her sake to be ever wary of my 
 exasperated enemy. Yet I often reminded her of the subdued 
 condition of the Indian race. " The white man," I said, " has a 
 bridle on the neck and a bit in the mouth of the savage ; he has 
 broken his spirit and bent him to his will. The red man is no 
 longer the untamed and untamable. The deadly hatred, unap 
 peasable but by the blood of the offender, is no longer part of 
 his nature. His vices as well as his virtues have lost their
 
 THE HERMIT'S STORY. 305 
 
 savage strength. The whiskey of the white man has obliterated 
 all that is fearful, as well as all that is grand, in his charac 
 ter. There is nothing to be feared from *so contemptible a being 
 as the wretched Indian." 
 
 She heard me shudderingly ; for an antipathy so deeply rooted 
 is not to be influenced by reasoning. I found her often depress 
 ed, and the paleness which had marked her when I first saw 
 her, began again to encroach upon the roses which health and 
 happiness had brought to her cheek. Hoping, by a temporary 
 absence from the scene of such unpleasant impressions, to dissi 
 pate their effect, I proposed to her a visit of a few weeks to my 
 parents, who were always delighted to have her with them, and 
 to whom she was warmly attached. She assented gladly, and 
 we prepared for the journey. 
 
 Visions of my home I how is it that, after all this dreary inter 
 val, ye rise on my soul with the freshness of yesterday ! That 
 pretty cottage that trellised porch, with its pendant wreaths 
 and its overhanging roof the trees which my own hand planted, 
 and which grew to my wish, as if proud to shade the dwelling 
 of Margaret ! How often, since that dreadful day, have I stood 
 again amid those fairy scenes, holding that dear hand in mine, 
 and listening, as of yore, to that softest voice ; then started 
 from my broken slumber to solitude and wretchedness ! Oh ! 
 the bitterness of the contrast ! Yet were not those gleams of 
 bliss an earnest of what may yet be in store for the reclaimed 
 wanderer ? 
 
 Being obliged to be absent for a few hours in preparing for 
 
 leaving home, I took my wife to her father's, not liking to leave 
 
 her exposed to any agitating accident in her present feeble state. 
 
 I told her I would return to tea, and bade her be ready to set 
 
 20
 
 306 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 out for my father's on the morrow. " Ready, aye, ready !" was 
 her smiling reply, as I mounted and lode off, full of spirits and 
 fearless of all ill. When I reached the spot where the road 
 wound round a hill not far distant, I turned to exchange a part 
 ing sign, knowing that Margaret would watch me till I disap 
 peared. She never looked lovelier. She stood on the steps of 
 the portico, one arm thrown round a slender pillar, and the rich 
 drapery of honeysuckle mingling with the bright tresses which 
 descended in curls to her bosom. As I gazed, she kissed a 
 white rose which she tossed toward me, and then waved her 
 hand as if to bid me begone. Why do I describe her appear 
 ance in that particular moment, when I must have seen her so 
 often with greater advantages of dress and situation. Alas ! it 
 was the last time ! I never saw her thus again. 
 
 After finishing my business at the nearest town, I hastened 
 homeward, and reached my father-in-law's about dark. On 
 inquiring for Margaret, I found she had gone home half an hour 
 before, having yet some little affairs to attend to, in preparation 
 for her journey. I hurried home, but no fond welcome awaited 
 me. My wife had not returned. I stood as if transfixed. A 
 dread misgiving seized me ; yet it was so indefinite than I knew 
 not which way my fears pointed. Her maid thought she might 
 have gone for some trifling purchase to the village quite near 
 us, but on inquiry it was found that she had not been seen 
 there. Every house in the neighborhood was tried, and the 
 alarm became general. Her father now joined me, and his first 
 inquiry was whether any Indians had been seen about. Well 
 do I remember the icy dart that pierced my heart at that ques 
 tion. After all my incredulity, I felt at once certain that 
 Indian John was in some way concerned in our loss. This was
 
 THE HERMIT'S STORY. 307 
 
 at once confirmed by the answer of a boy in the crowd, that he 
 had met Indian John on the road, on horseback, with a sick 
 squaw wrapped in a blanket before him ; and, he added, that 
 he thought that he had the squire's bay horse. I flew to the 
 stable the horse was gone. 
 
 We were soon mounted and on our way to the woods. 1 
 burst the door of the wigwam it was deserted. We had now 
 no clue to guide us, but followed any path we happened to 
 descry, by the light of a clouded moon Once or twice we 
 fouud the clearings of white men, but when aroused they could 
 give us no information. At length, just as the day was break 
 ing, we reached the bank of a river, and a log-hut, the owner 
 of which told us there were wigwams on the opposite side. I 
 was about to dash into the stream, but the man called to me to 
 take his boat. The ford was not safe, he said, though an Indian 
 had crossed it that night on horseback. I left the boat for 
 men in their senses, and made my own way across, I know not 
 how. 
 
 From this moment my recollections begin to be less distinct. 
 I remember the beating of my heart, which shook me from head 
 to foot. I remember, too, that with a tiger-like stealth, I crept 
 to the nearest hut, and looked through a crevice in the side. I 
 see my wife now as she sat on the ground, propped against the 
 wall her face pale and swollen, and her eyes so fixed and 
 glassy that I thought for a moment I beheld but her lifeless 
 body. But the Indian to6 was there, and, as he moved, those 
 death-like orbs turned their ghastly light upon him, with an 
 expression of such terror I stood like stone cold, powerless, 
 almost senseless till he moved toward her then, with a yell 
 like his own, I sprung upon him but I know no more. . . .
 
 308 t AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 We were in the boat on the river they put an oar into my 
 hands, and my wife lay in her father's arms unconscious of our 
 presence, or of any thing that had befallen her. One man 
 steered, and another held the cord with which they had bound 
 the arms of the Indian. My mind was perfect chaos but one 
 idea stood out clear amid the confusion that was vengeance. 
 " Vengeance I" seemed the voice of every breath I drew, and all 
 distracted as I was, I had yet mind enough left to plan its ex 
 ecution. I had no weapon for instant action ; but the idea of 
 plunging the wretch into the water, as soon as Margaret should 
 be in safety, and holding him there until his hated breath had 
 ceased, feasted my boiling passions, and I rowed with convulsive 
 eagerness to hasten the blissful moment. Yengeance was sure, 
 and already I seemed to roll the sweet morsel under my tongue, 
 when the Indian, bursting the cord, with one bound sprung 
 over me, seized Margaret, and, with a yell of triumph, plunged 
 with her into the water. I followed, but rage blinded me ; and 
 he easily eluded my grasp, darting off whenever I approached, 
 and always keeping his helpless burthen under water. At 
 length, casting toward me the now lifeless corpse, he made for 
 the farther shore. To others I left the care of my beloved, 
 while I pursued her destroyer. I overtook him as he gained 
 the opposite bank, grappled with him, and snatching his own 
 knife, buried it in his heart. He fell dead, but my hatred still 
 survived. I continued to plunge the weapon again and again 
 into his abhorred carcase, until my fiery strength failed, and I 
 sunk exhausted and insensible upon the ground. The efforts 
 of those abont me recalled me to a brief sense of my misery, but 
 fever and delirium followed, and, before I recovered my reason, 
 the form I had so idolized was forever hidden from my sight.
 
 THE HERMIT'S STORY. 309 
 
 From the time that I once more awoke to the knowledge of 
 my utter desolation, my mind has never possessed its orig'nal 
 clearness, until now that the light of another world seems 
 rapidly opening upon it. Yet I remember the slow return of 
 reason, and that the first use I made of my powers, was to 
 crawl to the window of the room, to look at my once haj py 
 home. I had been carried to my father-in-law's, and nursed 
 with all the care that cruel kindness could suggest, to preserve 
 a life which could be but a burthen. My illness must have 
 been of long continuance. The fields were bare ; the trees 
 were in the latest livery of autumn. The little brook, bound in 
 icy chains, no longer sparkled on its way, as when Margaret 
 and I last stood on its green banks, and spoke of its sweet 
 music, and of the old willow which shaded half its width. 
 Death seemed stamped upon all things. When my eye rested 
 on that beloved roof the window where she sat at work so 
 often the arched gate at which she used to wait my alighting 
 I expected to see a funeral procession pass down its leaf- 
 strewed walk. When I last saw it, all was repose and beauty 
 without ; all love and happiness within. Now but who can 
 enter into such feelings ? Let me hasten to a conclusion. 
 
 When my strength returned, and I was endeavoring to form 
 some definite plan for the wretched remnant of life, I was in 
 formed that a trial would be necessary. A trial ! It was but 
 a form, they said, but it must be submitted to. I was passive 
 dumb with utter misery yet I must undergo an examination, 
 and I did endure it ; I remember the tearing open of my yet 
 bleeding wounds the coarse handling of those who could not 
 conceive the torture they were inflicting ; and I was told that 
 I must be ready to answer yet again. From that time I
 
 310 AUTUMN HOURS. 
 
 brooded over the means of escape from this new suffering not 
 only for my own sake but for that of others. I shudder even 
 now at the recollection of my feelings toward the unconsc ; ous 
 questioner ; for the madness of grief was yet on me, and the 
 rude calling up of the image of my lost love, pale, dying, as I 
 had last beheld her, brought also the bl'nd rage of the moment, 
 till I longed to clutch again the reeking knife. It was too 
 much. I left the roof which so kindly sheltered my wretched 
 head, and rushed onward without a plan without a hope for 
 the future. I need not dwell upon my unhappy wander'ngs ; 
 upon the cold, the hunger, the bitter suffering, which assails 
 him who roams without money and without friends. The wants 
 of the body were disregarded until they became inferable, 
 and then, if some k'nd hand d'd not give what nature requ'ml, 
 I dug the earth for roots, or climbed the trees for nuts, like the 
 scarce wilder denizens of the forest. By clay my thoughts 
 wandered in aimless misery from my past happiness to my 
 present condition, too often mingl'ng with thoughts of woe, 
 blasphemous murmurings against the Author of my being. Tn 
 dreams the last dread scene was a thousand times repeated. 
 Again I grappled with the destroyer of my peace, and felt his 
 warm blood in my face ; or endued by a revengeful fancy with 
 supernatural power, and no longer 1'mited to such puny retrbu- 
 tion, whole tribes seemed given to my revenge. I hunted them 
 to the brink of precipices, and hurled them headlong down ; 
 or, kindling forests, and enclosing them within the blazing 
 circle, I gloated upon their fierce agonies, unsatisfied even then. 
 After a whole year of wandering, during which I endured more 
 than words can describe, I bethought me of this wild spot. I had 
 visited it once dur'ng my college life, and knew it was too diffi-
 
 THE HERMIT'S STORY. 311 
 
 cult of access to be thought worth cultivation. Here T built this 
 rude shed, and none noticed or molested me. One winter I had 
 passed in the half-roofed hovel, but at the return of the next I 
 left it for a warmer clime, but hastened back in the spring, in 
 time to plant for the support of the life I loathed, yet might 
 not, unbidden, lay down. These journey ings, the tillage of this 
 hard soil, and the daily wants which belong even to savage 
 life, occupied much of my time ; but I had still many hours of 
 wretched leisure, in which to brood over the past, and to lift 
 my daring thoughts in impotent questionings of the justice of 
 God. 
 
 The change that has come over my feelings, though one 
 which has turned darkness to light, and blasphemous murmur- 
 ings to humble praises, is one which, with all its blessedness, I 
 am unable to describe. I know not when it was that I began 
 to be a new creature ; but I know that the first proof of it, to 
 my own conviction, was the longing desire to return to my parents 
 to throw myself at their feet, and ask their forgiveness for 
 my early fault. But, alas ! I had thrown my life away. Not 
 only were my habits such that I could now scarcely endure the 
 sight of my fellow beings, but the years that had elapsed since 
 my mad flight, left no hope that my parents were yet among 
 the living. I must carry this sorrow with me to the grave, in 
 humble hope that my late repentance may be accepted. Hav'ng 
 been found of Him that I sought not, I wait with a calmness 
 beyond my hopes, for that happy moment when, in His good 
 pleasure, He shall dismiss me from the scene of my sins and 
 sufferings, to an union with the loved and lost.
 
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