THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ;C' 
 
 S^
 
 /rifuii5l)ip'0 Cnktn. 
 
 
 i 
 
 3. A. lOWLAND, WorcK.c:. 
 
 ?1
 
 iUlENDSHIP^S TOKExN, 
 
 OS 
 
 THE nilLirEXA; 
 
 A PRESENT 
 
 FOR ALL SEASONS. 
 
 WORCESTER: 
 PUBLISHED BY S. A. UOVVLAND. 
 
 1852.
 
 A y / i 
 
 l^^l 
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 We have given the name of Phili- 
 PENA to this httle volume, because 
 that name, more than any other, im- 
 pUes the design and character of the 
 work. The name is derived from two 
 Greek words, signifying love or friend- 
 ship, and a gift or token. To prepare 
 a neat httle volume, every way suita- 
 ble as a gift of friendship or affection, 
 has been the design of the compiler of 
 these pages ; and with the hope that it 
 will meet their approbation, it is in- 
 scribed to all those who, in the trifling 
 gift of a Philipena, would keep alive 
 the flame of friendship and affectionate 
 regard. 
 
 022824
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 PREFACE, 3 
 
 SOCIAL LIFE, OR THE PLAINS OF 
 
 MATRIMONY, ------ 5 
 
 THE HEART THAT's TRUE, - - - 51 
 A SIMPLE STORY, ------ 52 
 
 FLOWERS, --------65 
 
 marrying for money, - - - - 66 
 
 the bride, 79 
 
 a good daughter, ----- 80 
 
 daughter leaving home, - - - 83 
 worth and wealth, - - - - 85 
 
 the rose-bud, ------- ]04 
 
 congenial spirits, - - -, - - 105 
 the interval flower, - - - - 106 
 
 the twins, -------- 108 
 
 love's home, -------117 
 
 THE COaUE'l'TE, ------118 
 
 THE maiden's RINGLET, - - - - ]20 
 
 RULES FOR CONVERSATION, - - - 123
 
 THE PHILIPENA. 
 
 THE PLAINS OF MATRIMONY. 
 
 As the writer was walking on the 
 great theatre of the world, among other 
 curiosities in earth, air and water, I 
 discovered, situated between two very- 
 high mountains, a great phiin, far wider 
 and longer than the most extended 
 prairie of the west. It appeared to 
 have been originally a very fertile soil, 
 as it was placed in a part of the globe 
 I where all the powers of nature com- 
 ! bined to make it the most delightful 
 I region of the whole earth, and produc- 
 tive of every healthful and fruitful plant. 
 But in the midst of these advantages, 
 greatly to my wonder. I saw the phun 
 was but miserably cultivated, and tlieir 
 fields poorly fenced, although its inhab-
 
 I 
 
 6 PHILIPENA, OR ' . 
 
 itants were very numerous. There was 
 a ureal growth of tl)e briar, the prickly 
 thorn, and the perplexing thistle. A 
 lew only ofthose deiightiul fruit-bearing 
 trees and plants which were the origi- 
 nal production of the plain were to be 
 seen. Seeing the country so well calcu- 
 lated to sustain, in its original formation, 
 a rich and prosperous settlemiut, but 
 occupied by so improvident a race, ex- 
 cited in me a curiosity to inquire the 
 reason. 
 
 In casting over this region a scruti- 
 nizing glance from where I stood, which 
 was on an elevated rock overlooking the 
 plain, I discovered that the entrance was 
 quite narrow, and that a wall exceeding 
 high and difficult to be got over connect- 
 ed the points of two mountains, which 
 divrrgt'd away farther than the eye 
 could reach, rising in broad and mighty 
 i.nd Illations in the immense distance. 
 In this wail, which I perceived was for- 
 tified on the top with long, sharp spikes,
 
 friendship's token. 
 
 there was a small gateway or entrance 
 through the wall, just wide enough for 
 two persons comfortably to pass at a 
 time to the great plain bej^ond. But not- 
 withstanding this singularity, I noticed 
 that in some instances more than two 
 had attempted to pass this gate abreast ; 
 but this attempt had always been attend- 
 ed with such horrid consequences that 
 but few of later years had undertaken it. 
 Another singularity in this gate or 
 door was, that although two could walk 
 through abreast, yet one could not enter 
 alone. I also soon discovered that 
 those who entered upon the plain could 
 never consistently return, during the life 
 of the one or the other of the pair. 
 On drawing near to the gate, I soon 
 discovered a very great crowd of young 
 people, precipitately rushing through 
 the gate, two by two, into the plain ; and 
 it is hardly possible for me to convey an 
 adequate idea of the curiosity it wrouglit 
 m me, what all this should mean.
 
 PHILIPENA. OR 
 
 But. to relieve the anxiety ol' niy mind, 
 I got as near to the gale as 1 couhl for 
 the crowd, and sat down on one of the 
 steps ol" the great pillar, where I soon 
 discovered a curious seat on the right 
 side of the path, on which was written — 
 " Tiie Seat of Consideration ;" to which 
 seat I saw there was an ascent of three 
 steps ; at tiie bottom of which stood a 
 column or pillar, of a very ancient date, 
 having on it this inscription, which was 
 still quite legible, and read as follows: 
 " Ponder the paths of thy feet, and ail 
 thy goings shall be established." Af- 
 ter reading this inscription, I surveyed 
 again the steps with much attention, 
 and perceived that on the first was writ- 
 ten — " Slep with moderation and great 
 care." I then cautiously ascended, so 
 as to be able to examine the second 
 step, and saw that on it was written, 
 very plainly — " Examine your nu)tives 
 of action, and duly weigh the conse- 
 quences of your undertaking." 1 then
 
 friendship's token. 9 
 
 went up so as to look at the third step, 
 and found written there tlie following 
 important sentence — " There is no solid 
 pleasure v/ithout love." 
 
 I now sat awhile, in great w^onder 
 what all these things could mean : I 
 viewed the plain, then the mountains 
 and the wall that fenced it in ; I looked 
 at the pillar, which was very high, and 
 then at the steps, with all the curious 
 inscriptions on them. I now began to 
 watch the crowd, who were pressing 
 in such multitudes, male and female, 
 toward the gate which opened on to the 
 great plain beyond me, trying if possi- 
 ble to find out their object, in all this 
 hurry and anxiety to get in. I had not 
 watched them long, however, when I 
 saw a couple a little more moderate 
 than the rest in the crowd, who came 
 very near the steps by the side of the 
 way, where I sat. I inquired of tJiem 
 the name of the plain, the meaning of 
 the wall, the gate, &c. ; they smiled at
 
 10 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 my ignorance, asking if I were a stran 
 ger,and then said, "it is the great plain of 
 social life, or the place to enjoy the mar- 
 riage union, and the gate is Wedlock." 
 This information clearly unfolded the 
 mystery of the crowd, explaining to my 
 mind a number of the singularities of 
 the passage to the plain ; and particu- 
 larly why two only could enter consist- 
 ently at a time ; and why one could not 
 enter alone, whether male or female. 
 Having made this discovery, namely, 
 that marriage was their object, there 
 was still another secret to be unriddled, 
 which I had to spell out as well as I 
 could, by listening to what they said as 
 they went along, and by watcliing their 
 countenances and actions. From these 
 indications the reader will not be sur- 
 prised, when he has read the whole 
 story and the jirinciples that actuated 
 them, that I have judged as I have 
 concerning these young people who 
 went through the gate.
 
 friendship's token. 11 
 
 There were some, I observed, who 
 were rushing to the gate merely from 
 custom, wishing to enter on the plain 
 because others did ; fancying it would 
 be a disgrace to them if they did not 
 do like the rest ; being exeeedingly 
 anxious to be considered fashionable. 
 There were others, who appeared to 
 be without a home, or a father's house, 
 or any steady place of dwelling. These 
 concluded that were they to enter on 
 the great plain they could find this 
 home, and even though it were a poor 
 one, it must be better than none ; so on 
 they went. There were others who 
 seemed to be urged on merely by their 
 wills — having taken offence at some 
 individual, or from the opposition of 
 friends, as they supposed ; these, there- 
 fore, looking quite fierce, and pouting 
 as they went, rushed through the gate 
 into the great plain, gratifying their 
 wills in spite of all resistance. 
 
 I also saw there a character who it
 
 12 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 appeared had been on the great plain 
 before, but had come back, on account 
 of death having separated her from her 
 mate. This one appeared very un- 
 happy, as there walked by her side one 
 or two or more small children. These 
 some i>iends took, and put in a certain 
 kind of house called an asylum for the 
 poor ; where, after a while, the parent 
 knew they were cruelly treated, and 
 yet could not relieve them. Not long 
 I after this, I saw a person approach the 
 ■ suffering parent, who was not an equal 
 in good sense, good breeding, nor in 
 , understanding, and withal hateful to 
 look upon ; who said, '' Please to go 
 tlirough the gate with me." But the re- 
 ply was, " No, oh no, 'tis impossible ; 
 we should not be happy; your ways, 
 looks and everything disgust me beyond 
 measure." Here I shw several friends 
 rush towards them and force them 
 through the gate, saying it is good 
 enough — there will be a home for your
 
 13 
 
 children; so they went in, while the 
 discontented one looked pale, unhappy 
 and despairingly. " My God," said I, 
 '' what a pity !" for that was too great 
 a sacrifice — the wooer being a terwards 
 found to be all but a fool ; which pro- 
 duced agony and sorrow indescribable. 
 There was one in a similar condition, 
 who had taken a mate who was cruel 
 and ferocious in his nature. When I 
 saw this, I had my fears as to tlie re- 
 sults of this marriage. 
 
 There were some who appeared to 
 look,no further iii;t; to personal beauty, 
 and to a show of dress and parade, 
 while they were strangers to love. 
 Others looked at the honorable birth of 
 their partner, making a great name 
 their only object, without thinking love 
 was necessary to make even the rich 
 and the honorable happy. Some ap- 
 peared to be of a discontented make ; 
 and finding many trouhles in a single 
 life, fancied that were they to marry.
 
 14 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 they should get rid of these perplexi- 
 ties, by their mutual assistance in man- 
 ual labor ; seeming not in the least to 
 comprehend that love must accompany 
 them, or their perplexities would be 
 greatly increased instead of diminished. 
 This kind entered into the great plain 
 on much the same principle that one 
 would buy an ox, or a horse, merely 
 with an eye to a good bargain : I 
 wondered at this, on account of its sur- 
 passing stupidity. But these jogged on 
 somewhat slower than many others, 
 and soon were out of sight on the great 
 plain. 
 
 Among the multitude, I saw two 
 coming on toward the gate, who were 
 of different nations ; one was white and 
 the other was black or red, or some 
 such complexion, as nearly as I could 
 see. Those slipped along in a kind of 
 sly manner, and the first I knew they 
 were in and off, and out of sight in a 
 twinkling. I wondered what made
 
 friendship's token. 15 
 
 them in such a hurry, the reason of 
 
 which we shall give by and by. 
 
 There was another class stimulated 
 by motives almost too sinful to mention ; 
 indeed, nothing but its being so great 
 an injury to truth prevented my passing 
 it over in silence. The truth is, they 
 were urged on wholly by the love 
 of connubial pleasures; these wanton 
 flames were easily discovered flashing 
 from their eyes, burning on the cheek 
 and brow, which precipitated them on- 
 ward with great force, producing as 
 they went, acts of impropriety on the 
 way; who seemed not to know that 
 love is very far off from the possession 
 of this kind of excitementT There was 
 another circumstance attending this 
 great concourse of human beings ; and 
 this was the appearance of now and 
 then a straggling individual far in the 
 back ground; seeming to grope his way 
 alone. Now and then he would cast 
 an eye toward the great plain, but not
 
 1.6 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 a wishful eye : it was a look of fear, 
 such as we commonly bestow when we 
 wish to avoid an object. This kind of 
 straggler I observed could never be 
 persuaded to pass any nearer to the 
 plain, than opposite to another very 
 high pillar, which was placed a great 
 way off" in the back-ground, but yet 
 within sight of the gate that opened on 
 the plain. On this pillar there was 
 written — " It is not good for man to be 
 alone ;" the sight of which kept these 
 wanderers in a state of perpetual agita- 
 tion, seeking rest but finding none. I 
 wondered why they did not come along 
 with the rest, when I was told that they 
 were old bachelors, or woman-haters. 
 "Oh," said I, " how strange !" What be- 
 came of them I never could find out, as 
 they seemed to disappear in a kmd of 
 mist, which arose out of a dismal look- 
 ing swamp, not far from the high road 
 to the plain. Soon after this they were 
 forgotten, and nobody qould ever tell
 
 friendship's token. 17 
 
 what their names were. It was observ- 
 able, that among these lonesome beings 
 there was never found a woman ; which 
 circumstance I considered extremely- 
 favorable to the character of the latter. 
 Besides these strange kind of men, 
 there was yet another character, who, 
 as often as they happened to be jostled 
 by the motions of the crowd anywhere 
 near the gate of the great plain, became 
 in a moment amazingly frightened, so 
 that they would shoot off upon a run, 
 in any direction but that of the gate: 
 and yet they would not forsake the con- 
 course, seeming to love the company of 
 their fellow-beings after all. However, 
 I noticed, that like the miller which 
 flutters around the blai;e of a lamp, 
 they were somehow ever and c.non quite 
 near the gate ; and at last went entirely 
 in, their mates being alwaya a little 
 ahead of them. I did not ask who they 
 were, for on their very faces it was writ- 
 ten — " These are the bashful men."
 
 IS PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 Among the number I saw a young man 
 of fair manners and sedate mind, who, 
 being noticed and flattered a little by a 
 young lady somewhat advanced in 
 years, appeared to be made remarkably 
 happy by it ; so much so that he was 
 often seen talking by himself, saying, 
 " How can it be — she is handsome and 
 well-bred, and I am ignorant of the 
 ways of company — how can it be that 
 she should notice me so much ? I will 
 marry her if I can." Pretty soon I saw 
 them go in at the gate, the young man 
 seeming to be much the happiest, while 
 the young woman looked back with a 
 kind of haughty air, mingled with dis- 
 appointment, which her mate had not 
 skill enough to discover at the time. 
 
 Among all these who went through 
 the gate, it was wonderful that not one 
 of them took the least notice of the col- 
 umn erected near the plain, nor of the 
 inscriptions thereon. The three seats 
 which were placed near the pillar they
 
 friendship's token. 19 
 
 ])assed by in flie same way, never so 
 much as once looking at the seat of con- 
 sideration, or the inscription on it, which 
 was — " There is no sohd pleasure with- 
 out love." 
 
 But while I was musing on these 
 tilings, I observed two persons, a lady 
 and a gentleman, walking very slowly 
 on the way toward the plain. They 
 would often stop, looking first backward 
 and then forward, then upon one ano- 
 ther, as though they were at a loss 
 which way to go. The deportment oi^ 
 this couple being so different from all 
 the rest, engaged my whole attention 
 for some time. As they drew nigh they 
 both at the same moment saw the pillar 
 with the inscription written upon it — 
 '• Ponder the paths of thy feei," &c. 
 Their attention soon became fixed upon 
 this inscription, when their countenances 
 changed : they gazed one upon the 
 other with pensive looks, remaining 
 some time in profound silence. At
 
 20 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 length the lady said. " Have we thought 
 of this before as we ought to have 
 done ?" The other answered, " I fear 
 we have not." They then began to 
 read the inscriptions on the steps at the 
 foot of the pillar, which read as follows: 
 1st. '' Step with moderation." 2d. " Ex- 
 amine your motives of action, and duly 
 weigh the consequences of your under- 
 taking." 3d. " There is no solid pleas- 
 ure without love." When they had 
 read all these they both went up and 
 sat down upon the seat of consideration; 
 and finding themselves in fair prospect 
 of both the crowd and the plain, they 
 gazed upon them alternately, then upon 
 each other, while a strange mixture of 
 surprise was working round their hearts, 
 exciting in them an unusual desire to 
 know the truth of their own case, seem- 
 ing to fear they were ignorant of this. 
 In this position thoy sat for several min- 
 utes, looking at each other, having on 
 their countenances looks of agitation
 
 friendship's token. 21 
 
 and alarm. But suddenly, instead of 
 rushing to each others arms like a silly- 
 couple, as many would have done, they 
 turned away their faces and hung down 
 their heads, as though they were de- 
 termined to think for themselves ; and 
 not to be carried away by the impulse 
 of a moment, in a matter of so much 
 weight. Thus circumstanced, they sat 
 for some time without motion, except 
 once in a while to cast a look to the 
 plain, then on the crowd. At length 
 they turned wholly from these objects, 
 and fastened their attention upon the 
 inscription written on the third step, 
 which was — " There is no soUd plea- 
 sure without love." This they read 
 over and over to themselves, pondering 
 it in their minds, when they turned to- 
 ward each other, and gazing steadfastly, 
 said, "Have we that love for each 
 other that is essential to sohd pleasure 1" 
 To this they both replied, " I hope that 
 we have ; " yet any one could see that
 
 22 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 they felt a great degree of diffidence of 
 themselves on this subject, lest their 
 feelings for each other might proceed 
 from some other principle than undying 
 love, which many waters cannot quench. 
 They now began freely to open their j 
 hearts to each other, and said, after 
 conversing a while, "we had better 
 turn back and go no further, if we are 
 not sure that we possess true love." 
 In this they were both agreed. But 
 how they should obtain the evidence, 
 to a certainty, that they had this love, 
 was a great question between them. 
 Were we here to give an account of 
 their conversation on this point, it would 
 extend these pages beyond our inten- 
 tions ; on which account we shall leave 
 it for the imagination of those in a like 
 predicament to make out. But at length 
 they concluded, that as they were liable 
 to bias each other's minds when to- 
 gether, and that if they could not agree 
 in what are tlie essential evidences of
 
 FRIENDSHIP'S TOKEN. 23 
 
 love, it were in vain for them to go any- 
 further ; on which account they deter- 
 mined to turn from each other awhile, 
 till they should each for themselves 
 make up their own catalogue of evi- 
 dence, and then to compare notes. 
 This took up their attention for several 
 days, as it was a considerable labor, 
 although it was a labor of love ; and I 
 am of the opinion, that any other suiters 
 could have made but poor progress in 
 their affections during this period, had 
 any made the attempt. At length they 
 concluded to compare notes, both of 
 them fearing that tiiey should not agree. 
 At the time they compared their respec- 
 tive notes, they had sat down upon the 
 same seat where they had mused so 
 long a few days before, namely, the 
 seat of consideration ; as it was at this 
 place they had agreed to meet, so that 
 they were all the while so near me that 
 I could hear the talk as they produced 
 the evidences. I was however a litde
 
 24 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 disappointed in one respect with regard 
 to their notes ; for I had fancied that 
 they would each have written out at 
 length on paper, in black and white, 
 their views ; of which I had made up 
 ray mind to procure a copy for my own 
 reading and information ; but I soon 
 saw the matter was written on their 
 hearts, and that they had no need of 
 ink and paper to assist the memory ; 
 for from the fulness of their feehngs, 
 their lips disccurced the evidences over 
 and over, which on both sides, to my 
 great astonishment, agreed in every 
 particular. But alth^gh their minutes 
 were not written, yet I concluded to 
 take down the notes, as I heard them 
 talk it over, which was as follows : 
 
 " 1st. We are poor, imperfect crea- 
 tures, and if we love each other, we 
 have determined patiently to bear with 
 each other's infirmities — if so this is one 
 evidence. 
 
 "2d. Besides common infirmities,
 
 friendship's token. 25 
 
 we are very liable to get out of temper 
 often, 'and to speak unadvisedly.^ If we 
 can endure this without having such 
 hardness created in our minds toward 
 each other as to prevent our sitting 
 down when our passions are allayed, 
 and gently reproving each other, con- 
 fessing our faults and forgiving one 
 another, and taking the same delight in 
 each other's company as before — this 
 then is the second evidence. 
 
 " 3d. As we know not what is before 
 us, whether prosperity or adversity, do 
 we feel that we can freely partake of 
 each other's sorrows as well as joys, 
 whether in poverty, sickness, and all 
 kinds of adversity ; if so, then it is an 
 evidence of an abiding love, that will do 
 to trust our future earthly happiness 
 upon. 
 
 " 4th. We are liable, in the manag- 
 ing our domestic concerns, through 
 error in judgment, to reduce each other 
 to difficulties; if this can be endured
 
 26 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 without breaking our friendship, we 
 may think it also an evidence of love. 
 
 " 5th. Have we that respect for each 
 other that we have no desire to look 
 any further, but feel willing to cleave to 
 each other in preference to any and all 
 others forever? If so, this is an addi- 
 tional evidence of a deathless love. 
 
 " 6th. For one person to appear to 
 another different from the reality, and 
 thereby raise an expectation in the mind 
 of that other person, of engaging with 
 such a character as would be exceed 
 ingly agreeable, and then afterwards 
 act out a character entirely different, 
 when it is too late for the deceived party 
 to extricate him or herself from the dif- 
 ficulty, is no evidence of respect : this 
 we can never do to the person we love. 
 If therefore we feel tlmt temper of heart, 
 which makes us willing that the other 
 should know just what we are, that we 
 may judge from sure data of each other's 
 characters and state of feeling ; then
 
 friendship's token. 27 
 
 this, with the other evidences, may be 
 reckoned a sure and certain proof of 
 unchanging love." 
 
 In all these particulars they readily 
 agreed, and said they felt all this in 
 their hearts for each other. They then 
 joined their hands and solemnly cove- 
 nanted to do their utmost to prove, 
 through their whole lives, to each other, 
 the truth and sincerity of their profes- 
 sions. They then arose from the seat, 
 descended the steps, and went through 
 the gate on to the great plain ; and as 
 they went there appeared a sweetness 
 and contentment in their countenances* 
 which I had not seen exhibited on the 
 plain before. 
 
 There was one couple I noticed who 
 were remarkably well built and hand- 
 some, upon whose countenances was 
 the flush of perpetual health; good 
 isense and good breeding were seen in 
 all their demeanor. It appeared tiiey 
 had read much, and had stored their
 
 28 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 minds with ideas ; a good foundation, 
 of the right kind, on which to sustain 
 sociability after marriage — a quahfica- 
 tion of immense importance, but much 
 neglected in general. One particular 
 trait of information they appeared to 
 have acquired, relative to ancient his- 
 tory, was, respecting the great number 
 of children the patriarchs were the 
 parents of They were talking about 
 it as they went through the gate ; of 
 its advantages, &c., in settling new 
 countries ; and of support, company and 
 friends in old age, which such a circum- 
 stance always secured : they were soon 
 out of sight, and I could hear no more. 
 A while after this, I also thought it 
 best for me to go through the gate on 
 to the great plains. Accordingly I 
 went in the prescribed way, having 
 chosen one to accompany me. Having 
 arrived there, I settled somewhere in 
 tlie centre of the plains, having tlie 
 mountains, which pa?:sed onward in full
 
 friendship's token. 29 
 
 view, and at nearly equal distance from 
 my habitation, making it a place of the 
 most romantic description. In the 
 morning the rising san appeared hke a 
 mighty minister of light — who, with an 
 ease peculiar to the simplicity of God's 
 works, brushed away with his burning 
 wings the darkness of the previous 
 night, smiling down upon each and 
 every plant of the great plain with de- 
 light, which, in their turn, raised their 
 leaves, blossoms and fruits, up towards 
 him in joy, as if they would say, thou 
 art welcome, messenger of the great 
 Creator. When the concave above the 
 plain had been passed, and this angel 
 of terrestrial light was beginning to dip 
 the tip of his wings in oceans of space 
 beyond us, he would flutter his radiant 
 pinions through all forests, over all 
 hills, vales and savannahs, seeming to 
 whisper to each child of being, sleep 
 sweetly till I return. 
 
 Very near my habitation there arose,
 
 30 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 not a great way apart, four beautiful 
 fountains; and as the place of their 
 sources was rather elevated above the 
 general level of the plain, they flowed 
 easily and beautifully t(fvvard the four 
 quarters or cardinal points of the earth. 
 Around me grew all trees of beauty, 
 filled with blossoms and fruit, suited m 
 endless varieties to the taste ; so that no 
 situation can be supposed more de- 
 lightful. I found in my rambles, very 
 near the centre of the area, between 
 the four fountains above mentioned, tra- 
 ditions of a tree of the most singular 
 nature, which was planted there by the 
 Maker of the universe, and was called 
 the tree of immortality or tree of life. 
 This tree bore every kind of fruit ne- 
 cessary botli for the support and hap- 
 piness of the dwellers on the plain, so 
 good was the soil originally. I found, 
 among the people in that country (the 
 great plain) another tradition, that the 
 place was at first discovered by an an-
 
 friendship's token. 31 
 
 cient man, called Adam. So great was 
 his couras^e, they said, that no wild 
 beast could in the least daunt his coun- 
 tenance or cower his eye. The Ele- 
 phant, the Rhinoceros, the Lion, the 
 Leopard, the Tiger, the Panther, the 
 Hyena, the Anaconda, or great red 
 Dragon, the Vulture, the golden Eagle, 
 were objects not of terror, but of mere 
 curiosity to this ancient man: all of 
 whom would, at his very sight, let fall 
 their bravery and terror of looks, so 
 much did the animals of power acknow- 
 ledge the superiority of this great and 
 ancient man. It appears also that this 
 ancient man, the first settler of the 
 great plain (social life), entered upon it 
 in the same way that all the other set- 
 tlers have done since, namely, by only 
 two at a time, who were extremely 
 happy, and would have continued so 
 till this time, with all their posterity, 
 had not this first settler and his wife 
 been persuaded by o. foreigner to strike
 
 32 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 a blow on the trunk of this wonderful 
 tree, or tree of Hfe, merely to see what 
 the effect would be. as this foreigner had 
 told them that much good would be 
 produced by the blow. But what was 
 the effect ? It was this : the tree inime- 
 dlately died, dried up, and disappeared : 
 when there came up, in the very spot 
 where it stood, another tree, called the 
 tree of Sin, which brought forth a fruit 
 called Pride, and every hurtful thing 
 with it. From this tree there arose, 
 over the whole plain, a poisonous efflu- 
 via, filHng the air with malignant va- 
 pors, so that it became extremely un- 
 healthy in all that country; causing 
 many kinds of hurtful plants to spring 
 iip, sp that the pristine salubrity of the 
 plain was destroyed forever. 
 
 But to return to my story respecting 
 those who had entered the plain. It 
 now came into my mind that, as I 
 had become one of their number, I 
 would ffo and visit the different classes
 
 FRIENDSHIP'S TOKEN. 
 
 I had seen enter the plain when I was 
 on the out side of the gate. Proceed- 
 ing accordingly, I soon came to the first, 
 which the reader is requested to remem- 
 ber were those who entered on the plain 
 merely for custoin's sake. These I 
 found in very miserable circumstances; 
 their houses, outside and inside, looked 
 as if they had indeed been led to settle 
 there from no higher principle than 
 mere custom, true enough : all was dirt 
 and confusion ; their fields all lay waste, 
 and were grown over with weeds ; it 
 looked so dreary, that I thought, at first, 
 there was no growth on their whole 
 plantation that was good for anything ; 
 but, at last, I saw a small garden, hav- 
 ing a kind of hedge about it, where I 
 observed a few plants of natural affec- 
 tion. These, however, seemed to be 
 cultivated by the parents merely for 
 their children's sake, and were so over- 
 shadowed by the trees of anxiety^ that 
 I wondered how they could grow at all.
 
 34 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 This was all that could be found there, 
 so I went on to the next. These, it will 
 be recollected, entered the plain for 
 want of a home — and a home they had 
 ^ot, such as it was, which was bad 
 enough. I now went on to the next, 
 being those who had entered the plain 
 merely to gratify their wills in oppo- 
 sition to supposed or real enemies, just 
 to let every body know they would and 
 could do just what they liked, when it is 
 likely nobody, after all, cared a farthing 
 about what they did : — these had trou- 
 ble enough and some to spare, for they 
 hated one another now, beyond meas- 
 ure. While visiting about, I did not 
 forget the young man who was so happy 
 on being noticed and flattered by a cer- 
 tain young womart, who, when she went 
 into the gate with her partner, looked a 
 little sorry, as well as a little haughty, 
 mixed with disappointment. These I 
 I found had parted — for the young man 
 afterwards found out that she had been
 
 friendship's token. 35 
 
 disappointed — and that she had noticed 
 and married him, merely to let her first 
 lover know that she could get married 
 as well as himself. He had left the 
 house just as 1 knocked at the door, and 
 was running toward the wall which 
 extended out each way from the gate, 
 over which he had sprung, at a leap ; 
 but, as he went over, a spike of the wall 
 caught him by his clothes, where for a 
 little while he hung — which caused a 
 great shout of laughter on the outside, 
 which I could plainly hear. We wish 
 the reader to know that we mean, by 
 the spikes on the wall, public scorn and 
 derision at having come away from the 
 plain too soon, even before his partner 
 died ; and yet, after he had hung there 
 awhile, and the multitude had laughed 
 at him as long as tliey wished, they be- 
 gan to pity him, and to say they did not 
 blame him so very much after all, when 
 tliey came to know just how it was. 
 I then went to see those who had
 
 36 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 been governed in their entrance on the 
 plains, by the outward show of beauty 
 and dress. By a series of hardships 
 and the advances of as^e, they were 
 dreadfully defaced and twisted about : 
 — these spent their time in boasting of 
 what they had once been, and of twit- 
 ting each other about the use they had 
 made of their beauty, when in posses- 
 sion of it : Oh ! how wretched they 
 were ! I next went to see those who 
 had doted on their titled honors, and 
 those who were (governed on their en ■ 
 trance to the plain by the love of riches ; 
 for they botli lived very near to each 
 other. They seemed to have two kinds 
 of trees that quite overspread their 
 whole plantation ; the one kind bore 
 the fruit of covetousness. and the other 
 the fruit of perplexing cares, how they 
 should preserve their riches and honor. 
 They indeed seemed l.o take some im- 
 aginary delight in their company, and 
 in vain amusements. But when they
 
 friendship's token. 37 
 
 went into their houses, there was no 
 domestic happiness. 
 
 I next went to visit those who had 
 gone on to the plain in order to get rid 
 of trouble, who I tbund had their trouble 
 made four-fold. These were to be 
 pitied, as the act seemed to have been 
 a sort of phrenzy produced by the agony 
 of suffering, leaving to the heart-broken 
 and grief-stricken one no choice, but 
 that of an onward state of ruin, from 
 which nothing but death could relieve 
 them, except they should break through 
 the gate at which they entered, when 
 the whole populace would raise its out- 
 cry in the ears of the runaway ; so that 
 between the pain of remaining on the 
 plain, and the disgrace of breaking 
 through the gate, or getting over the 
 wall, they were doomed to pass a life of 
 indescribable agony, too dreadful for 
 the pen of description. In looking about 
 on the plain, I saw the one who had 
 come back, on account of having lost
 
 38 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 her mate by death, who had one or two 
 children, and had been induced to go 
 on to the plain again, against her will, 
 in company with a kind of half-witted 
 partner. I found her pining away in a 
 state of gloomy sohtude, having no 
 company or fellow-feeling with her 
 partner, who was now hated, and yet 
 did not seem to know that he was 
 hated ; and besides, the home that she 
 expected to have got was never obtain- 
 ed ; the children were divided and sep- 
 arated hundreds of miles, and finally, 
 died so far asunder, that she could not 
 be present at their deaths to comfort 
 them in th5ti^last moments. The whole 
 population of the plain wept when they 
 saw this, and were ready to say to her 
 she had almost better have broke 
 through the gate, or over-leapt the wall, 
 even if i^he did get torn by the spikes 
 of public opinion a little, as this really 
 was belter than none. At length I was 
 told that she had done so, and that she
 
 friendship's token. 39 
 
 leaped so high that not a spike reached* 
 her as she went over, for she went so 
 far that she was never heard of after- 
 wards, and every body said they did 
 not blame her much. I also saw the 
 one who had taken a cruel natured 
 mate — who, I saw, was deranged and 
 in chains, and her httle ones were dead, 
 or bound out to hard masters, and she 
 in a state of affliction. O ! how I pitied 
 her and them. 
 
 Next I came to those who had been 
 stimulated to enter the plains by the 
 flames of connubial desire. I found 
 their whole plantation one entire thicket 
 of briars, thorns and thistles, so that 
 they could not progress one step with- 
 out being torn and mangled as they 
 went along. This was shocking to be- 
 hold, yet I could not find it in my heart 
 to pity them much. The reader will 
 remember the couple who were con- 
 versing about Ancient History, and the 
 Patriarchs having so many sons and
 
 40 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 daughters, as they went through the 
 gate. This couple I found living on a 
 large plantation, having beautiful fields, 
 orchards, granaries, cattle and herds, 
 with an elegant mansion full of all that 
 heart could wish, besides quite a com- 
 pany of beautiful daughters and robust 
 sons, before whose power the forest was 
 as a trifle. They had grown gray, but 
 still they were talking about their sons, 
 daughters and grand children. Surely, 
 I said in my heart, God favors the mul- 
 tipliers of his own image, and sends 
 them temporal happiness, more than 
 heart can wish — showing that it is good 
 for man not to be alone. But I had like 
 to have forgotten the bashful man, who 
 approached the gate with so much 
 dread ; among the rest I visited him 
 also. But it was with him as it some- 
 times happens with the cowards on the 
 field of battle, who fight desperately 
 when they find themselves cornered ; 
 so the bashful man — I found him knock-
 
 friendship's token. 41 
 
 ing about at a fearful rate, for the main- 
 tenance of his immense authority, over 
 the weakness of his wife and children. 
 '• Oh fie !" said I, '• what a pity !" 
 
 The whole of this numerous throng, 
 wnth but two or three exceptions, ap- 
 peared to be destitute of solid happi- 
 ness ; in this sense they were poor and 
 miserable, being discontented with their 
 situations. Various were the methods 
 they took for reUef; some tried one 
 thing and some another, but all their 
 efforts proved vain. Some had a mind 
 to quit the plain entirely ; but when they 
 came to the passage, they found it 
 shaped much like that of an eel-pot — 
 very easy to slip into, but extremely 
 difficult to get out of it again. In par- 
 ticular, I could but remember the parti- 
 colored couple who had gone through 
 the gate so very slyly ; these I found 
 far away, in a kind of remote place, so 
 that they were seldom seen, and around 
 them were a number of children, still
 
 42 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 of a different hue, partaking a little of 
 the tincture of each of their parents. 
 Of these the people of the plain said, 
 that as the}' had broken over the bounds 
 prescribed by nature, and had produced 
 a race of beings dissimilar from the ori- 
 ginal creation, that they ought not to 
 be much thought of, nor any body who 
 favored such things. And as nobody 
 seemed to respect them, so they diS not 
 respect themselves, and lived in a state 
 of recrimination, snapping and snarling 
 like a couple of canine beings, while the 
 offspring looked on in a kind of silly 
 surprise, and wished themselves back 
 again, father and mother, and all, out 
 of the plains. 
 
 By this time I bethought myself of 
 those who sat so long on the seat of 
 consideration, and determined to pay 
 them a visit as well as the rest. On 
 coming in sight of their habitation, I 
 thought at first they were as bad off as 
 the rest, as I saw an abundance of those
 
 friendship's TaKEN. 43 
 
 hurtful things before mentioned inter- 
 spersed among all they had. I how- 
 ever soon discovered tiiat they had a 
 Httle private garden, with the best fence 
 about it of any I had seen in all the 
 plains. I felt immediately anxious to 
 know what there was in it. When 
 they became acquainted with my desire, 
 I wa^'invited to walk in. On entering 
 it, /jf thought it the prettiest and most 
 delightful place I had ever beheld, since 
 the first great settler had struck the 
 curious tree that fatal blow. In this 
 garden they had a small bower, over- 
 spread with a beautiful vine, by the 
 name of conjugal love. I noticed that 
 this man and his mate often retired into 
 this bower to refresh themselves, and 
 to console each other in the sorrows of 
 life. It was admirable to me, to see 
 whenever they sat down under this 
 shade, it would at once cool every tur- 
 bulent passion, producing the same kind 
 of expression of countenance which
 
 44 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 distinguished them on the seat of con- 
 sideration, and when they went hand 
 in hand through the gate of the great 
 plain. 
 
 I inquired how they came by tlmt 
 vine, and why there were no more on 
 the plain? They said the vine was 
 naturally the original production of the 
 soil ; but that the two first settlers had 
 corrupted the soil, so that none of^hem 
 grew here now, unless those who enter 
 the plain bring the seed with them ; 
 and even then the greatest pains must 
 be taken to cultivate it. The seed of 
 this vine they said they received as a 
 donation from the great Benefactor of 
 the world, as an act of grace ; for they 
 said the first settler had forfeited all 
 right in his person and that of his pos- 
 terity, to that vine and every other 
 blessing. As to my inquiry why there 
 was no more of the kind on the plam, 
 they said they did not know, unless 
 those who came there rushed on so pre-
 
 friendship's token. 45 
 
 cipitately that they never so much as 
 read the inscription on the pillar, or 
 ascended the seat of consideration, be- 
 fore they entered the plain. They told 
 me they had to watch around .the roots 
 of this vine with incessant care, or from 
 the badness of the soil in v^^hich it grew, 
 sprouts of a very bad nature would im- 
 mediately come Lip and destroy all their 
 happiness. 
 
 In looking about the garden, in other 
 parts of it, I soon discovered a very 
 rough looking tree, which I supposed 
 was occasioned by the bark only, for 
 the tree itself was handsomely propor- 
 tioned, having on it many long and pen- 
 dant branches, very limber and tough, 
 and bearing a kind of fruit very beauti- 
 ful to look upon ; being of a sweet and 
 chasie mixture of the water color and 
 pink. I inquired what tree it was, 
 when they said it was the tree of family 
 government. The twigs of this tree 
 they said were of great value ; which
 
 46 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 in my ver)?- sight I was so happy as to 
 see wonderfully exemplified. It was 
 as follows : One of their children, a 
 beautiful little boy, was taken in a 
 dreadlul* fit of rebellion, which termi- 
 nated in a settled fever of madness. 
 The parents agreed that it was best to 
 give it a decoction of one of the branches 
 of the tree ; they accordingly did. At 
 first the child made up wry faces, say- 
 ing it was bitter; but in a little while 
 after, he said the bitternes had passed 
 away, and that his mouth was wonder- 
 ful sweet. In a short time the fever 
 subsided and the child was well, and 
 far more healthy for a long time after 
 than before. This couple I found in 
 the possession of as much felicity as 
 can be afforded by animal enjoyment, 
 yet they were not without their diffi- 
 culties and afflictions. 
 
 After leaving this house I saw there 
 was still another plantation a little way 
 off, which, as I went, I perceived look-
 
 friendship's token. 47 
 
 ed much better than the one just exa- 
 mined. Their garden was much larger 
 and better trimmed than the other. I 
 knocked at the gate, when a voice with- 
 in bid me to enter. At first sight I no- 
 ticed that this couple were far more 
 happy than the other. I saw they had 
 the bower, with the vine of conjugal 
 love, and the tree of family government 
 as well as the other ; but besides, they 
 had another. bower of much greater ex- 
 tent than I had seen on the plain be- 
 fore, and far more delightful ; for it was 
 formed of various kinds of plants whose 
 fruit was tiie result of piety toward 
 God. The shade of these plants was 
 the most delightful I had ever sat under 
 in my life. Inside the bower there was 
 a seat which went all around it, and 
 was called the seat of resignation. I 
 I sat down upon it and you can hardly 
 imagine how easy it was to sit upon. 
 On this seat the whole family could sit 
 and reach the clusters, the produce of
 
 48 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 the plants and fruit of the bower, which 
 hung down in all directions through the 
 whole year. This family had therefore 
 a plantation of the most value, and came 
 nearer being like the ancient and first 
 settler before his f\tal blow on the cu- 
 rious tree ; which was the trait of the 
 likeness, or mind of the maker of the 
 first settler of the country. 
 
 On seeing the great difference there 
 was in the growth of all the plants and 
 vines, and the produce, the quantity 
 and quality of the fruit above that of 
 the other plantation, I inquired the 
 reason of the owner, seeing the soil 
 was by nature alike, since its degenera- 
 tion from the first creation. In answer 
 to this question he replied, that it had 
 pleased the great Author of all good, 
 in the very spot where the seeds were 
 planted, to renovate the soil. Yet the 
 couple were not without great labor in 
 keeping out the growth of weeds and 
 bad vines, which, without this labor,
 
 friendship's token. 49 
 
 would have choked the useful ones. I 
 observed in some of their greatest 
 fatigues they would be wonderfully ani- 
 mated With something they had in pros- 
 pect ; I inquired what it was, when 
 they informed me that it was a firm and 
 sure belief that when they had done 
 with this life they should no more be 
 troubled with corrupt vines and noxious 
 plants, nor pressed down with the cares 
 of life ; but should go to a world where 
 they neither marry nor are given in 
 marriage, but are as the angels of God 
 in heaven. This hops made them en- 
 dure with patience all the troubles of 
 life. On perceiving this I concluded 
 that such a state was the highest pitch 
 of happiness that any one could obtain 
 in this life; and so I looked for no 
 other. 
 
 Thus we have finished an allegorical 
 account of the marriage state, and of 
 the several characters who in all ages 
 have engaged in it ; showing that one
 
 50 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 principle only is necessary to its fur- 
 therance of human happiness, namely, 
 that of true love alone ; and one to se- 
 cure happiness beyond this life, and 
 that is the love of God alone ; which 
 no man can despise, and feel easy in the 
 secret recesses of his own heart.
 
 friendship's token. 51 
 
 The Heart that's True. 
 
 Tell me not of Sparkling gems, 
 Set in real diadems— 
 You may boast your diamonds rare, 
 Rubies bright, and pearls so fair; 
 But there's a peerless gem on earth, 
 Of richer ray and purer worth : 
 'Tis priceless, but 'tis worn by few- 
 It is, it is— the heart that's true. 
 
 Bring the tulip and the rose, 
 "While their brilliant beauty glows; 
 
 Let the storm-cloud fling a shade. 
 But there's a flower that still is found, 
 
 (Ro.se and tulip both will fade," 
 When mist and darkness close around ;) 
 Changeless, fadeless in its hue- 
 It is, it is— the heart that's true. 
 
 Ardent in its earliest tie, 
 Faithful in its latest sigh; 
 Love and friendship— godlike paii^ 
 Fi-nd their throne of glory there. 
 Proudly scorning bribe or threat I 
 Naught can break the seal once set ; 
 All that civil gold can do, 
 Cannot warp the heart that's true. 
 
 First in Freedom's cause to bleed, 
 
 First m joy when slaves are freed ; 
 
 Then hearts) were true, and who could quell 
 
 The might of Washington or Tell? 
 
 Oh, there is one mortid shrine, 
 
 Lighted up with rays divine — 
 
 Seek it— yield the homage due — 
 
 Deify the heart that 's tnie.
 
 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 A SIMPLE STORY. 
 
 " In a city, which shall be nameless, 
 there lived long ago, a young girl, the 
 only daughter of a widow. She came 
 from the country, and was as ignorant 
 of the dangers of a city, as the squir- 
 rels of her native fields. She had 
 glossy black hair, gentle, beaming eyes, 
 and ' lips like wet coral.' Of course, 
 she knew that she was beautiful ; for 
 when she was a child, strangers often 
 stopped as she passed, and exclaimed, 
 ' How handsome she is ! * And as she 
 grew older, the young men gazed on 
 her with admiration. She was poor, 
 and removed to the city to earn her 
 living by covering umbrellas. She was 
 just at that susceptible age, when youth
 
 friendship's token. 53 
 
 is passing into womanhood ; when the 
 soul begins to be pervaded by -that 
 restless principle, which impels poor 
 humans to seek perfection in union.' 
 
 At the hotel opposite, Lord Henry 
 Stuart, an Enghsh nobleman, had at 
 that time taken lodgings. His visit to 
 this country is doubtless well remem- 
 bered by many, for it mac^e a great sen- 
 sation at the time. He was a peer of 
 the realm, descended from the royal 
 line, and was, moreover, a strikingly 
 handsome man, of right princely car- 
 riage. He was subsequently a member 
 of the British Parliament, and is now 
 dead. 
 
 As this distinguished stranger passed 
 to and from his hotel, he encountered 
 the umbrella-girl, and was impressed 
 by her uncommon beauty. He easily 
 traced her to the opposite store, where 
 he soon after went to purchase an um- 
 brella. This was followed up by pre- 
 sents of flowers, chats by the wayside ;
 
 54 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 and invitations to walk or ride ; all of 
 which were gratefully accepted by the 
 unsuspecting rustic. He was playing 
 a game, for temporary excitement, she, 
 with a head full of romance, and a 
 heart melting under the influence of 
 love, was unconsciously endangering 
 the happiness of her whole life. 
 
 Lord Henry invited her to visit the 
 public gardens, on the Fourth of July. 
 In the simplicity of her heart, she be- 
 lieved all his flattering professions, and 
 considered herself his bride elect; she 
 therefore accepted the invitation, with 
 innocent frankness. But she had no 
 dress fit to appear on such a public 
 occasion, w^ith a gentleman of high 
 rank, whom she verily supposed to be 
 her destined husband. — While these 
 thoughts revolved in her mind, her eye 
 was unfortunately attracted by a beau- 
 tiful piece of silk, belonging to her em- 
 ployer. Ah, could she not take it, 
 without being seen, and pay for it
 
 friendship's token. 55 
 
 secretly, when she had earned money- 
 enough ? The temptation conquered 
 her in a moment of weakness. She 
 concealed the silk, and conveyed it to 
 her lodgings. It was the first thing 
 she had ever stolen, and her remorse 
 was painful. She would have carried 
 it back, but she dreaded discovery. — 
 She was not sure that her repentance 
 would be met in a spirit of forgiveness. 
 On the eventful Fourth of July, she 
 came out in her new dress. Lord Henry 
 complimented her upon her elegant ap- 
 pearance ; but she was not happy. On 
 their way to the gardens, he talked to 
 her in a manner which she did not 
 comprehend. Perceiving this, he spoke 
 more explicitly. The guileless young 
 creature stopped, looked in his face 
 with mournful reproach, and burst into 
 tears. The nobleman took her hand 
 kindly, and said, ' My dear, are you an 
 innocent girl?' 'I am, I am,' replied 
 she, with convTilsive sobs. ' Oh, what
 
 56 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 have I ever done, or said, that you 
 should ask me that V Her words stir- 
 red the deep fountains of his better 
 nature. 'If you are innocent,' said he, 
 ' God forbid that I should make you 
 otherwise. But you accepted my in- 
 vitations and presents so readily, that I 
 supposed you understood me.' ' What 
 could I understand,' said she, ' except 
 that you intended to make me your 
 wife V Though reared amid the proud- 
 est distinctions of rank, he felt no in- 
 clination to smile. He blushed, and 
 was silent. The heartless convention- 
 alities of life stood rebuked in the pre- 
 sence of affectionate simplicity. He 
 conveyed her to her humble home, and 
 bade her farewell, with a thankful con- 
 sciousness that he had done no irre- 
 trievable injury to her future prospects. 
 The remembrance of her would soon 
 be to him as the recollection of last 
 year's butterflies. With her, the wound 
 was deeper. In her solitary chamber
 
 friendship's token. 57 
 
 she wept, in bitterness of heart, over 
 her ruined air-castles. And that dress, 
 which she had stolen to make an ap- 
 pearance befitting his bride ! Oh, what 
 if she should be discovered? And 
 would not the heart of her poor widow- 
 ed mother break, if she should ever 
 know that her child was a thief? Alas, 
 her wretched forebodings were too true. 
 The silk was traced to her — she was 
 arrested, on her way to the store, and 
 dragged to prison. There she re- 
 fused all nourishment, and wept inces- 
 santly. 
 
 On the fourth day, the keeper called 
 upon Isaac T. Hopper, and informed 
 him that there was a young girl in pri- 
 son, who appeared to be utterly friend- 
 less, and determined to die by starva- 
 tion. The kind-hearted old gentleman 
 immediately went to her assistance. 
 He found her lying on the floor of her 
 cell, with her face buried in her hands, 
 sobbing as if her heart would break.
 
 58 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 He tried to comfort her but could ob- 
 tain no answer. * 
 
 'Leave us alone,' said he to the 
 keeper. 'Perhaps she will speak to 
 me, if there is none to hear.' When 
 they were alone together, he put back 
 the hair from her temples, laid his hand 
 kindly on her beautiful head, and said, 
 in soothing tones, ' My child, consider 
 me as thy father. Tell me all thou 
 hast done. If thou hast taken this silk, 
 let me know all about it. I will do for 
 thee as I would for a daughter; and 
 doubt not that I can help thee out of 
 this difficulty.' 
 
 After a long time spent in affectionate 
 entreaty, she leaned her young head on 
 his friendly shoulder, and sobbed out, 
 ' Oh, I wish I was dead. What will 
 my poor mother say, when she knows 
 of my disgrace?' 
 
 'Perhaps we can manage that she 
 never shall know it,' replied he ; and 
 alluring her by this hope, he gradually
 
 friendship's token. 59 
 
 obtained from her the whole story of 
 her acquaintance with the nobleman. 
 He bade her be comforted, and take 
 nourishment ; for he would see that the 
 silk was paid for, and the prosecution 
 withdrawn. He went immediately to 
 her employer, and told him the story. 
 'This is her first offence,' said he; 
 ' the girl is young, and the only child 
 of a poor widow. Give her a chance 
 to retrieve this one false step, and she 
 may be restored to society, a useful and 
 honored woman. I will see that thou 
 art paid for the silk.' The man readily 
 agreed to withdraw the prosecution, and 
 said he would have dealt otherwise by 
 the girl had he known all the circum- 
 stances. ' Thou shouldst have inquired 
 into the merits of the case, my friend,' 
 replied Isaac. ' By this kind of thought- 
 lessness, many a young creature is 
 driven into the downward path, who 
 might easily have been saved.' 
 
 The ffood old man then went to the
 
 60 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 hotel and inquired for Henry Stuart. 
 The servant said his lordship had not 
 yet risen. ' Tell him my business is 
 of importance,' said Friend Hopper. 
 The servant soon returned and conduct- 
 ed him to the chamber. The nobleman 
 appeared surprised that a plain old 
 Q,uaker should thus intrude upon his 
 laxurious privacy; but when he heard 
 his errand, he blushed deeply, and 
 frankly admitted the truth of the girl's 
 statement. His benevolent visitor took 
 the opportunity to ' bear a testimony,' 
 as the Friends say, against the sin and 
 selfishness of profligacy. He did it in 
 such a kind and fatherly manner, tiiat 
 the young man's heart was touched. 
 He excused himself, by saying that he 
 would not have tampered with the girl, 
 if he had known her to be virtuous. — 
 ' I have done many wrong things,' said 
 he, ' but, thank God, no betrayal of 
 confiding innocence rests on my con- 
 science. I have always esteemed it
 
 friendship's token. 6J 
 
 the basest act of which man is capable.' 
 The imprisonment of the poor girl, and 
 the forlorn situation in which she had 
 been found, distressed him greatly. 
 And when Isaac represented that the 
 silk had been stolen for his sake, that 
 the girl had thereby lost profitable em- 
 ployment, and was obliged to return to 
 her distant home, to avoid the danger 
 of exposure, he took out a fifty dollar 
 note, and oflfered it to pay her expenses. 
 'Nay,' said Isaac, • thou art a very rich 
 man; I see in thy hand a large roll of 
 such notes. She is the daughter of a 
 poor widow, and thou hast been the 
 means of doing her great injury. Give 
 me another.' 
 
 Lord Henry handed him another fifty 
 dollar note, and smiled as he said, 
 ' You understand your business well. 
 But you have acted nobly, and I reve- 
 rence you for it. If you ever visit 
 England, come to see me. I will give
 
 62 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 you a cordial welcomej and treat you 
 like a nobleman.' 
 
 ' Farewell, friend,' replied Isaac : 
 ' Though much to blame in this affair, 
 thou too hast behaved nobly. Mayst 
 thou be blessed in domestic life, and 
 trifle no more with the feelings of poor 
 girls; not even with those whom others 
 have betraye(^ and deserted." 
 
 Luckily, the girl had sufficient pre- 
 sence of mind to assume a false name 
 when arrested ; by which means her 
 true name was kept out of the news- 
 papers. 'I did this,' said she, ' for my 
 poor mother's sake.' With the money 
 given by Lord Henry, the silk was paid 
 for, and she was sent home to her mo- 
 ther, well provided with clothing. Her 
 name and pfece of residence remain to 
 this day a secret in the breast of her 
 benefactor. 
 
 Several years after the incidents I 
 have related, a lady called at Friend 
 Hopper's liouse and asked to see him.
 
 friendship's token; 63 
 
 When he entered the room, he found a 
 handsome dressed young matron, with 
 a blooming boy of five or six years old. 
 She rose to meet him, and her voice 
 choked as she said, ' Friend Hopper, 
 do you know me?' He rephed that he 
 did not. — She fixed her tearful eyes 
 earnestly upon him, and said, ' You 
 once helped me when in great distress.' 
 But the good missionary of humanity 
 had helped too many in distress, to be 
 able to recollect her,jwiihout more pre- 
 cise information. With a tremulous 
 voice, she bade her son go into the next 
 room, for a few minutes ; then drop- 
 ping on her knees ; she hid her face in 
 his lap and sobbed out, ' I am the girl 
 that stolt the silk. Oh, where should 
 I now be if it had not been for you ?' 
 
 When her emotion was somewhat 
 calmed, she told him that she had mar- 
 ried a highly respectable man, a Sena- 
 tor of his native State. Having a call 
 to visit the city, she had again and
 
 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 again passed Friend Hopper's house, 
 looking wistfully at the windows to 
 catch a sight of him ; but when she 
 attempted to enter, her courage failed. 
 ' But I go away to-morrow,' said she, 
 'and I could not leave the city, without 
 once more seeing and thanking him 
 who saved me from ruin.' She recalled 
 her Httle boy, and said to him, 'Look^ 
 at that old gentleman, and remember 
 him well ; for he was the best friend 
 your mother ever had.' With an ear- 
 nest invitation that he would visit her 
 happy home, and a fervent ' God bless 
 you,' she bade her benefactor farewell.
 
 1 
 
 friendship's token. 65 
 
 Flowers. 
 
 Flowers for the humble poor, 
 Flowers for the we:ik and lone; 
 
 Let tliini frently, pently fiill. 
 AVhere the weeds ortoil are sown; 
 
 Littiiig up loid discontent, 
 
 From the lonely tenement. 
 
 As the tUintiiiH toilers there 
 
 Catch a breath of heaven's air. 
 
 Flowers! lay them by the bed, 
 
 \Vhere the restless sick are lying. 
 Let their freshness heal the air, 
 
 Wouniled by the Jiiiderer's sighing; 
 Let his eye a moment rest 
 ■\Vhere its seeing may be blessed, 
 Ere they minarle their sweet breath 
 \\ ith the heavy one of Death. 
 
 Flowers from the rich and proud ! 
 
 Lay them in the costly room 
 Where Art's thick luxuriant air 
 
 May from Nature c^ifch perfirme, 
 And, like whispering Angels, start 
 I'ity in llie rich man's heart — 
 Pity for some humble one, 
 "Who offlowers and fruit hath none. 
 
 Fl(Avers ! for each one of earth. 
 
 Under and Hl)ove the sod. 
 That the dead may sweeter sleep 
 
 And the livinj: think of God, 
 When we from our walks of Sin, 
 Sec where his soft steps have been, 
 Leaving these to liless our eyes. 
 As a glimpse of Paradise.
 
 66 
 
 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 BIARBYING FOR MONEY, 
 
 There is a gray-haired gentleman in 
 New York, a retired merchant, whose 
 bland and hearty countenance may be 
 seen e'/ery fair day, in Broadway, 
 through the window of his carriage, as 
 he takes his airing. There is nothing 
 ostentatious about his equipage — none 
 of that labored display, unfortunately 
 characteristic of too many in New York. 
 He does not ape the habits of a foreign 
 aristocracy, by attiring his servants in 
 liveries ; and his carriage, though evi- 
 dently of costly manufacture, is so bar- 
 ren of tinsel, and of so unpretending a 
 construction, that the passer by, as his 
 eye falls in the midst of the ambitious 
 'turn outs,' so numerous in Broadway, 
 would never suspect ifs occupant to be 
 master of unbounded wealth — capable
 
 friendship's token. 67 
 
 of buying up, body and soul, nine hun- 
 dred and ninety-nine ol' the bedizened 
 and bewiskered aspirants, who dash by 
 him. as he leisurely rumbles along, in 
 their flashy, gingerbread vehicles. 
 
 He is often accompanied by his wife 
 and daughter ; the former reserving in 
 the wane of hfe, traces of loveliness ; 
 the latter in the dawning lustrous beau- 
 ty. The dress of those ladies corres- 
 ponds with the elegant simplicity, that 
 test of true elevation and real gentility, 
 which we have remarked upon as dis- 
 tinguishing the husband and father. 
 The jewels they wear are few and 
 tasteful ; and, in their plain and becom- 
 ing attire, they do not make their bodies 
 locomotive milliners' signs, nor tell a 
 tale by extravagance of outreness of 
 display, that conscious deficiency in 
 mental superiority, that would make a 
 parade of the covering alone, for the 
 emptiness within it. 
 
 This gentleman came to the city
 
 68 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 when a young man, a poor adventurer. 
 He left his father's humble fireside in 
 the country, with a blessing and a pack 
 of clothes, and with a five dollar note 
 in his pocket — all that he was worth in 
 the world — he turned his steps towards 
 New York ; ignorant of mankind — of 
 the thousands seeking, like himself, a. 
 livelihood, who congregate in this moral 
 whirlpool — but full of expectation — of 
 hope — of determination — of energy. 
 It was distant several days' travel, but 
 he did not greatly diminish his scanty 
 funds, for the farmer's door at which 
 he applied at nightfall was ever open 
 to receiv-e him; and a few hours of 
 labor, the succeeding day, requited — 
 for he would have scorned to have ac- 
 cepted of charily — the hospitality ex- 
 tended to him. He sought a mean, 
 cheap lodging-house, when at last he 
 trod with eager foot the streets of the 
 city; and although wondering curiosity 
 was awake, he wasted no time in idle 
 J
 
 FRIENDSHIP'S TOKEN. 
 
 ness, but seduously employed himself 
 in seeking occupation. — Appearances 
 are deceitful, and it is dangerous to put 
 failh in them ; but the merchant who 
 listened to Jacob Flagg's story, and 
 taking the honesty depicted in his face 
 as an endorsement of its truth, made 
 liim his porter, never had reason to re- 
 gret it. 
 
 For four years he was a faithful ser- 
 vant; diligent, industrious, honest, fru- 
 gal. Closing his duties soon after 
 nightfall, his evenings were his own; 
 and. by the light of his lamp, he de- 
 voted them to the improvement of his 
 mind. At the end of four years, with 
 what he had saved from his earnings, 
 and some little assistance from his em- 
 ployer, he opened a small shop in an 
 obscure street, wherein he vended a 
 small stock of dry goods. From the 
 beginning he succeeded. And the ma- 
 jority may succeed in precisely the 
 same way. Whatsoever one's income
 
 70 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 may be, however trifling, let him Hve 
 within it, and he is even then prosper- 
 ing ; and, to prosper in a great city, 
 iVugaHty never finds itself at fault. 
 Subsistence and a home may be pro- 
 cured, meeting to any quality of means ; 
 and he who casts false pride out of 
 doors, and indulges rather in that more 
 ennobling satisfaction, the consciousness 
 that he is wronging no fellow-being by 
 unjust self-iudulgence, is laying a foun- 
 dation for prosperity, that nothing can 
 shake ; though the goods of earth may 
 gather slowly, the soul will be heaping 
 up treasures. Extravagance is a com- 
 parative term ; and he who, with an 
 income of a few hundreds, exceeds its 
 bounds in his expenditures, is more so 
 than the possessor of millions, whose 
 hand scatters thousands upon thousands 
 from his revenue. Jacob Flagg had a 
 little something left of his first year's 
 gains, and a yet larger sum at the close 
 of the second — tenfold after the third.
 
 friendship's token. Vl 
 
 As his condition improved, he cau- 
 tiously and advisedly improved his mode 
 of living. He removed to a more gen- 
 teel boarding house — and then a better 
 still — ever careful, however, not to de- 
 ceive himself and run ahead of duty. 
 
 The second change was rife with 
 momentous influences upon his destiny ; 
 for there boarded in the same house a 
 widow and her daughter, the last an 
 heiress, worth a thousand dollars ! This 
 widow, named Watkins — not her real 
 name, by the bye, for on our veracity 
 we are telling a true story, and it might 
 give offence to be too particular — was 
 net overstocked with it. and piqued her- 
 self as much on her slender jointures 
 and the thousand dollars Helen was to 
 possess on her wedding day, as though 
 her hundreds had been thousands, and 
 her daughter's thousand a million. — 
 Helen was sensible, very sensible, and 
 resisted, in a good degree, the unhappy 
 influences of her mother's weakness;
 
 72 PUILIPENA. OR 
 
 but niosl women, not being conversant 
 with business, do not appreciate the 
 vahie of money; and it is not amazing 
 that Helen, when it was constantly a 
 theme of exnitation and pride wifJi her 
 mother, should imagine, at leas/, her 
 thousand dollars — a fortune, 
 
 Flagg. after a lime, loved her — loved 
 her with liis vvliole heart, and was ten- 
 derly loved in return. He had always 
 determined, with an honest pride, never 
 to fall in love with a woman who had 
 money; it should never be cast into his 
 teeth by his wile's grumbling relations, 
 ' that he was supported by her,' and 
 there are few who will accuse him of 
 swerving from ln"s principles, although 
 he did love Helen VVatkins, and she 
 had a thousand dollars. 
 
 He married her ; and on the wedding 
 day, pursuant to her father's will, the 
 tliDUsand dollars were placed in P^lagg's 
 liniids. Doi'iir as he thought .best for 
 their mutual advantage, he invested it
 
 friendship's token. 
 
 in his business, and instead of dashing 
 out. with an estabhshment, remained at 
 the boarding house. A loving bride 
 tiiinks httle for money, of anything but 
 love and happiness ; and Helen never 
 spoke of the thousand dollars. — Flagg 
 furnished her with money sufficient for 
 her wants, and indeed, for her desires 
 — the engrossment of her thoughts 
 otherwise limited her wishes. But 
 when a year had gone by, she often 
 asked for articles of dress or luxury — 
 luxury to them — which her husband 
 could not afford to give, and gently, 
 but resolutely denied her. '' It is very 
 strange," thought Helen to herself, 
 "that when he has all that- thousand 
 dollars of mine, he won't let me have 
 what I want." Her mother fostered 
 these complaining thoughts, and on an 
 occasion when she had set her heart on 
 something which he refused to pur- 
 chase, she ventured to vent her disap- 
 pointment in reproaches ; and referred
 
 74 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 to the tliousand dollars, which she was 
 sure she ought to be at liberty to spend, 
 since it was all her own. Flagg was 
 astonished — indignant; but, restraining 
 himself, kindly reasoned with her, and 
 represented to her how paltry a sum in 
 reality a thousand dollars was, and how 
 long ago it would have been exhausted, 
 had it been in her own possession, by 
 the procurements of half the articles she 
 had sohcited. But her pride prevented 
 her from listening with calmness, and 
 she only gathered enough of his expla- 
 nation to excite, in her marked judg- 
 ment, the suspicion that it was only given 
 to excuse himself for his meanness. 
 
 In a short time the thousand came up 
 again — and again ; the last time imme- 
 diately after breakfast. Flagg could 
 bear it no more. Without a rejoinder he 
 suddenly left his house. His wife saw 
 that he was more than ordinarily moved 
 — that his face wore a startling expres- 
 sion, and, regretful, penitent, and alarm-
 
 friendship's token. 75 
 
 ed, she called earnestly and tearfully 
 for him to return. But it was too late ! 
 
 It was a sullen, stormy, wintry, chilly 
 day, when Flagg left his home that 
 morning : it was, too, at the very cli- 
 max of those mercantile crises when 
 the rich feel poor, and the poor beggars ; 
 and, breasting the storm bravely thus 
 far, he had congratulated himself that, 
 in a few days he should be safe, and 
 his fortune golden forever. How bitter 
 were his sensations as he came down 
 Broadway that morning, splashing 
 through the rain! He loved Helen 
 dearly — he knew she loved him. Their 
 days were all happiness, save that de- 
 stroyed by this one foible ; and let come 
 what would, he determined to give her 
 a ' lesson that should last the rest of 
 her life.' 
 
 He did not return to dinner. Helen 
 waited for him, and, robbed by her 
 anxiety and remorse of her appetite, 
 would not go down herself, but sat all
 
 /b PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 the afternoon looking from the window 
 into the deserted and dreary street, 
 weeping sometimes as though her heart 
 would break. When day-light had 
 nearly gone, and she began to strain 
 her eyes to distinguish objects without, 
 slie discovered him approaching. She 
 could not, she dare not, go to meet him ; 
 but when he opened the door, she could 
 not repress a shriek at the haggard ness 
 of his countenance. He came to her 
 side, and, taking her hand, said, in a 
 voice broken by exhaustion and emo- 
 tion, while he extended with the other 
 hand a roll of bank notes: 
 
 "Helen, there are your thousand 
 dollars; I have encountered toil and 
 anguish, and pain enough to get them 
 for you, in these dreadful times ; but I 
 have resolved, and would not be disap- 
 pointed. Take them ; do with them as 
 you like, and we will be wholly happy, 
 for you never can reproadi me niore." 
 
 "No, no: not for the world!" sob-
 
 friendship's token. 77 
 
 bed Helen, sinking on her knees in 
 shame: "Oh, husband, forgive me! I 
 shall never be guilty again ! " He was, 
 however, resolute; and, well knowing, 
 from his character, that what he had 
 determined on as a proper course he 
 would never swerve from, she dismissed 
 the subject, and they were afterwards 
 indeed happy. He never asked to what 
 purpose she had appropriated the thou- 
 sand dollars, but it was plain enough 
 that she expended it neither for dress 
 nor ornament. If anything, she was 
 more frugal than ever, and he was com- 
 pelled to question her wants and wishes, 
 when he was disposed to gratify them, 
 as he was liberal and free, as soon as 
 his prosperity would authorize it. 
 
 Reader, this Flagg is the same hale 
 old fellow whom we have spoken of as 
 riding in his carriage in Broadway, and 
 that wife is this same Helen. That 
 daughter oh, I can tell a story of her! 
 She is to he married next week to a
 
 78 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 young man not worth a penny — who 
 loves her, and cares not a pin for her 
 father's money, confiding, as he does, 
 in his own energies — which the old 
 gentleman took care to make sure of 
 before he gave his consent. As to that 
 thousand dollars, it has been accumu- 
 lating these twenty years, has been 
 added constantly to by the mother, and 
 now a good round sum — we have it 
 from good authority, at least twenty 
 thousand — will be a gift to the daughter 
 on the marriage day ; but we warrant 
 youj she will hear the whole story of 
 the ' thousand dollars,' and be warned 
 not to suspect an honest, high-minded, 
 loving man, of marrying for money.
 
 friendship's token. 79 
 
 The Bride. 
 
 Fair Girl ! there's radiance on thy brow— 
 There's fl;ushing in that thoughtful eye — 
 
 Like some pure beam thou seemest now, 
 Plucked from the lustres of the sky. 
 
 The mingled tints of mom and eve, 
 The glowing bloom of clouiUess day, 
 
 Seem o'er thy form their lights to weave. 
 And cluster in one living ray. 
 
 Sweet bridal Love and Purity I 
 
 Hallowed of Heaven and Hope, and Truth I 
 Lady l such joys attend on thee, 
 
 And crown the nuptials of thy youth 1 
 
 Farewell the past l The future glows 
 
 Upon the azure of thy heart ; 
 Woes be on him— deep, utter woes— 
 
 Who bids that Promise-vow depart.
 
 80 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 A GOOD DAUGHTER. 
 
 A GOOD (laughter! There are other 
 ministers of love more conspicuous than 
 her, but none in which a gentler, love- 
 Uer spirit swells, and none to which the 
 heart's warm requitals more joyfully 
 respond. There is no such thing as a 
 comparative estimate of a parent's love 
 for one or another child. There is little 
 which he needs to covet, to whom tlie 
 treasure of a good child has been given. 
 But a son's occupation and pleasures 
 carry him more abroad, and he resides 
 more amongst temptation, which hardly 
 permits the affection that is following 
 him, perhaps over half of the globe, to 
 be wholly uruningled with anxiety, until 
 the time when he comes to relinquish 
 the shelter of his father's roof for one
 
 friendship's token. 8J 
 
 of his own ; while a good daughter is 
 the steady light of her parent's house. 
 Her idea is indissolubly connected with 
 that of his happy fireside. She is his 
 morning sunlight, and his evening star. 
 The grace, vivacity, and tenderness of 
 her sex have their place in the mighty 
 sway which she holds over his spirit. 
 The lessons of recorded wisdom which 
 he reads with her eyes, come to his 
 mind with a new charm as blended with 
 the beloved melody of her voice. He 
 scarcely knows weariness which her 
 song does not make him forget, or gloom 
 which is proof against the young bright- 
 ness of her smile. She is the pride and 
 ornament of his hospitality, and the 
 gentle nurse of his sickness, and the 
 constant agent \n those nameless, num- 
 berless acts of kindness, which one 
 chiefly cares to have rendered because 
 they are unpretending, but expressive 
 proofs of love. And then what a cheer-
 
 82 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 lightener of her mother's cares ! What 
 an ever-present delight and triumph to 
 a mother's affections ! Oh, how httle 
 do these daughters know of the power 
 which God has committed to them, and 
 the happiness God would have them 
 enjoy, who do not, every time that a 
 parent's eye rests upon them, bring rap- 
 ture to a parent's heart ! A true love 
 will almost certainly, always greet their 
 approaching footsteps. That they will 
 hardly ahenate. But their ambition 
 should be, not to have it a love merely, 
 which feelings implanted by nature ex- 
 cite, but one made intense and overflow- 
 ing, by approbation of worthy conduct; 
 and she is strangely blind to her own 
 happiness, as well as undutiful to them 
 to whom she owes the most, in whom 
 the perpetual appeals of parental disin- 
 terestedness do not call forth the prompt 
 and full echo of filial devotion.
 
 83 
 
 DAUGHTER LEAVING HOME, 
 
 Marriage is to women at once the 
 happiest and saddest event of her hfe ; 
 it is the promise of future bliss, raised 
 on the death of all present enjoyment. 
 She quits her home — her parents — her 
 companions — her amusements — every 
 thing on which she has hitherto depend- 
 ed for comfort — for affection — for kind- 
 ness — for pleasure. The parents by 
 whose advice she has been guided — the 
 sister to whom she has dared to impart 
 the every embryo thought and feeling 
 — the brother who has played with her, 
 by turns the counselor and the counsel- 
 ed — and the younger children, to whom 
 she has hitherto been the mother and 
 the playmate — all are to be forsaken at 
 one fell stroke — every former tie is 
 loosened — the spring of every action is 
 to be changed ; and yet she flies with
 
 84 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 joy in the untrodden paih before her ; 
 buoyed up by the confidence of requited 
 love, she bids a fond and grateful adieu 
 to the life that is past, and lurns with 
 excited hopes and joyous anticipation 
 of the happiness to come. Then wo to 
 the man who can blight such fair hopes 
 — who can treacherously lure such a 
 heart from its peaceful enjoyment, and 
 the watchful protection of home — who 
 can, coward-like, break the illusions 
 which have won her, and destroy the 
 confidence which love had inspired. 
 Wo to him who has too early withdrawn 
 the tender plant from the props and 
 stays of moral discipline in which she 
 has been nurtured, and yet make no ef- 
 fort to supply their places ; for on him the 
 responsibility of her errors — on him who 
 has first taught her, by his example, 
 to grow careless of her duty, and then 
 expose her, with a weakened spirit, and 
 unsatisfied heart, to the wide storms and 
 the wily temptations of a sinful world.
 
 friendship's token. 85 
 
 WORTH AND WEALTH, 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE CHOICE OF A WIFE. 
 
 " And so you intend to marry Lucy 
 Warden — eh ! Harry. What on earth 
 has put you in such a notion of that 
 girl?" said Charles Lowry to his friend 
 Harry Bovven, as they sat together 
 cracking almonds after dinner. 
 
 "And why not marry Lucy War- 
 den?" said his friend. 
 
 '•Why? oh ! because she's not worth 
 a sous ; and besides, I have heard she's 
 the daughter of a bricklayer. You 
 know, anyhow, that her mother kept a 
 little dry goods' store until an uncle left 
 Mrs. Warden that annuity on which 
 they now just manage to subsist." 
 
 " A formidable array of evils, indeed, 
 but still they do not dishearten me. 
 As for money, I do not look for it in a
 
 86 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 wife, because I should never feel inde- 
 pendeiil if I was indebted to a bride for 
 my bread. Besides, an heiress is gene- 
 rally educated in such expensive habits 
 that it requires a fortune to satisfy her 
 luxurious wishes. As a mere money 
 matter of business, this marrying for 
 money is nine times out often a losing 
 speculation. You are forced to live ac- 
 cording to your wife's former style, and 
 being thus' led into expenses which 
 your income will not afford, you too 
 often end by becoming bankrupt. Then, 
 too late, you discover that your wife is 
 fit only for a parlor ; she becomes peev- 
 ish, or wretched, or sick, and perhaps 
 all together. Domestic felicity is at an 
 end when this occurs — " 
 
 ''But her birth?" 
 
 "Ai^till more ijonsensical objection. 
 It is one of the prejudices of the old 
 colonial times, and was imported from 
 England hy the servile adorers of rank, 
 who instead of being like themselves,
 
 friendship's token. 87 
 
 drones in the public hive, earned their 
 bread fairly. It is this latter class to 
 which our country is indebted for its sub- 
 sequent prosperity — a prosperity which 
 not all the aristocrats of Europe could 
 have bestowed upon it. The revolution, 
 while it made us politically equal, did 
 not destroy this social aristocracy. The 
 same exclusiveness prevails now as 
 then, but with even more injustice, for it 
 is opposed to the whole spirit of our re- 
 pubhcan institutions. Nor is this all; 
 the prejudice itself is ridiculous. How 
 can people who scarcely know their an- 
 cestors beyond one or two generations, 
 and whose blood has been derived from 
 every nation and occupation on the 
 globe, talk with any propriety of birth? 
 — Why, there is scarcely a man or 
 woman of our acquaintance, who is not 
 an example of this piebald ancestry. 
 Take, for instance, Walter Hastings, 
 who, you know, boasts of his family. 
 I happen to know all about him, for he
 
 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 h a second cousin to myself. His father 
 made a fortune and married into our 
 family. But who was he 1 The son 
 of a German redemptioner. Hastings' 
 mother, it is true, is the grand-daughter 
 of an Enghsh baron, and the sister — a 
 far higher glory — of a signer of our 
 Declaration of Independence. Such is 
 a fair sample of our best families. 
 Why, I would undertake to furnish from 
 the ancestry of any of tiiem, cither a 
 peasant or a peer, either a laborer or a 
 drone. Birth, forsooth ! The only per- 
 sons who boast of it in this country are 
 those who have the least claim even to 
 an honest parentage ; and the noisiest 
 pretender I ever met with was the grand- 
 son of a fellow who was hung fifty years 
 ago for forgery." 
 
 " Well, you are really getting quite 
 low in your notions, Harry — where, in 
 the world, did you pick up such vulgar 
 notions ? You, a gentleman and a law- 
 yer, to marry such a girl ! She's pretty
 
 friendship's token. 89 
 
 enough, I grant — amiable, no doubt — 
 can sing and draw passably, and makes, 
 I hear, a batch of bread, or does dirty 
 house work as well as a common kitchen 
 girl. But perhaps that is what you want 
 her for ?" 
 
 " Your sneer aside, yes ! It is because 
 Lucy Warden is a good house-keeper, 
 that I intend to marry her. Not that I 
 would have a bride only because she 
 could, as you say, make abatchofbread. 
 Education, amiability, a refined mind, 
 and lady-like manners are equally neces- 
 sary. But a knowledge — and a prac- 
 tical one, too, — of house-keeping, is no 
 shght requisite in a good wife. I know 
 such knowledge is scarce among our 
 city ladies, but that is the very reason 
 why I prize it so highly. Believe me, 
 refinement is not incompatible with this 
 knowledge." 
 
 " Pshaw, Harry ; but granting your 
 position, what is the use of such know- 
 ledge ?" j
 
 90 • PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 "It is of daily use. Servants will 
 always impose on a mistress who knows 
 nothing of her duties as the domestic 
 head of the houee. You are an im- 
 porter ; but how long, think you, would 
 you prosper, if you left everything to 
 the care of clerks, who would naturally 
 take advantage of your carelessness to 
 fleece you? A mistress of a house 
 ought to oversee her establishment in 
 person. This she cannot do, unless, to 
 use a mercantile phrase, she understamis 
 her business. If she does not do this, 
 nothing will be done. The whole evil 
 arises from the desire of our women to 
 ape the extravagance of the English 
 female nobility, whose immense wealth 
 allows them to employ substitutes to 
 oversee their domestic establishments. 
 But even had we incomes of hundreds 
 of thousands of dollars, we could not 
 carry out the plan, owing to the total 
 absence of good servants of this charac- 
 ter in our country ; and in this opinion
 
 friendship's token. 91 
 
 I am borne out by Combe and Hamil- 
 ton, two of the most observant and just 
 of English travelers." 
 
 "Weil, Harry, you were born for a 
 barrister, or you would not run on so 
 glibly. But it's a shame that a gentle- 
 man who might command the choice of 
 the market, and marry the richest heir- 
 ess in Walnut street, should throw 
 himself away upon a girl without a 
 sixpence. Now there are Charlotte 
 ^Thornbury and her sister, co-heiresses, 
 — why can't you take the one, and I the 
 other?" 
 
 "Merely because I love another. 
 You smile ; but despite the sneer, I am 
 a believer in love. Of Charlotte, I 
 have nothing to say, except that she is 
 beautiful. You know how often we 
 have discussed the matter. I only hope 
 she will make you a good wife." 
 
 " AUoiis ! the ladies are awaiting us. 
 You and I will never, on this question, 
 asrree."
 
 92 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 The foregoing conversation has given 
 our readers a pretty accurate idea of 
 the young men to whose acquaintance 
 we have introduced them. Henry 
 Bowen was a young lawyer, with a 
 small annual income, but of what is 
 called an unimpeachable family. This, 
 with his acknowledged talents, would 
 have procured for him the hand of 
 many a mere heiress, but he had wisely 
 turned away from them all, and sought 
 a companion in one without fame or for- 
 tune, but who, in every requisite for a 
 good wife, was immeasurably their 
 superior. 
 
 Charles Lowry, on the contrary, was 
 a dashing young merchant, who, by dint 
 of attention in the counting house, could 
 afford to be luxurious in his style of 
 living. He had imbibed many of the 
 false notionsof fashionable society, and 
 among others the idea that a wife was 
 indispensable. His. sole object was to 
 secure an heiress, as much for the eclat
 
 friendship's token. 93 
 
 of the thing as for her fortune, though 
 this latter was no sHght temptation to a 
 young merchant. And he had finally 
 succeeded. Amid a host of rivals, he 
 had won the prize. Need we say that 
 Charlotte Thornbury, the beautiful, the 
 gay, but the careless heiress, was the 
 guerdon? 
 
 The two friends were married in the 
 same week. The one took his wife to 
 a small but convenient house in one of 
 our less fashionable streets, wiiile the 
 other entered at once into a splendid 
 mansion in Walnut street, whose furni- 
 ture and decorations were the theme of 
 general envy and admiration. The one 
 bride kept but a single servant, the other 
 had several. Yet the mansion of Mrs. 
 Lowry. though always magnificent, was 
 never tidy, while the quiet home of Mrs. 
 Bovven was a pattern of neatness and 
 elegance. The young merchant never 
 went home without finding that his wife 
 had been out all day, either shopping or
 
 94 PHILIPENA, OR ! 
 
 making calls, and was in consequence 
 tired and silent, or perhaps out of hu- 
 mor ; while the young lawyer always 
 found a neat dinner and a cheerful wife 
 to welcome him. As for Charles, he 
 had always sneered at love, and having 
 married from motives of vanity and in- 
 terest a woman whose mind he despised, 
 he had nothing of sympathy with her, 
 nor was it long before he found her 
 society irksome. When the toils of the 
 counting-house were over he went home, 
 because it was the custom, but not be- 
 cause he expected to derive any plea- 
 sure from the conversation of his vain 
 and flippant wife. He was glad when 
 the season commenced, with its round of 
 dissipation, because then he found some 
 relief in attending the fashionable en- 
 tertainments of his own or wife's ac- 
 quaintance. Since his marriage he 
 had never enjoyed a single hour of real 
 domestic felicity. 
 How different was the wedded life of
 
 95 
 
 Henry and his bride. All through the 
 business of the day, the recollection of 
 his sweet wife's greeting cheered the 
 young lawyer on in his labors. And 
 when evening came, and he had closed 
 his office for the day, how smilingly, 
 and in what neat attire would Lucy pre- 
 side at the tea-table, or, after their meal 
 had been disposed of, bring out her 
 work-stand, and sew at something, if 
 only at a trifle for a fair, while Henry 
 read to her in his rich, mellow voice. 
 And then sometimes they would sit on 
 the sofa, and talk of a thousand plans 
 for the future, when their income should 
 be extended, or if it was in summer, 
 they would stroll out for a walk, or call 
 upon some of their few intimate friends. 
 " Dear Henry," said Lucy, one even- 
 ing to her husband, as they sat talkmg 
 together after tea, " how worried Mr. 
 Lowry looks of late. I think he must 
 be in bad health. How glad I am you
 
 or. PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 are always well. I know not what I 
 should do if you were sick." 
 
 " May that day be long averted, my 
 own Lucy," said the husband, as he 
 kissed her pure brow, " but I have 
 noticed something of the same kind in 
 Lowry, and have attributed it to the 
 cares of business. His wife is a wo- 
 man you know, who could do little to 
 alleviate a husband's weariness," 
 
 " Oh, how can she be a wife, and not 
 wish to soften her husband's cares ? In- 
 deed, if you only look the least worried, 
 I share your trouble until your brow 
 clears up." 
 
 " And it is that which makes me love 
 you so dearly," said the husband, as he 
 pressed her to his bosom. "Ah," he 
 continued to himself^ " if Charles saw 
 me to night, I wonder whether he would 
 not envy me ! " 
 
 That evening there was a brilliant 
 party at the house of Mrs. Lowry, who 
 was smiling upon the guests in all the
 
 friendship's token. 97 
 
 elation of gratified pride. Never had 
 she appeared more happy. But even 
 the envied mistress of the revel was not 
 without her cares. One or two favorite 
 guests whom she invited did not come, 
 and she coukl not help over-hearing 
 some of the ill-natured remarks of some 
 of her neighbors. Her only gratifica- 
 tion was in hstening to the flatteries of 
 others of her visitors, who were either 
 more fawning or more deceitful. At 
 length, however, the entertainment was 
 over, and wearied and dispirited, she 
 paused a moment in the deserted parlors 
 before retiring. Her husband was there. 
 '"Well. Mrs. Lowry," said he with 
 a yawn, "so this grand aifair is over at 
 length, and a pretty penny it has cost, 
 I do not doubt." Charles had latterly 
 found that his income was frightfully 
 beneath his expenses, and had began to 
 wish his bride less extravagant, — " but 
 why did you purchase these new otio- 
 mans — and these candelabra, and that,"
 
 9S PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 and here he used an oath, " expensive 
 set of mirrors? I told you the old ones 
 were good enough, and here, when I 
 come home, I find you have purchased 
 them, in defiance of my orders. Why, 
 madam, an Earl's fortune would not 
 sustain you in your extravagances." 
 
 " And whose fortune, I wonder, buys 
 these things," said the passionate beau- 
 ty ; " you would not let me have the 
 common comforts of life if you could 
 have your way." 
 
 " Pshaw, madam, none of your airs. 
 But I tell you, this extravagance I 
 neither can nor will submit to it." 
 
 " You are a brute," said the wife, 
 " so you are. Do you — can you think," 
 she continued, bursting into tears, " I'd 
 ever have married you, when I might 
 have had so many better husbands, if I 
 had thought you would have used me 
 in this way ? " 
 
 " Well, madam, so you have got up 
 a scene," coolly said the husband, " all
 
 friendship's token. 99 
 
 I wish is, that you had married some 
 one of your other suitors." 
 
 " You do ! — you insult me — I won't 
 hve with you a day. Oh, that I should 
 be abused in this way," and the now 
 really wretched woman burst into a 
 fresh flood of tears. 
 
 '• As you please, madam." 
 
 But we omit the rest of this scene, 
 which ended in a fit of hysterics on the 
 part of the wife, and a volley of curses 
 on that of the husband. The difficulty 
 was the next day made up by the newly- 
 married couple; from this time their 
 altercations were frequent and bitter. 
 Charles began to think, as his old friend 
 had told him, that there was a great 
 differeace betwixt marrying for love or 
 money. 
 
 Three years passed. At the end of 
 that time, how altered were the circum- 
 stances of Charles and his friend. 
 
 The expenses of his establishment 
 had increased upon the former, until his
 
 100 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 tbrlnne not on\y staggered, but gave 
 way under the pressure, and after seve- 
 ral ineffectual attempts to retrieve by 
 speculations, which, ending abortively, 
 only increased his embarrassments, 
 Charles found himself upon the brink 
 of ruin. 
 
 In these circumstances he found no 
 consolation in the sympathy of his wife. 
 She upbraided him with the loss of her 
 fortune, fogetting how much she had 
 squandered of it in her fashionable 
 amusements. Their altercations, more- 
 over, increased in frequency ever since 
 the incident we have recorded above, 
 until Charles, unable to find even quiet 
 al his own fireside, sought relief at the 
 club. Hither was he led. moreover, by 
 the desire of retrieving his misfortunes, 
 which were siill unknown to the worhi, 
 and he trusted that by a lucky chance 
 he might place himself in security. 
 Vain hope ! How many deluded victims 
 have indulged in the same delusions be-
 
 friendship's token. 101 
 
 fore ! His course from that hour was 
 downward. He became a gambler — 
 he neglected all business — he lost — his 
 engagements failed to be met — and in 
 a few weeks he was a bankrupt. 
 
 Meantime the husband of Lucy had 
 been steadily gaining in reputation, and 
 increasing his business, so that at the 
 end of the third year the young couple 
 were enabled to move into a larger and 
 more elegant house, situated in a more 
 desirable quarter. This change of loca- 
 tion materially strengthened the busi- 
 ness of the young attorney ; he became 
 known as one of the rising young men, 
 and he looked forward with certainty to 
 the speedy accumulation of a compe- 
 tency. 
 
 " Have you heard anything father," 
 said Lucy one evening to her husband, 
 as he came in from a day's hard work, 
 "concerning poor Mrs. Lowry or her 
 husband 1"
 
 102 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 " Yes, my love," said he, " and it is 
 all over." 
 
 " What ! has anything alarming hap- 
 pened?" said Lucy, anxiously. 
 
 " Sit down, dearest, and don't trem- 
 ble so," said her husband, and I will tell 
 you the whole of the melancholy story. 
 
 "After his bankruptcy last week, 
 some days elapsed before anything was 
 known of the place to which my unfor- 
 tunate friend had gone. It was sup- 
 posed at first that he had fled with what 
 funds he could lay his hands on. This 
 was the more credible from the igno- 
 rance of his wife as to whither he had 
 gone. She, cold-hearted thing, seemed 
 to care little for his loss, but appeared 
 to be chiefly aflfected by her deprivation 
 of fortune. She even upbraided her 
 husband publicly ; and it is said when 
 some forgeries which he had perpetrat- 
 ed were discovered, and a strict search 
 set on foot after the criminal, she went 
 so far as to hope he might be taken and
 
 friendship's token. 103 
 
 brought to condign punishment. But 
 you know they never lived happy to- 
 gether." 
 
 "Well, every attempt to trace the 
 fugitive failed, when intelligence was 
 brought to the city this morning, that a 
 dead body answering to the description 
 of that of Mr. Lovvry, had been washed 
 ashore a few miles down the river. 
 You may well look alarmed, for the 
 intelligence was too true. It was the 
 body of my poor friend. It is supposed 
 that grief, shame at his bankruptcy, 
 and perhaps remorse for his crime, led 
 him to commit suicide. Poor fellow ! 
 his sad fate may be traced to his ill- 
 suited marriage. He chose a woman 
 whose extravagance always out-strip- 
 ped her fortune, and who, from having 
 brought him wealth, considered him be- 
 neath her. He did not know the differ- 
 ence in a wife, between Worth and 
 Wealth."
 
 104 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 The Rose Bud. 
 
 The rose bud that you gave me, lovOi 
 
 Beneath Hie lintel vine, 
 Althoiiirh it lades in other's eyes, 
 
 Uniiided seems in mine ; 
 No common tlower it seems to me, 
 
 On sunshine ted and dew- 
 By ottiers reared, by others viewed. 
 
 Then iducked at lust by you. 
 
 But *tis linked in thoufrht with you, love, 
 
 With you and only you. 
 As if it in your i)osom chaste 
 
 Amon? the lilies grew ; 
 As if It in your liosom grew. 
 
 Oh, gentle maid and fair- 
 Grew close upon your nursing heart. 
 
 And fed its beauty there. 
 
 And you pressed it to your lips, love, 
 
 The nii-'hl you gave it me— 
 And thence, I deem, its lile, its sweets, 
 
 Its dcathlesij bloom must be ; 
 It drew itjs vermeil from ytiur lips— 
 
 'Tis fragrant with your breath — 
 It lives upon that balmy kiss 
 
 That gives it life in death. 
 
 But \\'t)ieij see best who deem, love, 
 
 If sear and yellow grows, 
 Ml tell you why the lite and bloom 
 
 Have left the withered rose; 
 The (lower upon my heart has lain. 
 
 And my heart has drawn aw;iy 
 The life, the swcet.s it drew from yours 
 
 What time on yours it lay.
 
 105 
 
 Congenial Spirits. 
 
 Oh, in the varied scenes of life, 
 
 Is there a joy so sweet, 
 As when amid its busy strife 
 
 Congenial Spirits meet? 
 
 Feelings and thoughts, a fairy band 
 Long hid from mortal sight. 
 
 Then start, to meet the master hand, 
 That calls them into light. 
 
 When turning o'er some gifted page, 
 
 How fondly do we pause, 
 That dear companion to engage 
 
 In answering applause. 
 
 And when we list to music's sigh, 
 How sweet at every tone. 
 
 To read within another's eye, 
 The rapture of our own.
 
 106 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 The Interval Flower, 
 
 I know of a sweet wild-flower, 
 
 Thai blossoms in its pride, 
 Where through the lowly interval 
 
 The silver waters glide ; 
 Tis where by chance I often rove 
 
 At twilight's silent hour; 
 And often do I stop to gaze 
 
 Upon this meadow flower. 
 
 It does not fide as ot her flowers, 
 
 But ever blossoms fair ; 
 For where it spreads its golden leaves 
 
 'Tis always summer there — 
 And as the seasons roil around. 
 
 And r.hiiling frosts arise, 
 I love to ^o and breathe where blooms 
 
 This flowret's paradise I 
 
 I've often thought how I would love 
 
 To pluck it from its stem, 
 And press its petals to my heart, 
 
 And never part with them ; 
 Rash thought ! shall such presumptuous wish 
 
 Within this bosom rest? 
 To tear it from its lovely bed 
 
 To fade upon my breast 1 
 
 I know, too, thou'rt a proud flower, 
 
 And mightest spurn my touch; 
 But yet (or that, my blfjoming one, 
 
 I prize the more by much I 
 Some love the modest Violet, 
 
 That blossoms by thy side; 
 But give me the gay Carnation 
 
 With its splendor and its pride I
 
 friendship's token. 107 
 
 ^ 
 
 I've said thou art a fair flower, 
 
 And others say it too ; 
 But none thy brilliant beauties o'er 
 
 With fondest gaze will view- 
 Full many a flower I've seen, as I 
 
 Have roamed at even-tide, 
 But never one so fair as that 
 
 Which decks the river's side. 
 
 And sure thou art a sweet flower, 
 
 As e'er in meadow sprung ; 
 And bahny is thy rich perfume 
 
 As that Irom Eden flung I 
 Come, yield thy pride, and let me once 
 
 Those lovely petals kiss; 
 'Twould plant a sunbeam in my heart 
 
 Ofever-during bliss 1 
 
 Thou wilt not be a lone flower, 
 
 When I am far away, 
 For others will continue still 
 
 Where I have strayed, to stray; 
 But e'er a bright spot in my life 
 
 Will the remembrance be, 
 That I have walked the interval 
 
 And fondly gazed at thee.
 
 108 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 THE TWINS. 
 
 " I tell it to you as 'twas told to me." 
 
 " In the fiutumn of 18—, I had occa- 
 sion to visit the town of N , beauti- 
 fully situated on the western bank of 
 the Connecticut river. My business led 
 
 me to the house of B , a lawyer of 
 
 about three-score and ten, who was now 
 resting from the labors and enjoying the 
 fruits of a life strenuously and success- 
 fully devoted to his profession. His 
 drawing-room was richly furnished and 
 decorated with several valuable paint- 
 ings. There was one among tliem that 
 particularly attracted my attention. It 
 represented a mother with two beauti- 
 ful children, one in either arm, a light 
 veil thrown over the group, and one of 
 the chihlren pressing its lips to the 
 cheek of its mother. * That, said I, 
 pointing to the picture, 'is very beauti-
 
 friendship's token. 109 
 
 ful. Pray, sir, what is the subject of it V 
 ' It is a mother and her twins,' said 
 he; 'the picture in itself is esteemed 
 a fine one, but I value it more for the 
 recollections which are associated with 
 
 it.' I turned my eye upon B ; he 
 
 looked communicative, and I asked him 
 for the. story. 'Sit down,' said he, 
 'and I will tell you it.' We accord- 
 ingly sat down, and he gave the follow- 
 ing narrative : 
 
 'During the period of the war of 
 the revolution, there resided in the 
 western part of Mas-^achusetts, a far- 
 mer by the name of Siedman. He was 
 a man of substance, descended from a 
 very respectable English family, well 
 educated, distinguished for great firm- 
 ness of character in general, and alike 
 remarkable for inflexible integrit. and 
 steadfast loyalty to his king. Such was 
 the reputation he sustained, that even 
 when the most violent antipathies 
 against royalism swayed the commu-
 
 110 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 nity, it was sti 
 that farmer Stedman, though a tory, 
 was honest in his opinions, and firmly 
 believed them to be right. 
 
 ' The time came when Burgoyne 
 was advancing from the north. It was 
 a time of great anxiety, with both the 
 friends and foes of the revolution, and 
 one which called forth their highest 
 exertions. The patriotic militia flocked 
 to the standard of Gates and Stark, 
 while many of the tories resorted to 
 the quarters of Burgoyne and Baum. 
 Among the latter was Stedman, He 
 had no sooner decided it to be his duty, 
 than he took a kind farewell of his 
 wife, a woman of uncommon beauty, 
 gave his children, a twin boy and girl, 
 a long embrace, then mounted his horse 
 and departed. He joined himself to 
 the unfortunate expedition of Baum, 
 and was taken, with other prisoners of 
 war, by the victorious Stark. 
 
 " He made no attempt to conceal his
 
 friendship's token. Ill 
 
 name or character, which were both 
 soon discovered, and he was accordingly- 
 committed to prison as a traitor. The 
 jail in which he was confined was in 
 the western part of Massachusetts, and 
 nearly in a ruinous condition. The far- 
 mer was one night waked from his 
 sleep by several persons in his room. 
 'Come,' said they, 'you can now 
 regain your liberty ; we have made a 
 breach in the prison, through which 
 you can escape.' To their astonish- 
 ment, Stedman utterly refused to leave 
 the prison. In vain they expostulated 
 with him ; in vain they represented to 
 him that his life was at stake. His 
 reply was, that he was a true man, and 
 a servant of King George, and he would 
 not creep out of a hole at night and 
 sneak away from the rebels, to save 
 his neck from the gallows. Finding it 
 altogether fruitless to attempt to move 
 him, his friends left him with some ex- 
 pressions of spleen.
 
 112 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 " The time at length arrived for the 
 trial of the prisoner. Tiie distance to 
 the place where the court was sitting 
 was ahout sixty miles. Stedman re- 
 marked to the sheriff, when he came to 
 attend him. that it would save some 
 expense and inconvenience, if he could 
 be permitted to go alone and on foot. 
 'And suppose.' said the sheriff, 'that 
 you should prefer your safety to your 
 honor, and leave me to seek you in the 
 British camp ?' ' I had thought,' said 
 the farmer, reddening with indignation, 
 ' that I was speaking to one who knew 
 me.' ' I do know you, indeed,' said 
 the sheriff ; 'I spoke but in jest; you 
 shall have your way. Go, and on the 
 third day I shall expect to see you at 
 S .' ♦ * * The farmer depart- 
 ed, and at the appointed time he placed 
 himself in the iiands of the sheriff 
 
 "I was now engaged as his counsel. 
 Stedman insisted before the court, upon 
 teUing his whole story; and, when I
 
 friendship's token. 113 
 
 would have taken advantage of some 
 technical points, he sharply rebuked 
 rae, and told me that he had not em- 
 ployed me to prevaricate, but only to 
 assist him in telling the truth. I had 
 never seen such a display of simple in- 
 tegrity. It was atfeciing to witness his 
 love of holy, unvarnished truth, elevat- 
 ing him above every other considera- 
 tion, and presiding in his breast as a 
 sentiment even superior to the love of 
 life. I saw the tears more than once 
 springing to the eyes of the Judges ; 
 never, before or since, have I felt such 
 an interest in a client. I pleaded for 
 him as I would have pleaded for my 
 own life. I drew tears, but I could not 
 sway the judgment of stern men, con- 
 trolled rather by a sense of duty than 
 the compassionate promptings of hu- 
 nianity. Stedman was condemned. I 
 told him there was a chance for pardon, 
 if he would ask for it. I drew up a peti- 
 tion, and requested him to sign it, but 
 
 8
 
 114 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 he refused. 'I have done,' said he, 
 ' what I thought my duty. I can ask 
 pardon of my God and my king, but it 
 would be hypocrisy to ask forgiveness 
 of these men for an action which I 
 should repeat were I placed again in 
 similar circumstances. No ! ask me 
 not to sign that petition. If what you 
 call the cause of American freedom 
 requires the blood of an honest man for 
 the conscientious discharge of what he 
 deemed a duty, let me be its victim. 
 Go to my judges, and tell them that I 
 place not my fears nor my hopes in 
 them.' It was in vain that I pressed 
 the subject ; and I went away in despair. 
 "In returning to my house, I acci- 
 dentally called on an acquaintance, a 
 young man of brilliant genius, the sub- 
 ject of a passionate predilection for 
 painting. This led him frequently to 
 take excursions into the country, for 
 the purpose of sketching such objects 
 and scenes as were interesting to him.
 
 friendship's token. 115 
 
 From one of these he had just returned. 
 I found him silting at his easel, giving 
 the last touches to the picture which 
 attracted your attention. He asked my 
 opinion of it, 'It is a fine picture,' 
 said I ; ' is it a fancy piece, or are they 
 portraits ?' ' They are portraits,' said 
 he, ' and save perhaps a little embellish- 
 ment, they are, I think, striking por- 
 traits of the wife and children of your 
 unfortunate chent, Stedman. In the 
 course of my rambles I chanced to call 
 
 at "his house in H . I never saw 
 
 a more beautiful group. The mother 
 is one of a thousand, and the twins are 
 cherubs.' ' Tell me,' said I, laying my 
 hand on the picture — 'tell me, are 
 they true and faithful portraits of the 
 wife and children of Stedman?' My 
 earnestness made my friend stare. He 
 assured me that they were, so far as he 
 could be permitted to judge of his own 
 productions. I asked no further ques- 
 tions ; I seized the picture, and hurried
 
 116 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 with it to the prison where my client 
 was confined. I found him sitting, his 
 face covered with his hands, and ap- 
 parently wrung by Iteen emotion. I 
 placed the picture in such a position 
 that he could not fail to see it. I laid 
 the petition on the little table by his 
 side, and left the room. 
 
 "In half an hour I returned. The 
 farmer grasped my hand, while the 
 tears stole down his cheeks; his eye,^ 
 glanced first at the picture, and th^B^tp*" 
 the petition. He said nothing, but 
 handed the latter to me. I took it, and 
 left the apartment. He had put his 
 name to it. The petition was granted, 
 and Stedman was set at liberty."
 
 friendship's token. in 
 
 Lrove's Home. 
 
 Oh, love i-s but an exile here 
 
 Lamenting: for its native sky; 
 His brightest smile is through a tear 
 And all his roses bloom to die I 
 Too so«n They lade, 
 In earth's dark shade: 
 Reared on the soil ot' misery, 
 Too cold for Immortality. 
 
 When Love had made himself a bower, 
 And nursed it with his kimllieot rare. 
 And poured his tears, a wntle shower. 
 And given his breath of purest air. 
 And Hope was near, 
 To fill his ear 
 With promise that the bower should be 
 A gift of Immortality — 
 Then Love was blest, one summer's day— 
 
 But time grew envious of his bliss, 
 And tore his bloomin? wTeaths away, 
 Aud blasted ail his happiness- 
 No w Love must roam, 
 Without a home. 
 Still planting flowers to see them die 
 And pine for Immortality. 
 
 But Faith hath built another home 
 
 For Love, beyond the tourh of time ; 
 There fadeless plants fi)rever bloom 
 Perennial in fair Eden's clime. 
 No spoiler's breath. 
 No hand of Death 
 Can rearh the home, where Love la free, 
 And dwells with Immortality.
 
 118 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 The Coquette, 
 
 Who is that nripht an<I brilliant girl, 
 
 Among the gny crowd dancing, 
 With flowers amid her {rolden curls, 
 
 And jewels on her {riancing? 
 With all tliat pomp of wealth and dress, 
 
 With all'thaf charm of feature, 
 Will you helieve it, when I say 
 
 she's but a worthless creature. 
 
 She deems that human hearts were made 
 
 For her to win and break them ; 
 Her charms the tiital snares she spreads, 
 
 To tortue and to take them ; 
 Her verj- arflessness is art 1 
 
 The ruin that she causes, 
 Unlike the fiercest conqueror. 
 
 To weep she never pauses. 
 
 To one she gives a kindly glance • 
 
 To one a gentle pressure ; 
 Another claims the wilbng hand. 
 
 To tread a graceful measure ; 
 One asks a flower, and builds up hopes 
 
 Upon the fading treasure; 
 She immolates them on her shrine 
 
 Of vanity and pleasure. 
 
 As lovely as a flower is she, 
 
 But poison's in her dwelling; 
 Her voice is full of melody, 
 
 A syren talc 'tis telling:
 
 friendship's token. 119 
 
 The lip is red, the hand is warm. 
 The cheek like summer's blossom; 
 
 But oh, she bears the gamester's heart 
 Within that youthfuJ bosom. 
 
 I can forgive the gorgeous queen, 
 
 Who in an hour of pleasure. 
 Placed in her cup the eastern pearl. 
 
 And drank the costly treasure; 
 But bitter sentence for the maid. 
 
 Who for amusement merely, 
 Dissolves the dre;im of happiness 
 
 Of one that loves her dearly. 
 
 Oh loveliness, the fairy spell 
 
 That o'er youth's brow is wreathing I 
 Art never can compare with thee. 
 
 The moving and the breathing; 
 Exert thy power to turn the heart 
 
 To deeds of worth and duty; 
 And have a nobler end in view 
 
 Than her's, the heartless beauty.
 
 120 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 The Maiden's Ringlet. 
 
 Here is a little golden tress 
 
 Of soft iipbniided hair, 
 The all that's ielt of loveliness 
 
 That once was thoutrht so fair; 
 And yet, though time has dimmed its eheen, 
 
 Thouirh all beside hath fled, 
 1 hold ii tiere. a link between 
 
 The living and the dead. 
 
 Yes, from this shining ringlet still 
 
 A mourn fill memory springs, 
 That melts my heart, and sends a thrill 
 
 Through all its trembling strings. 
 1 think ofher, the loved, the wept, 
 
 U|)on whose fbruhead fair, 
 In youth's gay morn, like sunshine, slept 
 
 This golden curl of hiiir. 
 
 0, sunny tress I the joyous brow 
 
 VV^here thou didst lightly wave 
 With all thy sifter tresses, now 
 
 Lie^i cold w' hin the gravel 
 That cheek i' of its bUnmi bereft, 
 
 That eye r.o more is gay; 
 Of all tier beauties thou art left, 
 
 A solitary ray. 
 
 Seasons have piLssed, lonir years are Rone, 
 
 Since last wo fondly met, 
 Loiiy years, and yd ii seems too soon 
 
 To let the heart Ibrget--
 
 friendship's token. 121 
 
 Too soon to let that lovely face 
 
 From my sad thoughu depart 
 And to another give the place 
 
 She held within my heart. 
 
 Her memory still within the mind 
 
 Retains its sweetest power; 
 It is the P'^rt'ume left behind, 
 
 To whisper of the Hower. 
 Each blossom, that in moments gone 
 
 Bound up this sunny curl. 
 Recalls the form, the look, the tone 
 
 Of that enchanung girl. 
 
 Her step was like an April rain 
 
 O'er bed.s of violets flung ; 
 Her voice the prelude lo a strain 
 
 Before the song is sung. 
 Her lite was like a half blown flower, 
 
 Closed ere the shade of even, 
 Her death the dawn, the blushing hour 
 
 That opes the gates of heaven. 
 
 A single tress I how slight a thing, 
 
 To sway such magic art, 
 And bid each .soft remembrance spring 
 
 Like blo.ssoms in the heart 1 
 It leads me back to early days 
 
 To her I loved so long. 
 Whose eyes beamed like the diamond's rays, 
 
 Whose Ups o'erflowed with song. 
 
 Since then I've heard a thousand lays 
 
 From lips as sweet as hers, 
 Yei when I strove logive them praise, 
 
 I only gavb Uiem tears.
 
 122 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 I could not bear, amid the throng 
 Where jest and laughter rung, 
 
 To hear another sing the song 
 That trembled on her tongue. 
 
 A single shining tress of hair 
 
 To bid suf.h memories start I 
 But tears are on its lustre — there 
 
 I lay it on my heart. 
 when in death's cold arms I sink, 
 
 Who then with gentle care 
 Will keep, as a memorial link. 
 
 A ringlet of my hair?
 
 friendship's token. 123 
 
 RULES FOR CONVERSATION. 
 
 BY THOMAS JEFFERSON. 
 
 1. In stating prudential rules for our 
 government in society, I must not omit 
 the important one of never entering 
 into dispute or argument with an- 
 other. 
 
 2. I never saw an instance of one of 
 two disputants convincing the other by- 
 argument. I have seen many of their 
 getting warm, becoming rude, and shoot- 
 ing one another. 
 
 3. Convincing is the effect of our own 
 dispassionate reasoning, either in soli- 
 tude or weighing within ourselves dis- 
 passionately, what we hear from others, 
 standing uncommitted in argument our- 
 selves. 
 
 4. It was one of the rules, which
 
 124 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 above all others, made Dr. Franklin the 
 must amiable of men in society, "never 
 to contradict any body." If he was 
 urged to announce an opinion, he did it 
 rather by asking questions, as for infor- 
 mation, or by suggesting doubts. 
 
 5. When I hear another express an 
 opinion which is not mine, I say to my- 
 self, He has a right to his oi)inion, as 
 I to mine; why should 1 question it? 
 His error does me no injury, and shall I 
 become a Don Q,uixotte, to bring all men 
 by force of argument to one opin- 
 ion 7 
 
 G. If a fact be misstated, it is proba- 
 ble he is gratified by a belief of it, and 
 I have no right to deprive him of the 
 gratification. 
 
 7. If he wants information, he will 
 ask it, and then I will give it in mea- 
 sured terms. 
 
 8. If he still believes his own story, 
 and shows a desire to dispute the fact 
 with me, 1 hear him, and say nothing.
 
 It is his affair, not mine, if he prefers 
 error. 
 
 9. There are two classes of dispu- 
 tants most frequently to be met with 
 among us. The first is of young stu- 
 dents just entered the threshhold of 
 science, with the first views of its out- 
 lines not yet filled up with the details 
 and modifications, which a further pro- 
 gress would bring to their knowledge. 
 
 10. The other consists of the ill-tem- 
 pered and rude men in society, who 
 have taken up a passion for politics. 
 
 1 1. Good humor and politeness, never 
 introduce into mixed society a question 
 on which they foresee there will be a 
 difference of opinion. 
 
 12. Be a listener only,, keep within 
 yourself, and endeavor to establish with 
 yourself the habit of silence, especially 
 in politics. In the present fevered state 
 of our country, no good can ever result 
 from any attempt to set one of these 
 fiery zealots to rights, either in facts or
 
 126 
 
 PHILIPENA, OR 
 
 principles. They are determined as to 
 the facts they will believe, and the opin- 
 ions on which they will act. 
 
 13. Get by them, therefore, as you 
 would an angry bull ; it is not for a man 
 of sense to dispute the road with such 
 an animaL
 
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