Lynde Weiss
page: 0Illustration (TitlePage) [View Page 0Illustration (TitlePage) ]03 more than blest that, all my wanderings through, My anchor falls where first my penigons flew." . 0. W. hOLuES. 4 By GEO. 11. THROOP,& AUTHOR OP "'NAG'S HEAD," "BERTIE," ETC. ETO. r / "IDEAR LYNDE& DONT LET M QRDW " N PIIILADELPUIA: LI INOT T, GRPAMBO & c0. 1862. Rn Etobiogppj. page: 0[View Page 0] '1 4' * Euterel ~according to Act of Congress~ iii the year 18~2, by LIPPINCOTT, ORAMI3Q & CO. in theOlerk's Ollice of the Distri4 Court for 'the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 9 C 4 ~ '. 9 5I~M~ZOTXPBD 33T L. JOH?~8O~ AIW OO~ PmL4DELPHIA. PRINTED BY T. K. ~W P.O. QOLLUS. N' M~ DEAR READER: We meet again. One, of whom Carlyle saith that he was "the greatest soul in, a England," said of his great WQrk, that it was written, "not in the soft obscurities of retirement, nor under the shade of' ~,a- demic bowers; but amid inconvenience and distraeti~n, in sickness and in sorrow." If he could thus apologize for possible imperfection, will you not have patience with the shortcomings of Your humble servant, ~P~OORY SEAWORTHY. 2'kil.4delplda, Pelruary, 1862. jf *, A ~ '~N ~\ '/ page: 0-5[View Page 0-5] LYNDE WEISS.. OUAPTERL LYNDfl WAGETH WAIl WITS THE HOU~EKEEPER-ANP IS "THERE! your father's come, now I?' "I don't care if he 'has!" I replied; father to the housekeeper; though, if the 'truth ~nu~t with, mortal fear at~ my heart.. I had qu4rr~ol her that day, and this wag no unusual occt~rrei ~Ann West was the grand-priestess .of the ~( after my mother's d~&th. And right pon1~i~ie ~he preside 'over the mysteries of the dom~s1i~ She was, befittingly, a vestal ; somewhat aecust 'the shady side of the thirties.. She was of - ~tatur~; dark~ey'es and heir; good. form ;~ s~n~1 main, good-hoking.' She had a loud, shrill stirring voice, that 'fell on your ear like the et~r cro Wing. She was restless~ ever-moving, fussy,: a Ytun~ Rapid sort of a notable housekeaperd on the curtains, a stain' on' the weWsan~ded 6oo~ 'thexisually imtr~aculate table-linen, were tribuh~1 anguish' t& her ; a~nd broken crookery wa~. gi~a~ 'teeth. An' economist, 'X~on&iny ~wou1& 1~i~v~ abashed, at 'her sup~iior savhxg Th~ attic w~ of savings. There werci ~closet&tpE~all*.'-w~ia~ stuffed, to plethora, with th~~ ~auie. Cemb~ strings; shoes, and boots~ and 1iats,~with other of dre~s, ~igh utito the fall of their k~st leaf; a~ 'other thiiigs, as The pas~hop~ers for m~i~ti~ 1* FLQGGID, stoutly, bp ~4, led with ice; fer ~ntralia ~llyaW ~ternp1~. orned to middLe ,'ia-thp , Qpulse- ly cook.. adget~,; r% or qn ~n ~nd ~hing~of ebru~ik w~a~l ~ ~s L4 ~Qr page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] 6 LYNDE WEI§S. which, personally, she could, by no possibility, ever find use, did she remorselessly cram into the over- stuffed receptacles. 'The avenues to these were worn much in the same way, II fancy, as The marble monu~ ments of the Holy City by the kisses of ever-thronging pilgrims. . Was any thing lost? You might "qualify" (as they say in Virginia) that it or its counterpart would come "forth, in visible resurrection, at her all- potent conjuration. On sundry days, during every week, you might see her, with her gown Wost unroman4cally tucked up, and hanging around her like a gaff-topsail when the sheet has parted, mopping the floor which, to the ken of less sharp-sighted mortals, was already immaculate. 'Where.- upon, my father, .a business-worn man of' fifty, 'would start testily from' his arm-chair, and,. witl~ divers re- marks and expletives riot proper herein to be set forth, 'leaVe the' domestic priestess to her man-banishing sa- 'turnali~ At such times, too, the. jron entered my soul. Hey! Presto 1" JJamo8! I was bound to make sail, with no time to clear up decks, or 'get' the anchors on ~the~ bows";, thinking myself blessed if she victualled me with an economically-treasured piece of pie, and a trifle of raspberry-jam, instead of a somewhat more compul- sory jam in my egress from the kitchen. MeanWhile, her tongue moved in sympathetic' activi- 4y, it~ 'complaining notesfalling unheeded on ears hard- ened, like those of smiths.and millers, against its eternal cl~ter. Was~ my cap left on the table, or hung on the ~wrong 'nail.? It was a text for a discourse. Were my. 'skates found in a chair? They moved therefrom faster than ~any skates have~ 'ever been seen~ to move legiti- 'mately and on ice. Did I soil or' tear my jacket or trows~rs ? ' I Wus~a5t benefit of .clergy.' Periodie~lly~ too,' there was a white-washing; on which o~o~sionsmy'father always 'had some urgent call to a neighboring town' on matterS of business; while I was 'fain 'to hide. 'my diminished .he~d in any possible 'r~ok'&f'safety. When 'my father 'returned, there was Oh! 'how 'Sweet 'was the slumber which she so ruth- lessly broke! and oh! 'how, from the very bottom of Thy heart, did" I hate her unappeasable matin activity! Yet, dear reader, she was one of the very best 'women in the world. Industrious, neat; frugal, benevolent, warm-hearted, faithful, just, temperate, discreet ;--a 'regiment of such epithets would. hot "doi her justice. Heaven 'forgive me for all the unkindness I showed her I' I would give the world to recall it. On the day of which I have spoken, we had qir~ell~d,, and I had ~thrown the shears at her, to the partit~i 4e~ triment (I can never forgive .myself for it) of her Left 4 6 LYNDE WEISS. 7 a storm. IJi~ pens,' papers,' razors-~what not ?.-were mislaid; and the storm was long in subsiding. On these occasions, Ann West would put on as martyr-like a look, as I have seen reformers wear at a county meeting. And then ! in the morning, at cock-crowing, might her voice be heard, high-upraised in matin shrillness. I hear it now. "Lynde! Lipz4e! LYNDE! LYNDE !" "Urn !" "Lynde!" "Eli!" "Lynde!7' " hello !" "Come! Get up! Lynde !" "Eli!" "Lynde!" "' Hello !" "Lynde !" "Well, what is it ?" "Come! are you getting up ?" "Yes." "Well, make haste! Daylight! '~Coming ?" " "Yes." "Right away ?" "Oh! go to mischief. Yes, yes, I'll be dressed in ..:..4~. ,~ a wiuutt~. page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] S LYNDE~WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. 9 cheek. The words that begin this chapter were the last shots of the belligerents. I slink sulkily away, conscience-smitten, all abashed; yet smarting under the sense of arbitrary power unjustly exerted. She had hid my ball, and she seemed to enjoy the sense of superiority and control. How I dreaded my father's coming! He entered, and, with the 'care-worn look of a busy day, passed me without notice, and went directly to the office'.. Ann' West followed him, and my first impulse was to follow her and defend myself. Pride said- "No; if he will listen to ,4er, and condemE me un- heard, so be it. It is but another flogging." It was an unlucky day, that, for my father.' A bale of' his best goods had been carelessly dropped from the gangway-plank, in discharging "The Eriipress" at the wharf. Fogg & Gibson had failed, and rumour said that claims against them would not pay. forty cents on the dollar. Henry Parker, the best of his teamsters, had got drunk, and lamed Dash, his favourite horse; and it is, therefore, no matter of marvel that he was not very well prepared'to sit in judgment on the grave complaint so unexpectedly presented. I was ca~Iled to the office. "Come here, sir!" I obeyed. "What have you been doing ?" "Ann hid my ball, and"-~--- "Oh-h-h-h I"' exclaimed Ann, ~ Ia 'Kemble. "I don't know nothing' about his ball. I"- "Aiid so you threw the gridiron at her ?" "No, sir;~.only the shears." "* Did you hide his ball, Ann ?" "I'm sure I"- "She did, father !" "Hush! Go and cut a stick." I obeyed-and was flogged. Oh! how the memory ~of" my logging stings me, even now! But the fault, my dear reader, was not my father's. It belonged to 4h~ day. 'It was the regime of the~ rod, and I do. not (God forbid me that I should!) write a reproachful word of him' at whose feet, were he alive, I would gladly. kneel and beg to be; forgiven. He was one of ~he world's great hearts; generous, honest, .unsuspecting, warm-hearted; full of all noble and manly impulses. He was tall, and of commanding presence; soni~what in- dined to corpulency. He was well-formed and erect ~ and his native energy gave a fine expression to his well- cut and somewhat remarkable features. He was im- pulsive, yet ever benevolent, considerate, and just; yet he was not self-trustful enough to appear to others, unless they knew him well, in his true character. Hence he~ was sometimes thought haughty and proud; thc~ugh never overbearing. I crept away that night to my bed, sobbing in the bitterness of boyish grief. It was long ere I s!ept, and my pillow was drenched with tears. At length II rose, dressed, and went to the office. "Father !" I said, timidly. "Be oft' to bed, sir !" was the reply. I had gone to him with my heart full, penitent, longing to tell him why I had quarrelled with the ho~ise- keeper. I did not know then, as I know now, of that day's catalogue of misfortunes. Was it a marvel that the warm current of good feelings was frozen into tear- less anger and indignant rebellion? To this feeling succeeded calmness. With calmness came reflection~; and, as I reviewed the scenes of The day, and 'of 'recent life, boyhoodd does not look far 'back,) and recalled'my father's kindness, I wept bitterly. Sorrow does not long brood over young hearts. I fell asleep. When I awoke next morning, I looked out at the narrow window of my little chamber: the sash was covered with snow. The day was just breaking. I sprang eagerly from my bed. I remember giving a delighted glance at my skates, which my father had given me a. few days before, and promising myself a merry winter. Going down to the sitting-room, I raked open the coals in the huge fireplace, (those were the page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 LYNDE WEISS. primitive days of BoyThton,) and built what we called, in those days, "a rousing fire." There was a recess on the eastern side of the room, which my father al- ways directed "the hired man" to keep filled with wood; and, as the wood for that winter had providently been cut a year previously, it was but a few moments 'before I had the room comfortably warm. As I was trying on my cap, my father came in. "Ah! Lyxide; so you've beaten me this morning ?" and he bent over me and kissed me. "You are up early. How do you propose to spend the day, J4nde ?" "1 don't know, sir. "Is there any school ?" "No, sir." "Would you like to go with me t~ Fairfield ?" I hesitated. ".1 would rather go and see Mrs. Warren," I said, at length, seeing that he waited for my decision. "I could have sworn it," said my father, a little bit- terly. "You love your father and mother Warren, as you~ call them, better than you do me, I'm afraid." I hung my head, and made no reply~ "Would you cry, if I refused ?" sir. "Well, you may go and spend Thanksgiving with them. Let me see. To-day~s the twenty-third--4he twenty-third of November, and not a stick of timber ready yet. Blow will you go ?" "Paul will be here this morning." "Sure enough. There he is, now." LYNDE WEISS. 11 CLIAPTER II. PAUL WAUREN.-I3UNDLING UP.-THE RID1~. I LOOKED out at the window. There was Warren.. lie was a labourer; one of the true nobility of "this work-day world." Well is it called so; and Shaks~ peare can hardly have been the first to give it the happy appellation. A great deal more thab. six-sevenths of the suns that make up the circle of the year, look continually upon the plodding of toil; and. night often has few hours of rest fof it. By far the Jarger portion of "the great family" have fulfilled, most literally, the doom of *labour-a doom wherein, if our mothei~earth were accursed for the sins of her children, she hath in meekness turned her cheek to the smiter; while she hath overwhelnied- us with blessings. How few of her millions have left us their names or histories to swell the "Short and simple annals of' the poor !" Paul Warren was not one who talked much about labour. He had not learned the fashionable phrases in' which many "a brave stringer of words" has sought to deify it. He was a practical worker, worth whole re- giments of its rhetorical eulogi~ts. I see him now as I jaw him then. His 'homely teamster's hat (a hat is one of the first things that * catch your eye in looking at a man) was, the least in the world, set aside from the perpendicular. towards the right ear. His black eye sparkled, and his cheek was flushed with his morning's walk; (he had ceme three miles, through the snow, fr~tn his mountain~girt cabin;) and the ends of his long, raven hair were covered with the . half-melted snow. His usual smile li~ up his I I I D page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. * * intelligent face as he laid his long birchen whip across the necks of the oxen, as if some pleasant thought of Mary Warren and her rosy-cheeked children had crossed his mind. I could watch him no longer: I know not how I could do it so long. I bounded from the door, and plunging through the snow, which had fallen, already, to the depth of more than a fOOtr I leaped upon his back just as he was placing an axe, in a hole cut purposely for it, in the, rail of the huge lumber-sled. "Hello! Lynde, my boy! long life to you !" And the teamster hugged me in his brawny arms with the heartiness that characterized all his actions. "' By the powers! Lynde," (it was his favourite af- firmation,) "I'm glad to see you. Why, it's a week, my boy, since you've been to see us! Good morning, Uncle George." (Everybody, almost, called my father so.) "I think we'll have to make a lumberman ~' Lynde." "I shall be glad if we are ever able to make any thing half so good of him," replied my father. He lacked trust, reader. It 'was one of his few faults; and there were few who would admit that George Weiss had any faults., "Never you fear that, Uncle George. Never you fear! Give him to me, if you don't want him." "I suppose I might as well do so, Paul," said my father; "for you've bewitched the boy, in the moun- tains. I believe he would rather stay there than at home with me."'~ "To be sure he would; for".-. He said the remainder 0r the sentence in so low a tone that I could not hear; but I was sure I knew the import of it. I did prefer living with Paul' Warren and his excellent wife to remaining at home with my father and sisters. Nor was this at all a matter of itnarvel. I had lost my mother in early infancy. For several years succeeding that calamity-the worst that can happen 'to a ~hild~-'J had been under the care of Paul and Mazy Warren, in their romantic home amoiig the mountains. There, I had never heard an angry tone, never seen an angry look, or a blow in chastise- ment. , There, I was sure of kindness, uniform and constant. There, I had found one to whom I was dear~ ~and who loved me (woman-like) all the more .for my great and irretrievable misfortune. There,, a hearty smile, a kiss, an embrace, or, what is better, a genuine maternal hug, (that's the good old Danish word for 'it, worth a thousand classical substitutes,) was ever my welcome. There were no arms in which my bruises (I was, always falling headlong) were so , soon robbed of their pain; none wherein the storm of soieams ~tnd sobs was so gently, lulled to stillness, rest, peacefulness and sleep. My playthings were cared for religiously. Neither Charles nor Ruth Warren,-.-not the youngestt. children even, (there were seven of them all,)-.were a1~~ lowed to molest Old Troy,. 'the dog, because ii loved him. Was there any species of food that I expressed a preference for? It was sure to be. near my plate. Your pardon, reader. I should extend the descrip-' tion to pages, were I sure that any words of mine could make Mary Warren stand before you in fresh, loving, matronly, pure, religious LIFE, as she is now present to me,-.as she has been present to me, waking and in my. dreams, in many a clime of t~ie earth. "What shall I do to-day ?" asked Warren~ "As to-day is Saturday, Paul, you had best spend ~t in getting your family supplies, and in hauling aiid cutting a good supjAy ot wood fGr your wife. '1 hope she and her little ones are well." "As hearty as bucks." "Well, call at the store," (shops in the country are invariably so called,) "as you go along, and Henry will hand you a little package of* winter-comforts.' Ask' Mary to accept it from me. There, no thanks, Paul. I can never repay her for all she has done for me arid for this youngster. By the way, he wants to go hoirie with you." 2 1' I' page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] 14 LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. 15 "Of course he does, Uncle George. Let him go. Bundle up, Lynde, and we'll be off. Where's your coat and mittens? By the powers! I'd almost forgot it, boy! Here's a pairs of* bran'-new mittens that Mary's been knitting you~" I ran, with boyish eagerness, for my capacious coat. The omnipresent housekeeper met me at the door. "What's to pay, Lyjade ?" "I'm going home." "Home? Why, you're. at home now." "Well, to Paul Warren's, then." And now commenced the process of bundling up--a process which has a great deal of profanity to answer for by.~and-by. I would rather have gone with merely an additional coat. But no! Ann's kindliness now labouringly and fermentingly found vent in the prepara- tions for the ride. First, tho~ ear-pieces of my cap were let down and tied under my chin. Then I donned an overcoat big enough for Cardinal Wolsey, who, everybody knows, was "A man of unbounded stomach !"* #' Then a pair of yarn stockings, despite, my remon- ~j. strances, were drawn over my boots; ~then a comforter was tied, fold on fold, around my neck; and, over all, the large-hearted Ann would fain have piled an old camlet cloak; which had been visible from time whereof the memory of man runnetli not to the contrary. Against this last A~1tnean imposition, however, I suc- cessfully rebelled. But, then, a bundle was to be pu~ up, ccmsisting of fruit, cakes, candy-what not ?-for the children. Thus freighted and fortified, (against the. cold,) despite an outpouring of injunctions touching * One of the l~eartiest laughs I ever had or saw, was in reading that remark of Orimths' to an elderly, fat lady, not particularly well read in the drama-or any thing else-who gave it its literal and most obvious interpretation. 14 in their merry peal. Paul hummed the aii of one of the raftsmen's songs. The cattle swayed their huge, clumsy frames in an ungainly gait. The runners grazed roughly and gratingly over the frozen hobs, which were not yet beaten doww; while from the neigh- bouring woods rang, sharply and merrily, some stout woodman's axe. And, now and then, you might hear a' hearty' laugh, or a distant ,shout, or the sharp ring from the rifle of a hunter early astir, waking the woods, leagues .around, with' echoes. We halted at the store. Henry 'Towner, the. 9lerk, handed to Paul a goodly package; and I took the op- I 4 the wetting of my feet, I survived Ann's assiduities, and sallied forth unwieldily towards the sled. "Stay to breakfast, Paul," said my father.. "Thank you. I breakfasted two hours ago. IBut this little shaver must have"-. "No, I don't want ~any !" said I, eagerly. "Well, then, off we: go. Good morning, Unole George." "Good morning, Paul. My love to* Mary and the youngsters; and take good care of this boy, will you ?" "Never fear for that !1~ said Paul, heartily; and, with a loud, ringing "Whoa! haw, Buck ! back, Bright! come along here, Ii say !" he set his cattle in motion towards the mountains. I ceased to fret at the bun- bling process which I had survived and when we were out of sight from the house, I threw off the overcoat and comforter; pulled the stockings from off my new cow-hide boots, (of which I was as proud as my lord- mayor of his new coach ;*) leaped from the huge lumber- sled into the snow, and followed the merry woodman beside his teani. The cold had no terrors for me; for 1 had been ridiculed into defying it. We jogged onward but slowly in the yet untrodden snow. The sleigh-bells were already heard in '1 "The tintinnabulation, that so musically swells" 15 page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] LYNP~ WEIS$. LYNDE WJ~iSS. p~rtunity to stuff still fuller my already tolerably be-i stuffed pockets with. presents for the children. Agairi~ we turned the snaibpaeed cattle to the road. The reader who is familiar with the geography of North-eastern New York,---irny o.ne, indeed, who has e~ver been on Lake Champlain,-~-.knows right well, that, as you sail from Split Rock northward, you see the Green Mountains on your right-Mansfield and Camel's liuznp usually covered with snow; and, on the left, the low, but many-shaped and picturesque mountains of Essex., IBoylston, as every body knows, is situated on the Bouquet-a small, but most beautiful river, whick winds romantically among the inequalities of the hill- country towards Lak~IJhamplain. The village is, per~ haps, a mile and a half from the mouth of the river; and, in rowing to the lake, you pass between chores overhung with the beautiful vegetation of the Northern forests, decrying .new beauties in every furlong of the way; here, a point studded with the dwarfish pines, h~mloek, spruce, birch, or~4lr; there, a bay With ~its. eddies and shadows, in which the fish are leaping above the surface; and again, an islet where Blannerhasset might have been content to dwell. One of ~these, by- the-by, is the scene of a story of which I may some day, give the reader the details. And then, as you reach the mouth, the lake is before you. Oh! that I could see it again! I've roamed in lands of' southern suns, Far over. the heaving main; But fairer than the waters there Is nioi~ntain-girt Champlain. The prairie-turf has been my couch, I've passed its seas of grain,* But fairer far than they to me, Is ioland-gemmed Champlain. At solemn altars have I knelt, In many-columr~ed Lane; - But nobler altars are the hills That frown o'er blue Champlain. The ashes of the hotiour dead, At Freedom's altar slal liest there in silence on the shore Of glorious Champlain. Red Battle's hoofs have trod its banks, And left their gory stain; And "hearts of oak" died gloriously In story-famed Champlain. In life's dim gloamin~ may my feet Tread those old hills again!, My ear be gladdened bythe swell Of beautiful Champlain I Over hill and\ through valley did we ~plod the way while Paul gave, me some account of the plans for~ tWo winter. "The En~press" would soon be laid up. The Lumbermen's, Lodge was to be put in repair ; and, during the following week, twenty stout choppers were to be sent into the woods~ "We shall have fine times this winter, Lynde," said he; "and I'll coax the old. gentleman to let, you spend a week with us at the Lodge. Hang the schoQl I Yen shouldn't go near it these five years, if I had my way. The schoolmasters are but a pack of asks, to my think- ing, as a geiwral thing-and I'd like to see you free. Eli, Lynd~ ~" (here he slapped me. furiously on tho back.) " Nothing like freedom, boy; and the school- masters are so jealous of their dignity, that they make poor~ crouching slaves of boys, where they should malco men-stout-hearted, fearless, free. I shall die ~. hater of all tyranny; tynde;. at home, at school-every- where." "Th&e's the bridge I" I shouted, as we came in sight ~of a brook, but a short distance from the house. "Sure enough,? Lynde! And there's the house. Yes; and, by the powers! there's Charles coming to meet us I" 2* page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 LYNDE WXI8S.. CHAPTER III. THE WOODMAN'S HOME. HE .wa~ right.' We had emerged from the woods into a small "clearing," containing, perhaps, twenty acres. In fierce and somewhat gloomy contrast with the stainless, untrodden snow, rose, in grim stateliness, the black, fire-charred pines, with countless stumps be- tween them, over which they stood with a sentry.like sternness that used to make my heart quake with un- defluiiable terror. Some of them were branchless, while. others. stretched. gropingly, with a blind man's awkward aimlessness, into the' wintry 'space around them', a~ if yearning; in their bereavement, foi' their scioi~s ruthlessly cut down by the stalwart' reapers of' Those grand, old woods." This' clearing was on the 'right of the road. On the left, the woods were~ yet untouched by the~ axe;' 'and thus, .wi'th' the forest on one side, and the clearing on the ether, we were approaching the house. This was now plainly in sight. ~*On the brow of a recently cleared hillock, on which the blackened stumps were still standing, was Charles ~Warren~ 1k was ~a fine, rosy..cheeked little~feflow, one year' 4d~r than ni~y~elf; and he wap now waddling stoittl~r,~'but clumsily, ~towards us, 'through the yet un- i~te*i snow. He had~learned~ practically, the wisdom of the Asses' Bridge; for, instead of keeping the high~ way, to gain' which he must have gone some two hun- dred yards from the house, in a direction perpendicular to the road, he 'took the hypotenuse of the right- angled triangle, and was approaching us through 'the LYNDID WEISS. fields. On he came, puffing like a grampus; his coni- cal woollen cap leaning jauntily over, and bending low under the weight of a huge yarn tassel. With a bois-. terous shout, jhe mounted the~ rude fence, and 'leaped from the 'topmost log (for. of logs was it built): into the" snow. "Well done, Charley! That's right, my.: boy! Never be afraid of the snow! Here's Lynde. come to' see you !" Our 'greeting was right' hearty. We had been play- fellows together,' over' hill and through valley 'and woodland. He had, unlike myself, a very reten.tive. memory; and it was stored with long-hoarded treasures. of nursery lore. These he was ever ready to relate~ to me, in a monotone which rings in my ears, as I wn~te; and countless were the nights when he related, With the patience and pi'olixity of the narratress of the Ara~. bian Tales, stories of' witches, ghosts) goblins, fairies, and giants, parts of which' I still imperfectly remember~ The ~house was~ now plainly in sight. It was of logs- a single story, with small narrow windows. At each end was a rude chimney of sticks, covered with plaster, one of them whitewashed. In front of it. was a; large' pile of green wood, with the day's supply cut into sticks about a fathom in length. Some of these were maple~~-the finest wood in the world to burn.-.and not less than fifteen or twenty* inches in diameter. Near. this wood-pile was an unfinished well.. To the left was. a stabIe,~ with a capacious hay-loft. . The building was, always called "The Hovel." Still' farther in the. ~am@~ direction wa~the barn. ' This, as well: as the Hovel, was~i of logs; 'and' the 'roofs of the three buildings were rough, veiny pine boards. Turning abrt~~tly around the corner of th~~nee,~we~ were in full view' of the house. Old Troy~, who was lounging about the yard, cooked 'his :ears gs'he caught sight of us, ~n'd set out at the pq~ de a~q~ towards the intrudera. I1~e did" 'n~ot stop until within~, a fathom of the head§ of our cattle, when it seemed', t~ oeeur. to page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 LYNIE WEISS.' him that he might have mistaken the character of ~the new-corners; and he therefore ~et both his fore..feet down together, coming to an abrupt halt, with a half- suppressed ugl&! His quick eye caught that of his master, and he commenced a series 61~ frolics around the sled, eyeing each* of us in turn, wagging his tail most' furiously, barking now and. then, and performing divers antics not announced in any bill of canine the- atricals. We interpreted~ them all (and he need never have been at so much trouble) into a very emphatic assurance that we were as welcome as the flowers in May. He was a large, fin&looking, shaggy Newfound- land, and, I need. scarcely add, a great favourite. As Paul brought the, team to a~ stand with a loud "W~xoa!" Ruth's curly head emerged from the door, and with a "Oh! oh! oh! oh! father's come back 1" she bounded along, bare-headed, through the snow to meet us. Tier shout attracted the. notice of. the other youngsters; and forth, in no very military order, came her three sisters, Mary,' Judith, and Jane. Little Paul followed, and, in a moment more, Mary Warren ap~ peaked' at' the door. There was little noise in our greetings. More than any household I have ever seen, Paul Warren's was noted for 'its cheerful quiet. Not that the children had been taught to sit erect and silent in their several chairs; not that fear kept them still. Nothing like it It was. the mother's silent and unseen, but controlling tone of manner, which, by a kind of mesmerism I cannot explain, gave character to the whole. If I may venture to say what seems to me to have been the secret of her influence, it was affection;' and, 'with a pardonable alteration of a single word, I might here use Talfourd's beautiful lines in his' descrip- tion of Ion:' '~ Love, the germ ~Of ~her mild uature, hath shed graces forth, J~xpauiiug with its progress ; as the sto~'e Of tainbow colour which the eecd conceals 'Sheds out its tints 'fr~ri' its dim treasury 1~ flu.sk' ~~uicirclc in M~ flower." LYNDE WEISS. 21 We were soon at the door.. It was a rude one, of pine. The latch; was of wood, and a stout leather string hung' outside, wherewithal to lift it. In one corner of the door was a little trap-door, cut for the sole benefit and behoof of a huge gray cat, and so con- trived that puss had but to apply ~her head to it, and enter or leave the house. It was but a few minutes before I was rid of my huge coat, my cap and mittens, and seated with the children, just as near the mother's chair as it was pos- sible for us to get. Would that you could have seen her, thus surrounded by her children I She was, per- haps, thirty-five ;~yet so hardly had she been nurtured,'~'* in the clear air of the mountains, that you would have said she could not be older ' than twenty-five o1six. She was faultlessly formed, and 'her figure was admira- bly developed into that 'style' of healthful beauty for which Englishwomen are so remarkable. You would notice, sooner and oftener than, any thing else, her head. There waa a beauty of symmetry in its classic outline, which you would have gazed upon. again and again, wondering the while what it could be that s~ thrilled your pulses with the sense of beauty. And then the 'large, love-speaking eyes, 'which no shade of anger: ever dimmed, and which need never have falle~ for the thoughts of the heart which spoke in every glance. Her long, dark-brown hair was combed back,~ as you see it in the pictures of 'the Madonna, (I never saw one that~ equalled Mary Warren in that style~ of matronly beauty~ which artists so 'much covet as a model,) and~ gathered' in a kuot.~ Then she was always so neatly and tastefully, though plainly clad. There was harmony visible in her wholi nature. '0 Mary Warren, my more 'than mother, God bless you! How often, 'in the darker hours of my life, have IL felt the' influences of your early teachings! How often' have I felt that there must be truth in the doctrine of a sensible intercoinmunion of the spirits ef those who love one another, though. leagues apart. page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WE1~S. 2S. Life has been dark to you, but you have done what you could ; and the peace which passeth all understanding awaits you at every fresh trial of your thorn-planted way. God bless you! Paul caine in and announced to us the unwelcome news that he must-~be' off . to the woods to haul a supply of firewood, as lie would be absent for several days of the ensuing week. I was once more at home. I felt that there' I was loved in spite of ~wy faults-and they were many. I do not doubt 14~at' my father, my brother, and my. sis- ters also loved me; but (I shall have more to say of 4~hem presently) they were not what I believe it is usual to call demonstrative. Why they were not so, it is not for le to say. The fault may have boon wholly mine. Certain~ it is, that P would sooner have given my~ last crust or 'copper fQr Mary Warren than for any of my kindred. I believe I could have died for her. AtT hQme I was never caressed. There was no kiss, no. embrace for me there. There was no care for my tastes and whims. My toys were rudely kicked out of the way, or hid, or thrown in the fire: My better flaw tu'e was not appealed to. I was under the r4qime of FORCE; and every fibre of my puny frame rebelled as ~'heartily as did Lucifer. They did not trust me; and they are so kind as to assure me that I was the black- est~. homeliest, worst-tempQred brat that ever lay in a cradle! Yes, I was once more at home. . The magic of that mother's smile disarmed every feeling 'of stubbornness and ill-temper. I was in a new atmosphere4 The old story it is, in briefs. I loved and w~s Iove~d. Oh.! how supremely happy was 1, as I looked around me for the fa'~niliar objects of my :infant home.. There was the ~huge old fireplace, 'eight feet wide if it was one, and almost as many feet high0 An iron-wood pole rai~ across it,. on whi~h were hung divers rude pot-hooks, and~. a fragment of a log-chain. The hearth was of .wide~ fiat. stones. ~Xhere were. two large stones that served for andirons, (for. Paul Warren was poor;) and above them were huge blazing logs, that kept the house comfortably warm. In one corner of the room. was a bed. Scattered here and there were a few rude chairs; and in one corner of the hearth was a, bench capable of seating two or three persons. In the oppo- site corner of the apartment was a large cupboard. Near this was a deal table, and over it was suspended a small old-fashioned mirror. Near this hung. an almanac. Overhead were hook~ and poles, on~ which were hung. divers articles of dress. On one of them were some strings of apples, hung there to dry; and on another were bits of pumpkin already dry, and shri- velled into grotesque shapes-the pleasant omens of fu- ture feasts. Over the door, on two' wooden hooks, Was an old-fashioned musket, with a bayonet and belt, pow~ der-horn and shot-pouch.' The cat was purring quietly' in the corner; and near Mary Warren, where she 'could reach it with 'her foot, was a capacious cradle, wherein Susan, th~ baby, was asleep. The lower part of the house was divided by a rude deal partition into two apartments,' thus affording a room for the family stores, and another for a lodging- room. A ladder, in one corner, gave access to the loft; and a trapAoor, with an iron ring in it, to the cellar. Occupying a moment in loolcingat the familiar ob- jects, I bethought me of my pockets; and, puiling'~out the secreted stores, I distributed them, with boyish de- light, to the children around me~ That day was a jubilee. How often, in the toils and' hardships of after life, have 'I recalled the scene, and lived it over again in the land of dreams! Forth into the snow we sal- lied-Charles, little Paul, and myself,, reinforced by Old Troy, who was that day pressed into the commis- sary department, and did much transportation on a big sled. Poor old Troy! He sleeps the last sleep. Short and 'simple ate the annals of-dogs. Vale I "Ilium- fuit !" F page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 LYNDfl WEISS. LflThI WtE~S$. In 'the evening Paul came home. Hauling several of the huge mapledogs into the house, and clearing away the brands, coals, and. ashes from that part of the hearth which was next the chimney-back, he imbedded one in the cavity thus made. The coals and ashes were throwback upon it; and on this he piled another and another. Then he threw upon these the half-consumed brands, with a goodly supply of smaller sticks of wood; and, ere long, that little cabin blazed with the roaring £re. ~We gathered around it. Going into a committee of the whole, the children (myself among them) and the dog commenced a series of operations which made ~ the roof ring with merriment, and which might have thawed the crustiest bachelor heart in Christendom. Mary Warren smiled happily upon us, as she restlessly plied her knitting-needles, or touched, now~ and then, the rocker of the cradle, while Paul's eyes twinkled and flashed with fun as he watched our mad antics. The hours sped. We retired to our beds; and then, in glaring, panoramic distinctness, did Jack the Giant- killer re-enact his doughty exploits. Charles was the story-teller of the household. I ;lE~~Ui~Od from him all the earlier exploits of the very remarkable slayer of giants'; but somehow the monotonous tone of the stor~ got the better of me about the middle of Jack's history, and my next conscious movements were at daybreak. It is, " in contempt of ~question," owing to this last- 1~entioned fact, that I have, to this day, no definite idea of the later exploits, sickness, and death, or dying speech and confession, of that very blood-thirsty per- sonage, Jack the Giant-killer. The loss to tradition is irreparable. * CIIAPThR IV. ~OYLSTO~.-THN LUM R~N.---L flAW! flOThSTO)T 10 now a far di1~erent place~ from~ 1~1ie~. ]3oylston of my boyhood's reeoflectious. It was theiv a ~ery~ small village, containingg po~~ib1y, some sour or five hundred ii~habita~t~. The country was compare~ - timely~ new. My father had 'been, until of age; a dent, as 'he was a iiative, of the State~of Rh9de IsJ~aud. lie was bred an anchoremith, and h&attained. his; jority just in time to t&ke the, tide of emigration whii~h was thei~ beginning to set towards Northern New York lie had been hardly tiurtured, hod been acgo~w~i to the constant, thankless toil of an ~pp utb~e,; ~4 owed ~his really extensive. 'stores of practicaVk~1~dge more to his habits of study at the anvil than to the apology for a school to whieh he was permitted to~go for afew 'weeks annually. lie 'ofteu. wad~d; through mud, and sleet,' and snow, 'to the school-house, after having performed a host' of household labQurs that w~ul& have required half the ~ay, had he been l~ss eager to obtain & good elementary education. ~ho~e were days, good reader, when it was a ~cewrnou ezpres~ sionin the.' rnou~hs o~' practical linen, "1t'~take&a fo~4 to n~akea good schoolmaster." And tl~e th~or~~oaiu~l to be ravherpractically carried 9ut; for, in th~oe Aay!, the compensation, as it genera? 4t is no*~ was~ & most beggarly one. 2B~eggarly, indeed, wlie~. you. take itkto consideration the' ac&ual toil of ~te~cIiin~g from. ~t~ty'~to' one hizudrod pupils, shut up in a shabb~otrwtura of logs, 1~hrough whose crevices ~he rude wind~. of winter giggled at the defenses th~t were' meant to he harriers to their ruthless invasion. Amid all these disadvantages, George ~eis~ ~ a ~ '4" '~ ~\ page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] vnii~E W tried to acquire, by evening study after the toils of. the day, and by reckoning with a piece of chalk upon the sooty bellows, while his brawny-armed master~ and his brother Vulcans were hammering the shank or fluke of a huge anchor, siifficieift iDformstion to enable him to carry on an extensive business for many years. Accompa~ni~d by a feiv~ ~o~npniiions as hardy and ad- venturous as himself, he went to the western shore of Lake Champlain, and pitched his teuf ~n the bank of a beautiful river~ that wo~nd its way~ from .the neighbour~ in~ mountains to the lake. Boylston is ahouI~ half a league froi~i the ~iake; and midway betWeen it and the 1no~untaius. ~he little vilfage~-(it is stil1~small, notwith- sta~dThg~ ~na~y n~urai ad~iantages, which mig1~t~ under bitter ~spices, halve made it a considerable manufae~' turin~t~w~)-.*as built ~4ioh both banks of th~ river- thenas now, cr~ssed~ by a ruck apology for ,a bridge. IPneatied~e~sily in a litfie valley, there being barely Tizk2eneugh b~twe~n the river (so~ Frenchman h~d nairi~d iV "The Bouquet~) and the hills for ~ singl~ street ~n ~ach' bank? It boasted ~ui inn, a sehoob * h6itse, and two stores. One ~f~he lattei~ balon~ed to my~ father; the other td Fog'g &Thbsqn, who were lumber- mer'ehants. Then there was a ~Cforge," containing two bloom~r~s Aires for the manufacture~of wrought~ iron, and a~. anchor-fire to coxivert a part of the raw inate~ * rW. into'- an~~,hors. The ienlaitider was drawn tinder the huge hammers into' ba1~-fron~ ~r w&goxi4ii'es-this lt~~t leixzg ~n. operations ~requirin~'xxo- little skill. There was also a~iiithyagrist-milland a saw-mill; and these, with saute fifty-dwelling-houses, ooxnposed the village. ~ as it was, however, it was ivell built; and, front its position, -n6t. only . pretty, but picturesque. The hills that looked down upon the little village were ooveed with a beautiful growth of wood, much -of it ever~reen ;~ and its diversity of~hills -and values, with the w~ndiug of tii6-qiiiet B~quet, gave it- an air --of; * beauty, of much of which eM Time hLis mercilessly robbed it. * LYND~ w~iss. The original. settlement was made by a. co~np~ny of New York i*ierchant~ whe had sent t~ieir agents, with. "gangs" -of lumbermen, for the purpose of obtaining the excellent timber--which the~ covered much of the western shore of . L~ke Cha~l-ain, in -w.u~h the sapie abundance which. was visible, a very few years eiuce~ ir~ Maine. Fogg & Gibson. were, at the tin ~of which I am writing, the accredited agents r~f & company then- in. being. G9ods were ~shipped to then~ in large quanti- ties, which 'iere readily sold to 4ie itmibermen~ at large profits; and, in thi8 way, a niost lucrative business was carried on for many years.. The tinker ("spa~rs~ w~re then the great object) was cult in the fall and winter :- the -lumbe~'meu living in, #Aznties, or lodges, in the woods, and going to "The Falls" (a~ the village was more c. umouly called)- on ~at~day night, for such supplies as they wanted from the store~.. in this' -wq they continued to expend nearly, or quite, all .~f the week's, hard ~arnings~. - 2A jovial s~t were tho~e same hunberinen. * Besides their tempQrary shantie~, ±h~ had a large, comfortable structure of logs, bulW l~y themselves , known as "They Lodge." here their su- perfluous clothing was- kept~. Ihre were deposite4 tl~ provisions and tools.; and Khere Qf an evening did' they sometimes gather for a frdic. - iEverybo4y dran~ rum in those dayq~; and~ it was so cheap an indul~enoe t~au1~ the thoughtless lumbermen were never widLout a -snp- ply. ]krgetting the~ fatigues of the ;day, they ~oine~ times went to "The Falls"- to joix~ a rustic 4aiico; ~I~t ofte~rj~ass4 their everiingi at "The Lodge," ~kg~ excited by egg~nQgg and apple-jack, tyi~4e th~ ring with their. boisterous merriment. The&e P~1' sometimes end4 somewhat tra,~cally. There are se~&- wild tales of their orgies, which I mat have some occ& sion to tell, some day, for my reader's benefit. ~y father was engaged- in the cutting of spars, as well as in~the manufacture of wrought iron and anchors~ and the sawing of logs-into boards, lath, and plank.- The spars and square timber Were formd into small page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 - LThDE WEISS. LYNDE WEI8S~ 29 rafts, eight or ten abreast, and floated over the rapids during the heavy! rains of the spring, which, with the melting 'of the snow' in the mountains, swelled the river to a great height. 'The. raftsmen guided these over the rapids, and afterwards united them into a larger, one, upon which. a deal shanty was built. lunnense quanti- ties of boards, plank, and "scantling,'7 together with Bhingles in similar abundance, were placed upon the raft. A mast and sail were rigged, with, huge ears and setting-pQleS and, the shanty being stocked with bar- rels of flour, pork, and other provisions, the raft was navigated to Whitehall or St. John's for a market. The lake, at that time; boasted quite.a large fleet of sloops, ~chooners, and scows, ("The IEmpres&' was my favourite of' them all,) which'were kept busy when the lake was navigable-say fr'om May .to December--in the trans~ portation of lumber and merchandise.' " The Enq~res~" was built for my father, "to order," by an excellent~ shipwright; and, with all due allowance for my boyish prejudices, she was assuredly what Captain John Gaygor always called. her-~" a .beauty." IProminent among the rude, but hearty, jovial, manly lumbermen, was Paul Warren. A hearty sinih~.-a face on which no man ever saw sadness at rest-a strong arm-a stout hearst-a cheerful, ringing,. mirtWpro- yoking laugh,-'made him a universal favourite,- for whom scores of -stout woodsmen would haTVe fought to the death. God had stamped his own impress of no~ ability upon him. It was eloquent through the "hodden- grayV' and th~ bard of" Old Coila's Hills" might well havo said of him-- "The rzizA, je but the guinea'e STAMP; - Tke.MAN's the OOWD, for a' that !" CHAPTER V. 2 IE ~ISIT.-MY 5I8TERS.-"ORIFflTH5.---.~My AUNT~'-JESSIZ. - RIGHT merrily did' 'I ~pass the Thanksgiving. Some of the, relations of the Warrens visited them during th~ week-their parents among the number. I spent most of my brief visit with. Charles, in playing lumbermen in' miniature. .We owed much of our success to old Troy, who worked patiently in 'hauling the sled. Wh~n indoors, we amused ourselves, in the good old game of "Foxy and Geese." Paul went to "The-Falls" on the following Saturday, and I returned with. him. Kate and Lucy,' my sisters, received me kindly. My aunt Caroline lifted her glasses over the border of her. prim cap, and smiled ne a right, hearty welcome; and Anu West, the housekeeper, so far. made cessation of hoa..i utilities as to simply s~iy,~ in a kindly tone, "Don't track the floor~ Ly~de I Please! there's a good boy!" ' And I was quite ready for a diplomatic interchange of promises, by way of treaty. 3'essie Orayson, too, was in the drawing-room with .the rest; and I bashfully sidled u~ to her. and kissed her. '~ Why, Lynde I" exclaimed Ann West and my sis- ters in chorus; but my aunt Caroline reassure me 'by patting'my head, and telling me I- had d~ne right. An excellent old lady was. Caroling Lyade. . Sh~ usually spent a few mouths, with u~ every ~y~ar, and I became much attached to her. She defended me in the dom~stie battles, though she neyer' spared rae when I was really. at fault. She was always' busy, usuWly in knitting; and she frequently hummed soma ~ melody at intervals, in the tr~mu1ous; tones so. eh~nc~ teristic of old age. It gave her- the a~pep~r.noe, of V page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] LY2WB W~18S~ 81 thinking of scenes far distant. No doubt such was the case; for my uncle Mark Lynde, they told me, was a sailor some years before, and was shipwrecked on the Isle of Shoals. My. sister Lucy was thought pretty. She certainly appeared so to me; for though she was not very pa- tient with her wayward, brother, I loved her de~rly-as well, almost, as I did my sister Kate. When animated, ~he was *hat is called a showy girl, ~ind she'was' quite a favourite among the young men of~ the village. She were her hair in curls, (it ~urIed most beautifully,) and,. as it was dark, it threw 'hei~ somewhat strongly-marked features finely into relief. Her complexion was fair. Her blue eye. was a pleasant one, though 'not 'betoken- iiig' any very great depth of feeling. It is more' ex- pi~essive now; *her experience as a wife and mother having given it' character and tone. All in all, she was a well-tempered, fine-looking girl. Kate was 'not at all like her. Sh& ~had dark, very dark hair and eyes. Both were* called' bk~ck. Her. complexion was not~ nearly so fair as that '~of her elder sister. Besides, she was frail as 'a lily. She was sen~ sitive, shy, reserved 'Her step' 'was noiseless-her voice ,low and mnusioal-and her smile, though 'not fre- querit,' was' a strangeiy~sweet Qne. when y~u had. once provoked it. She was 'thought homely;' but to me~~-to all, indee4,' who' knew~ her: 'well-~the thought of 'her plainness never occurred. She could well afford to be plain-homely, even; for 'her 'rni~d made you indiffer- e~it'~ ~hi~t ~score~ ~She haM a great 'deal of influence 'with ~ny 'fMhei~ ; and, in. his* indanelibly rnood~, ~they ivere eonstit~utienal with' him;) Kate's presence was' the only on~ he would toILte. '~ To J~e~ he never'gave any k~ba~td~ A stamp &f' hi~ foot would frighten Lucy, ~w~hil~ Kate would quietly defy all arbitrary power. * I was getting on 'terms with Jessie; when m~ father 'ea'me in. '~W~1I, L~ude, you've got back, eli?" ~9~rahi~ was the :greet~in~.' Ceuntiess have been the subsequent pr6ofs of my father's affection; but such wa~ ha mP&ne~; and, for the life of me, just so long as that manner remained, just so long I felt :that I mw*t lack ~he feeling towards him which gushed unbidden at the glance of my' foster father and mother. I feared my father most intensely. . ' ' Such was our greeting. Jessie ,and myself, as well as my aunt, the 'housekeeper, and my sisters, 'became very suddenly 'silent. When we did speak, it; was ifl whispers; an~I this. is among the~ reasons why I think my father appealed to the wrong principle for his au- thority. Luckily, as I thought, my 'brother (hi~this' came in. lie was some yeprs my senior; so much. ~o, as to be taking a very considerable 'interest in the de~ tails of my father's extensive business. ll~ had~ out- grown, if he had *ever experienced, his fear of parental authority. He was, by his constant association with~, my father, the first to discover the affection that. lurked under'so much apparent sternness. Alone of us all, Griffiths was frank with him.' A noble fellow was that same Gri1~lths ~ a prime fa- vourite' with' young ~and old. Handsome, athletic, am~ bitious, companionable, possessed ofmw~h sound sens; cautious, but generous, what wonder that he was popu- lar? At the very mention' of his name there comes to me the well-defined recollection of many a jaunt with him 'among' the hills and' lakes of the r~~* country. lie lQve&thew~ods, ~nd.'was famous fer his~ success with 'his g~i~ .'a&. fl~hingtackle.' lie could Mr~ tto, and play passably upon 'the lute.' Altogether, ~o was what I fir~t called him~~-~*.' noMe eWw;;.~ tundi*Jieaev~i' my fatherr wished to' ~ontrast~ my' .defi~ienoies vtith theix corespei4ding" Virtues, (which he' was rni~wise ~bG~ dos. as 'I 'think,) he ~lw~vys 'peintbd ~o my 1~rother ~s ~the ~ The~ feeling~ ~thu~s~, p~'0Voked is not ir~y~s t~ ~w~at afxiiable in the w&dA: 'As I t~ s&id' hofor ,ma~ faithet laokA fr t-~eenfidenee in his children~ In teaching rae~, it his ~nmstot~i t~ do a thing fo~r me, instead of Buffeting ~te'~'to '~ it' mTyself. .~Md the; if~ I did flot page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] LYNDE~ WEIS$. LYNDS WXIS$b comprehend readily-if I blundered, he was ~very. apt to laugh at me, instead of giving me the necessary en- couragement~ Of course I. could gain but sloWly any confidence in myself-or in him. This, however, let me say at once, was. a pardonable defeat of my father s. lie was a self-made man, to use the current phrase; a~id as there were few things connected with his busi- ness transactions 'whk~h he could not do well, it was ~quite natural 4;hat' he should be somewhat impatient of the blunders of others. I was making a very amicable arrangement with Jes~ sie 'Grayson1~o give her. a ride on my new sled, as soon as the river should be frozen over, when my father turned suddenly to me and ~aid, "Well, Lynde, you'll have a short vacation. The committee have hired Mr. Wigglesworth"to keep the school~ this winter, and, by all accounts, he's just the man for it." "When will school begin ?" said I. "Next Monday. I shall tell' Mr. Wigglesworth to keep a sharp~ look-out for you; so you'd best mind what you are about. If you ge1~ flogged at 'school, I'll flog you ~when you ge~ homed Do. you hear ?" "Yes, sir. "You must be a good boy, Lynde," said my aunt, in a kindly 'tone. I saw~ Kate's thin lips" con~pres~ed as she heard the mention of flogging ;~ and Jessie pouted, aud said, "' R&d better not IIQ~ nu~. I'd tell, my father I *Ar~i that little expression set. me to thinking about the contrast,., in'. family discipline, between my father and kind, gentle~ excellent old Allan Grayson. My father was in. goad temper that evening. The r~uz1our' s~bout ~F~gg & Gjbs9n proved ~to )be so far erro~. neous,.that his loss' would be a mere 'trifle, if any thing. Dash~ had recovered fz~in ;his' lan~eness~ and was as friskyas ~eVer~ Illarry ~ar~k~r, the teamster,, ha4 been as sober as aL temperance society ~pll the week,, and bitt a. few 'of the goo4s ix~ th~ ~box' that was dropped oyer- board from "The Empress" were seriously injured. He chatted cosily with 6-rifflths-----told queer stories of his younger days in Bristol,' and about the Taunton herring-fisheries-patted Lucy on the head when she asked him for a new dres~ for the Christmas ball-. called her an extravagant jade,. and declared that she was bent on ruining him. for There's Kate, now," said he; "she doesn't ask me a new dress once aii age." "No, father," said 'Lucy, stoutJy, "' but she goes to the store and gets just what she. likes." "Ahem !" said my father. It was a' home-thrust. "Well, have' your own way about. it,. Lucy. It~s the way always with the ladies. Why, Jessie,~ you're not going home ~" "-Yes, sir. It's almost dark." "Moyn't I go with 'her ?" :said I, timidly. "No, sir." "Oh, let him go, George," said my aunt Caroline. "tet him go, father," said Kate, quietly, laying aside her needle-work, and looking earnestly at my father. es but just go home."' "But h' " And what of that, father? Jessie and he are cro~ nies; and you know how glad they are to have himiat Mrs. Grayson's." "For niy: part," chimed Ann West, "I'd be right glad to have him out of the war, for I've got the iran- ing to see to~ to-night." "Well, you may go, Lynde. But you must~come back at'aine o'eh~ek. I'll ~ Jerry for you." ~Jessio was soon rea&y, and we loft the house.' She was muffled to the chin. ,She had' on a hood~ toe, that hid e'vei~y thing but her eyes; but they~ twinkled 'and glistened,' as we jogged briskly along, with suoh ~uesinew rio witchery as has held its~ sway over me through every vicissitude of my somewhat eventful life.. page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 84 ~YNDE wi~ass. CHAPTER YL TUE ORAYSONS. "SHALL you go to school, Lynde ?" asked Jessie, as we trudge& along. "I must go." "But don't. you U/ce to go? Don't you want' to go ?" "Why?" Because I get whipped." "That's because you are, naughty sometimes, Lynde." "I knio~. IL a~m ~sometimes; but sometimes they whip. me when I'm not naughty. I've got a great sear now, where Mr. Birch hit me the week before Thanksgiving. See there!" And I bent my head, and showed her a long purple scaron the back of my neck. "Poor Lynde! I'm 80 sorry for you!. Did you show' it to 'your father ?" ~ Yes.." "What did 'he say?" ~"He laughed, and'said it would make megrow.". "Thexi I dou't~ like' him a bit, and ]~ won't .go to see him any more. I'm sure .mz, father-there he is now, coming for me. II looked~ up. I had been carrying my head down, moodily, as; we were chatting about the school. She was right.' "Ab, 'Lynde! is that you? ~o, you're bringing Jessie h0me to us, eh ?" "Yes, sir." "We1l~ That's neighborly, Lynde. You'll go hOme won't 'you?" "Yes eir." LYNI)E WEISS. 85 It was not long before we were seated, around. a blazing fire at Allan Grayson's. He was the village clergyman. Like most of the' inhabitan~~ of Boyleton; he was ~poor. He had been what is called .a charity- student. He had graduated with honour, and had' been once comfortably settled at a little village, some few miles from Boston. He 'married, soon afterward,. a beautiful girl as poor as himself; and, being an inde~ pendent thinker, he formed and broached 'opinionS * which some of "the most straitest" considered he~retb cal. As a matter of course, he wds obliged to seek a new home.. By the merest accident, in the world, he met my father while on~ his way northward, and, catch- ing some portion of his enthusiasm in the glowing ac- count he gave 'of the new country,' Allan Grayson pro'~ posed to his wife to accompany the emigrant-party~' To his delight,, she cheerfully acquiesced, 'and, in three days afterward, they'turned their backs upon the pretty village of W-. To me he had always shown a great 'deal of kind. ness. My -father's business habits had enabled him~ td befriend the excellent clergyman and his wife-.and this he was never Weary of doing. It was quite natifral that a warm friendship should spring' up, as it' 'did, be- tween the two families. Indeed, there was no place where my father was so fond of going, especially 'if ~he were glootny or perplexed, as to the Graysons'. Mrs. Grayson was a remarkably still, quiet sort of woman-. and my father loved- quiet.' But, though quiet, and almost taciturn, she was not reserved. She had a world of housewife tact in having one's chair in' the right place; the favourite dish upon the tftble; the exact proportions of Jamaica, and sugar, and egg~, aDd nutmeg, and cream in the egg-nog. Clergymen 'drank egg..nog in those days. She knew, toQhoW-t6 humour my father's whim~-he 'was inclined to be dogmatic flow and then-and, without knowing, why, 'he' #as fully persuaded ~hat~such' another instarice--~f womaidy perfection was never seen. Accordingly, he was sorely p I I page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 9 LYNDR WEI$~. disappointed if the clergyman and his wife did not re- ~ gularly eat their Sabbath-dinner at his house, and spend at least one or two evenings in the week With my sisters. No marvel, then, that 'the good clergyman WaS kind to me. Jessie was the only ohild; and he often said that he would give the world if he had but a boy. "Never mind, boy," he would' say, "~ou~ shall be my son. I'll teach you Latin and Greek, and give you an inkling of Bon~iycastle; and when you have got your diploma, yoti shall have Jessie." My sister Kate was a favourite with lije wife, and thus the two families had formed, in the trials and pri- vations of their~ forest home, an intimacy and friendship which contributed very largely to* the happiness of both. At nine o'clock my father came for me. He was glad, he said, to have an accuse to drop in and see them all. "I am glad you did, Uncle George." (He had caught the universal appellation;) "Glad you did. I don't get out~ much 'this cold weather, and ~1Eliza is no gad~about. 8he makes Jessie an, excuse for all her shortcomings in repaying our neighbour& visits. Have you seen the new schoolmaster 7" "No.'' "The committee giveme a good account of him. I hope Lynda and Jessie will like him, and learn a great deal this winter. You will, won't you, my children 7" "Yes, .sir,"~ said we in chorus. "I've just been telling Lynde," resumed he, laugh- ingly, "that as I've no b~y of my own, I shall have to ad'~pt him~' And I am to teach him Greek and Latin, and ~when he gets his diploma, I'm to give him Miss' Jessie. for a wife." "Bravo, Lynde! Do you hear that, my son 7" "Yes, sir." "It might be, after all," said my father, musingly. I' LYND~ W~I~5. "It might be, indeed. 8tranger things have happened, myold friend." "I've been thinking, by the way," said' the clergy. man, "that we ought to suggest to Mr.-Mr.---I forget his name." "Wigglesw.6rth 7" "Mr. Wigglesworfih, yes. I have thought of sug~ getting to Mr. Wigglesworth-..a queer name by-the- by-to let these little folk go home when the school is half done, 'every day.. Don't you think ft too' long to keep them sitting 'six hours on those hard benches 7" Well, I don't know, Mi'~. Grayson; perJiap~ it is so~ lint I wouldn't venture to do it,' mzj~ef" ' "Why not?"' '. ' "Oh, they're so da-4 beg your pardorr....-se~ery dignified, that I would sooner go to Washington and ask the President to 'dredge ~ut the: Bouquet, than' make any ~ppeal to a schooliriaster !" "They ai~e sensitive, to' be sure, Uncle George; I~ can't be , denied,; and they' are apt W 'be a little con- ceited; 'but" think of 'their' trials-sizt' urehiii~ t~ 'manage, at ten dollars a month, and board~ig ar6un~;~' '~ True, Mr. Grayson. KEt mu~st lxe~ hard. They'~ look thin arid weak 'a&' kittens;: and' I knew #children ar~ bothersome enough to fret any one. ]3ut~it is getti~ig late. We'll expect you to dinner to-mQrrow. An don't let Eliza and Jessie stay at home, as they' did last Sunday. None of 'that,' 'madam I" added my father, shaking his finger at Mrs. Grayson. "I won't allow it. Good night C' -4 '4' {- I 'I 4 page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] U LYNP~ W331$$. - CHAPTER VIII. A SADBA~H IN THE flILL~OUNT~V.'~T~ R!St."~REBELLION. TWO FACES ~ND~R A ~O&D. ThE next day -~as the Sabbath. It dawned over the rude homes of the foresters in beauty. It has always seemd to me that men are more religious among the hills. .Whether- it be because I was born* &mong them, that the remembered forms and tones of those whose nameS are ~Woven in the-fibres of the heart" have~made every crag of its el.iffs-every rock, and hill, ad v4ley, ~nd ;s~rearn-~-ever-Y rood of its love-hallowed ~war4,~s near to me as the ue~tling to its mother; that there I- knew and loved ~ne whose presence (real to. ~ne, eveu~~ when the physical form. is far from me) waked. and nurtured all, the better impulses of my by it~ "My heart, sympathy with one, - Grew b6untiful t~ all ;" - or whether it be that I associate it with "the hill coun- try" of the Holy Land, where the pilgrim's kiss has left its visible it~press upon the marble of the monu- ments, II knew not. But~the Sabbath never comes in robe so purely spiritual, with smile' so gladdening in all its soberness, and with steps so noiseless and angel-like, as when I see them "beautiful upon tke mountains. There was ne bell; anJ, as is usual in such-cases, the people gathered early at the demure-looking school- LThDJ~ WEL~ house, and seated themselves upon s~n~e rude~ ber&clie0, which were made i~se of whenever, the. ~hous~ happened to be throi~ged. This happened but 8eldom. There were a score, at least, eh~ttiag together ~ X approached the house My father,, my &i~int~ a94 Xfly sisters were with me. Griffiths was alrea~r Vhere~ ~" Good morning, Uncle George," ~ 9r~e an4 another, as my father passed. 'He ~return~d the greet~.. ing in his hearty way, and enteredd the ~ "Call father back, won't you, Lynde ?"said Griffith~. I did so. - "Uncle George," said Thomas Thayer,. (1xe~ *as~ al~ ways oaUed Squfre Thayer,. being a justice of ithe peace,) "we've been t4lkin' a little about Parson (~ray. son this morning." "What is it, Squire Thayer? Of course, y~w c~u't say any kdrm of~ him." "No. I'd like to see the man ~ to do that here. No; we've been talking. the matter. over, and have about concluded to build. huxn~ a 8nugiittle barn. I've agreed. to furnish, him a horse.,. Ns~i~hi~ou~ Wilson will giYe him & wagon; my friend toWnsend, here, will furnish the harness and & comfo~tabl~s1eigh;; and I understand. lkgg & -Gibson to say that-they will furnish buffalo-robes, and -provender for the. wi~ter~ What say you ~" "Say? Why, I say I'll furnish: the- iumbe~', and a hand or two to help put it together."~.#: "Well, then," said OolonelLbraham Mile~,- the inn- keeper, "I'll fill his loft with hay1?'. "And I," said Paul Warren, "am wilhi~g t~ do whiM I can- f6r him. I c&n spare him ~ few hgshels O~ p(~ta~. toes, a little corn, and a load oKflrew~d~" "Be it so," said the Squire. "And, by the 'way, neighbours, iiot a word to hizri till we are ready'to -de- liver the articles all together, say next Monday week. here he comes now !"~ .2Y~ i -~ ~ *A1lah~ Grayson4 ieeked. a~ Lfan~y * ~ol& p~ria~e~ must have k~ked. 11i0 ~iorig hair, whi~ awt -I- I -1 I page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 LYNDZ WEIS$. 41 though he was 'not yet threescore, was moved by the wintry~ air. His step was slow; 'his mien solemn, though not -sanctimonious; and his face was lit up by a ~mile such- as the Christian alone can wear. He was accompanied byMrs. Grayson and Jessie. The kindly greetings over,. all entered the hQuse. As ~f by magic,'the.low whisper, the shuffling of feet, and the rustle of dresses was hushed, and every eye was fixed upon the clergyman. He seezned utterly absorbed in the work of his calling ;',, unconscious of ~Very thing but the fact that he stood as a priest in the presence of th~ Grqat- High Priest, z'everently to 4o His -bidding and utter is. message to the people. A portion of Scripture was read. A prayer and a hymn followed. ~IIe began very abruptly. "My -friends," said he, "there i~ a great want .of eltaritil in the world. 'We judge one another harshly. Our blessed Master was accustomed to teach, you remember, in parables. Let me recall one of them. "We are in Jerusalem. The mountains are round about it. It is -morniiig. The dew is -still glistening upon the flowers, and the city is basking in the rays of the morning ~sun. It. is the hour of prayer, and from every street and lane of the city gather the early~ wore shippers. Amid 'the throng, unheeded by the lordly, self-righteous Pharisee, the scribe, or the gloomy Sad- ducee, there comes a' plainly clad personage to the gate of the Temple. Many pass lAm by without notice;. yet tbow cannot do -so, fpr there is infinite love in. that calm, benignant eye. There is majesty in his mien; there is izf~ in his' smile. " Hush! a: tumult in the throng I Some of them are rudely dragging ~ woman~-- "'A w~uidering,.wr~tohed, worn, and weary thing'-' towards the Temple. approa~h. The Phar~se~ iu~ hi8 -robe of pride, scowls fiercely at~ the shrinking, '4r-embliflg culprit; the throiig gathers around her, while her aiecusers drag her -td the- ~presence~ of the hitherto unnoticed stranger, 'and loudly 'and angrily make -their accusation. The 'testimony is overwhelming. 'The very act' issworn to-by a~ number' oiFwitnesses; and the assembly is hushe'd'- i~w silence "at the loudest of the accusers says, in husky tones- "'Now, -Moses, hi the~-i*&wcQ~timan4~d us that such should be stoned: but i~hat sayest~ -Tk~w. ~' "And again all -is still. The :JpdgeJ answ~ ~Dpt; and a thousand eyes flash fiercely andiangrily upcrn4lie criminal, as, with a timid ghnec of i~qufry, she lifts her tear~bedimnmed- eyes to His face. All is' yet still as the house of death.' The benigi~ant Judge ~toqps down, and with his finger writes in the dnst,'as though he heard them net.' ' "Poor, sorrow-stricken, guilty ~ou1!" ~xolaimed the preacher~ abruptly, "fear not. Thou ha~t a Judge who can be,' touched;; with the feelfrg of 4hy infirix~it~es. Tempted in-'all ~p~ints- like th4e, he knoweth o~r fi~agme, that we are' but dtmst.~ - - - -:., Hark-! They cry-tout ag~in frantic the sentence-! The ~Judge ~ - I4stea-V~. "'He that is without sin among yow, te~ him ~fir~t east c~ atone 1~Uier!'. -A~dagain- he stoop~ and writes upon the~ ground.. -There 'is a xnQment's pause~an4 then, selfcondei~ned, 'guiltily, :o~ie by 0fl0 they steal away.!-aud the Judge and the 9~nal ar0- alone. - "~Woman I' said U~j - ~ where are those -thine ~o. users ?- -' Hathno man'cond~zumwdNthee4 -"'No man,-Lord.'- 1- *'Q~ - - "Jesus s~i~h-' ~nnto her, - (rl either- dq ~J condemn ~tAe&! Go anc~ sin no more"'" - .~- - -I ha~re- hut hwieiy, a~d with. rude ~d~s~s 4~$1~ ~e~-' oil?, painted ~-Ore~ piewre hieh~ e~l4 ALU**1 (~ayso~ di'aw in viAd; ~tn~itllng; teaz~pr~ekirtg ~fl4el$y. ~N[4w~4 b~y his, ei&quencb; you co-gild se~ the 'crouching ein~iual-~- the bkod~thirsty a~u~r~-'4-he eager 'c i(~i~y ~ 4* - H - - LY?~DE WEISS~ page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 LYXD~ WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. 43 and the heartless indiffereilce of another in the thiig~-. I "Th6~bh~kit monster with uncounted het~ds, Tue ~ti~i-discordant,~wovoriag multitudc~" You ~eit the a1m9~t- breathlesss silence. Yow scarcely drew your own breath,' as, in afevei' of excitem&it, you ~wait~d the fate 6f the poor wretch, trembling in the fierce 'c1~tch of her accusers. : You; saw the benignant look of pity', in the eye of the Judge. You saw the th~ng slink guiltily away; and. the hot tears gushed to your eyes. as you heard the 'words, "Neither do I con~ ~lemn:thee ~ Go, and sin no more I" A~ hymn was now sung, and' the roof rang with the music of hundreds of voices. After anotbet' brief prayer; th~ solemn benediction ~aspi~ohounced'and the congi~egation1broke up. ~ }nd~ been very cold Aui'in~ Siturday night, and tl~e Bouquet iyas frozen over. There were still many however, where 'th0 cin~rent was so strong that the ice *as yet thin, 'while apparently it was of uniform Thtekness. My father was in hospitable mood that dn~y. Be- 1sides th~ ~quire and the clergyman, with his wife and 'd~h'ter~ Fogg and Gibson accompanied us home. Of cours&; there was fbi room for the little folk' at the .tr~ble. 'The dintier was sOon in readiness; and, the guests having ~ta~ted~ my fn~ther's Jamaica; ~all sat -down. Meanwhile Jessie and I went into the office, from '~the "*iIi~6ws of wbich we' could look 6wt upon' the'river. It was nOw high noon. '.. - I was alwp restless, or, as a phrenologist would ~ ~was~ ~f ~ "v~ry ~cti~& teinperament As Iibo~ed ~b#I~ ~ ~tli~ ice, glisteningg~' in t1~e'~ sw~be&m~, 4'o~: Lt dTh~n iW r~r-ljke smoQthness~) it{stru~ tn~ that "'a ~lld u1vo~ theke~ was, of all things in thevworld, pZ~~ ~isel~tkii~d;of'~ s~iuseniie'nt' that su.iiteLl f~x1cy ~t 'that particular moment. ~' '"Jessie," said I, suddenly.. . "What! Why, how you frightened~ mej Lyn4e~" ."Let's go and':slide on the ice, will yo~u ~".' "No, Lynde-'-~-it'e SQuday." "'What of that, Jessie ?" "Why, of course it ~wotild be wrong. Father always said so." I " ' "Well, but we won't slide more.. thM ~ve minutes; and we can get back before dinner is over." Much against' her better judgment, I coaxed her to go. The weather was ~ow mild,, and the, day was 91~O of those ~miny win±er~days when ~it is hardest to stay in doors. We, seen reached the ice. Jess~e caught the excitement after I had' 'proved, the strength of tha 'iee by a few slides,'and 'we ventured out f~ther aXid farthe$ every time. Besides, I had takezVa stick jn my hand, and I showed h~r how strong th~e ice was by tIi~ at~~ tempt to break a holi through it. 'I continued to use it as; we~ went 'farther out, and, as. it, did 'not break through, we lost all fear of accidents. tVso happened that there was a place in the main ~akinel of "the ~rive~ where a bed of rocks. swerved the ~uA~rent~ froi4 itp Course, 'and served to keep" the water in' such commo* 'tion, that -it was usually; the last spdt ~to. be frozen. '4 Don't go out .there~too far," said I, as I saw ~Tes~i~ venturing beyom~d' where :1 had gone. "Wait ~tili I Wy the joe with my~stiekL":~~ "Oh~ no, I'm not afraid, Lynde~," was th~ repiy; and, running back. a litt1ew~y, ~she' stare& forward' again with ~alPjier strength. ~N&t~ be~ instance, I followedd her.r ~ fod~une would (have" it~' h~w~ye4 my £0ot slipp~djust as I had ~g*~them~ed aU my ~nerg~es for ~tM last spring, and I went, sliding along witK ha4f ~iy~u~4 vel6oity~ ~ sharp- ctaAikin~. ef~ therAoe canght~ my ear. With a startling shriek, Jessie went thrcxigh~(tho we. My owm~ momenttuxi e~rri~d' me: within ~.i yard oUthe place where she ha4~ fallen.; but, befor~ I .c~nl4 ~eweJ~ the little hand that was ~tr~tche~d. imploringly t~war4s pie; 'she~wk, and' ~he current ~ h~r V~p~i~ th~ ~e! page: 44 (Illustration) [View Page 44 (Illustration) ] 44 1XND1~ WEIS$. She floated slowly along,1~r form -*iAible 1eneath ~the iee~*hui~ ~iu~ ~x ~ig~ny of 'terror,' I 1~ad not IYOIVe? to utter a word, , NIy ~r~t itti~ls~ Was.- to run~ 't~ the house 'for help, and, as I tgned' to 'go, I saw~ three or four fathoms below, an open s~o~tiw the 'ice~ (~uvb as ~tl~e 1oy~ dali 4ir4~O14~%) h~h~ad not yet frQZen.' To that-7soar~e knowing whit I did, my feelings' wrought kip to i -frenzied pitch of e±~itement-#-I ~atition~sly made my way. 0 God ~ wh&t- ~xiomant~ were '~those to rae! Persons '~h'o' have narrowly escaped drcswninig, say that in ~ single minut~ a ho~V of tho~ghts2 cross the -mind with the r~pi4it~ of lightning~ It ~was so with na~ The ~tlvottght of ~ny~ flly in~ enticing her away from the her- being ~so dear-' to rue-and of the cerK t~~1tn~ost that ~h~e was lost to me fi~r ever-~--of her rents) bei*eaved' ariil comfottles~-oh, what a torn~ent of a~bn~p~tnredjh upon'zq.soul! I ~afri'ed the edgftof the~ air..hole before th~ current I~ad 1~o~ne th~ ~tru~gling girl to it, and,, lying 4own 01k th~ 'ice; It stretchea the poTh~ which I still held in -my. h&nd, arose th~~ openi~n'gv As Jessie Roated past it, I ~oat~ght the~skirt of her dres; aridbreaking the edge of the jee, Ih'~uled ~her h~d~ abo~e?.the surfacee (of~the ~t-e~. ' A ga&p- ~d! a frightenedd glance t~Id me' that ~ Wa~stiil iWpossessiqn of her'sensd~and1 ~tbrifl~f 4oy went through my frame ~ ~yseJf, "I ~baV~ ~pd' her V~'v .~ ~- ~ - ' ~ ri was~re~k ~g to~ fast. - I~w~ xot' 8tr0Dg~Rouglz ~o-pufl ~ oulpof the '~at~r, ~nd as. often ~ e~xi~ sb~dp~rtie~llys~4ow The-ic~, the ;edge of~1t gW~re.way. T~i~ I~pi~I ~veral ' ~'abd I s~w ~ 4ier *~g~b~ ~a~i gi~i~ wity., - ~ ~ I*yu4e~ ~Pe4r ~ynd~4o~'t ~ ~'Iw~?t ~eas.ie L ~on't~heirghte~ed. Let go this 4x~d, ~tid u~e yom~rigKt liaadJLo~ help yourself," said ~ ~~M~ry~inC8 ii~Or~, Jessie~" -' s ~li4;~ ~iid i~a&. idy~ou the edge of the~ ic~wJio~ I, "HUSH-G0 AND CUT A STICK !" I ( page: -45[View Page -45] LYNDE WEISS. V F I y "Hello! how's this Y. What's to pay Y" "Lynde has been on the ice, a$ own~ this p~ little girl ;--might as welt have drew her irn~4e~r sh6 as she shut the door. In came the guests--Mr. Grayson a~id ~bi~ ~i~JiaW~, frantic with terror. "Where is she? Where's ~es~i~?'~ gasped ~ Grayson. madam~-s~fe~2 o ~ "She's safe, alarmed. 'Ann is takjn ~ar But before he could fi peered. ".Well, sir! you're :a , ing to me. "llaven'tL ice? *Goo~ta~dcu~it~ "Oh, don't flog himp '~ d ~a~4 Warren. "He sav~d~ei~ 1~i ~ "Satzed her, indeed I" s ~ Ii4Qe ~z4tk~Z I,- it again gave way, nearly precipitating me into th& water. The hole was now so large that the ati~k'~j - would no longer reach across it. Jessie was clingingj. to me with a frantic gra8p, and I now began to thjnj~. that both were destined for the same awful death, wb~e~i suddenly a loud sh&ut- reached my ear. "Hold on, Lynde! Hold ~n- for your LIFE, my b~y.! i~on't let go, my brave fellow! Held hard !" And with a long plank on his shoulder, Paul Warren came running towards us. He stopped a. little, way from us, and, running the plank to the edge of the ice, crawled to us. Grasping both of us, he drew us to the firm ice. Taking Jessie in hi~ arms; and sei~h~g one of my hands, he led me off the ices 1n a f~w ~ ments we were beside a blazing fire. Great was the commotion. Ann West was ~the fIr~t to hear the bustle in the office. She g~ave-ine & volley of r~proaches as she led Jessie away to her own Pxuiu for a change of clothes; ~and my father, hearing~4~ unusual noise, entered the office j~t ~ out. page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] * 46 LYNDE WEISS. 'by the interference in his domestic management. "I flatter myself, Paul, that I know how to manage my own family. He deserves a whipping for disobeying my orders about going on the ice, and he shall' have it!" Paul made no reply; but I saw his bThck eye flash, his face grow pale, and h~s nether lip gathered between his teeth, in a 'way that betokened the strife of passion. "Why don't you go, sir ?" said my father, in a voice of thunder. 12 4i4 not stir. For the first time in my recollection, I looked 'at him in his anger. I grew strangely calm and 'self-possessed, while I saw his herculean frame quivering with passion. "Won't you go, sir ?" said he, fiercely. "No! I won't go !" said I, stoutly; and I caught Paul Warren's hand, ~and clung to 'him for safety. "You won't go? We'll' see, sir. You 8hctll go! Here's a horsewhip will serve the turn." "But, Uncle George !" said' Squire Thayer and the clergyman in a breath, "you surely"- "Gentlemen, stand back! Stand back, I say! Am 12 inmy own house?" He raised the~whip' Quick as lightning, Paul War. ren thrust me behind him, and said in a low tone, while his' breath hissed between hi~ clenched teeth, "No, sir! There shall be no flogging here, unless you flQg the boy' over a dead man's body. George Wei~s, stand back! or by"- My father' raised his brawny arm, (he had the strength of three common men,) and aimed a' blow at Paul Warren which might have felled an ox. 'His' arm was caught from behind by the gentlemen who had left the table, and had silently witnessed the scene iii the office. "For shame, George' Weiss!" exclaimed the clergy- man. "I'm: ashamed of you! Think! The Sabbath- day, sir! My daughter just saveci' from death'! ~ F&r shame, sir t Are you mad ?" LYNDE WEISS. "Unhand me, gentlenien !" said ray father, in a low, husky tone. They ~til1 held him. "W~6n't you? Then there with you !" and he hurled both to the floor. I had seldom seen my father in a passion-never in such a one as then mastered him. Whenever I had thus seen him, I observed that the moment he had struck a blow, or discovered that he had wounded the feelings of his antagonist, he was disarmed and' ready to beg forgiveness. It was so now. No sooner had he thrown the two men to the floor, than the revulsion took place, and, falling backward into a chair, he buried his face in his hands, and wept. "I~eave him to me,"' said Paul to Mr. Grayson and the squire; and they left the office. Fearful was the paroxysm of my father's grief. It was long before he' could regain his self-command. "Paul, my old friend, forgive in &!" said he, as he rose, at length, from his chair. "Lynde, my son, come here." I obeyed, and put my arms around his neck and wept. "Don't cry, my son," said he, gently. "You are a good boy, and"-. andl father, 1'm not.a good boy. I disobeyed you, ought to be whipped." "Say no more about it, my sori~ There, wipe awa.~r the tears, and let us go to the sitting-room," We went. The squire and the clergyman were gone. My aunt CarQhne was sitting with Ann West and my sisters in. a silent' circle about, the fire. Griffiths caine in. Hehad.ytot heard of the accident; and he looked inquiringly at us as he saw, by the unusual expres~ibii on the faces around, ~that something unpleasant haa occurred.' He said nothing, however, but seated him~ self near my sister 1~ate, and 'took a~ bQo1J~ his hand. Paul took his leave. The afternoon wore silently away, and all of us were ill at' ease. Kate,' how~r~ manager to restore gciod humour at tea-time; and in the evening i 1 / I. 4. it page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] ~LYNt?~ WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. the squize,. Mr. Grayson% Mrs. Grsysoi4 and~ JeSSie came in, and speiit the evening. No aliusk~n~was rnad~ to the sc~ehe in the office;. atid; ~s the ~gentle~neri were free and sociable, my father saw that 'he was 'forgiven. lie regained his ~isuaf flow of spirits. Jessie eat, mean- while, with me; betwee~i her mother 6nd my aunt. her hand i~a~ in xnine.' We talked of the a~eoident; and a thrill of 'joy 'fleir along my veins 'as sb~e pressed my hand in bidding~ 'm~ good-night, and said, in a low tone, "it was yo~ that Bayed me, Lynde, and I sha'n't forget it as long as. I live." We were unnoticed in the bustle of leave-taking. My father's arm-chair was between us and most ~of the persons in ~the room; and, hastily and stealthily-there were two faces under the pinkdined hood! I ChAPTER VIII. 'BCHOOL-DAYS.---JONAH WIGGLES.WOR~H.-EXPERIMENTS. Trn~ naxt ~week I went to school. My. recollections 'of those days are' ~f mingled pleasure and 'pain-~of ambition and hopeless serfdom-of the keenest delight arid of utter disgust. I confess, however, that i think the pictures" we' have, in' most of our modern 'por- traitures of'schoolmasters, ar~ unfavourably overdrawn,, I 'have read' not a few books' in which' it seemed to be the aim of' the ~ut~or to concentrate' every %hir~g~dis~. 'gusting ~n41re'~c~1tin~, ii~ ~h'e character of the to*~er~ "So far as 'my 'observation and 1e~~erienee s~i~ve me, teachers' are seld4m consciously' ui~ij~st-scareejy e'~e~' so, ~x~cep~ i~z '~ase# ~l~ere ~ ~upi1 'h~s' worn ma' the~eridi~ nary, 'ay, tI~e4c~dtivatet stock ~~f; human, et~da~"ance.' J am free 'to eo~ife~s; bitterly as I hated the schoobrooni, desp~ii~tel~a~ I '&~ce'threatetied 'revengp upon the teach- ei's who 'fi6g~e~t' 'me; that' I was in most cases ~e'~er~in~ 49 (and richly so) of all the chastisement I received. ~The faults of teachers then were the faults of the day. The rod was the great panacea. Children were sent to school (as they often are now-a-days) to get them out of the. way. That is to say, the teacher was paid a beggarly pittance to do what the parents were too lazy, or stupid, or weak, to do themselves-.--to govern the child--to produce a hundred-fold, not only in 'the good ground, but in the thorns, upon the rock, and by the wayside. He was valued as the ass is valued- for his capability of endurance of hardship and toil, and his* (unthanked) fidelity beyond other animals. of his class; and they who were never in good-humour at home were those to whom a moment's irritability, pro- voked by nastiness, 'stupidity, laziness, or mulish obsti- nacy, was the unpardonable sin. But to my story. Mr. Wigglesworth was the anti.. podes of all I had been expecting in the person of the new schoolmaster. He was a short, squatty, and some- what corpulent man, from Vermont. The wrinkles about his eyes were eloquent of fun, and the more so by contrast with his assumed gravity. His learning was confined within exceedingly narrow limits. Not so his vanity;~ but this last was so good~humoured a feature in him, as to be very pardonable. ' He wore a very wide-brimmed hat, underneath which he wore his hair brushed up fiercely 'on end. He wore green spec- tacles, too; and used a huge, queer-looking cane, with a 'fox's head carved on the handle. I never 'saw him save in one dress, winter or summer, the same being about the rustiest, most antiquated and dilapidated structure of'cloth and stitches which 'it has been my lot to behold in this '"vale of tears." His trousers~ barely reached the tops of a pail' of cow-hide boots, which might have served as pontoons for the ferriage, of ordnance, and which were only allowable in a new country, with a sparse population, where land is not sold by the square foot. They (the trousers) were of' a rusty, brownish yellow. The "nap" was worn off N 48 I page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] I 530 LYNDE WEISS. I LYNDE WEISS. 51 and a perceptible gloss pervaded the 'principal points of exposure. His coat was of light blue, with well-worn brass but- tons, and of the cut yclept "swallow-tail," with a, collar reaching up to the philoprogenitive organ of his .cra~- nium. A white neckcloth, and a collar that seemed to be doing outpost duty, as a supporter of his ears, threw his round, . full-moon-like, rubicund visage into full relief. Some two or three. score of us 'were assembled when he came. He walked directly to the desk, (it did ser- vice as a pulpit on the Sabbath,) without the slightest greeting. There arrived, he commenced operations by taking a huge old-fashioned watch (whose weight was 'I' little more than sufficient to prevent the massive chain and superabundance of seals from hauling it out from the fob) and hanging it on a nail.' His coat was simi- larly disposed of; and when* he had brushed his hair yet more stiffly on end, his keen, shrill, nose-twanged tones rose high above the urcl~in-din, in the abrupt order- "There, naow! git yer seats, all on ye! I'm gem' fur to read the rewis !" He read them, and proceeded to read & chapter from the ]3ible. Then the classes were formed. It came my turn to read. F "Who are yaou ?" "My name's Jynde Weiss." "Git aout! I never heerd such a name. What's the first name, d'you say ?" "Lynde." "Wal, I trust you'll get yer cranium' . lined this winter ?" and he looked up to see if anybody perceived the pun. "Never heerd t'other name either, as I knows on. Anyhow, it's a darned queer 'un. Hold up yer head, and read aout-LoUD !" I got through' the first day nicely; but the days were few, during, that. long winter, in which I did not somehow provoke his ire. "I declare tew man !" was his favourite expletive when irritated, and no one called it forth oftener than I. I learned easily, and therefore deferred learning my tasks until the latest moment. There was a row of urchins on the same seat with me, and tired (oh! how tifed I used to get on those. Strait- backed, deal benches!) of sitting so long, we would either imitate the Irish in "Fighting for conciliation," or else contrive to get into a general titter of laughter. Once excited, my risible muscles were beyond my con- trol, and I laughed even under the whip. "I declare tew man !" said Mr. Wiggleswortb, (his praenomen was Jonah, but he always wrote his name J. Wigglesworth,) "them 'ere boys pester me tew death. I sat,', there! yaoz&! LYNDE! c'm 'ere to me He would then ply his whip with praiseworthy vigour, breathing, meanwhile, with an' asthmatic wheeze, until his wrath 'was appeased. I grew careless of the rod and his admonitions, and bethought me of some plan of revenge. With two or three other urchins, equally the victims of his occasional ire, (he'always tried persuasion and ghostly counsel before resorting to the whip,) I finally matured a plan, which I considered not only very ingenious, but highly original. I was familiar' with the plan of sticking pins in the bench on which he sat-of putting a brick in his coat-pocket as it liung against the wall, while his attention was absorbed by a "sum"---- of pinning papers to its skirt when it was on him-and other similar plans of annoyance.' I now flattered myself, however, that I had concocted a scheme which would amuse the school and defy detection. Accordingly I prepared, with the. assistance of ~ blacksmith, a thin piece of iron, with holes for nails, to serve as a spring, and bent it perhaps an inch out of the horizontal line. This I nailed beneath the' bench where he usually ,sat. I then bored a very small hole, through which I passed a large darning-needle, and page: 52[View Page 52] LThD1~ WEISS. tied the needle to the spring by passing a stout thread through the eye of the needle and around the spring. To the same spring I tied a bit of small cord, and passed it through a hole in the floor. I then went out- ~icle the school-house, an~ passed the string up through ~, l~ole izk the floor, (bored to let the water off when the hon~se was scrubbed,) near my usual seat. There were other similar holes in different parts of the house. At length my plan was matured, and every thing was in readiness. I never, shall forget the day and the ~cene. It was a dark, rainy, foggy, disagreeable morn- ing, during the "January thaw." Jonah was mani- festly in the doldrums. He came in with a very digni- fled air and took his seat. He looked around with an. ominous scowl that had wellnigh frightened me from my purpose. I put on my demurest look, however, and awaited my opportunity. It came. He opened the Bible at a chapter in the Old Testament, and I re- member that he had just read the words, "All flesh is grass," in his deepest twang and most drawling tone, when, s~tadente diabolo, I gave the string ~t most vigorous pull, and let it go. ~" On 1" shouted, or rather roared, Mr. Wigglesworth he dropped the Bible and sprang "high in air," after the manner of an Indian chief in a war-dance. "On! Murder! dod ding it all tew dingnation! Who done that 'ere ~" The school now burst into one general roar of laugh- ter, de profundis, loud, long, irrepressible. Jonah's face crimsoned with rage as he looked beneath the bench and saw the spring. His rage mastered his cau- tion. lie pulled the string, as I expected he would, through the hole, and, of course, lost all clue to the .offender. The chapter w~s not finished that morning. ~Uhe story got abroad, and Jonah Wigglesworth de~ camped to the more congenial atmosphere of the Green Mountains. In reviewing the scenes of my school-days, IL look, with a regret which I have no words to express, on the 4, page: Illustration-53[View Page Illustration-53] LLYNDE WEI$$. folly, and worse than folly, of which I was guilty, in thus adding to the cares and' perplexities of the most harassing toil beneath the sun. I would that I could recall them, or, if that be impossible, that -I could see the men who were disposed to be kind to me, and would have been so but for my waywardness and folly; nay, who were kind to me, and patient with me, despite my faults and misconduct. When I think of the toil and care-the fault-finding of patrons whom nothing can please-the hopelessness of fame or distinctiori'-~.- the grudgingly-given, pitiful stipend of his toib-the Want of all sympathy for, the teacher's trials, and a thoii~nd other desagr.~1mens of the profession, (if I may so d~nify it,) which experience has revealed to me, IL may be pardoned, for saying that I so deeply regret those errors and follies of m~r school-days. As I ma.y not have occasion to refer to Mr. Wiggles~ worth agaixk3 may not b~ amiss to say ~tbM I saw him a year or two since, during a trip from Burlington to the Notch of the White Mountains, lie 'had married soon after he left Boylston, and had a family office, chubby children. I confessed md received absolution for xn~y practical experiment on the elasticity of iron; and he told the story, laughing till the, tears ran down his cheeks, to his wife. "Yaou was rather a frisky chap, I guess, in them days," said she to ~me, as he finished the story. "I'm afraid I was," said' 'I, penitently, and I' bade them a good-morning and. drove on. "OH, MURDER! WHO DONE THAT 'E~E1" 6* 5* page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 LYNDE WEIS$. LYNDE WEIS$~ CHAPTER IX. THE ACADEMY.-COMPANIONS.--'-LYNDE BECOMETH ATTENTIVE TO MR. CLAYBANK.-LYND]~1' 5 IMPROVED SY5T~M OF 5MO~INO. WE exchanged King Log for King Stork. The suc- cessor~ of Jonah Wiggresworth was a genuine Tartar. I received :a severe flogging the first day, and- something like a score of my conipeers received a. similar earnest of 'the policy of the new administration. I was pretty thoroughly got into harness by his lynx-eyed vigilance and uncompromising exactions. Months rolled away. Years passed. Political excitement made its way even to the quiet viU~ge of Boylsfon. The State was tossed on the billows of faction in the mimic war of the Olin- tonion's and Bucktails. My father took a warm interest in politics, and 'was elected to the. Legislature, or As- sembly, as the New Yorkers are wont to call it. Sub- seqviently .hewas s~ent to Congress as a member of the lower h6use, and gave, as. far as I can learn, very general satisfaction to his constituents.' In the meantime, I had left the district-school for the academy,~ or perhaps F should. say boarding-school, as the institution combined, more of the features of that class of schools. The Reverend . Theophilus Winter was my instructor. He was a most worthy man. He was of exceedingly small stature-neat, precise, and of a heart that overbalanced his head; for, ~like most stu- dents, he was no financier9 Ii shall never forget 'the careworn expression that met my eye when I first saw him. The exercises of the school had already com- menced. He was' surrounded by about forty pupils, from the age of eight to twenty; and all were in a small, low,, hot, unventilated room. Lie was initiating a class into the mysteries of Fisk's Adams's Latin Grammar. I stood sadly embartassed, while my Uncle Hugh (who superintended my father's business while he was absent) made the necessary arrangements. It required all my firmness-and I could muster a deal of it in an emergency-.~-.to prevent my eyes from telling tales of me when my uncle left me amGng that throng of strange faces. I found it impossible to' study. The keen, piercing, yet kindly eye of the teacher met mine occasionally, as I looked around on the group of faces; and the furrows on his ample forehead, worn there by the toil and cares of years, won for him my ready and hearty sympathy. I became attached to him. The first and most striking contrast I noticed be- tween my old and n~w home was in the meagre fare-~ the apology for tea and coffee-the quantity of butter, (greater than nothing by "no assignable difference,").. and usually rancid, and the scanty allotment Qf other palatable food. This, let me say at once, was not pro-. perly chargeable to Mr. Winter, for his terms were so.~ very low, that to have furnished us good food, in proper quantity and variety, Would have more than; exhausted his scanty revenues. I soon made acquaintances,. All my preyions siiffer.~, ings under the rod had' not yet taught me seWgQv~rIi.~ ment, and my pranks began to attract the attention of Mr. Winter. J was astounded on~ morning by an, abrupt summons to. go forward to his desk. "Was it you who put'. the asa~foetida on Mr. Clay.~ bank's (~he usher's) stove ?" said he, with ~some 8terfl- ness. "No, sir. "I1~d you any thing to do in hidii~g his boots, this morning? 7 :' ', "No, sir. ""L~o yowk~iow who: filed ';the 'sto~e-pipe.wj~l~, grass, l~t sTbursd&y ?'~, "Yes, sir." "Who wa~ it ?" I made no reply..~.- ~.' page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 LYNDE WSI$$. "Had ~ou any hand in it?" "In the pipe, sir?" "ANSWER me, sir! Did you assist in filling the' pipe ?" "IN'o, sir." ",IPerhaps somebody assisted yot&. Was it so ?". "Yes, sir." "Well, Master I~ynde Weiss, permit me to say to you, that I've heard of your pranks before, and that if you do not alter your course, you will be' dismissed from this institution." This public reprimand was of some temporary ser~ vice. I was~ for a' time a model of hard study, and of the profoundest and most respectful deference to beth the' excellent clergyman and his somewhat unamiable usher. It was at this school that I became acquainted with 0eYeral boys ~ho were subsequently my classmates in co1leg~. There were two with whom I was more espe~ ~ially in1~imate. One of them was a son of Mr. David Fogg'; of the firm of'Fogg & Gibson,. with whom I was already acquainted; the other, a son of~ a clergyman settled in'a village some thirty-five miles from Boylston. B~rney Fogg wa~ the'most studious of all the pupils at th~ Allenville Academy. He was my antipodes in almost every thing.. "Barney," I would say to him sometimes, "let's go and have a skate on the' lake" (Allenville was on the 1ake~shore.) "I can't."' ~"Why, B~rney ?" "I've a Greek lesson to get," and without further reply, he would mutter in a bee-hive, treadmill-like monotone, "Thyto, t~pteis, tuptei I" Oh, hang the~ Greek, Barney! LeV~s have a. skate.". "* Yo~ can go if y6ii~ve a mind to~ ' Etupsa, etur sas - "Won't you go, Barney !" "No! Tetupha, tetuphas, tet"-~ LYNDE WEIS$. 67 I did not usually wait beyond the declension of the optative mood; and while I left him, vexed at hi~ dogged, indefatigable, humdrum devotions to the Greek divinities, he was as unruffled as the surface of his favourite lake among the mountains. Despite all our diversity of habits and tastes, we were (as indeed were Mr. Fogg and my father) fast friends. I had come opportunely to hi8 assistance ~ne day, when two large boys were endeavouring to beat him; and he bad, on one occasion, pulled me, halfdrowned,. from a rift in the ice. Jar~ies Allen was a somewhat more congenial spirit. We were chums and classmates. He was a small, thin, frail, but very intellectual lad, whose moral and intel- lectual nature had an undisputed sway over the animal. With me, the two , principles were in almost ceaseless warfare. I envied him his quietness and self~control. They seemed inborn. On his part, he became very warmly attached to me, in spite of my 'i4yward freaks and uxiaccountable moods; and we built many a scom of those airy chateaux which, by all' accounts, must cover yery nearly the whole of the broad lands of Gas- tile and Arragon. We kept journals. We walked and rode together, and he used to go home with me at vaca~ tions. We were almost constantly together. His habits of study, however, were of a cast far better~ than mine. His lessons were learned uniformly well, and he studied the prescribed number of hours. I, on the contrary, studied intensely and with scarcely any exercise or re-, laxation, (sometimes without regularly going to my meals,) for days in succession, and then I did nothing worth mentioning for a we&k. He waxed pale and thin with study and confinement, and was troubled with a cough in winter time that gave his friends mitch un- easines&; while my active habits made me more robust. The memory of my reprimand wore gradually away, and my appetite for mischief returned. Several small offences were insufficient to stake Mr. ~Winter's confi- dence in my recenV reforinatiQn. Au accession of page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] LYNDE WJ~IS~. pupils came in one morning, and I was billeted upon Mr Olaybank. There were two beds in the room. The usher was a very prim, fastidious sort of man. An offensive smell, an unusual bustle, a mistake in a lesson, a. soiled hand, or a rumpled collar, were his litter abomination. Nervous, irritable, whimsical, he was my favourite subject of experiment. Many a jere- mniad did the chambermaid listen tQ, in consequence of divers unsightly stains upon his pillow; constant re- movals of his books (it fretted him to have a book or a. pen, even his paper-cutter, removed) from the position which it was his wish that they should occupy, and other ~imila.r annoyances. Pins were found in his sheets. His razor escaped, now and then, from the ease. The chambermaid protested (as well she might) her entire innocence. "Is it me ye mane, Misther Claybat"- "Mr. Olaybank-~--Claybank is my name, Margaret." "Claybank ~thin, or Clayshank-it's the same to nie-av ye lay the bla'gard t;b7icks to me!" "Well, but who does them, if you don't ?" "Och! botherashin! Don't be after accusing' a poor lone woman as niver dhramed of doing the laste taste in life o' mischief till anybody in the world." And with the air of injured innocence she would stalk out o~f the room with a swing "aiqual to the queen." I suggested that the boy Tim, who made~ our fires, might be die offender. Mr. Claybank called Tim and questioned him. Tim lifted his hands in mute astonishment. "Did I lift the books, is it, Misther Claybank ?" Yes, -Tim, that's the question I asked you. Here are my ~books all bottom-side up. My pen ~s two inches deep in the ink, and I am certain that I left the inkstan& corked; for. the ink evaporates so, and. gets thick when it's exposed to. the air. Did you move my books?" "AV coorse I didn't, Misther Claybank. 1"- I LYNDE WEI$5. "That will do, Tim; you may go.. Who can it be, Lynde?" "Sure enough," said I. "Of course, Lynde, you wouldn't. annoy me in this way?" "ME, sir?" "No, it couldn't be you. Forgive me! But, really, this is too bad. There was a kind of powder on the pillow-case last night that kept me sneezing till two o'clock." "What could it have been ?" said I, demurely. "The Lord knows! There's a kind of snuff, I be~ lieve, which sometimes has that effect. And besides, now I think of it, do you use tobacco, Lynde ?" '1 "No, sir. "So I supposed. But there has been a strong smell of tobacco about the room to-day; and if there is a thing I do detest more than any ether, it is that nasty weed." Mi'. Olaybank's olfactories did not deceive him. Knowing his aversion to the weed, I. had bought a-. pound of fine-cut tobacco, and sprinkled it plentifully under the cloth that covered his table. He kept sniff- ing at intervals, with every sign of extreme irritability. "Don't you smell it, Lynde ?" lTThat, sir?" "Why, the nasty tobacco4~ "Yes, sir," said I, also sniffing, "I think I do smell something like tobacco. Mr. Claybank retired early that night, leaving the window a little way open. Not content with what ii had done, I now devised a new and more terrible an-. noyance. The little table at which I sat in Mr. Clay- bank's apartment was near the window. In one of the. lower ~panes & small liole~ had. been broken, which Mr~ Winter had been promising to repair, b~xt which he con- stantly forget in 'the thousand other cares of the house and school. The window was~ directly beneath a semi4~ circular window in the gable, and* in that also there page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] f 0 LYNDE WETSS. was a broken pane. The stove-funnel went through an aperture in the ceiling considerably larger thaii the funnel. When Mr. Claybank had fallen into a sound sleep, I cautiously opened my trunk and took out the " paper. of tobacco. I then left 'the room, and ascended the stairs to the attic. Taking a piece of board, I covered it with tobacco, and raised it to so sharp an angle of inclination, that a very' slight movement would be sufli- cient to send a portion of the tobacco 'down through the aperture in the ceiling directly upon the stove. I then tied a thread to the board, passed it out of the window in 'the gable, and, going to Mr. Claybank's room, I hauled it in. He had not 'been asleep more than an hour when he woke with. a violent colic. My organ of benevolence (phrenologically speaking)' was excited. I ran down stairs *for the peppermint, and had 'the pleasure to dis- cover that it gave him almost immediate relief. "You're a goodhoy, Lynde," said Mr. Claybank. I winced. "Yott were '~rather naughty, though, when you first came here, and I'm. sure there's no one who more sincerely rejoices 'to see the improvement in you than I. I feel as if I could go to sleep again now. Good night, Lynde." "Good night, Mr. Claybank." "A'n't you going to bed'?" "Yes, sir; I'm on my last lesson now. I blew out the light, and 'lengthening the string so that I could take it into bed with me, I was preparing to retire When Mr. Claybank startled me by saying, rather abruptly, "I say, Lynde, hadn't you better bury the fire in the stove with the ashes? It's' confounded hot here. Cover it up, Won't you, Lynde, there's a good boy ?" Certainly, sir.": I now got into bed, and cautiously pulled the string. I lay cjuietly for ~ moment, awaiting the result, when LY~TDIj~ WEI$$. 61 the poor usher begar~ a9 most vigorous and ira~ciJAe sniffing. "What is to' pay now? There must. be somebody among the boys that smokes. If There's any: thing I do 'hate, it's tob~,cco-sn~oke. And where on .e~rth' it comes from is the ,question. Lynde!" I did not answer. "how quick these little fellpws drop asleep! Nic~ little fellow, that Lynde! I'm afraid I'm rather. hard~ on him sometimes. H~ff! H~ff! (sniffing.'). Well,. I should desire to know-however, I mustn't get angry. Stephen! (addressing himself,) you've resolved to keepr your temper, you know, though it's provokingly KharcL sometimes~ But where ~1oes this nasty smell ~o~m;e from? Perhaps Mr. Winter is smoking his pipe. It's a terri- ble habit in anybody-in a ~lergymau especially. I'll. go down 'and see. Where in the woi~ld is my dressing~ gown? That stupid chambermaid eternally moves it out of the place where I invariably hang it." Mr. ~Jlaybank now went down stairs.. I got out of bed, and broke the string '.nea~'~ the window. I then'- blew the tobaeoo off the stove, 'and got into bed. "WeW if this ~'n't strange 1" said the usher, on his return. ~" The qu~er&st thing I ~ver he~r& of! I shall begin to think the, J~us~ is;haunted. Lynde4 Ilowi soundly. boys sleep! Lynd~!' isay, Lytid'e!. ~Fo~got all his troubles, that's cet'tdn. There's that' new ~oat~ of n~iiiie '11 be nicely perfiimed~ If' there'~ any 'thing I: do hate- .by-the-by! perhaps tl1~re'0 ~oxn~ tobacco about the stowe~ Maybe it's a quid on the hearth~: Tim left one the~'e l~st week. I'll see. No, there's n~ * tobacco about the stove. It beats all creation. I do believe I sha'n't 'get any sleep to-night." With a chapter of such incoherent mutterings, Mr. Claybank talked himself asleep, while I lay with the corner of the pillow-case stuffed into my mouth, to pre- vent myself from laughing outright. There was such an air of serious, martyr-like patience, together with a 6 j page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] LY~D~ W~I$S4 63. LYNDfl W1~iS8. puzzled expression, quite a~ comic, on the face of~ the poor usher, as he stood, candle in hand, trying to fathom the mystery, that I was delightfully relieved when I heard his fil'st) low snore. I had intended .to rise early in the morning, and r~- move all traces of the experiment. Unfortunately, however, I slept late. Margaret had occasion to visit the attic in her matutinal round of duties. She dis- covered the board, and the tobacco, and the string; and lookhig out at the window in the gable, saw it reaching precisely to the hole in my window. The truth flashed vividly upon her mind. The usher was informed of the discovery. About nine o'clock that morning I was summoned t~p Mr~ Winter's study, and politely requested to "pack up my things," As Tim ~ould be ready at half-past nine to drive me ~ Boylston. And thus ingloriously did I quit the academic shades of the 'AIIenVille Aca- demy. "Good-by, Lynde," said Barney Fogg. "Served you right! I always told' you so."* James Allen came to the sleigh and shook my hand. "Sorry you w~s~' found out, Lynde. lily Jove! but you- ought to have a monument. I shall be mighty Ii~some.' However, good-by, old fellow.~' Tim maintained ~citter silence for tue first mile' of the way~ and' then, as if 'the joke had" just' come fully into his' head, h~ bui~t into a horse4augh.' "Be jabers! Mi~ther Wush, av that's yer name, but that wur' the' hoith o' fun. "And wurn't he tearing , though ?" and agaifi Tii~ roared~ Wi'th .'laughter. 'I 1' CHAPTER X.,~ LYNDE REFORMS,-00E5 TO COLLEGE.--THE HANDKERCHIEF. WHEN I got home, my uncle Hugh talked with me very seriously about my dismissal from school, and gave me a great deal of good advice. "These are golden hours, Lynde, as you will see by~ and-by, though you may. not see it now. You are getting too old for these things, now; and I am sincerely sorry that this has occurred. The session is already over, and we are expecting your father home' every day. Now, my boy, pronii~e me to leave off the boyisl4 tricks, and be a mans" "That's a fine fellow! I'll try to e~p1airi matters to your father; and we'll get.you into Mr. Phillips's sch~5~l at Milton. Will you do me the favour to carry this note t~ Mr. Grayson ?" "Certainly, uncle, with pleasure;" and~ 1' left the room. I heard him, as I passed the windows of the sitting-room; roaring with laughter; and I shrewdly guessed the cause of it. ~y father ~rrived. the ~iext day. As I" expected, he lecturee" me with ~much severity,. and threatened me with a flogging 'if he should ever again hear~ of any similar pranks. I spent a day at Paul Warren's ;... aud in a day or two afterward, I was placed under. the care of Chester Phillips, A. M., in the pretty village of MU- ton. I remembered my promise to my uncle, and kept it. Dear, good Qld man!. how I loved, him! He was a man .of giant stature almost, but of admirable prow. portions. He was a benevolent, large-hearted ~old gen~ tleman, full~ of good-hwxmour, and possessing, with an inexhaustible fund of anecdotes, the very bigheei~ skill page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] 64 LYND~ WEI$~. and tact as a narrator. Simple he was as achuld; and we all loved him. He had the rare power of adapt- in g his manner to the tastes and humours of those with whom he associated. He was as dear to the light- hearted, gay, frol~cseme Lucy, as to her graver, and more thQughtfui sister. No one could so convulse, my father with long, loud, boisterous laughter; and while the housekeeper declared he was a "fusty old fellow," she would suffer nobody to take the charge of his room, or his wardrobe, except under ~her direct supervision. He had a way, too~, of teasing my aunt Caroline about some love-affairs of her younger days, that rendered him quite as much a favourite with her. I studied hard at Milton. I remained there two years; and not once did I receive a 'harsh word or 'an unkind look. With what pride did II 'give to my father Mr. Phillips's letter of warm commendation, 'in which he. announced that Ii was now prepared to present myself for examination, preparatory to entering college! I returned home in' time to spend 'my seventeenth birth- day. By invitation, Paul Warren, his wife and chil- dren, and the good clergyman, with Mrs. Grayson~ and Jessie, spent the day with us. I was now well-grown; perhaps somewhat overgrown for my age; and Mary Warren flattered me not a little by saying, "I'm proud of you,' Jaynde. You're getting to be a man, almost. ,Will you forget your mother Warren, when you comes back' from college a learned man "~Forget you, mother ?" exclaimed I~ (I do n6t know that ii had ever called her so' before,) "'No, not while I live.. You have 'been more than a mother to me, if that is possible; and may God bless you for all your kindi~ ness. She turned her head hastily away and walked to the window, as I spoke with more than my 'usuaL earnest- ness; and I saw her lift her.handkol~chief to her eyes. Jessie, for some' reason or other, seemed constrained and reserved.' What~could it ~~mean'?' I felt half vexed ~ for among 'the brightest of the visions of' h&ii~e,~ di~ring LYI~D~ WEISS. 65 my absence, was the long-wishedfor 'meeting with her. And now that I, had returned, not a little proud of the honours I had won at the academy, she was the only one whose face did not respond to the general emotion of pleasure. ' She hung~ her head, too; bashfully, almost; and I had always known her to be remarkably frank, easy, and self-possessed. I iwas. puzzled. More than that, I was annoyed. I assumed a dignified air; and when Mr. Grayson sand his lady left us, I suffered Jessie to go home without other attendance. FrQm being vexed with her, I now grew vexed with myself." I had never before suffered her to' go home from my~father's house without going with her. Then I tried to laugh at myself, and asked myself aloud, "What if she is vexed? What is Jessie' Grayson to you? Besides, didn't you see' her riding with Frank Gibson, yesterday? llumph I" I took my gun, and, calling Munch, who stood eyein~' me and wagging his tail during my brief soliloquy, strode away to the woods. I love the woods. Well saith Bryant, "To him who, in the love of nature, holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language." Even so. I spent the earliest years of my life in the woods. I have sought their still recesses in the h~ur of joy;' and the grim old oaks' and pines seemed to me to' be conscious of my ii~puJses.. Their leaves Seemed to rustle more gleefully in the breeze as I looked aloft through their giant branches. I have gone there in sadness; and in the quietness of the scene, Qnly. broken by the low wail of the wind 'through the tops of the waving pines, peace ~arjne to my troubled spirit.~ I have made me. a couch in the woods; of their evergreen boughs; and while I sank travel-worn, penniless, weary, and ahungered upon the rude bed, I felt a sense of shelter ~nd companionship.' I have gone there in the dark. hours of life; when the blackness of darkness 6* page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] 66 LYNbE WEISS. hung over my pathway, and affliction, bereavement, agony, despair almost, crushed my spirit to the dust; stealing away from' -"The throng, to haunts untrod, To hold communion there with God ;" and the calm of the forest fell upon me. I tro4 its aisles with uncovered head, in humble reverence. I was not alone. There was 'around me* a Presence, like that which passed before the face of the' patriarch,. "in thoughts from visions of the night ~" and the storm was hushed; the billows sunk to rest; the day-star of hope twinkled above the hills; and there dawned upon the tempest~strained spirit the light of peace. I did not shoot any thing that afternoon. It hap- pened, somehow, that I wandered in the direction of Mr. Grayson's, instead of~ returning directly home. Directly in the' rear of his house, and but a 'few rods distant, was a hill which was generally called "The Ledge." It extended nearly, or quite, a furlong along the eastern bank of the Bouquet, and from its summit you could see the entire village. As I emerged from the wood8, the gleam of a white dress caught my eye, and a few steps brought me in full view 'of the wearer. I was within a very few yards of her before she saw inc "How you frightened me, Lynde I" said Jessie, for it was she. She had' called me Mr. Weiss at home. "Please to cut me a branch of' this wild rose-bush." "With pleasure. Any serviOe that I render Miss Grayson"'-' "Lynde!" "Forgive me, Jessie! You were so distant at our 'house, that I was alrnost vexed with you. Mu IL for- gi~en, Jessie?" I 'added, 'taking her ~small,~ white band in mine. There was a tear glistening on her long, dark eyelashes-.' "Tell me I am forgiven, Jessie. 'I leave you to-~rnorroW, and I'~ don't know when I shall see you "again;' I can't' beat to be at odds with you, for. ever LYNDE WEISS. 07 since that terrible time on the ice, and all the time I have been away at school, there has been no day~-no, nor hour, that I haven't thought of"-. "Here she is now-the runaway I" exclaimed Mr. Grayson, as he came around a clump of pines, in full view of us. "Ali! J~ynde, my boy! you're just in time, (and so are ~,'ou, thought I;) come and .take tea with us." And, chatting good4iumouredly, he led the way to the house. The evening did not wear away a~ plea- santly as I had hoped. Mrs. Grayson; .1' thought, looked as if something oppressed her spirits. I thought, too, (it might have been an idle fancy,) that Mr. Gray- son's face seemed flushed, and it struck me that there was something very like harshness in some of his re- plies to Mrs. Grayson and her daughter. I took leave of them at an early hour. I had no op- portunity to speak with Jessie. I caught her eye as I bade them good~night, 'and there was an expression in it of mingled tenderness and uncertainty, and sadness, and-.J know not what'.-~that puzzled me for the time, and which I had occasion to recall after an interval of years. I did not then know-~-.hut I anticipate~. - I left Boyl~ton the next day for Clinton College. "Here's your handkerchief, Lynde," said my uncle 11ugh~ as I was 'about to mount the box of the stage- coach, to ride with the driver. "2U~~ handkerchief? I"- ~y un~cle~ gave me a wink, while his eye glistened with a mischievous twinkle. "~ You dropped it on the Ledge, I fancy, Lynde. At least"- "God bless you,. Uncle Hugh! I hope you may live a thousand years!" "'Good~hy~ Lynde. I shall expect a' good account of you." "All ready !" ~said the driver, with a "grand flourish" of the whip, and 'a 4' U'yup there, Bill V Leave town! make sail, now,: blast yer picters !" we. left ]~oylstQu. I page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] CHAPTER XI. VOILE I~AYS.-~--LThPE WSETH HIS REOKO1~?I1~G.-~-EARtY UISI~W.-~-- A WALJ~ WITH BARNEV roc*o. 'C9LLEo13~ days! How mighty a throng of pleasant memories rise up, waxing distinct and palpable, from the mistiness of years gone by, like the genii of the Arabian ights' Entertainments; summoned sturdily forth by the despotic spell of lamp, or ring, or incanta- tion, as' familiarly as Boots or the chambermaid. True, they are but words-skeletons-~--capabilities of life and reality; yet are they to the brotherhood of word-treasurers-genii of the realm of books-s-they, and the other slaves of the &zmp"-.-of a power most marvellous. I rubbed my eyes for some moments, on the morning 'after 'my arrival, ere I could get-.--to use a marine phrase-a1 good observation. 'I was sadly out of my reckoning. Where was I? A brief "tour of inspec- tion," in my night~costume, restored me to the full re- collection that I ~was in the .third story of the Anglo- Saxon Hotel. I had inquired of one of the passengers in the stage-coach, the day before, for the best hotel in Clinton; and he was pleased to say that hp had "put up" at both the United states and the Massasoit, and that "neither were. to be mendotied. on the same day with the Anglo-Saxon." Accordingly, with 'none of tIle din of hackuien-" Hack,.sir?" "Go to the United States ?" "Massasoit, sir 7" "Take your valise 7' 'which you may ~oW hear at the Clinton 'dep&t some five or six times a day, I was quietly set down at the Anglo-Saxon. "Enter your name, sir ?" asked the clerk, very po- litely; and he turned the register round and .offered m~ 68 68 .LY~WE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. E~9 the pen.. 'The first flame that met my eye was that of an old acquaintance: "Barney Fogg, Boylston. No. 88, T." So, Barney is going toKenter college, thought I. lie had been talking about preparing tq~ ~enter~ the sophQ- more class, and when I left' home it 'was under the im.- pressioii that he would remain another year with Mr. Winter. Having ascertained, to my entire satisfaetio ~i, where I was, I proceeded to dress. This, I have sin ~e ~arn- ed, was a very improper step. Nothing 'so lowers: you in the estimation of the chamber-maids and porters as to rise before ~six o'clock when days are at the longest. The Brummel-like coloured-boy; who had taken off'his cap to me the night 'before,/barely tonebed it with hi~ forefinger as he answered my ring. "Waiter !" "Bring me my~boots, if you please." "Ji)~y isn't black yet, so airly in de rnawnin' !" "Well, I want them. Will that eiiable you (I handed him a shilling) to bring them here in five minutes ?" "Sartin, sah !" A. door opened on the opposite side of the Passage. "Waiter!" "Come here!" I was a little vexed 'to see the boy, negro4ike; at- tending ~first to the last-received commission, and I went to the door to remonstrate. I was on the point of opening a somewhat formidable battery 'on. the un~- known occupant' of the neighbouring'room, when, ~muoh rn the same way that the wind ~takes away. y~ur keath in turning a cornerr, Iwas stopped short in'my~'helli~e- rent operationss by the '8hrill,~ wiry 'tones of~ barney Fogg. "Hello, Lynde! you don't saiy so! Is this you ?" "'I' believe it is," said 1, a~ little tartly~ "'Well, so 'it' appears, Lynde. When d'you come 69 page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 LYNDE WEISS. down? . I've been here a week. Lord!. such a time as I've had. You didn't expect to see me here, eh? I changed my mind. Talked 'it all over with the old man, (his father,) and concluded to enter this session. You were at Milton when I was at home. Would ~iave written to you, but you didn't answer my last' three letters. Took it rather unkind of you. Not exactly neighborly, oh? Had a fine time at home. What a splendid girl Jessie Grayson's got to be. Waiter! you nee~i't wait. I want to have a little talk with my friend Weiss. Speaking of Jessie"- "I believe I must ask you. to excuse. me, Barney. I am going 'out. I have"-' "Wal, I'll go with you, in half a minute. Do you know Frank Gibson has taken a great shine to Jessie? Fact. Rode out 'with her twice while 'I was at . home. "I'm in a hurry, Barney, and"- "Well, I'm all, ready 'but this plague boot. There! that's on, I Now I'm ~ready." We.(for I couldn't get rid of Barney) walked for an hour about the streets of Clinton. We went to the college-buildings..' There was, here and there, an open window, with the head of some inatutinal student just visible.' With what awe did 1 gage on the walls of the edifice-the features of ~my future Alma Mater. To my inexperienced eye they were not very promising- a plain physiognomy, whose hard brickba1~d~mortar ex- pression would puzzle wiser disciples of Lavater th~rn I. The' very trees that stood, sentry-like1 in front of it, had somehow a presence that the sacred groves are said tG' have luid for the half~religious Greek. There was something awe-inspiring in the very stillness that reigned' around. A pale, emaciated student passed. us witho huge 'book under his arm. He was apparently unconscious; of our presence, and, as if a spirit had passed~before my face, I stood in silent, solemn, spirit absorbing awe.'. The plain unornamented walls-the tin~cover~d dome-the vacant hails-the weird4iko LYI~DE WEISS. 71 stillness-the sPectre-like forms that, vals, appeared and v~riished'! Even friend Barney Fo~g Was impressed. asked, with Ferdinand, at 'short int~r. my unpoetical I could have "May Ibe bold To think these spirit~ ?" "D'you spose we'll ever get through ?" said Barney, in a wJ~isper, as we left the buildings. It was about ten o'clock that 'morning 'that I f6und myself, with' Barney, James Allen, and two or 'three other candidates for admission, in the study of Pro- fessor G-.--.. I had gone there with fear and trem~ hung. Had it been the' DeIphic Oraele I' could not have gone there to ask a revelation of the future, with more pulse~arresting terror; and, to all appearance, my companions were scarcely more at~.ease. The examine~, tion began, and the first glance and tone of the kincb hearted, simple professor' banished my fears. I drew a long breath in sensible relief. A few questions ~to our preparatory course'of study, and we' were informed that our examination was over, and that we~ Were ad* mitted as students of Clinton College. In my' search for a room, I found. that nearly every one in the' college~buildings was occupied. To have one alone' was, therefore, out ol~ the question, and to "room" out of college was not to be thought of There 'was 'but one resource. Barney 'Fogg and' r bec~iue. daums perforce. ' ' Never were chums more unfortunately mated. lie sat up' until "the short, srnall' hours.'7 'I h~d always been accustomed to rise early; at day-break in 5uinnier~ (and,' oh! how did I detest the shrill voice of. the housekeeper; that rang;' aS loud and shrill' as the Iag~ pipes, and as sharp as a trombone; to rouse~me withal from the deep, dr&wsy, .lid~oppressing, but - delicious Bleep of the summer mornings,) and seldom later thai four in the winter. I often rose, indeed,' ~s' :did' niy father; 'as early as one o'clock. The. bitt. in th~ cellii~' * page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 LYND~I WE~SS~~ were stored with delicious i~ppks; and eider was to, be had ~for~ the drawing. The pantry was unlocked, and stored with country ~abundance of excellent food. A huge fire was speedily made, and then IL whih~d away the hours with Robinson Ciusoe, (little dreaming that I should ever see his island,) IEsop's Fables, and what- ever other literary treasures I could command. Some- tiu~es :1 went to the forg~, wherein the huge. fiyes; like those of~ the ~tnean proficients in smitheraft, burned ~ight at~d day. Huge forms; genii of the place, passed to ~and fro~.~-n~w, in dusky shadow-now coming, with their soot-coyered faces, into the glare of the fires, and throwing 1avishly~the dusty coal and finely-pounded ore into their blazing m~w4 Loudly roared the fires. Fiercely clattered the restless '~ ore-stampers ;" and when, hissing and sparkling, the huge mass of iron was pried from its bed, and swung by the ponderous .cranq to the ha~irnner, the grim., fire-kings would permit me to "'tend the gate." lEre the day dawned, breakfast was smoking on the table; the horses had been fed, and the lumbermen were, away, gliding briskly over. tho creak- it~g snow towards ~the woods.~ Such waro the. hours I kept~ and Use doth breed a habit ill a man. As the rn9rning was my favourite time for study, I begat~ the~teri~, by retiring early. , As the night waned, Barney would fill the little stove with wood, and, then, as ha. became absorb~d. in. the cultivation of, Greek roots~ (I used to wish hj~n at the root~ of YQsuyius,) the, ~r~om, whi& was some ten feet by twelve, would b~ome ~ts )iot a~ Ne~u~ha4ne~izar's furnacelL. From th&d~pths of sgme ho'rid dream ~f a past judgnwnt, and: of. iny~. ~fire-and~brimstone dpom, wQuld I awal~e, dr&~Wh~d wi~h r~p~r~tio", and gaapipg1 fq~ air.' When ~iy ~eyes~ ~b~atne si~0lciently ac.eustpm~d,~o, the light to enabh~ ma to sag, ~ny thing, the ~flic~ring tallow~candlo in. its ti~ '~' stand,", the roaring, re&hot ~stove~ and the 1~YNDE WEI$S. '73 other familiar furniture, convinced m~ that my manes were yet this side Tartarus, and that the sha~p, my imagination had magnified into the giant statue of Auld Sootie himself; was verily no other than Bar~ ney Fogg, "present, in the flesh," though absent in spirit among the more intricate than Cretan windings of the Greek verbs. Remonstrance was in vain. Not Atlas nor an angry mule so "set" as was Barney; and I bore the horrors of the night in no very pious frame of resignation. We quarrelled, remembered that 'we. were townsmen, and compromised. CHAPTER XII; LYNDE 'ASKETH FOR AN EXPLANATION OF CONIC SECTIONS.-GETS 1T.-MAKETH THE ACQUAINTANCE OF OLD BURTON AND SIR THOMAS BROWN.-.THE WARNING. I STUDIJIID hard the first year. As I advanced, I found my mathematical studies growing difficult and irksome. Our professor of mathematics was reputed a profound scholar-~justly so, I have no doubt. lie had not, however, (meipso judice,) the art of explaining well. I went to him one day for assistance, lie took the book, (Calculus, or Conic Sections,) and looking for a moment at the page, began straitway a harangue. of some ten~ minutes' duration, in which a tornado of technicalities poured restlessly forth for. my admiring ears. Choctaw, Patagonian, Nukahivan, i~eejee, hea., then Greek was it all to me~ "You understand it all now, don't you, Weiss ?" "Not quite, sir!" "Huzuph!." lie began again. Shades of the patriarchs a~d prophets! what a second Nile-like overflow! "Now you see it, don't you,, Weiss ?." 7 page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] ~T4. LYNDE WEISS. "Yes, sir, perfectly," said I, and left the recitation- room ii~ utter fog, mystification, confusion, irritation- disgust. I grew heedless. I was reprimanded. "Weiss, haven't you got this lesson ?" was the re- gular query, and "No, sir," was quite as uniformly the reply. "What's an ellipse ?" said he, one day, after pro- pounding several' other questions. "An ellipse, sir?" "Yes, ~in ellipse."' "Why, sir," I replied, scarcely thinking what I said, the most important feature, appears to me that it is very much like a goose-egg; and that whereas circles have but one centre, ellipses have two !" A roar of laughter was the reward of my effQrt at mathematical definition. 'In the classics I was more successful. Ii thought Livy a bi~re, but I was delighted with Horace; and, when we. began the Greek drama, a new world was opened to~ me, on the accessible treasures of which I looked much as I fancy Ali Baba must have gazed upon the 'up-piled treasures of the Forty Thieves. With all my study, however, James Allen and Barney Fogg distanced me-the one by his genius, (he was a fine classical scholar,) the other by his indomitable habits of study. I was less studious than either. I began to write verses, and to send them, under ficti- tious signatures, to the newspapers. I was fond of correspondence, and wrote a great many letters. Be- sides, aS at the academy, I studied hard, or not at all, as the humour 'seized me. I roved over the hills and through the woods. I ransavked the college-library for the oldest 'and mustiest books. ' Old Burton and Sir Thomas Brown's Vulgar Errors were prime favour- ites. r waxed humorous in my' style, and the smile which my productions provoked, repaid me for the lowering looks of the conclave of the powers-the college council. LYND2E WEISS. At the beginning of th~ winter-vacation I went home. Much to my surprise, the committee of a neighboring school-district offered me the post of teacher in their school, and without so much as a visit to Paul Warren's, or an hour's chat with Jessie, I hur~ ned away. After. a most critical examination, in which I was questioned in the occult mysteries of Daboll and J~indley Murray, from the number and sounds of the letters to the grammatical arcana of Thomson's Seasons, and.~ the equally profound secrets of* cube roots and the rule of three, I received a certificate, which assured all whom it might concern, that Mr. Lynde Weiss had been duly examined, according to the statute in such cases 'made and.provided, and was, in the opinion of the committee, qualified to teach the school in District No. '- for the space of one year. They were excellent people, those plain moun- taineers, and I was happy among them. All called me "Master," without any intention of violating the injunction of the New Testament. I had pupils much larger and older than myself. I was consulted on all knotty questions in law, politics, the sciences, religion, and my decision was much of' the same weight with them as was the reply of Counseller 5-., who used to say to the presiding judge, when he quoted the .Aicta of his predecessor, "I am older, sir, than that decision. A bitterly cold winter was that. But there were roaring fires-merry hearts and good cheer-moonlight sleigh-rides, and witchery more potent and dangerous than the very innocent bells were chargeable withal. I returned to college. Months rolled away, and I was weilnigh through the sophomore year. The cue- tomary. "exhibition" came on. I Wrote my oration with care. I remember but little about it save that there were some very crude notions in it on the subject of eloquence. It bad (as did all my productions) a spice of humour, and was very tolerably written. The 'day came, With trembling knees and a quiver- page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 LYNDE WEI~5. ing voice I ascended the platform. The chapel (for in the chapel was the exhibition) was thronged. As. I begaii' my oration it~ low and trembling accents, I hap.. pened to look towards the throng of faces near the door, and caught the glance of Jessie Grayson. Away went all timidity ; and with a flashing eye, 'my head erect, my heart swelling and throbbing with an excite- nierit, that would have made "a forlorn hope" the post I could most covet, I went through the allotted task. There were hearty congratulations for me on all hands, and I now trod the streets with a prouder step. I be- gan to comprehend the tendency and the natural results of study. I grew ambitious. I began to pay particular attention' to the study of rhetoric-Jamieson being favourite author. I took unwearied pains in writing, using as few words as possible of Greek or Latin derivation, and substituting, whenever it was practicalAe, the simple Saxon English.* At the close of my second year, I went home to spend. the vacation, lit was late at night wheil I ar- rived. Munch soon exchanged 'his furious bark or the most extravagant caresses. The family, with the ex- ception of my uncle Hugh, had retired. The uproar which Munch atA the. stage-coach contrived to make in concert, brought him to the door. The same heartiness which had always distinguished him, gave tenfold value to his greeting. "Welcome home, Lynde 1" said he. "I am glad you happened to be' lat& in your arrival, for I have much to say to you." "How are you all ?" "Well; as are Jessie and the Warrens I have something to say to you," said he, wheri~ we were seated, "about your father and his affairs. "Nothing wrong about him ?" "We shall see. - In the first place, what I say is ~for * The reader will find an eloquent tribute to the Anglo-Saxon in I~ir. Coit's preface to his Arra~ge1nent of the Bible. LYNDE WEISS. 7T your ear alone. Your father is seriously embarrassed, and I grieve to say that I am somewhat at fault in the matter. I urged him, about a year ago, to extend his business~ lie has. done so. Now, in any ordinary times, he could soon pay' every dollar to his creditors without difficulty. The times, however, are unusually hard, andunless Messrs. Buckley & North are indulgent, Ido not see how lie can Possibly escape bankruptcy. This, however, if it occur at all, will' not happen sooner than spring, perhaps not until midsummer. Now, say nothing to any one 'of what I have told y9u. More.-! do not think of it, except as an inducement toimprove every. hour in faithful study. *Try to accustom your.. self, too, to the thought of self-dependence. If we can avert the blow, well and good. If not, you would be unwilling to burden your father, and-It is well to be thinking of some resource for your support. I need not caution you, I am. sure, to have a care that you do not involve others in your own difficulties. And now, good-night. IBe cheerful, for your father is not in the best of' spirits. Good-night." "Good-night, uncle." It was long ere I slept. I tried to picture to myself the probable results of such a misfortune. How would my father bear the blow? and my aunt and sisters? My father was ~sure of a competence for his family. My brother could make his way in the world, and such a woman as Ann West would never come to want. What should I do ? What should I say to Jessie Grayson? These, and a thousand similar thoughts, kept me awake until nearly daybreak. When we met at breakfast, however, I believe I was successful in the attempt to appear cheerful and uncon~ cerned. I resolved that I would see as little of Jessie as possible. So far as I knew, the attentions of Frank Gibson were not unwelcome. If they were not, and if he were a favoured suitor, I should thus 'spare myself and her the pain of a rejection; while, (and "my heart leaped at the thought,) if she loved me, the year that was, 7* page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 'T8 LYNDE WEISS. probably, to decide my father's fate, would not place me ma less favourable position. To carry out my in~ mentions, .therefore,'I went, that very day, to see my foster-parents. I passed three days with them. Charles had grdwn to a fine manly-looking fellow. Paul was scarcely less changed. BAith had grown, too, almost out of my remembrance. Mary, whom I remembered as plain, and almost homely, bad become one of the loveliest girls in Boylston. I could now trace in her a very strong likeness to the mother. There was a love- liness' about the mother which is seldom seen, and as seldom mentioned, because it exerts a power which is difficult tQ be analyzed. It was the loveliness of pro. portion-karmony'in moral and physical character. She had a fine head, to look upon which gave you a sensation of indescribable pleasure; and the luxuriant braids of her golden hair-her exquisite proportions- her fine,* eloquent blue eyes-and, above all, her smile, which was the light of Paul Warren's home, made her one of the liveliestt women ii have ever seen. Joined to such qualities, conceive the patience, self-sacrifice, affection which characterize the sex, and you will not wonder, worthy reader, that I loved her. Mary had, as I have said, grown into a strong re- semblance to her mother. The younger sisters were yet small, though they, also, had' changed very much. On my return home I found Captain Gayger with my father, in the office. He' was standing, hat in Ja&nd, a1s if ready for his departure. "Where are you bound, Captain Gayger ?" I asked6 "To Whitehall." "Would you like to have a passenger ?" "Yourself?" "Yes." With pleasure; but you must be aboard in an hour:' "Yery good." And. he left the. office. In an liQur I had every LYNDE WEISS6 79 thing in z'eadiness. I put Dash to his 8peed, and was just in time to get oA board6 "Cast off that bow-fast !" shouted the skipper, and, keeping fast~ the stern4ine, he cast "The Empress" to starboard. . In five minutes tnore we were under way with a fine breeze on our larboard quarter. My heart smote me, ae .we lust sight; of the landing, that I had been so precipitate. I had. not seen Jessie at all. What would she think of me ~ Had I not used iher ill? I was thinking about asking Captain Gayger to set me ashore, when he came up to me, and, . with* a slap on my shoulder which was none of the gentlest, said, "Belay all that studying' , (thinking,) Jiynde! I'll put you on a triangle, and set you to scraping' the masts. Cheer up; jnan! Never get into the doldrun~s unless you're becalmed." And. he began, in tones that waked the echoes along the wood-covered banks of the Bouquet, j' The Bay of Biscay." "As she lay, On that day, In the Bay of Bisoay 0!" roared his crew; and, not to burden them with my own difficulties, I joined them in the chorus. With a fine breeze from the north-west we soon reached the lake, and, running well out to give the bar a berth, we bQre away towards our port of destination. We had a Long passage. What with calms, and some difficulty about our freight, ten days had elapsed ere we arrived *at ]3oylston. On the evening of my return there was a large party assembled at Mr. Gibson's, and among the guests were the Graysons. Frank' Gtbson was most pointed in his attentions to Jessie, and it so happened that I saw but little of her6 The next day my father requested me to go to a neighbourin~ county to ar- range some matters of~ bt~siness, I was absent several 4' page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 81 days, and when I returned, there were but four days of the vacation at my disposal. I could defer it no longer. I must and would see Jessie, I said to myself, be the consecjuences what they might. I called at Mrs. Grayson's in the evening, and, much to my surprise, Jessie was absent. To my in- quiries Mrs. Grayson replied-amd somewhat coolly, I thought-that she had gone to a neighboring village, and would be absen1~ several days... I left them at an early hour. With a heavy heart did I return home. Parrying, as well as I could, the remarks about my evident de- pression, I spent three of the remaining holidays in hunting and fishing. On the fourth I took my gun, as usual, and, calling Munch, I set out for the moun- tains.* I met with little success. Going by Paul War- ren' s on my return, I bade them good-by. It was near sunset when I reai~hed home, and, as I entered the house, the first object that caught my eye was Jessie Grayson, seated in my father's arm-chair. Never had she appeared so lovely. I shook hands with her, and muttered some incoherent, blundering apology for having been so unneighbourly. I know not what I said, and she seemed as much embarrassed as myself. She took leave of my sisters at an ~'arly hour,.~ and I accompanied her home. It. was ~a beautiful evening in the latter part of August. The river was glistening in the moonlight, and t~ie tall old elms along its banks threw their huge shadows upon the road. We said little on the way; * but when we reached, the little wicket, beneath a huge elm that overshadowed the parsonage, I pointed to the river, the surface of which was broken into countless glistening ripples by. the cool west wind, and we stop- * ped. The scene recalled many a pleasant'recollection of my boyhood, and we spoke of the past. "Jessie I" said 1, at length, and I took her hand in mine. It was withdrawn, and she made no reply. V "Jessie !" said I, again, "you have thought hardly of me. You"- "It is late, Mr. Weiss. I must bid you good-night--. a good-by, indeed, as you tell me you are going away in the morning. I wish you "Jessie, hear me! If you knew all-if you, knew "Hu~h! There's some one coming." "Good evening, Miss Grayson," said the flew-comer~ "Hello, Lynde! how are you, old fellow? Thought it was Frank. Fine evening, Miss Grayson." "Very, sir." "Evenings alwa$18 fine this time o' year. Going back to-mQrrow, laynde? Of course you will, though., Coach goes at four. You'll have to be up an' doin', bright an' early. No names booked but ours. Have all the inside to ourselves. How's all the folks, Miss Grayson ?" "Quite well, I'm obliged to you." "Glad to hear it. Heard your mother was poorly. Just left Frank. Says he'll have the buggy and bays a your door in the morning, for the promised drive to High Bridge. By Jove! it~s eleven o'clock! Going home, Lynde? I've something to say to you." And thus was I obliged to say a simple good~night, ~ed off by the button by-Mr. Barney Yogg! The "something to say" was a request from Frank Gibson that I would write some verses for him, as he wished to give them .to Jessie Grayson! I 80 LYNDE WEISS. ~Y~UiE WEISS. 80 page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 LYNDE WEISS.. LYNDE WEISS. 83 CHAPTER XIII. LY~DE IS IN LOYE-"AND TROUBLE.-THE JOURNEY.-LYNDE SEEK~ ETH .EMPLOYMENT.~HIS PURSE IN TIlE LAST ~STAGES OF DECLINE AND FALL.. I RETURNED to college. The journey was not parti~ cularly agreeable, for I was suffering with headache and Barney Fogg all the way. I recommended my studies; but ever, as I opened a book, there came the features of Jessie IGrayson. 'Her voice, too, rang in my ears-not in the gentle, musical tones of other days, but in the cold sounds of our parting: "It is late, Mr. Weiss." Most. truly could I say, "Thou ~ hast metamorphosed me; - Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, War with good counsel, set the world at naught; Made wit with musing weak; heart, sick with thought." Months passed. The customary exhibition of the junior class, was drawing' near, and I had already written my oration, when. I received the following let- ter from my uncle :- "BOYLSTON, July 9th, 18-~--. "My DEAR liNDE :-It .is as I feared. Messrs. Buckley & North have foreclosed the mortgage. Your father has lost heavily on the last shipment of lumber, and there' is no longer any hope. Bear it, my dear Lynde, as well as you can. I know not what to advise you. Come home, and we will see what can be done. "Your affectiQnate uncle, HUGH WEISS." I time was always impulsive. Without giving myself for thought-stifling every suggestion of the pro. bable consequences of the *step-l sold books, furni~ ture, a part of my wardrobe even, and, at sunset, I was ready for my. departure. The president very kindly gave me a letter of introduction to a friend of his in Washington, and at nine o'clock that evening I was on my way to the South. It was late the next morning when I reached White-. hall. I followed the throng of passengers, and jumped upon the deck of the nearest packet. As the horses started, the rain began to fall in that regular drizzle that promises a long periodiof rainy weather. I went below. Such a throng of passengers! Now that they had all left the deck, and collected in the cabin, there was scarcely room to contain them. The windows were closed to keep out the rains The lamps were lighted, and they filled the cabin with the senseintoxicating odour of fish~oil. The atmosphere became almost in~ supportable. Some of the passengers were smoking. Some of the ladies were sea~sick. The helmsman was cursing, on deck, about some shortcomings of the driver; and some of the passengers were grumbling at "the miserable tub of a packet." Oh! the miseries of that long night!~ Unable to endure the oppressive air of the unventilated cabin, I went on deck, and seating myself on the baggage, I sat, drenched with rain, chilled, uncomfortable to the last degree, and heeding, at short intervals, the helmsman's gruff wartilng of, "Heads! Bridge !" I awaited the dawn. I thought it would never come. It came, however, and it heralded & brighter day. We reached Troy at nightfall. As the day dawned on the following morning., I reached New York. I slept until late. ; and when I entered Broadway the living tide was upon its pave-K ments. Oh ! what a sensation of loneliness and ,soli' tude did I feel in the midst &f that mighty throng~! ~{ever have I felt so strongly the utter insignificance of a single human heart, as I did on th~t' memorable. morning. On, on, restlessly poured the human tide; page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. 85 and. the eye sought in vain for the kindly glance of friend, kindred, or acquaintance. It is undeniable that fhere is far less hearty social feeling in the city tfian in the country. The stern necessity which sits glaring upon the thousands of congregated poor-the grim skeleton of Want, that makes one at the poor man's feast~-the struggle for bread, for bfe,-these freeze the better sympathies, just as they are blunted and de- stroyed in the open boat, leagues away at sea, where hunger absorbs all other sensations. Pray to Heaven, good reader, that you may never meet want in a city. As I was going down the Delaware, I met, on board the steamer, a gentleman whom I remembered as an old friend of my father's. In our conversation he mentioned that he was going to Washington. The in- cident decided my course, and I travelled in company. with him. It was late in, the evening, owing to a detention of the cars, when I reached Washington. We were not long in finding quarters at Mrs. Van C-'s, on street. The next morning I called upon the gentleman to whom my letter was addressed, (a lawyer, and for- merly a classmate of the president of Clinton College,) and having presented it, made some inquiries about the chances for employment. "You have not selected the best place in the world," said ,the~. lawyer, in a kindly tone,. removing his specta- cles, and holding Vhem in his hand; "there are a great many hungry mouths to feed in a city, and the capital abounds. in them. There is a. school 'at Bladensburg now vacant, and perhaps you can find employment there." a' letter from him to the trustees, I walked to Bladensburg-to be disappointed. Unaccustomed to walking, I was sadly exhausted when I returned to the city, and retired supperless to bed. Mr. K-, my considerate and gentleman-like fellow-traveller, came to my chamber to learn whether ]i~ were sick. I very frankly told him of my 'plans-.--the history of my some- I what Quixotic journey-the horrors of a purse in ex- tremis-and the failure, thus far, of my efforts to fijid employment. With a kindness which I can never. for- get, he at once began to make inquiries in my behalf. Alas! he, too, met with no success. What should I do? There were others at Mrs. Van C-.-'s looking for employment. One was ~an applicant for an ap- pointment in the army. Another was in search of' a clerkship in one of the departments. A third was 'in search of another office. But they were not' penniless. They had friends to aid them. To my inexperienced eye there seemed no possible avenue ~f escape. 1 thought .of the West. Could I not "work" my way thither? As a drowning man clutches a straw, so did I at the thought of the mo- ment. I had money' enough to discharge my. obliga- tions to Mrs. Van C-; and, packing a portion of my wardrobe (now somewhat scanty) in a small bundle, I turned my steps westward. Crossing the Potomac a little above Georgetown, I walked several miles-I know not how far-on the Virginia. side, until fatigue compelled me to stop. I sat down on a log by the wayside, and again pondered upon what~ was to be done. If I could not endure the labour of walking, could I hope for employment as a labourer? I re- traced my steps to the city. Mr. K-.---- had met with better success in' his second effort. An advertise- ment in "The Intelligencer" led him to make applica- tion at the Columbian Academy,' on Ninth street. The next morning I was duly installed as second usher of the school, at a salary of one hundred and fifty dollars per annum. The building was large, and painted white. It had green shutters, and was surrounded by small shade- trees. It was neatly fenced, too, and, together with the other buildings, (the classical department, lodging- room, and recitation-rooms,) presented a very neat and pretty appearance. The walks were nicely gravelled, 8 *1 page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 LYNDE .4,WEISS. and the shrubbery and flowers made the place far more atjractive than is usual in the grounds of a. school. It may be readily supposed that I looked somewhat eagerly at my new employer. He was truly a remark- able man. His head was already white as snow, yet there was a military erectness, activity, and vigour, oftener belonging to thirty-five than to~ sixty. He was dressed, too, in a blue coat of military cut; and his white hair was brushed erectly, giving him a somewhat stern expression. This, however, was contradicted by the kindly glance of a gray eye and one of the plea- santest of smiles. The academy was ~divided by a half partition, sepa- rating, but not concealing from each other, the pupils of different ~sexes. Midway on the west side, between two doors,. (one for the girls, and the other. for the boys,) was the principal's own desk, to which he ascended by a number of steps. In front of this, and lower, was the desk of the principal usher, and, in front &f that, a chair, around which~ the classes came in succession. On each side of these desks were several rows of forms, capable of seating abou1~ two hundred pupils. In the rear were the recitation-rooms, which were provided with black-boards, and the lodg- ing-rooms. * I had not obtained a sinecure. A furious ringing of the bell at daybreak summoned me to my toil. Full of. life and ambition, the pupils came. thronging in. I assisted in hearing the morning tasks until seven o'clock. We then breakfasted. At eight we recoin- xrnrnced our labours. At twelve we dined. At one we again entered the school, and remained there until about five in the afternoon. In addition to all this, I. had copies to* write, and from fifty to one hundred pens to make, daily,. besides aiding my employer in making out bills. He was the mo~t industrious man I ever knew. his ~choo1 was a model of order, neatness, and regularity.. not a man of extensive in Although acquirements ~YNDI~ WRISS. 8T those branches which he professed to. teach, the Church of Rome could prefer no stronger claims to infallibility. It put him in a passion to call his dicta in question. He maintained, on . all occasions, that his school wa& the best in the Union, and the inference was irresisti..~ ble, (and I have sometimes thought, correct,) that he was the best teacher. He was so, undoubtedly, in very many respects. He had-as had his puplls-..-.the genu- ine esprit de corps. He was active, vigilant, indefati- gable. He had served in the army, and his school, like his dress, had a military cast. He was proud of his profession, and that pride was the fnoving-principle of his life. It gave tone to every word, and look, and action. It never slumbered. Of course he was suc- cessful. He built no less than three academies in Washington, the grounds of which, through his indus try and. taste, are now among the ornaments of the city. This professional pride, by-the-by, greater or less extent, in all m&n. It is. found, to a seen in the undue estimate which a man puts upon his own pro- perty, simply because it is his. He has-.-so you be- lieve him on his own ~howing~the best wife, house, horses, lands, dogs, in the world, though, before they came into his own possession, they were of little worth. his country is the greatest of countries; his residence the model of residences. Though. his domicile be stir- rounded with swamps, whose malaria is death to the stranger, he thinks his home the very temple of health. us boys are geniuses; his girls beauties. You shall hear the first, if you chance to visit him, recite "My voice is still for war I" while the last, miracles of one quarter, s spiritual fructification, hall, for your "Pluck the eyes of Sentiment, And dock the tail of Rhyme; And crack the voice of Melody, And break the legs of Time." page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. If he be a farmer, his Durham is. the greatest of Durhams; if a musician, Paganini himself had not such a violin. Has he a son? Vicious as all the world may think him, he is removed from school to escape the contamination of bad comp~my. .The Boston Mutual Admiration Society was, after all; the exponent of a great fact. I am digressing. To return to my employer. lie had rne fault-"thi fault of hi~ day-that of oc- casional severity. Bnt, on the other hand, he was im- partial, just, honest, patient, faithful, prompt, generous. He was one of the United Irishmen, and came to America in 1808, if I remember well. If the citizens of Washington ever build~ any local monuments, let the first be erected to JOHN McJ~EoD. Irksome as was the toil of the school-room at first, I became accustomed to it, and loved it. As there was no school on Saturdays, I had 9pportunities to visit the capitol, and to see the lions of the three cities. I was far, however, from being contented. I was de- sirous to return to college and graduate, and the salary I was then receiving would not allow me to think of doing so sooner than three or four years. Accordingly I inserted an advertisement in "The National Intelli- gencer," as follows :-. "TEACHER'S NOTICE.-.-A young man from Clinton College, who has spent three years in that institution, wishes to procure a situation as a teacher. Refer to the lion. Messrs. A.- and 11-, of the House of Representatives." The advertisement was so far successful as to obtain me, through the kind, offices of my friends, a small school in the country, at a salary of four hundred dol- lars. I bought the necessary books, and recommended my studies. Too eager, however, to be prudent, I rose before day and studied late at. night. The very natural consequence was ill health, and I left my school and went home. It was a little after nightfall when I reached tny native village. I had left my trunk at the little village some four miles distant, where the steamboat touched, and travelled to 2Boylston on foot. Leaving the road, as I entered the village, I walked along the Ledge until I was opposite Allan Grftyson'5, and, without any definite purpose, descended and passed the house. On a rude bench beneath the patriarchal elm, that threw its long branches over the house, I thought I could dis- tinguish a human form. I approached, and there, with her head leaning, as in* sadness or ~weariness, on her hand, sat Jessie Grayson. "Jessie !" said I, in a low tone. "Dear Lynde! is it you? When did you come ?" "I have just arrived here, and if you knew how glad-Jessie! dear Jessie! i~ love you! I have loved you for years. Will you be mine ?" "Lynde! hear me. Had you, a year ago; said to me what you have now uttered, I could have made but one reply, and the sooner because mi~fortune had fallen upon you and yours. Events have occurred, hQwever, during your absence, (I know not whether you have heard of them,) which leave me but one reply-I can- not be yours, and we must not meet again I" "But"-.- "Do not try to change my decision. It is unalter- able. Farewell'! and may God bless you !" Before II could reply, she had left me and entered the house. I stood for a mQment benumbed--paralyzed by the crushing sense of misery that followed her part- ing words, and then, with frantic speed, I retraced my steps to the Ledge, and entered the woods. I plunged through its recesses in a delirium of excitement, taking no heed of the direction, ~and at length, exhausted by my furious speed, sank upon the ground at the fo6t of an enormous pine. I recalled ~he scene, beneath the elm. Could I go 8* page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 LYNDIjI WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. 91 home? No. What object had life for me now? None. How should I best find an oblivion for the past? The wide world was before me. "I will go," said I, aloud, and I rose and went on- ward.'. I was near the lake. CHAPTER XIV. THE DEPARTURE.AN UNEXPECTED MEETINO.-MR. LYNDE WEISS ARRIVES IN ALBANY. APPROACHING the shore of the lake, I followed it along at a rapid pace. The lights of the steamer were already visible, and I l~pd barely time to reach the wharf at Allenville. when she arrived. She came swiftly along until she was within a few hundred yards of the wharf, when, at a tap of the bell, her wheels stopped. With her headway sensibly checked, she rounded to quietly and gracefully, -~~hile her pretty yawl shot from beii~ath her quarter, and came rapidly to the shore. As ~he left the wharf, a band on board struck up the familiar air of "A Life on the Qcean Wave," and, as the notes swelled out upon the stillness of the night, they gave a new direction to my thoughts. Yes, thought I, as. we left the wharf, the sea is the home for me now. 'The hissing of the steam now ceased. The boat was run up, as if by magic, and the beautiful steamer glided away to the air of "What fairy4ike music Steals over the sea." V The' u~sic, 4he throng of passengers, and the excite~ tn~nt :of 4~e new scene, restored me to something like quiet, and ;i~iy heart smote me for having thus abruptly turned toy badi upon kindred,. iend~, and home. 90 91 I stifled reflection, however. Like Young Rapid, I was always restless-always disposed to "keep moving," for the motion's sak~. The speed of the cars, when they are making thirty miles in the hour-.the topmost speed of a fine horse-the bounding of a ship over 'the billows two hundred and fifty geographical miles in a day,-are to me sources of the keenest sensations of physical pleasure. At midnight I retired. When I awoke the day. was breaking, and the men were warping the steamer . through the Elbow. We were soon at the wharf. A few steps brought me -to the packet, and, in ten minutes more, we were under way upon the muddy canal. We had a merry passage. There was an Irish comedian on .board, whose humour provoked humour in everybody. He kept the table in a roar at dinnertime; and when, after the tables were removed, he tapped a vendor of patent-medicine , fami. liarly on the shoulder and said, "I say, Sarsaparilla, let's go on deck!" the victim hirn~elf was obliged to join in the boisterous peal of laughter. It was nearly. night wh~n we arrived at the borough where we were to take the cars for Troy. As. we left the packet, a peor, weary-looking woman sat on the deck, holding in her arms & pale, emaciated child. The passengers rushed past her without so much as a kindly glance. The Irishman, .however, stopped for a moment as he passed them, and, laying his hand gently upon the head of the little sufferer, sai~1, in a low tone, "Poor little thing !" The mother looked up at the unexpected greeting. She made no reply, but her fine ~eyes filled with tears as she looked her thanks. I shall not soon forget that glance. It wi's somewhat late when I reached Albany. As I sat in the bar-room, a tall,~ pale young man came in, and sat down quite near me. Two or three other young men soon followed. They must h~ve Leen ac- quaintances, .1 imagine, as he accosted one of them in this wise: "11ev y&u got any. corns ?" page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] OQ LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WEJSS. 93 "Yes; why?" "'Cause I can cure 'em. Got some salve here that'll cure 'em in a week; and no mistake. Like to git a~ box ?" "Thank you, not this morning." "Don't you want to go a whaling' ?" asked the corn- exterminator, finding that his nostrum was not in de- mand. "A whaling? " "Yes?" "Why? You a'n't no agent, are you ?" "No, but my uncle is.' S'pose you go round and see him." "No, thank you! B'lieve I won't go a whaling' t~his hitch.'~ The young man who had come in last now left the hotel, and I found myself alone with the corn-doctor. "Did you say that your uncle was an agent for a ~whaling company ?" I asked. "Yes; "ud you like to go ?" "Perhaps so. What are the inducements ?" "Oh, good pay-good liv~n'-no work to do-goin' and comm' all the time in fine weather. 'S'pose you go round and see Uncle Tom." We went to the shipping-office. Conspicuously upon the door shone a flaming advertisement in capitals and exclamation-points. "NOTICI~! ~~ONE HUNDRED MEN WANTED!!! "The subscriber wishes to obtain 100 active~ able- bodied young men, (Americans,) to go on a whaling voyage. . "THOMAS TUBBS, Agent." "Good 'morning !" said Mr. Tubbs, as we entered. His urbanity wa~ truly Parisian. "aood morning, sir! I s'pose you've come to inquire about the whaling' business. It's very lucky ~you cow~e', to 'me. I don't hey nuthin' tew dew with right-whalin', where the fog is as thick as a blanket, and the summer lasts but four weeks. Whaling' away up there in 100 degrees and 110 degrees north is a bisnis I don't hey nothing' tew dew with. I'm an agent for sparm whaling , which is carried on under the equinoxious line, where it's all summer, and no longitude! Good pay, good grub,~-. all the time in warm weather. Very likely you might make a thousand' dollars the first voyage. Some go out green hands, and come back mates or cap'ns. Fact! There was Simon Armstrong-.mebbe you know'd him ?" "Wal, anyway, he went out, and come back a boat- steerer; an' you look as if you was a nation sight smarter'n him. The way them whalemen make money beats aWnatur. You'd better go." "How long are the voyages ?" "'Bout eighteen months; mebbe tew years. Here's the shippin'-papers." "Where. is the ship ?" "At New Bedford. No particular ship, ye know. You sign the articles, and the agents find you a ship." "But I have not money enough to go to New Bed- ford." "Oh, that's nothing . Bless your heart, the agents '11 pay your expenses there, and your board while you are waiting' for a ship." "And how about clothes ?" "The agents, man-the agents. They furnishes yew with close, and a good chist, and tubacker to trade with the natyves. They'll trust ye for all out, till ye come back." The corn-doctor's attention, it would seem, had been previously drawn to the attractive features of the whaling-service, and the powerful imagination . of the eloquent Mr. Tubbs had so far deepened the impres- sion; that, with a little p&rsuasion on my part, he con- sented to sign the articles 'and go with me. We left page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] 94 LYNDE WEISS. Albany that very evening by one of the river-boats, and, at sunrise the next morning, we were in the office of one of the New York agents. After examining us very much as a butcher would examine a bullock, he decided that we "would do," and at five o'clock in the afternoon he shipped us on board one of the Sound steamers for Providence. Our passage was paid by a man who had it~ (in company with half a dozen other "green hands") in special charge. When the bell rang for supper, I took my seat at the table. I had nearly finished a hearty meal when the steward saluted me with- "Your ticket, sir, if you please." "I haven't any. "Fifty cents, then, will do." "I haven't so much about me.' "Thei~what the devil are you doing here ?" "There's a man on deck that has charge of me." "Has charge of you ?" "Oh, you're a whaleman ?" "I'm going to be." "Wal, jist allow me to insinuate, in the politest way in the world, that you're in the wrong box. You take a deck-passage. Y6u'veiao sort o' right in this cabin, nor be-aft the wheels." '~ I went on deck-forward. There were a score~ of poor Irishwomeri lying about on' the baggage and freight. The.y looked half-starved, emaciated, sick, hopeless. "God help them !" I said to myself. The night was cold. It had' been a "raw, rheumatic day," and the night-ugh! I shiver to think of it. Our driver did not engage berths for us, and I had no money. The cold, raw wind rushed through the gang- ways in freezing currents, and, drowsy, weary, shiver- ing with cold, wet, (for the rain began to fall about ten o'clock in the evening)-oh! what a night was that! II had been 'confined, for many months, to the chool- L ~room, andwas scarcely more hardy than a girl. Ii stale LYNDE WEISS. 95 aft and lay down, leaning my head against a pile of baggage.. "Don't you belong forward?" said some. one to me, in tones not the gentlest in the world. "Yes, but".-. "Never mind the buts; you must stay forward." And forward I went,. and looked gloomily around upon my fellow-sufferers. God help The poor! It was not yet day when we arrived at Providence. We were hurried into a dirty, half-warmed car, which was filled with smoke by a filthy tin lamp, that emitted a faint, phosphoric gleam, but a most decidedly "Ancient, and a fish-like smell 1" Some of the "greenies waxed jocose 'over our mise- ries. One was a journeyman tailor. Another had been driving a charcoal-wagon. A third was a blacksmith. The rain clattered furiously against the panes. Day 'at length dawned. "11-li and blazes !" said on git to Bedford ?"' e, we never said' be darned of I'm in any hurry to git there !" another. "There 'tis now !" said a third. A Frenchman, who had hitherto kept silence, now tapped the lid of a venerable snuff-box, and having passed it very politely to his neighbours, averred, with a shrug, that he was "6ie~z aise dat we was arrive." "So, dat isoh New Petford !" said a Dutchman be- hind me. The cars stopped. We were huddled" into a coach, and, after a short drive, we were' set down at the Rev. Mr. L-~-'s boarding-house. lie was a worthy man, though irritable' to the last degree. His partner was one of the most generous men I ever knew. The old housekeeper was a clever body, (in the American signi- fication of that word,) and there were some two or three younger' women. There were, at least, a score 4 page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 LYNDE WEISS. of boarders, and such a medley I never saw. Divers kindreds and tongues," a variety of size, and all cornplexio~~, from Day & Martin to Caucasian. Maf- fit's and Knapp's melodies were then in vogue, as much as the Ethiopian strains now-a-days, and a broth of a boy from the Emerald~ Isle declared it to be the "hoith o' fun," when he could engage all hands in singing "011! I'i~i bound for the land of Canaan !" in a roisterly chorus, ~o loud as to bring old L- to the door in a tearing passion. "I do declare !". he would say, "I do declare, I will not have such a disgraceful noise kept up here,!" It is a somewhat significant fact that Mr. L- selected the very leader of all the numerous instruments of household disturbance, to act as moderator in his absence ! The said moderator being none other than my friend the corn-doctor. Those were memorable days,-~marked by no im~ portent events, not stamped with blood-thrilling in- cidents,-but they were a strange page of my book of - life. 'II wandered through the busy streets of the city of palaces, pondering on the chances that had brought me there. I saw much of life in those days. ]3e.fore, IL had looked more intently on the merl3 mechanism of * society. Now I began to examine, with a hungry man's earnestness, "the living creature within the wheels." As I wandered about the streets, an occasional gleam of life's sunshine caught my eye. It was a curly-headed child, mayhap, at play among the flowers; a 'home- scene ;-sire and mother and child in a group; dimly, and but for a moment, seen through an open door or window. It was, perhaps, a little band of worshippers in some "upper chamber," (I have an especial liking for life in chambers,) joining in some stirring' hymn that conjQred up many a Sabbath-scene of home; or the simple annals of the fishermen of Galilee. A coach rolled by me, and a fair face was visible. A fine eye, LY~DE WEISS. 97 arrested by the earnestness of mine, sought, in That passing glance, to interpret it. Children gambolled along the sidewalks. They had forgotten, if they had ever known, or .heard, that Want had yet her altars, reeking with the heart's blood of hecatoinbs. The lover and his mistress passed me. I envied them, and sighed. Age passed me, and looked kindly upon me for a mo~ ment-.and passed on. *The merchant saw me. My garb told him my destination. He looked as if his thought were, "The~ sea is no place for you ;" and passed on. I learned much of life, and poverty waa my Mentor. CHAPTER XV. WAITING FOR A SHIP-LIFE IN NEW 'BEDFORD-DR. DODGE-. HAND-WRITING 0N TH~ WALL. THERE is, perhaps, no class of men that" is made up of so many and so odd Yarieties as that of sailors. It is the first thing the landsman remarks on becoming acquainted with sea-faring men. There is, it' is~ readily granted, diversity of character among all classes of' laborers; but at sea, just 'as you go abruptly from burning suns to' polar snows; so you leave the middle range of unremarkable characters for the very poles of oddity, originality, and inconsistency.' This is especially true of our men-of-war; where a sprig of nobility jos- ties a sprig of the law, ~liere all parties and sects, all kindred and tongues are more or less adequately repre- sented. The decayed or runaway gentleman messes with boors and charcoal-venders. Clergymen and doe- tors~.-their occupations 'gone--feast intellectually side by side, preaching practical homilies with the holy-stone the while, or testing the effect of removing the' epider- mis of the foretopmast, and making ~in external appli- I / 'I4. 'I' A s page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 4' 'LYNDE WEISS. cation of "slush'~' (grease) to the same spar. Every trade and profession is represented. Qecasionally' you find before. the mast a skilful navigator. indeed, it is considered one of the last of~ possible dangers, at sea, that, were the captain and officers to die, no one can be found' to navigate the vessel to her destination, or to the nearest consulate. ii make these remarks by way of preface to the state- ment that I found at my boarding-house a medley of characters, the. oddity and diversity of which were won- derful. There was .a musician, a young man of fine acquirements, who played the flute to perfection. An- other was an accomplished violinist. There was a blacksmith, a schoolmaster, a stage-driver, a brick- layer, a crier of charcoal; a Dutchman, a' Frenchman, three Portuguese, a Spaniard, two South-Sea Islanders. Among others, was the corn-doctor of whom I have spoken. He was something of a character. He, was a bundle of inconsistencies. He had, apparently, the very nicest feelings of honour, yet I had more than one proof that he was unscrupulous in the pursuit of any object in which he was really interested. He was a new phase of character to me. He was ceaselessly scheming. lie could' see, in the simplest actions of others, parts merely of some preconceived plan. He could not conceive of any action without an express de- sign. He had a smattering~ of law, thedogy, French, chemistry~-what not? He loved large words. He spoke mysteriously of his ancestry. "You don't know me, Weiss; you never will ;" he said to me one day. "I do not seek to "' "Yeu would be surprised, if you knew my ancestry( "No doubt." And then he would leave th~ subject. He was tall,' well-formed, and singularly easy and gentleman-like in his bearing~; yet inclined tQ 1~e authoritative, overbear~ ing,, and self-important. With all his faults, he was st4ctiy temperate. He had a keen sense of the ludi- LYNDE WEISS. crous, and a fund of humour ~withal, that' made him .a. very pleasant companion. I took a strong liking to him. Not that I was blind to his faults; but he seemed to have a special liking for me. He' was anew volume' to me. He, by design, or otherwise, put me on .remark- ably good terms with myself; and what With this, and our inevitable daily association, I became so much at-. tached to him that I was never happy away from him. He seemed equally devoted to me. I Was too poor to suspect him of interested motives'; and so we became inseparable friends. We walked, rode, sailed to~ gather. New Bedford is a charming city. Its streets are well laid out, comfortably paved, and beautifully shaded. The sea-approach to it is very fine. The scenery is picturesque. There are no 'grand features; but there is a diversity of hills, islands, capes, and bays, that make it a gem of a scene in summer. We found, in our rambles, some 'half-a-score of views of it, among which it was not easy to select the best. ~These, and the roads through the surrounding woods, whiled 'away many an~ hour for. us that would otherwise have hung heavily upon our hands. The spring was ripening into summer. The grass' was green again in the fields; the wild-flow- ers decked the hedges; the birds were singing; and the trees were putting on their summer drapery of' beauty. And then the glorious sunshine! The bay, its surface broken into countless ripples by the breeze, glistened in its beams. The fiercer winds of March had given Place to airs as gentle and wellnigh as warm as the trades of the South Sea; and I fretted at the delay which kept me a pensioner upon the outfitters. My friend, the doctor, was not so enthusiastic, lie was, despite his eccentricities,, eminently a practical man. He had vastly the advantage of me in the savor vivre. lie acted on system in all things; while I de- tested all schemes and plans. It 'is really a wonder why I liked him '80 well. With all my warmth of feel- 'ing, I was never popular among my asso~iates.~ No one page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] I I LYNDE WEISS. took liberties with me. No one sought my company, as a general thing. The boarders always prefixed the Mr. to my name; while Tom, Dick, Joe, UIarry~ and the like, were in the current style of address. in this respect the doctor was my opposite. He had always a knob of listeners about him. He could tell ~" a good story." I could not. He contrived, somehow, to be always in funds; and he seemed angry if IL would, not accept from him 8uch trifling amounts as these cheap enjoyments usually cost us. lie won, from me, gradually, my whole history. With a boy's earnestness I told him, over and over again, of my native village; ~f my earlier history; and my "whole course of love." And he was so courteous a listener that I was never tired of repeating to him what seemed, for some reason, to be of so much interest *to him. The weather was unfavorable for the carpenters, and we waited long for the good 'ship, "The Whale~ hunter," to be pronounced ready for sea. Week after week passed, during which IL tried to become accus- tomed to going aloft, and to learn something of "the ropes." Meanwhile, Doctor Dodge, (such was his name at the boarding~hou8e,) on more than one occasion, pro- posed to me to run away. He also hinted to me the feasibility of projects of his .own, which would infalli~ lAy enrich us both; and when he spoke of my home, he had nearly won me to-hjs purpose. What they were I knew not, nor do I know now. IL am in doubt whether he haZ any we~et~ned purpose. It was his nature to scheme, and what he sought to do was never done by direct means, so long as indirect agencies were at all practicable. He constantly asserted that he was going to sea and in the same' ship with me. 'The "Whale- hunter," he s~iid, was his e~p~cial favourite, and, though he. did not wish to e~t~r the whaling-service, he would sooner do so than part with me! When, at length, the ship wa~ ready to 'haul out into the ~tre~4 Captain Beverly was announced to be sick. 4 I 100 I, 101 It was 'more 'than a fortnight before he recovered. Oh, how wearily the days dragged their"' lingering length" Besides Doctor Dodge, there was one other person to whom I became attached. This was the superintendent of the boarding-house. He was a quiet an~I unassuming man, and a general favourite among the boarders.~ lie was remarkably unselfish. He 'had a smile and a kihd word for everybody. He did not admire my ~friend the doctor, ho guard. ' wever, and he warned me to be oxi my With these two exceptions, I had little to say to any of the household. I 'do not make acquaintances readily, as a general thing. I retained my pride, not- withstanding my change of garb,' (the outfitters had given me a sailor suit,) and although 'I was not con- sciously reserved, my bookish habits and flianner, or something else, kept the boarders aloof from 'me. They could not avoid noticing my efforts to learn~ something of my. new employment. I' found myself gradually 'forming the habit of regarding the sea as my future stage of action, and I was ~not ~ little gratified, one day, by hearing one of the' boarders say to another.-.--' "Queer feller, that. 'Smart seller, tew, I guess.". "Yes," said the other. ".Be a skipper, one o' these days, I'm thinking. " The day was announced for hauling off into the stream. It was but 'a few 'days before that occurrence, that my friend Wellfleet, the superintendent, eam6 to me and eaid-. "Weiss, what say you to a walk ?" "Where do you propose to go 7" "Oh, not far. 'I want you to see and hear a friend of mine." "A clergyman?" "Yes." "These are not Precisely the garments to go into church with." ~" Oh! don't think. of that~ 'It's in 'the country-.in 9* LYNDE WEISS. t page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] Dartmouth. You will' see no attefript at display; and my friend C- will think quite as well, of you in these as in the finest." "Well, 'I will go. Why not ask all the boarders ?" "I have." "And they will ge?" Armin-arm we departed, nigh a 'score of us, and, ~fter .a walk of about a mile, we found ourselves at a small, 'neat chapel. The bell had ceased. ringing ere we arrived, and we entered in the same order as we had come. The services had' already commenced. The worshippers were singing to a sweet air, full of 'energy. "Awake, my soul! stretch every nerve, And press with vigour on !" I looked at the occupant of the desk. . He was a man of, small stature. He had a fine head. His eye was full' of earnestness and devotion, and his manner inspired m~ with a reverence akin to awe. iXe prayed, the little congregation 'all.'kneeling. I can never forget the soft' low, earnest, musical tones, of his' voice. Happening to 'raise my eyes, I saw on the wall above his head- ~'TIME ROLLS ON; ETERNITY hASTENS, in largp capitals., I shidl not soon forget the impres- 8ion'. those ..word~ made upon me. An eloquent sermon followed, and then the worship- pers sang the beautiful .air which may be known to my readers as Naomi: "'Path~'r'! whatever of earthly liliss, Thy sovereign will denies," ~&e. As we walked along homeward, the clergyman joined me~ and,' putting his' arm in mine; he chatted with' me until we had walked ~ts far as CountSr street, wWen 'we separated. I 'had never: 'seen him before. We had 102 103 102 LYNDE. WEISS. LY~DJ~ WEIS~W known no .more of each other than We could learn Ia that evening's aequaintanee; but he looked earnestly. at me when he bade me good~night,. and said- "You and I would never quarrel, I. think." And he left me. I had, years afterwards, cause to recall. the remark. The, next evening there was a meeting.-.~ conven- tion, it was eaile~l.-.-.-of the abolitionists, I found Liberty' Hall thronged, and Wendell Phillips was thrill- ing the multitude with his eloquence. Jove! in what a delirium of excitement did his burning eloquence. leave me! He speaks, and lectures even, withetit notes. But his memory is so tenacious, his reasoning faculties so strong, his command of language so extra- ordinary, that you sit, entranced by. the astonish1 union of so much grace and elegance with profoun. and critical learning. My moVning walk was usually to the wharf, where "The. Whale-hunter" lay. She was a' beautiful ship. of about four' hundred tons. I accustomed ~m~y~self to going aloft, in order that it might be a less irksome task at~ sea. It was some~ time, however, before I ven- tured above' the cat-harpings, aiid when I did accom- plish that memorable feat, I clung with might and main to the topmast rigging, a~nd looked tremblingly downward upon the deck, as distant, to my lubberly vision, as the realms of Pluto from upper air. I soon overcame this timidity; and was quite at home any- where about the. ~bip' except the jib-boom----a place which, though I never shrank from going there, I dreaded.whe.n I had been months a~t sea. I was fond of conversing with 'the patient, pains~ taking old carpenters who were sheathingg "The Whale. hunter's" d'ael. They. told~ me, one of them particu- larly,' some fearful' tales of the 8~OIP To these, sailors, who were arriving now and theii, .gave m~ horrid addi- tions, recommending 4Liue to stay at 'home an& dig ditches, rather. th~~i. go to seas My answer was ready~ No; I had resolved to go at least one' voyage. page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 LTNnE WEISS. cordingly, when we were summoned one morliing to have an interview with the captain, I went with several others to the office of Messrs. Twist & Screw, the aget~ts. I must do them the justice to say that they treated me with uniform kindness, and, so far as r could discover, j;he utmost fairness. Both were ger~tle~ man-like, and stood fairly among their fellow-citi~ens as merchants 'and as men. So far,' therefore, as I, am c6ncerned, and so far as I am acquainted with "outfit- ters," they are not always the ghouls they have been represented to be. Captain Beverly appeared well. He was of large stature, and somewhat inclined to corpuloncy. His features were regular, and he was decidedly handsome. He looked manly and good-humnoured, and, from all I could see, IL set him down as being conscientious, firm, and decided, but well-tempered; such a man as sailors mean . to describe when they say, "You always know where to find him." I do nOt know', how far I' was distinguishable by my own dress and habits, but niy observation~ soon .taught m~ie to know' a candidate for the whaling-service at sight. He goes to New Bedford in quite a flow of. animal spirits, with pleasant visions of "a home on the rolling deep." He lnts heard, and perhaps sung, the chorus of the 'fine, old song- So happy are we, mining Fearless and free, away, Q'er the dark blue sea. He. has' heard of the, green 'isles-houri homes, of the South' Seas-of the fruits of the' tropics-of lands of. endless summer,. But' he has seen only one side of the pic re. He~has not yet' dreamed, even, of sharks-of interminable night-watches--of pulling all day like a galley-slaVe, at' the oar.Z~of scanty, broken rest-of being flogged like a dog, with a i~ope's end-of poorly-. dressed food, without so much as salt and pepper (the first of these, luckily, is not often needed, for the beef LYNDE WEISS. 105 and pork are as salt as salt can make them). to give it a relish. He has not dreamed that. captains, of the sua- viter in modo stamp on shore, may be of the fortiter in re genus on board the ship. Some disheartened whaTe~ man, who has returned from a four years' voyage penni- less, tolls him "his experience." The tyro lowers his crest, forswears thin potations, and taketh. to gin-.- smokes a pipe-swears lustil~y-4doff~ hi~ "shore togs," and calls everybody "shipmate." At last his vessel hauls off into the stream, and an hour or two in grind- ing "old irons" (he being employed, in turning the grindstone) begins to rob "the deep, blue sea" of some of its romance. 4 CHAPTER XVI. UNEXPECTED ARRIYAL.~TREACHERY.~T~ QUAflREL. A PEW days before the one appointed for hauling into the stream, I .was surprised by a most unexpected oc- currence. Mr. Wellfleet came in about sunset one evening, and handed me a note. I was still more as- tonished to and it in my uncle Hugh's hand, and with- out a postmark.. "Of course, he is in town 7" 1 said to Mr. Welifleet. "Yes! at the Parker House." "You have seen him, perhaps." " Yes, several times." II opened the note, and read a~ follows: "PARKER ROUSE, Thursday evening. "My DEAR IJYNPE :---We were uneasy about you, and, after some days' inquiry, we traced you to New 2Redford. Now, we (Mr. Grayson, Jessie, and Kate are with ~ have ~not* come to interfere with your plans in any way. Your father's recent di~lieuhies bav~ I page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 LYNDE Wl~ISS. affected his health and spirits; so much so, indeed, that he felt unequal to a journey from Boylston to this city. I need hardly say to you that, under these circum- stances, it is very desirable for you to accompany us home~ Do not desert us, Lynde. We have interest enough t& establish you in business; or, if' you so pre- fer, Counsellor'S--" will give you a seat in his olfiee as a student. ~Jome .and see me, or shall I wait upon you at .your quarters? "Your affectionate uncle, I was l6ng in coming to a decision. I thought of my father, and resolved to go home; and then Jessie Gray- son's rejection of my suit determined me to go to sea. Was it possible, I asked myself', that sh~ knew the pur- pose of my uncle's coming? No. She had too much native delicacy for that. Had i~iy uncle relied on the sight of her face, and the calm unanswerable logic of my sister Rate, to persuade me to forego my purpose? Again I thought of my father, and decided to go home. Mr. Welifleet came in, as I closed the debate, end i~d- vised me very earnestly to abandon the idea of ~going to sea. "You have for many.years been a student,'.? said he. "The habits of your whole life unfit you for the Ia- bours and hardships ~f the sea. You have been deli- cately nurVured,-~you will be exposed to hardships al- most beyond the power of endurance. You have been accustomed to good society; you are going among the lowest and most filthy, vulgar, and obscure of the dozen nations which you will dind represented in theforecastle. You have never known the want of wholesome and palatable food; as~ a sailor, you must know it. You have been accustomed to regular and unbroken sleep,- four hours one night, and', eight the 'next, on deck, will be your lot in goodweather. In bad weather, and when 'cutting4n and trying out,' you get little' or none. G~ 1~onie~ Weiss, ~o home ~" 106' LYWDE WEISS. lOT "I will." "You will?" "Yes." "That's right. I congratulate you. 'Come, let's go to the Parker House, and ~ee your uncle." "Not in this dress." "Never mind the dress. Walk by the hotel with me, and if you would rather not go in, I'll call your uncle. out, and you can walk with, him. If you want ~money or clothing, that is very easily arranged: I can supply: you, and you may pay me at your leisure. By-the-by, do you know that your uncle has been here for several' days?" "No." "He came on Monday. It was with some difficuhy that ~he found you, and he hardly knew, he says, how to begin the negotiation." "That is surely no very difficult matter." "Why, I do not know," said Mr. Welifleet, with a~ significant smile. "Boys are~ obstinate, you know; sometimes. By-the-by, now I think of it, where's your friend Dodge ?" "I am unable to say. "He has decamped, I suspect." "Hardly." "At any rate, he has not been at the house since Monday, and this is Thursday evening. However, it's time we were going." Drawing my arm through his own, Mr. WelllIeet then walked with me to the Parker House. He left me at the door 'and entered' the~ hotel. "Come in; Weiss," said he, as he came back. "They're all at tea, and nobody will see you." I followed him into the 'hotel, and up a single flight of stairs. He advanced a few steps and then paused. "That's the room, No. -," said he, as he pointed to an open door, and he left me. 1 walked quietly along (my step is a very quiet one) towards the door, and was about to enter~ when I heard I I I. 107 page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] I08 LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. the sound of voices. For one of them, I could have sworn it was that of one who was still dear to me; I could hear the throbbing of my heart as I stopped to listen. There wa~ a man's voice in reply. I stepped forward. . There, kneeling at the~ feet of Jessie Gray- son, dressed in Parisian elegance; and holding one of her hands in his own, was-'---my friend, Doctor Dodge! I rushed down the. stairs and left the hotel. Conceal.. ing myself behind a pillar of the church opposite the hotel, I awaited his~egress. He came at length, and I followed him ~Between Cheapside and the City Hall I overtook him. "Villain! scoundrel !" Ii' exclaimed, as I grasped his collar. "Ha! is. that the tune ?" he asked with a sneer. "Yes; do you understand it ?"~ "I should feel honoured in receiving a lesson; but there - are a couple of the police watching us. Good night I" added he, with a smile of fiendish malignity that I shall never forget. "Good night! I'll remem- her you 1" And he raised his hat from his head, bowed low to me, and disappeared. I r&turnecl to~ my boarding- house, and wrote to my uncle Hugh as follows: * "Thursday Evening. "Mi DEAR UNCLE :-I have made up my mind to enter the whaling-service, and must go. I will feel obliged to you if you will not further interfere with the plans of Your affectionate nephew, "LYNDE. ChAPTER XVII. ,DR. DODGE DISAPPEARS.. UTFITS.4JAULIN.G OFY-A DAY IN TUE BThEAM. M~ uncle, it seems, kr~ew me too well to remonstrate, and I did not see him at~all. Doctor Dodge disap- peared. Two days after the occurrences of the last chapter, the outfitters sent for us to select our outfitst4 My own allotment was a monkey jacket, round jacket, trousers for warm and cold weather, shirts, stockings, tarpaulins, blankets, and a hay bed. I am but an in- different financier, but I thought the prices reasonable. The outfitters were certainly very liberal, and they dis~ armed me of my prejudices against them. The day came to haul into the stream. Qur 8ky~ blue chests were high up-piled on a stout truck. We bade the outfitters good-by, and left the shop in ~ straggling order, much like a fleet in a gale of wind. Motley was the "wear." Our chestswere soon huddled into the forecastle. The fasts were cast off. A warp was passed to the steamer Telegraph, (of which exploit pars magnafui.e'). and we were speedily under way. The pilot leaped up to the night-heads, and testily issued his orders. "Starboard!" "Starboard, sir !" "Port!" "Port, sir!" "Steady!" "Steady, sir !" "Port 'i" "Port, it is, sir!" "STEADY! Where the-....-.. are you. going.-..-all over the ocean?" 10 109 I 108 page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] 110 LYNDE WEISS. Such were some of the elements of the hubbub. We anchored opposite the light-house on Clark's Point. The steamer left us, and we were left to amuse our- selves as best we might. I discovered that there were many on board whose faces I had not before seen. It was the understanding (I know not whence it came) that we were to have on board the Whale-hunter a picked crew of young Ame- ricans. We had, indeed, undergone a. personal inspec- tion by Captain Beverly, and I supposed that I was going' to ~see a rather "select society." I found in the forecastle, however, one Dutchman, one negro, one Canadian, one Spaniard, one Portuguese, one Chilian, and a South-Sea Islander, in the number of my ship- mates. The scene was a queer . one. From such occa- sional glimpses as I could catch while I arranged~ my berth, I tried to form some idea of my future mess- mates. There were some good faces among them. They were occupied in divers Ways. One was playing the violin. Another wearied our ears with a wheezing accordion. Some were playing cards. Some slept. Some were mending, "fixin' for Cape' Horn," as they expressed it. 'This, by-the~by, is a singular trait of sailors. You may see them, in the earlier part of the voyage, putting patch upon patch, until you cannot divine the original colour6 Thrift herself would blush at their superior economy. Well, months, perhaps years, pass away. Jack comes home with some hundreds of dollars due him. A thousand to one he is drunk in six hours after he gets ashore, and his money goes in three dayW or six; and then he goes to sea again-to economize. On the following day the wind was directly in our teeth, and we lay at anchor all day. The Whale-hunter began to show her mettle, as the long swell rolled in from seaward, tossing, uneasily at her moorings, and fretting like a chained mastiff in his kennel. " We gave her the best bower and a goodly scope of cable, and she behaved better. There were some faint fore- LYNDE WEISS. ill shadowings of sea-sickness during the day. There was a very noticeable Solemnity on divers faces. It might be from grave reflections. It was, more probably, the "shadows before'7 of events to come when we. should be fairly at sea. For my own part, I stifled all thoughts of home. I overhauled my ~chest,. an invaluable re- sourse to all sailors.' I climbed the rigging; I wrote in my journal; and so got through' the day. On the following morning it blew great guns from the north-west. The captain and pilot, came on 'board, and we got under way. 'The wind was so fresh that we could only show whole topsails. The Whale-hunter was cast to port. She bounded, as she fell off, with a curveb like a war-horse, and my veins tingled with pleasure as she gathered way. As the pilot left us, I happened to look over the bulwarks. A yacht wa~ passing *us.* In. a group that were seated in the stern-sheets,, I saw a face that was familiar to me. As I looked, he rose de- liberately, lifted his hat, and made ihe ,a low salaam, with a profundity and a malignant smile that cQuld only belong to Dr. Dodge. A vague presentiment of evil crossed my mind, and I turned in disgust to the duties of my new berth. By the time we got the anchors on the bows and the decks cleared up, it was blowing so freshly that Captain Beverly thought it prudent to reef topsails,-and now came my first trial. We were well out at sea, and the land was growing dim6 'The Whale- hunter pitched heavily in the angry sea. In common with others, I felt very decided symptoms of sea-sick- ness. Some had already gone below. One and an- other were looking astern, and murmuring "Good-bye to New Bedford!" when, with the voice of a young lion, the mate shouted-.~ "Hands by the topsail halyards! Lower away! Man the topsail clewlines! Qlew down? Haul out the reef-tackles! Lay aloft there, and take a reef in the topsails! Two reefs there in the m izzen-topsail! Do you hear .~" "Ay, ay, sir!" page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] 112 LYNJYE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. 118 "Bear a hand there, now I"' I bounded after a boat-steerer into the main-rigging, and followed him to the topsail-yard9 A faint, death- like sensation came over me as I crawled out on the toot-rope, and looked' down on the foaming sea. I was ~t "the dog's ear," which is to say, next to the boat- steerer, who had the post of honour-the hearing, lie looked around at me as I was trying to assist him in hauling the sail out "to windward," and seeing how sick I was, he shouted fiercely- 1'' "Lay down! lay down, man. This was all Greek to me. "Go down on deck, you lubber! You ha'n't got the strength of a kitten! Laydown on deck, afore you fall overboard! If ye do fall, it's all day with ye! Lay down; I tell ye, lay down !" Amid i~i~ smiles of the captain, officers, and all the ~id "sea-~gs," I crawled wearily to the lee-scuppers, and, in company with half-a-score of poor greenhorns, paid my matriculation fee by way of initiation into the occult mysteries of getting my "sea-legs." Of these I stood in most imperative need, as my limbs were of little use to me. I was resolved that I would not go below, I staggered-fell--crawled about deck. I ate broiled codfish in its quintessential saitness, I drank sea-water--all to no purpose! * Anon the people were called aft, and the watches were formed. 'I was chosen in the captain's watch. Of this I was very glad, as I had taken a decided liking * to him. This accomplished, the order was given- * "Go below, the starboard Watch," and I crawled for- ward, and descended the ladder into the dark forecastle. Oh, how sick I was! *Could I hut have died! And; to comfort me, a Yankee greenhorn, as sick as myself, exclaimed- "Je-IIEW! heow sick' I be! I wish I was tew hum !" CHAPTER XVIIL A Sun' is the world in miniature. Especially is this true of a man-of-war.-.-where, it has passed into a pro. verb, every man finds his level. The sailor whom you select for your hammock-boy may have been, in more prosperous days, a man ef wealth and distinction. The man who helps to pull you ashore in a cutter, or the dinghy, may have been a man of some eminence in pro- fessional life. You meet with men of ~li countries, and the most marked and startling contrast in .habits and character. In one man you find the mere a~nima4- dull, 'lifeless, soulless; a machine' almpst.~-not many degrees above the dray-horse, or the 'treadxnill-~-one whose brain is not often visited by ideas that are not on terms of the very closest intimacy with his rations of beef and grog and his watch below. In another you see the lubler, who trembles in' a whole-topsail breeze, and to whom the royal~yard. and the jib~boom are purga~ tory. His messmater is the ambitious. man-who makes his way patiently, and step by step, from the rate of Johnny Raw to that of able seaman, captain of a top, or quarter-master. Another is the jovial "good fellow," who can sing a good song, and spin a yarn as long as .the skysail-halyard~~whiling away ~a dreary night- watch of four hours, in .relating what' 'another zn~n would finish over a cup. of coffee. . Still another is your "heart of oak," who ,knows and does his duty; who, when other men~s cheeks blanch with terror~-~when the storm is at its height---when the face of~old ocean is white in his wrath-.and sail after sail is rent in shreds from the bolt-ropes--when, in the midst of rayless darkness, and above the howling, of the gale, the appalling cry is heard, "B1vi~AKERs! UNDER1 TUE LEE !". stands as 10* $1 page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] 114 LYNDE WEISS~ firmly as Atlas or Gibraltar .at his post, in the face of almost certain death. But to my story. Night came on. Oh! that first night at sea! The ship plunged' and reared like a restive horse impatient of restraint. The sky w~s heavily overcast, and as 'night settled upon the sea, rain added its raw discom- fort to the' accumulation of other diversities' of misery. At eight'o'clock, r. ~., just as, in utter weariness and exhaustion, "an exposition of sleep" came over me, I heard, in Cyclopian accents, at the scuttle-- "Eight bells, there below!. Tumble up here, now! No sick4ist to-night! Come ~n deck, all of ye! D'ye hear, there ?" ."Ay, ay, sir !" growled one of the few "old salts" who had shipped before the mast. The forecastle-lamp had gone out, and there was some delay and' a great' deal of swearing in lighting it. "Plague take the bloody' ole lamp !" exclaimed the doctor, (the cook,) who was waiting for Portuguese Peter to light it. It was lighted at last. I turned out. I found my jacket "over to leeward," and one of my shoes 'half-full of' lamp-'oil. With an heroic effort, how- 'ever, I dressed and went on deck, the first of my watch. I could see nothing in the surrounding darkness, but I groped my way to the weather~rail, and staggeringly crawled aft. "-Come aft here! all of you 1" shouted the captain; and we were glad to 'get' out of the way of the floods of water that were dashing over the bows at every 'plunge of th~ ship. Faint, sick, almost exhausted, I eroi~iched njider the weather bulwarks, somewhat alarm- ~ed, if" the truth must be. said, by the loud, sharp thud of the swell against the bows, the quivering of the hull, and the creaking of the bulkheads. The gale abated, and we made sail to top-gallant sails. Wearily' passed the first long night-watch, and my heart ~leaped with 'joy when the second mate (the captain had retired 'at 'six bells) shouted-' LYNDE WEISS. 115; "flight bells! Call, the watch !" "Go below, the wa tch !" was the order a few minutes later, and we wen~jielow. With a keen sense' of com- fort I crawled (how, I hardly know) into, my bertha With a miser-like consciousness. of my ability to sink instantly to sleep, I remember a coquettish delay to "Stretch the tired limbs" upon the Elysian downiness of my hay-bed. A thought of home and Jessie Grayson, and. Ii alept. I slept soundly. It was net yet seven bells in the mid watch when "Starboard watch, ahoy !" in a shrill m started me from a dream of home. , masculine yell, "All hands! A squall, hoys'! Make haste !" With a beating heart I bounded up the ladder. As I stepped U~QT1 deck, the wind took my very breath away, and I staggered into the lee-scuppers. I crawled with' some difficulty to windward. The rain was . pour~ ing down in torrents, and the ship was heeled over almost on her beam-ends. The wind whistled fierce- ly through the 'rigging. The green hands stood in mut*e terror, utterly at loss where to go and what to do. The mate, I could readily see, was himself alarmed, and he was shouting' and Swearing, giving two or three Orders in a breath. I may remark here, in passing, that it is by no means uncommon for whalemen to sail from port with a crew in which there are not more than four Or five able Sea- men in the forecastle. Such was our own: predicament. Indeed, I doubt whether there was one in the Whale~ hunter's forecastle who would have rated as an able seaman in the n~wchant-service or the navy. I now received my first lesson in the management of a 'ship. As I stood near the booby~hatch, unable to understand the orders of 'the mate, who was yelling like a hyena to the men, I saw dimly in the darkness the tall, manly form of Captain Beverly. He threw 'calmly tt. j page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] 116 LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. a look aloft, and, in a tone of voice, little, if any, louder than his ordinary gruff, heavy accents, he said quickly, "Maints'gallant-y-ard, there ~" " Sir !" "Wha1~'~ the trouble with that sail ?" "The clewline 'a jammed, sir." "Mr. Pintle, see that clewline clear !" "Ay, ay, sir. All clear!" "Clew up I" "ATy, ay, sir I" "Hands by the topsail halyards! Lower away! Clew down! haul out the reef-tackles! Who's that at the wheel?" "Tom, sir." "Luff, half a point." "Ay, aysir. Luff it is." The ship was now safe. The squall abated, and we made sail again. I can never forget the calm, yet prompt and seamanlike style, in which Captain Beverly restored confidence to the men, and relieved the writhing spars of a strain that would have carried them by the board, had they not been of the best material and well stayed. It being our morning watch on deck, we scruJ~bed decks, (a new and very interesting operation to me, 'which, in my greenness I supposed to be a sort of Sun- day scrub,) and made sail to royals. Of course, we had the forenoon watch below. I again sought my berth, as Aid several others, among whom was one David Lee, a -Dutohnian. The name, by-the-bye, I~as not a very Dutchish sound; but 'such was his sign-manual on the shipping-paper. Some of the watch preferred to remain awake. Some smoked.~ Some played cards. One sang, and Jim Hopper extorted notes from his rickety old violin, the shri1lnes~ of which would have forced ~discord. herself to 'put her fingers to her ears. My phlegmatic friend bore the din very philosophically for a while; and then he said, in coaxing tone; to the 117 "Mein Gott, poys! it ish more noise as te tower uf Papel; unt it ish not Possible to schlep mit te noise. You acts like schuldren (children) !" In vain did he remonstrate. The card-players were staking plugs on plugs of tobacco merrily on. trumps ?" "I beg ' , and the game went !" "I'll give ye one !" "Whose's' deal ?" "Spades no more !" were among the expressions that met my drowsy ear. I slept at last. It could' not have been long; for 'when I awoke, the players were still intensely, engaged. My Dutch neighbour was smoking his pipe, and watching 'the gam- blers. At last they, too, turned in. The little fore- castle was still. The Dutchtnan's eyes were ~drawing drowsily together, when, suddenly, a rooster that had escaped from the hen-coop and 'strayed 'forward, 'set up, just ~t the scuttle, his very loudest and shrillest crow. The enraged Dutchman rose on one elbow, 'thrust his head out of his berth,' and, looking fiercely ~'p the scut- tle, he growled-. "Ach! by tam! are you there ?" A roar of laughter followed; but, at last, about six bells, the Dutchman snored, and broad chests around him also snored, and puffed, and "phew"-ed, and snorted in orchestral vigour and variety, in laughing at which I, too, slept and-.dreamed. I never snore. 0 sleep! 0 dreams! your empire is at sea.. The ship might have gone to that immense receptacle 4f .things marine, Davy Jones's locker, and we never the wiser. I oould have hugged my hay-bed for the delicious Sense of weary drowsiness with which I closed my eyes in sense-absorbing slumber. Shall I ever sic again as I slept at sea ep f page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] LYNDE WEISS. 119 118 LYNPE WEISS. CHAPTER XIX. FLORES.-FAYAL.-LIFE AT 5EA.-THE FIGHT. FINE weather succeeded the storm. I recovered slowly from my sea-sickness; and, as I gre.w more ac- customed ~o my new home, I began to love the sea. So it is ever. A wise Providence has so formed us that, be our abiding-place where and what it may, we learn to love it. There is always, in every possible condition of lif~e, the relative good and evil, joy and sorrow, which settle 'into the ordinary share of happiness which falls to our lot. Panting beneath the equatorial sun, or shivering in polar snows, in freedom or in bondage, tl~ere is so nice an adjustment of the balance of joy and sorrow, that little ground is left for choice among the diversities of human condition. There is no shade of hardship or sorrow but has its corresponding intensity of comfort and delight. I loved my little berth. I cut engravings from the papers and magazines that had been given me, and pasted them upon its rough sides. I fitted it with a world of bachelor conveniences; and, were there no other tie, the animal luxury of the delicious sleep I enjoyed in it would have endeared it to me. I set myself at work to learn the names and uses of "the ropes." I was constantly looking aloft to see where the brftces, sheets, and . clewlines "led." I in- quired restlessly the names and ixses of every thing. I was the first among the green hands to take .a trick (alone) at the wheel; and Captain Beverly complimented me on my skill. When I was not "looking out" aloft, or at the ~wheel, I contrived to be at hand where the officers were fitting the boats, getting their "irons" (harpoons, spades, and lances) in order; or setting up rigging. In this way I learned a great deal of sailor lore in my first month at sea. The fourth mate, a- negro, was a huge, brawny fellow, and, by report, a good whalernan. Seeing my desire to learn, he took a special liking to me, and was never weary in answering, Again and again, my countless questions. I also took especial pains, on all occasions, to be first ~n executing an order. In bracing the yards, in making or taking in sail, in relieving the wheel or the look-out, it was my pride to be prompt, active, ever ready. This oh- tamed me the good-will of the captain and officers. The former would often call me aft to assist him in taking an observation; and the latter would select me from a knot of idlers to assist in working upon the rigging. What wonder I began to love the sea? ~ ay after day, in almost uninterrupted sunshine on towards the Azores. , we bounded We had two passengers on board. They were Por- tuguese, and bound to Flores. As we drew nearer the islands, one of them (a gray-haired old man, who had been for many years away from his native islan4,) was in a fever of excitement. He. was constantly watching the binacle, and asking a thousand questions about the course, the latitude and longitude, and the rate of sailing. Indeed I began to share his excite- ment as we drew nearer Flores. Amid all the novelty, however, of life at sea, my thoughts would wander homeward. In the busy hours of the. day I could drive away such thoughts easily enough; but at twilight, in night watches, and in dreams, my fancy was ever busy with the scenes of home; and "My heart, untravelled," sought a solace for the present in the recollections of the past. I remember that I lay down upon my chest one day, after dinner,, and fell asleep. I dreamed of home. I was at the well-remen~bered board, and I I .1 Ii page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. 121 around it were my father and his family, with good old Allan Grayson and his daughter. I was seated beside Jessie. It seemed to me, in my dream,, that I had won her heart' and hand, and that she looked blushingly at me as I recounted my hardships and adventures since I left my native village. Suddenly there was a ~pea1~ ofe thunder. Jove! how faithfully did my fancy recall the familiar features of every faGe, wearing a ~look of surprise at the sudden approach of the storm! Knives, forks, spoons, were dropped, and we looked now at one another, now at' the window, through which we could discern the vivid flashes of the lightning. 1V[y elysian dream was rudely interrupted by simon Nehemiah, the blacksmith, who bawled hoarsely in my ear- ' ~I say, yaou! Weiss! Rowse out here! *Your trick at the wheel!" I bounded up the ladder, discovering, as I did so, that the cook was grinding coffee, and that he had thus ~unintentionally furnished the thunder for my dream! "Land ho /" was 'the cry the next morning, and by noon we lowered the captain's boat and went ashore. Our,, passengers were half frantic, as well they might b'e, for Flores deserves its naine.. It is one of the most beautiful islands I have ever seen. True, it lacks the vegetation 'of the tropical islaiids of the South Sea; but then it is so well cultivated, that it looks like one vast floating garden, in the sea-approach. I could have kissed the earth, so delighted was I to see, once more, the beautiful green of broad fields, instead of the wide, monotonous expanse of sea and sky, on which I had gazed for the past fortiiight. I had become so much accustomed to the motion of the ship, that, at first, 1. could not walk on land without staggering. While the captain was busy in bargaining for a sup- ply of fresh provisions-potatoes, onions, fruit, ~iogs, and. chickens'-I pawned divers little superfluities for oranges. One ill-looking fellow, whose' "oomple~don" was "perfect gallows," singled me out for his victim, and, with wealth of smiles, and an urbanity that would have made him a prime favourite at court, he contrived to cheat me most villainously. There was a skill in his tactics which stamped him a great cheat. He might have sat for the portrait of Cool, in "London Assu- rance, and young Courtly's words might very appro~ privately have been written beneath it: "There is a pungency about his invention and an originality in his equivocation that are perfectly refreshing !" We got our supplies on 'board, and sailed for Fayal. We stood off and on, while the captain went ashore. On his return we filled away, and, with a sigh, I bade farewell to beautiful Fayal. Years have passed, yet I still recall the beautiful Azores-.their hills, valleys, fields, groves, cascades, and neat white churches and cottages that decked the hillsides. I have neglected to say that, for some days pre- viously to our reaching the Western" Islands, there had been some ill4'eeling between the larboard and star- board, or mate's and captain's watches. As I have already stated, the greater part of the foremast hands were "green horns." Some of them complained viry bitterly of the noise, at night, over the forecastle, made unnecessarily by the watch on deck. There i#as very reasonable ground for complaint; though, for my own part, I was so weary with the labour of the day and my loss of accustomed sleep, that a national salute would not have waked me, except at the regular hour for calling the watch. Such is the case with all expe~ rienced seamen. The watches retaliated upon eaeh other successively the real or imaginary wrongs of the last sleepless watch, until, 'at length, the quarrel' be- came general. One night, when we were running down the south- east trade-wind, one of the watch on deck came below, (I was in my birth,) and struck a light. It proved to be Simon Nehemiali, the blacksmith. He made so much noise and remained so long that he was sus- pected of trying to keep us awake. "Time yaou ~was goin' on deck !" said Brown, a I 1' ii 4 I) ,1 page: 122[View Page 122] 122 LYNDE WEISS. broad-chested shoemaker, who stood six feet in ~his stockings. "Go when I git ready !" "Go now!" "Yaou be-~-!" Brown sprang from his berth and struck the in~ uder. The watch on deck heard the noise, and hd and the fight became general. They fought ruse below. The watch below bounded from their like tigers. The contest was at its height when there were three heavy raps on the scuttle, and Captain Beverly shouted- "Avast, there! Come on deck, all of you !" "We can't do it, sir," answered Brown. IAk# a lion springing upon his prey, the captain leaped into the forecastle. He was a man of enormous strength, and, striking right and left, he scattered the combatants as if they were children. I saw him throw four men headlong against the berths and bulkhead. "On deck I" shouted he, in a voice that might have roused the dead, and they obeyed him. He followed them, and went aft. "Sen'd Brown aft !" said he to the mate. "Ay~ ay, sir. Brown, lay aft here !" He came. ~" Seize that man to the mizzen-rigging !" The order was obeyed. "Now, sir, what say you ?" said he to Brown. "Forgive me, sir !" "Cast off the lashings. I forgive ypu, but remem- ber one thing---I'm the CAPTAIN of this ship. Go forward." There was no ni~re fighting on board the Whale- hunter. page: Illustration-123[View Page Illustration-123] LYNDE WJ~I$$~ CHAPTI~R XX. CRUISING.-HOME WARD BOUND,-LOOKING FOR EMPLOY UNEXPECTED MEETING. ONE morning, when we were about three c from Rio Janeiro, II heard, during lIiy watch loud cry from masthead- "There~, she blows! There she blows ~ T ~blows !" in that quick and regular succession __ to the practiced whaleman, an unerring indil2 the vicinity of the much-coveted spermaceti w1~ "There she blows !" was the outcry agai Captain Beverly came into the waist, and aske "Where away?" "Four points on the lee bow, sir. Tli blows I" "What does it look like?" continued the while the old sea-dogs whispered one to anoth "Sperm whales! Sperm whales for a thou~ "Sperm whale, sir~ Regular low spout, sir~ "Keep the run of them. Sing out when si ___________________ Call all hands! Clear away the boats! S thing clear! Keep her away three points !'~ I "Ay, ay, sir," answered the, man at the wli ____________ "Maintopmast crosstrees, there !" "Sir." "How far off is that spout ?" "'ON DECK!' SHOUTED HE u' "'Beout tow miles, sir." Such a bustle! The Whale-hunter carr3 boats; and the mates and boat-steerers w ting lines, irons, oars, and a host of other pliances, in readiness for service. When with a mile ~f the shoal, we hauled by the wind, lo~w boats, and started in pursuit. My post was at 123 MENT.'-AN lays' sail below, a here she which is, ~atiou. of iale. ~n, whei~ ci- Lore she captain, ~and!" ~e blows. ~e every ~el. Led four ore get- boat..ap~ in about !ered the the bow- page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 1~4' LYND~ wi~ass. LYND~ wxis~. 125 oar of the *captain's boat. We pulled lustily for a few moments, and then made sail. When within a short distance of the whales, the sails were lowered, and we took the paddles. In this way we approached, almost noiselessly, a huge old spermaceti whale that lay with his back above the surface of the sea, reminding me, in the single glimpse I caught of it, of' the adventure of Sinbad the Sailor. When we left the ship, the fourth mate, who was hold.. ing the steering-oar, constantly urged us to the greatest possible exertion, by such expressions as "Pull, my bullies! Will you pull! Weiss? What d'ye say, there? Sperm whale, boys! Do pull! Say you'll pull !" And while he steered with one hand, 'he aided our little after-oarsman with the other. lie had gradually. lowered his voice, as we drew near the whales, to a whisper. "There they are, boys! Sperm whales! Old set- tlers. Two hundred barrels apiece! Two years, and a full. ship! What's the news, now? lYil~ you pull ?" When within a few fathoms of the whale he had selected, he said in a low voice, to the boat-steerer, "Stand up, Ben! All ready! Stan' by, now, boys! One minute more! Softly! aive it to him, now, Ben!" The boat-steerer threw his harpoon with coolness and skill. We were "fast." The huge monster settled heavily down, threw his flukes (tail) lazily aloft, as if a. flea had annoyed him, and "sounded." "'Mind The line, there, boys !" shouted *the fourth mate. "Johnson, (the boat-steerer,) come aft, now." The boat-steerer (whose province it is to throw the harpoon, and who does' not steer' tb~e boat until after he has dane so) now took the steering-oar; and Mr. Butler took his place. By the time' he had taken the sheath, off' his well-polished lance, the whale ceased "sounding," and started for the surface. We peaked our oars, 'and hauled in the slack of the line. As soon as he' reached the surface, his spout' told us where lie lay, and we h*~uled the line rapidly inboard. When within a few~fathoms 'of him, Mr. -Butler threw his lance. It .struck the whale a little abaft the fin, and with his next. spout came the blood. "Spouts blood, boys~! lie's ours !" shouted the ex- cited mate. ~"Two hundred' bar..--JuMP, Weiss, fur your life I" I sprang instinctively from my seat, and was in the act of following Mr. Butler, who had' leaped overboard, when the tail of the huge monster struck the bow of the boat; giving me & blow that paralyzed one of my legs. I fell helplessly into the sea. ~The mate bad seen the occurrence, and he caught toy arm ;' supporting himself by clinging to the boat. The waist-boat happened to be nearest to us, and she- picked us up. By the time we were safely on board, the whale turned upon his side-.- dead. He was towed alongside, and secured by heavy "fluke chains" to the ship. Signals were then made to the other boats to return; but the officers' either could not or wonid not see, and they kept on 'in pursuit ef the whales. I can give the reader no' idea '(and he cannot form one adequately) of the intense excitement of suoh a chase. The race-course or the gambling-house may give some notion of it. One of the boats was "fast" to a young whale, (the young whales are always the most troublesome,) and he was dragging the boat at a fearful rate~ away from the ship. I barely caught a glimpse of her, as I was lifted ~on deck. I was carried below. Night came on. The doctor (the cook) reported 'to me that "de boats done gwine out o' sight, and de cap'n ben make a light ou do try-works." -~ The boats did not reach the ship until t~ o'clock. The 'crew then shorte~ied sail, and preparations were made for "'cutting in." ~'I should but weary~the, reader by a detaile4 description of the process which~ has ~alr~eady been ~o 6 "~d~scribed. The fires were soon kindled; 'the kettles were filled with the blubber; the oibcasks 11* 124 page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 LYNDE WEISS. r I I ~I tj ii I I I I I were got on deck, and the work of the "whaling- ground" was fairly begun. Though suffering much pain from the blow I had received, I crawled to the scuttle, and looked out upon deck. The officers and men were gathered around the try-works, the blaze of the fires throwing their forms into clear, relief against the surrounding darkness. The smoke was whirling away in huge volumes, to leeWard, and hundreds of storm-petrels were chattering in our wake. We cruised in that region for several days. During that time the severe pain I suffered brought on a fever, by which I was so much reduced~tIiat Captain Beverly decided to touch at Rio Janeiro, and leave me for medi- cal treatment. It was desirable, moreover, to touch at that port, in order to send home the oil we had taken, amounting to some two hundred and seventy barrels. This was obtained from the large whale captured'by the fQurth mate, an& two smaller ones subsequently taken by the larboard and bow boats. On arriving at Rio Janeiro, Captain Beverly placed me under the care of the consul, to whom hegave my pass- port, and said to me that he proposed to cruise for a month off Rio Janeiro. If, at the expiration of that period, I should be able to resume my berth, he would reserve' it for me. If not, the consul would find me a passage home. The month passed. The Whale-hunter returned; but I was yet an invalid, and I sorrowfully watched the brave ship as she sailed past the Sugar- loaf and disappeared. A few days later I took passage 'on board the barque Julia, of Salem, for the United States. We had a pleasant passage of fifty days. It was on a cold, raw, cheerless day in February that we landed. Of the money left in the hands of the consul formeby Captain Beverly, I had fifteen dollars iemain- ing. I went to a sailor's boarding-house, and, as I laid my head upon my pillow, my heart throbbed fiercely ;w hen I asked myself what L should do. Go home? 'Never! unless in better plight than I was at that time. Of' course, I must get employment. But how? where? 127 I was not yet sufficiently restored to be capable of hard labour. Should I try to get a situation as a teacher? Alas! I 'was an utter stranger, and I had not a single' letter of recommendation. I spent several days in the invention and consideration of different plans of action. All to no purpose. Sick, disheartened, despairing, I left the boarding-house one evening, for a walk on the beach. I crossed the bridge, and walked towards.Mar- blehead. On my - return I stopped at the wharves, where a little fleet of "jiggers" and "pinkeys" (fish- ing-vessels) were lying side by side. As I stood gazing at them, I saw a bright-eyed Yankee girl busily engagedd in cooking supper for the crew. She looke& search- ingly at me for a moment, and I fancied that there was a gleam of sympathy in her dark eye, asshe said- "Come aboard, friend! ~Come on deck a minute, John 1" added she, turning towards the cabin-doors. "Here's a craft in distress, or I'm no prophet. Come aboard! come aboard! You're as welcome as a fair wind !" I complied with the request. "On a lee shore, shipmate ?" asked the ~man, (the captain, as I soon discovered.) "Yes !" "Wal, walk below. John Manchester's my name. I command this jigger, the Norma. 12iet me make you acquainted with my wife." I bowed.. "What may I call your name I-gave it. " Wal, that's strait forward. I like your looks. Mal~e yourself tew hum. To-morrow, ef I kin dew, any thing for ye, why jest say 80. Stop aboard with ua~to~night." I acc~pte4 the invitation. We had some little chat the next morning, while breakfast was in preparation, about matters of general interest; in which, with gen- tlemanlike delicacy, the captain asked me no questions touching my history, or my existing embarrassments; After breakfast, we walked. As we passed ray board~ LYNDE WEISS. page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. 12~ ing-house, on our return, he again invited me to go on board the Norma. "Are you a fisherman ?" I asked, as I took his hand, to bid him good morning.. "Yes; amack'reler." "Bound out ?" "Bound out; to-morrow." "Full crew " No." "Do you want a hand ?" " Yes." "Will a green hand do ?" "Yes." "Will you take me "With allmyheart." "And, give me until to-morrow to decide ?" "Yes; until nine o'clock' in the morning." He left me, 'and I entered the boarding-house. The fim~ hung heavily upon my hands. I read the Pirate's Own Book, three old almanacs, and all the newspapers I could find. At nightfall, weary, dispirited, unde- eide4, I left the house, 'and walked slowly through the more frequented streets.. Ii pondered for a long time t~pon my different plans for . obtaining employment. Should I' g& home? I had not money enough to pay .my passage. Should I write to my father 'for money? I had but a few months before left him 'a bankrupt. Gould I go home penniless? Pride whispered "' Never !" I turned on my heel to go on board the Norma, with the~ intention to ship as a fisherman, when some one at my elbo~ exclaimed-. "iHallo! Strike me surprised! if it a'n't-~---no, it. can't be; yes, it ~s Lynde Weiss ~" - I looked at the speaker; and there stood, iznmistake~ ably, Mr. Barney Fogg. "Where in natur' hav& you 'ben, Lynde? 'Heard you'd ben to sea." "I have." "Short voyage, eh ?" 4 "Yes." "Like it ?" "Yes." "Goin' ag'in ?" "Yes." "Not till you've ben home ?" " Yes." "Then you hadn't heerd, from home lately?" "I've just returned from Rio Janeiro." "Wal, your father's mighty poorly. They've written to you to come home." "Indeed! How are-how (I longed' to ask about Jessie) are the rest?"' "Oh, all well." "How is your friend Frank Gibson ?" "Bright as a~lark. Speaking' of Frank, do you know he's rather cut out, so to speak ?" "How?" "Why, a tall, 'black-lookin', mysterious chap came to Boylston 'bout three months ago,' scraped acquaintance with'Parson Grayson, took a class in the Sunday-school, and now he's hand and glove at the parsonage." "Is he-does-------that is to say, is Miss Grayson pleased with him ?" "Wal, some say so; some think not." "Do you think so?" "You're too hard on me, Lynde. Do you know, I had rather a fancy for Jessie, myself ?" "You?" "Yes." "Bah !" 4 "What's the natter ?" "Nothing. When are you going home ?" "Not f6r a fortnight. Visiting my cousins ~here." left him. I was sick to nausea with his twaddle; an dl wished myself again at sea. A thought of home, however, decided me at once. I went to my boarding- house; sold my chest, hammock, and' every thing else that I could spare, by which financial operation I pro'. page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] N 130 . LYNDE WEI$d. cured the sum of eight dollars and seventy-five een~s! I went on board the Norma and made the necessary explanations to Captain Manchester. I then sought Mr. Barney Fogg, from whom I wished to obtain one more item of inforrnatjon. I found him. "ilallo, Lynde! how are ye now?" "Quite well, I'm. obliged to you. "Goiii' hum ?" "Yes." "Glad to hear it! My love to the governor, and all the folks. An' if you could say a kind word for me to Jessie"- "Of course. "Wal now, that's* very kind of ye. Any thin' I can do for ye ?" "No-yes, there is. What is the name of that stranger you spoke of ?" "Oh, the stranger! Let me see. Urn! Rogers? No.~ Noggs? INo. Wal, 'pon my word, it escapes met" And he put his finger very forcibly against the side of his enormous nose. "Ah! I have it! Dodge. Dodge is the name. Doctor Dodge." "Doctor Dodge ?" "Yes. May be you know him ?" "I have se~en him. Good morning." "Good morning, Lynde. Take the cars, I s'pose ?" "No." "Ah, the stage-coach?" " No." "Wh~', how in natur' "- "Good morning, Barney." "Good morning, Lynde." And I left him looking the very personification of ques- tion-asking wonderment. The next morning, at day- break, I was trudging homeward. LYNDE WEISS. 131 CHAPTER XXI. THE JOURNEY HOMEWARD. THERE was. a raw, frosty chilliness in the air, that quickened my footsteps, as I set out on my' long jour- ney. It was the last of September. There had been, already, several frosts;. and the woods that skirted the road had put on their many-coloured garb of crimson and yellow and brown. These shades were thrown beautifully into relief by the dark foliage of the native spruce, cedar, hemlock, and pine, which abound in the interior of New England. I passed through Nashua, Keene, Walpole, Bellows' Falls, and other towns, on the much-travelled stage-route, taking the southern~ pass through the Green Mountains, through Rutland. Despite the circumstances under which I w~ return- ing home, every hour's travel lightened my burden of care and anxiety. I suppose that I must have travelled, one day with another, about twenty miles a day. Occa- sionally, my pride rebelled against my resolution to go home in* my sailor garb; but I mastered the feeling; consoling myself, to some extent, to say the truth, with the thought that my unshorn hair and beard, together with the hronzed complexion I had acquired at aea, would prevent immediate recognition. At Rutland I encountered a somewhat serious difficulty; none other than he utter exhaustion of my little stock of~inoney. I pondered long upon the means of relief. I had re- solved that I would not, under any circumstances, write home for money. Should I beg? Could I? I walked until noon, when, weary beyond expression, I sat down on a log by the wayside. A careful examination of my pockets brought to light a solitary shilling. With this I stopped at the door of the first farm-house; and, having eaten my bowl of bread and milk, offered the coin Vo the good housewife. I page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 182 LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. 133 "No, sir! we don't take money for trifles like this. You seem worn out-almost sick. Stay, won't you? Remain here until morning.,, Have you far to go ?" "About a hundred miles. "Well, you will accomplish the distance quite as soon if you remain here to-night." I thanked her, but declined the kind invitation, and told her of the urgency of my journey. Her gentle eyes glistened as she said good-bye, and my voice re~ fused all utterance, as, with the hot tears on my own cheek; I pressed the extended hand, and resumed my journey. As I left the house, it began to rain. From an impalpable drizzle it grew to a cold, raw, easterly storm, that beat ruthlessly upon me as I trudged, with aching limbs, towards home. At length, after many a weary hour's travel, night came on. There was no dwelling in sight. The rain had ceased falling-and, exhausted by the day's travel, I went into the woods by the roadside, broke a quantity of boughs from the low hemlocks, an d stretched my tired limbs for a night's repose. I slept. When I awake it was broad day. I was covered with the yellow, withered leaVes. I shivered with cold-.--and, on attempting to rise, I was almost frantic with the stinging, aching, nerve-palsying pain that besieged every joint. Any one who has travelled through those regions of southern and western Ver- mont, where the prevailing soil is clay, especially if he have done so after a protracted "spell" of rainy wea- ther, will readily understand how slowly and pa~ifully I forced my way onward through the yielding, slippery, glue-like mud. A hot, feverish feeling succeeded the death-like chilliness I had experienced when I awoke, and I was on the point of yielding in despair to the feeling of utter helplessness and hopelessness, when I heard behind me the dull tramp of a horse. I did not turn my head. I discovered, however, as his large, un- wieldy horse trotted past me, that it was a man on horseback. He was a hearty, ruddy, good~humoured& looking man of forty-five. I observed that he eyed me with a somewhat keen glance of scrutiny as he passed. I did not speak, however-contenting myself with the mental ejaculation- "Jove! had I but a mule I" He must have been a reader of faces, for he checke~1? his horse, and said-. "So you'd like to ride, eh.?" "Yes. I'd give the world to ride." "You shall keep your .share of the world, and have the ride besides." "While you walk ?" "Ay. I've a frame of iron. You're. as frail as a girl; and there are girl's tears ready to overflow your cheeks, now. Pshaw! Cheer up, man. Here! put your foot in the stirrup. What! you can't? Well then, this will do as well, I take it." And, so saying, he lifted me, as I would have lifted an infant, into the saddle. "'Never look sad; nothing's so bad As getting familiar with sorrow; Treat him, to-day, in a cavalier way, And he'll seek other quarters to-morrow!"' continued my companion, as we jogged along. "Where do you live ?" he asked. "In' Boylston." - "Across the hake ?" "Yes." "Do you know George Weiss ?" "I'm his son. "~'ou? his son?" " Yes.~, "W-h-e-w !" (A long w1~istle of 8UTprz8e.) "Why, how came you in this plight ?" I told him. "Well, I'm as glad as if I'd discovered the north- west passage. Your father did me a kind turn when I was a boy, and I've a chance now to pay him a small- instalment. Hurrah !" 12 I 182 183 * b I page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 I~YND~ WEISS. LYND132 WEISS. 185 And he threw his hat high into the air, in a somewhat Irish dernonstratioii of his eminent satisfaction. "There's the lake; see it ?" "Yes." "And there's my house. You will stay there with ~ne to-night, of course." "I can't possibly." "Why?" "Why, father is ill." "Ah !~ tluia indeed? That alters the case. By-the- by, will you oblige, me by handing this trifle to your father ?" "I thank you, sir. You can pay him when you visit :Boylston." "Hang it! how sharp you are! Have you got any money ?" "No." "Well then, how do you propose to get across the lake ?" "I will be your debtor, so please you, for a shil- ling." ".Yoi~'li take supper with the Great Mogul as much. Here !" And again he p~offe~ed me the notes. "No, sir; only a shilling, if you please." "You're, an obstinate cub. There's a dollar. If you won't take that, you may swim the lake for me." I laughed as I dismounted. "That laugh's a good sign. I'll see you agt~in, ere long. Good-bye. God bless you !" And, with a hearty shake of the hand, he left me. It was about four in the afternoon when I found' my- self on the western shore of Lake Champlain, a little to the south of Crown Point. I made my way to the black, craggy mountain that rises at the head of Bull- waggy Bay, (" Oh! the names that things take on!"), bounded u~ its side, and, urging my way rapidly on- ward, reached Port Henry at twilight. A night's rest gave me new energy-and, as the sun rose the next morning, I began my last day's travel. It was but twenty-five miles-and though it was the Sabbath, I hurried on towards home. The sun had just set 'as I reached the brow of the hill from which you descend as you approach Boylston from the south. J~ leaving the highway, I walked slowly along in the thicket that crested the Ledge, (it is cut down now,) until I was op- posite the hQme of Jessie Grayson. In my "fulness of heart," I knelt upon the green swatd, bared my tem- pies to the cool west wind that swept down from the mountains, and thanked God that I once more behehl my native village. I arose, and Walked slowly home- ward-when, suddenly, in a cluster of huge pines, IL saw the gleam of a white dress. I heard the sound of voices, as I drew nearer to the spot-and, as I ap- proached still nearer, I heard, in tones that I could not mistake, the words- "Leave me, sir. It is not yet your privilege to corn-. mand." A tall form was just visible in a retreat through the neighboring underwood. Whose it was I needed no special revelation to inform me. "Jessie !" saidJ, as she turned to go home.. "Dear Lynde! is it you ?" she exclaimed-and she gave me both her hands. "Oh, I was so frightened! I" She stopped, suddenly. "Where have you been, Mr. Weiss? When did you return ?" "Mr. Weiss ?" I echoed bitterly. "Forgive me, Lynde. I know not what to say. You would pity me, if you knew all." "All, Jessie? What is it ?" "I have promised to tell no one." "But you can explain all by-and4iy ?" She shook her head. "it is time I was at home, Lynde. ])o net think hardly of me." "Think hardly of you? Do you still reject n~e?" page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 LYNDE WEI$$. "I must." "Then you love me, Jessie.' You"- "When Miss Grayson requires your special attention, sir," said some one at my elbow," we will very grate- fully avail ourselves of your kind' assistance. At the present time, you will excuse me for saying that she is not in need of your services." "Father !" exclaimed Jessie, reproachfully. "Come, my daughter. It is time you were in-doors. I hoped that your knowledge of this young man's pro- fligacy' '-- "Profligacy, Mr. Gr~yson? Profligacy, did you say? How, and when, and where ?" "I did say profligacy, sir; and I beg to~ add that I meant it. Good-bye, sir I" I heard a stifled sob, as they left me; and I sank wearily down upon the earth, heart-sick, despairing-- as one bereaved. I remained there-I know not how long-until a thought of my father nerved me with new energy. I rose hastily and strode homeward. At the northern extremity of the Ledge was an enor- mous pine. Next the path, it had the appearance of being seund; but the northern side ~of it had been so much burned as to leave a large cavity, still black and charred, as it had been for years. As I passed it, a slight rustle in the leaves arrested my attention. I turned, but saw nothing; and thinking that it was the wind stirring the dry leaves, I paused a moment and looked over the village. It was, as far as I could see, unchanged. It was now quite dark, and thelights were gleaming che~rful1y from many a remembered window. "Oh, my father! is it thus I come home to you?" said I aloud; "in rags, penniless; you wellnigh as poor, spirit-broken, ill? Pshaw! This is mere boyish whining. There are no difficulties in your path which time arid energy cannot surmounL Courage! All may yet be well. Tun WILL IS THE WAY; be that your motto. You are young. You have health, energy, 'education. What, o~ who, shall rob you of the 'heart LYNDE WEISS. 18T - whose affections you now know to be your own? Cou- rage, 'I say! Jessie Grayson shall be yours. To-mor.. row s sun shall find you"- "DEan !" hissed a voice fiercely in nay ear. A sharp, burning; stinging sensation caused me to put my hand to my side, as I turned to discover the. persoti whose footsteps I heard in the underwood, and the warm blood gushed forth from the wound. I remember' & feeling of dizziness and nausea, and a rnomentar~ sens6 of pain, as I fell upon some l6ose stones at the foot of the pine. The assassin had done his work with some skill. CHAPTER XXJJ. ~iLOME, AS I FOUND IT-A VISIT TO PAULA WARREN-THE CIRCLE BROKEN. I hAVE a dim recollection, as of a dream which I can but half recall,. in the bustle, of the day's toil, of a dark- ened room; of white, fringed curtains; the form and proportions of which evaded my efforts to define them; now distinct and natural, and then vague, shadowy, im- palpable. I remember closing my eyes with a sigh of exhaustion at the fruitless effort. I remember hearing my name pronounced by a familiar voice ~ and after that is another chaos. When my consciousness was again restored, I remember feeling an accession of strength. I could see nabre distinctly. I raised my hands, and looked at them.. And them I asked myself where I was, and how I came to be' in that particular room. Turning my head, I saw, hanging against the wail, a barQmeter and an 'old military chapean; one F of which articles I recognized as my father's; the other as my brother Griffith's. The key was found, and I soon recalled the incidents of my return to Boylston. On a light stand, b.y the bedside, were divers cups and phials; and among them was an ancient-looking silver- 12*. page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. 139 bowed pair of spectacles, with a much-faded crimson- morocco case, which I at once remembered as the pro- perty of my aunt. I was wondering why I had been left 'alone; and was about to make an effort to call some. one of the family, (it would have been fruitless,) when I heard a light footstep at my bedside. Oh, how my pulse leaped as I turned my eyes! There, pale, sad-ill, to all appearance-stood the idol of my life-long worship. Lying, as I did, in deep shadow, she did not discover that I had opened my eyes. She looked down upon the phials and cups that covered the light stand, and sighed. "Jessie !" I said, in a hoarse whisper. "Lynde! do you know me ?" she exclaimed. "How long"- "Hist! not a word! The doctor says you must not attempt to talk. Thank God! he's saved !" she mur- inured; and, bowing her head, she wept. A moment afterward she left me. She returned with my father, Griffiths, and my sisters. "My dear boy !". murmured my father. "God bless you! You have had a narrow escape. There, don't try to say any thing.. Keep perfectly quiet, and we'll have you up in a few days." My aunt Caroline, Ann West, and my uncle Hugh came in as h~e enjoiiwd me to bequiet; and as I looked, in almost infantile weakness, at the familiar faces, there were tears answering the hysteric flow of my own., "Leave him now," said my father. "Brother Hugh wilL sit with 'him awhile, until Dr. Blair returns. They left me. Wearied by even so slight an exertion, I again sank into a profound slumber. When I awoke again, the doctor was at my bedside, and near~ him stood the clergyman, Allan Grayson. ~"Getting stronger, you -see," said tJ~e doctor to his companion. -' "Oh, decidedly," was the reply.' "Well, Lynde, you have had a~ pretty sick time of it. You're doing nicely, I see. Let me caution you to be quiet. Don't speak to an~oc1~,', for a day or two yet. II suppose you are lonely; tired, eli ?" Nodded. "Well, Griffiths may read Robinson Crusoe to you. Here's Lucy and Jessie, though; we'll press them into service. Here, Jessie! read this forlorn young gentle- man a full, true, and particular account of Robinson Crusoe's sickness, and his grand tobacco panacea. Come, friend Grayson, the ladies are the best nurses, you know. Here comes Kate; and, if the three can't cure him, he's beyond my skill. Ha! ha! ha! Don't have the dumps, my boy! You won't die, this time !" And the gentlemen left me. With the gentle. minis- trations of home, I recovered apace; and in a week I' was able to sit in my father's arm-chair. Paul Warren and his family were among my first visitors. My old playfellows and neighbours came in as soon as the medical ta6oo was removed; and their friendly sympa~ thy removed the unpleasant thoughts of my unexpected arrival and my 'penniless condition. My uncle Hugh relieved me one day of a burthensome anxiety, by quietly telling me that my father's~ creditors, on a careful examination of his affairs, were so well pleased with his upright dealing, and so thoroughly satisfied of his ability to pay all he owed, that they had given him "an extension." The price of iron and lum- ber, he added, had recently risen with a rapidity and to an~ extent almost without precedent, and my father did not, at that moment, owe five hundred dollars. The rise in the value of real estate had been very consider.. able;' and his property, real and personal, would com- mand fifty thousand dollars. At last, after an interval of some' three weeks, I could walk. With my father and my. uncle Hugh, or ~with Griffiths and my sisters,-occasionally with the house- keeper and Jessie 'Grayson.-.J strolled languidly through the garden and into the fields. On one occasion, as we were passing Fogg & Gibson's store, Barney Fogg rushed to my side. page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] 140 LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. 141 "Hallo! Lynde! Got out ag'in, eh? 'Pon my word, I thought you'd a-died. Who do you 'spose it was that struck ye ?" Griffiths: checked the. flow of Mr. Barney Fogg's short sentences, and we walked home. "Do you know who struck you, Lynde ?" asked Griffiths. "No." "But you suspect." "We'll talk of that by-and-by, Griffiths." The recollection of this conversation was speedily banished by the occurrences of* the next few weeks. I now remember---what I did not then notice---that no al- lusion was made to the occurrences connected with my return. Besides, there was a great deal to absorb my attention from day to day. I had no sooner recovered than I re~risited my home among the mountains. The lapse of a year~ and a half, though its effects were not noticeable in Pauk and Mary Warren, had effected a decided change in Charles, who was one of the lustiest and most active among my father's lumbermen, and in young P~aul, who, by dint of persevering study, had succeeded in passing a very creditable examination at a neighboring college, and was then winning golden opinions from the faculty and the students. It was on the very day of my visit that his mother had received a letter from him. She had scarcely ended her eager inquiries as to my fortunes during my absence, when, with .a mother's joy swelling her heart and speaking in her eloquent eye, she placed it in my hand, with the simple announcement- "From Paul." - I opened it, and. read as follows: "M-, December 21st, 18-. "My DEAR MOTHER :-I shall be with you at Christ- nias. The days are dragging their length very tediously away, as you may well imagine, but the day after to- morrow will set me free, and then, dear mother, I shall soon be with you. Rejoice with me. Although I am the, youngest of' my class, I have been elected to the censorship of the literary society to which I belong. I am so fortunate, too, as. to have pleased the president and faculty, and they speak-somewhat vaguely, to be sure, but definitely enough to set my heart bounding like that of a thorough-bred in a fox-hunt---of good news for me, which will not be very tardy in coming. Be- sides, (and I say this because you will be glad of it,) the little trifle I wrote in the summer vacation has received the most flattering comments from the editor of -'s Magazine, and it recently came to me in an English re- print. Oh, if I can but succeed! dear, dear mother. I thank God that I yet have a mother. How will I con- jure up a spell that shall relieve grim poverty of her long and unthanked sentinelship at your door? Do you know, I am proud, and that I 8tep proudly when I pass the starched and gloved, fashion-aping nonenti. ties-the rich votaries of science-in my class, who only know geometry from the differential calcu the title-pages of their text-books? lus by "How are you all at home? Oh, I am 80 impatient to see you! My books grow irksome to me as the time draws near; but, for all that, I am early and late at my toil. Ii fret a little at this long, probationary study, for I long to do something; yet my better judgment says, 'Wait. Be patient. Lay deeply and firmly the founda- tion; and you've a. lifetime to uproar what superstruc- ture you will.' Enough; I must take my book8 in hand. Give my love to all. Give Sue & kiss for me; and accept a missive thousand for yourselffrom "Your affectionate son, "PAUL." He arrived on the following day.. Decided as was the change in himself arid Charles, I was surprised by the greater alteration in the appearance of his sisters. 140 141 page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] 142 LYNDE WEiSS. Ruth was now twenty, and was, as I soon learned, soon to be married. Mary and Judith were like their elder sister, fine-looking girls, nearly grown, and. great favourites among the young folk at the Falls. Amidst some idle badinage with Ruth about her approaching nuptials, I noticed that a shade Qf unpleasant feeling clouded the features of the mother, while Judith hung her head with a deep blush. Paul happened to come in, however, at that moment, from his work, and the inci- dent was forgotten. The young student, too, arrived that evening, and, in the joy of our greetings, I should not probably have given the matter a second thought, had not an occasional look of deep sadness and some long-drawn sighs recalled it. I was at once satisfied that Judith had given her heart's wealth away. To whom, was a question for time to answer. The Christmas holidays went merrily by, and, at the urgent request of Paul Warren, I consented to prolong my visit until after New-year's. ~oung Paul was then to leave us, to take charge of a country school, and~ Charles was to return with hjs father ~to the Lumber- men's Lodge. The da~ys went merrily by. The young farmer tQ whom Ruth was betrothed came on the day after Christmas, and, what with musie, dancing, and sleigh-rides, there were few~dull moments for the happy occupants of the cabin. New-year's came. "You must excuse me this morning, Lynde," said Paul, as we left the breakfast-table. "I've a few loads of wood to haul to-day, and by-andby, if you have no- thing better to do, why, cross the old rye~fleld, and eome into the clearing where I am chopping. 12 shall commence hauling in time to get home with a load of wood at dinner-time. Good morning !" "Good morning, Paul," I replied; and, as he turned away with his ch&~erfuI sTmile, his eyes flashing with good4humour and beaming with kindness, his hearty ringing tones falling welcomely upon other ears be- sides~ my own, I sighed, as I silently asked myself if LYNDE WEISS. 143 I too should, ever have such a home, with such an angel-wife to gladden it with heaven's own joy and peace. The morning wore away. Charles accompanied John Williams, the young farmer, to the Falls, while I sallied forth with- young Paul through the snow towards the clearing. "Father must be loading," said Paul, as we left the rye-field a~d entered the narrow thicket that separated it from the place to which we were going. "I don't hear the axe. It seems early, though, for him to begin hauling." We soon came in sight of the cattle. They were standing quietly beside a large pile of wood. "Your father has gone to the brook for water, pos- ~ibly," I remarked, as we approached the sleds "No, here he is! He is hurt, Paul." We both sprang forward. There, stretched at full length, face downward, in the deep snow, lay Paul Warren. "Paul!" Iexclaimed, as I grasped the collar of his coat, and attempted to raise him. "Father!" screamed my companion, hoarsely. There was no reply, no motion. The limbs were~ stiff. Th~ face was ghastly, and the eyes set. He was DEAD! He lay as he fell. There was not a vestige of the slightest struggle. We knelt in the snoW beside him. We chafed his hands and temples. We loosened his clothing, and rubbed the broad chest with snow. We be~ught him to speak, to. give some sign. Alas! alas! Wo to the* widow and orphans-he was dead!. * * * . * Will my reader spare me the record of the incidents that fQllowed %-.~his removal to the cabin-4he. wailing of bereaved widowhood and orphanage-the sQinbre preparatory eeremonie~ of the buri~l-~-t~e gathering of hundreds at the funeral---the falling of stern men's t~ai~s-the preacher's -half~choked utterance-the~ part. page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] I I 1~' I 4 (. it LYNDE WEISS. ing look a1 the familiar features of the loved and lost, when "Women's tears fell fast, And children sobbed aloud,"- the dull clatter of the clods upon the coffin-the closing prayer and benediction,-afld the sad return to the broken circle of the home-fire! I am unequal to the task. My eyes are dim these many years, andy 'the thin locks are snow-white upon my~ temples; yet the dim eyes wax never so nearly sightless, and an old man's weary loneliness never comes with such heart- sinking ~weight, as when I recall those sorrow-darkened days of my younger years. "So may he rest !" "His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, This was a man CIIAPTER XXIII. A MYSTERY SOLYEP.A DISCOVERY. "Let us be patient; these severe afflictions Not from the ground arise ~ But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise." So writes one whose tone betrays that he has felt "the severe afliictio'ns" of which he speaks. To such purpose did I strive, when the first violence of grief was chastened, to give such poor woi~ds of condolence as I could command to the stricken mother. But the circle was broken. The chair was vacant. The cheer- ful smile no longer enlivened the board; the well- remembered voice rang no longer at the hearth. The dust gathered on the favourite books. The spinning- LY WE WEISS. 145 wheel was ~siIent. The necessary household duties were silently performed. Now and then the mother and her children leaned their heads mournfully together, bitt the tears fell in* silence, and were stealthily ~wiped away. I remained for some weeks at the cabin. Just before my return to the village, my father had dismissed his clerk, at his own request, and Charles Warren was in- stalled in his place. This was a most fortunate occur- rence, as it served to divert the widow's thoughts from the all-absorbing subject of her great and irr~p~rab1e loss. Paul was successful in his school, and the friends of the family found means to relieve them from all fears of pecuniary embarrassment. A short time after I returned home, the family removed to the Falls. By a little exertion on the ~part of his friends, the appoint- ment of postmaster was obtained for Charles Warren; and thus, for the time, all was well. I was, more than once, urged to reveal the partieu- lars of the attack upon me; but, feeling that I could not swear positively to the commission of the act by Dodge, I refused to do so. My recollection was, of course, imperfect ~ and, besides the want of positive testimony, the circumstantial evidence was by far too meagre to convict a man on so grave an accusation' Oh, how tediously that long winter wore away I I saw Jessie but seldom, and never alone. Dr. Dodge had become an inmate of the family, and 'it was cur- rently reported that the marriage would take place in May. When, at length, spring 'came, I resorted t~o ~y. favourite amu~ements.' Sometimes I floated ,in my skiff with the gentle current of' the' Bouquet. Some- times II sallied into the woods' with Munch and my fowling-piece, and oftener put Dash through his paces on the rough mountain-roads.~ It is needless to add~ however, that there was 'no zest in any of my ~leasnres. I 'found much 'greater satisfaction an contriWuting, as far as~lay in my power, tQ the happiness of my foster- mother; in assisting Oharles Warren in his somewhat 144 page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] LYNDE WEI$~. 14T 146 LYNDE. WEISS. burdensonie duties; and in encouraging Paul, by occa~ sional letters, to diligence in his studies. He had re- cently been writing' for the Magazine,' and, al-. though he had not written much, had 'already acquired a very enviable reputation. He had, moreover, written a tale~ and offered it to a New York publisher. The reply to his letter was just what a'ny more experienced man might have ~xpeoted. It was 'to this effect: t~hat his manuscript was "well-written; spirited, and intel'- esting, but" (oh, what a word is that same BUT in the critic's vocabulary!) "that the author followed some- what ~9O closely in the wake of -' It wa~ just after his reception of this decision that I received from him the following letter: "M--.--, March, 18-. "My D~u WBlss :-~--Thank you! thank you a thousand times, for your last letter. It is full of good things-full of encouragement-full of kindness,-and 'I thaI~k you' is all I can s~ay, by way. of an attempt to .tell' you how welcome was your letter; and how my~ energies have been aroused to new life by your words of' cheer. 'I will work. I will wait. .1 thank that publisher tl~at he did not ruin me by giving my crudities to the 'world. I was angry' with him at first; but, henceforth, 'I shall always think less, of the' wit of Byro~i, in his mutilation of ~he IBible, 'by which he made it rea4 to good old John Murray.~-' ~w, Barab.. ba~ was'~-a publisher.' "How are they all at 'home? Doyoi~ kn~w? I suspect there, is, something wrong~ there? Judith. dQes not write to me at~all ;' and-yes,:I mz~8t b~ f~rank'with you. Some one' has sent me an anonymous letter, ac- cusing you of trifling, with .he~' affections.. I would not )fleittien this, but for the fact that' I scorn the' a~tifiee. I kt~ozp you, LyDde,' for soi~ething 9ob19r-b@ter. 111 is & lie' on the 'face of it. 'Let it put ~you on' your guard. It can only~be the cloak of a~ 'dishonourable. de- ~ign. Look to 'it. ' I am far 'from home. Charles is w busy4 Be you our sentinel; for there is one man at Roylston~ whom I believe to be capable of any enormity that might serve his purpose. No one but such a wretch could Wrong unprotected orphanage. No one shall do so, and escape his merited retribution. Say so much for me to-I will not pollute my paper with the name of the cowardly assassin-and know and re.- member that no trifle shall ever shake the friendship and confidence of Yours, always, "PAUL WARREN." I had but just folded the letter, when Jerry entered my room. With a profound bow and a most deferen- tial scrape of the foot, he announced his mission. with-.. "Mistlier Lynde, honey, yer sister Lucy'll be wanting ye." "Where is she, Jerry ?" "In the gairdhin jist." "Very well, Jerry." I met both my sisters near a little nursery of peach- trees, which had been the object of our especial care, and which promised to bear fruit in the course of time. "Why, Lynde !" exclaimed Lucy, with a very good- natured frown, "you're as slow us the peach~trees. How long is it since I sent for you ?" "Possibly five' minutes." "' Five minutes, sir? That's an age to me!' Instaiit obedience, if you would have my favour. Your wor- shipful escort, sir, is very respectfully requested as far as the parsonage." "I must decline, Lucy." "You must go! Get my bonnet, and Kate's, and be sure you ai~'e quick about it." "Why, Lucy !" exclaimed Kate, in a tone of~remon- strance. "Fie, Kate! lie shall go. Ii never had my way before in my life !" A merry peal of laughter from Kate denoted full acquiescence, and I obeyed the b~hest with what ~rac~ page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] 148 LYND~ WEISS. I couhi. The bonnets and shawls were Boon adjusted, and we set forth for the parsonage. We found Allan Grayson alone. "' Where. are Madam Grayson and Jessie?" asked Lucy. "In the garden, ny dear."' My sisters passed on1 and I was in the act of leaving the room when ~the clergyman called me. "Mr. Weiss." (He had never called me so before.), " "13e seated, if you please. I have something to say to you-of importance; and opportunities do not occur every day." "Mr. Grayson does not mean to say that that diffi- culty lies at m~' door ?" "I mean what I say. Do not bandy words with me. You are doing a great wrong." "How, and to whom ?" "You know, of course, that my friend, Doctor Dodge, is now suspected of having attacked you ?" "Yes." "You do not believe liim~ guilty ?" "I-excuse me, sir. This is not the proper time for me to answer that question." "You do riot meawto say that you saw him ?" "I do not mean to say any thing, now, Mr. Gray- son. I am decidedly of the opinion that I had best leave the ii~atter as it is, for the present." "Do you suspectt him ?" "Pardon me, Mr. Grayson. I cannot answer that question." "Well, young man, I can forgive this irreverence to a gray-haired pastor,. who- is, at least, entitled to civility." "M?. Grayson, I"- "Permit me to say to you, sir, that I have my own opinions as to the pretended, unprovoked attack upon ~9 you. - "Pretended! Mr. Grayson "--- LYNDE WEISS. "Do not interrupt me, sir. Doctor Dedge will be proved innocent. He is t& become a member of n~y family, as my son-in-law; and, notwithstanding your relentless persecution, I shall do. all in my power to dissuade him from doing himself justice by exposing zIou~ "My dear sir, I"'- "Excuse me, if you please. Will you do yourself the pleasure to join the ladies ?" He resumed his writing. I left him, mid entered the garden. I met Jessie, very unexpectedly, at the gate. "Excuse me a moment," she said,' 'as we shook hands. "Stay, Jessie. I know all !~' "I. fear not." "But your father has told me." "Ha does not know all." "Can you give me no clue ?" "'Not ~Vit1iout sacrificing another." "'And yo~i will marry this-felon ?" "Never! But excuse me. I am going for my 'Flora's Lexicon' for Lucy."' And so saying, she tripped lightly past me into~ the house. CHAPTER XXIV. AN AYPAIX WITH TH~ LUMDERMEN~ MONTHS passed.~' Spring had come again. It was late in March. The snow was incIting rapidly, ~nd th~ lumbermen were looking for the breaking up of the ice. - The timber for some fifty rafts lay upoz~ the banks ef the Bouquet; ~nd the jolly old raftemen rubbed their 18* page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] i4t~Q LYNDE WEISS. LYNDF~ WEISS. 151 1han4~ in genuine glee, as they recounted their exploits on the rapids, and looked forward to ~another trial of their skill. There2 was half-a-score of young men who had, that winter, escaped the restraints of the school- room, and they were looking forward to the perilous descent of the rapids as the test which should give them character and standing among the rude but manly lumbermen, or overwhelm them with the dis- grace of failure. There was, among the lumbermen, an old crony of Paul Warren's, whom I had always liked, (none the less because Paul lo~ d him,) and who seemed equally attached to me. Lie was known as Morris Farr.. He was a tall, ungainly, ~black-looking personage-a jovial, hearty fellow; yet precisely the sort of man whom you would prefer as a friend, and not as an enemy. . I met Morris one day, after the ice had broken up, as I was hunting with Munch near the Lumbermen's Lodge, and he gave me his usual hearty greeting. "Hallo! Lynde, my 'boy! ' Thought I was never goin' to see ye no more! Why ha'n',t yot~. hen to see us?" "I hardly know, Morris.~ I"- "You don't know. Well, I do." "Hardly." "Then my name's not Morris Farr. Come closer," added he, in a whisper, and he looked very cautiously around him. "You love Jessie Grayson !" I know~~not why, but the expression felk gratingly upon my ear, and I was angry with the man for his abrupt remark. "If I do," I replied, somewhat tartly, "I do not choose to have my private affairs meddled with by any- bod~%~ don't, eh ?" replied the himbe~man, a little nettled) as' well, he might be, by so rude an answer to a remark Which . h4 had made in all kindness. "Wa1, don't~git in apuneheon about it, for a dimmyjohn 'u',d V. t 150 .151 e hold ye !" added he, and, as he spoke, Charks Warren and. Doctor Dodge approached us. "You Can try your hand at measuring, me, if you so choose," said I, angrily, not heeding the approach of the doctor and his companion. "Why, Lynde! you and Morris Farr are too good friends to quarrel. What are you doing, with that gun ?" "I have been hunting all day." "Well, come, Farr, make up. I thought Lynde was your best friend. Shake hands and make up." "I flatter myself that Morris Farr and myself are competent to settle our own difficulties." "Oh, well, if he's so touchy, let us leave him," said Doctor Dodge, and they walked on towards the Lodge. "I know that 'ere Dodge," said Norris. "I think it quite likely," said I abruptly, and I stalked away into the woods. An hour's walk ~nd a few shots calmed my ruffled temper, and I turned towards the place where I had met him, for the purpose of asking his pardon. As I did not care for further sporting, I left my gun un- loaded. Munch went bounding along before me-now following some tracl~ upon the surface of the snow- now gambolling about my feet~ to my no small annoy- ance, in a style that had more than once. welinigh sent me headlong. I followed the river's bank until I was opposite the, place where~ Farr had been chopping. There I found a small raft, confined to the bushes on the bank by a single withe. The fastening seemed in-, secure, and I was about to~ adjust it when I heard the report of a gun. I sprang hastily up the bank, think. ing that Chai~les Warren, or his comparison, might have started a deer, and made my way in the direction of the report. I observed that the peal of Morris parr's axe. had ceased, and hurried forward towards the .place where I had left him. A sad sight aWaited me. . At the foQt of a huge. pine,,, which 'he had nearly cut through, lay the stalwaii~ lumberman, and from a small,~' page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] LYNDB WflIS$. but unsightly wound in his' temple, the blood wa~ trickling down upon the snow. 2Re was stiR' warm, and, laying i~y hand upon his breast, I thought I could detect a feeble pulsation. Laying down my gun, I tried to staunch the wound, although, from itS position I thought it scarcely p~ssiblo to save him. lli~ dinner- basket was near him, and along with it a pitcher, such as the lumbermen were accustomed to use for bringing water from the river. Seizing this, I ran to the bank, and leaped upon the raft to fill the pitcher. My mo- mentum, it seenis, loosened the already frail fastening, for when I turned to 'juuip ashore, the furious current had swept the raft at least ten feet from the bank into the boiling current. Throwing the pitcher into the water, I grasped, instinctively, a setting-pole, which, fortunately for me, lay upon the raft, and, for a few minutes, every thought was absorbed by my perilous situation. For a considerable distance there were no very abrupt turns in the river's channel, and there was little dt~nger, provided I could regain the shore before the raft should reach the rapids. I strained every nerve to guide it to the nearest point; 'but the river was swollen to a great height-the setting-pole was un- ~wieldy-~---the current was very strong-and, in utter despair, I passed the point. There was yet another chanc~ for me. A little below the point was an eddy, into which there wa~ a possibility that I might guide the raft. If I failed, there wals 'but the perilous alter~ native of leaping into the boiling, current and attempt- 'ing to swim to the shore. Exerting all my strength, I succeeded in gaining the eddy. A loud shout greeted x~iy ear as I approached the shore. "Hallo! Lynde, is that~ you ?"~ exclaimed Barney Fogg as I. leaped ashore. Beside him stood Frank Gibson. "W~ thought it ~was all day with you, Lyn&," said the latter. "You have had a narrow escape. Why, you've hurt yo~.irself. Where does' this hlood come from? Your hands are both bloody !-and this sleeve, and your vest I" I shuddered as I thought of m~' gun, left by the body, and of the, Possibility that my bloody appearance, together with, the fact of its being. found there, might direct suspicion to me. Confused for the moment, I replied-. "I-i--Morris Farr is killed 1" "Morris Farr!. Killed ?" "Yes-that is, I believe he is not quite dead." "Blow did it happen ?" "211 cannot tell. Will one of you go for Dr. Blair, while I return to the shanties ?" "I'll go," replied Frank Gibson,. hastily; "and maybe the constable wouldn't be amiss. Eh, Lynde? You are looking pale to-day." And he bounded away towards the Falls. Leaving the bank of the river, I led the way for my companion to a narrow lumber-road, along which we urged our way at a rapid pace towards the Lodge. As we ap~ preached the body, we heard the sound of voices, and I shuddered as I heard Charles Warren say- "Oh, I am certain of it. I know his gun as well as 211 do my own." " Had a bit of a quarrel, you say ?" "Both were in evident ill-temper," replied DoctQr Dodge. "Ah! here he is, boys!" he added, as '1i~ saw me approaching. "The blood isn't dry on him." "Is he alive ?" I asked, almost breathless with my walk. "As dead as his axe !" answered one of the blmber0 men, with a scowl. "Better for you, I'm thinking , ef he W~8 alive. Killed the best feller in the settlement, since Paul Warren died. Shouldn't wonder ef you hed a hand in that." "Liar !" I retorted, and* I levelled & blow at him which would have felled him to the ground had not some one caught my arm*. "So! ~o-o-Q !" hissed the fellow through hi~ teeth, LYNDE WEISS. N 16~ 158 page: 154 (Illustration) [View Page 154 (Illustration) ] LYNDE WEISS. "No man aims a lAow at Sam Saxton for nothing . What d'ye say, boys, don't he deserve stringing' up for this 'ore?" "That. he does! Yes! Jest right f~r him !" sho~ited some of the men, and; several other lumbermen coming up, the vote was taken again. "This won't do, boys," said Charles Warren. "Give him his trial. The court sits tl~e first Monday in next month." "So I say," added Doctor Dodge; "Fair play. Give the devil his due." "Who ari you ?"' replied Saxton. "Jest rein in yer houses, or we'll string you up, too! Ef it hadn't ben for you, he'd ben better off. S~o jest shut up, or you'll fare worse." "For God's sake, Sam, you're not in earnest !" ex- claimed Charles Warren. '~ A'n't 1? Jack, get me that trace-chain. No, the binder 'II be better. Give us the binder. Bill, tie hi~ flippers!" "Stand off! Let me go! Men! will you hear me? I did not -ah~ot him I" I exclaimed, as Bill Ferguson tried to seize my hands. "You didn't dolt ?" "No, as God is my judge." "Wal, who did, ef you 'didn't ?" "I. am sure I do n6t know." "Don'ii know? Whose gun is that'?'~ "Mine." "Whose tracks is them, goin'. down towards the river~?" "Mine." "Where'd. that ore blood come from? A'n't it Mor- tis Fart's?" "Never mind the butt. Freeze to him, boys 1 Hold him-fast!" He was obeyed. With his own hands he put the noose over my head, and drew it tightly upon my neck. 154 1~ I "FREEZE TO HIM BOYS I HOLD HIM FAST I" I f I I I 13 page: -155[View Page -155] LYNDB WEiS$. 166 "You're choking him !" exclaimed Charles Warren. "Wal, he'll be worse choked soon. Bill Ferguson, pull out your watch. We'll give him five minutes to say his prayers." I again appealed to the infuriated men, but was at once silenced. I knelt in the snow, and tried to lift my thoughts to the great and good Judge of all. "Come, sir, time's up !" shouted S~xton. "Bill, throw the eend o' the binder over the limb of that 'ere beech. Now, clap on to that. Are you~ ready ?" "Ay, ay." "Any message, sir?" said he, turning tome. "Yes. Charles, tell my father that I died innocent! I".-. Fools! Br~i}tes! "Hold! there! & ')~~ I say! YTLLAINS !" shouted some one, and as I turned, my brother Griffiths leaped, with the fierceness of a hungry lion, ~ipon. the astonished Saxton. A single blow L~id him senseless. I tore 'the rope from~ my neck and rushed into the throng, where Griffiths was struggling~ unequally with several of the lumlI~rmen. As I grap- pled with one, my father rushed, bareheaded, from th~ woods, and, running in among the combatants, scat-~ tered them right and left with the ferocity of a tigress. bereft of her young. "Brave work this !" shoutedd he, as the cowardly fel- lows skulked away. "Lynde, my boy! Thank God, I was in time! Whose work ~s that, my son?" h~ added, pointing to the lifeless b "I do not know." "I Ic~zew you did not. But you ~iil be arrested, Lynde. Here comes the* constable, now I was arrested, and conveyed to Vhp Fa4ls, a~id at nightfall I left the village, in the custody of the sheriff, for the county jail. I caught a glimpse of Jessia Grayson as I passed the parsonage.' She was~ standing by h~r father at a window, and, as I l~ook~4 up, she buried l~r face in the curtains. I leaned f~int1y back in the sleigh and wept. 155 page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 160 LYNDE WEI$~. CHAPTER XXV. A WEEK IN~ JAIL.-THE TRIAL. OH that week in prison! I would not pass another such for years of life. True, I was allowed the use of books and paper. My father, my uncle Hugh, and my aunt Caroline, Grifliths, and my sisters visited me-as did many others. I was supplied with every imaginable comfort, and was partially reconciled to my confinement by the assurance that few, if any, thought me capable of the commission of such a deed as was laid to my charge.~ Counsellor S-.~--, whom my father had em- ployed as leading counsel, visited me, and heard my detailed statement of facts. Kate whispered in my ear a kind message from the parsonage. Yet, notwith- standing all this, I passed the week in agony. I could not read, or write, or think. I could not rest. I have no words-nay, there are no words-that can ade- quately express my wretchedness. Not merely that I was charged with the comi4~ion of a foul crime; not that my defence seemed almost hopeless; not that I was, in all' probability, to die a dog's death by the hang- man; but that I was fettered. Against the probable result of the trial I could nerve myself; but the being chained, like a sheep-slaying cur-oh, that was what goaded me to madness. The snow melted from the earth. The mild air of spring came in nt my grated window. I could hear the robin's song at daybreak, and I strode angrily, in my clanking fetters, to and' fro in my cell,-4' have lain for weeks upon the couch of sick- ness. I have been confined for weary' days and nights to a narrow berth in a ship's forecastle; but, in all my life, I remember nothing that so ~gnawed at my very life-strings as that week's confinement in jail. LY2~DE WEIS0. 157 It wore away, and at length came the' day appointed for the trial. It was about nine o'clock that I was con~ ducted by the sheriff to the court-house. There was an immense concourse of people around the jail. They' were gathered in knots and engaged in eager conversa- tion. "Here he comes !'~' said somebody, as. I left the yard of the jail; and, instantly, all eyes were turned upon me. The crowd approached as near to me as the guard would permit, and I heard not a. few declaring their belief in my innocence. "Keep up good heart, Lynde !" said Paul Warren, who, it seemed, had come home to attend the trial; and the words provoked a murmur of approbation in the crowd, "Chip o' the old block !" said one. "Ay, that he is. What 'd old. Paul a' said to the like o' this ?" said another. As I entered the' court-house~ I turned to .catch the eye of the young student; when, directly ~ehind him,. I met the glance ~of Dr. Dodge bent upon me, wiA~h a smile of malignant satisfaction., lit was but for an in. stant. We passed on, and I was placed in. the dock. I looked around me; and as I found every eye bent upon me, a sense of my own innocence and of the wrong abQut to be done me~ gave me the ~air of proud defiance as I looked arou~ui me. The tedious empanneling of the jury was at last got through with, and the indict~ went read, "What say you, Lynde Weiss ?" asked the clerk, "are you guilty, or not guilty ?" "Not guilty !" I answered. "Are you ready, gentlemen?" asked~ the district &t~' torney. "We are, sir," replied Counsellor $-.; and the former addressed the jury. He began with some general remarks about their re~ sponsibility, 'in the trial of an offence involving the reputation and liberty-perhaps the life-of the pri- 14 'A page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 LYNDE WEI$~. LY~DJ~ WEI~$. 169 sorter. He reminded them that the court would in- struct them to givo the ac~ised the benefit of any rational doubt of his guilt. "But, gentlemen," he s~id in conclusion, "while you must not suffer yourselves to be prejudiced against the prisoner, it is my duty to caution you not to suffer your previous acquaintan~o with him, or your previous regard for him, to interfere with your solemn duty. We will now proceed with the evidence.. Samuel Saxton !" "Samuel Saxton I" repeated the sheriff. "Here 1" "Takethe stand." "Now, Mr. Sexton," said Mr. Harper, the common- wealth's attorney, when the witness had been sworn, "tell the jury what you know of this affair." The witness stated, in a surly, dogged tone, that, on the day of the murder, Morris Parr had been ordered to fell a large pine; that he went directly to the place and began the task; that about two o'clock, he heard several sh~s, and the barking of a dog; tha~t he paid no attention to it; that a few minutes after this, Charles Warren and Dr. Dodge came to the Lodge, with their dogs and guns, and that he invited them in to drink with him; that they Aid so; that immediately afterward, on leaving the Lodge, the dogs struck each a different trail, and that Charles Warren said to the doctor, "Dodge, you follow that trail, and I'll follow thi8 ~ that they both disappeared in ~the woods; that, some twenty minutes later, he heard a single shot; immediately after which they returned, beth' at the same time, in the same direc- tions in which they left him; that', he heard Doctor L~odge say, "Come, Warren, this is dull sport; let us go home ;" that. he;started with them from the Lodge, on their way homeward, to see how Parr was getting along; that th~yifound him . lying at the foot of' the pine, dead; that the prisoner's gun lay beside him in the:snow, and that there were fresh tracks both towards and from the river.; that they followed the tracks to the bank, where they could be traced no farther; ~but- saw no one, and therefore returned to the.b~dy. "Are you aware of' ahy ill-feeling between the de- ceased and the prisoner ?" "Why, I've hearn tell"-. "Never mind what you have heard. Do you know of any." "No, sir; t~iey was always uncommon good friends, fur as I knowed any thin' 'bout it." "That will do. Mr. 8-, have you any questions to ask the witness ?" * "One or two, Mr. Harper. What were you doing when Warren and Dodge found you at the Lodge ?" "Mending a sled, sir ?" "They went in different directions, you say ?" "Yes;" "And returned at the same time ?" " es." "Would the course taken by either of them- lead you near the place where-Parr was chopping ?" "It would. Doctor Dodge must have gone mighty nigh in sight o' the spot." Here there was a general turning of heads; but Doc- tor Dodge 'was not in the court-room. - "They returned, you say, in the same directions in which they started ?" "Yes." "Did you see any thing peculiar in the manner of' either' of those gentlemen ?" - - "No, sir, I can't sa~ as I did; though I thought Doc- tor Dodge seemed to be in consid'ble of a hurry to start - for hum." "Very well; you may go down." - Charles Warren was then called. lie stated that, on the day set forth in~ the indictment, he went to the lumber settlement with Doctor. Dodge, with two dogs and guns, for a few hours' sport; that they found Farr and the prisoner in an altercation. . - - "Some hard words ?" page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 LYNDE WEISS. LYND13~ WI~ISS. 161. "Not' very. ]?arr said, 'Don't get into a luncheon, for a demijohn would hold ye,~ and the prisoner replied 'You can measure me if you choose."' "You left them, then ~" "Yes." "Heard no more hard words ?" "No,. sir." * "Did you hear any threats Y" asked Mr. S. "I did not. The prisoner said they could settle their own difficulties." "That will do." "Doctor William Dodge !" called Mr. Harper. "William Dodge !" echoed the sheriff. "Here I" replied the witness; and he made his way to the stand. His testimony, as elicited by the prosecuting attorney, was of the same tenor -as that of Warren, and he was handed over to my' counsel. "How long were you gone on the trail which you followed 'from the Lodge?" asked Mr. S "Possibly twenty minutes." "Did you see Farr?" "I did not." The witness smiled, as' if ridiculing' the idea of his beiPg suspected. IL turned to the court. "May I ask the witness a question, your honour ?" "Certainly." "Doctor Dodge, did you ever know Morris Farr, be- fore you came to Boylston ?" He turned pale for an instant, but answered firmly, "Never." Young Gibson and Barney Fogg were then called in succession., and testified to the 'facts already known to the reader. There was a murmur of satisfaction as they stated IL had requested them to go for the doctor; bat; this gave place to gloom and doubt when it was further elicited that my manner was confused, and That my hands, sleeves, and vest were bloody. The coat, vest, ~*nd gun were then produced and identified. The boots that IL wore were produced, and several witnesses swore to the exact correspondence of size with the tracks near the body, and those going to and from the river. It was further proved t~jat the pitcher belonging ti~ Furr bad been found in the channel of the river, a short dis- tance below the Lodge, but a day or~ two previous to the trial. Having got through with. the witnesses, the district attorney arose and addressed the jury.~ 'He had under- taken, he said, the discharge of an unpleasant duty, at the opening of the case, with the hope-almost with the belief, that the prisoner was innocent. Yet. so full, so unbroken ~was the chain of testimony, that (however painful it might be to him, as an old friend of the prisoner's father,) he must say that there was no doubt of his guilt. lit was proved that there were hard words-that the parties 'were left together-that the gun, the tracks, and the spots of blood had\ been sworn to by unimpeachable witnesses. "I will not now say more," added he; "we will see what the prisoners counsel has to urge in his defence." Counsellor S---... rose slowly, as if overwhelmed by the weight of adverse testimony. "May it please your honour and. the gentlemen of the jury," he began, "I frankly confess to you that the testimony against the prisoner at the bar is very strong. Yet I say t~ you, in all sincerity, that I be- heve him to be as guiltless of the murder of Morris Parr as I cam. Let me beg you to bear in. mind that, up to the day of th'iit melancholy occurrence, you your- selves knew the prisoner to be of irreproachable cha- racter; carefully educated by a man whom every one honours-.our worthy fellow-citizen, George Weiss4" Silence !" thundered the sheriff, as a' low i~nurmur of applause ran through the couI~t-room. "You are told', gentlemen, that hard' words passed. Were they so? .To the contrary, they seem; to me but 14* page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 LYNDE wi~ass. a boy's petulant reply. The circumstances which have occurred during the last few months, and which, you will pardon. me for saying, have had somewhat to do with the prisoner's manifest depression of spirits, are well known to you. . Educated from infancy, side by Bide with a fair girl, whom no one could see and not love-separated from her by some untoward occur- rence-driven thus almost to madness, he rus1i~es forth from the quiet of .his boyhood's home, and, in an hour of want, 'signs a ship's articles. for a voyage to the Pacific. Well, gentlemen, it is further in evidence here, that, at Albany, he became acquainted with Doctor William Dodge. He accompanied him to New Bedford, became attached to him, and gave him ~his full confidence. Abusing that confidence octor Dodge endeavours to supplant him. Y u have the de- positions of the landlord and cI at Dodge was at the Parker House repeat , and that he was seen to leave Mr. Grmy~on's apa tment immediately af~er the prisoner left the office. The door of the apartment was open, and Miss Grayson testifies that~ she recog- nised the prisoner, as Doctor Dodge attempted to take her hand, in declaring that he loved her. The prisoner goes to sea in despair-is gone some months-and, after a~ variety of hardships, he comes home penniless, on foot, travel-worn, heart-broken, to see his ~aged father, who was then confined to his sick-chambe~. He meets Miss Grayson on the 'Ledge, in sight of her father's house. He zsees some one leaving her as he approaches. It was Doctor Dodge. He is somewhat rudely separated from her by her father, and is found late at night by his faithful servant, wounded and senseless. Gentlemen !" exclaimed Mr~ S.-, raising his voice till the court-room rang with it, "who struck that cowardly blow?" "No one knows," said the district attorney. "" True, gentlemen, no one knows, and why? The prisoner lingered for weeks. in delirii~m and fever, and LYNDE WEISS. 1~3 since he has recovered,' he resolutely refuses to say whose hand dealt the blow." "Does he know ?" asked the court. 9 He says he will not swear to it, your honour, and therefore I will not dwell on this. I will only say, who else but Dodge could have struck the blow? He never had an enemy at ]3oylston, and iDr. Blair~ells us that the blow could not possibly have been struck by himself." "May it please your honour," interrupted the prose- cuting attorney, "all this"- "Is relevant to the issue, sir," resumed Mr~ 5-. "I have but little more to say. The prisoner recovers. The former familiar 'intercourse is broken oil' between him and Miss Grayson, while Dodge manages to ingra- tiate himself with the unsuspecting father and mother. The prisoner resorts to his favourite amusements-,-. hunting, fishing, and the like-and is proved to have ,been in the habit of meeting Farr, with whom he was always on tke best of terms. On the day of the mur- der, it is proved that his tracks led away from the body towards the river, but they were also found ~eav- ing the well-beaten lumber-road, which~ . led directly from the body. ' This was not two yards from the road when found. The' tracks are further found on. the hank of the river, though the witnesses decline to swear that they believee them to have been fresh. ~Admit that they were, and all is clear as the day.. He has arrived at the raft-hears the shot-rushes up the bank-runs to the wounded. man-.lays down his gun-attempts to staunch the wound-seizes the pitcher-runs to the river for water, and goes upon the raft for that pur4- pose. The fastening gives way, and the furious our- rent sweeps the raft from shore, beyond his reach. lie drops the pitcher where it is subsequently found. How came that pitcher there, gentlemen? Would Farr throw away his ~own' pitcher? Well, the prisoner sue- ceeds in gaining the eddy, and leaps ashore to go for page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] q 164 LYNDE WEISS. assistttntie. Jo meets two of the witnesses. Shocked by their evident suspicion, and knowing how much ap- pearances were against him, he hesitates-stammers, one witness says-but, mind you, begs one to go for Dr. Blair, while he voluntarily returns with the other to the very seene oi~the murder. Gentlemen, could guilt have done that ?" "No! Bless you! bless you, Mr. 5-! lIe is innocent !" said Lucy, as, with streaming eyes, she clasped the hand of the speaker. "Order! Silence !" said the sheriff, mildly, but his eyes, and hundreds more, were wet with tears. "I believe she is right, gentlemen," resumed Mr. S.-.--., when he had gently reseated' my sister. "But there is one other point to which I beg you to give heed, and which will show the court and my learned friend over the way, that m~ remarks have not been so irrelevaiit as they may have seemed. It is in evidence that Dodge left Saxton, and went into the woods in a direction which must have carried him nearly, if not fully, in. sight of Parr. Now, I am not permitted to show you that Parr had, a few moments before, de- clared that he knew Dodge." "Really, your honour," interposed the prosecuting attorney, ~' I"-- "Well, let that 'passb But I may show, and I have shown, that Dodge. was in' a very remarkable hurry to get home. Who is this Dodge? 'Does anybody know? Gentlemen, I must close. I confess that I cannot give you positive proof of the prisoner's innocence, but can you doubt it? I think not. There is no positive evi- dence Qf guilt-no pretence of previous malice-no proof whatever of any adequate cause for' the murder. If you have any doi~bts of his guilt, gentlemen, bear it well in mind that you cannot bring him in guilty. The attorney, for the commonwealth has~reminded you of your duty in bringing in a verdict according to the 'evidence. And what is the evidence? Wo34d any one LYNDE WEIS$. '165 of you think it just that his life should bang upon so frail a thread? 'Is one man to be hung merely because you do not know whom else you shall suspect! Oh, no, gentlemen! You are too intelligent, too manly, too christianized, to do so merciless an act of injustice. Admit for a moment that, in a paroxysm of passion, the, prisoner had committed the crime. It were. then but homicide, and his life, at least, were safe. 'But will' you even deprive him of liberty on so frail a tissue of evidence? I cannot believe it. No, gentlemen, even where there is "positive proof of' guilt, justice is not a soulless stock-a mere Juggernaut, underneath whose ruthless wheels whosoever falls must be inevita- bly crushed. You may admire the artist's conceit in painting her blind; but she need not, therefore, be deaf. If justice and punishment be synonymous, why, then, be the reeking axe, and not the scales, her em- blem. Let the lowly, self~righteous Pharisee, the~ ceremony-begotten, form-nurtured saints, whose 'fine linen' ~is their 'righteousness,' say what they will. Humanity and religion' say that the deed alone shall not constitute the crime. T-he scales were, else, as well the ghastly gibbet, stationary, senseless, merciless; as nell' the guillotine, that never moves but at the behest of death. Justice! She weeps' scalding tears over the deeds done in her name. Why, gentlemen, Mercy held her arm when-if the popular orthodoxy he~ true-she would have sent earth's quivering millions to a hope- less eternity of agony. Mercy is the right even of the guilty; how much mere his right whose guilt you can but surmise. 'It becomes The throne monarch better than his crown. His .~cept~e shows the force of temporal powe1~, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread nnd fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the keart~ of kings; It is an attribute of Ood himself.'" page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 LYNDE WEISS. LYNDE WEISS. 16 T He took his seat, and the district attorney rose in reply. He began by saying that he must acknowledge that his friend 5- 'had never more eloquently ad~ dressed a jury in behalf of a prisoner. How good a compliment he had paid the jury, on the present occa~ sion, by appealing to their feelings, instead of their judgments, he left for themselves to decide. Were his own feelings to bring in the verdict, the prisoner should go free, for it was no case of hardened crime. But he and they were there t? uphold the law-to discharge duties upon oath-to give in a verdict according to the evidence, and not in accordance with their feelings. He then reviewed the testimony, and sat down. The judge charged the jury to the effect that if they had any reasonable doubt--and this he took care to define very carefully-they were to 'give the prisoner the benefit0 of it; and with some feeling remarks on the solemn responsibility under which they rested, he closed 'his remarks. Oh, what terrible moments were those which suc- ceeded! The jury retired, andl was remanded to my cell. All access was denied to.~ me, and I paced the stony floor in utter despair. To increase the gloom, of my cell, a 'fierce storm came on, accompanied by the first thunder that I had heard since the coming of spring. The lightning hashed, sending its fierce glare into my narrow iron.barred window, almost blinding me with light, and then leaving me in rayless darkness. It was welluigh day ere I slept. At the opening of the court I was again ushered to the dock. Some preliminary business was 'attended to, and the clerk then said to the jury- "Gentlemen of the jury, are you agreed ?" "We are," replied the foreman. "What do you say? Is the prisoner at the bar guilty, or not guilty ?"" I remember hearing a loud shriek, and then a feel- ing of dizziness came over me, as I heard th~ an- nouncement. It could have been~ but momentary, for I heard the sheriff exclaiming-. "Silence in court !" in a* loud and authoritative tone. "Silence !" thundered he again, and the tumult was Jessie Grayson and my sisters were removed, and the court-room became still as death. "Lynde Weiss," exclaimed the~ judge, "stand up. Have you any thing 'to say why sentence 'of death should not be pronounce law d against you according to "Nothing."' "You see, young man, to what end they come wh0 give rein t~ passion. You have been tried by a. jury of your own selection, and found guilty. It is the sentence of the court that you be recommitted to the jail from whence you came, there to be safely kept until the twentieth day of August next, and then to be 'hanged by the neck until you are - "Silence !" shouted the sheriff, as the court was in- terrupted by a tumult at the door.. "Let me pass, II say.!" exclaimed some one, as he elbowed his way. "What means this ?" exclaimed the judge, angrily. "Sheriff, remove"- "Stay, sir! The prisoner is innocent! I saw him, sir. He did not leave the bank of the river until after the shot." He 'went on to say that h~ had been ill-that he had gone from his cabin to the bank of the river on the day of the murder-that he heard the shot, and saw ~ climb the bank-that he had 'been again taken 'ill, and had been delirious until twc~ days previous-4hat, hear- ing' of the trial, he had come to give b~is testimony, though he was scarcely able to waW. I was discharged! N. page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] '168 LYNPE WEI$~. CHAPTER XXVI. ~ FoR a few days there. was a great deal of talk about the trial. It was urged by some that Dodge should be arrested and tried, while, others asked, "' To what purpose ?" What new fact could be elicited? True, it was proved that I was innocent; but where was there any thing better than circumstantial evidence against Dodge? The excitement wore away gradually, and, as is usual in such cases, many took sides with the doctor as an injured man-the more readily, since Allan Grayson and his wife remained his staunch friends. He was still an inmate of the parsonage, and it became a settled understanding that ~his marriage with Jessie Grayson would positively take 'place 'ere the moon waned. So reliably, did this rumour come to me, that I, at length, gave it credence, thinking that, with Jes-' sie, pity had given place to a warmer feeling. Accord- ingly I did~ not visit the parsonage. I resumed my sports in the woods, and upon the river I refitted my sloop. Paul Warren' remained a few days at home to recruit his health, and we were ever together. In this way it happened that I was scarcely ever at home. ~one of the family molested me, and .~ felt grateful for their forbearance-the more so, as it seemed the tacit reward for my abandoning a recent intention to go to sea. I became a constant visitor at my foster-mother's, and the former coolness wore away. There' was appa- rently 'but ~one of the family who had i~ot, to some ex- tent, recovered from the shock of the father's death- and that' was Judith. I observed that she' became a constant visitor at~ the parsonage, and that my sisters scarcely ever went there; while both they and Griffiths, LYND~ WEISS. 169 my father and my uncle Hugh, especially the latter, became, every day, more attached to the widow .and~ her excellent family. I saDw,' too, with the keenest pleasure, that Grifliths Was becoming ~very attentive to Mary Warren, while Charleis Warren, to whom my father was gradually resigning the entire management of hi~ large and prosperous business,, was more than suspected of making advances to my sister Lucy~ In~ this manner three weeks passed away. It was near the last of April, and but a single week remained he~ fore the ~expected' wedding.~ I ~had persuaded' Paul to remain at home until that time,' on the condition that' half of our time should be devoted to study. ~One evening-it was Thur~day, I remember---we were pass- ing the inn, when a traveller rode leisurely 'to the door on horseback. It so happened t1iat~: neither mine host nor the ostler~ was at hand to receive him. 'He dis- mounted, and patting the neck of his jaded horse, he "Poor welcome this, Priam, for those who~ have travelled sixty miles between sun and sun. Is this~ a 'specimen,~ gentlemen, may I ask, of the usual' sort of" entertainment for man and beast at this tavern?" "'Oh, no," replied Paul, laughing. "I'll call th~ ostler. Here! you Jack Collins! Where 'are you ?" "You Jack Collins!' Jack Collins, .1 say!" shouted the innkeeper. "Comm', sir'," was the reply, and that functionar~. speedily made his appearance. ' '' "Walkin, sir," said mine host. "thank you, I"ll remain outside' awhile,: if y~u~ please,' 'and you. ~ayi order~ the b'est~ possible far~,~ f~w my hor~efit'st, and then 'for wyself~" Very well, : sir," repliedd the innkeeper, ~ud h~ "Can you tell me, gentlenien%" asked 'the1.st'ra~g~'~ in a low tone, "whether or no one Nathau;'~maU liva~ hereabouts ?" page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] iTO LYNPE WF~IS$.S "Not to my knowledge," I replied. "DQ you know any such person here ?" I added, addressing P~iul. "Well, I understand," continued the stranger, "that he has passed under the names of Captain Syme and Doctor Dodge." "There is a person ihere. calling himself Doctor Dodge' "Tall?" "Yes." "Long, black, wiry hair,. combed strait back over his cranium ?" "Yes." "A soft voice and a noiseless step ?" ~ The's~me." "Fond of a big word ?" "Uses, or rather abuses French phrases-' Je ne sais pas,' for I don't know ?" "On all occasions." "The very man. Gentlemen, say nothing. I am, much'indebted to you. Landlord," added he, as mine host came to the door, "lay three plates; if you please,. and have el~Qugh to fill them~ Have you any wine thai a~ Chri~tien can drink ?" , ' Some port of '96, if that wiU serve your turn.. Oh, to a fraction, so you have enough of it. Gen- tlemen, I crave your company at supp~r. Somewhat amused by the' etra~,ger's .oddity, we ac- cepted the invitation. ~We ~were ~s~on ~eated; at a table hn~4ed ~with the' good fare for which mine bos~ of" The Wiishingtoii Inn" was famous. The eggs were done to a fraction. The coffee might have delighted the sultan of Turkey; 4h&bacon would have reduced a Jew; the bread was perfection; and all were laid upon a cloth ~hese white~e~s might have shamed the snow. In short, ~the.aupper was capital, and the port wight have been advantageously added to our more modern dis~ LYNDE WEISS. iTt solving views. As its genial influence affected the stranger, he became chatty and communicative. He became very particular in his inquiries about Doctor Dodge, and invited ihine host to take wine with us for the purpose of. obtaining all possible information. "If it's a fair question," said tholatter, whose ~curi- osity was aroused by the stranger's queries, "why do you inquire so particularly about Doctor Dodge~ Old acquaintance, eh ?" "Yes. Butyon seem to. know less about him than Ido." "Bless your heart, stranger, we don't know any thing about him. He came here a little .more'n a year ago, and stuck up his shingle as a doctor. He hadn't done much in that line; but he lives well, and has plenty ~ money.~~ "That he has, I'll be bound." "How he gets it, no one knows." "I think I can tell you." "Well, how?" "He is a professed gambler." "You don'1 say so." "Fact. But, I say, does he mix in society here?" "Bless you, yes. Great ladies'.~man, though I won- der that ladies will associate with a man who won't tell who he is, where he comes from, nor nothing' else. He's going to marry Parson Grayson's daughter. Why, what's the matter, Lynde ?" "Oh, nothing." "Why, .whai~ made you start so "Nothing-a momentary pain in my side. "Miarried, do you say ~" exclaimed the stranger, while he fixed his keen glance upon me. "Are , he has a wife already, and two children." you sure of it?" "As sure as I 'am that I si~ here. I live in the towu from which he ran away. Between you aud I, gentle.. page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 LYNP2~ W~ISS. xnen,;be owes me a good round suni, and I have come to collect it." Mine host laughed. ~~Why,'? said he, "he owes me for six months' board, and I don't expect to geta farthing of it." "J3ut J shall get mine. "How?" "Maybe I'll tell you before I go. I'm tired and sleepy. I'll trouble you fQr a light ~and a pair of slippers.' The stranger retired, and we left the hotel. ~" Joy for iou, I~ynde," said Paul, grasping uiy hand. "Why?" "Why? Can't you expose the villain, and save Jessie Grayson ?" "Would the Gr.aysons believe any thing to his dis- advantage ?" "But here is proof." "Ay, the assertion of a somewhat shabbily-dressed traveller, whom nobody knows." "But we can write." "And receive the answer after the wedding."' "S~ire enough. But' perhaps the strange' has proofs." "Hardly. However, we will see him to-morrow, and if Allan Gr~yson and his wife are not blindly in- fatuated, we may suc~eed." "Very well. By-the-by, you will take a bed at our house to-night, won't you? Come-IIu~E! As I live, Lynde, there is some one under Judith's window. ByJove! I'll teach him"~-~ stay, Paul 1" I whispered tQ him, as I caught big arm. "May I tell you my suspicions t" "Yes~; but let me settle with that fellow first." And he struggled to get frees ''"Ay, ~nd'~spoil every thing by your haste.' I have etr~n~ sQ~pi~iOfl5 that thi~ same Doctor I~odge has at- LYNDE ~ 173 tempted to win-rerhaps he has already wen~-t'he af- fections of your sister." "Judith?" "'Yes." "Then, in God's name) let me' go and beat him within an inch of his life." "Stay. That were but to make your sister wretched. Let us listen to the villain; and if, by the stranger's assistance, we can unmask, him, your sister will hardly grieve for one whom she must soon have reason to despise." "You're right, 'Lynde. Let's go nearer." We did so. For a moment all was still, but,. a moment later, we heard the sharp 'click of' a peb- ide against the window. The sash was cautiously raised. "William, is it you ?" said Judith. "Yes. Speak softly. Come down-I want to see you alone." "I cannot to-night. 'It is late." "I must see you, Judith," "Not to-night. If my mother, or"- "'Good-night, then-and good-by." "You'll '~ome to-morrow.?"' "Never again ~" "Stay, dearest. I will go down." She disappeared from the window. "Now, Lynde," said Paul, "give me a chance at that fellow."~- ' "'No, Paul. *'Wait. Let us watch: them. If: they walk, we will follow. ~bew; and if he dares insult her, you shall have your revenge~ To interrupt them is to spoil all. "Well, I'll try to be patient. Have they come 4flOW ?" Judith appeared at th~ door~ and, ehutti~ig it care- fully,. she.. walked, with~ a uoiseles~ step,' toward the gate, where Dodge met her. 15* page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 3~YNJYE WEISS. LYNDE W1Us~. 1T~ "Shall we *a1k~?" he asked. "I cannot go far, William. Why did you ~ome0 to my, window again ?" "Because I~, cannot live away from you, Judith." "The'vilThin4" hissed Paul. "Do you love me, indeed ?" "Better than my life. Come this way, towards the Ledge. 'We shall be seen 'if we keep the road." '"But' everybody 8ay5 you~ are going to marry Jessie." "Haven't I told you it was false ?" "But you stay there so much, and I hardly, ever see you. "Well, Judith, don't I board there? Would you have me 'come here every day, and betray all ?" "Oh no,~ William, but"- "You doubt me "No; but, indeed, I cannot~ go any farther with you to-night. Come, let us g~ home." "As you please, Judith, though I wished to have some conversation with you." "Well, come to-morrow night. You would not surely have me take any step to"~-~ "Compromise you?' No, Judith. But will you meet me to-morrow night?"* "Yes." "And walk with me ?" N "Yes."" And, bidding him good-night, she passed us, as we '~tood ajoof from the path, snd entered the house. The ~villain continued to. ~alk, with his stealthy tread, in the dfreetiin of the Ledge. "What's to be done, Lynde ?s~ said Paul. AW~ gust' prevent'this meeting.". "Yes, of course." "'~Butii~dfreotly; P&til.i We will see the stranger in 4he morning, and, .if he has as much to tell as ~ow sup- pose, we will manage to effect a meeting between him~ and Dodge, while Kate shall see that 4Tu~dith is ix~ hear- ing of thefr conversation." .4 "Excellent! Capital! B~# Jove! Iqn4e~ we'll earth this fo~-ezpose bim-defoat him at his owz~ game. Have you a good cowhide ?" "Yes. Good-night." "Good-night, Lynde." CHAPTER XXVII.' THI EXQURSION,-..-THB STORY. I WA~ 8emewhat abruptly awakened the next morn- ing by the good-humoured Jerry. it was his c~isto~iz ~ call me by. n&m~ simply. On this occasion he h~ laid his hand 0t was none of the ligl~test~ on my shouL der, and was giving me p rude shake~ whe~ I *rang upright in bed, with some vague id~a QC peril. "Saints defend izaP' exclaimed. Jerry. "Dou't ate~ me, Mi0ther Lynde, av ye plase !" "What do you mean, sir ?" " What do I.xuaneis it?" "Yez~ ~oi4@'s oaUiz~' ye." "Calling me? I ~a~'t hear. any thir~g." "As coor~.e. I'm calling' ye by diputatioi~, honey." "Well, what 4oe~ he w*nt ?" "Sorra one o" me knows. They'll be h~yi~' a bit av diyar8hin wid the Impr~s; I'm thh~kin'," hero ~ozne one called iJe~ry, a~iid, h~ di~appeaz~Qd.. ' 'W~'ve~ .Weu planning ai~ ezcur~ion, I*ynde," sai4 ~xzy u~ol, 'Hugh, as 'we ieatd onre~1ves g W'eakfas4. I page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] I. LYND ~ "Where -and' how ?'~ "Tp~ South Hero, in 'The Empress. Capt~irt Gi~yger is going there for a small-freight of grain, and w&have &ll ~agreed to 'go except -Griffiths, sister Caro~ line, and yourself. Will you go ?" "Yes, if you'll include the Warrens~ in the invita- tion." "With all my heart, Lynde." "And why not invite the Graysons ?" asked Kate. "To be sure," added Lucy; "and we must include that hateful Doctor Dodg~ or Jessie won't be per- mitted to go." "Then we will not invite any of them," said my father, gravely, and the matter Was dropped by gene- ral consent. The sun had not long been above the Green Moun- tains when we got under way.' Paul Warren, his mother, and Judith were with us; and, seeing the stranger,, 'whom I had met the' night before, watching ~he motioxis~f the ,crew in making sail, I invited him to accompanyy u~. lie leaped on b6ard, and expressed himself delighted' to~ h~ve an opportunity to see some- thingof 'Lake Champlain. I claimed' the helm, 'as the prerogative of my ~ery brief s~lt-water voyage. The *ixA ~as from the' north, and; as there were some two or three reaches of the river where we could not lay our course, I felt a sailor's pride in putting "The Em- press" through her paces-now runriin~ 'with the wind abeam, heeling, gunwales under-now close4iauled, and running almost in the wind's eye, until 'the jib- boom struck-the' brusliwood on the bluff baik~of the rivex. When w&were fairly clear 1of the -bar at 'the mouth of the river, ,I g&ve the helm' to 'Captain "You're a s~il~r, every inch o' ye," said he, as he took ;the - helm, and he acoo~pauied' the compliment *ith a' 1i6 rty iap-on rny- shoulder. "You may trim them bead-sails'-- & leetle, if you-please, Lynde," "he LYNDE WEISS. 177 added, and I went forward. The stranger. followed me. "You've been a sailor, it seems," he said, as the lest sheet was belayed. Yes." "At sea?" "Yes; but I owe all my sailor-craft to Captain Gay- ger. 'The Empress' and' I are old cronies~" "So it seem8. By the way, have you seen Doctor Dodge this morning ?" "No." "You say he's about to be married 7" "Yes." "That must be prevented." "Can it be?" "Yes, and I'm the. man to do it." "You are confident?" "My life on't." I then explained our plan to him. "Capital!" he exclaimed. "By the way, will you make any stat at theisland 7" "Two hours, possibly." "Very well. We~ll have a walk, eli? I've a story to tell you~" "I am at your service, sir," I replied, and we went aft. The wind hauled a 'little to -the westward and by ten o'clockk we 'were at our destination. 'Wp ran into a little bay, which was so effectually sheltered by a pro- jecting~ point, th~t we laid "The Empress?' alongside the rooks, (far there was' no 'Wharf,) so~ near~. that, we easily threw a plank ashore, and lauded without diffi- culty. As none of the party except myself, had ever been on the island before, we left the vessel for a walk. Anyone who has evei~ seen South Hero, even in sail- ing past it, will readily understand the enthusiasm of our party as they roved -through the 'low woods, and along the miniature bays aloiig the shore.~ 'I contrived '176 page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 1T8 LYNDE WEISS. LY~WE WEISS. 179~ Ito separate the stranger from the rest, andwe crossed the ridge and descended to the opposite shore. QN~w for tho story," said 1, as 'we seated 'ourselves on the trunk of a fallen pine. I' You shall have it in few words. But, first of all, my name is James Van Oman. I live in Frankf~rt, -Maine. About four years ago, as near as I can re- member-yes, it was four years. ago, in March-I was standing on the wharf at Frankfort, (it had but, one then,) chatting with two or three of my neighbQurs. "'Blowin' great guns,' says one. "'The river-craft can't show a rag, said another. "'I'll make you a bi~t on't, gentlemen,' says - I, Cap'n Harlow is due today, and if he's inside of Owl's Head, he'll come up the river in spite o' any wind that ever blew in Penohscot Bay." ~ "' I'd like to see him try,' said s&tne one. "'Well, there's a chance for ye, neighbour,' says I, ' for if that a'n't the Jane A. Jersey comm' round the p'int, 131 buy me a pair o' glasses~.' "I was right. There was the Jane;.'under~ roofed foretopsail and courses, beating' 'up on the flood tide, and~ the water . foamin' and splashing' ;over her bows' lii * great style. Well, in a few niitAites she was m6ored 'longside the wharf. Cap'n had a passenger, and who d'ye think it was? Why, this 'ere same Dodge. lie took lod~in's at the tavern. No one could ever flnd out- who he was. 11'e~ got acquainted, though, and as he~ was well-dressed, and paid for every thing regu- lady, he was., well received. Well, by-and-by, he f4ls in' love with~ one of the ~~rettiest girls in Frankfort~ The old folks inade~ a great to-do about it, but it wa'n't no use. She was bent on havin' him, and so she did. Well, he -conducted himself very well, and matters went on quietly. There was. one thing, though, that he was in the babit~of doin', thaV didn't suit neither the old folks .~ ~ior' his~ :wife. Before his marriage, h~ used to ~jo away' from Frankfort, and -be gone a~veral days. Jfhere, nobody kiew. - After: he* got married It w~s - the same thing.' Well, hequarre~lled with the Qid folks, and they determined to watch him. They hired a man~ to follow him-and where do you think he went? Why to a den of gamblers in floston, where he seemed t~ 'be hand and glove with the whole set. lie was either mighty lucky, or else he played foul, for he won lots o' money. Things went on~ worse an' worse, until, at last, they had a grand blow-up, and Doctor Dodge, ~s he calls himself, come up mission . He was OWin' me the ni~ little Sum o' seventy dollars, and I've come to get it." "Of course you have the proofs of.these. f~cts?" "Nevei, fear, sir. I've something' better 'n proofs. When I come to Boylaton, I thoughtt I would let the feller go on his own way, provided he'd pay rue, for I felt s'ure he'd git hung in the end. BI~t I won't see another woman deceived by him. You urust know that nigh a year arter he run away, a schooner from Charleston, down in South Carolina, comes to Frank- fort. The skipper inquires 'bout this 'ere Dodge, and what do you thinks he turns out to be? -Why, the same feller that committed the big forgery to Gh~rles. ton, a few years ago; and here,"' added Van Oman, "is 'the do~kyment what'll bring Doctor D~d~e .to h~s bearing's. You come to the tavern tonight, with the lady you spoke of, ~4nd station yourselvesi-in- the next room, anJ 'thetr see if IL don't make: that 'ere villain strike his colours." - We returned to- "The'Empres&' in tjn~ for~au ~ excellent dinner, and at two- Q'eLo~k. g~t~ ~n~k~r 'w&y. Having the wind well ~ ~-oi~r~ ~t*arbo~4 4j~*r~et, "~The Empress" was but two hours in reaching li~x 4lXotne nioorings.i~- ' ' ' - - In the' evening, at an early hour, I~s~w2 Yt~wOixuau returning from the parsonage, accompani~a by I~ctor Dodge.. ~V[y. sisters, by some' ~eatks~ iiad~; per~ded Jessie -and Judith Warren to" c~dl 'on. the. iJ~~!sif~ p page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] A 180 LYNPE' WEIS$. wife?~ 'The" latter wa~s intru~ted~ with the secret of our plan, and. we were soon stationed. in an apart- ment adjoining the one which was occupied by the stranger. "Doctor Dodge," said Van Oman, ~" what say you to~a bottle of old port, eh ?" "I thank you sir, I"- "Pehaw! . here's a couple in good' old dust-and-cob- nob. Go~d, eli?" , "Excellent." "When do you propose to go back to Frankfort ?" "Never." "Gin up 'Ellen 'and the children, eh ?" "No, not exactly." "I 'hearn you was.goizi' to be married here." "Me?" "Yes, you. "It's a lie!"' "You 'don't thinkof it ?" "No." "Well, then, what do you pay' your addresses. to Miss-.wliat's. her name "'Miss Grayson 7" "Yes." . "Oh, 'she's a~ country girl that seemed'Aisposed' to make love to me, and I couldn't very well help it." "She's th~"oniy one, is she ?" "'Well, no. Thei~e. is~ one more that I ~flirt a little with, to amuse myself." -"" You ~~t4dii't iiiarry'either of them' ?" Mr~'~&y gzandmoiher as soon.7' JIJRAVU~'~WA~'U S.J&LVLA 'AW ~ Yes."~ "Well, let' me tell you, Doctor Dodge, that ~you're a villtin-~a'. c~oward1y~ scoundrel.:!"' "':W'k4g 'sir'?" '~ Oh; ~ needn't flare up~ Perhaps you remember' ~.litt1e::d~bt you~ owe me 'I" "Yes." "Well, if it's entirely convenient, I'd like to ireve it." "But, my dear sir, I havei~'t got so much in the world." "Oh, yes, you have. I must have it." "Well, then, get it if you can." "Stay .a minute, my hearty. You'd better pay me." "I'll see you - first !". "Well, then, how do you like the looks o' this? * Perhaps you've seen it afore ?" There was a pause of a moment. "For God's Bake, my dear sir, don't betray me 1" "Will you pay me "Yes." To-night ?" "Yes." "Well, on that condition, I promise to tell no one "Hush!" . that I hold in my possession this".- "Oh,. nobody'll . hear - this handbill offering' two thousand' dollars for the reward of one"- "Hush 1. Don't read it. Some one may overhear it." "Well, I spare ye. You can have, 5ne hour to get me the' money. But mind ye now, I~fl keep a~ ~&ye.~on ye. No 'more' 'rascality, or you'll try the hapsthe'~eord!" Eere the conversation ceased, an4 we heard the door open and shut. The vills~in had.~ou~. "Is thia the mystery4" I whi~per~4 t~ Je~sie, ~ ing toJuditli' as' she walked h~ewa~d~wj~b ~er 1wa4 downcast, and leaning upon 1ie~ brotbers.~m. "You are free now, Jessie. WiLl ~yOU b. mine. ?" 18 *~i,~7'" 4 I, I - ZYZ~DP~ "W~i80. 181 page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] LYNDE WHIS~. ~W4 left Kate "ftn~d Lucy at ~our oWn. door~ and walked towards the parsonage~ We stopped a moment *irt~dei~neath the t~ll &ld elm. There were low 'words spoken, that toW of long-chei'ished and l~ng-thwarte4 love. t Was dark before, was' made clear. The little han in my own trembled, and a low sob met my ear. "Dear Jessie 1" said I.' 7 She looked up. I clasped her in one long, fQnd em- brace, and beneath "the: cold light of stars" did our lips seal the life-long vow. CHAPTER XXVIII. 1~HE FOOT-DR!DG-~E~RIBUTION. NQW that there was undeniable' pi'oof of the true characterr 'of Doct~r Dodge, that eminently original personage was requested 40 find other quarters. lie 1~ft~ fhe p~r~on~e, a~id~ being refused accommodationn at the inn, he found it a matter of some' difficulty to procu~re 1odgitigs.'~FurtherrnOte, it was intimated to 'hi~ ~thot lie would b~ alhwed one week to leave the ~ill~ge Heeeexned, however, in. no haste to depart. Three days of the allotted week passed, and still he '~did not~ go.~ The rain oiay~ have been the cause, for it had fallen steadily fond several day& in succession. It :~a& on the fourth th~t the river began to attract gene- ~ 4thad'been swollen ~by~ the recent rains to a great h~i~it;: so' imioh,~ indeed, as 'to ~have obliged on~, family, whose dwelling was near the bank, to re- xnov~ t~ theAi~u~~ ~f& neighbour. The iwater~wa~ dis- coloured with mud,, and swept angrily along,~ covered LY1~DE WEISS. . with logs and drift-wood. 'Before noon~ the bri4ge,~wa~ swept away, and the only remaining mean~ of ~cr~ing the river was a narrow and somewhat frail foot-bridge, which had been built for the convenience of) ~he *ork. men at the forge, and which was but a few yar~s above the dam. It. was huil-t somewhat in the ~mai~ner of ~a suspension-bridge, being supported, by iron z'ods~ and it was sufficiently strong for any ordinary'. purpose.. hi- deed, it was thought to be amply strong to si~ppprt the weight .of thirty or forty persons, though it was seldom that mou~e than. two or three were ever ,seen Upon it, a4 the same time. The. workmen had been a little siiy of it at first, but theK feeling wore away, and it came to be considered as. safe, for its intended purpose, as the more substantial h~idge above it. It so happened that the annual town~-meeting, held for the election of officers, and for, other matters per.. taming to the welfare of the little commonwealth, had been appointed for that day, and,. as the. meeting was to be held in the school-house, on the easterii~ bank. of the river, a large portion of 'the residents (the' lumber- men among them) were obliged ,to, ,make us~of4ie little foot-bridge. Accordingly, during the early~.part of the day, you couhi se~ little knots. of people pausing on the bridge, asthey crossed, ~o look, upon the- swollen current that rushed and boiled and foamed below. ~ At noon ~he rain ceased falling~. ,Th~ sun was once more visible, and the spectacle, was then sublime.4, 1~Ly sisters resolutely ancounter~d some huu4red yar4s of n~ud. for the purpose of seeing i~~ The riv~riiad now~wollen so much., that t1iesdam~, some eight lit, wa~ only distinguishable by ~a slight undul4ion ,inth&huge mass of water that.poured ceaselessly, on, ~owt~rds~tM foaming cauldron of the lower rapids. ~hei~e~o great was the declivity, and so. rocky tjie cha~4el, that you saw but one vast sheet of ~snow~white. foam w~hirl94 az~d tossed into thin and scarcely paipalAe sp~r~y. - ,, At length the meeting adJou~rned. ~in~1iost. ol' page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184 LYNDE WEISS. "The Washington Inn" had provided most bountifully for his~'guests, and what with the earlier potations of the day, it was no great marvel that they grew noisy and somewhat troublesome. The dinner, however, passed without any serious disturbance. The politics of 'the' day then engrossed the attention of the village politicians, who disconrsed learnedly to the lumbermen of State-rights and the tariff, democracy and federal- ism-mtrch, it must be confessed, to their mystification. As the afternoon wore away, the potations of the throng'grew deeper and more frequent. Loud words were now heard, and feeling 'confident that the usual quantity of fighting was about to commence, by way of vent 'to 'the ' excit~ixient of the occasion, I turned to Paul and asked him' to accompany~me home. ' "Sha'~n~t we stay, Lynde, and see the opening of the bear-garden ?" he said, laughing. No7 go home with me." "Well, y-ou'll.drink a glass of wine-with me "Yes." We stepped. to the barand were lifting our glasses, when' Paul was 'very rudely interrupted by some one at his elbow. '"What d~ you. mean, sir ?" asked Doctor Dodge, (for it was he.) "You knocked my tumbler out of my hahdV' "It was entirely accidental. 'Pardon me. "Accidental, you say. Perhaps 50." ".Youcan take it as you please."~ "Then take 'that !" exclaimed he, and, quick as lightning,"'he dealt ~Paul a blow that made him reel against me. '.' My' arm was caught as I attempted to punish the miscreant. "Stop a ~inute, LyLide !" exclaimed Sam Saxton, the lumberman. "I've a small account ~to settle with this gentleman," and be laid 'his iron grasp upon his victim's throat. '"Ibid on, Sam ! ~Don't choke him! 1"ve a settle- 0 LYNDE WEISS. 125 8ent~y~O make men with that feller," said' another, and pre~ the doctor was surrounded by some half a score angry lumbermen. At this juncture one of them shouted- "Throw 'him off the bridge!" "Right! right 1" exclaimed others. "Didn't he stab Lynde?" "And shoot Morris' Farr ?" "And deceive the minister ?" The trembling wretch was now hurried aw&y towaids the bridge. Knowing the certain doom that awaited him, without some more powerful interference than 'I could' command, I begged th~ innkeeper t& run for Allan GraysoD, while I hurried home to apprize my father and Griffiths of what was going on. ,B~th had. one to the forge. Despatchin~ Jerry for them, at the op of his speed, I in'et the lumbermen at a short dis~ stance above, the bridge. "Let him go, Sam," I said to Saxt~n. "You have no proofs of his guilt, and you surely wouldn't kill an innocent man I" "Get out o' my way!" " Remember how nearly you had murdere&me." "Yes, I do ; '~but this 'ere's a villain as don't deserve to live." "That is for the jury to sa~y, Sam." "Boys, jest take Lynde away, will ye ?" said Sam, ~ho still retained his hold of Dodge. "Here comes minister !" exclaimed one. Before Allan GraysoA could reach the spot, the lumbermen, to the 'i~umber, perhaps,' of twezity, had dragged their victim upon the bridge, and when the clergyman came; his remonstrances 'were unheeded "There comeS Uncle 'George !" tried one of the crowd, and; hearing this, the enragedd lumbermen were lifting the struggling man to the railing ef' the -bridge. My father 'had" already reached it. By; this time the lumbermer~ 'had '-raised thefr victim W the top of th~ 16* e. page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 LYND3~ WEISS. railing, axidwere in the act of throwing, him over, wh~v the bridge broke in the middLe, and fell .with a loud plash into the river. The parts, of the bridge swung patiently round, so that~ the ends were not more than thirty feet from the shora.,. The 8hor.t. plazi~ks. which composed. the footing of the bridge. fell from it and floated away, and thus there was no way to reach the three persons who were clinging to the extremity near- est the eastern shore. As the bridge swung round, we~..discoiered that I~odge was clinging ~to the iron railing, while his body was under. the :surface of the water. Sam Saxton was clinging to him, and to Sam his crony Bill Ferguson. wa~ holding, by the skirt of his huge lumbern~an's. coats With such a current it was linpossibie that Dodges could long ~ustain his own weight, and we could~ see. him giving an appealing look to those who weVe clinging~ to him. ~Phe lower one succeeded, at last, in climbing over the shoulders of hi~ companion~ , and had 'nearly gained the bridge, when he slipped and . felL. ~& convulsive striggle-a~ look of agony--and he was gone! . score Meanwhile, on shore, all was, consternation. of plans were suggested. I r~n fer & ladder, while Paul Warren went for .a boat, and some ~ else pro.. cured a rope. This was attached to the boat. Two of the lumbermen leaped into it, and ere they coul&'reach the end of the b~idge~ it was swamped by the furious current, and the noble fellows were lost. One of them had been noted for his piety, ~nd he sang, as he floated awaythe air and words of a favouiite hymn., It was plain that t~odge was n&w wellnigh exhausted. His companionn' though he had not ,su~ci~nt strength to c2imb over hint and reach the bridge, still clung, to him witlitho desperate grasp of a drowning man. . We could see that Dodge was trying to shake. hiz~ o~ and that he was expostulating with him. The poor fellow at last let. go his hold, and ])odge made~ an eitort to gain a footing on: the bridge. ExhausVed as he. was, he LYNDE W21SS. .187 had nearly succeeded, when .a . huge log struck the broken bridge, and h4 too, disappeared9 For a long time, the villagers stood silently on the shore, awe..stricke~n by the warning providence that. had thus rebuked the attempt to mete ~ut justice t& the guilty. The sun went down in a dark mass of clouds. The rain ~again fell in ~torrents. Night came on,4 and the throng dispersed. CHAPThR XXIX. THE LAST.-.--THR WEDDINGS. THus, my dear reader, have I told ~ou of some of the vicissitudes of a. somewhat eventful life. it re- mains but to tell you, so far as I am concerned,' that, a few days after the occurrence related in the'. pre~ ceding chapter, 4llan Grayson gave his consent t~my marriage with Jessie. Griffiths and Mary Warren were married on the same day as ourselves. A few months afterward, Mrs. Warren gave her hand to my uncle Hugh, and my sister Lucy became Mrs. Ohartes Warren. Barney FQgg is a petty attorney, and ]?aui Warren is one of the~ first lawyers in his native State. ~y father-peace to his ashes !.--died the year after my marriage; and, two years later, goo~l old' Allan Grayson was followed by his bereaved flock to the grave. My sister Kate .declares her intention to live and die an old maid; and Ann West, who still restlessijy "sets things to rights" for my household, will probably bear her company in that regard. My aunt Caroline sur- page: 188[View Page 188] 18$ LYNDE WEISS. vived my father something more than four years, 'and was buried by his side. * And now, having kept your ear so long, I will re~ * leases you, ~dear reader, from an old man's. garrulous detail of matters which, with the usual infirmity of age, have possessed more interest for me than for you. Yet these pages may not have been written in vain. 'They will have proved worth something if they shall have lightened the burden of a dark hour of' life-if they have taught, in any degree, the danger of follow- ing impulse-if they have led any one to think more soberly and earnestly of the duties and responsibilities ~' of those social relations in which all must find what- ever happiness belongs to their lot in life. May IL bid you farewell in th~ golden ~lines of one of England's most favoured sons of song? They will make my homily the briefer. "To suffer woes which hope thinks infinite; 'To forgive wrongs darker' than death, or night; 'To defy power which seems omnipotent; To love and bear, till Hope creates Fro~i its own wreck, the thing it contemplates; Neither to change, nor' falter, nor repent; This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be Good, great, joyous, beautiful, andCree; This is alone life, joy, empire-victory."
