Widow Spriggins, Mary Elmer, and other sketches
page: Illustration (TitlePage) [View Page Illustration (TitlePage) ]6/ I -~Y4 0 0 0 -7 I/) :.~p / 0 43 0 6 0 to 0 MA WIDOW SPIRIGGINS, MARY ELMER, AND OTHER SKETCHES. BY MRS. F. M. WIHTOHER, AUTITOE OF "WiDOW; J3E1i~(TT PAPERS?' EDITED, WITH A MEMOIR, BY MRB~ M. L. WARD WHITGHBR. With Uomz~c Illustrat~n~s. NEW YORK: Geo. W. Carleto7z & Co., P~Iiskers. LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO. MDCCOLXVIL ill' lyji i~;f '1~ I --t page: (Table of Contents) [View Page (Table of Contents) ] Entered according to Aet of Congress In the year 1867, by G. W. CARLETON & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. JL J. E. FARWELL & CO., Stereotypers and Printers, 37 Cou37ess Sti~eet, Boston. CONTENTS. BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION.................................................11 RECOLLECTIONS OF WIDOW SPRIGGINS..........................................39 CHAPTER I. I DESCRIBE MYSELF - I GO TO BOARDING ScHooL- I HA~~E A BEAU- MY HEARTLESS PA- HINT -I LOESQITANDER FROM THE HUM OF MY YOUTI1~~ I WRITE SOME VAISES . 39 CHAPTER II. 1 MATE Hiooi~s PATENT MY NA!rYVE PLAClI- I WRITE TO MY CREWIL PARINT-I HAVE A NEW LUVER, AND I EGSSPT HIM-I GIT A LETTER FROM MY CHEWIL PAINT AND I CON- CLUDH TO ESTABLISH A SIMMINARY-I WRITE SUM STANEYS NY MOONLIGHT . CHAPTER III. I WRITE AN ADVERTYZEMENT FOR MY SIMMJNARY-I OBTAIN MY WARDROBES AND I RE- CEIVE CALLS FROM MY PATHONERS - I RELATE TO THEM MY MAWLONCOLLY EGSPRHIENCH -I WEITE AN EPIGEANNY CHAPTER IV. I BEGIN MY SIHM1NARY AND I TEACH-I MEET JABEE SI'RIGGINS-I WHITE SOME RAISES - I GIT INVITED TO A PARTY..........................................................67 CHAPTER V. I DIIESS AND GO TO A PARTY - I HAVE SOME ADYHEFUES THERE - I WR~TE A POETICAL CONFUSION . . 77 CHAPTER VI. JABEE SPRIGGINS PROPOSES-I HAVE COMPANY TO TEA-I WRITE SOME STANEYS TO JA- BEE SPEIGGINS CHAPTER VII. I GET KETOISED IN A SHOWER-THE GENTLEMEN ESCORTS MR TO MY SIMMiNARY -IWRlTH ANODE......................................................................... 95 page: 6 (Table of Contents) -7 (Table of Contents) [View Page 6 (Table of Contents) -7 (Table of Contents) ] 6 CONT ENTS. CHAPTER VIII. I HEAR OF MY MATERNAL PARINT'S ILLNESS, AND I START FOR HUM -I HEAR OF PHILAN- V#ER'S GETTING MARRIED AND I HAVE H[GHSTERICKS -I WRITE SOME POlTRY ON A LAMENT AND I DON'T SPEAK TO NOBODY....................... .. .....104 CHAPTER IX. THE STAGE GITS UPSOT - I LOOSE MY GRIST -I HAVE GRATE TEIBBELATIONS, AND -I WRITE 'SOME LINES AND HAVE SOME LINES DEDICATED TO ME........ .. .....11 CHAPTER X. I FIND MY CRIST- I GO TO NEW HARTFORD TO MEETIN' -I MAKE A GRATE SENSATION, AND -THEN I GO HUM -I HEAR OF MY, MATERNAL MOTHER'S DEATH -AND AT HER GRAVE I WRITE A FUGITIVE FRAGMENT..................... . .......123 CHAPTER XI. JAE SPRIGGINS COMES ONClH MORE TO SEE ME -I DISC0lpER MY AFFECTION FOR RIM-HRE - PROPOSEdS, LIKE LORD MORTIMER - I WRITS SOME BLANK POITRY -I GO TO UTICA AND GET MARRIEIR, AND THEN I DON'T SAY NO MORE........... . .. . .........-13 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES, 7 CONT ENTS. CHAPTER VII. JERUSHA'S STORY-A CHANGE IN MRS. SMITH'S DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS . CHAPTER VIII. MRS. SMITH RECEIVES A CALL FROM A NEW ACQUAINTANCE . . . . CHAPTER IX. MARY ELMER GOES HOME-A FUNERAL..... ...... CHAPTER X. A DREAM1 AND A WALK IN THE GRAVEYARD ... CHAPTER XI. THE AlD SOCIETY . . . - CHAPTER XII. CONCLUSION . . . . 216 . . .2300 . , . . .244 . . . . . . .253 278 MISCELLANEOUS. CHAPTER I. MfRS. LEE -MRS. GRANT AND HER DAUGHTER SUSAN ELMER .. - CHAPTER -II. MIIS LEE'S VISIT TO MRS. FLMER ........ CHAPTER III. MRS. LEE'S DEP4ARTURE - A NOTE, AND SAM LUDLOW . CHAPTER IV. MIRS. ELMER'S- REMOVAL, AND A NEW F1IIENID... CHAPTER V. MARY ELMER GOES TO'LIVE WITH MRS. SMITH .'.. CHAPTER VI. A DAY AT MRS. SMITH'S-THE DOG.BOUNCE . .., LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE ,..... . .143 . . . 156 ..2..07.gg AUNT MAGWIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE MISSION TO MUFFLETEGAWNY . GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT .........,. . . 345 , 36.g7 .170 1~'8 , , . .' . 187 . .199 page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 1310 GRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 4 page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 'LIE favorable recep~n hich \~he public gave to the Widow Bedott Papers, by Mrs. F. M. Whither, has induced the publication of another volume of the works of the same author. It is a natural desire tlm'~ we wish to know something of the personal history of those who have amused or in- terested us, and the~ reader feels a claim upon a favorite writer, kindred to the claims of friendship. For this reason,, we have deemed it not inappropriate to accompany the present collection with a brief biographical sketch of their author. Itmight at first be supposed, that the life of one whose writings prove her' to have possessed such a remarkable va- riety of talents, must furnish rich and abundant material f~r an extended memoir. But itmust be borne in mind, that true "genius is often allied to oreitt delicacy and re- ~'. UN serve of character. And thus while it was apparent to al~ / who knew Mrs. Whither, that she was a person of supe~ I ' nor intellect, she was perhaps in every-respect the oppo- site of all that we learn from the term, "a strong-minded Woman." And so singularly modest and unobtrusive (11) / page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 BIOGRAPHICAL INT.R 01) AUCTION. 13 10 GRAPIIJ CAL INTRODUCTION. 13 were her habits, that her life might safely yield in variety of incident, to the humblest champion of woman's rights; or the most obscure victim of woman's wrongs. While her only claim to eminence is found in the re~ markable genius which her writings display; a respect for that shrinking timidity with which she ever avoided publicity, seems to forbid us to do more than to dwell upon those features of her character which are in some degree the property of her readers, and our sketch, there- fore, will necessarily be meagre; but we shall enrich it with .such extracts from her letters and her poems, as will give to the appreciative reader ,a better idea of heP mental qualities than can b~ conveyed in any words of our own. Mrs. Frances Miriam Whitcher, was the daughter of Mr. Lewis Berry, and was born at Whitestown, Oneida County, New York, on the first day of November, 1811. This village shares with the township the name of its earliest settlers, and is one of the oldest, as well as one of the most beautiful villages in Central New York. That fine scenery which everywhere marks the valley of the Mohawk River, is spread out with particular magnifi- cence and beauty, in this immediate locality. The beauti- ful hills, the broad, luxuriant valley, and the gently flowing waters of the river, are among its natural attrac- tions, 'while the noble elms, which cast their grateful shadows over its principal street, are a pleasant and per.. petual memorial of 'those who might be truly termed its " first families." In 'its earlier history, Whitestown was the shire town of Oneida County, awd' the courts being held here, added to its other attractions as a home for gentlemen of the legal profession. Many whose names have been high in forensic distinction and brilliant upon the pages of his.. tory, were then counted among its citizens, and gave' to the social circle of that time a character for liberal culture and refined taste inferior to none in the State. Thus, fortunately, her early associations were such as not only furnished examples of superior mental excellence, but were well calculated to develop those germs of latent genius, the possession of which she showed even in child- hood. While' yet only two years old, and ignorant of her al. phabet, she learned to 'recite long pieces of poetry, and very early began making rhymes herself.' The first of these of which any record is preserved, is a parody on the familiar verses entitled "My Mother," ivhichwere common in the juvenile~Readers of that time. The " Grandfather" alluded to in the parody, was a member of her father's family, with whom the child was far from being a favorite. Her lines ran thus: - Who was it, when our friends were here, And In the room I did appear, Said, "This is Middy, she's our dear"? My Grandfather. Who was it, when I swept the floor, Would make me sweep it o'er a~d o'er, And say, "Come back and sweep it more" My Grandfather. And when I let the platter$all, Who said, as loud as he could bawl, "Now just come back and break them all"? ~Iy Grandfather. A short time previous to the composition of ths parody, 2 12 13 page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] BJOGRAPIZI CAL INTI? OD LOTION. 14 BIOGRAPHICAL INTROD fICTION. when five years old, she made "her first pictorial ex- ploit," as she afterward termed it, by drawing the likeness of an old gentleman, who, by familiar, but" not intention- ally offensive joking, had incurred her displeasure. The 'circumstance forms the subject of the first picture in a series of humorous sketches, which were made years afterward for a friend to whom she had promised an illus- trated volume of her, life. Her first teacher seems to have been an antiquated maiden, who did not sufficiently gain her respect to escape her ridicule; for we find her in the same series in many sketches, where the position evidently was not chosen for the benefit of the sitter. From this juvenile institution she was promoted 'to the primary department of the village academy, 'where her mirth-loving propensities found a new and wider field for exercise, which she did ~iot fail to improve; for here noth- ing capable of a ludicrous construction escaped her deli- cacy to perceive, and ability to portray; and while this "mischief" often brought her under discipline, her pun- ishments we find, in turn, made the subjects of her ~3~ches -so emphatically did her ruling passion "grow by what it fed on." A better account of this may be learned from her own words, in a letter' to Mrs. Alice B. Neal, a friend to whom she was known only through the medium of the pen, and the symp~4hy of kindred intellectual tastes. "'Yo~ ~las't kind letter was very gratifying. The ac- quisition of a new friend is a 'source of great pleasure to me; for I assure you that it has never 'been my lot to have. many friends. You possess the happy faculty of drawing all hearts at once to you; but. I, unfortunately, do not. And I will tell you, what I believe to be the secret of jt: I received, at my birth, the undesirable gift of a remarkably strong sense of the ridiculous. I can scarcely remember the time when the neighbors were not afraid that I would 'make fun of them.' For indulging in this propensity, I was scolded at home, and wept over and prayed with, by certain well-meaning old. maids in the neighborhood; but all to no purpose. The only re- ward of their labors was frequently their likenesses drawn in charcoal and pinned to the corners of their 'shawls, with, perhaps, a descriptive verse below. Of course I had not many' friends, even among my own playmates. And yet, at the bottom of alL this deviltry, the e was a warm, affectionate heart -~- if any were really kiiPl to me, how I loved them!"' One little picture in the series, alluded to from her "ideal world," which has pleased us particularly, is en- titled "The Adventure." It is thus described by herself, during a walk on the banks of the river about a mile from her home, she related to her companions thus :- "Once I was walking here, when I 'saw on that stump of a tree a beautiful Bible all bound in gold lying open. I started to get it, when a little angel with shining wing8 came flying dowh towards it, and when I 'reached the place the book was *a heap of ashes, and the angel was gone.~~ Her school education was completed in her native vil- lage, with the exception of some lessons in French, from a very superior teacher in the neighboring city of Utica, where she acquired a' high proficiency in that language, but with an instinctive horror of affectation and display, she always avoided, both in conversation aud in writing, the use of any foreign words or phrases. I page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 1310 GRAPHI6AL INTRODUCTION. 17 In the t~rt of drawing, in which she has left such abun- dant proof of her taste and skill, her only instruction was a few hints from a similarly gifted relative. In epistolary correspondence she particularly excelled, her pen gliding without an effort into rhyme, and making the most trivial occurrences attractive by her happy power. of expression, as well as by the most life-like pen draw- ings, with which her letters are embellished, and in which she often introduced herself in some most ludicrous or preposterous manner. Nothing was allowed to escape her pencil or her pen, and even the every-day occurrences in a quiet family fur- nished material, which when embellished by her genius, became amusing and interesting. The following mock se- rious lines on the death of a pet crow, show her ability to mingle the ridiculous with the sublime: No sigh was heard, no tear was shed, / And not a word was spoken, But the pale cheek and drooping head Told how their hearts were broken. There was no outward sign of woe, Though every hope had failed 'em, A chance observer scarce would know That aught uncommon ailed 'em! Manhood and youth and age were there, Touched with the same deep sorrow; ~h~y thought of pne whom they must bear ~o his harp-yard grave, to-morrow. There in an old tin pan he Jay, The once beloved an4 cherishe~, Alas, how soon he, passed away, How cruelly he perished! And one was there, once gay and spry, 'Twas one that did adore him; A maniac glare was in her eye, She silently bent o'er him. She loved the dear departed crow Like dearest friend, or brother, And watched his infant graces grow, Just like some tender mother, Love, like some tender Ilower of earth, Long in her heart had wasted; Tom, like the sun, had called it forth, And death, like winter, blasted. 11cr grief was silent, dark, and dcep, For1 oh, she loved him, dearly; 'Tis never those who loudest weep, That sorrow most sincerely. There is a grief that dwells within,- A grief beyond my telling; When all the outward man grows thin, But oh, the heart keeps swelling. They tied his feet with cotton yarn, And to his grave they bore him; They burled him low behind the barn, And stuck two shingles o'er him. Then burst the torrent of her grief, That long had lain concealed; 11cr inward woes found some relief, In being thus revealed. "Oh never more," she wildly cried, "His cheerful voice shall greet me; He'll never wander by my side, He'll never fly to meet me. J "He used to get upon my chalr When I was busy sewing; 2* K page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 28 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. And tangle up my braided hair, Almost without my knowing. "Heused to steal my knitting sheath, His legs were wondrous nimble, And once I ducked him most to death For carrying oil' my thimble. "But let his faults forgotten be, For he has gone forever; His like again we ne'er shall see, Oh, never! never I! never! ! I" Some words of comfort then I said, In vain those words were spoken; Despondingly she shook her head, 1 knew her heart was broken. The views and opinioiw of' John Calvin were believed and taught more than any other system of religious doctrine, in her native village at that time; and she was baptized in infancy, early instructed in the shorter cate- chisin, and while yet in her teens, was, at the close of a revival, received into membership with the Presbyterian Church, a connection which was for many years retained. 11cr religious feeling and attachments at this time are very pleasantly recorded in her lines on the removal of the old church. All silently the twilight falls, This ancient temple round, And mournfully within these walls My echoing footsteps sound. Well may this heart with sorrow swell, These tears of sorrow 110w, I come to breathe a last farewell, A last sad look bestow. ( BIO GRAPhICAL INTROD AUCTION No more shall bands of brethren meet Within this hallowed place, To worship at a Saviour's feet, And seek a Saviour's face. No more the inquiring crowd shall press Tolearn the road to heaven; Nor here the bleeding heart find peace, The mourner feel forgiven. ~o more the word of life shall fall From hearts with love that burn, Nor truth invite, nor mercy call The wanderer to return. No longer here shall music roll Its thrilling strains along, Nor pure devotion lift the soul, In union with the song. Here often hath my God revealed His goodness and His power; But now, old Church, thy doom is seaI~d, And thou must be no more. I stand alone within these walls; There is no being nigh To check the bitter tear that falls, Or chide the rising sigh. I weep, dear consecrated spot, That thou must cease to be, And oft, full oft, when thou art not, Shall memory turn to thee. 1 love thy sacred aisles! -'twas here Where first my footsteps trod, And mother gave, with holy fear, That little one to God. And oh! 'twas here that awful vow, To be the Lord's, was spoken! 19 / page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 4 1'4 .4 .4 y BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTW.y. 21 20 / BIOGRAPIIIOAL LYTROD AUCTION. The paiuful~thought comes o'er me now, How oft that vow I've broken. Alas my soul, how oft thy wings, E'en in the house of God, - Have sunk 'neath vain imaginings, And kissed earth's fleeting clod. I love this place I While musing 'hero On pleasures known no more, Some pleasant thoughts of former years Float my lone spirit o'er. Here I was wont to sit with some 1 loved in childhood's day; Many are in the silent tomb, And many far away. Here have I gazed with tearful eye, Upon the death-cold brow Of some whose spirits dwell on high, Whose forms tire mould'ring low. Perchance ~ now that sainted throng, Those spirits of the dead, May glide these ancient aisles among, Where they were wont to tread. Methinks they've left those realms of light And glo~y,-where they dwell, And hover o'er this place to-night, That once they loved so well. And many forms remembered well, Andonce mostdearto me, Who long have ceased on earth to dwell, Among that band I see. Methiflks I see that blest one too, So lovely and so dear; Who, scarce one little month ago, Was sweetly singing here. Young Harriet, who with dying breath, The Saviour's love confessed, Exulting raised a song in death, And, swan-like, sunk to rest. Sweet spirit I lift that tuneful voice As thoi wert wont of yore, Let these devoted walls rejoice In thy sweet strains once more. 'Tis gone I The heavenly train is flown! The sweet illusion fades! And I am musing here ~ilone, 'Mid evening's gath'ring shades. Farewell I doomed temple of the Lord, Foi~ thee my tears shall flow; I grieve to speak the parting word; With ling'ring steps I go. What, though npon thiB sacred spot A statelier pile 1 Bee; Dear house of God, when thou art not, Shall memory tui~n to thee. Later in life she found in the doctrines and teachings of the Protestant Episcopal Church, a system of religion more congenial with her taste, and mor~ in harmony with her judgment. Jn person Mrs. Whitcher was above the medium height, erect in figure; stately in her walk,, with an air of reserve and dignity. Her large dark eyes. were full of expression and~ soft liquid light. Her hair of glossy black wa8 al- ways kept in the most tasteful and careful manner, while her dress showed scrupulous neatness, and v ~s character- ized more by an absence of bad taste, than by any effort at effect in its arrangement. One who often met her has said in our hearing, i page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 BJOGRAPIIICAL INTR OD UCTIOiV BIOGRAPHICAL INIROD ACTION. 23 1~ I ( $ "It seemed to me Mrs. Whitcher always wore the same dress," a remark that shows that she appreciated that sen- sible maxim, that "to be well dressed, a lady's attire should be so arranged as never to excite a thought." She possessed a high degree of conversational ability in the circle of congenial friends; their presence seemed to inspire her, and to devcdop many little graces and at- tractions which the first critical glance frightened away, so much that among strangers and ordinary acquaintances, she became reserved 'and timid to a degree which was often regarded as haughtiness and pride, or a sense of conscious superiority. But amid the genial circle of fa-. miliar friends, her eye brightened with intelligence, her features glowed with enthusiasm, while the liquid and har- monious flow of her words possessed almost the charming power of music. The story of the Widow Spriggins was among' the ear- lier productions of her pen, and was originally written for "The M~oonian Circle," a social and literary association, sustained by persons of taste and ability. The liter- ary productions of the Circle were presented to its mem- bers in the form of a paper, which was for some time called " The Momus," a liame which it fully merited. Among the members~ of the Circle, however, there, were some who deemed the paper too much devoted to "the harmless comedy of life," and it was accordingly changed in name, and somewhat in character, to "The M~onian. The circumstances form the subject of an article from the "M~onian," which may be found in the present volume. The Widow Spriggins' articles were afterward favor - ably, though not very extensively, introduced to the pub- lic by Mr. Calvert Comstock, late editor of the Albany Argus, who was at that time editing a weekly paper at Rome, New York, and was a personal friend of their author. She received no pecuniary compensation for any of her articles, until the summer' of 1346, when she became a regular contributor to "Neal's Saturday Gazette." Its editor, who was a humorist of acknowledged ability, highly appreciated the genius of his contributor. 'But neither his enthusiastic praise, nor the flattering reception with which her productions were received by its readers,. could overcome her habitual self-distrust and timidity. In a letter accompanying one of the Bedotts, she says: "I fear criticism; I fear 'the world's dread laugh.' I fear a repulse, a failure; there are a thousand things to make me shrink from taking a step which may look like courting publicity; and I assure you, no1~hing but the hope of one d~ay reaping some pecuniary benefit, induces me to offer myself as a contributor to your paper." On the sixth of January, 1847, she was married to the' Rev. B. W. Whitcher, and in the following spring re- moved to Elmira, Chemung County, where Mr. Whither assumed the pastoral care of St. Peter's church. The following playful rhyming letter, written during her husband's temporary absence from home, a few days after their marriage, may not be inappropriate here. I will weave an idle rhyme, dear, A simple rhyme for thee, For it seems a wei~ry time, dear, Since yester morn to me. It seems a long, long while, dear, That I've been left alone; And I miss thy cheerful smile, dcar, And I miss thy kindly tone. '~1 Is 22 page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] BIOGRAPHICAL INUCTION. Through the busy morning hours, dear, I've missed thy cheering wor4; While I watered all the flowers, dear, And fed the little bird. I've been busy in your study, dear, And made it nice and neat, But I found it rather muddy, dear, (Why don't you clean your feet?) Your books and papers all, dear, I've arranged the nicest way; Your bump of order's small, dear, It grieves me quite to say. Ere you've been here a day, dear, 'Twill look as bad as ever, Don't say I'm Caudling, pray, dear, ror I never mean to - never. It was a real pleasure, dear, To fix each tumbled shelf', And each old dudj a treasure, dear, It looked so like yourself. I've been talking with my mother, dear, And with my father, too, With my sisters and my brothers, dear~, And still the theme was you. * * * The weary day has flown, dear, 'Tis silent evening now, And I am all alone, dear, ButWillie, where art thou? And how employed? not smoking, dear, Good gracious! if you should, - But surely you were joking, dear, When you threatened that you would. Good-night- good.uight! God bless thee, My dearest a~d my best; May no dark dreams oppress thee, But angels guard thy rest: IHO GRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. From every pain, and sorrow, dear, I To guard thy precious life, And bring thee back to-morrow, dear, To thy true and loving wife. 25 Her peculiar traits of character were not particularly adapted to her new sphere of life; her retiring and r~ served disposition illy qualified her for a position which makes so great demand upon the demonstrative sympam thies, as that of a clergyman's wife. And, although she found in Elmira a few whose friendship and kindness were ever held in grateful remembrance, the greater number of her new acquaintances regarded her with distrust and suspicion; and her greatest pleasure was fo~ind in her domestic relations. As a wife, she was ever kind and thoUghtful,' placing a high estimate upon her marriage duties, requiring the i~iost refined and exalted tenderness, which it was her constant aim to inspire. In Elmira the "Bedott Papers" were continued and completed. The "Aunt Maguire 'Letters," published in Godey's Lady's Book, were written here, and a series in a difThrent style u~der the name of "Letters from Timber- yule" were begun, which her death left incomplete. A few of the first chapters of the story 'of Mary Elmer were also written at this place. Though. Whitelier's literary reputation will perhaps, most particularly be identified with her humorous works, she has left in 'her little poems and sketches and in the graver composition- of Mary Elmer, abundant proof that she was not confined, in the range of her genius, to any one department of literature, but might have gained a brilliant reputation in the various walks of authorship. Those who haver~nown 'her heretofore only as the author of mirth- a 24 / :1 (I ii page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 BIOGRAPLTICAL INTRODUCTION. BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 27 -provoking productions, will find with surprise the depth, tenderness, and~ spiritual beauty which her more serious writings reveal. Possessing at ~he same time an eye for the ridiculous, a sense of the grotesque in combination, and the quaint in character, with a genuine love of the beauti- fal, and admiration of the grand, her productions had' power not only to please the fancy, but to satisfy the higher wants of the mind. Even her humorous articles do not stand upon their wit alone as their chief merit; true, they make you laugh, and thus they answer the true test of their excellence in this respect.. And the Widow Bedott might have graduated as the very worst speller in the "bad spel- ling" school 'of 'literature so popular at the present day, but her humor was always the vehicle of sense "to point a moral or adorn a tale," and even when the widow ~iseour- se5 "on punkins," she reads a wholesome homily to the troublesome neighbor who "borroweth and repayeth not again." As an' appreciative critic has said, "There is as clear delineation of character in these writings as in. the works of Dickens or Thackeray. They are the cleverest, as 'well as the'~most popular of any articles of the kind by an Amer- ican author. Those doomed perforce to 'immortality by the hand now stilled forever, should be &itisfied that they have secured what so many have labored assiduously to obtain." Saxe finds" it is a very serious thing to be a fanny man," and Mrs. Whither found it "a very serious thing" to be a funny woman. Few" writers since the days of Coleridge have been so much at the same time ~e subject of panegyric by their friends and of censure from their enemies; for while the reading public were convulsed with laughter over the inimitable drollery and cleverness of her sketches, and editors were eagerly striving to ~secure the popularity which her contributions commanded in whatever publication they appeared, their author was being assailed with the greatest vituperation and personal insult from those who fancied they had unwittingly furnished models for her sketches; and in one instance Mr. Whither was threatened by a man with legal prosecution for damages, which Mrs. Samson Savage had done to characteristics which he fancied belonged exclusively to his wife, and other less prominent characters were zealously searched 'out and applied, as many an indignation meeting could witness. "This means you," and "this means such a one," the said, as 'each fitted the garment to a neighbor's back, whik all tmited in aiming resentment at the author with as much anger as if she had labelled their parcels with their individ.. ual names. So high indeed ran the tide of angry feeling that it soon became apparenI~ that Mr. Whither's usefulness as a clergyman would find fewer obstacles in some other parish. Such a result was entirely unanticipated ,by Mrs.. Whitcher. Her characters 'were not designed 'simply to represent individuals, but were types of different classes; and however closely they may apply to particular persons, it is illiberal to so universal a genius as hers as to attempt to confine its application simply to one locality. But not in Elmira alone were hunted up ~originals for her portraits. A few weeks after the publication of the sewing society articles, Mrs. Whither wrote thus to a friend :~ "'It is an amusing fact that several villages are eon- tending for' the honor of being the birth-place of 'Mrs. Samson Savage.' A man from a village in County page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] ii U ~ll BIcLGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. came into one Qf the bookstores the other day to get some 'Lady's Books,' saying that they were all alive about it in his place, because they hadl a 'Mrs. Samson Savao'e' there. And we have heard from -, a village twenty miles distant, that they have fitted the coat to a woman there." And yet Mrs. Samson Savage and Mrs. J. Pixley Smith are only representatives of that large class where ignorance and vulgarity are only made more conspicuous by wealth. Sam Ludlow is a character by far too common in real life; an unruly son of a ruling deacon; while Per- milla Spriggins is but a pitiful illustration of the effect of the continual reading of love stories on vain and weak- minded girls. Almost any one can find "a Hugelina," a would-be-literary character among their own acquaintances, however limited the circle may be. It is true Mrs. Whither has been charged with satir.. izing, in some of her characters, things which should be held sacred from ridicule. But whether Sam Ludlow "gets religion" for the' purpose of getting hold of the "old man's" purse-strings, or the Widow Bedott resorts to Elder Sniffles for religious instruction with habeas cor- pus intentions in her mind; if we examine closely~ we find that it' is only where selfishness and hypocrisy steal the cloak of piety, that they are held up and made at once odious and ridiculous. Few lives have perhaps furnished better examples of sin- cere piety and devotiQn than hers. That rare humility of which we have already spoken, was not only a part of the, ornament of" a meek and quiet spirit," but of one scrupu- lous in the conscientious discharge of duty. She not only loved the public services of the church, but was constant BIOGRAPHICAL INTROD UCTIO.Y. 29 hud faithful in those devotions which receive the promise of" Him who seeth in secret." The following lines written during a period of suffering, show how well she had learned that hardest of all Christian lessons, resignation to the solemn ascription, "Thy will be done." Afflict me, Father; let thy heavy rod 'Fall on my sinful head; I would not shun the sufferings of my God, whose blood for me was shed. Afflict me, Father; I will take the cross Unmurmuringly and still, By thy good help; and bear all earthly loss, Iflmaydothywill. Ay, slay me, Father, and I will not fear The coming of Death's dart, If I may see the Lord's kind angel near, To strengthen my weak heart. Not only in religious duties, but in the offices of friend- ship was she eminently uniform and faithful, and a good impression once made upon her feelings was enduring. In illustration of this tenacity of feeling, we insert a letter which was written not many years before her death, 'and which refers to an affection, of which "Time but the im- pression stronger made." This letter was addressed to the same person as the one from which our former extract was made. "I was quite alone all last evening, and my mind wan- dered to you. I cannot tell why it is, but your idea is always associated in my imagination with a dear sister of mine,' who died at sixteen, when I was oi4y five years~ old. 8* 28 page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION 31 I recollect 'her perfectly. They say she was a genius; and I remember that she was beautiful and joyous, and always good to me. I loved her better than any one else.' She used to put me eyery night in my' little crib, and sit and' tell me stories till I went to sleep, and hear me say my prayers and little hymns. She had a thousand winning ways. There was one pretty mark of love that seems very pleasant to me now as I look back to it. She used often to reward me for being good, by putting some trifle under my pillow after I was asleep, and it made me so happy to 'wake in the morning and find it. How easy it is to please a ohild! "This sweet sister took more pains with me than any- body else ever did. It was a great calamity that I lost her. Yet I have alw~iys felt that there was still a bond between us. When I was little, I used to dream of hef almost every night, and, as I grew older, I thought about her a great deal. In my lonely rambles, I often fancied that she called me; even now I sometimes think I can 'hear her distinctly pronounce my name in the night. I know not~ why it is 'so, but I fancy that you are like her. I was thinking of it last evening as I sat aloiie, and I threw aside my sewing and scratched down these simple verses to you. View the~n, dear -, not as poetry but as a little token of affection. Of the "verses ~' here mentioned, we will select two, as illustrative of her attachment to the memory of her sister, and of her~ belief in the intin~ate union between departed spirits and their friends on ealth : - True, some will call it fancy's flight, And say it ne'er can be, That in the wakeful hours of night An angel speaks to me. I " The wondrous and mysterious ties Some hearts can never know, That link the loved in paradise With those they love below." Another little poem adctressed to the same sister ran thus :-. MY SISTER. Would I were sleeping on thy peaceful breast, Friend of my infimt years! Thou who couldst lull my wayward heart to rest, And soothe my childish fears. Oh, 'tis a blessed thing like thee to die IBefore the dark hours come! Before the light reflected frorri on high Is lost in earthly gloom. Peace t~ thee, bud of paradise! expand In the Lord's garden; there, The flowers arc nurtured by the Almighty hand, To bloom in heavenly air. / Look down on mc, 0 sister! think of me, By sin and suffering tost; Lonely and sad my heart turns back to thee, So loved! so early lost! In the autumn of 1850, Mrs. Whither returned to Whitestown. Her literary labors had been almost sus- pended during the year just passed, as her time had been occupied' in the care of her infant daughter. Few women have discharged with higher appreciation or greater love their maternal duties, than was now ehown in her devotion to her child. Her health,' which had for some time been delicate, now began more perceptibly to fail, and the symp- 4 page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. BIOGRAPHICAL INTROD ~LCTION. 32 toms of the consumption, which for a' long time had hung like a threatening shadow over her, now made their pres- ence more apparent. Still she declined to receive medical aid, feeling reluctant to begin a contest where the struggle, promised to be long, and the result uncertain. It soon became apparent to those who loved her that it was, "The little rift within the lute, That by and by should make its music mute And slowly widening, silence all the sound!" - / Prompted by maternal affection, she applied herself to making her child's wardrobe and, as opportunity offered, resumed her labor on the story of Mary Elmer. It had long been her intention to write something in a graver style 'than anything *hich she had hitherto offered to the public. Much as sh~4 excelled in the comic vein, we think it was not chosen to gratify her own taste or inclimv. says, "II am heartily sick of Bedotting and Maguiring, tion, for in one of her le ters written from Elmira, she 'and only wish I could be as well paid for more sensible matter." She would no doubt have found more pleasure in the exercise of a higher aiA purer taste, but her inclina- '~ tion was overruled by circumstances. ' The intense pathos of Mary Elmer may have been heightened by the fact that it was written during a period of physical suffering, but it proves that its author possessed as great power over the pathetic' as the risible emotions of the reader, and like the "immortal bard" when she chose to "come no more to make you laugh," possessed equal ability to present " such solemn scenes as cause the eye to flow," Like many other humorists, hei~ natural, tendency was more to melancholy than to mirth, and we learn from one 33 who loved her, that her pen which was employed so suc- cessfully for the amusement of others, was' often guided by an eye dun with unshed tears. Although, like Hood, she had found the public ear more open to melodies than to maladies, with him she felt that "a life of mere laughter is like music without its( bass, or a picture of vague unmitigated light, while an~ occasional melancholy is like those rich old glooms of' Rembrandt." The pathos of Mary Elmer was as easy to her pen as the humor of Sprigginsor Bedott; for her gifts were like song to the bird, or perfume to thefiower; and thus the success of her writings does not depend upon her energy, for she was easily discouraged, and always self-distrusting, while her humility kept her always from self-assertion, and often from effort. Thus her life became one of obser- vation, rather than of action; and to the last her literary productions were cast doubtingly upon the uncertain stream of public favor. She never shoved any undue devotion to the material and practical, and seemed strangely unconscious of the possession of those talents, which, if united with greater worldly wisdom,. might earlier have brought her th~ grateful reward of fame, as well as those more tang- ible returns which the world counts as the criterion of success. That remarkable sagacity with which she appreciated the springs of human passion, and which with such rare perspicuity her writings display, she seldom brought into working use, for she was credulous and unsuspecting in a. marked, degree. The story of Mary Elmer, ~n which she bestowed her page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 BIOGRAPHICAL INTROD (JCITION 35 "~il last literary labor, was left unfinished. The last letter she ever penned was one which accompanied some chapters of hc~r manus~ipt to her publisher, and was written only three weeks before her death. From it we make an ex- tract: "I never sent off a manuscript so unsightly as this. But I can do no better. You will see that it bears evi- dence to the trembling hand and miserable body sustained by opiates. Oh, the horrid stuff! There would never be any danger of' my becomijig' an opium-eater from choice. I hope the compositor will nQt be utterly confounded. I send three chapters, and the rest will be forthcoming' as soon as circumstances will permit. I have been verx de- sirous to finish this story, probably the last I shall write. And I trust there will be nothing in it 'which, dyii~g, I should wish to blot.' Perhaps Mr. '.may thipk the style too~ plain and homely. I have been so anxious to avoid the grandiloquent style of many of our femiile story writers, that I may haye gonef too far the othei~ way.1 I have become so entirely disgusted vith1 that sort of com- position applied to the commonest and most trifling, sub- jects, as well as to those more important, that I never. have patience to get through ~tn article of that descrip- tion." Her manuscript ha~ been. carefully preserved by Mr. Whither, and it was not until after repeated efforts to get it completed ly others had failed, that the present writer attempted the task of" ending,?' not to say "finishing" it, not unconscious of the presumption with which the. act might be regarded by many, for one without literary ex- penence, or even literary ambition, to attemptt to add to anything a genius like hers had left incomplete, yet aux- 34 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. ious to give to usefulness a little tale which seemed quite too good to be lost. After sending away her last letter, her health began 'to fail more rapidly, and her'time was devoted to more im- mediate preparation, for death. Jeremy Taylor's Holy Living and Dying was now her~ constant companion, as it had been a solace and comfort in hours of health. She received with humility the holy communion, and all the consolations which the Church of England has in store for her departing children. The sun which rose on the fifth anniversary 'of her bridal day, shed its last rays into the room where she lay clothed in the bridal robes of death. With the solemn ser- vice of the Church she had so much loved, they committed her body to the dust.' In the rural grave-yard of her native village, in the little enclosure where lie those to whom. she was connected by family ties, and beside the sister for whose companion- ship' she had so long and fondly yearned, she rests. And who can say but in "those heavenly habitations where the souls of them that sleep inAhe Lord Jesus 'enjoy per- petual felicity," their spirits are united in nearer and purer ties, as in communion with the saints beneath the altar, they join in the solemn anthem, "How long, 0 Lord," as in earnest hope they wait the final benediction. In accordance with her own humble wishes, her name 'and age on a little 'tablet is all . that marks 'her resting- place. But in the hearts of those who loved her as a friend, and admired her ds an author, is written a brighter and more enduring word of her virtues than can be traced by the pen of the biographer, or graven in the eloquence of sculptured marble. M. IL. NV. 35 page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] WIDOW SPRIGGINS. page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] a WIDOW SPRIGGINS. CHAPTER 1. 1~They called me bhie.eyed Mary, When finds and fortin smiled, Bitt oh I how fortins vary, I now am BolTer's child I" OLD 5O~G~ WAS born in Podunk, a charming~ and sequesterat( villidge on the banks of the morantie and meande: in' Mohawk. My father's name was Nathan ku~ ~les; he was an emigranter from Vermount, at he married a Dutch young woman by the name of Vii Hogobome, a native of Podunk. I was the oldest of t~ childern, five boys and five gearis. The boys wa~ Nad~ and Abihu, (twins,) Cornelus, Bemas, and Gad. TI gears was Pe~mil1y, (that's me,) Mirtilly, Ketury, (that a Dutch name,) Axy, and Vine. But I was the flower c the family. I've heern my mother tell that 11 was a wot derful cretur from the time I was knee high to a hop-toa Afore I was 10 year old I knowd eny most all the primm~i and I could say them are passes in't clean, from, "I Adam's fall," to "Zaceheus .he did climb the tree," without mission' a word. And when I want but fourteen I know by heart, all that are gret long piee~ of poetry that Joli Rogers writ jest afore he was burnt to a ~ta~ke. (89) 4 Lb .5 1- 1.. n it d a page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 WIDOW SPRIYiWINS. W1ie~i I was about sixteen our folks sent me to Miss Van Dusen's boarding-school to Scaticoke. She was a cousin of my mother, and whilst I was there besides lair- nin' all monner of accomplishmentss I took a mazin' notion to reading' and red Rosabelly, and Alviry, and the Childern of the Abby all through. Well, arter staying' there three months I went hum, and at my departer Miss Van 'Dusen give rue the Childern of the Abby, 'cause 'twas my favorite book and I was her favorite puppil, teRm' on me to read it cerfully and wouldd improve my taste and under- standin' amazin'ly. Well, I returned to the paternal ruff, and I tell ye I was a touch above' the vulgar, but I'd or'to tell ye how II looked. My hair was of that lovely hue that folks calls red and novels calls auburn. Sometimes I suffered it to flow cerlessly over my alabaster shoulders, and sometimes I con- fined it on the tip top of my head with a quill. My face was considerate immineAtly honsome. My bigger was on- common graceful, and I had a gret , deal of dignitude. But more 'n all that, I writ poetry of the first order, and was called the biggest genyus in Podunk. ~I knowd I was a touch above the vulgar, as I said afore, and so I kept myself putty scarce. I didn't let nun of the fellers come within gunshot of me tho' there want one there but what would a jumped sky high to git me, but I didn't incurridge 'er~i, for I was detairmined I wouldn't give my affections to nobody that didn't look like Lord Mortimer, him that the Ohildern of the Abby tells about9 and nun of the young. men in Podunk want no touch to him,, for the biggest part on em was aniazin' fleshy and he ~&ant. Well, a number on 'em art a spell plukt up curridge to make up to me. There was Bonypart Buggins, a risin' farmer, he took arter I WIDOW SPRIG GI.YS; me consairnedly. One afternoon I was a sitting' under a tree in the orchard reading' in the Childern of the Abby, and II tho't I heern a noise, so I lookt up, and lo and be- hold 'twas Bonypart leanin' agin a stump. "Your sarvent," says he~ I gin him an all-to~pieces stiff bow, and went on continuyin' reading , - at last says he, - "Miss Ruggles." "Hold yer tongue,". says I. "Ye needn't be so ferce," says he. Then I riz right up and says I, "What do ye mean by contrudin' yer pesky presence on my solitary modifications, hay? If 'twant for disgracin' this ere book I'd heave fl at yer head." So he cleared out considerable skeart and never bothered me no more. And there wa~ another young man in our town by the name of' Yokop Van Snorter, a merchant, 1~hat lived nigh by, makin' money and doin' well. There want a gearl in Podunk but what would a had him ony me, and I was the ony on~ he took a notion tew. But he was as fat as a hoss, and more 'ii all that he had such a name 'twas enuf to disgust me. Well, he was kinder timersome and darse~at speak to me, so he writ me a "billydux," (that are's the French for loveletter,) I can't remember edjackly how 'twas eupprest, ony I know he writ how't.he loved me better'n sour crout or flitters, or anything on airth, and wanted me to marry him right off. Now in all the novil~ I'd read, nun of the y~ung men didn't make a supposition in sich a stile, so I jist, took it and writ on t'other side o'nt, - "You gret unheerd of Dutch lubber; ye don't know how to tell a young woman the state of yer feeling, rind if:ye did 4* 1- A4 page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 WIDOW SPRI0GINS~. * I wouldn't have ye nor touch to, so ye may giv up yer en- devers." I sent the letter over by my little brother Gad, and that evening' we were all a sittin' round the kitchen lire, mother a dipping' candles, Nadab and Abihu twisting' nut- cakes, and Mirtilly a fryin' on'em, Il3emas and Ketury knit- tin', (my mother dedicated all her children jest alike. She didn't approve of havin' the boys do all the Qut-door work and the gears all the housork, so in the afternoon the gearls went out and heipt the boys chop wood and hoe taturs, &c., and in the evening' the boys cum in and heipt the gearls do up the chores,) but I was a reading, I never had nothing' to do with kitchinary consairns for I reckoned and mother reckoned tow, that a young woman that had been to boardin'-school and lairnt phizziology, and trigge- ology, and astrology, besides painting' jtnd mongers, shouldn't or'to do no housork, and I never read in nonovil of a heroine that washed dishes and fried nutcakes, and so forth. An~iandy Malviny Fitzalen didn't' do't, and Ii was detairmined I wouldn't do't, tWo' father used to jaw me about it, for he never had no sense of properiety. But I didn't think 'twas any disparagation to resist mother in sup.. perintendin' the children, for I reckoned 'twas quite interest-. in' to teach their young ideas how to fire, as Poke says, and the evening' I speak on I'd jest ben piittin' Cornelus and Gad, and Axy and Vine, to bed in the trundle-bed, and was beseated reading' in Cecely, (a nov11 belonging' to a na.. ber of ourn,) when father came in and says he to me, says be, '~ Milly,"- says I, "Sir!" "Come up chamber," says he, "I want to see ye a minnit." So I shot up my interesting novil with a sythe and follered my ferce and grumpy looking' payrent. When we got up chamber he shot the door and says he, "Milly," - says I, "Sir,~~ 42 says he, "Yer a darn fool." "Be, hay," sa I, "what for?" "Why," says he, "I've been over to Van Snorter's store, and he told me all about that a e mean dirty trick you've ben a sarvin' him, with tears in his eyes. If you'd ~a writ him a decent letter tellin' on him you couldn't marry him, it wouldn't a ben so bad; but. even then you'd* a ben a fool, for you'll never git sich another chance, - but to send him sich a sassy, crusty mess of stuff; why you'd or'to be flogged for't. I tell'& him if I was him I never'd speak to ye agin, - but he says he takes art~r ye yit, and wants me to persuade ye to have him, and I tell ye ye'd better do't." "What!" exclamigat~d I, "me have York Van Snorter? why, he don't look no more like Lord Mortimer than a back-log does! You may manui~e me in the most gloomiest 4unjir~ in Podunk, you may deny me the, en- fuence of the surviving' atmosphere, you may deprive me of every gratication in life, but you will never conduce me to giv my willing' consent except agin my inclination, to be ~ led to the Ilymonia" alter by a, bein' I can't bestow my hull affections on, so I boseech on ye not to speak of him "Well, I don't~ know now," says father says he, "whether ye mean ye'Il have him or not." "No, never!" e~clamigated I, "I never can, be hissen I "You aint hal - itted," says he, "them are plague no'vPs you've been a digging' at's used up what little sefise ye ~had afore, - yer a standing' in yer own light, and I'll let ~e know I aint a guayne to have ye cut up any more of yer, capers." So sayin' he went off and I beguwteariu' my hair and Ia'. 43 WIDOW SPRIXWINS. page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] * 44; WIDOW SPRIG GINS. ruentin' my sorrers the wost way. Putty soon Mirtilly and Ketury heern me, and they come up. "Massy sakes U' says Mirtilly, "what's to pay?" "Gracious!" says Ketury, "what under the sun ails ye?" its' ails me?" says I. "Ax the ragin' oshun when billers rQlls high what ails it? Ax the stormy sky when kivered with thundering' clouds what ails it? but ax not me what ails me, -' my woes is incompre-. hensible and iihcombounded. I am surrounded on all sides with miseries, and attacked on every hand by distractions. A cruel and torranical father threatens me with his ever- lastin' vengeance if I' don't marry an unadmyrable Dutch josey! Oh happy Mirtilly! Oh unsofisticated Ketury! ye hant no notion of the sorrers of the most onfortinate of creturs!" ' ' "how much she talks like a book," says Ketury. "How much' she talks like a fool," says Mirtilly, and off she went to bed. But Ketury was more feeling , and she staid a spell and tried to ~mfort me. "But," says' I, "leave me, Oh leave me alone in my ,desperation, and go and seek ' tired nature's sweet restorer."' So Ketury went out and putty soon she cum back and brung a gret hunk of candy to me. "Offer me no candy," jackleated I. Says she," Why you tell'd me to git ye something sw~et to the store, and when' I tell'd Van Snorter how't it was foi~ you he wouldn't take no pay." "Gokrnck," says I, "misunde~etandin' child, and throw it at his head." So she went, and when she chin into the store she buy it as hard as ever she could right ihto Vau Snorter's face, and made his nose bleed. Onfortinately, A WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 45 father he was in there, tho' she didn't see him, and when she huv the candy he jumped up aiid grabbed her afore she had time to get away, cryin' out "What do ye mean, ye little wretch?" Says she, "Permilly tell'd me to do it." So father he cum right strait home and into the chamber with a cowhide in his fist, and, says he, "'You'll sUp~ sorrer, I tell ye, for that are caper of yourn.". So sayin' he cum at me, but I jumped over the bed, and afore he could hit me, I got outside the' door, and strapt it so 's he couldn't git out, ~- then I ketcht my bunnit and shawl, stuffed the Children of the Abby in my pocket, went to father's chist and hookt his leather money p'tiss, and was out of the house in. a minnit. I see Ketury a cryin' by the gate, and says I, "Go in and tell mother that I've absquandered to the world's eend, and tell her not to have father let out in 3 hours, if she valleys my everlastin' peace of mind." So say- in' I IIuv my arms round Ketury and giv a partin' kiss and then~" like a fair lily surcharge with tears," * I run across the meads and fields till I cum to a tavern about five miles from Podunk. I gxed 'em if I mut lodge there, and they said I bought, and says I to the lonlady, "Good dame, give me a department alone by myself, for I desire to ponderate, unseen by vulger eyes, on the heft of misfor- tins that oppresses me." "What is't ye want ?7' says the ignorant cretur. Says I, "Giv me a room alone, and fetch me a candle, and sum ink, and sum paper, and a pen. So she did, and I couldn't but admire to think 'how much my situation was like Amandy's when she was so druv, and arter collection' my ideas, I writ the follerin passes. I reckon their considerable touching . ~Childern of the Abby. I "A page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] irrn~ w sriaaazNs'. WIDO ir SPRIGGINS. 47 Dear me I no cretur ever had So many dretful struggles - I~o geari was ever half so sad, As poor ?erxnilly Bugglesq The cruel Mr. Buggies druv Away his charming' dorter, Jest because she couldn't love The pesky York Van Snorter. I won't commit self-suicide, Because it's so unbuman; But oh! I wish I had a died Afore I was a woman. Arter I'd writ this poim, thinks me, '-well, what's to be did now? Arter considering' a spell, I concluded to take the stage in the morning' and perched to the town of Hig.- gins Patent,, where my father had a sister livin', married to a Mr. Jorroeks, a forehanded farmer. He was dretful poor when Ilie Lust took arter aunt Huldy; and her parents wouldn't consent to her havin' on him, so they got married uiibeknown to nobody but the justice and sot right off. for higgins Patent. For a spell grander Ruggles wouldn't speak to her, but when uncle Jonah begun to be well to do they made all up, a~nd went 'a visiting' to see each other. So in the morning' I paid the damage, got into the stage and travilled tew days and tew nights till II arrive to, hg- gins Patent. When we drove up to aunt Jorrocks's door, the driver he hulled and out run uncle Jonah rubbing' his eyes, for 'twant but 4 o'clock in the morning . Aunt she stuck her head out of the winder to see who'd come, and when 8he recognated me she was 'mazin' glad, for IL never'd ben there afore, and I was a gret favorite of hern~ 'But they was dretful astoundered when they, see I hadn't no 'baggidge, and when we went in the house I tell'd 'em the hull.description of my leaving' huni from beginning' to eend. Aunt Huldy. said I'd did right, and uncle Jonah said he hoped 'twas all for the best. "And now, my deat rel- atyves," says I, "I want to keep .in retired state of con-. dition, and don't want no livin' cretur but you! tew to know I'm here till I can send hum and git my clus," (for I hadn't nothiA' but the gownd I had on with me, and that was a yeller calicer every day one.) But I guess I've writ enuf for a chapter. In my next I'll conform ye what happened to me whilst I was a resider at Higgins Patent. S - CHAPTER II.. "And while that charming' voice I hear, And whilst them lovely eyes I see-- Angelo maid~,forever dear To my fond bussom shalt thou be." UrNBEKNOWN. RTER breekfnst (I didn't eat much only a few * slapjacks - Amandy couldn't eat much when she. was in distress, no more couldn't I), arter breek- "fust I sot down and writ the follerin' pistle to my father: Gruil but reverated father - Your onfortinate d&rter now t~kes her pen in hand to conform you that she is to 'Uncle Jorroeks's, obleejed by your uncomparelled cruihy to elope from th~ hum of her youthood and seek a sylurn in a distant section of Iegion. The only thing' that supports me in my trials is the consoling' circumfiexion that I have I page: 48[View Page 48] 48 WIDOW ,~rRIaGINS. did right in refusing' to unite my fate to a cretur I didn't beloye and adore. As I intend to make Higgins Patent my native place for a spell, ye needn't suspect to see me to Podunk very soon. And I desire you to send me some money; and if you ain't as tight as the bark to a tree, you'll send me more'n there was in your old puss when I took it. It didn't much more'n pay the traveling' damage, and I want sum more for I desire to add some additions to my library. Tell my darling' mother to put. up all my wardrobes (clus), in Nadab's gret chist, and send it to me immejuntly; and arter you've did all I tell ye, ye needn't giv herself any murder oneasiness consairnin' yer afflicted and mawbtreated but still affectionate and forgivin' dorter, PI~RMILLY.~" About a week arter this, (I hadn't got no letter from hum yit, mind ye) I was a settin'in my room where no- body couldn't see me, and nobody only uncle and aunt didn't know I was there. Well, I was a setting' by the winder reading' in "Thaddeus of Warsaw," quite aninter~. estin' nov11 of Aunt iluldy's, when I heern a knock to the front door, so I 'run into the square room and peeked thro' the curtain to see who 'twas, (f0r uncle and aunt had rid over to the town of Uti~a to sell butter and eggs arid git sum things), so I peeked thro' the curtain and who sho'd I see standing' there but the ginteelest, tallest, elcgantest young man ever I see. So I cut into my compartment and stuck my head all full of morning' glories that growled by $ my winder, and then huv my white leno vail kerlessly over my shoulders, and you never see an interestiner looking beein than I was that minnit'; then I went and opened the door. Tl~e minnit the young man see me he throw up K U 1' 'it page: Illustration-49[View Page Illustration-49] "I I K I I Miss Spri ond ggins, having read a sensation novel, grows hysterical, tears her hair after the n~anner of ilrst.class heroines....... $ee ~age 44. 1. WIDOW SPRIaGINS. 49 his arms with admiration, and saye he, "Ondoubtedly the inchantin' 9retur I see is Miss Permilly Buggies." "Jest so, that's my name," reiterated I. "Won't ye come in?" So in he walked, and IBot a cheer for him and:he teild me that he'd ben' a traveling' 'for his heith and stopt a spell ill Podunk, a~id bein acquainted with the postmaster there, (Mr. Smith) he'd heern the hili 'of :my history from him, and he said that the account' Mr.' $mith had.givhimofmy~ character and tippearance, mi~fo4ii~s and pairsecutious; had made him very muck ~oneairned and interested about me. This surprised me amazinlyj for I knowd Mr. Smith want no frind~ of mine when I was' in Podunk .-~ n~e' to laff about we, and once Li heerd he said I was a born fo6l. Well, the young juan went on to say how't kin' in the post. office' 'the day 'he left 'Podunk, my 'father cum in ~with a letter he ~wae a guayne to put in the mail to me, and' ~o he telld father how't he was a g~xayne right thro' Higgins Patent to git hum, and~ he'd carry ihe letter free-gratis. "$o," says the young man, "I took the letter iind here it i~; ~d I don't know whether to likas. or curse the minnit I agreed te 'be the bearer on't, a~it h~s introduced' me into the presence of an angelic cretur that rnabby'll disdain me, and so be m~ ruination?" V blushed "ee1e~trial rosy red," and took the hitter. "Oh," continued the charming' stranger, layin" his hand on his heart, "pei~haps you'll be surprised when I tell you that the Lust sight"of~ou has en- tranced and enraptured my spent. You will be amazed to hear me confess that I, who, an hour ago, had~ never be- held you, am now your. devoted admirer and humble suitor." So sayin*~, befell down on his knees before me and grabbed. hold of my hand. "You're 'mistaken, young man, says I, "in thinking' 5 A page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 WI~OW SPRWCINS. I'd be astonished to see ye so besmitten at fust sight. I've read of sich. things time and agin, but as you're a stranger to me it would be onprudent in me to permit ye to pay your devours to me. Howsomever, I won't dis~ncourage ye entirely, for your mouner of declaring ' the state of yer feeling's has possessed me considerable in yer favor, and I'm purty sartin from your appearance you ain't no country bushwhacker; so I beseech on ye to rise.~~ "Fairest of created creturs," says he, "I cannot rise till you promise to reserve a leetle corner in your heart for the despairing' Philander." Thinks me, what a beautiful name he's got. "Git up, Philand~r," exciamigated I, "the promise is yourn." So he rjz, and then says he, "Seraphic gearll grant me one of the flowers that decorate your head, to gaze on when alone." So ill gin him a morning' glory, and arter kissing' my lilly band he went away syin'. As he was stepping' out, says~ I, "Philander, be you sure your affection won't never prove uneonstant?" Says he, "jest as sure as the vast firmament of sun, moon, and stars moves round this terrestrious globe I never will be false." So I shot the door and went up chamber to look out of the winder at him as long as I could see him, and when he got over the hill t'other side of the house he hov away the posy I giv hint and he begun to laff as if he'd go off. At fust I w~is surprised to see him laflin' so consairnedly when 'he seemed to feel so bad at leaving' on me. So I watched him till he got out of sight, and he kept a laffin', and every little while he'd kick up his foot as if he was tickled, and finally I concluded he'd got a highsteric fit brung 'on by his overpowering' feelings. Arter he'd made his disappearance I sot down to read father's letter. copy ~on't. WTDO If ~PRIGGIN~. 51 I've got the letter yet, and this ere'~ the "GOOD FOR ~oTmN' PORTER MILLY You're mistaken if you think I'll giv myself any oneasiness about ye. I'm darn glad you've cleared out. Tobe sure I'd a ben ~ to keep ye to hum and sho'd a did well by ye if ye'd a had common sense, and acted as ye'd or' to; but you know you've giv me more trouble for the last seven year than you're w~th - you haint airnt the salt to your porridge - and more'n all that you'd begun to spile Ketury, and put yer silly notions into her head. I tell ye agin, I'm glad to be rid on ye, and hope ye'LI stay to Higgins Patent till ye* can make up yer mind to act decent. Neighbor C6gsdill's Obadiah'5 guayne west next week, and he'll carry yeyer chist of duds. I'll send ye a leetle money, though you don't deserve a cent seem' ye hookt my puss, and it'll be the last ye'll git from me, for I'm peskily druv, and I've got children enuff to hum to support, without takin' care of them that runs away. Nor I aint a guayne to let ye be a burden on yer uncle nyther ye've got to get yer own livin', and if I hear of yer idlin' away yer time I'll go and fetch ye hum and put ye in the factory to work; Yer mammy's sick - your goin' off has brung her c1?~an down, for ugly as ye be ye'r her darling, but sen she heerd yer to Higgins Patent she feels better - she telld me to tell sister Jorrocks to take good care on ye, and I hope she will take care on ye 'and train ye up and make ye stand round. Yer daddy, NADAB RUGGLEs." As soon as Ide red this onfeelin' communication I begun bemoaning' my sorrers consairnedly. "0! wretched me!" jackleated I, "reduced to the horrid altei~natyve of working' for a livin' here or guayne into a factory to IPodunk?. I'm p page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 WIDOw SPRIGGINAS'. pairsecuted and miserable, and i~othin' pervents my spirits from sinking' into entire dispair in this tryin' hour except the cheerin' idee of my greacef'ul Philander." I must a looked very interesting' setting' there leaning' on my elbow, syin' and groanin', my eyes swimming' in tears, and father's cruil pistle lyin' afore me. So I took the Child&n of the Abby to comfert myself by reading' a spell, and turned to the 5th chapter cause there's a description in 't of Lord Mortimer that's eny most ezackly like Philander, I remember it now word for word, and though my Amandy Malviny Spriggins has got the book now there aint no need of my looking' in't, for to describe Lord Mortimer, it says, "He Was now in the glowing' prime of life his person was strikinly eloquent, and his mouners insinniatinly pleasing' seducij~i' sweetness dwelt in his smile, and his expressyve eyes could sparkle with cotitelligence, or beam with sensibility, and the harmony of his ~Voice giv a charm to the equation of his language which seldom or never failed of hem' um~esistible." Now that's jest the way Philander lookt. lie was very tall, and the slimmest creetur fever did see; his eyes was as black as two coals, and good grievous! how expressive; his hair was. black tew black and shiny as a crow's tail ;.- and he had gret-big whiskers; on the hull he was the f'ac- sinatinest beein I ever beheld. Be sure I'd a ben ladder 'if he'd a happened to seen me and fell in love with me without known' who I was; wouldd a ben snore moran- tick Ye kpow Lord Mortimer couldn't find out for ever so long who Amandy was, ~rnd' he was eny most puzzled to pieces. But then if he did know all about me I didn't know nothing about him, who he was, nor where he cum from: ~o I had jest as mucl~ un~airtinty and disquietude consairnin him as Lord Mortimer had consairnin' Amandy, and I tell ye 'twas quite interest4' to be so sittyated. Jest then Aunt iluldy and Uncle Jonah cum hum, and I run down stairs and showd 'em father's letter. Arter they'd red it, says aunt says she, "The consairned old hog! he's mistaken if he thinks I'm a guayne to let ye work for a livin' - so he may just hang up his fiddle - and ye needn't be nun ~onsairned about it; ye shan't work nor touch tew.". - "Oh my darling' relative," says I, flingin' my arms round her and kissing' on her, "yer extrornary kindness 'in this gret and sad emairgency will never be blotterated from my rememberation.* But I shan't be unindustrious, for the idee of bein' manured in a factory as father threatens, is shocking' to me, so I'll retire to my compartment and ponderate for a spell,~and then cuin and tell ye the result of my circumfiexions." So IL went into my chamber and was a wondering' what Amandy would a did in sich a dilamby - when all of a scudding I happened to think how't when she had' so much trouble with Lord Mortimer's father she went off to Scot- land and kept school, and thinks me, I'll keep school tew. So I went into the pitching and sot down betooxt uncle and aunt, and I say-s to 'em, says I," Dear friends - re- duced as I be to the dretful alternative of doing suthing for a livin' or beein' shot, up in a horrid dunjin, I've 'con- cluded what occerpation I'd folly." "What is't?" says they. I continued~ "What can be more interesting' and digni- fyin' to a lovely young creetur in my distressing' eirciim- 8taIiOes than to impart construction ~to. the risin'_gi~tion' * Children of the Abby. 5* WIDO If SPRIG GINS. 53 page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] and devil-up the youthful understanding ? so I'm detair- mined to do it." sa~ Well, I'll be darned if I know now what ye mean," UncleJonah. "You gret coot you," says Aunt iltildy says she "don't ye know nothing ? she means she'll teach a siminary; and now that's jest what Higgins Patent needs to make it a rael gihteel place." "Yes," says uncle, "and Permilly's the very one to do it, for any body that knows so many big words as she does, ort-to keep a siminary and I'll see about it right off." Arter tea I retired to my chamber. 'Twas a despot charming' moonshiny evening' and I sot down by the winder, and the beauty of the prospect, and the stars, and the moonshine, and the gentle breezes that fanned my cheek, and the quiosity of natur, and the idee of my own individ.. dyal sorters begun to operate so on my inimaggination that I was overpowered with mawlancholy, and so I sung "blu&eyed Mary," (1 was a very purty singer I be yit,) and jest as I'd got done that affectin' line where it says, "I now am sorrer's child." I heei~n somebody heave a sythe; so I looked out of the winder, and Jo and behold 'twas Philander standing' about three feet from the winder. "Enchantin' beein!" says he, "yer music has eny most annilliated me! enrapurin' tones! ravishin' strains!" " Oh Jemmeni !" says I, "I'm sure I shall faint away. I'm so flustered seem' you here; if you'd only gone off without syin' or sayin' nothing' wouldd a ben jest like Lord / Mortimer's seem' Amandy the fust time, and hearing' of her sing unbeknown to her." "Oh 1" says he, "if his surprise and delight had a ben as gret as mine he c~ouldent a went off without some kind of exciamigatiOn, 0 Miss Ruggles, I'm a lingering' round here to bask in the sunshine of your presence, and here's the dear flower you giv me - I've gazed on it ever sen." "Massy!" says I, "I see ye heave it away when ye got along a-piece, and I should like to know what made ye kick up and laff so. I reckoned ye'd got the high- steriCs." "Not so," says he, "'twas a conniption-fit - I'm sub- ject to 'em arter beein' overcome as I was when I fust see you - when I recovered I returned and pickt up this flower." Says I, "It looks as fresh as if yot~d jest pickt it off this ere vine. "I've kept it fresh," says he, "with my tears while it was sticking' in 'the buttonhole nighest my. heart." "I entreat you to depart and leave me," says I; Atnandy used to very often send Lord Mortimer off9 "Sweetest of maidens!" says Philander says he, "I obey your high bequest." So sayin' he vanished and'dis- appeared, and I took my pencil and paper and. writ the follerin' "stauzys by moonlight." Iu,%ay distractin' sittyation, Oblee~ed from hum to wander, I han't but jest one consolation, And that's my dear Philander. I never saw so sweet a swain, So faithful and so tender So full of sythes, and groans, and pain, As my own dear Philander. 54 wwow SPRIG GINS. WIDOIf SPRIG GINS. 55 page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 WJJJO W SPRIqqI~r~J* 57 WIDO If ~rRIG GINS. Ain't that And I'r3l dctairnrined while I live, Though father tries to hender - My heart and hand to nun i'll give But Jest my dear Philander. If mother cried and father swore, And other folks should slander; If even the Dragon st~odin the door I'd stick to my Philander. touchin'? Arter I'd writ it I went to bed. CJ1APTEI~ Ill. ((jo I walk-ed out one evening fair, For to view the acIds and take the air, I iieerd a damsel syhi' say, 'The youth I love is a guayne away.~~~ MICHIGAN MINSTREL. EXT mornih' whilst we was eatin' breckfast, Uncle Jonah he says to me, says he, "Permilly." Saysl"hay?" Says he, "1 went all round last night a gittin' scholars for you and everybody was astonished when iF tell'd 'em about ye, for nobody didn't know you was here, and Missis Peabody, and Missis Dickens, and Missis Jones, and Missis Doty, and Missis Hio'oins, (if she gits done making soap in time) and their hi4bands, is a coming here thisarternoon to see ye." Oh dear! ~' says 1, "IF wish ye hadn't a went so soon for my chist han't cam, and I han't nothing' to put on." 4 "Well," says he, "it can't be heipt now - them are wimmin don't want to send their dorters to school to a person they han't seen, so you must jest fix up th&best way you can, and do yer purtiest." "Well," says I, "but where's my seminary to be loquated?" y "In deacon Peabody's chamber," says he, "he's got a master gret room, and we'll jest put some benches into 't, and ittle be jest the thing; and you must write an adver- tysement, and I'll stick it up in Doty's bar-room." So arter breckfust I went into my room and writ the follerin' advertysement: ( "Miss Ruggle~, recently from Podunk, hem' obligated by unrecountable misfortins to lobsquander from the hum of her childhood, and desirin' to devairt her niawlancolly mind sumhow - woul4 conform the inhabiters of Higgins Patent, and its civility, that she has resolved to instruct a seminary of young wimmin, or shemales, from six~ years old along up. Miss R. would insure the public of her complete comptitude to undertake this undertaken', and han't no doubt she'll giv general satisfaction. Besides under8tandin' all the branches that's taught in any siminary she will larin 'em to paint on velvet, and to b~ perlite~ and she don't want nobody to think she's a going to .dQ it. for money, for she despises remoneyration, and only jest wants to teach to percent herself from sinkin' in despair. She caliates to begin on Monday the 15th of June," ' I hadn't more'n got it writ afore I heerd a racket, and I Iookt out of the winder, and lo and behold, 'twas Obadiah Coggedil - thunderizg along' with a waggin load of tin pans and lanterns, &e., and as much as f6rty fQlks arter him - for tin pedlars didn't own to Higgins Patent often 56 57 page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] WIDOW SPRIcciys~. and when they did cum the folks made a general time on't. *fle stopt afore uncle Jorrockses, and all the people gath- ered round to egzamin' his stuff, and he was so bizzy raisin' of' 'em up that I begun to be afeard he'd forgot my ~chist. Byrne by says on~ on 'em, "What ye got in this gret box?" Says Obadiah says he, "That are's a chist of clus old Ruggleses folks sent out to their Milly; she run off with.. out takin' anything with her, and I wouldn't a brung the plaguy thing if I hadn't a ben a frind of the old man. I tell'd 'em if I was them I wouldn't send the slut nothing , for she don't deserve to be treated no how." You never see a madder creetur than I was that minnit. fqr there was some of the fust folks in the village standing' there, and says one on 'em to another one, "Why, Squire Jon~s, this must be the same young woman that's a guayne to teach the seminary." * "Sure enuff, deacon;" says he, "and I say we'd better make the feller tell all about her, for he seems to know what do you think about it, Dr. Davis?" "Why," says he, "I think we'd or't to find out the hull, for I'm sure I don't want to send my porter to school to a person that ain't respectable, if, she's ever so accom- plished." "No more don't I," says Squire Jones .--" nor I nyther," says all the rest. j tell ye I couldn't hold in no longer; so I stuck my bead out of the winder, and says I, "Misters I" They all lookt up, and when they see we th~y was bethunder- struck; ~nd I must. a lookt very st~ikin' had a gret big lalo~k stuck in my head, and my jen that I'd hen a writing' with in my hand, and I stretched out the hand that had the 'I 59 WIDOW SPRIG~G INS. pen in, and laid t'other on my heart, and was jest a guayne to begin when, Obadiah he see me and says he, "Golly! Miss Ruggles, is that you? well, I've fetched y er old chist" - What else he signed~ to~say I don't know, for Dr. Davis took holt on him and shook him and says he, "Stop yer yaw-hawin; don't ye see the lady's guayne to speak." So he etopt and I begun agin, and addressed 'em as folders: "Gentlemen - as ye don't know nothing' con- sairnin' me only what you've heern from this ere ignorant creetur, I spose you must entertain strange idees about me; but if you knowd what I've underwent to hum - if you knowd my afflictions, and maltreatment, you wouldn't blame me nun for lobsquanderin', nor ye wouldn't listing a ininnit to the agrogious disrepresentations this killing pro- mulgates, and if you'll call on me this afternoon ru tell ye the hull of my history from eend to eend." So they convairsed together a spell and then Dr. Davis he stept out from the middle on 'em, and says he, "We'll do ourselves the honor of calling on~ Miss Rug-. gles this afternoon." So sayin' he hysted his hat and made a low bow, and I made a curchy, and the men they went hum, but I oh- sairved Dr. Davis look back at me in admiration, and I knowd he was besruitten at fust sight; but thinks me, it won't do to ineurridge him, for my affections is unrecover- ably' gin to another; (Dr.. Davis w~s a widdyer, a very nice, smart man-very much set b9 - and an oncommou good physicianer too.) Well, Uncle Jonah he went out and brung in my chist, and then I read my advertisement to him and his wife, and they said 'twas fast rate, and, uncle 2 page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 W'IDO W SPRI~GIN& W'IDO JY SrRIGCINS. 61 he telid me to write four or five on 'em to stick up in the towns round there. S~ I did and when I'd got 'em writ I reckoned twas time to habiiate myself for the company that was a comm' to see me, ~o I ~nlocked my dust, and took out a white dimity with a long short with a blue rib.- bin' round the bottom on't, and put it on, and 'tied a red nash round my waist; then I took and tied a yeller ribbin round my head and stuck, a numbe~' of' morning' * glories in it; then I' huv a pink silk long shawl round' my neck, and my twilight was completed. So you see I didn't depart from the elegant simplicity always conspicuous in my dress. Arter dinner I went and sot down in the square room and purty soon .1 heerd a master loud talking' so I looked out, 'and~ 'twas Dickens, and Jones, and 'Peabody, and Doty, and their wives, and Dr. Davis, a .comin' up the hill; so I fixed myself in a reclinin' poster, and took the Chuldern of the Abby and begun reading . IPurty soon they knockt, and Aunt Huldy she' hollered, "Walk in " -~so in they all cmxi, and aunt she introduced us, and the gentlemen made bows, and the ladies and me, we made curchys to one another, and we all said' we hoped for better acquaintance. Artier talking' about the weather a spell, says Missis Peabody says she, "So you're a guayne to set up seminary, hay?" ~' I sign to," says I, "if I can git patternage" 'Says Missis Dickens says she, "we've all agreed td send oi~r dorters to ye, but we've heern rather an unfavorable account~on ye from ~tin pedlar from your place." S aye Deacon Peabody says he, 'my wife and I we thot" says Missis Peabody, interruptin' of ltim "I teild Mr. IPeabody that ~eein' you was a guayn~ to teach in our eliop~ber if you was 'raly sich 'an obstropelous young woman as the pedlar tell'd for - 'twQuld bring reproach on our house, and Mr. Peabody's ben deacon risin' 20 year, and has always been lookt up to by the hull town, so says I, Deacon, I 'guess we'll go and lam the truth on't." Says Deacon Peabody says he,"' I says to Missis Pea- body, says I, it looks kinder suspicious." "No, you didn't," says she, "'twas we said it to you says I, Deacon, sa~ I, it seems to me it looks kinder sus- picious for a youi~g woman to come here atid keep herself so scarce for more'n a week. I reckon we'd or~t to' know more about. her afore we giv her our chamber to teach in." So they kept on continuing talking' for ever so long, and at last says Dr. Davis says he, 'Miss a "We cum for the purpose of hearing' IRugg~1eses explanigation, and if the ladies can cum to a ceesation for' a spell, we'll listen to her." Soiwith my eyes cast down - my face diffused with* blushes - with a mournful sythe, begun: "My FRIENDS : - My history is uncomboundably mis- fortinate. I concurred the~ displeasure of a cruel and tor- ranical father, by bein' unwilling' to unite my destination with a creetur I couldn't belove, for I couldn't experience for him the uncontrollable affection that is desirable to ren- der the mattermonial state agreeable, and I'd cum to a determination not to have nobody that want as pleasing' and elegant as Lord Mortirner, the young man~ this ere charming' book tells about, (here I took and kist the Chil- dern of the Abby,) and he want no more like him than a punkin's like a potater, and you will sairtinly compatigate my sorrers when I conform you that my unfeelin' parent even threatened to confound me in a gloomy dungin if I C I page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62. WIDOW SPRIGGINS. WIDO If SPRIG GINS. 63 * didn't obey his unreasonable command; and who, I ax, wouldn't, when circumstances arrive to sich a pitch who wouldn't, if she'd the least jot of sensibility who wouldn't elop from the paternal ruff, and seek a sylurn in a distant land? Alas ! "' says I, raisin' my eyes swimming' in teaks, and layin' my hand on my busting' heart - lobsquandered to this place, hopin' to spend my time in unbeknown sequestration - intending' to wander in these inspiring' woods, givin' ritteration to my woes in poetry for I write poetry. But even here I couldn't be let alone, for i've ji~t~received from my father a pistle charged with a mandrake to make me go to work immejuntly, or else he'll remainder me back to that dretful dunjin 1've'jest escaped; J 'md as I don't desire to employ my fair hands in wroughtin' at sairvyle labor, I thought, seem' I was entirely qualifi-. cient, I'd teach a simininary." All the while I was makin' this speech ye never see a surprisder looking' set of folks than them I 'was addressing' and for a spell arter I'd done there wan't a word spoke - and Dr. Davis he seemed to be wonderfully affected, for he turned his face round and lookt out the winder all the time. At last says Deacon Peabody says he, " Well, I never beeltd sich a ~master sight of crooked wards in my day. I rather guess my porter han't no season to lairn sich stuff." I s'pose Missis Peabody was a waiting' to see what opinion the deacon would express so 's to have hem conterary to it, for she broke right in and says she, * ' "I rather guess, mister Deacon Peabody,' ittle be as I say. My Mirandy shall go to this ere young woman's school, for, I never heerd nobody use eleganter language in my life, so you may shet yer head," I tell ye the deacon did shet up his head and lookt as if he wished he hadn't opened it. As soon as Missis 'Pea- body ixprest her mind the rest of the wimmin up and agreed with her, and it was '~urty evident that she was the rulin' woman in Higgins Patent. They all on ~em said they'd patternise me, and the men they lookt purty grumpy, but they darsent say a word.' Arter a spell, says Deacon P. says he, "I guess we'd better be goin'." "Well, I guess I ain't a guayne 'to be in no hurry," says his wife, "you may go as soon as you please, tho'." "So may you," says Missis Dickens to her hu~band. "So may you'," says Missis I)oty to hem. "So may y~u," says Missis Jones to the squire, and so the men folks ~went off, and the wimmin stayed. "Now do take off yer things and stay to tea," says Aunt Huldy. "Well, I didn't cum to siay," says Missis Peabody. "Nor I nyther," says Missis Dick~ns. "Me nyther," says Miseis Jones. "No more didn't I," says Missis Doty. "But I don't know but I'll stay," says Missis Peabody. "Well, I guess I will," says all the others. So they took off their things, and purty soon every one on 'em hailed out their nittin' work, and I tell ye, they want nun on 'em slow to talk but I can't spend time ~to tell about their visit. In the evening' arter they'd all, gone, I went out to take a walk, and as I w'ent by the house everybody cum to the doors and wonders to look at me, arid when I past by Dr. Davises office I see him a peekin' out, and I pitied him amazingly, for I see he was despotly took with' me - and thinks me, I'd ort to let him know right off that his ease is hopeless9 So I went 'into the U page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] 434 JrIL~O Jr SPRIeWINS. woods and took my pencil and paper and. writ the follerin' billet: " RESPECTABLE DOCTOR: It is with compunctious distress that I conform you I never can be yourn - my affections is gin. incondttbitably gin to another I'm plighted to Philan- der - try to forget me I boseech on ye -~ may that peace and happiness ~OU so truly desairve to possess be yourn - and may they never agin meet with sich conterruptions. as they have received from the unable hit pittyin'* "PERMILLY ~ When I'd writ it I went and huv it into his office winder, and then I went back into the woods to ponderate. So I sot down on a log under a tree, and whilst I was a think- in' I heerd sumbody sythe, and I lookt round and, lo and behpld, 'twas Philander leanin' agin a tree with his honker-. cher up to his eyes. So I goes up to him and says I, takin' hold of his hand, "Philander, why ~so mawlan- colly?" "Alas!" says he, "lovijest of created being's, I must leave you." " Leave me!" says I, " I shall sairtin faint away; do ketch me!" So he led me to a log, and I sot down, and says he, "Compose herself, my angell" Arter a spell says I; "i've composed, myself, now per- ceed." And says he, "I'm obleejed to depart." ~And says I, "Don't for massy's sake tell me where yer a guayne, fci~ 'twont be half so interesting' as 'twill to be in onsairtinty consairn~n ye." * Obildern of the Abby, chap. 17. 64 He's gone, ~ sure I don't know where, Nor when he'll come agin; And there's no telila' what dlspah' My drooping' heart Is in I 6* 'WIDO Jr SPIIUGINS. 65 "Well then," says he, "let me jest tell ye we must part for a number of months, - perhaps a year, - and oh! my charmer! can you remember ihe?" "Gracious!" jackleated I~ "don't ye know yer Per- milly's heart is oncapable of bein' faithless?" "I can't doubt it," says he, ~' but it's enuff to split my heart, - it's like cutting' me into inch pieces to bid ye fare-* well! but it must be so." So he prest me to his bussom and went groaning' off; but afore he'd got fur I happened to think and says I, "* Stop a minnit, Philander, don't ye know when Lord Mortimer went away he gin Amandy his picter, and I want yourn." "Alas!" says he, "I han't nun; but I can make one in a minnit." So he took a piece of paper out of his pocket, and took my pencil and drawd a head on't and gin it to me. "Why," says I, "that don't look nun like you.". "Yes, it does," says he, "it's exact, - you'll see by daylight." So I took it, and then arter takin' another farewell he departed, and I sunk down oii the log over- powered. But then I was comforted in thinking' how much our partin' was like Lord Mortimer's and Amandy's ~ so sudding - and how much they underwent when they was apart, and how it did seem as if they never would meet agin; and thinks me, mabby ittle be jest so with us, -no known' - but any how it's to be expected., I'll take on while he's gone, - so arter shedding' a copious flood of tears, I writ the follerin stanzysK page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] 66 WIDOW SPRIG GINS'. WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 67 And! dear me sue! when we're apart If he forgite Permilly, 'Twill sairtin break her lovin' heart, And make her brain grow chilly. Murder! can he be false to me I i'd kill me if he should lInt no! I guess he'll ct)netaut be, Because h~ vowed he would. lInt goodygracious! what shall I Do when he's gone away? On this ere log I'll sit and cry, And sythe and groan 1 say. When I'd got this poitry writ the moon was a shining , and I reckoned it must be purty late, so I went hum, and when I went by Dr. Davises office I heerd him a talking' and itiffin consairnedily with sumbody that sounded jest like Philander, but I'd no idee 'twas Philander for he felt too distresst to laff, and I reckoned the doctor hadn't found my billet, yet, for if he had he couldn't a felt so cherful. Arter this there want nothing' worth relating' took place in several days till I begun my school, only I writ the follerin' epigranny one night whilst I was a gazin' on the minnyture of my absent Philander: Re feared that I'd forget him quite, As soon as he got out of sight- Re wouldn't think me so vile Jf~ie should see inc ev'ry night Ily moonshine or by candle light, A looking' at his profyle. CHAPTER IV. "'Tie eddycation forms the eom~on mind, Jest as the twig is bentthe tre~s inclined.'~ ENGLISH READER. S soon as Aurory had opened the porticos of the horizoA, the fair Permilly ariz and ~arranged her attire - for 'twas the momentuous morning' that her seminary was guayne to begin. I put on a yaller streeked open gownd with a flounce round it, and a long green sash round my waist, and a blue crape turbine on my head, with one long black ostrtdge feather stuck in it, then I put niy pink silk long shawl round my neck, and then condescended down into the breckfust room. Arter breckfust Uncle Jonah he gin me his watch, sayin' I'd need a time-piece in school. 'Twas an exttornary gret silver watch -don't' see no sich big watches no~r~days. So I tied it to a red ribbing and hung it round my neck, and 'twas so big I couldn't stuff it under my sash, sol let it hang outside. Bein' all ready for a start I happened to think how't I or'to carry Philander's picter with me all the time, and what to do I didn't know, for I was afeard wouldd get rubbed out. So I went to Uncle Jonah and axed him if he hadn't sum kind of a small flat box he could lend me (didn't tell him what I wanted on't hadn't said a word to him nor Aunt Huldy about Philan- der). So he w~nt to his chist and hawled out a tin to- 66 67 page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] ~. 68 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 69 backer box with a snap to it and axed me if wouldd do. "That are's the very thing." So I put the~ picter in't, and jammed it under my sash, and tookiny parrysol and set out for school, and as II went by the housen 'twas curus to see the folks peeking' out and. exolaimin', "There goes the new school-ma~m. Did you' ever!" an4l sich like. * Well, I cum to ~the deacon's and Missis Peabody she cum to the door and showed me the way into the school. room, aud you never heerd sich a racket as there was there afQre I went in, but as soon as they see me they was as still as mice. There was about thirty gearis there, * and a number cmxi in arter I did, so't I had forty~seven in the hull, and sum on 'em -was purty big; so I made the big ones s'~t on one side and the leetle ones on otherr side, and arter i'd~ got 'em all arranged, says I, "Siminary's begun:" and then I made 'em read round in the English Reader. Arter they'd read, I axed 'em if they'd ever sy.. phered, and they all said "No." So I tell'd 'em to take their slates, and I was surprised to find out that more'n half on 'em couldn't make figgers so I tell'd 'em to take the rethmetic and copy 'em out on't. "KNow," says I, "make one side of yer slates jest as full of fingers as ittle hold." - So they did; and then says Mirandy Peabody says she, "What shall we do next?" '~ Don't ye know nothing? " says I, "make t'other side full." So they did: and then says Mirandy," What next?" "Rub 'em out," says I,-" and put up yer sites; ye've syphered enuff for one day; the big ones may go out whilst I hear the little ones spell," (for spelling' I always 'tho't was the most importinate part of eddycation:) so I made the little gearls stand up in a row, and I to9ka spell- in' book in one hand and a switch in t'other, and says I, "Now the fust one that misses shall be whipt and go to the foot." "Well," says Drusilly Doty, says she, "what w4il'l be did to me if I miss?" (she was to the foot.) "Nun of yer s~trce," says I. Well the fust time round they all spelt right but Philandy Dickens, and I did as I said I would to her. Next time round I put out "grub," 'to Hepsy Hawkins; 'she was to the head, a a s she, "g-r-w-eb, grub." "There aint no sich letter as 'eb,'" says I, "go down to the foot." So she started and run as fast as ever she could so's I couldn't git a chance to whip her.. "Now, Hepsy Hawkins," says I, "to pay for that are trick of your'n you shall always be in a ~Aass by herself." "Good!" says she, "then I shall always be at the head." "Go long and set on the floor under the table," says I. So she went and then I put it out to Bricy Stokes and she spelt it right. "Now," says II, "what's 'the meaning on't?" Bricy couldn't tell, nor nun of the rest on 'em. So says I, "What eats up the cabbages ~" "Why, folks," says Ritty Rickets. "Well," says I, - "what eats 'em up when they're growing' in the guarding " Says she, "The critters gits in and eat 'em sum- times." "Don't ye know nothing? " says I, "why worms eats 'em and worms is grubs." "Now," says Melissy 'Peabody, "I know what for father say~ every day how't we're all worms - it's cause we eat sich a master sight of calibages." "Set down," says J,~' "every one on ye; ye talk so 'I '- page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 0 'TO WIDOW SPRIGGINS. ~much there an't no sich thing as hearing' on ye spell." Arter a spell I tell'd 'em they might go out and send the big ones in. So they run hollering' and yelling' and tearing' down stairs, and it did seem as if the, hull house would cum down. Thinks me, P11 f~z 'em for that. Purty soon flepsy Hawkins - she't was under the table -~ says to me "Miss Ruggles, maytent I go out?" "No, ye inaytent," says I. "I'm sorry I was sassy," says she, "I won't be never agin if ye'll lenune go out." "' Well, go," says I. Whilst she was guayne, says I, "Ye'll never be sassy agin, kay?" - " No, straw," says she, and cut out of the door. Thinks me, she'll gitit! Well, the big gearls cum in and I axed 'em if they'd ever studied grommer. Most on 'em said they had sum. "Well," says I, "it's best to 'be pairfect in't; and seem' you've' studied' sum afore, ye may lairn half' way through 'at once so's td git done quick and go to parsin'." So they went to studying' and I went to the door and called the little ones in, and arter I'd holler'd to 'em I. went behind the door and as fast as each one cuin in I hit her a cuff, and when Hepsy Hawkins cum in I took and slung her round and round, and made her go back under the table4 Well, they all yelled and bellered 'like1 split; you never heerd sich a racket, I'm sartin. Purty soon I lookt at my watch and see 't~ras time to let out, so I tell'd 'eni they might go hum, and they all went only jest ab6ut a dozen that brung their dinners; I'd brung mine tew - for 'twas most a ~xnild to Uncle Jorrockses so I took it out of my undispensible and eat it. 'It sub.. listed of two slices~ of bread and butter stuck together, a 7 WIDE? W SPRIG GINS. 71 hunk of cheese, a pickle, and an apple turnover. That was all' the dinner I tool~, for I never had no great of an appetite - bein' like Amandy, ye know she only took sum "slight refreshments" and whilst I was eatin' thinks me, I wonder if Amandy ~had sich a ~tussle gittin' along with her school as I do; I'll look into the Childern of the Abby when I get hum and see, for I've eny most forgot; my memory's rather forgetful sumtimes, but 0 I I never shall forget my Philander. So I topk out my tobaccer box and lookt at him. Arter~" gazin' on't with agoniziji' ten- derness '~ for a spell, and syin' and groanin' and kissing' on't, I put it back, and I see all the gears a whispering' and wondering ; so says I to 'em: "0 gears I the belovedest and vallyablest thing I've got is in this ere box." "What is it?" says they, "and what makes ye cry and groan over it so?" '~ "Ax me no questions,'~ says I~" I don't desire to dis- pose confidence in nobody." Well, purty soon the scholars all cum in and I begun school. Then I made the little ones all take their sowin', only Hepsy Hawkins and. sent her under the table agin, and she went without makin' a apeck of fuss. I see she had sumthin' under ~her apern and I axed her what 'twas, an(1 she said 'twas her spelfin'-book. Well, I sot the little gears to sowin'; sum on 'em had pieces of caliber to make bed..kivers on, and sum on 'em had cloth to lairn to mark letters and make birds and trees 'on. Then I heerd the big ones recite in grimmer, and they kept a stopping' for me to ax 'em questions, but says I, "That an't. no way; Childern of' the Abby, chap. 17. page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 WiDOW SPRIG GINS. WIDO TV SPRIG GIAS. 73 ye must begin to the beginning' of yer lesson, and say clean to the eend on't without stopping' once." So they tried; but they made blunderin' work on't I had to keep tellin' on 'em all the time what cum next, and when they got into eases it earn Sophire Joneses turn and she'd forgot what cum next. So says 1, "Nammi, Poesmine,' Oh- jine." Says Sally Ann Higgins, says she, "Miss Rug- glee, what's the meaning' of them are words? they're master queer!" Says I, "Miss Sally Ann Higgins, I gue~s ye hadn't ben under' very good deseplyne in the schools ye've ben to afore yit, or ye wouldn't darst to ax yer school-inarm questions, and sich questions! want to know what's the meaning' of Nomini, Posswine' Objine! Why, its grimmer that's the meaning' on't so shet yer head." When they'd got don~ sayin' grommer I' tell'd 'em they ~night~ paint the rest of the afternoon. So they took out their velvet and paints and cam to I'd forgot my picters "~ so I sent Ann Mariar Dodge 'down arter 'em and when she cum back I tho't I'd give 'em Nomy and Ruth for the fast lesson. So I stuck it up agin the wall and heipt 'em cut out the theories, and they begun, and sum on 'em done very well, but sum made dretful work, 'specially about the artificial flowers and feathers on Ruth's bunnit, and sum on 'em made Nomy's 'nittin'~work look as if all the stitches * was dropt. Byrne-by I tell'd 'em to put up their painting' and sowin' and put on their things, for 'twas time to let out school, - so they did. Then I tell'd 'em to stand up in a r6w all' round the edge of the room. "Now," says 'I, "clasp 'yer bands across yer waists as I do -now make yer manners as I do." Then I made a low church, and they all did jest as I did., "Now," says I, "I shall sus- pect ye to make yer manners ev~ry arternoon when school's out without my showing' of ye, how - Siminary's out." * So they ali' went hum only Hepsy Hawkins - I made her stay a spell arter. So I slickt up my~' table, and then I called Hepsy Hawkins out and says I, "Be ye sorry for disbehavin' so to-day 1" Says she, "Yis, marm?' Says I, "Won't ye never misconduct so agin?" "No, marm," says she. ".Well then ye may go hum," says I. So she ketehed her bunnit in less than no time and run off hum. Then I took my parrysol and walked eff humwards with the greatest deliberosity and dignitude for I reckon a school-marm can't be tew digniEed. Whilst I was a guayne' along every body lookt out of the binderr and laift, and I met a hull grist of boys gt~ayne hum from deestrict school, and they hoorawed and clapt their hands. Thinks me, IL wonder if this ere's the way they suppress their adinireation to Higgins Patent. At last wheW I was eny most hum I met a young man descendin' up the hill he had yeller hair, and a .gret red face and snuff-colored clue on and a slate under his arm. Well, he stared at me and jest as I'd got along by says he, "Marm!" Saysl, "Hay!". Says he, "Did you know there's a dead critter tied to your sash?" "Gracious'!" says I, "you don't say so." So he stept up and took it off for me and as true as natur' 'twas an old dried-up dead hen, and I lnowd in a' minnit that Hepsy Hawkins had did it while I was a fixin' my table. 1 never in my hull life had anything happen to me that made me feel so bad as that are did~ sQl jest sot down on the, hill and begun to cry.' 7 7 At I I, I I g 11 page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 TVID 0 W SPRIG GRINS. * "Don't take on so," says the stranger, "sich mean tricks, hurts them as does 'em more'n them they're did to. Ii wouldn't worry about it, young woman." "01 dear me suz I '~ says I, "if Amandy had ever had a dead hen tied to her I wouldn't care - but there aint nothing' in the hull of the Childern of the Abby about a hen nor any other thing hem' 'tied to her, tho' she had all kinds of trouble besides; but goody grievous! my sorrers is big- ger than hem." "Well, I don~t know nothing' about Amandy," says he. "What!" says I, "you hant read the Childern of the Abby!" "No, I han't," says he. "Well," says I, "it's time ye did then, and I'll lend it to ye, for I feel extrornary obleejed .to ye for the sairvice ye've did me, and ye'il have my everlasting' gratitution' for't." So sayin' I waved my hand for him to go - but he didn't seem to take the hint, so says I, "Don't you ap- prehend hat are motion?" "No,~ I don't," says he. ""Well,"' says I, " 'twas the same as tellin' of ye to make yer disappearance." "'Twas, hay?" says he, "well, I should like to. be better acquainted, marm." Well ," says I, "you can have the felickity of seem' me by calm' to Mr. Jorrockses, - f~r I shall always esti- mate ye for disbegagin? of me from that are consairned old carcass - but friendship is all I can profferate ye." ~ "Well, I'll cum there," &tys he. Then I waved my hand to h~m agin, and he understood that time; so he went off. Well, I got hum, and Aunt Huldy she axed me~ how I got along teaching . "0 grander grievous " says I, "I never had so much trouble in one day in my life." I 1~ A -A -t WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 75 "Didn't!" says she, "No, didn't!" says I. So I tell'd her the hull, and says she, "As for that are hen I shouldn't care tew oents about it, don't let it giv ye no trouble, darling. " "Thank ye, beloved aunt," says I, "sympathy is sweet in the most deepest affliction." Arter tea I thought I'd take a walk; so I took my pencil and paper and a shingle to write on, and winded my way to the very un- dentical spot where I parted with Philander, and sitting' down on a log I writ the follerin' vairses: A-, 'Twas here I parted with Philander, Thro' the wide world he's gone to wander, Six times the morning' sun has rizen Sen I beheld that face of hisn. I've~ sceree ben able for to speak .Thro' all this mawlancholly week, And sairtin nobody would wonder, If they shouldonly see Philander. So tall, so slender, and so straight, So very kerless in his gait - His hair is black - his hands is white.-. His voice is sweet his eyes is bright. The sorrers I endure; Good Landyl Are like the sorrers of Amandy. But whilst I'm blest with sich a beau, I'm within' for to -suffer woe. But whilst he's gone what shall I do? Dear sun? how shall I live it through V If all the world was mine I'd gin it To see my darlin' half a miunit. Six times the morning' sun has rlzen ~ Sen I beheld that face of hisn And here each night I'll cuin and cry, I hope we'll meet agin byrne-by. 'I I page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 WIDOW SPRIG GIN1~, WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 77 Arter I'd .writ it II went hum and Aunt Huldy tell'd ~me that Missis Wilkins bad sent her and me an invitation to cum to her liQuse the next evening' to a party. "I'll go if you do," says I. "Well, I shall go sartin," says she, "for Widder Wilkins haint never invited me there afore. She haint lived ~o Higgins Patent but 2 or 3 year, and haint took much notice of the wimmin here. I always reQkoned she felt above us 'cause she's rich and lives purty grand; but r~iabby she don't." Well, bed time cum and I retired to my couch of repose and fell into a gentle and survivin' slumber and next morning' I woke up revigorated and went to my seminary. Things progranced about as they did the day afore, only Hepsy Hawkins didn't cum, and Mirandy Peabody said how't Missis Hawkins said she couldn't cum no more 'cause I was partial. I tell ye she'd a got a peeling' if she had a own. 76 R 1 I p CHAPTER V. 77 "She sent him word she couldn't wed, He heard the tale and reason fled." UNBEICNOWN. And when at last his mind got right, He went and married out of spite. - ADn1TIO~ BY ME. HE second day I kept school as I was a winding' my ~ way hum I set down under a tree to look at Phi- VI lander's picture. And whilst I was a syin' and groaning' over it, lo and behold, the same young man I see the day afore cum along with his slate under his arm, and more'n a hundred boys arter him, cuffin' and fighting' and throwing' stuns.' When the young man ~ee me, says he, "Yer sarvent, marm." I bowed to him putty stiff, and he cumn right u~ and sot down aside of me, and, says he, - "Seems to me ye look inawlancolly, young woman; hope ye haint had no more ti~ouble to~day.". "Mister," jackleated I, "I beseated myself in this ere solitaryy spot to zuedificate alone, and gaze a spell in raptor on this dear thresher, the ony thing that produces me any satisfaction, and I don't desire to be contruded upon, so I intreat ye to go off, and whilst you'r about it, jest ikuock over ten or a 'dozen of them are boys," (there was a mes8' of the little wretched got on top of the hill and stood there 7* page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 wlvo w /SPRICcINS. 79 a yelling' at me, "coo-coo-doodle-doo, cluck-cluck-cia.- cluck." "Well," says he, "if ye'll show me that are treshure, as ye call it, i'll clear out." ~So I, handed him the toback~. er box, and arter looking' at it a minnit says he, "I swan- ny! I' don't wonder ye cry when ye look at it, for it's the consairnedest looking' thing ever I see. What in natur' do ye keep it for?" I grabbed the box and riz up without sayin' a word, and walked off indignatious. "Curus cretur, by golly," says the young man; then he ketcht up a club and took arter the boys, and they all run hooting' and bellerin' down the hill, and I didn't see no more on 'em. When I arrove to hum I found Aunt Huldy beginning' to rigg for the party, so I begun to fix tew. And I'll tell ye how I drest; I reckon I neyer lookt equal t~ what I did that evening , in my life. j put on a white spencer with sh~orL eieeves and blue ribbons tied roi~nd the bottom ~n 'em, whic~i counteracted finely with my snowy arms; then Ii wore a yaller canton ompe skeart with' red ribbon loopt~ up all ~j'ound the bottom on't, and a pink-'sash round my waist. My hair was quirld up on the tip-top of my head, and confined with a dretful high-toppt comb, (I've got it now,) and was jest a guayne to put my artifishel wreath on my head; when thinks me, I wonder how Amandy 'd a fixed her head on sich a casion.' So I took the Childern of the Abby and red where it tells about her guayne to Missis Kilcorban's ball, and I found she had on a turbine with sum feathers in't. So I took my green shawl with sprangles all over it and wound it round and round my head, and' stuck sii black ostridge feathers in't. Then thinks me, I must put a chain to 'Philander's pieter, IYIDO If SPRIG GItjS. as Amandy used. to have to her mother's - (wonder she didn't wear Lord Mortimer's, but I s'pose 'twas so big she couldn't.) So I took a string of glass beads as big as bullets, and all the different colors ever ye see, and fas- tened the box to it and hung it round my alagaster neck. Jest as ide finished habiliatin, Aunt Jiuldy cum in, and says I, " Aint ye struck with my surpassin' loveliness " "Yis, I be,." says she; "I never see ye look so putty; but how do I look?" "As well as could be expected," anserd I," from a wo- man that's past the moridion of youthful facksination." "Well, cum on then, if yer ready," says she; "but we must eat suthin afore we go, tho' I haint no doubt Missis Wilkins '11 have enuff stuff to eat." So we went into the pitching and aunt and uncle eat 3 'or 4 bowls full of butter- milk' pop, but I didn't eat but a little mite. 'Then I put on my monte to kiver my clus, so's the folks wouldn't be staring' at my unresistable elegance along the road, and huv my leno vail over my head and we sot off. Well, we got to the place o~" rendyvows," and Aunt Huldy and a hull grist of wimmin that cum in just behind us went into 'the dress- in'-room to take off their~ things, but I sot dowxi by a win- der in the ~ia1l, and when the wimmin cum out to be rush- ered into the parlor, Aunt iluldy ~he spied me and says she, "Why don't ye take off y~r mantle and cum along?" "Cause nater," says I. Why," says she, " they'll think queer on't." "4 don't ker if they do," says 1; "1 don't want to go in when everybody else does; besides, I want to set here apd ponderate a spell afore I plunge~ into the giddy whirl-. fool of fluctuation, where there aint no bussom to particki- pate in my soPrers nun but cold-hearted strangers; and~ page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. my belovedest' fur away! 0 let.. me be!" So she went in and I was left alone to my solemeolly run~irations.* Ar-. ter setting' there a spell I heerd a noise, and purty\soon soiiie~folks begun to condescend and says one, "0 doctor, I'm half. frightened to death!" and says another, "I'm skirt tew." The door stood on a jar and they pusht it open and went in. Arter they'd shet the door thinks me, it's time for me to make my debutte. So I took off my montle, ~agested my feathers, and so forth, and opend the door, and lo and behold, the minister was a prayin' - thinks me, I wonder if they always begin their parties here witk praying ; but I didn't ker. So I recovered. my oomposher,~ and with my natural elegance walkt up the room,* and there was a general buz of admiration as I Stept along, and seem' a sofy at the upper eend of the room and a row of folks standing' up afore it I went along and squoze into one eend on't. Missis Wilkins was standing' * nigh by and she reach out and gin me a twitch and says she, ~ Miss Ruggles, you've ~got the bridesmaid's seat." "The dragon!" says I - and I gin a spring 'and jumpt clear into the middle of the room, and everybody stared at we to kill. I tell ye I was considerable frustrated. So I sot down in a cheer and put my fan up afore my face, and I guess I kept it there ~a spell. Byrne by the minister got done praying' and beg7m marrying' of 'em and thinks me, I'll giv a look and see who 'tis. So I lookt up and my wonderation can be better imagginated th~in described, 'when I see Dr. Davis a standing' there holding' holt of Mary Ann Wilkinses hand!' Never in my born days was I half surprised as I was that minnit; but I knowd that Davis *Chuldren of the Abby, chap. 20. 'WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 81 bad jest did it. out of spite cause I wouldn't have him. There was tew bridesmaids and tew groomsmen, but I. didn't know ary one on 'em - but one of the groomsmen lookt eny~ most egzactly like Philander, ony he hadent no whiskers. Purty soon the serrymony was over, and they begun to lead up the folks to kiss Mary Ann, and jest then sumbody gin me a hunch on my elbow, and I lookt, and P and behold, 'twas the yaller-headed young man that ontied the dead h~en, and thinks me, he's a takin' arter me' jest as Sir Charles Bingley did arter Amandy, and I must treat him decent as she did him - tho' I can't incurridge him. "Good evening' to ye, Miss Ruggles," says he. "Good evening , Sir Charles," says I. . - "Golly!" says he, "that aint my name. "Ainthay?" says I. "No!" says he, "my name's Jabez Spriggins I teach the deestreckt school up here." "Do, hay?" saysl. "You look amazing' honsome to-night,' continnyd he. "0 law!" says I, "mabby you think so; and you don't look much as ye did this. afternoon." No more he didn't -~ he had on a Iong tailed pepper and salt summer coat, thunder and lightning' jacket, and streeked trowsers. Then he had sich a master wide ruffle to his shirt with a wonderful big breast-pin 8tuck on't and his hair was tallered as stiff as all nater, and hysted up to a peak aforo much as a foot high. He raly lookt surprisin' well. "Now," says ii, "I wish you'd tell me who that are is that looks so much like Philander?" "I don't know who ye mean," says he. "Well," says I, "who's that are feller that's leading~ up Californy Coon?" page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] K WIDO W SPRIG GINS. WIDOW SPRIG GINS. Says he, "That's Dick Johnson, he goes to Hamilton Collidge. His parents lives to the eastward, and he's ben hum spending' the vocation. He stopt here on his way back to collide so's to be groomsman - he's a piirty wild chap. That are short feller that's leading' up ~Lorindy Rickets is Bill Johnson, another collidge feller, and that are one with curly hair is Sam Wilkins, the bride's brother - he's mighty perlite to Grashioshy Hawkins, but he keeps a looking' at you neverstandin'." "Well," says IF, "IF wish you'd introduce me to John- son, for ~he looks so much like Philander I want to get acquainted with him." "Who in the name 0' nater is Philander?" says Sprig- gins, says he. "This ere's him," says I, hawlin' out the tobacker box. But whilst IF was a hawlin' it out the string broke and the box rolld right in amonkst a mess of folks that was a stand' round the bride. "'Hullo!" says Loisy Hocus, "suthin' cum bunting' agin my foot." ~' Ijumpt up and run, Spriggins he follerd, but afore I could git it Josh Jones (Dr. Davises student, a rael mean feller) pickt it up. . 2~ "Here - giv that are up!" says IF, "it's mine. "Giv that are up," says Spriggins, "it's Miss Rug- gleses." "* Good landy!" says Missis Hawkins, "IF want to know' if you chaw tobacker.?" "No, I don't,~' anserd I, "that are box has got a treshur in't, so jest gin it up." "Do for grammany's sake open it and s~e what's in't," says i~1issis Hawkins, (she spited me on, account of the chastigation IF gin Hepsy.) So Jones he hawld it out and begun to holler and laff at it and was jest a guayne to hand it round when Johnson he ketcht it away from him and without ever looking' at it gin it to me. "Ten thousand million thanks," jackleated I, "I ~ a knowd that ~anybody that lookt so much like Philander in face and bigger couldn't help resembling' of him in nobli- tude of mind." Johnson's face turnd as red as fire. I spoi~e he felt dashed to be praised up by si~h an interesting' bein' as I was. "Now," says I, "IF wish sumbody'd recoverate my box." So Johnson he rummaged round and found it and gin it to me, and I put the profile into't and stuift it under my sash, and went and sot down in a cheer at the murder eend of the room. Purty soon Spriggins cum up with the three feller8 and says he, "I've brnng these ere young men for to introduce 'ejn to ye - this ere's Mr. Johnson, Miss Ruggles - this ere's Mr. Tomson, and this ere's Mr. Wilkin~." "Yer sairvent, gentlemen," says I, rizin' and makin' a low church. "Have you ben up to slute the bride!" says Johnson. "No," says I,' "I guess taint best - ittle ony make the doctor feel' bad." So they all drawd up cheers. and sot down round me. "Don't be surprised Mr. Johnson," says I, "if I stare at ye considerable, for you do look amazingly like sumbody I know. "0 stare as much ~s ye please," says he, "IF like to be lookt'at by the ladies." "0 my conscience!" says Tomson, "I'd giv all my old shoes to obtain sich a felicity as Johnson enjoys under the sunbeams of them electrifyin' gorbs 1" 82 83 page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. " So would I," says Wilkins, syin'. Jest then the cake and stuff cum round to me and John- - son took off a gret hunk and put it on a plate and- gin it to me. Grandfather grie'vous!" says I, "you don't suspect me to eat all that are, I hope." "To be sure," says he. "Why lay to't," says Spriggins, won'tnt hurt ye nun." "I shan't do't," says I, "I don't scarce ever eat any- thing, and han't no casion now." "Well, you'll take sum of the egg-nogg; won't ye 1" says Spriggins, hollering' at the same time to a nigger. wench that - was carrying' round a server full of suthin' to drink. "These ere timbales aint full enuff," says Spriggins, so be emptied tew on 'em together and banded 'it to me. Everybody in the room was looking' at us - pertickleely at me. So- says I, purty loud, "Ii tell ye I hant no casi~n." Uncle Jonah he was clear acrost the room and he hollered out, "Don't tease Milly to let into the vittals and drink; she's right when she says she han't no casion, for she eat dretful hearty of buttermilk pop jest afore we cum, and if she takes down all that are stuff she'll sairtin be sick "Gracious " say~ ill, "that are's the everlastinest lie I ever heerd in my life." "So 'tis," says Aunt Huldy. "She ony eat tew bowls full af'ore we cum." I tell ye it did -seem as if I should i~pire. "0 misery me!" exelamigated I, "I shall faint away do lead me - out into th~ hall.~' So Johnson he took holt of one arm and WIDO W SPRIGGINS. 85 Tornson he took holt of t'other and Wilkins he too fan and blowd me,, and Spriggins he follered arter groanin' consairnedly half scart out of his wits. And whilst they was a takin' of me out - my head hanging' over on Johnson's shoulder - my feathers fell out of my turbin, and says I, "Sumb~dy jest pick up them ~are ostridge feathers afore they git stompt on." "I vanny she aint faint," says Missis Hawkins. "I be faint tew," says I. So they took me into the hail and sot me down on the stairs, and sum on 'em blowd me and sum on 'em stuift smeflin' bottles up my nose. Dr. Davis he felt of my pulse and his hand trembled dretfully, and tho' my eyes was shot I could tell that he was dret- fully agitated. Purty soon Jones (mean crittur) he took and stuift a nastyfetity pill down. my mouth and made me as sick as a dog. So then I cum tew, and I riz up and says I, "I think I've had about eny most enuff trouble for one evening , but I don't ker, I han't had no more'n Amandy 7 had to Miss Kilcorban's ball, and I know't if my beauty and merits was less conspiccious, I should escaped it,* and if sumbody 'II have the carriage drew up I'll return to Castle Jorrocks." "Bless yer gizzard," says Aunt iluldy, "don't ye know we cum afoot?" "Well," says Spriggins, "I'll go hum and git our waggin if Missis Wilkins will let her nigger boy drive ye hum." Wilkins said, "sairtinly." So Spriggins went hum and putty soon he cum back with his houses and wagging, and Johnson and Tomson and Wilkins they helpt me git reddy, * Chilleni of the Abby, ~ha~.2O. 8 page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] Sf3 JYIDO TV SPRIG GINS. WIDO TV SPRIG GINS. 87 and then Spriggins he went out t6 the wagging and helpt me in, and say& he, "I shan't stay much longer now you've gone, for there aint a young woman here I. care teppence for but you, and Ide go clear hum with ye if it want for staying' to git sum of that are egg-nogg - but I'll stop and see ye to-morrer when I go hum from school, if you're will-in'." Thinks me, if he'd a leff out ~rhat he said about the egg-nogg and guayne to school wouldd a ben jest like what Sir Charles Bingley said to Amandy when she was guay-ne away from Missis Kilcorban's ball. So I giv him permission jest as Amandy did Sir Charles and then the driver druv off; and 'twas. a gret bi~ flamber-' gasted lumber wagging and it jolted most consairnedly, and I got knockt round from one side to t'other, and ouce in a~ while I houndid up much as three or four foot into the air, and I tell ye I was all but did over when I got hum. I retired immejuntly to my compartment, and buy myself down in a cheer by the winder, jest as Amandy did. The woods, slivered by the beams of the moon that rode mojes~ tic in the furmanent of stars, recalled to my rernemberation the vows of unchanngable regard that had ben utterated there, so I took my pencil and writ the follerin' poetical -I confusion': -~ V My dearest - my slickest - my loveclest has went, I Fur ~-fur-from Permlll~~ his steps he has bent. His profile is all that is left for to cheer, 01 grandfather grievous I I wish he was here.* Arter a spell Aunt Huldy cum hum, and she cum in to see how I did - she had her work-pockit ctammin' full of cake. "0 aunt," says I, "how could. ye be so oufeelin' as to say I eat tew bowls full of buttermilk pop?" "Cause ye did," says she, "and I'm Sure 'taint much for a hearty young woman to eat, but I'm sorry I teild on't, seem' ye feel so bad about it; so you jest eat a hunk * of this ere cake, mabby ittle chirk ye up." So I took rather a small sized hunk and eat it, and Aunt Huldy she went out - and then fatigewd and distrust I huv off my splendid habileations, flung myself on my couch and arter a spell closed my tearful gorbs in a re~ freshin' and recoinposin' slumber. * This was arterwards printed in the "P~dunk flhirmlnator." Good gracious! good gracious! I'm sinkin' with sorrer, My spevrits -is low and my heart's full of horror, The rendyvows joyful of gay dissipation Aint-no phye for me in my sad sittyation. And when I'm ,alone I lament and take on Because' my Philander's departed and gone. The men Is t~ll syin' and dyin' about me, ~ And declarin and vowin' they can't live without me. But if they pursue me from morning' to night My darlin' Philander I never will slight, p. page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 89 88 WIDO II~ ,SPRIGGIN~. CHAPTER VI. ME. HE morning' arter the wedding' I got up the minnit I waked, cause Jabez Spriggins was a guayne to call on me on his way to school, and his school begun airlier'n mine so I hurried and drest me afore breckfust ~ drest very plain that morning' - dident put no riggin' whatsoever on my head, but I let my hair in its own natyve and glossy hue float over my shoulders, * but I couldent make it. quirl nun to save my gizzard, though I put it 'up in papers~and tin, and everything else; and I wondered , ~and do yit, what mad&'Amandy's hair al- ways hang in graceful stringlets over her shoulders; but I was detairmined ide let mine hang down for once whether or no. Then I put on my bhie caliber long..short, with a yeller skirt under it, hung my watch round my neck, and was just a guayne to put Philander in my pocket, when thinks me, fle look at it. fust. So I opened the box, and ;lo and behold, the picter was entirely rubbed out - they'd finger it so much the night afore to Missis Wilkinses. ~So I t6ok a pen and draw'd it over agin as nigh like t'other tOhildern of the Abby. as I could. Jest as Ide got it draw'd, Aunt.Huldy cum to the foot of' the stairs and hoilerd to me to cum to break- fust. So I condescended down, and as soon as ever Uncle Jonah see me, says he, "Land o' liberty! Permilly, what in the name of nater have ye got yer hair all raked down so for? it looks like the dragon!" "It don't nyther," says Aunt Huldy, says she, "it looks j~f1ike the young wimmin's in the novels - so you jest hold yer jaw." "~'Vell," says I, "-I don't ker what nobody' says about it; for it's fixed putty much as Amandy did bern, and she knowd what was what, and I don't think men has any biz- ness to meddle with wiminin's dress, specially them that don't know nothing' about nothing. " "I vum ! '~ says Uncle Jonah, says he, "Permilly's rather warm wife; can't ye give her .a little b*itterxnilk popto cool her off?" "Nun of yer sarce about buttermilk pop," says Aunt Huldy - so sayin', she gin him a grip, but he deluded her grasp, and grabbing' a hunk of short cake he cut out doors, and then he stuck his head into the winder, and says he, "Ye better both on ye take a chaw of tobacker out of' Milly's box. I reckon ittle callum yer minds." So sayin' he run off, and says aunt, says she, "That are's the pro- vokine~t creetur ever I see, and the wost on't is he never gits mad. I wish 'I had a little of Missis Peabody's grit. I tell ye I'd stir him up then he wouldn't darst to pester me so. Jest then I looked up and see Spriggins a cum- mm' over the bill. "There!" says I, "he's a cummin'." Aunt Huldy she lookt Qut and says she, "0, that tir&'a The roosters was crown' 'to wake 'up the folks, The sun was beginning' to shine over1iea~, And dry up the dews that besprangled the oaks, When the lovely Permilly got out of her bed. 89 88 page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 WIDO W SPRIG GINS. 91 Jabez Spriggins; and cum to thijik on't, seems to me he took a master shine to you last night." "I know it," says I, "and I don't know what to do with the creetur; Amandy always used Sir Charles Bingly well, but when she wouldn't have hiui he ceny most died." '.' Good landy!" says Aunt Huldy, "you don't mean to sairve 'him so I hope. He's a nice staidly young man as ever was, and his father's got a rael productive farm, and nary child in the world ony Jabez, and his parents set a nation store by him - he's always ben a master hand to study - ben to school evry winter till he's got to be the best arithmeticker in town - and now he keeps the dees- trict school, and I tell ye what, ye can't do better'n to - take him if he axes ye, but good now! I wonder if he haint got a dead' creetur tied to him." "Yer granny's a dead creetur as much!" says I, "why, them are's my ostridge fethers sticking' out of his pocket." Putty soon he began knocking' to the 'door. "Y9ugo to the door;" says Aunt Huldy, "you look slicker'n I do. "No, no," says I, "that aint according' to etiquit - you- go, and'when he axes for me, you cram out and call me." So she ~went and ushered him in; and arter a spell 'says he, "Where's that tire young woman that's here?". I was a waiting' in the pitching, and aunt she screamed out and, says she,"' Hullo, Milly! he's axed arter ye." I was * kinder mad to hear her up and yell so, but I went in, and arter we'd saluted, one another, says 'aunt says . she, "Did I - do that according' to gunter?" "No!" says I, "you'd orto, 'come out and called me instid of hollerin' at me so consairnedly." I she went says she, "I'll know how next time." Then and says I to Spriggins, "Well, how did yerself last night arter nay departed?" middlin'," says he, "I got a putty good chance at the egg-nogg and stuff- but I don't like to see folks act they did. Arter the old peopic went huni the young on like sixty. The fellers they. got yer. os- and stuck 'em behind their ears, and caperd and hollered, 'Ilooraw for the yin/c of PQdUfllc!' the bride said she thought you'd or'to teach fainting' in your siminary, and the gears all on 'em did act consairnedly. I tried ever so long to git yer feathers, and couldn't. At last Johnson took 'em and laid 'em on the table, and as soon as I got a chance I ketcht' 'em unhe- known to nobody and cum off." "Well," said, I, "Pm unexpressibly obleejed to ye for doom' on't but I don't ker teppence for what the gears said, for I know 'twa'nt nothing' but envye but them are students, I raly think 'twas strange they should act so, seem' they was so took~ with me." "I wish every one on 'em was lickt," says Spxiggins. As I was comm' by there this morning, " continyd he, "'I see em all a standing' round Davises office door, and I was a ~ straight by, but 'Toinson he yelled out and says he, 'Hu~ Jonathan!' where ye guayne?' Wilkins he gin him a bunch, and says he, 'Why, Tomson, 'that's Mr. Spriggins that you saw last night.' 'Ah!' says Tom- son, 'excuse me, Mr. Spriggins, I thought 'twas an old acquaintance of mine.' '0 ho I' says Johnson, 'I see you've got Miss Ruggleses feathers in yer pocket.' 'Yis,' says 'I, 'and I'm a guayne to carry 'em to her she's a luazin' putty young woman according' to my notion.' 'So WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 90 91 page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] WILYOJY SrRIGGIN~$~. 92 she is,' says they 'but,' says Jones, .' you mustent tell her how we acted last night.' 'I will, by gosh,' says I. '0 don't,' says Johnson, 'we only frisked round a little with her feathers to please the ladies, you know they're all jealous of Miss Ruggles 'cause she's so honsoine and in- terestin' don't tell her.' 'I will, I sonnyy' says I. 'Well, then,' says Tomeon, 'tell her and be darned to ye we're all a guayne to see her this evening' for we've all fell in love with her - and we'll convince her to the con- terary.' Then I cum off, and Johnson he hollered to me, 'Take care how you take arter, her if you don't want to fight a duel with us.' 'Golly!' says I, 'do you think ye can all on ye~ giL her?' and whilst I was a cuminin' along thinks me, I'll be hanged if I won't up and ax her to have rue - and I tell ye what, Miss Ruggles - I aint a jokin' when I say I set more by ye and like ~e better'n ary young woman ever I knowd - for I took a notion to ye the very day I fust see ye, when I untied the dead hen, and if you'll have me I'll have you, and we'll have one another. What do ye say to't?" "Grandfer Griffin!" says I, "is that are the way you propose herself?" "Why," says he, "ain't that are th~ right way.? "I've got as gret a mind," says I, "as. ever I had to eat no - as ever I had not to eat, to go right strait off out of your society without 'dainin' to give ye any an- ser - but seem' you've did me tew or three good turns, and as I entertain v~. gret steem for yer character I won't do't - and here's the Childern of the Abby, the book I prom.. ised to lend ye, and do ye take it hum and pruse it atten- tyvely, specially the 8th chapter, fust volluin, and there ye'lI lairn how to offer yer'~ hand and heart ~- and arter 93 you've airnt how ye in cum and ax mc~ agin if yera mind ow - my asto shin nt that you sho'd have the au- da ak~ arte e s only exceeded by my surprise, and I? sha'n't sa a no~r no to yer supposition till ye lairn to promulgate it better~" So sayin' I riz up to go out, and jest as I got tp. the door says Spriggins, says he, "Stop a minnit." So I stopi, and says he,." As fur as I can understand what you've ben a sayin', I take it ye won't be put out if I cum to see ye once in a while whilst I'm reading' this ore book." "0 no!" says I, "Amandy always treated Sir Charles Bingley with the greatest condescension so I give ye permission to cum." So sayin' I walkt out of the room as stiff as stillyards, and went up into my chamber and as I lookt out of the winder I see Spriggins guayne over the hilireadin' in the Childern of the Abby as he went. Looking' at my watch I see it lacked a half an hour to school time, 'so I sot down and writ with ainazin' rappid.. dity the follerin' Stanzys: TO JABRZ 5PRIGGThT5. Alas, poor swine,* with yaller hair, I'm sorry for ye, I declare; I hate to slight ye, but I must, Tho' i'm afeard yer heart will bust. 0 gracious I how you'll ri~ and swear, APd mabby cry and tear yer hair, And Cuss the fatal minnit when You met me with the old dead hen. - I can't be yourn; this heart of mine Is phighted to another swine; And them besides that git besmitten, Must all expect to git the mitten. *Swain JUDO TV SPRft)UIN& page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] WIDOW SPRICCINS. 0, if I had a thousand hearts, They'd all be full of Cupid's darts, ~And evry single dart would be Fired from the eyes 6f my dear P. So, poor young man with yaller hair, Giv up and die in grum despair, Set down and sythe and Weep and mourn, Permily never can be yourn. I never showed that are to Spriggins till arter -' but I won't anticipate. Arter. 'twas writ I went to school - but I guess lie discontinny, ~nd tell what concurred that day going tew and from my seminary in another chapter. CHAPTER VII. "On pranced the gallant steed, Proud of the heft he bore, O'er hill and vale and flowery meed Unto the castle door." SrRIGGIN5 MIS5ELANY.~ ELL, I went and put up my dinner and put on my ~ ~T things., and as 'twas a dretful cloudy morning' I '~ reckoned ide take an umbril - so I went and axed Aunt iluld v to lend me thairn; but she said 'twas ;a new one and as it looked like for rain she guest I hadent better take it for she didn't want to have it git wet, so I went without none; but afore Ide got half way there it begun to rain' consairnedly, and r~eein' Dr. Davises office door open I run in there, and there was all them fellers TYIDO W SPRIG GINS. 95 and you never see sich a fluster as they made when I cui~ in, and I must a lookt amazing' interesting' with my hair all beshovelled, and my habileations dripping' with moister. "0 dear me suz, gentlemen," says I, "I've got ketcht in a shower, and if ye'll lend me an umbril I'll be obleejed to ye." So they all jumpt to git it and then they had a tussle which sho'd accompanate me evry one on 'em wanted to go. At last says Jones (the doctor's student) says he, "Let Miss Ruggles take her choice." "Agreed," says they. So says I, " I can git along well enough without nobody, but se~in' ye're so anxious to go with me lie choose Mr. Johnson." When I said this the other fellers ript out a mess of wicked iswearin' words, and shook their fists at Johnson. "Now, gentlemen," says I, "I beseech on ye not to fight a dull with the favored swine, for I set store by all on ye, ony I admire Mr. Johnson be.. cause he resembleates my Philander so much." So Johnson he gin me his arm and we started,~when Jones up and says he, "Miss Rugg'les will get her long-short as wet as muck Ile jest bring my surtoot and let her put it on." So he run and brung his surtoot. That Jones want a very putty appearing' young man, and I was real pervoked at him for givin' me the nastyfettity pill at the wedding' - but when he ~was. so consairned about me as for to offer me his sur- toot, thinks me, Lie surmount my nantipathy to him. So they all helpt me on with it and Johnson he buttoned it round me. "Now," says I, "what's to 1~e did? it's a master sight too long." Jones was wonderful tall, and his surtoot was a terrible long drab one with a number of capes sich as they wore in them days, and II was uncommon sl~ort and fairy-like in my bigger. -. "lie tell ye what," says Wilkins, "fle go behind and hold it up." 9A4 95 page: 96[View Page 96] 96 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. I "0 no, let me," says Tomson. "Now, gentleme~y" says I, "if it's so desirable to go long of me, s'pose one of ye holds up each skeart." "Thattle be charming, " says Wilkins. So they took holt, and we sot off, and Jones he stood in the door, and lookt at us. Whilst he ~as guayne along, says John5on says he, "0! the delightsome gratifaction of sheltering' the most heautiftillest of created creeturs from this outragin' storm!" " Ah, it's exquizzitte!" says Tomson. "It's the squintessence of pleasure," says Wilkins. And sich like ixpressions they made all along. Putty soon we arrove to the deacon's, and hem' quite late the scholars had all cum and sum on 'em was looking' out of the wonders, and when they see us they hulled to t'others and they all run to the wonders to look at us, and ye never heerd sicb a roaring' as they sot up in yer born days; and when we got into the house they all cam out on the stairs to see us - I tell ye I was awful mad to see 'em so unrespectful, and I should a let right into 'em and knock over a few if I hadent a concluded to chano'e monner of teaching' a little, for that morning' whilst I was a dressing' I happened to think how't I'd orto look into the * Childern of the Abby to see how Amandy managed her school for ide forgot, that hem' a part of the novil. not very interesting' to me; so I stopt in th~ midst of my twi- * light and read about it and it said she never jaw'd 'em nor~chasigated 'em, but let 'em do jest as they was a mind to. So I of course detairmined to do ~so tew. Well, the young men resisted me to take off the surtoot, and whilst they was doin' on't, I see Amarilly Peabody, the deacon's oldest dorter, and Polly Mariar Dawson, (a cousen of bern visiting' there,) a peeking' through a door and laffin dis- ~ ~. page: Illustration-97[View Page Illustration-97] WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 97 Widow Spriggins faints away, and resuscitation is attempted by Doctor Davis.-"S66 page 85. tvactidly I s'pose they was dretful jelous. 0! what a terrible thing jealousy is! It distils pison into the most secret and unbeknown recessions of the heart, - it discom- poses and frusterates the finest affections of natur', and scatters 'the firebrands of confusion and pt~rgatory through... out society. Arter I was disbegaged from. the ~surtoot, says Johnson says he, "If the rain continys all day we'll ourn arter ye this afternoon." "0! don't pester yerselves," says I. "Pester us!" says Wilkins says he,: "why, it would be the most con~ummjt satisfication for us to' attend ye neverstandin' we should git wet to the backbone." "~0!" ~says Tomson, raisin' his eyes and layin' his hand on his bussom, "Ide be willing' to kiss yer footprints -'twould be exquizzite." "0 landy! '~ says I," that wouldent be woth while - ye may enjoy the felickity of imprintin' a kiss 'oii my lily hand "- so I reach it out and' all on 'ei~ kist it, and says I, "I intreat that ye won7t nun on ye. permit yerselves to entertain hopes that must univittably b&disr~alis~d and eend in. disappointment, '- for I may as well coflf6rm ye fust as last, that I'm engaged to the most charminest swine on airth." So sayin' I howled out the tobacker box and kist it, and put it back agin ~- and~ then makin' a~ low eurchy I perceeded. up chamber, and as I went along I could hear all the fellers a syin'. When I went' into the school-room the gears was all setting' down looking' jest as if they suspected a knockin'-~ but. I went strait to mj cheer and sot down, find says I, "Gearis, I aint a goin" to exercise no more severitude to- werds ye. A number of my puppils has left m~ simin~ary, P 97 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 WIDO W SPRIG GINS. WIDOW SPRIGGINS'. 99 and it must be on account of my extrornary strictness, for I can't think of nothing' else that could a had an attendance to dimminnish my scholars, - ~o I sha'n't giv nobody. no murder 'casion to complain of my stairnness." Ye never see creeturs act as my scholars did that day cause I didn't jaw 'em nun - more'n forty times I was on the pint of coffin' sum on 'em; but then Ide happen to think -~s6 I let 'em go on jest as they pleased.. In the afternoon when the little ones had went out, and the big ones was a painting , and I was givin', Glorianny Stokes sum coi~structions con- sairnin' the ~icter she was a copying , ('twas Gineral P~~t- nam ridin' down the mountain' -~-- an uncommon splendid and.highly finished picter,) Philindy Ann Eliggins hollered out, - * "Do look, Miss Ruggles." "Timothy Titus!" says I, "if that are aint my retinow a cuinmin," - and sure as~ creation, 'twas Johnson, and Wilkins, and Tomson, a cummin' with a hoss to take me hum. The gearls all snorted out. a laffin', and says Mirandy Peabody, says she, "I never see sich a bony, scrawny hoss, in my life." * "Shet up!".says I, "it's a spirited, fiery steed." Then I stuck my head out of the winder, and says I, "Gentler~en, what for did ye cum so airly? yer altogether tew punctable, - but ye may cum in and visit my siminary if ye want to." So. they was a cummin', and says I, "Ye'd best tie up the boss fust, -2mabby 'II he'll run away." ~ "Run away!" says Drusilly Potter "he wouldn't run away if ye should jam him with a red-hot poker from now to next never - it's father's old Billy.; he's game legged and eeny most blind, -- much as a body can do to make him stir at all." Well, they cum in and sot down, and says I, "Now, gears, don't let yer attention be extracted by these ere young men it's very improper,," So they all on 'em kept on painting , ony jest Drusilly Potter, and she kept her head out of the winder and talked to the old hoss Billy all the time - she was a~ terrible hawbuck. The hoss he knowd her voice and he begun a snortin' and ye never heerd sich a consairnid rackit in yer born days. I was dretful 'shamed, for the fellers must a thought strange on't; but I didn't want to jaw her, for wouldn'tt a ben like Amandy. The young men egzamined the painting's and admired them amazin'ly, and putty soon I hollered to the little gearls to cum in, and 'twas ever so long~re they obeydid the summonses. Finally they cum and sa#s I, "Ye may put on yer things, for I don't want to keep. these ere gentlemen waiting. " But the fellers said they waiit in no hurry, and begged on me to continny my con- structiQns so I heerd 'em spell, and then the fellers wanted to hear 'em read; so IL tell'd 'em to git their En - lish Readers, and they did. They read in the poetry in the afternoon this time; I told 'em to read the~ peece be-. ginnin', "Dear Chole, while the boosy crowd "- 'twas a gret favorite of mine, and I read it beautiful -~ I always read a vairse fust for each on 'em, to show 'em how. The gentlemen was inraptered with the read~n'. Then I tell'd em to put on their things and make their manners so they did;~ and says I, "Siminary's out "*- and they all cared out. So I begun to git-ready, and the fellers went down and brung up the old surtoot. "It don't rain," says I, "I han't no 'casion for that are." page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] "But," says Johnson, "it's' damp, and we're afraid ye'Il ketch yer death a cold without it." So they put it on, and they exerted me down stairs, and resisted me to surmount the hoss, and there in the medder aside the house was all my scholars a waiting' for to see me go. Johnson he led the hoss; and Wilkins and Tomson walkt on 'each' side on't, and in that sittyation we went clean hum and ev'ry once 'in a while the h2ss would stop still, and Tomson, (tender-hearted young man,) inside of thumping' on him, would giv his tail a jerl~ and make him go agin. All the gentlemen kept a payin' on me complements all the way about my. majestic appearance and everybody stared at us; but nobody couldn't ~ay a word - they was all speechless with adinireation. I must a presented an iinpo- sin' appearance with the gret long surtoot a hanging' over the bosses back, and my hair a floating' over my shoulders; but I was quite uncomfortablee, for 'twas dretftzl' warm, and the si~irtoot was dretful heavy, . and the sun beet down awful hot, so't my ,phiziogermy was all kivered with swet-. spiration. Well, we got hum. I unmounted, and Johnson giv the boss a slap, and he limped off to Potter's. "Walk in, gentlemen," says I. So they all cum in, and desisted me off with the surtoot, and I opened the square room door, and rushered 'em in. " Bcseat yerselves," says L Then I .we'nt up chamber and arranged my dress; wiped the swetspiration off my face; done up my hair,, it felt so warm; stuck a couple of ostridge feathers in my head, anc~ condescended to the square room, where I found Aunt Huldy and Mr. Jabez Spriggins, and his mother, an old~ erly woman, of oncommdn good' understanding , and very agreeable, but very nigh-sighted and considerable deef'; ~o't she didn't appear as much, struck with my looks as she otherways would a ben. She'd ben there all the arter- noon, and Jabez stopt on his way hum from school; they'd ben a setting in the pitching Iong of Aunt iluldy. "Yer sarvent," says Jabez, "I make ye acquainted with my mother.~~ "how do ye dew?" says I, but she didn't look off her nittin' work. So Jabez' he hollered right in her ear, "Miss Ruggles axes ye how ye dew?" '~ Miss says she, "well, why couldn't she speak up so's to be beerd?" So I went and sot down nigh by her and yelled out as loud as ever I could, "Yer considerable hard of hearing , ain't ye Mi~sis Sprig- gins?" "Hard of hearing " says she, "yer mistaken; my hearing's as good as ever 'twas, ony I can't hear whis-. penn' no more'n anybody else that hadn't alwas ben used to't; if they'd talk as they did when I was young I could = bear well enuff." Well, I talkt to Missis Spriggins a spell, and she seemed to take quite a notion to me, 'cause I hollered so loud - said I talkt as they did in old times. Byrne by tea was reddy, and aunt cum in and called us out so we went into the kitctiing, and says aunt, "Set by." So we sot down to the table, and we had punkin pie, and apple-sass, and short cake, and nuteakes, and sweet cake, and pickled cowQumbers, and sage cheese. "' Missis Spriggins," says Aunt Huldy, "is yer tea agreeable? " "Yis," says she. "Jabez is yourn?" . " Fust rate," says he. "Mr. Wilkins, is yourn?" "Excellent," says he. '~ Mr. Johnson is yourn?" "Delishus," says he. Mr. Tomson is yourn?" 9* 100 WIDO IF SPRIG GJNS. WIIJO If SPRIG GINS. 101 100 101 page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 JYIDOIf SPRIG GINS. WWDO If SPRIG GINS. 103 p "Exquizzite," says he. "Well now," continyd she, "do eat, and don't be bashful do try to make out a supper:" and they all did eat putty hearty but me - I ony took a dish of tea, and didn't eatnotbin'.. Putty soon arter tea old Spriggins cum in a wagon arter his wife. Aunt and uncle went in the kit~hing and I was alone with four interesting' young men: so says I, "Gen. tlemen, what good do ye spose it's a guayne to do ye to take arter me? I'm undessolubly united in the bonds of affection on Philander; I can't incurridge nary on ye." They all put their honkerchers to their eyes - Spriggins he lookt dretfully pleased, and says he, "Ye don't mean me tew, 'cause ye ain't a guayne to giv me my anser till I've larut that are you know what, and thattle be putty soon, I tell ye. "0!" says Wilkins says he, "don't put a momenta- rious eend to all my hopes." Says Tomson, " Don't break my heart by sayin' ye 'won't be mine." Says Johnson,' " Don't, for goodness sake drive me to desperation. and discomboberation by sich soul-diatractin' ~words "My gracious, Mr. Johnsqn," says 1, "how much that.are speech of yourn 'did sound like Philander," K' "Murder!" says he; "don't mention the name of that detistable rival." Putty soon they all went, and if ever 'there was three fellers felt bad, them are three coilidge fellers did. Arter they'd went I went to take a walk, and I rumbled down' to ~he lower eend of Uncle Jonah's farm 'a moran- tic and. secluded spot, where there was a swamp with 4 bushes all round it, and the air was impregginated with the flagrance of thousands of lilies that growd there in gret lugshuriance - and havin' my writing' consairns along I sot' down~~ on a stump and convoked the aid 6f the musses as follers :~ A ODE TO MEMORY. 0! memory if 'twant for thee I should forget my lover- And then how wretched he would be My feelings to discover! And gracious! I shouki be bereft Of every consolation, And sink right down beneath the heft Of my sad sittyation. Tho' troubled, I won't make no fuss, If memory doesn't fail m'e - I can't imagine nothing' 'wusa That possibly could all me. Tho' natur seems, when he ain't here, As doleful as December- I'd rather he'd be gone a year Than for to disremember. Them lilies when the sun was up As stiff as pokers grew, J3ut now they're jest a~ wet as sop, And all bent down with dew. * So Milly's onforgitful heart * -is bending' down with sorrer; I'll weep as long as we're apart,- I wish he'd cam to-morrer. page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 WIDOW S.PRIG GINS. WIDOW SPIUGGINS. 105 CHAPTER VIII. "C~ptix~g, where's my gallant sailor, line desirous for to know?" "Madam, if you mean Sam Taylor, He was married a week ago." OLD SONG. L, the anteceedin' week of things went on ~ urty much as they did the proceeding ; but a {Saturday an event conspired that changed my destination. When I went hum from my sim- mary, lo and behold, there was a letter from Podunk for me; and I opened it and found 'twas from father - here's a subscription on't: "DORTER MILLY Ourn hunt right strait off you yer marm is to the pint of death. She was took last, week with a dretful cramp in her side -~awfal crick in her back - blind headache and terrible cold feet. She's talkt about her Milly ever sen she was took, and wanted to have us send for ye at fust, but as I reckoned she'd git up agin aforo long - (cause she's ben took so a number of times ~nd never died afore) I thought 'twant best to send for ye, we've had sich peccable times ser~ ye went off; but she got wus and wus, and now we don't have no idee she'll git well - so ye jest cum hum as quick as ye can, and dew make up yer mii4 to be of sum service to as when ye git here., Yer daddy, "NADAB RUG~LEs." Now, thinks me, my exhibition 's all knockt in the head - (for yer must know I was perjectin to have an exhibi- tion in my seminary) and I mustent think of nothing' now only my beloved parent - so I buy myself on the bed ,~aiid jackelated, "0 mairciful creation! support and strenken me in this tryin hour, and enable me to cumfort my onfortinate mother af'ore she dies." Jest as Arnandy did when she heard of her father's illness. Then I thought Ide go into highsterics. So 1 begun kicking' and squallin' and rollin' my eyes consairnedly. Aunt Huldy she heerd ine and she cum up. "Grandfer grievous!" says she, "what's to pay?" "0 dear si~z!" says I, "read that are letter and ye won't wonder at me. for my everlasting' dear mother isent suspected to live from* one day to t'other." "You don't~ say so," says she. So she took and read it, and says she, "Ile go hum with ye, for I must see Viny once more afore she dies; jump up, Milly; we'll git reddy right off; and go in the stage when it cuins along this evening " "Onfeelin' woman]" says I, "how can ye tell me to git up when I've got the highstericks so owfully!" "I know it," says she, ~' poor child ! but then if ye don't git over it the stage will go along afore yer reddy - and don't ye remember how Amandy hurried to git to her rather when she heerd he was sick." So I hopt up in the most agonizing' state of condition and begun to giL reddy. I put on my black rottenette gownd, and a black bomba- zeen long shawl that mother gin 5e, Qne she wore when she was in mourning' for Grandfer Hogobone then I tied' a black ribbon round my bunnit, and stuck one amazing' long black ostridge father in't. Then I stuift all the rest 104 105 page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] ( 166 WIDOW SPRIG.CINS. of my things in my chist. and lockt it up. Whilst T was * fixin', Aunt Huldy went out and told Uncle Jonah, and purty soon they cum in, and says uncle, says he, "WhyMilly, it's all nonsense~ for yer aunt to go hum with ye." - "I guess lie go for all you - so there, now," says aunt. "Well," says uncle, "T shant giv ye no money to go with. Ye never hear of any of y~r relations bein' sick but what ye want to go and see 'em die, and cut a worth to the funeral, and ye might better stay hum and take care of yer family." "Mighty family!" says Aunt Huldy, "ony one old coot to se& tew!" "Mister and Missis," says I, '~ if ye want to qurril on this inawlancolly ciision ~I wish ye'd retire to the kitchenary department, and not disturb me by yer discongenial ex- ploteration." So they went off, and I sot down and writ the follerin' notice to my school: * "DARLIN PUPPILS : - It is with the biggest sorrer I * denounce to you that I shall be enable to construct you enny more at present; and whether I shall ever consume * the delightful task to develop yer minds enny more is a * circumstance that lies hid in the unbeholden debts of futrinity. I am summoned to contend the death-bed of an only and beloved mother but I wish to desire to make one last request of ye. I want ye all to, go to meeting' to- morrer drest in black gownds and black ostridge fathers in yer bpnnits, and when nieetin's out, perched to the front of Deacon Peabody's door. range yerselves in a row and sing the follerin' stanzy to the tune of the long meetre * doxyology: WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 107 "Alas 1 our darling' teacher's gone, - / That's why we put these black gowuds on; We can't submit to't tho' we must; It seems as if our very hcarts would bust." Arter supper the stage cum along, and Uncle Jonah run out and hulled, "Pas~enger for Podunk;" so they druv up, and we all went out, and whilst the driver was helping' Uncle Jonah put my chist into't, I huy my arms round Aunt Huldy and kist her agin and agin, exclamigatin', "Farewell belovedest, darlinest Aunt Huldy may all the biessins of Heaven be condescended upon yer." Then I stretch out oiie hand and had t'other on my heart, and looking' round me with a heavy sythe, says I thus: "Adool sylvaific shades of. Higgins Patent! no longer will ye giv a syluin to the fair Permily. Ad~oo! sweet umbraggious shady grove where I parted with Philander - no more will my fairy form wander amonkst yer exciudid shades, to court the musses and think on my distant swine -II bid ye an interminable farewell !" There was three gentlemen in the stage, and they stared at me consairnedly, and says one on 'em to Aunt Huldy, "Is the young woman derangedd" "Deraunged! no;" says she, " ony she's rather smarter'n common folk~." Well, I got in and we druv off. 0! if there is a minnit in this subernary state of egsistence, when the sad and sorrerful sperrit fells as if it wouldent giv teppence for all ~creation, 'tis when we part with finds. It felt so then - so I huv my head languidiously over onto the shoulder of the man that sot aside of me, and bust into a simmuhaneous hood of tears. Arter Ide recovered a little I raised my droopin' head page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 WIJJO W SPRJGGINS~ WFDOTF SPRIG GINS. 109 and Io~kt round and I never see tew surprisder lookin' ereetms than the men that sot opposite of' me. They opened their eyes as big as sarcers and begun whisperin' about me but the one next to me didn't say a ~r6rd, So I lookt round at him and good gracious~.! he lookt so much like Philander, (ony sum older,) that I utterated a percin' skreik and tumbled prostracious on~ the bottom of the stage. They all jumpt up and resisted me to rise and arter I was beseated, says I, "Gentlemen, mabby you think strange of me, and for fear you should entertain oranious impressions regarding' me, lie tell ye my history, if ye'd like to hear it." They all said they'd like to hear it wonder- fully so I teild 'em the hull I've telld my readers; only I couldn't remember all the poetry; but I had a coppy of my Ode to Memory in my work pocket, and I took that out and read it to 'em. The young man that set aside of me said he never heerd enny thing equal to it; but the other men didn't s~iy a word, and nary on 'em didn't speak to me agin - they was elderly men and uncommon ruff looking , but otherr one was a rael slick looking' feller -he telld me he lived in Utica; and like most of the resides of that extensive and anncient city he was uncommon gin- teel in his appearance, and refined in his monners. Well, purty soon we arrive at Utica, and the stage druv up to the' stage-hoQse, and there was a lot of men standing' round and when the young man got out, there was one run o t ~monkst from 'em and shook hands with him; so I poked riiy head out t~ giL a better sight on him, and as true as crea- tion, 'twas Philander! my long-lost Philander. He was considerb]e altered, and I should thought 'twas Johnson if he hadent a had on the same green coat With a black velvet collar he had on when he paid his distresses to me; but there was no mistake; so I jumpt out of the stage and run towers him. The men all gin ~ay for me and I rushed ahead exclamigatin, "0 Philander! my own darling' Phil.. ander! Heaven ~has at last restored you to your mourning' but faithful Permilly." So sayin' I buy my arms round him and ceny most had a highateric fit. There was ever ~so many young men standing' round, and amongst 'em I see Wilkins and Tom~. son, and they all hoorawd. Philander, instid of returning' my enraptured caresses, Iookt rael mad, and didn't know what to do. At last the young man that cum in the stttge with me says he, ~"The young woman's crazy- she's taken my brother to be sumbody else;" and says Philan. der, " We'd better take her into the house till the stage is reddy." So he and his brother led me in and sot me down on a sofy~ and all the other fellers hollered arter. Philan- der and his brother whispered together t~ spell, and then Philander went out, motioning' to t'other fellers to accompa~ nate him. Arter they'd all went ony Philander's brother and me, he cum to me and says he, "Miss Iluggles;" says I, "Hay!" says he, "I've got suthin to tell ye, thattle no doubt make ye feel rusher bad, and tho' I'd rather have an iron spike druv thro' me than to communi- cate sich a piece of intelligence, yit it's my duty to do it, and if II don't ye'll find it out sum time or other." "Dew tell ,". says I, "my curiosity is rung up to the biggest pitch - dew tell me." "Well," says he, "if I must I must--- Philander's married!" If a thousand muskits had ben fired at my head, and a million baggeinets run through my~ body, I shouldent a ben more bethundersf~ruck nor no nigher killed than I was that 10 page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] JUDO W SPRIG GLVS. lii 110 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. minnit. I yelled out as loud as ever I could, a~id then I got up and took off my bunnit and laid it on the ~table, and' begun tearing' my hair most awfully, and ravin' and screemin' the wost way, ~o't all the folks in the house cum running' in to* see what was the matter. Arter Ide got coinplectly desausted I s~t down and gin vent to my scorer in heart-spflttifl' groans~ and sythes, and thinks me, how would Amandy acted if she'd heern Lord Mortimer was married? There's no tellin'. But I know how she acted when she heerd he was a guayne to be.. She lost her appetite and growd as thin as a rail; but didn't say a word about it to nobody - tho' she took on when she got alone. And thinks me, like enuff Philander's torrannical father has ben a makin' of him git i~iarried agin his inclina- tion, jest as Lord Mortimer's father was a guayne to make him.. So says I, "Did his cruel father impel him to git married agin his inclination?" and 1 lookt'round to where Philander's brother sot, and lo and behold, he want there. I spose he was so overcum by my suffering he couldn't stand it, and so cleared out, and* I never see no more on him nor Philander nyther from that day to this. I han't no doubt but what Philander had been conducted to believe that I was onfaithful to him. Lord Mortirner wouldn't a wiped his old shoes on Lady Euphrasia Sutherland if he hadent a posed Amandy was unfaithful no more would- &ntiPhilander a married anybody else if he hadn't a posed Ide forget him, and ide be willing to bet a boss that John- son and Wilki~is and Tomeon bad been a lyin' to him about me; 'cause they wanted me themselves. Well, arter thinking' on't all over I got up and. dun up my hair, and put on my bunnit, and tho' there was more'n fox~ty {olks - men, wimmin, and children, axin' of me questions - I dident anser 'em nor tell 'em what aided me, but arter Ide got fixt I went out and stood by the door till t'other stage got reddy to go, and then I got in' aud huv my head agin the back side of the stage and shot. up my eyes and didn't open 'em agin whilst t'other passengers was a gittin' in,. nor for, quite a spell arterwards: but there I sot a ponder- in', and my ruminations was the most distressing' I ever experienced in my born days, and whilst I was a setting' in that persition I composed sum very mournful stauzys, and I thought Ide write 'em off so I opend my eyes and I see tw~s considerable daik, so't I couldn't ede the folks that was in the stage, ony so fur as to see that they was all men folks, and I was the ony shema~e in the stage. So says I, "Gentlemen; I. want to write down sum poetry and I don't see how line to do it, it's so dark." "0!" says one on 'em says he, "I can write as well in the dark as I can without a light. fle write it for ye if ye'll tell me as I go long." 'lie be obleejed to ye to do it," says I: so I gin him my pencil hind a piece of paper, and he took his hat and writ on top oi't, (me tellin' on him a line to. once) the follerin': ON A LAMENT. Did you ever see Philander? 0! he was a charming' swine; He was tall, and he was slender; He was honsome; he was mine. To a maid he took a notion, She his love did soon return, And while he was on the oshun She believed his heart was hem. He Intended for. to marry; But alas! his mind he ohaunged Now she's ravin' like old Harry;~ He Is false, and she's deranged. 111 110 page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] 112 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. WIDOW SPIiIGGINS. 113 "That's all,"~says I, "noW giv it to me." "0 no I" says he, "you must allow me to read it to my friends it's exquizzite." As soon as he said that I kn~w'd who 'twas: "Land of' liberty!" says I, "Mr. Tomeon, is that you?" "Egzackly," says he, "and I vow I believe this is Miss Ruggles- IL dident know ye afc~re - and here's Mr. Johnson and Mr. Wilkins. I hope we shall have the pleshure of yer company to Skenackady." "I declare," says Johnson, "this is truly a happifyin' circumstance." "Piy George!" says Wilkins, "we're a fortunate s~t of fellers to be so unexpectedly favored with Miss Rug.- gleses company." "Hold yer jaw," says I, "yer a mean, contemptible set of killings; I won't have nothing' to say to nary one on 'ye; so jest giv up that are poetry." "This is strangee" says Johnson," how on airth have we offended you?" "Purty question for you to ax, you tarnal wretch," says IL, 'shaking my fist in his face. "What have we done ?"' says Tomson. "Dun?" says IL. "Haint ye ben the means of dashin' the dish of felicity from my lips? -~- Hlaint ye undermined me in the affections of Philander? Haint it ben thro' your instrumentality that he's went, and married another, and left me to uncornboundid dispare?" "0 yer mistaken!" says they all to once. "I aint nyther," says. I so I atuft my fingers in my ears and held 'em so ever so lono~. At last Tomson begun to read the poitry he'd writ down for me out loud, and when he'd red it the sung it to a Methodist tune. Toinson he lined it as they do in meeting . So I took my fingers out of my ears to listen to 'em, and says Johnson, "Music hath charms to sooth a savid~ge! I tho't you'd get over it." "I hadn't got over it nyther," says I so I stuck my. bead out of the winder and hollered "Murder! murder!" as loud as ever I could yell. Well the houses they was dretfully skirt, and took off as tight as ever they cDuld pull. The driver he tried to hold 'em in, and kept a hollering' "hoe!" but they went faster and faster, and purty soon they went tearing' down a hill and .huv the stage right over; and we all cum tumblin' out ~n massy but this ere's an uncommon long chapter, so I must curn to an eend just where I shouldn't orto. CHAPTER IX. "Come tell me, blue-eyed stranger, Say whither dust thou roam, Q'er this wide world a ranger, Hast thou no friends nor hum?" ( OLD SoNG. T fust IL reckoned we was all killd, but arter a spell we found we was all alive, ony considerable stunted but the driver was. the maddest creetur ever I see; he cusst and swore, and &tid if it hadent a ben for me the bosses wouldent a run away. Well, there was a house nigh by and a man and &big boy cum out and helpt 'em fix~the stage, and arter 'twa~ fixt the fellers was 10* page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] 114 WIDOPRIf~GINS. a guayne to help me into't agin, but says I, in a senatorial voice, "Lemnie alone, I aint a guayne to travel a step fur-. derwid ye!" "Unpossible!" says all three of the fellers, "you ustent leave us so." "Hold yer jaw," says I, "yer a set of thundering' mean scampers, I won't be seen in. yer company - I despise ye more'n I dew the airth I tred 'on - I don't consider ye worth t~irnin' my nose up, at." "Well," says the driver, "if ye did ye wouldn't have to do it, seem' it's aireddy arranged in' that persition." When the driver said that, the fellers all laift consairn- edly. "0, lawful suz I" says I,"' ye all begin to laff, now seem' ye can't git me. Jabez 'Spriggins teild the truth about ye when he said ye tho't ye'd lairnt all there was to be lairnt to Hamilton Collidge and so sot off for I)urrup Collide to use that up tew; but I can tell ye if ye go to all the Collidges' in Americy, ye w~~'t know B from broomstick - so Mister Perliteness" continuedd I, ad- dressin' the driver)~ "jest take off my chist, for lime a guayne to stop to this ere house. "Yer chist," says he, "~yeJl~n't no ehist." Sosays I to the man, "Mister, I wish ye'd let yer boy there go up to Utica and get my chi~t - they forgot to put it aboard ~'the stage." But the driver up 'and says he, "Don't ye dew it; she han't got no chist; she's crazy." "Ye lie like split," says I, "I'm a young woman of th& biggest respecterbility - of Dutch distraction on the 'mother's side, and New England co sent on the father's, and my Grandfer IRuggles fit, ble , and" died in the revo- lutionerry tussle, and~arterward5' drawd a pension, and if WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 115 it want for all these ere sircumstences my own individdyal extinction would be enuff to skewer me the steam and ad- mireation of all creation." "Well," says the driver, " ye've got to pay as much damrnage as if ye went to Durrup" So I' took out my. puss and paid him and they druv off and I went into the house; and says I to the man and woman, "That are driver haint no reason to think I'm derannged, ony cause I wouldent trail with' the company he's carrying , and I do boseech on ye to send arter my chist to Utica, for it's got all my notions in't." "Well,"~says the man, "it's pitch dark now -.--- I can't let JToky~go to-night, but mabby I will to-Inorrer." "Well, then," says I, "jest give giv me a compart- ment for I want to go into a~ state of retiracy." "Give' ye what?" says the woman. "Why, a room to sleep in you," says I.' "Well," says she, "ye'll have to sleep "with Zady, for the schoolmaster's a boarding' here this week, and he's got the spare bed, and he's gone to bed now." So she took a lontern and went up chamber and I hollered arter, and she rushered me into a room that was in considerable of a condition - there was a half a looking gla~s, an QId three lcgg~d cheer, and an old shaken' table that would tumble over if ye lookt at it~hard; and in the corner was a trundle bed and a gret fat' gearl asleep on't a snorin' the wost Way. "Good woman," says I. "My name's Missis Hitchins," says she. "Well, Missis Hitchins," says I, "ye may make yer disappearance." So she went off, and I took the lontern and went up and took a realizing' sense of the trundle bed; page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] 116 WIDO If Sr1i~Ia GINS. WiDOW ,SPRIG GiNS. 117 and besides the snorin' of the fleshy gearl, the uncommon narrowness of the trundle bed was sich ~s to. render it on- possible tQ repose there: so thinks me, I'll set up all night. So I turned the old cheer over and sot down on't, and be- gun to ponderate ;-~and thinks me, how much my sitty~tion is like Amandy's when she stopt to old Byrnes ilamber- gasted cottidge. What a pity she di4ent have my genyus for makin' poetry - what an interesting' account she'g a gin of her misfortins; but taint everybody that has a natural ~ genyus for't, and if it don't cum natural there's no use in tryin' - they bought as well try to make a univairse as to try to' make poetry without beela' naturally gifted that way and seem' I've got' sich gret poeticle talents Ide or'to improve 'em, and certainly the sollein sittyation line placed in to-night should or'to inspire me with a wonder" ful frenzy for composin'. So I lookt in my ridicule and there want no paper there. Just then I heerd suinbody in the contigruous room ut- terate the terriblest percin' skreek I ever heerd in my born days. So thinks me, sr~mbody's dyin' or sumbody's mur- deAn', sumbody; and hem' indeed with uncommon cur-. ridge, I ketcht the lontern and run in there - but there want no noise nor nobody' there ony sumbody in bed; so I Went up to the bed to ~ee whether the occerpyer was dead or alive - and lo and behold, there was a very interesting' looking . young man asleep there, and thinks me he had the nightmare when he yelled so no doubt he was a dream-. in' of his own sorrers and misfortins, for I knowd from his looks that he want a strannger to greef. 1k had on a red. ~nightcap with a tossil on top, and a number of holes in't thro' which his dark hair was pokin' in graceful neglitude. 0! (solliquized I,) greef has did its w9rk on that are long thin nose and turned up the tip on't with continyl sobbin'! greef has undoubtedly drawd down the corners of that are mouth, and dreams of unrelentin' ennemys pursuing' of ye has certainly skairt ye to sidh an alarming degree as to make 'yer ears start out so and bust them. holes in yer nightcap! peace to yer ashes, mournin' swine. So sayin' I turned round to go out, when I obsairved sum paper lyin' on the table. So I reckoned Ide help myself to a sheet on't to write sum poetry on; but seem' an ink-. stand and pei~ there thinks nje, lie write here cause. this ere table don't shake so as t'other does. So I drawd up a cheer and sot down, and my medifkations resulted in the follerin' confusion: Who knows but what I'm setting' nigh To sum extinguished stranger, That from his hum was forced to fly O'er this wide world a ranger. Mabby his father was onkind, And tried to make him wed Sum geari that wasent to his mind, And so from hum he fled. Tho' others blame ye, mournj~~ man, T~ie fafr Permllly'll praise ye, Because ye~wouk1 entjineyerhand To disbeloved J~uphrashy. Wake I long-nosed marquis! lord or earl, Open your eyes and see A mourning , pinin', weeping' geart To simpathise with thee. Oh dear! if you knowd my distress, I'm sure ~ raise yer dander, For now I mourn the onfalthi~ilneas Ot my once true ?hilander! * 116 117 page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] 118. WIDOW SPRIa~c INS. WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 119 And like enuff (for taint oncomfllOn For earls to git the mitten), That you've ben shipped by sum young woman, And now yer hearts splittin'. reace to yer ashes, sleeping' swine, Dear brokeu4iearted creetur, 'Tis ~IiIIy Ruggles, writes these lines, .Whe~i morning' cums ye'11 meet her. When Ide writ this affeetin' poem, I laid it in Pike's Rithtnetick I see lyin' there; then I turned to take one more look of the young man ~ab~ed - and whether or no the lontern shining' in his eyes woke him up or* not I don't know; enny how he opened his eyes and lookt up at me; arter starin' at me a spell with the biggest wonderation depictere~ on his phizziogermy, says he to me, says he, "Jimmini! ~ho in the name of wonder be you?" "lDon't ax who I be," says I, "jest look in Pike's rithuietick and that-tie giv ye the denowment who I be." "Pike's Rithmetie," says he, "I know a manah~ut my size that can find out eeny most ennything by studdyin' out on't - but by gum! I don't see how True to find who you be if I cipher out on't from now to next never. "Well ," says I, "you look right next the kiver and you'll~see." So sayin' II made a curohy and vanished, into t'other room leaving' my lonter~2l behind. Arter I. went out Iii listened to the door and heerd him. git up and go to the table and read the confusion out loud. Arter he'd read it, says he,, "Jimmini 1" a number of times - then I heerd him a mendin' a pen. and then he * begun to write and writ for. ever so long. At last I got tired listening , so I tho't ide set down agin; but as I went to beseat myself I got on the wrong eend of the cheer - N (ye know 'twas turned down) - and it let me right onto the floor, and it made sich a rackit it woke, up Zady, and she bollerd out; "Gmndfer Griffin! what in nature's to pay?" I never said a word. "Arter all," solliquized she, "mabby~ 'twan't nothing ' but me dreamin'." So sayin' she gin two or three grunts and turned over and Went to sleep agin. So I got up, fixt the cheer, and sot down strait, laid my head on the table and went to sleep, and didn't wake up agin till morning ; and then my neck was so .stiff holding' on't so long in that betwistid persition that J couldent scerce move it for ever 80 long. As soon as it got limberd a little I riz and arranged my dres~ and went down stairs, 'leavin' Zady sound asleep. The ~~an and woman was up, and art~r a. spell Zady got up and cmii thumpin' down. I was- setting' behind the door so she did- ent ~ee me, and she took tew pails and went off to inilkin', and the woman begun to get breckfust, and says she, "Young woman, ye'll have- to be sairved as the rest on us be -for the master's got to 'have the silver spoon~ and the chany teacup and sarce~." "Well, I-don't ker,~" says I, "Amandy had to drink ut of a noggin to old Byrnes." / ." Who had tew??' says she. "Aryiandy Fitzalan," says I. "Sumbody I don't know," says she. Then she went out to pull suri inyons, and ~vhi1st she was gone~ the master cum down he didn't see me so I kehawked and he lookt round. "Good mornun', Miss Ruggles," says he, makin' a scraping' bow. "Good mornun' to yer lordship," says I, curchyun'. Says he,"' I feel ex~trornary honored by the visit ye page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 WIDOW SrRIGGINS. WIDOW SPRIG GIATS. 121 made me last night - and that poetry! Jimmini, it's fine! I couldn't rest till ide writ an anser to 'it - for line a poit of~ considerable merrit myself- I've had a number of arti~ des printed in that are well-conductid perryodical, the Mohawk Meteor and Marcy Republican.. You've on- doubtidly seen and admired the poetical contributions signed 'The Mudhow Minstrel;' them's 'mine. I'm no stranger to yer reputation, Miss Ru~ggIes, for line an inti- mit' find of young Spriggins - a gret 'admirer of yourn and he and I corrisponds; his pistles is full of your praises, so. that my curiosity to behold ye had arrive to a wonderful pitch, but Ide no idee of it's bein gratifacted in the interesting' manner it was by yer morantic visitation last night." "But," says I, interruption' him, "ye said how't ye writ an anser to my poiin. II should like to see it." So he put his hand in his pocket and took out a fol&d paper containing' 45 amazing' putty vairses, and tho' it would take tew much time to cop~y 'em all, I can't help substractiri' a few on 'em. Arter guayne on to say how't he want asleep when I went into his room, but ony "per~ tending' for to sleep," he continnys in the follerin manner: "0! slob a face I never see Sence Ion airth was born! 'Twas brightest noonday's sun to me, With lflusbing hues of morn. "And then I seen you starin' round, Jest Iik~ sum creetur's ghost, That cuin to lind, from buder ground, Sumthin' it had lost. "And then i~iy pen I s~ez~ you take, My pape; ink, and cheer, And then set down an for to make That poetry so dear. "And o'er the'sheet the pen you drew, In rhymink fury 'dashing, And from yer eyes the idees flew, Like lightning bugs a flashing." Here comes in a number of stanzys about Mister Shakespeare, rollin' frenzy, &o.; and then he goes on, "And when you'd got it writ, you took And put it in my 1'ike-.. That jewel of a ciphering book- You must a knowd I like. "Dy day I read that arithmetic, It bccerples my slumbers, 'Twas there Ilearut to rhyme so slick, - ''And got so skilled In numbers. "My streekid sky's ben black and blue, A world of botheratlon, As you have ben, so I've ben through A sight of tribulation." Then he goes on to tell about his sorrers - ho~'t he'd ben in love a number of'timesand always got the mitten, and so finally made up his mind not t~ try no more but taint woth while to subscribe that part, as there's 18 vairses on't. So he contains, "Alit Shakespeare says,.-" (I spose this Mr. Shakespeare's sum intimit frind of' 'hissen.) "' Ab I Shakespeare says, and Shakespeare knew, (To you and ~me that's plain).- That true Jove never did run true, nut always oro~s the grain." 11 V t page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] Ii t I' .~ I d 1~ Ii WIDOW SPRIGGIN~ 4 CHAPTER X. Then he goes on through a number of stanzys to dis- cribe the oncerting natur of love - the coldness of the world in general, and the shemale sect1 in perticler - the trials that genyus has to undergQ and at last eends as follers, - "Now sence in rhyme my woes and struggles lye had a chance to po~Ir ~ lie jest subscribe myself, Miss Ruggles, Your friend, P. ZEBIDEFJ GGBUM." I didn't read all the poetry then; I put it in my ridi- cule, and arter thanking' the master for't, says I, "I hope ye won't tell these folks about my guayne inter yer chom- * ber last night; cause if ye dew they'll think the driver telid the truth when he said I was crazy." * "0! 1 won~. mention it," says he, "but how on airth did you git here?" I was jest a guayne to conform him, when Missis Hitohins and 1Zady and the old man cum in. Zady was bethunderstruck to see me, and they was all supprized enuff when the master introduced me to 'em. Arter that they was amazing' perlite. Well, we sot down to breck- fust but I must resairve whet concurred that day ('twas Sabberday ye know) for another chapter. 122 WYDO W ~PRIGGIAtS'. 123 I "01 Sangerfield Where is thy shield To gard agin grim death! lie aims his gun At ever9~ene, And lires away their breath!" SANGERFIELD HUDDLE BARD. RTER breckfust I axed Mr. Hitchins if iloky mut go arter my chist, and he said seem' 'twas me and seem' 'twas a case of necesserty he bought, tho' was agin his principles to ride anywhere a Sab.. berday ony to meeting . So Hoky he put op his Sundy clus, and taller his hair, and harnessed the hoses to the wagging and sot off for Utica, and he cum hum in about tew hours. Missis Hitchins axed me to go to meeting' with 'em - (they attended dervine sairvice to Nev& Hartford, about a mild from there,) but I telid her ide rather wait till afternoon, cause my chist hadent arrive yit. "Well," says she, "we shant be hum a noontime,, so how'U ye find the way to meeting ? " ".0!" s~ys Mr. P. Zebidee Gorum, "Be* stay till afternoon and so go with Miss Rugglea~" "Well," says she, "if ye want anything to eat ye'll find a platter of nutcakes in the cubberd, and sun~.heese on the buttery shelf." So she aud Mr. Hitchins and Zady sot off for meeting , 122 123 page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] h n if IIYDO W SPRIG GIYS'. and II and the master was left alone together,- and we con- ~ vairsed about things in general, and I discovered that Mr. Gorum was a young man of uncommon bright immagin nation and highly cultivated mind, * I axed him to write me an ode on the death &f my mother. "Is yer mother dead?" says he. "No," says I, "but I suspect she will be by the time I get hum." So sayin' I put my honkercher to my eyes, and was dretfully overcum for a spell. Bymeby Hoky arrive with my chist, and as I was a guayne out in the stage that evening' I reckoned I wouldn't have it carried up chamber. So I took out my kee and unlocked it, and took out sick articles as I contended to put' on, and went up into Zady'8 room and arranged my apparril. Deem' a very warm dayl tho't I wouldn't wear no bun- nit to nieetin'. So I done up my auburn treasis with my bigh-toppt comb, tied my six black oshidge feathers together with 'a black ribbing and stuck 'em in my head - ye know I had on my black rottenette gownd - wells I rolled 'up the sleeves to make 'em. look ~short, and put on my long black cambriek gloves, then ]~4~iv my black 'long shawl round my neck and pined it down on one holder with a black bow' with tew eends to't much as a yard and a half 'long, then I loo~t the skeart of my gQwnd up on one side and pined a black bow on't and my 'dress was completed, and certingly if ever a creetur lookt interesting' I did, that minnit in my mournin' habileations. Arter I was drest I condesendid, and I never see a sur- prisdex~' creetur than the master was - he w~s quite over- cum' with admireation, and declared that he never see a more charinin' appearance than what I ~ereented all in WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 125 black. Well he went into the buttery and brung me a piece of cheese on a f9rk, and then he went to the cubberd and fetched me a wonderful long nutcake on another fork. Then he helpt himself and arter we'd eat 'em he said 'twas time to be guayne. So I took my parrysol and we lockt ar~ns and off we sot for meeting, and I don't bleeve that tew more interesting' beeins ever prerambleated the scrub.. urbs of New Hartford afore oi~ sen.' Mr. Gorum was drest with the biggest taste; he had on a bug-tailed yaller thin coat and nankeen trowsis. Well, we walkt purty slow and when we got to meetiii' the folks had most on ~em 'arrove there, and as he walkt up the broad ile the peo.. pIe stared at us as if they was bethunderstruck. The miii- ister wa~ a reading' the sam, and be stoppt as much as a minnit; but Missis Hitchins and Zady was surprisder than anybody else. I never extracted so much attention inniy life as I did that day in the New Hartford presbiteerian ineetin' house -~ once' in the sairmon 'the minister illuded to the sorrers and disappointment of airth, and I groaned out loud, and everybody lookt round at me, and' sum ~nfeelin folks laift; then the minister he 'lookt awful r~iad, and stopping' right short in his dizeourse, says he," My f'riuds, the sanctooerry aint no place to be' merry." So they stoppt laffin, and the 'men folks generally stoppt staring' ~ 'but' the winnmin folks couldent help peekin' round once in a while. - Bymeby. meeting' was out and we went hum, and arter tea I arranged my dress for traveling', and about six o'clock the stage cum along. I. axed Mr. Hitchins what was the dammidge, but 'he wouldn't. take nothing . So I thanked him and. then I had a ~very affectionit partin' with Mr. Gotum, ('he was ividentjy' took 'with' me) and then I 124 page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] dl I' H ii' III i} Ii I I Ii II WIDO Jr SPRIG GINS. got into the stage and started for Podunk. There was five men folks in~ the stage; all on 'em uncommon muffins but one, and he was sich an attracktyve man I can't help de- scribin' on him; he had & 'very dignified but summat stairrin' phizziog~rmy - tho' when he addressed himself to rue a brand smile played over his feeders but I never see the beat of hisconversationable powers afore 'nor sen. The otI~er passengers was electrificated by his eloquation, and didn't say but very little, and no wonder! He was talking ' about Utica~ when I got ~ and it was evident that he was a resider qf-that citty.~ ~ "GentP~men," says he, "our citty is the centre of the State - I may say of the United States. It is as remark- erbJe for its intairnal arrangements as it is for the enlightenment and information of its inhabiters. It is in all respects very fur previous to Phelideiphy. New York itself can't hold a candle to it. Gentlemen! where will ye find such refinement of manners and elegance of ap- peerence as the ladies of our city pozzess? and where sich intellectitude of mind - sich profundity of talents sich overwhelming and captivatin' abillyties as our men of sighence egsibit? our young men partickleary I may saf~Iy say they are previous to any other young men in the ~Jnited States, and subsequent to nun in the univairse." TheiIturnino~ to me with a ravhin' smile, says he, "Mum, have ye ever been in Utica, mum "Yis," says I, syin' "I was there yesterday under very distres~in' circumstances." "Ab!" says he, with a very greacef'ul inclination of his boddy, "may V enquirer what distressing' ok-kurrence ok-kurred? ~' S& I countered the hull' of my history frqm beginning' to eend, and when Ide finnishid, says he, with another graceful inclination, - 126 WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 127. "It seems to me, mum, you've hen the artifisher of yer own misfortins by givin' way to the sensibilitude with which you are indew~d by natur' the egshuberance of your imagination and, vivacitude of your sperrits has in. timely outstript your discretionary powers, mum." Jest then we cam to Little Falls, and the four codgers got out and a remarkerbie ginteel woman and a little boy about five year old got in. It was considerable dark and I couldn't see her feeters extinctly, but putty soon she 'spoke to the little boy, and I recognatid her voice in a minnit. "Goody gracious, Miss Van Dusen!" says I. "Maircifal heavens! my dear Permilly!" says she - and we buy ourselves into one another's arms. 0! if 'there is a minnit when the heart-broken sperrit feels as if it would go off the handle with joy, 'tis when long severatid friends onexpectedly meets! For a spell we strained one another in a silentimbrace without utteratin' a sillybull pny jackilation -" 0! Miss Van Dusen!" "0! Permilly!" at which Mr. Spluttergut, the gentle- man from Utica, -seemed much affected. When we was recoveratid from. ~ur jouful surprise I axed her ~where she was guayne, and she conformed me that she was a guayne to visit her i"elatyves in iDurrup, and that she had ben married ~a number of year to Squire Stokes,. one Qf the fust men in Little Falls. ~' Do tell 1" says I, "and is this ere sweet little cheru- bim yer son?"*. "Yis,"' anserd she, "my on'y son." "What's yer name, you little d~arlin'?" says I, kissing' of him'~- but instid of anserin' ,he begun to belIer, and his mother said he. was dretful sensatyve~; always cry'd when stranngers spoke to him -." his name's Lord Mortimer," page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] F H I I I H' ti~ I Ii ii 4' I' WIDO If ~srRIG GINS. continyd she, "1 wanted to giv him a cognomer that wo'd sound 'well in congress I intend he shall write it 'L. Mortimer' Stokes.'" "'Charmin' name," says I. Then she axed me where I was guuyne? And I begun to the heginnin' of my history arter I left her seminary and tell'd her the bull, and she was very much affectid. "0!" says she,."~~~wd that yer sensaty've and mo- rantic nater would have to suffer wonderfully from the cold onfeelin~ world." Then she went on ~dvisin' of me to re- ci~perate Jabezes affection, sayin' that a heart like hisen was woth possession , and more'n all that 'twas time I. was ~settled down. Well, bime-by we arrive to Durrup, (or Skenackedy, as 'sum calls it,) and Missis Stokes invited me to 'accompa-. nate her to her father-in-law's and becin' eeny most tired out, for we'de rid all night, I thought I would. So we got out and I ax~ed Mr. Spluttergut to call on me if ever he ciim our way, and he wanted to be conformed where F resided; and I tell'd him in the villidge of Podunk. "Ah, egzactly," says he, ~with a graceful inolineation, "I re- member the loquation very well now it's a short distance previous to Schaticoke." "Jest so," says I. So then we sepperati4, and I never see a bow that was a sircumstence to the one he made a& our partin'~ Then my former instructoress and me winded our way to Mr. Stokesis, and the old folks was wonderful glad to see Silly, as they called her,. (her name was Prisilly miter- ally,) and I raly tho't they'd eat up little Lord Mortimer, and they was very perlite to me tew, and said that if Ide stay till arter dinner they'd send m~ hum in their wagging, WIDOW SPRIG GINS. '129' and so I concluded I would, "-tho' ev'ry minnit," jackilatid I,." that restrains me from my adored mother seems like an eternity of a hundred year." Well, we had dinner, and then Philo Stokes - the old folksis youngest son got the wagging reddy, and arter tellin' the Stokesis to cum to Podunk, Missis Silly Stokes perticklearly, and imbracin' her tenderly, I and my chist, and Philo set off for Podunk. We got there about 4 o'clock, and as we was a drivin' into the villidge, I cryin' and ringin' my hands distractiously, we met Mr. ~mith, the ~nfeelin' postmaster, and says he,- "No wonder ye cry; ye've ben the means of yer poor mother "Benthe means on her," says I. "Yis," anserd he, "' Missis Smith says she haint a doubt but what 'twas takin' on about you sot her into the dizorder she died on she was.. berried yesterday." When he said that I sunk faintin' away in the 1~ottom of the wagging jest as Amandy did when' her father died - and I remaindid onsensible till we got to fathet"s. Philo was eny most skeart to death. "What ails yen?" says he. "I've fainted away," retorted I, "ye must git ~umbody to ~help ye lift me out when we-git to father's." So he druv as tight as ever he could and eny most jolted me ~to death, 'and seem' father to work in the feeld he hollered to him. "Iluilo! Mr. Ruggles, cum and help git yer porter out of the wagging she says she's faintid away." So father he cum, and he and Philo hawld me out head fust and eny most kilt me doin' on't. Ketury she cum running' out, and with her resistancee I manidged to git into the house 'and onto the i5ed. Ketury she sot down aside of me 128 page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 unDo w I~PRIa GINS. WIDO§W 'SJG~fl~. 131 and father he sot down and went to ending' the hoe handle. Arter ide staid onsensible a spell, I.open'd my eyes and says I, "Is it true that my belovid mother's deaa?" "xis," says father says he, "dead as a door nail, and I hope now you've cum hum ye'll try to behave betleAl ye did afore ye went away - there's enuff to be did; for sen Mirtilly got married, ev'ry thing's gone to rack." "Mirtilly marred?" interrigorid I. "Yis," says father, "she's married merchant Van Snorter and did well tew he's a inahin' ~noney fast." "/Grandfer grievous I" says II, "well, I 'spose Jake jest took her 'cause she was my sister; but she's a fool to git married so young, she's six year younger'n I be." "She may be," says father, "and not be no chicken nyther the fact is, Milly, you're gittin' along, and lie bet a beef critter ye'll be an old maid." "Me an old maid?" says 1, "lie tell ye what, old feller, there's more young men khan you could shake a stick at that would jump sky' high to git me." I gess they'd jump sky high arter they'd got ye." says he. II lookt at my hoggish parent with a look of suverin' contempt, and riz up and went into my chamber Ketury,, follerin' ~- and I tell'd Ketury I wanted to visit my mother's grave, and she said she'd, go long. So I huv Ketury's black vail over my head put my pencil and paper in my ridicule - and we sot off. As we went along, me groaning' an4 ~obbin' the wosf way, ev'ryboddy stared out of the ho~iseri at me; but I never lookt at nobody. Well, we, curn '~o 'the gif~ve~y~ard and clum over the, fence and went up to' in~aher's grave. It had ben a' raining' and. the grass was as~ wet asimuok, but what did I ker! I huv ~rnyself onto the ground and gin utteration to my greef' jest as. Arnandy did at her mother's grave. "0!" says I, "it would a ben better if this spot had a received both the mother and the porter at the same minnit; better by a jug full than for me to live to mourn over blastid hops and ag-. onizin' vikissitudes! but how perzumptnous am I to ropine at the will of creation I" Sich was my words at my mother's grave, where I sot "Like a fair lilly surcharged with tears." * Then IL tell'd Ketury she needent wait for me so she went hum - and I todk out my pencil and paper and writ the follerin' stanzys in about 15 minnite: TEE DI5ArI'INTEP. "01 what a cat-a-strophy dire InPodunk did befall, When she was called for to Ixpire, And leave us mourning' all. 0! never was there greef afore Like that of poor rermilly: That fair and interesting' flower: That pale and droopin' lilly. My heart Is broke; my P. estraxinged, * My fond affections crushed, My plans of futur' bliss deranged, And all my prospects squshed. The world onfeelin', cruil, cold, Looka on with wondering . eye, ~Iy misery for to behold I certainly shall die. * Ohll4ern of the Abby: don?~remernber which chapter. page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 WIDOW S2'RIGGINS. 133 WIDOW SPRIGGINS. And when at last my heart-strings snap, And all my woes is dun, 0 take the follerin' epitaj~ And 'scribe it on my stun: "Of stranger, stop and wipe yer eyes~ And spend a min~iit weeping ; A broken-hearted sperrit lies Deneath this tombatun sleeping. " I soon arter sent these vairses to Mr. Gorum, and he had 'em insairted in "The Mohawk Meteor and Marcy Republican," with the following' paragrab atop of 'em. "The insulin' eloquent and touching' stanzys are from the quill of a young lady, who, tho' yit in the highday of * youthful facksination, is ividently dyin' of a broken heart - her most sangunary prospects blited in the bud. What heart will not bust! What soul will not dissolve! What ~ gizzard will not split, on peruse 'em dictated as they be * by ginnuine inspirationn" Arter Ide compleatid 'em I returned to the poternal ruff. NOTE A BEAN. -Mr. eddyter: In general I've been very much gratifacted by the manner in which you or your men folks has printed my life; there ain't but jest one thing I feel to complain on, and that is, the way ye spell my mother's name. 'Twant Vine nore Ving, as It's ben onvariably printed in your paper, but it was Viny. I ony write this for to Jet folks know how't my moternal parent hadent sick a barbarious cognomer as what they spose for. CHAPTER XL. "Now the capting loved her dearly, Loved her as he did his life, And seem' she wasleft so dearly, Sally became the capting's wife." ~ ELL, tew weeks passed away in the most molan- ~ T choly monjier the state of my mind wouldn't admit me to engage in no o&Wrpation if Ide a wanted tew. Father he jawe4 cause I didn't work, and Nadab and Abihu made fun on me. I dident do nothing' but romnble in the woods and medders mourning' and making poetry. On the hull my sittyation was most miserably interesting . I tell ye I mist the Childern of the Abby (Spriggii~s had it .ye know). If ide a had that would a ben a gret comfort to me, and the circumstence of my thinking' so much about the enchanting' vollums con- duced me sumtimes to think about the swine ide lent 'em tew, and thinks me, he's more like Lord Mortimer arter all than ary feller I ever knowd, for he sticks to me thro' thick and thin jest as Lord Mortimer did to Amandy, and then I remember Mis~is Stokeses advice to me in the stage, and putting' all things together, my feelings wascon- siderable changed, and Ii felt my sentimints towers the youthful Jabez grown oncommon~tender. 0! woman is a fraggIe~,. and loyin' creetur. The she.. male heart is s~ chuck full of. affection that its purty on- 12 132 page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] -U 135 134 WIDOW sPRIGtaINs. WIDOW SPRIG GIN~ possible to use it all up on one bein'. Who, I ax, would want to live in this ere cold, onf'eelin' world without a. 4dndred sperret to share its joys and sorrers with? and when the swine that a young woman has placed her affec.. tions on prove constant it's a pity if she maytent bestow her heart on another more worthier one, and I haint a speck of doubt but what Amandy'd a married Sir Charles Bingley if Lord Mortimer had a ben raly faithless, and it's a pity if I've got to be a dried up old maid jest a cause Philander got married. Sich was my circumfiexions as I sot one day under the gret ellum tree that growd afore our house. I must a lookt very interesting' a setting' there in profound pondera- tion. 1 had on a black skeart, and over it my white long short with a~ row of black crape loopt up round the bottom on't; then I had my leno vail wound round my head. for a turbine, and my ostridge feathers stuck into't, and there 'I sot a leani4' on my ~lbow, now sythin' and now wipin' off a tear LhaVstrickled down my cheek. Arter continuing' my modifications a spell, I took out my pencil and writ the follerin' piece of blank poitry : - * A FRAGMENT. 0! she was fair I no angel ever was Nor ever could be fairer than Permilly; Her auburn hair In greaoef&al tresses did Hang down upon her holders only jest When she did stick it up with her high comb. Her eyes was blue, her skin was snowy, and Her cheeks was red as roses olily jest When she was In distress, then they was as White as tew limes: butneverstandin' all Her beauty and her chai~ms, she had a~ much Trouble as any creetur ever had. The swine she loyed so well w~as faithless and Went off and wed another maid; and then * It second as if Fermilly's heart would bust. 0! what a tender thing the shemale heart 1st $o crammin', jamrKlin', full of love and truth,. And faith, and hope, and pure affection, and Some other things tqo numerous to mention I No wonder when it's stuft so dretful full A little blow should bust it ---for it rAust Be indent to all obsairvin' folks That when it's fihid so full, the skin outside Must be streckt dretfully and always in Danger of bustin~. - So IPermilly's heart Has bust, and all the overplus run out, But still there's quite a considerable of Love and affection in it yit, and she Has purty nigh made up her mind to giv What's left to some more worthier object than The faithless one. 0 1 haste upon the wings of Lovemy dear Jabez -your Permily feels as If she could seart~ely wait a minnit longer For to behold thee, Jabez ..-Jabez, haste. I When Ide finished writing' the oversuin' lines I was jest, a guayne to retire into the house when I heerd sumbody blowin' hi~. nose; so I lookt up the road and as sure as Tine a hvin' creetur 'twas Jabez Spriggins a hoesback. The niinnit I see him I run down street to meet him, and when he see me cuminin' he got right off his hose and c~un towers me. Well, I run right up and ketelit holt on him, exciamigatin', "0! my Jabezl I'me overjoiced to see ~ He lookt wonderful surprised, and says he, "I dident suspect to find ye so cosy, but I'm dared glad ye be. The minnit I heerd ye'd cum hum I detaix'mined to follow ye, but I had to wait till my.quarter was out afore I could cum, and the fust day arter my quarter was out I got on my creetur and sot off arter ye for fear I should lose ye if I dident hurry - I've got that are speech of Lord Morti- f page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] C' 136 WWO w" ~PRIGGINS. mer's ~all by heart; ben a' sayin' on't over all along the ro~ils so's not to forget it, and I rather guess I can say the hull on't without~missin' a word." Well, I ushered him into the square room and, sot down~ and he cum up to me and says he to me, "To call you mine is ~he height of my wishes on your derision! I rest for happiness. 0! my Amandy I *" Say '0! my Permilly I "' says IL "0! my Permilly! 01 my Permilly I -.-.there I swon I've got up a stump," says he. "No matter," says I, "you've proved to my satisfica-. tion the devotedness of yer a~taehxnent, and lie be yourn. '.' "'Will, hay?" says he. "Yis," says I, "now ye must imprint a kiss on my rosy cheek." So he went to kiss me and whiskt off my turbine. Arter ide got my turbine adjusted agin, says he, "'Well, when will you be reddy to giL married?" "'Right off," says I. "Well,"' says he, "fle go and talk to the old man about' it." "No, ye needn't," says I, "father never'll consent on airth - he's dretfully opposed to my gittin' married but Tie have ye neverstandin', and TIe tell ye how we'll man~ age. You git on yei~ hose and go strait to Utica and wait * there till I cum, and TIe contrive to get there afore lon&' "That's the checker," says he. SQ he surmounted his hose and rid off, and I went in and teild Ketury all about it, eau~e I knowa she wouldent tell nobody. Says I, "I sht*ll clear right out, and if father axes arter me you tell him~ I've gone over to Skaticoke to ~ee Mirtilly" (Mfrtilly h~d moved to Skaticoke). Ketury was dretful pleased a~tid said she'd ik jest as I telid her to; WIDQIY SPRIG GINS. 137 and she promised to have my chist sent over to me as soon as possible. So she and I we took a gret Work pockit~ and put my consairns into't that'~ I wanted to be married.in - then I put on my travellin' habileations and arter imbracin' Ketury ii sot off, for Dorrup. Well, 'twas five mile there, and when I got therethe stage had went nut. So I went over to~ old Mister Stokeses~ and telid 'em Ide found my mother dead and concluded to go right back to Higgins Patent cause Ide ort to be in my simminary. Well, they telld me that old Mr. Stokes was a guayne to Utica in the inornin' on bizness in his own waggin, and if I was a mind to I mut go with him. "Well," says I, "I reckon I will." "But," says Missis Stokes, "where's yer chist ?" "0!" says I, "I reckoned I wouldent be bothered with it, and they're a guayne to send it on." Well, I stayd there all night, and in the morning' we sot off for Utica. Old Stokes didn't drive very tight, and so we was three days a guayne to Utica - but as I waiit to 'eend my Rec- ollections in this chapter, I won't tell nothing' about the jerney, tho' it was quite eventerful. We arrive to Utica jest at the edge of the evening' and stoppt to Baggeis tavern, and I axt for a room and 'then I drest myself as follere. I opend my gret ridicule and took out my white long short and put it on,, and thinking' Ide. "ort to have sum colors about me I betwisted a yaller ribbin round the black crape trimmin' on the bottom on't - then I put on my blue sash, and huv my artifishel reath ker-. lessly round my shoulders, then I done up my hair with my high-toppt comb - took my leno vail a~pd fastened one eend 9n't into my comb, and so lat it float over my shol- ders then I stuck my six. ostridge fethers ~in on side of 12* page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 WIDOW SZ'RIGCINS. wwo w spRiaajys. 13~ my com~b, and tied a pink ribbin round my head to keep' '~m in - and I tell ye I did look compleat. Beein' thus attired I took my parrysol and sot out to look up Spriggins, and you nevei' in all yer born days see sich a staring' as there was whilst I walkt up Ginnisee Street - everybody cum to the doors and wonders, and evet' so menny men and boys followed artei~, me a hoorawin' and inakin' a terrible fuss - but I was so akustomed to admiration I 'didi~'t mind it a bit, but plummenaded 'along with the biggest onconsairn and dignitude. Well, arter preambleatin' a number of 'streets, finally I cum round to ~a place they called the "Reading. Room," and I stopt to the door and looked in. The room was full of' gentlemen, and ~is sure 'as a gun, in the midst on 'em was Mister Spluttergut (the gentleman I met in the stage), and he was a harangewin on 'em with the most oncomparalleled eloquence, and they was all a listening' with 'the biggest attention~ Well, whilst I vi~as a listening' to the s1~rprisin' and capti-. vatin' .sentinAents he' pored forth' consairnii~' railroads and canals, I see suthin' yaller 'a sticking' up amonket a mess of beads' in the fur eend of the room, and whilst I was a w6nderin' what 'twas, the heads moved, and lo and be-. 'hold! 'twas the tip top of Jabezes hair. As soon as I see him I skrield out, "My Jabez 4 My Jabez!" and rushed into the room - Jabez he' see me and he lookt sur- prised enuff- we squoze thro' the men, and when~ we reach one another I buy myself' fainting' into the arms of my adoring' Spriggins. I never see a surprieder set' of folks than the men in' the Utica Readin' Room was that minnit. 'They all gin way and fixt a seat for me -~- even Mist~r Spluttergut stopt ~his harangew, exelarnigatin', "Quite an ok-kurrence." Well, arter a sp4l one of the young men hild a lit segar to my nose, and that fetcht me tew. So I riz up and takin' hold of Sprigginses arm we perceedid to Baggses hotel. Arter we arrive there Jabez axed me whether ide be mar- ried there or wait till we got to Higgins Patent. "0 here, certingly," says I, "in this ere celebrated ho-. tel in the ginteelest siLty in creation." So Spriggins went arter the justice, and there we was married. As soon as the serrynnony was overdone, husband he caild for~ some pie and cheese, and after weed eat it he brun~ up his hoss, and as soon as ide arranged my tray-. ellin' dress, he surmounted his creetur, and I, resisted by a number of gentlemen, got on behind him, and I sonny II bleevo the hull town of Utica was collected to see us go, and wh~n we whipt up the hoss and sot off, they gin three all-to-pieces cheers, in honor of us. ' Well, we went as fast as the hoss could go with sich an. uncommon heft and' arrove to Higgins Patent about leven 'o'clock at night. Mother and Father Spriggins was abed, but they got up and I tell' ye they was awful glad to see me. The neit afternoon Aun~t Hukly made quite an extensive set down '~f'or me', and if I didn't cut a worth it's no matter. -But I' hadent ort to be tellin' what took place arter we was married - 'cause the Childern of the Abby don't say a word consairnin Amandy arter h~r marriage no more don't no dther novil I ever read say nothing' about the heroines arter they git married. Howsumever, I can't help' tellin' how't we took a bridle tour the next week to all~ the most eclebratid places in the entry - Utica, Rome,. Whites-. burrow, Sockwait Springs, and Verona Spa - and I kept a jernal along the road, and when P. Zebidee Gorum cum a yi5itifl' to see us I showed it to him, and' it. afforded him b C page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] 140 WIDOW SI'RZGCIN& .If the biggest satisfication; and it's in my persession yit - and mabby at sum futur day lie lay it afore the public. "Theeend of all the woes and struggles, - And trials of Permilly Buggies." NOTE A BEAN. Mister eddyter: You ondoutedly know that arter injoyin' 15 year of the biggest conjuggial 'felic~ itude, my adored companion, my beloved Jabe~z, was took from me by a dizeaze in the spine of his back; but mabby you've never ben conformed that arter mourning' the wost way for eeve~l year I finally united my destination to that of P. Zebidee Gorum, (now deaconGorum,) he havin',~ ben married and lost his pardneT. My Recollections was writ dunn' the mawlancolly period of my widderhood but as the circumstences attending' my second marriage was quite interesting , the deacon has advised me to write an account on 'em for the benefit of the nisin' generation; so if ever you git run ashore for stuff to put in yer paper, jest let me know, and if I aint too much occerpied with my domestic abberations, lie be happy tp giv ye sum account of my "second love" YQurn to everlastin' PEEMILLY R. SrRraGI~s GORUM. MARY EL~IER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. '4 page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] MARY ELMER~' * OR TRIALS AN1i~ CHARGES. CHAPTER 1. HAT modest-looking white house that stands somewhat isolated, whose is it? lit seems the abode of ease without pretension." It belongs to Mrs. Lee, widow of Dr. Lee; whose sudden death, some fifteen years ago, cas&~a gloom over the whole community. He was in the prime of life. Talent and probity had raised him to an enviable standing in his profession, when by the mysterious ordering of Divine Providence, he was cut off without a molnent*s warning. Yet not, we trust, without preparation, fQr one whose life, like his, is a oon~tant exercise of Christian vir tues, cannot be unprepared for death, however or when- ever it may arrest 1~im. He had just returned from visiting some distant patients, and was caressing his only child, when Mrs. Lee left the room to make preparations for tea. A few moments after, litt.Ie Mary came running out, crying: (14~3) page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] 144 AIARYRLAIER, OR TRIALS AND 'CHANG ES. 14~ "Mamma, I can't wake papa, do come and help me wake papa!" Mrs. Lee supposed, however, that he had fallen asleep through weariness, and telling the little girl "not to dis- turb papa," took her by the hand and led her softly back into the apartment. But what a sight was she destined to behold! Her husband had sunk back in his chair- and, one glance at his face revealed the awful certainty -~ he was d~ad! A piercing shriek rang through the house, and then for many hours the wretched woman knew noth- ing of what was passing around her. The horror and agony of the first hour of returning, consciousness, I could not, if I would, depict. It was long, very long, before she recovered from the shock, for. she had loved her husband devotedly. Yet after his death she felt that she had not fully appreciated his 'noble character. She knew not all hi~ excellence until he was gone. None but herself, thotight that Margaret Lee had failed in any duty towards th~ departed. He had never thought so. And yet before her mind arose a fk~usand little errors and delinquencies, which her teiider conscience magnified into great faults 'and failures resulting from. gross selfishness. She did not say, as many would in a like affliction, "He was my idol and therefore Heaven has taken him from me." But she said, in the bitterness of her heart, "I did not love him as I ought. I did not do half that I might have done to make him happy, and thus am I punished." The weight of such a sorrow would have crushed her, had not the care of her little daughter contributed to divert her thoughts from running always in the same dark channel. There had been a wonderful affection between this child and, her father, whom she: strongly resembled both in features and disposition~ She was but three years old when he died, and for some time, she could ~not coinpre- hend that he was to return no more. At every sound of a c~irriage, or step in the hall, she would, run out to meet "'papa." When at length she was made' to understand that he could not come back to her, but that if she 'was a good girl she would one day go to him, she gave up look- ing for her father, and seemed only desirous to ~e very good, that she might go to him. 'Many times in the day she would go ~to her mother, and folding her arms upon her knee would say, "Now mamma tell Mary about papa." And then the heart-broken mother told her of her father, and the blessed place where he was waiting for them both. As she looked at the bright little being who stood with her dimpled hands resting on her mother's lap, and her deep, thoughtful eyes turned up so' earnestly to her face; she trembled that one so pure and skinless should be left to her weak 'and erring guidance. "But God has committed her to me,' said 'she, "and He will: help me." 'And 'earnestly did' she pray 'for His help. Every evening when her mother was undressing her, the little one never failed to ask the question, "Mauxma, has Mary been a good girl to-day?" And on receiving an approving answer, she' would say her prayer and go to sleep very happy.. A few months ~after her father's death she was stricken with the scarlet fever. For' two days she suffered in- tensely, and~ appeared' scarcely conscious of anything save' ~her own pain. 'On the Third, at evening, this abated, ~an4. 13 ' 'N page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] 146 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. 147 the little girl as she lay in her mother's aims, looked up and said faintly: "Mamma; h~is Mary been a good girl to-day?" Mrs. Lee pressed the precious child to her bosom and whispered, "Yes, darling, Mary is always a dear, goQd little girl." An expression of perfect peace passed over tl~e cherub face. She murmured her childish prayer and then fell asleep - a long, quiet sleep it was, from which she awaked in Paradise. Who can understand the utter desolateness of the child- less widow as she sat alone in her solitary dwelling' from which she felt that light and joy were forever departed! And yet there was no other place on earth so dear to her. It was the home whither she had come a bride, but a few years before, ~nd those few~ years had been by far the happiest of her life. The happiest yet clouded by the greatest sorrow she had ev~ known. And here she resolved to . pass the rest of her days. She therefore rejected all' solicitations to return to the east, her former' home, and where her only surviving near relation, a sister, still resided. This sister who was many years older than Mrs. Lee, had married very rich, and her family lived in a style. and rnqved in a circle wholly at variance with Mrs. Lee's taste and circumstances. An annual visit of a few weeks was all that she would proniise1 them. From this visit she always returned eage4y to her own unostentatious home, and the graves of her buried treasures. She no longer, mingled in general society; it had lost all attraction for her. Her visits were mostly visits of mercy. She was not rich, but ,her income was much more I than sufficient for her own expenditure; and the overplus she devoted to charity~. She was not like those careful far-seeing persons who are always laying in store for a "rainy day" to come, such 4ays were instantlyy falling in her pathway. They were the suffering and the needy, and she thanked Heaven that one consolation remained to her in the midst of her afflictions the power sometimes to alleviate those of others. She had few intimate friends, for although there was that in her grief which invited sym- pathy, the dignity of her manner checked all familiarity; and those few only knew the real humility and sweetness of her character. Year after year passed away, and Mrs. Lee remained the same. 'Unchanged in her simple habits and retiring manners. Unchanged in her quiet, unobtrusive, way of doing good. Unchanged in her silent sorrow. Un-. changed in her mourning 4ress. She was a wonder to many who knew that ~with her youth, her appearance, and her station, she might, if she chose, be the idol off a flattering crowd, the leader of fashionable society. And* they thouglit it" astonishing that she didn't at least go into second mourning,, which would be so much more be- edming to her style of beauty." And so, with her loneliness and her prayers, her corn. munings with the departed and her labors of love, we .w4l1 leave her awhile. In the outskirts of the same town, or what was then 0 the outskii'ts, stood a poor old house, which has long since. been demolished to make way for new ones. Old and poor it certainly was, but still neat and comfortable. And in it dwelt another widow and her only daughter. Mrs. Grant had been the wife of an industrious and thriving page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] 1148 AI'ARYJ~!DfER, OR TRIALS AND CifANGES. 149 mechanic, who left a prosperous business in a small village not far distant, and came hither in the hope of doing better. But unfortunaP4y he soon fell into intemperate habits wasted his little property died miserably and left his wife and child to struggle with poverty as best they might. Susan, the girl, was too young then to do much, and Mrs. Grant was obliged to work very hard to maintain them both, andipay the rent of beE small tenement. But as Susan grew older she became very useful. When she was thirteen or fourteen years of age, she 'learned the business of dress-making; and in ~ few years was able to earn a comfortable subsistence for herself and her mother. The latter through anxiety and over-exertion, had become prematurely infirm, and was only equal to the discharge of her own household duties. These she performed while Susan went her daily rounds amongst her employers. The evenings they passed happily together. Mrs. Grant was a truly religious woman, and she had trained he2 daughter to piety and an abhorrence of eVery.. thing that is evil. The young gh'l was ~often thrown in the wa~r of temptation as she pursued her calling, but, she overcam&it, and grew up good and virtuous, a pattern of neatness and quiet industry. Everybody liked Susan ~4rant. And when at length she married, almost every- body 4iought she had done remarkably well to get George Elmer, a young man of excellent principles and great activity. In fact one who was called a very "enterprising young man." There were some, howev~, who pronounced him "vis- ionary." That is, wanting ~n stability and perseverance. For. although he was both active and intelligent, and always engaged in. some sort of business, he ~nevei' fob lowed any one occupation long enough to acquire much pro~fidency, or realize much profit in it. He had been a carpenter, a printer, a merchant's clerk, had studied medicine~a short time, law a still shorter time, and had abandoned the last for dentistry, in which he was engaged at the time of his marriage. Thus he went fx~om. one thing to another, ~iever exactly failing in any, but always relinquishing each for something else which his sanguine nature imagined would prove much moi~e lucra- tive. With this propensity to change, it is not surprising that George Elmer laid up little or nothing. His family was always. comfortable it is true. But that was the result of Susan's good management more than of his. Still he was a very kind husband and father, and there was nowhere a happier family to be found than theirs. Susan's mother lived with them, and was. regarded by the affectionate young couple as a great blessing and come * foi~t. She did indeed make herself useful in many ways, particularly in sharing with Sus t care of the children, - of whom there were two, - ~, t pretty little creatures as ever blessed a fireside. When these were about six and four years old, George, who had long since given up dentistry for something else, and that again for something else, bought out a daguer- nan who was going to California, and began the business on~his own account. For several months he worked vigorously at it, making wretched likenesses, having a world of trouble with his "chemicals," and consequently very' little patronage, as 18* page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] :Uso MARY ELMER, OR there was a rival professor in the place, whose skill was unquestioned. But at length his efforts were crowned with success. He fairly mastered the ttrt. His "chemicals" worked admir- ably, and he turned out pictures~ that were more life-like than the originals themselves~ His "Daguerrian Gallery" became famous,. and that of his rival dwindled into insigni- ficance. He had plenty to do. His pictures commanded a good price. His circumstances began visibly to im- prove, and he felt warranted m taking a larger and more commodious house for his family. Such was the ~tate of things, when George Elmer sud- denly resolved to follow the example of his illustrious pre- decessor, and go to seek his Portune in California. This was in the early stage of the "gold excitement." The daguerrian had not been heard from. But one other' di- vidual had gone from the same place, a shoemaker, the first who had ventured, and wonderful accounts of his success had travelled back. Susan Elmer heard the announcement of her husband's intention with a heavy heart. She tried to dissuade him from the undertaking. The perils of the journey, the dangers of the climate, the uncertainty of success, and the. unavoidably long separation from his family in, any case, all these she represented to him, but in vain, lie saw no possibility of failure. His mind was made up. "0 George," said she, ." we are doing well enough. You are just beginning to realize something ~frorn yOur present business, with a p4spect of making a handsome support in time." "0 but it takes such an everlasting* while to get rich here. I can make more in California in one year than I I 15;1 TRIALS AND CHANCES. could here in my whole life-time. Just think of Smith, the shoemaker! he's making money like dirt. I don't mean to be away over a year, and a year's soon gone you know. And then -~ hurrah, Susy! we'll roll in gold dust!" Little Johnny who stood 'beside his mother, sobbing out of sympathy with her, thought "that wouldn't be nice at all, it wasn't pretty to roll in dust." "We shall see, my son," said his fatherer patting his head, "we shall see.~~ Susan was silenced but not convinced. She saw thatE her husbar~d was fully resolved upon going. She there- fore ceased her opposition and went to work diligently to prepare his wardrobe. But despite her efforts to look on the bright side of things, she had many sad forebodings. And so had Mrs. Grant. She thought it a great risk to run for a very small gain. Elmer sold out his daguerrian apparatus for much less than it cost him, settled up his business, and prepared to take his departure. Susan proposed that he should carry with him his case of dentist's instruments. "It won't take a great deal of room," she said, "and you may find it necessary to do something besides dig for gold, before you come back." George laughed and said, "So I suppose you think that the little I do succeed in turning up would be profit- ably left behind in people's teeth." But Susan, when she packed his trunk, put the case of instruments in the bottom, thinking that at least they would do no harm. A sum of money that would have sufficed to support them all in comfort for a year or n~ore under Susan's care- page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] S 152 MARY ELMER, OR Cal management, was requisite for George Elmer's outfit and travelling expenses, ~onsequently he was unable to leave, them much. The man wEG had taken his da- guerrian apparatus, a Mr. Green, - not long resident in the village - bud not yet paid, but was to band the money to Mrs. Elmer in the course of a week or~ two. This, George said, w6~iid be ample for all their expenses, until he. should send th~ii a supply, which he hoped to do before many months. Ailil in a year or a year and a half at the farthest, "he would be with them again. And then I " they would have a house of their~own suck a house too And so George Elmer bade his wife and children fare- well. With some tears it is true, for be loved them dearly, and it was for their~ sakeq that he left them; yet with high hopes and brilliant anticipations of a golden future. Poor Susan could not speak at all. *The little ones cried aloud, and old Mrs. Grant as she pressed his band in both her own, said with a trembling voice: "God bless you, my son, and bring you safely back again." "Ask it Qf Him every day,' mother," responded the young man, "and a11 of yo~m pray for me daily till we meet again, as I surely shall for you. Keep up good courage 'twill notbe long after all - a year is soon gone." For some little time after George's departure, 'his family contrived to get along without incurring~ debts. But Susan'~ small stock rapidly decreased.~ The winter was at hand. Wood and many other necessaries ought to be pur- chased. But so far from beings able to procure these, she had scarcely enough 'to supply their immediate wants. The man .Green, to her great disappointment, had left the place without 'paying what he owed, and gozme no one knew whither. Very soon after her hd~band went away, she t TRIALS AND CHANGES. 63 p resumed her old occupation pf dress-making, took the work in, and devoted to it eveijy moment of time that she could spare from her other d&ities, which were rendered heavier by the increasing feebleness of her mother~ The winter came. Another child was added to the little flock, - a nice boy. His mother looked sadly in his unconscious face and wondered "what would become of him." "Trust in the Loi~d," said the grandmother. "It is all I can do just now," Susan replied with a deep sigh. About this time the r&nt fell due. Mrs. Elmer had not th~ means to pay it. She therefore sold some of her furniture to meet this and oth6r expenses, for she was re- solv~d not to go into debt as long as it could possibly be avoided. Soon after this her heart wa~ gladdened by intelligence~ from George. He had reached San Francisco in safety, and was about to start for the diggings," and trusted soon to send her some of the results of his labors. It was cheering to know that he was alive and well, and Susan plied her needle with renewed energy every moment that her baby did not require her attention. Mrs. Gratit, though suffering under a slight paralysis, could still get about with a cane, and assist somewhat in the household labors. And Mary, the eldest child, was very good about amusing the little one, who fortunately was not at all* fretful. Still with all her exertions, itwas very little that Susan could earn by sewing. She had not regained her former strength since the ~Arth of her ~child. ~Never before had she sewed so steadily. She felt that it was undermining her health, but she was determined to struggle on and keep out of debt until the promised aid should oom~ froui her page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] I 154 MARY ELMER,~ OR husband. And what if she should receive no such aid? What 'if George after all should be unsuccessful and finally return as 'poor as he went away? At any rate, he should have no debts of hers to discharge, even though she should be obliged to part with every superfluity to avoid them. As the winter wore on, expenses increased. The avails of 'Susan's 'labor were quite inadequate to. meet them, and she accordingly sold several more articles of her furniture, thinking that if all should end well, their loss could be easily supplied. The spring was somewhat advanced, when Smith, the shoemaker, returned from California, and brought news of George Elmer. But 0, what 'news!' lie called to see Susan, and thus his story ran. Poor Elmer had died of the prevailing feyer on the very day that Smith left San Francisco. He had become discouraged with digging for gold, gone to San Francisco, and returned to his former occupation of house building, which was~ very profitable there, and in which he would undoubtedly have done well,' had he not been taken down with . the fever which carried him off in a few days'. Smith saw him the day before he came away. George then did not believe that his illness Would terminate fatally, and~ hoped soon to resume his work. He sent many affectionate messages to his family, with a handsome gold brooch for Susan containing, a lock of his hair and a daguerreotype likeness, and recjuested Smith to say to them that he should come home in six~ months or thereabouts. "But we all knew," continued the narrator, "th~~t he couldn't get well, he himself was the only one who had any hope. The doctor told me then that he couldn't live through the night. And so it proved. The next morn- ing I heard he was dead." TRIAkS AND OIIANGES. 155 During this recital Susan Elmer sat like one tut~ned to stone. She uttered no cry. She spoke not a word. Nor did she look towarek Mr. Smith, when he took his de~ parture. The grandmother cried violently, and so did little Mary who was old enough to understand something of their loss. Johnny cried too. But for a long time Susan remained in that same immovable state, grasping the brooch as though it 'was all the world to her now. I know not how long she would have sat thus, had not the baby awaked from a long sleep in its cradle and begun to cry. No mother's ear was ever deaf to such a sound. Susan took up her little one and attended to its wants, and then. she wept. She remembered that ~t was fatherless~ "I'm glad to see you cry, my child,~ said her mother, '.' I fared you never would." "I feared s&too, mother," said Susan, "and I thank God that I can." "Trust in the Lord," pursued the old woman. - "He will not forsake us." Susan did not reply. As soon after this sudden and great affliction as Susan could command her thoughts sufficiently for the task, she tried to fix upon some plan by which her expenses might be lessened, and her income increased. As ~a first step, she disposed of all og her remaining furniture excepting only the bare necessaries, and a small mantel clock, which had been George's gift to ~her on the last anniversary of their marriage. She then oved to a small house, or rather two rooms of a house not far distant, at a much lower' rent, and though almost broken down with fatigue and sorrow, applied herself more constantly than ever to her needle. The poor have no time for idle grief. page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 AFAR Y ELMER, OR 157 TRIALS AND fJHANGEAS'. CHAPTER Ii. HE report of George Elmer's death soon reached Mrs. Lee. This lady, of whom the reader 'already knows something, had not heard of the family before. At least not particularly, for 'she resided at the 'opposite extremity of the place. She had visited Elmer's daguerrian 'rooms, and remembered the proprietor as an intelligent, well-mannered young man. Had the poverty of the Elmers been generally known, she would long since~ have made acquaintance with them. But Susan was no complainer, and very few persons 'had any idea of their destitution. In fact none save those who had bought their furniture for less than half its real value. An~ they were not the ones likely to interest themselves in b~ha~f of the poor. But Mrs. Lee heard of George Elmer's death, heard how 'suddenly and unexpectedly the blow had fallen upon ,his poor wife. The name "widow" had always the power to elicit her deepest sympathy, and Mrs. Elmer's 'a1iliodon~ affected her unusually. It was like the one great sorrow. of-her own life. So unlooked~.for and overwhelm- ing. Her heart went out towards the bereaved woman, an'd she resolved to go and see her. '~Ac~ordingly, after a' few days, she inquired the way and went. It was' after the family had removed. She knocked at the door of the huzhble dwelling, and was admitted by ) Johnny, who showed her into the room where his mother and the rest were collected. Susan's sad, worn face was bent low over her sewing. The old motrier was knitting socks at ~ixpence per pair for a neighboring variety store, and little Mary was holding the baby on her lap. When Mrs. Lee announced her name, Susan and her mother rose and i~elcomed her. They knew her by reputation. "Mrs. Elmer," said Mrs. Lee, "IF have heard ~of your affliction, and am come, not to intrude 'upon your grief, but to offer you the sympathy which none can so truly feel as those who have experienced a like sorrow." Susan thanked her kind visitor, while tears flowed freely down her pale face. T'need not repeat all the conversatk~n which'ensued. ~iisan was not a great talker, but the little she. said impressed Mrs. Lee very favorably. As to the latter, she possessed the happy faculty of saying just enough, and~ just the right things. On this occasion' she completely won Susan's heart; for. she was free alike from that patronizing manner which offends the sensitive, and thal~ haughtiness which repels them. After conversing some time with ~Mrs. Elmer and her mother, Mrs. Lee turned to the children, and taking from her pocket som'e; sugar~plums, gave theni '~to Johnny, telling 'him to divide them with his sister. "But you see," said Johnny,. who was a very loquacious little fellow, "she can't hold the sugar-plums ~nd the baby too, so if you'll please to take Georgey, then I'll give her some." Susan"was somewhat alarmed at the boy's boldness, and was beginning to check him, when Mrs. Lee reassured her by saying, with a smile, to Johnny, 14' 136 page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 ' MARY ELMER, OR TR IA 14 AND CHANGES. 150 "That's just what I want to do, if the baby will let me; I don't like to frighten babies and make them cry."' "0, but our baby don't cry at strangers," said the little boy eagerly, "he isn't afraid ~f anybody, he'll go to you and stay as long as you want him to." "He looks like a good baby,'~ Mrs. Lee replied; "bring him here, my dear, I'm a great friend to babies." As the little girl advanced with the "infant prodigy," (as she and Johnny considered him,) Mrs. Lee observed her more particularly than she had done before. She ~was a very pretty child, and her deep blue eyes and~light curl- ing hair brought to the mind of the lonely lady the image of her own lost darling. She took the baby on her lap, and putting her arm round his sister; asked what was her name. "Mary," the little girl answered. Mrs. Lee's eyes filled with te~rs. She looked earnestly in the child's face for a moment, kissed her cheek, and then told her to go and get her share of the sugar-plums. The baby ,fully sustained the reputation. which Johnny had giyen him, by laughing an~26Wing at Mrs. Lee, 'and taking great liberties with her bonnet and shawl, to her ev~- ident satisfaction. She had a great fondness for children, although she was not wont to manifest it in the boisterous manner of some. But ~while apparently wholly occupied with the baby, she was not unobservant of the two older children who' retired to a corner for the purpose of dividing her trifling gift. She was much pleased at the manner in which this was done. Mary counted them (Johnny could not count so many) and divided them into two equal optionsns, one of which Johnny poured into her apron. "And here's 'two more because you're the biggest," said he, taking a couple' from his own share and adding them towers. But Mary objected to thig arrangement. "NoJohnny, you must keep a whole half and two wore because you re the littlest, you know;" and she put ft~~r of them back in her brother's apron. ~' No, Mary, that isn't the way,~' Johnny began, and I know not. how much longer they would have argued the point, had not a knock at the door interrupted them. The new arrival was no less a personage than Mrs. Smith, wife of the returned shoemaker of that name. She lived not far from the Elmers' present abode, and having seen Mrs. Lee go there, thought she would take that occa- sion to make a friendly call and find out the object of that lady's visit. iCt wa~ reported that Smith had come back rich. He had indeed a good deal of money and was making quite a noise aboht it. He had followed his busi- ness while absent, and found it much more profitable than digging in the mines. 'But of this he said nothing. He merely said, "he'd been to~~California, and 'therq was no farther necessity for his making shoes; he meant to drive a bigger business." His help-meet, who had long pined for "a large house and a hired girl," was now about to have these wishes realized. She therefore felt "as good as anybody!" But we shall have more to do with her hereafter, there- fore we will dismiss her for the present. Soon after her entrance Mrs. Lee took leave. 'As she walked homewards she reflected upon the little incident connected with the sugar-plums, the entire absence of~ selfishnes~ shown by both the children in the division of page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 16O~ MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS A1VD cHANGES. 161 what was to them quite a treasure. She conjectured, and with reason too, that such a disposition had not been formed or cultiyated by any particular course of training pursued by their parents, but r~iust be th~ natural result of perfect unanimity between those parents. This was the se- cret. George and Susan Elmer were not wise or learned persons. They had no theory of family government - system of "suasion" upon which~ they acted. But they * ' had no differences. They agreed in every thing. With this example of mutual confidence and respect before them, how could the children be other than they were, loving and obedient? That evening, when these little ones knelt by their mother's knee to say their prayers, Mary, who repeated hers first, voluntarily added the name of Mrs. Lee to those for whom she daily prayed; and her brother followed her example. Thus ran the simple petition. "0 God! forgive, all my sins, and make me a good child, and bless my dear father, and mother, and grnnd.. mother, and ~ brothers, and Mrs. Lee,. and everybody, fort Jesus Christ's sake. Amen 1" After the children had gone to bed, Mrs. Grant said to her daughter, "Susan, is it - right to let the children pray for their * father now?" "I don't know, mother," replied the sorrowful woman. "I have thought a good deal about it myself, but some- how 'I cannot bear to tell them they must no longer ask God to bless their father. It se~ms like breaking the last link between him and us, and something tells me it is bet-. ter to let them do it. It cannot do them any harm, and surely it cannot hurt poor George, can it, inothei?"' "Just so, it cannot, my child, and I don't believe it will be laid to your charge as a sin." Thus answering, the old mother took off her spectacles and wiped the tears from her eyes, and the two worked on for some time in silence. At length Mrs. Grant said, "Susan, what a difference there is between folks!" "A very great difference, mother. Were you thinking of Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Smith? I was at that moment.", Yes, they were the persons I had in my mind when I spoke.' I noticed the contrast more, I suppose, because they happened to b~ here at tl~e same tune. What a per- fect lady Mrs. Lee is~! how kind and pleasing in her manners!" "She is indeed. It seems to me I never before realized how much there is in kind words. I have felt better ever since" "Yes, they were what the Bible calls 'words fitly spoken.' But that Mrs. Smith! Somehow I can't help thinking she only came~ to spy out the nakedness of the land! can you?" "It did appear so certainly, but you know it isn't right to judge from appearances. She may mean very well, though she isn't at all like Mrs. Lee.." "Very true; she, may mean well, and have an odd way with her." It ,wa~ evident to Mrs. Lee that the Elmers were very poor. K The apartment in which she had found them, although it had an air of comfort which cleanliness and or- der always give to even the meanest abode, yet betokened extreme indigence, and sh~ thought it strange~ that George Elmer should have left his family. so destitute. She in- 14* 4 s page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 HART ELAf.~14 OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. quired farther concerning them, of Harriet, her maid, who was one of the knowing kind. Harriet was able to give her the required information, for she had found out 'a good deal about them from the 1~'Ludlows, who had 'boughtno small part of. Mrs. Elmer's furniture. "0 yes, I meant to tell you ttbout 'em," said she, "for ~' I thought likely you'd do ~6mething to help 'em. They're dreadful poor I guess, thou h he left 'em quite cornforta- ble when he went away. But she's been sick a good deal since, and they seem to have run out pretty much. She takes in sewing, and the old woman knitting; 'but I guess it's precious little they earn, for since ~he heard of his death, she's left the good house they lived in, and sold off the chief of her furniture very low indeed. Mrs. Ludlow bQught a nice set of chairs, and a handsome bureau, be.. sides several other things of her. She said she though it ..was a deed of charity to take 'em; but *for my part, I thought Mrs. Ludlow got a bargain." Mrs. Lee no longer hesitated. She procured a quantity of knitting yiirn, and the next morning set qut with it for the house of Mrs. Elmer. Aftersome little conversation with the woijien, she said, laying the package on the table, "I have brought yarn for Mrs. Grant to knit into stockings for me. She can do 'them at her leisure, as I shall not need them until next fall." * Mrs Grant thanked her, and Mrs. Lee turned the con~ versation to, other subjects. She tpiked with Susan about the children, especially Mary, in whom she already felt ai~ * unusual 'interest. "Your little girl is like my own, and you must spare her to me for a day now and then." U Susan acquiesced cheerfully in this proposal, and it was settled that Mary should go to Mrs~ Lee's one day during the following week. Harriet was to come after her. "0~ I shall be ~o glad!" exclaimed the light-hea~aed child; "but then who'll help mother take care of the' baby?" "I can do that," said Johnny, straightening up with an air of importance. This difficulty disposed of, another suggested itself to Mary'a mind. "Mother," she whispered, looking down at her patched and faded clothes, "What shall I do? my frock is real rusty." - "You have another, my dear;" and Susan colored slightly. "1 know it, but that's just as rusty as this you know." "Never' mind the frock," said Mrs. Lee., smiling. "It is Mary and not the frock that I care about." 'Then calling Johnny to her, she gave him a gay wooden soldier, and rose to go. At the same time she dr& from her pocket a five dollar bank note, and proffering it to Mrs. Grant, said, "I will pay you now for the knitting." - "1 thank you, but I can't change that," said th6 old woman; "and besides I don't know how much to charge until I see how many stockings the yarn 'will knit." " Keep it all if you please," returned Mrs. Lee;' "there is none too much ~ the yarn will knit several pairs, and knitting is slow work; we should always consider the time." Mrs. Grant saw at once, and appreciated with heart-' felt gratitude the ~good lady's delicate manner of bestowing, a charity. '~She thanked her again, and not without tears 163 162 page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. 165. in her eyes. Mrs. Elmer joined her- mother in expressions of' gratitude, and Mrs. Lee, after. a few more words with the children, and a kiss to the baby, took her departure. "What a woman!" exclaimed Mrs. Grant; ." she didn't even a~k me what I charged. There's not many who do~so, Susan." "Not many/indeed. She 18 ~ne of a thousand." "I feel as if the Lord had raised us up. a friend who knows how tQpity us, for she is a widow herself." "Yes, she is a widow, and that's enough to bear with- out being poor like us, mother." The old woman thought there was something like a murmur in these words, and it grieved her. - "Look there, Susan!" she said, pointing to the' chil... dr'en1 "the Lord leaves yrou all those; yet he. saw fit to take from 'Mrs. Lee the only one she had." Susan turned her tearful eyes towards the little ones, then clasping her hands, said in a low voice, "Thy will be done." It was-indeed a pleasant sight. The baby was in the cradle, crowing over the soldier which Johnny had put iiito his hands, while' the other children sat, one on each side, watching his performances w~ith great s~ti~faction~ You like my traii~er don't* you, baby!" said the little boy. "Mrs. Lee's a nice lady; isn't she, baby? I mean to keep my trainer always, wouldn't' you, Mary?"- "YesI' would," answered 'his sister, " but then you'll have to take it away from baby, fo~ he'll soon have the paint all Qff.". "Sure enough, I never thought of that. I'll get him something else." So he raii and 'brought a cord with sev~. *~ral empty spools strung upofi ~t, a plaything which be- came a novelty by the occasional addition. of another spool, and aided by Mary succeeded in extricating the trainer from his perilous situation, and in pacifying the baby, who was at first disposed to gruiiible at the exchange. Notwithstanding Mrs. Lee had said that she should not need the stockings for some months to come, Mrs. Grant determined *to. go to work upon them immediately, as "there was no knowing what might happen." On open- ing the package of yarn, she found ~n. it a note directed to Mrs. Elmer. It contained a few kind words and the sum of twenty dollars. At this additional proof of Mrs. Lee's goodness, Susan's tears flowed afresh, and her mother said, "'He th4 bath pity. on the poor, lendeth unto the Lord V that womati is surely laying up 5easiires in heaven." When little Mary went to pay the promised visit to Mrs. Lee, she wore a neat new calico frock, and she said to the lady, "My mother told me I must thank you for my new frock." The child wa~ very happy that day, looking at books and pictures, and talking with Mrs. Lee ~about thex~i. Then' running out into the pleasant' garden among the many beautiful spring flowers, and expressing her childish wonder and delight to Peter Jackson, the colored man who was working there, asking him a hundred questions which Peter good-naturedly answered. Tlw~n back ag~in into the house, to wonder and exclaim at the variety y of interest- ing objects there. In Mrs. Lee's ow room she saw a child's chair, which delighted her o~reatlf "0 what a pretty chair I" she. exclaimed; "I had just such a one when we were in the ~ther house, but I think mother has given it away; the house where we live now is I 0 page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 MAR Y ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CIIANGES. 167 too little to hold many chairs. May Isit down in itMrs. Lee?" This had been little Mary Lee's chair; no child had ever sat in it since *her death. lit was guarded as a sacred relic, and more closely associated with its owner than any other of her little pps~essions so carefully preserved by the bereaved mother. "Yes, you may ~it in it, m~ dear," said Mrs. Lee. "It seems exactly like my own chair," pursued the child as she rocked backwards and forwards in it. "I always used to sit in mine when mother and father were reading. And too, I used to sit in it when I was learning my hymns after 'mother." "Say me some ofyour hymns, d~irling." * iVNry repeated the simple verses that her ihother had taught her,~ and wondered why Mrs. Lee cried so all the while. "It must be" thought she, "because she feels so sorry that my father is dead." So she thought she would say * something to comfort Mrs. Lee, and pausing in the midst of her hymn, she laid her hand on the lady's arm, and said - "0, don't cry so Mrs. Lee, that's a great deal better* place than this, there's no trouble there, and nobody ever dies, and all good' people shall see each other there again.~~ 1V1r~. Lee looked wonderingly in the face of' her little comforter. The deep blue eyes, so like those that had once been turned lovingly up to her own as she, talked of heaven and the angels, were fixed upc~i her. It seemed as though the spirit of her sainted child was looking through' them' into her very heart, and tenderly rebuking her long- ~ cherished sorrow. A feeling of awe 'stole over' her,~ and pressing her lips to the forehead of the little girl, she arose and led her from the room. Mary went home at evenings happy as child could be. She carried a basket containing several nice books for her~ self and Johnny, some pretty stuff to make frocks for the baby, and a bottle of cordial for her grandmother. There was also a mysterious package for her mother, neatly tied up, which Mary was very curious about, but she was too well-bred to ask questions. This was' a suitable mourning shawl for Mrs. Elmer. "Mrs. Lee accompanied the little girl home, and frequently offered to relieve her. But Mary~ insisted upon carrying the basket all the way, declaring that it wasn't the least bit heavy. And as she trudged along she chattered incessantly. "0 won't they be glad when I come? How Johnny will jump when he sees his book! and won't the b4aby look pretty in his new frocks! his old ones 'are growing so small, another hasn't got him any in~ ever so long. I wonder~ if the little ro~ue has4~ missed me. It seems a gre at while since I went away this morning, I never was gene so long before." Thus she rattled on; and Mrs. Lee, who had resolved upon asking Mrs. Elmer to let her take little Mary, to be trained and educated as her own daughter, abandoned the idea when she saw how the childioved her home and family. Nay, she almost reproached herself for having en- tertained it. But she had conceived a strong affection for the )ittle creature, and determined to do~all that she ~oiild for her, without having her constantly under her own eye.' As soon as they entered the house, Mary rushed up to the ba~y ~ whom his mother was. undressing, and nearly red him witlikisses. ' - 166 167 page: 168[View Page 168] 2 7 I ~u~ii, oi~ Ix "0 baby, I've got something for you," she said, wav- ing the basket triumphantly. "And, Johnny, you don't ~know what I've got fQr you. And, grandmother, some- * thing for you too. And for you, mother. And I've had such a nice time. .If Johnny had only been there "-. "We will hear about it~by-and-1~y," said her mother, as she rose~ and pressed Mrs. Lee's h~~nd. Mary stopped abruptly, when she remembered who was in the room, and* taking off her bonnet and cape, sat downquietly with the baby in her arms, somewhat impatient it is true, to display the contents of the basket and relate her adventures. In fact, she could not help whispering them over for the baby's benefit, beginning each description thus : - "And what do you think, baby, - I saw - And w~atdo you think; baby! Mrs. Lee said And where do y~u1 think, baby! Harriet went "- From this time the circumstances of the Elmers were much improved. Many comforts were added to their hum- ble dwelling through the kindness of their new friend, who soon begaii to consider the subject of assisting them to hire a more comfortable house~ She had determined to do so, and was intending to speak of it to ~1rs. Elmer very shortly, when she ~as summoned to attend the dying-bed of her sister. She had not time to see the Elmers before leaving. She however penned ~t hasty note to Susan, in whi&h, Tafter stating the cause of her sudden departure, she expressed the wish that Mrs. Elmer would seek ~ better house, ~nd to enable her to do so, she enclosed afl amount sufficitto }~ay a quarter's rent, as we4I ~is what would be 41Le~ on ie~rThgh~rp~es~nt abode,:and ~ne~Iing ov~r. "I eanuot tell," ~he ~@ote, ~' how loiigLrnay be absex~t, per- ~end mouths. 'i hap~ Ifjyou sMisld w*~nt i~y assistance p F1 It L I N page: Illustration-169[View Page Illustration-169] TRIALS AND CHA. before I return, do not hesitate to ately" (here she gave the addi'ess). a privilege to aid you Tell my litt. ~,arden for flowers whenever she lii give theni to her, and may the God fatherless bless and k~ep y~u all." ____ This note she gave to Harriet, tell portent, and she wished it to be carr soon as she should be at leisure. U the time, assisting in Mrs. Lee's pre~ the afternQon rue.. Setting the hot )ing moth-preventives from garret* hanging, spreading this, that'and the and what not. Besides which she Ii pack, for she was to go to her Lathe in the stage, which usually went ou __ N the cars. There she would remain ni The door-key was to be entrusted 2 worthy colored man already spoken o the house during Mrs. Lee's absence~ note sating, ~as she put it carefully it "I will run down with it as soon She really intended to do so. ~ world have told a lie, or wilfully fail tress, but - alas poor human nature Widow Spriggins as she appeared while on a bridal tour.-See ~ge 139. 1VCES. 109. write to me immedi- "I shall consider it le Mary to eome to my ~es, Peter will always of the widow and the her that it was im- jed to Mrs. Elmer as arriet was very busy at rationss for leaving in ise in order. Scatter.- to cellar. Folding~ other for safe keeping, her own trunk to r's, ten miles distant, t about an hour. after ritil Mrs. Lee's return. ~o Peter Jackso'~i, the f, who always slept in 3. Harriet took the i her reticule asI see you off." he would not for the ~d in duty to her mis. page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 170 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. 171 CHAPTER III. S soon as Mts. Lee had gone, Harriet prepared for her own departure. She dressed herself hastily, fastened ~he window-shutters, dragged her trunk to the porch, locked the door and ran down to Peter's with the key. After delivering Mrs. Lee's directions to Peter, she went to the stage-house to bespeak her passage. Being told that the stage would call for her in about an hour, she hurried back to parry the note to Mrs. Elmer, who lived in another direction. As. she was passing De~icon Ludlow's, which was nearly opposite .Mrs. Lee's, Miss Eunice called to her from the window. The Ludlows had been watching the proceedings at Mrs.~ Lee's with great interest all the morning. They had seen that lady depart, evidently on a journey, and it was much earlier than she usually' made her annual visit east. But Harriet would 'come in and tell them all about it soon. When,, however, they saw that she too was prepar- ing to 'go away, they felt a slight degree of uneasiness; and seeing her, at length actually about to pass their house without stopping, they feared losing her' altogether and not I finding* out anything, and therefore arrested her progress~ as above stated. "Where are you going, Harriet?" exclaimed .the mother and three daughters, all in a breath. "0 I've got to go up street on an errand, but I'll stop and say goo&by when I conie back." "0 stop now, stop now; can't you?" "Well I suppose I may as well come in a minute now, the stage don't go in nearly an hour yet." And so she went in, to the great relief of the Ludlows. Harriet, although as honest and faithful a girl as ever lived, had a great talent for gossiping, and not being encouraged to exercise it at Mrs. Lee's, was very glad to indulge in an occasional outpouring at Deacon Ludlow's, where it was fully appreciated and, drawn out. In fact their made a. good deal of her there, always invited her to attend the weekly prayer-meeting whenever it was held at their housp, and noticed her in several ways in order to keep her good matured~ Of course the simple-minded girl was flattered by such attentions, and often "ran in," after her work was done up, to chat an hour or so with them, She had no suspicion of the ~stimation in which ~they really held, or professed to hold, her among their acquaintances, to whom they frequently remarked, "What a pert, forward thing that Harriet is! I wouldn't keep such a creature round me, but I guess Mrs. Lee's not very particular who she has, if she only gets her work done.,~ Had Harriet known of this, she never would have gone in there again. Not~so much on her own account as Mrs. Lee's, with whom she had lived nearly seven years without a wish to change her place, and whom she regarded as ap~ preaching nearer to perfection than any other living person. On this occasion the Ludlow~ had a thousand questions to ask; and Harriet, in her zeal to tell all the whys and the wherefores, the hows and the whens of Mrs. Lee's move- Inents, as well as her own, allowed her minute to be a very long one. After running on for half an hour with great page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] Ii MARY ELMER, OR velocity, she jumped up suddenly, declaring she must go, ~~for she'd got to take a note to Mrs. thner. But then she was assailed With another volley of questions', on the subject of Mrs. Lee's intercourse with die Elmers, and she could not' resist the temptation to sit down a moment longer and tell about Mrs. Lee's kindness t~ that family, at least as much as she knew about it, for she had often been sent there with vegetables and' other things. "And sometiuThs there was such a load that Peter Jackson had to go, with -it." ' "0, shedoes a great deal for them, and there's many a poor family ~an say the same. She's always doing good, I never saw the beat of it; why, some-folks would get rich on what she gives away" - "I wonder if she don't expect to ride to heaven on her ~good works," said Mrs. Ludlow. Well, I guess that's, a pretty sure-footed horse ar~y way," responded Harriet with some warmth. "0 Ijarriet, Harriet!" said Mrs. Ludlow solemnly, ',' Pm sorry to hear you speak so, it shows what influence you've been under. Dpn't you know the Bible says our own righteousness is but filthy rags? Nothing but a living faith cam save "Yes, I know it, a living fi~ith, and that's just Mr~, Lee's kind Qf faith, for 'faith without works is dead,' the same Bible says, you know." "I'm' glad you read your Bible," said Mrs. Ludlow with a slight sneer, for she felt a little chagrined that the 'girl was able to give her' blow, for blow with her own weapons. Harriet noticed the sneer and answered, - "Well, I won't take credit that isn't my due. I own I don't read my Bible as much as I ought to, though I'+e no TRIALS AND UHAN0E~S~ 173 excuse, for I've got-a beautiful one that Mrs. Lee gave me. I~ut I hear it read every night find mornii~g, so I know something about what's in it." Perhaps she would have made a few more quotations, liad she not at that moment he~rrd the stage horn. "0 dear me! what shall I do! there's the stage and I ~haven't carried the note to Mrs~ Elmer! ~ "Never mind," said Miss Eunice, "Sam can run down with it, or one of us can take it to Mrs. Elmer!" Poor Haifriet had no resource but to accept Miss Ludlow's~ offer. So she gave her the note saying that it was very important, and she would like her to have it sent as soon as possible. She then hastened out, and s~w the stage still at a little distance off, taking in some passengers. At the 'same moment she observed Sam Ludlow standing by Mrs.' Lee's gate watching the approach of the stage. "I'll give it to Sam myself,~' said she, turning back to the window in time to see the four Ludlows' heads close together over the note, which Miss Eunice was holding up to the light. Just in the midst of their comments upon it, they were startled by the voice of Harriet shouting, - "Give it to me! there's Sam by our~house.". Eunice could do no less than surrender the note, though she would gladly have kept it a little longer to satisfy her-. self in regard to its contents. ' Harriet was somewhat vexed at the curiosity of' the Ludlows, and fe1~ glad to get the nOte back again; she thought it was much better to give it to Sam herself, and 'see him start with it, then she should feel as though it would reach its destination safely. Sam Ludlow was a lubberly boy of, fourteen. He was often hanging abou& Mrs. Lee's gate; and had several times gone on errands for Harriet;. for which she always paid him. a 15* 172 page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 MAR Y~ELAIER; OR TRIALSLS AND CHANCES. 175 * sixpence in ~tdvance. Sam was very fond of a sixpence, and was much more ready to do errands for Harriet than for his mother. or sisters, as they would nut.pay him. "IIexe, Sam," said she, "I want you to take this note to Mrs. Elmer right away, I'm going in the. stage and haven't time." "Who was your waiter last year?" was Sam's r@ply. Harriet knew that this was the way in which the inter- esting youth usually answered his sisters when they re- quested him to do anything, and she remembered that she bad always paid him for waiting upon her. But she had now no change in her purse,. her money was in bills, she could only promise a reward, she however persevered. "Do take it for me, Sam, tlmt'~ a good fellow, and when I come baAk I'll give you a shillino-" "Give it to me now." "I can't, I haven't got the change, my money is all in bills. Will you take it? see, the stage is close by, I'll surely ~pay you the shilling when Ii come back, and that will be before long I expect." ~ Swear you'll do it." No, Sam, I won't swear, that's wicked; but I ~ol- emnly promise." "Well; kiss my jack-knife then, it's all the same in Dutch." And he took out% the weapon 'so dear to every boy's heart, and held it up before her.' They were lifting her trunk to the stage top. ~N~Till you carry the note if I'll kiss that?" "As sui~e as gunflints." "And right away, without going home first?" "Right off, as quick as a streak 'o lightning." "Are you coming?" shouted the driver. Harriet kissed the jack-knife,~ gave. Sam the note, and jumped into the stage, calling after Sam to be very care- ful, and not loiter a moment on the way. As she stretched her neck out of the stage window, she had the satisfaction of seeing the young gentleman start on his ex- pedition; not quite so quick as lightning, but at a very brisk pace. His sisters called to him from the window~ but he hur- ried on without noticing them. Not so much that he wished to do his errand faithfully, as because "he didn't. care for them." "She's mighty a xious about this note, seems to me, said Sam, mentally, as he went on his way. "Wonder what 's about! feels as tho~gh~ there was something in it - s wouldn't wonder if 'twas money - pay for sewing I 'spose." The note had been hastily written, and the envelope fastened lightly with a wafer. Sam thought hq'd like to just see what was in~ide~ Harriet was only a hired girl, what did he care for her! Some other vague thoughts floated through his mind. He determined to open it; he could easily stick it together again if he wanted to. So he turned to see whether the stage was out of ~i~ht~ It was no~ longer visible. A few paces on he turned aside into a narrow lane, went behind an old shed, no mortal eye was upon him, he felt quite safe; and, taking out his jack-knife, he slipped the blade under the wafer, which .yielded without difficulty, and Sam found his conjectures correct. Where was money, more money than he had ever seen together be- fore. He blundered through the note as well as he could, and found that the money was a gift, not from Harriet, K page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 MARY ELMER, OR 177 but from Mrs. Lee. JXe thought of several things that he wanted very much, especially a;fighting~cock, owned by a man who kept a ten-pin alley, and numerous other articles quite as useful and desirable. The temptation was strong. lie saw that the amount was not mentioned in the note. There were several bills; he could take 9ne, it never would be found out. So he stuffed a "five" into his pocket, wet the wafer a little and fastei~ed it ~down again, and then contemplated his work wifh satisfaction. It was well done. Nobody would ever have suspected that the note had been opened. He went on a few steps, and then paused to contemplate it again; and as he did so he reflected, "Why not take the whole while i t~ was in his power? But Harriet ,and Mrs. Lee would Aome back, and then he would be found out. What then?" "Never mind," said the tempter in his ear. "The old nian'll have to fork over, that's all, and you'll have the good of the money." "And the old woman," thought Sam, "how she'll jaw and jaw, jf I'm ever found out." "Never mind that neither," pursued the tempter, "they can't blame you, they expect you to cut up now, you aint converted yet." "So here goes,~~ said Sam, and he tore open the enve- lope, took out the rest of th&money, chewed the note until it became a soft wad, then threw it at the~old shed, where for aught I know to the contrary, it is sticking to this day. He then took his way to the residence of the game-cock's owner, where he astonished divers youug geutlerncm by his display of the ready, although he was careful not to ex- hibit. the whole amount in his possession. It was a strange thino' to see Sam Ludlow with more than a shilling~ in his hands, and of course the "five" which, he drew from his pocket created some surprise. "Why, Sam, where did you get so much?" "Found the way to the old man's locker?" "Old boy loosened his purse string~ at last, eh?" were some of the questions showered upon the young thief. But he contrived to evade them. "Pity if he couldn't h~ve a little money as well as other folks. He didn't see what there was tcr make such a thundering fuss about." When Sam left the ten-pin alhjy, his five was nearly exhausted. He had entered to his het~rt's content into the amusements of the establishment. A thing which he had not been able to do before for want of funds. He had also regaled himself with various good things; and as he walked homewards with his long-desired game-cock under his arm, he felt a high degree of satisfaction; for, notwithstanding he had lost all that he staked \in the games, he still had a large sum left, upon which he meant to revel for a long time to come. / On his arrival at home, his sisters questioned him con- cerning the note. But he gave them no satisfaction. "Didn't you notice what was in it when she opened it." "No; I didn't go in the house at all." "Well, I should like to know whether there was money in that note. Why didn't you wait a minute and see, you stupid fellow!" "What do you s'pose I cared about knowing what w~is q~ the plague note? What business was it of mine?" The game-cock did not attract much attention at the deacon's San~i was alway~ bringing home something of the animal kind to annoy the family, and generally bar.. gained it away for something else in a few days. N TRIALS AND GRANGES. 17e page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] TRIALS AND 0HAN6~ES. 179 178 MARY ELMER, OR Deacon Ludlow, although himself a worthy, religious man, unfortunately took very little pains with the early training of his children. He never questioned Sam in re- gard to where he spent his evenings. In f4ct, he seldom reproved him for anything. Mrs. Ludlow, it is true, scolded and fretted at-the boy frequently, but he regarded her words no more than the idle wind. Sam Ludlow had started in the road to destruction, and there was no voice to call him' back. CHAPTER IV. HE Elmers wondered what had become of Mrs. Lee. Many days passed without one of her wel- come visits. The chafty, 2~ood-natured Harriet, t6o, they missed her almost daily calls. And it was but natural that\they should miss the comforts she was wont to bring. ~After some time it was settled that they must have gone away. At length they questioned Peter Jackson as he was passing one day, and from him they learned the facts. About a fortnight after Mrs. Lee's departure, Mrs. Elmer's mother was suddenly reduced to a state of entire helplessness by another paralytic~ stroke~ She was con- fined wholly to her bed. Her mind also was greatly af- fected, and she shQwed an irritability and fretfulness quite foreign to her nature. Susan's 'labors were'increas~d ten~. fold by this calamity. Her mother required more~ care than an infant, and could not bear to have Susan out of her sight for a moment. Her speech was much impaired, but her sight and hearing were, if anything, quickened. She would have the window~curtains down, for the broad daylight hurt her eyes. The children's noise disturbed her very much, and Susan was obliged to send the two older ones out 'of doors to play, many 'times when she would gladly have kept them in. Her~sewing too, had to be almost wholly abandoned. She had but little time for it during the day, and then 'the room was so dark that she could scarcely see at all. When the evening came, and the little ones were all gone to their rest, the old mother, too, at last asleep, and Susan sat down with her work in hand, she was usually so worn and weary that her fingers almost refused to move. Things went on in this way for a month, and Susan's resources were nearly gone. She 'had for some time past reduced her own and her children'~ food to the smallest possible quantity, and that of the coarsest kind. A little of a better quality she still managed to procure for hei mother, and tIle old woman complained that this was not as good as she wished. Susan knew that her poor mother was not herself &~ny longer, and she never manifested the least impatience with her murmuring. But sh9 missed her encouraging 'words, the "trust in the 'Lord, my child. lie will not forsake you," with which she used to cheer her in times of despondency. And she thought if her mother w&uld only speak so now, she could bear up better~ under her trials. 'And George, too, how she missed him now! more than ever -~ more eVery day. She could not help itt. 'The future looked very dark. Pay-day was ~drawing on, and C 179 178 page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 AfAR Y ELMER, 01? TRIALS AND ChANCES. 181 where w~is her rent to come from! Pay-day came, and Susan was not ready. The landlord, a hard-fisted, grasp- ing man,, called for his dues. Mrs. Elmer told him it was utterly impossible for her to pay then, she had not a dollar, but if he would give her a few days' time, she hoped to be' able to satisfy him. He appeared to doubt her word, and pointing ,~ to the mantel-clock (Geor~ge's last 'gift before he went from home), he intimidated a wish to take possession of ~it. "I'll take that," he' said, "seeincr you don't seem to have anything else that's worth much; though 'it's a poor concern, 'still, I don't know jut I'll take it and let you ~4f, considering." Susan looked at him with astonishment. She was not accustomed to such meanness. She knew that the clock had cost more than double the amount of her debt, a~id she knew that the nian must be aware of its value. ~$4~ e hesitated a while. It went to her 'heart to part with it. "Well, what do you say? shall I take it?" "' It is a valuable clock, sir, it cost more than twice as much as I owe you, and has not been in use a year yet." The tnan advanced close to her, and impertinently ex- amined her brooch, which she always wore. "That'll do,", said he, after satisfying himself that it was real gold.' '~ P11 take that if you aint' a mind to let the clock go. I'll take it and say square; guess it's worth five dollars. You' owe me twelve; but considering your circumstances, I'll ~be satisfied with that." Long before the conclusion' of this speech, Susan had covered h~r brooch with her hand, as if his very look were profanation; and when he finished, she turned towards the clock, and said hurriedly, 4 "Take that." He proceeded to take 'jt down, and after it was safely in his possession, he told Mrs. Elmer that she must vacate the house before night, as he bad rented it to some one who would be ready pay. - Susan's indignation .was roused at this shameful injustice, and she said, - "Surely, you do not mean to turn i~e out of the house now, with my helpless mother and little' ones. That clock, too, is fully worth another quarter's rent, and 4 good deal more. You will allow me to remain a few\ weeks, and meantime I will be looking for another house." "This clock worth another quarter's rent, hey!" and he laughed heartily at the idea. "Why, woman, you know nothing about the value of, things, if you did you'd think I've let you: off pretty easy. As for the house, didn't I tell you I'd let it already to a family that's to take possession to-morrow. I've done the best I can by you. 'Everybody must look to their own interest, y~u know, and if I have a chance to let a tenement to better advantage than I can to you, why of course it's my duty to do it., I owe it to my own family ;. scripture, you know, says everybody must provide for their own. Susan said no more, she was not accustomed to disput- ing, and she, allowed 'the face-grinder to depart' without farther parley. When he reached the door, he turned back and remarked that "he should expect to find the 4 remises cleared early in the morning of the' follQwing ay." She merely bowed in reply, and he went away, to her great relief'. But where should she go? No, home and no means of procuring one. ' It was still earlj in the day,' not more than ten o'clock. The old woman appeared confused and' 16 180 181 page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANCES. 183 tpuzzled at the scene which had'~just taken place, and asked some questions, although she did' not comprehend anything of it. 'Susan, brought her a cup of tea and' a 'bit of toast, sa~ by her, and answered her questions in a manner that sa~jsfied. her, and before long she fell into a sound sleep. Susan' immediately gave the baby into Mary's charge, told Johnny 1'to sit quietly beside his grandmother's bed until her return, put on her bonnet and shawl, and slipped quietly into the street. Where should she go? where, where? If Mrs. Lee were only at home! The thought of writing to her for aid to enable her to remain in her. present abode, crossed her mind. But it was too late. ~She mu4 quit to-day. She looked up the street and then down, undecided which way to go. At length her eye fell upon an old, brown, barnish look- ing 'house, standing alone on a slight eminence,' a little out of the town. She knew it was the residence of Mrs. Mad- dock, the ~voman with whom she learned the business of dressmaking. INow a widow like herself, and poor, too, but nQt in want, for she owned the house which she occu- pied, and by her own labors, she still pursued her former occu potion,~ supported herself and two children, something older than Susan's two eldest. She had also' four children still older, who were all earning their own living at differ~ ~ent trades. Two sons had gone from home, and two daughters, tailoresses, boarded with their. mother and took in wox~k from the shops. Thither Susan determined to bend her. step~. She had not Been much of Mrs. Maddock since her marriage, but she remembered her as a very kind-hearted woman. '"Perhaps she can help me," thought the desolate woman as she pursued her way. "I, recollect how kind she used to be to us apprentice girls. How in pleasant weather she always sent us~ out on the grass plot twice a day to have a romp, and stretch our limbs. She said our health required it. And what pleasant cooling drinks she used to make for us in hot days." Many other little circumstances Susan recalled as she went along, all of them in Mrs. M.'s favor, and she could not help feeling that she would do something for her now. Nor was she mistaken Mrs. Maddock bad heard of George Elmer's death, but not ,o~/ the circumstances of his family. .She listened to Susan's sad story with tears, and when it was endod, freely offered her a shelter in her own house. "There is one good-sued room at liberty, on the ground floor too, and if you can get along with that, come. We're poor but we have health, and no helpless ones amongst us." "But perhaps I never shall be able to pay you." "'Don't borrow any trouble about that, dear. If you ever should be able to pay ~ne, as I hope you will for your own sake, why well and good. And if you shouldn't 'twont kill me. I shan't be any poorer for it a hundred years hence." " No, indeed -you will not," said Susan as grateful tears fell from her eyes. "'He that giveth to the poor lendeth unto the Lord; ' and He will surely reward you whether I ever can or not." She then arose, saying that she x~ould go and\ hire a cart to remove 'her furniture. " Wait a moment," said Mrs. M.., "and I will run over and see ifNeighbor Grey's' team is at liberty to-day, if it should be it will save you the expense of a cart, for they have offered me the use of it whenever I wish."- page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] TRIALS AND CHANGES. i8~ 1~4 gARYELAWR, OR So she hastened to Neighbor Grey's, and soon returned ~ith the pleasing intelligence, that she could have the, team all the~ ~afternoon, and David Grey to drive. It was arranged that immediately after dinner, she would come down with David and the team. She would have a bed laid in the wagon, and Mr& Grant should be removed be-. fore anything else, lest she might be worried by ~he noise and. confusion. When Susan returned home, she found things just as she had left them, anA her mother still sleeping. She prepared their scanty dinner, and soon after they had eaten it, the 6old woman awaked. While Susan was giving her a rather more substantially meal than the rest of £hem bad enjoyed, she told her of the approaching change in their circumstances, and at length succeeded in making her understand that they were going to a new home, much more comfortable than the present one, where they would have no stairs to ascend, and where a very nice woman was living. She appeared rather pleased with the idea of a change, and when the kind-looking Mrs. 1\ktaddock, and the good- natured David Grey boon after came in, she' was quite willing to have them sand Susan lift her gently from the bed and carry her out to the wagon. They laid her .ip an easy position on the soft bed and pillows which Mrs. Mad- dock had arranged, and Susan seated herself beside her on the bed, holding a parasol to shade her face. Mrs. Mad- dock went on the sidewalk carrying the baby, while Mary and Johnny trotted behind her as merry as birds, shouting and talking to the baby, who crowed and laughed back to thorn. They reached the house before 'the rest of: the party, who advanced very ~Iowly and carefully. Susan talked cheerfully to her mother, and the old woman seemed to enjoy the ride very much. When they arrived at Mrs. Maddock's, Mrs. Grant was laid upon Mrs. M.'s bed ur~til her own could be prepared. She appeared rather uneasy at being in a strange house, and would not suffer Susan to leave her~at alL. Therefore Mrs. Maddock kindly offered to go back with the wagon and superintend the loading up of the furniture. There was not much, and it was soon transported. The small piece of carpet was laid down, the bed was set u~, and the old woman was deposited on it, to change no more until she should lie down in the last resting-placeK of us all. As Susan went rbout, arranging her few articles in the quiet room, she felt a degree of satisfaction that she had not known for months. For she was sure that, happen what might, there was now no danger of her poor mother and little ones being turned into the street. She was more cheerful than she,~ad been in a long, long time. There was a certain hymn which she used to be fond of singing, and George of hearing, and this evening as she rocked her baby to* sleep, ~he sang it for the first time since she had heard of her husband's death. It had a chorus which ran thus :- I "Look up, ~uy soull be like the lurk That singing soars afar - There7s ne'er a cloud however dark ~Ut veils a shining star." When she had laid her baby down and ceased singing, her mother, who had been lying very quietly for sometime,~ said, "Sinr it again, child." 16* page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALSS. AND CHANGES~ 187 Surprised and pleased pusan complied, and when she had finished, the old woinaii said, "Once ~nore, my child~ it sounds so good." So 8he sang it a third tjme, with a tremulous voice and shedding thankful tears all the while. And when it was ended, the old mother took up the last words, "shining star," and~ murmured them over several times, each time fainter, until they died away entirely, and she fell~ asleep. The children, who were in their little bed, had been lying awake, listening to theh~ mother, and presently she heard Mary say in a low voice, "Johnny, are you awake?" Yes, are you? "Yes, did y~u hear mother sing ? " "I guess IL did, didn't it sound pleasant, Mary?" the auo'e "0, it did, it made me think~ ~ ls with shin- ing wings that live above the clouds." "So it did me, how funny that we should think of the same thing!" "So it was, Johnny, it made me think of father too, did it you?" ." Yes, I thought -about father while I was thinking of the angels."' "So did I. He used to like to hehr mother sing .that, you know. - "Did he? 1 forget." -* "Why yes, johnny, don't you remember how he used to ~ay; ' Oome, Susey, sing the "shining star"?" "0 yes, I do remember about it now." "I wonder if he heard her sing 'it now!" said the little girl musingly. And then they went to sleep with their arms round each other's necks. As Susan sat by her little taper, she thought over these childish words. She thought too of her mother's pleasure while she was singing, and of heir peaceful falling asleep afterwards. Then she wondered that she had so long lost sio'ht of the "shining star," and w~s glad sh~ had found' it again. It had made them all so happy. And she knelt down and prayed that her afflictions might.soften her heart, and draw her ~nearer to God. That she might no longer look at the cloud, but through it, and ever keep her eye upon the "shining star" beyond. From this tjme she went about her daily round of toilsome duties, resigned, and even cheerful, and every night she sang the "Shining Star." CHAPTER V. IRS. ELMER was much more comfortable at Mrs. Maddock's than she had been before since Mrs. j Lee went away. Her quarters were narrow, it is true, but there was a shady, pleasant door-yard, where Mrs. Maddock permitted the children to play when- ever they chose. ~There they passed several hours when the weather was fine.. And sometimes they hail the baby with them in a little wagon ~belonging to Jane and Sarah, Mrs. Maddock's little - girls. Meanwhile their mother was busy -within, now at the old woman's bedside, now at her household work, and now. patching and mending for herself and children. x 180 - 187 page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] I 188 MARY ELMER, OR Her evenings Susan devoted to sewing for Mrs. Mad- dock. By this means she hoped to p~y her rent, and she was therefore, surprised when after finishing the first piece, that good woman proffered her full pay.. "0 no, Mrs. Maddock," said Susan, "I wish to pay the 'r~nt of my room in this way." "Fie! fie! dear," returned 'Mrs. M., throwing the money into her lap, "don't speak 'ohi~at again, if you do I shall be offended. Don't you know you must have something coming in t& live on? You may just as well help me about my sewing, as to take it in on your own hook. IL have more calls than II can possibly attend to. And besides, my eyes are not as strong as they once were. I can't sew of evenings~ any more excepting on the plainest parts, an~your help will be ,a great accommodation to me. It will enable me to serve all my customers. So if you will just take hold and lend me a hand whenever you feel like it, and allow me to pay you what it's worth, I assure you it will not only be some assistance to you, but 'twill actually put money in my pocket too." "Thank you! thank you! Mrs. Maddock. Then I will do the nicest parts and you the plainest, for my eyes are perfectly strong and good yet." "Agreed, that's a nice arrangement. Butt you mustn't try your 'eyes too much and spoil them while you're a young woman. You shall have one of my lard lamps in here. I have two,. and the girls. and I never use but one nt a time. 4They give a bright light and then they're very economical. You 'can burn any kind of grease in them, and that saves the expense of oil," 'Susan thanked her again, and said she hoped there would come a time when~ she should be able to repay' some TRIALS AND CHANGES. 189 of this kindness, and the conversation ended with Mrs. Maddock's 'commanding her never again to speak of obli- gation. This worthy woman's kindness did not stop here. Scarcely a day passed without ?ome token of her interest in the Elmers. A pie or a cake for the children. And often a bit of fish, an egg, or some other little delicacy for, the old woman. ~nd every morning a pitcher of milk. "You will at least take pay for the milk," said Susan, almost imploringly. "Bless your soul aiid body, dear woman," Mrs.' Mad- dock replied, "do you think I shall be ~ny the poorer in a hundred yeai~s for giving you a little milk? I never sell milk to anybody that's worse off. than I am. My cow's a first-rate animal. I make all my own butter and have several pots to spare every fall. And when a rich family wants to buy milk of me, why I take the piiy-of--~-course. But as for selling milk to poor folks, I can't do that. 'My mother before me never did it, and I never will." "Your mother must have been very good." "Good! I never' saw the like of her. I didn't know how good she was when I was a young, giddy girl. It wasn't so much by what she said as by what she did, that she showed her goodness. But after she was dead and gone I began, to realize it. And when I was married and went away, and saw more of the world, then it struck me how much better my mother was than most of people. And when my family began to gzow up rom~d me, and I had my own trials and troubles, I remembered how many my mother had, and how patiently she 'bore them. 0~ how sor- ry I felt that I hadn't been more dutiful and loving ~to ber. So I tried to do as she used to, for I remembered her ac 1* I page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 'MARY ~ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CIIA~G ES. 191 tions better than her words. And rye tried to keep them always before me. But if I should live hundred and fifty years I neVer should come to be what my mother was." Susan looked at the poor wreck upon the bed, and thanked God in her heart that she too had been reared by a good mother, and was now privileged to sustain and care for hers in that state of helplessness9 Notwithstanding Mrs. ~Maddock's unvarying kindness, there were some circumstances which rendered Susan's situa- tion rather unpleasant to one of her temperament. The feel- ing of dependence which constant~j.weighed upon her spirit, was jncreased by a si1spicion~ that the two older daughters of Mrs. Maddock were not satisfied with her being there. they were good-tempered girls, and there was never any- thing rude or unkind in their deportment towards herself. But occasionally .a hasty expression to her children esQaped them. And once, as she was passing through the enti~y~ she heard one of them say to the other, "I' tl;iink we have children enough of our own without keeping other people's. I should think she might put Mart out." Susan did not blame th~ girls. She thought it natural that they should feel so. But it made her very un'T happy. She had not thought of putting Mary out before, and it Wrung her heart. But she felt the necessity of doing something. If Mrs. Lee were only~ home.. She knew that she might count upon help from her. She was almost sure that she would have been glad to take Mary, and tbat, she could have borne, for Mary loved Mrs. Lee, and would no doubt have been happy with her. But she was gone, and there was no 'one who knew when she would be back. While she was in this state of perplexity, an opportunity offered for getting Mary a place, and she embraced it. Not without many secret tears, still in the hope that the separation would not be long. The child her~eIf was at first unwilling to go. She could not bear to leave hei mother and Johnny, and above all the baby. And then too, Mrs. Smith, with whom she was going to live, was not a bit like ~Mrs. Lee. She did not look as pleasant. If it was Mrs. Lee she would be willing to go and 'live always with her. But her mother talked long and seriously to her. "You are a little girl, 'Mary," she said, "but you are old enough to see that I have to work very hard ~to get clothes and food -for you all. Mrs. Smith offers to feed and clothe you, which is very kind. And in return you are to help tare care of her biLby, just as you do of your own little brother. Don't you see that will be helping me very much?" When the little girl understood that it would bej relief to her mother, she became il~econci1'ed to the idea ongoing, and the next morning, after a great many kisses all round, and numerous hugs administered to the baby, she set out for Mrs. Smith's, with a basket on her arm containing 'her small wardrobe, and Sarah Maddock to show her the way. "I don't half like the looks of that Mrs. Smith where Mary's gone," said Mrs. Maddock to her daughters. "Nor I," said Martha. "Nor I neither," said Anne. "I should be\very sorry if the -little thing wasn't Well treated, for she's a good child." Both the girls fdt some compunction for having wished her away; and they made amemids afterwards by constant kindness to Johnny and the baby. The Mrs. Smith with whom Mary had gone to live was 100 191 page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANaBS. 193 the one before, mentioned, wife of the man who had made ~his fortune in California, no longer "Jonathan Smith the shoemaker," but "J. Pixicy- Smith, the leather merchant~" The exact amount of Mr. Smith's acquisitions in California was ~not known; but to judge from the change in his out. ward circumstances since his return, it must have been considerable. He was doing business on a pretty large scale; and' Mis. Smith, from a small, unpainted house, where' she "did her own work," was elevated to a tall, red brick one, with bright green window blinds, and there, reigned over a hired girl and also a baby nurse. An ex- tract from a letter which she wrote about this time to a sister in 'Vermont, will give some idea both of the woman and her mansiofl: "'It's but of brick painted reds three story high, and very tall chimberly tops, and a fuller kitchen in the base-~ ment underneath. The upper story we haint furnished more than to put shades to the windows to make a show on the~~ou~side, but the first and second stories is complete. I've g6t two parlors with folding doors between 'em; the frorrt parlor is furnished with mahogany chairs and a sofa cushined with hair'cloth, and a looking glass bigg enough ito see the 'whole of yourself in, and two ottermans, anda splendid 'centre4able with a tremenjous bigg astorial lamp in the middle of it. The mantletry shelf is supported by xn~rble pillows, and atop of it stands three Jo, Randals, the middle one nearly a yard high, with rising of a hundred diamond dependents hanging from it.' Over the sofa hangs Mr9 Smith'~ portrait as natural as life, and the windows has gold' cornishes as much as a foot wide, and musling curtings of the most costliest description. And tl~e carpets I i~ouldu't describe if I shc~old try forever, 'they "being alike in both parlors, and all covered with magnificent flower pots bright enough to dazzle common folkses eyes. In the back parlor stands Henrietta's pianb; we calculate tO" have her learn music; then there's two tater tates, yo*u know what they are I spose, and chairs and mantletryasheif like them in the front parlor, on Which staiids'a n~imber of pappy Mash ornaments, that's very fashionable nowj You never saw any like em, they being intirely~new fashioned, and named after the inventor, old Mr. Mash. I shouldn't wonder if it 'was the one we used to~know, he was always inventing something you. know, and a number more things of various descriptions. At the. lower end I calculate to * have a family' picture to hano~; it's. nearly done now, and Mr. Boggles is a painting it'; you can imagine how supe- rior it is when I tell you that we shall have to pay twenty- five dollars for it. It represents the four oldest children a standing up in a row; Ferdinand stands first with a book in his hand, J'Ienrietta next with a bokay, Josephine next, a holding her doll, and Columbus last a drumming-on his little drum. On one side sits me a holding the babe, J. Pixley Junior in my arms. In the foldi~ig doors stands one* of these Elizabeth Ann chairs, that's considered so undis- pensable in every genteel -parler at the present time, with a high-pinted back and cushined with red -velvet, and very uneasy if a body ever wanted tc~ set down in em, but they don't. We calculate to have the house heated by a furniss iii the basement next fall, with legislators in the floor to -let the heat go up' stairs you. knJw. Stoves ain't considered gei~'teel any longer only ~n kitchings. I tell you Line as good as 'anybody now. I've had a nuniber of calts from ladies that never come near me before; they seem to jest found out' we live in town.. Californy' gold dust aint like 17 / 4 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] Ii TRIALS AND CHANGES. 195 MARY EL MEl? , OR other dust; it seems to open some folkses eyes all of a sud- ~ding, instid of blinding em. "I keep a bigg girl that does the heft of my work, and have to pay her a dollar a week; and besides her I've got a small one to take care of J. Pix- Thy, and I get a good deal out of h~r and it's all clear gain, for all IL pay her is her clothing and vittals, and the cloth- 'lug aint much, as I shall make her wear the girls' old things; the food is something, for such children eat aw- fully, but I watch her pretty close; she's only seven year old but I never saw a child of that age so handy with a babe. A good deal 6C the furniture I've described, husband bought to a vandue in New York, very cheap indeed, but don't you never breathe a sillyble about it to no living crea- ture, but come as soon as convenient and see how we look in our new residence." When little Mary arrived' at Mrs. Smith's, Sarah took her ~t& the basement door and then left her. She knocked and ~Vas told to come in. There was no one in the kitchen excepting the hired girl,~ who was washing up the breakfast things. She was an odd looking girl, almost as dark as a squaw, with a flat nose and a long chin. She was cross- eyed too, and her stiff black hair was cropped close to her head. Mary was almost frightened when she first looked at her. 'But when she spoke in a pleasant voice and asked if" this was the' little girl that was to live there," her fears subsided% and she answered in the affirmative. "Well then ,~ take off your things and I'll put them up stairs; you'll sleep with me."'. Mary surrendered her bonnet and cape, as well as her basket to the queer-looking girl, who patted her head and said, "How nice your hair curls! is it natural ?" * "Natural?" said the little" girl inquiringly. "I mean do you roll it up in papers, ~or does it curl itself?" "0, it ourls itself. I didA't know what you meant at first." " Well, that's beautiful. Now I suppose you must go up stairs to Mrs. -Smith's room. No need of my going with you; right up this stairs and then along the hall, and into the room where you hear a dreadful hullabaloo.~~ These directions enabled Mary to find the room without difficulty. She tapped at the door, but was not heard. So she opened it and, went in. Such was the commotion inside that her entrance was unnoticed. The two girls were disputing furiously' about Josephine's sun-bonnet, which she declared henrietta had hidden. Columbus, a boy about three years old, was stamping about in an old pair of his father's boots, and Mrs. Smith, baby ~,jn arms, was standing at the window, knocking and screaming at Ferdinand, the eldest hope, who was loitering in the street, instead of going to school. "You do know where it is, and you know you do," said Josephine. ' "I don't neither, a'nd you know I don't." "You lie, and you know you lie." "I don't lie, you lie yourself. Say ma! shan't she give mc up my sun-bonnet? I want to go to school." "I don't care whether she does' or not," shouted Mrs. Smith turning quickly round. "I'm half crazy with this everlasting racket; go to school, sun-bonnet or no sun- bonnet." And she gave them each a hearty box on the ear and pushed them out of the door, while phey xetaliated' by calling her a" mean old thing," "old cross-patch," &o. Ii ii 'ii Ii ii page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 'ft {J~ 'I MARY ELMER, OR As. Mrs. Smith opened the doer to eject the girls, 'she perceived little Mary, who stood trembling behind it. "'0 you've come, have, you? well, I'll attend to you soon." She then seized Columbus and shook him violently with the hand she had at liberty.. " What do you mean, you little scamp, clattering round in them boots'! get out of 'em quicker ;" and she lifted him up by the arm so that the boots fell off. The boy bawled lustily.' At 'this moment Mr. Smith entered the room, evidently much 'excited. "At it again hey ~" said he. "You're always abusing that boy. ~Lumruy, my~son, come with pa," taking hold of his arm.. Mrs. Smith did not relax her gripe on the other arm. The boy was a constant bone of contention between his parents. "I wish," she said, "you wouldn't always interfere when I'm a trying to correct him, Mr. Smith." "A~nd I wish yQu'd be good enough to let ~o of hi Mrs. Smith." s arm, As the mother labored 'under a disadvantage on account of one arm 'being occupied with J. Pixley, 'Junior, she was in the end co~npel1ed to yield, and the affectionate father led his son off in triumph to the "leather store." Poor little Mary, to whom such scenes were new, was nearly frightened out of her wits at it, and felt quite re- lieved to find herself alone with Mrs. Smith and the baby. Mrs. Smith was a tall, poking woman, with a sallow com- plexion, and a long, sharp nose. She turr~ed to Mary as soon as 'the coast was cleared, and oi'dered her to go to the kitchen and tell Jerusha to send her a 'basin of water, right from the pump to wash the babe. Mary obeyed, and after TRIALS AND CHANGES'. 197 sending her to fetch half a dozen more things, Mr~. Smith was ready to begin the ablution of J. Pixley. He was a very fat baly, with cheeks hanging down on his shoulders, and a pointed head, crowned on the summit with a tuft of stiff, black hair about an inch long, which stuck up straight in spite of all his mother's efforts with comb and brush, to make it lie down. Little Mary's first movement was to run up and stand by Mrs. Smith, as she always did by her mother when she washed their baby. "What makes' him cry so?" she asked. "Our b'aby never does when he's washed." "Well, I shouldn't wonder if your ma takes the chill off the water. Some folks don't know any better, but it's no way. I always wash my children in the colde~t' water I can get, and in the summer I put a chunk .oC ice in it." Mary no longer wondered that J. Pixley cried, nor that his skin was so red. She noticed whenThis mother put on his clothes, that she pinned his waist bands as tight as she could possibly draw them, and she concluded that this was done to push up the flesh and make his cheeks fat. "How funny his hair looks," remarked the child in the simplicity of her. heart. "It doesn't curl round like our baby's, his i~ real pretty; it goes so;" and she described several half circles with her finger on J Pixley's head. K Mrs. Smith never forgave her this speech. She glanced spitefully at the little girl's head, covered with those short golden rings which are so beautiful in childhood, and which art cannot imitate7 thinking as she did so, of the stiff, mud.. colored locks of her own children, and after a moment she said, "So you think curly hair's mighty pretty? Well I don't agree with you. I'm glad he hasn't got curly hair,. nor 17* I 1963 ~1 page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] ii iji any of the other children. It looks so nigger. If your ma expects me to fuss With yours as she does, and keep it ~quirled up in that ridiculous way, she's mistaken." "My -mother doesn't fuss with, it. She only combs it out in the morning when I get up," said Mary, in some alarm, fearing that she had done something wrong. "You talk too much child, "said Mrs. Smith sharply. When she had finished J. Pixley's toilet, she laid him in the cradle still screaming, and told her to rock him to sleep. "And if he won't go to sleep so - take him up and walk with him till he does; do you hear?" "Yes, ma'am," answered Mary. "And then sit down on that stool by the cradle and sew on this till he wakes up. You can sew some, can't ~ you? you're old enough anyhow." Mary answered that she could sew a little on coarse things, and she took from Mrs. Smith's hand a towel begun to be hemmed. as soon as he wakes, -let me know; do you - hear?" "Yes, ma'am," said the child, and then Mrs. Smith went into the kitchen. Mary rocked the cradle, 'singing the while a childish tune. There was something in her voice and manner soothing to the poor baby after his mother's rough hand- ling, and he soon ceased crying and fell asleep without Qbliging Mary ~to take him up. And then the little nurse began her sewing. She felt very sorrowful, as she sat on the little stool in that strange, disorderly rooih, and thought of the angry words she bad heard, and the angry faces she had seen there, and ~then of her own home where all~was so 198 AfAR Y ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANCES. 199 I' ( different. It seemed as though she had been a longA loiw time away, and she could nJt prevent ~ few tears roihi~g down her cheeks. But she wiped them hastily off ~jvith the rough towel4 she was hemming, and said to her elf, "I mustn't do so. I must try to be good and 'contented, and help my mother as~ much I can." Poor little one I She had entered upon her first real trials. But. we must reserve the account of then~ for another chapter. . CHAPTER VI. T this moment the little girl was startled by a strange noise under Mrs. Smith's bed, and pres-. ently a large Newfoundland dog emerged, stretched, shook himself, and looked round. As soon as he caught sight of the strange child sitting by the cradle, he showed his- teeth, and uttered a low growl. Poor. Mary was dreadfully terrified. What should she do? If she were to stir or cry out, he might spring at her and tear her to pieces before any one could come to her rescue. Therefore she bethought herself to try coax- ing. She remembered to have seen her father once con ciliate a ferocious dog in this manner, when she was out with him; and so, frightened as sh~ was, she ventured ~to speak to him. Poor fellow-! poor old fellow." The dog relaxed his countenance somewhat, and came a 198 page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] i~i MARY ELMER, OR few steps i~earer. She spoke again, in a low, sweet vo1c~. "Doggy, good doggy, y@u won't bite a poor little girl, will you?" The dog advanced close to her side. She took courage and patted his back, though her hand trembled a little, still talking in the same pleasant way, and very soon the creature sat down and laid his head caressingly on her lap. Little Mary was greatly relieved, and resumed 'her sewing. This animal had a great antipathy to children past the age of infancy; caused, undoubtedly, by his having been cpn~ stantly teased and worried by the little Smiths. lie was the terror of all the urchins in the neighborhood, who would scamper off whenever they saw him. He was not accustomed to kind ~woi'ds, and they had a magical, effect upon him, when uttered by Mary's sweet, child-like voice. So~ from this time, Bounce and the lade girl were th~ best of friends. When Mrs. 'Smith came in 'shortly after, she 'was ex- ceedingly surprised at the phenomenon which met her eyes. 'After her astonishment had in a measure subsided, she in- quired "how that dog came there." Mary 'answered that 'he came' from under the bed. "Well, how came he'to be so friendly with you?" "I don't know, indeed," said Mary, "only I thought he was going to bite me, so I said, 'poor fellow,' and talked to him, and after awhile he came up to m~ very good." "So you've been coaxing him, hey! Well, I'll let you know I didn't get y~u here to play with the dog; here~ Bounce, get outyou nasty quadrupled;" and she assisted him with her foot to obey the command. TRIALS AND CHANGES. 201~ The commotion awaked the baby, whereupon' his mother took him up, and then ordered Mary to "fly round and put the room to rights." The child was very expert at "putting to rights," for she had been taugj~it to assist her mother in this way, but she never before had quite so unpromising a field to work upon. how can I ever get it to rights?" thought she; " it is so dreadfully to wrongs." But what with her own ideas of propriety, and Mrs. Smith's instructions where to plane tide, and how to fix that, she~-did at length succeed in get- ting the room into a state something like order; a 'nearer apprQach ~to it in fact, than had been achieved in a lono' time. "I-hereafter," said Mrs. Smith," I shall expect you to do this every morning without being told; d'ye hear?" Mary answered in the affirmative, and then her mis- tress told her to bring on her sewing, as she wanted to see what sort of work she made of it. Mary' brought it to her, and she ,at once pronounced it "distress-ed," the' stitch s, she said, were a foot long - she wondered that a great in like her couldn't sew better, and 'ordered her to take m re pains in future. Mary said ~' she could sew a good dea better when she had a thimble, but she had not brought hers. "So you haint fetcht no thimble, hey? Well, it's curi- ous your ma didn't think of it. Shouldn't wonder if you hadn't any.", "0, yes ma'am, I've got a nice silver one, that father gave me on my last bivt~hday before he went away.~~ "Silver thiiHble for a young one like you that's all the while a growing; a bright idee, I must say, for folks in your situation." 20 ill hf page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] ill U 202 MARY ELAFER, OR "But mother said when it's outgroWn I can gi~ve\ it to some little girl that's littler yet than I. So I mean t give it to Hannah Fenno, she's oniy four, and when she gets too big for it, she ~'can give it to little Ellen, and after Ellen, little Maria, that's a baby now can have it, and so you see it never'll- be lost." "' Well, I declare! I did not know there was anybody so green in creation! give away a silver thimble, when you can't get vittals to eat~ nor clothing to cover your surfisses. But it's a mystery to me that your ma didn't have you fetch it along." "I suppose she didn't think you'd want me to 'sew." "Didn't, hey~? I wonder what she calculated to have you do all the time the babe's asleep; hold your hands and play lady?" To this question the child made no reply, but she ven- tured' to ask if she might go home and get her thimble. "There! jest as I knew wouldd be, ready to jump at any excuse to trot home. But I'll tell you wkat, Mary Elmer, once~ for all I tell you, and do you listen to me and remember'what I say. I aint a going to halve no run- fling back and forth every day from our house to yourn, d'ye hear?" no, not every day, of course; but only' once in a ~hile~to see the baby, you know," said the little girl tim- idly. "Yes, yes," responded Mrs. Smith, snappishly. "You couldn't exist I s'pose, without seeing that elegant curly- beaded cherubim once in a while. And then wouldd be so interesting to me to have you come back and ding-dong it into my ears the rest of the time. A wonderful help you'd he to me in such a case.' No, you aint to go home at all, I give you to understand. D'ye hear?" TRIALS AND CHANCES. 203 Mary would have answered, bu~ something came up in her throat and prevented her. She tri~d to choke it down, inwain, and after a moment she burst into teari. "You 'great cr~-baby," said Mrs. Smith; "1've a great mind to send you home ~and let you all starve to- gether, or go to the poor-house." These words alarmed the child, and she said hurriedly, "0, don't. send me home, Mrs. 'Smith, mother cannot provide for us all. I'll tl7y to be good, I won't cry any more.~~ Mrs. Smith was graciously pleased to be mollified at these prQmis~es, and after giving Mary a lecture touching her future conduct, dwelling at large on the poor-house and starvation in case of any act of disobedience, and her own kindness in being willing to save her from such a fate, she brought out Josephine's thimble for her t6 use until she could have an opportunity to send for her own. She soon after told her to take the "babe" into the kitchen for his dinner. Mary obeyed, and Mrs. Smith followed. In the kitchen Mrs. Smith passed the greater portion of her time. She was unaccustomed to servants, and wholly ignorant of the proper manner of treating them. She had not the slightest confidence in Jerusha. Not be- cause she had any reason to doubt the girl's honesty, but because she regarded all "hired girls" as the natural ene- mies of their employers, and ready to take advantage of every opportunity to defraud them. She therefore. kept up a system of petty esjj~onage over all Jerusha's move- ments, both to see that she did not purloin or waste any-~ thing, and to be sure that she was constantly busy, and - not trying to slight or "shirk, off" her work. N 203. page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. 205 Therefore, whether she had anything to do in the kitchen or not, she was generally there; for the most part gossiping with Jerusha, and asking her all sorts of ques- tions about families where she had lived, which the girl, "like many others when encouraged, was ready enough to answer. Occasionally, however, Mrs. Smith 'was visited with an attack of reserve. A sudden sense of her own greatness and importance as mistress of the house, came over her, and she determined tQ let Jerusha "know her, pla~." At such times her bearing towards her drumstick, " as she called her, was dignified in the e4reme. She 'moved about with a queenly air, and although she continued her visits to the kitchen as~ usual, 'she always brought with her "' Thaddeus df Warsaw" (the only book in the house), ~ and pretended to read while she *kept a good look-out upon Je~usha. These attacks occurred just after she had received a call or an invitation from soine one whom she considered genteel, or after a spat with Jerusha, which ~as no rare occurrence. Jerusha, 'who was a shrewd girl, and knew the difference between a "lady ~" and "no lady," was both provoked and amused at these "genteel fits," as she called them. But' let us not forget J. Pixlcy's dinner. This consisted of a large' quantity of mashed potato well buttered, the soft part of a huge piece of apple~pie, and a bowl of milk. Mary thought it a "funny" dinner for a baby of ten months nbt yet weaned, but she 'did not dare to say 'so. While she was feeding him the children came in from school, and 'a terrible uproar~ ensued. The girls. made themselves merry for a while in commenting~, upon little Mary's appearance; particularly ~her curly golden hair, which they considered vastly inferior to their "own mud.- coL~red pigtails, and then fell to quarreling as usual, while Ferdinand amused himself by jogging her elbow, to make her spill 'the baby's food. Tbb poor child was frightened at the conduct of the great rude boy, and was just on the point of crying again, when the 'entrance ~f Bounce diverted the young gentleman's attention from her. The dog had barely time to run up and gree( his new friend with a wag of his tail, when the same tail was seized by Ferdinand, who began to drag him about the room by it. '~ Bounce neVer would bite his master's chit.. dren, but he often barked and snarled terribly under their treatment. At this indignity he sent forth a succession of yells which\ alarmed Mary, although she did not blame him at all. The yelling of the dog, the shouts of Ferdi- nand, an~d the boisterous quarreling of the two girls, cre- ated a concert such as the quiet little creature had never heard before. ",Get out o' the house every live soul of you," screamed Mrs. Smith. "I can't stand this racket, and' I won't stand it." Then seeing that the children 'did not start, she seized a broom exclaiming, "If you won't go I'll make you go," and drove them forth into the back yard, with orders to stay there till dinner was ready. And then Jerusha proceeded to s~et the table. They ate in the kitchen. The dining-room was only used when they had company. While Mary was yet feeding the baby, Mr. Smith returned from his store dragging along Columbus; who was roaring at the top of his voice. "If ever I take this boy to the store again "- thus 18 q N page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 314RY EL~JIER, OR TRIALS AND ~HANGES~ 207 far had Mr. Smith proceeded, when Mrs. Smith broke in. "I wonder what's the reason you're forever tormenting that child. Lummy, my son, what's pa been doing to you?" "He's been shippingg me," blubbered the cherub. "Whipping you, hey ~ Mr. Smith, I should' like to know what business you have to whip this boy?" "I whipped him because he deserved it; he's done more mischief at the store this morning than his neck's~. worth, confound limIt" "Mischief, hey ! tha1~s a likely story! come here to ma, Lummy, darling 1" Columbus obeyed, and took refuge in his mother's lap; and then turning to ~h~s father, said with an air of great satisfaction, "E ce,, ya ya, I don't tare for you." Dinner was now ready, and little Mary was not sorry when Mre. Smith sent her back in the bed-room with the baby, to1 wait. until they were 'through. She was begin- fling to feel very hungry, but she thought she would rather go without her dinner altogether, than to sit down with the children, to say nothing of their parents. When at last she was called out to dinner, there was no one there beside Mrs. Smith, Jerusha, and Columbus, who was still at the table, being always allowed to sit and stuff huin~elf as long as he chose. Mrs. Smith took the baby, and mo- tioned Mary to - not a seat, but a stand by a very dirty plate which one of the children had used. Jerusha, who had dined (she always ate with the family excepting when they had company), offered to wait upon the little girl, but Mrs. Smith declined, saying she would attend to her herself. She then put a large potato on her plate, cut it up in chunks, and sprinkled #salt over 'it. To this she added a very small piece of meat, 'and then told Jerusha to take' off the dishes. In obeying this~order, the girl, as she took up the bread plate to take it away, offered it to Mary. Mrs. Smith pushed it quickly from her, saying, "She don't need bread with her potato." Mary did want a piece of bread, but she dared not to say so. There was a 'small piece of pie left on Jerusha's plate. To tell the truth she had reserved it on purpose for little Mary. She handed the plate to her, saying as she did so, "Would you like this hit of pie?" Mary thanked her, but-before she had time to take it Mrs S. said with much excitement, "Columbus may want that." "He's got more on his plate now than he can manage, and he's as full as a tick already," said Jerusha.~ "And besides it's a piece I saved' a purpose for her," and she slipped it off on Mary's plate. "Jerusha U' said Mrs. Smith, turning v~ery red with anger. "W'hen I said I'd attend to her myself, I meant so. And I wish you'd mind your own business, and .not go to loading down her plate and stuffing her with vittals you haint any right to." "I didn't mean to stuff her," replied Jerusha, "I thought there was no harm in giving her that little piece of pie." "Don't you know that such children will always make themselves sick overloading if their food aint: portioned out to 'em. It was for her good, of course, that I didn't want she should have the pie." "And for Columbus's good too, I s'pose that ~you N page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] K 208 AfAR Y ELMER, OR wanted he should have it, I don't know why 'taint as bad for him to overload a~ for Mary." As soon as Jerusha had 'delivered this speech, she began to sing, the way in. which she usually terminated the fre- quent spats between herself and Mrs. Smith, for whom sh~ had not the smallest respect. After this~scene, our little Mary was too much frightened to eat the pie, and taking the baby returned to the bed- ioom, (Mrs. S. had not yet learned quite enough* of gem- tility to call it "the nursery,") Mrs. Smith banged after her, enraged at not being able to have the last word with Jerusha. On reaching that apartment she threw herself down in the rocking-chair, rocked furiously for a few minutes, then jumped up, took down "Thaddeus 'of Warsaw," from a shelf in the closet, and banged back into. the kitchen. During, the afternoon Mary had only occasional glimpses of her, when she came and poked her head in at the door to see. how matters stood there, to administer a warning or threatening word to the poor little nurse, and then hastened back to her favorite post. It was a doleful afternoon to the child. The baby fretted 'almost constantly. Mary thought his overloading bad something to do with it. It rained and therefore he could not be taken out in his little wagon. She tasked all her powers to aniuse him. She talked to him, sang to him, took him to the window and tried to interest him in the sights outside. But the dhly way that she could quiet him at all, was by carrying him up and down the room. 0' how her poor litth~ arms achedi for he was a very fat, heavy child. Once they gave out ~iitirely, and she was compelled to drop him into the cradle to rest them. But TRIALS AND CHANGES. 209 he screamed so tremendously that it brought his mother from the kitchen, and she crave Mary a terrible scolding for "letting him lie, there and cry." Mary said she had only laid, him down a little' while to rest her arms. "Time enough for that when he's asleep," said the affec- tionate mother, "don't you let me catch you doing so So Mary took him up and~ walked with him; up and down, up a~d down, until she felt as though her ankles would break and her arms drop off. At last it occurred. to her how very tightly his mother had pinned his 'clothes in the morning, and she thought that after si~cli a dinner as he had ~eaten they mirst be verjr~uncomfortable. She ven- tured to examine. They were very tight indeed, she could* hardly get her finger under them. She knei~ he mkzst be suffering on that account, and after some hesitation she de- termined to loosen them if possible. ' This was no light task for her, but she 'accomplished it after a time. She carefully extracted the pins. But when she had got them all out, and begun to put them in again, her fingers trembled a little, she was so fearful of pricking the baby. "0 baby," she said, "~vhy doesn't your mother have strings on y&ur clothes, as my mother does on little Geor~ey's? I'm ~o afraid I shall hurt you." But she did not hurt him. He was much more quiet ,while she was undoing and doing him over, and when she had finished, his cries ceased entirely. Mary had really done this nice little piece of work as well as any grown perso; ccluld, and the child was completely relieved. He stretched his limbs out to 'their full extent, and~seemed de- lighted to be able' to do so. Indeed, Mary fancied that he looked up gratefully in her face, and she felt an interest in 18* - page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 MARY ELMER, OR the homely little thing, that she had not felt before. She kfssed him, and he tried to return the caress, then laying his cheek against hers fell asleep in a few moments. "Dear baby," said Mary as 'she laid him in his cradle, "how glad you are to be made comfortable; perhaps you will. get to love me though your mother doesn't, but 0 how tired I am!" And throwing herself on the floor at full length, she stretched out her arms aiid enjoyed for a few minutes the luxury of resting. "I must be careful not to test too long," she thought, "or Mrs. Smith wilhcome and be angry with me. I'll be up directly and go td my sewing." But "directly" she began to, think it was very pleasant to lie so, and then she had a confused idea ~f not caring whether Mrs9 Smith came in or not, and then - she was. asleep. Fortunately Mrs. Smith did not coAie in during her ~~Pt which was soon cut short by a great noise under the window. It was the young Smiths 'returning from school9 She was at fkst alarmed to find that she had been asleep, but was~reassured on seeing the baby just as she left him, and sitting down on her little stc~ol began to sew. She had just finished one end of the towel when the baby waked, - ~nd she took him into the kitchen for his supper, as Mrs. Smith had directed. The family were taking tea. "I was in hopes that young one wouldn't wake till we got through," said Mrs. Smith, as she began to prepare his supper, for which he was clamoring loudly. This meal fully ~quallea his dinner in quantity, although it differed in quality; being a bowl of crackers and milk, accompanied by a lai~ge ginger-cake. She placed them on a stand near the tea.~table, where she could keep an eye upon Mary, and see that she did not "eat it half up herself," and then TRIALS AND aIFANGES. 211 the little girl sat down, and began the prQcess of stuffing the infant Pi~dey. While ~rs. Smith was lool~ing round to watch Mary, Columbus, who sat in a high chair near her, reached- out to help hir4iself to something, and in so doing turned over her tea-cup. She gave him a ringing box on the ear, called him ~t "tormented tyke," and was in the act of - ptit- ting him down from the table, when his father interposed, caught him up, chair' and all, carried him round and seated him next f~o himself, saying it was shameful to cuff a child fqr a mere accident. Columbus, finding himself in security, cast a look of ~ ultation at his mother, and pouting out his lips informed her that he didn't tire for her! The three elder children, who bad successively undergone the same process of traim. ing in their earlier childhood, and who gave daily and hourly evidence of its legitimate effects, applauded the boy's spirit with such expressions as these: "That's you, Luni !" "Stand up for your rights! " "Give it to her!" Fer-' dina~~-even went so far as to propose" Three cheers for Lum!" - Mr. Smith was highly delighted at this piece of wit, and laughed heartily ; but Mrs. Smith, not viewing it in the same light, t6id Ferdinand to "hold his tongue." This command the young gentleman 9beyed literally,, by thrust- ing out that member and taking it between his thumb and finger; at which performance the merriment of the young ladies became excessive. Mrs. Smith stormed, Mr. Smith escaped to the storeand the " table broke up in confusion." Mrs. Smith then removed the cakes and apple-sauce that remained, she kept all such things under lock and key, and always took care of th~m herself~ Having cleared the I I page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS~ A'N1? CHANCES. 213 .9 table of every thing eatable, excepting one piece of bread and a little apple-sauce left on her husband's plate, she plastered the latter on the bread, and placing a cup of 'water beside it, took the baby from Mary and told her to go and eat her supper3 Jerusha did not interfere although- she 'looked.~ round several times as though she wondered why Mrs. Smith did not go to her'own room with the baby, as -she usually did directly after tea, there being nothing on the table to require her attention. Mrs. Smith, however, did not take the hint, but remained~ until Mary had eaten her small allowance, and then giving her the "babe," sent her back to the' bed 'room, where she found that the two girls had preceded her. They had called Bounce in, and when Mary entered were adjusting an old shawl over his back, at which the dog was greatly ahnoyed. One corner of the shawl had a hole in it. This they drew over his tail, and having tied the other two corners round his neck, pronounced it a first-rate saddle. Bounce did not, sUbmit ~patiently, but growled and snarled all the "time. "'The girls, however, knew by experience that his growling when directed at them meant nothing, and so they continued to tease him in every possible way, and to laugh and shout at hi~ vain efforts to disengage himself from the shawl. Mary felt very sorry for the poor creature.. "0 girls, don't plague him so," said ~e, "see~how bad it makes him feel." "Who told you to stick in your gab?" said Henrietta. "' Who cares if it does make him feel bad?" said Jo- sephine. Mary ventured to say' that she cared, and again besought them to take the shawl off. '~ Just hear her, Jo," said Henrietta, "what business is '~it'~bf hers what we do?" "Sure enough, the little nasty pot -wrastier ," responded the amiable sister. "Come, Hen, let's set him on to her." This proposition was received by Hen with great glee. "Seek her, Bounce, seek her!" she said, clapping her hands, and pointing at the little girl. The dog turned and looked at Mary. It was not such~ look as that with which he had greeted her in the morning, but one of supplication. It seemed to say "Will you not help me? or do you mean to join my tormentors?" "Go it, old fellow! seek her!" cried both the 'girls,~ clapping their hands with renewed vigor. "Poor Bouncey! poor Bouncey!" 'said Mary, in those sweet low tones of hers, which had 'already won him. As soon as he heard her voice, he ran directly up to her and licked her face, uttering at the same time a pleading oan. She immediately went to work to extricate him 'fr~i the shawl. A rather difficult task because of the b~b~on her lap. But she succeeded after a few moments, to the great delight of the dog. He jumped about licking her face and hands, and also bestowing his caresses upon the baby, whom' the sagacious creature had discovered to be the 'object of her care, much to the astonishment of Hen and Jo, who bad witnessed the scene in silent wonder. J~ist then Mrs. Smith came in and, seeing Bounce, demanded angrily "who let that dog in there." "Mate let him in," said Henrietta without hesitation, at the same time winking at Josephine. "0 no, no, 'Mrs. Smith," said Mary. "I didn't let him in, did I, Josephine?" "Indeed you did, and you l~now you did," answered that unscrupdous young lady. "And you lie if you sayyou didn't~," chimed in Henri- etta. page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. 215 "You little hussy "- began Mrs. Smith. " Now I guess you'll catch it, Mate," said Jo (Mate was the euphonious nickname which the children had given her). - - "0 how can they say II did it?" sobbed the poor child, as the tears rushed to 'her eyes; "he was here when I came in and they were putting the shawl on him." In her agony she appealed to flounce himself. "Don't I tell the truth, Bounu ~ I didn't let you in, did I?" / Bounce could only wag his tail in reply, at which the girls laughed immoderately and said it meant "yes, you did." Mrs. Smith 4tutned him out, and then catching Mary by the shoulder, and shaking her almost hard enough to dislodge J. Pixley from her lap, addressed her thus: "So you expect me to believe you against both the girls do you you good-for..nothing little hussy! Didn't I tell you this morning that I wouldn't have that dog in here? )Vhat possest you to let him in - say?" Mary ~ould scarcely articulate "I didn't let ~him in." "-Don't tell me such~a lie as that," screamed Mrs. Smith, giving her another and harder shake, while the girls looked on with entire satisfaction. "she didn't let him in, ma," said Columbus, issuing from his sister's bedroom adjoining, whither he had gone on a voyage of discovery like his famous namesake. "What have you been doing in there, you little plague?" exclaimed both the girls, hoping to prevent his giving any further information. But Mary too, had caught his words, and said imploringly, "You know I didn't let him in, don't you, Lummy?" "Yes, I know you didn't do it. Hen letted him in, she opened the window and tailed him in. Jo tailed him too." - Before this speech was finished the girls had vanished. Mrs. Smith saw at once that the J~oy spoke the truth, and that her daughters had told a lie. But she said nothing to make amends to the poor child who had suffered so severely in consequence of it. She commanded Lummy to "stop his talking'" and -then saying it was time to undress the "babe," took him from Mars's arms and told her to p~it Coluz4us in bed. He slept in a crib in the girls' room. - At first he utterly refused to go, and his mother had just announced her intention to "give it to him," as soon as she was done with the baby, when Mary induced him to comply by promising to tell him a pretty story, which promise she faitl~ifully kept by relating the wonderful history of "Mother Hubbard and her door" which had such a soothing effect upon Columbus that he was asleep before it was finished. When Mary returned, Mrs. Smith was ready to deliver up J. Pixley to her charge to be walked to Bleep. She did not notice the loosening of his underpinning, which gave his little nurse the courage to go through with the process of relieving him thus as often as she f6und him suffering from being pinned too tight.' She then ~nt to the kitchen where she had "something to do." This something the reader will, perhaps, fancy to - have been a boxing and scolding of her girls for the lie they had told her. By no means. This grievous sin was passed over without a reprimand without even an allusion to it, when every day she punished her children for faults that were nothing in comparison with it. page: 216[View Page 216] A 216 MARY ELMER, OR I CHAPTER VJJ. ~ ARY walked with the baby for some time but he showed no signs of sleepiness, his 'afternoon ii~p had made him wakeful. He was quiet, however, and at length she ventured to lay him down awake, for to. say the truth, her arms could hold out no longer. When Mrs. Smith came back nearly an hour afterwards, with a candle,. she found Mary and the baby * both fast asleep, the latter on her little stool with her head ~resting against the cradle for it was long after her ordinary bed-time. Mrs. Smith was vexed with herself for not having left a light that Mary might have gone on with her sewing.! She roused her with two or three smart raps on her back, called her a lazy thing," and scolded her roundly for" shirking" in that way when she might have gone and got a candle and sewed, instead of snoozing away the time. ~Mary was too worn and sleepy to ~omprehend all that Mr~& Smith said, and rubbing her eyes she asked if she might go to bed. "You may as well," returned Mrs. Smith, "for I see plainly you aint a going to be. good for anything in the evening; come along~ you're to sleep with Jerusha." She led the way up the back stairs, to a desolate look~ ing garret room, whose unpiastered walls admitted many a * goffa ray of star-light (" there ~s no need of finishing servant's rQonl"). * It contained a dirty bed and one old page: Illustration-217[View Page Illustration-217] p ti ii I '4.- '- s-. /1 / / Widow Spriggin departs from the President's House "with oneo'fr mon' ~1ignity."-&C page 3'r.6.~. I 7. 217 * chair. Some nails were stuck round in the beams for b;iiging clothes on, and several of them were appropriated by Jerusha's scanty wardrobe. Mary's own little basket sat on the floor. ill one corner, Jerusha had. carried it up. Mary was nota co~rard, JJ~i~ she had that dread of strange, Jonely sleepiffg rooms which is natural to childhood; and she inquired timidly whether Jerusha would b&up soon. "What, you aint afraid I hope," said Mrs. Smith, "a gr~at girl like ~y~ou afraid of 4he 'dark! I'm ashamed of you. Come! be spry, take off yotirclothes~ndji~mnp iii. I can't stand I here all ikiight waiting for you. Hereafter you're to come up alone, and without a light." So th'e tr&nibling child undressed h~rseif as quickly as possible; took a night-gown froiii her basket, bun ed it on., got into: bed, and wa~s left alone in the dark, uneou~foxtable room. She was thoroughly awake n&w, ~nd. ~despite her weariness, ~she :e0uhj not :get a~leep.'. She felt so forlorn ~nd frier~dless, ~Jone in ~he ~~rld as it were ~. 'She thought how ha~ipy 8h~Ji~diheem~'...With~ her 0ther. and little broth.. ers, and she began to weep bitterly that she ~niist be away from :th~di, not eveti pe nitt~dct~ gocan4 sees them. She thought of good Mrs. Maddoekand how 'she had said to 'ile!jas she was corning away, "~~u must run round very ~of~en to see us." 'She .thought of. 1~frs.Lee',~;audtivague ;I~iOfl crossed' 'her* mind that if :~h~ had b~en at home, all ~wou~4~ b~ve been different. she wondered whether she (31d ever came backs.' Then she thought of tier dear father, ~nd wished 'that she *~s in' the "Good Place," with bbz, where there is no more trouble, and that re~ minded her that she had not said' her prayers. So she. rose on her knees in the bed andirepeat~d them devoutly.' ~ 19 TRIALS AND CHANGES. s page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] I V 4 V Ii ~i I II' I V I' ii Ii 219 Then lying down again she comforted herself with the thought that if she tried to be good and do right always, God wouhj take care of her, and in the end all would be. well. With this feeling, she soon dropped asleep. Not~ long after, Jerusha came in. She stepped softly up 'to the bedside, and holding the stump of a candle which she carried so as to reveal the 'face of the sleeper, she looked at her for a moment. The tears were still standing on the~ quiet face, although. her last waking thoughts had left a peaceful expression there. "' What a pretty little creetur!" thought Jerusha. "I almost hate t~ wake her, she must be so tired." She then put down the candle, and touched the child's forehead lightly, at the same time pronouncing 'her name. "Mother! mother! did you call me I" said Mary, opening her eyes and fixing them wonderingly upon quite a different face' from her mother's. "Don't be frightened," Jerusha said gently. "It's 'only me - Jerusha to bed." "Q; yes, I know now. 'I thought I heard my mother calling me." "I guess you was'dreaming about your mother." "Perhaps 'I was." "Don't you feel pretty tired? " "'Yes, quite tired, the baby is so heavy.'~ "And some hungry too, aint 'you? I know I often feel quite hungry after I've worked hard all' day." '"Yes, I do feel 'rather hungry." "' Well take~ this; 'taint a good thing to go to bed hungry." And she drew prom her pocket one'of the large ginger-cakes that had been on the table at tea, her own allowance, which had 'found its way from her 'plate to her pocket, while Mrs. Smith was overhauling Columbus." "Thank you, Jerusha," said the little, girl with evident pleasure. "Did Mrs. Smith know you brought it to me?" "She saw me take it, eat it -up, you'll feel the better for it." 'So Mary 'sat up in bed sand ate the cake with a good appetite while Jerusha was undressing~ In the ful- ness of her gratitude, she said, "It was very good in you Jerusha to think to bring me something." "Law no. I only reckoned you might like a mowful; I can fetch you something amost every night, but you needn't say nothing about it, for Ferdinand would make fun of us for eating in bed you know." Jerusha . had perceived Mary's fear and dread of this odious boy, and thus availed herself of it. to prevent the child's exposing her. Not on her own account however. As. far as she was concerned, she would not' have cared a straw if Mrs. Smith had found it ~out, but she feared Jb ringing trouble upon ,the little girl who already had enough to bear. Jerusha, rough and coarse~ as she was, bad good im- pulses, not often drawn out, it is true, in such a life as hers. had been. She was naturally affectionate,~but she had never been treated with affection, in fact she had never met with real kindness. She was an orphan. Her easiest recollections were associated with an almehouse from which she was taken when very young by a farmer's wife who~ felt no greater interest in her welfare than did Mrs. Smith in Mary Elmer's. She was knocked about and treated with much less kindness than the domestic animals of the establishment. Compelled also to perform drudgery, both in and out of doors, which would have been too hard for even a stout boy. Never spoken to by her mistress in any I 4- MARY EL2~IBR, OR 218 TRIALS AND cHANCES. page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] t '~ ~i IL U U' I} lit ~ I Ii n I I Li but a harsh, commanding tone, and on account of her ugly face and ungainly figure made the constant subject of the coarse jibes and jests of the men about the farm, who gave her the name of '~ handsome Josh," it is no wonder that'Jerusha developed into a very disagreeable, sulky girl. Many of I~Irs. Marsh's 'visiting acquaint~~ces wondered at Mrs. Marsh for keeping her, and that lady herself declared she "only did it out of pity, for she was awfullV tried with the creetur." But it is not our pui~ose to relate Jerusha's history at length. Let it suffice to' say that when about fifteen, she contrived to run away, and by dint of begging along the road, now a meal and now a ride, in the course of a few days she had travelled more than a hundred miles. She cared not where she vent. Her oi~1y wish was to go far enough to escape forever from Mrs. Marsh. She did not yet consider herself entirely safe, but being very weary she determined to stop for a few days at a certain large town and if possible earn enough to carry her as far as she wished to go. She presented herself at numerous doors with the question, "Do you want to hire?" but her ap.. pearance always called forth an unhesitating negative, until she applied, almost discouraged, to the keeper of a very Iarge~ hotel, where servants were always in requisition. She had so little confidence, and had learned to think her-. self such an object of disgust, that she was quite surprised when the proprietor, after a few questions to ascertain her. capacity, 'engaged her for a month. When he inquired what wages she wished, she answered, "0 anything you please; I never worked for wages and don't know 'what I ought to~ have." Lie Looked at her for a moment with some surprise, but not being over serm~tpulous about his hired people if they but did their work well, he asked no further questions, but' conducted her into the kitchen where she was soon hard at work. Here for a while she experienced the same treatment that she had always endured elsewhere. She was the butt of all the servants, both male and female. But she never answered ~igain. In fact she never spoke at all excepting as her work required it. She was silent, and always busy. At length they ceased to annoy her, or to try to penetrate the mystery which surrounded her, and left her to herself. That important personage, the "head cook," I should have said before, had appreciated her from the first. Je- rusha's business was to assist her, and she protested that she had never before known a young girl so faithful, or one who would do half as much hard work in a day; without corn.- plaining too. The work was indeed hard, but compara.- tively light to the' poor girl' who had been accustomed to such arduous tasks 'as 'were exacted from her at Farmer Marsh's. The accounts of her usefulness' and industry rendered by this functionary to the master and mistress of the establishment, made them very desirous to retain her after the expiration of the month, and Jerusha would will-. ingly have stayed now that she ha4. become contented 'in her new situation, ~nd found herself giving satisfaction, had she not a few days previously caught a glimpse of a man who was a near neighbor and intimate acquaint.. ance of the Marshes. He was just driving away from the door as Jerusha came out to draw water, amid did not see l)er. But she had been very uneasy ever since, and deter.- mined to 'push on farther as soon as her month was up. No entreaties could prevail with her to prolong her.stay. Both the. proprietor and his wife were extremely urgent, 19* ' 6 ) 220 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. 221. +1 page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222~ MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND c'IIANCES. 223 and the cook was still more peremptory.. But the girl continued firm. At length th~ mistress said with some asperity, that it did not look altogether right for her to be so anxious to leave a place with which she appeared to be satisfied. Jerusha felt hurt that Mrs. Mayhew should entertain any suspidons of her, and~very sorry to be thought* ungratefuL to the first persons who had ever treated her with any consideration. She knew that she had done noth.. ing wrong in 'escaping from Mrs. Marsh's tyranny, so she requested Mrs. Mayhew *to step aside with her a little while and~ frankly told her painful story. "0 Mrs. Mayhew," she said in conclusion, "do you think I would willingly leave the first place where 'I wa~ over used like a human being, if I wasn't afraid evei~y min ute o1' being found out and forced back to that awful place where I'm bound to sfay till I'm eighteen~" Mrs. Mayhew saw at once the truth of Jerusha's story and appreciated her anxiety to be still farther removed from danger, andshe no longer opposed her going. She com~~ municated it to her husband who agreed with her, and so Jerusha was permitted to depart in peace, with several presents from Mrs. Mayhew and more money in the shape of wages from Mr. Mayhew thaii she had ever expected to possess at one time. The head cook was inconsolable and gave her a new gingham apr~n, and the other female ser- vants who had for some time felt compunction of conscience for their' treatment of a poor girl who evidently had some sorrow at 'heir heart, came~ forward and affectionately bade her good-by, which they accompanied each with some lit- tle keepsake. Mr. Mayhew also kindly 'advised her as to her coi~rse, and the place which he designated as the one where she would probably be as much out of danger as * ~nywhere~ proved to be our own thriving town. She ac- cordingly came hither. But we have already gone much farther into her history than was our original intention and must rapidly despatch it. It was not the poor wanderer's good fortune to fall into the hands of any 'of those benevolent characters who are found in every city. or village; five years had passed since she came here, and she had never experienced the treatment which she met with at the hotel. Wherever she had lived, her life haq been rendered a burden to her by the insults and jests which were constantly heaped upon her. In many instances she was defrauded of her wages, and knew no means of redress. She of course became constantly more unamiable and surly. She regarded every one as an enemy, and, herself as an object of disgust and hatred to all the world. Mrs Smith had hired her because she could obtain her services at two shillings, less by the week than those of any others to whom she had applied. And now let us return to the, forlorn little' garret room where we left our two girls. Mary readily promised to say nothing about eating in bed; "indeed she'd not tell of ~t and have Jerusha laughed at by such a naughty boy as Ferdinand." After' Jerusha had lain down, Mary said innocently, "You don't say your prayers until after you get in hod, do you?" Jerusha, not knowing what else to reply, said, "No." * "Well, I always say mjn&before I lie down when rm with my mother; we kneel down, Johnny and I, beside her and say them. But to night, what do you think! I forgot it. I forgot to say my prayers until after I'd 2been' in bed a great while. Wasn't. I wicked? And then I J page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] ~224 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. 225 _ had to say them where I was, for I was afraid to get out of bed in the dark in this strange place.. But I must stop talking and give yow a chance to say yours." After 'waiting a few minutes, and perceiving that Jeru- sha was, silent, she said, " Do you say'your prayers to yourself?" Jeriish~ hesitated a moment, and then answered frankly, but with so petulance, "No, I don't say any prayers; I never had anybody to learn me." ".Had you no father or mother?" "Not as I remember of."~ "Who took care Of ~QU when you were little?" "Nobody. I lived in a poor-.house." "Poor-house I dreadful I that's where Mrs. Smith says I shall go if I don'$ be, good and mind her. It's. an awful place, isn't it?" Not so awful as some places where I've lived since." "Where hava you lived since?" "I~verywhere, and 'nowhere that anybody ever cared for me, and so let's go to sleep and not talk any more." "But I care for you," said the child, putting her arm round' Jerusha. *" I care for you, and I'll learn you a prayer; not my little one, but 'Our Father;' one that's meant for everybody, big and little, to say; wouldn't you like to learn it?" "I don't believe I can learn it if I try." "Yesyou can if you say it over after me as I did after my mother when I learnt it." And so little 'Mary 'began saying the~tord's prayer, pausing after each petition for Jetusha' to repeat it after her, which the girl did very correctly, and when 'it was concluded, Mary said, "0 you can learn it very easy. If we repeat itso every night, after a little while you can say it all alone, and' that will be so nice!" Then the fair and lovely little one raised her bead and kissed the forlorn, forsaken creature beside her, and a mo- ment after was sleeping sweetly. The first kiss that had ever been imprinted upon that distorted face. The effect~ was wonderful Jerusha had from the first moment that she saw the child felt an unusual interest in her; but now / she knew that there was a bond between them which never would be broken. And she vowed to herself to protect the little girl 'to the utmost of her power. She loved Mary with the first affection that had ever warmed her 'icy heart. Long did she lie awake; new and strange thoughts were in her mind. She wondered whether she had ever been as innocent as the child beside her. She was almost sure she never was. And then she wondered what she ~ho~ild have been with a mother to guide, and teach, and love her in childhood, and she pitied from her heart the little creature who was~ compelled to. be separated from so excellent a parent as it was evident Mrs. Elmer must be'. "How entirely different she is," thought Jerusha, "from these Smith children! It's plain enotigh~ she's had quite another sort of bringing up. Poor thing! She'll have enough to bear here. I'll do all I cam for her, but dear me! that won't be much among such a set." The next morning as soon as Jerusha was dressed, she called Mary, and after telling her that she need not hurry her head off, went down and left her. So' the little girl threw on her clothes, said hei prayers and followed. When she reached the kitchen she found a basin of water in the sink to wash herself,~ and a clean, coarse towel; her page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 AfARr ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANCES. 227 own towel, Jerusha told her, and no one else should use it, and she would always find it in one particular spot, which she showed her. Mary thanked the kind girl, who then fastez~ed her clothes, and combed her hair neatly. Not long after, ding, dong, went Mrs. Smith's bell. Mary obeyed the summons, and going to the bedroom where the infant J. Pixley. was roaring in his cradle, was order~ by his mother to take him into th~ kitchen till she got dress *But we are not intending to accompany our little hero- ine through another day at Mrs. Smith's, for all succeeding days varied but little from the first. Every day brought with it the same round of wearying labors, of vexations and insults from the children, and harshness, nay, even abuse from Mrs. Smith; and every night the same stolen kind- nesses from Jerusha, who at the end of a week could say, "Our Father" without any h6lp from her little teacher. Afterwards they repeated it together. Susan Elmer was surprised, that Mary did not come home sometimes, and growing anxious about her, went one da~ to'Mrs. Smith's to seethe child. Mary was de- lighted, and would have thrown herself into her mother's arms, but the pres&nc~ of Mrs. Smith restrained her. The latter gave ~.o many plausible reasons for not allowing Mary to go home; such as ~the fear of its making her dis- contented, her extreme anxiety that she should be happy and contented, &c. &c., that S~s~n was reluctantly com- pelled to acquiesce. Mrs. Smith treated Mary with unusual kinchiess in Mrs. Elmer's presence; hut a mother's eye i~ quick, and Susan ~aw clearly by the child's counte- nance th at.sh~ was not happy. She told Mrs. Maddock on he~ retur~i~~t she was convinced it ~as n~t just 'the place 'for Mary at Mrs. Smith's; but she lived in hope that something would turn up' ere .long, which would change the order of affairs. She scarcely acknowledged to herself that this something for which she looked .so ardently, was the return of Mrs. Lee. In this manner several weeks elapsed, and then a change took place in little Mary's circumstances, and unfortu- nately, not a change for the better. Mrs. SmitWs suspi- cions had been for some time excited By the 'rapid 'disappearance of certain articles from Jerusha's plate at tea. At length, by very close watching, she actually saw the transfer of a buttered rusk and piece of cheese from plate to pocket.' It was indeed the poor girl's own por- tion. She was never allowed'to take anything twice, and this piece of self-denial she daily practiced to keep her little fiworite from starvation.' Mrs. Smith said, nothing. ~She pretended not to see, but she determined to find out "what became of the victuals."~ She therefore kept her eye on Jerusha all th&' evening, but discovering-nothing, she followed ~stealthily up stairs soon after the girl went to her room. She bent her ear'close down to a crack round the door, and heard Mary thank Jer~isha for the rusk and inquire whether she would not like 't~ eat a piece ~of it herself. "0 no," returned Jerusb~, "I dcm't want any; I brought it all for you." This was enough for Mrs. Smith. She opened the door suddenly, and stood before the ~two astonished girls, a perfect picture of' rage and maliceL,~ "I've caught ye. at last I ~you nasty, underhanded snoops. I've long suspected this, and now I'm satisfied. What business 1~av'e you to be a stealing~ victuals to bring up here and stuff that young one? say I" page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 JTAR r E~gER, 01? TRIALS AND CH4NaES. 229# Jerusha, who was somewhat alarmed at first, had time to recover her composure during this tir~k. "Stealing, did you say V' she aske~ looking the woman full in the face. "Yes,, stealing; carrying off my victuals unbeknown to me to feed that young one." "Mrs. Smith! I never stole a. mou'ful of victuals from you in all my life, apd you know IL didn't. Whatever I've brought to Mary. I've took from my own share, that you was willing her g I should have. I've robbed myself to keep from starving, joor little creetur! If that's stealing, I'll steal again." "You would, hey? You say that to my face, do ye?" "Yes, I do, and to any other face of clay you'll bring on." "You sassy, impudent trollop! quit the house this minute. I won't harbor ye no longer." "Very well, pay me my wages and I'll quit .to-night." "Wages! you're a pretty one to talk about wages! Not a ~red cent do you get out o' me, after such conduct." ~" So you don't mean to pay what, you owe me? Mrs. Smith, I've worked hard and faithfully here for three months, and you've only paid me for the first month of the times I sha'n't leave the house till ii get the rest that's due me." "Sha'n'they?" ~" Non sha'n't." "Well, I guess we'll see who's mistress here." 'With these words Mrs. Smith slammed the door fu.. riously and. went down stairs. During this colloquy, little Mary lay buried under the bed-clothes, trembling from head to foot. 'As goon as Mrs. Smith was fairly gone, she uncovered her head and said in great distress, "0, Jerusha, what have you done? What is Mrs Smith going to do? What will become of me if you go away?" "Don't feel so bad, Mary," said Jerusha, beginning tQ undress. "I know well enough what she'll do; she'll be all over it by morning, and want me to stay." "0, I'm so glad." "Wait a minute. I sha'n't stay, if I get my wages, ( and Mr. Smith won't dare to hold onto 'em, if she wants to ever so much; and I shall clear out 'in the morning." "0, how badly you make me feel! Th9re'~ nobody here that cares for me but you. Bounce does, but he can't do much for me. He likes to 'stay by me, and often growls at the children when they plague me. I know he would bite them if' they should lay a hand on me; but he isn't always by when~ they tease me. Baby loves me, too, but he isn't like you, Jerusha. 0, what shall Ii do?" "Jest so, that's the only reason why I hate to go, you poor little creetur. But maybe I can do something' for youafterlgo." "What can you do then?" "Why, if can't I do anything else, I can go'and tell your mother all about it, and she'll come and take you home. But I know she'd like to have you get a good place where they'd be .kind to you; and who knows but' what I can find you such a place?" "0, if you only could! Some place where they would let me go and see my mother when I want to, perhaps the same place where you go. But would Mrs. Smith let me "She'd~ have~ to I guess, if- butno matter, let's say our prayer~ and go to sleep." 20 page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] ) 230 MARY EL R~ OR After prayers, Mary, sobbed out, "0, how lonesome I shall be, sleeping here alone." "Don't you remember," said Jerusha, "what you said to Jo, t'other day, when she iyas bragging that nobody' saw her take that car~dy? yc~ said, '0, Jo, don't you know that God is everywhere, and sees all we do?"' "Yes, I remember, and how Jo laughed and made fun of me. But I'm glad 'you spoke of it, and I'll try to think about God watching over me, and the holy angels being around me every night when I come to bed." "And I hope it won't be many nights you'll have to think of it~ in this place." And then they went to sleep. CIIAPTEI~ VIII. HEN Mrs. Smith reached the. kitchen, she found T her husband there, and requested him to "go straight up stairs and turn Jerusha out ~of the house." He asked an explanation. She gave 'it; whereupon 'he called her a fool for making a muss about it. "Don't ~you 'see,". he, said, "how 'twill work if you send her off? She'll 'blaze it all round, and the whole neighborhood will be up in arms about your starving the kelp. ~And now's the time,' you know, for us to be doing all we can to get into good society; and there's TRIALS AND CHANGES. 231 some that's envious of us who'd be glad to make the most of it.~ And besides all that,' you can't get another girl that will work so 'well and so cheap as she does. I ad- vise you to pass it over, and let things go right on in the t.. morning as if nothing had happened." Mrs. Smith could but acknowledge that this would be the wisest course; and 'after indulging in a terrible out.pour- ing against Jerusha, and Mary, too, she concluded to adopt it. Accordingly in the morning she said nothing to Je- rusha about leaving, nor did the latter speak of it until Mr. Smith made his appearance, when she immediately asked him for the money due to her, saying that Mrs. Smith had told her to quit, and she wished to do so as soon as possible. Mr. Smith remonstrated, but she wa immovable. Even Mrs. Smith condescended to request 'her to remain, and said c~ she'd got over her feelings." "Well, I haint got over mine," said Jerusha. "1 can't stay another day in a house where I've been treated as I was last night." "'Well, you won't get any recommend," said Mrs. Smith. "I want none from you," replied 'Jerusha, with con tempt. her at length saw that he could do no less than pay the money, which he did with a very ill grape, and under a. storm 'of words from his wife, who protested "there was' no need of his paying a cent," &c., &c. When Jerusba had received the money she went to her room, packed up her few articles in a 'bundle, and started off. Smith was standing in 'the outer door as she passed through, and said to~her, with' a look and tone intended to be very~ impressive, - page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CilAYGES. 233 "Look here! the less you say the better." "Th~e better for you, I knoyv it," she answered, with great unconcern, as she too~ her way down the yard. Mr. Smith's emotions at this cool rejoinder, "may be better imagined than described." When she reached Mrs. Smith's bedroom window which looked out upon the side yard, she saw little Mary standing by it, baby in arms, and she knew that the child had stationed herself there to see, her when she passed, as her favorite post was by the window next the street. Mrs. Smith was still in the kitchen, brooding in impotent rage over her troubles. Mary's eyes were brimful of tears which she could not suppress, as she stood there waiting to see the last of her only friend. But Jerusha did not venture to stop and speak, for she knew that Mr. Smith was watching her, and feared that it might increase the little girl's trials if they were to hold any conversation. So she merely said in passing, - "Keep up, you'll hear from me soon. It~;was a sultry morning in August, when Jei\isha went forth, as she had often done before, homeless, friendless, and not knowing whither to go. "But first and foremost," she said to herself, as she slowly pursued he way. "Imust see if anythingcan.bc done for Mary. But dear me! where shall I go? I can't tell who'd be likely to treat her well; I'm sure I've never lived~ at any plaee here where I'd be willing to have her go, the precious little innocent creetur! Well, if I can't do anythingelse, I can go and tell her mother all about it, and she'll take her right home, better starve, there than at Smith's. If that Mrs. Lee she talks so much about was only at home, I'd go straight there. She's a good woman, I kn6w, and she would take her away. Who knows but she has got ~home? Any how, I can go see. So she retraced some of her steps, and turning a corner, went directly to Mrs. Lee's house. As she approached it, her courage rose on seeing the front windows thrown open. She went round to the back door and knocked, but no answer. As she4was about to repeat the knock, Peter Jackson, who was at work in the garden, and had seen her enter the gate, came round. In answer to her inquiries, he said that Mrs. ~4~ee would be home that very evening. She had sent word several days before, and he had been "given the house a good airen, to be ready for her." "0, dear!" exclaimed the disappointed girl; "I'm so sorry, I want to see her dreadfully." "Important business with the missus, has the young oman got?" "Yes, very important; but P11 be sure to come in this evening, rain or shine." She then pursued her way in search of employment, and at last offered herself at a large public house, where she h~uI never, applied before. It was a busy time with them. The court being' in session, the house full of boarders, and servants scarce; she was hired for a fort-. night, and no recommendation required. A hard, rough 'place, but she was used to such places. As 500fl as Jerusha was out of the house, Mrs. Smith began to vent, her rage upon little Mary, whom she re-~ garded as the cause of all her troubles. During the pro-. cess of washing the baby, she improved the time in pouring forth a storm of indignation against the child. ~Phe shrill tones of her voice, the incessant screaming of J. 20* 232 233 page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 MARY ELMER, OR rixiey, the consternation of Mary, who ~~as flying abont ; "setting to rights," altogether made it a "scene for a painter.'~ When the washing was completed, Mrs. Smith laid ~the baby in the cradle, and ordered Mary to finish hemming that apron, while. she was rocking him to sleep.' "As soon as it's done," she added, "come out in' the kitchen, there's plenty to do there now.~~ And after dropping the curtain to shade the room, she went out, and Mary took her station by the cradle. There she sits, the patient young watcher, rocking the cradle with her foot, and while she sews, she sings too. "Husl~,niy dear, lie still and slumber, Roly angels guard thy bed,"- 'The baby is very quiet now. His eyes are open still, but he' seems to be in a serene and comfortable state of mind. At length the lids begin to droop, Mary is watch- ing them, and her voice falls too. And gradually as they droQp lower and lower, so lower and 'lower are the tones of that childish voice', until they fall as gently on the baby's ear, as the "Heavenly blessings" she sings of, on" his head. And now they die quite away, for the baby is fairly in Dreamland. How fast those little fingers move over the hem! It is morning, a~nd 1the child is not 'yet worn' out with the' day's labor.. Besides, ~there is~ a hope in her heart. She~is thinking about Jerusha, and something whispers her that 'deliverance is i~ot far off. ' Hark! she hears a noise, a very pleasant sot~nd. She paizses in her work a mou~ent and listens to it. She knows whence it proceeds, for she hears it almost every day. A young lady wh~ lives TRIALS AND CHANaE~ 23~i 4/ opposite teaches, a few scholars at her own home, and now these children are out enjoying their, pastime in the yard. Mary loVes to watch them at their play. It is next thing to being out at play herself. Many a time has she stood at the window with the baby in her arms, while her feelings entered warmly into their animated sports. She rises and steps softly across the ro&m, as softly as she can with those great chims~r shoes which were not made to~ftt, but to be grown into, and furnished from Mr. Smith's shop, who has plenty of leather on hand of course, but Mrs. Smith. "is not a going to be getting shoes every month for the hussy to bang out." In fact, she thinks it all nonsense for her to wear shoes at all, she wouldn't allow, it if she didn't sup- po~e her mother would make a fuss about it, if she should ~happen to come in and find her barefooted. She raises a corner of the curtain and1 peeps out. how beautiful everything looks on this soft n~orning of the wa- ning summer I' especially that d6or-yard opposite. There are several fine trees in it, and the little girls are frolicking so merrily under them! A canary~-bird's'~ cage hangs from one of the branches, and he too, seems blithe and~ contented in his little pr~on. And ever and anon, one of the number runs up and speaks to him, and he carols joy- ously back. And all the time the pleasant-faced young lady sits by her epen window regarding their sports, with- out appearing to be the slightest check upon their hilarity. And our little nurse rejoice~ too, as' all sweet innocent natures do in seeing others happy. She stands thus. for some minutes, with one hand holding out the~ curtain, and her head thrust a little way behind. Her sewing is in the other hand, and has not adVanced any since she came'to the window. She has; however, but an N { page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 MAR r" ELMER, OR inch or two more to hem, and she is going on with it di- rectly. She does not intend to look long. But~tha't merry group. is very fascinating. Ah little one! I greatly fear you will stand gazing until the teacherr calls them in, unless something prevents you. But something will prevent you. Come away, Mary ! come quickly I There is a step in the passage, a step that bodes you no good, but you are too absorbed to hear it. The she-wolf is close upon you, haste~ little lamb, to your place by the cradle side, while ther& is yet time. She will never know that you have left it. It is but an innocent fraud, we cannot bear that you should fall into her hands to-day, when she is so furious. Come away, little lamb! still heedless! The Good Shepherd alone can protect you now. Look! she dreams not of danger, until she feels herself suddenly dragged backwards by the arm and furiously shaken. "You miserable, wretched hussy! this is the way you mind me, is it? this is the way you stick to your sewing when my back's turned?" (Another terrible shake.) "0 you deceitful little slut! i've a good mind to take your hide off, you richly deserve it~ you viper!" (another !Ind harder shake; how pale the little one turns! but she does no~ispeak a word.) "What business have you to be a looking out of the window? I never gave you leave. 'Twould do me good to pound you within an inch of your life." / 'See! she is raising her arm! Hold, woman ! you are not going to strike that defenseless creature! you cannot do it. Look ~t that poor little white face! as white, as a dead child's almost, but not so calm. It is the very image of despair. Look at it.! have you no compassion? no bowels of mercy? 0, have you not children of your own? TRiALS AND CHANGES. 237 There! the blow has fallen! another ~! yet another! God of mercy, stop her! Hark! a ring at the door- bell - "There, run to the door, and be thankful for getting off so well." But the child has sunk on the floor and she 'does not rise. She is stunned and bruised. She did not even hear the bell. "Get along to the dooryou stupid thing you," (with a kick.)" Don't you hear the bell a ringing ?~" The child is on her feet now, but how changed! The bright and hopeful look which we saw on her countenance but now, is gone; an expression of agony ha~ taken its place. But beside this, there is something strange, some- thing never seen there before. The colorless lips are pressed closely together, and the blue eyes have an un- wonted fire in them. The crushed worm will turn soon. The little girl has not uttered a souiid, but her spirit is roused, and says within her, "It is enough, I will go to my mother, I \vill go~this very day if I can but escape." "Come, make haste for the door! and don't go scuffing along ~o; lift up your feet, can't ye? Show 'em into the front parlor, if it's a laily." When 'Mary reached the door, she opened it to a pleas- ant-looking, handsomely dressed lady, who hiquired for Mrs. Smith. There was but one thought in Mary's mind then, - how to escape, instead of answering immediately, she laid her hand on the lady's arm, and looked up into her face with a strange pleading expression, that surprised her not a little. But she did not speak.. After a minute or two, the lady said,' -' "' Did you not understand memy child? Is Mrs. Smith at home?" page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CIIANGE& 239 Then the little girl recovered herself, and was frightened that she had dared to be so free with a stranger, ~and she answere~l quickly, and led the lady to the parlor. When she annoiimced to Mrs. Smith the name of Mrs. Bennet Squires, the former experienced no slight degree of elation at the honor of a visit from so distinguished a personage, for Mrs. Bennet Squires was, in fact, tJ~ie leader of the ton in our town. "Dear me 1" she exclaimed, "so she's condescended to call at last. Well, I'll~ let her know I'm as good as she is, any how." So she hastened to change her dress for a flaring plaid silk,. stuck on her fabe front, with a very, elaborate, un- tasteful cap above it. She had plenty of her own hair, hu2t it was beginning to turn gray which she considered a great disfigurement, and always concealed on important occasions, either with an ugly dye, or a still uglier false front and cap. She also put on her California jewelry; an audacious pair of earrings, a watch and cable chain, with~a pencil case and half a. dozen ~y looking ornaments besides dangling to it, several clii ni~inger rings; and an enormous pin Ab full of red, blue an green stones. She was delighted with an opportunity of showing off these fine things ~s well as, the splendor of her parlors to one of the "upper crust." Mrs. Squires meantime was entertaining herself 'with a survey of the parlor decorations~ .She was a woman of correct taste, and a strong sense of the ridiculous, and of course could not but be highly amused at the appear- ance of this parvenu establishment. The huge pyramids of brass and glass which' glittered oti the mantel, . the gaudy' cornices, and other tinsel articles, she ~{otested made her eyes ache for a whole week afterwards; while the stiff arrangement of the furniture,, about the sides of the rooms, looking as if it did not feel at home. in the least,~ gave her a very uncomfortable feeling, and a* strong desire to relieve it from its uneasy position. But the "family picture "astonished her more than anything else. She had travelled aiid visited many galleries of paintings, but bad never seen a work of art that would in any degree compare with it. Her ecstasy was so great that she could not help indulging in a hearty laugh all by herself. When her amazement at the 'grandeur which surrounded her had in a measure subsided, the pale, pleading face of the little girl returned to her recollection. There was an expression about it that impressed her greatly, and she knew that there must be something in the child's present circumstances which had caused her singular manner when she spoke to her, and she regretted that she had not said more to her. The entrance of Mrs. Smith interrupted these reflec- tions~ She advanced towards Mrs. Squires with an air of perfect self-satisfaction, and much iustljng of silk. "I'm very glad to see you," she said; seizing Mrs. Squires's hand and shaking it up and down like a wood- chopper. "You've been so long a coming that I begun to think you didn't mean to call at all. Set down in the rocking~chair, do." "I thank you, my seat is very good." Ai~d. so Mrs. Smith dumped herself down into the rock- ing-chair, and immediately began to rock back and forth, in a manner characteristic of nervousness and vulgarity combined. "Won't you take off your things?" and "how's Mr. Squires?" exclaimed Mrs. Smith, hurriedly. "Mr. Squires is very well, I thank you." page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] Ti TRIALS AND CHANGES. "I'm very glad to hear it, health is such a blessing , I feel to envy well folks, since I'm getting so delikit." "I noticed a beautiful little flower near the gate in your yard, Mrs.~ Smith, is it an annual?" " I don't know whether that's the name of it or not, I never troubled nTiyself to know what it was; you see my nurse girl had some seeds, and my little boy asked ijie to let her plant 'em somewhere, so I told her to stick 'em down there; but I aint no great hand for flowers any way; but my husband has a great deal of taste in the fine arts, and so have I, and our family picture is a satisfaction to us both. I sejested- the suppositions myself, and if the cost of a thing~ is any criturion, I am sure' it ought to be good, for Mr. Smith had to pay thirty dollars forit; for my part I don't begrudge tle money, ~e don't he; law what's thirty dollars to him?" ) Thus she went on, rocking and t44king, until Mrs. Squires who had come in on an errand, felt impatient for an opportunity to say what she wished and be gone. At Jendth she ventured, during, a momentary pause in Mrs. Smith's volubility to take out a paper and pencil, hoping thus to attract her attention. !The latterhowever, was only the more gratified, as she * took it for granted that Mrs~ Squires intended copying the * family picture. "It heard you drawed beautiful and I like to have folks see the picture, that knows ho* to appreciate it." " The effect is very striking," observed Mrs. Squires, "and such a painting is certainly quite an addition to a room, but Gf course, the greatest value of a picture is t1~ faithfulness with which it preserves the likeness of a friend." Yes, At's very gratifying to have a real good picture." "Time adds to the value of these little mementoes, when God has taken our friends forever from us," said Mrs. Squires, sadly as she placed her band instinctively upon a little miniature of her own dear mother, who had died but recently. "That's so," said, Mrs. Smith, "but 'then fashions change so fast, and I never could endure an old-fashioned. picture, I've got a painting' of my mothe~ for instance, it's a real pretty face, but dear me, the hair is stuck up~ so high on her head, and such an old-fashioned mankiller, I always keep it in the back chamber. If Professor Boggles will just put a new-fashioned cap and Barskeeh on it, I will hang it in the back parlor; for' they say it's all the fashion to have your parents' pictures in your best rooms now." Mrs Squires had always tried to show the respect of, civility to opinions not in harmony-with her own; but fear- ing that she might be tempted to violate her rule, if' the conversation continued, she determined to make the ob- ject of her call apparent and to terminate it ~as soon as possible. Making a courageous effort for this purpose she said, "I called, ~Mrs. Smith, 'to ask you to contribute something toward getting new lamps for the church. You know that our lamps are getting shabby, and many of them ar~ broken." Mrs. Smith's countenance fell, her voice seemed sud- denly to lose its utterance, her heart sank within her and her rocking-chair which had kept time by rapid or slow vibration 1~o the energeticc or moderate demonstrations of its occupant, came to an unwanted stop. - "After all she haint come for a regular call only a beg. 21 MARY ELMER, OR 246 241 page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. 243 ging, and I've a good mind not to give her a single cent," thought Mrs. Smith, "but then she'll see I haint got no money t9 command," and she continued aloud. "Oh, yes, certainly, I'm glad somebody has got public spirrit enough to attend t~ them lamps; it's high time somebody took hold, but you've happened to ketch me at an unfor.. tinate time. You see I dismissed my dramestic this morn- ing, quite unexpected, and after Mr. Smith had gone to the store, and so I was obleeged to pay her out of my private purse, and it pretty near cleaned it' out, and Mr. Smith not being in you l~now, - I haint g~t i1~ replenished. But when he comes home to dinner,, I'll get a supply and send some round to you." As this speech was all a falsehood, it was no wonder that Mrs. Smith hesitated so~newhat in delivering it, and Mrs. Squires, who understood it to be such, was disgusted as well as amijsed. 'She, however, thanked her' for the promised aid, and handed her the paper, to' put down her 'name and the -amount she would give. Mr8. Smith looked over the names, and noticing that dollars was the largest sum given b two y any one, she placed that amount opposite her own name in very large figures and lThnded the paper back with an air of triumph. "I'll send it round by my nurse girl, this afternoon,'~ she said, as if to impress upoti Mrs. Squires 'the fact that she kept a girl to take the care of, her child. "By the way, was it.your n~irse girl who came to the door?". '"She is a beautiful child, and. very y~ng, I should think to have the care of an infant." I guess there aint no dancer of her hurting herself," said Mrs. Smith, somewhat annoyed by the lady's expres- sion of interest. "She's a complete little~ shirk, I only keep her out of charity, they are so awfully poor." "Whose child is she?" "Well her father'8 name w~as Elmer, he went to Gala- forny and died there and kft his family dreadful destitute." "Indeed,~' said Mrs.. Squires "then she is Susan Grant's child. I had no idea they were so reduced. Susan was a very good girj." "But poQr and proud, too proud to let her sittiwation be known, but I happened to 'find it out almost by acci- dent, and so I took this young one off her hands; but I don't know whether I can ever make anything of her or not, -can't trust her a minnit when I aint by to watch her, she spends half her time a looking' out the winder when the babe's asleep, inside of sticking to. her sewing." Mrs., Squires made no reply, but soon took her leave with a feeling of sorrow for the poor little child, which Mrs. Smith's unkind words had failed to diminish, and as she continued her'. labors, the pale, sad face of the little girl arose often.to her recollection, and she determined to do what she could to rescue her from a position which she felt must be full of misery. page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 MARY ELMER, QR CHAPTER IX. N the sinking ~f hopes and the rising of fears, which the progress of Mrs. Squires' call had developed, 1~Irs. Smith's amiability had in no way increased, and as Mrs. Squires had not even invited her to "return the 'call" as she bade her a coldly polite good afternoon, Mrs. Smith said to herself "I am almost sorry 1 ,signed the paper at all, but it's t~o late now." 'The baby had awaked during the call, and little' Mary's bands being now literally "full," Mrs. Smith was com-~ pelled to prepare dinner alone, but she had only succeeded in~ replacing her finery in the clothes press when Mr. ~naith and the children came in, and the disorder and confusion became m7ore intolerable than ever. At length dinner was placed on the table, and when the. more clamorous demands of the children were silenced as Emith said by "letting their victuals stop their mouths," the subject of'Mrs. Squires' call was mentioned. "I think it's high time some of them sort, of folks begun to take a little notice of us; we have paid a' big house rent about long enough for nothing." "Isha'n't be in. any hurry to return the call. I guess Pm as goiA as anybody." "Hadn't better be too particular; it's to my interest to get in with them sort of folks.". "'Yes, and be dunned for a ~ubscription every day of 4 ' TRIALS AND CHANGES. 245 your life4 That's one thing she wanted this very day; all the upper crust are signing round to get new lamps for the meeting-house, and so she wanted to see how much she could get away from us. But she's a polite beggar I must say, for she didn't come right out on the start; but it's all. the same if they only get the money." "That's so, and it's very obliging to offer to spend your money for you, but I hope you let her see you could give as much as any of 'em; folks can't be popular withQut its costing anything. I often see men signing ever so much for foreign missions and such like things, when I know they are distressed to death with their grocery bills; but here's the money, and you had heifer send Mary right over with it. You see it won't be any less for waiting, and then it will show her that we are prompt and on hand about the matter." "Don't be in such a desperate hurry; I guess Mary can wash up the dishes before she goes.~~ The meal was finished; Mary went about her task, baby was unusually quiet and amiable, amusing himself with s6me green apples which had rolled on the floor from Ferdinand's pocket, and which he stoutly maintained a schoolboy had given him, while his mother as firmly de- clared, that they came of, her "don't-seek-no-farther tree and she knew they did." Mary applied herself to her task with renewed energy. There was a calmness and determination in her manner in which one of greater penetration than Mrs. Smith might have read a sense of despotism and a disposition to resist- ance, for she had felt the spirit of insurrection rising in her heart, which already beat with accelerated pulse at the thought of escape from thraldom. 21* page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] But Mrs. Smith only congratulated herself that Mary knew she had got the work to do, and as she had told her "the quicker it was done the bettr," she innocently thought Mary was fulfilling her own instructions. Very different, however, were the thoughts which occupied the mind of our little heroine. '~ If is not right for Mrs. Smith to treat me so, and if mamma knew about it she would not have me stay here another day. It will not be disobeying her if I go home," and the child was glad that the errand to Mrs. Squires gave her an opportunity of get- ting started on her way, and when, after her bonnet and shawl were on and she ready for a start, Mrs. Smith said, "Now take that money and go straight to Squareses, and then come straight home, and don't let the grass grow under your feet ," Mary answered, with a calmness which quite surprised her mistress, "I shall go and see my mother first." Mrs. Smith would have forbidden this rebellious act but she remem- bered that the very day before a little boy.had brought an u~gent6request that Mary might be allowed to come home to see her grandmother. Amid the contending thoughts whi~h had occupied Mrs.. Smith's mind she had quite forgotten the x~equest, and now when it arose to her recollection, instead of sending any apology 'to Mrs. Elmer, she only said, .' Well, go along, gad-about, you will be a small loss here; after you have got starved out, maybe you will un- derstand what I am trying to do for you; but miii dyou leave the money to Squareses, and just tell her I sent it, and don't ~make a little tattler of' yourself, for tattling is awful mean, do ye hear?" Mary was soon started on her journey.. She was met at Mrs. Squires' door by that lady, who was now ready to resume her. morning's labors. She asked 'the child pleas- antly to come in, but Mary was too anxious to reach her own home to stop long on the way, although the tidy sit~ Pug-room looked very inviting. A great many questions suggested themselves to the lady's mind, but she deter- mined not to direct the child's attentiQn to ~the unpleasant- ness of her present condition, until she could decide' on some w~y of improving it. On learning that Mary was on her way honie, Mrs. Squires prepared a little basket of cakes and fruit for the family, and as she walked along with her, learned what she could of them, and asked her to call again at her house. "0 yes, ma'amjY~ill come and bring back the basket." This was just what Mrs. Sqt~ires wanted, although she had not mentioned that the basket was not included iii the little gift, but the child's bringing it back would, die hoped, give her further opportunity of learning the needs of her old acquaintance, and of 'furnishing to her assistance in an u~iobtrusive and dined acceptable manner. She felt greatly in- t~o, go home with the child that very day, but Mrs. Squires was not in the habit of acting upon new inipulses, and her time had already' been appropriated to th6 church business; therefore on bidding the, little girl good-by, she gave her maiden name for her. mother with messages. of' kind regard, and a promise' to call very soon to see her. The remembrance of Mrs. Squires' kindness made the* child continue her walk with a quicker step and a lighter heart. She thought how pleased grandma would be with a Nhice baked apple, and" how Georgy would crow and laugh over his cooked, and mamma w6i~ild have no excuse -for not taking one, as' there were 'enough to go around she was very sure. 4 246 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND 6YIIANGEASt. 247 247 246 page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. 249 ~ [I But as she reached her home she was greatly surprised, and wondered what was going on. A bedstead was 'lean- 'ing against the end of the house, while quilts and pillows were airing upon a clothes-line. A boy was holding some horses near the gate,~ while two or three grave-look- ing men were engaged in a quiet consultation near the door. She had begun to fear that mamma h~d got to move again, but felt reassured when David Gray spoke kindly to her, and before she had fairly reached the door, Johunie came running out, saying, "Why did not you come last night, M~iry, when' we sent for you? grand z~ia was almost gone then, and we all wished you was here." As Mary passed into the house, there was not &ne famil- iar face to greet her. A coffin, covered, with a black pall rested upon' the table in the front corner of the room. ~ small bouquet of violets stood on the stand in an old- f~ishioned wine-glass, while two grave-looking women were engaged on a mourning dress. The 'little gid paused a few moments to gaze in silent reverence on that v~nera- ble fa~e 'which, though the animation of life had forever fled,' yet seemed already ~touched with that triumphant brightness which betok~ns the dawn of immortality, she pressed her lips silently to that aged brow, and tli~n as quietly passed up ' stairs t her mother's room. Mrs. Ekuer was seated in her accustomed sewing-chair beside the little table, with her child in her arms, and although be had been asleep some time she~ did not lay him down, but pressed him more closely to her heart as she thought how few were left to claim her love or demand her care. The little fellow, quite unconscious of the sorrow which had deprived him of his usual lullaby, had asked for the "shining star," but his mamma could not sing it for him to-night, indeed she could scarcely see beyond the cloud of desolation and sorrow which oppressed her; yet she did not despair, for in the many trials of her faith, which had led her pathway through thorns and sorrows, she still cherished that "hope" which is "the companion given the unfortt~uate by pitying Heayen," and her trusting heart always found some object for gratitude or praise. And' even now, she was grateful that she had been able to make her mother's last days comfortable ; and that as her willing spirit had bent affectionately to her filial task, it had not been hindered by the' iveakness of the flesh. She wondered if she could have done anythii~g more for her mother during the long, weary illness, and then she looked hopefully to that blessed place of rest, where trials and changes con~e no more. Mrs. Elmer clasped her daughter's hand with a faint smile of welcome, and held it long in silence; and though few words were spoken, each felt how strong was the bond of affection and 'sympathy which united them. Little Johnnie soon came bringing up the little basket of apples. Aint these real beauties?" said he, as he selected the fairest for his mother. "And just see what lots 'of' cakes." "Put them on a plate, Johunie, and offer some to the ladies down stairs," said Mips. Elmer. Johnnie hastened to obey the instructions, and soon re- turned saying, "Oh, there's the funniest-looking gi~i down-stairs, and she wants to see yiu, to tell you about Mary, she said." "I think it's Jerusha," said Mary, starting quickly to meet her faithful friend. page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 MARY ELMER, 01? Whatever might have been the enthusiasm of the meet- ing between the two girls, out of that house of bondage, in. other circumstances, there was i~ne now. "I'm so glad you got 'away £ro~ there," said Jerusha. "You see I did not know you ha~ come, and so I thought I would stop and tell your mother about matters and things. I've been to Mrs. Lee's, and the colored man says she is expected ' home to-night, but I must hurry along, for I have ,hired 'to the Eagle Tavern for a fort- night; so good-by, Mary," and the 'poor homeless crea- ture started back to fulfil the duties of her new engage- ment. Mrs. Maddock,' who had been very much occupied in assisting to prepare Mrs. Grant for her last repose, had gone to her own rooms to discharge the domestic duties of her household; but as soon as she learned that ~Mary had come, she came in with Martha and Ann, to welcome her home again. The funeral was 'appointed for the next afternoon, and passed. off so quietly, that many living very near, and in The same street, had. not even heard of a death in the neighborhood. Mrs. Lee had not been able to reach her home as soon as she had anticipated, and arrived 'only at the hour appointed for the funeral. Mrs. Squires had heard of it through the clergyman, of whom she 'had made inquiries after the family, and had taken some pains to inform those whom she thought might remember Susan Grant'and her mother in better days. Still. it was only a small, quiet, funeral. Mrs. Lee had kindly sent her carriage and some' money for the sexton's fee; although too much overcome by her journey and grief at the loss of her only sister, to leave her own room. David Grey had engaged the hearse and the bearers, and his own wagon with the carriages of Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Squires, formed the little procession. Yet in her heart, Susan Elmer was thankful to give her mother so respect-~ able a burial; and when the poor old woman had been so feeble, and helpless, and troublesome, that some had said, "It was strange God's providence did not remove her," the devoted daughter had toiled, and waited, and prayed, that her mother's life might be spared until something should occur to enable her to show her mother the respect of a proper sepulture; and her trials ~iad never yet founa the limit of her faith and patience; for even when the aged mother's words had become almost* inarticulate, their last 'utterances were of ho~pe and encouragement, and she had even tried to join in the chorus of the shining star, when her faculties showed many sad symptoms of decay- jflo' nature. 0 When the few who had come to attend the funeral had again dispersed, and the little family were once more alone, Susan's mind wandered to the little ba~nd in Para- dise. That beautiful portion of Psalms, which t~he Rev. Mr. Bingham had chosen as the text for his hopeful dis-: course on the resurrection of the just, came again and again to her mind, with new significance, as she repeated, ",My heart* and my flesh faileth,, but, God is .the strength of my heart, and my portion forever." And as she re- membered how her mother had by faith and prayer, and Works of charity and love, made God her portion on earth, she trusted that he would now strengthen and re- store the weak spirit, so long bowed by the infirmities of~ the flesh. Then~ she thought of her dear father, who had TRIALS AND cHANGES. 251. 251 page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 262 MARY ELMER, OR 253 TRIALS AND CHANGES. long ago passed from the earth, and how blest and happy * they would be to be separated no more forever. And in the midst of her loneliness and sorrow came a gleam of joy, that those who are limited on earth, in that holy bond which God has blest, can be sejj~rated only by Death, and that even his power is but temporary. Then. she tried to think George would be there, but her thoughts of him were so much associated with their last parting, when he had declared that he should be back again all right in a year or so, that she involuntarily ex- claimed, "What if George should come back just as he said, alive and well., and rich!" She had never set her heart upon riches, even when her husband's prospects for success had seeiiaed fairest, and she had watched with solicitude his disappointment and de- pression at the failure of his cherished plans, while her heart turned more and more to the treasures which are incorruptible and fade not away. She had often made the humble prayer of Agar her owi~, and though pov~ erty a~d sickness had been suffered to remain very near her, she had never, denied her Lord or been tempted to ~steal, and take the name of her God in vain. The children nestled more closely beside their mother, as the shades of evening closed around; and as the little. group united in the supplicating petitions of, "Our Father who art in heaven," Susan's heart found a new cause for gratitude, that little Mary's voice again mingled with the rest. The little ones were soon lost in the calm sleep of infancy; but Susan Elmer was unusually wakeful that night, and her mind still turned to those she had Joved and lost; i~nd remembering how her mother had en- courage Mary's prayers for her father, even when Smith had declared him to be dead, her last waking thoughts were a prayer " that God would be with and protect them till the great day of his final coming." CHAPTER X. HE cares, the faticrues 'few weeks, had ~ ~ and anxieties of the last worn upon Mrs. Elmer more ~'I' than she had been aware of, and she~slept much ~ later than usual the next niorning~ and when she arose and tried to discharge er household duties, a strange and ill-defined presence seemed to linger about her. A something which she could neither throw off nor account for, and when in the afternoon Mrs. Maddock. came in with her sewing to beguile the loneliness, she yen- tured to tell her of a strange dream which had often vis- ited her pillow. She had spoken of it once, she said, to her mother, but as neither of them Were superstitious be-. lievers in signs and omens, the subject had soon been dismissed from their conversation; but now as it had again returned to her, she confessed she could not whoiJy dispel its influence from her mind, nor could. sh~ wantonly stifle the faint hope born of that dream, even though it pos.. messed no apparent foundation in probability; and she felt inclined to relate to Mrs. Maddock, "That she had ~ many times dreamed of seeing her husband, 'always in a 22 I 252 253 page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] * strange place, and sometimes sick and in bed, and some- time8 engaged in one or another of the occupations which he had followed before leaving home; and that on every occasion he had failed recognize her, or only spoken with the indifference of a. stranger." "That dream is as plain as day to me," replied Mrs. Maddocl~, "you may mark my word for it, George Elmer is not dead. I don't, believe in witcheries ~nd superstitions, my mother did not before me; but my mother believed in some dreams, and so do I. Don't you remember Scripture tells us that Daniel had understanding in all visions and dreams? and don't you know how Joseph interpreted Pharaoh's dreams? ~' If you had dreamed of seeing him here, I should say it was only natural, and could be accounted for on the ground of your thinking about him so much; but your * dreaming that way so many times, of seeing him in a strange place, makes me think he aint dead. "But, Susan, what proof did you ever have that he was dead?' who told you he was?" anj "I never heard anything about it from one but binith," replied Susan. "What; Jonathan Smith the shoemaker!" exclaimed Mrs. Maddock in evident astonishment, "I don't mean to say ~that it necessarily ruins a man's veracity to make shoes for a living,' but mercy on us 'I I should sooner think of believing a dream, than of taking his word' any dine. I should not be a bit surprised if you heard from George right off "My Uncle William Barber went to the Patriot war, and was gone for years and'years, everybody gave him up for dead; but Aunt Lavina always said, he would come y 254 XARYL'LMER, 01? TRIALS AND cifANGES. '255 back, she knew it just by a dream; and sure ~enough he did come back, after serving ten years at Van Dieman's Land. Every body was as much astonished as if one had arose from the dead, except Aunt 'Lavina; she went round smiling and smoothing out her cap-strings and saying, 'I told you so!' I don't want to raise any expectations that, aint to be realized, but you may 'depend upon it~ George Elmer is alive." Martha and Ann Maddock came in during the evening, and each expressed satisfaction and pleasure that Mary was safe home again. "I hope you will never have her go back again," said Martha, "if I had known how shabbily she was treated, I'm sure I would have gone after her my- self." "I should be very glad, to keep the children together," replied Mrs. Elmer, "but everything is so dear in the market, and we have not any garden you know." "But," continued Martha, "it won't take a single hod more of coal if she stays at home, Than 'if she goes, and as for vegetables, we always get our winter supply of Uncle James; and I know mother will engage some from him for you. We do all the sewing for him and the boys, and of course it don't come so high as if they went to the shop with their work, and then they bring us good measure of apples and vegetables." .It was all satisfactorily arranged. Ann suggested that Mary could sometimes go, down to 'the village 'foi thread and needles for them, besides holding the skeins of silk, and both The girls felt a gratification in trying to make amends for their former hastiness to the child. As the fall sewing came in, and the hope of keeping her little family together and supporting them comfortably page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 2~O. MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CIIANGPS. 257 seemed about to be realized, Susan applied herself to her dail5r' tasks with renewed energy; and as Mrs. Maddock and her daughters; by their continued kindness, did all they could to diminish Mrs. Elmer's sense of obligation, a feel~ 'ing of cheerful contentment, almost akin to happiness, once more stole over her. True their daily needs required her constant labor; their clothing was of the plainest material, and their table offered no11e~ of those delicacies which are counted by so many as necessaries. There were few to sympathize with her lone.. lines, and she might have been. less happy had not neces- sity compelled her to be always caring for the comfort of those dependent upon her. It had been many rx~onths since Susan had thought of rest or recreation; but one bright Saturday afternoon in October, her work for the week being completed, Susan proposed to the children a walk to the village graveyard, and' a visit to grand ma's grave. The little on~s were gi~eatly delighted with the plan, and Were soon ready for a start. Georgie was carefully tucked up in Mrs. Maddock's little wagon, and Johnnie and Mary volunteered to draw him all the way, but they began to show signs of weariness before ~reaching the top of the hill where {he burial ground ~was situated, and as their mamma relieved them from the task, they soon began amusing themselves by gathering the ~bright autumn leaves now gently falling upon the shaded pathway. As the little party stopped to rest before climbing the rustic stile, Mary wove the leaves into bright wreaths, after. patterns which Jerusha had taught her, while their iYiother smiled approvingly at their quiet. enjoyment, ~as Mary placed one of the wreaths. on little Georgie's head. They soon entered the yard; and the children were silenced by that' feeling of awe and reverence for the dead which nature has implanted in the heart of childhood, and which seems to survive only in proportion as its innocence is preserved. Mary walked beside her mother, while Johnnie went before them , gazing in silence at the bright autumn flowers,* or the tall monuments, on which his eye rested until they paused beside thq new"made grave, where Johunie was first to speak, as he asked "if grandma knew they had come to visit her?" While Mrs. Elmer was trying to think of some answer to the question, Mary 8aid quickly, - "Maybe her spirit knows it up in heaven, if her body don't know it here. Keep still, Johnnie I" As Susan Elmer stood beside the grave of her mother, she wished that she might place upon it some memorial worthy a spot nLade sacred by her last repose. Then, recollecting the little bright~eyed violets which grew in Mrs. Maddock's yard, and her mother's fondness for them, she resolved to cover the mound with these humble flowers. There seemed to ~be an appropriateness in placing there those 'humble wayside blossoms which survive so many of Spring's earlier flowers, and Susan dwelt with 'pleasure on her little plan. As they were preparing to leave the ground, Mary' stopped to repair the little wreath, which had come apart with Georgie's rough handling, and 'placed it upon the grave. "I'm afraid' the wind will blow it ~off," eaid Johnnie, and he stepped back toward the stile where he had noticed some short pieces of painted slats lying on the grass beside ~a new inclosure. . 22~ N. page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 2583 MARY ELMER, OR "Will any ~ne care if I take these?" he said, handing them to his mother. "I think not* my dear," she answered, and placing the two pieces in the form of a cross, she laid them upon the little wreath~ The effect of that bright golden wreath lying upon the rich, deep green grass and surmounted by the little white cross, was very beautiful; to a practiced artist it might have suggested the illuminated j/aintings of the early masters, but Susan's natural taste for beautiful things had never been heightened by artistic cultivation, and as she looked admiringly upon it, her greatest pleasure was that she could leave some token of remembrance upon the grave of' her earliest and most valued frk~nd. While they werg passing out ~f the yard, Mary and Johnnie exclaimed together, "Aint that pretty?" pointing toward a bright little bed of' immortelles, bordered with pansies. Mrs. Elmer read the plain inscription and was pleased to find there the name and age of Dr. Lee, with the simple V~rsc, "He is not here; but precious is the dust Which once enshrined the object of our love; He is not here, but fondly do we trust To meet hin~ in a brighter world above." There was something about that little, gray Italian shaft and those unpretending flowers which would have pleased Mrs. Elmer, ha4 she known nothing of her whose taste had marked the spot or of him whose memory was hero so tenderly cherished; and Si;isan thought while looking at these memoi*ls, of the many~ kindnesses of her friend and felt a degree of self-reproach that she had never been to I TRiALS AND CHANCES. 25i9 call upon Mrs. Lee since that lady's return from the East. True the time had been more than occupied with care and labor, but there was also another reason, which she scarcely recognized as such, and it was th~tt feeling of hesi- tation which any person of true refinement has at the thought of calling as a friend upon one whose worldly position is so much above her own as was that of Mrs. Lee and toward whom she could but feel an embarrassing sense of obligation. Then, conscious that the neglect might have the appear- ance of indifference or ingratitude, she resolved to seek an early opportunity to express in person the grateful regard which she had heretofore sent by Peter Jackson. Presently Johnnie discovered a carriage driving into the yard, and Mary soon espied the ebony face of' Peter Jack- son, who was already showing his teeth in answer to her signs of recognition. And, strange to say, there was Jerusha, too,, sitting beside Mrs. Lee in the carriage, as if to support her, for this was Mrs. Lee's first ride since her illness. They came directly to the little inclosure, and Jerusha assisted Mrs. Lee to alight from the carriage, when the letter approached Mrs. Elmer~and by a gentle pressure of the hand, and a quiet smile of welcome, expressed the pleasure which the unlooked-for meeting gave her. JerusI~ia and Mary were more demonstrative in their recognition, and Mrs Lee declared the ride had benefited her so much she would remain there while Peter and Jerusha took the children a little drive aroun&the ground. The carriage soon, roiled away, ~nd Mrs. Lee invited Susan to a seat beside her in the little yard, and as tftcy eat there alone with the dead, each felt bound to the other by the 1111 page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANCES. 2431 tender ties, of friendship and ~y'~mpathy as well as the strong bond of benevolence find gratitude. Mrs. Elmer: ~soon spoke ~o Mrs. tee of Jolinnie's hard question and Mary's ready answer and asked what she thought about the subject. "I'm afraid we~shall never 1~ave much definite knowl- edge 'about it;"' said Mrs. Lee, "it is a subject on which I often talked with Dr. Lee, and I recollect he once said, there seemed nothing unconnected with revelation which was so little known: and yet so generally believed. We are told that the Druids, before Christianity was introduced into Britain, believed' that the beatified soul retained the love of its country and its kind, and sometimes returned ~o the earth to assist the brethren by teaching them heavenly things, and~ to oppose the power of' the E~Wl One. In later times many- theologians have maintained that it is this mino'lino'of the pi~ayers and praises of the departed with those of the living which forms 'the communion of the Saints,' one article of the' Apostles' Creed. Ji{:our ~wn times, among the number of called spiritualists, a favorite ~theory is, that the souls of the de- parted are very near find not only take an interest in the fortunes of their friends on earth, but are anxious to find means of communicating that interest. While some~ of a still less cultivated class' believe in ghosts and super.. natural apparitions." "But, Mrs. Lee, will you please give me your own ideas about it, if you will not think, me rude. What do you think about it?" Mrs.. Lee~'was never anxious to e~pres~ her own ideas, but she now~ ventured to say that to her it seemed, "that as jar as human love was unmixed with human passion,, it might survive the death of the body, and if friendship and affection be founded on piety, and virtue, and have its s6at in the soul, it need not terminate with the existence of our material part. "One whose judgment we are bound to respect has said, 'Whefi our souls are' placed in Paradise, the cares and secuhir employment o( time shall cease, and our employ- ments shall be symbolical, spiritual, holy, and pleasaiit.' The nature of this subject does not admit of its being made very plain to the senses, and as not much knowledge is given it is not probable much will be required, .~and we might, perhaps, better bestow our thoughts on. subjects .,. more dii;ectly connected with duty here, and with salvation - hereafter. Peter Jackson had now returned with Jerusha and the children, and at Mrs. Lee's request Mary was permitted to return home with her, while Master Johunie, with an in- creased sense of importance, assisted his mother in drawing Georgie home. Little Mary could scarce express the delight she felt in being once more in the well-remembered places, and after looking about the house awhile she said, "There's that dear little chair just where it was before, and there is that pretty picture, but where is Harriet?" "Harriet is married, and she does not live here any more," replied Mrs. Lee. "But where does she live now?" asked Mary. "In the country near her friends," said Mrs. Lee. "Well I'm glad I knew where she is. Mamma and I have often wondered what had become of Harriet, no one told us anything about her, and we thought that she had gonewith you." I page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] * 202 AIARY ELMER, OR "Have you never seen Harriet since I went away?" said Mrs. Lee, with evident surprise as she recollected the unheard4'roui n6te entrusted to Harriet's care. "Noma'am, we never saw her after you went away, and we did not know where you were gone in a long time, then Peter Jackson told us, and we were very sorry your sister was so sick, and we missed you a great deal all the time." The child had scarcely done speaking when Mrs. Lee turned again to Harriet's letter, in which sh~ bad sa~id, "iI~ forwarded your note to Mrs. Elmer, before I left town, and I presrnn.e you have heard from it before this time."" Mrs. Lee's first thought was to write for further explanation, for she had many times wondered at the strange silence; then rememberind Harriet's subsequent intention~ of visit~ ing~ her soon, she determined t~ wait Harriet's intended '~ visit, for the desired information. And as she did not knoW Harriet's present address, this seemed the only way practicable. Just before little Mary started for home, Mrs. -Lee told her of a' little school which had recently opened near her house; and instructed the child to ask her mother's permis- sion to attend it,~ kindly inviting' her to come there every * day for dinner, and carefully informing her that she would provide for the tuition and the necessary books; and the little girl returned home full of enthusiasm over thee plan. The"brightness of that October day, the enjoyment of the children, and the unexpected pleasure of Mrs. Lee's visit, had . seemed to inspire Susan with new life, to which the thought of sending the little girl to school,, brought addi-. tional pleasure. She had often wished that Mary might have. suc~h advantages, but circumstances had heretofore ~" seemed to forbid, and she therefore set' about m':iking plans for the improvement of the child's wardrobe, which had been in no way improved by her stay at the Smiths. Her motherly affection was stimulated perhaps, by wom- anly ambition, and long after the little ones were asleep she grew more and more wakeful in planning for the new enterprise, and she resolved to rise an hour earlier every morning, for the purpose of Preparing Mary for school. But on awaking the next morning, she felt a dull, uncom- fortable sensation in the head, her arms ached so that she could scarcely use them at all, and she was compelled to return to her bed as soon as -the morning meal was finished. Mary succeeded in putting the room in order, and brought into practice all her little s-kill in nursing her mother; but. spite of her efforts Susan Elmer gtew rapidly worse, and the child went to call Mrs. Maddock's assistance. The good woman soon answered the summons, and, was grieved an~l surprised to find 'Susan suffering from a vio- lent attack of fever. After bathing Susan's head and applying such simple remedies as were at hand, Mrs. Mad- dock said, "I'm sure when I come to Think of it, I aint a bit surprised, in fact I've expected to see you break down every day. No live woman could endure. it to be shut up as y-oii have been so long;and working early and late, it's a wonder you~ did not have to give up b~fore. You need rest and good nursing up, butyou must not expect to be well in a day." " Will my ma 'ever 'get well again?" interposed Mary, timidly; for she had been frightened, before calling Mrs. Maddock, whose energetic manner did not tend to dimin~. ish her alarm. "0 yes, I hope so, but we must take good care of her; ". '. 11 TRIALS AND CHANGES. 2t13 263 page: 264[View Page 264] xx 1' 1' j AFARYELATER, OR q and turning again to susan, she said, ~' ]I'dgo for a doe- tor~right off, but the doctors kill more than they cure, and y~u haven't ai~y money to waste on them." Mrs. Maddock again y~Aunteered her own services, and Susan thanked her cordially, when Mrs Maddock returned to her own room. In the midst of her own pain Su~an noticed the expres- sion of sorrow and anxiety upon her - child's face, and she said, "Don't be frightened, my dear; I hope I shall~ feel bet- ter again when tbe fever* goes 6ff: and remember, Mary, whatever happens, it will only xrake everything worse to be sad~ and discouraged." Then the chjld tried harder to summon her courage, and to put~ in practice those lessons of faith and .patience of which her mother's life had been a constant lesson, both t in example and in precept. It was ~well fo~ the child that she had learned the lesson thus early. Mrs. Mj~ddock's fears were realize2l sooner than Mrs. Elmer's hopes, for Susan suffered long without any signs of improvement. ~Now that their only means of subsistence were cut off by the mother's illness, the little nurse's task V seemed weary and almost hopeless. When Martha and. Ann Maddock first keard of Mrs. Elmer's sickness they expressed a degree of sympathy and interest in the poor wornax~s misfortune quite consistent with their late friendly e~nauct toward her; but after a few days they~began to express a degree of surprise that no one came to ~assist in~ thee care of her; and a slight im- patience manifested itself in the oft-repeated wonder why non:e of the church members came near; for they were not si~ch 'faultless young ladies as~ we meet with in: stories, but. such' human ones as are met in actual life. N, I p *.1 I 1 page: Illustration-265[View Page Illustration-265] TRIALS AND CHANGES. 265 I Deacon Gorliam has "an oncoinmon' polite reception from ]?resident Maflin Van BurenY-See page Sfl. Mrs. I addock suggested that like enough none of them knew anything about Mrs. Elmer's sickness. ~ "The~," &~id Ann, "I'll 'make it my business to inform them. 'f' think what. with the 'Aid S0oiety' and, the Wine Mission,' that it is a ~pretty piece~ ~f Work to let a woman like her suffer from ne~ct, or else be a direct tax upon us f0r board, and rent; axztl everything.". Mrs. Maddock ~nade no objection .t~ the plan, and Ann sfarted ~ut that vei~y afternoon. Stieiitet Mf~ Squires on her way to the Aid Society, audi soon made known to her the condition of the ,~Elmer family, which ~seemed almost incredihie to Mrs. Squires,. f6r it was only a few days since she hadheard from Mi&s Ludlow ~that' Mrs. Lee had 're~ turned,' and had taken 'the Elmers~~ under, her asp~ciaI charge again. Miss ~T4dlo.~ ~ ~he h~d? ~ Mary Eimeriin Mrs.. Lee's ~ ~de~e~of anxiety for fear *1 family, in ~ge~i~Pa~id t~t chiWzu par.. would'. be Ispoiled by .b~ing~ p~ken too n~ch notice tioular, Mrs. Squires~ how~v~r~ made it ~ ~o give them a short call before going to~ the Ad~~i~t~ ~dAetermi~ed. to bring the ~a~e 'b~Cor~ ~thetm~t th~pye~y e~ng~. Arm Maddooki~ontinue4 J~i~ w~y:to ~ Lee'~,~here both Mm. Lee 'and Jeru~ht~ ha& been~. Wondering] at~' the noi~ppeai~ance ~f W~ry, ~nd "~aKkegn~i' 1~q~ fear s~rne ill- ness t~ the child ha&prevente4 ~ from ~oi~j9g~tQsehoql. Jeru~ha hafi never bee~ zn the h*~Thqf running out eve.~ nings, and Mrs Lee had be~'en very much occupied with the.$dl house cleaning, and. instructing a new girl... fQr Jer~i4a had only beei~ wth her a sli'ort tjine~, Mrs. Elmei had seemed so bright and happy attheir last interview that Mrs. Lee was grieved ~and surprised to find 'that. she w~ 23 ''I 'I I I *1 ''I I. I I 265 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] p 266 MARY ELMER, ~OR now suffering not only the pains of illness, but for the want- of those necbssaries which that sickness had ren4em~d he~ 'unable to ~rocuie. She s9nt to Mrs. Elmer m~x~iy. expres- sions of~sympathy and regr4~, and that very evening rode over \With Peter ~Jackson to carry to her friends the ixi~re substantial tokens of her r~gard. CHAPTER XI. ITH th~ return of the cool autumn evenings there ~ came back 1o our busy town many who had been seeking for health or recreation at the various~ watering-places. The spirit of locomotion which had led so many from howe, now seemed to keep ~hem active, and / every local enterprise revived into a new life. The churches were better filled on the' Sabbath, and many a stylish outfit which had lost its first lustre at "The Springs," now aroused bitter heart-burnings among those who had perforce remained at home. Miss Eunice~ Ludlow had' also returned, for she too had been "spending some time at the Springs." The family alone knew the whys and the hows of the all 'important though unusual event. A relative who lived at Saratoga in a style -which in more modern days would have been called "Shoddy," had' sent for Eunice, who by the way was an expert needle-woman, to come and assist .them with their summer's sewing. 'I Of ~~ourse Cousin John would attend to the expenses of ~" trav~lIing," at least so the letter read, and ~he geiierously fulfille&~e ~romi8e by proeuripg a pass through the infin-' mice of a baggage inaster~ And now the visit was over a~d Eunice had returned home frill of Odusin John's im. portance and the Saratoga fashions. 'It had, been at' Eunice's suggestion that the Aid Society was invited to meet at' Deacon Ludlow's again. Every one knew that the deacon's family h~d declared that they had done more than their part already; but Eunice felt an uneasy.desire to inform her friends of the marvellous things 'which she had seen and heard at Saratoga. As a regular party was deemed quite too expensive, it was decided to 'have the "Society." "It' will be much cheaper' than a party," thought .~Mrs. Ludlow, as she membered the tea regulations; "and we can take a little extra pains to invite those we want, and those we don't want can be. left to find it out for themselves." The appointed day came, and with it came "The Aid Society." Among the first arrivals ~was Mrs. J. Pixley Smith arrayed in the stiff silk dress and the same prodigious amount of jewelry in which she had appeared on the occa~ sion of Mrs. Squires' memorable call. Mrs. Bingham the minister's wife, wore the same brown alpaca dress and the same plain linen collar and black velvet bow which Miss Eunice declared she had stuck to ever since tIiey~ear one. Mrs. ' Squires appeared in a dark worsted dress and rich honiton colhw fastened with a cameo pin, which Mrs. Smith thought was very bad taste for any one tbat~ could .afford new fashioned jewelry as well as "Miss Squares," ass he persisted in calling her. We shall not trouble you with the details of the dress of' TRIALS AND CHANGES. 267 N page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] Mrs. Sh~rpe, Mrs. Brown, and the number of ladies who are already absorbedd in listening to Miss Eumiice~s "wonder- ful accounts of ~r travels, ,while she dwells with enthusi- asm upon the elegance of Cot~sin J'ohn's~establishm~t, and the rep~arkablehccowplishm~nts of little Consin Una ~who is studying French arithmetic, alihougli she is only eight years old. It could ~6t but be observed, that Miss Eunice became somewhat less comm~iunicative after the 'arrival of Mrs. Squires. KnQwing as she did Tthat Mrs. Squires could easily detect the parts of ber story in' which she had been wholly indebted to imagination for he~ facts; and as she thought of the experiences Mrs. Squires might' relate if ~he were only disposed to appreciate her advantages, she looked at Mrs. Squires with pitying' wonder~, for her lost opportunities. There was not any work of importance on hand. The last thing the society had 'attempted was a dozen shirts ~,for' Mi $ingham; and these being finished, the question in order was~ to what they should next devote their. effo~ts. "I've' been telling ma," said Miss Eunice, "that I think' we had 'better labor for. the cause of foreign mis- sions. I' heard Mr. Simpson, while I was at Cousin John's. I 'was so much delighted with his farewell ser- mon;~ he, preached it in several places, and I heard it in Saratoga, just before they left for the heathen land. His thitd wife, Miss Stiiiman, was a particular friezid' of' mine; lie, had pi~inted copies of the s~rm6n 'for sale, and I bo~~ght 6ne. on her account. Some parts of'it w&e very eloquent indeed." And taking up the pani~hlet8he read aloud: ~ "We are possessed of a common~ o~gin, and a 'common inheritance; sent into this breathing world to. work out a. common destiny. Then why should we limit the exercise of our Christian charities and our activ~sympathies, to the circumscribed 'limit of our own neighborhood or county, instead of encompassing in its encircling vastness the great human family of man. "I'm very sorry he did not come. here," said Mrs. Smith, "we could not possibly work for a worthierob- joct; and to show that we aint narrow minded in 'our views. What do you think about it, Miss Squares?" "1 should be very sorry to be in the way of any good ,work, but we should be careful not to overlook the duty that lies nearest us; and I was intending to suggest that we give some assistance t~Mrs. Elnier, who is quite sick;. and both her children and herself are in great need of assistance.~~ "Aint you mistaken about that?" said Mrs. Ludlow; "I guess there aint anything serious the matter there, you can't believe half you hear now-a-days, the world is so wicked." ~ure I'm not mistaken, for. I called there this "I am afternoon, and found her quite sick of a fever," replied Mrs. Squires. "Dear we," 'said Mrs. Smith, "then how do we know but ~6ii have exposed us all to some terrible disease. If you ~vAs anybody but Miss Squares, and the chief oae of the ire towers of the society, I should say you'd done a dretful unprudent thing a going there." "I think they had better be sent to the poor-hou~e right off, ~here's no knowing but what it's the scarlet fever ~he has got, a~Td they always ~have that at the poor-.hotise, 23~ ~" 2438 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. 2G9 269 268 page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 MARY ELMER, OR so she could not do any hurt/by spreading it there," said Mrs. flrown. "Why *didn't you advise the woman that owns the house to turn h~r right Qut," said Mrs. Sharpe; "the rent Will be more uncertain than ever if she is. sick, be sides, it's never safe to keep sick folks in a house, poor folks in'particular~, she might die there, and make it harder to rent the rooms afterward." - " Yes," said Mrs. Smith; "~we are all taxed enough to support idleness and poverty there, and I have always thought they woukl come to it yet." Mrs. Squires improved the first pause in the excited~ clamor, to explain to the ladies that the sicknesss which Mrs. Elmer suffered from need not- cause 'them such alarm, as it was only a low fever, induced by constant toil and privation; and that with a little assistance and rest, she night soon be able to return to her employment; for she knew Mrs. Elmer better than to believe she would willingly be a burden to her friends. - "I don't s~e. anything to hinder her resting at the county-house," ~said Miss Eunice,. " I think she ought to be grateful - that she lives in a Christiai~i land, where a place is erected and maintained for the indigent." "But," continued Mrs. Squires~ "would it not be cruel to subject a person like Mrs. Elmer, whose only crime is that of honest poverty, to the odium of being classed among paupers, at a county poor-house? It does * not seem Christian, to me, for us, as an Aid Society in a - respectable church, to suffer it. I should not, perhaps, express myself so fully, but a& President of the society, * and for the credit of the 'organization, to s~iy nothing of a higher motive, I think we ought to help her." I. 271 TRIALS AND CHANGES. "I don't* like to differ with a person like you," said Mrs. Ludlow, "but the sentiments you have just ex- pressed wound my fe4ings; they remind me, painfully of the awful doctrines that Mrs. Lee teaches th~~se that come under her influence. Don't you' remember the Bible teaches us 'our own righteousness is filthy rags,' but if you and Mrs. Lee have got so blinded as to think your own works can save you, I don't see that you can do bet- ter than improve tho opportunity, and leave the Society to a wider field of usefulness. If Mrs. Thee knows about 'em, and she ought to I'm sure, why th# ;she must count this fever a special providence in her behalf." "Let her try it as long as I have," said Mrs. Smith, "and I guess she'll get discouraged before she makes any- thing of them. But we are taking up the Society's time with all this miscellaneous talk, aid I'm anxious to hear about Mr. and Miss Simpson." "I shall be most happy to gratify your wishes," said Miss Eunice; "but in order to dispose of this question, I propose that we put it to vote. Those; therefore, who are in favor of assisting our far distant friends in their laudable and honorable undertaking of carrying the Chris- tian light of the gospel into heathenism's -darkest -recess, will make their wishes manifest by standing up; or by rising to express so praiseworthy a desire; while giose who are willing to have their time appropriated for the benefit of- a certain obscure family, who seem to be in great favor in certain quarters nearer home, may sit still." "Almost unanimous," said Eunice, as she glanced tn- urnphantly about.the room, and saw every one upon their feet except Mrs. Bingham~and Mrs. Squires. . - s page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 MARY ELMER, OR "Now please to continue," said. Mrs. Smith. "Well, I was just saying, or rather I was about to ~re~ mark, Mrs. Simpson was a particular friend of mine, and I thought we ought t~ feel it a privilege to avail ourselves of such an opportunity to assist in the great cause. The people in Gambletown made several suits of clothing ito be sent to little namesakes of theirs in Muffletegawny, that was the name of the station; and I don't think we could do better than to follow their example. It's not a new idea to me, and I have an embroidered handkerchief, early finished, which I intend to mark in full, 'Eunice Ludlow, of Saratoga;' you see it would be my name and Cousin John's little girl's name too, and would be killing two birds with one stone, you know." a "I hope Miss Simpson will teach 'em better than to a. throw stones at birds, particularly out of such a nice handkerchief as that," said Mrs. Sharpe. Mrs. -' Binghain, who had been a silent listener, could scarcely repress ~her indignation, and her sense of* wron , and ventured to repeat the old-fashioned -maxim, * that % harit# begins at home," and to mention again the ~huinis of Mrs. Elmer; when. Mrs. Smith, feeling very~ sensitive about the family, and sustained, as she thought, by the popular vote, took occasion to express herself more full1 in regard to them.. "I~don't want to prejudice nobody, but I've tried 'to help that family, if anybody ever tried to endeavor to do anything, and 1 don't mean to let their ingratitude and unthankfulness affect me, but then it's very trying." - "Ingratitude is very hard to bear," exclaimed Mrs. Ludlow.' "But it does not 'lessen our obligations to be charitable. TRIALS AND CHANGES. / 273 The commands and the promises nowhere put in the grat.? itude of the recipient of favor as a condition of our, charity. We never find 'He that giveth to the grateful poor,' lendeth to the Lord,' else we might lose the reward hereafter, by lowering our motives to the price of human said Mr praise and human gratitude," ~: l3ingham. 'k Yes," answered Mrs. Smith, "but you can't say -it aint discouraging to flnd'the objects of our bounty proud and Xextravagant, besides being low and poor. I don't want to prejudice nobody, but facts is facts, and what Ii say is to be depended on. Everybody knows - that family.. got along well enough before~ he went away; but the way she has managed since, just diows how much she knows. Miss Ludlow knows aioue it as well as I do, this big blue velvet chair is bne of her extravagances; it looked just like new when she sold it here, anSI they just took it out of charity; "here Mrs. Smith ceased her violent rocking, and arose for the ladies to - express their horror or their admiration, as their expressions were divided between the chair and its former owner. - "That's nothing at'all compared to the pin that opened my eyes," continued Mrs. Smith. "After J~ie had be~n gone a spell, and I heard how she was selling off her fineries, I knew she had a costly pin, and so I went over prepared to give her full as much' as it was -worth in old gold. But I wan't going to buy a cat in a bag, so I just give~ a good look at it. I knew it was genniwine, because- he sent it to her from Calaforny, and everything is genniwine that comes from there. But such a pin you never did see. "On the front side of it t~ere was a locket lid, and under it was George Elmer just as natural as life, on1~ his face' was peekeder than ever, and' his beard longer. It looked page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 MAR r ELMER, OR TRIALS AiND CHANGES. 275 as though he had not shaved sence he went away. On the outside of the lid was some plain checkered work; but the inside ~f it boat everything. It was nothing more nor less than a young one with a night-gown on, . and a pair of wings on its back. I could not see that it looked anything like their cubs only, them everlasting' curls. I was glad they had m6desty enough to put it inside. I shouldn't be willing to have one of my children taken in such a plight, it's bad enough to have them look like fury around every day. But the motto capped the climax. I copied it with my big gold pencil, it read '~ dieu pour vous.' I did not ask her what it meant, for I did not want to condescend, but my niece translated it for me. It's French, and means 'ado for you.' I must say it's rather proper after all, for she made a fuss about him, after he had gone, and I s'pose he to~k this way to return the compliment, and make an ado for her. Of course such a pin would not do for a person of any taste, and so I did not even make, her an offer for it." £ ,'Thre beard of that pin before, nay husband offered to take it once, on some rent that she wanted to get out of * paying; he managed to get an old clock and that was all. I guess she had rather stick to her finery, than to pay her honest debts," said Mrs. Shax;pe. The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of Dea~on Ludlow and Rev. Mr. Biugharn, who had been invited to take tea with the ladies Sam Ludlow soon made his appearance also. He was being got ready for school in a distant town, and this fact seemed to add so much to his social importance, that he was now expected~ to be introduced to company. * It did not however cause him to' forget any of his old tricks, for he invariably managed to say or do something to vex and mortify his sisters. The conversation seemed to take a more religious turn upon the entrance of the minister. Mrs. Sharpe began to express her interest in a revival which was in successful progress in a neighboring town, and where two of her nieces had been hopefully converted. "That's just what we, want here," said Mrs. Smith, "I've been telling Mr. Smith I did so wish there was an opportunity for him to gdt religion. "There was a wonderful awakening at Saratoga, while I wa~ at Cousin John's. Mr. and Mrs. Simpson's visit caused a great deal of emotion there; perhaps you would like to look at his farewell sermon," said Eunice, handing Mr. Bingham her printed copy. "Maybe the ladies would like to heai~ some of it read aloud," suggested Mrs. Ludlow. "I should so," replied Mrs. Smith. And Mr. Biugham read from the closing paragraphs : - "We have now voluntarily banished ourselves from all the endearments, the attractions and refinements, of a home in civilized life. Turned our backs upon all these to become laboring exiles, in that far distant portion of the lord's vineyard, to which we now pray the gales to waft. us swiftly ~onward, though at the risk of a watery grave." "I'm afraid very few of us would be willing to follow Miss Simpson's noble example, and leave all to follow the Lord!" exclaimed Eunice, with a patient sigh of unappre~ cited merit. "That could be decided better if more missionaries come over after wives;" said Sam, with a significant grin, "I rather guess there* would be something of a scattering among the old maids." page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] Mrs. Smith and Mra. Sharpe'exchanged smiles. Mrs. Squires directed her eyes more closely to her work. Mr. Bingharn becazn~e silently interested in the sermon, and a pause ensued, until Mrs. Ludlow announced that "tea was ready." On th~ Society book it was written that there should always be a plain tea, "Biscuit and apple-sauce, and only one kind of cake." Some of the guests were therefore a little surprised, when, on taking seats at the table, they were served with soda biscuit, ~raised biscuit, buns, and strawberry shortcake, cider apple-sauce, crab-apple sauce, pineapple, and apple jelly. Then there were fruit cake, plain cake, and cookies. Mrs. Sharpe thought they were liable to a line, for break- ing the rules of the ~ciety. But Miss Eunice explained it very satisfactorily, "You aji see there's only biscuit and apple-sauce, and as for the cake, there is only one kind, the fruit cake is just like the other, only it has some raisins and a little citron stirred in, and the cookies are just the 8ame dough with a little more flour, and a few caraways added." Mrs. Smith said, that according to her ideas, it was breaking the rules in the right directiQn, and for her part she wa~ willing to swallow the offence, as she helped herself, to .a large slice of fruit cake, laughing audibly at her own atten4pted wit. SQOI~. after tea Mr. and Mrs. Bingham expressed their desire, to, leave, ~. M~. IBingham had promised to make a sick call, and Mrs. ~4gham was to go to see Mrs. Lee, whom she had not seen in a long time, and her husband was to join her a1 Mrs. Lee's, to return home. There was an imn~ediate lengthening. of faces as Mr. 276 Bingham spoke of going, and such a universal expression of interest m the welfare of Zion, and such a desire for a special effort expressed by several, that Mr. Bingham felt compelled to propose obtaining the assistance of Mr. Phil- lips, a noted revivalist, to help in the work, and it was decided that he should write im~nediatelyffor the desired aid. Miss Eunice expressed her regret at the necessity of the sick call, and wished the visit to Mrs. Lee could be post-~ poned, the company would regret so much to lose them so early in the evening. "Better have 'em find out who that chap at Mrs. Lee's is," said Sam, with his, usual significant leer at IEunice~ No one replied. Mr. Bingham was called upon to address the Throne of Grace, and made a short but earnest prayer, when Mr. and Mrs. Bingham. bade the company good night. As soon as they were out of hearing, Sam said "That was a pretty good oration to the Lord." And on being reproved for his irreverence, very gravely asked his mother to explain the difference between an "oration to the Lord," and an "address to the Throne. of Grace." You see I am going to school and I. want to understand these things." 24 ( XAL4R Y ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. 277 277 page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 AfAR Y £!4WR, QR TRJAI2S AND CHANGESS. 279 CHAPTER XII. T Mrs. Lee's, Mr. Bingham found Dr. Chases Lee, the person to whom Sam Ludlow had refer- ence. He is a nephew of the late Dr. ,Lee, and has stopped ~to pay a visit on his return from Cali- fornia. 'It is not his first visit to our little town; years before he bad 'come hither with the intention of studying medicine with his uncle. The intention, however, had been hastily overruled by. the sad dispensation, with which our story begins, ahd after his uncle's lamented death he had com- pleted. his. course in a neighboring city, and subsequently practiced in San Francisco, where his earnest efforts had been rewarded by the esteem and confidence of a large and thriving practice, as well as by those more material returns which the world counts as the criterion of success. The relation of Dr. Lee's pleasant adventures, assisted no doubt by her own determination not 'to dwell upon sad or painful memories during his visit, had already told favorably upon Mrs. Lee's health, and nearly every ple~ant day found them riding or, walking out in company. On one of these occasions, as they were passing the residence Qf the Smiths, the attention of Dr. Lee was arrested. by the dog Bounce lying near the gate, and w~ilk- ing more slowly and eying the Aog with increased interest he said, "I declare, aunty, that dog looks like an old acquaintance." I His interest in the noble fellow increased, as Bounce im~ mediately jumped i~p and running up to them, placed his left foot immediately upon tbe Doctor's band. "I. really believe I have found an old patient said the Doctor." "And so, I am to inti~r that your practice extended to dogs," said Mrs. Lee, smiling at the rapid progress of their mutual recognition. "I don't hesitate to own it did to this fellow," replied. the Doctor examining a well-defined scar on Bounce's. still extended foot. "I think there~s no mistake; this is poor Elmer's dQg, and that scar shows the very spot where hjs foot was hurt while he was in the mines." "Was it George Elmer?" asked Mrs. Lee, with~ inter- est, "the young man who ~went from this place?" - "I never knew where he was from, I think the name was George - the man was sick in the hospital, and had a pretty severe time with a prevailing fever. ~' "Yes, I believe he died of it, after a time; at least that was the report which was brought back here." "Oh no, he did not die of the fever; he was very ill for a long time, but I remember distimitly that he recov- ered and went to work again." "Did you ever see Smith, the shoemaker?" "I don't know that I did; there were any number of Smiths there but I don't recollec~ having a particular acquaintance with any of them." "Then you never knew what became of Elmer after his. sickness?" said Mrs. Lee inquiringly. "I think~he was in the hospital when I left, tind that i~as some months afterward." Mrs. Lee was very much interested in what she had leai~ned of the husband of her friend, and that very even- / 278 279 page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280O 4MAR Y ELAIER, OR ing availed herself of the opportunity, while her nephew was writing to, his family, of going out to carry to' Mrs. ]lrmer, the intelligence which she was so happy to be the medium of conveying. As, she approached the house and was thinking how to give expression to the good news in store for her friend, little Mary, who 'had discovered her approach, ran out to mneet4ier, exclaiming, "How glad I am you have come! mamma 'has got a letter and, it made her almost well, and 'my papa, was alive all the time, and Mr. Smith told a naughty story ; is it not wonderful?". Mrs. Lee kissed the little girl in congratulation, and went into the house, where her tears of sympathy were soon mingled with the drops of joy that flowed freely down Susan's face as jhey spoke together words of gratitude to God for the blessed tidings which had been so long delayed. We cannot furnish our ,readers a -copy of the letter wich gave Susan so much pleasure,. for she had not that vuga ambition of display which might have induced some to send, it to the newspapers; nor did she circulate it about for neighborhood commentt .andceriticism. -Those, there- fore, who wish -to know more of George Ehlmer will be compelled 'to go with us on the long journey to California. And as it will only be fair to give our friends a parting cal before taking leave of them for the long journey, we will stop at the meeting-house on the way. The ne* lamps are now in constant use, for while we hav l~,n engaged in other matters, the revival has not, only been fary inaugurated' but is going on with increased activity and zeal, And as it is the opinion of those ns interested, that its prosperity is'wholl owlig to the efforts. 'I K I TRIALS AND CHANGES. 281 of Rev. Mr. Phillips, some may wish a more formal intro- duction to this distinguished revivalist. He is a person rather above the medium height, with large hazel eyes which, but for a total lack of expression, might be called beautiful. His coal-black hair was parted in a fashion which showed no neglect from its owner ; his manner is affable and conciliating, and is dress of glossy black broadcloth -as. faultless as the most fastidious tailor could devise. Some insinuating person has intimated that a sudden improve- ~ment in his personal appearance is closely connected with the recent death of his wife; and a facetious friend has hinted that even his hair has becomed5everal shades darker to match the new'mourning suit ; but of'the truth of these 'hints we are not personally responsible, although certain it is, that his popularity has never, suffered in consequence of the fact that Mr. Phillips is a widower. His sermons, in the option of some, were mere plati- tudes, with a faint shadow pf an idea. clothed in one weak syllogism after another, bt without force or pith, whl his prayers were only a medley of threatened wrath to evil doers, a report of neighborhood gossip, and a dispen- sation of full and free salvation to the elect ; but whatever of adverse criticism might be bestowed upon these efforts, there was a charm and sweetness in the melody of his voice to which not even the most hostile could~ listen without admiration. The sentiments which he made this heaven- bestowed talent the means of conveying, may be better. learned from one of his favorite hymns, than from any words of ours, and we copy one of them from the printed sheets which were liberally distributed throughout the church: - 24* page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] *1 TRIALS AND CHANGES. 283 282 MARY ELMER, 01? JF~$US PAID IT ALL. Nothing either great or small Remains for me to do; J9sus died and paid it all, Yes, all the debt I owe. CHORUS. Jesus paid it all,. All the debt. I owe, .~'esus died and paid it all, Yes, all the debt I owe; Jesus paid it, paid it, all. When He from his lofty throne Stooped d~own to do~ and die, - Everything was fully done1 Yes "Finished" was his cry. CHORUS. Weary, working, plodding one,. Oh, wherefore toil you so? Cease your doing, all was done, Ages inng ago. CHORUS. Till to Jesus' work you cling, Alone by simple faith; "Doing" is a deadly thing, Doing ends in death. CHORUS. Cast your deadly doing down, Down at Jesus, feet; Stand in him, in him alone, Glorious and complete. CHORUS. We will leave the -spirituaL affairs of our friends to the pastoral care of their musical shepherd, while we make a hasty trip to Califoriiia for the, purpose of inquiring after our friends at San Francisco. We shall not ask you to brave the perils by sea of a voyage around the Cape, nor the risks and hazards of a railroad trip, because we prefer the safer ~and more direct line of our own imagination. It is true that Smith has left George Elmer very sick indeed, and the fever ha~ long seemed' to defy the physi- cian's skill and the nurse's care. Before this calamity had overtaken him, however, he had, while, yet the enthu-. siasm of a new enterprise lasted, accumulated a thousand dollars which he had confided to Smith's offered charge for the little family at home. Elmer was too ill at the time of the transaction to attend to any legal papers, and the worse sickness which followed had so impaired his mem~ ory that he had never even wondered why- it was never heard from. He had lingered ~long, ~conscious only of the change from intense pain to a languid stupor, and when the violence of the disease had at last passed away, the wild expression of the eye and the strange 'incoherence of speech formed no uncertain indication of the sad havoc of disease. Though his mental faculties had suffered n~ucWunder the painful malady, yet as his strength returned, with it came back so much of George Elmer's former enterprise that he was soon ahle to' apply himself to the practice of his old business of dentistry. A little office bad been provided in a part of -the hospi~ tal for a former patient, and as such services were in great demand and George had always been a skilful workman, he was soon gaining a handsome remuneration ;~ he never spoke of his family or friends, and was always quiet and reserved towards every one except the little children, who - frequently came in to bring flowers or ~dainties to the pa page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 AFAR F ELMER, OR tents, and on whom he bestowed the curious little devices, the manufacture of which occupied his leisure. There was in the same ward with Elmer a man by the name of Goulding, who had been seriously injured by the blasting of a rock, and brought in some time after Elmer. For many weeks each failed to recognize the other as an old acquaintance, and former partner; yet it was not very strange, for Goulding bad supposed with many others that Elmer had died of the fever; and the' effects of that fearful malady upon the memory of the latter, had prevented his recognizing any person except those who had been con~ stantly with him. It was a' matter of surprise to Goulding that after a rec- ognition had, taken place, Elmer received with such indifference his accounts of the richness of the claims in~ which they' owned a mutual interest; and not until one evening when Mrs. Goulding had, come in as usual to spend an hour' with her husband did Elmer appear fully to have recovered his former self. Goulding had asked his wife to sing for him, and as sh~ finished the second starrza of that sweet little song entitled "Star of the Eve. ning," noticing the strange effect the words seemed to have upon his friend, Goulding begged her to stop. Elmer's face was pale with emotion, and his eyes dim with unshed tears, as he asked in a tremulous voice, "Where's my wife? Where's Susan, and why does not she come and sing the Shining Star to me?" Some of the attendants were alarmed, and feared a re- .lapse of the disease, but they soon earned that it was only the sweet, soothing power of' music that had roused that hidden chain in 'which the thoughts of those lie loved had ~o long been lulle9~nd he grew calmer as the recollection A I I TRIALS AND cHANGES. 285 of that far-away fireside, the' worn and wasted form of the aged grandmother, the earnest but uncomplaining face of his wife, and the happy voices of his' little children, seemed to come like a beacon of life and hope to the storm-bound, ocean-wreckcd mariner. ile soon indicted the letter, of the safe arrival of which we have learned, and as he intends very soon to follow it, we will go back'to find what prepara- tions are being made for his return. The news of the arrival of a letter from George Elmer soon spread through the town, where it' shared with the sayings and doings of the new converts, among whom Sam Ludlow and J. P. Smith were prominent in being the principal topics of conversation. Mr. J. Pixley Smith was among the' first to call upon Mrs. Elmer to inquire the particulars of the letter; and as, the fdcts in relation to the money', and also some allusions to the dog 'came to light, Smith's interest in the affair be- came decidedly personal,, and he interrupted Mrs. Elmer before ~she had finished reading, by saying, "I've been intending this long time to come' in and ex- plain matters to you. You know we have tried to share the burden of your children with you, and then we've kept the dog; dogs 'are great eaters, and it would eat you out of house and home to have such a voracious fellow as Bounce around; but if you want 'the critter, you can have him. Then as to money matters, you ~eemed so comfort- able I thought it best to ~save what I had for you till a rainy day; but if you think you need any, Is'pose I must let you have some, though women folksin general squan- der it awfully." Mrs. Elmer might perhaps have been overcome with indignation at this speech had not her heart been too full N page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 AfAR Y ELMER, OR 1- I- lit Uf, of gladness at the thought of her husband's return, and she replied, "God -has taken care of us so far, and he will not forsake us now.- You can bring -the .money or leave it to settle with Mr. Elmer, for II am not anxious to have any transactions with you." Mr. Smith felt very angry at the honest indignation which 1~frs. Elmer had expressed, but as there was now no apparent benefit to. be derived from delay, he immediately applied himself to collecting the amount. - He availed himself of the advantage which his conspicu-. ousness in the late revival had given him, and as he was now counted among the "active brethren," and his wife directress in "The Muffictegawny Missionary Aid Society," the brilliant thQught of circulating a subscription paper for the benefit of that popular institution, occurred to him, and wishing to show his liberality, his .zeal, and his pecuniary ability in one bold stroke, he headed the list with a donation of one hundred dollars. It was soon increased by the addi- tion of smaller sums, and in a short time he was able to hand over the .thousand to Mrs~ Elmer, beside leaving a comfortable sum for his own pocket. The dog which had been pronounced "a nuisance," "a cuss," and "a filthy squadruped," at the Smith resi-. deuce, was the subject of an excited "family scene" when Smith declared his intention to give it away. Mrs. Smith called him a cruel, hard-hearted iiionste~ to give away the only thing the children ever did care anything about. The girls pouted, and declared they wouldn't' go to school; Ferdinand shut Bounce in the bedroom, and placing him- self against the door, armed with his father's cane declared "he'd see if the old man dared to touch his dorg." Mean- time Smith retreated to the back yard and waited till the - ~1 excitement was over,' and then coaxing Bounce with a beef - bone which he had picked up in the morning at a butchei9s stall and had been carrying for that purpose all day, he led the dog in the direction of' Mrs. Elmer's, where he was soon discovered by Johnnie, who had been some time watching for his appearance. He was soon joined by Mary to whom he had conveyed information of the import tant arrival. There was a very joyful meeting between the little girl and her old friend who seemed to forget the ill usage he bad received from the youthful Smiths so much as to make every demonstration of friendship to Johnnie and Georgie to whom she gave him the most flattering introduction. As the former annoyances were removed, Bounce became not only the friend and companion of the Elmers, but the favorite of the neighborhood, where his somewhat unusual history had made him an object of more than ordinary interest. Mis. Maddock was quite overcome with delight at the good fortune of the Elmers, although she declared it had all happened just as she had expected ever since she heard that dream. Mrs. Lee improved the earliest opportunity which Har- riet's visit afforded to investigate the affair of the mysterious disappearance of the note, and had succeeded in settling it with Deacon Ludlow by giving him a receipt in full on - his paying the exact amount which had been enclosed in the letter. The deacon congratulated himself on being abundantly able to meet the demand, expressing a~ the same time his satisfaction that Sam was done sowing his wild oats and had "got religion" now, while it was evident that the thought of Sam's making any restitution TRIALS AND CHANGES. 287 ii~ page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] I ~1 MARY ELMER, OR for the wrong he had done never once occurred to the deacon's mind. 'The teachers tell me Sam is doing first rate now, andi am glad we had that revival just in time to save him. *Those who wish to be informed of this young gentleman from his own words, can do so by reading a letter which has lately been received from him by John Sharpe, a son of Mrs. Elmer's former landlord. DEAR JAcK, - It's an awful long time since I heard from you. I was dreadful sorry YOU got shut up just as I cam~ away, for I wanted to see you desperately. I'm sorry you want there to get religion when I did; I toll you it's the best investment I've made lately, for it helps a fellow along mightily. This is a first rate school; I can stay out as late as I please, and no questions asked, but if one of the chaps that hasn't got religion is caught away from his room after nine, he gets a walking ticket, whew! I tell youJackwe had a gay old examination. I got ex- cused from my classes to practise my oration. . I wrote on "Religious Forms," for I knew all the old dominies and deacons would be appointed judges, and the fellow that put in the most piety would get the prize. I took care to put in a good rouser about the "old dragon and the old seven hills." You see it's always safe to give popery a death blow; besides, denunciation suits my style of oratory. - It took like a molasses fly-trap, and I got a tremendous big Bible for the first prize. I sold i{ for four fifty, and our society, the L. A.'s had a gay old spree on that, you may bet. We have a uniform here for parade days and such like. ~ It's a grand arrangement, for we wear the old things that the others leave, and then the money answers lots of purposes. There's an ~pisc9pal society here; they've got a real nice 288&. meetinghouse, and a very polite chap for a minister. They are ever so popular, and I had quite a notion of joining. them, but the fellow has taken a pious turn of late and be- gins to talk about self-denial and alms deeds in a way that I don't relish. I. like the notion of every-day piety; that means something you can always make useful. Now's the present time, and a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. This going without your beef-steak and sticking to codfish and mackerel six weeks in March is what I call a 9 scaly performance. I wish you would Write as soon as pos- sible and tell me how all the folks are getting along. I won- der if Eunice will make out to catch Mr. Phillips. Pin glad you kept dark about that old Elmer affair. I have never felt just right about it; I knew the old man would fork over if I only got religion. After all it was not a mighty sight meaner than his buying her chairs for less than half they were worth, because he knew sh.e was obliged to sell them. If ever I make a lift again, it will be on an Ex- press Office or a bank; there's something mean in robbing a poor widow, but then if I get as much saving faith as the old man has, I shan't be so scrupulous. I am going into the storage and foraging business as soon as I get through here, and if that don't pay I may come back and marry Mary Elmer, by way ~f righting old, scores; that is if Elmer really brings hack the dust. Yours forever, SAM LUDLOW. P.S. Please direct your letter to Miss Sarah Loomis care of S. Ludlow Esq. You see we are expected to have our letters sent to the care of the professors, who take.pains to read them for us, and I want to save them that trouble. - Yours again, S.L. On receiving the sums of money from Mrs. Lee 'and 25 289 1 I I' TRIALS AND CHANG ES. page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] Mr. Smith, Mrs. Elmer's first care was to secure for her- self and family a home, where they and her expected hus- band would ~be more comfortable.. And although their present prosperity, as indicated in George's letter, might warrant them in selecting some more aspiring locality, it was Susan's highest ambition to return to the little~ cot- tage where~ they had first started housekeeping, and from which George had gone forth on his journey. -' Here the pleasures of their early wedded years had been crowned with joy, by the birth of their first-born child, the darling Mary; and here Johnnie had received a father's smile of welcome, and a mother's kiss of' love, as he added new happiness to a home which had. been already full of light and gladness. And in later years, when the rough winds of adversity seemed untempered to the shorn lambs, and the dark, hard hand of poverty seemed ready to crush them, had little Georgie, brought the smiles of infant innocence to cheer once more the desolate home, and to prevent the thoughts of his mother from flQwing always in the same dark channel. Here, too, had been learned many a lesson of trusting hope, and patient, quiet submission, from the example of that oged mother, whose memory was still embalmed in the sighs, and dewed with the tears of affectionate reinem- branee. The little cottage was soon engaged, and the few prepa- rations for moving wcr~ quickly completed. Mrs. Mad- dock, with characteristic liberality, declared that it would be time enough for her to take the rest, when George Elmer was safeAlome again. As ,Susan and the childreit were following their little stock of furniture to their new home, she was startled by 290. 290 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. 29t the sight of a carriage at the door, and quite excited at the thought that her husband had possibly preceded her there. Her surprise abated, however, when on entering the house she found her visitor to be Mrs. Bennet Squiree, who had lately returned from an absence of several weeks9 It had been the surprise and horror of many of her neighbors, that she could think of going away just in the midst of the revival; and Mrs. Smith had even gone so far as publicly to propose her name as a subject for their prayers. Certainly the religion of Mrs. Squires was very differ- ent from that of Mrs. Smith; for she was always ready to assist the poor by her sympathy and her bounty, witliout making a catalogue of their faults. While she gave to her equals or her superiors in worldly things, the offices of kindness, without taking the census of their virtues; she never made it her business to censure or find fault with her clergyman, even though his sermons contained doc- trines and opinions quite at variance with her own. Nor did she sneer at, or find fault with those persons who thought they found aids to piety and excellence in things which ~to her judgment appeared only the excitement of passion, or the sway of popular public sentiment; ever showing a commendable respect for honest differences of opinion and of belief. The object of the present visit added another to the many~kindnesses with whi~Th she had made glad the home of the Elmers; for she had come to place in its old cor- ner the little clock, of whose existence she had first heard at the society at Deacon Ludlow's. She had been anx- ious to give to Susan some token of the pleasure she felt at the new turn of-events, and could not have found a more welcome expression of her kindness. 291 page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 1 11 'I.. MARY ELMER, OR 292 Many other pieces of furniture found their way back; the blue velvet rocking-chair soon took its accustomed commanding~ position in the little front parlor, and really looks almost as bright as before its stay at the Deacon's, where the hospitality had never been such as to tell unfa.- vorably upon the parlor furniture. Susan was very glad to get the chair again; it had been one of her few wed- ding presents, and was the gift of a liberal and wealthy friend, in New York City. Deacon Ludlow had shown considerable reluctance at Mrs. Elmer's request to repurchase the chair. "I I I s'pose you know I never offered my furniture for sale, Miss Elmer," he said ;' but Susan distinctly remembered the well~f~igned reluctance with which he had paid her the paltry sum of six dollars for. it. She could almost hear his words again, as he said, "'Taint everybody that would want to buy an odd piece of furniture like that, and you will find it pretty heavy to carry round, if 'you try to sell it that way." Remembering these things as Susan did, she gained courage to urge her request, which the Deacon hesitatingly acknowledged. "I don't know,~ but being ii's you, I shall hey to let you take it for ten'dollars; 'taint a circumstance to what it's worth; besides you see furniture is riz." Susan had just got comfortably settled, when George returned. W~ shall not intrude upon the pleasure of their first meeting; but several weeks have now passed, since the scattered members of the loving household were re- united, and though tender and mournful remembrances of the past mingle with the pleasures of the present hour, and give them a subdued and chastened coloring, theirs 25* 293 is a quiet happiness which glittering splendor and dashing grandeur might covet in vain. - George Elmer sits beside the work-table, reading the last number of the Dental Journal, while Susan sits near, plying her needle as in days of old. Georgie is asleep, and Johnnie is at. play building a miniature village. Jerusha sits in a retired corner, where Mary is assisting her to learn her lesson for the Bible class'. She is still living at Mrs. Lee's, and frequently comes over to visit her early friend. Bounce lies upon a comfortable rug beside the stove, looking contented and happy,. in spite of all the trials and changes through which ~he had passed, and watching his master's eyes whenever they turn, while with an instinct almost human, he makes his master's wel- come understood. When George Elmer had finished reading the paper, he folded it carefully, and laying it upon the table turned to Susan, and in a tone which brought a smile of recognition upon Mary's face, said-, - "Come, Susy, sing The Shining Star." And soon that cheerful room echoed with the well- remembered words, as they all united in the chorus, - .Look upxny soulbe like the lark, That singing soars afar~ There's not a eIou~,J1OWOYer dark, But veils a shining star. TRIALS AND CHANG1~S. page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] T iJ ~II V 1' lj LETTERS FROM TI [MBERYILLVJ. ll page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] LETTERS FROM TIMBER YuLE. I. ri HAVE been a full year at Timberville, and' never yet told you a word aboutit.* And as ff know nothing concerning it, excepting that it L~J. not lie on the direct route to anywhere, but o one side by itself, I'll be bound but you think it a litt of a quiet, unimportant village, made up of a tave store, a meeeing4souse, a blacksmith's shop,. and a few s gling dwelling houses. How mistaken you are. Tin ville is a large village - a very large village. I shoul wonder if we should be a city in a few years; for w a very enterprising people, and there is a deal of bus done, here. We have ever so many streets, and quantity of tall, white houses, belonging to no pilrti4 order of architecture, but invariably graced with pia~ adorxied with four huge columns. We have, also, p] of red brick mansions with a great many green wit * blinds; and also, now and then, a handsome stone d~ ing. And, like all populous and thriving villages~ * have our complement of forlorn, shabby, rickety shells, stuffed full of beings as forlorn and shabby as ti selves. PQverty, vice, and intemperance abound I No doubt we shall be a city in a few years. (297) have you does if on Le bit in., a trag- aber- I not o are mess any ~ular ~zas, [enty idow ~'elb we old iere. S page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLE. LETTERS PROM TIMBER VILLIL 299 * Timberville is delightfully situated on both sides of~ a beautiful little strearn, (or, as our enterprising villagers say, it has fine miW privileges,) and surrounded by tree. clad hills. I am never weary looking at our hills, beauti-. ful at all times, but particularly so in the autumn, when they are arrayed in a robe of every variety of color, from the most gorgeous crimson to the softest ash~ "What beautiful hills!" said I, enthusiastically, as I was one day walking with a worthy gentleman. "Yes - yes fine timberland,"~, said he. Our society is very much like the society in all growing villages. We have good people and bad people; rich people and poor people; wise people and ignorant.people; liberal people and stingy people; sharp people and dull people; cute people and numb people; industrious people and lazy people. People who mind their~ own business and people* who mind their neighbors' business. Honest people and dishonest~ people; literary people and illiterate people, and soi disant literary people (excuse that French Word.) We have gay people and serious people; noisy people and quiet people; people who go to church and people who stay away from church. We have temperate people and intemperate people. People ~ho read the newspaper, and people who have "other fish to fry." People who take "' Godey," and people who borrow " Godey." We shall certainly be a city before many years. We have all sorts of societies, too. Missionary socie- ties, Bible societies, tract societies, sewing societies, maternal societies, mutual improvement societies, sons of temperance and daughters of temperance societies, odd fellows' societies,' and an odd ladies' society, composed chiefly of ancient maidens. We have freemasons~ socie- ties, literary societies, woman's rights societies, anti-every- thing societies, benevolent societies for all sorts of objects, "too numerous to mention," (as the menagerie bills say when they get down to the monkeys.) In short, we have every kind of society that you can possibly mention. Are we not in a fair way of being a city? As is the 'case in almost all new enterprising villages, the chief distinction among us is that of "rich and poor." So soon as a man is able to put up, or even to hire, a large house with two parlors ~and folding-doors, and furnish it showily, he tak~s his standing among the first. The one grand object of the Timbervillians is to get rich. They are all agog just now about California. Mr. Martin, and Mr. Crandal, and Mr. Wiggins, have almost made up their minds to abandon their respective occupations and set off for the gold country; and their wives are quite de- lighted with the idea; for Mrs. Martin wants a great many' things which Mr. Martin, rich as he-is, cannot afford now. And Mrs. Crandal is very desirous that Mr. Crandal should go, in order that he may come back able to build a grander house than Mr. Martin's, with larger columns and more green blinds. She knows she's as good as Mrs. Martin, any day, and she'd like to let other people know it. And Mrs. Wiggins teases her husband from morning till night to "Go to C~4iforny, where they say you've Qnly to dig up the gold just as you would potterss" for she does want a house of her oww, and a sofy and some cuttings as good as that stuck-up Mrs. Crandal's; and she fears that ~Mr. Wiggins will never be able to get them as long as he stays here and delves away at his trade. "Gold! gold! gold ! "~ is the cry from every mouth, old and young. Oh, we shall soon be a city. page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 300 LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLE. 301 LETTERS FROM TIMBER fILLE~ I would like to introduce you to some of our first, and let you see in~ what sort of society I have the honor to mingle. Now do not suppose that I have procured the ability to present you among the "upper ten," by one of the aforesaid tall houses with big parlors and folding- doors.; by no means; I am only a boarder in Timberville. But where shall we go? to a party? Now, pray, don't turn up your nose at the idea of a party in Tiznberville. I assure you, we have our parties, real genuine, ones, too, as good as any in Philadelphia assemble at ten clock have supper at twelve or one dance all night, and "don't, go home till morning" - for the Timbervillians would think it very ungenteel and countrified to keep reasonable, hours. We must be a city very soon. But, on reflection, I think I'll not take you to a party they are too promiscuous. Nor will I bore you with a. sociable tea-drinking decidedly one of the most tiresome things in the world, the world over. And in Timberville they are just what they are everywhere else, (making allowance for some few local peculiarities.) The- ladies collecting in little knots; 'same talkin innocently discussion the fashions, g scandal, some more g but by far the greater ~portion descanting u~on'the various trials and troubles they- have with their "helps;" while the very small sprinkling ot the sterner sex ~2 who never talk at such gatherings, and who go only because their wives insist upon it are leaning back in their chairs against the wall, half asleep, and heartily wishing thepiselves at home, or in some place more congenial with their tastes. Suppose you go with me to one of our numerous socie- ties. Don't be alarmed; it's. iiot ~o the "o~1d ladies," nor the "daughters of temperance," nor the " Woni~ui's rights society," that we are going., I am not a member of any of them. But put on your fix-ups, and prepare to accom- pany me to the "Timberville literary circle," where you will be sure to meet the elite (another French word pardon me perhaps, however, you do not dislike to see French and English mixed together as badly as I do). We are to meet this ve~ry evening at the hospitable mansion of Mrs. Bolton, a very literary lady; but you shall see for yourself- I'll not anticipate. Stop a moment; I must put" Godey"in my pocket. Not the veritable individual himself. If his own account is to be trusted, that would be rather more than I could do. But my "Godey's Lady's Book" for the month. 1 am one of the readers for this evening, and I find, by experience,~that I am not half as welcome when I come armed and equipped with an' original article as when I bring my "Godey." So here we go; and as we are on our way, I will 'tell you something about our "circle," and how I, little I, came to be a member of so august 'a body. It was on this wise. The good people discovered that I took the news- papers; 'not a very common thing in Timberville, where it 'is usually as much as the inhabitants can "afford "ito take some one of the village papers, of which we have three ~. organs of the three political parties of the place - and which blaze away at each other with a zeal ' worthy the cause, and in a style equal 'to any of the city organs. Young Mr.. Morgan, the head clerk at the post-office, was the first person who promulgated the important fact. He told Miss Carpenter, and Miss Carpenter, who is a member of the literary circle, announced,~at the next meeting of that society, that there was a lady boarding at Mrs. Pratt's who took no less than four papers; Mr. Morgan told her so 28 301 300 page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] ~02 LETTERS PRaj~ TIMBER TTILZE. 303 LETTERS FROM TIMBER TTILLE. himself; and she was sure I must be of a decidedly literary turn. In fact, she had her suspi~~jons that I was the author.. ess of certain Sonnets signed "Euphrasia," which had been copied into the "Ti~berville Weekly Gazette and People's Adi(ocate.' If so, It would be quite an acquisition to the " circle." (Miss Carpenter herself perpetrates poetry, and is considered quite blue.) The other members thought that if I was not a literary character, I must at least be rick, or I could not afford to take so many papers, not.. withstanding I seemed to be living in such a plain, private way. In either case, they decided that it would be safe. to %1fl vite me to attend the circle. In pursuance of this resolution, I was waited upon by, Miss Carpenter and Mrs. Stokes, and favored with a very learned conversation, kept up principally by Miss Car-. penter. Mrs. Stokes is not particularly literary she owes her membership to her very large parlors ~and great skill, in getting up a variety of refreshments. On rising to take leave, the ladies (as is the custom in 1~naierv~IIe) apologized most veheni~ntly for not having called before, and urged me very strongly to return their visit; very soon; and~ Mrs. Stokes, after Miss Carpenter had winked hard ~at b6r sevei~al times, to indicate tha~ she was the proper person to perform the office, invited me to attend a literary sawree at her residence, on the ensuing evening. Which Miss Carpenter followed up with the re- mark that she hoped I might find it "a desirable relief from the undiversified monotony of a boarding life." Or it might, as in her own case, "afford a relaxation to the mind after severe application and more profound occupy. tion, to indulge for a time in the perusal of the Jighter literature of The day." I attended the sawree, (as Mrs. Stokes called it,) and being soon after elected a member, have been quite regular in my attendance since. And I assure you it is, as Miss Carpenter predicted, a relief to my mind and an amuse-. ment to my head, to come in contact with the variety of characters which I there meet. But here we are. Sit down beside me on this sofa; the members are not all here yet, and we shall have a little time to chat before we are called to order. That short, dumpy lady, who is bobbing about in a very stiff silk dress flounced nearly to the waist, is our hostess, Mrs. Bolton. She is a great patroness of literature, and herself a personage remarkable erudition, and exces-. sively fond of reading. As she expresses it, she literarily devours her favorite authors. It must be confessed that she knows the names of a good many authors, and a good many booke, though she does not always match them quite correctly. She thinks that Dean Swift has some genius; his "Rasselas" is a proof of it; but it is a gre at pity that he ever wrote so vulgar a book as "Don Quixote." She says that Byron's "Deserted Village "interests her sympa- thies exceedingly, although the majority of critics pro- nounce his "John, Gilpin" his master-piece. She has a perfect passion for Milton's "Tasso" and "Dante," and actually dotes on his "Lady of the Lake." Such being her acquirements, she, of ~course, is. very capable of discovering and appreciating literary qualifica- tion's in others. She delights in drawing ijiodest merit from obscurity, and in giving bashful genius a boost. It is through her instrumentality that Mr. Boors, the alarmed young man who sits in the corner staring so hard at vacancy, and Miss Quince, th~ young lady with a projecting page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 'p ~304 LETTERS FROM TLWI~ER WILLI9L forehe~id and long ringlets, who is bending over the table as completely absorbed in a volume of Mrs. Ilemans, as * if it was the first time she had seen the work, have been introduced to the notice of the Timberville literati. These two . * * individuals are great admirers of Mrs. Bolt~11, who protests that Mr. Boors is a very intellectual young man, and that Miss Quince has a great deal ~of talent. Neither of them has as yet made any display of a1~iIity; for Mr. Boors invariably sits all the evening just as he is now,' and Miss Quince never speaks excepting in monosyllables. Probably they both, like the celebrated owl, keep up a tremendous thinking. The tall lady, with a very long neck and little waist, is Miss Carpenter, our cerulean sonnet writer. The pretty girl with a white rose in her hair, is Miss ~Jarrol, the sweetest singer in Timberville. She is a belle, and a wit withal. There is a lawlessness about her which would hardly be tolerated in any one but a beauty and a belle. And yet I like the girl for her truthfulness. The would..be~digni~jed gentleman who sits beside her, is Mr. Griffin, her warmest admirer and most especial butt. lie a critic; a ~ery severe one, too. He is never satisfied with anything produced in the circle. Indeed, I believe there is but one composition in the world that he admires without qualification, and that is Poe's "Raven." Die never writes for us; but he is so~ very fastidious that, of course, we all think he can do wonders if he will but con- descend. And Miss Carrol is constantly teasing him to favor us with something ravenou8. Those two' gentlemen conversing together are rival editors. The short, fat one, he who has what a facetious friend 9f mine calls a vegetable countenance, i. e., turn-up 305 LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLE~ nose, reddish complexion, and carroty whiskers, is the celebrated individual whose voice, thundering through the columns of the "Thuberville Herald of Liberty and Free- man's Journal," makes monarchs tremble, thrones totter, and Old Hunkers shake in their shoes. His tall, thin neighbor occupies the chair editorial of the "Timberville Weekly Gazette and People's Advocate." (Our papers,, like our people, all have double names.) How delightful to see the urbanity with which they can meet. It seems hardly possible that they have just been tearing each other to pieces at such a terrible rate, "through the medium of~ the press." The gentleman who is just entering the room, with' a 'linen roundabout, and his pants tucked inside of his boots, is Mr. Bolton, the -worser half of our hostess, and a horse- dealer by profession. He couldn't spend time to change his dress; it was as much as he could do to come in at all. It is true that Mrs. iBolton, who is not very proud of her unintellectual spouse, has repeatedly assured him that there was. no necessity for his coming in this evening;' he needn't trouble himself, &e., &c. Still, Mr. Bolton, who is a kind-hearted man, thought he would just come in long enough to say how d'ye do, and let his neighbors know that he was glad to see them at his house. Poor Mrs. Bolton I she looks perfectly. constern-ed at his appearance. Her countenance says very plainly, "Won't he catch it for 'coming to the sawree. in such a fix! He' might, at least, have put on hi~ best clothes."~ But he seems wholly unconscious of her fiery glances, as he makes for a chair, and poising himself miraculously on one of its legs, begins to descant to 'Mr. Martin on the excellence of ~" them houses he sold Snyder." 26* page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] / I Ii p ~1 ~1 1. 306£ETTEI~S FR OAf TIMBER JTILLi~ The tall, pale youth, with huge whiskers, who stands gracefully leaning on the mantel, is Mr; nader by profession; at least, ~ Fustian, a sere-. have never heard of his doing ~anything else, lie has great powers of endurance; for, IL am told, that he thinks nothing of standing two h~urs, of a cold night, under Miss Carrol's window, executing music. ~Miss Carrel thin4~s not/dng of it, too. She declares that she sleeps through it all, These two somewhat a~ti~uated young ladies, with liw neok~ and bare arms, whom he is entertaining, or, rather; who are entertaining him, are the sisters Caroline and Lucy Bigelow; or, as they call ea~h other, "Carry and Lute." They affect ~great juvenility, Though nobody remembers when they were young, and are fond of talking about "us girls.'~ They have a Brother Peter somewhere in New lEngland, who, according to their account, is enor-. inously wealthy, and lives in princely style. "Brother Peter's establishment" is the constant and almost only theme of their conversation. "Brother Peter's garden;" Brother Peter's conservatory; ""Brotherpeter's library;" in short, everything at Brother Peter's is on so magnificent a scale, that "Carry" and "Lute" can neVer see any- thing that suits them anywhere else. Even Mrs. Bolton, who admires their taste and refinement exceedingly, thinks they have almost too much "fastidium." They occasion.. ally write, and their articles are alway thing at "Brother Peter's." s descriptive of some- That tall brunette, in black, is Miss Mary Willis. I never made up my mind that she was handsome, until she adopted the "French twist," and really looked well in it; for, certainly, it must be a handsome face that can stand the test of a coiffure so universally unbecoming.. She is a letter1?~ FROA( TIMBER VILLE. 307 very quiet, retiring girl. Many persons think her proud; but I d~ not, and I think that I have penetrated her char'. acter quite thoroughly. If Mary Willis is proud, I could wish that such pride were contagious. The thin, peakedilooking woman, to whom Mary is talk-. *ing, is Mrs. Stokes. She is a very nice woman - as the Timbervililans say. She does not look as if she partook very largely of the good things which she knows how to prepare in such perfection, and with which she is always cramming her friends. As I before remarked, she makes no pretensions to literary merit hrself, but she isagreat admirer of it in others, and praises, indiscriminately, every- thing that is produced or read in the circle., She pro- nounces all the prose articles "first-rate," and all the poetry "sublime." Mrs. Bolton has not a very high opinion of Mrs. Stokes, but hopes that the "sawrees will be an advantage to her intellect." But my letter is already unreasonably long. If you are at all interested in our society, perhaps I may be able ~n my next to give you some specimens of our productions.- And I can scarcely entertain a doubt that you will hence- forth be interested in the sayings and doings of Timber- vile, since you know that we are a very important people,. and shall undoubtedly be a city in a few years. 4 f 307 page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] / / ll~ LETTERS PRO~v ~TIffBL~R VILL~ 309 LETTERS FROM TIMBER TTILLE. II. / TIMBERITILLE. AM getting tired of boarding there are so many annoyances connected with it generally. And even in the best-regulated boarding~houses there is a lack of that pleasant hQme-feeling which One has in housekeeping, even though it be in a hired house. If we were determined, to "locate" (as the Timbervillians say) permanently in this place, we should have a home of our own. Until that point is decided, we shall remain with Mrs. Pratt, for I would rather endure a great many incon~ veniences than to be changing about. I have often been amused at the frivolous causes which drive some persons from one boardinghouse to another. I know one gentle~ man who' never stays above a month, and seldom as long as tha4 at the same house. At one place he had to drink milk in his tea; he hadn't been used to it, and wouldn't put up with it. At another, his nose was often offended at the odor of boiled cabbage; he didn't like cabbage, and he wouldn't stand it.' Mrs. Pratt's establishment is conducted on the most economical scale. She understands to perfection the art of making much of a little. She knows how to "stretch out," and make a very small quantity "go a great ways." She5' is a widow of some years' standing, but has not yet ceased to grieve for her worthy husband. She 'is forever V expatiating Qfl his perfection. To hear her talk of him, you would suppose that all the virtues as~ well as talents that were ever created, were united in the person of" poor Mr. Pratt." The grand object of her life seems to be to marry off her two daughters, Ann Maria and Philura, a brace of young ladies who expend upon their fair persons the products of their mother's thrift, and who appear to' serve i~o other purpose in the establishment than that of entertaining the young gentlemen boarders. They ne'I~r make their appearance at breakfast,, but at dinner' they burst upon us in all their glory, looking as if they ,had spent the whole morning at the toilet. They are rather pretty girls, and with the exercise of a tolerable taste in dress, would look very well; but they are always arrayed in showy frocks, gaudy shes, flaring neck-ribbons, and, to crown all, some sort of trumpery headdresses, and all of different colors, so that it really makes my eyes ache to look at them. The head-dresses~, above all, are my espe-' cial abomination. I can scarcely keep my fingers off them, they make me so nervolls. But they are young ladies: to whom it would not be safe for a plain person like me to offer a suggestion on the subject of dress. They take but little notice of me, ~nd make no efforts to render my abode with them pleasant, but reserve all their attentions for ,the young men, who always find them "very ea~sy to~ get ac~ quainted with." That part of their time which is not de- * voted ~to dressing, calling and shopping, is spent indrum- ming the piano, on which they do great execution, and in embroidering slippers or netting purses for the gentlemen. There are, at 'present, six single gentlemen boarding in. Mrs. Pratt's family - Mr. Wilkins, a rich old widower, very cross and very asthmatic, - an object of tender solic- 808 page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 3210 LEflZARS FR OH TIMBER 71LLE. LETTERS RI? Off TIMBER VILJ2E. 311 itude to Ann Maria, who takes a vast deal of pains to make him comfortable, though he does aot appear to appreciate it; Mr Stivers and Mr. Gi~een, a couple of merchants' clerks, with nothing remarkable about them excepting standing collars so stiff that they cannot turn their heads without turning their bodies also; Mr. Hocum, a lumber- man, ~ho minds his own business and never says anything; Mr. Bunker, a sort of" Jack at all trades," a dealer in everything, an inventor of a great variety of useless articles, for, which he gets. patents he also fills the office of re- porter to the neighborhood, and brings home every day all the scaii'dal and gossip afloat in the village; and Monsieur Laborde, a French teacher, full of whims and oddities, such as rolling his hair in' papers over night to make them curl; exercising his lungs out of his window, to the great alarm of passers-by; cooking all sorts of ridiculous messes on the top of the parlor stove ~ wearing a great many brown paper soles in his slippers, and spreading them out on the rug every evening to dry, and a ~hundred other peculiarities. Besides the two daughters, Mrs. Pratt has also a son, a boy of some twelve years old, who, 'for want of proper training, had grown to be, when we first came here, a complete little nuisance., His sisters considered him a plague and a torment; and his mother declared, with a rueful shake of the head, that she didn't know what she should do with Joe, he had got to be so unmanageable no comfort to her at all, so different from what his poor father was. These lamentations, which were usually de- livered in the boy's presence, did not contribute materially to his improvement. In fact, he was universally di~iked. The boarders were unanimous in the opinion that he was destitute of one single redeeming quality. He played all sorts of tricks upon them, and they never passed him with- out a kick or an oath. Particularly obnoxious was he to Monsieur Laborde, who pronounced him "one leetle doable." When we came .to Mrs. Pratt's we heard so much about Joe's precocious wickedness that we almost feared to be under the same roof with hiri~. One morning, a few days after oUr arrival, as we were going through the hall to breakfast~ Monsieur rushed from his room just ahead of us, and with a ferocious aspect, hurried down the stairs. On his way, he encountered Nancy, the chambermaid, going up to "regulate." "Nancie," said he, showing her something in the palm of his hand, "what you call dis?" "That," said Nancy, who has a spice of the wag in her "oh, that's a pickaxe." "Peek-axe," said the Frenchman, throwing it down; and, as he proceeded, he kept repeating -" peek-axe, peek-axe," so as to impress it firmly upon his memory. When he reached the breakfast-room, where the rest of the boarders were assembled, and Mrs. Pratt, at the head of 'the table, was just beginning to make the coffee, he bounced in, and without any of his usual French fuss, shouted "' Madame Pratt, I have' suffer one grand insult! Peek- axe! Sho have insult me in ma chamber. Peek-axe! It is one miserable shild, dat Sho." "The dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Pratt, "what shall I do with that boy? He'll be the death of me yet. What huts he been doing now?" "He have insult me ver bad," continued Monsieur. "It is ~one leetle disable. V I could keel him, I would be sat- isfait." [ F' page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] A 313 LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLE. "That I should live ~to see the day!" groaned Mrs. Pratt. "Pray, what has he done, Mr. Laborde? I'll punish ~-" " What~ have he done?" said the Frenchman. "He have done plentie, te miserable he have trow more as llxre bondred p~eek-ax.c in te si~rii"dow of ma chambre. While I shave ma barbe, I understand a noise by the window; one moment apres, I am convert de peek-axe." "Picka*es!" exclaimed the distressed mother. "For- ever and ever! What would poor Mr. Pratt say?" " Pickaxes r" cried the gentlemen. "Impossible! It can't be so!" "Do you not believe that Isay?" demanded Monsieur, gesticulating violently. " Well; den, come to ma chain- bre, and you shall' see." So we all, ei~cepting Mrs. Pratt, whose feelings would not allow her to move, followed Monsieur to his room, where we found* Nancy, with a dust-pan and wing, busily engaged in brushing up a quantity of small shot, with which Joe had besieged the French fortress. "There," said ~p?&r1ez-vouz, "you can see for yourselve; * peek~axe, plentie peek-axe." The boarders raised a tremendous roar at Monsieur's ex- pense, in the midst of which Nanny made a rapid exit. The Frenchman was 'furiously angry at being laughed at, and fearing that something serious might come of it, I re~ treated to my own quarters. II believe tiiat only two or three of the boarders returned to the tablet so that Mrs. Pratt saved a good part of the breakfast t~ warm up the next 'morning. After this' performance, my husband proposed seeking another boarding-house, as there was no telling how soon 312 LETTERS FR OAf TIAWER VILLE. I; [I / 1 '~1 312 Master Joe might begin to play off his pranks upon us. But I objected to removing, and begged him to leave me to* manage Joe. To tell the truth, I had a soi~t of sympathy for the child, to which, perhaps, certain recollections of my own juvenile experience contributed in some degree. Be that as it may, I felt a desire to know more of the tin- popular boy, an'd to discover, if possible, whether there was any good in him. A day or, two after this affair, at the tea-table, Mr. Bunker pulled out of his pocket a dirty piece of paper, on which was scratched, in charcoal, a profile considerably re sembling his own, which is distinguished by a very long nyse and huge whiskers; and holding it up before Mrs. Pratt, exclaimed - "Look o' there, ma'am! -that's Joe's work! I found it stuck up on my store, right in plain sight. If that boy ain't a fit subject for the Ji2ouse of Refuge, I don't know who is!" "Forever and ever!" cried Mrs. Pratt. "That I should live to hear of his d6ing such a thing! What' is that child a coming to, after all my faithfulness too! Why, I've wrestled in prayer for him hours together, and -a'most whipped the skin off his back, and all for nothing! * What would his poor father say?" &c. While Mrs. Pratt was groaning and lamenting, the work of art was handed round, and elicited various comments ~from ~the beholders. The young ladies declared th~t, if they were Mi:. Bunkerf they wouldn't care a cent about it, for it didn't look a bit like him. "I don't care a cent about it," said Il3unker; "only I'd like to have the handling of that boy." Monsieur, who was still smarting under the pickaxes, 27 page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] /i I 'p pronounced it. a "grand insult." But the other1 young men,.~~always delighted at a chance to tease one another, thought it ~" a pretty fair likeness." "It's' I~unker," said Mr. Stivers; "only more so." "Pr&is6ment," said Mon.. sieur, beginning to relish the joke, and glad of an opportu- nity to laugh at Bunker. "Pr~cis~ment - it is the nose of Mr~ Bunker a leetle more long,' and the whiskers of Mr. Bunker ~ leetle more big." Bunker looked as if he wished he had' not exhibited the likeness, since it had been the means of" getting the rig on him," as they call it here. But he was somewhat mnollifl~ed by Mrs~ Pratt's assurance that she should punish ,Joe severely. * In the evening, my ~'oom being very warm, I had thrown 'open the door, and sat meditating upon Joe and his per- forrnances, when I heard Mrs. Pratt in the dining-room dealing with that young gentleman in a most summary manner; .scolding him at a terrible rate, and interspersing her lecture with frequent cuffs on the ears. "You miserable young onet" said she. "You'll be the 'death of me' yet,' I know you will- (cuff) you're all the time a doing something so ai~rful wicked (cuff.) What did you go and 'make Mr. Bunker's lik~ness.for, say?~'- (cuff.) "'Cause he misused me," said Joe. "He don't treat me like a huma~i being; and nobody else don't, neither." "Well, you don't act "like a human being," said hi~ mother,. with another cuff; "and you ought not to be treated like one. Wbat did you want to draw that shame-' ful profile for say?" and she administered three succes- sive cuffs. "I tell you I did it because he misused me," said Joe. ) ' "He knocked me off his store steps on to the gro~d, when I wasn't a doing anything." "Yes - I'll warrant you wasn't a doing anything," said his mother; "you ain't ,never a doing anything, you good~for~nothing, lazy, idle little wretch! You'll never be nobody - you'll grow up a miserable vagabone! And what would your poor father. say if he knew how you was a breaking my heart every day ? - (Several cuffs.) So now, just take off your boots, and go 'long to bed; and if ever.1 hear of your drawing any more profiles, I'll give it to you about east!" The scolding and the cuffs alike seemed to make no impression upon Joe. flis ears were, doubtless, inured to both~ As he was passing my door on the way to his own. dormitory, I called him. He half paused, and was going on, when -I called him again. He stopped, looked furtively over his shoulder, and said - "I h~tin't done anything to you, have I?" Without noticing his question, '1 repeated, "Come here, Joe, I want to show you something." He hesitated a mo- ment, and then, reassured by my ~countenance, with a look of bewildered astonishment, advanced into the room. A new magazine, containing several fine engravings,, was lying by me on the table. I opened it. "Joe," said I, "I believe i~you are fond of pictures;. here are some good ones that I think 'you would like to look at." He came .forward and looked at the "plates;: but it was some ~time before I succeeded, by talking about the engravings and pointing out their nmerits, in makiimg him' feel at ease.- After he bad recovered from his surprise, he became quite inter- ested in the pictures,, rubbed off his dirty fingers on his still dirtier trousers, and began to turn over the leaves himself~ 314 LETTERS FR 031 TIMBER VILLE. 315 LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLE.' 1~ t I" 'I "Ii ~ I 2 314 315 ) page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] /11 Ii F it II LETTERS FR OAF TIMBER VILLE. 317 316: LETTERS FROM TLJiBERTTILLE. "This book,'~ said he, "looks just like one that Mr. Green gave Philura; but the pictures are different. She wouldn't let me look 'at it, but I got bold of it once when they'd gone away, and looked at it ever so long, and she don't know it yet." "'Joe," said I, "you remind me of my nephew Johnny. You are just about his age and size. Johnny is very fond of pictures, and he draws them too. Do you ever draw pictures, Joe?" "Me!" said Joe. " No, not good ones; I don't know how." "Would you like to' learn to draw?" said I. "Gracious! I couldn't learn~" 'said he. "Why could you not learn?" I asked. "0 because) I can't 'learn anything, "replied the child, with a very decided look. Do you go to school?" I inquired. '~' Not now," said Joe. "I've been to school; but the master turned me out because, he said, I couldn't learn anything if he:should try to flog it into me till doomsday." "But would, you like to learn to draw if you could?" asked I. "Yes, I would most. plaguily," replied Joel. "I always thought I should like to." I knew the boy's capacity, from the " charcoal sketch" of' Bunker's head, which really possessed a good deal' oP character; quite' as much as 'the original solsaid---. "I think you could learn, Joe. If you have a mind to try, I will 'teach you." Th~ child looked up suddenly, and after reo'ardin moment with an expression of wonder, said, ~ *g me a "Are you in earnest, Mi's. Waters?" "Certainly," said I. "I used to like, very much to teach Johnny, and I will be glad to teach you." I then took from a portfolio one of my drawings, and asked him if he would like .to draw that. It was a rough sketch of some children ~and a dog. Joe was delighted with it; and said he would give anything to know how to make such a 'picture. 'I told him to come to my room every morning, 'and I would give him lessons. "You will though?" said he. "0 how I wish I could come - but I darsent - mother'll whale me ~f I do. She says I sha'nt go into the boarders' rooms at all." "But if I invite you she'll not object, will she? ~" "I don't know," said Joe, shaking his head, sorrow- fully. "I guess she'd whale me anyhow; but no matter if she does - I'm used to whaling. " "0 no, Joe," said I; "if your mother were reall?'un-' willing, I would not have you come on any account. But I think, that if I ask her. permission to teach you, she will grant it. I shall g~ down presently and speak to her about it; and if she consents, yo.u m~y come in to-morrow rnol'ning at ten o'clock. And remember,~Joe, you must have very clean hands, so as not to soil the paper Johnny was always particular to wash his hands very cle~tu when he was going to draw. And now you may go to bed. Good-night, Joe." "Good-night, Mrs.' Waters," 'said Joe. " I hope mother'11 say I may come. After Joe had retired, I went down stairs and spoke to Mrs. Pratt. I told her that I thought' Joe had quite a~ turn for drawing, and with her permission I would like to give him lessons.~ She was rather alarmed at first, and said that she wasn't 'in the habit of taking anything but 27* )' I I' li '1 N page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] II I/i~ I h money for board. But when I assured her that it was for pleasu umed quite, a different aspect in her eye, though her ter assre~ not for pay, that I wished to teach Joe, the mat- astonishment was evidently increased. She freely consen.. ted, though she could not imagine what pleasure it would afford me to try to teach such a child as. Joe. She never could do anything with him. She was completely dis- couraged about him. It was the strangest thing in the wodd, too, that he wasn't a better boy, considering how faithful she'd been to him. Nobody could say he had been ruined by indulgence. Very true, nobody could. As I was returning to my room, I perceived the form of Joe emerging from a small passage at the end of.the hall, He was partially disrobed, (as the novels say), 'and hold.. ing up his trowsers with both hands. "~Vhat did she say?" inquired he, eagerly. "She says that you may cpme," I replied. "Good!" shouted Joe, clapping his hands, quite for- getful of the office they were performing. "Good! * then she ,can't whale we.;. ~and when I cam get along with~ out being whaled, I'd rather." - The next morning, at ten o'clock precisely, came Joe, with a pair of hands that fairly shone from the effects of the scouring which he had given them. ." Good-morning, Joe," said 1;" I'm glad to see you punctual: a great deal depends upon punctuality." It was a rare thing for poor Joe* to be praised, and his eyes sparkled with pleasure. To shorten my narrative, Joe's progress in drawing was rapid beyond my anticipa- tions; never* was pupil more docile. Gradually,~ I added a few more branches, and~ he has entered with alacrity into * every study that I propQsed, though he seems to prefer I. LETTERS FROM DUMBER VZLLE. 319 drawing' to anything else. Unbounded was th~ astonish- ment of his worthy mother at my success. She wished that poor Mr. Pratp was alive to see it. The boarders too, when they had discovered that I had taken Joe under my patronage, ceased to abuse him, and he has consequently left off his amloying tricks. Even Monsieur allows that there is a "grand changement in Sho.' And I find the hour which I daily devote to him more than repaid by the affection of the hitherto neglected child for me - his first friend - the first one who 'taught l~im that he was neither a fool nor a wretch. In short, Mrs. Pratt begins to think that her faithfulness will he rewarded, her prayers will be answered, and that Joe will be something after all. Evening - Mary Willis has sent me this afternoon a little piece for our next literary circle. I am one of the appointed readers for the occasion, and Mary is too diffi- dent to read her own productions. Here is an extract from it: "I love to be alone - alone in the morning with* the trees, and the* flowers, and the birds. I am not alone then - they are all so friendly to me, and talk more l~indly with me than any human friend. The* waving trees whisper to me. The flowers turn up their bright faces pleasantly to greet me. And the sweet birds seem to be~singing soklyfor my pleasure. "I love to be alone* in the night -alone with the clouds, and the stars, and the beautiful moon. The won- drous stars ~ how gently they look down on me. The clouds, too -they arefor me so many good and wonder.. ful sermons, full of ever new and ever varying thoughts. Often, I watch them gradually folding, leaf after leaf, over the face of the moon in soft and dreamy beauty. But 318 ~i i II I LETTERS FROM TIMBER TTILLE~ page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 7111 I ~I ~f 1/ LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLE. ) * darker and heavier they grow, till her light is completely hidden; .and I watch and wait in the darkness and long to see again the face of the fair planet. "Thus, 6ften the joys and the loves of earth come between us and the haven on which our eyes should ever be fixed. Very beautiful they are at first, like the light clouds before * the moon, -and the face of our Father is not wholly hidden from us. But gradually they fill our vision. They shut out the light of the better world, and we are 'left in dark- ness, to grieve and think how much dearer than all earthly * delights is one ray from the Sun of Rio'hteousness." Mrs. Bolton, also, has sent me an article for the circle, accompanied by a note, saying, that, "my distinct enunci- ation would enable me to do better justice to her produc- * tion than she coul(l' herself." I will give it to you entire, as I know she would not object to being extensivelyy pe~ rused." "How delightful to the satiated mind in an ungenial soil is converse with a. kindred literary spirit! This remark is promulgated by the recollection of a circumstance which transpired to me once while I was sojourning at Saratoga Springs for the establishment of my health, which had become undermined by excessive reading. "'It was on a resplendent day in August, that I was meandering in a delicious gt~ove of pines in the vicinity of Congress Spring, when I perceived converging towards me a tall and elegant young man, with ~ rifle under his arm. * When' he' perceived the fair occupant of the forest, he bowed. gracefully kind. was diverging onwards. But being excessively struck whh 'his highly intellectual countenance, I whs desirous of entering into conversation with him, and remarked LETTERS PROM TIMBER VILLE. -321 "'Seeing you, sir, with your rifle in hand amid this wilderness of trees, reminds me forcibly of that celebrated line of Shakspeare ~~6 Just as the trigger's bent, the tree's inclined.'" "lie paused, and regarded me with evident astonisii- ment. It was obvious that I was the first literati he had met at the Springs. After a moment he smiled, and re- marked "'And II am here, as the same poet farther observes "'To teach the young idea how to shoot."' .,~' "From this commencement, our conversation very nat- urally fell into a highly intellectual strain. I never was more delighted, and the bewitching *stranger appeared equally so. He drew out my conversational powers on a great variety of subjects. I think I was 'never more ani.- mated. I talked enthusiastically of my favorite authors, and he asked me a multitude of . questions - I regret that I disremember the most of them at this remote period. His conversation~ clearly evinced that he was deeply liii- brued with a poetic temperature. He was evidently quite carried away with me, and actually laughed outright several times in his delight at encountering ant individual of' a kindred spirit. He repeated several stanzas of exqui-. site poetry; highly complimentary to me, which were evidently suggested impromptu on the spur of the moment. Our interview was prolonged until the concentrating shades of evening warned us to return to our respective abodes. When we reached the 'United States Hotel,' he bowed * with superhuman grace, and was turning to ascend the 320 tl ~ti~ j page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] ~I I I ~1' it II ~ I I ill 4% If I LETTERS PR OAt TiMBER VILLE. piazza, when 'I remarked' that it would be a source of in~~ tense satisfaction to me to possess his card. lie turned his refulgent eyes upon me, and laying the forefinger of his right hand gracefully beside his nasal organ, said, with an expression which I shall never forget, '*Madam, I am incog.' And bowing again~ with redoubled elegance, he receded up the long 4ista of the piazza. I had never be.' held ,the unknown literati since; but I have always labored under a firm 'persuasion that he was none other than a well known celebrated poet." I fear greatly that~ I cannot "do justice" to Mrs. Bob ton's article. I have half a, mind to get up a cold and sore throat for the occasion, which will enable me to decline the honor. But in that case I must. decline Mar 's too. Wha1~ shall I do? I'm in a quandary.. , Joe and I are going to have a fine 'ramble over the hills this evening. He is waiting for me on the piazza below, and I know, by a sort of shtifluing stamp which he~ per- forming, that he' begins to grow impatient. So I'll e'en close my long-enough letter and relieve him. LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLE. 323 III. TIMBERVILLE. KNOW' you will pardon my long silence, when you, learn the important fact that I am at house- keeping. If you have experienced the trials and vexations which usually attend the setti~ig up 'of an establishment, surely I shall have your hearty sym- pathy. But I do not believe you know anything about the enormity of such an undertaking in the country. In the city, you are free' from a thousand annoyances and hindrances, which we have 'to endure in a place 'like,' Tim- berville, busy, bustling, noisy, and growing; a place rie.ither city nor country, but,. as it were, in a state of be-. tweenity, aping the former, yet pos~es~ing~ many of the peculiarities of the latter, but in nothing resembling those old-fashioned, stationary country villages, in one of which .1 had the happiness to be born and reared. ' Dear old Greenvalley I It has been in 'appearance just what it now is, ever since my earliest recollection. There was un- doubtedly a~ time when it was new and growing, but that time has faded' from the memory of ~ian. The only ex- ternal changes which I remark, as I return from time to time to the peaceful shade of its majestic old elms, ate, that here and there a roof has been' newly shingled, a fence repaired, and occasionally an entire house has gone 322 page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 324 LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLE. LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLE. 32~ ff1 'ill I, 4 k' d I' ~1I I up in the place of one that had fallen quite to decay. One by one, the white-haired patriarchs of th&hamlet have been gathered to. their final rest, while those of their de-. scendants who have caught this age's restless spirit of adventure, have gone to "seek their fortunes" elsewhere. Only such remain as are content to pursue the tranquil tenor of their fathers' way. Heaven forbid that Green-. valley should ever " take a start and grow." Here, there is no such thing as doing anythingg quietly. The whole village must know all your proceedings; every- body must " have a hand in it;" and unless you receive with a good grace the proffered assistance, you are forever undone. I resolved to take warning from the unhappy fate of a certain Mrs. D., who came here to reside about *two years ago, and not render myself unpopular, as she had done. Unfortunate ivoman! She declined the offi- cious offers of the Timberville ladies, to help her "get to rio'hts,. and chose rather, with the assistance of the mern. bers of her own household, to fit her carpets herself, ar- range her furniture, and, what was the most aggravating. of all, to. unpack her trunks and bureaus, without so much as allowing any of the ~foresaid.ladies a peep at their con- tents. Mrs. 1~hil~ott, animadverting to me upon Mrs. D.'~ conduct, remarked, "We don't. 'know to this day what was in them boxes,'7 Asi did not desire the repistatiQn, of being." stuck up," I surrendered, with apparent' cheerfulness, my house and furniture to the mercy of some ten or dozen of the Tim- berville ladies, for the space of about a week. My hns- ,band retreated in alarm from the scene of action, and remained quietly a~ Mrs. Pratt's, until the house was pro- pounced tQ be "to rights." Joe Pratt. said he thought it might with more propriety be called to wrongs; a very just remark of Joes; for actually we were occupied' a full week longer in undoing the greater part of what the ladies had done. Everything had to be re-arranged. The car- pets, which they had insisted upon making, had been sewed together in such a mnanmwr that the seams burst open and the bindings gave out during the process of' nailing down, which was accomplished so crookedly, that one would have imagined every person who assisted threat to have ~differed from. the rest in her opinion respecting the manner in which they ought to lie. Of course, they had all to be taken up,~ re-sewed, and put down straight. But, after the siege which the house had undei'gone, I thought I had reason to congratulate myself that the de- struction of property had been no greater than it was. When they unpacked the crockery, and I saw half-a-dozen pulling and hauling at it, I certainly expected to see it nearly all go to pieces. Consequently, I was thankful to escape with the loss of a few pieces of china, just enough to spoil a set, the demolition of a large lamp-shade, which Mrs. Harris had smashed in her eagerness to draw it from its concealment, and the ruination of a valuable framed en- graving, which Mrs. Bolton (our literati) accidentally dashed against the corner of the stove, thereby breaking the glass into numberless atoms, and bursting a hole through the middle of the picture. The good lady fancied that she made more than ample compensation by sending me the next day a daub of a painting a couple of women leading a donkey, and t~o or three hutsin the dis.. tanc6. She accompanied this gift with a note, wherein she stated that the painting was ~one of a number which she had recently purchased in Philadelphia; it was "~ 28 page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326 LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLkJ~ I I ~ll LETTERS FROM TI2~!BER VILLE. 327 Ii ~ I view of Switzerland, an oriental village near Paris;" Mr. * Milligan,~ the great traveller whom she had iriet in the city, pronounced it to be a perfect representation. During the readjustment of affairs, my friend, Joe * Pratt, was very useful to us. The little fellow was con- stantly, on hand, ready to assist in a thousand ways. We continued to take our meals at his mother's, until every- thing was arranged at our new abode. When, finally, that time arrived, and I ~aid, ".Well, Joe, I believe we are all fixed at last," the poor boy looked anything but pleased~ He would no longer have any excuse for run- ning back and forth. lie must ~tay all day at home, with no relief from his mother's fretfulness and his sisters' re- buffs. His daily visits to my. room, his lessons, and our pleasant rambles together, they must all Joe was sad. be given up, and "Joe," said II, reading his thoughts, "I shall miss you very much." "And I shall be so lonesome," said he, stretching his eyes open very wide, to prevent the tears from running out; "and mother talks of moving away to Ohio, too, and then I shall never see you again." The idea of parting with Joe was painful to me; for I had become greatly attached to him. A thought struck me of keeping him i~rith us. I, however, said nothing to Joe about it at that time, wi~hihg first to consult my hus- band on the subject. When Mr. Waters came in I men- tioned it to him; he approved the plan; and we accord- ingly proposed to Mrs. P~att, that, in case of her removing from Tixnberville, she should leave ~Joe with us for at .least a year or two. At first, the worthy woman did not ap- pear much inclined to~ accede to the proposal, and dwelt with great. emphasis upon the pain of parting with her only son. But as soon as she fairly understood that we. wished to relieve her from all expense on his account, her feelings underwent a modification; her objections van- ished, and she consented. And so it is settled. Mrs. Pratt is to remove to Ohio next month, accompanied by her daughters, and Joe is to come and live with us; an arrangement highly satisfactory to that young gentle- man. The greatest trouble which I have experienced thus far in housekeeping here, has arisen from the difficulty of procuring servants that are good for anything. During the first two months I had four different ones. Our first specimen in this ~line was a girl from the~ wilds of Penn- sylvania, whom Mrs. Stokes procured for me, and pro- nounced to be " excellent help." She rejoiced in the euphonious cognomen of "Rowena Ruggles." I had been. expecting her for several days, but she did not come until the second evening after we were settled in our new home. Her approach was announced by the rattling of a very noisy lumber wagon,' which stoppedNn- the middle of the road in fronp of our house~ I looked up and beheld an over- grown, raw-boned girl, accompanied by a gawky boy who * drove. The girl was seated on a huge pine box. She rose* up in the vehicle, and, after taking a comprehensive view of the house, exclaimed: "Wal, I guess this ere's the sittiwation. Jeems, I'll hold the horse,' while you git out and go see'f the Waterses lives here, if they do , you tell 'cm that Miss Ruggles has arriv'." Just then a boy, who was passing, gave them the desired information, and ,the girl alighted and came in. She entered the front door without taking the slightest notice of the bell, and walked 326 page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] LETTERS~ FROM TIMBER WILE. 329 into the parlor where I was sitting. "How do ye do?" said she; then casting herself down on the sofa with na- tive ease and freedom of manlier, remarked: "This is Miss Waters, ain't it?" I assented. " Wal, I'm Miss iRuggles," said she, "the young lady you was suspecting. " After communicating this piece of intelligence, she took off her tawdry pink silk bonnet, and white gauze long shawl, and, laying them on the centre-table, inquired: "Hain't you no men folks round'? I guess Jeems'll want some resistance about fetching' in my chist." But she un derrated Jeems's abilities, for at that moment he came drag~. * ging up the steps the enormous pine box. Having, by this time, recovered in a measure from the astonishment into which the unceremonious entrance of Miss Ruggles had thrown me, I advanced and met the young gentleman in the ball, and, having directed him where to %estow his sister's box, returned to the parlor and re- quested Rowena to bring her bonnet and shawl, and I would show her where her room was. She complied; and,. on the way, inquired "whether we'd been to sup- per?" I answered in the affirmative; whereupon she in~. formed me. that she "hadn't had none; and Jeems would want some 'fore he went back with the surveyance." I got them supper, after which Jeems returned home; and,, after giving Rowena~ some instructions in. regard to her work; I retired with some misgivings, and left her to wash up the dishes. Upon further acquaintance with Miss IRuggles, I dis-. covered that she understood housework much better than I at first supposed. She could bake, and wash, and do plain cooking very w~l1; but her notions of equality, and her. utter ignorance of the proprieties of her station, ren- dered it very difficult to get on with her. She seemed to expect me to be in the kitchen at work as 'long as she was there, though in our little family there was not eh~iigh work to occupy nearly all of her own time. Every after- noon, she arrayed herself in a very stiffly starched petti- coat, and blue muslin dress, and "joined me in the parlor" (as novels say). Her dress, which fastened in the back, she could only hook a little way up, so she bawled out, as she entered, "Miss Waters,~ I'll get you to hook up my frock.". After I had performed this service for her, she was wont to complete her toilet before the parlor glass. After having adjusted a broad, yellow ribbon around her neck, put ona l)air of lace cuffs decorated with pink bows, and stuck an immense red and green plaid rosette in her mud-colored hair, she threw herself on 'the sofa; or, if I did not happen to be occupying it, in my large rocking- chair, and began to converse without restraint. She gen- erally entertained me with an account of the various "ways" of the various ladies with. whom she had. lived, occasionally diversified with remarks like the following: "I like the way you do up your hair, Miss Waters. I guess I'll git you to fix mine for me some time. I ain't no great hand to do . up hair myself. Sister Batsey - she's married a Brigham now, and live to the Flatts out here she's quite a hand to do up hair; hem's almost as black as your'n. That frock o' your'n looks jest like one Batsey's got; shouldn't wonder if 'twas off the same. piece. What did you hef to give a yard for that?" No matter what I was' doing, ~ reading, writing, what- ever might be my occupation, - it was no die4 upon Miss IRuggles's volubility. It, was a dreadful annoyance, and I resolved to get rid of it; but not liking to offend her by 28* 328 LETTERS FROM TIMBER fTILJ9E. 328 329 page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] ,~~1 330 LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLEL telling her that I would prefer her "room to her com- pany," I tried various expedients to induce her t~ spend the afternoon elsewhere. I offered her useful books to read in her own room; but she wasn'tt no hand for books." I discovered, on investigation, that she could bai~ely speii out a fe~ words, and had never learned to writeK~tall. I offered to teach her, and told her that I 1i~ had a ~spare writing~desk, which she might keep in h~r room and practise every afternoon. But she declined, saying that "she didn't see no use o' much dedication; her brother Brigham was eddicated, and that answered for 'em all." I asked if she had.no sewing that she v~'oiAd like to do, and hinted *that her room possessed great con- veniences. for such employment. But "she wasn't no hand to sew; sister Ba~tsey generally made her things for her." At length my patience was exhausted, when, on returning one evening with Mr. Waters from a walk, we found Rowena in the parlor, seated in 'my rocking..obair,. with her feet on an ottoman,' my Cologne bottle in her hand, and playing the hostess to Monsieur Laborde, Mr. Grimn, and Mr. Bunker, who had called upon us. The gentlemen had evidently been highly entertained with her easy manners and conversational powers. I was thor.. roughly vexed, and told her emphatically to leave the room. her surprise was equalled only by her indignation. She went out in high dudgeon, slamming the dodr behind her, to the great amusement of the gentlemen. M. Laboido remarked that "Miss Roogle was very divertissante." Her proceedings were anything, but amusing to me, whatever they might have been to Monsieur and his companions. When Rowena retreated from the parlor, she went out, by way of compeiisation, to call upon Mrs. Crandal, the LETTERS PROM TIA(BER VILLE. 331 baker's wife, our next door neighbor, with whom she had struck up an intimacy, and to whom she carried a daily re- port of "Miss Waters's curus way~." No doubt she received that lady's sincerest sympathy in her affliction., and probably acted upon her advice; for the next morn~ ing, as Mr. Waters and I were sitting in the library, she came in abruptly and demanded her wages. It was Thursday. I had hitherto paid her on Saturdays. "Why do you want your money to-day, Rowena?" asked I. "Because I'm a goin' to go," said she, angrily. "What is the matter, Rowena?" said I. "Why ~tre you going off so suddenly?" "Pay her, Fanny, and let her go," said my husband, who is decidedly opposed to "having words" with ser- vants. I therefore went to a drawer and got the money for her. But Miss Ruggles was not disposed to depart without a few last words. "I'm a goin'," said she, causee you've made an un- derlin' of me ever sence I come here. . You ain't axed me to set down to the table and take a meal o' vittels with ye ouct; and Miss Crandal's help callers eats to the table with 'em, and Miss C~andal's as good as you be, tiny day; and she, says it's an impersition; and my sister Batsey lived a year and a half to Squire lli~er's, to the Flatts, and she callers eat to the table with 'em; and they was re- spectabler'n you be; and lived in enough sight 'grander house. And. then, to cap all, you told me I wasn't wanted in t'other room last night, and I ain't a goin' to put up with it no longer; and so and you may git yer work did the best way ye ken, for all I care." page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] 332 LETTERS FROM TLWBER 1'ILLE. Having thus relieved her mind, she retired, ba~iging all' the doors, and knocking down several chairs in her exit. In the afternoon, Jeems came with the surveyance and took away her dkist. A few days after her departure, my hus- band received by mail the following note, the production of her dedicated brother-in-law. To mister fillip Wotters. sir ef you Think that you and your Stuck up wife is a gem' to Sale to hevven in a grander bote than the one your help goes in, your Mistaken i gess. That interesting young Lady roweny ruggles That you Treted so shameful is kalkulated to Be a ornament to Society and would Be ef it want for such Stick ups as you And miss otters is. i rite to let you know what i And all rite minded gentlemen And ladis Thinks of such karac.. t6rs as you Be. '~o no more Prom yours contemptably. SILAS BRIGIIA1~[. On the evening after Rowena left in disgust, Joe Pratt came ro~nd to see me, and he undertook 'to procure us another ~girl. He knew, he said, one Polly Baily, who had 'occasionally worked~ at his mother's when they had a great deal of company. He believed she was not very bright, but he~ knew her to be good-natured. She was now out of a place, and lived at a brother's. I thought I would at least make~ a trial of her. I therefore desired Joe to go and tell her to come-to me for a few days. He readily complied, and soon returned with the information that Polly would be over in the' morning. She would have come with. him, but ~he wanted to mend her things and make a new 9~lico apron that evening. The next morning, while I was preparing breakfast, LETTERS FROM TIMBER yuLE. 333 Folly arrived. 'She came in at the 'back door, and hailed me with - " Good morning , Miss Waters. I s'pose that's you?" "' Yes," said ii; "and I suppose you are Folly Baily?" "'Tain't nobody else," said she, depositing a small bundle on the table' and taking off her bonnet, e~hibiting thereby a most unique coiffure. Her hair, which was very thin, was all drawn together at the summit of her head, tied with a tape string,: and twisted into a funny little pig- tail. In person, Miss Baily was short and stout, her eyes were set bias in her head, and her mouth was entirely on one side of her face. If she lacked the dignity and state- liness of her predecessor, Miss RuggJes, she fully equalled that young lady in ease and self-possession.. "I should a come last night," continued she, "only my things needed mendin' and fixin', and I bad a new cal- jeer apron to make. You' see, sister-in-lIi~w's baby's ben sick, and I've had so much to do, I hadn't had a minnit's time to ~ew lately. But I didn't git at the apron last night, after all, for sister-in-law went to meeting , and the baby waked up and 'cried, 'and I had to tend it till she got back. So I fetcht my apron along: s'pose I shall git any time to make, it here?" "0, yes," replied I; "you will have some time to yourself every afternoon, unless something unusual hap- pens; and you wiU find a drawer in the table in your room, where y6u can keep your work." "Wal, if that ain't clever!" exclaimed Folly. "I shouldn't wonder if you was a goin' to be a real good woman to live with'; though Miss Crandal' says ~ - "It is nearly breakfast-time, Folly,"' I said; "there are some mutton steaks to be broiled: do you know how to do them?" N. page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] 334 LETTER'S FROM TIMBER TTiLLE. LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLE. 335 III "Pity if I don't," she answered. "It takes me to cook mutton steaks. Why, when I lived~ to Miss "- "Well,. ihere is 'the gridiron; the coffee is already boil- ing, and will soon be done. Do you understand making coffee?" "Pity if I don't! Why, I've made coffee ever sence I was so high. Jest tell me where things is, and I can go ahead, as you'll find out 'fore I've lived with ye long. I ain't afeard but what I shall suit ye; everybody that has me once wants me agin." So I ~gave her the iiecessary information, and telling her to ring the bell when breakfast was on the table, was going out, when she called to me "Miss Waters! I've heerd say how't you don't have your help eat to the table with you; is it so?" "Yes, Polly," said I; "I always allow my girls the privilege of eating by themselves; they feel so much more at liberty to eat*as much as they want, you know." now, ther is something in that," said Polly. "And don't you take off none o' the vittel8 after you git through?" Certainly not; the girls always have the same that Mr~ Waters and I have." * "Wal,,I say for't; I~ don't see why that 'ain't ~ good idee. Miss Crandal needn't ~aw about it tis she ~es; for, after all, it's enough better'n the wa~r she in~nages. I lived there a spell Qnce, and I used to eat t6 the table with 7 em, and, it's a fact, I was half starved; for she used to be forever tellin' the children 'twa'n't perlite to take any- thing nior'n once, and so ye see I darsen't do it; and then, the mi nuit' ihey got through, she ketcht off the vittels and stuck 'em away under lock and key." "I am glad you are satisfied with my arrangements, Polly," said I, escaping from the kitchen, and rejoicing~at having 'thus disposed of one grand difficulty. But that breakfast! The mutton steaks were burnt to a coal, and quite uneatable. And the coffee ! what could be the matter with it? At the first taste~ of it, Mr. Waters turned pale with consternation, and rushed to the door to "make restitution" 6f it (as M; Laborde say~). I took a sip, and was obliged to follow his example~ I never Listed anything so perfectly horrible. I called Polly, and asked her what she had done to the coffee. Why, nothing, " said she; "only, when I took it up, I throw'd in a tablespoonful o' salt to settle it." I went out and made a cup of tea, not daring to trust Polly to do it; and this, with the, bread, which was cut in pieces an inch' thick at one end, and slivered up as thin as a wafer at the other, constituted our breakfast. Mr. Waters thought it but a sorry begihnifig for our new func- tionary;' but I told him that these were evils which, with proper training, could, I hoped, soon be remedied. I spent the whole morning in instructing Polly, giving her the minutest directions about everything in her department of labor; in fact, doing* all that related to the prepara- tion of dinner myself7 in order to show her how I wished it done; while she kept *constantly asserting that "she lcnow'd she'd always been used to doing - but then everybody liked their own way~ best, ald she was per~. feetly willing' to. be teacht my ways, for she wanted to suit me," &c. &c. After dinner' I was 'in the library., when Polly came bolting in, with a look of extreme satisfaction on her face, and holding in each hand a broken tumbler; the bottoms were gone. t N 334 page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] 336 LETTERS FRO~~t TIMBER JTILLE. LETTERS FR Oil TIMBER VILLE. 337 ii II I "Look' o' there, Miss Waters!" she said. "Ain't you astonished?" *' I am, indeed. How did you break those, Polly?" "0, law!" said she, "thiLt ain't it. I m~an, ain't you astonished to see me come and tell on't? 'Tain't every girl 'twould own up so when' they broke a thing; but Ido; you won't never ketch me a breaking' crockery anti then sticking' on't away, out o' yer sight. I'm honest, as you'll find out 'fore I've lived with ye lono'" * On inquiry, I found that she had poured boiling water on the tumblers to wash them. I told her never to do so again; though, at the same time, I commended her hon- esty in' telling me of the accident. ~After she bad got the. kitchen "to rights," she came again. "Wal, Mi~s Waters, the worlCs all did up now; and i'm ready to go at that apron, if you'll lend me a needle and Some thread.; I didn't think to fetch none.~7 I furnished her ~vith these requisites, and she retired. to her room. When it was nearly time for tea, she came running'in~ again, quite out of breath, exclaiming -~. "Don't ye think, Miss Waters, I ain't took a stitch in that apron lyet!" "Why, Polly," 'said I, "how comes that? I thought you had been sewing these two hours." "Wal., that was what I meant to do," replied Polly; "but, ye see, I hadn't more'n got seated by my winder, ready to go at ,it, whel\Miss Crandal she spied me from her parlor winder, and she called to me to come over there; s6 I throwd dawn my work, ye know, and went over to see what she wanted,~ and there I've ben ever sence; and Miss Capers and Miss Rennet was there a. visiting , you know. and they all three sot to and axed me n~ore'n forty. thousand questions about you, and all how I got along here, and what wages I got, and whether I eat to the table with you. I told 'em no; I had the privilege of eatin' by myself, without bein' watched every mou'ful I took, and I told 'em I had enough to eat, too; and a real nice room, besides, to sleep in, with a good clean bed, and a table, and a lookin'-glass in it. That made Miss Crandal feel rather shamed, I guess; fur when I lived them, I had to sleep up garret, in an old ~trundle-bed, you know, right where all the old truck was kept, you know," &c. &c. My hopes of Polly's improvement were doomed to be disappointed; for I found it utterly impossible to impress anything upon her mind. She could not remember from one hour to the next, much less from one day to another. Daily and hourly did I go through with the same process of training and directing. Daily and hourly did Polly pro- test that "she would remember that time, I'd see 'f she wouldn't," and as constantly did she continue to make the very same blunders over and over again. She would act-. ually have salted the coffee again the second morning, if I had not discovered her intention in time to prevent such a' catastrophe. And the tumblers would have 'be~n broken every day, had I not superintended the dish-washing. The day after she came, the fastidious sisters Bigelow (Carry and Lute) called upon me. I had just gone up stairs to dress, having been engaged longer than usual with my household duties, by reason of Polly's awkwardness. My maid of all work answered the summons of the bell, and admitted the ladies with a very vociferous "Why, girls, how do you do? Come in. " Is Mrs. Waters at home?" said Miss Carry, with great dignity. 29 0 N 336 page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] ~38 LETTJ&RS FROM TIMBER VILLE. LETTERS FR OX TIMBER VILL F. 339 "0 yes; she's to hum," responded Polly; "she's jest went up stairs to put on her t'othex~ things. You step in the parlor; take some cheers; now take off yer things." The ladies declined. "What, can't ye stay? I know ~4j~ Waters would like to hey you, and I'm sure 1 should." "Carry our names to Mrs. Waters," said Miss Bigelow, commandingly. "Your names!" said 'Polly, "less see, they're Canine and Lucy, ain't they?" "Tell her the Miss Bigelows are here," replied Cari'y, with 'a great accession of dignity to her tone and manner. Volly was puzzled; but, without asking further ques- tions, she tame to the foot of the stairs, which is close to the parlor door, and bawled out to me "Miss Waters! the Miss Bigl'ows is here. They told me to tell you their~ names I b'l'eve they're Carline and Lucy. They hadn't come to stay to tea; so you hurry and come down as quick as you kjn." 'I was distracted! I rushed out half dressed, and, bend.. ing oyerbthe banister "Polly," said I, "don't stay there any. I'll lie down in a moment." 0 law," replied the pertinacious Polly, "I'd jest ,as lWes stay with 'em till you git ready as not." So she returned to the parlor, and entertained the ladies with an ~count *of the advantages of her new place; and I, knowing. that to call to her again would only prolong the ridiculous scene, finished dressing with all possible expedi.. tiOD and hastened down, whereupon Polly withdrew, with- out waiting, to be sent, saying, "she guessed she'd go at that apron now." I apologized to the ladies for Polly's ig- norance, and said that I hoped .to be able to teach her something in the course of time. Miss Bigelow trusted that I would succeed in the attempt. Miss Lute remarked that such scenes were excessively annoying, and they both declared that the impertinence of the Timberville servants was quite intolerable to them, particularly after being~ at Brother Peter's, where the domestics were under such per- fect control, notwithstanding their number. They. then went' into a highly edifying description of the domestic economy of brother Peter's establishment, which occupied the remainder of the visit. After they. had gone, I spent an hour in teaching Polly her duty on such occasions. She promised faithfully to ob.. serve, my directions. The next day, Judge Conway and Mrs. Conway called; and Polly, will you ~believe it? went through with the very same performance which she had enacted with the Bigelows! She was incorrigible, but so really desirous. to please me, that I was unwilling to give her up until I had taxed my ingenuity, to the' utmost to make something of her. But it was a fruitless task, she could not remember; unless I was with her all the time, everything went wrong. I kept her two weeks, and then gave up in despair. The poor girl felt very badly when I told her that I must discharge her. She said "she liked me better than anybody she had ever lived with; if I would only keep her, she would remember my ways and try to suit me." But I knew too well her utter incapacity~ to fulfil. this' promise 'to trust ~o her good intentions. One source of regret with Polly at leaving me, was, that "she hadn't finished 'that apron' yet, and she shouldn't have' a 'minute's time to sew at her sister-in-law~s.~~ You can ~therefore imagine her delight when I presented her a black silk apron,~ ready made, and her ecstasy at the addition of a collar and pair '~of cuffs to this gift. ~. page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] 340 LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLE. LETTERS FROM TIMBER rILLE. 341, III " Why, Miss Waters!" said she, ~" you don't mean to give me these right out and out, do you?" "Certainly, Polly," I replied. "And ain't they 'ducted from my wages?" By no means; they are a present; and here is your mone~r, too." "Wal, I say for't!" exclaimed she, "you be a clever woman and no mistake! I'll show these to Miss Crandal, you see 'f I don't. She used to 'make me take m~r'n half my wages in old clus." In real Tizuberville s~y~e, Lan~ boring you to death with a history of my "helps." I will not ent6r j~nto any more particulars on this inexhaustible theme, but merely -state that of the two whom I bave tried since Polly's departure, the first was a thievish, intemperate Irish woman, whom I dismissed at the end of a week; and the last, a lazy, saucy black girl, of whozut you may form a correct idea by this remark of hers. She one day saw two of our most respec- table citizens taking a drunken, black rioter to jail. "Miss Waters," said she, "what you s'pose dem two white fellers is gwine to do wid dat colored gent?" This sable functionary eludeded to trabel,~' and accordingly set out a few weeks ago for Avon Springs. Since then I have been without a domestic, and, by dint of putting out the * washing, and having "old Sammy," an honest, faithful negro man, to come every morning and "do up the chores," I am getting on very well - nay, I enjoy it thor- oughly. In fact, Ii did not know, the extent of my own * powers, until necessity forced the discovery upon me; and as every day strengthens my confidence in my own abilities, and my husband declares that he never was so happy in his life, I think I shall give myself no further trouble about "helps," as long as we reside at Timberville. x Mrs. Crandal, having now no other means of espionage, has struck up a back-door acquaintance with me; and, I believe, begins to think me not so proud, after all, since I am willing to "take right hold and do" myself. She ac- tually brought in to me, yesterday, a present of some very nice "turnpike cakes," (did you ever hear of them before?) to raise bread with, and also gave me directions for using them, which I intend to put into practice next baking-day. But there comes Mary Willis. The dear girl's frequent and unceremonious visits constitute a great share of my enjoyment. I have but lately learned something of Mary's. early history. I intend to give it to you at some future time; perhaps in my next. M. W. 29* 340 page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] AUNT MAG WIRE'S ACCOUNT OF TILE 1~ILSSLON TO MUFFLETEGAWNY. N * page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] * AUNT MAG WIRE'S ACCOUNT OF TH~ MISSION TO MUFELETEGAWNY. 'VE ben very lonesome ~at~ly. Jefferson's gone off to attend lecters, and I sha'n't see nothing' of him in several months; but one thing comforts me.: when he comes back, I guess it'll be for good. He's about made up his mind to settle down here, and everybody thinks he'll do well her& a doctorin'. There ain't but one person that's advised him to leave Scrabble Hill, and that's Samson Savage. He met Jeff one day when he was home last, and he says, to him in his patronizing' way, " Well, young man, they say you've nearly finished your studies. Where do you caldilate to locate?" "I've about concluded to stick out a shingle here," says Jeff. "What!" says Mr. Savage, says. he, "you surprise me! Why, you'd lieu a born fool to do that a born fool, take my word for it!" "Why?" says Jeff. "Don't you think I'll succeed here?" "As to that matter," says Mr. Savage, "I s'pose you'll V page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] 347' 346 A lINT HAG WIRE'S A CCO lINT OF THE MISSION TO MUFFLETEGA TFNY~ do well enough here in p'int of practice, but you'll always be called Jeff to your dyin' day, if you stay here." "That is rather aggravatin'," says Jeff, "but X guess~ I must ~rin and bear it, and depend on posterity to do me justice." *" Hang posterity!" says Mr. Savage; "now's the present time." I'm very glad Jeff don't take a notion to go clear off to ~ahforny, or some other place away out of the land of the Jivin'; wouldd nigh about kill me if he should. The fact. i~, he'd ratherr be with his father and mother than anywhere else, and he's a genniwine comfort to us. Most folks think he'll get a good run of practice here after a spell. Dr. Pratt's gittin' old, and Dr. Tinkom ain't much anyhow; so Jeff stands a good chance to get along. I'm 8orry for oni thing; the Fusticks are Put out with him. He's got a way of blurting' out, you know, a good deal like his father; he don't mean notbin' by it, but he made the F~sti~ks mad. I hope he'll do his best to mend the mat- ter when he comes back, for I can't bear that anybody should feel ~hard towards my son: I'd ruther they'd be mad at me. 'Twas a little time before Ann Eliza was married the last time Jeff was home. What! didn't you know Ann Eliza~d popped off? Well, she has; she s married a missionary, and gone away off to convert the heathen in the island of Mufiletegawny. I d~n't know as that's exactly the name, but it's ~as nigh as I can come to it, anyhow. Ain't it sing'lar that such a highty-tighty, ~6irtii~' thing should ketch a missionary? She ain't much like Mr. Parson's wife; she 'twas Urainy Slammerkin, old Slarninerkin's daughter. I know'd her; she was raised in Wiggletown, where I was brought up. * She was quite a religious, sober-minded young woman, Married Reuben Parsons, from Tuckertoivi', a good sort of a critter, but rather softy. They went on a mission to the- the what~domye~~Calb'ems. I never can remember names. Their letters used to be published in the G6syet Trumpet. 'Twas an awful hot country where, they went, and' the people was dreadful savages - didn't wear n~ clothing . Some of "em went to Mr. Parson'8 ineetins, though' they couldn't understand a word he said. Well, the Wiggletown and Tuckertown ladies read the accounts in the Gospel Trumpet, and they was wonderfully scandalized to think the poor critters hadn't* nothing' to wear to meeting ; so they clubbed together, and made up a. great box of clothing , and sent over to 'em all sorts of - things, ever so many frocks, and petticoats~ and hoods, and pantaloofl5~ and so forth. The Parsonses distributed 'em, and made the savages understand they was to wear 'em to meeting . , So the next time Mr. Parsons preached, in come the barbarians rigged out in high snuff. The men was sweltering' under the hoods, with the sweat all streamin' down their faces, and the wimmin had thepantaloons round their necks, as if they'd been kiig shawls. The frocks and petticoats they fetcht along, and spread 'em out to sit ofl. After the Parsonses had been there about ten yeai~s, I ~aw a notice in the Gospel Trumpet - I'd left Wiggletown then ~- sayin' that" the Reverend Reuben Parsons and his wife, our devoted missionaries to the the thingumb6bs, (I wish I could ever remember names) had left their fkld of labor,' and returned to this country, for the purpose of bringin' over their eight children, to leave 'em here. It was their intention to dispose of the. ,children .here and there, and then ret~irn to theiF interesting' portion of the I 346 page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] 348 AUYT A~ WIzu~'s ACqOU~T~ OF Thu! Lord's vineyard." I thought there must be some mistake about it. "1± can't be possible," says I, "that any mother would be willing' to give up her children in that way. I'd as soon tear out my eyes as do it." Well, I happened to meet Mr. Parsons and his wife when they was in this country. I was over, to Wio~ a visitin', and they came there to see their friends and bring a couple of their daughters to give away. Miss Major Coon took one she hadn't no children and Parson Potter's wife took t'other; she had nine of her own already. I says to Miss Parsons,,' 'Urainy," says I, " 'taint, true, is it, that' you to a gwine to lea'~re your children scattered 'round, and go back' to heathen lands ~" '.' Certingly," says she. "'Well, I'll give it up, now," says I: "I thought it must be a mistake. Why, what's your object in leavin' your children, if you must go back yourself?" "Oh,". says she, "I want to devote the hull of my time and -energies to the 'heathen." "Well," says 1, "I should think if you did your duty by them eight children, you couldn't 'a haj much time' to attend to the savages. See! you've ben there ten years; you. must 'a got 'em to a pretty high state of civilization by this' time, for I remember hearing , when you'd ben there only six months, that the wimmin had larnt what their 'rights' was, and put on the pantaloons." Miss Parsons looked at me with the greatest astonishh. nient, and says she, "You don't seem to understand the 'Bubject, Miss Magwire." "1 guess I don't," says I, "for I confess it's an onac~ countable mystery to me how you can be ~illi~' to o'i your own chil4iren ~ ~ ye up MISSION TO MLTFFLETEGAW'NY. 349' "I never regarded 'em as my own," says she; "I look upon 'em as 6uly lent to me by the Lord." "So much the worse, then," says I. ~" If they belong to the Lord, and He's .only lent 'em to you, of course you'd ought to be all the more careful of 'em, so's to be able to give a good account of your stewardship." "But you know," says she, "Scripter commands us to leave all and fuller the Lord." "Well," says I, "I never s'posed that meant we was to give away our children and go off to heathen lands, though I don't pretend to be much of a hand at interpreting' Son pter." "But you know," says she, "the great work of con- vertin' a world lyin in wickedness has got to be ~done. The Apostles was commanded to go preach the gospel to every cretur." "I know it," says I, "but the wimmin wa'n't corn- manded to go. We don't read that the Apostles took wives along. And them seventy that was sent out - s'posen they'd all had wives with 'em, how much good do you think they'd,'a done? And after a few years what if they'd 'a sent home eight times seventy children - granting they'd each had your number -.- the church to take care of? I guess they'd 'a had to found an orphan asylum to put 'em in. "Well," 'says she, "I can truly say that i1'in perfectly willing' and resigned to part with every one of my children, trustin' that the Lord will take care of 'em." "It's time enough to exercise resignation when the Lord calls for 'em;" says I; "but as long as He spares 'em to you, it seems to me you'd ought 'to consider it your 80 U page: 350-351[View Page 350-351] 850 AUNT AlA G WIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE greatest duty and privilege to stay with 'em, and do foi~ 'em as nobody but a mother'can." "I see," said she, "you don't understand the subject at all, Miss Magwire." "I guess I don't," says I. Whether Miss Parsons was mistaken or not, I know she meant to do~ right, for she was a' good woman, a good, pious woman, enough better than I be, though I wouldn't 'a done as she did for all the world. But I was gwine to tell about Deacon Fustick's daughter gittin', married. I was surprised, and, I must say, amused, at the performances. her mother's a dreadful manuverin' woman, you know, always figuring' round to get beaux for her daughters, in an awful hurry to get 'em married off. Singular, ain't it, that, any mother can feel so? Why, when Nancy was married and left me, it eny most broke my heart, though she was only an adopted child. I didn't want .to oppose it, you know, for she got a very likely young man. But Miss Fustick don't seem to care much who nor what her~gir1s get, if she can only marry 'em' 'off. Amanda wa'n't but sixtee~i when she was married; her mother made the match entirely, and the man's a nuuiserable sti' ~. There's no tellin' the trials poor Amanda's underwent since she took him. But it didn't seem to 'be no warning' to Miss Fustick at all. She went on manuverin' and flourishin' round, pokin' her girls forward into the face and eyes of all the young men, till she suc- ceeded in getting' rid of 'em all but~ Ann Eliza, and she done her best for her too; but somehow she didn't seem to take. She's rather a pretty-lookin' girl, but she was so lazy, and so fond of dress, and so' eternally in the streets, laughin', 'and hollerin', and bawlin' at everybody she met, 11 MISS.10N TO MLTFFLETECATfNY. 351. and doin' everythi~~ she could to attract attention, that she overshot the mark. Nobody didn't seem to take a fancy to her; the young men seemed willin? enough to beau her round, but they didn't want her for a wife. At length, her mother begun to get discouraged about her; so last fall she packed her off to spend the winter in Gambletown, where they've got' some rich elbow cousins.. The theologi- cal sirninary's located there, you know, and I s'pose she thought wouldd be a good place to. try her luck. She called to' our house one day in the winter, and told me she'd had such a gratifyi~'~letter from Ann Eliza, she wished she'd a thought to fetch it along with h~r and i~ead it to me. Ann Eliza had become so very much interested in the cause of foreign missions, and felt to regret that she hadn't hitherto entered more fully into her ma's views and feeling's on that subject. "You know," says Miss Fustick, "that's a cause that lies very near my heart." I was surprised enough to hear it of Ann Eliza; but I knowd there was something behind the' curtain, and waited patiently to see what 'twas. The next time I saw Miss Fustick she told me that Ann Eliza had got so exercised view of the dreadful condition 'of the heathen, especially the Muffletegawnys, that she'd mad~e up her mind to go on a mission to 'em~ if pa and ma was willing . "Of' course we esteem it a privilege to have her go," says Miss Fustick. Well, I was surprisder than ever; and couldn't help tellin' her so; but she didn't seem to consider it any- thin' strange at all. And it never once entered her head to think but what Ann Eliza was a very suitable person for such an undertaken". "Law nie 1" says I, "if she's in such distress to go on a mission,' send her up here to Puddenbag Lane; 'taint page: 352-353[View Page 352-353] .11 352 AUNT Z~fAG WIRE'S ACCOUNT OF TilE' far off, and she couldn't desire to see a more heathenish set than the folks that live there; wouldd be a first-rate field of labor." Miss Fustick gin me one of her looks, and walked off without sayin' another word. A few weeks after that, Ann Eliza got, home, and then the mystery was all explained. She'd got a beau! a Mr. Simpson, 'a missionary to the Muffletiegawnys (I guess that's the name). He'd lost his wife about six months before, and come back to get another, and fetch his six children over to make this country a present of 'em. He wa~ dedicated at the Gambletown Siminary. So he went there to look round ,got acquainted with Ann Eliza. She was wonderfully interested in his accounts of Muffle- tegawny, and he was wonderfully interested in her. In short, they got engaged about a week after they first saw each other. He was to sail in a few weeks, and Ann Eliza came home to make preparations for leaving . I declare I couldn't help laughin'to see how bard she tried to look dignified and solemn. I called to see her a few days after she got home. Jeff went with me; he and she was old cronies; they'd had many a frolic together. She was wonderful stately to us, had her face drawd down about half a yard~long. "So, Ann Eliza," says Jeff, "it seems you're 0 PH for Muffletegawny!" "Yes," says she, with a doleful kind of' a look, "I'm about to enlist in the ca~ise of missions. Oh, Jefferson? how rejoiced I should be if you'd become a missionary!" "Should 1" says Jeff, say8 he, "do you think I could cut out Mr. Simpson?" Ann Eliza skewed the corners of her mouth and tried to look dignifider than ever, but she had hard work to make it out. MISSION TO MUFFIJETEOA WNY 353 .1 1 "I've a notion to try," says Jeff, cockin' up his eye. "You hold on a spell and give me a chance," Ann Eliza snicLered out, and says she, "Git along, Jeff Magwire! you make me laugh in spite of myself." The next'~day Deacon Peabody's wife come to our house and told me that the congregation was gwin to make up a box of clothing' for Ann Eliza, and said she s'posed I'd esteem it a privilege to contribbit my share towards it. Well, I didn't, view it as any great privilege to be sure, but I thought I'd ought to give soinethin', so I said I'd send a piece of bleached muslin. Miss Peabody said that Ann Eliza had received a good many presents, articles for housekeeping' and so forth, from her friends in Gamble- town, and she hoped there'd be enough contribbited in Scrabble Hill to make up her outfit. She said that the ladies that wished to avail themselves of the privilege of assistin' in this great object would meet at Deacon Fus- tick's the nex~t Friday afternoon and sew for Ann Eliza; of course I .~ouldn't miss of comm', and I might fetch my contribution along. I told her I'd come if I. could. And she went home. I'd gin up attending' the sewin' society since Parson Tuttle was sent off, for I'd made up my mind~ there was more hurt than good come of 'em. I held a meeting' at home, alone by myself, went into a committee of the hull, and past a unanimous resolution of disgust at sewin' socie- ties in general, and the Scrabble Hill sewin' society in particular, a~etarmined never to attend it agin. But aft~ Miss Peabody went away I thought it over, and, concluded to go, for 'twan't a regular meeting' of the society, and, to tell the truth, I had some curiosity to see what would be done. So when Friday came, I takes 'my 30* page: 354-355[View Page 354-355] AUNT AlA C WIRE'S ACCOUNT OF IJHE MISSION TO Al UFFLETECA WNY I piece of muslin and starts off for Deacon Fustick's. I told Mr. Magwire to come after me in the evening , but he said he'd be hanged if he would.; so Jeff asked if he mightn't come. "You may if you'll promise to behave," says I. "Of course P11 do that," says he. When I got there, I found quite a number of ladies collected, old and young. The old ones were knitting' stockin's for Mr. Simpson, and the young ones was makin' all sorts of things for Ann Eliza capes, collars, cuffs, and what not. The Skinners was working' a pair of foot- stools with woost~d. Liddy Ann Buill was makin' a fancy. head-dress. Polly Mariar Stiliman was embraw.. derin' a morning' cap. Jo Gipson's wife and "Miss Brews- ter was sewin' lace on to a number of pocket~han'kerchers. Ann Mariar Lippincott was working' a pair of slippers for Mr~ Simpson. Gloriann Billins was makin' him a green velvet smokin'-cap, figuring' it all over with gilt cord. And Ann Eliza herself was working' him a pair of fancy suspenders. The Peabody girls was makin' a blue muslin sack. Miss Samson Savage wus there, too, picking' her teeth, and eiercisin' a general supervision over the rest, orderin' this one and commanding' that; as for sewin', she said they needn't expect her' to do any, for she'd eat such a hearty dinner she couldn't. ~liss Fustick and Miss Peabody ~had none over to ilarristown to buy Ann Elza's carpets, and engage a. dressmaker to come over and make her new dresses. She's got three very nice silk ones, and a number more, and there want no dressmaker in Scrabble Hill that ~vas fashionable enough to rig out a missionary's lady.. ~For a spell after I got there, I sot and looked with all the eyes I had. I didn't know what to make on't. Thinks F 354 me this ain't, much such an outfit as Miss Parsons had. How the times is altered! I guess they niean to astonish the natives. After a spell, Miss Samson Savage spoke up and says she - "Well, Miss Magwire, do~you want some work, or do you calculate to set and hold your hands all *he after- noon?" "No," says 1, "1 want to help if' there's anything I can do, but I aint no hand at fancy work. Ii fetcht along some muslin I thought would do for shirts and such; if there was some things out out of that, I could sew on 'em.~~ So I went into the hail and brought it in. Ann Eliza got up and ~examined it, and said 'twas altogether too coarse for such purposes, but she guessed wouldd do for very common kitchen-chamber sheets. If I was a mind to, I might tear off some and make 'em. I was kind of hurt, for I'd took pains to pick out what I thought was a nice fine piece. But I didn't say nothing. I tore off the sheets and went to work at 'em; Margaret Pettibone took hold and helped me. She kept a-tradin' on my toe all the afternoon. IM~g's pretty keen; there's a good deal of the "white horse" in her; she's a good hearted-girl, too. Bymeby Miss Fustick and Miss 1?eabody got back. They was in high spirits, for they'd made some first-rate bargains in carpets and hearth-rugs. The merchant had throw'd off considerable when they told him the things was tQ go on a mission. "I says to him," says Miss Fustick, "that no doubt, under the circumstances, he'd esteem it a privilege to let us have 'em as low as possible. He said, 'Certingly,' and I think we got 'em very reason- able indeed." page: 356-357[View Page 356-357] 353 AUNT AFAC WiRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE MISSiON TO MUFFLETEGAMWY IlL 35;7 In the evening' there was several young men come in. And the new minister, Parson Pulsifer, he was there too. He's a single, man; ben here since about the middle of winter. Capped Smalley, and a few more of the richest men in the congregation, after they'd got rid of Parson Tuttle, determined they'd have a single man; they come cheaper than mariAed ones, you know. Of'course all the wimmin that had daughters to peddle off, and all others that was willing' to dispose of themselves, fell in 'with the plan, and so they gin Mr. Pulsifer a call. He was preaching' in Punkin Hook on trial ~t the time, and accepted the call. He's wonderful popular with 'em ~dl, more so than any 'minister they've had before. He's quite a young man, and very good looking . He was brought up a few miles out of Boston, I forget the name of the place. They think he's terrible eloquent here, especially the young folks. But, for my part, I don't consider him nigh so deep a man as Parson Scrantum was; and in p'int of plain, practical sarmonizin' he doesn't come up to Parson Tuttle by ~ good deal. I try to make the best of him though. I always try to like' my minister, ibr. I do hate to hear folks, especially wimmin, forever finding" fault with their minister, complaining' about his' style, and' manner, or his want of this, and too much of that, saying they aint edi.- fled, and all that sort of stuff. II don't often see a minister that I can't lam something from, if I'm a mind tobe teach~ able and take home to myself what they say. But, some- how, Mr. Pulsifer puzzles me. ii listen just as close as ever I can; I. give my hull attention to him when he's preaching , but I can't make head nor tail o~n't. His lan- guage is so kind of double-and-twisted, that I can't for the life of me make out what he's driving' at. He might as well preach in Dutch, for all the good it does me. Once in a while he has a sentence that sounds some like other folks, and I begin to feel encouraged, and hope he's a comm' down to the level of my comprehension. But the next minute he's away in the hyasticks ag'in, stringing it off 'about the "great All-soul of creation," and so on, and I give it up in despair. But I never say nothing about it, for I won't talk about my minister, nor discuss his qual- ities with nobody; 'taint right. It's amusing' to hear the remarks made about him by the young folks, especially the girls. "What a delightful preacher!" says one. " Did you ever bear such a ser- mon?" says another. ~' How animated!" says another. "I never could go to sleep under his preaching. " The Skinners come up aside of Jeff and me one Sunday as we was gwine home from meeting . "Don't you think Mr. Pulsifer treated the subject in a very original manner?" Says Almira. "Very!" says Jeff, "entirely original "- I hunched him, for I saw he was gwine to say something' he hadn't ought to. "Don'.t you think him very sublime?" Bays Sophrony. "Well ," says Jeff, "it's a great deal to. call a man sublime, but I think we may safely say our minister ain't but a step from it; for you know Burke says" I gin him another hunch, and so he stopt short; for I'd heard him quote that remark before. Jeff's quite inclined to make fun of Parson Pulsifer, but I never encourage him. When we got home, I told him never to, say nothing' dispar- agin' of his minister, and he promised he wouldn't. Mr. Pulsifer writes poetry, too, and the girls go into lu. Hflu 356 page: 358-359[View Page 358-359] 358 A UNT MA C WIIiE'S ACCO UNT OF THE MISSION TO ALUFFLETEGA W'NY 359 fits over it. To my mind, it's dreadful singular poetry. I never saw nothing' to beat it. Full of wrong-end-foremost words, and gqes hitchity-hitch along. Sounds to me like ~awin' through a board full of rusty nails. Jeff says the inh~ister's got a high-.dutch muse, but. I tell him to hold his tongue. You'd laugh, 'though, to see what a time there is a-settin' caps at him. The young girls have all got tobe wonderful stiddy, go-to-meetin' characters since he came. They wouldn't miss the Wensday evening' letter for nothing . The Skinners think Polly Maria Stillman acts like a fool over Mr. Pulsifer; and Polly Mariar thinks the Skinners are desperit pious all of a sudden. Charity Grimes thinks Liddy Ann Buill's conduct is ridiculous for a person of her age; and Liddy Ann thinks Charity Grimes had better get a wig, if sbe wants to ketch Mr. Pulsifer. And so they 'have it, back and forth, all over town. I can't help hem' amused, and Jeff has lots of fun out on't. But I was tellin' about the meeting' at Deacon Fustick's. Well, in the evening' Miss Samson Savage said she wanted to see 'the rest ~of~ the presents that Ann Eliza'd received; ~o Miss Fustick brought 'em out, and spread 'em on the table. Grammnany! it almost dazzled my eyes to look at 'em. There was a dozen silver forks, presented, by a rich lady in Gambletown; a splendid tea-pot from another; a lot of napkin-rings from some young ladies in that village Miss Fustick said that the Gambletown folks was deeply interested in the cause of missions; then there was a couple of elegant butter..knives from Miss Samson Savage she launches out once in a while, and does~ something' grand and quite a- number of articles 'for the table that I don't know the names nor the use of; and there was no end to the capes, and collars, and neck-ribbons, and flummydiddles 'of all sorts 'that had been gin to her. I" While we was a-lookin' at the things, Jeff came in. He jest glanced at 'em, and then sot down by the stove and went to talking' with Deacon Fustick. I felt relieved1 for I was afraid he'd be makin' some of his speeches. There, was a number more young men come in, arid after a spell Mr. Pulsifer arriv. When he made his appearance, we all sot down, and there was a general time of puckerin' and primmin' among the girls. Almira Skinner draw'd her chair up to the table, and went to reading ' in a Bible that laid there, as if there wan't nobody in the room but herself. - The conversation turned on to the subject of missions before long, and Miss Fustick said she hoped Ann Eliza'd have grace to sustain her in her great under. takin'." "I hope so too, ma," says Ann Eliza. She sot twirling' a napkin-ring on her fingers. The deacon remarked that "'twas a gi'eat thing to gke up all for the sake of carrying' the Gospel to heathen lands - a very great thing." "It is, indeed," says Ann Eliza, glancing' at the butter- knives. Parson Pulsifer said something about " heart devotion and world~wide~influeflCe,' and then Charity Grimes begun to talk away about the duties and responsibilities of a mm - ister's wife, both at home and in foreign lands; she's got a long tongue. Miss Samson Savage winked at the Still- mans, and the Stillmans winked back agin. Liddy Ann ]3uiil.was setting' beside me, and says she, "Did you ever! that's to let Mr. Pulsifer know how well she understands a minister's wife's duty." Polly Mariar Stiliman said she intended to propose to the ladies, at the next nieetin' of the sewin' society, to pay 359 358 page: 360-361[View Page 360-361] 360 AUNT MA~ WJIW~S ACCOUNT OF THE MISSION TO MUFFLIjJTECA IITNY. 361 for the dedication of one of the Muffletegawny boys, to be named "' Jeremiah Pulsifer." Mr. Pulsifer bowed, and thanked her for the compliment. I couldn't help pityin' the poor little savage, whoever he might be, that had got to have such a name. Jeff spoke up, and says he, "I don't know much about these Muffletegawnys; desperate heathen, I s'po~e, though, ain't they, Ann Eliza?" "0 yes," says she, "they're victims of idolatry." "Poor lxmighted barbarians !" says Jeff, with a groan, "howlpity'emt" Miss Fustick was sitting' t'other side of Liddy Ann Buill, and she reached across, and hunched me, and says she, "Has Jefferson experienced religion?" "Not in particular," says I. "I didn't know but he had, from the way hespoke," says she; "Thought perhaps tbey'd had a special effort in Coonville, and he'd ben brought in." "Hereafter," says Jeff, very solemnly, "I shall take a great interest in the Mufiletegawnys:' Miss Fustick reached accost agin, and says she, "De- pend on't, Miss Magwire, he's exercised in his mind, any- how. I shouldn't wonder if Ann Eliza's mission had set him a-thinkin'." Jeff groaned agin. "Poor critters!" says he; and he lookt at the wall and shook his head. You'd 'a thought his hull soul was wrapt up in the heathen. The young men stared and didn't say nothing ; Parson Pulsifer lookt surprised, and I confess I wondered myself what Jeff was' upto. "It's. a great work, Brother Pulsifer," says Deacon Fustick, "a great and glorious work, this mission to Mafiletegawny, and I feel to rejoice that a daughter of mine is about to take her life in her hand and go forth to engage in it." "Dear me 1" says I, "I don't see how you can bear the idea of martin' wiffi her to go so far off; like enough you neve~"ll see her agin." "Oh, Miss Magwire," says Deacon Fustick, "you haiu't got the right kind of feeling' about it; we'd ought to rejoice" Miss Fustick interrupted him, and says she: "For my part, if I had half a dozen daughters left, I should esteem it a privilege to have 'em all devoted to such a work." " Well," says I, "I can't feel so, nor I can't see how anybody can." "'Mother," says Jeff, very seriously, "you don't under- stand it all; you don't view it in the right light." "You're right, Jefferson," says Ann Eliza; "your ma's views are peculiar; I hope you'll convince her of her error." "I shall try," said Jeff, and, he gin another dreadful groan. Miss Fustick poked over to me agin, and says she, "Take my word' for't, Jeff's under consairn, and he'll come out before long." "Mother," ~says he, "jest consider the condition of the Muffletegawnys; think how deplorably ignorant they are. Why, they never saw nor heard of napkin-rings, butter- knives, silver forks, and so forth! and I don't s'pose they know a smoki~-cap from a stage~driver's jockey! Now, ain't it important that they should be taught the use of such articles as soon as possible, and learn how Christians live? It's a great work, mother, a very great work." 81 N page: 362-363[View Page 362-363] 362 AUNT ilIAC WJRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE For a spell after JeX had fveed his mind, there wasn't a word said by nobody. Deacon Fustick ham'd and haw'd, Miss Fustick, lookt perfectly stumpt, and Ann Eliza didn't seem to know what to make on't. Bymeby, Margaret Pettibone whispered to me, ~and says she, "I guess Jeff's come out rusher sooner than Miss Fustick expected." After a spell, Deacon Fustick requested Mr. Pulsifer to "address the ~throne of grace." Somehow I don't like to ~hear that; it sounds too mach like sayin' "make an ora~ tion to the Lord!" When the prayer was ended, we all went home. After Jeff and I got out of hearing , I scolded him soundly. "Jeff," said I, "I'm ashamed of you. How could you sarve me such a trick, after promising' not to cut up'? "0, no, mother dear," says he, "you're mistaken; I didn't' promise so. I said I'd bekave, and didn't I?" Ann Eliza was married a few weeks~ after. They had quite a wedding . Husband and I was invited, but Jeff ZVU~st't; and, on the hull, I was glad on't, for if he'd 'a ben there, like enough he'd 'a let out another link. Hus-. ban4 went with me; he was cur'us to see Mr. Simpson, and so was I. He was quite a spruce, good-lookin', youngerly man, with big whiskers and gold, spectacles. His riggin' throughout was all in the latest fashion. The girls all thought his manners was very polished, but there was rather more bow and scrap~ about him than I like; I'm old-fashioned, though. Parson Pulsifer married 'em, and I tell you' he did it high' snuff. After the cake was past round there was a great time about a ring that they pretended was in it, and the one that got it would be married next. Of course I AIIS~ION TO MUFFLETtGA WYY. - 363 'twas all hurraw boys, and giggle and titter for the rest of the evening . But Ann Eliza sot still on the sofy, and lookt as interesting as she could. I didn't see her stir all the evening . A short time before we broke up, Miss Fus- tick went round and brought 'em to order, and we had several " addresses to the throne of grace." Deacon Fus- tick led, Deacon Parker and Deacon Peabody hollered, and Mr. Pulsifer closed. After that they sung "From Greenland's icy mountains," for a winding' up. Then we bid Ann Eliza good-by, and went home. They left the next day. There \vas quite a number of wagging loads of young folks went over to ilarristown with 'em to see 'em take the cars. Jeff went too; he didn't lay it up not being invited to the wedding . Margaret Pet- tibone said that when Jeff went up to bid Ann Eliza good-.. by, he gin her a good smack, and says he, "Now, Ann Eliza, if Mr. Simpson don't use you well, let me know, and I'll come over." Mr. Simpson didn't know who Jeff was, and he stared over his gold specs in perfect astonish- ment. Parson Pulsifer ~writ a piece of poetry on the occasion. 'Twas printed in the Gospel Trumpet and copied into the Scrabble Hill' Luminary. I saved the paper that had it in. i'll get it, and you 'nay read it; read it out loud, and see if it doesn't kind of make yer jaws ache. THOUGHTS ON THE FAR-GOING OF THOSE TWO DEVOTEn SOULS TO THE MISSION-LAND OF MUFFLETEGAWNY. Got haste, great-hearted pair I The big, heaven-sent message bear To heathenism's wildernesses The night-dark regions where Superstition's demon hisses. Over darkness' realm forlorn Up-raise the gos~e1 horn. page: 364-365[View Page 364-365] 364 THE MiSSION TO MUFFLETE~A WNY ugh! high ax~d blow! blow! blow! A blast, loud, long, earth-sundering1 Which roaring, rumbling, thundering, From pole to pole shall go! Till the black, sky-high throne, Which the dire all-fiend uprears, Tumbles down, stone after stone, As a huge skeleton bone after bone Crumbles to demolition, In the down depths of perdition, And world-wide disappears. REFISLUP. \ GOING TO SEE 'TilE FIRE SILENT. / page: 366-367[View Page 366-367] GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. 'OThER evening' the Deacon and I was a setting' by the stove ('twas rather a chilly evening) , I a nittin' and he a reading' the Paris Hill Dimocrat (my husband's a terrible democrat, jt's all there is agin him) when Ic and behold, our Zebidee cum in (he's the deacon's son, my step son) a clappin' his hands, and kicking' up like all possess. "What's to pay now?" interrigoried I. "ilooraw," says he; "I've ben warned." "The dragon," says I, "who's had the audacity to warn you agin sin and temptation, when yer father's ben deacon risin' twenty year?" "Don't ye know nothing, " says he, "I've~ ben warned to train, and I've got to go down to Skeeterburrer next Monday to muster." "Ograndfer gracious," says. I,. "I didn't make no fuss when Jabez had to train, ~cause there wasn't no signs o war then; but seems to me in these ere days it's awful dangerous to be a trainer." "What for," saysithe Deacon, says he. " Why," says I, "my fust husband use to say how't if Van Buren ever got to be President, ther'd carting be war. So now he's appointed, I suspect ev'ry day when the storm (367) page: 368-369[View Page 368-369] 368 GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. o' war'll. bust over our beads; and 0, dear suz it's awful, to think of Jabez and Zebidee a fight in' in the midst of combatlin' hosts." '~ 0, 'shaw," says Zeb, "what do you know about war?" "Qr pollyticks, eyetber," says the Deacon. "About wa'r, you sarsebox!" says I to Zebidee. "I rather gess I know as much about it a~ you do, for my grander fit in the revolutionary tussle, and I've heern him disoribe it time and agin. A&. to pollyticks," continyd I, glancing' at the deacon; "I know as much about 'em as I want tew~ my fust husband was quite a pollyticker, and what's n~ore, he was on the right side. He bated old Jackson; a~nd all the democrats, like pison, and I gess if he'd a lived a spell longer, Van Buren uever'd a ben pres- iden~, for he. wouldn't a voted for him, even if he'd a ben' sure o' bein' made supervisor for't." "Missis Gorum," says the Deacon, says he, "I hope you don't mean to cast no reflexions." "0, dear," says I, "do you s'pose you'd a ben made supervisor if you hadent a quit the whigs, and jined the democrats?" ",Permilly," says the deacon, says he, edgin' his cheer up to me, and tapping' of me under the chin. "Per- znilly," says he, "don't never say no more about that are, that's a purty creetur." "Isemme alone," says I, shovin' off. "What do I know about pollyticks?" The deacofr he lookt kinder grieved, and took up his paper and went to reading' agin. Zebidee be cleared out, and we tew was left alone by ourselves. Arter a spell, I begun to feel rather unpleasant, and thinks me, I showed 369 GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. rather tew much spunk about that are speech o' the Dea. con's seem' it's the fust disagreeable thing he ever said to me. Well, we sot so much as an hour, and feeling my- self entirely QnUble to endure the hiding of the Deacon's countenance any longer, I jumped up all of a sudding, run up to him, huv' my arms round his neck, and bust into a terrible flood o' tears. The Deacon was' dretfully af- fected; he embraced me tenderly, exclamagatin, - "Milly, darling , you do know suthin' about pollyticks; certingly ye know enough to cum over onto the right side, when you've ben on the wrong. Don't ye, blessing ? "0, Deacon dear," says I, "don't never illude to the dizagrecable subjick of pollyticks. in my presence agin." "Well, I won't," says he. Jest that minnit sumbody knock to the door, and' says II, "Walk in," and in cum Squire Jones. "Ilooraw! hooraw!" says he, and then he up and danced a jig in the middle o' the floor. "What in nature's to pay," says the Deacon and me, says we. "Why," says he, "the President's a guayne to be to Utica day arter to-morrer." "You don't," says the Deacon, says he. "Jest' so," says the Squire; and we're all a guayne down to meet him; all the democrats of this ere stiff dim- ocratic town; and you must go 'long, you know the papers tells about the staunch yomandery of the entry; the backbone o' the nation turning' out to meet the presi- dent in their lumber x'~aggins, in rael republican stile. Well, that's jest the way we're 'a guayne. He's suspected to Whitestown about ten o'clock, and there he's a guayne to got off ~the cars, and the hull town of Utica's a cum- nun' up to carry him down to their place." 368 page: 370-371[View Page 370-371] 370 GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. "On a rail?" says I. "No, by jolly," says the Squire. "On a fust rnt~ i1v~. "Massy sakes," says I, "if they don't have a rail, seenis to me they'd or'to have a jackass, or sum sich cree- tur for him, so's to look republican, and corrispond with the flambergast~d wagging that's a cummin' to meet him from all directions." "Oh, shaw I " says the Squire, "what do you know about"'- Stop, Squire," says the Deacon. "Don't talk up to my wife that way." So the Squire didn't eend what he begun to say, but says he: "My wife's beset to go long, and I tell'd her how't if your wife would go, she mu ye say to't?" t go tew, so what do "Why, it depends on circumstances~" says I. "Sha'nt I have to hooraw nor nothin'? 'cause wouldd go awfully agin my conshence to hooravv for Van Buren." "The oldboy!" says the Squire, -" who ever heerd of the wimmin's hoorawin? on sich a 'casion?" "Well," says 1, "1 didn't know but what they did, 'cause I never went to no sich doin's.. Well, Ile accompa- nate ye. "That's you," says. the Squire, and. then he went hum, and jest then Zebidee cum hum, and right afterwards my Amandy. Malviny returned from singin'-school, and Kier Simpson with her. (Kier's ben takin' arter her risin' tew year.) Well, Amandy and Zebidee was beset to go, so we coneludid to let 'em. And Kier said he'd take Amandy in his surveyance. Well, the Deacon, and me and Zebidee, we went into the pitching and left Kier and Amandy alone, I GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. 371. A' (weve ben in hopes he'd cum to the pint and ax her to have him, for sum time; and it's high time he did for he's went hum with her from singin'-school and conference meeting' risin' tew year, and rm sure I don't know what the creetur means by putting' off so, for he's evidently very much be.. smitten with her, and no wonder, for she's an uncommon interesting' young woman, looks very much as I did when I was a gearl; there ain't a feller in our place but what would be glad to git her. But she's evidently more pleased with Kier, than with ary other feller, and I wi~sh to gracious he'd suppose himself to her.) Well, the next day, we was all day a gittin' in a state of reddyation, and the Deacon he tell'd me to dew up his ruffled shirt, for he said, "seem' he was a guayne to eat dinner with the President, 'twas recumbent upon him to look as slick as possible." "So," says I," yer a guayne to eat dinner with him, hay?" "Certingly," says he, "what else should I go to Utica for." Well, thinks me, if the Deacon wants to eat dinner with the creetur, he may, and I won't say nothing' agin it, tho' I druther be hanged than to go lqng with him, but I will neverstandin'. Well, the next morning' we all got reddy very airly. Zebidee he harnessed the hoses, and Amandy and me we habiliated ourselves as follcrs. She put on that are yalr figgerd silk gownd o' hem, and her black silk mankiller with white fringe round it, and her pink slurred bunnit with a master sight of artifishel roses and chany asters on't, and if she dident look purty it's no matter.. I put on my cinnamon cobrA canton crape, 'cause I ~cckon it's more becoming' to my figger than ary gownd I've got. Then I wore my red meryno shawl, and my green silk bunnit sur~ page: 372-373[View Page 372-373] 372 GOING TO ES~EE TILE PRESIDENT. G~O INC TO SEE THE PRESIDENT 373 mounted by one long black ostridge fetber; and I must say I lookt uncommon well. But goody grievous! how Misdis Squire Jones did look! Missis Jones is a master nice woman and persessed of considerable intellectitude, but she haint no more taste in the arrangement of her attire thaii an old cow. But I can't spend time to describe her twilight. Well, Rier he cum in his one horse wagging, and Amandy got in with him, and the Deacon and me, and Zebidee, we got into our surveyance and purty soon all the rest of the folks cum nlong, and by seven o'clock the hull sivileade sot out. Well,, by ten o'clock we ariove to Whitestown and druv, up to Capting Clapp's ilotell, and arter takin' sum pie and cheese we sot out to go to the rail.. road, the Deacon and - me and Zebidee fust, Squire Jones and lady next, Kier Simpson and Amandy next, and arter them the rest of the remainder of our townsfolk; and in that manner we plummenaded down to the railroad, and I sonny, I b'l'eve we extracted as much attention as the president himself. There was thousands and millions o' folks in the streets and they did stare at us con sairnedl~, at me pertickilerly, for I must say I was the most ~tinguished individual in our party in pint o' looks. I never was in sich a crowd in my born days. Me and Amandy and the Squire's wife, was the ony she. males to be seen. And arter a standing' there as much a~ an hour, and the President dident come, I says to the Deacon says I, "Deacon, dear, I feel kind o' timersonae about 5t~ndin' here among sich a mess a' men folks." Well, I don't," says Missis Jones, "1 ain't afeard of their bitin' of me.7' (Missis Jones is awful bold.) '0 Kier," says Amandy, "I wish Ide a wore my vail, the men folks stare so." "0," says Kier, "that's 'cause they aiti't use to seem' sich honsotne faces." i' 0 lawful suz !" 'says Amandy says she, "yer a blaggardin' of me." Jest then the folks hol-. lerd out "the cars is cuminn'" and sure enough purty soon the injine cum a smoking' and buzzin' and clattering' along, and the Deacon amid ~ebidee they hosted me ont&~' the fence soJ could see over the folks. "Do ye see him?" says the Deacon. "No," says IL "Why," says he, "that are gentleman with gray riches on that they're jest a hystin' out 's him." "0," says II, "do ye mean that are short old feller, rather corputent, with gray and ~aller hair a sticking' out so consairnedly." "That's him," says he. "0 lawful sakes," says I, "-we might a seen enough better looking' men without cumin' so fur." "True," says .the Deacon, says he, "b~~t they wouldn't a ben all presidents." Jest that minnit there was a pusey man cuni puffin' and blowing , through the crowd, leading' a very franticc hoss, for the President to ride on; and a number o' men took hold and boosted Marting up. As soon as he was fairly sur- mounted, he spied. me, and he took of his hat and begun a bowin' to me at an all killing' rate. I no doubt he Was very much struck with my appearance, for it did seem as if he'd stare me thro'. Well, he kept a bowin' and I kept a cur- \chyin on the fence, till I begun to feel rather frustrated. "0 dear," says I, "1 feel terrible dashed to be stared at and bowed at so, Line a blushin' like all natur. Deacon dear, do take me, 6ff this ere pre-eminence. "0 lawful suz," says Missis Jones, "I wouldn't be afeard a' the face o' Clay." page: 374-375[View Page 374-375] 374 GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. 375 "Nor me nyther," says I, "for I don't bleve Clay's got sich plagy sharp eyes as Van Buren has." Well we went back to the tavern to reassume our waggins and perceed to Utica. It had bid thir to be rainy all day and jest as we got to the eating's, it clouded up wuss than ever, and lookt as if wouldd pour every minnit, and Missis Jones~ said for her part she want a guayne a step furder, she'd no notio~ o' gittin' as wet as muck for all the presidents betwext here and Passarnaquoddy Bay. "Me nyther," says Amandy Malviny, "I aint so anxious to ride behind the President as to spile my bunnit for't." "Well," says I, "I aint no frind o' Van Buren. My fust husband was a stain, uncountermisin whig, and he always, endeevord to distill his sentiments into me, but neverstandin' that, line a guayne to Utica, and it's jest to gratificate my dear husband the Deacon. I aint afeard of a little rain. line nyther sugar nor salt, and line a guaype to Utica, I don't ker if the Dragon stands in the doQr.'~ / "That's you, wife," says the Degeon, squeezing' my hand. * So he and me and Zebidee, we got in our wagging and rid off, leaving' Missis Jones and Amandy' and Kier to the Casting's, where they said they meant to stay till the shower was over. We had to drive ainazin' tight to ketch up with the republican rottenow, but at last we got tew 'em and druv into the citty at the hindmost eend of 'em. Instid o' stopping' at the botch, Van Buren went hum to eat dinner with the gentleman that brung up the hoss for him, and I heerd (tho' I didn't see it) that when he rid up to the 1 door, there was a couple o' very genteel young wimmen cum out o' the house and carried him in on a lady's dicer. "Well," says the Deacon, says he, "1 aint a cummin' clear to Utica to eat dinner with the ~President, and then be cheated out on't,"~ so we left our surveyance to the tavernand the Deacon and me and Zebidee, we walkt over to the man's house. Well we knock to the door, and nobody didn't cum, so Zeb he gin a thundering' kick and then there was a nigger wench cum. "Is the President here?" says the deacon. Yis, sir," says she. "Well then, show us into yer settin'-room, we've cum to dinner." The nigger stared and didn't offer to stir. "Don't ye hear, you black creetur," says I, "show us into yer settin'-rOoIfl." So she opened a door and ushered us into a terrible nice room. "Now," says I, "go tell yer Missis to set three more additional plates to the table." So she went off and purty soon the man that fetcht the boss up to Whitestown, he cuin in mighty fierce with a wonderful genteel looking' woman behind him. '~What's the meaning' o' this?" says the man. "Why, we've curn to eat dinner with the President," says the Deacon, says he. "Have hay," says he. "Well, Ile tell ye another story. My house aint a tarvern." The Deacon he was bethunderstruck and darsent say another word. So I up, and says I, "Mister, I gess if you knowd who you was a-talkin' tew, you'd be rather perhiter; this ere's Deacon Gorum; and he's not ony deacon, but supervisor to boot, and line his pardner, and this ere's our son, and ~we've cum better iirteen mild a purpose to eat dinner with the President." page: 376-377[View Page 376-377] 376 GO~NC TO SEE TILE PRESIDENT, C OINC TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. 377 "Have hay," says he. "Well line sorry to say we can't accommerdate ye. My wife haint cookt more'n enough dinner for she and I and the President, and Mr. and Missis Boneset, have ye, my dear?" says he, turning' to his wife. (She stood there with her honkercher up to her f1~ce a'.gigglin'.y "My! flQ~'~ says she, "and line fearful we shall cum short as it is, if Mr. and Missis Boneset is very hearty to eat." "Whose Mr. ~nd Missis Boneset?" says L "Lawful sakes!," says she. "Don't ye know, why it's the Secretary and Secretaryess of War." "There, Deacon," says I, didn'tt 1 tell ye there'd be war? Now I reckon the sooner we git hum the better." Jest then I happened t9 spy Van Buren a peeking' thro' a crack in the door, so thinks me, lie giv him a stirrin' up, "so," says I, castin' a look of suvering contempt at the man and his wife, " Ye may go to the Dragon with yer dinner. I don't want nun on't. I aint no Vanburenite, and my fust husband wouldn't a wiped his old shoes on Martin. He was 'as stiff a whig as ever trod shoe leather, and so be I and so was the Deacon, till Satan tempted him to go over to t'other side. I s'pose the evil one reckoned they needed one decent man among 'em." "Git out o' my house," says the man. "Withall the pleasure on airth," says I, aaakin' an all sufficient low kurchy, 'and walking' c~ff with Oncoinmon dig- nitude, the Deacon an4 Zebidee follerin'. Well, it was a raining~ considerable smart, so we went as fast as we could to where we left our wagging, and got in and rid over to Elihu Slocum's (he's an intimit frind o' the Deacon's, moved from our place ~ve years ago; his wife's a very genteel woman). Well, we went there, and, they was ter- rible glad to see us; got dinner for us, and treated us very perlite. But the Deacon was dretfuL sober - he felt awful cheap about ~bein' used so by that democrat and his wife. But he didn't say nothing' about it afore Mr. Slocum, and he winked to 'me not tew, 'cause Slocums a whig, and the Deacon know'd he'd bother him to everlastin about it if he heerd on't. Well, arter dinner Zeb he went out, and purty soon he cum back, and says he, "Father, the President's down to the hotel a shaking' hands with his finds, don't ye want to go down and see him?" So the I)eacon he said he'd go, and he axt Mr~Slocum to go~ Slocum said he wouldn't give a. darn to shake hands with the President, but seem 'twas the Deacon axt him he'd go.' So they went, and byrne by they cum back, and the Deacon lookt considerable chirker'n he did afore h~ went; and thinks me, I wonder what's the reason. Well, it ~Iackt up rainin', and arter urgin' Missis Slocum to cum and see us, we started for hum. And arter we was in the wagging and fairly agoin, the Deacon he says to me, says he, "Well, if I didn't eat dinner with the Presi- dent, I've had an uncommon perlite reception f~pm him. We went into the hotel, and purty soon we war intro- ducted. As soon as the President heerd my name, he says, says he, "'Ah, Deacon Gorharn, I'm delighted to see you ; ,set down here a minnit.' So I sot down, and he whispered to me, and says he, 'Deacon, that was a scurvy trick they sairved ye at my friend's down here. I hope ye don't think Ii had any hand in it. Rea~y, when I peeked into the door and see how they used ye, and reflected that sittyated as I 'Was, it was unproper for me to interfere, my suffering page: 378-379 (Advertisement) [View Page 378-379 (Advertisement) ] 378 ~OING~ TO SEE TilE PRESIDE1~rT. was intolerable. You must cum to Washington next winter and eat dinner with me at my own table, and bring yer wife. fly the way, she's a~ splendid woman, I was very much struck with her appearance; and that son.o' yourn, smart feller that, he'll make a man one o' these~ days, and no mistake. Sorry I can't convairse a spell longer with ye, but I've said more to you than I ha~ve to ary one individdyal to-day. Good-by, Deacon,' 'Good- by, President,' says I; then we shook hands agin, and I cum off." Well, we went home, and I tell ye, the Deacon never told nobody about tryin' to eat dinner with the Pres- ident, b~t he's told rnore'n a hundred times how h& had a long conversation with him, and what he &~iJ about me and Zebidee. For my part, line a whig, my first hus- band was a thoro' guayne whig, and I don't think I shall ever be anything else; ~butarter all .taint in natur for me to feel so hard agin the President sence what he said about m~, as I did afore; and I haint made up my mind yit whether I shall oppose the Deacon's votin' for him next election or not. NEW BOOKS And New Editions Recently Published by G. W. CARLflTON & CO.,. 1~EW YORK. BWIF W. OARLRT'~iN. 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