<bition 
 
 THE WRITINGS OF 
 HARRIET BEECHER STOWE 
 
 WITH BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTIONS 
 
 PORTRAITS, AND OTHER 
 
 ILL USTRA TIONS 
 
 IN SIXTEEN VOLUMES 
 VOLUME XIV 
 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
STORIES, SKETCHES 
 
 AND STUDIES 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRIET BEECHER STOWE 
 
 if 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 896 
 
Copyright, 1855, 
 j fejr PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO. 
 
 - Copyright, 1865, 1875, 1883, 1893, 
 BEECHER STOWE. 
 
 Copyright, 1875, 
 BY J. B. FORD & CO. 
 
 Copyright, 1896, 
 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE vii 
 
 UNCLE LOT 1 
 
 LOVE VERSUS LAW 32 
 
 THE TEA ROSE 74 
 
 AUNT MARY 82 
 
 FRANKNESS 90 
 
 COUSIN WILLIAM 96 
 
 MRS. A. AND MRS. B; OR, WHAT SHE THINKS ABOUT IT . 108 
 
 WHICH is THE LIBERAL MAN ? 116 
 
 THE CANAL BOAT 131 
 
 FEELING 139 
 
 THE SEAMSTRESS 144 
 
 OLD FATHER MORRIS : A SKETCH FROM NATURE .... 156 
 
 THE CORAL RING 164 
 
 ART AND NATURE 176 
 
 THE NEW YEAR S GIFT 185 
 
 OUR WOOD LOT IN WINTER 198 
 
 THE MOURNING VEIL 204 
 
 NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 218 
 
 BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA .......... 234 
 
 DEACON PITKIN S FARM. 
 
 CHAP. I. Miss DIANA 254 
 
 II. BIAH CARTER 259 
 
 III. THE SHADOW 263 
 
 IV. THE GOOD-BY 269 
 
 V. MOTHER AND SON 274 
 
 VI. GONE TO SEA 278 
 
 VII. THANKSGIVING AGAIN 284 
 
 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND. 
 
 CHAP. I. IN THE HARBOR OF CAPE COD 294 
 
 II. THE FIRST DAY ON SHORE 299 
 
 III. CHRISTMAS-TIDE IN PLYMOUTH HARBOR. . . 305 
 
 IV. ELDER BREWSTER S CHRISTMAS SERMON . . 312 
 
 991569 
 
VI CONTENTS 
 
 LITTLE FOXES. 
 
 CHAP. I. FAULT-FINDING 321 
 
 II. IRRITABILITY 345 
 
 III. REPRESSION 364 
 
 IV. PERSISTENCE 335 
 
 V. INTOLERANCE . 407 
 
 VI. DISCOURTESY 428 
 
 VII. EXACTINGNESS 444 
 
 The frontispiece (Mrs. Stowe in 1853) is after a crayon by Richmond. 
 Ihe vignette (Mrs. Stowe s home at Cincinnati, C-hio) is from a draw 
 ing by Charles Copeland. 
 
INTKODUCTOKY NOTE 
 
 IN the early years of her married life, Mrs. Stowe was 
 an industrious writer in spite of the numberless cares and 
 distractions which stole away her leisure. Her husband was 
 ambitious that she should win distinction by her pen, and 
 the meagre returns which publication in journals brought 
 her were very welcome, since they helped to eke out a 
 most insufficient income. There was also in Cincinnati a 
 literary society called The Semicolon, which made demands 
 upon its members, of whom Mrs. Stowe was one, for papers, 
 sketches, and poems. All these influences, added to a 
 natural inclination to use her pen, made Mrs. Stowe an 
 active litterateur, and in 1842, the Harpers brought out a 
 collection of her stories and sketches under the title, The 
 Mayflower. The book had a modest reception, and a short 
 life, but after the publication of Uncle Tom s Cabin it was 
 worth while to revive it, and it was republished with revi 
 sion and additions, in 1855, by Phillips and Sampson, who 
 then had the publication of Uncle Tom s Cabin. The 
 book was introduced in these words : 
 
 " Mr. G. B. Emerson, in his late report to the legislature 
 of Massachusetts on the trees and shrubs of that State, thus 
 describes the Mayflower : 
 
 " Often from beneath the edge of a snow bank are seen 
 rising the fragrant pearly-white or rose-colored flowers of 
 this earliest harbinger of spring. It abounds in the edges 
 of the woods about Plymouth, as elsewhere, and must have 
 been the first flower to salute the storm-beaten crew of the 
 Mayflower on the conclusion of their first terrible winter. 
 
viii INTRODUCTORY NOTE 
 
 Their descendants have thence piously derived the name, 
 although its bloom is often passed before the coming in of 
 May/ 
 
 " No flower could be more appropriately selected as an 
 emblem token by the descendants of the Puritans. Though 
 so fragrant and graceful, it is invariably the product of the 
 hardest and most rocky soils, and seems to draw its ethereal 
 beauty of color and wealth of perfume rather from the air 
 than from the slight hold which its rootlets take of the 
 earth. It may often be found in fullest beauty matting 
 a granite ledge, with scarcely any perceptible soil for its 
 support. What better emblem of that faith and hope and 
 piety by which our fathers were supported in dreary and 
 barren enterprises, and which drew their life and fragrance 
 from heaven more than earth ? 
 
 " The Mayflower was, therefore, many years since selected 
 by the author as the title of a series of New England 
 sketches. That work had comparatively a limited circu 
 lation, and is now entirely out of print. Its articles are 
 republished in the present volume, with other miscellaneous 
 writings, which have from time to time appeared in differ 
 ent periodicals. They have been written in all moods, from 
 the gayest to the gravest ; they are connected, in many 
 cases, with the memory of friends and scenes most dear. 
 
 " There are those now scattered through the world who 
 will remember the social literary parties of Cincinnati, for 
 whose genial meetings many of these articles were prepared. 
 With most affectionate remembrances, the author dedicates 
 the book to the yet surviving members of The Semicolon." 
 
 In this new and uniform edition of Mrs. Stowe s writing, 
 it has seemed best not to preserve The Mayflower intact, 
 but to distribute its contents among several groups, accord 
 ing to their nature. The present volume contains a con 
 siderable portion, included in the first sixteen articles. 
 When The Atlantic Monthly was established, Mrs. Stowe 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE ix 
 
 was urged to be a regular contributor. She contributed 
 The Mourning Veil to the first number, and, as is well 
 known, published in the magazine several serials, and a few 
 single articles, of which New England Ministers was one. 
 Later in life, when she was especially identified with her 
 brother s paper, The Christian Union, and its publishers 
 J. B. Ford & Co., she published a little volume, in 1875, 
 containing the next three stories. Little Foxes was one of 
 the series published originally in The Atlantic Monthly, 
 under the assumed name of Christopher Crowfield. 
 
STORIES, SKETCHES, AND STUDIES 
 
 UNCLE LOT 
 
 AND so I am to write a story but of what, and where ? 
 Shall it be radiant with the sky of Italy ? or eloquent with 
 the beau ideal of Greece ? Shall it breathe odor and lan 
 guor from the orient, or chivalry from the Occident ? or 
 gayety from France ? or vigor from England ? No, no ; 
 these are all too old too romance-like too obviously 
 picturesque for me. No ; let me turn to my own land 
 my own New England ; the land of bright fires and strong 
 hearts ; the land of deeds, and not of words ; the land of 
 fruits, and not of flowers ; the land often spoken against, 
 yet always respected ; " the latchet of whose shoes the na 
 tions of the earth are not worthy to unloose." 
 
 Now, from this very heroic apostrophe, you may suppose 
 that I have something very heroic to tell. By no means. 
 It is merely a little introductory breeze of patriotism, such 
 as occasionally brushes over every mind, bearing on its 
 wings the remembrance of all we ever loved or cherished 
 in the land of our early years ; and if it should seem to be 
 rodomontade to any people in other parts of the earth, let 
 them only imagine it to be said about " Old Kentuck," old 
 England, or any other corner of the world in which they 
 happened to be born and they will find it quite rational. 
 
 But, as touching our story, it is time to begin. Did you 
 ever see the little village of Newbury, in New England ? 
 I dare say you never did ; for it was just one of those out- 
 
2 UNCLE LOT 
 
 of-the-way places where nobody ever came unless they came 
 on purpose : a green little hollow, wedged like a bird s nest 
 between half a dozen high hills, that kept off the wind and 
 kept out foreigners ; so that the little place was as straitly 
 sui generis as if there were not another in the world. The 
 inhabitants were all of that respectable old standfast family 
 whoTpafce^t a oint to be born, bred, married, to die, and be 
 juried all in the . selfsame spot. There were just so many 
 >JiOuj5eG; JHicf ju^t so many people lived in them ; and nobody 
 ever seemed to be sick, or to die either, at least while I was 
 there. The natives grew old till they could not grow any 
 older, and then they stood still, and lasted from generation 
 to generation. There was, too, an unchangeability about 
 all the externals of Newbury. Here was a red house, and 
 there was a brown house, and across the way was a yel 
 low house ; and there was a straggling rail fence or a tribe 
 of mullein stalks between. The minister lived here, and 
 Squire Moses lived there, and Deacon Hart lived under the 
 hill, and Messrs. Nadab and Abihu Peters lived by the cross 
 road, and the old "widder" Smith lived by the meeting 
 house, and Ebenezer Camp kept a shoemaker s shop on one 
 side, and Patience Mosely kept a milliner s shop in front ; 
 and there was old Comfort Scran, who kept store for the 
 whole town, and sold axeheads, brass thimbles, licorice 
 balls, fancy handkerchiefs, and everything else you can think 
 of. Here, too, was the general post-office, where you might 
 see letters marvelously folded, directed wrong side upward, 
 stamped with a thimble, and superscribed to some of the 
 Dollys, or Pollys, or Peters, or Moseses aforenamed or not 
 named. 
 
 For the rest, as to manners, morals, arts, and sciences, 
 the people in Newbury always went to their parties at three 
 o clock in the afternoon, and came home before dark ; 
 always stopped all work the minute the sun was down on 
 Saturday night ; always went to meeting on Sunday ; had a 
 
UNCLE LOT 3 
 
 schoolhouse with all the ordinary inconveniences ; were in 
 neighborly charity with each other ; read their Bibles, 
 feared their God, and were content with such things as they 
 had the best philosophy, after all. Such was the place 
 into which Master James Benton made an irruption in the 
 year eighteen hundred and no matter what. Now, this 
 James is to be our hero, and he is just the hero for a sensa 
 tion at least, so you would have thought, if you had been 
 in Newbury the week after his arrival. Master James was 
 one of those whole-hearted, energetic Yankees, who rise in 
 the world as naturally as cork does in water. He possessed 
 a great share of that characteristic national trait so happily 
 denominated "cuteness," which signifies an ability to do 
 everything without trying, and to know everything without 
 learning, and to make more use of one s ignorance than 
 other people do of their knowledge. This quality in James 
 was mingled with an elasticity of animal spirits, a buoy 
 ant cheerfulness of mind, which, though found in the New 
 England character, perhaps, as often as anywhere else, is not 
 ordinarily regarded as one of its distinguishing traits. 
 
 As to the personal appearance of our hero, we have not 
 much to say of it not half so much as the girls in New- 
 bury found it necessary to remark, the first Sabbath that he 
 shone out in the meeting-house. There was a saucy frank 
 ness of countenance, a knowing roguery of eye, a joviality 
 and prankishness of demeanor, that was wonderfully capti 
 vating, especially to the ladies. 
 
 It is true that Master James had an uncommonly com 
 fortable opinion of himself, a full faith that there was no 
 thing in creation that he could not learn and could not do ; 
 and this faith was maintained with an abounding and trium 
 phant joy fulness, that fairly carried your sympathies along 
 with him, and made you feel quite as much delighted with 
 his qualifications and prospects as he felt himself. There 
 are two kinds of self-sufficiency : one is amusing, and the 
 
4 UNCLE LOT 
 
 other is provoking. His was the amusing kind. It seemed, 
 in truth, to be only the buoyancy and overflow of a viva 
 cious mind, delighted with everything delightful, in himself 
 or others. He was always ready to magnify his own praise, 
 but quite as ready to exalt his neighbor, if the channel of dis 
 course ran that way : his own perfections being more com 
 pletely within his knowledge, he rejoiced in them more 
 constantly ; but, if those of any one else came within the 
 same range, he was quite as much astonished and edifled as 
 if they had been his own. 
 
 Master James, at the time of his transit to the town of 
 Newbury, was only eighteen years of age ; so that it was 
 difficult to say which predominated in him most, the boy or 
 the man. The belief that he could, and the determination 
 that he would, be something in the world had caused him to 
 abandon his home, and, with all his worldly effects tied in 
 a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief, to proceed to seek his 
 fortune in Newbury. And never did stranger in Yankee 
 village rise to promotion with more unparalleled rapidity, 
 or boast a greater plurality of employment. He figured as 
 schoolmaster all the week, and as chorister on Sundays, and 
 taught singing and reading in the evenings, besides studying 
 Latin and Greek with the minister, nobody knew when ; 
 thus fitting for college, while he seemed to be doing every 
 thing else in the world besides. 
 
 James understood every art and craft of popularity, and 
 made himself mightily at home in all the chimney-corners of 
 the region round about ; knew the geography of everybody s 
 cider barrel and apple bin, helping himself and every one else 
 therefrom with all bountifulness ; rejoicing in the good things 
 of this life, devouring the old ladies doughnuts and pump 
 kin pies with most flattering appetite, and appearing equally 
 to relish every body and thing that came in his way. 
 
 The degree and versatility of his acquirements were truly 
 wonderful. He knew all about arithmetic and history, and 
 
UNCLE LOT 5 
 
 all about catching squirrels and planting corn ; made poetry 
 and hoe-handles with equal celerity ; wound yarn and took 
 out grease spots for old ladies, and made nosegays and knick- 
 knacks for young ones ; caught trout Saturday afternoons, 
 and discussed doctrines on Sundays, with equal adroitness and 
 effect. In short, Mr. James moved on through the place 
 
 " Victorious, 
 Happy and glorious," 
 
 welcomed and privileged by everybody in every place ; and 
 when he had told his last ghost story, and fairly nourished 
 himself out of doors at the close of a long winter s evening, 
 you might see the hard face of the good man of the house 
 still phosphorescent with his departing radiance, and hear him 
 exclaim, in a paroxysm of admiration, that " Jemeses talk 
 re ly did beat all ; that he was sartainly most a miraculous 
 cre tur ! " 
 
 It was wonderfully contrary to the buoyant activity of Mas 
 ter James s mind to keep a school. He had, moreover, so 
 much of the boy and the rogue in his composition, that he 
 could not be strict with the iniquities of the curly pates under 
 his charge ; and when he saw how determinately every little 
 heart was boiling over with mischief and motion, he felt in 
 his soul more disposed to join in and help them to a frolic 
 than to lay justice to the line, as was meet. This would have 
 made a sad case, had it not been that the activity of the mas 
 ter s mind communicated itself to his charge, just as the re 
 action of one brisk little spring will fill a manufactory with 
 motion ; so that there was more of an impulse towards study 
 in the golden, good-natured day of James Benton than in 
 the time of all that went before or came after him. 
 
 But when " school was out," James s spirits foamed over 
 as naturally as a tumbler of soda water, and he could jump 
 over benches and burst out of doors with as much rapture as 
 the veriest little elf in his company. Then you might have 
 seen him stepping homeward with a most felicitous expres- 
 
6 UNCLE LOT 
 
 sion of countenance, occasionally reaching his hand through 
 the fence for a bunch of currants, or over it after a flower, 
 or bursting into some back yard to help an old lady empty 
 her washtub, or stopping to pay his devoirs to Aunt This or 
 Mistress That, for James well knew the importance of the 
 " powers that be," and always kept the sunny side of the 
 old ladies. 
 
 We shall not answer for James s general flirtations, which 
 were sundry and manifold ; for he had just the kindly heart 
 that fell in love with everything in feminine shape that came 
 in his way, and if he had not been blessed with an equal 
 facility in falling out again, we do not know what ever would 
 have become of him. But at length he came into an abiding 
 captivity, and it is quite time that he should ; for having de 
 voted thus much space to the illustration of our hero, it is 
 fit we should do something in behalf of our heroine ; and, 
 therefore, we must beg the reader s attention while we draw 
 a diagram or two that will assist him in gaining a right idea 
 of her. 
 
 Do you see yonder brown house, with its broad roof slop 
 ing almost to the ground on one side, and a great, unsup 
 ported sunbonnet of a piazza shooting out over the front 
 door ? You must often have noticed it ; you have seen its 
 tall wellsweep, relieved against the clear evening sky, or 
 observed the feather beds and bolsters lounging out of its 
 chamber windows on a still summer morning ; you recollect 
 its gate, that swung with a chain and a great stone ; its 
 pantry window, latticed with little brown slabs, and looking 
 out upon a forest of beanpoles. You remember the zephyrs 
 that used to play among its pea brush, and shake the long 
 tassels of its corn patch, and how vainly any zephyr might 
 essay to perform similar flirtations with the considerate 
 cabbages that were solemnly vegetating near by. Then 
 there was the whole neighborhood of purple-leaved beets 
 and feathery parsnips ; there were the billows of gooseberry 
 
UNCLE LOT 7 
 
 bushes rolled up by the fence, interspersed with rows of 
 quince-trees ; and far off in one corner was one little patch, 
 penuriously devoted to ornament, which flamed with mari 
 golds, poppies, snappers, and four-o clocks. Then there was 
 a little box by itself with one rose geranium in it, which 
 seemed to look around the garden as much like a stranger 
 as a French dancing-master in a Yankee meeting-house. 
 
 That is the dwelling of Uncle Lot Griswold. Uncle Lot, 
 as he was commonly called, had a character that a painter 
 would sketch for its lights and contrasts rather than its sym 
 metry. He was a chestnut burr, abounding with briers 
 without and with substantial goodness within. He had the 
 strong-grained practical sense, the calculating worldly wis 
 dom of his class of people in New England ; he had, too, 
 a kindly heart ; but all the strata of his character were 
 crossed by a vein of surly petulance, that, halfway between 
 joke and earnest, colored everything that he said and did. 
 
 If you asked a favor of Uncle Lot, he generally kept you 
 arguing half an hour, to prove that you really needed it, 
 and to tell you that he could not all the while be troubled 
 with helping one body or another, all which time you might 
 observe him regularly making his preparations to grant your 
 request, and see, by an odd glimmer of his eye, that he was 
 preparing to let you hear the "conclusion of the whole 
 matter," which was, " Well, well I guess I 11 go, on 
 the hull I s pose I must, at least ; " so off he would go 
 and work while the day lasted, and then wind up with a 
 farewell exhortation " not to be a-callin on your neighbors 
 when you could get along without." If any of Uncle Lot s 
 neighbors were in any trouble, he was always at hand to 
 tell them that " they should n t a done so ; " that " it was 
 strange they could n t had more sense ; " and then to close 
 his exhortations by laboring more diligently than any to 
 bring them out of their difficulties, groaning in spirit, mean 
 while, that folks would make people so much trouble. 
 
8 UNCLE LOT 
 
 " Uncle Lot, father wants to know if you will lend him 
 your hoe to-day," says a little boy, making his way across 
 a cornfield. 
 
 " Why don t your father use his own hoe ? " 
 
 " Ours is broke." 
 
 " Broke ! How came it broke ? " 
 
 " I broke it yesterday, trying to hit a squirrel." 
 
 " What business had you to be hittin squirrels with a 
 hoe ? say ! " 
 
 " But father wants to borrow yours." 
 
 " Why don t you have that mended ? It s a great pester 
 to have everybody usin a body s things." 
 
 " Well, I can borrow one somewhere else, I suppose," 
 says the suppliant. After the boy has stumbled across 
 the ploughed ground, and is fairly over the fence, Uncle 
 Lot calls, 
 
 " Hallo, there, you little rascal ! what are you goin off 
 without the hoe for ? " 
 
 " I did n t know as you meant to lend it." 
 
 " I did n t say I would n t, did I ? Here, come and take 
 it stay, I 11 bring it ; and do tell your father not to be 
 a-lettin you hunt squirrels with his hoes next time." 
 
 Uncle Lot s household consisted of Aunt Sally, his wife, 
 and an only son and daughter ; the son, at the time our 
 story begins, was at a neighboring literary institution. Aunt 
 Sally was precisely as clever, as easy to be entreated, and 
 kindly in externals, as her helpmate was the reverse. She 
 was one of those respectable, pleasant old ladies whom you 
 might often have met on the way to church on a Sunday, 
 equipped with a great fan and a psalm-book, and carrying 
 some dried orange peel or a stalk of fennel, to give to the 
 children if they were sleepy in meeting. She was as 
 cheerful and domestic as the teakettle that sung by her 
 kitchen fire, and slipped along among Uncle Lot s angles 
 and peculiarities as if there never was anything the matter 
 
UNCLE LOT 9 
 
 in the world ; and the same mantle of sunshine seemed to 
 have fallen on Miss Grace, her only daughter. 
 
 Pretty in her person and pleasant in her ways, endowed 
 with native self-possession and address, lively and chatty, 
 having a mind and a will of her own, yet good-humored 
 withal, Miss Grace was a universal favorite. It would 
 have puzzled a city lady to understand how Grace, who never 
 was out of Newbury in her life, knew the way to speak, 
 and act, and behave, on all occasions, exactly as if she had 
 been taught how. She was just one of those wild flowers 
 which you may sometimes see waving its little head in the 
 woods, and looking so civilized and garden-like, that you 
 wonder if it really did corne up and grow there by nature. 
 She was an adept in all household concerns, and there was 
 something amazingly pretty in her energetic way of bus 
 tling about, and " putting things to rights." Like most 
 Yankee damsels, she had a longing after the tree of know 
 ledge, and, having exhausted the literary fountains of a dis 
 trict school, she fell to reading whatsoever came in her way. 
 True, she had but little to read ; but what she perused she 
 had her own thoughts upon, so that a person of information, 
 in talking with her, would feel a constant wondering pleas 
 ure to find that she had so much more to say of this, that, 
 and the other thing than he expected. 
 
 Uncle Lot, like every one else, felt the magical bright 
 ness of his daughter, and was delighted with her praises, as 
 might be discerned by his often finding occasion to remark 
 that " he did n t see why the boys need to be all the time 
 a-comin to see Grace, for she was nothing so extraor nary, 
 after all." About all matters and things at home she gen 
 erally had her own way, while Uncle Lot would scold and 
 give up with a regular good grace that was quite creditable. 
 
 " Father," says Grace, " I want to have a party next 
 week." 
 
 " You sha n t go to havin your parties, Grace. I always 
 
10 UNCLE LOT 
 
 have to eat bits and ends a fortnight after you have one, 
 and I won t have it so." And so Uncle Lot walked out, 
 and Aunt Sally and Miss Grace proceeded to make the cake 
 and pies for the party. 
 
 When Uncle Lot came home, he saw a long array of pies 
 and rows of cakes on the kitchen table. 
 
 " Grace Grace Grace, I say ! What is all this here 
 flummery for ? " 
 
 "Why, it is to eat, father," said Grace, with a good- 
 natured look of consciousness. 
 
 Uncle Lot tried his best to look sour ; but his visage 
 began to wax comical as he looked at his merry daughter ; 
 so he said nothing, but quietly sat down to his dinner. 
 
 " Father," said Grace, after dinner, " we shall want two 
 more candlesticks next week." 
 
 " Why, can t you have your party with what you ve 
 got?" 
 
 "No, father, we want two more." 
 
 " I can t afford it, Grace there s no sort of use on t 
 and you sha n t have any." 
 
 " Oh, father, now do," said Grace. 
 
 " I won t, neither," said Uncle Lot, as he sallied out of 
 the house, and took the road to Comfort Scran s store. 
 
 In half an hour he returned again ; and fumbling in his 
 pocket, and drawing forth a candlestick, leveled it at Grace. 
 
 " There s your candlestick." 
 
 " But, father, I said I wanted two." 
 
 " Why, can t you make one do ? " 
 
 " No, I can t ; I must have two." 
 
 " Well, then, there s t other ; and here s a fol-de-rol for 
 you to tie round your neck." So saying, he bolted for the 
 door, and took himself off with all speed. It was much 
 after this fashion that matters commonly went on in the 
 brown house. 
 
 But having tarried long on the way, we must proceed 
 with the main story. 
 
UNCLE LOT 11 
 
 James thought Miss Grace was a glorious girl ; and as to 
 what Miss Grace thought of Master James, perhaps it would 
 not have been developed had she not been called to stand 
 on the defensive for him with Uncle Lot. For, from the 
 time that the whole village of Newbury began to be wholly 
 given unto the praise of Master James, Uncle Lot set his 
 face as a flint against him from the laudable fear of fol 
 lowing the multitude. He therefore made conscience of 
 stoutly gainsaying everything that was said in his behalf, 
 which, as James was in high favor with Aunt Sally, he 
 had frequent opportunities to do. 
 
 So when Miss Grace perceived that Uncle Lot did not 
 like our hero as much as he ought to do, she, of course, was 
 bound to like him well enough to make up for it. Certain 
 it is that they were remarkably happy in finding opportuni 
 ties of being acquainted ; that James waited on her, as a 
 matter of course, from singing-school j that he volunteered 
 making a new box for her geranium on an improved plan ; 
 and above all, that he was remarkably particular in his 
 attentions to Aunt Sally a stroke of policy which showed 
 that James had a natural genius for this sort of matters. 
 Even when emerging from the meeting-house in full glory, 
 with flute and psalm-book under his arm, he would stop to 
 ask her how she did ; and if t was cold weather, he would 
 carry her foot-stove all the way home from meeting, dis 
 coursing upon the sermon and other serious matters, as 
 Aunt Sally observed, " in the pleasantest, prettiest way that 
 ever ye see." This flute was one of the crying sins of 
 James in the eyes of Uncle Lot. James was particularly 
 fond of it, because he had learned to play on it by intuition ; 
 and on the decease of the old pitchpipe, which was slain by 
 a fall from the gallery, he took the liberty to introduce the 
 flute in its place. For this and other sins, and for the 
 good reasons above named, Uncle Lot s countenance was 
 not towards James, neither could he be moved to him-ward 
 by any manner of means. 
 
12 UNCLE LOT 
 
 To all Aunt Sally s good words and kind speeches, he 
 had only to say that " he did n t like him ; that he hated to 
 see him a-manifesting and glorifying there in the front gal 
 lery Sundays, and a-acting everywhere as if he was master 
 of all : he did n t like it and he would n t." But our hero 
 was no whit cast down or discomfited by the malcontent 
 aspect of Uncle Lot. On the contrary, when report was 
 made to him of divers of his hard speeches, he only shrugged 
 his shoulders, with a very satisfied air, and remarked that 
 " he knew a thing or two for all that." 
 
 " Why, James," said his companion and chief counselor, 
 " do you think Grace likes you ? " 
 
 "I don t know," said our hero, with a comfortable 
 appearance of certainty. 
 
 " But you can t get her, James, if Uncle Lot is cross 
 about it." 
 
 " Fudge ! I can make Uncle Lot like me if I have a 
 mind to try." 
 
 " Well then, Jim, you 11 have to give up that flute of 
 yours, I tell you now." 
 
 " Fa, sol, la I can make him like me and my flute 
 too." 
 
 " Why, how will you do it ? " 
 
 " Oh, I 11 work it," said our hero. 
 
 " Well, Jim, I tell you now, you don t know Uncle Lot 
 if you say so : for he is just the settest crittur in his way 
 that ever you saw." 
 
 " I do know Uncle Lot, though, better than most folks ; 
 he is no more cross than I am ; and as to his being set, you 
 have nothing to do but make him think he is in his own 
 way when he is in yours that is all." 
 
 "Well," said the other, "but you see I don t believe it." 
 
 " And I 11 bet you a gray squirrel that I 11 go there this 
 very evening, and get him to like me and my flute both," 
 said James. 
 
UNCLE LOT 13 
 
 Accordingly the late sunshine of that afternoon shone 
 full on the yellow buttons of James as he proceeded to the 
 place of conflict. It was a bright, beautiful evening. A 
 thunder-storm had just cleared away, and the silver clouds 
 lay rolled up in masses around the setting sun ; the rain 
 drops were sparkling and winking to each other over the 
 ends of the leaves, and all the bluebirds and robins, break 
 ing forth into song, made the little green valley as merry 
 as a musical box. 
 
 James s soul was always overflowing with that kind of 
 poetry which consists in feeling unspeakably happy ; and it 
 is not to be wondered at, considering where he was going, 
 that he should feel in a double ecstasy on the present occa 
 sion. He stepped gayly along, occasionally springing over 
 a fence to the right to see whether the rain had swollen the 
 trout brook, or to the left to notice the ripening of Mr. 
 Somebody s watermelons for James always had an eye 
 on all his neighbors matters as well as his own. 
 
 In this way he proceeded till he arrived at the picket 
 fence that marked the commencement of Uncle Lot s 
 ground. Here he stopped to consider. Just then four or 
 five sheep walked up, and began also to consider a loose 
 picket, which was hanging just ready to drop off; and 
 James began to look at the sheep. "Well, mister," said 
 he, as he observed the leader judiciously drawing himself 
 through the gap, "in with you just what I wanted; 7 
 and having waited a moment to ascertain that all the com 
 pany were likely to follow, he ran with all haste towards 
 the house, and swinging open the gate, pressed all breath 
 less to the door. 
 
 " Uncle Lot, there are four or five sheep in your gar 
 den ! " Uncle Lot dropped his whetstone and scythe. 
 
 " I 11 drive them out," said our hero ; and with that, he 
 ran down the garden alley, and made a furious descent on 
 the enemy ; bestirring himself, as Bunyan says, " lustily 
 
14 UNCLE LOT 
 
 and with good courage/ till every sheep had skipped out 
 much quicker than it skipped in ; and then, springing over 
 the fence, he seized a great stone, and nailed on the picket 
 so effectually that no sheep could possibly encourage the 
 hope of getting in again. This was all the work of a min 
 ute, and he was back again ; but so exceedingly out of 
 breath that it was necessary for him to stop a moment and 
 rest himself. Uncle Lot looked ungraciously satisfied. 
 
 " What under the canopy set you to scampering so ? " 
 said he ; "I could V driv out them critturs myself." 
 
 " If you are at all particular about driving them out your 
 self, I can let them in again," said James. 
 
 Uncle Lot looked at him with an odd sort of twinkle in 
 the corner of his eye. 
 
 " Spose I must ask you to walk in," said he. 
 
 " Much obliged," said James ; " but I am in a great 
 hurry." So saying, he started in very business-like fash 
 ion towards the gate. 
 
 " You d better jest stop a minute." 
 
 " Can t stay a minute." 
 
 " I don t see what possesses you to be all the while in 
 sich in hurry ; a body would think you had all creation on 
 your shoulders." 
 
 " Just my situation, Uncle Lot," said James, swinging 
 open the gate. 
 
 "Well, at any rate, have a drink of cider, can t ye?" 
 said Uncle Lot, who was now quite engaged to have his 
 own way in the case. 
 
 James found it convenient to accept this invitation, and 
 Uncle Lot was twice as good-natured as if he had stayed in 
 the first of the matter. 
 
 Once fairly forced into the premises, James thought fit 
 to forget his long walk and excess of business, especially as 
 about that moment Aunt Sally and Miss Grace returned 
 from an afternoon call. You may be sure that the last 
 
UNCLE LOT 15 
 
 thing these respectable ladies looked for was to find Uncle 
 Lot and Master James tete-k-tete, over a pitcher of cider ; 
 and when, as they entered, our hero looked up with some 
 thing of a mischievous air, Miss Grace in particular was so 
 puzzled that it took her at least a quarter of an hour to un 
 tie her bonnet strings. But James stayed, and acted the 
 agreeable to perfection. First, he must needs go down into 
 the garden to look at Uncle Lot s wonderful cabbages, and 
 then he promenaded all around the corn patch, stopping 
 every few moments and looking up with an appearance of 
 great gratification, as if he had never seen such corn in his 
 life ; and then he examined Uncle Lot s favorite apple-tree 
 with an expression of wonderful interest. 
 
 " I never ! " he broke forth, having stationed himself 
 against the fence opposite to it ; " what kind of an apple- 
 tree is that ? " 
 
 " It s a bellflower, or somethin another," said Uncle Lot. 
 
 " Why, where did you get it ? I never saw such apples ! " 
 said our hero, with his eyes still fixed on the tree. 
 
 Uncle Lot pulled up a stalk or two of weeds, and threw 
 them over the fence, just to show that he did not care any 
 thing about the matter ; and then he came up and stood by 
 James. 
 
 " Nothin 7 so remarkable, as I know on," said he. 
 
 Just then Grace came to say that supper was ready. 
 Once seated at table, it was astonishing to see the perfect 
 and smiling assurance with which our hero continued his 
 addresses to Uncle Lot. It sometimes goes a great way to 
 wards making people like us to take it for granted that they 
 do already ; and upon this principle James proceeded. He 
 talked, laughed, told stories, and joked with the most fear 
 less assurance, occasionally seconding his words by looking 
 Uncle Lot in the face, with a countenance so full of good 
 will as would have melted any snowdrift of prejudices in 
 the world. 
 
16 UNCLE LOT 
 
 James also had one natural accomplishment, more cour 
 tier-like than all the diplomacy in Europe, and that was the 
 gift of feeling a real interest for anybody in five minutes ; 
 so that, if he began to please in jest, he generally ended in 
 earnest. With great simplicity of mind, he had a natural 
 tact for seeing into others, and watched their motions with 
 the same delight with which a child gazes at the wheels and 
 springs of a watch, to " see what it will do." 
 
 The rough exterior and latent kindness of Uncle Lot were 
 quite a spirit-stirring study ; and when tea was over, as he 
 and Grace happened to be standing together in the front 
 door, he broke forth, 
 
 " I do really like your father, Grace ! " 
 
 " Do you ? " said Grace. 
 
 " Yes, I do. He has something in him, and I like him 
 all the better for having to fish it out." 
 
 " Well, I hope you will make him like you," said Grace 
 unconsciously ; and then she stopped, and looked a little 
 ashamed. 
 
 James was too well bred to see this, or look as if Grace 
 meant any more than she said, a kind of breeding not al 
 ways attendant on more fashionable polish, so he only an 
 swered, 
 
 " I think I shall, Grace, though I doubt whether I can 
 get him to own it." 
 
 " He is the kindest man that ever was," said Grace ; 
 " and he always acts as if he was ashamed of it." 
 
 James turned a little away, and looked at the bright even 
 ing sky, which was glowing like a calm, golden sea ; and 
 over it was the silver new moon, with one little star to hold 
 the candle for her. He shook some bright drops off from a 
 rosebush near by, and watched to see them shine as they 
 fell, while Grace stood very quietly waiting for him to 
 speak again. 
 
 " Grace," said he at last, " I am going to college this 
 fall." 
 
UNCLE LOT 17 
 
 " So you told me yesterday/ said Grace. 
 
 James stooped down over Grace s geranium, and began 
 to busy himself with pulling off all the dead leaves, remark 
 ing in the mean while, 
 
 " And if I do get him to like me, Grace, will you like 
 me too ? " 
 
 " I like you now very well," said Grace. 
 
 "Come, Grace, you know what I mean," said James, 
 looking steadfastly at the top of the apple-tree. 
 
 " Well, I wish, then, you would understand what I mean 
 without my saying any more about it," said Grace. 
 
 " Oh, to be sure I will ! " said our hero, looking up with 
 a very intelligent air ; and so, as Aunt Sally would say, the 
 matter was settled, with "no words about it." 
 
 Now shall we narrate how our hero, as he saw Uncle Lot 
 approaching the door, had the impudence to take out his 
 flute, and put the parts together, arranging and adjusting 
 the stops with great composure ? 
 
 " Uncle Lot," said he, looking up, " this is the best flute 
 that ever I saw. " 
 
 " I hate them tooting critturs," said Uncle Lot snap 
 pishly. 
 
 " I declare ! I wonder how you can," said James ; " for 
 I do think they exceed " 
 
 So saying, he put the flute to his mouth, and ran up and 
 down a long flourish. 
 
 " There ! what do you think of that ? " said he, looking 
 in Uncle Lot s face with much delight. 
 
 Uncle Lot turned and marched into the house, but soon 
 faced to the right-about, and came out again, for James was 
 fingering " Yankee Doodle " that appropriate national air 
 for the descendants of the Puritans. 
 
 Uncle Lot s patriotism began to bestir itself ; and now, 
 if it had been anything, as he said, but " that ere flute " 
 As it was, he looked more than once at James s fingers. 
 
18 UNCLE LOT 
 
 " How under the sun could you learn to do that ? " said 
 he. 
 
 " Oh, it s easy enough," said James, proceeding with an 
 other tune ; and, having played it through, he stopped a 
 moment to examine the joints of his flute, and in the mean 
 time addressed Uncle Lot: "You can t think how grand 
 this is for pitching tunes I always pitch the tunes on 
 Sunday with it." 
 
 " Yes ; but I don t think it s a right and fit instrument 
 for the Lord s house," said Uncle Lot. 
 
 " Why not ? It is only a kind of a long pitchpipe, you 
 see," said James ; " and, seeing the old one is broken, and 
 this will answer, I don t see why it is not better than 
 nothing." 
 
 " Why, yes, it may be better than nothing," said Uncle 
 Lot ; " but, as I always tell Grace and my wife, it ain t the 
 right kind of instrument, after all ; it ain t solemn." 
 
 " Solemn ! " said James ; " that is according as you work 
 it : see here, now." 
 
 So saying, he struck up Old Hundred, and proceeded 
 through it with great perseverance. 
 
 " There, now ! " said he. 
 
 " Well, well, I don t know but it is," said Uncle Lot ; 
 " but as I said at first, I don t like the look of it in 
 meetin ." 
 
 " Bat yet you really think it is better than nothing," 
 said James, " for you see I could n t pitch my tunes with 
 out it." 
 
 " Maybe t is," said Uncle Lot ; " but that is n t sayin 
 much." 
 
 This, however, was enough for Master James, who soon 
 after departed, with his flute in his pocket, and Grace s last 
 words in his heart; soliloquizing as he shut the gate, 
 " There, now, I hope Aunt Sally won t go to praising me ; 
 for, just so sure as she does, I shall have it all to do over 
 again." 
 
UNCLE LOT 19 
 
 James was right in his apprehension. Uncle Lot could 
 be privately converted, but not brought to open confession j 
 and when, the next morning, Aunt Sally remarked, in the 
 kindness of her heart, 
 
 " Well, I always knew you would come to like James," 
 Uncle Lot only responded, " Who said I did like him ? " 
 
 " But I m sure you seemed to like him last night." 
 
 " Why, I could n t turn him out o doors, could I ? I 
 don t think nothin of him but what I always did." 
 
 But it was to be remarked that Uncle Lot contented 
 himself at this time with the mere general avowal, without 
 running it into particulars, as was formerly his wont. It 
 was evident that the ice had begun to melt, but it might 
 have been a long time in dissolving, had not collateral in 
 cidents assisted. 
 
 It so happened that about this time George Griswold, 
 the only son before referred to, returned to his native vil 
 lage, after having completed his theological studies at a 
 neighboring institution. It is interesting to mark the grad 
 ual development of mind and heart, from the time that the 
 white-headed, bashful boy quits the country village for col 
 lege, to the period when he returns, a formed and matured 
 man ; to notice how gradually the rust of early prejudices 
 begins to cleave from him how his opinions, like his 
 handwriting, pass from the cramped and limited forms of a 
 country school into that confirmed and characteristic style 
 which is to mark the man for life. In George this change 
 was remarkably striking. He was endowed by nature with 
 uncommon acuteness of feeling and fondness for reflection 
 qualities as likely as any to render a child backward and 
 uninteresting in early life. 
 
 When he left Newbury for college, he was a taciturn 
 and apparently phlegmatic boy, only evincing sensibility by 
 blushing and looking particularly stupefied whenever any 
 body spoke to him. Vacation after vacation passed, and 
 
20 UNCLE LOT 
 
 he returned more and more an altered being ; and he who 
 once shrank from the eye of the deacon, and was ready to 
 sink if he met the minister, now moved about among the 
 dignitaries of the place with all the composure of a superior 
 being. 
 
 It was only to be regretted that, while the mind improved, 
 the physical energies declined, and that every visit to his 
 home found him paler, thinner, and less prepared in body 
 for the sacred profession to which he had devoted himself. 
 But now he was returned, a minister a real minister, 
 with a right to stand in the pulpit and preach ; and what 
 a joy and glory to Aunt Sally and to Uncle Lot, if he 
 were not ashamed to own it ! 
 
 The first Sunday after he came, it was known far and 
 near that George Griswold was to preach ; and never was 
 a more ready and expectant audience. 
 
 As the time for reading the first psalm approached, you 
 might see the white-headed men turning their faces atten 
 tively towards the pulpit ; the anxious and expectant old 
 women, with their little black bonnets, bent forward to see 
 him rise. There were the children looking, because every 
 body else looked ; there was Uncle Lot in the front pew, 
 his face considerately adjusted ; there was Aunt Sally, seem 
 ing as pleased as a mother could seem ; and Miss Grace, 
 lifting her sweet face to her brother, like a flower to the 
 sun ; there was our friend James in the front gallery, his 
 joyous countenance a little touched with sobriety and ex 
 pectation ; in short, a more embarrassingly attentive audi 
 ence never greeted the first effort of a young minister. 
 Under these circumstances there was something touching in 
 the fervent self-forgetfulness which characterized the first 
 exercises of the morning something which moved every 
 one in the house. 
 
 The devout poetry of his prayer, rich with the Oriental 
 ism of Scripture, and eloquent with the expression of strong 
 
UNCLE LOT 21 
 
 yet chastened emotion, breathed over his audience like mu 
 sic, hushing every one to silence, and beguiling every one to 
 feeling. In the sermon, there was the strong intellectual 
 nerve, the constant occurrence of argument and statement, 
 which distinguishes a New England discourse ; but it was 
 touched with life by the intense, yet half-subdued, feeling 
 with which he seemed to utter it. Like the rays of the 
 sun, it enlightened and melted at the same moment. 
 
 The strong peculiarities of New England doctrine, involv 
 ing, as they do, all the hidden machinery of mind, all the 
 mystery of its divine relations and future progression, and 
 all the tremendous uncertainties of its eternal good or ill, 
 seemed to have dwelt in his mind, to have burned in his 
 thoughts, to have wrestled with his powers, and they gave 
 to his manner the fervency almost of another world ; while 
 the exceeding paleness of his countenance, and a tremulous- 
 ness of voice that seemed to spring from bodily weakness, 
 touched the strong workings of his mind with a pathetic 
 interest, as if the being so early absorbed in another world 
 could not be long for this. 
 
 When the services were over, the congregation dispersed 
 with the air of people who had felt rather than heard ; and 
 all the criticism that followed was similar to that of old Dea 
 con Hart, an upright, shrewd man, who, as he lingered 
 a moment at the church door, turned and gazed with un 
 wonted feeling at the young preacher. 
 
 "He s a blessed cre tur ! " said he, the tears actually 
 making their way to his eyes ; "I hain t been so near heaven 
 this many a day. He ? s a blessed cre tur of the Lord ; 
 that s my mind about him ! " 
 
 As for our friend James, he was at first sobered, then 
 deeply moved, and at last wholly absorbed by the discourse ; 
 and it was only when meeting was over that he began to 
 think where he really was. 
 
 With all his versatile activity, James had a greater depth 
 
22 UNCLE LOT 
 
 of mental capacity than he was himself aware of, and he be 
 gan to feel a sort of electric affinity for the mind that had 
 touched him in a way so new ; and when he saw the mild 
 minister standing at the foot of the pulpit stairs, he made 
 directly towards him. 
 
 " I do want to hear more from you," said he, with a face 
 full of earnestness ; " may I walk home with you ? " 
 
 " It is a long and warm walk," said George, smiling. 
 
 " Oh, I don t care for that, if it does not trouble you" 
 said James ; and leave being gained, you might have seen 
 them slowly passing along under the trees, James pouring 
 forth all the floods of inquiry which the sudden impulse of 
 his mind had brought out, and supplying his guide with more 
 questions and problems for solution than he could have gone 
 through with in a month. 
 
 " I cannot answer all your questions now," said he, as 
 they stopped at Uncle Lot s gate". 
 
 " Well, then, when will you ? " said James eagerly. 
 " Let me come home with you to-night ? " 
 
 The minister smiled assent, and James departed, so full 
 of new thoughts that he passed Grace without even seeing 
 her. From that time a friendship commenced between the 
 two which was a beautiful illustration of the affinities of 
 opposites. It was like a friendship between morning and 
 evening all freshness and sunshine on one side, and all 
 gentleness and peace on the other. 
 
 The young minister, worn by long-continued ill health, by 
 the fervency of his own feelings, and the gravity of his own 
 reasonings, found pleasure in the healthful buoyancy of a 
 youthful, unexhausted mind, while James felt himself sobered 
 and made better by the moonlight tranquillity of his friend. 
 It is one mark of a superior mind to understand and be in 
 fluenced by the superiority of others ; and this was the case 
 with James. The ascendancy which his new friend acquired 
 over him was unlimited, and did more in a month towards 
 
UNCLE LOT 23 
 
 consolidating and developing his character than all the four 
 years course of a college. Our religious habits are likely 
 always to retain the impression of the first seal which stamped 
 them, and in this case it was a peculiarly happy one. The 
 calmness, the settled purpose, the mild devotion of his friend, 
 formed a just alloy to the energetic and reckless buoyancy 
 of James s character, and awakened in him a set of feelings 
 without which the most vigorous mind must be incomplete. 
 The effect of the ministrations of the young pastor, in 
 awakening attention to the subjects of his calling in the village, 
 was marked, and of a kind which brought pleasure to his own 
 heart. But, like all other excitement, it tends to exhaustion, 
 and it was not long before he sensibly felt the decline of the 
 powers of life. To the best regulated mind there is something 
 bitter in the relinquishment of projects for which we have 
 been long and laboriously preparing, and there is something 
 far more bitter in crossing the long-cherished expectations of 
 friends. All this George felt. He could not bear to look on 
 his mother, hanging on his words and following his steps with 
 eyes of almost childish delight on his singular father, whose 
 whole earthly ambition was bound up in his success, and think 
 how soon the " candle of their old age " must be put out. 
 When he returned from a successful effort, it was painful to 
 see the old man, so evidently delighted, and so anxious to con 
 ceal his triumph, as he would seat himself in his chair, and 
 begin with, " George, that ere doctrine is rather of a puzzler ; 
 but you seem to think you ve got the run on t. I should re ly 
 like to know what business you have to think you know better 
 than other folks about it ; " and, though he would cavil most 
 courageously at all George s explanations, yet you might per 
 ceive, through all, that he w r as inly uplifted to hear how his 
 boy could talk. 
 
 If George was engaged in argument with any one else, he 
 would sit by, with his head bowed down, looking out from 
 under his shaggy eyebrows with a shamefaced satisfaction 
 
24 UNCLE LOT 
 
 very unusual with him. Expressions of affection from the 
 naturally gentle are not half so touching as those which are 
 forced out from the hard-favored and severe ; and George was 
 affected, even to pain, by the evident pride and regard of his 
 father. 
 
 " He never said so much to anybody before," thought he, 
 " and what will he do if I die ? " 
 
 In such thoughts as these Grace found her brother engaged 
 one still autumn morning, as he stood leaning against the 
 garden fence. 
 
 " What are you solemnizing here for, this bright day, 
 brother George ? " said she, as she bounded down the 
 alley. 
 
 The young man turned, and looked on her happy face with 
 a sort of twilight smile. 
 
 " How happy you are, Grace ! " said he. 
 
 " To be sure I am ; and you ought to be too, because you 
 are better." 
 
 " I am happy, Grace that is, I hope I shall be." 
 
 " You are sick, I know you are," said Grace ; " you look 
 worn out. Oh, I wish your heart could spring once, as mine 
 does." 
 
 "I am not well, dear Grace, and I fear I never shall be," 
 said he, turning away, and fixing his eyes on the fading trees 
 opposite. 
 
 " Oh George ! dear George, don t, don t say that, you 11 
 break all our hearts," said Grace, with tears in her own 
 eyes. 
 
 " Yes, but it is true, sister : I do not feel it on my own 
 account so much as However," he added, "it will all 
 be the same in heaven." 
 
 It was but a week after this that a violent cold hastened 
 the progress of debility into a confirmed malady. He sunk 
 very fast. Aunt Sally, with the self-deceit of a fond and 
 cheerful heart, thought every day that " he would be bet- 
 
UNCLE LOT 25 
 
 ter," and Uncle Lot resisted conviction with all the ob 
 stinate pertinacity of his character, while the sick man felt 
 that he had not the heart to undeceive them. 
 
 James was now at the house every day, exhausting all 
 his energy and invention in the case of his friend; and any 
 one who had seen him in his hours of recklessness and glee, 
 could scarcely recognize him as the being whose step was so 
 careful, whose eye so watchful, whose voice and touch were 
 so gentle, as he moved around the sick-bed. But the same 
 quickness which makes a mind buoyant in gladness often 
 makes it gentlest and most sympathetic in sorrow. 
 
 It was now nearly morning in the sick-room. George 
 had been restless and feverish all night ; but towards day 
 he fell into a slight slumber, and James sat by his side, 
 almost holding his breath lest he should waken him. It 
 was yet dusk, but the sky was brightening with a solemn 
 glow, and the stars were beginning to disappear ; all, save 
 the bright and morning one, which, standing alone in the 
 east, looked tenderly through the casement, like the eye of 
 our Heavenly Father, watching over us when all earthly 
 friendships are fading. 
 
 George awoke with a placid expression of countenance, 
 and fixing his eyes on the brightening sky, murmured 
 faintly, 
 
 " The sweet, immortal morning sheds 
 Its blushes round the spheres." 
 
 A moment after, a shade passed over his face ; he pressed 
 his fingers over his eyes, and the tears dropped silently on 
 his pillow. 
 
 " George ! dear George ! " said James, bending over 
 him. 
 
 " It s my friends it 7 s my father my mother," said 
 he faintly. 
 
 " Jesus Christ will watch over them," said James sooth 
 ingly. 
 
26 UNCLE LOT 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know He will ; for He loved his own which 
 were in the world ; He loved them unto the end. But I 
 am dying and before I have done any good." 
 
 " Oh, do not say so/ said James ; " think, think what 
 you have done, if only for me. God bless you for it ! God 
 will bless you for it ; it will follow you to heaven ; it will 
 bring me there. Yes, I will do as you have taught me. 
 I will give my life, my soul, my whole strength to it ; and 
 then you will not have lived in vain." 
 
 George smiled, and looked upward ; " his face was as 
 that of an angel ; " and James, in his warmth, continued, 
 
 " It is not I alone who can say this ; we all bless you ; 
 every one in his place blesses you ; you will be had in ever 
 lasting remembrance by some hearts here, I know. * 
 
 " Bless God ! " said George. 
 
 " We do," said James. " I bless him that I ever knew 
 you; we all bless him, and we love you, and shall for 
 ever." 
 
 The glow that had kindled over the pale face of the 
 invalid again faded as he said, 
 
 " But, James, I must I ought to tell my father and 
 mother ; I ought to, and how can I ? " 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and Uncle Lot made 
 his appearance. He seemed struck with the paleness of 
 George s face ; and coming to the side of the bed, he felt 
 his pulse, and laid his hand anxiously on his forehead, and, 
 clearing his voice several times, inquired " if he did n t feel 
 a little better." 
 
 " No, father," said George ; then taking his hand, he 
 looked anxiously in his face, and seemed to hesitate a mo 
 ment. " Father," he began, " you know that we ought to 
 submit to God." 
 
 There was something in his expression at this moment 
 which flashed the truth into the old man s mind. He 
 dropped his son s hand with an exclamation of agony, and, 
 turning quickly, left the room. 
 
UNCLE LOT 27 
 
 " Father ! father ! " said Grace, trying to rouse him, as 
 he stood with his arms folded by the kitchen window. 
 
 " Get away, child ! " said he roughly. 
 
 a Father, mother says breakfast is ready." 
 
 " I don t want any breakfast, 7 said he, turning short about. 
 " Sally, what are you fixing in that ere porringer ? " 
 
 " Oh, it s only a little tea for George ; t will comfort him 
 up, and make him feel better, poor fellow." 
 
 " You won t make him feel better he s gone," said 
 Uncle Lot hoarsely. 
 
 " Oh, cTear heart, no ! " said Aunt Sally. 
 
 "Be still a-contradicting me ; I won t be contradicted 
 all the time by nobody. The short of the case is, that 
 George is goin to die just as we ve got him ready to be a 
 minister and all ; and I wish to pity I was in my grave 
 myself, and so " said Uncle Lot, as he plunged out of the 
 door, and shut it after him. 
 
 It is well for a man that there is one Being who sees 
 the suffering heart as it is, and not as it manifests itself 
 through the repellances of outward infirmity, and who, per 
 haps, feels more for the stern and wayward than for those 
 whose gentler feelings win for them human sympathy. With 
 all his singularities, there was in the heart of Uncle Lot a 
 depth of religious sincerity ; but there are few characters 
 where religion does anything more than struggle with nat 
 ural defect, and modify what would else be far worse. 
 
 In this hour of trial, all the native obstinacy and perti 
 nacity of the old man s character rose, and while he felt 
 the necessity of submission, it seemed impossible to submit ; 
 and thus reproaching himself, struggling in vain to repress 
 the murmurs of nature, repulsing from him all external 
 sympathy, his mind was " tempest - tossed, and not com 
 forted." 
 
 It was on the still afternoon of the following Sabbath 
 that he was sent for, in haste, to the chamber of his son. 
 
28 UNCLE LOT 
 
 He entered, and saw that the hour was come. The fam 
 ily were all there. Grace and James, side by side, bent 
 over the dying one, and his mother sat afar off, with her 
 face hid in her apron, " that she might not see the death of 
 the child." The aged minister was there, and the Bible 
 lay open before him. The father walked to the side of the 
 bed. He stood still, and gazed on the face now brighten 
 ing with " life and immortality." The son lifted up his 
 eyes ; he saw his father, smiled, and put out his hand. 
 
 " I am glad you are come," said he. 
 
 " George, to the pity, don t ! don t smile on me so ! I 
 know what is coming ; I have tried, and tried, and I can t, 
 I can t have it so ; " and his frame shook, and he sobbed 
 audibly. The room was still as death ; there was none that 
 seemed able to comfort him. At last the son repeated, in 
 a sweet, but interrupted voice, those words of man s best 
 Friend : " Let not your heart be troubled ; in my Father s 
 house are many mansions." 
 
 " Yes ; but I can t help being troubled ; I suppose the 
 Lord s will must be done, but it 11 kill me." 
 
 " father, don t, don t break my heart," said the son, 
 much agitated. " I shall see you again in heaven, and you 
 shall see me again ; and then your heart shall rejoice, and 
 your joy no man taketh from you. : 
 
 " I never shall get to heaven if I feel as I do now," 
 said the old man. " I cannot have it so." 
 
 The mild face of the sufferer was overcast. " I wish he 
 saw all that I do," said he, in a low voice. Then looking 
 towards the minister, he articulated, " Pray for us." 
 
 They knelt in prayer. It was soothing, as real prayer 
 always must be ; and when they rose, every one seemed 
 more calm. But the sufferer was exhausted ; his counte 
 nance changed ; he looked on his friends ; there was a faint 
 whisper, " Peace I leave with you " and he was in 
 heaven. 
 
UNCLE LOT 29 
 
 We need not dwell on what followed. The seed sown 
 by the righteous often blossoms over their grave ; and so 
 was it with this good man. The words of peace which he 
 spoke unto his friends while he was yet with them came 
 into remembrance after he was gone ; and though he was 
 laid in the grave with many tears, yet it was with softened 
 and submissive hearts. 
 
 " The Lord bless him," said Uncle Lot, as he and James 
 were standing, last of all, over the grave. " I believe my 
 heart is gone to heaven with him ; and I think the Lord 
 really did know what was best after all." 
 
 Our friend James seemed now to become the support of 
 the family ; and the bereaved old man unconsciously began 
 to transfer to him the affections that had been left vacant. 
 
 " James," said he to him one day, " I suppose you know 
 that you are about the same to me as a son." 
 
 " I hope so," said James kindly. 
 
 " Well, well, you 11 go to college next week, and none 
 o y r keepin school to get along. I ? ve got enough to 
 bring you safe out that is, if you 11 be car ful and stiddy." 
 
 James knew the heart too well to refuse a favor in which 
 the poor old man s mind was comforting itself. He had the 
 self-command to abstain from any extraordinary expressions 
 of gratitude, but took it kindly, as a matter of course. 
 
 " Dear Grace," said he to her, the last evening before he 
 left home, " I am changed ; we both are altered since we 
 first knew each other ; and now I am going to be gone a 
 long time, but I am sure " 
 
 He stopped to arrange his thoughts. 
 
 " Yes, you may be sure of all those things that you wish 
 to say, and cannot," said Grace. 
 
 " Thank you," said James ; then, looking thoughtfully, 
 he added, " God help me. I believe I have mind enough 
 to be what I mean to ; but whatever I am or have shall be 
 given to God and my fellow men ; and then, Grace, your 
 brother in heaven will rejoice over me." 
 
30 UNCLE LOT 
 
 " I believe he does now/ 7 said Grace. " God bless you, 
 James ; I don t know what would have become of us if 
 you had not been here. 
 
 " Yes, you will live to be like him, and to do even more 
 good/ she added, her face brightening as she spoke, till 
 James thought she really must be right. 
 
 It was five years after this that James was spoken of as 
 an eloquent and successful minister in the state of C., and 
 was settled in one of its most thriving villages. Late one 
 autumn evening, a tall, bony, hard-favored man was observed 
 making his way into the outskirts of the place. 
 
 " Hallo, there ! " he called to a man over the other side 
 of a fence ; " what town is these ere ? " 
 
 " It s Farmington, sir." 
 
 "Well, I want to know if you know anything of a boy 
 of mine that lives here ? " 
 
 " A boy of yours ? Who ? " 
 
 " Why, I ve got a boy here, that s livin on the town, 
 and I thought I d jest look him up." 
 
 "I don t know any boy that is living on the town. 
 What s his name ? " 
 
 " Why," said the old man, pushing his hat off from his 
 forehead, " I believe they call him James Benton." 
 
 " James Benton ! Why, that is our minister s name ! " 
 
 " Oh, wal, I believe he is the minister, come to think on t. 
 He s a boy o mine, though. Where does he live ? " 
 
 " In that white house that you see set back from the road 
 there, with all those trees round it." 
 
 At this instant a tall, manly-looking person approached 
 from behind. Have we not seen that face before ? It 
 is a touch graver than of old, and its lines have a more 
 thoughtful significance ; but all the vivacity of James Ben- 
 ton sparkles in that quick smile as his eye falls on the old 
 man. 
 
UNCLE LOT 31 
 
 " I thought you could not keep away from us long," said 
 he with the prompt cheerfulness of his boyhood, and laying 
 hold of both of Uncle Lot s hard hands. 
 
 They approached the gate ; a bright face glances past 
 the window, and in a moment Grace is at the door. 
 
 " Father ! dear father ! " 
 
 " You d better make believe be so glad," said Uncle Lot, 
 his eyes glistening as he spoke. 
 
 " Come, come, father, I have authority in these days," 
 said Grace, drawing him towards the house ; " so no dis 
 respectful speeches ; away with your hat and coat, and sit 
 down in this great chair." 
 
 " So, ho ! Miss Grace," said Uncle Lot, " you are at your 
 old tricks, ordering round as usual. Well, if I must, I 
 must ; " so down he sat. 
 
 " Father," said Grace, as he was leaving them, after a few 
 days stay, " it s Thanksgiving Day next month, and you 
 and mother must come and stay with us." 
 
 Accordingly, the following month found Aunt Sally and 
 Uncle Lot by the minister s fireside, delighted witnesses 
 of the Thanksgiving presents which a willing people were 
 pouring in ; and the next day they had once more the pleas 
 ure of seeing a son of theirs in the sacred desk, and hear 
 ing a sermon that everybody said was " the best that he 
 ever preached ; " and it is to be remarked, that this was the 
 standing commentary on all James s discourses, so that it 
 was evident he was going on unto perfection. 
 
 "There s a great deal that s worth having in this ere 
 life after all," said Uncle Lot, as he sat by the coals of the 
 bright evening fire of that day ; " that is, if we d only take 
 it when the Lord lays it in our way." 
 
 " Yes," said James ; " and let us only take it as we 
 should and this life will be cheerfulness, and the next full 
 ness of joy." 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 How many kinds of beauty there are ! How many even 
 in the human form ! There are the bloom and motion of 
 childhood, the freshness and ripe perfection of youth, the 
 dignity of manhood, the softness of woman all different, 
 yet each in its kind perfect. 
 
 But there is none so peculiar, none that bears more the 
 image of the heavenly, than the beauty of Christian old age. 
 It is like the loveliness of those calm autumn days, when 
 the heats of summer are past, when the harvest is gathered 
 into the garner, and the sun shines over the placid fields 
 and fading woods, which stand waiting for their last change. 
 It is a beauty more strictly moral, more belonging to the 
 soul, than that of any other period of life. Poetic fiction 
 always paints the old man as a Christian ; nor is there any 
 period where the virtues of Christianity seem to find a more 
 harmonious development. The aged man, who has outlived 
 the hurry of passion who has withstood the urgency of 
 temptation who has concentrated the religious impulses 
 of youth into habits of obedience and love who, having 
 served his generation by the will of God, now leans in 
 helplessness on Him whom once he served, is, perhaps, one 
 of the most faultless representations of the beauty of holi 
 ness that this world affords. 
 
 Thoughts something like these arose in my mind as I 
 slowly turned my footsteps from the graveyard of my native 
 village, where I had been wandering after years of absence. 
 It was a lovely spot a soft slope of ground close by a little 
 stream, that ran sparkling through the cedars and junipers 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 33 
 
 beyond it, while on the other side arose a green hill, with 
 the white village laid like a necklace of pearls upon its 
 bosom. 
 
 There is no feature of the landscape more picturesque and 
 peculiar than that of the graveyard, that " city of the 
 silent," as it is beautifully expressed by the Orientals, 
 standing amid the bloom and rejoicing of nature, its white 
 stones glittering in the sun, a memorial of decay, a link 
 between the living and the dead. 
 
 As I moved slowly from mound to mound, and read the 
 inscriptions, which purported that many a money-saving 
 man, and many a busy, anxious housewife, and many a 
 prattling, half-blossomed child, had done with care or mirth, 
 I was struck with a plain slab, bearing the inscription, 
 " To the memory of Deacon Enos Dudley, who died in 
 his hundredth year." My eye was caught by this inscrip 
 tion, for in other years I had well known the person it 
 recorded. At this instant, his mild and venerable form 
 arose before me as erst it used to rise from the deacon s 
 seat, a straight, close slip just below the pulpit. I recollect 
 his quiet and lowly coming into meeting, precisely ten min 
 utes before the time, every Sunday, his tall form a little 
 stooping, his best suit of butternut-colored Sunday clothes, 
 with long flaps and wide cuffs, on one of which two pins 
 were always to be seen stuck in with the most reverent 
 precision. When seated, the top of the pew came just to 
 his chin, so that his silvery, placid head rose above it like 
 the moon above the horizon. His head was one that might 
 have been sketched for a St. John bald at the top and 
 around the temples adorned with a soft flow of bright fine 
 hair, 
 
 " That down his shoulders reverently spread, 
 As hoary frost with spangles doth attire 
 The naked branches of an oak half dead." 
 
 He was then of great age, and every line of his patient face 
 
34 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 seemed to say, " And now, Lord, what wait I for ? " Yet 
 still, year after year, was he to be seen in the same place, 
 with the same dutiful punctuality. 
 
 The services he offered to his God were all given with 
 the exactness of an ancient Israelite. No words could have 
 persuaded him of the propriety of meditating when the 
 choir was singing, or of sitting down, even through infirm 
 ity, before the close of the longest prayer that ever was 
 offered. A mighty contrast was he to his fellow officer, 
 Deacon Abrams, a tight, little, tripping, well-to-do man, 
 who used to sit beside him with his hair brushed straight 
 up like a little blaze, his coat buttoned up trig and close, 
 his psalm-book in hand, and his quick gray eyes turned 
 first on one side of the broad aisle, and then on the other, 
 and then up into the gallery, like a man who came to 
 church on business, and felt responsible for everything that 
 was going on in the house. 
 
 A great hindrance was the business talent of this good 
 little man to the enjoyments of us youngsters, who, perched 
 along in a row on a low seat in front of the pulpit, at 
 tempted occasionally to diversify the long hour of sermon 
 by sundry small exercises of our own, such as making our 
 handkerchiefs into rabbits, or exhibiting, in a sly way, the 
 apples and gingerbread we had brought for a Sunday dinner, 
 or pulling the ears of some discreet meeting-going dog, who 
 now and then would soberly pitapat through the broad 
 aisle. But woe be to us during our contraband sports, if 
 we saw Deacon Abrams s sleek head dodging up from be 
 hind the top of the deacon s seat. Instantly all the apples, 
 gingerbread, and handkerchiefs vanished, and we all sat with 
 our hands folded, looking as demure as if we understood 
 every word of the sermon, and more too. 
 
 There was a great contrast between these two deacons in 
 their services and prayers, when, as was often the case, the 
 absence of the pastor devolved on them the burden of con- 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 35 
 
 ducting the duties of the sanctuary. That God was great 
 and good, and that we all were sinners, were truths that 
 seemed to have melted into the heart of Deacon Enos, so 
 that his very soul and spirit were bowed down with them. 
 With Deacon Abrams it was an undisputed fact, which he 
 had settled long ago, and concerning which he felt that 
 there could be no reasonable doubt, and his bustling way of 
 dealing with the matter seemed to say that he knew that 
 and a great many things besides. 
 
 Deacon Enos was known far and near as a very proverb 
 for peacefulness of demeanor and unbounded charitableness 
 in covering and excusing the faults of others. As long as 
 there was any doubt in a case of alleged evil doing, Deacon 
 Enos guessed " the man did not mean any harm, after all ; " 
 and when transgression became too barefaced for this excuse, 
 he always guessed " it wa n t best to say much about it ; 
 nobody could tell what they might be left to." 
 
 Some incidents in his life will show more clearly these 
 traits. A certain shrewd landholder, by the name of Jones, 
 who was not well reported of in the matter of honesty, sold 
 to Deacon Enos a valuable lot of land, and received the 
 money for it ; but, under various pretenses, deferred giving 
 the deed. Soon after, he died ; and, to the deacon s amaze 
 ment, the deed was nowhere to be found, while this very 
 lot of land was left by will to one of his daughters. 
 
 The deacon said " it was very extraor nary : he always 
 knew that Seth Jones was considerable sharp about money, 
 but he did not think he would do such a right up-and- 
 down wicked thing." So the old man repaired to Squire 
 Abel to state the case, and see if there was any redress. " I 
 kinder hate to tell of it," said he ; " but, Squire Abel, you 
 know Mr. Jones was was what he was, even if he is dead 
 and gone ! " This was the nearest approach the old gentle 
 man could make to specifying a heavy charge against the 
 dead. On being told that the case admitted of no redress, 
 
36 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 Deacon Enos comforted himself with half soliloquizing, 
 " Well, at any rate, the land has gone to those two girls, poor 
 lone critters ; I hope it will do them some good. There 
 is Silence we won t say much about her ; but Sukey is a 
 nice, pretty girl." And so the old man departed, leaving 
 it as his opinion that, since the matter could not be mended, 
 it was just as well not to say anything about it. 
 
 Now, the two girls here mentioned (to wit, Silence and 
 Sukey) were the eldest and the youngest of a numerous 
 family, the offspring of three wives of Seth Jones, of whom 
 these two were the sole survivors. The elder, Silence, was 
 a tall, strong, black-eyed, hard-featured woman, verging 
 upon forty, with a good, loud, resolute voice, and what the 
 Irishman would call " a dacent notion of using it." Why 
 she was called Silence was a standing problem to the neigh 
 borhood ; for she had more faculty and inclination for mak 
 ing a noise than -any person in the whole township. Miss 
 Silence was one of those persons who have no disposition to 
 yield any of their own rights. She marched up to all con 
 troverted matters, faced down all opposition, held her way 
 lustily and with good courage, making men, women, and 
 children turn out for her, as they would for a mail stage. 
 So evident was her innate determination to be free and in 
 dependent that, though she was the daughter of a rich man, 
 and well portioned, only one swain was ever heard of who 
 ventured to solicit her hand in marriage ; and he was sent 
 off with the assurance that, if he ever showed his face about 
 the house again, she would set the dogs on him. 
 
 But Susan Jones was as different from her sister as the 
 little graceful convolvulus from the great rough stick that 
 supports it. At the time of which we speak she was just 
 eighteen ; a modest, slender, blushing girl, as timid and 
 shrinking as her sister was bold and hardy. Indeed, the 
 education of poor Susan had cost Miss Silence much pains 
 taking and trouble, and, after all, she said " the girl would 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 37 
 
 make a fool of herself ; she never could teach her to be up 
 and down with people, as she was." 
 
 When the report came to Miss Silence s ears that Deacon 
 Enos considered himself as aggrieved by her father s will, 
 she held forth upon the subject with great strength of cour 
 age and of lungs. " Deacon Enos might be in better busi 
 ness than in trying to cheat orphans out of their rights 
 she hoped he would go to law about it, and see what good 
 he would get by it a pretty church member and deacon, 
 to be sure ! getting up such a story about her poor father, 
 dead and gone ! 
 
 " But, Silence," said Susan, " Deacon Enos is a good 
 man : I do not think he means to injure any one ; there 
 must be some mistake about it." 
 
 " Susan, you are a little fool, as I have always told you," 
 replied Silence ; " you would be cheated out of your eye 
 teeth if you had not me to take care of you." 
 
 But subsequent events brought the affairs of these two 
 damsels in closer connection with those of Deacon Enos, as 
 we shall proceed to show. 
 
 It happened that the next-door neighbor of Deacon Enos 
 was a certain old farmer, whose crabbedness of demeanor 
 had procured for him the name of Uncle Jaw. This agree 
 able surname accorded very well with the general character 
 istics both of the person and manner of its possessor. He 
 was tall and hard-favored, with an expression of countenance 
 much resembling a northeast rainstorm a drizzling, set 
 tled sulkiness, that seemed to defy all prospect of clearing 
 off, and to take comfort in its own disagreeableness. His 
 voice seemed to have taken lessons of his face, in such 
 admirable keeping was its sawing, deliberate growl with 
 the pleasing physiognomy before indicated. By nature he 
 was endowed with one of those active, acute, hair-splitting 
 minds, which can raise forty questions for dispute on any 
 point of the compass ; and had he been an educated man, 
 
38 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 he might have proved as clever a metaphysician as ever 
 threw dust in the eyes of succeeding generations. But being 
 deprived of these advantages, he nevertheless exerted him 
 self to quite as useful a purpose in puzzling and mystifying 
 whomsoever came in his way. But his activity particularly 
 exercised itself in the line of the law, as it was his meat, and 
 drink, and daily meditation, either to find something to go 
 to law about or to go to law about something he had found. 
 There was always some question about an old rail fence that 
 used to run " a leetle more to the left hand," or that was 
 built up " a leetle more to the right hand," and so cut off a 
 strip of his " medder land," or else there was some outrage 
 of Peter Somebody s turkeys getting into his mowing, or 
 Squire Moses s geese were to be shut up in the town pound, 
 or something equally important kept him busy from year s 
 end to year s end. Now, as a matter of private amusement, 
 this might have answered very well ; but then Uncle Jaw 
 was not satisfied to fight his own battles, but must needs 
 go from house to house, narrating the whole length and 
 breadth of the case, with all the " says he s " and " says 
 I s," and the "I tell d him s" and "he tell d me s," 
 which do either accompany or flow therefrom. Moreover, 
 he had such a marvelous facility of finding out matters to 
 quarrel about, and of letting every one else know where 
 they, too, could muster a quarrel, that he generally suc 
 ceeded in keeping the whole neighborhood by the ears. 
 
 And as good Deacon Enos assumed the office of peace 
 maker for the village, Uncle Jaw s efficiency rendered it no 
 sinecure. The deacon always followed the steps of Uncle 
 Jaw, smoothing, hushing up, and putting matters aright 
 with an assiduity that was truly wonderful. 
 
 Uncle Jaw himself had a great respect for the good man, 
 and, in common with all the neighborhood, sought unto 
 him for counsel, though, like other seekers of advice, he 
 appropriated only so much as seemed good in his own eyes. 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 39 
 
 Still he took a kind of pleasure in dropping in of an even 
 ing to Deacon Enos s fire, to recount the various matters 
 which he had taken or was to take in hand ; at one time to 
 narrate " how he had been over the milldam, telling old 
 Granny Clark that she could get the law of Seth Scran 
 about that pasture lot," or else " how he had told Ziah 
 Bacon s widow that she had a right to shut up Bill Scran- 
 ton s pig every time she caught him in front of her house." 
 
 But the grand " matter of matters," and the one that 
 took up the most of Uncle Jaw s spare time, lay in a dis 
 pute between him and Squire Jones, the father of Susan 
 and Silence ; for it so happened that his lands and those of 
 Uncle Jaw were contiguous. Now, the matter of dispute 
 was on this wise : On Squire Jones s land there was a mill, 
 which mill Uncle Jaw averred was " always a-flooding his 
 medder land." As Uncle Jaw s " medder land " was by 
 nature half bog and bulrushes, and therefore liable to be 
 found in a wet condition, there was always a happy obscurity 
 as to where the water came from, and whether there was at 
 any time more there than belonged to his share. So, when 
 all other subject matters of dispute failed, Uncle Jaw re 
 created himself with getting up a lawsuit about his " medder 
 land ; " and one of these cases was in pendency when, by 
 the death of the squire, the estate was left to Susan and 
 Silence, his daughters. When, therefore, the report reached 
 him that Deacon Enos had been cheated out of his dues, 
 Uncle Jaw prepared forthwith to go and compare notes. 
 Therefore, one evening, as Deacon Enos was sitting quietly 
 by the fire, musing and reading with his big Bible open be 
 fore him, he heard the premonitory symptoms of a visitation 
 from Uncle Jaw on his door-scraper ; and soon the man 
 made his appearance. After seating himself directly in 
 front of the fire, with his elbows on his knees, and his hands 
 spread out over the coals, he looked up in Deacon Enos s 
 mild face with his little inquisitive gray eyes, and remarked, 
 
40 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 by way of opening the subject, u Well, deacon, old Squire 
 Jones is gone at last. I wonder how much good all his land 
 will do him now ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Deacon Enos, " it just shows how all 
 these things are not worth striving after. We brought 
 nothing into the world, and it is certain we can carry no 
 thing out." 
 
 " Why, yes," replied Uncle Jaw, " that s all very right, 
 deacon ; but it was strange how that old Squire Jones did 
 hang on to things. Now, that mill of his, that was always 
 soaking off water into these medders of mine I took and 
 tell d Squire Jones just how it was, pretty nigh twenty 
 times, and yet he would keep it just so ; and now he s 
 dead and gone, there is that old gal Silence is full as bad, 
 and makes more noise ; and she and Suke have got the 
 land ; but, you see, I mean to work it yet." 
 
 Here Uncle Jaw paused to see whether he had produced 
 any sympathetic excitement in Deacon Enos ; but the old 
 man sat without the least emotion, quietly contemplating the 
 top of the long kitchen shovel. Uncle Jaw fidgeted in his 
 chair, and changed his mode of attack for one more direct. 
 " I heard em tell, Deacon Enos, that the squire served you 
 something of an unhandy sort of trick about that ere lot of 
 land." 
 
 Still Deacon Enos made no reply ; but Uncle Jaw s per 
 severance was not so to be put off, and he recommenced. 
 " Squire Abel, you see, he tell d me how the matter was, 
 and he said he did not see as it could be mended ; but I 
 took and tell d him, "Squire Abel/ says I, * I M bet pretty 
 nigh most anything, if Deacon Enos would tell the matter 
 to me, that I could find a hole for him to creep out at ; for, 
 says I, I ve seen daylight through more twistical cases 
 than that afore now. " 
 
 Still Deacon Enos remained mute ; and Uncle Jaw, after 
 waiting a while, recommenced with, " But, railly, deacon, I 
 should like to hear the particulars." 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 41 
 
 "I have made up my mind not to say anything more 
 about that business/ 7 said Deacon Enos, in a tone which, 
 though mild, was so exceedingly definite that Uncle Jaw 
 felt that the case was hopeless in that quarter ; he therefore 
 betook himself to the statement of his own grievances. 
 
 " Why, you see, deacon," he began, at the same time 
 taking the tongs, and picking up all the little brands, and 
 disposing them in the middle of the fire, " you see, two 
 days arter the funeral (for I did n t railly like to go any 
 sooner), I stepped up to hash over the matter with old 
 Silence ; for as to Sukey, she ha n t no more to do with 
 such things than our white kitten. Now, you see, Squire 
 Jones, just afore he died, he took away an old rail fence of 
 his n that lay between his land and mine, and began to 
 build a new stone wall ; and when I come to measure, I 
 found he had took and put a most the whole width of the 
 stone wall on to my land, when there ought not to have 
 been more than half of it come there. Now, you see, I could 
 not say a word to Squire Jones, because, jest before I found 
 it out, he took and died ; and so I thought I d speak to 
 old Silence, and see if she meant to do anything about it, 
 cause I knew pretty well she would n t ; and I tell you, if 
 she did n t put it on to me ! We had a regular pitched 
 battle the old gal, I thought she would a screamed her 
 self to death ! I don t know but she would, but just then 
 poor Sukey came in, and looked so frightened and scarey 
 Sukey is a pretty gal, and looks so trembling and delicate, 
 that it s kinder a shame to plague her, and so I took and 
 come away for that time." 
 
 Here Uncle Jaw perceived a brightening in the face of 
 the good deacon, and felt exceedingly comforted that at last 
 he was about to interest him in his story. 
 
 But all this while the deacon had been in a profound 
 meditation concerning the ways and means of putting a stop 
 to a quarrel that had been his torment from time immemo- 
 
42 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 rial, and just at this moment a plan had struck his mind 
 which our story will proceed to unfold. 
 
 The mode of settling differences which had occurred to 
 the good man was one which has been considered a specific 
 in reconciling contending sovereigns and states from early 
 antiquity, and the deacon hoped it might have a pacifying 
 influence even in so unpromising a case as that of Miss 
 Silence and Uncle Jaw. 
 
 In former days, Deacon Enos had kept the district school 
 for several successive winters, and among his .scholars was 
 the gentle Susan Jones, then a plump, rosy little girl, with 
 blue eyes, curly hair, and the sweetest disposition in the 
 world. There was also little Joseph Adams, the only son 
 of Uncle Jaw, a fine, healthy, robust boy, who used to spell 
 the longest words, make the best snowballs and poplar 
 whistles, and read the loudest and fastest in the " Colum 
 bian Orator " of any boy at school. 
 
 Little Joe inherited all his father s sharpness, with a 
 double share of good humor ; so that, though he was forever 
 effervescing in the way of one funny trick or another, he 
 was a universal favorite, not only with the deacon, but with 
 the whole school. 
 
 Master Joseph always took little Susan Jones under his 
 especial protection, drew her to school on his sled, helped 
 her out with all the long sums in her arithmetic, saw to it 
 that nobody pillaged her dinner basket, or knocked down 
 her bonnet, and resolutely whipped or snowballed any other 
 boy who attempted the same gallantries. Years passed on, 
 and Uncle Jaw had sent his son to college. He sent him 
 because, as he said, he had " a right to send him ; just as 
 good a right as Squire Abel or Deacon Abrams to send 
 their boys, and so he would send him." It was the remem 
 brance of his old favorite Joseph, and his little pet Susan, 
 that came across the mind of Deacon Enos, and which 
 seemed to open a gleam of light in regard to the future. 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 43 
 
 So, when Uncle Jaw had finished his prelection, the deacon, 
 after some meditation, came out with, " Railly, they say 
 that your son is going to have the valedictory in college." 
 
 Though somewhat startled at the abrupt transition, Un 
 cle Jaw found the suggestion too nattering to his pride to 
 be dropped ; so, with a countenance grimly expressive of his 
 satisfaction, he replied, " Why, yes yes I don t see no 
 reason why a poor man s son ha n t as much right as any 
 one to be at the top, if he can get there. 7 
 
 " Just so," replied Deacon Enos. 
 
 " He was always the boy for laming, and for nothing 
 else," continued Uncle Jaw ; " put him to farming, could n t 
 make nothing of him. If I set him to hoeing corn or hill 
 ing potatoes, I d always find him stopping to chase hop 
 toads, or off after chip-squirrels. But set him down to a 
 book, and there he was ! That boy larnt reading the quick 
 est of any boy that ever I saw : it was n t a month after he 
 began his a-b abs, before he could read in the e Fox and the 
 Brambles, and in a month more he could clatter off his chap 
 ter in the Testament as fast as any of them ; and you see, 
 in college, it s jest so he has ris right up to be first." 
 
 " And he is coming home week after next/ said the dea 
 con meditatively. 
 
 The next morning, as Deacon Enos was eating his break 
 fast, he quietly remarked to his wife, " Sally, I believe it was 
 week after next you were meaning to have your quilting ? " 
 
 " Why, I never told you so : what alive makes you think 
 that, Deacon Dudley ? " 
 
 " I thought that was your calculation," said the good 
 man quietly. 
 
 " Why, no ; to be sure, I can have it, and maybe it s 
 the best of any time, if we can get Black Dinah to come and 
 help about the cakes and pies. I guess we will, finally." 
 
 " I think it s likely you had better," replied the deacon, 
 " and we will have all the young folks here." 
 
44 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 And now let us pass over all the intermediate pound 
 ing, and grinding, and chopping, which for the next week 
 foretold approaching festivity in the kitchen of the deacon. 
 Let us forbear to provoke the appetite of a hungry reader 
 by setting in order before him the mince pies, the cranberry 
 tarts, the pumpkin pies, the doughnuts, the cookies, and 
 other sweet cakes of every description, that sprang into be 
 ing at the magic touch of Black Dinah, the village priestess 
 on all these solemnities. Suffice it to say that the day had 
 arrived, and the auspicious quilt was spread. 
 
 The invitation had not failed to include the Misses Si 
 lence and Susan Jones nay, the good deacon had pressed 
 gallantry into the matter so far as to be the bearer of the 
 message himself ; for which he was duly rewarded by a broad 
 side from Miss Silence, giving him what she termed a piece 
 of her mind in the matter of the rights of widows and or 
 phans ; to all which the good old man listened with great 
 benignity from the beginning to the end, and replied with, 
 " Well, well, Miss Silence, I expect you will think better 
 of this before long ; there had best not be any hard words 
 about it." So saying, he took up his hat and walked off, 
 while Miss Silence, who felt extremely relieved by having 
 blown off steam, declared that " it was of no more use to 
 hector old Deacon Enos than to fire a gun at a bag of cot 
 ton wool. For all that, though, she should n t go to the 
 quilting; nor more should Susan." 
 
 " But, sister, why not?" said the little maiden; "I 
 think I shall go." And Susan said this in a tone so mildly 
 positive that Silence was amazed. 
 
 " What upon arth ails you, Susan ? " said she, opening 
 her eyes with astonishment ; " have n t you any more spirit 
 than to go to Deacon Enos s when he is doing all he can to 
 ruin us ? " 
 
 " I like Deacon Enos," replied Susan ; " he was always 
 kind to me when I was a little girl, and I am not going to 
 believe that he is a bad man now." 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 45 
 
 When a young lady states that she is not going to be 
 lieve a thing, good judges of human nature generally give 
 up the case ; but Miss Silence, to whom the language of 
 opposition and argument was entirely new, could scarcely 
 give her ears credit for veracity in the case ; she therefore 
 repeated over exactly what she said before, only in a much 
 louder tone of voice, and with much more vehement forms 
 of asseveration a mode of reasoning which, if not strictly 
 logical, has at least the sanction of very respectable authori 
 ties among the enlightened and learned. 
 
 " Silence," replied Susan, when the storm had spent 
 itself, "if it did not look like being angry with Deacon 
 Enos, I would stay away to oblige you ; but it would 
 seem to every one to be taking sides in a quarrel, and I 
 never did, and never will, have any part or lot in such 
 things." 
 
 " Then you 11 just be trod and trampled on all your days, 
 Susan," replied Silence ; " but, however, if you choose to 
 make a fool of yourself, I don t ; " and so saying, she flounced 
 out of the room in great wrath. It so happened, however, 
 that Miss Silence was one of those who have so little econ 
 omy in disposing of a fit of anger, that it was all used up 
 before the time of execution arrived. It followed of conse 
 quence that, having unburdened her mind freely both to 
 Deacon Enos and to Susan, she began to feel very much 
 more comfortable and good-natured ; and consequent upon 
 that came divers reflections upon the many gossiping oppor 
 tunities and comforts of a quilting ; and then the intrusive 
 little reflection, " What if she should go, after all ; what 
 harm would be done ? " and then the inquiry, " Whether 
 it was not her duty to go and look after Susan, poor child, 
 who had no mother to watch over her ? " In short, before 
 the time of preparation arrived, Miss Silence had fully 
 worked herself up to the magnanimous determination of 
 going to the quilting. Accordingly, the next day, while 
 
46 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 Susan was standing before her mirror, braiding up her pretty 
 hair, she was startled by the apparition of Miss Silence 
 coming into the room as stiff as a changeable silk and a 
 high horn comb could make her ; and " grimly determined 
 was her look." 
 
 " Well, Susan/ said she, " if you will go to the quilt 
 ing this afternoon, I think it is my duty to go and see to 
 you." 
 
 What would people do if this convenient shelter of duty 
 did not afford them a retreat in cases when they are dis 
 posed to change their minds ? Susan suppressed the arch 
 smile that, in spite of herself, laughed out at the corners of 
 her eyes, and told her sister that she was much obliged to 
 her for her care. So off they went together. Silence in 
 the mean time held forth largely on the importance of 
 standing up for one s rights, and not letting one s self be 
 trampled on. The afternoon passed on, the elderly ladies 
 quilted and talked scandal, and the younger ones discussed 
 the merits of the various beaux who were expected to give 
 vivacity to the evening entertainment. Among these the 
 newly arrived Joseph Adams, just from college, with all 
 his literary honors thick about him, became a prominent 
 subject of conversation. It was duly canvassed whether 
 the young gentleman might be called handsome, and the 
 affirmative was carried by a large majority, although there 
 were some variations and exceptions ; one of the party de 
 claring his whiskers to be in too high a state of cultivation, 
 another maintaining that they were in the exact line of 
 beauty, while a third vigorously disputed the point whether 
 he wore whiskers at all. It was allowed by all, however, 
 that he had been a great beau in the town where he had 
 passed his college days. It was also inquired into whether 
 he were matrimonially engaged ; and the negative being 
 understood, they diverted themselves with predicting to one 
 another the capture of such a prize ; each prophecy being 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 47 
 
 received with such disclaimers as " Come now ! " " Do be 
 still ! " " Hush your nonsense ! " and the like. 
 
 At length the long-wished-for hour arrived, and one by 
 one the lords of creation began to make their appearance; 
 and one of the last was this much admired youth. 
 
 " That is Joe Adams." " That is he ! " was the busy 
 whisper, as a tall, well-looking young man came into the 
 room with the easy air of one who had seen several things 
 before, and was not to be abashed by the combined blaze of 
 all the village beauties. 
 
 In truth, our friend Joseph had made the most of his resi 
 dence in N"., paying his court no less to the Graces than the 
 Muses. His fine person, his frank, manly air, his ready con 
 versation, and his faculty of universal adaptation had made 
 his society much coveted among the beau monde of N. ; 
 and though the place was small, he had become familiar with 
 much good society. 
 
 We hardly know whether we may venture to tell our fair 
 readers the whole truth in regard to our hero. We will merely 
 hint, in the gentlest manner in the world, that Mr. Joseph 
 Adams, being undeniably first in the classics and first in the 
 drawing-room, having been gravely commended in his class by 
 his venerable president, and gayly nattered in the drawing- 
 room by the elegant Miss This and Miss That, was rather 
 inclining to the opinion that he was an uncommonly fine fel 
 low, and even had the assurance to think that, under present 
 circumstances, he could please without making any great 
 effort a thing which, however true it were in point of fact, 
 is obviously improper to be thought of by a young man. 
 Be that as it may, he moved about from one to another, 
 shaking hands with all the old ladies, and listening with the 
 greatest affability to the various comments on his growth 
 and personal appearance, his points of resemblance to his 
 father, mother, grandfather, and grandmother, which are 
 always detected by the superior acumen of elderly females. 
 
48 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 Among the younger ones he at once, and with full frank 
 ness, recognized old schoolmates, and partners in various 
 whortleberry, chestnut, and strawberry excursions, and thus 
 called out an abundant flow of conversation. Nevertheless, 
 his eye wandered occasionally around the room, as if in search 
 of something not there. What could it be ? It kindled, 
 however, with an expression of sudden brightness as he per 
 ceived the tall and spare figure of Miss Silence ; whether 
 owing to the personal fascinations of that lady, or to other 
 causes, we leave the reader to determine. 
 
 Miss Silence had predetermined never to speak a word 
 again to Uncle Jaw or any of his race ; but she was taken 
 by surprise at the frank, extended hand and friendly " How 
 do ye do ? " It was not in woman to resist so cordial an ad 
 dress from a handsome young man, and Miss Silence gave 
 her hand, and replied with a graciousness that amazed her 
 self. At this moment, also, certain soft blue eyes peeped 
 forth from a corner, just " to see if he looked as he used to." 
 Yes, there he was ! the same dark, mirthful eyes that used 
 to peer on her from behind the corners of the spelling-book 
 at the district school ; and Susan Jones gave a deep sigh to 
 those times, and then wondered why she happened to think 
 of such nonsense. 
 
 " How is your sister, little Miss Susan ? " said Joseph. 
 
 " Why, she is here have you not seen her ? " said 
 Silence ; " there she is, in that corner." 
 
 Joseph looked, but could scarcely recognize her. There 
 stood a tall, slender blooming girl, that might have been 
 selected as a specimen of that union of perfect health with 
 delicate fairness so characteristic of the young New Eng 
 land beauty. 
 
 She was engaged in telling some merry story to a knot of 
 young girls, and the rich color that, like a bright spirit, 
 constantly went and came in her cheeks ; the dimples, 
 quick and varying as those of a little brook ; the clear, 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 49 
 
 mild eye ; the clustering curls, and, above all, the happy, 
 rejoicing smile, and the transparent frankness and sim 
 plicity of expression which beamed like sunshine about 
 her, all formed a combination of charms that took our hero 
 quite by surprise ; and when Silence, who had a remarkable 
 degree of directness in all her dealings, called out, " Here, 
 Susan, is Joe Adams, inquiring after you ! " our practiced 
 young gentleman felt himself color to the roots of his hair, 
 and for a moment he could scarce recollect that first rudiment 
 of manners, " to make his bow like a good boy. 7 Susan 
 colored also ; but, perceiving the confusion of our hero, her 
 countenance assumed an expression of mischievous drollery, 
 which, helped on by the titter of her companions, added 
 not a little to his confusion. 
 
 " Deuce take it ! " thought he, " what s the matter with 
 me ? " and, calling up his courage, he dashed into the for 
 midable circle of fair ones, and began chattering with one 
 and another, calling by name with or without introduction, 
 remembering things that never happened, with a freedom 
 that was perfectly fascinating. 
 
 " Really, how handsome he has grown ! " thought Susan ; 
 and she colored deeply when once or twice the dark eyes 
 of our hero made the same observation with regard to her 
 self, in that quick, intelligible dialect which eyes alone can 
 speak. And when the little party dispersed, as they did 
 very punctually at nine o clock, our hero requested of Miss 
 Silence the honor of attending her home an evidence of 
 discriminating taste which materially raised him in the es 
 timation of that lady. It was true, to be sure, that Susan 
 walked on the other side of him, her little white hand just 
 within his arm ; and there was something in that light 
 touch that puzzled him unaccountably, as might be inferred 
 from the frequency with which Miss Silence was obliged to 
 bring up the ends of conversation with, " What did you 
 say ? " " What were you going to say ? " and other perse- 
 
50 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 vering forms of inquiry, with which a regular-trained mat 
 ter-of-fact talker will hunt down a poor fellow mortal who 
 is in danger of sinking into a comfortable reverie. 
 
 When they parted at the gate, however, Silence gave our 
 hero a hearty invitation to "come and see them any time/ 
 which he mentally regarded as more to the point than any 
 thing else that had been said. As Joseph soberly retraced 
 his way homeward, his thoughts, by some unaccountable 
 association, began to revert to such topics as the loneliness 
 of man by himself, the need of kindred spirits, the solaces 
 of sympathy, and other like matters. 
 
 That night Joseph dreamed of trotting along with his 
 dinner basket to the old brown schoolhouse, and vainly en 
 deavoring to overtake Susan Jones, whom he saw with her 
 little pasteboard sunbonnet a few yards in front of him ; 
 then he was teetering with her on a long board, her bright 
 little face glancing up and down, while every curl around it 
 seemed to be living with delight ; and then he was snow 
 balling Tom Williams for knocking down Susan s doll s 
 house, or he sat by her on a bench, helping her out with a 
 long sum in arithmetic ; but, with the mischievous fatality 
 of dreams, the more he ciphered and expounded, the longer 
 and more hopeless grew the sum ; and he awoke in the 
 morning pshawing at his ill luck, after having done a sum 
 over half a dozen times, while Susan seemed to be looking 
 on with the same air of arch drollery that he saw on her 
 face the evening before. 
 
 " Joseph," said Uncle Jaw, the next morning at break 
 fast, " I s pose Squire Jones s daughters were not at the 
 quilting." 
 
 " Yes, sir, they were," said our hero ; " they were both 
 there." 
 
 " Why, you don t say so ! " 
 
 " They certainly were," persisted the son. 
 
 " Well, I thought the old gal had too much spunk for 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 51 
 
 that ; you see there is a quarrel between the deacon and them 
 
 " Indeed!" said Joseph. "I thought the deacon never 
 quarreled with anybody." 
 
 " But, you see, old Silence there, she will quarrel with 
 him ; railly, that cretur is a tough one ; " and Uncle Jaw 
 leaned back in his chair, and contemplated the quarrelsome 
 propensities of Miss Silence with the satisfaction of a kin 
 dred spirit. " But I 11 fix her yet," he continued ; " I see 
 how to work it." 
 
 " Indeed, father, I did not know that you had anything 
 to do with their affairs." 
 
 " Hain t I ? I should like to know if I hain t ! " 
 replied Uncle Jaw triumphantly. " Now, see here, Joseph : 
 you see, I mean you shall be a lawyer : I m pretty consid 
 erable of a lawyer myself that is, for one not college 
 larnt ; and I 11 tell you how it is ; " and thereupon Uncle 
 Jaw launched forth into the case of the medder land and 
 the mill, and concluded with, " Now, Joseph, this ere is a 
 kinder whetstone for you to hone up your wits on." 
 
 In pursuance, therefore, of this plan of sharpening his 
 wits in the manner aforesaid, our hero, after breakfast, went, 
 like a dutiful son, directly towards Squire Jones s, doubt 
 less for the purpose of taking ocular survey of the meadow 
 land, mill, and stone wall; but, by some unaccountable 
 mistake lost his way, and found himself standing before the 
 door of Squire Jones s house. 
 
 The old squire had been among the aristocracy of the 
 village, and his house had been the ultimate standard of 
 comparison in all matters of style and garniture. Their big 
 front room, instead of being strewn with lumps of sand, 
 duly streaked over twice a week, was resplendent with a 
 carpet of red, yellow, and black stripes, while a towering 
 pair of long-legged brass andirons, scoured to a silvery 
 white, gave an air of magnificence to the chimney, which 
 
52 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 was materially increased by the tall brass-headed shovel and 
 tongs, which, like a decorous, starched married couple, 
 stood bolt upright in their places on either side. The 
 sanctity of the place was still further maintained by keeping 
 the window shutters always closed, admitting only so much 
 light as could come in by a round hole at the top of the 
 shutter ; and it was only on occasions of extraordinary mag 
 nificence that the room was thrown open to profane eyes. 
 
 Our hero was surprised, therefore, to find both the doors 
 and windows of this apartment open, and symptoms evident 
 of its being in daily occupation. The furniture still retained 
 its massive, clumsy stiffness, but there were various tokens 
 that lighter fingers had been at work there since the notable 
 days of good Dame Jones. There was a vase of flowers on 
 the table, two or three books of poetry, and a little fairy 
 work-basket, from which peeped forth the edges of some 
 worked ruffling ; there was a small writing-desk, and last, 
 not least, in a lady s collection, an album, with leaves of 
 every color of the rainbow, containing inscriptions, in sun 
 dry strong masculine hands, "To Susan," indicating that 
 other people had had their eyes open as well as Mr. Joseph 
 Adams. " So," said he to himself, " this quiet little 
 beauty has had admirers, after all ; " and consequent upon 
 this came another question (which was none of his concern, 
 to be sure), whether the little lady were or were not en 
 gaged ; and from these speculations he was aroused by a 
 light footstep, and anon the neat form of Susan made its 
 appearance. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Jones," said he, bowing. 
 
 Now, there is something very comical in the feeling, when 
 little boys and girls, who have always known each other as 
 plain Susan or Joseph, first meet as " Mr." or " Miss " So- 
 and-so. Each one feels half disposed, half afraid, to return 
 to the old familiar form, and awkwardly fettered by the 
 recollection that they are no longer children. Both parties 
 
LOVE VEKSUS LAW 53 
 
 had felt this the evening before, when they met in company ; 
 but now that they were alone together, the feeling became 
 still stronger ; and when Susan had requested Mr. Adams 
 to take a chair, and Mr. Adams had inquired after Miss 
 Susan s health, there ensued a pause, which, the longer it 
 continued, seemed the more difficult to break, and during 
 which Susan s pretty face slowly assumed an expression of 
 the ludicrous, till she was as near laughing as propriety 
 would admit ; and Mr. Adams, having looked out at the 
 window, and up at the mantelpiece, and down at the carpet, 
 at last looked at Susan ; their eyes met ; the effect was elec 
 trical; they both smiled, and then laughed outright, after 
 which the whole difficulty of conversation vanished. 
 
 " Susan," said Joseph, " do you remember the old school- 
 house ? " 
 
 " I thought that was what you were thinking of," said 
 Susan ; " but, really, you have grown and altered so that 
 I could hardly believe my eyes last night." 
 
 " Nor I mine/ 7 said Joseph, with a glance that gave a 
 very complimentary turn to the expression. 
 
 Our readers may imagine that after this the conversation 
 proceeded to grow increasingly confidential and interesting ; 
 that from the account of early life, each proceeded to let the 
 other know something of intervening history, in the course 
 of which each discovered a number of new and admirable 
 traits in the other, such things being matters of very com 
 mon occurrence. In the course of the conversation Joseph 
 discovered that it was necessary that Susan should have two 
 or three books then in his possession ; and as promptitude is 
 a great matter in such cases, he promised to bring them " to 
 morrow." 
 
 For some time our young friends pursued their acquain 
 tance without a distinct consciousness of anything except that 
 it was a very pleasant thing to be together. During the long, 
 still afternoons, they rambled among the fading woods, now 
 
54 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 illuminated with the radiance of the dying year, and senti 
 mentalized and quoted poetry ; and almost every evening 
 Joseph found some errand to bring him to the house ; a 
 book for Miss Susan, or a bundle of roots and herbs for Miss 
 Silence, or some remarkably fine yarn for her to knit at 
 tentions which retained our hero in the good graces of the 
 latter lady, and gained him the credit of being " a young 
 man that knew how to behave himself." As Susan was a 
 leading member in the village choir, our hero was directly 
 attacked with a violent passion for sacred music, which 
 brought him punctually to the singing-school, where the 
 young people came together to sing anthems and fuguing 
 tunes, and to eat apples and chestnuts. 
 
 It cannot be supposed that all these things passed unno 
 ticed by those wakeful eyes that are ever upon the motions 
 of such " bright, particular stars ; " and as is usual in such 
 cases, many things were known to a certainty which were 
 not yet known to the parties themselves. The young belles 
 and beaux whispered and tittered, and passed the original 
 jokes and witticisms common in such cases, while the old 
 ladies soberly took the matter in hand when they went out 
 with their knitting to make afternoon visits, considering how 
 much money Uncle Jaw had, how much his son would have, 
 and what all together would come to, and whether Joseph 
 would be a " smart man," and Susan a good housekeeper, 
 with all the " ifs, ands, and buts " of married life. 
 
 But the most fearful wonders and prognostics crowded 
 around the point " what Uncle Jaw would have to say to 
 the matter." His lawsuit with the sisters being well un 
 derstood, as there was every reason it should be, it was sur 
 mised what two such vigorous belligerents as himself and 
 Miss Silence would say to the prospect of a matrimonial 
 conjunction. It was also reported that Deacon Enos Dud 
 ley had a claim to the land which constituted the finest part 
 of Susan s portion, the loss of which would render the con- 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 55 
 
 sent of Uncle Jaw still more doubtful. But all this while 
 Miss Silence knew nothing of the matter, for her habit of 
 considering and treating Susan as a child seemed to gain 
 strength with time. Susan was always to be seen to, and 
 watched, and instructed, and taught ; and Miss Silence could 
 not conceive that one who could not even make pickles, 
 without her to oversee, could think of such a matter as set 
 ting up housekeeping on her own account. To be sure, she 
 began to observe an extraordinary change in her sister ; re 
 marked that " lately Susan seemed to be getting sort o 
 crazy-headed ; " that she seemed not to have any " faculty " 
 for anything ; that she had made gingerbread twice, and 
 forgot the ginger one time, and put in mustard the other ; 
 that she shook the salt-cellar out in the tablecloth, and let 
 the cat into the pantry half a dozen times ; and that when 
 scolded for these sins of omission or, commission, she had a 
 fit of crying, and did a little worse than before. Silence 
 was of opinion that Susan was getting to be " weakly and 
 naarvy," and actually concocted an unmerciful pitcher of 
 wormwood and boneset, which she said was to keep off the 
 " shaking weakness " that was coming over her. In vain 
 poor Susan protested that she was well enough ; Miss Silence 
 knew better ; and one evening she entertained Mr. Joseph 
 Adams with a long statement of the case in all its bearings, 
 and ended with demanding his opinion, as a candid listener, 
 whether the wormwood and boneset sentence should not be 
 executed. 
 
 Poor Susan had that very afternoon parted from a knot 
 of young friends who had teased her most unmercifully on 
 the score of attentions received, till she began to think the 
 very leaves and stones were so many eyes to pry into her 
 secret feelings ; and then to have the whole case set in or 
 der before the very person, too, whom she most dreaded. 
 " Certainly he would think she was acting like a fool ; per 
 haps he did not mean anything more than friendship, after 
 
56 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 all ; and she would not for the world have him suppose 
 that she cared a copper more for him than for any other 
 friend, or that she was in love, of all things." So she sat 
 very busy with her knitting-work, scarcely knowing what 
 she was about, till Silence called out, 
 
 " Why, Susan, what a piece of work you are making of 
 that stocking heel ! What in the world are you doing to 
 it?" 
 
 Susan dropped her knitting, and making some pettish an 
 swer, escaped out of the room. 
 
 " Now, did you ever ? " said Silence, laying down the 
 seam she had been cross-stitching ; " what is the matter 
 with her, Mr. Adams ? " 
 
 u Miss Susan is certainly indisposed," replied our hero 
 gravely. " I must get her to take your advice, Miss 
 Silence." 
 
 Our hero followed Susan to the front door, where she 
 stood looking out at the moon, and begged to know what 
 distressed her. 
 
 Of course it was " nothing," the young lady s usual com 
 plaint when in low spirits ; and to show that she was per 
 fectly easy, she began an unsparing attack on a white rose 
 bush near by. 
 
 " Susan ! " said Joseph, laying his hand on hers, and in 
 a tone that made her start. She shook back her curls, and 
 looked up to him with such an innocent, confiding face ! 
 
 Ah, my good reader, you may go on with this part of the 
 story for yourself. We are principled against unveiling the 
 " sacred mysteries," the " thoughts that breathe and words 
 that burn," in such little moonlight interviews as these. 
 You may fancy all that followed ; and we can only assure 
 all who are doubtful that, under judicious management, 
 cases of this kind may be disposed of without wormwood or 
 boneset. Our hero and heroine were called to sublunary 
 realities by the voice of Miss Silence, who came into the 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 57 
 
 passage to see what upon earth they were doing. That 
 lady was satisfied by the representations of so friendly and 
 learned a young man as Joseph that nothing immediately 
 alarming was to be apprehended in the case of Susan ; and 
 she retired. From that evening Susan stepped about with a 
 heart many pounds lighter than before. 
 
 " I 11 tell you what, Joseph," said Uncle Jaw, I 11 tell 
 you what, now : I hear ern tell that you ve took and 
 courted that ere Susan Jones. Now, I jest want to know 
 if it s true." 
 
 There was an explicitness about this mode of inquiry 
 that took our hero quite by surprise, so that he could only 
 
 reply, 
 
 " Why, sir, supposing I had, would there be any objec 
 tion to it in your mind ? " 
 
 " Don t talk to me," said Uncle Jaw. " I jest want to 
 know if it s true." 
 
 Our hero put his hands in his pockets, walked to the 
 window and whistled. 
 
 " Cause if you have," said Uncle Jaw, " you may jest 
 uncourt as fast as you can ; for Squire Jones s daughter 
 won t get a single cent of my money, I can tell you that." 
 
 " Why, father, Susan Jones is not to blame for any 
 thing that her father did ; and I m sure she is a pretty 
 girl enough." 
 
 " I don t care if she is pretty. What s that to me ? 
 I ve got you through college, Joseph; and a hard time 
 I ve had of it, a-delvin and slavin ; and here you come, 
 and the very first thing you do you must take and court 
 that ere Squire Jones s daughter, who was always putting 
 himself up above me. Besides, I mean to have the law 
 on that estate yet ; and Deacon Dudley, he will have the 
 law, too ; and it will cut off the best piece of land the girl 
 has ; and when you get married, I mean you shall have 
 something. It s jest a trick of them gals at me ; but I 
 
58 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 guess I 11 come up with em yet. I m just a-goin down 
 to have a regular hash with old Silence, to let her know 
 she can t come round me that way." 
 
 " Silence," said Susan, drawing her head into the window, 
 and looking apprehensive, " there is Mr. Adams coming 
 here." 
 
 " What, Joe Adams ? Well, and what if he is ? " 
 
 " No, no, sister, but it is his father it is Uncle Jaw." 
 
 " Well, s pose t is, child what scares you ? S pose 
 I m afraid of him ? If he wants more than I gave him 
 last time, I 11 put it on." So saying, Miss Silence took 
 her knitting work and marched down into the sitting-room, 
 and sat herself bolt upright in an attitude of defiance, while 
 poor Susan, feeling her heart beat unaccountably fast, glided 
 out of the room. 
 
 "Well, good-morning, Miss Silence," said Uncle Jaw. 
 after having scraped his feet on the scraper, and scrubbed 
 them on the mat nearly ten minutes, in silent deliberation. 
 
 " Morning, sir," said Silence, abbreviating the " good." 
 
 Uncle Jaw helped himself to a chair directly in front of 
 the enemy, dropped his hat on the floor, and surveyed Miss 
 Silence with a dogged air of satisfaction, like one who is 
 sitting down to a regular, comfortable quarrel, and means 
 to make the most of it. 
 
 Miss Silence tossed her head disdainfully, but scorned to 
 commence hostilities. 
 
 " So, Miss Silence," said Uncle Jaw deliberately, " you 
 don t think you 11 do anything about that ere matter." 
 
 " What matter ? " said Silence, with an intonation resem 
 bling that of a roasted chestnut when it bursts from the 
 fire. 
 
 " I really thought, Miss Silence, in that ere talk I had 
 with you about Squire Jones s cheatin about that ere " 
 
 " Mr. Adams," said Silence, " I tell you, to begin with, 
 I m not a-going to be sauced in this ere way by you. You 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 59 
 
 hain t got common decency, nor common sense, nor common 
 anything else, to talk so to me about my father ; I won t 
 bear it, I tell you." 
 
 " Why, Miss Jones," said Uncle Jaw, " how you talk. 
 Well, to be sure, Squire Jones is dead and gone, and it is 
 as well not to call it cheatin , as I was tellin Deacon Enos 
 when he was talking about that ere lot that ere lot, you 
 know, that he sold the deacon, and never let him have the 
 deed on t." 
 
 " That s a lie," said Silence, starting on her feet ; " that s 
 an up and down black lie ! I tell you that, now, before you 
 say another word." 
 
 " Miss Silence, railly, you seem to be getting touchy," 
 said Uncle Jaw ; " well, to be sure, if the deacon can let that 
 pass, other folks can ; and maybe the deacon will, because 
 Squire Jones was a church member, and the deacon is 
 mazin tender about bringin out anything against professors ; 
 but railly, now, Miss Silence, I did n t think you and Susan 
 were going to work it so cunning in this here way." 
 
 " I don t know what you mean, and what s more, I don t 
 care," said Silence, resuming her work, and calling back the 
 bolt-upright dignity with which she began. 
 
 There was a pause of some moments, during which the 
 features of Silence worked with suppressed rage, which was 
 contemplated by Uncle Jaw with undisguised satisfaction. 
 
 " You see, I s pose, I should n t a minded your Susan s 
 setting out to court my Joe, if it had n t a been for them 
 things." 
 
 " Courting your son ! Mr. Adams, I should like to know 
 what you mean by that. I m sure nobody wants your son, 
 though he s a civil, likely fellow enough ; yet with such an 
 old dragon for a father, I 11 warrant he won t get anybody 
 to court him, nor be courted by him neither." 
 
 " Railly, Miss Silence, you ain t hardly civil, now." 
 
 " Civil ! I should like to know who could be civil. You 
 
60 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 know, now, as well as I do, that you are saying all this out of 
 clear, sheer ugliness ; and that s what you keep a-doing all 
 round the neighborhood." 
 
 " Miss Silence," said Uncle Jaw, " I don t want no hard 
 words with you. It s pretty much known round the neigh 
 borhood that your Susan thinks she 11 get my Joe, and I 
 s pose you was thinking that perhaps it would be the best 
 way of settling up matters ; but you see, now, I took and 
 tell d my son I railly did n t see as I could afford it ; I took 
 and tell d him that young folks must have something con 
 siderable to start with ; and that, if Susan lost that ere piece 
 of ground, as is likely she will, it would be cutting off quite 
 too much of a piece ; so you see, I don t want you to take 
 no encouragement about that." 
 
 " Well, I think this is pretty well ! " exclaimed Silence, 
 provoked beyond measure or endurance. " You old torment ! 
 think I don t know what you re at ! I and Susan courting 
 your son ? I wonder if you ain t ashamed of yourself, now ! 
 I should like to know what I or she have done, now, to get 
 that notion into your head ? " 
 
 "I didn t s pose you spected to get him yourself," said 
 Uncle Jaw, " for I guess by this time you ve pretty much 
 gin up trying, hain t ye ? But Susan does, I m pretty 
 sure." 
 
 " Here, Susan ! Susan ! you come down ! " called Miss 
 Silence, in great wrath, throwing open the chamber door ; 
 " Mr. Adams wants to speak with you." Susan, fluttering 
 and agitated, slowly descended into the room, where she 
 stopped, and looked hesitatingly, first at Uncle Jaw and 
 then at her sister, who, without ceremony, proposed the sub 
 ject matter of the interview as follows : 
 
 " Now, Susan, here s this man pretends to say that you ve 
 been a-courting and snaring to get his son ; and I just want 
 you to tell him that you hain t never had no thought of him, 
 and that you won t have, neither." 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 61 
 
 This considerate way of announcing the subject had the 
 effect of bringing the burning color into Susan s face, as she 
 stood like a convicted culprit, with her eyes bent on the 
 floor. 
 
 Uncle Jaw, savage as he was, was always moved by fe 
 male loveliness, as wild beasts are said to be mysteriously 
 swayed by music, and looked on the beautiful, downcast 
 face with more softening than Miss Silence, who, provoked 
 that Susan did not immediately respond to the question, 
 seized her by the arm, and eagerly reiterated, 
 
 " Susan ! why don t you speak, child ? " 
 
 Gathering desperate courage, Susan shook off the hand of 
 Silence, and straightened herself up with as much dignity 
 as some little flower lifts up its head when it has been bent 
 down by raindrops. 
 
 " Silence," she said, " I never would have come down 
 if I had thought it was to hear such things as this. Mr. 
 Adams, all I have to say to you is, that your son has sought 
 me, and not I your son. If you wish to know any more, 
 he can tell you better than I." 
 
 " Well, I vow ! she is a pretty gal," said Uncle Jaw, as 
 Susan shut the door. 
 
 This exclamation was involuntary ; then recollecting 
 himself, he picked up his hat, and saying, " Well, I guess 
 I may as well get along hum," he began to depart ; but 
 turning round before he shut the door, he said, " Miss Si 
 lence, if you should conclude to do anything about that ere 
 fence, just send word over and let me know." 
 
 Silence, without deigning any reply, marched up into 
 Susan s little chamber, where our heroine was treating reso 
 lution to a good fit of crying. 
 
 " Susan, I did not think you had been such a fool," said 
 the lady. " I do want to know, now, if you ve railly been 
 thinking of getting married, and to that Joe Adams of all 
 folks ! " 
 
62 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 Poor Susan ! such an interlude in all her pretty, roman 
 tic little dreams about kindred feelings and a hundred other 
 delightful ideas, that nutter like singing birds through the 
 fairy land of first love. Such an interlude ! to be called 
 on by gruff human voices to give up all the cherished secrets 
 that she had trembled to whisper even to herself. She felt 
 as if love itself had been defiled by the coarse, rough hands 
 that had been meddling with it ; so to her sister s soothing 
 address Susan made no answer, only to cry and sob still 
 more bitterly than before. 
 
 Miss Silence, if she had a great stout heart, had no less 
 a kind one, and seeing Susan take the matter so bitterly to 
 heart, she began gradually to subside. 
 
 " Susan, you poor little fool, you," said she, at the same 
 time giving her a hearty slap, as expressive of earnest sym 
 pathy, " I really do feel for you ; that good-for-nothing 
 fellow has been a-cheatin you, I do believe." 
 
 " Oh, don t talk any more about it, for mercy s sake," 
 said Susan ; " I am sick of the whole of it." 
 
 " That ? s you, Susan ! Glad to hear you say so ! I 11 
 stand up for you, Susan ; if I catch Joe Adams coming here 
 again with his palavering face, I 11 let him know ! " 
 
 " No, no ! Don t for mercy s sake, say anything to Mr. 
 Adams don t!" 
 
 " Well, child, don t claw hold of a body so ! Well, at 
 any rate, I ll just let Joe Adams know that we hain t no 
 thing more to say to him." 
 
 " But I don t wish to say that ; that is I don t know 
 indeed, sister Silence, don t say anything about it." 
 
 " Why not ? You ain t such a natural, now, as to want 
 to marry him, after all, hey ? " 
 
 "I don t know what I want, nor what I don t want; 
 only, Silence, do now, if you love me, do promise not to 
 say anything at all to Mr. Adams don t." 
 
 " Well, then, I won t," said Silence ; " but, Susan, if 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 63 
 
 you railly was in love all this while, why hain t you been 
 and told me ? Don t you know that 1 m as much as a 
 mother to you, and you ought to have told me in the 
 beginning ? " 
 
 " I don t know, Silence ! I could n t I don t want to 
 talk about it." 
 
 " Well, Susan, you ain t a bit like me," said Silence a 
 remark evincing great discrimination, certainly, and with 
 which the conversation terminated. 
 
 That very evening our friend Joseph walked down to 
 wards the dwelling of the sisters, not without some anxiety 
 for the result, for he knew by his father s satisfied appear 
 ance that war had been declared. He walked into the 
 family room and found nobody there but Miss Silence, who 
 was sitting grim as an Egyptian sphinx, stitching very vig 
 orously on a meal bag, in which interesting employment she 
 thought proper to be so much engaged as not to remark the 
 entrance of our hero. To Joseph s accustomed "Good-even 
 ing, Miss Silence," she replied merely by looking up with a 
 cold nod, and went on with her sewing. It appeared that 
 she had determined on a literal version of her promise not 
 to say anything to Mr. Adams. 
 
 Our hero, as we have before stated, was familiar with the 
 crooks and turns of the female mind, and mentally resolved 
 to put a bold face on the matter, and give Miss Silence no 
 encouragement in her attempt to make him feel himself 
 unwelcome. It was rather a frosty autumnal evening, and 
 the fire on the hearth was decaying. Mr. Joseph bustled 
 about most energetically, throwing down the tongs and 
 shovel and bellows, while he pulled the fire to pieces, raked 
 out ashes and brands, and then, in a twinkling, was at the 
 woodpile, from whence he selected a massive backlog and 
 forestick, with accompaniments, which were soon roaring 
 and crackling in the chimney. 
 
 "There, now, that does look something like comfort," 
 
64 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 said our hero ; and drawing forward the big rocking-chair, 
 he seated himself in it, and rubbed his hands with an air 
 of great complacency. Miss Silence looked not up, but 
 stitched so much the faster, so that one might distinctly 
 hear the crack of the needle and the whistle of the thread 
 all over the apartment. 
 
 " Have you a headache to-night, Miss Silence ? " 
 
 " No ! " was the gruff answer. 
 
 " Are you in a hurry about those bags ? " said he, glancing 
 at a pile of unmade ones which lay by her side. 
 
 No reply. " Hang it all ! " said our hero to himself, 
 "I ll make her speak." 
 
 Miss Silence s needlebook and brown thread lay on a 
 chair beside her. Our friend "helped himself to a needle 
 and thread, and taking one of the bags, planted himself 
 bolt upright opposite to Miss Silence, and pinning his work 
 to his knee, commenced stitching at a rate fully equal to 
 her own. Miss Silence looked up and fidgeted, but went 
 on with her work faster than before ; but the faster she 
 worked, the faster and steadier worked our hero, all in 
 " marvelous silence." There began to be an odd twitching 
 about the muscles of Miss Silence s face ; our hero took no 
 notice, having pursed his features into an expression of 
 unexampled gravity, which only grew more intense as he 
 perceived, by certain uneasy movements, that the adversary 
 was beginning to waver. As they were sitting, stitching 
 away, their needles whizzing at each other like a couple 
 of locomotives engaged in conversation, Susan opened the 
 door. 
 
 The poor child had been crying for the greater part of 
 her spare time during the day, and was in no very merry 
 humor ; but the moment that her astonished eyes compre 
 hended the scene, she burst into a fit of almost inextinguish 
 able merriment, while Silence laid down her needle, and 
 looked half amused and half angry. Our hero, however, 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 65 
 
 continued his business with inflexible perseverance, unpin 
 ning his work and moving the seam along, and going on with 
 increased velocity. Poor Miss Silence was at length van 
 quished, and joined in the loud laugh which seemed to con 
 vulse her sister. Whereupon our hero unpinned his work, 
 and folding it up, looked up at her with all the assurance 
 of impudence triumphant, and remarked to Susan, 
 
 " Your sister had such a pile of these pillowcases to 
 make, that she was quite discouraged, and engaged me to 
 do half a dozen of them ; when I first came in she was so 
 busy she could not even speak to me." 
 
 "Well, if you ain t the beater for impudence!" said 
 Miss Silence. 
 
 " The beater for industry so I thought," rejoined our 
 hero. 
 
 Susan, who had been in a highly tragical state of mind 
 all day, and who was meditating on nothing less sublime 
 than an eternal separation from her lover, which she had 
 imagined, with all the affecting attendants and consequents, 
 was entirely revolutionized by the unexpected turn thus 
 given to her ideas, while our hero pursued the opportunity 
 he had made for himself, and exerted his powers of enter 
 tainment to the utmost, till Miss Silence, declaring that if 
 she had been washing all day she should not have been 
 more tired than she was with laughing, took up her candle, 
 and good-naturedly left our young people to settle matters 
 between themselves. There was a grave pause of some 
 length when she had departed, which was broken by our 
 hero, who, seating himself by Susan, inquired very seri 
 ously if his father had made proposals of marriage to Miss 
 Silence that morning. 
 
 " No, you provoking creature ! " said Susan, at the same 
 time laughing at the absurdity of the idea. 
 
 " Well, now, don t draw on your long face again, Susan," 
 said Joseph ; " you have been trying to lengthen it down 
 
66 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 all the evening, if I would have let you. Seriously, now, 
 I know that something painful passed between my father 
 and you this morning, but I shall not inquire what it was. 
 I only tell you, frankly, that he has expressed his disap 
 probation of our engagement, forbidden me to go on with 
 it, and " 
 
 " And, consequently, I release you from all engagements 
 and obligations to me, even before you ask it," said Susan. 
 
 " You are extremely accommodating, 7 replied Joseph ; 
 " but I cannot promise to be as obliging in giving up cer 
 tain promises made to me, unless, indeed, the feelings that 
 dictated them should have changed." 
 
 " Oh, no no, indeed," said Susan earnestly ; " you 
 know it is not that ; but if your father objects to me " 
 
 " If my father objects to you, he is welcome not to marry 
 you," said Joseph. 
 
 "Now, Joseph, do be serious," said Susan. 
 
 " Well, then, seriously, Susan, I know my obligations to 
 my father, and in all that relates to his comfort I will ever 
 be dutiful and submissive, for I have no college-boy pride 
 on the subject of submission ; but in a matter so individually 
 my own as the choice of a wife, in a matter that will most 
 likely affect my happiness years and years after he has ceased 
 to be, I hold that I have a right to consult my own incli 
 nations, and, by your leave, my dear little lady, I shall take 
 that liberty." 
 
 " But, then, if your father is made angry, you know what 
 sort of a man he is ; and how could I stand in the way of 
 all your prospects ? " 
 
 " Why, my dear Susan, do you think I count myself de 
 pendent upon my father, like the heir of an English estate, 
 who has nothing to do but sit still and wait for money to 
 come to him ? No ! I have energy and education to start 
 with, and if I cannot take care of myself, and you too, then 
 cast me off and welcome ; " and, as Joseph spoke, his fine 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 67 
 
 face glowed with a conscious power, which unfettered youth 
 never feels so fully as in America. He paused a moment, 
 and resumed : " Nevertheless, Susan, I respect my father ; 
 whatever others may say of him, I shall never forget that I 
 owe to his hard earnings the education that enables me to 
 do or be anything, and I shall not wantonly or rudely cross 
 him. I do not despair of gaining his consent ; my father 
 has a great partiality for pretty girls, and if his love of con 
 tradiction is not kept awake by open argument, I will trust 
 to time and you to bring him round ; but, whatever comes, 
 rest assured, my dearest one, I have chosen for life, and 
 cannot change." 
 
 The conversation, after this, took a turn which may read 
 ily be imagined by all who have been in the same situation, 
 and will, therefore, need no further illustration. 
 
 " Well, deacon, railly I don t know what to think now ; 
 there s my Joe, he s took and been a-courting that ere 
 Susan," said Uncle Jaw. 
 
 This was the introduction to one of Uncle Jaw s periodi 
 cal visits to Deacon Enos, who was sitting with his usual 
 air of mild abstraction, looking into the coals of a bright 
 November fire, while his busy helpmate was industriously 
 rattling her knitting needles by his side. 
 
 A close observer might have suspected that this was no 
 news to the good deacon, who had given a great deal of 
 good advice, in private, to Master Joseph of late ; but he 
 only relaxed his features into a quiet smile, and ejaculated, 
 " I want to know ! " 
 
 " Yes ; and railly, deacon, that ere gal is a rail pretty un. 
 I was a-tellin my folks that our new minister s wife was a 
 fool to her." 
 
 " And so your son is going to marry her ? " said the good 
 lady ; " I knew that long ago." 
 
 " Well no not so fast ; ye see there s two to that 
 
68 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 bargain yet. You see, Joe, he never said a word to me, 
 but took and courted the gal out of his own head ; and 
 when I come to know, says I, Joe, says I, ( that ere gal 
 won t do for me ; and I took and tell d him, then, about 
 that ere old fence, and all about that old mill, and them 
 medders of mine ; and I tell d him, too, about that ere lot 
 of Susan s ; and I should like to know, now, deacon, how 
 that lot business is a-going to turn out." 
 
 " Judge Smith and Squire Moseley say that my claim to 
 it will stand," said the deacon. 
 
 " They do ? " said Uncle Jaw with much satisfaction ; 
 " s pose, then, you 11 sue, won t you ? " 
 
 " I don t know," replied the deacon meditatively. 
 
 Uncle Jaw was thoroughly amazed ; that any one should 
 have doubts about entering suit for a fine piece of land, 
 when sure of obtaining it, was a problem quite beyond his 
 powers of solving. 
 
 " You say your son has courted the girl," said the dea 
 con after a long pause ; " that strip of land is the best part 
 of Susan s share ; I paid down five hundred dollars on the 
 nail for it ; I ve got papers here that Judge Smith and 
 Squire Moseley say will stand good in any court of law." 
 
 Uncle Jaw pricked up his ears and was all attention, 
 eyeing with eager looks the packet ; but, to his disappoint 
 ment, the deacon deliberately laid it into his desk, shut and 
 locked it, and resumed his seat. 
 
 " Now, railly," said Uncle Jaw, "I should like to know 
 the particulars." 
 
 " Well, well," said the deacon, " the lawyers will be at 
 my house to-morrow evening, and if you have any concern 
 about it, you may as well come along." 
 
 Uncle Jaw wondered all the way home at what he could 
 have done to get himself into the confidence of the old dea 
 con, who, he rejoiced to think, was a-going to " take " and go 
 to law like other folks. 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 69 
 
 The next day there was an appearance of some bustle and 
 preparation about the deacon s house ; the best room was 
 opened and aired ; an ovenful of cake was baked ; and our 
 friend Joseph, with a face full of business, was seen passing 
 to and fro, in and out of the house, from various closetings 
 with the deacon. The deacon s lady bustled about the house 
 with an air of wonderful mystery, and even gave her direc 
 tions about eggs and raisins in a whisper, lest they should 
 possibly let out some eventful secret. 
 
 The afternoon of that day Joseph appeared at the house 
 of the sisters, stating that there was to be company at the 
 deacon s that evening, and he was sent to invite them. 
 
 " Why, what s got into the deacon s folks lately," said 
 Silence, " to have company so often ? Joe Adams, this ere 
 is some cut up of yours. Come, what are you up to now ? " 
 
 " Come, come, dress yourselves and get ready," said Jo 
 seph ; and, stepping up to Susan, as she was following 
 Silence out of the room, he whispered something into her 
 ear, at which she stopped short and colored violently. 
 
 " Why, Joseph, what do you mean ? " 
 
 " It is so," said he. 
 
 " No, no, Joseph ; no, I can t, indeed I can t." 
 
 " But you can, Susan." 
 
 " Oh, Joseph, don t." 
 
 " Oh, Susan, do." 
 
 " Why, how strange, Joseph ! " 
 
 " Come, come, my dear, you keep me waiting. If you 
 have any objections on the score of propriety, we will talk 
 about them to-morrow ; " and our hero looked so saucy and 
 so resolute that there was no disputing further ; so, after a 
 little more lingering and blushing on Susan s part, and a 
 few kisses and persuasions on the part of the suitor, Miss 
 Susan seemed to be brought to a state of resignation. 
 
 At a table in the middle of Uncle Enos s north front room 
 were seated the two lawyers, whose legal opinion was that 
 
70 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 evening to be fully made up. The younger of these, Squire 
 Moseley, was a rosy, portly, laughing little bachelor, who 
 boasted that he had offered himself, in rotation, to every 
 pretty girl within twenty miles round, and, among others, 
 to Susan Jones, notwithstanding which he still remained a 
 bachelor, with a fair prospect of being an old one ; but none 
 of these things disturbed the boundless flow of good nature 
 and complacency with which he seemed at all times full to 
 overflowing. On the present occasion he appeared to be par 
 ticularly in his element, as if he had some law business in 
 hand remarkably suited to his turn of mind ; for, on finish 
 ing the inspection of the papers, he started up, slapped his 
 graver brother on the back, made two or three flourishes 
 round the room, and then seizing the old deacon s hand, 
 shook it violently, exclaiming, 
 
 " All s right, deacon, all s right ! Go it ! go it ! hurrah ! " 
 
 When Uncle Jaw entered, the deacon, without preface, 
 handed him a chair and the papers, saying, 
 
 " These papers are what you wanted to see. I just wish 
 you would read them over." 
 
 Uncle Jaw read them deliberately over. " Didn t I tell 
 ye so, deacon ? The case is as clear as a bell : now ye will 
 go to law, won t you ? " 
 
 " Look here, Mr. Adams ; now you have seen these pa 
 pers, and heard what s to be said, I 11 make you an offer. 
 Let your son marry Susan Jones, and I 11 burn these papers 
 and say no more about it, and there won t be a girl in the 
 parish with a finer portion." 
 
 Uncle Jaw opened his eyes with amazement, and looked 
 at the old man, his mouth gradually expanding wider and 
 wider, as if he hoped, in time, to swallow the idea. 
 
 " Well, now, I swan ! " at length he ejaculated. 
 
 " I mean just as I say," said the deacon. 
 
 " Why, that s the same as giving the gal five hundred 
 dollars out of your own pocket, and she ain t no relation 
 neither." 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 71 
 
 " I know it," said the Deacon ; " but I have said I will 
 do it." 
 
 " What upon arth for ? " said Uncle Jaw. 
 
 " To make peace," said the deacon, " and to let you know 
 that when I say it is better to give up one s rights than to 
 quarrel, I mean so. I am an old man ; my children are 
 dead," his voice faltered, "my treasures are laid up in 
 heaven ; if I can make the children happy, why, I will. 
 When I thought I had lost the land, I made up my mind 
 to lose it, and so I can now." 
 
 Uncle Jaw looked fixedly on the old deacon, and said, 
 
 " Well, deacon, I believe you. I vow, if you hain t got 
 something ahead in t other world, I d like to know who 
 has that s all ; so, if Joe has no objections, and I rather 
 guess he won t have " 
 
 " The short of the matter is," said the squire, " we 11 have 
 a wedding ; so come on ; " and with that he threw open the 
 parlor door, where stood Susan and Joseph in a recess by 
 the window, while Silence and the Rev. Mr. Bissel were 
 drawn up by the fire, and the deacon s lady was sweeping 
 up the hearth, as she had been doing ever since the x party 
 arrived. 
 
 Instantly Joseph took the hand of Susan, and led her to 
 the middle of the room ; the merry squire seized the hand 
 of Miss Silence, and placed her as bridesmaid, and before 
 any one knew what they were about, the ceremony was in 
 actual progress, and the minister, having been previously 
 instructed, made the two one with extraordinary celerity. 
 
 "What! what! what!" said Uncle Jaw. " Joseph! 
 Deacon ! " 
 
 " Fair bargain, sir," said the squire. " Hand over your 
 papers, deacon." 
 
 The deacon handed them, and the squire, having read 
 them aloud, proceeded, with much ceremony, to throw them 
 into the fire ; after which, in a mock solemn oration, he 
 
72 LOVE VERSUS LAW 
 
 gave a statement of the whole affair, and concluded with a 
 grave exhortation to the new couple on the duties of wed 
 lock, which unbent the risibles even of the minister him 
 self. 
 
 Uncle Jaw looked at his pretty daughter-in-law, who 
 stood half smiling, half blushing, receiving the congratula 
 tions of the party, and then at Miss Silence, who appeared 
 full as much taken by surprise as himself. 
 
 " Well, well, Miss Silence, these ere young folks have 
 come round us slick enough/ said he. " I don t see but 
 we must shake hands upon it." And the warlike powers 
 shook hands accordingly, which was a signal for general 
 merriment. 
 
 As the company were dispersing, Miss Silence laid hold of 
 the good deacon, and by main strength dragged him aside. 
 " Deacon," said she, " I take back all that ere I said about 
 you, every word on t." 
 
 " Don t say any more about it, Miss Silence," said the 
 good man ; " it s gone by, and let it go." 
 
 " Joseph ! " said his father, the next morning, as he was 
 sitting at breakfast with Joseph and Susan, " I calculate I 
 shall feel kinder proud of this ere gal ! and I 11 tell you 
 what, I 11 jest give you that nice little delicate Stanton place 
 that I took on Stanton s mortgage : it s a nice little place, 
 with green blinds, and flowers, and all them things, just 
 right for Susan." 
 
 And accordingly, many happy years flew over the heads 
 of the young couple in the Stanton place, long after the 
 hoary hairs of their kind benefactor, the deacon, were laid 
 with reverence in the dust. Uncle Jaw was so far wrought 
 upon by the magnanimity of the good old man as to be very 
 materially changed for the better. Instead of quarreling 
 in real earnest all around the neighborhood, he confined 
 himself merely to battling the opposite side of every ques 
 tion with his son, which, as the latter was somewhat of a 
 
LOVE VERSUS LAW 73 
 
 logician, afforded a pretty good field for the exercise of his 
 powers ; and he was heard to declare at the funeral of the 
 old deacon, that, " after all, a man got as much, and may be 
 more, to go along as the deacon did, than to be all the time 
 fisting and jawing ; though I tell you what it is," said he, 
 afterwards, " 7 t ain t every one that has the deacon s faculty, 
 anyhow." 
 
THE TEA KOSE 
 
 THERE it stood, in its little green vase, on a light ebony 
 stand, in the window of the drawing-room. The rich satin 
 curtains, with their costly fringes, swept down on either side 
 of it, and around it glittered every rare and fanciful trifle 
 which wealth can offer to luxury ; and yet that simple rose 
 was the fairest of them all. So pure it looked, its white 
 leaves just touched with that delicious creamy tint peculiar 
 to its kind ; its cup so full, so perfect ; its head bending as 
 if it were sinking and melting away in its own richness 
 Oh, when did ever man make anything to equal the living, 
 perfect flower ? 
 
 But the sunlight that streamed through the window re 
 vealed something fairer than the rose. Reclined on an 
 ottoman, in a deep recess, and intently engaged with a book, 
 rested what seemed the counterpart of that so lovely flower. 
 That cheek so pale, that fair forehead so spiritual, that coun 
 tenance so full of high thought, those long, downcast lashes, 
 and the expression of the beautiful mouth, sorrowful, yet 
 subdued and sweet it seemed like the picture of a dream. 
 
 " Florence ! Florence ! " echoed a merry and musical 
 voice, in a sweet, impatient tone. Turn your head, reader, 
 and you will see a light and sparkling maiden, the very 
 model of some little willful elf, born of mischief and motion, 
 with a dancing eye, a foot that scarcely seems to touch the 
 carpet, and a smile so multiplied by dimples that it seems 
 like a thousand smiles at once. " Come, Florence, I say," 
 said the little sprite, " put down that wise, good, and excel 
 lent volume, and descend from your cloud, and talk with a 
 poor little mortal." 
 
THE TEA ROSE 75 
 
 The fair apparition, thus adjured, obeyed ; and, looking 
 up, revealed just such eyes as you expected to see beneath 
 such lids eyes deep, pathetic, and rich as a strain of sad 
 music. 
 
 " I say, cousin," said the " bright ladye," " I have been 
 thinking what you are to do with your pet rose when you 
 go to New York, as, to our consternation, you are deter 
 mined to do ; you know it would be a sad pity to leave it 
 with such a scatterbrain as I am. I do love flowers, that is 
 a fact ; that is, I like a regular bouquet, cut off and tied up, 
 to carry to a party ; but as to all this tending and fussing, 
 which is needful to keep them, growing, I have no gifts in 
 that line." 
 
 " Make yourself easy as to that, Kate," said Florence, 
 with a smile ; "I have no intention of calling upon your 
 talents ; I have an asylum in view for my favorite." 
 
 " Oh, then you know just what I was going to say. Mrs. 
 Marshall, I presume, has been speaking to you ; she was 
 here yesterday, and I was quite pathetic upon the subject, 
 telling her the loss your favorite would sustain, and so forth ; 
 and she said how delighted she would be to have it in her 
 greenhouse, it is in such a fine state now, so full of buds. 
 I told her I knew you would like to give it to her, you are 
 so fond of Mrs. Marshall, you know." 
 
 " Now Kate, I am sorry, but I have otherwise engaged 
 it." 
 
 " Whom can it be to ? you have so few intimates here." 
 
 " Oh, it is only one of my odd fancies." 
 
 " But do tell me, Florence." 
 
 " Well, cousin, you know the little pale girl to whom w r e 
 give sewing." 
 
 " What ! little Mary Stephens ? How absurd ! Florence, 
 this is just another of your motherly, old-maidish ways 
 dressing dolls for poor children, making bonnets and knit 
 ting socks for all the little dirty babies in the region round 
 
76 THE TEA ROSE 
 
 about. I do believe you have made more calls in those 
 two vile, ill-smelling alleys back of our house, than ever 
 you have in Chestnut Street, though you know everybody 
 is half dying to see you 5 and now, to crown all, you must 
 give this choice little bijou to a seamstress girl, when one 
 of your most intimate friends, in your own class, would 
 value it so highly. What in the world can people in their 
 circumstances want of flowers ? " 
 
 " Just the same as I do," replied Florence calmly. 
 " Have you not noticed that the little girl never comes here 
 without looking wistfully at the opening buds ? And don t 
 you remember, the other morning, she asked me so prettily 
 if I would let her mother come and see it, she was so fond 
 of flowers ? " 
 
 " But, Florence, only think of this rare flower standing 
 on a table with ham, eggs, cheese, and flour, and stifled in 
 that close little room where Mrs. Stephens and her daugh 
 ter manage to wash, iron, cook, and nobody knows what be 
 sides." 
 
 " Well, Kate, and if I were obliged to live in one coarse 
 room, and wash, and iron, and cook, as you say, if I had 
 to spend every moment of my time in toil, with no prospect 
 from my window but a brick wall and dirty lane, such a 
 flower as this would be untold enjoyment to me." 
 
 " Pshaw ! Florence all sentiment : poor people have no 
 time to be sentimental. Besides, I don t believe it will 
 grow with them ; it is a greenhouse flower, and used to 
 delicate living." 
 
 " Oh, as to that, a flower never inquires whether its owner 
 is rich or poor ; and Mrs. Stephens, whatever else she has 
 not, has sunshine of as good quality as this that streams 
 through our window. The beautiful things that God makes 
 are his gift to all alike. You will see that my fair rose 
 will be as well and cheerful in Mrs. Stephens s room as in 
 
THE TEA HOSE 77 
 
 " Well, after all, how odd ! When one gives to poor 
 people, one wants to give them something useful a bushel 
 of potatoes, a ham, and such things. 7 
 
 " Why, certainly, potatoes and ham must be supplied ; 
 but, having ministered to the first and most craving wants, 
 why not add any other little pleasures or gratifications we 
 may have it in our power to bestow ? I know there are 
 many of the poor who have fine feeling and a keen sense 
 of the beautiful, which rusts out and dies because they are 
 too hard pressed to procure it any gratification. Poor Mrs. 
 Stephens, for example : I know she would enjoy birds, and 
 flowers, and music, as much as I do. I have seen her eye 
 light up as she looked on these things in our drawing-room, 
 and yet not one beautiful thing can she command. From 
 necessity, her room, her clothing, all she has, must be 
 coarse and plain. You should have seen the almost rapture 
 she and Mary felt when I offered them my rose." 
 
 " Dear me ! all this may be true, but I never thought of 
 it before. I never thought that these hard-working people 
 had any ideas of taste ! " 
 
 " Then why do you see the geranium or rose so carefully 
 nursed in the old cracked teapot in the poorest room, or the 
 morning-glory planted in a box and twined about the win 
 dow ? Do not these show that the human heart yearns for 
 the beautiful in all ranks of life ? You remember, Kate, 
 how our washerwoman sat up a whole night, after a hard 
 day s work, to make her first baby a pretty dress to be bap 
 tized in." 
 
 " Yes, and I remember how I laughed at you for making 
 such a tasteful little cap for it." 
 
 " Well, Katy, I think the look of perfect delight with 
 which the poor mother regarded her baby in its new dress 
 and cap was something quite worth creating : I do believe 
 she could not have felt more grateful if I had sent her a 
 barrel of flour." 
 
78 THE TEA ROSE 
 
 " Well, I never thought before of giving anything to the 
 poor but what they really needed, and I have always been 
 willing to do that when I could without going far out of 
 my way." 
 
 " Well, cousin, if our Heavenly Father gave to us after 
 this mode, we should have only coarse, shapeless piles of 
 provisions lying about the world, instead of all this beauti 
 ful variety of trees, and fruits, and flowers." 
 
 " Well, well, cousin, I suppose you are right but have 
 mercy on my poor head ; it is too small to hold so many 
 new ideas all at once so go on your own way." And 
 the little lady began practicing a waltzing step before the 
 glass with great satisfaction. 
 
 It was a very small room, lighted by only one window. 
 There was no carpet on the floor ; there was a clean, but 
 coarsely covered bed in one corner ; a cupboard, with a few 
 dishes and plates, in the other ; a chest of drawers ; and be 
 fore the window stood a small cherry stand, quite new, and, 
 indeed, it was the only article in the room that seemed so. 
 
 A pale, sickly -looking woman of about forty was leaning 
 back in her rocking-chair, her eyes closed and her lips com 
 pressed as if in pain. She rocked backward and forward a 
 few minutes, pressed her hand hard upon her eyes, and then 
 languidly resumed her fine stitching, on which she had been 
 busy since morning. The door opened, and a slender little 
 girl of about twelve years of age entered, her large blue eyes 
 dilated and radiant with delight as she bore in the vase with 
 the rose-tree in it. 
 
 " Oh, see, mother, see ! Here is one in full bloom, and 
 two more half out, and ever so many more pretty buds 
 peeping out of the green leaves." 
 
 The poor woman s face brightened as she looked, first on 
 the rose and then on her sickly child, on whose face she 
 had not seen so bright a color for months. 
 
THE TEA EOSE 79 
 
 " God bless her ! " she exclaimed unconsciously. 
 
 " Miss Florence yes, I knew you would feel so, mother. 
 Does it not make your head feel better to see such a beauti 
 ful flower ? Now, you will not look so longingly at the 
 flowers in the market, for we have a rose that is handsomer 
 than any of them. Why, it seems to me it is worth as 
 much to us as our whole little garden used to be. Only 
 see how many buds there are ! Just count them, and only 
 smell the flower ! Now, where shall we set it up ? " And 
 Mary skipped about, placing her flower first in one position 
 and then in another, and walking off to see the effect, till 
 her mother gently reminded her that the rose-tree could not 
 preserve its beauty without sunlight. 
 
 " Oh, yes, truly," said Mary ; " well, then, it must stand 
 here on our new stand. How glad I am that we have such 
 a handsome new stand for it ! it will look so much better." 
 And Mrs. Stephens laid down her work, and folded a piece 
 of newspaper, on which the treasure was duly deposited. 
 
 " There," said Mary, watching the arrangement eagerly, 
 " that will do no, for it does not show both the opening 
 buds ; a little farther around a little more ; there, that 
 is right ; " and then Mary walked around to view the rose 
 in various positions, after which she urged her mother to go 
 with her to the outside, and see how it looked there. " How 
 kind it was in Miss Florence to think of giving this to us ! " 
 said Mary ; " though she had done so much for us, and 
 given us so many things, yet this seems the best of all, be 
 cause it seems as if she thought of us, and knew just how 
 we felt ; and so few do that, you know, mother." 
 
 What a bright afternoon that little gift made in that little 
 room ! How much faster Mary s fingers flew the livelong 
 day as she sat sewing by her mother ! and Mrs. Stephens, 
 in the happiness of her child, almost forgot that she had a 
 headache, and thought, as she sipped her evening cup of 
 tea, that she felt stronger than she had for some time. 
 
80 THE TEA ROSE 
 
 That rose ! its sweet influence died not with the first day. 
 Through all the long, cold winter, the watching, tending, 
 cherishing that flower awakened a thousand pleasant trains 
 of thought, that beguiled the sameness and weariness of 
 their life. Every day the fair, growing thing put forth 
 some fresh beauty a leaf, a bud, a new shoot, and con 
 stantly awakened fresh enjoyment in its possessors. As it 
 stood in the window, the passer-by would sometimes stop 
 and gaze, attracted by its beauty, and then proud and happy 
 was Mary; nor did even the serious and care-worn widow 
 notice with indifference this tribute to the beauty of their 
 favorite. 
 
 But little did Florence think, when she bestowed the 
 gift, that there twined about it an invisible thread that 
 reached far and brightly into the web of her destiny. 
 
 One cold afternoon in early spring, a tall and graceful 
 gentleman called at the lowly room to pay for the making 
 of some linen by the inmates. He was a stranger and way 
 farer recommended through the charity of some of Mrs. 
 Stephens s patrons. As he turned to go, his eye rested ad 
 miringly on the rose-tree ; and he stopped to gaze at it. 
 
 " How beautiful ! " said he. 
 
 " Yes," said little Mary ; " and it was given to us by a 
 lady as sweet and beautiful as that is. 77 
 
 "Ah," said the stranger, turning upon her a pair of 
 bright dark eyes, pleased and rather struck by the commu 
 nication ; " and how came she to give it to you, my little 
 girl ? " 
 
 " Oh, because we are poor and mother is sick, and we 
 never can have anything pretty. We used to have a garden 
 once ; and we loved flowers so much, and Miss Florence 
 found it out, and so she gave us this." 
 
 " Florence ! " echoed the stranger. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Florence FEstrange a beautiful lady. 
 They say she was from foreign parts ; but she speaks Eng 
 lish just like other ladies, only sweeter." 
 
THE TEA EOSE 81 
 
 " Is she here now ? is she in this city ? " said the gen 
 tleman eagerly. 
 
 " No ; she left some months ago," said the widow, no 
 ticing the shade of disappointment on his face. " But," 
 said she, " you can find out all about her at her aunt s, 
 Mrs. Carlysle s, No 10 Street." 
 
 A short time after, Florence received a letter in a hand 
 writing that made her tremble. During the many early 
 years of her life spent in France she had well learned to 
 know that writing had loved as a woman like her loves 
 only once ; but there had been obstacles of parents and 
 friends, long separation, long suspense, till, after anxious 
 years, she had believed the ocean had closed over that hand 
 and heart ; and it was this that had touched with such pen 
 sive sorrow the lines in her lovely face. 
 
 But this letter told that he was living that he had 
 traced her, even as a hidden streamlet may be traced, by the 
 freshness, the verdure of heart, which her deeds of kindness 
 had left wherever she had passed. Thus much said, our 
 readers need no help in finishing my story for themselves. 
 
AUNT MARY 
 
 SINCE sketching character is the mode, I too take up my 
 pencil, not to make you laugh, though peradventure it may 
 be to get you to sleep. 
 
 I am now a tolerably old gentleman an old bachelor, 
 moreover and, what is more to the point, an unpretending 
 and sober-minded one. Lest, however, any of the ladies 
 should take exceptions against me in the very outset, I will 
 merely remark, en passant, that a man can sometimes be 
 come an old bachelor because he has too much heart as well 
 as too little. 
 
 Years ago before any of my readers were born I was 
 a little good-for-naught of a boy, of precisely that unlucky 
 kind who are always in everybody s way, and always in 
 mischief. I had, to watch over my uprearing, a father 
 and mother, and a whole army of older brothers and sisters. 
 My relatives bore a very great resemblance to other human 
 beings, neither good angels nor the opposite class, but, as 
 mathematicians say, " in the mean proportion." 
 
 As I have before insinuated, I was a sort of family scape 
 grace among them, and one on whose head all the domestic 
 trespasses were regularly visited, either by real, actual desert 
 or by imputation. For this order of things, there was, I 
 confess, a very solid and serious foundation, in the constitu 
 tion of my mind. Whether I was born under some cross 
 eyed planet, or whether I was fairy-smitten in my cradle, 
 certain it is that I was, from the dawn of existence, a sort 
 of " Murad the Unlucky ; " an out-of-time, out-of-place, out- 
 of-form sort of a boy, with whom, nothing prospered. Who 
 
AUNT MARY 83 
 
 always left open doors in cold weather ? It was Henry. 
 Who was sure to upset his coffee-cup at breakfast, or to 
 knock over his tumbler at dinner, or to prostrate saltcellar, 
 pepper box, and mustard pot, if he only happened to move 
 his arm ? Why, Henry. Who was plate-breaker general 
 for the family ? It was Henry. Who tangled mamma s 
 silks and cottons, and tore up the last newspaper for papa, 
 or threw down old Phoebe s clothes-horse, with all her clean 
 ironing thereupon ? Why, Henry. 
 
 Now all this was no " malice prepense " in me, for I sol 
 emnly believe that I was the best-natured boy in the world ; 
 but something was the matter with the attraction of cohesion, 
 or the attraction of gravitation with the general dispensa 
 tion of matter around me that, let me do what I would, 
 things would fall down, and break, or be torn and damaged, 
 if I only came near them ; and my unluckiness in any matter 
 seemed in exact proportion to my carefulness. If anybody 
 in the room with me had a headache, or any kind of nervous 
 irritability, which made it particularly necessary for others 
 to be quiet, and if I was in an especial desire unto the same, 
 I was sure, while stepping around on tiptoe, to fall headlong 
 over a chair, which would give an introductory push to the 
 shovel, which would fall upon the tongs, which would ani 
 mate the poker, and all together would set in action two or 
 three sticks of wood, and down they would come together, 
 with just that hearty, sociable sort of racket, which showed 
 that they were disposed to make as much of the opportunity 
 as possible. In the same manner, everything that came into 
 my hand, or was at all connected with me, was sure to lose 
 by it. If I rejoiced in a clean apron in the morning, I was 
 sure to make a full-length prostration thereupon on my way 
 to school, and come home nothing better, but rather worse. 
 If I was sent on an errand, I was sure either to lose my 
 money in going, or my purchases in returning ; and on these 
 occasions my mother would often comfort me with the re- 
 
84 AUNT MARY 
 
 flection that it was well that my ears were fastened to my 
 head, or I should lose them too. Of course, I was a fair 
 mark for the exhortatory powers, not only of my parents, 
 but of all my aunts, uncles, and cousins, to the third and 
 fourth generation, who ceased not to reprove, rebuke, and 
 exhort with all long-suffering and doctrine. 
 
 All this would have been very well if nature had not 
 gifted me with a very unnecessary and uncomfortable capacity 
 of feeling, which, like a refined ear for music, is undesirable, 
 because, in this world, one meets with discord ninety-nine 
 times where he meets with harmony once. Much, therefore, 
 as I furnished occasion to be scolded at, I never became 
 used to scolding, so that I was just as much galled by it 
 the forty-first time as the first. There was no such thing 
 as philosophy in me : I had just that unreasonable heart 
 which is not conformed unto the nature of things, neither in 
 deed can be. I was timid, and shrinking, and proud ; I was 
 nothing to any one around me but an awkward, unlucky boy ; 
 nothing to my parents but one of half a dozen children, whose 
 faces were to be washed and stockings mended on Saturday 
 afternoon. If I was very sick, I had medicine and the doc 
 tor ; if I was a little sick, I was exhorted unto patience ; and 
 if I was sick at heart, I was left to prescribe for myself. 
 
 Now, all this was very well : what should a child need 
 but meat, and drink, and room to play, and a school to 
 teach him reading and writing, and somebody to take care of 
 him when sick ? Certainly, nothing. But the feelings of 
 grown-up children exist in the mind of little ones oftener 
 than is supposed ; and I had, even at this early day, the 
 same keen sense of all that touched the heart wrong ; 
 the same longing for something which should touch it 
 aright ; the same discontent, with latent, matter-of-course 
 affection, and the same craving for sympathy, which has 
 been the unprofitable fashion of this world in all ages. And 
 no human being possessing such constitutionals has a better 
 
AUNT MARY 85 
 
 chance of being made unhappy by them than the backward, 
 uninteresting, wrong-doing child. We can all sympathize, 
 to some extent, with men and women : but how few can go 
 back to the sympathies of childhood ; can understand the 
 desolate insignificance of not being one of the grown-up 
 people ; of being sent to bed, to be out of the way in the 
 evening, and to school, to be out of the way in the morn 
 ing ; of manifold similar grievances and distresses, which the 
 child has no elocution to set forth, and the grown person 
 no imagination to conceive. 
 
 When I was seven years old, I was told one morning, 
 with considerable domestic acclamation, that Aunt Mary 
 was coming to make us a visit ; and so, when the carriage 
 that brought her stopped at our door, I pulled off my dirty 
 apron, and ran in among the crowd of brothers and sisters 
 to see what was coming. I shall not describe her first ap 
 pearance, for, as I think of her, I begin to grow somewhat 
 sentimental, in spite of my spectacles, and might, perhaps, 
 talk a little nonsense. 
 
 Perhaps every man, whether married or unmarried, who 
 has lived to the age of fifty or thereabouts, has seen some 
 woman who, in his mind, is the woman, in distinction from 
 all others. She may not have been a relative ; she may 
 not have been a wife ; she may simply have shone on him 
 from afar ; she may be remembered in the distance of years 
 as a star that is set, as music that is hushed, as beauty and 
 loveliness faded forever ; but remembered she is with in 
 terest, with fervor, with enthusiasm ; with all that heart 
 can feel, and more than words can tell. To me there has 
 been but one such, and that is she whom I describe. " Was 
 she beautiful ? " you ask. I also will ask you one question : 
 " If an angel from heaven should dwell in human form, and 
 animate any human face, would not that face be lovely ? 
 It might not be beautiful, but would it not be lovely ? " 
 She was not beautiful except after this fashion. 
 
86 AUNT MARY 
 
 How well I remember her, as she used sometimes to sit 
 thinking, with her head resting on her hand, her face mild 
 and placid, with a quiet October sunshine in her blue eyes, 
 and an ever-present smile over her whole countenance. I 
 remember the sudden sweetness of look when any one spoke 
 to her ; the prompt attention, the quick comprehension of 
 things before you uttered them, the obliging readiness to 
 leave for you whatever she was doing. 
 
 To those who mistake occasional pensiveness for melan 
 choly, it might seem strange to say that my Aunt Mary 
 was always happy. Yet she was so. Her spirits never 
 rose to buoyancy, and never sunk to despondency. I know 
 that it is an article in the sentimental confession of faith 
 that such a character cannot be interesting. For this im 
 pression there is some ground. The placidity of a medium 
 commonplace mind is uninteresting, but the placidity of 
 a strong and well - governed one borders on the sublime. 
 Mutability of emotion characterizes inferior orders of being ; 
 but He who combines all interest, all excitement, all per 
 fection, is " the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. 7 And 
 if there be anything sublime in the idea of an almighty 
 mind, in perfect peace itself, and, therefore, at leisure to be 
 stow all its energies on the wants of others, there is at least 
 a reflection of the same sublimity in the character of that 
 human being who has so quieted and governed the world 
 within, that nothing is left to absorb sympathy or distract 
 attention from those around. 
 
 Such a woman was my Aunt Mary. Her placidity was 
 not so much the result of temperament as of choice. She 
 had every susceptibility of suffering incident to the noblest 
 and most delicate construction of mind ; but they had been 
 so directed that, instead of concentrating thought on self, 
 they had prepared her to understand and feel for others. 
 She was, beyond all things else, a sympathetic person, and 
 her character, like the green in a landscape, was less remark- 
 
AUNT MAKY 87 
 
 able for what it was in itself than for its perfect and beauti 
 ful harmony with all the coloring and shading around it. 
 Other women have had talents, others have been good ; but 
 no woman that ever I knew possessed goodness and talent 
 in union with such an intuitive perception of feelings, and 
 such a faculty of instantaneous adaptation to them. The 
 most troublesome thing in this world is to be condemned 
 to the society of a person who can never understand any 
 thing you say unless you say the whole of it, making your 
 commas and periods as you go along ; and the most desirable 
 thing in the world is .to live with a person who saves you 
 all the trouble of talking, by knowing just what you mean 
 before you begin to speak. 
 
 Something of this kind of talent I began to feel, to my 
 great relief, when Aunt Mary came into the family. I 
 remember the very first evening, as she sat by the hearth, 
 surrounded by all the family, her eye glanced on me with 
 an expression that let me know she saw me ; and when the 
 clock struck eight, and my mother proclaimed that it was 
 my bedtime, my countenance fell as I moved sorrowfully 
 from the back of her rocking-chair, and thought how many 
 beautiful stories Aunt Mary would tell after I was gone 
 to bed. She turned towards me with such a look of real 
 understanding, such an evident insight into the case, that 
 I went into banishment with a lighter heart than ever I 
 did before. How very contrary is the obstinate estimate of 
 the heart to the rational estimate of worldly wisdom ! Are 
 there not some who can remember when one word, one look, 
 or even the withholding of a word, has drawn their heart 
 more to a person than all the substantial favors in the 
 world ? By ordinary acceptation, substantial kindness 
 respects the necessaries of animal existence ; while those 
 wants which are peculiar to mind, and will exist with it 
 forever, by equally correct classification, are designated as 
 sentimental ones, the supply of which, though it will excite 
 
88 AUNT MARY 
 
 more gratitude in fact, ought not to in theory. Before 
 Aunt Mary had lived with us a month, I loved her beyond 
 anybody in the world ; and a utilitarian would have been 
 amused in ciphering out the amount of favors which pro 
 duced this result. It was a look a word a smile ; it 
 was that she seemed pleased with my new kite ; that she 
 rejoiced with me when I learned to spin a top ; that she 
 alone seemed to estimate my proficiency in playing ball and 
 marbles ; that she never looked at all vexed when I upset 
 her workbox upon the floor ; that she received all my awk 
 ward gallantry and maladroit helpfulness as if it had been 
 in the best taste in the world ; that when she was sick, 
 she insisted on letting rne wait on her, though I made my 
 customary havoc among the pitchers and tumblers of her 
 room, and displayed, through my zeal to please, a more 
 than ordinary share of insufficiency for the station. She 
 also was the only person that ever I conversed with, and 
 I used to wonder how anybody who could talk all about 
 matters and things with grown-up persons could talk so 
 sensibly about marbles, and hoops, and skates, and all sorts 
 of little-boy matters ; and I will say, by the bye, that the 
 same sort of speculation has often occurred to the minds of 
 older people in connection with her. She knew the value 
 of varied information in making a woman, not a pedant, 
 but a sympathetic, companionable being ; and such she was 
 to almost every class of mind. 
 
 She had, too, the faculty of drawing others up to her 
 level in conversation, so that I would often find myself 
 going on in most profound style while talking with her, 
 and would wonder, when I was through, whether I was 
 really a little boy still. 
 
 When she had enlightened us many months, the time 
 came for her to take leave, and she besought my mother to 
 give me to her for company. All the family wondered 
 what she could find to like in Henry ; but if she did like 
 me, it was no matter, and so was the case disposed of. 
 
AUNT MARY 89 
 
 From that time I lived with her, and there are some 
 persons who can make the word " live " signify much more 
 than it commonly does, and she wrought on my character 
 all those miracles which benevolent genius can work. She 
 quieted my heart, directed my feelings, unfolded my mind, 
 and educated me, not harshly or by force, but as the blessed 
 sunshine educates the flower, into full and perfect life ; and 
 when all that was mortal of her died to this world, her 
 words and deeds of unutterable love shed a twilight around 
 her memory that will fade only in the brightness of 
 heaven. 
 
FRANKNESS 
 
 THERE is one kind of frankness, which is the result of 
 perfect unsuspiciousness, and which requires a measure of 
 ignorance of the world and of life : this kind appeals to our 
 generosity and tenderness. There is another, which is the 
 frankness of a strong but pure mind, acquainted with life, 
 clear in its discrimination and upright in its intention, yet 
 above disguise or concealment : this kind excites respect. 
 The first seems to proceed simply from impulse, the second 
 from impulse and reflection united ; the first proceeds, in a 
 measure, from ignorance, the second from knowledge ; the 
 first is born from an undoubting confidence in others, the 
 second from a virtuous and well-grounded reliance on one s 
 self. 
 
 Now, if you suppose that this is the beginning of a ser 
 mon or of a Fourth of July oration, you are very much mis 
 taken, though, I must confess, it hath rather an uncertain 
 sound. I merely prefaced it to a little sketch of character, 
 which you may look at if you please, though I am not sure 
 you will like it. It was said of Alice H. that she had the 
 mind of a man, the heart of a woman, and the face of an 
 angel a combination that all my readers will think pecu 
 liarly happy. There never was a woman who was so unlike 
 the mass of society in her modes of thinking and acting, 
 yet so generally popular. But the most remarkable thing 
 about her was her proud superiority to all disguise, in 
 thought, word, and deed. She pleased you ; for she spoke 
 out a hundred things that you would conceal, and spoke 
 them with a dignified assurance that made you wonder 
 
FRANKNESS 91 
 
 that you had ever hesitated to say them yourself. Nor did 
 this unreserve appear like the weakness of one who could 
 not conceal, or like a determination to make war on the 
 forms of society. It was rather a calm, well-guided integ 
 rity, regulated by a just sense of propriety ; knowing when 
 to be silent, but speaking the truth when it spoke at all. 
 
 Her extraordinary frankness often beguiled superficial 
 observers into supposing themselves fully acquainted with 
 her long before they were so, as the beautiful transparency 
 of some lakes is said to deceive the eye as to their depth ; 
 yet the longer you knew her, the more variety and compass 
 of character appeared through the same transparent medium. 
 But you may just visit Miss Alice for half an hour to-night, 
 and judge for yourselves. You may walk into this little 
 parlor. There sits Miss Alice on that sofa, sewing a pair 
 of lace sleeves into a satin dress, in which peculiarly angelic 
 employment she may persevere till we have finished another 
 sketch. 
 
 Do you see that pretty little lady, with sparkling eyes, 
 elastic form, and beautiful hand and foot, sitting opposite to 
 her ? She is a belle : the character is written in her face 
 it sparkles from her eye it dimples in her smile, and 
 pervades the whole woman. 
 
 But there Alice has risen, and is gone to the mirror, 
 and is arranging the finest auburn hair in the world in the 
 most tasteful manner. The little lady watches every motion 
 as comically as a kitten watches a pin-ball. 
 
 " It is all in vain to deny it, Alice you are really anx 
 ious to look pretty this evening," said she. 
 
 " I certainly am," said Alice quietly. 
 
 " Aye, and you hope you shall please Mr. A. and Mr. B.," 
 said the little accusing angel. 
 
 " Certainly I do," said Alice, as she twisted her fingers 
 in a beautiful curl. 
 
 " Well, I would not tell of it, Alice, if I did." 
 
92 FRANKNESS 
 
 " Then you should not ask me," said Alice. 
 
 " I declare, Alice ! " 
 
 " And what do you declare ? " 
 
 " I never saw such a girl as you are ! " 
 
 " Very likely," said Alice, stooping to pick up a pin. 
 
 " Well, for my part," said the little lady, " I never would 
 take any pains to make anybody like me particularly a 
 gentleman." 
 
 "I would," said Alice, "if they would not like me with 
 out." 
 
 " Why, Alice ! I should not think you were so fond of 
 admiration." 
 
 " I like to be admired very much," said Alice, returning 
 to the sofa, " and I suppose everybody else does." 
 
 " I don t care about admiration," said the little lady. " I 
 would be as well satisfied that people should n t like me as 
 that they should." 
 
 " Then, cousin, I think it s a pity we all like you so 
 well," said Alice, with a good-humored smile. If Miss 
 Alice had penetration, she never made a severe use of it. 
 
 " But really, cousin," said the little lady, " I should not 
 think such a girl as you would think anything about dress, 
 or admiration, and all that." 
 
 " I don t know what sort of a girl you think I am," said 
 Alice, " but, for my own part, I only pretend to be a com 
 mon human being, and am not ashamed of common human 
 feelings. If God has made us so that we love admiration, 
 why should we not honestly say so ? I love it you love 
 it everybody loves it; and why should not everybody 
 say it ? " 
 
 " Why, yes," said the little lady, " I suppose everybody 
 has a has a a general love for admiration. I am willing 
 to acknowledge that I have ; but " 
 
 " But you have no love for it in particular," said Alice, 
 " I suppose you mean to say ; that it is just the way the 
 
FRANKNESS 93 
 
 matter is commonly disposed of. Everybody is willing to 
 acknowledge a general wish for the good opinion of others, 
 but half the world are ashamed to own it when it comes to 
 a particular case. Now I have made up my mind that if 
 it is correct in general, it is correct in particular ; and I 
 mean to own it both ways. 7 
 
 " But, somehow, it seems mean," said the little lady. 
 
 "It is mean to live for it, to be selfishly engrossed in it, 
 but not mean to enjoy it when it comes, or even to seek 
 it, if we neglect no higher interest in doing so. All that 
 God made us to feel is dignified and pure, unless we pervert 
 it." 
 
 "But, Alice, I never heard any person speak out so 
 frankly as you do." 
 
 " Almost all that is innocent and natural may be spoken 
 out ; and as for that which is not innocent and natural, it 
 ought riot even be thought." 
 
 " But can everything be spoken that may be thought ? " 
 said the lady. 
 
 " No ; we have an instinct which teaches us to be silent 
 sometimes ; but, if we speak at all, let it be in simplicity 
 and sincerity." 
 
 " Now, for instance, Alice," said the lady, " it is very in 
 nocent and natural, as you say, to think this, that, and the 
 other nice thing of yourself, especially when everybody is 
 telling you of it ; now would you speak the truth if any 
 one asked you on this point ? " 
 
 " If it were a person who had a right to ask, and if it 
 were a proper time and place, I would," said Alice. 
 
 " Well, then," said the bright lady, " I ask you, Alice, 
 in this very proper time and place, do you think that you 
 are handsome ? " 
 
 "Now, I suppose you expect me to make a courtesy to 
 every chair in the room before I answer," said Alice ; " but, 
 dispensing with that ceremony, I will tell you fairly, I 
 think I am." 
 
94 FRANKNESS 
 
 " Do you think that you are good ? " 
 
 "Not entirely/ said Alice. 
 
 " Well, but don t you think you are better than most 
 people ? " 
 
 "As far as I can tell, I think I am better than some 
 people ; but really, cousin, I don t trust my own judgment 
 in this matter," said Alice. 
 
 " Well, Alice, one more question. Do you think James 
 Martyrs likes you or me best ? " 
 
 " I do not know," said Alice. 
 
 " I did not ask you what you knew, but what you 
 thought," said the lady ; " you must have some thought 
 about it." 
 
 " Well, then, I think he likes me best," said Alice. 
 
 Just then the door opened, and in walked the identical 
 James Martyrs. Alice blushed, looked a little comical, and 
 went on with her sewing, while the little lady began, 
 
 " Really, Mr. James, I wish you had come a minute 
 sooner, to hear Alice s confessions." 
 
 " What has she confessed ? " said James. 
 
 " Why, that she is handsomer and better than most folks." 
 
 " That s nothing to be ashamed of," said James. 
 
 " Oh, that s not all ; she wants to look pretty, and loves 
 to be admired, and all" 
 
 " It sounds very much like her," said James, looking at 
 Alice. 
 
 " Oh, but besides that," said the lady, " she has been 
 preaching a discourse in justification of vanity and self- 
 love " 
 
 " And next time you shall take notes when I preach," 
 said Alice, " for I don t think your memory is remarkably 
 happy." 
 
 " You see, James," said the lady, " that Alice makes it a 
 point to say exactly the truth when she speaks at all, and 
 I ve been puzzling her with questions. I really wish you 
 
FRANKNESS 95 
 
 would ask her some, and see what she will say. But, 
 mercy ! there is Uncle C. come to take me to ride. I must 
 run." And off flew the little humming-bird, leaving James 
 and Alice tete-a-tete. 
 
 " There really is one question " said James, clearing 
 his voice. 
 
 Alice looked up. 
 
 " There is one question, Alice, which I wish you would 
 answer." 
 
 Alice did not inquire what the question was, but began to 
 look very solemn ; and just then the door was shut, and 
 so I never knew what the question was, only I observed 
 that James Martyrs seemed in some seventh heaven for a 
 week afterwards, and and you can finish for yourself, 
 lady. 
 
COUSIN WILLIAM 
 
 IN a stately red house, in one of the villages of New 
 England, lived the heroine of our story. She had every 
 advantage of rank and wealth, for her father was a deacon 
 of the church, and owned sheep, and oxen, and exceeding 
 much substance. There was an appearance of respectabil 
 ity and opulence about all the demesnes. The house stood 
 almost concealed amid a forest of apple-trees, in spring 
 blushing with blossoms, and in autumn golden with fruit. 
 And near by might be seen the garden, surrounded by a 
 red picket fence, inclosing all sorts of magnificence. There, 
 in autumn, might be seen abundant squash vines, which 
 seemed puzzled for room where to bestow themselves ; and 
 bright golden squashes, and full-orbed yellow pumpkins, 
 looking as satisfied as the evening sun when he has just 
 had his face washed in a shower, and is sinking soberly to 
 bed. There were superannuated seed cucumbers, enjoying 
 the pleasures of a contemplative old age ; and Indian corn, 
 nicely done up in green silk, with a specimen tassel hang 
 ing at the end of each ear. The beams of the summer 
 sun darted through rows of crimson currants abounding on 
 bushes by the fence, while a sulky black currant bush sat 
 scowling in one corner, a sort of garden curiosity. 
 
 But time would fail us were we to enumerate all the 
 wealth of Deacon Israel Taylor. He himself belonged to 
 that necessary class of beings, who, though remarkable for 
 nothing at all, are very useful in filling up the links of 
 society. Far otherwise was his sister-in-law, Mrs. Abigail 
 Evetts, who, on the demise of the deacon s wife, had as 
 sumed the reins of government in the household. 
 
COUSIN WILLIAM 97 
 
 This lady was of the same opinion that has animated 
 many illustrious philosophers, namely, that the affairs of 
 this world need a great deal of seeing to in order to have 
 them go on prosperously ; and although she did not, like 
 them, engage in the supervision of the universe, she made 
 amends by unremitting diligence in the department under 
 her care. In her mind there was an evident necessity that 
 every one should be up and doing : Monday, because it 
 was washing-day ; Tuesday, because it was ironing-day ; 
 Wednesday, because it was baking day ; Thursday, because 
 to-morrow was Friday ; and so on to the end of the week. 
 Then she had the care of reminding all in the house of 
 everything each was to do from week s end to week s end ; 
 and she was so faithful in this respect, that scarcely an ori 
 ginal act of volition took place in the family. The poor 
 deacon was reminded when he went out and when he came 
 in, when he sat down and when he rose up, so that an act 
 of omission could only have been committed through sheer 
 malice prepense. 
 
 But the supervision of a whole family of children afforded 
 to a lady of her active turn of mind more abundant matter 
 of exertion. To see that their faces were washed, their 
 clothes mended, and their catechism learned ; to see that 
 they did not pick the flowers, nor throw stones at the 
 chickens, nor sophisticate the great house dog, was an accu 
 mulation of care that devolved almost entirely on Mrs. Abi 
 gail, so that, by her own account, she lived and throve by 
 a perpetual miracle. 
 
 The eldest of her charge, at the time this story begins, 
 was a girl just arrived at young ladyhood, and her name 
 was Mary. Now we know that people very seldom have 
 stories written about them who have not sylph-like forms 
 and glorious eyes, or, at least, " a certain inexpressible charm 
 diffused over their whole person." But stories have of late 
 so much abounded that they actually seem to have used up 
 
98 COUSIN WILLIAM 
 
 all the eyes, hair, teeth, lips, and forms necessary for a 
 heroine, so that no one can now pretend to find an original 
 collection wherewith to set one forth. These things con 
 sidered, I regard it as fortunate that my heroine was not a 
 beauty. She looked neither like a sylph, nor an oread, nor 
 a fairy ; she had neither Vair distingue nor Vair magni- 
 fique, but bore a great resemblance to a real mortal girl, 
 such as you might pass a dozen of without any particular 
 comment one of those appearances which, though com 
 mon as water, may, like that, be colored any way by the 
 associations you connect with it. Accordingly, a faultless 
 taste in dress, a perfect ease and gayety of manner, a con 
 stant flow of kindly feeling, seemed in her case to produce 
 all the effect of beauty. Her manners had just dignity 
 enough to repel impertinence without destroying the careless 
 freedom and sprightliness in which she commonly indulged. 
 No person had a merrier run of stories, songs, and village 
 traditions, and all those odds and ends of character which 
 form the materials for animated conversation. She had read, 
 too, everything she could find : Rollin s History, and Scott s 
 Family Bible, that stood in the glass bookcase in the best 
 room, and an odd volume of Shakespeare, and now and then 
 one of Scott s novels, borrowed from a somewhat literary 
 family in the neighborhood. She also kept an album to 
 write her thoughts in, and was in a constant habit of cutting 
 out all the pretty poetry from the corners of the newspapers, 
 besides drying forget-me-nots and rosebuds in memory of 
 different particular friends, with a number of other little 
 sentimental practices to which young ladies of sixteen and 
 thereabout are addicted. She was also endowed with great 
 constructiveness ; so that, in these days of ladies fairs, there 
 was nothing from bellows-needlebooks down to web-footed 
 pincushions to which she could not turn her hand. Her 
 sewing certainly was extraordinary (we think too little is 
 made of this in the accomplishments of heroines) ; her stitch- 
 
COUSIN WILLIAM 99 
 
 ing was like rows of pearls, and her cross-stitching was fairy- 
 like ; and for sewing over and over, as the village school- 
 ma am hath it, she had not her equal. And what shall we 
 say of her pies and puddings ? They would have converted 
 the most reprobate old bachelor in the world. And then her 
 sweeping and dusting ! " Many daughters have done vir 
 tuously, but thou excellest them all ! " 
 
 And now, what do you suppose is coming next ? Why, 
 a young gentleman, of course ; for about this time comes to 
 settle in the village, and take charge of the academy, a cer 
 tain William Barton. Now, if you wish to know more par 
 ticularly who he was, we only wish we could refer you to 
 Mrs. Abigail, who was most accomplished in genealogies and 
 old wives fables, and she would have told you that " her 
 gran ther, Ike Evetts, married a wife who was second cousin 
 to Peter Scranton, who was great-uncle to Polly Moseley, 
 whose daughter Mary married William Barton s father, just 
 about the time old Squire Peter s house was burned down." 
 And then would follow an account of the domestic his 
 tory of all branches of the family since they came over from 
 England. Be that as it may, it is certain that Mrs. Abi 
 gail denominated him cousin, and that he came to the dea 
 con s to board; and he had not been there more than a 
 week, and made sundry observations on Miss Mary, before 
 he determined to call her cousin, too, which he accomplished 
 in the most natural way in the world. 
 
 Mary was at first somewhat afraid of him, because she 
 had heard that he had studied through all that was to be 
 studied in Greek, and Latin, and German too ; and she saw 
 a library of books in his room, that made her sigh every 
 time she looked at them, to think how much there was to 
 be learned of which she was ignorant. But all this wore 
 away, and presently they were the best friends in the world. 
 He gave her books to read, and he gave her lessons in 
 French, nothing puzzled by that troublesome verb which 
 
100 COUSIN WILLIAM 
 
 must be first conjugated, whether in French, Latin, or Eng 
 lish. Then he gave her a deal of good advice about the 
 cultivation of her mind and the formation of her charac 
 ter, all of which was very improving, and tended greatly to 
 consolidate their friendship. But, unfortunately for Mary, 
 William made quite as favorable an impression on the fe 
 male community generally as he did on her, having distin 
 guished himself on certain public occasions, such as deliver 
 ing lectures on botany, and also, at the earnest request of 
 the Fourth of July committee, pronounced an oration which 
 covered him with glory. He had been known, also, to 
 write poetry, and had a retired and romantic air greatly 
 bewitching to those who read Bulwer s novels. In short, it 
 was morally certain, according to all rules of evidence, that 
 if he had chosen to pay any lady of the village a dozen visits 
 a week, she would have considered it as her duty to enter 
 tain him. 
 
 William did visit ; for, like many studious people, he 
 found a need for the excitement of society ; but, whether it 
 was party or singing-school, he walked home with Mary, of 
 course, in as steady and domestic a manner as any man who 
 has been married a twelvemonth. His air in conversing 
 with her was inevitably more confidential than with any 
 other one, and this was cause for envy in many a gentle 
 breast, and an interesting diversity of reports with regard 
 to her manner of treating the young gentleman went forth 
 into the village. 
 
 " I wonder Mary Taylor will laugh and joke so much 
 with William Barton in company," said one. " Her man 
 ners are altogether too free," said another. " It is evident 
 she has designs upon him," remarked a third. " And she 
 cannot even conceal it," pursued a fourth. 
 
 Some sayings of this kind at length reached the ears of 
 Mrs. Abigail, who had the best heart in the world, and was 
 so indignant that it might have done your heart good to see 
 
COUSIN WILLIAM 101 
 
 her. Still she thought it showed that " the girl needed ad 
 vising; " and "she should talk to Mary about the matter." 
 
 But she first concluded to advise with William on the 
 subject j and, therefore, after dinner the same day, while he 
 was looking over a treatise on trigonometry or conic sec 
 tions, she commenced upon him : 
 
 " Our Mary is growing up a fine girl." 
 
 William was intent on solving a problem, and only un 
 derstanding that something had been said, mechanically 
 answered "Yes." 
 
 " A little wild or so," said Mrs. Abigail. 
 
 " I know it," said William, fixing his eyes earnestly on 
 E, F, B, C. 
 
 " Perhaps you think her a little too talkative and free 
 with you sometimes ; you know girls do not always think 
 what they do." 
 
 " Certainly," said William, going on with his problem. 
 
 "I think you had better speak to her about it," said 
 Mrs. Abigail. 
 
 " I think so too," said William, musing over his com 
 pleted work, till at length he arose, put it in his pocket, 
 and went to school. 
 
 Oh, this unlucky concentrativeness ! How many shock 
 ing things a man may indorse by the simple habit of saying 
 " Yes " and " No," when he is not hearing what is said to 
 him. 
 
 The next morning, when William was gone to the acad 
 emy, and Mary was washing the breakfast things, Aunt 
 Abigail introduced the subject with great tact and delicacy 
 by remarking, 
 
 " Mary, I guess you had better be rather less free with 
 William than you have been." 
 
 " Free ! " said Mary, starting, and nearly dropping the 
 cup from her hand ; " why, aunt, what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Why, Mary, you must not always be around so free in 
 
102 COUSIN WILLIAM 
 
 talking with him, at home, and in company, and every 
 where. It won t do." The color started into Mary s 
 cheek, and mounted even to her forehead, as she answered 
 with a dignified air, 
 
 " I have not been too free ; I know what is right and 
 proper; I have not been doing anything that was im 
 proper." 
 
 Now, when one is going to give advice, it is very trouble 
 some to have its necessity thus called in question ; and Mrs. 
 Abigail, who was fond of her own opinion, felt called upon 
 to defend it. 
 
 " Why, yes, you have, Mary ; everybody in the village 
 notices it." 
 
 " I don t care what everybody in the village says. I 
 shall always do what I think proper," retorted the young 
 lady ; " I know Cousin William does not think so." 
 
 " Well, I think he does, from some things I have heard 
 him say." 
 
 " Oh, aunt ! what have you heard him say ? " said Mary, 
 nearly upsetting a chair in the eagerness with which she 
 turned to her aunt. 
 
 " Mercy on us ! you need not knock the house down, 
 Mary. I don t remember exactly about it, only that his 
 way of speaking made me think so." 
 
 " Oh, aunt ! do tell me what it was, and all about it," 
 said Mary, following her aunt, who went around dusting 
 the furniture. 
 
 Mrs. Abigail, like most obstinate people, who feel that 
 they have gone too far, and yet are ashamed to go back, 
 took refuge in an obstinate generalization, and only asserted 
 that she had heard him say things, as if he did not quite 
 like her ways. This is the most consoling of all methods 
 in which to leave a matter of this kind for a person of 
 active imagination. Of course, in five minutes, Mary had 
 settled in her mind a list of remarks that would have been 
 
COUSIN WILLIAM 103 
 
 suited to any of her village companions, as coming from 
 her cousin. All the improbability of the thing vanished in 
 the absorbing consideration of its possibility ; and, after a 
 moment s reflection, she pressed her lips together in a very 
 firm way, and remarked that " Mr. Barton would have no 
 occasion to say such things again." 
 
 It was very evident, from her heightened color and dig 
 nified air, that her state of mind was very heroical. As for 
 poor Aunt Abigail, she felt sorry she had vexed her, and 
 addressed herself most earnestly to her consolation, remark 
 ing, " Mary, I don t suppose William meant anything. He 
 knows you don t mean anything wrong." 
 
 " Don t mean anything wrong ! " said Mary indignantly. 
 
 " Why, child, he thinks you don t know much about 
 folks and things, and if you have been a little ; 
 
 " But I have not been. It was he that talked with me 
 first. It was he that did everything first. He called me 
 cousin and he is my cousin." 
 
 " No, child, you are mistaken ; for you remember his 
 grandfather was " 
 
 " I don t care who his grandfather was ; he has no right 
 to think of me as he does." 
 
 " Now, Mary, don t go to quarreling with him ; he can t 
 help his thoughts, you know." 
 
 "I don t care what he thinks," said Mary, flinging out 
 of the room with tears in her eyes. 
 
 Now, when a young lady is in such a state of affliction, 
 the first thing to be done is to sit down and cry for two 
 hours or more, which Mary accomplished in the most thor 
 ough manner ; in the mean while making many reflections 
 on the instability of human friendships, and resolving never 
 to trust any one again as long as she lived, and thinking 
 that this was a cold and hollow-hearted world, together with 
 many other things she had read in books, but never realized 
 so forcibly as at present. But what was to be done ? Of 
 
104 COUSIN WILLIAM 
 
 course she did not wish to speak a word to William again, 
 amd wished he did not board there ; and finally she put on 
 her bonnet, and determined to go over to her other aunt s 
 in the neighborhood, and spend the day, so that she might 
 not see him at dinner. 
 
 But it so happened that Mr. William, on coming home 
 at noon, found himself unaccountably lonesome during 
 school recess for dinner, and hearing where Mary was, de 
 termined to call after school at night at her aunt s, and 
 attend her home. Accordingly, in the afternoon, as Mary 
 was sitting in the parlor with two or three cousins, Mr. 
 William entered. Mary was so anxious to look just as if 
 nothing was the matter, that she turned away her head, and 
 began to look out of the window just as the young gen 
 tleman came up to speak to her. So, after he had twice 
 inquired after her health, she drew up very coolly, and 
 said, 
 
 " Did you speak to me, sir ? " 
 
 William looked a little surprised at first, but seating him 
 self by her, " To be sure," said he ; " and I came to know 
 why you ran away without leaving any message for me ? " 
 
 " It did not occur to me," said Mary, in the dry tone 
 which, in a lady, means, " I will excuse you from any fur 
 ther conversation, if you please." William felt as if there 
 was something different from common in all this, but thought 
 that perhaps he was mistaken, and so continued : 
 
 " What a pity, now, that you should be so careless of me, 
 when I was so thoughtful of you ! I have come all this 
 distance to see how you do." 
 
 " I am sorry to have given you the trouble," said Mary. 
 
 " Cousin, are you unwell to-day ? " said William. 
 
 " No, sir," said Mary, going on with her sewing. 
 
 There was something so marked and decisive in all this 
 that William could scarcely believe his ears. He turned 
 away and commenced a conversation with a young lady ; 
 
COUSIN WILLIAM 105 
 
 and Mary, to show that she could talk if she chose, com 
 menced relating a story to her cousins, and presently they 
 were all in a loud laugh. 
 
 " Mary has been full of her knick-knacks to-day," said her 
 old uncle, joining them. 
 
 William looked at her : she never seemed brighter or in 
 better spirits, and he began to think that even Cousin Mary 
 might puzzle a man sometimes. 
 
 He turned away, and began a conversation with old Mr. 
 Zachary Coan on the raising of buckwheat a subject which 
 evidently required profound thought, for he never looked 
 more grave, not to say melancholy. 
 
 Mary glanced that way, and was struck with the sad and 
 almost severe expression with which he was listening to the 
 details of Mr. Zachary, and was convinced that he was no 
 more thinking of buckwheat than she was. 
 
 " I never thought of hurting his feelings so much," said 
 she, relenting ; " after all, he has been very kind to me. But 
 he might have told me about it, and not somebody else. 7 
 And hereupon she cast another glance towards him. 
 
 William was not talking, but sat with his eyes fixed on 
 the snuffer-tray, with an intense gravity of gaze that quite 
 troubled her, and she could not help again blaming herself. 
 
 " To be sure ! Aunt was right ; he could not help his 
 thoughts. I will try to forget it," thought she. 
 
 Now, you must not think Mary was sitting still and gazing 
 during this soliloquy. No, she was talking and laughing, ap 
 parently the most unconcerned spectator in the room. So 
 passed the evening till the little company broke up. 
 
 " I am ready to attend you home," said William, in a tone 
 of cold and almost haughty deference. 
 
 " I am obliged to you," said the young lady, in a similar 
 tone, " but I shall stay all night ; " then, suddenly changing 
 her tone, she said, "No, I cannot keep it up any longer. 
 I will go home with you, Cousin William." 
 
106 COUSIN WILLIAM 
 
 " Keep up what ? " said William, with surprise. 
 
 Mary was gone for her bonnet. She came out, took his 
 arm, and walked on a little way. 
 
 " You have advised me always to be frank, cousin," said 
 Mary, " and I must and will be ; so I shall tell you all, 
 though I dare say it is not according to rule." 
 
 " All what ? " said William. 
 
 " Cousin," said she, not at all regarding what he said, 
 "I was very much vexed this afternoon." 
 
 " So I perceived, Mary." 
 
 " Well, it is vexatious," she continued, " though, after 
 all, we cannot expect people to think us perfect ; but I did 
 not think it quite fair in you not to tell me" 
 
 " Tell you what, Mary ? " 
 
 Here they came to a place where the road turned through 
 a small patch of woods. It was green and shady, and en 
 livened by a lively chatterbox of a brook. There was a 
 mossy trunk of a tree that had fallen beside it, and made a 
 pretty seat. The moonlight lay in little patches upon it, as 
 it streamed down through the branches of the trees. It was 
 a fairy-looking place, and Mary stopped and sat down, as if 
 to collect her thoughts. After picking up a stick, and play 
 ing a moment in the water, she began : 
 
 " After all, cousin, it was very natural in you to say so, 
 if you thought so ; though I should not have supposed you 
 would think so." 
 
 " Well, I should be glad if I could know what it is," said 
 William in a tone of patient resignation. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot that I had not told you," said she, pushing 
 back her hat, and speaking like one determined to go through 
 with the thing. " Why, cousin, I have been told that you 
 spoke of my manners towards yourself as being freer more 
 obtrusive than they should be. And now," said she, 
 her eyes flashing, " you see it was not a very easy thing to 
 tell you, but I began with being frank, and I will be so, 
 for the sake of satisfying myself." 
 
COUSIN WILLIAM 107 
 
 To this William simply replied, " Who told you this, 
 Mary ? " 
 
 " My aunt." 
 
 " Did she say I said it to her ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and I do not so much object to your saying it as 
 to your thinking it, for you know I did not force myself on 
 your notice ; it was you who sought my acquaintance and 
 won my confidence ; and that you, above all others, should 
 think of me in this way ! " 
 
 " I never did think so, Mary," said William quietly. 
 
 " Nor ever said so ? " 
 
 " Never. I should think you might have known it, 
 Mary." 
 
 "But" said Mary. 
 
 " But," said William firmly, " Aunt Abigail is certainly 
 mistaken." 
 
 " Well, I am glad of it," said Mary, looking relieved, 
 and gazing in the brook. Then looking up with warmth, 
 " And, cousin, you never must think so. I am ardent, and 
 I express myself freely ; but I never meant I am sure I 
 never should mean anything more than a sister might say." 
 
 " And are you sure you never could, if all my happiness 
 depended on it, Mary ? " 
 
 She turned and looked up in his face, and saw a look 
 that brought conviction. She rose to go on, and her hand 
 was taken and drawn into the arm of her cousin, and that 
 was the end of the first and the last difficulty that ever arose 
 between them. 
 
MRS. A. AND MRS. B. 
 
 OR, WHAT SHE THINKS ABOUT IT 
 
 MRS. A. and Mrs. B. were next-door neighbors and in 
 timate friends that is to say, they took tea with each 
 other very often, and, in confidential strains, discoursed of 
 stockings and pocket-handkerchiefs, of puddings and car 
 pets, of cookery and domestic economy, through all its 
 branches. 
 
 " I think, on the whole," said Mrs. A., with an air of 
 profound reflection, " that gingerbread is the cheapest and 
 healthiest cake one can make. I make a good deal of it, 
 and let my children have as much as they want of it." 
 
 " I used to do so," said Mrs. B., " but I have n t had 
 any made these two months." 
 
 " Ah ! Why not ? " said Mrs. A. 
 
 " Why, it is some trouble ; and then, though it is cheap, 
 it is cheaper not to have any ; and on the whole, the children 
 are quite as well contented without it, and so we are fallen 
 into the way of not having any." 
 
 " But one must keep some kind of cake in the house," 
 said Mrs. A. 
 
 " So I have always heard, and thought, and practiced," 
 said Mrs. B. ; " but really of late I have questioned the 
 need of it." 
 
 The conversation gradually digressed from this point into 
 various intricate speculations on domestic economy, and at 
 last each lady went home to put her children to bed. 
 
 A fortnight after, the two ladies were again in conclave 
 
MRS. A. AND MRS. B. 109 
 
 at Mrs. B. s tea-table, which was graced by some unusually 
 nice gingerbread. 
 
 " I thought you had given up making gingerbread," said 
 Mrs. A. ; " you told me so a fortnight ago at my house." 
 
 " So I had," said Mrs. B. ; "but since that conversation 
 I have been making it again." 
 
 " Why so ? " 
 
 " Oh, I thought that since you thought it economical 
 enough, certainly I might ; and that if you thought it 
 necessary to keep some sort of cake in the closet, perhaps 
 it was best I should." 
 
 Mrs. A. laughed. 
 
 " Well, now," said she, " I have not made any ginger 
 bread, or cake of any kind, since that same conversation." 
 
 " Indeed?" 
 
 " No. I said to myself, if Mrs. B. thinks it will do to 
 go without cake in the house, I suppose I might, as she 
 says it is some additional expense and trouble ; and so I 
 gave it up." 
 
 Both ladies laughed, and you laugh, too, my dear lady 
 reader ; but have you never done the same thing ? Have 
 you never altered your dress, or your arrangements, or your 
 housekeeping because somebody else was of a different way 
 of thinking or managing and may not that very somebody 
 at the same time have been moved to make some change 
 through a similar observation on you ? 
 
 A large party is to be given by the young lads of N. to 
 the young lassies of the same place ; they are to drive out 
 together to a picnic in the woods, and to come home by 
 moonlight ; the weather is damp and uncertain, the ground 
 chill, and young people, as in all ages before the flood and 
 since, not famous for the grace of prudence ; for all which 
 reasons, almost every mamma hesitates about her daughters 
 going thinks it a very great pity the thing has been 
 started. 
 
110 MRS. A. AND MRS. B. 
 
 " I really don t like this thing/ says Mrs. G. ; "it s not 
 a kind of thing that I approve of, and if Mrs. X. was not 
 going to let her daughters go, I should set myself against 
 it. How Mrs. X., who is so very nice in her notions, can 
 sanction such a thing, I cannot see. I am really surprised 
 at Mrs. X." 
 
 All this time, poor unconscious Mrs. X. is in a similar 
 tribulation. 
 
 " This is a very disagreeable affair to me," she says. " I 
 really have almost a mind to say that my girls shall not go ; 
 but Mrs. G. s daughters are going, and Mrs. C. s and Mrs. 
 W. s, and of course it would be idle for me to oppose it. I 
 should not like to cast any reflections on a course sanctioned 
 by ladies of such prudence and discretion." 
 
 In the same manner Mrs. A., B., and C., and the good 
 matrons through the alphabet generally, with doleful lamen 
 tations, each one consents to the thing that she allows not, 
 and the affair proceeds swimmingly, to the great satisfaction 
 of the juveniles. Now and then, it is true, some individual 
 sort of body, who might be designated by the angular and 
 decided letters K or L, says to her son or daughter : " No. 
 I don t approve of the thing," and is deaf to the oft-urged, 
 "Mrs. A., B., andC. do so." 
 
 " I have nothing to do with Mrs. A., B., and C. s arrange 
 ments," says this impracticable Mrs. K. or L. " I only 
 know what is best for my children, and they shall not go." 
 
 Again, Mrs. G. is going to give a party ; and, now, shall 
 she give wine, or not ? Mrs. G. has heard an abundance of 
 temperance speeches and appeals, heard the duties of ladies 
 in the matter of sanctioning temperance movements aptly 
 set forth, but " none of these things move her half so much 
 as another consideration." She has heard that Mrs. D. in 
 troduced wine into her last soiree. Mrs. D. s husband has 
 been a leading orator of the temperance society, and Mrs. D. 
 is no less a leading member in the circles of fashion. Now, 
 
MRS. A. AND MRS. B. Ill 
 
 Mrs. G. s soul is in great perplexity. If she only could be 
 sure that the report about Mrs. D. is authentic, why, then, 
 of course the thing is settled ; regret it as much as she may, 
 she cannot get through her party without the wine ; and so 
 at last come the party and the wine. Mrs. D., who was 
 incorrectly stated to have had the article at her last soire e, 
 has it at her next one, and quotes discreet Mrs. G. as her 
 precedent. Mrs. P. is greatly scandalized at this, because 
 Mrs. G. is a member of the church, and Mr. D. a leading 
 temperance orator ; but since they will do it, it is not for 
 her to be nice, and so she follows the fashion. 
 
 Mrs. N. comes home from church on Sunday, rolling up 
 her eyes with various appearances of horror and surprise. 
 
 " Well ! I am going to give up trying to restrain my girls 
 from dressing extravagantly ; it 7 s of no use trying ! no 
 use in the world." 
 
 " Why, mother, what s the matter ? " exclaimed the girls 
 aforesaid, delighted to hear such encouraging declarations. 
 
 " Why, did n t you see Mrs. K. s daughters sitting in 
 the pew before us with feathers in their bonnets ? If Mrs. 
 K. is coming out in this way, I shall give up. I sha n t 
 try any longer. I am going to get just what I want, and 
 dress as much as I ve a mind to. Girls, you may get 
 those visites that you were looking at at Mr. B. s store last 
 week ! " 
 
 The next Sunday, Mrs. K. s girls in turn begin : 
 
 " There, mamma, you are always lecturing us about econ 
 omy, and all that, and wanting us to wear our old mantillas 
 another winter, and there are Mrs. N. s girls shining out in 
 new visites." 
 
 Mamma looks sensible and judicious, and tells the girls 
 they ought not to see what people are wearing in church on 
 Sundays ; but it becomes evident, before the week is through, 
 that she has not forgotten the observation. She is anxiously 
 pricing visites, and looking thoughtful as one on the eve of 
 
112 MRS. A. AND MRS. B. 
 
 an important determination ; and the next Sunday the girls 
 appear in full splendor, with new visites, to the increasing 
 horror of Mrs. N. 
 
 So goes the shuttlecock back and forward, kept up on 
 both sides by most judicious hands. 
 
 In like manner, at a modern party, a circle of matrons 
 sit in edifying conclave, and lament the degeneracy of the 
 age. 
 
 " These parties that begin at nine o clock and end at two 
 or three in the morning are shameful things," says fat Mrs. 
 Q., complacently fanning herself. (1ST. B. Mrs. Q. is plot 
 ting to have one the very next week, and has come just to 
 see the fashions.) 
 
 " Oh, dreadful, dreadful ! " exclaim, in one chorus, meek 
 Mrs. M., and tall Mrs. F., and stiff Mrs. J. 
 
 " They are very unhealthy," says Mrs. F. 
 
 " They disturb all family order," says Mrs. J. 
 
 " They make one so sleepy the next day," says Mrs. M. 
 
 "They are very laborious to get up, and entirely use 
 less," says Mrs. Q. ; at the same time counting across the 
 room the people that she shall invite next week. 
 
 Mrs. M. and Mrs. F. diverge into a most edifying strain 
 of moral reflection on the improvement of time, the neces 
 sity of sobriety and moderation, the evils of conformity to 
 the world, till one is tempted to feel that the tract society 
 ought to have their remarks for general circulation, were one 
 not damped by the certain knowledge that before the winter 
 is out each of these ladies will give exactly such another 
 party. And, now are all these respectable ladies hypocritical 
 or insincere ? By no means they believe every word 
 they say; but a sort of necessity is laid upon them a 
 spell; and before the breath of the multitude their indi 
 vidual resolution melts away as the frosty tracery melts 
 from the window-panes of a crowded room. A great many 
 do this habitually, resignedly, as a matter of course. Ask 
 
MRS. A. AND MRS. B. 113 
 
 them what they think to be right and proper, and they will 
 tell you sensibly, coherently, and quite to the point in one 
 direction ; ask them what they are going to do. Ah ! that 
 is quite another matter. They are going to do what is 
 generally done what Mrs. A., B., and C. do. They have 
 long since made over their conscience to the keeping of the 
 public, that is to say, of good society, and are thus 
 rid of a troublesome burden of responsibility. Again, there 
 are others who mean in general to have an opinion and will 
 of their own ; but, imperceptibly, as one and another take 
 a course opposed to their own sense of right and propriety, 
 their resolution quietly melts and melts, till every individual 
 outline of it is gone, and they do as others do. 
 
 Yet is this influence of one human being over another 
 in some sense, God-appointed a necessary result of the 
 human constitution. There is scarcely a human being that 
 is not varied and swerved by it, as the trembling needle 
 is swerved by the approaching magnet. Oppose conflict 
 with it, as one may at a distance, yet when it breathes on us 
 through the breath, and shines on us through the eye of an 
 associate, it possesses an invisible magnetic power. He who 
 is not at all conscious of such impressibility can scarce be 
 amiable or human. Nevertheless, one of the most impor 
 tant habits for the acquisition of a generous and noble char 
 acter, is to learn to act individually, unswerved by the feel 
 ings and opinions of others. It may help us to do this, to 
 reflect that the very person whose opinion we fear may be 
 in equal dread of ours, and that the person to whom we are 
 looking for a precedent may, at that very time, be looking 
 to us. 
 
 In short, Mrs. A., if you think that you could spend your 
 money more like a Christian than in laying it out on a fash 
 ionable party, go forward and do it, and twenty others, 
 whose supposed opinion you fear, will be glad of your ex 
 ample for a precedent. And, Mrs. B., if you do think it 
 
114 MRS. A. AND MRS. B. 
 
 would be better for your children to observe early hours, 
 and form simple habits, than to dress and dance, and give 
 and go to juvenile balls, carry out your opinion in prac 
 tice, and many an anxious mother, who is of the same opin 
 ion, will quote your example as her shield and defense. 
 
 And for you, young ladies, let us pray you to reflect 
 individuality of character, maintained with womanly sweet 
 ness, is an irresistible grace and adornment. Have some 
 principles of taste for yourself, and do not adopt every fash 
 ion of dress that is in vogue, whether it suits you or not, 
 whether it is becoming or not, but, without a startling 
 variation from general form, let your dress show something 
 of your own taste and opinions. Have some principles of 
 right and wrong for yourself, and do not do everything that 
 every one else does, because every one else does it. 
 
 Nothing is more tedious than a circle of young ladies who 
 have got by rote a certain set of phrases and opinions all 
 admiring in the same terms the same things, and detesting 
 in like terms certain others with anxious solicitude each 
 dressing, thinking, and acting, one as much like another as 
 is possible. A genuine original opinion, even though it 
 were so heretical as to assert that Jenny Lind is a little 
 lower than the angels, or that Shakespeare is rather dull 
 reading, would be better than such a universal Dead Sea of 
 acquiescence. 
 
 These remarks have borne reference to the female sex 
 principally, because they are the dependent, the acquiescent 
 sex from nature, and habit, and position, most exposed to 
 be swayed by opinion and yet, too, in a certain very wide 
 department they are the lawgivers and custom-makers of 
 society. If, amid the multiplied schools, whose advertise 
 ments now throng our papers, purporting to teach girls 
 everything, both ancient and modern, high and low, from 
 playing on the harp and working pincushions, up to civil 
 engineering, surveying, and navigation, there were any 
 
MRS. A. AND MRS. B. 115 
 
 which could teach them to be women to have thoughts, 
 opinions, and modes of action of their own such a school 
 would be worth having. If one half of the good purposes 
 which are in the hearts of the ladies of our nation were only 
 acted out without fear of anybody s opinion, we should cer 
 tainly be a step nearer the millennium. 
 
WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 
 
 IT was a beaming and beautiful summer morning, and 
 the little town of V. was alive with all the hurry and 
 motion of a college commencement. Rows of carriages 
 lined the rural streets, and groups of well-dressed auditors 
 were thronging to the hall of exhibition. All was gayety 
 and animation. And among them all what heart beat 
 higher with hope and gratified ambition than that of James 
 Stanton ? Young, buoyant, prepossessing in person and 
 manners, he was this day, in the presence of all the world, 
 to carry off the highest palm of scholarship in his institution, 
 and to receive, on the threshold of the great world, the ut 
 most that youthful ambition can ask before it enters the 
 arena of actual life. Did not his pulse flutter, and his 
 heart beat thick, when he heard himself announced in the 
 crowded house as the valedictorian of the day ? when he 
 saw aged men, and fair, youthful faces, ruddy childhood, 
 and sober, calculating manhood alike bending in hushed and 
 eager curiosity, to listen to his words ? Nay, did not his 
 heart rise in his throat as he caught the gleam of his father s 
 eye, while, bending forward on his staff", with white, reverend 
 locks falling about his face, he listened to the voice of his 
 pride his firstborn ? And did he not see the glistening 
 tears in his mother s eye, as with rapt ear she hung upon 
 his every word ? Ah, the young man s first triumph ! 
 When, full of confidence and hope, he enters the field of 
 life, all his white glistening as yet unsoiled by the dust of 
 the combat, the unproved world turning towards him with 
 flatteries and promises in both hands, what other triumph 
 
WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 117 
 
 does life give so fresh, so full, so replete with hope and joy ? 
 So felt James Stanton this day, when he heard his father 
 congratulated on having a son of such promise ; when old 
 men, revered for talents and worth, shook hands with him, 
 and bade him warmly Godspeed in the course of life ; when 
 bright eyes cast glances of favor, and from among the fairest 
 were overheard whispers of admiration. 
 
 " Your son is designed for the bar, I trust," said the 
 venerable Judge L. to the father of James, at the com 
 mencement dinner. " I have seldom seen a turn of mind 
 better fitted for success in the legal profession. And then 
 his voice ! his manner ! let him go to the bar, sir, and I pro 
 phesy that he will yet outdo us all." 
 
 And this was said in James s hearing, and by one whose 
 commendation was not often so warmly called forth. It 
 was not in any young heart not to beat quicker at such 
 prospects. Honor, station, wealth, political ambition, all 
 seemed to offer themselves to his grasp ; but long ere this, 
 in the solitude of retirement, in the stillness of prayer and 
 self-examination, the young graduate had vowed himself to 
 a different destiny ; and if we may listen to a conversation, 
 a few evenings after commencement, with a classmate^ we 
 shall learn more of the secret workings of his mind. 
 
 " And so, Stanton," said George Lennox to him, as they 
 sat by their evening fireside, " you have not yet decided 
 whether to accept Judge L. s offer or not." 
 
 " I have decided that matter long ago," said James. 
 
 " So, then, you choose the ministry." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, for my part,"* replied George Lennox, " I choose 
 the law. There must be Christians, you know, in every vo 
 cation ; the law seems to suit my turn of mind. I trust it 
 will be my effort to live as becomes a Christian, whatever 
 be my calling." 
 
 " I trust so," replied James. 
 
118 WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 
 
 " But really, Stanton," added the other, after some 
 thought, " it seems a pity to cast away such prospects as 
 open before you. You know your tuition is offered gratis ; 
 and then the patronage of Judge L., and such influences as 
 he can command to secure your success pray, do not these 
 things seem to you like a providential indication that the 
 law is to be your profession ? Besides, here in these New 
 England States, the ministry is overflowed already min 
 isters enough, and too many, if one may judge by the num 
 ber of applicants for every unoccupied place." 
 
 " Nay/ replied James, " my place is not here. I know, 
 if all accounts are true, that my profession is not overflowed 
 in our Western States, and there I mean to go." 
 
 " And is it possible that you can contemplate such an en 
 tire sacrifice of your talents, your manners, your literary and 
 scientific tastes, your capabilities for refined society, as to 
 bury yourself in a log cabin in one of our new States ? You 
 will never be appreciated there ; your privations and sacri 
 fices will be entirely disregarded, and you placed on a level 
 with the coarsest and most uneducated sectaries. I really 
 do not think you are called to this." 
 
 " Who, then, is called ? " replied James. 
 
 " Why, men with much less of all these good things 
 men with real coarse, substantial, backwoods furniture in 
 their minds, who will not appreciate, and of course not feel, 
 the want of all the refinements and comforts which you 
 must sacrifice." 
 
 " And are there enough such men ready to meet the 
 emergencies in our western world, so that no others need 
 be called upon ? " replied James. " Men of the class you 
 speak of may do better than I ; but, if after all their efforts 
 I still am needed, and can work well, ought I not to go ? 
 Must those only be drafted for religious enterprises to whom 
 they involve no sacrifice ? " 
 
 " Well, for my part," replied the other, " I trust I am 
 
WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 119 
 
 willing to do anything that is my duty ; yet I never could 
 feel it to be my duty to bury myself in a new State, among 
 stumps and log cabins. My mind would rust itself out ; 
 and, missing the stimulus of such society as I have been 
 accustomed to, I should run down completely, and be use 
 less in body and in mind." 
 
 " If you feel so, it would be so/ 7 replied James. " If 
 the work there to be done would not be stimulus and ex 
 citement enough to compensate for the absence of all other 
 stimulus, if the business of the ministry, the saving of 
 human souls, is not the one all-absorbing purpose, and de 
 sire, and impulse of the whole being, then woe to the 
 man who goes to preach the gospel where there is nothing 
 but human souls to be gained by it." 
 
 " Well, Stanton," replied the other, after a pause of some 
 seriousness, " I cannot say that I have attained to this yet. 
 I don t know but I might be brought to it ; but at present 
 I must confess it is not so. We ought not to rush into a 
 state and employment which we have not the moral forti 
 tude to sustain well. In short, for myself, I may make a 
 respectable, and, I trust, not useless man in the law, when 
 I could do nothing in the circumstances which you choose. 
 However, I respect your feelings, and heartily wish that I 
 could share them myself." 
 
 A few days after this conversation the young friends 
 parted for their several destinations the one to a law 
 school, the other to a theological seminary. 
 
 It was many years after this that a middle-aged man, 
 of somewhat threadbare appearance and restricted traveling 
 conveniences, was seen carefully tying his horse at the 
 
 outer inclosure of an elegant mansion in the town of , 
 
 in one of our Western States ; which being done, he eyed 
 the house rather inquisitively, as people sometimes do when 
 they are doubtful as to the question of entering or not 
 
120 WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 
 
 entering. The house belonged to George Lennox, Esq., a 
 lawyer reputed to be doing a more extensive business than 
 any other in the State, and the threadbare gentleman who 
 plies the knocker at the front door is the Reverend Mr. 
 Stanton, a name widely spread in the ecclesiastical circles of 
 the land. The door opens, and the old college acquaintances 
 meet with a cordial grasp of the hand, and Mr. Stanton soon 
 finds himself pressed to the most comfortable accommodations 
 in the warm parlor of his friend ; and even the slight un 
 easiness which the wisest are not always exempt from, when 
 conscious of a little shabbiness in exterior, was entirely dis 
 sipated by the evident cordiality of his reception. Since the 
 conversation we have alluded to, the two friends pursued 
 their separate courses with but few opportunities of per 
 sonal intercourse. In the true zeal of the missionary James 
 Stanton had thrown himself into the field, where it seemed 
 hardest and darkest, and where labor seemed most needed. 
 In neighborhoods without churches, without schoolhouses, 
 without settled roads, among a population of disorganized 
 and heterogeneous material, he had exhorted from house 
 to house, labored individually with one after another, till 
 he had, in place after place, brought together the elements 
 of a Christian Church. Far from all ordinances, means 
 of grace, or Christian brotherhood, or cooperation, he had 
 seemed to himself to be merely the lonely, solitary " voice 
 of one crying in the wilderness," as unassisted, and, to hu 
 man view, as powerless. With poverty, and cold, and physi 
 cal fatigue he had daily been familiar ; and where no vehicle 
 could penetrate the miry depths of the forest, where it was 
 impracticable even to guide a horse, he had walked miles 
 and miles, through mud and rain, to preach. With a wife 
 in delicate health, and a young and growing family, he had 
 more than once seen the year when fifty dollars was the 
 whole amount of money that had passed through his hands ; 
 and the whole of the rest of his support had come in dis- 
 
WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 121 
 
 connected contributions from one and another of his people. 
 He had lived without books, without newspapers, except as 
 he had found them by chance snatches here and there, 1 and 
 felt, as one so circumstanced only can feel, the difficulty of 
 maintaining intellectual vigor and energy in default of all 
 those stimulants to which cultivated minds in more favor 
 able circumstances are so much indebted. At the time that 
 he is now introduced to the reader, he had been recently 
 made pastor in one of the most important settlements in 
 the State, and among those who, so far as worldly circum 
 stances were concerned, were able to afford him a competent 
 support. But among communities like those at the West, 
 settled for expressly money-making purposes, and by those 
 who have for years been taught the lesson to save, and have 
 scarcely begun to feel the duty to give, a minister, however 
 laborious, however eloquent and successful, may often feel 
 the most serious embarrassments of poverty. Too often is 
 his salary regarded as a charity which may be given or 
 retrenched to suit every emergency of the times, and his 
 family expenditures watched with a jealous and censorious 
 eye. 
 
 On the other hand, George Lennox, the lawyer, had by 
 his talents and efficiency placed himself at the head of his 
 profession, and was realizing an income which brought all 
 the comforts and elegances of life within his reach. He 
 was a member of the Christian church in the place where 
 he lived, irreproachable in life and conduct. From nat 
 ural generosity of disposition, seconded by principle, he was 
 a liberal contributor to all religious and benevolent enter 
 prises, and was often quoted and referred to as an example 
 in good works. Surrounded by an affectionate and growing 
 family, with ample means for providing in the best manner 
 both for their physical and mental development, he justly 
 
 1 These particulars the writer heard stated personally as a part of the 
 experience of one of the most devoted ministers of Ohio. 
 
122 WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 
 
 regarded himself as a happy man, and was well satisfied 
 with the world he lived in. 
 
 Now, there is nothing more trying to the Christianity 
 or the philosophy which teaches the vanity of riches than 
 a few hours domestication in a family where wealth is em 
 ployed, not for purposes of ostentation, but for the per 
 fecting of home comfort and the gratification of refined in 
 tellectual tastes : and as Mr. Stanton leaned back, slippered 
 and gowned, in one of the easiest of chairs, and began to 
 look over periodicals and valuable new books from which 
 he had long been excluded, he might be forgiven for giving 
 a half sigh to the reflection that he could never be a rich 
 man. " Have you read this review ? " said his compan 
 ion, handing him one of the leading periodicals of the day 
 across the table. 
 
 " I seldom see reviews, 7 said Mr. Stanton, taking it. 
 
 " You lose a great deal," replied the other, " if you have 
 not seen those by this author altogether the ablest series 
 of literary efforts in our time. You clerical gentlemen 
 ought not to sacrifice your literary tastes entirely to your 
 professional cares. A moderate attention to current litera 
 ture liberalizes the mind, and gives influence that you could 
 not otherwise acquire." 
 
 " Literary taste is an expensive thing to a minister," said 
 Mr. Stanton, smiling ; " for the mind, as well as the body, 
 we must forego all luxuries, and confine ourselves simply 
 to necessaries." 
 
 " I would always indulge myself with books and periodi 
 cals, even if I had to scrimp elsewhere," said Mr. Lennox ; 
 and he spoke of scrimping with all the serious good faith 
 with which people of two or three thousand a year usually 
 speak of these matters. 
 
 Mr. Stanton smiled, and waived the subject, wondering 
 mentally where his friend would find an elsewhere to 
 scrimp, if he had the management of his concerns. The 
 
WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 123 
 
 conversation gradually flowed back to college days and 
 scenes, and the friends amused themselves with tracing the 
 history of their various classmates. 
 
 " And so Alsop is in the Senate/ said Mr. Stanton. 
 " Strange ! We did not at all expect it of him. But do 
 you know anything of George Bush ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied the other ; " he went into mercantile 
 life, and the last I heard he had turned a speculation worth 
 thirty thousand a shrewd fellow. I always knew he 
 would make his way in the world." 
 
 " But what has become of Langdon ? " 
 
 " Oh, he is doing well ; he is professor of languages in 
 
 College, and I hear he has lately issued a Latin 
 
 Grammar that promises to have quite a run." 
 
 " And Smithson ? " 
 
 " Smithson has an office at Washington, and was there 
 living in great style the last time I saw him." 
 
 It may be questioned whether the minister sank to sleep 
 that night, amid the many comfortable provisions of his 
 friend s guest chamber, without rebuking in his heart a cer 
 tain rising of regret that he had turned his back on all the 
 honors, and distinctions, and comforts which lay around the 
 path of others, who had not, in the opening of the race, half 
 the advantages of himself. " See," said the insidious voice ; 
 "what have you gained ? See your early friends surrounded 
 by riches and comfort, while you are pinched and harassed 
 by poverty. Have they not, many of them, as good a hope 
 of heaven as you have, and all this besides ? Could you 
 not have lived easier, and been a good man after all ? " 
 The reflection was only silenced by remembering that the 
 only Being who ever had the perfect power of choosing his 
 worldly condition, chose, of his own accord, a poverty deeper 
 than that of any of his servants. Had Christ consented to 
 be rich, what check could there have been to the desire of 
 it among his followers ? But he chose to stoop so low that 
 
124 WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 
 
 none could be lower ; and that in extremest want none could 
 ever say, " I am poorer than was my Saviour and God." 
 
 The friends at parting the next morning shook hands 
 warmly, and promised a frequent renewal of their resumed 
 intercourse. Nor was the bill for twenty dollars, which the 
 minister found in his hand, at all an unacceptable addition 
 to the pleasures of his visit ; and though the November wind 
 whistled keenly through a dull, comfortless sky, he turned 
 his horse s head homeward with a lightened heart. 
 
 " Mother s sick, and I m a-keeping house ! " said a little 
 flaxen-headed girl, in all the importance of seven years, as 
 her father entered the dwelling. 
 
 " Your mother sick ! what s the matter ? " inquired Mr. 
 Stanton. 
 
 " She caught cold washing, yesterday, while you were 
 gone ; " and when the minister stood by the bedside of his 
 sick wife, saw her flushed face, and felt her feverish pulse, 
 he felt seriously alarmed. She had scarcely recovered from 
 a dangerous fever when he left home, and with reason he 
 dreaded a relapse. 
 
 " My dear, why have you done so ? " was the first ex 
 postulation ; " why did you not send for old Agnes to do 
 your washing, as I told you ? " 
 
 " I felt so well, I thought I was quite able," was the 
 reply ; " and you know it will take all the money we have 
 now in hand to get the children s shoes before cold weather 
 comes, and nobody knows when we shall have any more." 
 
 " Well, Mary, comfort your heart as to that. I have had 
 a present to-day of twenty dollars that will last us some 
 time. God always provides when need is greatest." And 
 so, after administering a little to the comfort of his wife, the 
 minister addressed himself to the business of cooking some 
 thing for dinner for himself and his little hungry flock. 
 
 " There is no bread in the house," he exclaimed, after a 
 survey of the ways and means at his disposal. 
 
WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 125 
 
 " I must try and sit up long enough to make some/ 7 said 
 his wife faintly. 
 
 " You must try to he quiet/ replied the husband. " We 
 can do very well on potatoes. But yet/ he added, " I think 
 if I "bring the things to your bedside, and you show me 
 how to mix them, I could make some bread." 
 
 A burst of laughter from the young fry chorused his pro 
 posal ; nevertheless, as Mr. Stanton was a man of decided 
 genius, by help of much showing, and of strong arms and 
 good will, the feat was at length accomplished in no un 
 workmanlike manner ; and while the bread was put down 
 to the fire to rise, and the potatoes were baking in the oven, 
 Mr. Stanton having enjoined silence on his noisy troop, sat 
 down, pencil in hand, by his wife s bed, to prepare a ser 
 mon. We would that those ministers who feel that they 
 cannot compose without a study, and that the airiest and 
 pleasantest room in the house, where the floor is guarded 
 by the thick carpet, the light carefully relieved by curtains, 
 where papers are filed and arranged neatly in conveniences 
 purposely adjusted, with books of reference standing invit 
 ingly around, could once figure to themselves the process 
 of composing a sermon in circumstances such as we have 
 painted. Mr. Stanton had written his text, and jotted down 
 something of an introduction, when a circumstance occurred 
 which is almost inevitable in situations where a person 
 has anything else to attend to the baby woke. The little 
 interloper was to be tied into a chair, while the flaxen- 
 headed young housekeeper was now installed into the office 
 of waiter in ordinary to her majesty, and by shaking a news 
 paper before her face, plying a rattle, or other arts known 
 only to the initiate, to prevent her from indulging in any 
 unpleasant demonstrations, while Mr. Stanton proceeded 
 with his train of thought. 
 
 " Papa, papa ! the teakettle ! only look ! " cried all the 
 younger ones, just as he was again beginning to abstract his 
 mind. 
 
126 WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 
 
 Mr. Stanton rose, and adapting part of his sermon paper 
 to the handle of the teakettle, poured the boiling water on 
 some herb drink for his wife, and then recommenced. 
 
 " I sha n t have much of a sermon ! " he soliloquized, as 
 his youngest but one, with the ingenuity common to chil 
 dren of her standing, had contrived to tip herself over in 
 her chair, and cut her under lip, which for the time being 
 threw the whole settlement into commotion ; and this con 
 viction was strengthened by finding that it was now time 
 to give the children their dinner. 
 
 " I fear Mrs. Stanton is imprudent in exerting herself, 7 
 said the medical man to the husband, as he examined her 
 symptoms. 
 
 " I know she is," replied her husband, " but I cannot 
 keep her from it." 
 
 "It is absolutely indispensable that she should rest and 
 keep her mind easy," said the doctor. 
 
 " Rest and keep easy " how easily the words are said ; 
 yet how they fall on the ear of a mother, who knows that 
 her whole flock have not yet a garment prepared for winter, 
 that hiring assistance is out of the question, and that the 
 work must all be done by herself who sees that while 
 she is sick her husband is perplexed, and kept from his 
 appropriate duties, and her children, despite his well-meant 
 efforts, suffering for the want of those attentions that only 
 a mother can give. Will not any mother, so tried, rise from 
 her sick-bed before she feels able, to be again prostrated 
 by over-exertion, until the vigor of the constitution year by 
 year declines, and she sinks into an early grave ? Yet this 
 is the true history of many a wife and mother, who, in con 
 senting to share the privations of a Western minister, has as 
 truly sacrificed her life as did ever martyr on heathen shores. 
 The graves of Harriet Newell and Mrs. Judson are hallowed 
 as the shrines of saints, and their memory made as a watch 
 word among Christians ; yet the Western valley is full of 
 
WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 127 
 
 green and nameless graves, where patient, long-enduring 
 wives and mothers have lain down, worn out by the priva 
 tions of as severe a missionary field, and " no man knoweth 
 the place of their sepulchre." 
 
 The crisp air of a November evening was enlivened by 
 the fire that blazed merrily in the bar-room of the tavern 
 in L., while a more than usual number crowded about the 
 hearth, owing to the session of the county court in that 
 place. 
 
 " Mr. Lennox is a pretty smart lawyer," began an old 
 gentleman, who sat in one of the corners, in the half inter 
 rogative tone which indicated a wish to start conversation. 
 
 " Yes, sir, no mistake about that," was the reply ; " does 
 the largest business in the State very smart man, sir, and 
 honest a church member too, and one of the tallest kind 
 of Christians they say gives more money for building 
 meeting-houses, and all sorts of religious concerns, than any 
 man around." 
 
 " Well, he can afford it," said a man with a thin, care- 
 taking visage, and a nervous, anxious twitch of the hand, 
 as if it were his constant effort to hold on to something 
 " he can afford it, for he makes money hand over hand. It 
 is not everybody can afford to do as he does." 
 
 A sly look of intelligence pervaded the company ; for the 
 speaker, one of the most substantial householders in the 
 settlement, was always taken with distressing symptoms of 
 poverty and destitution when any allusion to public or re 
 ligious charity was made. 
 
 " Mr. C. is thinking about parish matters," said a wicked 
 wag of the company ; " you see, sir, our minister urged pretty 
 hard last Sunday to have his salary paid up. He has had 
 sickness in his family, and nothing on hand for winter ex 
 penses." 
 
 " I don t think Mr. Stanton is judicious in making such 
 public statements," said the former speaker nervously ; 
 
128 WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 
 
 " he ought to consult his friends privately, and not bring 
 temporalities into the pulpit." 
 
 " That is to say, starve decently, and make no fuss," re 
 plied the other. 
 
 " Nonsense ! Who talks of starving, when provision is as 
 plenty as blackberries ? I tell you I understand this matter, 
 and know how little a man can get along with. I ve tried 
 it myself. When I first set out in life, my wife and I had 
 not a pair of andirons or a shovel and tongs for two or three 
 years, and we never thought of complaining. The times 
 are hard. We are all losing, and must get along as we can ; 
 and Mr. Stariton must bear some rubs as well as the rest 
 of us." 
 
 " It appears to me, Mr. C,," said the waggish gentleman 
 aforesaid, " that if you d put Mr. Stanton into your good 
 brick house, and give him your furniture and income, he 
 would be well satisfied to rub along as you do." 
 
 " Mr. Stanton is n t so careful in his expenses as he might 
 be," said Mr. C. petulantly, disregarding the idea started 
 by his neighbor ; " he buys things / should not think of 
 buying. Now, I was in his house the other day, and he 
 had just given three dollars for a single book." 
 
 " Perhaps it was a book he needed in his studies," sug 
 gested the old gentleman who began the conversation. 
 
 " What s the use of book-larnin to a minister, if he s 
 got the real spirit in him ? " chimed in a rough-looking man 
 in the farthest corner ; " only wish you could have heard 
 Elder North give it off there was a real genuine preacher 
 for you, could n t even read his text in the Bible ; yet, sir, 
 he would get up and reel it off as smooth and fast as the 
 best of them that come out of the colleges. My notion is, 
 it s the spirit that ? s the thing, after all." 
 
 Several of the auditors seemed inclined to express their 
 approbation of this doctrine, though some remarked that 
 Mr. Stanton was a smarter preacher than Elder North, for 
 
WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 129 
 
 all his book-larnin . Some of the more intelligent of the 
 circle here exchanged smiles, but declined entering the lists 
 in favor of " larnin ." 
 
 " Oh, for my part, 7 resumed Mr. C., "I am for having 
 a minister study, and have books and all that, if he can 
 afford it, but in hard times like these, books are neither 
 meat, drink, nor fire ; and I know I can t afford them. 
 Now, I m as willing to contribute my part to the minister s 
 salary, and every other charity, as anybody, when I can get 
 money to do it, but in these times I can t get it." 
 
 The elderly gentleman here interrupted the conversation 
 by saying abruptly, " I am a townsman of Mr. Stanton s, 
 and it is my opinion that he has impoverished himself by 
 giving in religious charity." 
 
 " Giving in charity ! " exclaimed several voices ; " where 
 did he ever get anything to give ? " 
 
 " Yet I think I speak within bounds," said the old gen 
 tleman, " when I say that he has given more than the 
 amount of two thousand dollars yearly to the support of the 
 gospel in this State ; and I think I can show it to be so." 
 
 The eyes of the auditors were now enlarged to their ut 
 most limits, while the old gentleman, after the fashion of 
 shrewd old gentlemen generally, screwed up his mouth in 
 a very dry twist, and looked in the fire without saying a 
 word. 
 
 " Come now, pray tell us how this is," said several of 
 the company. 
 
 "Well, sir," said the old man, addressing himself to 
 Mr. C., " you are a man of business, and will perhaps un 
 derstand the case as I view it. You were speaking this 
 evening of Lawyer Lennox. He and your minister were 
 both from my native place, and both there and in college 
 your minister was always reckoned the smartest of the two, 
 and went ahead in everything they undertook. Now, you 
 see Mr. Lennox, out of his talents and education, makes say 
 
130 WHICH IS THE LIBERAL MAN 
 
 three thousand a year. Mr. Stanton had more talent, and 
 more education, and might have made even more ; but by 
 devoting himself to the work of the ministry in your State, 
 he gains, we will say, about four hundred dollars. Does he 
 not, therefore, in fact, give all the difference between four 
 hundred and three thousand to the cause of religion in this 
 State ? If, during the business season of the year, you, 
 Mr. C., should devote your whole time to some benevolent 
 enterprise, would you not feel that you had virtually given 
 to that enterprise all the money you would otherwise have 
 made ? Instead, therefore, of calling it a charity for you 
 to subscribe to your minister s support, you ought to con 
 sider it a very expensive charity for him to devote his ex 
 istence in preaching to you. To bring the gospel to your 
 State, he has given up a reasonable prospect of an income of 
 two or three thousand, and contents himself with the least 
 sum which will keep soul and body together, without the 
 possibility of laying up a cent for his family in case of his 
 sickness and death. This, sir, is what I call giving in 
 charity." 
 
THE CANAL BOAT 
 
 OF all the ways of traveling which obtain among our 
 locomotive nation, this said vehicle, the canal boat, is the 
 most absolutely prosaic and inglorious. There is something 
 picturesque, nay, almost sublime, in the lordly march of 
 your well-built, high-bred steamboat. Go, take your stand 
 on some overhanging bluff, where the blue Ohio winds its 
 thread of silver, or the sturdy Mississippi tears its path 
 through unbroken forests, and it will do your heart good to 
 see the gallant boat walking the waters with unbroken and 
 powerful tread ; and, like some fabled monster of the wave, 
 breathing fire, and making the shores resound with its deep 
 respirations. Then there is something mysterious, even 
 awful, in the power of steam. See it curling up against a 
 blue sky, some rosy morning graceful, floating, intangible, 
 and to all appearance the softest and gentlest of all spiritual 
 things ; and then think that it is this fairy spirit that keeps 
 all the world alive and hot with motion ; think how excel 
 lent a servant it is, doing all sorts of gigantic works, like the 
 genii of old ; and yet, if you let slip the talisman only for 
 a moment, what terrible advantage it will take of you ! and 
 you will confess that steam has some claims both to the beau 
 tiful and the terrible. For our own part, when we are down 
 among the machinery of a steamboat in full play, we con 
 duct ourselves very reverently, for we consider it as a very 
 serious neighborhood ; and every time the steam whizzes 
 with such red-hot determination from the escape valve, we 
 start as if some of the spirits were after us. But in a canal 
 boat there is no power, no mystery, no danger ; one cannot 
 
132 THE CANAL BOAT 
 
 blow up, one cannot be drowned, unless by some special 
 effort : one sees clearly all there is in the case a horse, a 
 rope, and a muddy strip of water and that is all. 
 
 Did you ever try it, reader ? If not, take an imaginary 
 trip with us, just for experiment. " There s the boat ! " 
 exclaims a passenger in the omnibus, as we are rolling down 
 from the Pittsburgh Mansion House to the canal. " Where ? " 
 exclaim a dozen of voices, and forthwith a dozen heads go 
 out of the window. " Why, down there, under that bridge ; 
 don t you see those lights ? " " What ! that little thing ? " 
 exclaims an inexperienced traveler ; " dear me ! we can t 
 half of us get into it ! " " We ! indeed," says some old 
 hand in the business ; " I think you 11 find it will hold us 
 and a dozen more loads like us." " Impossible ! " say some. 
 " You 11 see," say the initiated ; and, as soon as you get 
 out, you do see, and hear too, what seems like a general 
 breaking loose from the Tower of Babel, amid a perfect hail 
 storm of trunks, boxes, valises, carpet-bags, and every de- 
 scribable and indescribable form of what a Westerner calls 
 "plunder." 
 
 "That s my trunk!" barks out a big, round man. 
 " That s my bandbox ! " screams a heart-stricken old lady, 
 in terror for her immaculate Sunday caps. " Where s my 
 little red box ? I had two carpet-bags and a My trunk 
 had a scarle Hallo ! where are you going with that 
 portmanteau ? Husband ! husband ! do see after the large 
 basket and the little hair trunk oh, and the baby s little 
 chair ! " " Go below go below, for mercy s sake, my 
 dear ; I 11 see to the baggage." At last, the feminine part 
 of creation, perceiving that, in this particular instance, 
 they gain nothing by public speaking, are content to be led 
 quietly under hatches ; and amusing is the look of dismay 
 which each newcomer gives to the confined quarters that 
 present themselves. Those who were so ignorant of the 
 power of compression as to suppose the boat scarce large 
 
THE CANAL BOAT 133 
 
 enough to contain them and theirs, find, with dismay, a re 
 spectable colony of old ladies, babies, mothers, big baskets, 
 and carpet-bags already established. " Mercy on us ! " says 
 one, after surveying the little room, about ten feet long and 
 six high, " where are we all to sleep to-night ? " " Oh, 
 me ! what a sight of children ! " says a young lady, in a 
 despairing tone. " Poh ! " says an initiated traveler ; " chil 
 dren ! scarce any here ; let s see, one ; the woman in the 
 corner, two ; that child with the bread and butter, three ; 
 and then there s that other woman with two. Really, it s 
 quite moderate for a canal boat. However, we can t tell till 
 they have all come." 
 
 " All ! for mercy s sake, you don t say there are any more 
 coming ! " exclaim two or three in a breath j " they can t 
 come ; there is not room ! " 
 
 Notwithstanding the impressive utterance of this sentence, 
 the contrary is immediately demonstrated.by the appearance 
 of a very corpulent, elderly lady, with three well-grown 
 daughters, who come down looking about them most com 
 placently, entirely regardless of the unchristian looks of the 
 company. What a mercy it is that fat people are always 
 good-natured ! 
 
 After this follows an indiscriminate raining down of all 
 shapes, sizes, sexes, and ages men, women, children, ba 
 bies, and nurses. The state of feeling becomes perfectly 
 desperate. Darkness gathers on all faces. " We shall be 
 smothered ! we shall be crowded to death ! we can t stay 
 here ! " are heard faintly from one and another ; and yet, 
 though the boat grows no wider, the walls no higher, they 
 do live, and do stay there, in spite of repeated protestations 
 to the contrary. Truly, as Sam Slick says, " there s a 
 sight of wear in human natur ." 
 
 But, meanwhile, the children grow sleepy, and divers 
 interesting little duets and trios arise from one part or 
 another of the cabin. 
 
134 THE CANAL BOAT 
 
 " Hush, Johnny ! be a good boy," says a pale, nursing 
 mamma, to a great, bristling, white-headed phenomenon, 
 who is kicking very much at large in her lap. 
 
 " I won t be a good boy, neither," responds Johnny, with 
 interesting explicitness ; " I want to go to bed, and so-o-o-o ! " 
 and Johnny makes up a mouth as big as a teacup, and roars 
 with good courage, and his mamma asks him "if he ever 
 saw pa do so," and tells him that " he is mamma s dear, 
 good little boy, and must not make a noise," with various 
 observations of the kind, which are so strikingly efficacious 
 in such cases. Meanwhile, the domestic concert in other 
 quarters proceeds with vigor. " Mamma, I m tired ! " 
 bawls a child. " Where s the baby s nightgown ? " calls 
 a nurse. " Do take Peter upon your lap, and keep him still." 
 " Pray get out some biscuits to stop their mouths." Mean 
 while, sundry babies strike in " con spirito," as the music 
 books have it, and execute various flourishes ; the disconso 
 late mothers sigh, and look as if all was over with them ; 
 and the young ladies appear extremely disgusted, and won 
 der " what business women have to be traveling round 
 with babies." 
 
 To these troubles succeeds the turning-out scene, when the 
 whole caravan is ejected into the gentlemen s cabin, that the 
 beds may be made. The red curtains are put down, and in 
 solemn silence all the last mysterious preparations begin. At 
 length it is announced that all is ready. Forthwith the whole 
 company rush back, and find the walls embellished by a series 
 of little shelves, about a foot wide, each furnished with a mat 
 tress and bedding, and hooked to the ceiling by a very sus 
 piciously slender cord. Direful are the ruminations and ex 
 clamations of inexperienced travelers, particularly young 
 ones, as they eye these very equivocal accommodations, 
 " What, sleep up there ! I won t sleep on one of those top 
 shelves, I know. The cords will certainly break." The 
 chambermaid here takes up the conversation, and solemnly 
 
THE CANAL BOAT 135 
 
 assures them that such an accident is not to be thought of at 
 all ; that it is a natural impossibility a thing that could 
 not happen without an actual miracle ; and since it becomes 
 increasingly evident that thirty ladies cannot all sleep on the 
 lowest shelf, there is some effort made to exercise faith in 
 this doctrine ; nevertheless, all look on their neighbors 
 with fear and trembling ; and when the stout lady talks of 
 taking a shelf, she is most urgently pressed to change places 
 with her alarmed neighbor below. Points of location being 
 after a while adjusted, comes the last struggle. Everybody 
 wants to take off a bonnet or look for a shawl, to find a cloak, 
 or get a carpet-bag, and all set about it with such zeal that 
 nothing can be done. " Ma am, you re on my foot ! " says 
 one. " Will you please to move, ma am ? " says somebody, 
 who is gasping and struggling behind you. " Move ! " you 
 echo. " Indeed, I should be very glad to, but I don t see 
 much prospect of it." " Chambermaid ! " calls a lady, who 
 is struggling among a heap of carpet-bags and children at one 
 end of the cabin. " Ma am ! " echoes the poor chamber 
 maid, who is wedged fast, in a similar situation, at the other. 
 " Where s my cloak, chambermaid ? " "I d find it, ma am, 
 if I could move." " Chambermaid, my basket ! " " Cham 
 bermaid, my parasol ! " " Chambermaid, my carpet-bag ! " 
 "Mamma, they push me so!" "Hush, child, crawl 
 under there, and lie still till I can undress you." At last, 
 however, the various distresses are over, the babies sink to 
 sleep, and even that much-enduring being, the chambermaid, 
 seeks out some corner for repose. Tired and drowsy, you 
 are just sinking into a doze, when bang ! goes the boat against 
 the sides of a lock ; ropes scrape, men run and shout, and 
 up fly the heads of all the top shelfites, who are generally 
 the more juvenile and airy part of the company. 
 
 " What s that ! what s that ! " flies from mouth to mouth, 
 and forthwith they proceed to awaken their respective rela 
 tions, " Mother ! Aunt Hannah ! do wake up ; what is 
 
136 THE CANAL BOAT 
 
 this awful noise? 7 "Oh, only a lock!" "Pray be 
 still," groan out the sleepy members from below. 
 
 " A lock ! " exclaim the vivacious creatures, ever on the 
 alert for information ; " and what is a lock, pray ? " 
 
 " Don t you know what a lock is, you silly creatures ? Do 
 lie down and go to sleep." 
 
 " But say, there ain t any danger in a lock, is there ? " re 
 spond the querists. " Danger ! " exclaims a deaf old lady, 
 poking up her head ; " what s the matter ? There hain t 
 nothin burst, has there ? " " No, no, no ! " exclaim the pro 
 voked and despairing opposition party, who find that there 
 is no such thing as going to sleep till they have made the 
 old lady below and the young ladies above understand ex 
 actly the philosophy of a lock. After a while the conver 
 sation again subsides ; again all is still ; you hear only the 
 trampling of horses and the rippling of the rope in the water, 
 and sleep again is stealing over you. You doze, you dream, 
 and all of a sudden you are startled by a cry, " Chambermaid ! 
 wake up the lady that wants to be set ashore." Up jumps 
 chambermaid, and up jump the lady and two children, and 
 forthwith form a committee of inquiry as to ways and means. 
 " Where s my bonnet ? " says the lady, half awake, and 
 fumbling among the various articles of that name. "I 
 thought I hung it up behind the door." " Can t you find it ? " 
 says poor chambermaid, yawning and rubbing her eyes. " Oh, 
 yes, here it is," says the lady ; and then the cloak, the shawl, 
 the gloves, the shoes, receive each a separate discussion. At 
 last all seems ready, and they begin to move off, when, lo ! 
 Peter s cap is missing. " Now, where can it be ? " solilo 
 quizes the lady. " I put it right here by the table leg ; 
 maybe it got into some of the berths." At this suggestion, 
 the chambermaid takes the candle, and goes round deliber 
 ately to every berth, poking the light directly in the face of 
 every sleeper. " Here it is," she exclaims, pulling at some 
 thing black under one pillow. " No, indeed, those are my 
 
THE CANAL BOAT 137 
 
 shoes," says the vexed sleeper. " Maybe it s here/ 7 she 
 resumes, darting upon something dark in another berth. 
 " No, that s my bag," responds the occupant. The cham 
 bermaid then proceeds to turn over all the children on the 
 floor, to see if it is not under them, in the course of which 
 process they are most agreeably waked up and enlivened ; 
 and when everybody is broad awake, and most uncharitably 
 wishing the cap, and Peter too, at the bottom of the canal, 
 the good lady exclaims, " Well, if this is n t lucky ; here I 
 had it safe in my basket all the time ! " And she departs 
 amid the what shall I say, execrations ? of the whole 
 company, ladies though they be. 
 
 Well, after this follows a hushing up and wiping up among 
 the juvenile population, and a series of remarks commences 
 from the various shelves, of a very edifying and instructive 
 tendency. One says that the woman did not seem to know 
 where anything was ; another says that she has waked them 
 all up ; a third adds that she has waked up all the children, 
 too ; and the elderly ladies make moral reflections on the 
 importance of putting your things where you can find them 
 being always ready ; which observations, being delivered 
 in an exceedingly doleful and drowsy tone, form a sort of 
 sub-bass to the lively chattering of the upper shelfites, who 
 declare that they feel quite wide awake, that they don t 
 think they shall go to sleep again to-night, and discourse 
 over everything in creation, until you heartily wish you were 
 enough related to them to give them a scolding. 
 
 At last, however, voice after voice drops off ; you fall into 
 a most refreshing slumber ; it seems to you that you sleep 
 about a quarter of an hour, when the chambermaid pulls 
 you by the sleeve. " Will you please to get up, ma am ? 
 We want to make the beds." You start and stare. Sure 
 enough, the night is gone. So much for sleeping on board 
 canal boats. 
 
 Let us not enumerate the manifold perplexities of the 
 
138 THE CANAL BOAT 
 
 morning toilet in a place where every lady realizes most 
 forcibly the condition of the old woman who lived under a 
 broom : " All she wanted was elbow room." Let us not 
 tell how one glass is made to answer for thirty fair faces, 
 one ewer and vase for thirty lavations ; and tell it not in 
 Gath ! one towel for a company ! Let us not intimate 
 how ladies shoes have, in a night, clandestinely slid into the 
 gentlemen s cabin, and gentlemen s boots elbowed, or rather, 
 toed their way among ladies gear, nor recite the exclama 
 tions after runaway property that are heard. " I can t find 
 nothin of Johnny s shoe ! " " Here s a shoe in the water 
 pitcher is this it ? " " My side-combs are gone ! " ex 
 claims a nymph with disheveled curls. " Massy ! do look 
 at my bonnet ! " exclaims an old lady, elevating an article 
 crushed into as many angles as there are pieces in a mince 
 pie. " I never did sleep so much together in my life," 
 echoes a poor little French lady, whom despair has driven 
 into talking English. 
 
 But our shortening paper warns us not to prolong our 
 catalogue of distresses beyond reasonable bounds, and there 
 fore we will close with advising all our friends, who intend 
 to try this way of traveling for pleasure, to take a good stock 
 both of patience and clean towels with them, for we think 
 that they will find abundant need for both. 
 
FEELING 
 
 THERE is one way of studying human nature, which sur 
 veys mankind only as a set of instruments for the accom 
 plishment of personal plans. There is another, which regards 
 them simply as a gallery of pictures, to be admired or laughed 
 at as the caricature or the beau ideal predominates. A third 
 way regards them as human beings, having hearts that can 
 suffer and enjoy, that can be improved or be ruined j as 
 those who are linked to us by mysterious reciprocal influ 
 ences, by the common dangers of a present existence, and 
 the uncertainties of a future one ; as presenting, wherever 
 we meet them, claims on our sympathy and assistance. 
 
 Those who adopt the last method are interested in human 
 beings, not so much by present attractions as by their capa 
 bilities as intelligent, immortal beings ; by a high belief of 
 what every mind may attain in an immortal existence ; by 
 anxieties for its temptations and dangers, and often by the 
 perception of errors and faults which threaten its ruin. The 
 first two modes are adopted by the great mass of society, 
 the last is the office of those few scattered stars in the sky 
 of life, who look down on its dark selfishness to remind us 
 that there is a world of light and love. 
 
 To this class did He belong, whose rising and setting on 
 earth were for " the healing of the nations ; " and to this 
 class has belonged many a pure and devoted spirit, like him 
 shining to cheer, like him fading away into the heavens. 
 To this class many a one wishes to belong, who has an eye 
 to distinguish the divinity of virtue, without the resolution 
 to attain it ; who, while they sweep along with the selfish 
 
140 FEELING 
 
 current of society, still regret that society is not different 
 that they themselves are not different. If this train of 
 thought has no very particular application to what follows, 
 it was nevertheless suggested by it, and of its relevancy 
 others must judge. 
 
 Look into this schoolroom. It is a warm, sleepy after 
 noon in July j there is scarcely air enough to stir the leaves 
 of the tall buttonwood-tree before the door, or to lift the 
 loose leaves of the copy-book in the window ; the sun has 
 been diligently shining into those curtainless west windows 
 ever since three o clock, upon those blotted and mangled 
 desks, and those decrepit and tottering benches, and that 
 great armchair, the high place of authority. You can 
 faintly hear, about the door, the " craw, craw," of some 
 neighboring chickens, which have stepped around to con 
 sider the dinner baskets, and pick up the crumbs of the 
 noon s repast. For a marvel, the busy school is still, be 
 cause, in truth, it is too warm to stir. You will find no 
 thing to disturb your meditation on character, for you cannot 
 hear the beat of those little hearts, nor the bustle of all 
 those busy thoughts. 
 
 Now look around. Who of these is the most interest 
 ing ? Is it that tall, slender, hazel-eyed boy, with a glance 
 like a falcon, whose elbows rest on his book as he gazes out 
 on the great buttonwood-tree, and is calculating how he 
 shall fix his squirrel-trap when school is out ? Or is it 
 that curly-headed little rogue, who is shaking with repressed 
 laughter at seeing a chicken roll over in a dinner basket ? 
 Or is it that arch boy with black eyelashes, and deep, mis 
 chievous dimple in his cheeks, who is slyly fixing a fish 
 hook to the skirts of the master s coat, yet looking as ab 
 stracted as Archimedes whenever the good man turns his 
 head that way ? No ; these are intelligent, bright, beauti 
 ful, but it is not these. Perhaps, then, it is that sleepy 
 little girl, with golden curls, and a mouth like a half-blown 
 
FEELING 141 
 
 rosebud. See, the small brass thimble has fallen to the 
 floor, her patchwork drops from her lap, her blue eyes close 
 like two sleepy violets, her little head is nodding, and she 
 sinks on her sister 7 s shoulder : surely it is she. No, it is 
 not. But look in that corner. Do you see that boy with 
 such a gloomy countenance so vacant, yet so ill-natured ? 
 He is doing nothing, and he very seldom does anything. 
 He is surly and gloomy in his looks and actions. He 
 never showed any more aptitude for saying or doing a pretty 
 thing than his straight white hair does for curling. He is 
 regularly blamed and punished every day, and the more he 
 is blamed and punished the worse he grows. None of the 
 boys and girls in school will play with him ; or, if they do, 
 they will be sorry for it. And every day the master as 
 sures him that " he does not know what to do with him, 7 
 and that he " makes him more trouble than any boy in 
 school," with similar judicious information, that has a 
 striking tendency to promote improvement. That is the 
 boy to whom I apply the title of " the most interesting 
 one." 
 
 He is interesting because he is not pleasing ; because he 
 has bad habits ; because he does wrong ; because, under pres 
 ent influences, he is always likely to do wrong. He is inter 
 esting because he has become what he is now by means of 
 the very temperament which often makes the noblest virtue. 
 It is feeling, acuteness of feeling, which has given that coun 
 tenance its expression, that character its moroseness. 
 
 He has no father, and that long-suffering friend, his 
 mother, is gone too. Yet he has relations, and kind ones 
 too ; and, in the compassionate language of worldly charity, 
 it may be said of him, " He would have nothing of which 
 to complain, if he would only behave himself." 
 
 His little sister is always bright, always pleasant and 
 cheerful ; and his friends say, " Why should not he be so 
 too ? He is in exactly the same circumstances." No, he 
 
142 FEELING 
 
 is not. In one circumstance they differ. He has a mind 
 to feel and remember everything that can pain ; she can 
 feel and remember but little. If you blame him, he is 
 exasperated, gloomy, and cannot forget it. If you blame 
 her, she can say she has done wrong in a moment, and all 
 is forgotten. Her mind can no more be wounded than 
 the little brook where she loves to play. The bright waters 
 close again, and smile and prattle as merry as before. 
 Which is the most desirable temperament ? It would be 
 hard to say. The power of feeling is necessary for all that 
 is noble in man, and yet it involves the greatest risks. 
 They who catch at happiness on the bright surface of things 
 secure a portion, such as it is, w r ith more certainty ; those 
 who dive for it in the waters of deeper feeling, if they suc 
 ceed, will bring up pearls and diamonds, but if they sink 
 they are lost forever ! 
 
 But now comes Saturday, and school is just out. Can 
 any one of my readers remember the rapturous prospect of 
 a long, bright Saturday afternoon ? " Where are you go 
 ing ? " " Will you come and see me ? " " We are going 
 a-fishing ! " " Let us go a-strawberrying ! " may be heard 
 rising from the happy group. But no one comes near the 
 ill-humored James, and the little party going to visit his 
 sister " wish James was out of the way." He sees every 
 motion, hears every whisper, knows, suspects, feels it all, 
 and turns to go home more sullen and ill-tempered than 
 common. The world looks dark nobody loves him 
 and he is told that it is " all his own fault," and that makes 
 the matter still worse. When the little party arrive, he is 
 suspicious and irritable, and, of course, soon excommunicated. 
 Then, as he stands in disconsolate anger, looking over the 
 garden fence at the gay group making dandelion chains, and 
 playing baby house under the trees, he wonders why he is 
 not like other children. He wishes he were different, and 
 yet he does not know what to do. He looks around, and 
 
FEELING 143 
 
 everything is blooming and bright. His little bed of flowers 
 is even brighter and sweeter than ever before, and a new 
 rose is just opening on his rosebush. There goes pussy, 
 too, racing and scampering, with little Ellen after her, in 
 among the alleys and flowers ; and the birds are singing in 
 the trees ; and the soft winds brush the blossoms of the 
 sweet pea against his cheek ; and yet, though all nature 
 looks on him so kindly, he is wretched. 
 
 Let us now change the scene. Why is that crowded as 
 sembly so attentive so silent ? Who is speaking ? It is 
 our old friend, the little disconsolate schoolboy. But his 
 eyes are flashing with intellect, his face fervent with emo 
 tion, his voice breathes like music, and every mind is en 
 chained. Again, it is a splendid sunset, and yonder enthu 
 siast meets it face to face, as a friend. He is silent rapt 
 happy. He feels the poetry which God has written ; 
 he is touched by it, as God meant that the feeling spirit 
 should be touched. Again, he is watching by the bed of 
 sickness, and it is blessed to have such a watcher ! antici 
 pating every want ; relieving, not in a cold, uninterested 
 way, but with the quick perceptions, the tenderness, the gen 
 tleness of an angel. Follow him into the circle of friend 
 ship, and why is he so loved and trusted ? Why can you 
 so easily tell to him what you can say to no one else besides ? 
 Why is it that all around him feel that he can understand, 
 appreciate, be touched by all that touches them ? And 
 when heaven uncloses its doors of light, when all its know 
 ledge, its purity, its bliss, rises on the eye and passes into 
 the soul, who then will be looked on as the one who might 
 be envied he who can, or he who cannot feel ? 
 
THE SEAMSTEESS 
 
 " Few, save the poor, feel for the poor j 
 
 The rich know not how hard 
 It is to be of needful food 
 And needful rest debarred. 
 
 " Their paths are paths of plenteousness ; 
 
 They sleep on silk and down ; 
 They never think how wearily 
 The weaiy head lies down. 
 
 " They never by the window sit, 
 
 And see the gay pass by, 
 Yet take their weary work again, 
 And with a mournful eye." 
 
 L. E. L. 
 
 HOWEVER fine and elevated, in a sentimental point of 
 view, may have been the poetry of this gifted writer, we 
 think we have never seen anything from this source that 
 ought to give a better opinion of her than the little ballad 
 from which the above verses are taken. 
 
 They show that the accomplished authoress possessed, not 
 merely a knowledge of the dreamy ideal wants of human 
 beings, but the more pressing and homely ones, which the 
 fastidious and poetical are often the last to appreciate. The 
 sufferings of poverty are not confined to those of the com 
 mon, squalid, every-day-inured to hardships, and ready, with 
 open hand, to receive charity, let it come to them as it will. 
 There is another class on whom it presses with still heavier 
 power the generous, the decent, the self-respecting, who 
 have struggled with their lot in silence, " bearing all things, 
 hoping all things " and willing to endure all things, rather 
 than breathe a word of complaint, or to acknowledge, even 
 
THE SEAMSTRESS 145 
 
 to themselves, that their own efforts will not be sufficient for 
 their own necessities. 
 
 Pause with me a while at the door of yonder room, 
 whose small window overlooks a little court below. It is 
 inhabited by a widow and her daughter, dependent entirely 
 on the labors of the needle, and those other slight and pre 
 carious resources, which are all that remain to woman when 
 left to struggle her way through the world alone. It con 
 tains all their small earthly store, and there is scarce an 
 article of its little stock of furniture that has not been 
 thought of, and toiled for, and its price calculated over and 
 over again, before everything could be made right for its 
 purchase. Every article is arranged with the utmost neat 
 ness and care ; nor is the most costly furniture of a fashion 
 able parlor more sedulously guarded from a scratch or a rub, 
 than is that brightly varnished bureau, and that neat cherry 
 tea-table and bedstead. The floor, too, boasted once a car 
 pet ; but old Time has been busy with it, picking a hole 
 here, and making a thin place there ; and though the old 
 fellow has been followed up by the most indefatigable zeal 
 in darning, the marks of his mischievous fingers are too 
 plain to be mistaken. It is true, a kindly neighbor has 
 given a bit of faded baize, which has been neatly clipped 
 and bound, and spread down over an entirely unmanageable 
 hole in front of the fireplace ; and other places have been 
 repaired with pieces of different colors ; and yet, after all, 
 it is evident that the poor carpet is not long for this world. 
 
 But the best face is put upon everything. The little 
 cupboard in the corner, that contains a few china cups, and 
 one or two antiquated silver spoons, relics of better days, 
 is arranged with jealous neatness, and the white muslin 
 window curtain, albeit the muslin be old, has been care 
 fully whitened and starched, and smoothly ironed, and put 
 up with exact precision ; and on the bureau, covered by a 
 snowy cloth, are arranged a few books and other memorials 
 
146 THE SEAMSTRESS 
 
 of former times, and a faded miniature, which, though it 
 have little about it to interest a stranger, is more precious 
 to the poor widow than everything besides. Mrs. Ames 
 is seated in her rocking-chair, supported by a pillow, and 
 busy cutting out work, while her daughter, a slender, sickly- 
 looking girl, is sitting by the window, intent on some fine 
 stitching. Mrs. Ames in former days was the wife of a 
 respectable merchant, and the mother of an affectionate 
 family. But evil fortune had followed her with a steadi 
 ness that seemed like the stern decree of some adverse fate 
 rather than the ordinary dealings of a merciful Providence. 
 First came a heavy run of losses in business ; then long 
 and expensive sickness in the family, and the death of chil 
 dren. Then there was the selling of the large house and 
 elegant furniture, to retire to a humbler style of living ; and 
 finally, the sale of all the property, with the view of quit 
 ting the shores of a native land, and commencing life again 
 in a new one. But scarcely had the exiled family found 
 themselves in the port of a foreign land, when the father 
 was suddenly smitten down by the hand of death, and his 
 lonely grave made in a land of strangers. The widow, 
 broken-hearted and discouraged, had still a wearisome jour 
 ney before her ere she could reach any whom she could 
 consider as her friends. With her two daughters, entirely 
 unattended, and with her finances impoverished by detention 
 and sickness, she performed the tedious journey. 
 
 Arrived at the place of her destination, she found her 
 self not only without immediate resources, but considerably 
 in debt to one who had advanced money for her traveling 
 expenses. With silent endurance she met the necessities 
 of her situation. Her daughters, delicately reared, and 
 hitherto carefully educated, were placed out to service, and 
 Mrs. Ames sought for employment as a nurse. The younger 
 child fell sick, and the hard earnings of the mother were 
 all exhausted in the care of her ; and though she recovered 
 
THE SEAMSTRESS 147 
 
 in part, she was declared by her physician to be the victim 
 of a disease which would never leave her till it terminated 
 her life. As soon, however, as her daughter was so far 
 restored as not to need her immediate care, Mrs. Ames 
 resumed her laborious employment. Scarcely had she been 
 able, in this way, to discharge the debts for her journey 
 and to furnish the small room we have described, when the 
 hand of disease was laid heavily on herself. Too resolute 
 and persevering to give way to the first attacks of pain and 
 weakness, she still continued her fatiguing employment till 
 her system was entirely prostrated. Thus all possibility of 
 pursuing her business was cut off, and nothing remained 
 but what could be accomplished by her own and her daugh 
 ter s dexterity at the needle. It is at this time we ask you 
 to look in upon the mother and daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Ames is sitting up, the first time for a week, and 
 even to-day she is scarcely fit to do so ; but she remembers 
 that the month is coming round, and her rent will soon be 
 due; and in her feebleness she will stretch every nerve 
 to meet her engagements with punctilious exactness. Wea 
 ried at length with cutting out, and measuring, and drawing 
 threads, she leans back in her chair, and her eye rests on 
 the pale face of her daughter, who has been sitting for two 
 hours intent on her stitching. 
 
 " Ellen, my child, your head aches ; don t work so 
 steadily." 
 
 " Oh, no, it don t ache much," said she, too conscious of 
 looking very much tired. Poor girl ! had she remained in 
 the situation in which she was born, she would now have 
 been skipping about, and enjoying life as other young girls 
 of fifteen do; but now there is no choice of employments 
 for her no youthful companions no visiting no 
 pleasant walks in the fresh air. Evening and morning, 
 it is all the same ; headache or sideache, it is all one. 
 She must hold on the same unvarying task a wearisome 
 
148 THE SEAMSTRESS 
 
 thing for a girl of fifteen. But see ! the door opens, and 
 Mrs. Ames s face brightens as her other daughter enters. 
 Mary has become a domestic in a neighboring family, where 
 her faithfulness and kindness of heart have caused her to 
 be regarded more as a daughter and a sister than as a ser 
 vant. " Here, mother, is your rent money," she exclaimed ; 
 " so do put up your work and rest a while. I can get 
 enough to pay it next time before the month comes around 
 again." 
 
 "Dear child, I do wish you would ever think to get any 
 thing for yourself," said Mrs. Ames. " I cannot consent to 
 use up all your earnings, as I have done lately, and all 
 Ellen s too ; you must have a new dress this spring, and 
 that bonnet of yours is not decent any longer." 
 
 " Oh, no, mother ! I have made over my blue calico, 
 and you would be surprised to see how well it looks ; and 
 my best frock, when it is washed and darned, will answer 
 some time longer. Arid then Mrs. Grant has given me a 
 ribbon, and when my bonnet is whitened and trimmed it 
 will look very well. And so," she added, " I brought you 
 some wine this afternoon ; you know the doctor says you 
 need wine." 
 
 "Dear child, I want to see you take some comfort of 
 your money yourself." 
 
 " Well, I do take comfort of it, mother. It is more 
 comfort to be able to help you than to wear all the finest 
 dresses in the world." 
 
 Two months from this dialogue found our little family 
 still more straitened and perplexed. Mrs. Ames had been 
 confined all the time with sickness, and the greater part of 
 Ellen s time and strength was occupied with attending to 
 her. Very little sewing could the poor girl now do, in the 
 broken intervals that remained to her ; and the wages of 
 Mary were not only used as fast as earned, but she antici- 
 
THE SEAMSTEESS 149 
 
 pated two months in advance. Mrs. Ames had been better 
 for a day or two, and had been sitting up, exerting all 
 her strength to finish a set of shirts which had been sent 
 in to make. " The money for them will just pay our 
 rent," sighed she ; " and if we can do a little more this 
 week " 
 
 " Dear mother, you are so tired," said Ellen ; " do lie 
 down, and not worry any more till I come back." 
 
 Ellen went out, and passed on till she came to the door 
 of an elegant house, whose damask and muslin window cur 
 tains indicated a fashionable residence. Mrs. Elmore was 
 sitting in her splendidly furnished parlor, and around her 
 lay various fancy articles which two young girls were busily 
 unrolling. " What a lovely pink scarf ! " said one, throw 
 ing it over her shoulders and skipping before a mirror ; 
 while the other exclaimed, " Do look at these pocket-hand 
 kerchiefs, mother ! what elegant lace ! " 
 
 "Well, girls," said Mrs. Elmore, " these handkerchiefs 
 are a shameful piece of extravagance. I wonder you will 
 insist on having such things." 
 
 " La, mamma, everybody has such now ; Laura Seymour 
 has half a dozen that cost more than these, and her father 
 is no richer than ours." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Elmore, " rich or not rich, it seems to 
 make very little odds ; we do not seem to have half as much 
 money to spare as we did when we lived in the little house 
 in Spring Street. What with new furnishing the house, and 
 getting everything you boys and girls say you must have, 
 we are poorer, if anything, than we were then." 
 
 " Ma am, here is Mrs. Ames s girl come with some sew 
 ing," said the servant. 
 
 " Show her in," said Mrs. Elmore. 
 
 Ellen entered timidly, and handed her bundle of work to 
 Mrs. Elmore, who forthwith proceeded to a minute scrutiny 
 of the articles, for she prided herself on being very particu- 
 
150 THE SEAMSTKESS 
 
 lar as to her sewing. But, though the work had been ex 
 ecuted by feeble hands and aching eyes, even Mrs. Elmore 
 could detect no fault in it. 
 
 " Well, it is very prettily done/ said she. " What does 
 your mother charge ? " 
 
 Ellen handed a neatly folded bill which she had drawn 
 for her mother. " I must say, I think your mother s prices 
 are very high," said Mrs. Elmore, examining her nearly 
 empty purse ; " every thing is getting so dear that one hardly 
 knows how to live." Ellen looked at the fancy articles, 
 and glanced around the room with an air of innocent as 
 tonishment. " Ah," said Mrs. Elmore, " I dare say it 
 seems to you as if persons in our situation had no need of 
 economy ; but, for my part, I feel the need of it more and 
 more every day." As she spoke she handed Ellen the three 
 dollars, which, though it was not a quarter the price of one 
 of the handkerchiefs, was all that she and her sick mother 
 could claim in the world. 
 
 " There," said she ; " tell your mother I like her work 
 very much, but I do not think I can afford to employ her, 
 if I can find any one to work cheaper." 
 
 Now, Mrs. Elmore was not a hard-hearted woman, and 
 if Ellen had come as a beggar to solicit help for her sick 
 mother, Mrs. Elmore would have fitted out a basket of 
 provisions, and sent a bottle of wine, and a bundle of old 
 clothes, and all the et cetera of such occasions ; but the 
 sight of a bill always aroused all the instinctive sharpness 
 of her business-like education. She never had the dawning 
 of an idea that it was her duty to pay anybody any more 
 than she could possibly help ; nay, she had an indistinct 
 notion that it was her duty as an economist to make every 
 body take as little as possible. When she and her daugh 
 ters lived in Spring Street, to which she had alluded, they 
 used to spend the greater part of their time at home, and 
 the family sewing was commonly done among themselves. 
 
THE SEAMSTRESS 151 
 
 But since they had moved into a large house, and set 
 up a carriage, and addressed themselves to being genteel, 
 the girls found that they had altogether too much to do 
 to attend to their own sewing, much less to perform any for 
 their father and brothers. And their mother found her 
 hands abundantly full in overlooking her large house, in 
 taking care of expensive furniture, and in superintending 
 her increased train of servants. The sewing, therefore, was 
 put out ; and Mrs. Elmore felt it a duty to get it done the 
 cheapest way she could. Nevertheless, Mrs. Elmore was 
 too notable a lady, and her sons and daughters were alto 
 gether too fastidious as to the make and quality of their 
 clothing, to admit the idea of its being done in any but the 
 most complete and perfect manner. 
 
 Mrs. Elmore never accused herself of want of charity 
 for the poor ; but she had never considered that the best 
 class of the poor are those who never ask charity. She did 
 not consider that, by paying liberally those who were hon 
 estly and independently struggling for themselves, she was 
 really doing a greater charity than by giving indiscrimi 
 nately to a dozen applicants. 
 
 " Don t you think, mother, she says we charge too high 
 for this work ! " said Ellen, when she returned. " I am 
 sure she did not know how much work we put in those 
 shirts. She says she cannot give us any more work ; she 
 must look out for somebody that will do it cheaper. I do 
 not see how it is that people who live in such houses, and 
 have so many beautiful things, can feel that they cannot 
 afford to pay for what costs us so much." 
 
 " Well, child, they are more apt to feel so than people 
 who live plainer." 
 
 "Well, I am sure," said Ellen, "we cannot afford to 
 spend so much time as we have over these shirts for less 
 money." 
 
 " Never mind, my dear," said the mother soothingly, 
 
152 THE SEAMSTRESS 
 
 " here is a bundle of work that another lady has sent in, and 
 if we get it done, we shall have enough for our rent, and 
 something over to buy bread with." 
 
 It is needless to carry our readers over all the process of 
 cutting, and fitting, and gathering, and stitching, necessary 
 in making up six fine shirts. Suffice it to say that on Sat 
 urday evening all but one were finished, and Ellen proceeded 
 to carry them home, promising to bring the remaining one 
 on Tuesday morning. The lady examined the work, and 
 gave Ellen the money ; but on Tuesday, when the child 
 came with the remaining work, she found her in great ill 
 humor. Upon reexamining the shirts, she had discovered 
 that in some important respects they differed from directions 
 she meant to have given, and supposed she had given ; and, 
 accordingly, she vented her displeasure on Ellen. 
 
 "Why didn t you make these shirts as I told you ?" 
 said she sharply. 
 
 " We did," said Ellen mildly ; " mother measured by 
 the pattern every part, and cut them herself." 
 
 " Your mother must be a fool, then, to make such a piece 
 of work. I wish you would just take them back and alter 
 them over ; " and the lady proceeded with the directions, 
 of which neither Ellen nor her mother till then had had any 
 intimation. Unused to such language, the frightened Ellen 
 took up her work and slowly walked homeward. 
 
 " Oh, dear, how my head does ache ! " thought she to her 
 self ; u and poor mother ! she said this morning she was 
 afraid another of her sick turns was coming on, and we 
 have all this work to pull out and do over." 
 
 " See here, mother," said she, with a disconsolate air, as 
 she entered the room ; " Mrs. Rudd says, take out all the 
 bosoms, and rip off all the collars, and fix them quite an 
 other way. She says they are not like the pattern she sent ; 
 but she must have forgotten, for here it is. Look, mother ; 
 it is exactly as we made them." 
 
THE SEAMSTRESS 153 
 
 " Well, my child, carry back the pattern, and show her 
 that it is so." 
 
 " Indeed, mother, she spoke so cross to me, and looked 
 at me so, that I do not feel as if I could go back." 
 
 " I will go for you, then," said the kind Maria Stephens, 
 who had been sitting with Mrs. Ames while Ellen was out. 
 " I will take the pattern and shirts, and tell her the exact 
 truth about it. I am not afraid of her." Maria Stephens 
 was a tailoress, who rented a room on the same floor with 
 Mrs. Ames, a cheerful, resolute, go-forward little body, and 
 ready always to give a helping hand to a neighbor in trouble. 
 So she took the pattern and shirts, and set out on her 
 mission. 
 
 But poor Mrs. Ames, though she professed to take a right 
 view of the matter, and was very earnest in showing Ellen 
 why she ought not to distress herself about it, still felt a 
 shivering sense of the hardness and unkindness of the world 
 corning over her. The bitter tears would spring to her 
 eyes, in spite of every effort to suppress them, as she sat 
 mournfully gazing on the little faded miniature before men 
 tioned. " When he was alive, I never knew what poverty 
 or trouble was," was the thought that often passed through 
 her mind. And how many a poor forlorn one has thought 
 the same ! Poor Mrs. Ames was confined to her bed for 
 most of that week. The doctor gave absolute directions 
 that she should do nothing, and keep entirely quiet a 
 direction very sensible indeed in the chamber of ease and 
 competence, but hard to be observed in poverty and want. 
 What pains the kind and dutiful Ellen took that week 
 to make her mother feel easy ! How often she replied to 
 her anxious questions, that she was quite well, or that 
 her head did not ache much ! and by various other evasive 
 expedients the child tried to persuade herself that she was 
 speaking the truth. And during the times her mother 
 slept, in the day or evening, she accomplished one or two 
 
154 THE SEAMSTRESS 
 
 pieces of plain work, with the price of which she expected 
 to surprise her mother. It was towards evening when 
 Ellen took her finished work to the elegant dwelling of 
 Mrs. Page. " I shall get a dollar for this/ 7 said she ; 
 " enough to pay for mother s wine and medicine." 
 
 " This work is done very neatly," said Mrs. Page, " and 
 here is some more I should like to have finished in the same 
 way." 
 
 Ellen looked up wistfully, hoping Mrs. Page was going 
 to pay her for the last work. But Mrs. Page was only 
 searching a drawer for a pattern, which she put into Ellen s 
 hands, and after explaining how she wanted her work done, 
 dismissed her without saying a word about the expected 
 dollar. Poor Ellen tried two or three times, as she was 
 going out, to turn round and ask for it ; hut before she could 
 decide what to say, she found herself in the street. Mrs. 
 Page was an amiable, kind-hearted woman, but one who 
 was so used to large sums of money that she did not realize 
 how great an affair a single dollar might seem to other per 
 sons. For this reason, when Ellen had worked incessantly 
 at the new work put into her hands, that she might get the 
 money for all together, she again disappointed her in the 
 payment. 
 
 " I 11 send the money round to-morrow," said she, when 
 Ellen at last found courage to ask for it. But to-morrow 
 came, and Ellen was forgotten ; and it was not till after one 
 or two applications more that the small sum was paid. 
 
 But these sketches are already long enough, and let us has 
 ten to close them. Mrs. Ames found liberal friends, who 
 could appreciate and honor her integrity of principle and loveli 
 ness of character, and by their assistance she was raised to see 
 more prosperous days ; and she, and the delicate Ellen, and 
 warm-hearted Mary were enabled to have a home and fireside 
 of their own, and to enjoy something like the return of their 
 former prosperity. We have given these sketches, drawn 
 
THE SEAMSTRESS 155 
 
 from real life, because we think there is in general too little 
 consideration on the part of those who give employment to 
 those in situations like the widow here described. The 
 giving of employment is a very important branch of charity, 
 inasmuch as it assists that class of the poor who are the most 
 deserving. It should be looked on in this light, and the 
 arrangements of a family be so made that a suitable com 
 pensation can be given, and prompt and cheerful payment 
 be made, without the dread of transgressing the rules of 
 economy. It is better to teach our daughters to do without 
 expensive ornaments or fashionable elegances ; better even 
 to deny ourselves the pleasure of large donations or direct 
 subscriptions to public charities, rather than to curtail the 
 small stipend of her whose " candle goeth not out by night, 7 
 and who labors with her needle for herself and the helpless 
 dear ones dependent on her exertions. 
 
OLD FATHER MOEEIS 
 A SKETCH FROM NATURE 
 
 OF all the marvels that astonished my childhood, there is 
 none I remember to this day with so much interest as the old 
 man whose name forms my caption. When I knew him he 
 was an aged clergyman, settled over an obscure village in 
 New England. He had enjoyed the advantages of a liberal 
 education, had a strong, original power of thought, an omni 
 potent imagination, and much general information; but so 
 early and so deeply had the habits and associations of the 
 plough, the farm, and country life wrought themselves into 
 his mind, that his after acquirements could only mingle 
 with them, forming an unexampled amalgam like unto no 
 thing but itself. He was an ingrained New Englander, and 
 whatever might have been the source of his information, 
 it came out in Yankee form, with the strong provinciality 
 of Yankee dialect. It is in vain to attempt to give a full 
 picture of such a genuine unique ; but some slight and im 
 perfect dashes may help the imagination to a faint idea of 
 what none can fully conceive but those who have seen and 
 heard old Father Morris. 
 
 Suppose yourself one of half a dozen children, and you 
 hear the cry, " Father Morris is coming ! " You run to the 
 window or door, and you see a tall, bulky old man, with a 
 pair of saddlebags on one arm, hitching his old horse with 
 a fumbling carefulness, and then deliberately stumping to 
 wards the house. You notice his tranquil, florid, full-moon 
 face, enlightened by a pair of great round blue eyes, that 
 roll with dreamy inattentiveness on all the objects around ; 
 
OLD FATHER MORRIS 157 
 
 and as he takes off his hat, you see the white curling wig 
 that sets off his round head. He comes towards you, and 
 as you stand staring, with all the children around, he de 
 liberately puts his great hand on your head, and, with deep, 
 rumbling voice, inquires, 
 
 " How d ye do, my darter ? is your daddy at home ? " 
 " My darter " usually makes off as fast as possible, in an 
 unconquerable giggle. Father Morris goes into the house, 
 and we watch him at every turn, as, with the most liberal 
 simplicity, he makes himself at home, takes off his wig, 
 wipes down his great face with a checked pocket-handker 
 chief, helps himself hither and thither to whatever he wants, 
 and asks for such things as he cannot lay his hands on, 
 with all the comfortable easiness of childhood. I remember 
 to this day how we used to peep through the crack of the 
 door, or hold it half ajar and peer in, to watch his motions ; 
 and how mightily diverted we were with his deep, slow 
 manner of speaking, his heavy, cumbrous walk, but, above 
 all, with the wonderful faculty of "hemming" which he 
 possessed. His deep, thundering, protracted "A-hem-em" 
 was like nothing else that ever I heard ; and when once, 
 as he was in the midst of one of these performances, the 
 parlor door suddenly happened to swing open, I heard 
 one of my roguish brothers calling, in a suppressed tone, 
 " Charles ! Charles ! Father Morris has hemmed the door 
 open ! " and then followed the signs of a long and des 
 perate titter, in which I sincerely sympathized. 
 
 But the morrow is Sunday. The old man rises in the 
 pulpit. He is not now in his own humble little parish, 
 preaching simply to the hoers of corn and planters of pota 
 toes, but there sits Governor D., and there is Judge E,., and 
 Counselor P., and Judge G. In short, he is before a re 
 fined and literary audience. But Father Morris rises : he 
 thinks nothing of this ; he cares nothing ; he knows nothing, 
 as he himself would say, but " Jesus Christ, and him cru- 
 
158 OLD FATHER MORRIS 
 
 cified." He takes a passage of Scripture to explain ; per 
 haps it is the walk to Emmaus, and the conversation of Jesus 
 with his disciples. Immediately the whole start out before 
 you, living and picturesque : the road to Emmaus is a New 
 England turnpike ; you can see its milestones, its mullein 
 stalks, its tollgates. Next the disciples rise, and you have 
 before you all their anguish, and hesitation, and dismay 
 talked out to you in the language of your own fireside. 
 You smile ; you are amused ; yet you are touched, and the 
 illusion grows every moment. You see the approaching 
 stranger, and the mysterious conversation grows more and 
 more interesting. Emmaus rises in the distance, in the like 
 ness of a New England village, with a white meeting-house 
 and spire. You follow the travelers ; you enter the house 
 with them ; nor do you wake from your trance until, with 
 streaming eyes, the preacher tells you that " they saw it was 
 the Lord Jesus and what a pity it was they could not have 
 known it before ! " 
 
 It was after a sermon on this very chapter of Scripture 
 history that Governor Griswold, in passing out of the house, 
 laid hold on the sleeve of his first acquaintance : " Pray tell 
 me," said he, "who is this minister ? " 
 
 "Why, it is old Father Morris." 
 
 " Well, he is an oddity and a genius too, I declare ! " 
 he continued. " I have been wondering all the morning 
 how I could have read the Bible to so little purpose as not 
 to see all these particulars he has presented." 
 
 I once heard him narrate in this picturesque way the story 
 of Lazarus. The great bustling city of Jerusalem first rises 
 to view, and you are told with great simplicity, how the 
 Lord Jesus " used to get tired of the noise ; " and how he 
 was " tired of preaching, again and again, to people who 
 would not mind a word he said ; " and how " when it came 
 evening, he used to go out and see his friends in Bethany." 
 Then he told about the house of Martha and Mary : " a 
 
OLD FATHER MORRIS 159 
 
 little white house among the trees," he said ; " you could 
 just see it from Jerusalem." And there the Lord Jesus 
 and his disciples used to go and sit in the evenings, with 
 Martha, and Mary, and Lazarus. Then the narrator went 
 on to tell how Lazarus died, describing, with tears and a 
 choking voice, the distress they were in, and how they sent 
 a message to the Lord Jesus and he did not come, and how 
 they wondered and wondered ; and thus on he went, wind 
 ing up the interest by the graphic minutia3 of an eye 
 witness, till he woke you from the dream by his triumphant 
 joy at the resurrection scene. 
 
 On another occasion, as he was sitting at a tea-table, un 
 usually supplied with cakes and sweetmeats, he found an 
 opportunity to make a practical allusion to the same family 
 story. He said that Mary was quiet and humble, sitting 
 at her Saviour s feet to hear his words ; but Martha thought 
 more of what was to be got for tea. Martha could not find 
 time to listen to Christ. No ; she was " cumbered with 
 much serving around the house, frying fritters and mak 
 ing gingerbread." 
 
 Among his own simple people, his style of Scripture- 
 painting was listened to with breathless interest. But it 
 was particularly in those rustic circles, called " conference 
 meetings," that his whole warm soul unfolded, and the 
 Bible in his hands became a gallery of New England paint 
 ings. He particularly loved the evangelists, following the 
 footsteps of Jesus Christ, dwelling upon his words, repeat 
 ing over and over again the stories of what he did, with all 
 the fond veneration of an old and favored servant. Some 
 times, too, he would give the narration an exceedingly prac 
 tical turn, as one example will illustrate. He had noticed 
 a falling off in his little circle that met for social prayer, 
 and took occasion, the first time he collected a tolerable 
 audience, to tell concerning " the conference meeting that 
 the disciples attended " after the resurrection. 
 
160 OLD FATHER MORRIS 
 
 " But Thomas was not with them." " Thomas not with 
 them ! " said the old man, in a sorrowful voice. " Why, 
 what could keep Thomas away ? Perhaps," said he, glan 
 cing at some of his backward auditors, " Thomas had got 
 cold-hearted, and was afraid they would ask him to make 
 the first prayer ; or perhaps," said he, looking at some of 
 the farmers, " Thomas was afraid the roads were bad ; or 
 perhaps," he added after a pause, " Thomas had got proud, 
 and thought he could not come in his old clothes." Thus 
 he went on, significantly summing up the common excuses 
 of his people ; and then with great simplicity and emotion 
 he added, " But only think what Thomas lost, for in the 
 middle of the meeting, the Lord Jesus came and stood 
 among them ! How sorry Thomas must have been ! " 
 This representation served to fill the vacant seats for some 
 time to come. 
 
 At another time Father Morris gave the details of the 
 anointing of David to be king. He told them how Samuel 
 went to Bethlehem, to Jesse s house, and went in with a 
 " How d ye do, Jesse ? " and how, when Jesse asked him 
 to take a chair, he said he could not stay a minute ; that 
 the Lord had sent him to anoint one of his sons for a king ; 
 and how, when Jesse called in the tallest and handsomest, 
 Samuel said "he would not do;" and how all the rest 
 passed the same test ; and at last how Samuel says, " Why, 
 have not you any more sons, Jesse ? " and Jesse says, 
 "Why, yes, there is little David, down in the lot;" and 
 how, as soon as ever Samuel saw David, " he slashed the 
 oil right on to him ; " and how Jesse said " he never was 
 so beat in all his life." 
 
 Father Morris sometimes used his illustrative talent to 
 very good purpose in the way of rebuke. He had on his 
 farm a fine orchard of peaches, from which some of the ten 
 and twelve-year-old gentlemen helped themselves more lib 
 erally than even the old man s kindness thought expedient. 
 
OLD FATHER MORRIS 161 
 
 Accordingly, he took occasion to introduce into his sermon 
 one Sunday, in his little parish, an account of a journey he 
 took ; and how he was " very warm and very dry ; " and 
 how he saw a fine orchard of peaches that made his mouth 
 water to look at them. " So/ 7 says he, "I came up to the 
 fence and looked all around, for I would not have touched 
 one of them without leave for all the world. At last I 
 spied a man, and says I, i Mister, won t you give me some 
 of your peaches ? So the man came and gave me nigh 
 about a hatful. And while I stood there eating, I said, 
 Mister, how do you manage to keep your peaches ? 
 Keep them ! said he, and he stared at me ; what do 
 you mean ? Yes, sir, said I ; don t the boys steal 
 them ? Boys steal them ! said he. No, indeed ! 
 Why, sir, said I, I have a whole lot full of peaches, 
 and I cannot get half of them " here the old man s voice 
 grew tremulous " ( because the boys in my parish steal 
 them so. Why, sir, said he, don t their parents teach 
 them not to steal ? And I grew all over in a cold sweat, 
 and I told him I was afeard they did n t. Why, how 
 you talk ! says the man ; < do tell me where you live ? ? 
 Then," said Father Morris, the tears running over, " I was 
 obliged to tell him I lived in the town of G." After this 
 Father Morris kept his peaches. 
 
 Our old friend was not less original in the logical than 
 in the illustrative portions of his discourses. His logic was 
 of that familiar, colloquial kind which shakes hands with 
 common sense like an old friend. Sometimes, too, his great 
 mind and great heart would be poured out on the vast 
 themes of religion in language which, though homely, pro 
 duced all the effects of the sublime. He once preached a 
 discourse on the text, " the High and Holy One that inhab- 
 iteth eternity ; " and from the beginning to the end it was 
 a train of lofty and solemn thought. With his usual sim 
 ple earnestness, and his great, rolling voice, he told about 
 
162 OLD FATHER MORRIS 
 
 " the Great God, the Great Jehovah, and how the peo 
 ple in this world were flustering and worrying, and afraid 
 they should not get time to do this, and that, and t other. 
 But," he added with full-hearted satisfaction, "the Lord 
 is never in a hurry ; he has it all to do, but he has time 
 enough, for he inhabiteth eternity." And the grand idea of 
 infinite leisure and almighty resources was carried through 
 the sermon with equal strength and simplicity. 
 
 Although the old man never seemed to be sensible of any 
 thing tending to the ludicrous in his own mode of express 
 ing himself, yet he had considerable relish for humor, and 
 some shrewdness of repartee. One time, as he was walking 
 through a neighboring parish famous for its profanity, he 
 was stopped by a whole flock of the youthful reprobates of 
 the place : 
 
 " Father Morris, Father Morris ! the devil s dead ! " 
 
 " Is he ? " said the old man, benignly laying his hand on 
 the head of the nearest urchin ; " you poor fatherless chil 
 dren ! " 
 
 But the sayings and doings of this good old man, as re 
 ported in the legends of the neighborhood, are more than 
 can be gathered or reported. He lived far beyond the com 
 mon age of man, and continued, when age had impaired his 
 powers, to tell over and over again the same Bible stories 
 that he had told so often before. I recollect hearing of the 
 joy that almost broke the old man s heart when, after many 
 years diligent watching and nurture of the good seed in his 
 parish, it began to spring into vegetation, sudden and beau 
 tiful as that which answers the patient watching of the hus 
 bandman. Many a hard, worldly-hearted man many a 
 sleepy, inattentive hearer, many a listless, idle young per 
 son began to give ear to words that had long fallen un 
 heeded. A neighboring minister, who had been sent for to 
 see and rejoice in these results, describes the scene when, 
 on entering the little church, he found an anxious, crowded 
 
OLD FATHER MORRIS 163 
 
 auditory assembled around their venerable teacher, waiting 
 for direction and instruction. The old man was sitting in 
 his pulpit, almost choking with fullness of emotion as he 
 gazed around. " Father," said the youthful minister, " I 
 suppose you are ready to say with old Simeon, Now, Lord, 
 lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for my eyes have 
 seen thy salvation. J:l " Sartin, sartin," said the old man, 
 while the tears streamed down his cheeks, and his whole 
 frame shook with emotion. 
 
 It was not many years after that this simple and loving 
 servant of Christ was gathered in peace unto Him whom he 
 loved. His name is fast passing from remembrance, and 
 in a few years his memory, like his humble grave, will be 
 entirely grown over and forgotten among men, though it 
 will be had in everlasting remembrance by Him who " for- 
 getteth not his servants," and in whose sight the death of 
 his saints is precious. 
 
THE CORAL RING 
 
 " THERE is no time of life in which young girls are so 
 thoroughly selfish as from fifteen to twenty," said Edward 
 Ashton deliberately, as he laid down a book he had been 
 reading, and leaned over the centre table. 
 
 " You insulting fellow ! " replied a tall, brilliant-looking 
 creature, who was lounging on an ottoman hard by, over 
 one of Dickens s last works. 
 
 " Truth, coz, for all that," said the gentleman, with the 
 air of one who means to provoke a discussion. 
 
 " Now, Edward, this is just one of your wholesale decla 
 rations, for nothing only to get me into a dispute with you, 
 you know," replied the lady. " On your conscience, now 
 (if you have one), is it not so ? " 
 
 " My conscience feels quite easy, cousin, in subscribing 
 to that sentiment as my confession of faith," replied the 
 gentleman, with provoking sang froid. 
 
 u Pshaw ! it ? s one of your fusty old bachelor notions. 
 See what comes, now, of your living to your time of life 
 without a wife, disrespect for the sex, and all that. 
 Really, cousin, your symptoms are getting alarming." 
 
 " Nay, now, Cousin Florence," said Edward, " you are a 
 girl of moderately good sense, with all your nonsense. Now 
 don t you (I know you do) think just so, too ? " 
 
 " Think just so, too ! do you hear the creature ? " re 
 plied Florence. " No, sir ; you can speak for yourself in 
 this matter, but I beg leave to enter my protest when you 
 speak for me, too." 
 
 " Well, now, where is there, coz, among all our circle, a 
 
THE CORAL RING 165 
 
 young girl that has any sort of purpose or object in life, to 
 speak of, except to make herself as interesting and agreeable 
 as possible ? to be admired, and to pass her time in as amus 
 ing a way as she can ? Where will you find one between 
 fifteen and twenty that has any serious regard for the im 
 provement and best welfare of those with whom she is con 
 nected at all, or that modifies her conduct in the least with 
 reference to it ? Now, cousin, in very serious earnest, you 
 have about as much real character, as much earnestness 
 and depth of feeling, and as much good sense, when one 
 can get at it, as any young lady of them all ; and yet, on 
 your conscience, can you say that you live with any sort of 
 reference to anybody s good, or to anything but your own 
 amusement and gratification ? " 
 
 " What a shocking adjuration ! " replied the lady, " pre 
 faced, too, by a three-story compliment. Well, being so 
 adjured, I must think to the best of my ability. And now, 
 seriously and soberly, I don t see as I am selfish. I do all 
 that I have any occasion to do for anybody. You know 
 that we have servants to do everything that is necessary 
 about the house, so that there is no occasion for my mak 
 ing any display of housewifery excellence. And I wait on 
 mamma if she has a headache, and hand papa his slippers 
 and newspaper, and find Uncle John s spectacles for him 
 twenty times a day (no small matter that), and then " 
 
 " But, after all, what is the object and purpose of your 
 life ? " 
 
 "Why, I haven t any. I don t see how I can have any, 
 that is, as I am made. Now, you know, I ve none of 
 the fussing, baby-tending, herb-tea-making recommendations 
 of Aunt Sally, and divers others of the class commonly 
 called useful. Indeed, to tell the truth, I think useful per 
 sons are commonly rather fussy and stupid. They are just 
 like the boneset, and hoarhound, and catnip, very necessary 
 to be raised in a garden, but not in the least ornamental." 
 
166 THE CORAL RING 
 
 " And you charming young ladies, who philosophize in 
 kid slippers and French dresses, are the tulips and roses, 
 very charming, and delightful, and sweet, but fit for nothing 
 on earth but parlor ornaments." 
 
 " Well, parlor ornaments are good in their way," said the 
 young lady, coloring, and looking a little vexed. 
 
 " So you give up the point, then," said the gentleman, 
 "that you girls are good for just to amuse yourselves, 
 amuse others, look pretty, and be agreeable ? " 
 
 " Well, and if we behave well to our parents, and are 
 amiable in the family I don t know ; and yet," said 
 Florence, sighing, " I have often had a sort of vague idea of 
 something higher that we might become ; yet, really, what 
 more than this is expected of us ? what else can we do ? " 
 
 " I used to read in old-fashioned novels about ladies visit 
 ing the sick and the poor," replied Edward. " You remem 
 ber < Calebs in Search of a Wife ? " 
 
 " Yes, truly ; that is to say, I remember the story part of 
 it, and the love scenes ; but as for all those everlasting con 
 versations of Dr. Barlow, Mr. Stanley, and nobody knows 
 who else, I skipped those, of course. But really, this visit 
 ing and tending the poor, and all that, seems very well in a 
 story, where the lady goes into a picturesque cottage, half 
 overgrown with honeysuckle, and finds an emaciated but 
 still beautiful woman propped up by pillows. But come to 
 the downright matter of fact of poking about in all these 
 vile, dirty alleys, and entering little dark rooms, amid troops 
 of grinning children, and smelling codfish and onions, and 
 nobody knows what, dear me, my benevolence always 
 evaporates before I get through. I d rather pay anybody 
 five dollars a day to do it for me than do it myself. The 
 fact is, that I have neither fancy nor nerves for this kind of 
 thing." 
 
 " Well, granting, then, that you can do nothing for your 
 fellow-creatures unless you are to do it in the most genteel, 
 
THE CORAL RING 167 
 
 comfortable, and picturesque manner possible, is there not a 
 great field for a woman like you, Florence, in your influence 
 over your associates ? With your talents for conversation, 
 your tact and self-possession, and ladylike gift of saying 
 anything you choose, are you not responsible, in some wise, 
 for the influence you exert over those by whom you are sur 
 rounded ? " 
 
 " I never thought of that," replied Florence. 
 
 " Now, you remember the remarks that Mr. Fortesque 
 made the other evening on the religious services at church ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do ; and I thought then he was too bad." 
 
 " And I do not suppose there was one of you ladies in 
 the room that did not think so, too ; but yet the matter was 
 all passed over with smiles, and with not a single insinuation 
 that he had said anything unpleasing or disagreeable." 
 
 " Well, what could we do ? One does not want to be 
 rude, you know." 
 
 " Do ! Could you not, Florence, you who have always 
 taken the lead in society, and who have been noted for 
 always being able to say and do what you please, could 
 you not have shown him that those remarks were unpleasing 
 to you, as decidedly as you certainly would have done if 
 they had related to the character of your father or brother ? 
 To my mind, a woman of true moral feeling should consider 
 herself as much insulted when her religion is treated with 
 contempt as if the contempt were shown to herself. Do you 
 not know the power which is given to you women to awe 
 and restrain us in your presence, and to guard the sacredness 
 of things which you treat as holy ? Believe me, Florence, 
 that Fortesque, infidel as he is, would reverence a woman 
 with whom he dared not trifle on sacred subjects." 
 
 Florence rose from her seat with a heightened color, her 
 dark eyes brightening through tears. 
 
 " I am sure what you say is just, cousin, and yet I have 
 never thought of it before. I will I am determined to 
 
168 THE CORAL RING 
 
 begin, after this, to live with some better purpose than I 
 have done." 
 
 " And let me tell you, Florence, in starting a new course, 
 as in learning to walk, taking the first step is everything. 
 Now, I have a first step to propose to you." 
 
 " Well, cousin " 
 
 " Well, you know, I suppose, that among your train of 
 adorers you number Colonel Elliot ? " 
 
 Florence smiled. 
 
 " And perhaps you do not know, what is certainly true, 
 that, among the most discerning and cool part of his friends, 
 Elliot is considered as a lost man." 
 
 " Good heavens ! Edward, what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Simply this : that, with all his brilliant talents, his 
 amiable and generous feelings, and his success in society, 
 Elliot has not self-control enough to prevent his becoming 
 confirmed in intemperate habits." 
 
 " I never dreamed of this," replied Florence. " I knew 
 that he was spirited and free, fond of society, and excitable ; 
 but never suspected anything beyond." 
 
 " Elliot has tact enough never to appear in ladies society 
 when he is not in a fit state for it," replied Edward ; " but 
 yet it is so." 
 
 " But is he really so bad ? " 
 
 " He stands just on the verge, Florence ; just where a 
 word fitly spoken might turn him. He is a noble creature, 
 full of all sorts of fine impulses and feelings ; the only son 
 of a mother who dotes on him, the idolized brother of sisters 
 who love him as you love your brother, Florence ; and he 
 stands where a word, a look, so they be of the right kind, 
 might save him." 
 
 " And why, then, do you not speak to him ? " said 
 Florence. 
 
 " Because I am not the best person, Florence. There is 
 another who can do it better ; one whom he admires, who 
 
THE CORAL RING 169 
 
 stands in a position which would forbid his feeling angry ; 
 a person, cousin, whom I have heard in gayer moments say 
 that she knew how to say anything she pleased without 
 offending anybody." 
 
 " Oh, Edward ! " said Florence coloring ; " do not bring 
 up my foolish speeches against me, and do not speak as if 
 I ought to interfere in this matter, for indeed I cannot do 
 it. I never could in the world, I am certain I could not." 
 
 "And so," said Edward, "you, whom I have heard say 
 so many things which no one else could say, or dared to 
 say, you, who have gone on with your laughing assurance 
 in your own powers of pleasing, shrink from trying that 
 power when a noble and generous heart might be saved by 
 it. You have been willing to venture a great deal for the 
 sake of amusing yourself and winning admiration, but you 
 dare not say a word for any high or noble purpose. Do 
 you not see how you confirm what I said of the selfishness 
 of you women?" 
 
 " But you must remember, Edward, this is a matter of 
 great delicacy." 
 
 " That word delicacy ? is a charming cover- all in all these 
 cases, Florence. Now, here is a fine, noble-spirited young 
 man, away from his mother and sisters, away from any 
 family friend who might care for him, tempted, betrayed, 
 almost to ruin, and a few words from you, said as a woman 
 knows how to say them, might be his salvation. But you 
 will coldly look on and see him go to destruction, because 
 you have too much delicacy to make the effort, like the 
 man that would not help his neighbor out of the water be 
 cause he had never had the honor of an introduction." 
 
 " But, Edward, consider how peculiarly fastidious Elliot 
 is, how jealous of any attempt to restrain and guide him." 
 
 "And just for that reason it is that men of his acquaintance 
 cannot do anything with him. But what are you women 
 made with so much tact and power of charming for, if it is 
 
170 THE CORAL RING 
 
 not to do these very things that we cannot do ? It is a deli 
 cate matter true ; and has not Heaven given to you a fine 
 touch and a fine eye for just such delicate matters ? Have 
 you not seen, a thousand times, that what might be resented 
 as an impertinent interference on the part of a man, comes 
 to us as a flattering expression of interest from the lips of a 
 woman ? " 
 
 " Well, but, cousin, what would you have me do ? How 
 would you have me do it ? " said Florence earnestly. 
 
 " You know that Fashion, which makes so many wrong 
 turns and so many absurd ones, has at last made one good 
 one, and it is now a fashionable thing to sign the temper 
 ance pledge. Elliot himself would be glad to do it, but he 
 foolishly committed himself against it in the outset, and 
 now feels bound to stand to his opinion. He has, too, been 
 rather rudely assailed by some of the apostles of the new 
 state of things, who did not understand the peculiar points 
 of his character ; in short, I am afraid that he will feel 
 bound to go to destruction for the sake of supporting his 
 own opinion. Now, if I should undertake with him, he 
 might shoot me ; but I hardly think there is anything of 
 the sort to be apprehended in your case. Just try your en 
 chantments : you have bewitched wise men into doing fool 
 ish things before now ; try, now, if you can t bewitch a 
 foolish man into doing a wise thing." 
 
 Florence smiled archly, but instantly grew more thought 
 ful. 
 
 " Well, cousin," she said, " I will try. Though you 
 are liberal in your ascriptions of power, yet I can put the 
 matter to the test of experiment." 
 
 Florence Elmore was, at the time we speak of, in her 
 twentieth year. Born of one of the wealthiest families in 
 
 ? highly educated and accomplished, idolized by her 
 
 parents and brothers, she had entered the world as one born 
 
THE CORAL RING 171 
 
 to command. With much native nobleness and magnanim 
 ity of character, with warm and impulsive feelings, and a 
 capability of everything high or great, she had hitherto 
 lived solely for her own amusement, and looked on the 
 whole brilliant circle by which she was surrounded, with all 
 its various actors, as something got up for her special diver 
 sion. The idea of influencing any one, for better or worse, 
 by anything she ever said or did, had never occurred to her. 
 The crowd of admirers of the other sex who, as a matter 
 of course, were always about her, she regarded as so many 
 sources of diversion ; but the idea of feeling any sympathy 
 with them as human beings, or of making use of her power 
 over them for their improvement, was one that had never 
 entered her head. 
 
 Edward Ashton was an old bachelor cousin of Florence s, 
 who, having earned the title of oddity in general society, 
 availed himself of it to exercise a turn for telling the truth 
 to the various young ladies of his acquaintance, especially 
 to his fair cousin Florence. We remark, by the bye, that 
 these privileged truth-tellers are quite a necessary of life to 
 young ladies in the full tide of society, and we really think 
 it would be worth while for every dozen of them to unite 
 to keep a person of this kind on a salary for the benefit of 
 the whole. However, that is nothing to our present pur 
 pose ; we must return to our fair heroine, whom we left, at 
 the close of the last conversation, standing in deep revery 
 by the window. 
 
 " It s more than half true, 7 she said to herself, " more 
 than half. Here am I, twenty years old, and never have 
 thought of anything, never done anything, except to amuse 
 and gratify myself ; no purpose, no object ; nothing high, 
 nothing dignified, nothing worth living for ! Only a parlor 
 ornament heigh-ho ! Well, I really do believe I could do 
 something with this Elliot ; and yet how dare I try ? " 
 
 Now, my good readers, if you are anticipating a love story, 
 
172 THE CORAL KING 
 
 we must hasten to put in our disclaimer ; you are quite mis 
 taken in the case. Our fair, brilliant heroine was, at this 
 time of speaking, as heart-whole as the diamond on her 
 bosom, which reflected the light in too many sparkling rays 
 ever to absorb it. She had, to be sure, half in earnest, half 
 in jest, maintained a bantering, platonic sort of friendship 
 with George Elliot. She had danced, ridden, sung, and 
 sketched with him, but so had she with twenty other young 
 men ; and as to coming to anything tender with such a 
 quick, brilliant, restless creature, Elliot would as soon have 
 undertaken to sentimentalize over a glass of soda-water. 
 No ; there was decidedly no love in the case. 
 
 " What a curious ring that is ! " said Elliot to her, a day 
 or two after, as they were reading together. 
 
 " It is a knight s ring," said she playfully, as she drew 
 it off and pointed to a coral cross set in the gold, " a ring 
 of the red-cross knights. Come, now, I ve a great mind to 
 bind you to my service with it. 7 
 
 " Do, lady fair," said Elliot, stretching out his hand for 
 the ring. 
 
 " Know, then," said she, " if you take this pledge, that 
 you must obey whatever commands I lay upon you in its 
 name." 
 
 " I swear ! " said Elliot, in the mock heroic, and placed 
 the ring on his ringer. 
 
 An evening or two after, Elliot attended Florence to 
 a party at Mrs. B. s. Everything was gay and brilliant, 
 and there was no lack either of wit or wine. Elliot was 
 standing in a little alcove, spread with refreshments, with 
 a glass of wine in his hand. " I forbid it ; the cup is 
 poisoned ! " said a voice in his ear. He turned quickly, 
 and Florence was at his side. Every one was busy, with 
 laughing and talking, around, and nobody saw the sudden 
 start and flush that these words produced as Elliot looked 
 earnestly in the lady s face. She smiled, and pointed play- 
 
THE COEAL RING 173 
 
 fully to the ring ; but, after all, there was in her face an ex 
 pression of agitation and interest which she could not re 
 press, and Elliot felt, however playful the manner, that she 
 was in earnest ; and, as she glided away in the crowd, he 
 stood with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed on the spot 
 where she disappeared. 
 
 " Is it possible that I am suspected, that there are 
 things said of me as if I were in danger ? " were the first 
 thoughts that flashed through his mind. How strange that 
 a man may appear doomed, given up, and lost, to the eye 
 of every looker-on, before he begins to suspect himself ! 
 This was the first time that any defined apprehension of 
 loss of character had occurred to Elliot, and he was startled 
 as if from a dream. 
 
 " What the deuce is the matter with you, Elliot ? You 
 look as solemn as a hearse ! " said a young man near by. 
 
 " Has Miss Elmore cut you ? " said another. 
 
 " Come, man, have a glass," said a third. 
 
 " Let him alone, he s bewitched," said a fourth. " I 
 saw the spell laid on him. None of us can say but our 
 turn may come next." 
 
 An hour later, that evening, Florence was talking with 
 her usual spirit to a group who were collected around her, 
 when, suddenly looking up, she saw Elliot, standing in an 
 abstracted manner at one of the windows that looked out 
 into the balcony. 
 
 "He is offended, I dare say," she thought; "but what 
 do I care ? For once in my life I have tried to do a right 
 thing, a good thing. I have risked giving offense for 
 less than this, many a time." Still, Florence could not but 
 feel tremulous, when, a few moments after, Elliot approached 
 her and offered his arm for a promenade. They walked up 
 and down the room, she talking volubly, and he answering 
 yes and no, till at length, as if by accident, he drew her 
 into the balcony which overhung the garden. The moon 
 
174 THE CORAL RING 
 
 was shining brightly, and everything without, in its placid 
 quietness, contrasted strangely with the busy, hurrying 
 scene within. 
 
 " Miss Elmore," said Elliot abruptly, " may I ask you, 
 sincerely, had you any design in a remark you made to me 
 in the early part of the evening ? " 
 
 Florence paused, and, though habitually the most prac 
 ticed and self-possessed of women, the color actually receded 
 from her cheek as she answered, 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Elliot ; I must confess that I had." 
 
 " And is it possible, then, that you have heard any 
 thing ? " 
 
 " I have heard, Mr. Elliot, that which makes me tremble 
 for you, and for those whose life, I know, is bound up in 
 you ; and, tell me, were it well or friendly in me to know 
 that such things were said, that such danger existed, and 
 not to warn you of it ? " 
 
 Elliot stood for a few moments in silence. 
 
 " Have I offended ? Have I taken too great a liberty ? " 
 said Florence gently. 
 
 Hitherto Elliot had only seen in Florence the self-pos 
 sessed, assured, light-hearted woman of fashion ; but there 
 was a reality and depth of feeling in the few words she had 
 spoken to him, in this interview, that opened to him en 
 tirely a new view in her character. 
 
 "No, Miss Elmore," replied he earnestly, after some 
 pause ; "I may be pained, offended I cannot be. To tell 
 the truth, I have been thoughtless, excited, dazzled ; my 
 spirits, naturally buoyant, have carried me, often, too far ; 
 and lately I have painfully suspected my own powers of 
 resistance. I have really felt that I needed help, but have 
 been too proud to confess, even to myself, that I needed it. 
 You, Miss Elmore, have done what, perhaps, no one else 
 could have done. I am overwhelmed with gratitude, and I 
 shall bless you for it to the latest day of my life. I am 
 
THE COKAL RING 175 
 
 ready to pledge myself to anything you may ask on this 
 subject." 
 
 " Then, 7 said Florence, " do not shrink from doing what 
 is safe, and necessary, and right for you to do, because you 
 have once said you would not do it. You understand 
 me ? " 
 
 " Precisely," replied Elliot, " and you shall be obeyed." 
 It was not more than a week before the news was circu 
 lated that even George Elliot had signed the pledge of tem 
 perance. There was much wondering at this sudden turn 
 among those who had known his utter repugnance to any 
 measure of the kind, and the extent to which he had yielded 
 to temptation ; but few knew how fine and delicate had 
 been the touch to which his pride had yielded. 
 
AET AND NATURE 
 
 " Now, girls," said Mrs. Ellis Grey to her daughters, 
 " here is a letter from George Somers, and he is to be down 
 here next week ; so I give you fair warning. 7 
 
 " Warning ? " said Fanny Grey, looking up from her 
 embroidery ; " what do you mean by that, mamma ? " 
 
 "Now that s just you, Fanny," said the elder sister, 
 laughing. " You dear little simplicity, you can never un 
 derstand anything unless it is stated as definitely as the 
 multiplication table." 
 
 " But we need no warning in the case of Cousin George, 
 1 7 m sure," said Fanny. 
 
 " Cousin George, to be sure ! Do you hear the little 
 innocent ? " said Isabella, the second sister. " I suppose, 
 Fanny, you never heard that he had been visiting all the 
 courts of Europe, seeing all the fine women, stone, picture, 
 and real, that are to be found. Such an amateur and con 
 noisseur ! " 
 
 " Besides having received a fortune of a million or so," 
 said Emma. " I dare say now, Fanny, you thought he was 
 coming home to make dandelion chains, and play with but 
 ton balls, as he used to do when he was a little boy." 
 
 " Fanny will never take the world as it is," said Mrs. 
 Grey. " I do believe she will be a child as long as she 
 lives." Mrs. Grey said this as if she were sighing over 
 some radical defect in the mind of her daughter, and the 
 delicate cheek of Fanny showed a tint somewhat deeper as 
 she spoke, and she went on with her embroidery in silence. 
 
 Mrs. Grey had been left, by the death of her husband, 
 
ART AND NATURE 177 
 
 sole guardian of the three girls whose names have appeared 
 on the page. She was an active, busy, ambitious woman, 
 one of the sort for whom nothing is ever finished enough, 
 or perfect enough, without a few touches, and dashes, and 
 emendations; and, as such people always make a mighty 
 affair of education, Mrs. Grey had made it a life s enterprise 
 to order, adjust, and settle the character of her daughters ; 
 and when we use the word " character," as Mrs. Grey un 
 derstood it, we mean it to include both face, figure, dress, 
 accomplishments, as well as those more unessential items, 
 mind and heart. 
 
 Mrs. Grey had determined that her daughters should be 
 something altogether out of the common way ; and accord 
 ingly she had conducted the training of the two eldest with 
 such zeal and effect that every trace of an original character 
 was thoroughly educated out of them. All their opinions, 
 feelings, words, and actions, instead of gushing naturally 
 from their hearts, were, according to the most approved au 
 thority, diligently compared and revised. Emma, the eld 
 est, was an imposing, showy girl, of some considerable talent, 
 and she had been assiduously trained to make a sensation 
 as a woman of ability and intellect. Her mind had been 
 filled with information on all sorts of subjects, much faster 
 than she had power to digest or employ it ; and, the stand 
 ard which her ambitious mother had set for her being rather 
 above the range of her abilities, there was a constant sensa 
 tion of effort in her keeping up to it. In hearing her talk 
 you were constantly reminded, " I am a woman of intellect, 
 I am entirely above the ordinary level of woman ; " and 
 on all subjects she was so anxiously and laboriously, well 
 and circumstantially, informed, that it was enough to make 
 one s head ache to hear her talk. 
 
 Isabella, the second daughter, was, par excellence, a 
 beauty, a tall, sparkling, Cleopatra-looking girl, whose 
 rich color, dazzling eyes, and superb figure might have bid 
 
178 AKT AND NATURE 
 
 defiance to art to furnish an extra charm ; nevertheless each 
 grace had been as indefatigably drilled and manoeuvred as 
 the members of an artillery company. Eyes, lips, eyelashes, 
 all had their lesson ; and every motion of her sculptured 
 limbs, every intonation of her silvery voice, had been stud 
 ied, considered, and corrected, till even her fastidious mother 
 could discern nothing that was wanting. Then were added 
 all the graces of belles-lettres, all the approved rules of 
 being delighted with music, painting, and poetry, and last 
 of all came the tour of the continent ; traveling being gen 
 erally considered a sort of pumice-stone for rubbing down 
 the varnish and giving the very last touch to character. 
 
 During the time that all this was going on, Miss Fanny, 
 whom we now declare our heroine, had been growing up 
 in the quietude of her mother s country seat, and growing, 
 as girls are apt to, much faster than her mother imagined. 
 She was a fair, slender girl, with a purity and simplicity of 
 appearance which, if it be not in itself beauty, had all the 
 best effect of beauty in interesting and engaging the heart. 
 She looked not so much beautiful as lovable. Her char 
 acter was in precise correspondence with her appearance : its 
 first and chief element was feeling ; and to this add fancy, 
 fervor, taste, enthusiasm almost up to the point of genius, 
 and just common sense enough to keep them all in order, 
 and you will have a very good idea of the mind of Fanny 
 Grey. 
 
 Delightfully passed the days with Fanny during the ab 
 sence of her mother, while, without thought of rule or 
 compass, she sang her own songs, painted flowers, and 
 sketched landscapes from nature, visited sociably all over 
 the village, where she was a great favorite, ran about through 
 the fields, over fences, or in the woods, with her little cot 
 tage bonnet, and, above all, built her own little castles in 
 the air without anybody to help pull them down, which 
 we think about the happiest circumstance in her situation. 
 
ART AND NATURE 179 
 
 But affairs wore a very different aspect when Mrs. Grey 
 with her daughters returned from Europe, as full of foreign 
 tastes and notions as people of an artificial character gener 
 ally do return. Poor Fanny was deluged with a torrent of 
 new ideas ; she heard of styles of appearance and styles 
 of beauty, styles of manner and styles of conversation, this, 
 that, and the other air, a general effect and a particular effect, 
 and of four hundred and fifty ways of producing an im 
 pression, in short, it seemed to her that people ought 
 to be of wonderful consequence to have so many things to 
 think and to say about the how and why of every word and 
 action. Mrs. Grey, who had no manner of doubt of her 
 own ability to make over a character, undertook the point 
 with Fanny as systematically as one would undertake to 
 make over an old dress. Poor Fanny, who had an uncon 
 querable aversion to trying on dresses or settling points in 
 millinery, went through with most exemplary meekness an 
 entire transformation as to all externals ; but when Mrs. 
 Grey set herself at work upon her mind, and tastes, and 
 opinions, the matter became somewhat more serious ; for 
 the buoyant feeling and fanciful elements of her character 
 were as incapable of being arranged according to rule as the 
 sparkling water-drops are of being strung into necklaces and 
 earrings, or the gay clouds of being made into artificial 
 flowers. Some warm natural desire or taste of her own was 
 forever interfering with her mother s regime ; some obsti 
 nate little " Fanny ism " would always put up its head in 
 defiance of received custom ; and, as her mother and sisters 
 pathetically remarked, do what you would with her, she 
 would always come out herself after all. After trying labo 
 riously to conform to the pattern which was daily set before 
 her, she came at last to the conclusion that some natural in 
 feriority must forever prevent her aspiring to accomplish 
 anything in that way. 
 
 " If I can t be what my mother wishes, I 11 at least be my- 
 
180 ART AND NATURE 
 
 self/ said she one day to her sisters, " for if I try to alter 
 I shall neither be myself nor anybody else ; " and on the 
 whole her mother and sisters came to the same conclusion. 
 And in truth they found it a very convenient thing to have 
 one in the family who was not studying effect, or aspiring to 
 be anything in particular. It was very agreeable to Mrs. 
 Grey to have a daughter to sit with her when she had the 
 sick headache, while the other girls were entertaining com 
 pany in the drawing-room below. It was very convenient 
 to her sisters to have some one whose dress took so little 
 time that she had always a head and a pair of hands at 
 their disposal in case of any toilet emergency. Then she 
 was always loving and affectionate, entirely willing to be 
 outtalked and outshone on every occasion ; and that was an 
 other advantage. 
 
 As to Isabella and Emma, the sensation that they made 
 in society was enough to have gratified a dozen ordinary 
 belles. All that they said, and did, and wore, was instant 
 and unquestionable precedent ; and young gentlemen, all 
 starch and perfume, twirled their laced pocket-handkerchiefs, 
 and declared on their honor that they knew not which was 
 the most overcoming, the genius and wit of Miss Emma, or 
 the bright eyes of Miss Isabella ; though it was an agreed 
 point that, between them both, not a heart in the gay world 
 remained in its owner s possession, a thing which might 
 have a serious sound to one who did not know the character 
 of these articles, often the most trifling item in the inventory 
 of worldly possessions. And, all this while, all that was said 
 of our heroine was something in this way : " I believe there 
 is another sister, is there not ? " 
 
 " Yes, there is a quiet little blue-eyed lady, who never 
 
 has a word to say for herself, quite amiable, I m told." 
 
 Now, it was not a fact that Miss Fanny never had a word 
 
 to say for herself. If people had seen her on a visit at any 
 
 one of the houses along the little green street of her native 
 
ART AND NATURE 181 
 
 village, they might have learned that her tongue could go 
 fast enough. 
 
 But in lighted drawing-rooms, and among buzzing voices, 
 and surrounded by people who were always saying things be 
 cause such things were proper to be said, Fanny was always 
 dizzy, and puzzled, and unready ; and for fear that she would 
 say something that she should not, she concluded to say no 
 thing at all : nevertheless she made good use of her eyes, 
 and found a very quiet amusement in looking on to see how 
 other people conducted matters. 
 
 Well, Mr. George Somers is actually arrived at Mrs. Grey s 
 country seat, and there he sits with Miss Isabella in the deep 
 recess of that window, where the white roses are peeping in 
 so modestly. 
 
 " To be sure," thought Fanny to herself, as she quietly 
 surveyed him looming up through the shade of a pair of 
 magnificent whiskers, and heard him passing the shuttlecock 
 of compliment back and forth with the most assured and 
 practiced air in the world, " to be sure, I was a child in im 
 agining that I should see Cousin George Somers. I m sure 
 this magnificent young gentleman, full of all utterance and 
 knowledge, is not the cousin that I used to feel so easy with ; 
 no, indeed ; " and Fanny gave a half sigh, and then went 
 out into the garden to water her geraniums. 
 
 For some days Mr. Somers seemed to feel put upon his 
 reputation to sustain the character of gallant, savant, connois 
 seur, etc., which every one who makes the tour of the conti 
 nent is expected to bring home as a matter of course ; for 
 there is seldom a young gentleman who knows he has quali 
 fications in this line who can resist the temptation of show 
 ing what he can do. Accordingly he discussed tragedies, 
 and reviews, and ancient and modern customs with Miss 
 Emma ; and with Miss Isabella retouched her drawings and 
 exhibited his own ; sported the most choice and recherche 
 
182 ART AND NATURE 
 
 style of compliment at every turn ; and, in short, flattered 
 himself, perhaps justly, that he was playing the irresistible 
 in a manner quite equal to that of his fair cousins. 
 
 Now, all this while Miss Fanny was mistaken in one point, 
 for Mr. George Somers, though an exceedingly fine gentle 
 man, had, after all, quite a substratum of reality about him 
 of real heart, real feeling, and real opinion of his own ; and 
 the consequence was that, when tired of the effort of convers 
 ing, he really longed to find somebody to talk to ; and in this 
 mood he one evening strolled into the library, leaving the 
 gay party in the drawing-room to themselves. Miss Fanny 
 was there, quite intent upon a book of selections from the 
 old English poets. 
 
 " Really, Miss Fanny, 7 said Mr. Somers, " you are very 
 sparing of the favor of your company to us this evening." 
 
 " Oh, I presume my company is not much missed," said 
 Fanny with a smile. 
 
 " You must have a poor opinion of our taste, then," said 
 Mr. Somers. 
 
 " Come, come, Mr. Somers," replied Fanny, " you forget 
 the person you are talking to : it is not at all necessary for 
 you to compliment me; nobody ever does, so you may 
 feel relieved of that trouble." 
 
 " Nobody ever does, Miss Fanny ? pray, how is that ? " 
 
 " Because I m not the sort of person to say such things 
 to." 
 
 " And, pray, what sort of person ought one to be, in order 
 to have such things said ? " replied Mr. Somers. 
 
 " Why, like sister Isabella, or like Emma. You under 
 stand I am a sort of little nobody ; if any one wastes fine 
 words on me, I never know what to make of them." 
 
 " And, pray, what must one say to you ? " said Mr. So 
 mers quite amused. 
 
 "Why, what they really think and really feel; and I 
 am always puzzled by anything else." 
 
ART AND NATURE 183 
 
 Accordingly, about a half an hour afterwards, you might 
 have seen the much-admired Mr. Somers once more trans 
 formed into the Cousin George, and he and Fanny engaged 
 in a very interesting tete-a-tete about old times and things. 
 
 Now, you may skip across a fortnight from this evening 
 and then look in at the same old library, just as the setting 
 sun is looking in at its western window, and you will see 
 Fanny sitting back a little in the shadow, with one strag 
 gling ray of light illuminating her pure childish face, and 
 she is looking up at Mr. George Somers, as if in some sud 
 den perplexity ; and, dear me ! if we are not mistaken, our 
 young gentleman is blushing. 
 
 " Why, Cousin George," says the lady, " what do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " I thought I spoke plainly enough, Fanny," replied 
 Cousin George in a tone that might have made the matter 
 plain enough, to be sure. 
 
 Fanny laughed outright, and the gentleman looked terri 
 bly serious. 
 
 " Indeed, now, don t be angry," said she, as he turned 
 away with a vexed and mortified air ; " indeed, now, I can t 
 help laughing, it seems to me so odd ; what will they all 
 think of you ? " 
 
 " It s of no consequence to me what they think," said 
 Mr. Somers. " I think, Fanny, if you had the heart I gave 
 you credit for, you might have seen my feelings before now." 
 
 "Now, do sit down, my dear cousin," said Fanny ear 
 nestly, drawing him into a chair, " and tell me, how could I, 
 poor little Miss Fanny Nobody, how could I have thought 
 any such thing with such sisters as I have ? I did think 
 that you liked me, that you knew more of my real feelings 
 than mamma and sisters ; but that you should that you 
 ever should Why, I am astonished that you did not 
 fall in love with Isabella." 
 
184 ART AND NATURE 
 
 " That would have met your feelings, then ? " said 
 George eagerly, and looking as if he would have looked 
 through her, eyes, soul, and all. 
 
 " No, no, indeed," she said, turning away her head ; 
 " but, 7 added she quickly, " you 11 lose all your credit for 
 good taste. Now, tell me, seriously, what do you like me 
 for ? " 
 
 " Well, then, Fanny, I can give you the best reason. I 
 like you for being a real, sincere, natural girl for being 
 simple in your tastes, and simple in your appearance, and 
 simple in your manners, and for having heart enough left, 
 as I hope, to love plain George Somers, with all his faults, 
 and not Mr. Somers s reputation, or Mr. Somers s establish 
 ment." 
 
 " Well, this is all very reasonable to me, of course," said 
 Fanny, "but it will be so much Greek to poor mamma." 
 
 " I dare say your mother could never understand how 
 seeing the very acme of cultivation in all countries should 
 have really made my eyes ache, and long for something as 
 simple as green grass or pure water to rest them on. I 
 came down here to find it among my cousins, and I found 
 in your sisters only just such women as I have seen and 
 admired all over Europe, till I was tired of admiring. Your 
 mother has achieved what she aimed at, perfectly ; I know 
 of no circle that could produce higher specimens ; but it 
 is all art, triumphant art, after all, and I have so strong a 
 current of natural feeling running through my heart that I 
 could never be happy except with a fresh, simple, impulsive 
 character." 
 
 " Like me, you are going to say," said Fanny, laughing. 
 " Well, I 11 admit that you are right. It would be a pity 
 that you should not have one vote, at least." 
 
THE NEW YEAE S GIFT 
 
 THE sparkling ice and snow covered hill and valley ; 
 tree and bush were glittering with diamonds, the broad, 
 coarse rails of the fence shone like bars of solid silver, 
 while little fringes of icicles glittered between each bar. 
 
 In the yard of yonder dwelling the scarlet berries of the 
 mountain ash shine through a transparent casing of crystal, 
 and the sable spruces and white pines, powdered and glit 
 tering with the frost, have assumed an icy brilliancy. The 
 eaves of the house, the door-knocker, the pickets of the fence, 
 the honeysuckles and syringas, once the boast of summer, 
 are all alike polished, varnished, arid resplendent with their 
 winter trappings, now gleaming in the last rays of the early 
 sunset. 
 
 Within that large, old-fashioned dwelling might you see 
 an ample parlor, all whose adjustments and arrangements 
 speak of security, warmth, and home enjoyment ; of money 
 spent not for show, but for comfort. Thick crimson curtains 
 descend in heavy folds over the embrasures of the windows, 
 and the ample hearth and wide fireplace speak of the cus 
 toms of the good old times, ere that gloomy, unpoetic, un 
 social gnome the air-tight had monopolized the place of 
 the blazing fireside. 
 
 No dark air-tight, however, filled our ancient chimney ; 
 but there was a genuine old-fashioned fire of the most ap 
 proved architecture, with a gallant backlog and forestick, 
 supporting and keeping in order a crackling pile of dry 
 wood, that was whirring and blazing warm welcome for all 
 whom it might concern, occasionally bursting forth into 
 
186 THE NEW YEAR S GIFT 
 
 most portentous and earnest snaps, which rung through the 
 room with a genuine, hospitable emphasis, as if the fire was 
 enjoying himself, and having a good time, and wanted all 
 hands to draw up and make themselves at home with him. 
 
 So looked that parlor to me, when, tired with a long 
 day s ride, I found my way into it, just at evening, and was 
 greeted with a hearty welcome from my old friend, Colonel 
 Winthrop. In addition to all that I have already described, 
 let the reader add, if he pleases, the vision of a wide and 
 ample tea-table, covered with a snowy cloth, on which the 
 servants are depositing the evening meal. I had not seen 
 Winthrop for years ; but we were old college friends, and I 
 had gladly accepted an invitation to renew our ancient inti 
 macy by passing the New Year s season in his family. I 
 found him still the same hale, kindly, cheery fellow as in 
 days of old, though time had taken the same liberty with 
 his handsome head that Jack Frost had with the cedars and 
 spruces out of doors, in giving to it a graceful and becoming 
 sprinkle of silver. 
 
 " Here you are, my dear fellow," said he, shaking me by 
 both hands; "just in season for the ham and chickens 
 coffee all smoking. My dear," he added to a motherly- 
 looking woman who now entered, " here s John ! I beg 
 pardon, Mr. Stuart." As he spoke, two bold, handsome 
 boys broke into the room, accompanied by a huge New 
 foundland dog all as full of hilarity and abundant anima 
 tion as an afternoon of glorious skating could have generated. 
 
 " Ha, Tom and Ned! you rogues you don t want 
 any supper to-night, I suppose," said the father gayly ; 
 " come up here and be introduced to my old friend. Here 
 they come ! " said he, as one by one the opening doors ad 
 mitted the various children to the summons of the evening 
 meal. " Here," presenting a tall young girl, " is our eldest, 
 beginning to think herself a young lady, on the strength of 
 being fifteen years old, and wearing her hair tucked up. 
 
187 
 
 And here is Eliza," said he, giving a pull to a blooming, 
 roguish girl of ten, with large, saucy black eyes. " And 
 here is Willie ! " a bashful, blushing little fellow in a 
 checked apron. " And now, where s the little queen ? 
 where 7 s her majesty ? where s Ally ? " 
 
 A golden head of curls was, at this instant, thrust timidly 
 in at the door, and I caught a passing glimpse of a pair of 
 great blue eyes ; but the head, curls, eyes, and all, instantly 
 vanished, though a little fat dimpled hand was seen holding 
 on to the door, and swinging it back and forward. " Ally, 
 dear, come in ! " said the mother, in a tone of encouragement. 
 " Come in, Ally ! come in," was repeated in various tones, 
 by each child ; but brother Tom pushed open the door, and 
 taking the little recusant in his arms, brought her fairly in, 
 and deposited her on her father s knee. She took firm hold 
 of his coat, and then turned and gazed shyly upon me 
 her large splendid blue eyes gleaming through her golden 
 curls. It was evident that this w T as the pet lamb of the 
 fold, and she was just at that age when babyhood is verging 
 into childhood an age often indefinitely prolonged in a 
 large family, where the universal admiration that waits on 
 every look, and motion, and word of the baby, and the mul 
 tiplied monopolies and privileges of the baby estate, seem, 
 by universal consent, to extend as long and as far as possi 
 ble. And why not thus delay the little bark of the child 
 among the flowery shores of its first Eden ? defer them 
 as we may, the hard, the real, the cold commonplace of life 
 comes on all too soon ! 
 
 " This is our New Year s gift," said Winthrop, fondly 
 caressing the curly head. " Ally, tell the gentleman how 
 old you are." 
 
 " I s all be four next New Ear s," said the little one, 
 while all the circle looked applause. 
 
 " Ally, tell the gentleman what you are," said brother 
 Ned. 
 
188 THE NEW YEAR S GIFT 
 
 Ally looked coquettishly at me, as if she did not know 
 whether she should favor me to that extent, and the young 
 princess was further solicited. 
 
 " Tell him what Ally is/ said the oldest sister, with a 
 patronizing air. 
 
 " Papa s New Ear s p esent," said my little lady, at last. 
 
 " And mamma s, too ! " said the mother gently, amid 
 the applauses of the admiring circle. 
 
 Winthrop looked apologetically at me, and said, " We all 
 spoil her that s a fact every one of us down to Rover, 
 there, who lets her tie tippets round his neck, and put bon 
 nets on his head, and hug and kiss him, to a degree that 
 would disconcert any other dog in the world." 
 
 If ever beauty and poetic grace was an apology for spoil 
 ing, it was in this case. Every turn of the bright head, 
 every change of the dimpled face and round and chubby 
 limbs, was a picture ; and within the little form was shrined 
 a heart full of love, and running over with compassion and 
 good will for every breathing thing ; with feelings so sensi 
 tive, that it was papa s delight to make her laugh and cry 
 with stories, and to watch in the blue, earnest mirror of her 
 eye every change and turn of his narration, as he took her 
 through long fairy tales, and old-fashioned giant and ghost 
 legends, purely for his own amusement, and much repri 
 manded all the way by mamma, for filling the child s head 
 with nonsense. 
 
 It was now, however, time to turn from the beauty to the 
 substantial realities of the supper table. I observed that 
 Ally s high chair was stationed close by her father s side ; 
 and ever and anon, while gayly talking, he would slip into 
 her rosy little mouth some choice bit from his plate, these 
 notices and attentions seeming so instinctive and habitual, 
 that they did not for a moment interrupt the thread of the 
 conversation. Once or twice I caught a glimpse of Rover s 
 great rough nose, turned anxiously up to the little chair ; 
 
THE NEW YEAR S GIFT 189 
 
 whereat the small white hand forthwith slid something into 
 his mouth, though by what dexterity it ever came out from 
 the great black jaws undevoured was a mystery. When 
 the supply of meat on the small lady s plate was exhausted, 
 I observed the little hand slyly slipping into her father s 
 provision grounds, and with infinite address abstracting 
 small morsels, whereat there was much mysterious winking 
 between the father and the other children, and considerable 
 tittering among the younger ones, though all in marvelous 
 silence, as it was deemed best policy not to appear to notice 
 Ally s tricks, lest they should become too obstreperous. 
 
 In the course of the next day I found myself, to all in 
 tents and purposes, as much part and parcel of the family 
 as if I had been born and bred among them. I found that 
 I had come in a critical time, when secrets were plenty 
 as blackberries. It being New Year s week, all the little 
 hoarded resources of the children, both of money and of in 
 genuity, were in brisk requisition, getting up New Year s 
 presents for each other, and for father and mother. The 
 boys had their little tin savings banks, where all the stray 
 pennies of the year had been carefully hoarded all that 
 had been got by blacking papa s boots, or by piling wood, 
 or weeding in the garden mingled with some fortunate 
 additions which had come as windfalls from some liberal 
 guest or friend. All now were poured out daily, on tables, 
 on chairs, on stools, and counted over with wonderful ear 
 nestness. 
 
 My friend, though in easy circumstances, was somewhat 
 old-fashioned in his notions. He never allowed his children 
 spending money, except such as they fairly earned by some 
 exertions of their own. " Let them do something," he 
 would say, " to make it fairly theirs, and their generosity 
 will then have some significance it is very easy for chil 
 dren to be generous on their parents money." Great were 
 the comparing of resources and estimates of property at this 
 
190 THE NEW YEAR S GIFT 
 
 time. Tom and Ned, who were big enough to saw wood 
 and hoe in the garden, had accumulated the vast sum of 
 three dollars each, and walked about with their hands in 
 their pockets, and talked largely of purchases, like gentle 
 men of substance. They thought of getting mamma a new 
 muff, and papa a writing-desk, besides trinkets innumerable 
 for sisters, and a big doll for Ally ; but after they had made 
 one expedition to a neighboring town to inquire prices, I 
 observed that their expectations were greatly moderated. 
 As to little Willie, him of the checked apron, his whole 
 earthly substance amounted to thirty -seven cents ; yet there 
 was not a member of the whole family circle, including the 
 servants, that he could find it in his heart to leave out of 
 his remembrance. I ingratiated myself with him immedi 
 ately ; and twenty times a day did I count over his money 
 to him, and did sums innumerable to show how much would 
 be left if he got this, that, or the other article, which he 
 was longing to buy for father or mother. I proved to him 
 most invaluable, by helping him to think of certain small 
 sixpenny and fourpenny articles that would be pretty to 
 give to sisters, making out with marbles for Tom and Ned, 
 and a very valiant-looking sugar horse for Ally. Miss Emma 
 had the usual resource of young ladies, flosses, worsted, and 
 knitting, and crochet needles, and busy fingers, and she was 
 giving private lessons daily to Eliza, to enable her to get 
 up some napkin-rings and bookmarks for the all-important 
 occasion. A gentle air of bustle and mystery pervaded the 
 whole circle. I was intrusted with so many secrets that I 
 could scarcely make an observation, or take a turn about the 
 room, without being implored to " remember" "not to 
 tell " not to let papa know this, or mamma that. I was 
 not to let papa know how the boys were going to buy him 
 a new inkstand, with a pen-rack upon it, which was entirely 
 to outshine all previous inkstands ; nor tell mamma about 
 the crochet bag that Emma was knitting for her. On all 
 
THE NEW YEAR S GIFT 191 
 
 sides were mysterious whisperings, and showing of things 
 wrapped in brown paper, glimpses of which, through some 
 inadvertence, were always appearing to the public eye. 
 There were close councils held behind doors and in corners, 
 and suddenly broken off when some particular member of 
 the family appeared. There were flutters of vanishing book 
 marks, which were always whisked away when a door 
 opened ; and incessant ejaculations of admiration and aston 
 ishment from one privileged looker or another on things 
 which might not be mentioned to or beheld by others. 
 
 Papa and mamma behaved with the utmost circumspec 
 tion and discretion, and though surrounded on all sides by 
 such pitfalls and labyrinths of mystery, moved about with 
 an air of the most unconscious simplicity possible. But 
 little Ally, from her privileged character, became a very 
 spoil-sport in the proceedings. Her small ringers were 
 always pulling open parcels prematurely, or lifting pocket- 
 handkerchiefs ingeniously thrown down over mysterious 
 articles, and thus disconcerting the very profoundest sur 
 prises that ever were planned ; and were it not that she was 
 still within the bounds of the kingly state of babyhood, 
 and therefore could be held to do no wrong, she would cer 
 tainly have fallen into general disgrace ; but then it was 
 " Ally," and that was apology for all things, and the ex 
 ploit was related in half whispers as so funny, so cunning, 
 that Miss Curlypate was in no wise disconcerted at the head- 
 shakes and " naughty Allys " that visited her offenses. 
 
 " What dis ? " said she, one morning, as she was rum 
 maging over some packages indiscreetly left on the sofa. 
 
 " Oh, Emma ! see Ally ! " exclaimed Eliza, darting for 
 ward ; but too late, for the flaxen curls and blue eyes of a 
 wax doll had already appeared. 
 
 " Now she 11 know all about it," said Eliza despairingly. 
 
 Ally looked in astonishment, as dolly s visage promptly 
 disappeared from her view, and then turned to pursue her 
 
192 THE NEW YEAR S GIFT 
 
 business in another quarter of the room, where, spying 
 something glittering under the sofa, she forthwith pulled 
 out and held up to public view a crotchet bag sparkling 
 with innumerable steel fringes. 
 
 " Oh, what be dis ? " she exclaimed again. 
 
 Miss Emma sprang to the rescue, while all the other chil 
 dren, with a burst of exclamations, turned their eyes on 
 mamma. Mamma very prudently did not turn her head, 
 and appeared to be lost in reflection, though she must have 
 been quite deaf not to have heard the loud whispers, "It s 
 mamma s bag ! only think ! Don t you think, Tom, Ally 
 pulled out mamma s bag, and held it right up before her ! 
 Don t you think she 11 find out ? " 
 
 Master Tom valued himself greatly on the original and 
 profound ways he had of adapting his presents to the tastes 
 of the receiver without exciting suspicion : for example, 
 he would come up into his mother s room, all booted and 
 coated for a ride to town, jingling his purse gleefully, and 
 begin, 
 
 " Mother, mother, which do you like best, pink or blue ? " 
 
 " That might depend on circumstances, my son." 
 
 " Well, but, mother, for a neck ribbon, for example ; sup 
 pose somebody was going to buy you a neck ribbon." 
 
 " Why, blue would be the most suitable for me, I 
 think." 
 
 "Well, but mother, which should you think was the 
 best, a neck ribbon or a book ? " 
 
 " What book ? It would depend something on that." 
 
 " Why, as good a book as a fellow could get for thirty- 
 seven cents," says Tom. 
 
 " Well, on the whole, I think I should prefer the rib 
 bon." 
 
 " There, Ned," says Tom, coming down the stairs, " I ve 
 found out just what mother wants, without telling her a 
 word about it." 
 
THE NEW YEAR S GIFT 193 
 
 But the crowning mystery of all the great family arcana, 
 the thing that was going to astonish papa and mamma past all 
 recovery, was certain projected bookmarks, that little Ally 
 was going to be made to work for them. This bold scheme 
 was projected by Miss Emma, and she had armed herself 
 with a whole paper of sugar plums, to be used as adjuvants 
 to moral influence, in case the discouragements of the under 
 taking should prove too much for Ally s patience. 
 
 As to Ally, she felt all the dignity of the enterprise 
 her whole little soul was absorbed in it. Seated on Emma s 
 knee with the needle between her little fat fingers, and 
 holding the board very tight, as if she was afraid it would 
 run away from her, she very gravely and carefully stuck the 
 needle in every place but the right pricked her pretty 
 fingers ate sugar plums stopping now to pat Rover, 
 and now to stroke pussy letting fall her thimble, and 
 bustling down to pick it up occasionally taking an episod 
 ical race round the room with Rover, during which time 
 sister Emma added a stitch or two to the work. I would 
 not wish to have been required, on oath, to give in my 
 undisguised opinion as to the number of stitches the little 
 one really put into her present, but she had a most genuine 
 and firm conviction that she worked every stitch of it her 
 self ; and when, on returning from a scamper with pussy, 
 she found one or two letters finished, she never doubted 
 that the whole was of her own execution, and, of course, 
 thought that working bookmarks was one of the most 
 delightful occupations in the world. It was all that her 
 little heart could do to keep from papa and mamma the won 
 derful secret. Every evening she would bustle about her 
 father with an air of such great mystery, and seek to pique 
 his curiosity by most skillful hints, such as, 
 
 " I know somefing ! but I s ant tell you. 77 
 
 " Not tell me ! Oh, Ally ! Why not ? " 
 
 "Oh, it s about a New Ear s p es " 
 
194 THE NEW YEAR S GIFT 
 
 " Ally, Ally," resounds from several voices, " don t you 
 tell." 
 
 " No, I s an t but you are going to have a New Ear s 
 p esant, and so is mamma, and you can t dess what it is." 
 
 " Can t I ? " 
 
 "No, and I s an t tell you." 
 
 " Now, Ally," said papa, pretending to look aggrieved. 
 
 " Well, it s going to be somefin worked." 
 
 " Ally, be careful," said Emma. 
 
 " Yes, I 11 be very tareful ; it s somefin weall pretty 
 somefin to put in a book. You 11 find out about it by 
 and by." 
 
 " I think I m in a fair way to," said the father. 
 
 The conversation now digressed to other subjects, and the 
 nurse came in to take Ally to bed who, as she kissed her 
 father, in the fullness of her heart, added a fresh burst of in 
 formation. " Papa," said she, in an earnest whisper, " that 
 fin is about so long " measuring on her fat little arm. 
 
 " A fin, Ally? Why, you are not going to give me a 
 fish, are you ? " 
 
 " I mean that thing," said Ally, speaking the word with 
 great effort, and getting quite red in the face. 
 
 " Oh, that thing ; I beg pardon, my lady ; that puts 
 another face on the communication," said the father, strok 
 ing her head fondly, as he bade her good-night. 
 
 "The child can talk plainer than she does," said the 
 father, " but we are all so delighted with her little Hotten 
 tot dialect, that I don t know but she will keep it up till 
 she is twenty." 
 
 It now wanted only three days of the New Year, when a 
 sudden and deadly shadow fell on the dwelling, late so 
 busy and joyous a shadow from the grave ; and it fell 
 on the flower of the garden the star the singing bird 
 the loved and loving Ally. 
 
THE NEW YEAR S GIFT 195 
 
 She was stricken down at once, in the flush of her inno 
 cent enjoyment, by a fever, which from the first was ush 
 ered in with symptoms the most fearful. All the bustle 
 of preparation ceased the presents were forgotten or lay 
 about unfinished, as if no one now had a heart to put their 
 hand to anything ; while up in her little crib lay the beloved 
 one, tossing and burning with restless fever, and without 
 power to recognize any of the loved faces that bent over 
 her. The doctor came twice a day, with a heavy step, and 
 a face in which anxious care was too plainly written ; and 
 while he was there each member of the circle hung with 
 anxious, imploring faces about him, as if to entreat him to 
 save their darling ; but still the deadly disease held on its 
 relentless course, in spite of all that could be done. 
 
 " I thought myself prepared to meet God s will in any 
 form it might come," said Winthrop to me ; " but this one 
 thing I had forgotten. It never entered into my head that 
 my little Ally could die." 
 
 The evening before New Year s, the deadly disease seemed 
 to be progressing more rapidly than ever ; and when the 
 doctor came for his evening call, he found all the family 
 gathered in mournful stillness around the little crib. 
 
 "I suppose," said the father, with an effort to speak 
 calmly, " that this may be her last night with us." 
 
 The doctor made no answer, and the whole circle of 
 brothers and sisters broke out into bitter weeping. 
 
 " It is just possible that she may live till to-morrow," 
 said the doctor. 
 
 " To-morrow her birthday ! " said the mother. " Oh, 
 Ally, Ally ! " 
 
 Wearily passed the watches of that night. Each brother 
 and sister had kissed the pale little cheek, to bid farewell, 
 and gone to their rooms, to sob themselves to sleep ; and 
 the father and mother and doctor alone watched around the 
 bed. Oh, what a watch is that which despairing love keeps, 
 
196 THE NEW YEAR S GIFT 
 
 waiting for death ! Poor Rover, the companion of Ally s 
 gayer hours, resolutely refused to be excluded from the 
 sick-chamber. Stretched under the little crib, he watched 
 with unsleeping eyes every motion of the attendants, and 
 as often as they rose to administer medicine, or change 
 the pillow, or bathe the head, he would rise also, and look 
 anxiously over the side of the crib, as if he understood all 
 that was passing. 
 
 About an hour past midnight, the child began to change ; 
 her moans became fainter and fainter, her restless move 
 ments ceased, and a deep and heavy sleep settled upon her. 
 
 The parents looked wistfully on the doctor. "It is the 
 last change," he said ; " she will probably pass away before 
 the daybreak." 
 
 Heavier and deeper grew that sleep, and to the eye of 
 the anxious watchers the little face grew paler and paler ; 
 yet by degrees the breathing became regular and easy, and 
 a gentle moisture began to diffuse itself over the whole sur 
 face. A new hope began to dawn on the minds of the 
 parents, as they pointed out these symptoms to the doctor. 
 
 " All things are possible with God," said he, in answer 
 to the inquiring looks he met, " and it may be that she will 
 yet live." 
 
 An hour more passed, and the rosy glow of the New 
 Year s morning began to blush over the snowy whiteness of 
 the landscape. Far off from the window could be seen the 
 kindling glow of a glorious sunrise, looking all the brighter 
 for the dark pines that half veiled it from view ; and now a 
 straight and glittering beam shot from the east into the still 
 chamber. It fell on the golden hair and pale brow of the 
 child, lighting it up as if an angel had smiled on it ; and 
 slowly the large blue eyes unclosed, and gazed dreamily 
 around. 
 
 "Ally, Ally," said the father, bending over her, trem 
 bling with excitement. 
 
THE NEW YEAR S GIFT 197 
 
 " You are going to have a New Ear s p esent," whispered 
 the little one, faintly smiling. 
 
 " I believe from my heart that you are, sir ! " said the 
 doctor, who stood with his fingers on her pulse ; " she has 
 passed through the crisis of the disease, and we may hope." 
 
 A few hours turned this hope to glad certainty ; for with 
 the elastic rapidity of infant life, the signs of returning vigor 
 began to multiply, and ere evening the little one was lying 
 in her father s arms, answering with languid smiles to the 
 overflowing proofs of tenderness which every member of the 
 family was showering upon her. 
 
 " See, my children," said the father gently, " this dear 
 one is our New Year s present. What can we render to 
 God in return ? " 
 
OUR WOOD LOT IN WINTER 
 
 OUR wood lot ! Yes, we have arrived at the dignity of 
 owning a wood lot, and for us simple folk there is something 
 invigorating in the thought. To OWN even a small spot of 
 our dear old mother earth hath in it a relish of something 
 stimulating to human nature. To own a meadow, with all 
 its thousandfold fringes of grasses, its broidery of monthly 
 flowers, and its outriders of birds, and bees, and gold-winged 
 insects this is something that establishes one s heart. To 
 own a clover patch or a buckwheat field is like possessing a 
 self-moving manufactory for perfumes and sweetness ; but a 
 wood lot, rustling with dignified old trees it makes a man 
 rise in his own esteem ; he might take off his hat to him 
 self at the moment of acquisition. 
 
 We do not marvel that the land-acquiring passion becomes 
 a mania among our farmers, and particularly we do not won 
 der at a passion for wood land. That wide, deep chasm of 
 conscious self-poverty and emptiness which lies at the bot 
 tom of every human heart, making men crave property as 
 something to add to one s own bareness, and to ballast one s 
 own specific levity, is sooner filled by land than anything 
 else. 
 
 Your hoary New England farmer walks over his acres 
 with a grim satisfaction. He sets his foot down with a hard 
 stamp ; here is reality. No moonshine bank stock ! no 
 swindling railroads ! Here is his bank, and there is no 
 defaulter here. All is true, solid, and satisfactory ; he 
 seems anchored to this life by it. So Pope, with fine tact, 
 makes the old miser, making his will on his deathbed, after 
 
OUR WOOD LOT IN WINTER 199 
 
 parting with everything, die, clinging to the possession of 
 his land. He disposes with many a groan of this and that 
 house, and this and that stock and security ; but at last the 
 manor is proposed to him. 
 
 " The manor! hold! he cried, 
 Not that; I cannot part with that! and died! " 
 
 In such terms we discoursed yesterday, Herr Professor 
 and myself, while jogging along in an old-fashioned chaise 
 to inspect a few acres of wood lot, the acquisition of which 
 had led us, with great freshness, into these reflections. 
 Does any fair lady shiver at the idea of a drive to the woods 
 on the first of February ? Let me assure her that in the 
 coldest season Nature never wants her ornaments, full worth 
 looking at. See here, for instance let us stop the old 
 chaise, and get out a minute to look at this brook one 
 of our last summer s pets. What is he doing this winter ? 
 Let us at least say, " How do you do ? " to him. Ah, here 
 he is ! and he and Jack Frost together have been turning 
 the little gap in the old stone wall, through which he leaped 
 down to the road, into a little grotto of Antiparos. Some 
 old rough rails and boards that dropped over it are sheathed 
 in plates of transparent silver. The trunks of the black 
 alders are mailed with crystal ; and the witch-hazel, and 
 yellow osiers fringing its sedgy borders, are likewise shin 
 ing through their glossy covering. Around every stem that 
 rises from the water is a glittering ring of ice. The tags of 
 the alder and the red berries of last summer s wild roses 
 glitter now like a lady s pendant. As for the brook, he is 
 wide awake and joyful ; and where the roof of sheet ice 
 breaks away, you can see his yellow-brown waters rattling 
 and gurgling among the stones as briskly as they did last 
 July. Down he springs ! over the glossy-coated stone wall, 
 throwing new sparkles into the fairy grotto around him ; 
 and widening daily from melting snows, and such other 
 godsends, he goes chattering off under yonder mossy stone 
 
200 OUR WOOD LOT IN WINTER 
 
 bridge, and we lose sight of him. It might be fancy, but it 
 seemed that our watery friend tipped us a cheery wink as 
 he passed, saying, " Fine weather, sir, and madam ; nice 
 times these; and in April you ll find us all right; the 
 flowers are making up their finery for the next season 
 there s to be a splendid display in a month or two." 
 
 Then the cloud lights of a wintry sky have a clear purity 
 and brilliancy that no other months can rival. The rose 
 tints, and the shading of rose tint into gold, the flossy, filmy 
 accumulation of illuminated vapor that drifts across the sky 
 in a January afternoon, are beauties far exceeding those of 
 summer. 
 
 Neither are trees, as seen in winter, destitute of their 
 own peculiar beauty. If it be a gorgeous study in summer 
 time to watch the play of their abundant leafage, we still 
 may thank winter for laying bare before us the grand and 
 beautiful anatomy of the tree, with all its interlacing net 
 work of boughs, knotted on each twig with the buds of next 
 year s promise. The fleecy and rosy clouds look all the 
 more beautiful through the dark lace veil of yonder magni 
 ficent elms ; and the down-drooping drapery of yonder willow 
 hath its own grace of outline as it sweeps the bare snows. 
 And these comical old apple-trees, why, in summer they 
 look like so many plump, green cushions, one as much like 
 another as possible ; but under the revealing light of winter 
 every characteristic twist and jerk stands disclosed. 
 
 One might moralize on this how affliction, which strips 
 us of all ornaments and accessories, and brings us down 
 to the permanent and solid wood of our nature, develops 
 such wide differences in people who before seemed not 
 much distinct. But here ! our pony s feet are now clink 
 ing on the icy path under the shadow of the white pines of 
 "our wood lot." The path runs in a deep hollow, and on 
 either hand rise slopes dark and sheltered with the fragrant 
 white pine. White pines are favorites with us for many 
 
OUR WOOD LOT IN WINTER 201 
 
 good reasons. We love their balsamic breath, the long, 
 slender needles of their leaves, and, above all, the constant 
 sibylline whisperings that never cease among their branches. 
 In summer the ground beneath them is paved with a soft 
 and cleanly matting of their last year s leaves ; and then 
 their talking seems to be of coolness ever dwelling far up 
 in their fringy, waving hollows. And now, in winter-time, 
 we find the same smooth floor ; for the heavy curtains above 
 shut out the snow, and the same voices above whisper of 
 shelter and quiet. " You are welcome," they say ; " the 
 north wind is gone to sleep ; we are rocking him in our cra 
 dles. Sit down and be quiet from the cold. 7 At the feet 
 of these slumberous old pines we find many of our last sum 
 mer s friends looking as good as new. The small, round- 
 leafed partridge-berry weaves its viny mat, and lays out its 
 scarlet fruit, and here are blackberry vines with leaves still 
 green, though with a bluish tint, not unlike what invades 
 mortal noses in such weather. Here, too, are the bright, 
 varnished leaves of the Indian pine, and the vines of feath 
 ery green of which our Christmas garlands are made ; and 
 here, undaunted, though frozen to the very heart this cold 
 day, is many another leafy thing which we met last sum 
 mer rejoicing each in its own peculiar flower. What names 
 they have received from scientific godfathers at the botanic 
 fount we know not ; we have always known them by fairy 
 nicknames of our own the pet names of endearment 
 which lie between Nature s children and us in her domes 
 tic circle. 
 
 There is something peculiarly sweet to us about a certain 
 mystical dreaminess and obscurity in these wild wood tribes, 
 which we never wish to have brought out into the daylight 
 of absolute knowledge. Every one of them was a self- 
 discovered treasure of our childhood, as much our own as if 
 God had made it on purpose and presented it ; and it was 
 ever a part of the joy to think we had found something that 
 
202 OUR WOOD LOT IN WINTER 
 
 no one else knew, and so musing on them, we gave them 
 names in our heart. We search about amid the sere, yel 
 low skeletons of last summer s ferns, if haply winter have 
 forgotten one green leaf for our home vase ; in vain we 
 rake, freezing our fingers through our fur gloves there is 
 not one. An icicle has pierced every heart ; and there 
 are no fern leaves except those miniature ones which each 
 plant is holding in its heart, to be sent up in next sum 
 mer s hour of joy. But here are mosses tufts of all sorts ; 
 the white, crisp and crumbling, fair as winter frostwork ; 
 and here the feathery green of which French milliners 
 make moss-rose buds ; and here the cup-moss these we 
 gather with some care, frozen as they are to the wintry 
 earth. 
 
 Now, stumbling up this ridge, we come to a little patch 
 of hemlocks, spreading out their green wings, and making, 
 in the ravine, a deep shelter, where many a fresh springing 
 thing is standing, and where we gain much for our home 
 vases. These pines are motherly creatures. One can think 
 how it must rejoice the heart of a partridge or a rabbit to 
 come from the dry, whistling sweep of a deciduous forest 
 under the home-like shadow of their branches. " As for 
 the stork, the fir-trees are her house/ says the Hebrew poet ; 
 and our fir-trees, this winter, give shelter to much small 
 game. Often, on the light-fallen snow, I meet their little 
 footprints. They have a na ive, helpless, innocent appear 
 ance, these little tracks, that softens my heart like a child s 
 footprint. Not one of them is forgotten of our Father ; 
 and therefore I remember them kindly. 
 
 And now with cold toes and fingers, and arms full of 
 leafy treasures, we plod our way back to the chaise. A 
 pleasant song is in my ears from this old wood lot it 
 speaks of green and cheerful patience in life s hard weather. 
 Not a scowling, sullen endurance, not a despairing, hand- 
 dropping resignation, but a heart cheerfulness that holds on 
 
OUR WOOD LOT IN WINTER 203 
 
 to every leaf, and twig, and flower, and bravely smiles and 
 keeps green when frozen to the very heart, knowing that 
 the winter is but for a season, and that the sunshine and 
 bird singings shall return, and the last year s dry flower 
 stalk give place to the risen, glorified flower. 
 
THE MOUBNING-VEIL 
 
 "Then in life s goblet freely press 
 The leaves that give it bitterness, 
 Nor prize the colored waters less, 
 For in thy darkness and distress 
 
 New light and strength they give ! 
 
 "And he who has not learned to know 
 How false its sparkling bubbles show, 
 How bitter are the drops of woe, 
 With which its brim may overflow, 
 He has not learned to live. 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 IT was sunset. The day had been one of the sultriest of 
 August. It would seem as if the fierce alembic of the last 
 twenty-four hours had melted it like the pearl in the golden 
 cup of Cleopatra, and it lay in the west a fused mass of 
 transparent brightness. The reflection from the edges of a 
 hundred clouds wandered hither and thither, over rock and 
 tree and flower, giving a strange, unearthly brilliancy to the 
 most familiar things. 
 
 A group of children had gathered about their mother in 
 the summer-house of a garden which faced the sunset sky. 
 The house was one of those square, stately, wooden struc 
 tures, white, with green blinds, in which of old times the 
 better classes of New England delighted, and which remain 
 to us as memorials of a respectable past. It stood under 
 the arches of two gigantic elms, and was flanked on either 
 side with gardens and grounds which seemed designed on 
 purpose for hospitality and family freedom. The evening 
 light colored huge bouquets of petunias, which stood with 
 their white or crimson faces looking westward, as if they 
 
THE MOURNING-VEIL 205 
 
 were thinking creatures. It illumined flame-colored ver 
 benas, and tall columns of pink and snowy phloxes, and 
 hedges of August roses, making them radiant as the flowers 
 of a dream. 
 
 The group in the summer-house requires more particular 
 attention. The father and mother, whom we shall call 
 Albert and Olivia, were of the wealthiest class of the neigh 
 boring city, and had been induced by the facility of rail 
 road traveling, and a sensible way of viewing things, to fix 
 
 their permanent residence in the quiet little village of Q . 
 
 Albert had nothing in him different from multitudes of 
 hearty, joyous, healthily constituted men, who subsist upon 
 daily newspapers, and find the world a most comfortable 
 place to live in. As to Olivia, she was in the warm noon 
 of life, and a picture of vitality and enjoyment. A plump, 
 firm cheek, a dark eye, a motherly fullness of form, spoke 
 the being made to receive and enjoy the things of earth, 
 the warm-hearted wife, the indulgent mother, the hospit 
 able mistress of the mansion. It is true that the smile on 
 the lip had something of earthly pride blended with wo 
 manly sweetness, the pride of one who has as yet known 
 only prosperity and success, to whom no mischance has yet 
 shown the frail basis on which human hopes are built. Her 
 foot had as yet trod only the high places of life, but she 
 walked there with a natural grace and nobleness that made 
 every one feel that she was made for them, and they for her. 
 
 Around the parents were gathered at this moment a 
 charming group of children, who with much merriment 
 were proceeding to undo a bundle the father had just 
 brought from the city. 
 
 " Here, Rose," said little Amy, a blue-eyed, flaxen-haired 
 pet, who seemed to be a privileged character, " let me come ; 
 don t be all night with your orderly ways ; let me cut that 
 string." A sharp flash of the scissors, a quick report of 
 the bursting string, and the package lay opened to the little 
 
206 THE MOURNING-VEIL 
 
 marauder. Rose drew back, smiled, and gave an indulgent 
 look at her eager younger sister and the two little ones who 
 immediately gathered around. She was one of those calm, 
 thoughtful, womanly young girls, that seem born for pattern 
 elder sisters, and for the stay and support of mother s hearts. 
 She watched with a gentle, quiet curiosity the quick and 
 eager fingers that soon were busy in exposing the mysteries 
 of the parcel. 
 
 " There ? s a dress for Rose," said Amy, triumphantly 
 drawing out a delicate muslin ; " I can always tell what s 
 for her." 
 
 " How ? " put in the father, who stood regarding the pro 
 ceeding with that air of amused superiority with which the 
 wearers of broadcloth look down on the mysteries of muslin 
 and barege. 
 
 " How ? " said Amy, " why, because they look just like 
 her. If I were to see that lilac muslin in China, I should 
 say it was meant for Rose. Now this is mine, I know 
 this bright pink ; is n t it, mamma ? No half shades about 
 me!" 
 
 " No, indeed," said her mother ; " that is your greatest 
 fault, Amy." 
 
 " Oh, well, mamma, Rose has enough for both ; you 
 must rub us together, as they do light red and Prussian 
 blue, to make a neutral tint. But oh, what a ribbon ! oh, 
 mother, what a love of a ribbon ! Rose ! Rose ! look at 
 this ribbon ! And oh, those buttons ! Fred, I do believe 
 they are for your new coat ! Oh, and those studs, father, 
 where did you get them ? What s in that box ? a bracelet 
 for Rose, I know ! oh, how beautiful ! perfectly exquisite ! 
 And here oh ! " 
 
 Here something happened to check the volubility of the 
 little speaker ; for as she hastily, and with the license of a 
 petted child, pulled the articles from the parcel, she was 
 startled to find lying among the numerous colored tilings a 
 
THE MOURNING-VEIL 207 
 
 black crape veil. Sombre, dark, and ill-omened enough it 
 looked there, with pink, and lilac, and blue, and glittering 
 bijouterie around it ! 
 
 Amy dropped it with instinctive repugnance, and there 
 was a general exclamation, " Mamma, what s this ? how 
 came it here ? what did you get this for ? " 
 
 " Strange ! " said Olivia ; " it is a mourning-veil. Of 
 course I did not order it. How it came in here nobody 
 knows j it must have been a mistake of the clerk. " 
 
 " Certainly it is a mistake, 7 said Amy ; " we have no 
 thing to do with mourning, have we ? " 
 
 " No, to be sure ; what should we mourn for ? " chimed 
 in little Fred and Mary. 
 
 " What a dark, ugly thing it is ! " said Amy, unfolding 
 and throwing it over her head ; " how dismal it must be to 
 see the world through such a veil as this ! " 
 
 " And yet till one has seen the world through a veil like 
 that, one has never truly lived," said another voice, joining 
 in the conversation. 
 
 " Ah, Father Pay son, are you there ? " said two or three 
 voices at once. 
 
 Father Payson was the minister of the village, and their 
 nearest neighbor ; and not only their nearest neighbor, but 
 their nearest friend. In the afternoon of his years, life s 
 day with him now stood at that hour when, though the 
 shadows fall eastward, yet the colors are warmer, and the 
 songs of the birds sweeter, than even in its jubilant morn 
 ing. 
 
 God sometimes gives to good men a guileless and holy 
 second childhood, in which the soul becomes childlike, not 
 childish, and the faculties in full fruit and ripeness are mel 
 low without sign of decay. This is that songful land of 
 Beulah, where they who have traveled manfully the Chris 
 tian way abide awhile to show the world a perfected man 
 hood. Life, with its battles and its sorrows, lies far behind 
 
208 THE MOURNING-VEIL 
 
 them ; the soul has thrown off its armor, and sits in an 
 evening undress of calm and holy leisure. Thrice blessed 
 the family or neighborhood that numbers among it one of 
 these not yet ascended saints ! Gentle are they and toler 
 ant, apt to play with little children, easy to be pleased with 
 simple pleasures, and with a pitying wisdom guiding those 
 who err. New England has been blessed in numbering 
 many such among her country pastors ; and a spontaneous, 
 instinctive deference honors them with the title of Father. 
 
 Father Payson was the welcome inmate of every family 
 in the village, the chosen friend even of the young and 
 thoughtless. He had stories for children, jokes for the 
 young, and wisdom for all. He " talked good," as the 
 phrase goes, not because he was the minister, but because, 
 being good, he could not help it ; yet his words, uncon 
 sciously to himself, were often parables, because life to him 
 had become all spiritualized, and he saw sacred meanings 
 under worldly things. 
 
 The children seized him lovingly by either hand and 
 seated him in the arbor. 
 
 " Is n t it strange," said Amy, " to see this ugly black 
 thing among all these bright colors ? such a strange mistake 
 in the clerk ! " 
 
 " If one were inclined to be superstitious," said Albert, 
 " he might call this an omen." 
 
 " What did you mean, sir," asked Hose, quietly seating 
 herself at his feet, " by seeing life through this veil ? " 
 
 " It was a parable, my daughter," he said, laying his 
 hand on her head. 
 
 " I never have had any deep sorrow," said Olivia mus 
 ingly ; "we have been favored ones hitherto. But why 
 did you say one must see the world through such a medium 
 as this ? " 
 
 " Sorrow is God s school," said the old man. " Even 
 God s own Son was not made perfect without it ; though a 
 
THE MOURNING-VEIL 209 
 
 son, yet learned he obedience by the things that he suffered. 
 Many of the brightest virtues are like stars ; there must be 
 night or they cannot shine. Without suffering, there could 
 be no fortitude, no patience, no compassion, no sympathy. 
 Take all sorrow out of life, and you take away all richness 
 and depth and tenderness. Sorrow is the furnace that melts 
 selfish hearts together in love. Many are hard and incon 
 siderate, not because they lack capability of feeling, but be 
 cause the vase that holds the sweet waters has never been 
 broken." 
 
 " Is it, then, an imperfection and misfortune never to have 
 suffered ? " said Olivia. 
 
 Father Payson looked down. Rose was looking into his 
 face. There was a bright, eager, yet subdued expression in 
 her eyes that struck him ; it had often struck him before in 
 the village church. It was as if his words had awakened 
 an internal angel, that looked fluttering out behind them. 
 Rose had been from childhood one of those thoughtful, lis 
 tening children with whom one seems to commune without 
 words. We spend hours talking with them, and fancy they 
 have said many things to us, which, on reflection, we find 
 have been said only with their silent answering eyes. Those 
 who talk much often reply to you less than those who silently 
 and thoughtfully listen. And so it came to pass that, on 
 account of this quietly absorbent nature, Rose had grown to 
 her parents hearts with a peculiar nearness. Eighteen sum 
 mers had perfected her beauty. The miracle of the growth 
 and perfection of a human body and soul never waxes old ; 
 parents marvel at it in every household as if a child had 
 never grown before ; and so Olivia and Albert looked on 
 their fair Rose daily with a restful and trusting pride. 
 
 At this moment she laid her hand on Father Payson s 
 knee, and said earnestly, " Ought we to pray for sorrow, 
 then ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, no, no ! " interrupted Olivia, with an instinc- 
 
210 THE MOURNING- VEIL 
 
 tive shudder, such a shudder as a warm, earnest, prosper 
 ous heart always gives as the shadow of the grave falls 
 across it, " don t say yes ! " 
 
 " I do not say we should pray for it," said Father Pay- 
 son ; " yet the Master says, Blessed are they that mourn/ 
 not ( Blessed are they that prosper. So heaven and earth 
 differ in their judgments." 
 
 " Ah, me ! " said Olivia ; " I am afraid I have not cour 
 age to wish to be among the blessed." 
 
 " Well," said Albert, whom the gravity of the discussion 
 somewhat disturbed, " let us not borrow trouble ; time 
 enough to think of it when it happens. Come, the dew is 
 falling, let us go in. I want to show Father Payson some 
 peaches that will tempt his Christian graces to envy. Come, 
 Rose, gather up here." 
 
 Rose, in a few moments, gathered the parcel together, 
 and quietly flitted before them into the house. 
 
 " Now," said Albert, " you 11 see that girl will have 
 everything quietly tucked away in just the right place ; not 
 a word said. She is a born housewife ; it s in her, as much 
 as it is in a pointer to show game." 
 
 " Rose is my right hand," said Olivia ; " I should be lost 
 without her." 
 
 Whence comes it that, just on the verge of the great 
 crises and afflictions of life, words are often spoken that, to 
 afterview, seem to have had a prophetic meaning ? So 
 often do we hear people saying, " Ah, the very day before 
 I heard of this or that, we were saying so and so ! " It 
 would seem sometimes as if the soul felt itself being drawn 
 within the dark sphere of a coming evil, of which as yet no 
 thing outward tells. Then the thoughts and conversation 
 flow in an almost prophetic channel, which a coming future 
 too well interprets. 
 
 The evening passed cheerfully with our friends, notwith 
 standing the grave conversation in the arbor. The mourn- 
 
THE MOUKNING-VEIL 211 
 
 ing-veil was laid away in a drawer along with many of its 
 brilliant companions, and with it the thoughts it had sug 
 gested ; and the merry laugh ringing from the half -open 
 parlor-door showed that Father Payson was no despiser of 
 the command to rejoice with them that do rejoice. Rose 
 played and sung, the children danced, and the mirth was 
 prolonged till a late hour in the evening. Olivia and Albert 
 were lingering in the parlor after the departure of the 
 family, busy in shutting windows, setting back chairs, and 
 attending to all the last duties of orderly householders. A 
 sudden shriek startled them ; such a shriek as, once heard, 
 is never forgotten. With an answering cry of horror, they 
 rushed up the stairs. The hall lamp had been extinguished, 
 but the passage and staircase were red with a broad glare 
 from the open door of the nursery. A moment more showed 
 them the drapery of the bed in which their youngest child 
 was sleeping all in flames ; then they saw a light form tear 
 ing down the blazing curtains. 
 
 " Oh, Rose ! Rose ! take care, for God s sake ! your dress ! 
 you 11 kill yourself ! oh, God help us ! " 
 
 There were a few moments awful moments of struggle 
 when none knew or remembered what they did ; a mo 
 ment more and Rose lay panting in her father s arms, envel 
 oped in a thick blanket which he had thrown around her 
 burning nightdress. The fire was extinguished, the babe 
 lay unawakened, and only the dark flecks of tinder scat 
 tered over the bed, and the trampled mass on the floor, told 
 what had been. But Rose had breathed the hot breath of 
 the flame, deadly to human life, and no water could quench 
 that inward fire. 
 
 A word serves to explain all. The child s nurse had 
 carelessly set a lamp too near the curtains, and the night 
 breeze had wafted them into the flame. The apartment of 
 Rose opened into the nursery, and as she stood in her night 
 dress before her mirror, arranging her hair, she saw the 
 
212 THE MOURNING-VEIL 
 
 flashing of the flame, and, in the one idea of saving her little 
 sister, forgot every other. That act of self-f orgetf ulness was 
 her last earthly act ; a few short hours of patient suffering 
 were all that remained to her. Peacefully as she had lived 
 she died, looking tenderly on her parents out of her large 
 blue eyes, and only intent to soothe their pain. 
 
 " Yes, I suffer," she said, " but only a short pain. We 
 must all suffer something. My Father thinks a very little 
 enough for me. I have had such a happy life, I might bear 
 just a little pain at the last." 
 
 A little later her mind seemed to wander. " Mamma, 
 mamma/ she said hurriedly, " I put the things all away ; the 
 lilac muslin and the barege. Mamma, that veil, the mourn 
 ing-veil, is in the drawer. Oh, mamma, that veil was for 
 you ; don t refuse it ; our Father sends it, and he knows 
 best. Perhaps you will see heaven through that veil. 7 
 
 It is appalling to think how near to the happiest and 
 most prosperous scene of life stands the saddest despair. All 
 homes are haunted with awful possibilities, for whose real 
 ization no array of threatening agents is required, no light 
 ning, or tempest, or battle ; a peaceful household lamp, a gust 
 of perfumed evening air, a false step in a moment of gayety, 
 a draught taken by mistake, a match overlooked or mislaid, a 
 moment s oversight in handling a deadly weapon, and the 
 whole scene of life is irretrievably changed ! It was but 
 a day after the scene in the arbor, and all was mourning 
 in the so lately happy, hospitable house ; everybody looked 
 through tears. There were subdued breathings, a low mur 
 mur, as of many listeners, a voice of prayer, and the wail of 
 a funeral hymn, and then the heavy tread of bearers, as, 
 beneath the black pall, she was carried over the threshold of 
 her home, never to return. 
 
 And Olivia and Albert came forth behind their dead. 
 The folds of the dark veil seemed a refuge for the mother s 
 sorrow. But how did the flowers of home, the familiar elms, 
 
THE MOUKNING-VEIL 213 
 
 the distant smiling prospect look through its gloomy folds, 
 emblem of the shadow which had fallen between her heart 
 and life ? When she looked at the dark moving hearse, she 
 wondered that the sun still shone, that birds could sing, and 
 that even her own flowers could be so bright. 
 
 Ah, mother ! the world had been just as full of sorrow 
 the day before ; the air as full of " farewells to the dying 
 and mournings for the dead ; " but thou knewest it not ! 
 Now the outer world comes to thee through the mourning 
 veil! 
 
 But after the funeral comes life again, hard, cold, inex 
 orable life, knocking with business-like sound at the mourner s 
 door, obtruding its commonplace pertinacity on the dull 
 ear of sorrow. The world cannot wait for us ; the world 
 knows no leisure for tears ; it moves onward, and drags 
 along with its motion the weary and heavy-laden who would 
 fain rest. Olivia would have buried herself in her sorrows. 
 There are those who refuse to be comforted. The condolence 
 of friends seems only a mockery ; and truly, nothing so shows 
 the emptiness and poverty of human nature as its efforts at 
 condolence. 
 
 Father Payson, however, was a visitor who would not be 
 denied ; there was something of gentle authority in his white 
 hairs that might not be resisted. Old, and long-schooled in 
 sorrow, his heart many times broken in past years, he knew 
 all the ways of mourning. His was no official commonplace 
 about " afflictive dispensations." He came* first with that 
 tender and reverent silence with which the man acquainted 
 with grief approaches the divine mysteries of sorrow ; and 
 from time to time he cast on the troubled waters words, 
 dropped like seeds, not for present fruitfulness, but to ger 
 minate after the floods had subsided. He watched beside 
 a soul in affliction as a mother waits on the crisis of a fever 
 whose turning is to be for life or for death ; for he well 
 knew that great sorrows never leave us as they find us ; that 
 
214 THE MOURNING-VEIL 
 
 the broken spirit, ill set, grows callous and distorted ever 
 after. He had wise patience with every stage of sorrow ; 
 he knew that at first the soul is blind, and deaf, and dumb. 
 He was not alarmed when returning vitality showed itself 
 only in moral spasms and convulsions ; for in all great griefs 
 come hours of conflict, when the soul is tempted, and com 
 plaining, murmuring, dark, skeptical thoughts are whirled 
 like withered leaves through all its desolate chambers. 
 
 " What have I learned by looking through this veil ? " 
 said Olivia to him bitterly, one day when they were coming 
 out of a house where they had been visiting a mourning 
 family. " I was trusting in God as an indulgent Father ; 
 life seemed beautiful to me in the light of His goodness ; now 
 I see only His inflexible severity. I never knew before 
 how much mourning and sorrow there had been even in this 
 little village. There is scarcely a house where something 
 dreadful has not at some time happened. How many fam 
 ilies here have been called to mourning since we have ! I 
 have not taken up a paper in which I have not seen a record 
 of two or three accidental deaths j some of them even more 
 bitter and cruel than what has befallen us. I read this 
 morning of a poor washerwoman, whose house was burned, 
 and all her children consumed, while she was away working 
 for her bread. I read the other day of a blind man whose 
 only son was drowned in his very presence, while he could 
 do nothing to help him. I was visiting yesterday that poor 
 dressmaker whom you know. She has by toil and pains 
 been educating a fine and dutiful son. He is smitten down 
 with hopeless disease, while her idiot child, who can do no 
 body any good, is spared. Ah, this mourning-veil has in 
 deed opened my eyes ; but it has taught me to add all the 
 sorrows of the world to my own ; and can I believe in God s 
 love ? " 
 
 " Daughter," said the old man, " I am not ignorant of 
 these things. I have buried seven children ; I have buried 
 
THE MOURNING-VEIL 215 
 
 my wife ; and God has laid on me in my time reproach, 
 and controversy, and contempt. Each cross seemed, at the 
 time, heavier than the others. Each in its day seemed to be 
 what I least could bear ; and I would have cried, ( Anything 
 but this ! And yet, now when I look back, I cannot see 
 one of these sorrows that has not been made a joy to me. 
 With every one some perversity or sin has been subdued, 
 some chain unbound, some good purpose perfected. God 
 has taken my loved ones, but he has given me love. He 
 has given me the power of submission and of consolation ; 
 and I have blessed him many times in my ministry for all 
 I have suffered, for by it I have stayed up many that were 
 ready to perish." 
 
 "Ah," said Olivia, "you indeed have reason to be com 
 forted, because you can see in yourself the fruit of your sor 
 rows ; but I am not improving ; I am only crushed and 
 darkened, not amended." 
 
 " Have patience with thyself, child ; weeping must en 
 dure for a night ; all comes not at once. No trial for the 
 present seemeth joyous ; ? but afterwards it yieldeth the 
 peaceable fruit ; have faith in this afterwards. Some 
 one says that it is not in the tempest one walks the beach 
 to look for the treasures of wrecked ships ; but when the 
 storm is past we find pearls and precious stones washed 
 ashore. Are there not even now some of these in your 
 path ? Is not the love between you and your husband 
 deeper and more intimate since this affliction ? Do you not 
 love your other children more tenderly ? Did you not tell 
 me that you had thought on the sorrows of every house in 
 this village ? Courage, my child ! that is a good sign. Once, 
 as you read the papers, you thought nothing of those who 
 lost friends ; now you notice and feel. Take the sorrows 
 of others to your heart ; they shall widen and deepen it. 
 Ours is a religion of sorrow. The Captain of our salvation 
 was made perfect through suffering ; our Father is the God 
 
216 THE MOURNING-VEIL 
 
 of all consolation ; our Teacher is named the Comforter ; 
 and all other mysteries are swallowed up in the mystery of 
 the Divine sorrow. In all our afflictions He is afflicted. 
 God refuseth not to suffer ; shall we ? " 
 
 There is no grave so desolate that flowers will not at last 
 spring on it. Time passed with Albert and Olivia with 
 healing in its wings. The secret place of tears became first 
 a temple of prayer, and afterwards of praise ; and the heavy 
 cloud was remembered by the flowers that sprung up after 
 the rain. The vacant chair in the household circle had 
 grown to be a tender influence, not a harrowing one ; and 
 the virtues of the lost one seemed to sow themselves like 
 the scattered seeds of a fallen flower, and to spring up in 
 the hearts of the surviving ones. More tender and more 
 blessed is often the brooding influence of the sacred dead 
 than the words of the living. 
 
 Olivia became known in the abodes of sorrow, and a deep 
 power seemed given her to console the suffering and dis 
 tressed. A deeper power of love sprung up within her ; 
 and love, though born of sorrow, ever brings peace with it. 
 Many were the hearts that reposed on her ; many the wan 
 dering that she reclaimed, the wavering that she upheld, 
 the desolate that she comforted. As a soul in heaven may 
 look back on earth, and smile at its past sorrows, so, even 
 here, it may rise to a sphere where it may look down on the 
 storm that once threatened to overwhelm it. 
 
 It was on the afternoon of just such another summer day 
 as we have described at the opening of our story, that 
 Olivia was in her apartment, directing the folding and lay 
 ing away of mourning-garments. She took up the dark 
 veil and looked on it kindly, as on a faithful friend. How 
 much had she seen and learned behind the refuge of its shel 
 tering folds ! She turned her thoughts within herself. She 
 was calm once more, and happy, happy with a wider and 
 steadier basis than ever before. A new world seemed opened 
 
THE MOURNING-VEIL 217 
 
 within her; and with a heart raised in thankfulness she 
 placed the veil among her most sacred treasures. 
 
 Yes, there by the smiling image of the lost one, by the 
 curls of her glossy hair, by the faded flowers taken from 
 her bier, was laid in solemn thankfulness the Mourning- 
 Veil. 
 
NEW ENGLAND MINISTEBS 
 
 DR. SPRAGUE, of Albany, has added to the literature of 
 our country two large octavo volumes, containing biographi 
 cal accounts of the Congregational clergy of New England, 
 from its earliest settlement until the year 1841. The book 
 has been for the most part compiled from letters furnished 
 by different individuals, who, either through personal know 
 ledge or through tradition, had the most intimate acquaint 
 ance with the subjects of which they wrote. The char 
 acters here sketched, though perfectly individual, are in 
 so great a degree the result of peculiar political influences, 
 that it would be difficult to suppose their existence elsewhere 
 than in New England. We have therefore chosen this book 
 as a kind of standpoint from which to take a glance at the 
 New England clergy and pulpit. The earliest constitution 
 of government in New England was a theocracy ; it was 
 the realization of Arnold s idea of the identity of Church 
 and State. Under it the clergy had peculiar powers and 
 privileges, which, it is but fair to say, they turned to the 
 advantage of the Commonwealth more than has generally 
 been the case with any privileged order. 
 
 A time, however, came when the democratic element, 
 which these men themselves had fostered, worked out its 
 logical results, by depriving them of all special immunities, 
 and leaving them, like any other citizens, to make their 
 way by pure force of character, and to be rated, like other 
 men, simply for what they were and what they could do. 
 It is creditable to the intelligence and shrewdness of this 
 body of men that the more far-sighted among them received 
 
NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 219 
 
 this change with satisfaction ; that they were such uncom 
 monly fair logicians as to be willing to accept the direct in 
 ference from principles which they had been foremost to 
 inculcate, and, like men of strong mind and clear conscience, 
 were not afraid to rest their claim to influence and deference 
 on the manfulness with which they should strive to deserve 
 them. 
 
 Dr. Sprague s book contains pictures of life under both 
 the old regime and the new. The following extract from 
 the venerable Josiah Quincy s recollections of the Rev. Mr. 
 French, of Andover, is interesting, as an illustration of the 
 olden times. 
 
 " Mrs. Dowse, my maternal aunt, has often related to me 
 her pride and delight at visiting at the Rev. Mr. Phillips , 
 her paternal grandfather s house, when a child ; which was 
 interesting as a statement of the manners of those early 
 times in Massachusetts, before the sceptre of worldly power, 
 which the first settlers of the Colony had placed in the 
 hands of the clergy, had been broken. The period was 
 about between 1760 and the Revolution. The parsonage 
 at Andover was situated about two or three hundred rods 
 from the meeting-house, which was three stories high, of 
 immense dimensions, far greater, I should think, than those 
 of any meeting-houses in these anti-church-going, degenerate 
 times. It was on a hill, slightly elevated above the par 
 sonage, so that all the flock could see the pastor as he issued 
 from it. 
 
 " Before the time of service, the congregation gradually 
 assembled in early season, coming on foot or on horseback, 
 the ladies behind their lords or brothers, or one another, on 
 pillions, so that before the time of service the whole space 
 before the meeting-house was filled with a waiting, respect 
 ful, and expecting multitude. At the moment of service 
 the pastor issued from his mansion with Bible and manu 
 script sermon under his arm, with his wife leaning on one 
 
220 NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 
 
 arm, flanked by his negro man on his side, as his wife was 
 by her negro woman, the little negroes being distributed 
 according to their sex by the side of their respective parents. 
 Then followed every other member of the family according 
 to age and rank, making often, with family visitants, some 
 what of a formidable procession. As soon as it appeared 
 the congregation, as if moved by one spirit, began to move 
 towards the door of the church ; and before the procession 
 reached it, all were in their places. 
 
 " As soon as the pastor entered the church, the whole con 
 gregation rose and stood until the pastor was in the pulpit 
 and his family seated, until which was done the whole 
 assembly continued standing. At the close of the service 
 the congregation stood until he and his family had left the 
 church, before any one moved towards the door. 
 
 " Forenoon and afternoon the same course of proceeding 
 was had, expressive of the reverential relation in which the 
 people acknowledged that they stood towards their clergy 
 man. 
 
 " Such was the account given me by Mrs. Dowse in rela 
 tion to times previous to my birth, and which I relate as 
 her narrative, and not as part of my recollections. The 
 procession from the parsonage, the disappearance of the 
 people on the appearance of the procession, and that their 
 pastor was received with every mark of decorum and respect, 
 I well remember, but of their rising at his entrance and 
 standing after the service until he had departed, I have no 
 recollection ; my time was almost twenty years after that 
 narrated by Mrs. Dowse. During that period the Revolu 
 tion had commenced." 
 
 Some might think it an advantage, if more of the deco 
 rum and reverence of such a state of society had been pre 
 served to our day ; for this respect paid to the minister was 
 but part of a general and all-pervading system. Children 
 were more reverential to their parents, scholars to their 
 
NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 221 
 
 teachers, the people to their magistrates. A want of rever 
 ence threatens now to become the besetting sin of America, 
 whether young or old. 
 
 The clergy of New England have, as a body, been dis 
 tinguished for a rare union of the speculative and the prac 
 tical. In both points they have been so remarkable, that 
 in observing the great development of either of these quali 
 ties by itself one would naturally suppose that there was no 
 room for the other. 
 
 Generally speaking, they were rural pastors, living on 
 salaries so small as to afford hardly a nominal support ; and 
 in order to bring up their families and give their sons a 
 college education, it was necessary to understand fully the 
 practical savoir faire. Accordingly, they farmed and gar 
 dened, and often took young people into their families to 
 educate, and in these ways eked out a subsistence. It is 
 related of the venerable Moses Hallock, that he educated 
 in his own family, during his ministerial lifetime, three 
 hundred young people, of whom thirty were females. One 
 hundred and thirty-two of these he fitted for college ; fifty 
 became ministers, and six foreign missionaries. 
 
 Some of the clergy gained such an acquaintance with the 
 practice of medicine as to be able sometimes to unite the 
 offices of physician of the body and of the soul ; and not 
 unfrequently a general knowledge of law enabled the pastor 
 to be the worldly as well as the spiritual counselor of his 
 people. A striking case in point is that of the venerable 
 Parson Eaton, who resided in a lonely seafaring district on 
 the coast of Maine, and preached to a congregation who 
 lived the amphibious life of farmers and fishermen. The 
 town of Harpswell, where he ministered, " is a narrow pro 
 jection of ten miles southward into Casco Bay, on both sides 
 of which it comprises within its incorporated limits several 
 islands, some of them of considerable size and well inhabited. 
 In his pastoral visits and labors, the clergyman was often 
 
222 NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 
 
 obliged to ride several miles, and then cross the inlets of 
 the sea, to preach a lecture or to minister comfort or aid to 
 some sick or suffering parishioner. In addition to his cleri 
 cal duties, Mr. Eaton, having experience and discernment 
 in the more common forms of disease, was generally applied 
 to in sickness ; and he usually carried with him a lancet 
 and the more common and simple medicines. If a case 
 was likely to baffle his skill, he advised his patient to send 
 for a regular physician. His admirable sense, moreover, 
 and his education fitted him to render aid and counsel in 
 matters of controversy ; so that he often acted as an umpire, 
 and very often to the settling of disputes. Seldom did his 
 people consult a lawyer ; and it is even said that, at the 
 time of his death, most of the wills in the town were in his 
 handwriting. 7 
 
 It is a singular thing, that the preaching and the bent 
 of mind of a set of men so intensely practical should have 
 been at the same time intensely speculative. Nowhere in 
 the world, unless perhaps in Scotland, have merely specu 
 lative questions excited the strong and engrossing interest 
 among the common people that they have in New Eng 
 land. Every man, woman, and child was more or less a 
 theologian. The minister, while he ground his scythe or 
 sharpened his axe or laid stone fence, was inwardly grinding 
 and hammering on those problems of existence which are as 
 old as man, and which Christian and heathen have alike 
 pondered. The Germans call the whole New England the 
 ology rationalistic, in distinction from traditional. 
 
 There are minds which are capable of receiving certain 
 series of theological propositions without even an effort at 
 comparison, without a perception of contradiction or incon- 
 sequency, without an effort at harmonizing. Such, how 
 ever, were not the New England ministers. With them 
 predestination must be made to harmonize with free will ; 
 the Divine entire efficiency with human freedom ; the 
 
NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 223 
 
 existence of sin with the Divine benevolence ; and at it 
 they went with stout hearts, as men work who are not in 
 the habit of being balked in their undertakings. Hence 
 the Edwardses, the Hopkinses, the Emmonses, with all 
 their various schools and followers, who, leviathan-like, 
 have made the theological deep of New England to boil like 
 a pot, and the agitation of whose course remains to this 
 day. 
 
 It is a mark of a shallow mind to scorn these theological 
 wrestlings and surgings ; they have had in them something 
 even sublime. They were always bounded and steadied by 
 the most profound reverence for God and his word ; and 
 they have constituted in New England the strong mental 
 discipline needed by a people who were an absolute demo 
 cracy. The Sabbath teaching of New England has been a 
 regular intellectual drill as well as a devotional exercise ; 
 and if one does not see the advantage of this, let him live 
 awhile in France or Italy, and see the reason why, with 
 all their aspirations after liberty, there is no capability of 
 self-government in the masses ; put the tiller of the Cam- 
 pagna, or the vinedresser of France, beside the theologi 
 cally trained, keen, thoughtful New England farmer, and 
 see which is best fitted to administer a government. 
 
 Another leading characteristic of the New England clergy 
 was their great freedom of original development. The vol 
 umes before us are full of indications of the most racy indi 
 viduality. There was no such thing as a clerical mould or 
 pattern ; but each minister, particularly in the rural dis 
 tricts, grew and flourished as freely and unconventionally 
 as the apple-trees in his own orchard, and was considered 
 none the worse for that, so long as he bore good fruit of the 
 right sort. Thus we find among them all stamps and kinds 
 of men, men of decorum and ceremony, like Dr. Em- 
 mons and President Edwards, and men who, aiming after 
 the real, despised the form, kept no order, and revered no 
 
224 NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 
 
 ceremony ; yet all flourished in peace, and were allowed to 
 do their work in their own way. 
 
 We find here and there records of pleasant little en 
 counters of humor among them on these points. Parson 
 Deane, of Portland, was a precise man, and always appeared 
 in the clerical regalia of the times, with powdered wig, 
 cocked hat, gown, bands. Parson Hemmenway went about 
 with just such clothes as he happened to find convenient, 
 without the least regard to the conventional order. 
 
 Being together on a council, Dr. Deane playfully re 
 marked, 
 
 " The ferryman, Brother Hemmenway, as we came over, 
 had n t the least idea you were a clergyman. Now I am 
 particular always to appear with my wig on." 
 
 " Precisely," said Dr. Hemmenway ; " I know it is well 
 to bestow more abundant honor on the part that lacketh." 
 
 It is a curious illustration of the times and people to 
 see how quietly the personal eccentricities of a good min 
 ister were received. One Mr. Moody, who flourished in 
 the State of Maine, was one of those born oddities whose 
 growth of mind rejects every outward rule. Brilliant, ori 
 ginal, restless, he found it impossible to bring his thoughts 
 to march in the regular platoon and file of a properly writ 
 ten sermon. It is told of him, that, moved by the admira 
 tion of his people for the calm and orderly performances of 
 one of his neighboring brethren of the name of Emerson, he 
 resolved to write a sermon in the same style. After the 
 usual introductory services, he began to read his perform 
 ance, but soon grew weary, stumbled disconsolately, and at 
 last stopped, exclaiming, " Emerson must be Emerson, 
 and Moody must be Moody ! I feel as if I had my head in 
 a bag ! You call Moody a rambling preacher ; it is true 
 enough ; but his preaching will do to catch rambling sin 
 ners, and you are all runaways from the Lord." 
 
 His clerical brethren at a meeting of the Association once 
 
NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 225 
 
 undertook to call him to account for his odd expressions and 
 back-handed strokes. He stepped into his study and pro 
 duced a record of some twenty or thirty cases of conversions 
 which had resulted from some of his exceptional sayings. 
 As he read them over with the dates, they looked at each 
 other with surprise, and one of them very sensibly remarked, 
 " If the Lord owns Father Moody s oddities, we must let 
 him take his own way." 
 
 His son, Joseph Moody, furnished the original incident 
 which Hawthorne has so exquisitely worked up in his story 
 of " The Minister s Black Veil." Being of a singularly 
 nervous and melancholic temperament, he actually for many 
 years shrouded his face with a black handkerchief. When 
 reading a sermon he would lift this, but stood with his back 
 to the audience so that his face was concealed, all which 
 appears to have been accepted by his people with sacred sim 
 plicity. He was known in the neighborhood by the name 
 of Handkerchief Moody. 
 
 It is recorded also of the venerable and eccentric Father 
 Mills, of Torringford, that, on the death of his much be 
 loved wife, he was greatly exercised as to how a minister who 
 always dressed in black could sufficiently express his devo 
 tion and respect for the departed by any outward change of 
 dress. At last he settled the question to his own satisfac 
 tion, by substituting for his white wig a black silk pocket- 
 handkerchief, with which head-dress he officiated in all sim 
 plicity during the usual term of mourning. 
 
 We think it one result of their great freedom from any 
 strait-laced conventional ideas, that no point of character is 
 more frequently noticed in the subjects of these sketches 
 than wit and humor. New England ministers never held 
 it a sin to laugh ; if they did, some of them had a great 
 deal to answer for ; for they could scarce open their mouths 
 without dropping some provocation to a smile. An ecclesi 
 astical meeting was always a merry season ; for there never 
 
226 NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 
 
 were wanting quaint images, humorous anecdotes, and sharp 
 flashes of wit, and even the driest and most metaphysical 
 points of doctrine were often lit up and illuminated by these 
 coruscations. 
 
 A panel taken out of the house of the Kev. John Lowell, 
 of Newbury, is still preserved, representing the common 
 style of an ecclesiastical meeting in those days. The di 
 vines, each in full wig and gown, are seated around a table, 
 smoking their pipes, and above is the well-known inscrip 
 tion : In necessariis, Unitas : in non necessariis, Libertas : 
 in utrisque Charitas. 
 
 In that delightfully naive and simple journal of the Eev. 
 Thomas Smith, the first minister settled in Portland, Maine, 
 in the year 1725, we find the following entries : 
 
 " July 4, 1763. Mr. Brooks was ordained. A multi 
 tude of people from my parish. A decent solemnity." 
 
 " January 16, 1765. Mr. Foxcroft was ordained at New 
 Gloucester. We had a pleasant journey home. Mr. L. 
 was alert and kept us all merry. A jolly ordination. We 
 lost sight of decorum." 
 
 This Mr. L., by the bye, who was so alert on this occa 
 sion, it appears by a note, was Stephen Longfellow, the great 
 grandfather of the poet. Those who enjoy the poet s ac 
 quaintance will probably testify that the property of social 
 alertness has not evaporated from the family in the lapse of 
 so many years. 
 
 It is recorded of Dr. Griffin that, when President of the 
 Andover Theological Seminary, he convened the students at 
 his room one evening, and told them he had observed that 
 they were all growing thin and dyspeptical from a neglect 
 of the exercise of Christian laughter, and he insisted upon 
 it that they should go through a company-drill in it then 
 and there. The doctor was an immense man, over six 
 feet in height, with great amplitude of chest and most magis 
 terial manners. " Here," said he to the first, " you must 
 
NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 227 
 
 practice ; now hear me ! " and bursting out into a sonorous 
 laugh, he fairly obliged his pupils, one by one, to join, till 
 the whole were almost convulsed. " That will do for once," 
 said the Doctor, " and now mind you keep in practice ! " 
 
 New England used to be full of traditions of the odd 
 sayings of Dr. Bellamy, one of the most powerful theolo 
 gians and preachers of his time. His humor, however, seems 
 to have been wholly a social quality, requiring to be struck 
 out by the collision of conversation ; for nothing of the 
 peculiar quaintness and wit ascribed to him appears in his 
 writings, which are in singularly simple, clear English. 
 One or two of his sayings circulated about us in our child 
 hood. For example, when one had built a fire of green 
 wood, he exclaimed, " Warm me here ! I ? d as soon try to 
 warm me by starlight on the north side of a tombstone ! " 
 Speaking of the chapel-bell of Yale College, he said, "It was 
 about as good a bell as a fur cap with a sheep s tail in it." 
 
 A young minister, who had made himself conspicuous for 
 a severe and denunciatory style of preaching, came to him 
 one day to inquire why he did not have more success. 
 " Why, man," said the Doctor, " can t you take a lesson of 
 the fisherman ? How do you go to work, if you want to 
 catch a trout ? You get a little hook and a fine line, you 
 bait it carefully and throw it in as gently as possible, and 
 then you sit and wait and humor your fish till you can get 
 him ashore. Now you get a great cod-hook and rope-line, 
 and thrash it into the water, and bawl out, Bite or be 
 damned ! > " 
 
 The Doctor himself gained such a reputation as an expert 
 spiritual fisherman, that some of his parishioners, like ex 
 perienced old trout, played shy of his hook, though never so 
 skillfully baited. 
 
 " Why, Mr. A.," he said to an old farmer in his neigh 
 borhood, " they tell me you are an Atheist. Don t you be 
 lieve in the being of a God ? " 
 
228 NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 
 
 " No ! " said the man. 
 
 " But, Mr. A., let s look into this. You believe that 
 the world around us exists from some cause ? " 
 
 "No, I don t!" 
 
 " Well, then, at any rate, you believe in your own exist 
 ence ? " 
 
 " No, I don t ! " 
 
 " What ! not believe that you exist yourself ? " 
 
 " I tell you what, Doctor," said the man, " I ain t going 
 to be twitched up by any of your syllogisms, and so I tell 
 you I don t believe anything, and 1 7 m not going to be 
 lieve anything ! " 
 
 A collection of the table-talk of the clergy whose lives 
 are sketched in Dr. Sprague s volumes would be a rare fund 
 of humor, shrewdness, genius, and originality. We must 
 say, however, that as nothing is so difficult as to collect 
 these sparkling emanations of conversation, the written 
 record which this work presents falls far below that tradi 
 tional one which floated about us in our earlier years. So 
 much in wit and humor depends on the electric flash, the 
 relation of the idea to the attendant circumstances, that peo 
 ple often remember only liow they have laughed, and can no 
 more reproduce the expression than they can daguerreotype 
 the heat-lightning of a July night. 
 
 The doctrine that a minister is to maintain some ethereal, 
 unearthly station, where, wrapt in divine contemplation, he 
 is to regard with indifference the actual struggles and real 
 ities of life, is a sickly species of sentimentalism, the growth 
 of modern refinement, and altogether too moonshiny to have 
 been comprehended by our stout-hearted and very practical 
 fathers. With all their excellences, they had nothing sen 
 timental about them ; they were bent on reducing all things 
 to practical, manageable realities. They would not hear of 
 churches, but called them meeting-houses ; they would not 
 be called clergymen, but ministers or servants, thereby 
 
NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 229 
 
 signifying their calling to real, tangible work among real 
 men and things. 
 
 As we have already said, in the beginnings of New Eng 
 land, the Church and State were identical, and the clergy 
 ex officio the main counselors and directors of the Common 
 wealth ; and when this especial prerogative was relinquished, 
 they naturally retained something of the bent it had given 
 them. 
 
 An interesting portion of these sketches comprises the 
 lives of ministers during our Revolutionary struggle, show 
 ing how ardently and manfully at that time the clergy 
 headed the people. Many of them went into the army as 
 chaplains ; one or two, more zealous still, even took up 
 temporal arms ; while the greater number showered the 
 enemy with sermons, tracts, and pamphlets. 
 
 Some of the more zealous politicians among them did not 
 scruple to bring their sentiments even into the prayers of 
 the church. We recollect an anecdote of a stout Whig 
 minister of New Haven, who, during the occupation of the 
 town by the British, was ordered to offer public prayers for 
 the King, which he did as follows : "0 Lord, bless thy 
 servant, King George, and grant unto him wisdom ; for 
 thou knowest, Lord, he needs it." 
 
 So afterwards, in the time of the Embargo, Parson Eaton, 
 of Harpswell, a Federalist, is recorded to have introduced 
 his prayer for the President in a formula which might be 
 recommended at the present day for the use of the people 
 of Kansas. " Forasmuch as thou hast commanded us to 
 pray for our enemies, we pray for the President of these 
 United States, that his heart may be turned to just coun 
 sels," etc. 
 
 This same Parson Eaton distinguished himself also for 
 his patriotic enthusiasm in Revolutionary times. When the 
 British had burned Falmouth (Portland) a messenger came 
 to Harpswell to beat up for recruits to the Continental 
 
230 NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 
 
 forces. Not succeeding to his mind, he went to Parson 
 Eaton, one Sunday morning, and begged him to say some 
 thing for him in the course of the day s services. " It is 
 my sacramental Sabbath," said the valiant Doctor, " and I 
 cannot. But at the going down of the sun I will speak to 
 my people." And accordingly, that very evening, Bible in 
 hand, on the green before the meeting-house, Dr. Eaton ad 
 dressed the people, denouncing the curse of Meroz on those 
 who came not up to the help of the country, and recruits 
 flowed in abundantly. 
 
 The pastors of New England were always in their sphere 
 moral reformers. Profitable and popular sins, though coun 
 tenanced by long-established custom, were fearlessly attacked. 
 No sight could be more impressive than that of Dr. Hop 
 kins who with all his power of mind was never a pop 
 ular preacher, and who knew he was not popular rising 
 up in Newport pulpits to testify against the slave trade, 
 then as reputable and profitable a sin as slaveholding is 
 now. He knew that Newport was the stronghold of the 
 practice, and that the probable consequence of his faithful 
 ness would be the loss of his pulpit and of his temporal sup 
 port ; but none the less plainly and faithfully did he testify. 
 Fond as he was of doctrinal subtilties, keen as was his analy 
 sis of disinterested benevolence, he did not, like some in our 
 day, confine himself to analyzing virtue in the abstract, but 
 took upon himself the duty of practicing it in the concrete 
 without fear of consequences, well knowing that there is 
 no logic like that of consistent action. 
 
 We should do injustice to our subject, if we did not add 
 a testimony to the peculiarly religious character and influ 
 ence of the men of whom we speak. Shrewd, practical, 
 capable, as they were, in the affairs of this life, perfectly 
 natural and human as were their characters, still they were 
 in the best sense unworldly men. Eeligion was the deep 
 underlying stratum on which their whole life was built. 
 
NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 231 
 
 Like the granite framework of the earth, it sunk below all 
 and rose above all else in their life. No Acta /Sanctorum 
 contain more pathetic pictures of simple and all-absorbing 
 godliness than were displayed by the subjects of these 
 sketches. However they may have differed among them 
 selves as to the metaphysical adjustment of the Calvinistic 
 system, all agreed in so presenting it as to make God all in 
 all. 
 
 Doctor Arnold says it is necessary for the highest devel 
 opment of the soul that it should have somewhere an object 
 of entire reverence enthroned above all possibility of doubt 
 or criticism. Now a radically democratic system, like that 
 of New England, at once sweeps all factitious reliances of 
 this kind from the soul. No crown, no court, no nobility, 
 no ritual, no hierarchy, the beautiful principles of rev 
 erence and loyalty might have died out of the American 
 heart, had not these men by their religious teachings up 
 borne it as on eagles wings to the footstool of the King 
 Eternal, Immortal, Invisible. Hence we see why what was 
 commonly called among them the " Doctrine of Divine Sov 
 ereignty " acquired so prominent a place in their preaching 
 and their hearts. They were men of deep reverence and 
 profound loyalty of nature, from whom every lower object 
 for the repose of these qualities had been torn away, who 
 concentrated on God alone those sentiments of faith and 
 fealty which in other lands are divided with Church and 
 King. Hence, more than that of any other clergy, their 
 preaching contemplated God as King and Ruler. Submis 
 sion to him without condition, without limit, they both 
 preached and practiced. Unconditional submission was as 
 constantly on their lips God-ward as it was sparingly uttered 
 man-ward. 
 
 No picture of the " good parson " that was ever drawn 
 could exceed in beauty that of the E-ev. Jeremiah Hallock, 
 whose life and manners had that indescribable beauty, com- 
 
232 NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 
 
 pleteness, and sacredness, which religion sometimes gives 
 when shining out through a peculiarly congenial natural 
 temperament, yet we must confess we are as much inter 
 ested and impressed with its effects in those wilder and 
 more erratic temperaments, such as Bellamy, Backus, and 
 Moody, where genius and passion were so combined as to 
 lead to many inconsistencies. This book is a record of how 
 manfully many such men battled with themselves, repairing 
 the faults of their hasty and passionate hours by the true 
 and honest humility of their better ones, so that, as one has 
 said of our Pilgrim Fathers, we feel that they may have 
 been endeared to God even by their faults. 
 
 The pastoral labors of these ministers were abounding. 
 Two and sometimes three services on the Sabbath, and a 
 weekly lecture, were only the beginning of their labors. 
 Multitudes of them held circuit meetings, to the number 
 of two or three a week, in the outskirts of their parishes ; 
 besides which they labored conversationally from house to 
 house with individuals. 
 
 Gradual, indefinite, insensible amelioration of character 
 was not by any means the only or the highest aim of their 
 preaching. They sought to make religion as definite and as 
 real to men as their daily affairs, and to bring them, as re 
 spects their spiritual history, to crises as marked and decided 
 as those to which men are brought in temporal matters. 
 They must become Christians now, to-day ; the change must 
 be immediate, all-pervading, thorough. 
 
 Such a style of preaching, from men of such power, could 
 not be without corresponding results, especially as it was 
 based always upon strong logical appeals to the understand 
 ing. From it resulted, from time to time, periods which 
 are marked in these narratives as revivals of religion, 
 seasons in which the cumulative force of the instructions 
 and power of the pastor, recognized by that gracious assist 
 ance on which he always depended, reached a point of out- 
 
NEW ENGLAND MINISTERS 233 
 
 ward development that affected the whole social atmosphere, 
 and brought him into intimate and confidential knowledge 
 of the spiritual struggles of his flock. The preaching of 
 the pastor was then attuned and modified to these disclosures, 
 and his metaphysical system shaped and adapted to what he 
 perceived to be the real wants and weaknesses of the soul. 
 Hence arose modifications of theology, often interfering 
 with received theory, just as a judicious physician s clinical 
 practice varies from the book. Many of the theological 
 disputes which have agitated New England have arisen in 
 the honest effort to reconcile accepted forms of faith with 
 the observed phenomena and real needs of the soul in its 
 struggles heavenward. 
 
BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 
 
 "When He ascended up on high, He led captivity captive, and GAVE 
 GIFTS unto men." Eph. iv. 8. 
 
 " Some say that ever, gainst that season comes 
 Wherein our Saviour s birth is celebrate, 
 The bird of dawning singeth all night long. 
 And then, they say no evil spirit walks ; 
 The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, 
 No fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm, 
 So hallowed and so gracious is the time." 
 
 AND this holy time, so hallowed and so gracious, was 
 settling down over the great roaring, rattling, seething life- 
 world of New York in the good year 1875. Who does not 
 feel its oncoming in the shops and the streets, in the fes 
 tive air of trade and business, in the thousand garnitures by 
 which every store hangs out triumphal banners and solicits 
 you to buy something for a Christmas gift ? For it is the 
 peculiarity of all this array of prints, confectionery, dry 
 goods, and manufactures of all kinds, that their bravery and 
 splendor at Christmas-tide is all to seduce you into generos 
 ity, and importune you to give something to others. It 
 says to you, " The dear God gave you an unspeakable gift ; 
 give you a lesser gift to your brother ! " 
 
 Do we ever think, when we walk those busy, bustling 
 streets, all alive with Christmas shoppers, and mingle with 
 the rushing tides that throng and jostle through the stores, 
 that unseen spirits may be hastening to and fro along those 
 same ways bearing Christ s Christmas gifts to men gifts 
 whose value no earthly gold or gems can represent ? 
 
 Yet, on this morning of the day before Christmas, were 
 
BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 235 
 
 these Shining Ones, moving to and fro with the crowd, 
 whose faces were loving and serene as the invisible stars, 
 whose robes took no defilement from the spatter and the 
 rush of earth, whose coming and going was still as the fall 
 ing snowflakes. They entered houses without ringing door 
 bells, they passed through apartments without opening doors, 
 and everywhere they were bearing Christ s Christmas pres 
 ents, and silently offering them to whoever would open 
 their souls to receive. Like themselves, their gifts were 
 invisible incapable of weight and measurement in gross 
 earthly scales. To mourners they carried joy ; to weary 
 and perplexed hearts, peace ; to souls stifling in luxury and 
 self-indulgence they carried that noble discontent that rises 
 to aspiration for higher things. Sometimes they took away 
 an earthly treasure to make room for a heavenly one. They 
 took health, but left resignation and cheerful faith. They 
 took the babe from the dear cradle, but left in its place a 
 heart full of pity for the suffering on earth and a fellow 
 ship with the blessed in heaven. Let us follow their foot 
 steps awhile. 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 A young girl s boudoir in one of our American palaces of 
 luxury, built after the choicest fancy of the architect, and 
 furnished in all the latest devices of household decoration. 
 Pictures, statuettes, and every form of bijouterie make the 
 room a miracle of beauty, and the little princess of all sits in 
 an easy-chair before the fire, and thus revolves with herself : 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! Christmas is a bore ! Such a rush and 
 crush in the streets, such a jam in the shops, and then such 
 a fuss thinking up presents for everybody ! All for nothing, 
 too; for nobody wants anything, I m sure I don t. 1 7 m 
 surfeited now with pictures and jewelry, and bonbon boxes, 
 and little china dogs and cats and all these things that 
 
236 BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 
 
 get so thick you can t move without upsetting some of them. 
 There s papa, he don t want anything. He never uses any 
 of my Christmas presents when I get them ; and mamma, 
 she has every earthly thing I can think of, and said the 
 other day she did hope nobody d give her any more worsted 
 work ! Then Aunt Maria and Uncle John, they don t want 
 the things I give them ; they have more than they know 
 what to do with, now. All the boys say they don t want 
 any more cigar cases or slippers, or smoking-caps. Oh, 
 dear ! 
 
 Here the Shining Ones came and stood over the little 
 lady, and looked down on her with faces of pity, which 
 seemed blent with a serene and half-amused indulgence. It 
 was a heavenly amusement, such as that with which mothers 
 listen to the foolish-wise prattle of children just learning to 
 talk. As the grave, sweet eyes rested tenderly on her, the 
 girl somehow grew graver, leaned back in her chair, and 
 sighed a little. 
 
 "I wish I knew how to be better! " she said to herself. 
 "I remember last Sunday s text, It is more blessed to give 
 than to receive. That must mean something ! Well, is n t 
 there something, too, in the Bible about not giving to your 
 rich neighbors that can give again, but giving to the poor 
 that cannot recompense you ? I don t know any poor peo 
 ple. Papa says there are very few deserving poor people. 
 Well, for the matter of that, there are n t many deserving 
 rich people. I, for example, how much do I deserve to 
 have all these nice things ? I m no better than the poor 
 shop-girls that go trudging by in the cold at six o clock in 
 the morning ugh ! it makes me shiver to think of it. I 
 know if I had to do that 7 should n t be good at all. Well, 
 I d like to give to poor people, if I knew any." 
 
 At this moment the door opened and the maid entered. 
 
 "Betty, do you know any poor people I ought to get 
 things for, this Christmas ? " 
 
BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 237 
 
 " Poor folks is always plenty, miss," said Betty. 
 
 " Oh yes, of course, beggars ; but I mean people that I 
 could do something for besides just give cold victuals or 
 money. I don t know where to hunt them up, and should 
 be afraid to go if I did. Oh dear ! it s no use. I 11 give 
 it up." 
 
 " Why, Miss Florence, that ud be too bad, afther bein 
 that good in yer heart, to let the poor folks alone for fear 
 of goin to them. But ye need n t do that, for, now I think 
 of it, there s John Morley s wife." 
 
 "What, the gardener father turned off for drinking ? " 
 
 " The same, miss. Poor boy, he s not so bad, and he s 
 got a wife and two as pretty children as ever you see." 
 
 "I always liked John," said the young lady. "But 
 papa is so strict about some things ! He says he never 
 will keep a man a day if he finds out that he drinks." 
 
 She was quite silent for a minute, and then broke out : 
 
 " I don t care ; it s a good idea ! I say, Betty, do you 
 know where John s wife lives ? " 
 
 " Yes, miss, I ve been there often." 
 
 " Well, then, this afternoon I 11 go with you and see if 
 I can do anything for them." 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 An attic room, neat and clean, but poorly furnished ; a 
 bed and a trundle-bed, a small cooking-stove, a shelf with a 
 few dishes, one or two chairs and stools, a pale, thin woman 
 working on a vest. Her face is anxious ; her thin hands 
 tremble with weakness, and now and then as she works 
 quiet tears drop, which she wipes quickly. Poor people 
 cannot afford to shed tears ; it takes time and injures eye 
 sight. This is John Morley s wife. This morning he has 
 risen and gone out in a desperate mood. " No use to try," 
 he says. " Did n t I go a whole year and never touch a 
 
238 BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 
 
 drop ? And now just because I fell once I m kicked out ! 
 No use to try. When a fellow once trips, everybody gives 
 him a kick. Talk about love of Christ ! Who believes it ? 
 Don t see much love of Christ where I go. Your Christians 
 hit a fellow that s down as hard as anybody. It s every 
 body for himself and devil take the hindmost. Well, I 11 
 trudge up to the Brooklyn Navy Yard and see if they 11 
 take me on there if they won t I might as well go to sea, 
 or to the devil," and out he flings. 
 
 " Mamma ! " says a little voice, " what are we going to 
 have for our Christmas ? " 
 
 It is a little girl, with soft curly hair and bright, earnest 
 eyes, that speaks. A sturdy little fellow of four presses up 
 to the mother s knee and repeats the question, " Sha n t we 
 have a Christmas, mother ? " 
 
 It overcomes the poor woman ; she leans forward, and 
 breaks into sobbing, a tempest of sorrow, long suppressed, 
 that shakes her weak frame as she thinks that her husband 
 is out of work, desperate, discouraged, and tempted of the 
 devil, that the rent is falling due, and only the poor pay of 
 her needle to meet it with. In one of those quick flashes 
 which concentrate through the imagination the sorrows of 
 years, she seems to see her little home broken up, her hus 
 band in the gutter, her children turned into the street. At 
 this moment there goes up from her heart a despairing cry, 
 such as a poor, hunted, tired-out creature gives when brought 
 to the last gasp of endurance. It was like the shriek of the 
 hare when the hounds are upon it. She clasps her hands 
 and cries out, " my God, help me." 
 
 There was no voice of any that answered; there was 
 no sound of footfall on the staircase ; no one entered the 
 door; and yet that agonized cry had reached the heart it 
 was meant for. The Shining Ones were with her; they 
 stood, with faces full of tenderness, beaming down upon 
 her ; they brought her a Christmas gift from Christ the 
 
BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 239 
 
 gift of trust. She knew not from whence came the courage 
 and rest that entered her soul ; but while her little ones 
 stood wondering and silent, she turned and drew to herself 
 her well-worn Bible. Hands that she did not see guided 
 her as she turned the pages, and pointed to the words : " He 
 shall deliver the needy when he crieth ; the poor also and 
 him that hath no helper. He shall spare the poor and 
 needy, arid shall save the souls of the needy. He shall 
 redeem their soul from deceit and violence, and precious 
 shall their blood be in his sight." 
 
 She laid down her poor wan cheek on the merciful old 
 book, as on her mother s breast, and gave up all the tangled 
 skein of life into the hands of Infinite Pity. There seemed 
 a consoling presence in the room, and her tired heart found 
 rest. She wiped away her tears, kissed her children, and 
 smiled upon them. Then she rose, gathered up her fin 
 ished work, and attired herself to go forth and carry it back 
 to the shop. 
 
 " Mother/ said the children softly, " they are dressing 
 the church, and the gates are open, and people are going in 
 and out ; may n t we play there by the church ? " 
 
 The mother looked out on the ivy-grown walls of the 
 church, with its flocks of twittering sparrows, and said : 
 
 " Yes, my little birds ; you may play there if you 11 be 
 very good and quiet." 
 
 The mother had only her small, close attic room for her 
 darlings, and to satisfy all their childish desire for variety 
 and motion she had only the refuge of the streets. She 
 was a decent, godly woman, and the bold manners and evil 
 words of street vagrants were terrible to her ; and so, when 
 the church gates were open for daily morning and evening 
 prayers, she had often begged the sexton to let her little 
 ones come in and hear the singing, and wander hand in hand 
 around the old church walls. He was a kindly old man, 
 and the children, stealing round like two still, bright-eyed 
 
240 BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 
 
 little mice, had gained upon his heart, and he made them 
 welcome there. It gave the mother a feeling of protection 
 to have them play near the church, as if it were a father s 
 house. 
 
 So she put on their little hoods and tippets, and led them 
 forth, and saw them into the yard ; and as she looked to 
 the old gray church, with its rustling ivy bowers and flocks 
 of birds, her heart swelled within her. " Yea, the spar 
 row hath found a house and the swallow a nest where she 
 may lay her young, even thine altars, Lord of hosts, my 
 king and my God ! " And the Shining Ones walking with 
 her said, "Fear not; ye are of more value than many 
 sparrows." 
 
 SCENE III 
 
 The little ones went gayly into the yard. They had 
 been scared by their mother s tears ; but she had smiled 
 again, and that had made all right with them. The sun 
 was shining brightly, and they were on the sunny side of 
 the old church, and they laughed and chirped and chittered 
 to each other as merrily as the little birds in the ivy boughs. 
 
 The old sexton came to the side door and threw out an 
 armful of refuse greens, and then stopped a moment and 
 nodded kindly at them. 
 
 " May we play with them, please, sir ? " said the little 
 Elsie, looking up with great reverence. 
 
 " Oh, yes, to be sure : these are done with they are no 
 good now." 
 
 U 0h, Tottie!" cried Elsie rapturously, "just think, he 
 says we may play with all these. Why, here s ever and 
 ever so much green, enough to play house. Let s play 
 build a house for father and mother." 
 
 "I m going to build a big house for em when I grow up," 
 said Tottie, " and I mean to have glass bead windows in it." 
 
BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 241 
 
 Tottie had once had presented to him a box of colored 
 glass beads to string, and he could think of nothing finer 
 in the future than unlimited glass beads. Meanwhile, his 
 sister began planting pine branches upright in the snow, to 
 make her house. 
 
 " You see we can make believe there are windows and 
 doors and a roof, 7 she said, " and it s just as good. Now, 
 let s make believe there is a bed in this corner, and we will 
 lie down to sleep." 
 
 And Tottie obediently couched himself in the allotted 
 corner and shut his eyes very hard, though after a moment 
 he remarked that the snow got into his neck. 
 
 " You must play it is n t snow play it s feathers/ 
 said Elsie. 
 
 " But I don t like it," persisted Tottie, " it don t feel a 
 bit like feathers." 
 
 "Oh, well, then," said Elsie, accommodating herself to 
 circumstances, " let s play get up now and I 11 get break 
 fast." 
 
 Just now the door opened again, and the sexton began 
 sweeping the refuse out of the church. There were bits of 
 ivy and holly, and ruffles of ground-pine, and lots of bright 
 red berries that came flying forth into the yard, and the 
 children screamed for joy. " Oh, Tottie ! " " Oh, Elsie ! " 
 " Only see how many pretty things lots and lots ! " 
 
 The sexton stood and looked and laughed as he saw the 
 little ones so eager for the scraps and remnants. 
 
 " Don t you want to come in and see the church ? " he 
 said. " It s all done now, and a brave sight it is. You 
 may come in." 
 
 They tripped in softly, with large, bright, wondering eyes. 
 The light through the stained glass windows fell blue and 
 crimson and yellow on the pillars all ruffled with ground- 
 pine and brightened with scarlet bitter-sweet berries, and 
 there were stars and crosses and mottoes in green all through 
 
242 BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 
 
 the bowery aisles, while the organist, hid in a thicket of 
 verdure, was practicing softly, and sweet voices sung : 
 
 " Hark ! the herald angels sing 
 Glory to the new-born King." 
 
 The little ones wandered up and down the long aisles in 
 a dream of awe and wonder. " Hush, Tottie ! " said Elsie 
 when he broke into an eager exclamation, " don t make a 
 noise. I do believe it s something like heaven," she said, 
 under her breath. 
 
 They made the course of the church and came round by 
 the door again, where the sexton stood smiling on them. 
 
 " You can find lots of pretty Christmas greens out there," 
 he said, pointing to the door ; " perhaps your folks would 
 like to have some." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, sir," exclaimed Elsie rapturously. 
 " Oh, Tottie, only think ! Let s gather a good lot and go 
 home and dress our room for Christmas. Oh, worCt mother 
 be astonished when she comes home, we 11 make it so 
 pretty ! " 
 
 And forthwith the children began gathering into their 
 little aprons wreaths of ground-pine, sprigs of holly, and 
 twigs of crimson bitter-sweet. The sexton, seeing their zeal, 
 brought out to them a little cross, fancifully made of red 
 alder-berries and pine. 
 
 Then he said, a A lady took that down to put up a big 
 ger one, and she gave it to me ; you may have it if you 
 want it." 
 
 "Oh, how beautiful," said Elsie. "How glad I am to 
 have this for mother ! When she comes back she won t 
 know our room ; it will be as fine as the church." 
 
 Soon the little gleaners were toddling off out of the yard 
 moving masses of green with all that their aprons and 
 their little hands could carry. The sexton looked after 
 them. " Take heed that ye despise not these little ones," 
 he said to himself, " for in heaven their angels " 
 
BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 243 
 
 A ray of tenderness fell on the old man s head ; it was 
 from the Shining One who watched the children. He 
 thought it was an afternoon sunbeam. His heart grew gen 
 tle and peaceful, and his thoughts went far back to a dis 
 tant green grove where his own little one was sleeping. 
 " Seems to me I ve loved all little ones ever since," he 
 said, thinking far back to the Christmas week when his 
 lamb was laid to rest. " Well, she shall not return to me, 
 but I shall go to her." The smile of the Shining One made 
 a warm glow in his heart, which followed him all the way 
 home. The children had a merry time dressing the room. 
 They stuck good big bushes of pine in each window ; they 
 put a little ruffle of ground-pine round mother s Bible, and 
 they fastened the beautiful red cross up over the table, and 
 they stuck sprigs of pine or holly into every crack that 
 could be made, by fair means or foul, to accept it ; and they 
 were immensely satisfied and delighted. Tottie insisted on 
 hanging up his string of many-colored beads in the window 
 to imitate the effect of the stained glass of the great church 
 window. 
 
 " It looks pretty when the light comes through," he re 
 marked ; and Elsie admitted that they might play they were 
 painted windows, with some show of propriety. When 
 everything had been stuck somewhere, Elsie swept the floor, 
 and made up a fire, and put on the teakettle, to have every 
 thing ready to strike mother favorably on her return. 
 
 SCENE IV 
 
 A freezing, bright, cold afternoon. "Cold as Christ 
 mas ! " say cheery voices, as the crowds rush to and fro into 
 shops and stores, and come out with hands full of presents. 
 
 " Yes, cold as Christmas," says John Morley. " I should 
 think so ! Cold enough for a fellow that can t get in any 
 where that nobody wants and nobody helps ! I should 
 think so." 
 
244 BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 
 
 John had been trudging all day from point to point, only 
 to hear the old story : times were hard, work was dull, no 
 body wanted him, and he felt morose and surly out of 
 humor with himself and with everybody else. It is true 
 that his misfortunes were from his own fault ; but that con 
 sideration never makes a man a particle more patient or good- 
 natured indeed, it is an additional bitterness in his cup. 
 John was an Englishman. When he first landed in New 
 York from the old country, he had been wild and dissipated 
 and given to drinking. But by his wife s earnest entreaties 
 he had been persuaded to sign the temperance pledge, and 
 had gone on prosperously keeping it for a year. He had a 
 good place and good wages, and all went well with him till 
 in an evil hour he met some of his former boon companions, 
 and was induced to have a social evening with them. 
 
 In the first half hour of that evening were lost the fruits 
 of the whole year s self-denial and self-control. He was not 
 only drunk that night, but he went off for a fortnight, and 
 was drunk night after night, and came back to find that 
 his master had discharged him in indignation. John thinks 
 this over bitterly, as he thuds about in the cold, and calls 
 himself a fool. Yet, if the truth must be confessed, John 
 had not much " sense of sin," so called. He looked on him 
 self as an unfortunate and rather ill-used man, for had he 
 not tried very hard to be good, and gone a great while against 
 the stream of evil inclination ? and now, just for one yield 
 ing, he was pitched out of place, and everybody was turned 
 against him ! He thought this was hard measure. Did n t 
 everybody hit wrong sometimes ? Did n t rich fellows have 
 their wine, and drink a little too much now and then? 
 Yet nobody was down on them. 
 
 " It s only because I m poor," said John. " Poor folks 
 sins are never pardoned. There s my good wife poor 
 girl ! " and John s heart felt as if it were breaking, for he 
 was an affectionate creature, and loved his wife and babies, 
 
BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 245 
 
 and in his deepest consciousness he knew that he was the 
 one at fault. We have heard much ahout the sufferings 
 of the wives and children of men who are overtaken with 
 drink ; but what is not so well understood is the sufferings 
 of the men themselves in their sober moments, when they 
 feel that they are becoming a curse to all that are dearest to 
 them. John s very soul was wrung within him to think 
 of the misery he had brought on his wife and children 
 the greater miseries that might be in store for them. He" 
 was faint of heart ; he was tired ; he had eaten nothing 
 for hours, and on ahead he saw a drinking-saloon. Why 
 should n t he go and take one good drink, and then pitch off 
 a ferryboat into the East River, and so end the whole mis 
 erable muddle of life altogether ? 
 
 John s steps were turning that way, when one of the 
 Shining Ones, who had watched him all day, came nearer 
 and took his hand. He felt no touch ; but at that moment 
 there darted into his soul a thought of his mother, long 
 dead, and he stopped irresolute, then turned to walk another 
 way. The hand that was guiding him led him to turn a 
 corner, and his curiosity was excited by a stream of people 
 who seemed to be pressing into a building. A distant sound 
 of singing was heard as he drew nearer, and soon he found 
 himself passing with the multitude into a great prayer- 
 meeting. The music grew more distinct as he went in. A 
 man was singing in clear, penetrating tones : 
 
 "What means this eager, anxious throng, 
 Which moves with husy haste along; 
 These wondrous gatherings day by day; 
 What means this strange commotion, say ? 
 In accents hushed the throng reply, 
 Jesus of Nazareth passeth by ! " 
 
 John had but a vague idea of religion, yet something in the 
 singing affected him ; and, weary and footsore and heartsore 
 as he was, he sank into a seat and listened with absorbed 
 attention : 
 
246 BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 
 
 "Jesus! tis he who once below 
 Man s pathway trod in toil and woe; 
 And burdened ones where er he came 
 Brought out their sick and deaf and lame. 
 The blind rejoiced to hear the cry, 
 Jesus of Nazareth passeth by! 
 
 " Ho, all ye heavy-laden, come ! 
 Here s pardon, comfort, rest, and home. 
 Ye wanderers from a Father s face, 
 Return, accept his proffered grace. 
 Ye tempted ones, there s refuge nigh 
 Jesus of Nazareth passeth by! " 
 
 A plain man, who spoke the language of plain working- 
 men, now arose and read from his Bible the words which 
 the angel of old spoke to the shepherds of Bethlehem : 
 
 " Fear not, for behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, 
 which shall be to all people, for unto you is born this day 
 a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord." 
 
 The man went on to speak of this with an intense prac 
 tical earnestness that soon made John feel as if he, individ 
 ually, were being talked to ; and the purport of the speech 
 was this : that God had sent to him, John Morley, a Saviour 
 to save him from his sins, to lift him above his weakness, 
 to help him overcome his bad habits ; that His name was 
 called Jesus, because he shall save his people from their 
 sins. John listened with a strange new thrill. This was 
 what he needed a Friend, all-powerful, all-pitiful, who 
 would undertake for him and help him to overcome himself 
 for he sorely felt how weak he was. Here was a Friend 
 that could have compassion on the ignorant and them that 
 were out of the way. The thought brought tears to his 
 eyes and a glow of hope to his heart. What if He would 
 help him ? for deep down in John s heart, worse than cold 
 or hunger or weariness, was the dreadful conviction that he 
 was a doomed man, that he should drink again as he had 
 drunk, and never come to good, but fall lower and lower, 
 and drag all who loved him down with him. 
 
 And was this mighty Saviour given to him ? 
 
BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 247 
 
 " Yes," cried the man who was speaking ; " to you ; to 
 you, who have lost name and place ; to you, that nobody 
 cares for ; to you, who have been down in the gutter. God 
 has sent you a Saviour to take you up out of the mud and 
 mire, to wash you clean, to give you strength to overcome 
 your sins, and lead you home to his blessed kingdom. This 
 is the glad tidings of great joy that the angels brought on 
 the first Christmas Day. CHRIST was God s Christmas gift 
 to a poor, lost world, and you may have him now, to-day. 
 He may be your own Saviour yours as much as if there 
 were no other one on earth to be saved. He is looking for 
 you to-day, coming after you, seeking you ; He calls you by 
 me. Oh, accept him now ! " 
 
 There was a deep breathing of suppressed emotion as the 
 speaker sat down, a pause of solemn stillness. 
 
 A faint strain of music was heard, and the singer began 
 singing a pathetic ballad of a lost sheep and of the Shepherd 
 going forth to seek it : 
 
 " There were ninety and nine that safely lay 
 
 In the shelter of the fold, 
 But one was out on the hills away, 
 Far off from the gates of gold 
 Away on the mountains wild and bare, 
 Away from the tender Shepherd s care. 
 
 "Lord, Thou hast here Thy ninety and nine; 
 
 Are they not enough for Thee ? 
 But the Shepherd made answer : This of mine 
 
 Has wandered away from me ; 
 And although the road be rough and steep 
 I go to the desert to find my sheep. " 
 
 John heard with an absorbed interest. All around him 
 were eager listeners, breathless, leaning forward with in 
 tense attention. The song went on : 
 
 " But none of the ransomed ever knew 
 How deep were the waters crossed ; 
 Nor how dark was the night that the Lord went through, 
 
 Ere He found His sheep that was lost. 
 Out in the desert He heard its cry 
 Sick and helpless, and ready to die." 
 
248 BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 
 
 There was a throbbing pathos in the intonation, and the 
 verse floated over the weeping throng ; when, after a pause, 
 the strain was taken up triumphantly : 
 
 " But all through the mountains thunder-riven, 
 
 And up from the rocky steep, 
 There rose a cry to the gates of heaven, 
 
 Rejoice ! I have found my sheep ! 
 And the angels echoed around the throne, 
 Rejoice, for the Lord brings back His own ! " 
 
 All day long, poor John had felt so lonesome ! Nobody 
 cared for him ; nobody wanted him ; everything was against 
 him ; and, worst of all, he had no faith in himself. But 
 here was this Friend, seeking him, following him through 
 the cold alleys and crowded streets. In heaven they would 
 be glad to hear that he had become a good man. The 
 thought broke down all his pride, all his bitterness ; he 
 wept like a little child ; and the Christmas gift of Christ 
 the sense of a real, present, loving, pitying Saviour came 
 into his very soul. 
 
 He went homeward as one in a dream. He passed the 
 drinking - saloon without a thought or wish of drinking. 
 The expulsive force of a new emotion had for the time 
 driven out all temptation. Raised above weakness, he 
 thought only of this Jesus, this Saviour from sin, who 
 he now believed had followed him and found him, and he 
 longed to go home and tell his wife what great things the 
 Lord had done for him. 
 
 SCENE V 
 
 Meanwhile a little drama had been acting in John s 
 humble home. His wife had been to the shop that day 
 and come home with the pittance for her work in her 
 hands. 
 
 " I 11 pay you full price to-day, but we can t pay such 
 prices any longer," the man had said over the counter as he 
 
BETTY S BEIGHT IDEA 249 
 
 paid her. " Hard times work dull we are cutting 
 down all our work-folks ; you 11 have to take a third less 
 next time." 
 
 " I 11 do my best," she said meekly, as she took her 
 bundle of work and turned wearily away, but the invisible 
 arm of the Shining One was round her, and the words again 
 thrilled through her that she had read that morning : " He 
 shall redeem their soul from deceit and violence, and precious 
 shall their blood be in his sight." She saw no earthly 
 helper ; she heard none and felt none, and yet her soul was 
 sustained, and she came home in peace. When she opened 
 the door of her little room she drew back astonished at the 
 sight that presented itself. A brisk fire was roaring in 
 the stove, and the teakettle was sputtering and sending out 
 clouds of steam. A table with a white cloth on it was 
 drawn out before the fire, and a new tea-set of pure white 
 cups and saucers, with teapot, sugar - bowl, and creamer, 
 complete, gave a festive air to the whole. There were 
 bread, and butter, and ham sandwiches, and a Christmas 
 cake all frosted with little blue and red and green candles 
 round it ready to be lighted, and a bunch of hothouse flow 
 ers in a pretty little vase in the centre. A new stuffed 
 rocking-chair stood on one side of the stove, and there sat 
 Miss Florence de Witt, our young princess of Scene First, 
 holding little Elsie in her lap, while the broad, honest 
 countenance of Betty was beaming with kindness down on 
 the delighted face of Tottie. Both children were dressed 
 from head to foot in complete new suits of clothes, and Elsie 
 was holding with tender devotion a fine doll, while Tottie 
 rejoiced in a horse and cart which he was manoeuvring 
 under Betty s superintendence. 
 
 The little princess had pleased herself in getting up all 
 this tableau. Doing good was a novelty to her, and she 
 plunged into it with the zest of a new amusement. The 
 amazed look of the poor woman, her dazed expressions of 
 
250 BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 
 
 rapture and incredulous joy, the shrieks and cries of con 
 fused delight with which the little ones met their mother, 
 delighted her more than any scene she had ever witnessed 
 at the opera with this added grace, unknown to her, that at 
 this scene the invisible Shining Ones were pleased witnesses. 
 She had been out with Betty, buying here and there what 
 ever was wanted, and what was not wanted for those 
 who had been living so long without work or money ? She 
 had their little coal-bin filled, and a nice pile of wood and 
 kindlings put behind the stove. She had bought a nice 
 rocking-chair for the mother to rest in. She had dressed 
 the children from head to foot at a ready-made clothing 
 store, and bought them toys to their heart s desire, while 
 Betty had set the table for a Christmas feast. 
 
 And now she said to the poor woman at last : 
 
 " I m so sorry John lost his place at father s. He was 
 so kind and obliging, and I always liked him ; and I ve 
 been thinking, if you d get him to sign the pledge over 
 again from Christmas Eve, never to touch another drop, I 11 
 get papa to take him back. I always do get papa to do 
 what I want, and the fact is, he has n t got anybody that 
 suited him so well since John left. So you tell John that 
 I mean to go surety for him ; he certainly won t fail me. 
 Tell him I trust him." And Miss Florence pulled out a 
 paper wherein, in her best round hand, she had written out 
 again the temperance pledge, and dated it " Christmas 
 Eve, 1875." 
 
 " Now, you come with John to-morrow morning, and 
 bring this with his name to it, and you 11 see what I 11 
 do ! " and, with a kiss to the children, the little good fairy 
 departed, leaving the family to their Christmas Eve. 
 
 What that Christmas Eve was when the husband and 
 father came home with the new and softened heart that 
 had been given him, who can say ? There were joyful 
 tears and solemn prayers, and earnest vows and purposes 
 
BETTY S BRIGHT IDEA 251 
 
 of a new life heard by the Shining Ones in the room that 
 night. 
 
 "And the angels echoed around the throne, 
 Rejoice! for the Lord brings back his own." 
 
 SCENE VI 
 
 " Now, papa, I want you to give me something special 
 to-day, because it s Christmas/ said the little princess to 
 her father, as she kissed and wished him " Merry Christ 
 mas " next morning. 
 
 " What is it, Pussy half of my kingdom ? " 
 
 " No, no, papa ; not so much as that. It s a little bit 
 of my own way that I want." 
 
 " Of course ; well, what is it ? " 
 
 " Well, I want you to take John back again. " 
 
 Her father s face grew hard. 
 
 " Now, please, papa, don t say a word till you have heard 
 me. John was a capital gardener ; he kept the green 
 house looking beautiful ; and this Mike that we ve got now, 
 he s nothing but an apprentice, and stupid as an owl at 
 that ! He 11 never do in the world." 
 
 " All that is very true," said Mr. de Witt, " but John 
 drinks, and I won t have a drinking man." 
 
 " But, papa, I mean to take care of that. I ve written 
 out the temperance pledge, and dated it, and got John to 
 sign it, and here it is," and she handed the paper to her 
 father, who read it carefully, and sat turning it in his hands 
 while his daughter went on : 
 
 " You ought to have seen how poor, how very poor they 
 were. His wife is such a nice, quiet, hard-working woman, 
 and has two such pretty children. I went to see them and 
 carry them Christmas things yesterday, but it s no good 
 doing anything if John can t get work. She told me how 
 the poor fellow had been walking the streets in the cold, 
 
252 BETTY S BKIGHT IDEA 
 
 day after day, trying everywhere, and nobody would take 
 him. It s a dreadful time now for a man to be out of 
 work, and it is n t fair his poor wife and children should 
 suffer. Do try him again, papa ! " 
 
 " John always did better with the pineapples than any 
 body we have tried," said Mrs. De Witt at this point. 
 " He is the only one who really understands pineapples." 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and there was a sound 
 of chirping voices in the hall. " Please, Miss Florence," 
 said Betty, " the little folks says they wants to give you a 
 Christmas." She added in a whisper : " They thinks much 
 of giving you something, poor little things plaze take it 
 of em." And little Tottie at the word inarched in and 
 offered the young princess his dear, beautiful, beloved string 
 of glass beads, and Elsie presented the cross of red berries 
 
 most dear to her heart and fair to her eyes. " We wanted 
 to give you something," she said bashfully. 
 
 " Oh, you lovely dears ! " cried Florence ; " how sweet 
 of you ! I shall keep these beautiful glass beads always, 
 and put the cross up over my dressing-table. I thank you 
 ever so much ! " 
 
 " Are those John s children ? " asked Mr. de Witt, 
 winking a tear out of his eye he was at bottom a soft 
 hearted old gentleman. 
 
 " Yes, papa," said Florence, caressing Elsie s curly hair, 
 
 " see how sweet they are ! " 
 
 " Well you may tell John I 11 try him again." 
 And so passed Florence s Christmas, with a new, warm 
 sense of joy in her heart, a feeling of something in the 
 world to be done, worth doing. 
 
 " How much joy one can give with a little money ! " she 
 said to herself as she counted over what she had spent on 
 her Christmas. Ah yes ! and how true that " it is more 
 blessed to give than to receive." A shining, invisible hand 
 was laid on her head in blessing as she lay down that night, 
 
BETTY S BKIGHT IDEA 253 
 
 and a sweet sense of a loving presence stole like music into 
 her soul. Unknown to herself, she had that day taken the 
 first step out of self-life into that life of love and care for 
 others which brought the King of Glory down to share 
 earth s toils and sorrows. And that precious experience 
 was Christ s Christmas gift to her. 
 
DEACON PITKIN S FABM 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MISS DIANA 
 
 THANKSGIVING was impending in the village of Maple- 
 ton on the 20th of November, 1825. The Governor s pro 
 clamation had been duly and truly read from the pulpit the 
 Sunday before, to the great consternation of Miss Briskett, 
 the ambulatory dressmaker, who declared confidentially to 
 Deacon Pitkin s wife that " she didn t see nothin how she 
 was goin to get through things and there was Saphiry s 
 gown, and Mis Deacon Trowbridge s cloak, and Lizy Jane s 
 new merino, not a stroke done on t. The Governor ought 
 to be ashamed of himself for hurrying matters so." 
 
 It was a very rash step for Miss Briskett to go to the 
 length of such a remark about the Governor, but the dea 
 con s wife was one of the few women who are nonconduc 
 tors of indiscretion, and so the Governor never heard of it. 
 This particular Thanksgiving-tide was marked in Mapleton 
 by exceptionally charming weather. Once in a great while 
 the inclement New England skies are taken with a remorse 
 ful twinge and forget to give their usual snap of September 
 frost which generally bites off all the pretty flowers in so 
 heartbreaking a way, and then you can have lovely times 
 quite down through November. 
 
 It was so this year at Mapleton. Though the Thanks 
 giving proclamation had been read, and it was past the 
 middle of November, yet marigolds and four-o clocks were 
 all ablaze in the gardens, and the goldenrod and purple 
 
MISS DIANA 255 
 
 aster were blooming over the fields as if they were expecting 
 to keep it up all winter. It really is affecting, the jolly 
 good heart with which these bright children of the rainbow 
 flaunt and wave and dance and go on budding and blossom 
 ing in the very teeth and snarl of oncoming winter. An 
 autumn goldenrod or aster ought to be the symbol for pluck 
 and courage, and might serve a New England crest as the 
 broom flower did the old Plantagenets. The trees round 
 Mapleton were looking like gigantic tulip beds, and breaking 
 every hour into new phantasmagoria of color ; and the great 
 elm that overshadowed the red Pitkin farmhouse seemed 
 like a dome of gold, and sent a yellow radiance through all 
 the doors and windows as the dreamy autumn sunshine 
 streamed through it. The Pitkin elm was noted among the 
 great trees of New England. Now and then Nature asserts 
 herself and does something so astonishing and overpowering 
 as actually to strike through the crust of human stupidity, 
 and convince mankind that a tree is something greater than 
 they are. As a general thing the human race has a stupid 
 hatred of trees. They embrace every chance to cut them 
 down. They have no idea of their fitness for anything but 
 firewood or fruit-bearing. But a great cathedral elm, with 
 shadowy aisles of boughs, its choir of whispering winds and 
 chanting birds, its hush and solemnity and majestic gran 
 deur, actually conquers the dull human race and asserts its 
 leave to be in a manner to which all hearts respond ; and 
 so the great elms of New England have got to be regarded 
 with a sort of pride as among her very few crown jewels, 
 and the Pitkin elm was one of these. 
 
 But was n t it a busy time in Mapleton ! Busy is no 
 word for it. Oh, the choppings, the poundings, the stoning 
 of raisins, the projections of pies and puddings, the killing 
 of turkeys who can utter it ? The very chip squirrels 
 in the stone walls, who have a family custom of making a 
 market-basket of their mouths, were rushing about with 
 
256 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 chops incredibly distended, and their tails had an extra 
 whisk of thanksgiving alertness. A squirrel s Thanks 
 giving dinner is an affair of moment, mind you. In the 
 great, roomy, clean kitchen of the deacon s house might be 
 seen the lithe, comely form of Diana Pitkin presiding over 
 the roaring great oven which was to engulf the armies of 
 pies and cakes which were in due course of preparation on 
 the ample tables. Of course you want to know who Diana 
 Pitkin was. It was a general fact about this young lady 
 that anybody who gave one look at her, whether at church 
 or at home, always inquired at once with effusion, " Who 
 is she ? " particularly if the inquirer was one of the mas 
 culine gender. This was to be accounted for by the fact 
 that Miss Diana presented to the first view of the gazer a 
 dazzling combination of pink and white, a flashing pair of 
 black eyes, a ripple of dimples about the prettiest little rosy 
 mouth in the world, and a frequent somewhat saucy laugh, 
 which showed a set of teeth like pearls. Add to this a 
 quick wit, a generous though spicy temper, and a nimble 
 tongue, and you will not wonder that Miss Diana was a 
 marked character at Mapleton, and that the inquiry who 
 she was was one of the most interesting facts of statistical 
 information. 
 
 Well, she was Deacon Pitkin s second cousin, and of 
 course just in that convenient relationship to the Pitkin 
 boys which has all the advantages of cousinship and none 
 of the disadvantages, as may be plain to an ordinary ob 
 server. For if Miss Diana wished to ride or row or dance 
 with any of the Pitkin boys, why should n t she ? Were 
 they not her cousins ? But if any of these aforenamed 
 young fellows advanced on the strength of these intimacies 
 a presumptive claim to nearer relationship, why, then Diana 
 was astonished of course she had regarded them as her 
 cousins ! and she was sure she could n t think what they 
 could be dreaming of " A cousin is just like a brother, 
 you know." 
 
MISS DIANA 257 
 
 This was just what James Pitkin did not believe in, and 
 now as he is walking over hill and dale from Cambridge 
 College to his father s house he is gathering up a decided 
 resolution to tell Diana that he is not and will not be to 
 her as a brother that she must be to him all or nothing. 
 James is the brightest, the tallest, and, the Mapleton girls 
 said, the handsomest of the Pitkin boys. He is a strong- 
 hearted, generous, resolute fellow as ever undertook to 
 walk thirty-five miles home to eat his Thanksgiving dinner. 
 We are not sure that Miss Diana is not thinking of him 
 quite as much as he of her, as she stands there with the 
 long kitchen shovel in one hand, and one plump white arm 
 thrust into the oven, and her little head cocked on one 
 side, her brows bent, and her rosy mouth pursed up with a 
 solemn sense of the importance of her judgment as she is 
 testing the heat of her oven. Oh, Di, Di ! for all you 
 seem to have nothing on your mind but the responsibility 
 for all those pumpkin pies and cranberry tarts, we would n t 
 venture a very large wager that you are not thinking about 
 cousin James under it all at this very minute, and that all 
 this pretty bustling house wifeliness owes its spice and flavor 
 to the thought that James is coming to the Thanksgiving 
 dinner. To be sure if any one had told Di so, she would 
 have flouted the very idea. Besides, she had privately in 
 formed Almira Sisson, her special particular confidante, that 
 she knew Jim would come home from college full of con 
 ceit, and thinking that everybody must bow down to him, 
 and for her part she meant to make him know his place. 
 Of course Jim and she were good friends, etc., etc. 
 
 Oh, Di, Di ! you silly, naughty girl, was it for this that 
 you stood so long at your looking-glass last night, arranging 
 how you would do your hair for the Thanksgiving night 
 dance ? Those killing bows which you deliberately fabri 
 cated and lodged like bright butterflies among the dark waves 
 of your hair who were you thinking of as you made and 
 
258 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 posed them ? Lay your hand on your heart and say who 
 to you has ever seemed the best, the truest, the bravest and 
 kindest of your friends. But Di doesn t trouble herself 
 with such thoughts she only cuts out saucy mottoes from 
 the flaky white paste to lay on the red cranberry tarts, of 
 which she makes a special one for each cousin. For there 
 is Bill, the second eldest, who stays at home and helps work 
 the farm. She knows that Bill worships her very shoe-tie, 
 and obeys all her mandates with the faithful docility of a 
 good Newfoundland dog, and Di says " she thinks every 
 thing of Bill she likes Bill." So she does Ed, who comes 
 a year or two behind Bill, and is trembling out of bashful 
 boyhood. So she does Eob and Ike and Pete and the whole 
 healthy, ramping train who fill the Pitkin farmhouse with 
 a racket of boots and boys. So she has made every one a 
 tart with his initial on it and a saucy motto or two, "just 
 to keep them from being conceited, you know." 
 
 All day she keeps busy by the side of the deacon s wife, 
 a delicate, thin, quiet little woman, with great thoughtful 
 eyes and a step like a snowflake. New England had of old 
 times, and has still, perhaps, in her farmhouses, these wo 
 men, who seem from year to year to develop in the spiritual 
 sphere as the bodily form shrinks and fades. While the 
 cheek grows thin and the form spare, the will power grows 
 daily stronger ; though the outer man perish, the inner man 
 is renewed day by day. The worn hand that seems so weak 
 yet holds every thread and controls every movement of the 
 most complex family life, and wonders are daily accom 
 plished by the presence of a woman who seems little more 
 than a spirit. The New England wife-mother was the one 
 little jeweled pivot on which all the wheel work of the 
 family moved. 
 
 " Well, have n t we done a good day s work, cousin ? " 
 says Diana, when ninety pies of every ilk quince, apple, 
 cranberry, pumpkin, and mince have been all safely de- 
 
BIAH CARTER 259 
 
 livered from the oven and carried up into the great vacant 
 chamber, where, ranged in rows and frozen solid, they are 
 to last over New Year s Day ! She adds, demonstratively 
 clasping the little woman round the neck, and leaning her 
 bright cheek against her whitening hair, " Have n t we been 
 smart ? " And the calm, thoughtful eyes turn lovingly 
 upon her as Mary Pitkin puts her arm round her and an 
 swers : 
 
 " Yes, my daughter, you have done wonderfully. We 
 could n t do without you ! " 
 
 And Diana lifts her head and laughs. She likes petting 
 and praising as a cat likes being stroked ; but, for all that, 
 the little puss has her claws and a sly notion of using them. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 BIAH CARTER 
 
 It was in the flush and glow of a gorgeous sunset that 
 you might have seen the dark form of the Pitkin farmhouse 
 rising on a green hill against the orange sky. The red 
 house, with its overhanging canopy of elm, stood out like 
 an old missal picture done on a gold ground. Through the 
 glimmer of the yellow twilight might be seen the stacks of 
 dry cornstalks and heaps of golden pumpkins in the neigh 
 boring fields, from which the slow oxen were bringing home 
 a cart well laden with farm produce. 
 
 It was the hour before supper time, and Biah Carter, the 
 deacon s hired man, was leaning against a fence, waiting for 
 his evening meal ; indulging the while in a stream of con 
 versational wisdom which seemed to flow all the more freely 
 from having been dammed up through the labors of the 
 day. 
 
 Biah was, in those far distant times of simplicity, a " mute 
 inglorious " newspaper man. Newspapers in those days were 
 
260 DEACON PITKIN S FAKM 
 
 as rare and unheard of as steam cars or the telegraph, but 
 Biah had within him all the making of a thriving modern 
 reporter, and no paper to use it on. He was a walking 
 biographical and statistical dictionary of all the affairs of 
 the good folks of Mapleton. He knew every piece of fur 
 niture in their houses, and what they gave for it ; every 
 foot of land, and what it was worth ; every ox, ass, and 
 sheep ; every man, woman, and child in town. And Biah 
 could give pretty shrewd character pictures also, and who 
 ever wanted to inform himself of the status of any person 
 or thing in Mapleton would have done well to have turned 
 the faucet of Biah s stream of talk, and watched it respect 
 fully as it came, for it was commonly conceded that what 
 Biah Carter did n t know about Mapleton was hardly worth 
 knowing. 
 
 " Putty piece o property, this ere farm," he said, survey 
 ing the scene around him with the air of a connoisseur. 
 " None o yer stun pastur land where the sheep can t get 
 their noses down through the rocks without a file to sharpen 
 em ! Deacon Pitkin did a putty fair stroke o business 
 when he swapped off his old place for this ere. That ere 
 old place was all swamp land and stun pastur ; wa n t good 
 for raisin nothin but juniper bushes and bullfrogs. But 
 I tell yen" proceeded Biah, with a shrewd wink, " that ere 
 mortgage pinches the deacon ; works him like a dose of aloes 
 and picry, it does. Deacon fairly gets lean on t." 
 
 " Why," said Abner Jenks, a stolid plough-boy to whom 
 this stream of remark was addressed ; " this ere place ain t 
 mortgaged, is it ? Du tell, naow ! " 
 
 " Why, yis ; don t ye know that ? ere ? Why, there s 
 risin two thousand dollars due on this ere farm, and if the 
 deacon don t scratch for it and pay up squar to the minit, 
 old Squire Norcross 11 foreclose on him. Old squire hain t 
 no bowels, I tell yeu, and the deacon knows he hain t : and 
 I tell yeu it keeps the deacon dancin lively as corn on a 
 hot shovel." 
 
BIAH CARTER 261 
 
 "The deacon s a master hand to work," said Abner ; "so s 
 the boys." 
 
 " Wai, yis, the deacon is," said Biah, turning contempla 
 tively to the farmhouse ; " there ain t a crittur in that ere 
 house that there ain t the most work got out of em that 
 ken be, down to Jed and Sam, the little uns. They work 
 like tigers, every soul of em, from four o clock in the 
 mornin as long as they can see, and Mis Pitkin she works 
 all the evening woman s work ain t never done, they 
 say." 
 
 " She s a good woman, Mis Pitkin is," said Abner, " and 
 she s a smart worker." 
 
 In this phrase Abner solemnly expressed his highest ideal 
 of a human being. 
 
 " Smart ain t no word for t," said Biah, with alertness. 
 "Declar for t, the grit o that ere woman beats me. Had 
 eight children right along in a string thout stoppin , done 
 all her own work, never kep no gal nor nothin ; allers up 
 and dressed; allers to meetin Sunday, and to the prayer- 
 meetin weekly, and never stops workin : when t ain t one 
 thing it s another cookin , washin , ironin , making but 
 ter and cheese, and tween spells cuttin and sewin , and if 
 she ain t doin that, why, she s braidin straw to sell to the 
 store or knitting, she s the perpetual motion ready found, 
 Mis Pitkin is." 
 
 " Want ter know," said the auditor, as a sort of musical 
 rest in this monotone of talk. " Ain t she smart, though ! " 
 
 " Smart ! Well, I should think she was. She s over and 
 into everything that s goin on in that house. The deacon 
 would n t know himself without her ; nor would n t none of 
 them boys, they just live out of her ; she kind o keeps em 
 all up." 
 
 "Wai, she ain t a hefty woman, naow," said the inter 
 locutor, who seemed to be possessed by a dim idea that worth 
 must be weighed by the pound. 
 
262 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 " Law bless you, no ! She s a little crittur ; nothiri to 
 look to, but every bit in her is live. She looks pale, kind 
 o slips round still like moonshine, but where anything s to 
 be done, there Mis Pitkin is ; and her hand allers goes to 
 the right spot, and things is done afore ye know it. That 
 ere woman s kind o still ; she 11 slip off and be gone to 
 heaven some day afore folks know it. There comes the 
 deacon and Jim over the hill. Jim walked home from 
 college day fore yesterday, and turned right in to-day to 
 help get in the taters, workin right along. Deacon was 
 awful grouty." 
 
 " What was the matter o the deacon ? " 
 
 " Oh, the mortgage kind o works him. The time to pay 
 comes round putty soon, and the deacon s face allers goes 
 down long as yer arm. T is a putty tight pull havin Jim 
 in college, losin his work and havin term bills and things 
 to pay. Them ere college folks charges up, I tell you. I 
 seen it works the deacon, I heard him a-jawin Jim bout it." 
 
 " What made Jim go to college ? " said Abner with slow 
 wonder in his heavy face. 
 
 " Oh, he allers was sot on eddication, and Mis Pitkin 
 she s sot on t, too, in her softly way, and softly women is 
 them that giner lly carries their p ints, fust or last. 
 
 " But there s one that ain t softly ! " Biah suddenly 
 continued, as the vision of a black-haired, bright-eyed girl 
 suddenly stepped forth from the doorway, and stood shading 
 her face with her hands, looking towards the sunset. The 
 evening light lit up a jaunty spray of goldenrod that she 
 had wreathed in her wavy hair, and gave a glow to the 
 rounded outlines of her handsome form. " There s a spar 
 kler for you ! And no saint, neither ! " was Biah s comment. 
 " That crittur has got more prances and capers in her than 
 any three-year-old filly I knows on. He 11 be cunning that 
 ever gets a bridle on her." 
 
 " Some says she s going to hev Jim Pitkin, and some 
 
THE SHADOW 263 
 
 says it 7 s Bill," said Abner, delighted to be able to add his 
 mite of gossip to the stream while it was flowing. 
 
 " She s sweet on Jim while he s round, and she s sweet 
 on Bill when Jim s up to college, and between um she gets 
 took round to everything that s going. She gives one a word 
 over one shoulder, and one over t other, and if the Lord 
 above knows what s in that gal s mind or what she s up 
 to, he knows more than I do, or she either, else I lose my 
 bet." 
 
 Biah made this admission with a firmness that might 
 have been a model to theologians or philosophers in general. 
 There was a point, it appeared, where he was not omni 
 scient. His universal statistical knowledge had a limit. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 ( 
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 There is no moment of life, however festive, that does 
 not involve the near presence of a possible tragedy. When 
 the concert of life is playing the gayest and airiest music, 
 it requires only the change of a little flat or sharp to mod 
 ulate into the minor key. There seemed at first glance 
 only the elements of joyousness and gayety in the surround 
 ings at the Pitkin farm. Thanksgiving was come, the 
 family, healthy, rosy, and noisy, were all under the one 
 roof-tree. There was energy, youth, intelligence, beauty, a 
 pair of lovers on the eve of betrothal, just in that misty, 
 golden twilight that precedes the full sunrise of avowed 
 and accepted love, and yet behind it all was walking with 
 stealthy step the shadow of a coming sorrow. 
 
 " What in the world ails James ? " said Diana, as she 
 retreated from the door and surveyed him at a distance 
 from her chamber window. His face was like a landscape 
 over which a thundercloud has drifted, and he walked 
 
264 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 beside his father with a peculiar air of proud displeasure 
 and repression. At that moment the young man was strug 
 gling with the bitterest sorrow that can befall youth, the 
 breaking up of his life-purpose. He had just come to a 
 decision to sacrifice his hopes of education, his man s am 
 bition, his love, his home and family, and become a wanderer 
 on the face of the earth. How this befell requires a sketch 
 of character. 
 
 Deacon Silas Pitkin was a fair specimen of a class of men 
 not uncommon in New England, men too sensitive for the 
 severe physical conditions of New England life, and there 
 fore both suffering and inflicting suffering. He was a man 
 of the finest moral traits, of incorruptible probity, of scru 
 pulous honor, of an exacting conscientiousness, and of a 
 sincere piety. But he had begun life with nothing ; his 
 whole standing in the world had been gained inch by inch 
 by the most unremitting economy and self-denial, and he 
 was a man of little capacity for hope, of whom it was said, 
 in popular phraseology, that he " took things hard." He 
 was never sanguine of good, always expectant of evil, and 
 seemed to view life like a sentinel forbidden to sleep and 
 constantly under arms. For such a man to be harassed by 
 a mortgage upon his homestead was a steady wear and drain 
 upon his vitality. There were times when a positive hor 
 ror of darkness came down upon him, when his wife s 
 untroubled, patient hopefulness seemed to him like reck 
 lessness, when the smallest item of expense was an intol 
 erable burden, and the very daily bread of life was full of 
 bitterness ; and when these paroxysms were upon him, one 
 of the heaviest of his burdens was the support of his son in 
 college. It was true that he was proud of his son s talents 
 and sympathized with his love for learning, he had to the 
 full that sense of the value of education which is the very 
 vital force of the New England mind, and in an hour 
 when things looked brighter to him he had given his con- 
 
THE SHADOW 265 
 
 sent to the scheme of a college education freely. James 
 was industrious, frugal, energetic, and had engaged to pay 
 the most of his own expenses by teaching in the long 
 winter vacations. But unfortunately this year the Mapleton 
 Academy, which had been promised to him for the winter 
 term, had been taken away by a little manoeuvre of local 
 politics and given to another, thus leaving him without 
 resource. This disappointment, coming just at the time 
 when the yearly interest upon the mortgage was due, had 
 brought upon his father one of those paroxysms of helpless 
 gloom and discouragement in which the very world itself 
 seemed clothed in sackcloth. 
 
 From the time that he heard the Academy was gone, 
 Deacon Silas lay awake nights in the blackness of darkness. 
 " We shall all go to the poorhouse together, that 7 s 
 where it will end," he said, as he tossed restlessly in the 
 dark. 
 
 " Oh, no, no, my dear," said his wife, with those serene 
 eyes that had looked through so many gloomy hours ; " we 
 must cast our care on God." 
 
 " It s easy for women to talk. You don t have the in 
 terest money to pay, you are perfectly reckless of expense. 
 Nothing would do but James must go to college, and now 
 see what it s bringing us to ! " 
 
 " Why, father, I thought you yourself were in favor of 
 it." 
 
 " Well, I did wrong then. You persuaded me into it. 
 I d no business to have listened to you and Jim and got all 
 this load on my shoulders." 
 
 Yet Mary Pitkin knew in her own calm, clear head that 
 she had not been reckless of expense. The yearly interest 
 money was ever before her, and her own incessant toils had 
 wrought no small portion of what was needed to pay it. 
 Her butter at the store commanded the very highest price, 
 her straw braiding sold for a little more than that of any 
 
266 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 other hand, and she had calculated all the returns so exactly 
 that she felt sure that the interest money for that year was 
 safe. She had seen her husband pass through this nervous 
 crisis many times before, and she had learned to be blamed 
 in silence, for she was a woman out of whom all selfness 
 had long since died, leaving only the tender pity of the 
 nurse and the consoler. Her soul rested on her Saviour, 
 the one ever-present, inseparable friend ; and when it did 
 no good to speak to her husband, she spoke to her God for 
 him, and so was peaceful and peace-giving. 
 
 Even her husband himself felt her strengthening, rest- 
 giving power, and for this reason he bore down on her with 
 the burden of all his tremors and his cares ; for while he 
 disputed, he yet believed her, and rested upon her with an 
 utter helpless trust, as the good angel of his house. Had 
 she for a moment given way to apprehension, had her step 
 been a thought less firm, her eye less peaceful, then, indeed, 
 the world itself would have seemed to be sinking under his 
 feet. Meanwhile she was to him that kind of relief which 
 we derive from a person to whom we may say everything 
 without a fear of its harming them. He felt quite sure 
 that, say what he would, Mary would always be hopeful 
 and courageous ; and he felt some secret idea that his own 
 gloomy forebodings were of service in restricting and sober 
 ing what seemed to him her too sanguine nature. He blindly 
 reverenced, without ability fully to comprehend, her exalted 
 religious fervor and the quietude of soul that it brought. 
 But he did not know through how many silent conflicts, 
 how many prayers, how many tears, how many hopes re 
 signed and sorrows welcomed, she had come into that last ref 
 uge of sorrowful souls, that immovable peace when all life s 
 anguish ceases and the will of God becomes the final rest. 
 
 But unhappily for this present crisis, there was, as there 
 often is in family life, just enough of the father s nature in 
 the son to bring them into collision with each other. James 
 
THE SHADOW 267 
 
 had the same nervously anxious nature, the same intense 
 feeling of responsibility, the same tendency towards mor 
 bid earnestness ; and on that day there had come collision. 
 His father had poured forth upon him his fears and appre 
 hensions in a manner which implied a censure on his son, 
 as being willing to accept a life of scholarly ease while his 
 father and mother were, as he expressed it, " working their 
 lives away." 
 
 " But I tell you, father, as God is my witness, I mean to 
 pay all ; you shall not suffer ; interest and principal all 
 that my work would bring I engage to pay back." 
 
 " You ! you 11 never have anything ! You 11 be a 
 poor man as long as you live. Lost the Academy this fall 
 that tells the story ! " 
 
 "But, father, it wasn t my fault that I lost the Academy." 
 
 " It s no matter whose fault it was that s neither here 
 nor there you lost it, and here you are with the vacation 
 before you and nothing to do ! There s your mother, she s 
 working herself to death ; she never gets any rest. I ex 
 pect she 11 go off in a consumption one of these days." 
 
 " There, there, father ! that s enough ! Please don t say 
 any more. You 11 see I will find something to do ! " 
 
 There are words spoken at times in life that do not sound 
 bitter though they come from a pitiable depth of anguish, 
 and as James turned from his father he had taken a resolu 
 tion that convulsed him with pain ; his strong arms quiv 
 ered with the repressed agony, and he hastily sought a 
 distant part of the field, and began cutting and stacking 
 cornstalks with a nervous energy. 
 
 " Why, ye work like thunder ! " was Biah s comment. 
 " Book-1 arnin hain t spiled ye yet ; your arms are good for 
 suthin ." 
 
 " Yes, my arms are good for something, and I 11 use them 
 for something," said Jim. 
 
 There was raging a tempest in his soul. For a young 
 
268 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 fellow of a Puritan education in those days to be angry with 
 his father was somewhat that seemed to him as awful a sac 
 rilege as to be angry with his God, and yet he felt that his 
 father had been bitterly, cruelly unjust towards him. He 
 had driven economy to the most stringent extremes ; he had 
 avoided the intimacy of his class fellows, lest he should be 
 drawn into needless expenses ; he had borne with shabby 
 clothing and mean fare among better dressed and richer as 
 sociates, and been willing to bear it. He had studied faith 
 fully, unremittingly, for two years, but at the moment he 
 turned from his father the throb that wrung his heart was 
 the giving up of all. 
 
 He had in his pocket a letter from his townsman and 
 schoolmate, Sam Allen, mate of an East Indiaman just fit 
 ting out at Salem, and it said : 
 
 " We are going to sail with a picked crew, and we want 
 one just such a fellow as you for third mate. Come along, 
 and you can go right up, and your college mathematics will 
 be all the better for us. Come right off, and youc berth 
 will be ready, and away for round the world ! " 
 
 Here, to be sure, was immediate position wages em 
 ployment freedom from the intolerable burden of depen 
 dence ; but it was accepted at the sacrifice of all his life s 
 hopes. True, that in those days the experiment of a sea 
 faring life had often, even in instances which he recalled, 
 brought forth fortune and an ability to settle down in peace 
 ful competence in after life. But there was Diana. Would 
 she wait for him ? Encircled on all sides with lovers, would 
 she keep faith with an adventurer gone for an indefinite 
 quest ? The desponding, self-distrusting side of his nature 
 said, " No. Why should she ? " Then, to go was to give 
 up Diana to make up his mind to have her belong to 
 some other. Then there was his mother. An unutterable 
 reverential pathos always to him encircled the idea of his 
 mother. Her life to him seemed a hard one. From the 
 
THE GOOD-BY 269 
 
 outside, as he viewed it, it was all self-sacrifice and renuncia 
 tion. Yet he knew that she had set her heart on an educa 
 tion for him, as much as it could be set on anything earthly. 
 He was her pride, her hope ; and just now that very thought 
 was full of bitterness. There was no help for it ; he must 
 not let her work herself to death for him ; he would make 
 the household vessel lighter by the throwing himself into 
 the sea, to sink or swim as might happen ; and then, per 
 haps, he might come back with money to help them all. 
 
 All this was what was surging and boiling in his mind 
 when he came in from his work to the supper that night. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE GOOD-BY 
 
 Diana Pitkin was like some of the fruits of her native 
 hills, full of juices which tend to sweetness in maturity, 
 but which when not quite ripe have a pretty decided dash 
 of sharpness. There are grapes that require a frost to ripen 
 them, and Diana was somewhat akin to these. 
 
 She was a mettlesome, warm-blooded creature, full of the 
 energy and audacity of youth, to whom as yet life was only 
 a frolic and a play spell. Work never tired her. She ate 
 heartily, slept peacefully, went to bed laughing, and got up 
 in a merry humor in the morning. Diana s laugh was as 
 early a note as the song of birds. Such a nature is not at 
 first sympathetic. It has in it some of the unconscious cru 
 elty which belongs to nature itself, whose sunshine never 
 pales at human trouble. Eyes that have never wept cannot 
 comprehend sorrow. Moreover, a lively girl of eighteen, 
 looking at life out of eyes which bewilder others with their 
 brightness, does not always see the world truly, and is some 
 times judged to be heartless when she is only immature. 
 
 Nothing was further from Diana s thoughts than that any 
 
270 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 grave trouble was overhanging her lover s mind for her 
 lover she very well knew that James was, and she had 
 arranged beforehand to herself very pretty little comedies of 
 life to be duly enacted in the long vacation, in which James 
 was to appear as the suitor, and she, not too soon nor with 
 too much eagerness, was at last to acknowledge to him how 
 much he was to her. But meanwhile he was not to be too 
 presumptuous. It was not set down in the cards that she 
 should be too gracious or make his way too easy. When, 
 therefore, he brushed by her hastily, on entering the house, 
 with a flushed cheek and frowning brow, and gave no glance 
 of admiration at the pretty toilet she had found time to 
 make, she was slightly indignant. She was as ignorant of 
 the pang which went like an arrow through his heart at the 
 sight of her as the bobolink which whirs and chitters and 
 tweedles over a grave. 
 
 She turned away and commenced a kitten-like frolic with 
 Bill, who was always only too happy to second any of her 
 motions, and readily promised that after supper she would 
 go with him a walk of half a mile over to a neighbor s, 
 where was a corn-husking. A great golden lamp of a har 
 vest moon was already coming up in the fading flush of the 
 evening sky, and she promised herself much amusement in 
 watching the result of her manoauvre on James. 
 
 " He 7 11 see at any rate that I am not waiting his beck 
 and call. Next time if he wants my company he can ask 
 for it in season. I m not going to indulge him in sulks, 
 not I. These college fellows worry over books till they 
 hurt their digestion, and then have the blues and look as if 
 the world was coming to an end." And Diana went to the 
 looking-glass and rearranged the spray of goldenrod in her 
 hair and nodded at herself defiantly, and then turned to 
 help get on the supper. 
 
 The Pitkin folk that night sat down to an ample feast, 
 over which the impending Thanksgiving shed its hilarity. 
 
THE GOOD-BY 271 
 
 There was not only the inevitable great pewter platter, 
 scoured to silver brightness, in the centre of the table, and 
 piled with solid masses of boiled beef, pork, cabbage and all 
 sorts of vegetables, and the equally inevitable smoking loaf 
 of rye and Indian bread, to accompany the pot of baked 
 pork and beans, but there were specimens of all the newly 
 made Thanksgiving pies filling every available space on the 
 table. Diana set special value on herself as a pie artist, 
 and she had taxed her ingenuity this year to invent new 
 varieties, which were received with bursts of applause by 
 the boys. These sat down to the table in democratic equal 
 ity, Biah Carter and Abner with all the sons of the fam 
 ily, old and young, each eager, hungry and noisy ; and over 
 all, with moonlight calmness and steadiness, Mary Pitkin 
 ruled and presided, dispensing to each his portion in due 
 season, while Diana, restless and mischievous as a sprite, 
 seemed to be possessed with an elfin spirit of drollery, vent 
 ing itself in sundry little tricks and antics which drew ready 
 laughs from the boys and reproving glances from the deacon. 
 For the deacon was that night in one of his severest humors. 
 As Biah Carter afterwards remarked of that night, " You 
 could feel there was thunder in the air somewhere round. 
 The deacon had got on about his longest face, and when 
 the deacon s face is about down to its wust, why, it would 
 stop a robin singin there could n t nothin stan it." 
 
 To-night the severely cut lines of his face had even more 
 than usual of haggard sternness, and the handsome features 
 of James beside him, in their fixed gravity, presented that 
 singular likeness which often comes out between father and 
 son in seasons of mental emotion. Diana in vain sought to 
 draw a laugh from her cousin. In pouring his home-brewed 
 beer she contrived to spatter him, but he wiped it off with 
 out a smile, and let pass in silence some arrows of raillery 
 that she had directed at his sombre face. When they rose 
 from table, however, he followed her into the pantry. 
 
272 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 " Diana, will you take a walk with me to-night ? " he 
 said, in a voice husky with repressed feeling. 
 
 " To-night ! Why, I have just promised Bill to go with 
 him over to the husking at the Jenks s. Why don t you 
 go with us ? We 7 re going to have lots of fun," she added 
 with an innocent air of not perceiving his gravity. 
 
 " I can t," he said. " Besides, I wanted to walk with 
 you alone. I had something special I wanted to say." 
 
 " Bless me, how you frighten one ! You look solemn as 
 a hearse ; but I promised to go with Bill to-night, and I 
 suspect another time will do just as well. What you have 
 to say will keep, I suppose," she said mischievously. 
 
 He turned away quickly. 
 
 " I should really like to know what s the matter with 
 you to-night," she added, but as she spoke he went upstairs 
 and shut the door. 
 
 "He s cross to-night," was Diana s comment. "Well, 
 he 11 have to get over his pet. I sha n t mind it ! " 
 
 Upstairs in his room James began the work of putting 
 up the bundle with which he was to go forth to seek his 
 fortune. There stood his books, silent and dear witnesses 
 of the world of hope and culture and refined enjoyment he 
 had been meaning to enter. He was to know them no 
 more. Their mute faces seemed to look at him mournfully 
 as parting friends. He rapidly made his selection, for that 
 night he was to be off in time to reach the vessel before she 
 sailed, and he felt even glad to avoid the Thanksgiving fes 
 tivities for which he had so little relish. Diana s frolicsome 
 gayety seemed heartbreaking to him, on the same principle 
 that the poet sings : 
 
 " How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
 And I sae weary, fu o care ? " 
 
 To the heart struck through with its first experiences of 
 real suffering all nature is full of cruelty, and the young and 
 light-hearted are a large part of nature. 
 
THE GOOD-BY 273 
 
 " She has no feeling," he said to himself. " Well, there 
 is one reason the more for my going. She won t break her 
 heart for me ; nobody loves me but mother, and it s for her 
 sake I must go. She mustn t work herself to death for me." 
 
 And then he sat down in the window to write a note to 
 be given to his mother after he had sailed, for he could not 
 trust himself to tell her what he was about to do. He 
 knew that she would try to persuade him to stay, and he 
 felt faint-hearted when he thought of her. " She would 
 sit up early and late, and work for me to the last gasp," he 
 thought ; " but father was right. It is selfish of me to take 
 it," and so he sat trying to fashion his parting note into a 
 tone of cheerfulness. 
 
 "My dear mother," he wrote, "this will come to you 
 when I have set off on a four years voyage round the 
 world. Father has convinced me that it s time for me to 
 be doing something for myself ; and I could n t get a school 
 to keep and, after all, education is got other ways than 
 at college. It s hard to go, because I love home, and hard 
 because you will miss me though no one else will. But 
 father may rely upon it, I will not be a burden on him 
 another day. Sink or swim, I shall never come back till I 
 have enough to do for myself and you too. So good-by, 
 dear mother. I know you will always pray for me, and 
 wherever I am I shall try to do just as I think you would 
 want me to do. I know your prayers will follow me, and 
 I shall always be your affectionate son. 
 
 " P. S. The boys may have those chestnuts and walnuts 
 in my room and in my drawer there is a bit of ribbon 
 with a locket on it I was going to give cousin Diana. Per 
 haps she won t care for it, though ; but if she does, she is 
 welcome to it it may put her in mind of old times." 
 
 And this is all he said, with bitterness in his heart, as he 
 leaned on the window and looked out at the great yellow 
 moon that was shining so bright as to show the golden hues 
 
274 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 of the overhanging elm boughs and the scarlet of an adjoin 
 ing maple. 
 
 A light ripple of laughter came up from below, and a 
 chestnut thrown up struck him on the hand, and he saw 
 Diana and Bill step from out the shadowy porch. 
 
 " There s a chestnut for you, Mr. Owl," she called 
 gayly, " if you will stay moping up there ! Come, now, it s 
 a splendid evening ; won t you come ? " 
 
 " No, thank you. I sha n t be missed," was the reply. 
 
 " That s true enough ; the loss is your own. Good-by, 
 Mr. Philosopher." 
 
 " Good-by, Diana." 
 
 Something in the tone struck strangely through her heart. 
 It was the voice of what Diana never had felt yet deep 
 suffering and she gave a little shiver. 
 
 " What an awfully solemn voice James has sometimes," 
 she said ; and then added, with a laugh, " it would make 
 his fortune as a Methodist minister." 
 
 The sound of the light laugh and little snatches and 
 echoes of gay talk came back like heartless elves to mock 
 Jim s sorrow. 
 
 " So much for her," he said, and turned to go and look 
 for his mother. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MOTHER AND SON 
 
 He knew where he should find her. There was a little, 
 low work-room adjoining the kitchen that was his mother s 
 sanctum. There stood her work-basket there were al 
 ways piles and piles of work, begun or finished ; and there 
 also her few books at hand, to be glanced into in rare snatches 
 of leisure in her busy life. The old-time New England 
 house mother was not a mere unreflective drudge of domestic 
 
MOTHER AND SON 275 
 
 toil. She was a reader and a thinker, keenly appreciative 
 in intellectual regions. The literature of that day in New 
 England was sparse ; but, whatever there was, whether in 
 this country or in England, that was noteworthy, was mat 
 ter of keen interest, and Mrs. Pitkin s small library was 
 very dear to her. No nun in a convent under vows of ab 
 stinence ever practiced more rigorous self-denial than she 
 did in the restraints and government of intellectual tastes 
 and desires. Her son was dear to her as the fulfillment 
 and expression of her unsatisfied craving for knowledge, the 
 possessor of those fair fields of thought which duty forbade 
 her to explore. 
 
 James stood and looked in at the window, and saw her 
 sorting and arranging the family mending, busy over piles 
 of stockings and shirts, while on the table beside her lay 
 her open Bible, and she was singing to herself, in a low, 
 sweet undertone, one of the favorite minor-keyed melodies 
 of those days : 
 
 " O God, our help in ages past, 
 Our hope for years to come, 
 Our shelter from the stormv blast 
 And our eternal home! " 
 
 An indescribable feeling, blended of pity and reverence, 
 swelled in his heart as he looked at her and marked the 
 whitening hair, the thin worn little hands so busy with their 
 love work, and thought of all the bearing and forbearing, 
 the waiting, the watching, the long-suffering that had made 
 up her life for so many years. The very look of exquisite 
 calm and resolved strength in her patient eyes and in the 
 gentle lines of her face had something that seemed to him 
 sad and awful as the purely spiritual always looks to the 
 more animal nature. With his blood bounding and tingling 
 in his veins, his strong arms pulsating with life, and his 
 heart full of a man s vigor and resolve, his mother s life 
 seemed to him to be one of weariness and drudgery, of 
 
276 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 constant, unceasing self-abnegation. Calm he knew she 
 was, always sustained, never faltering ; but her victory was 
 one which, like the spiritual sweetness in the face of the 
 dying, had something of sadness for the living heart. He 
 opened the door and came in, sat down by her on the floor, 
 and laid his head in her lap. 
 
 " Mother, you never rest ; you never stop working." 
 " Oh, no ! " she said gayly ; "I m just going to stop now. 
 I had only a few last things I wanted to get done." 
 
 " Mother, I can t bear to think of you ; your life is too 
 hard. We all have our amusements, our rests, our changes ; 
 your work is never done j you are worn out, and get no 
 time to read, no time for anything but drudgery." 
 
 " Don t say drudgery, my boy work done for those we 
 love never is drudgery. I m so happy to have you all 
 around me I never feel it." 
 
 " But, mother, you are not strong, and I don t see how 
 you can hold out to do all you do." 
 
 " Well," she said simply, " when my strength is all gone 
 I ask God for more, and he always gives it. < They that 
 wait on the Lord shall renew their strength. " And her 
 hand involuntarily fell on the open Bible. 
 
 " Yes, I know it," he said, following her hand with his 
 eyes; while, " Mother," he said, "I want you to give me 
 your Bible and take mine. I think yours would do me 
 more good." 
 
 There was a little bright flush and a pleased smile on 
 his mother s face 
 
 " Certainly, my boy, I will." 
 
 " I see you have marked your favorite places," he added. 
 "It will seem like hearing you speak to read them." 
 
 " With all my heart," she added, taking up the Bible 
 and kissing his forehead as she put it into his hands. 
 
 There was a struggle in his heart how to say farewell 
 without saying it without letting her know that he was 
 
MOTHER AND SON 277 
 
 going to leave her. He clasped her in his arms and kissed 
 her again and again. 
 
 "Mother," he said, "if I ever get into heaven it will be 
 through you." 
 
 " Don t say that, my son it must be through a better 
 Friend than I am who loves you more than I do. I 
 have not died for you He did." 
 
 " Oh, that I knew where I might find Him, then. You 
 I can see Him I cannot." 
 
 His mother looked at him with a face full of radiance, 
 pity, and hope. 
 
 " I feel sure you will" she said. " You are consecrated, 7 
 she added, in a low voice, laying her hand on his head. 
 
 "Amen," said James, in a reverential tone. He felt that 
 that she was at that moment as she often was silently 
 speaking to One invisible of and for him, and the sense of it 
 stole over him like a benediction. There was a pause of 
 tender silence for many minutes. 
 
 " Well, I must not keep you up any longer, mother dear 
 it s time you were resting. Good-night." And with a 
 long embrace and kiss they separated. He had yet fifteen 
 miles to walk to reach the midnight stage that was to con 
 vey him to Salem. 
 
 As he was starting from the house with his bundle in his 
 hand, the sound of a gay laugh came through the distant 
 shrubbery. It was Diana and Bill returning from the husk 
 ing. Hastily he concealed himself behind a clump of old 
 lilac bushes till they emerged into the moonlight and passed 
 into the house. Diana was in one of those paroxysms of 
 young girl frolic which are the effervescence of young, 
 healthy blood, as natural as the gyrations of a bobolink on a 
 clover-head. James was thinking of dark nights and stormy 
 seas, years of exile, mother s sorrows, home perhaps never to 
 be seen more, and the laugh jarred on him like a terrible dis 
 cord. He watched her into the house, turned, and was gone. 
 
278 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 GONE TO SEA 
 
 A little way on in his moonlight walk James s ears were 
 saluted by the sound of some one whistling and crackling 
 through the bushes, and soon Biah Carter emerged into 
 the moonlight, having been out to the same husking where 
 Diana and Bill had been enjoying themselves. The sight 
 of him resolved a doubt which had been agitating James s 
 mind. The note to his mother which was to explain his 
 absence and the reasons for it was still in his coat-pocket, 
 and he had designed sending it back by some messenger at 
 the tavern where he took the midnight stage ; but here was 
 a more trusty party. It involved, to be sure, the necessity 
 of taking Biah into his confidence. James was well aware 
 that to tell that acute individual the least particle of a story 
 was like starting a gimlet in a pine board there was no 
 stop till it had gone through. So he told him in brief that 
 a good berth had been offered to him on the Eastern Star, 
 and he meant to take it to relieve his father of the pressure 
 of his education. 
 
 " Wai naow you don t say so," was Biah s commen 
 tary. " Wai, yis, t is hard sleddin for the deacon drefful 
 hard sleddin . Wai, naow, s pose you re disapp inted 
 shouldn t wonder jes so. Eddication s a good thing, 
 but t aint the only thing naow ; folks 1 arns a sight rubbin 
 round the world and then they make money. Jes see, 
 there s Cap n Stebbins and Cap n Andrews and Cap n 
 Merry weather all livin on good farms, with good, nice 
 houses, all got goin to sea. Expect Mis Pitkin 11 take it 
 sort o hard, she s so sot on you ; but she s allers sayin 
 things is for the best, and maybe she 11 come to think so 
 bout this folks gen ally does when they can t help them- 
 
GONE TO SEA 279 
 
 selves. Wai, yis, naow goin to walk to the cross-road 
 tavern ? Better not. Jest wait a minit and I 11 hitch up 
 and take ye over." 
 
 "Thank you, Biah, but I can t stop, and I d rather 
 walk, so I won t trouble you." 
 
 " Wai, look here don t ye want a sort o nest-egg ? 
 1 7 ve got fifty silver dollars laid up : you take it on ven 
 ture and give me half what it brings." 
 
 " Thank you, Biah. If you 11 trust me with it I 11 hope 
 to do something for us both." 
 
 Biah went into the house, and after some fumbling 
 brought out a canvas bag, which he put into James s 
 hand. 
 
 " Wanted to go to sea confoundedly myself, but there s 
 Mariar Jane she won t hear on t, and turns on the water 
 works if I peep a single word. Farmin s drefful slow,, but 
 when a feller s got a gal he s got a cap n ; he has to mind 
 orders. So you jest trade and we 11 go sheers. I think 
 consid able of you, and I expect you 11 make it go as fur as 
 anybody." 
 
 " I 11 try my best, you may believe, Biah," said James, 
 shaking the hard hand heartily, as he turned on his way 
 towards the cross-roads tavern. 
 
 The whole village of Maplewood on Thanksgiving Day 
 morning was possessed of the fact that James Pitkin had 
 gone off to sea in the Eastern Star, for Biah had felt all 
 the sense of importance which the possession of a startling 
 piece of intelligence gives to one, and took occasion to call 
 at the tavern and store on his way up and make the most 
 of his information, so that by the time the bell rang for 
 service the news might be said to be everywhere. The 
 minister s general custom on Thanksgiving Day was to get 
 off a political sermon reviewing the state of New England, 
 the United States of America, and Europe, Asia, and Africa ; 
 but it may be doubted if all the affairs of all these conti- 
 
280 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 nents produced as much sensation among the girls in the 
 singers seat that day as did the news that James Pitkin 
 had gone to sea on a four years voyage. Curious eyes 
 were cast on Diana Pitkin, and many were the whispers and 
 speculations as to the part she might have had in the move ; 
 and certainly she looked paler and graver than usual, and 
 some thought they could detect traces of tears on her cheeks. 
 Some noticed in the tones of her voice that day, as they 
 rose in the soprano, a tremor and pathos never remarked 
 before the unconscious utterance, of a new sense of sor 
 row, awakened in a soul that up to this time had never 
 known a grief. 
 
 For the letter had fallen on the heads of the Pitkin house 
 hold like a thunderbolt. Biah came in to breakfast and 
 gave it to Mrs. Pitkin, saying that James had handed him 
 that last night, on his way over to take the midnight stage 
 to Salem, where he was going to sail on the Eastern Star 
 to-day no doubt he s off to sea by this time. A confused 
 sound of exclamations went up around the table, while Mrs. 
 Pitkin, pale and calm, read the letter and then passed it to 
 her husband without a word. The bright, fixed color in 
 Diana s face had meanwhile been slowly ebbing away, till, 
 with cheeks and lips pale as ashes, she hastily rose and left 
 the table and went to her room. A strange, new, terrible 
 pain a sensation like being choked or smothered a rush 
 of mixed emotions a fearful sense of some inexorable, 
 unalterable crisis having come of her girlish folly over 
 whelmed her. Again she remembered the deep tones of 
 his good-by, and how she had only mocked at his emotion. 
 She sat down and leaned her head on her hands in a tear 
 less, confused sorrow. 
 
 Deacon Pitkin was at first more shocked and overwhelmed 
 than his wife. His yesterday s talk with James had no 
 such serious purpose. It had been only the escape-valve 
 for his hypochondriac forebodings of the future, and nothing 
 
GONE TO SEA 281 
 
 was farther from his thoughts than having it bear fruit in 
 any such decisive movement on the part of his son. In 
 fact, he was secretly proud of his talents and his scholar 
 ship, and had set his heart on his going through college, and 
 had no more serious purpose in what he said the day be 
 fore than the general one of making his son feel the difficul 
 ties and straits he was put to for him. Young men were 
 tempted at college to be too expensive, he thought, and to 
 forget what it cost their parents at home. In short, the 
 whole thing had been merely the passing off of a paroxysm 
 of hypochondria, and he had already begun to be satisfied 
 that he should raise his interest money that year without 
 material difficulty. The letter showed him too keenly the 
 depth of the suffering he had inflicted on his son, and when 
 he had read it he cast a sort of helpless, questioning look 
 on his wife, and said, after an interval of silence : 
 
 "Well, mother!" 
 
 There was something quite pathetic in the appealing look 
 and voice. 
 
 " Well, father," she answered in subdued tones ; " all we 
 can do now is to leave it." 
 
 Leave it ! 
 
 Those were words often in that woman s mouth, and they 
 expressed that habit of her life which made her victorious 
 over all troubles, that habit of trust in the Infinite Will that 
 actually could and did leave every accomplished event in 
 His hand, without murmur and without conflict. If there was 
 any one thing in her uniformly self -denied life that had been 
 a personal ambition and a personal desire, it had been that 
 her son should have a college education. It was the centre 
 of her earthly wishes, hopes, and efforts. That wish had 
 been cut off in a moment, that hope had sunk under her feet, 
 and now only remained to her the task of comforting the 
 undisciplined soul whose unguided utterances had wrought 
 the mischief. It was not the first time that, wounded by 
 
282 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 a loving hand in this dark struggle of life, she had sup 
 pressed the pain of her own hurt that he that had wounded 
 her might the better forgive himself. 
 
 " Dear father," she said to him, when over and over he 
 blamed himself for his yesterday s harsh words to his son, 
 " don t worry about it now ; you didn t mean it. James 
 is a good boy, and he 11 see it right at last ; and he is in 
 God s hands, and we must leave him there. He overrules 
 all." 
 
 When Mrs. Pitkin turned from her husband she sought 
 Diana in her room. 
 
 " Oh, cousin ! cousin ! " said the girl, throwing herself 
 into her arms. " Is this true ? Is James gone ! Can t 
 we do anything ? Can t we get him back ? I ve been 
 thinking it over. Oh, if the ship would n t sail ! and I d 
 go to Salem and beg him to come back, on my knees. Oh, 
 if I had only known yesterday ! Oh, cousin, cousin ! he 
 wanted to talk with me, and I would n t hear him ! oh, 
 if I only had, I could have persuaded him out of it ! Oh, 
 why did n t I know ? " 
 
 " There, there, dear child ! We must accept it just as it 
 is, now that it is done. Don t feel so. We must try to 
 look at the good." 
 
 " Oh, show me that letter," said Diana; and Mrs. Pitkin, 
 hoping to tranquillize her, gave her James s note. "He 
 thinks I don t care for him," she said, reading it hastily. 
 " Well, I don t wonder ! But I do care ! I love him bet 
 ter than anybody or anything under the sun, and I never 
 will forget him ; he s a brave, noble, good man, and I shall 
 love him as long as I live I don t care who knows it ! 
 Give me that locket, cousin, and write to him that I shall 
 wear it to my grave." 
 
 " Dear child, there is no writing to him." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! that s the worst. Oh, that horrid, horrid 
 sea! It s like death you don t know where they are, 
 
GONE TO SEA 283 
 
 and you can t hear from them and a four years voyage ! 
 Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! " 
 
 " Don t, dear child, don t ; you distress me," said Mrs. 
 Pitkin. 
 
 " Yes, that s just like me," said Diana, wiping her eyes. 
 " Here I am thinking only of myself, and you that have 
 had your heart broken are trying to comfort me, and trying 
 to comfort Cousin Silas. We have both of us scolded and 
 flouted him away, and now you, who suffer the most of 
 either of us, spend your breath to comfort us. It s just 
 like you. But, cousin, I 11 try to be good and comfort you. 
 I 11 try to be a daughter to you. You need somebody to 
 think of you, for you never think of yourself. Let s go in 
 his room," she said, and taking the mother by the hand 
 they crossed to the empty room. There was his writing- 
 table, there his forsaken books, his papers, some of his 
 clothes hanging in his closet. Mrs. Pitkin, opening a 
 drawer, took out a locket hung upon a bit of blue ribbon, 
 where there were two locks of hair, one of which Diana 
 recognized as her own, and one of James s. She hastily 
 hung it about her neck and concealed it in her bosom, lay 
 ing her hand hard upon it, as if she would still the beatings 
 of her heart. 
 
 " It seems like a death," she said. " Don t you think 
 the ocean is like death wide, dark, stormy, unknown ? 
 We cannot speak to or hear from them that are on it." 
 
 " But people can and do come back from the sea," said 
 the mother, soothingly. "I trust, in God s own time, we 
 shall see James back." 
 
 " But what if we never should ? Oh, cousin ! I can t 
 help thinking of that. There was Michael Davis, you 
 know the ship was never heard from." 
 
 " Well " said the mother, after a moment s pause and a 
 chokirig down of some rising emotion, and turning to a table 
 on which lay a Bible, she opened and read : " If I take the 
 
284 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of 
 the sea, even there shall Thy hand lead me, and Thy right 
 hand shall hold me." 
 
 The THEE in this psalm was not to her a name, a shadow, 
 a cipher, to designate the unknowable, it stood for the in 
 separable Heart-friend the Father seeing in secret, on 
 whose bosom all her tears of sorrow had been shed, the 
 Comforter and Guide forever dwelling in her soul, and giv 
 ing peace where the world gave only trouble. Diana be 
 held her face as it had been the face of an angel. She 
 kissed her, and turned away in silence. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THANKSGIVING AGAIN 
 
 Seven years had passed, and once more the Thanksgiving- 
 tide was in Mapleton. This year it had come cold and 
 frosty. Chill driving autumn storms had stripped the 
 painted glories from the trees, and remorseless frosts had 
 chased the hardy ranks of the asters and goldenrods back 
 and back till scarce a blossom could be found in the deepest 
 and most sequestered spots. The great elm over the Pit- 
 kin farmhouse had been stripped of its golden glory, and 
 now rose against the yellow evening sky, with its infinite 
 delicacies of network and tracery, in their way quite as 
 beautiful as the full pomp of summer foliage. The air 
 without was keen and frosty, and the knotted twigs of the 
 branches knocked against the roof and rattled and ticked 
 against the upper window-panes as the chill evening wind 
 swept through them. 
 
 Seven long years had passed since James sailed. Years 
 of watching, of waiting, of cheerful patience, at first, and at 
 last of resigned sorrow. Once they heard from James, at 
 the first port where the ship stopped. It was a letter dear 
 
THANKSGIVING AGAIN 285 
 
 to his mother s heart, manly, resigned, and Christian ; ex 
 pressing full purpose to work with God in whatever calling 
 he should labor, and cheerful hopes of the future. Then 
 came a long, long silence, and then tidings that the East 
 ern Star had been wrecked on a reef in the Indian Ocean ! 
 The mother had given back her treasure into the same be 
 loved hands whence she first received him. " I gave him 
 to God, and God took him/ 7 she said. " I shall have him 
 again in God s time." This was how she settled the 
 whole matter with herself. Diana had mourned with all 
 the vehement intensity of her being, but out of the deep 
 baptism of sorrow she had emerged with a new and nobler 
 nature. The vain, trifling, laughing Undine had received 
 a soul and was a true woman. She devoted herself to 
 James s mother with an utter self-sacrificing devotion, re 
 solved as far as in her lay to be both son and daughter to 
 her. She read and studied, and fitted herself as a teacher in 
 a neighboring academy, and persisted in claiming the right 
 of a daughter to place all the amount of her earnings in the 
 family purse. 
 
 And this year there was special need. With all his care, 
 with all his hard work and that of his family, Deacon Si 
 las never had been able to raise money to annihilate the 
 debt upon the farm. There seemed to be a perfect fatality 
 about it. Let them all make what exertions they might, 
 just as they were hoping for a sum that should exceed the 
 interest and begin the work of settling the principal would 
 come some loss that would throw them all back. One year 
 their barn was burned just as they had housed their hay. 
 On another a valuable horse died, and then there were fits 
 of sickness among the children, and poor crops in the field, 
 and low prices in the market ; in short, as Biah remarked, 
 " The deacon s luck did seem to be sort o streaky, for do 
 what Vou might there s always suthin to put him back." 
 As the younger boys grew up the deacon had ceased to hire 
 
286 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 help, and Biah had transferred his services to Squire Jones, 
 a rich landholder in the neighborhood, who wanted some 
 one to overlook his place. The increased wages had en 
 abled him to give a home to Maria Jane and a start in life 
 to two or three sturdy little American citizens who played 
 around his house door. Nevertheless, Biah never lost 
 sight of the " deacon s folks " in his multifarious cares, and 
 never missed an opportunity either of doing them a good 
 turn or of picking up any stray item of domestic news as to 
 how matters were going on in that interior. He had pri 
 vately broached the theory to Miss Briskett, that " arter all 
 it was James that Diany (he always pronounced all names 
 as if they ended in y) was sot on, and that she took it so 
 hard, his goin off, that it did beat all ! Seemed to make 
 another gal of her ; he should n t wonder if she d come out 
 and jine the church." And Diana not long after uncon 
 sciously fulfilled Biah s predictions. 
 
 Of late Biah s good offices had been in special requisi 
 tion, as the deacon had been for nearly a month on a sick 
 bed with one of those interminable attacks of typhus fever 
 which used to prevail in old times, when the doctor did 
 everything he could to make it certain that a man once 
 brought down with sickness never should rise again. But 
 Silas Pitkin had a constitution derived through an indefinite 
 distance from a temperate, hard-working, godly ancestry, 
 and so withstood both death and the doctor, and was alive 
 and in a convalescent state, which gave hope of his being 
 able to carve the turkey at his Thanksgiving dinner. 
 
 The evening sunlight was just fading out of the little 
 " keeping-room," adjoining the bedroom, where the conva 
 lescent now was able to sit up most of the day. A cot bed 
 had been placed there, designed for him to lie down upon 
 in intervals of fatigue. At present, however, he was sitting 
 in his armchair, complacently watching the blaze of the 
 hickory fire, or following placidly the motions of his wife s 
 
THANKSGIVING AGAIN 287 
 
 knitting-needles. There was an air of calmness and repose 
 on his thin, worn features that never was there in days of 
 old : the haggard, anxious lines had been smoothed away, 
 and that spiritual expression which sickness and sorrow 
 sometimes develops on the human face reigned in its place. 
 It was the " clear shining after rain." 
 
 " Wife," he said, " read me something I can t quite re 
 member out of the Bible. It s in the eighth of Deuteron 
 omy, the second verse." 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin opened the big family Bible on the stand, 
 and read, " And thou shalt remember all the way in which 
 the Lord thy God hath led thee these forty years in the 
 wilderness, to humble thee and to prove thee and to know 
 what is in thy heart, and whether thou wouldst keep his 
 commandments or no. And he humbled thee, and suffered 
 thee to hunger, and fed thee with manna, which thou knew- 
 est not, neither did thy fathers know, that he might make 
 thee know that man doth not live by bread alone, but by 
 every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of the Lord 
 doth man live." 
 
 "There, that s it," interrupted the deacon. " That s 
 what I ve been thinking of as I ve lain here sick and 
 helpless. I ve fought hard to keep things straight, and clear 
 the farm, but it s pleased the Lord to bring me low. I ve 
 had to lie still and leave all in his hands." 
 
 " And where better could you leave all ? " said his wife, 
 with a radiant smile. 
 
 "Well, just so. I ve been saying, Here I am, Lord; 
 do with me as seemeth to thee good, and I feel a great quiet 
 now. I think it s doubtful if we make up the interest this 
 year. I don t know what Bill may get for the hay : but 
 I don t see much prospect of raisin on t ; and yet I don t 
 worry. Even if it s the Lord s will to have the place sold 
 up ai;d we be turned out in our old age, I don t seem to 
 worry about it. His will be done." 
 
288 DEACON PITKIN S FAKM 
 
 There was a sound of rattling wheels at this moment, and 
 anon there came a brush and nutter of garments, and Diana 
 rushed in, all breezy with the freshness of outdoor air, and 
 caught Mrs. Pitkin in her arms and kissed her first and then 
 the deacon with effusion. 
 
 "Here I come for Thanksgiving," she said, in a rich, clear 
 tone ; " and here," she added, drawing a roll of bills from 
 her bosom, and putting it into the deacon s hand, " here s 
 the interest money for this year. I got it all myself, because 
 I wanted to show you I could be good for something." 
 
 "Thank you, dear daughter," said Mrs. Pitkin. " I felt 
 sure some way would be found, and now I see what." She 
 added, kissing Diana and patting her rosy cheek, " a very 
 pleasant, pretty way it is, too." 
 
 " I was afraid that Cousin Silas would worry and put 
 himself back again about the interest money," said Diana. 
 
 "Well, daughter," said the Deacon, "it s a pity we 
 should go through all we do in this world and not learn 
 anything by it. I hope the Lord has taught me not to 
 worry, but just do my best and leave myself and everything 
 else in his hands. We can t help ourselves we can t make 
 one hair white or black. Why should we wear our lives 
 out fretting ? If I d a known that years ago it would V 
 been better for us all." 
 
 " Never mind, father, you know it now," said his wife, 
 with a face serene as a star. In this last gift of quietude 
 of soul to her husband she recognized the answer to her 
 prayers of years. 
 
 "Well, now," said Diana, running to the window, "I 
 should like to know what Biah Carter is coming here about." 
 
 " Oh, Biah s been very kind to us in this sickness," said 
 Mrs. Pitkin, as Biah s feet resounded on the scraper. 
 
 " Good-evenin , Deacon," said Biah, entering; "Good- 
 evenin , Mis Pitkin. Sarvant, ma am," to Diana, " how 
 ye all gettin on ? " 
 
THANKSGIVING AGAIN 289 
 
 "Nicely, Biah well as can be," said Mrs. Pitkin. 
 
 " Wai, you see I was up to the store with some o Squire 
 Jones s bell-flowers. Sim Coan he said he wanted some to 
 sell, and so I took up a couple o barrels, and I see the darnd- 
 est big letter there for the Deacon. Miss Briskett she was 
 in, lookin at it, and so was Deacon Simson s wife ; she come 
 in arter some cinnamon sticks. Wai, and they all looked 
 at it and talked it over, and could n t none o em for their 
 lives think what it s all about, it was sich an almighty thick 
 letter," said Biah, drawing out a long, legal-looking envel 
 ope and putting it in the Deacon s hands. 
 
 " I hope there is n t bad news in it," said Silas Pitkin, 
 the color flushing apprehensively in his pale cheeks as he 
 felt for his spectacles. 
 
 There was an agitated, silent pause while he broke the 
 seals and took out two documents. One was the mortgage 
 on his farm and the other a receipt in full for the money 
 owed on it. The Deacon turned the papers to and fro, 
 gazed on them with a dazed, uncertain air, and then said : 
 
 " Why, mother, do look ! Is this so ? Do I read it 
 right ? " 
 
 " Certainly, you do," said Diana, reading over his shoul 
 der. " Somebody s paid that debt, cousin ! " 
 
 " Thank God ! " said Mrs. Pitkin softly ; "He has done 
 it." 
 
 " Wai, I swow ! " said Biah, after having turned the 
 paper in his hands, " if this ere don t beat all ! There s 
 old Squire Norcross s name on t. It s the receipt, full and 
 square. What s come over the old crittur ? He must a 
 got religion in his old age ; but if grace made him do that, 
 grace has done a tough job, that s all ; but it ? s done, any 
 how, and that s all you need to care about. Wai, wal, I 
 must git along hum Mariar Jane 11 be wonderin where 
 I be. . Good - night, all on ye ! " and Biah s retreating 
 wagon wheels were off in the distance, rattling furiously, 
 
290 DEACON PITKIN s FARM 
 
 for, notwithstanding Maria Jane s wondering, Biah was re 
 solved not to let an hour slip by without declaring the 
 wonderful tidings at the store. The Pitkin family were 
 seated at supper in the big kitchen, all jubilant over the 
 recent news. The father, radiant with the pleasantest ex 
 citement, had for the first time come out to take his place at 
 the family board. In the seven years since the beginning 
 of our story the Pitkin boys had been growing apace, and 
 now surrounded the table, quite an army of rosy-cheeked, 
 jolly young fellows, who to-night were in a perfect tumult 
 of animal gayety. Diana twinkled and dimpled and flung 
 her sparkles round among them, and there was unbounded 
 jollity. 
 
 " Who s that looking in at the window ? " called out 
 Sam, aged ten, who sat opposite the house door. At that 
 moment the door opened, and a dark stranger, bronzed with 
 travel and dressed in foreign-looking garments, entered. 
 
 He stood one moment, all looking curiously at him, then 
 crossing the floor, he kneeled down by Mrs. Pitkin s chair, 
 and throwing off his cap, looked her close in the eyes. 
 
 " Mother, don t you know me ? " 
 
 She looked at him one moment with that still earnest 
 ness peculiar to herself, and then fell into his arms. " Oh, 
 my son, my son ! " 
 
 There were a few moments of indescribable confusion, 
 during which Diana retreated, pale and breathless, to a 
 neighboring window, and stood with her hand over the 
 locket which she had always worn upon her heart. 
 
 After a few moments he came, and she felt him by her. 
 
 " What, cousin ! " he said ; " no welcome from you ? " 
 She gave one look, and he took her in his arms. She felt 
 the beating of his heart, and he felt hers. Neither spoke, 
 yet each felt at that moment sure of the other. 
 
 " I say, boys," said James, " who 11 help bring in my 
 sea chest ? " 
 
THANKSGIVING AGAIN 291 
 
 Never was sea chest more triumphantly ushered ; it was 
 a contest who should get near enough to take some part in 
 its introduction, and soon it was open, and James began 
 distributing its contents. 
 
 " There, mother," said he, undoing a heavy black India 
 satin and shaking out its folds, " I m determined you shall 
 have a dress fit for you ; and here s a real India shawl to 
 go with it. Get those on and you 11 look as much like a 
 queen among women as you ought to." 
 
 Then followed something for every member of the fam 
 ily, received with frantic demonstrations of applause and 
 appreciation by the more juvenile. 
 
 " Oh, what s that ? " said Sam, as a package done up in 
 silk paper and tied with silver cord was disclosed. 
 
 " That s oh that s my wife s wedding-dress," said 
 James, unfolding and shaking out a rich satin ; " and here s 
 her shawl," drawing out an embroidered box, scented with 
 sandal-wood. 
 
 The boys all looked at Diana, and Diana laughed and 
 grew pale and red all in the same breath, as James, folding 
 back the silk and shawl in their boxes, handed them to her. 
 
 Mrs. Pitkin laughed and kissed her, and said gayly, " All 
 right, my daughter, just right." 
 
 What an evening that was, to be sure ! What a confu 
 sion of joy and gladness ; what a half-telling of a hundred 
 things that it would take weeks to tell ! 
 
 James had paid the mortgage and had money to spare ; 
 and how he got it all, and how he was saved at sea, and 
 where he went, and what befell him here and there, he 
 promised to be telling them for six months to come. 
 
 " Well, your father must n t be kept up too late," said 
 Mrs. Pitkin. " Let s have prayers now, and then to-mor 
 row we 11 be fresh to talk more." 
 
 So they gathered around the wide kitchen fire and the 
 family Bible was brought out. 
 
292 DEACON PITKIN S FARM 
 
 " Father," said James, drawing out of his pocket the 
 Bible his mother had given him at parting, " let me read 
 my Psalm ; it has been my Psalm ever since I left you." 
 There was a solemn thrill in the little circle as James read 
 the verses : 
 
 " They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business 
 in great waters ; these see the works of the Lord and his 
 wonders in the deep. For he commandeth and raiseth the 
 stormy wind which lifteth up the waves thereof. They 
 mount up to the heaven ; they go down again to the depths : 
 their soul is melted because of trouble. Then they cry unto 
 the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their 
 distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves 
 thereof are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet, 
 so he bringeth them unto their desired haven. Oh that 
 men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his 
 wonderful works to the children of men ! 
 
 When all had left the old kitchen, James and Diana sat 
 by the yet glowing hearth and listened to the crickets, and 
 talked over all the past and the future. 
 
 " And now," said James, " it s seven years since I left 
 you, and to-morrow is the seventh Thanksgiving, and I ve 
 always set my heart on getting home to be married Thanks 
 giving evening." 
 
 " But, dear me, Jim, we can t. There is n t time." 
 " Why not ? we ve got all the time there is ! " 
 " But the wedding-dress can t be made, possibly." 
 " Oh, that can wait till the week after. You are pretty 
 enough without it ! " 
 
 " But what will they all say ? " 
 
 " Who cares what they say ? I don t," said James. 
 " The fact is, I ve set my heart on it, and you owe me 
 something for the way you treated me the last Thanks 
 giving I was here, seven years ago. Now don t you ? " 
 
THANKSGIVING AGAIN 293 
 
 " Well, yes, I do, so have it just as you will." And so 
 it was accomplished the next evening. 
 
 And among the wonders of Mapleton Miss Briskett an 
 nounced it as chief, that it was the first time she ever heard 
 of a bride that was married first and had her wedding-dress 
 made the week after ! She never had heard of such a 
 thing. 
 
 Yet, strange to say, for years after neither of the parties 
 concerned found themselves a bit the worse for it. 
 
THE FIRST CHEISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IN THE HARBOR OF CAPE COD 
 
 THE shores of the Atlantic coast of America may well be 
 a terror to navigators. They present an inexorable wall, 
 against which forbidding and angry waves incessantly dash, 
 and around which shifting winds continually rave. The 
 approaches to safe harbors are few in number, intricate and 
 difficult, requiring the skill of practiced pilots. But, as if 
 with a pitying spirit of hospitality, old Cape Cod, breaking 
 from the iron line of the coast, like a generous-hearted sailor 
 intent on helpfulness, stretches an hundred miles outward, 
 and curving his sheltering arms in a protective circle, gives 
 a noble harborage. Of this harbor of Cape Cod the report 
 of our governmental Coast Survey thus speaks : " It is one 
 of the finest harbors for ships of war on the whole of our 
 Atlantic coast. The width and freedom from obstruction 
 of every kind at its entrance and the extent of sea-room 
 upon the bay side make it accessible to vessels of the largest 
 class in almost all winds. This advantage, its capacity, 
 depth of water, excellent anchorage, and the complete shel 
 ter it affords from all winds, render it one of the most valu 
 able ship harbors upon our coast." 
 
 We have been thus particular in our mention of this 
 place, because here, in this harbor, opened the first scene in 
 the most wonderful drama of modern history. Let us look 
 into the magic mirror of the past and see this harbor of Cape 
 Cod on the morning of the llth of November, in the year 
 
IN THE HARBOR OF CAPE COD 295 
 
 of our Lord 1620, as described to us in the simple words of 
 the pilgrims : " A pleasant bay, circled round, except the 
 entrance, which is about four miles over from land to land, 
 compassed about to the very sea with oaks, pines, junipers, 
 sassafras, and other sweet weeds. It is a harbor wherein a 
 thousand sail of ship may safely ride." 
 
 Such are the woody shores of Cape Cod as we look back 
 upon them in that distant November day, and the harbor 
 lies like a great crystal gem on the bosom of a virgin wilder 
 ness. The " fir-trees, the pine-trees, and the bay," rejoice 
 together in freedom, for as yet the axe has spared them ; in 
 the noble bay no shipping has found shelter ; no voice or 
 sound of civilized man has broken the sweet calm of the 
 forest. The oak leaves, now turned to crimson and maroon 
 by the autumn frosts, reflect themselves in flushes of color 
 on the still waters. The golden leaves of the sassafras yet 
 cling to the branches though their life has passed, and every 
 brushing wind bears showers of them down to the water. 
 Here and there the dark spires of the cedar and the green 
 leaves and red berries of the holly contrast with the old lighter 
 tints. The forest foliage grows down to the water s edge, 
 so that the dash of the rising and falling tide washes into 
 the shaggy cedar boughs which here and there lean over and 
 dip in the waves. No voice or sound from earth or sky 
 proclaims that anything unwonted is coming or doing on 
 these shores to-day. The wandering Indians, moving their 
 hunting-camps along the woodland paths, saw no sign in the 
 stars that morning, and no different color in the sunrise 
 from what had been in the days of their fathers. Panther 
 and wild-cat under their furry coats felt no thrill of coming 
 dispossession, and saw nothing through their great golden 
 eyes but the dawning of a day just like all other days 
 when " the sun ariseth and they gather themselves into their 
 dens and lay them down." And yet alike to Indian, pan 
 ther, and wild-cat, to every oak of the forest, to every foot 
 
296 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 of land in America, from the stormy Atlantic to the broad 
 Pacific, that day was a day of days. 
 
 There had been stormy and windy weather, but now 
 dawned on the earth one of those still, golden times of No 
 vember, full of dreamy rest and tender calm. The skies 
 above were blue and fair, and the waters of the curving bay 
 were a downward sky a magical underworld, wherein the 
 crimson oaks, and the dusk plumage of the pine, and the 
 red holly-berries, and yellow sassafras leaves, all flickered 
 and glinted in wavering bands of color as soft winds swayed 
 the glassy floor of waters. In a moment, there is heard in 
 the silent bay a sound of a rush and ripple, different from 
 the lap of the many-tongued waves on the shore ; and si 
 lently as a cloud, with white wings spread, a little vessel 
 glides into the harbor. A little craft is she not larger 
 than the fishing-smacks that ply their course along our 
 coasts in summer ; but her decks are crowded with men, 
 women, and children, looking out with joyous curiosity on 
 the beautiful bay, where, after many dangers and storms, 
 they first have found safe shelter and hopeful harbor. 
 
 That small, unknown ship was the Mayflower ; those 
 men and women who crowded her decks were that little 
 handful of God s own wheat which had been flailed by 
 adversity, tossed and winnowed till every husk of earthly 
 selfishness and self-will had been beaten away from them 
 and left only pure seed, fit for the planting of a new world. 
 It was old Master Cotton Mather who said of them, " The 
 Lord sifted three countries to find seed wherewith to plant 
 America." Hark now to the hearty cry of the sailors, as 
 with a plash and a cheer the anchor goes down, just in the 
 deep water inside of Long Point ; and then, says their 
 journal, " being now passed the vast ocean and sea of 
 troubles, before their preparation unto further proceedings 
 as to seek out a place for habitation, they fell down on their 
 knees and blessed the Lord, the God of heaven, who had 
 
IN THE HAEBOR OF CAPE COD 297 
 
 brought them over the vast and furious ocean, and delivered 
 them from all perils and miseries thereof." 
 
 Let us draw nigh and mingle with this singular act of 
 worship. Elder Brewster, with his well-worn Geneva Bible 
 in hand, leads the thanksgiving in words which, though 
 thousands of years old, seem as if written for the occasion 
 of that hour : 
 
 " Praise the Lord because he is good, for his mercy endur- 
 eth forever. Let them which have been redeemed of the 
 Lord show how he delivereth them from the hand of the 
 oppressor. And gathered them out of the lands : from the 
 east, and from the west, from the north, and from the south, 
 when they wandered in deserts and wildernesses out of the 
 way and found no city to dwell in. Both hungry and 
 thirsty, their soul failed in them. Then they cried unto 
 the Lord in their troubles, and he delivered them in their 
 distresses. And led them forth by the right way, that they 
 might go unto a city of habitation. They that go down to 
 the sea and occupy by the great waters : they see the works 
 of the Lord and his wonders in the deep. For he command- 
 eth and raiseth the stormy wind, and it lifteth up the waves 
 thereof. They mount up to heaven, and descend to the 
 deep : so that their soul inelteth for trouble. They are 
 tossed to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and all 
 their cunning is gone. Then they cry unto the Lord in 
 their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses. 
 He turneth the storm to a calm, so that the waves thereof 
 are still. When they are quieted they are glad, and he 
 bringeth them unto the haven where they would be." 
 
 As yet, the treasures of sacred song which are the liturgy 
 of modern Christians had not arisen in the church. There 
 was no Watts, and no Wesley, in the days of the pilgrims ; 
 they brought with them in each family, as the most precious 
 of household possessions, a thick volume containing, first, 
 the Book of Common Prayer, with the Psalter appointed to 
 
298 THE FIKST CHRISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 be read in churches ; second, the whole Bible in the Geneva 
 translation, which was the basis on which our present 
 English translation was made ; and, third, the Psalms of 
 David, in metre, by Sternhold and Hopkins, with the music 
 notes of the tunes, adapted to singing. Therefore it was 
 that our little band were able to lift up their voices together 
 in song, and that the noble tones of Old Hundred for 
 the first time floated over the silent bay and mingled with 
 the sound of winds and waters, consecrating our American 
 shores. 
 
 " All people that on earth do dwell, 
 
 Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice: 
 Him serve with fear, His praise forthtell; 
 Come ye before Him and rejoice. 
 
 "The Lord, ye know, is God indeed; 
 Without our aid He did us make ; 
 We are His flock, He doth us feed, 
 And for his sheep He doth us take. 
 
 " Oh enter then His gates with praise, 
 
 Approach with joy His courts unto: 
 Praise, laud, and bless His name always, 
 For it is seemly so to do. 
 
 " For why ? The Lord our God is good, 
 
 His mercy is forever sure ; 
 His truth at all times firmly stood, 
 And shall from age to age endure." 
 
 This grand hymn rose and swelled and vibrated in the 
 still November air ; while in between the pauses came the 
 warble of birds, the scream of the jay, the hoarse call of 
 hawk and eagle, going on with their forest ways all unmind 
 ful of the new era which had been ushered in with those 
 solemn sounds. 
 
THE FIRST DAY ON SHORE 299 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE FIRST DAY ON SHORE 
 
 The sound of prayer and psalm- singing died away on the 
 shore, and the little band, rising from their knees, saluted 
 each other in that genial humor which always possesses a 
 ship s company when they have weathered the ocean and 
 come to land together. 
 
 " Well, Master Jones, here we are/ said Elder Brewster 
 cheerily to the shipmaster. 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir, here we be sure enough; but I ve had 
 many a shrewd doubt of this upshot. I tell you, sirs, when 
 that beam amidships sprung and cracked, Master Coppin 
 here said we must give over hands could n t bring her 
 through. Thou rememberest, Master Coppin ? " 
 
 " That I do," replied Master Coppin, the first mate, a 
 stocky, cheery sailor, with a face red and shining as a glazed 
 bun. " I said then that praying might save her, perhaps, 
 but nothing else would." 
 
 " Praying would n t have saved her," said Master Brown, 
 the carpenter, " if I had not put in that screw and worked 
 the beam to her place again." 
 
 "Ay, ay, Master Carpenter," said Elder Brewster, "the 
 Lord hath abundance of the needful ever to his hand. When 
 He wills to answer prayer, there will be found both carpen 
 ter and screws in their season, I trow." 
 
 " Well, Deb," said Master Coppin, pinching the ear of a 
 great mastiff bitch who sat by him, " what sayest thou ? 
 Give us thy mind on it, old girl ; say, wilt thou go deer- 
 hunting with us yonder ? " 
 
 The dog, who was full of the excitement all around, 
 wagged her tail and gave three tremendous barks, whereat a 
 little spaniel with curly ears, that stood by Rose Standish, 
 barked aloud. 
 
300 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 " Well clone ! " said Captain Miles Standish. " Why, 
 here is a salute of ordnance ! Old Deb is in the spirit of 
 the thing and opens out like a cannon. The old girl is 
 spoiling for a chase in those woods." 
 
 " Father, may I go ashore ? I want to see the country," 
 said Wrestling Brewster, a bright, sturdy boy, creeping up 
 to Elder Brewster and touching his father s elbow. 
 
 Thereat there was a crying to the different mothers of 
 girls and boys tired of being cooped up, " Oh, mother, 
 mother, ask that we may all go ashore." 
 
 " For my part," said old Margery, the serving-maid to 
 Elder Brewster, " I want to go ashore to wash and be 
 decent, for there is n t a soul of us hath anything fit for 
 Christians. There be springs of water, I trow." 
 
 " Never doubt it, my woman," said Elder Brewster ; 
 " but all things in their order. How say you, Mr. Carver ? 
 You are our governor. What order shall we take ? " 
 
 " We must have up the shallop," said Carver, " and 
 send a picked company to see what entertainment there may 
 be for us on shore." 
 
 " And I counsel that all go well armed," quoth Captain 
 Miles Standish, "for these men of the forest are sharper 
 than a thorn hedge. What ! what ! " he said, looking over 
 to the eager group of girls and boys, " ye would go ashore, 
 would ye ? Why, the lions and bears will make one mouth 
 ful of ye." 
 
 "I m not afraid of lions," said young Wrestling Brewster 
 in an aside to little Love Winslow, a golden-haired, pale- 
 cheeked child, of a tender and spiritual beauty of face. 
 
 "I d like to meet a lion," he added, "and serve him as 
 Samson did. I d get honey out of him, I promise." 
 
 "Oh, there you are, young Master Boastful!" said old 
 Margery. " Mind the old saying, Brag is a good dog, but 
 Holdfast is better. " 
 
 "Dear husband," said Kose Standish, " wilt thou go ashore 
 in this company ? " 
 
THE FIRST DAY ON SHORE 301 
 
 " Why, aye, sweetheart, what else am I come for, and 
 who should go if not I ? " 
 
 "Thou art so very venturesome, Miles. 7 
 
 "Even so, my Rose of the wilderness. Why else am I 
 come on this quest ? Not being good enough to he in your 
 church nor one of the saints, I come for an arm of flesh to 
 them, and so, here goes on my armor. " 
 
 And as he spoke, he buried his frank, good-natured coun 
 tenance in an iron headpiece, and Rose hastened to help him 
 adjust his corselet. 
 
 The clang of armor, the bustle and motion of men and 
 children, the barking of dogs, and the cheery heave-0 ! of 
 the sailors marked the setting off of the party which com 
 prised some of the gravest and wisest, as well as the young 
 est and most able-bodied of the ship s company. The im 
 patient children ran in a group and clustered on the side 
 of the ship to see them go. Old Deb, with her two half- 
 grown pups, barked and yelped after her master in the boat, 
 running up and down the vessel s deck with piteous cries 
 of impatience. 
 
 " Come hither, dear old Deb," said little Love Winslow, 
 running up and throwing her arms round the dog s rough 
 neck ; "thou must not take on so; thy master will be back 
 again ; so be a good dog now, and lie down." 
 
 And the great rough mastiff quieted down under her ca 
 resses, and sitting down by her she patted and played with 
 her, with her little thin hands. 
 
 " See the darling," said Rose Standish ; " what a way 
 that baby hath ! In all the roughness and the terrors of 
 the sea she hath been like a little sunbeam to us, yet she is 
 so frail ! " 
 
 " She hath been marked in the womb by the troubles her 
 mother bore," said old Margery, shaking her head. " She 
 never had the ways of other babies, but hath ever that wist 
 ful look and her eyes are brighter than they should be. 
 
302 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Mistress Winslow will never raise that child now mark 
 me!" 
 
 " Take care ! " said Rose ; " let not her mother hear you." 
 
 "Why, look at her beside of Wrestling Brewster, or 
 Faith Carver. They are flesh and blood, and she looks as if 
 she had been made out of sunshine. T is a sweet babe as 
 ever was ; but fitter for the kingdom of heaven than our 
 rough life deary me ! a hard time we have had of it. I 
 suppose it s all best, but I don t know." 
 
 " Oh, never talk that way, Margery," said Rose Stan- 
 dish ; " we must all keep up heart, our own and one an 
 other s." 
 
 " Ah, well-a-day, I suppose so, but then I look at my 
 good Master Brewster and remember how, when I was. a 
 girl, he was at our good Queen Elizabeth s court, ruffling 
 it with the best, and everybody said that there wasn t a 
 young man that had good fortune to equal his. Why, 
 Master Davidson, the Queen s Secretary of State, thought 
 all the world of him 5 and when he went to Holland on 
 the Queen s business, he must take him along j and when 
 he took the keys of the cities there, it was my master that 
 he trusted them to, who used to sleep with them under his 
 pillow. I remember when he came home to the Queen s 
 court, wearing the great gold chain that the States had 
 given him. Ah, me ! I little thought he would ever come 
 to a poor man s coat, then ! " 
 
 " Well, good Margery," said Rose, " it is n t the coat 
 but the heart under it, that s the thing. Thou hast 
 more cause of pride in thy master s poverty than in his 
 riches." 
 
 " Maybe so, I don t know," said Margery ; " but he 
 hath had many a sore trouble in worldly things, driven 
 and hunted from place to place in England, clapt into 
 prison, and all he had eaten up with fines and charges and 
 costs." 
 
THE FIRST DAY ON SHORE 303 
 
 " All that is because he chose rather to suffer affliction 
 with the people of God than to enjoy the pleasures of sin 
 for a season/ said Rose ; " he shall have his reward by and 
 by." 
 
 "Well, there be good men and godly in Old England 
 that get to heaven in better coats and with easy carriages 
 and fine houses and servants, and I would my master had 
 been of such. But if he must come to the wilderness I 
 will come with him. Gracious me ! what noise is that ? " 
 she exclaimed, as a sudden report of firearms from below 
 struck her ear. " I do believe there is that Frank Billing- 
 ton at the gunpowder ; that boy will never leave, I do 
 believe, till he hath blown up the ship s company." 
 
 In fact, it appeared that young master Frank, impatient 
 of the absence of his father, had toled Wrestling Brewster 
 and two other of the boys down into the cabin to show them 
 his skill in managing his father s fowling-piece, had burst 
 the gun, scattering the pieces about the cabin. 
 
 Margery soon appeared, dragging the culprit after her. 
 " Look here now, Master Malapert, see what you 11 get 
 when your father comes home ! Lord-a-mercy ! here was 
 half a keg of powder standing open ! Enough to have 
 blown us all up ! Here, Master Clarke, come and keep 
 this boy with you till his father come back, or we be all 
 sent sky high before we know." 
 
 At eventide the boat came back laden to the water s edge 
 with the first gettings and givings from the new soil of 
 America. There is a richness and sweetness gleaming 
 through the brief records of these men in their journals, 
 which shows how the new land was seen through a fond 
 and tender medium, half poetic ; and its new products lend 
 a savor to them of somewhat foreign and rare. 
 Of this day s expedition the record is thus : 
 "That day, so soon as we could, we set ashore some fifteen 
 
304 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 or sixteen men well armed, with some to fetch wood, for we 
 had none left ; as also to see what the land was and what 
 inhabitants they could meet with. They found it to be a 
 small neck of land on this side where we lay in the bay, 
 and on the further side the sea, the ground or earth, sand 
 hills, much like the downs in Holland, but much better ; 
 the crust of the earth a spit s depth of excellent black earth ; 
 all wooded with oaks, pines, sassafras, juniper, birch, holly, 
 vines, some ash and walnut ; the wood for the most part 
 open and without underwood, fit either to walk or to ride 
 in. At night our people returned and found not any people 
 or inhabitants, and laded their boat with juniper, which 
 smelled very sweet and strong, and of which we burned for 
 the most part while we were there." 
 
 " See there," said little Love Winslow, " what fine red 
 berries Captain Miles Standish hath brought." 
 
 " Yea, my little maid, there is a brave lot of holly berries 
 for thee to dress the cabin withal. We shall not want for 
 Christmas greens here, though the houses and churches are 
 yet to come." 
 
 " Yea, Brother Miles," said Elder Brewster, " the trees 
 of the Lord are full of sap in this land, even the cedars of 
 Lebanon, which he hath planted. It hath the look to me 
 of a land which the Lord our God hath blessed." 
 
 " There is a most excellent depth of black, rich earth," said 
 Carver, " and a great tangle of grapevines, whereon the 
 leaves in many places yet hung, and we picked up stores of 
 walnuts under a tree not so big as our English ones 
 but sweet and well-flavored." 
 
 " Know ye, brethren, what in this land smelleth sweetest 
 to me ? " said Elder Brewster. " It is the smell of liberty. 
 The soil is free no man hath claim thereon. In Old 
 England a poor man may starve right on his mother s 
 bosom ; there may be stores of fish in the river, and bird 
 and fowl flying, and deer running by, and yet though a 
 
CHRISTMAS-TIDE IN PLYMOUTH HARBOR 305 
 
 man s children be crying for bread, an he catch a fish or 
 snare a bird, he shall be snatched up and hanged. This is 
 a sore evil in Old England ; but we will make a country 
 here for the poor to dwell in, where the wild fruits and fish 
 and fowl shall be the inheritance of whosoever will have 
 them ; and every man shall have his portion of our good 
 mother earth, with no lords and no bishops to harry and 
 distrain, and worry with taxes and tithes." 
 
 " Amen, brother ! " said Miles Standish, " and thereto I 
 give my best endeavors with sword and buckler." 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 CHRISTMAS-TIDE IN PLYMOUTH HARBOR 
 
 For the rest of that month of November the Mayflower 
 lay at anchor in Cape Cod harbor, and formed a floating 
 home for the women and children, while the men were out 
 exploring the country, with a careful and steady shrewdness 
 and good sense, to determine where should be the site of 
 the future colony. The record of their adventures is given 
 in their journals with that sweet homeliness of phrase which 
 hangs about the Old English of that period like the smell 
 of rosemary in an ancient cabinet. 
 
 We are told of a sort of picnic day, when <e our women 
 went on shore to wash and all to refresh themselves ; " and 
 fancy the times there must have been among the little com 
 pany, while the mothers sorted and washed and dried the 
 linen, and the children, under the keeping of the old mas 
 tiffs and with many cautions against the wolves and wild 
 cubs, once more had liberty to play in the green wood. 
 For it appears in these journals how, in one case, the little 
 spaniel of John Goodman was chased by two wolves, and 
 was fain to take refuge between his master s legs for shelter. 
 Goodman " had nothing in hand," says the journal, " but 
 
306 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 took up a stick and threw at one of them and hit him, and 
 they presently ran away, but came again. He got a pale- 
 board in his hand, but they both sat on their tails a good 
 while, grinning at him, and then went their way and left 
 him." 
 
 Such little touches show what the care of families must 
 have been in the woodland picnics, and why the ship was, 
 on the whole, the safest refuge for the women and children. 
 We are told, moreover, how the party who had struck off 
 into the wilderness, " having marched through boughs and 
 bushes and under hills and valleys which tore our very 
 armor in pieces, yet could meet with no inhabitants nor find 
 any fresh water which we greatly stood in need of, for we 
 brought neither beer nor water with us, and our victual was 
 only biscuit and Holland cheese, and a little bottle of aqua 
 vitae. So we were sore athirst. About ten o clock we 
 came into a deep valley full of brush, sweet gaile and long 
 grass, through which we found little paths or tracks ; and 
 we saw there a deer and found springs of water, of which 
 we were heartily glad, and sat us down and drunk our first 
 New England water with as much delight as we ever drunk 
 drink in all our lives. 5 
 
 Three such expeditions through the country, with all 
 sorts of haps and mishaps and adventures, took up the time 
 until near the 15th of December, when, having selected a 
 spot for their colony, they weighed anchor to go to their 
 future home. Plymouth Harbor, as they found it, is thus 
 described : 
 
 " This harbor is a bay greater than Cape Cod, compassed 
 with a goodly land, and in the bay two fine islands unin 
 habited, wherein are nothing but woods, oaks, pines, wal 
 nuts, beeches, sassafras, vines, and other trees which we 
 know not. The bay is a most hopeful place, innumerable 
 stores of fowl, and excellent good ; and it cannot but be of 
 fish in their season. Skate, cod, and turbot, and herring 
 
CHRISTMAS-TIDE IN PLYMOUTH HARBOR 307 
 
 we have tasted of abundance of mussels (clams) the best 
 we ever saw; and crabs and lobsters in their time, infi 
 nite." 
 
 Of the mainland they write : 
 
 "The land is, for a spit s depth, excellent black mould and 
 fat in some places. Two or three great oaks, pines, walnut, 
 beech, ash, birch, hazel, holly, and sassafras in abundance, 
 and vines everywhere, with cherry-trees, plum-trees, and 
 others which we know not. Many kind of herbs we found 
 here in winter, as strawberry leaves innumerable, sorrel, yar 
 row, carvel, brook-lime, liverwort, watercresses, with great 
 store of leeks and onions, and an excellent strong kind of 
 flax and hemp." 
 
 It is evident from this description that the season was a 
 mild one even thus late in December, that there was still suffi 
 cient foliage hanging upon the trees to determine the species, 
 and that the pilgrims viewed their new motherland through 
 eyes of cheerful hope. 
 
 And now let us look in the glass at them once more, on 
 Saturday morning of the 23d of December. The little May 
 flower lies swinging at her moorings in the harbor, while 
 every man and boy who could use a tool has gone on shore 
 to cut down and prepare timber for future houses. Mary 
 Winslow and Rose Standish are sitting together on deck, 
 fashioning garments, while little Love Winslow is playing 
 at their feet with such toys as the new world afforded her 
 strings of acorns and scarlet holly berries and some bird- 
 claws and arrowheads and bright-colored ears of Indian corn, 
 which Captain Miles Standish has brought home to her from 
 one of their explorations. 
 
 Through the still autumnal air may now and then be heard 
 the voices of men calling to one another on shore, the quick, 
 sharp ring of axes, and anon the crash of falling trees with 
 shouts from juveniles as the great forest monarch is laid low. 
 Some of the women are busy below, sorting over and arrang- 
 
308 THE FIRST CHEISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 ing their little household stores and stuff with a view to 
 moving on shore, and holding domestic consultations with 
 each other. A sadness hangs over the little company, for 
 since their arrival the stroke of death had more than once 
 fallen ; we find in Bradford s brief record that by the 24th 
 of December six had died. What came nearest to the hearts 
 of all was the loss of Dorothea Bradford, who, when all the 
 men of the party were absent on an exploring tour, acci 
 dentally fell over the side of the vessel and sunk in the 
 deep waters. What this loss was to the husband and the 
 little company of brothers and sisters appears by no note or 
 word of wailing, merely by a simple entry which says no 
 more than the record on a gravestone, that, " on the 7th 
 of December, Dorothy, wife of William Bradford, fell over 
 and was drowned. 7 
 
 That much - enduring company could afford themselves 
 few tears. Earthly having and enjoying was a thing long 
 since dismissed from their calculations. They were living 
 on the primitive Christian platform ; they " rejoiced as 
 though they rejoiced not," and they " wept as though they 
 wept not," and they " had wives and children as though 
 they had them not," or, as one of themselves expressed it, 
 "We are in all places, strangers, pilgrims, travelers, and 
 sojourners ; our dwelling is but a wandering, our abiding 
 but as a fleeting, our home is nowhere but in the heavens, in 
 that house not made with hands, whose builder and maker 
 is God." When one of their number fell they were forced 
 to do as soldiers in the stress of battle close up the ranks 
 and press on. 
 
 But Mary Winslow, as she sat over her sewing, dropped 
 now and then a tear down on her work for the loss of her 
 sister and counselor and long-tried friend. From the lower 
 part of the ship floated up, at intervals, snatches of an old 
 English ditty that Margery was singing while she moved to 
 and fro about her work, one of those genuine English melo- 
 
CHRISTMAS-TIDE IN PLYMOUTH HARBOR 309 
 
 dies, full of a rich, strange mournfulness blent with a sooth 
 ing pathos : 
 
 "Fear no more the heat o the sun 
 
 Nor the furious winter rages, 
 Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
 Home art gone and ta en thy wages." 
 
 The air was familiar, and Mary Winslow, dropping her 
 work in her lap, involuntarily joined in it : 
 
 " Fear no more the frown of the great, 
 Thou art past the tyrant s stroke ; 
 Care no more to clothe and eat, 
 To thee the reed is as the oak." 
 
 " There goes a great tree on shore ! " quoth little Love 
 Winslow, clapping her hands. " Dost hear, mother ? I ? ve 
 been counting the strokes fifteen and then crackle ! 
 crackle ! crackle ! and down it comes ! " 
 
 " Peace, darling," said Mary Winslow ; " hear what old 
 Margery is singing below : 
 
 " Fear no more the lightning s flash, 
 
 Nor the all-dreaded thunder stone ; 
 Fear not slander, censure rash 
 
 Thou hast finished joy and moan. 
 All lovers young all lovers must 
 
 Consign to thee, and come to dust." 
 
 " Why do you cry, mother ? " said the little one, climb 
 ing on her lap and wiping her tears. 
 
 " I was thinking of dear Auntie, who is gone from us." 
 
 " She is not gone from us, mother." 
 
 " My darling, she is with Jesus." 
 
 " Well, mother, Jesus is ever with us you tell me that ; 
 and if she is with him she is with us too I know she is, 
 for sometimes I see her. She sat by me last night and 
 stroked my head when that ugly stormy wind waked me 
 she looked so sweet, oh, ever so beautiful ! and she made 
 me go to sleep so quiet. It is sweet to be as she is, mother 
 not away from us but with Jesus." 
 
310 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 " These little ones see further in the kingdom than we," 
 said Rose Standish. " If we would be like them, we should 
 take things easier. When the Lord would show who was 
 greatest in his kingdom, he took a little child on his lap." 
 
 " Ah me, Rose ! " said Mary Winslow, " I am aweary in 
 spirit with this tossing sea-life. I long to have a home on 
 dry land once more, be it ever so poor. The sea wearies 
 me. Only think, it is almost Christmas-time, only two days 
 now to Christmas. How shall we keep it in these woods ? " 
 
 " Aye, aye," said old Margery, coming up at the mo 
 ment, " a brave muster and to do is there now in old Eng 
 land ; and men and boys going forth singing and bearing 
 home branches of holly, and pine, and mistletoe for Christ 
 mas greens. Oh ! I remember I used to go forth with 
 them and help dress the churches. God help the poor 
 children ; they will grow up in the wilderness and never 
 see such brave sights as I have. They will never know 
 what a church is, such as they are in old England, with 
 fine old windows like the clouds, and rainbows, and great 
 wonderful arches like the very skies above us, and the brave 
 music with the old organs rolling and the boys marching 
 in white garments and singing so as should draw the very 
 heart out of one. All this we have left behind in old Eng 
 land ah ! welladay ! welladay ! " 
 
 " Oh, but, Margery," said Mary Winslow, " we have a 
 better country than old England, where the saints and 
 angels are keeping Christmas ; we confess that we are 
 strangers and pilgrims on earth." 
 
 And Rose Standish immediately added the familiar quo 
 tation from the Geneva Bible : 
 
 " For they that say such things declare plainly that they 
 seek a country. For if they had been mindful of that 
 country from whence they came out they had leisure to 
 have returned. But now they desire a better that is, an 
 heavenly ; wherefore God is not ashamed of them to be 
 called their God." 
 
CHRISTMAS-TIDE IN PLYMOUTH HARBOR 311 
 
 The fair young face glowed as she repeated the heroic 
 words, for already, though she knew it not, Rose Stan- 
 dish was feeling the approaching sphere of the angel life. 
 Strong in spirit, as delicate in frame, she had given herself 
 and drawn her martial husband to the support of a great 
 and noble cause ; but while the spirit was ready, the flesh 
 was weak, and even at that moment her name was written 
 in the Lamb s Book to enter the higher life in one short 
 month s time from that Christmas. Only one month of 
 sweetness and perfume was that sweet rose to shed over 
 the hard and troubled life of the pilgrims, for the saints 
 and angels loved her, and were from day to day gently un 
 tying mortal bands to draw her to themselves. Yet was 
 there nothing about her of mournfulness ; on the contrary, 
 she was ever alert and bright, with a ready tongue to cheer 
 and a helpful hand to do ; and, seeing the sadness that 
 seemed stealing over Mary Winslow, she struck another 
 key, and, catching little Love up in her arms, said cheerily, 
 " Come hither, pretty one, and Rose will sing thee a 
 brave carol for Christmas. We won t be down-hearted, will 
 we ? Hark now to what the minstrels used to sing under 
 my window when I was a little girl : 
 
 " I saw three ships come sailing in 
 On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, 
 I saw three ships come sailing in 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 " And what was in those ships all three 
 On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, 
 And what was in those ships all three 
 On Christmas Day in the morning ? 
 
 " Our Saviour Christ and his laydie, 
 On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, 
 Our Saviour Christ and his laydie 
 On Christmas day in the morning. 
 
 " Pray, whither sailed those ships all three, 
 On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day ? 
 
312 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem, 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 " And all the bells on earth shall ring 
 On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day ; 
 And all the angels in heaven shall sing 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 " Then let us all rejoice amain, 
 On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day; 
 Then let xis all rejoice amain 
 On Christmas Day in the morning." 
 
 "Now, is n t that a brave ballad ? " said Rose. 
 " Yea, and thou singest like a real English robin," said 
 Margery, " to do the heart good to hear thee." 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 ELDER BREWSTER S CHRISTMAS SERMON 
 
 Sunday morning found the little company gathered once 
 more on the ship, with nothing to do but rest and remember 
 their homes, temporal and spiritual homes backward, in 
 old England, and forward in heaven. They were, every 
 man and woman of them, English to the backbone. From 
 Captain Jones who commanded the ship to Elder Brewster 
 who ruled and guided in spiritual affairs, all alike were of 
 that stock and breeding which made the Englishman of the 
 days of Bacon and Shakespeare, and in those days Christmas 
 was knit into the heart of every one of them by a thousand 
 threads, which no after years could untie. 
 
 Christmas carols had been sung to them by nurses and 
 mothers and grandmothers ; the Christmas holly spoke to 
 them from every berry and prickly leaf, full of dearest 
 household memories. Some of them had been men of sub 
 stance among the English gentry, and in their prosperous 
 days had held high festival in ancestral halls in the season 
 of good cheer. Elder Brewster himself had been a rising 
 
ELDER BREWSTER S CHRISTMAS SERMON 313 
 
 young diplomat in the court of Elizabeth, in the days when 
 the Lord Keeper of the Seals led the revels of Christmas 
 as Lord of Misrule. 
 
 So that, though this Sunday morning arose, gray and 
 lowering, with snowflakes hovering through the air, there 
 was Christmas in the thoughts of every man and woman 
 among them albeit it was the Christmas of wanderers 
 and exiles in a wilderness looking back to bright home-fires 
 across stormy waters. 
 
 The men had come back from their work on shore with 
 branches of green pine and holly, and the women had stuck 
 them about the ship, not without tearful thoughts of old 
 home-places, where their childhood fathers and mothers did 
 the same. 
 
 Bits and snatches of Christmas carols were floating all 
 around the ship like the land-birds blown far out to sea. 
 In the forecastle Master Coppin was singing : 
 
 " Come, bring with a noise, 
 My merry boys, 
 
 The Christmas log to the firing ; 
 While my good dame, she 
 Bids ye all be free, 
 
 And drink to your hearts desiring. 
 Drink now the strong beer, 
 Cut the white loaf here. 
 
 The while the meat is shredding 
 For the rare minced pie, 
 And the plums stand by 
 
 To fill the paste that s a-kneading." 
 
 "Ah, welladay, Master Jones, it is dull cheer to sing 
 Christmas songs here in the woods, with only the owls and 
 the bears for choristers. I wish I could hear the bells of 
 merry England once more." 
 
 And down in the cabin Rose Standish was hushing little 
 Peregrine, the first American-born baby, with a Christmas 
 lullaby : 
 
 "This winter s night 
 I saw a sight 
 
314 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 A star as bright as day; 
 And ever among 
 A maiden sung, 
 
 Lullay, by-by, lullay ! 
 
 " This lovely laydie sat and sung, 
 
 And to her child she said, 
 My son, my brother, and my father dear, 
 
 Why lyest thou thus in hayd ? 
 My sweet bird, 
 Tho it betide 
 
 Thou be not king veray ; 
 But nevertheless 
 I will not cease 
 
 To sing, by-by, lullay ! 
 
 " The child then spake in his talking, 
 
 And to his mother he said, 
 It happeneth, mother, I am a king, 
 
 In crib though I be laid, 
 For angels bright 
 Did down alight, 
 
 Thou knowest it is no nay ; 
 And of that sight 
 Thou may st be light 
 
 To sing, by-by, lullay ! 
 
 " Now, sweet son, since thou art a king, 
 
 Why art thou laid in stall? 
 Why not ordain thy bedding 
 
 In some great king his hall ? 
 We thinketh t is right 
 That king or knight 
 
 Should be in good array ; 
 And them among, 
 It were no wrong 
 
 To sing, by-by, lullay ! 
 
 " Mary, mother, I am thy child, 
 
 Tho I be laid in stall ; 
 Lords and dukes shall worship me, 
 
 And so shall kinges all. 
 And ye shall see 
 That kinges three 
 
 Shall come on the twelfth day ; 
 For this behest 
 Give me thy breast, 
 
 And sing, by-by, lullay ! " 
 
ELDER BREWSTER S CHRISTMAS SERMON 315 
 
 " See here," quoth Miles Standish, " when my Eose sing- 
 eth, the children gather round her like bees round a flower. 
 Come, let us all strike up a goodly carol together. Sing one, 
 sing all, girls and hoys, and get a bit of Old England s 
 Christmas before to-morrow, when we must to our work on 
 shore." 
 
 Thereat Eose struck up a familiar ballad-metre of a catch 
 ing rhythm, and every voice of young and old was soon 
 joining in it : 
 
 " Behold a silly, 1 tender Babe, 
 
 In freezing winter night, 
 In homely manger trembling lies ; 
 
 Alas ! a piteous sight, 
 The inns are full, no man will yield 
 
 This little Pilgrim bed ; 
 But forced He is with silly beasts 
 
 In crib to shroud His head. 
 Despise Him not for lying there, 
 
 First what He is inquire : 
 An orient pearl is often found 
 
 In depths of dirty mire. 
 
 " Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish, 
 
 Nor beasts that by Him feed ; 
 Weigh not His mother s poor attire, 
 
 Nor Joseph s simple weed. 
 This stable is a Prince s court, 
 
 The crib His chair of state, 
 The beasts are parcel of His pomp, 
 
 The wooden dish His plate. 
 The persons in that poor attire 
 
 His royal liveries wear ; 
 The Prince Himself is come from Heaven, 
 
 This pomp is prized there. 
 With joy approach, O Christian wight. 
 
 Do homage to thy King ; 
 And highly praise His humble pomp, 
 
 Which He from Heaven doth bring." 
 
 The cheerful sounds spread themselves through the ship 
 like the flavor of some rare perfume, bringing softness of 
 heart through a thousand tender memories. Anon, the hour 
 1 Old English simple. 
 
316 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 of Sabbath morning worship drew on, and Elder Brewster 
 read from the New Testament the whole story of the Na 
 tivity, and then gave a sort of Christmas homily from the 
 words of St. Paul, in the eighth chapter of Romans, the 
 sixth and seventh verses, which the Geneva version thus 
 renders : 
 
 " For the wisdom of the flesh is death, but the wisdom of 
 the spirit is life and peace. 
 
 " For the wisdom of the flesh is enmity against God, for 
 it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be. 7 
 
 " Ye know full well, dear brethren, what the wisdom of 
 the flesh sayeth. The wisdom of the flesh sayeth to each 
 one, Take care of thyself ; look after thyself, to get and 
 to have and to hold and to enjoy. The wisdom of the flesh 
 sayeth, So thou art warm, full, and in good liking, take 
 thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry, and care not how 
 many go empty and be lacking. But ye have seen in the 
 gospel this morning that this was not the wisdom of our 
 Lord Jesus Christ, who, though he was Lord of all, became 
 poorer than any, that we, through His poverty, might be 
 come rich. When our Lord Jesus Christ came, the wisdom 
 of the flesh despised Him ; the wisdom of the flesh had no 
 room for Him at the inn. 
 
 " There was room enough always for Herod and his con 
 cubines, for the wisdom of the flesh set great store by 
 them ; but a poor man and woman were thrust out to a 
 stable ; and there was a poor baby born whom the wisdom 
 of the flesh knew not, because the wisdom of the flesh is 
 enmity against God. 
 
 " The wisdom of the flesh, brethren, ever despiseth the 
 wisdom of God, because it knoweth it not. The wisdom of 
 the flesh looketh at the thing that is great and strong and 
 high ; it looketh at riches, at kings courts, at fine clothes 
 and fine jewels and fine feastings, and it despiseth the little 
 and the poor and the weak. 
 
ELDER BREWSTER S CHRISTMAS SERMON 317 
 
 " But the wisdom of the Spirit goeth to worship the poor 
 babe in the manger, and layeth gold and myrrh and frank 
 incense at his feet while he lieth in weakness and poverty, 
 as did the wise men who were taught of God. 
 
 " Now, forasmuch as our Saviour Christ left His riches 
 and throne in glory and came in weakness and poverty to 
 this world, that he might work out a mighty salvation that 
 shall be to all people, how can we better keep Christmas 
 than to follow in His steps ? We be a little company who 
 have forsaken houses and lands and possessions, and come 
 here unto the wilderness that we may prepare a resting- 
 place whereto others shall come to reap what we shall sow. 
 And to-morrow we shall keep our first Christmas, not in 
 flesh-pleasing and in reveling and in fullness of bread, but 
 in small beginning and great weakness, as our Lord Christ 
 kept it when He was born in a stable and lay in a manger. 
 
 " To-morrow, God willing, we will all go forth to do good 
 honest Christian work, and begin the first house-building 
 in this our New England it may be roughly fashioned, 
 but as good a house, I 11 warrant me, as our Lord Christ 
 had on the Christmas Day we wot of. And let us not faint 
 in heart because the wisdom of the world despiseth what 
 we do. Though Sanballat the Horonite, and Tobias the 
 Ammonite, and Geshem the Arabian make scorn of us, and 
 say, What do these weak Jews ? If a fox go up, he shall 
 break down their stone wall ; yet the Lord our God is 
 with us, and He can cause our work to prosper. 
 
 " The wisdom of the Spirit seeth the grain of mustard- 
 seed, that is the least of all seeds, how it shall become a 
 great tree, and the fowls of heaven shall lodge in its 
 branches. Let us, then, lift up the hands that hang down 
 and the feeble knees, and let us hope that, like as great 
 salvation to all people came out of small beginnings of 
 Bethlehem, so the work which we shall begin to-morrow 
 shall be for the good of many nations. 
 
318 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 " It is a custom on this Christmas Day to give love-pres 
 ents. What love-gift giveth our Lord Jesus on this day ? 
 Brethren, it is a great one and a precious ; as St. Paul said 
 to the Philippians : For unto you it is given for Christ, 
 not only that ye should believe on Him, but also that ye 
 should suffer for His sake ; and St. Peter also saith, Be 
 hold, we count them blessed which endure. And the holy 
 Apostles rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer 
 rebuke for the name of Jesus. 
 
 " Our Lord Christ giveth us of His cup and His baptism ; 
 He giveth of the manger and the straw ; He giveth of per 
 secutions and afflictions ; He giveth of the crown of thorns, 
 and right dear unto us be these gifts. 
 
 " And now will I tell these children a story, which a 
 cunning playwright, whom I once knew in our Queen s 
 court, hath made concerning gifts : 
 
 " A great king would marry his daughter worthily, and 
 so he caused three caskets to be made, in one of which he 
 hid her picture. The one casket was of gold set with dia 
 monds, the second of silver set with pearls, and the third a 
 poor casket of lead. 
 
 " Now it was given out that each comer should have but 
 one choice, and if he chose the one with the picture he 
 should have the lady to wife. 
 
 " Divers kings, knights and gentlemen came from far, 
 but they never won, because they always snatched at the 
 gold and the silver caskets, with the pearls and diamonds. 
 So, when they opened these, they found only a grinning 
 death s-head or a fool s cap. 
 
 "But anon cometh a true, brave knight and gentleman, 
 who chooseth for love alone the old leaden casket ; and, 
 behold, within is the picture of her he loveth ! and they 
 were married with great feasting and content. 
 
 " So our Lord Jesus doth not offer himself to us in silver 
 and gold and jewels, but in poverty and hardness and want ; 
 
ELDER BREWSTER S CHRISTMAS SERMON 319 
 
 but whoso chooseth them for His love s sake shall find Him 
 therein whom his soul loveth, and shall enter with joy to 
 the marriage supper of the Lamb. 
 
 " And when the Lord shall come again in his glory, then 
 he shall bring worthy gifts with him, for he saith : Be 
 thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of 
 life ; to him that overcometh I will give to eat of the hid 
 den manna, and I will give him a white stone with a new 
 name that no man knoweth save he that receiveth it. He 
 that overcometh and keepeth my words, I will give power 
 over the nations and I will give him the morning star. 
 
 " Let us then take joyfully Christ s Christmas gifts of 
 labors and adversities and crosses to-day, that when he shall 
 appear we may have these great and wonderful gifts at his 
 coming ; for if we suffer with him we shall also reign ; but 
 if we deny him, he also will deny us." 
 
 And so it happens that the only record of Christmas Day 
 in the pilgrims journal is this : 
 
 " Monday, the 25th, being Christmas Day, we went ashore, 
 some to fell timber, some to saw, some to rive, and some to 
 carry : and so no man rested all that day. But towards 
 night some, as they were at work, heard a noise of Indians, 
 which caused us all to go to our muskets ; but we heard 
 no further, so we came aboard again, leaving some to keep 
 guard. That night we had a sore storm of wind and rain. 
 But at night the shipmaster caused us to have some beer 
 aboard." 
 
 So worthily kept they the first Christmas, from which 
 comes all the Christmas cheer of New England to-day. 
 There is no record how Mary Winslow and Kose Stan- 
 dish and others, with women and children, came ashore and 
 walked about encouraging the builders ; and how little Love 
 gathered stores of bright checkerberries and partridge plums, 
 and was made merry in seeing squirrels and wild rabbits ; 
 nor how old Margery roasted certain wild geese to a turn at 
 
320 THE FIKST CHRISTMAS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 a woodland fire, and conserved wild cranberries with honey 
 for sauce. In their journals the good pilgrims say they 
 found bushels of strawberries in the meadows in December. 
 But we, knowing the nature of things, know that these 
 must have been cranberries, which grow still abundantly 
 around Plymouth harbor. 
 
 And at the very time that all this was doing in the wil 
 derness, and the men were working yeomanly to build a new 
 nation, in King James s court the ambassadors of the French 
 King were being entertained with maskings and mummer- 
 ings, wherein the staple subject of merriment was the 
 Puritans ! 
 
 So goes the wisdom of the world and its ways and so 
 goes the wisdom of God ! 
 
LITTLE FOXES 
 
 FAULT-FINDING 
 
 " PAPA, what are you going to give us this winter for our 
 evening readings ? " said Jenny. 
 
 " I am thinking, for one thing," I replied, " of preach 
 ing a course of household sermons from a very odd text pre 
 fixed to a discourse which I found at the bottom of the 
 pamphlet-barrel in the garret." 
 
 " Don t say sermon, papa, it has such a dreadful sound ; 
 and on winter evenings one wants something entertaining." 
 
 " Well, treatise, then," said I, " or discourse, or essay, 
 or prelection ; I m not particular as to words." 
 
 " But what is the queer text that you found at the bot 
 tom of the pamphlet-barrel ? " 
 
 " It was one preached upon by your mother s great-great 
 grandfather, the very savory and much-respected Simeon 
 Shuttleworth, on the occasion of the melancholy defections 
 and divisions among the godly in the town of West Dofield ; 
 and it runs thus : Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that 
 spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes. : 
 
 " It is a curious text enough ; but I can t imagine what 
 you are going to make of it." 
 
 " Simply an essay on Little Foxes," said I, " by which 
 I mean those unsuspected, unwatched, insignificant little 
 causes, that nibble away domestic happiness, and make home 
 less than so noble an institution should be. 
 
 " You may build beautiful, convenient, attractive houses, 
 
322 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 you may hang the walls with lovely pictures and stud 
 them with gems of Art ; and there may be living there to 
 gether persons bound by blood and affection in one common 
 interest, leading a life common to themselves and apart from 
 others ; and these persons may each one of them be pos 
 sessed of good and noble traits ; there may be a common 
 basis of affection, of generosity, of good principle, of re 
 ligion ; and yet, through the influence of some of these per 
 verse, nibbling, insignificant little foxes, half the clusters 
 of happiness on these so promising vines may fail to come 
 to maturity. A little community of people, all of whom 
 would be willing to die for each other, may not be able to 
 live happily together ; that is, they may have far less hap 
 piness than their circumstances, their fine and excellent 
 traits, entitle them to expect. 
 
 " The reason for this in general is that home is a place 
 not only of strong affections, but of entire unreserves ; it is 
 life s undress rehearsal, its back-room, its dressing-room, from 
 which we go forth to more careful and guarded intercourse, 
 leaving behind us much debris of cast-off and every-day 
 clothing. Hence has arisen the common proverb, < No man 
 is a hero to his valet-de-chambre ; and the common warn 
 ing, i If you wish to keep your friend, don t go and live 
 with him. 7 " 
 
 " Which is only another way of saying, 7 said my wife, 
 " that we are all human and imperfect ; and the nearer you 
 get to any human being, the more defects you see. The 
 characters that can stand the test of daily intimacy are 
 about as numerous as four-leaved clovers in the meadow ; in 
 general those who do not annoy you with positive faults 
 bore you with their insipidity. The evenness and beauty 
 of a strong, well-defined nature, perfectly governed and bal 
 anced, is about the last thing one is likely to meet with in 
 one s researches into life." 
 
 "But what I have to say," replied I, "is this, that, 
 
FAULT-FINDING 323 
 
 family life being a state of unreserve, a state in which there 
 are few of those barriers and veils that keep people in the 
 world from seeing each other s defects and mutually jar 
 ring and grating upon each other, it is remarkable that it is 
 entered upon and maintained generally with less reflection, 
 less care and forethought, than pertain to most kinds of 
 business which men and women set their hands to. A man 
 does not undertake to run an engine or manage a piece of 
 machinery without some careful examination of its parts 
 and capabilities, and some inquiry whether he have the ne 
 cessary knowledge, skill, and strength to make it do itself 
 and him justice. A man does not try to play on the violin 
 without seeing if his fingers are long and flexible enough to 
 bring out the harmonies and raise his performance above 
 the grade of dismal scraping to that of divine music. What 
 should we think of a man who should set a whole orchestra 
 of instruments upon playing together without the least 
 provision or forethought as to their chord, and then howl 
 and tear his hair at the result ? It is not the fault of 
 the instruments that they grate harsh thunders together ; 
 they may each be noble and of celestial temper ; but united 
 without regard to their nature, dire confusion is the result. 
 Still worse were it, if a man were supposed so stupid as to 
 expect of each instrument a role opposed to its nature, 
 if he asked of the octave-flute a bass solo, and condemned 
 the trombone because it could not do the work of the many- 
 voiced violin. 
 
 " Yet just so carelessly is the work of forming a family 
 often performed. A man and woman come together from 
 some affinity, some partial accord of their nature which 
 has inspired mutual affection. There is generally very lit 
 tle careful consideration of who and what they are, no 
 thought of the reciprocal influence of mutual traits, no 
 previous chording and testing of the instruments which are 
 to make lifelong harmony or discord, and after a short 
 
324 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 period of engagement, in which all their mutual relations are 
 made as opposite as possible to those which must follow 
 marriage, these two furnish their house and begin life to 
 gether. 
 
 " Then in many cases the domestic roof is supposed at 
 once to be the proper refuge for relations and friends on 
 both sides, who also are introduced into the interior concert 
 without any special consideration of what is likely to be the 
 operation of character on character, the play of instrument 
 with instrument ; then follow children, each of whom is a 
 separate entity, a separate will, a separate force in the cir 
 cle ; and thus, with the lesser powers of servants and de 
 pendants, family is made up. And there is no wonder if all 
 these chance-assorted instruments, playing together, some 
 times make quite as much discord as harmony. For if the 
 husband and wife chord, the wife s sister or husband s mo 
 ther may introduce a discord ; and then again, each child 
 of marked character introduces another possibility of confu 
 sion. 
 
 " The conservative forces of human nature are so strong 
 and so various, that with all these drawbacks the family 
 state is after all the best and purest happiness that earth 
 affords. But then, with cultivation and care, it might be 
 a great deal happier. Very fair pears have been raised by 
 dropping a seed into a good soil and letting it alone for 
 years; but finer and choicer are raised by the watchings, 
 tendings, prunings of the gardener. Wild grapevines bore 
 very fine grapes, and an abundance of them, before our friend 
 Dr. Grant took up his abode at lona, and, studying the laws 
 of Nature, conjured up new species of rarer fruit and flavor 
 out of the old. And so, if all the little foxes that infest our 
 domestic vine and fig-tree were once hunted out and killed, 
 we might have fairer clusters and fruit all winter." 
 
 " But, papa," said Jenny, " to come to the foxes ; let ? s 
 know what they are." 
 
FAULT-FINDING 325 
 
 "Well, as the text says, little foxes, the pet foxes of 
 good people, unsuspected little animals, on the whole, 
 often thought to be really creditable little beasts, that may 
 do good, and at all events cannot do much harm. And as 
 I have taken the Puritanic order in my discourse, I shall 
 set them in sevens, as Noah did his clean beasts in the 
 ark. Now my seven little foxes are these : Fault-Finding, 
 Intolerance, Reticence, Irritability, Exactingness, Discour 
 tesy, Self- Will. And here, 7 turning to my sermon, "is 
 what I have to say about the first of them : " 
 
 FAULT-FINDING, 
 
 a most respectable little animal, that many people let run 
 freely among their domestic vines, under the notion that he 
 helps the growth of the grapes, and is the principal means 
 of keeping them in order. 
 
 Now it may safely be set down as a maxim, that no 
 body likes to be found fault with, but everybody likes to 
 find fault when things do not suit him. Let my courteous 
 reader ask him or herself if he or she does not experience 
 a relief and pleasure in finding fault with or about whatever 
 troubles them. 
 
 This appears at first sight an anomaly in the provisions 
 of Nature. Generally we are so constituted that what it 
 is a pleasure to us to do it is a pleasure to our neighbor 
 to have us do. It is a pleasure to give, and a pleasure 
 to receive. It is a pleasure to love, and a pleasure to be 
 loved ; a pleasure to admire, a pleasure to be admired. It 
 is a pleasure, also, to find fault, but not a pleasure to be 
 found fault with. Furthermore, those people whose sen 
 sitiveness of temperament leads them to find the most fault 
 are precisely those who can least bear to be found fault 
 with ; they bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, 
 and lay them on other men s shoulders, but they them 
 selves cannot bear the weight of a finger. 
 
326 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 Now the difficulty in the case is this : There are things 
 in life that need to be altered ; and that things may be 
 altered, they must be spoken of to the people whose busi 
 ness it is to make the change. This opens wide the door of 
 fault-finding to well-disposed people, and gives them lati 
 tude of conscience to impose on their fellows all the annoy 
 ances which they themselves feel. The father and mother 
 of a family are fault-finders, ex officio ; and to them flows 
 back the tide of every separate individual s complaints in 
 the domestic circle, till often the whole air of the house is 
 chilled and darkened by a drizzling Scotch mist of queru- 
 lousness. Very bad are these mists for grapevines, and 
 produce mildew in many a fair cluster. 
 
 Enthusius falls in love with Hermione, because she looks 
 like a moonbeam, because she is ethereal as a summer 
 cloud, spirituelle. He commences forthwith the perpetual 
 adoration system that precedes marriage. He assures her 
 that she is too good for this world, too delicate and fair for 
 any of the uses of poor mortality, that she ought to tread 
 on roses, sleep on the clouds, that she ought never to shed 
 a tear, know a fatigue, or make an exertion, but live apart 
 in some bright, ethereal sphere worthy of her charms. All 
 which is duly chanted in her ear in moonlight walks or 
 sails, and so often repeated that a sensible girl may be ex 
 cused for believing that a little of it may be true. 
 
 Now comes marriage, and it turns out that Enthusius 
 is very particular as to his coffee, that he is excessively dis 
 turbed if his meals are at all irregular, and that he cannot 
 be comfortable with any table arrangements which do not 
 resemble those of his notable mother, lately deceased in the 
 odor of sanctity ; he also wants his house in perfect order 
 at all hours. Still he does not propose to provide a trained 
 housekeeper ; it is all to be effected by means of certain raw 
 Irish girls, under the superintendence of this angel who was 
 to tread on roses, sleep on clouds, and never know an earthly 
 
FAULT-FINDING 327 
 
 care. Neither has Enthusius ever considered it a part of a 
 husband s duty to bear personal inconveniences in silence. 
 He would freely shed his blood for Hermione, nay, has 
 often frantically proposed the same in the hours of court 
 ship, when of course nobody wanted it done, and it could 
 answer no manner of use ; but now to the idyllic dialogues 
 of that period succeed such as these : 
 
 " My dear, this tea is smoked : can t you get Jane into 
 the way of making it better ? " 
 
 "My dear, I have tried; but she will not do as I tell 
 her." 
 
 " Well, all I know is, other people can have good tea, 
 and I should think we might." 
 
 And again at dinner : 
 
 " My dear, this mutton is overdone again ; it is always 
 overdone." 
 
 " Not always, dear, because you recollect on Monday you 
 said it was just right." 
 
 " Well, almost always." 
 
 " Well, my dear, the reason to-day was, I had company 
 in the parlor, and could not go out to caution Bridget, as I 
 generally do. It 7 s very difficult to get things done with 
 such a girl." 
 
 " My mother s things were always well done, no matter 
 what her girl was." 
 
 Again : " My dear, you must speak to the servants about 
 wasting the coal. I never saw such a consumption of fuel 
 in a family of our size ; " or, " My dear, how can you let 
 Maggie tear the morning paper ? " or, " My dear, I shall 
 actually have to give up coming to dinner, if my dinners 
 cannot be regular " ; or, " My dear, I wish you would look 
 at the way my shirts are ironed, it is perfectly scandal 
 ous ; " or, " My dear, you must not let Johnnie finger the 
 mirror in the parlor ; " or, " My dear, you must stop the 
 children from playing in the garret ; " or, " My dear, you 
 
328 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 must see that Maggie does n t leave the mat out on the rail 
 ing when she sweeps the front hall ; " and so on, up stairs 
 and down stairs, in the lady s chamber, in attic, garret, and 
 cellar, " my dear " is to see that nothing goes wrong, and 
 she is found fault with when anything does. 
 
 Yet Enthusius, when occasionally he finds his sometime 
 angel in tears, and she tells him he does not love her as he 
 once did, repudiates the charge with all his heart, and de 
 clares he loves her more than ever, and perhaps he does. 
 The only difficulty is that she has passed out of the plane 
 of moonshine and poetry into that of actualities. While 
 she was considered an angel, a star, a bird, an evening cloud, 
 of course there was nothing to be found fault with in her; 
 but now that the angel has become chief business-partner 
 in an earthly working firm, relations are different. Enthu 
 sius could say the same things over again under the same 
 circumstances, but unfortunately now they never are in the 
 same circumstances. Enthusius is simply a man who is 
 in the habit of speaking from impulse, and saying a thing 
 merely and only because he feels it at the moment. Before 
 marriage he worshiped and adored his wife as an ideal being 
 dwelling in the land of dreams and poetries, and did his 
 very best to make her unpractical and unfitted to enjoy the 
 life to which he was to introduce her after marriage. After 
 marriage he still yields unreflectingly to present impulses, 
 which are no longer to praise, but to criticise and condemn. 
 The very sensibility to beauty and love of elegance, which 
 made him admire her before marriage, now transferred to 
 the arrangement of the domestic menage, lead him daily to 
 perceive a hundred defects and find a hundred annoyances. 
 
 Thus far we suppose an amiable, submissive wife, who is 
 only grieved, not provoked, who has no sense of injustice, 
 and meekly strives to make good the hard conditions of her 
 lot. Such poor, little, faded women have we seen, looking 
 for all the world like plants that have been nursed and 
 
FAULT-FINDING 329 
 
 forced into bloom in the steam-heat of the conservatory, and 
 are now sickly and yellow, dropping leaf by leaf, in the dry, 
 dusty parlor. 
 
 But there is another side of the picture, where the 
 wife, provoked and indignant, takes up the fault-finding 
 trade in return, and with the keen arrows of her woman s 
 wit searches and penetrates every joint of the husband s 
 armor, showing herself full as unjust and far more capable 
 in this sort of conflict. 
 
 Saddest of all sad things is it to see two once very dear 
 friends employing all that peculiar knowledge of each other, 
 which love had given them, only to harass and provoke, 
 thrusting and piercing with a certainty of aim that only 
 past habits of confidence and affection could have put in 
 their power, wounding their own hearts with every deadly 
 thrust they make at one another, and all for such inexpres 
 sibly miserable trifles as usually form the openings of fault 
 finding dramas. 
 
 For the contentions that loosen the very foundations of 
 love, that crumble away all its fine traceries and carved 
 work, about what miserable, worthless things do they com 
 monly begin ! a dinner underdone, too much oil consumed, 
 a newspaper torn, a waste of coal or soap, a dish broken ! 
 and for this miserable sort of trash, very good, very gener 
 ous, very religious people will sometimes waste and throw 
 away by double-handfuls the very thing for which houses are 
 built and coal burned, and all the paraphernalia of a home 
 established, their happiness. Better cold coffee, smoky 
 tea, burnt meat, better any inconvenience, any loss, than a 
 loss of love ; and nothing so surely burns away love as con 
 stant fault-finding. 
 
 For fault-finding once allowed as a habit between two 
 near and dear friends conies in time to establish a chronic 
 soreness, so that the mildest, the most reasonable suggestion, 
 the gentlest implied reproof, occasions burning irritation ; 
 
330 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 and when this morbid stage has once set in, the restoration 
 of love seems well-nigh impossible. 
 
 For example : Enthusius, having risen this morning in 
 the best of humors, in the most playful tones begs Hermione 
 not to make the tails of her g s quite so long ; and Her 
 mione fires up with 
 
 " And, pray, what else would n t you wish me to do ? 
 Perhaps you would be so good, when you have leisure, as to 
 make out an alphabetical list of the things in me that need 
 correcting." 
 
 " My dear, you are unreasonable." 
 
 " I don t think so. I should like to get to the end of 
 the requirements of my lord and master sometimes." 
 
 "Now, my dear, you really are very silly." 
 
 " Please say something original, my dear. I have heard 
 that till it has lost the charm of novelty." 
 
 " Come now, Hermione, don t let s quarrel." 
 
 " My dear sir, who thinks of quarreling ? Not I ; I m 
 sure I was only asking to be directed. I trust some time, 
 if I live to be ninety, to suit your fastidious taste. I trust 
 the coffee is right this morning, and the tea, and the toast, 
 and the steak, and the servants, and the front-hall mat, 
 and the upper-story hall-door, and the basement premises ; 
 and now I suppose I am to be trained in respect to my 
 general education. I shall set about the tails of my g s at 
 once, but trust you will prepare a list of any other little 
 things that need emendation." 
 
 Enthusius pushes away his coffee, and drums on the 
 table. 
 
 " If I might be allowed one small criticism, my dear, I 
 should observe that it is not good manners to drum on the 
 table," says his fair opposite. 
 
 " Hermione, you are enough to drive a man frantic ! " 
 exclaims Enthusius, rushing out with bitterness in his soul, 
 and a determination to take his dinner at Delmonico s. 
 
FAULT-FINDING 331 
 
 Enthusius feels himself an abused man, and thinks there 
 never was such a sprite of a woman, the most utterly 
 unreasonable, provoking human being he ever met with. 
 What he does not think of is, that it is his own inconsid 
 erate, constant fault-finding that has made every nerve so 
 sensitive and sore, that the mildest suggestion of advice or 
 reproof on the most indifferent subject is impossible. He 
 has not, to be sure, been the guilty partner in this morn 
 ing s encounter ; he has said only what is fair and proper, 
 and she has been unreasonable and cross ; but after all, 
 the fault is remotely his. 
 
 When Enthusius awoke, after marriage, to find in his 
 Hermione in very deed only a bird, a star, a flower, but no 
 housekeeper, why did he not face the matter like an honest 
 man ? Why did he not remember all the fine things about 
 dependence and uselessness with which he had been filling 
 her head for a year or two, and in common honesty exact 
 no more from her than he had bargained for ? Can a bird 
 make a good business-manager ? Can a flower oversee Biddy 
 and Mike, and impart to their uncircumcised ears the high 
 crafts and mysteries of elegant housekeeping ? 
 
 If his little wife has to learn her domestic role of house 
 hold duty, as most girls do, by a thousand mortifications, a 
 thousand perplexities, a thousand failures, let him, in ordi 
 nary fairness, make it as easy to her as possible. Let him 
 remember with what admiring smiles, before marriage, he 
 received her pretty professions of utter helplessness and in 
 capacity in domestic matters, finding only poetry and grace 
 in what, after marriage, proved an annoyance. 
 
 And if a man finds that he has a wife ill adapted to wifely 
 duties, does it follow that the best thing he can do is to 
 blurt out, without form or ceremony, all the criticisms and 
 corrections which may occur to him in the many details of 
 household life ? He would not dare to speak with as little 
 preface, apology, or circumlocution to his business-manager, 
 
332 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 to his butcher, or his baker. When Enthusius was a bach 
 elor, he never criticised the table at his boarding-house 
 without some reflection, and studying to take unto him 
 self acceptable words whereby to soften the asperity of the 
 criticism. The laws of society require that a man should 
 qualify, soften, and wisely time his admonitions to those he 
 meets in the outer world, or they will turn again and rend 
 him. But to his own wife, in his own house and home, he 
 can find fault without ceremony or softening. So he can ; 
 and he can awake, in the course of a year or two, to find 
 his wife a changed woman, and his home unendurable. He 
 may find, too, that unceremonious fault-finding is a game that 
 two can play at> and that a woman can shoot her arrows 
 with far more precision and skill than a man. 
 
 But the fault lies not always on the side of the husband. 
 Quite as often is a devoted, patient, good-tempered man 
 harassed and hunted and baited by the inconsiderate fault 
 finding of a wife whose principal talent seems to lie in 
 the ability at first glance to discover and make manifest the 
 weak point in everything. 
 
 We have seen the most generous, the most warm-hearted 
 and obliging of mortals under this sort of training made 
 the most morose and disobliging of husbands. Sure to be 
 found fault with whatever they do, they have at last ceased 
 doing. The disappointment of not pleasing they have 
 abated by not trying to please. 
 
 We once knew a man who married a spoiled beauty, 
 whose murmurs, exactions, and caprices were infinite. He 
 had at last, as a refuge to his wearied nerves, settled down 
 into a habit of utter disregard and neglect ; he treated her 
 wishes and her complaints with equal indifference, and went 
 on with his life as nearly as possible as if she did not exist. 
 He silently provided for her what he thought proper, with 
 out troubling himself to notice her requests or listen to her 
 grievances. Sickness came, but the heart of her husband 
 
FAULT-FINDING 333 
 
 was cold and gone ; there was no sympathy left to warm 
 her. Death came, and he breathed freely as a man released. 
 He married again, a woman with no beauty, but much 
 love and goodness, a woman who asked little, blamed 
 seldom, and then with all the tact and address which the 
 utmost thoughtfulness could devise 5 and the passive, negli 
 gent husband became the attentive, devoted slave of her 
 will. He was in her hands as clay in the hands of the 
 potter ; the least breath or suggestion of criticism from her 
 lips, who criticised so little and so thoughtfully, weighed 
 more with him than many outspoken words. So different 
 is the same human being, according to the touch of the 
 hand which plays upon him ! 
 
 I have spoken hitherto of fault-finding as between hus 
 band and wife : its consequences are even worse as respects 
 children. The habit once suffered to grow up between the two 
 that constitute the head of the family descends and runs 
 through all the branches. Children are more hurt by in 
 discriminate, thoughtless fault-finding than by any other 
 one thing. Often a child has all the sensitiveness and all 
 the susceptibility of a grown person, added to the faults of 
 childhood. Nothing about him is right as yet ; he is im 
 mature and faulty at all points, and everybody feels at per 
 fect liberty to criticise him to right and left, above, below, 
 and around, till he takes refuge either in callous hardness 
 or irritable moroseness. 
 
 A bright, noisy boy rushes in from school, eager to tell 
 his mother something he has on his heart, -and Number One 
 cries out, "Oh, you ve left the door open ! I do wish 
 you would n t always leave the door open ! And do look 
 at the mud on your shoes ! How many times must I tell 
 you to wipe your feet ? " 
 
 " Now there you ve thrown your cap on the sofa again. 
 When will you learn to hang it up ? " 
 
 " Don t put your slate there j that is n t the place for it." 
 
334 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 " How dirty your hands are ! what have you been do 
 ing ? 
 
 " Don t sit in that chair ; you break the springs, joun 
 cing." 
 
 " Child, how your hair looks ! Do go upstairs and comb 
 it." 
 
 " There, if you have n t torn the braid all off your coat ! 
 Dear me, what a boy ! " 
 
 " Don t speak so loud ; your voice goes through my 
 head." 
 
 " I want to know, Jim, if it was you that broke up that 
 barrel that I have been saving for brown flour." 
 
 " I believe it was you, Jim, that hacked the edge of my 
 razor." 
 
 " Jim s been writing at my desk, and blotted three sheets 
 of the best paper." 
 
 Now the question is, if any of the grown people of the 
 family had to run the gauntlet of a string of criticisms on 
 themselves equally true as those that salute unlucky Jim, 
 would they be any better natured about it than he is ? 
 
 No ; but they are grown-up people ; they have rights 
 that others are bound to respect. Everybody cannot tell 
 them exactly what he thinks about everything they do. If 
 every one could and did, would there not be terrible reac 
 tions ? 
 
 Servants in general are only grown-up children, and the 
 same considerations apply to them. A raw, untrained Irish 
 girl introduced into an elegant house has her head bewildered 
 in every direction. There are the gas-pipes, the water-pipes, 
 the whole paraphernalia of elegant and delicate conven 
 iences, about which a thousand little details are to be learned, 
 the neglect of any one of which may flood the house, or 
 poison it with foul air, or bring innumerable inconveniences. 
 The setting of a genteel table and the waiting upon it in 
 volve fifty possibilities of mistake, each one of which will 
 
FAULT-FINDING 335 
 
 grate on the nerves of a whole family. There is no wonder, 
 then, that the occasions of fault-finding in families are so 
 constant and harassing ; and there is no wonder that mis 
 tress and maid often meet each other on the terms of the 
 bear and the man who fell together fifty feet down from 
 the limb of a high tree, and lay at the bottom of it, looking 
 each other in the face in helpless, growling despair. The 
 mistress is rasped, irritated, despairing, and with good rea 
 son : the maid is the same, and with equally good reason. 
 Yet let the mistress be suddenly introduced into a printing- 
 office, and required, with what little teaching could be given 
 her in a few rapid directions, to set up the editorial of a 
 morning paper, and it is probable she would be as stu 
 pid and bewildered as Biddy in her beautifully arranged 
 house. 
 
 There are elegant houses which, from causes like these, 
 are ever vexed like the troubled sea that cannot rest. Lit 
 erally, their table has become a snare before them, and that 
 which should have been for their welfare a trap. Their gas 
 and their water and their fire and their elegances and orna 
 ments, all in unskilled, blundering hands, seem only so 
 many guns in the hands of Satan, through which he fires at 
 their Christian graces day and night, so that, if their 
 house is kept in order, their temper and religion are not. 
 
 I am speaking now to the consciousness of thousands of 
 women who are in will and purpose real saints. Their souls 
 go up to heaven, its love, its purity, its rest, with 
 every hymn and prayer and sacrament in church ; and they 
 come home to be mortified, disgraced, and made to despise 
 themselves, for the unlovely tempers, the hasty words, the 
 cross looks, the universal nervous irritability, that result 
 from this constant jarring of finely toned chords under 
 unskilled hands. 
 
 Talk of haircloth shirts, and scourgings, and sleeping on 
 ashes, as means of saintship ! there is no need of them in 
 
336 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 our country. Let a woman once look at her domestic trials 
 as her haircloth, her ashes, her scourges, accept them, 
 rejoice in them, smile and he quiet, silent, patient, and 
 loving under them, and the convent can teach her no 
 more ; she is a victorious saint. 
 
 When the damper of the furnace is turned the wrong 
 way hy Paddy, after the five hundredth time of explanation, 
 and the whole family awakes coughing, sneezing, strangling, 
 when the gas is blown out in the nursery hy Biddy, who 
 has been instructed every day for weeks in the danger of 
 such a proceeding, when the tumblers on the dinner-table 
 are found dim and streaked, after weeks of training in the 
 simple business of washing and wiping, when the ivory- 
 handled knives and forks are left soaking in hot dish-water, 
 after incessant explanations of the consequences, when 
 four or five half-civilized beings, above, below, and all over 
 the house, are constantly forgetting the most important 
 things at the very moment it is most necessary they should 
 remember them, there is no hope for the mistress morally, 
 unless she can in very deed and truth accept her trials 
 religiously, and conquer by accepting. It is not apostles 
 alone who can take pleasure in necessities and distresses, 
 but mothers and housewives also, if they would learn of 
 the Apostle, might say, "When I am weak, then am I 
 strong." 
 
 The burden ceases to gall when we have learned how to 
 carry it. We can suffer patiently, if we see any good come 
 of it, and say, as an old black woman of our acquaintance 
 did of an event that crossed her purpose, " Well, Lord, if 
 it a you, send it along." 
 
 But that this may be done, that home life, in our unset 
 tled, changing state of society, may become peaceful and 
 restful, there is one Christian grace, much treated of by 
 mystic writers, that must return to its honor in the Christian 
 Church. I mean, THE GRACE OF SILENCE. No words 
 
FAULT-FINDING 337 
 
 can express, no tongue can tell, the value of NOT SPEAKING. 
 " Speech is silvern, but silence is golden," is an old and 
 very precious proverb. 
 
 " But," say many voices, " what is to become of us, if 
 we may not speak ? Must we not correct our children and 
 our servants and each other ? Must we let people go on 
 doing wrong to the end of the chapter ? " 
 
 ]STo ; fault must be found ; faults must be told, errors 
 corrected. Reproof and admonition are duties of house 
 holders to their families, and of all true friends to one 
 another. 
 
 But, gentle reader, let us look over life, our own lives 
 and the lives of others, and ask, How much of the fault 
 finding which prevails has the least tendency to do any 
 good ? How much of it is well-timed, well-pointed, delib 
 erate, and just, so spoken as to be effective ? 
 
 " A wise reprover upon an obedient ear " is one of the 
 rare things spoken of by Solomon, the rarest, perhaps, to 
 be met with. How many really religious people put any of 
 their religion into their manner of performing this most 
 difficult office ? We find fault with a stove or furnace 
 which creates heat only to go up chimney and not warm the 
 house. We say it is wasteful. Just so wasteful often 
 seem prayer-meetings, church services, and sacraments ; they 
 create and excite lovely, gentle, holy feelings, but if 
 these do not pass out into the atmosphere of daily life, and 
 warm and clear the air of our homes, there is a great waste 
 in our religion. 
 
 We have been on our knees, confessing humbly that we 
 are as awkward in heavenly things, as unfit for the Heavenly 
 Jerusalem, as Biddy and Mike, and the little beggar-girl on 
 our doorsteps, are for our parlors. We have deplored our 
 errors daily, hourly, and confessed that " the remembrance 
 of them is grievous unto us, the burden of them is intoler 
 able," and then we draw near in the sacrament to that In- 
 
338 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 carnate Divinity whose infinite love covers all our imperfec 
 tions with the mantle of His perfections. But when we 
 return, do we take our servants and children by the throat 
 because they are as untrained and awkward and careless in 
 earthly things as we have been in heavenly ? Does no 
 remembrance of Christ s infinite patience temper our impa 
 tience, when we have spoken seventy times seven, and our 
 words have been disregarded ? There is no mistake as to 
 the sincerity of the religion which the Church excites. 
 What we want is to have it used in common life, instead of 
 going up like hot air in a fireplace to lose itself in the infi 
 nite abysses above. 
 
 In reproving and fault-finding, we have beautiful exam 
 ples in Holy Writ. When Saint Paul has a reproof to ad 
 minister to delinquent Christians, how does he temper it 
 with gentleness and praise ! how does he first make honora 
 ble note of all the good there is to be spoken of ! how does 
 he give assurance of his prayers and love ! and when at 
 last the arrow flies, it goes all the straighter to the mark for 
 this carefulness. 
 
 But there was a greater, a purer, a lovelier than Paul, 
 who made His home on earth with twelve plain men, igno 
 rant, prejudiced, slow to learn, and who to the very day 
 of His death were still contending on a point which He had 
 repeatedly explained, and troubling His last earthly hours 
 with the old contest, "Who should be greatest." When 
 all else failed, on His knees before them as their servant, 
 tenderly performing for love the office of a slave, He said, 
 "If I, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet ye also 
 ought to wash one another s feet." 
 
 When parents, employers, and masters learn to reprove 
 in this spirit, reproofs will be more effective than they now 
 are. It was by the exercise of this spirit that Fenelon 
 transformed the proud, petulant, irritable, selfish Duke of 
 Burgundy, making him humble, gentle, tolerant of others, 
 
FAULT-FINDING 339 
 
 and severe only to himself: it was he who had for his 
 motto that " Perfection alone can bear with imperfection. 7 
 
 But apart from the fault-finding which has a definite aim, 
 how much is there that does not profess or intend or try to 
 do anything more than give vent to an irritated state of 
 feeling ! The nettle stings us, and we toss it with both 
 hands at our neighbor ; the fire burns us, and we throw 
 coals and hot ashes at all and sundry of those about us. 
 
 There is fretfulness, a mizzling, drizzling rain of discom 
 forting remark ; there is grumbling, a northeast storm that 
 never clears ; there is scolding, the thunderstorm with 
 lightning and hail. All these are worse than useless ; they 
 are positive sins, by whomsoever indulged, sins as great 
 and real as many that are shuddered at in polite society. 
 All these are for the most part but the venting on our 
 fellow beings of morbid feelings resulting from dyspepsia, 
 overtaxed nerves, or general ill health. 
 
 A minister eats too much mince-pie, goes to his weekly 
 lecture, and seeing only half a dozen people there, proceeds 
 to grumble at those half dozen for the sins of such as stay 
 away. " The Church is cold, there is no interest in re 
 ligion," and so on : a simple outpouring of the blues. 
 
 You and I do in one week the work we ought to do in 
 six ; we overtax nerve and brain, and then have weeks of 
 darkness in which everything at home seems running to de 
 struction. The servants never were so careless, the children 
 never so noisy, the house never so disorderly, the State 
 never so ill-governed, the Church evidently going over to 
 Antichrist. The only thing, after all, in which the exist 
 ing condition of affairs differs from that of a week ago is, 
 that we have used up our nervous energy, and are looking 
 at the world through blue spectacles. We ought to resist 
 the devil of fault-finding at this point, and cultivate silence 
 as a grace till our nerves are rested. There are times when 
 no one should trust himself to judge his neighbors, or re- 
 
340 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 prove his children and servants, or find fault with his 
 friends, for he is so sharp-set that he cannot strike a 
 note without striking too hard. Then is the time to try 
 the grace of silence, and, what is better than silence, the 
 power of prayer. 
 
 But it being premised that we are never to fret, never to 
 grumble, never to scold, and yet it being our duty in some 
 way to make known and get rectified the faults of others, 
 it remains to ask how ; and on this head we will impro 
 vise a parable of two women. 
 
 Mrs. Standfast is a woman of high tone, and possessed of 
 a power of moral principle that impresses one even as sub 
 lime. All her perceptions of right and wrong are clear, 
 exact, and minute ; she is charitable to the poor, kind to 
 the sick and suffering, and devoutly and earnestly religious. 
 In all the minutiae of woman s life she manifests an incon 
 ceivable precision and perfection. Everything she does is 
 perfectly done. She is true to all her promises to the very 
 letter, and so punctual that railroad time might be kept by 
 her instead of a chronometer. 
 
 Yet, with all these excellent traits, Mrs. Standfast has 
 not the faculty of making a happy home. She is that most 
 hopeless of fault-finders, a fault-finder from principle. 
 She has a high, correct standard for everything in the 
 world, from the regulation of the thoughts down to the 
 spreading of a sheet or the hemming of a towel ; and to 
 this exact standard she feels it her duty to bring every one 
 in her household. She does not often scold, she is not act 
 ually fretful, but she exercises over her household a calm, 
 inflexible severity, rebuking every fault ; she overlooks 
 nothing, she excuses nothing, she will accept of nothing in 
 any part of her domain but absolute perfection ; and her re 
 proofs are aimed with a true and steady point, and sent with 
 a force that makes them felt by the most obdurate. 
 
 Hence, though she is rarely seen out of temper, and sel- 
 
FAULT-FINDING 341 
 
 dom or never scolds, yet she drives every one around her 
 to despair by the use of the calmest and most elegant Eng 
 lish. Her servants fear, but do not love her. Her hus 
 band, an impulsive, generous man, somewhat inconsiderate 
 and careless in his habits, is at times perfectly desperate 
 under the accumulated load of her disapprobation. Her 
 children regard her as inhabiting some high, distant, unap 
 proachable mountain-top of goodness, whence she is always 
 looking down with reproving eyes on naughty boys and 
 girls. They wonder how it is that so excellent a mamma 
 should have children who, let them try to be good as hard 
 as they can, are always sure to do something dreadful every 
 day. 
 
 The trouble with Mrs. Standfast is, not that she has a 
 high standard, and not that she purposes and means to bring 
 every one up to it, but that she does not take the right 
 way. She has set it down in her mind that to blame a 
 wrong-doer is the only way to cure wrong. She has never 
 learned that it is as much her duty to praise as to blame, 
 and that people are drawn to do right by being praised 
 when they do it, rather than driven by being blamed when 
 they do not. 
 
 Eight across the way from Mrs. Standfast is Mrs. Easy, 
 a pretty little creature, with not a tithe of her moral worth, 
 a merry, pleasure-loving woman, of no particular force 
 of principle, whose great object in life is to avoid its disa 
 greeables and to secure its pleasures. 
 
 Little Mrs. Easy is adored by her husband, her chil 
 dren, her servants, merely because it is her nature to say 
 pleasant things to every one. It is a mere tact of pleasing, 
 which she uses without knowing it. While Mrs. Standfast, 
 surveying her well-set dining-table, runs her keen eye over 
 everything, and at last brings up with, " Jane, look at that 
 black spot on the salt-spoon ! I am astonished at your 
 carelessness ! " Mrs. Easy would say, " Why, Jane, 
 
342 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 where did you learn to set a table so nicely ? All looking 
 beautifully, except, ah! let s see, just give a rub to 
 this salt-spoon ; now all is quite perfect." Mrs. Stand 
 fast s servants and children hear only of their failures ; 
 these are always before them and her. Mrs. Easy s ser 
 vants hear of their successes. She praises their good 
 points ; tells them they are doing well in this, that, and 
 the other particular; and finally exhorts them, on the 
 strength of having done so many things well, to improve in 
 what is yet lacking. Mrs. Easy s husband feels that he is 
 always a hero in her eyes, and her children feel that they 
 are dear good children, notwithstanding Mrs. Easy some 
 times has her little tiffs of displeasure, and scolds roundly 
 when something falls out as it should not. 
 
 The two families show how much more may be done by 
 a very ordinary woman, through the mere instinct of prais 
 ing and pleasing, than by the greatest worth, piety, and 
 principle, seeking to lift human nature by a lever that never 
 was meant to lift it by. 
 
 The faults and mistakes of us poor human beings are as 
 often perpetuated by despair as by any other one thing. 
 Have we not all been burdened by a consciousness of faults 
 that we were slow to correct because we felt discouraged ? 
 Have we not been sensible of a real help sometimes from 
 the presence of a friend who thought well of us, believed in 
 us, set our virtues in the best light, and put our faults in 
 the background ? 
 
 Let us depend upon it, that the flesh and blood that are 
 in us, the needs, the wants, the despondencies, are in 
 each of our fellows, in every awkward servant and careless 
 child. 
 
 Finally, let us all resolve, 
 
 First, to attain to the grace of SILENCE. 
 
 Second, to deem all FAULT-FINDING that does no good a 
 SIN ; and to resolve, when we are happy ourselves, not to 
 
FAULT-FINDING 343 
 
 poison the atmosphere for our neighbors by calling on them 
 to remark every painful and disagreeable feature of their 
 daily life. 
 
 Third, to practice the grace and virtue of PRAISE. We 
 have all been taught that it is our duty to praise God, but 
 few of us have reflected on our duty to praise men ; and 
 yet for the same reason that we should praise the divine 
 goodness it is our duty to praise human excellence. We 
 should praise our friends, our near and dear ones ; we 
 should look on and think of their virtues till their faults 
 fade away ; and when we love most, and see most to love, 
 then only is the wise time wisely to speak of what should 
 still be altered. 
 
 Parents should look out for occasions to commend their 
 children, as carefully as they seek to reprove their faults ; 
 and employers should praise the good their servants do as 
 strictly as they blame the evil. 
 
 Whoever undertakes to use this weapon will find that 
 praise goes farther in many cases than blame. Watch till 
 a blundering servant does something well, and then praise 
 him for it, and you will see a new fire lighted in the eye, 
 and often you will find that in that one respect at least you 
 have secured excellence thenceforth. 
 
 When you blame, which should be seldom, let it be alone 
 with the person, quietly, considerately, and with all the 
 tact you are possessed of. The fashion of reproving chil 
 dren and servants in the presence of others cannot be too much 
 deprecated. Pride, stubbornness, and self-will are aroused 
 by this, while a more private reproof might be received with 
 thankfulness. 
 
 As a general rule, I would say, treat children in these 
 respects just as you would grown people ; they are grown 
 people in miniature, and need as careful consideration of 
 their feelings as any of us. 
 
 Lastly, let us all make a bead-roll, a holy rosary, of all that 
 
344 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 is good and agreeable in our position, our surroundings, our 
 daily lot, of all that is good and agreeable in our friends, 
 our children, our servants, and charge ourselves to repeat it 
 daily, till the habit of our minds be to praise and to com 
 mend ; and so doing, we shall catch and kill one Little Fox 
 who hath destroyed many tender grapes. 
 
II 
 
 IRRITABILITY 
 
 IT was that Christmas Day that did it ; I m quite con 
 vinced of that; and the way it was is what I am going to 
 tell you. 
 
 You see, among the various family customs of us Crow- 
 fields, the observance of all sorts of fetes and festivals has 
 always been a matter of prime regard ; and among all the 
 festivals of the round ripe year none is so joyous and hon 
 ored among us as Christmas. 
 
 Let no one upon this prick up the ears of Archaeology, 
 and tell us that by the latest calculations of chronologists 
 our ivy-grown and holly-mantled Christmas is all a hum, 
 that it has been demonstrated, by all sorts of signs and ta 
 bles, that the august event it celebrates did not take place 
 on the 25th of December. Supposing it be so, what have 
 we to do with that ? If so awful, so joyous an event ever 
 took place on our earth, it is surely worth commemoration. 
 It is the event we celebrate, not the time. And if all Chris 
 tians for eighteen hundred years, while warring and wran 
 gling on a thousand other points, have agreed to give this 
 one 25th of December to peace and good-will, who is he 
 that shall gainsay them, and for an historic scruple turn his 
 back on the friendly greetings of all Christendom ? Such 
 a man is capable of rewriting Milton s " Christmas Hymn " 
 in the style of Sternhold and Hopkins. 
 
 In our house, however, Christmas has always been a high 
 day, a day whose expectation has held waking all the little 
 eyes in our bird s nest, when as yet there were only little 
 
346 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 ones there, each sleeping with one eye open, hoping to be 
 the happy first to wish the Merry Christmas and grasp the 
 wonderful stocking. 
 
 This year our whole family train of married girls and 
 boys, with the various toddling tribes thereto belonging, 
 held high festival around a wonderful Christmas-tree, the 
 getting up and adorning of which had kept my wife and 
 Jenny and myself busy for a week beforehand. If the lit 
 tle folks think these trees grow up in a night, without labor, 
 they know as little about them as they do about most of the 
 other blessings which rain down on their dear little thought 
 less heads. Such scrambling and clambering and fussing 
 and tying and untying, such alterations and rearrangements, 
 such agilities in getting up and down and everywhere to tie 
 on tapers and gold balls and glittering things innumerable, 
 to hang airy dolls in graceful positions, to make branches 
 bear stiffly up under loads of pretty things which threaten 
 to make the tapers turn bottom upward ! 
 
 Part and parcel of all this was I, Christopher, most reck 
 less of rheumatism, most careless of dignity, the round, 
 bald top of my head to be seen emerging everywhere from 
 the thick boughs of the spruce, now devising an airy settle 
 ment for some gossamer-robed doll, now adjusting far back 
 on a stiff branch Tom s new little skates, now balancing 
 bags of sugar-plums and candy, and now combating desper 
 ately with some contumacious taper that would turn slant 
 wise or crosswise, or anywise but upward, as a Christian 
 taper should, regardless of Mrs. Crowfield s gentle admo 
 nitions and suggestions, sitting up to most dissipated hours, 
 springing out of bed suddenly to change some arrangement 
 in the middle of the night, and up long before the lazy sun 
 at dawn to execute still other arrangements. If that 
 Christmas-tree had been a fort to be taken, or a campaign to 
 be planned, I could not have spent more time and strength 
 on it. My zeal so far outran even that of sprightly Miss 
 
IRRITABILITY 347 
 
 Jenny, that she could account for it only by saucily sug 
 gesting that papa must be fast getting into his second child 
 hood. 
 
 But did n t we have a splendid lighting-up ? Did n t I 
 and my youngest grandson, little Tom, head the procession 
 magnificent in paper soldier-caps, blowing tin trumpets and 
 beating drums, as we marched round the twinkling glories 
 of our Christmas-tree, all glittering with red and blue and 
 green tapers, and with a splendid angel on top with great 
 gold wings, the cutting out and adjusting of which had held 
 my eyes waking for nights before ? I had had oceans of 
 trouble with that angel, owing to an unlucky sprain in his 
 left wing, which had required constant surgical attention 
 through the week, and which I feared might fall loose again 
 at the important and blissful moment of exhibition : but no, 
 the Fates were in our favor ; the angel behaved beautifully, 
 and kept his wings as crisp as possible, and the tapers all 
 burned splendidly, and the little folks were as crazy with 
 delight as my most ardent hopes could have desired ; and 
 then we romped and played and frolicked as long as little 
 eyes could keep open, and long after ; and so passed away 
 our Christmas. 
 
 I had forgotten to speak of the Christmas dinner, that 
 solid feast of fat things, on which we also luxuriated. Mrs. 
 Crowfield outdid all household traditions in that feast : the 
 turkey and the chickens, the jellies and the sauces, the pies 
 and the pudding, behold, are they not written in the tablets 
 of Memory which remain to this day ? 
 
 The holidays passed away hilariously, and at New Year s, 
 I, according to time-honored custom, went forth to make 
 my calls and see my fair friends, while my wife and daugh 
 ters stayed at home to dispense the hospitalities of the day 
 to their gentlemen friends. All was merry, cheerful, and 
 it was agreed on all hands that a more joyous holiday sea 
 son had never flown over us. 
 
348 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 But, somehow, the week after, I began to be sensible of 
 a running-down in the wheels. I had an article to write 
 for the " Atlantic, 7 but felt mopish and could not write. 
 My dinner had not its usual relish, and I had an indefinite 
 sense everywhere of something going wrong. My coal bill 
 came in, and I felt sure we were being extravagant, and 
 that our John Furnace wasted the coal. My grandsons 
 and granddaughters came to see us, and I discovered that 
 they had high-pitched voices, and burst in without wiping 
 their shoes, and it suddenly occurred powerfully to my mind 
 that they were not being well brought up, evidently, 
 they were growing up rude and noisy. I discovered several 
 tumblers and plates with the edges chipped, and made bitter 
 reflections on the carelessness of Irish servants ; our crock 
 ery was going to destruction, along with the rest. Then, 
 on opening one of my paper-drawers, I found that Jenny s 
 one drawer of worsted had overflowed into two or three ; 
 Jenny was growing careless ; besides, worsted is dear, arid 
 girls knit away small fortunes, without knowing it, on little 
 duds that do nobody any good. Moreover, Maggie had 
 three times put my slippers into the hall-closet, instead of 
 leaving them where I wanted, under my study-table. Mrs. 
 Crowfield ought to look after things more ; every servant, 
 from end to end of the house, was getting out of the traces ; 
 it was strange she did not see it. 
 
 All this I vented, from time to time, in short, crusty 
 sayings and doings, as freely as if I had n t just written an 
 article on " Little Foxes " in the last " Atlantic," till at 
 length my eyes were opened on my own state and condition. 
 
 It was evening, and I had just laid up the fire in the 
 most approved style of architecture, and projecting my feet 
 into my slippers, sat spitefully cutting the leaves of a caus 
 tic review. 
 
 Mrs. Crowfield took the tongs and altered the disposition 
 of a stick. 
 
IRRITABILITY 349 
 
 ^ 
 
 " My dear," I said, " I do wish you 7 d let the fire alone, 
 you always put it out." 
 
 " I was merely admitting a little air between the sticks," 
 said my wife. 
 
 " You always make matters worse when you touch the 
 fire." 
 
 As if in contradiction, a bright tongue of flame darted up 
 between the sticks, and the fire began chattering and snap 
 ping defiance at me. Now, if there s anything which would 
 provoke a saint, it is to be jeered and snapped at in that 
 way by a man s own fire. It s an unbearable impertinence. 
 I threw out my leg impatiently, and hit Eover, who yelped 
 a yelp that finished the upset of my nerves. I gave him a 
 hearty kick, that he might have something to yelp for, and 
 in the movement upset Jenny s embroidery-basket. 
 
 " Oh, papa ! " 
 
 " Confound your baskets and balls ! they are everywhere, 
 so that a man can t move ; useless, wasteful things, too." 
 
 " Wasteful ? " said Jenny, coloring indignantly ; for if 
 there ? s anything Jenny piques herself upon, it ? s economy. 
 
 " Yes, wasteful, wasting time and money both. Here 
 are hundreds of shivering poor to be clothed, and Christian 
 females ^lt and do nothing but crochet worsted into useless 
 knickknacks. If they would be working for the poor, there 
 would be some sense in it. But it s all just alike, no real 
 Christianity in the world, nothing but organized selfish 
 ness and self-indulgence." 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Crowfield, " you are not well to 
 night. Things are not quite so desperate as they appear. 
 You haven t got over Christmas week." 
 
 " I am well. Never was better. But I can see, I hope, 
 what s before my eyes ; and the fact is, Mrs. Crowfield, 
 things must not go on as they are going. There must be 
 more care, more attention to details. There s Maggie, 
 that girl never does what she is told. You are too slack with 
 
350 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 her, ma am. She will light the fire with the last paper, 
 and she won t put my slippers in the right place ; and I 
 can t have my study made the general catch-all and mena 
 gerie for Rover and Jenny, and her baskets and balls, and 
 for all the family litter." 
 
 Just at this moment I overheard a sort of aside from 
 Jenny, who was swelling with repressed indignation at my 
 attack on her worsted. She sat with her back to me, 
 knitting energetically, and said, in a low, but very decisive 
 tone, as she twitched her yarn : 
 
 " Now if / should talk in that way, people would call me 
 cross, and that ? s the whole of it." 
 
 I pretended to be looking into the fire in an absent- 
 minded state ; but Jenny s words had started a new idea. 
 Was that it ? Was that the whole matter ? Was it, then, 
 a fact, that the house, the servants, Jenny and her worsteds, 
 Rover and Mrs. Crowfield, were all going on pretty much 
 as usual, and that the only difficulty was that I was cross ? 
 How many times had I encouraged Rover to lie just where 
 he was lying when I kicked him ! How many times, in 
 better moods, had I complimented Jenny on her neat little 
 fancy-works, and declared that I liked the social compan 
 ionship of ladies work-baskets among my papers ! Yes, it 
 was clear. After all, things were much as they had been ; 
 only I was cross. 
 
 Cross. I put it to myself in that simple, old-fashioned 
 word, instead of saying that I was out of spirits, or nervous, 
 or using any of the other smooth phrases with which we 
 good Christians cover up our little sins of temper. " Here 
 you are, Christopher," said I to myself, " a literary man, 
 with a somewhat delicate nervous organization and a sen 
 sitive stomach, and you have been eating like a sailor or 
 a ploughman ; you have been gallivanting and merrymaking 
 and playing the boy for two weeks ; up at all sorts of ir 
 regular hours and into all sorts of boyish performances ; 
 
IRRITABILITY 351 
 
 and the consequence is, that, like a thoughtless young scape 
 grace, you have used up in ten days the capital of nervous 
 energy that was meant to last you ten weeks. You can t 
 eat your cake and have it too, Christopher. When the ner 
 vous-fluid source of cheerfulness, giver of pleasant sensa 
 tions and pleasant views, is all spent, you can t feel cheer 
 ful ; things cannot look as they did when you were full of 
 life and vigor. When the tide is out, there is nothing but 
 unsightly, ill-smelling tide-mud, and you can t help it ; but 
 you can keep your senses, you can know what is the 
 matter with you, you can keep from visiting your over 
 dose of mince-pies and candies and jocularities on the heads 
 of Mrs. Crowfield, Rover, and Jenny, whether in the form 
 of virulent morality, pungent criticisms, or a free kick, such 
 as you just gave the poor brute." 
 
 " Come here, Rover, poor dog ! " said I, extending my 
 hand to Rover, who cowered at the farther corner of the 
 room, eying me wistfully, " come here, you poor doggie, 
 and make up with your master. There, there ! Was his 
 master cross ? Well, he knows it. We must forgive and 
 forget, old boy, must n t we ? " And Rover nearly broke 
 his own back and tore me to pieces with his tumultuous 
 tail-waggings. 
 
 "As for you, puss," I said to Jenny, "I am much 
 obliged to you for your free suggestion. You must take my 
 cynical moralities for what they are worth, and put your 
 little traps into as many of my drawers as you like." 
 
 In short, I made it up handsomely all around, even 
 apologizing to Mrs. Crowfield, who, by the bye, has summered 
 and wintered me so many years, and knows all my little 
 seams and crinkles so well, that she took my irritable, 
 unreasonable spirit as tranquilly as if I had been a baby 
 cutting a new tooth. 
 
 " Of course, Chris, I knew what the matter was ; don t 
 disturb yourself," she said, as I began my apology ; " we 
 
352 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 understand each other. But there is one thing I have to 
 say, and that is, that your article ought to be ready. " 
 
 " Ah, well, then," said I, " like other great writers, I 
 shall make capital of my own sins, and treat of the second 
 little family fox." 
 
 IRRITABILITY 
 
 Irritability is, more than most unlovely states, a sin of 
 the flesh. It is not, like envy, malice, spite, revenge, a 
 vice which we may suppose to belong equally to an em 
 bodied or a disembodied spirit. In fact, it conies nearer to 
 being physical depravity than anything I know of. There 
 are some bodily states, some conditions of the nerves, such 
 that we could not conceive of even an angelic spirit con 
 fined in a body thus disordered as being able to do any 
 more than simply endure. It is a state of nervous torture ; 
 and the attacks which the wretched victim makes on others 
 are as much a result of disease as the snapping and biting 
 of a patient convulsed with hydrophobia. 
 
 Then, again, there are other people who go through life 
 loving and beloved, desired in every circle, held up in the 
 Church as examples of the power of religion, who, after all, 
 deserve no credit for these things. Their spirits are lodged 
 in an animal nature so tranquil, so cheerful, all the sensa 
 tions which come to them are so fresh and vigorous and 
 pleasant, that they cannot help viewing the world charitably 
 and seeing everything through a glorified medium. The 
 ill temper of others does not provoke them ; perplexing 
 business never sets their nerves to vibrating ; and all their 
 lives long they walk in the serene sunshine of perfect 
 animal health. 
 
 Look at Rover there. He is never nervous, never cross, 
 never snaps or snarls, and is ready, the moment after the 
 grossest affront, to wag the tail of forgiveness, all be 
 cause kind nature has put his dog s body together so that 
 
IRRITABILITY 353 
 
 it always works harmoniously. If every person in the 
 world were gifted with a stomach and nerves like his, it 
 would be a far better and happier world, no doubt. The 
 man said a good thing who made the remark, that the 
 foundation of all intellectual and moral worth must be laid 
 in a good healthy animal. 
 
 Now I think it is undeniable that the peace and happi 
 ness of the home circle are very generally much invaded by 
 the recurrence in its members of these states of bodily irri 
 tability. Every person, if he thinks the matter over, will 
 see that his condition in life, the character of his friends, his 
 estimate of their virtues and failings, his hopes and expec 
 tations, are all very much modified by these things. Cannot 
 we all remember going to bed as very ill-used, persecuted 
 individuals, all whose friends were unreasonable, whose life 
 was full of trials and crosses, and waking up on a bright 
 bird-singing morning to find all these illusions gone with 
 the fogs of the night ? Our friends are nice people, after 
 all ; the little things that annoyed us look ridiculous by 
 bright sunshine ; and we are fortunate individuals. 
 
 The philosophy of life, then, as far as this matter is con 
 cerned, must consist of two things : first, to keep ourselves 
 out of irritable bodily states ; and second, to understand 
 and control these states, when we cannot ward them off. 
 
 Of course, the first of these is the most important ; and 
 yet, of all things, it seems to be least looked into and un 
 derstood. We find abundant rules for the government of 
 the tongue and temper ; it is a slough into which, John 
 Bunyan hath it, cart-loads of wholesome instructions have 
 been thrown ; but how to get and keep that healthy state 
 of brain, stomach, and nerves which takes away the tempta 
 tion to ill temper and anger is a subject which moral and 
 religious teachers seem scarcely to touch upon. 
 
 Now, without running into technical, physiological lan 
 guage, it is evident, as regards us human beings, that there 
 
354 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 is a power by which we live and move and have our being, 
 by which the brain thinks and wills, the stomach digests, 
 the blood circulates, and all the different provinces of the 
 little man-kingdom do their work. This something call 
 it nervous fluid, nervous power, vital energy, life-force, or 
 anything else that you will is a perfectly understood, if 
 not a definable thing. It is plain, too, that people possess 
 this force in very different degrees ; some generating it as a 
 high pressure engine does steam, and using it constantly, 
 with an apparently inexhaustible flow ; and others who have 
 little, and spend it quickly. We have a common saying, 
 that this or that person is soon used up. Now most nervous 
 irritable states of temper are the mere physical result of a 
 used-up condition. The person has overspent his nervous 
 energy, : like a man who should eat up on Monday the 
 whole food which was to keep him for a week, and go growl 
 ing and faint through the other days ; or the quantity of 
 nervous force which was wanted to carry on the whole sys 
 tem in all its parts is seized on by some one monopolizing 
 portion, and used up to the loss and detriment of the rest. 
 Thus, with men of letters, an exorbitant brain expends on 
 its own workings what belongs to the other offices of the 
 body : the stomach has nothing to carry on digestion ; the 
 secretions are badly made ; and the imperfectly assimilated 
 nourishment, that is conveyed to every little nerve and tis 
 sue, carries with it an acrid, irritating quality, producing 
 general restlessness and discomfort. So men and women go 
 struggling on through their threescore and ten years, scarcely 
 one in a thousand knowing through life that perfect balance 
 of parts, that appropriate harmony of energies, that make a 
 healthy, kindly animal condition, predisposing to cheerful 
 ness and good-will. 
 
 We Americans are, in the first place, a nervous, excitable 
 people. Multitudes of children, probably the great major 
 ity in the upper walks of life, are born into the world with 
 
IRRITABILITY 355 
 
 weaknesses of the nervous organization, or of the brain or 
 stomach, which make them incapable of any strong excite 
 ment or prolonged exertion without some lesion or derange 
 ment ; so that they are continually being checked, laid up, and 
 made invalids in the midst of their days. Life here in 
 America is so fervid, so fast, our climate is so stimulating, 
 with its clear, bright skies, its rapid and sudden changes of 
 temperature, that the tendencies to nervous disease are con 
 stantly aggravated. 
 
 Under these circumstances, unless men and women make 
 a conscience, a religion, of saving and sparing something of 
 themselves expressly for home life and home consumption, 
 it must follow that home will often be merely a sort of 
 refuge for us to creep into when we are used up and irri 
 table. 
 
 Papa is up and off, after a hasty breakfast, and drives all 
 day in his business, putting into it all there is in him, let 
 ting it drink up brain and nerve and body and soul, and 
 coming home jaded and exhausted, so that he cannot bear 
 the cry of the baby, and the frolics and pattering of the 
 nursery seem horrid and needless confusion. The little ones 
 say, in their plain vernacular, " Papa is cross." 
 
 Mamma goes out to a party that keeps her up till one or 
 two in the morning, breathes bad air, eats indigestible food, 
 and the next day is so nervous that every straw and thread 
 in her domestic path are insufferable. 
 
 Papas that pursue business thus day after day, and mam 
 mas that go into company, as it is called, night after night, 
 what is there left in or of them to make an agreeable fire 
 side with, to brighten their home and inspire their children ? 
 
 True, the man says he cannot help himself, business 
 requires it. But what is the need of rolling up money 
 at the rate at which he is seeking to do it ? Why not 
 have less, and take some time to enjoy his home, and cheer 
 up his wife, and form the minds of his children ? Why 
 
356 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 spend himself down to the last drop on the world, and give 
 to the dearest friends he has only the bitter dregs ? 
 
 Much of the preaching which the pulpit and the Church 
 have leveled at fashionable amusements has failed of any 
 effect at all, because wrongly put. A cannonade has been 
 opened upon dancing, for example, and all for reasons that 
 will not, in the least, bear looking into. It is vain to talk 
 of dancing as a sin because practiced in a dying world where 
 souls are passing into eternity. If dancing is a sin for this 
 reason, so is playing marbles, or frolicking with one s chil 
 dren, or enjoying a good dinner, or doing fifty other things 
 which nobody ever dreamed of objecting to. 
 
 If the preacher were to say that anything is a sin which 
 uses up the strength we need for daily duties, and leaves 
 us fagged out and irritable at just those times and in just 
 those places when and where we need most to be healthy, 
 cheerful, and self-possessed, he would say a thing that none 
 of his hearers would dispute. If he should add, that dan 
 cing-parties, beginning at ten o clock at night and ending at 
 four o clock in the morning, do use up the strength, weaken 
 the nerves, and leave a person wholly unfit for any home 
 duty, he would also be saying what very few people would 
 deny ; and then his case would be made out. If he should 
 say that it is wrong to breathe bad air and fill the stomach 
 with unwholesome dainties, so as to make one restless, ill 
 natured, and irritable for days, he would also say what few 
 would deny, and his preaching might have some hope of 
 success. 
 
 The true manner of judging of the worth of amusements 
 is to try them by their effects on the nerves and spirits 
 the day after. True amusement ought to be, as the word 
 indicates, recreation, something that refreshes, turns us 
 out anew, rests the mind and body by change, and gives 
 cheerfulness and alacrity to our return to duty. 
 
 The true objection to all stimulants, alcoholic and nar- 
 
IRKIT ABILITY 357 
 
 cotic, consists simply in this, that they are a form of 
 overdraft on the nervous energy, which helps us to use up 
 in one hour the strength of whole days. 
 
 A man uses up all the fair, legal interest of nervous power 
 by too much business, too much care, or too much amuse 
 ment. He has now a demand to meet. He has a complicated 
 account to make up, an essay or a sermon to write, and he 
 primes himself by a cup of coffee, a cigar, a glass of spirits. 
 This is exactly the procedure of a man who, having used 
 the interest of his money, begins to dip into the principal. 
 The strength a man gets in this way is just so much taken 
 out of his life-blood ; it is borrowing of a merciless cred 
 itor, who will exact, in time, the pound of flesh nearest his 
 heart. 
 
 Much of the irritability which spoils home happiness is 
 the letting-down from the over-excitement of stimulus. 
 Some will drink coffee, when they own every day that it 
 makes them nervous ; some will drug themselves with 
 tobacco, and some with alcohol, and, for a few hours of 
 extra brightness, give themselves and their friends many 
 hours when amiability or agreeableness is quite out of the 
 question. There are people calling themselves Christians 
 who live in miserable thraldom, forever in debt to Nature, 
 forever overdrawing on their just resources, and using up 
 their patrimony, because they have not the moral courage to 
 break away from a miserable appetite. 
 
 The same may be said of numberless indulgences of the 
 palate, which tax the stomach beyond its power, and bring 
 on all the horrors of indigestion. It is almost impossible 
 for a confirmed dyspeptic to act like a good Christian ; but 
 a good Christian ought not to become a confirmed dyspeptic. 
 Reasonable self-control, abstaining from all unseasonable 
 indulgence, may prevent or put an end to dyspepsia, and 
 many suffer and make their friends suffer only because they 
 will persist in eating what they know is hurtful to them. 
 
358 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 But it is not merely in worldly business, or fashionable 
 amusements, or the gratification of appetite, that people are 
 tempted to overdraw and use up in advance their life-force. 
 It is done in ways more insidious, because connected with 
 our moral and religious faculties. There are religious exal 
 tations beyond the regular pulse and beatings of ordinary 
 nature, that quite as surely gravitate downward into the mire 
 of irritability. The ascent to the third heaven lets even the 
 Apostle down to a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of 
 Satan to buffet him. 
 
 It is the temptation of natures in which the moral faculties 
 predominate to overdo in the outward expression and activi 
 ties of religion till they are used up and irritable, and have 
 no strength left to set a good example in domestic life. 
 
 The Reverend Mr. X. in the pulpit to-day appears with 
 the face of an angel ; he soars away into those regions of 
 exalted devotion where his people can but faintly gaze after 
 him ; he tells them of the victory that overcometh the 
 world, of an unmoved faith that fears no evil, of a serenity 
 of love that no outward event can ruffle ; and all look after 
 him and wonder, and wish they could so soar. 
 
 Alas ! the exaltation which inspires these sublime con 
 ceptions, these celestial ecstasies, is a double and treble 
 draft on nature, and poor Mrs. X. knows, when she hears 
 him preaching, that days of miserable reaction are before 
 her. He had been a fortnight driving before a gale of 
 strong excitement, doing all the time twice or thrice as 
 much as in his ordinary state he could, and sustaining him 
 self by the stimulus of strong coffee. He has preached or 
 exhorted every night, and conversed with religious inquirers 
 every day, seeming to himself to become stronger and 
 stronger, because every day more and more excitable and 
 excited. To his hearers, with his flushed sunken cheek and 
 his glittering eye, he looks like some spiritual being just 
 trembling on his flight for upper worlds ; but to poor Mrs. 
 
IRRITABILITY 359 
 
 X., whose husband he is, things wear a very different aspect. 
 Her woman and mother instincts tell her that he is drawing 
 on his life-capital with both hands, and that the hours of a 
 terrible settlement must come, and the days of darkness will 
 be many. He who spoke so beautifully of the peace of a 
 soul made perfect will not be able to bear the cry of his 
 baby or the pattering feet of any of the poor little X. s, who 
 must be sent 
 
 "Anywhere, anywhere, 
 Out of his sight;" 
 
 he who discoursed so devoutly of perfect trust in God will 
 be nervous about the butcher s bill, sure of going to ruin 
 because both ends of the salary don t meet ; and he who 
 could so admiringly tell of the silence of Jesus under pro 
 vocation will but too often speak unadvisedly with his lips. 
 Poor Mr. X. will be morally insane for days or weeks, and 
 absolutely incapable of preaching Christ in the way that is 
 the most effective, by setting Him forth in his own daily 
 example. 
 
 What then ? must we not do the work of the Lord ? 
 Yes, certainly ; but the first work of the Lord, that for 
 which provision is to be made in the first place, is to set a 
 good example as a Christian man. Better labor for years 
 steadily, diligently, doing every day only what the night s 
 rest can repair, avoiding those cheating stimulants that over 
 tax Nature, and illustrating the sayings of the pulpit by the 
 daily life in the family, than to pass life in exaltations and 
 depressions, resulting from overstrained labors, supported by 
 unnatural stimulus. 
 
 The same principles apply to hearers as to preachers. 
 Eeligious services must be judged of like amusements, by 
 their effect on the life. If an overdose of prayers, hymns, 
 and sermons leaves us tired, nervous, and cross, it is only 
 not quite as bad as an overdose of fashionable folly. 
 
 It could be wished that in every neighborhood there 
 
3 "60 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 might be one or two calm, sweet daily services which should 
 morning and evening unite for a few solemn moments the 
 hearts of all as in one family, and feed with a constant, 
 unnoticed, daily supply the lamp of faith and love. Such 
 are some of the daily prayer-meetings which for eight or 
 ten years past have held their even tenor in some of our 
 New England cities, and such the morning and evening ser 
 vices which we are glad to see obtaining in the Episcopal 
 churches. Everything which brings religion into habitual 
 contact with life, and makes it part of a healthy, cheerful 
 average living, we hail as a sign of a better day. Nothing 
 is so good for health as daily devotion. It is the best 
 soother of the nerves, the best antidote to care ; and we 
 trust erelong that all Christian people will be of one mind 
 in this, and that neighborhoods will be families gathering 
 daily around one altar, praying not for themselves merely, 
 but for each other. 
 
 The conclusion of the whole matter is this. Set apart 
 some provision to make merry with at home, and guard that 
 reserve as religiously as the priests guarded the shew-bread 
 in the temple. However great you are, however good, 
 however wide the general interests that you may control, 
 you gain nothing by neglecting home duties. You must 
 leave enough of yourself to be able to bear and forbear, 
 give and forgive, and be a source of life and cheerfulness 
 around the hearthstone. The great sign given by the Proph 
 ets of the coming of the Millennium is, what do you 
 suppose ? " He shall turn the heart of the fathers to the 
 children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest 
 I come and smite the earth with a curse." 
 
 Thus much on avoiding unhealthy, irritable states. 
 
 But it still remains that a large number of people will 
 be subject to them unavoidably for these reasons. 
 
 First. The use of tobacco, alcohol, and other kindred 
 stimulants, for so many generations, has vitiated the brain 
 
IRRITABILITY 361 
 
 and nervous system of modern civilized races so that it is 
 not what it was in former times. Michelet treats of this 
 subject quite at large in some of his late works ; and we 
 have to face the fact of a generation born with an impaired 
 nervous organization, who will need constant care and wis 
 dom to avoid unhealthy, morbid irritation. 
 
 There is a temperament called the HYPOCHONDRIAC, to 
 which many persons, some of them the brightest, the most 
 interesting, the most gifted, are born heirs, a want of 
 balance of the nervous powers, which tends constantly to 
 periods of high excitement and of consequent depression, 
 an unfortunate inheritance for the possessor, though accom 
 panied often with the greatest talents. Sometimes, too, it 
 is the unfortunate lot of those who have not talents, who 
 bear its burdens and its anguish without its rewards. 
 
 People of this temperament are subject to fits of gloom 
 and despondency, of nervous irritability and suffering, which 
 darken the aspect of the whole world to them, which pre 
 sent lying reports of their friends, of themselves, of the 
 circumstances of their life, and of all with which they have 
 to do. 
 
 Now the highest philosophy for persons thus afflicted is 
 to understand themselves and their tendencies, to know that 
 these fits of gloom and depression are just as much a form 
 of disease as a fever or a toothache, to know that it is the 
 peculiarity of the disease to fill the mind with wretched 
 illusions, to make them seem miserable and unlovely to 
 themselves, to make their nearest friends seem unjust and 
 unkind, to make all events appear to be going wrong and 
 tending to destruction and ruin. 
 
 The evils and burdens of such a temperament are half 
 removed when a man once knows that he has it and recog 
 nizes it for a disease, and when he does not trust himself to 
 speak and act in those bitter hours as if there were any 
 truth in what he thinks and feels and sees. He who has 
 
362 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 not attained to this wisdom overwhelms his friends and his 
 family with the waters of bitterness ; he stings with unjust 
 accusations, and makes his fireside dreadful with fancies 
 which are real to him, but false as the ravings of fever. 
 
 A sensible person, thus diseased, who has found out 
 what ails him, will shut his mouth resolutely, not to give 
 utterance to the dark thoughts that infest his soul. 
 
 A lady of great brilliancy and wit, who was subject to 
 these periods, once said to me," My dear sir, there are times 
 when I know I am possessed of the Devil, and then I never 
 let myself speak." And so this wise woman carried her 
 burden about with her in a determined, cheerful reticence, 
 leaving always the impression of a cheery, kindly temper, 
 when, if she had spoken out a tithe of what she thought 
 and felt in her morbid hours, she would have driven all her 
 friends from her, and made others as miserable as she was 
 herself. She was a sunbeam, a life-giving presence in every 
 family, by the power of self-knowledge and self-control. 
 Such victories as this are the victories of real saints. 
 
 But if the victim of these glooms is once tempted to lift 
 their heavy load by the use of any stimulus whatever, he 
 or she is a lost man or woman. It is from this sad class 
 more than any other that the vast army of drunkards and 
 opium-eaters is recruited. Dr. Johnson, one of the most 
 brilliant examples of the hypochondriac temperament which 
 literature affords, has expressed a characteristic of the race, 
 in what he says of himself, that he could " practice Absti 
 nence but not Temperance." Hypochondriacs who be 
 gin to rely on stimulus almost without exception find this 
 to be true. They cannot, they will not be moderate. 
 Whatever stimulant they take for relief will create an un 
 controllable appetite, a burning passion. The temperament 
 itself lies in the direction of insanity. It needs the most 
 healthful, careful, even regimen and management to keep 
 it within the bounds of soundness ; but the introduction of 
 
IRKITABILITY 363 
 
 stimulants deepens its gloom with the shadows of utter 
 despair. 
 
 All parents, in the education of their children, should 
 look out for and understand the signs of this temperament. 
 It appears in early childhood ; and a child inclined to fits 
 of depression should be marked as a subject of the most 
 thoughtful, painstaking physical and moral training. All 
 over-excitement and stimulus should be carefully avoided, 
 whether in the way of study, amusement, or diet. Judi 
 cious education may do much to mitigate the unavoidable 
 pains and penalties of this most undesirable inheritance. 
 
 The second class of persons who need wisdom in the con 
 trol of their moods is that large class whose unfortunate 
 circumstances make it impossible for them to avoid con 
 stantly overdoing and overdrawing upon their nervous en 
 ergies, and who therefore are always exhausted and worn out. 
 Poor souls, who labor daily under a burden too heavy for 
 them, and whose fretfulness and impatience are looked upon 
 with sorrow, not anger, by pitying angels. Poor mothers, 
 with families of little children clinging round them, and a 
 baby that never lets them sleep ; hard-working men, whose 
 utmost toil, day and night, scarcely keeps the wolf from the 
 door ; and all the hard-laboring, heavy-laden, on whom the 
 burdens of life press far beyond their strength. 
 
 There are but two things we know of for these, two 
 remedies only for the irritation that comes of these ex 
 haustions ; the habit of silence towards men, and of speech 
 towards God. The heart must utter itself or burst ; but 
 let it learn to commune constantly and intimately with 
 One always present and always sympathizing. This is the 
 great, the only safeguard against fretfulness and complaint. 
 Thus and thus only can peace spring out of confusion, and 
 the breaking chords of an overtaxed nature be strung anew 
 to a celestial harmony. 
 
Ill 
 
 REPRESSION 
 
 I AM going now to write on another cause of family unhap- 
 piness, more subtle than either of those before enumerated. 
 
 In the General Confession of the Church, we poor mor 
 tals all unite in saying two things : " We have left undone 
 those things which we ought to have done, and we have 
 done those things which we ought not to have done." These 
 two heads exhaust the subject of human frailty. 
 
 It is the things left undone which we ought to have 
 done, the things left unsaid which w r e ought to have said, 
 that constitute the subject I am now to treat of. 
 
 I remember my school-day speculations over an old 
 Chemistry I used to study as a text-book, which informed 
 me that a substance called Caloric exists in all bodies. In 
 some it exists in a latent state : it is there, but it affects 
 neither the senses nor the thermometer. Certain causes 
 develop it, when it raises the mercury and warms the hands. 
 I remember the awe and wonder with which, even then, I 
 reflected on the vast amount of blind, deaf, and dumb com 
 fort which Nature has thus stowed away. How mysterious 
 it seemed to me that poor families every winter should be 
 shivering, freezing, and catching cold, when Nature had all 
 this latent caloric locked up in her store-closet, when 
 it was all around them, in everything they touched and 
 handled ! 
 
 In the spiritual world there is an exact analogy to this. 
 There is a great life-giving, warming power called Love, 
 which exists in human hearts dumb and unseen, but which 
 
KEPKESSION 365 
 
 has no real life, no warming power, till set free by expres 
 sion. 
 
 Did you ever, in a raw, chilly day, just before a snow 
 storm, sit at work in a room that was judiciously warmed 
 by an exact thermometer ? You do not freeze, but you 
 shiver ; your fingers do not become numb with cold, but 
 you have all the while an uneasy craving for more positive 
 warmth. You look at the empty grate, walk mechanically 
 towards it, and, suddenly awaking, shiver to see that there 
 is nothing there. You long for a shawl or cloak ; you draw 
 yourself within yourself ; you consult the thermometer, and 
 are vexed to find that there is nothing there to be com 
 plained of, it is standing most provokingly at the exact 
 temperature that all the good books and good doctors pro 
 nounce to be the proper thing, the golden mean of health ; 
 and yet perversely you shiver, and feel as if the face of an 
 open fire would be to you as the smile of an angel. 
 
 Such a lifelong chill, such an habitual shiver, is the lot 
 of many natures, which are not warm, when all ordinary 
 rules tell them they ought to be warm, whose life is cold 
 and barren and meagre, which never see the blaze of an 
 open fire. 
 
 I will illustrate my meaning by a page out of my own 
 experience. 
 
 I was twenty-one when I stood as groomsman for my 
 youngest and favorite sister Emily. I remember her now 
 as she stood at the altar, a pale, sweet, flowery face, in a 
 half-shimmer between smiles and tears, looking out of va 
 pory clouds of gauze and curls and all the vanishing mys 
 teries of a bridal morning. 
 
 Everybody thought the marriage such a fortunate one ! 
 for her husband was handsome and manly, a man of worth, 
 of principle good as gold and solid as adamant, and Emmy 
 had always been such a flossy little kitten of a pet, so full 
 of all sorts of impulses, so sensitive and nervous, we thought 
 
366 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 her kind, strong, composed, stately husband made just on pur 
 pose for her. " It was quite a Providence," sighed all the 
 elderly ladies, who sniffed tenderly, and wiped their eyes, 
 according to approved custom, during the marriage cere 
 mony. 
 
 I remember now the bustle of the day, the confused 
 whirl of white gloves, kisses, bridemaids, and bridecakes, 
 the losing of trunk keys and breaking of lacings, the tears 
 of mamma God bless her ! and the jokes of irreverent 
 Christopher, who could for the life of him see nothing so 
 very dismal in the whole phantasmagoria, and only wished 
 he were as well off himself. 
 
 And so Emmy was whirled away from us on the bridal 
 tour, when her letters came back to us almost every day, 
 just like herself, merry, frisky little bits of scratches, as 
 full of little nonsense-beads as a glass of champagne, and 
 all ending with telling us how perfect he was, and how 
 good, and how well he took care of her, and how happy, 
 etc., etc. Then canie letters from her new home. His 
 house was not yet built ; but while it was building, they 
 were to live with his mother, who was " such a good wo 
 man," and his sisters, who were also " such nice women." 
 
 But somehow, after this, a change came over Emmy s 
 letters. They grew shorter ; they seemed measured in 
 their words ; and in place of sparkling nonsense and bub 
 bling outbursts of glee, came anxiously worded praises of 
 her situation and surroundings, evidently written for the 
 sake of arguing herself into the belief that she was extremely 
 happy. 
 
 John, of course, was not as much with her now : he had 
 his business to attend to, which took him away all day, and 
 at night he was very tired. Still he was very good and 
 thoughtful of her, and how thankful she ought to be ! 
 And his mother was very good indeed, and did all for her 
 that she could reasonably expect, of course she could not 
 
REPRESSION 367 
 
 be like her own mamma ; and Mary and Jane were very 
 kind, " in their way/ she wrote, but scratched it out, 
 and wrote over it, " very kind indeed." They were the 
 best people in the world, a great deal better than she 
 was ; and she should try to learn a great deal from them. 
 
 " Poor little Em ! " I said to myself, " I am afraid these 
 very nice people are slowly freezing and starving her." 
 And so, as I was going up into the mountains for a summer 
 tour, I thought I would accept some of John s many invi 
 tations and stop a day or two with them on my way, and 
 see how matters stood. John had been known among us 
 in college as a taciturn fellow, but good as gold. I had 
 gained his friendship by a regular siege, carrying parallel 
 after parallel, till, when I came into the fort at last, I found 
 the treasures worth taking. 
 
 I had little difficulty in finding Squire Evans s house. 
 It was the house of the village, a true, model, New Eng 
 land house, a square, roomy, old-fashioned mansion, which 
 stood on a hillside, under a group of great, breezy old elms, 
 whose wide, wind-swung arms arched over it like a leafy 
 firmament. Under this bower the substantial white house, 
 with all its window blinds closed, with its neat white fences 
 all tight and trim, stood in its faultless green turfy yard, a 
 perfect Pharisee among houses. It looked like a house all 
 finished, done, completed, labeled, and set on a shelf for 
 preservation j but, as is usual with this kind of edifice in 
 our dear New England, it had not the slightest appearance 
 of being lived in, not a door or window open, not a wink 
 or blink of life ; the only suspicion of human habitation 
 was the thin, pale-blue smoke from the kitchen-chimney. 
 
 And now for the people in the house. 
 
 In making a New England visit in winter, was it ever 
 your fortune to be put to sleep in the glacial spare-cham 
 ber, that had been kept from time immemorial as a refriger 
 ator for guests, that room which no ray of daily sunshine 
 
368 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 and daily living ever warms, whose blinds are closed the 
 whole year round, whose fireplace knows only the compli 
 mentary blaze which is kindled a few moments before bed 
 time in an atmosphere where you can see your breath ? Do 
 you remember the process of getting warm in a bed of most 
 faultless material, with linen sheets and pillow-cases, slip 
 pery and cold as ice ? You did get warm at last, but you 
 warmed your bed by giving out all the heat of your own 
 body. 
 
 Such are some families where you visit. They are of the 
 very best quality, like your sheets, but so cold that it takes 
 all the vitality you have to get them warmed up to the talk 
 ing-point. You think, the first hour after your arrival, that 
 they must have heard some report to your disadvantage, or 
 that you misunderstood your letter of invitation, or that you 
 came on the wrong day ; but no, you find in due course 
 that you were invited, you were expected, and they are do 
 ing for you the best they know how, and treating you as 
 they suppose a guest ought to be treated. 
 
 If you are a warm-hearted, jovial fellow, and go on feel 
 ing your way discreetly, you gradually thaw quite a little 
 place round yourself in the domestic circle, till, by the time 
 you are ready to leave, you really begin to think it is agree 
 able to stay, and resolve that you will come again. They 
 are nice people ; they like you ; at last you have got to 
 feeling at home with them. 
 
 Three months after, you go to see them again, when, lo ! 
 there you are, back again just where you were at first. The 
 little spot which you had thawed out is frozen over again, 
 and again you spend all your visit in thawing it and getting 
 your hosts limbered and in a state for comfortable converse. 
 
 The first evening that I spent in the wide, roomy front- 
 parlor, with Judge Evans, his wife, and daughters, fully 
 accounted for the change in Emmy s letters. Rooms, I 
 verily believe, get saturated with the aroma of their spirit- 
 
REPRESSION 369 
 
 ual atmosphere ; and there are some so stately, so correct, 
 that they would paralyze even the friskiest kitten or the 
 most impudent Scotch terrier. At a glance you perceive, 
 on entering, that nothing but correct deportment, an erect 
 posture, and strictly didactic conversation is possible there. 
 
 The family, in fact, were all eminently didactic, bent on 
 improvement, laboriously useful. Not a good work or 
 charitable enterprise could put forth its head in the neigh 
 borhood, of which they were not the support and life. 
 Judge Evans was the stay and staff of the village and town 
 ship of ; he bore up the pillars thereof. Mrs. Evans 
 
 was known in the gates for all the properties and deeds of 
 the virtuous woman, as set forth by Solomon ; the heart of 
 her husband did safely trust in her. But when I saw them, 
 that evening, sitting, in erect propriety, in their respective 
 corners each side of the great, stately fireplace, with its tall, 
 glistening brass andirons, its mantel adorned at either end 
 with plated candlesticks, with the snuffer-tray in the middle, 
 she so collectedly measuring her words, talking in all 
 those well-worn grooves of correct conversation which are 
 designed, as the phrase goes, to " entertain strangers," and 
 the Misses Evans, in the best of grammar and rhetoric, and 
 in most proper time and way possible, showing themselves 
 for what they were, most high-principled, well-informed, 
 intelligent women, I set myself to speculate on the cause 
 of the extraordinary sensation of stiffness and restraint 
 which pervaded me, as if I had been dipped in some petrify 
 ing spring and was beginning to feel myself slightly crust 
 ing over on the exterior. 
 
 This kind of conversation is such as admits quite easily 
 of one s carrying on another course of thought within ; and 
 so, as I found myself like a machine, striking in now and 
 then in good time and tune, I looked at Judge Evans, sit 
 ting there so serene, self-poised, and cold, and began to won 
 der if he had ever been a boy, a young man, if Mrs. 
 
370 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 Evans ever was a girl, if he was ever in love with her, 
 and what he did when he was. 
 
 I thought of the lock of Emmy s hair which I had ob 
 served in John s writing-desk in days when he was falling 
 in love with her, of sundry little movements in which 
 at awkward moments I had detected my grave and serious 
 gentleman when I had stumbled accidentally upon the pair 
 in moonlight strolls or retired corners, and wondered 
 whether the models of propriety before me had ever been 
 convicted of any such human weaknesses. Now, to be 
 sure, I could as soon imagine the stately tongs to walk up 
 and kiss the shovel as conceive of any such bygone effusion 
 in those dignified individuals. But how did they get ac 
 quainted ? how came they ever to be married ? 
 
 I looked at John, and thought I saw him gradually stiff 
 ening and subsiding into the very image of his father. 
 As near as a young fellow of twenty-five can resemble an 
 old one of sixty-two, he was growing to be exactly like him, 
 with the same upright carriage, the same silence and reserve. 
 Then I looked at Emmy : she, too, was changed, she, 
 the wild little pet, all of whose pretty individualities were 
 dear to us, that little unpunctuated scrap of life s poetry, 
 full of little exceptions referable to no exact rule, only to 
 be tolerated under the wide score of poetic license. Now, 
 as she sat between the two Misses Evans, I thought I could 
 detect a bored, anxious expression on her little mobile face, 
 an involuntary watchfulness and self-consciousness, as if 
 she were trying to be good on some quite new pattern. 
 She seemed nervous about some of my jokes, and her eye 
 went apprehensively to her mother-in-law in the corner; 
 she tried hard to laugh and make things go merrily for me ; 
 she seemed sometimes to look an apology for me to them, 
 and then again for them to me. For myself, I felt that 
 perverse inclination to shock people which sometimes comes 
 over one in such situations. I had a great mind to draw 
 
REPRESSION 371 
 
 Emmy on to my knee and commence a brotherly romp with 
 her, to give John a thump on his very upright back, and 
 to propose to one of the Misses Evans to strike up a waltz, 
 and get the parlor into a general whirl, before the very face 
 and eyes of propriety in the corner : but " the spirits " were 
 too strong for me ; I could n t do it. 
 
 I remembered the innocent, saucy freedom with which 
 Emmy used to treat her John in the days of their engage- 
 men t ? the little ways, half loving, half mischievous, in 
 which she alternately petted and domineered over him. 
 Now she called him " Mr. Evans," with an anxious affecta 
 tion of matronly gravity. Had they been lecturing her into 
 these conjugal proprieties ? Probably not. I felt sure, by 
 what I now experienced in myself, that, were I to live in 
 that family one week, all deviations from the one accepted 
 pattern of propriety would fall off, like many-colored sumach 
 leaves after the first hard frost. I began to feel myself 
 slowly stiffening, my courage getting gently chilly. I tried 
 to tell a story, but had to mangle it greatly, because I felt 
 in the air around me that parts of it were too vernacular 
 and emphatic ; and then, as a man who is freezing makes 
 desperate efforts to throw off the spell, and finds his brain 
 beginning to turn, so I was beginning to be slightly insane, 
 and was haunted with a desire to say some horribly im 
 proper or wicked thing which should start them all out of 
 their chairs. Though never given to profane expressions, I 
 perfectly hankered to let out a certain round, unvarnished, 
 wicked word, which I knew would create a tremendous com 
 motion on the surface of this enchanted mill-pond, in 
 fact, I was so afraid that I should make some such mad 
 demonstration, that I rose at an early hour and begged 
 leave to retire. Emmy sprang up with apparent relief, and 
 offered to get my candle and marshal me to my room. 
 
 When she had ushered me into the chilly hospitality of 
 that stately apartment, she seemed suddenly disenchanted. 
 
372 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 She set down the candle, ran to me, fell on my neck, nes 
 tled her little head under my coat, laughing and crying, 
 and calling me her dear old boy ; she pulled my whiskers, 
 pinched my ear, rummaged my pockets, danced round me in 
 a sort of wild joy, stunning me with a volley of questions, 
 without stopping to hear the answer to one of them ; in short, 
 the wild little elf of old days seemed suddenly to come back 
 to me, as I sat down and drew her on to my knee. 
 
 " It does look so like home to see you, Chris ! dear, 
 dear home ! and the dear old folks ! There never, never 
 was such a home ! everybody there did just what they 
 wanted to, did n t they, Chris ? and we love each other, 
 don t we ? " 
 
 "Emmy," said I, suddenly, and very improperly, "you 
 are n t happy here." 
 
 " Not happy ? " she said, with a half-frightened look, 
 f( what makes you say so ? Oh, you are mistaken. I 
 have everything to make me happy. I should be very un 
 reasonable and wicked, if I were not. I am very, very 
 happy, I assure you. Of course, you know, everybody 
 can t be like our folks at home. That I should not ex 
 pect, you know, people s ways are different, but then, 
 when you know people are so good, and all that, why, of 
 course you must be thankful, be happy. It s better for me 
 to learn to control my feelings, you know, and not give way 
 to impulses. They are all so good here, they never give 
 way to their feelings, they always do right. Oh, they are 
 quite wonderful ! " 
 
 " And agreeable ? " said I. 
 
 " Chris, we must n t think so much of that. They 
 certainly are n t pleasant and easy, as people at home are ; 
 but they are never cross, they never scold, they always are 
 good. And we ought n t to think so much of living to be 
 happy ; we ought to think more of doing right, doing our 
 duty, don t you think so ? " 
 
REPRESSION 373 
 
 " All undeniable truth, Emmy ; but, for all that, John 
 seems stiff as a ramrod, and their front-parlor is like a tomb. 
 You must n t let them petrify him. 7 
 
 Her face clouded over a little. 
 
 " John is different here from what he was at our house. 
 He has been brought up differently, oh, entirely differ 
 ently from what we were ; and when he comes back into 
 the old house, the old business, and the old place between 
 his father and mother and sisters, he goes back into the old 
 ways. He loves me all the same, but he does not show it 
 in the same ways, and I must learn, you know, to take it 
 on trust. He is very busy, works hard all day, and all 
 for me ; and mother says women are unreasonable that ask 
 any other proof of love from their husbands than what they 
 give by working for them all the time. She never lectures 
 me, but I know she thought I was a silly little petted child, 
 and she told me one day how she brought up John. She 
 never petted him ; she put him away alone to sleep, from the 
 time he was six months old ; she never fed him out of his 
 regular hours when he was a baby, no matter how much he 
 cried ; she never let him talk baby-talk, or have any baby- 
 talk talked to him, but was very careful to make him speak 
 all his words plain from the very first ; she never encouraged 
 him to express his love by kisses or caresses, but taught him 
 that the only proof of love was exact obedience. I remem 
 ber John s telling me of his running to her once and hug 
 ging her round the neck, when he had come in without 
 wiping his shoes, and she took off his arms and said : { My 
 son, this is n t the best way to show love. I should be 
 much better pleased to have you come in quietly and wipe 
 your shoes than to come and kiss me when you forget to do 
 what I say. ; 
 
 " Dreadful old jade ! " said I, irreverently, being then 
 only twenty-three. 
 
 " Now, Chris, I won t have anything to say to you, if 
 
374 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 this is the way you are going to talk," said Emily, pouting, 
 though a mischievous gleam darted into her eyes. " Really, 
 however, I think she carried things too far, though she is 
 so good. I only said it to excuse John, and show how he 
 was brought up." 
 
 "Poor fellow!" said I. "I know now why he is so 
 hopelessly shut up, and walled up. Never a warmer heart 
 than he keeps stowed away there inside of the fortress, with 
 the drawbridge down and moat all round." 
 
 " They are all warm - hearted inside," said Emily. 
 " Would you think she did n t love him ? Once when he 
 was sick, she watched with him seventeen nights without 
 taking off her clothes ; she scarcely would eat all the time : 
 Jane told me so. She loves him better than she loves her 
 self. It 7 s perfectly dreadful sometimes to see how intense 
 she is when anything concerns him ; it s her principle that 
 makes her so cold and quiet." 
 
 " And a devilish one it is ! " said I. 
 
 " Chris, you are really growing wicked ! " 
 
 "I use the word seriously, and in good faith," said I. 
 " Who but the Father of Evil ever devised such plans for 
 making goodness hateful, and keeping the most heavenly 
 part of our nature so under lock and key that for the greater 
 part of our lives we get no use of it ? Of what benefit is 
 a mine of love burning where it warms nobody, and does no 
 thing but blister the soul within with its imprisoned heat ? 
 Love repressed grows morbid, acts in a thousand perverse 
 ways. These three women, I 11 venture to say, are living in 
 the family here like three frozen islands, knowing as little of 
 each other s inner life as if parted by eternal barriers of ice, 
 and all because a cursed principle in the heart of the 
 mother has made her bring them up in violence to nature." 
 
 " Well," said Emmy, " sometimes I do pity Jane ; she 
 is nearest my age, and, naturally, I think she was something 
 like me, or might have been. The other day I remember 
 
REPRESSION 375 
 
 her coming in looking so flushed and ill that I could n t 
 help asking if she were unwell. The tears came into her 
 eyes ; but her mother looked up, in her cool, business-like 
 way, and said, in her dry voice, 
 
 " Jane, what s the matter ? 
 
 " { Oh, my head aches dreadfully, and I have pains in all 
 my limbs ! 
 
 " I wanted to jump and run to do something for her, 
 you know at our house we feel that a sick person must be 
 waited on, but her mother only said, in the same dry 
 way, 
 
 " Well, Jane, you 7 ve probably got a cold ; go into the 
 kitchen and make yourself some good boneset tea, soak your 
 feet in hot water, and go to bed at once ; " and Jane meekly 
 departed. 
 
 " I wanted to spring and do these things for her ; but 
 it s curious, in this house I never dare offer to do anything ; 
 and mother looked at me, as she went out, with a significant 
 nod, 
 
 " That s always my way ; if any of the children are sick, 
 I never coddle them ; it s best to teach them to make as 
 light of it as possible. " 
 
 " Dreadful ! said I. 
 
 " Yes, it is dreadful," said Emmy, drawing her breath, 
 as if relieved that she might speak her mind ; " it s dreadful 
 to see these people, who I know love each other, living side 
 by side and never saying a loving, tender word, never doing 
 a little loving thing, sick ones crawling off alone like sick 
 animals, persisting in being alone, bearing everything alone. 
 But I won t let them ; I will insist on forcing my way into 
 their rooms. I would go and sit with Jane, and pet her 
 and hold her hand and bathe her head, though I knew it 
 made her horridly uncomfortable at first ; but I thought she 
 ought to learn to be petted in a Christian way, when she 
 was sick. I will kiss her too, sometimes, though she takes 
 
376 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 it just like a cat that is n t used to being stroked, and calls 
 me a silly girl ; but I know she is getting to like it. What 
 is the use of people s loving each other in this horridly cold, 
 stingy, silent way ? If one of them were dangerously ill 
 now, or met with any serious accident, I know there would 
 be no end to what the others would do for her ; if one of 
 them were to die, the others would be perfectly crushed : 
 but it would all go inward, drop silently down into that 
 dark, cold, frozen well ; they could n t speak to each other ; 
 they could n t comfort each other ; they have lost the power 
 of expression ; they absolutely can t." 
 
 " Yes," said I, " they are like the fakirs who have held 
 up an arm till it has become stiffened, they cannot now 
 change its position ; like the poor mutes, who, being deaf, 
 have become dumb through disuse of the organs of speech. 
 Their education has been like those iron suits of armor 
 into which little boys were put in the Middle Ages, solid, 
 inflexible, put on in childhood, enlarged with every year s 
 growth, till the warm human frame fitted the mould as if 
 it had been melted and poured into it. A person educated 
 in this way is hopelessly crippled, never will be what he 
 might have been." 
 
 " Oh, don t say that, Chris ; think of John ; think how 
 good he is." 
 
 " I do think how good he is," with indignation, 
 " and how few know it, too. I think, that, with the tender- 
 est, truest, gentlest heart, the utmost appreciation of human 
 friendship, he has passed in the world for a cold, proud, 
 selfish man. If your frank, impulsive, incisive nature had 
 not unlocked gates and opened doors, he would never have 
 known the love of woman : and now he is but half disen 
 chanted ; he every day tends to go back to stone." 
 
 " But I sha n t let him ; oh, indeed, I know the danger ! 
 I shall bring him out. I shall work on them all. I know 
 they are beginning to love me a good deal : in the first 
 
REPRESSION 377 
 
 place, because I belong to John, and everything belonging 
 to him is perfect ; and in the second place " 
 
 " In the second place, because they expect to weave, 
 day after day, the fine cobweb lines of their cold system of 
 repression around you, which will harden and harden, and 
 tighten and tighten, till you are as stiff and shrouded as any 
 of them. You remind me of our poor little duck : don t 
 you remember him ! " 
 
 " Yes, poor fellow ! how he would stay out, and swim 
 round and round, while the pond kept freezing and freezing, 
 and his swimming-place grew smaller and smaller every 
 day ; but he was such a plucky little fellow that " 
 
 " That at last we found him one morning frozen tight 
 in, and he has limped ever since on his poor feet. 7 
 
 " Oh, but I won t freeze in," she said laughing. 
 
 " Take care, Emmy ! You are sensitive, approbative, del 
 icately organized ; your whole nature inclines you to give way 
 and yield to the nature of those around you. One little 
 lone duck such as you, however warm-blooded, light-hearted, 
 cannot keep a whole pond from freezing. While you have 
 any influence, you must use it all to get John away from 
 these surroundings, where you can have him to yourself." 
 
 " Oh, you know we are building our house ; we shall go 
 to housekeeping soon." 
 
 " Where ? Close by, under the very guns of this for 
 tress, where all your housekeeping, all your little manage 
 ment, will be subject to daily inspection." 
 
 " But mamma never interferes, never advises, unless I 
 ask advice." 
 
 " No, but she influences ; she lives, she looks, she is 
 there ; and while she is there, and while your home is 
 within a stone s throw, the old spell will be on your hus 
 band, on your children, if you have any ; you will feel it in 
 the air ; it will constrain, it will sway you, it will rule your 
 house, it will bring up your children." 
 
378 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 " Oh, no ! never ! never ! I never could ! I never will ! 
 If God should give me a dear little child, I will not let it 
 grow up in these hateful ways ! " 
 
 " Then, Emmy, there will be a constant, still undefined, 
 but real friction of your life-power from the silent grating 
 of your wishes and feelings on the cold, positive millstone 
 of their opinion ; it will be a life-battle with a quiet, in 
 visible, pervading spirit, who will never show himself in 
 fair fight, but who will be around you in the very air you 
 breathe, at your pillow when you lie down and when you 
 rise. There is so much in these friends of yours, noble, 
 wise, severely good, their aims are so high, their efficiency 
 so great, their virtues so many, that they will act upon 
 you with the force of a conscience, subduing, drawing, in 
 sensibly constraining you into their moulds. They have 
 stronger wills, stronger natures than yours; and between 
 the two forces of your own nature and theirs you will be 
 always oscillating, so that you will never show what you 
 can do, working either in your own way or yet in theirs : 
 your life will be a failure." 
 
 " Chris, why do you discourage me ? " 
 
 " I am trying tonic treatment, Emily ; I am showing you 
 a real danger ; I am rousing you to flee from it. John is 
 making money fast ; there is no reason why he should always 
 remain buried in this town. Use your influence as they do, 
 daily, hourly, constantly, to predispose him to take 
 you to another sphere. Do not always shrink and yield ; 
 do not conceal and dissimulate and endeavor to persuade 
 him and yourself that you are happy ; do not put the very 
 best face to him on it all ; do not tolerate his relapses daily 
 and hourly into his habitual, cold, inexpressive manner ; and 
 don t lay aside your own little impulsive, outspoken ways. 
 Respect your own nature, and assert it ; woo him, argue 
 with him ; use all a woman s weapons to keep him from fall 
 ing back into the old Castle Doubting where he lived till 
 
REPRESSION 379 
 
 you let him out. Dispute your mother s hateful dogma, 
 that love is to be taken for granted without daily proof be 
 tween lovers ; cry down latent caloric in the market ; insist 
 that the mere fact of being a wife is not enough, that 
 the words spoken once, years ago, are not enough, that 
 love needs new leaves every summer of life, as much as 
 your elm-trees, and new branches to grow broader and wider, 
 and new flowers at the root to cover the ground. 7 
 
 " Oh, but I have heard that there is no surer way to lose 
 love than to be exacting, and that it never comes for a 
 woman s reproaches." 
 
 " All true as gospel, Emmy. I am not speaking of re 
 proaches, or of unreasonable self-assertion, or of ill-temper, 
 you could not use any of these forces, if you would, you 
 poor little chick ! I am speaking now of the highest duty 
 we owe our friends, the noblest, the most sacred, that of 
 keeping their own nobleness, goodness, pure and incorrupt. 
 Thoughtless, instinctive, unreasoning love and self-sacrifice, 
 such as many women long to bestow on husband and chil 
 dren, soil and lower the very objects of their love. You 
 may grow saintly by self-sacrifice ; but do your husband and 
 children grow saintly by accepting it without return ? I 
 have seen a verse which says, 
 
 " They who kneel at woman s shrine 
 Breathe on it as they bow. 
 
 Is not this true of all unreasoning love and self-devotion ? 
 If we let our friend become cold and selfish and exacting 
 without a remonstrance, we are no true lover, no true friend. 
 Any good man soon learns to discriminate between the re 
 monstrance that comes from a woman s love to his soul, 
 her concern for his honor, her anxiety for his moral devel 
 opment, and the pettish cry which comes from her own 
 personal wants. It will be your own fault, if, for lack of 
 anything you can do, your husband relapses into these cold, 
 undemonstrative habits which have robbed his life of so 
 
380 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 much beauty and enjoyment. These dead, barren ways of 
 living are as Unchristian as they are disagreeable ; and you, 
 as a good little Christian sworn to fight heroically under 
 Christ s banner^ must make headway against this sort of 
 family Antichrist, though it comes with a show of supe 
 rior sanctity and self-sacrifice. Remember, dear, that the 
 Master s family had its outward tokens of love as well as 
 its inward life. The beloved leaned on His bosom ; and 
 the traitor could not have had a sign for his treachery, had 
 there not been a daily kiss at meeting and parting with His 
 children." 
 
 " I am glad you have said all this," said Emily, " be 
 cause now I feel stronger for it. It does not now seem 
 so selfish for me to want what it is better for John to give. 
 Yes, I must seek what will be best for him." 
 
 And so the little one, put on the track of self-sacrifice, 
 began to see her way clearer, as many little women of her 
 sort do. Make them look on self-assertion as one form of 
 martyrdom, and they will come into it. 
 
 But, for all my eloquence on this evening, the house was 
 built in the selfsame spot as projected ; and the family life 
 went on, under the shadow of Judge Evans s elms, much as 
 if I had not spoken. Emmy became mother of two fine, 
 lovely boys, and waxed dimmer and fainter ; while with 
 her physical decay came increasing need of the rule in the 
 household of mamma and sisters, who took her up energeti 
 cally on eagles wings, and kept her house, and managed 
 her children : for what can be done when a woman hovers 
 half her time between life and death ? 
 
 At last I spoke out to John, that the climate and atmos 
 phere were too severe for her who had became so dear to 
 him, to them all ; and then they consented that the 
 change much talked of and urged, but always opposed by 
 the parents, should be made. 
 
 John bought a pretty cottage in our neighborhood, and 
 
KEPEESSION 381 
 
 brought his wife and boys ; and the effect of change of 
 .moral atmosphere verified all my predictions. In a year 
 we had our own blooming, joyous, impulsive little Emily 
 once more, full of life, full of cheer, full of energy, 
 looking to the ways of her household, the merry com 
 panion of her growing boys, the blithe empress over her 
 husband, who took to her genial sway as in the old happy 
 days of courtship. The nightmare was past, and John was 
 as joyous as any of us in his freedom. As Emmy said, 
 he was turned right side out for life ; and we all admired 
 the pattern. And that is the end of my story. 
 
 And now for the moral, and that is, that life consists 
 of two parts, Expression and Repression, each of which 
 has its solemn duties. To love, joy, hope, faith, pity, belongs 
 the duty of expression : to anger, envy, malice, revenge, and 
 all uncharitableness, belongs the duty of repression. 
 
 Some very religious and moral people err by applying 
 repression to both classes alike. They repress equally the 
 expression of love and of hatred, of pity and of anger. Such 
 forget one great law, as true in the moral world as in the 
 physical, that repression lessens and deadens. Twice or 
 thrice mowing will kill off the sturdiest crop of weeds ; the 
 roots die for want of expression. A compress on a limb will 
 stop its growing; the surgeon knows this, and puts a tight 
 bandage around a tumor ; but what if we put a tight bandage 
 about the heart and lungs, as some young ladies of my ac 
 quaintance do, or bandage the feet, as they do in China ? 
 And what if we bandage a nobler inner faculty, and wrap 
 love in grave-clothes ? 
 
 But again there are others, and their number is legion, 
 perhaps you and I, reader, may know something of it in 
 ourselves, who have an instinctive habit of repression in 
 regard to all that is noblest and highest within them, which 
 they do not feel in their lower and more unworthy nature. 
 
 It comes far easier to scold our friend in an angry moment 
 
382 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 than to say how much we love, honor, and esteem him in a 
 kindly mood. Wrath and bitterness speak themselves and 
 go with their own force ; love is shamefaced, looks shyly 
 out of the window, lingers long at the door-latch. 
 
 How much freer utterance among many good Christians 
 have anger, contempt, and censoriousness, than tenderness 
 and love ! / hate is said loud and with all our force. / love 
 is said with a hesitating voice and blushing cheek. 
 
 In an angry mood we do an injury to a loving heart with 
 good strong, free emphasis ; but we stammer and hang back 
 when our diviner nature tells us to confess and ask pardon. 
 Even when our heart is broken with repentance, we haggle 
 and linger long before we can 
 
 " Throw away the worser part of it." 
 
 How many live a stingy and niggardly life in regard to 
 their richest inward treasures ! They live with those they 
 love dearly, whom a few more words and deeds expressive 
 of this love would make so much happier, richer, and better ; 
 and they cannot, will not, turn the key and give it out. 
 People who in their very souls really do love, esteem, rev 
 erence, almost worship each other, live a barren, chilly life 
 side by side, busy, anxious, preoccupied, letting their love 
 go by as a matter of course, a last year s growth, with no 
 present buds and blossoms. 
 
 Are there not sons and daughters who have parents living 
 with them as angels unawares, husbands and wives, bro 
 thers and sisters, in whom the material for a beautiful life 
 lies locked away in unfruitful silence, who give time to 
 everything but the cultivation and expression of mutual 
 love? 
 
 The time is coming, they think, in some far future, when 
 they shall find leisure to enjoy each other, to stop and rest 
 side by side, to discover to each other these hidden treasures 
 which lie idle and unused. Alas ! time flies and death 
 
KEPRESSION 383 
 
 steals on, and we reiterate the complaint of one in Scripture, 
 "It came to pass, while thy servant was busy hither and 
 thither, the man was gone." 
 
 The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left 
 unsaid and deeds left undone. " She never knew how I 
 loved her. 7 " He never knew what he was to me." " I 
 always meant to make more of our friendship." "I did 
 not know what he was to me till he was gone." Such 
 words are the poisoned arrows which cruel Death shoots 
 backward at us from the door of the sepulchre. 
 
 How much more we might make of our family life, of our 
 friendships, if every secret thought of love blossomed into 
 a deed ! We are not now speaking merely of personal 
 caresses. These may or may not be the best language of 
 affection. Many are endowed with a delicacy, a fastidious 
 ness of physical organization, which shrinks away from too 
 much of these, repelled and overpowered. But there are 
 words and looks and little observances, thoughtfulnesses, 
 watchful little attentions, which speak of love, which make 
 it manifest, and there is scarce a family that might not be 
 richer in heart-wealth for more of them. 
 
 It is a mistake to suppose that relations must of course 
 love each other because they are relations. Love must be 
 cultivated, and can be increased by judicious culture, as 
 wild fruits may double their bearing under the hand of a 
 gardener ; and love can dwindle and die out by neglect, as 
 choice flower-seeds planted in poor soil dwindle and grow 
 single. 
 
 Two causes in our Anglo-Saxon nature prevent this easy 
 faculty and flow of expression which strike one so pleas 
 antly in the Italian or the French life : the dread of flat 
 tery, and a constitutional shyness. 
 
 " I perfectly longed to tell So-and-so how I admired her, 
 the other day," says Miss X. 
 
 " And why in the world did n t you tell her ? " 
 
384 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 " Oh, it would seem like flattery, you know." 
 
 Now, what is flattery ? 
 
 Flattery is insincere praise given from interested motives, 
 not the sincere utterance to a friend of what we deem good 
 and lovely in him. 
 
 And so, for fear of flattering, these dreadfully sincere 
 people go on side by side with those they love and admire, 
 giving them all the time the impression of utter indifference. 
 Parents are so afraid of exciting pride and vanity in their 
 children by the expression of their love and approbation, 
 that a child sometimes goes sad and discouraged by their 
 side, and learns with surprise, in some chance way, that they 
 are proud and fond of him. There are times when the 
 open expression of a father s love would be worth more 
 than church or sermon to a boy ; and his father cannot 
 utter it, will not show it. 
 
 The other thing that represses the utterances of love is 
 the characteristic shyness of the Anglo-Saxon blood. Oddly 
 enough, a race born of two demonstrative, outspoken na 
 tions the German and the French has an habitual re 
 serve that is like neither. There is a powerlessness of utter 
 ance in our blood that we should fight against, and struggle 
 outward towards expression. We can educate ourselves to 
 it, if we know and feel the necessity ; we can make it a 
 Christian duty, not only to love, but to be loving, not 
 only to be true friends, but to show ourselves friendly. We 
 can make ourselves say the kind things that rise in our 
 hearts and tremble back on our lips, do the gentle and 
 helpful deeds which we long to do and shrink back from ; 
 and, little by little, it will grow easier, the love spoken 
 will bring back the answer of love, the kind deed will 
 bring back a kind deed in return, till the hearts in the 
 family-circle, instead of being so many frozen, icy islands, 
 shall be full of warm airs and echoing bird-voices answering 
 back and forth with a constant melody of love. 
 
IV 
 
 PERSISTENCE 
 
 MY little foxes are interesting little beasts ; and I only 
 hope my reader will not get tired of my charming menage 
 rie before I have done showing him their nice points. He 
 must recollect there are seven of them, and as yet we have 
 shown up only three ; so let him have patience. 
 
 As before stated, little foxes are the little pet sins of us 
 educated good Christians, who hope that we are above and 
 far out of sight of stealing, lying, and those other gross 
 evils against which we pray every Sunday, when the Ten 
 Commandments are read. They are not generally considered 
 of dignity enough to be fired at from the pulpit ; they seem 
 to us too trifling to be remembered in church ; they are 
 like the red spiders on plants, too small for the percep 
 tion of the naked eye, and only to be known by the shrivel 
 ing and dropping of leaf after leaf that ought to be green 
 and flourishing. 
 
 I have another little fox in my eye, who is most active 
 and most mischievous in despoiling the vines of domestic 
 happiness, in fact, who has been guilty of destroying more 
 grapes than anybody knows of. His name I find it difficult 
 to give with exactness. In my enumeration I called him 
 Self- Will ; another name for him perhaps a better one 
 might be Persistence. 
 
 Like many another, this fault is the overaction of a most 
 necessary and praiseworthy quality. The power of firm 
 ness is given to man as the very granite foundation of life. 
 Without it there would be nothing accomplished ; all human 
 
386 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 plans would be unstable as water on an inclined plane. In 
 every well - constituted nature there must be a power of 
 tenacity, a gift of perseverance of will ; and, that man might 
 not be without a foundation for so needful a property, the 
 Creator has laid it in an animal faculty, which he possesses 
 in common with the brutes. 
 
 The animal power of firmness is a brute force, a matter 
 of brain and spinal cord, differing in different animals. The 
 force by which a bulldog holds on to an antagonist, the per 
 sistence with which a mule will plant his four feet and set 
 himself against blows and menaces, are good examples of 
 the pure animal phase of a property which exists in human 
 beings, and forms the foundation for that heroic endurance, 
 for that perseverance, which carries on all the great and noble 
 enterprises of life. 
 
 The domestic fault we speak of is the wild, uncultured 
 growth of this faculty, the instinctive action of firmness un 
 controlled by reason or conscience, in common parlance, 
 the being " set in one s way." It is the animal instinct 
 of being " set in one s way " which we mean by self-will or 
 persistence ; and in domestic life it does the more mis 
 chief from its working as an instinct unwatched by reason 
 and unchallenged by conscience. 
 
 In that pretty new cottage which you see on yonder knoll 
 are a pair of young people just in the midst of that happy 
 bustle which attends the formation of a first home in pros 
 perous circumstances, and with all the means of making it 
 charming and agreeable. Carpenters, upholsterers, and arti 
 ficers await their will ; and there remains for them only the 
 pleasant task of arranging and determining where all their 
 pretty and agreeable things shall be placed. Our Hero and 
 Leander are decidedly nice people, who have been through 
 all the proper stages of being in love with each other for 
 the requisite and suitable time. They have written each 
 other a letter every day for two years, beginning with " My 
 
PERSISTENCE 387 
 
 dearest/ and ending with " Your own," etc. ; they have sent 
 each other flowers and rings and locks of hair ; they have 
 worn each other s pictures on their hearts ; they have spent 
 hours and hours talking over all subjects under the sun, and 
 are convinced that never was there such sympathy of souls, 
 such unanimity of opinion, such a just, reasonable, perfect 
 foundation for mutual esteem. 
 
 Now it is quite true that people may have a perfect agree 
 ment and sympathy in their higher intellectual nature, 
 may like the same books, quote the same poetry, agree in 
 the same principles, be united in the same religion, and 
 nevertheless, when they come together in the simplest affair 
 of e very-day business, may find themselves jarring and im 
 pinging upon each other at every step, simply because there 
 are to each person, in respect of daily personal habits and 
 personal likes and dislikes, a thousand little individualities 
 with which reason has nothing to do, which are not subjects 
 for the use of logic, and to which they never think of ap 
 plying the power of religion, which can only be set down 
 as the positive ultimate facts of existence with two people. 
 
 Suppose a blue-jay courts and wins and weds a Baltimore 
 oriole. During courtship there may have been delightful 
 sympathetic conversation on the charm of being free birds, 
 the felicity of soaring in the blue summer air. Mr. Jay 
 may have been all humility and all ecstasy in comparing the 
 discordant screech of his own note with the warbling tender 
 ness of Miss Oriole. But, once united, the two commence 
 business relations. He is firmly convinced that a nest built 
 among the reeds of a marsh is the only reasonable nest for 
 a bird ; she is positive that she should die there in a month 
 of damp and rheumatism. She never heard of going to 
 housekeeping in anything but a nice little pendulous bag 
 swinging down from under the branches of a breezy elm ; 
 he is sure he should have water on the brain before summer 
 was over, from constant vertigo, in such swaying, unsteady 
 
388 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 quarters, he would be a sea-sick blue-jay on land, and he 
 cannot think of it. She knows now he does n t love her, or 
 he never would think of shutting her up in an old mouldy 
 nest where she is sure she shall have the chills ; and he 
 knows she does n t love him, or she never would want to 
 make him uncomfortable all his days by tilting and swinging 
 him about as no decent bird ought to be swung. Both are 
 dead-set in their own way and opinion ; and how is either 
 to be convinced that the way which seemeth right unto the 
 other is not best ? Nature knows this, and therefore, in her 
 feathered tribes, blue-jays do not mate with orioles ; and so 
 bird-housekeeping goes on in peace. 
 
 But men and women as diverse in their physical tastes 
 and habits as blue-jays and orioles are wooing and wedding 
 every day, and coming to the business of nest-building, 
 alias housekeeping, with predilections as violent, and as in 
 capable of any logical defense, as the oriole s partiality for a 
 swing-nest and the jay s preference of a nest among the 
 reeds. 
 
 Our Hero and Leander, there, who are arranging their 
 cottage to-day, are examples just in point. They have both 
 of them been only children, both the idols of circles 
 where they have been universally deferred to. Each in his 
 or her own circle has been looked up to as a model of good 
 taste, and of course each has the habit of exercising and in 
 dulging very distinct personal tastes. They truly, deeply 
 esteem, respect, and love each other, and for the very best 
 of reasons, because there are sympathies of the very high 
 est kind between them. Both are generous and affectionate, 
 both are highly cultured in intellect and taste, both 
 are earnestly religious ; and yet, with all this, let me tell 
 you that the first year of their married life will be worthy 
 to be recorded as a year of battles. Yes, these friends so 
 true, these lovers so ardent, these individuals in themselves 
 so admirable, cannot come into the intimate relations of life 
 
PERSISTENCE 389 
 
 without an effervescence as great as that of an acid and 
 alkali ; and it will be impossible to decide which is most in 
 fault, the acid or the alkali, both being, in their way, of the 
 very best quality. 
 
 The reason of it all is, that both are intensely " set in 
 their way, 7 and the ways of no two human beings are alto 
 gether coincident. Both of them have the most sharply 
 denned, exact tastes and preferences. In the simplest mat 
 ter both have a, way, an exact way, which seems to 
 be dear to them as life s blood. In the simplest appetite 
 or taste they know exactly what they want, and cannot, by 
 any argument, persuasion, or coaxing, be made to want any 
 thing else. 
 
 For example, this morning dawns bright upon them, as 
 she, in her tidy morning wrapper and trimly laced boots, 
 comes stepping over the bales and boxes which are dis 
 charged on the veranda ; while he, for joy of his new 
 acquisition, can hardly let her walk on her own pretty feet, 
 and is making every fond excuse to lift her over obstacles 
 and carry her into her new dwelling in triumph. 
 
 Carpets are put down, the floors glow under the hands 
 of obedient workmen, and now the furniture is being 
 wheeled in. 
 
 " Put the piano in the bow-window," says the lady. 
 
 " No, not in the bow-window," says the gentleman. 
 
 " Why, my dear, of course it must go in the bow- window. 
 How awkward it would look anywhere else ! I have al 
 ways seen pianos in bow- windows." 
 
 "My love, certainly you would not think of spoiling 
 that beautiful prospect from the bow-window by blocking it 
 up with the piano. The proper place is just here, in the 
 corner of the room. Now try it." 
 
 " My dear, I think it looks dreadfully there ; it spoils 
 the appearance of the room." 
 
 " Well, for my part, my love, I think the appearance of 
 
390 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 the room would be spoiled, if you filled up the bow-window. 
 Think what a lovely place that would be to sit in ! " 
 
 " Just as if we could n t sit there behind the piano, if we 
 wanted to ! " says the lady. 
 
 " But then, how much more ample and airy the room 
 looks as you open the door, and see through the bow- 
 window down that little glen, and that distant peep of the 
 village spire ! " 
 
 " But I never could be reconciled to the piano standing 
 in the corner in that way," says the lady. " I insist upon 
 it, it ought to stand in the bow-window : it s the way mam 
 ma s stands, and Aunt Jane s, and Mrs. Wilcox s; every 
 body has their piano so." 
 
 " If it comes to insisting," says the gentleman, " it strikes 
 me that is a game two can play at." 
 
 "Why, my dear, you know a lady s parlor is her own 
 ground." 
 
 " Not a married lady s parlor, I imagine. I believe it is 
 at least equally her husband s, as he expects to pass a good 
 portion of his time there." 
 
 " But I don t think you ought to insist on an arrange 
 ment that really is disagreeable to me," says the lady. 
 
 " And I don t think you ought to insist on an arrange 
 ment that is really disagreeable to me," says the gentle 
 man. 
 
 And now Hero s cheeks flush, and the spirit burns 
 within, as she says, 
 
 " Well, if you insist upon it, I suppose it must be as you 
 say ; but I shall never take any pleasure in playing on it ; " 
 and Hero sweeps from the apartment, leaving the victor 
 very unhappy in his conquest. 
 
 He rushes after her, and finds her up-stairs, sitting dis 
 consolate and weeping on a packing-box. 
 
 " Now, Hero, how silly ! Do have it your own way. 
 I 11 give it up." 
 
PERSISTENCE 391 
 
 No, let it be as you say. I forgot that it was a wife s 
 duty to submit." 
 
 " Nonsense, Hero ! Do talk like a rational woman. 
 Don t let us quarrel like children." 
 
 " But it s so evident that I was in the right." 
 
 " My dear, I cannot concede that you were in the right ; 
 but I am willing it should be as you say." 
 
 "Now I perfectly wonder, Leander, that you don t see 
 how awkward your way is. It would make me nervous 
 every time I came into the room, and it would be so dark 
 in that corner that I never could see the notes." 
 
 " And I wonder, Hero, that a woman of your taste don t 
 see how shutting up that bow-window spoils the parlor. 
 It s the very prettiest feature of the room." 
 
 And so round and round they go, stating and restating 
 their arguments, both getting more and more nervous and 
 combative, both declaring themselves perfectly ready to 
 yield the point as an oppressive exaction, but to do battle 
 for their own opinion as right and reason, the animal 
 instinct of self-will meanwhile rising and rising and growing 
 stronger and stronger on both sides. But meanwhile in the 
 heat of argument some side-issues and personal reflections 
 fly out like splinters in the shivering of lances. He tells 
 her, in his heat, that her notions are formed from deference 
 to models in fashionable life, and that she has no idea of 
 adaptation, arid she tells him that he is domineering, and 
 dictatorial, and wanting to have everything his own way ; 
 and in fine, this battle is fought off and on through the 
 day with occasional armistices of kisses and makings-up, 
 treacherous truces, which are all broken up by the fatal 
 words, " My dear, after all, you must admit I was in the 
 right," which of course is the signal to fight the whole 
 battle over again. 
 
 One such prolonged struggle is the parent of many lesser 
 ones, the aforenamed splinters of injurious remark and 
 
392 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 accusation, which flew out in the heat of argument, remain 
 ing and festering and giving rise to nervous soreness ; yet, 
 where there is at the foundation real, genuine love, and a 
 good deal of it, the pleasure of making up so balances the 
 pain of the controversy that the two do not perceive exactly 
 what they are doing, nor suspect that so deep and wide a 
 love as theirs can be seriously affected by causes so insig 
 nificant. 
 
 But the cause of difficulty in both, the silent, unwatched, 
 intense power of self-will in trifles, is all the while precipi 
 tating them into new encounters. For example, in a bright 
 hour between the showers, Hero arranges for her Leander 
 a repast of peace and good-will, and compounds for him a 
 salad which is a chef d ceuvre among salads. Leander is 
 also bright and propitious ; but after tasting the salad, he 
 pushes it silently away. 
 
 " My dear, you don t like your salad." 
 
 " No, my dear ; I never eat anything with salad oil in 
 it." 
 
 " Not eat salad oil ! How absurd ! I never heard of 
 a salad without oil." And the lady looks disturbed. 
 
 " But, my dear, as I tell you, I never take it. I prefer 
 simple sugar and vinegar." 
 
 " Sugar and vinegar ! Why, Leander, I m astonished ! 
 How very bourgeois ! You must really try to like my 
 salad " (spoken in a coaxing tone). 
 
 " My dear, I never try to like anything new. I am sat 
 isfied with my old tastes." 
 
 " Well, Leander, I must say that is very ungracious and 
 disobliging of you." 
 
 " Why any more than for you to annoy me by forcing 
 on me what I don t like ? " 
 
 " But you would like it, if you would only try. People 
 never like olives till they have eaten three or four, and then 
 they become passionately fond of them." 
 
PERSISTENCE 393 
 
 " Then I think they are very silly to go through all that 
 trouble, when there are enough things that they do like." 
 
 te Now, Leander, I don t think that seems amiable or 
 pleasant at all. I think we ought to try to accommodate 
 ourselves to the tastes of our friends." 
 
 " Then, my dear, suppose you try to like your salad with 
 sugar and vinegar." 
 
 "But it s so gauche and unfashionable ! Did you ever 
 hear of a salad made with sugar and vinegar on a table in 
 good society ? " 
 
 " My mother s table, I believe, was good society, and I 
 learned to like it there. The truth is, Hero, for a sensible 
 woman, you are too fond of mere fashionable and society 
 notions." 
 
 " Yes, you told me that last week, and I think it was 
 very unjust, very unjust, indeed " (uttered with em 
 phasis). 
 
 " No more unjust than your telling me that I was dicta 
 torial and obstinate." 
 
 " Well, now, Leander, dear, you must confess that you 
 are rather obstinate." 
 
 I don t see the proof." 
 
 " You insist on your own ways and opinions so, heaven 
 and earth won t turn you." 
 
 " Do I insist on mine more than you on yours ? " 
 
 " Certainly, you do." 
 
 " I don t think so." 
 
 Hero casts up her eyes and repeats with expression, 
 
 " O, wad some power the giftie gie us, 
 To see oursels as others see us ! " 
 
 " Precisely," says Leander. " I would that prayer were 
 answered in your case, my dear." 
 
 " I think you take pleasure in provoking me," says the 
 lady. 
 
394 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 " My dear, how silly and childish all this is ! " says the 
 gentleman. " Why can t we let each other alone ? " 
 
 " You began it." 
 
 " No, my dear, begging your pardon, I did not." 
 
 " Certainly, Leander, you did." 
 
 Now a conversation of this kind may go on hour after 
 hour, as long as the respective parties have breath and 
 strength, both becoming secretly more and more " set in 
 their way." On both sides is the consciousness that they 
 might end it at once by a very simple concession. 
 
 She might say, " Well, dear, you shall always have 
 your salad as you like ; " and he might say, " My dear, I 
 will try to like your salad, if you care much about it ; " and if 
 either of them would utter one of these sentences, the other 
 would soon follow. Either would give up, if the other 
 would set the example ; but as it is, they remind us of no 
 thing so much as two cows that we have seen standing with 
 locked horns in a meadow, who can neither advance nor re 
 cede an inch. It is a mere deadlock of the animal instinct 
 of firmness ; reason, conscience, religion, have nothing to 
 do with it. 
 
 The questions debated in this style by our young couple 
 were surprisingly numerous ; as, for example, whether their 
 favorite copy of Turner should hang in the parlor or in the 
 library, whether their pet little landscape should hang 
 against the wall, or be placed on an easel, whether the 
 bust of the Venus de Milos should stand on the marble 
 table in the hall, or on a bracket in the library ; all of 
 which points were debated with a breadth of survey, a rich 
 ness of imagery, a vigor of discussion, that would be per 
 fectly astonishing to any one who did not know how much 
 two very self-willed argumentative people might find to say 
 on any point under heaven. Everything in classical anti 
 quity, everything in Kugler s "Hand-Book of Painting," 
 every opinion of living artists, besides questions social, 
 
PERSISTENCE 395 
 
 moral, and religious, all mingled in the grand melee ; 
 because there is nothing in creation that is not somehow 
 connected with everything else. 
 
 Dr. Johnson has said, " There are a thousand familiar 
 disputes which reason never can decide ; questions that 
 elude investigation, and make logic ridiculous ; cases where 
 something must be done, and where little can be said. 7 
 
 With all deference to the great moralist, we must say 
 that this statement argues a very limited knowledge of the 
 resources of talk possessed by two very cultivated and very 
 self-willed persons fairly pitted against each other in prac 
 tical questions ; the logic may indeed be ridiculous, but such 
 people as our Hero and Leander find no cases under the 
 sun where something is to be done, yet where little can be 
 said. And these wretched wranglings, this interminable 
 labyrinth of petty disputes, waste and crumble away that 
 high ideal of truth and tenderness, which the real, deep 
 sympathies and actual worth of their characters entitled 
 them to form. Their married life is not what they ex 
 pected ; at times they are startled by the reflection that 
 they have somehow grown unlovely to each other ; and yet, 
 if Leander goes away to pass a week, and thinks of his Hero 
 in the distance, he can compare no other woman to her ; 
 and the days seem long and the house empty to Hero while 
 he is gone ; both wonder at themselves when they look over 
 their petty bickerings, but neither knows exactly how to 
 catch the little fox that spoils their vines. 
 
 It is astonishing how much we think about ourselves, 
 yet to how little purpose, how very clever people will 
 talk and wonder about themselves and each other, and yet 
 go on, year after year, not knowing how to use either them 
 selves or each other, not having as much practical philo 
 sophy in the matter of their own characters and that of 
 their friends as they have in respect of the screws of their 
 gas-fixtures or the management of their water-pipes. 
 
396 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 (t But I won t have any such scenes with my wife," says 
 Don Positive. " I won t marry one of your clever women ; 
 they are always positive and disagreeable. I look for a wife 
 of a gentle and yielding nature, that shall take her opinions 
 from me, and accommodate her tastes to mine." And so 
 Don Positive goes and marries a pretty little pink-and- 
 white concern, so lisping and soft and delicate that he is 
 quite sure she cannot have a will of her own. She is the 
 moon of his heavens, to shine only hy his reflected light. 
 
 We would advise our gentlemen friends who wish to en 
 joy the felicity of having their own way, not to try the ex 
 periment with a pretty fool ; for the obstinacy of cleverness 
 and reason is nothing to the obstinacy of folly and in 
 anity. 
 
 Let our friend once get in the seat opposite to him at 
 table a pretty creature who cries for the moon, and insists 
 that he does n t love her because he does n t get it for her ; 
 and in vain may he display his superior knowledge of as 
 tronomy, and prove to her that the moon is not to be got. 
 She listens with her head on one side, and after he has 
 talked himself quite out of breath, repeats the very same 
 sentence she began the discussion with, without variation 
 or addition. 
 
 If she wants darling Johnny taken away from school, 
 because cruel teachers will not give up the rules of the in 
 stitution for his pleasure, in vain does Don Positive, in the 
 most select and superior English, enlighten her on the ne 
 cessity of habits of self-control and order for a boy, the 
 impossibility that a teacher should make exceptions for their 
 particular darling, the absolute, perishing need that the 
 boy should begin to do something. She hears him all through, 
 and then says, " I don t know anything about that. I know 
 what I want ; I want Johnny taken away." And so she 
 weeps, sulks, storms, entreats, lies awake nights, has long 
 fits of sick-headache, in short, shows that a pretty animal, 
 
PERSISTENCE 397 
 
 without reason or cultivation, can be, in her way, quite as 
 formidable an antagonist as the most clever of her sex. 
 
 Leander can sometimes vanquish his Hero in fair fight 
 by the weapons of good logic, because she is a woman capa 
 ble of appreciating reason, and able to feel the force of the 
 considerations he adduces ; and when he does vanquish and 
 carry her captive by his bow and spear, he feels that he has 
 gained a victory over no ignoble antagonist, and he becomes 
 a hero in his own eyes. Though a woman of much will, 
 still she is a woman of much reason ; and if he has many 
 vexations with her pertinacity, he is never without hope in 
 her good sense ; but alas for him whose wife has only the 
 animal instinct of firmness, without any development of the 
 judgment or reasoning faculties ! The conflicts with a wo 
 man whom a man respects and admires are often extremely 
 trying ; but the conflicts with one whom he cannot help 
 despising, become in the end simply disgusting. 
 
 But the inquiry now arises, What shall be done with all 
 the questions Dr. Johnson speaks of, which reason cannot 
 decide, which elude investigation, and make logic ridicu 
 lous, cases where something must be done, and where 
 little can be said ? 
 
 Read Mrs. Ellis s " Wives of England," and you have 
 one solution of the problem. The good w r omen of England 
 are there informed that there is to be no discussion, that 
 everything in the menage is to follow the rule of the lord, 
 and that the wife has but one hope, namely, that grace 
 may be given him to know exactly what his own will is. 
 " L etat, c est moi," is the lesson which every English hus 
 band learns of Mrs. Ellis, and we should judge from the 
 pictures of English novels that this " awful right divine " 
 is insisted on in detail in domestic life. 
 
 Miss Edge worth makes her magnificent General Claren 
 don talk about his " commands " to his accomplished and 
 elegant wife ; and he rings the parlor-bell with such an air, 
 
398 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 calls up and interrogates trembling servants with such awful 
 majesty, and lays about him generally in so very military 
 and tremendous a style, that we are not surprised that poor 
 little Cecilia is frightened into lying, being half out of her 
 wits in terror of so very martial a husband. 
 
 During his hours of courtship he majestically informs her 
 mother that he never could consent to receive as his wife 
 any woman who has had another attachment ; and so the 
 poor puss, like a naughty girl, conceals a little schoolgirl 
 flirtation of bygone days, and thus gives rise to most ago 
 nizing and tragic scenes with her terrible lord, who petrifies 
 her one morning by suddenly drawing the bed-curtains and 
 flapping an old love-letter in her eyes, asking in tones of 
 suppressed thunder, " Cecilia, is this your writing ? " 
 
 The more modern female novelists of England give us 
 representations of their view of the right divine no less strin 
 gent. In a very popular story called " Agatha s Husband," 
 the plot is as follows. A man marries a beautiful girl with 
 a large fortune. Before the marriage, he discovers that his 
 brother, who has been guardian of the estate, has fraudu 
 lently squandered the property, so that it can only be re 
 trieved by the strictest economy. For the sake of getting 
 her heroine into a situation to illustrate her moral, the 
 authoress now makes her hero give a solemn promise not to 
 divulge to his wife or to any human being the fraud by 
 which she suffers. 
 
 The plot of the story then proceeds to show how very 
 badly the young wife behaves when her husband takes her 
 to mean lodgings, deprives her of wonted luxuries and com 
 forts, and obstinately refuses to give any kind of sensible 
 reason for his conduct. Instead of looking up to him 
 with blind faith and unquestioning obedience, following his 
 directions without inquiry, and believing not only without 
 evidence, but against apparent evidence, that he is the soul 
 of honor and wisdom, this perverse Agatha murmurs, com- 
 
PERSISTENCE 399 
 
 plains, thinks herself very ill-used, and occasionally is even 
 wicked enough, in a very mild way, to say so, whereat 
 her husband looks like a martyr and suffers in silence ; and 
 thus we are treated to a volume of mutual distresses, which 
 are at last ended by the truth coming out, the abused hus 
 band mounting the throne in glory, and the penitent wife 
 falling in the dust at his feet, and confessing what a wretch 
 she has been all along to doubt him. 
 
 The authoress of " Jane Eyre " describes the process of 
 courtship in much the same terms as one would describe 
 the breaking of a horse. Shirley is contumacious and self- 
 willed, and Moore, her lover and tutor, gives her " Le 
 Chevaldompte " for a French lesson, as a gentle intimation 
 of the work he has in hand in paying her his addresses ; 
 and after long struggling against his power, when at last 
 she consents to his love, he addresses her thus, under the 
 figure of a very fierce leopardess : 
 
 "Tame or wild, fierce or subdued, you are mine" 
 
 And she responds : 
 
 " I am glad I know my keeper and am used to him. 
 Only his voice will I follow, only his hand shall manage 
 me, only at his feet will I repose." 
 
 The accomplished authoress of " Nathalie " represents 
 the struggles of a young girl engaged to a man far older than 
 herself, extremely dark and heroic, fond of behaving in a 
 very unaccountable manner, and declaring nevertheless, in 
 awful and mysterious tones, that he has such a passion for 
 being believed in, that if any one of his friends, under the 
 most suspicious circumstances, admits one doubt of his 
 honor, all will be over between them forever. 
 
 After establishing his power over Nathalie fully, and 
 amusing himself quietly for a time with the contemplation 
 of her perplexities and anxieties, he at last unfolds to her 
 the mysterious counsels of his will by declaring to another 
 of her lovers, in her presence, that he " has the intention of 
 
400 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 asking this young lady to become his wife." During the 
 engagement, however, he contrives to disturb her tranquillity 
 by insisting prematurely on the right divine of husbands, 
 and, as she proves fractious, announces to her that, much as 
 he loves her, he sees no prospect of future happiness in their 
 union, and that they had better part. 
 
 The rest of the story describes the struggles and anguish 
 of the two, who pass through a volume of distresses, he 
 growing more cold, proud, severe, and misanthropic than 
 ever, all of which is supposed to be the fault of naughty 
 Miss Nathalie, who might have made a saint of him, could 
 she only have found her highest pleasure in letting him 
 have his own way. Her conscience distresses her ; it is all 
 her fault ; at last, worn out in the strife, she resolves to be 
 a good girl, goes to his library, finds him alone, and, in 
 spite of an insulting reception, humbles herself at his feet, 
 gives up all her naughty pride, begs to be allowed to wait 
 on him as a handmaid, and is rewarded by his graciously 
 announcing, that, since she will stay with him at all events, 
 she may stay as his wife ; and the story leaves her in the 
 last sentence sitting in what we are informed is the only 
 true place of happiness for a woman, at her husband s feet. 
 
 This is the solution which the most cultivated women of 
 England give of the domestic problem. According to these 
 fair interpreters of English ideas, the British lion on his 
 own domestic hearth, standing in awful majesty with his 
 back to the fire and his hands under his coat-tails, can be 
 supposed to have no such disreputable discussions as we 
 have described; since his partner, as Miss Bronte says, has 
 learned to know her keeper, and her place at his feet, and 
 can conceive no happiness so great as hanging the picture 
 and setting the piano exactly as he likes. 
 
 Of course this will be met with a general shriek of horror 
 on the part of our fair republican friends, and an equally 
 general disclaimer on the part of our American gentlemen, 
 
PERSISTENCE 401 
 
 who, so far as we know, would be quite embarrassed by 
 the idea of assuming any such pronounced position at the 
 fireside. 
 
 The genius of American institutions is not towards a 
 display of authority. All needed authority exists among 
 us, but exists silently, with as little external manifestation 
 as possible. Our President is but a fellow citizen, person 
 ally the equal of other citizens. We obey him because we 
 have chosen him, and because we find it convenient, in 
 regulating our affairs, to have one final appeal and one 
 deciding voice. 
 
 The position in which the Bible and the marriage ser 
 vice place the husband in the family amounts to no more. 
 He is the head of the family in all that relates to its mate 
 rial interests, its legal relations, its honor and standing 
 in society ; and no true woman who respects herself would 
 any more hesitate to promise to yield to him this position 
 and the deference it implies, than an officer of state to yield 
 to the President. But because Mr. Lincoln is officially 
 above Mr. Seward, it does not follow that there can be 
 nothing between them but absolute command on the one 
 part and prostrate submission on the other ; neither does it 
 follow, that the superior claims in all respects to regulate 
 the affairs and conduct of the inferior. There are still wide 
 spheres of individual freedom, as there are in the case of 
 husband and wife ; and no sensible man but would feel him 
 self ridiculous in entering another s proper sphere with the 
 voice of authority. 
 
 The inspired declaration, that " the husband is the head 
 of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the Church/ 7 is 
 certainly to be qualified by the evident points of difference 
 in the subjects spoken of. It certainly does not mean that 
 any man shall be invested with the rights of omnipotence 
 and omniscience, but simply that in the family state he is 
 the head and protector, even as in the Church is the Saviour. 
 
402 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 It is merely the announcement of a great natural law of 
 society which obtains through all the tribes and races of 
 men, a great and obvious fact of human existence. 
 
 The silly and senseless reaction against this idea in some 
 otherwise sensible women is, I think, owing to the kind of 
 extravagances and overstatements to which we have alluded. 
 It is as absurd to cavil at the word obey in the marriage cere 
 mony as for a military officer to set himself against the eti 
 quette of the army, or a man to refuse the freeman s oath. 
 
 Two young men every way on a footing of equality and 
 friendship may be one of them a battalion-commander and 
 the other a staff-officer. It would be alike absurd for the 
 one to take airs about not obeying a man every way his 
 equal, and for the other to assume airs of lordly dictation 
 out of the sphere of his military duties. The mooting of 
 the question of marital authority between two well-bred, 
 well-educated Christian people of the nineteenth century is 
 no less absurd. 
 
 While the husband has a certain power confided to him 
 for the support and maintenance of the family, and for the 
 preservation of those relations which involve its good name 
 and well-being before the world, he has no claim to an 
 authoritative exertion of will in reference to the little per 
 sonal tastes and habits of the inferior. He has no divine 
 right to require that everything shall be arranged to please 
 him, at the expense of his wife s preferences and feelings, 
 any more than if he were not the head of the household. 
 In a thousand indifferent matters which do not touch the 
 credit and respectability of the family, he is just as much 
 bound sometimes to give up his own will and way for the 
 comfort of his wife as she is in certain other matters to sub 
 mit to his decisions. In a large number of cases the hus 
 band and wife stand as equal human beings before God, and 
 the indulgence of unchecked and inconsiderate self-will on 
 either side is a sin. 
 
PERSISTENCE 403 
 
 It is my serious belief that writings such as we have 
 been considering do harm both to men and women, by in 
 sensibly inspiring in the one an idea of a licensed preroga 
 tive of selfishness and self-will, and in the other an irra 
 tional and indiscreet servility. 
 
 Is it any benefit to a man to find in the wife of his 
 bosom the flatterer of his egotism, the acquiescent victim 
 of his little selfish exactions, to be nursed and petted and 
 cajoled in all his faults and fault-findings, and to see every 
 body falling prostrate before his will in the domestic circle ? 
 Is this the true way to make him a manly and Christ-like 
 man ? It is my belief that many so-called good wives have 
 been accessory to making their husbands very bad Chris 
 tians. 
 
 However, then, the little questions of difference in every 
 day life are to be disposed of between two individuals, it is 
 in the worst possible taste and policy to undertake to set 
 tle them by mere authority. All romance, all poetry, all 
 beauty are over forever with a couple between whom the 
 struggle of mere authority has begun. No, there is no way 
 out of difficulties of this description but by the application, 
 on both sides, of good sense and religion to the little differ 
 ences of life. 
 
 A little reflection will enable any person to detect in 
 himself that setness in trifles which is the result of the un- 
 watched instinct of self-will, and to establish over himself 
 a jealous guardianship. 
 
 Every man and every woman, in their self-training and 
 self-culture, should study the art of giving up in little 
 things with a good grace. The charm of polite society is 
 formed by that sort of freedom and facility in all the mem 
 bers of a circle which makes each one pliable to the influ 
 ences of the others, and sympathetic to slide into the moods 
 and tastes of others without a jar. 
 
 In courteous and polished circles, there are no stiff rail- 
 
404 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 road tracks, cutting straight through everything, and grat 
 ing harsh thunders all along their course, but smooth, 
 meandering streams, tranquilly bending hither and thither 
 to every undulation of the flowery banks. What makes 
 the charm of polite society would make no less the charm 
 of domestic life ; but it can come only by watchfulness and 
 self-discipline in each individual. 
 
 Some people have much more to struggle with in this 
 way than others. Nature has made them precise and 
 exact. They are punctilious in their hours, rigid in their 
 habits, pained by any deviation from regular rule. 
 
 Now Nature is always perversely ordering that men and 
 women of just this disposition should become desperately 
 enamored of their exact opposites. The man of rules and 
 formulas and hours has his heart carried off by a gay, care 
 less little chit, who never knows the day of the month, 
 tears up the newspaper, loses the door-key, and makes curl 
 papers out of the last bill ; or, per contra^ our exact and 
 precise little woman, whose belongings are like the waxen 
 cells of a bee, gives her heart to some careless fellow, who 
 enters her sanctum in muddy boots, upsets all her little 
 nice household divinities whenever he is going on a hunt 
 ing or fishing bout, and can see no manner of sense in the 
 discomposure she feels in the case. 
 
 What can such couples do, if they do not adopt the com 
 promise of reason and sense, if each arms his or her own 
 peculiarities with the back force of persistent self-will, and 
 runs them over the territories of the other ? 
 
 A sensible man and woman, finding themselves thus 
 placed, can govern themselves by a just philosophy, and, 
 instead of carrying on a life-battle, can modify their own 
 tastes and requirements, turn their eyes from traits which 
 do not suit them to those which do, resolving, at all 
 events, however reasonable be the taste or propensity which 
 they sacrifice, to give up all rather than have domestic 
 strife. 
 
PERSISTENCE 405 
 
 There is one form which persistency takes that is pecu 
 liarly trying : I mean that persistency of opinion which 
 deems it necessary to stop and raise an argument in self- 
 defense on the slightest personal criticism. 
 
 John tells his wife that she is half an hour late with her 
 breakfast this morning, and she indignantly denies it. 
 
 " But look at my watch ! " 
 
 " Your watch is n t right." 
 
 "I set it by railroad time." 
 
 " Well, that was a week ago ; that watch of yours always 
 gains." 
 
 " No, my dear, you re mistaken." 
 
 " Indeed, I m not. Did I not hear you telling Mr. 
 B about it ? " 
 
 " My dear, that was a year ago, before I had it 
 cleaned." 
 
 " How can you say so, John ? It was only a month 
 ago." 
 
 " My dear, you are mistaken." 
 
 And so the contest goes on, each striving for the last 
 word. 
 
 This love of the last word has made more bitterness in 
 families and spoiled more Christians than it is worth. A 
 thousand little differences of this kind would drop to the 
 ground, if either party would let them drop. Suppose John 
 is mistaken in saying breakfast is late, suppose that fifty 
 of the little criticisms which we make on one another are 
 well or ill founded, are they worth a discussion ? Are they 
 worth ill-tempered words, such as are almost sure to grow 
 out of a discussion ? Are they worth throwing away peace 
 and love for ? Are they worth the destruction of the only 
 fair ideal left on earth, a quiet, happy home ? Better let 
 the most unjust statements pass in silence than risk one s 
 temper in a discussion upon them. 
 
 Discussions, assuming the form of warm arguments, are 
 
406 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 never pleasant ingredients of domestic life, never safe recre 
 ations between near friends. They are, generally speaking, 
 mere unsuspected vents for self-will, and the cases are few 
 where they do anything more than to make both parties 
 more positive in their own way than they were before. 
 
 A calm comparison of opposing views, a fair statement of 
 reasons on either side, may be valuable ; but when warmth, 
 and heat, and love of victory, and pride of opinion come in, 
 good temper and good manners are too apt to step out. 
 
 And now Christopher, having come to the end of his 
 subject, pauses for a sentence to close with. There are a 
 few lines of a poet that sum up so beautifully all he has 
 been saying that he may be pardoned for closing with them. 
 
 " Alas ! how light a cause may move 
 Dissension between hearts that love; 
 Hearts that the world has vainly tried, 
 And sorrow but more closely tied; 
 That stood the storm when waves were rough, 
 Yet in a sunny hour fall off, 
 Like ships that have gone down at sea 
 When heaven was all tranquillity ! 
 A something light as air, a look, 
 A word unkind, or wrongly taken, 
 O love that tempests never shook, 
 A breath, a touch like this hath shaken! 
 For ruder words will soon rush in 
 To spread the breach that words begin, 
 And eyes forget the gentle ray 
 They wore in courtship s smiling day, 
 And voices lose the tone which shed 
 A tenderness round all they said, 
 Till, fast declining, one by one, 
 The sweetnesses of love are gone, 
 And hearts so lately mingled seem 
 Like broken clouds, or like the stream, 
 That, smiling, left the mountain-brow 
 As though its waters ne er could sever, 
 Yet, ere it reach the plain below, 
 Breaks into floods that part forever." 
 
INTOLERANCE 
 
 " AND what are you going to preach about this month, 
 Mr. Crowfield ? " 
 
 " I am going to give a sermon on Intolerance, Mrs. 
 Crowfield." 
 
 " Religious intolerance ? " 
 
 "No, domestic and family and educational intolerance; 
 one of the seven deadly sins on which I am preaching, 
 one of the foxes. 
 
 People are apt to talk as if all the intolerance in life 
 were got up and expended in the religious world ; whereas 
 religious intolerance is only a small branch of the radical, 
 strong, all-pervading intolerance of human nature. Phy 
 sicians are quite as intolerant as theologians. They never 
 have had the power of burning at the stake for medical 
 opinions, but they certainly have shown the will. Politi 
 cians are intolerant. Philosophers are intolerant, especially 
 those who pique themselves on liberal opinions. Painters 
 and sculptors are intolerant. And housekeepers are intol 
 erant, virulently denunciatory concerning any departures 
 from their particular domestic creed. 
 
 Mrs. Alexander Exact, seated at her domestic altar, gives 
 homilies on the degeneracy of modern housekeeping equal 
 to the lamentations of Dr. Holdfast as to the falling off 
 from the good old faith. 
 
 " Don t tell me about pillow-cases made without felling," 
 says Mrs Alexander, " it s slovenly and shiftless. I 
 
408 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 would n t have such a pillow-case in my house any more 
 than I d have vermin. 7 
 
 " But," says a trembling young housekeeper, conscious 
 of unfelled pillow-cases at home, " don t you think, Mrs. 
 Alexander, that some of these old traditions might be dis 
 pensed with ? It really is not necessary to do all the 
 work that has been done so thoroughly and exactly, to 
 double-stitch every wristband, fell every seam, count all 
 the threads of gathers, and take a stitch to every gather. 
 It makes beautiful sewing, to be sure ; but when a woman 
 has a family of little children and a small income, if all 
 her sewing is to be kept up in this perfect style, she wears 
 her life out in stitching. Had she not better slight a lit 
 tle, and get air and exercise ? " 
 
 " Don t tell me about air and exercise ! What did my 
 grandmother do ? Why, she did all her own work, and 
 made grandfather s ruffled shirts besides, with the finest 
 stitching and gathers ; and she found exercise enough, I 
 warrant you. Women of this day are miserable, sickly, 
 degenerate creatures." 
 
 " But, my dear madam, look at poor Mrs. Evans, over 
 the way, with her pale face and her eight little ones." 
 
 " Miserable manager," said Mrs. Alexander. " If she ? d 
 get up at five o clock the year round as I do, she d find 
 time enough to do things properly, and be the better for 
 it." 
 
 " But, my dear madam, Mrs. Evans is a very delicately 
 organized, nervous woman." 
 
 " Nervous ! Don t tell me ! Every woman nowadays is 
 nervous. She can t get up in the morning, because she s 
 nervous. She can t do her sewing decently, because she s 
 nervous. Why, I might have been as nervous as she is, 
 if I d have petted and coddled myself as she does. But I 
 get up early, take a walk in the fresh air of a mile or so 
 before breakfast, and come home feeling the better for it. 
 
INTOLERANCE 409 
 
 I do all my own sewing, never put out a stitch ; and I 
 natter myself my things are made as they ought to be. I 
 always make my hoys shirts and Mr. Exact s, and they are 
 made as shirts ought to he, and yet I find plenty of time 
 for calling, shopping, "business, and company. It only re 
 quires management and resolution." 
 
 "It is perfectly wonderful, to be sure, Mrs. Exact, to see 
 all that you do ; but don t you get very tired sometimes ? " 
 
 " No, not often. I remember, though, the week before 
 last Christmas, I made and baked eighteen pies and ten 
 loaves of cake in one day, and I was really quite worn out ; 
 but I did n t give way to it. I told Mr. Exact I thought it 
 would rest me to take a drive into New York and attend 
 the Sanitary Fair ; and so we did. I suppose Mrs. Evans 
 would have thought she must go to bed and coddle herself 
 for a month." 
 
 " But, dear Mrs. Exact, when a woman is kept awake 
 nights by crying babies " 
 
 " There s no need of having crying babies ; my babies 
 never cried ; it s just as you begin with children. I might 
 have had to be up and down every hour of the night with 
 mine, just as Mrs. Evans does ; but I knew better. I used 
 to take em up about ten o clock, and feed and make em 
 all comfortable ; and that was the last of em, till I was 
 ready to get up in the morning. I never lost a night s 
 sleep with any of mine." 
 
 "Not when they were teething ? " 
 
 " No. I knew how to manage that. I used to lanoe 
 their gums myself, and I never had any trouble : it s all 
 in management. I weaned em all myself, too : there s no 
 use in having any fuss in weaning children." 
 
 " Mrs. Exact, you are a wonderful manager ; but it would 
 be impossible to bring up all babies so." 
 
 " You 11 never make me believe that : people only need 
 to begin right. I m sure I ? ve had a trial of eight." 
 
410 INTOLERANCE 
 
 " But there s that one baby of Mrs. Evans s makes more 
 trouble than all your eight. It cries every night so that 
 somebody has to be up walking with it ; it wears out all 
 the nurses, and keeps poor Mrs. Evans sick all the time." 
 
 " Not the least need of it ; nothing but shiftless man 
 agement. Suppose I had allowed my children to be walked 
 with ; I might have had terrible times, too ; but I began 
 right. I set down my foot that they should lie still, and 
 they did ; and if they cried, I never lighted a candle, or 
 took em up, or took any kind of notice of it ; and so, after 
 a little, they went off to sleep. Babies very soon find out 
 where they can take advantage, and where they can t. It s 
 nothing but temper makes babies cry ; and if I could n t 
 hush em any other way, I should give em a few good smart 
 slaps, and they would soon learn to behave themselves." 
 
 " But, dear Mrs. Exact, you were a strong, healthy wo 
 man, and had strong, healthy children." 
 
 " Well, is n t that baby of Mrs. Evans s healthy, I want 
 to know ? I m sure it is a great creature, and thrives and 
 grows fat as fast as ever I saw a child. You need n t tell 
 me anything is the matter with that child but temper and 
 its mother s coddling management." 
 
 Now, in the neighborhood where she lives, Mrs. Alexan 
 der Exact is the wonderful woman, the Lady Bountiful, the 
 pattern female. Her cake never rises on one side, or has a 
 heavy streak in it. Her furs never get a moth in them ; 
 her carpets never fade ; her sweetmeats never ferment ; her 
 servants never neglect their work ; her children never 
 get things out of order ; her babies never cry, never keep 
 one awake o nights ; and her husband never in his life 
 said, " My dear, there s a button off my shirt." Flies never 
 infest her kitchen, cockroaches and red ants never invade 
 her premises, a spider never had time to spin a web on one 
 of her walls. Everything in her establishment is shining 
 with neatness, crisp and bristling with absolute perfection, 
 
INTOLERANCE 411 
 
 and it is she, the ever-up-and-dressed, unsleeping, wide 
 awake, omnipresent, never-tiring Mrs. Exact, that does it all. 
 
 Besides keeping her household ways thus immaculate, 
 Mrs. Exact is on all sorts of charitable committees, does all 
 sorts of fancy-work for fairs ; and whatever she does is done 
 perfectly. She is a most available, most helpful, most be 
 nevolent woman, and general society has reason to rejoice 
 in her existence. 
 
 But, for all this, Mrs. Exact is as intolerant as Torque- 
 mada or a locomotive-engine. She has her own track, 
 straight and inevitable ; her judgments and opinions cut 
 through society in right lines, with all the force of her ex 
 ample and all the steam of her energy, turning out neither 
 for the old nor the young, the weak nor the weary. She 
 cannot, and she will not, conceive the possibility that there 
 may be other sorts of natures than her own, and that other 
 kinds of natures must have other ways of living and doing. 
 
 Good and useful as she is, she is terrible as an army with 
 banners to her poor, harassed, delicate, struggling neighbor 
 across the way, who, in addition to an aching, confused head, 
 an aching back, sleepless, harassed nights, and weary, sink 
 ing days, is burdened everywhere and every hour with the 
 thought that Mrs. Exact thinks all her troubles are nothing 
 but poor management, and that she might do just like her, 
 if she would. With very little self-confidence or self-asser 
 tion, she is withered and paralyzed by this discouraging 
 thought. Is it, then, her fault that this never-sleeping baby 
 cries all night, and that all her children never could and 
 .never would be brought up by those exact rules \vhich she 
 hears of as so efficacious in the household over the way ? 
 The thought of Mrs. Alexander Exact stands over her like 
 a constable ; the remembrance of her is grievous ; the burden 
 of her opinion is heavier than all her other burdens. 
 
 Now the fact is, that Mrs. Exact comes of a long-lived, 
 strong-backed, strong-stomached race, with " limbs of British 
 
412 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 oak and nerves of wire. 77 The shadow of a sensation of 
 nervous pain or uneasiness never has been known in her 
 family for generations, and her judgments of poor little 
 Mrs. Evans are about as intelligent as those of a good stout 
 Shanghai hen on a humming-bird. Most useful and com 
 fortable, these Shanghai hens, and very ornamental, and 
 in a small way useful, these humming-birds ; but let them 
 not regulate each other s diet, or lay down schemes for each 
 other s housekeeping. Has not one as much right to its 
 nature as the other ? 
 
 This intolerance of other people s natures is one of the 
 greatest causes of domestic unhappiness. The perfect house 
 holders are they who make their household rule so flexible 
 that all sorts of differing natures may find room to grow and 
 expand and express themselves without infringing upon 
 others. 
 
 Some women are endowed with a tact for understanding 
 human nature and guiding it. They give a sense of large 
 ness and freedom ; they find a place for every one, see at 
 once what every one is good for, and are inspired by Nature 
 with the happy wisdom of not wishing or asking of any 
 human being more than that human being was made to give. 
 They have the portion in due season for all : a bone for the 
 dog ; catnip for the cat ; cuttle-fish and hempseed for the 
 bird ; a book or review for their bashful literary visitor ; 
 lively gossip for thoughtless Miss Seventeen ; knitting for 
 Grandmamma ; fishing-rods, boats, and gunpowder, for 
 Young Restless, whose beard is just beginning to grow ; 
 and they never fall into pets because the canary-bird won t 
 relish the dog s bone, or the dog eat canary-seed, or young 
 Miss Seventeen read old Mr. Sixty s review, or young Mas 
 ter Restless take delight in knitting-work, or old Grand 
 mamma feel complacency in guns and gunpowder. 
 
 Again, there are others who lay the foundations of family 
 life so narrow, straight, and strict, that there is room in 
 
INTOLERANCE 413 
 
 them only for themselves and people exactly like them 
 selves ; and hence comes much misery. 
 
 A man and woman come together out of different families 
 and races, often united by only one or two sympathies, with 
 many differences. Their first wisdom would be to find out 
 each other s nature, and accommodate to it as a fixed fact ; 
 instead of which, how many spend their lives in a blind 
 fight with an opposite nature, as good as their own in its 
 way, but not capable of meeting their requirements. 
 
 A woman trained in an exact, thriving, business family, 
 where her father and brothers bore everything along with 
 true worldly skill and energy, falls in love with a literary 
 man, who knows nothing of affairs, whose life is in his 
 library and his pen. Shall she vex and torment herself 
 and him because he is not a business man ? Shall she 
 constantly hold up to him the example of her father and 
 brothers, and how they would manage in this and that case ? 
 or shall she say cheerily and once for all to herself, " My 
 husband has no talent for business ; that is not his forte ; 
 but then he has talents far more interesting : I cannot have 
 everything ; let him go on undisturbed, and do what he can 
 do well, and let me try to make up for what he cannot 
 do ; and if there be disabilities come on us in consequence 
 of what we neither of us can do, let us both take them 
 cheerfully " ? 
 
 In the same manner a man takes out of the bosom of an 
 adoring family one of those delicate, petted singing-birds 
 that seem to be created simply to adorn life and make it 
 charming. Is it fair, after he has got her, to compare her 
 housekeeping, and her efficiency and capability in the ma 
 terial part of life, with those of his mother and sisters, who 
 are strong-limbed, practical women, that have never thought 
 about anything but housekeeping from their cradle ? Shall 
 he all the while vex himself and her with the remembrance 
 of how his mother used to get up at five o clock and arrange 
 
414 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 all the business of the day, how she kept all the accounts, 
 how she saw to everything and settled everything, 
 how there never were break-downs or irregularities in her 
 system ? 
 
 This would be unfair. If a man wanted such a house 
 keeper, why did he not get one ? There were plenty of 
 single women, who understood washing, ironing, clear 
 starching, cooking, and general housekeeping, better than 
 the little canary-bird which he fell in love with, and wanted 
 for her plumage and her song, for her merry tricks, for her 
 bright eyes and pretty ways. Now he has got his bird, let 
 him keep it as something fine and precious, to be cared for 
 and watched over, and treated according to the laws of its 
 frail and delicate nature ; and so treating it, he may many 
 years keep the charms which first won his heart. He may 
 find, too, if he watches and is careful, that a humming-bird 
 can, in its own small, dainty way, build a nest as efficiently 
 as a turkey-gobbler, and hatch her eggs and bring up her 
 young in humming-bird fashion ; but to do it, she must be 
 left unfrightened and undisturbed. 
 
 But the evils of domestic intolerance increase with the 
 birth of children. As parents come together out of different 
 families with ill-assorted peculiarities, so children are born 
 to them with natures differing from their own and from each 
 other. 
 
 The parents seize on their first new child as a piece of 
 special property which they are forthwith to turn to their 
 own account. The poor little waif, just drifted on the 
 shores of Time, has perhaps folded up in it a character as 
 positive as that of either parent ; but, for all that, its future 
 course is marked out for it, all arranged and predetermined. 
 
 John has a perfect mania for literary distinction. His 
 own education was somewhat imperfect, but he is deter 
 mined his children shall be prodigies. His first-born turns 
 out a girl, who is to write like Madame de Stael, to be an 
 
INTOLERANCE 415 
 
 able, accomplished woman. He bores her with literature 
 from her earliest years, reads extracts from Milton to her 
 when she is only eight years old, and is secretly longing to 
 be playing with her doll s wardrobe. He multiplies gover 
 nesses, spares no expense, and when, after all, his daughter 
 turns out to be only a very pretty, sensible, domestic girl, 
 fond of cross-stitching embroidery, and with a more decided 
 vocation for sponge-cake and pickles than for poetry and 
 composition, he is disappointed and treats her coldly ; and 
 she is unhappy and feels that she has vexed her parents, 
 because she cannot be what nature never meant her to be. 
 If John had taken meekly the present that Mother Nature 
 gave him, and humbly set himself to inquire what it was 
 and what it was good for, he might have had years of 
 happiness with a modest, amiable, and domestic daughter, 
 to whom had been given the instinct to study household 
 good. 
 
 But again, a bustling, pickling, preserving, stocking-knit 
 ting, universal-housekeeping woman has a daughter who 
 dreams over her knitting-work and hides a book under her 
 sampler, whose thoughts are straying in Greece, Rome, 
 Germany, who is reading, studying, thinking, writing, 
 without knowing why ; and the mother sets herself to fight 
 this nature, and to make the dreamy scholar into a driving, 
 thoroughgoing, exact woman-of-business. How many tears 
 are shed, how much temper wasted, how much time lost, in 
 such encounters ! 
 
 Each of these natures, under judicious training, might 
 be made to complete itself by cultivation of that which it 
 lacked. The born housekeeper can never be made a genius, 
 but she may add to her household virtues some reasonable 
 share of literary culture and appreciation, and the born 
 scholar may learn to come down out of her clouds, and see 
 enough of this earth to walk its practical ways without 
 stumbling ; but this must be done by tolerance of their 
 
416 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 nature, by giving it play and room, first recognizing 
 its existence and its rights, and then seeking to add to it the 
 properties it wants. 
 
 A clever Yankee housekeeper, fruitful of resources, can 
 work with any tools or with no tools at all. If she abso 
 lutely cannot get a tack-hammer with a claw on one end, she 
 can take up carpet-nails with an iron spoon, and drive them 
 down with a flatiron ; and she has sense enough not to 
 scold, though she does her work with them at considerable 
 disadvantage. She knows that she is working with tools 
 made for another purpose, and never thinks of being angry 
 at their unhandiness. She might have equal patience with 
 a daughter unhandy in physical things, but acute and skill 
 ful in mental ones, if she once had the idea suggested to 
 her. 
 
 An ambitious man has a son whom he destines to a learned 
 profession. He is to be the Daniel Webster of the family. 
 The boy has a robust, muscular frame, great physical vigor 
 and enterprise, a brain bright and active in all that may be 
 acquired through the bodily senses, but which is dull and 
 confused and wandering when put to abstract book-know 
 ledge. He knows every ship at the wharf, her build, ton 
 nage, and sailing qualities ; he knows every railroad engine, 
 its power, speed, and hours of coming and going ; he is al 
 ways busy, sawing, hammering, planing, digging, driving, 
 making bargains, with his head full of plans, all relating to 
 something outward and physical. In all these matters his 
 mind works strongly, his ideas are clear, his observation 
 acute, his conversation sensible and worth listening to. 
 But as to the distinction between common nouns and proper 
 nouns, between the subject and the predicate of a sentence, 
 between the relative pronoun and the demonstrative adjec 
 tive pronoun, between the perfect and the preter-perfect 
 tense, he is extremely dull and hazy. The region of ab 
 stract ideas is to him a region of ghosts and shadows. Yet 
 
INTOLERANCE 417 
 
 his youth is mainly a dreary wilderness of uncomprehended, 
 incomprehensible studies, of privations, tasks, punishments, 
 with a sense of continual failure, disappointment, and dis 
 grace, because his father is trying to make a scholar and a 
 literary man out of a boy whom nature made to till the 
 soil or manage the material forces of the world. He might 
 be a farmer, an engineer, a pioneer of a new settlement, a 
 sailor, a soldier, a thriving man of business ; but he grows 
 up feeling that his nature is a crime, and that he is good 
 for nothing, because he is not good for what he had been 
 blindly predestined to before he was born. 
 
 Another boy is a born mechanic : he understands machin 
 ery at a glance ; he is all the while pondering and studying 
 and experimenting. But his wheels and his axles and his 
 pulleys are all swept away, as so much irrelevant lumber ; 
 he is doomed to go into the Latin School, and spend three or 
 four years in trying to learn what he never can learn well, 
 disheartened by always being at the tail of his class, and 
 seeing many a boy inferior to himself in general culture 
 who is rising to brilliant distinction simply because he can 
 remember those hopeless, bewildering Greek quantities and 
 accents which he is constantly forgetting, as, for example, 
 how properispomena become paroxytones when the ultimate 
 becomes long, and proparoxytones become paroxytones when 
 the ultimate becomes long, while paroxytones with a short 
 penult remain paroxytones. Each of this class of rules, 
 however, having about sixteen exceptions, which hold good 
 except in three or four other exceptional cases under them, 
 the labyrinth becomes delightfully wilder and wilder ; and 
 the crowning beauty of the whole is, that, when the bewil 
 dered boy has swallowed the whole, tail, scales, fins, and 
 bones, he then is allowed to read the classics in peace, 
 without the slightest occasion to refer to them again during 
 his college course. 
 
 The great trouble with the so-called classical course of 
 
418 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 education is, that it is made strictly for but one class of minds, 
 which it drills in respects for which they have by nature 
 an aptitude, and to which it presents scarcely enough of 
 difficulty to make it a mental discipline, while to another 
 and equally valuable class of minds it presents difficulties 
 so great as actually to crush and discourage. There are, we 
 will venture to say, in every ten boys in Boston, four, and 
 those not the dullest or poorest in quality, who could never 
 go through the discipline of the Boston Latin School without 
 such a strain on the brain and nervous system as would leave 
 them no power for anything else. 
 
 A bright intelligent boy, whose talents lay in the line of 
 natural philosophy and mechanics, passed with brilliant suc 
 cess through the Boston English High School. He won 
 the first medals, and felt all that pride and enthusiasm which 
 belong to a successful student. He entered the Latin Clas 
 sical School as the next step on his way to a collegiate educa 
 tion. With a large philosophic and reasoning brain, he had 
 a very poor verbal and textual memory ; and here he began 
 to see himself distanced by boys who had hitherto looked up 
 to him. They could rattle off catalogues of names ; they 
 could do so all the better from the habit of not thinking of 
 what they studied. They could commit the Latin Gram 
 mar, coarse print and fine, and run through the interminable 
 mazes of Greek accents and Greek inflections. This boy of 
 large mind and brain found himself always behindhand, and 
 became, in time, utterly discouraged ; no . amount of study 
 could place him on an equality with his former inferiors. 
 His health failed, and he dropped from school. Many a 
 fine fellow has been lost to himself, and lost to an educated 
 life, by just such a failure. The collegiate system is like a 
 great coal-screen : every piece not of a certain size must fall 
 through. This may do well enough for screening coal ; but 
 what if it were used indiscriminately for a mixture of coal 
 and diamonds ? 
 
INTOLERANCE 419 
 
 " Poor boy ! " said Ole Bull, compassionately, when one 
 sought to push a schoolboy from the steps of an omnibus, 
 where he was getting a surreptitious ride. " Poor boy ! let 
 him stay. Who knows his trials ? Perhaps he studies 
 Latin." 
 
 The witty Heinrich Heine says, in bitter remembrance 
 of his early sufferings, " The Romans would never have 
 conquered the world, if they had had to learn their own 
 language. They had leisure, because they were born with 
 the knowledge of what nouns form their accusatives in 
 im 
 
 Now we are not among those who decry the Greek and 
 Latin classics. We think it a glorious privilege to read 
 both those grand old tongues, and that an intelligent, culti 
 vated man who is shut out from the converse of the splendid 
 minds of those olden times loses a part of his birthright ; 
 and therefore it is that we mourn that but one dry, hard, 
 technical path, one sharp, straight, narrow way, is allowed 
 into so goodly a land of knowledge. We think there is no 
 need that the study of Greek and Latin should be made 
 such a horror. There is many a man without a verbal 
 memory, who could neither recite in order the paradigms of 
 the Greek verbs, nor repeat the lists of nouns that form their 
 accusative in one termination or another, who, nevertheless, 
 by the exercise of his faculties of comparison and reasoning, 
 could learn to read the Greek and Latin classics so as to take 
 their sense and enjoy their spirit ; and that is all that is 
 worth caring for. We have known one young scholar, who 
 could not by any possibility repeat the lists of exceptions 
 to the rules in the Latin Grammar, who yet delightedly filled 
 his private notebook with quotations from the ".^Eneid," 
 and was making extracts of literary gems from his Greek 
 Reader, at the same time that he was every day "screwed " 
 by his tutor upon some technical point of the language. 
 
 Is there not many a master of English, many a writer 
 
420 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 and orator, who could not repeat from memory the list of 
 nouns ending in y that form their plural in ies, with the 
 exceptions under it ? How many of us could do this ? 
 Would it help a good writer and fluent speaker to know the 
 whole of Murray s Grammar by heart, or does real know 
 ledge of a language ever come in this way ? 
 
 At present the rich stores of ancient literature are kept 
 like the savory stew which poor Dominie Sampson heard 
 simmering in the witch s kettle. One may have much ap 
 petite, but there is but one" way of getting it. The Meg 
 Merrilies of our educational system, with her harsh voice, 
 and her " Gape, sinner, and swallow," is the only introduc 
 tion, and so, many a one turns and runs frightened from 
 the feast. 
 
 This intolerant mode of teaching the classical languages 
 is peculiar to them alone. Multitudes of girls and boys are 
 learning to read and to speak German, French, and Italian, 
 and to feel all the delights of expatiating in the literature 
 of a new language, purely because of a simpler, more nat 
 ural, less pedantic mode of teaching these languages. 
 
 Intolerance in the established system of education works 
 misery in families, because family pride decrees that every 
 boy of good status in society, will he, nill he, shall go 
 through college, or he almost forfeits his position as a gen 
 tleman. 
 
 " Not go to Cambridge ! " says Scholasticus to his first 
 born. " Why, I went there, and my father, and his fa 
 ther, and his father before him. Look at the Cambridge 
 Catalogue and you will see the names of our family ever 
 since the College was founded ! " 
 
 " But I can t learn Latin and Greek," says young Scho 
 lasticus. " I can t remember all those rules and exceptions. 
 I ve tried, and I can t. If you could only know how my 
 head feels when I try ! And I won t be at the foot of the 
 class all the time, if I have to get my living by digging." 
 
INTOLERANCE 421 
 
 Suppose, now, the boy is pushed on at the point of the 
 bayonet to a kind of knowledge in which he has no interest, 
 communicated in a way that requires faculties which nature 
 has not given him, what occurs ? 
 
 He goes through his course, either shamming, shirking, 
 ponying, all the while consciously discredited and dishon 
 ored, or else, putting forth an effort that is a draft on all 
 his nervous energy, he makes merely a decent scholar, and 
 loses his health for life. 
 
 Now, if the principle of toleration were once admitted 
 into classical education ; if it were admitted that the great 
 object is to read and enjoy a language, and the stress of the 
 teaching were placed on the few things absolutely essential 
 to this result ; if the tortoise were allowed time to creep, 
 and the bird permitted to fly, and the fish to swim, towards 
 the enchanted and divine sources of Helicon, all might 
 in their own way arrive there, and rejoice in its flowers, its 
 beauty, and its coolness. 
 
 " But," say the advocates of the present system, "it is 
 good mental discipline." 
 
 I doubt it. It is mere waste of time. 
 
 When a boy has learned that in the genitive plural of 
 the first declension of Greek nouns the final syllable is cir- 
 cumflexed, but to this there are the following exceptions : 
 1. That feminine adjectives and participles in -os, -17, -ov are 
 accented like the genitive masculine, but other feminine 
 adjectives and participles are perispomena in the genitive 
 plural ; 2. That the substantives chrestes, aphue, etesiai, 
 and chlounes in the genitive plural remain paroxytones 
 (Kiihner s Elementary Greek Grammar, page 22,) I say, 
 when a boy has learned this and twenty other things just 
 like it, his mind has not been one whit more disciplined 
 than if he had learned the list of the old thirteen States, 
 the number and names of the newly adopted ones, the times 
 of their adoption, and the population, commerce, mineral 
 
422 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 and agricultural wealth of each. These, too, are merely ex 
 ercises of memory, but they are exercises in what is of some 
 interest and some use. 
 
 The particulars above cited are of so little use in under 
 standing the Greek classics that I will venture to say that 
 there are intelligent English scholars, who have never read 
 anything but Bonn s translations, who have more genuine 
 knowledge of the spirit of the Greek mind, and the peculiar 
 idioms of the language, and more enthusiasm for it, than 
 many a poor fellow who has stumbled blindly through the 
 originals with the bayonet of the tutor at his heels, and his 
 eyes and ears full of the Scotch snuff of the Greek Grammar. 
 
 What then ? Shall we not learn these ancient tongues ? 
 By all means. " So many times as I learn a language, so 
 many times I become a man," said Charles V. ; and he said 
 rightly. Latin and Greek are foully belied by the preju 
 dices created by this technical, pedantic mode of teaching 
 them, which makes one ragged, prickly bundle of all the 
 dry facts of the language, and insists upon it that the boy 
 shall not see one glimpse of its beauty, glory, or interest 
 till he has swallowed and digested the whole mass. Many 
 die in this wilderness with their shoes worn out before 
 reaching the Promised Land of Plato and the Tragedians. 
 
 " But," say our college authorities, " look at England. 
 An English schoolboy learns three times the Latin and 
 Greek that our boys learn, and has them well drubbed 
 in." 
 
 And English boys have three times more beef and pud 
 ding in their constitution than American boys have, and 
 three times less of nerves. The difference of nature must 
 be considered here ; and the constant influence flowing 
 from English schools and universities must be tempered by 
 considering who we are, what sort of boys we have to deal 
 with, what treatment they can bear, and what are the needs 
 of our growing American society. 
 
INTOLERANCE 423 
 
 The demands of actual life, the living, visible facts of 
 practical science, in so large and new a country as ours, re 
 quire that the ideas of the ancients should be given us in 
 the shortest and most economical way possible, and that 
 scholastic technicalities should be reserved to those whom 
 Nature made with especial reference to their preservation. 
 
 On no subject is there more intolerant judgment, and 
 more suffering from such intolerance, than on the much 
 mooted one of the education of children. Treatises on edu 
 cation require altogether too much of parents, and impose 
 burdens of responsibility on tender spirits which crush the 
 life and strength out of them. Parents have been talked 
 to as if each child came to them a soft, pulpy mass, which 
 they were to pinch and pull and pat and stroke into shape 
 quite at their leisure, and a good pattern being placed 
 before them, they were to proceed immediately to set up 
 and construct a good human being in conformity therewith. 
 
 It is strange that believers in the divine inspiration of 
 the Bible should have entertained this idea, overlooking 
 the constant and affecting declaration of the great Heavenly 
 Father that He has nourished and brought up children and 
 they have rebelled against Him, together with His constant 
 appeals, " What could have been done more to my vine 
 yard that I have not done in it ? Wherefore, when I 
 looked that it should bring forth grapes, brought it forth 
 wild grapes ? " If even God, wiser, better, purer, more 
 loving, admits himself baffled in this great work, is it ex 
 pedient to say to human beings that the forming power, the 
 deciding force, of a child s character is in their hands ? 
 
 Many a poor, feeble woman s health has been strained 
 to breaking, and her life darkened, by the laying on her 
 shoulders of a burden of responsibility that never ought to 
 have been placed there ; and many a mother has been hin 
 dered from using such powers as God has given her, be 
 cause some preconceived mode of operation has been set up 
 
424 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 before her which she could no more make effectual than 
 David could wear the armor of Saul. 
 
 A. gentle, loving, fragile creature marries a strong-willed, 
 energetic man, and by the laws of natural descent has a 
 boy given to her of twice her amount of will and energy. 
 She is just as helpless, in the mere struggle of will and 
 authority with such a child, as she would be in a physical 
 wrestle with a six-foot man. 
 
 What then ? Has nature left her helpless for her du 
 ties ? Not if she understands her nature, and acts in the line 
 of it. She has no power of command, but she has power 
 of persuasion. She can neither bend nor break the boy s 
 iron will, but she can melt it. She has tact to avoid the 
 conflict in which she would be worsted. She can charm, 
 amuse, please, and make willing ; and her fine and subtle 
 influences, weaving themselves about him day after day, 
 become more and more powerful. Let her alone, and she 
 will have her boy yet. 
 
 But now some bustling mother-in-law, or other privileged 
 expounder, says to her, 
 
 "My dear, it s your solemn duty to break that boy s 
 will. I broke my boy s will short off. Keep your whip 
 in sight, meet him at every turn, fight him whenever he 
 crosses you, never let him get one victory, and finally his 
 will will be wholly subdued." 
 
 Such advice is mischievous, because what it proposes is 
 as utter an impossibility to the woman s nature as for a 
 cow to scratch up worms for her calf, or a hen to suckle 
 her chickens. 
 
 There are men and women of strong, resolute will who 
 are gifted with the power of governing the wills of others. 
 Such persons can govern in this way, and their govern 
 ment, being in the line of their nature, acting strongly, con 
 sistently, naturally, makes everything move harmoniously. 
 Let them be content with their own success, but let them 
 
INTOLERANCE 425 
 
 not set up as general education-doctors, or apply their ex 
 perience to all possible cases. 
 
 Again, there are others, and among them some of the 
 loveliest and purest natures, who have no power of com 
 mand. They have sufficient tenacity of will as respects 
 their own course, but have no compulsory power over the 
 wills of others. Many such women have been most suc 
 cessful mothers, when they followed the line of their own 
 natures, and did not undertake what they never could do. 
 
 Influence is a slower acting force than authority. It 
 seems weaker, but in the long run it often effects more. 
 It always does better than mere force and authority with 
 out its gentle modifying power. 
 
 She who obtains an absolute and perfect government over 
 a child, so that he obeys, certainly and almost mechanically 
 produces effects which are more appreciable in their im 
 mediate action on family life ; her family will be more 
 orderly, her children in their childhood will do her more 
 credit. 
 
 But she who has consciously no power of this kind, 
 whose children are often turbulent and unmanageable, need 
 not despair if she feel that through affection, reason, and 
 conscience, she still retains a strong influence over them. 
 If she cannot govern her boy, she can do even a better 
 thing if she can inspire him with a purpose to govern 
 himself ; for a boy taught to govern himself is a better 
 achievement than a boy merely governed. 
 
 If a mother, therefore, is high-principled, religious, affec 
 tionate, if she never uses craft or deception, if she gov 
 erns her temper and sets a good example, let her hold on 
 in good hope, though she cannot produce the discipline of 
 a man-of-war in her noisy little flock, or make all move as 
 smoothly as some other women to whom God has given 
 another and different talent ; and let her not be discour 
 aged, if she seem often to accomplish but little in that 
 
426 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 arduous work of forming human character wherein the 
 great Creator of the world has declared himself at times 
 baffled. 
 
 Family tolerance must take great account of the stages 
 and periods of development and growth in children. 
 
 The passage of a human being from one stage of develop 
 ment to another, like the sun s passage across the equator, 
 frequently has its storms and tempests. The change to 
 manhood and womanhood often involves brain, nerves 5 
 body, and soul in confusion ; the child sometimes seems 
 lost to himself and his parents, his very nature changing. 
 In this sensitive state come restless desires, unreasonable 
 longings, unsettled purposes ; and the fatal habit of indul 
 gence in deadly stimulants, ruining all the life, often springs 
 from the cravings of this transition period. 
 
 Here must come in the patience of the saints. The 
 restlessness must be soothed, the family hearth must be 
 tolerant enough to keep there the boy, whom Satan will re 
 ceive and cherish, if his mother does not. The male ele 
 ment sometimes pours into a boy like the tides in the Bay 
 of Fundy, with tumult and tossing. He is noisy, vocifer 
 ous, uproarious, and seems bent only on disturbance ; he 
 despises conventionalities, he hates parlors, he longs for 
 the woods, the sea, the converse of rough men, and kicks 
 at constraint of all kinds. Have patience now, let love 
 have its perfect work, and in a year or two, if no deadly 
 physical habits set in, a quiet, well-mannered gentleman 
 will be evolved. Meanwhile, if he does not wipe his 
 shoes, and if he will fling his hat upon the floor, and tear 
 his clothes, and bang and hammer and shout, and cause 
 general confusion in his belongings, do not despair ; for if 
 you only get your son, the hat and clothes and shoes and 
 noise and confusion do not matter. Any amount of tolera 
 tion that keeps a boy contented at home is treasure well 
 expended at this time of life. 
 
INTOLERANCE 427 
 
 One thing not enough reflected on is, that in this transi 
 tion period between childhood and maturity the heaviest 
 draft and strain of school education occurs. The boy is fit 
 ting for the university, the girl going through the studies 
 of the college senior year, and the brain-power, which is 
 working almost to the breaking-point to perfect the physical 
 change, has the additional labor of all the drill and dis 
 cipline of school. 
 
 The girl is growing into a tall and shapely woman, and 
 the poor brain is put to it to find enough phosphate of lime, 
 carbon, and other what-not, to build her fair edifice. The 
 bills flow in upon her thick and fast ; she pays out hand 
 over hand : if she had only her woman to build, she might 
 get along, but now come in demands for algebra, geometry, 
 music, language, and the poor brain-bank stops payment ; 
 some part of the work is shabbily done, and a crooked spine 
 or weakened lungs are the result. 
 
 Boarding-schools, both for boys and girls, are for the 
 most part composed of young people in this most delicate, 
 critical portion of their physical, mental, and moral devel 
 opment, whose teachers are expected to put them through 
 one straight, severe course of drill, without the slightest al 
 lowance for the great physical facts of their being. No won 
 der they are difficult to manage, and that so many of them 
 drop, physically, mentally, and morally halt and maimed. 
 It is not the teacher s fault ; he but fulfills the parent s requi 
 sition, which dooms his child without appeal to a certain 
 course, simply because others have gone through it. 
 
 Finally, as my sermon is too long already, let me end 
 with a single reflection. Every human being has some 
 handle by which he may be lifted, some groove in which 
 he was meant to run ; and the great work of life, as far as 
 our relations with each other are concerned, is to lift each 
 one by his own proper handle, and run each one in his own 
 proper groove. 
 
VI 
 
 DISCOURTESY 
 
 "FOR my part/ said my wife, "I think one of the 
 greatest destroyers of domestic peace is Discourtesy. Peo 
 ple neglect, with their nearest friends, those refinements 
 and civilities which they practice with strangers." 
 
 " My dear madam, I am of another opinion," said Bob 
 Stephens. " The restraints of etiquette, the formalities of 
 ceremony, are tedious enough in outdoor life ; but when 
 a man comes home, he wants leave to take off his tight 
 boots and gloves, wear the gown and slippers, and speak 
 his mind freely without troubling his head where it hits. 
 Home life should be the communion of people who have 
 learned to understand each other, who allow each other a 
 generous latitude and freedom. One wants one place where 
 he may feel at liberty to be tired or dull or disagreeable 
 without ruining his character. Home is the place where 
 we should expect to live somewhat on the credit which a 
 full knowledge of each other s goodness and worth inspires ; 
 and it is not necessary for intimate friends to go through 
 every day those civilities and attentions which they practice 
 with strangers any more than it is necessary among literary 
 people to repeat the alphabet over every day before one 
 begins to read." 
 
 " Yes," said Jenny, " when a young gentleman is paying 
 his addresses, he helps a young lady out of a carriage so 
 tenderly, and holds back her dress so adroitly, that not a 
 particle of mud gets on it from the wheels ; but when the 
 mutual understanding is complete, and the affection perfect, 
 
DISCOURTESY 429 
 
 and she is his wife, he sits still and holds the horse and 
 lets her climb out alone. To be sure, when pretty Miss 
 Titmouse is visiting them, he still shows himself gallant, 
 flies from the carriage, and holds back her dress : that s 
 because he does n t love her, nor she him, and they are not 
 on the ground of mutual affection. When a gentleman is 
 only engaged, or a friend, if you hem him a cravat or mend 
 his gloves, he thanks you in the blandest manner ; but 
 when you are once sure of his affection, he only says, Very 
 well ; now I wish you would look over my shirts, and 
 mend that rip in my coat, and be sure don t forget it, 
 as you did yesterday. For all which reasons," said Miss 
 Jenny, with a toss of her pretty head, " I mean to put off 
 marrying as long as possible, because I think it far more 
 agreeable to have gentlemen friends with whom I stand on 
 the ground of ceremony and politeness than to be restricted 
 to one who is living on the credit of his affection. I don t 
 want a man who gapes in my face, reads a newspaper all 
 breakfast-time while I want somebody to talk to, smokes 
 cigars all the evening, or reads to himself when I would 
 like him to be entertaining, and considers his affection for me 
 as his right and title to make himself generally disagreeable. 
 If he has a bright face, and pleasant, entertaining, gallant 
 ways, I like to be among the ladies who may have the ben 
 efit of them, and should take care how I lost my title to it by 
 coming with him on to the ground of domestic affection." 
 
 " Well, Miss Jenny," said Bob, " it is n t merely our sex 
 who are guilty of making themselves less agreeable after 
 marriage. Your dapper little fairy creatures, who dazzle us 
 so with wondrous and fresh toilettes, who are so trim and 
 neat and sprightly and enchanting, what becomes of them 
 after marriage ? If he reads the newspaper at the breakfast- 
 table, perhaps it s because there is a sleepy, dowdy woman 
 opposite, in a faded gingham wrapper, put on in the sacred- 
 ness of domestic privacy, and perhaps she has laid aside 
 
430 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 those crisp, sparkling, bright little sayings and doings that 
 used to make it impossible to look at or listen to any 
 body else when she was about. Such things are, sometimes, 
 among the goddesses, I believe. Of course, Marianne and I 
 know nothing of these troubles ; we, being a model pair, sit 
 among the clouds and speculate on all these matters as spec 
 tators merely." 
 
 "Well, you see what your principle leads to, carried 
 out," said Jenny. "If home is merely the place where one 
 may feel at liberty to be tired or dull or disagreeable, with 
 out losing one s character, I think the women have far more 
 right to avail themselves of the liberty than the men ; for 
 all the lonesome, dull, disagreeable part of home life comes 
 into their department. It is they who must keep awake 
 with the baby, if it frets ; and if they do not feel spirits to 
 make an attractive toilette in the morning, or have not the 
 airy, graceful fancies that they had when they were girls, 
 it is not so very much against them. A housekeeper and 
 nursery-maid cannot be expected to be quite as elegant in 
 her toilette and as entertaining in her ways as a girl without 
 a care in her father s house ; but I think that this is no ex 
 cuse for husbands neglecting the little civilities and atten 
 tions which they used to show before marriage. They are 
 strong and well and hearty ; go out into the world and hear 
 and see a great deal that keeps their minds moving and 
 awake ; and they ought to entertain their wives after mar 
 riage just as their wives entertained them before. That s 
 the way my husband must do, or I will never have one, 
 and it will be small loss if I don t," said Miss Jenny. 
 
 "Well," said Bob, "I must endeavor to initiate Charley 
 Sedley in time." 
 
 " Charley Sedley, Bob ! " said Jenny, with crimson in 
 dignation. " I wonder you will always bring up that old 
 story, when I ? ve told you a hundred times how disagreeable 
 it is ! Charley and I are good friends, but " 
 
DISCOURTESY 431 
 
 " There, there," said Bob, " that will do ; you don t need 
 to proceed further. 7 
 
 " You only said- that because you could n t answer my 
 argument," said Jenny. 
 
 " Well, my dear," said Bob, " you know everything has 
 two sides to it, and I 11 admit that you have brought up 
 the opposite side to mine quite handsomely ; but, for all 
 that, I am convinced that, if what I said was not really 
 the truth, yet the truth lies somewhere in the vicinity of it. 
 As I said before, so I say again, true love ought to beget a 
 freedom which shall do away with the necessity of cere 
 mony, and much may and ought to be tolerated among near 
 and dear friends that would be discourteous among strangers. 
 I am just as sure of this as of anything in the world." 
 
 " And yet," said my wife, " there is certainly truth in 
 the much quoted lines of Cowper, on Friendship, where he 
 
 says, 
 
 " As similarity of mind, 
 Or something not to be defined, 
 
 First fixes our attention, 
 So manners decent and polite, 
 The same we practiced at first sight, 
 Will save it from declension." 
 
 " Well, now," said Bob, " I ve seen enough of French 
 politeness between married people. When I was in Paris, 
 I remember there was in our boarding-house a Madame de 
 Villiers, whose husband had conferred upon her his name 
 and the de belonging to it, in consideration of a snug little 
 income which she brought to him by the marriage. His 
 conduct towards her was a perfect model of all the graces 
 of civilized life. It was true that he lived on her income, 
 and spent it in promenading the Boulevards, and visiting 
 theatres and operas with divers fair friends of easy morals ; 
 still all this was so courteously, so politely, so diplomati 
 cally arranged with Madame, that it was quite worth while 
 to be neglected and cheated for the sake of having the 
 
432 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 thing done in so finished and elegant a manner. According 
 to his showing, Monsieur had taken the neat little apart 
 ment for her in our pension, because his circumstances were 
 embarrassed, and he would be in despair to drag such a 
 creature into hardships which he described as terrific, and 
 which he was resolved heroically to endure alone. No ; 
 while a sous remained to them, his adored Julie should 
 have her apartment and the comforts of life secured to her, 
 while the barest attic should suffice for him. Never did he 
 visit her without kissing her hand with the homage due to 
 a princess, complimenting her on her good looks, bringing 
 bonbons, entertaining her with most ravishing small-talk of 
 all the interesting on-dits in Paris ; and these visits were 
 most particularly frequent as the time for receiving her 
 quarterly installments approached. And so Madame adored 
 him and could refuse him nothing, believed all his stories, 
 and was well content to live on a fourth of her own. income 
 for the sake of so engaging a husband." 
 
 " Well/ said Jenny, " I don t know to what purpose 
 your anecdote is related, but to me it means simply this : 
 if a rascal, without heart, without principle, without any 
 good quality, can win and keep a woman s heart merely by 
 being invariably polite and agreeable, while in her presence, 
 how much more might a man of sense and principle and 
 real affection do by the same means ! I m sure, if a man 
 who neglects a woman, and robs her of her money, neverthe 
 less keeps her affections, merely because whenever he sees 
 her he is courteous and attentive, it certainly shows that 
 courtesy stands for a great deal in the matter of love." 
 
 " With foolish women," said Bob. 
 
 "Yes, and with sensible ones too," said my wife. 
 " Your Monsieur presents a specimen of the French way of 
 doing a bad thing ; but I know a poor woman whose hus 
 band did the same thing in English fashion, without kisses 
 or compliments. Instead of nattering, he swore at her, and 
 
DISCOURTESY 433 
 
 took her money away without the ceremony of presenting 
 bonhons ; and I assure you, if the thing must be done at 
 all, I would, for my part, much rather have it done in the 
 French than the English manner. The courtesy, as far as 
 it goes, is a good, and far better than nothing, though, of 
 course, one would rather have substantial good with it. If 
 one must be robbed, one would rather have one s money 
 wheedled away agreeably, with kisses and bonbons, than be 
 knocked down and trampled upon." 
 
 " The mistake that is made on this subject," said I, " is 
 in comparing, as people generally do, a polished rascal with 
 a boorish good man ; but the polished rascal should be com 
 pared with the polished good man, and the boorish rascal 
 with the boorish good man, and then we get the true value 
 of the article. 
 
 "It is true, as a general rule, that those races of men 
 that are most distinguished for outward urbanity and cour 
 tesy are the least distinguished for truth and sincerity ; and 
 hence the well-known alliterations, ( fair and false/ smooth 
 and slippery. 7 The fair and false Greek, the polished and 
 wily Italian, the courteous and deceitful Frenchman, are 
 associations which, to the strong, downright, courageous 
 Anglo-Saxon, make up-and-down rudeness and blunt dis 
 courtesy a type of truth and honesty. 
 
 " No one can read French literature without feeling how 
 the element of courtesy pervades every department of life, 
 how carefully people avoid being personally disagreeable 
 in their intercourse. A domestic quarrel, if we may trust 
 French plays, is carried on with all the refinements of good 
 breeding, and insults are given with elegant civility. It 
 seems impossible to translate into French the direct and 
 downright brutalities which the English tongue allows. 
 The whole intercourse of life is arranged on the under 
 standing that all personal contacts shall be smooth and 
 civil, and such as to obviate the necessity of personal jostle 
 and jar. 
 
434 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 " Does a Frenchman engage a clerk or other employee, 
 and afterwards hear a report to his disadvantage, the last 
 thing he would think of would be to tell a downright un 
 pleasant truth to the man. He writes him a civil note, and 
 tells him, that, in consequence of an unexpected change of 
 business, he shall not need an assistant in that department, 
 and much regrets that this will deprive him of Monsieur s 
 agreeable society, etc. 
 
 " A more striking example cannot be found of this sort 
 of intercourse than the representation in the life of Madame 
 George Sand of the proceedings between her father and his 
 mother. There is all the romance of affection between this 
 mother and son. He writes her the most devoted letters, 
 he kisses her hand on every page, he is the very image of a 
 gallant, charming, lovable son, while at the same time he is 
 secretly making arrangements for a private marriage with a 
 woman of low rank and indifferent reputation, a marriage 
 which he knows would be like death to his mother. He 
 marries, lives with his wife, has one or two children by her, 
 before he will pain the heart of his adored mother by telling 
 her the truth. The adored mother suspects her son, but no 
 trace of the suspicion appears in her letters to him. The 
 questions which an English parent would level at him point- 
 blank she is entirely too delicate to address to her dear 
 Maurice ; but she puts them to the Prefect of Police, and 
 ferrets out the marriage through legal documents, while yet 
 no trace of this knowledge dims the affectionateness of her 
 letters, or the serenity of her reception of her son when he 
 comes to bestow on her the time which he can spare from 
 his family cares. In an English or American family there 
 would have been a battle royal, an open rupture ; whereas 
 this courteous son and mother go on for years with this 
 polite drama, she pretending to be deceived while she is 
 not, and he supposing that he is sparing her feelings by the 
 deception. 
 
DISCOUKTESY 435 
 
 " Now it is the reaction from such a style of life on the 
 truthful Anglo-Saxon nature that leads to an undervaluing 
 of courtesy, as if it were of necessity opposed to sincerity. 
 But it does not follow, because all is not gold that glitters, 
 that nothing that glitters is gold, and because courtesy and 
 delicacy of personal intercourse are often perverted to deceit, 
 that they are not valuable allies of truth. No woman would 
 prefer a slippery, plausible rascal to a rough, unceremonious 
 honest man ; but of two men equally truthful and affection 
 ate, every woman would prefer the courteous one. 7 
 
 " Well," said Bob, " there is a loathsome, sickly stench of 
 cowardice and distrust about all this kind of French deli 
 cacy that is enough to drive an honest fellow to the other 
 extreme. True love ought to be a robust, hardy plant, that 
 can stand a free outdoor life of sun and wind and rain. 
 People who are too delicate and courteous ever fully to 
 speak their minds to each other are apt to have stagnant 
 residuums of unpleasant feelings which breed all sorts of 
 gnats and mosquitos. My rule is, Say everything out as 
 you go along ; have your little tiffs, and get over them ; 
 jar and jolt and rub a little, and learn to take rubs and 
 bear jolts. 
 
 "HI take less thought and use less civility of expres 
 sion, in announcing to Marianne that her coffee is roasted 
 too much, than I did to old Mrs. Pollux when I boarded with 
 her, it s because I take it Marianne is somewhat more a 
 part of myself than old Mrs Pollux was, that there is an 
 intimacy and confidence between us which will enable us 
 to use the shorthand of life, that she will not fall into a 
 passion or fly into hysterics, but will merely speak to cook, 
 in good time. If I don t thank her for mending my glove 
 in just the style that I did when I was a lover, it is because 
 now she does that sort of thing for me so often that it 
 would be a downright bore to her to have me always on my 
 knees about it. All that I could think of to say about her 
 
436 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 graceful handiness and her delicate needlework has been 
 said so often, and is so well understood, that it has entirely 
 lost the zest of originality. Marianne and I have had 
 sundry little battles, in which the victory came out on both 
 sides, each of us thinking the better of the other for the 
 vigor and spirit with which we conducted matters, and our 
 habit of perfect plain-speaking and truth-telling to each other 
 is better than all the delicacies that ever were hatched up in 
 the hot-bed of French sentiment." 
 
 " Perfectly true, perfectly right," said I. " Every word 
 good as gold. Truth before all things ; sincerity before all 
 things : pure, clear, diamond-bright sincerity is of more value 
 than the gold of Ophir ; the foundation of all love must 
 rest here. How those people do who live in the nearest and 
 dearest intimacy with friends who they believe will lie to 
 them for any purpose, even the most refined and delicate, 
 is a mystery to me. If I once know that my wife or my 
 friend will tell me only what they think will be agreeable to 
 me, then I am at once lost, my way is a pathless quicksand. 
 But all this being premised, I still say that we Anglo- 
 Saxons might improve our domestic life, if we would graft 
 upon the strong stock of its homely sincerity the courteous 
 graces of the French character. 
 
 " If anybody wishes to know exactly what I mean by this, 
 let him read the Memoir of De Tocqueville, whom I take 
 to be the representative of the French ideal man ; and cer 
 tainly the kind of family life which his domestic letters 
 disclose has a delicacy and a beauty which adorn its solid 
 worth. 
 
 " What I have to say on this matter is, that it is very 
 dangerous for any individual man or any race of men continu 
 ally to cry up the virtues to which they are constitutionally 
 inclined, and to be constantly dwelling with reprobation on 
 faults to which they have no manner of temptation. 
 
 " I think that we of the English race may set it down as 
 
DISCOURTESY 437 
 
 a general rule, that we are in no danger of becoming hypo 
 crites in domestic life through an extra sense of politeness, 
 and in some danger of becoming boors from a rough, uncul 
 tivated instinct of sincerity. But to bring the matter to 
 a practical point, I will specify some particulars in which 
 the courtesy we show to strangers might with advantage be 
 grafted into our home life. 
 
 " In the first place, then, let us watch our course when 
 we are entertaining strangers whose good opinion we wish 
 to propitiate. We dress ourselves with care, we study what 
 it will be agreeable to say, we do not suffer our natural lazi 
 ness to prevent our being very alert in paying small atten 
 tions, we start across the room for an easier chair, we stoop 
 to pick up the fan, we search for the mislaid newspaper, 
 and all this for persons in whom we have no particular in 
 terest beyond the passing hour ; while with those friends 
 whom we love and respect we too often sit in our old faded 
 habiliments, and let them get their own chair, and look up 
 their own newspaper, and fight their own way daily, without 
 any of this preventing care. 
 
 " In the matter of personal adornment, especially, there 
 are a great many people who are chargeable with the same 
 fault that I have already spoken of in reference to house 
 hold arrangements. They have a splendid wardrobe for com 
 pany, and a shabby and sordid one for domestic life. A 
 woman puts all her income into party dresses, and thinks 
 anything will do to wear at home. All her old tumbled 
 finery, her frayed, dirty silks and soiled ribbons, are made to 
 do duty for her hours of intercourse with her dearest friends. 
 Some seem to be really principled against wearing a hand 
 some dress in e very-day life ; they cannot afford J to be 
 well-dressed in private. Now what I should recommend 
 would be to take the money necessary for one or two party 
 dresses and spend it upon an appropriate and tasteful home 
 toilette, and to make it an avowed object to look prettily at 
 home. 
 
438 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 " We men are a sort of stupid, blind animals : we know 
 when we are pleased, but we don t know what it is that 
 pleases us ; we say we don t care anything about flowers, 
 but if there is a flower-garden under our window, somehow 
 or other we are dimly conscious of it, and feel that there 
 is something pleasant there ; and so when our wives and 
 daughters are prettily and tastefully attired, we know it, 
 and it gladdens our life far more than we are perhaps aware 
 of." 
 
 " Well, papa," said Jenny, " I think the men ought to 
 take just as much pains to get themselves up nicely after 
 marriage as the women. I think there are such things 
 as tumbled shirt-collars and frowsy hair and muddy shoes 
 brought into the domestic sanctuary, as well as frayed silks 
 and dirty ribbons." 
 
 " Certainly," I said ; " but you know we are the natural 
 Hottentot, and you are the missionaries who are to keep us 
 from degenerating ; we are the clumsy, old, blind Vulcan, 
 and you the fair Cythereas, the bearers of the magic cestus, 
 and therefore it is to you that this head more particularly 
 belongs. 
 
 " Now I maintain that in family life there should be an 
 effort not only to be neat and decent in the arrangement of 
 our person, but to be also what the French call coquette, 
 or to put it in plain English, there should be an endeavor 
 to make ourselves look handsome in the eyes of our dearest 
 friends. 
 
 " Many worthy women, who would not for the world be 
 found wanting in the matter of personal neatness, seem 
 somehow to have the notion that any study of the arts of 
 personal beauty in family life is unmatronly ; they buy their 
 clothes with simple reference to economy, and have them 
 made up without any question of becomingness ; and hence 
 marriage sometimes transforms a charming, trim, tripping 
 young lady into a waddling matron whose every-day toilette 
 
DISCOURTESY 439 
 
 suggests only the idea of a feather-bed tied round with a 
 string. For my part, I do not believe that the summary 
 banishment of the Graces from the domestic circle as soon 
 as the first baby makes its appearance is at all conducive to 
 domestic affection. Nor do I think that there is any need 
 of so doing. These good housewives are in danger, like 
 other saints, of falling into the error of neglecting the body, 
 through too much thoughtfulness for others and too little 
 for themselves. If a woman ever had any attractiveness, 
 let her try and keep it, setting it down as one of her do 
 mestic talents. As for my erring brothers who violate the 
 domestic sanctuary by tousled hair, tumbled linen, and 
 muddy shoes, I deliver them over to Miss Jenny without 
 benefit of clergy. 
 
 " My second head is, that there should be in family life 
 the same delicacy in the avoidance of disagreeable topics 
 that characterizes the intercourse of refined society among 
 strangers. 
 
 " I do not think that it makes family life more sincere, 
 or any more honest, to have the members of a domestic cir 
 cle feel a freedom to blurt out in each other s faces, without 
 thought or care, all the disagreeable things that may occur 
 to them : as, for example, How horridly you look this 
 morning ! What s the matter with you ? Is there a 
 pimple coming on your nose ? or what is that spot ? 
 What made you buy such a dreadfully unbecoming dress ? 
 It sets like a witch ! Who cut it ? What makes you 
 wear that pair of old shoes ? Hollo, Bess ! is that your 
 party-rig ? I should think you were going out for a walking 
 advertisement of a flower-store ! Observations of this 
 kind between husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, or 
 intimate friends, do not indicate sincerity, but obtuseness ; 
 and the person who remarks on the pimple on your nose is 
 in many cases just as apt to deceive you as the most accom 
 plished Frenchwoman who avoids disagreeable topics in your 
 presence. 
 
440 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 " Many families seem to think that it is a proof of family 
 union and good-nature that they can pick each other to 
 pieces, joke on each other s feelings and infirmities, and treat 
 each other with a general tally-ho-ing rudeness without any 
 offense or ill-feeling. If there is a limping sister, there is 
 a never-failing supply of jokes on Dot-and-go-one ; and 
 so with other defects and peculiarities of mind or manners. 
 Now the perfect good-nature and mutual confidence which 
 allow all this liberty are certainly admirable ; but the lib 
 erty itself is far from making home life interesting or agree 
 able. 
 
 " Jokes upon personal or mental infirmities, and a general 
 habit of saying things in jest which would be the height of 
 rudeness if said in earnest, are all habits which take from 
 the delicacy of family affection. 
 
 " In all this rough playing with edge-tools many are hit 
 and hurt who are ashamed or afraid to complain. And after 
 all, what possible good or benefit comes from it ? Courage 
 to say disagreeable things, when it is necessary to say them 
 for the highest good of the person addressed, is a sublime 
 quality ; but a careless habit of saying them, in the mere 
 freedom of family intercourse, is certainly as great a spoiler 
 of the domestic vines as any fox running. 
 
 "There is one point under this head which I enlarge 
 upon for the benefit of my own sex : I mean table criti 
 cisms. The conduct of housekeeping, in the present state 
 of domestic service, certainly requires great allowance ; and 
 the habit of unceremonious comment on the cooking and 
 appointments of the table, in which some husbands habitu 
 ally allow themselves, is the most unpardonable form of 
 domestic rudeness. If a wife has philosophy enough not to 
 mind it, so much the worse for her husband, as it confirms 
 him in an unseemly habit, embarrassing to guests and a bad 
 example to children. If she has no feelings that he is 
 bound to respect, he should at least respect decorum and 
 
DISCOURTESY 441 
 
 good taste, and confine the discussion of such matters to 
 private intercourse, and not initiate every guest and child 
 into the grating and greasing of the wheels of the domestic 
 machinery. 
 
 " Another thing in which families might imitate the 
 politeness of strangers is a wise reticence with regard to 
 the asking of questions and the offering of advice. 
 
 "A large family includes many persons of different 
 tastes, habits, modes of thinking and acting, and it would 
 be wise and well to leave to each one that measure of 
 freedom in these respects which the laws of general polite 
 ness require. Brothers and sisters may love each other 
 very much, and yet not enough to make joint-stock of all 
 their ideas, plans, wishes, schemes, friendships. There are 
 in every family circle individuals whom a certain sensitive 
 ness of nature inclines to quietness and reserve ; and there 
 are very well-meaning families where no such quietness or 
 reserve is possible. Nobody can be let alone, nobody may 
 have a secret, nobody can move in any direction, without 
 a host of inquiries and comments. ( Who is your letter 
 from? Let s see. My letter is from So-and-So. 
 He writing to you ! I didn t know that. What s he writ 
 ing about ? Where did you go yesterday ? What did 
 you buy ? What did you give for it ? What are you 
 going to do with it ? i Seems to me that s an odd way 
 to do. I should n t do so. Look here, Mary ; Sarah s 
 going to have a dress of silk tissue this spring. Now I 
 think they re too dear, don t you ? 
 
 " I recollect seeing in some author a description of a true 
 gentleman, in which, among other traits, he was character 
 ized as the man that asks the fewest questions. This trait 
 of refined society might be adopted into home life in a far 
 greater degree than it is, and make it far more agreeable. 
 
 " If there is perfect unreserve and mutual confidence, 
 let it show itself in free communications coming unsolicited. 
 
442 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 It may fairly be presumed that, if there is anything our 
 intimate friends wish us to know, they will tell us of it, 
 and that when we are on close and confidential terms with 
 persons, and there are topics on which they do not speak to 
 us, it is because for some reason they prefer to keep silence 
 concerning them ; and the delicacy that respects a friend s 
 silence is one of the charms of life. 
 
 " As with the asking of questions, so with the offering of 
 advice, there should be among friends a wise reticence. 
 
 " Some families are always calling each other to account 
 at every step of the way. What did you put on that dress 
 for ? Why did n t you wear that ? What did you do 
 this for ? Why did n t you do that ? < Now I should 
 advise you to do thus and so. And these comments and 
 criticisms and advices are accompanied with an energy of 
 feeling that makes it rather difficult to disregard them. 
 
 " Now it is no matter how dear and how good our friends 
 may be, if they abridge our liberty and fetter the free exer 
 cise of our life, it is inevitable that we shall come to enjoy 
 ing ourselves much better where they are not than where 
 they are ; and one of the reasons why brothers and sisters 
 or children so often diverge from the family circle in the 
 choice of confidants is, that extraneous friends are bound by 
 certain laws of delicacy not to push inquiries, criticisms, or 
 advice too far. 
 
 " Parents would do well to remember in time when their 
 children have grown up into independent human beings, 
 and use with a wise moderation those advisory and admoni 
 tory powers with which they guided their earlier days. 
 Let us give everybody a right to live his own life, as far as 
 possible, and avoid imposing our own personalities on an 
 other. 
 
 " If I were to picture a perfect family, it should be a 
 union of people of individual and marked character, who 
 through love have come to a perfect appreciation of each 
 
DISCOURTESY 443 
 
 other, and who so wisely understand themselves and one 
 another that each may move freely along his or her own 
 track without jar or jostle, a family where affection is 
 always sympathetic and receptive, but never inquisitive, 
 where all personal delicacies are respected, and where there 
 is a sense of privacy and seclusion in following one s own 
 course, unchallenged by the watchfulness of others, yet withal 
 a sense of society and support in a knowledge of the kind 
 dispositions and interpretations of all around. 
 
 "In treating of family discourtesies, I have avoided 
 speaking of those which come from ill -temper and brute 
 selfishness, because these are sins more than mistakes. An 
 angry person is generally impolite ; and where contention 
 and ill-will are, there can be no courtesy. What I have 
 mentioned are rather the lackings of good and often admir 
 able people, who merely need to consider in their family life 
 a little more of whatsoever things are lovely. With such 
 the mere admission of anything to be pursued as a duty 
 secures the purpose ; only in their somewhat earnest pursuit 
 of the substantials of life they drop and pass by the little 
 things that give it sweetness and perfume. To such a word 
 is enough, and that word is said. 
 
VII 
 
 EXACTINGNESS 
 
 AT length I am arrived at my seventh fox, the last of 
 the domestic quadrupeds against which I have vowed a cru 
 sade, and here opens the chase of him. I call him 
 
 EXACTINGNESS, 
 
 and having done this, I drop the metaphor, for fear of 
 chasing it beyond the rules of graceful rhetoric, and shall 
 proceed to define the trait. 
 
 All the other domestic faults of which I have treated 
 have relation to the manner in which the ends of life are 
 pursued ; but this one is an underlying, false, and diseased 
 state of conception as to the very ends and purposes of life 
 itself. 
 
 If a piano is tuned to exact concert pitch, the majority of 
 voices must fall below it ; for which reason, most people 
 indulgently allow their pianos to be tuned a little below this 
 point, in accommodation to the average power of the human 
 voice. Persons of only ordinary powers of voice would be 
 considered absolute monomaniacs, who should insist on hav 
 ing their pianos tuned to accord with any abstract notion 
 of propriety or perfection, rendering themselves wretched 
 by persistently singing all their pieces miserably out of tune 
 in consequence. 
 
 Yet there are persons who keep the requirements of life 
 strained up always at concert pitch, and are thus worn out 
 and made miserable all their days by the grating of a per 
 petual discord. 
 
EXACTINGNESS 445 
 
 There is a faculty of the human mind to which phre 
 nologists have given the name of Ideality, which is at the 
 foundation of this exactingness. Ideality is the faculty 
 by which we conceive of and long for perfection ; and at a 
 glance it will be seen, that, so far from being an evil ingre 
 dient of human nature, it is the one element of progress that 
 distinguishes man s nature from that of the brute. While 
 animals go on from generation to generation, learning no 
 thing and forgetting nothing, practicing their small circle 
 of the arts of life no better and no worse from year to 
 year, man is driven by ideality to constant invention and 
 alteration, whence come arts, sciences, and the whole pro 
 gress of society. Ideality induces discontent with present 
 attainments, possessions, and performances, and hence come 
 better and better ones. So in morals, ideality constantly in 
 cites to higher and nobler modes of living and thinking, 
 and is the faculty to which the most effective teachings 
 of the great Master of Christianity are addressed. To be 
 dissatisfied with present attainments, with earthly things 
 and scenes, to aspire and press on to something forever fair, 
 yet forever receding before our steps, this is the teaching 
 of Christianity, and the work of the Christian. 
 
 But every faculty has its own instinctive, wild growth, 
 which, like the spontaneous produce of the earth, is crude 
 and weedy. 
 
 Revenge, says Lord Bacon, is a sort of wild justice, obsti 
 nacy is untutored firmness, and so exactingness is un 
 trained ideality ; and a vast deal of misery, social and do 
 mestic, comes not of the faculty, but of its untrained exer 
 cise. 
 
 The faculty which is ever conceiving and desiring some 
 thing better and more perfect must be modified in its action 
 by good sense, patience, and conscience, or it induces a mor 
 bid, discontented spirit, which courses through the veins of 
 individual and family life like a subtle poison. 
 
446 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 In a certain neighborhood are two families whose social 
 and domestic animus illustrates the difference between ideal 
 ity and the want of it. 
 
 The Day tons are a large, easy-natured, joyous race, hospit 
 able, kindly, and friendly. Nothing about their establish 
 ment is much above mediocrity. The grounds are tolerably 
 kept, the table is tolerably fair, the servants moderately 
 good, and the family character and attainments of the same 
 average level. 
 
 Mrs. Dayton is a decent housekeeper, and so her bread 
 be not sour, her butter not frowy, the food abundant and the 
 tablecloth and dishes clean, she troubles her head little with 
 the niceties and refinements of the menage. She accepts 
 her children as they come from the hand of nature^ simply 
 opening her eyes to discern what they are, never raising the 
 query what she would have had them, forming no very 
 high expectations concerning them and well content with 
 whatever develops. 
 
 A visitor in the family can easily see a thousand defects 
 in the conduct of affairs, in the management of the children, 
 and in this, that and the other portion of the household 
 arrangements ; but he can see and feel, also, a perfect com 
 fortableness in the domestic atmosphere that almost atones 
 for any defects. He can see that in a thousand respects 
 things might be better done, if the family were not perfectly 
 content to have them as they are, and that each individual 
 member might make higher attainments in various directions, 
 were there not such entire satisfaction with what is already 
 attained. 
 
 Trying each other by very moderate standards and measure 
 ments, there is great mutual complacency. The oldest boy 
 does not get an appointment in college, they never ex 
 pected he would ; but he was a respectable scholar, and they 
 receive him with acclamations such as another family would 
 bestow on a valedictorian. The daughters do not profess, 
 
EXACTINGNESS 447 
 
 as we are told, to draw like artists, but some very moderate 
 performances in the line of the fine arts are dwelt on with 
 much innocent pleasure. They thrum a few tunes on the 
 piano, and the whole family listen and approve. All unite 
 in singing in a somewhat uncultured manner a few psalm- 
 tunes or songs, and take more comfort in them than many 
 amateurs do in their well-drilled performances. 
 
 So goes the world with the Daytons; and when you 
 visit them, if you often feel that you could ask more and 
 suggest much improvement, yet you cannot help enjoying 
 the quiet satisfaction which breathes around you. 
 
 Now right across the way from the Daytons live the 
 Mores ; and the Mores are the very opposites of the Day- 
 tons. Everything about their establishment is brought to 
 the highest point of culture. The carriage drive never 
 shows a weed, the lawn is velvet, the flower beds ever- 
 blooming, the fruit-trees and vines grow exactly like the 
 patterns in the best pomological treatises. Within doors 
 the housekeeping is faultless, all seems to be moving in 
 time and tune, the table is more than good, it is super 
 lative, every article is in its way a model ; the children ap 
 pear to you to be growing up after the most patent-right 
 method, duly trained, snipped, and cultured, like the pear- 
 trees and grapevines. Nothing is left to accident, or done 
 without much laborious consideration of the best manner of 
 doing it ; and the consequences, in the eyes of their simple, 
 unsophisticated neighbors, are very wonderful. 
 
 Nevertheless this is not a happy family. All their per 
 fections do not begin to afford them one tithe of the satis 
 faction that the Daytons derive from their ragged and scram 
 bling performances. 
 
 The two daughters, Jane and Maria, had naturally very 
 sweet voices, and when they were little, trilled tunes in a 
 very pleasant and bird-like manner. But now, having been 
 instructed by the best masters, and heard the very first ar- 
 
448 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 tists, they never sing or play ; the piano is shut, and their 
 voices are dumb. If you request a song, they tell you that 
 they never sing now ; papa has such an exquisite taste, he 
 takes no interest in any common music ; in short, having 
 heard Jenny Lind, Grisi, Alboni, Mario, and others of the 
 tuneful shell, this family have concluded to abide in silence. 
 As to any music that they could make, it isn t to be 
 thought of. 
 
 For the same reason, the daughters, after attending a 
 quarter or two on the drawing - exercises of a celebrated 
 teacher, threw up their pencils in disgust, and tore up very 
 pretty and agreeable sketches which were the marvel of 
 their good-natured admiring neighbors. If they could draw 
 like Signor Scratchalini, if they could hope to become per 
 fect artists, they tell you, they would have persevered ; but 
 they have taken lessons enough to learn that drawing is 
 the labor of a lifetime, and, not having a lifetime to give 
 to it, they resolve to do nothing at all. 
 
 They have also, for a similar reason, given up letter- 
 writing. If their chirography were as elegant as Charlotte 
 Cushman s, if they were perfect mistresses of polite Eng 
 lish, if they were gifted with wit, humor, and fancy, like 
 the first masters of style, they would take pleasure in 
 epistolary composition, and be good correspondents; but 
 anything short of that is so intolerable, that, except in cases 
 of life and death or urgent business, you cannot get a line 
 out of them. Yet they write very fair, agreeable, womanly 
 letters, and would write much better ones, if they allowed 
 themselves a little more practice. 
 
 Mrs. More is devoured by care. She sits with a clouded 
 brow in her elegant, well-regulated house ; and when you 
 talk with her, you are surprised to learn that everything 
 in it is in the most dreadful disorder from one end to the 
 other. You ask for particulars, and find that the disorder 
 has relation to exquisite standards of the ways of doing 
 
EXACTINGNESS 449 
 
 things, derived from observation of life in the most sub 
 divided state of European service, to all of which she 
 has not as yet been able to raise her domestics. You com 
 pliment her on her cook, and she responds, in plain 
 tive accents, " She can do a few things decently, but she is 
 nothing of a cook." You refer with enthusiasm to her 
 bread, her coffee, her muffins and hot rolls, and she listens 
 and sighs. " Yes," she admits, " these are eatable, not 
 bad ; but you should have seen the rolls at a certain cafe 
 in Paris, and the bread at a certain nobleman s in England, 
 where they had a bakery in the castle, and a French baker, 
 who did nothing all the while but to refine and perfect the 
 idea of bread. When she thinks of these things, every 
 thing in comparison is so coarse and rough ! but then she 
 has learned to be comfortable." Thus, in every depart 
 ment of housekeeping, to this too well-instructed person, 
 
 "Hills peep o er hills, and Alps on Alps arise." 
 
 Not a thing in her wide and apparently beautifully kept 
 establishment is ever done well enough to elicit from her 
 more than a sigh of toleration. " I suppose it must do," 
 she faintly breathes, when poor human nature, having tried 
 and tried again, evidently has got to the boundaries of its 
 capabilities ; " you may let it go, Jane ; I never expect to 
 be suited." 
 
 The poor woman, in the midst of possessions and attain 
 ments which excite the envy of her neighbors, is utterly 
 restless and wretched, and feels herself always baffled and 
 unsuccessful. Her exacting nature makes her dissatisfied 
 with herself in everything that she undertakes, and equally 
 dissatisfied with others. In the whole family there is little 
 of that pleasure which comes from the consciousness of mu 
 tual admiration and esteem, because each one is pitched to 
 so exquisite a tone that each is afraid to touch another for 
 fear of making discord. They are afraid of each other every 
 where. They cannot sing to each other, play to each other, 
 
450 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 write to each other ; they cannot even converse together 
 with any freedom, because each knows that the others are 
 so dismally well informed and critically instructed. 
 
 Though all agree in a secret contempt for their neighbors 
 over the way, as living in a most heathenish state of igno 
 rant contentment, yet it is a fact that the elegant brother 
 John will often, on the sly, slip into the Daytons to spend 
 an evening, and join them in singing glees and catches to 
 their old rattling piano, and have a jolly time of it, which 
 he remembers in contrast with the dull, silent hours at 
 home. Kate Dayton has an uncultivated voice, which often 
 falls from pitch ; but she has a perfectly infectious gayety 
 of good-nature, and when she is once at the piano, and all 
 join in some merry troll, he begins to think that there may 
 be something better even than good singing ; and then they 
 have dances and charades and games, all in such contented, 
 jolly, impromptu ignorance of the unities of time, place, and 
 circumstance, that he sometimes doubts, where ignorance 
 is such bliss, whether it is n t in truth folly to be wise. 
 
 Jane and Maria laugh at John for his partiality to the 
 Daytons, and yet they themselves feel the same attraction. 
 At the Daytons they somehow find themselves heroines ; 
 their drawings are so admired, their singing is so charming 
 to these simple ears, that they are often beguiled into giv 
 ing pleasure with their own despised acquirements ; and 
 Jane, somehow, is very tolerant of the devoted attention of 
 Will Dayton, a joyous, honest-hearted fellow, whom, in her 
 heart of hearts, she likes none the worse for being unexact- 
 ing and simple enough to think her a wonder of taste and 
 accomplishments. Will, of course, is the farthest possible 
 from the Admirable Crichtons and exquisite Sir Philip Sid 
 neys whom Mrs. More and the young ladies talk up at 
 their leisure, and adorn with feathers from every royal and 
 celestial bird, when they are discussing theoretic possible 
 husbands. He is not in any way distinguished, except for 
 
EXACTINGNESS 451 
 
 a kind heart, strong native good sense, and a manly energy 
 that has carried him straight into the very heart of many a 
 citadel of life, before which the superior and more refined 
 Mr. John had set himself down, to deliberate upon the best 
 and most elegant way of taking it. Will s plain, homely 
 intelligence has often in five minutes disentangled some 
 ethereal snarl in which these exquisite Mores had spun 
 themselves up, and brought them to his own way of think 
 ing by that sort of disenchanting process which honest, 
 practical sense sometimes exerts over ideality. 
 
 The fact is, however, that in each of these families there 
 is a natural defect which requires something from the other 
 for completeness. Taking happiness as the standard, the 
 Daytons have it as against the Mores. Taking attainment 
 as the standard, the Mores have it as against the Daytons. 
 A portion of the discontented ideality of the Mores would 
 stimulate the Daytons to refine and perfect many things 
 which might easily be made better, did they care enough to 
 have them so ; and a portion of the Daytons self -satisfied 
 contentment would make the attainments and refinements of 
 the Mores of some practical use in advancing their own 
 happiness. 
 
 But between these two classes of natures lies another, to 
 which has been given an equal share of ideality, in which 
 the conception and the desire of excellence are equally 
 strong, but in which a discriminating common-sense acts 
 like a balance-wheel in machinery. What is the reason 
 that the most exacting idealists never make themselves un 
 happy about not being able to fly like a bird or swim like 
 a fish ? Because common-sense teaches them that these 
 accomplishments are so utterly out of the question that 
 they never arise to the mind as objects of desire. In these 
 well-balanced minds we speak of, common-sense runs an 
 instinctive line all through life between the attainable and 
 the unattainable, and sets the key of desire accordingly. 
 
452 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 Common-sense teaches that there is no one branch of 
 human art or science in which perfection is not a point for 
 ever receding. A botanist gravely assures us, that to be 
 come perfect in the knowledge of one branch of seaweeds 
 would take all the time and strength of a man for a life 
 time. There is no limit to music, to the fine arts. There 
 is never a time when the gardener can rest, saying that his 
 garden is perfect. Housekeeping, cooking, sewing, knitting 
 may all, for aught we know, be pushed on forever, without 
 exhausting the capabilities for better doing. 
 
 But while attainment in everything is endless, circum 
 stances forbid the greater part of human beings from attain 
 ing in any direction the half of what they see would be de 
 sirable ; and the difference between the miserable idealist 
 and the contented realist often is, not that both do not see 
 what needs to be done for perfection, but that, seeing it, one 
 is satisfied with the attainable, and the other forever frets 
 and wears himself out on the unattainable. 
 
 The principal of a large and complicated public institu 
 tion was complimented on maintaining such uniformity of 
 cheerfulness amid such a diversity of cares. " I ve made 
 up my mind to be satisfied, when things are done half as 
 well as I would have them," was his answer ; and the 
 same philosophy would apply with cheering results to the 
 domestic sphere. 
 
 There is a saying which one often hears among common 
 people, that such and such a one are persons who never 
 could be happy, unless everything went "just so," that 
 is, in accordance with their highest conceptions. 
 
 When these persons are women, and undertake the sway 
 of a home empire, they are sure to be miserable, and to make 
 others so ; for home is a place where by no kind of magic 
 possible to woman can everything be always made to go 
 ".just so." 
 
 We may read treatises on education, and very excel- 
 
EXACTINGNESS 453 
 
 lent ones there are. We may read very nice stories illus 
 trating home management, in which book-children and book- 
 servants all work into the author s plan with obliging 
 unanimity ; but every real child and real servant is an 
 uncompromising fact, whose working into our ideal of life 
 cannot be predicted with any degree of certainty. A hus 
 band is another absolute fact, of whose conformity to any 
 ideal conceptions no positive account can be given. So, when 
 a person has the most charming theories of education, the 
 most complete ideals of life, it is often his lot to sit bound 
 hand and foot and see them all trampled under the heel of 
 opposing circumstances. 
 
 Nothing is easier than to make an ideal garden. We lay 
 out our grounds, dig, plant, transplant, manure. We read 
 catalogues of roses till we are bewildered with their lustrous 
 glories. We set out plum, pear, and peach, we luxuriate 
 in advance on bushels of choicest grapes, and our theo 
 retic garden is Paradise Regained. But in the actual garden 
 there are cut- worms for every cabbage, squash-bugs for all 
 the melons, slugs and rose-bugs for the roses, curculios for 
 the plums, fire-blight for pears, yellows for peaches, mildew r 
 for grapes, and late and early frosts, droughts, winds, and 
 hailstorms here and there for all. 
 
 The garden and the family are fair pictures of each other. 
 Both are capable of the most ravishing representations on 
 paper ; and the rules and directions for creating beauty and 
 perfection in both can be made so apparently plain that he 
 who runneth may read, and it would seem that a fool need 
 not err therein ; and yet the actual results are always halt 
 ing miles away behind expectation and desire. 
 
 It would be an incalculable gain to domestic happiness, 
 if people would begin the concert of life with their instru 
 ments tuned to a very low pitch : they who receive the 
 most happiness are generally they who demand and expect 
 the least. 
 
454 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 Ideality often becomes an insidious mental and moral dis 
 ease, acting all the more subtly from its alliances with what 
 is highest and noblest within us. Shall we not aspire to be 
 perfect ? Shall we be content with low measures and low 
 standards in anything ? To these inquiries there seems of 
 course to be but one answer ; yet the individual driven for 
 ward in blind, unreasoning aspiration becomes wearied, be 
 wildered, discontented, restless, fretful, and miserable. 
 
 An unhappy person can never make others happy. The 
 creators and governors of a home, who are themselves rest 
 less and inharmonious, cannot make harmony and peace. 
 This is the secret reason why many a pure, good conscien 
 tious person is only a source of uneasiness in family life. 
 They are exacting, discontented, unhappy ; and spread the 
 discontent and unhappiness about them. They are, to begin 
 with, on poor terms with themselves ; they do not like 
 themselves ; they do not like their own appearance, manners, 
 education, accomplishments ; on all these points they try 
 themselves by ideal standards, and find themselves wanting. 
 In morals, in religion, too, the same introverted scrutiny 
 detects only errors and evils, till all life seems to them a 
 miserable, hopeless failure, and they wish they had never 
 been born. They are angry and disgusted with themselves ; 
 there is no self-toleration or self-endurance. And persons 
 in a chronic quarrel with themselves are very apt to quarrel 
 with others. That exacting nature which has no patience 
 with one s own inevitable frailties and errors has none for 
 those of others ; and thus the great motive by which Chris 
 tianity enforces tolerance of the faults of others loses its 
 hold. There are people who make no allowances either for 
 themselves or anybody else, but are equally angry and dis 
 gusted with both. 
 
 Now it is important that those finely strung natures in 
 which ideality largely predominates should begin life by a 
 religious care and restraint of this faculty. As the case 
 
EXACTINGNESS 455 
 
 often stands, however, religion only intensifies the difficulty, 
 by adding stringency to exaction and censoriousness, driving 
 the subject up with an unremitting strain till the very 
 cords of reason sometimes snap. Yet, properly understood 
 and used, religion is the only cure for the evil of diseased 
 ideality. The Christian religion is the only one that ever 
 proposed to give to all human beings, however various the 
 range of their nature and desires, the great underlying gift 
 of rest. Its Author, with a strength of assurance which 
 only supreme Divinity can justify, promises rest to all per 
 sons, under all circumstances, with all sorts of natures, all 
 sorts of wants, and all sorts of defects. The invitation is 
 as wide as the human race : " Come unto me, all ye that 
 labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you BEST." 
 
 Now this is the more remarkable, as this gracious prom 
 ise is accompanied by the presentation of a standard of 
 perfection which is more ideal and exacting than any other 
 that has ever been placed before mankind, which, in so 
 many words, sets up absolute perfection as the only true 
 goal of aspiration. 
 
 The problem which Jesus proposes to human nature is 
 endless aspiration steadied by endless peace, a perfectly 
 restful, yet unceasing effort after a good, which is never to 
 be attained till we attain a higher and more perfect form of 
 existence. It is because this problem is insolvable by any 
 human wisdom, that He says that they who take His yoke 
 upon them must learn of Him, for He alone can make the 
 perfect yoke easy and its burden light. 
 
 The first lesson in this benignant school must lie like a 
 strong, broad foundation under every structure on which 
 we wish to rear a happy life, and that is, that the full 
 gratification of the faculty of ideality is never to be ex 
 pected in this present stage of existence, but is to be trans 
 ferred to a future life. Ideality, with its incessant, restless 
 longings and yearnings, is snubbed and turned out of doors 
 
456 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 by human philosophy, when philosophy becomes middle- 
 aged and sulky with repeated disappointments, it is be 
 rated as a cheat and a liar, told to hold its tongue and 
 take itself elsewhere ; but Christianity bids it be of good 
 cheer, still to aspire and hope and prophesy, and points to 
 a future where all its dreams shall be outdone by reality. 
 
 A full faith in such a perfect future a perfect faith 
 that God has planted in man no desire which he cannot 
 train to complete enjoyment in that future gives the 
 mind rest and contentment to postpone for a while gratifi 
 cations that will certainly come at last. 
 
 Such a faith is better even than that native philosophical 
 good sense which restrains the ideal calculations and hopes 
 of some ; for it has a wider scope and a deeper power. 
 
 We have seen in our time a woman gifted with all those 
 faculties which rejoice in the refinements of society, dis 
 pensing the elegant hospitalities of a beautiful home, joy 
 ful and giving joy. A sudden reverse has swept all this 
 away, the wealth on which it was based has melted like 
 a fog -bank in a warm morning, and we have seen her 
 with her little family beginning life again in the log- 
 cabin of a Western settlement. We have seen her sit 
 ting in the door of the one room that took the place of 
 parlor, bedroom, nursery, and cheerfully making her chil 
 dren s morning toilette by the help of the one tin wash 
 bowl that takes the place of her well-arranged bathing and 
 dressing rooms ; and yet, as she twined their curls over her 
 fingers, she had a laugh and a jest and cheerful word for all. 
 The few morning-glories that she was training over her rude 
 porch seemed as much a source of delight to her as her 
 former greenhouse and garden ; and the adjustment of the 
 one or two shelves whereon were the half-dozen books left of 
 the library, her husband s private papers, and her own and 
 her children s wardrobe, was entered into daily with a zeal 
 ous interest as if she had never known a wider sphere. 
 
EXACTINGNESS 457 
 
 Such facility of accommodation to life s reverses is some 
 times supposed to be merely the result of a hopeful and 
 cheerful temperament ; in this case it was purely the work 
 of religion. In early life, this same woman had been the 
 discontented slave of ideality, had sighed with vain long 
 ings in the midst of real and substantial comfort, had felt 
 even the creasing of the rose-leaves of her pillow an intol 
 erable annoyance. Now she has resigned herself to the 
 work and toil of life as the soldier does to the duties of the 
 camp, satisfied to do and to bear, enjoying with a free heart 
 the small daily pleasures which spring up like wild flowers 
 amid daily toils and annoyances, and looking to the end of 
 the campaign for rest and congenial scenes. 
 
 This woman has within her the powers and gifts of an 
 artist ; but her pencils and her colors are resolutely laid 
 away, and she sits hour after hour darning her children s 
 stockings and turning and arranging a scanty wardrobe which 
 no ingenuity can make more than decent. She was a beau 
 tiful musician ; but a musical instrument is now a thing of 
 the past ; she only lulls her baby to sleep with snatches of 
 the songs which used to form the attraction of brilliant 
 salons. She feels that a world of tastes and talents are lying 
 dormant in her while she is doing the daily work of a nurse, 
 cook, and seamstress ; but she remembers who took upon 
 Him the form of a servant before her, and she has full faith 
 that her beautiful gifts, like bulbs sleeping under ground, 
 shall come up and blossom again in that fair future which 
 He has promised. Therefore it is that she has no sighs for 
 the present or the past, no quarrel with her life, or her 
 lot in it ; she is in harmony with herself and with all around 
 her ; her husband looks upon her as a fair daily miracle, and 
 her children rise up and call her blessed. 
 
 But, having laid the broad foundation of faith in a better 
 life, as the basis on which to ground our present happiness, 
 we who are of the ideal nature must proceed to build thereon 
 wisely. 
 
458 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 In the first place, we must cultivate the duty of self- 
 patience and self-toleration. Of all the religionists and 
 moralists who ever taught, Fenelon is the only one who has 
 distinctly formulated the duty which a self-educator owes 
 to himself. HAVE PATIENCE WITH YOURSELF is a direction 
 often occurring in his writings, and a most important one 
 it is, because patience with ourselves is essential, if we 
 would have patience with others. Let us look through the 
 world. Who are the people easiest to be pleased, most 
 sunny, most urbane, most tolerant ? Are they not persons 
 from constitution and temperament on good terms with 
 themselves, people who do not ask much of themselves, 
 or try themselves severely, and who therefore are in a good 
 humor for looking upon others ? But how is a person who 
 is conscious of a hundred daily faults and errors to have 
 patience with himself ? The question may be answered by 
 asking, What would you say to a child who fretted, scolded, 
 dashed down his slate, and threw his book on the floor, be 
 cause he made mistakes in his arithmetic ? You would say, 
 of course, " You are but a learner ; it is not to be expected 
 that you will not make mistakes ; all children do. Have 
 patience." Just as you would talk to that child, talk to 
 yourself. Be reconciled to a lot of inevitable imperfection ; 
 be content to try continually, and often to fail. It is the 
 inevitable condition of human existence, and is to be ac 
 cepted as such. A patient acceptance of mortifications and 
 of defeats of our life s labor is often more efficacious for our 
 moral advancement than even our victories. 
 
 In the next place, we must school ourselves not to look 
 with restless desire to degrees of excellence in any depart 
 ment of life which circumstances evidently forbid our at 
 taining. For a woman with plenty of money and plenty 
 of well-trained servants to be content to have fly-specked 
 windows, or littered rooms, or a slovenly-ordered table, is a 
 sin. But in a woman in feeble health, encumbered with a 
 
EXACTINGNESS 459 
 
 flock of restless little ones, and whose circumstances allow 
 her to keep but one servant, it may be a piece of moral 
 heroism to shut her eyes on many such things, while secur 
 ing mere essentials to life and health. It may be a vir 
 tue in her not to push neatness to such lengths as to wear 
 herself out, or to break down her only servant, and to be 
 resigned to have her tastes and preferences for order, clean 
 liness, and beauty crossed, as she would resign herself to 
 any other affliction. No purgatory can be more severe to 
 people of a thorough and exact nature than to be so situated 
 that they can only half do everything they undertake ; yet 
 such is the fiery trial to which many a one is subjected. 
 Life seems to drive them along without giving them time 
 for anything ; everything is ragged, hasty performance, of 
 which the mind most keenly sees and feels the raggedness 
 and hastiness. Even one thing done as it really ought to 
 be done would be a rest and refreshment to the soul ; but 
 nowhere, in any department of its undertakings, is there any 
 such thing to be perceived. 
 
 But there are cases where a great deal of wear and tear 
 can be saved to the nerves by a considerate making up of 
 one s mind as to how much in certain circumstances had 
 better be undertaken at all. Let the circumstances of life 
 be surveyed, the objects we are pursuing arranged and 
 counted, and see if there are not things here and there 
 that may be thrown out of our plans entirely, that others may 
 be better done. 
 
 What if the whole care of expensive table luxuries, like 
 cake and preserves, be thrown out of a housekeeper s bud 
 get, in order that the essential articles of cookery may be 
 better prepared ? What if ruffling, embroidery, and the 
 entire department of kindred fine arts, be thrown out of her 
 calculations, in providing for the clothing of a family ? 
 Many a feeble woman has died of too much ruffling, as she 
 patiently sat up night after night sewing the thread of a 
 
4GO LITTLE FOXES 
 
 precious, invaluable life into elaborate articles which her 
 children were none the healthier or more virtuous for wear 
 ing. 
 
 Ideality is constantly ramifying and extending the de 
 partment of the toilette and the needle into a world of work 
 and worry, wherein distracted women wander up and down, 
 seeing no end anywhere. The sewing - machine was an 
 nounced as a relief to these toils ; but has it proved so ? 
 We trow not. It only amounts to this, that now there 
 can be seventy-two tucks on each little petticoat, instead of 
 fifteen, as before, and that twice as many garments are made 
 up and held to be necessary as formerly. The women still 
 sew to the limit of human endurance ; and still the old 
 proverb holds good, that woman s work is never done. 
 
 In the matter of dress, much wear and tear of spirit and 
 nerves may be saved by not beginning to go in certain 
 directions, well knowing that they will take us beyond our 
 resources of time, strength, and money. 
 
 There is one word of fear in the vocabulary of women of 
 our time which must be pondered advisedly, Trimming. 
 In old times a good garment was enough ; nowadays a gar 
 ment is nothing without trimming. Everything, from the 
 first article that the baby wears up to the elaborate dress of 
 the bride, must be trimmed at a rate that makes the trim 
 ming more than the original article. A dress can be made 
 in a day, but it cannot be trimmed under two or three days. 
 Let a faithful, conscientious woman make up her mind how 
 much of all this burden of life she will assume, remembering 
 wisely that there is no end to ideality in anything, and that 
 the only way to deal with many perplexing parts of life is 
 to leave them out altogether. 
 
 Mrs. Kirkland, in her very amusing account of her log- 
 cabin experiences, tells us of the great disquiet and incon 
 venience she had in attempting to arrange in her lowly 
 abode a most convenient clothes-press, which was manifestly 
 
EXACTINGNESS 461 
 
 too large for the establishment. Having labored with the 
 cumbersome convenience for a great length of time, and 
 with much discomfort, she at last resigned the ordering 
 of it to a brawny-armed damsel of the forest, who began 
 by pitching it out of doors, with the comprehensive re 
 mark, that, "where there wasn t room for a thing, there 
 was n t." 
 
 The wisdom which inspired the remark of this rustic 
 maiden might have saved the lives of many matrons who 
 have worn themselves out in vain attempts to make comforts 
 and conveniences out of things which they had better have 
 thrown out of doors altogether. 
 
 True, it requires some judgment to know what, among 
 objects commonly pursued in any department, we really 
 ought to reject ; and it requires independence and steadi 
 ness to say, " I will not begin to try to do certain things 
 that others are doing, and that, perhaps, they expect of 
 me ; " but there comes great leisure and quietness of spirit 
 from the gaps thus made. When the unwieldy clothes- 
 press was once cast out, everything in the log-cabin could 
 have room. 
 
 A mother, who is anxiously trying to reconcile the watch 
 ful care and training of her little ones with the maintenance 
 of fashionable calls and parties, may lose her life in the 
 effort to do both, and do both in so imperfect a manner as 
 never to give her a moment s peace. But on the morrow 
 after she comes to the serious and Christian resolve, " The 
 training of my children is all that I can do well, and hence 
 forth it shall be my sole object," there falls into her tumul 
 tuous life a Sabbath pause of peace and leisure. It is true 
 that she is still doing a work in which absolute perfection 
 ever recedes ; but she can make relative attainments far 
 nearer the standard than before. 
 
 Lastly, under the head of ideality let us resolve to be 
 satisfied with our own past doings, when at the time of do- 
 
462 LITTLE FOXES 
 
 ing we used all the light God gave us, and did all in our 
 power. 
 
 The backward action of ideality is often full as tormenting 
 as its forward and prospective movements. The moment a 
 thing is done and over, one would think that good sense 
 would lead us to drop it like a stone in the ocean ; but the 
 morbid idealist cannot cut loose from the past. 
 
 " Was that, after all, the best thing ? Would it not have 
 been better so or so ? " And the self- tormented individual 
 lies wakeful, during weary night-hours, revolving a thou 
 sand possibilities, and conjuring up a thousand vague per- 
 hapses. " If I had only done so now, perhaps this result 
 would have followed, or that would not ; " and as there is 
 never any saying but that so it might have turned out, the 
 labyrinth and the discontent are alike endless. 
 
 Now there is grand good sense in the Apostle s direction, 
 " Forgetting the things that are behind, press forward." 
 The idealist should charge himself as with an oath of God, 
 to let the past alone as an accomplished fact, solely con 
 cerning himself with the inquiry, " Did I not do the best 
 I then knew how ? " 
 
 The maxim of the Quietists is, that, when we have acted 
 according to the best light we have, we have expressed the 
 will of God under those circumstances, since, had it been 
 otherwise, more and different light would have been given 
 us ; and with the will of God done by ourselves as by him 
 self, it is our duty to be content. 
 
 Having written thus far in my article, and finding nothing 
 more at hand to add to it, I went into the parlor to read it 
 to Jenny and Mrs. Crowfield. I found the former engaged 
 in the task of binding sixty yards of quilling (so I think 
 she called it), which were absolutely necessary for perfect 
 ing a dress ; and the latter was braiding one of seven little 
 petticoats, stamped with elaborate patterns, which she had 
 
EXACTINGNESS 463 
 
 taken from Marianne, because that virtuous matron was 
 ruining her eyes and health in a blind push to get them 
 done before October. 
 
 Both approved and admired my piece, and I thought of 
 Saint Anthony s preaching to the fishes : 
 
 " The sermon now ended, 
 
 Each turned and descended ; 
 
 The pikes went on stealing, 
 
 The eels went on eeling. 
 
 Much delighted were they, 
 But preferred the old way." 
 
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