CLOVERNOOK
OB
RECOLLECTIONS
or
OUK NEIGHBORHOOD IN THE WEST
SECOND SERIES.
B r ALICE CAREY.
NEW YORK
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY
142 TO 150 WORTH STREET
PUBLISHER'S PREFACE TO NEW
EDITION.
IN issuing a new edition of Alice Carey's " Clover-
nook ; or, Recollections of cur Home in the West"
the publishers have been impressed with the opinion
of the poet, Mr. WHITTIER, who, when predicting
for these sketches a wide popularity, said that
"they bear the true stamp of genius simple, nat-
ural, truthful and evince a keen sense of the hu-
mor and pathos of the comedy and tragedy of life
in the country ; " and further, believing that a new
generation of readers will welcome and appreciate
"the weird fancy, tenderness, and beauty, the
touching descriptions and exquisite rural pictures."
February, 1884
2063447
CONTENTS.
THE PAST 9
MRS. WETHERBY'S PARTY 18
ZEBULON SANDS 80
LEARNING CONTENT 93
THE TWO VISITS 109
UNCLE WILLIAM'S .146
UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S i71
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH 197
WHY MOLLY ROOT GOT MARRIED 230
CHARLOTTE RYAN 24*
THE SUICIDE 281
THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE 290
THE DIFFERENCE, AND WHAT MADE IT 817
ELSIE'S GHOST STORY 832
WARD HENDERSON.. 3 46
CONCLUSION 861
BECOLLECTIONS
OUR NEIGHBORHOOD IN THE WEST
THE PAST.
WE do not suffer our minds to dwell sufficiently on the past.
Though now and then there is one who thinks it wise to talk
with the hours that are gone, and ask them what report they
bore to Heaven, this sort of communion is for the most part
imposed as a duty and not felt to be a delight.
The sun sets, and our thoughts bathe themselves in the fresh-
ness of the morning that is to come, and fancy busies herself
: n shaping some great or good thing that is waiting just beyond
the night ; and though, time after time, we discover that Fancy
is a cheat and lies away our hearts into unsubstantial realms,
we trust her anew without question or hesitancy ; and so the
last sun sets, too often, ere we look back and seriously consider
our ways.
I have met with some writer, I think Hazlitt, in his " Table
Talk," with whom my estimate of the past harmonizes perfectly :
" Am I mocked with a lie when I venture to think of it ?" he
asks, " or do I not drink in and breathe again the air of heavenly
truth, when I but retrace its footsteps, and its skirts far off
1*
10 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
adore ?" And, in continuation, he says, " It is the past that
gives me most delight, and most assurance of reality." For
him the great charm of the Confessions, of Rousseau, is their
turning so much on this feeling his gathering up the departed
moments of his being, like drops of honey-dew, to distil a pre-
cious liquor from them his making of alternate pleasures and
pains the bead-roll that he tells over and piously worships ;
and he ends by inquiring, " Was all that had happened to him,
all that he had thought and felt, to be accounted nothing ? Was
that long and faded retrospect of years, happy or miserable, a
blank that was to make his eyes fail and his heart faint within
him in trying to grasp all that had once vanished, because it was
not a prospect into futurity ?"
Yesterday has been, and is, a bright or dark layer in the time
that makes up the ages ; we are certain of it, with its joys or
sorrows ; to-morrow we may never see, or if we do, how shall
it be better than the days that are gone the times when our
feet were stronger for the race, and our hearts fuller of hope
when, perchance, our "eyes looked love to eyes that spake
again, and all went merry ?" Why should we look forward so
eagerly, where the way grows more dusty and weary all the
time, and is never smooth till it strikes across the level floor
of the grave, when, a little way back, we may gather hands
ful of fresh flowers ? Whatever evils are about us, is it not
very comforting to have been, blessed, and to sit alone with our
hearts and woo back the visions of departed joys? And who
of us all has had so barren and isolate a life that it is gladdened
by no times and seasons which it pleases us to think eternity
cannot make dim nor quite sweep into forgetfulness ?
For myself, when I move in the twilight or the hearthlight,
thought, in spite of the interest that attaches to uncertainty,
travels oftener to the days that have been, than to those that
are to come. With the dear playmate who has been asleep so
many years, I am walking again, pulling from the decayed logs
mosses that make for us brighter carpets than the most inge-
nious looms of men may weave ; I am treading on the May
grass and breathing its fragrance anew ; I am glad because of a
oird's nest in the bush, and feel a tearful joyousness when the
THE PAST. 11
cedar pail brims up with warm milk, or the breath of the heifer,
sweet as the airs that come creeping over the clover field, is
close upon my cheek while I pat her sleek neck, praising her
bounty. Then there are such bright plans to plan over ! what
though so many of them have failed ? they had not failed then,
but seemed very good and beautiful, and it is as easy to go
down to the bases of our dreams, as to think of their tottering
and falling. True, as I am putting flowers among the locks
over which the dust lies now, I must needs sometimes think of
the dust, but that I can cover with flowers also, and feel that
there is no moaning in the sleep which is beneath them. There
is another too, not a playmate, for whom, as the evening star
climbs over the western tree-tops, I watch, joyfully, for hope
has as yet never been chilled by disappointment. And sure
enough, the red twilight has not burned itself out, nor the
insects ceased to make their ado, before the music of the fami
liar footstep sounds along the hush of a close-listening, and
" One single spot is all the world to me."
Blow on, oh, wild wind, and stir the woods that are divided
from me now by distance and by time, for in your murmurs
there is a voice that makes my heart young again ; clouds of
the April, travel softly and rain sweetly till the meadows are
speckled with lilies, and the swollen streams flow over their
banks, for I seem to see on the sprouting grass the sheets of
the bridal bed bleaching white. Death came first to the mar-
riage feast, and she whose hopes I made mine and with whose
eyes I watched, is wrapt daintily in the shroud of snow.
And yet, not alone for its beauty, not even for its solemn
eloquence, do I look and listen to the past. It makes me feel
life's reality ; it makes me know its responsibility, and put
down the hasty word that might rankle deeply and long, and
hold undropt the pebble that might stir the whole sea of life; it
makes me reverent of others, and distrustful of myself. I remem-
ber silences where kind words might have been, and what is
worse, impetuous and inconsiderate behavior for which I can-
not be penitent enough. But aside from its rebuking spirit
outside of any good or evil that is in it the past is loved by me,
nnd my pleasantest pastime is to take up the threads of the lives
If OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
that have crossed mine and weave their histories anew, mingling
in the light and shadow of destiny till I lose them in the dis-
tance, or find them sinking in the valley where there is " rest
to the labor and peace to the pain,"
MRS. WETHERBE-S QUILTING PARTY. 19
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY.
LONGER than I can remember, my father, who is an old man
now, has been in the habit of driving every Friday morning
from his home, seven miles away, to this goodly city in which
I now live. I may well say goodly city, from the view which
presents itself as I look out from the window under which I
have placed my table for the writing of this history, for my
home is in the "hilly country "that overlooks this Western
Queen, whose gracious sovereignty I am proud to acknowledge,
and within whose fair dominions this hilly country lies.
I cannot choose but pause and survey the picture : the Ken-
tucky shore is all hidden with mist, so that I try in vain to see
the young cities of which the sloping suburbs are washed by
the Ohio, river of beauty ! except here and there the gleam of
a white wall, or a dense column of smoke that rises through
the silver mist from hot furnaces where swart labor drives the
thrifty trades, speeding the march to elegance and wealth. I
cannot see the blue green nor the golden green of the oat and
wheat fields, that lie beyond these infant cities, nor the dark
ridge of woods that folds its hem of shadows along their bor-
ders, for all day yesterday fell one of those rains that would
seem to exhaust the clouds of the deepest skies, and the soaked
earth this morning sends up its coal-scented and unwholesome
fogs, obscuring the lovely picture that would else present itself.
1 can only guess where the garrison is. I could not hear
" The sullen cry of the seutinel,"
even if the time of challenge were not passed though long
before Ou sunrise 1 woke to the music of the reveille, that
14 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
comes morn after morn floating over the waters and through
the crimson daybreak, to chase the dream from my pillow.
Faintly I discern the observatory crowning the summit of the
mount above me, and see more distinctly at its base the red
bricks of St. Philomena, and more plainly still the brown iron
and glittering brass of its uplifted spire, with the sorrowful
beauty of the cross over all ; while midway between me and
the white shining of the tower of the cathedral, away toward
the evening star, I catch the dark outline of St. Xavier.
Beautiful ! As I said, I cannot choose but pause and gaze.
And now, the mists are lifting more and more, and the sunshine
comes dropping down through their sombre folds to the damp
ground.
Growing, on the view, into familiar shapes, comes out point
after point of the landscape towers and temples, and forest
and orchard trees, and meadow-land the marts of traffic and
the homes of men ; and among these last there is one, very
pretty, and whose inmates, as you guess from the cream-white
walls, overrun with clematis and jasmine, and the clambering
stalks of roses, are not devoid of some simple refinement of
taste from which an inference of their happiness may be drawn
for the things we feel are exhibited in the things we do.
The white-pebbled walk, leading from the gate to the door-
way, is edged with close miniature pyramids of box. and tht
smoothly-shaven sward is shadowed by various bushes and
flowers, and the gold velvet of the dandelion shines wherever
it will, from the fence close beneath the window sending up its
bitter fragrance out of dew, while sheaves of green phlox stand
here and there, which in their time will be topped with crimson
blossoms.
The windows are hung with snowy curtains, and in one that
fronts the sun, is hung a bird-cage, with an inmate chattering
as wildly as though his wings were free. A blue wreath of
smoke, pleasantly suggestive, is curling upward just now, and
drifting southward from the tall kitchen chimney, and Jenny
Mitchel, the young housewife, as I guess, is baking pies. No-
thing becomes her chubby hands so well as the moulding of
pastry, and her cheerful singing, if we were near enough to
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 15
hear it, would attest that nothing makes her more happy. And
well may she sing And be happy, for the rosy-faced baby sita
up in his white willow cradle, and crows back to her lullaby ;
and by and by the honest husband will come from healthful
labor, and her handiwork in flour and fruit and sugar and spice,
will be sure of due appreciation and praise.
Nowhere among all the suburban gardens of this basin
rimmed with hills, peeps from beneath its sheltering trees a
cozier home. They are plain and common-sense people who
dwell here, vexed with no indistinct yearnings for the far off
and the unattained weighed down with no false appreciation,
blind to all good that is not best oppressed with no misan-
thropic fancies about the world nor yet affected with spasmodic
decisions that their great enemy should not wholly baffle them ;
'jo! the great world cares nothing about them, and they as
little for the great world, which has no power by its indiffer-
ence to wound the heart of either, even for a moment. Helph.
Randall, the sturdy blacksmith, whose forge is aglow before the
sunrise, and rosy-cheeked Jenny, his blue-eyed wife, though she
sometimes remembers the shamrock and sighs, have no such
pains concealed.
But were they always thus contented ? Did they cross that
mysterious river, whose course never yet run smooth, without
any trial and tribulation, such as most voyagers on its bosom
have encountered since the world began certainly since Jacob
served seven years for Rachel and was then put off with Leah,
and obliged to serve other seven for his first love? We shall
see : and this brings me back to one of those many Fridays I
have spoken of. 1 am not sure but I must turn another leaf
and begin with Thursday yes, I have the time now, it was a
Thursday. It was as bright an afternoon as ever turned the
green swaths into gray, or twinkled against the shadows stretch*
ing eastward from the thick-rising haycocks.
OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
n.
IT was early in July, when the bitter of the apples began to
grow sweet, and their sunward sides a little russet ; when the
chickens ceased from peeping and following the parent hen,
and began to scratch hollows in garden beds, and to fly suddenly
upon fences or into trees, and to crow and cackle with un-
practised throats, as though they were well used to it, and
cared not who heard them, for which disagreeable habits their
heads were now and then brought to the block. Blackberries
were ripening in the hedges, and the soft silk was swaying
beneath the tassels of the corn.
Such was the season when, one day, just after dinner, Mrs.
Wetherbe came to pass the afternoon, and, as she said, to kill
two birds with one stone, by securing a passage to the city
on the morrow in my father's wagon for many were the old
ladies, and young ones too, who availed themselves of a like
privilege. Of course it was a pleasure for us to accommodate
her, and not the less, perhaps, that it was a favor she had never
asked before, and was not likely to ask again.
She was a plain old lady, whom to look at was to know
good and simple-hearted as a child. She was born and had
been bred in the country, and was thoroughly a country woman ;
her high heeled and creaking calf-skin shoes had never trodden
beyond the grass of her own door-yard more than once or twice,
for even a friendly tea-drinking with a neighbor was to her a
matter of not more than biennial occurrence. And on the day
I speak of she seemed to feel mortified that she should spend
two consecutive days like a gad-about in view of which ne-
cessity feeling bound in all self-respect to offer apologies.
In the first place, she had not for six years been to visit her
niece, Mrs. Emeline Randall, who came to her house more or
less every summer, and really felt slighted and grieved that
her visits were never returned. So Mrs. Randall expressed
herself, and so Mrs. Wetherbe thought, honest old lady as she
was! and so it seemed now as though she must go and se
MRS. WETHERBE'S QTJTLTTNO PARTY. IT
Emeline, notwithstanding she would just as soon, she said, put
her head in a hornet's nest, any time, as go to town; for she
regarded its gayeties and fashions and all city people, in her
opinion, were gay and fashionable as leading directly toward
the kingdom of the Evil One. Therefore it was, as I conceive
quite doubtful, whether for the mere pleasure of visiting her
amiable niece, Mrs. Wetherbe would have entered the city
limits.
She wanted some cap stuff and some home-made linen, if
such things were to be procured in these degenerate days, though
if she only had the flax she could spin and weave the linen
herself, old as she was, and would not be caught running about
town to buy it ; for, if she did say it. she was worth more than
half the girls now at work; and no one who saw how fast her
brown withered fingers flew round the stocking she was knitting,
would have doubted it at all.
"Nothing is fit for the harvest-field but homespun linen,"
said Mrs. Wetherbe, "and if Wetherhe don't have il he'll be
nigh about sick, and I may jest as well go fust as las-t. for he
won't hear to my spinning, sence I am sixty odd ; h* says he
don't like the buz of the wheel, but to me there's no nicer
music."
The last trowsers of her own making were worn out, and
along for several days past her good man had then been obliged
to wear cloth ones; which fact was real scandalous in the good
woman's estimation, and in this view it certainly was time she
should bestir herself, as she proposed.
Moreover, she had one or two other errands that especially
induced her to go to town. A black calico dress she must have,
as she had worn the old one five years, and now wanted to cut
it up and put it in a quilt, for she always intended it to jine
some patchwork she'd had on hand a long time, and now she
vas going to do it, and make a quilting party, and have the
work all done at once. I, of course, received then and there
the earliest invitation.
This was years ago, and the fashion of such parties has long
ince passed away, but in due time I will tell you about this,
18 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
as you may never have an opportunity of participating in sucL
a proceeding.
Perhaps you may have seen persons, certainly I have, who
seem to feel called on, from some feeling of obligation I do not
understand, to offer continual apologies for whatever they do,
or propose to do. It was so with good Mrs. Wetherhe, and
after the announcement of this prospective frolic, she talked a
long chapter of whys and wherefores, after this wise.
William Helphenstein Randall, Emeline's oldest son, had
been living at her house three or four years, and he had leased,
month in and month out, to have a wood-chopping and quilting,
some afternoon, and a regular play party in the evening; and
he had done so many good turns for her, that it seemed as if a
b"dy could hardly get round it without seeming reel disoblee-
gin' ; and though she didn't approve much of such worldly
carryings on, she thought for once she would humor Helph ;
and then, too, they would get wood prepared for winter, and
more or less quilting done for " though on pleasure she was
bent, she was of frugal mind.'*
1 remarked that I was under an impression that Mr. Randall
was a man of property, and asked if Helph was out of college.
" Why, bless your heart, no," said Mrs. Wetherbe, " he
was never in a college, more'n I be this minute ; his father is
as rich as Cresus, but his children got all their larnin' in free
schools, pretty much; Helph hasn't been to school this ten
years a'most, 1 guess. Let me see : he was in a blacksmith's
shop sartainly two or three years before he come to my house,
and he isn't but nineteen now, so he must have been tuck from
school airly. The long and short on't is," continued the old
lady, making her knitting-needles fly again, " Emeline, poor
gal, has got a man that is reel clos't, and the last time I was
there I most thought he begrudged me my victuals ; but I was
keerful to take butter and garden-sass, and so on, enough to
pay for all I got." And she dropped her work, she was so ex-
asperated, for though economical and saving in all ways, she
was not meanly stingy. She had chanced to glide into a com-
municative mood, by no means habitual to her, and the per-
spiration stood in drops on her forehead and her little black
MRS. WETHERBFS QUILTING PARTY 19
eyes winked with great rapidity for a minute, before she added,
" And that ain't the worst on't neither, he is often in drink, and
sich times he gits the Old Clooty in him as big as a yearlin
heifer !"
" Ay, I understand," I said, " and that is why Helph happens
to live witn you."
" Yes," said Mrs. Wetherbe, resuming her knitting, " that's
why, and it's the why of a good many other things; 1 don't
know as I ought to talk of things that are none of my business,
as you may say, but my temper gits riled and a'most biles
over the pot, when I think of some things Jinny Mitchel has
telled me: she's their adopted darter, you know; but that
speaking of the pot reminds me that I broke my little dinner
pot last week, and if there will be room for it I want to kerry it
along and get a new leg put in. And so you see," she con-
cluded, " I have arrants enough to take me to town ;" and she
wiped her spectacles, preparatory to going home, saying the
glasses were too young for her, and she must get older ones to-
morrow, and that was one of the most urgent things, in fact,
that took her to the city. Having promised that 1 would ac-
company her, to select the new dress, and dine with Mrs.
Randall, she took leave, with an assurance of being ready at
six o'clock in the morning, so as not to detain us a grain or
morsel.
Ill
WHEN morning began to redden over the eastern stars, our
household was astir, and while we partook of an early break-
fast, the light wagon, which was drawn by two smart young
bays, was brought to the door. Baskets, jugs, and other things,
were imbedded among the straw, with which our carriage was
plentifully supplied, and a chair was placed behind the one seat,
for my accommodation, as Mrs. Wetherbe was to occupy the
place beside my father. I have always regarded the occupancy
of the chair, on that occasion, as an example of self-sacrifice
which I should not like to repeat, however beautiful in theory
may be the idea of self-abnegation. But I cannot hope that
JO OUR NF.TOTTBORTTOOD.
others will appreciate this little benevolence of mine, unless
they have ridden eight or more miles, in an open wagon, and
on a chair slipping from side to side, and jolting up and down,
behind two coltish trotters, and over roads that for a part of
the time kept one wheel in the gutter and one in the air.
But I must leave to the imagination the ups and downs of
this particular epoch of my life. Still one star stood, large and
white, above the hills, but the ground of crimson began to be
dashed with gold when we set forward.
Notwithstanding the " rough, uneven ways, which drew out
the miles, and made them wearisome," these goings to the city
are among the most delightful recollections of my life. They
were to my young vision openings of the brightness of the
world ; and after the passage of a few years, with their ex-
periences, the new sensations that freshen and widen the at-
mosphere of thought are very few and never so bright as I had
then.
Distinctly fixed in my mind is every house its color and
size, and the garden walks and trees with which it was surround-
ed, and by which the roadsides between our homestead and
that dim speck we called the city, were adorned; and nothing
would probably seem to me now so fine as did the white walls,
and smooth lawns, and round-headed gate-posts, which then
astonished my unpractised eyes.
Early as we were, we found Mrs. Wetherbe in waiting at her
gate, long before reaching which the fluttering of her scarlet
merino shawl, looking like the rising of another morning, ap-
prised us of our approach to it.
She had been nigh about an hour watching for us, she said,
and was just going into the house to take off her things, when
she saw the heads of the horses before a great cloud of dust ;
and though she couldn't see the color of the wagon, nor a sign
of the critters, to tell whether they were black or white, she
knew right-a-way that it was our- team, for no body else druv
such fine horses.
" Here, Mrs. Witherbe, get right in," said my father, who
was fond of horses, and felt the compliment as much as if
> had been, to hiinself ; and it was owing entirely to this that
MR3. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTT. 21
he said Mrs. Witherbe instead of Mrs. Wetherbe, though I am
not sufficiently a metaphysician to explain why such cause
should have produced such an effect.
Helphenstein, who was chopping wood at the door, called
out, as we were leaving, " Don't forget to ask Jenny to come
to the quilting ;" and Mr. Wetherbe paused from his churning,
beneath a cherry-tree, to say, " Good-bye, mother ; be careful,
and not lose any money, for it's a hard thing to slip into a pus,
and it's easy to slip out."
The good woman held up her purse a little linen bag tied at
one end with a tow string, and pretty well distended at the
other to assure the frugal husband she had not lost it in
climbing into the wagon ; and having deposited it for safe keep-
ing where old ladies sometimes stow away thread, thimble,
beeswax, and the like, she proceeded to give us particular ac-
counts of all the moneys, lost or found, of which she ever knew
any thing, and at last concluded by saying she had sometimes
thought her old rnan a leetle more keerful than there was any
need of; but, after all, she didn't know as he was ; and this
was just the conclusion any other loving and true-hearted wife
would have arrived at in reference to any idiosyncrasy pertain-
ing to her "old man," no matter what might, could, would or
should be urged on the contrary.
One little circumstance of recent occurrence operated greatly
in favor of the carefulness of Mr. Wetherbe, in the mind of
his very excellent and prudent wife. Helph had lately, in a
most mysterious and unaccountable manner, lost two shillings
out of his trowsers pocket.
" It was the strangest thing ever could have happened," she
said : " he was coming home from town Helph was and he
said, when he paid toll, he just had two shillings left ; aiid he
put it in the left pocket of his trowsers, he said ; he said he
knew he had it then, for just as he rode up the bank of the
creek, his horse stumbled, and he heard the money jingle, just
a? plain as could be ; and when he got home, and went up stairs,
and went to hang up his trowsers before he went to go to bed,
he just thought he would feel in his pocket, and the money
wasn't there ! He said then, he thought he might have been
ft OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
mistaken, and so he felt in the other pocket, he said, and
behold, it was clean gone ! And such things make a body feel
as if they could not be too keerful," observed Mrs. Wetherbe,
"for you might as well look for a needle in a haystack, as for
a dollar once lost. Helph," she added, " rode back tho next
morning as far as the toll-house, and though he kept his eyes
bent on the ground, the search wasn't of no use." And she
suddenly started, and clapped her hand, not in her pocket, but
where she had deposited her own purse, exclaiming, as she did
so, " Mercy on us ! I thought at fust it was gone ; and I declare
for it, I am just as weak as a cat, now, and I shall not get over
my fright this whole blessed day."
"You are a very nervous person," said my father, and with
him this was equivalent to saying, you are a very foolish wo-
man ; for he had little patience with men or women who make
inuch-ado-about-nothing ; and, venting his irritation by a sudden
use of the whip, the horses started forward, and threw me quite
out of my chair ; but the straw prevented me from receiving
any injury, and I gained my former position, while the hands
of Mrs. Wetherbe were yet in consternation in the air.
This feat of mine, and the laughter which rewarded it, brought
back more than the first good-humor of my father, and he
reined in the horses, saying, "They get over the ground pretty
smartly, don't they, Mrs. Wetherbe?"
" Gracious sakes !" she replied. " how they do whiz by things;
it appears like they fairly fly." The conversation then turned
on the march of improvement; for we had come to the turn-
pike, and the rattling of the wheels, and the sharp striking of
the hoofs on the stones, were reminders of the higher civili-
zation we were attaining, as well as serious impediments to any
colloquial enjoyment.
"A number of buildings have gone up since you were here,'*
said my father, addressing the old lady
" What has gone up where ?" she answered, bending her ear
towards him. But failing to notice that she did not reply cor
rectly, he continued : " That is the old place Squire Gates used
to own ; it don't look much as it used to, does it ?"
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. t
" Yes, la me ! what a nice place it is ! Somewhere near eld
Squire Gates's, isn't it?"
' Yes, he was an old man," said my father, " when he owned
that place ; and near sixty when he married his last wife, Polly
Weaver, that was."
" Dear me, neighbor, how we get old and pass away ! but I
never heard of the old man's death. What kind of fever did
you say he died with?"
" He is dead, then, is he ? Well, I believe he was a pretty
good sort of man. I have nothing laid up against him. Do
you know whether he made a will ?"
" Who did he leave it to ?" inquired the lady, still misappre-
hending. " Jeems, I believe, was his favorite, though I always
thought Danel the best of the two."
" Well, I am glad Jeems has fared the best," replied my
father ; " he was the likeliest son the old man had."
" Yes," she said, vaguely, for she had not heard a word this
time.
" What did you say ?" asked my father, who liked to have
his remarks answered in some sort.
The old lady looked puzzled, and said she didn't say any
thing ; and after a moment my father resumed : " Well, do you
know where the old man died ?" And in a tone that seemed
to indicate that she didn't know much of any thing, she inqui-
red, "What?" and then continued, in a tone of irritation, "I
never saw a wagon make such a terrible rattletebang in my
born days."
" I asked if you knew where he died ?" repeated my father,
speaking very loud.
"Oh no, we did hear once that he had separated from his
wife, and gone back to the old place ; folks said she wasn't any
better than she should he ; I don't pretend to know ; and 1
don't know whether he died there, or where he died. I don't
go about much to hear any thing, and I didn't know he was
dead till you told me."
"Who told you?" asked my father, looking as though she
would not repeat the assertion the second time.
M OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
"I said I didn't know it till you told me," she answered,
innocently; "and I was just about to ask where he died."
"The devil !" said my father, losing not only all civility, but
all patience too; "I never told you any such thing, Mrs.
Wetherbe. I have not seen you to talk with you any for a
number of years till this morning, when you told me yourself
that the old man was dead ; and if 1 had ever told such a story,
I should remember it."
" Why," she interposed, "you will surely remember, when
you think of it. It was just after -we passed Squire Gates's
house ; and the fever he died with you mentioned too."
" Good heavens ! it was just there you told me ; and I had
not heard till that minute of his death. I will leave it to my
daughter here," he continued, turning to me, who, laughing at
these blunders, was shaken and jolted from side to side, and
backward and forward, and up and down, all the time.
At this juncture, a smart little chaise, drawn by a high-
headed black horse, with a short tail, approached from the
opposite direction. Within sat a white-haired old gentleman,
wearing gloves and ruffles; and beside him, a more youthful
and rather gayly dressed lady. Both looked smiling and
happy ; and as they passed, the gentleman bowed low to Mrs.
"Wetherbe and my father.
"That is Squire Gates and his wife now !" exclaimed both
at once; and each continued, "It's strange how you happened
to tell me he was dead."
" Both are right, and both are wrong," said I, and thereupon
I explained their mutual misunderstanding, and the slightly irri-
table feelings in which both had indulged subsided, and ended
in hearty good-humor.
The slant rays of the sun began to struggle through the black
smoke that blew against our faces, for the candle and soap
factories of the suburbs began to thicken, and the bleating of
lambs and calves from the long, low slaughter-houses which
ran up the hollows opposite the factories, made the head sick
and the heart ache as we entered city limits.
Fat and red-faced butchers, carrying long whips, and reining
in the gay horses they bestrode, met us, one after anothei,
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 2ft
driving back from the market great droves of cattle, that, tired
and half maddened, galloped hither and thither, lashing their
tails furiously, and now and then sharply striking their horns
against each other, till they were forced through narrow pas-
sages into the hot and close pens no breath of fresh air, nor a
draught of water between them and their doom.
Now and then a little market-cart, with empty boxes and
barrels that had lately been filled with onions, turnips, or rad-
ishes, went briskly by us : the two occupants, who sat on a
board across the front of it, having thus early disposed of their
cargo, and being now returning home to their gardens. Very-
happy they looked, with the proceeds of their sales in the
pockets of their white aprons, and not unfrequently also a calf s
head or beef sliver, half-a-dozen pigs' feet, or some similar deli-
cacy, to be served up with garlics for dinner.
Countrymen who had ridden to market on horseback, were
likewise already returning to their farms. The basket which
had so lately been filled with the yellow rolls of butter, and
covered with the green broad leaves of the plantain, was filled
now, instead, with tea and sugar, with perhaps some rice and
raisins, and possibly a new calico gown for the wife at home.
\Vhat a pleasant surprise when the contents of the basket shall
be made known !
After all, the independent yeoman, with his simple rusticity
and healthful habits, is the happiest man in the world. And as
1 saw these specimens of the class returning home, with joyous
faces and full baskets, I could not help saying what all the
world should know, if it be true, from its having been pretty
frequently repeated, "When ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be
wis \"
11 What is it, darter?" said Mrs. Wetherbe, bending towards
ttie, for her apprehensions were not very quick.
" 1 was saying," 1 replied, " that the farmers are the happiest
people in the world."
" Yes, yes, they are the happiest," her predilections, of
course, boing in favor of her own way of living; " it stands
to reason that it hardens the heart to live in cities, and makes
folks selfish too. Look there, what a dreadful sight !" and she
z
*9 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
pointed to a cart filled with sheep and lambs, on the top of which
*ere thrown two or three calves, with their feet tied together,
and reaching upwards, their heads stretched back, and their
tongues hanging out. "Really, the law should punish such
wicked and useless cruelty," she said ; and I thought t nd still
think that Mrs. Wetherbe was not altogether wrong.
Men, and the signs of affairs, began to thicken ; blacksmiths
were beating iron over their glowing forges, carpenters shov-
ing the plane, and the trowel of the mason ringing against the
bricks. Men, women, and children hurried to and fro, and
all languages were heard, and all costumes were seen, as if
after a thousand generations, the races were returning to be
again united at Babel.
" What a perfect bedlam !" said Mrs. Wetherbe ; " I wish to
mercy I was ready to go home. Here, maybe, you had better
wait a little," she added, seizing the rein, and pointing in the di-
rection of a grocery and variety shop, where some crockery ap-
peared at the window, and a strip of red flannel at the door.
" Don't you want to go down town ?" said my father, rein-
ing up.
"Yes," she replied, " but I see some red flannel here, and I
want to get a few yards for a petti kit."
Having assured her she could get it anywhere else as well,
she consented to go on, fixing the place in her mind, so that she
could find it again, if necessary ; and we shortly found ourselves
at Mr. Randall's door.
IV.
"Ws will just go in the back way," said Mrs. Wetherbe;
" I don't like to ring the bell, and wait an hour ;" and accord-
ingly she opened a side door, and we found ourselves in th
breakfast-room, where the family were assembled.
" Why, if it isn't Aunty Wetherbe !" exclaimed a tall, pale-
faced woman, coming forward and shaking hands. " Have you
brought me something good ?" she added quickly, at the same
time relieving the old lady of the basket of nice butter, the jug
of milk, the eggs, and the loaf of home-made bread, which she
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 87
had brought partly from the kindness of her heart, partly to
secure her welcome. Thus relieved of her burdens, she went
forward to the table for Mr. Randall did not rise and offered
her hand.
" Lord-a-mighty, woman, I didn't know you," he said, in a
blustering way ; but he evidently didn't wish to know her.
" Who the devil have you brought with you ?" referring to me,
with a nod of the head, and bending a pair of grayish blue eyes
on me.
This salutation was not particularly calculated to make me
feel happy, or at home, for I was young and timid ; but remov-
ing myself from the range of his glance, I deliberately surveyed
the group, with each of whom I felt myself acquainted, in a
moment, as well as I wished to be in my life time.
Mr. Randall, having inquired who I was, in the peculiarly
civil manner I have stated, remarked to his relation, that half
the town was on his shoulders, and he must be off; he supposed
also she had enough to do in her little sphere, and would pro-
bably have gone home before his return to dinner; so, having
wrung her hand, and told her she must come and stay six months
at his house some time, he departed, or rather went in to the ad
joining room, whence after a rattling of glasses and a deep-drawn
breath or two, he returned, wiping his lips, and said to the old
lady in a quick, trembling, querulous tone, and as though his
heart were really stirred with anxiety, " Satan help us, woman !
1 almost forgot to ask about my son how is Helph ? how is
my son, Helph?"
His paternal feelings were soon quieted, and turning to his
wife, who had resumed her seat at the table, with hair in papers,
and dressed in a petticoat and short-gown, he said, "Emeline,
don't hurry up the cakes too fast ; I don't want dinner a minute
before three o'clock," and this time he really left the house.
Besides Mrs. Randall, there were at the table two little boys,
of ten and eight, perhaps ; two big boys of about fourteen and
sixteen : and a girl of fifteen, or thereabouts. " Oh," said one
of the larger boys, as if now first aware of the presence of his
aunt, and speaking with his mouth full of food, " Oh, Miss Ma-
linda Ilo'j-the-corn, how do you do? I didn't see you before."
88 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
Of course the good woman was disconcerted, and blushed, as
perhaps she had not done since her worthy husband asked her
if she had any liking for his name more years ago than she
could now remember.
Observing this, the rude fellow continued, " Beg pa-don : I
thought it was Malinda Hoe-the-corn, but it's my sweetheart,
Dolly Anne Matilda Steerhorn, and she's blushing, head and
ears, to see me." And approaching the astonished and bewil-
dered woman, he began to unpin her shawl, which was of an old
fashion, saying, as he attempted to pass his arm around her
waist, " Get up, my love, and let's have a waltz ; come, take off
your hoss-blanket."
But she held her shawl tightly with one hand, thrusting the
impudent fellow away with the other, as she exclaimed, "Get
along with you, you sassy scrub !"
" That is right, Aunty Wetherbe," said the mother, " he is
a great lubbersides, and that is just what he is;" but she
laughed heartily, and all the group, with the exception of the
little girl, seemed to think he was behaving very funnily ; and
in his own estimation he was evidently displaying some very
brilliant qualities, and had quite confounded a simple-minded
old woman with his abundant humor, and unembarrassed man-
ners. " Well," he continued, no whit disconcerted by the dis-
pleasure of his aunt, "I am a business man, and must leave
you, my dear, but I'll bring my wedding coat and the parson to-
night, and an orange flower for you."
There was now an opportunity for the older brother to ex-
hibit some of his accomplishments, and the occasion was not to
be slighted; so, after having inquired what news was in the
country, how the crops were, &c., he said, "I am sorry, aunt,
that I have such a complication of affairs on hand that I can't
stay and entertain you, but so it is: you must come round to
my house and see my wife before you return home."
" Mercy sakes !" she cried, adjusting her spectacles to survey
the youth, " you can't be married ?"
" Why, yes," he replied, "haven't you heard of it? and I
have a boy six munts old !"
" Well, I'd never have thought it ; but you have grown all
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. n
out of my knowledge, and I can hardly tell whiVh one you he;
in fact, I would not hnve known you if 1 had inet you any place
else; and yet I can see Emeline's looks in you."
"That is what everybody says," replied the youth; %t I look
just like my mammy ;" for, fancying it would seem boyish to
say mother, he addressed her in a half mock, half serious way,
as *' mammy."
"And so you have to go away to your work, do you ?" re-
sumed the credulous woman : " what kind of business are you
doing here ?"
" I am a chicken fancier," he replied : " Got any Polands or
Shanghais out your way ?"
" I don't know," answered Aunt Wetherbe, unobservant of
the tittering about the table.
" I'd like to get some white bantams for my wife and baby ;''
and the facetious nephew closed one eye and fixed the other on
me.
" What do you call the baby f '
" My wife wants to call him for me, but I don't like my own
name, and think of calling him Jim Crow."
"Now just get along with you," the mother said, "and no
more of your nonsense."
He then began teasing his mammy, as he called her. for
some money to buy white kid gloves, saying he wanted to take
his girl to a ball. " Then you have just been imposing upon
me," said Mrs. Wetherbe ; to which the scapegrace replied, that
he hadn't been doing nothing shorter ; and, approaching the
girl, who was quietly eating her breakfast, he continued, taking
her ear between his thumb and finger, and turning her head to
one side, " I want you to iron my ruffled shirt fust rate *rd
particular, do you hear that, nigger waiter?"
After these feats he visited the sideboard, after the example
of his father, and having asked his mother if she knew where
in thunder the old man kept the dimes, adjusted a jaunty cap
of shining leather to one side and left the house.
"I am glad you are gone," said the girl, looking after him
and speaking for the first time.
" Come*come, you just tend to your own affairs, Miss Jenny
M OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
and finish your breakfast some time before noon." said Mrs,
Randall, putting on a severe look.
"I had to wait on the children all the time you were eating,"
she replied, rising from the table with glowing cheeks.
' Oh, you had to wait on great things !" the woman said,
tartly : " big eaters always want some excuse."
Not till the two little boys had demolished the last remnants
of what seemed to have been but a "spare feast" in the first
place, was the bell rung for Aunt Kitty, the colored woman
who presided over the kitchen. She was one of those dear old
creatures whom you feel like petting and calling "mammy"
at once. She was quiet, and a good heart shone out over her
yellow face, and a cheerful piety pervaded her conversation.
She retained still the softness of manner and cordial warmth
of feeling peculiar to the South ; and added to this was the
patient submission that never thought of opposition.
She had lived nearly fifty years, and most of them had been
passed in hard labor ; but notwithstanding incessant toil, it
seemed to me that she was still pretty. True, she possessed
few of the attributes which, in the popular estimation, makeup
beauty ; neither symmetry of proportions, fairness of complex-
ion, nor that crowning grace of womanhood, long, heavy, and
silken tresses. No, her face was of a bright olive, and her hair
was concealed by a gorgeous turban, and I suspect more beau-
tiful thus concealed, but her teeth were sound, and of sparkling
whiteness, and her eyes black as night, and large, but instead
of an arrowy, of a kind of tearful and reproachful expression ;
indeed, in all her face there was that which would have seemed
reproachful, but for the sweetly-subduing smile that played
over it. She was short and thick-set, and as for her dress, I
can only say it was cleanly, for in other respects it was like
that of the celebrated priest who figures in the nursery rhyme,
"all tattered and torn." As for her slippers, they h*ad evi-
dently never been made for her, and in all probability were
worn out before they came into her possession ; but her feet
were generally concealed by the long skirt of her dress, a
morning wrapper of thin white muslin, past the uses of her
mistress, who, be it known, gave nothing away which by any
MRS. WETHERBE-S QUILTING PARTY. II
possibility could be of service to herself. To adapt it to her
work, Aunt Kitty had shortened the sleeves and tucked up the
skirt with pins; but the thinness of the fabric revealed the
bright red and blue plaids of the worsted petticoat, making her
appearance somewhat fantastic. Courtesying to us gracefully
as she entered the breakfast-room, sht proceeded to remove
the dishes.
" Why don't you take a bite first yourself?" asked Mrs.
Eandall.
" No matter about me," she said ; " I want to guv these la-
dies a cup of coffee they are come away from the country, and
must feel holler-like thank de Lord, we can 'suscitate 'em ;"
and with a monument of dishes in her hands she was leaving
the room, when Mrs. Randall asked, in no very mild tones, if
she considered herself mistress of the house ; and if not, di-
rected her to wait till she had directions before she went to
wasting things by preparing a breakfast that nobody wanted ;
when turning to us, she said, a little more mildly, but in a way
that precluded our acceptance, "You breakfasted at home, I
suppose ?"
Poor Aunt Kitty was sadly disappointed, but consoled herself
with the hope that we should return to dinner. Mrs. Eandall,
however, said nothing about it.
Jenny, a pretty rosy-faced Irish girl, Mrs. Eandall told us was
her adopted daughter ; and certainly we should never have
guessed it, had she failed of this intimation.
" I do by her just as I would by my own child," said the lady ;
" and for her encouragement, I give her three shillings in money
every week to buy what she likes."
" You can well afford it, she must be a great deal of help to
you," Mrs. VVetherbe said.
But Mrs. Eandall affirmed that she was little assistance f
her, though she admitted that Jenny did all the sewing for the
family, the chamber-work, tending at the door, and errands.
From my own observation, in a single hour, I felt assured
that the girl's situation was any thing but desirable : called on
constantly by all the members of the family to do this thing or
that, for having no set tasks, it was thought she should do
3 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
every thing, and be responsible for all the accidents of all the
departments. " Here, Jenny," called one of the little boys, who
^ere no less accomplished in their way than the older brothers,
' black my shoes, and do it quick, too," at the same time throw-
ing a pair of coarse brogans roughly against her.
" I haven't time," she answered " you must do it yourself."
" That's a great big lie," said the boy : and prostrating him-
self on the floor, he caught her skirts and held her fast, while he
informed us that her father was nobody but an old drunkard,
and her mother was a washerwoman, and that Jenny had better
look at home before she got too proud to black shoes.
" Let me go," said she ; " if my father is a drunkard, yours
is no better," and she vainly tried to pull her dress away from
him, her face burning with shame and anger for the exposure.
" Jenny !" called Mrs. Eandall from the head of the stairs,
**Come along with you and do your chamber- work."
" Franklin is holding me, and won't let me come," she an-
swered ; but the woman repeated her order, saying she would
hear no such stories.
" It's pretty much so !" called out Mrs. Wetherbe, " it's pretty
much so, Emeline." But as she descended, the boy loosened
his hold, and of course received no blame, and the poor girl had
a slap on the ear with on admonition to see now if she could do
her work.
*' Sissy," said Aunt Kitty, putting her head in the door, " can't
you just run, honey, and get me a cent's worth of yeast?"
Meantime Mrs. Wetherbe had asked Jenny to pass a week at
her house, assist in preparations for the quilting party and en-
joy it; but she feared to ask liberty, and the kind old woman
broke the matter to Mrs. Randall, and 1 seconded the appeal.
" She has no dress to wear," urged the mistress.
" Then she ought to have," responded the old lady, with spirit.
" I have money enough to get one," said Jenny, bashfully ;
" can't I go with these ladies and get it ?"
But Mrs. Randall said she had been idling away too much
time to ask for more, and she enumerated a dozen things that
should be done. However, Mrs. Wetherbe and 1 combated the
decision, and volunteered our assistance, so that reluctant per*
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. S
mission to go out with us was granted. Gratitude opened Jen-
ny's heart, and as we hastened our work she confided to me
many of her trials and sorrows, and I soon perceived that the
three shillings per week made all her compensation, with the ex-
ception of now and then an old pair of gloves or a faded ribbon,
cast off by her mistress. It was true her father was a drunkard,
and her mother, a poor weakly woman, had six children to pro-
vide for. Jenny gave almost all her own earnings for their sup-
port. " They have pretended to adopt me as a child," she said,
" that they may seem liberal to me ; but I am, as you see, an
underling and a drudge."
My heart was pained for her as I saw the hardness and hope-
lessness of her fate ; and when at last she was ready to go with
us, the poor attempt she made to look smart really had the ef-
fect of rendering her less presentable than before ; but between
her palm and her torn glove she had slipped two dollars in
small change, and she was quite happy. Then, too, the new
dress should be made in womanly fashion, for she was in her
fifteenth year.
We were just about setting out when, with more exultation
than regret in her tone, Mrs. Randall called Jenny to come back,
for that her little brother wanted to see her.
" Oh dear !" she said, turning away with tears in her eyes;
and in that exclamation there was the death of all her hopes.
We soon saw how it was: the miserable little wretch was
come for money, and without a word, Jenny removed the glove
and gave him all.
" Don't wait to blubber," said the mistress ; " you have lost
time enough for one day ;" and the girl retired to exchange her
best dress and renew her work.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Randall had belonged to the poorest class
of people, and the possession of wealth had increased or given
fecope to their natural meanness, without in the least diminishing
their vulgarity.
If there be anj condition with whom I really dislike to come
in contact, it is the constitutionally mean and base-mannered who,
accidentally/)!- by miserly plodding, become rich. You need but a
glimpse of such persons, or of their homes, to know them. No
14 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
expenditures in laces, siks, jewelry, costly carpets, or rara
woods, can remove them one hand's breadth from their proper
position ; and the proper position of the Randalls was that of the
menials over whom their money alone gave them supremacy.
We were a long time in getting through our many errands,
for Mrs. Wetherbe was detained not a little in surprise or ad-
miration at this or that novelty. When a funeral passed, she
could not think who could be dead, and essayed all her powers
to get a glimpse of the coffin, that she might know whether it
were a child or an adult ; or if a horseman cantered past, she gazed
after him, wondering if he was not going for the doctor, and if
he was, who in the world could be sick ; and then, she selected
little samples of goods she wished to purchase, and carried them
up to Emeline's, to determine whether they would wash well ;
but notwithstanding her frugality and cautiousness, she was not
mean ; and she lightened her purse on Jenny's behalf to the
amount of the stuff for a pretty new dress. But she could not
be spared for a week, and it was agreed that Ilelph should be
sent to bring her on the day of the quilting; and so, between
smiles and tears, we left her.
Alas for Aunt Kitty ! nothing could alleviate her disappoint-
ment: she had prepared dinner with special reference to us, and
we had not been there to partake of it, or to praise her. "Poor
souls ! de Lord help you," she said ; you will be starved a'most !"
Mrs. Randall was sorry dinner was over, but she never thought
of getting hungry when she was busy.
It was long after nightfall when, having left our friend and her
various luggage at her own home, we arrived at ours ; and we
had earned excellent appetites for the supper that waited us.
V.
THAT going to town by Mrs. Wetherbe, as I have intimated,
was chiefly with a view to purchases in preparation for the pro-
posed quilting party and wood-chopping. Not only did we select
calico for the border of the qui.t, with cotton batting and spool
thread, but we also procured sundry niceties for the supper,
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. U
among which I remember a jug of Orleans molasses, half *
pound of ground ginger, five pounds of cheese, and as many
pounds of raisins. Mrs. Wetherbe had never made a " frolic"
before, she said, and now she wouldn't have the name of being
near about it, let it cost what it would. And great excitement
ran through all the neighborhood so soon as it was known what
she had been about, and rumor speedily exaggerated the gallon
of molasses into a dozen gallons, the raisins into a keg, and so
on. Many thought it was not very creditable in a "professor"
to have such carryings on ; some wondered where she would find
any body in Clovernook good enough to ask ; others supposed
she would have all her company from the city ; and all agreed
that if she was going to have her " big-bug" relations, and do
her " great gaul," she might, for all of them. The wonder was
that she didn't make a party of " whole cloth," and not stick her
quilt in at all.
There was a great deal of surmising and debating likewise as
to the quilt itself; and some hoped it was a little nicer than any
patchwork they had seen of Mrs. Wetherbe's making. But this
unamiable disposition gradually gave way when it was known
that the frolic would embrace a wood-chopping as well as a quilt-
ing "for surely," said they, "she don't expect chaps from
town to cut wood !"
The speculation concerning the quilt began to decline ; what
matter whether it were to be composed of stars or stripes, " ris-
ing suns," or " crescents ?" Mrs. Wetherbe knew her own busi-
ness of course, and those who had at first hoped they would n< t
be invited, because they were sure they would not go if they
were, wavered visibly in their stout resolves.
From one or two families in which the greatest curios:' y
reigned, were sent little girls and boys, whose ostensible objects
were the borrowing of a darning-needle or a peck measure from
the harmless family who had become the centre of interest,
but their real errands were to see what they could see. So the
feeling of asperity was gradually mollified, as reports thus ob-
tained circulation favoring the neighborly and democratic char-
acter hitherto borne by the Wetherbes. At one time the good
old lady was found with her sleeves rolled b&'-k, mixing bread,
86 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
as she used to do ; and invariably she inquired of the little
spies how affairs were going forward at their homes. After
all, the neighbors began to think the quilting was not going to
be any such great things more than other quiltings. For
myself, I understood the whole subject pretty well from the
beginning.
One morning as I looked up from the window where I sat, I
saw Helphenstein Randall approaching, and at once divined his
errand. He was mounted on Mr. Wetherbe's old roan mare,
and riding a side-saddle; and he was in excellent spirits too, aa
J judged from his having the ragged rim of his hat turned up
jauntily in front, and from his goading the beast with heels and
bridle-rein; but not a whit cared the ancient mare; with youth
she had lost her ambition, and now she moved in slow and grace-
less way, her neck bent downward, and her nose greatly in ad-
vance of her ears. Half an hour afterwards 1 was on the way to
assist in preparations for the approaching festivities. But I was
only a kind of secondary maid of honor, for foremost on all oc-
casions of this kind was Ellen Blake, and in this present in-
stance she had preceded me, and with hair in papers, and sleeves
and skirt tucked up, she came forth in an at-hoine-attire, mis-
tress-of-the-house fashion, to welcome me a privilege she al-
ways assumed toward every guest on such occasions.
In truth, Ellen really had a genius for managing the affairs
of other people, and for the time being she felt almost always the
same interest in whatever was being done as though it were al-
together an affair of her own. She was also thought, in her
neighborhood, which was a sort of suburb of Clovernook, a full
quarter of the way to the city, to be very good company, and
it is no wonder that her services were much in demand. Very
ambitious about her work was Ellen, and few persons could get
through with more in a day than she ; in fact there are few more
faultless in nearly every respect ; nevertheless, there was one ob-
jection which some of the most old-fashiored people urged against
her she was dressy, and it was rumored just now that she had
got a new " flat," trimmed as full as it could stick of blue ribbons
and red artificial flowers, and also a white dress, flounced half
way up to the skirt.
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 87
Already the quilt was in the frames and laid out, as the mark-
ing was called, the chamber was ready fur the guests, and Ellen
said she thought she had been pretty smart if she did say it
herself.
'* I wanted to take the bed out of my front room and have
the quilting there," Mrs. Wetherbe observed, " but this head-
strong piece (pointing to Ellen) wouldn't hear of it."
" No, indeed," replied the girl; "it would have been the
greatest piece of presumption in the world ; la, me ! if we young
folks cut up as we do sometimes, we'd have that nice carpet in
doll-rags, and then the work of taking down and putting up the
bedstead all for nothing, as you may say."
I fully agreed that Ellen had made the wisest arrangement.
The chamber was large, covering an area occupied by three rooms
on the ground floor; and being next to the roof, the quilt could
be con-veniently attached to the ratters by ropes, and thus drawn
up out of the way in case it were not finished before nightfall.
The ceilings were unplastered, and on either side sloped within
a few feet of the floor, but the gable windows admitted a suf-
ficiency of light, and there was neither carpet nor furniture in the
way, except, indeed, the furnishing which Ellen had contrived for
the occasion, consisting chiefly of divans, formed of boards and
blocks, which were cushioned with quilts and the like. Besides
these, there were two or three barrels covered over with table-
cloths and designed to serve as hat-stands. There was no other
furniture, unless the draperies, formed of petticoats and trow-
sers, here and there suspended from pegs, might be regarded as
entitled to be so distinguished.
The rafters were variously garnished, with bags of seeds,
bunches of dried herbs, and hanks of yarn, with some fine spe-
cimens of extra large corn, having the husks turned back from
the yellow ears and twisted into braids, by which it was hung
for preservation and exhibition. One more touch our combined
ingenuity gave the place, on the morning of the day guests
were expected, and this consisted of festoons, of green boughs
and of flowers.
While we were busy with preparations in the kitchen, the day
following my arrival, Mrs. Randall suddenly made her appear-
*S OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
ance, wearing a faded dress, an old straw bonnet, and bearing in
one hand a satchel, and in the other an empty basket.
" Hi ho ! what brought you, mother?" exclaimed Helph, wno
ras watching our progress in beating eggs, weighing sugar,
crushing spices, &c. ; and this question was followed with
" Where is Jenny ?" and " How did you come?"
We soon learned that she had arrived in a market wagon, for
the sake of economy ; that her basket was to carry home eggs,
butter, apples, and whatever she could get ; and that, though
she proposed to assist us, she would in fact disconcert our ar-
rangements, and mar our happiness. Jenny was left at home
to attend the house, while she herself recruited and enjoyed a
little pleasuring.
No sooner had she tied on one of Mrs. Wetherbe's checked
aprons and turned back her sleeves, than our troubles began ;
of course she knew better than we how to manage every thing, and
the supper would not do at all, unless prepared under her direc-
tion. We were glad when Mrs. Wetherbe said, " Too many
cooks spoil the broth, and I guess the girls better have it their
own way." But Mrs. Randall was not to be dissuaded ; she
had come to help', and she was sure she would rather be doing a
little than not. She gave accounts of all the balls, dinners, and
suppers, at which she had been, and tried to impress us with the
necessity of having our country quilting as much in the style
of them as we could.
" We must graduate our ginger-cakes," she said, "and so form
a pyramid for the central ornament of the table ; the butter
must be in the shape of pineapples, and we must either have no
meats, or else call it a dinner, and after it was eaten, serve round
coffee, on little salvers, for which purpose we should have pretty
china cups."
I knew right well how ludicrous it would be to attempt the
twisting of Aunt Wetherbe's quilting and wood-chopping into a
fashionable party, but 1 had little eloquence or argument at com-
mand with which to combat the city dame's positive assertions
and impertinent suggestions.
" Have you sent your notes of invitation yet?" she asked.
*' No, uor I don't mean to send no notes nor nothing," said
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 99
the aunt, a little indignant; " it ain't like as if the queen was
going to make a quilting, I reckon."
But without heeding this pretty decisive answer Mrs. Randall
proceeded to remark that she had brought out some gilt-edged
paper and several specimen cards, among which she thought
perhaps the most elegant would be, " Mr. and Mrs. Wetherbe
at home," specifying the time, and addressed to whoever should
be invite d. But in vain this point was urged ; the old-fashioned
aunt said she would have no such mess written ; that Helph
might get on his horse and ride through the neighborhood and
ask the young people to come to the quilting and wood-chopping,
and that was enough.
There was but one thing more to vex us, while anticipating
the result of our efforts a rumor that Mrs. Wetherbe had hired
a " nigger waiter" for a week. Many did not and could not be-
lieve it, but others testified to the fact of having seen the said
waiter with their own eyes.
With all our combined forces, preparations went actively
forward, and before the appointed day every thing was in readi-
ness coffee ground, tea ready for steeping, chickens prepared
for broiling, cakes and puddings baked, and all'the extra saucers
filled with custards or preserves.
Ellen stoutly maintained her office as mistress of the ceremo-
nies ; and Mrs. Randall took her place as assistant, so that mine
became quite a subordinate position, for which I was not sorry,
as I did not feel competent to grace the elevated position at first
assigned me.
Helph had once or twice been warned by his mother that Jenny
would not come, and that he need not trouble himself to go for
her ; but he persisted in a determination to bring her ; in fact
his heart was set on it ; and the aunt seconded his decision in
the matter, as it was chiefly for Helph and Jenny she had de-
signed the merry-making, and she could not and would not be
cheated of her darling purpose.
" Well, have your own way and live the longer," said the mo-
ther; to which the son answered that such was his intention;
and accordingly, having procured the best buggy the neighbor-
hood ifforded, and brushed his coat and hat with extra care, he
40 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
set out for the city, before sunrise, on the long anticipated day
Dinner was served earlier than usual, and at one o'clock we were
all prepared Mrs. VVetherbe in the black silk she had had for
twenty years, and Ellen in her white flounced dress, with a comb
of enormous size, and a wreath of flowers above her curls; but
when "Emeline" made her appearance, neither our surprise nor
a feeling of indignant disappointment could be concealed : she
had appropriated to her own use Jenny's new dress, which Mrs.
Wetherbe had bought expressly for this occasion.
" Now you need n't scold, Aunt Wetherbe," she s=aid ; " it
was really too pretty a thing for that child ; and besides, I in-
tend to get her another before long."
"Humph!" said the old lady, "every bit and grain of my
comfort 's gone," and removing her spectacles she continued si-
lently rubbing them with her apron, till Ellen, who was stand-
ing at the window, on tip toe, announced that Jane Stillrnan was
coming " with her changeable silk on."
And Jane Stillrnan had scarcely taken offher things when Polly
Harris was announced. She wore a thin white muslin, and a
broad-rimmed Leghorn hat, set off with a profusion of gay rib-
bons and flowers, though she had ridden on horseback ; but in
those days riding-dresses were not much in vogue, at least in
the neighborhood of Clovern'ook.
Amid jesting and laughter we took our places at the quilt,
while Ellen kept watch at the window and brought up the new
comers sometimes two or three at once.
Mrs. Wetherbe had not been at all exclusive, and her invi-
tations included all, rich and poor, maid and mistress, as far as
she was acquainted. So, while some came in calico gowns, with
handkerchiefs tied over their heads, walking across the fields, oth-
ers were attired in silks and satins, and rode on horseback, or
were brought in market wagons by their fathers or brothers.
Along the yard fence hung rows of side-saddles, and old work
horses and sleek fillies were here and there tied to the branches
of the trees, to enjoy the shade, and nibble the grass, while the
iong-legged colts responded to calls of their dams, capering
s they would.
Nimbly ran fingers up and down and across the quilt, and
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 41
tongues moved no less nimbly ; and though now and then glances
strayed away from the work to the fields, and suppressed titters
broke into loud laughter, as, one after another, the young men
were seen with axes over their shoulders wending towards the
woods, the work went on bravely, and Polly Harris soon called
out, clapping her hands in triumph, " Our side is ready to ' roll.' "
Ellen was very busy and very happy, now overseeing the
rolling of the quilt, now examining the stitching of some young
quilter, and now serving round cakes and cider, and .giving to
every one kind words and smiles.
" Oh, Ellen," called a young mischief-loving girl, " please let
me and Susan Milford go out and play ;" and forthwith they
ran down stairs, and it was not till they were presently seen
skipping across the field with a basket of cakes and a j>g of
cider, that their motive was suspected, and then, for the first time
that day, gossip found a vent.
" 1 'd be sorry," said Mehitable Worthington, a tall, oldisk girl,
" to be seen running after the boys, as some do."
" La, me, Mehitable," answered Ellen, who always had a gwx:!
word for everybody, ' it ain't every one who is exemplary ) jce
you, but they are just in fun, you know ; young wild girls, j )u
know."
" 1 don't know how young they be," answered the spins. ,-r,
tartly, not much relishing any allusion to age, "but 'birds of
a feather flock together,' and them that likes the boys can ttlk
in favor of others that likes them."
" Why, don't you like them ?" asked Hetty Martin, looking
up archly.
" Yes, I lik them out of my sight," answered Mehitable,
stitching fast.
Upon hearing this, the dimples deepened in Hetty's cheeks,
and the smile was as visible in her black eyes as on her lips.
" I suppose you wish you had gone along," said Mehitable
maliciously, " but I can tell you the young doctor is not there ;
he was called away to the country about twelve o'clock, to a
man that took sick yesterday." Hetty's face crimsoned a little,
but otherwise she manifested no annoyance, and she replied,
laughingly, that she hoped he would get back before night.
42 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
Mehit&ble was not thus to be baffled, however ; her heart was
overflowing with bitterness, for he whom she called the young
doctor was, in her estimation, old enough to be a more fitting
mate for herself than for Hetty, her successful rival ; and no
sooner was she foiled in one direction than she turned in an-
other, revolving still in her mind such sweet and bitter fancies.
*' 1 guess he is no such great things of a doctor after all," she
said ; and elevating her voice and addressing a maiden on the
opposite side of the quilt, she continued, " Did you hear, Eliza-
beth, about his going to visit Mrs. Mercer, and supposing her at-
tacked with cholera, when in a day or two the disease fell in her
arms ?"
This effervescence was followed by a general laughter, during
which Hetty went to the window, apparently to disentangle her
thread ; but Ellen speedily relieved her by inviting her to go
with her below and see about the supper.
" I should think," said Elizabeth, who cordially sympathized
with her friend, " the little upstart would be glad to get out of
sight ;" and then came a long account of the miserable way in
which Hetty's family lived ; " every one knows," they said, " her
father drinks up every thing, and for all she looks so fine in her
white dress, most likely her mother has earned it by washing or
sewing : they say she wants to marry off her young beauty, but
I guess it will be hard to do."
VV T hen Hetty returned to the garret, her eyes were not so
bright as they had been, but her subdued manner made her only
the prettier, and all, save the two ancient maidens alluded to,
were ready to say or do something for her pleasure. Those un-
comfortable persons, however, were not yet satisfied, and tip-
ping their tongues with the unkindest venom of all, they began
to talk of a wealthy and accomplished young lady, somewhere,
whom it was rumored the doctor was shortly to marry, in spite
of little flirtations at home, that some ~ople thought meant
something. Very coolly they talked of the mysterious belle's
superior position and advantages, as though no humble and lov-
ing heart shook under their words as under a storm of arrows.
The young girls came back from the woods, and hearing their
reports of the number of choppers, and how many trees were
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 41
felled, and cut and corded, the interrupted mirthfulness was re-
stored, though Hetty laughed less joyously, and her elderly ri
vals maintained a dignified reserve.
Aside from this little episode, all went merry, and from the
west window a golden streak of sunshine stretched further and
further, till it began to climb the opposite wall, when the quilt
was rolled to so narrow a width that but few could work on it to
advantage, and Ellen, selecting the most expeditious to com-
plete the task, took with her the rest to assist in preparing the
supper, which was done to the music of vigorous strokes echo-
ing and re-echoing from the adjacent woods.
VI.
BENEATH the glimmer of more candles than Mrs. Wetherbe
had previously burned at once, the supper was spread, and it
was very nice and plentiful ; for, more mindful of the wood
chopper's appetites than of Mrs. Randall's notions of propriety,
there were at least a dozen broiled chickens, besides other sub
stantial dishes, on the table. I need not attempt a full enumera-
tion of the preserves, cakes, pies, puddings, and other such
luxuries, displayed on Mrs. Wetherbe's table, and which it is
usual for country housewifes to provide with liberal hands on
occasions of this sort.
Ellen was very proud, as she took the last survey before
sounding the horn for the men-folks; and well she might be so,
for it was chiefly through her ingenuity and active agency that
every thing was so tastefully and successfully prepared.
Mrs. Randall still made herself officious, but with less assu-
rance than at first. Ellen was in nowise inclined to yield her
authority, and indeed almost the entire responsibility rested on
her, tor poor Mrs. Wetherbe was sadly out of spirits in conse-
quence of the non-appearance of Helph and Jenny. All possi-
ble chances of evil were exaggerated by her, and in her simple
apprehension there were a thousand dangers which did not in
reality exist. In spite of the festivities about her, she some-
times found it impossible to restrain her tears. Likely enough.
44 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
she said, the dear boy had got into the canal, or the river, and
was drownded, or his critter might have become frightened
there were so many skeerry things in town and so run away
with him, and broke every thing to pieces.
Once or twice she walked to the neighboring hill, in the hope
of seeing him in the distance, but in vain he did not come ;
the supper could be delayed no longer, and, sitting by the win-
dow that overlooked the highway, she continued her anxious
watching. Not so the mother ; she gave herself little trouble
as to whether any accident had befallen her son ; perhaps she
guessed the cause of his delay, but, so or not, none were gayer
than she.
Her beauty had once been of a showy order ; she was not
yet very much faded ; and on this occasion, though her gown
was of calico, her hair was tastefully arranged, and she was
really the best dressed woman in the assembly. Of this she
seemed aware, and she glided into flirtations with the country
beaux, in a free and easy way which greatly surprised some
of us unsophisticated girls ; in fact, one or two elderly bachelors
were sorely disappointed, as well as amazed, when they under-
stood that the lady from town was none other than Helph's
mother! 1 cannot remember a time when my spirits had much
of the careless buoyancy which makes youth so blessed, and at
this time I was little more than a passive observer, for which
reason, perhaps, I remember more correctly the incidents of
the evening.
The table was spread among the trees in the door-yard, which
was illuminated with tallow candles, in very simple paper lan-
terns ; the snowy linen waved in the breeze, and the fragrance
of tea and coffee was, for the time, pleasanter than that of
flowers ; but flowers were in requisition, and such as were in
bloom, large or small bright or pale, were gathered to adorn
tresses of every hue, curled and braided with the most elabo-
rate care. At a later hour, some of them were transferred to
the buttonholes of favored admirers.
What an outbreak of merriment there was, when, at twilight,
down the hill that sloped against the woods, came the gay bano
of choppers, with coats swung on their arms, and axes gleam-
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 41
in over their shoulders. Every thing became irresistibly pro-
vocative of enjoyment, and from every window and every nook
that could be occupied by the quilters, went mingled jests and
laughter.
The quilt was finished, but Mehitable and Elizabeth remained
close within the rhamber, whether to contemplate the completed
work, or to regale themselves with each other's accumulations
of scandal, I shall not attempt to guess.
A large tin lantern was placed on the top of the pump, and
beside it was a wash-tub filled with water, which was intended
as a general resort for the ablutions of the young men. Besides
tne usual roller-towel, which hung by the kitchen door, there
were two or three extra ones attached to the boughs of the
apple-tree, by the well ; and the bar of yellow soap, procured
for the occasion, lay on a shingle, conveniently near, while a
paper comb-case dangled from a bough betwixt the towels.
These toilet facilities were deemed by some of the. party
altogether superfluous, and their wooden pocket-combs and
handkerchiefs were modestly preferred. During the fixing up
the general gayety found vent in a liberal plashing and dashing
of water on each other, as also in wrestling bouts, and contests
of mere words, at the conclusion of which the more aristo-
cratic of the gentlemen resumed their coats, while others, dis-
daining ceremony, remained, not only at the supper but during
thi' entire evening, in their shirt sleeves, and with silk handker-
chiefs bound around their waists, as is the custom with reapers.
" Come, boys !'' called Ellen, who assumed a sort of motherly
tone and manner toward all the company, "whatcfoes make .
you stay away so ?"
The laughter among the girls subsided, as they arranged
themselves in a demure row along one side of the table, and
the jests fell at once to a murmur as the boys found their places
opposite. " Now, don't all speak at once," said Ellen : " how
will you have your coffee, Quincy ?"
Mr. Quincy Adams Claverel said he was not particular : he
would take a little sugar and a little cream if she had them
handy, if not, it made no difference.
* Tea or coffee, Mehitable i" she said next; but the young
M OTJR NEIGHBORHOOD.
woman addressed did not drink either coffee made her drowsy
like, and if she should drink a cup of tea, she should not slee|
a wink all night.
Elizabeth said, Mehitt was just like herself she drank a
great deal, and strong. The jesting caused much laughter, ?nd
indeed the mirth was quite irrepressible on the part of th
girls, because of the joyous occasion, and their greater excita-
bility, and on that of the young men, because of the green
and yellow twisted bottles that had glistened that afternoon in
the ivy which grew along the woods : even more for this, per-
naps, than for the bright eyes before them.
One said she drank her tea " naked ;" another, that Ellen
might give her half a cup first rate she would rather have a little
and have it good, than have a great deal and not have it good.
And in this she meant not the slightest offence or insinuation.
"I hope," said Mr. Wetherbe, speaking in a diffident voice,
and pushing back his thin gray hair, " 1 hope you will none ot
you think hard of my woman for not coming to sarve you her
self she is in the shadder of trouble, but she as well as my-
self thanks you all for the good turn you have done us, and
wishes you to make yourselves at home, and frolic as long aa
you are a mind to;" and the good man retired to the house to
give his wife such comfort as he could.
The shadow of their sorrow did not rest long on the group
at the table, and the laughter, for its temporary suppression,
was louder than before. There were one or two exceptions,
However, among the gay company. Poor Hetty Martin, as
her eyes ran along the line of smiling faces and failed of the
object of their search, felt them droop heavily, and her smiies
and words were alike forced. Between her and all the pleas-
ures of the night stood the vision of a fair lady, coniured by
the evil words of Mehitable and Elizabeth, and scarcely would
the tears stay back any longer, when her light-hearted neighbors
rallied her as to the cause of her dejection. At the sound of a
hoofstroke on the highway, her quick and deep attention be-
trayed the interest she felt in the absent doctor.
" Why hast thou no music on thy tongue, fair maiden '?"
asked a pale, slender young man, sitting near by ; and looking
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 47
up, her eyeu encountered the blue and melancholy ones of a
young cooper, who had lately neglected the adze for the pen,
in the use of which he was not likely to obtain much facility.
His flaxen hair hung in curls down his shoulders; he wore his
collar reversed, and a sprig of cedar in the buttonhole of his
vest, which was of red and yellow colors ; otherwise his dress
was not fantastical, though he presented the appearance of one
whose inclinations outstripped his means, perhaps. A gold
chain attached to a silver watch, and a bracelet of hair on the
left wrist, fastened with a small tinsel clasp, evinced that his
tastes had not been cultivated with much care, though his face
attested some natural refinement. He had recently published in
the " Ladies' Garland," two poems, entitled and opening in
this way :
"ALONE.
" For evsry one on earth but me
There is some sweet, sweet low tone;
Deatli and the grave are all I see,
1 am alone, alone, alone !"
"OX THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.
"A little while the lovely flower
To cheer our earthly home was given,
But oh, it withered in an hour,
And death transplanted it to heaven."
These very original and ingenious verses he took from his
pocket and submitted to the critical acumen of Hetty, saying
he should really take it as a great favor if she would tell him
frankly what her opinion was of the repetitions in the last line
of the first stanza, as also what she thought of the idea of com-
paring a child to a flower, and of Death's transplanting it from
earth to heaven.
Hetty knew nothing of poetry, but she possessed an in
stinctive sense of politeness, and something of tact, as indeed
most women do, and shaped her answer to conceal her igno-
rance, and at the same time flatter her auditor. This so inflated
his vanity, that he informed her confidentially that he was just
then busily engaged in the collection of his old letters, for no
body knew, he said, what publicity they might come lo, f. om
bis distinguished position as a literary man.
43 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
Jn his apprehensions and cautious endeavors the lady con
curred, and he resolved at once to put in the " Ladies' Gar
land " an advertisement, requesting all persons who might have
any letters or other writings of his, to return them to the ad-
dress of P. Joel Springer, forthwith. High above the praises
of his simple listener, he heard sounding the blessed 'award of
the future time, and the echoes of his unrequited sorrows went
moaning through the farther parts of the world.
Who of us are much wiser ? for on bases as unsubstantial
have we not at one time or another rested some gorgeous fabric
whose turrets were to darken among the stars. Time soon
enough strips the future of its fantastic beauty, drives aside
the softening mists, and reveals to us the hard and sharp reali-
ties of things.
But the guests were generally merry, and they did ample
justice to the viands before them, partly because they had ex-
cellent appetites, and partly in answer to the urgent entreaties
of Ellen, though she constantly depreciated her culinary skill,
and reiterated again and again that she had nothing very invit-
ing. But her praises were on every tongue, and her hands
were more than busy with the much service required of them,
which nevertheless added to her happiness ; and as she glided
up and down the long table, dispensing the tea and coffee, snuff-
ing the candles, or urging the most bashful to be served with a
little of this or that, just to please her, she was the very per-
sonification of old-fashioned country hospitality.
Every one liked Ellen, for she was one of those who always
forget themselves when there is any thing to remember for
others.
At length, one of the young men who had been in communi-
cation with the bottles, mentioned as lying cool among the ivy
during the afternoon, protested that he would bring a rail to
serve as a pry, unless his companions desisted from further eat-
ing of their own free will.
" That is right, Bill," called out one kindred in bluntness and
noarseness, " here is a fellow wants choking off."
" I own up to that," said another, " I have eaten about
nushel, I guess."
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 49
" If I had a dollar for every mouthful you have eaten," said
one, " I wouldn't thank nobody for being kin to me."
" Well," answered the person thus addressed, " if I have busted
a couple of buttons off my vest, I don't think you are a fellow
that will be likely to let much bread mould."
" La, how you young men do run on," interposed Ellen,
neither surprised nor offended at the coarse freedom of the
jests; and amid obstreperous laughter the party arose, and
many of the young men resorted again to the whiskey bottles,
for the sake of keeping up their spirits, as they said, after
which, with lighted cigars in their mouths, they locked arms
with the ladies, and talked sentiment in the moonlight as they
strolled, in separate pairs, preparatory to assembling in the gar-
ret for the usual order of exercises prescribed for such occasions.
Meantime the candles were mostly carried thither by cer-
tain forlorn maidens, who declared themselves afraid of the
night air, and from the open windows rung out old hymns,
which, if not altogether in keeping with the general feeling and
conduct of the occasion, constituted the only musical resources
of the party, and afforded as much enjoyment perhaps as the
rarest songs to beauties flecked with diamonds, when met for
gayety or for display in marble halls.
Hidden by shadows, and sitting with folded arms on a top-
most fence-rail, P. Joel Springer listened alone to the dirge-
like sighing of the wind, and the dismal hootings of the owl.
And our good hostess, the while, could be prevailed on neither
to eat nor sleep, even though her excellent spouse assured her
that Helph was safe enough, and that she knew right well how
often he had spent the night from home in his young days,
without meeting any accident or misfortune; but the dear old
lady refused to be comforted ; and every unusual noise, to her
fancy, was somebody bringing Helph home dead. Mr. Weth-
erbe had, the previous autumn, " missed a land " in the sowing
of his wheat field, and that, she had always heard say, was a
sure sign of death.
In couples, already engaged for the first play, the strollers
Cftme in at last, and there was a tempest of laughter and froiic,
which fairly shook the house. The customs which prevailed,
3
M OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
vfin a dozen years ago, in Clovernook and other rural neighbor-
hoods of the west, are now obsolete ; but I do not in any de-
gree overdraw the manners of the period in which this quilting
occurred at Mrs. Wetherbe's. Some embarrassment followed
the assembling in the garret under the blaze of so many can-
dies, but when it was whispered that Jo Allen, the most genial
and true-hearted of them all, had just been taken home on
horseback, and that Abner Gibbs, for his better security, had
ridden behind him, there were renewed peals of laughter, and
no one seemed to doubt that such indulgence and misfortune
were a legitimate subject of merriment. Others, it was more
privately suggested, had also taken a drop too much, and would
not be in condition to see the girls " safe home " that night.
"Come," said Ellen, as she entered the room, last of all, hav-
ing been detained after the fulfilment of her other duties by
kindly endeavoring to induce Jo Allen to drink some new milk,
as an antidote to the Monongahela, "come, why don't some of
you start a play ?" But all protested they didn't know a sin-
gle thing, and insisted that Ellen should herself lead the
amusements.
Hunting the Key being proposed, the whole party was formed
into a circle, with hands joined to hands, and directed to move
rapidly round and round, during which process, a key was at
tached to the coat of some unsuspecting individual, who waa
then selected to find it, being informed that it was in the keep-
ing of one of the party. The circle resumed its gyrations, and
the search commenced by examining pockets and forcing apart
interlocked hands, a procedure relished infinitely all except the
inquirer after the key well knowing where it might be found.
Soon all diffidence vanished, and
" O, sister Phoebe, how merry were we,
The night we sat under the juniper-tree,"
rung across the meadows, and was followed by other rude
rhymes, sung as accompaniments to the playing.
" Uncle Johnny's sick a-bed
For his blisses, send him, misses,
Three good wishes, three good kisses,
And a loaf of gingerbread,"
was received with every evidence of admiration an exchange
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 51
of kisses being required, of course. Then came the Selling of
fawns, and the Paying of Penalties, with requisitions no lesi
agieeable to all parties.
"My love and I will go,
And my love and I will go,
And we'll settle on the banks
Of the pleasant O-hi-6,"
was enacted by each beau's choosing a partner, and promenad-
ing " to the tune of a slight flirtation." And Blind Man's Buff,
and Hold Fast all I Give, You, and half a dozen other winter
evening's entertainments, then regarded as not undeserving the
best skill of country gentlemen and ladies, though now for the
most part resigned everywhere to the younger boys and girls,
were played with the most genuine enjoyment.
The night wore on to the largest hours, and for a concluding
sport was proposed Love and War. In the centre of the room,
two chairs were placed, some three feet apart, over which a
quilt was carefully spread, so as seemingly to form a divan, and
when a lady was seated on each chair, the gentlemen withdrew to
the lower apartments, to be separately suffered to enter again
when all should be in order. A rap on the door announced an
applicant for admission, who was immediately conducted by
the master of ceremonies to the treacherous divan, and pre-
sented to the ladies, being asked at the same time whether he
preferred love or war ? and, no matter which was his choice,
he was requested to sit between the two, when they rose, and
by so doing, caused their innocent admirer to be precipitated
to the floor a denouement which was sure to be followed by
the most boisterous applause.
"I guess," said Mehitable, whispering in a congratulatory
way to Elizabeth, " that Hetty will have to get home the best
way she can : I haven't seen anybody ask her for her company."
But just then there was a little bustle at the door, and a mur.
mur of congratulations and regrets, over which was heard the
exclamation, "Just in time to see the cat die!" Mehitable
raised herself on tiptoe, and discovered that the doctor had at
length arrived. A moment afterwards he stood beside Hetty,
who was blushing and smiling with the most unfeigned satis*-
M OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
faction ; but in answer to some whispered words of his she
shook her head, a little sadly, as it seemed, and the doctor's
brow darkened with a frown. Of this, Mr. P. Joel Springer
was not unobservant, and coming forward, reluctantly, as he
said, relinquished the pleasure he had expected concluding his
poetical and gallant speech with, " Adieu, fair maiden, alone I
take my solitary way, communing with the stars."
Hetty and the doctor were the next to go, and then came a
general breaking up ; horses were saddled, and sleepy colts,
leaving the places they had warmed in the grass, followed slowly
the gallants, who walked beside the ladies as they rode. There
were some, too, who took their way across the fields, and others
through the dusty highway, all mated as pleased them, except
Mehitable and Elizabeth, who were both mounted on one horse,
comforting each other with assurances that the young men were
very great fools.
And so, in separate pairs, they wended their ways homeward,
each gentlemen witn the slippers of his lady-love in his pocket,
and her mammoth comb in his hat.
VII.
WE will now return to Helphenstein, and give some particu
lars of the night as it passed with him. It was near noon when"
he drew the reins before the house of his father, with a heart
full of happy anticipations for the afternoon and evening ; but
his bright dream was destined quickly to darken away to the
soberest reality of his life. His father met him in the hall
with a flushed face, and taking his hand with some pretence of
cordiality, said in an irritable tone, as though he had not the
slightest idea of the nature of his errand, " Why, my son, what
in the devil's name has brought you home ?"
He then gave a doleful narrative of the discomforts and pri-
vations he had endured in the few days of the absence of Mrs.
Randall, for whom he either felt, or affected to feel, the greatest
love and admiration, whenever she was separated from him ;
though his manner towards her, except during these spasmodic
flections, was extremely neglectful and harsh.
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY.
s a man to do, my son Helph ?" he sa
poor father has n't had a meal of victuals fit for a dog to eat,
since your mother went into the country : how is she, poor
woman ? I think I'll just get into your buggy, and run out and
bring your mother home ; things will all go to ruin in two days
more old black Kitty aint worth a cuss, and Jenny aint worth
fiRother."
And this last hit he seemed to regard as most especially
happy, in its bearing upon Helph, whose opinions of Jenny by
no means coincided with his own ; but his coarse allusion to
her, so far from warping his judgment against the poor girl,
made him for the time oblivious of every thing else, and he
hastened in search of her.
" Lord, honey, I is glad to see you !" exclaimed Aunt Kitty,
looking up from her work in the kitchen : for she was kneading
bread, with the tray in her lap, in consequence of rheumatic
pains which prevented her from standing much on her feet.
" What in the world is the matter ?" asked Helph, anxiously,
as he saw her disability.
" Noffin much," she said, smiling; "my feet are like to bust
wid the inflammations rheumatis dat's all. But 1 's a poor
sinful critter," she continued, "and de flesh pulls mighty hard
on de sperrit, sometimes, when I ought to be thinkin' ob de
mornin' ober Jordan."
And having assured him that she would move her old bonea
as fast as she could, and prepare the dinner, she directed him
where to find Jenny, saying, "Go 'long wid you, and you '11
find her a seamsterin' up stairs, and never mind de 'stress of
an old darkie like me."
As he obeyed, he heard her calling on the Lord to bless him,
for that he was the best young master of them all. Poor
kind-hearted creature ! she did not then or ever, as others heard,
ask any blessing for herself.
In one end of the long low garret, unplastered, and comfort
less, from the heat in summer and the cold in winter, there was
a cot bed, a dilapidated old trunk, a broken work-stand, a small
cracked looking-glass, and a strip of faded carpet. By courtesy,
this was called Jenny's room ; and here, seated on a chair with
54 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
out any back, sat the maiden, stitching shirts for her adopted
brothers, when the one who, from some cause or other, never
called her sister, appeared suddenly before her. Smiling, she
ran forward to meet him, but suddenly checking herself, she
blushed deeply, and the exclamation, "Dear Helph !" that rose
to her lips, was subdued and formalized to simple " Helphen-
stein." The cheek that was smooth when she saw him last,
was darkened into manhood now, and her arm remained pas-
sive, that had always been thrown lovingly about his neck ; but
in this new timidity she appeared only the more beautiful, in
the eyes of her admirer, and if she declined the old expressions
of fondness, he did not.
The first feeling of pleasure and surprise quickly subsided, on
her part, into one of pain and embarrassment, when she remem-
bered her torn and faded dress, and the disappointment that
awaited him.
" Well, Jenny," he said, when the first greeting was over,
" I have come for you and you must get ready as soon as
possible."
Poor child ! she turned away her face to hide the tears that
would not be kept down, as she answered, " I cannot go I have
nothing to get ready."
And then inquiries were made about the new dress of which
he had been informed, and though for a time Jenny hesitated,
he drew from her at last the confession that it had been appro-
priated by his mother, under a promise of procuring for her
another when she should have made a dozen shirts to pay for
it. An exclamation that evinced little filial reverence fell from
his lips, and then as he soothed her grief, and sympathized with
her, his boyish affection was deepened more and more by pity.
"Never mind, Jenny," he said, in tones of simple and truth-
ful earnestness, " wear any thing to-day, but go for my sake
go ; I like you just as well in an old dress as in a new one."
Jennv had been little used to kindness, and from her lonely
and sad heart, gratitude found expression in hot and thicK
Coming tears.
Certainly, she would like of all things to go to the quilting,
And the more, perhaps, that Helph was come for her ; but in DO
MRS. WETHERBETS QUILTING PARTY. II
time of her life had poverty seemed so painful a thing* Dur-
ing the past week she had examined her scanty wardrobe re-
peatedly ; her shoes, too, were down at the heels, and out at
the toes ; to go decently was quite impossible, and yet, she
could not suppress the desire, nor refrain from thinking, over
and over, if this dress were not quite so much faded, or if that
were not so short and outgrown and then, if she had money
to buy a pair of shoes, and could borrow a neck-ribbon and
collar! in short, if things were a little better than they were
she might go, and perhaps, in the night, her deficiencies would
be less noticeable.
But in the way of all her thinking and planning lay the foi-
bidding if; and in answer to the young man's entreaties, she
could only cry and shake her head.
She half wished he would go away, and at the same time
feared he would go; she avoided looking at the old run-down
slippers she was wearing, as well as at hei patched gown, in the
vain hope that thus he would be prevented from seeing them ;
and so, half sorry and half glad, half ashamed and half hon-
estly indignant, she sat the work fallen into her lap, and the
tears now and then dropping, despite her frequent winking,
and vain efforts to smile.
At length Helph remembered that his horse had not been
cared for; and looking down from the little window, he found,
to his further annoyance, that both horse and buggy were gone,
and so his return home indefinitely delayed.
" 1 wish to Heaven," he angrily said, turning towards Jenny,
"you and I had a home somewhere beyond the reach of the
impositions practised on us by Mr. and Mrs. Randall !"
The last words were in a bitter but subdued tone ; and it was
thus, in resentment and sorrow, that the love-making of Helph
and Jenny began.
VIII.
DOWN the thinly -wooded hills, west of the great city, reached
the long shadows of the sunset. The streets were crowded
with mechanics seeking their firesides in one hand the little
5ft OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
tin pairin which dinner had been carried, and in the other a
toy for the baby, perhaps, or a pound of tea or of meat for the
good wife.
The smoke curled upward from the chimneys of the suburban
districts, and little rustic girls and boys were seen in all direc-
tions, hurrying homeward with their arms full of shavings ; old
women, too, with their bags of rags, betook themselves some-
where Heaven only knows whether they had any homes, o ?
where they went but at any rate, with backs bending undor
their awful burdens, they turned into lanes and alleys, and dis-
appeared ; the tired dray-horses walked faster and nimbler as
they smelled the oats in the manger ; and here and there, in the
less frequented streets, bands of school-boys and girls drove
their hoops, or linked their arms and skipped joyously up and
down the pavement; while now and then a pair of older child-
ren strolled, in happiness, for that they dreamed of still more
blessed times to come. The reflections of beautiful things in the
future, make the present bright, and it is well for us, since the
splendor fades from our approach, and it is only in reveries of
hope that we find ourselves in rest, or crowned with beauty.
We have need to thank thee, oh our Father, that thou hast
given us the power of seeing visions and dreaming dreams!
Earth, with all the glory of its grass and all the splendor of its
flowers, were dreary and barren and desolate, but for that
divine insanity which shapes deformity into grace, and dark-
ness into light. How the low roof is lifted up on the airy
pillars of thought, and the close dark walls expanded and made
enchanting with the pictures of the imagination ! And best of
all, by this blessed power the cheeks that are colorless, and the
foreheads that are wrinkled by time, retain in our eyes the
freshness and the smoothness of primal years; to us the.y can-
not grow old, for we see
" Poured upon the locks of age,
The beauty of immortal youth."
Life's sharp realities press us sore, sometimes, and but for the
unsubstantial bases on which we build some new anticipations,
we should often rush headlong to the dark.
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY
IX.
THEY were sitting together, Helph and Jenny, with the tvri
Wght deepening around them, speaking little, thinking much,
and gazing through the long vistas open to the sunshine, and
brighter than the western clouds. But they did not think of
the night that was falling, they did not hear the wind sough-
ing among the hot walls and roofs, and prophesying storm and
darkness.
Suddenly appeared before them a miserably clad little boy,
the one mentioned in a previous chapter as coming for money,
and now, after a moment's hesitation, on seeing a stranger, he
laid his head in the lap of Jenny, and cried aloud. Stooping
over him, she smoothed back his hair and kissed his forehead ;
and in choked and broken utterances he made known his mourn-
ful errand: little Willie was very sick, and Jenny was wanted
at home.
Few preparations were required. Helph would not hear of
her going alone ; and in the new and terrible fear awakened
by the message of the child, all her pride vanished, and she did
not remonstrate, though she knew the wretchedness of poverty
that would be bared before him. Folding close in hers the
hand of her little brother, and with tears dimming her eyes,
she silently led the way to the miserable place occupied by her
family.
It was night, and the light of a hundred windows shone down
upon them, when, turning to her young protector, she said, in
a voice trembling with both shame and sorrow, perhaps, " This
is the place." It was a large dingy building, five stories high
and nearly a hundred feet long, very roughly but substantially
built of brick. It was situated in the meanest suburb of the
city, on an unpaved alley, and opposite a ruinous graveyard,
and it had been erected on the cheapest possible plan, with
especial reference to the poorest class of the community.
Scarcely had the wealthy proprietor an opportunity of posting
3*
58 OlFR NEIGHBORHOOD.
bills announcing rooms to let, before it was all occupied ; and
with its miserable accommodations, and crowded with people
who were almost paupers, it was a perfect hive of misery.
Porch above porch, opening out on the alley, served as door-
yards to the different apartments places for the drying of
miserable rags play grounds for the children and look-outs,
for the decrepit old women, on sunny afternoons.
Dish-water, washing suds, and every thing else, from tea and
coffee grounds to all manner -of picked bones and other refuse,
were dashed down from these tiers of balconies to the ground
below, so that a more filthy and in all ways unendurable spec-
tacle can scaicely lie imagined, than was presented in the vicinity
of this money-making device, this miserable house refuge.
Leaning against the balusters, smoking and jesting, or quar-
reling and swearing, were groups of men, who might be counted
by tens and twenties ; and the feeble and querulous tomss of
woman, now and then, were heard among them, or from within
the wretched chambers. A little apart from one of these
groups of ignorant disputants sat an old crone combicg her
gray hair by the light of a tallow candle, other females were
ironing or washing dishes, while others lolled listlessly and
gracelessly about, listening to, and sometimes taking part in,
the vile or savage or pitiable conversations.
Children, half naked, were playing in pools of stagnant
water, and now and then pelting each other with heads of fishes,
and with slimy bones, caught up at random ; and one group,
more vicious than the others, were diverting themselves by-
throwing stones at an old cat that lay half in and half out of a
puddle, responding, by feeble struggles, as the rough missiles
struck against her, and here and there were going on such fierce
contests of brutish force as every day illustrate the melancholy
truth that the poor owe so much of their misery to the indul-
gence of their basest passions, rather than to any causes neces-
sarily connected with poverty.
Depravity, as well as poverty, had joined itself to that mis-
erable congregation. Smoke issued thick from some of the
uhimneys, full of the odors of mutton and coffee, and as these
auxed with the vile stenches that thickened the atmosphere
MRS. WETHERBE^ QUILTING PARTY. 6*
near the scene, Helph, who had been accustomed to the free
air of the country, fresh with the scents of the hay-fields and
orchards, found it hard to suppress the exclamation of disgust
and loathing that rose to his lips, when he turned with Jenny
into the alley, and his senses apprehended in a twinkling what
1 have been so long in describing.
Up the steep and narrow wooden stairs, flight after flight, they
passed, catching through the open doors of the different apart-
ments glimpses of the same squalid character greasy smoking
stoves, dirty beds, ragged women and children, with here and
there dozing dogs, or men prostrate on the bare floors either
from weariness or drunkenness and meagerly-spread tables,
and cradles, and creeping, and crying, and sleeping babies, all
in close proximity.
From the third landing they turned into a side door, and such
a picture presented itself as the young man had never seen
hitherto : the windows were open, but the atmosphere was close,
and had a disagreeable smell of herbs and medicines ; a single
candle was lighted, and though the shapes of things were not
distinctly brought out, enough was visible to indicate the ex-
treme poverty and wretchedness of the family.
It was very still in the room, for the children, with instinctive
fear, were huddled together in the darkest corner, and spoke in
whispers when they spoke at all ; and thg mother, patient and
pale and wan, sat silent by the bed, holding the chubby sun-
burned hands of her dying little boy.
"Oh, mother," said Jenny, treading softly and speaking low.
Tears filled the poor woman's mild blue eyes, and her lipi
trembled as she answered, "It is almost over he does net
know me any more."
And forgetting, in the blind fondness of the mother, the
darkness and the sorrow and the pain, and worst of all, the con-
tagion of evil example, from which he was about to be free,
she buried her face in her hands, and shook with convulsive
agony. All the deprivation and weariness and despair, that
had sometimes made her, with scarce a consciousness of what
nhe was doing, implore the coming of death, or annihiiat'on, were
! n this new sorrow as nothing: with her baby laughing in her
M OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
arma, as he had been but the last week, she would be strong to
front the most miserable rate.
Tie after tie may be unbound from the heart, while our steps
climb the rough steep that goes up to power, for the sweet
Household affections unwind themselves more and more as the
distance widens between aspiration and contentment, and over
the tide that sweeps into the shining- haven of ambition there
is no crossing back. The brow that has felt the shadow of the
laurel, will not be comforted by the familiar kisses of love;
and struggling to the heights of fame, the rumble of clods
against the coffin of some mate of long ago, comes softened of
its awfulest terror; but where the heart, unwarped from its
natural yearnings, presses close, till its throbbings bring up
echoes from the stony bottom of the grave, and when, from
the heaped mound, reaches a shadow that darkens the world
for the humble eyes that may never look up any more these
keep the bleeding affections, theso stay the mourning that the
great cannot understand. Where the wave is narrow, the
dropping of even a pebble of hope sends up the swelling cir-
cles till the whole bosom of the stream is agitated ; but in the
broader sea, they lessen and lessen till they lose themselves
in a border of light. And over that little life, moaning itself
away in the dim obscurity of its birth-chamber, fell bitterer
tears, and bowed hearts aching with sharper pains, than they
may ever know whose joys are not alike as simple and as few.
"Oh, Willie, dear little Willie," sobbed Jenny, folding her
arms about him and kissing him over and over, " speak to me
once, only once more !" Her tears were hot on his whitening
face, but he did not lift his heavily-drooping eyes, nor turn to-
wards her on the pillow. The children fell asleep, one on
another, where they sat. In the presence of the strong healthy
man they were less afraid, and nestling close together, gradu-
ally forgot that little Willie was not among them and so came
the good gifi which God giveth his beloved in nights of sorrow.
In some chink of the wall the cricket chirped to itself the
same quick short sound, over and over, and about the candle
circled and fluttered the gray-winged moths, heedless of their
perished fellows, and on the table stood a painted bucket half
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 81
filled with tepid water, and beside it a brown jug and broken
glass.
Now and then the mother and daughter exchanged anxious
looks, as a footstep was heard on the stairs, but when it turned
aside to some one of the adjoining chambers, they resumed
their watching, not speaking their hopes or fears, if either had
been awakened.
From the white dome of St. Peter's sounded the silvery
chime of the midnight ; the sick child had fallen asleep an
hour before, but now his eyes opened full on his mother, and
his white lips worked faintly ; "Jenny," she said, in a tone of
low but fearful distinctness for with her head on the bedside
she was fast do/ing into forgetfulness " he is going going
home."
" Home," he repeated, sweetly, and that was the last word
he ever said.
The young man came forward hastily the soft light of a
setting star drifted across the pillow, and in its pale radiance
he laid the hands together, and smoothed the death-dampened
curls.
" OH, my children !" cried Mrs. Mitchel, bending over the
huddled sleepers, and calling them one by one to awake, "your
poor little brother is dead he will never play with you any
more."
" Let them sleep," said Jenny, whose grief was less passion-
ate, " they cannot do him any good now, and the time will come
soon enough that they cannot sleep."
" I know it, oh, I know it !" she sobbed, " but this silence
seems so terrible ; 1 want them to wake and speak to me, and
yet," she added, after a moment, " I know not what I want. I
only know that my little darling will not wake in the morn-
ing. Oh," she continued, " he was the loveliest and the best of
all he never cried when he was hurt, like other children, nor
gave me trouble in any way ;" and she then recounted, feeding
her sorrow with the memory, all his endearing little ways, from
If OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
his first conscious smiling to the last word he had spoken ; mim
bered over the little coats he had worn, and the color of them,
saying how pretty he had thought the blue one, and how proud
he had been of the pink one with the ruffled sleeves, and how
often she had lifted him up to the broken looking-glass to see
the baby, as he called himself, for that he always wanted to
see the curls she made for him. Sometimes she had crossed
him ; she wished now she had never done so; and sometimes
she had neglected him when she had thought herself too busy
to attend to his little wants ; but now that was all irreparable,
she blamed herself harshly, and thought how much better she
might have done.
The first day of his sickness she had scolded him for being
fretful, and put him roughly aside when he clung about her
knees, and hindered the work on which their bread depended ;
she might have known that he was ailing, she said, for that he
was always good when well, and so should have neglected every
thing else for him ; if she had done so in time, if she had tried
this medicine or that, if she had kept his head bathed, one night,
when she chanced to fall asleep, and waked with his calling her
"mother," and saying the fire was burning him ; in short, if she
had done any thing she had not done, it might have been bet
ter, her darling Willie might have got well.
" The dear baby," she said, taking his cold, stiffening feel
in her hand, " he never had any shoes, and I promised so often
to get them."
" He does not need them now," interposed Jenny.
" I know it, I know it," she answered, and yet she could not
subdue this grief that her boy was dead, and had never had the
shoes that he thought it would be so fine to have.
"Oh, mother, do not cry so," Jenny said; "I will come
Home and we will love each other better, we who are left, and
work together and try to live till God takes us where he has
taken the baby home, home !" but in repeating his dying
words, her voice faltered, and hiding her face in the lap of her
mother, she gave way to agony that till then she had kept down.
But, alas, it was not even their poor privilege to weep unin-
terruptedly, and, shuddering, they grew still when, si nwly ajd
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTT. M
neavily cliribing the narrow and dark stairs, sounded the well-
known step of the drunken husband and father. A minute the
numb and clumsy hand fumbled about the door-latch, and then
with a hiccup, and a half articulate oath, the man, if man he
should be called, staggered and stumbled into the room.
His dull brain apprehended the case but imperfectly, and
seeing his wife, he supposed her to be waiting for him, as he
had found her a thousand times before ; and mixing something
of old fondness with a coarse and brutal familiarity, he put his
arm about her neck, saying, " Why the hell are you waiting
for me, Nancy, when you know them, fellers won't never let
me come home? Daughter," he continued, addressing Jenny,
"just hand me that jug, that's a good girl, I feel faint like,"
and putting his hand to his temple, where the blood was oozing
from a recent cut, he finished his speech with an oath.
"Hush, father, hush," beseechingly said the girl, pointing to
the bed ; but probably supposing she meant to indicate it as a
resting-place for him, he reeled towards and half fell upon it,
one arm thrown across the dead child, and the blood dripping
from his bruised and distorted face, muttering curses and threat-
ening revenge against the comrades who, he said deprecatingly,
made him drink when he told them he wanted to go home, d n
them ! In such imprecations and excuses he fell into a dreadful
unconsciousness.
Not knowing whom else to call, Helphenstein summoned
Aunt Kitty, and with the aid of his arm and a crutch, but more
than all leaning on her own zeal to do good, she came, and in
her kindly but rude fashion comforted the mourners, partly by
pictures of the glory " ober Jordan," and partly by narratives
of the terriblest sufferings she had known, as taking the child
on her knees she dressed it for the grave, decently as might be.
" She had lost a baby, too," she said, " and when her breasts
were aching with the milk, she felt as if she wanted to be
gwine to it wharever it were, for that she couldn't 'xist without
it no ways, but she did, and arter a while she got over it.
Another son," she said, " was spared to grow up and do a heap
of hard work ; he was away from her a piece down the river,
wad kep a liberty stable, and at last, when he had saved
64 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
money enough, to buy himself, a vile-tempered critter kicked
out his brains, and dat ar was his last. And so,' 1 said Aunt
Kitty, " it was wust fbr de one dat growed up, arter all."
The stars grew motionless, the heavy clouds loomed in som-
bre and far-reaching masses, and the night went by drearily,
wearily, painfully, till gray began to divide the heavy dark-
ness, and through the gaps of the thick woods away over the
eastern hills, the chilly river of morning light came pouring in.
XI.
THE funeral was over, and it was almost night when Mr.
Randall returned from the country, having availed himself more
largely of the horse and buggy than he at first intended, by
taking several widely separate points, where errands called him,
in his route. Mrs. Randall came too, and with her the great
oasket, but not empty, as she had taken it.
The poor animal had been driven mercilessly, and, dripping
with sweat, and breathing hard, gladly turned to his young
master and rubbed his face against his caressing hand.
It was no very cordial greeting which the son gave the
parents, and they in turn were little pleased with him, for any
special liking is not to be concealed even from the commonest
apprehension, and the attachment of Helph and Jenny had
lately become an unquestionable fact.
" What in the devil's name are we to do with that girl, mo-
ther ? she don't earn her salt," said Mr. Randall.
Their first inquiries on entering the house had been for Jenny,
and Helph, with provoking purpose, had simply said she was
not at home. Words followed words, sharper and faster, until
Mr. Randall, with an affirmation that need nut be repeated, said
he would suffer his house to be her home no longer ; if she
could not be trusted with the care of it for a day, she was not
worthy to have any better place than the pig-sty in which her
parents lived.
" 1 always told you," interposed the wife, " that girl was &
mean, low-lived thing ; and it was none of my doings, the taking
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 66
aer from the washing- f> ib, where she belongs, and making her
as good as any of us. I tell you them kind of folks must be
kept down, and I always told you so."
"You alwavs told me great things," said the husband, color-
ing with rage ; " what in the devil's name is there you don't
tell me, or you don't know, 1 wonder !"
" Well, sir," she answered, speaking with a subdued sullen-
ness, " there is one thing I did not know till it was too late."
With all his blustering, Mr. Randall was a coward and
craven at heart, and turning to the sideboard he imbibed a
deeper draught of brandy than usual, diverting his indignation
to Jenny, whom he called a poor creep-louse, that had infested
his home long enough.
" If you were not my father," answered Helph, who had
inherited a temper capable of being ungovernably aroused,
" I'd beat you with as good a will as I ever beat iron to a
horse-shoe."
" What in the devil's name is the girl to you, I'd like to
know ?"
" Before you are a month older you will find out what she
is to me," replied the youth, drawing himself up to his full
height, and passing his hand proudly across his beard.
" My son, your father has a great deal to irritate him, and
he is hasty sometimes, but let bygones be bygones; but what
business had the girl away ?"
And with a trembling hand, Mr. Randall presented a glass
of brandy as a kind of peace-offering to his son. But, for the
first time in his life, the young man refused ; he had seen its
brutalizing effects the previous night, saw them then, and had
determined to be warned in time. In answer to the question re-
specting Jenny, however, he related briefly and simply the melan-
choly event which had called and still detained her 'from her
usual employments.
"A good thing," said Mr. Randall; "one brat less to be
taken care of; but that's no reason the girl should stay away;
if the young one is dead, she can't bring it to life, nor dig a
hole to put it in, either."
Mrs. Randall, having adjusted her lace cap, and ordered
66 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
Aunt Kitty to keep the basket out of the reach of the big
boys, and to remember and not eat all there was in it herself,
ascended the stairs to ascertain how Jenny had progressed with
her shirt-making.
Such family altercations, it is to be hoped, are exceedingly
rare; but T have not exaggerated the common experience of
these specimens of the "self-made aristocracy." Ignorant, pas-
sionate, vulgar nothing elevated them from the lowest grade
of society but money, and this was in most cases an irresistible
influence in their favor.
In all public meetings, especially those having any reference
to the poor, Mr. Randall was apt to be a prominent personage ;
on more occasions than one he had set down large figures for
charitable purposes ; in short, his position was that of an emi-
nently liberal and honorable citizen, when, in fact, a man guilty
of more little meannesses and knaveries, a man in all ways
so debased, could scarcely anywhere be found. The drunkard
whom he affected to despise had often a less depraved appe-
tite than his own, and though he did not reel and stagger and
lie in the gutter, it was only an habitual indulgence in strong
drinks which rendered him superior to their more debilitat-
ing effects. He lay on the sofa at home, and swore and grum-
bled and hiccuped, and drank, and drank, and drank. His
children did not respect him, and how could they, when the
whole course of his conduct was calculated to inspire disgust
and loathing in every heart endowed with any natural ideas of
right. The two bullying and beardless sons who had grown up
under his immediate influence, were precociously wicked, and
possessed scarcely a redeeming quality, and the younger ones
were treading close in their footsteps.
Helph, however, had some of the more ennobling attributes
of manhood. He was blunt and plain and rustic to be sure,
but he was frank and honest and sincf industrious, sobei
and affectionate, alike averse to the exactions and impositions
of his mother, and the pitiful penuriousness of his father.
He was neither ashamed of the toil-hardened hands that earned
his daily bread, nor proud because his mother's earrings dan
gled to her shoulders, or that her dress was gay and expensive,
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY 7
or that his father was president of a bank, and lived in a fine
house. Independent and straightforward, and for the most part
saving enough, so that he might give himself some trouble to
find a lost shilling, yet where he saw actual need, he would give
it. with as much pleasure as he had in finding it.
Toward evening Jenny returned home, pale and sad and suffer-
ing, but there were no little kindnesses, nor any softness of word
or manner to greet her ; she was required at once to resume her
work, and admonished to retrieve lost time, for that crying
would only make her sick, and do no good; Helph, however,
subdued his bluff gentleness into tenderness never manifested foi
her before, and his occasional smile, through tears, was an over
payment for the cruelty of the rest.
Mr. Randall and his wife began to be seriously alarmed, lest
a hasty marriage of the parties should bring on themselves
irretrievable disgrace. A long consultation was held, therefore,
and it was resolved to postpone, by pretended acquiescence,
any clandestine movement, until time could be gained to frus-
trate hopelessly the design which was evidently meditated by
the son.
" We have been talking of our own love," said they ; "how
hard we should have thought it to be parted ; and seeing that'
you really are attached to each other, we oppose no obstacle ;
a little delay is all we ask : Jenny shall go to school for a year,
and you, Helph, will have, by-and-by, more experience, and
more means, perhaps, at your command."
Much more they said, in this conciliatory way ; the dishon-
esty was successful; and that night, instead of stealing away
together as they had proposed, Helph slept soundly in his
country home, and Jenny dreamed bright dreams of coming
years.
XII.
MIDNIGHT overspread the city ; the clouds hung low and
gloomy, and the atmosphere was close and oppressive, when a
man past the prime of life, miserably clad, might have been
een stealthily threading through by-ways and alleys, now
68 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
stopping arid looking noiselessly backward and forward, and
tnen, with trembling and unsteady steps, gliding forward. He
wore no hat, his gray hair was matted, and over one eye was
a purple and ghastly cut, from which he seemed to have torn
the bandage, for in one hand he held a cloth spotted with blood.
He apparently thought himself followed by an enemy, from
whom he was endeavoring to escape, and now and then he hud-
died in some dark nook whence his eyes, bright with insanity,
peered vigilantly about. So, by fits and starts, he made his
way to the old graveyard where the poor are buried. The
trees stood still together, for there was scarcely a breath of air,
and he proceeded noiselessly among the monuments and crosses
and low headstones, never pausing, till he came to a little new
grave, the rounded mound of which was smooth and fresh as if
it had been raised but a single hour.
" Here," he said, squatting on the ground and digging madly
but feebly into the earth with his hands, "here is the very place
they put him, d n them ! but his mother shall have him back ;
I ain't so drunk that I can't dig him up;" and pausing now and
then to listen, he soon levelled the heap of earth above his
child.
"In God's name, what are you doing?" exclaimed an au-
thoritative voice, and a club was struck forcibly against the
board fence hard by. Howling an impious imprecation, the
frightened wretch rushed blindlv and headlong across the
graves, leaped the fence like a tiger, and disappeared in the
hollow beyond. An hour afterwards he had gained the valley
which lies a mile or two northwest of the city, and along which
a creek, sometimes slow and sluggish, and sometimes deep and
turbulent, drags and hurries itself toward the brighter waters
of the Ohio.
The white-trunked sycamores leaned toward each other across
the stream, the broad faded leaves dropping slowly slantwise
to the ground, as the wind slipped damp and silent from bough
to bough. Here and there the surface of the. water was dark-
ened by rifts of foliage that, lodged among brushwood, gave
shelter to the cheeky blacksnake and the white-bellied toad.
Huge logs that had drifted together in the spring freshet, lay
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 69
black and rotting in the current, with noxious weeds springing
rank from their decay.
Toward the deepest water the wretched creature seemed
Irresistibly drawn, and holding with one hand to a sapling that
grew in the bank, he leaned far out and tried the depth with a
slender pole. He then retreated, and seemed struggling as with
a fierce temptation, but drew near again and with his foot
broke off shelving weights of earth, and watched their plashing
and sinking; a moment he lifted his eyes to heaven there
was a heavier plunge and he was gone from the bank. A wild
cry rose piercing through the darkness ; the crimson top of a
clump of iron weeds that grew low in the bank was drawn sud-
denly under the water, as if the hand reached for help, then the
cry and the plashing were still, and the waves closed together.
A week afterwards the swollen corpse of Jenny's father was
drawn from the stream.
XIII.
ALL the boyish habits of Helph were at once thrown aside,
and much Aunt Wetherbe marveled when she saw him a day
or two after his return from the city, bring forth from the cel-
lar a little sled on which, in all previous winters, he had been
accustomed (out of the view of the highway, it is true), to ride
down hill.
" What on airth now ?" she said, placing her hands on either
hip, and eyeing him in sorrowful amazement. A great deal of
pains had been lavished on the making of the sled, the runners
were shod with iron, and it was nicely painted ; indeed, Helj)h
had considered it a specimen of the best art, in its way, and now
as he dragged it forth to light, dusting it with his handkerchief,
and brushing the spider-webs from among its slender beams, he
found it hard to suppress the old admiration for his beautiful
handiwork. Nevertheless, when he found himself observed, he
gave it a rough throw, which lodged it, broken and ruined,
among some rubbish, and drawing his hat over his eyes to con-
ceal from them the wreck, he strode away without at all
noticing his aunt, who immediately went in search of her
TO OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
good man, who, in her estimation at least, knew almost evert
thing, to ask an explanation of the boy's unaccountable con
duct.
But the strange freaks of the young man were not yet at an
end, and on returning to the house he took from a nail beneath
the looking-glass, where they had long hung, the admiration of
all visitors, a string of speckled birds' eggs and the long silvery
skin of a snake, and threw them carelessly into the fire, thereby
sending a sharp pang through the heart of Aunt Wetherbe, if
not through his own. He next took from the joist a bundle of
arrows and darts, the latter cut in fanciful shapes, which he had
made at various times to amuse his leisure, and crushed them
together in a box of kindlings, saying, in answer to the remon-
strance of his relation, that was all they were good for.
From the pockets of coats and trowsers he was observed at
various times to make sundry ejectments, embracing all such
trinkets as one is apt to accumulate during boyish years, to-
gether with bits of twine, brass-headed nails, and other treasures
that are prized by youths disposed to be industrious and provi-
dent. But when he brought from an out-house a squirrel's
cage, where many a captive had been civilized into tricks never
dreamed of in his wild swingings from bough to bough, Aunt
Wetherbe took it from his hands, just as she would have done
when he was a way ward child, exclaiming with real displeasure,
" Lord -a- mercy, child ! has the old boy himself got into you?"
But Helph soon proved that he was not possessed of the evil
one, by the manliness with which he talked of the coming elec-
tion, discussing shrewdly the merits of candidates and parties,
and of such other subjects as he seemed to think deserving of a
manly consideration. All the implements necessary to shaving
operations were shortly procured, and Helph was observed to
spend much of his time in their examination and careful pre-
paration, though no special necessity for their use was observa-
ble, and hitherto the old razor of his uncle had only now and
then been brought into requisition by him.
When the first flush of conscious manhood had subsided, a
thoughtful and almost sorrowful feeling pervaded the dreams
of the young man j he was much alone, knit his brows, and
MRS. WFTIIERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 71
vaguely when questioned. At last he abruptly an
nounced his intention of beginning the world for himself. He
would sell his horse, and the various farming implements he
possessed, together with the pair of young oxen which he had
piayed with and petted, and taught to plow and draw the cart,
and with the means thus acquired he would procure a small
shop in the vicinity of the city, and there resume his black-
smithing.
" Tut, tut," said the aunt, " I 'd rather you would steal away
from the splitting of oven-wood and the churning of a morn-
ing, just as you used to do, to set quail traps and shoot at a
mark, than to be talking in this way. Your uncle and me
can't get along without you : no, no, my child, you must n't
th'nk of going."
Helph brushed his hand across his eyes, appealing to the
authority which had always been absolute; and removing his
spectacles, the good old man rubbed them carefully through
the corner of his handkerchief as he said, sadly but decidedly,
"Yes, my son, you have made a wise resolve: you are almost
a man now (here the youth's face colored), and it's time you
were beginning to work for yourself and be a man amongst
men ;" and approaching an old-fashioned walnut desk in which
were kept all manner of yellow and musty receipts and letters,
he unlocked it slowly, and pouring from a stout linen bag a
quantity of silver, counted the dollars to the number of a hun-
dred, and placing them in the hand of the young man, he said,
"A little present to help you on in the world; make good use
of it, my boy ; but above all things, continue in the honest,
straight path in which you have always kept, and my word for
it, prosperity will come to you, even though you have but a
small beginning. I have lived to be an old man," he continued,
" and I have never seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed
begging bread."
boyishly, Helph began drawing figures rapidly on the table
with his finger, for he felt the tears coming, but it would not
do. and looking rather than .speaking his thanks, he hurried
from the house, and for ao pour ononpe'l vigoro,i?ly at tne
wo- d-piie.
n OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
It was soon concluded to hurry the preparations for his 6e
partiire, so that he might get fairly settled before tho coming
on of cold weather, and a list of goods and chattels to bft noii
at public vendue, on a specified day, was made out, and bill*
posted on the school-house, at the cross-roads, and in the bar-
room of the tavern, stating the time and place of sale. Ellen
Blake was sent for in haste to come right away and make up
half a dozen shirts, and the provident old lady briskly plied the
knitting-needles, that her nephew might lack for nothing. All
talked gayly of the new project, but the gayety was assumed,
and Ellen herself, with all her powers of making sombre things
take cheerful aspects, felt that in this instance she did not suc-
ceed.
Now that he was about to part with them, the gay young
horse that had eaten so often from his hand, and the two gentle
steers that had bowed their necks beneath the heavy yoke at
his bidding, seemed to the young master almost humanly en-
deared, and he fed and caressed them morning and evening with
unusual solicitude, tossing them oat sheaves and emptying
measures of corn very liberally.
"Any calves or beef cattle to sell," called a coarse, loud
voice to Helph, as he lingered near the stall of his oxen, the
evening preceding the day of sale.
" No," answered the young man, seeing that it was a butcher
who asked the question.
" I saw an advertisement of oxen to be sold here to-morrow,"
said the man, striking his spurred heel against his horse, and
reining him in with a jerk.
"I prefer selling to a farmer," said Helph, as he leaned
against the broad shoulders of one of the steers, and took in
his hand its horn of greenish white.
" My money is as good as any man's," said the butcher, and
throwing himself from the saddle he approached the stall, and
after walking once or twice around the unconsciously doomed
animals, and pinching their hides with his ringers, he offered
for them a larger sum than Helpn e.xpecteu ; he however
btut aiw eyes ;o tte piupoaea advantage, saying h hoped
MRS WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY 78
to sell them to some neighbor who would keep them and be
kind to them.
A half contemptuous laugh answered, in part, as the butcher
turned away, saying he was going further into the country, and
would call on his return they might not be sold.
Thus far, Helph had not advised with Jenny relative to the
new movement he was about making, but when all arrangements
were made, and it was quite too late to retract, he resolved to
ask her advice ; and I suspect in this conduct he was not acting
without a precedent.
From among a bunch of quills that had remained in the
old desk from time immemorial, he selected one, with great
care, and having rubbed his pocket-knife across the end of his
boot for an hour or more, next began a search for ink, of which
his uncle told him there was a good bottle full on the upper
shelf of the cupboard. But the said bottle was not to be found,
and after a good deal of rummaging and some questioning of
Aunt Wetherbe, it was finally ascertained that the ink alluded
to must have been bought ten or twelve years previously, and
that only some dry powder remained of it now in the bottom
of a broken inkstand : yet to this a little vinegar was added,
and having shaken it thoroughly, the young man concluded it
would answer. More than once during all this preparation, he had
been asked what he was going to do, for writing was not done
in the family except on eventful occasions ; but the question
elicited no response more direct than " Nothing much," and so,
at last, with a sheet of foolscap, ink, and a quill, he retired to his
own room Aunt Wetherbe having first stuck a pin in the can-
die, indicating the portion he was privileged to burn.
Whether more or less candle were consumed, I am not ad-
vised, but that a letter was written, I have good authority for
believing. Murder will out, there is no doubt about that, and
the day following the writing, Aunt Wetherbe chanced to have
occasion to untie a bundle of herbs that, in a pillow-case, had
been suspended from the ceiling of Helph's room for a long
time, and what should she find but a letter addressed to Jenny
Mitchel, fantastically folded and sealed with four red wafers ; it
had * 'idently been placed there to await a secret opportunity
4
14 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
of conveyance to the post-office. Long was the whispered con
ference between the old lady and Ellen, that followed this dis.
covery ; very indignant was the aunt, at first, for old people
are too apt to think of love and marriage in the young as highly
improper ; but Ellen, whose regard for matrimony was certainly
more lenient, exerted her liveliest influence in behalf of the
young people, nor were her efforts unsuccessful, and an unob-
trusive silence on the subject was resolved upon.
During this little excitement in doors, there was much noise
and bustle without; Helph's young horse was gayly capari-
soned, and bearing proudly various riders up and down the
space, where, among plows, harrows, scythes, and other agricul
tural implements, a number of farmers were gathered, discuss-
ing politics, smoking, and shrewdly calculating how much they
could afford to bid for this or that article. Yoked together, and
chewing their cuds very contentedly, stood the plurnp young
oxen, but no one admired them with the design of purchasing.
The vendue was soon over, and all else had been sold, readily
and well. The sleek bay was gone, proudly arching his neck
to the hand of a new master, and the neighbors brought their
teams to carry home whatever they had purchased, and Helph
half sighed as one after another put into his hand the money
for which he had bargained away the familiar treasures which
had been a part of his existence.
As he lingered at the style, he saw approaching a large flock
of sheep, closely huddled together, and with red chalk marks
on their sides indicating their destiny; while behind came a
mingled group of oxen, cows and calves, all driven by the san-
guinary butcher with whom he had refused to treat for his
favorites.
" Well, neighbor," he said, thrusting his hand in his pocket
and drawing thence a greasy leathern pouch, "I see you have
kept the cattle for me after all."
At first Helph positively declined selling them, but he did
not want them ; it was very uncertain when there would be an
opportunity of disposing of them as he wished, and when the
butcher added something to his first liberal offer, he replied,
" I suppose, sir, you will nave to take them." Riding into the
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. VI
yard, he drove them roughly forth with whip and voice, from
the manger of hay and the deep bed of straw. They were free
from the yoke, and yet they came side by side, and with their
heads bowed close together, just as they had been accustomed
to work. Passing their young master, they turned towards him
their great mournful eyes, reproachfully, he thought, and crush-
ing the price of them in his hand, he walked hastily in the direc-
tion of the house.
" The bad, old wretch," exclaimed Ellen, looking after the
butcher, as she stood on the porch, wiping her eyes with the
sleeve of the shirt she was making ; and just within the door sat
Aunt Wetherbe, her face half concealed within a towel, and
crying like a child.
A week more, and Ilelph was gone, Ellen still remaining
with the old people, till they should get a little accustomed to
their desolate home. The tears shed over his departure were
not yet dry, for he had left in the morning and it was now
dusky evening, when, as the little family assembled round the
tea-table, he entered, with a hurried and anxious manner that
seemed to preface some dismal tidings.
Poor youth ! his heart was almost breaking. He had no con-
cealments now, and very frankly told the story of his love, and
what had been his purposes for the future. Mr. and Mrs. Ran-
dull had suddenly given up their house, gone abroad, and taken
Jenny with them, under pretext of giving her a thorough educa-
tion in England. But the young lover felt instinctively that she
was separated from him for a widely different purpose. And
poor faithful Aunt Kitty, she had been dismissed without a shil-
ling above her scanty earnings, to work, old and disabled as she
was, or die like a beggar. After much inquiry, he had learned
that she had obtained an engagement at an asylum, as an atten-
dant on the sick.
"Dear old soul !" said Aunt Wetherbe, "you must go right
away in the morning and bring her here; she shan't be left to
suffer, and 1 know of it."
" Never mind all will come out bright," said Ellen, as Helph
sat that night on the porch, alone and sorrowful.
But he would not be comforted : Jenny had not left a single
7 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
line to give him assurance and hope, and even if she tnought of
him now, she would forget him in the new life that was before
her. All this was plausible, but Ellen's efforts were not entirely
without effect; and when she offered to go with him to the city
and see Aunt Kitty, who perhaps might throw some light on
the sudden movement, he began to feel hopeful and cheerful
almost: for of all eyes, those of a lover are the quickest to see
light or darkness.
Some chance prevented the fulfilment of Ellen's promise, and
I was commissioned by her to perform the task she had proposed
for herself. " It will help to keep him up, like," she said, " if
you go along." A day or two intervened before I could conve-
niently leave home, but at last we set out, on a clear frosty
morning of the late autumn. Behind the one seat of the little
wagon in which we rode, was placed an easy chair for Aunt
Kitty. A brisk drive of an hour brought us to the hospital;
and pleasing ourselves with thoughts of the happy surprise we
were bringing to the poor forlorn creature, we entered the
parlor, and on inquiry were told we had come too late she
had died half an hour before our arrival, in consequence of
a fall received the previous evening in returning from the dead-
house, whither she had assisted in conveying a body. " 1 have
ordered her to be decently dressed," said the superintendent,
"from my own things; she was so good, I thought that little
enough to do for her ;" and she led the way to the sick ward,
where Aunt Kitty awaited to be claimed and buried by her
friends. It was a room fifty or sixty feet Jong, and twenty
perhaps in width, lined on either side with a long row of nar-
row dirty beds, some of them empty, but most of which were
filled with pale and miserable wretches some near dying,
some groaning, some propped on pillows and seeming stolidly
to regard the fate of others and of themselves. The sun
streamed hot through the uncurtained windows, and the atmos-
phere was pervaded with offensive smells.
As my eye glanced down the long tiers of beds where there
was so much suffering, it was arrested by the corpse of the
poor old woman gone at last to that land where there are no
more masters, no more servants. 1 shuddered and stood still
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. 71
as the two shrivelled and haglike women wrapped aid pinned
the sheet about the stiffening limbs, with as much glee, imbecile
almost, but frightful, as they apparently were capable >f feel-
ing or expressing. " What in Heaven's name are you laugh-
ing at?" said Helph, approaching them. "Just to think of
sarving a dead nigger!" said one, with a revolting simper; but
looking in his face, she grew respectful with a sudden recollec-
tion, and drew from her pocket a sealed letter, saying, "May
be you can tell who this is for we found it in her bosom when
we went to dress her." It was a letter from Jenny to himself:
poor Aunt Kitty had been faithful to the last.
Not till I was turning from that terriblest shelter of woe I
ever saw, did I notice a young and pale-cheeked girl, sitting
near the door, on a low and rude rocking-chair, and holding
close to her bosom an infant but a few days old : not with a
mother's pride, I fancied, for her eyes drooped before the glance
of mine, and a blush burned in her cheek, as though shame and
not honor covered her young maternity. I paused a moment,
praised the baby, and spoke some kindly words to her; but she
bowed her head lower and lower on her bosom, speaking not a
word ; and seeing that I only gave her pain, I passed on, with a
spirit more saddened for the living than for the dead, who had
died in such wretchedness.
Jenny's letter proved a wonderful comfort to Helph, and
cheerfulness and elasticity gradually came back to him ; but
when, at the expiration of a year, his parents returned without
her, and bringing a report of her marriage, all courage, all
ambition, deserted him, and many a summer and winter went
by, during which he lived in melancholy isolation.
I shall not attempt td write the history of Jenny Mitohel,
except thus much, which had some relation to our life at Clo-
vernook ; and therefore pass abruptly into the future of my
good friend Randall. Nearly fifteen years were gone since his
sweetheart crossed the sea, and country belles had bloomed
and faded before his eyes, without winning from him special
regard : when, as he sat before a blaz : ng hickory fire one even-
ing, waiting tor Aunt Wetherbe, who still enjoyed a green old
78 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
age, to bring to the table the tea and short-cake, there was a
quick, lively tap on the door, and tho next moment, in the full
maturity of womanhood, but blushing and laughing like the
girl of years ago, Jenny stood in the midst of the startled
group Jenny Mitchel still ! Helph had become a prosperous
man in the world, and had been envied for the good fortune
which his patient bravery so much deserved. The waves of
the sea of human life bad reached out gradually from the city
until they surrounded his blacksmith's shop, and covered all
his lots as if with silver ; and he had been building, all the pre-
vious year, a house so beautiful, and with such fair accessories,
as to astonish all the neighborhood acquainted in any degree
with his habits or reputed temper. " What does the anchorite
mean to do with such a place ? he never speaks to a woman
more than he would to a ghost." they said ; " so he won't get
married ; and nobody is so particular about a house to sell,
and it can't be he's going to stay in it all alone." But Helph
knew very well what he was about, and was content to keep
his own counsel. If he had mailed certain letters out at Clover-
nook, our postmaster would have guessed at once his secret;
but though Mr. Helphenstein Randall was very well known in
town, there were so many objects there to interest the common
attention that it was never observed when, every once in a
while, he bought a small draft on England, nor that he more
frequently sent letters east for the Atlantic steamers, nor that
he received as frequently as there was foreign news in the
papers, missives, every month more neatly folded and with
finer superscriptions. He had been thought something of a
philosopher, by Ellen Blake and I, and others were convinced,
perhaps by justifying reasons, that he was as little impressible
by woman's charms as the cattle in his stalls. But there are
not so many philosophers in the world as some pretend, and
his heart was all aglow with pictures of one on whom he
looked in dreams and in the distant perfumed gardens of
his hope. Jenny, deserted, and struggling with all the adversi
ties that throng the way of a poor girl alone in so great a city,
had written at length from London all the story of her treat-
ment by her lover's parents, and having time for reflection
MRS. WETHERBE'S QUILTING PARTY. T
before he could answer her letter provoking all his nature
to joy and scorn he had decided that she should not come
back until she could do so with such graces and accomplish-
ments as should make her the wonder and him the envy of all
who had contrived or wished their separation. He had trusted
her, educated her, and at last had all the happiness of which
his generous heart was capable.
Ellen Blake of course presided at the wedding, and the
quilts quilted that night at Aunt Wetherbe's had been kept
unused for a present to Helph's wife on her bridal night.
When I am down in Jne city I always visit the Randalls, and
there is not in the Valley of the West another home so
sant. so harmonious, so much like what I trust to fhaiv
oeaven.
OUR NEIGHBORHOOD
ZEBTJLON SANDS
I.
" A CAPITAL fellow," everybody said when speaking of Zeb,
for no one ever called him Zebulon not even his brothers and
sisters : if you had called him Zebulon, he would have laughed
in your face. Poor fellow ! I can see him now, in fancy, just as
I used to see him about the old farm-house when I was going to
school always busy, and always cheerful, doing some good thing
or other, and laughing and whistling as he did so. Let me de-
scribe him as I remember him, when he was perhaps sixteen,
and I quite a little girl. He was not handsome, but no one
thought whether he were or not, so good-humored and genial was
the expression of his countenance. He was a little below the or-
dinary height, and stout rather than graceful, yet he was always
perfectly self-possessed, and so never awkward. His hair hung
in half curls of soft brown along a low white forehead, and a pair
of hazel eyes twinkled with laughter beneath. His face was full,
with the fresh glow of health breaking through the tan, for he
was a farmer's boy, arid used to exposure and hard work ; but
notwithstanding this, his hands and feet were delicately moulded
and beautiful.
At an early age he was fond of all manly exercises, and while
still a child would brave the severest cold with the fortitude of a
soldier. Many a time I have seen him chopping wood in the
lai 1-winter, without coat or hat, and standing knee-deep in the
6iio w : his hair tossing in the north wind, and his cheeks ruddy
as the air and exercise could make them. He was never too
busy to see me as I passed, or 1o whistle me a gay " good morn-
ing" if 1 were near enough to hear it, and had often a pleasant
word or two beside. And I never forgot to look for him : children
Are more fond of attentions than is apt to be imagined, and I per-
ZEBULON SANDS. 81
haps had the weakness in even an unusual degree. Ccmmonly he
was chopping at the woodpile, but not always; sometimes I
would see him driving the oxen toward the woods, seated on the
cart-side, his great dog, Watcher, sitting beside him : he would not
see me, and straightway the distance before me seemed to lengthen,
arid the winter wind to have a keener edge. Sometimes he was
about the barn, feeding the horses and cattle ; and I remember
seeing him once on a distant hill, dispensing bundles of oats to the
sheep : he saw me, however, far as he was away, and waved a
bundle of the grain oats in friendly recognition.
Everybody in the neighborhood knew Zeb, and had a kind
word to say when they met him, for men and women, boys and
girls, were alike fond of his good nature ; there was no distrust in
his brain : he never walked with an irresolute step, or rapped
at the proudest door with a misgiving heart, or doubted of the
cordial reception that waited him, wherever he might go. But
his confidence in the world was greater than its goodness war-
ranted : he did not recognize the weakness that is in humanity,
nor the weakness that was in himself, till too late. When he was
a little boy, he said often, " I will never be sick, and never die I
will go out in the woods and sing." And this was his spirit till
he grew into manhood.
Zeb had an only sister Ruth, or Ruthy, as he always called
her, and the two children lived in the old farm-house with their
father, a querulous gray-headed man, who had long forgotten he
was ever young. He did not perhaps mean to be a hard master,
nevertheless he was so sometimes. " Use doth breed a habit in
a man," and Mr. Sands, I suppose, became accustomed by little
and little to the much, to the all, his son did for him ; so that at
last his expectations in regard to him could scarcely be equalled.
Sometimes Zeb would come in at night, weary and dusty with
the day's hard work, and, for his father's comfort, and perhaps in
tlie hope of a little praise, tell over what he had done ; how he
had felled and chopped to firewood the most stubborn tree in the
forest, or, it might be, had plowed more ground than he had ex-
pected, arid so had unyoked the oxen before the sunlight was quite
gone. But never was he rejoiced by one word of congratulation.
If he had felled a tree, " Why, there was another knotty thing
82 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
close by could he not have got that down too ?" If he had
plowed more than another would have done, " He could have
plowed on yet ibr an hour there was light enough." This was
discouraging, but Zeb kept his patience through all, and tended
the farm year after year giving all the profits that accrued into
the old man's hand, and keeping nothing for himself.
Ruth was as good as most persons, but less thoughtful of her
brother's pleasure than her own. " Zeb, I want to go to town
to-morrow, or next week," she was accustomed to say, and be-
fore the appointed time Zeb would haul the little wagon to the
creek, and wash the old paint to look as fresh as new. The corn
was left ungathered or the mowing undone, and Ruth went to town
and bought a new dress, and bonnet too, if she chose ; and Zeb
said, " How pretty you will look when you wear them ! you will
be ashamed to go with me in my threadbare coat and old hat : I
am rather behind the fashion, ain't I, Ruthy ?" He laughed gaily
all the while, and Ruth laughed too ntver thinking how many
new hats she had had since Zeb had once indulged in such a
luxury.
The grass was whitening in the hazy days of October ; the orch-
ards were bright with ripe fruit, and the corn was rustling and
dry ; it was the autumn that made Zeb twenty years old. His lip
was darkening a little from its boyish glow, and now and then
soberer moods came to him than he had known before. Across a
dry ridge of stubble land, overgrown with briers, he had been
plowing all the windy day ; the oxen bent their heads low to the
ground as the dust blew in their faces, and Zeb took oft' his torn-
brimmed straw hat now and then, and shook out his curls, heavy
with sweat, and fell behind the team, as though thinking of other
things than his plowing. One side of the field was bordered by a
lane leading from the main road to an obscure neighborhood. It
was quite dusky where the lane struck into the woods, when a
lady came riding thence on a gay black horse, and seeing Zeb at
his plowing, tightened her rein, and, waiting ibr him to approach,
gave the salutation of the evening in a sweet, good-humored tone.
She was not dressed in the costume which ladies now-a-days think
indispensable for riding, but wore instead a straw hat with red
ribbons and a dress of sky-blue muslin not trailing low, but so
ZEBULON SANDS. M
short that her feet peeped now and then from beneath it. She sat
her horse gracefully, and her cheeks were deeply flushed, perhapa
from the proximity of the young farmer, perhaps merely from ex-
ercise ; and her black hair hung in curls down her shoulders, and
her black eyes sparkled with healthful happiness. So, altogether,
she made as pretty a finishing to the rural picture as one could
imagine. Certainly Zeb thought so, as leaning against the fence
be caressed the glossy neck of the horse, champing the bit and
pawing the dust impatiently ; and as he stood there it might
have been noticed that he removed his hat, and so rolled the brim
in his hand as to conceal how badly it was torn. It was observ-
able too that he talked in a subdued tone and with downcast
eyes very unlike his usual manner. After a brief delay, and a
little restrained conversation, the young woman rode forward,
putting her horse at once into a canter.
For five minutes or more Zeb lingered where she left him not
looking after her, nor seeming to see anything, as he idly cut
letters in the fence-rail with his knife. Directly, however, he
took up his hat from the ground, upon which it had fallen, re-
placed his knife in his pocket, drew a sigh, and began to unyoke
his team. But before he had quite freed the weary oxen he
looked up : the blue dress and red ribbons were yet visible in the
distance : he hesitated, and after a moment resumed his plowing,
whistling a merry tune, but so plaintively and with such varia-
tions as made it sad almost as a dirge.
The pretty girl just riding out of sight is Molly Blake, a youn;j
person who lives a mile or so beyond the woods that stand against
the field in which the youth is at work. Zeb and Molly one 3
stood together at spelling school, and Zeb spelled for her all the
hard words, in whispers ; and on a time, while picking berries,
they chanced to meet, and it so happened that Zeb went homo
with an empty basket, while Molly's was heaped full. The cause
of their seeing each other to-day is, that Molly is going to mako
an apple-cutting in a night or two, and has given the earliest invi-
tation to Zeb. As he carved letters in the fence he was debating
whether he would go or not ; and as he unyoked the oxen, he
was saying to himself, " I will go home and rest, I am tired ;
nd 1 can't go to the apple-cutting, at any rate, in my old clothed
84 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
and hat." Still he hesitated, and as he did so, saw the blue
dress and red ribbons in the distance ; then came the thought
that he might plow an hour or two more, and so gain time to go
to town with some oats or potatoes, and bring home such articles
as the frolic seemed to demand. And at this thought he ro-
Biimed his work.
It not unfrequently happens that a young man is not regarded
by his sisters as he is regarded by other women ; such was the
case with Zob ; and on this special occasion Ruth never once
thought whether her brother had been invited to the party or
riot, so engaged was she with her own plans and pleasures. It
chanced this evening, as such things will chance sometimes, that
supper was prepared an hour earlier than usual ; and, until it was
too late for her to see, Ruth stood at the window, watching for
her brother to come home.
Meantime the fire burned out and the tea grew cold ; and then
came impatience, and then petulance, so that Ruth said at last,
" Come, father, we will eat without him, and let him come when
he gets ready."
~ But Zeb came pretty soon, wearied, but with a brain full of
pleasant thoughts, which shone out upon his manly countenance.
" Well, Ruthy, I am sorry I have kept you waiting," he said, as
he drew water for his oxen at the well.
" I am sorry too," she answered in a calm, decided tone, that
indicated a frigid state of feeling.
" Come, Ruthy, do n't be vexed," said Zeb, laughing after the
old fashion, " but get my supper, while I turn the oxen into the
meadow (you do n't know how tired and hungry I am) and I
will tell you what detained me."
" You need n't trouble yourself to do that," she answered,
tossing her head, '' it 's of no importance to me."
Zeb pulled his old hat over his eyes, and walked soberly
away with his oxen, quite forgetting that he was either tired or
hungry. If Ruth felt any misgivings, pride kept them down ;
and, to justify herself, she said, half aloud, " Well, I do n't care !
be had no business to stay awav till midnight." Neverthe-
less, she arranged the supper as nicely as might be ; but Zeb did
Hot come his appetite had quite deserted him. Across the
ZEBULON SANLS. 1ft
meadow, n(,ar where the oxen were feeding, he lay on the
grass, the moonlight, flecked by the apple-boughs, falling over
and around him.
A day or two of unhappy reserve went by, Zeb remaining
little about the house, and saying little when he was there, but
plowing early and late, grieved rather than vexed. When he
spoke to Ruth, it was with words and in a manner studiously-
kind, and with her duller sense she did not see that he was
changed, but a crisis had been reached at length in the young
farmer's life and nature.
The evening of so many happy anticipations was near at
hand. The morning was bright, and Zeb rose early, and was
busy with preparations for a little project he had in his mind,
when Ruth came out, and assisting him to lift a bag of potatoes
into the wagon, inquired whether he were going to town that
day : she would like to go, she said, if he could make room for
her. " I am invited to Molly Blake's to-morrow night," she
continued, "and that is the reason I wish to go to town this
morning." She did not ask Zeb if ht; also were invited: she
never thought of the possibility.
It was after noon before they reached the city, and leaving
his sister at the house of a cousin, in the suburbs, with a promise
of meeting her at an appointed hour, he drove away in search
of a market for his oats and potatoes. The grocers with whom
he was in the habit of dealing were all supplied ; the few offers
he received were greatly below his expectations, and hours
were spent in driving from street to street, before he was able
to dispose of his produce at any reasonable price. He had
found no time to dine no time to feed his horses and the
heads of the tired animals drooped sadly, as he turned them
toward the place where he was to meet Ruth.
The show at the window of a hatter attracted him ; he had
never had a fur hat, and checking his team close against the side-
walk, he looked at the tempting display, and had mentally
selected one which he thought would please him at the same
time putting his hand in his pocket to ascertain whether he
could afford one so fine when his attention was arrested by
the sudden appearance of his sister. "Why, Zeb!" she said
* OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
pettishly, "are you charmed with a hatter's window? I waited
and waited till I was tired to death, and then set out in search
of you." Zeb laughed, and answered, that if she looked at his
old hat she would see why he was charmed, and assured her of
his regret that she was alarmed about him.
It was not fear for his safety that induced her to look for
him, but need of money. The youth averted his face from the
\\induw, and a disappointed expression passed across it, as he
answered, "How much do you want, Ruthy ?"
' Oh, I do n't know," she said carelessly, " all you 've got."
He turned away, as if to take up the reins perhaps even his
dull sister, could she have seen it, would have been able to
read something of what was at the moment written on his coun-
tenance and reaching backward all the money he had, and
climbing into the wagon, began to rub the mud from his trow,
sers with a wisp of straw. Away went Ruth her thoughts
full of new ribbons and shining shoes, and more than all, of the
gold ring that was to sparkle on her finger the next evening.
While these little purchases were being made, the horses
stamped their feet, and switched their tails restlessly; and Zeb,
fueling that he had no very present purpose, nor any sympathy
to lessen his half-surly and half-tearful mood, turned his back
to the hatter's window, and, seated in the front corner of the
wagon, brushed the flies from the tired animals with his old hat.
The sun was near setting when Ruth returned, her hands full
of little packages and parcels, and her face beaming with joy.
So they went home together, and when Ruth rode to town in
the little wagon again, Zeb was not sitting beside her.
The next day was a busy one, but before night the new white
mron was made, tne pink ribbon knotted up, and the ring glit-
tiering where Ruth had long desired to see it. '' Well, Zeb,''
she -said, as she turned down the lane to go to Molly Blake's,
" I want you to make me a flower-pot to-night sawed in
notches at the top, you know it's time to take up my myrtle."
All day he had been thinking she would say something about
his going with her disclose some regret, perhaps, when he
should tell her he could not go ; but now the poor satisfaction of
giving any expression to his disappointment was denied him, and
I
ZEBULON SANDS. fT
making pictures in the air, of gayeties in which he could have no
part, he set to work about the flower-pot. He thought haid,
and wrought as hard as he thought, and the little box was soon
completed notched round at the top, just as had been desired.
It was not yet dark when the work was done, and Zeb held it
up admiringly when he had filled it with fresh earth, and ar-
ranged the long myrtlf vines to drop gracefully through the
notches. He placed it IB the window of Ruth's room, and, the
task accomplished, there came a feeling of restlessness that he
could not banish, try as he would. The full moon was redden-
ing among the clouds, and the yellow leaves raining down with
every wind, as, folding his arms, he walked up and down among
the flowers that he had planted in May.
" Ah, Zeb, is that you?" said a good-natured voice, in a fami-
liar tone ; and a young man, driving in a rattling cart, drew up
before the gate, and followed the salutation with an oath and an
inquiry as to Zeb's being at home, when there was "such
almighty attraction abroad."
Zeb came indolently forward, remarking that his friend was
insensible t that great attraction as well as himself.
" Oh, Jehu !" answered the young man, laughing boisterously,
"I hope \ou don't think 1 was invited. Gracious me! you
do n't expect a wood-chopper like me could get into such a
place as Molly Blake's house 1 ?" And he laughed again, saying,
" Zeb, my dear boy, how very verdant you are !"
The man in the cart was, as he said, a wood-chopper a most
genial and amiable fellow, notwithstanding some bufferings of
adverse fortune for he had been cast loose on the world at an
early age, and had faced scorn and hunger, laughing all the
time. " Come, come, Zeb," he said, seeing the moping mood
of the young farmer " climb into my coach, and allow me to
give you an airing by the light of the moon. In with you ! 1
can fight down tne bluest devils that ever got hold of a chap."
We are apt to inibibe the spirit of whomever we associate
W'th. and Zeh aJi;cted a liveliness at first which he prsentlj
8 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
felt, and joined in the wild chorus which the chopper every now
and then pealed out :
" Never candles at night
Made so pretty a light
As the moon shining over our cabin, my dear ;
Never home was so sweet
As our woodland retreat,
So where could we ever be happy but here 1"
They drove rapidly, and talked mirthfully, and soon reached
their destination, the ball-room of the Clovernook tavern, in
which that night a political speech was to be made. It was
late and raining when the meeting broke up, and a portion of
the assemblage adjourned to the bar-room, to wait for the rain
to slack, and to talk off their excitement and prejudice.
" Well, boys," said our Jehu, who was moved to the highest
pitch of his best humor by the politician's speech, which chanced
to " meet his ideas exactly," " I feel as if a little drop of some-
thing would do me good ; and besides I want you to jine me in
drinking the health of the apple-cutters. Here !" he continued,
exhibiting a bottle to the circle about him, " who of you will
take off the head of this ' Lady Anne ?' "
But one bottle did not suffice, nor two, nor three ; the spirits of
the company rose higher arid higher ; strong and stronger drinks
were called for the wood-chopper protesting that he could stand
a treat as well as another, and especially urging the liquor upon
his friend Zeb, topping off each proffer with, " Darn the expense,
old feller ; drink, and forget your sorrows, and Molly into the
bargain." Zeb declined at first, replying that he did n't care
anything about Molly : but it would not do ; he was asked if he
(bared to vex the proudy, and had so soon surrendered his
manhood to her caprice. At last he yielded to the current so
strongly set against him, and, swearing a great oath, drank off
more brandy than might safely be taken by the most habitual
tippler. But it is not necessary that I linger on that dreadful
night. Alas, for poor Zeb ! it was a night that for him had
never any ending.
The sun was struggling up, and the mists were rising out of
the ground like hot steam, when the wood-chopper again drew up
ZEBULON SANDS. 89
his cait before the old farm-house ; and arousing his companion
from the straw in which he lay in a fevered and maddened sleep,
assisted him to the ground, balancing him on his feet as one
might a little child, and steadying him as he tried to walk for
he staggered feebly one way and the other, telling the chopper
he did n't care a damn who saw him, that he was j ust as good
as any man, and that Molly Blake was the prettiest girl in the
world, and he would fight anybody who said she was not.
" Come, Zeb," said his companion, " have more pluck ; do n't
talk so like a fool ;" and passing his arm around him, he conti-
nued, " be like me be a man !" And with such encourage-
ment, he brought his friend as near the house as he dared, and
left him to make his entrance alone.
" Zebulon Sands," said his father, meeting him at the door,
and giving the severest expression to a naturally severe counte-
nance, " are you not ashamed to show your face to me ? I
wish you had died before I saw this day. I do n't want to see
nor speak to you," he continued, " till you can behave yourself
better." Ruth stood by, speaking riot a word, but looking her
contempt and indignation, while Zeb staggered against the wall,
and with downcast eyes picked the straws out of his hair and
from off his coat. He heard her laugh derisively, saw her turn
away, and when he called her, she did not come perhaps she
did not hear him. In a moment all the imbecility of drunken-
ness was gone he knew what he had done, and felt a self-con-
demnation bitterer than a thousand curses.
The rain came on again after an hour or two, and continued
throughout the day, and Zeb, creeping into the bam, listened to
its falling on the roof, half wishing that some dread accident
would come upon him, whereby a reconciliation with his father
and sister might be brought about. But hour alter hour went by,
and the dull and dreary beating of the rain was all he heard ;
no gleam of sunshine broke the gloom that was about him ; no
voice but the still, reproving one of conscience, met his listening ;
so the day faded, and the night fell. At last, worn down physi-
cally, and exhausted mentally, he slept, waking not till the break
of lay. The rain had ceased, and the wind was whistling chillily
fro u the north. He remembered what his father had said to
90 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
him. and the contemptuous laugh of his sister rang in his ears.
If they had looked kindly on him, his heart would have been
melted ; he would have asked their forgiveness, and perhaps
would never again have yielded to temptation, made even
stronger by his transient weakness. But they had met him with
no kindly admonitions, and he had too much pride to seek an
opportunity of humbling himself; so giving one sorrowful look to
the old farmhouse, he pulled the torn hat over his eyes, thrust
his hands in his pockets, and in a few minutes the hills of home
were lost to him forever.
Zeb whistled as he went, not for want of thought, but to drown
it, and he walked fast, in a vain effort to get away from himself.
The sun was scarcely risen when he found himself in the sub-
urbs of the city, friendless and penniless. I need not describe his
efforts to find employment : of course he understood nothing but
the work to which he had been used, and his rustic manners and
anxious credulity made him liable to constant impositions.
III.
" Well, Ruthy, I wonder if Zeb has found a better place ?''
said Mr. Sands one evening about a fortnight after the young man
had gone to seek his fortune.
" I do n't know," she answered, laying the embers together, for
it was cold enough for fire now ; " I do n't know I do wonder
where he is but he will take care of himself, 1 11 warrant that."
" I hope he will," said Mr. Sands ; " but I do n't know. He
was always a good boy I wish I had not been quite so hard
with him."
The silence that followed was broken by a rap on the door.
" Come in," said Mr. Sands, and the cousin mentioned as living in
the city suburb entered. Zeb was at his house, and very sick.
The physicians had pronounced his diseas^ small-pox of the most
virulent nature.
With the suspense, some softness had gathered about the heart*
of father and sister ; but when this intelligence came, more than
(he old hardness returned.
"If he had staid at home and minded his business," said the
ZEBULON SANDS. n
father, " he would have been well ; as it is, he must get along
the best he can. It would be an awful thing to bring him into
the neighborhood."
" Dear me, I can 't go to see him," said Ruth, rolling up her
sleeve, to examine the scar of vaccination. " It was too bad in
Zeb to act so. I hope when he gets well he '11 behave himself."
" He is very good, all at once," said the father. " Is he broke
out in the face ?"
So the cousin rode back again, little profited by his journey.
Two or three days went by without any further tidings of
Zeb, and then a neighbor chanced to hear in town that he was
very bad ; still it was not definitely known that his case was
desperate.
" Very bad !" said Mr. Sands, when he heard this news
" every body is very bad who has the small-pox : like enough
he '11 be marked for life." But though he was uneasy, he
neither sent a messenger nor went himself to visit his unhappy
son. For three days nothing further was heard. Ruth said she
thought he must be better, else they would hear ; arid the father
said he guessed so too, or they would certainly get some news
from him.
The day was one of those deliciously genial ones which some-
times gladden the autumn ; and the father and daughter, well
and strong, could not realize that Zeb was dying. In the after-
nonn Ruth went to pass an hour or two and drink tea with a
friend. There were many new things to be seen, and many
interesting matters to be talked about; so her thoughts were
quite drawn away from her brother ; or, if now and then they
returned to him, it was less fearfully than they had done before.
It was nightfall when she set out for home, and though the dis-
tance was not long, star after star came out, as, slowly walk-
ing, she recounted all that she had seen and heard that after-
noon ; how such an one had made her a new dress, and whether
it were probable that such another were to be married, as re-
ported ; and so, musing, she reached the hill that overlooked
the homestead. All was dark : involuntarily she quickened her
step, and in a moment recognized her father walking backward
and forward in the road before her. His form seemed naure
iS OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
than usually bent, and his hands were crossed behind him- *
cording to his habit in times of trouble and his gray hair wa
uncovered, and blown about in the wind. He was waiting for
her she knew, and why he was waiting she felt. " Oh, father,"
she said, seeing he did not speak, " have you heard from Zeb ?"
" I wish I had cone to see him, Ruth," he answered, covering
his face with his hands.
" Is he dead ?" she asked in a low tone for the awful fear
kept her heart still.
" I do n't know," he answered trembling, " but I 'm afraid
we shall never see him alive. He has not spoken, since last
night at midnight then he said he should not get well, and
that he should like to see me and you, Ruthy ; yet he told
them not to send for us, saying we could do no good, and that
our lives must not be endangered for him."
" Oh, poor Zeb !" sobbed out the girl, " let us go and see
him. Can 't we go to-night?"
" Dear child, he does not know anybody to-day," answered
the father, " and has not spoken since sunrise. Poor Zeb ! it
is all our fault."
So, talkingand weeping together, they entered the old house.
How lonesome it was ! the wind had never been so mournful
before. Ruth remembered when she and Zeb had listened to
it in the autumns that were gone, but it was not dirge-like,
as now. The drifting of the yellow leaves in the moonlight
seemed to have a sorrowful significance ; and, years after, Ruth
could not see them fall without recalling something of the feel-
ing that came upon her that night.
It is a Jong time since they sat together, father and daughter,
listening to the winds and to the reproaches of their own hearts,
as they remembered their harsh words and hard behavior. It
is a long time since Ruth took from the notched flower-pot
Zeb had made for her the greenest and freshest vines of the
myrtle, and set them over his grave. And once or twice in
every year the wood-chopper may be seen mending the mound,
and pulling the weeds from among the flowers. He has never
been known to " stand a treat" since the night he tempted his
Triend to ruin.
LEARNING CONTENT.
LEARNING CONTENT,,
I.
" WHAT on earth am I to do now ? I 'd just like to know
here you are crying out 'Mother, mother, mother !' a half a
dozen at a time may be if I could make myself into two tv
three women I might get along."
So exclaimed Mrs. Polly Williams, throwing down a gar
ment, on which she had been resolutely and silently stitching,
and her air and manner indicating complete mental and physical
exhaustion. The children, who had caused this violent out-
break and the more ominous relapse, stood back in affright for
a moment, and then recommenced the gambols and frolicsome
quarreling in which they had been previously engaged.
" I say, Billy, you and Jim pretend to be my horses, and
turn down the red chair and pretend it's a stage, and get me
on the top and pretend I 'm the driver !" shouted John Williams,
a bright-eyed little fellow, not yet out of petticoats, and his
round rosy cheeks seemed shining with pleasure as he seized
the tongs for a whip.
" Eh, why ! that 's a great whip we won't be horses if you
are going to strike with that," sung out both boys at once ;
upon which the child began making so rapid and terrible a
stampede on the floor as to mollify their prejudices at once.
" Oh. yes, Johny may drive us with the tongs," they said,
"just as much as he wants to ; we can pretend it's a whip with
two stocks and no lash a new-fashioned whip that cost fourteen
hundred million dollars j" and turning down the red chair, they
put themselves in the traces, a feat that was accomplished in a
summary way, and by merely taking hold of the chair posts
after which they trotted off in rather coltish style, looking
94 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
askance at Johny, who stood sniveling on one side of the room
quite regardless of his team.
In vain they capered and made divers snorts and pitches at
him as they passed ; all for some time proved ineffectual ; but
ere long his hands slipped from over his eyes, and a slantwise
glance now and then betokened an increasing interest. The
pretended horses, at this juncture, began kicking up their heels
and dashing forward furiously, at the same time crying out at
the top of their voices, "Oh, Johny's team is running away
they will break the stage all to pieces, and Johny can't check
them he is a little coward Johny is !"
"No, I ain't," said the young Jehu, indignantly ; and uplifting
his two-stocked whip before the brothers, he brought them to a
sudden stand-still, on which he began pulling their hair right
viciously.
" Buhby must n't pull the mane of his colts so hard," remon-
strated the boys, "or they will get mad and bite." Then they
opened their mouths to the widest extent and closed them again
with a snap that was in fact rather fearful to see, while Johny,
with laughter on his lips, and the tears in his eyes, climbed upon
the prostrate chair and indicated his wishes 'by sundry kicks
and thrusts of the tongs.
A few rounds over the carpet, and one or two hair breadth
escapes in crossing the sunken hearth, which the talkative horses
pretended was a new stone-bridge over the Ohio, without pro-
tecting railings, and consequently very dangerous, especially
with skittish colts, had a tendency to bring the little driver into
a phrenzy of good humor, and he began with almost unintel-
ligible earnestness to announce his progress. " Now we are
just going by the school-house," said he, "and all the scholars
are trying to look at us: Ab Long will get whipt for shaking
bis fist at me, and Rachel Day is running after me to get a
ride : run fast, horses, and get away from her ! now we are
away a hundred miles past her, and I expect she is crying like
a good fellow. Whoa! horses, here's the green tavern" and
he brought up before a dining-table covered with a green shining
oil-cloth, and dismounting, threw the reins, consisting of a strirg
of white rags, which passed for fair leather, on the ground, in
LEARNING CONTENT. -a
true professional style ; and seizing a small tin bucket, in which
the boys carried their dinner to school, he vigorously beat the
air with one arm while he held the bucket beneath the door-
knob, under pretence of pumping water, after which he held the
empty bucket before the faces of the boys, whose noisy inha-
lations of air passed for copiously refreshing draughts.
" The looking-glass is the sign don't you see, Bill ? don't
you see it, Jim 1" said John, pointing to a small square glass,
in a cherry frame, which was hung with some attempt at style
between the ceiling and the table, having for a back-ground some
two yards of bluish-colored paper, embellished with figures of
chickens and roosters of a bright pink color, decidedly well to
do, an almost defiant aspect, and tails outspread like the huge
fans with which fat old ladies in the country revive them-
selves on Sunday afternoons, and also with little black demuie
hens having yellow streaks, close at the neck, and widening out
into gores between the wings. This was, in fact, the genteel
part of the house, for closely neighboring the glass was the
skeleton of a clock, standing out from another strip of highly-
colored paper, with nothing but its square white face to screen
from view its curious mechanism of pegs, wires, and wheels,
while the pendulum ticked off the time below, and from hour
to hour the two great iron weights dangled lower and lower,
with a creaky, scraping sound, resembling the thunder of a
caty-did if such a thing might be till at length they almost
touched the floor, when the eldest daughter. Maria, whose
honorary privilege it was, climbed upon a little workstand, and
with slow and regular turning of the key, wound the aforesaid
weights quite out of view behind the great white face. But to
return to my young traveler : " Gee up, Bill ; gee up, Jim !"
said Johny, taking up the fair leather reins, and snapping the
tongs together by way of cracking his whip ; " now I 'in going
by the store ; now I 'm going by the flour-mill ; now I 'm going
away through the woods j now you must pretend all the chairs
are trees, and that you run against them and break the stage
and kill yourselves !"
" Oh, no, Johny, that's no way at all," said Jim, looking back
in a dissatisfied way; "you drn't know how to t r avel I've
9 OUR NEIUHBORHOOD.
studied geography let me tell you where to go, something
>*e."
John remained sullenly silent a moment, and then urging hia
team forward, said, "If you know such great things, teli them."
"Now, Bill, do just as I do," said Jim, in an earnestly ad-
monishing way, on which the two boys gave a jump, as sudden,
and over as much distance, as they could, cumbered as they
were with stage-coach and passengers. "Now," said Jim, "we
are at Cincinnati" here followed another spring; "now we
are at New York !" then came a quick succession of springs
and announcements, which took in the world in a few minutes,
and brought them back in front of the green tavern, when the
loud stamping of the mother's foot caused a momentary silence.
" Do you mean to tear the house down ?" she exclaimed, in
a very loud and angry tone; "I do think I've got the woist
boys of anybody in this world ; I don't know what to do with
you ; it 's no use to try to make you mind ; I might as well
speak to the wind bad, good for nothing boys that you are !
What would you think to see your father and me act as you
do ?" The idea was so ludicrous that the boys laughed out-
right, in spite of the solemnity of the occasion, and Johny, the
least and most timid, ran under the table, that he might the
more freely indulge his mirthful inclinations.
"Oh, Johny is a rabbit now, that we have burrowed," said
the boys, dropping on their hands and knees, and barking at
him as much after the manner of dogs, as frequent practice had
enabled them to do.
At this juncture Mrs. Williams arose, and, taking down a
switch that depended menacingly from the ceiling, she brought
it to bear, much as a dexterous thresher would a flail, on so
many bundles of oats. John presently came out, with his
plump little fists in his eyes and a great blue spot on his fore-
head, crying as if his heart would break. The older boys
made sundry dives and plunges, in which one of the clock
weights was pulled down and the table set askew, but all efforts
to escape were circumvented, and they soon gave up and joined
in the crying.
* Now," said Mrs. Williams, with a good deal of exultation
LEARNING CONTENT. 7
in her angry tone, " you have got something to make a noisa
for !"
But as their loud clamor subsided into reproachful moans,
the violence of the mothers wrath subsided too, and she began
pouring out lamentations as though she were doomed to all the
suffering in the world. Johny she took up in her arms and
rocked, with many essays, not altogether ineffectual, to kiss his
forehead well under which treatment the little fellow, forgetting
his team and his bruises, sobbed into sleep. The older boys
picked their nails and turned their faces to their chair-backs,
while a sermon on this wise was inflicted by the matron : " Ain't
you ashamed, James and William, great boys, big enough to
be men, to act as you do, and give your poor mother so much
trouble ! Here she sits, making and mending and cooking for
you all day, and you don't care no, not a bit, you don't caie
for your poor mother !" " You don't take the right means to
make us care," they might have replied, but they said nothing,
and she went on : " Poor old mother ! one of these days she '11
get sick and die, and have to be buried in the ground, and then
what will become of you, and poor father too at work all day
to get shoes, and bread, and everything you will be sorry-
then you did n't mind mother, and be good little boys." Quite
overcome with the desolate picture which poor father and his
little orphans made in her imagination, she drew the corner of
her apron before her eyes, and indulged in melancholy reflec-
tions much longer than, under the circumstances, she should
have done, for it was nearly night, and Mrs. Polly Williams
was a farmer's wife, and the evening should have been a busy
time the tea-kettle should have been filled, the milk skimmed,
the room set in order, and many other things done, the while
her checked apron was being moistened with tears, that she said
nobody cared for.
Meantime, Jonathan Williams, whose shadow, as he plowed,
stretched half way across the field behind him, looked anxiously
towards the house, for he was tired and not sorry to see the sun
descending so near the western tree-tops. " What can be the
matter with Polly ?" he thought, as he came over the ridge
And saw the house looking still and desolate, while all the
98 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
neighboring homes were enveloped with wreaths of smoke,
pleasantly indicative of approaching supper. " It is time, too,
the boys were coming for the cows; I wonder if our folks are
all dead, or what on earth they are about !" After another
moment's hesitation, he concluded to plow one more round,
before leaving off work for the day. The field in which he
was engaged joined that of his neighbor, Thomas Giles, who
chanced also to be plowing ; and it further happened that the
two teams drew up to the dividing fence together.
"Well, Mr. Williams," said Mr. Giles, "how does plowu. e
go ground in pretty good order ?"
"So so," answered Williams, too much disturbed in mind to
appreciate correctly his neighbors question, perhaps.
" A nice colt that bay of yours : how many hands high is
he?" asked Giles, leaning over the fence and patting his arched
neck caressingly.
"Nice-looking enough," answered Williams; "but his sight,
you see,"
" Humph ! pity but he has the eye of a kind critter ;"
and Giles combed the long mane of the proud-looking animal,
with his fingers, as though he thought him a pretty good colt
after all. "Trade him," he added, after a moment, "if a fellow
would give you boot enough ?"
" No, sir ! I have no idea of selling or trading him," and
Mr. Williams looked toward his house, which was now out of
view, saying, ''I must be getting along home."
"Time for me, too," said Giles; "I see by the smoke that
supper is ready, and 1 only meant to stop long enough to send
a message from my wife to yours, which is nothing more nor
less than an invitation from rny wife to your wife to come to
our house to-morrow afternoon. ' Early,' my wife told me to
say, and that she would be disappointed if your wife did n't
come."
"I'll tell her," said Williams; and loosening the traces, he
sent his horses homeward alone, and set out himself in search
of the cows ; while Giles plodded along, wondering whether
his neighbor had a touch of the rheumatism, (the weather had
been damp) or what made him so down-hearted. As he drew
LEARNING CONTENT. 99
near home, his wife came forth, with her rn'lk-pail, and a deep
Bun-bonnet pulled down over her face. Little Daniel Giles
btood beneath a cherry-tree, varying his idleness by throwing
stones at the chickens which were going to roost in the boughs ;
the mother paused, gave him a silent shake, boxed his ears,
right and left, and passed on, without so much as glancing at
Tommy.
" Why, Emeline, what sends you out to milk to-night?" said
the husband, kindly, as tucking up her skirts she placed herself
beside a little kicking heifer, with brindled hide, and horns
bent close together, switching her tail in the woman's face
by way of salutation.
" What sends me? why, it's time somebody was milking, I'm
sure." Scarcely had she finished the sentence, when away went
the pail, with a deep indention in one side, and the little cow
was seen running and tossing her head in an opposite direction.
" Don't try to milk the ugly brute, Emeline," said Mr. Giles,
consolingly ; "it's as much as I can do."
But Mrs. Giles, after shaking the milk from her apron, took
up the pail in silence, and resolutely resumed her milking.
Directly, however, she was left beside her overturned pail,
alone, and the tears, in spite of her winking and pulling down
the bonnet, dropped one after another down her cheeks.
"If you had minded rne, that would not have happened,"
was the first exclamation of the husband ; but when he saw her
tears, his tone changed to one of kind commiseration, and reach
ing for the pail, to which she firmly held, he said, " Do n't, Erne
line ; do n't be so stubborn ; go in and prepare the supper while
1 milk ; come, Emelime, come I expect Polly Williams will
come to see you to-morrow."
" 1 do n't care for Polly Williams ; I'm sorry she is coming,"
sobbed Mrs. Giles ; but her heart was softened a little, evi-
dently, for she loosened her hold on the pail, which Mr. Giles
took, as he continued, "To be sure, Emeline, Polly Williams
is n't you, but I guess she is a good clever woman, for you
know she comes into our house if any of us is ailing, just aa
though it was her own j she seems to know just where and how
to take hold."
100 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
" She ought to have some good about her, the dear knows,'"
persisted Mrs. Giles, the fires of whose anger were not yet all
burned down ; " but I suppose if she is coming there is no help
for it."
" Why, you told me this very noon-time," answered the hus-
band, "just as I was dipping a tin of water from the pine
bucket with your own lips you told me to try and get word
to Polly to come over here a visiting to-morrow afternoon."
"Well, what if I did?"
" Nothing : only I supposed you wanted her to come."
"Oh, you suppose great things, sometimes."
"Well, well, never mind," said Mr. Giles; "I don't want
to quarrel, and I do want my supper."
" You are always finding fault with me," said Mrs. Giles,
petulantly, " when I try to do everything ;" and then came out
one cause, at least, of the vexation supper had been waiting
half an hour.
When the supper had been eaten by the husband, in silence,
(Mrs. Giles did n't want any, she had a headache,) and removed
^uddenly, and the children were all asleep, happy in dreams of
new hen's nests, perhaps, Mr. Giles drew his chair up to that
of his wife, where she sat in a streak of moonlight, leaning her
head on her hand.
" Emeline," he said, pressing between both his toil-hardened
hands one of hers, "don't you remember one night, when we
were walking down the lane, and you blushed that I called you
Mrs. Giles for your name was not Mrs. Giles then we saw
riding home from market Mr. arid Mrs. Griffith, looking as
though none the happier for being together, and I said to you,
'Emeline, is that the way we shall do, by-and-byT and you
said, ' If 1 ever look so cross, Tommy, I shall not expect you to
love me.' Then," he added, half sorrowfully, half reproach-
fi 11), " I <- v i n't think you ever would."
Poor Mrs. Giles over all her worn and faded and chilling
experiences, came a wave from that fountain that is always
fresh she did n't look cross any more.
The next morning she went about preparations for Mrs.
Williams, cheerfully, though she said it was troublesome to
LEARNING CONTENT. 101
have visitors; but she should never be any more ready than
she was then, she supposed. And so, with sweating and toiling
and some scolding, she prepared custards and cakes, and such
other delicacies as farmhouses afford, arranging the dinnnr
meantime, that all might be in readiness at an early hour.
The children, who were frolicsome and noisy and not too obe-
dient, were called together from tree-tops and mud-puddles, and
from under the barn their faces and hands reduced to a natural
color by soap and water applications, their heads, which Mrs.
Giles said looked like so many brush-heaps, combed and curled,
and their torn and soiled garments exchanged for neat and clean
ones and they were told they must see how pretty they could
act, for that Mrs. Williams was going to bring her three nice
little boys, who would be frightened to death if they behaved
as they were accustomed to. A dozen whippings would not
have been so effectual, and, tying on bonnets and hats, they
walked down the lane and settled themselves in the shade of
a tree to greet the coming of their visitors. They did not have
long to wait, for the shadows were only slanting a little from
noon when Mrs. Williams, with three accompaniments, whom
she called at home the torments of her life, and abroad her
troublesome comforts, was seen coming over the hill, in a dress,
of a stiff woollen stuff, which she had worn from time immemo-
rial, and holding before her face the faded green parasol which
she had carried just about as long.
" I'll declare," said Mrs. Giles, slipping out of one dress and
into another, "she might as well have come before dinner, and
be done with it ; what on earth can J find to say all this long
afternoon ?" The new cap was hardly tied when the creaking
of the gate announced the near approach of her neighbor, and
as Mrs. Giles opened the door her face broke into the happiest
smile. "Really, Polly," she said, violently shaking hands, "it
does a body good to see you once more."
" I am sure," answered Mrs. Williams, " I ain't much to see,
and if I look happy it 's because I 've come to your house, where
everything is so nice ;" and the two ladies, mutually pleased,
and, laughing as though they never did anything else, walked
into the house together.
lot OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
When, the previous evening, Mr. Williams brought home
the cows, with some misgivings he approached the house, for
he yet saw no indication of life thereabouts. " Why, Polly,
what in the world has happened ?" he said, placing his hands on
either side of the door, and looking anxiously within ; but
Polly neither looked up nor made any reply. " Heard any
bad news, any way ?" he said, after a pause. Mrs. Williams
shook her head ; and after a moment of bewildered silence, and
seeing his boys lopping over the backs of their chairs, with
swollen eyes and red noses, he renewed his efforts to ascertain
what manner of calamity could have overtaken his household.
" Sick, any of you ?" he said, in a tone between petulance and
tenderness.
Mrs. Williams partly removed the apron from her eyes, and
looked askance at her husband, revealing a face reddenevl with
tears, but she only shook her head, this time more mournfully
than before.
"Then what is the matter? seems to me you act strangely,
for nothing."
After lingering in vain anxiety a little while longer, he pro.
ceeded to kindle a fire, and fill the tea-kettle ; and Mrs. Wil-
liams, laying her baby in the cradle, presently went about
preparations for supper. No farther explanation was asked or
given, and a night's sleep operated to restore things to their
usual tenor.
" I had a little talk with Mr. Giles, last evening," said Mr.
Williams, at breakfast.
" Did you f ' said Mrs. Williams ; " well, what did he have
to say ?"
" Oh, not much he liked our bay oolt pretty well, and he
said his wife said she wanted you to come ever there this after-
noon airly, he said she said."
" I have quite as much as I can get along with, at home,"
said Mrs. Williams ; and she looked as though she endured a
great many hardships that nobody cared anything about.
"Well, do as you like, Polly," said Mr. Williams, as he
LEARNING CONTENT. 10*
out to his day's labor ; " but he said, Emeline said
she wanted you to come, and bring the children, he said, she
said."
" I am sure I do n't care much about visiting anywhere, and
least of all about visiting Mrs. Giles."
" Why, what have you against Mrs. Giles ? she is a nice
woman, I am sure beautiful day, I guess it will turn out."
" Oh, I have nothing particular against her I don't lay up
hard thoughts against anybody," said the wife; "but it seems
to me it would be hard work to talk to Mrs. Giles to-day."
Notwithstanding all Mrs. Williams said, and half believed,
she went more briskly about her work than usual, though, when
the children asked if she was going, she replied, vaguely, that
she would " see about it."
" Toot-to-to-to-o-o !" went the dinner-horn, at half-past eleven,
and Mr. Williams hastened home, for he well knew that visiting
was to be done. " And so you have concluded to go, have you,
Polly ?" he said, as he sat down to dinner.
" I suppose I may as well go, and be done with it," she
replied, " if I have it to do ; and the children are all crazy to go ;
the day is pleasant, and there is nothing more than there always
is to prevent; and so I must put on the old black dress that
everybody is tired of seeing, and trot along in the sun I'll be
glad when it 's over."
An hour thereafter the happy meeting took place.
"I was so afraid you would not come," said Mrs. Giles,
untying the bonnet-strings of her friend, " for 1 had the queerest
dream last night, and it has seemed to me that something bad
was going to happen."
" 1 do hate to be plagued with ugly dreams," said Mrs. Wil-
liams ; " but what was it about ?"
*' Why," said Mrs. Giles, "I dreamed that you were sick,
and it did not seern precisely as if you were sick, either, but
you were blind, and I thought your face was white as a cloth,
and I tried to get where you were, for 1 saw you walking about
in your own yard, but 1 kept falling as 1 tried to walk, and
could n't get along, and when at last 1 was nearly there, I found
that 1 had no shoes on ; still I thought 1 must go on, and jus*
104 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
as I opened the gate a great dog sprung at me and took me
right in the wrist, and I fairly jumped out of my skin and
waked right up wide awake as I am now. A good little bit
it seemed to me as if it was the truth, for I couJd see just how
you looked, and the thought of the cross beast made me almost
trimble ; all I could do I could n't get to sleep again, and as
soon as the first roosters crowed for daylight I got up, and it
appeared like I could have no peace till I saw you."
"Some people think," said Mrs. Williams, "that the state
of the mind, or the supper we eat, or something or other, in-
fluences our dreams, but I don't think any such thing."
" No, nor I," answered Mrs. Giles, though she thought of
retiring supperless, and of some unpleasant words and feelings
previously ; she did not speak of them, however. " I am sure
I have had dreams that were omens-like," resumed Mrs. Giles,
sadly; "along before my poor little Emeline died, I dreamed
one night that a strange woman, dressed in white, came to the
door and asked me to see the baby, and though I did n't know
who she was, it seemed to me that I must do as she bid, and I
put little Emeline in her arms and she carried her away
walking right through the air, I thought. It was only a little
while till she took sick and died."
At this recital the eyes of both the ladies filled with tears,
and their hearts flowed right together. The children stood in
silent wonder and fear, that seemed to say, " Why do you cry,
mother ?" Mrs. Giles gave them some cakes and told them to
go out to some shady place and play, for that they were seeing
their best days. They did not believe that, though they obeyed,
and presently their merry shouts and laughter indicated that
their days were very good ones, whether their best or not.
How easily we are acted upon by outward influences ! the
lively carol of a bird, a merry peal of laughter, or a smiling
face, gives tone and color to our feelings, and unconsciously we
begin to look at the cheerful side of things ; and so, as the two
ladies heard the pleasant sport of their children, their thoughts
flowed into pleasant channels ; and as they rocked by the vine-
curtained window, they chattered like two magpies now of
the garden, now of the children and the school, now of what
LEARNING CONTENT. )0
they had got, and now of what they proposed to get, all of
which subjects were spiced occasionally with a little harmless
gossip.
" How well that dress does wear," said Mrs. Giles, rubbing
the sleeve of her friend's gown between her fingers ; ' and it
looks just as good as new, yet I wish I could get such a
thing."
" I always thought it was a good black," replied Mrs. Wil-
liams, "and it does seem as if there was no wear out to it, and
it 's the handiest kind of a dress, for, being worsted, 1 can wear
it in winter, and yet it is so stiff and cool that I can wear it in
summer just as well as if it were lawn."
"I'll dare say," said Mrs. Giles; "where did you get the
piece ? I must have one just like it the first time I go to town."
To have he*rd the conversation of the women, their little
confidences, and sly inuendoes, about Mr. Smith and Mrs. Hill,
and the way they managed things, you would have supposed
them two of the best friends in the world, and withal very
amiable. And so in fact they were, as friends and amiability
go ; neither, as she had anticipated, felt at any loss for some-
thing to say, and the hours glided swiftly by.
" La, bless me !" exclaimed Mrs. Giles, suddenly throwing
down her work ; 'Just look at that shadder why, the afternoon
don't seem to me to have been a minute long"
" Did you ever ! who would have thought it ?" said Mrs.
Williams ; but there they were, the long sunset shadows stretch-
ing across the yard, and it was time for Mrs. Giles to make her
biscuits. "1 guess, Polly," she said, "you will have to move
your chair into the kitchen, for I don't like to leave you long
enough to get supper, and it 's getting so late that I must spring
about." So they adjourned together, and Mrs. Giles, tying on
a checked apron and rolling back her sleeves, kneaded the
flour vigorously, and the tea-kettle was presently steaming like
an engine, and an extra large "drawing of tea" was steeping on
the hearth.
"Now, Emeline," said Mrs. Williams, lifting the tea-table
into the middle of the floor, "you need n't say one word, for ]
Kin going to set the table for you."
5*
106 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
" No, Polly, jou are not going to do any such a thing; it'i
a pretty story if you must go to work when you come to visit;
now just sit down and make yourself comfortable."
" I shall do no such a thing," said Polly, " that is, I won't sit
in my laziness when you are at work ; it will make me a good
deal more comfortable to help ; I 'd be ashamed," she continued,
laughing, " to tell you what you should n't do, if you were at
my house."
" Well, have your own way, and live the longer," replied
Emeline, playfully tossing the table-cloth toward her friend,
who proceeded to arrange the tea-things with as much ease and
grace as if she were at home.
The new dishes were admired ; the quality of the sugar ex-
amined, both ladies agreeing that it was the whitest brown
sugar they had ever seen, and so cheap ; the knives and forks
were thought by Mrs. Williams perfect loves so small and
highly finished ; and Mrs. Giles thought them so too, though she
said she did n't know as they were anything more than common.
" I will have a set just like them before I am a month older,"
said Mrs. Polly Williams.
" And I will have a dress just like yours," replied Mrs. Giles,
"and 1 must borrow the pattern too it fits so beautifully."
So, it was agreed that they should go to town together Mrs.
Giles for the dress, and Mrs. Williams for the knives and forks.
Only the previous evening Mrs. Giles had said she hoped to
have some new knives and forks before Mrs. Williams came
again, though she supposed the old ones would have to do.
What a pleasant time they had, drinking tea together! the
cake had not one heavy streak, or if it had, neither of them
saw it ; and the custard was baked just enough, the biscuits
were as light and white as new fallen snow, and the butter and
the honey, all the supper, in fact, was unexceptionable ; of
course Mrs. Williams praised everything, and of course Mrs.
Giles was pleased ; and as for the children, they were perfectly
happy, till the time of parting. "Now you must come right
soon, and bring all the children," said Mrs. Williams,
they separated at the end of the lane.
LEARNING CONTENT. irfl
" Oh, yes, I shall come soon, but don't wait for me ; when-
ever you can, take your work and run over."
And after much lingering, and invitations iterated and reit
erated, and promises made over and over, each to the other
that she would be more sociable, they parted. And certainly
there was no affectation of interest they did not feel ; the crust
of selfishness that gathered over their hearts, in isolation, was
rubbed off by contact, and the hard feeling, engendered by too
frequent contemplation of the darkest side of things, was changed
into kindness under the influence of genial looks and words
so much in this journey of life do little things discourage, or
help us on.
When Mrs. Polly Williams opened the gate at home, she
saw her husband sitting by the open door, waiting and looking
for her ; the milking was done, and the kettle boiling, and it
seemed no trouble at all to prepare supper for him ; and the
less, perhaps, that he said, " Do n't give yourself trouble, Polly ;
just set out anything that's convenient, and never mind changing
yuur dress and cooking for me."
" It will only require a minute," replied the wife, unslipping
the hooks, for the old black dress had acquired a new value,
and, turning it wrong side out, she hung it away more carefully
than she had done for a year.
"Well, how did you like your visit?" asked the husband,
drawing his chair inside the door, as the dishes began to rattle
down on to the table.
"Oh, it was the best visit 1 ever had ; Emeline had everj-
thing so nice, and was so glad to see me." Then she relate!
many little particulars, only interesting to them sipping tea,
the while, nut that she wanted any, but merely for company's
sake ; and saying, in conclusion, that if her children were only
like Emeline's, she would be so glad I
Meantime, Mrs. Giles returned, and began washing her dishes,
and singing as she did so, while Mr. Giles sat by, looking pleased
and happy. "Just step into the pantry, my dear," said Mrs.
Giles, (she had not said " my dear," previously, for a long time)
" and get me a nice piece of brown paper to wrap these knives
108 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
and forks in," and she looked at them admiringly, as she rubbed
them through the tea-towel.
" And did you find the afternoon as tedious as you expected ?"
inquired the husband, bringing the paper ; but the wife was so
busy in praising the children of Mrs. Williams, that she did not
seem to hear him, though perhaps she did. and meant it a reply
when she said, " La, me ! everybody has their little faults, and
little troubles, too, I expect we are none of us perfect. Just
put the knives and forks on the upper shel"
TWO VISITS,
TWO VISITS.
I.
Two very excellent families were the Knights and Lytles,
neighbors of ours years ago. But they were most unlike each
other in disposition and character. Mrs. Knight was imbedded
in old-fashioned notions, out of which she could not be lifted by
any sort of modern invention, however skillfully contrived ;
she was so meek that she considered herself unworthy of the
earnings of her own hands ; she was also gloomy and dis-
pondent ; but her friend Mrs. Lytle was altogether different.
Mrs. Knight had consolation for all the ills of life, in the com-
forting reflection that it would soon be over, though she some-
times said she would be happy in it if she had anything to
make her so. As to whether Mrs. Knight would have been
very cheerful under any circumstances, seems to me a little
doubtful, for no one but herself could see anything very adverse
in her fortune. She was really a kind woman at heart, but she
had no sight except for the dark side of things, and this, linked
with extreme modesty, amounting frequently to a painful diffi-
dence, made her singularly, and, as far as others could perceive,
needlessly wretched. She was the wife of what is termed a
well-to-do fanner, a man whose energy and upright dealing
had won for him the respect of all his acquaintances. When a
young man he had earned with his own hands the land on
which he lived, clearing off the timber, burning the brush,
rolling the logs together, and going through the various priva-
tions and hardships, of which we know so little, except firm
the reminiscences of pioneers. When a portion of the land
had been cleared, and fences made, a young orchard planted,
HO OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
and ground broken for the first crops, in the interval between
sowing and harvesting he Bet about building a house ; and
when the wheat was stacked and the cornstocks rustling in the
autumn wind, the smoke from as snug a cabin as was to be
found in all the neighborhood, blew across the hills, pleasantly
reminding him of the young and pretty girl whom he had
scarcely learned to call his wife; and so he wrought with more
hope and energy than before. Of course, prosperity mated
herself with him, and the fields grew broader and wider, and
the shadows of the orchard trees covered all the ground, while
flocks of cattle and sheep dotted the pastures. But with these
years I have little to do, only as the light reflected from them
shows that Mrs. Knight had at least a provident husband.
At the time of which I write, they were in the maturity of
life old people I thought them, for I was not so old as I am
now, and as we grow older we do not look on years as we do
in childhood and youth. How long are the days then, and the
years ! it seems as if they would never end ; but they pass
more and more fleetly, dropping one after another into the
strangely mingled sea that is behind us, and before we are
aware the shadows are lengthening from the sunset.
There was a sprinkle of gray among the yet thick locks of
Mr. Knight, and the smooth brown hair of the wife and mother
was now under a plain cap, though you might see a few be-
traying lines of silver. Their home was no longer in the cabin
in which their first wedded years were passed, for there came
more to dwell in it than there was room for, and, with larger
means, an ampler and more convenient habitation had been
provided. They occupied a plain substantial brick house when
I knew them, having about them ail the conveniences of comfort.
if not of elegance, and as I said " daughters and sons of beauty "
to gladden with the freshness of youth the worn experiences
and common realities of life.
"As the husband is, the wife is," Tennyson says, and though
generally this may be true, it is not always so, and Mrs.
Knight was an exception to the rule. Had she evinced in the
management of her house and children the spirit and tact of
her husband in the management of his affairs, home would not
TWO VISITS. 1H
have been the uninviting place it was. The little arts which
beaut'fy and adorn and make comfortable the humblest cabin,
she knew nothing about. True, she had been in early life
accustomed to privations, for rigid economy was then necessary,
and nothing beyond actual wants was thought of. But with
more liberal means there came to her no desires transcending
any strict necessity.
The fashion of the times had changed, and the requirements
of people " in society " were greatly enlarged, but Mrs. Knight
remained far behind everybody else, partly that she thought
herself unworthy to fare better than her grandmother, and
partly that life seemed to her too sorrowful a thing to bedeck
with any ornaments, for, as I said before, she had a wonderfully
quick apprehension for what was evil j and perhaps, too, she
was over frugal.
It is a great while I scarcely dare suggest how long since
I first visited her, but all that then occurred is as fresh in my
memory as if it were an incident of yesterday. The chimney
tops were in view of my own home, and as Mr. Knight often
passed our house on his way to market, I knew him very well,
and he had often invited me to visit his wife, which 1 had never
felt at liberty, from her retiring manners, to do. At length,
however, I resolved, at least to show myself friendly, for per-
haps, thought I, the fault has not been all on her side. So, one
pleasant a ternoon in October, I arrayed myself in a gingham
dress, which had been washed and ironed, and with the stoutest
pair of shoes and the oldest bonnet 1 had selecting my
costume with a view to the prejudices of the woman I was to
visit speedily after dinner, which was at one o'clock, set out,
carrying a bundle of sewing which would have served me
at home for a week. I soon reached the farm, and, as I was
passing through the fennel that fringed the roadside, came to
an opening in the fence, where, seated on rails that slanted to
the ground, were two little black-eyed girls, whom I recognized
as the youngest children of Mr. and Mrs. Knight.
u What are you doing here, my little friends 2" I said, pausing
a moment ; but neither answered a word, and the youngest
ten years old, perhaps seized a rough club which lay beside
112 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
her, and ran violently in the direction of a drove of cattle
mostly fine milch cows, peaceably feeding in the pasture whicl
bordered the roadside.
The older sister, after picking the briars from her toes with 8
brass pin, turned her blushing face half toward me, as 1
repeated the question, and added, " I am just going to your
house," and she told me, biting the hem of her sleeve, that
they were " tending the gap," for that papa and mamma were
both gathering apples in the orchard beyond the meadow, and
the fence was down for them to drive home. As I spoke, I
saw the team approaching, and, leaning on the fence, waited its
coming near us, resolved to tell Mr. Knight of my good
intentions, and await a more opportune season for my visit.
But the good man would not hear a word of my returning
home, and forcing a dozen apples of different kinds into my
hands, he said, "A pretty piece of work, to-be-sure, that we
should be disappointed of seeing you. Rachel happens to be
in the orchard, but there is no need of it Jane Anne !" he
cried to the little girls, '' leave off your chasing them are crit-
ters, and run and tell your mammy that company is at the house
clicket, you good-for-nothings !" This last piece of advice I
thought quite gratuitous, for they set off at such a rate that
one might have said,
" The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light."
Thus encouraged, I went forward, and was soon at the house.
II.
Mr. KNIGHT informed me as he opened the gate, that he
should be at the cider-press till supper time, but that Rachel
and the girls would entertain me ; and he added an expression
of regret that he was not himself more at leisure. As I
entered the yard, I saw that there were no walks cut through
the sod, and that the grass was trampled away as it chanced,
and beneath the tree (there was but one near the house) trodden
quite bare ; and torn pieces of calico, bits of boards, and broken
china, spoke of a demolished play-house. There were no
TWO VISITS. lit
flowers, nor snrubs to be seen, except a spindling "Jacob's
Ladder " which grew in a broken teapot, beneath the parlor
window.
I rapt smartly at the front door, but received no answer.
Indeed, after listening a moment, I was satisfied I should not
be able to make myself heard, for from a chamber window
came a sound like small thunder. The young ladies were
spinning wool, and running races, as it seemed by the whuri,
buzz and tumult, that came to my ears ; so, after a little
reflection, I concluded to sit down on the steps and wait the
coining of Mrs. Knight, but the husband, seeing this, called to
me to go right in and make myself at home, and feeling that
my delay would annoy him, I did so. But as he leaned back
over the three bundles of rye through which the gleam of the
rod apples shone, I could see that he was not smiling. The
door opened immediately into the parlor, and seating myself
there, I had some leisure for a survey of the style in which our
neighbors were living. The walls were bare, but white-washed ;
the flwor was covered with a home-made carpet, striped alter
natel) with green and red and yellow ; six black Windsor chairs
stood in a straight line against the wall ; a bed with a white
muslin tester was in one corner ; and an old-fashioned bureau,
on which lay a Bible and hymn-book, and a breakfast table,
covered with a green and red oil-cloth, completed the furniture,
except that the windows were shaded with highly-colored wall-
paper. On one side of the chimney was a cupboard with glazed
doors, originally designed for china, but filled with a variety of
coverlids, varying in color from the faintest blue to the deepest
red that could be dyed with pokeberries and pumpkin rinds.
All was stiff and angular, and a smell of paint pervaded the
atmosphere.
Many times I fancied I heard the creak of the gate ; and at
last, weary of waiting, I went to the window, assured that I
detected steps and voices. Nor was I mistaken, for beneath the
window, wringing a fleece of wool from the dye, and spreading
it out on the grass, was Mrs. Knight. I was about tapping
on the vu4ow, to inform her of my presence, when she spoke
BO harshiy to the children, who were getting their play-house U>
114 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
rights, that I resumed my seat, resolved to await her leisure ,
and when her work was completed, with hands the color of an
indigo bag, I perceived that she bent her steps in the direction
of the kitchen.
The time I deemed sufficient for any little preparation she
might wish to make went by, and I began to find my position
rather awkward, especially as I could hear her, apparently
engaged in household duties, as though altogether unadvised of
my being in the house. The children now began to climb up
at the window, and looked in at me, laughing and hiding their
heads alternately.
" Is your mother at home ?" I asked, thinking still she was
ignorant of my being there. It was some time before I could
get an intelligible response, and then I was told that she was
making bread in the kitchen.
I was half inclined to return home, but remembering Mr.
Knight's efforts toward sociability, I determined to press still
further, and, retreating from my position, 1 stepped to the door
of the kitchen, and made a sort of half apologetic observation in
answer to the unsmiling face which presented itself; and on
helping myself to a chair, as I was bidden, I followed my uneasy
salutation with some deprecatory remarks, in a subdued tone,
on the circumstances of our meeting, and of the pleasures of
agreeable neighborhood.
The day was warm, the sun streamed against uncurtained
windows, the wood blazed in the deep fire-place, and the num-
berless flies blackened the air ; but the woman wrought on un-
moved.
1 drew my chair to the open door, and, unfolding my work,
began to stitch, with great energy, talking the while of such
things as I supposed would interest her. She said little, how-
ever, and that, as it were, by compulsion.
" Are the young ladies well V 1 said, sfter a long siler.ee,
during which I had been examining the array of pots and
skillets she was bringing about the hearth.
" The gals, if you mean them, are well enough," she an-
swered.
" 1 have not seen them for a long while,' I remarked.
TWO VISITS. JIB
"No, I guess you havn't," she replied; "they are no gad
abouts."
I felt rebuked, but added that I was not often abroad my-
self, and so should not be likely to meet them.
" They are spinning, probably ?" I continued, after a moment.
She did not reply directly, but wiping her face with her
apron, exclaimed, ' Marcysakes on us ! I wish I was in Joppa
it's so hot here !"
" Yes, it is very warm," I said, " but you have cooler
rooms ?"
" I have no time to sit in them," she said, adding presently,
"I don't know as it is any difference about me I am not fit
for anything but to work, as I know of."
I attempted a smile, and suggested that she was fit for any
thing proper for a woman, I supposed. She took her chin in
her hand and remained silent, looking as though she might be
musing of the dead.
At this point the youngest child, whose timidity was fust
vanishing, and who felt, no doubt, some desire to amuse me,
.sprang upon the table, and seizing a newspaper, from among a
number that were strung over a cord attached to the wall near
the ceiling, began showing me a picture of the president, with
which it was embellished.
" Is that the way you sarve your father's papers !" exclaimed
Mrs. Knight ; "I'll president you, if you don't put that up."
Mr. Knight was a man of some intelligence, took a political
newspaper, which he read, and was pretty well versed in affairs
generally, but to the rest of the family, the paper might as well
have been written in Greek, for all they knew about it. It
was not thought possible, indeed, that they could read or un-
derstand anything contained in it, and as soon as it was read
by the man of the house, it was hung above the reach of the
children, who learned to regard it as something especially
designed for old men in spectacles to look at on Sundays. I
felt in part to blame for the misdemeanor of the child, if mis-
demeanor it were, as it was on my account she had violated
what seemed to be the law here. Therefore I was not sorry
vhen, taking a skimmer in her hand, Mrs. Knight went into the
116 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
cellar to attend to some necessary duty, as I supposed, for she
made no explanation or apology. There was thus presented
a fine opportunity for the little girls to display the juvenile
spirit which paternal authority generally kept subdued within
them. They were perhaps a little ambitious too, for the
exhibition of some of their various accomplishments before a
visitor. So, concealing themselves from observation, though
not from hearing, they began.
" It rains, but it don't wet ; it's night, but it's not <?ark ;
and if I was at your house I'd go home," said the youngest
evidently designing that I should make the application.
" Oh, Jane Anne, ain't you ashamed !" exclaimed the eldest,
and then, by way of diverting my thoughts, perhaps, she
repeated a puzzling enigma, which she defied anybody and
everybody to guess: "Four stiff-stand ers, four down-hangers,
two crook-abouts, two look-abouts, and a whisk-about."
" Eh ! who couldn't guess that ? it's nothing but a cow,"
replied Jane Anne ; " I can tell one that's harder : now listen j"
and though probably the sister had heard the riddle a hundred
times before, she was as attentive as if it were the most startling
novelty :
*' Through a riddle and through a reel,
Through an ancient spinning wheel-
Through the grass and in the skies,
If you guess this you'll be wise."
" Well, then, I am wise, for it's frost," replied Sally ; but I
doubt whether she could have cotne to this conclusion so
readily from any meaning of the words. " Now I'll tell one
you can't guess :
4 Long legs, short thighs,
Little head, and no eyes.' "
" Tongs, tongs !" shouted Jane Anne, and continued :
" Round as an apple, deep as a cup,
And all the kiug's oxon can't draw it up."
" Who don't know that !" said Sally, disdainfully refusing
to guess.
I need not repeat more of the original and ingenious rhymes,
with which they tested each other's wit. further than to state
TWO VISITS. 117
that they were just breaking up what they termed their riddle
party, in the ceremonial of
" Oneary, oreary, kittery Kay,
English minplish Jonathan Day-
One, two, three out goes she 1"
" Out goes she, I think !" exclaimed the mother, suddenly
appearing, with a great basin of milk in her hands, which,
having disposed of, she took the children, one at a time, by the
ear, and leading them directly before me, in order to make
them the more ashamed, imprisoned one in the pantry, and the
other in the smoke-house, where for the present I leave them.
" Dear me, I don't know what will become of us all," said
the outraged mother, speaking rather to herself than to me, as
the excitement of the arrest subsided a little.
" Children will be children," said 1, by way of consolation,
and supposing she alluded to them.
She was seated on a low door step, near me but not facing
me, and, with her head dropt on her bosom, continued talking
to the air, something after this wise : " Massy on us ! I don't
know what to do, nor what will become of us all will go to
rack and ruin ! Chasing the cows and one thing and anothwr
strange the child had no more consideration her new frock
she has torn a great three-cornered place in the skirt, a;jd I
don't see how we are to make any money apples don't ucing
anything nothing ever does that we have to sell buttrr is
down to a quarter, and we eat half we make if it wasn't, I
can't begin to count my troubles."
" I suppose," 1 interrupted, " we could all recollect some
troubles if we were to try ; but if we look round, we may
commonly see people worse off;" and, to divert her thoughts, I
spoke of the widow Day, a poor woman with two little boys,
one of whom was lying sick.
" Yes," she answered, " there are people even worse off than
we but we'll all be done with life pretty soon : it won't be long."
" It seems only a little time to those who stay here longest,"
I said ; " but while we are here, it is best to avail ourselves of
every harmless means of enjoyment in our power, and you
have as much to make you happy as most persons."
118 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
* I can work hard and fare hard, and yet no thanks," she
replied, looking mournfully on the ground, her thin face full of
untimely wrinkles.
There was no need, that I could see, of her working hard or
faring hard. She seemed to like privation, to feel that sacrifice
was not only a duty, but a privilege.
While I was deliberating what I would say next, a man who
was carrying earthen pumps about the country, presented him-
self, and asked whether her husband would not like to procure
one; saying, as he glanced at the well, "I see you use the
hard old-fashioned sweep ?"
" Yes, and I expect to use it a good while longer," she
replied : " we don't want any pump, and if we did, we are not
able to get it."
" You own this farm, I suppose ?" the man said, glancing
over the broad, well-cultivated fields.
" Yes, but money don't grow on bushes," rejoined Mrs.
Knight, "and we have our taxes to pay, and the children will
all be wanting shoes, the first thing, you know the frosts
some so airly of late years."
" I sold one at the white house, yonder, and they are
delighted with it. You have no idea of the ease and comfort
and beauty of the thing ; and, so far from adulterating the
water, I think it rather has purifying qualities."
" The folks in the white house are rich," said the unhappy
woman, " and able to get a gold pump if they wanted ic ; but
1 told you we had no money to spend for pumps, and I shouldn't
want it if we had, for we once had one that fairly made the
water blue."
The man assured her his patent stone-ware pump \vas quite
unexceptionable, and saying he would call when her husband
was in, asked the privilege of lighting a cigar, which he had
been twirling in his fingers during the conversation. As he
stooped over the row of skillets, spiders, Dutch ovens, and
ihe like, in which bread was rising, before fire, hot enough to
roast an ox, he remarked that he was an agent for one of th
most celebrated cooking-stoves in use.
" Well," said Mrs. Knight, seeing that he paused for a
TWO VISITS. lit
reply, "keep them, for all me; I don't like your stoves nor
the smell of your tobaccar."
Though the pump had been far better than represented, she
would have had nothing to do with it. The old way, she said,
was good enough for her she should not want anything long.
She seemed to think whatever lessened labor was a grievous
wrong ; and whatever tended to pleasure, was something with
which she or her family by no possibility could have anything
to do.
Modern fashions were also prohibited ; the cut of her gown
and the shape of her bonnet had been common ten or fifteen
years before it required that length of time for the sinfulness
to get out of their cut, I suppose.
There are people, and Mrs. Knight was of them, who stand
aloof and seem to feel themselves fated to stand aloof from the
general interests and enjoyments of life.
If her husband prevailed on her to go and hear a Fourth of
July oration, she dressed her children like miniature men and
women, in long narrow skirt and fur hats, kept them sitting
stiff and upright close beside her during the blessed intermis-
sion, when other children bought beer and gingercakes, and re-
turned home before the dinner was served under the long green
arbor; and while other girls marched in procession, with white
dresses, and roses in their hair, to partake of the roast pigs and
green peas, her daughters, in dark calico frocks and winter bon-
nets, marched to their usual fried pork and sprouted potatoes.
If they were permitted to go to a quilting, they were
instructed to come home in time to milk, and thus were de-
prived of all the real enjoyment of the occasion. It was not
for them to remain to the "play-party," when the quilt was
swung up to the ceiling, and the young men came in, with candy
and cinnamon in their pockets. Many a time had the young
women gone to bed with aching hearts to hear in dreams the
music of
" We are marching forward to Quebeo
And the drums are loudly beating,
America has gained the day
And the British are retreating.
The wars are o'er and we'll turn back,
And never more be parted ;
120 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
So open the ring and choose another in
That you think will prove true-hearted."
They might both have been dreaming and spinning in the old
chamber to this day, as indeed one of them is, but for a little
stratagem, in which I had some share. But I am getting before
my story. The prisons of the little girls were opened at last,
and they came forth each
' With an unquiet drooping of the eye,
As if its lid were charged with unshed tears ;"
but their spirits were elastic, and the excitement of running
down and catching a couple of chickens for supper, soon pro-
duced the wildest gayety.
" Now go long with you and wring off their heads," said the
mother, " while I grind my butcher-knife."
And with streaming hair, flushed faces, and dresses torn, they
bore off their captives to execution as jocundly as they would
have fed them. The fun was presently over, however ; one of
the part) 1 , in racing, had bruised her naked foot on a stone, and
sitting on the ground she took it in her lap and bathed the injured
place with her tears. " If mother would let me wear shoes,"
she said, " I would not have done it," and half in anger, half in
sorrow she cried aloud.
"Not another word out of your head," exclaimed the mother,
"ain't you warm enough without your feet bundled up?"
"Yes; but Mary Whitfield wears shoes and stockings too,
all the time."
"You can't be Mary Whitfield," replied the mother; " sc
twist up your hair and go out and help your sister hoe the cur-
rant bushes."
" Dingnation on it all !" cried the child, as the mother ad-
journed to the vicinity of the pig-pen to pick the feathers from
her chickens, " I wish 1 had hurt myself so bad that I could not
work."
" Come on, Sal," said Jane, bringing two hoes from the smoke
house, " come on and cut your toe off;" and wiping her face,
bloody with her late murderous work, on her sleeves, she gave
a series of jumps beside the long hoe handles, calling it riding
on horseback, and disappeared in the garden. Sally prepared
to follow, hobbling on her heel to keep the brui&ed portion of
TWO VISITS. 121
her foot off the ground ; but the tears were yet on her face ; and
I called to her to wait a moment. It was not much, but 1 did
what I could ; and when her foot had been bathed and band-
aged, her face washed, and her head combed, the grateful smile
that lit up her countenance made her almost beautiful. I could
not help feeling \vhat a pity and shame it was that all refine-
ment must be drilled out of her nature, and all its graces
blunted and dimmed, by the drudgery of unwomanly tasks.
She was a much prettier and more sprightly girl than Mary
Whitfield ; but so far from having her natural attractions height-
ened by education and any familiarity with refined society, as
hers were, she was growing into womanhood, not merely in rus-
ticity, but so encrusted with actual vulgarity, that she would
not be able to break out of it by any efforts of maturer years.
SaJly Knight sounded as well as Mary Whitfield, for ought I could
see, and with the same advantages the former would have been
vastly superior to the latter; but in her mother's opinion she
was proscribed. True, she was a farmer's daughter, and woul'l
probably be a farmer's wife ; but for that reason must she be
debarred all the little accomplishments which chiefly distinguish
civilized from savage life? I thought not. In this democratic
country, where the humblest girl may, under possible circum-
stances, aspire to the highest positions, it is a wickedness for pa-
rents, or any one in authority, to fasten a brand of ignominy
on a child, as it were, crippling her energies and circumscribing
her movements for life. If the complexion must be scorched
and roughened, the joints stiffened and enlarged by overtasks,
the mind vulgarized by epithets required or continually used in
coarse employments, let it be at the demand of inevitable mis-
fortune, not at that of a misguided will.
Mrs. Knight had been mortified when she found her daughters
indulging in the jargon I have reported, and so imprisoned them,
as I have described ; but if she had accustomed herself to
spend some portion of the day devoted to scolding the chil-
dren, in their cultivation, few punishments of any kind would
have been required. If they had known anything sensible,
they would probably not have been repeating the nonsense
which seemed to please them so. But they had no books
6
122 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
suited to their years, and consequently they thought booki
only designed for wise old men and preachers ; as for the
newspaper, they supposed it was all one long president's
message, or something of that sort, for none of its lighter
articles did they ever hear, and it was no wonder they grew
tired and fell asleep when required to sit still through the
reading of a congressional speech ; and of course they never
touched the paper except to hang it against the ceiling. When
I told Mrs. Knight that I had some prettily illustrated stories
at home which might please her little girls, she said she had
something else for them to do ; and when I asked if they were
to go to the new academy, she replied that they had as much
education now as ever their mother had, and besides, they had
not the money to spare, and" their troubles were not to be less-
ened in any way that she knew of; but if they were, academies
were not built for the like of her girls. She kept so busy
during all the afternoon, that I felt sadly intrusive, but she told
me I could never have been lees troublesome than then, if I
had waited twenty years, and with this comforting assurance I
remained to tea.
m.
THE sunshine was streaming across the porch where I was
sitting, and Mrs. Knight was spreading her table, wheri the
children came galloping breathlessly in, informing her that Mr.
Sisco was coming. Suddenly the wheels ceased their rum-
bling, and a rap sounded on the front door.
" Mammy, mammy, shall I go ?" asked the girls.
"No; if he want's to see folks, let him come where folks
are ; go up-stairs and tell your sisters to get on with their
spinning ;" and presently the wheels began to rumble, and
the young man came back to the kitchen.
He was evidently returning from a military muster, for a
iashing cockade ornamented his hat, strips of red tape covered
the outer seams of his trowsers, and a blue sash formed his
girdle, and hung in long floats over the scabbard of his sword.
He seemed from his flushed countenance and the bloody spurs
attached to his boots, to have been "pricking hard." In his
TWO VISITS. 12*
hand he held a small switch, of which some harmless bough
had recently been deprived, and with this he inflicted a series
of sharp quick blows on his lower limbs, which, from their
shrinking and trembling, I could not help believing were quite
undeserving of such treatment. He perhaps intended it as a
penance for the sin he was committing in calling on the young
ladies in a busy week-day afternoon, for doubtless the visit was
designed for them, though he did not mention their names.
Mrs. Knight continued her preparations for supper, neither
making me acquainted with the stranger, nor saying anything
to him herself. His ostensible object was to procure a glass
of water, but from his wistful and embarrassed look I inferred
another motive, and so essayed my powers of detaining and
entertaining him, till Jemima and Hetty should come down.
" A very warm day, sir, for the season." I said.
" Yes 'am, 'tis very warm."
" It is time for us to expect the long autumn rains," I con-
tinued, " but I see no clouds."
"No, mem."
I was at a loss what to say, but his regalia suggested ;
" Training day, it has been with you, I see."
" Yes, mem."
" There is some falling off of interest in these exercises of
late years ?"
He made no immediate reply, but soon looked more directly
toward me, and said, " What did you observe T'
" Musters are not so attractive as they used to be.''
" No, mem."
" I have been inclined to think the most undisciplined soldiers
fight as well as you who are skilled in arms," I said ; but the
compliment disconcerted him, and he abruptly said "Good
evening, mem," and turned toward the door.
" What is your hurry ?" asked Mr. Knight, just returned
home from the cider-press. " Sit down, sit down, and let me
take your hat." So saying, he carried it off, cockade and all,
into the front room, where, when the windows were thrown
open, we were invited to sit
" Mother," he said, when, having performed his ablutions, he
124 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
withdrew to the middle of the dooryard to comb his hair, "whj
in the world did n't you open the big room before ?"
She made no reply ; and the good man, having sent Jane
Anne above stairs to tell her sisters to come below, joined us
in the parlor.
" How is the potato crop with you ?" he inquired, tipping his
chair against the bed, the starry counterpane of which was
surmounted by the young man's hat.
" Our late potaters are spilt with the rot, and our airly ones
were pretty much eat up with bugs little yaller and black
''ellers. Mammy took a bresh one morning and breshed them
out of the garden patch ; it appeared like the whole kentry
would be overrun with them, there was so many, she said,
when they buzzed up."
" The moles have been at work in mine pretty badly," said
the farmer ; " I wish I knew how to get rid of them."
" If some dogs were as good to ketch moles as they be to
ketch sheep, you might get shut of them."
" Why any disturbance among the folds hereabouts ?"
" Ourn was disturbed night-afore last a little, I should think ;
we only lost fifteen !" And Mr. Sisco took a large bancjnna
from one pocket and placed it in another.
" Is it possible !" exclaimed Mr. Knight ; " and you knew
nothing of it?"
"I," replied the military youth, "slep as sound as a roach,
but mammy said she was awake along in the night, and she
heard Towser bark as cross as he could be, and thought the
fence rattled too, she said ; but she was dozy-like, and went to
sleep again, and in the mornin' she alowed how if she had got
up she might have seen the dogs, for like enough they had one
of the old ewes down then."
" Humph !" said Mr. Knight, and really I don't know what
better he could have said ; and rising, he brought in a pitcher
of sweet cider, and a small basket of very fine apples.
Meantime the wheels stood still ; and from the frequent
and lively snappings of the reel, it appeared that the yarn was
being wound from the spindles. Then came a creaking and
squeaking of the floor, as the bare feet pattered briskly across
TWO VISITS. 126
It ; then openings and closings of drawers and doors ; and the
young ladies were evidently preparing to descend. In this
opinion I was confirmed when Sally nobbled past the steps
with her bib full of fresh-gathered mullen leaves. Cheeks were
to be made red there was no doubt about it. Half an hour
later, when the sun burned faintly through the tree tops, Mrs.
Knight took from the nail where it hung, a long tin horn, and
blew as though she meant to be heard half through the
country.
" Now run right along for the cows," she said ; and " forth
limped, with slow and crippled pace," poor Sally, preceded by
the more nimble and light-hearted Jane. They did n't leave the
warm precincts of the supper, however, without casting "many
a longing, lingering look behind."
" Go 'long," called the mother ; " who do you think wants
you ?"
Thus depreciated and warned, they skulked by the fence-
side as though they were scarcely privileged to walk directly
and upright, even to drive home the cows. Poor children
their mother was quite too meek. Unless she taught them to
show in action that they respected themselves, how could she
hope for others to respect them !
Shaming the sunset, were the fiery spots, with jagged edges,
that burned in the cheeks of the young women, as they curtsied,
and shook hands across the plate of chicken ; for they had
hurried past the parlor without making any salutation.
The arrangement of their hair was without any regard to
modern fashion ; their dresses were neither new nor clean ; they
were without stockings, and their shoes were of thick calfskin.
Though naturally intelligent enough, and pretty enough, undei
their accumulated disadvantages, the woods certainly seemed to
be the fittest place for them, and when they had said " How do
you do, Mr. Francisco ?" and he had replied, " Hearty as a tibck
how do you do yourselves ?" there seemed to be nothing fur-
ther to say especially in the terribly restraining presence of
the mother. When she had served the tea, and while the large-
bladed knives were going from hand to mouth, and indiscrimin-
ately from dish to dish, she removed her chair half a yard ftonr
1* OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
the table and partook only of a crust of bread, looking the while
on the dozen pins that were stuck in the upper part of her sleeve.
" What part of the chicken will you have, mother?" said the
husband, raising a piece on his fork, and looking toward her.
She shook her head, still looking at the pins.
" Do n't eat the crust," he said, passing a fresh slice of bread,
u it must hurt your teeth."
*' It 's no difference," she answered.
He next offered her a piece of apple-pie, baked on a red
earthen dish about as large as the full moon ; but this she re-
fused, as also the dough-nuts. " Why, mother, ain't you going to
eat any supper?" he said, really distressed.
" I don't know as it would do any good, any way," replied the
wife mournfully; and with lips pursed up, she continued to work
at the crust with her two or three front teeth. " Now, girls, go
right along and milk," she said, as soon as we had risen from the
table.
And, mounting on his steed, the young man went his way, while
the girls, from the milk yard, waved their adieus to him ; and
this was all the humanizing intercourse on which they ventured
during the gallant's visit.
I smiled as Hetty began to milk on the left-hand side of her
cow, but my attention was speedily arrested by the stepping on
to the porch of Mrs. Lytle. She looked tidy, brisk and smiling,
and was bearing on her arm a large basket of apples which she
had just gathered ; for she was the tenant of Mr. Knight and
lived in the o-ld cabin, with her two daughters, Kitty and Ady.
I could not help contrasting her dress, cheerful demeanor, and the
living interest she seemed to feel in the world, with the meek
despondency of Mrs. Knight, and when she insisted that 1 should
visit her the day after the next, I readily assented.
'Hie reader must not suppose the Knights representatives of
coifhtry people generally at least, they are not fair specimens
of such as I have known ; but I am sorry to say there are some
such unhappy exceptions to the general character of the rural
population in all the farming states in which I have any
acquaintance. The young man I have introduced, is a species
of bumpkin found no where but in the country ; nevertheless, i'
TWO VISITS. 12?
finds a counterpart in cities, in a more sophisticated and a great
deal more despicable order of being. Naturally simple-minded,
and with only the blood of a hundred generations of yeomen in
his veins, his thoughts seldom traveled beyond the market town
and the woods where the sun seemed to set, except when he
went to the election, and voted for the ticket which had been
supported by his father.
The lines which divide rusticity from the affluent life in coun-
try places, or the experience of the middle classes in towns, are
very sharply defined; but there are a thousand little redeeming
graces belonging to all humanity alike, though uneducated per-
sons are hard to be persuaded that every thing pertaining to
gentle pleasures and courtesy, does not necessarily attach only to
the " rich and well-born." Flowers are God's beautiful and free
gift, and they expand as purelv white or as deeply scarlet under
the window of the poor man's cottage as in the gardens of kings.
IV.
ON the day appointed I prepared for my visit to Mrs. Lytle,
with no very accurately defined expectations of pleasure or pain.
Memories of my late discomfiture kept down any of that pleas-
ing excitement so common at the prospect of a country visit,
which I might otherwise have felt awaking at the prospect of
enlarging my acquaintance in this part of our neighborhood. In
this work-day world new sensations are exceedingly precious,
and this more especially as the fast-coming shadows of years
give all the groundwork of life a sombre tinge. The circle that
rises from our first plunge in the sea of life is brightand bound-
ing ; but as it widens, the sparkle becomes dull and the motion
heavy and sluggish, till at last it breaks on the shore of eternity.
We learn too soon the sorrowful wisdom that
" The past is uothing, and at last
The future can but be the past;"
and so the dew fades off from the flowers, and the dust and the
mildew take its place. One after another of our dear ones go
from us, either into new spheres of love and labor, or into that
darkness "where the eye cannot follow them," and with our feet
stumbling among graves, the golden summer sunshine seeins
128 OtTR NEIGHBORHOOD.
only tc bleach white our hair, and not to be heaven's loving bap
tisrn for the just and the unjust. And pain knits itself witk
pam, and complaint joins itself to complaint, till a thankless, if
not reproachful, undertone runs through the world. Mourning
for the lost or the unattainable, our hearts are insensible of the
blessings we have ; listening to the low earth for some comfort
yet, we turn a deaf ear to the music from above. The cloud rises
and we forget the eternal splendor of the stars. We have need
of all thy mercy, Oh our Father, for daily and hourly forgetful-
ness of thy goodness, for the world is full of beauty, and life,
though never so much vexed with adverse fortune ; and this
beirg is a great thing great, not only in its final results, and
as it grows to its perfect glory, or dwarfs in the fires of ulti-
mate wrath, but in its present capacities and powers only
below Omnipotence. Shall we look abroad on the fashioning
of the Creator we, the perfectest work of his hands, and
unsay the benediction, " It is very good." They are wrong
who estimate this wonderful and beautiful existence either as a
mere chance and vapor that the winds may scatter and the
prave undo, or as a hard trial and temptation that it were good
to have past; even taking the saddest view of its narrowness
and darkness and burdens even, if you will, limiting its
duration to the borders of the tomb, "this sensible, warm
being," is a good thing. If we do not find it so, the fault is in
ourselves, for in our own perverse hearts is our greatest enemy
We will not recognize the angels that sit at our hearthstones
while their wings are folding themselves about our bosoms,
but, when they are lessening in the azure overhead we exclaim.
How beautiful ! and reach forth our longing arms in vain.
We tread on the flowers at our feet; and sigh for the
gardens of paradise. We put from us the heart that is
throbbing with love, and go through the world tracking for
receding steps. Life is good, and I am glad to live, despite
the pain and the temptation and the sorrow ; these must be
about it, and there is need that we oppose to them all that
within us which is loftiest and best. The basis of every great
fabric rests in the dark; so, even though the light of love he
gone out, and the star of hope shorn of its first warm splendors,
TWO VISITS. 121
we have not only the greatest need but the greatest encourage-
ment to work. There are plants hardy enough for the brown
baked earth by the cabin door, and birds to sing on the low
eaves as well as in the beautiful groves that environ palaces.
But all this is a digression.
I selected my toilet with more scrupulous care than on the
occasion of my visit to Mrs. Knight. I knew even my new
bonnet and best silk gown would not be deemed unpardonable
offences against propriety in the estimation of Mrs. Lytle, who
always, despite her disadvantages, looked tidy and smart.
Her daughters, too, Kitty and Ady, whom I had often
remarked at the village church, were in appearance no whit
behind the squire's or the deacon's daughters, except in years;
they were but just coming out, having lately made their debut
at an apple-cutting, where their pretty pink gingham dresses,
white aprons, and quietly agreeable manners, had been themes
of common admiration. True, some people, among whom was
Mrs. Knight, thought "such flirts of girls" were better kept in
tow frocks, and in the kitchen, or at the spinning-wheel ; but
the general verdict, and especially that of the young men, was
in their favor. The house in which the Knights now lived, was
substantially built of brick, but with intelligent regard neither
for convenience nor taste ; no trees grew about it, and standing
right up in the sun, with its surrounding pigstyes, henroosts,
stables, &c., in full view, it looked comfortless, though suffi-
ciently thrifty.
The windows of the chamber facing the sun were open as I
passed, and within the young women were pacing to and fro
rapidly, for their wheels sung invariably to the tune of " sixteen
cuts" per day. Hung over the window sills, in the sunshine,
were several small divisions of " rolls," blue and gray, and in
the side yard, her cap border flying, and smoke blowing in her
face, appeared the mother, raking chips beneath a soap?kettle.
" All work and no play," was still the order of her life.
In the hollow beyond this scene of rude bustle and hard
strife, I opened a gate, and, following a narrow and deeply worn
path, beside a clear deep brook, I soon found myself in view
ot the tenant house a cabin of two rooms, originally, but
130 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
with a recently added kitchen, of rough boards. It stood in a
little nook, at the head of the hollow traversed by the stream,
which had its source beneath the grassy mound, joined to the
hill on one side, and extending a little way over the stone wall
and door of slabs, on the other. A rude, irregular fence ran
round the base of the ascent, enclosing a small plot of ground,
with the cabin, and milk-house the last still and cool, beneath
the mound of turf, and the first covered with vines and hedged
about with trees. How cosy and even pretty it looked, with
the boughs full of red apples close against the wall, and clusters
of black grapes depending from the eaves ! The great flaunting
flowers of the trumpet-vine were gone, and the leaves on the
rose-withes beneath the window looked rusty and dull, for the
time of bright blossoms was long past, but the plenteous fruits
atoned for the lost flowers, and the waxen snow-berries, and
the scarlet buds of the jasmine, shining through the fading
leaves, helped to make the aspect of everything beautiful, even
in a forbidding season.
The fence about the yard was rude enough, but currant
bushes grew thick along its side, and over the golden ridge
they made, in crimson curves and tangles glistened the smooth
vines of the raspberry. There was no gate, and, standing on
the stile, by which there was admittance to the yard, I paused
a moment, in admiration of the pleasant sight before me.
The grass was level and pretty, save where it was broken up
for flower-beds of pinks and hollihocks and poppies and over
a stump that defied all present arts of removal, trailed the " old
man's beard," so that what would else have been a deformity
added to the beauty of the scene.
The door of the parlor as I judged it to be from the pots
of flowers in the windows, and the white curtains was standing
open, and I could see the bright plaided carpet on the floor and
the snowy coverlid of the bed for everybody who has been
in western country houses, knows that the parlor is also the
spare bedroom, in such places. It looked snug and homelike,
and I could not help comparing it with the naked and rude
style of things so lately under my observation. Turning in the
direction of my thoughts I saw the little girls, Sally and Jants,
TWO VISITS. 181
In a field, midway between the house, digging potatoes. Seeing
me, they struck up a ditty, which was doubtless meant for my
benefit, and the day being still, and the wind blowing toward
me, I caught the whole distinctly : "Solomon Grundy, born on
Monday, christened on Tuesday, married on Wednesday, sick
on Thursday, worse on Friday, died on Saturday, buried on
Sunday and that was the end of Solomon Grundy !"
My attention thus diverted, I did not hear the light steps of
the young women who had come forth to meet me, till their
voices spoke cordial welcomes, which seemed to come from
their merry hearts, while the smiles that glowed in th^ir faces
made the atmosphere genial as spring.
The outward index had not been too favorable a Boucher,
and that cabin parlor with its flowers and books, scrupulous
cleanliness, and tasteful arrangement, contrasted well with the
showy vulgarity of many more pretending houses, where the
furnishing speaks wealth, and nothing but wealth. The walls
and ceiling were white-washed, green boughs filled the deep
wide fire-place, the open cupboard, with its shining britannia and
pink-specked china, and the table with its basket of apples,
pears, and grapes how nice it all was, and how suggestive of
comfort ! But after all, the chief charm of the place was its
living occupants. The mother was not yet home, having the
previous night gone to market with her landlord for it must
be remembered that Mrs. Lytle was poor, and did not evep
own the cabin which was indebted for all its attractiveness to
her pains. Butter and eggs, and fruits and berries, besid >
various things manufactured in the house, the provident woman
carried weekly to town, for which business Mr. Knight kindly
gave her room in his market-wagon ; and while she generally
returned with her basket as full as she carried it away, he
returned with his empty. But notwithstanding these expendi-
tures Mrs. Lytle owed nothing, and though her purse was not
so heavy as her neighbor's, neither was her heart. Her children
had been kept at school for the most part, and she had even
managed to send them two quarters to the new academy, and
to dress them in a style, if less expensive, as neat and pretty
as anybody in the neighborhood. I can see them now as 1 saw
132 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
them on the day of my visit Ady in a blue gingham dress
and white apron, with bare neck and arms, and Kitty in a pink
dress and black apron, till she tied over it a checked one to
assist about the preparation of supper.
" And that is the reason I am so late home to-day," Mrs. Lytle
said, beginning at the close of her story. " You see I got out
of the wagon just the other side of the school-house, and walked
across to Hathaway's, to see how little Henry was, for I heard
in market that the doctor had given him up. Poor child, he
seemed so sensible, and told me to tell his mother not to cry !"
and wiping her tears, she added, " Mrs. Knight was there, and
you know her way : so they all felt worse than they would have
done. As soon as she looked at Henry, she said he would not
live till morning, and then calling his brother, she told him that
Henry would never work or play with him again; and having
told them two or three times, that all their tears would not
make the child well, she went home to tend her soap-kettle,
leaving directions in reference to being sent for in case she was
needed."
It was certainly characteristic that at such a time she should
bring forward her hard, dark realities, and needlessly torture
breaking hearts by allusions to the awful necessities of death.
I spoke of my visit at her house, and related some particulars
which tended to restore the cheerful tone of the conversation ;
in fact we laughed outright, in view of the restraint and painful
embarrassment which the young women felt in consequence of
the visit of Mr. Francisco in open daylight.
"I hope, mother," Kitty said, laughing and blushing, "you
will not be so cross when I have a beau, for poor Hetty will
never have a chance to get married I am sure."
" I hope she will be cross," said the sister, " if you have such
a clodhopper as he."
" Come, come, girls," answered the mother, " Mr. Francisco
is a good worthy young man, and though not given to match-
making, I feel inclined to help them forward can't we facilitate
their happiness in some way ?"
The appeal was to me, and I entered at once into the conspir-
acy. Mr. Francisco was to plow a field for Mrs. Lytle the com
TWO VISITS. 133
ing week, and it was arranged that I should be the bearer of an
invitation to the girls whose opportunities were so restricted,
to assist in cutting apples at the cottage on a specified afternoon.
The extent of this service cannot be estimated by those who
have never seen or felt the cold straits of division thrown be-
tween themselves and some dear object, by the strict discipline
of parents or guardians, forgetting that they were ever lovers
themselves. But perhaps now and then a modern Hero and
Leander will appreciate it, and even if not, my conscience does
not condemn me. for I verily believe they might never have told
their love but through my harmless stratagem.
But I am lingering too loner. With small talk of one kind
and another, and a little harmless gossip, as I have confessed,
the time passed rapidly, and through the vine-shaded window
we saw the heavy mist of red gold hanging over the withering
woods, and black forks of the walnuts darkening or the blood
red top of the oaks shining through.
The girls were very happy, and chattering like birds, as they
prepared the supper, and great credit it did to their housewifery
when prepared. The broiled chicken bore slight resemblance to
Mrs. Knight's stewed roosters, and the clear, fresh jelly as little
to the candied and crumby fragments which the good woman
called preserves. The bread could not have been whiter, nor the
butter more golden ; the cake was just done to a charm, and the
table linen was as white as snow. How well and how pleas-
antly 1 remember it all, though so long ago! the pretty pink
china sparkling in the light of the candles the two brass can
dlesticks scoured, so that they looked like freshly wrought gold,
and our pleasant conversation as we sipped the delicious tea, and
my promise to visit them often.
According to the kindly custom of country people, Ady and
Kitty went "a piece of the way home with me," telling me somo
little secret hopes and fears they had not ventured upon in the
day. It is wonderful what an influence twilight and night exert
upon us; we draw closer to those we like, and sometimes, al-
most unawares, give our hearts to their keeping; while from
those we hate or fear, we are a thousand times mere repelled
than in the noon. Passion, of whatever nature, strengthens iu
184 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD
the dark. Many a sweet confession and sweeter kiss that have
knit destinies together, owe their expression to the friendly stars.
And many a blow has been struck that would not have been
given, if the sunlight had shown the murderer clearly where to
do his work.
As we stood beneath the deeply crimson cone of a stunted
ash that grew by the roadside, making our adieus, the stage-coach,
its plethoric sides swinging one way and the other, rumbled past,
hurrying to their various destinations a motley crowd of dust-
fiovered passengers, and among them I noticed a slight and fair-
faced youth, looking back from the window. "The school-
master," I said, addressing myself to Kitty, who blushed to find
herself detected in returning his earnest gaze, and hastily tied
on the white hood she had previously held in her hand. " I rather
think," I continued, laughing, " he is all your fancy painted him ;
and from the attention with which he regarded us, perhaps we
have, some of us, found favor in his eyes; but I will be gene-
rous, having, as I shall, the advantage of first acquaintance, and
you shall know him as soon as may be." So, jesting, we parted,
as the first star, large and white, came out above the tree tops.
The doors of the farm-houses stood open, the tables were
spread, and I could see the shirt sleeves busy, as hands were
moving from dish to dish, and the patient mother trying to still
the fretful baby, while she poured the tea. About the barn-
yards stood the cows chewing their food, and waiting to be
milked.
V.
ON my arrival home, I found that my anticipation had been
correct the young schoolmaster had preceded me, and sat at
the parlor window deep in the mysteries and merits of
" It is an ancient mariner
And he etoppeth one of three !"
His manner and salutation were civil enough, and very
graceful withal, and I was struck at once with his beauty,
which was such as imagination gives the poet ; but there was
an indefinable something in his manner which made me feel
ui} self an interruption to his pleasure, even before he resumed
TWO VISITS. 1M
his book, which, however, he presently did, after a little com
monplace talk about the beauty of the sunset. This, to confess
the truth, was vexatious, for most young ladies are pleased
with but that demeanor which seems to say they are the only
women in the world. The relations in which we stood involved
no obligation on the part of either of us farther than that of
common courtesy ; and though, as I said, the young man
silently resumed his book, I felt it my privilege as it was my
pleasure to remain in the parlor, as his own apartment awaited
his occupation when he pleased. Moreover, he interested me,
and perhaps I was not without hope, that when the twilight
deepened a little more, he would begin some conversation. I
wish that with any word painting I could bring his picture
before you, but my poor skill is insufficient, and I cannot hope
1o give the faintest idea of that dreamy and spiritual expression
which chiefly made him what he was, the most beautiful person
I had ever seen.
He was a little above the medium height, straight as an
arrow, and of faultless proportions. His hair was of a perfect
and glossy black, and hanging in wavy half curls down his
neck and temples, gave to his face a look almost girlish. His
eyes were very large and dark, but soft and melancholy, and
along the delicate whiteness of his cheek the color ran blushing
whenever he spoke. His hands too evinced his gentle origin.
Closer and closer to the page he bent his head, as ebbed away
the crimson tide in which, an hour asjo, the sun had drifted out
of view, and not till star after star came sharpening its edges
of jagged gold in the blue, did he close the volume.
He did not speak, however, when this was done, but locking
his hands together like a child, watched the ashy and sombre
clouds which in the south were mingling into one, for a few
minutes, and then, absorbed, as it seemed, with his own
thoughts, walked slowly in the direction of the wood, that held
in its rough arms the waning splendor that rained off with
every sough of wind.
Every moment the atmosphere grew more sluggish and
oppressive, and the broad dim leaves of the sycamore, that
shadowed the well, drifted slowly slantwise to the ground,
136 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
The summer had shaken from her hot lap the fierce thundei
bolts, and there was no broken rumble nor quick sharp ratt'd
to lend terrible grandeur to the autumn's dismal and pitiless
storms, for one of which the night was preparing.
The time was very still, and as I sat on the low mossy dorr-
step. I could hear the voices of neighbors half a mile away, as
they hurried the milking, and the rattle of the dry boards
where the apple-sheds were being covered. Distinctly down
the clayey hill, a mile to the south, I heard the clatter of fast-
falling hoof-strokes, then it was lost in the damp hollow and up
the long dusty slope, but I pleased myself with guessing at
what points the horseman had arrived at such and such times,
till almost at the expected moment he appeared on the neigh-
boring hill, darkening through the lessening light. Holding
the ragged rim of his chip-hat with one hand', he reined in his
fiery sorrel at the gate of our house, and beckoned me to
approach. Before 1 reached him, or even recognized him, for
he was the young man I had met at Mrs. Knight's, I divined
from the straight rod balancing on the arched neck of his im-
patient horse, the melancholy nature of his errand : little Henry
Hathaway was dead. Scarce any preparation was requisite,
and, wrapt in my shawl and hood, I was soon on the way.
Mr. Hathaway 's house was nearly a mile south of ours,
and half that distance off the main road, to the west, so that to
reach it most conveniently I struck across the fields. From
the duty before me I shrank somewhat, not from any unwilling-
ness to lend my aid, but I was young, unused to death, and
haif afraid ; and when I reached the woods through which my
way led, the rustling leaves beneath my feet seemed to give
out the mournfulest sound I had ever heard. A few steps
aside from my path, sitting on a mossy log, beneath an arbor
of wild grapes, I beheld some vision of mortality, and suddenly
stopping, gased with intensity of fear. That any sane person
should be in such place at such time, was not very probable,
for at that period our neighborhood was free from those troubled
wanderers who people the dreariest solitudes with the white-
browed children of the imagination, and soften the dull and
dead realities with atmospheres of song. 1 think however, it
TWO VISITS. kl
was by no process of reasoning that I likened the dimly-ont-
lined shape before me with that son of the morning, of whom
heaven disburthened itself so long ago. A shower of wet
leaves rained down on me, for the fine drops were already
drizzling and pattering on the interlocked branches overhead,
as I stood, more from inability to fly, than from courage, before
the object which my fancy alone made terrible
" Stand there, vision of a lady
Stand there silent, stand there steady,"
spoke a voice, so musical that fear vanished, though it was not
till another moment that I recognized the schoolmaster. When
1 did so, flushing in the wake of fear came anger, and I replied^
'' If you intend to enact fantastic tricks of this sort, I pray you
will choose an auditor next time who can fitly repay you for
myself, I must remain your debtor." Having spoken thus, I
swept along the rustling leaves, with an air that might have
done credit to an injured princess, as I fancied. Thoughtless
and ungentle as my manner was, it was productive of a ma-
turity of acquaintance, which greater civility would probably
not have induced ; for immediately the young man joined me,
and so sweetly apologized that I could not but forgive him.
Of course he did not at first recognize me more than I him,
and so for a time remained silent under my scrutiny.
Though no longer afraid of shadows, having found one ap-
parition so ha/mless, 1 was not sorry to have the lonesome way
enlivened by the cheerful influence of my new friend's company.
I think, however, neither of us felt any real pleasure in the
other's society, and I may say, neither then nor ever after.
Upon this encounter, we had each felt bound to manifest cordial
feeling, but kept all the while a belligerent reserve force to fall
back on at any moment.
There was about Mr. Spencer for that was his name a
distant and measured formality, which I mistook for pride and
self-sufficiency ; the sentences came from his thin lips with cold
regularity, as though chiseled in marble ; I felt then and
always the disagreeable sensation of an utter impossibility of
saying or doing anything which could in the least interest him.
1 88 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
He was young, as I said, and perhaps he seemed more youthful
than he was. Had we both been some years older, I might
have recognized, under the blind and statue-like beauty that
could " view the ripened rose, nor seek to wear it," the signs
of a passion that had burned itself to ashes.
In interchanges of words, and not of thoughts, we climbed
the fences, walked the logs over the runs, crossed the stubble
land, and struck into the lane where the yellow dust was dim-
pling more and more with the steady and increasing rain. As
we drew near the house we became silent, for all about it
seemed an atmosphere of death. Our footsteps, on the moist
earth, did not break the hush ; even the watch-dog seemed con-
sciously still, and, having turned his red eyes on us as we
passed, pressed his huge freckled nose close to the ground
again, whining low and piteously. A few sticks were burning
on the hearth for the rain had chilled the air the flames
flickering up, wan and bluish for a moment, and then dropping
down into a quivering and uncertain blaze ; there was no crack-
ling and sparkling, no cheerfulness in it ; and seated before it
was the mother, rocking to and fro, her tears falling silently
among the brown curls of the mateless little boy who rested
his head on her knees.
Two women, in very plain caps, and with sleeves turned
back from their wrists, were busying themselves about the
house, and in the intervals of work officiously comforting the
mourner. I could only take her hand in mine ; I toad no words
to illumine the steep black sides of the grave; in all the world
there was nothing that could fill her empty arms ; why should
1 essay it ? One of the women directed us in a whisper to the
adjoining room. Little Henry was already dressed for the
coffin, and, kneeling beside the hard bed on which he lay, was
Kitty Lytle, combing and curling his hair, that he might appear
to his mother as life-like as possible. Her own rippling
lengths of golden yellow fell forward, naif veiling her face,
which, in its expression of earnest tenderness, made her per-
fectly beautiful. The young man stepped hurriedly toward the
dead, but his eyes rested on the girl.
On the mantle stood half a dozen empty phials, with small
TWO VISITS. 139
packages, cups, and teaspoons, and in one corner of the room
the death-bed the impression of his face still fresh in the
pillow. A napkin was pinned over the small looking-glass,
and the table was draped in white.
I wondered to see Kitty do her sad work so calmly, for she
was younger than I, who trembled even to touch the shroud,
but in thought and feeling, as I afterward learned, she had fai
outgrown her years, and never lingered from the most painful
duty. While Ady timidly remained with her mother, she had
come through the night and the storm, and in her gentle minis-
tries of love seemed first to have entered into her proper
sphere.
The sash rattled in the window as the winds went and
came, and across the panes trailed darkly the leafless vines of
the wild rose, but little Henry slept very quietly all the while.
Silent for the most part, and conversing in low tones, when
speaking at all, we sat young watchers with the dead. Hetty
Knight, who had also'preceded me, kept in the dimmest corner,
too bashful to speak in the presence of a stranger, and Mr.
Spencer persisted in remaining, though I had twice informed
him that it was not at all needful, inasmuch as Mr. Francisco
was expected to sit with us. So, stormy and mournful, the
night wore on.
" Miss Hathaway," spoke a coarse voice a rough discord to
the time ''he says the coffin will be here by sunrise," and,
dripping and 1 streaming from the rain, Mr. Francisco entered
the apartment consecrated to silence by that awful shadow that
irnist ever make heavy the heart, with the shuffling step and
unquiet manner with which he would have gone into his father's
barn. Having thrown himself in a seat, in a graceless fashion
which left his legs drifting off to one side, as though hinged
at the knees very loosely, he asked, in a jocular tone, if we
were all skeert. There was an exchange of smiles and glances
between Kitty and the schoolmaster, as Hetty replied, that for
one, she was never scared before she was hurt. Destitute of
those common instincts of refinement, w : hieh are better and
more correct than all teachings, these two young persons fra-
ternize* 1 that night in a way that was visibly annoying to the
140 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
stranger. Mr. Francisco probably feared that a subdued man.
net- would be attributed to cowardice, and, therefore, in mis-
taken pride of manhood, was unusually brusque. After some
pretending conversation between himself and Hetty for they
evidently talked of what they were not thinking they gradually
relapsed into silence. Leaning her head on the table Kitty had
fallen asleep, and, under pretence of chilliness, the schoolmaster
rvithdrew to the adjoining room, having first carefully wrapt
my shawl about the pretty plump shoulders of the sleeping
girl : I don't know why he should never have thought that I
might need it, but he did not.
I as heartily wished myself out of the way of the young
lovers as they could wish me, and more especially when, taking
an ear of corn from his pocket, the young man began shelling
off the grains and throwing them, two or three at a time, in the
face of Hetty, whose laughing reproofs were so gentle they did
not correct the offence, and probably were not designed to
do so. I could not make myself into thin air, but 1 did the
best for them which the circumstances permitted. Taking up
a torn newspaper, the only readable thing I could find, I turned
my face away, and read and re-read a pathetic article of that
sort which seems to have been invented for the first pages of
the country journals. I was not so absorbed, however, as not
to hear the facetious youth address his lady love with, " Did
you ever see a cob that was half red V
" No," was the reply ; and thereupon, of course, he drew his
chair near Hetty's, as if to exhibit the phenomenon, but to her
surprise he said, " T other half is red, too !"
" Oh, if you ain't the greatest torment !" said Hetty ; and
the jostling of the chairs told of their closer proximity.
" 'T is half red, any how," said the beau ; " red as your cheek,
and I could make that redder an what it is !"
Whether the boasted ability was vindicated by experiment
I do not know ; a rustling of capes and collars, and a sort of
playful warfare, were my only means of inference. Presently
the whispers became inaudible, and having read in the paper how
a queen's sumptuous breakfast was removed untasted on the
morning after her divorce, how the plumes failed to hide the
TWO VISITS. 141
pallor of her discrowned brow, sadder perhaps for the lost love-
light than the vanishing glory with other interesting parti
culars of the mournful story I nestled beside Kitty and
feigned the sleep which had so softly wooed her, from pain and
all the world of love that fancy may have painted, to the
golden sphere of dreams ; and though this pretence of sleep
did not much refresh me, it was all the same to the lovers, and
but for my accommodating artifice they might never have made
our clergyman the promises they did a year thereafter.
Toward morning, listening to the winds as they cried about
the lonesome homestead, and the vines, creaking against the
window pane, where the rain pattered and plashed, I passed
over the borders of consciousness, and woke, not till the lamp
was struggling with the day, that was breaking whitely through
the crimson the clouds lifting and drifting away, and the rain
done.
In the dimmest corner the two most wakeful watchers still
kept their places, and by the mingling light the schoolmaster
was reading to Kitty, in a softly, eloquent tone, that most
beautiful creation, beginning
" All thoughts, all feelings, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All but ministers of love,
And feed his sacred flame."
Was the voice with which he told another's love interpreting
his own] or why ran the blushes so often along his cheek, and
why beneath his dark eyes burned those of the listener ?
From the cherry tree came the cock, not flapping his wings
and crowing proudly, but with the water dripping from his tail,
drenched into one drooping feather; in the milk-yard were dry
and dusty spots, where the cattle had slept ; the doves came
down in flocks, pecking, now themselves and now thfir scanty
breakfasts ; and warm and yellow across the hills came the sun-
shine, to comfort the desolate earth for her lost leaves and
flowers. But no one bent over the white bed of little Henry,
saying, " Wake, it is day ;" and silently the mother laid her
hand on his forehead, in placid repose under its golden crown
)f curls ; silently her quivering lips pressed his and that was all.
142 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD
VI.
BUT I am lingering too long. Often while the soft hazy
autumn was stretching away to the dreary and chill winter, th
schoolmaster's walk was along the sheltering hollow where,
from the westward, as twilight fell, brightened the lights of
Mrs. Lytle's cabin. Often, too, when the cheery blaze reddened
across the drifted snow without, he smiled among the happy
group at the hearth-stone. And Kitty "already had his wild
eyes unlocked her heart's springs." But, though drawn toward
her, I could never believe his heart was much touched ; rather to
escape from some haunting phantom than to embrace a new hope,
it seemed to me he sought her. Alas for her, she could not see,
for her own blind love, that it was no rapturous glow that burned
in his cheek ; she could not hear, for her own trembling tones, that
there was no fervor in his. If such things even were, I saw them
not. We can scarcely imagine a young and timid girl, giving trovn
its close folding, the treasure of her affection into the hands of
indifference but I seek not to uncover from the dust the hoart
that was once bright with the insanity of a dream. And for
the living, whether guilty or guiltless, I judge him not. Betw een
ourselves, the acquaintance never ripened into any sort of confi-
dence. Sometimes, in the midst of our most earnest conversa-
tions, he would break off abruptly and seek solitude in hisch/im-
ber or with the stars ; at other times he would answer so vaguely
that I knew he received no meaning from my words. He often
amused his leisure with making sketches in pencil sometimes
of scenery about the neighborhood, sometimes of the faces of his
pupils; and more than one drawing of Mrs. Lytle's cottage
graced his portfolio ; but there was one picture which he seemed
to prize more than all others, returning to it again and again,
and working at it with the most patient and elaborate care. W hen
I rallied him about it, he said I should see it when completed,
but that time never came; and when I guessed, one day, it was
the portrait of Kitty, he blushed, but in the end shook his head
sadly, and left me alone. The favorite picture was never left ou
the table with the others.
When that rough hunter of the young hardy flowers, March,
TWO VISITS. 148
filled the budding woods with his wild laughter, I went from
home with an invalid relation, in the hope that restoration, in
some other clime, would " hang its medicine upon her lips."
Previously to leaving I visited Mrs. Lytle's cabin. How busy
and cheerful they all were the girls pruning the lilacs and roses,
and planning the new flower-bed, and the mother arranging a bed
of fiat-straw for the tall, awkwardly walking calf, white, and with
e, pinkish nose and red specks along its sides, which the dove-
colored heifer, " Beauty," had just brought home.
We talked gayly at first, partly to conceal our sadness; and
I remember telling Kitty it made no difference about her flow-
ers she could not be there to see them bloom ; little thinking
how sadly my prophecy would be fulfilled. She and I were be-
come fast friends, and when I had said good-bye, to the mother
arid sister, she tied on her bonnet, as her custom was, to walk
part of the way home with me. We chose an indirect path
through the woods, to protract the sweet sorrow of parting, and
had nearly reached the spot where the last sad word must be
said, when, sitting where the. shadows of the naked boughs and
the sunshine flecked the greenly sprouting grass, we saw the
schoolmaster. He was leaning against the trunk of a tree, and
on his knee rested his portfolio. " Let us steal a march on him,"
I said, " and get a glimpse of the cherished picture ;" and repress-
ing our laughter, and on tip-toe, we drew near, and peeping over
his shoulder the secret was revealed. Pained and startled, I re-
treated as lightly as I had approached, while, pale and trembling,
Kitty remained transfixed. The schoolmaster was fast asleep,
and the pleasant surprise we meant for him terminated in our
own discomfiture. Without the least intention of doing so, we
had broken over a charmed circle sacred to private sorrow
the drawing was of a mountain side, with pines and hemlocks
stretching bearded boughs above a grave, beside which the artist
himself was kneeling, and beneath which was written
" Oh I lost and buried love of mine,
Though doomed a little while to part,
Thy grave, God knoweth, is the shrine
Of all the worship of my heart."
By what strange impulse prompted, or by what authority
144 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
warranted, I know not, but Kitty remained till her dizzied vision
had deciphered all.
I pushed back the curls that had fallen over her face, kissed
her forehead, white and damp now, and left her without speak-
ing a word ; love's goldenest dream was breaking and lading
in her heart ; though she smiled, it was a smile that brought
tears to my eyes. So we parted.
The fields were checked with furrows, and the corn planted ;
the winds chased the waves over the grain fields ; the sheep were
plunged in the full-flowing streams of the early summer, and,
shorn thin of their fleeces, bleated along the hills ; nature went
on with her work, and was bringing home the autumn to the
music of threshing flails and the dancing of bright leaves along
the woodland, when from my searching for the lost waters of
health, I came back to the shelter of the homestead.
For my summer absence, I regarded every thing with fresh
interest ; the shutters of the schoolhouse were closed, and the
rusty padlock hung at the door ; jqst beyond was the graveyard,
and in the corner beneath the willow where the elders had long
grown thick, offering vainly their snowy blossoms and shining
berries to the schoolboys, a little space was cleared away, and
the dark pit was waiting for the victim. Two men leaned over
the stone wall, looking weary and impatient toward the north ;
they were evidently expecting a funeral, while their spades, stick-
ing upright in the fresh-heaped earth, waited to do their work.
I would have asked who was dead, but just then between me
and the grave swept a gay train of twenty or thirty equestrians,
with low, clumsy old horses, and tall, gaunt colts already bear-
ing marks of collars and traces, with stubborn ponies and slim
limbed pacers all prancing and trotting and galloping together.
A confused glimpse of the blue and crimson and green velvet
of the side-saddles met my eyes, with smiling faces beneath the
broad-rimmed flats, flapping up and down, and with veils
streaming back, and white dresses gathered up and falling over
the left arm, showing liberally the pretty petticoats of dimities,
and scollops and ruffles. And further, I had some notion of a
dozen or more trimly dressed youths ; with bronzed faces newly
TWO VISITS. 1
shaved, and shining with their late ablutions all this I faintly
apprehended, before the cavalcade disappeared, in a cloud of
dust.
Darkening out of it in the distance came a slow-moving train.
The two impatient men would not be required to wait much
longer. The road was narrow, and on a hill beneath an old oak,
we waited for the procession to pass. It drew nearer and nearer,
and as the foremost wagon stopped in the hollow, I saw plainly
the long slender coffin, from which had slipped partly aside the
folding-sheet. Next came the clergyman's carriage, and beside
the venerable man, his good wife, her loving eyes shrouded from
view ; and the carriage held, also, two more comfortless mourn-
ers than they ; and as they passed, I trembled to recognize be-
neath their black veils Ady Lytle and her mother Kitty was
gone before.
They were not many who followed her ; she was but a young
girl, and the daughter of a poor widow ; a few of the near neigh-
bors were all. The mother, pale and patient, held her baby
close, as the wagon jolted and rattled by, and the young girl
riding on horseback, looked thoughtfully on the sturdy brother
at her side. Behind the rest walked a dozen little boys, now
and then pausing to make curious prints in the dust with their
bare feet, by way of diverting their thoughts. So from the hill
we saw cross each other, the bridal train of Hetty Knight and
the funeral of Kitty Lytle.
! OUR NEIGHBORHOOD
UNCLE WILLIAM'S.
No matter how ingeniously probabilities may be woven,
how cunning are plots, or effective situations, the fictitious
narrative has rarely the attractive interest of a simple statement
of facts; and every one seems to have that quick instinct which
detects the most elaborate imitations of truth, so that all the
skill of the novelist fails to win a single tribute not due merely
to his art. I cannot tell what I might be tempted to essay if
I possessed more imagination or fancy, but with a brain so
unfruitful of invention, and a heart bound as with spells to the
past, I should find myself, even if attempting a flight in the
realms of fancy, but recalling some half forgotten experience,
and making Puck or Titania discourse after the manner of our
landlord at the Clovernook Hotel, or the young women whose
histories I began to mark when we were girls together in the
district school.
It is, perhaps, seven or eight years ago ah me, how soon
we grow old enough to look back to seven, and eight, and ten
years, as to yesterday ! since I went to spend the winter with
my cousins, Delia and Jane Peters. They lived in the neigh-
borhood of Elm Ridge. It is an obscure and was to me a
lonesome place, though they said they had society enough all
around them ; and indeed the village meeting-house and tavern-
sign were within view, and the window lights of Abner Wid-
dleton. the nearest neighbor, shone across the door-yard.
The happiest occasions, if they bring change with them, are
sad ; and I remember that I could not sleep well the night
previous to my setting out, though I had been for weeks talking
UNCLE WILLIAM'S. 147
of the pleasure I should have in visiting uncle William's family.
The Past collar was ruffled, the last strings and hooks and eyes
adjusted, my trunk packed, and my bonnet, with the green veil
pinned fast, laid on the bed, and but a night lay between me
and my little journey. Then it was, when all was ready, that
a sorrowful, half-regretful feeling carne over me. I stood at
the window and looked on the way the stage-coach would come
in the morning ; watched the cows as they crouched with petty
rifts of snow along their backs, and their faces from the wind ;
and the chickens, as they flew into the cherry-tree, cackling
their discomfort as they settled themselves on the smoothly
worn boughs ; for it was a blustery night, and these common-
places seemed to have in them a solemn import, all because I
was to be a dozen miles away for a few weeks !
A dozen times I said to little Dillie, with whom I slept,
" Are you awake ?" before I could sleep. But I was wearied
out at last, and hut imperfectly heard the speckled cock telling
his mates of midnight when a blessed wave of oblivion came
between me and Elm Ridge, and I woke not till a hand rested
lightly on my shoulder, and a familiar voice said, "I guess it's
time." I needed no second call, but was dressed and waiting
in a few minutes. It did not require much time for breakfast,
I think. There seemed nothing for us to say as we watched
the coming of the coach, while rny baggage was carried toward
the gate thnt I might occasion no detention. A few repetitions
of what had been already said, a few exchanges of smiles that
faded into sighs, and the well-known rumble of the approach-
ing vehicle arrested our make-believe conversation.
My little baggage was hoisted to the top. I was afraid I
should never see it again. A portly gentleman, having a
round red face and pale blue eyes, reached out one hand it
was freckled and fat, I remember to assist me in ; " All
ready ?" cried the driver, and we were off. I looked back pre-
sently, and saw them all standing just as I had left them, ex-
cept little Dillie, who had climbed on the ferce, and was gaz-
ing after us very earnestly. The coach jolted and rolled from
side to side, for the road was rough and frozen ; and the pleth-
oric individual, who wore a tightly buttoned brown overcoat,
148 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
leaned his double chin on his round hands, which were crossed
over the gold head of a crooked but highly polished walking-
stick, and conversed with the gentleman opposite, in an easy
and complacent way that indicated a state of satisfaction with
the world and with himself. His companion was exceedingly
diminutive, having the delicate hands and feet of a child ; a
mouth in which a shilling might scarcely be slipped; a little
long head, bald about the crown, and with thin brown hair
hanging far over his coat-collar, which was glazed with such
contact to the depth of half an inch, as it seemed. I soon
learned their respective homes and avocations : the fat man
proved to be a pork merchant, homeward bound from a profit-
able sale; and his little fellow traveller a tailor and small
merchant of one of the western states. " There," said he,
smiling, and pointing to a huge wagon of several tons burden,
drawn by six stout horses, wearing bells on their collars,
"there goes a little buggy that 's got a budget or two of mine
aboard."
The fat man smiled, and every one else smiled, as they saw
the six horses straining with all their ability, slowly to drag
along the ponderous load ; for the great wagon-body was heaped
and overheaped with bags, bales, and baskets, crocks, cradles,
and calicoes, in fact with all sorts of family and household uten-
eils, from a plow to a teapot, and with wearing apparel from
buckram and ducks to cambrics and laces.
" Two or three times a year I buy up such a little bunch as
that," he said ; and he smiled again, and so did every body else.
" That bay cretur on the off side," he resumed, letting down
the window and looking back, " is fallen lame, I believe my
heart. Polly will be as mad as a hornet about it ; it 's her riding
nag, d' ye see that ere bay." And as long as we could hear
the bells he continued to gaze back, tying a silk handkerchief
over his head as he did so, to protect it from the cold. "Whether
the aforesaid Polly was his wife, and, if she was, whether she
was mad as a hornet, are matters of which to this day I am pro-
foundly ignorant ; but I have hoped that if Polly were wife to
the little merchant, she was pacified with a new dress, and that
the poor beast soon got the better of the lameness.
UNCLE WILLIAM'S. 149
The fat man pointed out all the places in which the hogs he
had just sold had rested of nights, and each time he concluded
with, " Well, they '11 never root any more." It would be hard
to tell why, but all the coach passengers looked with interest at
the various fields, and woods, and pens, where the drover's
hogs had rested on their fatal journey toward the city. " Just
on this knoll, or that rise," he would say, " a fat fellow gave
out, and we let him have a ride the rest of the way, or treated
him to a hot bath." He occupied more than his share of room,
to the very evident annoyance of the woman who was on the
seat with him ; for she had much less than half for herself and
her child, a deformed and forlorn-looking little boy of perhaps
six years of age. He was scantily, even meanly dressed, his
bare feet hanging quite below his cotton frock, and his stiff
fur hat so large as to fall over his eyes, which were remarkably
black and large. I could not but notice that the mother, as I
supposed her to be, wrapped her shawl more carefully about
herself than the child, who kept all the time moaning and fret-
ting, sometimes crying out bitterly. She made no effort to
soothe him, except that she now and then turned his face from
one direction to another. Once or twice she held it close against
her I thought not fondly, but crushingly and more than
once or twice she dashed his head against the fat man's side,
partly by way of jostling him, as I thought, and partly to
punish the child for crying He rubbed his eyes till his little
hands were wet with tears ; but never did she warm them in
her bosom or dry them with kisses. Indeed, she seemed no
more concerned than as if she had held on her lap a bundle of
sticks. A sudden cry of evident pain drew all eyes to her.
In one of the dabs at the fat man she had scratched the boy's
face with a pin sticking in his sleeve.
" Poor little beauty !" whispered a pale, lady-like looking
woman to the person beside her, a black-whiskered, well-fed
sort of man : " poor little beauty ! I wish I had it."
" Really, Nelly," he answered, in a half kind, half mocking
Vray, " you are benevolent ;" and in a lower voice he added,
" considering the circumstances."
I occupied the middle seat, with the merchant, and she who
160 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD
had spoken so kindly sat directly behind me, bdt I turned in-
voluntarily when I heard her voice, and saw, as I have said,
that she looked pale and delicate, and that she dropped her veil
and blushed at the gentle reproval of her companion.
With this couple sat a rosy-cheeked, middle-aged woman,
who had hitherto kept her lips compressed, but, as it appeared
to me, with difficulty. She now leaned across the lap of the
gentleman, and asked the invalid traveller if she had any chil-
dren of her own, and if she was married or single ; saying she
wondered she should feel such sympathy for that " ornary child,"
for that nobody but a mother could have the feelings of a mo-
ther. " Now I," she added, " have left a little one at home
six months old it was the fourteenth of last month and I 'ra
just fairly crazy, though I have n't been gone a day, as you
may say, for it was three o'clock yesterday when I started ;
the baby was asleep then ; I expect maybe he cried when he
waked up and missed me, but it seemed necessary for me to
go away. I had to go, in fact, as you may say. Nobody
drove me to be sure, but then we wanted a good many things
about the house that, as you may say, nobody could get but
myself, and I thought I might as well go now as ever. I knew
the baby would be taken good care of by Liddy that 's my
oldest girl ; but it seemed like I could n't get my own consent,
and I went without it at last, as you may say. Do you live in
town 1 ?" she inquired ; and, without pausing for a reply, contin-
ued, " A body sees a heap of pretty things that a body would
like to have, do n't they, if they only had plenty of money ?
This is a tea-pot," she said, holding up a carefully wrapped
parcel ; " it 's a new fashion, they told me ; but I think it 's a
new-fashioned old fashion ; for I remember, when I was a girl,
we used to have one just a'most like it." And she kindly tore
off a bit of the envelope, telling the lady she could see the
color, and that she had a set of things in a basket on the top of
the coach, the same color, and the make of the same man, she
supposed. Dear sakes ! I hope none of them will get broken,
and won't 1 be glad to see my baby !" Having settled herself
in her place, she leaned forward again to say, "Just hear that
UNCLE WILLIAM'S. II
fat mar. ! he talks about his affairs as if he thought every body
as much interested in them as himself."
] could not help but smile at her innocent simplicity. How
quick we are to detect the faults of others how slow to " see
ourselves as others see us."
" Do you see that old tree with the fork split off and hang-
ing down 1 ?" It was the fat man who asked this question of
nobody in particular but every body tried to see, and most
of us did see. " One of my fellows hung himself there last
week. He was well the day before. At supper we slept at
a tavern not half a mile away I noticed that he did n't eat,
and seemed down-hearted like ; but I did n't say nothing to
him ; I wish now I had ; and in the morning he could n't be
found, high nor low. Finally, we gave up the search, and got
our drovers started-along later than common. I stopped a bit
after the rest, settling with the landlord, who said to me, in a
joking way like, that he guessed he 'd have to charge me for
his wife's clothes-line ; that she said she was as certain as she
was alive that it hung on a particular peg the last night, and
she thought the missing drover knew something about it; he
looked wild out of his eyes, she said. Just that way he spoke
about it ; and I laughs at him, mounts my horse, and rides
away. I had just come in sight of the drove when one of my
fellers that 's the one whose legs you see," and he pointed to a
pair of muddy boots hanging against the window from the out-
side of the coach, " came toward me running on the full jump,
and told me they had discovered Jake hung on a tree, and
swinging in the wind, stiff as a poker."
" Good gracious me !" exclaimed the woman with the sick
ihild, and giving the fat man as much room as possible, " how
lid he look, and what did you do with him ?"
" Look ! he looked like a dead man ; and as for doing with
lim, we cut him down, and put him under ground by the side
of an old black log."
" I wish I could see the one that discovered him," the woman
said, trying to pull down the window ; " is he any kin to the
man that hung himself, and had he taken the clothes-line?'*
" He had taken the clothes-line, but the landlady on its being
152 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
returned to her, said it would bring bad luck to the house, and
so threw it in the fire."
The poor child was not thrust against him any more ; but it
kept crying and moaning, and rubbing its eyes and the scratch
on its face, which smarted as the tears rolled over it.
" What ails your child ?" asked the fat man, who seemed
not to have noticed its crying till he turned to answer the
nurse's question.
" Nothing, only he 's ugly and cross," she answered.
" I guess any of us would feel bad," said the rosy-cheeked
woman with the new tea-pot, " if our bare feet hung dangling
about like his 'n, to say nothing of that scratch on his face.
Wont you be good enough, sir, to take that pin out of your
sleeve ?"
" Certainly, ma'am ; I was not aware" he did n't finish the
sentence to her, for she had leaned across the coach, and was
saying to the pale lady that she never could see what a man
wanted to have pins sticking about him for.
"Naughty pin, was n't it!" said the fat man to the baby,
taking from his sleeve the offending instrument and throwing it
from the window; and he continued, putting the child's feet in
one of his mittens, " Tell him murrur she must wrap him in
her shawl."
" You need n't look at me," she replied ; " I am not hi?
mother by a great sight ; she 's in a mad-house ; they just took
her this morning. It was a dreadful sight she a raving, and
the children screaming and carrying on at a dreadful rate.
They say she is past all cure, and I s'pose she is. She liked to
have pulled all the hair out of my head when she saw I was
going to take the baby. I am only a distant relation, but it 's
not always near of kin that are the best to orphans. Sit up !"
she exclaimed, giving the child a rough jerk ; " do n't lean against
the gentleman as heavy as a bag of mush." The fat man had
become a lion in her estimation since she learned that one of
his drovers had hanged himself.
" He doesn't disturb me in the least," said he; and taking
off the child's hat, he smoothed its hair with his great hand.
" I guess he is a right nice man," said the rosy -cheeked wo-
UNCLE WILLIAM'S. 161
man, leaning tcward her of the pale cheek, who was untying a
fur cape from her neck. " Put it round the little boy, my good
woman," she said, reaching it toward her.
" Really, Nelly," said the gentleman beside her, and he
looked at her with evident displeasure.
But the woman returned the cape, saying, " He 's got to take
the world as he can get it; there is no use of wrapping him in
n, fine fur cape, for an hour."
"That fellow up there," said the fat man, "could give
more particulars than I can about the wretched suicide I was
telling of."
" Wretched what 1" inquired the woman.
" The fellow that was so fond of swinging ;" and as he spoke
he lifted the child from her knees, unbuttoned his brown coat,
and folded him warmly beneath it, resting his chin on the boy's
hair, informing him that at home he had a little boy just about
his size, and asking him if he would like to go home with him
and be his little boy.
The coach now rattled along at a lively rate, and, soothed by
the warmth and the kindliness of the drover's tone, the poor lit-
tle fellow was soon fast asleep.
I noticed that the lady in the corner looked weary ; and that
once when she laid her head on the shoulder of the man beside
her, he moved uneasily, as if the weight burdened him, and
that she lifted herself up again, though she seemed scarcely
able to do so.
"That's my house," said the rosy -cheeked woman, "right
fernent William Peters's ; and I guess I am as glad to get
home as they will be to see me the dear knows I did n't want
to go. I would have paid anybody, and been very much
obliged to them besides, if they could have done my errands
for me."
At the gate of her house an obedient-looking man stood in
waiting for her ; and as the crockery was handed down, the gocd-
natured owner gathered her sundry little parcels together;
shook hands with the pale lady, saying she hoped she would
soon get the better of the ill turn she seemed to have ; un-
covered the taby's face, and kissed it, dropping a tear on its
7*
1M OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
clasped hands, as she did so, and saying " Just to think if it
was mine !" I suppose by way of apology for what the world
considers a weakness ; and, smiling a sort of benediction on us
all, she descended the side of the coach. I followed, for my
destination was also reached.
" You going to stop here ? Well now, if that do n't beat
all ! I suppose you are Mr. Peters's niece that I 've heard so
much tell of. And as I am alive, if there aint Delia, just going
away ! Poor girl, I guess she leaves her heart behind her."
This suspicion she imparted in a whisper; and having said 1
must come in and see her, she flew rather than walked toward
the house, for Jane was coming to meet her with the baby. I
could only shake hands an instant with my cousin Delia, who
seemed to anticipate little happiness from her journey, as I
judged from tear-blind eyes and quivering lips. I thought she
whispered to her father something about remaining at home,
now that I was come.
" Oh, no, Dillie, I do n't think it 's worth while," he said ;
" she will stay here all winter, and you will be back in a month,
at furthest."
The companion of the pale lady assisted Delia into the coach
with much gallantry ; the driver's whip-lash made a circuit in
the air ; the jaded horses sprang forward as though fresh for
the race ; and the poor little child, with its bare feet and red
hands, waa lost to me forever. May the good Shepherd have
tempered the winds to its needs, and strengthened it against
temptations, in all its career in this hard and so often unchari-
table world
II.
" How glad I am you have come," said uncle William,
when we we.'e in the house ; " but it seems kind a lonesome
for all."
Jane was ten years older than Delia not so pretty nor sty
lish, but very good, motherly, and considerate. They had no
mother and lived with their father in the old house where they
were bi >ught up. Delia was about sixteen at the time of inj
UNCLE WILLIAM'S. Ill
visit ; handsome, captivating, and considered quite the belle of
the village and neighborhood.
We were a small and quiet family at uncle William's. He
himself did little but tend the parlor fire, read the newspaper,
and consult the almanac and his watch, which things made up
his world. He knew all the phases of the moon, and what the
weather would be likely to be for a month in advance ; he knew
what his favorite editor said, and believed it; in fact, there was
no other paper; its contents seemed designed more especially
for him than for anybody else ; and to this day I can not rid
myself of the impression that uncle William's newspaper was
altogether the most excellent thing of its kind in the world.
When the sun came up, he took from beneath the parlor look-
ing-glass, where it hung of nights, the great silver chronometer
that had been his father's and his grandfather's, turned the key
a few times, held it to his ear, consulted the almanac, and com-
pared the sunrise with his time, as if to see that the sun were
punctual to its appointment. He then mended the fire, and
took up the " Republican," and when it was read through once
he began again, more studiously to examine, and thoughtfully to
digest its most noticeable contents. It always had something
good in it, he said, and it would do him no harm to read some
of the pieces a dozen times. When the sunlight slanted through
the south window, he carefully folded the paper, and again con-
sulted his watch. At sunset another comparison was made of
time authorities, and the almanac again resorted to, and then
began the evening reading.
Uncle William never indulged in what is termed frivolous
conversation; the only thing in the way of fun I ever heard him
say was that the editor of his paper was a man that had a head.
But he was less morose, and far more genial, than another of
my relations, uncle Christopher, with whom he held no inter-
course whatever, but of whom I shall have something to relate
in these reminiscences of Clovernook history.
ane had little more to say than her father. She never read,
and had never been from home ; and so, of course, she was not
very wise; and as she never talked of things that did not con-
cern her, there was not much for her to discuss. In all ways
lft OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
she was strictly proper; so much so that ordinal y mortals found
it more difficult to lov^e her than they would have done had she
possessed more of the common human infirmities. Our con-
versation was mostly of the weather, with which, however, she
was always contented ; so that if the storm beat never so tem-
pestuously, I scarcely dared yawn, or say even that "I wish
it would clear off."
I should have been happier if the house had been left in some
disorder on Delia's departure, so that we might have employed
ourselves by setting it to rights ; but everything was in its
place; so we of necessity sat down by the fire, .and the little we
did say was in whispers, that we might not disturb uncle Wil-
liam, who forever sat by, reading in a monotonous mutter,
neither aloud nor in silence. Sometimes he would invite me
to read, for the benefit of himself, who had read it twenty times
previously, Jane, who did n't care a straw for reading, and the
sixteen cats that dozed about the hearth, some "piece" which
he thought of remarkable interest or beauty.
" Will Delia be gone long ?" I inquired after my arrival ; for
I had previously learned that she was gone two or three hundred
miles from Elm Ridge, to a small city which I had never known
uncle William's folks to visit, and I was curious to know the
why and wherefore. Jane stitched a little faster, I thought;
the twilight was deepening so much that I could not have seen
to stitch at all ; but she only answered that her sister's stay
was uncertain.
" 1 did n't know you had friends there," I said, for I did not
like to ask more directly.
" Did n't you ?" answered Jane, stitching as before.
I was not discouraged, and remembering what the rosy-
cheeked woman had said about Delia's having left her heart be-
hind her, I continued, "She has grown very pretty since I saw
her ; she must be very much admired."
" Our preacher's wife gave her a book," she said, " at Christ-
mas, and our singing master old Mr. White offered to teach
her for nothing." And these were all the evidences of the
admiration she received which Propriety Jane thought fit to
disclose for me.
UNCLE WILLIAM'S. 117
" Who lives opposite ?" I asked ; for the house, looked so
cheerful, with its lights moving about, the chimneys sending
up their blue smoke, and the bustling in and out of doors, that
I could not help wishing myself there, since not a candle was
lighted in our house, and there was no supper in preparation,
nor any cheerful talk to enliven the time.
" Mr. Widdleton's folks," replied Jane, and rising from her
chair, she stood close against the window, that she might see to
stitch a little longer.
" What sort of people are they ?"
" Oh, very nice people."
" It must have been Mrs. Widdleton with whom I came up
in the coach : a rosy-cheeked, good-natured woman, who seems
fund of talking."
" Yes, it was she."
" Well," said I, "she bought a new teapot, with a variety of
other things, as she was good enough to inform us all."
Jane made no reply whatever, nor by smile or gesture indi-
cated that Mrs. Widdleton had been communicative in any
unusual degree.
The snow was falling dismally, the fire was low, and the
coming on of night seemed gloomy enough. Uncle William
was splitting pine boards into kindling, and though all day I
had wished he would afford us by his absence a little opportu-
nity for conversation, I now heartily wished he would return,
and tell us when the moon would change.
As I listened to the winds, and wondered what kept my uncle
and cousin alive, there was a low and what seemed to me a
very timid rap at the door. Jane opened it ; and though her
tone evinced neither surprise nor pleasure, it was not uncivil,
as she received the visitor. He seemed for he was a young
man not to feel at liberty to sit down, though Jane invited
him so to do; but, having made some commonplace observa-
tions relative to the weather, he inquired whether Miss Delia
were at home.
" No," answered Jane ; and she gave no invimation as to
where her sister was gone, or when she would return, or
whether sne would ever do so.
168 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
" I will then bid you good evening," he said, " and do myself
the pleasure of calling again."
When he was gone, Jane left the room, having made no
reply to the young gentleman's intimation.
On his entrance, I had stirred the coals to make a little light,
but it was so faint that I saw him but imperfectly, though with
enough distinctness to warrant me in believing him a very
handsome man, of not more than twenty-two or three years of
age. Besides, his voice was so soft and musical as, together
with his fair looks, to leave a most agreeable impression. Who
he was or whence he came I could not know, but somehow [
was interested in him, and pressing my face to the window,
looked eagerly through the snow to see in what direction he
went. At the gate he paused, thrust his hands into his pockets,
and seemed to muse for a moment, looking one way and then
another, as if in doubt what to do ; but presently he lighted a
cigar with a match, and, turning in the direction of a tavern,
was quickly lost from my observation.
"Who was that young person?" I asked, when Jane returned
to the parlor.
" Edward Courtney."
" Does he live in the village?"
"No."
" I noticed that he went in that direction."
Jane lighted the candle and took up her work.
" Very handsome, is n't he f I said.
" Yes."
What is his occupation ?"
" His father, with whom he lives, is a farmer, but lately come
to our neighborhood."
" Well, I wish he had passed the evening with us, and not
been so exclusively devoted to Miss Delia."
Jane said nothing, and I inquired when he would be likely to
come again.
" I do n't know."
"Really, Jane," I said, "you are provoking; for once in
vour life tell rne something I wish to find out. What is it, that
his name is Edward Courtney, and that his father is a farmer;
UNCLE WILLIAM'S. lit
he may be a scapegrace for all that. Pray, what do you kno-vr
about him, and why do you not like him 1 for I am sure you do
not."
" Why, yes, I like him well enough," she answered ; " but I
know nothing about him to tell; he is rather a wild young
man, I think."
" What wild thing has he done?"
" Oh, I do n't know : I do n't know as he is wild.*
And holding out one foot, she asked me how I liked her
shoes, saying they were made out of dog-skin ; she thought they
were as pretty as morocco, and her father said he thought they
would last all winter.
" S'cat!" exclaimed uncle William, at this moment making
his way through a dozen of the feline tribe; and having mended
the fire, he said he believed the moon quartered that night, and
proceeded to examine the almanac.
To me the evening seemed setting in very lonesomely, and it
was a most agreeable surprise when one of Mrs. Widdleton's
children came in to ask cousin Jane and myself to pass it with
her. To my disappointment, however, Jane did not feel like
going ; she was afraid of getting the toothache, and believed
she could not go very well.
" You go, any how." said the boy who had asked us ; "Mother
ays if you ain't acquainted, come and get acquainted."
I hesitated, for it seemed awkward to go alone into a stran-
ger's house, but the urgency of the lad and my own inclination
prevailed ; and I was already aware that the social customs of
Elm Ridge were not trammeled by oppressive conventional
restrictions.
On my arrival, I saw, to my surprise, the whiskered gentle
man whom 1 have mentioned as the companion of the pale lady
in the coach.
" Really, madam," he said, " I do hope, if it will not be a
serious inconvenience, that I can prevail upon you not so
much on my own account as for my wife's sake. She \spious,
and does n't like being at, the hotel, where Sunday is pretty
nearly as good as any other day."
160 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
" And are you not pious ?" asked Mrs. Widdleton, looking
at him in innocent astonishment.
He smiled and shook his head, but made no other answer.
" Well, I do n't know what to say. I liked the little
Woman"
" Yes, I like her too," interrupted the man, with a peculiar
smile, intended perhaps as an expression of humor.
" Did you ever !" exclaimed Mrs. Widdleton, and she went
on to say that she feared their plain way of living would not
suit a fine lady, who had been used to servants, and like
enough never had to wet her hands. She would see what
Abner thought.
" By all means."
And the gentleman seated himself, and caressed one leg,
while she withdrew, for a consultation, to the kitchen, where a
hammering seemed to indicate the going forward of some active
business.
" Just have it your own way, mother," I heard him say. " If
you are a mind to do more and have more, why you can ; but
seems to me you have enough to do ; though I do n't care. Do
just as you please ; but I hate to have you make a slave of
yourself, mother."
" Well, Abner," she answered, " one or two more in the
family don't seem to make much difference; and if they are
not suited, why they can find another place, may be."
When the gentleman had taken leave, which he did very
politely, Mrs. Widdleton informed me that his name was Heve-
lyu ; that he was a southern man, lately married, and had come
north for the sake of his wife's health. This she had learned
during her late interview with him. She also informed me she
was going to board them awhile ; that she wanted to get a few
things for Liddy, more than she could spare the money to buy
not that Abner would be unwilling to give it to her, but then
he had so many uses for his money.
Mrs. Widdleton was one of those bustling, active women,
who never seem in their right sphere except with hands full and
overflowing. Everybody was active about her Mr. Widdle-
ton mending her washing-tub, Liddy making a new gown, one
UNCLE WILLIAM'S. 11
ot* the children rocking the cradle, and all at something. Aa
for what she did during the evening in the way of mending and
making, I can not recount it, but the cradle was heaped, and so
were all the chairs about her, with the work she did. We had
cakes, and apples, and cider, and nuts, besides a constant flow
of talking, in which Mr. Widdleton, having finished his tub,
participated. I felt, I remember, a wish that everybody might
be just as contented as they, and have just as bright a fire.
But Mrs. Widdleton ah me, I do n't like to write that
" but" was a little given to talking of things that did not con-
cern her, as well as of things that did ; and when the children
were gone to bed, and while Abner had ground the coffee for
breakfast "he is so handy about the house," said Mrs. Wid-
dleton we drew close to the embers, and the good woman
glided naturally from her own tea-set to the tea-sets of her
neighbors, and thence the transition to her neighbors them-
selves was almost imperceptible. A number of interesting
little family affairs came to my knowledge that night; but
I will not attempt a report of all her disclosures only of some
intimations that more immediately interested me. Uncle Wil-
liam and Jane had put their heads together, she said, and sent
off Delia, the dear knows where, to prevent her keeping the
company of Edward Courtney; and for her part she thought,
though she did n't want to say anything one way or the other,
and it was very seldom she did speak at all, that Delia or any
other girl might go further and fare worse, for Edward Court-
ney was just as nice a young man, apparently, as ever she set
eyes on, and she would just as soon a daughter of hers married
him as to marry some persons that some persons thought a
good deal better, or to live at home till she was forty years
old, and nurse the oats. Jane, she confessed, was just as good
a girl as ever was, and uncle William was just as good a man
,ts ever was, but they would think it very hard to be made to
marry somebody they did n't like; and, for her part, she
thought it was just as bad to be kept from marrying whom you
did like. u It 's one thing to marry ^" said Mrs. Widdleton,
" and another thing to love the man you marry ; and, for hy
162 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
part, I would have Abner or I would have nobody. I was
always averse to match-making, but I have a great mind as ever
I had in my life" she suddenly paused, and added, " No, 1
do n't know as I will, either ; but I hate to see folks as cool as
a cucumber about such things, and think nobody has any feel-
ing more than themselves. Poor Delia ! Yes, I have the
greatest mind no I do n't know as I will I might reflect on
myself if it did n't all come out right." And she vigorously
trotted her baby, long after he was asleep ; and I have always
thought that then and there she settled the knotty point, for she
said at last, with a smile, that if she should tell Edward where
Delia was, it would n't be telling him to go there and marry
her; but even if she should give him a piece of her mind to that
effect, she did n't know as they could take her up and hang her.
Before I returned to uncle William's that night, she concluded
she would call on Mrs. Courtney in a day or two ; she wanted
to borrow a dress pattern of her ; perhaps she would see Ed-
ward, and perhaps not ; and she did n't know as she would say
anything about Delia if she did see him ; it was the pattern she
wanted. But notwithstanding this conclusion, I felt assured
that she would give Edward the " piece of her mind" with
which she had first proposed to endow him.
The following day I related to Jane the incidents of the even-
ing : how Mr. Widdleton had mended a tub, and his wife had
darned and mended ; in fact, whatever had been done or said
that could interest her, not omitting the conversation about
Edward and Delia for I was determined to find out something
in reference to the affair, as I persuaded myself I had a perfect
right to do, considering our relationship; and Delia's pale face
haunted me ; her supplicating appeal for permission to remain
at home I felt assured was not on my account ; I saw pots
of her flowers standing about, dying from neglect, and I could
not help thinking her thoughts had been otherwhere. So, as
I said, I told Jane that Mrs. Widdleton thought Delia and
Edward would make a fine match, and that she was sorry it
was likely not to take .place; for I did not choose to repeat
her* precise words. My very proper cousin colored slightly,
UNCLE WILLIAM'S. 1|
and said, that if Mrs. Widdleton had not so many excellent
qualities, she would be a busybody. This was the only re-
proach of any one I ever heard from her. I confess to greater
imperfection ; the affairs of other people interest me, and I
am apt sometimes to say what I think of their conduct and
character.
I used to take my seat at the window, and there being
neither conversation nor reading within, I naturally looked out
for amusement, and found it in the movements of our neigh-
bors ; for humanity is more to us than everything else, as those
who have passed a winter in an isolated country place can very
easily believe. The evening after this visit, I saw a light in the
front chamber of Mr. Widdleton's house, where I had never
seen a light before, and supposed the Hevelyns were there.
The following morning I saw Mrs. Widdleton set out, bright
and early, in the direction of Mr. Courtney's house. She
walked against the north wind with a straightforward and ener-
getic step, and I wondered whether there were any purpose in
her movements that did not concern the pattern. It was nearly
noon when she returned, accompanied by young Mr. Courtney.
They paused at the gate, and seemed in earnest conversation
for a long time. Liddy came to the door and looked earnestly
toward her mother several times ; the baby was fretting, I
knew ; but as often as they seemed about to separate they drew
nearer again, till it seemed their conversation would never have
an end. Seated on the outside of the evening coach that day I
noticed a young man who, I thought, resembled Courtney, and
I was the more convinced of its being him from the graceful
way in which he recognized Mrs. Widdleton, as he passed. A
red scarf about his neck concealed, in part, his face, so that I
could not be positive it was he. " But if it is," thought I',
"he may have a thousand objects in view besides Delia. 1
have no right to think anything about it." Still I did think
about it.
Often in the courses of the days I saw Mrs. Hevelyn, wrapt
in a shawl which seemed of a very rich and costly pattern,
t inding or sitting by the chamber window. Sometimes I ol>
194 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
served her wipe her eyes, and always her movements indicated
sadness and dejection. Occasionally when the sun shone in the
middle of the day, she walked about the yard, examined tha
dead flowers, and looked up and down the lonesome road, re-
turning again to the house with a languid and heavy step.
When the evening coach came rattling over the near hill, I saw
her either raise the sash or step out into the yard, and watch it
eagerly, as though in expectation of some one; and when it
passed she would sometimes return with her handkerchief to
her eyes, and sometimes, sinking at once on the frozen ground,
sit, as though powerless to go in, for an hour or more. One
sunshiny day I went out into the yard to see if the flags were
sprouting or the daffodils coming through the grass, for I had
seen a blue-bird twittering in the lilac and picking its feathers
that morning. "How d' you do?" called a voice that seemed
not altogether unfamiliar, and looking up, I saw Mrs. Widdle-'
ton leaning over her yard-fence, with the evident intention of
having a little chat.
" What is the news," she asked, "at your house ?"
" Oh nothing ; what is the news with you ?"
" How does uncle William (for she called Mr. Peters uncle
William when she spoke to me of him) seem to take it?"
" Take what ?" said I.
" Why, about Edward and Delia."
" And what about them ?"
" Why, they say he 's gone off to B ." Here she low-
ered her voice, and, saying that walls had ears sometimes,
crossed from her yard-fence to ours. " He 's gone off to
B ," she continued, "and they say it's to get married."
" Is it possible !"
" Yes ; and old Mr. Courtney is going back to the city to
five, and they say Edward and Delia are going right into the
old house ; and from the way things seem to begin and go on,
1 think they will do well."
I said I thought so too, though what things she had seen
beginning and going on 1 was not in the least advised, however
dhrewdly I might guess.
UNCLE WILLIAM'S. 1W
If they should be married, and come and live in the old place,
and do right well, as she hoped and believed they would, she
thought Miss Jane and " uncle William" would be ashamed of
themselves.
III.
As often as I met the ever busy and good natured Mrs. Wid-
dleton, she had much to say about poor Mrs. Hevelyn. Her
husband went away, she said, the very day he brought her there
and right among strangers so, it seemed as if the poor thing
would cry her eyes out. "Often of evenings," said Mrs. Wid-
dleton, " I go up into her room to have a cheerful chat. You
know a body must talk or they won't say anything and I find
her lying on the bed, her face all smothered in the pillow, and
her heart ready to break." She informed me further, that Mr.
Hevelyn had written only once, and then barely a few lines,
since he went away.
Two or three days went by, when, at nightfall, I observed an
unusual stir about Mr. Widdleton's house ; lights moved busily
from cellar to chamber ; a strange woman, in a high white cap,
appeared from time to time ; and presently the two little
girls came over to pass the evening, saying their mother
had given them leave to stay all night if they wished to.
The next morning the chamber-windows were closed, and
Mrs. Widdleton herself came in soon after breakfast to take
her children home, and informed them that somebody had
brought Mrs. Hevelyn " the sweetest little baby !" Tidings
were despatched to the absent husband, and day after day
the young mother exerted herself beyond her ability to make
her little darling look pretty, that the heart of the expected
father might be rejoiced the more; and day after day the
coach went by, and the sun went down, and he did not
come. At length, one day, in answer to Mrs. Widdleton'a
urgent entreaties, and with a hope of giving the poor lady some
comfort, 1 went in to sit for an hour with her, taking my sewing.
I four.d her a sweet and lovable creature, indeed not possessed
] OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
of very strong mind or marked characteristics, but gentle, con-
fiding, and amiable. She had put back her curls in motherly
fashion, and her cheek was thin and pale ; but she was beauti-
ful, and her large eyes had in them a pathos and power which
drew one toward her, as if by a spell. She seemed pleased
with my praise of the child ; said she had named him John, for
his father; and added, " He wants to see the darling so much !
and nothing but the most pressing necessity keeps him away
poor John !" It was a new illustration of the difficulty of dis-
possessing a faithful heart of its confidence : she would be the
last to learn how little that father merited her affection.
" Do you think my little beauty is going to have red hair 1 ?"
she said, pressing her lips against his head. Her own was a
deep auburn. She looked at me, as if she wanted me to say
no ; but I could not, conscientiously, and so replied evasively,
" Why, do n't you like that color ?"
" I do n't care," she said ; " it would be pretty to me, no
matter what color it was ; but John thinks red hair so ugly."
" Perhaps it will be the color of yours, and that will please
him."
" He used to call mine pretty," she said ; and, taking it down,
laid it on the baby's head, and compared it, with the greatest
apparent interest. While thus engaged, the coach drew up at
the gate. " Oh, it is he ! it is he !" she cried ; and, placing
the baby in my arms, wound back her long hair, and flew to
meet him, as though the heavens were opening before her.
" Why, Nell," I heard him say, as he assisted her up stairs,
" you have grown old and ugly since I left."
The tone was playful, but she replied, " Oh, John !" in a
reproachful accent that indicated a deeply felt meaning.
" And where did you learn this style of arranging your hair?
Is it by good mother Widdleton's suggestion ? Really, it is not
becoming it is positively shocking ; and red hair requires the
most careful dressing to make it endurable."
She tried to laugh as she entered the room, and said to me,
'Do n't you think John is finding fault with me already ! but,
never mind, I'll find fault vith him one of these days."
UNCLE WILLIAM'S. Iff
" I dare say, my dear, you will have cause," he answered,
half seriously, half laughingly ; and, putting her arms about his
neck, she kissed him. as fondly as though he had said she was
looking young and beautiful. " Oh, the baby !" she suddenly
exclaimed. " Why, John, you have n't seen him !"
" Do n't, my dear, make yourself ridiculous," he whispered,
*' but introduce the lady, and then go and arrange your hair :
there is time enough to see the baby."
I rose to go, as 1 would have done sooner but for my little
charge ; but the Hevelyns insisted so much on my remaining,
that I was forced to sit down. The mother kept smiling, but
tears seemed ready to fall ; and I placed the child in the father's
arms, and said, " See, how like you he is !"
" Uood gracious !" he exclaimed, turning away his eyes, " yon
do 't mean to say I look like this thing !"
" No, not quite," I said, laughing ; " not so well."
" And you call this boy mine, do you ?" he said to his wife ;
" rvi hair, and blue eyes, and ugly in every way. Why, his
hand is as big as a wood-chopper's." And he held up his own,
which was delicate and beautiful.
" Now, John, dear, he does look like you, and Mrs. Widdleton,
too, says he does." And to prove the resemblance she brought a
picture of her husband, saying I might trace the resemblance
more readily from that.
" Ah, Nelly," he said, putting it aside, " that never looked
like me." And to me he added, " You see it was painted when
I 'ound that I had to marry Nell ; and no wonder I looked woe-
begone !"
I took up a book of engravings, and, laying down the child, he
turned over the leaves for me.
" I am so faint !" said the wife, putting her hand to her fore
head. " What shall I do, John ?"
" Oh, I do n't know," he answered, without looking toward
her ; " get some water, or lie down, or something."
I gave her some water, and, seating her in the arm-chair, re-
turned to the book, that I might not appear to notice her emotion.
She turned her back toward us with a pretence of rocking the
168 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
3radle, but, in reality, to conceal inevitable tears. Mr. Hevelyn
ia~w it, his conscience smote him, and, stooping over her, he
kissed her forehead, and smoothed her hair, saying, with real or
affected foridnesb, " You know, dear, I was only jesting." And
she was pacified, and smiled again. The next morning the
strange gentleman took the coach ; he could not stay longer, the
wife said ; and other lonesome days came and went.
One wild March morning, when the snow blew blindingly
against the windows, little Peter Widdleton came running in with
great haste. Mrs. Hevelyn's baby was very sick, and she wanted
me to come. I found, on arriving at her room, that it had not
seemed well for several days, and that the previous night it had
grown seriously worse, and that then the most alarming symp-
toms were visible. She had written every day to her husband,
she told me, and as he neither came nor wrote, she was terri-
fied on his account, though it was possible her letters might have
been miscarried. Dear, credulous soul ! The morning coach
went by, and the evening coach went by, and he came not ; and
all the while the child grew worse. Mrs. Widdleton's skill was
baffled ; and as the mother rocked the little sufferer on her
bosom, and said, " What shall I do ! oh, what shall I do !" I
forgot all the words of comfort I had ever known.
Poor baby ! its little hands clinging tightly to the mother's, it
lay all day ; but at nightfall it sunk into slumber, and, though
its mother kissed it a thousand times, it did not wake any moio.
It was piteous to see her grief when we put it down in the snow,
and left it with the March winds making its lullaby.
After the burial, Mrs. Hevelyn lost the little energy that had
kept her up before, and sat without speaking all the day. She
seemed to have lost every interest in life.
We were sitting around the fire one night, eight or ten days
after the baby died, when Mrs. Widdleton came bustling in to
tell us that Mrs. Hevelyn was gone ; that her husband had
written her to join him without a moment's delay ; that he had
not sent her one cent of money, nor in any way made provision
lor her to go. " But for all that," said our neighbor, " she wafl
o'jariy crazy to go, arid the letter really made her a deal bett< r
UNCLE WILLIAM'S. 181
She gave my Liddy most of her clothes, partly by way of paying,
I suppose for you see she had no money all but her wedding-
dress ; that, she said, she should need before long ;" and the kind
v/oraan, taking up one of the cats, hugged it close by way of
keeping down her emotion. Ah well," she added, presently,
" she has n't much to care to live for, I am afraid."
IV.
When our excellent neighbor had completed the narrative re-
specting her late guest, and bestowed fit tributes on the respec-
tive characters of the wife and the husband, she sat a moment in
profound silence, and then, as if she had said Be gone ! to all
gloomy recollections, her face resumed its wonted glow, and her
eyes sparkled with secrets until now suppressed, and at the
thoughts of surprise and consternation she was likely to introduce
into my uncle's family surprise and consternation in no degree
associated with real evil, or the good woman would have been
the last being in the world to feel a satisfaction in their creation
or anticipation. Suddenly interrupting the third perusal of the
leading article in the week's " Republican," she said, " Did you
know, Old Mr. and Mrs. Courtney move to town to-day."
" Do tell," said uncle William, looking very much pleased, " I
wonder what they are going to do with their house ?"
" Well, I hardly know," replied Mrs. Widdleton, looking slyly
at me ; " some say one thing and some say another ; but I have
my own thoughts. I do n't think Edward Courtney went to
B for nothing ; and I do n't think he will come back with-
out a certain little woman, whose name begins with Delia, for a
wife."
Cousin Jane dropped half the stitches off one needle, and uncle
William opened the paper so suddenly that he tore it, which he
said he would not have done for a fip ; and he forgot what quar-
ter the moon was in, and, on being questioned, said he did n't
know as he cared.
Mrs. Widdleton was right; for the next evening I went with
her to call on the bride, my friend carrying with her a custard-
pie and a loaf of plum-cake. We found the happy pair taking
8
170 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
tea at a little table, with their faces glowing with sympathetic
devotion ; and when last I saw them they were as happy as
then lovers yet, though they had been married a dozen years.
A year after my visit I heard, by chance, that Mrs. Hevelyn
was dead, and the fragment of her life and love that I have
written, is all I know.
UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S.
UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S.
I.
THE night was intensely cold, hut not dismal, for all the hill*
id meadows, all the steep roofs of the farm-houses, and th>
black roofs of the barns, were white as snow could make them.
The haystacks looked like high, smooth heaps of snow, and the
fences, in their zigzag course across the fields, seemed made of
snow too, and half the trees had their limbs encrusted with the
pure white.
Through the middle of the road, and between banks out of
which it seemed to have been cut, ran a path, hard and blue
and icy, and so narrow that only two horses could move in it
abreast ; and almost all the while I could hear the merry music
of bells, or the clear and joyous voices of sleigh riders, ex-
ultant in the frosty and sparkling air.
With his head pushed under the curtain of the window next
the road, so that his face touched the glass, stood my father,
watching with as much interest, the things without, as I the
pictures in the fire. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets;
both his vest and coat hung loosely open ; and so for a half
hour he had stood, dividing my musings with joyous exclama-
tions as the gay riders went by, singly, or in companies. Now
it was a sled running over with children that he told me of;
now an old man and woman wrapt in a coverlid and driving
one poor horse ; and now a bright sleigh with fine horses, jingling
bells, and a troop of merry young folks. Then again he called
out, " There goes a spider-legged thing that I would n't ride in,"
and this remark I knew referred to one of those contrivances
which are gotten up on the spur of a moment, and generally
alter the snow begins to fall, consisting of two limber saplings
172 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
on which a seat is fixed, and which serve for runners, fills,
and all.
It was not often we had such a deep snow as this, and it
carried the thoughts of my father away back to his boyhood,
for he had lived among the mountains then, and been used to
the hardy winters which keep their empire nearly half the year.
Turning from the window, he remarked, at length, " This is a
nice time to go to Uncle Christopher's, or some where."
" Yes," I said, " it would be a nice time ;" but I did not think
so, all the while, for the snow and I were never good friends. I
knew, however, that my father would like above all things to
visit Uncle Christopher, and that, better still, though he did not
like to own it, he would enjoy the sleighing.
"I want to see Uncle Christopher directly," he continued,
" about getting some spring wheat to sow."
" It is very cold," I said, " is n't it ?" I really could n't help
the question.
" Just comfortably so," he answered, moving back from the
fire.
Two or three times I tried to say, " Suppose we go," but the
words were difficult, and not till he had said, "Nobody ever
wants to go with me to Uncle Christopher's, nor anywhere," did
I respond, heartily, " Oh, yes, father, I want to go."
In a minute afterwards, I heard him giving directions about
the sleigh and horses.
" I am afraid, sir, you '11 find it pretty cold," replied Billy, as
he rose to obey.
" I do n't care about going myself," continued my father,
apologetically, "but my daughter has taken a fancy to a ride,
and so I must oblige her."
A few minutes, and a pair of handsome, well-kept horses
were champing the bit, and pawing the snow at the door, while
shawls, mittens, &c., were warmed at the fire. It was hard to
see the bright coals smothered under the ashes, and the chairs
set away ; but 1 forced a smile to my lips, and as my father
said " Ready 1" I answered " Ready," and the door closed on
the genial atmosphere the horses stepped forward and back-
ward, flung their heads up and down, curved their necks to the
UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S. m
tightening rein, and we were off. The fates he praised, it is not
to do again. All the shawls and muffs in Christendom could
not avail against such a night so still, clear, and intensely
cold. The very stars seemed sharpened against the ice, and
the white moonbeams slanted earthward, and pierced our faces
like thorns I think they had substance that night, and were
stiff; and the thickest veil, doubled twice or thrice, was less
than gossamer, and yet the wind did not blow, even sc much
as to stir one flake of snow from the bent boughs.
At first we talked with some attempts at mirth, but sobered
presently and said little, as we glided almost noiselessly along
the hard and smooth road. We had gone, perhaps, five miles
to the northward, when we turned from the paved and level
way into a narrow lane, or neighborhood road, as it was called,
seeming to me hilly and winding and wild, for I had never been
there before. The track was not so well worn, but my father
pronounced it better than that we had left, and among the
stumps and logs, and between hills and over hills, now through
thick woods, and now through openings, we went crushing along.
We passed a few cabins and old-fashioned houses, but not
many, and the distances between them grew greater and greater,
and there were many fields and many dark patches of woods
between the lights. Every successive habitation 1 hoped would
terminate our journey our pleasure, 1 should have said yet
still we went on, and on.
" Is it much farther ?" 1 asked, at length.
" Oh, no only four or five miles," replied my father ; and
he added, " Why, are you getting cold 1"
" Not much," I said, putting my hand to my face to ascertain
that it was not frozen.
At last we turned into a lane, narrower, darker, and more
lonesome still edged with woods on either side, and leading
up and up and up farther than I could see. No path had been
previously broken, and the horses sunk knee deep at every step,
their harness tightening as they strained forward, and their
steamy breath drifting back, and freezing stiff my veil. At the
summit the way was interrupted by a cross fence, and a gate
was to be opened a heavy thing, painted red, and fastened
174 UUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
with a chain. It had been well secured, for after half an hour's
attempts to open it, we found ourselves defied.
" I guess we '11 have to leave the horses and walk to the
house," said my father ; "it 's only a little step."
I felt terrible misgivings ; the gate opened into an orchard ;
I could see no house, and the deep snow lay all unbroken ; but
there was no help ; I must go forward as best I could, or remain
and freeze. It was difficult to choose, but I decided to go on.
In some places the snow was blown aside, and we walked a
few steps on ground almost bare, but in the end high drifts met
us, through which we could scarcely press our way. In a little
while we began to descend, and soon, abruptly, in a nook shel-
tered by trees, and higher hills, I saw a curious combination of
houses brick, wood, and stone and a great gray barn, looking
desolate enough in the moonlight, though about it stood half a
dozen of inferior size. But another and a more cheerful indi-
cation of humanity attracted me. On the brink of the hill
stood two persons with a small hand-sled between them, which
they seemed to have just drawn up ; in the imperfect light,
they appeared to be mere youths, the youngest not more than
ten or twelve years of age. Their laughter rang on the cold
air, and our approach, instead of checking, seemed to increase
their mirth.
" Laugh, Mark, laugh," said the taller of the two, as we
drew near, " so they will see our path they 're going right
through the deep snow."
But in stead, the little fellow stepped manfully forward, and
directed us into the track broken by their sleds.
At the foot of the hill we came upon the medley of buildings,
so incongruous that they might have been blown together by
chance. Light appeared in the windows of that portion which
was built of stone, but we heard no sound, and the snow about
the door had not been disturbed since its fall. " And this,''
said 1, " is where Uncle Christopher Wright lives ?"
A black dog, with yellow spots under his eyes, stood sud
denly before us, and growled so forbiddingly that we drevi
back.
" He will not bite," said the little boy ; for the merry
TTNULE CHRISTOPHER'S. 175
makers had landed on their sled at the foot of the hill, and
followed us to the door ; and in a moment the larger youth
dashed past us, seized the dog by the fore paws, and dragged
him violently aside, snarling and whimpering all the time.
" Haven't you got no more sense," he exclaimed, " than to
bark so at a gentleman and ladies ?"
II.
In answer to our quick rap, the door opened at once, and the
circle about the great blazing log fire was broken by a general
rising. The group consisted of eight persons one man and
seven women ; the women so closely resembling each other,
that one could not tell them apart; not even the mother from the
daughters for she appeared as young as the oldest of them
except by her cap and spectacles. All the seven were very
slender, very straight, and very tall ; all had dark complexions,
black eyes, low foreheads, straight noses, and projecting teeth ;
and all were dressed precisely alike, in gowns of brown flannel,
and coarse leather boots, with blue woollen stockings, and small
capes, of red and yellow calico. The six daughters were all
marriageable ; at least the youngest of them was. They had
staid, almost severe, expressions of countenances, and scarcely
spoke during the evening. By one corner of the great fire-
place they huddled together, each busy with knitting, and all
occupied with long blue stockings, advanced in nearly similar
degrees toward completion. Now and then they said "Yes,
ma'm," or " No ma'm," when I spoke to them, but never or
very rarely any thing more. As I said, Mrs. Wright differed
from her daughters in appearance, only in that she wore a cap
and spectacles ; but she was neither silent nor ill at ease as
they were ; on the contrary, she industriously filled up all the
little spaces unoccupied by her good man in the conversation ;
she set off his excellencies, as a frame does a picture ; and
before we were even seated, she expressed her delight that we
had come when " Christopher" was at home, as, owing to his
gift, he was much abroad.
Uncle Christopher was a tall muscular man of sixty or there-
abouts, dressed in what might be termed stylish homespun
176 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
coat, trowsers and waistcoat, of snuff colored cloth. His cravat
\vas of red-and-white-checked gingham, but it was quite hidden
under his long grizzly beard, which he wore in full, this pecu-
liarity being a part of his religion. His hair was of the same
color, combed straight from his forehead, and turned over
in one even curl on the back of the neck. Heavy gray eye-
brows met over a hooked nose, and deep ip his head twinkled
two little blue eyes, which seemed to say, " I am delighted
with myself, and, of course, you are with me." Between his
knees he held a stout hickory stick, on which, occasionally,
when he had settled something beyond the shadow of doubt,
he rested his chin for a moment, and enjoyed the triumph. He
rose on our entrance, for he had been seated beside a small
table, where he monopolized a good portion of the light, and
all the warmth, and having shaken hands with my father and
welcomed him in a long and pompous speech, during which .he
good wife bowed her head, and listened as to an oracle, he
greeted me in the same way, saying, " This, I suppose, is
the virgin who abideth still in the house with you. She is
not given, I hope, to gadding overmuch, nor to vain and fool-
ish decorations of her person with ear-rings and finger- rings,
and crisping-pins: for such are unprofitable, yea, abominable.
My daughter, consider it well, and look upon it, and receive
instruction." I was about replying, 1 don't know what, when
he checked me by saying, "Much speech in a woman is as
the crackling of thorns under a pot. Open rebuke," he con-
tinued, " is better than secret love." Then pointing with his
cane in the direction of the six girls, he said, " Rise, maidens,
arid salute your kinswoman ;" and as they stood up, pointing
to each with his stick, he called their names, beginning with
Abagail, eldest of the daughters of Rachael Wright and Chris-
topher Wright, and ending with Lucinda, youngest born of
Rachael Wright and Christopher Wright. Each, as she was
referred to, made a quick ungraceful curtsy, and resumed her
seat and her knitting.
A half hour afterward, seeing that we remained silent, the
father said, by way of a gracious permission of conversation, I
suppose, "A little talk of flax and wool, and of household dill
tJNCLE CHRISTOPHERS. IM
gonoe, would not ill become the daughters of our house." Upon
hearing this, Lucinda, who, her mother remarked, had the
" liveliest turn " of any of the girls, asked me if I liked to
knit ; to which I answered, " Yes," and added, " Is it a favor-
ite occupation with you ?" she replied, "Yes ma'rn," and after
a long silence, inquired how many cows we milked, and at the
end of another pause, whether we had colored our flannel brown
or blue; if we had gathered many hickory nuts; if our apples
were keeping well, etc.
The room in which we sat was large, with a low ceiling,
and bare floor, and so open about the windows and doors, that
the slightest movement of the air without would keep the
candle flame in motion, and chill those who were not sitting
nearest the fire, which blazed and crackled and roared in the
chimnev. Uncle Christopher, as my father had always called
him (though he was uncle so many degrees removed that I
never exactly knew the relationship), laid aside the old volume
from which he had been reading, removed the two pairs of
spectacles he had previously worn, and hung them, by leather
strings connecting their bows, on a nail in the stone jamb by
which he sat, and talked, and talked ; and talked, and I soon
discovered by his conversation, aided by the occasional explan-
atory whispers of his wife, that he was one of those infatuated
men who fancy themselves "called" to be teachers of religion,
though he had neither talents, education, nor anything else to
warrant such a notion, except a faculty for joining pompous and
half scriptural phrases, from January to December.
That inward purity must be manifested by a public washing of
the feet, that it was a sin to shave the beard, and an abomination
for a man to be hired to preach, were his doctrines, I believe,
and much time and some money he spent in their vindication.
From neighborhood to neighborhood he traveled, now entering
a Idacksmith's shop and delivering a homily, now debating with
the boys in the cornfield, and now obtruding into some church,
where peaceable worship eis were assembled, with intima-
tions that they had " br' v en teeth, and feet out of joint," that
they were " like cold and snow in the time of harvest, yea, worse,
even as pot-sheds covered with silver dross." And such ex-
8*
179 * OUR NEIGH BORHOOD.
nortations he often concluded by quoting the passage : " Though
thou shouldst bray a fowl in a mortar among wheat, with a
postle, yet will not his foolishness depart from him."
More than half an hour elapsed before the youths whose
sliding down the hill had been interrupted by us, entered the
house. Their hands and faces were red and stiffened with the
cold, yet they kept shyly away from the fire, and no one
noticed or made room for them. Both interested me at once,
and partly, perhaps, that they seemed to interest nobody else.
The taller was not so young as I at first imagined ; he was un-
graceful, shambling, awkward, and possessed one of those clean,
pinky complexions which look so youthful ; his hair was yellow,
his eyes small and blue, with an unquiet expression, and his
lands and feet inordinately large ; and when he spoke, it was
to the boy who sat on a low stool beside him, in a whisper,
which he evidently meant to be inaudible to others, but which
was, nevertheless, quite distinct to me. He seemed to exercise
a kind of brotherly care over the boy, but he did not speak,
nor move, nor look up, nor look down, nor turn aside, nor sit
still, without an air of the most wretched embarrassment. I
should not have written "sit still," for he changed his position
continually, and each time his face grew crimson, and, to cover
his confusion, as it were, he drew from his pocket a large silk
handkerchief, rubbed his lips, and replaced it, at the same time
moving and screwing and twisting the toe of his boot in every
direction.
I felt glad of his attention to the boy, for he seemed silent
and thoughtful beyond his years; perhaps he was lonesome, 1
thought ; certainly he was not happy, for he leaned his chin on
his hand, which was cracked and bleeding, and now and then
when his companion ceased to speak, the tears gathered to his
eyes; but he seemed willing to be pleased, and brushed the
tears off his face and smiled, when the young man laid his
great hand on his head, and, shaking it roughly, said, " Mark,
Mark, Marky !"
" I can't help thinking about the money," said the boy, at
last, "and how many new things it would have bought: just
of it, Andrew !"
UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S. 77,
"How Towser did bark at them people, did n't he, Mark T
aid Andrew, not heeding what had been said to him.
"All new things!" murmured the boy, sorrowfully, glancing
at his patched trowsers and ragged shoes.
" In three days it will be New-Year's ; and then, Mark, won't
we have fun !" and Andrew rubbed his huge hands together, in
glee, at the prospect.
" It won't be no fun as I know of," replied the boy.
"May be the girls will bake some cakes," said Andrew,
turning red, and looking sideways at the young women.
Mark laughed, and, looking up, he recognized the interested
look with which I regarded him, and from that moment we
were friends.
At the sound of laughter, Uncle Christopher struck his cane
on the floor, and looking sternly toward the offenders, said,
''A whip for the horse, a bridle for the ass, and a rod for the
fool's back !" leaving to them the application, which they made,
1 suppose, for they became silent the younger dropping his
chin in his hands again, and the elder twisting the toe of his
boot, and using his handkerchief very freely.
I thought we should never go home, for I soon tired of Uncle
Christopher's conversation, and of Aunt Rachael's continual
allusions to his "gift;" he was etidently regarded by her as
not only the man of the house, but also as the man of all the
world. The six young women had knitted their six blue
stockings from the heel to the toe, and had begun precisely si
the same time to taper them off, with six little white balls o !
yarn.
The clock struck eleven, and I ventured, timidly, to suggest
my wish to return home. Mark, who sat drowsily in his chaii,
looked at me beseechingly, and when Aunt Rachael said, "Tut,
tut ! you are not going home to-night !' : he laughed again,
despite the late admonition. All the six young women also
said, "You can stay just as well as not ;"and I felt as if I were
to be imprisoned, and began urging the impossibility of doing
so, when Uncle Christopher put an end to remonstrance by
exclaiming, "It is better to dwell in the corner of the house,
top, than with a brawling woman, and in a wide house." It
180 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
was soon determined that I should remain, not only for the
night, hut till the weather grew warmer; and I can feel now
something of the pang I experienced when I heard the horses
snorting on their homeward way, after the door had closed
upon me.
" I am glad you did n't get to go !" whispered Mark, close to
me, favored by a slight confusion induced by the climbing o
the six young ladies upon six chairs, to hang over six lines,
attached to the rafters, the six stockings.
There was no variableness in the order of things at Uncle
Christopher's, but all went regularly forward without even a
casual observation, and to see one day, was to see the entire
experience in the family.
" He has a great gift in prayer," said Aunt Rachael, pulling
my sleeve, as the hour for worship arrived.
I did not then, nor can I to this day, agree with her. I would
not treat such matters with levity, and will not repeat the for-
mula which this "gifted man " went over morning and evening,
but he did not fail on each occasion to make known to the All-
Wise the condition in which matters stood, and to assure him,
that he himself was doing a great deal for their better manage-
ment in the future. It was not so much a prayer as an an-
nouncement of the latest intelligence, even to "the visit of
his kinswoman who was still detained by the severity of the
elements."
It was through the exercise of his wonderful gift, that I first
learned the histories of Andrew and Mark ; that the former
was a relation from the interior of Indiana, who, for feeding and
milking Uncle Christopher's cows morning and evening, and the
general oversight of affairs, when the great man was abroad,
enjoyed the privilege of attending the district school in the
neighborhood ; and that the latter was the "son of his son," a
" wicked and troublesome boy, for the present subjected to the
chastening influences of a righteous discipline."
As a mere matter of form, Uncle Christopher always said, J
will do so or so, " Providence permitting ;" but he felt compe-
tent to do anything and everything on his own account, to " the
drawing out of the Leviathan with an hook, or his tongue with
UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S. 181
ft cord to the putting a hook into his nose, or the boring hia
iaw through with a thorn."
"I believe it's getting colder," said Andrew, as he opened
the door of the stairway, darkly winding over the great oven, to a
low chamber ; and, chuckling, he disappeared. He was pleased,
as a child would be, with the novelty of a visitor, and perhaps
half believed it was colder, because he hoped it was so. Mark
gave me a smile as he sidled past his grandfather, and disap-
peared within the smoky avenue. We had scarcely spoken
together, but somehow he had recognized the kindly disposition
I felt toward him.
As I lay awake, among bags of meal and flour, boxes of
hickory nuts and apples, with heaps of seed, wheat, oats, and
barley, that filled the chamber into which I had been shown
cold, despite the twenty coverlids heaped over me I kept
thinking of little Mark, and wondering what was the story of
the money he had referred to. I could not reconcile myself to
the assumption of Uncle Christopher that he was a wicked boy ;
and, falling asleep at last, I dreamed the hard old man was
beating him with his walking-stick, because the child was not
big enough to fill his own snuff-colored coat and trowsers. And
certainly this would have been little more absurd than his real
elFort to change the boy into a man.
There was yet no sign of daylight, when the stir of the family
awoke me, and, knowing they would think very badly of me
should I further indulge my disposition for sleep, I began to
feel in the darkness for the various articles of my dress. At
length, half awake, I made my w<y through and over the ob-
structions in the chamber, to the room below, wliich the blazing
logs filled with light. The table was spread, and in the genial
warmth sat Uncle Christopher, doing nothing. He turned his
blue eyes upon me as I entered, and said, " Let a bear robbed
of her whelps meet a man, rather than she who crieth, A little
more sleep, and a little more slumber."
"Did he say anything to you?" asked Aunt Rachael, as I
entered the kitchen in search of a wash-bowl. "It must have
been just to the purpose," she continued ; " Christopher always
says something to the purpose."
182 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
There was no bowl, no accommodations, for one's toilet
Uncle Christopher did not approve of useless expenditures. 1
was advised to make an application of snow to my hands and
face, and while I was doing so, I saw a light moving about the
stables, and heard Andrew say, in a chuckling, pleased tone,
u B'lieve it's colder, Mark she can't go home to-day; and if
she is only here till New-Years, maybe they will kill the big
turkey." I felt, while melting on my cheeks the snow, that it
was no warmer, and, perhaps, a little flattered with the evident
liking of the young man and the boy, I resolved to make the best
of my detention. I could see nothing to do, for seven women
were already moving about by the light of a single tallow
candle ; the pork was frying, and the coffee boiling ; the bread
and butter were on the table, and there was nothing more, ap-
parently, to be accomplished. I dared not sit down, however,
and so remained in the comfortless kitchen, as some atonement
for my involuntary idleness. At length the tin-horn was
sounded, and shortly after Andrew and Mark came in, and
breakfast was announced ; in other words, Aunt Rachael placed
her hand on her good man's chair, and said, "Come."
To the coarse fare before us we all helped ourselves in silence,
except of the bread, and that was placed under the manage-
ment of Uncle Christopher, and with the same knife he used in
eating, slices were cut as they were required. The little courage
I summoned while alone in the snow thinking I might make
myself useful, and do something to occupy my time, and ob-
lige the family flagged and failed during that comfortless meal.
My poor attempts at cheerfulness fell like moonbeams on ice,
except, indeed, that Andrew and Mark looked grateful.
Several times, before we left the table, I noticed the cry of a
kitten, seeming to come from the kitchen, and that when Uncle
Christopher turned his ear in that direction, Mark looked at
Andrew, who rubbed his lips more earnestly than I had seen
him before.
When the breakfast, at last, was ended, the old man pro-
ceeded to search out the harmless offender, with the instincts of
some animal hungry for blood. I knew its doom, when it was
discovered, clinging so tightly to the old hat, in which Murk
UNULE CHRISTOPHER'S 188
had hidden it, dry and warm, by the kitchen fire ; it had beec
better left in the cold snow, for I saw that the sharp little eyes
which looked on it grew hard as stone.
" Mark," said Uncle Christopher, " into your hands I deliver
this unclean beast : there is an old well digged by my father,
and which lieth easterly a rod or more from the great barn
uncover the mouth thereof, and when you have borne the crea-
ture thither, cast it down !"
Mark looked as if he were suffering torture, and when, with
the victim, he had reached the door, he turned, as if constrained
by pity, and said, " Can't it stay in the barn ?"
" No," answered Uncle Christopher, bringing down his great
tick on the floor ; "but you can stay in the barn, till you learn
better than to gainsay my judgment." Rising, he pointed in
the direction of the well, and followed, as I inferred, to see that
his order was executed, deigning to offer neither reason nor
explanation.
Andrew looked wistfully after, but dared not follow, and,
taking from the mantle-shelf Walker's Dictionary, he began to
study a column of definitions, in a whisper sufficiently loud for
every one in the house to hear.
I inquired if that were one of his studies at school; but so
painful was the embarrassment occasioned by the question,
though he simply answered, " B'lieve it is," that I repented,
and perhaps the more, as it failed of its purpose of inducing
a somewhat lower whisper, in his mechanical repetitions of the
words, which he resumed with the same annoying distinctness.
With the first appearance of daylight the single candle was
snuffed out, and it now stood filling the room with smoke from
its long limber wick, while the seven women removed the dishes,
and I changed from place to place that I might seem to have
some employment ; and Andrew, his head and face heated in
the blaze from the fireplace, studied the Dictionary. In half
an hour Uncle Christopher returned, with stern satisfaction
depicted in his face :. the kitten was in the well, and Mark was
in the barn ; I felt that, and was miserable.
I asked for something to do, as the old man, resuming his
seat, and, folding his hands over his staff, began a homily on
'84 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
the beauty of industry, and was given some patch- work ,
"There are fifty blocks in the quilt," said Aunt Rachael, "and
each of them contains three hundred pieces."
I wrought diligently all the day, though I failed to see the
use or beauty of the work on which I was engaged.
At last Andrew, putting his Dictionary in his pocket, saying,
"I b'lieve I have my lesson by heart," and, a piece of bread
and butter in the top of his hat, tucked the ends of his green
woolen trowsers in his cowhide boots, and, without a word of
kindness or encouragement, left the house for the school.
By this time the seven women had untwisted seven skeins
of blue yarn, which they wound into seven blue balls, and
each at the same time began the knitting of seven blue
Blockings.
That was a very long day to me, and as the hours went by I
grew restless, and then wretched. Was little Mark all this
time in the cold barn ? Scratching the frost from the window
pane, I looked in the direction from which I expected him to
come, but he was nowhere to be seen.
The quick clicking of the knitting-needles grew hateful, the
shut mouths and narrow foreheads of the. seven women grew
hateful, and hatefulest of all grew the small blue shining eyes
of Uncle Christopher, as they bent on the yellow worm-eaten
page of the old book he read. He was warm and comfortable,
and had forgotten the existence of the little boy he had driven
out into the cold.
1 put down my work at last, and cold as it was, ventured
out. There were narrow paths leading to the many barns and
cribs, and entering one after another, I called to Mark, but in
vain. Calves started up, and, placing their fore feet in thw
troughs from which they usually fed, looked at me, half in
wonder and half in fear; the horses and there seemed to be
dozens of them stamped, and whinnied, and, thrusting their
noses through their mangers, pressed them into a thousand
wrinkles, snuffing the air instead of expected oats. It was so
intensely cold I began to fear the boy was dead, and turned
over bundles of hay and straw, half expecting to find his
stiffened corpse beneath them, but 1 did not, and was about
UNCLE CHRISTOPHEKS. 180
leaving the green walls of hay that rose smoothly on each side
of me, the great dusty beams and black cobwebs swaying here
and there in the wind, when a thought struck me : the well
he might have fallen in ! Having gone " a rod or more, easterly
from the barn," directed by great footprints and little footprints,
I discovered the place, and to my joy, the boy also. There was
no curb about the well, and, with his hands resting on a decayed
strip of plank that lay across its mouth, the boy was kneeling
beside it, and looking in. He had not heard my approach,
and, stooping, I drew him carefully back, showed him how
the plank was decayed, and warned him against such fearful
hazards.
" But," he said, half laughing, and half crying, "just see !"
and he pulled me toward the well. The opening was small
and dark, and seemed very deep, and as I looked more intently
my vision gradually penetrated to the bottom ; I could see the
still pool there, and a little above it, crouching on a loose stone
or other projection of the wall, the kitten, turning her shining
eyes upward now and then, and mewing piteously.
" Do you think she will get any of it ?" said Mark, the tears
coming into his eyes ; "and if she does, how long will she live
there ?" The kind-hearted child had been dropping down bits
of bread for the prisoner.
He was afraid to go to the house, but when I told him Uncle
Christopher might scold me if he scolded any one, and that I
would tell him so, he was prevailed upon to accompany me.
The hard man was evidently ashamed when he saw the child
hiding behind my skirts for fear, and at first said nothing. But
directly Mark began to cry there was such an aching and
stinging in his fingers and toes, he could not help it.
" Boo, hoo, hoo !" said the old man, making three times as
much noise as the boy " what's the matter now ?"
" I suppose his hands and feet are frozen," said I, as though
I knew it, and would maintain it in spite of him, and I confess
I felt a secret satisfaction in showing him his cruelty.
"Oh, I guess not," Aunt Rachael said, quickly, alarmed for
my ccol assertion as well as for the child : " only a leetle frosted,
I reckon. Whereabouts does it hurt you, my son ?" she con
18 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
tinued, stooping over him with a human sympathy and fond
ness I had not previously seen in any of the family.
" Frosted a leetle that's all, Christopher," she said, by way
of soothing her lord's compunction, and, at the same time,
taking in her hands the feet of the boy, which he flung about
for pain, crying bitterly. " Hush, little honey," she said, kissing
him, and afraid the good man would be vexed at the crying;
and as she sat there holding his feet, and tenderly soothing him,
I at first could not believe she was the same dark and sedatt
matron who had been knitting the blue stocking.
" Woman, fret not thy gizzard !" said Christopher, slapping
his book on the table, and hanging his spectacles on the jamb.
The transient beauty all dropt away, the old expression of
obsequious servility was back, and she resumed her seat and
her knitting.
" There, let me doctor you," he continued, drawing the
child's stocking off. The feet were covered with blisters, and
presented the appearance of having been scalded. " Why, boy
alive," said he, as he saw the blisters, " these are nothing
they will make you grow." He was forgetting his old pom-
pusity, and, as if aware of it, resumed, "Thou hast been chas-
tised according to thy deserts go forth in the face of the wind,
even the north wind, and, as the ox treadeth the mortar, tread
thou the snow."
" You see, Markey," interposed Mrs. Wright, whose heart
was really kind, "you see your feet are a leetle frosted, and
that will make them well."
The little fellow wiped his tears with his hand, which was
cracked and bleeding from the cold ; and, between laughing
and crying, ran manfully out into the snow.
It was almost night, and the red clouds about the sunset
began to cast their shadows along the hills. The seven women
went into the kitchen for the preparation nf dinner, (we ate but
two meals in the day) and I went to the window to watch
Mark as he trod the snow "even as an ox treadeth the mortar."
There he was, running hither and thither, and up and down,
but, to my surprise, not alone. Andrew, who had returned
from school, arid found his little friend in such a sorry plight,
UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S. 187
nad, for the sake of giving him courage, bared his own feet, and
was chasing after him in generously well-feigned enjoyment.
Towser, too, had come forth from his kennel of straw, and a
gay frolic they made of it, all together.
I need not describe the dinner it differed only from the
breakfast, in that it had potatoes added to the bread and pork.
I remember never days so long, before nor since ; and that
night, as the women resumed their knitting, and Uncle Christo-
pher his old book, I could hardly keep from crying like a child,
I was so lonesome and homesick. The wind roared in the
neighboring woods, the frozen branches rattled against the
stone wall, and sometimes the blaze was blown quite out of
the fire-place. I could not see to make my patch-work, for
Uncle Christopher monopolized the one candle, and no one
questioned his right to do so; and, at last, conscious of the
displeasure that would follow me, I put by the patches, and
joined Mark and Andrew, who were shelling corn in the
kitchen. They were not permitted to burn a candle, but the
great fire-place was full of blazing logs, and, on seeing me, their
faces kindled into smiles, which helped to light the room, 1
thought. The floor was covered with red and white cobs, and
there were sacks of ripe corn, and tubs of shelled corn, about
the floor, and, taking a stool, I joined them at their work. At
first, Andrew was so much confused, and rubbed his mouth so
much with his handkerchief, that he shelled but little ; grad-
ually, however, he overcame his diffidence, and seemed to enjoy
the privilege of conversation, which he did not often have,
poor fellow. Little Mark made slow progress ; his tender
hands shrank from contact with the rough ears, and when I
took his place, and asked him where he lived, and how old he
was, his heart was quite won, and he found delight in com-
municating to me his little joys and sorrows. He was not
pretty, certainly his eyes were gray and large, his hair red,
ois expression surly, his voice querulous, ard his manner un-
amiable, except, indeed, when talking with Andrew or myself.
1 have been mistaken, I thought ; he is really amiable and
sweel-tempered ; and, as I observed him very closely, his moro
habitua* expression came to his face, and he said, abruptly,
188 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
" I don 't like grandfather !" " Why ?" I said, smoothing back
his hair, for I liked him the better for saying, so. "Because,"
he replied, "he don't like me ;" and, in a moment, he con-
tinued, while his eyes moistened, "nobody likes me every-
body says I 'm bad and ugly." " Oh, Mark !" exclaimed
Andrew, "I like you, but I know somebody I don't like
somebody that wears spectaclesses, and a long beard I do n't
say it's Uncle Christopher, and I don't say it ain't." Mark
laughed, partly at the peculiar manner in which Andrew ex-
pressed himself; and when I told him I liked him too, and
didn't think him either bad or ugly, he pulled at the hem of
my apron as he remarked, that he should like to live with An-
drew and me, always.
I answered that i would very gladly take him with me when
I went home, and his face shone with pleasure, as he told me
he had never yet ridden in a sleigh. But the pleasure lasted
only a moment, and, with an altered and pained expression, he
said, "I can't go these things are all I have got," and he
pointed to his homely and ill-conditioned clothes.
'* Never mind, 1 will mend them," I said ; and, wiping his
eyes, he told me that once he had enough money to buy ever
so many clothes, that he earned it by doing errands, sawing
wood, and other services, for the man who lived next door to
his father in the city, and that one Saturday night, when he had
done something that pleased his employer, he paid him all he
owed, and a little more, for being a good buy. "As I was
running home," said he, "I met two boys that I knew; so I
stopped to show them how much money I had, and when they
told me to put it on the pavement in three little heaps, so we
could see how much it made, I did so, and they, each one of
them, seized a heap and ran away, and that," said Mark, "ia
just the truth."
" And what did you do then ?" I asked.
" J told father," he answered, " and he said I was a sim-
pleton, and it was good enough for me that he would send
me out here, and grandfather would straighten me."
"Never mind, Markey," said Andrew, "it will be New.
Year's, day after to-morrow."
UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'a - 189
And so, sitting in the light of the cob-fire, and guessing what
they would get in their stockings, I left them for the night.
I did not dampen their expectations of a good time, but I
saw little cause to believe any pleasant dreams of their's would
be realized, as I had seen no indications of preparation for the
holidays, even to the degree of a plumb cake, or mince-pie.
But I was certain of one thing whatever Mark was, they would
not make him any better. As he said, nobody loved him.
nobody spoke to him, from morning till night, unless to correct
or order him, in some way ; and so, perhaps, he sometimes did
things he ought not to do, merely to amuse his idleness. In all
ways he was expected to have the wisdom of a man to rise
as early, and sit up as late, endure the heat and cold as well,
and perform 'nearly as much labor. So, to say the truth, he
was, for the most part, sulky and sullen, and did reluctantly
that which he had to do, and no more, except, indeed, at the
suggestion of Andrew, or while I was at the house, because I at
my request, and then work seemed only play to him.
The following morning was precisely like the morning that
preceded it ; the family rose before the daylight, and moved
about by the tallow candle, and prepared breakfast, while Uncle
Christopher sat in the great arm-chair, and Mark and Andrew
fed the cattle by the light of a lantern.
" To-morrow will be New-Year's," said Mark, when break-
fast was concluded, and Andrew took down the old Dictionary.
No one noticed him, and he presently repeated it.
" Well, and what of it ?" replied the old man, giving him a
severe look.
" Nothing of it, as I know of," said the boy ; " only I thought,
maybe we would have something nice."
" Something nice !" echoed the grandfather; "don't we have
something nice every day ?"
" Well, but I want to do something," urged Mark, sure that
he wished to have the dull routine broken in some way.
" Boys will be boys," said Aunt Rachael, in her most con-
ciliatory tone, and addressing nobody in particular ; and pre-
sently she asked Mark what had become of the potatoes he
gleaned. lie replied that they were in a barrel in the cellar.
190 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
" Eaten up by the rats," added Uncle Christopher.
" No, sir," said Mark, " they are as good as ever may I sell
them ?"
" It 's a great wonder you did n't let the rats eat them ; but,
I suppose, it's from no oversight of yours," Uncle Christopher
said.
" Yes, sir, I covered them," replied the boy ; " and now, may
f sell them ? you said I might."
" Sell them yes, you may sell them," replied the grand-
father, in a mocking tone ; "why don't you run along and sell
them ?"
Of course, the boy did not feel that he could sell his little
crop, nor did the grandfather intend to grant any such per-
mission.
" Uncle Christopher," said Andrew, looking up from his
Dictionary, "do them ere potatoes belong to you, or do they
belong to Markey ?"
The old man did not reply directly, but said something about
busy bodies and meddlers, which caused Andrew to study very
earnestly, while Mark withdrew to the kitchen and cried, alone.
Toward noon, however, his grandfather asked him if he could
ride the old sorrel horse to the blacksmith's, three miles away,
and get new shoes set on him, " because," said he, " if you can,
you can carry a bag of the potatoes, and sell them."
Mark forgot how cold it was, forgot his ragged trowsers, for-
got everything, except that the next day was New- Year's, and
that he should have some money ; and, mounting the old horse,
with a bag of potatoes for a saddle, he was soon facing the
north wind. He had no warm cap to turn against his ears, and
no mittens for his hands, but he had something pleasant to
think about, and so did not feel the cold so much.
When Andrew came from school, and found that Mark was
gone to sell his potatoes, he was greatly ^'^ased, and went out
early to feed the cattle, first carrying the bundles of oats over
the hill to the sheep a portion of the work belonging to Mark ;
and he also made a blazing fire, and watched his coming at the
window ; but no one else seemed to think of him the supper
was served and removed, and not even the tea was kept by the
UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S. 191
fire for him. It was long after dark when he came, cold and
hungry hut nobody made room at the hearth, and nobody
inquired the result of his speculation, or what he had seen or
heard during the day.
" You will find bread and butter in the cupboard," said Aunt
Rachael, after a while, and that was all.
But he had received a dollar for the potatoes ; that was for-
tune enough for one day, and he was careless and thoughtless
of their indifference.
There was not light for my patch-work, and Aunt Rachael
gave me instead a fine linen sheet to hem. " Isn't it fine and
pretty ?" said Mark, coming close to me before he went to bed ;
" I wish I could have it over me."
" Thoughtless child," said the grandfather, "you will have it
over you soon enough, and nothing else about you, but your
coffin-boards." And, with this benediction, he was dismissed
for the night.
I awoke in the morning early, and heard the laughter of An-
drew and Mark it was New-Year's and, in defiance of the
gloomy prospect, they were merry; but when 1 descended the
grandson looked grave he had found nothing in his stockings.
"Put your feet in them," said Uncle Christopher, "and that
will be something."
Fresh snow had fallen in the night, and the weather waa
milder than it had been, but within the house, the day began as
usual.
" Grandfather," said Mark, "shall we not have the fat turkey
hen for dinner, to-day? 1 could run her down in the snow so
easy !"
" So could I run you down in the snow, if I tried," b
responded, with a surly quickness.
" New-Year's day," said Aunt Rachael, "is no better than
any other, that I know of; and if you get very hungry, you
can eat good bread and milk."
So, as in other mornings, Andrew whispered over the Dio
tionary, the old man sat in the corner, and the seven women
began to knit.
Toward the noon, a happy thought came into the mind of
192 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
Uncle Christopher : there would be wine-bibbers and mirth-,
makers at the village, three miles away he would ride thither,
and discourse to them of righteousness, temperance, and judg-
ment to come. Mark was directed to bring his horse to the
door, and, having combed his long beard with great care, and
slipped over his head a knitted woollen cap, he departed on his
errand, but not without having taken from little Mark the
dollar he had received for his potatoes. "It may save a soul,"
he said, "and shall a wayward boy have his will, and a soul
be lost ]"
The child, however, was not likely in this way to be infused
with religious feeling, whatever Uncle Christopher might think
of the subject, and it was easy to see that a sense of the injus-
tice he suffered had induced a change in his heart that no good
angel would have joy to see. I tried to appease his anger, but
he recounted, with the exactest particularity, all the history of
the wrong he had suffered, and would not believe there was the
slightest justification possible for robbing him of what was his
own, instead of making him, as his grandfather should have
done, a handsome present. About the middle of the afternoon
Andrew came home from school, having been dismissed at so
early an hour because it was a holiday, and to prepare for a
spelling match to be held at the school-house in the evening.
The chores were done long before sundown, and Andrew was
in high spirits, partly in anticipation of the night's triumphs,
and partly at the prospect of bringing some happiness to the
heart of Mark, with whom he several times read over the les-
son, impressing on his memory with all the skill he had the harder
words which might come to him. Andrew went early, having
in charge trie school-house fire, and Mark did not accompany
him, but I supposed he would follow presently, and so was not
uneasy about him.
As the twilight darkened, Uncle Christopher came in, and,
recounting his pious labors, with a conceited cant that was now
become disgusting to me, he inquired for Mark, that the " brand "
might hear and rejoice at the good accomplished with the
money thus applied for the regeneration of the gentiles ; bul
Mark was not to be found, and Aunt Eachael meekly hinted
UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S. 198
that fiom what she had overheard, she suspected he had gone
with Andrew to the spelling match.
" Gone to the spelling match and without asking me !" said
the good man ; " the rod has been spared too long." And
taking from his pocket his knife, he opened it with deliberate
satisfaction, and left the house.
I thought of the words of Mark, "I don't like my grand-
father ;" and I felt that he was not to blame. All the long
evening the lithe sapling lay over the mantel, while Uncle
Christopher kitted his brows, and the seven women knitted
their seven stockings. I could not use my needle, nor think
of what was being done about me ; all the family practised
their monotonous tasks in gloomy silence ; the wind shrieked
in the trees, whose branches were flung violently sometimes
against the windows ; Towser came scratching and whining at
the door, without attracting the notice of any one ; and Uncle
Christopher sat in his easy -chair, in the most comfortable corner,
seeming almost as if he were in an ecstasy with intense self-
satisfaction, or, once in a while, looking joyously grim and stern
as his eye rested on the instrument of torture he had prepared
for poor Mark, for whose protection I found myself praying
silently, as I half dreamed that he was in the hands of a pitiless
monster.
The old clock struck eleven, from a distant part of the house,
and we all counted the strokes, it was so still ; the sheet I had
finished lay on the settee beneath the window, where the rose-
vine creaked, and the mice peered out of the gnawed holes, and
the rats ran through the mouldy cellar. There was a stamping
at the door, in the moist snow ; I listened, but could hear no
voices ; the door opened, and Andrew came in alone.
" Where is Mark ?" asked the stern voice of the disci*
plinarian.
" I don't know," replied Andrew ; " is n't he here ?"
" No," said Aunt Rachael, throwing down her knitting, "nor
hasn't been these many hours. Mercy on us, where can he
be?"
" Fallen asleep somewhere about the house, likely," replied
the. old man ; and taking up the candle, he began the search.
9
J94 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
"And he hasn't been with you, Andrew?" asked Aunt
Rachael again, in the faint hope that he would contradict hia
previous assertion.
" No ma'm, as true as I live and breathe," he replied, with
childish simplicity and earnestness.
" Mercy on us !" she exclaimed again.
We could hear doors opening and shutting, and floors creak-
ing in distant parts of the house ; but nothing more.
" It 's very strange," said the old man. " Do n't be afraid,
girls ;" but he was evidently alarmed, and his hand shook as
he lighted the lantern, saying, "he must be in the barn !"
Aunt Eachael would go, and I would go, too I could not
stay away. Andrew climbed along the scaffolds, stooping and
reaching the lantern before him, and now and then we called to
know if he had found him, as if he would not tell it when he
did. So all the places we could think of had been searched,
and we had began to call and listen, and call again.
" Hark," said Andrew, "I heard something."
We were all so still that it seemed as if we might hear the
falling of flakes of snow.
" Only the howl of a dog," said Uncle Christopher.
" It 's Towser's," suggested Andrew, fearfully; and with an
anxious look he lowered the lantern to see what indications
were in the way. Going toward the well were seen small foot-
prints, aiid there were none returning. Even Uncle Christo-
pher was evidently disturbed. Seeing the light, the dog began
to yelp and whine, looking earnestly at us, and then suddenly
down in the well, and when we came to the place every one
felt a sinking of the heart, and no one dared to speak. The
plank, on which I had seen him resting, was broken, and a part
of it had fallen in. Towser whined, and his eyes shone as if he
were in agony for words, and trying to throw all his intelli-
gence into each piteous look he gave us.
" Get a rope, and lower the light," said one of the sisters ;
but the loose stones of the well were already rattling to the
touch of Andrew, who, planting hands and feet on either side,
was rapidly but cautiously descending. In a moment he was
out of sight, but st}ll we heard him, and soon there was a
UNCLE CHRISTOPHER'S. 1 9C
pause, then the sound of a hand, plashing the water, then a
groan, sounding hollow and awful through the damp, dark
opening, and a dragging, soughing movement, as if something
were drawn up from the water. Presently we heard hands and
feet once more against the sides of the well, and then, shining
through the blackness into the light, two fiery eyes, and quickly
after, as the bent head and shoulders of Andrew came nearer
the surface, the kitten leaped from them, and dashed blindly
past the old man, who was kneeling and looking down, pale
with remorseful fear. Approaching the top, Andrew said,
" I've got him !" and the grandfather reached down and lifted the
lifeless form of the boy into his arms, where he had never
reposed before. He was laid on the settee, by the window ;
the fine white sheet that I had hemmed, was placed over him ;
the stern and hard master walked backward and forward in
the room, softened and contrite, though silent, except when
occasional irrepressible groans disclosed the terrible action of
his conscience ; and Towser, who had been Mark's dearest play-
mate, nearly all the while kept his face, from without, against
the window pane.
" Oh, if it were yesterday !" murmured Uncle Christopher,
when the morning came; "Andrew," he said, and his voice
faltered, as the young man took from the mantel the lone,
limber rod, and measured the shrouded form from the head to
the feet, "get the coffin as good as you can I don't care what
it costs get the best."
The Dictionary was not opened that day ; Andrew was
digging through the snow, on a lonesome hill-side, pausing now
and then to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. Upright on the grave's
edge, his only companion, sat the black dog.
Poor little Mark ! we dressed him very carefully, more
prettily, too, than he had ever been in his life, and as he lay
on the white pillow, all who saw him said, " How beautiful he
is !" The day after the funeral, I saw Andrew, previously to his
setting out for school, cutting from the sweet-brier such of the
lirnbs as were reddest with berries, and he placed them over
the heaped earth, as the best offering he could bring to beautify
the last h>me of his companion. In the afternoon I went home,
196 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
and have never seen him since, but, ignorant and graceless as
he was, he had a heart full of sympathy and love, and Mark
had owed to him the happiest hours of his life.
Perhaps, meditating of the injustice he himself was suffering,
the unhappy boy, whose terrible death had brought sadness
and perhaps repentance to the house of Uncle Christopher, had
thought of the victim consigned by the same harsh master
to the well, and determined, before starting for the school-
house, to go out and drop some food for it over the decayed
plank on which I had seen him resting, and by its breaking
had been precipitated down its uneven sides to the bottom,
and so killed. But whether the result was by such acci-
dent, or by voluntary violence, his story is equally instructive
to those straight and ungenial natures which see no beauty in
childhood, and would drive before its time all childishness
from life.
VISIT TO RANDOLPH. UK
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH
1
" There is some force, I know not what to call it,
Pulls me irresistibly, and drags me
On to his grave." THEKLA.
WE are driving through the storm, always with bright
islands ahead, where the sunshine is showering through green
boughs, where the dew lies all day in the grass, and the birds
sing and sing, and are never tired of music. Sometimes
we drift against these spots of loveliness, and have, to quote
Thekla again, "two hours of heaven." But alas, it is onlv
sometimes that we cross these glittering borders of Paradise,
for there are other islands to which we come often, islands of
hot creeping winds, and flat sands, wherein we may plant our-
selves, but never grow much: islands of barren rocks, agaiiust
which we find no homeliest vine climbing, though in search of
such we go up and down till the sun sets, and the day fades out,
on the wave that is very dark and very turbulent. It is there-
fore needful that our voyaging be skillful as may be, and that
we watch for the good islands with everlasting vigilance. We
may not fail to see the dreary places, but we must have an eye
that the bright ones do not elude our sight ; and so, though they
be few, they will satisfy our hearts. It is needful that we be
charitable, limiting as much as we can our distrusts to our own
natures. We may find enough there that we would shrink
from having the kindest eyes look in upon ; in the living sea
we shall be at rest, if we are anxious only to discover beauty
and truth. .
Some years ago, (I do n't much like to number them, for as
one after another leaves me, I see how the bloom of life has
19S OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
faded and is fading,) I passed a month, perhaps I do n't re-
member precisely how long a time in one of the towns of
the interior in Randolph. Perhaps the name is altered now
in the geographies. I had grown up in the woods had never
been from home before, except occasionally to go down to the
city for a day or two, and knew nothing of the conventional
usages even of such a quiet and unheard of place as Randolph.
Full of hope and sympathy, credulous and artless, I did not
know at the time, and it is well I did not, how wholly unpre-
pared 1 was to be placed in the midst of a family of the " double
refined." I was ignorant enough then, to like nature, to sup-
pose the highest cultivation was only an enlarging of our
appreciation of nature a conceit of which we are soon cured,
most of us.
It was at the close of one of the mildest of the September
days that I found myself in the village, the visitor of a family
there named Hamersly. I was dusty, tired, and a little home-
sick. Mrs. Hamersly, a widow of " sixty odd," as she called
herself, 1 had never seen till that evening; with Matilda Ham-
ersly, a young lady of forty, or thereabouts, I had previously
some slight acquaintance: Til and Tilda they called her at
home, and these names pleased her much better than that they
gave her in baptism : they had a sort of little-girlish sound
that became her well, she seemed to think; and Frances, or
Frank, a young woman of nineteen, with whom I had been at
school, and knew well that is, as well as I could know her,
separated from home influences. These three comprised the
family whose guest I was to be.
Frank laughed heartily on seeing me, ran out to meet me,
shook both my hands, and fairly dragged me into the house;
and when she had shown me into the best room, and given me
the best chair, she sat down herself on the carpet at my feet,
tossed back her heavy brown curls, and with her blue eyes full of
laughter and tears, looked in my face, saying only, " How glad
I am !" She never once thought that she was "not dressed '
that is, that she had on a faded muslin, fitting close to the nsck,
and having long sleeves ; or that her little white feet were
stockingless, and thrust into slippers somewhat the worse for
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. 19
wear she did n't think, for the truth must be told, her pink
gingham apron bore evidences of acquaintance with sundry
kitchen utensils, the names of which are not poetical ; she
was unfeignedly glad, and quite unconscious of being unpre
sen table.
The house wherein my friends dwelt was old and small, con
taining in truth only one decent apartment it being but a
story and a half in height, and only large enough for a "square
room" and hall on the ground floor. Up stairs was a general
store room, a " spare room," hardly large enough for a lady of
Lilliput, and a sleeping place for the young women. Mrs.
Hamersly, being sixty-odd/disposed herself on a sofa bedstead
in the parlor, at precisely half past nine, at which hour, every
night, by one means or another, the room was cleared of all
occupants. Two or three pots of common flowers adorned the
front window, and they were a great ornament and relief, for
the house stood immediately on the street, so that nothing
green was in sight except the little grass that grew between the
pavement stones. The furniture of this main room was scanty
and old, but was arranged, nevertheless, with some pretensions
to style and effect; 1 need not describe it we have all seen
things that in vulgar parlance, " tried to be and could n't ;" I
may mention, however, that amongst the furniture was a dilapi-
dated chair, which had been ornamental in its day, perhaps,
but that was a long time ago, and was " kept wisely for show;"
it was placed conspicuously of course, and its infirmity con-
cealed as much as might be by means of tidies and cushions,
but it was wholly unfit for use, and whoever attempted to sit in
it was led off" by Tilda, with the whispered information that it
was a bad old chair, and played naughty tricks sometimes.
Beside this room and the kitchen, there were about the premi-
ses three other places of which honorable mention was very
frequently made the kitchen, the refectory, and the court.
The first was a small building of logs, standing some fifteec
feet in the rear of the principal edifice, and which had been
built probably long before the tavern on the corner of Maine
and Washington streets was thought of. It contained a small
pantry, on one side, and on the other a large fireplace, and be-
200 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
sides the necessary kitchen furniture, a rude wooden desk, over
which hung a shelf containing a curious combination of well-
worn books, and yet another shelf, which held combs, brushes,
curling tongs, a pink paper box filled with Chinese powder, and
articles belonging to the toilet. A circular looking-glass hung
against the wall beside the first mentioned shelf, ingeniously
fixed in its place by means of a brass pin ; and the shelf held,
beside the books, a razor, a box of buttons, a spool of cotton-
thread, a pair of scissors, and bits of tape and other strings,
and in a tin candlestick was part of a tallow candle. Beside the
desk was a chair, the original bottom of which had been sup-
plied by strips of hickory bark, woven very curiously. The
court was an open space between this and the porch leading into
the main building a little plot of ground which might have
been with small care rendered pretty, but which in reality was
the receptacle of all the refuse of the house. The grass, if it
ever produced any, had been Ions trodden into the earth, the
water from the kitchen had been dashed down there till the
clay was blue, and planks, and bricks, and stones, served to
make a road across it. It had once been adorned with a com-
mon rose bush and a lilac, but as they stood now, untrimmed
and sprawling, with muddy leaves, and limbs broken and hang-
ing down, and bits of rags and old paper, and other unseemly
things lodging among them, they were scarcely ornamental, to
say the least. Broken crockery, and all the various accumula-
tions of such humble housekeeping, lay in this place, denomi-
nated the court, in eye-vexing confusion. Nor was it without
living inhabitants; not a slab nor a dry stone but was occu-
pied ; for here dwelt, or rather came to take the air, six cats and
a small red-nosed and woolly dog, the former lean, and soiled
with soot from pots and kettles, and their ears either notched or
quite gone, from the worrying assaults of the dog, whose natu-
ral snappishness was perhaps aggravated by his scanty feeding.
The refectory was a porch in the rear of the front house, in-
closed at the ends with various sorts of patchwork, and con-
taining a table and several chairs. Here, in summer, the family
meals were taken.
But to go back to the time of my sitting in the parlor, with
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. SOI
Frank at my feet : for this information which I have given was
a fruit of subsequent observation. There was a good deal of
creaking of the boards overhead, which 1 took little notice of
at the time, so engaged were we with each other, when the
stairway door opened, and Mrs. Hamersly entered, leaning on
the arm of her daughter Tilda, both in " full dress."
" And this is the darling young lady Frank has made us all
in love with," said the elder of the ladies ; " excuse me, my
dear, I am sixty odd." and she lifted my hand to her lips, which
were white and cold, I thought, and kissed it.
I said, " Certainly, madam," but whether she wished to be
excused for being sixty odd, or for not kissing my cheek, I was
not quite positive.
" This is my mamma," said Tilda, in an affected tone, and
giving the old woman a hug, as though she had first met her
after years of separation ; then, to me again, "You must love
my mamma, and mind every thing she says, like a good little
girl."
Mrs. Hamersly, during this speech, seated herself next the
chair that was a chair, and Tilda left off patting my cheek and
smoothing my hair, to put the cushion under her mamma's
feet, the mamma again repeating to me that she was sixty-odd.
Not till she had adjusted her skirts to the widest breadth, and
once or twice slipt the gray curls that she wore through her
delicate fingers, did she observe that Frank was seated on the
carpet.
" Oh my child, my child !" she exclaimed, " do you desire to
kill me 7" And she fanned herself violently with her embroi-
dered handkerchief.
"Mamma, do n't give way so," drawled Tilda, helping to
fan, " Frank is bad as she can be."
" Oh Tild, if it were not for you ; do reprove her as she de-
serves : you know I cannot."
Then turning to me, she said, "The girl would shock me so
thoughtless and I am sixty-odd/'
Tilda administered the requisite reproof in a series of little
boxes upon the ear of Frank, saying, " To think ! when you
know so well what is proper ! to think, Oh, I can't express my
202 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
feelings ! but I am as nervous as a little fool : to think, that Ence
might have corne in and found you in that improper position !
oh dear, dear ! Not that, I care for Ence ; he is nobody ; I
do n't care for him more than 1 care for an old stick of a weed
that grows in the court ; but Ence is of the male sex, you know,
and propriety must be observed. Now, mamma, do n't take
on, and we children will all be so good."
Having said this, she sat down, pulled her skirts out either
side half way across the room, crossed her hands in a proper
way, and opened a conversation in a sort of high-flown orator-
ical style, beginning with, " There has been a gwate quwantity
of doost floying to-day."
Miss Matilda Harnersly was never for a moment free from
affectations. Sometimes she talked wisely and with style and
flourish ; this was her method mostly with women and married
and very elderly men, but with marriageable gentlemen of any
age or condition, she talked babyishly, and affected to pout like
a little girl. It was decidedly unbecoming, in view of the gray
hairs and the deep lines below them. In dress, too, she assumed
great juvenility, wearing frocks of the same material and style
as her sister, who was twenty years younger. She would only
admit that she was older in a larger knowledge of the proprie-
ties of life.
I remember now, that I looked at them, mother and
daughter, sitting there together, as curiously as if they had
just come down from the moon. Mrs. Hamersly wore a gray
silk peculiarly shaded, I thought that night, but I afterwards
discovered that the shading was of only soiling, for she carried
always in her pocket pieces of burnt and greasy cake, which she
occasionally nibbled; she never ate at the table; "My dear,''
she would say, "1 am sixty -odd: just give me a cup of tea on
my lap."
All her ribbons, and she wore as many as could be any way
attached to her, were faded, dirty, or in strings; the lace of
her cap and it was real lace was as yellow as dust and
smoke and the sweat of years could make it. From her
waist an eye-glass dangled down, which she sometimes used,
because she thought it looked pretty always at half pas
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPR 204
nine o'clock, apparently to ascertain the time, but in reality to
scare away any visitors, for, merely from caprice, she would
not abide one after that hour.
When she had surveyed me with her glass, she closed her
eyes and leaned back in her chair. She never talked much, in
fact she never did anything, never even moved her chair from
one part of the room to another. She seemed to regard herself
as free of all duty and all responsibility, by limitation of the
law, or elevation above it. Her better life seemed to have
given way before an habitual indolence, till there appeared
scarcely any vitality about her ; her face and hands were color-
less, and a fresh corpse, dressed in ribbons and flounces, would
have looked as life-like as she, after composing her skirts and
assuming her fixed smile not unlike that which comes out
sometimes on the faces of the dead.
Matilda was an overgrown and plain looking old woman,
with a fair share of common sense, but without the discretion
to use it. Unfortunately she wished to appear something she
was not, and so assumed the style of a girl of sixteen, and va-
ried her conversation from an ambitious rhetoric and elocution
to the pouting and pettishness of a child : in the last making
herself irresistible. Her neck and shoulders she was obliged
to cover ; it must have cost her a hard struggle, but when she
had formed the judicious resolution, she maligned everybody
who had not the same necessity ; indeed she was quite shocked
that Frank and I could be so indelicate as to appear, especially
before gentlemen, with exposed necks and arms.
I said I was a little homesick on the night of my arrival,
and 1 am inclined to think, as 1 recall my visit now, that I waa
more than a little so. How long the twilight was in deepen-
ing into night ! It seemed to me that the cadaverous white face
of the old woman would never lose any of its sharp outlines in
the shadows, that the great pink flowers in the skirt of Matil-
da's dress would never become indistinct in the darkness;
that long and lonesome period betwixt day and night had
never till then seemed so long and so lonesome.
1 had been accustomed at Clovernook to go out to a hill that
overlooked the village, a mile away, watching the clouds aud
204 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
waiting for the stars : reading poetry either inthe world about
me or the book on my knees and I could not help thinking
of the field which lay between that hill and the lights of
home, of the cows and the sheep that were sinking to rest
in the dewy grass in spite of Miss Matilda's efforts to enter-
tain me.
" You are thinking," she said, and for once she guessed my
thoughts, " of the cullover fields all sperinkled with caattle,
and of the burooks, and the berriers, and the belossoms you
will find such gereat resthraint here !"
I said, " Oh no," for I did not know what else to say, and
Matilda lifted up both hands and observed that " You have no
idea, I suppose of the maanner in which young ladies are ex-
pected to conduct themselves in a place like Randolph."
For a moment I forgot my dusty and uncomfortable travel-
ing dress in the music Frank was. making with the tea-things
for after the reprimand she had received, she betook herself tc
the kitchen, and now sent me the pleasant tidings of her occu-
pation.
" Tilda, my darling," said the mamma, opening her eyes,
" restrain that creature, restrain her," and thereupon Tilda
withdrew, and such parts of the conversation between the sis-
ters as came to my ears were not calculated to dispel the home-
sickness that had previously made me count the bows in Mrs.
Hamersly's cap, and the panes of glass in the window, and twice
to change my position, ostensibly to examine the portrait of a
young man, which, veiled with green gauze, hung in a very
bad light. I need not repeat their words: enough that Frank
had kept in mind the appetite that was likely to succeed a day
of stage-coach travelling, and was preparing with a liberal
hand.
" Do you suppose she is a bear, starved for a month 1" said
Matilda.
" There is Clarence, too : he has not been home to-night you
know," urged Frank.
" Ence 1 '11 warrant you would not forget Ence he knows
our tea-time, and we do n't keep tavern ;" and I thought Ma-
tilda seemed to be removing some of the tea furniture. Tho
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. 206
door opened, and a young man whom I could see very hnper
fectly by the light of the moon, entered, and having politely
saluted Mrs. Hamersly, who did not open her eyes, passed
back to where the young women were engaged about the
supper.
"Just an hour and a half too late," exclaimed Matilda, very
haughtily, I thought.
" 1 am very sorry," replied the young man ; " Mr. Kipp de-
tained me in the office."
" How impertinent," said the lady, coming into the room
where I was : " Just to think, you know, of the airo which
that fellow assumes a mere boy pretending to be a man, you
know."
Here she explained that he was nothing nor nobody but a
printer's boy, that his name was Clarence Howard, and that
he was engaged in the office of her particular friend, Josephus
Kipp, the publisher of the Illuminator ; that for the sake of
accommodating said friend, Mr. Josephus Kipp, and also for
that they were lone women the mamma sixty odd they had
consented to furnish him with breakfast and tea; but the boy
was beginning to take such advantages of their kindness as
would render some assumption of dignity, on her part, neces-
sary ; for Frank had no maaner, and mamma was sixty-odd.
Here she went into a senseless medley that I need not repeat,
composed mostly of ahs and ohs, and dear-mes, with an inter-
mixture of lamentations over the frailty of womankind, her-
self excepted.
Frank, who had been singing during the early part of her
preparations, ceased, and after a little low-voiced talk with the
young man, appeared, and invited me to drink the tea she had
made for me, but the smile she wore could not conceal the red-
ness of her eyes.
She wisely limited her invitation to tea, for the table afforded
nothing beside, except three or four mouldy crackers, which
tasted of tallow, and a little preserved quince, which seemed to
have been made a year or two. The little appetite I might
have had for such fare was reduced to nothing, when 1 saw the
Bupperless Clarence seated at the desk before-mentioned, read-
OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
ing, and eating of the crackers spoken of as being in the paper
with candles.
I could not help looking at him, nor could Frank, as it
seemed; at any rate she did look at him, though of what
nature her interest was I was not at the time quite certain.
He was good looking, yet it was not for that that he inter
ested me, I think. His dress was poor, meaner than that of
many common laborers, but the effect of a peculiar beauty he
had seemed little impaired by it. I cannot describe him ; for if I
said he had great black melancholy eyes, with a bright spot in
either pale cheek, and brown wavy hair; that he was slight,
and had the sweetest smile and smallest hands I ever saw, you
could not make a correct picture. It may be that the interest
and belief of his beauty were in part owing to the circumstances.
I had never seen a handsome youth making a supper of mouldy
crackers before, and I am not ashamed to say that I felt some
tenderness for him when he divided the last one between the
dog that sat at his feet, looking beseechingly into his face, and
the big gray cat that sprang to his shoulder and locked his long
sleek tail about his neck.
Very poor and very proud were the Hamerslys, and they
preferred stinting their meals to using their hands much.
Miss Matilda gave lessons in drawing for two hours in the
day, and Frank was maid of all work. As for Mrs. Hamersly,
she might as well have been a wooden machine in petticoats
as what she was ; in the morning she was dressed and at
night she was undressed, and two or three times in the day her
chair was moved from one place to another, and sometimes
her snuff-box required filling, and her pocket to be replenished
with the burnt pound cake, which Frank possessed an art of
making and baking always in the same style heavy and
deeply, darkly brown. Aside from these things she had no
needs that I ever knew of.
During my tea drinking, and I lingered over it somewhat in
order to facilitate an acquaintance with Clarence, Matilda ap-
peared once or twice at the door, as though matters required
her inspection. At length she informed me that a gentleman
was in the parlor and very impatient to see me; of course I
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. 2i>7
affected to credit her assertion, and was presented to her friend
Mr. Josephus Kipp, publisher of The Illuminator a rotund
little personage, wearing a white waistcoat, and having a
face of pretty much the same color ; a little flaxen hair on
the back of his head, which was bald in front ; blue eyes, with
streaks beneath them bluer than they ; no teeth, and hands
and feet inordinately large.
He probably ate, and drank, and slept, and bought a new
coat when his old one wore out, but he appeared the most ut-
terly devoid of character of all persons it was ever my fortune
to meet, reflecting the opinions of whomever he conversed with
as a certain lizard does the color of the substance over which
it crawls.
" Well, Miss Matilda," he said, after some common-place
observation to me " Well, Miss Matilda!"
" Mr. Kipp, well, ah well."
And Miss Matilda adjusted her skirts and bent forward her
head to an attitude of the most devoted attention.
"Well, Miss Matilda."
"Ah, yes, well, Mr. Kipp."
" Well, Miss Matilda, it's been a very warm day yes, it's
been a very warm day, Miss Matilda it has so, yes, it has."
"Yes, Mr. Kipp, it's been a warm day."
" Yes, a very warm day, Miss Matilda."
" Yes, Mr. Kipp."
" Mrs. Hamersly, I was saying to your daughter that U'u
been a warm day."
" Yes," replied the lady, without opening her eyes.
"But Mrs. Hamersly, it's been a very warm day."
" Tilda, speak for me, dear be so good as to remember,
Mr. Kipp, that I am sixty -odd."
And she took snuff, to refresh herself after so unusual an
exertion.
" I am very thoughtless, Miss Matilda," said Mr. Kipp,
touched with remorse at having shocked by a too familiar ap-
proach the sensibility and dignity of the venerable and distin-
guished lady. " Really, I am very thoughtless."
" Ah no, Mr. Kipp, you are too severe upon yourself you
808 OUK NEIGHBORHOOD.
are not thoughtless but my mamma you know, she is very-
she is sixty odd, and she feels so much, you know."
" But Miss Matilda, I am so thoughtless."
" No, Mr. Kipp, I'll just get behind the door and cry if you
say that again now I just will."
" No, Miss Matilda, I ain't thoughtless no, I ain't."
Mr. Kipp not only liked to agree with everybody he con-
versed with, but with himself too; and generally when he said
a thing once he repeated it, to assure himself that he agreed
with himself.
" The change we may shortly expect in the weather will be
a great shock to your mother," he said presently.
" No, Mr. Kipp, I think it will do her good the warm
weather is so elevating !"
" Yes, Miss Matilda, it will do her good yes, it will so, it
will do her good. But I am afraid of that shock I gave her,
Miss Matilda, I am afraid of that."
"Now Mr. Kipp, you bad, naughty person I'll just be as
unhappy now as I can." And putting her handkerchief before
her eyes, she affected to execute her purpose.
Here Mr. Kipp asked me if I knew the reason of Miss Ma-
tilda's proposing to get behind the door.
I said no, and he informed me that there was a great attrac-
tion there. Whereupon I remembered the portrait of the gen-
tleman I had noticed early in the evening.
"Now, Mr. Kipp, it's too bad !" exclaimed Miss Matilda,
affecting to strike him with her hand, and hiding some make-
believe blushes for a moment, and then explaining to me that
the original of the picture was only a friend.
" Miss Matilda, they are coming in every day they are
coming in subscribers, you know. The Illuminator is going
to be a great paper yes, it's going to drive ahead. And I tell
you Miss Matilda, we are going to throw cold water on some
of the scamps that object to the new bridge for that will be
the making of our town."
" Mr. Kipp, I do n't like to say, you know being a woman!
you know what I think, you know it seems so out of place,
and I do n't know hardly my mamma knows a great many
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. 20
things, and she is opposed to the new bridge she thinks it will
bring rough fellows, you know, into town, and corrupt our
society especially the female portion of it ; for my own part
ah, oh !" Here her voice was lost in the rustling of her
skirts, and what Miss Matilda thought on this momentous sub-
ject will probably never be known.
" And so your mother thinks, Miss Matilda, the proposed
bridge will do more harm than good ?"
" My mamma, you know, is decided she is a woman, you
know, Mr. Kipp, of a great deal of, of a great deal, you know
and, and when you see her, Mr. Kipp, you know her most
secret sentiments: she is opposed to the bridge.''
" Yes. Well, Miss Matilda, so am I. If them fellows gets
it, they will have to fight hard against me and the Illuminator.
Yes, Miss Matilda, they will have to fight hard."
At this point I lost some of the profound discussion, so im-
portant to the village for through the window, against which
I sat, I could see Frank and Clarence walking across and across
the plank that bridged the blue mud the youth appearing
wofully dispirited ; and though the girl seemed trying to com-
fort him, she evidently succeeded but ill.
" I wish I was dead," I heard him say repeatedly ; " there is
nothing for me to live for."
" Oh no, Clarence, that is wrong. One of these days it will
rain porridge, and then, if your dish is right side up, how plea-
sant it will be !"
" Nobody cares for me," he replied, " and I do n't care for
myself any more."
" Well, I do n't know as any body cares for me," said the
girl, and her laughter indicated that it gave her small trouble
if they did not.
" Just look at these rags !" he said and turning toward her,
he surveyed himself from head to foot, as if in contempt.
" And what of it?" she asked ; "you will get more some way.
i have only one dress beside this ; but may be the two will
last me as long as I shall live to want them, and if they do n't,
why I shall get more, no doubt of it." And she laughed again
more heartily than before.
110 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD
The young man removed his hat, which was of straw, though
it was quite past the season for straw hats, and pressed his
small hand against his forehead.
"Are you dizzy, Clarence?" she asked.
" No," he answered ; and replacing the hat on his head, and
drawing it over his brows, he locked his hands behind him, and
crossed and recrossed the plank which formed his little prome-
nade, with a hurried and irregular step, while the girl seated
herself on the edge of the porch, and leaned her head on her
hand, musingly.
There was a long silence, but at last the youth paused before
her abruptly, and said, in a voice low and almost tremulous,
for he seemed naturally enough to suppose himself the subject
of her thoughts, " What are you thinking about, Frank?"
" Oh, I was n't thinking at all, I was half a sleep ;" and
shaking back her curls, she arose, and went into the house.
He looked after her for a moment, and opening a side gate,
I only perceived that he was restless and unhappy only knew
that she did not and could not understand him but I was dis-
quieted when I saw them go th^ir separate ways he alone
into the night, to wrestle with an ambitious and embittered
soul, and she to careless sleep.
I was recalled by an unusual rustling of Miss Matilda's
skirts, together with an unusual prudishness of manner and
affectation of tone.
" Mr. Kipp," she said at last, " I have been wanting to ask
you something, so much !"
" Yes, well, Miss Matilda, you want to ask me something
yes, well, Miss Matilda, a great many ask me questions, a great
many that want advice, Miss Matilda, and a great many that
do n't want advice. The Illuminator, Miss Matilda, the Illu-
minator I tell you, Miss Matilda, you "iiist write an article
for it. I think dialogue would be best; an article of about
three columns and a quarter in length.
" I think I should prefer the essay," said Miss Matilda.
" Yes, the essay that's what I meant that would do yeSj
yes, one of your essays."
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. 211
"But, Mr. Kipp."
" Well, Miss Matilda, I'm at your service, and I'm just as
much at the service of every one. Yes, Miss Matilda, yes, I'm
a serviceable man."
Mr. Kipp could generally express a wonderful deal of nothing
with astonishing volubility ; he had now said something posi-
tive, which came near wounding Miss Matilda.
"If you are at the service of every one, Mr. Kipp, I shall not
Oh, I don't know, but I Ml not feel the same, you know."
" At the service of others, through the Illuminator, and at
your service, through the Illuminator, too. I met J udge Morton
in the street this morning you know Judge Morton he is a
man of immense property. Well, I met him this morning,
right the next block to my office, and says he, ' Good morning,
Kipp ;' and says I, ' Good morning, Judge ;' and says he, ' It's a
fair day, Kipp ;' and I says, ' Yes, Judge, it's a fair day ;' and
then, says he, ' Kipp,' says he, ' when you established the Illu-
minator, there were no buildings about here like these' and he
pointed in particular to Metcalf s new house ; and Metcalf-
Senator Metcalf, you know well, he came to the door while we
stood there, and says he, ' Good morning, Kipp ;' and says I,
'Good morning, Metcalf;' and after standing a minute, he went
in. He wears blue trowsers generally, but to-day he had on
black. Well, he went in.
" After Morton and I had talked sometime about national
affairs, says he, ' Kipp,' and says I, ' Morton,' (I always omit
the judge in conversing with him, we 're so familiar;) ' Well,'
says he, ' Kipp, here 's a little notice of me that I want you to
put in the Illuminator as editorial.' And says I, 'Morton, at
your service.' Just what I said to you, Miss Matilda. And he
says to me, says he, 'Come and dine with me, Kipp,' says he;
' we have always pork and beans, or less' and he went along
down street."
" Quite a little adventure, was nM; it?" said Matilda.
" Yes, Miss Matilda, Judge Morton is a man that lives here
right amongst us, and he makes himself so agreeable ana so
notorious; and we all know him, Miss Matilda, that's the
point. Yes, Miss Matilda, decidedly an adventure."
212 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
" But, Mr. Kipp you know I you know in short, Mi
Kipp, you never said a wiser thehing."
It is difficult to represent with letters Miss Matilda's elegant
and peculiar pronunciation, and so for the most part it is left
to the reader's imagination.
" Yes, Miss Matilda, yes, I agree with you, I never said a
wiser thing."
" Oh no, Mr. Kipp, I made a borroad assertion you have said
things that manifested more depth of feeling, more metaphy-
sical perspicacity, you know."
" Well, yes, Miss Matilda, you are right I have said some
smart things, and yet not so smart either as they were radical.
I met Governor Latham at the Springs last summer. Miss
Matilda, did you go to the Springs? Well, Miss Matilda,
there were a good many there; and as I was saying, I met
Governor Latham there a little imaginative looking man he
is, and he wore a white waistcoat at the Springs. ' Well' says
he to me one day we had just finished a segar I don't know
whether we had been talking about the Illuminator or not,
but says he to me, ' Kipp,' and says I, ' Latham ;' and says he,
'Kipp,' says he, 'you're a rascally radical !' And I laughed,
and Latham laughed."
He paused, to enjoy his elevation, and then said, " Miss Ma-
tilda!"
" Yes, Mr. Kipp !"
" There were a good many at the Springs."
There was another season of fidgeting a good deal of
affected embarrassment on the part of the lady when she said,
" You know Mr. Kipp, I said, I said oh, it's so awkward, you
know, for a woman to approach a delicate matter; one you
know, that that but I have an affection, Mr. Kipp, that
mamma thinks requires medical treatment."
" An affection of the heart ?"
And Mr. Kipp laughed ; he had no doubt that he had said a
witty thing.
" No, Mr. Kipp," said Matilda, affecting innocent unconscious-
ness " Mamma thinks it is not the heart."
" I wish, Miss Matilda, it was the heart, and that its affec-
tion wa* for me !"
MT VISIT TO RANDOLPH. 21 S
" Oh, you bad man !" she exclaimed. And this time she
really went behind the door, and pouted for a time, letting ua
see her all the while. The movement did not become Miss
Matilda Hamersly very well.
She was at length brought forth by the repentant Mr. Kipp,
pulling away from his hand much as I have seen a calf draw-
ing back from the farmer who would have put it into a stable:
but she presently wiped her eyes and smiled again, saying, " I
believe I will just ask you as if you were my brother we are
so unprotected, and have no one to ask things, you know."
" Do, Miss Matilda."
" And you won't think anything ?"
" If I do, Miss Matilda, may I be shot."
" Just pretend you are my brother, you know. I do n't
know what 's right for me to do. I wish mamma would
tell me."
" You do n't know, Tilda; well, I do n't believe you do."
" Well, Mr. Kipp, if I was to say anything, and if it was to
be wrong knowing how lonely and unprotected we are would
you think anything ?"
" No, Tilda 'pon my soul, I never think anything." And
the editor of the Illuminator hitched his chair a whole width
of carpet nearer to the diffident and excessively proper young
woman.
" Well then, you are my brother, you know" here sh
looked at him beseechingly, and as though she hesitated yet.
"Anything, Tilda, I '11 be anything."
" Well then, do you how foolish how awkward !"
" Yes, Tilda, it is."
" Do you, Mr. Kipp ?"
" Call me Josephus, Tilda."
" How fuolish I am all in a tremor just feel !"
And she extended her hand to Josephus, who, having given
another hitch, retained it.
" Now I am just going to be as bold as other girls may n't
I be, Mr. Josephus and you won't think anything?"
Mr. Kipp seemed to answer by a pressure of the. hand, for
he said nothing.
214 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
" Do you know folks in Henry-street ? Tell me true now."
" Why yes, Tilda, 1 know a good many there I have si*
subscribers in that street. I met one of them as I was coming
here to-night Rev. Dr. Chandler, it was and he said, ' How
are you Kipp ?' and I said 'How are you?' and he passed
up street, and I came here."
" Do you know a family there of the name of Brown ?
Now you know you promised not to think anything."
"Brown, that was commissioner of the peace? Yes, I pub-
lished a didactic piece on the canal basin from his pen a week
or two ago. Yes, Tilda, I published a poem from him. An
epic, it was."
" Well Josephus brother, do you know Mrs. Brown ?"
" Yes, Tilda not to say well, however I have met her
under peculiar circumstances, and I know her as well as I know
Governor Latham's wife that is to say, I consider myself
well acquainted."
" Is she well V '
" As to that, Tilda, I can't be positive. The last time I met
Brown, says I, 'How are you, and how is Mrs. Brown?' and
says he, ' Thank you, Kipp ;' and I do n't remember, as to her
health, what he said."
" Do you ever visit in the family, or, I mean, have you lately?"
" No, I have n't yes, I have too yes, I was there I can't
say the day."
" How many children have they ? Now you must n't think
anything queer."
"They have six, or seven, or eight ; I can't say precisely."
At this point of the conversation Matilda covered up her
face, and after two or threee unsuccessful essays, actually
inquired how old was the youngest.
It might be a year old, or it might be six months, or it might
Le three the Illuminator could not enlighten her more nearly.
" I cannot say more now," said Matilda. " Perhaps I had
best consult a female friend. I'll ask my mamma, and do just
what she says. I have had some doubts about the propriety
of something that it seems necessary for me to do. Don't ask
me to explain."
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. 15
Mrs. Hamersly here took a long survey of the clock through
her glass, and Mr. Kipp arose to go Miss Matilda saying,
"Now do n't teaze me, and do n't think anything;" and he
replying, as he pressed her hand to his heart, that he would n't
tease her, and wouldn't think anything; and that he would
teaze her and would think something.
And so they parted Matilda saying, from the door, that she
was afraid she had done something wrong; she had talked so,
she did n't know how ; and that she believed she would cry
herself to death.
The sensation induced by the editor's departure over, both
parties recurred to my friend Frank.
" Frank ! Where is my child?" exclaimed Mrs. Hamersly,
as if for the first time aware that the girl was not present.
" Oh, heavenly Father !" ejaculated Matilda, " I quite lost
sight of her in my agitation on that that theme that no woman
of delicacy could approach without a shock to her modesty"
and she floundered out of the room, saying, "don't give way,
mamma ; she cannot be keeping company with that dreadful
Ence she cannot so have forgotten propriety and after such
examples ! Saints and angels help us !"
"I'll tell Mr. Kipp, see if 1 don't, and that ungrateful boy
shall be punished and he has been like a father to him, and I
have been like a sister I'll tell Mr. Kipp how ungrateful the
wretch is."
Frank was presently discovered, fast asleep in the kitchen,
but Matilda had become so alarmed by the terrible apprehen-
sion that she was talking with the wretch, Clarence, that it was
a long while before she could he quieted. Young girls were so
reckless and improper she was astonished that all the gentle-
men were not disgusted it was shocking it was too bad to
talk about. She knew a young lady, one that was called
respectable, too, that had been seen in the street, so it was
reported, wearing a low-necked dress she could n't hardly
believe it, and yet she knew several persons, whose veracity
she could not doubt, who had told her they had seen this cer
tain person in the street, without a bit of a thing on hei
neck.
218 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
A great many scandals she repeated, telling me over and
over that such things were very repulsive to her, and that she
often wished she could live in some cave, away in a desert or
a wilderness, where she could be secure from the vile gossip
that now so much afflicted her.
When Frank had been asleep an hour, she was wide awake,
and talking, apparently with the greatest zest, about the impro-
prieties of which she had known various persons to be guilty ;
and when Frank had been asleep two hours, she was talking
with still greater animation than before. Midnight came and
went, and she seemed as fresh and earnest as ever. At last she
asked me if I had thought anything of what she said to Mr.
Kipp. She was afraid she had overstepped the bounds of
propriety. She was alarmed, when she thought of it. She
would tell me all about it, and ask my advice. So, sometime
between the hours of twelve and two, I came to the knowledge
of Matilda's peculiar difficulty.
Did I think it would be proper and prudent for her, a
maiden lady as she was, to call in the doctor, for advice in
reference to her own ailments, when he passed by on his visit
to Mrs. Brown, whose babe she was sure could not be more
than two months old ! This most difficult and profoundly
cogitated question she propounded in a whisper.
Of course I saw no impropriety in seeing her physician, if
ill; but all at once the lady remembered I was a country
girl, and of course did not and could not know what rigid
scrutiny must accompany every action of woman in a place
like Randolph.
It must have been near daylight when I felt myself being
lifted into the " litter of close-curtained sleep," and the sounds
of "propriety," "female delicacy," "virgin modesty," and the
like, gradually growing more indistinct.
At the end of ten days, my acquaintance with Clarence had
ripened but little. I had met him every day at breakfast and
tea; but though we sometimes exchanged glances of recogni
tion, Matilda's presence completely interdicted any conver
sation.
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. 21?
IV.
1 noticed one evening that Clarence was unusually dejected,
/ heard him speak to Frank in a low tone, and heard her
answer, " Oh never mind, Clarence there are four little kittens
in a barrel in the refectory, come and see them." But he lighted
the tallow candle, and took up a book.
While I was wishing that I could comfort and encourage
him in some way. there was a rap at the door. "Miss Matilda,
you are looking well, yes you are so ; you are looking exceed-
well ;" I heard a voice say. " Ah," she replied, " I do n't know
how it can be I have such cares to keep two young girls,
you know, within the bounds of female propriety, is a task that
is wearing me down. Do n't I look pale?"
" Yes, Miss Matilda, you look pale" and then to be quite
assured that he agreed with himself, he repeated, "Yes, you
do look pale, and it is so."
Here was a blessed opportunity to escape ; Matilda would
not think of me while Mr. Kipp remained ; and as for the mam-
ma, she sat in state, and with her eyes closed, as usual : that
is, she had the largest number of soiled ribbons about her,
and a snuff-box and piece of burnt pound-cake in her hands. And
Frank was busy in an obsure corner, trying to pull down her
stockings, so as to conceal the holes in the heels. Under such
a combination of circumstances, I actually eluded an arrest in
my passage from the parlor to the kitchen. A part of the
afternoon and all the evening the rain had been falling, and as
neither roof nor windows of the kitchen were water-proof, the
old place looked more dismal than common. There were
damp patches in the wall, and puddles standing in the floor,
and the little fire was dying out under the gradual dropping.
Clarence sat at the desk where 1 had left him, the book open
before him; but he seemed not to be reading, ncr yet to be
aware that the gathering rain was falling on him where he sat.
At first he was shy and incommunicative, but I was inter-
ested in him, and more than willing to do him service, so, *ftv
a while I won my way to his confidence.
I laid the embers together, and we drew our chairs to the
10
218 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
hearth, and while the rain pattered its lullaby, he told me the
story of his life.
His mother, whom he scarcely remembered, was dead ; hia
father, a profligate and thriftless man, hired him about in one
place and another, while he was yet a boy, and now that be
was grown to manhood, still lived mainly upon his wages.
Kept always at servile employment, and deprived of the
little compensation he should have received, his spirit had been
gradually broken, and his ambition lost. No one cared enough
for him to say do this, or that, or why do you thus or so ?
He had drifted about, doing what chance threw in his way;
and was now standing on the verge of manhood, aimless and
hopeless. He liked books, and read, but without system or
object ; to work, or " draw water in a sieve," were all one to
him ; " It matters not what I undertake," he said, " I can't get
along."
" Your heart is not in your duties," I answered.
" No how can it be 1 look at me ; I have no clothes but
these."
" You can easily get others."
" No: whether I earn much or little it is taken from me Sat-
urday night all except, indeed, enough to clothe me as I am,
and to pay for the miserable pittance 1 have here."
" And where do you sleep ?"
" On the waste paper in the printing office."
A sorry enough prospect, I felt, hut there was hope yet. I
could not advise him to abandon his parent, altogether, though
1 thought it would not be wrong for him to do so ; but I urged
him to retain for himself a portion of all he earned, and to
obtain somewhere else meals that would be a little more sub-
stantial.
At this suggestion he hesitated and blushed ; there was no
need of a confession he was more than half in love with
Frank.
What a mystery, I thought; she is so unlike him ; but on
consideration the riddle was revealed she had been as kind
to him as she knew how to be. I am but an indifferent com-
forter and counsellor, I fear, and yet it was astonishing to see
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. 21t
how the youth rallied ; it must have been a sense of sympa.
thy that helped him: nothing else.
At ten o'clock, or thereabouts, our conference was broken
off by the abrupt entrance of Matilda. Her astonishment, on
seeing us both seated on one hearth, though the hearth was am-
pie enough to accommodate a dozen persons, was so great that
she fainted, or at least fell into the arms of Clarence, and said
she swooned.
The lecture I received for this indiscretion I need not repeat,
but I may say that I never discovered any unwillingness on the
part of Miss Matilda Hamersly to converse with Clarence
Howard or any other man, old or young, wise or witless. It
was a disagreeable duty, she said, that of entertaining gentle-
men Frank being a mere child, and mamma sixty-odd. " Oh,
I wish you girls were old enough to take the responsibility,"
she was in the habit of saying, when visitors came, " I am so
averse to gentlemen's society."
This awful outrage of propriety, that is, the confidential con-
ference which Clarence and I had in the kitchen, resulted, in a
day or two, in the dismissal of Clarence from the house.
" And yet," said Matilda, " there is one thing I like the boy
for he never speaks to me."
This ejectment was painful to Clarence, I knew, but he endu-
red it better than I had hoped ; he had now a prospect of a few
shillings ahead, and there is no influence that stays up the hands
like this.
" You must not forget me, Frank," he said in a voice that
was a little unsteady, and holding her hand close in his.
"Oh no," she replied ingenuously; " our milk-man was gone
once two years, and when he came back I knew him; but
do n't squeeze my hand so, Clarence."
He left his books on the shelf till he should find a new home,
he said ; but rather, I suspected, as a sort of link that bound him
to the cottage.
In the course of Miss Matilda's perigrinations about town, sha
became acquainted with an impish youth, who interested her,
she said, for reasons in fact in short really, she did n't
know he had one great fault he liked the ladies a disposi-
220 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
iion that should be curbed by somebody and who could do it
but she. They were so unprotected only females in the
house for their safety, it was necessary to have a man about,
of nights. She wished she was like other women less timid,
and less averse to but she could n't help it.
All this Miss Matilda conveyed to the knowledge of Mr.
Kipp ; and also hinted, that the new man would more than sup-
ply the place of Clarence in the office of the Illuminator, and at
the same time he could take tea and breakfast with them, arid
so afford the protection that woman must have, however averse
her feelings were to so much as the touch of a gentleman's
finger, even, to her apron string.
"But does he know anything of types?"
" Oh, I forgot to say I heard he was half a printer."
" Well, Miss Matilda," said Mr. Kipp, "your advice is always
good, and I should not be surprised if I saw the person you
speak of as I was coming here to-night tall, was he, Miss
Matilda?"
" No, Mr. Kipp, he was short."
" My name is Josephus, Tilda. And you say he is short?"
" Yes, Josephus."
" And has he black hair ?"
" No, Josephus, red."
"And his face is pale, ain't it 1 ?'*
" No, Josephus, red and brown."
" Well, I 've seen him at the Springs, or Governor La-
tham's, or somewhere. Yes, I have seen him yes, I know I
have seen him. Miss Matilda!"
"Josephus."
" I've seen him, Miss Matilda."
The night following, the impish young man satin the parlor,
conversing with all the wisdom of gray hairs, with Miss Ma-
tilda. She was no doubt trying to wean him from his liking for
the ladies. And poor Clarence under the weight of his new-
discouragement, was heavy enough at heart.
We were gathering berries, Frank and I, in the woods adjoin-
ing Randolph, when we discovered Clarence sitting on a decayed
log, his eyes bent on the ground, and his cheek hollow and
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. 221
pale. When he saw us, he did not approach, as we expected,
but turned instead into the thicker woods.
We playfully rallied him, for thus abandoning two unpro-
tected females, and finally succeeded in making him laugh.
He had been idling about for several days, not knowing and
scarcely caring what was to become of him. I encouraged him
to new efforts, and he grew cheerful and hopeful, and promised
when we parted from him at night, that he would try once
more. But I am now inclined to think it was Frank, who had
said nothing, rather than I, who had said much, who induced
the brave resolution. He found difficulty in executing it, how-
ever. There were opportunities enough for other lads, who
seemed to have nothing special to recommend them, but when
he applied, employers hesitated.
*' You are the boy who was with Kipp, they said. " Why,
he is a good fellow, could n't you get along with him ?"
Of course, Clarence could only say Mr. Kipp had always
been kind and generous to him ; thus taking on himself all
the fault of his discharge from the editor's service.
The employers then said they would think of his proposal,
or that they had partly engaged another lad, or they made
some other excuse, that sent him sorrowful away.
At last his quest was successful ; he obtained in the Ran-
dolph post-office a situation as clerk.
For a fortnight or so all went on well. Clarence looked
smiling and happy ; a new hat and new pair of boots took the
places of the old ones ; his cheek was growing rounder, and his
eyes losing something of their melancholy.
The postmaster said, so it was reported, that he never
wanted a better boy in his employ than Clarence; fhe young
women smiled when they met him, and the sun to his vision was
a great deal bigger and brighter than it had ever been before.
That was the little heyday of his life.
There was great excitement in the town of Randolph one
morning. Groups of men were seen talking at the corners of
the streets and before the doors of groceries ; at first in whis-
pers, but gradually louder and louder, till th&re was one gene-
ral hum. Young lads, who had never been known to smoke,
222 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
bought cigars, which they both gave away end used freely
themselves : they felt suddenly lifted up into the importance
of manhood, and bitter denunciations fell from many a beard
less lip.
A dozen or more women might have been seen leaning from
the windows of their homes, half way into the street, and one
of them was Miss Matilda Hamersly.
And among the lads who were smoking, and throwing more
stones at the stray dogs than usual, was Miss Malinda's protege,
Ebenezer Rakes " Neeze," as the patroness called him. At
length, in answer to the beckoning of her lily hand, he ap-
proaches, and as she leans still lower from the window, informs
her that Clar Howard has been took up and shot up in jail, for
abstracting a thousand dollars from a letter, which was lying in
the Randolph post-office.
" Good heavens '" exclaims Matilda ; " I always expected aa
much he had such a bad look in his eyes! Did you see the
constable take him ?"
" Yes, I seen him took, but he was n't took by the constable;
he was took by the sheriff's warrant ; they tied his hands with
a rope, and he tried to hide 'em under his coat as he went
along, but he could n't come it."
" Did he seem to feel bad ?" asked Matilda.
" He shed some crokadile tears, I b'leeve," said " Neeze,"
"but them as took him would n't ontie him for that. If I had
had my way, I 'd a strung him up on the nearest tree, and
made an example of him."
" It's a wonder," says Matilda, "that he never took anything
here ; he was among us just as one of the family, just as you
are, Neeze."
Neeze says he would advise an examination of the valuables
belonging to the house, and Matilda hopes he will be home
early at night they are so unprotected she shall be afraid if
a little mouse stirs. And with this appeal, in her tenderest
tone, she withdraws that portion of her person into the house
which has previously been in the street, counts the teaspoons,
and repeats the news ; after which she runs across the garden,
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. J23
and by the back way enters the domicile of Mrs. Lowe, who is
still looking and listening.
" Frank, my child, move iny chair a bit nearer the wall,"
says Mrs. Hamersly ; and this is her only demonstration of
interest in the matter.
" I wonder if it's dark, where he is?" says Frank, " and what
Mr. Kipp will say ?"
Mr. Kipp, as publisher of the Illuminator, is the one man of
all the world, to her; there will be a paragraph in his journal ;
she will read it with more interest than she feels in similar
paragraphs generally, for that Clarence used to live with
them. So, having wondered what Mr. Kipp will say, she
takes the milk pan to the " court," and the lean cats break-
fast from it.
In the course of the day, Matilda took the books which
belonged to Clarence from the accustomed shelf, with the
express intention of burning them. It required all my efforts
to dissuade her, but I did so at length, though she would not
listen to my assurance that he would reclaim them before long;
for I could not be persuaded of his guilt.
Agreeably to the promise obtained of his patroness, Neeze
came home early that night, and it seemed that the two would
never have done talking of the robbery.
Half past nine came, and Mrs. Hamersly, as usual, eyed the
clock through her glass; but Matilda would not see it; ten,
came, and still they talked five, ten, fifteen minutes more.
" My child, I shall go into convulsons," said the mamma, iu
her customary passionless tone.
" The saints protect us !" cried Matilda, and she held up her
apron as a screen.
From this night forward, the wrinkled face of Matilda was
often seen near the downy cheek of the boy, Neeze. There
was evidently a great and growing interest between them,
partly based upon the accusation of poor Clarence, and partly
on the rumor that Mr. Kipp was suddenly enamored of a rick
and beautiful girl of twenty.
This last report, if true, was fatal to all the lady's hopes,
though she often said she could not believe it, inasmuch as he
224 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
had ever seemed to sympathize so perfectly with all her feelinga,
especially with her aversion to the marriage state.
But facts are truly stubborn things, and will make head
against a great many probabilities and possibilities, and Miss
Matilda's faith in Mr. Kipp's celibate intentions was broken at
last utterly dissipated, under the following circumstances.
After a cessation of visits for a time, Mr. Kipp once more
honored Mrs. Hamersly's house with his presence.
" You must have been very happy of late I hope you have
been,' I am sure;" said Matilda, seating herself further from the
illuminated gentleman than she was wont, and speaking without
her usual affectations she was too much in earnest.
" Well, yes, Miss Matilda ; I met my friend Doane this
morning, one of the richest men in town here. Do you know
Doane]"
" I do not."
"Well, Miss Matilda, I'd been writing letters before I set
out: one to Mr. Johnson, of Massachusetts, and one to some-
body, I forget who. Well, I met Doane, and he is a good-
natured fellow, Doane is; and says he, 'How are you Kipp?'
and says I, ' Doane I 'm glad to see you ;' and says he no,
says J, then no, I forget what I said ; and then says he, ' You
look happy, Kipp.' And I laughed, and Doane laughed.
Doane is a shrewd fellow, Miss Matilda he's independent."
" Ah !" said Miss Matilda.
" Yes, he is a cunning fellow ; yes, he is so."
A long silence.
" Miss Matilda," says Mr. Kipp, at last.
" Well, sir," she answers, biting her lip.
" Miss Matilda."
" Well, sir," more decidedly.
" I think there will be rain, Miss Matilda."
" I do not, sir."
" Well, nor I, Miss Matilda ; I would n't be surprised if it
did n't rain for a month : No, I would n't. Miss Matilda."
"Say on sir," she said, with a voice and look, into which
were thrown all the dignity of the Hamerslys.
"I would n't be surprised."
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. 221
" What would surprise you, Mr. Kipp ?"
" Why, for instance, Miss Matilda, it would surprise me if
jrou were to get married !"
' What do you mean, sir?"
" Why, Miss Matilda, I mean in fact, I mean, it would not
surprise me in the least."
" I suppose you think you could get married?" said Matilda,
'" and I am sure I do n't care how soon you do so."
" No, Miss Matilda, I could n't get married if I wanted to."
u What, Mr. Kipp?" in tones slightly softened.
' I could n't Miss Matilda nobody would have me."
' How strange you do talk," said the lady, a little tender
f,ss thrown suddenly into her voice.
" It 's a fact."
" Now, Mr. Kipp, you know better !" in quavers positively
sweet.
It 's a fact, Miss Matilda."
" Mamma, wake up, and look at n/uighty Mr. Kipp, and see
if he ain't crazy. I do believe you are out of your head." And
she stooped over him gracefully, and laid her hands on his fore-
head.
" Well, Miss Matilda, what do you think ?"
"Really, Josephus, I don't know it seems so queer I
wish mamma would wake up I can't tell whether men are in
their head or not; mamma's sixty-odd, and she oh, she knows
a great many things : but Josephus, look right in my eyes, and
tell me why you can't get married." And she bent down very
fondly, and very closely.
One moment of blessed expectancy, and the last venture
was wrecked. Mr. Kipp could n't marry, because he had already
taken the pretty and rich young lady " to hold and to keep."
" I am sure I wish you well," Matilda said, with her former
asperity of manner "I would n't lay a straw in the girl's way
if I could."
Her hands dropt from the forehead of Mr. Josephus Kipp, as
she made this benevolent declaration ; and she all at once
remembered that Mr. Rakes had not yet had supper !
" I am sure," she said an hour afterwards, to that wise young
10*
226 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
person, " Mrs. Kipp, as I suppose she calls herself, ought U
have money ; she had n't much else to recommend her."
That night the gossipping was more bitter, and of longer con-
tinuance than before. Matilda believed, she said, there was
not a single woman in Randolph but who would get married if
she could, and that was all she wanted to know about them ;
for herself, she wished all the men had to live one side of the
town and all the women the other; and she appealed to
Neeze, to know if it would not be nice ; upon which Neeze
threw the cigar from his mouth, and drew his chair up to Miss
Matilda, in order to favor her with the expression of his
opinions on this interesting topic.
Mrs. Hamersly was again outraged. She did n't care, she
said, if they sat up all night, and kept the house in an uproar,
when she was dead ; they need only wait till she was decently
buried ; that was all she asked.
At last Mrs. Hamersly chanced to open her eyes one night,
and see the hand of Matilda, that pattern of propriety, around
the neck of Ebenezer Rakes ! The lady's spirit was now fully
roused, the dignity of the house must be maintained, and she
would maintain it at some little cost. Mr. Rakes was summa-
rily dismissed from the premises, and Matilda's clothing care-
fully locked away, and the door of her chamber nailed up every
night.
I need not linger over details ; a night or two of this impris-
onment, and Frank and I awoke from sleep one morning, to
find the bed-cord dangling from the window, and Matilda gone.
Mr. Rakes was found missing too. That, " with an unthrift
love they had run from*Randolph," there could be no doubt.
Frank wondered what Mr. Kipp would say when he heard
of it, and stepped into Matilda's place in giving drawing les-
sons; and said she thought there would be some way to get
along.
Clarence was soon at liberty, for there was no proof of
his guilt discovered, but he could not be free from the stigma
that attached to him.
The town's folks were distrustful, and looked upon him curi-
ously as he went abroad ; few woi^ employ him, and those
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. 227
who did, watched him narrowly. He could not live so, and
formed the resolution, which, under the circumstances, was a
very brave one, of going into a strange place, to seek his
fortune.
When he told us, Frank and I, she said it would he a nice
thing, and I could not dissuade him, nor encourage, more than
to say " the world was all before him, where to choose," and I
wished him heartily success and happiness.
It was useless to say there were other places as good as Ran-
dolph, and that he would make other and better friends: he
knew no other world, and all he loved was there.
A mile to the south of the village stood the stump of an elm
tree, white as silver, for the bark was gone, and it had been
bleaching there many years.
" Go with me to the elm stump," he said, when he was ready
to set out. It was night for he had waited, that no one might
remark his going damp and cloudy, nor moon, nor star in
sight. Over his shoulder he carried a budget, containing a few
books and all the clothes he had. The road was dusty, and we
walked on in silence, for there seemed nothing more to say ;
so the tree was reached before we had exchanged half a dozen
words.
He looked toward the next hill, as we paused, as if he would
ask us to proceed, but presently said, " No, it's no use, I would
never be ready to go on alone. 1 '
While we stood there a beggar passed, looking lean and
hollow-eyed. He reached his hand toward us, and Clarence
seeing his rags, sadly said to us, " I shall look that way one
of these days."
Before we separated, he untied the bundle spoken of, and
taking out two old and worn volumes, gave each of us one,
saying, as he wiped them with his hand, "They will remind
you of me sometimes, maybe."
With many of the best qualities of the heart, and the finest
instincts of intelligence, poor Clarence, it was easy to see, had
little of that bravery of nature which is indispensable to suc-
cess in the world ; and observing with what spirit he set out
on his quest for firtuue, it was easy to perceive that there wai
223 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
really no brightness before him, so that this twilight parting
which he had arranged with my friend Frank and myself, waa
indescribably sad to me, who felt far more anxious for the
youth's happiness than Frank had ever felt, or was capable of
feeling.
Poor Clarence ! there was a defect in his nature a very
common defect fatal to all growth, and destructive of every
element of success, or even of nobleness in aspiration or in
conduct. Like many young men encountered every day, lag-
ging behind ambitious crowds, he had some fine instincts, with
vague perceptions of beauty, and generous affections ; but of
one thing he was lacking still, and always, Will, the parent of
faith and energy. How frequent are the instances in which
a single brave and persistent effort would raise one's life from
all the quicksands and shoals which environ the youth of so
great a majority, into the clear sea,' over which blow forever
prosperous gales ! Cowardice, despondency, inertia, were never
startled from their ascendency in Clarence's soul by even a
half-trial of his powers; and it might have been foretold,
therefore, that his going out into the world would be in vain.
When, in emergencies which most demand it, we see evinced
no will such as has that power the Master said belonged to
faith it is well to put on our mourning: it were quite as well
with the poor, if, instead, there were an end of life.
Long after Frank was asleep that night, I lay thinking of
Clarence wondering how far he had got now, and now; and
saying, now, that he might come back, and be with us again in
the morning. But he never came back.
Though I so perfectly understood his infirmities, which for-
bade any reasonable expectation of a happy future for him, his
better qualities so deeply interested my feelings, that in fancy
I still shaped out a bright future for him of his sometime com
ing home to Randolph, a great man, whom the people could
Hot praise and honor enouh.
It was one day in the following spring, that, tired of working
in the flower-beds, I stopped to rest in the faint shadow of the
newly budding lilac. A scrap of newspaper held my flower-
,eeds ; I emptied them in my lap, and, as my habit is, read.
MY VISIT TO RANDOLPH. 229
to amuse my idleness, whatever the fragment contained ; and
thus, by such chance, I learned all I have ever learned of Clar.
ence's fate : he had died months before in one of the southern
cities.
As I planted my flowers, I wished that I might plant them
on his grave ; but their frail leaves could not have sheltered
him better than he was, and is. 4
The postmaster of Randolph was ultimately convicted of the
theft attributed to his clerk, whose name, too late, was freed
from & blot.
ISO OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
WHY MOLLY ROOT GOT MARRIED.
I.
SOME years ago there lived in Clovernook a family of the
name of Trowbridge very worthy people, but not without
some of the infirmities which belong to human nature. There
was scarcely a woman about the village better known than
Mrs. Trowbridge, though I have not before had occasion to
mention her. And she was as well liked as she was well
known every body saying, What a dear good woman she is !
and I among the rest. I had often said I would like to live
with her, for she seemed the most amiable and agreeable per-
son in the world. It was always a good day when she made
us a visit. She laughed, when asking if we were well, and
laughed when saying she herself was well. She laughed if a
common friend were married, and laughed if a common friend
were dead ; she laughed if her baby was getting teeth, and
laughed if her baby was not getting teeth ; if her new dress
was right pretty she laughed, if it was right ugly she laughed
all the same. When she came, she laughed heartily, and when
she went she laughed heartily it was the way she made her-
self agreeable.
Many a time I had said I should like to live with Mrs. Trow-
bridge, for she never had anything to fret or worry about, and
I liked best of all things an atmosphere of rest. I was de-
lighted therefore when some changes going on in our old home-
stead led to a decision that I should for a while reside in her
jumily.
But good Mrs. Trowbridge is not to be so much the heroine
of this chapter as Molly Root, a relation of her husband:
Molly had been driven about the world, poor and homeless,
until lodged, at la.st, in what most of us thought the very bo-
WHY MOLLY ROOT GOT MARRIED. 281
Bom of domestic felicity the domestic circle of this best-
natured woman in our society.
For the first two days after my domestication, I was relieved
of all suspicion of the real state of things, by one continual
flow of laughter. My occupancy of the best room in the house,
and of the warmest place at the table, were apparently the
most agreeable things that had ever befallen the good Mrs.
Trowbridge.
She was a good housekeeper and cook, when she chose to
exercise her abilities in that way, but I soon learned that it
was only for visitors that she put those admirable accomplish-
ments in requisition, and that for the most part the household
duties fell to the girls, Molly, and Catharine, whom they called
Kate her eldest daughter. When I took my first breakfast,
she said she was afraid I could not eat their breakfast, and she
laughed very much ; at dinner she said the same thing, and
laughed again ; at supper she repeated the remark and the
laughter; and all these meals were ample and excellent. As
they diminished in these respects, the laughter and apologies
diminished too.
My fire was burning brightly and mingling its red shadows
with the sunset that slanted through the west window the
wind blew the black wintry boughs against the wall, and now
and then a snowflake dropt, silently enhancing the in-door com-
fort, as I sat rocking to and fro, taking soundings as it were of
the sea of love, on which I had lately embarked.
All the past week had seen " the girls" busy and cheerful,
ap with the dawn, and going through all the duties of the
day with as much interest and earnestness as though each had
been mistress of the family. When the housework was -lone
they sat down to their sewing Molly sometimes withdrawing
to the privacy of her own apartment, an upper chamber,
wherein were deposited the accumulations and inheritances of
her life : to-wit, an old old-fashioned bedstead and feather bed,
a home-made carpet, four or five crippled chairs, an ancient-
looking bureau, which contained the wardrobe of her long-
deceased and respected grandmother, from her yellow silk wed-
ding dress to the cambric night-cap in which she died ; with
BSfl OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
two barrels of kitchen and table furniture pots, skillets and
gridirons, knives and forks, teapots, and the like ; and there
was bed-clothing deposited in stacks and heaps of all sizes,
spinning-wheels and reels, a side-saddle, and various other arti-
cles no less curious than numerous. There, as I said, Molly
occasionally retired, to collect her thoughts, or open her bandr
boxes, perhaps, or bureau drawers as what woman does not,
two or three times in the course of every week, merely to see
how things are getting on.
She had gone to this museum on the aforesaid evening, and
had been followed, as she usually was, first by Kate with the
baby in her arms, next by Hiram, the oldest boy, with a piece
of bread and butter, and then by Alexander Pope, also with a
similar portion of his evening meal. This last-mentioned son
yvas denominated by the family the preacher, in consequence
of an almost miraculous gift of "speaking pieces," which he
was supposed to possess.
From the hasty shutting and opening of drawers, I inferred
that Miss Molly was making her toilet, for it was Sunday eve-
ning, and girls in the country do not always dress for dinner;
on the contrary they sometimes delay that duty till after the
evening milking.
The creaking of the gate diverted my attention, both from
Molly and the conclusion at which 1 had just arrived, that we
may visit and be visited a good while, and not learn much of
each other ; and looking out, 1 saw riding towards the house
for he had unlatched the gate without dismounting a rosy-
faced young man, whose chin dropt on his bosom, perhaps to
keep it warm. His boots were spurred, and the little sorrel
horse he bestrode capered and curvetted to the toucli of his
heels in a way that was ludicrous to witness ; and the more,
as the strong wind drifted the mane and tail of the animal
strongly in the direction in which he was going. There was a
general rushing down stairs Kate and the baby first, and the
two boys, with their bread and butter, following.
" Oh mother, mother, mother ! somebody is coming to our
house somebody with a black coat on, somebody on a sorrel
horse ('*
WHY MOLLY ROOT Q01 MARRIED. 2 y 3
. " Mother, make them hush," said Kate. " [ know who it is ;
it's Will Pell, and he is coming to see Molly."
" Why, Kate, do say Mr. Pell," replied Mrs. Trowbridge ;
and she added, " I wonder what there is you do n't know ?"
" Not much of anything," answered the girl, complacently.
Meantime the two boys kept watch at the window, and
reported the progress made by Mr. Pell in his preparations to
come in. " Now he is hitching his horse," they said ; " Now he
is coming this way ;" " Now he is brushing his boots with his
handkerchief;" "Now he is pulling down his waistcoat;"
" Now he is going to rap."
- " I see, he 's got the crape off, already," said Kate, " and it 's
; ust a year and two months and three days since his wifn died :
it was Sunday, about two hours before this very time, that she
was buried."
" What a girl you are !" interposed the mother " I wonder
if you could n't tell how many dresses she had."
" Yes," said Kate ; " she had her white wedding dress, and
she had an old black silk dress, and she had a blue gingham
dress that she had only worn twice once a visiting at Mrs.
Whitfield's, and once at meeting ; and she had a" Here
the catalogue was interrupted by the rapping of Mr. Pell.
Kate was a curious combination of shrewdness and vulgarity,
of wisdom in little things, and pertinacity of opinion. Sho
was about fourteen years of age, ill-shapen and unshapen
partly grown and partly growing. Her eyes, sparkling and
intelligent, were black as> the night, and her hair, of the samo
dye, was combed so low over her forehead and cheeks that they
were always in part concealed. Her shoulders were beut
down, for that when not engaged in some household drudgery,
she was doomed to carry the baby about it was her relaxa-
tion, her amusement. Molly Root was a quiet little woman,
who for a considerable number of years had looked pretty
much as she did then : I do not know precisely how old she
was, but everybody told her she looked young; and when one
begins to receive compliments of that sort they are to be un-
derstood as delicate intimations that they have once been a
good deal younger than they are at present. In dress she was
t&l OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
tidy, and now and then she made little attempts at style
Her manaer, to speak truth, was what is called affected, so waa
her conversation faults which arose from a desire on her part
to appear well. She was amiable and good in all ways; the
everlasting srnile on her face did not belie her heart. In person
she was short chubby, as we say ; her arms were short, her
neck was short, and her face was short her forehead being the
largest part of it. Her eyes were of a pale blue, gentle, but
dull, with scarce an arrow to be shot at any one, however exci-
ting the emergency. Her hair was of a soft brown, and was
worn in part in a small knot on the back of her neck, and in
part so drawn across the forehead and turned toward the ears
as to make an oblong square. She had from time to time re-
ceived offers, as perhaps most young women do, and every
body wondered why she did not get married. At length that
happy event was brought about, and then everybody wondered
why Molly did get married : " She had such a nice home just
like her own father's house and Mrs. Trowbridge is so good-
natured, anybody could live with her." It was my peculiar
fortune to learn, both why Molly did not get married and why
she did.
When any especial good luck occurs to our fellow creatures
we are apt to balance it with their little faults and infirmities.
Now Mr. Pell was rich ; that he had come to see Molly there
could be no doubt Kate said he had, and Kate knew; and be-
sides, Molly had put on her best gown, and an extra smile, and
straws show which way the wind blows. On the strength of
these considerations Mrs. Trowbridge came presently into my
room. She held up one finger by way of keeping down the
exclamation she evidently expected, as she announced in a
whisper that Will Pell was in the other room. " Indeed !"
said I, for I felt that it would be a pity to disappoint her alto-
gether, by evincing no surprise.
" Yes, and he is all fixed up, ever so fine spurs on his boots,
and a gold chain, as big as Samuel's log-chain, hanging out of
his pocket ; and he says to Molly, says he, ' I'm pretty well I
thank you,' when she had not asked him a blessed word about
it ; and for my part I think such things mean something."
WHY MOLLY ROOT GOT MARRIED. 2 8B
" Thtit was funny," I said.
"Yes, and Samuel saw how confused he was too: he could
nardly keep his face straight."
Samuel was Mr. Trowbridge; and I may say here, that for
the most part he kept his face very straight. But of this here
after
" I do n't pretend to be a prophet," she went on, " but this
day a twelve-month they will be married mark my words !"
" I do n't see how you are to get along," I said.
" I am very willing to try !" she answered, in a way to indi-
cate that Molly's services were of very little importance.
" She seems very industrious, and so motherly to the chil-
dren."
" Sometimes," said Mrs. Trowbridge ; "you see we give her
a home. She has the best room in the house, and does what
she pleases and when she pleases, and nothing if she pleases.
If she takes a notion, she goes away for weeks at a time and
right in the busiest time, as like as any way."
Here the children, provided with fresh slices of bread and
butter, came after their mother. " Molly pushed me off," said
one ; " I do n't care for old Molly," cried another. " Well,"
said the injured mother, " she is dressed too fine for you to
touch her I would n't go near her again for a week." And
she put her arm about the little fellow's neck and kissed him.
Presently she said, " If a certain person that you know should
tie herself up with a certain other person, what should you
think of it?"
" Who, mother who is going to be tied up ?" said the
children.
" Oh, I do n't know the man in the moon," she replied. Of
course I did not think much about it, and she proceeded to say,
if it was going to be, she hoped it would be soon that was
all : that some folks drove others out of their own house, and
that she felt as if she did n't know where to put her head.
" Why mother ! Where do you want to put your head ?"
asked the boys.
" Oh, I do n't know : in a bumble-bee's nest, may be." And
after a. pause " If Miss you-know-who were to jump into a
286 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
feather-bed after all this time, it would be right down funny,
would n't it ?"
" Who is Miss you-know-who ?" asked the children, " and
what is she going to jump into a feather-bed for ? Is it our
bed, mother? say!"
' Little folks must not have big ears," she replied ; " do run
away and play ; go, get your father's knife, and cut sticks in
the kitchen ; I saw some pretty shingles there go and cut
them up."
Away they ran, at this inducement, and Mrs. Trowbridge
was enabled to drop the disguise and speak plainly again.
There is no need to repeat all she said : Molly was not perfect,
of course ; Mrs. Trowbridge and her children were; conse-
quently every unpleasant occurrence in the family was attribu-
table to but one person. She did not say this precisely, bin.
such was a necessary inference from what she did say. Just
then, for instance, Molly and her beau were in the way of get-
ting tea. What should she do? She believed she would not
have any tea.
I obviated the difficulty by inviting the lovers into my room ;
and Mrs. Trowbridge no sooner found herself in the presence
of Mr. Pell than she resumed her laughter, suspended during
the confidential conference with me. As I have said, it was
her way of entertaining people, and making herself agreeable.
Mr. Pell, as the reader is informed, was a widower an ex-
ceedingly active and sprightly man, and his natural vivacity
was heightened, no doubt, by the general complaisance of the
ladies and the prosperous state of his affairs.
" Don't you think," said Molly, dropping her head on one
shoulder, in her best style, and addressing me " dont you
think it has been communicated to me that Mr. Pell is going
to take a partner for life ?" She liked to use good words.
" Pray, who is the happy lady ?" I asked.
" Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes ! tell us that!" said Mr. Pell,
making two series of little taps, the one on the carpet with his
foot, and the other on the table with his hand.
" Oh, a little bird told me a dear little bird !" And the
theek of Molly almost touched her shoulder..
WHY MOLLY ROOT GOT MARRIED. 287
"A love-bird, was n't it ?" And Mr. Pell gave her cheek a
light brush with the finger tips of his glove.
" Oh dear, that is too bad !"
"Did you mean that 'oh dear' for me?" asked Mr. Pell,
laughing and hitching his chair toward her.
" You provoking fellow !" she replied, tapping his ear with
her fan.
" Miss Molly, Miss Molly, Miss Molly !" he exclaimed, put-
ting his hand to his ear, as if it were stung " have you such a
temper?"
" The sky is all obscured I apprehend a tempestuous night,"
Molly observed, and turned her eyes away.
"Just see! She can't look at me because she feels no
guilty temper, temper, temper! Oh dear, dear, dear! I
should dread to have such a wife !"
" 1 am just going to run away !" answered Molly her head
reclining lower than before : but she made no attempt to exe-
cute her threat.
" I do n't think I shall let you," said Mr. Pell, hitching
his chair still closer, and taking her hand as if forcibly to
detain her.
" Oh you naughty man ! Let me go. Please let me go."
" No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no !"
" Well then, give me my hand."
" No, no. I '11 keep it, I '11 keep it, I '11 keep it, for always
and ever, and ever and ever !"
" Oh, bad Mr. Pell, what shall I do without a hand ?"
"I '11 give you mine, 1 '11 give you mine, I '11 give you mine j
how will that do ? how will that do? how will it do, do, do ?"
" Oh, your wit is inexhaustible!"
" You flatter me, I have no wit not a bit, not a bit, not a
oil ! It's you that are witty and pretty, and pretty and witty."
" I wish I could speak charmingly like you."
" Oh, Miss Molly, Miss Polly Molly, you have charming
speech and charming cheeks, and in both respects I am only ah
admirer ; an admirer of your cheeks and speech."
During this conversation, he had kept a constant hitching
and rocking about, striking his feet together, curling and un-
238 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
curling his beard, with other motions that indicated a restless
state of mind: and perceiving his condition, I excused myself,
on a pretence of assisting Mrs. Trow bridge. To my surprise, 1
saw no preparations for tea, but instead, she and Samuel, seated
in opposite corners of the fireplace, watching the fading of the
embers with the greatest apparent interest. She was smiling a
slow smile, as Mrs. Browning says, but nevertheless it was a
smile that I could see through. She had expected Molly to
attend to the tea, as usual ; Molly had not proposed so to do :
she had made the necessary preparations during the day, and
naturally enough supposed she could be excused from service
in the evening. Kate was carrying the baby about, and com
puling the probable cost of Mr. Pell's boots, coat, and hat, and
the two boys lay folded up and asleep on the carpet, having, in
consequence of not receiving any of the pound-cake which Molly
had baked the day previous, cried themselves into forgetfulness
of their misfortune.
Mr. Trowbridge never said much in his wife's presence; if
he had done so, he would not have had much said in return ;
her pleasant things were for others. She was not a scold her
sins were rather of omission of speech, when alone with her
spouse, or with but her home audience, than commission. No
matter what he had done or what he had failed to do, her reply
was always a fretful and querulous "well." He might chop
wood all day in the snow, and she never thought to have the
fire warmer when he should come in half frozen ; and if he said,
"you have let the fire get low," or anything of that sort, she
would merely answer " well." If she baked buckwheat cakes,
though her husband the uncivilized creature could not eat
them, she never put any other bread on the table. If Kate
said, " 1 think you are smart, mother : you know father don't
like these," she only answered " well !" Poor man, a cup of
weak tea has served him for supper many a time, after a hard
day's work. If his coat grew old-fashioned, he had to wear it
so, for Mrs. Trowbridge only said "well," fancying, as it
seemed, that her gowns were many enough and bright enough
to cover all deficiencies in both their wardrobes. From his
youth till he was far beyond middle age, he had been indus
WHY MOLLY ROOT GOT MARRIED. 739
trious and laborious, in years in and out of season, but he never
acquired anything beyond the necessities of the day, and he
moved about from place to place, always hoping to improve
the state of his affairs, but never doing so.
On this evening I remember that he seemed unusually sensi-
ble of his condition, and that his wife said " well" an unusual
number of times.
The hours went slowly by till nine o'clock ; the cat lay on
the hearth seemingly very comfortable, and she was the only
one that was so. Mr. Trow bridge was looking in the fire, and
Mrs. Trowbridge was looking in the fire, and I was looking at
them, when Molly, opening the door, inquired whether we were
to have any supper.
" Sure enough," said Mrs. Trowbridge, ''"are we to have
any 1"
Molly understood the reproof, and said she would have pre-
pared tea as she always did, but that the children had destroyed
her kindling, and she thought whoever allowed the mischief
might repair it. In an under-tone she said something further,
about being excused once in her life, and withdrew rather petu-
H.
The old clock had struck twelve, the embers were deep
under the ashes ; where the heads of the household had been
sitting an hour before ; the children had been duly taken up,
nnd duly scolded, and compelled to walk to bed half asleep, as
they were, in punishment for being so naughty when Molly
and I, alone by the parlor fire Mr. Pell having said, half an
hour before, " Good bye, good bye, good bye !" entered on a
" private session."
Night, whether moon-light or star-light, summer night or
spring night, is favorable to confessions; we feel a confidence
and security as we draw together, and the darkness shuts out
all the great world. Almost any two persons, under such cir-
cumstances, will be more communicative than they would be in
the open noonday, and more especially if they feel mutually
aggrieved, as did Molly and I on this particular occasion ; for, be
it remembered, we had not hud our supper.
40 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
" It is too bad," she said at length ; " I have done enough foi
Mrs. Trowbridge, I am sure, to merit a little favor once in a
year or two have n't I helpt her, week in and week out, from
year's end to year's end ? I was with her, with Hiram and the
Preacher and all, and I have helpt to move ten times if I have
once, and done time and again what no money would hire mo
to do, and you see what thanks I get ?" She was silent for a
moment, and then said abruptly, " Well, I shall not move
grandmother's old pots more than once more !"
"Ah, Mrs. Pell," I said, laughing, and taking her hand,
" allow me to congratulate you !"
Molly did not smile as 1 had expected, but hid her face in
her hands and burst into tears. When the first tumult had
subsided, " I calmed her fears and she was calm," and then she
" told her love with virgin pride."
" When I was younger than now," she began ; " let me see,
it must be fif , no, I don't know how long it is well, it's no
matter" she could not make up her mind to say it was even
more than fifteen years ago "I lived with my grandmother
it was in a lonesome old house, away from everybody else;
from our highest window we could seethe smoke of one dwell,
ing and that was all ; and living there at the same time was a
young man of the name of Philip Heaton. I have always
thought Philip the prettiest name in the world, but no matter
about that; I thought Philip Heaton the prettiest fellow 1 had
ever seen, as you can guess : he was so good to me, leaving his
own work to spade the garden beds, and milking the cows that
were refractory, and doing a thousand things that it will not
interest you to hear about. When the circuit preacher came
once a month, and there was a meeting in the old log school-
house, a mile and a half away, we never failed to go, and
what pleasant times they were! I think I remember distinctly
all the walks and rides we ever had together. Once I call
to mind he gathered me three speckled lilies- -I know just
where they grew in the edge of a pond, where the grass
was coarse and heavy, and over which we walked on a log--l
have the withered things somewhere yet the meadow we
crossed, and where we climbed the fences, the long strip of
WHY MOLLY ROOT GOT MARRIED. 841
uroods with its crooked path among decayed leaves and sticks,
Oh, I remember all, as though I had been there yesterday; and
just where we were when we said so and so: I could go back
and recount everything. Well, as I said, I thought Philip was
handsome I thought he was good in fact I loved him, and I
still think he Wed me then. When grandmother was dead,
and the funeral was over, we first talked seriously of affection
and marriage. I was sitting alone in the great old-fashioned
parlor, thinking of one of our neighbors, a poor old woman,
who had told me I must not keep the sheet that had been over
the corpse- -that it would bring ill-luck to me; and I suspected
she wished me to give it to her, as I afterwards did ; I was
alone, thinking of this, and weighed down with a thousand
melancholy thoughts connected with the event that had deprived
me not only of a home but of the only real friend I had in the
world, when Philip joined me; for it was evening, and his work
was done. The November winds rattled the sash against which
I sat; I saw the vacant chair, and thought of the new grave;
and covering my face, I cried a long time; but it was not alto-
gether for the dead that my tears fell : Philip was going into a
distant city to make his fortune, 1 was to live with a distant
relative, and we should not see each other for a long time;
The cows \ve had petted and milked together were to be sold,
and the garden flowers would not be ours any more. 'Mavbe
we shall buy back the cows,' said Philip, 'and get roots and
seeds of the same flowers,' for ne was young and sanguine, and
love sees its way through all thivigs ; and when he kissed me,
and said it should be so, I thought it would. So I packed up
the old things that had fallen to me, and went to my new home,
with a world of sweet hopes and promises shut close in my
heart. It was a hard and lonesome life I led, but when from
that home I went to another and a worse one, I was kept up
with the old memory and the new hope.
" Philip prospered beyond all his expectations, and there be-
gan to be prospects of buying the cows, sure enough, when
there came a few tremulous lines to inform me he was very ill.
I cannot tell, and it would be useless to do so if I could, what
were my sufferings ; there never came another word nor sign
11
242 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
I tried tu be cheerful and to live on in some way, but the dear
charm of life was gone; no new lover ever displaced the old
one from my heart ; but to-night what do you think I heard
to-night! Why, that Philip Heaton is a rich man, and has
been married these these oh, a good while ! Mr. Pell saw
him last summer, and he inquired about me if I was married
said I deserved to be I was a good sort of a girl and a
good deal more he said of me in the same way." Alas, for
Molly ! then and there vanished the last and only romance of
her existence.
I have not given the story in her precise language, for I can
not remember that, but I have retained the spirit and the essen-
tial facts of her not unparalleled experience. It needed no sub-
sequent observation for me to see how things stood, and how
they would end; how in the estimation of Mrs. Trowbridge
Molly did what she pleased, and when. she pleased, and nothing
if she pleased; how she had all the advantages of a home and
a mother's care, and how she could get along better without
her. And I saw, too, how Molly thought she did herself a
thousand things no money would hire her to do; how she took
an interest in the house, as though it were all hers getting
small thanks after all ; how she sewed for others to earn her
scanty clothing ; and how she had moved her heirlooms about
till she was tired, and had begun to take less romantic and
more practical views of things. She never said so precisely,
but I saw that a good home and an estimable man to care for
her were weighing heavily agair.st an old dream ; so that I was
not surprised when on entering her room one day I found her
standing before her grandmother's narrow looking-glass, care
fully dividing hair from hair, and now and then plucking one
that had a questionable hue ; nor was it any surprise when
Kate told me, in a whisper, that in just seventeen days and
three hours and ten minutes Molly would become Mrs. Pell.
She had made accurate calculation, for the wedding day was in
her little life a great day indeed, as in fact it was to Mrs. Trow-
bridge; whose laughter, for those intervening seventeen days, I
I think had scarcely a cessation.
Mr. Pell, meantime, became unusually nimble, hopping and
WHY MOLLY ROOT GOT MARRIED. 848
balancing about like a spring bird, and more than ever repeat
ing his words in a musical trill ; u wify, wify, wify !" he would
say sometimes, assuming the conjugal address before the conju-
gal ceremony, and he was observed to wear his hat awry, and
to go abroad in a red boyish waistcoat which he probably had
not worn for years : and Molly I think was even more nice in
her choice of words than was her wont.
The night before the marriage, as we sat together before the
fire, she took from the shelf, and unfolded from a dozen careful
wrappers, an old volume, and shook into the ashes from be-
twixt the leaves some broken remnants of flowers. She sighed
as she did so they may have been the three lilies; in a mo-
ment she smiled again, and twirling the marriage ring, and
looking from the window, observed that she could not think of
anything but the splendor of the queen of night ! I thought it
was very likely.
All the preceding day Kate was in the seventh heaven ; she
wore new calf-skin shoes and a new calico dress, and why should
she not be happy ? Mrs. Trowbridge said a, wedding seemed
to her one of the solemnest things in the world, but she laughed
all the while ; she did not even say " well," that Mr. Trow-
bridge bought a new hat for the occasion, which he did not once
all that day move from his head.
I will not attempt a description of the wedding festivities.
It seemed to me half the folks in Clovernook were there. Sally
Blake came first, pleasant and useful as ever, and afterward
Miss Claverel, Miss Whitfield, poor Mrs. Truest with her ill
omened gossip, and excellent Mrs. Hill, our old friend, with
kindlier prophecies of happiness, and Dr. Hay ward, the family
physician, and a great many others, living in the neighborhood,
besides two or three smartish young grocers and produce deal-
ers from the city, with whom Mr. Pell had transactions "agree-
able and profitable all round." Mrs. Trowbridge's children
were as noisy and ill-mannered as ever, the good woman
laughed at every observation made by herself, or the bride and
groom, or the guests, and Mr. Pell was smartly dressed and
looked unutterable and said incomprehensible things, all with
an air of self-satisfaction which gave ample assurance that he
244 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
was blcfsed as ever bridegroom should wish to be. As for
Molly, sSc was attired very prettily, and seemed, or tried to
seem, the happiest woman in the house ; but I could see once in a
while an involuntary seriousness in her eyes ; and once, after
she had suddenly quitted the room for a moment, I thought I
saw signs of tears, driven back with a strong will tears that
had come with unbidden memories from scenes where she had
walked in summer nights, so long ago where beautiful hopes
were born, and buried, buried forever. As she entered the
room, her bind upon her breast, the angels might have heard
her say, " Ke still, be still, oh turbulent heart !" and when she
led off a drff.ce with Mr. Pell, she looked as if she had quite
forgot all the dreams ever dreamed by Molly Root.
These narriages of convenience are sad affairs, even among
the humble, with whom so many cares divide authority in
the heart. It is well when they are contracted by brave na-
tures, with unfaltering wills, looking backward for darkness and
forward for light, and never suffering the past to prevent the
clutching of every possible good in the present, or to cloud the
future so that its fartherest joys shall fail of inspiring continual
hope and strength.
Mr. and Mrs. Pell are well-to-do in the world ; the " rise of
property," indeed, has made them rich, and Molly sometimes
sends her carriage to bring Mrs. Trowbridge to tea, and gives
to Kate occasionally some cast-off dress or last year's finery,
which, made over, is to her as good as new. The reader will
understand why she remained so long unmarried, why at length
she became a wife ; and those accustomed much to the conver-
sations of married ladies perhaps might hear without surprise
her frequent declaration, that "dear Mr. Pell" was her "first
and only love !"
There they go ! How those spanking grays, with their
shining harness, and the bright green and yellow barouche,
make the dust fly as they whirl by the Clovernook Hotel!
Mr. Pell says " It is the thing, the thing, precisely the thing !
Is n't it Molly, Molly, Molly !"
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 344
CHARLOTTE RYAN.
As there is in every neighborhood a first family, so there 18
a last family a family a little behind everybody else and in
Clovernook this family was named Ryan. They did not indeed
live very near the village, but rather on the very verge of our
neighborhood. A little dingy house, off the main road, and sit
uated in a hollow, was their habitation, and, though they were
intelligent, they had no ideas of the elegancies of life, and but
meagre ones, indeed, of its comforts.
Charlotte, the eldest daughter, inherited all the cleverness
of her parents, with few of their prejudices against modern im-
provements, so that, now and then, her notions ran out into a
sort of flowery border along the narrow way in which she had
been taught to walk. Small opportunities had she for the indul-
gence of refined or elegant tastes, but sometimes, as she brought
home the cows at night, she lingered to make a " wreath of
roses," or to twist the crimson tops of the iron-weeds with her
long black hair; and once 1 remember seeing her, while she was
yet a little girl, with a row of maple leaves pinned to the bot-
tom of her skirt ; she was pretending they were the golden
fringe of her petticoat.
Clovernook boasted of one or two select schools even at that
time, to which mcst of the people, who were not very poor,
contrived to send their daughters: but little Charlotte went
down the hollow, across a strip of woods, to the old schoolmas-
ter, who taught in a log house and in an obsujrs neighborhood
for the summer, and made shoes in the winter, and I suspect
he was but imperfectly skilled in either vocation, for I remem-
2*6 TR NEIGHBORHOOD.
ber it used to be said that he had " taken up both trades out of
his own head." The girls of the " high school" were in her
eyes " privileged beyond the common run quite on the verge
of heaven." And no wonder she regarded them so : the rib.
bons that tied their braids, were prettier than the two or three
teeth of horn comb that fastened her own hair, and her long
checked-apron compared unfavorably with their white ones.
But with this period of her life I have little to do, as the story
I am going to relate is limited to the circle of a few days, when
Charlotte had ceased to pin maple leaves on her petticoat, and
wore instead ornaments of glass and pinchbeck.
" Here is a letter for Miss Ryan : it will not be much out of
your way, if you will be so kind," said the post-master to me
one evening, as I received my own missives, for at that time
the postmaster of Clovernook knew all the persons in the habit
of receiving letters, and as one for Miss Ryan had never been
there before, I, as well as he, naturally supposed it would be a
surprise, probably an agreeable one to her, and I therefore
gladly took charge of it, choosing instead of the dusty high-
way, a path through the meadows, and close under the shadow
of the woods, which brought the home of Charlotte directly in
my way, though the duty I undertook added more than a mile
to my walk homeward. It was in the late autumn, and one of
those dry, windy, uncomfortable days which brings thought
from its wanderings to hover down about one's home ; so, as
the night fell, I quickened my steps, pausing now and then to
listen to the roar down deep in the woods, which seemed like
the moan of the sea which I had heard only in imagination
then or to mark the cabin homes, peering out of the forest,
and calculate the amount of comfort or discomfort in them or
about; and 1 remember to this day some particular facts from
which inferences were drawn. Before one door, a dozen dun
and speckled pigs were feeding from a trough, and sunken in
mud knee deep, and near them, barefooted, and wearing a red
flannel shirt, stood a ragged urchin, whose shouts of delight
would have been pleasant to hear, but for the harsh, scolding
?oice that half drowned them. Both the joy and the angar
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 24T
were a mystery at first, but I presently saw by what they were
caused.
" I '11 come out and settle with you, my boy, if you do n't
quit that mind I tell you !" screamed an old woman, leaning
over the low rail fence of the door-yard, lier rap-border flapping
like a flag of war, and with one fo';t on the ground and one in
the air, as she bent eagerly forward, gesticulating vehemently,
hut chiefly in the direction of an old cat, which the boy had put
in a slender harness of twine his own ingenious workmanship,
1 suspect. He laughed heartily, in spite of the threatened set-
tlement, calling out in high glee, as pussy ran up a tree to
escape him, " Jementallies ! how she goes it !"
"1 '11 go you," continued the monitor, "as sure as you're
born, if you do 'nt ungear the poor sarpent before you 're a
minute older !" And so I passed out of hearing and out of
sight, and I have never since been enlightened as to the adjust-
ment of the pending difficulty.
It was quite night, and the candle-ligiit streamed bright
through the dead morning-glory vines which still hung at the
window, when my rap at the door of Mr. Ryan was answered
by a loud and clear " Come in !" so earnest that it seemed
half angry.
Ilomelv, but still home-like, was the scene that presented
itself the hickory logs were Mazing in the deep wide fire-place,
the children were seated quietly on the trundle-bed, for their
number had grown faster than that of the chairs, and talking in
an under-tone about "choosing sides" at school, and what boys
and girls were "first-rate and particular" as choosers, and what
ones were big dumb-heads: they presently changed their tone
from a low key to a sharp whisper, much more distinct, but my
entrance did not interrupt their discussion.
Mr. Ryan, wearing a coat and trowsers with patches at el-
bow and knee of a dissimilar color, was seated on a low stoat
in the corner, engaged in softening with melted tailow the hard
last year's shoes of the children, which had been put aside
during the summer season.
"A young winter," he said, by way of welcoming me, and
lieu continued apologetically, and as though it was almost a
2-J8 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
disgrace to wear shoes, " the wind to-day makes a body feel
like drawing their feet in their feathers."
1 said the winter brought its needs, or something of that sort,
implying that we regarded things in the same way, and he
resumed and continued the mollifying process without speaking
another word.
Golden rings of dried pumpkins hung along the ceiling, bags
of dried apples and peaches, bunches of herbs, and the like, and
here and there from projections of framework, hung stockings,
by dozens, and other garments suited to the times. A limb of
bright red apples, withering in the warmth and smoke, beauti-
fied the jamb, beneath the great "bake oven," and such were
all the ornaments of which the room could boast, I think.
Mrs. Ryan was busy at the kneading trough, making short-
cakes for breakfast silent mostly, and wearing a look of
severity, as though she knew her duty and did it. Only Char-
lotte came forward to meet me, and smiled her welcome. The
Methodist " Advocate" lay open on the table, and some sewing
work dropped from her lap as she rose. She politely offered
me the chair with the leather bottom, and added to the sticks
on the fire, manifesting her good will and courtesy in the only
ways possible.
She had grown beautifully into womanhood, and though her
dress was neither of choice material, nor so made as to set off
her person very advantageously, it was easy to perceive that
under the hands of an artist in waists, skirts, &c., her form
would seem admirable for its contour and fine proportion,
while her face should be a signal for envy or for admiration to
youthful women and men, if she were "in society." And she
had in some way acquired, too, quite an agreeable manner of
her own, only wanting a freedom from restraining influences to
become really graceful and captivating; and I could not help
wishing, as I looked on her, that she could find a position bel-
ter suited to her capacities and inclinations. A foolish wish.
The letter elicited expressions of surprise and curiosity from
all members of the family, except Charlotte, who suppressed
her interest for the time. " Let me see it, let me see it," ex-
elaimed the children, but the stamp of the father's foot brought
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 24t
alienee into the room, on which he arose, and wiping his hands
on his hair, prepared to read the letter, for Charlotte did not
think of breaking the seal herself.
" Jt 's from down the river I reckon," said the mother, "and
tells us all about Peter's folks." Charlotte blushed and looked
annoyed. "I'll just bet !" said one of the boys, a bright-look-
ing lad of nine or ten years, " that a queen gets letters every
day ; yes, and written on gold paper, likely enough," he con-
tinued, after a moment, and in response to himself as it were.
" I wish I was there," said a younger sister, smiling at the
pleasant fancy, " and I'd climb away up on her throne some
time when she was gone to meeting, and steal some of her
things.''
' ; And you would get catched and have your head chopped
Dffwith a great big axe," replied the brother.
The little girl continued musingly, "I expect Charlotte's new
3anday dress is no finer than a queen wears every day."
" Every day !" exclaimed the mother in lofty contempt,
" she wears as good washing-day in the kitchen." In the midst
of these speculations I took leave. A day or two afterwards, I
learned that Charlotte was gone to pass a month or two with
some relations near the city.
1L
These relatives were but recently established in a country
home, having belonged originally to one of the northern seaport
towns. The family embraced but three persons, the father,
whose life had in some capacity been passed mostly at sea,
and two daughters all unfitted by education and habit for their
new position.
Of course Charlotte had heard much of her uncle, Captain
Bailey, and his daughters, and in childish simplicity supposed
them to be not only the grandest but also the most excellent
people in the world. They dwelt in her thoughts on a plane
of being so much above her, that she involuntarily looked up tc
them and reverenced them as if they were of a fairer and purer
wo-ld.
11*
250 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
Through all her childhood it had been a frequent wish that
some of uncle John's folks would come, but uncle John's folks
never came, and so she grew into womanhood without being
much disenchanted. Nobody about Clovernook was at all
comparable to them in any respect, as they lived in the beauti-
ful region of her dreams.
Mrs. Ryan and Mrs. Bailey were sisters, who in early life
were all in all to each other. Marriage had separated them, by
distance much, by circumstances more. Mrs. Bailey went to
an establishment in town, and after a round of dissipations and
gaieties, became a small link in the chain of fashion, having
married out of, and above her previous and fit position. Mrs.
Ryan, who as a girl was the less dashing and spirited of the
two, became a farmer's wife, and with the energy and determi-
nation which characterized her always, struck at once into the
wilderness in search of a new home.
Sad enough was the parting of the sisters, and many tha
promises to write often, and to visit each other as soon as
might be ; but these promises were never kept, and perhaps it
was well they never were, for far outside of the blessed oneness
of thought and feeling in which they parted, would have been
their meeting! Absence, separate interests, different ways of
life, soon did their work.
As I said, they never met, and so never knew that they had
grown apart, but each lived in the memory of the other, best
and most beautiful to the last. But though each mother taught
her children to love arid reverence the good aunt that lived far
away, and whom possibly they would see some time, the young
Bailevs failed to be impressed with that respect and admiration
for their country relations, which the country relations felt for
them.
After a series of successes came adverse fortune to the Bai-
leys, then the death of the wife and mother, and so, partly in
the hope of bettering their condition, and partly to escape mor-
tification, the broken and helpless family removed from their
statelier home and settled in the neighborhood of our beautiful
city in the west. For they fancied, as many other people do
who know nothing about it, that the farmer's is a sort of hcli
CHARLOTTE RYAK 251
day life ; ttiat after planting the crop he may sleep or play till
the harvest time ; that then the labor of a day or two fills the
barn with bright sheaves and sweet hay ; and that all the while,
and without any effort, cattle and sheep and horses are growing
and fattening, and plenty flowing in. A little experience suffi-
ced to cure the Baileys of this pleasant conceit. In truth, they
did n't go to work in the right way, with an honest determina-
tion that compels success. Farming and housekeeping were
begun as delightful experiments, and when the novelty was lost,
they fell back Into lamentations and repinings for the opulence
they had lost. Briers made sorry work with Captain Bailey's
ruffles, and the morning dew was unfavorable to the polish of
nis boots ; the corn did n't fall into baskets of itself, nor the
ipples come home without having been first shaken from the
trees, and picked up, one by one. Weeds and burs ran over
the garden and choked the small vegetables; the cows grew
lean, and their milk dried away, to the astonishment of all par-
ties for nobody suspected they were not milked regularly and
rightly, or that their wants w r ere not attended to, and some
fearful distemper was supposed to have attacked them, as day
after day flocks of buzzards and crows were seen settling in
hollows where the poor creatures had died. But Captain Bai-
ley's troubles were trifles compared with the afflictions of his
daughters, who not only sighed and cried, but wished themselves
dead, a dozen times a day. The hard, yellow balls of butter,
wnich they fancied would be so nice, required more labor and
care in the making than they were willing to bestow; breail
was taken from the oven black and heavy; and, in fact, th3
few things that were done at all were not done well, and gene-
ral wer.riness and dissatisfaction was the consequence.
"I wish I was in heaven !" exclaimed Miss Sally Bailey, ono
day, more wrathfully than piously, turning at the same tim*
from the churn and hiding her eyes from the great splash of
creain that soiled the front of her lavender colored silk.
" It 's no use for us to try to live like anybody," answered
Ka';e, " and we might as well give up first as last, and put on
lir.sey, and work, and work, and work till we die !"
And both girls sat down and bent their eyes on the floor^
252 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
either not seeing, or affecting not to see, the discomfort m
which their father was ; poor man, he had come in from the
tield with a thorn in his hand, and with the blood oozing from
the wound, was vainly searching under chairs and tables, and
shoving his hand one way and the other across the carpet, for
the needle lost in his endeavor to perform with it a surgical
operation.
" / do wish r " he said at last, a little petulantly, " I could
ever have any body to do any thing for me."
"I am sure I am sorry for the accident," said one of the girls,
" if that will do you any good."
"I do n't think it will," was the reply ; and the other sister
offered assistance, assuring her father, and as though he were
responsible for it, that she could feel nothing less than the
broomstick in her clumsy fingers, so it was useless to try to
handle a needle.
Having survived the operation, Captain Bailey, who was
really disposed to do the best he could, pinned a towel against
his vest, and took hold of the churn, saying, "Now, my dears,
I'll make the butter, while you arrange the dinner."
"I would like to know what we are to arrange," said
Kate, tossing her head, " there is nothing in the house that I
know of."
" Surely there is something," the father said, working the
dasher most energetically; "there is pork, and flour, and ap-
ples, and cream, and butter, and potatoes, and coffee, and tea,
and sugar" there the girls interrupted him with something
about a meal suitable for wood-choppers.
Captain Bailey was now seriously discouraged, and without
speaking again, continued to churn for two hours, but the cream
was cold and thin, and at the end of that time looked no more
likely to "come" than at first, so giving the churn a jostle to
one side, with something that sounded very like an oath, the
gentleman removed the towel which had served him for an
apron, and taking down his gun from the wall, walked hurriedly
in the direction of the woods. But he was one of those men
who are cal ed good-hearted, and though he managed badly,
never doing either himself or anybody else any good, still,
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 2 pj
every one said, " he means well," and " what a good-hearted
fellow he is." So, of course, his amiability soon returned, and
having brought down two squirrels and a wood-cock, whistling
out the hope and good-nature that were in his heart. " Well,
Sally," he said, throwing down the game, "here is something-
for dinner."
"Very well," she replied, but without looking up, or ceas-
ing from her work of rubbing chalk on the cream-spot of h^r
dress.
Kate, since her father's departure, had bestirred herself so
much as to pin a towel about the churn, set it one side, and fill
the tea-kettle, after which she seated herself with the last new
novel.
" Well my dear, what is th^ news with you ?" asked the
captain, punching the fire at the same time, in an anxious way
"The news is," she answered, "that two chickens have
drowned themselves in a pail of dish-water, and the pig you
bought at the vendue is choked to death with a loaf of burnt
bread when I found it, it was in the last agonies," she con-
tinued, laughing, " and I do n't see what we are to do."
" An idea strikes me," answered the father, in no wise dis-
couraged. "Write to your cousin what's her name? who
lives out in Clovernook she's a housekeeper, I'll warrant you ;
write to her to come and visit you for a month or two, and ini-
tiate you in the ways of the woods."
" A good notion," said Kate, throwing down her book, and
the dinner went forward better than any one had done since the
housekeeping began.
The farm selected by Captain Bailey, was east of the Queen
City not so far, however, but that some of the spires, and it
is a city of spires, were clearly visible from its higher eleva-
tions. Both house and grounds were seriously out of repair,
having been abandoned by the person who purchased and fitted
them up, and sold ultimately at a sacrifice. They were well
suited for the present proprietor; the spirit of broken-down
assumption reigned supreme everywhere: you might see it
perched on the leaning posts of the gateway, and peering from
und,r the broken mullions of the great windows. It had been
254 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
a fine place, when the forest land was first trimmed up and
cleared, when pebbles and flowers bordered the rivulets, and
the eminence on which stood the house was terraced into green
stairs. The tall red chimneys were some of them fallen partly
down now, and the avenue leading from the gate to the hall
was lost in weeds and grass, through which only a wagon-track
was broken.
One or two '..rellised summer-houses stood pitching down the
hill, and here and there a rose-bush or lilac lopped aside devoid
of beauty, except the silver selves woven amongst them by the
black and yellow spiders.
III.
The little cart in which Charlotte Ryan rode with her father
rattled terribly ; it seemed never to have made so much noise
till then ; it would betray their poverty, but if her father would
only drive softly and leave the cart at the gate, it doubtless
would be supposed that they had come in a more stylish way.
Mr. Ryan, however, was a plain blunt farmer, and would have
driven his little cart up to the White House, and elbowed his
way through the Cabinet without a fear or a blush for his
home-spun dress or country breeding, if he had felt inclined to
pay his respects to the President and why indeed should he
not 1 ? He was a yeoman, and not ashamed of being a yeoman
what cause had he to be? But a pride of despising all inno-
vation, all elegance, were peculiarities that stood in his light.
So, as I said, he dashed forward at a rapid and noisy rate, feel-
ing much', honest man, as though the sound of his wagon wheels
would be the gladdest one his friends ever heard. Nor did he
slacken rein till the feet of his work horses struck on the pave-
ment before the main entrance of the house, and with their
sides panting against the wide bands of faded leather composing
their harness, stood champing the bit, and foaming as though
they had run a race.
Poor Charlotte ! she could scarcely rise out of the straw in
which she was imbedded, when the hall-door opened, and Cap-
tain Bailey, followed by his two daughters, came forward tc
meet her and her father, with self-possession and well-bred 3of
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 265
d : ality. The young women not only kissed her, but imposed
a similar infliction on the dear uncle, making many tender in-
quiries about the aunt and sweet little cousins at home; but
when Captain Bailey offered his arm, saying, " This way, my
dear," the discomfiture of the niece was completed, and slipping
two fingers over his elbow, and at arm's length from him, she
entered the hall, trying her best not to hear her father say
"Bless your souls, gals, I don't want your sarvent man," as he
went lustily to unharness his horses, just as he would have
done at home.
" We are so glad you are come," said the cousins ; " we
want you to teach us so many things ;" but Charlotte felt that
though the last part of the sentence might be true, the first was
not for we instinctively recognize the difference between formal
politeness and real heartiness. Partly because she thought she
ought to do so, and partly because her conflicting emotions
could find vent in no other way, she began to cry.
" Are you sick "?" asked the girls, really concerned, for their
sense of propriety would not have allowed of such an ebulition.
of feeling on any occasion, much less on one so trivial. They
could not imagine why >he cried models of propriety that
they were unless indeed, she were in great bodily pain.
Presently Mr. Ryan, having attended to the duties of the
groom, came in, bearing in each hand a small budget, contain-
ing presents of his choicest apples, saying as he presented them,
u These apples my daughter here helpei me to gather, and we
have a hundred bushels as fine at home."
The father was now appealed to for an explanation of Char-
lotte's conduct, for she had covered her face with her hands,
and sat in an obscure corner, sobbing to herself.
" he sees so many strange, new, and fine things that she is
not used to," he said, for he could understand her; "they
make her feel kind of bad and home-sick like. Charlotte," he
continued, speaking as he would to a child, " wipe up your
eyes, and let's see how much better your uncle's stock is than
ours."
Glad of any excuse to escape from thejcold speculation of
the eyes that were on her, the daughter obeyed, making neithc,
256 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
excuse nor apology for the abrupt and somewhat inquisitive
procedure.
The sunshine soon dried up her tears, for her spirit was
healthful, and though she had given way to a brief impulse of
sorrow, it was not an expression of habitual sickliness of feel
ing. Her father's repeated exclamations of surprise arid con
tempt for the bad culture and bad stock, helped, too, to reas
sure her, and she returned at length to the house, her crushed
self esteem built up in part, at least; but contrasts unfavorable
to herself would present themselves, in spite of efforts to keep
them down, whenever her brown hands touched the lily ones
of her cousins, or when the noise of her coarse shoes reminded
her of their delicate slippers; and when toward sunset the
horses were brought out, feeling smart, for they had had a
visitor's portion of oats, she half wished she was to go back,
especially when she remembered the contents of the little bun-
dle she had brought with her, containing what she considered
the choice portion of her wardrobe.
But I need not dwell longer on this phase of her experience.
In education, in knowledge of the world, in the fashionable
modes of dress, the Misses Bailey were in the advance of her,
as much as she, in good sense, natural refinement, and instinct-
ive perceptions of fitness, was superior to them. But unfortu-
nately she could see much more clearly their advantages than
her own. Falling back on the deficiencies of which she was
so painfully aware, she could not think it possible that she
possessed any advantage whatever, much less any personal
charms.
All the while the envied cousins were envious of her roseate
complexion, elasticity of movement, and black heavy braids
of hair, arranged, though they were, something ungracefully.
The books which they kept, to be admired rather than reai,
afforded her much delight, and alone with these or with her
uncle, the homesick and restless feeling was sometimes almost
forgotten; for Captain Bailey was kind from the impulses of
his nature, and not because he thought it duty or policy. The
cheerful and natural aspect which things assumed u::der the
transforming hands of Charlotte gave him excessive delight
CHARLOTTE RYAN. t67
And then when her work was done, she would tie on her snn-
oonnet, and accompany him in his walks through the fields and
woods, making plans with him for the next year's culture aud
improvements. In the evenings she read to him, or listened to
stories of the sea, which it gave him pleasure to relate; while
the young ladies mourned at one side of the room over their
hapless fate wishing themselves back in their old home, or
that Mrs. so, or so, would come out to the West, and give such
parties as she used.
" But then," said they, " there is nobody here that is any-
body," and so the mere supposition that a fashionable lady
might come West and give parties, hops, re-unions, &c., was
but a new source of discontent.
Sometimes they recounted, partly for the pleasure of hear-
ing themselves, and partly to astonish and dazzle their country
cousin, the various elegant costumes they had worn, on what,
to them, were the most interesting occasions of their lives ;
and after all, they were not so much to blame it was natural
that they should pine for their native air, and for the gaieties
to which they had been accustomed. But to Charlotte, whose
notions of filial respect were almost reverent, it was a matter
of painful surprise that they never mentioned their mother, or
in any way alluded to her, except in complaints of the mourn-
ing clothes, which compelled them to be so plain. Neither
brain nor heart of either was ample enough for a great
sorrow.
At first Charlotte had lent her aid in the management and
completion of household affairs with hearty good will, but the
more she did the more seemed to be expected of her the la-
dies could n't learn because they paid no attention to her teach-
ing, and took no interest in it, though never was there a more
painstaking instructor. All persons are not gifted alike, they
said, " it seems so easy for you to work." But in what their
own gifts consisted it were hard to tell.
" Really, cousin Charlotte is quite companionable some-
times," said Sally, one day laying emphasis on the word
cousin after partaking of some of her fresh baked pumpkin
pies.
258 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
"But it's a pity," replied Kate, "that she only appears tc
advantage in the kitchen. Now what in the world would you
do if Dr. Opdike, or Lawyer Dingley, or any of that set were
u> come ?"
" Why," said Sally, laughing, "I always think it's as well to
tell the truth, when there is no particular advantage to be
gained by telling anything else, so I should simply say ' A
country cousin, whom father has taken a fancy to patronize.'"
Kate laughed, and taking with them some light romance, fit
suited to wile the way into dreamland, they retired to their
chamber.
" Suppose we steal a march on the girls," said Captain Bai
ley, entering the room where Charlotte was engaged in idle en
deavors to make her hair curl " what say you to riding into
town ?''
Charlotte hesitated, for nothing called her to town except the
search for pleasure, and she had been unaccustomed to go out of
her way for that; but directly yielding to persuasion, she was
tving on her bonnet, when the Captain, desirous of improving
her" toilet, suggested that she should not wear her best hat, but
the old hack of Kate or Sally. The little straw bonnet, which
looked smart enough at the prayer meetings and " circuit
preachings" of the log school-house, became suddenly hateful,
and the plain white ribbon, crossed about the crown, only in
keeping with summer, and seventy years. Her cheeks flushed
as her trembling hands removed her favorite bonnet, and the
uncle continued "just bring along Kate's white cashmere,
while you are about it yours will be too warm to-day, 1
think."
The shawl which Charlotte proposed to wear was a coarse
black woolen one, which had already been worn by her mother
for twenty years, or thereabouts, and th -.gh she had never
looked so well in her life, as in the old -outlet and shawl be-
longing to Kate, still she felt ill at ease, and could not suppress
a wish that she had at once declined the invitation. Captain
Bailey, who was really a kind-hearted man, exerted himself to
dissipate the cloud, which weighed down her spirit, but ever
CHARLOTTE RYAff. 25S
and anon she turned aside to wipe the tears away. My wish
was being fulfilled Charlotte had attained a new position.
" Now, my dear," said the uncle, as he assisted Charlotte
out of the carriage, before the most fashionable dry-goods she p
of the city, "you must favor me by accepting a new gown and
hat, and whatever other trifles you may fancy to have."
"Oh, no, no !" she said, blushing, but dissent was not to be
listened to she was merely desired to select one from among
the many varieties of silks thrown on the counter.
Now the purchasing of a silk dress was in the estimation of
Charlotte, a proceeding of very grave importance, not to be
thus hastily gone into. She would consent to accept of a cal-
ico positively of nothing more and on being assured by the
clerks, as they brought forward some highly colored prints,
that they were the patterns most in vogue, she selected one of
mingled red and yellow, declined to receive anything further,
and returned home, saddened and injured, rather than glad and
grateful. She could not help wishing she had remained in her
old haunts instead of going where people were ashamed of her
and then would come the more crushing and bitter thoughts
which justified the feelings with which they regarded her; and
so, in alternate emotions of self-contempt and honest and indig-
nant pride, she continued to think and think sometimes disre-
garding and sometimes answering briefly and coldly the vari-
ous remarks of her kind relative. The sun had set an hour
when the white walls of his house appeared in the distance, and
as they approached nearer, it was evident from the lights and
laughter within, that the occasion with the inmates was an unu-
sually joyous one.
At the sound of footsteps in the hall, Kate came hurriedly
forth to communicate the intelligence of the arrival of a friend,
" Mr. Sully Dinsmore, a young author of rising eminence, and
a man whose acquaintance was worth having" and she con-
tinued, as her father observed " glad to have you know him,
Charlotte" "Of course you will like to make some change iu
your toilet the dress you have on affects your complexion
shockingly."
Charlotte assented, not knowing how she was to improve her
260 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
appearance, inasmuch as she then wore the best clothes sh
possessed.
Once in the dressing room, she threw indignantly aside what
appeared to her but borrowed finery, and gave way to such
a passion of tears as never before had dimmed her beautiful
eyes.
She was disturbed at length by a light tap at the door, fol-
lowed by an inquiry of her uncle whether she were not ready
to go below. " Thank you, I do n't wish to go," she replied,
with as much steadiness of voice as she could command ; but
her sorrow betrayed itself, and the kindly entreaties which
should have soothed, only aggravated it.
" Well, my dear," said the uncle, as if satisfied, seeing that
she was really unpresentable, " if you will come down and
make a cup of tea, you and I will have the pleasure of parta-
king of it by ourselves."
This little stratagem succeeded in part, and in the bustling
preparation of supper, the smile of resignation, if not of gaiety,
came back ; for Charlotte's heart was good and pure, and her
hands quick always in the service of another. The benevolent
uncle prudently forbore any reference to guest >r drawing-
room for the evening, and leading the conversation into un-
looked-for channels, only betrayed by unusual kindness of man-
ner a remembrance of the unhappy incidents of the day. A
practiced observer, however, might have detected the tenor of
his thoughts, in the liberal amount of cream and sugar twice
as much as she desired infused into the tea of the gentle niece,
whose pained heart throbbed sensitively, while her lips smiled
thanks.
IV.
The orange light of the coming sunrise was widening among
the eastern clouds, and the grass that had till then kept greea,
stood stiff in the white frost, when the quick step of Charlotte
broke rather than bent it down, for she had risen early to milk
the spotted heifer ere any one should be astir. She tripped
gracefully along, unconscious that earnest eyes were on her,
singing snatches of rural songs, and drinking the beauty of the
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 261
sunrise with the eyes of a poet. Half playfully, and half an-
grily, the heifer shook her horns of pearly green for such
untimely rousing from the warm grassy hollow in. which she
lay, but the white pine pail was soon brimming with milk.
The wind blew aside Charlotte's little hood, and with cheeks,
flushed with the air, and the exercise, gleaming through the
tangles of her black hair, she really presented a picture refresh-
ing to look on, especially to eyes wearied with artificial com
plexions and curls. As she arose the hues deepened, and she
drew the hood quickly forward for standing midway in the
crooked path leading from the door-yard to the cow-yard, and
shelling corn to a flock of chickens gathered about him, was
Mr. Sully Dinsmore a rather good looking, pleasant- faced
young man of thirty or thereabout. He bowed with graceful
ease as the girl approached, and followed his salutation by
some jest about the fowl proceeding in which he had been de-
tected, and at the same time took from her hand the pail with
an air and manner which seemed to say he had been used to
carrying milk-pails all his life there was nothing he liked so
well, in fact. Charlotte had no time for embarrassment defer-
ence was so blended with familiarity and beside, the gentle-
man apologized so sweetly and sadly for the informal intro-
duction he had given himself: the young lady looked so like
one he hesitated like his own dear wife and he continued
with a sigh, ' ; she sleeps now among the mountains." He was
silent a moment, and then went on as if forcibly rallying,
"This is a delightful way to live, is it not? We always in-
tended, poor Florence arid I, to come to the West, buy a farm,
and pass the evening of our days in quiet independence ; but,"
in a more subdued tone, " I had never money enough till dear
Florence died, and since that 1 have cared little about my way
of life little about life at all."
Charlotte's sympathies were aroused. Poor man, his cheek
d:i look pale, and doubtless it was to dissipate his grief that
he was there: and with simple earnestness she expressed a
hope, that the bright hills and broad forests of the West might
restore something of the old healthiness of feeling i.n his heart
His thanks were given with the tone and manner of cue sui
262 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
cerely grateful ; the gay worldlings, he said, with whom he
had been fated mostly to mingle, could not appreciate his
feelings. All this required much less time than 1 have taken
to record it, for the gentleman made the most of the brief
walk.
At the door Captain Bailey met them, and with a look of
mingled surprise and curiosity, was beginning a formal present-
ation, when Mr. Dinsmore assured him such ceremony was
quite unnecessary each had recognized a friend in the other,
he said, and they were already progressing toward very inti-
mate relations, No sooner had Charlotte disappeared, with
her pail and strainer, than, abruptly changing tone and manner,
he exclaimed, " Dev'lish pretty girl I hope she remains here
as long as I do !"
The Captain, who was displeased, affected ignorance of what
had been said, and bent his steps in rather a hurried way
toward the barn.
"Propose to fodder the stock, eh?" called out Mr. Dins-
more : "allow me to join you just the business 1 was brought
up to do." And coming forward, he linked his arm through
that of the stout Captain, and brought him to a sudden stand-
still, saving, wit.h the delightful enthusiasm of a voyager come
to the beautiful shore of a new country, " What a w nderful
scene forest and meadow, and orchards and wheat-fields! why,
Captain, you are a rich man ; if I owned this place I should n't
want anything beside no other place half so good about here,
I suppose? in fact, it seems to me, in all rny travels, I never
saw such a farm just enough of it let's see, what's its extent?
Yes, I thought you must have just about that much; and, if 1
had never seen it, I could have sworn it was the best farm in
the country, because I know the soundness of your judgment,
you see !"
The Captain drew himself up, and surveyed the prospect
more proudly than he had done before, saying he ou^ht to
know something of good hind, and favorable localities he had
seen something of the world.
'' Why," answered Mr. Sully Dinsmore, as though his host
had not dne half justice to himself, " I guess there is not much
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 63
of the world worth seeing that you have not seen ; you have
been a great traveler, Captain ; and you know what you- see,
too," he added in a tone acceptably insinuating.
"Yes, yes, that is true: few men know better what they
see than Captain Bailey," and he began pointing out the vari-
ous excellencies and attractions of his place which the youwg
man did not seem to have observed.
"No wonder," Mr. Dinsmore proceeded, "my vision was too
much dazzled to take all in at once ; you must remember, I am
only used to rugged hills and bleak rocks, where the farmers
fasten the grain down with stones, lest being indignant at the
poor soil, it should scrabble out, you see." This word was
coined with special reference to the Captain, who sometimes
found himself reduced to such necessities. An approving peal
of laughter rewarded his pains, and he repeated it, " Yes, the
grain would actually scrabble out but for the stones ; so you
see it's natural my eyes failed to perceive all those waves of
beauty and plenty." Where he saw the waves referred to,
only himself could have told, for the stubble land looked bleak
enough, and the November woods dark and withered to dreari-
ness. " Well, Captain," he said at last, as though the scene
were a continual delight to his eyes, " it's of no use I could
stand gazing all day so let us fodder those fine cattle of
yours."
With good will he entered upon the work seizing bundles
of oats and corn-blades, and dusty hay, regardless of broad-
cloths and linen; now patting the neck of some clumsy-horned,
long-legged steer, calling to the Captain to know if he were not
of the full blood; and now, as he scattered the bushel of oats
among the little flock of thin and dir.',y sheep, inquiring, with
the deepest interest apparently, if they were not something su-
perior to the southdowns or merinos for the wool was as fins
as could be.
The "chores" completed, they returned to the house, but
Mr. Dinsmore found so many things to admire by the way that
their progress was slow; now he paused at the gateway to re-
mark what nice strong posts they were he believed they were
of cedar ; and now he turned in admiration of the smoke-housa
264 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
a ruinous and exceedingly diminutive building of bricks, oi
which the walls were overgrown with moss, the roof sunken,
and the door off its hinges : they seemed to him about the best
bricks he ever saw moss would n't gather over them if they
were not solid as a rock " what a pleasing effect it has,'*
he said.
"A little out of repair," said the Captain, "and too small
too small ! I think of enlarging," and he attempted to urge
his companion forward.
" But," interposed the guest, still gazing at the smoke-house,
" that is one of your few errors of judgment: 1 would n't have
it an inch bigger, nor an inch less ; and besides, the moss \a
prettier than any paint."
" I must put up the door, at least," interrupted the Captain.
"Ay, no sir, let me advise you to the contrary. Governor
Patterson, of New Jersey, smokes all his meat, and has for
twenty years, in a house without a door it makes the flavor
finer I thought it was built so on purpose if ever I have a
farm I should make your smoke-house a model."
This morning all the household tasks had fallen on Charlotte.
"She went to bed early," said the cousins, "and can afford to
get up early besides, she has no toilet to make, as we have."
But though they gave her the trouble of delaying the break-
fast, after she had prepared it, Charlotte was amply repaid for
all, in the praises bestowed on her coffee and toast by Mr. Sully
Pinsmore. Her uncle, too, said she had never looked so pret-
ty, that her hair was arranged in most becoming style, and that
her dress suited her complexion.
" Really, Lotty, I am growing jealous," said Kate, tossing
her head in a way meant to be at once irresistibly captivating,
and patronizing.
Kate had never said " Lotty" before, but seeing that Mr.
Dinsmore was not shocked with the rural cousin, she thought it
politic to make the most of her, and from that moment glided
int<> the most loving behavior. Lotty was a dear little crea-
ture, in her way, quite pretty and she was such a house-
keeper ! Finally, it was concluded to make a " virtue of neces-
sity," and acknowledge that they were learning to keep house
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 28
themsehes in truth, they thought it fine fun, and preferred
to have as few troublesome servants about as possible.
So a few days glided swiftly and pleasantly to Charlotte,
notwithstanding that most of the household labor? all its
drudgery devolved on her. What cared she for this, while
the sunrise of a paradisal morning was glorifying the worjd.
Kate and Sally offered their assistance in making the new dress,
and contrived various little articles, which they said would re-
lieve the high colors, and have a stylish effect. These arts, to
the simple-minded country girl, were altogether novel at
home she had never heard of' becoming dress." She, as well
as all the girls whom she knew, had been in the habit of going
to town once or twice a year, when the butter brought the best
price, or when a load of hay or a cow was sold, and purchasing
a dress, bonnet, &c., without regard to color or fashion. A
new thing was supposed to look well, and to their unpractised
eyes always did look well.
"Come here, Lotty," said Kate, one evening, surveying her
cousiu, as she hooked the accustomed old black silk. ''Just
slip off that old-womanish thing," she continued, as Charlotte
approached and ere the young girl was aware, the silk dress
that had been regarded with so much reverence was deprived
of both its sleeves. " Oh mercy ! what will mother say T' was
her h'rst exclamation ; but Kate, was in no wise affected by the
amputation she had effected, and coolly surveying her work ?
said " Yes, you look a thousand dollars better." And she
continued, as Charlotte was pinning on the large cape she had
been used to wear, "Have you the rheumatism in the snoul-
ders, or anything of that sort, or why do you wrap up like a
grandmother at a woods-meeting?"
Charlotte could only say, "Just because" it was, however,
that she desired to conceal as much of her bare arms as possi-
ble ; and it was not without many entreaties and persuasions
that she was induced to appear with arms uncovered and a sim-
ple white frill about her neck.
" What a pity," said the cousins, as they made up the red
calico, " that she had not consulted us, and spent her mouey
12
J6 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
t'r.e otHr day for ruffles and ribbons instead of this fantastic,
thing !"
They rega-ded her in a half-pitying, half friendly light, and,
perhaps, under the circumstances, did the best they could ; foi
though Charlotte had many of the instincts of refinement, she
had been accustomed to a rude way of living, and a first con-
tact with educated society will not rub off the crust of rusticity
which has been years in gathering.
" I have been too sensitive," thought Charlotte, or she tried
to think so, and if her heart ever throbbed wildly against some
delicate insinuation o.v implied rebuke, she crushed it down
again, blaming her own awkwardness and ignorance rather than
the fine relations who had stood pre-ejuinent in her childish
imagination. She might not so readily have reconciled herself
to the many mortifications she endured, but for the sustaining
influence of Mr. Dinsmore's smiles and encouraging words.
Ever ready to praise, and with never a word of blame, he
would say to the other ladies, "you are looking shocking to-
night," and they could afford to bear it they never did look
so ; but whatever Charlotte wore was in exquisite taste at
least he said so. And yet Mr. Dinsmore was not really and
at heart a hypocrite, except indeed in the continued and osten-
tatious display of private griefs. Constitutionally, he was a
flatterer, so that he could not pass the veriest mendicant with-
out pausing to say, "Really, you areas fine a looking old beg-
gar-man as I have met this many a day !" Whether he was
disinterested and desired only to confer pleasure upon others,
or whether he wished to win hearts to himself, I know not I
only know, no opportunity of speaking gracious words ever
escaped him.
However or whatever this disposition was, Charlotte inter-
preted all his speeches kindly. "She had eyes only for what
was good," he said, and the sombre shadow of affliction in
which he stood, certainly gave him an appearance of sincerity.
When the Misses Bailey were thrown, or rather when they
threw themselves in his way, he said his delight could not be
expressed they seemed to have the air of the mountain maids
about them that made him feel at home in their presence
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 26V
But when he praised one, generally, he disparaged another, and
he not unfrequently said on these occasions, " I have been sac-
rificing an hour to that country cousin of yours," or, "1 have
been benevolently engaged," pointing toward Charlotte. Then
came exchanges of smiles and glances, which seemed to say,
"We understand each other perfectly and nobody else under-
stands us." One day, while thus engaged in playing the agree-
able, Charlotte having finished her dish-washing, came in, her
hands red and shining from the suds. Mr. Dinstnore smiled,
and, with meaning, added, " Do you remember where Eliza-
beth tells some clodhopper, the reputed husband of Amy
Ilobsart, 1 think, that his boots well nigh overcame my Lord
of Leicester's perfumery F' and in the burst of laughter which
followed, the diplomatist rose and joined the unsuspecting girl,
saying, as he seated himself beside her, and playfully took two
of her fingers in his, " You have been using yellow soap, and
the fragrance attracted me at once there is no perfume J like
half so well. Why, you might spend hundreds of dollars for
essential oils, and nice extracts, and after all, if I could get it, I
would prefer the aroma of common yellow soap it's better
than that of violets."
"J have been talking to those frivolous girls." he continued,
after a moment, and with the manner of one who had been act-
ing a part and was really glad to be himself again : " rather
pretty," in a soliloquising sort of way, "but their beauty is not
of the fresh, healthful style I admire."
" 1 thought," said Charlotte, half pettishly, " you admired them
very much !"
" Yes, as I would a butterfly," he said, "but they have not
the thrifty and industrious habits that could ever win my seri-
ous regard my love; 1 ' and his earnest tone and admiring look
were more flattering than the meaning of his words. Charlotte
crushed her handkerchief with one hand and smoothed her
heavy black hair with the other, to conceal the red burning of
her cheek. Mr. Dinsmore continued, " Yes, I have been think-
ing since I came here, that this is the best way in the world
to obtain health and happiness this rural way of life, I mean.
Just see what a glorious scene presents itself!" and he drew th
25S OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
young girl to the recess of a window, and talked of the cattle
and sheep, the meadow and woodland, with the enthusiasm oi
A devoted practical fanner.
"Of course," said Charlotte, " my predilections are all in la
vor of the habits to which I have been used."
" Another proof of your genuine good sense," and Mr. Dins-
more folded close both the little red hands of Charlotte within
his own soft white ones, but with less of gallantry than sincere
appreciation of her sweet simplicity and domestic excellencies.
And he presently went on to say, that if he ever found any
happiness again, it must be with some such dear angel as her-
self, and in the healthful, inspiriting occupation of a farmer.
True, he did not say in so many simple words, " I should like
to marry you, Charlotte," but the nameless things words can-
not interpret, said it very plainly to the uusophisticated, sim
pie-minded, true hearted Charlotte. Poor man, he seemed to
her so melancholy, so shut out from sympathy, it was almost
a duty to lighten the weary load that oppressed him.
But 1 cannot record all the sentiment mingled in the recess
of that window. I am ignorant of some particulars ; and if I
were not, such things are interesting only to lovers. But I
know a shadow swept suddenly across the sweetest light that
for Charlotte had ever brightened the world. The window, be-
side which these lovers sat, if we may call them lovers, over-
looked the highway for half a mile or more ; and as they sat
there it chanced that a funeral procession came winding through
the dust and under the windy trees far down the hill. Jc was
preceded by no hearse or other special carriage for the dead,
for in country places the coffin is usually placed in an open
wagon, and beneath a sheet, carried to the, grave-yard. So,
from their elevated position, they could see, far off, the white
shape in the bottom of the wagon. Mr. Dinsmore's attentions
became suddenly abstracted from the lady beside him, and the
painful consciousness of bereavement, from which he had almost
escaped, weighed on him with tenfold violence. " Hush, hush,"
he said, in subdued and reproachful accents, as she made at-
tempts to talk of something besides shrouds. " Florence," he
continued, burying his face in his hands, and as though swept
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 26*
by a sudden passion from the consciousness of a living pre-
sence, " why was I spared when you were taken, and why am
I not permitted to go voluntarily" he abruptly broke off the
sentence, and, rising, rushed from the house. Charlotte arose,
too, her heart troubled and trembling, and followed him with
her eyes, as he staggered blindly forward to obtain a nearer
view of the procession, every now and then raising himself on
tiptoe, that he might see the coffin more distinctly.
In the suburbs of the city, and adjoining the grounds of Cap-
tain Bailey, lay the old grave-yard termed the Potter's Field,
and across the sloping stubble land, toward this desolate place,
Charlotte bent her steps, and seated on the roots of a blasted
tree, on a hill-side, waited for the procession. Gloomy enough
was the scene, not relieved by one human figure, as perhaps
she had hoped to find it. To the South hung clouds of smoke
over crowded walls, with here and there white spires shooting
upward, and in one opening among the withered trees, she
caught a glimpse of the Ohio, and over all and through all
sounded the din of busy multitudes. In the opposite direction
were scattered farm-houses, and meadows, and orchards, with
sheep grazing and cattle pasturing, and blue -cheerful columns
of smoke drifted and lifted on the wind. And just at her feet,
and dividing the two pictures, lay this strip of desolated and
desecrated ground, the Potter's Field. It was inclosed by no
fence, and troops of pigs and cows eked out a scanty sustenance
about the place. One of these starved creatures, having one
horn dangling loosely about her ear in consequence of some
recent quarrel about the scanty grass perhaps drew slowly
toward the hollow nearest the place where Charlotte sat, and
drank from a little grave which seemed to have been recently
opened. The soil was marshy so much so that the slightest
pit soon filled with water. The higher ground was thickly fur-
rowed with rows of graves, and two or three, beside this open
one, had been made in the very bottom of the hollow. Nearer
and nearer came the funeral train. It consisted of but few pel
BODS niell , and women, and children the last looking feat
fully and wonderingly about, as led by the hands of their
parents they trod the narrow path between the long lines of
270 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD).
mounds. Forward walked a strong stalwart middle-aged man,
bearing in his arms the coffin that of a little child ; and Char-
lotte shuddered to think of the cold damp bed which was wait-
ing for it. There seemed to be no clergyman in attendance ; and
without hymn or prayer, the body that had slept always in its
mother's arms till now, was laid in the earth, and in the obscurest
and lonesomesc corner of the lonesomest of all burial places, left
alone. Closer than the rest, even pressing to the edge of the
grave, was a pale woman, whose eyes looked down more ear-
nestly than the eyes of the others ; and that it was, and not
the black ribbon crossed plainly about the straw bonnet
which indicated the mother. Hard by, but not so near the
grave, stood a man holding in his arms a child of some two
years, very tightly, as though the grave should not get that;
and once he put his hand to his eyes ; but he turned away be-
fore the woman, and as he did so, kissed the cheek of the little
child in his arms she thought only of the dead.
The sun sunk lower and lower, and wa% gone ; the windy
evening came dimly out of the woods, shaking the trees and
rustling the long grass; the last lengths of light drew them-
selves from the little damp heap, and presently the small grey
headstones were lost from view. And, scarcely disturbing the
stillness, the funeral people returned to their several homes
for the way was dusty and they moved slowly almost as
slowly as they came. There were no songs of birds in the twi-
light not even a hum of insects; the first were gone, and the
last, or such of them as still lived, were crept under fallen
leaves, and were quietly drowsing into nothingness. No snakes
slipt noiselessly along the dust-path, hollowing thrir slow ways.
They too were gone some dropping into the frosty cracks
of the ground, and others, pressed flat, lay coiled under decay-
ing logs and loose stones. So, at such a time and in such a
place, the poor little baby was left alone, and the parents went
to their darkened cottage, the mother to try to smile upon the
child that was left, while her eyes are tearful and she sees only
the vacant cradle, and the father to make the fire warm and
cheerful, and essay with soft words to win the heavy-hearted
wife from their common sortow. They are poor, and have no
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 271
time to sit mourning, and as the mother prepares the scanty
meal, the father will deal out to the impatient cows hay and
corn, more liberally than his garners can well afford, for to-night
he feels like doing good to everything.
Something in this way ran the thoughts of Charlotte, as
slowly and sadly she retraced her steps, trying to make herself
believe she would have felt no less lonely at any other time if
she had witnessed so mournful a scene. And in part she
deceived herself: not quite, however, for her eyes were wan-
dering searchingly from side to side of the path, and now and
then wistfully back, though she could scarcely distinguish the
patches of fading fennel from the thick mounds of clay. Per-
haps she fancied Mr. Sully Dinsmore still lingered among the
shadows to muse of the dead.
Nothing like justice can here be done to the variously accom-
plished Sully Dinsmore. Charlotte requires no elaborate
painting ; a young and pretty country girl with a he?rt,
except in its credulity, like most other human hearts, yearning
and hopeful as yet she had distilled from no keen disappoint-
ment a bitter wisdom. Little joys and sorrows made up the
past; her present seemed portentous of great events.
" Where is Kate?" she asked one day, in the hope of learn-
ing what she did not dare to ask; and Sally replied in a way
that she meant to be kindly, and certainly thought to be wise,
by saying, "She is in some recess, I suppose, comforting poor
Mr. Dinsmore, who seems to distribute his attentions most
liberally. It was only this morning," she added, " that against
a lament for the dead Florence, he patched the story of his love
for me."
Charlotte joined in the laugh, but with an ill grace, and still
more reluctantly followed when Sally Jed the way toward the
absentees, saying in a whisper, " Let us reconnoitre all strata-
gems fair in war, you know."
But whether the stratagem was fair or not, it failed of the
success which Sally had expected, for they no sooner came
within hearing of voices than Mr. Dinsmore was heard descant-
ing in a half melancholy, half enthusiastic tone, of the superi-
ority of all western products. "Why, Captain Bailey," said
i*72 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
"ha, speaking more earnestly than before, " I would not live eas*
of the mountains for anything I can think of not for hardly
anything in the world !" Such childish simplicity of speech
made it difficult to think him insincere; and Charlotte, at least
d:'d not, but was the more confirmed in her previous notions,
*&t he was a weary, broken-hearted man, sick of the world
.nd mining for some solitude, " with one sweet spirit for hie
minister." . : -
Whether Sally's good intentions sprang from envy and jeal-
ousy, it might be difficult to decide; but Charlotte attributed
only these feelings to her, as she petulantly turned away with
the exclamation " Pshaw ! Kate has left him, and he is trying
to make father believe the moon is made of green cheese !"
From that day the cousins began to be more and more
apart ; the slight disposition to please and be pleased, which
had on both sides been struggling for an existence, died, and
did not revive again.
it was perhaps a week after this little scene, and in the
mean time Mr. Dinsmore had been no unsuccessful wooer; in
truth, Charlotte began to feel a regret that she had not selected
a white instead of a red dress ; all the world looked brighter
to her than it had ever done before, dreary as the season was.
The distance between the cousins and herself widened every
day ; but what cared she for this, so long as Mr. Dinsmore
said they were envious, selfish, frivolous, and unable to appre-
ciate her. I cannot tell what sweet visions came to her heart;
but whatever they were, she found converse with them pleas-
anter than friends pleasanter than the most honeyed rhymes
poet ever syllabled. And so she kept much alone, busy with
dreams only dreams.
V.
It was one of the mildest and loveliest of all the days that
make our western autumns so beautiful. The meadow sides,
indeed, were brown and flowerless ; the lush weeds of summer
lopped down, black and wilted, along the white dry dust of
the roadside; the yellow mossy hearts of the fennel were faded
tfry; the long, shriveled iron-weeds had given their red bushy
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 278
tops for a thin greyish down, and the trees had lost their sum-
mer garments ; still, the day was lovely, and all its beauties
had commended themselves with an unwonted degree of accu-
racy to the eyes of Charlotte Mr. Dinsrnore had asked her to
join him in an autumn ramble and search for the last hardy
dowers. All the morning she was singing to herself,
" Meet me by moonlight alone,
Aud then I will tell thee a tale."
It had been stipulated by Mr. Dinsmore, " so as not to excite
observation," he said, that they should leave the house sepa-
rately, and meet at an appointed place, secure from observa-
tion. Why a ramble in search of flowers should be clandestine,
the young lady did not pause to inquire, but she went fo.'th 'it
the time appointed, with a cheek bright almost as the .^lieo
she wore.
On the grassy slope of a hollow that ran in one direction
through a strip of partly cleared woodland, and in the other
toward an old orchard of low heavy-topped trees, she seated
herself, fronting the sun, which was not shining, but seemed
only a soft yellow spot in the thick haze that covered all the
sky. A child might have looked on it, for scarcely had it
more brightness than the moon. The air was soft and loving,
as though the autumn was wooing back the summer. The
grass was sprouting through the stubble, and only the cU-ur
blue sky was wanting to make the time spring-like, and a bird
or two to sing of" April purposes." It was full May-time in
the heart of Charlotte, and for a time, no bird could sing more
gaily than she, as she sat arranging and disarranging the srar-
let buds she had twined among her hair; now placing them on
one side, now on the other : now stripping off a leaf or two,
*nd now adding a bud or blades of grass.
So an hour was wiled away ; but though it seemed long,
Charlotte thought perhaps it was not an hour after all ; it could
not be, or surely Mr. Dinsmore would have joined her. The
day was very still, and she knew the time seemed longer when
there were no noises. And yet when she became aware of
sounds, for a cider-mill was creaking and grating in the edge
12'
274 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
of the orchard, they seemed only to make the hours more lon^
and lonesome.
Round and round moved the horse, but she could not hear
the crushing and grinding of the apples only the creaking of
the mill. Two or three little boys were there, whistling and
hopping about now riding the horse, and now bending over
the tub and imbibing cider with a straw. An old man was
moving briskly among bundles and barrels, more from a habit
of industry, it seemed, than because there was anything to do.
But, try as she would, Charlotte could not interest herself in
their movements. An uneasy sensation oppressed her she
could not deceive herself any longer it was time, and long
past the time appointed. At first she looked back on the waj>
she had come, long and earnestly; then she arose and walked
backward and forward in the path, with a quick step at first,
then more irresolutely and slowly. The yellow spot in the
clouds had sunken very low and was widening and deepening
into orange, when she resumed the old seat, folded her hands
listlessly in her lap, and looked toward the cider-mill. The
creaking was still, the horses harnessed, and barrels, and bun-
dles of straw, and boys, all in the wagon. The busy farmer
was making his last round, to be sure that nothing was amiss,
and this done he climbed before the barrels and bundles and
boys, cracked his whip, and drove away toward the orange
light in the clouds. Mr. Dinsmore was not coming of that
she was confident, and anger, mortification, and disappoint
ment, all mingled in her bosom, producing a degree of misery
she had never before experienced.
Not till night had spread one dull leaden color all over the
sky, did she turn her steps homeward, in her thoughts bitterly
revolving all Mr. Dinsmore had said, and the much more he
had suggested. And, as she thus walked, a warm bright light
dried up the tears, and she quickened her step she had fallen
back on that last weakness some unforeseen, perhaps terrible
event, had detained him, and all the reproaches she had framed
were turned upon herself; she had harshly blamed him, when
it was possible, even probable, that he could not come. The
world was full of accidents, dangers, and deaths some of these
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 27S
might have overtaken him, and he perhaps had been watching
as anxiously fur her as she for him. At this thought she quick-
ened her steps, and was soon at the house. The parlor was
but dimly lighted, and, with a trembling and anxious heart, she
entered, and recognizing Mr. Dinsmore in one of the recesses
of the windows, she obeyed the first impulse, hurried toward
him, and parting the heavy and obscuring draperies, s>aid, in
an earnest whisper, ' Why did you not come ?"
" Come where 1" he replied, indolently ; and added, in a
moment, "Ay, yes, really, I forgot it."
A half sigh reached her, and turning, she became aware that
a young and pretty lady occupied the corner of the window
opposite. No further explanation was needed.
With feelings never known before, pent in her heart, Char-
lotte sought the chamber in which she was used to sleep the
lamp was faintly burning, and the bright carpet and the snowy
counterpane and curtains, and low cushioned seats, looked very
comfortable ; and as Charlotte contrasted all with the homely
garret in which she had slept at home, the contrast made it
luxury.
In her heart, she wished she had never slept any where else
but under the naked rafters of her father's house. " 1 should
have known better than to come," she thought; " it is no wonder
they think the woods the best place for me." Now, no one
had said this, but she attributed it and many such thoughts to
her rich friends, as she called them, and then set herself as
resentfully against tnem as though they had said they despise 1
her.
Her eyes turned toward the night; she was sitting very still,
with all bitter and resentful and sorrowful feelings running
through her heart, when a soft tap on the door summoned her
to answer. With a haughty step and repellant manner she
went forward ;' and when, opening the door, she saw before
her the pleasant-faced little lady she had seen in the window,
below, she said, very coldly, "You have mistaken the apart-
ment, I think," and was turning away, when the intruder
eagerly but artlessly caught up both her hands, saying, in a
tone of mingled sweetness and heartiness, " No, I am not mis-
576 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
taken ; I know you, if you do not know rne I could not wait
for a formal introduction, but commissioned myself to bring
you down to tea. My name," she added, " is Louise Louise
Herbert."
Charlotte bowed stiffly, and saying. "You are very obliging,
but I do n't want any tea," closed the door abruptly, and
resumed her old seat, looking out into the night as before.
" I suppose it was mere curiosity that brought her here,"
she said, by way of justifying her rudeness; "of course, she
could feel no interest in me." And further, she even tried to
approve of herself by saying she always hated pretence, and
for a fine lady like Miss Herbert, who had evidently been
accustomed to all the refinements of wealth, to affect any liking
for a poor ignorant country girl, as she chose to call herself,
was absurd. In truth, she was glad she had shown independ-
ence at least, and let the proud creature know she would not
cringe because of her silk dress, or white hands, or pretty face.
She did n't want anything of her she could live without her,
and she would. And rising and pacing the room, she made
what she thought a very wise and dignified resolve. When
they were all asleep she would tie in a bundle what few things
she had, and walk home; she would not ask her uncle to take
her she would not tell him she was going he might find it
out the best way he could. This decision made, she undressed
and went to bed, as usual, and tried to compose herself to
sleep by thinking that she was about as ugly and ill-bred, and
unfortunate in every way, as she could be; that everybody
disliked and despised her, and that all who were connected with
her were ashamed of her. Nor was this any wonder she was
ashamed of herself. There was one thing she could do, never-
theless, and that she would do go back and remain where she
belonged. Thus she lay tossing and tumbling, and frightening
the drowsy god quite from the neighborhood of her pillow,
when Kate entered, accompanied by the agreeable looking little
woman, who, being introduced, begged in a jocular way, that
she would afford her sleeping-room for only one night. "I
could not," she added very sweetly, "give my friends the
CHARLOTTE RYAN. 277
trouble of making an extra bed, if you would allow me to
share yours."
Charlotte answered, coldly and concisely, that she was ready
to do anything to oblige, and placing herself close against the
wall, buried her face in the pillow, and lay stiff and straight
and stUl. But Miss Herbert, singularly oblivious of the young
woman's uncivil behavior, prepared fur sleep,
" And lay down in her loveliness."
" How cold you are," she said, creeping close to her com-
panion, and putting her arm about her. Charlotte said nothing,
and gave a hitch, which she meant to be from, but, somehow,
it was toward the little woman. " Oh, you are quite in a
chill," she added, giving her an embrace, and in a moment sirs
had hopped from the bed, and in her clean, white, night dress,
was fluttering out of the room.
" I never had such a night-gown," thought Charlotte, " with
its ruffles and lace trimming I never had any at all," and she
resumed her old position, which, however, she had scanty
gained, when the guest came fluttering back, and folding off the
counterpane, wrapt, as though she were a baby, her own nicely
warmed woollen petticoat about her feet, and having tucked
the clothing down, slipt under it and nestled Charlotte in her
arms, as before, saying, "There, is n't that better 1 ?"
"Yes thank you," and her voice trembled, as she yielded
to this determined kindness.
"Another night we must have an additional blanket," said
the lady ; " that is, if I succeed in keeping you from freezing
to-night," and pressing the chilly hands of Charlotte dose in
her bosom, she fell asleep. And Charlotte, thinking she would
be at home the next night, fell asleep too, and woke not till
along the counterpane ran the shadows of the red clouds of
morning.
But I am lingering, and must hasten to say, that Louise
Herbert was one of the most lovable, generous, and excellent
of women ; that she had been accustomed to affluence was
true, and that she could not know the feelings of Charlotte,
who had been born and bred in comparative poverty, was not
278 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
her fault; from her position in life, she had naturally fallei*
into certain agreeing habits and ways of thinking, but her sou*
was large, her heart warm, and her apprehensions quick ; and
when she saw Charlotte, and heard the trembling inquiry, and
the answer of indifference, she read the litlle history, which to
the young girl was so much, and appreciating, so far as sie
might, her sorrows, determined to win her love; for at once
her heart went out toward her for she was unsuspicious and
unhesitating, always ready to find something good in every one.
Even Charlotte found it impossible not to love her. She
did n't know why, but she could get on a stool at her feet, lay
her head on her lap, and forget that Louise was not as poor
and humble as herself; or, if she remembered it, the silks and
plumes and jewelry worn by her, did n't make her envious or
jealous- -it gave her pleasure to see Louise look pretty.
Mr. Dinsmore, after some vain attempts to coquette and
flirt with Miss Herbert, who had too much tact, or was too
indifferent to him, to pay much regard to his overtures,
departed rather abruptly, merely sending his adieus to Char-
lotte, who was engaged in the kitchen at the time, and who
had been in the shade since the coming of Miss Herbert.
And after a month of eating and sleeping, talking and laugh-
ing, baking- and making and- mending, Louise was joined by
her party, who had left her with her friends, the Baileys, while
they continued a ruralizing tour through the West, and Char-
lotte's heart grew desolate at the thought of separation from
her. But such a misfortune was not yet to be ; for before
the departure of the young lady, she persuaded the parents of
Charlotte (who could not help liking, though they regarded her
very much as they would a being from another sphere) to
allow their daughter to accompany her home.
With a heart full of curious joy, but with tears in her eyes.
Charlotte took leave of the old home that she had so despised,
and yet loved so well.
CHARLOTTE RYAN. fl7
VI.
A yeai or two afterwards, changes and chances brought me
for a moment within the circle in which she moved as the
admired star. The rooms were brilUant with lights and flow-
ers, and gaiety and beauty, and intellect; and the lately shrink-
ing country girl was the cynosure of all eyes the most envied,
the most dreaded, the most admired, the most loved.
When my attention was drawn first toward her, there were
some voices that had sounded at least through the length and
breadth of their own country, softened to the most dulcet of
tones, for her sake ; and she seemed to listen indifferently, ac
though her thoughts were otherwhere.
1 naturally recalled the humble life she had led my walk
to her house along the autumn woods the letter which had
been the key opening a new life to her and while I was th^s
musing, I heard a voice which seemed not altogether unfamiliar
so low, and soft, and oily, " Really, Miss Herbert, I was
never so proud as to-night that you should have remembered
me on such an occasion as this ! I cannot express the honor I
feel, the obligations you have placed me under."
And then, as if constrained to throw aside all formality, and
express himself with simple sincerity, he continued " Why,
how in the world did you get all these great folks together ! I
don't believe there is a house in the United States, except
yours, that ever held at once so many celebrities."
fit-fore my eye fell on him, I recognized Mr. Dinsmore, and
observed him with increasing interest as he made his way to
Miss Ryan, who appeared not to see him, till having pushed
and elbowed his way, he addressed her with the familiarity of
an old and intimate friend, and as though he were not on)y
delighted himself, but felt assured that she must be much more
BO. But she hesitated looked at him inquiringly and seemed
to say by her manner, as plainly as possible, " What impudent
fellow are you and what do you want ?"
" Surely, you remember meeting with me," the gentleman
said, a little discomfited, but in his most insinuating tone.
" When where?" she asked, as if she would remember him
if she could.
280 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
" Don't you remember," he said, " a month with Sulle/
Dinsmore at Captain Bailey's?"
" Ah, yes," she replied, quoting his own words on a former
occasion ; " Really, I had forgotten it."
He shrunk a head and shoulders in stature, and slipt asid
like a detected dog ; and after one or two ineffectual attempts
to rally, took leave in modest and becoming silence.
An hour afterward we sat alone Charlotte and I in the
dim corner of a withdrawing room; and as I was congratulating
her on her new position, especially on the beauty of her appear
ance that night, she buried her face in my lap, and burst into
tears ; and when I tried to soothe her, but wept the more. At
length, lifting herself up, and drying her eyes, she said : " What
would mother think, if she saw me here, and thus ?" And she
scanned her gay dress, as though it were something neither
right nor proper for her to wear. "And dear little Willie and
sturdy Jonathan," she continued : " I suppose they sleep in
their little narrow bed under the rafters yet, and I I would
I not feel more shame than joy if they were to come in here
to-night ! Oh, I wish I had staid at hon^e and helped mother
spin, and read the sermon to father when the weekly paper
came. His hair is getting white, isn't it 1 ?" she asked, pulling
the flowers out of her own, and throwing them on the ground.
My wish was fulfilled Charlotte had attained the position
I had thought her so fitted to adorn ; but was she happier 1
In the little gain was there not much loss the fresh young
feeling, the capacity to enjoy, the hope, the heart, which, once
gone, never come back.
I cannot trace her biography all out: since that night
of triumph and defeat, our paths have never crossed each
THE
THE SUICIDE.
WHAT a great thing it is to live a true life true to ourselves,
true to God ! And I am not sure but that the one truth always
includes the other. Here and there, treading along the dusty by-
paths and climbing over the barren heaths of life, we see,
elevating our faith in humanity, and throwing about our own
weak resolves the excellent beauty of a good example, men
and women whose lives are a continual praise and prayer.
As I look back on the way I have come, I see along the dark-
ness many faces shining with the glory and beauty which is
away above and beyond this world. Oh, Thou, whose best name
is Love, forgive me, that I have seen, and yet been so little
instructed ; that I have heard, and yet trodden so falteringly !
A little way from the centre of Clovernook stands a lone-
some old house, supposed to be haunted. I know not as to
that ; but if unquiet spirits are ever permitted, as some re-
spite of their ill, to slip from the shroud, or the deeper dark-
ness that is below the shroud, I remember no place which
would seem a more fitting habitation for them. Spiders have
made nests in the bushes, and nettles have covered up the
grass ; the rose-vines are half living and half dead, half clinging
to the moss on the wall, and half choked together on the ground ,
the wind, blowing as it listeth, has from time to time lopped
away the branches of the trees, and, with no hand to remove
them, they remain dangling earthward like skeletons : among
their dr} forks are the nests of birds that would not build near
any other house.
And yet the house is not without an inhabitant ; sometimes
through the cracked panes you may see the sweet face of a
little child, looking like a flower leaning from some cranny to-
ward the light j for whole hours together you may see it, the
282 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
pale cheeks, and the melancholy eyes, and the hair, black a*
night, giving to the child's face a thoughtful maturity of ex-
pression quite beyond her years. You would feel, I think, that
a strange if not a fearful history was involved in that little
iife ; it seems as if you saw away down the depths of the stead-
fast eyes full fountains of tears. The dress of the little one is
simple, even rustic, and sometimes sadly utisuited to the season,
betraying that the careful hands of the mother have been folded
far away from its wants.
Oftenest when the twilight falls the child is at the window,
watching for the bats, as they turn blindly hither and thither,
or cling silently to the decaying trunks of giant trees ; and at
that hour sometimes, but never at any other, the hand of an
old man rests on the locks of the orphan, and the head bows
down as beneath a weight; the prattle which it has been making
to itself is still, and the light of laughter grows dim in the
drooped eyes turning from the eyes which look down upon it.
It is a very sad thing to see them thus together the baby
r>row as if shrinking consciously from the crown of gray hairs.
I know not how it was, but some invisible and living thing
seemed standing between them. Often, as I passed the place,
I have lingered and dreamed, till of the whole scene rny shut
eyes make pictures. I remember when the moonlight threw
less sombre shadows on the wall ; I remember when the grass
was cut smoothly from the edges of the walks, overgrown now
till but a narrow and irregular path is left ; and 1 remember
when among the flowers there was one fairer than they.
Poor Isabel ! the grass about her grave is not trodden down
by feet that cannot stay away ; and the low headstone is nam&
less, but beside it the blue thistle blooms and dies, summer
after summer ; for nature, at least, is never neglectful, and
never partial. The old man I have written of is her father ;
and small wonder it is that he is weary and broken-hearted, for
be can only say,
Two comforts yet are mine to keep
Betwixt her arid her faithless lover
Bright grass will spread a flowery cover,
And Isabel is well asleep.
THE SUICIDE. 2S>
Poor comfort enough for a desolate old man to keep about his
heart.
The smile of the little child who sits at his hearth cannot
shine into his heart ; or if it does, it will never thaw the chill
cast there by the death of the mother her loss by her more
than death.
It is only the old story.
On the mossy steps that come down among the lilacs she
used to sit, years ago, her pious father beside her, and as the
gray ashes gathered on the red embers of the sunset, she
" Lent to the rhyme of the poet
The music of her voice."
Then there came a time when another sat between the father
tnd daughter ; then she and the other, not the father, sat alone
sometimes late into the unfriendly night. And all this while
the roses were not so bright as the cheek of Isabel, nor the
birds so gay as her songs. Ah me, that the sparkle on the sur-
face of the fountain should ever hide the coil of the serpent at
the bottom !
The summer waned and faded, and the chill rains broke up
the flowers ; the insects crept under the falling leaves, and the
cattle stood all day near the stalls ; and Isabel, as the night
came down, lingered restless and anxious at the window, her
eyes aching as they gazed into vacancy. So the days came and
went, and the nights, darker, and darker, and darker, settled
down over the world. The maple forest along the hill was like
a ridge of gold against the bottom of the sky, and the oaks
came out of the sharp frosts as if dipped in blood, and plenty
and glory contended in the orchards and the cornfields ; but
Isabel did not sing as she had sung in other days. All her
household tasks were done as before, even more promptly and
perfectly, perhaps; but her step had lost its elasticity, and &a
you looked on her you thought that she also should sing
" My head ia like to rend, Willie,
My henrt is like to break
I 'in wi-uring off my feet, Willie,
I'm dying for your sake."
284 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
And here comes a dark chapter that I cannot write. Enough
that when the red fire-light shone through snow that drifted on
the pane, the house was very still the step and voice and
smile and blithe laugh of Isabel were gone, all and forever.
The grief that was in the father's heart spoke not in words
or sighs, but it consumed his spirit and whitened his hair. It
seemed as if remorse were gnawing his passage to the grave ;
for he had dealt hardly and harshly with his child ; and when
his dim eyes lost trace of her wanderings, visions of her shaped
themselves very darkly ; but he only listened to the winds, and
turned to the darkness for comfort, and not to the eyes or the
voice of another.
The world was the same, but the stars were swept out of
heaven. Wild blew the winds of the March morning, thawing
paths among the snow along the southern slopes, and nurturing
and wooing out of gloom the hardiest flowers ; the red-bird and
the black-bird whistled among the yet bare boughs, for the clouds
that rain down beauty had not yet traveled along the meadows ;
Winter was lingering in the lap of Spring. And the old home-
stead looked sad. The little brown-bird that had built in the
lilac bush, summer after summer, for successive years, twittered
'and chirped in melancholy sort about the old nest for a few-
days, now flitting undeterminedly hither and thither, picking
fine moss and shreds, and now dropping them again, and chanting
a note of sorrow ill-suited to the time and the work. With
the first rain the old nest was beaten down quite past repairing,
and after an unusually mournful crying, the beautiful favorite
disappeared. The very smoke of the chimney seemed to come
up from a hearth where there was no cheerfulness not drifting
off in graceful wreaths of blue, but black and heavy, hanging
on the hill-sides or settling to the ground. There was no step
about the flower-beds or in the garden, and no linen bleaching
white on the first grass.
The sunshine grows warmer, day by day, but the windows
of Isabel's chamber are fast shut, the fringe of the counterpane
is heavy with dust, and the pillow has been unprest for a long
while. Poor Isabel !
Sometimes the door opens, stealthily, as it were, and a gray.
THE SUICIDE. 285
headed man comes out, and sits down in the sun, or loovis
earnestly about, as though for something or for some one he
does not see. If he walks by the wheat-fields, the blast of the
mildew is all the same as their beauty, for the light in hig
old eyes is dim ; and his step falls heavy, as though it wsre vie*?
the last.
" Lingering he raised his latch at eve,
Though tired in heart and limb;
He loved no other place, and yet
Home was no home to his."
In all the world there is no soft voice to comfort him as he
goes chilled and wearied down into the grave. Why should
the waving harvest make him glad, or the spring rouse his pulses
to hope 1 All the beauty of this world, which God so pro-
nounced good, shines and blossoms in vain for that heart from
which the flowers of love have been beaten down till they have
no longer any life.
I said it was a March morning, that the winds were wild,
and that Isabel was gone wherefore and whither there were
busy and reproachful tongues enough to tell. She has heard
her father say. with less of sorrow than of indignant passion,
" I am childless in my old age, for thou art but as a thorn in
my flesh !" And from all kindness and all pity, through the
moonless midnight, her steps have gone drearily and wearily.
And each is alone father and child ; and only the light of
eternity can dry up the great sea that has come in between
them.
Midway between the woodland and his house, walked the
father, musing of his daughter, and listening to the stirring of
the black-thorn boughs a little distance away listening to their
stirring, but not once turning his eyes from the ground, else he
had seen the pale face and haggard form of a woman, crouching
from the sharp wind ; not to shelter herself there is no chill,
not even the terriblest of all, that she would shrink from ; but
close in her bosom, and playing with the tangled hair that falls
down from her forehead, nestles a baby that has never felt a
March wind till now. "You, poor darling, at least, are inno.
cent," she says ; " surely he will love you and keep you." And
286 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
her arms reach forward, and her voice says, " Fatlior !" Brightly
over the world breaks the sunshine, and her sin seems darker
than it did among clouds ; her arms fall helpless, and her lips
are hushed. So, under the boughs of the black-thorn, she
waits for the evening.
Toward sunset the air became more bitterly cold, and the
child moaned often, and looked up to its mother with a hungry
and appealing expression. And stilling the tumult of its sor-
row and pain with a voice low and earnest, but scarcely fond,
the woman waited and watched till the forked boughs of the
woodland seemed like dead brands among the fires of the
descending night ; and the winds softened themselves, and
came down and mixed with her lullaby; and so the baby fell
asleep for the last time in a mother's arms.
There seemed no twilight, but the day was gone at once, and
from under the muffling wings of night peered the stars, and
the moon, chilly and white, climbed among them, dropping her
icy splendors toward the earth. From the gable of the home-
stead fell the dark-pointed shadow, and the hearth-light glim-
mered through the window, soft and warm.
Folding close the sleeping child, toward the dark shadow and
the warm light the forlorn young mother bent her steps, and
struck presently in a deep path, or what had once been one
for the grass had grown over its edges till it seemed little more
than a crack in the sod when, pausing, she looked backward
and forward forward toward the homestead, backward to the
woods, dismal as they should be if planted but to screen the
gates of that black world in which there is no hope. In other
days the path, so narrow now, had been wide enough for two.
After a little pause, she goes on again, slowly, and stooping
often to kiss the forehead of the little one sleeping in her arms.
At last she is in the shadow of the gable, and just before
her glimmers the light of the curtainless window. The nigto
lies cold and bleak around her; and stealthily as if she were a
murderess, she approaches, and peers, hesitating, through tha
pane.
All the old familiar .things meet her eye : so still she is, so
bushed the very beating of her heart, that she hears the chirp
THE SUICIDE. J87
of the cricket answer the ticking of the clock; the embera
make red shadows on the wall, and she sees the desolate father,
sitting sad and stern. Suddenly across his face there passes a
softer expression, and her heart throbs quick. His eyes turn
toward a picture of herself that hangs opposite the window,
and her eyes follow his. " He thinks of me piteously, at
least," she says. "I will go in, and say I have sinned against
Heaven and in his sight." Closer and closer, obeying the wild
sad impulse, she presses her face to the glass, when, all at
once, her reviving energies are paralyzed, and her fluttering
hopes struck dead. A steady hand reverses the fair, girlish face
of the picture, toward the wall ; then the man turns, and for a
moment the eyes of the two meet; and eagerly, yearningly, the
child bends forward ; but the father shrinks away. It was but
for a moment, yet that was all too much. The overstrung
nerves gave way ; and, laying the baby at her feet, with a
moan, that had in it, " My God, I am forsaken !" she walked
blindly and deafly back the path which she had come; for she
did not hear the voice that called after her, again and again,
"Isabel, Isabel!"
How often, in our impetuous anxiety, we fail of the good
which a little calmness and patience would have won ! The
day after Chatterton terminated his miserable life, there came
a man into the city inquiring for him, with all he had prayed
for.
In the heart of the woods the path I have spoken of termi-
nated beside a deep and sluggish pool, fringed now with jagged
and sharp splinters and points of ice, but the middle waters
were unfrozen, and bore up little islands of moss and dead
leaves ; and across these black waters, in the wild winds of the
days and the nights that followed, streamed over the white face,
that, after a time, came up, as if still pressing toward the light,
the long tresses of the woman who had been so wretched.
Now, beneath the mossy mound hard by, she is decently-
asleep, nor turns for the moaning of the night wind, nor for the
step of the little child that sometimes, in summer, walks there,
gathering flowers and singing to herself.
If there be one prayer more than another that we need
188 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
always in our hearts, it is the one Ho taught us, "Lead us not
into temptation." How many, treading in as straight a path,
and with as firm a step, perhaps, as ourselves, worn and weary
with the toils of the long and hard way, beckoned aside into
what seemed some cool and sheltered place of rest, have been
lost forever. Vain, henceforth, are all their struggles ; darkly
between them and the confidence of the world, between them
and all friendships and sympathies, and most of all, between
them and their own self-respect, rises evermore the shadow of
the tempter they have followed.
Is not this a retribution terrible enough .'Jiat men and
women should pause from their own vocations, and, with
haughty words and withering looks, measure the distance be-
tween themselves and the fallen, even when their own way hag
been kept with feeble and faltering steps, and when the very
error they so despise, has shone up like a light revealing the
hideous darkness into which they else would have gone ? It ia
of the erring I speak, now, and not of the criminal. The soul
may be darkened from its original beauty, yet still it is pre-
cious, else in heaven there would not be such joy over sinners
that repent.
If we have kept our robes from the dust, and our hands and
our hearts clean, surely we can afford to be charitable and mer-
ciful towards those who have not ; but even if so, we are ever
subject to vanity, and the best and worthiest man or woman
has reason to cry, "Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner!" before
the Searcher of hearts. Mercifulest of all, when the wicked
woman was brought before him, was he who was without
sin, saying, " Neither do I condemn thee."
One little act of kindness, which says to a degenerate brother,
*' I am also a man," and, consequently, no less exposed to tempta-
tion, will do more for the building up of a ruinous humanity,
than all the fiery-tipped arrows that ever went hissing from
indignant hands.
I have little charity for that self-righteousness which mingles?
with its abhorrence of error no pity for the erring. Breathings
of denunciation fill the world, chilling " that best warmth that
radiates from the heart, where Love sits brooding over an
THE SUICIDE. 2S9
Honest purpose," and darkening the great light that is con-
tinually round about us. We leave the wretched to"uncom-
forted and friendless solitude," where, within the fiery circle of
evil thought, " the soul emmoulds its essence, hopelessly de-
formed by sights of evermore deformity."
With other ministrations, thou, O Nature !
Healest thy wandering: and distempered child;
Thou pourest on him thy soft influences,
Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweeta,
Thy melodies of words and winds and waters!
Till lie relent and can no more endure
To be a jarring and a dissonant thing
Amid this general dance and minstrelsy ;
But, bursting into tears, wins back his way,
His angry spirit healed and harmonized
By the benignant touch of love and beauty.
There is less depravity in the world than we are apt to
imagine, and I doubt not but there is something good in almost,
every nature, which the leaves of kindness might reach, and so
the whole man be regenerated.
I began tl is chapter by allusion to the beauty of true lives j
and if she of whom 1 have written had died ere the flowers of
Jove were ever made heavy with tears, her life would have been
an example of loveliness. God over all, blessed forever !
grant that one wild shadow swept not into nothingness all the
light
13
OUR NEIGHBORHOOD
THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE.
I.
IT was about the middle of the month of July, and intensely
not; scarcely a breeze stirred the russet gold of the wheat-
field, in which two men were at work the one pausing now
and then to wipe great drops of sweat from his forehead, and
push back his gray hair, as he surveyed the heavy swatha
that lav drying in the sun ; while the other kept right on, the
'steady rush of his cradle sending up from the falling grain a
thin dust ; and bending under the burning heat, and laying swath
after swath of the ripe wheat beside him, he moved around the
field, hour after hour, never whistling, nor singing, nor survey-
ing the work that was done, nor the work that was to do.
" Willard," called the old man, as for the third time the
youth passed him in his round and there was something more
impatient than kindly in his tone " Willard, what in the name
of sense possesses you to-day? I can generally swing my
cradle about as fast as you, old as I am. Leave working for a
half-hour ; you will gain in the end ; and let us cross over by
way of the spring, and rest in the shade of the locust for a
while."
" I am not very tired," answered the boy, without pausing
from his work ; "go on, and I will join you when I come round
again."
The old man hesitated, cut a few vigorous strokes, threw
down his cradle in the middle of the field, and turned back.
And well he might ; he had need of rest ; the grasshoppers
could not hum, it was so hot, and the black beetles crept be-
neath the leaves and under the edges of the loose clods, and
the birds hid in the bushes, and dropped their wings and were
THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE. 21
still ; only the cold, clammy snakes crawled from their places
into the full warmth. t
One side of the field lay the public road, heaped with hot
dust, fetlock deep ; and now and then a heavy wagon plowed
along, drawn by five or six horses, their necks ornamented with
bear skins and brass bells, the latter sending tinkling music
far across the fields, and cheering the teamster's heart, as
beneath his broad-rimmed straw-hat he trod through the dry
fennel beside his stout horses. All day the narrow foot-path
kept the print of naked feet, left by the school children as they
went to and came from their tasks. Bordering the field's edge,
opposite this dusty way, was a wooded hill, at the base of
which, beneath a clump of trees, burst out, clear and cool, a
spring of the purest water. To the north lay other harvest-
fields, and the white walls of cottages and homesteads glim-
mered among the trees ; and to the south, nestled in the midst
of a little cherry-orchard, were discernible the brown walls and
mossy roof of an old farm-house. A cool, quiet, shady place
it looked, and most inviting to the tired laborers ; but it was
toward the spring, and not the house, that the old man bent his
steps when he left off work.
Having drank, from a cup of leaves, the tired man stretched
himself in the thick shadow that ran up the hillside from a
cluster of sassafras and elms that grew in the hollow. But he
seemed not to rest well ; for every now and then he lifted his
head from its pillow of grass, and looked toward the field,
where the young man was still at his labor. More than an hour
had elapsed, when, for the third time nearing the shadows, and
seeing, perhaps, the anxious look directed toward him, he threw
down his cradle, and staggered, rather than walked, along the
hollow toward the spring, and, throwing himself flat on the
ground, he drew in long draughts of water from the cool, mossy
stones. As he rose, his cheeks were pale from exhaustion, and
his long black hair hung in heavy wet masses down his neck
and forehead.
" V7ell, my son," said the older man, rousing from his slum
berous reverie, "you have come at last." The youth made no
reply, and he continued, "If I had been as smart, we should
92 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
have had the field down by sunset ; but I can't work as I used
I am ^getting old." And his blue eyes grew moist, as,
drooping them on the ground, he silently pulled the grass and
white clover blossoms that giew at his feet, and scattered them
about.
" Oh, no, father, you are not sc verv old," replied Willard,
anxiously and earnestly ; " and I have fewer years before me
than you, though I have not lived quite so long."
"It may be so," said the father, "if you continue to work so
hard ; your constitution cannot endure as much as mine. See
how your hands are trembling, from exhaustion, now."
" That is nothing ; I shall get over it soon, and for the time
to come I shall be more prudent ; indeed, I have been thinking
that to rise an hour or two earlier, and rest for an hour or two
in the heat of the day, would be a wiser disposition of the
time." The father made no reply, and he added, " In that way
I shall be able to do almost everything, and you need only
work for recreation."
"And so, Willard," said the old man, at length, "you have
been tasking yourself so heavily to-day on my account ?"
The son did not reply directly; in fact, he had been influ
enced by far other than kindly feelings toward anybody in the
energetic prosecution of his work ; farming was not to his taste ;
the excessive heat that day had made him irritable ; and to be
revenged on fate, and in defiance of his failing strength, he had
labored with all his might. But his sullenness subsided at the
first word of kindness ; and he felt that his father was indeed
getting old, and that what he said about doing all the work in
future was perfectly sincere.
There was a long silence, broken at last by the elder of the
two. " You have always had a great notion of books, Willard ;
and I have been thinking that if I could send you to college,
you might live more easily than I have done."
" It I could go, father, I should be very glad ; but if you
were able to send me, I could not be spared very well ;" and
in a moment he added, " Could I ?" in the hope of hearing
something further urged hi favor of his wishes.
"There is 'Brook' we might sell," the father remarked,
THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE. 298
musingly ; "and then I should be able to spare some hay and
oats this fall. Yes, I think we can manage ; that is, if you
have a mind to let Brock go."
" I should not mind parting with him ; he is six years old,
and will never be worth more than now ; besides, I can buy
plenty of horses, good as he, if I ever want them."
An hour was consumed in speculations of one sort and
another, and the shadows had crept far up the hill when they
arose to resume their occupation.
" But how," said Willard, as they walked toward the field,
"will you get along at home ?" for it was now almost a settled
point that he should go to college.
" Do n't be troubled about us ; our hearts are here, and that
makes work go much easier ; besides, we have lived our day
your mother and I it is little matter about us; but you, Wil-
lard, you are young and ambitious, and so smart. Linney," he
added, after a moment, " will miss you."
The young man seemed not to hear this remark, and taking
up their cradles, the father and the son worked and talked to-
gether till set of sun. The grain was all down ; and as they
swung their cradles over their shoulders to go home, the old
man sighed, and, looking on the sparkling eyes and flushed face
of the youth, he said, " Perhaps we may never reap this field
together again."
Willard had always thought it would make him very happy
to know he should not have to swing the cradle any more; but
somehow his father's words made his heart heavy ; and, in
spite of the fast-coming beard, he turned away and brushed the
tears from his browned cheek with the back of his hand. He
tried to count the outside passengers of the stage-coach, as it
rattled past, filling all the road with clouds of dust, in vain
he was thinking of something else ; the old farm, that he had
sometimes almost hated, looked beautiful now : the ripe stand-
ing harvests, and the yellow stubble-fields, stretching away
toward the woodland, and the red and orange shadows trem-
bling along the hill-sides and among the green leaves. A little
Hid a little more he lingered, till, finally, where the birds
shirped in the hedge which divided the meadow from th
m OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
wheat-field, he stopped still. Twitters and trills, and long
melancholy cries, and quick gushing songs, all mingled and
blended together, and the stir of leaves and the whirr of wings
sounded through and over all. The blue morning-glories had
puckered up their bells, but looked pretty yet, and the open
trumpet-flowers hung bright and flaunting everywhere.
Many a time he had come out to the hedge with Linney
Carpenter in the summer twilights. Now he might not come
any more ; and if he went away, she would forget him per-
haps love some one else.
There was a crashing and cracking of the boughs in the
hedge, and Brock, pressing as near as he could, leaned his
slender head upon the shoulder of the young man. " No, no,
I will not sell you !" he exclaimed, parting away the boughs
which divided them ; "a thousand dollars would not buy you !"
and for a half hour he caressed and talked to the beautiful
animal, as though he had been a reasoning creature. At the
end of that time he was pretty nearly resolved to think no
more of the college ; and, dismissing the horse, with an abrupt
promise to keep him always, he bent his steps hurriedly home-
ward. But Brock had either a sudden fit of fondness, or else
some premonition of the hard things meditated against him,
and he followed his young master at a little distance, droop-
ingly and noiselessly. Willard had just reached the boundary
of the cherry -orchard, bending wearily under his cradle, and
with his face begrimed with dust and sweat, when a wave of
sweet perfumes came against him ; and, looking up, he beheld
in the path directly before him a graduate of the most cele-
brated institution of learning then in the west. "Ay, how are
you, Plulbertf he said, approaching, and stripping the kid-glove
off his delicate hand.
Willard recognized him as a former school-fellow and play-
mate, but his greeting was cold and formal, expressing nothing
of the cordial surprise which a sometime absent friend might
have expected. Having addressed him as Mr. Welden, he set
his cradle on the ground beside him, dashed back his heavy,
wet hair, and seemed to wait for the young man to make known
THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE. 295
iris errand, which, however, he did not at once do, but said
instead, something of the heat of the day.
' I should scarcely have expected you to know anything
about it," Willard replied, drily.
" Why, I have been making hay, and think I should know,"
answered Welden ; "just look here," and he showed two blisters
on the palm of his hand.
But WiHard was in one of those dissatisfied moods which an
angel could not soften, and, simply saying, " Is it possible ?" he
took up the cradle again. He felt as if the blistered hands had
offered a terrible insult to his own, which were too much accus-
tomed to toil to be affected in that way.
" Will you go to the house, Mr. Welden ?" he said, after he
had advanced a step or two. The habitual, or, it may be, well-
bred amiability of Mr. Welden, seemed not at all disturbed,
and, politely assenting, he followed rather than accompanied
ihe moody young farmer to the house, replying for the most
part to his own observations.
" He accepts my invitation in the hope of seeing Linney,"
thought Willard, "and not that he cares anything about me;"
but, to his equal surprise and displeasure, the gentleman seemed
not to notice Linney at all. " Perhaps he thinks her beneath
his notice," said Willard to himself. "If he does, he is mis-
taken ; she is as good as he, or any one like him."
Reaching the house, there was still no perceptible improve-
ment in the youth's temper, despite many kindly advances on
the part of his guest.
" And so you are going to college ?" Mr. Welden said.
"Ay, indeed am 1," he answered, petulantly, and without
looking up.
" Willard, Willard !" interposed Mr. Hulbert, with a re-
proving look, that sent blood mantling into his cheek and
forehead; for such correction from his father implied that he
was still a boy, and it was that, joined to the knowledge that
he merited a more severe rebuke, which stung him.
The family were at tea, and but for the coming pride of man-
hood, he could have risen from the table, and gone out into the
night, and cried. That privilege was denied him, however, and,
296 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
trying to feel that he was the injured and unoffending party, h
sat sullenly silent till the meal was concluded.
Mr. Welden then said, apologetically, "As I was passing
here, Willard, I chanced to meet your father, who informed ma
you were going to college, and that, haA r ing no further use for
him, you would dispose of a fine horse you have."
" I am obliged to you for so politely suggesting my necessi-
ties. I cannot afford to leave home for this purpose unless I
sell the horse that is the amount."
" Then there is no obstacle in your way ; for, unless your
terms are exorbitant, I can find a purchaser ; in fact, I would
like to get him myself." But that he was afraid to do, as he
would have said he wanted the horse, and would have him at
any price. " I will come to-morrow morning," he concluded,
as he took leave, after some further conversation, "and then
we shall both have determined what we can afford to do.
Good-night !"
" Good-night and the devil go with you !" muttered Wil
lard ; and, sitting down against an old apple-tree, he threw his
hat on the grass beside him, folded his arms, about which hung
gracefully the full shirt-sleeves, and gave way to the mingled
feelings which had been gathering in his heart feelings which
could be repressed only with tears. The harvest moon came
up round and full, the dew gathered on the grass, and dropped
heavily now and then from the apple-tree boughs ; and far
away hooted and called the owl ; but all beside was still.
And here, lost in bitter musings, we will leave the young
man for a little while, to speak of Linney, who does not see
the pride and ambition that darken between her and her hopes.
Her history may *be comprised in a few words. A poor man,
living a short distance from Clovernook, died, leaving a large
family, who, as fast as they were old enough, must needs be
sent from home, to earn something for themselves. One of
these was Linney, who fortunately fell into the care of Mrs.
Hulbert, a plain, good, quiet woman, with a pale face, full of
benevolence, and blue eyes, beaming with love. She had never
considered the girl as a servant, but in all ways treated her
kindly as she did her own child. Jt was, indeed, for the good
THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE. 297
of the orphan, and not for her own, that she first received her
beneath her roof. She and Willard, who was four years older,
had been playmates, and workmates, too, for the Hulberts were
far from rich, and, though they owned the farm on which they
lived, it required thrift and economy and continual labor, to
keep the fences in repair, pay the taxes, and supply the house-
hold wants. They had made the garden, edging the vegetable
beds with rows of hollyhocks and prince's feathers ; they had
gathered the eggs, and fed the broods of young chickens, and
shook down and gathered up the ripe apples ; they had hunted
the silver-white hickory-nuts along the brown, windy woods of
November, gathered the small black-frost grapes from the long
tangling vines that ran over the stunted red trees, making
pyramids of their tops ; and in these sometimes they had
climbed, and as they sat fronting the sun, and rocking merrily,
Linney had listened to the first ambitious dreams that bright-
ened the humble way of her companion. " When I am a man,
Linney, I am going to be rich. I will have a house as big as
two of father's, all painted red, and with corner cupboards in
the parlor, full of honey-jars and roast turkey. Then I mean
to have a fine coach, that will move along more softly than
these vines move now; and I will ride outside and drive the
horses, and you shall be a lady, and ride within ; and if George
Welden happens to be anywhere about, we '11 run right over him.'*
Of such sort were the dreams of the boy, and whatever good
fortune he pictured for himself, it was forever to be shared by
his playmate ; and always the crowning of his delights was to
be a triumph in some way over George Welden a lad whose
only crime was that he was the son of a man of fortune, that
he wore fashionable clothes, and rode to the academy on a pony
of his own ; while Willard's garments were patched, and he
walked barefooted to the free-school. True, George was an
amiable boy, and often came to play with him ; but Willard
said he only pretended to be very good, for, in fact, he was
selfish and ugly as he could be."
As he grew older, and as they walked in the orchard, or sal
in the shade of some favorite tree, his dreams took other shapes;
or if he still thought he should be rich, and ride in a coach with
13*
298 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
Linnet, he no longer said so ; nor did he now talk of running
over George Welden. Still he dreamed of a great world that
was somewhere he had no definite notion where but outside
the little circle in which he lived a world where sorrow was
scarcely sorrow, but only a less degree of happiness, and where
everything was loftier and grander than the things with which
he was familiar. And how to get out of the one world and
into the other, was the subject that occupied his thoughts
mostly, as he grew into maturer boyhood. He became more
thoughtful, less communicative, and often, when he strayed
into the orchard, or sat in the shade, it was alone. George
Welden was gone to college.
Linney was fifteen, and a pretty girl, quiet and amiable ;
and if she had any ambition, it was for Willard, and not for
herself. It was little she could do, but all that seemed possible
to do, she did quietly, joyously. The long winter evenings she
employed in knitting, and all she could earn in that way, was
Her own ; and in the summer she picked berries sometimes,
which Mr. Hulbert sold for her in the market. The little
money thus accumulated was carefully put by for Willard.
She had amassed at length nine dollars ; and when she should
get ten, she had resolved to reveal to him the precious secret,
and perhaps they would go to town together and buy books ;
for she had heard him relate some stories he had read, and she
smiled, thinking how many he would have to tell when he
should read all the new books they would buy.
Willard was now nearly twenty. His life had been all
passed at home, and mostly in working on the farm. Sundays
he had gone to church with Linney, and in the longer evenings
he had read some of the few books they possessed, while she
employed herself with knitting or sewing. So, sharing the
same toils, and hopes, and fears, they had grown very dear to
each other more dear than they were aware till the parting
came. They had never spoken of love, but whatever Linney's
feelings or dreams, Willard regarded her as one of whom no
one but himself had a right to think at all.
" Where in the world can Willard be so long ?" said his
, THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE. 299
mother, anxiously, as she sat with her husband and Linney on
the low porch, in the yellow moonlight.
"I don't know," answered Linney, after a pause j and Mrs.
Hulbert continued, "He did not seem well at supper, poor
boy !"
" True," answered Mr. Hulbert, significantly ; in a moment
adding, "I think he needs to go to college, or somewhere else."
" Seems to me the air is chilly," said the mother, not heeding
the suggestion of the father ; and, with a shiver, she arose, and
went into the house.
It was lonesome to Linney, as she sat there with the old
man ; a cricket chirped under the doorstep, early as it was in
the season, and the heavy breathing of the cows, as they lay
together in the near yard, was heard now and then. The view
was closely shut in by a thick grove of cherry-trees only the
gray gable of the barn was to be seen over their black shadows.
Linney rose, and, wrapping a shawl about her, for the evening,
as Mrs. Hulbert had said, was cool, she walked out into the
moonlight. She had not, perhaps, very clearly apprehended
Her motive, though it would very readily have suggested itself
to another.
She had not long pursued her lonely walk, when she encoun-
tered the object of her thoughts, sitting, moody and silent, under
a tree. He looked up as she approached, but did not speak ;
Linney, however, cared little for this she could have found
excuses for him had he been twice as morose ; and, sealing her-
self on a tuft of clover, a little way from him, she talked chee
fully and hopefully of the future. Not till she had disclosed
the long-cherished secret about the money she had saved for
him, did his stubborn humor bend at all. Taking from Hs
pocket a large red silk handkerchief, he spread it on the grass
beside him, saying, " Won't you sit here, Linney ?" and when
she did so, he said, by way of apology for his rudeness, "That
George Welden has been the curse of my life !"
"Never mind him, Willard ; you need not be envious of
any one, now !"
He laughed, because he thought there was something amusing
in her limited notions of position and independence j but, in
BOO OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
truth, he felt more elevated and self-sufficient than she could
think him, now that he was to go to school, and have nine
dollars, all his own, to do with as he pleased. And as
he was reconciled to himself, and George Welden forgotten,
they were very happi . A long time they lingered under the
apple-tree, the yellow harvest moonlight falling quietly through,
and though neither said to the other, " I love you," it was felt
that it was so.
They might sit under that apple-tree now, as then, but
through the yellow moonlight each would look upon how
different a world! And would they be happier?
At last they returned to the house, and Willard said, "When
at the close of the session I come home, what a joyous time it
will be ! And you, Linney, will be as glad to see me as I
you ?"
" Oh, Willard ! can you ask "? I shall pass all the days we
are parted in thinking of the time when we are to meet. But
you will be so wise, then," she continued, half sadly, "I shall
not be a fit companion for you."
" Linney !" he said, quickly, looking reproachfully ; and per-
haps he felt at the same time that her fear was unkind.
" Oh ! no," she answered, as though he had assured her of
his truth, "you will not forget me I know you will not; and
how happy we shall be, and how much you will know, to
tell me !"
A week afterwards Brock was pacing proudly to the guidance
of a fairer hand than Willard's ; the old man was at work
alone, making shocks of the wheat ; Mrs. Hulbert sat on the
porch sewing, and thinking what would be nice for her good
man's supper ; and Linney was in the shadow of the apple-
tree, her heart fluttering, and her hands unwrapping from its
brown paper envelop a small parcel, which she had that day
discovered on the table of her own room, addressed to hersel/
in the round and careful but not yet very graceful hand of
Willard. He had meant it as a pleasant surprise for her, she
knew ; but he could not have fancied it would be so pleasant
as it was it seemed like a new tie between them. And if it
seemed so while she knew not yet what it was, how much
THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE. 801
stronger seemed the tie when the wrapper was removed, and
she saw within it a small bible, bound in red morocco and gilt.
She opened it, and, on the blank leaf, read
" Steal not this book, for fear of shame,
For here you find the owner's name.
" M ALINDA HULBERT."
She blushed, though no one saw her, to see, with the couplet
gracing the books of so many school boys the name which
had never been whispered even to herself written clearly
out.
Kissing the book, she pressed it close to her bosom, while
she recounted the hours and the days that Willard had been
gone, saying " In six days more he will have been gone two
weeks ; and then another week will soon go, and then another,
and he will have been gone a month ; then I shall get a letter,
and in four months after that he will come home." Further
than this she did not suffer her thoughts to go, but, concealing
the book, she returned to the house very happy ; yet there was
one sad reflection : Willard had appropriated two dollars of
the money, especially designed for his own use, to the getting
of the Bible.
II.
The days seemed longer and the tasks heavier, now that
Willard came not at sunset from the field ; and somehow or
other the walks through the orchard and the grove lost their
charm ; but what with work and hope, the time went by, and
the day of the expected letter arrived. With the earliest dawn,
and long ere the harmless fires of sunrise ran along the faded
summits of the hills, Linney was astir. The wood seemed to
kindle of itself, and when she brought in her pail of rnilk, the
kettle was singing about coffee. All day she watched the
clouds with unusual interest ; and once or twice walked to the
road, and looked anxiously in the direction of the post-office
and when toward evening she saw the deep gray dust dimpled
with heavy drops of rain, her heart misgave her sadly. As
many clouds were white, however, as black, and as they chased
each other swiftly by, the sun shone through now and then, and
S02 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
the wind came roughly along sometimes, at.d dried the dust
and grass, so the girl took hope again.
Before the dinner hour, the house was set in order ; the
Saturday's work was done ; and Linney, long in advance of
the coining of the coach which should bring the mail, made
preparations for her walk, and seated herself at the window to
watch for the distant cloud of dust that would indicate its
approach. It seemed as if the sun would never set ; but when
it did, still the coach did not come. " It is always the way,"
said Linney ; " I might have known it would not be here till
midnight ;" and, going to her own room, she unfolded the Bible
from its careful envelop, and gazed earnestly for a few minutee
on the name written there, and kissed it, for the dear hand that
had traced it; then, closing the volume, resumed her watching
At last, the heads of the gray horses were seen coming over
the hill ; in a moment her little cottage-bonnet was on, and her
gray shawl wrapped about her, and, with a beating heart and
quick step, she was on her way toward the Clovernook post-
office.
" I know there will be no letter for me," she said, to
strengthen herself against disappointment, as she drew near
the grocery in one corner of which, on a few shelves, the letters
and papers that found their way to our neighborhood, were
kept.
Her heart beat eagerly as the post-master slipped letter after
letter through his hands ; but at last her eyes fell on the long-
expected treasure ; it was from Willard ; and there was another
for Mr. Hulbert, from Willard, too, but Linney looked net so
anxiously on that. I need not repeat the contents of either
they may readily be guessed. The one to his parents related
chiefly to the neighborhood and its inhabitants, the teachers and
students, his own prospects and hopes for the future, with an
earnest wish that he might repay them for all they had done
and were doing for him. But to Linney he did not write of
these things, nor of other things or persons, but as though they
themselves and their hopes made up all the world.
And so Linney performed her tasks, with renewed energy,
and knitted with fresh courage, even when not occupied with the
THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE. 803
comparatively easy tasks imposed on her by Mrs. Hulbort ;
she would earn a new dress and hat by the time Willard could
come home ; and what a pleasant surprise they would be to
him ! A sweet vision it was, that made beautiful many an
evening, as she sat by the stone-hearth of the old homestead.
At her feet chirped the crickets, before her blazed the logs, and
beside her good Mrs. Hulbert talked of the sickness and deaths
and merry-makings of the neighborhood, and made occasional
observations on the condition of the weather, which was one of
her favorite subjects. " Twenty years ago," she was apt to say,
" we had an early fall ; the apples froze on the trees, and the late
turnips were not worth a cent." Every day and every week she
compared or contrasted with some other day or week, five, ten, or
twenty years agone. So, Linney was no longer interested in
any of the warm spells that had ever thawed the frosts of
January and brought forward the untimely fruit, nor in the
great freshets that had swept off fences and bridges, and
drowned a lamb or two, perhaps, nor yet in the wicked frosts
that blackened the peach blossoms and wilted the young cu-
cumber vines, some time long ago.
The winter evenings, as I have said, must have been tedious,
but for the bright dream of Linney. It was only a dream;
and the boughs were bare of the roses, the next summer, that
she kept blooming about her all the winter.
In the evenings when the village gossip had been discussed,
the business of the farm reviewed, and the weather considered,
Mrs. Hulbert never failed, as she arose to wind the clock, to
speak of Willard ; and then, at least, Linney was an attentive
listener. " I wish he was here, poor boy," she was apt to say,
as though he suffered continual privation, while enjoying books
and pleasant society and good dinners, and she fared frugally
and worked hard. Any one else could see that there was at
least a partnership of sacrifice in this separation ; but how
should Mrs. Hulbert ? She was Willard's mother.
And night after night the crickets hopped across the hearth
familiarly, and told their old story ; and Linney worked by
the firelight, and thought and dreamed. And this was the
crowning o(' her visions a little white cottage, with blue morn-
804 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
ing-glories all over the porch, trumpet-flowers and sweet-briers
veiling the windows, a cool, deep well at the door, herself
making tea there, and sometimes parting away the vines, to
see, across the fields, if Willard was coming from his fields;
forever, in her most ambitious musings, Willard was but a
farmer, looking and talking just as he did when they parted,
and not a man of books and leisure ; she could not fancy how
anything could change him ; she knew she did not wish him to
be different. Sometimes she found recreation in fancies of
what would be in his next letter ; for she soon grew so familiar
with the contents of the first one, that there was no need to
remove it any more from the lids of the Bible. At length the
time came round again ; and now the road was frozen, and the
trees were all bare. The stage-coach did not arrive till after
nightfall ; but Linney would not stay away. All the day she
had been singing at her work, so blithely, that Mrs. Hulbert
more than once said, "I have not seen you so gay since Willard
left us poor boy !"
Linney did not feel the frozen ground beneath her feet as she
walked, nor the bitter air as it blew against her face and bosom.
She went fast, and was soon at the end of her little journey.
About the red-hot stove were gathered a dozen men, chewing
and smoking, and debating their various and trifling interests
in tones as loud and earnest as though they were discussing the
affairs of the nation. With eyes modestly downcast from the
earthen jars and shining delf and gay prints that adorned the
shop, she made her way to the corner occupied by the post-
master, and received a letter. Of course, it was from Willard,
and she retired without so much as glancing at it ; nor did she
do so till she was passing the tavern lamp, a quarter of a mile,
perhaps, on her way homeward. What was her surprise, her
disappointment, on seeing, that though it was indeed from Wil
lard, it was not for her, but for his father. For a moment all
was blank and chill ; but hope will flutter long before it dies,
Bnd in a moment she had turned and was retracing her steps :
there must be a letter for her, which had been overlooked.
She did not go back, however, without hesitancy and shame,
for in her childish simplicity she fancied all would know ths
THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE. 805
(noughts and hopes that were in her heart. " Will you please
look again, sir!" she said, and her voice was tremulous "I
expected a letter for myself to-night !"
The man turned the letters hastily, very carelessly, she
thought, and said, as he replaced them, " We do n't always get
all we expect, as you will find, if you live long enough."
When she reached the door, tears blinded her eyes so much
that she did not see who the gentleman was who passed in at
the same moment, but she knew the light and elegant carriage,
and the sleek and proud animal that stamped on the hard ground
so impatiently. She had only proceeded a short distance, when
the sound of approaching wheels and the snorting of a horse,
admonished her to turn aside. "I suppose he would run over
me if I did not," she thought, and though she continued, " 1
would not much care if he did," she approached the edge of the
road, and as she did so, a low, kindly voice gave her the saluta-
tion of the evening, the impatient Brock curved his neck to the
tightening rein, and George Welden was offering his hand to
assist her into his carriage.
" Thank you, Mr. Welden," she replied, coldly, " but I prefer
walking."
"Will you not oblige me by accepting part of the seat ?"
he said, deferentially and earnestly ; " I am going directly by
your house."
She could no longer decline without rudeness, and so com-
pl'ii-d. but rather ungraciously. She could not but feel her
prejudices against Mr. Welden melting under the warmth of
his real kindness ; and as he carefully wrapt the buffalo robe
about her feet, and drove slowly, lest she might be timid about
fast driving, she wished in her heart that Willard could see her;
and though she did not care a straw about riding in George
Welden's carriage, he would be piqued, she knew. When Mr.
Welden spoke of him, it was so kindly and generously, that
she could not but remember how differently he had always
spoken of him.
Warm and red shone the lights through the hcmestead win-
dows ; the supper table was spread, and Mrs. Hulbert was
bustling about, that all might be nice when Linney returned.
aOft OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
Mr. Hulbert put on his spectacles, snuffed the candle, and
opened the letter, though the wife declared she could not have
the biscuits wait another minute, in proof of which she con-
tinued, " Fill the tea, Malinda." The girl's face glowed as she
obeyed, for not twice before, in as many years, had the good
woman called her Malinda, and it troubled the fountain that
pride had well nigh stilled. In a moment, Mrs, Hulbert had
added a dish of preserves to the previous preparations, and
Mr. Welden was disburdening himself of furs and over-
coats, in compliance with an invitation to join the family at the
table.
" Come, come, father," said Mrs. Hulbert, as the rest were
seated ; but he only snuffed the candle, and resumed his atten-
tion to the letter. "Well, if you will read," she continued,
with some asperity in her tone, " do tell us whether he is dead
or alive."
Mr. Hulbert placed the candle between himself and the
letter, and read aloud, spelling his way, and pausing between
every word : "Be so kind as to present my dutiful regards to
my mother; and say to Linney, dear girl, that 1 have so many
calls on my time for the few leisure moments 1 get from study,
that I could not write her this month, though I very much
wished to do so. I shall hope to hear from her as usual ; and
ask her, if you please, to tell me if she devotes much time to
the book I gave her." "And that is all," said Mr. Hulhert,
looking proud and pleased, "he says to you women folks"
" Tut, tut," answered the wife, " that is enough, w ithout it
was better."
Linney 's face grew damp and pale, and George Welden bit
his lip, and made some observation, not at all pertinent, about
shooting, of which he was very fond. The efforts to rally were
ineffectual, all round ; and after some awkward and constrained
conversation on commonplace subjects, Mr. W T elden took leave,
saying to Linney as he did so, " You are fond of game, you say ?"
" Yes," she answered, though she had not previously said
anything to suggest his question.
And e added, "I will have pleasure in presenting the first
brace of woodcocks 1 can bring down."
THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE. 807
Linney thanked him formally, and, as though she expected
the polite offer to be forgotten before he reached home. He
prefaced his "Good evening" with a smile, that seemed to say,
" You are incredulous, but I shall remember my promise."
" I thought," said Mrs. Hulbert, when he was gone, " thai
young Welden was a common simpleton !"
" What made you think that ?" answered Linney, Booking as
though the matron had been grievously mistaken.
" Oh, I don't know what made me think so ;" and in a mo-
ment she added, " Yes I do, too : what made me say that ? It
was because Willard always called him 'pumpkin head,' wid
all such names."
" Humph !" said Linney, "I should be sorry to see through
his eyes."
Mrs. Hulbert rose, stirred the fire, and wound the clock ;
this was the hour she had always said something kindly about
Willard ; now she simply remarked, "1 wish he had staid at
home ;" and, seating herself, she took up her apron, as if to
screen her eyes from the fire ; but Linney saw that her heart
was sad, and came involuntarily toward her, then hesitated, and
said, as if unaware of her emotion, " Don't get up in the morn-
ing till I call you." And so they parted for the night, each
feeling as she had never felt before.
It was difficult for the girl to resist the temptation of re-
opening the old letter, before she retired, though she said,
repeatedly, " If Willard is inclined to be such a fool, I don't
care I can live without him and he is not the only man who
has been to college, either."
And with such strengthening of her weakness, she sought hei
bed, with as much alacrity as if there had been no heaviness on
her heart ; but sleep would not be wooed in this brave way,
and there had only been an occasional restless forgetfulness,
when the cold, gray morning glanced through the window.
Mrs. Hulbert was already briskly astir. "I wonder," she
said, as she turned the smoking ham, " I wonder how it would
do to brile woodcocks ?" Linney answered that she guessed it
would do well enough, but that she did n't suppose they would
ever have any to be cooked. And so they were friends again.
308 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
The irritation and pride which she at fi-st leaned on, gradually
gave way, and she found herself more dependent on habitual
hopes and habits of feeling than she at first imagined. In
musing of him, she was apt to forget that he had not written
to her ; or, if she remembered it, it was to think very leniently
of the omission. What did she know about the life he led, or
the tasks and duties required of him ? He would have written
if he had found opportunity of course he would. And in this
mood she one day indited for him a long and kind letter, com-
municating all the trivial gossip of the neighborhood, and con-
cluding with, "You will be glad to hear from me, I know,
though you have not written me as you promised."
Credulous child ! she had quite forgotten the familiar way in
which he had called her "dear girl," in the letter to his father,
and his careless mention of the bible, as though the giving of
it were not the precious secret she herself had always felt it
to be.
The nicest stockings she had knitted were taken from the
bundle designed for the purchase of a new dress, and placed in
the wardrobe of Willard's room. He had been away three
months ; surely he would write to her soon ; and in two more,
at farthest, she would see him.
It was a rough, windy night in December ; the stiff, bare
boughs rattled against each other ; the ruffled cock made an
unnatural and untimely cackle among his silent mates ; the
sheep, despite their woolly coats, bleated piteously ; and some-
times the oxen's low sounded mournfully across the hills. The
snow, which had fallen a day or two before, drifted no longer
as the wind went and came, but. with a frozen crust shining
under the moon, lay hard and cold. Linney was in her cham-
ber, a small, cheerless room, containing only a few old-fashioned
articles of furniture ; a heap of snow lay in the open fire-place ;
the uncurtained window was white with the fantastic figures of
the. frost, and immediately above it a shelf was suspended, on
which were a few dusty volumes, together with the copy-books
which she had used at school. On thi winter night, the place
THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE. 30f
was lonesome and cheerless enough, and yet she had "been there
an hour ; she was seated on a low stool, beside her burned a
tallow candle, on the wooden chair on which it stood lay the
bible, open where her name was written, and in her hands she
held the dear letter he had written at the end of the first month
of their parting. As she read, a coming step crushed through
the snow, and she hurried to the window, and looked forth, or
tried to do so, for the frost prevented her from seeing distinctly.
Mr. Hulbert had been gone to the village since an hour before
night; doubtless he was now coming home, and had brought,
perhaps, news from Willard. She hastily placed the letter and
book beneath her pillow ; to sav truth, it was not the first time
they had lain there ; and this done, she hurried below, and saw
the door closing. on Mr. George Welden.
The visitor bowed gracefully, as though entering the most
elegant drawing-room ; and his sleepy blue eyes, as they en
countered hers, had in them a sparkle of pleasure not habitual
to them, and about the good-natured mouth, as he spoke, there
was a sweetness which most women would have found winning.
" You see my memory is less treacherous than you thought,"
he said, addressing Linney, who stood blushing and smiling
before him, and at the same time presenting, not a brace of
woodcocks, but only a common gray rabbit.
"Why, Linney !" exclaimed Mrs. Hulbert, reprovingly, as
she apprehended the cause of the laughter, which the girl turned
her face away to conceal.
"What funny red eyes it has," she answered, ingenuously,
not heeding the implied reproof.
" I don't know," interposed George Welden ; and, taking the
rabbit from her hands, he added, " the fellow is too heavy for
you to hold."
Ordinarily there would be nothing interesting or provocative
of merriment in the dulled eyes of a dead rabbit ; but some,
how it chanced that the sportsman and she to whom he brought
his tribute, found an almost exhaustless fund of speculation and
mirth as they stood together, turning the creature from side to
side, examining his form and the texture of his fur. Certainly
no one w.nuld have supposed that either of them had fright'
810 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
ened one or m >re such creatures from their paths on almost
every morning of their lives, when they had walked in the
fields. But the veriest trifles hold us spell-bound, sometimes ;
a single withered rose may be sweeter than whole fields of
fresh flowers ; and on one occasion, at least, a harmless rabbit
that had been dislodged from the place where he had burrowed
under the winter snow, in which the drops of his life-blood
were yet fresh, served for what seemed the gayest amusement.
" Look there !" exclaimed Mrs. Hulbert, as a fresh crimson
drop trickled over the neck and plashed on the white apron
of Linney : " Oh, dear ! and my hands, too !" she said, holding
them up.
" It was all my fault," said Mr. Welden, looking as if griev-
ously annoyed. Linney's cheek grew as red as the spot in her
apron. It was not so much the words as the tone of tender-
ness with which they were uttered, and the really distressing
look that accompanied them. Both felt it a relief when Mr.
Hulbert entered, and the good wife's attention was diverted
from them, to prepare the arm-chair, and stir the fire.
"But, Linney, you don't know how to cook it, do you ?"
resumed the young man, with his former self-possession, and a
familiar manner he had never used before.
" Why, I suppose we shall fry it."
He laughed, as if the idea were preposterous, and said he
knew more about the culinary art than half the women, as half
the men are apt to say when they have opportunity She did
not seem to heed him, and he continued, " You must dine with
us to-morrow ; we are to have one, too ;" and in a moment,
seeing that she did not answer, he said, " Will you come ]"
She made some vague reply, which her admirer construed
into an acceptance. But the truth is, she had heard nothing
that he said ; and now, as she sunk into a chair, her cheek
assumed a pallor, and her black eyes, naturally brilliant with
joyous feeling, assumed a steadfast and earnest expression,
which was never quite forgotten by him who saw it. She had
been listening to the Hulberts, as they talked of their son.
" W'hat !" said the mother, in a surprised whisper, as she
leaned over the shoulder of her husband, who answered, " He
THE COLLEGIAN'S MFSTAKE. U
say? nothing that you will be glad to hear of; the letter is
filled with stuff about Euclid, freshmen, alumni, and all that
which we don't know nothing about; besides, he wants me to
send money, and tells me to sell the hay if I can't get it with-
out." The old man continued, in a tremulous voice, "I expect
he has been running me in debt twenty or thirty dollars, like
enough."
" Had he got Linney's letter V asked the mother, as if willing
to divert his thoughts.
" He received it a week ago," was replied, "but had not yet
had time to read it when he wrote."
This it was which brought the pallor to the cheek of Linney,
and the wild and fixed expression to her eyes.
That night, as Mrs. Hulbert wound the clock, she said,
" Do you think you could keep house, Linney, for a day or
two 7"
" Yes why ?" she replied, looking more curiosity than she
spoke.
"Oh, I do n't know, child ;" but she quickly added, "yes I
do, too. May be we will go away in a week or so, father
and me."
" Is Willard sick ?" she asked, her heart beating strongly.
" No, we don't know that he is;" and Mrs. Hulbert looked
anxiously into the fire.
" Because," continued Linney, seeing that there was no pros-
pect of an explanation, " I thought it strange you should go to
see him when the session will close so soon." She did not
venture to say, " When Willard is coming home so soon."
But Mrs. Hulbert, who understood her meaning, replied,
" He is not coming home ; he says he shall have plenty of
business and pleasure for the vacation ; and, besides, he don't
want to get his mind in its old trains of thought, he says."
" Well," answered Linney, and in that little word there was
a bitterness of meaning which the longest sentences could hardly
have expressed.
" I wonder," said Mrs. ITulbert, presently, " if George ha
nothing better to do than hunt rabbits the poor, harmless
critters ?"
812 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
:c Such sports have been relished by wiser men than he," an
swered Linney, " and I see no particular harm in them."
"Nor I, as I know of;" and Mrs. Hulbert grew thoughtful
and silent again.
So for an hour the two women sat together. The effect of
Willard's letter was reflected in the minds of both ; and how
differently, in the estimate formed by each of George.
Before she retired that night, Linney visited Willard's room,
and, taking from the drawer the stockings designed for him,
replaced them with the bundle prepared for market. Then,
removing the pillow, she took the letter and the Bible and
placed them on the shelf above the window. By such pro-
cesses are shaped destinies.
The following day, while preparations for Mrs. Hulbert's
visit to the town where the college was were going briskly for-
ward, George Welden made his appearance, looking fresh, and
smiling, and happy. "I am come to carry Linney home with
me to dine," he said, by way of apology to Mrs. Hulbert, who,
perhaps, looked something of the astonishment she felt. " And,"
he added, turning to the girl, "mother sends her compliments,
and says you must not disappoint her. I have myself super-
intended the cooking of the rabbit."
Linney was faltering some excuse, when Mrs. Hulbert inter-
posed, with an intimation that she could go just as well as not,
if she chose. The horse and sleigh waited at the door, the
young man seriously desired her company, and Mrs. Hulbert
evidently favored his inclinations.
" But I am not ready," urged Linney, surveying her dress
with evident concern, and well aware that she possessed nothing
in which she would appear to better advantage.
" It is strange," said Mrs. Hulbert, soliloquizing, "how par-
ticular girls are now-a-days. That plaided flannel of Linney'a
I could have worn to a wedding in my day."
" And Linney can, too, if she has a mind to," replied George,
laughing, and looking with admiration on the plaids of green,
and red, and blue, so smoothly ironed. In truth, it became the
lustic girl wonderfully well* and when she had tied on the
THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE. 813
white frilled apron, and smoothed her chestnut curls a little,
nothing was needed to complete her toilet.
She felt a tremulous shrinking when, for the first time in her
life, she found herself in an elegantly-furnished apartment ; but
Mrs. Welden, a sweet, motherly lady of sixty, soon put her
quite at ease, for Linney was a sunshiny and good-tempered girl,
little disposed to quarrel with circumstances. If there were a
little condescension in the lady's cordiality, a little patronage
in the equality she assumed, she did not stop to think of it,
and Mrs. Welden's heart was soon won entirely by her artless
and joyous manner. No wonder they were mutually pleased ;
that each found in the other what she herself lacked the one,
freshness, and sunshine, and hope ; and the other, experience,
wisdom, and refinement.
George, habitually good-natured, indolent, careless, was on
that day restless, almost fietful. Now he boxed the ears of
some favorite hunter, for caressing his hand too familiarly ; now
lie found fault with the fire, which was either too hot or too cold ;
and now he was irritated that Linney should be monopolized,
and, apparently, with so much willingness on her part, by even
his mother. Sometimes he tried to be amiable, and he more
than once ventured on a compliment to Linney, but she neither
blushed nor looked down, but only laughed, and replied in the
same vein, though her tone and manner said very plainly there
was little meaning in her words. He felt that he had no
power over her, and consequently became vexed with himself
more and more.
So pleased and delighted was Linney, that she remained long
after dinner ; and the great cold moon made the snow sparkle
again as they drove homeward.
" Oh, what a beautiful home you have !" she said, looking
back admiringly, where the many lights of the great house
streamed "across the snow.
"Would you like to live there always 1 ? 1 ' asked George,
tightening the rein.
" Oh, above all things !" she answered, ingenuously.
And the whip was brought in requisition, and Brock suffered
to go forward as fast as he would.
14
114 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
" How kind of you," said Linney, patting the horse's neck,
when they alighted at the door, " to bring us home so soon."
And she continued, turning to George, " I wish you were home
too."
The young man bit his lip, and resumed his seat in the sleigh.
lie had hoped for an invitation to go in.
Mrs. Hulbert opened the door, and George drew in the rein
to say, "Tell Willard, if you please, I shall take as good care
of Linney as he would himself."
Mrs. Hulbert thanked him, and Linney thought, "I am glad
you happened to say that it will be so provoking to Willard."
But neither understood that George remembered the slights he
had formerly received, and that he could not now deny himself
the pleasure of such a taunt. If Willard had been away chop-
ping wood for a month, Mr. George Welden would have been
silent ; but it needed little sagacity to perceive, that though
pique had at first drawn these young persons together, there
was danger that the result would be very different from any
they themselves expected. Already, on the part of George,
there was an awakening affection, as trifles have indicated,
which he might find it very difficult ever to repress. In a
secluded neighborhood, where neither was likely to find much
companionship, it was perfectly natural, that having once met,
they should meet again, and that, time and circumstances
favoring, the young man should become a wooer, especially
when he was free from ambition, and altogether indifferent as
to what others should think of the mistress of his house and
heart, so that she pleased himself. It was natural, too, that a
humble rustic girl should not be wholly averse to the wooing,
especially when the wooer was handsome and the fortune
ample ; and, above all, when she could rise so pre-eminently
above a lover who had discarded her.
And the case of Willard is common enough, too, perhaps.
Finding himself suddenly and unexpectedly in a circle some-
what superior in cultivation and refinement to that in which his
old companion had moved with girls who perhaps had some
prospects of fortune, and who certainly were more at home in
the world than she to whom he had so sincerely pledged his
THE COLLEGIAN'S MISTAKE. 810
affections, in their first development, before he learned that they
should be subjected to the direction of tact, lighting the way for
his advancement in society, he set his foot upon her- -not that he
despised her, so much as that he was blinded by the brilliancy
of new hopes, and really did not see nor think about he-
at all.
Time taught them both the sincerity of that young and irre-
trievably-slighted love. But, though Willard was for a short
time inflated with vanity, and warped from his true nature, he
possessed enough of genuine manhood to regain at length a fit
estimation of his forgotten duties, of the worth of such a character
as Linney's, and of the feelings she had cherished for him. until
they were alienated by his own neglect. He could learn, or
would learn, only by experience, that the guests of ambition
and of love must be forever distinct, or fruitless of rewards to
satisfy either the mind or the heart.
When five years were gone, and he returned from college,
no dear one met him with words sweeter than any triumphs ;
Liuney had been three years the wife of George Welden, and
one, the mother of " the sweetest little cherub," Mrs. Hulbert
said, "in all the world." She was living in the family mansion
of the Weldens one of the finest in the vicinity of Clover-
nook its mistress, and was one of the most admired as well
as most beloved of all the ladies in the neighborhood.
"I wish, mother," said Willard, one morning, "you would
fit up the little room that used to be Linney's, for my study."
He had commenced a course of reading in the law, and was to
pursue it, for the most part, at home, where, whatever haunting
memories there might be, there would be little in the present
to distract his attention from the frigid and selfish philosophy
of expediency, which underlies all the learning and practice of
that profession. So the window was opened, and the cobwebs
swept down ; and this, with the addition of a chair and a table
to the furniture, was all that was to be done. With folded
arms and thoughtful brow, the disappointed student superin-
tended these little preparations, and when all was completed,
he unlocked a small desk, and took from it two old and word
letters, which would scarcely bear unfolding ; read and re-read
81 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
them, wiping his eyes once or twice as he did so ; carefullj
folded them, and, stepping on a chair, took from the shelf aoove
the window a book, and was slipping the letters between its
leaves, when his attention was suddenly arrested by the falling
of his own first letter to Linney to the floor from the book
in which was written, in his own boyish hand, " Malinda Hul-
bert." Book and letter had been forgotten, and the dust of
years had gathered over them.
Willard is a bachelor to this day ; and that homely room,
once Linney's, has a charm for him which much finer ones have
never possessed. When last I was out at Clovernook I drank
tea with good old Mrs. Hulbert, and the squire sat with us in
the early evening in the modest porch of the farm-house. Ag
I recalled to the mother some reminiscences of my childhood,
with which she was familiar, he left us, walking away silently,
and with an air of melancholy. I could not help but say, " How
changed !"
" I do n't know," she answered ; but, after a moment's silence,
"Yes, I do poor Willard, he will never forget little Linney !"
Sometimes, as he lingers in the autumn under the old
grape-vine in the meadow, where they recounted to each other
such dreams as arose in childhood, he sees her riding with
George Welden in the beautiful coach from which he thought
to look contemptuous triumph on his rival.
THE DIFFERENCE. AND WHAT MADE IT I
THE DIFFERENCE, AND WHAT MADE IT?
I.
WHEN I made my first call on Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, they
had been married about a year. Theirs had been what is
termed a love-match : the bride, who was an heiress in a small
way, having stolen from the comfortable and ample roof of her
father one tempestuous night, and taken, in the presence of the
priest and two or three witnesses, for better or for worse, John
Robinson, to cherish and love, in health and sickness, thence-
forward.
Matilda Moore, previously to becoming Mrs. Robinson, was
a tall, slender, fair- faced woman, with a passionate vein in her
nature, which, as she was much indulged and petted, had
scarcely been thoroughly aroused. White teeth, flaxen curls,
rosy cheeks, and an amiable smile, with an unexceptionable
toilette, and graceful manners, gave her the reputation of a
beauty with many, though the few might have found in the
wide, full chin, and hanging lip, as in the general cast of her
countenance, a want of refinement and intellectuality. Be that
as it may, she had passed through the regular training of board-
ing-schools, pianists, and dancing-masters, and in the circle which
her father's position, as a well-to-do lumber-merchant, com-
manded, was quite a belle.
In the valley lying between the city, and the hill-country
wherein Clovernook nestles itself, stands a great irregular
building, known as the Columbia House. In days gone by, it
was a very popular resort of persons and parties in quest ot
recreation. But the fashion of this world passeth away, and
at the time I speak of it was fallen somewhat from its genteel
preten^ors, the once pretty pleasure-grounds were turned int*
818 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
yards for cattle and swine, the piazzas had been boxed Into
dormitories for drovers, and the slender ornamental railing
which once encompassed the house was quite broken away by
reason of having been used as hitching-posts for the fast trolters
of jockeys, whose partiality for the Columbia House was evinced
by the fact that from ten to twenty slender-wheeled buggies and
high-headed horses might be seen, any summer afternoon, hem-
ming it in. But this is a digression, and what the house is, or
was, has nothing to do with my story, farther than that it
chanced to be here, at a ball given in celebration of some po-
litical triumph, that the first meeting of Mr. John Robinson
and Miss Matilda Moore took phtce.
"A pretty girl, I'll swear, you just danced with," said Mr.
Robinson to Uncle Jo, as everybody called the well-known
dancing-master: tossing off, as he spoke, a glass of something
stronger than it should have been under the circumstances, for
he was that night the gallant of as pretty a country girl as one
may pick from the meeting-house of a summer morning.
"She dances with infinite grace, Uncle Jo. Won't you take
another glass? You haven't moistened your lips, man."
Could Uncle Jo refuse? As he "tossed the rosy," Mr. Ro-
binson continued, " Is there a better dressed lady in the saloon ?"
And, as if some one dissented, he quickly added, " No, siree /"
Must have the dimes, eh, Unole Jo? won't you produce me?"
Shortly after this one-sided conversation, Uncle Jo appeared
in the saloon, and made his way, with an indolent sort of
saunter, as of one conscious of welcome anywhere, toward the
nook wherein Miss Moore had seated herself, for a little respite,
and the refreshing influence of some light gossip with her cousin
Kate. At his side was Mr. Robinson.
Hardly had the lady time for the whisper behind her fan,
"Isn't he handsome ?" when Uncle Jo presented him as Mr.
John Robinson, of , son of Hon. Judge Robinson ; and
she hastened to tuck away the white lace that hung in a seriea
of short skirts over her pink-satin petticoat, to make room by
her side for the splendid and dashing son of the judge.
" Excuse me, Tild," said the cousin, rising, with a meaning
look, that indicated, " Do as much for me some time ;" and
THE DIFFERENCE, AND WHAT MADE ITt 81 9
linking her arm through that of Uncle Jo, she skipped payly
away for a promenade, rallying her captive coquettishly on not
giving himself exclusively to one, if he did not expect all tha
ladies to claim his service.
u Gad, Uncle Jo/' said Mr. Robinson, toward the dawn of
the morning, "I'll remember you when I fall heir to the
property. You have made me a happy and an envied man
to-night."
" 1 congratulate you," said the dancing-master, who cared not
a whit when young ladies fell in love, nor with whom ; " but
remember, that belles may coquette on occasion. Do you see
anything of that?" He pointed to Miss Moore, who was at
the moment looking tenderly in the face of a very fat man with
very black whiskers, luxuriant and uncropped, reproaching him
in a way that might or might not have meaning in it, for hav
ing deserted her wantonly and unprovokedly a whole evening,
which seemed to her interminable.
" Is the young woman a fool, that she is going to show a
whole ball-room which way her cattle run? No, sir! But
I'll bet you what you dare, or I'll play three games of eucre
with you, and stake my country property, that Miss Matilda
Moore will be Mrs. Matilda somebody else before this night
twelvemonth."
" Very likely," said Uncle Jo, quietly ; and the two gentle-
men retired for a social glass at parting.
I need sav no more of Mr. Robinson, I think. The reader
may form his own idea of what sort ot young men drink with
the dancing-master, boast of property which is still their fa-
ther's and of conquests of ladies who have but chanced to chat
with them half an hour.
Thereafter Mr. Robinson had, to use his own characteristic
phrase, a devilish sight of business in town. He usually drove
his father's, horse and chaise, which he described as " mine,"
and, in company with the rich and accomplished Miss Moore,
went off to the fashionable resorts for ices, strawberries, and
other such delicacies, which have'been, longer than I can remem-
ber, the " food of love." At all balls, races, and pic-nics, too,
Shey were the most dashing and noticeable couple.
820 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
Miss Moore was proud of being escorted by Mr. RobinsOL,
son of the Judge, and Mr. Robinson of attending the handsome
and wealthy Miss Matilda. For a time all went merry, but
*' the course of true love never did run smooth."
n.
" Where is Tildy to-night? Just shove the lamp this way,
my dear," said Mr. Moore, the lumber-merchant, unbuttoning
his vest, and extending his rough boots over the elaborately
carved foot of the tea-table. Mrs. Moore did as directed, and,
as she passed the tea, asked her husband if he thought there
were really so much danger in the camphine. Mr. Moore
opened the evening paper, and, glancing over the advertise-
ments, said, after a minute, p'ld in a tone which indicated a
ruffled temper, " How much do you mean ?"
"Why, you know," replied the wife, blandly, and affecting
not to see his ill-humor, " a good many people are afraid to
burn it, and almost every day we read of accidents from it."
" Then," said Mr. Moore, in no milder tone, " I should think
there was danger."
" Well, I suppose there is danger ; but one must talk, or
one '11 not say anything," said Mrs. Moore, half deprecatingly
and half in justification.
" So it seems." And Mr. Moore was apparently absorbed
in the paper, sipping carelessly now and then of his tea.
" You don't seem to eat," suggested Mrs. Moore, putting
more than usual tenderness in her voice.
" If 1 do n't seem to, I suppose I do n't."
" Won't you try a little of the honey ? Just see how white
and clear it is !" And Mrs. Moore held up the ladle, that her
husband might behold and admire ; but he neither looked up,
tor made any reply.
For a moment she continued to nibble her bread in offended
silence. She knew right well she had vexed him, by not
replying directly as to the whereabouts of Matilda; and, like
the faithful, loving wife she was, she resolved to make amends,
and by way of bringing the subject naturally about, asked t,h
THE DIFFERENCE, AND WHAT MADE IT! 821
hour. Mr. Moore took the repeater from his pocket, and
turned the face toward her, without speaking. Had he spoken
one word, or even looked up, she would have said it was time
for Tildy to come ; but under such painfully repelling circum-
stances, she could not go on ; she ceased even to nibble the
crust, sat a moment in silence, and then, hastily removing her
chair, left the table, and in the solitude of her own chamber,
wept : not " a few tears, brief and soon dried " no, not so
were these many wrongs and slights and silent sufferings to be
appeased she had a regular, sobbing, choking cry such as
have relieved all similar feelings since husbands became petu-
lant, and wives first had " their feelings hurt."
Mr. Moore saw, though he affected not to see, how he had
changed the lady's mood, and he felt some misgivings, though
he affected not to fee! any. He was irritated to a most un-
happy degree, vexed with his wife, and vexed with himself
first, for having been in ill-humor with her ; and next, for
having refused to meet her repeated overtures, as he should
have done. He was half resolved to follow her, and say,
"Jemima, my dear wife, I was wrong ; come down, and let us
eat our supper, which you have been at such pains to prepare,
as though this little recounter had not chanced." But he was
proud, as well as passionate, and though he wished it were done,
he would not do it.
Mrs. Moore was accustomed to obey his slightest wishes,
though unexpressed ; and the little stratagem she used in talk-
ing about cainphine, when he asked about Tildy, was harmless,
and originated, in fact, in love ; for she well knew he would be
angry if she said "She is out in the country, with Mr. Robin-
son ;" and therefore she meant to divert his attention from the
subject, though she should have known she was thereby trea-
suring wrath against the day of wrath. In her evasion he was
sufficiently answered, and, as his indignation must be poured
out somewhere, he resolved that Mr. Robinson, whose character
he thoroughly disliked, should receive it. So, to wile away the
time, he seated himself in the parlor, and, taking up an old
English Annual, read poems and Jove-stories, accounts of ship,
wrecks, and treatises on the mind, with the same avidity, ll
14*
822 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
grew late, and later midnight, one o'clock, two o'clock but
he was neither to be wearied nor softened at all ; and at length
three o'clock came, and Mr. Robinson with it. I need not de
scribe the scene : Mr. Robinson did not come again.
Of course, Mr. Moore became at once the most unnatural
and tyrannical of fathers ; but Miss Moore had spirit as well
as her father, and was not to be so thwarted. Violent opposi-
tion tends always to the growth of whatever is opposed ; and
the young lady's predilection for Mr. Robinson was speedily
strengthened into what she at least believed to be love. Secret
meetings were contrived and effected, during which the despair
of the young man, his unalterable devotion, and her own soft-
ened, it may be slightly perverse heart, worked together for
the establishment of a decree of fate, and on a tempestuous
night, as before intimated, Miss Matilda Moore became Mrs.
John Robinson, and, with her husband, took up her abode at
one of the most fashionable and expensive hotels of the city
after the usual bridal tours, receptions, parties, &c.
The disobedience of the lady not only cut her off from any
marriage portion, but from any prospects in that way, and the
country property of the young man was not available. " Why
do n't you make it so by exchange or sale 1" urged the wife ;
and the truth was forced at 'last the country property was his
only by a possible and remote contingency.
Judge Robinson and his good wife were pleased with the
marriage of their son with the heiress, for they both loved
money, though, as is often the case with persons with such
affections, they never had much about them. They had begun
the world with nothing but their hands and hearts, and, with
patient industry and perseverance, had accumulated enough to
make them rich, in their own estimation and in that of their
neighbors.
On the occasion of their son's nuptials, they had bestowed
on him five hundred dollars a sum that seemed to them suffi.
cient for an entrance into business, and for making all house-
keeping arrangements. They also believed that the wife's
father would soon become reconciled to the union, and settle on
the refractory daughter the handsome portion which she had a
THE DIFFERENCE, AND WHAT MADE IT. 823
right to look for. In this particular they were mistaken, as well
as in the prudent foresight and frugal management they had
calculated upon in their children.
Taking from five hundred dollars continually with one hand,
and adding nothing thereto with the other, will in the course
of time diminish the sum ; and of this fact Mr. and Mrs. Robin-
son became gradually aware, as indeed they well might, when,
oefore the close of the first year, a new claimant for protection
lifted its arms toward them from the cradle, and the last penny
was gone, and they had incurred obligations by value received
to an extent which they had no means of meeting.
III.
Judge Robinson had become discouraged from any further
efforts to assist his improvident children ; but the little grand-
child softened his heart somewhat, and the appeal to his sym
pathy and aid became irresistible, when, one gusty March
morning, as he sat by his ample hearth and read a political
essay by a favorite senator, to his wife, who meantime baked
custard pies by the glowing wood coals, the daughter-in-law
entered, bearing the " precious darling" in her arms.
"And where is John?" inquired the parents, when the bon-
nets, cloaks, shawls, &c. 5 had been laid on the bureau, and the
baby called a pretty little doll, and kissed, time and again, the
while it opened its dewy blue eyes and stretched out its chubby
arms in terror and w order, and the mother said, " Don 't tho
baby know what to make of grandpa and grandma, and every
ting /" in the tenderest falsetto imaginable.
But before Matilda could answer, the sturdy strokes of the
axe sounded from the wood-pile, and, a moment a*.er, John en-
tered, bearing in his arms a quantity of freshly split sticks.
" Did you call the boy to take care of your horse ?" asked
the judge; and turning to his wife, he continued, " Caty, can't
you get your spider out of the corner? It keeps back the
warmth so."
John replied that he was boy enough himself, and had cared
for his own horse. John was politic, and suspected these little
8-24 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
signs of neither forgetting how to work, nor of disdaining it,
would give his father pleasure. In this he was not mistaken
as he knew, by the request for the removal of the spider that
he might enjoy the heat.
" Now, is n't that just like the inconsideration of men ?" said
Mrs. Robinson, appealing to Matilda, as she turned the handle
of the spider aside ; " or have n't you been married long enough
to larn that they think a woman can do anything and every-
thing, without either time or chance ? Mr. Robinson, t a'n't
going to do no sich a thing. I've got a good custard pie in
here, and I sha'n't spile it by taking the spider off the coals,
when it's half baked."
This was said with the utmost good nature, for Mrs. Caty
Robinson loved her husband, and thought, as was right and
proper, that he was a little cleverer than most men ; but her
devotion was not of a sort to induce the removal of the spider
at his suggestion, spoil her custard, and then pout half a day
at the misfortune.
When the custard was baked, the good old lady held it up in
triumph. A white linen towel, she herself had spun and woven,
prevented the dish from burning her hands, while she advised
Matilda to take a lesson from her old mother and begin right,
not humoring John in all his whims, but always to use her own
wit when she knew she was in the right : urging, that in this
particular instance, she had, .as fruit of her prudence, thebeauci-
fulest pie she ever see, while if she had minded Robinson, she
would have had a batch that nobody could eat, and that wouid
have aggravated her whenever she thought of it.
" Well, well, mother," said the judge, as she brushed the
ashes from the corner with the wing of a turkey, "your judg-
ment is generally pretty correct ; and while your pie baked, 1
cooked up a little plan which I want seasoned with your
opinion."
It happened, as is often the case with well-to-do farmers, tnat
Judge Robinson had on an obscure nook of his handsome es-
tate an old house. He had formerly dwelt in it himself; but
uince his more affluent days, and the building of a more com-
nodious residence, it had been let to a tenant, with a quantity
THE DIFFERENCE, AND WHAT MAB2 IT. 826
of land. It was an old-fashioned, irregular sort of building
with mossy roof, steep gables, whitewashed walls, &c. Never-
theless, it was a comfortable-looking tenement, with orchard,
barn, crib, smoke-house, and other like conveniences. The plan
which he had now cooked up was, to renovate the old house
a little, for the occupancy of John and Matilda. As much
ground as he could cultivate was placed at the young man's
disposal : a garden, in which currant bushes, strawberries,
horse-radjsh and asparagus were beginning to sprout, with a
cow, two horses, and the necessary agricultural implements.
This kind of assistance the means of helping themselves -
was not precisely the kind they had hoped for. But " beggars
must not be choosers," said Mrs. John Robinson, disposed,
woman-like, to make the best of the best; and, in truth, as she
thought more about the plan, she began to like it : it would be
so delightful to have the garden, and to learn the art of butter-
making, and all the other mysteries of country life. Then, too,
the baby would have a nice green yard to play in the idea
was really charming.
Mr. John Robinson soon after told his friends that he should
remove to his country property for the summer, that the health
of his familv required it, and that he proposed to take a house
in town another winter : a hotel was a miserable apology for a
home, which he continued to describe with the richest and most
peculiar selection of adjectives.
Preliminaries, arranged, Mr. and Mrs. John Robinson re
moved to their country seat; in other words, they betook them
selves, with their baby, a very excellent trunk (which was Mrs.
Robinson's), and a very poor old one (which was Mr. Robin-
son's), to the ancient tenant-house of Mr. Robinson because, in
brief, they could not do otherwise.
And to that place, as related in the beginning of this chap-
tcr, I one evening, toward the close of the following May,
crossed the meadows to make my first call. John Robinson
had been my school-mate; I had known him in all the devious
paths "that led him up to man," and therefore looked with
more leniency, perhaps, on his faults and foibles, than I other-
wise should have done. Besides, he had, mixed up with idl
826 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
and dissolute habits, and aside from his braggart conversation,
and disposition to tyrannize where he had power to do so, some
generous and good qualities. His wife, I fancied, must find the
old place lonesome, shut from the contemplation of everything
but wood and meadow, and would meet with many discourage-
rnents, accustomed as she had been to stylish and luxurious
habits of life.
I had seen nothing of John for several years; but I had heard
reports not altogether favorable to his growth in grace or refine-
ment. The wife I had never seen : and as I walked down the
hollow, skipped over the run, (still trickling noisily with the
spring thaw,) climbed the next hill, passed the old oak, quick-
ened my steps through a strip of woods, and struck into the
lane leading directly to the door, I mused as to what sort of
person I should meet.
A thousand stars were out in the blue sky when the old gate
creaked on its hinges to admit me ; there was sufficient light
for an outside observation, and I recognized such signs of thrift
and industry as I little expected to see ; the picket fence had
been mended and whitewashed, the shrubberies trimmed, the
raspberry vines tied to supporting stakes, and a deal of rubbish
cleared from the yard, where the turf now lay fresh and smooth,
save here and there, where little patches had been broken for
the planting of flowers. The glimpse I caught of the high gar-
den beds, straight rows of peas, pale shoots of onions, and
straggling radish-tops, were no less pleasaatly suggestive.
From the cow-yard, I heard the rustling of hay, the sharp ring-
ing of the first streams of milk on the bottom of the tin pail,
and the hummed fragment of a rural song. The windows of
the kitchen were aglow, and the crying of a child, with the voice
of one who seemed trying to still it while some other task was
being performed, met my ear as I rapped for admission.
The door was opened by a young and pale-looking woman,
whom I supposed to be Mrs. Robinson, and to her I introduced
myself, as a neighbor, well known to her husband. There was
a slight trepidation in her manner, indicating a diffidence I did
not expect, though her welcome was full of cordiality, grace,
and sweetness. The roses were gone from her cheeks, and the
THE DIFFERENCE, AND WHAT MADE IT. 327
curls tucked away from their flowing, but she had, instead,
that, look of patient, motherly meekness, which made her more
beautiful ; her dress was neat and tasteful, and as she left the
tea-kettle steaming on the hearth, the table, with its snowy
cloth falling almost to the floor, and the tea things partially ar-
ranged, and took the baby on her knees, she presented, with
her surroundings, a picture which might have made a painter
immortal. Their furniture was neither expensive nor profuse;
but the happy disposition of such as they had, gave an air
even of elegance to their home. The white muslin curtains at
the windows, flowing draperies over the tables, the few books,
the guitar, and the flowers, imparted that particular charm to
the place which I have known a much larger expenditure fail to
produce.
Mr. Robinson's first exclamation, on seeing me, was pro-
fanely good-natured ; and after his surprise had thus vented
itself he gave me a friendly welcome, and taking the baby
from his wife's arms, entertained me with accounts of his suc-
cess as a farmer. Nor did he neglect to praise the aptitude and
many excellencies of his wife; telling me she had not only
learned to bake bread, pies, puddings, and the like, but that she
could wash, iron, and scrub; in fact, understood all the less ele-
gant duties of housekeeping. The lady blushed to hear her-
self so praised ; but she shrunk with mortification from the
rouuh adjectives with which each compliment was confirmed.
After partaking of their delicious tea, and various etceteras, I
was quite willing to endorse all commendation of the house-
keeper, and as I took leave of my new acquaintance I could
not avoid saying something of the pleasure I had enjoyed,
as well as expressing a hope that we should meet each other
very frequently.
Often of summer evenings, as I sat in the moonlight, I heard
the music of the guitar across the hill ; and once in a while,
when it was very still, I could hear the young wife singing to
her baby. We had soon a little path worn through the meadow,
and many were the exchanges of ginger cakes and pies which
it facilitated. Sometimes I caught the flutter of the white
blanket on the edge of the hill, and ran to rrjeet my friend and
828 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
elieve her of her precious burden. There was no very deep
or close sympathy between us, but however different the circle
of our lives and thoughts, there were points that touched, one
could teach me to embroider, and to make various little articles,
pretty and useful, while in other ways I was not less useful to
her. Though she never heard of the Mask of Comus, or read
the Fairie Queen, there were other things to talk about.
So the summer went by, and the fall ; and when the fires
were kindled on the hearth, the long skirts of the babv were
tucked up, and she was toddling from chair to chair, and de-
lighting father and mother by lisping the name of each. Mrs.
Robinson was well pleased with her new life, and often ex-
pressed surprise that the idle nothings of her former experience
could have satisfied her. The autumn tasks, of putting up and
down sweetmeats and pickles, were accomplished without diffi-
culty or complaint; and even the winter, which she had always
heard was so lonely and comfortless in the country, was to the
young wife and mother just as pleasant as any other season.
There were knitting and patchwork, sewing and mending, al-
ways, to make the days short; then the meat was to be minced
for pies, the eggs beaten, or the cakes baked ; so that, far from
having time hang heavy on her hands, she had scarcely suffi-
cient for all the duties of the day. During the blustering
months of snow we saw less of each other than previously ;
yet we had not a few pleasant chats and rural games in the
broad light of the wood fires.
For the most part, the demeanor of Mr. Robinson toward
his wife and child was gentle and affectionate : but sometimes,
for he was of an arbitrary and irritable temperament, he gave
expression to such coarseness and harshness as must have
driven a sensitive and refined woman "weeping to her bed."
As my presence began to be less a restraint, these unpleasant
encounters became of more frequent occurrence ; and the wife,
instead of the silent endurance practiced at first, learned to re-
tort smartly, then angrily. However, these were episodes use-
ful for the general domestic tranquillity, and were very far
from requiring the binding over of either party to keep th
peace.
THE DIFFERENCE, AND WHAT MADE IT. 82t
IV.
The following spring, Mr. Moore, who had never forgiven
his daughter, died suddenly, and without any will, and Mrs.
Robinson became heir to some eight or ten thousand dollars.
The humble home in the country, in which they had taken so
much interest, and where they had really had much of happi-
ness, lost its attractions. Carpets were torn up, and curtains
down, and, with beds, chairs, and tables, disposed of in sum-
mary order. The old things were no longer of use. Neces-
sary preparations were soon effected, and early one April
morning the fires were put out, the doors locked, and the farm
house left alone.
A handsome house was rented in town, stylish furniture
bought, and half a dozen servants employed, for with the
renewal of old associations and ampler means, more than the
old indolence and extravagance were indulged.
For three years, owing partly to chances which I need not
explain, I saw nothing of the Robinsons. At the close of that
period, I chanced to be in their neighborhood, and, with some
mingling of curiosity among kindly remembrances, sought
them out.
The exterior of their dwelling had an humble, even a dingy
and comfortless appearance. Perhaps, thought I, reports have
spoken falsely, but as the door was opened, by a slatternly
black girl, the faded remnants of better times which met my
eyes spoke for themselves. 1 was scarcely seated when a
child of some four years presented herself, with dress and face
indicating a scarcity of water, and looking at me with more
sauciness than curiosity, asked me bluntly how long I meant
to stay at their house. I confess to the weakness of being
disconcerted by such questions from children, and before I had
time fully to recover, a boy, who might have been two years
younger, and whose white trousers, red jacket, and milky face,
indicated a similar want of motherly attention, entered the
room, and taking the remnant of a cigar from his mouth, threw
his cap against me with as much force as he was master of, by
SAO OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
way of salutation, and then, getting one foot upon the head of
a broken cupid that graced a " windowed niche," challenged
my admiration of his boots. The little girl, probably wishing
me to know she was not without accomplishments, opened a
piano, and began drumming on the keys, when, the ^oise
drowning the boy's voice, a lively quarrel ensued, and blows
were exchanged with wonderful rapidity.
" A'n't you ashamed ?" said the girl, relenting first, and
looking at me.
"No,'' replied the boy, "I don't care for her. Ma said
she did n't want to see her; and pa was gone with all the
money, and there was nothing for supper but half a mack-
erel and two ginger cakes. And," he added, " I am going
to eat both of them."
Mrs. Robinson, as she descended, caught the whole or a part
of this little piece of conversation, and, calling the black girl
from the kitchen, ordered her to bring "them two little
plagues out of the parlor by main force." Dinah blustered
in, feeling all the dignity of her commission, and dragged them
out, as directed, in spite of the triple remonstrances of feet,
hands, and voices.
As Mrs. Robinson drew them up stairs by a series of quick
jerks, she told them, in a voice neither low nor soft, that she
had a sharp knife in her pocket, and that if she ever heard
them talk so again, she would cut off their ears; that for the
present, she should shut them up in her room, and if they
quarreled, or made a bit of noise, a big negro who was in the
chimney would come down and eat them up. But the last and
awfulest terror she brought to bear on them, was an intimation
that she would tell their father.
She presently entered the parlor, with an infant in her arms ;
and if I had nut been in some measure prepared for a meta-
morphosis, I must have betrayed my surprise at her altered
appearance. There was no vestige of beauty remaining ; even
the expression of her countenance was changed, and she looked
the picture of sullen, hard, and dissatisfied endurance. Her
pale hair had become thin, and was neither arranged with
taste nor care; her eyes were dull and sunken ; her nose, al
THE DIFFERENCE, AND WHAT MADE IT. Kl
ways prominent, looked higher and sharper; and her teeth,
once really beautiful, were blackened and decaying. The dresa
she wore had formerly been pretty and expensive silk, and wag
still set off with flounces, buttons, and ribbons, which brought
out the faded colors, grease-spots, and tatters, in bold relief.
The tidy chintz, and the loving and trusting heart she had,
when I first saw her in the old house, were both gone.
They had made many moves and removes -luring three
years ; and Mrs. Robinson took occasion to tell me of the
many fine things she had had, of the places she had visited,
&c., so that I could easily fill up the history. Her husband
was gone to the races had a heavy bet on " Lady Devereaux,"
and if she won, Mrs. Robinson was to have a new bracelet
ind satin dress !
"John is very much changed," said the wife; "the children
are as much afraid of him as they are of death, and I am glad
of it, for I could not get along with them when he is away,
unless I frightened them by threats that I would tell their father
on his return. You know," she continued, " he used to have
Helen in his arms half the time when she was a baby, but
now he never touches one of the children unless it is to beat
them. However, he is never home now-a-days."
"He must have changed," I said, " for when you lived in
the country he was always at home."
"Oh, yes; but we were just married then!" replied the
wife.
How much that sentence revealed ! and I have thought often
since, that if men and women would continue to practice the
forbearance, the kindness, the politeness, and little acts that
first won love, the sunshine of happiness need never be
dimmed.
In this case, however, the neglect of these things was not
the only misfortune. There are people to whom money is an
evil, people who will only learn industry, and moderation,
and the best humanities, in the school of necessity. They who
sit down and sigh for wealth, who have youth and health, and
God's fair world before them, though never so penniless, are
unworthy of wealth, and to such adversity is a good thing.
lit OUR NEIGHBORHOOD
ELSIE'S GHOST STORY.
WE were sitting by the open window, cousin Elsie and I,
for though it was late in November the evening was unusually
mild : we were sitting by the window that overlooks one of
the crookedest streets of the city, not looking much to the
crowds that passed below, nor ladies in plumes and furs, nor
gentlemen with slender canes and nicely trimmed whiskers, nor
ragged urchins crying the evening papers, nor splendid equip-
ages, nor any of the other various sights that sometimes interest
careless observers, but watching the bright clouds that over
the distant water wrapt the sun in a golden fleece for his nightly
repose. The long reach of woods that is beneath was hidden
by dense masses of blue smoke, in which the red basement of
the sky seemed to bury itself. A portion of the great forest
of masts that borders a part of the city was visible from our
window, and now and then a black scow moved slowly over
the waves, and a white sail gleamed for a moment, and was
gone.
Autumn, especially an autumn twilight, is always to me a
melancholy time; even with the ripe nuts dropping at my feet,
or with rny lap full of bright orchard fruits, I am more lonely
then than when winter whistles through his nurnb fingers and the
drowsy snow blows in great drifts across the flowers. When
the transition is once made, when the fire is once brightly glow,
ing, and the circle, wide or narrow, drawn about it, and the song
of the cricket well attuned, the undefinable heaviness that lay
>n my heart all the fall, is gone, blown away with the mists.
* had a playmate whose happiness was dearer to me than my
ELSIE'S GHOST STORY. 333
own. My lost one, my sister how often from the little sun-
shine that has been my portion, I have turned aside to think of
thee, on whose life the blight of sin had scarcely fallen, ere
from the rippled length of thy dark tresses we took the Rov-
ers trusting thy feet to the dark.
The rain was falling when she died,
The sky was dismal with its gloom
And Autumn's melancholy blight,
Shook down the yellow leaves that night,
And dismally the low winds sighed
About her tomb.
And when swart November comes round, and the winds
moan along the hills, and pluck from the withering woods the
last leaves, something of the old sorrow comes back. A
shadowy host, born of the fading glories, stands between me
and the light, and as I gaze, sweeps in a pale procession toward
the tomb.
Looking up from the reverie in which I had fallen, I saw that
cousin Elsie was wrapt under the wing of a darker sorrow than
mine.
" Arouse thee, dearest, 'tis not well
To let the spirit brood
Thus darkly o'er the ills that swell
Life's current to a flood,"
I said, laying my hand lightly and half-playfully on her's. But
as I did so, the tears, which only a strong effort had kept back,
dropt hot and fast. I left her for a moment, and affected to
busy myself at the fire, for, though the window was open, the
grate was well heaped, more for the sake of its genial glow,
than because any warmth was needed ; and when I returned
and seated myself at her side, the tears were gone, and a smile
that seemed even sadder than tears, hovered on her lips.
I said something about the chilliness, as I lowered the sash,
and pointed to the first star that stood blushing in a rift of
faded cloud. My observations required no answer, for I talked
rather for than to her. Seeing this, she seated herself on a low
stool at my feet, and laying her head on my knees, said in a
mannner she intended to be gay "You need not affect uncon-
sciousness, for you are wondering what I am thinking about,
even though you do talk of the stars."
i34 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
I acknowledged the truth, and she added, " Will it amusa
you to hear my thoughts ?"
I replied that it would ; and she gave me a reminiscence
of our life at Clovernook, where my heart always wanders
from the city, when I am in. no cheerful mood.
II.
"You think me a dull companion sometimes," she said,
" and I know that I am so ; at this season, especially, I am
gloomy, for it was at such a time that some of the flowers of
hope died which will never blossom in all my future life. Laa
year I sat on the doorsteps before our home, watching the sun-
set, as bright as this to-night. Adeline was with me for we
were always together dear sister! she is happier, I hope, than
I shall ever be. We sat in open air, partly that we knew its
genial mildness must soon be gone before the chill blasts, and
partly that it seemed more lonely in the house, for we had been
to the funeral of Louisa Hastings that day you did not know
her one of the sweetest and most amiable tempered girls I
ever knew. I would not mention her now, but for what I am
going to tell you. She was young and beautiful, rich, and a
'universal favorite, but consumption was hereditary in her
family, and she had scarcely attained the maturity of woman-
hood when the fatal symptoms manifested themselves. Morn
ing and evening, all the past summer, we had seen the slowly-
drawn carriage in which she took the fresh air, and though she
knew that her journeying must presently terminate in the dark,
a smile of patient serenity was ever on her face. As we sat
together on the steps that night, the red sunset clouds away be-
fore us, with now and then a star trembling through, we saw-
before us the new and .smoothly shaped mound, about which
the yellow leaves were drifting for the first time. Between our
horns and the great city there is a thickly wooded hill of over
a mile in length, which has the reputation of being haunted >
and in truth it is no wonder, for a more gloomy looking place,
even in daylight, it would be difficult to imagine. In its whole
length there is no house, save a ruinous old cabin, where the
ELSIE'S GHOST STORY 835
keep that stray about the hills, seemingly without ' ownex ;
lodge at night, and in which a murder was once committed,
since which it has had no human inhabitant. The road, wind-
ing partly around and over this hill, is so narrow that the
branches of the trees growing on either side meet overhead and
interlace ; so that even at noonday a kind of twilight prevails,
and at night the gloom is dense, unless the moon be full. Just
at the summit, and dividing the woods from the villas that be-
gin to dot the landscape, a stone wall incloses a small lot of
ground, known as the Hastings Burial Place, and there the
grave of Louisa had been made. One sad event links itself
with another always, and we talked of Charley Hall ; of the
many times we had sat there, gay and happy, because of his
presence ; and of the last night of our parting, then a year
agone. Away across the wild mountains he was going from
us to remain a year : a little year, as he said himself a long
year, as it seemed to me. Need I explain why ?
'' The long absence was nearly over on that evening, and
though his letters to me had not been of the character his pre-
vious conduct had led me to expect, I could not help looking
forward anxiously, hopefully, to the time of his return. Of that
time we talked, as we partly reclined against the steps, our feet
resting in the cushion of grass, over which crept the wild ivy,
which also fastened itself in the crevices of the blue stones, of
which the steps were roughly made, and clambered among the
rose-bushes that grew under the windows.
"At last, after speaking much of fears, and hopes that kin-
died fears, we grew gradually still, and as the shadows fell
thicker and darker, a childish timidity came over me the
creaking of the boughs against the wall, or a sudden shadow
thrown across the moonlight, startled me I felt a premonition
of evil. I could hear the treading of the cattle among the green
ridges of sweet scented hay, and across the orchard hill saw
the sheep and lambs lie quietly among the yellow sheaves of
oats that had been scattered for their evening meal ; but rural
pictures and sounds failed of soothing ; and when far away I
heard the beating of hoofs, I listened eagerly and half trem-
blingly, fixing my eyes on the gray line of dust that stretched
836 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
to the south. " I should be glad," I remember saying, "if thaf
horseman, if horseman he be, were well by," and of asking
Adeline if she felt no apprehension. " Not the least," she re-
plied; and her manner, for she burst into outright laughter, for
a moment reassured me; and especially when she added, " DC
you not hear the rattling of wheels ? I suspect it is Johnny
Gates, coming from market, and fearful lest his wife's supper
be cold." I was not well at ease, however, and as the strokes
fell heavier and heavier, could not help repeating the wish I
had made at first. Presently, dividing the shadows of the next
hill, the gay but seemingly tired animal appeared. He was
not the sober pony of Johnny Gates, nor did he draw the little
market cart, so familiar to us both; for neither the shining lit-
tle buggy, nor the briskly trotting horse, with slender ears
pricked forward, and flanks speckled with foam, had either of
us ever seen before; and the full round moon was quite above
the eastern tree-tops, large and bright, so that we saw quite
distinctly.
"More slowly the driver ascended th,e hill, looking eagerly
toward the house, directly opposite which he drew up the reins,
and I could hear the impatient champing of the bit and pawing on
the ground, as he alighted, and approaching, inquired if we were
sisters of Mrs. Dingley, who, he said, was sick, and desired me
to come to her. She was many years older than 1, and though
I loved her, it was not as I loved Adeline, who had come up
the pleasant paths of childhood, into the shadowy borders of
womanhood, and the thick sorrows of maturer life, by my side.
She had married unfortunately, as you perhaps know, and, in
the suburbs of the city, lived in a humble, even a comfortless
way. The news of her illness pained but did not surprise me ;
and remarking that 1 knew an evil star was in my house of life
that night, 1 set about the little preparations necessary for my
departure. In less than an hour I was on my way, and Ade-
line, the tears in her eyes, was alone.
" In the bustle of preparation, and the sorrow of departure, I
had scarcely remarked the man who drove the carriage, but as
the lights of home, and those most near to us, faded out;
I began to observe him mor^ particularly than I had done be
ELSIE'S GHOST STORY. 387
fore. He seemed a short thick person, with a round heavy
head set close on his shoulders, with a complexion so dark aa
to throw some dou-bt upon his origin* though I saw him but im-
perfectly, as he was enveloped in a rough shaggy coat, the
skin of some animal apparently, the collar of which was 4rawn
iip, concealing, in part, his head, on which he wore neither cap
nor hat, but instead a comforter of woolen, the ends of which hung
loose, forming a tassel. The right hand was bandaged with a
white cloth, but nevertheless he dexterously managed the fiery
animal he drove with the left hand. We had proceeded a mile
or two in silence, when thinking, perhaps, his voice would de-
stroy the vague terror suggested by his person, I addressed
to him some remark ; but his reply was brief, and in a grum
and forbidding tone, so that I under.-tood not a word.
" As we drew near the grave-yard in the edge of the lone-
some wood, I noticed that the gate, which was of iron, and
usually locked, stood a little open, and whether this circum-
stance quickened my imagination I do not know, but I either
heard, or thought I heard, a noise within. My companion
seemed to hear it too, for drawing up the reins, he leaned in
that direction, and listened closely, though he spoke not. Sud-
denly the horse, which had been with difficulty restrained, ele-
vated his head, and lowering his back as though to pass under
an arch, sped swiftly down the slope and under the tangled
boughs of the haunted hill. ' Don't be scared at nothing, old
boy,' said my taciturn friend, addressing the refractory horse,
and bringing him to a sudden stand, with a jerk so violent that
it at first threw him back on, his haunches, he leaped out, ainl
throwing the reins on the ground, as if purposely to add to ihe
fear in my heart, which he must have been aware of, he sun.
ceeded in ciuieting the animal by half fond, half rough caresses,
bestowed on his glossy neck and head.
"I felt myself trembling, and dared not speak, lest my fear
should betray itself. The broad field of moonlight lay on th
summit of the hill behind us, and not yet quite out of view,
and a little faint and checkered light struggled through the
boughs. My strange conductor, after repeatedly listening and
looking back, as though in expectation of something, began
15
888 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
fumbling in his pocket, perhaps for a deadly weapon, I thought^
and I breathed freely when he only took thence a watch with a
heavy chain attached, both of which, by their glittering, seemed
gold, and turning it toward the moonlight, endeavored to dis-
cover the time of night. It must have been about eleven
o'clock, as I judged by the moon. Every thing he did, the
hour, the place, were suspicious, else my state of mind rendered
them so. We did not remain thus motionless, perhaps, over
ten minutes, but it was long enough for me to conjure a thou-
sand shapes of evil. My sister's illness might have been a
pretence under which to lure me to death. Once or twice I
was near screaming for help, but the consciousness that none
was within reach, and the knowledge that 1 should but hasten
my doom if there were really danger, kept me still, and when
we again set forward, very slowly, I tried to divert my thoughts
from their hideous channel, and had in part succeeded, when a
new, but not less terrible fear thrilled the very marrow in
my bones.
" We were nearly midway of the lonesome road : on one
side was a ridge of high stony hills, and on the other a deep
ravine, along which a noisy stream tumbled and dashed toward
the river, which swallowed it. The mist hung white above it,
and crept lazily up the ascent beyond, and from beneath its
folds the whippoorwill was repeating its mournful song. In the
bottom of the carriage lay a small coil of rope, which the
slightest motion of my feet disturbed, giving me most unplea-
sant sensations. Once, as I endeavored to shuffle it aside, the
man chuckled, and saying ropes were used sometimes for other
purposes than hanging, placed it on the seat between us. As
he did so, I noticed that he looked back earnestly, and that the
gaze was often repeated. I did not dare to look, though I now
distinctly heard the rumbling of some light vehicle behind us.
Nearer and nearer it came, and thinking, perhaps, it might be
Johnny Gates on his way to market though I had once mis-
taken a similar sound that night and that an honest friend
might be very near, I turned and saw a small uncovered wagnu
drawn by one horse, at a distance of but fifty yards. Within
it two men were seated, and right between them, upright, and
ELSIE'S GHOST STOUT. 339
stiff and stark, seemingly, was what appeared a woman clothed
in white. Fears would not permit a continuance of my gaze,
nor would it allow me to look steadily in the opposite direc-
tion, and so as we descended beneath the dark arching of trees,
1 often looked back. They did not approach more nearly, and
the light was faint, but my first impression would take no other
shape.
" It seemed to me the long hill would never have an end,
and with that mysterious carriage creeping slowly and softly
behind us, the moments were centuries. At last, however,
I saw the road emerging into the light, and heard the stage
coach rattling over the bridge beyond. Presently I saw the-
tossing manes of the four gay horses and the glimmer of
the lamps. My weak fears were gone, and from my bent
and trembling position 1 drew myself up and looked boldly
around. The ghostly equipage was no where to be seen.
III.
"It was near midnight when we drew up in the broad
area of light that fell from the window of my sister's sick
chamber. The moon was high, and so bright that the stars
seemed fewer and paler than was their wont. The air had
become chilling, and the streets were almost entirely deserted,
which heightened my desolate feeling; for my friends, as I
have said, lived in the suburbs of the city, and I saw through
a row of naked trees that stood a little to the west, the
white gleam of high monuments, and low and thickly set tomb-
stones. Glad as I was to be separated from my strange
conductor, a dismal home-sick feeling came to trouble ico
anew.
" It is a sad thing to go into a strange house where there ia
sickness. We need to be strong and hopeful ourselves, in order
to hear with us any of the joy and light of consolation. This
'residence of my sister was of wood, small and unpainted, and
on an obscure street, without pavement or lamps, with on tht
one side an old graveyard, from which a part of the dead had
b^en removed and on the other a lunatic asylum, from which
840 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
proceeded such frightful noises as tended in no wise to quiet mj
feelings.
" My quick, loud rap, was presently answered by my
brother-in-law, whose highly decent and respectable appearance
contrasted strangely with the poor and scanty air of things about
him. He was one of those peculiarly organized persons who,
capable of turning his hand to almost anything, was only
goaded by the closest necessity to any sort of exertion. Of
the most amiable disposition imaginable, and affectionate to his
wife and children proud of them indeed he was nevertheless
so invulnerably indolent, that the common comforts of life
were often wanting to them and tcr himself. He was a little,
stiff, and exceedingly pompous man, both in manners and con-
versation, and his ' expectations' were a theme on which he
dwelt delightedly from one year's end to another. ' Aman-
daA,' he was accustomed to say, when he saw his patient and
worn wife bending over the miserable remnant of some gar-
ment 'don't work any more, my dear; I will get new clothes
for the children.' But his promise! were the basis of small
hopes, and poor Amanda generally darned on as long as the
tallow candle gave her any light. She is one of the best and
most painstaking women in the world, and in spite of all her
many crosses and disappointments, loving and even hopeful
still. God knows whether she will ever have the little cottage
invested with vines and shrubbery which is her ambition ; but
at this period everything about her was hopeless.
"The room we entered was small, with low ceiling, curtain-
less windows, and naked floor. The furniture consisted of a
few common chairs, A square pine table, a cupboard in which
there was nothing to eat, and a stove in which there was no
fire. My brother-in-law kissed my forehead, said he was de-
lighted to see sister ElsaA, that the prospect looked a little
sombre just now glancing about the room but that in a day
or two things would assume their usually cheerful aspect ; and
as this was being said he conducted me up a narrow flight of
stairs, and into the sick chamber. My sister I found quite ill,
but not dangerously so, and the room was as barren of com-
fortable appliances as the one i. first entered. I soon contrived
ELSIE'S GHOST STORY. 841
to arrange things as well as I could, and when the bed and pil
low had been carefully spread, and the hands and face of the
invalid freely bathed in cold water, she felt refreshed, and after
a little toast and some cheerful conversation, fell asleep. The
husband, wearied with the watching of previous nights, shortly
followed her example, and I was left to wile the remainder of
f .he night away as best I could. Hearing the tossing and turn-
ings of the children in the next room, I looked in to see what
disturbed their slumber. Their beds were hard matrasses, laid
flat on the floor, and the clothing, even for that early season,
was quite too scanty, eked out as it was with old shawls and
petticoats.
"There were the two black-eyed little girls, each with arms
folded lovingly about the other, but with a half scowl on her
face; near by lay their brother, an active and intelligent boy
often years, his hands locked tightly together above his heavy
black hair, and his lips compressed as though conscious of endu-
rance. Piled on the floor at the head of his bed were the two
or three dozen books that composed his library. They had
been collected from various sources, and were carefully pre-
served, as appeared from the paper covers in which the most
elegantly bound were enveloped. Some of them he had re-
ceived as prizes at school, a few I had given him, and the
remainder were fruits of his labor; for sometimes on Saturdays
and other holidays, he did errands for Mr. Mackelvane, a rich
merchant and neighbor, who employed his father as clerk,
when he would condescend to be employed. A shrewd boy
and a good was my nephew Ralph. Depending over the little
library, by way of ornamenting his part of the room, I suppose,
were two or three graceful plumes of the peacock. I took the
shawl from my shoulders, and spread it over his bed as a cov-
erlid, wrapping it warmly about his neck. He did not wake,
but his countenance assumed a softened expression, and I was
more than repaid for my own deprivation.
" The fire was growing dim, and the light low, and hoping
to divert my thoughts from their troubled channel I took up
the evening paper, and by chance ran over the list of arrivals,
and among them was that of Mr. and Mrs. Charles H . 1
842 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
cannot describe to you the terrible sensation which came ovei
me. I knew not till then what hope I had been leaning on
suddenly it was broken away, and I felt too weak and wretched
and helpless to stand alone. The past was a mockery and
delusion, the present a horrible chaos, and the future all a
blank. How was I, faltering and fainting with a bleeding
heart, to be a minister of strength and consolation, to speak
what I felt not, and feel what I spoke not. I was irritated by
every sound: no matter whether it were of the wind moaning
through the trees along the grave-yard, or of some belated step
on the ground below it seemed like digging the tomb of peace.
The candle burned dim, and flickered and went out; I knew not
where to find another, and so, with no other light than that of
the dying embers, and the white sheet of moonlight that fell
across the darkness, I sat there, in solitude, with a darker sor-
row on my spirit than 1 had ever known before. Beyond the
desolate common, with low and mean houses scattered here
and there, burned the lamps, rose the luxurious dwellings
and shone the towers of the great and wealthy city : no light
anywhere in the world burned for me, none of those elegant
homes had any word or warmth for me I was suddenly be-
come an alien from humanity. He, who had made all things
beautiful, all situations endurable, was once more near me;
the chime of the same bells smote upon our ears, but how dif-
ferent the echoes it awakened. Fate links strange contrasts
the bridal train sweeps by the slow, pale procession of death,
and the lights of the birth-chamber grow dim in an atmosphere
of woe ! It seemed that the long night would never end ; but
what, in the great universe of things, are our little joys or
sorrows, that the wings of time should be stayed or quickened
for them ! At length the hours wore by, and the sounds of foot-
steps on the pavement, first at intervals only, began to be
heard, and gradually deepened and thickened the world was
astir, and morning was come to every one but me.
"Some little light came into my heart as the children climbed
about me, in an ecstacy of gladness. Ralph was more shy
than the little girls, and felt a hesitancy about scrutinizing my
bonnet and shawl with as much freedom as they, nor could ha
ELSIE'S GHOST STORY. 841
exhibit his little collection of books with the complacency they
felt in showing me their patchwork and dolls. He, however,
at last, half in shame and half in pride, displayed before me
not only his books, but another treasure scarcely less prized.
The most choice volumes he took from their paper envelopes
that I might see how free from any soiling they were, and be
gratified with the brightness of the bindings. I praised him for
their careful preservation, as well as for the knowledge he had
derived from them.
" While he and I were thus engaged, the little girls had con-
stantly interrupted us with, ' Oh, come aunty, oh come down,
Ralph has got something prettier to show you.' ' Never mind,'
said Ralph at last, ' Aunt Elsie has seen a thousand, and pret-
tier ones than mine, I expect,' though he was evidently as anx-
ious as they, judging from the alacrity with which he ran down
stairs before me, when I said, 'What is it Ralph a dog]'
He laughed at my mistake, adding, " It is n't nothing much."
" In one corner of the hard beaten door-yard grew a small
cherry-tree, and from its topmast bough, trailing earthward
and shining and sparkling in the light of the lately risen sun,
were the plumes of a beautiful peacock. Very proud he
looked, and as if unwilling to descend to the common earth.
' That is all,' said Ralph, pointing to the bird, but no doubt ex-
pecting on my part a delightful surprise. I did feel pleasure,
and expressed perhaps more than I felt. 'Who gave him to
you f I asked. ' No one,' he replied, ' I bought him with mo-
ney Ml 1 . Mackelvane gave me for doing errands ;' and more
sorrowfully, after a moment he said, ' I might have spent the
money more usefully, mother says, but I wanted something
pretty, and we had nothing that was pretty.'
"My praises of the beauty of the bright-plumed bird svoi-
diverted his thoughts to a more agreeable channel, and in coi. Er-
ring happiness, I became at least less miserable. Mr. Dingley,
who was always going to do something, making arrangements
for some wonderful speculation, instead of actually accomplish,
ing anything, set out on a journey of a hundred miles, a day or
two after my arrival, taking with him most of the scanty meana
the house afforded, and saying as he did so, 'I should not b
144 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
surprised AmandaA, if I made a thousand dollars by this little
trip.'
" ' 1 should,* said Ralph, who was wise beyond his years ; and
going close to his mother, he asked, in a whisper, if father had
taken all the money. She told him his father always did what
he thought was for the best, and, quieted, if not convinced, he
left the room. Presently I descended too, and found him sit-
ting on the doorstep of the kitchen, his eyes full of tears, and
vainly endeavoring to twist the sleeve of his roundabout in a
way that would conceal the ragged elbow. Busying myself, I
affected not to see the exhibition of sorrow, and when his eyes
were dry, said carelessly, 'I see, Ralph, you have torn the
sleeve of your coat if you will take it off 1 will mend it.' He
took it off, saying as he laid it in my lap, 'It is not torn, aunt
Elsie, but worn out;' and while I mended it, telling him I could
make it look just as well as when new, he informed me that
Washington Mackelvane had a fine blue coat with brass but-
tons, and that he laughed at his old gray one, calling him a
poor boy.
"Mrs. Dingley continued to improve, and at the end of a week
was quite well. From the time of my coming, our meals had
been growing less and less substantial, till we were finally re-
duced to almost nothing, and the last cent was expended.
"Poor Ralph, whose sufferings were twice as great because I
knew it all, staid from school, and asked Mr. Mackelvane if he
could not give him something to do, but that gentleman did n't
want anything done; he next took two of his prettiest books
to the grocer, and tried to exchange them for something to eat,
but the grocer did n't want them, saying he had no time to
read; and, discouraged and almost crying, the little fellow
came back. ' What shall we do, mother?' he said, in the hope
that she might have resources he knew not of; but she could
suggest nothing better than the asking Mr. Mackelvane to lend
them some money till Mr. Dingley's return. ' No,' said Ralph,
resolutely, 'not as long as we can help it,' and away he ran,
without giving us any intimation of his intention. When ha
returned, which was in half an hour, Washington Mackelvane
was with him, and going straight to where the peacock wai
ELSIE'S GHOST STORY. 34
dropping his long plumes in the sun, seized him by a dexter
ous movement, and bore him off in triumph, tossing Ralph
some money as he did so, as though it were of no importance
to him. Ralph came in, and placing the price of his treasure
in his mother's hand, ran up to his room, and sitting down on
the edge of his low bed, gave way to his emotion half of vex
ation at the loss of his favorite, half of joy that he was able by
any sacrifice to save his mother and sisters from a part of their
ui ihappiness."
IV.
When Cousin Elsie had finished this story of poor Ralph,
drawing our chairs to the fire, for the air was become chilly, I
asked whether she heard anything more of her strange escort, or
the mysterious pursuit. Nothing farther, she said, than that
the person hired to convey her to the city bore the reputation
of an honest man ; but as to the vision, or whatever it were,
on the lonesome hill, no more was learned by her, except
that a young man, of strict integrity, who chanced to be return-
ing home late from visiting a sick neighbor, encountered the
same strange vehicle with the white occupant. "And Charley
H.," I said, "did you meet him?"
" Yes," said cousin Elsie, " and that was the most unkindest
cut of all."
"I could not bear to eat Ralph's bread, procured as it was,
and not really being needed any longer, I set out to walk home,
and with the little parcel in my hand, had reached the lone-
some hill, when a handsome equipage overtook and passed me,
aud looking up, I recognized Mr. H. The lady sitting at his
side, who seemed beautiful and very gayly dressed, looked back
from the window several times. Oh, I could have called on
the trees to crush me!" said Elsie, "for very mortification."
We sat long in silence, looking into the fire. Little Ralph
and his beautiful bird would not let me sleep. Many a name
illumines the page of history for a less noble heroism than hit.
15*
34* OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
WARD HENDERSON.
I.
THE wild w'.nd swept over the hills, and rocked and rattled
the naked boughs of the long strip of woodland, the dead leaves
of which sometimes drifted against the door and blew over the
windows of the little cottage of Mrs. Henderson. But that night,
the last night of the year the crying of the wind and the surg-
ing of the fallen leaves seemed less mournfully suggestive tc
the inhabitants of this humble house, than for a great many
previous nights.
The house was small and rude, being constructed of logs on
the exterior of which the rough bark was still remaining. The
roof was of clap-boards, battened, and so close as to be nearly
as impervious as the best shingling. The door was made of
slabs, and opened with a wooden latch, and from the small and
uncurtained window the light, on the evening I write of, shone
out brilliantly, streaming across the frozen ground, just begin-
ning to whiten with the finely sifted snow. From the top of
the low chimney, composed of sticks and mortar, showers of
red sparks issued, and were scattered by the wind until their
quick extinction. A short distance from the house, and fronting
it, stood an oak tree, shorter than most of its species, and with
an exceedingly heavy top ; the gray leaves of this year clinging
thickly yet. A little farther down the slope, was a spring of
water, bubbling up in spite of the cold, though the snow was
beginning to form about it in a sleety rim. In the rear, and
meeting the woods, were a few ancient apple trees, which seemed,
from their thickly tangled boughs, not to have been pruned for
years, and out of them thousands of slim rods grew up straight.
There was no barn 01 other out-house, to give the place an air
WARD HENDERSON. 347
of plenteous comfort, with the exception of a small building,
made to serve as a cellar, walled and roofed with slabs, and built
partly in and partly out of the ground, which was heaped about
it, and over all rose a high green mound, green at least in
summer, though to-night it resembled a great heap of snow.
Her head turned from the driving wind, and her back crouched
down, stood a little black cow, with very clear and very
crooked horns, and an udder that looked shrivelled, as though
it would never yield milk again. But, notwithstanding that,
when she shall have had a bundle of hay, from the near stack,
encompassed with rails, the bright tin pail, now shining in the
dresser, will froth up to the brim. She is so gentle and kind
that young Ward Henderson, as well as his mother, may milk her.
Jn the light that falls from the window is a small dog, blacker
than the cow ; he turns sideways as the wind comes against him,
but does not growl ; he is crunching a bone quite too large for
his mouth, and in his efforts at mastication, turns his head more
and more to one side, and nearer and nearer to the ground.
The snow falls/off from his sleek back, and his eyes glitter like
fire. Not every day the cur can get a bone so worth his care.
But let us look within. The logs of hickory and ash are
heaped high, and the dry chips between help to send the blaze
far up the chimney. The stones that make the broad hearth
are blue and clean. Some strips of rag carpet, looking new and
bright, cover the greater part of the floor, and the remainder is
scoured very white. The room is large, and in the two corners
farthest from the great fire-place, are two beds; between thenc,
stands a bureau, on which adozen books arecarefully arranged-,
some common chairs stand against the wall, which is white-
washed, as is also the low ceiling. A few sprigs of cedar are
festooned about the small looking glass, and in the cupboard,
which has no door, pewter platters and delf ware are arranged
to the most showy advantage.
But humanity deepens the interest of the picture, no matter
whether homely or refined. What could poets glean from the
desert, with its hot waste of sands, but for the tinkling bell of
the camel, and the cool well under the shrub, and the isolated
tent of the Arab. What were the dense forests and nigged
348 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
cliffs and billowy prairies that hem the western world, but for
the bundles of arrows and crests of plumes and skin-lined lodges
of the red man.
In this cottage, sitting upright in an unpainted wooden cradle,
looking wide awake, but very sober, is the baby ; he may be
two years old, with bright black eyes, and hair of the same
color, which, thick and parted either way from his forehead,
give him an old and wise look. He wears only a simple kilt
of calico, and one chubby hand plays with the rounded foot,
and the other lies on the patchwork quilt covering his cradle bed.
Sitting on a low stool, at one corner of the fireplace, is a boy,
ten years old, perhaps; he has a thoughtful, intelligent counte-
nance, and seems quiet and shy. His hands are locked together
over one knee and he seems to see neither the baby in the cradle,
nor the great blazing fire, nor yet his mother, who, in a tidy
apron and with sleeves turned back, is moulding cakes on the
white pine table near the window. She looks as though she
had known toil and privation and suffering, and yet, above the
sorrow is a look of cheerful resignation.
Near the abstracted little boy, closely wrapt in a great
shawl, sits a young girl ; she is rocking to and fro before the
fire, and it seems that the light might almost shine through
her thin transparent hands. Her cheek is hollow and pale,
and her dark eyes look very large and brilliant, but she seems
happy, and talks with animation and gayety, not only of to-
morrow but of next month, and next year. There are no shoes
on her feet and as they rest on the cushion she often stoops to
draw up the stocking which slips down from the wasted and
wasting ankle.
" How merrily the wind whistles !" she says, " the old year
does not go out without music; but Ward, why do you sit
there so sober and still ? see, you make the baby look sober
too-;" and clapping her hands together, she tried to make him
laugh, but he pouted his lips instead, half crying. She con-
tinued, " Bring some of the nuts we gathered last fall, and let
us have a merry evening, and not sit as though we never ex
pected to see another new year."
Ward turned aside to hide tears that came to his eyes and
WARD HENDERSON. 341
going to the "bureau, took down all the books and re-arranged
them precisely as they were before, and presently climbing
ap to the loft, brought a basket of nuts.
Meantime the baby had fallen back on his pillow asleep,
and Mrs. Henderson, as she baked the cakes by the fire, sat
with her children, rocking the cradle now and then, and talking
more and more cheerfully and hopefully: so much do the moods
of those about us influence our own.
" I think, Mary, you are surely better," she said, looking
anxiously at her daughter. " You must be careful and not get
another bad turn till spring, and then the mild weather will
quite restore you."
" I told you I should get well," answered the girl, laughing-
ly ; "just see how fat I am getting," and drawing up her
sleeve, she exhibited an arm of ghastly thinness. The mother
said nothing, and Mary continued, " If I keep on improving, 1
shall be well enough to begin sewing again in a week." She
was interrupted by a severe fit of coughing, but added, when
she had recovered a little, " What a nice dinner we shall have
to-morrow ; I think even Ward, indifferent as he seems, will
relish the minced pie; but the chicken he won't care for that,"
she added playfully.
u Maybe not," answered Ward, "I don't know how it tastes."
Marv said he would know to-morrow, and he too at last began
to be interested. Naturally of superior intelligence, and
always accustomed to sorrowful privations, he was thoughtful
beyond his years. He was always making plans for the happi-
ness of his mother and sister, more than for his own, and pro-
posed to do a thousand things when he should be older. He
already rendered them much assistance driving the cow to and
from the pasture, milking her, and making the garden, besides
bringing and taking home the sewing which his mother did for
neighbors, within three or four miles. These things were all
done out of school hours, for he never lost a day from the
school room, trudging manfully the long distance, when the
winds were too chill for his thin cotton coat, and when the
frosts made his feet so cold that he sometimes roused the cattle
from their places in the fence x>rners and warmed them in
850 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
their beds. Many, who wore warm comforters and thick coata
and shoes, never stood at the head of his class ; but this would
not repay him any longer for the frequent bitter taunts he
received for his poverty. He had never spoken of these things
at home, knowing it would only pain his mother, who did for
him thu best she could. He had usually talked^of his studies
with more interest than of anything else, arid wishing to divert
his thoughts from the sad channel in which they seemed to
flow, Mrs. Henderson asked him whether he would not soon be
wanting new books. But, to her surprise, he answered, " No,
I don't want to go to school any more." " Why, my child,
what in the world is the matter?" exclaimed the mother, in
unfeigned surprise. Ward did not reply, and without "hanging
up his stockings," crept into bed, and stifling emotion he could
not quite suppress, he fell asleep.
II.
WHEN the cakes were all baked, and the fire began to grow
dim, as the mother and daughter also prepared to retire, the
little black dog growled harshly, placing himself against the
door, and the old cock in the cherry tree cackled as though
suddenly awakened. Presently the growl became a bark, and
a footstep was heard crushing down the snow. The visitor
proved a brother of Mrs. Henderson, a butcher, from the city,
miles away from Clovernook. He had been in the country all
day, buying sheep and calves, and with a little cart prettv
well filled, was now on his way home, and stopped for a mo-
ment to see how his sister prospered. He, too, was poor, with
seven children of his own, so that he could give her little but
counsel and the encouragement of sympathy. To-night, how
ever, he was in fine spirits ; the prices of meat had risen, and
rents were low, and his oldest boy had just obtained employment
as carrier of the News, by which he earned three dollars a week.
The publisher wanted another an intelligent lad from the
country would be preferred and Mr. Dick, or Uncle Job, as
his sister called him, urged the expediency of sending Ward.
Mrs. Henderson was startled at the idea. How could she part
trith her child, who had never been from beneath her roof for
WARD HENDERSON Ml
day ? But by little and little her scruples were overcome.
"There is such necessity," says Uncle Job, looking at Ward'i
thin cotton trowsers, that hung on the hack of a chair by hia
bedside (Mr. Dick never softened anything) ; "you'll miss his
society, no doubt, but think of the pecuniary advantage ;" and
be added, glancing at Mary, "there is no telling what expense
of doctor bills and the like you will have to defray before
spring : this weather goes hard with folks of her complaint.
I suppose," he continued, " the disease is hereditary her father
was consumptive always, as you may say. I was here at the
burying, but I forget what grave-yard you put him in." Mr.
Job Dick never dreamed but that he was talking in the plea-
santest vein imaginable, and looked bewildered and surprised
when he saw his sister applying the corner of her apron to her
eyes. He could not have interpreted aright, for shrugging his
shoulders as the wind whistled through the crevices, he said,
"A miserable old house; it will tumble down upon you all, one
of these days ; yes," he continued, making a sort of reply to
himself, "it's fall is inevitable."
"Perhaps it will," thought Mrs. Henderson, and she trembled
as a stronger gust came by.
'' Well, what have you determined ?" asked Uncle Job ; and
rising, he stood before the fire, awaiting her final decision.
"I cannot let him go," faltered the poor widow ; "I will keep
them all together, as long as I can."
But the sound of a strange voice had broken the light slum-
bers of Ward ; with his elbow resting on his pillow, and his
head on his hand, he had heard all the conversation, and as his*
mother ceased speaking, he replied, in a calm, firm voice, that
he would go. He was soon dressed his uncle saying he liked
such energetic movements, and his mother silently and tearfully
preparing his scanty clothes. When he took the bundle in hia
hand, he hesitated ; it was hard to leave them all the baby
asleep, and gentle Mary, and his dear kind mother. Once or
twice he untied and tied his bundle, and as his mother wrapt
a part of a blanket about him, and told him to be always a
good boy, the tears quivered through his eyelashes, and with-
out speaking a word he walked straight out of the room, and
852 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
presently uncle Job's little cart was heard creaking and crushing
throi'^h the snow.
How lonesome it was in the little cabin ! the dog crouched
close against the door, and whined low and mournfully; the
empty bed, the old hat on the peg, everything reminded the
poor mother of her son, who, in the cold and dark, was going
farther and farther away.
And long and lonesome seemed the road to Ward, as he
nestled down in the bottom of the cart, among the sheep
the old blanket drawn up over his head, and the snow settling
al) over him. He had never been to the city but once before,
and everything seemed strange to him.. He caught glimpses
of great houses, and of low dark sheds, whence the lowing of
cattle and the bleating of sheep came painfully upon his ears.
He half wished he was back home again ; nor was he much
soothed and encouraged, when uncle Job said, "You must not
mind trifles, but persevere, and make a man of more efficiency
than your father, who was always a trifling, lazy scamp, and a
great detriment to your mother, who was better oft*" without
him. I should n't wonder," continued uncle Job, in the same
consolatory strain, " if you never saw your sister again. Youi
mother will be lonesome, losing two at once. There is the
baby it will be a long time before he is any help ; he looks
smart and likely now, but for all that he may be growing up
to be hanged."
Ward was half disposed to slip out of the cart and run home,
and more especially, when his uncle told him the city to which
he was going was full of temptations, and that unless he was
mighty resolute, he would get into the house of correction, or
on the " chain gang," it might be. It was a long way hack,
and he was afraid he could not find the road, and so, trembling
in fear of the pitfalls he supposed would be laid for him, he
remained shrinking from the snow, till, in the dingy suburbs of
the city, the little wagon halted.
Uncle Job lived in a small, rickety house : it might have
been easily repaired, and made comfortable, but Aunt Dick waa
one of those women who never permit their husbands to accu-
mulate more than five dollars at one time. She was a large,
WARD HENDERSON. 8BS
easy, good-natured person, with the best intentions, but with-
out any prudent forecast or calculation a sort of Mrs. Nancy
Yancey, toned down, to a degree. Ward thought she must be
very kind, for some hot coffee was waiting by the fire, and on
the table were spread some crackers and cheese. They were
dainties to him ; and, after partaking of them and getting
warm by the fire, Uncle Job spread down his great-coat and
two sheep skins, on which, tired and sleepy from chilliness, he
slept till morning, when the voice of Aunt Dick, as she bent
over him, exclaiming, by way of expressing her surprise, " High,
diddle, diddle," die., aroused him to a consciousness of his new
position.
Uncle Job had seven children, and a great din and uproar
they made when one room contained them. But his amiable
help-meet said they must talk and laugh just as much as they
pleased, and if Joby did n't want to hear it, he must go out of
the house, which was only for women and children, at any rate.
Before Job went, however, he was required to empty his
pockets. Sometimes, but rarely, he asked what was wanting
now ? but the inquiry was useless, as he well knew, for it was
always the same story, the same in kind Kitty had torn her
new frock, on the nail that tore Billy's coat the other day, and
so she must have a new one ; and as the good woman received
the money, she would say, "Joby, you must drive the nail in,
with a piece of brick, or something ; the children have lost the
hammer."
" If we had what is wasted here," thought Ward, as he sat
by the fire watching his aunt prepare the breakfast, " I should
not have been obliged to come away."
"Where are the warm cakes, this morning ?" asked Uncle
Job.
" W r hy, my griddle got broke in two, and I had n't anything
to bake them on."
" But you might have baked biscuit in the oven of the stove,"
suggested the husband.
The wife said, "The stove has got choked with ashes, so it
will not bake any more ; a man must be hired for n day to
clean it and make it bake. We will soon have to get a new
SM OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
one ; this has lasted longer now than any one I ever had, and
I guess I have had a half a dozen."
Ward had always thought a stove would last a lifetime.
The breakfast was at length ready. Aunt Dick, having
arranged the table, and made the coffee, between intervals of
rocking before the fire, and telling Job what was worn out and
what was lost, and what he must bring home for dinner. But
the children were not ready for breakfast : one had lost her
shoes, and one had not got her face washed, and one was not
out of bed at all ; but Mrs. Dick said those that were ready,
must help those that were not ; and she and Job began break-
fest as complacently as though all were quiet and in order.
IIL
AFTER a day or two, Ward accompanied his cousin John to
the office of the News. John was a short, burly boy, a year or
two older than Ward ; he had always lived in the city, and
was not afraid of man or beast having been used to both.
He not only, in his own estimation, could lift more than any
other boy of his years, but he had suffered more, from various
causes, with a distinct relation of all which he favored Ward,
from time to time. And as they walked the long distance from
Uncle Job's to the News office, on the morning alluded to, he
related many peculiar and aggravated instances of affliction,
beginning with a mad ox of his father's that had once bruised
and tossed him in a terrible manner, tearing his trowsers into
ribbons, and that, but for his wonderful presence of mind, would
doubtless have crippled him for life, or killed him. in
the next place, having been sufficiently entertained with the
wonder of his cousin, he said he had once had a bee-sting on
his hand, causing such inflammation that a peck measure would
not have held it, and that he never slept a wink for two weeks
the bee was called a poison bee, or thousand stinger, he said.
It was strange, Ward thought, that he had always lived in the
country, and never heard of any such insect. Many other
equally curious and interesting things the city youth related,
which gave him great consecuence in his own p-stimation. And
WARD HENDERSON. 865
he dressed in all respects like a man, and smoked, and sdme-
times drank whisky.
Such was the future companion of Ward. Poor little boy,
no wonder he wished he had stayed at home ! There were a
good many men about the stove in the publisher's office, and,
naturally shy, and now frightened, he shrank tremblingly into
the obscurest corner ; but John went boldly forward, saying,
" Gentleman, I have some business with the publisher make
way." And whether they heeded him or not, he soon made
way for himself, telling the man of business he had brought
him a country boy, such as he thought would suit "ignorant
and awkward, of course," he added, "but that will wear off,
sir ;" and thrusting both hands in his pockets, he drew himself
up, evidently supposing he had acted a very distinguished part.
" Where is he from ?" inquired the man. John put his hand
over his mouth, and in half whisper said, " The butcher picked
him up with some sheep and calves."
" I should like to have a view of him," said the respectable
personage, holding on his spectacles with one hand, and peeping
between the shoulders of the men by the stove.
" Ward, this way," called out his exhibitor; and, grasping
his well-worn hat tightly with his freezing hands, and looking
down, the timid child came forward.
" Do you think we are thieves ?" asked the publisher ; and
as Ward answered, " No, sir," he continued, " What makes
you hold your hat so tight, then T*
Ward began to dislike his cousin very much, and to doubt
whether there was any such bee as the poison bee or thousand-
stinger. That he was a vulgar, ill-bred boy, he knew, and yet
he stood silent and abashed before him.
The new arbiter of his fate saw he was just such a boy as
he wanted, and felt that as he had no guardian or friend, he
could manage him as he chose make him do a great deal, in
fact, and give him little for it. Nevertheless, he said, "I am
afraid he will not suit," surveying him from head to foot ; "but
if you have a mind, you may come with me for a month, and if
I find you honest, and of any tolerable capacity, we can perhapi
make a bargain."
856 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
" What answer do you give the gentleman ?" interposed
John, getting one foot on the hearth of the stove, and pulling
down his vest.
Ward said he would go, for he thought he would rather go
anywhere than remain with his precocious relative, who said,
as he walked away consequentially, " I'll tell the butcher I've
disposed of you."
IV.
THE new situation was anything but agreeable. Ward was
obliged to perform many servile offices, such as tending the
bell, carrying in the coal and out the ashes, sweeping pave-
ments, and, in short, was made a sort of boy-of-all-work. His
bed was a hard one, and in a cold, empty garret not by any
means so comfortable as the feather-bed with the patch-work
counterpane by the great blazing fire at home ; and sometimes,
as he lay in the cold and dark, he wished he had never gone
from the quiet old cottage. Even the cow and the dog drew
him toward them with almost a human interest. The food was
such as he had not been accustomed to eat, and was less to his
taste ; the cold and half-cooked beefsteak was less agreeable to
him than the potatoes roasted at home in the ashes. But
through the hardships and privations of the first month, he
cheered himself with the idea of receiving some money at its
close, and of going home ; when, however, the long time expired,
and he ventured to hint his wishes, the publisher coolly told
him he had hardly earned his bread and lodging, and that to
go home was quite out of the question if he expected to con
tinue in his employ that boys who could not live away from
their mothers were usually good for nothing. If he would stay,
nevertheless, till the next New-Years, and gave satisfaction as a
carrier, and make himself useful about the house, he would give
him fifty dollars.
" But you give John Dick more, a good deal," urged Ward,
timidly.
" What I give other folks has nothing to do with you ; and
if you wish, you can go further and fare worse I can get
a hundred boys for less money."
WARD HENDERSON. 857
Ward with difficulty refrained from crying as he said he
would go and ask his uncle Job, and whatever he decided for
him he would do. John was not at home when Ward arrived
there, and he was glad of it, and almost hoped another "pison
oee" would sting him. Uncle Job had gone out to buy calves,
but Aunt Dick was in the kitchen, good-natured as ever, baking
pies, and she gave a whole hot one to Ward, telling him he
must eat it all. She said she was just trying her new stove by
baking twenty or thirty ; that the old one had got full of ashes,
and almost worn out, for she had had it a year and a half, and
so had given it away, and got a new one. Ward felt so much
encouraged by her sunshiny face, her genial talk, and warm
fire, that the thought of a year seemed less terrible to him, and
he secretly resolved to stay. What a wearisome winter it
was ! and as the little carrier-boy shivered along the street
for his thin clothes and ragged shoes were but slight protection,
no one noticed or pitied him, except myself, but I noticed
and pitied him often. Instead of leaving the paper at the gate,
as the other boys did, he brought it always and laid it on the
window-sill, beside which I sat writing. He never had any-
thing new the same old cloth cap, pulled down over his eyes,
the same linsey roundabout and trowsers, and thick heavy
shoes, which gave way and gapped apart more and more every
day. I had noticed him all the winter, and whiJe the sleet and
snow dripped from the eaves, and the daffodils came up under
the window ; the old shoes were thrown aside, and the trowsers
were darned and patched, but worn still, and could not help a
deeper interest in him for a vague recollection of having seen
his childish face sometimes at Clovernook.
Now, my window was opened, and I sometimes spoke to the
boy ; but, though I wished to do so, there was something about
the little fellow that prevented my offering him money. As
the summer went on, however, our acquaintance ripened slowly,
so that when it was raining, he sometimes stopped under the
porch, and I gave him apples, or other fruit ; but I never talked
to him except of his occupation, the weather, or other common-
places, though 1 felt sure of his superior intelligence.
858 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
V.
TIME passed along, and away across the city, through open-
ings of roofs, and between spires, I could see the red woods of
October ; and these faded and withered, and there came the
chill, dismal rains of November. A dull, dreary, and monoto-
nous storm had continued all night and all day, and all day and
all night again ; and now and then one of the great sere leaves
of the sycamore that grew in the yard blew against the window.
I had chanced to miss seeing my little friend, and I took up my
pen on the depressing and comfortless morning, more with the
purpose of watching for him than because I felt any inclination
to write. I was presently wrapt in meditation, and quite forgot
my object, and so softly he came, that it was only by the dark-
ening of the window that I noticed him.
The smile which came to my lips was startled away when I
perceived him, haggard and wretched, turning back into the
rain, without noticing me. His coat was unbuttoned and
blowing wildly open, and he seemed to be buffeted in very
sport by all the merciless elements. He had no shoes on his
feet, and his cloth cap was drenched and matted close to his
head. I called to him, and, as he turned toward me, I per-
ceived that he had been weeping violently. "Come in and
get warm by the fire," I said ; " I have not seen you for a long
time." He would have thanked me, but his lips trembled, and
the tears sprang to his eyes, as he silently obeyed, for my invi-
tation was almost a command. I re-arranged his papers, on
the table, that he might recover himself a little; but when I
turned to speak, he put his hands before his face and cried, and
when I inquired what was the matter, it was long before he
could answer me that his sister Mary was dead. Then it was
that I first learned all his sad history ; and if I had been in-
terested in him before, I was doubly so now.
Afterward I had always some words of encouragement when
he came ; sometimes a piece of pie or cake, for which he was
very grateful, for it was not often he had the privilege of going
to Aunt Dick's.
1 repeated his story to a rich lady who lived near. She had
WARD HENDERSON. 869
often noticed, and now wished to aid him. " But how shall I
manage <" she said ; " I cannot give him clothes or money." At
length we decided on a plan ; and the next day, when he throw
the paper in at the basement, she called and told him that if
he would put her paper on a particular window, she would pay
him on New-Year's eve. I had also a little project for a
present, at the same time, of which I said nothing. The printer
whom Ward served was a hard man, but he was honest; that is,
he paid what he said he would pay, and people called him
Christian.
The many sufferings, hardships, and long hours of home-
sickness, which Ward endured, it would be useless to enumerate,
but as they drew near the close, his heart became light, and his
countenance cheerful.
The period was come for the development of my design. I
had prepared for Ward a Carrier's Address, for the printing of
which he stipulated with the publisher, and the receipts were
to be entirely his.
New- Year's morning arrived at last, clear and sharply cold,
but Ward minded not that, for the nice suit of clothes the rich
lady had given him, kept him warm, and no frost could get
through the comfortable boots, and the new cap was altogether
better than the old. Such a picture of happiness it did one
good to see, as, tapping at my door, he laughingly handed in the
Address, neatly printed, with a border, on straw-colored paper.
He had disposed of nearly all the copies of it, and the shillings
and larger pieces ne had received, were more, he thought, than
he could count.
He was now going home, and only sorrow came in between
him and happiness, as he thought of the new and lonesome
grave under the naked winter trees.
Cousin John, who obtained a great deal more money than he,
had spent it as fast as he earned it ; he could tell larger stories and
eat more oysters than he could a year ago ; and he still called his
father the butcher, which Aunt Dick thought a fine accomplish-
ment. As Ward bade the amiable woman good-bye, she told
him to spend his money in part for a fine silk dress for hi*
mother ; he might also get her a velvet bonnet with plumes, aud
860 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
a shawl ; these, she said, would be a nice present, and if he had
any money left, he should get some sugar for his mother to
make preserves. But Ward had a plan of his own, which he
thought better. He was going to give his mother half of his
money to do with as she thought best, and the rest should pay
for his tuition at the academy.
As the twilight fell I pJeased myself with making a picture
of the cabin home. I could see the bright hearth, and the table
all spread for the loving mother knew her dear boy was coming
and the baby, toddling about and prattling all but the re-
turning son forgotten. And I could imagine the joyous, and
yet sorrowful, bewilderment, as the good boy should spread hit
year's gains on the table, saying, " If Mary were here too !"
CONCLUSION. Hi
CONCLUSION
ALL things are beautiful in their lime. Even Death, whom
the poets have for ages made hideous, painting him as a skele-
ton reaper, cutting down tender flowers and ripe grain, and
binding them into bundles for his dark garner, heedless of tears
and prayers, is sometimes clothed with the wings and the
mercy of an angel. It was one of the most beautiful concep-
tions of Blake, displayed in those illustrations of the Night
Thoughts which forever should cause his name to be associated
with the poet's, that his countenence who is called the Last
Enemy was all sweetness and pitying gentleness; and how
many, who have trembled with terror at his approach, have
found the dearest rest in his embraces, as a frightened child has
forgotten fear in wildest joy on discovering that some frightful
being was only its mother, masqued for playing. Through this
still messenger " He giveth his beloved sleep." How pleasant
to the old and the worn to resign all their burdens in his hands,
to lay by the staff, and lie down under canopies of flowers,
assured that even through the night of the grave the morning
will break ! Thrice pleasant to the old, assured of having
fought the good fight, and who feel, beneath the touch of Death,
their white locks brightening with immortal crowns. They
hav< done their work, and only Death can lead them up to
hear from the master, " Well done, good and faithful servant."
To the little child who has never sinned, he comes like a
light slumber, and the tempter, through the long bright ages,
nas no power. Only through the narrow and dark path of the
grave could the tender feet have escaped the thorns only to
the bed which is low and cold may the delirium of passion and
the torture of pain never come ; so to the child the foe is the
kindest of friends dearest of friends I
16
862 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
One of the loveliest pictures that ever rises before me I se
it as I write is that of a fair creature whose life was early
rounded by that sleep which had in it the " rapture of repose"
nothing could disturb forever. She had lain for days moaning
and complaining, and we who loved her most could not help
her, though she bent on us her mournfully beseeching eyes
never so tenderly or imploringly. But when the writhing of
anguish was gone, death gave to her cheek its beauty, and to
her lips the old smile, and she was at rest. She had been
lovely in her life and now she was transformed into an angel
of the beautiful light, the fair soft light of the good and change-
less world.
And for the wicked, looking over ruins they have made of
life's beauty, friends they have changed to foes, love they have
carped to hatred, one agonized moment of repentance has
stretched itself up to the infinite mercy, and through radiance
streaming from the cross, has sounded the soul-awakening and
inspiring sentence, " Thy sins are forgiven !" What divine
beauty covers the darkness that is before and around him ! how
blest to go with the friend who has come for him down into
the grave, away from reproachful eyes away from haughty
and reviling words away from the gentle rebuking of the
injured, hardest of all to bear, and from the murmuring and
complaining of a troubled conscience!
Whatever is dreariest in nature or saddest in life may in
its time be bright and joyous winter itself, with its naked
boughs and bitter winds, and masses of clouds and snow.
Poverty, too, with whom none of us voluntarily mate ourselves,
has given birth to the sweetest humanities; its toils and pri-
vations have linked hand with hand, joined shoulder to shoul-
der, knit heart to heart ; the armies of the poor are those who
fight with the most indomitable courage, and like dust before
the tempest are driven the obstacles that oppose their march;
is it not the strength of their sinews that shapes the rough iron
into axe and sickle ? and does not the wheat-field stand smil-
ing behind them and the hearth-light reach out from the cabin
to greet their coming at night] Poverty is the pioneer about
whose glowing forges and crashing forests burns and rings half
CONCLUSION. Ml
the poetry that has filled the world. Many are the pleasant
garlands that would be thrown aside if affluence were univer-
sal, and many the gentle oxen going from their plowing that
would herd in wild droves but for men's necessities. The
burdens of the poor are heavy indeed, and their tasks hard,
but it has always seemed to me that in their modest homes
and solitary by-paths is a pathos and tenderness in love, a
bravery in adversity, a humility in prosperity, very rarely
found in those conditions where character is less severely
tried, and the virtues, if they make a fairer show, grow less
strong than in the tempest, and the summer heat, and the win-
ter cold.
It has been objected by some critics to the former series of
these sketches of Western rural life, that they are of too
sombre a tone; that a melancholy haze, an unnatural twilight,
hangs too continually over every scene ; but I think it is not
so ; if my recollections of " Clovernook" fail to suggest as
much happiness as falls to the common lot, my observation
has been unfortunate. I have not attempted any descriptions
cf the gay world ; others nearly all indeed of those writers
of my sex who have essayed to amuse or instruct society
have apparently been familiar only with wealth and splendor,
and such joys or sorrows as come gracefully to mingle with
the refinements of luxury and art; but my days have been
passed with the humbler classes, whose manners and expe-
riences I have endeavored to exhibit in their customary lights
and shadows, and in limiting myself to that domain to which I
was born, it has never been in my thoughts to paint it as less
lovely or more exposed to tearful influences than it is. If
among those whose attention may be arrested by these unam-
bitious delineations of scenes in "our neighborhood,"there be
any who have climbed through each gradation of fortune or
consideration up to the stateliest distinctions, let them judge
whether the "simple annals of the poor" are apt to be more
bright, and the sum of enjoyment is greater in even those ele-
vations, to attain to which is so often the most fondly cherished
hape of youth and maturity.
In our country, though all men are not "created equal,* 1
164 OUR NEIGHBORHOOD.
such is the influence of the sentiment of liberty and political
equality, that
"All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,"
may with as much probability be supposed to affect conduct
and expectation in the log cabin as in the marble mansion; and
to illustrate this truth, to dispel that erroneous belief of the
necessary baseness of the " common people" which the great
masters in literature have in all ages labored to create, is a
purpose and an object in our nationality to which the finest and
highest genius may wisely be devoted ; but which may be
effected in a degree by writings as unpretending as these remi-
niscences of what occurred in and about the little village
where I from childhood watched the pulsations of surround*
ing hearts.