THE WORKS OF JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, Volume V. (of VII)

MARGARET SMITH'S JOURNAL and TALES AND SKETCHES

By John Greenleaf Whittier

The intelligent reader of the following record cannot fail to noticeoccasional inaccuracies in respect to persons, places, and dates; and, as a matter of course, will make due allowance for the prevailingprejudices and errors of the period to which it relates. That there arepassages indicative of a comparatively recent origin, and calculated tocast a shade of doubt over the entire narrative, the Editor would be thelast to deny, notwithstanding its general accordance with historicalverities and probabilities. Its merit consists mainly in the fact thatit presents a tolerably lifelike picture of the Past, and introduces usfamiliarly to the hearths and homes of New England in the seventeenthcentury. 

A full and accurate account of Secretary Rawson and his family is aboutto be published by his descendants, to which the reader is referred whowishes to know more of the personages who figure prominently in thisJournal. 

1866. 

 MARGARET SMITH'S JOURNAL IN THE PROVINCE OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY, 1678-9

 TALES AND SKETCHES

 MY SUMMER WITH DR. SINGLETARY: A FRAGMENT

 THE LITTLE IRON SOLDIER PASSACONAWAY THE OPIUM EATER THE PROSELYTES DAVID MATSON THE FISH I DID N'T CATCH YANKEE GYPSIES THE TRAINING THE CITY OF A DAY PATUCKET FALLS FIRST DAY IN LOWELL THE LIGHTING UP TAKING COMFORT CHARMS AND FAIRY FAITH MAGICIANS AND WITCH FOLK THE BEAUTIFUL THE WORLD'S END THE HEROINE OF LONG POINT

MARGARET SMITH'S JOURNAL IN THE PROVINCE OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY 1678-9. 

BOSTON, May 8, 1678. 

I remember I did promise my kind Cousin Oliver (whom I pray God to havealways in his keeping), when I parted with him nigh unto three monthsago, at mine Uncle Grindall's, that, on coming to this new country, I would, for his sake and perusal, keep a little journal of whatsoeverdid happen both unto myself and unto those with whom I might sojourn;as also, some account of the country and its marvels, and mine owncogitations thereon. So I this day make a beginning of the same;albeit, as my cousin well knoweth, not from any vanity of authorship, or because of any undue confiding in my poor ability to edify one justlyheld in repute among the learned, but because my heart tells me thatwhat I write, be it ever so faulty, will be read by the partial eye ofmy kinsman, and not with the critical observance of the scholar, andthat his love will not find it difficult to excuse what offends hisclerkly judgment. And, to embolden me withal, I will never forget thatI am writing for mine old playmate at hide-and-seek in the farm-house atHilton, --the same who used to hunt after flowers for me in the spring, and who did fill my apron with hazel-nuts in the autumn, and who wasthen, I fear, little wiser than his still foolish cousin, who, if shehath not since learned so many new things as himself, hath perhapsremembered more of the old. Therefore, without other preface, I willbegin my record. 

Of my voyage out I need not write, as I have spoken of it in my lettersalready, and it greatly irks me to think of it. Oh, a very long, dismaltime of sickness and great discomforts, and many sad thoughts of allI had left behind, and fears of all I was going to meet in the NewEngland! I can liken it only to an ugly dream. When we got at lastto Boston, the sight of the land and trees, albeit they were exceedingbleak and bare (it being a late season, and nipping cold), was like untoa vision of a better world. As we passed the small wooded islands, which make the bay very pleasant, and entered close upon the town, andsaw the houses; and orchards, and meadows, and the hills beyond coveredwith a great growth of wood, my brother, lifting up both of his hands, cried out, "How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy habitations, OIsrael!" and for my part I did weep for joy and thankfulness of heart, that God had brought us safely to so fair a haven. Uncle and AuntRawson met us on the wharf, and made us very comfortable at their house, which is about half a mile from the water-side, at the foot of a hill, with an oaken forest behind it, to shelter it from the north wind, whichis here very piercing. Uncle is Secretary of the Massachusetts, andspends a great part of his time in town; and his wife and family arewith him in the winter season, but they spend their summers at hisplantation on the Merrimac River, in Newbury. His daughter, Rebecca, is just about my age, very tall and lady-looking; she is like herbrother John, who was at Uncle Hilton's last year. She hath, moreover, a pleasant wit, and hath seen much goodly company, being greatly admiredby the young men of family and distinction in the Province. She hathbeen very kind to me, telling me that she looked upon me as a sister. I have been courteously entertained, moreover, by many of the principalpeople, both of the reverend clergy and the magistracy. Nor must Iforbear to mention a visit which I paid with Uncle and Aunt Rawson atthe house of an aged magistrate of high esteem and influence in theseparts. He saluted me courteously, and made inquiries concerning ourfamily, and whether I had been admitted into the Church. On my tellinghim that I had not, he knit his brows, and looked at me very sternly. 

"Mr. Rawson, " said he, "your niece, I fear me, has much more need ofspiritual adorning than of such gewgaws as these, " and took hold of mylace ruff so hard that I heard the stitches break; and then he pulledout my sleeves, to see how wide they were, though they were only half anell. Madam ventured to speak a word to encourage me, for she saw I wasmuch abashed and flustered, yet he did not heed her, but went on talkingvery loud against the folly and the wasteful wantonness of the times. Poor Madam is a quiet, sickly-looking woman, and seems not a little inawe of her husband, at the which I do not marvel, for he hath a veryimpatient, forbidding way with him, and, I must say, seemed to carryhimself harshly at times towards her. Uncle Rawson says he has had muchto try his temper; that there have been many and sore difficulties inChurch as well as State; and he hath bitter enemies, in some of themembers of the General Court, who count him too severe with the Quakersand other disturbers and ranters. I told him it was no doubt true; butthat I thought it a bad use of the Lord's chastenings to abuse one'sbest friends for the wrongs done by enemies; and, that to be made toatone for what went ill in Church or State, was a kind of vicarioussuffering that, if I was in Madam's place, I should not bear with halfher patience and sweetness. 

Ipswitch, near Agawam, May 12. 

We set out day before yesterday on our journey to Newbury. There wereeight of us, --Rebecca Rawson and her sister, Thomas Broughton, his wife, and their man-servant, my brother Leonard and myself, and young RobertPike, of Newbury, who had been to Boston on business, his father havinggreat fisheries in the river as well as the sea. He is, I can perceive, a great admirer of my cousin, and indeed not without reason; for shehath in mind and person, in her graceful carriage and pleasantdiscourse, and a certain not unpleasing waywardness, as of a merrychild, that which makes her company sought of all. Our route the firstday lay through the woods and along the borders of great marshes andmeadows on the seashore. We came to Linne at night, and stopped at thehouse of a kinsman of Robert Pike's, --a man of some substance and notein that settlement. We were tired and hungry, and the supper of warmIndian bread and sweet milk relished quite as well as any I ever ate inthe Old Country. The next day we went on over a rough road to Wenham, through Salem, which is quite a pleasant town. Here we stopped untilthis morning, when we again mounted our horses, and reached this place, after a smart ride of three hours. The weather in the morning was warmand soft as our summer days at home; and, as we rode through the woods, where the young leaves were fluttering, and the white blossoms of thewind-flowers, and the blue violets and the yellow blooming of thecowslips in the low grounds, were seen on either hand, and the birds allthe time making a great and pleasing melody in the branches, I was gladof heart as a child, and thought if my beloved friends and Cousin Oliverwere only with us, I could never wish to leave so fair a country. 

Just before we reached Agawam, as I was riding a little before mycompanions, I was startled greatly by the sight of an Indian. He wasstanding close to the bridle-path, his half-naked body partly hidden bya clump of white birches, through which he looked out on me with eyeslike two live coals. I cried for my brother and turned my horse, whenRobert Pike came up and bid me be of cheer, for he knew the savage, andthat he was friendly. Whereupon, he bade him come out of the bushes, which he did, after a little parley. He was a tall man, of very fairand comely make, and wore a red woollen blanket with beads and smallclam-shells jingling about it. His skin was swarthy, not black like aMoor or Guinea-man, but of a color not unlike that of tarnished coppercoin. He spake but little, and that in his own tongue, very harsh andstrange-sounding to my ear. Robert Pike tells me that he is Chief ofthe Agawams, once a great nation in these parts, but now quite small andbroken. As we rode on, and from the top of a hill got a fair view ofthe great sea off at the east, Robert Pike bade me notice a little bay, around which I could see four or five small, peaked huts or tents, standing just where the white sands of the beach met the green line ofgrass and bushes of the uplands. 

"There, " said he, "are their summer-houses, which they build near untotheir fishing-grounds and corn-fields. In the winter they go far backinto the wilderness, where game is plenty of all kinds, and there buildtheir wigwams in warm valleys thick with trees, which do serve toshelter them from the winds. "

"Let us look into them, " said I to Cousin Rebecca; "it seems but astone's throw from our way. "

She tried to dissuade me, by calling them a dirty, foul people; butseeing I was not to be put off, she at last consented, and we rode asidedown the hill, the rest following. On our way we had the misfortune toride over their corn-field; at the which, two or three women and as manyboys set up a yell very hideous to hear; whereat Robert Pike came up, and appeased them by giving them some money and a drink of Jamaicaspirits, with which they seemed vastly pleased. I looked into one oftheir huts; it was made of poles like unto a tent, only it was coveredwith the silver-colored bark of the birch, instead of hempen stuff. Abark mat, braided of many exceeding brilliant colors, covered a goodlypart of the space inside; and from the poles we saw fishes hanging, andstrips of dried meat. On a pile of skins in the corner sat a youngwoman with a child a-nursing; they both looked sadly wild and neglected;yet had she withal a pleasant face, and as she bent over her little one, her long, straight, and black hair falling over him, and murmuring a lowand very plaintive melody, I forgot everything save that she was a womanand a mother, and I felt my heart greatly drawn towards her. So, givingmy horse in charge, I ventured in to her, speaking as kindly as I could, and asking to see her child. She understood me, and with a smile heldup her little papoose, as she called him, --who, to say truth, I couldnot call very pretty. He seemed to have a wild, shy look, like theoffspring of an untamed, animal. The woman wore a blanket, gaudilyfringed, and she had a string of beads on her neck. She took down abasket, woven of white and red willows, and pressed me to taste of herbread; which I did, that I might not offend her courtesy by refusing. It was not of ill taste, although so hard one could scarcely bite it, and was made of corn meal unleavened, mixed with a dried berry, whichgives it a sweet flavor. She told me, in her broken way, that the wholetribe now numbered only twenty-five men and women, counting out thenumber very fast with yellow grains of corn, on the corner of herblanket. She was, she said, the youngest woman in the tribe; and herhusband, Peckanaminet, was the Indian we had met in the bridlepath. Igave her a pretty piece of ribbon, and an apron for the child; and shethanked me in her manner, going with us on our return to the path; andwhen I had ridden a little onward, I saw her husband running towards us;so, stopping my horse, I awaited until he came up, when he offered me afine large fish, which he had just caught, in acknowledgment, as Ijudged, of my gift to his wife. Rebecca and Mistress Broughton laughed, and bid him take the thing away; but I would not suffer it, and soRobert Pike took it, and brought it on to our present tarrying place, where truly it hath made a fair supper for us all. These poor heathenpeople seem not so exceeding bad as they have been reported; they belike unto ourselves, only lacking our knowledge and opportunities, which, indeed, are not our own to boast of, but gifts of God, callingfor humble thankfulness, and daily prayer and watchfulness, that they berightly improved. 

Newbery on the Merrimac, May 14, 1678. 

We were hardly on our way yesterday, from Agawam, when a dashing younggallant rode up very fast behind us. He was fairly clad in rich stuffs, and rode a nag of good mettle. He saluted us with much ease andcourtliness, offering especial compliments to Rebecca, to whom he seemedwell known, and who I thought was both glad and surprised at his coming. As I rode near, she said it gave her great joy to bring to each other'sacquaintance, Sir Thomas Hale, a good friend of her father's, and hercousin Margaret, who, like himself, was a new-comer. He replied, thathe should look with favor on any one who was near to her in friendshipor kindred; and, on learning my father's name, said he had seen him athis uncle's, Sir Matthew Hale's, many years ago, and could vouch for himas a worthy man. After some pleasant and merry discoursing with us, heand my brother fell into converse upon the state of affairs in theColony, the late lamentable war with the Narragansett and PequodIndians, together with the growth of heresy and schism in the churches, which latter he did not scruple to charge upon the wicked policy of thehome government in checking the wholesome severity of the laws hereenacted against the schemers and ranters. "I quite agree, " said he, "with Mr. Rawson, that they should have hanged ten where they did one. "Cousin Rebecca here said she was sure her father was now glad the lawswere changed, and that he had often told her that, although thecondemned deserved their punishment, he was not sure that it was thebest way to put down the heresy. If she was ruler, she continued, inher merry way, she would send all the schemers and ranters, and all thesour, crabbed, busybodies in the churches, off to Rhode Island, whereall kinds of folly, in spirituals as well as temporals, were permitted, and one crazy head could not reproach another. 

Falling back a little, and waiting for Robert Pike and Cousin Broughtonto come up, I found them marvelling at the coming of the younggentleman, who it did seem had no special concernment in these parts, other than his acquaintance with Rebecca, and his desire of her company. Robert Pike, as is natural, looks upon him with no great partiality, yethe doth admit him to be wellbred, and of much and varied knowledge, acquired by far travel as well as study. I must say, I like not hisconfident and bold manner and bearing toward my fair cousin; and he hathmore the likeness of a cast-off dangler at the court, than of a modestand seemly country gentleman, of a staid and well-ordered house. Mistress Broughton says he was not at first accredited in Boston, butthat her father, and Mr. Atkinson, and the chief people there now, didhold him to be not only what he professeth, as respecteth hisgentlemanly lineage, but also learned and ingenious, and well-versed inthe Scriptures, and the works of godly writers, both of ancient andmodern time. I noted that Robert was very silent during the rest of ourjourney, and seemed abashed and troubled in the presence of the gaygentleman; for, although a fair and comely youth, and of good family andestate, and accounted solid and judicious beyond his years, he does, nevertheless, much lack the ease and ready wit with which the lattercommendeth himself to my sweet kinswoman. We crossed about noon a broadstream near to the sea, very deep and miry, so that we wetted our hoseand skirts somewhat; and soon, to our great joy, beheld the pleasantcleared fields and dwellings of the settlement, stretching along for agoodly distance; while, beyond all, the great ocean rolled, blue andcold, under an high easterly wind. Passing through a broad path, withwell-tilled fields on each hand, where men were busy planting corn, andyoung maids dropping the seed, we came at length to Uncle Rawson'splantation, looking wellnigh as fair and broad as the lands of HiltonGrange, with a good frame house, and large barns thereon. Turning upthe lane, we were met by the housekeeper, a respectable kinswoman, whoreceived us with great civility. Sir Thomas, although pressed to stay, excused himself for the time, promising to call on the morrow, and rodeon to the ordinary. I was sadly tired with my journey, and was glad tobe shown to a chamber and a comfortable bed. 

I was awakened this morning by the pleasant voice of my cousin, whoshared my bed. She had arisen and thrown open the window lookingtowards the sunrising, and the air came in soft and warm, and laden withthe sweets of flowers and green-growing things. And when I had gottenmyself ready, I sat with her at the window, and I think I may say it waswith a feeling of praise and thanksgiving that mine eyes wandered up anddown over the green meadows, and corn-fields, and orchards of my newhome. Where, thought I, foolish one, be the terrors of the wilderness, which troubled thy daily thoughts and thy nightly dreams! Where be thegloomy shades, and desolate mountains, and the wild beasts, with theirdismal howlings and rages! Here all looked peaceful, and bespokecomfort and contentedness. Even the great woods which climbed up thehills in the distance looked thin and soft, with their faint youngleaves a yellowish-gray, intermingled with pale, silvery shades, indicating, as my cousin saith, the different kinds of trees, some ofwhich, like the willow, do put on their leaves early, and others late, like the oak, with which the whole region aboundeth. A sweet, quietpicture it was, with a warm sun, very bright and clear, shining over it, and the great sea, glistening with the exceeding light, bounding theview of mine eyes, but bearing my thoughts, like swift ships, to theland of my birth, and so uniting, as it were, the New World with theOld. Oh, thought I, the merciful God, who reneweth the earth and makethit glad and brave with greenery and flowers of various hues and smells, and causeth his south winds to blow and his rains to fall, that seed-time may not fail, doth even here, in the ends of his creation, prankand beautify the work of his hands, making the desert places to rejoice, and the wilderness to blossom as the rose. Verily his love is overall, --the Indian heathen as well as the English Christian. And whatabundant cause for thanks have I, that I have been safely landed on ashore so fair and pleasant, and enabled to open mine eyes in peace andlove on so sweet a May morning! And I was minded of a verse which Ilearned from my dear and honored mother when a child, --

 "Teach me, my God, thy love to know, That this new light, which now I see, May both the work and workman show; Then by the sunbeams I will climb to thee. "

When we went below, we found on the window seat which looketh to theroadway, a great bunch of flowers of many kinds, such as I had neverseen in mine own country, very fresh, and glistening with the dew. Now, when Rebecca took them up, her sister said, "Nay, they are not SirThomas's gift, for young Pike hath just left them. " Whereat, as Ithought, she looked vexed, and ill at ease. "They are yours, then, Cousin Margaret, " said she, rallying, "for Robert and you did ride asideall the way from Agawam, and he scarce spake to me the day long. I seeI have lost mine old lover, and my little cousin hath found a new one. I shall write Cousin Oliver all about it. "

"Nay, " said I, "old lovers are better than new; but I fear my sweetcousin hath not so considered It. " She blushed, and looked aside, andfor some space of time I did miss her smile, and she spake little. 

May 20. 

We had scarcely breakfasted, when him they Call Sir Thomas called on us, and with him came also a Mr. Sewall, and the minister of the church, Mr. Richardson, both of whom did cordially welcome home my cousins, and werecivil to my brother and myself. Mr. Richardson and Leonard fell toconversing about the state of the Church; and Sir Thomas discoursed usin his lively way. After some little tarry, Mr. Sewall asked us to gowith him to Deer's Island, a small way up the river, where he and RobertPike had some men splitting staves for the Bermuda market. As the daywas clear and warm, we did readily agree to go, and forthwith set outfor the river, passing through the woods for nearly a half mile. Whenwe came to the Merrimac, we found it a great and broad stream. We tooka boat, and were rowed up the river, enjoying the pleasing view of thegreen banks, and the rocks hanging over the water, covered with brightmosses, and besprinkled with pale, white flowers. Mr. Sewall pointedout to us the different kinds of trees, and their nature and uses, andespecially the sugar-tree, which is very beautiful in its leaf andshape, and from which the people of this country do draw a sap wellnighas sweet as the juice of the Indian cane, making good treacle and sugar. Deer's Island hath rough, rocky shores, very high and steep, and is wellcovered with a great growth of trees, mostly evergreen pines andhemlocks which looked exceeding old. We found a good seat on the mossytrunk of one of these great trees, which had fallen from its extremeage, or from some violent blast of wind, from whence we could see thewater breaking into white foam on the rocks, and hear the melodioussound of the wind in the leaves of the pines, and the singing of birdsever and anon; and lest this should seem too sad and lonely, we couldalso hear the sounds of the axes and beetles of the workmen, cleavingthe timber not far off. It was not long before Robert Pike came up andjoined us. He was in his working dress, and his face and hands weremuch discolored by the smut of the burnt logs, which Rebecca playfullyremarking, he said there were no mirrors in the woods, and that must behis apology; that, besides, it did not become a plain man, like himself, who had to make his own fortune in the world, to try to imitate thosewho had only to open their mouths, to be fed like young robins, withouttrouble or toil. Such might go as brave as they would, if they wouldonly excuse his necessity. I thought he spoke with some bitterness, which, indeed, was not without the excuse, that the manner of our gayyoung gentleman towards him savored much of pride and contemptuousness. My beloved cousin, who hath a good heart, and who, I must think, apartfrom the wealth and family of Sir Thomas, rather inclineth to her oldfriend and neighbor, spake cheerily and kindly to him, and besought meprivately to do somewhat to help her remove his vexation. So we diddiscourse of many things very pleasantly. Mr. Richardson, on hearingRebecca say that the Indians did take the melancholy noises of thepinetrees in the winds to be the voices of the Spirits of the woods, said that they always called to his mind the sounds in the mulberry-trees which the Prophet spake of. Hereupon Rebecca, who hath her memorywell provided with divers readings, both of the poets and other writers, did cite very opportunely some ingenious lines, touching what theheathens do relate of the Sacred Tree of Dodona, the rustling of whoseleaves the negro priestesses did hold to be the language of the gods. And a late writer, she said, had something in one of his pieces, whichmight well be spoken of the aged and dead tree-trunk, upon which we weresitting. And when we did all desire to know their import, she repeatedthem thus:--

 "Sure thou didst flourish once, and many springs, Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers, Passed o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings, Which now are dead, lodged in thy living towers. "

 "And still a new succession sings and flies, Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot Towards the old and still enduring skies, While the low violet thriveth at their root. "

These lines, she said, were written by one Vaughn, a BrecknockshireWelsh Doctor of Medicine, who had printed a little book not many yearsago. Mr. Richardson said the lines were good, but that he did hold thereading of ballads and the conceits of rhymers a waste of time, to saynothing worse. Sir Thomas hereat said that, as far as he could judge, the worthy folk of New England had no great temptation to that sin fromtheir own poets, and did then, in a drolling tone, repeat some verses ofthe 137th Psalm, which he said were the best he had seen in theCambridge Psalm Book:--

 "The rivers of Babylon, There when we did sit down, Yea, even then we mourned when We remembered Sion. 

 Our harp we did hang it amid Upon the willow-tree; Because there they that us away Led to captivity!

 Required of us a song, and thus Asked mirth us waste who laid, Sing us among a Sion's song Unto us as then they said. "

"Nay, Sir Thomas, " quoth Mr. Richardson, "it is not seemly to jest overthe Word of God. The writers of our Book of Psalms in metre heldrightly, that God's altar needs no polishing; and truly they haverendered the words of David into English verse with great fidelity. "

Our young gentleman, not willing to displeasure a man so esteemed as Mr. Richardson, here made an apology for his jesting, and said that, as tothe Cambridge version, it was indeed faithful; and that it was no blameto uninspired men, that they did fall short of the beauties and richnessof the Lord's Psalmist. It being now near noon, we crossed over theriver, to where was a sweet spring of water, very clear and bright, running out upon the green bank. Now, as we stood thirsty, having nocup to drink from, seeing some people near, we called to them, andpresently there came running to us a young and modest woman, with abright pewter tankard, which she filled and gave us. I thought hersweet and beautiful, as Rebecca of old, at her father's fountain. Shewas about leaving, when Mr. Richardson said to her, it was a foul shamefor one like her to give heed to the ranting of the Quakers, and badeher be a good girl, and come to the meeting. 

"Nay, " said she, "I have been there often, to small profit. The spiritwhich thou persecutest testifieth against thee and thy meeting. "

Sir Thomas jestingly asked her if the spirit she spoke of was not suchan one as possessed Mary Magdalen. 

"Or the swine of the Gadarenes?" asked Mr. Richardson. 

I did smile with the others, but was presently sorry for it; for theyoung maid answered not a word to this, but turning to Rebecca, shesaid, "Thy father hath been hard with us, but thou seemest kind andgentle, and I have heard of thy charities to the poor. The Lord keepthee, for thou walkest in slippery places; there is danger, and thouseest it not; thou trustest to the hearing of the ear and the seeing ofthe eye; the Lord alone seeth the deceitfulness and the guile of man;and if thou wilt cry mightily to Him, He can direct thee rightly. "

Her voice and manner were very weighty and solemn. I felt an awe comeupon me, and Rebecca's countenance was troubled. As the maiden left us, the minister, looking after said, "There is a deal of poison under thefair outside of yonder vessel, which I fear is fitted for destruction. "

"Peggy Brewster is indeed under a delusion, " answered Robert Pike, "butI know no harm of her. She is kind to all, even to them who evilentreat her. "

"Robert, Robert!" cried the minister, "I fear me you will follow yourhonored father, who has made himself of ill repute, by favoring thesepeople. "--"The Quaker hath bewitched him with her bright eyes, perhaps, "quoth Sir Thomas. "I would she had laid a spell on an uncivil tongue Iwot of, " answered Robert, angrily. Hereupon, Mr. Sewall proposed thatwe should return, and in making ready and getting to the boat, thematter was dropped. 

NEWBURY, June 1, 1678. 

To-day Sir Thomas took his leave of us, being about to go back toBoston. Cousin Rebecca is, I can see, much taken with his outsidebravery and courtliness, yet she hath confessed to me that her soberjudgment doth greatly incline her towards her old friend and neighbor, Robert Pike. She hath even said that she doubted not she could live aquieter and happier life with him than with such an one as Sir Thomas;and that the words of the Quaker maid, whom we met at the spring on theriver side, had disquieted her not a little, inasmuch as they did seemto confirm her own fears and misgivings. But her fancy is so bedazzledwith the goodly show of her suitor, that I much fear he can have her forthe asking, especially as her father, to my knowledge, doth greatlyfavor him. And, indeed, by reason of her gracious manner, witty andpleasant discoursing, excellent breeding, and dignity, she would do nodiscredit to the choice of one far higher than this young gentleman inestate and rank. 

June 10. 

I went this morning with Rebecca to visit Elnathan Stone, a youngneighbor, who has been lying sorely ill for a long time. He was aplaymate of my cousin when a boy, and was thought to be of great promiseas he grew up to manhood; but, engaging in the war with the heathen, hewas wounded and taken captive by them, and after much suffering wasbrought back to his home a few months ago. On entering the house wherehe lay, we found his mother, a careworn and sad woman, spinning in theroom by his bedside. A very great and bitter sorrow was depicted on herfeatures; it was the anxious, unreconciled, and restless look of one whodid feel herself tried beyond her patience, and might not be comforted. For, as I learned, she was a poor widow, who had seen her young daughtertomahawked by the Indians; and now her only son, the hope of her oldage, was on his death-bed. She received us with small civility, tellingRebecca that it was all along of the neglect of the men in authoritythat her son had got his death in the wars, inasmuch as it was the wantof suitable diet and clothing, rather than his wounds, which had broughthim into his present condition. Now, as Uncle Rawson is one of theprincipal magistrates, my sweet cousin knew that the poor afflictedcreature meant to reproach him; but her good heart did excuse andforgive the rudeness and distemper of one whom the Lord had sorelychastened. So she spake kindly and lovingly, and gave her sundry nicedainty fruits and comforting cordials, which she had got from Boston forthe sick man. Then, as she came to his bedside, and took his handlovingly in her own, he thanked her for her many kindnesses, and prayedGod to bless her. He must have been a handsome lad in health, for hehad a fair, smooth forehead, shaded with brown, curling hair, and large, blue eyes, very sweet and gentle in their look. He told us that he felthimself growing weaker, and that at times his bodily suffering wasgreat. But through the mercy of his Saviour he had much peace of mind. He was content to leave all things in His hand. For his poor mother'ssake, he said, more than for his own, he would like to get about oncemore; there were many things he would like to do for her, and for allwho had befriended him; but he knew his Heavenly Father could do moreand better for them, and he felt resigned to His will. He had, he said, forgiven all who ever wronged him, and he had now no feeling of anger orunkindness left towards any one, for all seemed kind to him beyond hisdeserts, and like brothers and sisters. He had much pity for the poorsavages even, although he had suffered sorely at their hands; for he didbelieve that they had been often ill-used, and cheated, and otherwiseprovoked to take up arms against us. Hereupon, Goodwife Stone twirledher spindle very spitefully, and said she would as soon pity the Devilas his children. The thought of her mangled little girl, and of herdying son, did seem to overcome her, and she dropped her thread, andcried out with an exceeding bitter cry, --"Oh, the bloody heathen! Oh, my poor murdered Molly! Oh, my son, my son!"--"Nay, mother, " said thesick man, reaching out his hand and taking hold of his mother's, with asweet smile on his pale face, --"what does Christ tell us about lovingour enemies, and doing good to them that do injure us? Let us forgiveour fellow-creatures, for we have all need of God's forgiveness. I usedto feel as mother does, " he said, turning to us; "for I went into thewar with a design to spare neither young nor old of the enemy. 

"But I thank God that even in that dark season my heart relented at thesight of the poor starving women and children, chased from place toplace like partridges. Even the Indian fighters, I found, had sorrowsof their own, and grievous wrongs to avenge; and I do believe, if we hadfrom the first treated them as poor blinded brethren, and striven ashard to give them light and knowledge, as we have to cheat them intrade, and to get away their lands, we should have escaped many bloodywars, and won many precious souls to Christ. "

I inquired of him concerning his captivity. He was wounded, he told me, in a fight with the Sokokis Indians two years before. It was a hotskirmish in the woods; the English and the Indians now running forward, and then falling back, firing at each other from behind the trees. Hehad shot off all his powder, and, being ready to faint by reason of awound in his knee, he was fain to sit down against an oak, from whencehe did behold, with great sorrow and heaviness of heart, his companionsoverpowered by the number of their enemies, fleeing away and leaving himto his fate. The savages soon came to him with dreadful whoopings, brandishing their hatchets and their scalping-knives. He thereuponclosed his eyes, expecting to be knocked in the head, and killedoutright. But just then a noted chief coming up in great haste, badehim be of good cheer, for he was his prisoner, and should not be slain. He proved to be the famous Sagamore Squando, the chief man of theSokokis. 

"And were you kindly treated by this chief?" asked Rebecca. 

"I suffered much in moving with him to the Sebago Lake, owing to mywound, " he replied; "but the chief did all in his power to give mecomfort, and he often shared with me his scant fare, choosing rather toendure hunger himself, than to see his son, as he called me, in want offood. And one night, when I did marvel at this kindness on his part, hetold me that I had once done him a great service; asking me if I was notat Black Point, in a fishing vessel, the summer before? I told him Iwas. He then bade me remember the bad sailors who upset the canoe of asquaw, and wellnigh drowned her little child, and that I had threatenedand beat them for it; and also how I gave the squaw a warm coat to wrapup the poor wet papoose. It was his squaw and child that I hadbefriended; and he told me that he had often tried to speak to me, andmake known his gratitude therefor; and that he came once to the garrisonat Sheepscot, where he saw me; but being fired at, notwithstanding hissigns of peace and friendship, he was obliged to flee into the woods. He said the child died a few days after its evil treatment, and thethought of it made his heart bitter; that he had tried to live peaceablywith the white men, but they had driven him into the war. 

"On one occasion, " said the sick soldier, "as we lay side by side in hishut, on the shore of the Sebago Lake, Squando, about midnight, began topray to his God very earnestly. And on my querying with him about it, he said he was greatly in doubt what to do, and had prayed for some signof the Great Spirit's will concerning him. He then told me that someyears ago, near the place where we then lay, he left his wigwam atnight, being unable to sleep, by reason of great heaviness and distemperof mind. It was a full moon, and as he did walk to and fro, he saw afair, tall man in a long black dress, standing in the light on thelake's shore, who spake to him and called him by name. 

"'Squando, ' he said, and his voice was deep and solemn, like the wind inthe hill pines, 'the God of the white man is the God of the Indian, andHe is angry with his red children. He alone is able to make the corngrow before the frost, and to lead the fish up the rivers in the spring, and to fill the woods with deer and other game, and the ponds andmeadows with beavers. Pray to Him always. Do not hunt on His day, norlet the squaws hoe the corn. Never taste of the strong fire-water, butdrink only from the springs. It, is because the Indians do not worshipHim, that He has brought the white men among them; but if they will praylike the white men, they will grow very great and strong, and theirchildren born in this moon will live to see the English sail back intheir great canoes, and leave the Indians all their fishing-places andhunting-grounds. '

"When the strange man had thus spoken, Squando told me that he wentstraightway up to him, but found where he had stood only the shadow ofa broken tree, which lay in the moon across the white sand of the shore. Then he knew it was a spirit, and he trembled, but was glad. Eversince, he told nee, he had prayed daily to the Great Spirit, had drankno rum, nor hunted on the Sabbath. 

"He said he did for a long time refuse to dig up his hatchet, and makewar upon the whites, but that he could not sit idle in his wigwam, whilehis young men were gone upon their war-path. The spirit of his deadchild did moreover speak to him from the land of souls, and chide himfor not seeking revenge. Once, he told me, he had in a dream seen thechild crying and moaning bitterly, and that when he inquired the causeof its grief, he was told that the Great Spirit was angry with itsfather, and would destroy him and his people unless he did join with theEastern Indians to cut off the English. "

"I remember, " said Rebecca, "of hearing my father speak of thisSquando's kindness to a young maid taken captive some years ago atPresumpscot. "

"I saw her at Cocheco, " said the sick man. "Squando found her in a sadplight, and scarcely alive, took her to his wigwam, where his squaw didlovingly nurse and comfort her; and when she was able to travel, hebrought her to Major Waldron's, asking no ransom for her. He might havebeen made the fast friend of the English at that time, but he scarcelygot civil treatment. "

"My father says that many friendly Indians, by the ill conduct of thetraders, have been made our worst enemies, " said Rebecca. "He thoughtthe bringing in of the Mohawks to help us a sin comparable to that ofthe Jews, who looked for deliverance from the King of Babylon at thehands of the Egyptians. "

"They did nothing but mischief, " said Elnathan Stone; "they killed ourfriends at Newichawannock, Blind Will and his family. "

Rebecca here asked him if he ever heard the verses writ by Mr. Sewallconcerning the killing of Blind Will. And when he told her he had not, and would like to have her repeat them, if she could remember, she didrecite them thus:--

 "Blind Will of Newiehawannock! He never will whoop again, For his wigwam's burnt above him, And his old, gray scalp is ta'en!

 "Blind Will was the friend of white men, On their errands his young men ran, And he got him a coat and breeches, And looked like a Christian man. 

 "Poor Will of Newiehawannock! They slew him unawares, Where he lived among his people, Keeping Sabhath and saying prayers. 

 "Now his fields will know no harvest, And his pipe is clean put out, And his fine, brave coat and breeches The Mohog wears about. 

 "Woe the day our rulers listened To Sir Edmund's wicked plan, Bringing down the cruel Mohogs Who killed the poor old man. 

 "Oh! the Lord He will requite us; For the evil we have done, There'll be many a fair scalp drying In the wind and in the sun!

 "There'll be many a captive sighing, In a bondage long and dire; There'll be blood in many a corn-field, And many a house a-fire. 

 "And the Papist priests the tidings Unto all the tribes will send; They'll point to Newiehawannock, -- 'So the English treat their friend!'

 "Let the Lord's anointed servants Cry aloud against this wrong, Till Sir Edmund take his Mohogs Back again where they belong. 

 "Let the maiden and the mother In the nightly watching share, While the young men guard the block-house, And the old men kneel in prayer. 

 "Poor Will of Newiehawannock! For thy sad and cruel fall, And the bringing in of the Mohogs, May the Lord forgive us all!"

A young woman entered the house just as Rebecca finished the verses. She bore in her hands a pail of milk and a fowl neatly dressed, whichshe gave to Elnathan's mother, and, seeing strangers by his bedside, wasabout to go out, when he called to her and besought her to stay. As shecame up and spoke to him, I knew her to be the maid we had met at thespring. The young man, with tears in his eyes, acknowledged her greatkindness to him, at which she seemed troubled and abashed. A pure, sweet complexion she hath, and a gentle and loving look, full ofinnocence and sincerity. Rebecca seemed greatly disturbed, for she nodoubt thought of the warning words of this maiden, when we were at thespring. After she had left, Goodwife Stone said she was sure she couldnot tell what brought that Quaker girl to her house so much, unless shemeant to inveigle Elnathan; but, for her part, she would rather see himdead than live to bring reproach upon his family and the Church byfollowing after the blasphemers. I ventured to tell her that I did lookupon it as sheer kindness and love on the young woman's part; at whichElnathan seemed pleased, and said he could not doubt it, and that he didbelieve Peggy Brewster to be a good Christian, although sadly led astrayby the Quakers. His mother said that, with all her meek looks, and kindwords, she was full of all manner of pestilent heresies, and did remindher always of Satan in the shape of an angel of light. 

We went away ourselves soon after this, the sick man thanking us for ourvisit, and hoping that he should see us again. "Poor Elnathan, " saidRebecca, as we walked home, "he will never go abroad again; but he is insuch a good and loving frame of mind, that he needs not our pity, as onewho is without hope. "

"He reminds me, " I said, "of the comforting promise of Scripture, 'Thouwilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee. '"

June 30, 1678. 

Mr. Rawson and Sir Thomas Hale came yesterday from Boston. I wasrejoiced to see mine uncle, more especially as he brought for me apackage of letters, and presents and tokens of remembrance from myfriends on the other side of the water. As soon as I got them, I wentup to my chamber, and, as I read of the health of those who are verydear to me, and who did still regard me with unchanged love, I wept inmy great joy, and my heart overflowed in thankfulness. I read the 22dPsalm, and it did seem to express mine own feelings in view of the greatmercies and blessings vouchsafed to me. "My head is anointed with oil;my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all thedays of my life. "

This morning, Sir Thomas and Uncle Rawson rode over to Hampton, wherethey will tarry all night. Last evening, Rebecca had a long talk withher father concerning Sir Thomas, who hath asked her of him. She cameto bed very late, and lay restless and sobbing; whereupon I pressed herto know the cause of her grief, when she told me she had consented tomarry Sir Thomas, but that her heart was sorely troubled and full ofmisgivings. On my querying whether she did really love the younggentleman, she said she sometimes feared she did not; and that when herfancy had made a fair picture of the life of a great lady in England, there did often come a dark cloud over it like the shade of some heavydisappointment or sorrow. "Sir Thomas, " she said, "was a handsome andwitty young man, and had demeaned himself to the satisfaction and goodrepute of her father and the principal people of the Colony; and hismanner towards her had been exceeding delicate and modest, inasmuch ashe had presumed nothing upon his family or estate, but had sought herwith much entreaty and humility, although he did well know that some ofthe most admired and wealthy Young women in Boston did esteem him not alittle, even to the annoying of herself, as one whom he especiallyfavored. "

"This will be heavy news to Robert Pike, " said I; "and I am sorry forhim, for he is indeed a worthy man. "

"That he is, " quoth she; "but he hath never spoken to me of aught beyondthat friendliness which, as neighbors and school companions, we doinnocently cherish for each other. "

"Nay, " said I, "my sweet cousin knows full well that he entertaineth sostrong an affection for her, that there needeth no words to reveal it. "

"Alas!" she answered, "it is too true. When I am with him, I sometimeswish I had never seen Sir Thomas. But my choice is made, and I pray GodI may not have reason to repent of it. "

We said no more, but I fear she slept little, for on waking about thebreak of day, I saw her sitting in her night-dress by the window. Whereupon I entreated her to return to her bed, which she at length did, and folding me in her arms, and sobbing as if her heart would break, shebesought me to pity her, for it was no light thing which she had done, and she scarcely knew her own mind, nor whether to rejoice or weep overit. I strove to comfort her, and, after a time, she did, to my greatjoy, fall into a quiet sleep. 

This afternoon, Robert Pike came in, and had a long talk with CousinBroughton, who told him how matters stood between her sister and SirThomas, at which he was vehemently troubled, and would fain have gone toseek Rebecca at once, and expostulate with her, but was hindered onbeing told that it could only grieve and discomfort her, inasmuch as thething was well settled, and could not be broken off. He said he hadknown and loved her from a child; that for her sake he had toiled hardby day and studied by night; and that in all his travels and voyages, her sweet image had always gone with him. He would bring no accusationagainst her, for she had all along treated him rather as a brother thanas a suitor: to which last condition he had indeed not felt himself atliberty to venture, after her honored father, some months ago, had givenhim to understand that he did design an alliance of his daughter with agentleman of estate and family. For himself, he would bear himselfmanfully, and endure his sorrow with patience and fortitude. His onlyfear was, that his beloved friend had been too hasty in deciding thematter; and that he who was her choice might not be worthy of the greatgift of her affection. Cousin Broughton, who has hitherto greatlyfavored the pretensions of Sir Thomas, told me that she wellnigh changedher mind in view of the manly and noble bearing of Robert Pike; and thatif her sister were to live in this land, she would rather see her thewife of him than of any other man therein. 

July 3. 

Sir Thomas took his leave to-day. Robert Pike hath been here to wishRebecca great joy and happiness in her prospect, which he did in so kindand gentle a manner, that she was fain to turn away her head to hide hertears. When Robert saw this, he turned the discourse, and did endeavorto divert her mind in such sort that the shade of melancholy soon lefther sweet face, and the twain talked together cheerfully as had beentheir wont, and as became their years and conditions. 

July 6. 

Yesterday a strange thing happened in the meeting-house. The ministerhad gone on in his discourse, until the sand in the hour-glass on therails before the deacons had wellnigh run out, and Deacon Dole was aboutturning it, when suddenly I saw the congregation all about me give agreat start, and look back. A young woman, barefooted, and with acoarse canvas frock about her, and her long hair hanging loose like aperiwig, and sprinkled with ashes, came walking up the south aisle. Just as she got near Uncle Rawson's seat she stopped, and turning roundtowards the four corners of the house, cried out: "Woe to thepersecutors! Woe to them who for a pretence make long prayers! Humbleyourselves, for this is the day of the Lord's power, and I am sent as asign among you!" As she looked towards me I knew her to be the Quakermaiden, Margaret Brewster. "Where is the constable?" asked Mr. Richardson. "Let the woman be taken out. " Thereupon the wholecongregation arose, and there was a great uproar, men and women climbingthe seats, and many crying out, some one thing and some another. In themidst of the noise, Mr. Sewall, getting up on a bench, begged the peopleto be quiet, and let the constable lead out the poor deluded creature. Mr. Richardson spake to the same effect, and, the tumult a littlesubsiding, I saw them taking the young woman out of the door; and, asmany followed her, I went out also, with my brother, to see what becameof her. 

We found her in the middle of a great crowd of angry people, whoreproached her for her wickedness in disturbing the worship on theLord's day, calling her all manner of foul names, and threatening herwith the stocks and the whipping-post. The poor creature stood stilland quiet; she was deathly pale, and her wild hair and sackcloth frockgave her a very strange and pitiable look. The constable was about totake her in charge until the morrow, when Robert Pike came forward, andsaid he would answer for her appearance at the court the next day, andbesought the people to let her go quietly to her home, which, after someparley, was agreed to. Robert then went up to her, and taking her hand, asked her to go with him. She looked up, and being greatly touched byhis kindness, began to weep, telling him that it had been a sorrowfulcross to her to do as she had done; but that it had been long upon hermind, and that she did feel a relief now that she had found strength forobedience. He, seeing the people still following, hastened her, away, and we all went back to the meeting-house. In the afternoon, Mr. Richardson gave notice that he should preach, next Lord's day, from the12th and 13th verses of Jude, wherein the ranters and disturbers of thepresent day were very plainly spoken of. This morning she hath been hadbefore the magistrates, who, considering her youth and good behaviorhitherto, did not proceed against her so far as many of the peopledesired. A fine was laid upon her, which both she and her father didprofess they could not in conscience pay, whereupon she was ordered tobe set in the stocks; but this Mr. Sewall, Robert Pike, and my brotherwould by no means allow, but paid the fine themselves, so that she wasset at liberty, whereat the boys and rude women were not a littledisappointed, as they had thought to make sport of her in the stocks. Mr. Pike, I hear, did speak openly in her behalf before the magistrates, saying that it was all along of the cruel persecution of these peoplethat did drive them to such follies and breaches of the peace, Mr. Richardson, who hath heretofore been exceeding hard upon the Quakers, did, moreover, speak somewhat in excuse of her conduct, believing thatshe was instigated by her elders; and he therefore counselled the courtthat she should not be whipped, August 1. 

Captain Sewall, R. Pike, and the minister, Mr. Richardson, at our houseto-day. Captain Sewall, who lives mostly at Boston, says that a smallvessel loaded with negroes, taken on the Madagascar coast, came lastweek into the harbor, and that the owner thereof had offered the negroesfor sale as slaves, and that they had all been sold to magistrates, ministers, and other people of distinction in Boston and thereabouts. He said the negroes were principally women and children, and scarcelyalive, by reason of their long voyage and hard fare. He thought it agreat scandal to the Colony, and a reproach to the Church, that theyshould be openly trafficked, like cattle in the market. Uncle Rawsonsaid it was not so formerly; for he did remember the case of CaptainSmith and one Kesar, who brought negroes from Guinea thirty years ago. The General Court, urged thereto by Sir Richard Saltonstall and many ofthe ministers, passed an order that, for the purpose of "bearing awitness against the heinous sin of man-stealing, justly abhorred of allgood and just men, " the negroes should be taken back to their owncountry at the charge of the Colony; which was soon after done. Moreover, the two men, Smith and Kesar, were duly punished. 

Mr. Richardson said he did make a distinction between the stealing ofmen from a nation at peace with us, and the taking of captives in war. The Scriptures did plainly warrant the holding of such, and especiallyif they be heathen. 

Captain Sewall said he did, for himself, look upon all slave-holding ascontrary to the Gospel and the New Dispensation. The Israelites had aspecial warrant for holding the heathen in servitude; but he had neverheard any one pretend that he had that authority for enslaving Indiansand blackamoors. 

Hereupon Mr. Richardson asked him if he did not regard Deacon Dole as agodly man; and if he had aught to say against him and other pious menwho held slaves. And he cautioned him to be careful, lest he should becounted an accuser of the brethren. 

Here Robert Pike said he would tell of a matter which had fallen underhis notice. "Just after the war was over, " said be, "owing to the lossof my shallop in the Penobscot Bay, I chanced to be in the neighborhoodof him they call the Baron of Castine, who hath a strong castle, withmuch cleared land and great fisheries at Byguyduce. I was preparing tomake a fire and sleep in the woods, with my two men, when a messengercame from the Baron, saying that his master, hearing that strangers werein the neighborhood, had sent him to offer us food and shelter, as thenight was cold and rainy. So without ado we went with him, and wereshown into a comfortable room in a wing of the castle, where we found agreat fire blazing, and a joint of venison with wheaten loaves on thetable. After we had refreshed ourselves, the Baron sent for me, and Iwas led into a large, fair room, where he was, with Modockawando, whowas his father-in-law, and three or four other chiefs of the Indians, together with two of his priests. The Baron, who was a man of goodlyappearance, received me with much courtesy; and when I told him mymisfortune, he said he was glad it was in his power to afford us ashelter. He discoursed about the war, which he said had been a sadthing to the whites as well as the Indians, but that he now hoped thepeace would be lasting. Whereupon, Modockawando, a very grave andserious heathen, who had been sitting silent with his friends, got upand spoke a load speech to me, which I did not understand, but was toldthat he did complain of the whites for holding as slaves sundry Indiancaptives, declaring that it did provoke another war. His own sister'schild, he said, was thus held in captivity. He entreated me to see thegreat Chief of our people (meaning the Governor), and tell him that thecries of the captives were heard by his young men, and that they weretalking of digging up the hatchet which the old men had buried at Casco. I told the old savage that I did not justify the holding of Indiansafter the peace, and would do what I could to have them set at liberty, at which he seemed greatly rejoiced. Since I came back from Castine'scountry, I have urged the giving up of the Indians, and many have beenreleased. Slavery is a hard lot, and many do account it worse thandeath. When in the Barbadoes, I was told that on one plantation, in thespace of five years, a score of slaves had hanged themselves. "

"Mr. Atkinson's Indian, " said Captain Sewall, "whom he bought of aVirginia ship-owner, did, straightway on coming to his house, refusemeat; and although persuasions and whippings were tried to make him eat, he would not so much as take a sip of drink. I saw him a day or twobefore he died, sitting wrapped up in his blanket, and muttering tohimself. It was a sad, sight, and I pray God I may never see the likeagain. From that time I have looked upon the holding of men as slavesas a great wickedness. The Scriptures themselves do testify, that hethat leadeth into captivity shall go into captivity. "

After the company had gone, Rebecca sat silent and thoughtful for atime, and then bade her young serving-girl, whom her father had bought, about a year before, of the master of a Scotch vessel, and who had beensold to pay the cost of her passage, to come to her. She asked her ifshe had aught to complain of in her situation. The poor girl lookedsurprised, but said she had not. "Are you content to live as aservant?" asked Rebecca. "Would you leave me if you could?" She herefell a-weeping, begging her mistress not to speak of her leaving. "Butif I should tell you that you are free to go or stay, as you will, wouldyou be glad or sorry?" queried her mistress. The poor girl was silent. "I do not wish you to leave me, Effie, " said Rebecca, "but I wish you toknow that you are from henceforth free, and that if you serve mehereafter, as I trust you will, it will be in love and good will, andfor suitable wages. " The bondswoman did not at the first comprehend thedesign of her mistress, but, on hearing it explained once more, shedropped down on her knees, and clasping Rebecca, poured forth her thanksafter the manner of her people; whereupon Rebecca, greatly moved, badeher rise, as she had only done what the Scriptures did require, ingiving to her servant that which is just and equal. 

"How easy it is to make others happy, and ourselves also!" she said, turning to me, with the tears shining in her eyes. 

August 8, 1678. 

Elnathan Stone, who died two days ago, was buried this afternoon. Avery solemn funeral, Mr. Richardson preaching a sermon from the 23dpsalm, 4th verse: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadowof death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thystaff, they comfort me. " Deacon Dole provided the wine and spirits, andUncle Rawson the beer, and bread, and fish for the entertainment, andothers of the neighbors did, moreover, help the widow to sundry mattersof clothing suitable for the occasion, for she was very poor, and, owingto the long captivity and sickness of her son, she hath been muchstraitened at times. I am told that Margaret Brewster hath been like anangel of mercy unto her, watching often with the sick man, and helpingher in her work, so that the poor woman is now fain to confess that shehath a good and kind heart. A little time before Elnathan died, he didearnestly commend the said Margaret to the kindness of Cousin Rebecca, entreating her to make interest with the magistrates, and others inauthority, in her behalf, that they might be merciful to her in heroutgoings, as he did verily think they did come of a sense of duty, albeit mistaken. Mr. Richardson, who hath been witness to her graciousdemeanor and charity, and who saith she does thereby shame many of hisown people, hath often sought to draw her away from the new doctrines, and to set before her the dangerous nature of her errors; but she neverlacketh answer of some sort, being naturally of good parts, and wellread in the Scriptures. 

August 10. 

I find the summer here greatly unlike that of mine own country. Theheat is great, the sun shining very strong and bright; and for more thana month it hath been exceeding dry, without any considerable fall ofrain, so that the springs fail in many places, and the watercourses aredried up, which doth bring to mind very forcibly the language of Job, concerning the brooks which the drouth consumeth: "What time they waxwarm they vanish; when it is hot they are consumed out of their place. The paths of their way are turned aside; they go to nothing and perish. "The herbage and grass have lost much of the brightness which they didwear in the early summer; moreover, there be fewer flowers to be seen. The fields and roads are dusty, and all things do seem to faint and waxold under the intolerable sun. Great locusts sing sharp in the hedgesand bushes, and grasshoppers fly up in clouds, as it were, when onewalks over the dry grass which they feed upon, and at nightfallmosquitoes are no small torment. Whenever I do look forth at noonday, at which time the air is all aglow, with a certain glimmer and dazzlelike that from an hot furnace, and see the poor fly-bitten cattlewhisking their tails to keep off the venomous insects, or standing inthe water of the low grounds for coolness, and the panting sheep lyingtogether under the shade of trees, I must needs call to mind the summerseason of old England, the cool sea air, the soft-dropping showers, thefields so thick with grasses, and skirted with hedge-rows like greenwalls, the trees and shrubs all clean and moist, and the vines andcreepers hanging over walls and gateways, very plenteous and beautifulto behold. Ah me I often in these days do I think of Hilton Grange, with its great oaks, and cool breezy hills and meadows green the summerlong. I shut mine eyes, and lo! it is all before me like a picture; Isee mine uncle's gray hairs beneath the trees, and my good aunt standethin the doorway, and Cousin Oliver comes up in his field-dress, from thecroft or the mill; I can hear his merry laugh, and the sound of hishorse's hoofs ringing along the gravel-way. Our sweet Chaucer tellethof a mirror in the which he that looked did see all his past life; thatmagical mirror is no fable, for in the memory of love, old things doreturn and show themselves as features do in the glass, with a perfectand most beguiling likeness. 

Last night, Deacon Dole's Indian--One-eyed Tom, a surly fellow--brokeinto his master's shop, where he made himself drunk with rum, and, coming to the house, did greatly fright the womenfolk by his threateningwords and gestures. Now, the Deacon coming home late from the church-meeting, and seeing him in this way, wherreted him smartly with hiscane, whereupon he ran off, and came up the road howling and yellinglike an evil spirit. Uncle Rawson sent his Irish man-servant to seewhat caused the ado; but he straightway came running back, screaming"Murther! murther!" at the top of his voice. So uncle himself went tothe gate, and presently called for a light, which Rebecca and I camewith, inasmuch as the Irishman and Effie dared not go out. We found Tomsitting on the horse-block, the blood running down his face, and muchbruised and swollen. He was very fierce and angry, saying that if helived a month, he would make him a tobacco-pouch of the Deacon's scalp. Rebecca ventured to chide him for his threats, but offered to bind uphis head for him, which she did with her own kerchief. Uncle Rawsonthen bade him go home and get to bed, and in future let alone strongdrink, which had been the cause of his beating. This he would not do, but went off into the woods, muttering as far as one could hear him. 

This morning Deacon Dole came in, and said his servant Tom had behavedbadly, for which he did moderately correct him, and that he didthereupon run away, and he feared he should lose him. He bought him, he said, of Captain Davenport, who brought him from the Narragansettcountry, paying ten pounds and six shillings for him, and he could illbear so great a loss. I ventured to tell him that it was wrong to holdany man, even an Indian or Guinea black, as a slave. My uncle, who sawthat my plainness was not well taken, bade me not meddle with mattersbeyond my depth; and Deacon Dole, looking very surly at me, said I was aforward one; that he had noted that I did wear a light and idle look inthe meeting-house; and, pointing with his cane to my hair, he said I didrender myself liable to presentment by the Grand Jury for a breach ofthe statute of the General Court, made the year before, against "theimmodest laying out of the hair, " &c. He then went on to say that hehad lived to see strange times, when such as I did venture to opposethemselves to sober and grave people, and to despise authority, andencourage rebellion and disorder; and bade me take heed lest all suchbe numbered with the cursed children which the Apostle did rebuke: "Who, as natural brute beasts, speak evil of things they understand not, andshall utterly perish in their corruption. " My dear Cousin Rebecca hereput in a word in my behalf, and told the Deacon that Tom's misbehaviordid all grow out of the keeping of strong liquors for sale, and that hewas wrong to beat him so cruelly, seeing that he did himself place thetemptation before him. Thereupon the Deacon rose up angrily, biddinguncle look well to his forward household. "Nay, girls, " quoth mineuncle, after his neighbor had left the house, "you have angered the goodman sorely. "--"Never heed, " said Rebecca, laughing and clapping herhands, "he hath got something to think of more profitable, I trow, thanCousin Margaret's hair or looks in meeting. He has been tything of mintand anise and cummin long enough, and 't is high time for him to lookafter the weightier matters of the law. "

The selling of beer and strong liquors, Mr. Ewall says, hath muchincreased since the troubles of the Colony and the great Indian war. The General Court do take some care to grant licenses only to discreetpersons; but much liquor is sold without warrant. For mine own part, Ithink old Chaucer hath it right in his Pardoner's Tale:--

 "A likerous thing is wine, and drunkenness Is full of striving and of wretchedness. O drunken man! disfigured is thy face, Sour is thy breath, foul art then to embrace; Thy tongue is lost, and all thine honest care, For drunkenness is very sepulture Of man's wit and his discretion. "

AGAMENTICUS, August 18. 

The weather being clear and the heat great, last week uncle and aunt, with Rebecca and myself, and also Leonard and Sir Thomas, thought it afitting time to make a little journey by water to the Isles of Shoals, and the Agamenticus, where dwelleth my Uncle Smith, who hath stronglypressed me to visit him. One Caleb Powell, a seafaring man, having agood new boat, with a small cabin, did undertake to convey us. He is adrolling odd fellow, who hath been in all parts of the world, and hathseen and read much, and, having a rare memory, is not ill company, although uncle saith one must make no small allowance for his desire ofmaking his hearers marvel at his stories and conceits. We sailed with agood westerly wind down the river, passing by the great salt marshes, which stretch a long way by the sea, and in which the town's people benow very busy in mowing and gathering the grass for winter's use. Leaving on our right hand Plum Island (so called on account of the rareplums which do grow upon it), we struck into the open sea, and soon camein sight of the Islands of Shoals. There be seven of them in all, lyingoff the town of Hampton on the mainland, about a league. We landed onthat called the Star, and were hospitably entertained through the dayand night by Mr. Abbott, an old inhabitant of the islands, and largelyemployed in fisheries and trade, and with whom uncle had some business. In the afternoon Mr. Abbott's son rowed us about among the islands, andshowed us the manner of curing the dun-fish, for which the place isfamed. They split the fishes, and lay them on the rocks in the sun, using little salt, but turning them often. There is a court-house onthe biggest island, and a famous school, to which many of the planterson the main-land do send their children. We noted a great split in therocks, where, when the Indians came to the islands many years ago, andkilled some and took others captive, one Betty Moody did hide herself, and which is hence called Betty Moody's Hole. Also, the pile of rocksset up by the noted Captain John Smith, when he did take possession ofthe Isles in the year 1614. We saw our old acquaintance Peckanaminetand his wife, in a little birch canoe, fishing a short way off. Mr. Abbott says he well recollects the time when the Agawams were wellnighcut off by the Tarratine Indians; for that early one morning, hearing aloud yelling and whooping, he went out on the point of the rocks, andsaw a great fleet of canoes filled with Indians, going back from Agawam, and the noise they made he took to be their rejoicing over theirvictory. 

In the evening a cold easterly wind began to blow, and it brought infrom the ocean a damp fog, so that we were glad to get within doors. Sir Thomas entertained us by his lively account of things in Boston, andof a journey he had made to the Providence plantations. He then askedus if it was true, as he had learned from Mr. Mather, of Boston, thatthere was an house in Newbury dolefully beset by Satan's imps, and thatthe family could get no sleep because of the doings of evil spirits. Uncle Rawson said he did hear something of it, and that Mr. Richardsonhad been sent for to pray against the mischief. Yet as he did countGoody Morse a poor silly woman, he should give small heed to her story;but here was her near neighbor, Caleb Powell, who could doubtless tellmore concerning it. Whereupon, Caleb said it was indeed true that therewas a very great disturbance in Goodman Morse's house; doors opening andshutting, household stuff whisked out of the room, and then falling downthe chimney, and divers other strange things, many of which he hadhimself seen. Yet he did believe it might be accounted for in a naturalway, especially as the old couple had a wicked, graceless boy livingwith them, who might be able to do the tricks by his great subtlety andcunning. Sir Thomas said it might be the boy; but that Mr. Josselin, who had travelled much hereabout, had told him that the Indians didpractise witchcraft, and that, now they were beaten in war, he fearedthey would betake themselves to it, and so do by their devilish wisdomwhat they could not do by force; and verily this did look much like thebeginning of their enchantments. "That the Devil helpeth the heathen inthis matter, I do myself know for a certainty, " said Caleb Powell; "forwhen I was at Port Royal, many years ago, I did see with mine eyes theburning of an old negro wizard, who had done to death many of thewhites, as well as his own people, by a charm which he brought with himfrom the Guinea, country. " Mr. Hull, the minister of the place, who wasa lodger in the house, said he had heard one Foxwell, a reputableplanter at Saco, lately deceased, tell of a strange affair that didhappen to himself, in a voyage to the eastward. Being in a smallshallop, and overtaken by the night, he lay at anchor a little way offthe shore, fearing to land on account of the Indians. Now, it didchance that they were waked about midnight by a loud voice from theland, crying out, Foxwell, come ashore! three times over; whereupon, looking to see from whence the voice did come, they beheld a greatcircle of fire on the beach, and men and women dancing about it in aring. Presently they vanished, and the fire was quenched also. In themorning he landed, but found no Indians nor English, only brands' endscast up by the waves; and he did believe, unto the day of his death, that it was a piece of Indian sorcery. "There be strange stories toldof Passaconaway, the chief of the River Indians, " he continued. "I haveheard one say who saw it, that once, at the Patucket Falls, this chief, boasting of his skill in magic, picked up a dry skin of a snake, whichhad been cast off, as is the wont of the reptile, and making someviolent motions of his body, and calling upon his Familiar, or Demon, hedid presently cast it down upon the rocks, and it became a great blackserpent, which mine informant saw crawl off into some bushes, verynimble. This Passaconaway was accounted by his tribe to be a verycunning conjurer, and they do believe that he could brew storms, makewater burn, and cause green leaves to grow on trees in the winter; and, in brief, it may be said of him, that he was not a whit behind themagicians of Egypt in the time of Moses. "

"There be women in the cold regions about Norway, " said Caleb Powell, "as I have heard the sailors relate, who do raise storms and sink boatsat their will. "

"It may well be, " quoth Mr. Hull, "since Satan is spoken of as theprince and power of the air. "

"The profane writers of old time do make mention of such sorceries, "said Uncle Rawson. "It is long since I have read any of then; butVirgil and Apulius do, if I mistake not, speak of this power over theelements. "

"Do you not remember, father, " said Rebecca, "some verses of Tibullus, in which he speaketh of a certain enchantress? Some one hath renderedthem thus:--

 "Her with charms drawing stars from heaven, I, And turning the course of rivers, did espy. She parts the earth, and ghosts from sepulchres Draws up, and fetcheth bones away from fires, And at her pleasure scatters clouds in the air, And makes it snow in summer hot and fair. "

Here Sir Thomas laughingly told Rebecca, that he did put more faith inwhat these old writers did tell of the magic arts of the sweet-singingsirens, and of Circe and her enchantments, and of the Illyrian maidens, so wonderful in their beauty, who did kill with their looks such as theywere angry with. 

"It was, perhaps, for some such reason, " said Rebecca, "that, as Mr. Abbott tells me; the General Court many years ago did forbid women tolive on these islands. "

"Pray, how was that?" asked Sir Thomas. 

"You must know, " answered our host, "that in the early settlement ofthe Shoals, vessels coming for fish upon this coast did here make theirharbor, bringing hither many rude sailors of different nations; and theCourt judged that it was not a fitting place for women, and so did bylaw forbid their dwelling on the islands belonging to theMassachusetts. "

He then asked his wife to get the order of the Court concerning her stayon the islands, remarking that he did bring her over from the Maine indespite of the law. So his wife fetched it, and Uncle Rawson read it, it being to this effect, --"That a petition having been sent to theCourt, praying that the law might be put in force in respect to JohnAbbott his wife, the Court do judge it meet, if no further complaintcome against her, that she enjoy the company of her husband. " Whereatwe all laughed heartily. 

Next morning, the fog breaking away early, we set sail for Agamenticus, running along the coast and off the mouth of the Piscataqua River, passing near where my lamented Uncle Edward dwelt, whose fame as aworthy gentleman and magistrate is still living. We had MountAgamenticus before us all day, --a fair stately hill, rising up as itwere from the water. Towards night a smart shower came on, withthunderings and lightnings such as I did never see or hear before; andthe wind blowing and a great rain driving upon us, we were for a time inmuch peril; but, through God's mercy, it suddenly cleared up, and wewent into the Agamenticus River with a bright sun. Before dark we gotto the house of my honored uncle, where, he not being at home, his wifeand daughters did receive us kindly. 

September 10. 

I do find myself truly comfortable at this place. My two cousins, Pollyand Thankful, are both young, unmarried women, very kind and pleasant, and, since my Newbury friends left, I have been learning of them manythings pertaining to housekeeping, albeit I am still but a poor scholar. Uncle is Marshall of the Province, which takes him much from home; andaunt, who is a sickly woman, keeps much in her chamber; so that theaffairs of the household and of the plantation do mainly rest upon theyoung women. If ever I get back to Hilton Grange again, I shall havetales to tell of my baking and brewing, of my pumpkin-pies, and breadmade of the flour of the Indian corn; yea, more, of gathering of thewild fruit in the woods, and cranberries in the meadows, milking thecows, and looking after the pigs and barnyard fowls. Then, too, we havehad many pleasant little journeys by water and on horseback, youngMr. Jordan, of Spurwiuk, who hath asked Polly in marriage, going with us. A right comely youth he is, but a great Churchman, as might be expected, his father being the minister of the Black Point people, and very bittertowards the Massachusetts and its clergy and government. My uncle, whomeddles little with Church' matters, thinks him a hopeful young man, andnot an ill suitor for his daughter. He hath been in England for hislearning, and is accounted a scholar; but, although intended for theChurch service, he inclineth more to the life of a planter, and takeththe charge of his father's plantation at Spurwink. Polly is notbeautiful and graceful like Rebecca Rawson, but she hath freshness ofyouth and health, and a certain good-heartedness of look and voice, anda sweetness of temper which do commend her in the eyes of all. Thankfulis older by some years, and, if not as cheerful and merry as her sister, it needs not be marvelled at, since one whom she loved was killed in theNarragansett country two years ago. O these bloody wars. There be fewin these Eastern Provinces who have not been called to mourn the loss ofsome near and dear friend, so that of a truth the land mourns. 

September 18. 

Meeting much disturbed yesterday, --a ranting Quaker coming in andsitting with his hat on in sermon time, humming and groaning, androcking his body to and fro like one possessed. After a time he got up, and pronounced a great woe upon the priests, calling them many hardnames, and declaring that the whole land stank with their hypocrisy. Uncle spake sharply to him, and bid him hold his peace, but he onlycried out the louder. Some young men then took hold of him, and carriedhim out. They brought him along close to my seat, he hanging like a bagof meal, with his eyes shut, as ill-favored a body as I ever beheld. The magistrates had him smartly whipped this morning, and sent out ofthe jurisdiction. I was told he was no true Quaker; for, although anoisy, brawling hanger-on at their meetings, he is not in fellowshipwith the more sober and discreet of that people. 

Rebecca writes me that the witchcraft in William Morse's house is muchtalked of; and that Caleb Powell hath been complained of as the wizard. Mr. Jordan the elder says he does in no wise marvel at the Devil's powerin the Massachusetts, since at his instigation the rulers and ministersof the Colony have set themselves, against the true and Gospel order ofthe Church, and do slander and persecute all who will not worship attheir conventicles. 

A Mr. Van Valken, a young gentleman of Dutch descent, and the agent ofMr. Edmund Andross, of the Duke of York's Territory, is now in thisplace, being entertained by Mr. Godfrey, the late Deputy-Governor. Hebrought a letter for me from Aunt Rawson, whom he met in Boston. He isa learned, serious man, hath travelled a good deal, and hath an air ofhigh breeding. The minister here thinks him a Papist, and a Jesuit, especially as he hath not called upon him, nor been to the meeting. Hegoes soon to Pemaquid, to take charge of that fort and trading station, which have greatly suffered by the war. 

September 30. 

Yesterday, Cousin Polly and myself, with young Mr. Jordan, went up tothe top of the mountain, which is some miles from the harbor. It is nothard to climb in respect to steepness, but it is so tangled with bushesand vines, that one can scarce break through them. The open places wereyellow with golden-rods, and the pale asters were plenty in the shade, and by the side of the brooks, that with pleasing noise did leap downthe hill. When we got upon the top, which is bare and rocky, we had afair view of the coast, with its many windings and its islands, from theCape Ann, near Boston, to the Cape Elizabeth, near Casco, the Piscataquaand Agamenticus rivers; and away in the northwest we could see the peaksof mountains looking like summer clouds or banks of gray fog. Thesemountains lie many leagues off in the wilderness, and are said to beexceeding lofty. 

But I must needs speak of the color of the woods, which did greatlyamaze me, as unlike anything I had ever seen in old England. As far asmine eyes could look, the mighty wilderness, under the bright westerlysun, and stirred by a gentle wind, did seem like a garden in its seasonof flowering; green, dark, and light, orange, and pale yellow, andcrimson leaves, mingling and interweaving their various hues, in amanner truly wonderful to behold. It is owing, I am told, to the suddenfrosts, which in this climate do smite the vegetation in its full lifeand greenness, so that in the space of a few days the colors of theleaves are marvellously changed and brightened. These colors did remindme of the stains of the windows of old churches, and of rich tapestry. The maples were all aflame with crimson, the walnuts were orange, thehemlocks and cedars were wellnigh black; while the slender birches, withtheir pale yellow leaves, seemed painted upon them as pictures are laidupon a dark ground. I gazed until mine eyes grew weary, and a sense ofthe wonderful beauty of the visible creation, and of God's greatgoodness to the children of men therein, did rest upon me, and I said inmine heart, with one of old: "O Lord! how manifold are thy works inwisdom hast thou made them all, and the earth is full of thy riches. "

October 6. 

Walked out to the iron mines, a great hole digged in the rocks, manyyears ago, for the finding of iron. Aunt, who was then just settled inhousekeeping, told me many wonderful stories of the man who caused it tobe digged, a famous doctor of physic, and, as it seems, a great wizardalso. He bought a patent of land on the south side of the Saco River, four miles by the sea, and eight miles up into the main-land of Mr. Vines, the first owner thereof; and being curious in the seeking andworking of metals, did promise himself great riches in this new country;but his labors came to nothing, although it was said that Satan helpedhim, in the shape of a little blackamoor man-servant, who was hisconstant familiar. My aunt says she did often see him, wandering aboutamong the hills and woods, and along the banks of streams of water, searching for precious ores and stones. He had even been as far as thegreat mountains, beyond Pigwackett, climbing to the top thereof, wherethe snows lie wellnigh all the year, his way thither lying throughdoleful swamps and lonesome woods. He was a great friend of theIndians, who held him to be a more famous conjurer than their ownpowahs; and, indeed, he was learned in all curious and occult arts, having studied at the great College of Padua, and travelled in all partsof the old countries. He sometimes stopped in his travels at my uncle'shouse, the little blackamoor sleeping in the barn, for my aunt fearedhim, as he was reputed to be a wicked imp. Now it so chanced that onone occasion my uncle had lost a cow, and had searched the woods manydays for her to no purpose, when, this noted doctor coming in, hebesought him to find her out by his skill and learning; but he didstraightway deny his power to do so, saying he was but a poor scholar, and lover of science, and had no greater skill in occult matters thanany one might attain to by patient study of natural things. But as mineuncle would in no wise be so put off, and still pressing him to his art, he took a bit of coal, and began to make marks on the floor, in a verycareless way. 

Then he made a black dot in the midst, and bade my uncle take heed thathis cow was lying dead in that spot; and my uncle looking at it, said heCould find her, for he now knew where she was, inasmuch as the doctorhad made a fair map of the country round about for many miles. So heset off, and found the cow lying at the foot of a great tree, closebeside a brook, she being quite dead, which thing did show that he was amagician of no Mean sort. 

My aunt further said, that in those days there was great talk of minesof gold and precious stones, and many people spent all their substancein wandering about over the wilderness country seeking a fortune in thisway. There was one old man, who, she remembered, did roam about seekingfor hidden treasures, until he lost his wits, and might be seen fillinga bag with bright stones and shining sand, muttering and laughing tohimself. He was at last missed for some little time, when he was foundlying dead in the woods, still holding fast in his hands his bag ofpebbles. 

On my querying whether any did find treasures hereabout, my auntlaughed, and said she never heard of but one man who did so, and thatwas old Peter Preble of Saco, who, growing rich faster than hisneighbors, was thought to owe his fortune to the finding of a gold orsilver mine. When he was asked about it, he did by no means deny it, but confessed he had found treasures in the sea as well as on the land;and, pointing to his loaded fish-flakes and his great cornfields, said, "Here are my mines. " So that afterwards, when any one prospered greatlyin his estate, it was said of him by his neighbors, "He has been workingPeter Preble's mine. "

October 8. 

Mr. Van Valken, the Dutchman, had before Mr. Rishworth, one of theCommissioners of the Province, charged with being a Papist and a Jesuit. He bore himself, I am told, haughtily enough, denying the right to callhim in question, and threatening the interference of his friend andruler, Sir Edmund, on account of the wrong done him. 

My uncle and others did testify that he was a civil and courteousgentleman, not intermeddling with matters of a religious nature; andthat they did regard it as a foul shame to the town that he should bemolested in this wise. But the minister put them to silence, bytestifying that he (Van Valken) had given away sundry Papist books; and, one of them being handed to the Court, it proved to be a Latin Treatise, by a famous Papist, intituled, "The Imitation of Christ. " Hereupon, Mr. Godfrey asked if there was aught evil in the book. The minister said itwas written by a monk, and was full of heresy, favoring both the Quakersand the Papists; but Mr. Godfrey told him it had been rendered into theEnglish tongue, and printed some years before in the Massachusetts Bay;and asked him if he did accuse such men as Mr. Cotton and Mr. Wilson, and the pious ministers of their day, of heresy. "Nay, " quoth theminister, "they did see the heresy of the book, and, on their condemningit, the General Court did forbid its sale. " Mr. Rishworth hereupon saidhe did judge the book to be pernicious, and bade the constable burn itin the street, which he did. Mr. Van Valken, after being gravelyadmonished, was set free; and he now saith he is no Papist, but that hewould not have said that much to the Court to save his life, inasmuch ashe did deny its right of arraigning him. Mr. Godfrey says the treatmentwhereof he complains is but a sample of what the people hereaway are tolook for from the Massachusetts jurisdiction. Mr. Jordan, the younger, says his father hath a copy of the condemned book, of the Bostonprinting; and I being curious to see it, he offers to get it for me. 

Like unto Newbury, this is an old town for so new a country. It wasmade a city in 1642, and took the name of Gorgeana, after that of thelord proprietor, Sir Ferdinando Gorges. The government buildings arespacious, but now falling into decay somewhat. There be a few stonehouses, but the major part are framed, or laid up with square logs. Thelook of the land a little out of the town is rude and unpleasing, beingmuch covered with stones and stumps; yet the soil is said to be strong, and the pear and apple do flourish well here; also they raise rye, oats, and barley, and the Indian corn, and abundance of turnips, as well aspumpkins, squashes, and melons. The war with the Indians, and thetroubles and changes of government, have pressed heavily upon this andother towns of the Maine, so that I am told that there be now fewerwealthy planters here than there were twenty years ago, and littleincrease of sheep or horned cattle. The people do seem to me less soberand grave, in their carriage and conversation, than they of theMassachusetts, --hunting, fishing, and fowling more, and working on theland less. Nor do they keep the Lord's Day so strict; many of the youngpeople going abroad, both riding and walking, visiting each other, anddiverting themselves, especially after the meetings are over. 

October 9. 

Goodwife Nowell, an ancient gossip of mine aunt's, looking in thismorning, and talking of the trial of the Dutchman, Van Valken, spakeof the coming into these parts many years ago of one Sir ChristopherGardiner, who was thought to be a Papist. He sought lodgings at herhouse for one whom he called his cousin, a fair young woman, togetherwith her serving girl, who did attend upon her. She tarried about amonth, seeing no one, and going out only towards the evening, accompanied by her servant. She spake little, but did seem melancholyand exceeding mournful, often crying very bitterly. Sir Christophercame only once to see her, and Good wife Nowell saith she well remembersseeing her take leave of him on the roadside, and come back weeping andsobbing dolefully; and that a little time after, bearing that he hadgotten into trouble in Boston as a Papist and man of loose behavior, shesuddenly took her departure in a vessel sailing for the Massachusetts, leaving to her, in pay for house-room and diet, a few coins, a goldcross, and some silk stuffs and kerchiefs. The cross being such as thePapists do worship, and therefore unlawful, her husband did beat it intoa solid wedge privately, and kept it from the knowledge of the ministerand the magistrates. But as the poor man never prospered after, butlost his cattle and grain, and two of their children dying of measlesthe next year, and he himself being sickly, and near his end, he spaketo her of he golden cross, saying that he did believe it was a great sinto keep it, as he had done, and that it had wrought evil upon him, evenas the wedge of gold, and the shekels, and Babylonish garment did uponAchan, who was stoned, with all his house, in the valley of Achor; andthe minister coming in, and being advised concerning it, he judged thatalthough it might be a sin to keep it hidden from a love of riches, itmight, nevertheless, be safely used to support Gospel preaching andordinances, and so did himself take it away. The goodwife says, thatnotwithstanding her husband died soon after, yet herself and householddid from thenceforth begin to amend their estate and condition. 

Seeing me curious concerning this Sir Christopher and his cousin, Goodwife Nowell said there was a little parcel of papers which she foundin her room after the young woman went away, and she thought they mightyet be in some part of her house, though she had not seen them for ascore of years. Thereupon, I begged of her to look for them, which shepromised to do. 

October 14. 

A strange and wonderful providence! Last night there was a greatcompany of the neighbors at my uncle's, to help him in the husking andstripping of the corn, as is the custom in these parts. The barn-floorwas about half-filled with the corn in its dry leaves; the companysitting down on blocks and stools before it, plucking off the leaves, and throwing the yellow ears into baskets. A pleasant and merry eveningwe had; and when the corn was nigh stripped, I went into the house withCousin Thankful, to look to the supper and the laying of the tables, when we heard a loud noise in the barn, and one of the girls camerunning in, crying out, "O Thankful! Thankful! John Gibbins hasappeared to us! His spirit is in the barn!" The plates dropt from mycousin's hand, and, with a faint cry, she fell back against the wall fora little space; when, hearing a man's voice without, speaking her name, she ran to the door, with the look of one beside herself; while I, trembling to see her in such a plight, followed her. There was a clearmoon, and a tall man stood in the light close to the door. 

"John, " said my cousin, in a quick, choking voice, "is it You?"

"Why, Thankful, don't you know me? I'm alive; but the folks in the barnwill have it that I 'm a ghost, " said the man, springing towards her. 

With a great cry of joy and wonder, my cousin caught hold of him: "OJohn, you are alive!"

Then she swooned quite away, and we had a deal to do to bring her tolife again. By this time, the house was full of people, and among therest came John's old mother and his sisters, and we all did weep andlaugh at the same time. As soon as we got a little quieted, John toldus that he had indeed been grievously stunned by the blow of a tomahawk, and been left for dead by his comrades, but that after a time he didcome to his senses, and was able to walk; but, falling into the hands ofthe Indians, he was carried off to the French Canadas, where, by reasonof his great sufferings on the way, he fell sick, and lay for a longtime at the point of death. That when he did get about again, thesavage who lodged him, and who had taken him as a son, in the place ofhis own, slain by the Mohawks, would not let him go home, although hedid confess that the war was at an end. His Indian father, he said, whowas feeble and old, died not long ago, and he had made his way home bythe way of Crown Point and Albany. Supper being ready, we all sat down, and the minister, who had been sent for, offered thanks for themarvellous preserving and restoring of the friend who was lost and nowwas found, as also for the blessings of peace, by reason of which everyman could now sit under his own vine and fig-tree, with none to molestor make him afraid, and for the abundance of the harvest, and thetreasures of the seas, and the spoil of the woods, so that our landmight take up the song of the Psalmist: "The Lord doth build upJerusalem; he gathereth the outcasts of Israel; he healeth the broken inheart. Praise thy God, O Zion I For he strengtheneth the bars of thygates, he maketh peace in thy borders, and filleth thee with the finestof wheat. " Oh! a sweet supper we had, albeit little was eaten, for wewere filled fall of joy, and needed not other food. When the companyhad gone, my dear cousin and her betrothed went a little apart, andtalked of all that had happened unto them during their long separation. I left them sitting lovingly together in the light of the moon, and ameasure of their unspeakable happiness did go with me to my pillow. 

This morning, Thankful came to my bedside to pour out her heart to me. The poor girl is like a new creature. The shade of her heavy sorrow, which did formerly rest upon her countenance, hath passed off like amorning cloud, and her eye hath the light of a deep and quiet joy. 

"I now know, " said she, "what David meant when he said, 'We are likethem that dream; our mouth is filled with laughter, and our tongue withsinging; the Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad!'"

October 18. 

A cloudy wet day. Goody Nowell brought me this morning a little parcelof papers, which she found in the corner of a closet. They are muchstained and smoked, and the mice have eaten them sadly, so that I canmake little of them. They seem to be letters, and some fragments ofwhat did take place in the life of a young woman of quality from theNorth of England. I find frequent mention made of Cousin Christopher, who is also spoken of as a soldier in the wars with the Turks, and as aKnight of Jerusalem. Poorly as I can make out the meaning of thesefragments, I have read enough to make my heart sad, for I gather fromthem that the young woman was in early life betrothed to her cousin, andthat afterwards, owing, as I judge, to the authority of her parents, shedid part with him, he going abroad, and entering into the wars, in thebelief that she was to wed another. But it seemed that the heart of theyoung woman did so plead for her cousin, that she could not be broughtto marry as her family willed her to do; and, after a lapse of years, she, by chance hearing that Sir Christopher had gone to the New England, where he was acting as an agent of his kinsman, Sir Ferdinando Gorges, in respect to the Maine Province, did privately leave her home, and takepassage in a Boston bound ship. How she did make herself known to SirChristopher, I find no mention made; but, he now being a Knight of theOrder of St. John of Jerusalem, and vowed to forego marriage, as is therule of that Order, and being, moreover, as was thought, a priest orJesuit, her great love and constancy could meet with but a sorrowfulreturn on his part. It does appear, however, that he journeyed toMontreal, to take counsel of some of the great Papist priests there, touching the obtaining of a dispensation from the Head of the Church, so that he might marry the young woman; but, getting no encouragementtherein, he went to Boston to find a passage for her to England again. He was there complained of as a Papist; and the coming over of hiscousin being moreover known, a great and cruel scandal did arise fromit, and he was looked upon as a man of evil life, though I find nothingto warrant such a notion, but much to the contrary thereof. What becameof him and the young woman, his cousin, in the end, I do not learn. 

One small parcel did affect me even unto tears. It was a papercontaining some dry, withered leaves of roses, with these words writtenon it "To Anna, from her loving cousin, Christopher Gardiner, being thefirst rose that hath blossomed this season in the College garden. St. Omer's, June, 1630. " I could but think how many tears had been shedover this little token, and how often, through long, weary years, it didcall to mind the sweet joy of early love, of that fairest blossom of thespring of life of which it was an emblem, alike in its beauty and itsspeedy withering. 

There be moreover among the papers sundry verses, which do seem to havebeen made by Sir Christopher; they are in the Latin tongue, andinscribed to his cousin, bearing date many years before the twain werein this country, and when he was yet a scholar at the Jesuits' Collegeof St. Omer's, in France. I find nothing of a later time, save theverses which I herewith copy, over which there are, in a woman'shandwriting, these words:

"VERSES

"Writ by Sir Christopher when a prisoner among the Turks in Moldavia, and expecting death at their hands. 

 1. "Ere down the blue Carpathian hills The sun shall fall again, Farewell this life and all its ills, Farewell to cell and chain

 2. "These prison shades are dark and cold, But darker far than they The shadow of a sorrow old Is on mine heart alway. 

 3. "For since the day when Warkworth wood Closed o'er my steed and I, -- An alien from my name and blood, -- A weed cast out to die;

 4. "When, looking back, in sunset light I saw her turret gleam, And from its window, far and white, Her sign of farewell stream;

 5. "Like one who from some desert shore Does home's green isles descry, And, vainly longing, gazes o'er The waste of wave and sky, 6. "So, from the desert of my fate, Gaze I across the past; And still upon life's dial-plate The shade is backward cast

 7. "I've wandered wide from shore to shore, I've knelt at many a shrine, And bowed me to the rocky floor Where Bethlehem's tapers shine;

 8. "And by the Holy Sepulchre I've pledged my knightly sword, To Christ his blessed Church, and her The Mother of our Lord!

 9. "Oh, vain the vow, and vain the strife How vain do all things seem! My soul is in the past, and life To-day is but a dream. 

 10. "In vain the penance strange and long, And hard for flesh to bear; The prayer, the fasting, and the thong, And sackcloth shirt of hair:

 11. "The eyes of memory will not sleep, Its ears are open still, And vigils with the past they keep Against or with my will. 

 12. "And still the loves and hopes of old Do evermore uprise; I see the flow of locks of gold, The shine of loving eyes. 

 13. "Ah me! upon another's breast Those golden locks recline; I see upon another rest The glance that once was mine!

 14. "'O faithless priest! O perjured knight!' I hear the master cry, 'Shut out the vision from thy sight, Let earth and nature die. '

 15. "'The Church of God is now my spouse, And thou the bridegroom art; Then let the burden of thy vows Keep down thy human heart. '

 16. "In vain!--This heart its grief must know, Till life itself hath ceased, And falls beneath the self-same blow The lover and the priest!

 17. "O pitying Mother! souls of light, And saints and martyrs old, Pray for a weak and sinful knight, A suffering man uphold. 

 18. "Then let the Paynim work his will, Let death unbind my chain, Ere down yon blue Carpathian hill The sunset falls again!"

My heart is heavy with the thought of these unfortunates. Where be theynow? Did the knight forego his false worship and his vows, and so marryhis beloved Anna? Or did they part forever, --she going back to herkinsfolk, and he to his companions of Malta? Did he perish at the handsof the infidels, and does the maiden sleep in the family tomb, under herfather's oaks? Alas! who can tell? I must needs leave them, and theirsorrows and trials, to Him who doth not willingly afflict the childrenof men; and whatsoever may have been their sins and their follies, myprayer is, that they may be forgiven, for they loved much. 

October 20. 

I do purpose to start to-morrow for the Massachusetts, going by boat tothe Piscataqua River, and thence by horse to Newbury. 

Young Mr. Jordan spent yesterday and last night with us. He is a goodlyyouth, of a very sweet and gentle disposition; nor doth he seem to me tolack spirit, although his father (who liketh not his quiet ways and easytemper, so contrary to his own, and who is sorely disappointed in thathe hath chosen the life of a farmer to that of a minister, for which hedid intend him) often accuseth him of that infirmity. Last night we hadmuch pleasant discourse touching the choice he hath made; and when Itold him that perhaps he might have become a great prelate in theChurch, and dwelt in a palace, and made a great lady of our cousin;whereas now I did see no better prospect for him than to raise corn forhis wife to make pudding of, and chop wood to boil her kettle, helaughed right merrily, and said he should never have gotten higher thana curate in a poor parish; and as for Polly, he was sure she was more athome in making puddings than in playing the fine lady. 

"For my part, " he continued, in a serious manner, "I have no notion thatthe pulpit is my place; I like the open fields and sky better than thegrandest churches of man's building; and when the wind sounds in thegreat grove of pines on the hill near our house, I doubt if there be achoir in all England so melodious and solemn. These painted autumnwoods, and this sunset light, and yonder clouds of gold and purple, doseem to me better fitted to provoke devotional thoughts, and to awaken abecoming reverence and love for the Creator, than the stained windowsand lofty arched roofs of old minsters. I do know, indeed, that therebe many of our poor busy planters, who, by reason of ignorance, ill-breeding, and lack of quiet for contemplation, do see nothing in thesethings, save as they do affect their crops of grain or grasses, or theirbodily comforts in one way or another. But to them whose minds havebeen enlightened and made large and free by study and much reflection, and whose eyes have been taught to behold the beauty and fitness ofthings, and whose ears have been so opened that they can hear theravishing harmonies of the creation, the life of a planter is verydesirable even in this wilderness, and notwithstanding the toil andprivation thereunto appertaining. There be fountains gushing up in thehearts of such, sweeter than the springs of water which flow from thehillsides, where they sojourn; and therein, also, flowers of the summerdo blossom all the year long. The brutish man knoweth not this, neitherdoth the fool comprehend it. "

"See, now, " said Polly to me, "how hard he is upon us poor unlearnedfolk. "

"Nay, to tell the truth, " said he, turning towards me, "your cousin hereis to be held not a little accountable for my present inclinations; forshe it was who did confirm and strengthen them. While I had been busyover books, she had been questioning the fields and the woods; and, asif the old fables of the poets were indeed true, she did get answersfrom them, as the priestesses and sibyls did formerly from the rustlingof leaves and trees, and the sounds of running waters; so that she couldteach me much concerning the uses and virtues of plants and shrubs, andof their time of flowering and decay; of the nature and habitudes ofwild animals and birds, the changes of the air, and of the clouds andwinds. My science, so called, had given me little more than the namesof things which to her were familiar and common. It was in her companythat I learned to read nature as a book always open, and full ofdelectable teachings, until my poor school-lore did seem undesirable andtedious, and the very chatter of the noisy blackbirds in the springmeadows more profitable and more pleasing than the angry disputes andthe cavils and subtleties of schoolmen and divines. "

My cousin blushed, and, smiling through her moist eyes at this languageof her beloved friend, said that I must not believe all he said; for, indeed, it was along of his studies of the heathen poets that he hadfirst thought of becoming a farmer. And she asked him to repeat some ofthe verses which he had at his tongue's end. He laughed, and said hedid suppose she meant some lines of Horace, which had been thusEnglished:--

 "I often wished I had a farm, A decent dwelling, snug and warm, A garden, and a spring as pure As crystal flowing by my door, Besides an ancient oaken grove, Where at my leisure I might rove. 

 "The gracious gods, to crown my bliss, Have granted this, and more than this, -- They promise me a modest spouse, To light my hearth and keep my house. I ask no more than, free from strife, To hold these blessings all my life!"

Tam exceedingly pleased, I must say, with the prospect of my cousinPolly. Her suitor is altogether a worthy young man; and, makingallowances for the uncertainty of all human things, she may well lookforward to a happy life with him. I shall leave behind on the morrowdear friends, who were strangers unto me a few short weeks ago, but inwhose joys and sorrows I shall henceforth always partake, so far as I docome to the knowledge of them, whether or no I behold their faces anymore in this life. 

HAMPTON, October 24, 1678. 

I took leave of my good friends at Agamenticus, or York, as it is nowcalled, on the morning after the last date in my journal, going in aboat with my uncle to Piscataqua and Strawberry Bank. It was a cloudyday, and I was chilled through before we got to the mouth of the river;but, as the high wind was much in our favor, we were enabled to make thevoyage in a shorter time than is common. We stopped a little at thehouse of a Mr. Cutts, a man of some note in these parts; but he beingfrom home, and one of the children sick with a quinsy, we went up theriver to Strawberry Bank, where we tarried over night. The woman whoentertained us had lost her husband in the war, and having to see to theordering of matters out of doors in this busy season of harvest, it wasno marvel that she did neglect those within. I made a comfortablesupper of baked pumpkin and milk, and for lodgings I had a straw bed onthe floor, in the dark loft, which was piled wellnigh full with corn-ears, pumpkins, and beans, besides a great deal of old householdtrumpery, wool, and flax, and the skins of animals. Although tired ofmy journey, it was some little time before I could get asleep; and it sofell out, that after the folks of the house were all abed, and still, itbeing, as I judge, nigh midnight, I chanced to touch with my foot apumpkin lying near the bed, which set it a-rolling down the stairs, bumping hard on every stair as it went. Thereupon I heard a great stirbelow, the woman and her three daughters crying out that the house washaunted. Presently she called to me from the foot of the stairs, andasked me if I did hear anything. I laughed so at all this, that it wassome time before I could speak; when I told her I did hear a thumping onthe stairs. "Did it seem to go up, or down?" inquired she, anxiously;and on my telling her that the sound went downward, she set up a sadcry, and they all came fleeing into the corn-loft, the girls bouncingupon my bed, and hiding under the blanket, and the old woman praying andgroaning, and saying that she did believe it was the spirit of her poorhusband. By this time my uncle, who was lying on the settle in the roombelow, hearing the noise, got up, and stumbling over the pumpkin, calledto know what was the matter. Thereupon the woman bade him flee upstairs, for there was a ghost in the kitchen. "Pshaw!" said my uncle, "is that all? I thought to be sure the Indians had come. " As soon as Icould speak for laughing, I told the poor creature what it was that sofrightened her; at which she was greatly vexed; and, after she went tobed again, I could hear her scolding me for playing tricks upon honestpeople. 

We were up betimes in the morning, which was bright and pleasant. Unclesoon found a friend of his, a Mr. Weare, who, with his wife, was to goto his home, at Hampton, that day, and who did kindly engage to see methus far on my way. At about eight of the clock we got upon our horses, the woman riding on a pillion behind her husband. Our way was for somemiles through the woods, --getting at times a view of the sea, andpassing some good, thriving plantations. The woods in this country areby no means like those of England, where the ancient trees are keptclear of bushes and undergrowth, and the sward beneath them is shavenclean and close; whereas here they be much tangled with vines, and thedead boughs and logs which have fallen, from their great age or whichthe storms do beat off, or the winter snows and ices do break down. Here, also, through the thick matting of dead leaves, all manner ofshrubs and bushes, some of them very sweet and fair in their flowering, and others greatly prized for their healing virtues, do grow upplenteously. In the season of them, many wholesome fruits abound in thewoods, such as blue and black berries. We passed many trees, wellloaded with walnuts and oilnuts, seeming all alive, as it were, withsquirrels, striped, red, and gray, the last having a large, spreadingtail, which Mr. Weare told me they do use as a sail, to catch the wind, that it may blow them over rivers and creeks, on pieces of bark, in somesort like that wonderful shell-fish which transformeth itself into aboat, and saileth on the waves of the sea. We also found grapes, bothwhite and purple, hanging down in clusters from the trees, over whichthe vines did run, nigh upon as large as those which the Jews of oldplucked at Eschol. The air was sweet and soft, and there was a clear, but not a hot sun, and the chirping of squirrels, and the noise ofbirds, and the sound of the waves breaking on the beach a littledistance off, and the leaves, at every breath of the wind in the tree-tops, whirling and fluttering down about me, like so many yellow andscarlet-colored birds, made the ride wonderfully pleasant andentertaining. 

Mr. Weare, on the way, told me that there was a great talk of thebewitching of Goodman Morse's house at Newbury, and that the case ofCaleb Powell was still before the Court, he being vehemently suspectedof the mischief. I told him I thought the said Caleb was a vain, talking man, but nowise of a wizard. The thing most against him, Mr. Weare said, was this: that he did deny at the first that the house wastroubled by evil spirits, and even went so far as to doubt that suchthings could be at all. "Yet many wiser men than Caleb Powell do denythe same, " I said. "True, " answered he; "but, as good Mr. Richardson, of Newbury, well saith, there have never lacked Sadducees, who believenot in angel or spirit. " I told the story of the disturbance atStrawberry Bank the night before, and how so silly a thing as a rollingpumpkin did greatly terrify a whole household; and said I did not doubtthis Newbury trouble was something very like it. Hereupon the goodwoman took the matter up, saying she had been over to Newbury, and hadseen with her own eyes, and heard with her own ears; and that she couldsay of it as the Queen of Sheba did of Solomon's glory, "The half hadnot been told her. " She then went on to tell me of many marvellous andtruly unaccountable things, so that I must needs think there is aninvisible hand at work there. 

We reached Hampton about one hour before noon; and riding up the roadtowards the meeting-house, to my great joy, Uncle Rawson, who hadbusiness with the Commissioners then sitting, came out to meet me, bidding me go on to Mr. Weare's house, whither he would follow me whenthe Court did adjourn. He came thither accordingly, to sup and lodge, bringing with him Mr. Pike the elder, one of the magistrates, a grave, venerable man, the father of mine old acquaintance, Robert. Went in theevening with Mistress Weare and her maiden sister to see a young girl inthe neighborhood, said to be possessed, or bewitched; but for mine ownpart I did see nothing in her behavior beyond that of a vicious andspoiled child, delighting in mischief. Her grandmother, with whom shelives, lays the blame on an ill-disposed woman, named Susy Martin, living in Salisbury. Mr. Pike, who dwells near this Martin, saith sheis no witch, although an arrant scold, as was her mother before her; andas for the girl, he saith that a birch twig, smartly laid on, would cureher sooner than the hanging of all the old women in the Colony. Mistress Weare says this is not the first time the Evil Spirit hath beenat work in Hampton; for they did all remember the case of GoodyMarston's child, who was, from as fair and promising an infant as onewould wish to see, changed into the likeness of an ape, to the greatgrief and sore shame of its parents; and, moreover, that when the childdied, there was seen by more than one person a little old woman in ablue cloak, and petticoat of the same color, following on after themourners, and looking very like old Eunice Cole, who was then lockedfast in Ipswich jail, twenty miles off. Uncle Rawson says he has allthe papers in his possession touching the trial of this Cole, and willlet me see them when we get back to Newbury. There was much talk onthis matter, which so disturbed my fancy that I slept but poorly. Thisafternoon we go over to Newbury, where, indeed, I do greatly long to beonce more. 

NEWBURY, October 26. 

Cousin Rebecca gone to Boston, and not expected home until next week. The house seems lonely without her. R. Pike looked in upon us thismorning, telling us that there was a rumor in Boston, brought by way ofthe New York Colony, that a great Papist Plot had been discovered inEngland, and that it did cause much alarm in London and thereabout. R. Pike saith he doubts not the Papists do plot, it being the custom oftheir Jesuits so to do; but that, nevertheless, it would be no strangething if it should be found that the Bishops and the Government did setthis rumor a-going, for the excuse and occasion of some new persecutionsof Independents and godly people. 

October 27. 

Mr. Richardson preached yesterday, from Deuteronomy xviii. 10th, 11th, and 12th verses. An ingenious and solid discourse, in which he showedthat, as among the heathen nations surrounding the Jews, there weresorcerers, charmers, wizards, and consulters with familiar spirits, whowere an abomination to the Lord, so in our time the heathen nations ofIndians had also their powahs and panisees and devilish wizards, againstwhom the warning of the text might well be raised by the watchmen on thewalls of our Zion. He moreover said that the arts of the Adversary werenow made manifest in this place in a most strange and terrible manner, and it did become the duty of all godly persons to pray and wrestle withthe Lord, that they who have made a covenant with hell may be speedilydiscovered in their wickedness, and cut off from the congregation. Anawful discourse, which made many tremble and quake, and did quiteovercome Goodwife Morse, she being a weakly woman, so that she had to becarried out of the meeting. 

It being cold weather, and a damp easterly wind keeping me within doors, I have been looking over with uncle his papers about the Hampton witch, Eunice Cole, who was twice tried for her mischiefs; and I incline tocopy some of them, as I know they will be looked upon as worthy of, record by my dear Cousin Oliver and mine other English friends. I findthat as long ago as the year 1656, this same Eunice Cole was complainedof, and many witnesses did testify to her wickedness. Here followethsome of the evidence on the first trial:--

"The deposition of Goody Marston and Goodwife Susanna Palmer, who, beingsworn, sayeth, that Goodwife Cole saith that she was sure there was awitch in town, and that she knew where he dwelt, and who they are, andthat thirteen years ago she knew one bewitched as Goodwife Marston'schild was, and she was sure that party was bewitched, for it told herso, and it was changed from a man to an ape, as Goody Marston's childwas, and she had prayed this thirteen year that God would discover thatwitch. And further the deponent saith not. 

"Taken on oath before the Commissioners of Hampton, the 8th of the 2ndmo. , 1656. 

 "WILLIAM FULLER. "HENRY DOW. 

 "Vera copea: "THOS. BRADBURY, Recorder. 

 "Sworn before, the 4th of September, 1656, "EDWARD RAWSON. 

"Thomas Philbrick testifieth that Goody Cole told him that if any of hiscalves did eat of her grass, she hoped it would poison them; and it fellout that one never came home again, and the other coming home died soonafter. 

"Henry Morelton's wife and Goodwife Sleeper depose that, talking aboutGoody Cole and Marston's child, they did hear a great scraping againstthe boards of the window, which was not done by a cat or dog. 

"Thomas Coleman's wife testifies that Goody Cole did repeat to anotherthe very words which passed between herself and her husband, in theirown house, in private; and Thomas Ormsby, the constable of Salisbury, testifies, that when he did strip Eunice Cole of her shift, to bewhipped, by the judgment of the Court at Salisbury, he saw a witch'smark under her left breast. Moreover, one Abra. Drake doth depose andsay, that this Goody Cole threatened that the hand of God would beagainst his cattle, and forthwith two of his cattle died, and before theend of summer a third also. "

About five years ago, she was again presented by the Jury for theMassachusetts jurisdiction, for having "entered into a covenant with theDevil, contrary to the peace of our Sovereign Lord the King, his crownand dignity, the laws of God and this jurisdiction"; and much testimonywas brought against her, tending to show her to be an arrant witch. Forit seems she did fix her evil eye upon a little maid named Ann Smith, toentice her to her house, appearing unto her in the shape of a little oldwoman, in a blue coat, a blue cap, and a blue apron, and a whiteneckcloth, and presently changing into a dog, and running up a tree, andthen into an eagle flying in the air, and lastly into a gray cat, speaking to her, and troubling her in a grievous manner. Moreover, theconstable of the town of Hampton testifies, that, having to supply GoodyCole with diet, by order of the town, she being poor, she complainedmuch of him, and after that his wife could bake no bread in the ovenwhich did not speedily rot and become loathsome to the smell, but thesame meal baked at a neighbor's made good and sweet bread; and, further, that one night there did enter into their chamber a smell like that ofthe bewitched bread, only more loathsome, and plainly diabolical in itsnature, so that, as the constable's wife saith, "she was fain to rise inthe night and desire her husband to go to prayer to drive away theDevil; and he, rising, went to prayer, and after that, the smell wasgone, so that they were not troubled with it. " There is also thetestimony of Goodwife Perkins, that she did see, on the Lord's day, while Mr. Dalton was preaching, an imp in the shape of a mouse, fall outthe bosom of Eunice Cole down into her lap. For all which, the CountyCourt, held at Salisbury, did order her to be sent to the Boston Jail, to await her trial at the Court of Assistants. This last Court, I learnfrom mine uncle, did not condemn her, as some of the evidence was old, and not reliable. Uncle saith she was a wicked old woman, who had beenoften whipped and set in the ducking-stool, but whether she was a witchor no, he knows not for a certainty. 

November 8. 

Yesterday, to my great joy, came my beloved Cousin Rebecca from Boston. In her company also came the worthy minister and doctor of medicine, Mr. Russ, formerly of Wells, but now settled at a plantation near Cocheco. He is to make some little tarry in this town, where at this present timemany complain of sickness. Rebecca saith he is one of the excellent ofthe earth, and, like his blessed Lord and Master, delighteth in goingabout doing good, and comforting both soul and body. He hath acheerful, pleasant countenance, and is very active, albeit he is wellstricken in years. He is to preach for Mr. Richardson next Sabhath, andin the mean time lodgeth at my uncle's house. 

This morning the weather is raw and cold, the ground frozen, and somesnow fell before sunrise. A little time ago, Dr. Russ, who was walkingin the garden, came in a great haste to the window where Rebecca and Iwere sitting, bidding us come forth. So, we hurrying out, the good manbade us look whither he pointed, and to! a flock of wild geese, streaming across the sky, in two great files, sending down, as it were, from the clouds, their loud and sonorous trumpetings, "Cronk, cronk, cronk!" These birds, the Doctor saith, do go northward in March tohatch their broods in the great bogs and on the desolate islands, andfly back again when the cold season approacheth. Our worthy guestimproved the occasion to speak of the care and goodness of God towardshis creation, and how these poor birds are enabled, by their properinstincts, to partake of his bounty, and to shun the evils of adverseclimates. He never looked, he said, upon the flight of these fowls, without calling to mind the query which was of old put to Job: "Doth thehawk fly by thy wisdom, and stretch her wings toward the south? Doththe eagle mount up at thy command, and make her nest on high?"

November 12, 1678. 

Dr. Russ preached yesterday, having for his text 1 Corinthians, chap. Xiii. Verse 5: "Charity seeketh not her own. " He began by saying thatmutual benevolence was a law of nature, --no one being a whole ofhimself, nor capable of happily subsisting by himself, but rather amember of the great body of mankind, which must dissolve and perish, unless held together and compacted in its various parts by the force ofthat common and blessed law. The wise Author of our being hath mostmanifestly framed and fitted us for one another, and ordained thatmutual charity shall supply our mutual wants and weaknesses, inasmuchas no man liveth to himself, but is dependent upon others, as others beupon him. It hath been said by ingenious men, that in the outward worldall things do mutually operate upon and affect each other; and that itis by the energy of this principle that our solid earth is supported, and the heavenly bodies are made to keep the rhythmic harmonies of theircreation, and dispense upon us their benign favors; and it may be said, that a law akin to this hath been ordained for the moral world, --mutualbenevolence being the cement and support of families, and churches, andstates, and of the great community and brotherhood of mankind. It dothboth make and preserve all the peace, and harmony, and beauty, whichliken our world in some small degree to heaven, and without it allthings would rush into confusion and discord, and the earth would becomea place of horror and torment, and men become as ravening wolves, devouring and being devoured by one another. 

Charity is the second great commandment, upon which hang all the Lawand the Prophets; and it is like unto the first, and cannot be separatedfrom it; for at the great day of recompense we shall be tried by thesecommandments, and our faithfulness unto the first will be seen andmanifested by our faithfulness unto the last. Yea, by our love of oneanother the Lord will measure our love of himself. "Inasmuch as ye havedone it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it untome. " The grace of benevolence is therefore no small part of ourmeetness for the inheritance of the saints in light; it is the temper ofheaven; the air which the angels breathe; an immortal grace, --for whenfaith which supporteth us here, and hope which is as an anchor to thetossed soul, are no longer needed, charity remaineth forever, for it isnative in heaven, and partaketh of the divine nature, for God himself islove. 

"Oh, my hearers, " said the preacher, his venerable face brightening asif with a light shining from within, "Doth not the Apostle tell us thatskill in tongues and gifts of prophecy, and mysteries of knowledge andfaith, do avail nothing where charity is lacking? What avail greattalents, if they be not devoted to goodness? On the other hand, wherecharity dwelleth, it maketh the weak strong and the uncomely beautiful;it sheddeth a glory about him who possesseth it, like that which didshine on the face of Moses, or that which did sit upon the countenanceof Stephen, when his face was as the face of an angel. Above all, itconformeth us to the Son of God; for through love he came among us, andwent about doing good, adorning his life with miracles of mercy, and atlast laid it down for the salvation of men. What heart can resist hismelting entreaty: 'Even as I have loved you, love ye also one another. '

"We do all, " he continued, "seek after happiness, but too often blindlyand foolishly. The selfish man, striving to live for himself, shuttethhimself up to partake of his single portion, and marvelleth that hecannot enjoy it. The good things he hath laid up for himself fail tocomfort him; and although he hath riches, and wanteth nothing for hissoul of all that he desireth, yet hath he not power to partake thereof. They be as delicates poured upon a mouth shut up, or as meats set upon agrave. But he that hath found charity to be the temper of happiness, which doth put the soul in a natural and easy condition, and openeth itto the solaces of that pure and sublime entertainment which the angelsdo spread for such as obey the will of their Creator, hath discovered amore subtle alchemy than any of which the philosophers did dream, --forhe transmuteth the enjoyments of others into his own, and his large andopen heart partaketh of the satisfaction of all around him. Are thereany here who, in the midst of outward abundance, are sorrowful ofheart, --who go mourning on their way from some inward discomfort, ---Wholong for serenity of spirit, and cheerful happiness, as the servantearnestly desireth the shadow? Let such seek out the poor and forsaken, they who have no homes nor estates, who are the servants of sin and evilhabits, who lack food for both the body and the mind. Thus shall they, in rememering others, forget themselves; the pleasure they afford totheir fellow-creatures shall come back larger and fuller unto their ownbosoms, and they shall know of a truth how much the more blessed it isto give than to receive. In love and compassion, God hath made usdependent upon each other, to the end that by the use of our affectionswe may find true happiness and rest to our souls. He hath united us soclosely with our fellows, that they do make, as it were, a part of ourbeing, and in comforting them we do most assuredly comfort ourselves. Therein doth happiness come to us unawares, and without seeking, as theservant who goeth on his master's errand findeth pleasant fruits andsweet flowers overhanging him, and cool fountains, which he knew not of, gushing up by the wayside, for his solace and refreshing. "

The minister then spake of the duty of charity towards even the sinfuland froward, and of winning them by love and good will, and making eventheir correction and punishment a means of awakening them to repentance, and the calling forth of the fruits meet for it. He also spake of self-styled prophets and enthusiastic people, who went about to cry againstthe Church and the State, and to teach new doctrines, saying thatoftentimes such were sent as a judgment upon the professors of thetruth, who had the form of godliness only, while lacking the powerthereof; and that he did believe that the zeal which had been manifestedagainst such had not always been enough seasoned with charity. It didargue a lack of faith in the truth, to fly into a panic and a great ragewhen it was called in question; and to undertake to become God'savengers, and to torture and burn heretics, was an error of the Papists, which ill became those who had gone out from among them. Moreover, hedid believe that many of these people, who had so troubled the Colony oflate, were at heart simple and honest men and women, whose heads mightindeed be unsound, but who at heart sought to do the will of God; and, of a truth, all could testify to the sobriety and strictness of theirlives, and the justice of their dealings in outward things. He spakealso somewhat of the Indians, who, he said, were our brethren, andconcerning whom we would have an account to give at the Great Day. Thehand of these heathen people had been heavy upon the Colonies, and manyhad suffered from their cruel slaughterings, and the captivity ofthemselves and their families. Here the aged minister wept, for hedoubtless thought of his son, who was slain in the war; and for a timethe words did seem to die in his throat, so greatly was he moved. Buthe went on to say, that since God, in his great and undeserved mercy, had put an end to the war, all present unkindness and hard dealingtowards he poor benighted heathen was an offence in the eyes of Him whorespecteth not the persons of men, but who regardeth with an equal eyethe white and the red men, both being the workmanship of His hands. Itis our blessed privilege to labor to bring them to a knowledge of thetrue God, whom, like the Athenians, some of them do ignorantly worship;while the greater part, as was said of the heathen formerly, do not, out of the good pings that are seen, know Him that is; neither byconsidering the works do they acknowledge the workmaster, but deem thefire or wind, or the swift air, or the circle of the stars, or theviolent water, or the lights of heaven, to be the gods who govern theworld. 

He counselled against mischief-makers and stirrers up of strife, andsuch as do desire occasion against their brethren. He said that it didseem as if many thought to atone for their own sins by their great heatand zeal to discover wickedness in others; and that he feared such mightbe the case now, when there was much talk of the outward and visibledoings of Satan in this place; whereas, the enemy was most to be fearedwho did work privily in the heart; it being a small thing for him tobewitch a dwelling made of wood and stone, who did so easily possess andenchant the precious souls of men. 

Finally, he did exhort all to keep watch over their own spirits, and toremember that what measure they do mete to others shall be measured tothem again; to lay aside all wrath, and malice, and evil-speaking; tobear one another's burdens, and so make this Church in the wildernessbeautiful and comely, an example to the world of that peace and goodwill to men, which the angels sang of at the birth of the blessedRedeemer. 

I have been the more careful to give the substance of Mr. Russ's sermon, as nearly as I can remember it, forasmuch as it hath given offence tosome who did listen to it. Deacon Dole saith it was such a discourse asa Socinian or a Papist might have preached, for the great stress it laidupon works; and Goodwife Matson, a noisy, talking woman, --such an one, no doubt, as those busybodies whom Saint Paul did rebuke forforwardness, and command to keep silence in the church, --says thepreacher did go out of his way to favor Quakers, Indians, and witches;and that the Devil in Goody Morse's house was no doubt well pleased withthe discourse. R. Pike saith he does no wise marvel at her complaints;for when she formerly dwelt at the Marblehead fishing-haven, she was oneof the unruly women who did break into Thompson's garrison-house, andbarbarously put to death two Saugus Indians, who had given themselves upfor safe keeping, and who had never harmed any, which thing was a greatgrief and scandal to all well-disposed people. And yet this woman, whoscrupled not to say that she would as lief stick an Indian as a hog, andwho walked all the way from Marblehead to Boston to see the Quaker womanhung, and did foully jest over her dead body, was allowed to have herway in the church, Mr. Richardson being plainly in fear of her illtongue and wicked temper. 

November 13. 

The Quaker maid, Margaret Brewster, came this morning, inquiring for theDoctor, and desiring him to visit a sick man at her father's house, alittle way up the river; whereupon he took his staff and went with her. On his coming back, he said he must do the Quakers the justice to say, that, with all their heresies and pestilent errors of doctrine, theywere a kind people; for here was Goodman Brewster, whose small estatehad been wellnigh taken from him in fines, and whose wife was a weak, ailing woman, who was at this time kindly lodging and nursing a poor, broken-down soldier, by no means likely to repay him, in any sort. Asfor the sick man, he had been hardly treated in the matter of his wages, while in the war, and fined, moreover, on the ground that he did profanethe holy Sabhath; and though he had sent a petition to the HonorableGovernor and Council, for the remission of the same, it had been to nopurpose. Mr. Russ said he had taken a copy of this petition, with theanswer thereto, intending to make another application himself to theauthorities; for although the petitioner might have been blamable, yethis necessity did go far to excuse it. He gave me the papers to copy, which are as followeth:--

"To the Hon. The Governor and Council, now sitting in Boston, July 30, 1676. The Petition of Jonathan Atherton humbly showeth:

"That your Petitioner, being a soldier under Captain Henchman, duringtheir abode at Concord, Captain H. , under pretence of your petitioner'sprofanation of the Sabhath, had sentenced your petitioner to lose afortnight's pay. Now, the thing that was alleged against yourpetitioner was, that he cut a piece of an old hat to put in his shoes, and emptied three or four cartridges. Now, there was great occasion andnecessity for his so doing, for his shoes were grown so big, by walkingand riding in the wet and dew, that they galled his feet so that he wasnot able to go without pain; and his cartridges, being in a bag, --wereworn with continual travel, so that they lost the powder out, so that itwas dangerous to carry them; besides, he did not know how soon he shouldbe forced to make use of them, therefore he did account it lawful to dothe same; yet, if it be deemed a breach of the Sabhath, he desires to behumbled before the Lord, and begs the pardon of his people for anyoffence done to them thereby. And doth humbly request the favor of yourHonors to consider the premises, and to remit the fine imposed upon him, and to give order to the committee for the war for the payment of hiswages. So shall he forever pray. . . . "

11 Aug. 1676. --"The Council sees no cause to grant the petitioner anyrelief. "

NEWBURY, November 18, 1678. 

Went yesterday to the haunted house with Mr. Russ and Mr. Richardson, Rebecca and Aunt Rawson being in the company. Found the old couple inmuch trouble, sitting by the fire, with the Bible open before them, andGoody Morse weeping. Mr. Richardson asked Goodman Morse to tell what hehad seen and heard in the house; which he did, to this effect: Thatthere had been great and strange noises all about the house, a bangingof doors, and a knocking on the boards, and divers other unaccountablesounds; that he had seen his box of tools turn over of itself, and thetools fly about the room; baskets dropping down the chimney, and thepots hanging over the fire smiting against each other; and, moreover, the irons on the hearth jumping into the pots, and dancing on the table. Goodwife Morse said that her bread-tray would upset of its own accord, and the great woollen wheel would contrive to turn itself upside down, and stand on its end; and that when she and the boy did make the beds, the blankets would fly off as fast as they put them on, all of which theboy did confirm. Mr. Russ asked her if she suspected any one of themischief; whereupon she said she did believe it was done by the seamanPowell, a cunning man, who was wont to boast of his knowledge inastrology and astronomy, having been brought tip under one Norwood, who is said to have studied the Black Art. He had wickedly accused hergrandson of the mischief, whereas the poor boy had himself sufferedgreatly from the Evil Spirit, having been often struck with stones andbits of boards, which were flung upon him, and kept awake o' nights bythe diabolical noises. Goodman Morse here said that Powell, coming in, and pretending to pity their lamentable case, told them that if theywould let him have the boy for a day or two, they should be free of thetrouble while he was with him; and that the boy going with him, they hadno disturbance in that time; which plainly showed that this Powell hadthe wicked spirits in his keeping, and could chain them up, or let themout, as he pleased. 

Now, while she was speaking, we did all hear a great thumping on theceiling, and presently a piece of a board flew across the room againstthe chair on which Mr. Richardson was sitting; whereat the two oldpeople set up a dismal groaning, and the boy cried out, "That's thewitch!" Goodman Morse begged of Mr. Richardson to fall to praying, which he presently did; and, when he had done, he asked Mr. Russ tofollow him, who sat silent and musing a little while, and then prayedthat the worker of the disturbance, whether diabolical or human, mightbe discovered and brought to light. After which there was no noisewhile we staid. Mr. Russ talked awhile with the boy, who did stoutlydeny what Caleb Powell charged upon him, and showed a bruise which hegot from a stick thrown at him in the cow-house. When we went away, Mr. Richardson asked Mr. Russ what he thought of it. Mr. Russ said, the matter had indeed a strange look, but that it might be, nevertheless, the work of the boy, who was a cunning young rogue, andcapable beyond his years. Mr. Richardson said he hoped his brother wasnot about to countenance the scoffers and Sadducees, who had all alongtried to throw doubt upon the matter. For himself, he did look upon itas the work of invisible demons, and an awful proof of the existence ofsuch, and of the deplorable condition of all who fall into their bands;moreover, he did believe that God would overrule this malice of theDevil for good, and make it a means of awakening sinners and lukewarmchurch-members to a sense of their danger. 

Last night, brother Leonard, who is studying with the learned Mr. Ward, the minister at Haverbill, came down, in the company of the worshipfulMajor Saltonstall, who hath business with Esquire Dummer and othermagistrates of this place. Mr. Saltonstall's lady, who is the daughterof Mr. Ward, sent by her husband and my brother a very kind and pressinginvitation to Rebecca and myself to make a visit to her; and Mr. Saltonstall did also urge the matter strongly. So we have agreed to gowith them the day after to-morrow. Now, to say the truth, I am notsorry to leave Newbury at this time, for there is so much talk of thebewitched house, and such dismal stories told of the power of invisibledemons, added to what I did myself hear and see yesterday, that I canscarce sleep for the trouble and disquiet this matter causeth. Dr. Russ, who left this morning, said, in his opinion, the less that wassaid and done about the witchcraft the better for the honor of theChurch and the peace of the neighborhood; for it might, after all, turnout to be nothing more than an "old wife's fable;" but if it were indeedthe work of Satan, it could, he did believe, do no harm to sincere andgodly people, who lived sober and prayerful lives, and kept themselvesbusy in doing good. The doers of the Word seldom fell into the snare ofthe Devil's enchantments. He might be compared to a wild beast, whodareth not to meddle with the traveller who goeth straightway on hiserrand, but lieth in wait for such as loiter and fall asleep by thewayside. He feared, he said, that some in our day were trying to get agreat character to themselves, as the old monks did, by their skill indiscerning witcherafts, and their pretended conflicts with the Devil inhis bodily shape; and thus, while they were seeking to drive the enemyout of their neighbors' houses, they were letting him into their ownhearts, in the guise of deceit and spiritual pride. Repentance andworks meet for it were the best exorcism; and the savor of a good lifedriveth off Evil Spirits, even as that of the fish of Tobit, atEcbatana, drove the Devil from the chamber of the bride into theuttermost parts of Egypt. "For mine own part, " continued the worthyman, "I believe the Lord and Master, whom I seek to serve, is over allthe powers of Satan; therefore do I not heed them, being afraid only ofmine own accusing conscience and the displeasure of God. "

We are all loath to lose the good Doctor's company. An Israeliteindeed! My aunt, who once tarried for a little time with him for thebenefit of his skill in physic, on account of sickness, tells me thathe is as a father to the people about him, advising them in all theirtemporal concerns, and bringing to a timely and wise settlement alltheir disputes, so that there is nowhere a more prosperous and lovingsociety. Although accounted a learned man, he doth not perplex hishearers, as the manner of some is, with dark and difficult questions, and points of doctrine, but insisteth mainly on holiness of life andconversation. It is said that on one occasion, a famous schoolman anddisputer from abroad, coming to talk with him on the matter of thedamnation of infants, did meet him with a cradle on his shoulder, whichhe was carrying to a young mother in his neighborhood, and when the mantold him his errand, --the good Doctor bade him wait until he got back, "for, " said he, "I hold it to be vastly more important to take care ofthe bodies of the little infants which God in his love sends among us, than to seek to pry into the mysteries of His will concerning theirsouls. " He hath no salary or tithe, save the use of a house and farm, choosing rather to labor with his own hands than to burden hisneighbors; yet, such is their love and good-will, that in the busyseasons of the hay and corn harvest, they all join together and help himin his fields, counting it a special privilege to do so. 

November 19. 

Leonard and Mr. Richardson, talking upon the matter of the ministry, disagreed not a little. Mr. Richardson says my brother hath got intohis head many unscriptural notions, and that he will never be of servicein the Church until he casts them off. He saith, moreover, that heshall write to Mr. Ward concerning the errors of the young man. Hiswords troubling me, I straightway discoursed my brother as to the pointsof difference between them; but he, smiling, said it was a long story, but that some time he would tell me the substance of the disagreement, bidding me have no fear in his behalf, as what had displeasured Mr. Richardson had arisen only from tenderness of conscience. 

HAVERHILL, November 22. 

Left Newbury day before yesterday. The day cold, but sunshiny, and notunpleasant. Mr. Saltonstall's business calling him that way, we crossedover the ferry to Salisbury, and after a ride of about an hour, got tothe Falls of the Powow River, where a great stream of water rushesviolently down the rocks, into a dark wooded valley, and from thenceruns into the Merrimac, about a mile to the southeast. A wild sight itwas, the water swollen by the rains of the season, foaming and dashingamong the rocks and the trees, which latter were wellnigh stripped oftheir leaves. Leaving this place, we went on towards Haverhill. Justbefore we entered that town, we overtook an Indian, with a fresh wolf'sskin hanging over his shoulder. As soon as he saw us, he tried to hidehimself in the bushes; but Mr. Saltonstall, riding up to him, asked himif he did expect Haverhill folks to pay him forty shillings for killingthat Amesbury wolf? "How you know Amesbury wolf?" asked the Indian. "Oh, " said Mr. Saltonstall, "you can't cheat us again, Simon. You mustbe honest, and tell no more lies, or we will have you whipped for yourtricks. " The Indian thereupon looked sullen enough, but at length hebegged Mr. Saltonstall not to tell where the wolf was killed, as theAmesbury folks did now refuse to pay for any killed in their town; and, as he was a poor Indian, and his squaw much sick, and could do no work, he did need the money. Mr. Saltonstall told him he would send his wifesome cornmeal and bacon, when he got home, if he would come for them, which he promised to do. 

When we had ridden off, and left him, Mr. Saltonstall told us that thisSimon was a bad Indian, who, when in drink, was apt to be saucy andquarrelsome; but that his wife was quite a decent body for a savage, having long maintained herself and children and her lazy, cross husband, by hard labor in the cornfields and at the fisheries. 

Haverhill lieth very pleasantly on the river-side; the land about hillyand broken, but of good quality. Mr. Saltonstall liveth in a statelyhouse for these parts, not far from that of his father-in-law, thelearned Mr. Ward. Madam, his wife, is a fair, pleasing young woman, not unused to society, their house being frequented by many of the firstpeople hereabout, as well as by strangers of distinction from otherparts of the country. We had hardly got well through our dinner (whichwas abundant and savory, being greatly relished by our hunger), when twogentlemen came riding up to the door; and on their coming in, we foundthem to be the young Doctor Clark, of Boston, a son of the old Newburyphysician, and a Doctor Benjamin Thompson, of Roxbury, who I hear is nota little famous for his ingenious poetry and witty pieces on manysubjects. He was, moreover, an admirer of my cousin Rebecca; and onlearning of her betrothal to Sir Thomas did write a most despairingverse to her, comparing himself to all manner of lonesome things, sothat when Rebecca showed it to me, I told her I did fear the poor younggentleman would put an end to himself, by reason of his great sorrow anddisquiet; whereat she laughed merrily, bidding me not fear, for she knewthe writer too well to be troubled thereat, for he loved nobody so wellas himself, and that under no provocation would he need the Apostle'sadvice to the jailer, "Do thyself no harm. " All which I found to betrue, --he being a gay, witty man, full of a fine conceit of himself, which is not so much to be marvelled at, as he hath been greatlyflattered and sought after. 

The excellent Mr. Ward spent the evening with us; a pleasant, social oldman, much beloved by his people. He told us a great deal about theearly settlement of the town, and of the grievous hardships which manydid undergo the first season, from cold, and hunger, and sickness. Hethought, however, that, with all their ease and worldly prosperity, thepresent generation were less happy and contented than their fathers; forthere was now a great striving to outdo each other in luxury and gayapparel; the Lord's day was not so well kept as formerly; and thedrinking of spirits and frequenting of ordinaries and places of publicresort vastly increased. Mr. Saltonstall said the war did not a littledemoralize the people, and that since the soldiers cause back, there hadbeen much trouble in Church and State. The General Court, two yearsago, had made severe laws against the provoking evils of the times:profaneness, Sabbath-breaking, drinking, and revelling to excess, looseand sinful conduct on the part of the young and unmarried, pride indress, attending Quakers' meetings, and neglect of attendance upondivine worship; but these laws had never been well enforced; and hefeared too many of the magistrates were in the condition of the DutchJustice in the New York Province, who, when a woman was brought beforehim charged with robbing a henroost, did request his brother on thebench to pass sentence upon her; for, said he, if I send her to thewhipping post, the wench will cry out against me as her accomplice. 

Doctor Clark said his friend Doctor Thompson had written a long piece onthis untoward state of our affairs, which he hoped soon to see in print, inasmuch as it did hold the looking-glass to the face of thisgeneration, and shame it by a comparison with that of the generationwhich has passed. Mr. Ward said he was glad to hear of it, and hopedhis ingenious friend had brought the manuscript with him; whereupon, theyoung gentleman said he did take it along with him, in the hope tobenefit it by Mr. Ward's judgment and learning, and with the leave ofthe company he would read the Prologue thereof. To which we allagreeing, he read what follows, which I copy from his book:--

 "The times wherein old PUMPKIN was a saint, When men fared hardly, yet without complaint, On vilest cates; the dainty Indian maize Was eat with clam-shells out of wooden trays, Under thatched roofs, without the cry of rent, And the best sauce to every dish, content, -- These golden times (too fortunate to hold) Were quickly sinned away for love of gold. 'T was then among the bushes, not the street, If one in place did an inferior meet, 'Good morrow, brother! Is there aught you want? Take freely of me what I have, you ha'n't. ' Plain Tom and Dick would pass as current now, As ever since 'Your servant, sir, ' and bow. Deep-skirted doublets, puritanic capes, Which now would render men like upright apes, Was comelier wear, our wise old fathers thought, Than the cast fashions from all Europe brought. 'T was in those days an honest grace would hold Till an hot pudding grew at heart a-cold, And men had better stomachs for religion, Than now for capon, turkey-cock, or pigeon; When honest sisters met to pray, not prate, About their own and not their neighbors' state, During Plain Dealing's reign, that worthy stud Of the ancient planter-race before the Flood. 

 "These times were good: merchants cared not a rush For other fare than jonakin and mush. And though men fared and lodged very hard, Yet innocence was better than a guard. 'T was long before spiders and worms had drawn Their dingy webs, or hid with cheating lawn New England's beauties, which still seemed to me Illustrious in their own simplicity. 'T was ere the neighboring Virgin Land had broke The hogsheads of her worse than hellish smoke; 'T was ere the Islands sent their presents in, Which but to use was counted next to sin; 'T was ere a barge had made so rich a freight As chocolate, dust-gold, and bits of eight; Ere wines from France and Muscovado too, Without the which the drink will scarcely do. From Western Isles, ere fruits and delicacies Did rot maids' teeth and spoil their handsome faces, Or ere these times did chance the noise of war Was from our tines and hearts removed far, Then had the churches rest: as yet, the coals Were covered up in most contentious souls; Freeness in judgment, union in affection, Dear love, sound truth, they were our grand protection. Then were the times in which our Councils sat, These grave prognostics of our future state; If these be longer lived, our hopes increase, These wars will usher in a longer peace; But if New England's love die in its youth, The grave will open next for blessed truth. 

 "This theme is out of date; the peaceful hours When castles needed not, but pleasant bowers, Not ink, but blood and tears now serve the turn To draw the figure of New England's urn. New England's hour of passion is at hand, No power except Divine can it withstand. Scarce hath her glass of fifty years run out, Than her old prosperous steeds turn heads about; Tracking themselves back to their poor beginnings, To fear and fare upon the fruits of sinnings. So that this mirror of the Christian world Lies burnt to heaps in part, her streamers furled. Grief sighs, joys flee, and dismal fears surprise, Not dastard spirits only, but the wise. 

 "Thus have the fairest hopes deceived the eye Of the big-swoln expectants standing by So the proud ship, after a little turn, Sinks in the ocean's arms to find its urn: Thus hath the heir to many thousands born Been in an instant from the mother torn; Even thus thy infant cheek begins to pale, And thy supporters through great losses fail. This is the Prologue to thy future woe-- The Epilogue no mortal yet can know. "

Mr. Ward was much pleased with the verses, saying that they would dohonor to any writer. 

Rebecca thought the lines concerning the long grace at meat happy, andsaid she was minded of the wife of the good Mr. Ames, who prided herselfon her skill in housewifery and cookery; and on one occasion, seeing anice pair of roasted fowls growing cold under her husband's long grace, was fain to jog his elbow, telling him that if he did not stop soon, shefeared they would have small occasion for thankfulness for their spoileddinner. Mr. Ward said he was once travelling in company with Mr. Phillips of Rowley, and Mr. Parker of Newbury, and stopping all night ata poor house near the sea-shore, the woman thereof brought into the roomfor their supper a great wooden tray, full of something nicely coveredup by a clean linen cloth. It proved to be a dish of boiled clams, intheir shells; and as Mr. Phillips was remarkable in his thanks for aptlyciting passages of Scripture with regard to whatsoever food was upon thetable before him, Mr. Parker and himself did greatly wonder what hecould say of this dish; but he, nothing put to it, offered thanks thatnow, as formerly, the Lord's people were enabled to partake of theabundance of the seas, and treasures hid in the sands. "Whereat, " saidMr. Ward, "we did find it so hard to keep grave countenances, that ourgood hostess was not a little disturbed, thinking we were mocking herpoor fare; and we were fain to tell her the cause of our mirth, whichwas indeed ill-timed. "

Doctor Clark spake of Mr. Ward's father, the renowned minister atIpswich, whose book of "The Simple Cobbler of Agawam, " was much admired. Mr. Ward said that some of the witty turns therein did give much offenceat the time of its printing, but that his father could never spoil hisjoke for the sake of friends, albeit he had no malice towards any one, and was always ready to do a good, even to his enemies. He once evengreatly angered his old and true friend, Mr. Cotton of Boston. "It fellout in this wise, " said Mr. Ward. "When the arch-heretic and fanaticGorton and his crew were in prison in Boston, my father and Mr. Cottonwent to the jail window to see them; and after some little discoursewith them, he told Gorton that if he had done or said anything which hecould with a clear conscience renounce, he would do well to recant thesame, and the Court, he doubted not, would be merciful; adding, that itwould be no disparagement for him to do so, as the best of men wereliable to err: as, for instance, his brother Cotton here generally didpreach that one year which he publicly repented of before hiscongregation the next year. "

Mr. Saltonstall told another story of old Mr. Ward, which made us allmerry. There was a noted Antinomian, of Boston, who used to go muchabout the country disputing with all who would listen to him, who, coming to Ipswich one night, with another of his sort with him, wouldfain have tarried with Mr. Ward; but he told them that he had scarce hayand grain enough in his barn for the use of his own cattle, and thatthey would do well to take their horses to the ordinary, where theywould be better cared for. But the fellow, not wishing to be so putoff, bade him consider what the Scripture said touching the keeping ofstrangers, as some had thereby entertained angels unawares. "True, my friend, " said Mr. Ward, "but we don't read that the angels camea-horseback!"

The evening passed away in a very pleasant and agreeable manner. We hadrare nuts, and apples, and pears, of Mr. Saltonstall's raising, wonderfully sweet and luscious. Our young gentlemen, moreover, seemedto think the wine and ale of good quality; for, long after we had goneto our beds, we could hear them talking and laughing in the great hallbelow, notwithstanding that Mr. Ward, when he took leave, bade DoctorThompson take heed to his own hint concerning the:

 "Wines from France and Muscovado too;"

to which the young wit replied, that there was Scripture warrant for hisdrinking, inasmuch as the command was, to give wine to those that be ofheavy heart. Let him drink, and forget his poverty, and remember hismisery no more; and, for his part, he had been little better thanmiserable ever since he heard of Rebecca's betrothal. A light, carelessman, but of good parts, and as brave a talker as I have heard since Ihave been in the Colony. 

November 24. 

Mr. Ward's negro girl Dinah came for me yesterday, saying that hermaster did desire to see me. So, marvelling greatly what he wanted, I went with her, and was shown into the study. Mr. Ward said he hadsent for me to have some discourse in regard to my brother Leonard, whohe did greatly fear was likely to make shipwreck of the faith; and thatMr. Richardson had written him concerning the young man, telling himthat he did visit the Quakers when at Newbury, and even went over totheir conventicle at Hampton, on the Lord's day, in the company of theBrewster family, noted Quakers and ranters. He had the last evening hadsome words with the lad, but with small satisfaction. Being sorelytroubled by this account, I begged him to send for Leonard, which hedid, and, when he did come into the room, Mr. Ward told him that hemight see by the plight of his sister (for I was in tears) what a greatgrief he was like to bring upon his family and friends, by running outinto heresies. Leonard said he was sorry to give trouble to any one, least of all to his beloved sister; that he did indeed go to theQuakers' meeting, on one occasion, to judge for himself concerning thispeople, who are everywhere spoken against; and that he must say he didhear or see nothing in their worship contrary to the Gospel. There was, indeed, but little said, but the words were savory and Scriptural. "Butthey deny the Scriptures, " cried Mr. Ward, "and set above them what theycall the Light, which I take to be nothing better than their ownimaginations. " "I do not so understand them, " said Leonard; "I thinkthey do diligently study the Scripture, and seek to conform their livesto its teachings; and for the Light of which they speak, it is borne--witness to not only in the Bible, but by the early fathers and devoutmen of all ages. I do not go to excuse the Quakers in all that theyhave done, nor to defend all their doctrines and practices, many ofwhich I see no warrant in Scripture for, but believe to be perniciousand contrary to good order; yet I must need look upon them as a sober, earnest-seeking people, who do verily think themselves persecuted forrighteousness' sake. " Hereupon Mr. Ward struck his cane smartly on thefloor, and, looking severely at my brother, bade him beware how he didjustify these canting and false pretenders. "They are, " he said, "either sad knaves, or silly enthusiasts, --they pretend to DivineRevelation, and set up as prophets; like the Rosicrucians and Gnostics, they profess to a knowledge of things beyond what plain Scripturereveals. The best that can be said of them is, that they are befooledby their own fancies, and the victims of distempered brains and illhabits of body. Then their ranting against the Gospel order of theChurch, and against the ministers of Christ, calling us all manner ofhirelings, wolves, and hypocrites; belching out their blasphemiesagainst the ordinances and the wholesome laws of the land for thesupport of a sound ministry and faith, do altogether justify the sharptreatment they have met with; so that, if they have not all lost theirears, they may thank our clemency rather than their own worthiness towear them. I do not judge of them ignorantly, for I have dipped intotheir books, where, what is not downright blasphemy and heresy, ismystical and cabalistic. They affect a cloudy and canting style, as ifto keep themselves from being confuted by keeping themselves from beingunderstood. Their divinity is a riddle, a piece of black art; theScripture they turn into allegory and parabolical conceits, and thusobscure and debauch the truth. Argue with them, and they fall todivining; reason with them, and they straightway prophesy. Then theirsilent meetings, so called, in the which they do pretend to justifythemselves by quoting Revelation, 'There was silence in heaven;' whereasthey might find other authorities, --as, for instance in Psalm 115, wherehell is expressed by silence, and in the Gospel, where we read of a dumbdevil. As to persecuting these people, we have been quite toocharitable to them, especially of late, and they are getting bolder inconsequence; as, for example, the behavior of that shameless young wenchin Newbury, who disturbed Brother Richardson's church with her anticsnot long ago. She should have been tied to the cart-tail and whippedall the way to Rhode Island. "

"Do you speak of Margaret Brewster?" asked Leonard, his face alla-crimson, and his lip quivering. "Let me tell you, Mr. Ward, that yougreatly wrong one of Christ's little ones. " And he called me to testifyto her goodness and charity, and the blamelessness of her life. 

"Don't talk to me of the blameless life of such an one, " said Mr. Ward, in aloud, angry tone; "it is the Devil's varnish for heresy. TheManichees, and the Pelagians, and Socinians, all did profess greatstrictness and sanctity of life; and there never was heretic yet, fromthey whom the Apostle makes mention of, who fasted from meats, givingheed to seducing spirits and doctrines of devils, down to the Quakers, Dippers, and New Lights of this generation who have not, like theirfathers of old, put on the shape of Angels of Light, and lived severeand over-strict lives. I grant that the Quakers are honest in theirdealings, making great show of sobriety and self-denial, and abhor thepractice of scandalous vices, being temperate, chaste, and grave intheir behavior, and thereby they win upon unstable souls, and makeplausible their damnable heresies. I warn you, young man, to take heedof them, lest you be ensnared and drawn into their way. "

My brother was about to reply, but, seeing Mr. Ward so moved and vexed, I begged of him to say no more; and, company coming in, the matter wasdropped, to my great joy. I went back much troubled and disquieted formy brother's sake. 

November 28, 1678. 

Leonard hath left Mr. Ward, and given up the thought of fitting for theministry. This will be a heavy blow for his friends in England. Hetells me that Mr. Ward spake angrily to him after I left, but that, whenhe come to part with him, the old man wept over him, and prayed that theLord would enable him to see his error, and preserve him from theconsequences thereof. I have discoursed with my brother touching hisfuture course of life, and he tells me he shall start in a day or two tovisit the Rhode Island, where he hath an acquaintance, one Mr. Easton, formerly of Newbury. His design is to purchase a small plantationthere, and betake himself to fanning, of the which he hath some littleknowledge, believing that he can be as happy and do as much good to hisfellow-creatures in that employment as in any other. 

Here Cousin Rebecca, who was by, looking up with that sweet archnesswhich doth so well become her, queried with him whether he did think tolive alone on his plantation like a hermit, or whether he had not hiseye upon a certain fair-haired young woman, as suitable to keep himcompany. Whereat he seemed a little disturbed; but she bade him notthink her against his prospect, for she had known for some weeks that hedid favor the Young Brewster woman, who, setting aside her enthusiasticnotions of religion, was worthy of any man's love; and turning to me, she begged of me to look at the matter as she did, and not set myselfagainst the choice of my brother, which, in all respects save the oneshe had spoken of, she could approve with all her heart. Leonard goesback with us o-morrow to Newbury, so I shall have a chance of knowinghow matters stand with him. The thought of his marrying a Quaker wouldhave been exceedingly grievous to me a few months ago; but this MargaretBrewster hath greatly won upon me by her beauty, gentleness, and hergoodness of heart; and, besides, I know that she is much esteemed by thebest sort of people in her neighborhood. 

Doctor Thompson left this morning, but his friend Doctor Clark goes withus to Newbury. Rebecca found in her work-basket, after he had gone, some verses, which amused us not a little, and which I here copy. 

 "Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers, And gone the Summer's pomp and show And Autumn in his leafless bowers Is waiting for the Winter's snow. 

 "I said to Earth, so cold and gray, 'An emblem of myself thou art:' 'Not so, ' the earth did seem to say, 'For Spring shall warm my frozen heart. 

 "'I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams Of warmer sun and softer rain, And wait to hear the sound of streams And songs of merry birds again. 

 "'But thou, from whom the Spring hath gone, For whom the flowers no longer blow, Who standest, blighted and forlorn, Like Autumn waiting for the snow. 

 "'No hope is thine of sunnier hours, Thy winter shall no more depart; No Spring revive thy wasted flowers, Nor Summer warm thy frozen heart. '"

Doctor Clark, on hearing this read, told Rebecca she need not take itsmelancholy to heart, for he could assure her that there was no danger ofhis friend's acting on her account the sad part of the lover in the oldsong of Barbara Allen. As a medical man, he could safely warrant him tobe heart-whole; and the company could bear him witness, that the poethimself seemed very little like the despairing one depicted in hisverses. 

The Indian Simon calling this forenoon, Rebecca and I went into thekitchen to see him. He looks fierce and cruel, but he thanked MadainSaltonstall for her gifts of food and clothing, and, giving her inreturn a little basket wrought of curiously stained stuff, he told herthat if there were more like her, his heart would not be so bitter. 

I ventured to ask him why he felt thus; whereupon he drew himself up, and, sweeping about him with his arms, said: "This all Indian land. TheGreat Spirit made it for Indians. He made the great river for them, andbirch-trees to make their canoes of. All the fish in the ponds, and allthe pigeons and deer and squirrels he made for Indians. He made landfor white men too; but they left it, and took Indian's land, because itwas better. My father was a chief; he had plenty meat and corn in hiswigwam. But Simon is a dog. When they fight Eastern Indians, I try tolive in peace; but they say, Simon, you rogue, you no go into woods tohunt; you keep at home. So when squaw like to starve, I shoot one oftheir hogs, and then they whip me. Look!" And he lifted the blanketoff from his shoulder, and showed the marks of the whip thereon. 

"Well, well, Simon, " said Mr. Saltonstall, "you do know that our peoplethen were much frightened by what the Indians had done in other places, and they feared you would join them. But it is all over now, and youhave all the woods to yourself to range in; and if you would let alonestrong drink, you would do well. "

"Who makes strong drink?" asked the Indian, with an ugly look. "Whotakes the Indian's beaver-skins and corn for it? Tell me that, Captain. "

So saying, he put his pack on his back, and calling a poor, lean dog, that was poking his hungry nose into Madam's pots and kettles, he wentoff talking to himself. 

NEWBURY, December 6. 

We got back from Haverhill last night, Doctor Clark accompanying us, he having business in Newbury. When we came up to the door, Effie metus with a shy look, and told her mistress that Mrs. Prudence (uncle'sspinster cousin) had got a braw auld wooer in the east room; and surelyenough we found our ancient kinswoman and Deacon Dole, a widower ofthree years' standing, sitting at the supper-table. We did take notethat the Deacon had on a stiff new coat; and as for Aunt Prudence (forso she was called in the family), she was clad in her bravest, with afine cap on her head. They both did seem a little disturbed by ourcoming, but plates being laid for us, we sat down with them. Aftersupper, Rebecca had a fire kindled in uncle's room, whither we didbetake ourselves; and being very merry at the thought of Deacon Dole'svisit, it chanced to enter our silly heads that it would do no harm tostop the clock in the entry a while, and let the two old folks make along evening of it. After a time Rebecca made an errand into the eastroom, to see how matters went, and coming back, said the twain weresitting on the same settle by the fire, smoking--a pipe of tobaccotogether. Moreover, our foolish trick did work well, for Aunt Prudencecoming at last into the entry to look at the clock, we heard her tellthe Deacon that it was only a little past eight, when in truth it wasnear ten. Not long after there was a loud knocking at the door, and asEffie had gone to bed, Rebecca did open it, when, whom did she see butthe Widow Hepsy Barnet, Deacon Dole's housekeeper, and with her theDeacon's son, Moses, and the minister, Mr. Richardson, with a lantern inhis hand! "Dear me, " says the woman, looking very dismal, "have youseen anything of the Deacon?" By this time we were all at the door, theDeacon and Aunt Prudence among the rest, when Moses, like a great loutas he is, pulled off his woollen cap and tossed it up in the air, cryingout, "There, Goody Barnet, did n't I tell ye so! There's father now!"And the widow, holding up both her hands, said she never did in all herborn days see the like of this, a man of the Deacon's years and stationstealing away without letting folks know where to look for him; and thenturning upon poor Mrs. Prudence, she said she had long known that somefolks were sly and artful, and she was glad Mr. Richardson was here tosee for himself. Whereupon Aunt Prudence, in much amazement, said, itwas scarce past eight, as they might see by the clock; but Mr. Richardson, who could scarce keep a grave face, pulling out his watch, said it was past ten, and bade her note that the clock was stopped. Hetold Deacon Dole, that seeing Goody Barnet so troubled about him, he hadoffered to go along with her a little way, and that he was glad to findthat the fault was in the clock. The Deacon, who had stood like one ina maze, here clapped on his hat, and snatched up his cane and went off, looking as guilty as if he had been caught a-housebreaking, the widowscolding him all the way. Now, as we could scarce refrain fromlaughing, Mr. Richardson, who tarried a moment, shook his head atRebecca, telling her he feared by her looks she was a naughty girl, taking pleasure in other folk's trouble. We did both feel ashamed andsorry enough for our mischief, after it was all over; and poor MistressPrudence is so sorely mortified, that she told Rebecca this morning notto mention Deacon Dole's name to her again, and that Widow Hepsy iswelcome to him, since he is so mean-spirited as to let her rule himas she doth. 

December 8. 

Yesterday I did, at my brother's wish, go with him to Goodman Brewster'shouse, where I was kindly welcomed by the young woman and her parents. After some little tarry, I found means to speak privily with hertouching my brother's regard for her, and to assure her that I did trulyand freely consent thereunto; while I did hope, for his sake as well asher own, that she would, as far as might be consistent with her notionof duty, forbear to do or say anything which might bring her intotrouble with the magistrates and those in authority. She said that shewas very grateful for my kindness towards her, and that what I said wasa great relief to her mind; for when she first met my brother, she didfear that his kindness and sympathy would prove a snare to her; and thatshe had been sorely troubled, moreover, lest by encouraging him sheshould not only do violence to her own conscience, but also bringtrouble and disgrace upon one who was, she did confess, dear unto her, not only as respects outward things, but by reason of what she diddiscern of an innocent and pure inward life in his conversation anddeportment. She had earnestly sought to conform her conduct in this, as in all things, to the mind of her Divine Master; and, as respected mycaution touching those in authority, she knew not what the Lord mightrequire of her, and she could only leave all in His hands, beingresigned even to deny herself of the sweet solace of human affection, and to take up the cross daily, if He did so will. "Thy visit and kindwords, " she continued, "have removed a great weight from me. The wayseems more open before me. The Lord bless thee for thy kindness. "

She said this with so much tenderness of spirit, and withal with such anengaging sweetness of look and voice, that I was greatly moved, and, pressing her in my arms, I kissed her, and bade her look upon me as herdear sister. 

The family pressing us, we stayed to supper, and sitting down in silenceat the table, I was about to speak to my brother, but he made a sign tocheck me, and I held my peace, although not then knowing wherefore. Sowe all sat still for a little space of time, which I afterwards found isthe manner of these people at their meat. The supper was plain, but ofexceeding good relish: warm rye loaves with butter and honey, and bowlsof sweet milk, and roasted apples. Goodwife Brewster, who appeared muchabove her husband (who is a plain, unlearned man) in her carriage anddiscourse, talked with us very pleasantly, and Margaret seemed to growmore at ease, the longer we stayed. 

On our way back we met Robert Pike, who hath returned from the eastward. He said Rebecca Rawson had just told him how matters stood with Leonard, and that he was greatly rejoiced to hear of his prospect. He had knownMargaret Brewster from a child, and there was scarce her equal in theseparts for sweetness of temper and loveliness of person and mind; and, were she ten times a Quaker, he was free to say this in her behalf. I am more and more confirmed in the belief that Leonard hath not doneunwisely in this matter, and do cheerfully accept of his choice, believing it to be in the ordering of Him who doeth all things well. 

BOSTON, December 31. 

It wanteth but two hours to the midnight, and the end of the year. Thefamily are all abed, and I can hear nothing save the crackling of thefire now burning low on the hearth, and the ticking of the clock in thecorner. The weather being sharp with frost, there is no one stirring inthe streets, and the trees and bushes in the yard, being stripped oftheir leaves, look dismal enough above the white snow with which theground is covered, so that one would think that all things must needsdie with the year. But, from my window, I can see the stars shiningwith marvellous brightness in the clear sky, and the sight thereof dothassure me that God still watcheth over the work of His hands, and thatin due season He will cause the flowers to appear on the earth, and thetime of singing-birds to come, and-the voice of the turtle to be heardin the land. And I have been led, while alone here, to think of themany mercies which have been vouchsafed unto me in my travels andsojourn in a strange land, and a sense of the wonderful goodness of Godtowards me, and they who are dear unto me, both here and elsewhere, hathfilled mine heart with thankfulness; and as of old time they did use toset up stones of memorial on the banks of deliverance, so would I atthis season set up, as it were, in my poor journal, a like pillar ofthanksgiving to the praise and honor of Him who hath so kindly cared forHis unworthy handmaid. 

January 16, 1679. 

Have just got back from Reading, a small town ten or twelve miles out ofBoston, whither I went along with mine Uncle and Aunt Rawson, and manyothers, to attend the ordination of Mr. Brock, in the place of theworthy Mr. Hough, lately deceased. The weather being clear, and thetravelling good, a great concourse of people got together. We stoppedat the ordinary, which we found wellnigh filled; but uncle, by dint ofscolding and coaxing, got a small room for aunt and myself, with a cleanbed, which was more than we had reason to hope for. The ministers, ofwhom there were many and of note (Mr. Mather and Mr. Wilson of Boston, and Mr. Corbet of Ipswich, being among them), were already together atthe house of one of the deacons. It was quite a sight the next morningto see the people coming in from the neighboring towns, and to notetheir odd dresses, which were indeed of all kinds, from silks andvelvets to coarsest homespun woollens, dyed with hemlock, or oil-nutbark, and fitting so ill that, if they had all cast their clothes into aheap, and then each snatched up whatsoever coat or gown came to hand, they could not have suited worse. Yet they were all clean and tidy, andthe young people especially did look exceeding happy, it being with thema famous holiday. The young men came with their sisters or theirsweethearts riding behind them on pillions; and the ordinary and all thehouses about were soon noisy enough with merry talking and laughter. The meeting-house was filled long before the services did begin. Therewas a goodly show of honorable people in the forward seats, and amongthem that venerable magistrate, Simon Broadstreet, who acteth as Deputy-Governor since the death of Mr. Leverett; the Honorable Thomas Danforth;Mr. William Brown of Salem; and others of note, whose names I do notremember, all with their wives and families, bravely apparelled. TheSermon was preached by Mr. Higginson of Salem, the Charge was given byMr. Phillips of Rowley, and the Right Hand of Fellowship by Mr. Corbetof Ipswich. When we got back to our inn, we found a great crowd ofyoung roysterers in the yard, who had got Mr. Corbet's negro man, Sam, on the top of a barrel, with a bit of leather, cut in the shape ofspectacles, astride of his nose, where he stood swinging his arms, andpreaching, after the manner of his master, mimicking his tone and mannervery shrewdly, to the great delight and merriment of the young rogueswho did set him on. We stood in the door a while to hear him, and, tosay the truth, he did wonderfully well, being a fellow of good parts andmuch humor. But, just as he was describing the Devil, and telling hisgrinning hearers that he was not like a black but a white man, old Mr. Corbet, who had come up behind him, gave him a smart blow with his cane, whereupon Sam cried, --

"Dare he be now!" at which all fell to laughing. 

"You rascal, " said Mr. Corbet, "get down with you; I'll teach you tocompare me to the Devil. "

"Beg pardon, massa!" said Sam, getting down from his pulpit, and rubbinghis shoulder. "How you think Sam know you? He see nothing; he onlyfeel de lick. "

"You shall feel it again, " said his master, striking at him a greatblow, which Sam dodged. 

"Nay, Brother Corbet, " said Mr. Phillips, who was with him, "Sam'smistake was not so strange after all; for if Satan can transform himselfinto an Angel of Light, why not into the likeness of such unworthyministers as you and I. "

This put the old minister in a good humor, and Sam escaped withoutfarther punishment than a grave admonition to behave more reverently forthe future. Mr. Phillips, seeing some of his young people in the crowd, did sharply rebuke them for their folly, at which they were not a littleabashed. 

The inn being greatly crowded, and not a little noisy, we were notunwilling to accept the invitation of the provider of the ordination-dinner, to sit down with the honored guests thereat. I waited, withothers of the younger class, until the ministers and elderly people hadmade an end of their meal. Among those who sat at the second table wasa pert, talkative lad, a son of Mr. Increase Mather, who, although butsixteen years of age, graduated at the Harvard College last year, andhath the reputation of good scholarship and lively wit. He told somerare stories concerning Mr. Brock, the minister ordained, and of themarvellous efficacy of his prayers. He mentioned, among other things, that, when Mr. Brock lived on the Isles of Shoals, he persuaded thepeople there to agree to spend one day in a month, beside the Sabhath, in religious worship. Now, it so chanced that there was on one occasiona long season of stormy, rough weather, unsuitable for fishing; and whenthe day came which had been set apart, it proved so exceeding fair, thathis congregation did desire him to put off the meeting, that they mightfish. Mr. Brock tried in vain to reason with them, and show the duty ofseeking first the kingdom of God, when all other things should be addedthereto, but the major part determined to leave the meeting. Thereuponhe cried out after them: "As for you who will neglect God's worship, go, and catch fish if you can. " There were thirty men who thus left, andonly five remained behind, and to these he said: "I will pray the Lordfor you, that you may catch fish till you are weary. " And it so fellout, that the thirty toiled all day, and caught only four fishes; whilethe five who stayed at meeting went out, after the worship was over, andcaught five hundred; and ever afterwards the fishermen attended all themeetings of the minister's appointing. At another time, a poor man, whohad made himself useful in carrying people to meeting in his boat, lostthe same in a storm, and came lamenting his loss to Mr. Brock. "Gohome, honest man, " said the minister. "I will mention your case to theLord: you will have your boat again to-morrow. " And surely enough, thevery next day, a vessel pulling up its anchor near where the boat sank, drew up the poor man's boat, safe and whole, after it. 

We went back to Boston after dinner, but it was somewhat of a cold ride, especially after the night set in, a keen northerly wind blowing ingreat gusts, which did wellnigh benumb us. A little way from Reading, we overtook an old couple in the road; the man had fallen off his horse, and his wife was trying to get him up again to no purpose; so young Mr. Richards, who was with us, helped him up to the saddle again, tellinghis wife to hold him carefully, as her old man had drank too much flip. Thereupon the good wife set upon him with a vile tongue, telling himthat her old man was none other than Deacon Rogers of Wenham, and asgood and as pious a saint as there was out of heaven; and it did illbecome a young, saucy rake and knave to accuse him of drunkenness, andit would be no more than his deserts if the bears did eat him before hegot to Boston. As it was quite clear that the woman herself had had ataste of the mug, we left them and rode on, she fairly scolding us outof hearing. When we got home, we found Cousin Rebecca, whom we didleave ill with a cold, much better in health, sitting up and awaitingus. 

January 21, 1679. 

Uncle Rawson came home to-day in a great passion, and, calling me tohim, he asked me if I too was going to turn Quaker, and fall toprophesying? Whereat I was not a little amazed; and when I asked himwhat he did mean, he said: "Your brother Leonard hath gone off to them, and I dare say you will follow, if one of the ranters should take itinto his head that you would make him a proper wife, or company-keeper, for there's never an honest marriage among them. " Then looking sternlyat me, he asked me why I did keep this matter from him, and thus allowthe foolish young man to get entangled in the snares of Satan. WhereatI was so greatly grieved, that I could answer never a word. 

"You may well weep, " said my uncle, "for you have done wickedly. As toyour brother, he will do well to keep where he is in the plantations;for if he come hither a theeing and thouing of me, I will spare himnever a whit; and if I do not chastise him myself, it will be becausethe constable can do it better at the cart-tail. As the Lord lives, Ihad rather he had turned Turk!"

I tried to say a word for my brother, but he cut me straightway short, bidding me not to mention his name again in his presence. Poor me! Ihave none here now to whom I can speak freely, Rebecca having gone toher sister's at Weymouth. My young cousin Grindall is below, with hiscollege friend, Cotton Mather; but I care not to listen to theirdiscourse, and aunt is busied with her servants in the kitchen, so thatI must even sit alone with my thoughts, which be indeed but sad company. 

The little book which I brought with me from the Maine, it being thegift of young Mr. Jordan, and which I have kept close hidden in mytrunk, hath been no small consolation to me this day, for it aboundethin sweet and goodly thoughts, although he who did write it was a monk. Especially in my low state, have these words been a comfort to me:--

"What thou canst not amend in thyself or others, bear thou with patienceuntil God ordaineth otherwise. When comfort is taken away, do notpresently despair. Stand with an even mind resigned to the will of God, whatever shall befall, because after winter cometh the summer; after thedark night the day shineth, and after the storm followeth a great calm. Seek not for consolation which shall rob thee of the grace of penitence;for all that is high is not holy, nor all that is pleasant good; norevery desire pure; nor is what is pleasing to us always pleasant in thesight of God. "

January 23. 

The weather is bitter cold, and a great snow on the ground. By a letterfrom Newbury, brought me by Mr. Sewall, who hath just returned from thatplace, I hear that Goodwife Morse hath been bound for trial as a witch. Mr. Sewall tells me the woman is now in the Boston jail. As to CalebPowell, he hath been set at liberty, there being no proof of his evilpractice. Yet inasmuch as he did give grounds of suspicion by boastingof his skill in astrology and astronomy, the Court declared that hejustly deserves to bear his own shame and the costs of his prosecutionand lodging in jail. 

Mr. Sewall tells me that Deacon Dole has just married his housekeeper, Widow Barnet, and that Moses says he never knew before his father to getthe worst in a bargain. 

January 30. 

Robert Pike called this morning, bringing me a letter from my brother, and one from Margaret Brewster. He hath been to the ProvidencePlantations and Rhode Island, and reporteth well of the prospects of mybrother, who hath a goodly farm, and a house nigh upon finished, theneighbors, being mostly Quakers, assisting him much therein. Mybrother's letter doth confirm this account of his temporal condition, although a great part of it is taken up with a defence of his newdoctrines, for the which he doth ingeniously bring to mind many passagesof Scripture. Margaret's letter being short, I here copy it:--

THE PLANTATIONS, 20th of the 1st mo. , 1679. 

"DEAR FRIEND, --I salute thee with much love from this new country, wherethe Lord hath spread a table for us in the wilderness. Here is a goodlycompany of Friends, who do seek to know the mind of Truth, and to livethereby, being held in favor and esteem by the rulers of the land, andso left in peace to worship God according to their consciences. Thewhole country being covered with snow, and the weather being extremecold, we can scarce say much of the natural gifts and advantages of ournew home; but it lieth on a small river, and there be fertile meadows, and old corn-fields of the Indians, and good springs of water, so that Iam told it is a desirable and pleasing place in the warm season. Mysoul is full of thankfulness, and a sweet inward peace is my portion. Hard things are made easy to me; this desert place, with its lonelywoods and wintry snows, is beautiful in mine eyes. For here we be nolonger gazing-stocks of the rude multitude, we are no longer haled fromour meetings, and railed upon as witches and possessed people. Oh, howoften have we been called upon heretofore to repeat the prayer of oneformerly: 'Let me not fall into the hands of man. ' Sweet, beyond thepower of words to express, hath been the change in this respect; and inview of the mercies vouchsafed unto us, what can we do but repeat thelanguage of David, 'Praise is comely yea, a joyful and pleasant thing itis to be thankful. It is a good thing to give thanks unto the Lord, tosing praises unto thy name, O Most High! to show forth thy loving-kindness in the morning, and thy faithfulness every night. '

"Thou hast doubtless heard that thy dear brother hath been favored tosee the way of truth, according to our persuasion thereof, and hath beenreceived into fellowship with us. I fear this hath been a trial tothee; but, dear heart, leave it in the hands of the Lord, whose work Ido indeed count it. Nor needest thou to fear that thy brother's regardfor thee will be lessened thereby, for the rather shall it be increasedby a measure of that Divine love which, so far from destroying, doth butpurify and strengthen the natural affections. 

"Think, then, kindly of thy brother, for his love towards thee is verygreat; and of me, also, unworthy as I am, for his sake. And so, withsalutations of love and peace, in which my dear mother joins, I remainthy loving friend, MARGARET BREWSTER. 

"The Morse woman, I hear, is in your jail, to be tried for a witch. Sheis a poor, weak creature, but I know no harm of her, and do believe herto be more silly than wicked in the matter of the troubles in her house. I fear she will suffer much at this cold season in the jail, she beingold and weakly, and must needs entreat thee to inquire into hercondition. "M. B. "

February 10. 

Speaking of Goody Morse to-day, Uncle Rawson says she will, he thinks, be adjudged a witch, as there be many witnesses from Newbury to testifyagainst her. Aunt sent the old creature some warm blankets and othernecessaries, which she stood much in need of, and Rebecca and I alteredone of aunt's old gowns for her to wear, as she hath nothing seemly ofher own. Mr. Richardson, her minister, hath visited her twice since shehath been in jail; but he saith she is hardened in her sin, and willconfess nothing thereof. 

February 14. The famous Mr. John Eliot, having business with my uncle, spent the lastnight with us, a truly worthy man, who, by reason of his great laborsamong the heathen Indians, may be called the chiefest of our apostles. He brought with him a young Indian lad, the son of a man of some noteamong his people, very bright and comely, and handsomely apparelledafter the fashion of his tribe. This lad hath a ready wit, readeth andwriteth, and hath some understanding of Scripture; indeed, he did repeatthe Lord's Prayer in a manner edifying to hear. 

The worshipful Major Gookins coming in to sup with us, there was muchdiscourse concerning the affairs of the Province: both the Major and hisfriend Eliot being great sticklers for the rights and liberties of thepeople, and exceeding jealous of the rule of the home government, andin this matter my uncle did quite agree with them. In a special mannerMajor Gookins did complain of the Acts of Trade, as injurious to theinterests of the Colony, and which he said ought not to be submitted to, as the laws of England were bounded by the four seas, and did not justlyreach America. He read a letter which he had from Mr. Stoughton, one ofthe agents of the Colony in England, showing how they had been put offfrom time to time, upon one excuse or another, without being able to geta hearing; and now the Popish Plot did so occupy all minds there, thatPlantation matters were sadly neglected; but this much was certain, thelaws for the regulating of trade must be consented to by theMassachusetts, if we would escape a total breach. My uncle struck hishand hard on the table at this, and said if all were of his mind theywould never heed the breach; adding, that he knew his rights as a free-born Englishman, under Magna Charta, which did declare it the privilegeof such to have a voice in the making of laws; whereas the Massachusettshad no voice in Parliament, and laws were thrust upon them by strangers. 

"For mine own part, " said Major Gookins, "I do hold our brother Eliot'sbook on the Christian Commonwealth, which the General Court did makehaste to condemn on the coming in of the king, to be a sound andseasonable treatise, notwithstanding the author himself hath in somesort disowned it. "

"I did truly condemn and deny the false and seditious doctrines chargedupon it, " said Mr. Eliot, "but for the book itself, rightly taken, andmaking allowance for some little heat of discourse and certain hastyand ill-considered words therein, I have never seen cause to repent. I quite agree with what my lamented friend and fellow-laborer, Mr. Danforth, said, when he was told that the king was to be proclaimed atBoston: 'Whatever form of government may be deduced from Scripture, thatlet us yield to for conscience' sake, not forgetting at the same timethat the Apostle hath said, if thou mayest be free use it rather. '"

My uncle said this was well spoken of Mr. Danforth, who was a worthygentleman and a true friend to the liberties of the Colony; and he askedRebecca to read some ingenious verses writ by him in one of hisalmanacs, which she had copied not long ago, wherein he compareth NewEngland to a goodly tree or plant. Whereupon, Rebecca read them asfolloweth:--

 "A skilful husbandman he was, who brought This matchless plant from far, and here hath sought A place to set it in; and for its sake The wilderness a pleasant land doth make. 

 "With pleasant aspect, Phoebus smiles upon The tender buds and blooms that hang thereon; At this tree's root Astrea sits and sings, And waters it, whence upright Justice springs, Which yearly shoots forth laws and liberties That no man's will or wit may tyrannize. Those birds of prey that sometime have oppressed And stained the country with their filthy nest, Justice abhors, and one day hopes to find A way, to make all promise-breakers grind. On this tree's top hangs pleasant Liberty, Not seen in Austria, France, Spain, Italy. True Liberty 's there ripe, where all confess They may do what they will, save wickedness. Peace is another fruit which this tree bears, The chiefest garland that the country wears, Which o'er all house-tops, towns, and fields doth spread, And stuffs the pillow for each weary head. It bloomed in Europe once, but now 't is gone, And glad to find a desert mansion. Forsaken Truth, Time's daughter, groweth here, -- More precious fruit what tree did ever bear, -- Whose pleasant sight aloft hath many fed, And what falls down knocks Error on the head. "

After a little time, Rebecca found means to draw the good Mr. Eliot intosome account of his labors and journeys among the Indians, and of theirmanner of life, ceremonies, and traditions, telling him that I was astranger in these parts, and curious concerning such matters. So he didaddress himself to me very kindly, answering such questions as Iventured to put to him. And first, touching the Powahs, of whom I hadheard much, he said they were manifestly witches, and such as hadfamiliar spirits; but that, since the Gospel has been preached here, their power had in a great measure gone from them. "My old friend, Passaconaway, the Chief of the Merrimac River Indians, " said he, "was, before his happy and marvellous conversion, a noted Powah and wizard. I once queried with him touching his sorceries, when he said he had donewickedly, and it was a marvel that the Lord spared his life, and did notstrike him dead with his lightnings. And when I did press him to tellme how he did become a Powah, he said he liked not to speak of it, butwould nevertheless tell me. His grandmother used to tell him manythings concerning the good and bad spirits, and in a special manner ofthe Abomako, or Chepian, who had the form of a serpent, and who was thecause of sickness and pain, and of all manner of evils. And it sochanced that on one occasion, when hunting in the wilderness, threedays' journey from home, he did lose his way, and wandered for a longtime without food, and night coming on, he thought he did hear voices ofmen talking; but, on drawing near to the place whence the noise came, hecould see nothing but the trees and rocks; and then he did see a light, as from a wigwam a little way off, but, going towards it, it moved away, and, following it, he was led into a dismal swamp, full of water, andsnakes, and briers; and being in so sad a plight, he bethought him ofall he had heard of evil demons and of Chepian, who, he doubted not wasthe cause of his trouble. At last, coming to a little knoll in theswamp, he lay down under a hemlock-tree, and being sorely tired, fellasleep. And he dreamed a dream, which was in this wise:--

"He thought he beheld a great snake crawl up out of the marsh, and standupon his tail under a tall maple-tree; and he thought the snake spake tohim, and bade him be of good cheer, for he would guide him safe out ofthe swamp, and make of him a great chief and Powah, if he would pray tohim and own him as his god. All which he did promise to do; and when heawoke in the morning, he beheld before him the maple-tree under which hehad seen the snake in his dream, and, climbing to the top of it, he sawa great distance off the smoke of a wigwam, towards which he went, andfound some of his own people cooking a plentiful meal of venison. Whenhe got back to Patucket, he told his dream to his grandmother, who wasgreatly rejoiced, and went about from wigwam to wigwam, telling thetribe that Chepian had appeared to her grandson. So they had a greatfeast and dance, and he was thenceforth looked upon as a Powah. Shortlyafter, a woman of the tribe falling sick, he was sent for to heal her, which he did by praying to Chepian and laying his hands upon her; and atdivers other times the Devil helped him in his enchantments andwitcheries. "

I asked Mr. Eliot whether he did know of any women who were Powahs. He confessed he knew none; which was the more strange, as in Christiancountries the Old Serpent did commonly find instruments of his craftamong the women. 

To my query as to what notion the heathen had of God and a future state, he said that, when he did discourse them concerning the great and trueGod, who made all things, and of heaven and hell, they would readilyconsent thereto, saying that so their fathers had taught them; but whenhe spake to them of the destruction of the world by fire, and theresurrection of the body, they would not hear to it, for they pretend tohold that the spirit of the dead man goes forthwith, after death, to thehappy hunting-grounds made for good Indians, or to the cold and drearyswamps and mountains, where the bad Indians do starve and freeze, andsuffer all manner of hardships. 

There was, Mr. Eliot told us, a famous Powah, who, coming to Punkapog, while he was at that Indian town, gave out among the people there that alittle humming-bird did come to him and peck at him when he did aughtthat was wrong, and sing sweetly to him when he did a good thing, orspake the right words; which coming to Mr. Eliot's ear, he made himconfess, in the presence of the congregation, that he did only mean, bythe figure of the bird, the sense he had of right and wrong in his ownmind. This fellow was, moreover, exceeding cunning, and did often askquestions hard to be answered touching the creation of the Devil, andthe fall of man. 

I said to him that I thought it must be a great satisfaction to him tobe permitted to witness the fruit of his long labors and sufferings inbehalf of these people, in the hopeful conversion of so many of them tothe light and knowledge of the Gospel; to which he replied that his poorlabors had been indeed greatly blest, but it was all of the Lord'sdoing, and he could truly say he felt, in view of the great wants ofthese wild people, and their darkness and misery, that he had by nomeans done all his duty towards them. He said also, that whenever hewas in danger of being puffed up with the praise of men, or the vanityof his own heart, the Lord had seen meet to abase and humble him, by thefalling back of some of his people to their old heathenish practices. The war, moreover, was a sore evil to the Indian churches, as some fewof their number were enticed by Philip to join him in his burnings andslaughterings, and this did cause even the peaceful and innocent to bevehemently suspected and cried out against as deceivers and murderers. Poor, unoffending old men, and pious women, had been shot at and killedby our soldiers, their wigwams burned, their families scattered, anddriven to seek shelter with the enemy; yea, many Christian Indians, hedid believe, had been sold as slaves to the Barbadoes, which he didaccount a great sin, and a reproach to our people. Major Gookins saidthat a better feeling towards the Indians did now prevail among thepeople; the time having been when, because of his friendliness to them, and his condemnation of their oppressors, he was cried out against andstoned in the streets, to the great hazard of his life. 

So, after some further discourse, our guests left us, Mr. Eliot kindlyinviting me to visit his Indian congregation near Boston, whereby Icould judge for myself of their condition. 

February 22, 1679. 

The weather suddenly changing from a warm rain and mist to sharp, clearcold, the trees a little way from the house did last evening so shinewith a wonderful brightness in the light of the moon, now nigh unto itsfull, that I was fain to go out upon the hill-top to admire them. Andtruly it was no mean sight to behold every small twig becrusted withice, and glittering famously like silver-work or crystal, as the rays ofthe moon did strike upon them. Moreover, the earth was covered withfrozen snow, smooth and hard like to marble, through which the longrushes, the hazels, and mulleins, and the dry blades of the grasses, didstand up bravely, bedight with frost. And, looking upward, there werethe dark tops of the evergreen trees, such as hemlocks, pines, andspruces, starred and bespangled, as if wetted with a great rain ofmolten crystal. After admiring and marvelling at this rareentertainment and show of Nature, I said it did mind me of what theSpaniards and Portuguese relate of the great Incas of Guiana, who had agarden of pleasure in the Isle of Puna, whither they were wont to betakethemselves when they would enjoy the air of the sea, in which they hadall manner of herbs and flowers, and trees curiously fashioned of goldand silver, and so burnished that their exceeding brightness did dazzlethe eyes of the beholders. 

"Nay, " said the worthy Mr. Mather, who did go with us, "it shouldrather, methinks, call to mind what the Revelator hath said of the HolyCity. I never look upon such a wonderful display of the natural worldwithout remembering the description of the glory of that city whichdescended out of heaven from God, having the glory of God, and her lightlike unto a stone most precious, even like unto a jasper stone, clear ascrystal. And the building of the wall of it was of jasper, and the citywas pure gold like unto clear glass. And the twelve gates were twelvepearls, every several gate was of one pearl, and the street of the citywas pure gold, as it were transparent glass. 

"There never was a king's palace lighted up and adorned like this, "continued Mr. Mather, as we went homewards. "It seemeth to be Godsdesign to show how that He can glorify himself in the work of His hands, even at this season of darkness and death, when all things are sealedup, and there be no flowers, nor leaves, nor ruining brooks, to speak ofHis goodness and sing forth His praises. Truly hath it been said, Greatthings doeth He, which we cannot comprehend. For He saith to the snow, Be thou on the earth; likewise to the small rain and the great rain ofHis strength. He sealeth up the hand of every man, that all men mayknow His work. Then the beasts go into their dens, and they remain intheir places. Out of the south cometh the whirlwind, and cold out ofthe north. By the breath of God is the frost given, and the breadth ofthe waters straitened. "

March 10. 

I have been now for many days afflicted with a great cold and pleurisy, although, by God's blessing on the means used, I am wellnigh free frompain, and much relieved, also, from a tedious cough. In this sickness Ihave not missed the company and kind ministering of my dear CousinRebecca, which was indeed a great comfort. She tells me to-day that thetime hath been fixed upon for her marriage with Sir Thomas, which didnot a little rejoice me, as I am to go back to mine own country in theircompany. I long exceedingly to see once again the dear friends from whomI have been separated by many months of time and a great ocean. 

Cousin Torrey, of Weymouth, coming in yesterday, brought with her a verybright and pretty Indian girl, one of Mr. Eliot's flock, of the Natickpeople. She was apparelled after the English manner, save that she woreleggings, called moccasins, in the stead of shoes, wrought over daintilywith the quills of an animal called a porcupine, and hung about withsmall black and white shells. Her hair, which was exceeding long andblack, hung straight down her back, and was parted from her forehead, and held fast by means of a strip of birch back, wrought with quills andfeathers, which did encircle her head. She speaks the English well, andcan write somewhat, as well as read. Rebecca, for my amusement, didquery much with her regarding the praying Indians; and on her desiringto know whether they did in no wise return to their old practices andworships, Wauwoonemeen (for so she was called by her people) told usthat they did still hold their Keutikaw, or Dance for the Dead; andthat the ministers, although they did not fail to discourage it, had notforbidden it altogether, inasmuch as it was but a civil custom of thepeople, and not a religious rite. This dance did usually take place atthe end of twelve moons after the death of one of their number, andfinished the mourning. The guests invited bring presents to thebereaved family, of wampum, beaver-skins, corn, and ground-nuts, andvenison. These presents are delivered to a speaker, appointed for thepurpose, who takes them, one by one, and hands them over to themourners, with a speech entreating them to be consoled by these tokensof the love of their neighbors, and to forget their sorrows. Afterwhich, they sit down to eat, and are merry together. 

Now it had so chanced that at a Keutikaw held the present winter, twomen had been taken ill, and had died the next day; and although Mr. Eliot, when he was told of it, laid the blame thereof upon their harddancing until they were in a great heat, and then running out into thesnow and sharp air to cool themselves, it was thought by many that theywere foully dealt with and poisoned. So two noted old Powahs fromWauhktukook, on the great river Connecticut, were sent for to discoverthe murderers. Then these poor heathen got together in a great wigwam, where the old wizards undertook, by their spells and incantations, toconsult the invisible powers in the matter. I asked Wauwoonemeen if sheknew how they did practise on the occasion; whereupon she said that nonebut men were allowed to be in the wigwam, but that she could hear thebeating of sticks on the ground, and the groans and howlings and dismalmutterings of the Powahs, and that she, with another young woman, venturing to peep through a hole in the back of the wigwam, saw a greatmany people sitting on the ground, and the two Powahs before the fire, jumping and smiting their breasts, and rolling their eyes veryfrightfully. 

"But what came of it?" asked Rebecca. "Did the Evil Spirit whom theythus called upon testify against himself, by telling who were hisinstruments in mischief?"

The girl said she had never heard of any discovery of the poisoners, ifindeed there were such. She told us, moreover, that many of the bestpeople in the tribe would have no part in the business, counting itsinful; and that the chief actors were much censured by the ministers, and so ashamed of it that they drove the Powahs out of the village, thewomen and boys chasing them and beating them with sticks and frozensnow, so that they had to take to the woods in a sorry plight. 

We gave the girl some small trinkets, and a fair piece of cloth for anapron, whereat she was greatly pleased. We were all charmed with hergood parts, sweetness of countenance, and discourse and ready wit, beingsatisfied thereby that Nature knoweth no difference between Europe andAmerica in blood, birth, and bodies, as we read in Acts 17 that God hathmade of one blood all mankind. I was specially minded of a saying ofthat ingenious but schismatic man, Mr. Roger Williams, in the littlebook which he put forth in England on the Indian tongue:--

 "Boast not, proud English, of thy birth and blood, Thy brother Indian is by birth as good; Of one blood God made him and thee and all, As wise, as fair, as strong, as personal. 

 "By nature wrath's his portion, thine, no more, Till grace his soul and thine in Christ restore. Make sure thy second birth, else thou shalt see Heaven ope to Indians wild, but shut to thee!"

March 15. 

One Master O'Shane, an Irish scholar, of whom my cousins here did learnthe Latin tongue, coming in last evening, and finding Rebecca and Ialone (uncle and aunt being on a visit to Mr. Atkinson's), was exceedingmerry, entertaining us rarely with his stories and songs. Rebecca tellsme he is a learned man, as I can well believe, but that he is too fondof strong drink for his good, having thereby lost the favor of many ofthe first families here, who did formerly employ him. There was oneballad, which he saith is of his own making, concerning the selling ofthe daughter of a great Irish lord as a slave in this land, whichgreatly pleased me; and on my asking for a copy of it, he brought it tome this morning, in a fair hand. I copy it in my Journal, as I knowthat Oliver, who is curious in such things, will like it. 

KATHLEEN. 

 O NORAH, lay your basket down, And rest your weary hand, And come and hear me sing a song Of our old Ireland. 

 There was a lord of Galaway, A mighty lord was he; And he did wed a second wife, A maid of low degree. 

 But he was old, and she was young, And so, in evil spite, She baked the black bread for his kin, And fed her own with white. 

 She whipped the maids and starved the kern, And drove away the poor; "Ah, woe is me!" the old lord said, "I rue my bargain sore!"

 This lord he had a daughter fair, Beloved of old and young, And nightly round the shealing-fires Of her the gleeman sung. 

 "As sweet and good is young Kathleen As Eve before her fall;" So sang the harper at the fair, So harped he in the hall. 

 "Oh, come to me, my daughter dear! Come sit upon my knee, For looking in your face, Kathleen, Your mother's own I see!"

 He smoothed and smoothed her hair away, He kissed her forehead fair; "It is my darling Mary's brow, It is my darling's hair!"

 Oh, then spake up the angry dame, "Get up, get up, " quoth she, "I'll sell ye over Ireland, I'll sell ye o'er the sea!"

 She clipped her glossy hair away, That none her rank might know; She took away her gown of silk, And gave her one of tow, And sent her down to Limerick town And to a seaman sold This daughter of an Irish lord For ten good pounds in gold. 

 The lord he smote upon his breast, And tore his beard so gray; But he was old, and she was young, And so she had her way. 

 Sure that same night the Banshee howled To fright the evil dame, And fairy folks, who loved Kathleen, With funeral torches came. 

 She watched them glancing through the trees, And glimmering down the hill; They crept before the dead-vault door, And there they all stood still!

 "Get up, old man! the wake-lights shine!" "Ye murthering witch, " quoth he, "So I'm rid of your tongue, I little care If they shine for you or me. "

 "Oh, whoso brings my daughter back, My gold and land shall have!" Oh, then spake up his handsome page, "No gold nor land I crave!

 "But give to me your daughter dear, Give sweet Kathleen to me, Be she on sea or be she on land, I'll bring her back to thee. "

 "My daughter is a lady born, And you of low degree, But she shall be your bride the day You bring her back to me. "

 He sailed east, he sailed west, And far and long sailed he, Until he came to Boston town, Across the great salt sea. 

 "Oh, have ye seen the young Kathleen, The flower of Ireland? Ye'll know her by her eyes so blue, And by her snow-white hand!"

 Out spake an ancient man, "I know The maiden whom ye mean; I bought her of a Limerick man, And she is called Kathleen. 

 "No skill hath she in household work, Her hands are soft and white, Yet well by loving looks and ways She doth her cost requite. "

 So up they walked through Boston town, And met a maiden fair, A little basket on her arm So snowy-white and bare. 

 "Come hither, child, and say hast thou This young man ever seen?" They wept within each other's arms, The page and young Kathleen. 

 "Oh give to me this darling child, And take my purse of gold. " "Nay, not by me, " her master said, "Shall sweet Kathleen be sold. 

 "We loved her in the place of one The Lord hath early ta'en; But, since her heart's in Ireland, We give her back again!"

 Oh, for that same the saints in heaven For his poor soul shall pray, And Mary Mother wash with tears His heresies away. 

 Sure now they dwell in Ireland; As you go up Claremore Ye'll see their castle looking down The pleasant Galway shore. 

 And the old lord's wife is dead and gone, And a happy man is he, For he sits beside his own Kathleen, With her darling on his knee. 

 1849. 

March 27, 1679. 

Spent the afternoon and evening yesterday at Mr. Mather's, with uncleand aunt, Rebecca and Sir Thomas, and Mr. Torrey of Weymouth, and hiswife; Mr. Thacher, the minister of the South Meeting, and Major SimonWillard of Concord, being present also. There was much discourse ofcertain Antinomians, whose loose and scandalous teachings in respect toworks were strongly condemned, although Mr. Thacher thought there mightbe danger, on the other hand, of falling into the error of theSocinians, who lay such stress upon works, that they do not scruple toundervalue and make light of faith. Mr. Torrey told of some of theAntinomians, who, being guilty of scandalous sins, did neverthelessjustify themselves, and plead that they were no longer under the law. Sir Thomas drew Rebecca and I into a corner of the room, saying he wasa-weary of so much disputation, and began relating somewhat which befellhim in a late visit to the New Haven people. Among other things, hetold us that while he was there, a maid of nineteen years was put upontrial for her life, by complaint of her parents of disobedience of theircommands, and reviling them; that at first the mother of the girl didseem to testify strongly against her; but when she had spoken a fewwords, the accused crying out with a bitter lamentation, that she shouldbe destroyed in her youth by the words of her own mother, the woman didso soften her testimony that the Court, being in doubt upon the matter, had a consultation with the ministers present, as to whether the accusedgirl had made herself justly liable to the punishment prescribed forstubborn and rebellious children in Deut. Xxi. 20, 21. It was thoughtthat this law did apply specially unto a rebellious son, according tothe words of the text, and that a daughter could not be put to deathunder it; to which the Court did assent, and the girl, after beingadmonished, was set free. Thereupon, Sir Thomas told us, she ransobbing into the arms of her mother, who did rejoice over her as oneraised from the dead, and did moreover mightily blame herself forputting her in so great peril, by complaining of her disobedienceto the magistrates. 

Major Willard, a pleasant, talkative man, being asked by Mr. Thachersome questions pertaining to his journey into the New Hampshire, in theyear '52, with the learned and pious Mr. Edward Johnson, in obedience toan order of the General Court, for the finding the northernmost part ofthe river Merrimac, gave us a little history of the same, some parts ofwhich I deemed noteworthy. The company, consisting of the twocommissioners, and two surveyors, and some Indians, as guides andhunters, started from Concord about the middle of July, and followed theriver on which Concord lies, until they came to the great Falls of theMerrimac, at Patucket, where they were kindly entertained at the wigwamof a chief Indian who dwelt there. They then went on to the Falls ofthe Amoskeag, a famous place of resort for the Indians, and encamped atthe foot of a mountain, under the shade of some great trees, where theyspent the next day, it being the Sabhath. Mr. Johnson read a portionof the Word, and a psalm was sung, the Indians sitting on the ground alittle way off, in a very reverential manner. They then went toAnnahookline, where were some Indian cornfields, and thence over a wild, hilly country, to the head of the Merrimac, at a place called by theIndians Aquedahcan, where they took an observation of the latitude, andset their names upon a great rock, with that of the worshipful Governor, John Endicott. Here was the great Lake Winnipiseogee, as large over asan English county, with many islands upon it, very green with trees andvines, and abounding with squirrels and birds. They spent two days atthe lake's outlet, one of them the Sabhath, a wonderfully still, quietday of the midsummer. "It is strange, " said the Major, "but so it is, that although a quarter of a century hath passed over me since that day, it is still very fresh and sweet in my memory. Many times, in mymusings, I seem to be once more sitting under the beechen trees ofAquedahcan, with my three English friends, and I do verily seem to seethe Indians squatted on the lake shore, round a fire, cooking theirdishes, and the smoke thereof curling about among the trees over theirheads; and beyond them is the great lake and the islands thereof, somebig and others exceeding small, and the mountains that do rise on theother side, and whose woody tops show in the still water as in a glass. And, withal, I do seem to have a sense of the smell of flowers, whichdid abound there, and of the strawberries with which the old Indiancornfield near unto us was red, they being then ripe and luscious to thetaste. It seems, also, as if I could hear the bark of my dog, and thechatter of squirrels, and the songs of the birds, in the thick woodsbehind us; and, moreover, the voice of my friend Johnson, as he did callto mind these words of the 104th Psalm: 'Bless the Lord, O my soul! whocoverest thyself with light, as with a garment; who stretchest out theheavens like a curtain; who layeth the beams of his chambers in thewaters; who maketh the clouds his chariot; and walketh upon the wings ofthe wind!' Ah me! I shall never truly hear that voice more, unless, through God's mercy, I be permitted to join the saints of light inpraise and thanksgiving beside stiller waters and among greener pasturesthan are those of Aquedahcan. "

"He was a shining light, indeed, " said Mr. Mather, "and, in view of hisloss and that of other worthies in Church and State, we may well say, asof old, Help, Lord, for the godly man ceaseth!"

Major Willard said that the works of Mr. Johnson did praise him, especially that monument of his piety and learning, "The History of NewEngland; or, Wonder-Working Providence of Sion's Saviour, " wherein hedid show himself in verse and in prose a workman not to be ashamed. There was a piece which Mr. Johnson writ upon birchen bark at the headof the Merrimac, during the journey of which he had spoken, which hadnever been printed, but which did more deserve that honor than much ofthe rhymes with which the land now aboundeth. Mr. Mather said he hadthe piece of bark then in his possession, on which Mr. Johnson didwrite; and, on our desiring to see it, he brought it to us, and, as wecould not well make out the writing thereon, he read it as followeth:--

This lonesome lake, like to a sea, among the mountains lies, And like a glass doth show their shapes, and eke the clouds and skies. God lays His chambers' beams therein, that all His power may know, And holdeth in His fist the winds, that else would mar the show. 

The Lord hath blest this wilderness with meadows, streams, and springs, And like a garden planted it with green and growing things;And filled the woods with wholesome meats, and eke with fowls the air, And sown the land with flowers and herbs, and fruits of savor rare. 

But here the nations know him not, and come and go the days, Without a morning prayer to Him, or evening song of praise;The heathen fish upon the lake, or hunt the woods for meat, And like the brutes do give no thanks for wherewithal to eat. 

They dance in shame and nakedness, with horrid yells to hear, And like to dogs they make a noise, or screeching owls anear. Each tribe, like Micah, doth its priest or cunning Powah keep;Yea, wizards who, like them of old, do mutter and do peep. 

A cursed and an evil race, whom Satan doth mislead, And rob them of Christ's hope, whereby he makes them poor indeed;They hold the waters and the hills, and clouds, and stars to beTheir gods; for, lacking faith, they do believe but what they see. 

Yet God on them His sun and rain doth evermore bestow, And ripens all their harvest-fields and pleasant fruits also. For them He makes the deer and moose, for them the fishes swim, And all the fowls in woods and air are goodly gifts from Him. 

Yea, more; for them, as for ourselves, hath Christ a ransom paid, And on Himself, their sins and ours, a common burden laid. By nature vessels of God's wrath, 't is He alone can giveTo English or to Indians wild the grace whereby we live. 

Oh, let us pray that in these wilds the Gospel may be preached, And these poor Gentiles of the woods may by its truth be reached;That ransomed ones the tidings glad may sound with joy abroad, And lonesome Aquedahcan hear the praises of the Lord!

March 18. 

My cough still troubling me, an ancient woman, coming in yesterday, didso set forth the worth and virtue of a syrup of her making, that AuntRawson sent Effie over to the woman's house for a bottle of it. Thewoman sat with us a pretty while, being a lively talking body, althoughnow wellnigh fourscore years of age. She could tell many things of theold people of Boston, for, having been in youth the wife of a man ofsome note and substance, and being herself a notable housewife and ofgood natural parts, she was well looked upon by the better sort ofpeople. After she became a widow, she was for a little time in thefamily of Governor Endicott, at Naumkeag, whom she describeth as a justand goodly man, but exceeding exact in the ordering of his household, and of fiery temper withal. When displeasured, he would pull hard atthe long tuft of hair which he wore upon his chin; and on one occasion, while sitting in the court, he plucked off his velvet cap, and cast itin the face of one of the assistants, who did profess conscientiousscruples against the putting to death of the Quakers. 

"I have heard say his hand was heavy upon these people, " I said. 

"And well it might be, " said the old woman, for more pestilent andprovoking strollers and ranters you shall never find than these sameQuakers. They were such a sore trouble to the Governor, that I dobelieve his days were shortened by reason of them. For neither thejail, nor whipping, nor cropping of ears, did suffice to rid him ofthem. At last, when a law was made by the General Court, banishing themon pain of death, the Governor, coming home from Boston, said that henow hoped to have peace in the Colony, and that this sharpness wouldkeep the land free from these troublers. I remember it well, how thenext day he did invite the ministers and chief men, and in what apleasant frame he was. In the morning I had mended his best velvetbreeches for him, and he praised my work not a little, and gave me sixshillings over and above my wages; and, says he to me: 'Goody Lake, 'says he, 'you are a worthy woman, and do feel concerned for the good ofZion, and the orderly carrying of matters in Church and State, and henceI know you will be glad to hear that, after much ado, and in spite ofthe strivings of evil-disposed people, the General Court have agreedupon a law for driving the Quakers out of the jurisdiction, on pain ofdeath; so that, if any come after this, their blood be upon their ownheads. It is what I have wrestled with the Lord for this many a month, and I do count it a great deliverance and special favor; yea, I maytruly say, with David: "Thou hast given me my heart's desire, and hastnot withholden the prayer of my lips. Thy hand shall find out all thineenemies; thou shalt make them as a fiery oven in the time of thineanger; the Lord shall wallow them up in his wrath, and the fire shalldevour them. " You will find these words, Goody Lake, ' says he, 'in the21st Psalm, where what is said of the King will serve for such as be inauthority at this time. ' For you must know, young woman, that theGovernor was mighty in Scripture, more especially in his prayers, when you could think that he had it all at his tongue's end. 

"There was a famous dinner at the Governor's that day, and many guests, and the Governor had ordered from his cellar some wine, which was a giftfrom a Portuguese captain, and of rare quality, as I know of mine owntasting, when word was sent to the Governor that a man wished to seehim, whom he bid wait awhile. After dinner was over, he went into thehall, and who should be there but Wharton, the Quaker, who, withoutpulling off his hat, or other salutation, cried out: 'John Endicott, hearken to the word of the Lord, in whose fear and dread I am come. Thou and thy evil counsellors, the priests, have framed iniquity by law, but it shall not avail you. Thus saith the Lord, Evil shall slay thewicked, and they that hate the righteous shall be desolate!' Now, whenthe Governor did hear this, he fell, as must needs be, into a rage, and, seeing me by the door, he bade me call the servants from the kitchen, which I did, and they running up, he bade them lay hands on the fellow, and take him away; and then, in a great passion, he called for hishorse, saying he would not rest until he had seen forty stripes save onelaid upon that cursed Quaker, and that he should go to the gallows yetfor his sauciness. So they had him to jail, and the next morning he wassoundly whipped, and ordered to depart the jurisdiction. "

I, being curious to know more concerning the Quakers, asked her if shedid ever talk with any of them who were dealt with by the authorities, and what they said for themselves. 

"Oh, they never lacked words, " said she, "but cried out for liberty ofconscience, and against persecution, and prophesied all manner of evilupon such as did put in force the law. Some time about the year '56, there did come two women of them to Boston, and brought with themcertain of their blasphemous books, which the constables burnt in thestreet, as I well remember by this token, that, going near the fire, andseeing one of the books not yet burnt, I stooped to pick it up, when oneof the constables gave me a smart rap with his staff, and snatched itaway. The women being sent to the jail, the Deputy-Governor, Mr. Bellingham, and the Council, thinking they might be witches, were forhaving them searched; and Madam Bellingham naming me and another womanto her husband, he sent for us, and bade us go to the jail and searchthem, to see if there was any witch-mark on their bodies. So we went, and told them our errand, at which they marvelled not a little, and oneof them, a young, well-favored woman, did entreat that they might not beput to such shame, for the jailer stood all the time in the yard, looking in at the door; but we told them such was the order, and so, without more ado, stripped them of their clothes, but found nothing savea mole on the left breast of he younger, into which Goodwife Page thrusther needle, at which the woman did give a cry as of pain, and the bloodflowed; whereas, if it had been witch's mark, she would not have feltthe prick, for would it have caused blood. So, finding nothing that didlook like witchcraft, we left them; and on being brought before theCourt, Deputy-Governor Bellingham asked us what we had to say concerningthe women. Whereupon Goodwife Page, being the oldest of us, told himthat we did find no appearance of witches upon their bodies, save themole on the younger woman's breast (which was but natural), but thatotherwise she was fair as Absalom, who had no blemish from the soles ofhis feet to the crown of his head. Thereupon the Deputy-Governordismissed us, saying that it might be that the Devil did not want themfor witches, because they could better serve him as Quakers: whereat allthe Court fell to laughing. "

"And what did become of the women?" I asked. 

"They kept them in jail awhile, " said Nurse Lake, "and then sent themback to England. But the others that followed fared harder, --somegetting whipped at the cart-tail, and others losing their ears. Thehangman's wife showed me once the ears of three of them, which herhusband cut off in the jail that very morning. "

"This is dreadful!" said I, for I thought of my dear brother and sweetMargaret Brewster, and tears filled mine eyes. 

"Nay; but they were sturdy knaves and vagabonds, " answered Nurse Lake, "although one of them was the son of a great officer in the Barbadoes, and accounted a gentleman before he did run out into his evil practices. But cropping of ears did not stop these headstrong people, and theystill coming, some were put to death. There were three of them to behanged at one time. I do remember it well, for it was a clear, warm dayabout the last of October, and it was a brave sight to behold. Therewas Marshal Michelson and Captain Oliver, with two hundred soldiersafoot, besides many on horse of our chief people, and among them theminister, Mr. Wilson, looking like a saint as he was, with a pleasantand joyful countenance, and a great multitude of people, men, women, andchildren, not only of Boston, but from he towns round about. I gotearly on to the ground, and when they were going to the gallows I keptas near to the condemned ones as I could. There were two young, well-favored men, and a woman with gray hairs. As they walked hand in band, the woman in the middle, the Marshal, who was riding beside them, andwho was a merry drolling man, asked her if she was n't ashamed to walkhand in hand between two young men; whereupon, looking upon himsolemnly, she said she was not ashamed, for this was to her an hour ofgreat joy, and that no eye could see, no ear hear, no tongue speak, andno heart understand, the sweet incomes and refreshings of the Lord'sspirit, which she did then feel. This she spake aloud, so that allabout could hear, whereat Captain Oliver bid the drums to beat and drownher voice. Now, when they did come to the gallows ladder, on each sideof which the officers and chief people stood, the two men kept on theirhats, as is the ill manner of their sort, which so provoked Mr. Wilson, the minister, that he cried out to them: 'What! shall such Jacks as youcome before authority with your hats on?' To which one of them said:'Mind you, it is for not putting off our hats that we are put to death. 'The two men then went up the ladder, and tried to speak; but I could notcatch a word, being outside of the soldiers, and much fretted andworried by the crowd. They were presently turned off, and then thewoman went up the ladder, and they tied her coats down to her feet, andput the halter on her neck, and, lacking a handkerchief to tie over herface, the minister lent the hangman his. Just then your Uncle Rawsoncomes a-riding up to the gallows, waving his hand, and crying out, 'Stop! she is reprieved!' So they took her down, although she said shewas ready to die as her brethren did, unless they would undo theirbloody laws. I heard Captain Oliver tell her it was for her son's sakethat she was spared. So they took her to jail, and after a time senther back to her husband in Rhode Island, which was a favor she did in nowise deserve; but good Governor Endicott, much as he did abhor thesepeople, sought not their lives, and spared no pains to get thempeaceably out the country; but they were a stubborn crew, and must needsrun their necks into the halter, as did this same woman; for, comingback again, under pretence of pleading for the repeal of the lawsagainst Quakers, she was not long after put to death. The excellent Mr. Wilson made a brave ballad on the hanging, which I have heard the boysin the street sing many a time. "

A great number, both men and women, were--"whipped and put in thestocks, " continued the woman, "and I once beheld two of them, one ayoung and the other an aged woman, in a cold day in winter, tied to thetail of a cart, going through Salem Street, stripped to their waists asnaked as they were born, and their backs all covered with red whip-marks; but there was a more pitiful case of one Hored Gardner, a youngmarried woman, with a little child and her nurse, who, coming toWeymouth, was laid hold of and sent to Boston, where both were whipped, and, as I was often at the jail to see the keeper's wife, it so chancedthat I was there at the time. The woman, who was young and delicate, when they were stripping her, held her little child in her arms; andwhen the jailer plucked it from her bosom, she looked round anxiously, and, seeing me, said, 'Good woman, I know thou 't have pity on thebabe, ' and asked me to hold it, which I did. She was then whipped witha threefold whip, with knots in the ends, which did tear sadly into herflesh; and, after it was over, she kneeled down, with her back allbleeding, and prayed for them she called her persecutors. I must say Idid greatly pity her, and I spoke to the jailer's wife, and we washedthe poor creature's back, and put on it some famous ointment, so thatshe soon got healed. "

Aunt Rawson now coming in, the matter was dropped; but, on my speakingto her of it after Nurse Lake had left, she said it was a sore trial tomany, even those in authority, and who were charged with the putting inforce of the laws against these people. She furthermore said, thatUncle Rawson and Mr. Broadstreet were much cried out against by theQuakers and their abettors on both sides of the water, but they did buttheir duty in the matter, and for herself she had always mourned overthe coming of these people, and was glad when the Court did set any ofthem free. When the woman was hanged, my aunt spent the whole day withMadam Broadstreet, who was so wrought upon that she was fain to take toher bed, refusing to be comforted, and counting it the heaviest day ofher life. 

"Looking out of her chamber window, " said Aunt Rawson, "I saw the peoplewho had been to the hanging coming back from the training-field; andwhen Anne Broadstreet did hear the sound of their feet in the road, shegroaned, and said that it did seem as if every foot fell upon her heart. Presently Mr. Broadstreet came home, bringing with him the minister, Mr. John Norton. They sat down in the chamber, and for some little timethere was scarce a word spoken. At length Madam Broadstreet, turning toher husband and laying her hand on his arm, as was her loving manner, asked him if it was indeed all over. 'The woman is dead, ' said he; 'butI marvel, Anne, to see you so troubled about her. Her blood is upon herown head, for we did by no means seek her life. She hath trodden underfoot our laws, and misused our great forbearance, so that we could do nootherwise than we have done. So under the Devil's delusion was she, that she wanted no minister or elder to pray with her at the gallows, but seemed to think herself sure of heaven, heeding in no wise thewarnings of Mr. Norton, and other godly people. '

"'Did she rail at, or cry out against any?' asked his wife. 'Nay, not tomy hearing, ' he said, 'but she carried herself as one who had done noharm, and who verily believed that she had obeyed the Lord's will. '

"'This is very dreadful, ' said she, 'and I pray that the death of thatpoor misled creature may not rest heavy upon us. '

"Hereupon Mr. Norton lifted up his head, which had been bowed down uponhis hand; and I shall never forget how his pale and sharp features didseem paler than their wont, and his solemn voice seemed deeper andsadder. 'Madam!' he said, 'it may well befit your gentleness andsweetness of heart to grieve over the sufferings even of the froward andungodly, when they be cut off from the congregation of the Lord, as Hisholy and just law enjoineth, for verily I also could weep for thecondemned one, as a woman and a mother; and, since her coming, I havewrestled with the Lord, in prayer and fasting, that I might be Hisinstrument in snatching her as a brand from the burning. But, as awatchman on the walls of Zion, when I did see her casting poison intothe wells of life, and enticing unstable souls into the snares andpitfalls of Satan, what should I do but sound an alarm against her? Andthe magistrate, such as your worthy husband, who is also appointed ofGod, and set for the defence of the truth, and the safety of the Churchand the State, what can he do but faithfully to execute the law of God, which is a terror to evil doers? The natural pity which we feel mustgive place unto the duty we do severally owe to God and His Church, andthe government of His appointment. It is a small matter to be judged ofman's judgment, for, though certain people have not scrupled to call mecruel and hard of heart, yet the Lord knows I have wept in secret placesover these misguided men and women. 

"'But might not life be spared?' asked Madam Broadstreet. 'Death is agreat thing. '

"'It is appointed unto all to die, ' said Mr. Norton, 'and after deathcometh the judgment. The death of these poor bodies is a bitter thing, but the death of the soul is far more dreadful; and it is better thatthese people should suffer than that hundreds of precious souls shouldbe lost through their evil communication. The care of the dear souls ofmy flock lieth heavily upon me, as many sleepless nights and days offasting do bear witness. I have not taken counsel of flesh and blood inthis grave matter, nor yielded unto the natural weakness of my heart. And while some were for sparing these workers of iniquity, even as Saulspared Agag, I have been strengthened, as it were, to hew them in piecesbefore the Lord in Gilgal. O madam, your honored husband can tell youwhat travail of spirit, what sore trials, these disturbers have cost us;and as you do know in his case, so believe also in mine, that what wehave done hath been urged, not by hardness and cruelty of heart, butrather by our love and tenderness towards the Lord's heritage in thisland. Through care and sorrow I have grown old before my time; few andevil have been the days of my pilgrimage, and the end seems not far off;and though I have many sins and shortcomings to answer for, I do humblytrust that the blood of the souls of the flock committed to me will notthen be found upon my garments. '

"Ah, me! I shall never forget these words of that godly man, " continuedmy aunt, "for, as he said, his end was not far off. He died verysuddenly, and the Quakers did not scruple to say that it was God'sjudgment upon him for his severe dealing with their people. They evengo so far as to say that the land about Boston is cursed because of thehangings and whippings, inasmuch as wheat will not now grow here, as itdid formerly, and, indeed, many, not of their way, do believe the samething. "

April 24. 

A vessel from London has just come to port, bringing Rebecca's dressesfor the wedding, which will take place about the middle of June, as Ihear. Uncle Rawson has brought me a long letter from Aunt Grindall, with one also from Oliver, pleasant and lively, like himself. Nospecial news from abroad that I hear of. My heart longs for Old Englandmore and more. 

It is supposed that the freeholders have chosen Mr. Broadstreet fortheir Governor. The vote, uncle says, is exceeding small, very fewpeople troubling themselves about it. 

May 2. 

Mr. John Easton, a man of some note in the Providence Plantations, having occasion to visit Boston yesterday, brought me a message from mybrother, to the effect that he was now married and settled, and didgreatly desire me to make the journey to his house in the company of hisfriend, John Easton, and his wife's sister. I feared to break thematter to my uncle, but Rebecca hath done so for me, and he hath, to mygreat joy, consented thereto; for, indeed, he refuseth nothing to her. My aunt fears for me, that I shall suffer from the cold, as the weatheris by no means settled, although the season is forward, as compared withthe last; but I shall take good care as to clothing; and John Eastonsaith we shall be but two nights on the way. 

THE PLANTATIONS, May 10, 1679. 

We left Boston on the 4th, at about sunrise, and rode on at a brisktrot, until we came to the banks of the river, along which we went neara mile before we found a suitable ford, and even there the water was sodeep that we only did escape a wetting by drawing our feet up to thesaddle-trees. About noon, we stopped at a farmer's house, in the hopeof getting a dinner; but the room was dirty as an Indian wigwam, withtwo children in it, sick with the measles, and the woman herself in apoor way, and we were glad to leave as soon as possible, and get intothe fresh air again. Aunt had provided me with some cakes, and Mr. Easton, who is an old traveller, had with him a roasted fowl and a goodloaf of Indian bread; so, coming to a spring of excellent water, we gotoff our horses, and, spreading our napkins on the grass and dry leaves, had a comfortable dinner. John's sister is a widow, a lively, merrywoman, and proved rare company for me. Afterwards we rode until the sunwas nigh setting, when we came to a little hut on the shore of a broadlake at a place called Massapog. It had been dwelt in by a white familyformerly, but it was now empty, and much decayed in the roof, and as wedid ride up to it we saw a wild animal of some sort leap out of one ofits windows, and run into the pines. Here Mr. Easton said we must makeshift to tarry through the night, as it was many miles to the house of awhite man. So, getting off our horses, we went into the hut, which hadbut one room, with loose boards for a floor; and as we sat there in thetwilight, it looked dismal enough; but presently Mr. Easton, coming inwith a great load of dried boughs, struck a light in the stonefireplace, and we soon had a roaring fire. His sister broke off somehemlock boughs near the door, and made a broom of them, with which sheswept up the floor, so that when we sat down on blocks by the hearth, eating our poor supper, we thought ourselves quite comfortable and tidy. It was a wonderful clear night, the moon rising, as we judged, abouteight of the clock, over the tops of the hills on the easterly side ofthe lake, and shining brightly on the water in a long line of light, asif a silver bridge had been laid across it. Looking out into theforest, we could see the beams of the moon, falling here and therethrough the thick tops of the pines and hemlocks, and showing their talltrunks, like so many pillars in a church or temple. There was awesterly wind blowing, not steadily, but in long gusts, which, soundingfrom a great distance through the pine leaves, did make a solemn and notunpleasing music, to which I listened at the door until the cold droveme in for shelter. Our horses having been fed with corn, which Mr. Easton took with him, were tied at the back of the building, under thecover of a thick growth of hemlocks, which served to break off the nightwind. The widow and I had a comfortable bed in the corner of the room, which we made of small hemlock sprigs, having our cloaks to cover us, and our saddlebags for pillows. My companions were soon asleep, but theexceeding strangeness of my situation did keep me a long time awake. For, as I lay there looking upward, I could see the stars shining down agreat hole in the roof, and the moonlight streaming through the seams ofthe logs, and mingling with the red glow of the coals on the hearth. Icould hear the horses stamping, just outside, and the sound of the wateron the lake shore, the cry of wild animals in the depth of the woods, and, over all, the long and very wonderful murmur of the pines in thewind. At last, being sore weary, I fell asleep, and waked not until Ifelt the warm sun shining in my face, and heard the voice of Mr. Eastonbidding me rise, as the horses were ready. 

After riding about two hours we came upon an Indian camp, in the midstof a thick wood of maples. Here were six spacious wigwams; but the menwere away, except two very old and infirm ones. There were five or sixwomen, and perhaps twice as many children, who all came out to see us. They brought us some dried meat, as hard nigh upon as chips of wood, andwhich, although hungry, I could feel no stomach for; but I bought of oneof the squaws two great cakes of sugar, made from the sap of the mapleswhich abound there, very pure and sweet, and which served me instead oftheir unsavory meat and cakes of pounded corn, of which Mr. Easton andhis sister did not scruple to partake. Leaving them, we had a long andhard ride to a place called Winnicinnit, where, to my great joy, wefound a comfortable house and Christian people, with whom we tarried. The next day we got to the Plantations; and about noon, from the top ofa hill, Mr. Easton pointed out the settlement where my brother dwelt, --a fair, pleasant valley, through which ran a small river, with thehouses of the planters on either side. Shortly after, we came to a newframe house, with a great oak-tree left standing on each side of thegate, and a broad meadow before it, stretching down to the water. HereMr. Easton stopped; and now, who should come hastening down to us but mynew sister, Margaret, in her plain but comely dress, kindly welcomingme; and soon my brother came up from the meadow, where he was busy withhis men. It was indeed a joyful meeting. 

The next day being the Sabhath, I went with my brother and his wife tothe meeting, which was held in a large house of one of their Quakerneighbors. About a score of grave, decent people did meet there, sitting still and quiet for a pretty while, when one of their number, a venerable man, spake a few words, mostly Scripture; then a youngwoman, who, I did afterwards learn, had been hardly treated by thePlymouth people, did offer a few words of encouragement and exhortationfrom this portion of the 34th Psalm: "The angel of the Lord encampethround about them that fear him, and delivereth them. " When the meetingwas over, some of the ancient women came and spake kindly to me, inviting me to their houses. In the evening certain of these peoplecame to my brother's, and were kind and loving towards me. There was, nevertheless, a gravity and a certain staidness of deportment which Icould but ill conform unto, and I was not sorry when they took leave. My Uncle Rawson need not fear my joining with them; for, although I dojudge them to be a worthy and pious people, I like not their manner ofworship, and their great gravity and soberness do little accord with mynatural temper and spirits. 

May 16. 

This place is in what is called the Narragansett country, and abouttwenty miles from Mr. Williams's town of Providence, a place of no smallnote. Mr. Williams, who is now an aged man, more than fourscore, wasthe founder of the Province, and is held in great esteem by the people, who be of all sects and persuasions, as the Government doth not molestany in worshipping according to conscience; and hence you will see inthe same neighborhood Anabaptists, Quakers, New Lights, Brownists, Antinomians, and Socinians, --nay, I am told there be Papists also. Mr. Williams is a Baptist, and holdeth mainly with Calvin and Beza, asrespects the decrees, and hath been a bitter reviler of the Quakers, although he hath ofttimes sheltered them from the rigor of theMassachusetts Bay magistrates, who he saith have no warrant to deal inmatters of conscience and religion, as they have done. 

Yesterday came the Governor of the Rhode Island, Nicholas Easton, thefather of John, with his youngest daughter Mary, as fair and as ladylikea person as I have seen for many a day. Both her father and herself domeet with the "Friends, " as they call themselves, at their great houseon the Island, and the Governor sometimes speaks therein, having, as oneof the elders here saith of him, "a pretty gift in the ministry. " Mary, who is about the age of my brother's wife, would fain persuade us to goback with them on the morrow to the Island, but Leonard's business willnot allow it, and I would by no means lose his company while I tarry inthese parts, as I am so soon to depart for home, where a great oceanwill separate us, it may be for many years. Margaret, who hath been tothe Island, saith that the Governor's house is open to all new-comers, who are there entertained with rare courtesy, he being a man ofsubstance, having a great plantation, with orchards and gardens, anda stately house on an hill over-looking the sea on either hand, where, six years ago, when the famous George Fox was on the Island, he didentertain and lodge no less than fourscore persons, beside his ownfamily and servants. 

Governor Easton, who is a pleasant talker, told a story of a magistratewho had been a great persecutor of his people. On one occasion, afterhe had cast a worthy Friend into jail, he dreamed a dream in this wise:He thought he was in a fair, delightsome place, where were sweet springsof water and green meadows, and rare fruit-trees and vines with ripeclusters thereon, and in the midst thereof flowed a river whose waterswere clearer than crystal. Moreover, he did behold a great multitudewalking on the river's bank, or sitting lovingly in the shade of thetrees which grew thereby. Now, while he stood marvelling at all this, he beheld in his dream the man he had cast into prison sitting with hishat on, side by side with a minister then dead, whom the magistrate hadheld in great esteem while living; whereat, feeling his anger stirredwithin him, he went straight and bade the man take off his hat in thepresence of his betters. Howbeit the twain did give no heed to hiswords, but did continue to talk lovingly together as before; whereuponhe waxed exceeding wroth, and would have laid hands upon the man. But, hearing a voice calling upon him to forbear, he did look about him, andbehold one, with a shining countenance, and clad in raiment so whitethat it did dazzle his eyes to look upon it, stood before him. And theshape said, "Dost thou well to be angry?" Then said the magistrate, "Yonder is a Quaker with his hat on talking to a godly minister. ""Nay, " quoth the shape, "thou seest but after the manner of the worldand with the eyes of flesh. Look yonder, and tell me what thou seest. "So he looked again, and lo! two men in shining raiment, like him whotalked with him, sat under the tree. "Tell me, " said the shape, "if thoucanst, which of the twain is the Quaker and which is the Priest?" Andwhen he could not, but stood in amazement confessing he did see neitherof them, the shape said, "Thou sayest well, for here be neither Priestnor Quaker, Jew nor Gentile, but all are one in the Lord. " Then heawoke, and pondered long upon his dream, and when it was morning he wentstraightway to the jail, and ordered the man to be set free, and hathever since carried himself lovingly towards the Quakers. 

My brother's lines have indeed fallen unto him in a pleasant, place. His house is on a warm slope of a hill, looking to the southeast, with agreat wood of oaks and walnuts behind it, and before it many acres ofopen land, where formerly the Indians did plant their corn, much ofwhich is now ploughed and seeded. From the top of the hill one can seethe waters of the great Bay; at the foot of it runs a small rivernoisily over the rocks, making a continual murmur. Going thither thismorning, I found a great rock hanging over the water, on which I satdown, listening to the noise of the stream and the merriment of thebirds in the trees, and admiring the green banks, which were besprinkledwith white and yellow flowers. I call to mind that sweet fancy of thelamented Anne Broadstreet, the wife of the new Governor ofMassachusetts, in a little piece which she nameth "Contemplations, "being written on the banks of a stream, like unto the one whereby I wasthen sitting, in which the writer first describeth the beauties of thewood, and the flowing water, with the bright fishes therein, and thenthe songs of birds in the boughs over her head, in this sweet andpleasing verse, which I have often heard repeated by Cousin Rebecca:--

 "While musing thus, with contemplation fed, And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain, A sweet-tongued songster perched above my head, And chanted forth her most melodious strain; Which rapt me so with wonder and delight, I judged my hearing better than my sight, And wished me wings with her a while to take my flight. 

 "O merry bird! said I, that fears no snares, That neither toils nor hoards up in the barn, Feels no sad thoughts, nor cruciating cares, To gain more good, or shun what might thee harm. Thy clothes ne'er wear, thy meat is everywhere, Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water clear, Reminds not what is past, nor what's to come dost fear. 

 "The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent, Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered crew, So each one tunes his pretty instrument, And, warbling out the old, begins the new. And thus they pass their youth in summer season, Then follow thee unto a better region, Where winter's never felt by that sweet airy legion. "

Now, while I did ponder these lines, hearing a step in the leaves, Ilooked up, and behold there was an old Indian close beside me; and, being much affrighted, I gave a loud cry, and ran towards the house. The old man laughed at this, and, calling after me, said he would notharm me; and Leonard, hearing my cries, now coming up, bade me neverfear the Indian, for he was a harmless creature, who was well known tohim. So he kindly saluted the old man, asking me to shake hands withhim, which I did, when he struck across the field to a little clearedspot on the side of the hill. My brother bidding me note his actions, I saw him stoop down on his knees, with his head to the ground, for somespace of time, and then, getting up, he stretched out his hands towardsthe southwest, as if imploring some one whom I could not see. This herepeated for nigh upon half an hour, when he came back to the house, where he got some beer and bread to eat, and a great loaf to carry away. He said but little until he rose to depart, when he told my brother thathe had been to see the graves of his father and his mother, and that hewas glad to find them as he did leave them the last year; for he knewthat the spirits of the dead would be sore grieved, if the white man'shoe touched their bones. 

My brother promised him that the burial-place of his people should notbe disturbed, and that he would find it as now, when he did again visitit. 

"Me never come again, " said the old Indian. "No. Umpachee is very old. He has no squaw; he has no young men who call him father. Umpachee islike that tree;" and he pointed, as he spoke, to a birch, which stoodapart in the field, from which the bark had fallen, and which did showno leaf nor bud. 

My brother hereupon spake to him of the great Father of both white andred men, and of his love towards them, and of the measure of light whichhe had given unto all men, whereby they might know good from evil, andby living in obedience to which they might be happy in this life and inthat to come; exhorting him to put his trust in God, who was able tocomfort and sustain him in his old age, and not to follow after lyingPowahs, who did deceive and mislead him. 

"My young brother's talk is good, " said the old man. "The Great Fathersees that his skin is white, and that mine is red. He sees my youngbrother when he sits in his praying-house, and me when me offer him cornand deer's flesh in the woods, and he says good. Umpachee's people haveall gone to one place. If Umpachee go to a praying-house, the GreatFather will send him to the white man's place, and his father and hismother and his sons will never see him in their hunting-ground. No. Umpachee is an old beaver that sits in his own house, and swims in hisown pond. He will stay where he is, until his Father calls him. "

Saying this, the old savage went on his way. As he passed out of thevalley, and got to the top of the hill on the other side, we, lookingafter him, beheld him standing still a moment, as if bidding farewell tothe graves of his people. 

May 24. 

My brother goes with me to-morrow on my way to Boston. I am not alittle loath to leave my dear sister Margaret, who hath greatly won uponme by her gentleness and loving deportment, and who doth at all times, even when at work in ordering her household affairs, and amidst thecares and perplexities of her new life, show forth that sweetness oftemper and that simplicity wherewith I was charmed when I first saw her. She hath naturally an ingenious mind, and, since her acquaintance withmy brother, hath dipped into such of his studies and readings as she hadleisure and freedom to engage in, so that her conversation is in no wisebeneath her station. Nor doth she, like some of her people, especiallythe more simple and unlearned, affect a painful and melancholy look anda canting tone of discourse, but lacketh not for cheerfulness and acertain natural ease and grace of demeanor; and the warmth and goodnessof her heart doth at times break the usual quiet of her countenance, like to sunshine and wind on a still water, and she hath the sweetestsmile I ever saw. I have often thought, since I have been with her, that if Uncle Rawson could see and hear her as I do for a single day, he would confess that my brother might have done worse than to take aQuaker to wife. 

BOSTON, May 28, 1679. 

Through God's mercy, I got here safe and well, saving great weariness, and grief at parting with my brother and his wife. The first day wewent as far as a place they call Rehoboth, where we tarried over night, finding but small comfort therein; for the house was so filled, thatLeonard and a friend who came with us were fain to lie all night in thebarn, on the mow before their horses; and, for mine own part, I had tochoose between lying in the large room, where the man of the house andhis wife and two sons, grown men, did lodge, or to climb into the darkloft, where was barely space for a bed, --which last I did make choiceof, although the woman thought it strange, and marvelled not a little atmy unwillingness to sleep in the same room with her husband and boys, as she called them. In the evening, hearing loud voices in a house nearby, we inquired what it meant, and were told that some people fromProvidence were holding a meeting there, the owner of the house beingaccounted a Quaker. Whereupon, I went thither with Leonard, and foundnigh upon a score of people gathered, and a man with loose hair andbeard speaking to them. My brother whispered to me that he was noFriend, but a noted ranter, a noisy, unsettled man. He screamedexceeding loud, and stamped with his feet, and foamed at the mouth, likeone possessed with an evil spirit, crying against all order in State orChurch, and declaring that the Lord had a controversy with Priests andMagistrates, the prophets who prophesy falsely, and the priests who bearrule by their means, and the people who love to have it so. He spake ofthe Quakers as a tender and hopeful people in their beginning, and whilethe arm of the wicked was heavy upon them; but now he said that they, even as the rest, were settled down into a dead order, and heaping upworldly goods, and speaking evil of the Lord's messengers. They were apart of Babylon, and would perish with their idols; they should drink ofthe wine of God's wrath; the day of their visitation was at hand. Aftergoing on thus for a while, up gets a tall, wild-looking woman, as paleas a ghost, and trembling from head to foot, who, stretching out herlong arms towards the man who had spoken, bade the people take noticethat this was the angel spoken of in Revelation, flying through themidst of heaven, and crying, Woe! woe! to the inhabitants of the earth!with more of the like wicked rant, whereat I was not a littlediscomposed, and, beckoning my brother, left them to foam out theirshame to themselves. 

The next morning, we got upon our horses at an early hour, and after ahard and long ride reached Mr. Torrey's at Weymouth, about an hour afterdark. Here we found Cousin Torrey in bed with her second child, a boy, whereat her husband is not a little rejoiced. My brother here took hisleave of me, going back to the Plantations. My heart is truly sad andheavy with the great grief of parting. 

May 30. 

Went to the South meeting to-day, to hear the sermon preached before theworshipful Governor, Mr. Broadstreet, and his Majesty's Council, itbeing the election day. It was a long sermon, from Esther x. 3. Hadmuch to say concerning the duty of Magistrates to support the Gospel andits ministers, and to put an end to schism and heresy. Very pointed, also, against time-serving Magistrates. 

June 1. 

Mr. Michael Wigglesworth, the Malden minister, at uncle's house lastnight. Mr. Wigglesworth told aunt that he had preached a sermon againstthe wearing of long hair and other like vanities, which he hoped, withGod's blessing, might do good. It was from Isaiah iii. 16, and so onto the end of the chapter. Now, while he was speaking of the sermon, I whispered Rebecca that I would like to ask him a question, which heoverhearing, turned to me, and bade me never heed, but speak out. So Itold him that I was but a child in years and knowledge, and he a wiseand learned man; but if he would not deem it forward in me, I would fainknow whether the Scripture did anywhere lay down the particular fashionof wearing the hair. 

Mr. Wigglesworth said that there were certain general rules laid down, from which we might make a right application to particular cases. Thewearing of long hair by men is expressly forbidden in 1 Corinthians xi. 14, 15; and there is a special word for women, also, in 1 Tim. Ii. 9. 

Hereupon Aunt Rawson told me she thought I was well answered; but I(foolish one that I was), being unwilling to give up the matter so, ventured further to say that there were the Nazarites, spoken of inNumbers vi. 5, upon whose heads, by the appointment of God, no razorwas to come. 

"Nay, " said Mr. Wigglesworth, "that was by a special appointment only, and proveth the general rule and practice. "

Uncle Rawson said that long hair might, he judged, be lawfully worn, where the bodily health did require it, to guard the necks of weaklypeople from the cold. 

"Where there seems plainly a call of nature for it, " said Mr. Wigglesworth, "as a matter of bodily comfort, and for the warmth of thehead and neck, it is nowise unlawful. But for healthy, sturdy youngpeople to make this excuse for their sinful vanity doth but add to theircondemnation. If a man go any whit beyond God's appointment and thecomfort of nature, I know not where he will stop, until he grows to bethe veriest ruffian in the world. It is a wanton and shameful thing fora man to liken himself to a woman, by suffering his hair to grow, andcurling and parting it in a seam, as is the manner of too many. Itbetokeneth pride and vanity, and causeth no small offence to godly, sober people. 

"The time hath been, " continued Mr. Wigglesworth, "when God's peoplewere ashamed of such vanities, both in the home country and in theseparts; but since the Bishops and the Papists have had their way, andsuch as feared God are put down from authority, to give place toscorners and wantons, there hath been a sad change. "

He furthermore spake of the gay apparel of the young women of Boston, and their lack of plainness and modesty in the manner of wearing andordering their hair; and said he could in no wise agree with some of hisbrethren in the ministry that this was a light matter, inasmuch as itdid most plainly appear from Scripture that the pride and haughtiness ofthe daughters of Zion did provoke the judgments of the Lord, not onlyupon them, but upon the men also. Now, the special sin of women ispride and haughtiness, and that because they be generally more ignorant, being the weaker vessel; and this sin venteth itself in their gesture, their hair and apparel. Now, God abhors all pride, especially pride inbase things; and hence the conduct of the daughters of Zion does greatlyprovoke his wrath, first against themselves, secondly their fathers andhusbands, and thirdly against the land they do inhabit. 

Rebecca here roguishly pinched my arm, saying apart that, after all, weweaker vessels did seem to be of great consequence, and nobody couldtell but that our head-dresses would yet prove the ruin of the country. 

June 4

Robert Pike, coming into the harbor with his sloop, from the Pemaquidcountry, looked in upon us yesterday. Said that since coming to thetown he had seen a Newbury man, who told him that old Mr. Wheelwright, of Salisbury, the famous Boston minister in the time of Sir Harry Vaneand Madam Hutchinson, was now lying sick, and nigh unto his end. Also, that Goodman Morse was so crippled by a fall in his barn, that he cannotget to Boston to the trial of his wife, which is a sore affliction tohim. The trial of the witch is now going on, and uncle saith it looksmuch against her, especially the testimony of the Widow Goodwin abouther child, and of John Gladding about seeing one half of the body ofGoody Morse flying about in the sun, as if she had been cut in twain, oras if the Devil did hide the lower part of her. Robert Pike said suchtestimony ought not to hang a cat, the widow being little more than afool; and as for the fellow Gladding, he was no doubt in his cups, forhe had often seen him in such a plight that he could not have told GoodyMorse from the Queen of Sheba. 

June 8. 

The Morse woman having been found guilty by the Court of Assistants, she was brought out to the North Meeting, to hear the Thursday Lecture, yesterday, before having her sentence. The house was filled withpeople, they being curious to see the witch. The Marshal and theconstables brought her in, and set her in, front of the pulpit; the oldcreature looking round her wildly, as if wanting her wits, and thencovering her face with her dark wrinkled hands; a dismal sight! Theminister took his text in Romans xiii. 3, 4, especially the last clauseof the 4th verse, relating to rulers: For he beareth not the sword invain, &c. He dwelt upon the power of the ruler as a Minister of God, and as a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil; and showeththat the punishment of witches and such as covenant with the Devil isone of the duties expressly enjoined upon rulers by the Word of God, inasmuch as a witch was not to be suffered to live. 

He then did solemnly address himself to the condemned woman, quoting 1Tim. V. 20: "Them that sin, rebuke before all, that others also mayfear. " The woman was greatly moved, for no doubt the sharp words of thepreacher did prick her guilty conscience, and the terrors of hell didtake hold of her, so that she was carried out, looking scarcely alive. They took her, when the lecture was over, to the Court, where theGovernor did pronounce sentence of death upon her. But uncle tells methere be many who are stirring to get her respited for a time, at least, and he doth himself incline to favor it, especially as Rebecca hathlabored much with him to that end, as also hath Major Pike and MajorSaltonstall with the Governor, who himself sent for uncle last night, and they had a long talk together, and looked over the testimony againstthe woman, and neither did feel altogether satisfied with it. Mr. Norton adviseth for the hanging; but Mr. Willard, who has seen much ofthe woman, and hath prayed with her in the jail, thinks she may beinnocent in the matter of witchcraft, inasmuch as her conversation wassuch as might become a godly person in affliction, and the reading ofthe Scripture did seem greatly to comfort her. 

June 9. 

Uncle Rawson being at the jail to-day, a messenger, who had been sent tothe daughter of Goody Morse, who is the wife of one Hate Evil Nutter, onthe Cocheco, to tell her that her mother did greatly desire to see heronce more before she was hanged, coming in, told the condemned womanthat her daughter bade him say to her, that inasmuch as she had soldherself to the Devil, she did owe her no further love or service, andthat she could not complain of this, for as she had made her bed, so shemust lie. Whereat the old creature set up a miserable cry, saying thatto have her own flesh and blood turn against her was more bitter thandeath itself. And she begged Mr. Willard to pray for her, that hertrust in the Lord might not be shaken by this new affliction. 

June 10. 

The condemned woman hath been reprieved by the Governor and theMagistrates until the sitting of the Court in October. Many people, both men and women, coming in from the towns about to see the hanging, be sore disappointed, and do vehemently condemn the conduct of theGovernor therein. For mine own part, I do truly rejoice that mercy hathbeen shown to the poor creature; for even if she is guilty, it affordethher a season for repentance; and if she be innocent, it saveth the landfrom a great sin. The sorrowful look of the old creature at the Lecturehath troubled me ever since, so forlorn and forsaken did she seem. Major Pike (Robert's father), coming in this morning, says, next to thesparing of Goody Morse's life, it did please him to see the bloodthirstyrabble so cheated out of their diversion; for example, there was GoodyMatson, who had ridden bare-backed, for lack of a saddle, all the wayfrom Newbury, on Deacon Dole's hard-trotting horse, and was so galledand lame of it that she could scarce walk. The Major said he met her atthe head of King Street yesterday, with half a score more of her sort, scolding and railing about the reprieve of the witch, and prophesyingdreadful judgments upon all concerned in it. He said he bade her shuther mouth and go home, where she belonged; telling her that if he heardany more of her railing, the Magistrates should have notice of it, andshe would find that laying by the heels in the stocks was worse thanriding Deacon Dole's horse. 

June 14. 

Yesterday the wedding took place. It was an exceeding brave one; mostof the old and honored families being at it, so that the great housewherein my uncle lives was much crowded. Among them were GovernorBroadstreet and many of the honorable Magistrates, with Mr. Saltonstalland his worthy lady; Mr. Richardson, the Newbury minister, joining thetwain in marriage, in a very solemn and feeling manner. Sir Thomas wasrichly apparelled, as became one of his rank, and Rebecca in her whitesilk looked comely as an angel. She wore the lace collar I wrought forher last winter, for my sake, although I fear me she had prettier onesof her own working. The day was wet and dark, with an easterly windblowing in great gusts from the bay, exceeding cold for the season. 

Rebecca, or Lady Hale, as she is now called, had invited Robert Piketo her wedding, but he sent her an excuse for not coming, to the effectthat urgent business did call him into the eastern country as far asMonhegan and Pemaquid. His letter, which was full of good wishes forher happiness and prosperity, I noted saddened Rebecca a good deal; andshe was, moreover, somewhat disturbed by certain things that did happenyesterday: the great mirror in the hall being badly broken, and thefamily arms hanging over the fire-place thrown down, so that it wasburned by the coals kindled on the hearth, on account of the dampness;which were looked upon as ill signs by most people. Grindall, athoughtless youth, told his sister of the burning of the arms, and thatnothing was left save the head of the raven in the crest, at which shegrew very pale, and said it was strange, indeed, and, turning to me, asked me if I did put faith in what was said of signs and prognostics. So, seeing her troubled, I laughed at the matter, although I secretlydid look upon it as an ill omen, especially as I could never greatlyadmire Sir Thomas. My brother's wife, who seemed fully persuaded thathe is an unworthy person, sent by me a message to Rebecca, to thateffect; but I had not courage to speak of it, as matters had gone sofar, and uncle and aunt did seem so fully bent upon making a great ladyof their daughter. 

The vessel in which we are to take our passage is near upon ready forthe sea. The bark is a London one, called "The Three Brothers, " and iscommanded by an old acquaintance of Uncle Rawson. I am happy with thethought of going home, yet, as the time of departure draws nigh, I doconfess some regrets at leaving this country, where I have been sokindly cared for and entertained, and where I have seen so many new andstrange things. The great solemn woods, as wild and natural as theywere thousands of years ago, the fierce suns of the summer season andthe great snows of the winter, and the wild beasts, and the heathenIndians, --these be things the memory whereof will over abide with me. To-day the weather is again clear and warm, the sky wonderfully bright;the green leaves flutter in the wind, and the birds are singing sweetly. The waters of the bay, which be yet troubled by the storm of last night, are breaking in white foam on the rocks of the main land, and on thesmall islands covered with trees and vines; and many boats and sloopsgoing out with the west wind, to their fishing, do show their whitesails in the offing. How I wish I had skill to paint the picture of allthis for my English friends! My heart is pained, as I look upon it, with the thought that after a few days I shall never see it more. 

June 18. 

To-morrow we embark for home. Wrote a long letter to my dear brotherand sister, and one to my cousins at York. Mr. Richardson hath justleft us, having come all the way from Newbury to the wedding. Theexcellent Governor Broadstreet hath this morning sent to Lady Hale ahandsome copy of his first wife's book, entitled "Several Poems by aGentlewoman of New England, " with these words on the blank page thereof, from Proverbs xxxi. 30, "A woman that feareth the Lord, she shall bepraised, " written in the Governor's own hand. All the great folkshereabout have not failed to visit my cousin since her marriage; but Ido think she is better pleased with some visits she hath had from poorwidows and others who have been in times past relieved and comforted byher charities and kindness, the gratitude of these people affecting herunto tears. Truly it may be said of her, as of Job: "When the ear heardher then it blessed her, and when the eye saw her it gave witness toher: because she delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, andhim that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready toperish came upon her; and she caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. "

(Here the diary ends somewhat abruptly. It appears as if some of thelast pages have been lost. Appended to the manuscript I find a note, inanother handwriting, signed "R. G. , " dated at Malton Rectory, 1747. OneRawson Grindall, M. A. , was curate of Malton at this date, and theinitials are undoubtedly his. The sad sequel to the history of the fairRebecca Rawson is confirmed by papers now on file in the State-House atBoston, in which she is spoken of as "one of the most beautiful, polite, and accomplished young ladies in Boston. "--Editor. )

"These papers of my honored and pious grandmother, Margaret Smith, who, soon after her return from New England, married her cousin, OliverGrindall, Esq. , of Hilton Grange, Crowell, in Oxfordshire (both of whomhave within the last ten years departed this life, greatly lamented byall who knew them), having cone into my possession, I have thought itnot amiss to add to them a narrative of what happened to her friend andcousin, as I have had the story often from her own lips. 

"It appears that the brave gallant calling himself Sir Thomas Hale, for all his fair seething and handsome address, was but a knave andimpostor, deceiving with abominable villany Rebecca Rawson and most ofher friends (although my grandmother was never satisfied with him, as isseen in her journal). When they got, to London, being anxious, onaccount of sea-sickness and great weariness, to leave the vessel as soonas possible, they went ashore to the house of a kinsman to lodge, leaving their trunks and clothing on board. Early on the next morning, he that called himself Sir Thomas left his wife, taking with him thekeys of her trunks, telling her he would send them up from the vessel inseason for her to dress for dinner. The trunks came, as he said, butafter waiting impatiently for the keys until near the dinner-hour, andher husband not returning, she had them broken open, and, to her griefand astonishment, found nothing therein but shavings and othercombustible matter. Her kinsman forthwith ordered his carriage, andwent with her to the inn where they first stopped on landing from thevessel, where she inquired for Sir Thomas Hale. The landlord told herthere was such a gentleman, but he had not seen him for some days. 'But he was at your house last night, ' said the astonished young woman. 'He is my husband, and I was with him. ' The landlord then said that oneThomas Rumsey was at his house, with a young lady, the night before, butshe was not his lawful wife, for he had one already in Kent. At thisastounding news, the unhappy woman swooned outright, and, being takenback to her kinsman's, she lay grievously ill for many days, duringwhich time, by letters from Kent, it was ascertained that this Rumseywas a graceless young spendthrift, who had left his wife and his twochildren three years before, and gone to parts unknown. 

"My grandmother, who affectionately watched over her, and comforted herin her great affliction, has often told me that, on coming to herself, her poor cousin said it was a righteous judgment upon her, for her prideand vanity, which had led her to discard worthy men for one of greatshow and pretensions, who had no solid merit to boast of. She hadsinned against God, and brought disgrace upon her family, in choosinghim. She begged that his name might never be mentioned again in herhearing, and that she might only be known as a poor relative of herEnglish kinsfolk, and find a home among them until she could seek outsome employment for her maintenance, as she could not think of goingback to Boston, to become the laughing-stock of the thoughtless and thereproach of her father's family. 

"After the marriage of my grandmother, Rebecca was induced to live withher for some years. My great-aunt, Martha Grindall, an ancientspinster, now living, remembers her well at that time, describing her asa young woman of a sweet and gentle disposition, and much beloved by allthe members of the family. Her father, hearing of her misfortunes, wrote to her, kindly inviting her to return to New England, and livewith him, and she at last resolved to do so. My great-uncle, Robert, having an office under the government at Port Royal, in the island ofJamaica, she went out with him, intending to sail from thence to Boston. From that place she wrote to my grandmother a letter, which I have alsoin my possession, informing her of her safe arrival, and of her havingseen an old friend, Captain Robert Pike, whose business concerns hadcalled him to the island, who had been very kind and considerate in hisattention to her, offering to take her home in his vessel, which was tosail in a few days. She mentions, in a postscript to her letter, thatshe found Captain Pike to be much improved in his appearance andmanners, --a true natural gentleman; and she does not forget to noticethe fact that he was still single. She had, she said, felt unwilling toaccept his offer of a passage home, holding herself unworthy of suchcivilities at his hands; but he had so pressed the matter that she had, not without some misgivings, consented to it. 

"But it was not according to the inscrutable wisdom of Providence thatshe should ever be restored to her father's house. Among the victims ofthe great earthquake which destroyed Port Royal a few days after thedate of her letter, was this unfortunate lady. It was a heavy blow tomy grandmother, who entertained for her cousin the tenderest affection, and, indeed, she seems to have been every way worthy of it, --lovely inperson, amiable in deportment, and of a generous and noble nature. Shewas, especially after her great trouble, of a somewhat pensive andserious habit of mind, contrasting with the playfulness and innocentlight-heartedness of her early life, as depicted in the diary of mygrandmother, yet she was ever ready to forget herself in ministering tothe happiness and pleasures of others. She was not, as I learn, amember of the church, having some scruples in respect to the rituals, aswas natural from her education in New England, among Puritanicschismatics; but she lived a devout life, and her quiet andunostentatious piety exemplified the truth of the language of one of thegreatest of our divines, the Bishop of Down and Connor 'Prayer is thepeace of our spirit, the stillness of our thoughts, the issue of a quietmind, the daughter of charity, and the sister of meekness. ' Optimusanimus est pulcherrimus Dei cultus. 

"R. G. "

TALES AND SKETCHES

MY SUMMER WITH DR. SINGLETARY. 

A FRAGMENT. 

CHAPTER I. DR. SINGLETARY IS DEAD!

Well, what of it? All who live die sooner or later; and pray who wasDr. Singletary, that his case should claim particular attention?

Why, in the first place, Dr. Singletary, as a man born to our commoninheritance of joy and sorrow, earthly instincts and heavenwardaspirations, --our brother in sin and suffering, wisdom and folly, love, and pride, and vanity, --has a claim upon the universal sympathy. Besides, whatever the living man may have been, death has now investedhim with its great solemnity. He is with the immortals. For him thedark curtain has been lifted. The weaknesses, the follies, and therepulsive mental and personal idiosyncrasies which may have kept himwithout the sphere of our respect and sympathy have now fallen off, andhe stands radiant with the transfiguration of eternity, God's child, ourrecognized and acknowledged brother. 

Dr. Singletary is dead. He was an old man, and seldom, of latter years, ventured beyond the precincts of his neighborhood. He was a single man, and his departure has broken no circle of family affection. He waslittle known to the public, and is now little missed. The villagenewspaper simply appended to its announcement of his decease thecustomary post mortem compliment, "Greatly respected by all who knewhim;" and in the annual catalogue of his alma mater an asterisk has beenadded to his name, over which perchance some gray-haired survivor of hisclass may breathe a sigh, as he calls up, the image of the fresh-faced, bright-eyed boy, who, aspiring, hopeful, vigorous, started with him onthe journey of life, --a sigh rather for himself than for its unconsciousawakener. 

But, a few years have passed since he left us; yet already wellnigh allthe outward manifestations, landmarks, and memorials of the living manhave passed away or been removed. His house, with its broad, mossy roofsloping down on one side almost to the rose-bushes and lilacs, and withits comfortable little porch in front, where he used to sit of apleasant summer afternoon, has passed into new hands, and has been sadlydisfigured by a glaring coat of white paint; and in the place of thegood Doctor's name, hardly legible on the corner-board, may now be seen, in staring letters of black and gold, "VALENTINE ORSON STUBBS, M. D. , Indian doctor and dealer in roots and herbs. " The good Doctor's oldhorse, as well known as its owner to every man, woman, and child in thevillage, has fallen into the new comer's hands, who (being prepared tomake the most of him, from the fact that he commenced the practice ofthe healing art in the stable, rising from thence to the parlor) hasrubbed him into comparative sleekness, cleaned his mane and tail of theaccumulated burrs of many autumns, and made quite a gay nag of him. Thewagon, too, in which at least two generations of boys and girls haveridden in noisy hilarity whenever they encountered it on their way toschool, has been so smartly painted and varnished, that if its formerowner could look down from the hill-slope where he lies, he wouldscarcely know his once familiar vehicle as it whirls glittering alongthe main road to the village. For the rest, all things go on as usual;the miller grinds, the blacksmith strikes and blows, the cobbler andtailor stitch and mend, old men sit in the autumn sun, old gossips stirtea and scandal, revival meetings alternate with apple-bees andbushings, --toil, pleasure, family jars, petty neighborhood quarrels, courtship, and marriage, --all which make up the daily life of a countryvillage continue as before. The little chasm which his death has madein the hearts of the people where he lived and labored seems nearlyclosed up. There is only one more grave in the burying-ground, --that isall. 

Let nobody infer from what I have said that the good man diedunlamented; for, indeed, it was a sad day with his neighbors when thenews, long expected, ran at last from house to house and from workshopto workshop, "Dr. Singletary is dead!"

He had not any enemy left among them; in one way or another he had beenthe friend and benefactor of all. Some owed to his skill their recoveryfrom sickness; others remembered how he had watched with anxioussolicitude by the bedside of their dying relatives, soothing them, whenall human aid was vain, with the sweet consolations of that Christianhope which alone pierces the great shadow of the grave and shows thesafe stepping-stones above the dark waters. The old missed a cheerfulcompanion and friend, who had taught them much without wounding theirpride by an offensive display of his superiority, and who, while makinga jest of his own trials and infirmities, could still listen with realsympathy to the querulous and importunate complaints of others. For oneday, at least, even the sunny faces of childhood were marked withunwonted thoughtfulness; the shadow of the common bereavement fell overthe play-ground and nursery. The little girl remembered, with tears, how her broken-limbed doll had taxed the surgical ingenuity of hergenial old friend; and the boy showed sorrowfully to his playmates thetop which the good Doctor had given him. If there were few, among themany who stood beside his grave, capable of rightly measuring andappreciating the high intellectual and spiritual nature which formed thebackground of his simple social life, all could feel that no common losshad been sustained, and that the kindly and generous spirit which hadpassed away from them had not lived to himself alone. 

As you follow the windings of one of the loveliest rivers of NewEngland, a few miles above the sea-mart, at its mouth, you can see on ahill, whose grassy slope is checkered with the graceful foliage of thelocust, and whose top stands relieved against a still higher elevation, dark with oaks and walnuts, the white stones of the burying-place. Itis a quiet spot, but without gloom, as befits "God's Acre. " Below isthe village, with its sloops and fishing-boats at the wharves, and itscrescent of white houses mirrored in the water. Eastward is the mistyline of the great sea. Blue peaks of distant mountains roughen thehorizon of the north. Westward, the broad, clear river winds away intoa maze of jutting bluffs and picturesque wooded headlands. The tall, white stone on the westerly slope of the hill bears the name of"Nicholas Singletary, M. D. , " and marks the spot which he selected manyyears before his death. When I visited it last spring, the air about itwas fragrant with the bloom of sweet-brier and blackberry and thebalsamic aroma of the sweet-fern; birds were singing in the birch-treesby the wall; and two little, brown-locked, merry-faced girls were makingwreaths of the dandelions and grasses which grew upon the old man'sgrave. The sun was setting behind the western river-bluffs, floodingthe valley with soft light, glorifying every object and fusing all intoharmony and beauty. I saw and felt nothing to depress or sadden me. Icould have joined in the laugh of the children. The light whistle of ayoung teamster, driving merrily homeward, did not jar upon my ear; forfrom the transfigured landscape, and from the singing birds, and fromsportive childhood, and from blossoming sweetbrier, and from the grassymound before me, I heard the whisper of one word only, and that wordwas PEACE. 

CHAPTER. II. SOME ACCOUNT OF PEEWAWKIN ON THE TOCKETUCK. 

WELL and truly said the wise man of old, "Much study is a weariness tothe flesh. " Hard and close application through the winter had left meill prepared to resist the baleful influences of a New England spring. I shrank alike from the storms of March, the capricious changes ofApril, and the sudden alternations of May, from the blandest ofsouthwest breezes to the terrible and icy eastern blasts which sweep ourseaboard like the fabled sanser, or wind of death. The buoyancy andvigor, the freshness and beauty of life seemed leaving me. The fleshand the spirit were no longer harmonious. I was tormented by anightmare feeling of the necessity of exertion, coupled with a sense ofutter inability. A thousand plans for my own benefit, or the welfare ofthose dear to me, or of my fellow-men at large, passed before me; but Ihad no strength to lay hold of the good angels and detain them untilthey left their blessing. The trumpet sounded in my ears for thetournament of life; but I could not bear the weight of my armor. In themidst of duties and responsibilities which I clearly comprehended, Ifound myself yielding to the absorbing egotism of sickness. I couldwork only when the sharp rowels of necessity were in my sides. 

It needed not the ominous warnings of my acquaintance to convince methat some decisive change was necessary. But what was to be done? Avoyage to Europe was suggested by my friends; but unhappily I reckonedamong them no one who was ready, like the honest laird of Dumbiedikes, to inquire, purse in hand, "Will siller do it?" In casting about forsome other expedient, I remembered the pleasant old-fashioned village ofPeewawkin, on the Tocketuck River. A few weeks of leisure, country air, and exercise, I thought might be of essential service to me. So Iturned my key upon my cares and studies, and my back to the city, andone fine evening of early June the mail coach rumbled over TocketuckBridge, and left me at the house of Dr. Singletary, where I had beenfortunate enough to secure bed and board. 

The little village of Peewawkin at this period was a well-preservedspecimen of the old, quiet, cozy hamlets of New England. No hugefactory threw its evil shadow over it; no smoking demon of an enginedragged its long train through the streets; no steamboat puffed at itswharves, or ploughed up the river, like the enchanted ship of theAncient Mariner, --

 "Against the wind, against the tide, Steadied with upright keel. "

The march of mind had not overtaken it. It had neither printing-pressnor lyceum. As the fathers had done before them, so did its inhabitantsat the time of my visit. There was little or no competition in theirbusiness; there were no rich men, and none that seemed over-anxious tobecome so. Two or three small vessels were annually launched from thecarpenters' yards on the river. It had a blacksmith's shop, with itsclang of iron and roar of bellows; a pottery, garnished with its coarseearthen-ware; a store, where molasses, sugar, and spices were sold onone side, and calicoes, tape, and ribbons on the other. Three or foursmall schooners annually left the wharves for the St. George's andLabrador fisheries. Just back of the village, a bright, noisy stream, gushing out, like a merry laugh, from the walnut and oak woods whichstretched back far to the north through a narrow break in the hills, turned the great wheel of a grist-mill, and went frolicking away, like awicked Undine, under the very windows of the brown, lilac-shaded houseof Deacon Warner, the miller, as if to tempt the good man's handsomedaughters to take lessons in dancing. At one end of the littlecrescent-shaped village, at the corner of the main road and the greenlane to Deacon Warner's mill, stood the school-house, --a small, ill-used, Spanish-brown building, its patched windows bearing unmistakableevidence of the mischievous character of its inmates. At the other end, farther up the river, on a rocky knoll open to all the winds, stood themeeting-house, --old, two story, and full of windows, --its gildedweathercock glistening in the sun. The bell in its belfry had beenbrought from France by Skipper Evans in the latter part of the lastcentury. Solemnly baptized and consecrated to some holy saint, it hadcalled to prayer the veiled sisters of a convent, and tolled heavily inthe masses for the dead. At first some of the church felt misgivings asto the propriety of hanging a Popish bell in a Puritan steeple-house;but their objections were overruled by the minister, who wiselymaintained that if Moses could use the borrowed jewels and ornaments ofthe Egyptians to adorn and beautify the ark of the Lord, it could not beamiss to make a Catholic bell do service in an Orthodox belfry. Thespace between the school and the meeting-house was occupied by somefifteen or twenty dwellings, many-colored and diverse in age andappearance. Each one had its green yard in front, its rose-bushes andlilacs. Great elms, planted a century ago, stretched and interlockedtheir heavy arms across the street. The mill-stream, which found itsway into the Tocketuek, near the centre of the village, was spanned by arickety wooden bridge, rendered picturesque by a venerable and gnarledwhite-oak which hung over it, with its great roots half bared by thewater and twisted among the mossy stones of the crumbling abutment. 

The house of Dr. Singletary was situated somewhat apart from the mainstreet, just on the slope of Blueberry Will, --a great, green swell ofland, stretching far down from the north, and terminating in a steepbluff at the river side. It overlooked the village and the river a longway up and down. It was a brown-looking, antiquated mansion, built bythe Doctor's grandfather in the earlier days of the settlement. Therooms were large and low, with great beams, scaly with whitewash, running across them, scarcely above the reach of a tall man's head. Great-throated fireplaces, filled with pine-boughs and flower-pots, gavepromise of winter fires, roaring and crackling in boisterous hilarity, as if laughing to scorn the folly and discomfort of our modern stoves. In the porch at the frontdoor were two seats, where the Doctor wasaccustomed to sit in fine weather with his pipe and his book, or withsuch friends as might call to spend a half hour with him. The lawn infront had scarcely any other ornament than its green grass, croppedshort by the Doctor's horse. A stone wall separated it from the lane, half overrun with wild hop, or clematis, and two noble rock-maplesarched over with their dense foliage the little red gate. Dark belts ofwoodland, smooth hill pasture, green, broad meadows, and fields of cornand rye, the homesteads of the villagers, were seen on one hand; whileon the other was the bright, clear river, with here and there a whitesail, relieved against bold, wooded banks, jutting rocks, or tinyislands, dark with dwarf evergreens. It was a quiet, rural picture, a happy and peaceful contrast to all I had looked upon for weary, miserable months. It soothed the nervous excitement of pain andsuffering. I forgot myself in the pleasing interest which it awakened. Nature's healing ministrations came to me through all my senses. I feltthe medicinal virtues of her sights, and sounds, and aromal breezes. From the green turf of her hills and the mossy carpets of her woodlandsmy languid steps derived new vigor and elasticity. I felt, day by day, the transfusion of her strong life. 

The Doctor's domestic establishment consisted of Widow Matson, hishousekeeper, and an idle slip of a boy, who, when he was not paddlingacross the river, or hunting in the swamps, or playing ball on the"Meetin'-'us-Hill, " used to run of errands, milk the cow, and saddle thehorse. Widow Matson was a notable shrill-tongued woman, from whom twolong suffering husbands had obtained what might, under thecircumstances, be well called a comfortable release. She was neat andtidy almost to a fault, thrifty and industrious, and, barring herscolding propensity, was a pattern housekeeper. For the Doctor sheentertained so high a regard that nothing could exceed her indignationwhen any one save herself presumed to find fault with him. Her bark wasworse than her bite; she had a warm, woman's heart, capable of softrelentings; and this the roguish errand-boy so well understood that hebore the daily infliction of her tongue with a good-natured unconcernwhich would have been greatly to his credit had it not resulted from hisconfident expectation that an extra slice of cake or segment of piewould erelong tickle his palate in atonement for the tingling of hisears. 

It must be confessed that the Doctor had certain little peculiaritiesand ways of his own which might have ruffled the down of a smoothertemper than that of the Widow Matson. He was careless and absent-minded. In spite of her labors and complaints, he scattered hissuperfluous clothing, books, and papers over his rooms in "much-admireddisorder. " He gave the freedom of his house to the boys and girls ofhis neighborhood, who, presuming upon his good nature, laughed at herremonstrances and threats as they chased each other up and down thenicely-polished stairway. Worse than all, he was proof against thevituperations and reproaches with which she indirectly assailed him fromthe recesses of her kitchen. He smoked his pipe and dozed over hisnewspaper as complacently as ever, while his sins of omission andcommission were arrayed against him. 

Peewawkin had always the reputation of a healthy town: and if it hadbeen otherwise, Dr. Singletary was the last man in the world totransmute the aches and ails of its inhabitants into gold for his ownpocket. So, at the age of sixty, he was little better off, in point ofworldly substance, than when he came into possession of the smallhomestead of his father. He cultivated with his own hands his corn-field and potato-patch, and trimmed his apple and pear trees, as wellsatisfied with his patrimony as Horace was with his rustic Sabine villa. In addition to the care of his homestead and his professional duties, he had long been one of the overseers of the poor and a member of theschool committee in his town; and he was a sort of standing reference inall disputes about wages, boundaries, and cattle trespasses in hisneighborhood. He had, nevertheless, a good deal of leisure for reading, errands of charity, and social visits. He loved to talk with hisfriends, Elder Staples, the minister, Deacon Warner, and Skipper Evans. He was an expert angler, and knew all the haunts of pickerel and troutfor many miles around. His favorite place of resort was the hill backof his house, which afforded a view of the long valley of the Tocketuckand the great sea. Here he would sit, enjoying the calm beauty of thelandscape, pointing out to me localities interesting from theirhistorical or traditional associations, or connected in some way withhumorous or pathetic passages of his own life experience. Some of theseautobiographical fragments affected me deeply. In narrating them heinvested familiar and commonplace facts with something of thefascination of romance. "Human life, " he would say, "is the sameeverywhere. If we could but get at the truth, we should find that allthe tragedy and comedy of Shakespeare have been reproduced in thislittle village. God has made all of one blood; what is true of one manis in some sort true of another; manifestations may differ, but theessential elements and spring of action are the same. On the surface, everything about us just now looks prosaic and mechanical; you see onlya sort of bark-mill grinding over of the same dull, monotonous grist ofdaily trifles. But underneath all this there is an earnest life, richand beautiful with love and hope, or dark with hatred, and sorrow, andremorse. That fisherman by the riverside, or that woman at the streambelow, with her wash-tub, --who knows what lights and shadows checkertheir memories, or what present thoughts of theirs, born of heaven orhell, the future shall ripen into deeds of good or evil? Ah, what haveI not seen and heard? My profession has been to me, in some sort, likethe vial genie of the Salamanca student; it has unroofed these houses, and opened deep, dark chambers to the hearts of their tenants, which noeye save that of God had ever looked upon. Where I least expected them, I have encountered shapes of evil; while, on the other hand, I havefound beautiful, heroic love and self-denial in those who had seemed tome frivolous and selfish. "

So would Dr. Singletary discourse as we strolled over Blueberry Hill, ordrove along the narrow willow-shaded road which follows the windings ofthe river. He had read and thought much in his retired, solitary life, and was evidently well satisfied to find in me a gratified listener. Hetalked well and fluently, with little regard to logical sequence, andwith something of the dogmatism natural to one whose opinions had seldombeen subjected to scrutiny. He seemed equally at home in the mostabstruse questions of theology and metaphysics, and in the morepractical matters of mackerel-fishing, corn-growing, and cattle-raising. It was manifest that to his book lore he had added that patient andclose observation of the processes of Nature which often places theunlettered ploughman and mechanic on a higher level of availableintelligence than that occupied by professors and school men. To himnothing which had its root in the eternal verities of Nature was "commonor unclean. " The blacksmith, subjecting to his will the swart genii ofthe mines of coal and iron; the potter, with his "power over the clay;"the skipper, who had tossed in his frail fishing-smack among theicebergs of Labrador; the farmer, who had won from Nature the occultsecrets of her woods and fields; and even the vagabond hunter andangler, familiar with the habits of animals and the migration of birdsand fishes, --had been his instructors; and he was not ashamed toacknowledge that they had taught him more than college or library. 

CHAPTER III. THE DOCTOR'S MATCH-MAKING. 

"GOOD-MORNING, Mrs. Barnet, " cried the Doctor, as we drew near a neatfarm-house during one of our morning drives. 

A tall, healthful young woman, in the bloom of matronly beauty, wasfeeding chickens at the door. She uttered an exclamation of delight andhurried towards us. Perceiving a stranger in the wagon she paused, witha look of embarrassment. 

"My friend, who is spending a few weeks with me, " explained the Doctor. 

She greeted me civilly and pressed the Doctor's hand warmly. 

"Oh, it is so long since you have called on us that we have been talkingof going up to the village to see you, as soon as Robert can get awayfrom his cornfield. You don't know how little Lucy has grown. You muststop and see her. "

"She's coming to see me herself, " replied the Doctor, beckoning to asweet blue-eyed child in the door-way. 

The delighted mother caught up her darling and held her before theDoctor. 

"Does n't she look like Robert?" she inquired. "His very eyes andforehead! Bless me! here he is now. "

A stout, hale young farmer, in a coarse checked frock and broad strawhat, came up from the adjoining field. 

"Well, Robert, " said the Doctor, "how do matters now stand with you?Well, I hope. "

"All right, Doctor. We've paid off the last cent of the mortgage, andthe farm is all free and clear. Julia and I have worked hard; but we'renone the worse for it. "

"You look well and happy, I am sure, " said the Doctor. "I don't thinkyou are sorry you took the advice of the old Doctor, after all. "

The young wife's head drooped until her lips touched those of her child. 

"Sorry!" exclaimed her husband. "Not we! If there's anybody happierthan we are within ten miles of us. I don't know them. Doctor, I'lltell you what I said to Julia the night I brought home that mortgage. 'Well, ' said I, 'that debt's paid; but there's one debt we can never payas long as we live. ' 'I know it, ' says she; 'but Dr. Singletary wantsno better reward for his kindness than to see us live happily together, and do for others what he has done for us. '"

"Pshaw!" said the Doctor, catching up his reins and whip. "You owe menothing. But I must not forget my errand. Poor old Widow Osborne needsa watcher to-night; and she insists upon having Julia Barnet, and nobodyelse. What shall I tell her?"

"I'll go, certainly. I can leave Lucy now as well as not. "

"Good-by, neighbors. "

"Good-by, Doctor. "

As we drove off I saw the Doctor draw his hand hastily across his eyes, and he said nothing for some minutes. 

"Public opinion, " said he at length, as if pursuing his meditationsaloud, --"public opinion is, in nine cases out of ten, public folly andimpertinence. We are slaves to one another. We dare not take counselof our consciences and affections, but must needs suffer popularprejudice and custom to decide for us, and at their bidding aresacrificed love and friendship and all the best hopes of our lives. Wedo not ask, What is right and best for us? but, What will folks say ofit? We have no individuality, no self-poised strength, no sense offreedom. We are conscious always of the gaze of the many-eyed tyrant. We propitiate him with precious offerings; we burn incense perpetuallyto Moloch, and pass through his fire the sacred first-born of ourhearts. How few dare to seek their own happiness by the lights whichGod has given them, or have strength to defy the false pride and theprejudice of the world and stand fast in the liberty of Christians! Cananything be more pitiable than the sight of so many, who should be thechoosers and creators under God of their own spheres of utility andhappiness, self-degraded into mere slaves of propriety and custom, theirtrue natures undeveloped, their hearts cramped and shut up, each afraidof his neighbor and his neighbor of him, living a life of unreality, deceiving and being deceived, and forever walking in a vain show? Here, now, we have just left a married couple who are happy because they havetaken counsel of their honest affections rather than of the opinions ofthe multitude, and have dared to be true to themselves in defiance ofimpertinent gossip. "

"You speak of the young farmer Barnet and his wife, I suppose?" said I. 

"Yes. I will give their case as an illustration. Julia Atkins was thedaughter of Ensign Atkins, who lived on the mill-road, just above DeaconWarner's. When she was ten years old her mother died; and in a fewmonths afterwards her father married Polly Wiggin, the tailoress, ashrewd, selfish, managing woman. Julia, poor girl! had a sorry time ofit; for the Ensign, although a kind and affectionate man naturally, wastoo weak and yielding to interpose between her and his strong-minded, sharp-tongued wife. She had one friend, however, who was always readyto sympathize with her. Robert Barnet was the son of her next-doorneighbor, about two years older than herself; they had grown up togetheras school companions and playmates; and often in my drives I used tomeet them coming home hand in hand from school, or from the woods withberries and nuts, talking and laughing as if there were no scoldingstep-mothers in the world. 

"It so fell out that when Julia was in her sixteenth year there camea famous writing-master to Peewawkin. He was a showy, dashing fellow, with a fashionable dress, a wicked eye, and a tongue like the oldserpent's when he tempted our great-grandmother. Julia was one of hisscholars, and perhaps the prettiest of them all. The rascal singled herout from the first; and, the better to accomplish his purpose, he leftthe tavern and took lodgings at the Ensign's. He soon saw how mattersstood in the family, and governed himself accordingly, taking specialpains to conciliate the ruling authority. The Ensign's wife hated youngBarnet, and wished to get rid of her step-daughter. The writing-master, therefore, had a fair field. He flattered the poor young girl by hisattentions and praised her beauty. Her moral training had not fittedher to withstand this seductive influence; no mother's love, with itsquick, instinctive sense of danger threatening its object, interposedbetween her and the tempter. Her old friend and playmate--he who couldalone have saved her--had been rudely repulsed from the house by herstep-mother; and, indignant and disgusted, he had retired from allcompetition with his formidable rival. Thus abandoned to her ownundisciplined imagination, with the inexperience of a child and thepassions of a woman, she was deceived by false promises, bewildered, fascinated, and beguiled into sin. 

"It is the same old story of woman's confidence and man's duplicity. The rascally writing-master, under pretence of visiting a neighboringtown, left his lodgings and never returned. The last I heard of him, he was the tenant of a western penitentiary. Poor Julia, driven indisgrace from her father's house, found a refuge in the humble dwellingof an old woman of no very creditable character. There I was called tovisit her; and, although not unused to scenes of suffering and sorrow, Ihad never before witnessed such an utter abandonment to grief, shame, and remorse. Alas! what sorrow was like unto her sorrow? The birthhour of her infant was also that of its death. 

"The agony of her spirit seemed greater than she could bear. Her eyeswere opened, and she looked upon herself with loathing and horror. Shewould admit of no hope, no consolation; she would listen to nopalliation or excuse of her guilt. I could only direct her to thatSource of pardon and peace to which the broken and contrite heart neverappeals in vain. 

"In the mean time Robert Barnet shipped on board a Labrador vessel. Thenight before he left he called on me, and put in my hand a sum of money, small indeed, but all he could then command. 

"'You will see her often, ' he said. 'Do not let her suffer; for she ismore to be pitied than blamed. '

"I answered him that I would do all in my power for her; and added, thatI thought far better of her, contrite and penitent as she was, than ofsome who were busy in holding her up to shame and censure. 

"'God bless you for these words!' he said, grasping my hand. 'I shallthink of them often. They will be a comfort to me. '

"As for Julia, God was more merciful to her than man. She rose from hersick-bed thoughtful and humbled, but with hopes that transcended theworld of her suffering and shame. She no longer murmured against hersorrowful allotment, but accepted it with quiet and almost cheerfulresignation as the fitting penalty of God's broken laws and the neededdiscipline of her spirit. She could say with the Psalmist, 'Thejudgments of the Lord are true, justified in themselves. Thou art just, O Lord, and thy judgment is right. ' Through my exertions she obtainedemployment in a respectable family, to whom she endeared herself by herfaithfulness, cheerful obedience, and unaffected piety. 

"Her trials had made her heart tender with sympathy for all inaffliction. She seemed inevitably drawn towards the sick and suffering. In their presence the burden of her own sorrow seemed to fall off. Shewas the most cheerful and sunny-faced nurse I ever knew; and I alwaysfelt sure that my own efforts would be well seconded when I found her bythe bedside of a patient. Beautiful it was to see this poor young girl, whom the world still looked upon with scorn and unkindness, cheering thedesponding, and imparting, as it were, her own strong, healthful life tothe weak and faint; supporting upon her bosom, through weary nights, theheads of those who, in health, would have deemed her touch pollution; orto hear her singing for the ear of the dying some sweet hymn of pioushope or resignation, or calling to mind the consolations of the gospeland the great love of Christ. "

"I trust, " said I, "that the feelings of the community were softenedtowards her. "

"You know what human nature is, " returned the Doctor, "and with whathearty satisfaction we abhor and censure sin and folly in others. It isa luxury which we cannot easily forego, although our own experiencetells us that the consequences of vice and error are evil and bitterenough without the aggravation of ridicule and reproach from without. So you need not be surprised to learn that, in poor Julia's case, thecharity of sinners like herself did not keep pace with the mercy andforgiveness of Him who is infinite in purity. Nevertheless, I will doour people the justice to say that her blameless and self-sacrificinglife was not without its proper effect upon them. "

"What became of Robert Barnet?" I inquired. 

"He came back after an absence of several months, and called on mebefore he had even seen his father and mother. He did not mentionJulia; but I saw that his errand with me concerned her. I spoke of herexcellent deportment and her useful life, dwelt upon the extenuatingcircumstances of her error and of her sincere and hearty repentance. 

"'Doctor, ' said he, at length, with a hesitating and embarrassed manner, 'what should you think if I should tell you that, after all that haspassed, I have half made up my mind to ask her to become my wife?'

"'I should think better of it if you had wholly made up your mind, ' saidI; 'and if you were my own son, I wouldn't ask for you a better wifethan Julia Atkins. Don't hesitate, Robert, on account of what some ill-natured people may say. Consult your own heart first of all. '

"'I don't care for the talk of all the busybodies in town, ' said he;'but I wish father and mother could feel as you do about her. '

"'Leave that to me, ' said I. 'They are kindhearted and reasonable, andI dare say will be disposed to make the best of the matter when theyfind you are decided in your purpose. '

"I did not see him again; but a few days after I learned from hisparents that he had gone on another voyage. It was now autumn, and themost sickly season I had ever known in Peewawkin. Ensign Atkins and hiswife both fell sick; and Julia embraced with alacrity this providentialopportunity to return to her father's house and fulfil the duties of adaughter. Under her careful nursing the Ensign soon got upon his feet;but his wife, whose constitution was weaker, sunk under the fever. Shedied better than she had lived, --penitent and loving, asking forgivenessof Julia for her neglect and unkindness, and invoking blessings on herhead. Julia had now, for the first time since the death of her mother, a comfortable home and a father's love and protection. Her sweetness oftemper, patient endurance, and forgetfulness of herself in her laborsfor others, gradually overcame the scruples and hard feelings of herneighbors. They began to question whether, after all, it wasmeritorious in them to treat one like her as a sinner beyondforgiveness. Elder Staples and Deacon Warner were her fast friends. The Deacon's daughters--the tall, blue-eyed, brown-locked girls younoticed in meeting the other day--set the example among the young peopleof treating her as their equal and companion. The dear good girls!They reminded me of the maidens of Naxos cheering and comforting theunhappy Ariadne. 

"One mid-winter evening I took Julia with me to a poor sick patient ofmine, who was suffering for lack of attendance. The house where shelived was in a lonely and desolate place, some two or three miles belowus, on a sandy level, just elevated above the great salt marshes, stretching far away to the sea. The night set in dark and stormy; afierce northeasterly wind swept over the level waste, driving thicksnow-clouds before it, shaking the doors and windows of the old house, and roaring in its vast chimney. The woman was dying when we arrived, and her drunken husband was sitting in stupid unconcern in the corner ofthe fireplace. A little after midnight she breathed her last. 

"In the mean time the storm had grown more violent; there was a blindingsnow-fall in the air; and we could feel the jar of the great waves asthey broke upon the beach. 

"'It is a terrible night for sailors on the coast, ' I said, breaking ourlong silence with the dead. 'God grant them sea-room!'

"Julia shuddered as I spoke, and by the dim-flashing firelight I saw shewas weeping. Her thoughts, I knew, were with her old friend andplaymate on the wild waters. 

"'Julia, ' said I, 'do you know that Robert Barnet loves you with all thestrength of an honest and true heart?'

"She trembled, and her voice faltered as she confessed that when Robertwas at home he had asked her to become his wife. 

"'And, like a fool, you refused him, I suppose?--the brave, generousfellow!'

"'O Doctor!' she exclaimed. 'How can you talk so? It is just becauseRobert is so good, and noble, and generous, that I dared not take him athis word. You yourself, Doctor, would have despised me if I had takenadvantage of his pity or his kind remembrance of the old days when wewere children together. I have already brought too much disgrace uponthose dear to me. '

"I was endeavoring to convince her, in reply, that she was doinginjustice to herself and wronging her best friend, whose happinessdepended in a great measure upon her, when, borne on the strong blast, we both heard a faint cry as of a human being in distress. I threw upthe window which opened seaward, and we leaned out into the wild night, listening breathlessly for a repetition of the sound. 

"Once more, and once only, we heard it, --a low, smothered, despairingcry. 

"'Some one is lost, and perishing in the snow, ' said Julia. 'The soundconies in the direction of the beach plum-bushes on the side of themarsh. Let us go at once. '

"She snatched up her hood and shawl, and was already at the door. Ifound and lighted a lantern and soon overtook her. The snow was alreadydeep and badly drifted, and it was with extreme difficulty that we couldforce our way against the storm. We stopped often to take breath andlisten; but the roaring of the wind and waves was alone audible. Atlast we reached a slightly elevated spot, overgrown with dwarf plum-trees, whose branches were dimly visible above the snow. 

"'Here, bring the lantern here!' cried Julia, who had strayed a fewyards from me. I hastened to her, and found her lifting up the body ofa man who was apparently insensible. The rays of the lantern fell fullupon his face, and we both, at the same instant, recognized RobertBarnet. Julia did not shriek nor faint; but, kneeling in the snow, andstill supporting the body, she turned towards me a look of earnest andfearful inquiry. 

"'Courage!' said I. 'He still lives. He is only overcome with fatigueand cold. '

"With much difficulty-partly carrying and partly dragging him throughthe snow--we succeeded in getting him to the house, where, in a shorttime, he so far recovered as to be able to speak. Julia, who had beenmy prompt and efficient assistant in his restoration, retired into theshadow of the room as soon as he began to rouse himself and look abouthim. He asked where he was and who was with me, saying that his headwas so confused that he thought he saw Julia Atkins by the bedside. 'You were not mistaken, ' said I; 'Julia is here, and you owe your lifeto her. ' He started up and gazed round the room. I beckoned Julia tothe bedside; and I shall never forget the grateful earnestness withwhich he grasped her hand and called upon God to bless her. Some folksthink me a tough-hearted old fellow, and so I am; but that scene wasmore than I could bear without shedding tears. 

"Robert told us that his vessel had been thrown upon the beach a mile ortwo below, and that he feared all the crew had perished save himself. Assured of his safety, I went out once more, in the faint hope ofhearing the voice of some survivor of the disaster; but I listened onlyto the heavy thunder of the surf rolling along the horizon of the east. The storm had in a great measure ceased; the gray light of dawn was justvisible; and I was gratified to see two of the nearest neighborsapproaching the house. On being informed of the wreck they immediatelystarted for the beach, where several dead bodies, half buried in snow, confirmed the fears of the solitary survivor. 

"The result of all this you can easily conjecture. Robert Barnetabandoned the sea, and, with the aid of some of his friends, purchasedthe farm where he now lives, and the anniversary of his shipwreck foundhim the husband of Julia. I can assure you I have had every reason tocongratulate myself on my share in the match-making. Nobody ventured tofind fault with it except two or three sour old busybodies, who, asElder Staples well says, 'would have cursed her whom Christ hadforgiven, and spurned the weeping Magdalen from the feet of her Lord. '"

CHAPTER IV. BY THE SPRING. 

IT was one of the very brightest and breeziest of summer mornings thatthe Doctor and myself walked homeward from the town poor-house, wherehe had always one or more patients, and where his coming was alwayswelcomed by the poor, diseased, and age-stricken inmates. Dark, miserable faces of lonely and unreverenced age, written over with thegrim records of sorrow and sin, seemed to brighten at his approach aswith an inward light, as if the good man's presence had power to callthe better natures of the poor unfortunates into temporary ascendency. Weary, fretful women--happy mothers in happy homes, perchance, half acentury before--felt their hearts warm and expand under the influence ofhis kind salutations and the ever-patient good-nature with which helistened to their reiterated complaints of real or imaginary suffering. However it might be with others, he never forgot the man or the woman inthe pauper. There was nothing like condescension or consciousness inhis charitable ministrations; for he was one of the few men I have everknown in whom the milk of human kindness was never soured by contemptfor humanity in whatever form it presented itself. Thus it was that hisfaithful performance of the duties of his profession, however repulsiveand disagreeable, had the effect of Murillo's picture of St. Elizabethof Hungary binding up the ulcered limbs of the beggars. The moralbeauty transcended the loathsomeness of physical evil and deformity. 

Our nearest route home lay across the pastures and over Blueberry Hill, just at the foot of which we encountered Elder Staples and SkipperEvans, who had been driving their cows to pasture, and were nowleisurely strolling back to the village. We toiled together up the hillin the hot sunshine, and, just on its eastern declivity, were glad tofind a white-oak tree, leaning heavily over a little ravine, from thebottom of which a clear spring of water bubbled up and fed a smallrivulet, whose track of darker green might be traced far down the hillto the meadow at its foot. 

A broad shelf of rock by the side of the spring, cushioned with mosses, afforded us a comfortable resting-place. Elder Staples, in his fadedblack coat and white neck-cloth, leaned his quiet, contemplative head onhis silver-mounted cane: right opposite him sat the Doctor, with hissturdy, rotund figure, and broad, seamed face, surmounted by a coarsestubble of iron-gray hair, the sharp and almost severe expression of hiskeen gray eyes, flashing under their dark penthouse, happily relieved bythe softer lines of his mouth, indicative of his really genial andgenerous nature. A small, sinewy figure, half doubled up, with his chinresting on his rough palms, Skipper Evans sat on a lower projection ofthe rock just beneath him, in an attentive attitude, as at the feet ofGatnaliel. Dark and dry as one of his own dunfish on a Labrador flake, or a seal-skin in an Esquimaux hut, he seemed entirely exempt from oneof the great trinity of temptations; and, granting him a safedeliverance from the world and the devil, he had very little to fearfrom the flesh. 

We were now in the Doctor's favorite place of resort, green, cool, quiet, and sightly withal. The keen light revealed every object in thelong valley below us; the fresh west wind fluttered the oakleaves above;and the low voice of the water, coaxing or scolding its way over bareroots or mossy stones, was just audible. 

"Doctor, " said I, "this spring, with the oak hanging over it, is, Isuppose, your Fountain of Bandusia. You remember what Horace says ofhis spring, which yielded such cool refreshment when the dog-star hadset the day on fire. What a fine picture he gives us of this charmingfeature of his little farm!"

The Doctor's eye kindled. "I'm glad to see you like Horace; not merelyas a clever satirist and writer of amatory odes, but as a true lover ofNature. How pleasant are his simple and beautiful descriptions of hisyellow, flowing Tiber, the herds and herdsmen, the harvesters, the grapevintage, the varied aspects of his Sabine retreat in the fierce summerheats, or when the snowy forehead of Soracte purpled in winter sunsets!Scattered through his odes and the occasional poems which he addressesto his city friends, you find these graceful and inimitable touches ofrural beauty, each a picture in itself. "

"It is long since I have looked at my old school-day companions, theclassics, " said Elder Staples; "but I remember Horace only as a light, witty, careless epicurean, famous for his lyrics in praise of Falernianwine and questionable women. "

"Somewhat too much of that, doubtless, " said the Doctor; "but to meHorace is serious and profoundly suggestive, nevertheless. Had I laidhim aside on quitting college, as you did, I should perhaps have onlyremembered such of his epicurean lyrics as recommended themselves to thewarns fancy of boyhood. Ah, Elder Staples, there was a time when theLyces and Glyceras of the poet were no fiction to us. They playedblindman's buff with us in the farmer's kitchen, sang with us in themeeting-house, and romped and laughed with us at huskings and quilting-parties. Grandmothers and sober spinsters as they now are, the changein us is perhaps greater than in them. "

"Too true, " replied the Elder, the smile which had just played over hispale face fading into something sadder than its habitual melancholy. "The living companions of our youth, whom we daily meet, are morestrange to us than the dead in yonder graveyard. They alone remainunchanged!"

"Speaking of Horace, " continued the Doctor, in a voice slightly huskywith feeling, "he gives us glowing descriptions of his winter circles offriends, where mirth and wine, music and beauty, charm away the hours, and of summer-day recreations beneath the vine-wedded elms of the Tiberor on the breezy slopes of Soracte; yet I seldom read them without afeeling of sadness. A low wail of inappeasable sorrow, an undertone ofdirges, mingles with his gay melodies. His immediate horizon is brightwith sunshine; but beyond is a land of darkness, the light whereof isdarkness. It is walled about by the everlasting night. The skeletonsits at his table; a shadow of the inevitable terror rests upon all hispleasant pictures. He was without God in the world; he had no clearabiding hope of a life beyond that which was hastening to a close. Eatand drink, he tells us; enjoy present health and competence; alleviatepresent evils, or forget them, in social intercourse, in wine, music, and sensual indulgence; for to-morrow we must die. Death was in hisview no mere change of condition and relation; it was the black end ofall. It is evident that he placed no reliance on the mythology of histime, and that he regarded the fables of the Elysian Fields and theirdim and wandering ghosts simply in the light of convenient poeticfictions for illustration and imagery. Nothing can, in my view, besadder than his attempts at consolation for the loss of friends. Witness his Ode to Virgil on the death of Quintilius. He tells hisillustrious friend simply that his calamity is without hope, irretrievable and eternal; that it is idle to implore the gods torestore the dead; and that, although his lyre may be more sweet thanthat of Orpheus, he cannot reanimate the shadow of his friend norpersuade 'the ghost-compelling god' to unbar the gates of death. Heurges patience as the sole resource. He alludes not unfrequently to hisown death in the same despairing tone. In the Ode to Torquatus, --one ofthe most beautiful and touching of all he has written, --he sets beforehis friend, in melancholy contrast, the return of the seasons, and ofthe moon renewed in brightness, with the end of man, who sinks into theendless dark, leaving nothing save ashes and shadows. He then, in thetrue spirit of his philosophy, urges Torquatus to give his present hourand wealth to pleasures and delights, as he had no assurance ofto-morrow. "

"In something of the same strain, " said I, "Moschus moralizes on thedeath of Bion:--

 Our trees and plants revive; the rose In annual youth of beauty glows; But when the pride of Nature dies, Man, who alone is great and wise, No more he rises into light, The wakeless sleeper of eternal night. '"

"It reminds me, " said Elder Staples, "of the sad burden ofEcclesiastes, the mournfulest book of Scripture; because, while thepreacher dwells with earnestness upon the vanity and uncertainty of thethings of time and sense, he has no apparent hope of immortality torelieve the dark picture. Like Horace, he sees nothing better than toeat his bread with joy and drink his wine with a merry heart. It seemsto me the wise man might have gone farther in his enumeration of thefolly and emptiness of life, and pronounced his own prescription for theevil vanity also. What is it but plucking flowers on the banks of thestream which hurries us over the cataract, or feasting on the thin crustof a volcano upon delicate meats prepared over the fires which are soonto ingulf us? Oh, what a glorious contrast to this is the gospel of Himwho brought to light life and immortality! The transition from theKoheleth to the Epistles of Paul is like passing from a cavern, wherethe artificial light falls indeed upon gems and crystals, but iseverywhere circumscribed and overshadowed by unknown and unexploreddarkness, into the warm light and free atmosphere of day. "

"Yet, " I asked, "are there not times when we all wish for some clearerevidence of immortal life than has been afforded us; when we even turnaway unsatisfied from the pages of the holy book, with all themysterious problems of life pressing about us and clamoring forsolution, till, perplexed and darkened, we look up to the still heavens, as if we sought thence an answer, visible or audible, to theirquestionings? We want something beyond the bare announcement of themomentous fact of a future life; we long for a miracle to confirm ourweak faith and silence forever the doubts which torment us. "

"And what would a miracle avail us at such times of darkness and strongtemptation?" said the Elder. "Have we not been told that they whomMoses and the prophets have failed to convince would not believealthough one rose from the dead? That God has revealed no more tous is to my mind sufficient evidence that He has revealed enough. "

"May it not be, " queried the Doctor, "that Infinite Wisdom sees that aclearer and fuller revelation of the future life would render us lesswilling or able to perform our appropriate duties in the presentcondition? Enchanted by a clear view of the heavenly hills, and of ourloved ones beckoning us from the pearl gates of the city of God, couldwe patiently work out our life-task here, or make the necessaryexertions to provide for the wants of these bodies whose encumbrancealone can prevent us from rising to a higher plane of existence?"

"I reckon, " said the Skipper, who had been an attentive, although attimes evidently a puzzled, listener, "that it would be with us prettymuch as it was with a crew of French sailors that I once shipped at theIsle of France for the port of Marseilles. I never had better handsuntil we hove in sight of their native country, which they had n't seenfor years. The first look of the land set 'em all crazy; they danced, laughed, shouted, put on their best clothes; and I had to get new handsto help me bring the vessel to her moorings. "

"Your story is quite to the point, Skipper, " said the Doctor. "Ifthings had been ordered differently, we should all, I fear, be disposedto quit work and fall into absurdities, like your French sailors, and sofail of bringing the world fairly into port. "

"God's ways are best, " said the Elder; "and I don't see as we can dobetter than to submit with reverence to the very small part of themwhich He has made known to us, and to trust Him like loving and dutifulchildren for the rest. "

CHAPTER V. THE HILLSIDE. 

THE pause which naturally followed the observation of the Elder wasbroken abruptly by the Skipper. 

"Hillo!" he cried, pointing with the glazed hat with which he had beenfanning himself. "Here away in the northeast. Going down the coast forbetter fishing, I guess. "

"An eagle, as I live!" exclaimed the Doctor, following with his cane thedirection of the Skipper's hat. "Just see how royally he wheels upwardand onward, his sail-broad wings stretched motionless, save anoccasional flap to keep up his impetus! Look! the circle in which hemoves grows narrower; he is a gray cloud in the sky, a point, a merespeck or dust-mote. And now he is clean swallowed up in the distance. The wise man of old did well to confess his ignorance of 'the way of aneagle in the air. '"

"The eagle, " said Elder Staples, "seems to have been a favoriteillustration of the sacred penman. 'They that wait upon the Lord shallrenew their strength; they shall mount upward as on the wings of aneagle. '"

"What think you of this passage?" said the Doctor. "'As when a birdhath flown through the air, there is no token of her way to be found;but the light air, beaten with the stroke of her wings and parted by theviolent noise and motion thereof, is passed through, and thereinafterward no sign of her path can be found. '

"I don't remember the passage, " said the Elder. 

"I dare say not, " quoth the Doctor. "You clergymen take it for grantedthat no good thing can come home from the Nazareth of the Apocrypha. But where will you find anything more beautiful and cheering than theseverses in connection with that which I just cited?--'The hope of theungodly is like dust that is blown away by the wind; like the thin foamwhich is driven by the storm; like the smoke which is scattered here andthere by the whirlwind; it passeth away like the remembrance of a guestthat tarrieth but a day. But the righteous live forevermore; theirreward also is with the Lord, and the care of them with the Most High. Therefore shall they receive a glorious kingdom and a beautiful crownfrom the Lord's hand; for with his right hand shall He cover them, andwith his arm shall He protect them. '"

"That, if I mistake not, is from the Wisdom of Solomon, " said the Elder. "It is a striking passage; and there are many such in the uncanonicalbooks. "

"Canonical or not, " answered the Doctor, "it is God's truth, and standsin no need of the endorsement of a set of well-meaning but purblindbigots and pedants, who presumed to set metes and bounds to Divineinspiration, and decide by vote what is God's truth and what is theDevil's falsehood. But, speaking of eagles, I never see one of thesespiteful old sea-robbers without fancying that he may be the soul of amad Viking of the middle centuries. Depend upon it, that Italianphilosopher was not far out of the way in his ingenious speculationsupon the affinities and sympathies existing between certain men andcertain animals, and in fancying that he saw feline or canine traits andsimilitudes in the countenances of his acquaintance. "

"Swedenborg tells us, " said I, "that lost human souls in the spiritualworld, as seen by the angels, frequently wear the outward shapes of thelower animals, --for instance, the gross and sensual look like swine, andthe cruel and obscene like foul birds of prey, such as hawks andvultures, --and that they are entirely unconscious of the metamorphosis, imagining themselves marvellous proper men, ' and are quite wellsatisfied with their company and condition. "

"Swedenborg, " said the Elder, "was an insane man, or worse. "

"Perhaps so, " said the Doctor; "but there is a great deal of 'method inhis madness, ' and plain common sense too. There is one grand andbeautiful idea underlying all his revelations or speculations about thefuture life. It is this: that each spirit chooses its own society, andnaturally finds its fitting place and sphere of action, --following inthe new life, as in the present, the leading of its prevailing loves anddesires, --and that hence none are arbitrarily compelled to be good orevil, happy or miserable. A great law of attraction and gravitationgoverns the spiritual as well as the material universe; but, in obeyingit, the spirit retains in the new life whatever freedom of will itpossessed in its first stage of being. But I see the Elder shakes hishead, as much as to say, I am 'wise above what is written, ' or, at anyrate, meddling with matters beyond my comprehension. Our young friendhere, " he continued, turning to me, "has the appearance of a listener;but I suspect he is busy with his own reveries, or enjoying the freshsights and sounds of this fine morning. I doubt whether our discoursehas edified him. "

"Pardon me, " said I; "I was, indeed, listening to another and olderoracle. "

"Well, tell us what you hear, " said the Doctor. 

"A faint, low murmur, rising and falling on the wind. Now it comesrolling in upon me, wave after wave of sweet, solemn music. There was agrand organ swell; and now it dies away as into the infinite distance;but I still hear it, --whether with ear or spirit I know not, --the veryghost of sound. "

"Ah, yes, " said the Doctor; "I understand it is the voice of the pinesyonder, --a sort of morning song of praise to the Giver of life and Makerof beauty. My ear is dull now, and I cannot hear it; but I know it issounding on as it did when I first climbed up here in the bright Junemornings of boyhood, and it will sound on just the same when thedeafness of the grave shall settle upon my failing senses. Did it neveroccur to you that this deafness and blindness to accustomed beauty andharmony is one of the saddest thoughts connected with the great changewhich awaits us? Have you not felt at times that our ordinaryconceptions of heaven itself, derived from the vague hints and Orientalimagery of the Scriptures, are sadly inadequate to our human wants andhopes? How gladly would we forego the golden streets and gates ofpearl, the thrones, temples, and harps, for the sunset lights of ournative valleys; the woodpaths, whose moss carpets are woven with violetsand wild flowers; the songs of birds, the low of cattle, the hum of beesin the apple-blossom, --the sweet, familiar voices of human life andnature! In the place of strange splendors and unknown music, should wenot welcome rather whatever reminded us of the common sights and soundsof our old home?"

"You touch a sad chord, Doctor, " said I. "Would that we could feelassured of the eternity of all we love!"

"And have I not an assurance of it at this very moment?" returned theDoctor. "My outward ear fails me; yet I seem to hear as formerly thesound of the wind in the pines. I close my eyes; and the picture of myhome is still before me. I see the green hill slope and meadows; thewhite shaft of the village steeple springing up from the midst of maplesand elms; the river all afire with sunshine; the broad, dark belt ofwoodland; and, away beyond, all the blue level of the ocean. And now, by a single effort of will, I can call before me a winter picture of thesame scene. It is morning as now; but how different! All night has thewhite meteor fallen, in broad flake or minutest crystal, the sport andplaything of winds that have wrought it into a thousand shapes of wildbeauty. Hill and valley, tree and fence, woodshed and well-sweep, barnand pigsty, fishing-smacks frozen tip at the wharf, ribbed monsters ofdismantled hulks scattered along the river-side, --all lie transfiguredin the white glory and sunshine. The eye, wherever it turns, aches withthe cold brilliance, unrelieved save where. The blue smoke of morningfires curls lazily up from the Parian roofs, or where the main channelof the river, as yet unfrozen, shows its long winding line of dark waterglistening like a snake in the sun. Thus you perceive that the spiritsees and hears without the aid of bodily organs; and why may it not beso hereafter? Grant but memory to us, and we can lose nothing by death. The scenes now passing before us will live in eternal reproduction, created anew at will. We assuredly shall not love heaven the less thatit is separated by no impassable gulf from this fair and goodly earth, and that the pleasant pictures of time linger like sunset clouds alongthe horizon of eternity. When I was younger, I used to be greatlytroubled by the insecure tenure by which my senses held the beauty andharmony of the outward world. When I looked at the moonlight on thewater, or the cloud-shadows on the hills, or the sunset sky, with thetall, black tree-boles and waving foliage relieved against it, or when Iheard a mellow gush of music from the brown-breasted fife-bird in thesummer woods, or the merry quaver of the bobolink in the corn land, thethought of an eternal loss of these familiar sights and sounds wouldsometimes thrill through me with a sharp and bitter pain. I have reasonto thank God that this fear no longer troubles me. Nothing that isreally valuable and necessary for us can ever be lost. The present willlive hereafter; memory will bridge over the gulf between the two worlds;for only on the condition of their intimate union can we preserve ouridentity and personal consciousness. Blot out the memory of this world, and what would heaven or hell be to us? Nothing whatever. Death wouldbe simple annihilation of our actual selves, and the substitutiontherefor of a new creation, in which we should have no more interestthan in an inhabitant of Jupiter or the fixed stars. "

The Elder, who had listened silently thus far, not without an occasionaland apparently involuntary manifestation of dissent, here interposed. 

"Pardon me, my dear friend, " said he; "but I must needs say that I lookupon speculations of this kind, however ingenious or plausible, asunprofitable, and well-nigh presumptuous. For myself, I only know thatI am a weak, sinful man, accountable to and cared for by a just andmerciful God. What He has in reserve for me hereafter I know not, norhave I any warrant to pry into His secrets. I do not know what it is topass from one life to another; but I humbly hope that, when I am sinkingin the dark waters, I may hear His voice of compassion andencouragement, 'It is I; be not afraid. '"

"Amen, " said the Skipper, solemnly. 

"I dare say the Parson is right, in the main, " said the Doctor. "Poorcreatures at the best, it is safer for us to trust, like children, inthe goodness of our Heavenly Father than to speculate too curiously inrespect to the things of a future life; and, notwithstanding all I havesaid, I quite agree with good old Bishop Hall: 'It is enough for me torest in the hope that I shall one day see them; in the mean time, let mebe learnedly ignorant and incuriously devout, silently blessing thepower and wisdom of my infinite Creator, who knows how to honor himselfby all those unrevealed and glorious subordinations. '"

CHAPTER VI. THE SKIPPER'S STORY. 

"WELL, what's the news below?" asked the Doctor of his housekeeper, as she came home from a gossiping visit to the landing one afternoon. "What new piece of scandal is afloat now?"

"Nothing, except what concerns yourself, " answered Widow Matson, tartly. "Mrs. Nugeon says that you've been to see her neighbor Wait's girl--shethat 's sick with the measles--half a dozen times, and never so much asleft a spoonful of medicine; and she should like to know what a doctor'sgood for without physic. Besides, she says Lieutenant Brown would havegot well if you'd minded her, and let him have plenty of thoroughworttea, and put a split fowl at the pit of his stomach. "

"A split stick on her own tongue would be better, " said the Doctor, with a wicked grimace. 

"The Jezebel! Let her look out for herself the next time she gets therheumatism; I'll blister her from head to heel. But what else isgoing?"

"The schooner Polly Pike is at the landing. "

"What, from Labrador? The one Tom Osborne went in?"

"I suppose so; I met Tom down street. "

"Good!" said the Doctor, with emphasis. "Poor Widow Osborne's prayersare answered, and she will see her son before she dies. "

"And precious little good will it do her, " said the housekeeper. "There's not a more drunken, swearing rakeshame in town than TomOsborne. "

"It's too true, " responded the Doctor. "But he's her only son; and youknow, Mrs. Matson, the heart of a mother. "

The widow's hard face softened; a tender shadow passed over it; thememory of some old bereavement melted her; and as she passed into thehouse I saw her put her checked apron to her eyes. 

By this time Skipper Evans, who had been slowly working his way upstreet for some minutes, had reached the gate. 

"Look here!" said he. "Here's a letter that I've got by the Polly Pikefrom one of your old patients that you gave over for a dead man longago. "

"From the other world, of course, " said the Doctor. 

"No, not exactly, though it's from Labrador, which is about the lastplace the Lord made, I reckon. "

"What, from Dick Wilson?"

"Sartin, " said the Skipper. 

"And how is he?"

"Alive and hearty. I tell you what, Doctor, physicking and blisteringare all well enough, may be; but if you want to set a fellow up whenhe's kinder run down, there's nothing like a fishing trip to Labrador, 'specially if he's been bothering himself with studying, and writing, and such like. There's nothing like fish chowders, hard bunks, and seafog to take that nonsense out of him. Now, this chap, " (the Skipperhere gave me a thrust in the ribs by way of designation, ) "if I couldhave him down with me beyond sunset for two or three months, would comeback as hearty as a Bay o' Fundy porpoise. "

Assuring him that I would like to try the experiment, with him asskipper, I begged to know the history of the case he had spoken of. 

The old fisherman smiled complacently, hitched up his pantaloons, took aseat beside us, and, after extracting a jack-knife from one pocket, anda hand of tobacco from the other, and deliberately supplying himselfwith a fresh quid, he mentioned, apologetically, that he supposed theDoctor had heard it all before. 

"Yes, twenty times, " said the Doctor; "but never mind; it's a good storyyet. Go ahead, Skipper. "

"Well, you see, " said the Skipper, "this young Wilson comes down herefrom Hanover College, in the spring, as lean as a shad in dog-days. Hehad studied himself half blind, and all his blood had got into brains. So the Doctor tried to help him with his poticary stuff, and the womenwith their herbs; but all did no good. At last somebody advised him totry a fishing cruise down East; and so he persuaded me to take himaboard my schooner. I knew he'd be right in the way, and poor companyat the best, for all his Greek and Latin; for, as a general thing, I'venoticed that your college chaps swop away their common sense for theirlarning, and make a mighty poor bargain of it. Well, he brought hisbooks with him, and stuck to them so close that I was afraid we shouldhave to slide him off the plank before we got half way to Labrador. SoI just told him plainly that it would n't do, and that if he 'd a mindto kill himself ashore I 'd no objection, but he should n't do it aboardmy schooner. 'I'm e'en just a mind, ' says I, 'to pitch your booksoverboard. A fishing vessel's no place for 'em; they'll spoil all ourluck. Don't go to making a Jonah of yourself down here in your bunk, but get upon deck, and let your books alone, and go to watching the sea, and the clouds, and the islands, and the fog-banks, and the fishes, andthe birds; for Natur, ' says I, don't lie nor give hearsays, but isalways as true as the Gospels. '

"But 't was no use talking. There he'd lay in his bunk with his booksabout him, and I had e'en a'most to drag him on deck to snuff the sea-air. Howsomever, one day, --it was the hottest of the whole season, --after we left the Magdalenes, and were running down the Gut of Canso, wehove in sight of the Gannet Rocks. Thinks I to myself, I'll show himsomething now that he can't find in his books. So I goes right downafter him; and when we got on deck he looked towards the northeast, andif ever I saw a chap wonder-struck, he was. Right ahead of us was abold, rocky island, with what looked like a great snow bank on itssouthern slope; while the air was full overhead, and all about, of whatseemed a heavy fall of snow. The day was blazing hot, and there was n'ta cloud to be seen. 

"'What in the world, Skipper, does this mean?' says he. 'We're sailingright into a snow-storm in dog-days and in a clear sky. '

"By this time we had got near enough to hear a great rushing noise inthe air, every moment growing louder and louder. 

"'It's only a storm of gannets, ' says I. 

"'Sure enough!' says he; 'but I wouldn't have believed it possible. '

"When we got fairly off against the island I fired a gun at it: and sucha fluttering and screaming you can't imagine. The great snow-banksshook, trembled, loosened, and became all alive, whirling away into theair like drifts in a nor'wester. Millions of birds went up, wheelingand zigzagging about, their white bodies and blacktipped wings crossingand recrossing and mixing together into a thick grayish-white haze aboveus. 

"'You're right, Skipper, ' says Wilson to me;

 Nature is better than books. '

"And from that time he was on deck as much as his health would allow of, and took a deal of notice of everything new and uncommon. But, for allthat, the poor fellow was so sick, and pale, and peaking, that we allthought we should have to heave him overboard some day or bury him inLabrador moss. "

"But he did n't die after all, did he?" said I. 

"Die? No!" cried the Skipper; "not he!"

"And so your fishing voyage really cured him?"

"I can't say as it did, exactly, " returned the Skipper, shifting hisquid from one cheek to the other, with a sly wink at the Doctor. "Thefact is, after the doctors and the old herb-women had given him up athome, he got cured by a little black-eyed French girl on the Labradorcoast. "

"A very agreeable prescription, no doubt, " quoth the Doctor, turning tome. "How do you think it would suit your case?"

"It does n't become the patient to choose his own nostrums, " said I, laughing. "But I wonder, Doctor, that you have n't long ago tested thevalue of this by an experiment upon yourself. "

"Physicians are proverbially shy of their own medicines, " said he. 

"Well, you see, " continued the Skipper, "we had a rough run down theLabrador shore; rainstorms and fogs so thick you could cut 'em up intojunks with your jack-knife. At last we reached a small fishing stationaway down where the sun does n't sleep in summer, but just takes a bitof a nap at midnight. Here Wilson went ashore, more dead than alive, and found comfortable lodgings with a little, dingy French oil merchant, who had a snug, warm house, and a garden patch, where he raised a fewpotatoes and turnips in the short summers, and a tolerable field ofgrass, which kept his two cows alive through the winter. The countryall about was dismal enough; as far as you could see there was nothingbut moss, and rocks, and bare hills, and ponds of shallow water, withnow and then a patch of stunted firs. But it doubtless looked pleasantto our poor sick passenger, who for some days had been longing for land. The Frenchman gave him a neat little room looking out on the harbor, allalive with fishermen and Indians hunting seals; and to my notion noplace is very dull where you can see the salt-water and the ships atanchor on it, or scudding over it with sails set in a stiff breeze, andwhere you can watch its changes of lights and colors in fair and foulweather, morning and night. The family was made up of the Frenchman, his wife, and his daughter, --a little witch of a girl, with bright blackeyes lighting up her brown, good-natured face like lamps in a binnacle. They all took a mighty liking to young Wilson, and were ready to doanything for him. He was soon able to walk about; and we used to seehim with the Frenchman's daughter strolling along the shore and amongthe mosses, talking with her in her own language. Many and many a time, as we sat in our boats under the rocks, we could hear her merry laughringing down to us. 

"We stayed at the station about three weeks; and when we got ready tosail I called at the Frenchman's to let Wilson know when to come aboard. He really seemed sorry to leave; for the two old people urged him toremain with them, and poor little Lucille would n't hear a word of hisgoing. She said he would be sick and die on board the vessel, but thatif he stayed with them he would soon be well and strong; that theyshould have plenty of milk and eggs for him in the winter; and he shouldride in the dog-sledge with her, and she would take care of him as if hewas her brother. She hid his cap and great-coat; and what with crying, and scolding, and coaxing, she fairly carried her point. 

"'You see I 'm a prisoner, ' says he; 'they won't let me go. '

"'Well, ' says I, 'you don't seem to be troubled about it. I tell youwhat, young man, ' says I, 'it's mighty pretty now to stroll round here, and pick mosses, and hunt birds' eggs with that gal; but wait tillNovember comes, and everything freezes up stiff and dead except whitebears And Ingens, and there's no daylight left to speak of, and you 'llbe sick enough of your choice. You won't live the winter out; and it 'san awful place to die in, where the ground freezes so hard that theycan't bury you. '

"'Lucille says, ' says he, 'that God is as near us in the winter as inthe summer. The fact is, Skipper, I've no nearer relative left in theStates than a married brother, who thinks more of his family andbusiness than of me; and if it is God's will that I shall die, I may aswell wait His call here as anywhere. I have found kind friends here;they will do all they can for me; and for the rest I trust Providence. '

"Lucille begged that I would let him stay; for she said God would hearher prayers, and he would get well. I told her I would n't urge him anymore; for if I was as young as he was, and had such a pretty nurse totake care of me, I should be willing to winter at the North Pole. Wilson gave me a letter for his brother; and we shook hands, and I lefthim. When we were getting under way he and Lucille stood on thelanding-place, and I hailed him for the last time, and made signs ofsending the boat for him. The little French girl understood me; sheshook her head, and pointed to her father's house; and then they bothturned back, now and then stopping to wave their handkerchiefs to us. Ifelt sorry to leave him there; but for the life of me I could n't blamehim. "

"I'm sure I don't, " said the Doctor. 

"Well, next year I was at Nitisquam Harbor; and, although I was doingpretty well in the way of fishing, I could n't feel easy without runningaway north to 'Brador to see what had become of my sick passenger. Itwas rather early in the season, and there was ice still in the harbor;but we managed to work in at last; when who should I see on shore butyoung Wilson, so stout and hearty that I should scarcely have known, him. He took me up to his lodgings and told me that he had never spenta happier winter; that he was well and strong, and could fish and huntlike a native; that he was now a partner with the Frenchman in trade, and only waited the coming of the priest from the Magdalenes, on hisyearly visit to the settlements, to marry his daughter. Lucille was aspretty, merry, and happy as ever; and the old Frenchman and his wifeseemed to love Wilson as if he was their son. I've never seen himsince; but he now writes me that he is married, and has prospered inhealth and property, and thinks Labrador would be the finest country inthe world if it only had heavy timber-trees. "

"One cannot but admire, " said the Doctor, "that wise and beneficentordination of Providence whereby the spirit of man asserts its powerover circumstances, moulding the rough forms of matter to its fineideal, bringing harmony out of discord, --coloring, warming, and lightingup everything within the circle of its horizon. A loving heart carrieswith it, under every parallel of latitude, the warmth and light of thetropics. It plants its Eden in the wilderness and solitary place, andsows with flowers the gray desolation of rocks and mosses. Whereverlove goes, there springs the true heart's-ease, rooting itself even inthe polar ices. To the young invalid of the Skipper's story, the drearywaste of what Moore calls, as you remember, 'the dismal shore Of cold and pitiless Labrador, '

looked beautiful and inviting; for he saw it softened and irradiated inan atmosphere of love. Its bare hills, bleak rocks, and misty sky werebut the setting and background of the sweetest picture in the gallery oflife. Apart from this, however, in Labrador, as in every conceivablelocality, the evils of soil and climate have their compensations andalleviations. The long nights of winter are brilliant with moonlight, and the changing colors of the northern lights are reflected on thesnow. The summer of Labrador has a beauty of its own, far unlike thatof more genial climates, but which its inhabitants would not forego forthe warm life and lavish luxuriance of tropical landscapes. The dwarffir-trees throw from the ends of their branches yellow tufts of stamina, like small lamps decorating green pyramids for the festival of spring;and if green grass is in a great measure wanting, its place is suppliedby delicate mosses of the most brilliant colors. The truth is, everyseason and climate has its peculiar beauties and comforts; thefootprints of the good and merciful God are found everywhere; and weshould be willing thankfully to own that 'He has made all thingsbeautiful in their time' if we were not a race of envious, selfish, ungrateful grumblers. "

"Doctor! Doctor!" cried a ragged, dirty-faced boy, running breathlessinto the yard. 

"What's the matter, my lad?" said the Doctor. 

"Mother wants you to come right over to our house. Father's tumbled offthe hay-cart; and when they got him up he didn't know nothing; but theygin him some rum, and that kinder brought him to. "

"No doubt, no doubt, " said the Doctor, rising to go. "Similia similibuscurantur. Nothing like hair of the dog that bites you. "

"The Doctor talks well, " said the Skipper, who had listened ratherdubiously to his friend's commentaries on his story; "but he carries toomuch sail for me sometimes, and I can't exactly keep alongside of him. I told Elder. Staples once that I did n't see but that the Doctor couldbeat him at preaching. 'Very likely, ' says the Elder, says he; 'for youknow, Skipper, I must stick to my text; but the Doctor's Bible is allcreation. '"

"Yes, " said the Elder, who had joined us a few moments before, "theDoctor takes a wide range, or, as the farmers say, carries a wide swath, and has some notions of things which in my view have as littlefoundation in true philosophy as they have warrant in Scripture; but, if he sometimes speculates falsely, he lives truly, which is by farthe most important matter. The mere dead letter of a creed, howevercarefully preserved and reverently cherished, may be of no morespiritual or moral efficacy than an African fetish or an Indianmedicine-bag. What we want is, orthodoxy in practice, --the dry bonesclothed with warm, generous, holy life. It is one thing to hold fastthe robust faith of our fathers, --the creed of the freedom-lovingPuritan and Huguenot, --and quite another to set up the five points ofCalvinism, like so many thunder-rods, over a bad life, in the insanehope of averting the Divine displeasure from sin. "

THE LITTLE IRON SOLDIER

OR, WHAT AMINADAB IVISON DREAMED ABOUT. 

AMINADAB IVISON started up in his bed. The great clock at the head ofthe staircase, an old and respected heirloom of the family, struck one. 

"Ah, " said he, heaving up a great sigh from the depths of his inner man, "I've had a tried time of it. "

"And so have I, " said the wife. "Thee's been kicking and threshingabout all night. I do wonder what ails thee. "

And well she might; for her husband, a well-to-do, portly, middle-agedgentleman, being blessed with an easy conscience, a genial temper, and acomfortable digestion, was able to bear a great deal of sleep, andseldom varied a note in the gamut of his snore from one year's end toanother. 

"A very remarkable exercise, " soliloquized Aminadab; "very. "

"Dear me! what was it?" inquired his wife. 

"It must have been a dream, " said Aminadab. 

"Oh, is that all?" returned the good woman. "I'm glad it's nothingworse. But what has thee been dreaming about?"

"It's the strangest thing, Hannah, that thee ever heard of, " saidAminadab, settling himself slowly back into his bed. Thee recollectsJones sent me yesterday a sample of castings from the foundry. Well, Ithought I opened the box and found in it a little iron man, inregimentals; with his sword by his side and a cocked hat on, lookingvery much like the picture in the transparency over neighbor O'Neal'soyster-cellar across the way. I thought it rather out of place forJones to furnish me with such a sample, as I should not feel easy toshow it to my customers, on account of its warlike appearance. However, as the work was well done, I took the little image and set him up on thetable, against the wall; and, sitting down opposite, I began to thinkover my business concerns, calculating how much they would increase inprofit in case a tariff man should be chosen our ruler for the next fouryears. Thee knows I am not in favor of choosing men of blood and strifeto bear rule in the land: but it nevertheless seems proper to considerall the circumstances in this case, and, as one or the other of thecandidates of the two great parties must be chosen, to take the least oftwo evils. All at once I heard a smart, quick tapping on the table;and, looking up, there stood the little iron man close at my elbow, winking and chuckling. 'That's right, Aminadab!' said he, clapping hislittle metal hands together till he rang over like a bell, 'take theleast of two evils. ' His voice had a sharp, clear, jingling sound, likethat of silver dollars falling into a till. It startled me so that Iwoke up, but finding it only a dream presently fell asleep again. ThenI thought I was down in the Exchange, talking with neighbor Simkinsabout the election and the tariff. 'I want a change in theadministration, but I can't vote for a military chieftain, ' saidneighbor Simkins, 'as I look upon it unbecoming a Christian people toelect men of blood for their rulers. ' 'I don't know, ' said I, 'whatobjection thee can have to a fighting man; for thee 's no Friend, andhas n't any conscientious scruples against military matters. For my ownpart, I do not take much interest in politics, and never attended acaucus in my life, believing it best to keep very much in the quiet, andavoid, as far as possible, all letting and hindering things; but theremay be cases where a military man may be voted for as a choice of evils, and as a means of promoting the prosperity of the country in businessmatters. ' 'What!' said neighbor Simkins, 'are you going to vote for aman whose whole life has been spent in killing people?' This vexed me alittle, and I told him there was such a thing as carrying a goodprinciple too far, and that he night live to be sorry that he had thrownaway his vote, instead of using it discreetly. 'Why, there's the ironbusiness, ' said I; but just then I heard a clatter beside me, and, looking round, there was the little iron soldier clapping his hands ingreat glee. 'That's it, Aminadab!' said he; 'business first, conscienceafterwards! Keep up the price of iron with peace if you can, but keepit up at any rate. ' This waked me again in a good deal of trouble; but, remembering that it is said that 'dreams come of the multitude ofbusiness, ' I once more composed myself to sleep. "

"Well, what happened next?" asked his wife. 

"Why, I thought I was in the meeting-house, sitting on the facing-seatas usual. I tried hard to settle my mind down into a quiet and humblestate; but somehow the cares of the world got uppermost, and, before Iwas well aware of it, I was far gone in a calculation of the chances ofthe election, and the probable rise in the price of iron in the event ofthe choice of a President favorable to a high tariff. Rap, tap, wentsomething on the floor. I opened my eyes, and there was the littleimage, red-hot, as if just out of the furnace, dancing, and chuckling, and clapping his hands. 'That's right, Aminadab!' said he; 'go on asyou have begun; take care of yourself in this world, and I'll promiseyou you'll be taken care of in the next. Peace and poverty, or war andmoney. It's a choice of evils at best; and here's Scripture to decidethe matter: "Be not righteous overmuch. "' Then the wicked-lookinglittle image twisted his hot lips, and leered at me with his blazingeyes, and chuckled and laughed with a noise exactly as if a bag ofdollars had been poured out upon the meeting-house floor. This waked mejust now in such a fright. I wish thee would tell me, Hannah, what theecan make of these three dreams?"

"It don't need a Daniel to interpret them, " answered Hannah. "Thee 'sbeen thinking of voting for a wicked old soldier, because thee caresmore for thy iron business than for thy testimony against wars andfightings. I don't a bit wonder at thy seeing the iron soldier theetells of; and if thee votes to-morrow for a man of blood, it wouldn't bestrange if he should haunt thee all thy life. "

Aminadab Ivison was silent, for his conscience spoke in the words of hiswife. He slept no more that night, and rose up in the morning a wiserand better man. 

When he went forth to his place of business he saw the crowds hurryingto and fro; there were banners flying across the streets, huge placardswere on the walls, and he heard all about him the bustle of the greatelection. 

"Friend Ivison, " said a red-faced lawyer, almost breathless with hishurry, "more money is needed in the second ward; our committees aredoing a great work there. What shall I put you down for? Fiftydollars? If we carry the election, your property will rise twenty percent. Let me see; you are in the iron business, I think?"

Aminadab thought of the little iron soldier of his dream, and excusedhimself. Presently a bank director came tearing into his office. 

"Have you voted yet, Mr. Ivison? It 's time to get your vote in. Iwonder you should be in your office now. No business has so much atstake in this election as yours. "

"I don't think I should feel entirely easy to vote for the candidate, "said Aminadab. 

"Mr. Ivison, " said the bank director, "I always took you to be a shrewd, sensible man, taking men and things as they are. The candidate may notbe all you could wish for; but when the question is between him and aworse man, the best you can do is to choose the least of the two evils. "

"Just so the little iron man said, " thought Aminadab. "'Get thee behindme, Satan!' No, neighbor Discount, " said he, "I've made up my mind. Isee no warrant for choosing evil at all. I can't vote for that man. "

"Very well, " said the director, starting to leave the room; "you can doas you please; but if we are defeated through the ill-timed scruples ofyourself and others, and your business pinches in consequence, you needn't expect us to help men who won't help themselves. Good day, sir. "

Aminadab sighed heavily, and his heart sank within him; but he thoughtof his dream, and remained steadfast. Presently he heard heavy stepsand the tapping of a cane on the stairs; and as the door opened he sawthe drab surtout of the worthy and much-esteemed friend who sat besidehim at the head of the meeting. 

"How's thee do, Aminadab?" said he. "Thee's voted, I suppose?"

"No, Jacob, " said he; "I don't like the candidate. I can't see my wayclear to vote for a warrior. "

"Well, but thee does n't vote for him because he is a warrior, Aminadab, " argued the other; "thee votes for him as a tariff man and anencourager of home industry. I don't like his wars and fightings betterthan thee does; but I'm told he's an honest man, and that he disapprovesof war in the abstract, although he has been brought up to the business. If thee feels tender about the matter, I don't like to urge thee; but itreally seems to me thee had better vote. Times have been rather hard, thou knows; and if by voting at this election we can make businessmatters easier, I don't see how we can justify ourselves in staying athome. Thou knows we have a command to be diligent in business as wellas fervent in spirit, and that the Apostle accounted him who providednot for his own household worse than an infidel. I think it importantto maintain on all proper occasions our Gospel testimony against warsand fightings; but there is such a thing as going to extremes, thouknows, and becoming over-scrupulous, as I think thou art in this case. It is said, thou knows, in Ecclesiastes, 'Be not righteous overmuch: whyshouldst thou destroy thyself?'"

"Ah, " said Aminadab to himself, "that's what the little iron soldiersaid in meeting. " So he was strengthened in his resolution, and thepersuasions of his friend were lost upon him. 

At night Aminadab sat by his parlor fire, comfortable alike in his innerand his outer man. "Well, Hannah, " said he, "I've taken thy advice. Idid n't vote for the great fighter to-day. "

"I'm glad of it, " said the good woman, "and I dare say thee feels thebetter for it. "

Aminadab Ivison slept soundly that night, and saw no more of the littleiron soldier. 

PASSACONAWAY. (1833. )

 I know not, I ask not, what guilt's in thy heart, But I feel that I love thee, whatever thou art. Moor. 

THE township of Haverhill, on the Merrimac, contained, in the autumn of1641, the second year of its settlement, but six dwelling-houses, situated near each other, on the site of the present village. They werehastily constructed of rude logs, small and inconvenient, but one removefrom the habitations of the native dwellers of the wilderness. Aroundeach a small opening had been made through the thick forest, down to themargin of the river, where, amidst the charred and frequent stumps andfragments of fallen trees, the first attempts at cultivation had beenmade. A few small patches of Indian corn, which had now nearly reachedmaturity, exhibited their thick ears and tasselled stalks, bleached bythe frost and sunshine; and, here and there a spot of yellow stubble, still lingering among the rough incumbrances of the soil, told where ascanty crop of common English grain had been recently gathered. Tracesof some of the earlier vegetables were perceptible, the melon, the pea, and the bean. The pumpkin lay ripening on its frosted vines, its sunnyside already changed to a bright golden color; and the turnip spread outits green mat of leaves in defiance of the season. Everything aroundrealized the vivid picture of Bryant's Emigrant, who:

 "Hewed the dark old woods away, And gave the virgin fields to the day And the pea and the bean beside the door Bloomed where such flowers ne'er bloomed before; And the maize stood up, and the bearded rye Bent low in the breath of an unknown sky. "

Beyond, extended the great forest, vast, limitless, unexplored, whosevenerable trees had hitherto bowed only to the presence of the storm, the beaver's tooth, and the axe of Time, working in the melancholysilence of natural decay. Before the dwellings of the whiteadventurers, the broad Merrimac rolled quietly onward the piled-upfoliage of its shores, rich with the hues of a New England autumn. The first sharp frosts, the avant couriers of approaching winter, hadfallen, and the whole wilderness was in blossom. It was like some vividpicture of Claude Lorraine, crowded with his sunsets and rainbows, anatural kaleidoscope of a thousand colors. The oak upon the hillsidestood robed in summer's greenness, in strong contrast with the topaz-colored walnut. The hemlock brooded gloomily in the lowlands, forming, with its unbroken mass of shadow, a dark background for the light maplebeside it, bright with its peculiar beauty. The solemn shadows of thepine rose high in the hazy atmosphere, checkered, here and there, withthe pale yellow of the birch. 

"Truly, Alice, this is one of God's great marvels in the wilderness, "said John Ward, the minister, and the original projector of thesettlement, to his young wife, as they stood in the door of their humbledwelling. "This would be a rare sight for our friends in old Haverhill. The wood all about us hath, to my sight, the hues of the rainbow, when, in the words of the wise man, it compasseth the heavens as with acircle, and the hands of the Most High have bended it. Very beautifullyhath He indeed garnished the excellent works of His wisdom. "

"Yea, John, " answered Alice, in her soft womanly tone; "the Lord is, indeed, no respecter of persons. He hath given the wild savages a moregoodly show than any in Old England. Yet, John, I am sometimes verysorrowful, when I think of our old home, of the little parlor where youand I used to sit of a Sunday evening. The Lord hath been verybountiful to this land, and it may be said of us, as it was said ofIsrael of old, 'How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob! and thy tabernacles, O Israel!' But the people sit in darkness, and the Gentiles know notthe God of our fathers. "

"Nay, " answered her husband, "the heathen may be visited and redeemed, the spirit of the Lord may turn unto the Gentiles; but a more sure evilhath arisen among us. I tell thee, Alice, it shall be more tolerable inthe day of the Lord, for the Tyre and Sidon, the Sodom and Gomorrah ofthe heathen, than for the schemers, the ranters, the Familists, and theQuakers, who, like Satan of old, are coming among the sons of God. "

"I thought, " said Alice, "that our godly governor had banished these outof the colony. "

"Truly he hath, " answered Mr. Ward, "but the evil seed they have sownhere continues to spring up and multiply. The Quakers have, indeed, nearly ceased to molest us; but another set of fanatics, headed bySamuel Gorton, have of late been very troublesome. Their family hasbeen broken up, and the ring-leaders have been sentenced to be kept athard labor for the colony's benefit; one being allotted to each of theold towns, where they are forbidden to speak on matters of religion. But there are said to be many still at large, who, under theencouragement of the arch-heretic, Williams, of the Providenceplantation, are even now zealously doing the evil work of their master. But, Alice, " he continued, as he saw his few neighbors gathering arounda venerable oak which had been spared in the centre of the clearing, "itis now near our time of worship. Let us join our friends. "

And the minister and his wife entered into the little circle of theirneighbors. No house of worship, with spire and tower, and decoratedpulpit, had as yet been reared on the banks of the Merrimac. The sternsettlers came together under the open heavens, or beneath the shadow ofthe old trees, to kneel before that God, whose works and manifestationswere around them. 

The exercises of the Sabhath commenced. A psalm of the old and homelyversion was sung, with true feeling, if not with a perfect regard tomusical effect and harmony. The brief but fervent prayer was offered, and the good man had just announced the text for his sermon, when asudden tramp of feet, and a confused murmur of human voices, fell on theears of the assembly. 

The minister closed his Bible; and the whole group crowded closertogether. "It is surely a war party of the heathen, " said Mr. Ward, ashe listened intently to the approaching sound. "God grant they mean usno evil!"

The sounds drew nearer. The swarthy figure of an Indian came glidingthrough the brush-wood into the clearing, followed closely by severalEnglishmen. In answer to the eager inquiries of Mr. Ward, CaptainEaton, the leader of the party, stated that he had left Boston atthe command of Governor Winthrop, to secure and disarm the sachem, Passaconaway, who was suspected of hostile intentions towards thewhites. They had missed of the old chief, but had captured his son, and were taking him to the governor as a hostage for the good faith ofhis father. He then proceeded to inform Mr. Ward, that letters had beenreceived from the governor of the settlements of Good Hoop and Piquag, in Connecticut, giving timely warning of a most diabolical plot of theIndians to cut off their white neighbors, root and branch. He pointedout to the notice of the minister a member of his party as one of themessengers who had brought this alarming intelligence. 

He was a tall, lean man, with straight, lank, sandy hair, cut evenly allaround his narrow forehead, and hanging down so as to remind one ofSmollett's apt similitude of "a pound of candles. "

"What news do you bring us of the savages?" inquired Mr. Ward. 

"The people have sinned, and the heathen are the instruments whereby theLord hath willed to chastise them, " said the messenger, with thatpeculiar nasal inflection of voice, so characteristic of the "unco'guid. " "The great sachem, Miantonimo, chief of the Narragansetts, hathplotted to cut off the Lord's people, just after the time of harvest, toslay utterly old and young, both maids and little children. "

"How have ye known this?" asked the minister. 

"Even as Paul knew of those who had bound themselves together with agrievous oath to destroy him. The Lord hath done it. One of the bloodyheathens was dreadfully gored by the oxen of our people, and, being ingreat bodily pain and tribulation thereat, he sent for Governor Haines, and told him that the Englishman's god was angry with him for concealingthe plot to kill his people, and had sent the Englishman's cow to killhim. "

"Truly a marvellous providence, " said Mr. Ward; "but what has been donein your settlements in consequence of it?"

"We have fasted many days, " returned the other, in a tone of greatsolemnity, "and our godly men have besought the Lord that he might now, as of old, rebuke Satan. They have, moreover, diligently and earnestlyinquired, Whence cometh this evil? Who is the Achan in the camp of ourIsrael? It hath been greatly feared that the Quakers and the Papistshave been sowing tares in the garden of the true worship. We havetherefore banished these on pain of death; and have made it highly penalfor any man to furnish either food or lodging to any of these hereticsand idolaters. We have ordered a more strict observance of the Sabbathof the Lord, no, one being permitted to walk or run on that day, exceptto and from public worship, and then, only in a reverent and becomingmanner; and no one is allowed to cook food, sweep the house, shave orpare the nails, or kiss a child, on the day which is to be kept holy. We have also framed many wholesome laws, against the vanity andlicentiousness of the age, in respect to apparel and deportment, andhave forbidden any young man to kiss a maid during the time ofcourtship, as, to their shame be it said, is the manner of many in theold lands. "

"Ye have, indeed, done well for the spiritual, " said Mr. Ward; "whathave you done for your temporal defence?"

"We have our garrisons and our captains, and a goodly store of carnalweapons, " answered the other. "And, besides, we have the good chiefUncas, of the Mohegans, to help us against the bloody Narragansetts. "

"But, my friend, " said the minister, addressing Captain Eaton, "theremust be surely some mistake about Passaconaway. I verily believe him tobe the friend of the white men. And this is his son Wonolanset? I sawhim last year, and remember that he was the pride of the old savage, hisfather. I will speak to him, for I know something of his barbaroustongue. "

"Wonolanset!"

The young savage started suddenly at the word, and rolled his keenbright eye upon the speaker. 

"Why is the son of the great chief bound by my brothers?"

The Indian looked one instant upon the cords which confined his arms, and then glanced fiercely upon his conductors. 

"Has the great chief forgotten his white friends? Will he send hisyoung men to take their scalps when the Narragansett bids him?"

The growl of the young bear when roused from his hiding-place is notmore fierce and threatening than were the harsh tones of Wonolanset ashe uttered through his clenched teeth:--

"Nummus quantum. "

"Nay, nay, " said Mr. Ward, turning away from the savage, "his heart isfull of bitterness; he says he is angry, and, verily, I like not hisbearing. I fear me there is evil on foot. But ye have travelled far, and must needs be weary rest yourselves awhile, and haply, while yerefresh your bodies, I may also refresh your spirits with wholesome andcomfortable doctrines. "

The party having acquiesced in this proposal, their captive was securedby fastening one end of his rope to a projecting branch of the tree. The minister again named his text, but had only proceeded to the minuterdivisions of his sermon, when he was again interrupted by a loud, clearwhistle from the river, and a sudden exclamation of surprise from thosearound him. A single glance sufficed to show him the Indian, disengagedfrom his rope, and in full retreat. 

Eaton raised his rifle to his eye, and called out to the young sachem, in his own language, to stop, or he would fire upon him. The Indianevidently understood the full extent of his danger. He turned suddenlyabout, and, pointing, up the river towards the dwelling of his father, pronounced with a threatening gesture:--

"Nosh, Passaconaway!"

"Hold!" exclaimed Mr. Ward, grasping the arm of Eaton. "He threatens uswith his father's vengeance. For God's sake keep your fire!" It was toolate. The report of the rifle broke sharply upon the Sabbath stillness. It was answered by a shout from the river, and a small canoe, rowed byan Indian and a white man, was seen darting along the shore. Wonolansetbounded on unharmed, and, plunging into the river, he soon reached thecanoe, which was hastily paddled to the opposite bank. Captain Eatonand his party finding it impossible to retake their prisoner, afterlistening to the sermon of Mr. Ward, and partaking of some bodilyrefreshment, took their leave of the settlers of Pentucket, and departedfor Boston. 

The evening, which followed the day whose events we have narrated, wasone of those peculiar seasons of beauty when the climate of New Englandseems preferable to that of Italy. The sun went down in the soft hazeof the horizon, while the full moon was rising at the same time in theeast. Its mellow silver mingled with the deep gold of the sunset. Thesouth-west wind, as warm as that of summer, but softer, was heard, atlong intervals, faintly harping amidst the pines, and blending its lowsighing with the lulling murmurs of the river. The inhabitants ofPentucket had taken the precaution, as night came on, to load theirmuskets carefully, and place them in readiness for instant use, in theevent of an attack from the savages. Such an occurrence, was, indeed, not unlikely, after the rude treatment which the son of old Passaconawayhad received at the settlement. It was well known that the old chiefwas able, at a word, to send every warrior from Pennacook to Naumkeagupon the war-path of Miantonimo; the vengeful character of the Indianswas also understood; and, in the event of an out-breaking of theirresentment, the settlement of Pentucket was, of all others, the mostexposed to danger. 

"Don't go to neighbor Clements's to-night, Mary, " said Alice Ward to heryoung, unmarried sister; "I'm afraid some of the tawny Indians may belurking hereabout. Mr. Ward says he thinks they will be dangerousneighbors for us. "

Mary had thrown her shawl over her head, and was just stepping out. "It is but a step, as it were, and I promised good-wife Clements that Iwould certainly come. I am not afraid of the Indians. There's none ofthem about here except Red Sam, who wanted to buy me of Mr. Ward for hissquaw; and I shall not be afraid of my old spark. "

The girl tripped lightly from the threshold towards the dwelling of herneighbor. She had passed nearly half the distance when the pathway, before open to the moonlight, began to wind along the margin of theriver, overhung with young sycamores and hemlocks. With a beating heartand a quickened step she was stealing through the shadow, when theboughs on the river-side were suddenly parted, and a tall man spranginto the path before her. Shrinking back with terror, she uttered afaint scream. 

"Mary Edmands!" said the stranger, "do not fear me. "

A thousand thoughts wildly chased each other through the mind of theastonished girl. That familiar voice--that knowledge of her name--thattall and well-remembered form! She leaned eagerly forward, and lookedinto the stranger's face. A straggling gleam of moonshine fell acrossits dark features of manly beauty. 

"Richard Martin! can it be possible!"

"Yea, Mary, " answered the other, "I have followed thee to the new world, in that love which neither sea nor land can abate. For many wearymonths I have waited earnestly for such a meeting as this, and, in thattime, I have been in many and grievous perils by the flood and thewilderness, and by the heathen Indians and more heathen persecutorsamong my own people. But I may not tarry, nor delay to tell my errand. Mary, thou knowest my love; wilt thou be my wife?"

Mary hesitated. 

"I ask thee again, if thou wilt share the fortunes of one who hath lovedthee ever since thou wast but a child, playing under the cottage treesin old Haverhill, and who hath sacrificed his worldly estate, andperilled his soul's salvation for thy sake. Mary, dear Mary, for of atruth thou art very dear to me; wilt thou go with me and be my wife?"

The tones of Richard Martin, usually harsh and forbidding, now fell softand musical on the ear of Mary. He was her first love, her only one. What marvel that she consented?

"Let us hasten to depart, " said Martin, "this is no place for me. Wewill go to the Providence plantations. Passaconaway will assist us inour journey. "

The bright flush of hope and joy faded from the face of the young girl. She started back from the embrace of her lover. 

"What mean you, Richard? What was 't you said about our going to thatsink of wickedness at Providence? Why don't you go back with me tosister Ward's?"

"Mary Edmands!" said Martin, in a tone of solemn sternness, "it isfitting that I should tell thee all. I have renounced the evildoctrines of thy brother-in-law, and his brethren in false prophecy. Itwas a hard struggle, Mary; the spirit was indeed willing, but the fleshwas weak, exceeding weak, for I thought of thee, Mary, and of thyfriends. But I had a measure of strength given me, whereby I have beenenabled to do the work which was appointed me. "

"Oh, Richard!" said Mary, bursting into tears, "I'm afraid you havebecome a Williamsite, one of them, who, Mr. Ward says, have nothing tohope for in this world or in that to come. "

"The Lord rebuke him!" said Martin, with a loud voice. "Woe to such asspeak evil of the witnesses of the truth. I have seen the utternakedness of the land of carnal professors, and I have obeyed the callto come out from among them and be separate. I belong to thatpersecuted family whom the proud priests and rulers of this colony havedriven from their borders. I was brought, with many others, before thewicked magistrates of Boston, and sentenced to labor, without hire, forthe ungodly. But I have escaped from my bonds; and the Lord has raisedup a friend for his servant, even the Indian Passaconaway, whose son Iassisted, but a little time ago, to escape from his captors. "

"Can it be?" sobbed Mary, "can it be? Richard, our own Richard, following the tribe of Gorton, the Familist! Oh, Richard, if you loveme, if you love God's people and his true worship, do come away fromthose wicked fanatics. "

"Thou art in the very gall of bitterness and the bond of iniquity, "answered Martin. "Listen, Mary Edmands, to the creed of those whom thoucallest fanatics. We believe in Christ, but not in man-worship. TheChrist we reverence is the shadow or image of God in man; he wascrucified in Adam of old, and hath been crucified in all men since; hisbirth, his passion, and his death, were but manifestations or figures ofhis sufferings in Adam and his descendants. Faith and Christ are thesame, the spiritual image of God in the heart. We acknowledge no rulebut this Christ, this faith within us, either in temporal or spiritualthings. And the Lord hath blessed us, and will bless us, and truthshall be magnified and exalted in us; and the children of the heathenshall be brought to know and partake of this great redemption whereof wetestify. But woe to the false teachers, and to them who prophesy forhire and make gain of their soothsaying. Their churches are the devicesof Satan, the pride and vanity of the natural Adam. Their baptism isblasphemy; and their sacrament is an abomination, yea, an incantationand a spell. Woe to them who take the shadow for the substance, thatbow down to the altars of human device and cunning workmanship, thatmake idols of their ceremonies! Woe to the high priests and thePharisees, and the captains and the rulers; woe to them who love thewages of unrighteousness!"

The Familist paused from utter exhaustion, so vehemently had he pouredforth the abundance of his zeal. Mary Edmands, overwhelmed by hiseloquence, but still unconvinced, could only urge the disgrace anddanger attending his adherence to such pernicious doctrines. Sheconcluded by telling him, in a voice choked by tears, that she couldnever marry him while a follower of Gorton. 

"Stay then, " said Martin, fiercely dashing her hand from his, "stay andpartake of the curse of the ungodly, even of the curse of Meroz, whocome not up to the help of the Lord, against the mighty Stay, till theLord hath made a threshing instrument of the heathen, whereby the prideof the rulers, and the chief priests, and the captains of this landshall be humbled. Stay, till the vials of His wrath are poured out uponye, and the blood of the strong man, and the maid, and the little childis mingled together!"

The wild language, the fierce tones and gestures of her lover, terrifiedthe unhappy girl. She looked wildly around her, all was dark andshadowy, an undefined fear of violence came over her; and, bursting intotears, she turned to fly. "Stay yet a moment, " said Martin, in a hoarseand subdued voice. He caught hold of her arm. She shrieked as if inmortal jeopardy. 

"Let go the gal, let her go!" said old Job Clements, thrusting the longbarrel of his gun through the bushes within a few feet of the head ofthe Familist. "A white man, as sure as I live! I thought, sartin, 'twas a tarnal In-in. " Martin relinquished his hold, and, the nextinstant, found himself surrounded by the settlers. 

After a brief explanation had taken place between Mr. Ward and hissister-in-law, the former came forward and accosted the Familist. "Richard Martin!" he said, "I little thought to see thee so soon in thenew world, still less to see thee such as thou art. I am exceedingsorry that I cannot greet thee here as a brother, either in a temporalor a spiritual nature. My sister tells me that you are a follower ofthat servant of Satan, Samuel Gorton, and that you have sought to enticeher away with you to the colony of fanatics at Rhode Island, which maybe fitly compared to that city which Philip of Macedonia peopled withrogues and vagabonds, and the offscouring of the whole earth. "

"John Ward, I know thee, " said the unshrinking Familist; "I know theefor a man wise above what is written, a man vain, uncharitable, andgiven to evil speaking. I value neither thy taunts nor thy wit; for theone hath its rise in the bitterness, and the other in the vanity, of thenatural Adam. Those who walk in the true light, and who have given overcrucifying Christ in their hearts, heed not a jot of the reproaches anddespiteful doings of the high and mighty in iniquity. For of us it hathbeen written: 'I have given them thy word and the world hath hated thembecause they are not of the world. If the world hate you, ye know thatit hated me before it hated you. If they have hated me they will hateyou also; if they have persecuted me they will persecute you. ' And, ofthe scoffers and the scorners, the wise ones of this world, whose wisdomand knowledge have perverted them, and who have said in their hearts, There is none beside them, it hath been written, yea, and will befulfilled: The day of the Lord of Hosts shall be upon every one that isproud and lofty, and upon every one that is lifted up, and he shall bebrought low; and the loftiness of man shall be bowed down, and thehaughtiness of man shall be brought low; and the Lord alone shall beexalted in that day; and the idols shall he utterly abolish. ' Of thee, John Ward, and of thy priestly brotherhood, I ask nothing; and for themuch evil I have received, and may yet receive at your hands, may ye berewarded like Alexander the coppersmith, every man according to hisworks. "

"Such damnable heresy, " said Mr. Ward, addressing his neighbors, "mustnot be permitted to spread among the people. My friends, we must sendthis man to the magistrates. "

The Familist placed his hands to his month, and gave a whistle, similarto that which was heard in the morning, and which preceded the escape ofWonolanset. It was answered by a shout from the river; and a score ofIndians came struggling up through the brush-wood. 

"Vile heretic!" exclaimed Mr. Ward, snatching a musket from the hands ofhis neighbor, and levelling it full at the head of Martin; "you havebetrayed us into this jeopardy. "

"Wagh! down um gun, " said a powerful Indian, as he laid his rough handon the shoulder of the minister. "You catch Wonolanset, tie um, shootum, scare squaw. Old sachem come now, me tie white man, shoot um, roastum;" and the old savage smiled grimly and fiercely in the indistinctmoonlight, as he witnessed the alarm and terror of his prisoner. 

"Hold, Passaconaway!" said Martin, in the Indian tongue. "Will thegreat chief forget his promise?"

The sachem dropped his hold on Mr. Ward's arm. "My brother is good, " hesaid; "me no kill um, me make um walk woods like Wonolanset. " Martinspoke a few words in the chief's ear. The countenance of the oldwarrior for an instant seemed to express dissatisfaction; but, yieldingto the powerful influence which the Familist had acquired over him, hesaid, with some reluctance, "My brother is wise, me do so. "

"John Ward, " said the Familist, approaching the minister, "thou hastdevised evil against one who hath never injured thee. But I seek notcarnal revenge. I have even now restrained the anger of this heathenchief whom thou and thine have wronged deeply. Let us part in peace, for we may never more meet in this world. " And he extended his hand andshook that of the minister. 

"For thee, Mary, " he said, "I had hoped to pluck thee from the evilwhich is to come, even as a brand from the burning. I had hoped to leadthee to the manna of true righteousness, but thou last chosen the flesh-pots of Egypt. I had hoped to cherish thee always, but thou hastforgotten me and my love, which brought me over the great waters for thysake. I will go among the Gentiles, and if it be the Lord's will, peradventure I may turn away their wrath from my people. When mywearisome pilgrimage is ended, none shall know the grave of RichardMartin; and none but the heathen shall mourn for him. Mary! I forgivethee; may the God of all mercies bless thee! I shall never see theemore. "

Hot and fast fell the tears of that stern man upon the hand of Mary. The eyes of the young woman glanced hurriedly over the faces of herneighbors, and fixed tearfully upon that of her lover. A thousandrecollections of young affection, of vows and meetings in another land, came vividly before her. Her sister's home, her brother's instructions, her own strong faith, and her bitter hatred of her lover's heresy wereall forgotten. 

"Richard, dear Richard, I am your Mary as much as ever I was. I'll gowith you to the ends of the earth. Your God shall be my God, and whereyou are buried there will I be also. "

Silent in the ecstasy of joyful surprise, the Familist pressed her tohis bosom. Passaconaway, who had hitherto been an unmoved spectator ofthe scene, relaxed the Indian gravity of his features, and murmured, inan undertone, "Good, good. "

"Will my brother go?" he inquired, touching Martin's shoulder; "mysquaws have fine mat, big wigwam, soft samp, for his young woman. "

"Mary, " said Martin, "the sachem is impatient; and we must needs go withhim. " Mary did not answer, but her head was reclined upon his bosom, and the Familist knew that she resigned herself wholly to his direction. He folded the shawl more carefully around her, and supported her downthe precipitous and ragged bank of the river, followed closely byPassaconaway and his companions. 

"Come back, Mary Edmands!" shouted Mr. Ward. "In God's name come back. "

Half a dozen canoes shot out into the clear moonlight from the shadow ofthe shore. "It is too late!" said the minister, as he struggled down tothe water's edge. "Satan hath laid his hands upon her; but I willcontend for her, even as did Michael of old for the body of Moses. Mary, sister Mary, for the love of Christ, answer me. "

No sound came back from the canoes, which glided like phantoms, noiselessly and swiftly, through the still waters of the river. "The enemy hath prevailed, " said Mr. Ward; "two women were grinding atmy mill, the one is taken and the other is left. Let us go home, myfriends, and wrestle in prayer against the Tempter. "

The heretic and his orthodox bride departed into the thick wilderness, under the guidance of Passaconaway, and in a few days reached theEldorado of the heretic and the persecuted, the colony of RogerWilliams. Passaconaway, ever after, remained friendly to the white men. As civilization advanced he retired before it, to Pennacook, nowConcord, on the Merrimac, where the tribes of the Naumkeags, Piscataquas, Accomentas, and Agawams acknowledged his authority. 

THE OPIUM EATER. (1833. )

 Heavens! what a revulsion! what an upheaving from its lowest depths of the inner spirit! what an apocalypse of the world within me! Here was a panacea, a pharmakon nepenthes for all human woes; here was the secret of happiness about which philosophers had disputed for so many ages: happiness might be bought for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat pocket. --DEQUINCEY's "Confessions of an Opium Eater. "

HE was a tall, thin personage, with a marked brow and a sunken eye. 

He stepped towards a closet of his apartment, and poured out a few dropsof a dark liquid. His hand shook, as he raised the glass whichcontained them to his lips; and with a strange shuddering, a nervoustremor, as if all the delicate chords of his system were unloosed andtrembling, he turned away from his fearful draught. 

He saw that my eye was upon him; and I could perceive that his mindstruggled desperately with the infirmity of his nature, as if ashamed ofthe utter weakness of its tabernacle. He passed hastily up and down theroom. "You seem somewhat ill, " I said, in the undecided tone of partialinterrogatory. 

He paused, and passed his long thin fingers over his forehead. "I amindeed ill, " he said, slowly, and with that quavering, deep-drawnbreathing, which is so indicative of anguish, mental and physical. "I am weak as a child, weak alike in mind and body, even when I am underthe immediate influence of yonder drug. " And he pointed, as he spoke, to a phial, labelled "Laudanum, " upon a table in the corner of the room. 

"My dear sir, " said I, "for God's sake abandon your desperate practice:I know not, indeed, the nature of your afflictions, but I feel assuredthat you have yet the power to be happy. You have, at least, warmfriends to sympathize with you. But forego, if possible, yourpernicious stimulant of laudanum. It is hurrying you to your grave. "

"It may be so, " he replied, while another shudder ran along his nerves;"but why should I fear it? I, who have become worthless to myself andannoying to my friends; exquisitely sensible of my true condition, yetwanting the power to change it; cursed with a lively apprehension of allthat I ought now to be, yet totally incapable of even making an effortto be so! My dear sir, I feel deeply the kindness of your motives, butit is too late for me to hope to profit by your advice. "

I was shocked at his answer. "But can it be possible, " said I, "thatthe influence of such an excessive use of opium can produce anyalleviation of mental suffering? any real relief to the harassed mind?Is it not rather an aggravation?"

"I know not, " he said, seating himself with considerable calmness, --"Iknow not. If it has not removed the evil, it has at least changed itscharacter. It has diverted my mind from its original grief; and hasbroken up and rendered divergent the concentrated agony which oppressedme. It has, in a measure, substituted imaginary afflictions for realones. I cannot but confess, however, that the relief which it hasafforded has been produced by the counteraction of one pain by another;very much like that of the Russian criminal, who gnaws his own fleshwhile undergoing the punishment of the knout. '"

"For Heaven's sake, " said I, "try to dispossess your mind of such horridimages. There are many, very many resources yet left you. Try theeffect of society; and let it call into exercise those fine talentswhich all admit are so well calculated to be its ornament and pride. At least, leave this hypochondriacal atmosphere, and look out morefrequently upon nature. Your opium, if it be an alleviator, is, by yourown confession, a most melancholy one. It exorcises one demon to giveplace to a dozen others. 

 'With other ministrations, thou, O Nature! Healest thy wandering and distempered child. '"

He smiled bitterly; it was a heartless, melancholy relaxation offeatures, a mere muscular movement, with which the eye had no sympathy;for its wild and dreamy expression, the preternatural lustre, withouttransparency, remained unaltered, as if rebuking, with its cold, strangeglare, the mockery around it. He sat before me like a statue, whose eyealone retained its stony and stolid rigidity, while the other featureswere moved by some secret machinery into "a ghastly smile. "

"I am not desirous, even were it practicable, " he said, "to defend theuse of opium, or rather the abuse of it. I can only say, that thesubstitutes you propose are not suited to my condition. The world hasnow no enticements for me; society no charms. Love, fame, wealth, honor, may engross the attention of the multitude; to me they are allshadows; and why should I grasp at them? In the solitude of my ownthoughts, looking on but not mingling in them, I have taken the fullgauge of their hollow vanities. No, leave me to myself, or rather tothat new existence which I have entered upon, to the strange world towhich my daily opiate invites me. In society I am alone, fearfullysolitary; for my mind broods gloomily over its besetting sorrow, and Imake myself doubly miserable by contrasting my own darkness with thelight and joy of all about me; nay, you cannot imagine what a very hardthing it is, at such times, to overcome some savage feelings ofmisanthropy which will present themselves. But when I am alone, andunder the influence of opium, I lose for a season my chief source ofmisery, myself; my mind takes a new and unnatural channel; and I haveoften thought that any one, even that of insanity, would be preferableto its natural one. It is drawn, as it were, out of itself; and Irealize in my own experience the fable of Pythagoras, of two distinctexistences, enjoyed by the same intellectual being. 

"My first use of opium was the consequence of an early and very bitterdisappointment. I dislike to think of it, much more to speak of it. Irecollect, on a former occasion, you expressed some curiosity concerningit. I then repelled that curiosity, for my mind was not in a situationto gratify it. But now, since I have been talking of myself, I think Ican go on with my story with a very decent composure. In complying withyour request, I cannot say that my own experience warrants, in anydegree, the old and commonly received idea that sorrow loses half itspoignancy by its revelation to others. It was a humorous opinion ofSterne, that a blessing which ties up the tongue, and a mishap whichunlooses it, are to be considered equal; and, indeed, I have known somepeople happy under all the changes of fortune, when they could findpatient auditors. Tully wept over his dead daughter, but when hechanced to think of the excellent things he could say on the subject, he considered it, on the whole, a happy circumstance. But, for my ownpart, I cannot say with the Mariner in Coleridge's ballad, that

 "'At an uncertain hour My agony returns;

 And, till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. '"

He paused a moment, and rested his head upon his hand. "You have seenMrs. H------, of -------?" he inquired, somewhat abruptly. I replied inthe affirmative. 

"Do you not think her a fine woman?"

"Yes, certainly, a fine woman. She was once, I am told, verybeautiful. "

"Once? is she not so now?" he asked. "Well, I have heard the samebefore. I sometimes think I should like to see her now, now that themildew of years and perhaps of accusing recollections are upon her; andsee her toss her gray curls as she used to do her dark ones, and actover again her old stratagem of smiles upon a face of wrinkles. JustHeavens! were I revengeful to the full extent of my wrongs, I could wishher no worse punishment. 

"They told you truly, my dear sir, --she was beautiful, nay, externally, faultless. Her figure was that of womanhood, just touching upon themeridian of perfection, from which nothing could be taken, and to whichnothing could be added. There was a very witchery in her smile, trembling, as it did, over her fine Grecian features, like the play ofmoonlight upon a shifting and beautiful cloud. 

"Her voice was music, low, sweet, bewildering. I have heard it athousand times in my dreams. It floated around me, like the tones ofsome rare instrument, unseen by the hearer; for, beautiful as she was, you could not think of her, or of her loveliness, while she wasspeaking; it was that sweetly wonderful voice, seemingly abstracted fromherself, pouring forth the soft current of its exquisite cadence, whichalone absorbed the attention. Like that one of Coleridge's heroines, you could half feel, half fancy, that it had a separate being of itsown, a spiritual presence manifested to but one of the senses; a livingsomething, whose mode of existence was for the ear alone. --(See Memoirsof Maria Eleonora Schoning. )

"But what shall I say of the mind? What of the spirit, the residentdivinity of so fair a temple? Vanity, vanity, all was vanity;a miserable, personal vanity, too, unrelieved by one noble aspiration, one generous feeling; the whited sepulchre spoken of of old, beautifulwithout, but dark and unseemly within. 

"I look back with wonder and astonishment to that period of my life, when such a being claimed and received the entire devotion of my heart. Her idea blended with or predominated over all others. It was thecommon centre in my mind from which all the radii of thought had theirdirection; the nucleus around which I had gathered all that my ardentimagination could conceive, or a memory stored with all the deliciousdreams of poetry and romances could embody, of female excellence andpurity and constancy. 

"It is idle to talk of the superior attractions of intellectual beauty, when compared with mere external loveliness. The mind, invisible andcomplicated and indefinite, does not address itself directly to thesenses. It is comprehended only by its similitude in others. Itreveals itself, even then, but slowly and imperfectly. But the beautyof form and color, the grace of motion, the harmony of tone, are seenand felt and appreciated at once. The image of substantial and materialloveliness once seen leaves an impression as distinct and perfect uponthe retina of memory as upon that of the eyes. It does not rise beforeus in detached and disconnected proportions, like that of spiritualloveliness, but in crowds, and in solitude, and in all the throngfulvarieties of thought and feeling and action, the symmetrical whole, thebeautiful perfection comes up in the vision of memory, and stands, likea bright angel, between us and all other impressions of outward orimmaterial beauty. 

"I saw her, and could not forget her; I sought her society, and wasgratified with it. It is true, I sometimes (in the first stages of myattachment) had my misgivings in relation to her character. I sometimesfeared that her ideas were too much limited to the perishing beauty ofher person. But to look upon her graceful figure yielding to the dance, or reclining in its indolent symmetry; to watch the beautiful play ofcoloring upon her cheek, and the moonlight transit of her smile; tostudy her faultless features in their delicate and even thoughtfulrepose, or when lighted up into conversational vivacity, was to forgeteverything, save the exceeding and bewildering fascination before me. Like the silver veil of Khorassan it shut out from my view the mentaldeformity beneath it. I could not reason with myself about her; I hadno power of ratiocination which could overcome the blinding dazzle ofher beauty. The master-passion, which had wrestled down all others, gave to every sentiment of the mind something of its own peculiarcharacter. 

"I will not trouble you with a connected history of my first love, myboyish love, you may perhaps call it. Suffice it to say, that on therevelation of that love, it was answered by its object warmly andsympathizingly. I had hardly dared to hope for her favor; for I hadmagnified her into something far beyond mortal desert; and to hear fromher own lips an avowal of affection seemed more like the condescensionof a pitying angel than the sympathy of a creature of passion andfrailty like myself. I was miserably self-deceived; and self-deceptionis of a nature most repugnant to the healthy operation of truth. Wesuspect others, but seldom ourselves. The deception becomes a part ofour self-love; we hold back the error even when Reason would pluck itaway from us. 

"Our whole life may be considered as made up of earnest yearnings afterobjects whose value increases with the difficulties of obtaining them, and which seem greater and more desirable, from our imperfect knowledgeof their nature, just as the objects of the outward vision are magnifiedand exalted when seen through a natural telescope of mist. Imaginationfills up and supplies the picture, of which we can only catch theoutlines, with colors brighter, and forms more perfect, than those ofreality. Yet, you may perhaps wonder why, after my earnest desire hadbeen gratified, after my love had found sympathy in its object, I didnot analyze more closely the inherent and actual qualities of her heartand intellect. But living, as I did, at a considerable distance fromher, and seeing her only under circumstances calculated to confirmprevious impressions, I had few advantages, even had I desired to do so, of studying her true character. The world had not yet taught me itsungenerous lesson. I had not yet learned to apply the rack ofphilosophical analysis to the objects around me, and test, by a coldprocess of reasoning, deduced from jealous observation, the reality ofall which wore the outward semblance of innocence and beauty. And itmay be, too, that the belief, nay, the assurance, from her own lips, andfrom the thousand voiceless but eloquent signs which marked ourinterviews, that I was beloved, made me anxious to deceive even myself, by investing her with those gifts of the intellect and the heart, without which her very love would have degraded its object. It is notin human nature, at least it was not in mine, to embitter the deliciousaliment which is offered to our vanity, by admitting any uncomfortabledoubts of the source from which it is derived. 

"And thus it was that I came on, careless and secure, dreaming over andover the same bright dream; without any doubt, without fear, and in theperfect confidence of an unlimited trust, until the mask fell off, allat once; without giving me time for preparation, without warning orinterlude; and the features of cold, heartless, systematic treacheryglared full upon me. 

"I saw her wedded to another. It was a beautiful morning; and never hadthe sun shone down on a gayer assemblage than that which gatheredtogether at the village church. I witnessed the imposing ceremony whichunited the only one being I had ever truly loved to a happy and favored, because more wealthy, rival. As the grayhaired man pronounced theinquiring challenge, 'If any man can show just cause why they may notlawfully be joined together, let him now speak or else forever afterhold his peace, ' I struggled forward, and would have cried out, but thewords died away in my throat. And the ceremony went on, and the death-like trance into which I had fallen was broken by the voice of thepriest: 'I require and charge ye both, as ye will answer at the dreadfulday of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, thatif either of you know of any impediment why ye may not lawfully bejoined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it; for be ye wellassured, that if any persons are joined together otherwise than as God'sword doth allow, their marriage is not lawful. ' As the solemn tones ofthe old man died away in the church aisles, I almost expected to hear asupernatural voice calling upon him to forbear. But there was no sound. For an instant my eyes met those of the bride; the blood boiled rapidlyto her forehead, and then sank back, and she was as pale as if death hadbeen in the glance I had given her. And I could see the folds of herrich dress tremble, and her beautiful lips quiver; and she turned awayher eyes, and the solemn rites were concluded. 

"I returned to my lodgings. I heeded not the gay smiles and freemerriment of those around me. I hurried along like one who wandersabroad in a dark dream; for I could hardly think of the events of themorning as things of reality. But, when I spurred my horse aside, asthe carriage which contained the newly married swept by me, the terribletruth came upon me like a tangible substance, and one black and evilthought passed over my mind, like the whispered suggestion of Satan. Itwas a feeling of blood, a sensation like that of grasping the stranglingthroat of an enemy. I started from it with horror. For the first timea thought of murder had risen up in my bosom; and I quenched it with thenatural abhorrence of a nature prone to mildness and peace. 

"I reached my chamber, and, exhausted alike in mind and body, I threwmyself upon my bed, but not to sleep. A sense of my utter desolationand loneliness came over me, blended with a feeling of bitter andunmerited wrong. I recollected the many manifestations of affectionwhich I had received from her who had that day given herself, in thepresence of Heaven, to another; and I called to mind the thousandsacrifices I had made to her lightest caprices, to every shade andvariation of her temper; and then came the maddening consciousness ofthe black ingratitude which had requited such tenderness. Then, too, came the thought, bitter to a pride like mine, that the cold world had aknowledge of my misfortunes; that I should be pointed out as adisappointed man, a subject for the pity of some, and the scorn andjestings of others. Rage and shame mingled with the keen agony ofoutraged feeling. 'I will not endure it, ' I said, mentally, springingfrom my bed and crossing the chamber with a flushed brow and a strongstep; 'never!' And I ground my teeth upon each other, while a fiercelight seemed to break in upon my brain; it was the light of theTempter's smile, and I almost laughed aloud as the horrible thought ofsuicide started before me. I felt that I might escape the ordeal ofpublic scorn and pity; that I might bid the world and its falsehooddefiance, and end, by one manly effort, the agony of an existence whoseevery breath was torment. 

"My resolution was fixed. 'I will never see another morrow!' I said, sternly, but with a calmness which almost astonished me. Indeed, Iseemed gifted with a supernatural firmness, as I made my arrangementsfor the last day of suffering which I was to endure. A few friends hadbeen invited to dine with me, and I prepared to meet them. They came atthe hour appointed with smiling faces and warm and friendly greetings;and I received them as if nothing had happened, with even a moreenthusiastic welcome than was my wont. 

"Oh! it is terrible to smile when the heart is breaking! to talklightly and freely and mirthfully, when every feeling of the mind iswrung with unutterable agony; to mingle in the laugh and in the gayvolleys of convivial fellowship, 'With the difficult utterance of one Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down. '

"Yet all this I endured, hour after hour, until my friends departed and Ihad pressed their hands as at a common parting, while my heart whisperedan everlasting farewell!

"It was late when they left me. I walked out to look for the last timeupon Nature in her exceeding beauty. I hardly acknowledged to myselfthat such was my purpose; but yet I did feel that it was so; and that Iwas taking an everlasting farewell of the beautiful things around me. The sun was just setting; and the hills, that rose like pillars of theblue horizon, were glowing with a light which was fast deserting thevalleys. It was an evening of summer; everything was still; not a leafstirred in the dark, overshadowing foliage; but, silent and beautiful asa picture, the wide scenery of rock and hill and woodland, stretchedaway before me; and, beautiful as it was, it seemed to possess a newnessand depth of beauty beyond its ordinary appearance, as if to aggravatethe pangs of the last, long farewell. 

"They do not err who believe that man has a sympathy with even inanimateNature, deduced from a common origin; a chain of co-existence andaffinity connecting the outward forms of natural objects with his ownfearful and wonderful machinery; something, in short, manifested in hislove of flowing waters, and soft green shadows, and pleasant blowingflowers, and in his admiration of the mountain, stretching away intoheaven, sublimed and awful in its cloudy distance; the heave and swellof the infinite ocean; the thunder of the leaping cataract; and theonward rush of mighty rivers, which tells of its original source, andbears evidence of its kindred affinities. Nor was the dream of theancient Chaldean 'all a dream. ' The stars of heaven, the beauty and theglory above us, have their influences and their power, not evil andmalignant and partial and irrevocable, but holy and tranquillizing andbenignant, a moral influence, by which all may profit if they will doso. And I have often marvelled at the hard depravity of that humanheart which could sanction a deed of violence and crime in the calmsolitudes of Nature, and surrounded by the enduring evidences of anoverruling Intelligence. I could conceive of crime, growing up rank andmonstrous in the unwholesome atmosphere of the thronged city, amidst thetaint of moral as well as physical pestilence, and surrounded only byman and the works of man. But there is something in the harmony andquiet of the natural world which presents a reproving antagonism to thefiercer passions of the human heart; an eye of solemn reprehension looksout from the still places of Nature, as if the Great Soul of theUniverse had chosen the mute creations of his power to be the witnessesof the deeds done in the body, the researchers of the bosoms of men. 

"And then, even at that awful moment, I could feel the bland and gentleministrations of Nature; I could feel the fever of my heart cooling, anda softer haze of melancholy stealing over the blackness of my despair;and the fierce passions which had distracted me giving place to the calmof a settled anguish, a profound sorrow, the quiet gloom of anovershadowing woe, in which love and hatred and wrong were swallowed upand lost. I no longer hated the world; but I felt that it had nothingfor me; that I was no longer a part and portion of its harmoniouselements; affliction had shut me out forever from the pale of humanhappiness and sympathy, and hope pointed only to the resting-place ofthe grave!

"I stood steadily gazing at the setting sun. It touched and sat uponthe hill-top like a great circle of fire. I had never before fullycomprehended the feeling of the amiable but misguided Rousseau, who athis death-hour desired to be brought into the open air, that the lastglance of his failing eye might drink in the glory of the sunsetheavens, and the light of his great intellect and that of Nature go outtogether. For surely never did the Mexican idolater mark with deeperemotion the God of his worship, for the last time veiling his awfulcountenance, than did I, untainted by superstition, yet full of perfectlove for the works of Infinite Wisdom, watch over the departure of themost glorious of them all. I felt, even to agony, the truth of theseexquisite lines of the Milesian poet:

 'Blest power of sunshine, genial day! What joy, what life is in thy ray! To feel thee is such real bliss, That, had the world no joy but this, To sit in sunshine, calm and sweet, It were a world too exquisite For man to leave it for the gloom, The dull, cold shadow of the tomb!'

"Never shall I forget my sensations when the sun went down utterly frommy sight. It was like receiving the last look of a dying friend. Toothers he might bring life and health and joy, on the morrow; but tomehe would never rise. As this thought came over me, I felt a stiflingsensation in my throat, tears started in my eyes, and my heart almostwavered from its purpose. But the bent bow had only relaxed for asingle instant; it returned again to its strong and abiding tension. 

"I was alone in my chamber once more. A single lamp burned gloomilybefore me; and on the table at my side stood a glass of laudanum. I hadprepared everything. I had written my last letter, and had now only todrink the fatal draught, and lie down to my last sleep. I heard the oldvillage clock strike eleven. 'I may as well do it now as ever, ' I saidmentally, and my hand moved towards the glass. But my courage failedme; my hand shook, and some moments elapsed before I could sufficientlyquiet my nerves to lift the glass containing the fatal liquid. Theblood ran cold upon my heart, and my brain reeled, as again and againI lifted the poison to my closed lips. 'It must be done, ' thought I, 'I must drink it. ' With a desperate effort I unlocked my clenched teethand the deed was done!

"'O God, have mercy upon me!' I murmured, as the empty glass fell frommy hand. I threw myself upon the bed, and awaited the awfultermination. An age of unutterable misery seemed crowded into a briefmoment. All the events of my past life, a life, as it then seemed tome, made up of folly and crime, rose distinct before me, like accusingwitnesses, as if the recording angel had unrolled to my view the fulland black catalogue of my unnumbered sins:--

 'O'er the soul Winters of memory seemed to roll, And gather, in that drop of time, A life of pain, an age of crime. '

"I felt that what I had done was beyond recall; and the Phantom of Death, as it drew nearer, wore an aspect darker and more terrible. I thoughtof the coffin, the shroud, and the still and narrow grave, into whosedumb and frozen solitude none but the gnawing worm intrudes. And thenmy thoughts wandered away into the vagueness and mystery of eternity, Iwas rushing uncalled for into the presence of a just and pure God, witha spirit unrepenting, unannealed! And I tried to pray and could not;for a heaviness, a dull strange torpor crept over me. Consciousnesswent out slowly. 'This is death, ' thought I; yet I felt no pain, nothing save a weary drowsiness, against which I struggled in vain. 

"My next sensations were those of calmness, deep, ineffable, anunearthly quiet; a suspension or rather oblivion of every mentalaffliction; a condition of the mind betwixt the thoughts of wakefulnessand the dreams of sleep. It seemed to me that the gulf between mind andmatter had been passed over, and that I had entered upon a newexistence. I had no memory, no hope, no sorrow; nothing but a dimconsciousness of a pleasurable and tranquil being. Gradually, however, the delusion vanished. I was sensible of still wearing the fetters ofthe flesh, yet they galled no longer; the burden was lifted from myheart, it beat happily and calmly, as in childhood. As the strongerinfluences of my opiate (for I had really swallowed nothing more, as thedruggist, suspecting from the incoherence of my language, that I wasmeditating some fearful purpose, furnished me with a harmless, thoughnot ineffective draught) passed off, the events of the past came back tome. It was like the slow lifting of a curtain from a picture of which Iwas a mere spectator, about which I could reason calmly, and tracedispassionately its light and shadow. Having satisfied myself that Ihad been deceived in the quantity of opium I had taken, I became alsoconvinced that I had at last discovered the great antidote for whichphilosophy had exhausted its resources, the fabled Lethe, the oblivionof human sorrow. The strong necessity of suicide had passed away; life, even for me, might be rendered tolerable by the sovereign panacea ofopium, the only true minister to a mind diseased, the sought 'kalon'found. 

"From that day I have been habitually an opium eater. I am perfectlysensible that the constant use of the pernicious drug has impaired myhealth; but I cannot relinquish it. Some time since I formed aresolution to abandon it, totally and at once; but had not strengthenough to carry it into practice. The very attempt to do so nearlydrove me to madness. The great load of mental agony which had beenlifted up and held aloof by the daily applied power of opium sank backupon my heart like a crushing weight. Then, too, my physical sufferingswere extreme; an indescribable irritation, a general uneasinesstormented me incessantly. I can only think of it as a totaldisarrangement of the whole nervous system, the jarring of all thethousand chords of sensitiveness, each nerve having its own particularpain. --( Essay on the Effects of Opium, London, 1763. )

"De Quincey, in his wild, metaphysical, and eloquent, yet, in manyrespects, fancy sketch, considers the great evil resulting from the useof opium to be the effect produced upon the mind during the hours ofsleep, the fearful inquietude of unnatural dreams. My own dreams havebeen certainly of a different order from those which haunted me previousto my experience in opium eating. But I cannot easily believe thatopium necessarily introduces a greater change in the mind's sleepingoperations, than in those of its wakefulness. 

"At one period, indeed, while suffering under a general, nervousdebility, from which I am even now but partially relieved, my troubledand broken sleep was overshadowed by what I can only express as'a horror of thick darkness. ' There was nothing distinct or certain inmy visions, all was clouded, vague, hideous; sounds faint and awful, yetunknown; the sweep of heavy wings, the hollow sound of innumerablefootsteps, the glimpse of countless apparitions, and darkness fallinglike a great cloud from heaven. 

"I can scarcely give you an adequate idea of my situation in thesedreams, without comparing it with that of the ancient Egyptians whilesuffering under the plague of darkness. I never read the awfuldescription of this curse, without associating many of its horrors withthose of my own experience. 

"'But they, sleeping the same sleep that night, which was indeedintolerable, and which came upon them out of the bottoms of inevitablehell, "'Were partly vexed with monstrous apparitions, and partly fainted; fora sudden fear and not looked for, came upon them. '

"'For neither might the corner which held them keep them from fear; butnoises, as of waters falling down, sounded about them, and sad visionsappeared unto them, with heavy countenances. 

"'Whether it were a whistling wind, or a melodious voice of birds amongthe spreading branches, or a pleasing fall of water running violently;

"'Or, a terrible sound of stones cast down, or, a running that could notbe seen, of skipping beasts, or a roaring voice of most savage wildbeasts, or a rebounding echo from the hollow mountains: these thingsmade them to swoon for fear. '--(Wisdom of Solomon, chapter xvii. )

"That creative faculty of the eye, upon which Mr. De Quincey dwells sostrongly, I have myself experienced. Indeed, it has been the principalcause of suffering which has connected itself with my habit of opiumeating. It developed itself at first in a recurrence of the childishfaculty of painting upon the darkness whatever suggested itself to themind; anon, those figures which had before been called up only at willbecame the cause, instead of the effect, of the mind's employment; inother words, they came before me in the night-time, like real images, and independent of any previous volition of thought. I have often, after retiring to my bed, seen, looking through the thick wall ofdarkness round about me, the faces of those whom I had not known foryears, nay, since childhood; faces, too, of the dead, called up, as itwere, from the church-yard and the wilderness and the deep waters, andbetraying nothing of the grave's terrible secrets. And in the same way, some of the more important personages I had read of, in history andromance, glided often before me, like an assembly of apparitions, eachpreserving, amidst the multitudinous combinations of my visions, his ownindividuality and peculiar characteristics. --(Vide Emanuel CountSwedenborg, Nicolai of Berlin's Account of Spectral Illusion, EdinburghPhrenological Journal. )

"These images were, as you may suppose, sufficiently annoying, yet theycame and went without exciting any emotions of terror. But a change atlength came over them, an awful distinctness and a semblance of reality, which, operating upon nerves weakened and diseased, shook the verydepths of my spirit with a superstitious awe, and against which reasonand philosophy, for a time, struggled in vain. 

"My mind had for some days been dwelling with considerable solicitudeupon an intimate friend, residing in a distant city. I had heard thathe was extremely ill, indeed, that his life was despaired of; and I maymention that at this period all my mind's operations were dilatory;there were no sudden emotions; passion seemed exhausted; and when onceany new train of thought had been suggested, it gradually incorporateditself with those which had preceded it, until it finally became soleand predominant, just as certain plants of the tropical islands windabout and blend with and finally take the place of those of anotherspecies. And perhaps to this peculiarity of the mental economy, thegradual concentring of the mind in a channel, narrowing to that point ofcondensation where thought becomes sensible to sight as well as feeling, may be mainly attributed the vision I am about to describe. 

"I was lying in my bed, listless and inert; it was broad day, for theeasterly light fell in strongly through the parted curtains. I felt, all at once, a strong curiosity, blended with an unaccountable dread, tolook upon a small table which stood near the bedside. I felt certain ofseeing something fearful, and yet I knew not what; there was an awe anda fascination upon me, more dreadful from their very vagueness. I layfor some time hesitating and actually trembling, until the agony ofsuspense became too strong for endurance. I opened my eyes and fixedthem upon the dreaded object. Upon the table lay what seemed to me acorpse, wrapped about in the wintry habiliments of the grave, the corpseof my friend. 

 (William Hone, celebrated for his antiquarian researches, has given a distinct and highly interesting account of spectral illusion, in his own experience, in his Every Day Book. The artist Cellini has made a similar statement. )

"For a moment, the circumstances of time and place were forgotten; andthe spectre seemed to me a natural reality, at which I might sorrow, butnot wonder. The utter fallacy of this idea was speedily detected; andthen I endeavored to consider the present vision, like those which hadpreceded it, a mere delusion, a part of the phenomena of opium eating. I accordingly closed my eyes for an instant, and then looked again infull expectation that the frightful object would no longer be visible. It was still there; the body lay upon its side; the countenance turnedfull towards me, --calm, quiet, even beautiful, but certainly that ofdeath:

 'Ere yet Decay's effacing fingers Had swept the lines where Beauty lingers'

and the white brow, and its light shadowy hair, and the cold, stillfamiliar features lay evident and manifest to the influx of thestrengthening twilight. A cold agony crept over me; I buried my head inthe bed-clothes, in a child-like fear, and when I again ventured to lookup, the spectre had vanished. The event made a strong impression on mymind; and I can scarcely express the feeling of relief which wasafforded, a few days after, by a letter from the identical friend inquestion, informing me of his recovery of health. 

"It would be a weary task, and one which you would no doubt thank me fordeclining, to detail the circumstances of a hundred similar visitations, most of which were, in fact, but different combinations of the sameillusion. One striking exception I will mention, as it relates to somepassages of my early history which you have already heard. 

"I have never seen Mrs. H since her marriage. Time, and the continuedaction of opium, deadening the old sensibilities of the heart andawakening new ones, have effected a wonderful change in my feelingstowards her. Little as the confession may argue in favor of my earlypassion, I seldom think of her, save with a feeling very closely alliedto indifference. Yet I have often seen her in my spectral illusions, young and beautiful as ever, but always under circumstances which formeda wide contrast between her spectral appearance and all my recollectionsof the real person. The spectral face, which I often saw looking inupon me, in my study, when the door was ajar, and visible only in theuncertain lamplight, or peering over me in the moonlight solitude of mybed-chamber, when I was just waking from sleep, was uniformly subjectto, and expressive of, some terrible hate, or yet more terrible anguish. Its first appearance was startling in the extreme. It was the face ofone of the fabled furies: the demon glared in the eye, the nostril wasdilated, the pale lip compressed, and the brow bent and darkened; yetabove all, and mingled with all, the supremacy of human beauty wasmanifest, as if the dream of Eastern superstition had been realized, anda fierce and foul spirit had sought out and animated into a fiendishexistence some beautiful sleeper of the grave. The other expression ofthe countenance of the apparition, that of agony, I accounted for onrational principles. Some years ago I saw, and was deeply affected by, a series of paintings representing the tortures of a Jew in the HolyInquisition; and the expression of pain in the countenance of the victimI at once recognized in that of the apparition, rendered yet moredistressing by the feminine and beautiful features upon which it rested. 

"I am not naturally superstitious; but, shaken and clouded as my mindhad been by the use of opium, I could not wholly divest it of fear whenthese phantoms beset me. Yet, on all other occasions, save that oftheir immediate presence, I found no difficulty in assigning theirexistence to a diseased state of the bodily organs, and a correspondingsympathy of the mind, rendering it capable of receiving and reflectingthe false, fantastic, and unnatural images presented to it. 

 (One of our most celebrated medical writers considers spectral illusion a disease, in which false perceptions take place in some of the senses; thus, when the excitement of motion is produced in a particular organ, that organ does not vibrate with the impression made upon it, but communicates it to another part on which a similar impression was formerly made. Nicolai states that he made his illusion a source of philosophical amusement. The spectres which haunted him came in the day time as well as the night, and frequently when he was surrounded by his friends; the ideal images mingling with the real ones, and visible only to himself. Bernard Barton, the celebrated Quaker poet, describes an illusion of this nature in a manner peculiarly striking:--

 "I only knew thee as thou wert, A being not of earth! "I marvelled much they could not see Thou comest from above And often to myself I said, 'How can they thus approach the dead?'

 "But though all these, with fondness warm, Said welcome o'er and o'er, Still that expressive shade or form Was silent, as before! And yet its stillness never brought To them one hesitating thought. "

"I recollected that the mode of exorcism which was successfully adoptedby Nicolai of Berlin, when haunted by similar fantasies, was a resort tothe simple process of blood-letting. I accordingly made trial of it, but without the desired effect. Fearful, from the representations of myphysicians, and from some of my own sensations, that the almost dailyrecurrence of my visions might ultimately lead to insanity, I came tothe resolution of reducing my daily allowance of opium; and, confiningmyself, with the most rigid pertinacity, to a quantity not exceeding onethird of what I had formerly taken, I became speedily sensible of a mostessential change in my condition. A state of comparative health, mentaland physical with calmer sleep and a more natural exercise of the organsof vision, succeeded. I have made many attempts at a further reduction, but have been uniformly unsuccessful, owing to the extreme and almostunendurable agony occasioned thereby. 

"The peculiar creative faculty of the eye, the fearful gift of adiseased vision, still remains, but materially weakened and divested ofits former terrors. My mind has recovered in some degree its shaken andsuspended faculties. But happiness, the buoyant and elastic happinessof earlier days, has departed forever. Although, apparently, apractical disciple of Behmen, I am no believer in his visionary creed. Quiet is not happiness; nor can the absence of all strong and painfulemotion compensate for the weary heaviness of inert existence, passionless, dreamless, changeless. The mind requires the excitement ofactive and changeful thought; the intellectual fountain, like the poolof Bethesda, has a more healthful influence when its deep waters aretroubled. There may, indeed, be happiness in those occasional 'sabbathsof the soul, ' when calmness, like a canopy, overshadows it, and themind, for a brief season, eddies quietly round and round, instead ofsweeping onward; but none can exist in the long and weary stagnation offeeling, the silent, the monotonous, neverending calm, broken by neitherhope nor fear. "

THE PROSELYTES. (1833)

THE student sat at his books. All the day he had been poring over anold and time-worn volume; and the evening found him still absorbed inits contents. It was one of that interminable series of controversialvolumes, containing the theological speculations of the ancient fathersof the Church. With the patient perseverance so characteristic of hiscountrymen, he was endeavoring to detect truth amidst the numberlessinconsistencies of heated controversy; to reconcile jarringpropositions; to search out the thread of scholastic argument amidstthe rant of prejudice and the sallies of passion, and the coarsevituperations of a spirit of personal bitterness, but little inaccordance with the awful gravity of the question at issue. 

Wearied and baffled in his researches, he at length closed the volume, and rested his care-worn forehead upon his hand. "What avail, " he said, "these long and painful endeavors, these midnight vigils, these wearystudies, before which heart and flesh are failing? What have I gained?I have pushed my researches wide and far; my life has been one long andweary lesson; I have shut out from me the busy and beautiful world; Ihave chastened every youthful impulse; and at an age when the heartshould be lightest and the pulse the freest, I am grave and silent andsorrowful, ' and the frost of a premature age is gathering around myheart. Amidst these ponderous tomes, surrounded by the venerablereceptacles of old wisdom, breathing, instead of the free air of heaven, the sepulchral dust of antiquity, I have become assimilated to theobjects around me; my very nature has undergone a metamorphosis of whichPythagoras never dreamed. I am no longer a reasoning creature, lookingat everything within the circle of human investigation with a clear andself-sustained vision, but the cheated follower of metaphysicalabsurdities, a mere echo of scholastic subtilty. God knows that my aimhas been a lofty and pure one, that I have buried myself in this livingtomb, and counted the health of this His feeble and outward image asnothing in comparison with that of the immortal and inwardrepresentation and shadow of His own Infinite Mind; that I have toiledthrough what the world calls wisdom, the lore of the old fathers andtime-honored philosophy, not for the dream of power and gratifiedambition, not for the alchemist's gold or life-giving elixir, but withan eye single to that which I conceived to be the most fitting object ofa godlike spirit, the discovery of Truth, --truth perfect and unclouded, truth in its severe and perfect beauty, truth as it sits in awe andholiness in the presence of its Original and Source!

"Was my aim too lofty? It cannot be; for my Creator has given me aspirit which would spurn a meaner one. I have studied to act inaccordance with His will; yet have I felt all along like one walking inblindness. I have listened to the living champions of the Church; Ihave pored over the remains of the dead; but doubt and heavy darknessstill rest upon my pathway. I find contradiction where I had looked forharmony; ambiguity where I had expected clearness; zeal taking the placeof reason; anger, intolerance, personal feuds and sectarian bitterness, interminable discussions and weary controversies; while infinite Truth, for which I have been seeking, lies still beyond, or seen, if at all, only by transient and unsatisfying glimpses, obscured and darkened bymiserable subtilties and cabalistic mysteries. "

He was interrupted by the entrance of a servant with a letter. Thestudent broke its well-known seal, and read, in a delicate chirography, the following words:--

"DEAR ERNEST, --A stranger from the English Kingdom, of gentle birth andeducation, hath visited me at the request of the good Princess Elizabethof the Palatine. He is a preacher of the new faith, a zealous andearnest believer in the gifts of the Spirit, but not like John deLabadie or the lady Schurmans. 

 (J. De Labadie, Anna Maria Schurmans, and others, dissenters from the French Protestants, established themselves in Holland, 1670. )

"He speaks like one sent on a message from heaven, a message of wisdomand salvation. Come, Ernest, and see him; for he hath but a brief hourto tarry with us. Who knoweth but that this stranger may becommissioned to lead us to that which we have so long and anxiouslysought for, --the truth as it is in God. "LEONORA. "

"Now may Heaven bless the sweet enthusiast for this interruption of mybitter reflections!" said the student, in the earnest tenderness ofimpassioned feeling. "She knows how gladly I shall obey her summons;she knows how readily I shall forsake the dogmas of our wisestschoolmen, to obey the slightest wishes of a heart pure and generous ashers. "

He passed hastily through one of the principal streets of the city tothe dwelling of the lady, Eleonora. 

In a large and gorgeous apartment sat the Englishman, his plain andsimple garb contrasting strongly with the richness and luxury aroundhim. He was apparently quite young, and of a tall and commandingfigure. His countenance was calm and benevolent; it bore no traces ofpassion; care had not marked it; there was a holy serenity in itsexpression, which seemed a token of that inward "peace which passeth allunderstanding. "

"And this is thy friend, Eleonora?" said the stranger, as he offered hishand to Ernest. "I hear, " he said, addressing the latter, "thou hastbeen a hard student and a lover of philosophy. "

"I am but a humble inquirer after Truth, " replied Ernest. 

"From whence hast thou sought it?"

"From the sacred volume, from the lore of the old fathers, from thefountains of philosophy, and from my own brief experience of humanlife. "

"And hast thou attained thy object?"

"Alas, no!" replied the student; "I have thus far toiled in vain. "

"Ah! thus must the children of this world ever toil, wearily, wearily, but in vain. We grasp at shadows, we grapple with the fashionless air, we walk in the blindness of our own vain imaginations, we compass heavenand earth for our objects, and marvel that we find them not. The truthwhich is of God, the crown of wisdom, the pearl of exceeding price, demands not this vain-glorious research; easily to be entreated, itlieth within the reach of all. The eye of the humblest spirit maydiscern it. For He who respecteth not the persons of His children hathnot set it afar off, unapproachable save to the proud and lofty; buthath made its refreshing fountains to murmur, as it were, at the verydoor of our hearts. But in the encumbering hurry of the world weperceive it not; in the noise of our daily vanities we hear not thewaters of Siloah which go softly. We look widely abroad; we loseourselves in vain speculation; we wander in the crooked paths of thosewho have gone before us; yea, in the language of one of the old fathers, we ask the earth and it replieth not, we question the sea and itsinhabitants, we turn to the sun, and the moon, and the stars of heaven, and they may not satisfy us; we ask our eyes, and they cannot see, andour ears, and they cannot hear; we turn to books, and they delude us; weseek philosophy, and no response cometh from its dead and silentlearning. 

 (August. Soliloq. Cap. XXXI. "Interrogavi Terram, " etc. )

"It is not in the sky above, nor in the air around, nor in the earthbeneath; it is in our own spirits, it lives within us; and if we wouldfind it, like the lost silver of the woman of the parable, we must lookat home, to the inward temple, which the inward eye discovereth, andwherein the spirit of all truth is manifested. The voice of that spiritis still and small, and the light about it shineth in darkness. Buttruth is there; and if we seek it in low humility, in a patient waitingupon its author, with a giving up of our natural pride of knowledge, aseducing of self, a quiet from all outward endeavor, it will assuredlybe revealed and fully made known. For as the angel rose of old from thealtar of Manoah even so shall truth arise from the humbling sacrifice ofself-knowledge and human vanity, in all its eternal and ineffablebeauty. 

"Seekest thou, like Pilate, after truth? Look thou within. The holyprinciple is there; that in whose light the pure hearts of all time haverejoiced. It is 'the great light of ages' of which Pythagoras speaks, the 'good spirit' of Socrates; the 'divine mind' of Anaxagoras; the'perfect principle' of Plato; the 'infallible and immortal law, anddivine power of reason' of Philo. It is the 'unbegotten principle andsource of all light, ' whereof Timmus testifieth; the 'interior guide ofthe soul and everlasting foundation of virtue, ' spoken of by Plutarch. Yea, it was the hope and guide of those virtuous Gentiles, who, doing bynature the things contained in the law, became a law unto themselves. 

"Look to thyself. Turn thine eye inward. Heed not the opinion of theworld. Lean not upon the broken reed of thy philosophy, thy verbalorthodoxy, thy skill in tongues, thy knowledge of the Fathers. Rememberthat truth was seen by the humble fishermen of Galilee, and overlookedby the High Priest of the Temple, by the Rabbi and the Pharisee. Thoucanst not hope to reach it by the metaphysics of Fathers, Councils, Schoolmen, and Universities. It lies not in the high places of humanlearning; it is in the silent sanctuary of thy own heart; for He, whogave thee an immortal soul, hath filled it with a portion of that truthwhich is the image of His own unapproachable light. The voice of thattruth is within thee; heed thou its whisper. A light is kindled in thysoul, which, if thou carefully heedest it, shall shine more and moreeven unto the perfect day. "

The stranger paused, and the student melted into tears. "Stranger!" hesaid, "thou hast taken a weary weight from my heart, and a heavy veilfrom my eyes. I feel that thou hast revealed a wisdom which is not ofthis world. "

"Nay, I am but a humble instrument in the hand of Him who is thefountain of all truth, and the beginning and the end of all wisdom. Maythe message which I have borne thee be sanctified to thy well-being. "

"Oh, heed him, Ernest!" said the lady. "It is the holy truth which hasbeen spoken. Let us rejoice in this truth, and, forgetting the world, live only for it. "

"Oh, may He who watcheth over all His children keep thee in faith of thyresolution!" said the Preacher, fervently. "Humble yourselves toreceive instruction, and it shall be given you. Turn away now in youryouth from the corrupting pleasures of the world, heed not its hollowvanities, and that peace which is not such as the world giveth, thepeace of God which passeth all understanding, shall be yours. Yet, letnot yours be the world's righteousness, the world's peace, which shutsitself up in solitude. Encloister not the body, but rather shut up thesoul from sin. Live in the world, but overcome it: lead a life ofpurity in the face of its allurements: learn, from the holy principle oftruth within you, to do justly in the sight of its Author, to meetreproach without anger, to live without offence, to love those thatoffend you, to visit the widow and the fatherless, and keep yourselvesunspotted from the world. "

"Eleonora!" said the humbled student, "truth is plain before us; can wefollow its teachings? Alas! canst thou, the daughter of a noble house, forget the glory of thy birth, and, in the beauty of thy years, tread inthat lowly path, which the wisdom of the world accounteth foolishness?"

"Yes, Ernest, rejoicingly can I do it!" said the lady; and the brightglow of a lofty purpose gave a spiritual expression to her majesticbeauty. "Glory to God in the highest, that He hath visited us inmercy!"

"Lady!" said the Preacher, "the day-star of truth has arisen in thyheart; follow thou its light even unto salvation. Live an harmoniouslife to the curious make and frame of thy creation; and let the beautyof thy person teach thee to beautify thy mind with holiness, theornament of the beloved of God. Remember that the King of Zion'sdaughter is all-glorious within; and if thy soul excel, thy body willonly set off the lustre of thy mind. Let not the spirit of this world, its cares and its many vanities, its fashions and discourse, prevailover the civility of thy nature. Remember that sin brought the firstcoat, and thou wilt have little reason to be proud of dress or theadorning of thy body. Seek rather the enduring ornament of a meek andquiet spirit, the beauty and the purity of the altar of God's temple, rather than the decoration of its outward walls. For, as the Spartanmonarch said of old to his daughter, when he restrained her from wearingthe rich dresses of Sicily, 'Thou wilt seem more lovely to me withoutthem, ' so shalt thou seem, in thy lowliness and humility, more lovely inthe sight of Heaven and in the eyes of the pure of earth. Oh, preservein their freshness thy present feelings, wait in humble resignation andin patience, even if it be all thy days, for the manifestations of Himwho as a father careth for all His children. "

"I will endeavor, I will endeavor!" said the lady, humbled in spirit, and in tears. 

The stranger took the hand of each. "Farewell!" he said, "I must needsdepart, for I have much work before me. God's peace be with you; andthat love be around you, which has been to me as the green pasture andthe still water, the shadow in a weary land. "

And the stranger went his way; but the lady and her lover, in all theirafter life, and amidst the trials and persecutions which they werecalled to suffer in the cause of truth, remembered with joy andgratitude the instructions of the pure-hearted and eloquent WilliamPenn. 

DAVID MATSON. 

 Published originally in Our Young Folks, 1865. 

WHO of my young friends have read the sorrowful story of "Enoch Arden, "so sweetly and simply told by the great English poet? It is the storyof a man who went to sea, leaving behind a sweet young wife and littledaughter. He was cast away on a desert island, where he remainedseveral years, when he was discovered and taken off by a passing vessel. Coming back to his native town, he found his wife married to an oldplaymate, a good man, rich and honored, and with whom she was livinghappily. The poor man, unwilling to cause her pain and perplexity, resolved not to make himself known to her, and lived and died alone. The poem has reminded me of a very similar story of my own New Englandneighborhood, which I have often heard, and which I will try to tell, not in poetry, like Alfred Tennyson's, but in my own poor prose. I canassure my readers that in its main particulars it is a true tale. 

One bright summer morning, not more than fourscore years ago, DavidMatson, with his young wife and his two healthy, barefooted boys, stoodon the bank of the river near their dwelling. They were waiting forPelatiah Curtis to come round the point with his wherry, and take thehusband and father to the port, a few miles below. The Lively Turtlewas about to sail on a voyage to Spain, and David was to go in her asmate. They stood there in the level morning sunshine talkingcheerfully; but had you been near enough, you could have seen tears inAnna Matson's blue eyes, for she loved her husband and knew there wasalways danger on the sea. And David's bluff, cheery voice trembled alittle now and then, for the honest sailor loved his snug home on theMerrimac, with the dear wife and her pretty boys. But presently thewherry came alongside, and David was just stepping into it, when heturned back to kiss his wife and children once more. 

"In with you, man, " said Pelatiah Curtis. "There is no time for kissingand such fooleries when the tide serves. "

And so they parted. Anna and the boys went back to their home, andDavid to the Port, whence he sailed off in the Lively Turtle. Andmonths passed, autumn followed summer, and winter the autumn, and thenspring came, and anon it was summer on the river-side, and he did notcome back. And another year passed, and then the old sailors andfishermen shook their heads solemnly, and, said that the Lively Turtlewas a lost ship, and would never come back to port. And poor Anna hadher bombazine gown dyed black, and her straw bonnet trimmed in mourningribbons, and thenceforth she was known only as the Widow Matson. 

And how was it all this time with David himself?

Now you must know that the Mohammedan people of Algiers and Tripoli, andMogadore and Sallee, on the Barbary coast, had been for a long time inthe habit of fitting out galleys and armed boats to seize upon themerchant vessels of Christian nations, and make slaves of their crewsand passengers, just as men calling themselves Christians in Americawere sending vessels to Africa to catch black slaves for theirplantations. The Lively Turtle fell into the hands of one of these sea-robbers, and the crew were taken to Algiers, and sold in the marketplace as slaves, poor David Matson among the rest. 

When a boy he had learned the trade of ship-carpenter with his father onthe Merrimac; and now he was set to work in the dock-yards. His master, who was naturally a kind man, did not overwork him. He had daily histhree loaves of bread, and when his clothing was worn out, its place wassupplied by the coarse cloth of wool and camel's hair woven by theBerber women. Three hours before sunset he was released from work, andFriday, which is the Mohammedan Sabhath, was a day of entire rest. Oncea year, at the season called Ramadan, he was left at leisure for a wholeweek. So time went on, --days, weeks, months, and years. His dark hairbecame gray. He still dreamed of his old home on the Merrimac, and ofhis good Anna and the boys. He wondered whether they yet lived, whatthey thought of him, and what they were doing. The hope of ever seeingthem again grew fainter and fainter, and at last nearly died out; and heresigned himself to his fate as a slave for life. 

But one day a handsome middle-aged gentleman, in the dress of one of hisown countrymen, attended by a great officer of the Dey, entered theship-yard, and called up before him the American captives. The strangerwas none other than Joel Barlow, Commissioner of the United States toprocure the liberation of slaves belonging to that government. He tookthe men by the hand as they came up, and told them that they were free. As you might expect, the poor fellows were very grateful; some laughed, some wept for joy, some shouted and sang, and threw up their caps, whileothers, with David Matson among them, knelt down on the chips, andthanked God for the great deliverance. 

"This is a very affecting scene, " said the commissioner, wiping hiseyes. "I must keep the impression of it for my 'Columbiad';" anddrawing out his tablet, he proceeded to write on the spot an apostropheto Freedom, which afterwards found a place in his great epic. 

David Matson had saved a little money during his captivity by odd jobsand work on holidays. He got a passage to Malaga, where he bought anice shawl for his wife and a watch for each of his boys. He then wentto the quay, where an American ship was lying just ready to sail forBoston. 

Almost the first man he saw on board was Pelatiah Curtis, who had rowedhim down to the port seven years before. He found that his old neighbordid not know him, so changed was he with his long beard and Moorishdress, whereupon, without telling his name, he began to put questionsabout his old home, and finally asked him if he knew a Mrs. Matson. 

"I rather think I do, " said Pelatiah; "she's my wife. "

"Your wife!" cried the other. "She is mine before God and man. I amDavid Matson, and she is the mother of my children. "

"And mine too!" said Pelatiah. "I left her with a baby in her arms. If you are David Matson, your right to her is outlawed; at any rate sheis mine, and I am not the man to give her up. "

"God is great!" said poor David Matson, unconsciously repeating thefamiliar words of Moslem submission. "His will be done. I loved her, but I shall never see her again. Give these, with my blessing, to thegood woman and the boys, " and he handed over, with a sigh, the littlebundle containing the gifts for his wife and children. 

He shook hands with his rival. "Pelatiah, " he said, looking back as heleft the ship, "be kind to Anna and my boys. "

"Ay, ay, sir!" responded the sailor in a careless tone. He watched thepoor man passing slowly up the narrow street until out of sight. "It'sa hard case for old David, " he said, helping himself to a fresh quid oftobacco, "but I 'm glad I 've seen the last of him. "

When Pelatiah Curtis reached home he told Anna the story of her husbandand laid his gifts in her lap. She did not shriek nor faint, for shewas a healthy woman with strong nerves; but she stole away by herselfand wept bitterly. She lived many years after, but could never bepersuaded to wear the pretty shawl which the husband of her youth hadsent as his farewell gift. There is, however, a tradition that, inaccordance with her dying wish, it was wrapped about her poor oldshoulders in the coffin, and buried with her. 

The little old bull's-eye watch, which is still in the possession of oneof her grandchildren, is now all that remains to tell of David Matson, --the lost man. 

THE FISH I DID N'T CATCH. 

 Published originally in The Little Pilgrim, Philadelphia, 1843. 

OUR old homestead (the house was very old for a new country, having beenbuilt about the time that the Prince of, Orange drove out James theSecond) nestled under a long range of hills which stretched off to thewest. It was surrounded by woods in all directions save to thesoutheast, where a break in the leafy wall revealed a vista of low greenmeadows, picturesque with wooded islands and jutting capes of upland. Through these, a small brook, noisy enough as it foamed, rippled, andlaughed down its rocky falls by our gardenside, wound, silently andscarcely visible, to a still larger stream, known as the Country Brook. This brook in its turn, after doing duty at two or three saw and gristmills, the clack of which we could hear in still days across theintervening woodlands, found its way to the great river, and the rivertook it up and bore it down to the great sea. 

I have not much reason for speaking well of these meadows, or ratherbogs, for they were wet most of the year; but in the early days theywere highly prized by the settlers, as they furnished natural mowingbefore the uplands could be cleared of wood and stones and laid down tograss. There is a tradition that the hay-harvesters of two adjoiningtowns quarrelled about a boundary question, and fought a hard battle onesummer morning in that old time, not altogether bloodless, but by nomeans as fatal as the fight between the rival Highland clans, describedby Scott in "The Fair Maid of Perth. " I used to wonder at their folly, when I was stumbling over the rough hassocks, and sinking knee-deep inthe black mire, raking the sharp sickle-edged grass which we used tofeed out to the young cattle in midwinter when the bitter cold gave themappetite for even such fodder. I had an almost Irish hatred of snakes, and these meadows were full of them, --striped, green, dingy water-snakes, and now and then an ugly spotted adder by no means pleasant totouch with bare feet. There were great black snakes, too, in the ledgesof the neighboring knolls; and on one occasion in early spring I foundmyself in the midst of a score at least of them, --holding their wickedmeeting of a Sabbath morning on the margin of a deep spring in themeadows. One glimpse at their fierce shining beads in the sunshine, asthey roused themselves at my approach, was sufficient to send me at fullspeed towards the nearest upland. The snakes, equally scared, fled inthe same direction; and, looking back, I saw the dark monsters followingclose at my heels, terrible as the Black Horse rebel regiment at BullRun. I had, happily, sense enough left to step aside and let the uglytroop glide into the bushes. 

Nevertheless, the meadows had their redeeming points. In springmornings the blackbirds and bobolinks made them musical with songs; andin the evenings great bullfrogs croaked and clamored; and on summernights we loved to watch the white wreaths of fog rising and drifting inthe moonlight like troops of ghosts, with the fireflies throwing up everand anon signals of their coming. But the Brook was far moreattractive, for it had sheltered bathing-places, clear and white sanded, and weedy stretches, where the shy pickerel loved to linger, and deeppools, where the stupid sucker stirred the black mud with his fins. Ihad followed it all the way from its birthplace among the pleasant NewHampshire hills, through the sunshine of broad, open meadows, and underthe shadow of thick woods. It was, for the most part, a sober, quietlittle river; but at intervals it broke into a low, rippling laugh overrocks and trunks of fallen trees. There had, so tradition said, oncebeen a witch-meeting on its banks, of six little old women in short, sky-blue cloaks; and if a drunken teamster could be credited, a ghostwas once seen bobbing for eels under Country Bridge. It ground our cornand rye for us, at its two grist-mills; and we drove our sheep to it fortheir spring washing, an anniversary which was looked forward to withintense delight, for it was always rare fun for the youngsters. Macaulay has sung, --

 "That year young lads in Umbro Shall plunge the struggling sheep;"

and his picture of the Roman sheep-washing recalled, when we read it, similar scenes in the Country Brook. On its banks we could always findthe earliest and the latest wild flowers, from the pale blue, three-lobed hepatica, and small, delicate wood-anemone, to the yellow bloom ofthe witch-hazel burning in the leafless October woods. 

Yet, after all, I think the chief attraction of the Brook to my brotherand myself was the fine fishing it afforded us. Our bachelor uncle wholived with us (there has always been one of that unfortunate class inevery generation of our family) was a quiet, genial man, much given tohunting and fishing; and it was one of the great pleasures of our younglife to accompany him on his expeditions to Great Hill, Brandy-browWoods, the Pond, and, best of all, to the Country Brook. We were quitewilling to work hard in the cornfield or the haying-lot to finish thenecessary day's labor in season for an afternoon stroll through thewoods and along the brookside. I remember my first fishing excursion asif it were but yesterday. I have been happy many times in my life, butnever more intensely so than when I received that first fishing-polefrom my uncle's hand, and trudged off with him through the woods andmeadows. It was a still sweet day of early summer; the long afternoonshadows of the trees lay cool across our path; the leaves seemedgreener, the flowers brighter, the birds merrier, than ever before. My uncle, who knew by long experience where were the best haunts ofpickerel, considerately placed me at the most favorable point. I threwout my line as I had so often seen others, and waited anxiously for abite, moving the bait in rapid jerks on the surface of the water inimitation of the leap of a frog. Nothing came of it. "Try again, " saidmy uncle. Suddenly the bait sank out of sight. "Now for it, " thoughtI; "here is a fish at last. " I made a strong pull, and brought up atangle of weeds. Again and again I cast out my line with aching arms, and drew it back empty. I looked to my uncle appealingly. "Try oncemore, " he said. "We fishermen must have patience. "

Suddenly something tugged at my line and swept off with it into deepwater. Jerking it up, I saw a fine pickerel wriggling in the sun. "Uncle!" I cried, looking back in uncontrollable excitement, "I've got afish!" "Not yet, " said my uncle. As he spoke there was a plash in thewater; I caught the arrowy gleam of a scared fish shooting into themiddle of the stream; my hook hung empty from the line. I had lost myprize. 

We are apt to speak of the sorrows of childhood as trifles in comparisonwith those of grown-up people; but we may depend upon it the young folksdon't agree with us. Our griefs, modified and restrained by reason, experience, and self-respect, keep the proprieties, and, if possible, avoid a scene; but the sorrow of childhood, unreasoning and all-absorbing, is a complete abandonment to the passion. The doll's nose isbroken, and the world breaks up with it; the marble rolls out of sight, and the solid globe rolls off with the marble. 

So, overcome by my great and bitter disappointment, I sat down on thenearest hassock, and for a time refused to be comforted, even by myuncle's assurance that there were more fish in the brook. He refittedmy bait, and, putting the pole again in my hands, told me to try my luckonce more. 

"But remember, boy, " he said, with his shrewd smile, "never brag ofcatching a fish until he is on dry ground. I've seen older folks doingthat in more ways than one, and so making fools of themselves. It 's nouse to boast of anything until it 's done, nor then either, for itspeaks for itself. "

How often since I have been reminded of the fish that I did not catch!When I hear people boasting of a work as yet undone, and trying toanticipate the credit which belongs only to actual achievement, I callto mind that scene by the brookside, and the wise caution of my uncle inthat particular instance takes the form of a proverb of universalapplication: "Never brag of your fish before you catch him. "

YANKEE GYPSIES. 

 "Here's to budgets, packs, and wallets; Here's to all the wandering train. " BURNS. 

I CONFESS it, I am keenly sensitive to "skyey influences. " I profess noindifference to the movements of that capricious old gentleman known asthe clerk of the weather. I cannot conceal my interest in the behaviorof that patriarchal bird whose wooden similitude gyrates on the churchspire. Winter proper is well enough. Let the thermometer go to zero ifit will; so much the better, if thereby the very winds are frozen andunable to flap their stiff wings. Sounds of bells in the keen air, clear, musical, heart-inspiring; quick tripping of fair moccasined feeton glittering ice pavements; bright eyes glancing above the upliftedmuff like a sultana's behind the folds of her _yashmac_; schoolboyscoasting down street like mad Greenlanders; the cold brilliance ofoblique sunbeams flashing back from wide surfaces of glittering snow orblazing upon ice jewelry of tree and roof. There is nothing in all thisto complain of. A storm of summer has its redeeming sublimities, --itsslow, upheaving mountains of cloud glooming in the western horizon likenew-created volcanoes, veined with fire, shattered by explodingthunders. Even the wild gales of the equinox have their varieties, --sounds of wind-shaken woods and waters, creak and clatter of sign andcasement, hurricane puffs and down-rushing rain-spouts. But this dull, dark autumn day of thaw and rain, when the very clouds seem toospiritless and languid to storm outright or take themselves out of theway of fair weather; wet beneath and above; reminding one of thatrayless atmosphere of Dante's Third Circle, where the infernalPriessnitz administers his hydropathic torment, --

 "A heavy, cursed, and relentless drench, -- The land it soaks is putrid;"

or rather, as everything animate and inanimate is seething in warm mist, suggesting the idea that Nature, grown old and rheumatic, is trying theefficacy of a Thompsonian steam-box on a grand scale; no sounds save theheavy plash of muddy feet on the pavements; the monotonous melancholydrip from trees and roofs; the distressful gurgling of waterducts, swallowing the dirty amalgam of the gutters; a dim, leaden-coloredhorizon of only a few yards in diameter, shutting down about one, beyondwhich nothing is visible save in faint line or dark projection; theghost of a church spire or the eidolon of a chimney-pot. He who canextract pleasurable emotions from the alembic of such a day has a trickof alchemy with which I am wholly unacquainted. 

Hark! a rap at my door. Welcome anybody just now. One gains nothing byattempting to shut out the sprites of the weather. They come in at thekeyhole; they peer through the dripping panes; they insinuate themselvesthrough the crevices of the casement, or plump down chimney astride ofthe rain-drops. 

I rise and throw open the door. A tall, shambling, loose-jointedfigure; a pinched, shrewd face, sun-browned and wind-dried; small, quick-winking black eyes. There he stands, the water dripping from hispulpy hat and ragged elbows. 

I speak to him, but he returns no answer. With a dumb show of misery, quite touching, he hands me a soiled piece of parchment, whereon I readwhat purports to be a melancholy account of shipwreck and disaster, tothe particular detriment, loss, and damnification of one Pietro Frugoni, who is, in consequence, sorely in want of the alms of all charitableChristian persons, and who is, in short, the bearer of this veraciousdocument, duly certified and indorsed by an Italian consul in one of ourAtlantic cities, of a high-sounding, but to Yankee organsunpronounceable name. 

Here commences a struggle. Every man, the Mohammedans tell us, has twoattendant angels, --the good one on his right shoulder, the bad on hisleft. "Give, " says Benevolence, as with some difficulty I fish up asmall coin from the depths of my pocket. "Not a cent, " says selfishPrudence; and I drop it from my fingers. "Think, " says the good angel, "of the poor stranger in a strange land, just escaped from the terrorsof the sea-storm, in which his little property has perished, thrownhalf-naked and helpless on our shores, ignorant of our language, andunable to find employment suited to his capacity. " "A vile impostor!"replies the lefthand sentinel. "His paper, purchased from one of thoseready-writers in New York who manufacture beggar-credentials at the lowprice of one dollar per copy, with earthquakes, fires, or shipwrecks, tosuit customers. "

Amidst this confusion of tongues I take another survey of my visitant. Ha! a light dawns upon me. That shrewd old face, with its sharp, winking eyes, is no stranger to me. Pietro Frugoni, I have seen theebefore. Si, signor, that face of thine has looked at me over a dirtywhite neckcloth, with the corners of that cunning mouth drawn downwards, and those small eyes turned up in sanctimonious gravity, while thou wastoffering to a crowd of halfgrown boys an extemporaneous exhortation inthe capacity of a travelling preacher. Have I not seen it peering outfrom under a blanket, as that of a poor Penobscot Indian, who had lostthe use of his hands while trapping on the Madawaska? Is it not theface of the forlorn father of six small children, whom the "marcurydoctors" had "pisened" and crippled? Did it not belong to that down-East unfortunate who had been out to the "Genesee country" and got the"fevern-nager, " and whose hand shook so pitifully when held out toreceive my poor gift? The same, under all disguises, --Stephen Leathers, of Barrington, --him, and none other! Let me conjure him into his ownlikeness:--

"Well, Stephen, what news from old Barrington?"

"Oh, well, I thought I knew ye, " he answers, not the least disconcerted. "How do you do? and how's your folks? All well, I hope. I took this'ere paper, you see, to help a poor furriner, who couldn't make himselfunderstood any more than a wild goose. I thought I 'd just start himfor'ard a little. It seemed a marcy to do it. "

Well and shiftily answered, thou ragged Proteus. One cannot be angrywith such a fellow. I will just inquire into the present state of hisGospel mission and about the condition of his tribe on the Penobscot;and it may be not amiss to congratulate him on the success of the steam-doctors in sweating the "pisen" of the regular faculty out of him. Buthe evidently has no'wish to enter into idle conversation. Intent uponhis benevolent errand, he is already clattering down stairs. Involuntarily I glance out of the window just in season to catch asingle glimpse of him ere he is swallowed up in the mist. 

He has gone; and, knave as he is, I can hardly help exclaiming, "Luck gowith him!" He has broken in upon the sombre train of my thoughts andcalled up before me pleasant and grateful recollections. The old farm-house nestling in its valley; hills stretching off to the south andgreen meadows to the east; the small stream which came noisily down itsravine, washing the old garden-wall and softly lapping on fallen stonesand mossy roots of beeches and hemlocks; the tall sentinel poplars atthe gateway; the oak-forest, sweeping unbroken to the northern horizon;the grass-grown carriage-path, with its rude and crazy bridge, --the dearold landscape of my boyhood lies outstretched before me like adaguerreotype from that picture within which I have borne with me in allmy wanderings. I am a boy again, once more conscious of the feeling, half terror, half exultation, with which I used to announce the approachof this very vagabond and his "kindred after the flesh. "

The advent of wandering beggars, or "old stragglers, " as we were wontto call them, was an event of no ordinary interest in the generallymonotonous quietude of our farm-life. Many of them were well known;they had their periodical revolutions and transits; we could calculatethem like eclipses or new moons. Some were sturdy knaves, fat andsaucy; and, whenever they ascertained that the "men folks" were absent, would order provisions and cider like men who expected to pay for them, seating themselves at the hearth or table with the air of Falstaff, --"Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn?" Others, poor, pale, patient, like Sterne's monk, came creeping up to the door, hat in hand, standingthere in their gray wretchedness with a look of heartbreak andforlornness which was never without its effect on our juvenilesensibilities. At times, however, we experienced a slight revulsion offeeling when even these humblest children of sorrow somewhat petulantlyrejected our proffered bread and cheese, and demanded instead a glass ofcider. Whatever the temperance society might in such cases have done, it was not in our hearts to refuse the poor creatures a draught of theirfavorite beverage; and was n't it a satisfaction to see their sad, melancholy faces light up as we handed them the full pitcher, and, onreceiving it back empty from their brown, wrinkled hands, to hear them, half breathless from their long, delicious draught, thanking us for thefavor, as "dear, good children!" Not unfrequently these wandering testsof our benevolence made their appearance in interesting groups of man, woman, and child, picturesque in their squalidness, and manifesting amaudlin affection which would have done honor to the revellers atPoosie-Nansie's, immortal in the cantata of Burns. I remember some whowere evidently the victims of monomania, --haunted and hunted by somedark thought, --possessed by a fixed idea. One, a black-eyed, wild-haired woman, with a whole tragedy of sin, shame, and suffering writtenin her countenance, used often to visit us, warm herself by our winterfire, and supply herself with a stock of cakes and cold meat; but wasnever known to answer a question or to ask one. She never smiled; thecold, stony look of her eye never changed; a silent, impassive face, frozen rigid by some great wrong or sin. We used to look with awe uponthe "still woman, " and think of the demoniac of Scripture who had a"dumb spirit. "

One--I think I see him now, grim, gaunt, and ghastly, working his slowway up to our door--used to gather herbs by the wayside and call himselfdoctor. He was bearded like a he goat and used to counterfeit lameness, yet, when he supposed himself alone, would travel on lustily as ifwalking for a wager. At length, as if in punishment of his deceit, hemet with an accident in his rambles and became lame in earnest, hobblingever after with difficulty on his gnarled crutches. Another used to gostooping, like Bunyan's pilgrim, under a pack made of an old bed-sacking, stuffed out into most plethoric dimensions, tottering on a pairof small, meagre legs, and peering out with his wild, hairy face fromunder his burden like a big-bodied spider. That "man with the pack"always inspired me with awe and reverence. Huge, almost sublime, in itstense rotundity, the father of all packs, never laid aside and neveropened, what might there not be within it? With what flesh-creepingcuriosity I used to walk round about it at a safe distance, halfexpecting to see its striped covering stirred by the motions of amysterious life, or that some evil monster would leap out of it, likerobbers from Ali Baba's jars or armed men from the Trojan horse!

There was another class of peripatetic philosophers--half pedler, halfmendicant--who were in the habit of visiting us. One we recollect, alame, unshaven, sinister-eyed, unwholesome fellow, with his basket ofold newspapers and pamphlets, and his tattered blue umbrella, servingrather as a walking staff than as a protection from the rain. He toldus on one occasion, in answer to our inquiring into the cause of hislameness, that when a young man he was employed on the farm of the chiefmagistrate of a neighboring State; where, as his ill-luck would have it, the governor's handsome daughter fell in love with him. He was caughtone day in the young lady's room by her father; whereupon the irascibleold gentleman pitched him unceremoniously out of the window, laming himfor life, on the brick pavement below, like Vulcan on the rocks ofLemnos. As for the lady, he assured us "she took on dreadfully aboutit. " "Did she die?" we inquired anxiously. There was a cun-ingtwinkle in the old rogue's eye as he responded, "Well, no, she did n't. She got married. "

Twice a year, usually in the spring and autumn, we were honored with acall from Jonathan Plummer, maker of verses, pedler and poet, physicianand parson, --a Yankee troubadour, --first and last minstrel of the valleyof the Merrimac, encircled, to my wondering young eyes, with the verynimbus of immortality. He brought with him pins, needles, tape, andcotton-thread for my mother; jack-knives, razors, and soap for myfather; and verses of his own composing, coarsely printed andillustrated with rude wood-cuts, for the delectation of the youngerbranches of the family. No lovesick youth could drown himself, nodeserted maiden bewail the moon, no rogue mount the gallows, withoutfitting memorial in Plummer's verses. Earthquakes, fires, fevers, andshipwrecks he regarded as personal favors from Providence, furnishingthe raw material of song and ballad. Welcome to us in our countryseclusion as Autolycus to the clown in Winter's Tale, we listened withinfinite satisfaction to his readings of his own verses, or to his readyimprovisation upon some domestic incident or topic suggested by hisauditors. When once fairly over the difficulties at the outset of a newsubject, his rhymes flowed freely, "as if he had eaten ballads and allmen's ears grew to his tunes. " His productions answered, as nearly as Ican remember, to Shakespeare's description of a proper ballad, --"dolefulmatter merrily set down, or a very pleasant theme sung lamentably. " Hewas scrupulously conscientious, devout, inclined to theologicaldisquisitions, and withal mighty in Scripture. He was thoroughlyindependent; flattered nobody, cared for nobody, trusted nobody. Wheninvited to sit down at our dinner-table, he invariably took theprecaution to place his basket of valuables between his legs for safekeeping. "Never mind thy basket, Jonathan, " said my father; "wesha'n't steal thy verses. "--"I'm not sure of that, " returned thesuspicious guest. "It is written, 'Trust ye not in any brother. '"

Thou too, O Parson B------, with thy pale student's brow and rubicundnose, with thy rusty and tattered black coat overswept by white flowinglocks, with thy professional white neckcloth scrupulously preserved wheneven a shirt to thy back was problematical, --art by no means to beoverlooked in the muster-roll of vagrant gentlemen possessing the entreeof our farm-house. Well do we remember with what grave and dignifiedcourtesy he used to step over its threshold, saluting its inmates withthe same air of gracious condescension and patronage with which inbetter days he had delighted the hearts of his parishioners. Poor oldman! He had once been the admired and almost worshipped minister of thelargest church in the town where he afterwards found support in thewinter season as a pauper. He had early fallen into intemperate habits;and at the age of threescore and ten, when I remember him, he was onlysober when he lacked the means of being otherwise. Drunk or sober, however, he never altogether forgot the proprieties of his profession;he was always grave, decorous, and gentlemanly; he held fast the form ofsound words, and the weakness of the flesh abated nothing of the rigorof his stringent theology. He had been a favorite pupil of the learnedand astute Emmons, and was to the last a sturdy defender of the peculiardogmas of his school. The last time we saw him he was holding a meetingin our district school-house, with a vagabond pedler for deacon andtravelling companion. The tie which united the ill-assorted couple wasdoubtless the same which endeared Tam O'Shanter to the souter:--

 "They had been fou for weeks thegither. "

He took for his text the first seven verses of the concluding chapter ofEcclesiastes, furnishing in himself its fitting illustration. The evildays had come; the keepers of the house trembled; the windows of lifewere darkened. A few months later the silver cord was loosened, thegolden bowl was broken, and between the poor old man and the temptationswhich beset him fell the thick curtains of the grave. 

One day we had a call from a "pawky auld carle" of a wanderingScotchman. To him I owe my first introduction to the songs of Burns. After eating his bread and cheese and drinking his mug of cider he gaveus Bonny Doon, Highland Mary, and Auld Lang Syne. He had a rich, fullvoice, and entered heartily into the spirit of his lyrics. I have sincelistened to the same melodies from the lips of Dempster, than whom theScottish bard has had no sweeter or truer interpreter; but the skilfulperformance of the artist lacked the novel charm of the gaberlunzie'ssinging in the old farmhouse kitchen. Another wanderer made usacquainted with the humorous old ballad of "Our gude man cam hame ate'en. " He applied for supper and lodging, and the next morning was setat work splitting stones in the pasture. While thus engaged the villagedoctor came riding along the highway on his fine, spirited horse, andstopped to talk with my father. The fellow eyed the animal attentively, as if familiar with all his good points, and hummed over a stanza of theold poem:--

 "Our gude man cam hame at e'en, And hame cam be; And there he saw a saddle horse Where nae horse should be. 'How cam this horse here? How can it be? How cam this horse here Without the leave of me?' 'A horse?' quo she. 'Ay, a horse, ' quo he. 'Ye auld fool, ye blind fool, -- And blinder might ye be, -- 'T is naething but a milking cow My mamma sent to me. ' A milch cow?' quo he. 'Ay, a milch cow, ' quo she. 'Weel, far hae I ridden, And muckle hae I seen; But milking cows wi' saddles on Saw I never nane. '"

That very night the rascal decamped, taking with him the doctor's horse, and was never after heard of. 

Often, in the gray of the morning, we used to see one or more"gaberlunzie men, " pack on shoulder and staff in hand, emerging from thebarn or other outbuildings where they had passed the night. I was oncesent to the barn to fodder the cattle late in the evening, and, climbinginto the mow to pitch down hay for that purpose, I was startled by thesudden apparition of a man rising up before me, just discernible in thedim moonlight streaming through the seams of the boards. I made a rapidretreat down the ladder; and was only reassured by hearing the object ofmy terror calling after me, and recognizing his voice as that of aharmless old pilgrim whom I had known before. Our farm-house wassituated in a lonely valley, half surrounded with woods, with noneighbors in sight. One dark, cloudy night, when our parents chanced tobe absent, we were sitting with our aged grandmother in the fading lightof the kitchen-fire, working ourselves into a very satisfactory state ofexcitement and terror by recounting to each other all the dismal storieswe could remember of ghosts, witches, haunted houses and robbers, whenwe were suddenly startled by a loud rap at the door. A stripling offourteen, I was very naturally regarded as the head of the household;so, --with many misgivings, I advanced to the door, which I slowlyopened, holding the candle tremulously above my head and peering outinto the darkness. The feeble glimmer played upon the apparition of agigantic horseman, mounted on a steed of a size worthy of such a rider--colossal, motionless, like images cut out of the solid night. Thestrange visitant gruffly saluted me; and, after making severalineffectual efforts to urge his horse in at the door, dismounted andfollowed me into the room, evidently enjoying the terror which his hugepresence excited. Announcing himself as the great Indian doctor, hedrew himself up before the fire, stretched his arms, clenched his fists, struck his broad chest, and invited our attention to what he called his"mortal frame. " He demanded in succession all kinds of intoxicatingliquors; and, on being assured that we had none to give him, he grewangry, threatened to swallow my younger brother alive, and, seizing meby the hair of my head as the angel did the prophet at Babylon, led meabout from room to room. After an ineffectual search, in the course ofwhich he mistook a jug of oil for one of brandy, and, contrary to myexplanations and remonstrances, insisted upon swallowing a portion ofits contents, he released me, fell to crying and sobbing, and confessedthat he was so drunk already that his horse was ashamed of him. Afterbemoaning and pitying himself to his satisfaction he wiped his eyes, andsat down by the side of my grandmother, giving her to understand that hewas very much pleased with her appearance; adding, that if agreeable toher, he should like the privilege of paying his addresses to her. Whilevainly endeavoring to make the excellent old lady comprehend his veryflattering proposition, he was interrupted by the return of my father, who, at once understanding the matter, turned him out of doors withoutceremony. 

On one occasion, a few years ago, on my return from the field atevening, I was told that a foreigner had asked for lodgings during thenight, but that, influenced by his dark, repulsive appearance, my motherhad very reluctantly refused his request. I found her by no meanssatisfied with her decision. "What if a son of mine was in a strangeland?" she inquired, self-reproachfully. Greatly to her relief, Ivolunteered to go in pursuit of the wanderer, and, taking a cross-pathover the fields, soon overtook him. He had just been rejected at thehouse of our nearest neighbor, and was standing in a state of dubiousperplexity in the street. His looks quite justified my mother'ssuspicions. He was an olive-complexioned, black-bearded Italian, withan eye like a live coal, such a face as perchance looks out on thetraveller in the passes of the Abruzzi, --one of those bandit visageswhich Salvator has painted. With some difficulty I gave him tounderstand my errand, when he overwhelmed me with thanks, and joyfullyfollowed me back. He took his seat with us at the supper-table; and, when we were all gathered around the hearth that cold autumnal evening, he told us, partly by words and, partly by gestures, the story of hislife and misfortunes, amused us with descriptions of the grape-gatherings and festivals of his sunny clime, edified my mother with arecipe for making bread of chestnuts; and in the morning, when, afterbreakfast, his dark, sullen face lighted up and his fierce eye moistenedwith grateful emotion as in his own silvery Tuscan accent he poured outhis thanks, we marvelled at the fears which had so nearly closed ourdoor against him; and, as he departed, we all felt that he had left withus the blessing of the poor. 

It was not often that, as in the above instance, my mother's prudencegot the better of her charity. The regular "old stragglers" regardedher as an unfailing friend; and the sight of her plain cap was to theman assurance of forthcoming creature-comforts. There was indeed a tribeof lazy strollers, having their place of rendezvous in the town ofBarrington, New Hampshire, whose low vices had placed them beyond eventhe pale of her benevolence. They were not unconscious of their evilreputation; and experience had taught them the necessity of concealing, under well-contrived disguises, their true character. They came to usin all shapes and with all appearances save the true one, with mostmiserable stories of mishap and sickness and all "the ills which fleshis heir to. " It was particularly vexatious to discover, when too late, that our sympathies and charities had been expended upon such gracelessvagabonds as the "Barrington beggars. " An old withered hag, known bythe appellation of Hopping Pat, --the wise woman of her tribe, --was inthe habit of visiting us, with her hopeful grandson, who had "a gift forpreaching" as well as for many other things not exactly compatible withholy orders. He sometimes brought with him a tame crow, a shrewd, knavish-looking bird, who, when in the humor for it, could talk likeBarnaby Rudge's raven. He used to say he could "do nothin' at exhortin'without a white handkercher on his neck and money in his pocket, "--afact going far to confirm the opinions of the Bishop of Exeter and thePuseyites generally, that there can be no priest without tithes andsurplice. 

These people have for several generations lived distinct from the greatmass of the community, like the gypsies of Europe, whom in many respectsthey closely resemble. They have the same settled aversion to labor andthe same disposition to avail themselves of the fruits of the industryof others. They love a wild, out-of-door life, sing songs, tellfortunes, and have an instinctive hatred of "missionaries and coldwater. " It has been said--I know not upon what grounds--that theirancestors were indeed a veritable importation of English gypsyhood; butif so, they have undoubtedly lost a good deal of the picturesque charmof its unhoused and free condition. I very much fear that my friendMary Russell Mitford, --sweetest of England's rural painters, --who has apoet's eye for the fine points in gypsy character, would scarcely allowtheir claims to fraternity with her own vagrant friends, whose camp-fires welcomed her to her new home at Swallowfield. 

"The proper study of mankind is man, " and, according to my view, nophase of our common humanity is altogether unworthy of investigation. Acting upon this belief two or three summers ago, when making, incompany with my sister, a little excursion into the hill-country of NewHampshire, I turned my horse's head towards Barrington for the purposeof seeing these semi-civilized strollers in their own home, andreturning, once for all, their numerous visits. Taking leave of ourhospitable cousins in old Lee with about as much solemnity as we maysuppose Major Laing parted with his friends when he set out in search ofdesert-girdled Timbuctoo, we drove several miles over a rough road, passed the Devil's Den unmolested, crossed a fretful little streamletnoisily working its way into a valley, where it turned a lonely, half-ruinous mill, and climbing a steep hill beyond, saw before us a widesandy level, skirted on the west and north by low, scraggy hills, anddotted here and there with dwarf pitch-pines. In the centre of thisdesolate region were some twenty or thirty small dwellings, groupedtogether as irregularly as a Hottentot kraal. Unfenced, unguarded, opento all comers and goers, stood that city of the beggars, --no wall orpaling between the ragged cabins to remind one of the jealousdistinctions of property. The great idea of its founders seemed visiblein its unappropriated freedom. Was not the whole round world their own?and should they haggle about boundaries and title-deeds? For them, ondistant plains, ripened golden harvests; for them, in far-off workshops, busy hands were toiling; for them, if they had but the grace to note it, the broad earth put on her garniture of beauty, and over them hung thesilent mystery of heaven and its stars. That comfortable philosophywhich modern transcendentalism has but dimly shadowed forth--that poeticagrarianism, which gives all to each and each to all--is the real lifeof this city of unwork. To each of its dingy dwellers might be notunaptly applied the language of one who, I trust, will pardon me forquoting her beautiful poem in this connection:--

 "Other hands may grasp the field or forest, Proud proprietors in pomp may shine; Thou art wealthier, --all the world is thine. "

But look! the clouds are breaking. "Fair weather cometh out of thenorth. " The wind has blown away the mists; on the gilded spire of JohnStreet glimmers a beam of sunshine; and there is the sky again, hard, blue, and cold in its eternal purity, not a whit the worse for thestorm. In the beautiful present the past is no longer needed. Reverently and gratefully let its volume be laid aside; and when againthe shadows of the outward world fall upon the spirit, may I not lack agood angel to remind me of its solace, even if he comes in the shape ofa Barrington beggar. 

THE TRAINING. 

 "Send for the milingtary. " NOAH CLAYPOLE in Oliver Twist. 

WHAT'S now in the wind? Sounds of distant music float in at my windowon this still October air. Hurrying drum-beat, shrill fife-tones, wailing bugle-notes, and, by way of accompaniment, hurrahs from theurchins on the crowded sidewalks. Here come the citizen-soldiers, eachmartial foot beating up the mud of yesterday's storm with the slow, regular, up-and-down movement of an old-fashioned churn-dasher. Keepingtime with the feet below, some threescore of plumed heads bob solemnlybeneath me. Slant sunshine glitters on polished gun-barrels andtinselled uniform. Gravely and soberly they pass on, as if dulyimpressed with a sense of the deep responsibility of their position asself-constituted defenders of the world's last hope, --the United Statesof America, and possibly Texas. They look out with honest, citizenfaces under their leathern visors (their ferocity being mostly the workof the tailor and tinker), and, I doubt not, are at this moment asinnocent of bloodthirstiness as yonder worthy tiller of the TewksburyHills, who sits quietly in his wagon dispensing apples and turnipswithout so much as giving a glance at the procession. Probably there isnot one of them who would hesitate to divide his last tobacco-quid withhis worst enemy. Social, kind-hearted, psalm-singing, sermon-hearing, Sabhath-keeping Christians; and yet, if we look at the fact of thematter, these very men have been out the whole afternoon of thisbeautiful day, under God's holy sunshine, as busily at work as Satanhimself could wish in learning how to butcher their fellow-creatures andacquire the true scientific method of impaling a forlorn Mexican on abayonet, or of sinking a leaden missile in the brain of some unfortunateBriton, urged within its range by the double incentive of sixpence perday in his pocket and the cat-o'-nine-tails on his back!

Without intending any disparagement of my peaceable ancestry for manygenerations, I have still strong suspicions that somewhat of the oldNorman blood, something of the grins Berserker spirit, has beenbequeathed to me. How else can I account for the intense childisheagerness with which I listened to the stories of old campaigners whosometimes fought their battles over again in my hearing? Why did I, in my young fancy, go up with Jonathan, the son of Saul, to smite thegarrisoned Philistines of Michmash, or with the fierce son of Nunagainst the cities of Canaan? Why was Mr. Greatheart, in Pilgrim'sProgress, my favorite character? What gave such fascination to thenarrative of the grand Homeric encounter between Christian and Apollyonin the valley? Why did I follow Ossian over Morven's battle-fields, exulting in the vulture-screams of the blind scald over his fallenenemies? Still later, why did the newspapers furnish me with subjectsfor hero-worship in the half-demented Sir Gregor McGregor, and Ypsilantiat the head of his knavish Greeks? I can account for it only in thesupposition that the mischief was inhered, --an heirloom from the oldsea-kings of the ninth century. 

Education and reflection have, indeed, since wrought a change in myfeelings. The trumpet of the Cid, or Ziska's drum even, could not nowwaken that old martial spirit. The bull-dog ferocity of a half-intoxicated Anglo-Saxon, pushing his blind way against the convergingcannon-fire from the shattered walls of Ciudad Rodrigo, commends itselfneither to my reason nor my fancy. I now regard the accounts of thebloody passage of the Bridge of Lodi, and of French cuirassiers madlytransfixing themselves upon the bayonets of Wellington's squares, withvery much the same feeling of horror and loathing which is excited by adetail of the exploits of an Indian Thug, or those of a mad Malayrunning a-muck, creese in hand, through the streets of Pulo Penang. Your Waterloo, and battles of the Nile and Baltic, --what are they, insober fact, but gladiatorial murder-games on a great scale, --humanimitations of bull-fights, at which Satan sits as grand alguazil andmaster of ceremonies? It is only when a great thought incarnates itselfin action, desperately striving to find utterance even in sabre-clashand gun-fire, or when Truth and Freedom, in their mistaken zeal anddistrustful of their own powers, put on battle-harness, that I can feelany sympathy with merely physical daring. The brawny butcher-work ofmen whose wits, like those of Ajax, lie in their sinews, and who are"yoked like draught-oxen and made to plough up the wars, " is norealization of my ideal of true courage. 

Yet I am not conscious of having lost in any degree my early admirationof heroic achievement. The feeling remains; but it has found new andbetter objects. I have learned to appreciate what Milton calls themartyr's "unresistible might of meekness, "--the calm, uncomplainingendurance of those who can bear up against persecution uncheered bysympathy or applause, and, with a full and keen appreciation of thevalue of all which they are called to sacrifice, confront danger anddeath in unselfish devotion to duty. Fox, preaching through his prison-gates or rebuking Oliver Cromwell in the midst of his soldier-courtHenry Vane beneath the axe of the headsman; Mary Dyer on the scaffold atBoston; Luther closing his speech at Worms with the sublime emphasis ofhis "Here stand I; I cannot otherwise; God help me;" William Penndefending the rights of Englishmen from the baledock of the Fleetprison; Clarkson climbing the decks of Liverpool slaveships; Howardpenetrating to infected dungeons; meek Sisters of Charity breathingcontagion in thronged hospitals, --all these, and such as these, now helpme to form the loftier ideal of Christian heroism. 

Blind Milton approaches nearly to my conception of a true hero. What apicture have we of that sublime old man, as sick, poor, blind, andabandoned of friends, he still held fast his heroic integrity, rebukingwith his unbending republicanism the treachery, cowardice, and servilityof his old associates! He had outlived the hopes and beatific visionsof his youth; he had seen the loudmouthed advocates of liberty throwingdown a nation's freedom at the feet of the shameless, debauched, andperjured Charles II. , crouching to the harlot-thronged court of thetyrant, and forswearing at once their religion and their republicanism. The executioner's axe had been busy among his friends. Vane and Hampdenslept in their bloody graves. Cromwell's ashes had been dragged fromtheir resting-place; for even in death the effeminate monarch hated andfeared the conquerer of Naseby and Marston Moor. He was left alone, inage, and penury, and blindness, oppressed with the knowledge that allwhich his free soul abhorred had returned upon his beloved country. Yetthe spirit of the stern old republican remained to the last unbroken, realizing the truth of the language of his own Samson Agonistes:--

 "But patience is more oft the exercise Of saints, the trial of their fortitude, Making them each his own deliverer And victor over all That tyranny or fortune can inflict. "

The curse of religious and political apostasy lay heavy on the land. Harlotry and atheism sat in the high places; and the "caresses ofwantons and the jests of buffoons regulated the measures of a governmentwhich had just ability enough to deceive, just religion enough topersecute. " But, while Milton mourned over this disastrous change, no self-reproach mingled with his sorrow. To the last he had strivenagainst the oppressor; and when confined to his narrow alley, a prisonerin his own mean dwelling, like another Prometheus on his rock, he stillturned upon him an eye of unsubdued defiance. Who, that has read hispowerful appeal to his countrymen when they were on the eve of welcomingback the tyranny and misrule which, at the expense of so much blood andtreasure had been thrown off, can ever forget it? How nobly doesLiberty speak through him! "If, " said he, "ye welcome back a monarchy, it will be the triumph of all tyrants hereafter over any people whoshall resist oppression; and their song shall then be to others, 'Howsped the rebellious English?' but to our posterity, 'How sped therebels, your fathers?'" How solemn and awful is his closing paragraph!"What I have spoken is the language of that which is not called amiss'the good old cause. ' If it seem strange to any, it will not, I hope, seem more strange than convincing to backsliders. This much I shouldhave said though I were sure I should have spoken only to trees andstones, and had none to cry to but with the prophet, 'O earth, earth, earth!' to tell the very soil itself what its perverse inhabitants aredeaf to; nay, though what I have spoken should prove (which Thou suffernot, who didst make mankind free; nor Thou next, who didst redeem usfrom being servants of sin) to be the last words of our expiringliberties. "

THE CITY OF A DAY. 

The writer, when residing in Lowell, in 1843 contributed this and thecompanion pieces to 'The Stranger' in Lowell. 

This, then, is Lowell, --a city springing up, like the enchanted palacesof the Arabian tales, as it were in a single night, stretching far andwide its chaos of brick masonry and painted shingles, filling the angleof the confluence of the Concord and the Merrimac with the sights andsounds of trade and industry. Marvellously here have art and laborwrought their modern miracles. I can scarcely realize the fact that afew years ago these rivers, now tamed and subdued to the purposes of manand charmed into slavish subjection to the wizard of mechanism, rolledunchecked towards the ocean the waters of the Winnipesaukee and therock-rimmed springs of the White Mountains, and rippled down their fallsin the wild freedom of Nature. A stranger, in view of all thiswonderful change, feels himself, as it were, thrust forward into a newcentury; he seems treading on the outer circle of the millennium ofsteam engines and cotton mills. Work is here the patron saint. Everything bears his image and superscription. Here is no place forthat respectable class of citizens called gentlemen, and their muchvilified brethren, familiarly known as loafers. Over the gateways ofthis new world Manchester glares the inscription, "Work, or die". Here

 "Every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late or soon Spins, toiling out his own cocoon. "

The founders of this city probably never dreamed of the theory ofCharles Lamb in respect to the origin of labor:--

 "Who first invented work, and thereby bound The holiday rejoicing spirit down To the never-ceasing importunity Of business in the green fields and the town?

 "Sabbathless Satan, --he who his unglad Task ever plies midst rotatory burnings For wrath divine has made him like a wheel In that red realm from whence are no returnings. "

Rather, of course, would they adopt Carlyle's apostrophe of "Divinelabor, noble, ever fruitful, --the grand, sole miracle of man;" for thisis indeed a city consecrated to thrift, --dedicated, every square rod ofit, to the divinity of work; the gospel of industry preached daily andhourly from some thirty temples, each huger than the Milan Cathedral orthe Temple of Jeddo, the Mosque of St. Sophia or the Chinese pagoda of ahundred bells; its mighty sermons uttered by steam and water-power; itsmusic the everlasting jar of mechanism and the organ-swell of manywaters; scattering the cotton and woollen leaves of its evangel from thewings of steamboats and rail-cars throughout the land; its thousandpriests and its thousands of priestesses ministering around theirspinning-jenny and powerloom altars, or thronging the long, unshadedstreets in the level light of sunset. After all, it may well bequestioned whether this gospel, according to Poor Richard's Almanac, isprecisely calculated for the redemption of humanity. Labor, graduatedto man's simple wants, necessities, and unperverted tastes, is doubtlesswell; but all beyond this is weariness to flesh and spirit. Every webwhich falls from these restless looms has a history more or lessconnected with sin and suffering, beginning with slavery and endingwith overwork and premature death. 

A few years ago, while travelling in Pennsylvania, I encountered asmall, dusky-browed German of the name of Etzler. He was possessed by abelief that the world was to be restored to its paradisiacal state bythe sole agency of mechanics, and that he had himself discovered themeans of bringing about this very desirable consummation. His wholemental atmosphere was thronged with spectral enginery; wheel withinwheel; plans of hugest mechanism; Brobdignagian steam-engines; Niagarasof water-power; wind-mills with "sail-broad vans, " like those of Satanin chaos, by the proper application of which every valley was to beexalted and every hill laid low; old forests seized by their shaggy topsand uprooted; old morasses drained; the tropics made cool; the eternalices melted around the poles; the ocean itself covered with artificialislands, blossoming gardens of the blessed, rocking gently on the bosomof the deep. Give him "three hundred thousand dollars and ten years'time, " and he would undertake to do the work. 

Wrong, pain, and sin, being in his view but the results of our physicalnecessities, ill-gratified desires, and natural yearnings for a betterstate, were to vanish before the millennium of mechanism. "It wouldbe, " said he, "as ridiculous then to dispute and quarrel about the meansof life as it would be now about water to drink by the side of mightyrivers, or about permission to breathe the common air. " To his mind thegreat forces of Nature took the shape of mighty and benignant spirits, sent hitherward to be the servants of man in restoring to him his lostparadise; waiting only for his word of command to apply their giantenergies to the task, but as yet struggling blindly and aimlessly, giving ever and anon gentle hints, in the way of earthquake, fire, andflood, that they are weary of idleness, and would fain be set at work. Looking down, as I now do, upon these huge brick workshops, I havethought of poor Etzler, and wondered whether he would admit, were hewith me, that his mechanical forces have here found their properemployment of millennium making. Grinding on, each in his iron harness, invisible, yet shaking, by his regulated and repressed power, his hugeprison-house from basement to capstone, is it true that the genii ofmechanism are really at work here, raising us, by wheel and pulley, steam and waterpower, slowly up that inclined plane from whose topstretches the broad table-land of promise?

Many of the streets of Lowell present a lively and neat aspect, and areadorned with handsome public and private buildings; but they lack onepleasant feature of older towns, --broad, spreading shade-trees. Onefeels disposed to quarrel with the characteristic utilitarianism of thefirst settlers, which swept so entirely away the green beauty of Nature. For the last few days it has been as hot here as Nebuchadnezzar'sfurnace or Monsieur Chabert's oven, the sun glaring down from a coppersky upon these naked, treeless streets, in traversing which one istempted to adopt the language of a warm-weather poet:

 "The lean, like walking skeletons, go stalking pale and gloomy; The fat, like red-hot warming-pans, send hotter fancies through me; I wake from dreams of polar ice, on which I've been a slider, Like fishes dreaming of the sea and waking in the spider. "

How unlike the elm-lined avenues of New Haven, upon whose cool andgraceful panorama the stranger looks down upon the Judge's Cave, or thevine-hung pinnacles of West Rock, its tall spires rising white and clearabove the level greenness! or the breezy leafiness of Portland, with itswooded islands in the distance, and itself overhung with verdant beauty, rippling and waving in the same cool breeze which stirs the waters ofthe beautiful Bay of Casco! But time will remedy all this; and, whenLowell shall have numbered half the years of her sister cities, hernewly planted elms and maples, which now only cause us to contrast theirshadeless stems with the leafy glory of their parents of the forest, will stretch out to the future visitor arms of welcome and repose. 

There is one beautiful grove in Lowell, --that on Chapel Hill, --where acluster of fine old oaks lift their sturdy stems and green branches, inclose proximity to the crowded city, blending the cool rustle of theirleaves with the din of machinery. As I look at them in this graytwilight they seem lonely and isolated, as if wondering what has becomeof their old forest companions, and vainly endeavoring to recognize inthe thronged and dusty streets before them those old, gracefulcolonnades of maple and thick-shaded oaken vistas, stretching from riverto river, carpeted with the flowers and grasses of spring, or ankle deepwith leaves of autumn, through whose leafy canopy the sunlight melted inupon wild birds, shy deer, and red Indians. Long may these oaks remainto remind us that, if there be utility in the new, there was beauty inthe old, leafy Puseyites of Nature, calling us back to the past, but, like their Oxford brethren, calling in vain; for neither in polemics norin art can we go backward in an age whose motto is ever "Onward. "

The population of Lowell is constituted mainly of New Englanders; butthere are representatives here of almost every part of the civilizedworld. The good-humored face of the Milesian meets one at almost everyturn; the shrewdly solemn Scotchman, the transatlantic Yankee, blendingthe crafty thrift of Bryce Snailsfoot with the stern religious heroismof Cameron; the blue-eyed, fair-haired German from the towered hillswhich overlook the Rhine, --slow, heavy, and unpromising in his exterior, yet of the same mould and mettle of the men who rallied for "fatherland"at the Tyrtean call of Korner and beat back the chivalry of France fromthe banks of the Katzback, --the countrymen of Richter, and Goethe, andour own Follen. Here, too, are pedlers from Hamburg, and Bavaria, andPoland, with their sharp Jewish faces, and black, keen eyes. At thismoment, beneath my window are two sturdy, sunbrowned Swiss maidensgrinding music for a livelihood, rehearsing in a strange Yankee land thesimple songs of their old mountain home, reminding me, by their foreigngarb and language, of

 "Lauterbrunnen's peasant girl. "

Poor wanderers, I cannot say that I love their music; but now, as thenotes die away, and, to use the words of Dr. Holmes, "silence comes likea poultice to heal the wounded ear, " I feel grateful for theirvisitation. Away from crowded thoroughfares, from brick walls and dustyavenues, at the sight of these poor peasants I have gone in thought tothe vale of Chamouny, and seen, with Coleridge, the morning star pausingon the "bald, awful head of sovereign Blanc, " and the sun rise and setupon snowy-crested mountains, down in whose valleys the night stilllingers; and, following in the track of Byron and Rousseau, have watchedthe lengthening shadows of the hills on the beautiful waters of theGenevan lake. Blessings, then, upon these young wayfarers, for theyhave "blessed me unawares. " In an hour of sickness and lassitude theyhave wrought for me the miracle of Loretto's Chapel, and, borne me awayfrom the scenes around me and the sense of personal suffering to thatwonderful land where Nature seems still uttering, from lake and valley, and from mountains whose eternal snows lean on the hard, blue heaven, the echoes of that mighty hymn of a new-created world, when "the morningstars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy. "

But of all classes of foreigners the Irish are by far the most numerous. Light-hearted, wrongheaded, impulsive, uncalculating, with an Orientallove of hyperbole, and too often a common dislike of cold water and ofthat gem which the fable tells us rests at the bottom of the well, theCeltic elements of their character do not readily accommodate themselvesto those of the hard, cool, self-relying Anglo-Saxon. I am free toconfess to a very thorough dislike of their religious intolerance andbigotry, but am content to wait for the change that time and theattrition of new circumstances and ideas must necessarily make in thisrespect. Meanwhile I would strive to reverence man as man, irrespectiveof his birthplace. A stranger in a strange land is always to me anobject of sympathy and interest. Amidst all his apparent gayety ofheart and national drollery and wit, the poor Irish emigrant has sadthoughts of the "ould mother of him, " sitting lonely in her solitarycabin by the bog-side; recollections of a father's blessing and asister's farewell are haunting him; a grave mound in a distantchurchyard far beyond the "wide wathers" has an eternal greenness in hismemory; for there, perhaps, lies a "darlint child" or a "swate crather"who once loved him. The new world is forgotten for the moment; blueKillarney and the Liffey sparkle before him, and Glendalough stretchesbeneath him its dark, still mirror; he sees the same evening sunshinerest upon and hallow alike with Nature's blessing the ruins of the SevenChurches of Ireland's apostolic age, the broken mound of the Druids, andthe round towers of the Phoenician sun-worshippers; pleasant andmournful recollections of his home waken within him; and the rough andseemingly careless and light-hearted laborer melts into tears. It is nolight thing to abandon one's own country and household gods. Touchingand beautiful was the injunction of the prophet of the Hebrews:

"Ye shall not oppress the stranger; for ye know the heart of thestranger, seeing that ye were strangers in the land of Egypt. "

PATUCKET FALLS. 

MANY years ago I read, in some old chronicle of the early history of NewEngland, a paragraph which has ever since haunted my memory, calling upromantic associations of wild Nature and wilder man:--

"The Sachem Wonolanset, who lived by the Groat Falls of Patucket, on theMerrimac. "

It was with this passage in my mind that I visited for the first timethe Rapids of the Merrimac, above Lowell. 

Passing up the street by the Hospital, a large and elegant mansionsurrounded by trees and shrubbery and climbing vines, I found myself, after walking a few rods farther, in full view of the Merrimac. A deepand rocky channel stretched between me and the Dracut shore, along whichrushed the shallow water, --a feeble, broken, and tortuous current, winding its way among splintered rocks, rising sharp and jagged in alldirections. Drained above the falls by the canal, it resembled somemountain streamlet of old Spain, or some Arabian wady, exhausted by ayear's drought. Higher up, the arches of the bridge spanned the quick, troubled water; and, higher still, the dam, so irregular in its outlineas to seem less a work of Art than of Nature, crossed the bed of theriver, a lakelike placidity above contrasting with the foam and murmurof the falls below. And this was all which modern improvements had leftof "the great Patucket Falls" of the olden time. The wild river hadbeen tamed; the spirit of the falls, whose hoarse voice the Indian onceheard in the dashing of the great water down the rocks, had become theslave of the arch conjurer, Art; and, like a shorn and blinded giant, was grinding in the prison-house of his taskmaster. 

One would like to know how this spot must have seemed to the "twentygoodlie persons from Concord and Woburn" who first visited it in 1652, as, worn with fatigue, and wet from the passage of the sluggish Concord, "where ford there was none, " they wound their slow way through theforest, following the growing murmur of the falls, until at length thebroad, swift river stretched before them, its white spray flashing inthe sun. What cared these sturdy old Puritans for the wild beauty ofthe landscape thus revealed before them? I think I see them standingthere in the golden light of a closing October day, with their sombrebrown doublets and slouched hats, and their heavy matchlocks, --such menas Ireton fronted death with on the battle-field of Naseby, or those whostalked with Cromwell over the broken wall of Drogheda, smiting, "in thename of the Lord, " old and young, "both maid, and little children. "Methinks I see the sunset light flooding the river valley, the westernhills stretching to the horizon, overhung with trees gorgeous andglowing with the tints of autumn, --a mighty flower-garden, blossomingunder the spell of the enchanter, Frost; the rushing river, with itsgraceful water-curves and white foam; and a steady murmur, low, deepvoices of water, the softest, sweetest sound of Nature, blends with thesigh of the south wind in the pine-tops. But these hard-featured saintsof the New Canaan "care for none of these things. " The stout heartswhich beat under their leathern doublets are proof against the sweetinfluences of Nature. They see only "a great and howling wilderness, where be many Indians, but where fish may be taken, and where be meadowsfor ye subsistence of cattle, " and which, on the whole, "is acomfortable place to accommodate a company of God's people upon, whomay, with God's blessing, do good in that place for both church andstate. " (Vide petition to the General Court, 1653. )

In reading the journals and narratives of the early settlers of NewEngland nothing is more remarkable than the entire silence of the worthywriters in respect to the natural beauty or grandeur of the scenery amidwhich their lot was cast. They designated the grand and gloriousforest, broken by lakes and crossed by great rivers, intersected by athousand streams more beautiful than those which the Old World has givento song and romance, as "a desert and frightful wilderness. " The wildlypicturesque Indian, darting his birch canoe down the Falls of theAmoskeag or gliding in the deer-track of the forest, was, in their view, nothing but a "dirty tawnie, " a "salvage heathen, " and "devil's imp. "Many of them were well educated, --men of varied and profound erudition, and familiar with the best specimens of Greek and Roman literature; yetthey seem to have been utterly devoid of that poetic feeling or fancywhose subtle alchemy detects the beautiful in the familiar. Their veryhymns and spiritual songs seem to have been expressly calculated, like"the music-grinders" of Holmes, --

 "To pluck the eyes of sentiment, And dock the tail of rhyme, To crack the voice of melody, And break the legs of time. "

They were sworn enemies of the Muses; haters of stage-play literature, profane songs, and wanton sonnets; of everything, in brief, whichreminded them of the days of the roistering cavaliers and bedizenedbeauties of the court of "the man Charles, " whose head had fallenbeneath the sword of Puritan justice. Hard, harsh, unlovely, yet withmany virtues and noble points of character, they were fitted, doubtless, for their work of pioneers in the wilderness. Sternly faithful to duty, in peril, and suffering, and self-denial, they wrought out the noblestof historical epics on the rough soil of New England. They lived atruer poetry than Homer or Virgil wrote. 

The Patuckets, once a powerful native tribe, had their principalsettlements around the falls at the time of the visit of the white menof Concord and Woburn in 1652. Gookin, the Indian historian, statesthat this tribe was almost wholly destroyed by the great pestilence of1612. In 1674 they had but two hundred and fifty males in the wholetribe. Their chief sachem lived opposite the falls; and it was in hiswigwam that the historian, in company with John Eliot, the Indianmissionary, held a "meeting for worshippe on ye 5th of May, 1676, " whereMr. Eliot preached from "ye twenty-second of Matthew. "

The white visitants from Concord and Woburn, pleased with the appearanceof the place and the prospect it afforded for planting and fishing, petitioned the General Court for a grant of the entire tract of land nowembraced in the limits of Lowell and Chelmsford. They made no accountwhatever of the rights of the poor Patuckets; but, considering it"a comfortable place to accommodate God's people upon, " were doubtlessprepared to deal with the heathen inhabitants as Joshua the son of Nundid with the Jebusites and Perizzites, the Hivites and the Hittites, ofold. The Indians, however, found a friend in the apostle Eliot, whopresented a petition in their behalf that the lands lying around thePatucket and Wamesit Falls should be appropriated exclusively for theirbenefit and use. The Court granted the petition of the whites, with theexception of the tract in the angle of the two rivers on which thePatuckets were settled. The Indian title to this tract was not finallyextinguished until 1726, when the beautiful name of Wamesit was lost inthat of Chelmsford, and the last of the Patuckets turned his back uponthe graves of his fathers and sought a new home among the strangeIndians of the North. 

But what has all this to do with the falls? When the rail-cars camethundering through his lake country, Wordsworth attempted to exorcisethem by a sonnet; and, were I not a very decided Yankee, I mightpossibly follow his example, and utter in this connection my protestagainst the desecration of Patucket Falls, and battle with objurgatorystanzas these dams and mills, as Balmawapple shot off his horse-pistolat Stirling Castle. Rocks and trees, rapids, cascades, and other water-works are doubtless all very well; but on the whole, considering ourseven months of frost, are not cotton shirts and woollen coats stillbetter? As for the spirits of the river, the Merrimac Naiads, orwhatever may be their name in Indian vocabulary, they have no goodreason for complaint; inasmuch as Nature, in marking and scooping outthe channel of their stream, seems to have had an eye to the usefulrather than the picturesque. After a few preliminary antics andyouthful vagaries up among the White Hills, the Merrimac comes down tothe seaboard, a clear, cheerful, hard-working Yankee river. Itsnumerous falls and rapids are such as seem to invite the engineer'slevel rather than the pencil of the tourist; and the mason who piles upthe huge brick fabrics at their feet is seldom, I suspect, troubled withsentimental remorse or poetical misgivings. Staid and matter of fact asthe Merrimac is, it has, nevertheless, certain capricious and eccentrictributaries; the Powow, for instance, with its eighty feet fall in a fewrods, and that wild, Indian-haunted Spicket, taking its wellnighperpendicular leap of thirty feet, within sight of the village meeting-house, kicking up its Pagan heels, Sundays and all, in sheer contempt ofPuritan tithing-men. This latter waterfall is now somewhat modified bythe hand of Art, but is still, as Professor Hitchcock's "ScenographicalGeology" says of it, "an object of no little interest. " My friend T. , favorably known as the translator of "Undine" and as a writer of fineand delicate imagination, visited Spicket Falls before the sound of ahammer or the click of a trowel had been heard beside them. His journalof "A Day on the Merrimac" gives a pleasing and vivid description oftheir original appearance as viewed through the telescope of a poeticfancy. The readers of "Undine" will thank me for a passage or two fromthis sketch:--

"The sound of the waters swells more deeply. Something supernatural intheir confused murmur; it makes me better understand and sympathize withthe writer of the Apocalypse when he speaks of the voice of many waters, heaping image upon image, to impart the vigor of his conception. 

"Through yonder elm-branches I catch a few snowy glimpses of foam in theair. See that spray and vapor rolling up the evergreen on my left Thetwo side precipices, one hundred feet apart and excluding objects ofinferior moment, darken and concentrate the view. The waters betweenpour over the right-hand and left-hand summit, rushing down and unitingamong the craggiest and abruptest of rocks. Oh for a whole mountain-side of that living foam! The sun impresses a faint prismatic hue. These falls, compared with those of the Missouri, are nothing, --nothingbut the merest miniature; and yet they assist me in forming someconception of that glorious expanse. 

"A fragment of an oak, struck off by lightning, struggles with thecurrent midway down; while the shattered trunk frowns above thedesolation, majestic in ruin. This is near the southern cliff. Farthernorth a crag rises out of the stream, its upper surface covered withgreen clover of the most vivid freshness. Not only all night, but allday, has the dew lain upon its purity. With my eye attaining theuppermost margin, where the waters shoot over, I look away into thewestern sky, and discern there (what you least expect) a cow chewing hercud with admirable composure, and higher up several sheep and lambsbrowsing celestial buds. They stand on the eminence that forms thebackground of my present view. The illusion is extremely picturesque, --such as Allston himself would despair of producing. 'Who can paint likeNature'?"

To a population like that of Lowell, the weekly respite from monotonousin-door toil afforded by the first day of the week is particularlygrateful. Sabbath comes to the weary and overworked operativeemphatically as a day of rest. It opens upon him somewhat as it didupon George Herbert, as he describes it in his exquisite little poem:--

 "Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky!"

Apart from its soothing religious associations, it brings with it theassurance of physical comfort and freedom. It is something to be ableto doze out the morning from daybreak to breakfast in that luxuriousstate between sleeping and waking in which the mind eddies slowly andpeacefully round and round instead of rushing onward, --the future ablank, the past annihilated, the present but a dim consciousness ofpleasurable existence. Then, too, the satisfaction is by no meansinconsiderable of throwing aside the worn and soiled habiliments oflabor and appearing in neat and comfortable attire. The moral influenceof dress has not been overrated even by Carlyle's Professor in hisSartor Resartus. William Penn says that cleanliness is akin togodliness. A well-dressed man, all other things being equal, is nothalf as likely to compromise his character as one who approximates toshabbiness. Lawrence Sterne used to say that when he felt himselfgiving way to low spirits and a sense of depression and worthlessness, --a sort of predisposition for all sorts of little meannesses, --heforthwith shaved himself, brushed his wig, donned his best dress and hisgold rings, and thus put to flight the azure demons of his unfortunatetemperament. There is somehow a close affinity between moral purity andclean linen; and the sprites of our daily temptation, who seem to findeasy access to us through a broken hat or a rent in the elbow, aremanifestly baffled by the "complete mail" of a clean and decent dress. I recollect on one occasion hearing my mother tell our family physicianthat a woman in the neighborhood, not remarkable for her tidiness, hadbecome a church-member. "Humph!" said the doctor, in his quick, sarcastic way, "What of that? Don't you know that no unclean thing canenter the kingdom of heaven?"

"If you would see" Lowell "aright, " as Walter Scott says of MelroseAbbey, one must be here of a pleasant First day at the close of what iscalled the "afternoon service. " The streets are then blossoming like aperipatetic flower-garden; as if the tulips and lilies and roses of myfriend W. 's nursery, in the vale of Nonantum, should take it into theirheads to promenade for exercise. Thousands swarm forth who during week-days are confined to the mills. Gay colors alternate with snowywhiteness; extremest fashion elbows the plain demureness of old-fashioned Methodism. 

Fair pale faces catch a warmer tint from the free sunshine and freshair. The languid step becomes elastic with that "springy motion of thegait" which Charles Lamb admired. Yet the general appearance of thecity is that of quietude; the youthful multitude passes on calmly, itsvoices subdued to a lower and softened tone, as if fearful of breakingthe repose of the day of rest. A stranger fresh from the gayly spentSabbaths of the continent of Europe would be undoubtedly amazed at thedecorum and sobriety of these crowded streets. 

I am not over-precise in outward observances; but I nevertheless welcomewith joy unfeigned this first day of the week, --sweetest pause in ourhard life-march, greenest resting-place in the hot desert we aretreading. The errors of those who mistake its benignant rest for theiron rule of the Jewish Sabbath, and who consequently hedge it aboutwith penalties and bow down before it in slavish terror, should notrender us less grateful for the real blessing it brings us. As a daywrested in some degree from the god of this world, as an opportunityafforded for thoughtful self-communing, let us receive it as a good giftof our heavenly Parent in love rather than fear. 

In passing along Central Street this morning my attention was directedby the friend who accompanied me to a group of laborers, with coats offand sleeves rolled up, heaving at levers, smiting with sledge-hammers, in full view of the street, on the margin of the canal, just aboveCentral Street Bridge. I rubbed my eyes, half expecting that I was thesubject of mere optical illusion; but a second look only confirmed thefirst. Around me were solemn, go-to-meeting faces, --smileless andawful; and close at hand were the delving, toiling, mud-begrimedlaborers. Nobody seemed surprised at it; nobody noticed it as a thingout of the common course of events. And this, too, in a city where theSabbath proprieties are sternly insisted upon; where some twenty pulpitsdeal out anathemas upon all who "desecrate the Lord's day;" where simplenotices of meetings for moral purposes even can scarcely be read; wheremany count it wrong to speak on that day for the slave, who knows noSabbath of rest, or for the drunkard, who, imbruted by his appetites, cannot enjoy it. Verily there are strange contradictions in ourconventional morality. Eyes which, looking across the Atlantic on thegay Sabbath dances of French peasants are turned upward with horror, aresomehow blind to matters close at home. What would be sin pastrepentance in an individual becomes quite proper in a corporation. True, the Sabbath is holy; but the canals must be repaired. Everybodyought to go to meeting; but the dividends must not be diminished. Church indulgences are not, after all, confined to Rome. 

To a close observer of human nature there is nothing surprising in thefact that a class of persons, who wink at this sacrifice of Sabhathsanctities to the demon of gain, look at the same time with sterndisapprobation upon everything partaking of the character of amusement, however innocent and healthful, on this day. But for myself, lookingdown through the light of a golden evening upon these quietly passinggroups, I cannot find it in my heart to condemn them for seeking on thistheir sole day of leisure the needful influences of social enjoyment, unrestrained exercise, and fresh air. I cannot think any essentialservice to religion or humanity would result from the conversion oftheir day of rest into a Jewish Sabbath, and their consequentconfinement, like so many pining prisoners, in close and crowdedboarding-houses. Is not cheerfulness a duty, a better expression of ourgratitude for God's blessings than mere words? And even under the oldlaw of rituals, what answer had the Pharisees to the question, "Is itnot lawful to do good on the Sabbath day?"

I am naturally of a sober temperament, and am, besides, a member of thatsect which Dr. More has called, mistakenly indeed, "the most melancholyof all;" but I confess a special dislike of disfigured faces, ostentatious displays of piety, pride aping humility. Asceticism, moroseness, self-torture, ingratitude in view of down-showeringblessings, and painful restraint of the better feelings of our naturemay befit a Hindoo fakir, or a Mandan medicine man with buffalo skullsstrung to his lacerated muscles; but they look to me sadly out of placein a believer of the glad evangel of the New Testament. The life of thedivine Teacher affords no countenance to this sullen and gloomysaintliness, shutting up the heart against the sweet influences of humansympathy and the blessed ministrations of Nature. To the horror andclothes-rending astonishment of blind Pharisees He uttered thesignificant truth, that "the Sabhath was made for man, and not man forthe Sabhath. " From the close air of crowded cities, from throngedtemples and synagogues, --where priest and Levite kept up a show ofworship, drumming upon hollow ceremonials the more loudly for theiremptiness of life, as the husk rustles the more when the grain is gone, --He led His disciples out into the country stillness, under clearEastern heavens, on the breezy tops of mountains, in the shade of fruit-trees, by the side of fountains, and through yellow harvest-fields, enforcing the lessons of His divine morality by comparisons and parablessuggested by the objects around Him or the cheerful incidents of socialhumanity, --the vineyard, the field-lily, the sparrow in the air, thesower in the seed-field, the feast and the marriage. Thus gently, thussweetly kind and cheerful, fell from His lips the gospel of humanity;love the fulfilling of every law; our love for one another measuring andmanifesting our love of Him. The baptism wherewith He was baptized wasthat of divine fulness in the wants of our humanity; the deep waters ofour sorrows went over Him; ineffable purity sounding for our sakes thedark abysm of sin; yet how like a river of light runs that serene andbeautiful life through the narratives of the evangelists! He brokebread with the poor despised publican; He sat down with the fishermen bythe Sea of Galilee; He spoke compassionate words to sin-sick Magdalen;He sanctified by His presence the social enjoyments of home andfriendship in the family of Bethany; He laid His hand of blessing on thesunny brows of children; He had regard even to the merely animal wantsof the multitude in the wilderness; He frowned upon none of life'ssimple and natural pleasures. The burden of His Gospel was love; and inlife and word He taught evermore the divided and scattered children ofone great family that only as they drew near each other could theyapproach Him who was their common centre; and that while no ostentationof prayer nor rigid observance of ceremonies could elevate man toheaven, the simple exercise of love, in thought and action, could bringheaven down to man. To weary and restless spirits He taught the greattruth, that happiness consists in making others happy. No cloister foridle genuflections and bead counting, no hair-cloth for the loins norscourge for the limbs, but works of love and usefulness under thecheerful sunshine, making the waste places of humanity glad and causingthe heart's desert to blossom. Why, then, should we go searching afterthe cast-off sackcloth of the Pharisee? Are we Jews, or Christians?Must even our gratitude for "glad tidings of great joy" be desponding?Must the hymn of our thanksgiving for countless mercies and theunspeakable gift of His life have evermore an undertone of funeralwailing? What! shall we go murmuring and lamenting, looking coldly onone another, seeing no beauty, nor light, nor gladness in this goodworld, wherein we have the glorious privilege of laboring in God'sharvest-field, with angels for our task companions, blessing and beingblessed?

To him who, neglecting the revelations of immediate duty, looksregretfully behind and fearfully before him, life may well seem a solemnmystery, for, whichever way he turns, a wall of darkness rises beforehim; but down upon the present, as through a skylight between theshadows, falls a clear, still radiance, like beams from an eye ofblessing; and, within the circle of that divine illumination, beauty andgoodness, truth and love, purity and cheerfulness blend like primalcolors into the clear harmony of light. The author of ProverbialPhilosophy has a passage not unworthy of note in this connection, whenhe speaks of the train which attends the just in heaven:--

"Also in the lengthening troop see I some clad in robes of triumph, Whose fair and sunny faces I have known and loved on earth. Welcome, ye glorified Loves, Graces, Sciences, and Muses, That, like Sisters of Charity, tended in this world's hospital;Welcome, for verily I knew ye could not but be children of the light;Welcome, chiefly welcome, for I find I have friends in heaven, And some I have scarcely looked for; as thou, light-hearted Mirth;Thou, also, star-robed Urania; and thou with the curious glass, That rejoicest in tracking beauty where the eye was too dull to note it. And art thou, too, among the blessed, mild, much-injured Poetry?That quickenest with light and beauty the leaden face of matter, That not unheard, though silent, fillest earth's gardens with music, And not unseen, though a spirit, dost look down upon us from the stars. "

THE LIGHTING UP. 

 "He spak to the spynnsters to spynnen it oute. " PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 

THIS evening, the 20th of the ninth month, is the time fixed upon forlighting the mills for night-labor; and I have just returned fromwitnessing for the first time the effect of the new illumination. 

Passing over the bridge, nearly to the Dracut shore, I had a fine viewof the long line of mills, the city beyond, and the broad sweep of theriver from the falls. The light of a tranquil and gorgeous sunset wasslowly fading from river and sky, and the shadows of the trees on theDracut slopes were blending in dusky indistinctness with the greatshadow of night. Suddenly gleams of light broke from the black massesof masonry on the Lowell bank, at first feeble and scattered, flittingfrom window to window, appearing and disappearing, like will-o'-wisps ina forest or fireflies in a summer's night. Anon tier after tier ofwindows became radiant, until the whole vast wall, stretching far up theriver, from basement to roof, became checkered with light reflected withthe starbeams from the still water beneath. With a little effort offancy, one could readily transform the huge mills, thus illuminated, into palaces lighted up for festival occasions, and the figures of theworkers, passing to and fro before the windows, into forms of beauty andfashion, moving in graceful dances. 

Alas! this music of the shuttle and the daylong dance to it are notaltogether of the kind which Milton speaks of when he invokes the "softLydian airs" of voluptuous leisure. From this time henceforward forhalf a weary year, from the bell-call of morning twilight to half-pastseven in the evening, with brief intermissions for two hasty meals, theoperatives will be confined to their tasks. The proverbial facility ofthe Yankees in despatching their dinners in the least possible timeseems to have been taken advantage of and reduced to a system on theLowell corporations. Strange as it may seem to the uninitiated, theworking-men and women here contrive to repair to their lodgings, makethe necessary preliminary ablutions, devour their beef and pudding, andhurry back to their looms and jacks in the brief space of half an hour. In this way the working-day in Lowell is eked out to an averagethroughout the year of twelve and a half hours. This is a serious evil, demanding the earnest consideration of the humane and philanthropic. Both classes--the employer and the employed--would in the end be greatlybenefited by the general adoption of the "ten-hour system, " although theone might suffer a slight diminution in daily wages and the other inyearly profits. Yet it is difficult to see how this most desirablechange is to be effected. The stronger and healthier portion of theoperatives might themselves object to it as strenuously as the distantstockholder who looks only to his semi-annual dividends. Health is toooften a matter of secondary consideration. Gain is the great, all-absorbing object. Very few, comparatively, regard Lowell as their"continuing city. " They look longingly back to green valleys ofVermont, to quiet farm-houses on the head-waters of the Connecticut andMerrimac, and to old familiar homes along the breezy seaboard of NewEngland, whence they have been urged by the knowledge that here they canearn a larger amount of money in a given time than in any other place oremployment. They come here for gain, not for pleasure; for high wages, not for the comforts that cluster about home. Here are poor widowstoiling to educate their children; daughters hoarding their wages toredeem mortgaged paternal homesteads or to defray the expenses of sickand infirm parents; young betrothed girls, about to add their savings tothose of their country lovers. Others there are, of maturer age, lonelyand poor, impelled hither by a proud unwillingness to test to its extentthe charity of friends and relatives, and a strong yearning for the"glorious privilege of being independent. " All honor to them! Whatevermay have closed against them the gates of matrimony, whether their ownobduracy or the faithlessness or indifference of others, instead ofshutting themselves up in a nunnery or taxing the good nature of theirfriends by perpetual demands for sympathy and support, like weak vines, putting out their feelers in every direction for something to twineupon, is it not better and wiser for them to go quietly at work, to showthat woman has a self-sustaining power; that she is something in and ofherself; that she, too, has a part to bear in life, and, in common withthe self-elected "lords of creation, " has a direct relation to absolutebeing? To such the factory presents the opportunity of taking the firstand essential step of securing, within a reasonable space of time, acomfortable competency. 

There are undoubtedly many evils connected with the working of thesemills; yet they are partly compensated by the fact that here, more thanin any other mechanical employment, the labor of woman is placedessentially upon an equality with that of man. Here, at least, one ofthe many social disabilities under which woman as a distinct individual, unconnected with the other sex, has labored in all time is removed; thework of her hands is adequately rewarded; and she goes to her daily taskwith the consciousness that she is not "spending her strength fornaught. "

'The Lowell Offering', which has been for the last four years publishedmonthly in this city, consisting entirely of articles written by femalesemployed in the mills, has attracted much attention and obtained a widecirculation. This may be in part owing to the novel circumstances ofits publication; but it is something more and better than a merenovelty. In its volumes may be found sprightly delineations of homescenes and characters, highly wrought imaginative pieces, tales ofgenuine pathos and humor, and pleasing fairy stories and fables. 'The Offering' originated in a reading society of the mill girls, which, under the name of the 'Improvement Circle' was convened once in a month. At its meetings, pieces written by its members and dropped secretly intoa sort of "lion's mouth, " provided for the purpose of insuring theauthors from detection, were read for the amusement and criticism ofthe company. This circle is still in existence; and I owe to myintroduction to it some of the most pleasant hours I have passed inLowell. 

The manner in which the 'Offering' has been generally noticed in thiscountry has not, to my thinking, been altogether in accordance with goodtaste or self-respect. It is hardly excusable for men, who, whatevermay be their present position, have, in common with all of us, brothers, sisters, or other relations busy in workshop and dairy, and who havescarcely washed from their own professional hands the soil of labor, tomake very marked demonstrations of astonishment at the appearance of amagazine whose papers are written by factory girls. As if thecompatibility of mental cultivation with bodily labor and the equalityand brotherhood of the human family were still open questions, dependingfor their decision very much on the production of positive proof thatessays may be written and carpets woven by the same set of fingers!

The truth is, our democracy lacks calmness and solidity, the repose andself-reliance which come of long habitude and settled conviction. Wehave not yet learned to wear its simple truths with the graceful easeand quiet air of unsolicitous assurance with which the titled Europeandoes his social fictions. As a people, we do not feel and live out ourgreat Declaration. We lack faith in man, --confidence in simplehumanity, apart from its environments. 

 "The age shows, to my thinking, more infidels to Adam, Than directly, by profession, simple infidels to God. "

 Elizabeth B. Browning. 

TAKING COMFORT. 

For the last few days the fine weather has lured me away from books andpapers and the close air of dwellings into the open fields, and underthe soft, warm sunshine, and the softer light of a full moon. Theloveliest season of the whole year--that transient but delightfulinterval between the storms of the "wild equinox, with all their wet, "and the dark, short, dismal days which precede the rigor of winter--isnow with us. The sun rises through a soft and hazy atmosphere; thelight mist-clouds melt gradually away before him; and his noontide lightrests warm and clear on still woods, tranquil waters, and grasses greenwith the late autumnal rains. The rough-wooded slopes of Dracut, overlooking the falls of the river; Fort Hill, across the Concord, wherethe red man made his last stand, and where may still be seen the trenchwhich he dug around his rude fortress; the beautiful woodlands on theLowell and Tewksbury shores of the Concord; the cemetery; the PatucketFalls, --all within the reach of a moderate walk, --offer at this seasontheir latest and loveliest attractions. 

One fine morning, not long ago, I strolled down the Merrimac, on theTewksbury shore. I know of no walk in the vicinity of Lowell soinviting as that along the margin of the river for nearly a mile fromthe village of Belvidere. The path winds, green and flower-skirted, among beeches and oaks, through whose boughs you catch glimpses ofwaters sparkling and dashing below. Rocks, huge and picturesque, jut out into the stream, affording beautiful views of the river andthe distant city. 

Half fatigued with my walk, I threw myself down upon the rocky slopeof the bank, where the panorama of earth, sky, and water lay clear anddistinct about me. Far above, silent and dim as a picture, was thecity, with its huge mill-masonry, confused chimney-tops, and church-spires; nearer rose the height of Belvidere, with its deserted burial-place and neglected gravestones sharply defined on its bleak, baresummit against the sky; before me the river went dashing down its ruggedchannel, sending up its everlasting murmur; above me the birch-tree hungits tassels; and the last wild flowers of autumn profusely fringed therocky rim of the water. Right opposite, the Dracut woods stretchedupwards from the shore, beautiful with the hues of frost, glowing withtints richer and deeper than those which Claude or Poussin mingled, asif the rainbows of a summer shower had fallen among them. At a littledistance to the right a group of cattle stood mid-leg deep in the river;and a troop of children, bright-eyed and mirthful, were casting pebblesat them from a projecting shelf of rock. Over all a warm but softenedsunshine melted down from a slumberous autumnal sky. 

My revery was disagreeably broken. A low, grunting sound, half bestial, half human, attracted my attention. I was not alone. Close beside me, half hidden by a tuft of bushes, lay a human being, stretched out atfull length, with his face literally rooted into the gravel. A littleboy, five or six years of age, clean and healthful, with his fair brownlocks and blue eyes, stood on the bank above, gazing down upon him withan expression of childhood's simple and unaffected pity. 

"What ails you?" asked the boy at length. "What makes you lie there?"

The prostrate groveller struggled half-way up, exhibiting the bloatedand filthy countenance of a drunkard. He made two or three efforts toget upon his feet, lost his balance, and tumbled forward upon his face. 

"What are you doing there?" inquired the boy. 

"I'm taking comfort, " he muttered, with his mouth in the dirt. 

Taking his comfort! There he lay, --squalid and loathsome under thebright heaven, --an imbruted man. The holy harmonies of Nature, thesounds of gushing waters, the rustle of the leaves above him, the wildflowers, the frost-bloom of the woods, --what were they to him?Insensible, deaf, and blind, in the stupor of a living death, he laythere, literally realizing that most bitterly significant Easternmalediction, "May you eat dirt!"

In contrasting the exceeding beauty and harmony of inanimate Nature withthe human degradation and deformity before me, I felt, as I confess Ihad never done before, the truth of a remark of a rare thinker, that"Nature is loved as the city of God, although, or rather because, it hasno citizen. The beauty of Nature must ever be universal and mockinguntil the landscape has human figures as good as itself. Man is fallen;Nature is erect. "--(Emerson. ) As I turned once more to the calm bluesky, the hazy autumnal hills, and the slumberous water, dream-tinted bythe foliage of its shores, it seemed as if a shadow of shame and sorrowfell over the pleasant picture; and even the west wind which stirred thetree-tops above me had a mournful murmur, as if Nature felt thedesecration of her sanctities and the discord of sin and folly whichmarred her sweet harmonies. 

God bless the temperance movement! And He will bless it; for it is Hiswork. It is one of the great miracles of our times. Not Father Mathewin Ireland, nor Hawkins and his little band in Baltimore, but He whosecare is over all the works of His hand, and who in His divine love andcompassion "turneth the hearts of men as the rivers of waters areturned, " hath done it. To Him be all the glory. 

CHARMS AND FAIRY FAITH

 "Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We dare n't go a-hunting For fear of little men. Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, Gray cock's feather. " ALLINGHAM. 

IT was from a profound knowledge of human nature that Lord Bacon, indiscoursing upon truth, remarked that a mixture of a lie doth ever addpleasure. "Doth any man doubt, " he asks, "that if there were taken outof men's minds vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, andimaginations, but it would leave the minds of a number of men poor, shrunken things, full of melancholy and indisposition, and unpleasing tothemselves?" This admitted tendency of our nature, this love of thepleasing intoxication of unveracity, exaggeration, and imagination, mayperhaps account for the high relish which children and nations yet inthe childhood of civilization find in fabulous legends and tales ofwonder. The Arab at the present day listens with eager interest to thesame tales of genii and afrits, sorcerers and enchanted princesses, which delighted his ancestors in the times of Haroun al Raschid. Thegentle, church-going Icelander of our time beguiles the long night ofhis winter with the very sagas and runes which thrilled with notunpleasing horror the hearts of the old Norse sea-robbers. What child, although Anglo-Saxon born, escapes a temporary sojourn in fairy-land?Who of us does not remember the intense satisfaction of throwing asideprimer and spelling-book for stolen ethnographical studies of dwarfs, and giants? Even in our own country and time old superstitions andcredulities still cling to life with feline tenacity. Here and there, oftenest in our fixed, valley-sheltered, inland villages, --slumberousRip Van Winkles, unprogressive and seldom visited, --may be found thesame old beliefs in omens, warnings, witchcraft, and supernatural charmswhich our ancestors brought with them two centuries ago from Europe. 

The practice of charms, or what is popularly called "trying projects, "is still, to some extent, continued in New England. The inimitabledescription which Burns gives of similar practices in his Halloween maynot in all respects apply to these domestic conjurations; but thefollowing needs only the substitution of apple-seeds for nuts:--

 "The auld gude wife's wheel-hoordet nits Are round an' round divided; An' mony lads and lassies' fates Are there that night decided. Some kindle couthie side by side An' burn thegither trimly; Some start awa wi' saucy pride And jump out owre the chimlie. "

One of the most common of these "projects" is as follows: A young womangoes down into the cellar, or into a dark room, with a mirror in herhand, and looking in it, sees the face of her future husband peering ather through the darkness, --the mirror being, for the time, as potent asthe famous Cambuscan glass of which Chaucer discourses. A neighbor ofmine, in speaking of this conjuration, adduces a case in point. One ofher schoolmates made the experiment and saw the face of a strange man inthe glass; and many years afterwards she saw the very man pass herfather's door. He proved to be an English emigrant just landed, and indue time became her husband. Burns alludes to something like the spellabove described:--

 "Wee Jenny to her grannie says, 'will ye go wi' me, grannie, To eat an apple at the glass I got from Uncle Johnnie?' She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt, In wrath she was so vaporin', She noticed na an' azle brunt Her bran new worset apron. 

 "Ye little skelpan-limmer's face, How dare ye try sic sportin', An' seek the foul thief ony place For him to try your fortune? Nae doubt but ye may get a sight; Great cause ye hae to fear it; For mony a one has gotten a fright, An' lived and died delecrit. "

It is not to be denied, and for truth's sake not to be regretted, thatthis amusing juvenile glammary has seen its best days in New England. The schoolmaster has been abroad to some purpose. Not without resultshave our lyceum lecturers and travels of Peter Parley brought everythingin heaven above and in the earth below to the level of childhood'scapacities. In our cities and large towns children nowadays passthrough the opening acts of life's marvellous drama with as littlemanifestation of wonder and surprise as the Indian does through thestreets of a civilized city which he has entered for the first time. Yet Nature, sooner or later, vindicates her mysteries; voices from theunseen penetrate the din of civilization. The child philosopher andmaterialist often becomes the visionary of riper years, running intoilluminism, magnetism, and transcendentalism, with its inspired priestsand priestesses, its revelations and oracular responses. 

But in many a green valley of rural New England there are children yet;boys and girls are still to be found not quite overtaken by the march ofmind. There, too, are huskings, and apple-bees, and quilting parties, and huge old-fashioned fireplaces piled with crackling walnut, flingingits rosy light over happy countenances of youth and scarcely less happyage. If it be true that, according to Cornelius Agrippa, "a wood firedoth drive away dark spirits, " it is, nevertheless, also true thataround it the simple superstitions of our ancestors still love tolinger; and there the half-sportful, half-serious charms of which I havespoken are oftenest resorted to. It would be altogether out of place tothink of them by our black, unsightly stoves, or in the dull and darkmonotony of our furnace-heated rooms. Within the circle of the light ofthe open fire safely might the young conjurers question destiny; fornone but kindly and gentle messengers from wonderland could ventureamong them. And who of us, looking back to those long autumnal eveningsof childhood when the glow of the kitchen-fire rested on the belovedfaces of home, does not feel that there is truth and beauty in what thequaint old author just quoted affirms? "As the spirits of darkness growstronger in the dark, so good spirits, which are angels of light, aremultiplied and strengthened, not only by the divine light of the sun andstars, but also by the light of our common wood-fires. " Even LordBacon, in condemning the superstitious beliefs of his day, admits thatthey might serve for winter talk around the fireside. 

Fairy faith is, we may safely say, now dead everywhere, --buried, indeed, --for the mad painter Blake saw the funeral of the last of thelittle people, and an irreverent English bishop has sung their requiem. It never had much hold upon the Yankee mind, our superstitions beingmostly of a sterner and less poetical kind. The Irish Presbyterians whosettled in New Hampshire about the year 1720 brought indeed with them, among other strange matters, potatoes and fairies; but while the formertook root and flourished among us, the latter died out, after lingeringa few years in a very melancholy and disconsolate way, lookingregretfully back to their green turf dances, moonlight revels, andcheerful nestling around the shealing fires of Ireland. The last thathas been heard of them was some forty or fifty years ago in a tavernhouse in S-------, New Hampshire. The landlord was a spiteful littleman, whose sour, pinched look was a standing libel upon the state of hislarder. He made his house so uncomfortable by his moroseness thattravellers even at nightfall pushed by his door and drove to the nexttown. Teamsters and drovers, who in those days were apt to be verythirsty, learned, even before temperance societies were thought of, topractice total abstinence on that road, and cracked their whips andgoaded on their teams in full view of a most tempting array of bottlesand glasses, from behind which the surly little landlord glared out uponthem with a look which seemed expressive of all sorts of evil wishes, broken legs, overturned carriages, spavined horses, sprained oxen, unsavory poultry, damaged butter, and bad markets. And if, as a matterof necessity, to "keep the cold out of his stomach, " occasionally awayfarer stopped his team and ventured to call for "somethin' warmin', "the testy publican stirred up the beverage in such a spiteful way, that, on receiving it foaming from his hand, the poor customer was half afraidto open his mouth, lest the red-hot flip iron should be plunged down hisgullet. 

As a matter of course, poverty came upon the house and its tenants likean armed man. Loose clapboards rattled in the wind; rags fluttered fromthe broken windows; within doors were tattered children and scanty fare. The landlord's wife was a stout, buxom woman, of Irish lineage, and, what with scolding her husband and liberally patronizing his bar in hisabsence, managed to keep, as she said, her "own heart whole, " althoughthe same could scarcely be said of her children's trousers and her ownfrock of homespun. She confidently predicted that "a betther day wascoming, " being, in fact, the only thing hopeful about the premises. Andit did come, sure enough. Not only all the regular travellers on theroad made a point of stopping at the tavern, but guests from all theadjacent towns filled its long-deserted rooms, --the secret of which was, that it had somehow got abroad that a company of fairies had taken uptheir abode in the hostelry and daily held conversation with each otherin the capacious parlor. I have heard those who at the time visited thetavern say that it was literally thronged for several weeks. Small, squeaking voices spoke in a sort of Yankee-Irish dialect, in the hauntedroom, to the astonishment and admiration of hundreds. The inn, ofcourse, was blessed by this fairy visitation; the clapboards ceasedtheir racket, clear panes took the place of rags in the sashes, and thelittle till under the bar grew daily heavy with coin. The magicalinfluence extended even farther; for it was observable that the landlordwore a good-natured face, and that the landlady's visits to the gin-bottle were less and less frequent. But the thing could not, in thenature of the case, continue long. It was too late in the day and onthe wrong side of the water. As the novelty wore off, people began todoubt and reason about it. Had the place been traversed by a ghost ordisturbed by a witch they could have acquiesced in it very quietly; butthis outlandish belief in fairies was altogether an overtask for Yankeecredulity. As might have been expected, the little strangers, unable tobreathe in an atmosphere of doubt and suspicion, soon took their leave, shaking off the dust of their elfin feet as a testimony against anunbelieving generation. It was, indeed, said that certain rude fellowsfrom the Bay State pulled away a board from the ceiling and disclosed toview the fairies in the shape of the landlady's three slatternlydaughters. But the reader who has any degree of that charity whichthinks no evil will rather credit the statement of the fairiesthemselves, as reported by the mistress of the house, "that they weretired of the new country, and had no pace of their lives among theYankees, and were going back to Ould Ireland. "

It is a curious fact that the Indians had some notion of a race ofbeings corresponding in many respects to the English fairies. Schoolcraft describes them as small creatures in human shape, inhabitingrocks, crags, and romantic dells, and delighting especially in points ofland jutting into lakes and rivers and which were covered withpinetrees. They were called Puckweedjinees, --little vanishers. 

In a poetical point of view it is to be regretted that our ancestors didnot think it worth their while to hand down to us more of the simple andbeautiful traditions and beliefs of the "heathen round about" them. Some hints of them we glean from the writings of the missionary Mayhewand the curious little book of Roger Williams. Especially would onelike to know more of that domestic demon, Wetuomanit, who presided overhousehold affairs, assisted the young squaw in her first essay atwigwam-keeping, gave timely note of danger, and kept evil spirits at adistance, --a kind of new-world brownie, gentle and useful. 

Very suggestive, too, is the story of Pumoolah, --a mighty spirit, whosehome is on the great Katahdin Mountain, sitting there with his earthlybride (a beautiful daughter of the Penobscots transformed into animmortal by her love), in serenest sunshine, above the storm whichcrouches and growls at his feet. None but the perfectly pure and goodcan reach his abode. Many have from time to time attempted it in vain;some, after almost reaching the summit, have been driven back bythunderbolts or sleety whirlwinds. 

Not far from my place of residence are the ruins of a mill, in a narrowravine fringed with trees. Some forty years ago the mill was supposedto be haunted; and horse-shoes, in consequence, were nailed over itsdoors. One worthy man, whose business lay beyond the mill, was afraidto pass it alone; and his wife, who was less fearful of supernaturalannoyance, used to accompany him. The little old white-coated miller, who there ground corn and wheat for his neighbors, whenever he made aparticularly early visit to his mill, used to hear it in fulloperation, --the water-wheel dashing bravely, and the old ricketybuilding clattering to the jar of the stones. Yet the moment his handtouched the latch or his foot the threshold all was hushed save themelancholy drip of water from the dam or the low gurgle of the smallstream eddying amidst willow roots and mossy stones in the ravine below. 

This haunted mill has always reminded me of that most beautiful ofScottish ballads, the Song of the Elfin Miller, in which fairies arerepresented as grinding the poor man's grist without toil:--

 "Full merrily rings the mill-stone round; Full merrily rings the wheel; Full merrily gushes out the grist; Come, taste my fragrant meal. The miller he's a warldly man, And maun hae double fee; So draw the sluice in the churl's dam And let the stream gae free!"

Brainerd, who truly deserves the name of an American poet, has leftbehind him a ballad on the Indian legend of the black fox which hauntedSalmon River, a tributary of the Connecticut. Its wild and picturesquebeauty causes us to regret that more of the still lingering traditionsof the red men have not been made the themes of his verse:--

THE BLACK FOX. 

 "How cold, how beautiful, how bright The cloudless heaven above us shines! But 't is a howling winter's night; 'T would freeze the very forest pines. 

 "The winds are up while mortals sleep; The stars look forth while eyes are shut; The bolted snow lies drifted deep Around our poor and lonely hut. 

 "With silent step and listening ear, With bow and arrow, dog and gun, We'll mark his track, --his prowl we hear: Now is our time! Come on! come on!

 "O'er many a fence, through many a wood, Following the dog's bewildered scent, In anxious haste and earnest mood, The white man and the Indian went. 

 "The gun is cocked; the bow is bent; The dog stands with uplifted paw; And ball and arrow both are sent, Aimed at the prowler's very jaw. 

 "The ball to kill that fox is run Not in a mould by mortals made; The arrow which that fox should shun Was never shaped from earthly reed. 

 "The Indian Druids of the wood Know where the fatal arrows grow; They spring not by the summer flood; They pierce not through the winter's snow. 

 "Why cowers the dog, whose snuffing nose Was never once deceived till now? And why amidst the chilling snows Does either hunter wipe his brow?

 "For once they see his fearful den; 'T is a dark cloud that slowly moves By night around the homes of men, By day along the stream it loves. 

 "Again the dog is on the track, The hunters chase o'er dale and hill; They may not, though they would, look back; They must go forward, forward still. 

 "Onward they go, and never turn, Amidst a night which knows no day; For nevermore shall morning sun Light them upon their endless way. 

 "The hut is desolate; and there The famished dog alone returns; On the cold steps he makes his lair; By the shut door he lays his bones. 

 "Now the tired sportsman leans his gun Against the ruins on its site, And ponders on the hunting done By the lost wanderers of the night. 

 "And there the little country girls Will stop to whisper, listen, and look, And tell, while dressing their sunny curls, Of the Black Fox of Salmon Brook. "

The same writer has happily versified a pleasant superstition of thevalley of the Connecticut. It is supposed that shad are led from theGulf of Mexico to the Connecticut by a kind of Yankee bogle in the shapeof a bird. 

THE SHAD SPIRIT. 

 "Now drop the bolt, and securely nail The horse-shoe over the door; 'T is a wise precaution; and, if it should fail, It never failed before. 

 "Know ye the shepherd that gathers his flock Where the gales of the equinox blow From each unknown reef and sunken rock In the Gulf of Mexico, --

 "While the monsoons growl, and the trade-winds bark, And the watch-dogs of the surge Pursue through the wild waves the ravenous shark That prowls around their charge?

 "To fair Connecticut's northernmost source, O'er sand-bars, rapids, and falls, The Shad Spirit holds his onward course With the flocks which his whistle calls. 

 "Oh, how shall he know where he went before? Will he wander around forever? The last year's shad heads shall shine on the shore, To light him up the river. 

 "And well can he tell the very time To undertake his task When the pork-barrel's low he sits on the chine And drums on the empty cask. 

 "The wind is light, and the wave is white With the fleece of the flock that's near; Like the breath of the breeze he comes over the seas And faithfully leads them here. 

 "And now he 's passed the bolted door Where the rusted horse-shoe clings; So carry the nets to the nearest shore, And take what the Shad Spirit brings. "

The comparatively innocent nature and simple poetic beauty of this classof superstitions have doubtless often induced the moralist to hesitatein exposing their absurdity, and, like Burns in view of his nationalthistle, to:

 "Turn the weeding hook aside And spare the symbol dear. "

But the age has fairly outgrown them, and they are falling away by anatural process of exfoliation. The wonderland of childhood musthenceforth be sought within the domains of truth. The strange facts ofnatural history, and the sweet mysteries of flowers and forests, andhills and waters, will profitably take the place of the fairy lore ofthe past, and poetry and romance still hold their accustomed seats inthe circle of home, without bringing with them the evil spirits ofcredulity and untruth. Truth should be the first lesson of the childand the last aspiration of manhood; for it has been well said that theinquiry of truth, which is the lovemaking of it, the knowledge of truth, which is the presence of it, and the belief of truth, which is theenjoying of it, is the sovereign good of human nature. 

MAGICIANS AND WITCH FOLK. 

FASCINATION, saith Henry Cornelius Agrippa, in the fiftieth chapter ofhis first book on Occult Philosophy, "is a binding which comes of thespirit of the witch through the eyes of him that is bewitched, enteringto his heart; for the eye being opened and intent upon any one, with astrong imagination doth dart its beams, which are the vehiculum of thespirit, into the eyes of him that is opposite to her; which tenderspirit strikes his eyes, stirs up and wounds his heart, and infects hisspirit. Whence Apuleius saith, 'Thy eyes, sliding down through my eyesinto my inmost heart, stirreth up a most vehement burning. ' And wheneyes are reciprocally intent upon each other, and when rays are joinedto rays, and lights to lights, then the spirit of the one is joined tothat of the other; so are strong ligations made and vehement lovesinflamed. " Taking this definition of witchcraft, we sadly fear it isstill practised to a very great extent among us. The best we can say ofit is, that the business seems latterly to have fallen into youngerhands; its victims do not appear to regard themselves as especialobjects of compassion; and neither church nor state seems inclined tointerfere with it. 

As might be expected in a shrewd community like ours, attempts are notunfrequently made to speculate in the supernatural, --to "make gain ofsooth-saying. " In the autumn of last year a "wise woman" dreamed, orsomnambulized, that a large sum of money, in gold and silver coin, layburied in the centre of the great swamp in Poplin, New Hampshire;whereupon an immediate search was made for the precious metal. Underthe bleak sky of November, in biting frost and sleet rain, some twentyor more grown men, graduates of our common schools, and liable, everymother's son of them, to be made deacons, squires, and general courtmembers, and such other drill officers as may be requisite in the marchof mind, might be seen delving in grim earnest, breaking the frozenearth, uprooting swamp-maples and hemlocks, and waking, with sledge andcrowbar, unwonted echoes in a solitude which had heretofore onlyanswered to the woodman's axe or the scream of the wild fowl. The snowsof December put an end to their labors; but the yawning excavation stillremains, a silent but somewhat expressive commentary upon the age ofprogress. 

Still later, in one of our Atlantic cities, an attempt was made, partially at least, successful, to form a company for the purpose ofdigging for money in one of the desolate sand-keys of the West Indies. It appears that some mesmerized "subject, " in the course of one of thosesomnambulic voyages of discovery in which the traveller, like Satan inchaos, --

 "O'er bog, o'er steep, through straight, rough, dense, or rare, With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way, And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies, "--

while peering curiously into the earth's mysteries, chanced to have hiseyes gladdened by the sight of a huge chest packed with Spanish coins, the spoil, doubtless, of some rich-freighted argosy, or Carthagenagalleon, in the rare days of Queen Elizabeth's Christian buccaneers. 

During the last quarter of a century, a colored woman in one of thevillages on the southern border of New Hampshire has been consulted byhundreds of anxious inquirers into the future. Long experience in herprofession has given her something of that ready estimate of character, that quick and keen appreciation of the capacity, habits, and wishes ofher visitors, which so remarkably distinguished the late famous MadameLe Normand, of Paris; and if that old squalid sorceress, in her crampedParisian attic, redolent of garlic and bestrewn with the greasyimplements of sorry housewifery, was, as has been affirmed, consulted bysuch personages as the fair Josephine Beauharnois, and the "man ofdestiny, " Napoleon himself, is it strange that the desire to lift theveil of the great mystery before us should overcome in some degree ourpeculiar and most republican prejudice against color, and reconcile usto the disagreeable necessity of looking at futurity through a blackmedium?

Some forty years ago, on the banks of the pleasant little creekseparating Berwick, in Maine, from Somersworth, in New Hampshire, withinsight of my mother's home, dwelt a plain, sedate member of the societyof Friends, named Bantum. He passed throughout a circle of severalmiles as a conjurer and skilful adept in the art of magic. To himresorted farmers who had lost their cattle, matrons whose householdgear, silver spoons, and table-linen had been stolen, or young maidenswhose lovers were absent; and the quiet, meek-spirited old man receivedthem all kindly, put on his huge iron-rimmed spectacles, opened his"conjuring book, " which my mother describes as a large clasped volume instrange language and black-letter type, and after due reflection andconsideration gave the required answers without money and without price. The curious old volume is still in the possession of the conjurer'sfamily. Apparently inconsistent as was this practice of the black artwith the simplicity and truthfulness of his religious profession, I havenot been able to learn that he was ever subjected to censure on accountof it. It may be that our modern conjurer defended himself on groundssimilar to those assumed by the celebrated knight of Nettesheim, in thepreface to his first Book of Magic: "Some, " says he, "may crie oute thatI teach forbidden arts, sow the seed of heresies, offend pious ears, andscandalize excellent wits; that I am a sorcerer, superstitious anddevilish, who indeed am a magician. To whom I answer, that a magiciandoth not among learned men signifie a sorcerer or one that issuperstitious or devilish, but a wise man, a priest, a prophet, and thatthe sibyls prophesied most clearly of Christ; that magicians, as wisemen, by the wonderful secrets of the world, knew Christ to be born, andcame to worship him, first of all; and that the name of magicke isreceived by philosophers, commended by divines, and not unacceptable tothe Gospel. "

The study of astrology and occult philosophy, to which many of thefinest minds of the Middle Ages devoted themselves without molestationfrom the Church, was never practised with impunity after theReformation. The Puritans and Presbyterians, taking the Bible for theirrule, "suffered not a witch to live;" and, not content with burning thebooks of those who "used curious arts" after the manner of theEphesians, they sacrificed the students themselves on the same pile. Hence we hear little of learned and scientific wizards in New England. One remarkable character of this kind seems, however, to have escapedthe vigilance of our modern Doctors of the Mosaic Law. Dr. Robert Childcame to this country about the year 1644, and took up his residence inthe Massachusetts colony. He was a man of wealth, and owned plantationsat Nashaway, now Lancaster, and at Saco, in Maine. He was skilful inmineralogy and metallurgy, and seems to have spent a good deal of moneyin searching for mines. He is well known as the author of the firstdecided movement for liberty of conscience in Massachusetts, his namestanding at the head of the famous petition of 1646 for a modificationof the laws in respect to religious worship, and complaining in strongterms of the disfranchisement of persons not members of the Church. Atremendous excitement was produced by this remonstrance; clergy andmagistrates joined in denouncing it; Dr. Child and his associates werearrested, tried for contempt of government, and heavily fined. TheCourt, in passing sentence, assured the Doctor that his crime was onlyequalled by that of Korah and his troop, who rebelled against Moses andAaron. He resolved to appeal to the Parliament of England, and madearrangements for his departure, but was arrested, and ordered to be kepta prisoner in his own house until the vessel in which he was to sail hadleft Boston. He was afterwards imprisoned for a considerable length oftime, and on his release found means to return to England. The Doctor'strunks were searched by the Puritan authorities while he was in prison;but it does not appear that they detected the occult studies to whichlie was addicted, to which lucky circumstance it is doubtless owing thatthe first champion of religious liberty in the New World was not hungfor a wizard. 

Dr. Child was a graduate of the renowned University of Padua, and hadtravelled extensively in the Old World. Probably, like Michael Scott, he had:

 "Learned the art of glammarye In Padua, beyond the sea;"

for I find in the dedication of an English translation of a Continentalwork on astrology and magic, printed in 1651 "at the sign of the ThreeBibles, " that his "sublime hermeticall and theomagicall lore" iscompared to that of Hermes and Agrippa. He is complimented as a masterof the mysteries of Rome and Germany, and as one who had pursued hisinvestigations among the philosophers of the Old World and the Indiansof the New, "leaving no stone unturned, the turning whereof mightconduce to the discovery of what is occult. "

There was still another member of the Friends' society in Vermont, ofthe name of Austin, who, in answer, as he supposed, to prayer and along-cherished desire to benefit his afflicted fellow-creatures, received, as he believed, a special gift of healing. For several yearsapplicants from nearly all parts of New England visited him with thestory of their sufferings and praying for a relief, which, it isaverred, was in many instances really obtained. Letters from the sickwho were unable to visit him, describing their diseases, were sent him;and many are yet living who believe that they were restored miraculouslyat the precise period of time when Austin was engaged in reading theirletters. One of my uncles was commissioned to convey to him a largenumber of letters from sick persons in his neighborhood. He found theold man sitting in his plain parlor in the simplest garb of his sect, --grave, thoughtful, venerable, --a drab-coated Prince Hohenlohe. Hereceived the letters in silence, read them slowly, casting them oneafter another upon a large pile of similar epistles in a corner of theapartment. 

Half a century ago nearly every neighborhood in New England was favoredwith one or more reputed dealers in magic. Twenty years later therewere two poor old sisters who used to frighten school urchins and"children of a larger growth" as they rode down from New Hampshire ontheir gaunt skeleton horses, strung over with baskets for theNewburyport market. They were aware of the popular notion concerningthem, and not unfrequently took advantage of it to levy a sort of blackmail upon their credulous neighbors. An attendant at the funeral of oneof these sisters, who when living was about as unsubstantial as Ossian'sghost, through which the stars were visible, told me that her coffin wasso heavy that four stout men could barely lift it. 

One, of my earliest recollections is that of an old woman, residingabout two miles from the place of my nativity, who for many years hadborne the unenviable reputation of a witch. She certainly had the lookof one, --a combination of form, voice, and features which would havemade the fortune of an English witch finder in the days of Matthew Parisor the Sir John Podgers of Dickens, and insured her speedy conviction inKing James's High Court of Justiciary. She was accused of divers ill-doings, --such as preventing the cream in her neighbor's churn frombecoming butter, and snuffing out candles at huskings and quilting-parties. 

 "She roamed the country far and near, Bewitched the children of the peasants, Dried up the cows, and lamed the deer, And sucked the eggs, and killed the pheasants. "

The poor old woman was at length so sadly annoyed by her unfortunatereputation that she took the trouble to go before a justice of thepeace, and made solemn oath that she was a Christian woman, and nowitch. 

Not many years since a sad-visaged, middle-aged man might be seen in thestreets of one of our seaboard towns at times suddenly arrested in themidst of a brisk walk and fixed motionless for some minutes in the busythoroughfare. No effort could induce him to stir until, in his opinion, the spell was removed and his invisible tormentor suffered him toproceed. He explained his singular detention as the act of a wholefamily of witches whom he had unfortunately offended during a visit downEast. It was rumored that the offence consisted in breaking off amatrimonial engagement with the youngest member of the family, --asorceress, perhaps, in more than one sense of the word, like that"winsome wench and walie" in Tam O'Shanter's witch-dance at KirkAlloway. His only hope was that he should outlive his persecutors; andit is said that at the very hour in which the event took place heexultingly assured his friends that the spell was forever broken, andthat the last of the family of his tormentors was no more. 

When a boy, I occasionally met, at the house of a relative in anadjoining town, a stout, red-nosed old farmer of the neighborhood. A fine tableau he made of a winter's evening, in the red light of abirch-log fire, as he sat for hours watching its progress, with sleepy, half-shut eyes, changing his position only to reach the cider-mug on theshelf near him. Although he seldom opened his lips save to assent tosome remark of his host or to answer a direct question, yet at times, when the cider-mug got the better of his taciturnity, he would amuse uswith interesting details of his early experiences in "the Ohio country. "

There was, however, one chapter in these experiences which he usuallyheld in reserve, and with which "the stranger intermeddled not. " He wasnot willing to run the risk of hearing that which to him was a frightfulreality turned into ridicule by scoffers and unbelievers. The substanceof it, as I received it from one of his neighbors, forms as clever atale of witchcraft as modern times have produced. 

It seems that when quite a young man he left the homestead, and, strolling westward, worked his way from place to place until he foundhimself in one of the old French settlements on the Ohio River. Here heprocured employment on the farm of a widow; and being a smart, activefellow, and proving highly serviceable in his department, he rapidlygained favor in the eyes of his employer. Ere long, contrary to theadvice of the neighbors, and in spite of somewhat discouraging hintstouching certain matrimonial infelicities experienced by the latehusband, he resolutely stepped into the dead man's shoes: the mistressbecame the wife, and the servant was legally promoted to the head of thehousehold. --

For a time matters went on cosily and comfortably enough. He was nowlord of the soil; and, as he laid in his crops of corn and potatoes, salted down his pork, and piled up his wood for winter's use, henaturally enough congratulated himself upon his good fortune and laughedat the sinister forebodings of his neighbors. But with the long wintermonths came a change over his "love's young dream. " An evil andmysterious influence seemed to be at work in his affairs. Whatever hedid after consulting his wife or at her suggestion resulted favorablyenough; but all his own schemes and projects were unaccountably marredand defeated. If he bought a horse, it was sure to prove spavined orwind-broken. His cows either refused to give down their milk, or, giving it, perversely kicked it over. A fine sow which he had bargainedfor repaid his partiality by devouring, like Saturn, her own children. By degrees a dark thought forced its way into his mind. Comparing hisrepeated mischances with the ante-nuptial warnings of his neighbors, heat last came to the melancholy conclusion that his wife was a witch. The victim in Motherwell's ballad of the Demon Lady, or the poor fellowin the Arabian tale who discovered that he had married a ghoul in theguise of a young and blooming princess, was scarcely in a more sorrowfulpredicament. He grew nervous and fretful. Old dismal nursery storiesand all the witch lore of boyhood came back to his memory; and he creptto his bed like a criminal to the gallows, half afraid to fall asleeplest his mysterious companion should take a fancy to transform him intoa horse, get him shod at the smithy, and ride him to a witch-meeting. And, as if to make the matter worse, his wife's affection seemed toincrease just in proportion as his troubles thickened upon him. Sheaggravated him with all manner of caresses and endearments. This wasthe drop too much. The poor husband recoiled from her as from a wakingnightmare. His thoughts turned to New England; he longed to see oncemore the old homestead, with its tall well-sweep and butternut-trees bythe roadside; and he sighed amidst the rich bottom-lands of his new homefor his father's rocky pasture, with its crop of stinted mulleins. Soone cold November day, finding himself out of sight and hearing of hiswife, he summoned courage to attempt an escape, and, resolutely turninghis back on the West, plunged into the wilderness towards the sunrise. After a long and hard journey he reached his birthplace, and was kindlywelcomed by his old friends. Keeping a close mouth with respect to hisunlucky adventure in Ohio, he soon after married one of his schoolmates, and, by dint of persevering industry and economy, in a few years foundhimself in possession of a comfortable home. 

But his evil star still lingered above the horizon. One summer evening, on returning from the hayfield, who should meet him but his witch wifefrom Ohio! She came riding up the street on her old white horse, with apillion behind the saddle. Accosting him in a kindly tone, yet notwithout something of gentle reproach for his unhandsome desertion ofher, she informed him that she had come all the way from Ohio to takehim back again. 

It was in vain that he pleaded his later engagements; it was in vainthat his new wife raised her shrillest remonstrances, not unmingled withexpressions of vehement indignation at the revelation of her husband'sreal position; the witch wife was inexorable; go he must, and thatspeedily. Fully impressed with a belief in her supernatural power ofcompelling obedience, and perhaps dreading more than witchcraft itselfthe effects of the unlucky disclosure on the temper of his New Englandhelpmate, he made a virtue of the necessity of the case, bade farewellto the latter amidst a perfect hurricane of reproaches, and mounted thewhite horse, with his old wife on the pillion behind him. 

Of that ride Burger might have written a counterpart to his ballad:--

 "Tramp, tramp, along the shore they ride, Splash, splash, along the sea. "

Two or three years had passed away, bringing no tidings of theunfortunate husband, when he once more made his appearance in his nativevillage. He was not disposed to be very communicative; but for onething, at least, he seemed willing to express his gratitude. His Ohiowife, having no spell against intermittent fever, had paid the debt ofnature, and had left him free; in view of which, his surviving wife, after manifesting a due degree of resentment, consented to take him backto her bed and board; and I could never learn that she had cause toregret her clemency. 

THE BEAUTIFUL

 "A beautiful form is better than a beautiful face; a beautiful behavior is better than a beautiful form; it gives a higher pleasure than statues or pictures; it is the finest of the fine arts. " EMERSON'S Essays, Second Series, iv. , p. 162. 

A FEW days since I was walking with a friend, who, unfortunately forhimself, seldom meets with anything in the world of realities worthy ofcomparison with the ideal of his fancy, which, like the bird in theArabian tale, glides perpetually before him, always near yet neverovertaken. He was half humorously, half seriously, complaining of thelack of beauty in the faces and forms that passed us on the crowdedsidewalk. Some defect was noticeable in all: one was too heavy, anothertoo angular; here a nose was at fault, there a mouth put a set ofotherwise fine features out of countenance; the fair complexions had redhair, and glossy black locks were wasted upon dingy ones. In one way oranother all fell below his impossible standard. 

The beauty which my friend seemed in search of was that of proportionand coloring; mechanical exactness; a due combination of soft curves andobtuse angles, of warm carnation and marble purity. Such a man, foraught I can see, might love a graven image, like the girl of Florencewho pined into a shadow for the Apollo Belvidere, looking coldly on herwith stony eyes from his niche in the Vatican. One thing is certain, --he will never find his faultless piece of artistical perfection bysearching for it amidst flesh-and-blood realities. Nature does not, as far as I can perceive, work with square and compass, or lay on hercolors by the rules of royal artists or the dunces of the academies. She eschews regular outlines. She does not shape her forms by a commonmodel. Not one of Eve's numerous progeny in all respects resembles herwho first culled the flowers of Eden. To the infinite variety andpicturesque inequality of Nature we owe the great charm of her uncloyingbeauty. Look at her primitive woods; scattered trees, with moist swardand bright mosses at their roots; great clumps of green shadow, wherelimb intwists with limb and the rustle of one leaf stirs a hundredothers, --stretching up steep hillsides, flooding with green beauty thevalleys, or arching over with leaves the sharp ravines, every tree andshrub unlike its neighbor in size and proportion, --the old and storm-broken leaning on the young and vigorous, --intricate and confused, without order or method. Who would exchange this for artificial Frenchgardens, where every tree stands stiff and regular, clipped and trimmedinto unvarying conformity, like so many grenadiers under review? Whowants eternal sunshine or shadow? Who would fix forever the loveliestcloudwork of an autumn sunset, or hang over him an everlastingmoonlight? If the stream had no quiet eddying place, could we so admireits cascade over the rocks? Were there no clouds, could we so hail thesky shining through them in its still, calm purity? Who shall ventureto ask our kind Mother Nature to remove from our sight any one of herforms or colors? Who shall decide which is beautiful, or otherwise, initself considered?

There are too many, like my fastidious friend, who go through the world"from Dan to Beersheba, finding all barren, "--who have always some faultor other to find with Nature and Providence, seeming to considerthemselves especially ill used because the one does not always coincidewith their taste, nor the other with their narrow notions of personalconvenience. In one of his early poems, Coleridge has well expressed atruth, which is not the less important because it is not generallyadmitted. The idea is briefly this: that the mind gives to all thingstheir coloring, their gloom, or gladness; that the pleasure we derivefrom external nature is primarily from ourselves:--

 "from the mind itself must issue forth A light, a glory, a fair luminous mist, Enveloping the earth. "

The real difficulty of these lifelong hunters after the beautiful existsin their own spirits. They set up certain models of perfection in theirimaginations, and then go about the world in the vain expectation offinding them actually wrought out according to pattern; veryunreasonably calculating that Nature will suspend her everlasting lawsfor the purpose of creating faultless prodigies for their especialgratification. 

The authors of Gayeties and Gravities give it as their opinion that noobject of sight is regarded by us as a simple disconnected form, butthat--an instantaneous reflection as to its history, purpose, orassociations converts it into a concrete one, --a process, they shrewdlyremark, which no thinking being can prevent, and which can only beavoided by the unmeaning and stolid stare of "a goose on the common or acow on the green. " The senses and the faculties of the understandingare so blended with and dependent upon each other that not one of themcan exercise its office alone and without the modification of someextrinsic interference or suggestion. Grateful or unpleasantassociations cluster around all which sense takes cognizance of; thebeauty which we discern in an external object is often but thereflection of our own minds. 

What is beauty, after all? Ask the lover who kneels in homage to onewho has no attractions for others. The cold onlooker wonders that hecan call that unclassic combination of features and that awkward formbeautiful. Yet so it is. He sees, like Desdemona, her "visage in hermind, " or her affections. A light from within shines through theexternal uncomeliness, --softens, irradiates, and glorifies it. Thatwhich to others seems commonplace and unworthy of note is to him, in thewords of Spenser, --

 "A sweet, attractive kind of grace; A full assurance given by looks; Continual comfort in a face; The lineaments of Gospel books. "

"Handsome is that handsome does, --hold up your heads, girls!" was thelanguage of Primrose in the play when addressing her daughters. Theworthy matron was right. Would that all my female readers who aresorrowing foolishly because they are not in all respects like Dubufe'sEve, or that statue of the Venus "which enchants the world, " could bepersuaded to listen to her. What is good looking, as Horace Smithremarks, but looking good? Be good, be womanly, be gentle, --generous inyour sympathies, heedful of the well-being of all around you; and, myword for it, you will not lack kind words of admiration. Loving andpleasant associations will gather about you. Never mind the uglyreflection which your glass may give you. That mirror has no heart. But quite another picture is yours on the retina of human sympathy. There the beauty of holiness, of purity, of that inward grace whichpasseth show, rests over it, softening and mellowing its features justas the full calm moonlight melts those of a rough landscape intoharmonious loveliness. "Hold up your heads, girls!" I repeat afterPrimrose. Why should you not? Every mother's daughter of you can bebeautiful. You can envelop yourselves in an atmosphere of moral andintellectual beauty, through which your otherwise plain faces will lookforth like those of angels. Beautiful to Ledyard, stiffening in thecold of a northern winter, seemed the diminutive, smokestained women ofLapland, who wrapped him in their furs and ministered to his necessitieswith kindness and gentle words of compassion. Lovely to the homesickheart of Park seemed the dark maids of Sego, as they sung their low andsimple song of welcome beside his bed, and sought to comfort the whitestranger, who had "no mother to bring him milk and no wife to grind himcorn. " Oh, talk as we may of beauty as a thing to be chiselled frommarble or wrought out on canvas, speculate as we may upon its colors andoutlines, what is it but an intellectual abstraction, after all? Theheart feels a beauty of another kind; looking through the outwardenvironment, it discovers a deeper and more real loveliness. 

This was well understood by the old painters. In their pictures ofMary, the virgin mother, the beauty which melts and subdues the gazer isthat of the soul and the affections, uniting the awe and mystery of thatmother's miraculous allotment with the irrepressible love, theunutterable tenderness, of young maternity, --Heaven's crowning miraclewith Nature's holiest and sweetest instinct. And their pale Magdalens, holy with the look of sins forgiven, --how the divine beauty of theirpenitence sinks into the heart! Do we not feel that the only realdeformity is sin, and that goodness evermore hallows and sanctifies itsdwelling-place? When the soul is at rest, when the passions and desiresare all attuned to the divine harmony, --

 "Spirits moving musically To a lute's well-ordered law, " The Haunted Palace, by Edgar A. Poe. 

do we not read the placid significance thereof in the human countenance?"I have seen, " said Charles Lamb, "faces upon which the dove of peacesat brooding. " In that simple and beautiful record of a holy life, theJournal of John Woolman, there is a passage of which I have been morethan once reminded in my intercourse with my fellow-beings: "Someglances of real beauty may be seen in their faces who dwell in truemeekness. There is a harmony in the sound of that voice to which divinelove gives utterance. "

Quite the ugliest face I ever saw was that of a woman whom the worldcalls beautiful. Through its "silver veil" the evil and ungentlepassions looked out hideous and hateful. On the other hand, there arefaces which the multitude at the first glance pronounce homely, unattractive, and such as "Nature fashions by the gross, " which I alwaysrecognize with a warm heart-thrill; not for the world would I have onefeature changed; they please me as they are; they are hallowed by kindmemories; they are beautiful through their associations; nor are theyany the less welcome that with my admiration of them "the strangerintermeddleth not. "

THE WORLD'S END. 

 "Our Father Time is weak and gray, Awaiting for the better day; See how idiot-like he stands, Fumbling his old palsied hands!" SHELLEY's Masque of Anarchy. 

"STAGE ready, gentlemen! Stage for campground, Derry! Second Adventcamp-meeting!"

Accustomed as I begin to feel to the ordinary sights and sounds of thisbusy city, I was, I confess, somewhat startled by this business-likeannunciation from the driver of a stage, who stood beside his horsesswinging his whip with some degree of impatience: "Seventy-five cents tothe Second Advent camp-ground!"

The stage was soon filled; the driver cracked his whip and went rattlingdown the street. 

The Second Advent, --the coming of our Lord in person upon this earth, with signs, and wonders, and terrible judgments, --the heavens robingtogether as a scroll, the elements melting with fervent heat! Themighty consummation of all things at hand, with its destruction and itstriumphs, sad wailings of the lost and rejoicing songs of the glorified!From this overswarming hive of industry, --from these crowded treadmillsof gain, --here were men and women going out in solemn earnestness toprepare for the dread moment which they verily suppose is only a fewmonths distant, --to lift up their warning voices in the midst ofscoffers and doubters, and to cry aloud to blind priests and carelesschurches, "Behold, the Bridegroom cometh!"

It was one of the most lovely mornings of this loveliest season of theyear; a warm, soft atmosphere; clear sunshine falling on the city spiresand roofs; the hills of Dracut quiet and green in the distance, withtheir white farm-houses and scattered trees; around me the continualtread of footsteps hurrying to the toils of the day; merchants spreadingout their wares for the eyes of purchasers; sounds of hammers, the sharpclink of trowels, the murmur of the great manufactories subdued bydistance. How was it possible, in the midst of so much life, in thatsunrise light, and in view of all abounding beauty, that the idea of thedeath of Nature--the baptism of the world in fire--could take such apractical shape as this? Yet here were sober, intelligent men, gentleand pious women, who, verily believing the end to be close at hand, hadleft their counting-rooms, and workshops, and household cares to publishthe great tidings, and to startle, if possible, a careless andunbelieving generation into preparation for the day of the Lord and forthat blessed millennium, --the restored paradise, --when, renovated andrenewed by its fire-purgation, the earth shall become as of old thegarden of the Lord, and the saints alone shall inherit it. 

Very serious and impressive is the fact that this idea of a radicalchange in our planet is not only predicted in the Scriptures, but thatthe Earth herself, in her primitive rocks and varying formations, onwhich are lithographed the history of successive convulsions, darklyprophesies of others to come. The old poet prophets, all the worldover, have sung of a renovated world. A vision of it haunted thecontemplations of Plato. It is seen in the half-inspired speculationsof the old Indian mystics. The Cumaean sibyl saw it in her trances. The apostles and martyrs of our faith looked for it anxiously andhopefully. Gray anchorites in the deserts, worn pilgrims to the holyplaces of Jewish and Christian tradition, prayed for its coming. Itinspired the gorgeous visions of the early fathers. In every age sincethe Christian era, from the caves, and forests, and secluded "upperchambers" of the times of the first missionaries of the cross, from theGothic temples of the Middle Ages, from the bleak mountain gorges of theAlps, where the hunted heretics put up their expostulation, "How long, O Lord, how long?" down to the present time, and from this Derrycampground, have been uttered the prophecy and the prayer for itsfulfilment. 

How this great idea manifests itself in the lives of the enthusiasts ofthe days of Cromwell! Think of Sir Henry Vane, cool, sagaciousstatesman as he was, waiting with eagerness for the foreshadowings ofthe millennium, and listening, even in the very council hall, for theblast of the last trumpet! Think of the Fifth Monarchy Men, weary withwaiting for the long-desired consummation, rushing out with drawn swordsand loaded matchlocks into the streets of London to establish at oncethe rule of King Jesus! Think of the wild enthusiasts at Munster, verily imagining that the millennial reign had commenced in their madcity! Still later, think of Granville Sharpe, diligently laboring inhis vocation of philanthropy, laying plans for the slow but beneficentamelioration of the condition of his country and the world, and at thesame time maintaining, with the zeal of Father Miller himself, that theearth was just on the point of combustion, and that the millennium wouldrender all his benevolent schemes of no sort of consequence!

And, after all, is the idea itself a vain one? Shall to-morrow be asto-day? Shall the antagonism of good and evil continue as heretoforeforever? Is there no hope that this world-wide prophecy of the humansoul, uttered in all climes, in all times, shall yet be fulfilled? Whoshall say it may not be true? Nay, is not its truth proved by itsuniversality? The hope of all earnest souls must be realized. Thatwhich, through a distorted and doubtful medium, shone even upon themartyr enthusiasts of the French revolution, --soft gleams of heaven'slight rising over the hell of man's passions and crimes, --the gloriousideal of Shelley, who, atheist as he was through early prejudice anddefective education, saw the horizon of the world's future kindling withthe light of a better day, --that hope and that faith which constitute, as it were, the world's life, and without which it would be dark anddead, cannot be in vain. 

I do not, I confess, sympathize with my Second Advent friends in theirlamentable depreciation of Mother Earth even in her present state. Ifind it extremely difficult to comprehend how it is that this goodly, green, sunlit home of ours is resting under a curse. It really does notseem to me to be altogether like the roll which the angel bore in theprophet's vision, "written within and without with mourning, lamentation, and woe. " September sunsets, changing forests, moonriseand cloud, sun and rain, --I for one am contented with them. They fillmy heart with a sense of beauty. I see in them the perfect work ofinfinite love as well as wisdom. It may be that our Advent friends, however, coincide with the opinions of an old writer on the prophecies, who considered the hills and valleys of the earth's surface and itschanges of seasons as so many visible manifestations of God's curse, andthat in the millennium, as in the days of Adam's innocence, all thesepicturesque inequalities would be levelled nicely away, and the flatsurface laid handsomely down to grass. 

As might be expected, the effect of this belief in the speedydestruction of the world and the personal coming of the Messiah, actingupon a class of uncultivated, and, in some cases, gross minds, is notalways in keeping with the enlightened Christian's ideal of the betterday. One is shocked in reading some of the "hymns" of these believers. Sensual images, --semi-Mahometan descriptions of the condition of the"saints, "--exultations over the destruction of the "sinners, "--minglewith the beautiful and soothing promises of the prophets. There areindeed occasionally to be found among the believers men of refined andexalted spiritualism, who in their lives and conversation remind one ofTennyson's Christian knight-errant in his yearning towards the hope setbefore him:

 "to me is given Such hope I may not fear; I long to breathe the airs of heaven, Which sometimes meet me here. 

 "I muse on joys that cannot cease, Pure spaces filled with living beams, White lilies of eternal peace, Whose odors haunt my dreams. "

One of the most ludicrous examples of the sensual phase of Millerism, the incongruous blending of the sublime with the ridiculous, wasmentioned to me not long since. A fashionable young woman in thewestern part of this State became an enthusiastic believer in thedoctrine. On the day which had been designated as the closing one oftime she packed all her fine dresses and toilet valuables in a largetrunk, with long straps attached to it, and, seating herself upon it, buckled the straps over her shoulders, patiently awaiting the crisis, --shrewdly calculating that, as she must herself go upwards, her goods andchattels would of necessity follow. 

Three or four years ago, on my way eastward, I spent an hour or two at acamp-ground of the Second Advent in East Kingston. The spot was wellchosen. A tall growth of pine and hemlock threw its melancholy shadowover the multitude, who were arranged upon rough seats of boards andlogs. Several hundred--perhaps a thousand people--were present, andmore were rapidly coming. Drawn about in a circle, forming a backgroundof snowy whiteness to the dark masses of men and foliage, were the whitetents, and back of them the provision-stalls and cook-shops. When Ireached the ground, a hymn, the words of which I could not distinguish, was pealing through the dim aisles of the forest. I could readilyperceive that it had its effect upon the multitude before me, kindlingto higher intensity their already excited enthusiasm. The preacherswere placed in a rude pulpit of rough boards, carpeted only by the deadforest-leaves and flowers, and tasselled, not with silk and velvet, butwith the green boughs of the sombre hemlocks around it. One of themfollowed the music in an earnest exhortation on the duty of preparingfor the great event. Occasionally he was really eloquent, and hisdescription of the last day had the ghastly distinctness of Anelli'spainting of the End of the World. 

Suspended from the front of the rude pulpit were two broad sheets ofcanvas, upon one of which was the figure of a man, the head of gold, thebreast and arms of silver, the belly of brass, the legs of iron, andfeet of clay, --the dream of Nebuchadnezzar. On the other were depictedthe wonders of the Apocalyptic vision, --the beasts, the dragons, thescarlet woman seen by the seer of Patmos, Oriental types, figures, andmystic symbols, translated into staring Yankee realities, and exhibitedlike the beasts of a travelling menagerie. One horrible image, with itshideous heads and scaly caudal extremity, reminded me of the tremendousline of Milton, who, in speaking of the same evil dragon, describes himas

 "Swinging the scaly horrors of his folded tail. "

To an imaginative mind the scene was full of novel interest. The whitecircle of tents; the dim wood arches; the upturned, earnest faces; theloud voices of the speakers, burdened with the awful symbolic languageof the Bible; the smoke from the fires, rising like incense, --carried meback to those days of primitive worship which tradition faintly whispersof, when on hill-tops and in the shade of old woods Religion had herfirst altars, with every man for her priest and the whole universe forher temple. 

Wisely and truthfully has Dr. Channing spoken of this doctrine of theSecond Advent in his memorable discourse in Berkshire a little beforehis death:--

"There are some among us at the present moment who are waiting for thespeedy coming of Christ. They expect, before another year closes, tosee Him in the clouds, to hear His voice, to stand before His judgment-seat. These illusions spring from misinterpretation of Scripturelanguage. Christ, in the New Testament, is said to come whenever Hisreligion breaks out in new glory or gains new triumphs. He came in theHoly Spirit in the day of Pentecost. He came in the destruction ofJerusalem, which, by subverting the old ritual law and breaking thepower of the worst enemies of His religion, insured to it new victories. He came in the reformation of the Church. He came on this day fouryears ago, when, through His religion, eight hundred thousand men wereraised from the lowest degradation to the rights, and dignity, andfellowship of men. Christ's outward appearance is of little momentcompared with the brighter manifestation of His spirit. The Christian, whose inward eyes and ears are touched by God, discerns the coming ofChrist, hears the sound of His chariot-wheels and the voice of Histrumpet, when no other perceives them. He discerns the Saviour's adventin the dawning of higher truth on the world, in new aspirations of theChurch after perfection, in the prostration of prejudice and error, inbrighter expressions of Christian love, in more enlightened and intenseconsecration of the Christian to the cause of humanity, freedom, andreligion. Christ comes in the conversion, the regeneration, theemancipation, of the world. "

THE HEROINE OF LONG POINT. (1869. )

LOOKING at the Government Chart of Lake Erie, one sees the outlines of along, narrow island, stretching along the shore of Canada West, oppositethe point where Loudon District pushes its low, wooded wedge into thelake. This is Long Point Island, known and dreaded by the navigators ofthe inland sea which batters its yielding shores, and tosses intofantastic shapes its sandheaps. The eastern end is some twenty milesfrom the Canada shore, while on the west it is only separated from themainland by a narrow strait known as "The Cut. " It is a sandy, desolateregion, broken by small ponds, with dreary tracts of fenland, its ridgescovered with a low growth of pine, oak, beech, and birch, in the midstof which, in its season, the dogwood puts out its white blossoms. Wildgrapes trail over the sand-dunes and festoon the dwarf trees. Here andthere are almost impenetrable swamps, thick-set with white cedars, intertwisted and contorted by the lake winds, and broken by the weightof snow and ice in winter. Swans and wild geese paddle in the shallow, reedy bayous; raccoons and even deer traverse the sparsely woodedridges. The shores of its creeks and fens are tenanted by minks andmuskrats. The tall tower of a light-house rises at the easternextremity of the island, the keeper of which is now its solitaryinhabitant. 

Fourteen years ago, another individual shared the proprietorship of LongPoint. This was John Becker, who dwelt on the south side of the island, near its westerly termination, in a miserable board shanty nestledbetween naked sand-hills. He managed to make a poor living by trappingand spearing muskrats, the skins of which he sold to such boatmen andsmall-craft skippers as chanced to land on his forlorn territory. Hiswife, a large, mild-eyed, patient young woman of some twenty-six years, kept her hut and children as tidy as circumstances admitted, assistedher husband in preparing the skins, and sometimes accompanied him on histrapping excursions. 

On that lonely coast, seldom visited in summer, and wholly cut off fromhuman communication in winter, they might have lived and died with aslittle recognition from the world as the minks and wildfowl with whomthey were tenants in common, but for a circumstance which called intoexercise unsuspected qualities of generous courage and heroic self-sacrifice. 

The dark, stormy close of November, 1854, found many vessels on LakeErie, but the fortunes of one alone have special interest for us. Aboutthat time the schooner Conductor, owned by John McLeod, of theProvincial Parliament, a resident of Amherstburg, at the mouth of theDetroit River, entered the lake from that river, bound for PortDalhousie, at the mouth of the Welland Canal. 

She was heavily loaded with grain. Her crew consisted of CaptainHackett, a Highlander by birth, and a skilful and experienced navigator, and six sailors. At nightfall, shortly after leaving the head of thelake, one of those terrific storms, with which the late autumnalnavigators of that "Sea of the Woods" are all too familiar, overtookthem. The weather was intensely cold for the season; the air was filledwith snow and sleet; the chilled water made ice rapidly, encumbering theschooner, and loading down her decks and rigging. As the galeincreased, the tops of the waves were shorn off by the fierce blasts, clouding the whole atmosphere with frozen spray, or what the sailorscall "spoondrift, " rendering it impossible to see any object a few rodsdistant. Driving helplessly before the wind, yet in the direction ofher place of destination, the schooner sped through the darkness. Atlast, near midnight, running closer than her crew supposed to theCanadian shore, she struck on the outer bar off Long Point Island, beatheavily across it, and sunk in the deeper water between it and the innerbar. The hull was entirely submerged, the waves rolling in heavily, anddashing over the rigging, to which the crew betook themselves. Lashedthere, numb with cold, drenched by the pitiless waves, and scourged bythe showers of sleet driven before the wind, they waited for morning. The slow, dreadful hours wore away, and at length the dubious anddoubtful gray of a morning of tempest succeeded to the utter darkness ofnight. 

Abigail Becker chanced at that time to be in her hut with none but heryoung children. Her husband was absent on the Canada shore, and she wasleft the sole adult occupant of the island, save the light-keeper, atits lower end, some fifteen miles off. Looking out at daylight on thebeach in front of her door, she saw the shattered boat of the Conductor, east up by the waves. Her experience of storm and disaster on thatdangerous coast needed nothing more to convince her that somewhere inher neighborhood human life had been, or still was, in peril. Shefollowed the southwesterly trend of the island for a little distance, and, peering through the gloom of the stormy morning, discerned thespars of the sunken schooner, with what seemed to be human formsclinging to the rigging. The heart of the strong woman sunk within her, as she gazed upon those helpless fellow-creatures, so near, yet sounapproachable. She had no boat, and none could have lived on that wildwater. After a moment's reflection she went back to her dwelling, putthe smaller children in charge of the eldest, took with her an ironkettle, tin teapot, and matches, and returned to the beach, at thenearest point to the vessel; and, gathering up the logs and drift-woodalways abundant, on the coast, kindled a great fire, and, constantlywalking back and forth between it and the water, strove to intimate tothe sufferers that they were at least not beyond human sympathy. As thewrecked sailors looked shoreward, and saw, through the thick haze ofsnow and sleet, the red light of the fire and the tall figure of thewoman passing to and fro before it, a faint hope took the place of theutter despair which had prompted them to let go their hold and drop intothe seething waters, that opened and closed about them like the jaws ofdeath. But the day wore on, bringing no abatement of the storm thattore through the frail spars, and clutched at and tossed them as itpassed, and drenched them with ice-cold spray, --a pitiless, unrelentinghorror of sight, sound, and touch! At last the deepening gloom toldthem that night was approaching, and night under such circumstances wasdeath. 

All day long Abigail Becker had fed her fire, and sought to induce thesailors by signals--for even her strong voice could not reach them--tothrow themselves into the surf, and trust to Providence and her forsuccor. In anticipation of this, she had her kettle boiling over thedrift-wood, and her tea ready made for restoring warmth and life to thehalf-frozen survivors. But either they did not understand her, or thechance of rescue seemed too small to induce them to abandon thetemporary safety of the wreck. They clung to it with the desperateinstinct of life brought face to face with death. Just at nightfallthere was a slight break in the west; a red light glared across thethick air, as if for one instant the eye of the storm looked out uponthe ruin it had wrought, and closed again under lids of cloud. Takingadvantage of this, the solitary watcher ashore made one more effort. She waded out into the water, every drop of which, as it struck thebeach, became a particle of ice, and stretching out and drawing in herarms, invited, by her gestures, the sailors to throw themselves into thewaves, and strive to reach her. Captain Hackett understood her. Hecalled to his mate in the rigging of the other mast: "It is our lastchance. I will try! If I live, follow me; if I drown, stay where youare!" With a great effort he got off his stiffly frozen overcoat, paused for one moment in silent commendation of his soul to God, and, throwing himself into the waves, struck out for the shore. AbigailBecker, breast-deep in the surf, awaited him. He was almost within herreach, when the undertow swept him back. By a mighty exertion shecaught hold of him, bore him in her strong arms out of the water, and, laying him down by her fire, warmed his chilled blood with copiousdraughts of hot tea. The mate, who had watched the rescue, nowfollowed, and the captain, partially restored, insisted upon aiding him. As the former neared the shore, the recoiling water baffled him. Captain Hackett caught hold of him, but the undertow swept them bothaway, locked in each other's arms. The brave woman plunged after them, and, with the strength of a giantess, bore them, clinging to each other, to the shore, and up to her fire. The five sailors followed insuccession, and were all rescued in the same way. 

A few days after, Captain Hackett and his crew were taken off Long Pointby a passing vessel; and Abigail Becker resumed her simple daily dutieswithout dreaming that she had done anything extraordinary enough to winfor her the world's notice. In her struggle every day for food andwarmth for her children, she had no leisure for the indulgence of self-congratulation. Like the woman of Scripture, she had only "done whatshe could, " in the terrible exigency that had broken the dreary monotonyof her life. 

It so chanced, however, that a gentleman from Buffalo, E. P. Dorr, whohad, in his early days, commanded a vessel on the lake, found himself, shortly after, at a small port on the Canada shore, not far from LongPoint Island. Here he met an old shipmate, Captain Davis, whose vesselhad gone ashore at a more favorable point, and who related to him thecircumstances of the wreck of the Conductor. Struck by the account, Captain Dorr procured a sleigh and drove across the frozen bay to theshanty of Abigail Becker. He found her with her six children, allthinly clad and barefooted in the bitter cold. She stood there six feetor more of substantial womanhood, --not in her stockings, for she hadnone, --a veritable daughter of Anak, broad-bosomed, large-limbed, withgreat, patient blue eyes, whose very smile had a certain pathos, as ifone saw in it her hard and weary life-experience. She might have passedfor any amiable giantess, or one of those much--developed maids of honorwho tossed Gulliver from hand to hand in the court of Brobdingnag. Thething that most surprised her visitor was the childlike simplicity ofthe woman, her utter unconsciousness of deserving anything for an actionthat seemed to her merely a matter of course. When he expressed hisadmiration with all the warmth of a generous nature, she only opened herwide blue eyes still wider with astonishment. 

"Well, I don't know, " she said, slowly, as if pondering the matter forthe first time, --"I don't know as I did more 'n I'd ought to, nor more'nI'd do again. "

Before Captain Dorr left, he took the measure of her own and herchildren's feet, and on his return to Buffalo sent her a box containingshoes, stockings, and such other comfortable articles of clothing asthey most needed. He published a brief account of his visit to theheroine of Long Point, which attracted the attention of some members ofthe Provincial Parliament, and through their exertions a grant of onehundred acres of land, on the Canada shore, near Port Rowan, was made toher. Soon after she was invited to Buffalo, where she naturally excitedmuch interest. A generous contribution of one thousand dollars, tostock her farm, was made by the merchants, ship-owners and masters ofthe city, and she returned to her family a grateful and, in her ownview, a rich woman. 

When the story of her adventure reached New York, the Life-SavingBenevolent Association sent her a gold medal with an appropriateinscription, and a request that she would send back a receipt in her ownname. As she did not know how to write, Captain Dorr hit upon theexpedient of having her photograph taken with the medal in her hand, andsent that in lieu of her autograph. 

In a recent letter dictated at Walsingham, where Abigail Becker nowlives, --a widow, cultivating with her own hands her little farm in thewilderness, --she speaks gratefully of the past and hopefully of thefuture. She mentions a message received from Captain Hackett, who shefeared had almost forgotten her, that he was about to make her a visit, adding with a touch of shrewdness: "After his second shipwreck lastsummer, I think likely that I must have recurred very fresh to him. "

The strong lake winds now blow unchecked over the sand-hills where oncestood the board shanty of Abigail Becker. But the summer tourist of thegreat lakes, who remembers her story, will not fail to give her a placein his imagination with Perry's battle-line and the Indian heroines ofCooper and Longfellow. Through her the desolate island of Long Point isrichly dowered with the interest which a brave and generous action givesto its locality.