PS I87f ^mmll Hmwjsitg I pilrTOg / ■ A.\Q>rl.O 8817 'Cornell University Library PS 2988.H2 1879 3 1924 022 187 797 Cornell University Library The original of tliis bool< is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022187797 Hannah Thurston : Story of American Life. BY h-, 'jWviAAJJ JBAYAED TATLOE. HOUSEHOLD EDITION. NEW YORK G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 188 PIETH AVBNTJE 1879 Entered nccordlni Bv ling to Act of Congrcse, In th( Congrcse, In the year 186S^ Cr. P. PUTNAM, Ik the Clerk's Oflico of the District Ci)urt of tin- United States foi the Soutbei-n District of Sew York. ,, CORNELL UrSilVERSITY sLiBRARV H TO GEORGE P. PUTNAM. Mr Deae FitiEiiiD: When I decided to write a brief letter of Dedication for this book, and thus evade a Preface — since all that need be said to the reader can be said just as well, if not better, to the friend — I began to cast about in my mind for the particular individual willing to stand by my side in this new literary venture, deserving of all the fleeting com- pliment which possible success may give, and too secure, in the shelter of his own integrity, to be damaged by whatever condemnation may fall upon the author. While various cherished names arose, one after the other, the cab in which I rode and meditated passed down Regent Street into Waterloo Place, and my eyes fell upon that di)or, where, seventeen years ago, I entered for the first time one dreary March afternoon — entered as a timid, despond- ing stranger, and issued thence with the cheer and encour- agement which I owed to your unexpected kindness. The DEDICATION. conditions wMcli I sought are all fulfilled in jou. Froic that day to this, in all our intercourse, I Iia\'e found in yon the faithful friend, the man of unblemished honor and uii- Belfish ambition, to whom the author's interests were nevei fccondary to his own. According to the poet Camphell, we should be " natural enemies," but I dedicate this book to you as my natural friend. I am aware how much is required for the construction of a good work of fiction — ^how much I venture in enteiing upon a field so difierent from those over which I have hitherto been ranging. It is, however, the result of no Budden whim, no ambition casually provoked. The plan of the following story has long been familiar to my mind. I perceived peculiarities of development in American life which have escaped the notice of novelists, yet which are strikingly adapted to the purposes of fiction, both in the originality and occasional grotesqueness of their external manifestation, and the deeper questions which lie beneath the surface. I do not, therefore, rest the interest of the book on its slender plot, but on the fidelity with which it represents certain types of character and phases of society. That in it which most resembles caricature is oftenest the transcript of actual fact, and there ai-e none of the opinions uttered by the various characters which may not now and then be heard in almost any country community of thu DEDICATIOir. Northern and Western States. "Whetlier tliose opinions are to be commended or condemned, the personages of the story are alone responsible for them. I beg leave, once more, to protest against the popular superstition that an author must necessarily represent himself in one form or another. I am neither Mr. "Woodbury, Mr. Waldo, nor Seth Wattles. This is all I have to say. The intelligent reader will req^uire no further explanation, and you no further assu- rance of how steadily and faithfully I am your friend, Batabd Taylob. Wood's Hotel, LoifDOif, August, 1863. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. VlQB Ik which we attend the GrBBAT Sewins-Union at Ptolemt 9 CHAPTER II. Mn. 'WooDBnEY's Introduction to Lakeside 26 CHAPTER III. An EvENisa OP Gossip, in ivmoH wb leaen something about the Per- sons ALREADY MENTIONED 37 CHAPTER IT. An Interview on the Road, and a New Household 48 CHAPTER T. In which Me. 'Woodbury hears a Woman Speak 61 CHAPTER VL In which Lakeside becomes lively 11 CHAPTER VIL "What Happened DUEiNa the Evening ' 90 CHAPTER VIIL In which Mr. Woodbuey pays an Unexpected Tisit 105 CHAPTER 12. Spiritual and othee Rappings 113 CHAPTER X. In which wb heae a Diverting Stoey 129 CHAPTER XI. OONTAININQ Two DECLARATIONS, AND THE ANSWERS THERETO 143 CHAPTER Xn. Mother and Dauouteb 155 CHAPTER XIIL In WHICH Spring Opens 107 CHAPTER XIT. Containing Conversations more important than they seem to be 111 CHAPTER XV. Which comes near being Tragic 189 CHAPTER XTL CONCEENINO AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY TO TlBERIUS 200 CHAPTER XVH. Which Solves tub preceding one 218 8 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XVin. PAGH One op the Summer Diversions of Ptolemy 232 CHAPTER XIX. In ■which there is both Attraction and Repulsion , 2d6 CHAPTER XX. Im which Seth Wattles is again Disappointed 258 CHAPTER XXI. With an entire Change op Scene 269 CHAPTER XXII. In which Tbouble comes to Lakeside 281 CHAPTER XXIII. Which contains both Love and Death 293 CHAPTER XXIT. Various Changes, but little Progress in the Story 308 CHAPTER XXV. In which Hannah Thurston makes a New Acquaintance 319 CHAPTER XXVI. In which a "WEDDraa takes place 333 CHAPTER XXVIL Describing certain Troubles of Mr. ■Woodbury 344 CHAPTER XXVIII. In which Hannah Thurston also has her Troubles 356 CHAPTER XXIX. In which a Crisis approaches 368 CHAPTER XXX. Mr. "Woodbury's Conpession Sgn CHAPTER XXXL In which the Strong-minded Woman becomes Weak 392 CHAPTER XXXIL In which all Retreat is cut off 401 CHAPTER XXXIU. CoNCE.tNiNa Marriage, Death, Gossip, and Goino Home 41 CHAPTER XXXIV. Concerning the New Household op Lakeside 430 CHAPTER XXXV. In which we attend another Meeting in pavor op " Women's Rranis" 442 CHAPTER XXXVI. Im which the Man and Wojian come to an Underst.s ndinq 466 HANNAH THURSTON. CHAPTER I. a WHICH WE ATTEND THE GKEAT SEWING-UNION AT PTOLEMT. Netek before had the little society of Ptolemy known so animated a season. For an inland town, the place could not at any time be called dull, and, indeed, impressed the stranger with a character of exuberant life, on being compared with other towns in the neighborhood. MuUigansville on the east, Anacreon on the north, and Atauga City on the west, all fierce rivals of nearly equal size, groaned over the ungodly cheerful- ness of its population, and held up their hands whenever its name was mentioned. But, at the particular time whereof we write — November, 1852 — the ordinarily mild flow of life in Ptolemy was unusually quickened by the formation of the great Sewing-Union. This was a new social phenomenon, which many persons looked upon as a long stride in the direction of the Millennium. If, however, you should desire an opposite view, you have but to mention the subject to any Mulligans- villain, any Anacreontic, or any Atauga citizen. The simple fact is, that the various sewing-circles of Ptolemy — three in number, and working for very different ends — had agreed to hold their meetings at the same time and place, and labor in company. It was a social arrangement which substituted one 10 HANNAH rnuiiSTON : large gathering, all the more lively and iiitei-esting from its mixed constitution, in place of three small and somewhat monotonous circles. The plan was a very sensible one, and it must be said, to the credit of Ptolemy, that there are very few communities of equal size in the country Avhere it could have been carried into effect. Fii-st, the number of members being taken as the test of rela- tive importance, there was the Ladies' Sewing-Circle, for raising a fund to assist in supporting a Mission at Jutnapore. It was drawn mainly from the congregation of the Rev. Lemuel Styles. Four spinsters connected with this circle had a direct interest in foiir children of the converted Telugu parents. There was a little brown Eliza Clancy, an Ann Parrott, and a Sophia Stevenson, in that distant Indian sheepfold ; while the remain- ing spinster, Miss Ruhaney Goodwin, boasted of a (spiiitual) son, to whom she had given the name of her deceased brother, Elisha. These ladies were pleasantly occupied in making three mousseline-de-laine frocks, an embroidered jacket, and four half-dozens of pocket handkerchiefs for their little Telugu children, and their withered bosoms were penetrated with a secret thrill of the lost maternal instinct, which they only dared to indulge in connection with such pious and charitable labors. The second Circle was composed of ladies belonging to the Cimmerian church, who proposed getting up a village fair, the profits of which should go towards the repair of the Par- sonage, now sadly dilapidated. Mrs. Waldo, the clergyman's wife, was at the head of this enterprise. Her ambition was limited to a new roof and some repairs in the plastering, and there was a good prospect that the Circle would succeed iu raising the necessary sum. This, however, was chiefly owing to Mrs. Waldo's personal popularity. Ptolemy was too small a place, and the Cimmerians too insignificant a sect, for the Church, out of its own resources, to accomplish much for its shepherd. Lastly, there was the Sewing-Circle for the Anti-Slavery A STOIIY OF /VMEIIICA.V LIFE. 11 Fair, wLich was limited to five ov six families. Foi- the pre- vious ten years, this little community, strong in the faith, had prepared and forwarded their annual contribution, not dis- couraged by the fact that the circulation of their beloved special organ did not increase at the Ptolemy Post-Office, nor that their petitions to Congress were always referred, and never acted upon. They had outlived the early persecution, and could no longer consider themselves martyrs. The epitliets "Infidel!" "Fanatic!" and "Amalgamationist!" had been hurled at them until their enemies had ceased, out of sheer weariness, and they were a little surprised at finding that their impor- tance diminished in proportion as their neighbors became tolerant. The most earnest and enthusiastic of the little band were Gulielma Thurston, a Quaker widow, and her daughter Hannah ; Mrs. Merryfield, the wife of a neighboring farmer, and Seth Wattles, a tailor in the village. Notwithstanding the smallness of this circle, its members, with one exception, were bright, clear-minded, cheerful women, and as the suspi- cions of their infidelity had gradually been allayed (mainly by their aptness in Biblical quotation), no serious objection was made to their admittance into the Union. The proposition to unite the Circles came originally, we believe, from Mrs. Waldo, whose sectarian bias always gave way before the social instincts of her nature. The difficulty of carrying it into execution was much lessened by the fact that all the families were already acquainted, and that, fortu- nately, there was no important enmity existing between any two of them. Besides, there is a natural instinct in women which leads them to sew in flocks and enliven their labor by ihe discussion of patterns, stuflTs, and prices. The Union, witli from twenty-five to forty members in attendance, was found to be greatly more animated and attractive than either of the Circles, separately, had been. Whether more work was accomplished, is a doubtful question ; but, if not, it made little difference in the end. The naked Telugus would not suffer from a scantier supply of clothing; the Cimmerians (2 HANNAH TIIURSTOX . would Charge outrageous prices for useless articles, in any case : nor would The Slavery Annihilator perish for want of support, if fewer pen-wipers, ahd book-marks, inscribed witl appropriate texts, came from Ptolemy. The Sewing-Union was therefore pronounced a great social Biiocess, and found especial favor in the eyes of the gentlemen, who were allowed to attend " after tea," with the understand- ing that they would contribute something to either of tho three groups, according to their inclinations. Mrs. Waldo, by general acquiescence, exercised a matronly supervision over the company, putting down any rising controversy with a gentle pat of her full, soft hand, and preventing, with cheerful tyranny, the continual tendency of the gentlemen to interrupt the work of the unmarried ladies. She was the oleaginous solvent, in which the hard yelk of the Mission Fund, the vine- gar of the Cimmerians, and the mustard of the Abolitioniets lost their repellant qualities and blended into a smooth social compound. She had a very sweet, mellow, rounded voice, and a laugh as comforting to hear as the crackling of a wood- fire on the open hearth. Her greatest charm, however, was her complete unconsciousness of her true A'^alue. The people of Pttlemy, equally unconscious of this subduing and harmo- nizing quality which she possessed, and seeing their honessea and lambs sewing peaceably together, congiatulated them- selves on their own millennial promise. Of course everybody was satisfied — even the clergymen in MuUigansville and Anacreon, who attacked the Union from their pulpits, secretly thankful for such a near example of falling from the stiff, narrow, and carefully-enclosed ways of grace. It was the third meeting of the Union, and nearly all tho members were present. Their sessiott-was held at the house of Mr. Hamilton Bue, Agent of the " Saratoga Mutual" for the town of Ptolemy, and one of the Directors of the Bank at Tiberius, the county-seat. Mrs. Hamilton Bue was interested in the contribution for the mission at Jutnapore, and the Rev Lemuel Styles, pastor of the principal church in the vilLio-e A SIOKY OF A.MKKICAN LIFE. 15 had been specially invited to come "before tea," for tbe pur pose of asting a blessing on the bonntiful table of the hostess. The parlor, large as it was (fot Ptolemy), had been somewhat overcrowded during the afternoon ; therefore, anticipating a large arrival of gentlemen in the evening, Mrs. Bue had the tables transferred from the sitting-room to the kitchen, locked the hall door, and thus produced a suite of three apartments, counting the hall itself as one. The guests were admitted at the side-entrance, commonly used by the family. Two or three additional lamps had been borrowed, and the general aspect of things was so bright and cheerful that Mr. Styles whispered to Mrs. Hamilton Bue : " Really, I am afraid this looks a little like levity." " But it's trying to the eyes to sew with a dim light," said she ; " and we want to do a good deal for The Fund this evea- ing." " Ah ! that, indeed !" he ejaculated, smiling blandly as he contemplated Miss Eliza Clancy and Miss Ann Parrott, who were comparing the dresses for their little brown name- " I think it looks better to be gored," said the former. " Well — I don't know but what it does, with that figiure," remarked Miss Parrott, " but ray Ann's a slim, growing girl, and when you've tucks — and I'm making two of 'em — it seems better to pleat." " How will this do. Miss Eliza ?" asked Mrs. Waldo, coming np at the moment with a heavy knitted snood of crimson wool, which she carefully adjusted over her- own abundant black hair. The effect was good, it cannot be denied. The contrast of colors was so pleasing that the pattern of the snood became quite a subordinate aifair. " Upon my word, very pretty !" said the lady appealed to. " I'ity you h.iven't knit it for yourself, it suits you so well," Miss Parrott observed. " I'd rather take it to stop the leak in my best bed-room," Mrs. Waldo gayly rejoined, stealing a furtive glance at her 14 HANNAH TntlltSTO^.' : head in the mirror over the mantel-piece. " Oh, Miss Tliurs ton, will you Jet us see yoiir album-cover?" Hannah Thurston had caught sight of a quiet nook in th« liall, behind the staircase, and was on her way to secure pos- session of it. She had found the warmth of the sitting-room intolerable, and the noise of many tongues began to be dis- tracting to her sensitive Quaker ear. She paused at once, and in answer to Mrs. Waldo's request unfolded an oblong piece of warm brown cloth, upon which a group of fern-leaves, embroidered with green silk, was growing into shape. The tliroady stems and fi-ail, diminishing fronds were worked with .an exquisite truth to nature. " It is not much more than the outline, as yet," she re- marked, as she displayed the embroidery before the eager eyes of Mrs. Waldo and the two spinsters. The former, wlio possessed a natural though uncultivated sense of beauty, was greatly delighted. " Why it's perfectly lovely !" she exclaimed : " if I was younger, I'd get you to teach me how you do it. You must be sure and let me see the book when it's finished." " I don't see why my Eliza couldn't make me one of the flowers around Jutnapore," said Miss Clancy. " I'll mention it in my next letter to Miss Boerum — the missionary's wife, you know. It would be such a nice thing for me to remem- ber her by." Meanwhile the gentlemen began to drop in. Mr. Merryfield arrived, in company with the Hon. Zeno Harder, member of the Legislature for Atauga county. Then followed the Eev. Mr. Waldo, a small, brisk man, with gray eyes, a short nose, set out from his face at a sharper angle than is usual with noses, and a mouth in which the Lord had placed a set of teeth belonging to a man of twice his size— for which reason his lips could not entirely close over them. His face thus received an expiossion of perpetual hunger. The air of isolation, com- mon to clerg3anea of those small and insignificant sects which geem to exist by sheer force of ob&tinacy, was not very per- A oTOIiS: OF AMEJIUCAN J.IFE. 13 ceptible in hiiu. It had been neutralized, if not sup))rGssed, by tlie force of a strong animal temperament. On t/tat side of his nature, there was no isolation. A number of young fellows — bashful hobbledehoys, or over-assured men of two or three and twenty, with rigorously fashionable shu-t-collars — now made their appearance and distributed themselves through Mrs. Hamilton Bue's rooms. In the rising noise of conversation the more timid ventured to use their tongues, and the company soon became so animated that all of Mrs. "Waldo's authority was necessary, to prevent tlie younger ladies from neglecting their tasks. The Cimme- rians, as a point of etiquetto, .were installed in tlie parloi*, which also accommodated a number of the workers for the Mission Fund, the remainder being gathered in the sitting- room, where Mr. Styles and Mr. Waldo carried on an ex- ceedingly guarded and decorous conversation. Hannah Thurs- ton had secured her coveted nook behind the staircase in the hall, where she was joined by Mrs. Merryfield and Miss Sophia Stevenson. Mrs. Waldo, also, kept a chair at the same table, for the purpose of watching the expanding fern-leaves in the ' intervals of her commandership. Seth Wattles tilted his chair in a corner, eager for an opportunity to usurp the conver- sation. Seth was an awkward, ungainly person, whose clothes were a continual satire on liis professional skill. The first impres- sion which the man made, was the want of compact form. His clay seemed to have been modelled by a bungling ap- prentice, and imperfectly baked afterwards. The face was long and lumpy in outline, without a proper coherence be- tween tho features — the forehead being sloping and contracted at the temples, the skull running backwards in a high, narrow ndge. Thick hair, of a faded brown color, parted a little on one side, was brushed behind his ears, where it hung in stiif half-curls upon a broad, falling shirt-collar, which revealed his neck down to the crest of the breast-bone. His eyes were opaque gray, prominent, and devoid of expression. His nose 16 HANNAH TUUKSTON : was long and coarsely consti-ucted, with blunt end and thicl; nostrils, and his lips, though short, of that peculiar, shapeless for- mation, which prevents a clear line of division between them. Heavy, and of a pale purplish-red color, they seemed to ruu together at the inner edges. His hands were largo and hang- ing, and all his joints apparently knobby and loose. His skin had that appearance of oily clamminess which belongs to such an organization. Men of this character seem to be made of sticks and putty. There is no nerve, no elasticity, no keeUj alert, impressible life in any part of their bodies. Leaving the ladies of the Fund to hear Mrs. Boerum's last letter describing the condition of her school at Jutnapore, and the Cimmerians to consult about the arrangements for their Fair, we will join this group in the hall. Mrs. Waldo had just taken her seat for the seventh time, saying : " Well, I never shall get any thing done, at this rate !" — when her atten- tion was arrested by hearing Hannah Thurston say, in answer to some remark of Mrs. Merryfield : " It is too cheerful a place, not to be the home of cheer- ful and agreeable people." " Oh, you are speaking of Lakeside, are you not ?" she asked. " Yes, they say it's sold," said Mrs. Merryfield ; " have you heard of it?" " I believe Mr. Waldo mentioned it at dinner. It's a Mr, Woodbury, or some such name. And rich. He was related, in some way, to the Dennisons. He's expected immediately. I'm glad of it, for I want to put him under contribution. Oh, how beautiful! Did you first copy the pattern from the leaves, Hannah, or do you keep it in your head ?" " Woodbury ? Related to the Dennisons ?" mused Mrs. Merryfield. "Bless me! It can't be Httle Maxwell— Max. wo always called him, that used to be there summers— well, nigli twenty years ago, at least. But you were not here then, Mrs. Waldo— nor you, neither, Hannah. I heard after- wards that he went to Calcutty. I remember him very A STOET OF AMEEICAN LIFB. 11 well — a smart, curly-headed youngster, but knowed nothing about farming. Him and my poor Absalom" — here sha I mothered a rising sigh — " used to be a good deal with other." An unusual stir in the sitting-room interrupted the con- \ ersation. There were exclamations — noises of moving chairs — indis tiiict phrases — and presently the strong voice of the Hon, Zeno Harder was heard : " Very happy to make your ao- cjiiaintance, Sir — very happy!" Mrs. Waldo slipped to the door and peeped in, telegraphing her observations in whis- pers to the little party behind the stairs. " There's Mr. Hammond — the lawyer, you know, from Tiberius, and another gentleman — a stranger. Tall and sunburnt, with a moustache — ^but I like his looks. Ah !" Here she darted back to her seat. " Would you believe it ? — the very man we were talk- ing about — Mr. Woodbury !" In accordance with the usages of Ptolemy society, the new- comers were taken in charge by the host, and formally intro- duced to every person present. In a few minutes the round of the sitting-room was completed and the party entered the hall. Miss Thurston, looking up with a natural curiosity, en- countered a pair of earnest brown eyes, which happened, at the moment, to rest mechanically upon her. Mr. Hamilton Bue advanced and performed his office. The stranger bowed ^^ ith easy self-possession and a genial air, which asserted his determination to enjoy the society. Mrs. Waldo, who was no respecter of persons — in fact, she often declared that she would not be afraid of Daniel Webster — cordially gave him her hand, exclaiming : " We were this minute talking of you, Mr. Woodbury ! And I wished you were here, that I might levy a contribution for our Sewing-Circle. But you're go- ing to be a neighbor, and so I'll ask it in earnest, next time." " Why not now ?" said the gentleman, taking out hia J urse. " First thoughts are often best, and you know the 18 HANifAH thtjeston: proverb about short settlements. Pray accept this, as a token that you do not consider me a stranger." "Oh, thank you!" she cried, as she took the bank-note; " but" (hesitatingly) " is this a donation to our Society, or must I divide it with the others?" The peculiar tone, in which the question was put rendered but one answer possible. No man could have uttered it with such artful emphasis. Tlie constitution of the Sewing-Union was explained, and Itlr. Woodbury purchased a universal popularity by equal contributions to the three Circles. Had he been less irapul- Biye_]es8 kindly inclined to create, at once, a warm atmos- phere around his future home— he would not have given so nmch. The consequences of his generosity were not long in exhibiting themselves. Two days afterwards, the Seventh- Day Baptists, at Atanga City, waited on him for a subscrip- tion towards the building of their new church ; and even the ladies of Mulligansville so far conquered their antipathy to the Ptolemy district, as to ajiply for aid to tlie Mission at Pulo-Bizam, in the Ladrone Islands, which was a subject of their especial care. The introduction of a new element into a society so purely local as that of Ptolemy, is generally felt as a constraint. Where the stranger is a man of evident cultivation, whose su- periority, in various respects, is instinctively felt, but would be indignantly disclaimed if any one dared to assert it, there is, especially, a covert fear of his judgment. His eye and ear are supposed to be intensely alert and critical ; conversation be- comes subdued and formal at his approach : the romping youths and maidens subside into decorous and tedious common-places, until the first chill of his presence is overcome. Mr. Wood bury had tact enough to perceive and dissipate this impression. His habitual manners were slightly touched with reserve, but no man could unbend more easily and gracefully. To the few who remembered him as "Little Max." — among them Mrs. Merryfield — he manifested the cordial warmth of an old friend, and laughed with a delight which came from the A STORY OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 19 heart, at their mention of certain boyish mishaps -^hich mark ed his summers at Lakeside. The laborers for the Mission Fund were rejoiced to learn that, though he had never been at Jiitnapore, yet he had once seen Mr. Boerum, on that gentle- man's arrival at Calcutta. (" What a pity he did'nt go to Jutnapore! He might have told me :ibout my Eliza," re- marked Miss Clancy, aside.) In short, the ice between Mr. Woodbury and the rest of the company was broken so quickly that even the formation of the first thin crust was scarcely perceived. His introduction to Ptolemy society was — in the social technology of Boston — " a success." Again the clacking of tongues rose high and shriE, lessen- ing only for a few minutes after the distribution of wedges ol molasses-cake, offered by Mrs. Hamilton Bue's black-mi tted hands. Mr. Hamilton Bue followed in her wake with a jing- ling tray, covered with glasses of lemonade, which the ladies sipped delicately. The four spinsters, observing that Mrs. Lemuel Styles drank but the half of her glass, replaced theirs also half-filled, though it went to their hearts to do so. The needles now stood at ease, no longer marching, with even stitch, over their parade-grounds of silk, or cotton, or mous- seline-de-laine. One straggler after another fell out of the ranks, until it was finally declared that " we have done enough for this evening." Then came singing, commencing with " JTrom Greenland's Icy Mountains," in which half the com- pany joined. Miss Sophia Stevenson, who had a good voice, wkli — it must be admitted — an occasional tendency to sharps, led the hymn ; but the parts were unequally distributed, which Mr. Woodbury perceiving, he struck in with a rich baritone voice. This acquisition was immediately noticed, and, at the conclusion of the hymn, Mrs. Waldo requested that he would favor them with a solo. "I prefer to listen," he answered. " I know none but the old, old songs, which you all have heard. But you are wel- come to one of them, if you will first let- me hear something newer and fresher." LTnconsoiously, lie had hit the custom aO HANNAH THUKSTON: of Ptolemy, never to sing until somebody else has first sung, to encourage you. The difficulty is, to find the enoourager. Mrs. Waldo seized upon Seth Wattles, who, nothing loth, commenced in a gritty bass voice: " "miy-ee dooz the why-eet man follah mee pawth, Like the ha-ound ou the ty-eeger"a tra-haok ? Dooz the flu-hush on my da-hark cheek waken his wrawth — Dooz he oo-hovet the bow a-hat mee ba-haok ?" " What in the world is the song about ?" whispered Mr, Woodbury. " It's the Lament of the Indian Hunter," said Mrs. Waldo, ''he always sings it. Now comes the chorus: it's queer: listen !" Thereupon, from the cavernous throat of the singer, issued a series of howls in the minor key, something in this wise : " Yo-HO— yo-ho ! Yo-HO-0 — yo-HO-ho-Ao-ho !" " After this," thought Woodbury, " they can bear to hear an old song, though a thousand times repeated." And being again pressed, he gave simply, without any attempt at brilliancy of execution : " The Harp of Tara." There was profound silence, as his voice, strung with true masculine fibre, rang through the rooms. Generally, the least intellectual persons sing with the truest and most touching ex- pression, because voice and intellect are rarely combined : but Maxwell Woodbury's fine organ had not been given to him at the expense of his brain. It was a lucky chance of nature. Ilis hearers did not really know how admirably he interpreted that sigh of the Irish heart, but they were pleased, and not nig- gardly in their expressions of delight. More songs were called for, and refused. There was the usual coaxing, and a shocking prevalence of hoarseness, com- bined with sudden loss of memory. One young lady com- menced with "Isle" (which she pronounced eye^heel) "of Beauty," but broke. down at the end of the first verse, and all the cries of: "Do go on !" " It's so pretty !" could not encoui> A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 21 age her to resume. Finally some one, spying Hannah Thurston, ■who had folded up her embroidery and was sitting in a shaded corner, cried out : " Oh, Miss Thurston 1 Give us that song you sang the last time — that one about the mountains, you know." Miss Thurston started, as if aroused out of a profound revery, while a flitting blush, delicate and transient as the sliadow of a rose tossed upon marble, visited her face. She had felt and followed, word by word and tone by tone, the glorious Irish lay. The tragic pathos of the concluding Uncs — " For freedom now so seldom wakes, The only, throb she gives Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives I" — thrilled and shook her with its despairing solemnity. What a depth of betrayed trust, of baffled aspiration, it revealed! Some dormant sentiment in her own heart leapt up and an- swered it, with that quick inner pang, which would be a cry were it expressed in sound. Tet was the despair which the melody suggested of a diviner texture than joy. It was that sadness of the imaginative nature which is half triumph, be- cause the same illumination which reveals the hopelessness of its desires reveals also their beauty and their divinity. The request addressed to her was a shock which recalled her to herself It was so warmly seconded that refusal would have been ungracious, and a true social instinct told her that her revery, though involuntary, was out of place. She prof- ited by the little delay which ensued in order to secure silence —for in our country communities silence always precedes the song — to recover her full self-possession. There was no tre- mor in her voice, which soared, with the words, into a still, clear ether, in which the pictures of the song stood out pure, distinct, and sublime. It was one of those lyrics of Mrs. Hemans, which suggest the trumpet at woman's lips— ehorn of its rough battle-snarl, its fierce notes tenderly 'i2 HAiraAH TIIUBSTON : fled, but a trumpet still. She sang, with the bride of the Alpine hunter : " Thy heart is in the upper -world, And where the chamois bound ; Thy heart is where the mountain-fir Shakes with the torrent's sound: And where the snow-peaks gleam like stars In the stillness of the air, And where the lawine's voice is heard, — Hunter, thy heart is there I" It was rather musical declamation, than singing. Her voice, l>ure, sweet, and strong, distinctly indicated the melody, in- stead of giving it positively, beyond the possibility of a mista^ ken semitone. It was a ringing chant of that " upper world" of the glaciers, where every cry or call is followed by a musi- cal echo, — where every sound betraj'S the thin air and the boundless space. Hannah Thurston sang it with a vision of Alpine scenery in her brain. She saw, gleaming in the paler sunshine, beneath the black-blue heaven, the sharp horns of frosted silver, the hanging ledges of short summer gi-ass, the tumbled ransses of gray rock, and the dust of snow from fall- ing avalanches. Hence, he who had once seen these things in their reality, saw them again while listening to her. She knew not, however, her own dramatic power : it was enough that she gave pleasure. Maxwell Woodbury's eyes brightened, as the bleak and lofty landscapes of the Bernese Oberland rose before him. Over the dark fir-woods and the blue ice-caverns of the Rosenlaui glacier, he saw the jagged pyramid of the Wettcr- Jiom, toppling in the morning sky ; and involuntarily asked himself what was the magic which had started that half-for- gotten picture from the chambers of his memory. How should this pale, quiet girl who, in a musical sense, was no singer, and who hac' Assuredly never seen the Alps, have caught the voice which haunts their desolate glory? But these were questions which came afterwards. The concluding A BIOKY OF AMEKICAX LIFE. 23 • verse, expressing only the patience and humility of love in the valley, blurred the sharp crystal of the first impression and brought hini back to the Sewing-Union without a rude sliock of transition. He cordially thanked the singer — an act rather unusual in Ptolemy at that time, and hence a grateful surprise to Hannah Thurston, to whom his vords conveyed a more earnest meaning than was demanded by mere formal cour. tesy. By this time the assembled company had become very genial and unconstrained. The Rev. Lemuel Styles had entirely forgotten the levity of Mrs. Bue's illumination, and even in- dulged in good-humored badinage (of a perfectly mild and proper character) with Mrs. Waldo. The others were gath- ered into little groups, cheerfully chatting — the young gentle- men and ladies apart from the married people. Scandal was sugar-coated, in order to hide its true character : love put on a bitter and prickly outside, to avoid the obsei-vation of oth- ers : all the innocent disguises of Society were in as full opera- tion as in the ripened atmosphere of great cities. The nearest approach to a discord was in a somewhat heated discussion on the subject of Slavery, which grew up between Seth Wattle? and the Hon. Zeno Harder. The latter was vehement in his denunciation of the Abolitionists, to which the former replied by quoting the Declaration of Indepen- dence. The two voices — either of them alike unpleasant to a sensitive ear — ^finally became loud enough to attract the atteu- ' tion of Mrs. Waldo, who had a keen scent for opportunities for the exercise of her authority. "Come, come !" she cried, placing one hand on Seth's sLoul der, while she threatened the Honorable Zeno with the other " this is forbidden ground. The Sewing-Union would never hold together, if we allowed such things. Besides, what's the use ? You two would talk together all night, I'll warrant, and be no nearer agreeing in the morning." "No," cried Seth, "because your party politicians iguore the questions of humanity !" %4 HANNAH thtjeston: "And youi fanatical abstractionists never look at any thing in a practical way!" rejoined the Honorable Zeno. "And both are deficient in a sense of propriety— I shall have to say, if you don't stop," was Mrs. Waldo's ready com- ment. This little episode had attracted a few spectators, win were so evidently on Mrs. Waldo's side, that "the Judge,'' as the Hon. Zeno was familiarly called, at once saw the politic course, and rising magnificently, exclaimed : "Although we don't advocate Women's Rights, we yield to woman's author- ity." Then, bowing with corpulent condescension, he passed away. Seth Wattles, having no longer an opponent, was con- demned to silence. In the mean time, it had been whispered among the company that the next meeting of the Union would be held at the Merryfield farm-house, a mile and a half from Ptolemy. This had been arranged by the prominent ladies, after a good deal of consultation. Mr. Merryfield still belonged to the congre- gation of the Rev. Lemuel Styles, although not in very good repute. His farm-house was large and spacious, and he was an excellent "provider," especially for his guests. Moreover, he was the only one of the small clan of Abolitionists, who could conveniently entertain the Union, — so that in him were discharged all the social obligations which the remaining mem- bers could fairly exact. The four spinsters, indeed, had ex changed patient glances, as much as to say : " This is a cross which we must needs bear." Mr. Merryfield, be it known, had refused to contribute to Foreign Missions, on the ground that we had already too many black heathen at home. Tha i^^ounger persons, nevertheless, were very well satisfied, and thus the millennial advance of Ptolemy was not interrupted. The more staid guests had now taken leave, and there was presently a general movement of departure. The ladies put on their bonnets and shawls in the best bedroom up-stairs, and the gentlemen picked out their respective hats and coats from the miscellaneous heap on the kitchen settee. The hall-door A CTOET OF AMEKICAlf LIFE. 86 was unlocked to facilitate egress, and lively groups lingered on the stairs, in the doorway, and on the piazza. The gen- tlemen dodged about to secure their coveted privilege ot escort : now and then a happy young pair slipped away in tho belief th.at they were unnoticed: there were calls of "Do come and see us, now 1" — last eager whisj^ers of gossip, a great deal of superfluous female kissing, and the final remarks to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton Bue : " Good-bye I we've had a nico iirae !" — as the company filtered away. "When the last guest had disappeared, Mr. Hamilton Bue carefully closed and looked the doors, and then remarked to his wife, who was engaged in , putting out the extra lamps : "Well, Martha, I think we've done very well, though I say it that shouldn't. , Mr. Styles liked your tea, and the cake must have been pretty good, judging from the way they stowed it out of sight." "Yes," Said Mrs. Bue; "I was afraid at one time, there wouldn't be enough to go round. It's well I made up my mind, at the last minute, to bake five instead of four. Mo- lasses is so high." " Oh, what's the odds of two shillings more or less," her husband consolingly remarked, " when you've got to make a regular spread ? Besides, I guess I'll clear expenseis, by jDer- suading Woodbury to insure his house in our conceru. Den- nisons always took the Etna." 2 %% HANNAH TUUKSTOM; CHAPTER n. MB. Woodbury's inteoduction to lakesihe. On the very day when the Sewing-Union met in Ptolemy there was an unusual commotion at Lakeside. Only four OT five days had elapsed since the secluded little household had been startled by the news that the old place was finally sold, and now a short note had arrived from Mr. Hammond, of Ti- berins, who was the agent for the estate, stating that the new owner would probably make his appearance in the course of the day. The first thing that suggested itself to the distracted mind of Mrs. Fortitude Babb, the housekeeper, was immediately to summon old Melinda, a negro woman, whose specialty was house-cleaning. Had there been sufiicient time, Mrs. Babb would have scoured the entire dwelling, from garret to cellar. A stranger, indeed, would have remarked no appearance of disorder, or want of proper cleanliness, anywhere : but the tall housekeeper, propping hei hands upon hor hips, exclaimed, in despair : "Whatever shall I do ? There 's hardly time to have the rooms swep', let alone washin' the wood-work. Then, ag'in, I dunno which o' the two bed-rooms he'd like best. Why couldn't Mr. Plammond hold him back, till things was decent? And the libery's been shet up, this ever so long; and there's bakin' to do — squinch tarts, and slch likes — and you must kill two chickens. Arbutus, right away !" " Don't be worried. Mother Forty," replied Arbutus Wil- son, the stout young man whom Mrs. Babb addressed, " things a 'n't lookin' so bad, after all. Max.— -well, Mr. Woodbury, I ranst say now, though it'll go rather queer, at first — was ai- w.iys easy satisfied, when he was here afore." A STORY OF AMEKICAN UFB. 27 " I reckon you think people doesn't change in twenty year. There's no tellia' what sort of a man he's got to be. But here comes Melindy. I guess I'll open the libery and let it air, while she fixes the bedrooms." Mr? Babb's nervousness had a deeper cause than the con- dition of the Lakeside mansion. So many years had elapsed since she first came to the place as housekeeper, that it seemed to have become her own pi-operty as surely as that of the Dennison family. The death of Mrs. Dennison, eight months before, recalled her to the consciousness of her uncertain ten- ure. Now, since the estate was finally sold and the new owner about to arrive, a few days, in all probability, would determine whether her right was to be confirined or herself turned adrift upon the world. Although her recollections of Maxwell Woodbury, whose last visit toliakeside occuired during the firgt year of her reign, were as kindly as was con- sistent with nej^ rigid nature, she awaited his arrival with a mixture of jealousy and dread. True, he was somewhat nearer to her-'than those relatives of Mrs. Dennison who had inherited the property at her death, for the latter Mrs. Babb had never seen, while him she had both gently scolded and severely petted : but she felt that the removal of Arbutus Wilson and herself from the place would be a shameful piece of injustice, and the fact that such removal was possible indi- cated something wrong in the world. Arbutus, who was a hardy, healthy, sti'apping fellow, of eight-and-twenty, was her step-step-son, if there can be such a relation. His father, who died shortly after his birth, was one of those uneducated, ignorant men, whose ears are yet quick to catch and retain any word of gi-andiloquent sound. Nothing delighted him so much as to hear the Biblical genealogies read. He had somewhere picked up the word arbutus, the sound of which so pleased him that he at once conferred it upon his baby, utterly.unconscious of its meaning. A year or two after his death, the widow Wilson married Jason Babb, an honest, raeek-natured carpenter, who proved i good father 28 HANNAH THUKSTON : to the little Arbutus. She, however, was carried away by a malignant fever, in the first year of her second marriage. The widower, who both mourned and missed her, cherished her child with a conscientious fidelity, and it was quite as much from a sense of duty towards the boy, as from an inclination of the heart, that he married Miss Fortitude Winterbottom, a Uill, staid, self-reliant creature, verging on spinsterhood. The Fates, however, seemed determined to interfere with Jason Babb's connubial plans ; but the next time it was upon himself, and not upon his wife, that the lot fell. Having no children of his own, by either wife, he besought Fortitude, with his latest breath, to be both father and mother to the doubly-orphaned little Bute Wilson. It must be admitted that Mrs. Babb faithfully performed her promise. The true feeling of parental tenderness had never been granted to her, and the sense of responsibility — of ownership — which came in its stead — was a very mild substitute ; but it impressed the boy, at least, with a consciousness of care and protection, which satisfied his simple nature. Mrs. Dennison, with her • kind, voice, and gentle, resigned old face, seemed much more the mother, while Mrs. Babb, with her peremptory ways and strict idea of discipline, unconsciously assumed for him the attitude of a father. The latter had come to Lakeside at a time when Mr. Dennison's confirmed feebleness required his wife to devote herself wholly to liis care. Mrs. Babb, there fore, took charge of the house, and Arbutus, at first a younger companion of Henry Dennison, afterwards an active farm-boy, finally developed into an excellent farmer, and had almost the exclusive management of the estate for some years before Mrs. Dennison's death. Thus these two pei'sons, with an Irish field-hand, had been the only occupants of Lakeside, during the summer and au- tumn. Arbutus, or Bute, as he was universally called in the neighborhood, was weU-pleased with tl^e news of Mr. Wood- bury's purchase. He remembered him, indistinctly, as the " town-boy" who gave him his first top and taught him how A STOKY OF AMBltlCAN LIFE. 29 to spill it, tliough the big fellow couldn't tell a tlivush's egg from a robin's, and always said " tortoise" instead of " tortle." Bute thought they'd get along together somehow — or, if they didn't, he could do as well somewheres else, he reckoned. Nevertheless, he felt anxious that the owner should receive a satisfactory impression on his arrival, and busied himself, with Patrick's assistance, in " setting every thing to rights" about Jie barn and out-houses. After all, there was scarcely need of such hui-ried prepa- ration. Mr. Hammond and Woodbury, detained by some necessary formalities of the law, did not leave Tiberius until the afternoon of that day. The town being situated at the outlet of Atauga Lake, they took the little steamer to Atauga City, near its head, in preference to the long road over the hills. The boat, with a heavy load of freight, made slow pro- gress, and it was dusk before they passed the point on the eastern shore, beyond which Lakeside is visible from the water. On reaching Ptolemy by the evening stage from Atauga City, Maxwell Woodbury found the new " Ptolemy House" so bright and cheerful, that he immediately proposed their remaining for the night, although within four miles of their destination. " I have a fancy for approaching the old place by daylight," said he to his companion. " Here begins my familiar ground, and I should be sorry to lose the smallest test of memory. Besides, I am not sure what kind of quarters I should be able - to oifer you, on such short notice." " Let us stay, then, by all means," said the lawyer. " I can appreciate feelings, although I am occupied entirely with deeds." Here he quietly chuckled, and was answered by a roar from the landlord, who came up in tune to hear the remark. "Ha! ha! Good, Mr. Hammond!" exclaimed the latter. "Very happy to entertain you, gentlemen. Mr. Woodbury can have the Bridal Chamber, if he likes. But you should go to the Great Sewing-TJnion, gentlemen. You will find all ■M> HANXAH THURSTON: Ptolemy there to-night. It's at Hamilton Bue's : you know him, Mr. Hammond— Director of the Bank." The results of this advice have already been described. After breakfast, on the following morning, the two gentlemen set out for Lakeside in a light open carriage. It was one of the last days of the Indian summer, soft and hazy, with a fore- boding of winter in the air. The hills, enclosing the head of the lake, and stretching away soutliwards, on opposite sides of the two valleys, which unite just behind Ptolemy, loomed through theii- blue veil with almost the majesty of mountain ranges. The green of the pine-forests on their crests, and of those ragged hues of the original woods which marked the courses of the descending ravines, was dimmed and robbed of its gloom. The meadows extending towards the lake were still fresh, and the great elms by the creek-side had not yet shed all of their tawny leaves. A moist, fragrant odor of decay per- vaded the atmosphere, and the soft southwestern wind, occasion- ally stealing down the further valley, seemed to blow the som- bre colors of the landscape into dying flickers of brightness. As they crossed the stream to the eastward of the village, and drove along the base of the hills beyond, Woodbury ex- claimed : " You cannot possibly understand, Mr. Hammond, how refreshing to me are these signs of the coming winter, after nearly fifteen years of unbroken summer. I shall enjoy the change doubly here, among the scenes of the only country-life which I ever knew in America,— where I was really happiest, as a boy. I suppose," he added, laughing, " now that the bushiess is over, 1 may confess to you how much I Congratu- late myself on having made the purchase." " As if I did not notice how anxious you were to buy !" re- joined the lawyer. " You must be strongly attached to the old place, to take it on the strength of former associations. I wish it were nearer Tiberius, that we might have more of your society. Did you pass much of your youth here?" " Only my summers, from the age of twelve to fifteen. My A STOKX OF AilBEICAN LIFE. 31 constitution wus rather delicate when I was young, and Mrs. Denuisoij, who was a distant relative of my father, and some- times visited us in New York, pei'suaded him to let me try the air of Lakeside. Henry was about my own age, and we soon became great friends. The place was a second homo to me, thenceforth, until my father's death. Even after I went to Calcutta, I continued to correspond with Henry, but irjy last letter from Lakeside was written by his mother, after liia body was brought home from Mexico." "Yes," said Mr. Hammond, "the old lady fairly broke down after that. Henry was a fine fellow and a promising ofiicer, and I believe she would have borne his loss better, had he fallen in battle. But he lingered a long time in the hospi- tal, and she was just beginning to hope for his recovery, when the news of his death came instead. But see ! there is Roar- ing Brook. Do you hear the noise of the fall ? How loud it is this morning !" The hill, curving rapidly to the eastward, rose abruptly from the meadows in a succession of shelving terraces, the lowest of which was faced with a wall of dark rock, in horizontal strata, but almost concealed from view by the tall forest trees which grew at its base. The stream, issuing from a glen which de- scended from the lofty upland region to the eastward of the lake, poured itself headlong from the brink of the rocky steep, — a glittering silver thread in summer, a tawny baimer of angry sound in the autumn rains. Seen through the hazy air, its narrow white column seemed to stand motionless between the pines, and its mellowed thunder to roll from some region beyond the hills. Woodbury, who had been looking steadily across the mead- ows to the north, cried out : " It is the same — it has not yet run itself dry ! Now we shall see Lakeside ; but no — yet I certainly used to see the house from this point. Ah ! twenty years ! I had forgotten that trees cannot stand still ; that ash, or whatever it is, has quite filled up the gap. I am afraid I shall find greater changes than this." 32 HANNAH thukston: His eyes mechanically feU, as the wheels rumbled suddenly on the plank bridge over Roaring Brook. Mr. Hammond looked up, gave the horse a skilful dash of the whip and shot past the trees which lined the stream. " Look and see !" he pros- ently said. The old place, so familiar to Woodbury, and now his own property, lay before him. There was the heavy white house, with its broad verandah, looking southward from the last low shelf of the hills, which rose behind it on their westward sweep back to .the lake. The high-road to Anacreon and thence to Tiberius, up the eastern shore, turned to the right and ascended to the upland, through a long winding glen. A small grove of evergreens still further protected the house on its northwestern side, so that its position was unusually sunny and sheltered. The head of the lake, the meadows around Ptolemy and the branching valleys beyond, were all visible from the southern windows; and though the hills to the east somewhat obscured the sunrise, the evenings wore a double splendor — in the lake and in the sky. "Poor Henry!" whispered Woodbury to himself, as Mr. Hammond alighted to open the gate into the private lane. The house had again disappeared from view, behind the rise of the broad knoll upon which it stood, and their approach was not visible until they had reached the upper level, with its stately avenue of sugar-maples, extending to the garden wall. The place was really unchanged, to all appearance. Per- haps the clumps of lilac and snowball, along the northei-n wall were somewhat higher, and the apple-trees in the orchard behjpd the house more gnarled and mossy; but the house it- self, the turfed space before it, the flagged walk leading to the door, the pyramidfc of yew and juniper, were the same as ever, and the old oaks at each corner seemed, twig for twigj to have stood still for twenty years. A few bunches of chrys« anthemum, somewhat nipped by the fi-ost, gave their sober autunmal coloring and wholesome blttei'-sweet odor to the A STORY OF AMEEICAN I-IFE. 33 garden-alleys. The late purple asters were shrivelled and drooping, and the hollyhocks stood like desolate floral towers, tottering over the summer's ruin. For the first tune in twenty years, Woodbury felt the al- most forgotten sensation of home steal through his heart. Quickly and silently he recognized each familiar object, and the far-off days of the past swept into the nearness of yester- day. His ear took no note of Mr. Hammond's rattling re- marks: the latter was not precisely the man whose atmosphere lures forth the hidden fragrance of one's nature. As they drove along the garden-wall, a ^rong figure ap- peared, approaching with eager strides. He glanced first at the horse and carriage. 'Tairlamb's livery — the bay," was his mental remark. The next moment he stood at the gate, waiting for them to alight. " How do you do, Mr. Hammond ?" he cried. " You're late a-corain' : we expected ye las' night. And is this really Mr. Maxwell, I mean Mr. Woodbury — well, I'd never ha knowed him. I s'pose you don't know me, nuther, Mr Max.?" " God bless me ! it must be little Bute !" exclaimed Wood- bury, taking the honest fellow's hand. " Yes, I see it now — man instead of boy, but the same fellow still." "Yes, indeed, that I he!" asserted the delighted Arbu- tus. He meant much more than the words indicated. Fully expressed, his thoughts would have run something in this wise : " I guess we can git on together, as well as when we was boys. If you ha'n't changed, I ha'ii't. I'll do my dooty towards ye, and you won't be disapp'inted in me." In the mean time, Mrs. Fortitude Babb had made her ap- pearance, clad in the black bombazine which she had pur- chased for Jason's funeral, and was waitiTig, tall and rigid, but with considerable internal " flusteration " (as she would Lave expressed it), on the verandah. One mental eye was directed towards the new owner, and the other to the fowls in the 34 HANXAII TIIUKSTOX. kitchen, whicli she had cut up the evening before, for a, fVio- assee, and which were thus rendered unfit for roasting. "Why, lie's a perfick stranger !" " If there's only time to make a pie oi 'em !" were the two thoughts which crossed each other in her brain. " Mrs. Babb ! there's no mistaking who you are!" exclaimed Woodbury, as he hastened with outstretched hand up the flagged walk. The old housekeeper gave him her long, bony hand in return, and made an attempt at a courtesy, a thing which she had not done for so long that one of her knee-joints cracked with the effort. " Welcome, Sir !" said she, with be- coming gravity. Woodbury thought she did not recognize him. " Why, don't you remember Max. ?" he asked. "Yes, I recoUex you as you was. And now I come to look, your eyes is jist the same. Dear, dear !" and in spite of herself two large tears slowly took their way down her lank cheeks. " If Miss Dennison and Henry could be here !" Then she wiped her eyes with her hand, rather than spoil the corner of her black silk apron. Stiffening her features the next moment, she turned away, exclaiming in a voice un- necessarily sharp: "Arbutus, why don't you put away the horse ?" The gentlemen entered the house. The hall-door had evi- dently not been recently used, for the lock grated with a sound of rust. The sitting-room on the left and the library beyond, were full of hazy sunshine and cheerful with the crackling of fires on the open hearth. Dust was nowhere to be seen, but the chairs stood as fixedly in their formal places as if screwed to the floor, and the old books seemed to be glued together in regular piles. None of the slight tokens of habit- ual occupation caught the eye — no pleasant irregularity of do- mestic life,— a newspaper tossed here, a glove there, a chair placed obliquely to a favorite window, or a work-stand or foot-stool drawn from its place. Mrs. Babb, it is true, witli a A STOUy OP ASIERICAN LIFTS. 31 desperate nttenipt at ornament, had gathered the most pro- Bentable of the chrysanthemums, with some sprigs of arbor- vitae, and stuck them into an old glass flower-jar.- Their pungent odor helped to conceal the faint musty smell which still lingered in the unused rooms. "I think we will sit here, Mrs. Babb," said Woodbury, leading the way into the library. "It was ahvays my favorite room," he added, turning to the lawyer, " and it has the finest view of the lake." "I'm afeard that's all you'll have," the housekeeper grimly remarked. " Things is terrible upside-down : you come so onexpected. An empty house makes more bother than a full one. But you're here now, an' you'll have to take it sich as it is." Therewith she retired to the kitchen, where Bute soon joined her. "Well, Mother Forty," he asked, "how do you like his looks? He's no more changed than I am, only on th' out- side. I don't s'pose he knows more than ever about farmin', but he's only got to let me alone and things '11 go right." "Looks is nothin'," the housekeeper answered. "Hand- some is that handsome does, I say. Don't whistle till you're out o' the woods, Bute. Not but what I'd ruther have him here than some o' them people down to Po'keepsy, that never took no notice o' her while she lived." "There's no mistake, then, about his bavin' bought the farm?" " I guess not, but I'll soon see." She presently appeared in the library, with a pitcher of cider and two glasses on a tray, and a plate of her best "jum- bles." " There's a few bottles o' Madary in the cellar," she said; "but you know I can't take nothin' without yoicr leave, Mr. Hammond — leastways, onless it's all fixed." Woodbury, however, quietly answered : " Tliank you, we will leave the wine until dinner. You can give us a meal, I presume, Mrs. Babb ?" 80 HANNAH THURSTON. " 'T wo'nt be what I'd like. I'd reckoned on a supf)er las' night, instid of a dinner to-day. Expect it 'U be pretty much pot-luck. However, I'll do what I can." Mrs. Babb then returned to the kitchen, satisfied, at least, that Mr. Maxwell Woodbury was now really the master of Lakeside A STOay OF AjiKEiCA^: ufe. 81 CHAPTER ni. ki rVENING OF GOSSIP, IN ■WHICH WE LEARIT SOMETHINH ABOUT THE PERSONS ALREADY SIENTIONED. After a long absence in India, Woorlbury had come home to find all his former associations bi-okun, even the familiar landmarks of his boyish life destroyed. His only near relative was an older sister, married some years before his departure, and now a stately matron, who was just beginning to enjoy a new importance in society from the beauty of her daughters. There was a small corner in her heart, it is true, for the exiled brother. The floor was swept, there; the room aired, and sufficient fire kept burning on the hearth, to take off the chill : but it was the chamber of an occasional guest rather than of an habitual inmate. She was glad to see him back again, es- pecially as his manners were thoroughly refined and his wealth was supposed to be large (indeed, common report greatly magnified it) : she would have lamented liis death, and have worn becoming mourning for him — would even have per- suaded her husband to assist him, had he i-eturned pemii- less. In short, Woodbury could not complain of his recep- tion, and the absence of a more intimate relation — of a sweet, sympathetic bond, springing from kinship of heart as well as of blood, was all the more lightly felt because such bond had never previously existed. In the dreams of home which haunted him in lonely hours, on the banks of the Hoogly or the breezy heights of Darjeel hig, Lakeside always first arose, and repeated itself most fi'e- quently and distinctly. " Aunt Dennison," as he was a', cus- tomed to call her, took the place, in his affectionate meir.or-, SB HAN.VAn THURSTON. of tlie lost inotliev whose features he could trace but dimly, far hack in the l":iint oousciousness of childhood. There seemed to be no other spot in the world to which he had a natural right to return. The friends whom he had left, in New York, as a young man of twenty-one, had become rest- ess, impetuous men of business, from whose natures every element of calm had been shaken, while he had slowly ani comfortably matured his manhood in the immemorial re;)c«Q of Asia. The atmosphere of the city at first excited, then wearied him. The wish to visit Lakeside was increasing in his mind, when he was one day startled by seeing the prop- erty advertised for sale, and instantly determined to become the purchaser. A correspondence with Mr. Hammond en- sued, and, as there was another competitor in the field, Wood- bury's anxiety to secure the old place led him to close the negotiations before he had found time to see it again. Now, however, he had made arrangements to spend the greater part of the winter there, as much on account of the certain repose and seclusion which he craved, as from the physical necessity of that tonic which the dry cold of the inland offered to his languid tropical blood. No disposal had yet been made of the stock and implements belonging to the farm, which had not been included in the purchase of the estate. Woodbury's object in buying the land had no reference to any definite plan of his future life. He had come back from India with a fortune which, though moderate, absolved him from the necessity of labor. He sim- ply wished to have a home of his own — an ark of refuge to which he could at any time return — a sheltered spot where some portion of his life might strike root. His knowledge of farming was next to nothing. Yet the fields could not be al lowed to relapse into wilderness, the house must have a house- keeper, and the necessity of continuing the present occupants in their respective functions was too apparent to be discussed. For the present, at least, Mrs. Babb and Arbutus were indis- pensable adherents of the property. A STOIIV OP AM.KU1CAN TJFE. Sfl After dinner, Mr. Hammond paid tliem what was due from the estate. Bute turned the money over uneasily in his hand, grew red in the face, and avoided meeting the eye of the new owner. Mrs. Babb straightened her long spine, took out a, buckskin purse, and, having put the money therein, began rubbing the steel clasp with the comer of her apron. Wood- bury, then, with a few friendly words, expressed his pleasure at haping found them in charge of Lakeside, and his desire that each should continue to serve him in the same capacity as before. Mrs. Babb did not betray, by the twitch of a muscle, the relief she felt. On the contrary, she took credit to herself for accepting her good fortune. " There's them that would like to have me," said she. "Mrs. Dennison never havin' said nothin' ag'in my housekeepin', but the reverse; and I a'n't bound to stay, for want of a good home ; but somebody must keep house for ye, and I'd hate to see things goin' to wrack, after keerin' for 'em, a matter o' twenty year. Well — I'll stay, I guess, and do my best, as I've always done it." " Et tu, Bute ?" said Mr. Hammond, whose small puns had gained him a reputation for wit, in Tiberius. Bute understood the meaning, not the words. "I'm glad Mr. Max. wants mc," he answei-ed, eagerly. " I'd hate to leave the old place, though I'm able to get my livin' most anywheres. But it'd be like leavin' home — and jist now, with that two- year old colt to break, and a couple o' steers that I'm goin' to yoke in the spring — it wouldn't seem natural, like. Mr. Max. and me was boys together here, and I guess we can hitch teams without kickin' over the traces." After arranging for an inventory and appraisal of the live stock, farming implements, and the greater part of the furni- ture, which Woodbury decided to retain, Mr. Hammond took his departure. Mrs. Babb prepared her tea at the usual early hour. After some little hesitation, she took her seat at the table, but evaded participation in the meal. Mr. Woodbury sat much longer than she was accustomed to see, in the people 40 iiAXNAii tiiuuston: of Ptolemy : lie sipped his tea slowly, and actually accepted a fourtli cup. Mrs. Babb's gratification reached its height when he began to praise her ])reserved quinces, but on his unthink- ingly declaring them to be " better than ginger," her grimnesa returned. " Better than ginger ! I should think so !" was her mental exclamation. Throwing himself into the old leather arm-chair before tlie libi-ary fire, Woodbury enjoyed the perfect stillness of the No- vember evening. The wind had fallen, and the liglit of a half- moon lay upon the landscape. The vague illumination, the shadowy outlines of the distant hills, and that sense of isola/- tion from the world which now returned upon him, gratefully brought back the half-obliterated moods of his Indian life. He almost expected to hear the soft whish of the punka above his head, and to find, suddenly, the " hookah-burdar" at his elbow. A cheerful hickory-fed flame replaced the one, and a ripe Havana cigar the other; but his repose was not des- tined to be left undisturbed. " The world" is not so easy to escape. Even there, in Ptolemy, it existed, and two of its special agents (self-created) already knocked at the door of Lakeside. The housekeeper ushered Mr. Hamilton Bue and the Hon. Zeno Harder into the library. The latter, as Member of the Legislature, considered that this call was due, as, in some sort, an ofiicial welcome to his district. Besides, his next aim was the State Senate, and the favor of a new resident, whose wealth would give him influence, could not be secured toe soon. Mr. Bue, as the host of the previous evening, enjoyed an advantage over the agent of the " Etna," which he was not Blow to use. His politeness was composed of equal parts of curiosity and the " Saratoga Mutual." " We thought. Sir," said the Hon. Zeno, entering, " that your first evening here might be a little lonesome, and you'd , be glad to have company for an hour or so." The Mi^mber was a coarse, obese man, with licavy chaps, A STOEY OF AMEKICAN LIFE. 41 thick, flat lips, small eyes, bald crown, nnd a voice wiiich had been made harsli and aggressive in its tone by much vigorous oratory in the open air. The lines of his figure were rounded, it is true, but it was the lumpy roundness of a potato rather than the swelling, opulent curves of well-padded muscle Mr. Hamilton Bue, in contrast to him, seemed to be made of angles. His face and hands had that lean dryness which sug gests a body similarly constructed, and makes us thankful for the invention of clothing. He was a prim, precise business man, as the long thiu nose and narrow lips indicated, with a trace of weakness in the retreating chin. Neither of these gentlemen posfeessed a particle of that grapy bloom of ripe manhood, which tells of generous blood in either cell of the double heart. In one the juice was dried up ; in the other it had become thick and slightly rancid. They were not the visitors whom Woodbury would have chosen, but the ostensible purpose of their call demanded acknowledgment. He therefore gave them a cordial welcome, and drew additional chairs in front of tlie fire. Tlie Hon. Zeno, taking a cigar, elevated his feet upon the lower mould- ing of the wooden mantel-piece, spat in the fire, and re- marked : " You find Ptolemy changed, I dare say. Let, me see — when were you here last ? In '32 ? I must have been study- ing law in Tiberius at that time. Oh, it's scarcely the same place. So many went West after the smash in '37, and new people have come in — new people and new idees, I may say." " We have Certainly shared in the general progression of the country, even during my residence here," said Mr. Ham- ilton Bue, carefully assuming his official style. "Ten years ago, there were but thirty-seven names on the books of the Saratoga Mutual. Now we count a hundred and thirteen. But there is a reason for it : the Company pays its loss punc- tually — most punctually." Unconscious of this dexterous advertising, Woodbury 42 HA^TNAH THUESTON: answered the Hon. Zeno : " Since I am to be, for a while, a member of your community, I am interested in learning some- thing more about it. What are the new ideas you mentioned, Mr. Harder?" " Well, Sir, — I can't exactly say that Hunkerism is a new thing in politics. I'm a Barnburner, you must know, and since the split it seems like new parties,, though we hold on to the old principles. Then there's the Temperance Reform — ■ swep' every thing before it, at first, but slacking ofi" just now. The Abolitionists, it's hardly worth while to count — there's so few of them — ^but they make a mighty noise. Go for Non- Resistance, Women's Rights, and all other Isms. So, you see, compared to the old times, when 'twas only Whig and Demo- crat, the deestrict is pretty well stirred up." Mr. Bue, uncertain as to the views of his host upon some of the subjects mentioned, and keeping a sharp eye to his own interests, here remarked in a mild, placable tone : " I don't know that it does any harm. People must have their own opinions, and there's no law to hinder it. In fact, frequent discussion is a means of intellectual improvement." " But what's the use of discussing what's contrary to Scrip- tur' and Reason?" cried the Hon. Zeno, in his out-door voice. " Our party is for Free Soil, and you can't go further under the Constitution, — so, what's the use in talking ? Non- Resistance might be Christian enough, if all men was saints ; but we've got to take things as we find 'em. When you're hit, hit back, if you want to do any good in these times. As for AVomen's Rights, it's the biggest humbug of all. A pretty mess we should be in, if it could be carried out ! Think of my wife taking the stump against Mrs. Blackford, and me and Ijim doing the washing and cooking !" " Who was the Abolitionist — for such I took him to be with whom you were talking, last evening, at Mr. Bue's ?" Woodbury asked. " Wattles— a tailor in Ptolemy — one of the worst fanatics among 'em!" the irate Zeuo replied. "Believes in all the A STORY OF AMEKIOAN LIFE. 43 Isms, and tliiiiks himself a great Refovmer. It's disgusting to hear a man talk about Women's llights, as he does. I don't mind it so much in Hannah Thurston ; but the fact is, she's more of a man than the most of 'era." "Hannah Thurston! Is not that the lady who sang — a pale, earnest-looking girl, in a gray dress?" "Idid'nt notice her dress," the Member answered. "She sings, though — not much voice, but what she has tells amaz- ingly. Between ourselves, I'll admit that she's a first-rato speaker — that is, for a woman. I was tempted to have a round with her, at the last meeting they held ; but then, you know, a woman always has you at a disadvantage. You daren't give it back to them as sharp as you get it." " Do you really mean that she makes public harangues ?" exclaimed Woodbury, who, in his long absence from home, had lost sight of many new developments in American society. "Yes, and not bad ones, either, when you consider the sub- ject. Her mother used to preach in Quaker Meetings, so it doesn't seem quite so strange as it might. Besides, she isn't married, and one can make some allowance. But when Sarah Merryfield gets up and talks of the tyranny of man, it's a little too much for me. I'd like to know, now, exactly what her meek lout of a husband thinks about it." " Is Mrs. Waldo, also, an advocate of the new doctrine?" "She? No indeed. She has her rights already : that is, all that a woman properly knows how to use. Though I don't Uke the Cimmei-ian doctrine — Mr. Waldo is pastor of the Cimmerians — yet I think she's a much better Christian than the Merryfields, who still hang on to our Church." " What are the Cimmerians ?" inquired Woodbury. " Are they so called from the darkness of their doctrines ?" The Hon. Zeno did not understand the classical allusion. " They're followers of the Rev. Beza Cimmer," he said. " Ila was first a Seceder, I believe, but differed with them on the doctrine of Grace. Besides, they think that Baptism, to be i4 HANNAH thueston: saving, mnst be in exact imitation of that of the Saviour, The preacher wears a hair garment, like John the Baptist, when he performs the ceremony, and the converts long, white >-obes. They pick out some creek for their Jordan, and do not allow outsiders to be present. They don't grew in num- bers, and have but a very small congregation in Ptolemy. lu f»ct, Mr. Waldo is considered rather shaky by some of the o.der members, who were converted by Cimmer himself, lie don't hold very close communion." A part of this explanation was incomprehensible to Wood- bury, who was not yet familiar with the catch-words which fall so glibly from the mouths of country theologians. He detected the Member's disposition to harangue instead of converse — a tendency which could only be prevented by a frequent and dexterous change of subject. " Your church," he said : — " I take it for granted you refer to that of Mr. Stylus, — seems to be in a flourishing condition." " Yes," replied Mr. Hamilton Bue, " we have prospered imder his ministry. Some have backslidden, it is true, but we have had encouraging seasons of revival. Our ladies are now vei-y earnest in the work of assisting the Jutnapore Mission. Mrs. Boerum is from Syracuse, and a particular friend of Miss Eliza Clancy. I think Miss Eliza herself would have gone if she had been called in time. You know it requires a double call." "A double call ! Excuse me if I do not quite understand you," said the host. " Wiiy, of course, they must first be called to the wm'Tc; and then, as they can't go alone among the heathen, they must afterwards depend on a personal call from some un- married missionary. Now Miss Clancy is rather too ola for that." Woodbury could not repress a smile at this naive statement, although it was made with entire gravity. " I have seen some^ thing of your missions in India," he at last remarked, « and believe that they are capable of accomplishing much good A ST014Y 01' AMEIUCAJS' LIFE. 44 Still, you must not expect immediate returns. It is only th*) lowest caste that is now reached, and the Christianizing of India must come, eventually, from the highest." Rather than disotiss a subject «f which he Avas ignorant, the Hon. Zeno started a new topic. " By the way, the next meet- ing of the Sewing Union will be at Merryfield's. Shall you attend, Mr. Woodbury ?" " Yes. They are among the few persons who have kept ruo in good remembrance, though they, too, from what you have said, must be greatly changed since I used to play with their son Absalom. I am very soriy to hear of his death." " It is a pityji' replied the Member, biting off the end of a fresh cigar. " Absalom was really a fine, promising fellow, but they spoiled him with their Isms. They were Graliamites for a year or two — lived on bran bread and turnips, boiled wheat and dried apples. Absalom took up that and the water-cure, and wanted to become a patent first-class reformer. Now, Temperance is a good thing — though I can't quite go the Maine Law — but water inside of you and outside of yoii, summer and winter alike, isn't temperance, according to my idee. He had a spell of pleurisy, one winter, and doc-tored himself for it. His lungs were broken up, after that, .ind he went off the very next fall. They set a great deal of store by him." " Is it possible that such delusions are held by intelligent persons ?" exclaimed Woodbury, shocked as well as sur- prised. " I hope these theories are not included in the gene- ral progress of which Mr. Bue spoke. But I have almost for- gotten my duty as a host. The nights are getting cold, gen- tlemen, and perhaps you will take a glass of wine." The Hon. Zeno's small eyes twinkled, and his lips twitched liquorously. " Well — I don't care if I do," said he. Mr. Hamilton Bue was silent, and slightly embarrassed. He had found it necessary to join the Temperance Society, be- cause the reform was a popular one. Ho always went with the current as soon as it became too strong to stem con 46 HANNAH THUESTON : Fenicntly. But the temptation to indulge still Inrked in his thin blood. It was evident that the Member, for his own sake, would not mention the circumstance, and Mr. Wood- bury, in all probability, would never think of it again. Some of Mrs. Babb's "Madary" presently twinkled like smoky topaz in the light of the wood-fire. Mr. Bue at first Bipped hesitatingly, like a bather dipping his toes, with a shudder, into the waters of a cold river ; but having onco reached the bottom of the glass— so quickly, indeed, that it excited his own surprise— he made the next plunge with the boldness of a man accustomed to it. "You will attend church, I presume, Mr. Woodbury?" said he. "Of course you have convictions." " Certainly," Woodbury answered, without a clear idea of what was meant by the word — "very strong ones." " Of course — it could not be otherwise. I «iall be very glad if you will now and then accept a seat in my pew. Mr. Styles is a great authority on Galatians, and I am sure you will derive spiritual refreshment from his sermons." Here the Hon. Zeno rose and commenced buttoning his coat, as a signal of departure. Growing confidential from his inner warmth, he placed one hand affectionately on Wood- bury's shouldei-, somewhat to the latter's disgust, and said: " Now you are one of us, Woodbury, you must take an active part in our political concerns. Great principles are at stake, Sir, and the country has need of men like you. Let me warn you against the Hunkers — their game is nearly played out I'll be most happy. Sir, to explain to you the condition of parties. You'll find me well posted up." Mr. Bue took occasion to make a parting hint in the interest of the Saratoga Mutiril. " If you wish to have your house in- sured, Mr. Woodbury,'' said he, " I shall be glad to send you our pamphlets. The Company is so well known, fortunately, that its name is a suflicient recommendation." The owner of Lakeside stood on the verandah, watching his guests drive down the maple avenue. As the sound of A BTOBT or AMBKICAJSr UFE. 4' their wheels sank below the brow of the hill, the muffled voice of Roaring Brook came softly to him, across the dai'k meadows. A part of Atauga Lake threw back the light of the descending moon. " Here," thought he, " is the com- mencement of a new existence. It is not the old, boyish lifo of which I dreamed, but something very different. I foresee that I shall have to accustom myself to many features of this society, which are not attractive — some of them even repng. nant — and perhaps the only counterbalancing delight left to nie will be the enjoyment of this lovely scenery, the peace of this secluded life. Will that be suiBcient? Or will these oaks and pines at last pall upon my eye, like the palms and banyans of the East ? No : one cannot be satisfied with ex- ternal resources. I must study, with a liberal human interest, the characteristics of this little community, however strange or repellant they may seem ; and certainly, after making friends among the fossilized Brahmins, there must be a few among my fellow-Christians and fellow-countrymen, whom I can heartily respect and love. Those long Indian years must be placed in a closed Past, and I must adapt myself to habits and associations, which have become more foreign than familiar to me." 4i HAXNAH TiIUESTO>: CHAFTER IV. iJJ ISTBEVIKW ON THE BOAD, AND A NEW IIOUSEHOU). The Indian Summer still held its ground, keeping back the winter's vanguard of frost and keen nor' westers. Day by day the smoky air became more densely blue and still, and the leaves, long since dead, hung upon the trees for want of a loosening wind. The hickory-nuts fell by their own weight, pattering here and there in the woods, in single smart raps, and giving out a vigorous balsamic odor, as their cleft rinds burst open. Only at night a gathering chill and a low moan- ing in the air gave the presage of an approaching change in the season. On one of those warm forenoons which almost reproduce the languor and physical yearning of the opening Spring, Bute Wilson, mounted on Dick, the old farm-horse, jogged slowly along the road to Ptolemy, whistling " The Rose that All are Praising," a melody which he had learned at the einging-school. Bute was bound for the village, on a variety of errands, and carried a basket on his arm. Dick's delibe- rate gait seemed to be in harmony with the current of his thoughts. The horse understood his rider, and knew very well when to take his ease, and when to summon up the little life left in his stiff old legs. Horses are better interpreters of one's moods than tlie most of one's hnman friends. Bute was a very good specimen of the American countiy- man. A little over the average height, and compacted of coarse, hardy fibre, he possessed, in spite of the common stock from which he had sprung, the air of independent self- respect which a laboring man can only acquire in a comma- A STORY OF A.MEEICAN LIFE. 49 nity where caste is practically ignored. His independence, liowever, had not degenerated into impudence : he knew his deficiencies of nature and education, and did not attempt to ofFset them by a ^ ulgar assertion of equality.- He could sit nt Mr. Woodbury's table (using the Icnife a little too freely) without embarrassment, and could take his dinner in tlie kitchen without being conscious of degradation. His horses, cattle, and crops occupied the first place in his mind — liim- self— no, another person had the second place — ^and his own personality gave him the least ttouble. He was a general favorite in the neighborhood, and his position was, perhaps, more fortunate than he knew, though the knowledge of it would not have m.ide him happier than he was. He was hon- estly respected by those below, and not looked down upon by those above him. This consideration was won by his thorough frankness, simplicity, and kindness of heart. His face was too broad and his nose too thick, to be called handsome ; but there were fewer eye* into which men looked with more satis- faction than the pair of large blue-gray ones, divided by the nose aforesaid. His forehead was rather low, but open and smooth, and his yellow haii-, cui-ling a little at the ends, grew back from the temples with a sturdy set, as if determined that they should not be hidden. Add to these traits a voice mel- low in spite of its volume — ^the cattle understood its every in flection — and it is easy to perceive that Bute was in especial favor with the opposite sex. From head to foot, Nature had Written upon him : This man is a male. B'lte had climbed the rise beyond Roaring Brook, when his revorfes, whatevejajtey might have been, were interrupted by Ihe sight of a woman, walking towards Ptolemy, a short dis- tance in advance of him. Althougli no other person was near, to play the spy, he felt the blood creeping up to his ears, as he looked keenly and questioningly at the little figure, in its dark-bJiie merino dress, tripping forward with short, quick steps. Dick noticed the change in his master, and broke into a trot down the gentle slope. At the sound of hoofs, the figure 3 60 HANNAH THURSTON : turned, disclosing a bunch of brown ringlets and a saucy little nose, then drew to one side of the road and stopped. "Good-morning, Miss Carrie!" cried Bute, as he drew roin, on approaching : " I thought it was you. Goin' to Ptolemy ? So am I. Git up on the bank, and I'll take ye on behind uie. Dick'll carry double— he's as quiet as a lamb. Here, I'll jerk off my coat for you to set on." And he had his right arm out of the sleeve before he had finished speaking. "Ah!" cried the lady, affecting a mild scream; "No, in- deed, Mr. Wilson ! I am so afraid of horses. Besides, 1 don't think it -would look right." It suddenly occurred to Bute's mind, that, in order to ride as he had proposed, she would be obliged to clasp him with both arms. Heaving a sigh of regret, he drew on his coat and jumped off the horse. "Well, if you won't ride with me, I'll walk with yon, any how. How's your health. Miss Carrie ?" offering his hand. "Very well, I thank you, Mr. Wilson. How's Mrs. B.abb? And I hear th.it Mr. Woodbury has come to live with you." Miss Caroline Dilworth was too well satisfied at meeting with Bute, to decline his proffered company. She was on her way from the house of a neighboring farmer, where she had been spending a fortnight as seamstress, to the cottage of the widow Thurston, who lived on the edge of the village. The old lady's health was declining, and Miss Dilworth occasionally rendered a friendly assistance to the daughter. They were both ahways glad to see the lively, chattering creature, in sjiite of her manifold weaknesses and affectations. She was twenty- five years of age, at least, but assumed alL^.e timidity and in- experience of a girl of sixteen, always Avearing her hair in a mesh of natural ringlets which hung about her neck, and talk- ing with a soft childish drawl, unless — wiiieh rarely hap]ien- ed — she was so very much in earnest as to forget herself. Her nose was piquantly retmissk, her month small and chorry-red, and her complexion fair (for she took great care of it) ; but her eyes inclined to p.ile-grcen rather th.an blue, and she had A S'lOUT OF AJIEEICAN LIEE. 51 an affected habit of dropping the lids. Perhaps this was to conceal the unpleasant redness of their edges, for they were oftentimes so inflamed as to obli^her to suspend her occupa- tion. Her ambition was, to become a teaclier — a post for which she was not at all qualified. Hannah Thurston, how- ever, had kindly offered to assist her in preparing herself for the coveted career. What it was that attracted Bute Wilson to Miss Dilworth, lie was unable to tell. Had the case been reversed, we should not wonder at it. Only this much was certain ; her society was a torment to him, her absence a pain. He would have cut off his little finger for the privilege of just once lifting her in his strong arms, and planting a kiss square upon the provok- ing mouth, which, as if conscious of its surplus of sweetness, oould say so many bitter things to liira. Bute hal never spoken to her of the feeling which slie inspired in him. Why should he? She knew just how he felt, and he knew that she knew it. She played witii him as he had many a time played with a big trout at the end of his line. Over and over agani he had been on the point of giving her up, out of sheer worri- ment and exhaustion of soul, when a sudden look from those downcast eyes, a soft word, half whispered in a voice whose dehbevate sweetness tingled through him, from heart to finger- ends, bound him faster than ever. Miss Dilwortii little sus- pected Low many rocks she had sledged to pieces, how many extra swaths she had mowed in June, and shocks of corn she had husked in October, thi'ough Bute Wilson's aim. If Mr. Woodbury were a cimning employer, lie would take measures to prolong this condition of suspense. On the present occasion, the affected little minx was un- usually gracious towards her victim. She had a keen curiosity to gratify. " Now, Bute," said she, as they started together towards Ptolemy, Bute leading Dick by the bridle ; " I want you to tell me all about this Mr. Woodbury. What kind of a man is he ?" " He's only been with us three or four days. To be sure, ] 53 HANNAH THURSTON : kno-wed him as a toy, but that's long ago, and T may have to learn him over ag'in. It won't be a hard thing to do, though j he's a gentleman, if tliere eyjer was one. He's a man that'll always do what's right, if he knows how." " I mean, Bute, how he looks. Tall or short? Is he hand- enmo ? Isn't he burnt very black, or is it worn oif ?" " Not so many questions at once. Miss Carrie. Ho a'n't blacker 'n I'd be now, if I was complected Uke him. Tall, yon might call him — nigh two inches niore'n I am, and a rog'lar pictur' of a man, though a bit thinner than he'd ought to bo. But I dunno whether yoxCd call him handsome : women has sich queer notions. Now, there's that Seth "VVattles,»that you think sich a beiauty — " >'* Bute Wilson ! You know I don't think any such thing! It's Seth's mind that I admire. There's such a thing as moral and intellectual beauty, but that you don't understand." "No, hang it! — nor don't Want to, if Ae's got it! I believe in a man's doin' whiU he purtends to do--keepin' his mind on his work, whatever it is. If Seth Wattles lays out to be a tailor, let him he one : if he wants to be a moral and intel- lectual beauty, he may try that, for all I keer — but he can't do both to once't. I wish he'd make better trowsus, or give up his business." Miss Dil worth knew her own weakness, and carefully avoid- ed entering into a discussion. She was vexed that one of the phrases she had caught from Hannah Thurston, and wliich she liad frequently used with nuich effect, had rattled harmlessly against the hard mail of Bute's common sense. At another time she would have taken — or have seemed to take— ofl'once, at his rough speech ; but she had not yet heard enou leaves, upon which we first found her engaged. Such an album, contributed by her to the Anti-Slavery Fair, the previ ous year, had enriched the treasury of the Society by the sura often dollars, and the managers had begged a second donatioB of the same kind. 3* d8 HANNAH tiiueston: Catcliing a glimpse of Miss Dilworth through the .vhidow. she rose to receive her. In stature, she was somewhat above the average height of women, though not noticeably tall, and a little too slender for beauty. Her hands were thin, but finely formed, and she carried them as if they were a conscious portion of herself, not an awkward attachment. Her face would have been a perfect oval, except that the forehead, in stead of being low and softly rounded, was rather squarely developed in the reflective region, and the cheeks, though not thin, lacked the proper fulness of outhne. Her hair was of a rich, dark'brown, black in shadow, and the delicate arches of the eye-brows were drawn with a clear, even pencil, above the earnest gray eyes, dark and deep under the shadow of their long lashes. The nose was faultless, and the lips, although no longer wearing their maidenly ripeness and bloom, were so pure in outline, so sweetly firm in their closing junction, so lovely in their varj iug play of expression, that the life of her face seemed to dwell in them alone. Her smile had a rare benignity and beauty. The paleness of her face, being, to some extent, a feature of her physical temperament, did not convey the impression of impaired health : a ruddy tint would not have harmonized with the spiritual and sensitive character of her countenance. No one would have dreamed of calling Hannah Thurston a beauty. In society nine men would have passed her without a thought; but the tenth would have stood siill, and said : " Here is a woman ' to sit at a king's right hand, in thmidcr-storms,' " and would have carried her face in his memory forever. The severest test of a woman is to play an exceptional part in the world. Her respect, her dignity, her virtue itself, be- come doubtful, if not mythical, in the eyes of men. In the small circle of Ptolemy, Hannah Thurston had subjected her- self to this test, and it was no slight triumph for her, had she known it, that, while her views were received with either hor- ror or contempt, while the names of her fellow priestesses oi prophetesses were bandied about in utter disrespect, she was A STOIiV OP ASIEitTCAN LIFB. 59 never personally ridiculed. No tongue dared to whisper an insinuation against either her sincerity or her purity. This, however, was partly owing to the circumstances of her life in the place. She had first achieved popularity as a teacher, and honor as a daughter. Among other things, it was generally re- ported and believed that she liad declined an offer of marriage, advantageous in a worldly point of view, and the act was set down to her credit as wholly one of duty towards her mother. lu her plain brown dress, with linen collar and cuffs, the only ornament being a knot of blue ribbon at the throat, she also, appeared to be a Quakeress ; yet, she had long since per- ceived that the external forms of the sect had become obsolete, and no longer considered herself bound by them. Some con. cession in dress, howevei-, was still due for her mother's sake, beyond whose rapidly shortening span of life she could see no aim in her own, unless it were devoted to righting the wrongs of her sex. She had had her girlish dreams ; but the next birthday was her thirtieth, and she had already crossed, in re- solve, that deep gulf in a woman's life. Miss Caroline Dilworth, in her blue dress, came as if dipped in the Indian Summer, with a beryl gleam in her eyes, as she darted into the sitting-room. She caught Hannah Thurston around the waist, and kissed her twice : she was never known to greet her female friends with less. Then, leaning gently over the rocking-chair, she took the old woman's hand. " Take off thy bonnet, child," said the latter, " and push thy hair back, so that I can see thy face. I'm glad thee's come." " Oh, Friend Thurston, I was so afraid I couldn't get away from Parkman's. It's a lonely place, you know, over the hill, and she's hard of hearing. Ah ! I'm out of breath, yet" — and therewith heaving a sigh of relief, the little creature threw ofT her shawl and untied the strings of her bonnet. Their life had so much in it that was grave and earnest — their conversation naturally turning to the ]iast rather than the futm-e — that the Thurstons always felt themselves cheeied 60 HANNAH THUBSTON : by Miss Dilwortli's visits. She dropped her affectations in their presence, and became, for the time, a light-liearted, ami- able, silly woman. She never arrived without a fresh budget of gossip, generally of slight importance, but made piquant by Uer rattling way of telling it. "How thee does run on !" Friend Thurston would somO' times say, whereupon the sempstress would only toss her curls and run on all the more inveteratcly. " Oh, I must tell you all about Lakeside and the new owner !" she exclaimed, as she settled herself into a chair. Hannah Thurston could probably have told her more about Mr. Woodbui-y than she already knew; but it would have been unkind to cut short the eager narrative, and so Bute's re- poi't, with many additions and variations, was served out to chem in chaptei-s, during the afternoon. > STCIIY Oif AJILIilCAN LIFE. 61 CHAPTER V. IN WUICn MIS. WOODBURY HEARS A WOJrAN SPEAK. Is his intercourse with the society of his new home, Wood- bury found fewi'r distasteful circumstaitoes to be overlooked, than he had at tirst feared. The novelty of the experience had its charm, and, as his mind i-ecovered something of that active irterest in men which he had almost unlearned, he was surprised to find how vital and absorbing his relations with them became. From the very earnestness of his views, how- ever, he was reticent in the expression of them, and could with difficulty accustom himself to the discussion, in mixe(i society, oi subjects which are usually only broached in the cor.tidential inti- macy of friends. Not merely "Fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute," but the privacy of individual faiths, doubts, and as- pirations, became themes of discussion ; even the shrinking sanctity of love was invaded, and the ability to converse fluently was taken by the community of Ptolemy as a sign of capacity to feel deeply on those subjects. At the dinners and evening parties of the English, an in(el- leotual as well as a social propriety is strictly observed, and the njan who makes a habit of producing for general inspection, his religious convictions or his moral experiences, is speedily voted a bore. Maxwell Woodbury, whose long residence in Calcutta had fixed his habits, in this respect, was at first inorb amused than shocked, at the abandon with which spiritual intimacies were exchanged, In the society of Ptolemy. He soon learned, however, that much of this talk was merely a superfi- cial seutimeatahsm, and that the true sanctities of the speakers' GS IIAXNAII TIIURSTOX: hearts -worfi violntcd more in appearance tiian in fact. Never. tlieless, he felt no inclination to take part in conversation of this character, ami fell into the habit of assuming a mystical, paraddxical tone, whenever he was forcibly drawn into the discussion. Sometimes, indeed, he was tempted to take tlie opposite side of the views advocated, simply in orfler to extoi't more rtickless and vehement utterances from their defenders. It is not surpi-ising, therefore, that his lack of earnestness, — ^as it seemed to the others — was attributed by many to a stolid indifference to humanity. Seth Wattles even went so far aa to say : " I should not wonder if he had made his money in the accursed opium traffic." The two topics which, for him, possessed an intrinsically re- pellant character, happened to be those which were at that time most actively discussed : Spiritualism and Women's Rights. He h.id seen the slight-of-hand of the Indian jugglers, far more wonderful than any feats supernaturally performed in the presence of mediums, and the professed commimications from the world of spirits struck him as being raoi-e inane twaddle than that which fell from the lips of the living be- lievers. He had not lived thirty-six years without as much knowledge of woman as a single man may profitably acquire; and the better he knew the sex, the more tender and profound became his regard. To him, in his strength, however, the re- lation of protector was indispensable ; the rudest blows of life must first fall upon his shield. The idea of an independent strength, existing side by side with his, yet without requiring its support, was unnatural and repulsive. Aunt Deimison, in her noble self abnegation as wife and mother, was more queenly in his eyes, than Mary Wollstonecraft or Mad.ime de Stacl. It was difficult for him to beheve how any truly refined and feminine woman could claim for her sex a share in the special occupations of man. There is always a perverse fate which attracts one into the very situations he wishes to avoid. On the evening when tlie Sewing-Union met at Merryfield's, Woodbury happened to be A s:-o:iv OP ameimcax life. 63 (Ira\vn into a group wliicli coutniiied Mrs. Wiildo, ILmn.ih Thurston, and . the host. The latter was speaking of a plan for a Female Medical College. "It'is the first step," said he, "and its success will over- throw the dynasty of ideas, under which woman has been crushed, as it were." The plS-ase : " dynasty of ideas," he had borrowed from a recent lecturer. "Well", said Mrs. Waldo, musingly, "if it went no further I should not have much to say against it, for we know that women are the best nurses, and they may make tolerable doc- tors. But I should prefer that somebody else than myself made the beginning." " You are right," remarked Woodbury ; "it is not pleasant to think of a woman standing at a dissecting-table, with a scalpel in her hand, and a quarter of a subject before her." Hannah Thurston shuddered inwardly, but at once took up the gauntlet. " Why not ?" she asked. " Are not women capable of this, and more than this, for the sake of knowledge that will enable them to do good? Or is it because their minds are too weak to grapple with tlie mysteries of science?" Woodbury, to avoid a discussion to which he was so Btroiigly averse, assumed a gay, bantering tone. "In the presence of ladies/' he said, smiling^and partly directing his words to Mrs. Waldo, " there is only one way of answering the latter question." Hannah Thurston was of too earnest a nature to endure trifling — for such seemed his reply. Her gray eyes kindled with an emotion a very little milder than contempt. " So !" she exclaimed, "we. must still endure the degradation of hollow compliment. We are still children, and our noise can be quieted with sugar-plums !" "I beg your pardon, Miss Thurston !" Woodbury gravely answered. " My apparent disi-espect was but a shift to avoid discussing a subject which I have never seriously considered, and which, I will only say, seems to me a matter of instinct rather than of argument. Besides," he added, " I believe 64 HANNAH jhlksio.n : Mrs. Waldo, as our dit^tatress, jiroliibits tlebate on thes* occasions." The lady referred to immediately came to his assistance, " I do prohibit it ;" said she, -with a magisterial wave of tlie hand; "and you cannot object to my authority, Hannah, dncG you have a chance to defend our sex, and cover with confusion all such incorrigible bachelors as Mr. Woodbury, on Thursday next. I'm sure he's a misanthrope, or — mis — what- ever you call it.'' " A misogynist ?" Woodbury gayly suggested. "No, no, Mrs. Waldo. Do not you, as a clergyman's wife, know that there may be a devotional feeling so profound as to find the pale of any one sect too narrow ?" Hannah Thurston looked earnestly at the speaker. What ■did he mean ? — was that also jest ? she asked herself. She was unaccustomed to such mental self-possession. IMost of the men she knew would have answered her with spirit, coth sidering that to decline a challenge thrown down by a woman was equivalent to acknowledging the intellectual equality of the sexes — this being the assertion which they most strenu- ously resisted. Mr. Woodbury, however, had withdrawn as a matter of taste and courtesy. She had given him the opportunity of doing so,jp, little to her own discomfiture, and was conscious that her self-esteem was wounded by the result. She could not quite forgive hira for this, though his manner, she felt, compelled respect. At the risk of having her silence misinterpreted, she made no reply. Woodbury, who had not understood Mrs. Waldo's allusion, took an opportunity, later in the evening, to ask for an ex planation. " I thought you had heard," said she. " There is to be a liieeting in favor of Women's Rights, on Thursday afternoon, at the Hall, in I'tolemy. Mr. Bemis, the great advocate of the reform, is to be there, and I believe they expect Bessie Stryker." " Who is Bess'e Sti-yker ?" A STOKY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 86 " Mr. Woodbury ! It's well yon did not ask Hannnli Tlinrs- ton that question. You've been out of the country — I had forgotten that ; but I should think you must have heard of her in' Calcutta. She has travelled all over the country, lecturing on the subject, and has made such a name as a speaker that everybody goes to hear her. She is quite pretty, and wears the new Bloomer dress." '■■ Really, you excite my curiosity. I must attend this meeting, if only to show Miss Thurston that I am above the vulgar prejudice which I presume she imputes to me." " Oh, no, Mr. Woodbury. Hannah Thurston is not unjust, whatever faults she may have. But you should know that she has a dislike — morbid, it seems to rae — of the compliments which you men generally pay to us women. For my part, I see no harm in them." " Both of you, at least, are candid," replied Woodbury, laughing, "and that trait, with me, covers a multitude of weaknesses." Woodbury went to the meeting on the following Thursday, muck as he would have attended a Brahminical festival in honor of the Goddess Unna-Purna. He felt no particular interest in the subject to be treated, except a curiosity to know how it could be rendered plausible to a semi-intelligent auditory. Of Ptolemy, privately and socially, he had seen something, but he had not yet mingled with Ptolemy in public. " The Hall,'" as it was called (being the only one in the place), was a brick btiildiiig, situated on the principal street. Its true name was Tumblety Hull, from tlie builder and owner, Mr. Jabez Tumblety, who had generously bestowed his name upon it in consideration of receiving ten per cent, on his in- vestment, from the lease of it to phrenologists, the dancing BChool, Ethiopian Minstrels, exhibitors of laughing gas, lec- turers on anatomy (the last lecture exclusively for gentlemen), jugglers, temperance meetings, caucuses of the Hunkers and Barnburners, and, on Sundays, to the Bethesdeans in the 68 HANNAH thukston: moming and the Spiritualists in the evening. Its internal aspect was rather shabby. The roughly-plastered walls oftered too great a temptation for the pencils and chaicoal of nu- fledged artists, when bored by a \\indy orator. Various grotesque heads, accompanied by names and dates, made up for the absence of frescoes, but the talent thus displayed did not seem to be appreciated, for under some of them wag written, in a later hand : " he is a fool." ■ The benches were of unpainted pine, with long back-rails, which, whei-e they had not been split off by the weight of the leaning crowd, were jagged with whittled notches. Along the further end of the hall ran a platform, raised three feet above the floor, and containing a table, three arm-chairs, and two settees. The floor might have been swept, but had not recently been washed, to judge from the stains of tobacco-juice by which it was mottled. When Woodbury entered, the seats were nearly all occu pied, an audience of five hundred persons being in attendance. Most of them were evidently from the country; some, indeed, who Avere favorably inclined to the cause, had come from Mul- ligansville and Atauga City. All the loafers of Ptolemy were there, of course, and occupied good seats. The few members of the respectable, conservative, moneyed class, whose curiosity drew tiiem in, lingered near the door, on the edges of the crowd, in order that they might leave whenever so disjjosed, without attracting attention to their presence. Mr. Merryfield occupied the middle chair on the platform, with a heav)'-faced, bald-templed, belligerent looking gentleman on his right, and a middle-aged lady in black silk, on his left. The settees were also occupied by persons of both sexes who were interested in the cause. Among them was Hannah Thurston. A whispered consultation was carried on for some time among the party on the platform, the belligerent gentleman evidently having the most to say. Finally Mr. Merryfield^ arose, thumped upon the table, and after -waiting a miauta A STOKY OF AMEKICAS LIFE. 67 for the " «/(« /'' to subside, aimouncecl : " The meeting will now come to orflcr !" The meeting Vjeing already in order, no effect was produced by tliis announcement. " As we have assembled together, as it were," he continued, " principally to listen to the noble advocates of the glorioua ciuise who are to appear before us, my friends suggest that— llial there should be no — that we should dispense, as it were, ivitli a regular organization, and proceed to listen to their voices. The only — I would suggest, if tlie meeting is willing, that we should appoint — that is, that a committee should be named, as it w^ere, to draw up resohitions expressing their — our sense on tlie subject of Women's Rights. Perhaps," ho added, turning around, " some one will make the motion." " I move that a committee of six be appointed !" " I second the motion !" were heard, almost simultaneously. "Those in favor of that motion will signify their assent by saying ' Aye !' " said Mr. Merryfield. " Aye !" rang through the house with startling unanimity, all the boys expressing their enthusiastic assent. " Contrary—' No I' '' Dead silence. "The Ayes have it. Who shall the Committee be com- posed of." " Both sexes must be represented. Three men and three women," said the belligerent gentleman, suddenly, half rising from his seat. In a short time the members of the Committee were .appoint- ed, and, there being no further business on hand, Mr. Merry- field said : " I have now the pleasure, as it were, of introducing to the audience the noble advocate of Women's Rights, Isaiah Bemis. who — whose name is — is well known to you all as the champion of his — I mean, her — persecuted sex." Mr. Merry- field W!is so disconcerted by the half-suppressed laughter which followed this blunder, that the termination of his eulogiuni be- eame still more confused. " The name of Isaiah Bemis," ha 88- HANNAH THUKSTON : said, "does not need my condem — oommendatlon. "WTien Woman shall fill her true spere, it will shine — will bo written among the martyrs of Reform, as it were, for Truth, crashed to Earth, rises up in spite of — of — though the heavens fall !" Mr. Bcmis, who was no other than the gentleman of bel- ligerent aspect, already mentioned, at once arose, bQVing gravely in answer to a slight, hesitating, uncertain sound of applause. The Ptolemy public had not listened for years to speakers of all kinds, and on all subjects, without acquiring some degree of critical perception. They both enjoyed and prided themselves on their acumen, and a new man, ^vhatever his doctrines might be, was sure that he would find a full house to receive him. If ho possessed either eloquence or humor, in any appreciable degree, he had no reason to com- plain of his reception. The class of hearers to which we refer did not consider themselves committed to the speaker's views by their manifestations of applause. Oft' the platfoi'm, there Averc not twenty advocates of Women's Rights in the whole audience, yet all were ready to hear Mr. Bemis, and to approve 1 good thing, if he should happen to say it. A few minute:*, however, satisfied them that he was not the kind of speaker they coveted. Ho took for his text that maxim of the Declaration of Independence, that " all governments de- rive their just powers from the consent of the governed," first proved the absolute justice of the theory, and then exhihited the flagrant violation of it in the case of wotnan. She is cqu,ally obliged, with man, to submit to the laws, he said, b>it has no voice in making tiicm ; even those laws which control her property, her earnings, her children, her person itself, are enacted without consultation with her. She not only loses her name, but her individual privileges are curtailed, as if she be- l:)iiged to an inferior order of beuigs. Tlie cliaracter of his harangue was aggressive throughout. He referred as little as possible, to any inherent diflference in the destinies of sex ; tncn and women were simply human beings, and in Society, and Law, and Government, there should be no distinction made A STORY OF AJIERICAN LIFE. CD between them. There was a certain specious display of logio ui his address ; the faulty links were glozed ovoi-, so that his chain of argument appeared sound and strong, from end to end. Granting his premises, indeed, which he assumed with an air, as if they were beyond dispute — all the rest readily fol- lowed. Those who believed with him, not perceiving the de- foot in his basis, were charmed with the foi'ce and clearness of his views. A crowd feels, not reasons, and the auditors, after an hour of this talk, began to manifest signs of weariness. Even Woodbury, to whom the whole scene was a study — or, rather, a show — only kept his place from a desire to hear the famous Bessie Stryker. Mr. Beniis at last sat down, and some further whispering ensued. There was a slight hitch in the? proceedings, it was evident. In a few minutes, Mr. Merryfield again arose. " My friends," said he; "I regret to be able to state that we are disappointed, as it were, in listening — in the arrival of Bessie Stryker. We expected her in the afternoon stage coming from Cephaloni"*, and was to have lectured there last night, but has arrived without hei*. But I hope, nevertheless, that you will — that it will be agreeable to you, as it were, to hear a few words from our friend, Hannah Thurston, who requires — whom you know ali'eady." Hear-ty signs of approbation greeted this announcement. Thus appealed to, Hannah Thurston, who at first made a move- ment of hesitation, rose, quietly removed her bonnet, and ^walked forward to the table. Her face seemed a little paler than usual, but her step was firm, and the hand which she ]ilaced upon the table did not tremble. After a pause, as if 10 collect and isolate her mind from external impressions, she commenced speaking, in a voice so low that only its silver purity of tone enabled her to be heard. Yet the slight tremu- lousness it betrayed indicated no faltering of courage ; it was eimply a vibration of nerves rather tensely strung. "I will not i-cpent," she began, "the arguments by which 10 HAiwAH tiiueston: Ihe eloquent speaker has illustrated the wrongs end.ired by woman, under all governments and all systems of law, whether despotic or republican. These are considerations which lie further from us; wc are most concerned for those injuries which require an immediate remedy. When we have removed the social prejudices which keep our sex in a false position — whim we have destroyed the faith of the people in the tynm- iiical traditions by which we are ruled — the chains of the law will break of themselves. As a beginning to that end, woman must claim an equal right to education, to employment, and re- ward. These are the first steps in our reform, to reach the sources of those evils which cause our greatest suffering. We can endure a little longer, to be deprived of the permission to vote and to rule, because the denial is chiefly an assault upon our intelligence ; but we need now — at once — and, my friends, I am pleading for millions who cannot speak for themselves — we need an equal privilege with man, to work and to be justly paid. The distinction which is made, to our prejudice, renders us weak and helpless, compared with our brethren, to whom all fields are open, and who may claim the compensation which is justified by their labor, without incurring ridicule or con- tempt. They are even allowed to usurp branches which, if the popular ideas of woman's weakness, and man's chivalry towards her be true, should be left for us. Even admitting that our sphere is limited — that there are only a few things which we may properly do^s it generous, is it even just, that man, who has the whole range of life to choose fi-.om, should crowd us out from these few chances of earning our bread ? Or to force us to perform the same labor for a smaller remu- ncialion, because we are Avomen ? Could we not measure a yard of calico as rapidly, -or choose a shade of zephyr as cor- rectly as the elegant young men A\'ho stand behind the coun- ter? With our more sensitive physical organization, might not all tasks requiring quickness, nicety of touch, and careful arrangement, bo safely confided to our hands ?" At this point the audience, which had quite lost its air of A STORY OF AjrEKICAN LIFE. 71 weariness, broke into subdued but cordial applfiuso. Ilaunali Tluirston's voice, as she acquired possession of her subject, in- creased in strength, but at no time appeared to rise above a conversational tone. Her manner also, was simply conversa- tional. The left hand slightly touched the table, as if she only wished to feel . a support at hand, not use it ; while she now and then, involuntarily, made a simple movement with the right. The impression she produced was that of a Wiiinan compelled by some powerful necessity or duty to appear before a public assembly, not of one who coveted and enjoyed the position. Woodbury was profoundly interested in the speaker, and in her words. Both were equally new to him. "What we now ask, therefore, my friends," she continued, "is that the simple justice be meted out to us, which we feel that man — without adopting any of our views concerning the true position of woman^is bound to give. We ask tliat his boasted chivalry be put into practice, not merely in escorting .us to concerts, or giving us his seat in a railroad-car, or serv- ing us fiist at the table— or in all other ways by which the reputation of chivalry and gallantry towards our sex is earned at little cost; but in leaviiig open to us those places which he confesses we are fitted to fill — in paying ns, as teachers, clerks, tailors, or operatives, the same wages for the same woik which men do !" This was so simply and fairly stated, that the audience again heartily approved. There was nothing, in fact, of the peculiar doctrines of Women's Rights in what she said — nothing to which they could not have individually assented, without com- promising their position in regard to the ii.ain pouit. JVLr. JJumis, however, drew down his he.avy brows, and whispered to the chairman : " Very good, so far as it goes, but timidly, Stated. We must strike the evil at its root." After dwellhig for some time on this aspect of the question, and illustrating it by a number of examples, Hannah Thurston went a step further. "But we deny," she said, "that Mau has any natural right 72 HANNAH THURSTON f to prescribe the bounds within which Wornan may labor anJ live. God alone has that right, and His laws govern both sexes with the same authority. Man has indeed assmned it, because he disbelieves in the intellectual equality of women. He has trea'.ed her as an older child, to whom a certain amount of freedom might be allowed, but whom it was not safe to riilease entirely from his guai'dianship. He has educated her in this belief, through all the ages that have gone by since the creation of the world. Now and then, women have arisen, it is true, to vindicate the equal authority of their sex, and have nobly won their places in history ; but the growth of the truth has been slow — so slow, that to-day, in this enlightened ma- turity of the world, we must plead and prove all that which you should grant without our asking. It is humiUating that a woman is obliged to collect evidence to convince men of her equal intelligence. She, who is also included in the one word, Man ! Placed side by side with him in Paradise — ^Mother of the Saviour who came to redeem his fallen race — first and holiests among the martyrs and saints ! Yonng men ! Think of your own mothers, and spare us this humiliation !" These words, uttered with startling earnestness, produced a marked sensation in the audience. Perhaps it was a peculiarity springing from her Quaker descent, that the speaker's voice gradually assumed the character of a musical recitative, be- coming a clear, tremulous chant, almost in monotone. This gave it a sad, appealing expression, which touched the emo- tiotia" nature of the hearer, and clouded his judgment for the time being. After a pause, she continued in her ordinary tone: " The pages of histoiy do not prove the superiority of man. When we consider the position which he has forced woman to occupy, we should rather wonder that she has so often resist- ed his authority, and won possession of the empire which he liad appropriated to himself. In the earliest ages he admitted her capacity to govern, a power so high and important in its nature, that we should be justified in claiming that it embraces A STORY OF A3IEEICAN LIFE. 73 all other capacities, and in resting our defence on that alone. Such women as Semiramis and Zenobia, Margaret of Deiimark, and Elizabeth of England, Maria Theresa, and Catharine of Russia, are not the least — not second, even — among great rulers. Jael and Judith, and the Maid of Orleans stand no less high among the deliverers of nations, than Leonidas and William. Tell. The first poet who sang may have been Homer, but the second was Sappho.* Even in the schools of Philoso- phy, the ancients had their Hypatia, and the scholars of tlie Middle Ages honored the learning of Olympia Morata. Men claim the field of scientific research as being exclusively their own ; but the names of CaroUne Herschel in England, and Maria Mitchell in America, prove that even here women can- not justly be excluded. Ah, my fiiends ! when God calls a human being to be the discoverer of His eternal laws, or the illustrator of His eternal beauty, He does not stop to consider the question of sex ! If you grant human intellect at all to Woman, you must grant the possibility of inspiration, of gen- ius, of a life divinely selected as the instrument of some great and glorious work. Admitting this, you may safely throw open to us all avenues to knowledge. Hampered as Woman still is — circumscribed in her spheres of action and thought (for her false education permanently distorts her habits of mind) — she is yet, at present, far above the Saxon bondmen from whom the most of you are descended. You know that she has risen thus far, not only without injury to herself, but to your advantage : why check her progress, here? Nay, why check it any where? If Man's dominion be thereby limited, would his head be less uneasy, if the crown he claims were shared with another ? Is not a friend better than a servant ? If Marriage were a partnership for Woman, instead of a derk ship, the Head of the House would feel his burthen so much the lighter. If the physician's wife were competent to prepare his medicines, or the merchant's to keep his books, or the law- * Miss Thurston makes these statements on her own responsibility. 4 74 nAinsTAH thueston: yer'a to draw up a bond, the gain would be tnutaal. For ■Wo- man, to be a true helpmeet to Man, must know all that Man knows ; and, even as she is co-heir with him of Heaven — re- ceivhig, not the legal 'Third part,' but all of its infinite bles- Bcdness, — so she sliould be co-proprietor of the Earth, equally armed to subdue its iniquities, and prepare it for a better future !" With these words, Hannah Thurston closed her address. As she quietly walked back to her seat and resumed her bon-- net, there was a stir of satisfaction among the audience, ter- minating in a round of applause, which, however, she did not acknowledge in any way. Although, in no part of the dis- course, had she touched the profounder aspects of the subject, especially the moral distinctions of sex, she had given utter- ance to many absolute truths, which were too intimately con- nected, in her mind, with tlie doctrine she had adopted, for her to perceive their real independence of it. Thus, most of her hearers, while compelled to agree with her in many re- spects, still felt themselves unconvinced in the main particulai-. She was not aware of her own inabihty to discuss the question freely, and ascribed to indifference or prejudice that reluc- tance among men, which really sprang from their generous consideration for her sex. As for Woodbury, he had listened with an awakened in- terest in her views, which, for the time, drew his attention from the speaker's personality. Her first appearance had excited a singular feeling of compassion — partly for the trial which, he fancied, she must undei-go, and partly for the mental delusion which was its cause. It was some time be- fore he was reassured by her calmness and selfpossession. At the close, he was surprised to discover in himself a lurking sensation of regret that she had not spoken at greater length. " I was wrong the other night," he thought. " This woman is in severe earnest,, and would have been less offended if 1 had pluniply declined her challenge,"instead of evading it. I have yet something to learn from these people." A STOKT OF AMEKICAN LIFE. 'IB The Committoe of Six now made their report. Seth Wat- tles, who was one of the number, and had assumed to himself the office of Chairman, read a string of Resolutions, setting forth, That : Whereas, this is an Age of Progress, and no re- form should be overlooked in the Great Battle for the Right" Therefore, Resolved — That we recogiiizo in this movement for the Equal Rights of Woman a cause without the support of which no other cause can be permanently successful : and, Resolved, That we will in every way help forward the good work, by the Dissemination of Light and Information, tending to set forth the claims of Vv'^oman before the Community: also, Resolved, That we will circulate petitions to the State Legis- lature, for the investment of Woman with all civil and political rights : and, lastly. Resolved, That, we will use our best en- deavors to increase the circulation of T/ie Monthly Hollyhock, a journal devoted to the cause of Women's Rights. Mr. Merryiield arose and inquired : " Shall the Report of the Committee be adopted ?" He fortunately checked himself in time not to add : " as it were." " I move its adoption !" " I second the motion !" were im- mediately heard from the platform. " All who are in favor of adopting the Resolutions we have just heard read, will signify their assent by saying 'Aye !' " A scattering, irregular fire of " Ayes" arose in reply. The boys felt that their sanction would be out of place on this occa- sion, with the exception of two or three, who hazarded their voices, in. the belief that they would not be remarked, in the general vote. To their dismay, they launched themselves into an interval of silence, and their shrill pipes drew all eves to their quarter of the house. "Contrary,— 'No!'" The opponents of the movement, considering that this was not their meeting, refrained from voting. "Before the meeting adjourns," said Mr. Merryfield, again rising, "I must — I take the liberty to hope, as it were, that the truths we have heard this day may spread — may sink 76 iiAXNAH tiiueston: deeply intt onr hearts. We expect to be able to announce, before long, a visit from Bessie Stiyker, wliose failure — whom we h.ivc missed from among our eleg — eloquent champions. Diit we trust she is elsewhere, and our loss is their gain. I thank the audience for your attendance — .attention, I should Bay, and approbation of our glorious reform. As there is no iiirther business before the meeting, and our friends from Mul- ligansville and Atauga City have some distance to return home, Wf. will now adjourn in time to reach their destination." At this hint the audience rose, and began to crowd out the narrow door-way and down the steep staircase. Woodbury, pushed and hustled along with the rest, was amused at the remarks of the crowd: "He? — oh, he's a gassy old fellow!" " Well, there's a good deal of truth in it!" "Bessie Stryker? I'd rather hear Hannah Thxn-ston any day !" " He didn't half like it !" " She has a better right to say such things than he has !" — and various other exclamations, the aggregate of which led him to infer that the audience felt no particular interest in the subject of Women's Rights, but had a kindly personal feel- ing towards Hannah Thurston. A MTOEY OF AMEKICAN UFK^ )1 CHAPTER VI. m WHICH LAKESIDE BECOMES LIVELY. 'WiNTEE at last set in — the steady winter of Central New York, where the snow which falls at the beginning of Decem- ber usually covers the ground until March. Ptolemy, at least, which lies upon the northern side of the watershed between the Susquehanna and the rivers whicli flow into Lake Ontario, has a much less variable winter temperature than the great valley, lying some thirty miles to the southward. Atauga Lake, in common with Cayuga and Seneca, never treezes, except across the shallows at its southern end ; but its waters, so piercingly cold that they seem to cut the skin like the blade of a knife, have no power to soften the northei-n winds. The bottoms between Ptolemy and the lake, and also, in fact, the Eastern and Western Valleys, for some miles behind the vil- lage, are open to the North ; and those sunny winter days which, in more sheltered localities, breathe away the snow, here barely succeed in softening it a little. On the hills it is even too deep for pleasure. As soon as a higlnvay has been broken through the drifts, the heavy wood-sleds commence running, and very soon wear it into a succession of abrupt lioUows, over which the light cutters go pitching like their nautical namesakes in a chopping sea. Woodbury, in obedience to a promise exacted by his sister. went to New York for the holidays, and, as might have been anticipated, became entangled in a succession of social engage- ments, which detained him until the middle of January. He Boon grew tired of acting as escort to his two pretty, but (it T^ HANNAH TIIUnSTOS : must be confessed, in strict confidence), shallow nieces, whoao sole a3stlietic tcaste was opera— and in opera, especially Verdi. After a dozen nights of " darling Bosio,'' and " delightful Be- neventano," and " all the rest of them," he would have been glad to hear, as a change, even the ^'Taza he-tam' of the Hin- doo nautch-girls. A season of eastern rains and muddy streets made the city insupportable, and— greatly to the wonder of his sister's family— he declined an invitation to the grand Fiflh Avenue ball of Mrs. Luther Leathers, in order to return to the wilderness of Ptolemy. Takmg the New York and Erie express-train to the town of Miranda, he there chartered a two-horse cutter, with an Irish attachment, and set out early the next morning. He had never before approached. Ptolemy from this side, and the joniuey had all the charm of a new region. It was a crisp, clear day, the blood of the horses was quickened by the frosty air, and the cutter slid rapidly and noiselessly over the well- beaten track. With a wolf-skin robe on his knees, Woodbury sat in luxurious warmth, and experienced a rare delight in breathing the keen, electric crystal of the atmosphere. It was many years since he had felt such an exquisite vigor of life within him — such a nimble play of the aroused blood — such lightness of heart, and hope, and courage ! The snow-crystals sparkled in the sunshine, and the pure shoulders of the hills before him shone like silver against the naked blue of the sky. He sang aloud, one after another, the long-forgotten songs, until his moustache turned to ice and hung upon his mouth like the hasp of a padlock. Rising out of the Southern valleys, he sped along, over the cold, rolling uplands of the watershed, and reached Mulligans- ville towards noon. Here the road turned westward, and a further drive of three miles brought him to the brink of the long descent to East Atauga Creek. At this point, a superb winter landscape was unfolded before him. Ptolemy, with its spires, its one compactly-built, ambitious street, its scattered houses and gardens, lay in the centre of the picture. On the 4. STOllY OF AJIEItlCAN LIFE. 79 white floor of the valley were drawn, with almost painful Bharpness and distinctness, the outlines of farni-housi.'s, and barns, fences, isolated trees, and the winding lines of elm and alder which marked the courses of the streams. Bejond the mouth of the further valley rose the long, cultivated sweep oi' the western hill, flecked with dull-purple patchesof pine forest. Nortliward, across the white meadows and the fringe of tieea along Roaring Brook, rose the sunny knoll of Lakeside, shel- tered by the dark woods behind, while further, stretching fur away between the steep shores, gleamed the hard, steel-blue sheet of the lake. The air was so intensely clear that the dia-- tance was indicated only by a difference in the hue of objects, not by their diminished distinctness. " By Jove ! this is glorious !" exclaim.ed Woodbury, scarcely conscious that he sjDoke. " Shure, an' it's a fine place, Surr !" said the Irish driver, ap- propriating the exclamation. Shortly after commencing the descent, a wreck was descried ahead. A remnant of aristocracy — or, at least, a fondness for aristocratic privilege — still lingers among our republican peo- ple, and is manifested in its most offensive form, by the drivers of heavy teams. No one ever knew a lime-wagon or a wood- sled to give an inch of the road to a lighter vehicle. In this case, a sled, on its way down, had forced an ascending cutter to turn out into a deep drift, and in attempting to regain the track both shafts of the latter had been snapped off. The sled t pursued its way, regardless of the ruin, and the occupants of the cutter, a gentleman, and lady, were holding a consultation over their misfortnne, when Woodbury came in sight of theui. As the gentleman leading his horse back into the drift to give room, turned his face towards the approaching cutter, Woovl- bury recognized, projecting between ear-lappets of fur, the cu- riously-planted nose, the insufficient lips, and the prominent teeth, which belonged to the Rev. Mr. Waldo. The recogni- tion M'^as mutual. "My dear, it is Mr. Woodbury!" the latter joyfully cried, §0 HANNAH niUESTON. turning to the muffled lady. She instantly stood np in the uutter, threw back her veil, and hailed the approaching deliverer : " Help me, good Samaritan ! The Luvite has wrecked me, and the Priest has enough to do, to take care of himself !" Woodbury stopped his team, sprang out, and took a sui'vey of the. case. "It is not to be mended," said he; " you must crowd yourselves in with me, and we will drive on slowly, lead- ing the horse." " But I have to attend a funeral at Mullig.ansville — the child of one of our members," said Mr. Waldo, " and there is no time to lose. My dear, you must go back with Mr. Wood- bury. Perhaps he can take the harness and robes. I will ride on to Van Plorn's, where I can borrow a saddle." This arrangement was soon carried into effect. Mr. Waldo mounted the bare-backed steed, and went off up the hill, thump- ing his heels against the animal's sides. The broken shafts were placed in the cutter, which was left " to be called for," •>ind Mrs. Waldo took her seat beside Woodbury. She had set out to attend the funeral, as a duty enjoined by her hus- band's office, and was not displeased to escape without damage to h-lr conscience. " I'm glad you've got back, Mr. Woodbury," she said, as they descended the hill. " We like to have our friends about ■as, in the winter, and I assure you, you've been missed." " It is pleasant to feel that I have already a place among you," he answered. " What is the last piece of gossip ? Is the Great Sewing-Union still in existence ?" " Not quite on the old foundation. Our fiir has been held - by the bye, there I missed you. I fully depended on selling you a quantity of articles. The Anti-Slavery Fair is over, too ; but they are still working for the Jutnapore Mission, as there is a chance of sending the articles direct to Madras, before long ; and so the most of us still attend, and either assist them or take our own private sewing with us.'' " Where do you next meet ?" " Ah, that's our principal trouble. We have exhausted all A ST(.UY CF AJIEKICAN LIFE. 81 the available houses, besides going twice to Bue's and Wilkia- son's. Our parsonage is so small — a mere pigeon-house — that it's out of the question. 1 wish I had some of your empty rooms at Lakeside. Now, there's an idea ! Capital ! Confess that my weak feminine brain is good at resorts !" " What is it ?" Woodbury asked. " Can't you guess ? You shall entertain the Sewing-Union one evening. We will meet at Lakeside : it is just the thing !" " Are you serious, Mrs. Waldo ? I could not, of course, bo so ungracious as to" refuse, provided there is no impropriety in compliance. What would Ptolemy say to the plan ?" " I'll take charge of that !" she cried. " Impropriety ! Are you not a steady, respectable Member of Society, I should like to know ? If there's any thing set down against yon, we must go to Calcutta to find it. And we are sure there are no trap- doors at Lakeside, or walled-up skeletons, or Blue Beard cham- bers. Besides, this isn't Mulligansville or Anacreon, and it is not necessary to be so very straight-laced. Oh yes, it is the very thing. As for the domestic preparations, count on my help, if it is needed." " I am afraid," he replied, " that Mrs. Babb would resent any interference with her authority. In fact," he added, laughing, " I am not certain that it is safe to decide, without first consulting her." " There, now !" rejoined Mrs. Waldo. " Do you remember what I once told you ? Yes, you bachelors, who boast of your independence of woman, are the only real slaves to the sex. No wife is such a tyrant as a housekeeper. ISTot bvit. whal Mrs. Babb is a very honest, conscientious, proper sort of a person, — but she don't make a home, Mr. Woodbury. Toj should get married." "That is easily said, Mrs. Waldo," he replied, vpith a langb which covered, like a luxuriant summer vine, the entrance to a sighing cavern, — " easily said, and might be easily done, it" one were allowed to choose a wife for her domestic qualitieii, valued at so much per month." 4* 82 HANNAH TiiUESTON' : "Pshaw!" snid she, with assumed contempt. "You nve not a natural cynic, and have no right to be single, at your age, without a good reason." " Perhaps there is a good reason, Mrs. Waldo. Few per- sons, I imagine, remain single from choice. I Jiave lost tlio susceptibility of my younger days, but not the ideal of a true wedded life. I should not dare to take the only perfect woman in the world, unless I could be lover as well as hufj- band. I sincerely wish my chances were better : but would you have me choose one of the shallow; showy creatures I have just been visiting, or one of your strong-minded orators, here in Ptolemy ?" Mrs. Waldo understood both the earnest tone of the speaker, and the veiled bitterness of his concluding words. She read his heart at a glance, thorough woman as she was, and honored him then, aTid forever thenceforth. " You must not take my nonsense for more than it is worth, Mr. Woodbury," she answered softly. " Women at my age, when God denies them children, take to match-making, in the hope of fulfilling their mission by proxy. It is unselfish in us, at least. But, bless me ! here we are, at the village. Remem- ber, the Sewing-Union meets at Lakeside." " As soon as the Autocrat Babb has spoken," said he, as lie handed her out at the Cimmerian Parsonage, " I will send word, and then the matter will rest entirely in your hands." "Mine? Oh, I am a female General Jackson — I take tlio responsibility 1" she cried, g:iyly, as the cutter drove away. Woodbury, welcomed at the gate of Lakeside by the cheery face of Bute Wilson, determined to broach the subject at once to the housekeeper. Mrs. Fortitude B;ibb was glad to see hull again, but no expression thereof manifested itself in her countenance and words. AViping her bony right-hand on her apron — she had been dusting the rooms, after sweeping — she took the one he offered, saying: "How's your health, Sir?" and then added: "I s'pose you've had a mighty fine time, while you was away ?'' A STORY OF AltERICAN r.IFE. 83 " Not. SO fine but that I'm glad to get home again," ho answered. The word " home" satisfied Mrs. Babb's sense of justice. His sister, she was sure, was not the housekeeper she heiself was, and it was only right that he should see and acknowledge the fact. " I want j'our advice, Mrs. Babb," Woodbury continued, " The Sewing-Union propose to meet liere, one evening. They have gone the round of all the large houses in Ptolemy, luid there seems to be no other place left. Since I have settled in Lakeside, I must be neighborly, you know. Could we manage to entertain them ?" " Well — comin' so suddent, like, I don't hardly know what to think. Things has been quiet here for a long time :" t'ie housekeeper grimly remarked, with a wheezy sigh. " That is true," said Woodbury ; " and of course you must have help." " No !" she exclaimed, with energy, " I don't want no help — • leastways only Melindy. The rooms must be put to rights — ■ not but what they're as good as Mrs. Bue's any day ; and" there'll be supper for a matter o' twenty ; and cakes and things. When is it to be ?" " Next Friday, I presume ; but can you get along without more assistance?" " 'Taint every one that would do it," replied Mrs. Babb, "There's sich a settin' to rights, afterwards. But I can't have strange help mixin' in, and things goin' wrong, and me to have the credit of it. Melindj^'s used to my ways, and there's not many others that knows what housekeepin' is. Sich a, mess as tome people makes of it !" Secretly, Mrs. Babb was well pleased at the opportunity of publicly displaying her abilities, but it was not in her nature to do any thing out of the regular course of her housekeepuig, without having it understood that she was making a great sacrifice. She was not so unreasonable as to set herself up for an independent power, hut she stoutly demanded and main- tained the rights of a belligerent. This point havmg once g4 HAXJfAH THURSTON : been conceded, however, she exhibited a wonderful energy in making the necessary preparations. Thanks to Mrs. Waldo, all Ptclemy soon knew of the ar- rangement, and, as the invitation was general, neai-ly every- body decided to accept it. Few persons had visited Lakeside since Mrs. Dennison's funeral, and there was some curiosity to know what changes had been made by the new owner. Besides, the sleighing was superb, and the moon nearly full. The ladies connected with the Sewing-Union were delighted with the prospect, and even Hannah Thurston, finding that her absence would be the only exception and might thus seem intentional, was constrained to accompany them. She had seen Woodbury but once since their rencontre at Merryfield's, and his presence was both unpleasant and embarrassing to her. But the Merryfields, who took a special pride in her abilities, cherished the hope that she would yet convert him to the true faith, and went to the trouble of driving to Ptolemy in order to furnish her with a conveyance. Early in the afternoon the guests began to arrive. Bute, aided by his man Patrick, met them at the gate, and, after a hearty greeting (for he knew everybody), took the horses and cutters in charge. Woodbury, assuming the character of host according to Ptolemaic ideas, appeared at the door, with Mrs. Babh, rigid in black bombazine, three paces in his rear. The latter received the ladies with frigid courtesy, conducted thein up-stairs to the best bedroom, and issued the command to each of them, in turn : " lay off your Things !" Their curiosity failed to detect any thing incomplete or unusual in the appointments of the chamber. The furniture was of the Dennison period, and Mrs. Fortitude had taken care that no fault should be found with the toilet arrangements. Miss Eliza Clancy had indeed whispered to Miss Ruhaney Good- win : " Well, I think they might have some lavender, or bay- water, for us," — but the latter immediately responded with a warnhig " sh !" and drew from her work-bag a small oiled-silk package, which she unfolded, producing therefrom a A STOUY OF AMEinCAN LIFE. 85 diminutive bit of sponge, Siiturated with a luilil extract of lemon verbena. " Here,'' she said, offering it to the other spinster, " I always take care to be pervided." The spacious parlor at Lakeside gradually filled with ■workers for the Mission Fmid. Mrs. Waldo was among tha earliest arrivals, and took command, by right of her undis- ptiled social talent. She became absolute mistress for tha time, bavuig, by skilful management, propitiated Mrs. Babb, and fastened her in her true place, at the outset, by adaman- tine chains of courtesy and assumed a-espect. She felt herself, therefore, in her true element, and distributed her subjects with such tact, picking up and giving into the right hands the threads of conversation, perceiving and suppressing petty jealousies in advance, and laughing away the awkwardness or timidity of others, that Woodbury could not help saying to ' himself: " What a queen of the salons this woman would have made !" It was a matter of conscience with her, as he perhaps did not know, that the occasion should be agreeable, not only to the company, but also to the host. She was re- sponsible for its occurrence, and she felt that its success would open Lakeside to the use of Ptolemy society. Theie was also little in the principal parlor to attract the attention of the guests. The floor was still covered by the old Brussels carpet, with its colossal bunches of flowers of impos- sible color and form, — the wonder of Ptolemy, when it was new. There were the same old-fashioned chairs, and deep sofas with chintz covers : and the portraits of Mrs. Dennison, and her son Henry, as a boy of twelve, with his hand upon the heal of a Newfoundland dog, looked down from the walls. Woodbury had only added engravings of the Madonna di San Sisto and the Transfiguration, neither of which was greatly ad- mired by the visitors. Mrs. Hamilton Bue, pausing a moment to inspect the former, said of the Holy Child : '■ Why, it looks jnst like my little Addy, when she's got her clothes ofi"!" In the sitting-room were Landseer's " Challenge" and Ary Soheffer's "Franccsca da Rimini." Miss Ruhaney Goodwill 86 iiAN-VAii Tiiui:sTON : Lurnocl Biiddenly away from tlie latter, with difficulty suppres- sing an exclamation. "Did you ever?" said she to Miss Eliza CLiucy; "it isn't right to have such pictures hung up." " Hush !" answered Miss Eliza, "it may be from Scripture." Miss Ruhaney now contemplated the picture without hesita- tion. It was a proof before lettering. " What can it be, then ?" she asked. "Well — I shouldn't wonder if 'twas Jephthah and hia daughter. They both look so sorrowful." The Rev. Lemuel Styles and his wife presently arrived. They were both amiable, honest persons, who enjoyed their importance in the community, without seeming to assume it. The former was, perhaps, a little over-cautious lest he should forget the strict line of conduct which had been prescribed for him as a theological student. He felt that his duty properly required him to investigate Mr. Woodbury's religious views, before thus appearing to endorse them by his presence at Lakeside ; but he had not courage to break the dignified re- serve which the latter maintained, and was obliged to satisfy his conscience with the fact that Woodbury had twice at tended his church. Between Mr. Waldo and himself there was now a very cordial relation. They had even cautiously discussed the differences between them, and had in this way learned, at least, to respect each other's sincerity. The last of all the arrivals before tea was Mr. and Mi's. Mev- ryfield, with Hannah Thurston. The latter came, as already mentioned, with great reluctance. She would rather have faced an unfriendly audience tlian the courteous and self-pos- sessed host who came to the door to receive her. He op- pressed her, not only with a sense of power, but of power controlled and directed by some cool faculty in the brain, which she felt she did not possess. In herself, whate\er of intellectual force she recognized, was developed through the excitement of her feelings and sympathies. His ])ersonality, It seemed to her, was antagonistic to her own, and the knowl- edge gave her a i'ingular sense of pain. She was vromau A. STUUY OV AMKIHCAX L!FE. 8'/ enough not to tolurate a diffuience of this kind ■without a struggle. "Thank you for coming, Miss Thurston," said Woodbury, as he friuikly offered liis hand. " I should not like any niom- i)er of the Union to slight my first attempt to entertain it. I am glad to weloome you to Lakeside." Hannah Thurston lifted her eyes to his with an effort that brouo'ht a fleeting flush to her face. But she met his gaze, eteadily. " We owe thanks to you, Mr. Woodbury," said she, "that Lakeside still belongs to our Ptolemy community. I confess I should not like to see so pleasant a spot isolated, or — what the people of Ptolemy would consider much worse," she added, smiling — " attached to Anaoreon." " Oh, no !" he answered, as he transferred her to the charge of Mrs. Babb. " I have become a thorough Ptolemaic, or a Ptolemystic, or whatever the proper term may be. I hurl defi- ance across the hill to Anacreon, and I turn ray back on the south-east wind, when it blows from MuUigansville." " Come, come ! We won't be satirized ;" said Mrs. Waldo, who was passing through the hall. " Hannah, you are just in time. There are five of the Mission Fund sitting together, and I want their ranks broken. Mr. Woodbury, there will be no more arvivals before tea ; give me your assistance." " Who is the tyrant now ?" he asked. "Woman, always, in one shape or other,'" she answered, leading the way into the parlor. After the very substantial tea which Mrs. Babb had pre- pared, and to which, it must be whispered, the guests did ample justice, there was a pause in the labors of the LTnion. 'riie articles intended for the Jutnapore Mission were nearly completed, in fact, and Mrs. Waldo's exertions had promoted a. genial flow of conversation, which did not require tiie aid of the suggestive needle. The guests gathered in groups, chat- ling at the windows, looking out on the gray, twilight land- scape, or watching the approach of cutters from Ptolemy, as they emerged from the trees along Roaring Brook. Mr, 88 HANNAH THUKSTON : Hamilton Bue and the Hon. Zeno Harder were the first to make their appearance, not much in advnnce, however, of the crowd of ambitious young gentlemen. M.any of tlie latter were personally unknown to Woodbury, but this was not the least embarrassment to them. They gave him a rapid salutation, ince it was not to be avoided, and hurried in to seeui'c advan- tageous positions among the ladies. Seth Wattles not only came, to enjoy a hospitality based, as he had hinted, on the "accursed opium traffic," but brought with him a stranger from Ptolemy, a Mr. Griudle, somewhat known as a lecturer on Temperance. The rooms were soon filled and Woodbury was also obliged to throw open his library, into which the elderly gentlemen withdrew, with the exception of the Rev. Mr. Styles. Mr. Waldo relished a good story, even if the point was somewhat coarse, and the Hon. Zeno had an inexhaustible fund of such. Mr. Bue, notwithstanding he felt bound to utter an occasional mild protest, always managed to be on hand, and often, in his great innocence, suggested the very thing which he so evi- dently wished to avoid. If the conversation bad been for some time rather serious and heavy, he would say : " Well, Mr. Harder, I am glad we shall have none of vour wicked stories to-night" — a provocation to which the Hon. Zeno always re- sponded by giving one. Bute Wilson, after seeing that the horses were properly attended to, washed his hands, brushed his hair carefully, and put on his Sunday frock-coat. Miss Caroline Dilworih was one of the company, but he had been contented with an occa/> Bional glimpse of her through the window, until the arrival of Seth Wattles. The care of the fires in the grates, the lamjiH, and other arrangements of the evening, gave him sufficient opportunity to mix with the company, and watch both his sweetheart and his presumed rival, without appearing to do so. "Darn that blue-gilled baboon!" he muttered to himself; "1 believe his liver's whiter than the milt of a herrin', aa' if you'd cut his yaller skin, he'd bleed whey 'stid o' blood." A. STOJIY ^If AMERICAN LIFE. P'S Seth Wattles, novcrthcloss, was really guiltless of any designs on the heart of the little seamstress. Like herself, he was am- bitions of high game, and, in the dreams of his colossal con- ceit, looked forward with much confidence to the hour when Hannah Thurston should take his name, or he hers : he was propared for either contingency. To this end he assumed a lender, languishing air, and talked of Love, and A Mission, and The Duality of The Soul, in a manner which, in a more cultivated society, would have rendered him intolerable. Ilo had a habit of placing his hand on the arm or shoulder of the person with whom he was conversing, and there were in Ptolemy women sUly enough to be pleased by these tokens of familiarity. Hannah Thurston, though entirely harmonizing with him as a reformer, and therefore friendly and forbeai'ing in her intercourse, felt a natural repugnance towards him which she could not understand. Lideed, tlie fact gave her some uneasiness. "He is ugly," she thought; "and I am so weak as to dislike ugliness — it must be that :" which conclu- sion, acting on her sensitive principle of justice, led her to treat him sometimes with more than necessary kindness. Many persons, the Merryfields included, actually fancied that there was a growing attachment between them. ¥^jj-."Miss Carrie,'' whispered Bute, as he passed her in the hall, "Do you like your lemonade sweet? We're goin' to bring it in directly, and I'll git Mother Forty to make a nice glass of it, o' purpose for you." " Thank you, Mr. Wilson : yes, if you please," answered the soft, childish drawl and the beryl-tinted eyes, that sent a thdu^ sand cork-screw tingles boring through and through him. Bute privately put six lumps of sugar into one glass, which he marked for recognition ; and then squeezed the last bitter drops of a dozen lemons into another. The lattei was for Seth Wattles. 90 HAXNAIl tiiueston: CHAPTER Vn. ■WHAT HAPPENBD DUKIM'G THE EVENING. WooDBURT had prudently left the preparations for the re- freshment of his numerous guests in the hands of Mrs. Babb, who, aided by the sable Melinda, had produced an immense supply of her most admired pastry. By borrowing freezers from the confectioner in Ptolemy, and employing Patrick to do the heavy churning, she had also succeeded in furnishing vei^ tolerable ices. The entertainment was considered to be — -and, for country means, really was — sumptuous. Nevertheless, the housekeeper was profuse in her apologies, receiving the abun- dant praises of her guests witli outward grimuess and secret satisfaction. " Try these crullers," she would say : " p'r'aps you'll find 'em better 'n the jumbles, though I'm afeard they a'n't hardly done enough. But you'll have to j)ut up with sich as there is." "Oh, Mrs. Babb!" exclaimed Mrs. Hamilton Bue, "don't say that ! Nobody bakes as nice as you do. I wish you'd give me the receipt for the jumbles." " You're welcome to it, if you like 'em, I'm sure. But it depends on the scasonin', and I don't never know if they're goiu' to come out right." "Mrs. Babb," said Woodbury, coming up at this moment, >^ will you please get a bottle of Sherry. The gentlemen, I see, Lave nothing but lemonade.'' " I toi 1 Bute to git some for them as likes it." "A-hm!" Mrs. Bue ejaculated, as the housekeeper dc parted to look after the wine ; " I think, Mr. Woodbury, they don't take any thing more." A STORY OF AMEKICxVN LIFE. 01 " Let me give them a chance, Mrs. Buo. Ab, here comca Bute, with the glasses. Shall I have the pleasure?" offering her one of the two which he had taken. " Oh, dear me, no — not for any thing!" she exclaimed, look irg a little frightened. "Mr. Bue," said Woodbury, turning around to that gentle man, "as Mrs. Bue refuses to take a glass of wine with mo you must be her substitute." "Thank you, I'd — I'd rather not, this evening," said Mr, Bue, growing red in the face. There was an embarrassing pause. Woodbury, looking around, perceived that Bute had already offered his tray to the other gentlemen, and that none of the glasses upon it had been taken. He was about to replace his own without drinking, when the Hon. Zeno Harder said : " Allow me the pleasure, Sir !" and helped himself. At the same moment the Rev. Mr. Waldo, in obedience to a glance from his wife, followed his example. " I have not tasted wane for some years," said the latter, "but I have no objection to its rational use. I have always considered it sanctioned," he added, turning to Mr. Styles, " by the Miracle of Cana." Mr. Styles slightly nodded, but said nothing. " Your good health, Sir !" said the Hon. Zeno, as he emptied his glass. '■'■Health?" somebody echoed, in a loud, contemptuous whisper. Woodbury bowed and drank. As he was replacing liis glass, Mr. Grindle, who had been waiting for the consumuiar tion of the iniquity, suddenly stepped forward. Mr. Gi indie was a thin, brown individual, with a long, twisted nose, and a voice which acquired additional shrillness from the fact of Its appearing to proceed entirely from the said nose. He had oc- casionally lectured in Ptolemy, and was known, — by sight, at least, — to all the company. Woodbury, however, was quite ignorant of the man and every thing concerning him. 62 HAiofAii thueston: "I am surprised," exclaimed Mr. Grindle, with his eyes fixed on vacancy, " that a man who has any regard for his reputation will set such a pernicious example." "To what do you refer?" asked Woodbury, uncertain whether it was he who was addressed. " To that r replied the warning prophet, pointing to the empty wine-glass — "the source of nine-tenths of all the sin and suffering in the world !" "I think you would have some difficulty in finding Sherry enough to produce such a result," Woodbury answered, beginning to understand the man. " Sherry, or Champagne, or Heidsick !" retorted Mr. Grin- dle, raising his voice : " it's all the same — all different forms of Rum, and different degrees of intemperance !" Woodbury's brown eyes flashed a little, but he answered coolly and sternly: "As you say, Sir, there are various forms of intemperance, and I have too much respect for my guests to allow that any of them should be exhibited here. Mi'S. Waldo," he continued, turning his back on the lecturer, and suddenly changing his tone, " did you not proj)ose that wo should have some music ?" " I have both persuaded and commanded," she replied, " but singers, I have found, are like a flock of sheep. They huddle together and hesitate, until some one takes the lead, and then they all follow, even if it's over your head. You must be bell-wether, after all." "Anything for harmony," he answered, gayly. "Ah! I have it — a good old song, with which none of our friends can fiud fault." And he sang, in his mellow voice, with an amused air, which Mrs. Waldo understood and heartily enjoyed : " Drink to me only with thine eyes." Mr. Grindle, however, turned to Seth Wattles and said, sneeringly : " It's easy enough to shirk an argument you can't answer." A fortnight afterwards he exploited the incident in a lecture which he gave before the Sons of Temperance, at A STOET OF AMEKICAN LIFE. 93 Ptolemy, Commencing with tho cheap groggevies, he graJu ally rose in his attacks until he reached the men of wealth and education. " There are some of these in oiir neighborhood," he said : " it is not necessary for mo to mention names — men whom perhaps we might excuse for learning the habit of rum- drinking on foreign shores, where our blessed reform has not yet penetrated, if they did not bring it here with them, to cor- rupt and destroy our own citizens. Wee unto those men, say 1 1 Better that an ocean of fire had rolled between those distant shores of delusion and debauchery and this redeemed land, so that they could not have returned ! Better that they had per- ished under the maddening influence of the bowl that stingeth like an adder, before coming here to add fresh hecatombs to tho Jaws of the Monster!" Of course, everybody in Ptolemy knew who was meant, and sympathizing friends soon carried the report to Lakeside. The unpleasant episode was soon forgotten, or, from a natural sense of propriety, no longer commented upon. Even the strongest advocates of Temperance present felt mortified by Mr. Grindle's vulgarity. Hannah Thurston, among othere, was greatly pained, yet, for the first time, admired Wood- bury's coolness and self-possession, in the relief which it gave Ler. She wished for an opportunity to show him, by her man- ner, a respect which might in some degree counterbalance the recent rudeness, and such an opportunity soon occurred. She was standing before the picture of Francesoa da Rimini, lost in the contemplation of the wonderful grace and pathos of the floating figures, when Woodbury, approaching her, said : "lam glad that you . admire it. Miss Thurston. The pic- ture is a great favorite with me." " The subject is from Dante, is it not?" she asked ;" that figure is he, I tliink." Woodbury was agreeably surprised at her perception, espe- cially as she did not say ^^Dant," which he might possibly have expected. He explained the engraving, and found that sha recollected the story, having read Gary's translation. 64 IIANXAH TUUKSTON : " Since yon are so fond of pictures, Miss Thurston," said he, "let me show you another favorite of mine. Here, in tha library." Taking a large portfolio from its rack, he opened it on tlio table, nnder a swinging lamp. There Avere views of Indian scenery — strange temples, rising amid plumy tufts of pahn ; elephants and tigers grappling in jungles of gigantic grass; pillared banians, with gray-bearded fakirs sitting in the shade, and long ghauts descending to the Ganges. The glimp- ses she caught, as he turned the leaves, took away her breath with sudden delight. At last he found the plate he was seeking, and laid it be- fore her. It -was a tropical brake, a tangle of mimosa-trees, ■with their feathery fronds and balls of golden down, among which grew ]iassion-flowers and other strange, luxuriant vines. In the midst of the cool, odorous darkness, stood a young In- dian girl of wonderful beauty, with languishing, almond-shaped eyes, .ind some gorgeous unknown blossom drooping from her night-black hair. Her only garment, of plaited grass or rushes, was bound across the hips, leaving the lovely form bare ill its unconscious purity. One hand, listlessly hanging among the mimosa leaves, which gradually folded up and bent away where she touched them, seemed to seek the head of a doe, thrust out from the foli.age to meet it. At the bottom of the picture a fawn forced its way through the tangled greenery. The girl, in her dusky beauty, seemed a dryad of the sump- tuous forest — the child of summer, and perfume, and rank, magnificent bloom. " Oh, how beautiful !" exclaimed Hannah Thurston, at once impressed by the sentiment of the picture : " It is like the scent of the tube rose." "Ah, you comprehend it!" exclaimed Woodbury, surprised and pleased : " do you know the subject ?" "Not at all, but it scarcely needs an explanation." " Have you ever heard of Kalidasa, the Hindoo poet ?" "I have not, I am soriy to say," she answered; " I have A STOKY Off AMEKICAN LIFE. 96 sometimes found references to the old Sanscrit literature in modern authors, but that is all I know about it." "My own kuowledge has been derived entirely from trans- lations," said he, " and I confess that this picture was the cause of my acquaintance with Kalidasa. I never had patience to read their interminable epics. Shall I tell you the story of Siikontala, this lovely creature ?" " Certainly, if you will be so kind : it must be beautiful." Woodbury then gave her a brief outline of the drama, to which she listened with the greatest eagerness and delight. At the close, he said : " I am sorry I have not a copy of the translation to offer you. But, if you would like to read another work by the same poet, I think I have the ' Megha-Duta,^ or ' Cloud-Mes- senger,' somewhere in my library. It is quite as beautiful a poem, though not in the dramatic form. There are many cha- racteristic allusions to Indian life, but none, I think, that you could not understand." " Thank you, Mr. Woodbury. It is not often that I am able to make the acquaintance of a new author, and the pleas- ure is all the greater. I know very little of literature outside of the English language, and this seems like the discovery ol a new woild iu the Past. India is so far-off and, unreal." " Not to me," he answered, with a smile. " We are crea tures of habit to a greater extent than the most of us guess. If you could now be transplanted to India, in less than five years you would begin to imagine that you were born undei the lotus-leaf, and that this life in Ptolemy had occurred only n the di'eama of a tropical noonday." " Oh, no, no I" said she, with earnestness. " We cannot so orget the duties imposed upon us — we cannot lose sight ot ur share in the great work intrusted to our hands. Right, and Justice, and Conscience, are everywhere the same !" " Certahily, as absolute principles. But our individual duties vary with every cliange in our lives, and our individu.al aotioti is' affected, in spite of ourselves, by the influences of the exter- 99 HANNAH thueston: nal world. Are you not — to take the simplest evidence of thic fact — cheerful and hopeful on some days, desponding and irresolute on others, without conscious reason ? And can you uot imagine moods of Nature which would permanently color your own ?" Hannah Thurston felt that there was a germ of harsh, ma- terial truth in his words, beside which her aspirations lost somewhat of their glow. Again she was conscious of a pain- ful, unwelcome sense of repulsion. "Is there no faith?" she asked herself; " are there no lofty human impulses, under this ripe intelligence?" The soft, liquid lustre faded out of her eyes, and the eager, animated expression of her face passed away like the sunshine from a cloud, leaving it cold and gray. Woodbury, seeing Miss Eliza Clancy, in company with other ladies, entering the library, tied up the portfolio and replaced it in its rack. Mrs. Waldo, pressing forward at the same time, noticed upon the table a Chinese joss-stick, in its lackered boat. She was not a woman to disguise or restrain an ordinary curiosity. " What in the world is this ?" she asked, taking the boat in her hands. The other ladies clustered around, inspecting it from all sides, but unable to guess its use. " Now," said Woodbury, laughing, " I have half a mind to torment you a little. You have all read the Arabian Nights ? Well, this is an instrument of enchantment." "Enchantment! Do the Indian jugglers use it?" asked Mrs. Waldo. " I use it," said he. " This rod, as it appears to be, is made of a mysterious compound. It has been burned at one end, you see. When lighted, it is employed to communicate fire to anotlier magical substance, through which the Past is recalled and the Future made clear." Miss Clancy and the other spinsters opened their eyes wide, in wonderment. "Provoking! Tell us now!" cried Mrs. Waldo. " It is just as I say," he answered. " See, when I light the A STORY OF AMERICAN UFE. 91 end — thus — it burns with a very slow fire. This single piece would burn for nearly a whole day." " But what is the other magical substance ?" she asked. " Here is a specimen," said he, taking the lid from a circular box of carved bamboo, and disclosing to their view some cigars. The spinsters uttered a simultaneous exclamation. " Dread- ful!" cried Mi's. Waldo, in aifected horror. "Hannah, can you imagine such depravity ?" "I confess, it seems to rae an unnatural taste," Hannah Tlmrston gravely answered ; " but I presume Mr. Woodbury has some defence ready." " Only this," said he, with an air between jest and earnest, "that the habit is very agreeable, and, since it produces a placid, equable tone of mind, highly favorable to reflection, might almost be included in the list of moral agencies." " Would it not be more satisfactory," she asked, " if you could summon up the same condition of mind, from an earnest desire to attain the Truth, without the help of narcotic drugs ?" " Perhaps so," he replied ; " but we are all weak vessels, as you know, Mrs. Waldo. I have never yet encountered such a thing as perfect harmony in the relations between body and mind. I doubt, even, if such harmony is possible, except at transient intervals. For my part, my temper is so violent and uncontrollable that the natural sedative qualities of my mind are iusufiicient." Mrs. Waldo laughed heartily at this assertion, and the serious tone in which it was uttered. Hsonah Thurston, to whom every fancied violation of the laws of nature was more or less an enormity, scarcely knew whether to be shocked or amused. She had determined to carefully guard herself against Bommitling such an indiscretion as Mr. Grindle, but it was hard to be sUent, when Duty demanded that she should bear a stern testimony against evil habits. " You should be chai-itable, ladies," Woodbury continued, " towards some of our masculine habits, seeing that we do not interfere with yours." M -HANNAH TH0ESTON: " Bless me! what habits have we, I should like to knowP* exclaimed Mrs. Waldo. " A multitude : I don't know the half of them. Crochet- work, and embroidery, and patterns, for instance. Tea is milder than tobacco, I grant, but your systems are more senhi- live. Then, there are powders and perfumes ; eau de Cologne, lavender, verbena, heliotrope, and what not — against all of which I have nothing to say, because their odors are nearly equal to that of a fine Havana cigar." Miss Eliza Clancy and Miss Ruhaney Goodwin exchanged glances of horror. They were both too much embarrassed to reply. " You understand our weaknesses," said Hannah Thurston, with a smile in which there was some bitterness. " I do not call them weaknesses," he answered. " I should be glad if this feminine love of color and odor were more com- mon among men. But there are curious differences of taste, in this respect. I have rarely experienced a more exquisite delight than in riding through the rose-fields of Ghazeepore, at the season for making .attar : yet some persons cannot endure the smell of a rose. Musk, which is a favorite perfume with many, is to me disagreeable. There is, however, a physical explanation for this habit of mine, which, perhaps, you do not know.'' " No," said she, still gravely, " I know nothing but that it seems to me unnecessary, and — -if you will pardon me the ■word — pernicious." " Certainly. It is so, in many oases. But some constitutions possess an overplus of active nervous life, which suggests (ho use of a slight artificial sedative. The peculiar fascination of smoking is not in the taste of the weed, but the sight of the emoke. It is the ear of com which we hold out to entice into harness the skittish thoughts that are running loose. lu the Orient, men accomplish the same result by a rosary, the beads of which they run through their fingers." "Yes!" intcrrnptcd Mrs. Waldo : "My brother Georp- A STOET OV AMEEICAJr LITE. 86 who was always at the head of his class, had a habit of twist- ing a lock of his hair while he was getting his lessons. It stuck out from the side of his head, like a honi. When mother had his hair cut, he went down to the foot, and he never got fairly up to head till the horn grew out again." " A case in point," said Woodbury. " Now, you, ladies, Lave an exactly similar habit. Sewing, I have heard, is often- times this soothing agent, but knitting is the great feminine uai-cotic. In fact, women are more dependent on these slight .helps to thought — these accompaniments to conversation — than men. There are few who can sit still and talk a whole evening, without having their hands employed. Can you not see some connecting link between our habits ?" The spinsters were silent. The speaker had, in fact, rather gone beyond their depth, with the exception of Mrs. Waldo, whose sympathy with hira was so hearty and genial that she would have unhesitatingly accepted whatever sentiments he might have chosen to declare. Hannah Thurston was not a little perplexed. She scarcely knew whether he was entirely sincere, yet his views were so novel and unexpected that she did not feel prepared to answer them. Before this mau's ap- pearance in Ptolemy, her course had been chosen. She had taken up, weighed, and decided for herself the questions of life : a period of unpleasant doubt and hesitation had been solved by the acceptance of (to her) great and important theo- ries of reform. Was a new and more difficult field of doubt to be opened now ? — ^more difficult, because the distinctions of the sexes, which had been almost bridged over in her intercourse with reformers of kindred views, were suddenly separated by D new gulf, wider than the old. Woodbury, noticing something of this perplexity in her coun- tenance, continued in a lighter tone: "At least. Miss Thurs- ton, I think you will agree with me that a physical habit, If you prefer to call it so, is not very important in comparison with those vices of character which are equally common and not so easy to eradicate. Is not the use of a ' narcotic di'Ug' 100 HANNAH THURSTON : less objectionable than the systematic habit of avarice, or envy, or hypocrisy ?" " Yes, indeed !" said Mrs. Waldo, recollecting his gencroud donation to the Cimmerians, ." and I, for one, will not prohibit the use of your magical ingredients." " I cannot judge for you, Mr. Woodbury," said Hannah Thurston, feeling that some response was expected ; " but have you no duty towards those who may be encouraged in tlie same habit, to their certain injury, by your example ?" "There, Miss Thurston, you touch a question rather too vague to enter practically into one's life. After accepting, in its fullest sense, the Christian obligation of duty towards our fellow-men, there must be a certain latitude allowed for indi- vidual tastes and likings. Else we should all be slaves to each other's idiosyncrasies, and one perverted or abnormal trait might suppress the healthy intellectual needs of an entire com- munity. Must we cease to talk, for example, because there is scarcely a wholesome truth which, offered in a certain way, might not operate as poison to some peculiarly constituted mind ? Would you cease to assert an earnest conviction from the knowledge that there were persons unfitted to receive it?" " I do not think the analogy is quite correct," she answered, after a moment's pause, "because you cannot escape the re- cognition of a truth, when it has once found access to your mind. A habit, which you can take up or leave off at will, is a very different thing." "Perhaps, then," said W(»odbury, who perceived by the rismg shade on Mrs. Waldo's smooth brow that it was time to end the discussion, "I had best plead guilty, at once, to being something of an Epicurean in my philosophy. I am still too much of an Oriental to be indifferent to slight material com- forts." "In consideration of your hospitahty," interposed Mrs. Waldo, brightening up, " the Sewing Union will not judge you very severely. Is it not so. Miss Cl:incy ?" A STORY OF AMTSRICAN LIFE. 101 "Well — really — oh no, we are under obligations to Mr, Woodbury ;" said the spinster, thus unexpectedly appealed to, and scarcely knowing how to reply. " Our community have reason to congratulate themselves, Sir," here broke in the Hon. Zeno Harder, who had entered the library in time to hear the last words. ^Voodbury bowed dryly and turned away. Soon afterwards, the sound of sleigh-bells in front of the house announced the first departures. The company became thinner by slow degrees, however, for the young gentlemen and ladies had found the large parlor of Lakeside full of con- venient nooks, which facilitated their habit of breaking into little groups, and were having such agreeable conversation that they would probably have remained until the small hours, but for the admonitions of the older folks. Among the earliest to leave were the Merryfields, taking with them Hannah Thurs- ton and Miss Dilworth, greatly to Bute's regret. The latter, unable to detect any signs of peculiar intimacy between Seth Wattles and the little seamstress, became so undisguised in his fondness for her society as to attract, at last, Mrs. Babb's at- tention. The grim housekeeper had a vulture's beak for scenting prey of this kind. While she assisted Mrs. Styles to find her " Things," in the bedroom up-stairs, she steadfastly kept one eye on the snowy front yard, down which the Merry- field party were moving. Bute, as she anticipated, was hover- ing around the last and smallest of the hooded and cloaked females. He put out his arm two or three times, as if to steady her steps. They had nearly reached the cutter, where Patrick was holding the impatient horses, when she saw another male figure hurry down the walk. There was a sud- den tangle among the dim forms, and one of them, she noticed, plunged full length into a bank of snow. Mrs. Babb was so agitated by this tableau, that she sud- denly threw up her hands, exclaiming ; " Well, if that don't beat all !" Mrs. Styles, carefully muffled for the journey home, had just 109 HANNAH tiiueston: turned to say good-night to the housekeeper, and stood petri fied, unable to guess whether the exclamation was one of ad- miration or reproach. She slightly started back before the energy with which it was uttered. "Well, to be sure, how I do forgit things I" said Mrs. Babb coming to her senses. " But you know, Ma'am, when you'r not used to havin' company for a while, y'r head gits bothered. 'Pears to me I haven't been so flustered for years. You'ro sure. Ma'am, you're right warm. I hope you won't take no cold, goin' home." The scene that transpired in front of the house was sufB- cieutly amusing. Bute Wilson, as deputy-hoet, escorted Miss Dilworth to the cutter, and was delighted that the shppery path gave him at least one opportunity to catch her around the waist. Hearing rapid footsteps behind him, he recognized Seth Wattles hard upon his track, and, as the ungainly tailor approached, jostled him so dexterously that he was tumbled headlong into a pile of newly-shovelled snow. " Ah 1 Who is it ? Is he hurt ?" exclaimed Miss Dilworth. A smothered sound, very much resembling " Damn !" came from the fallen individual. " Let me help you up," said Bute ; " you pitched ag'in me like an ox. Why, Seth, is it you? You ha'n't tore your trowsus, nor nothin', have you f" Seth, overwhelmed before the very eyes of Hannah Thurs- ton, whom he was hastening to assist into the cutter, grum- bled: " No, I'm not hurt." Meantime, Bute had said good- night to the party, and the cutter dashed away. "Well, it's one comfort that you can always mend your OAvn rips," the latter remarked, consolingly. Finally, the last team departed, and the sound of the bells diminished into a faint, fairy sweetness, as if struck by th frosty arrows of the starlight from the crystals of the snow. Lakeside returned to more than its wonted silence and seciu- Bion. Woodbury closed the door, walked into his library, lighted a cigar at the still burning piece of joss-stick, and A STOKY OS IV K I AV LLFE. 103 thre\r himself into a cbair before the fire. Xl-w and then pufling a delicate, expanding ring of smoke from his hps, he watched it gradoallv break and dissolve, whDe reviewing, in his thoughts, the occmrences of the evening. They were not wholly agreeable, yet the least so — Mr, Grindle's rude attack, — was not to be dismissed from the mind like an ordinary piec« of Tnlgarity. It was a type, he thought, of the mrvuners which selfconstitnted teachers of morality must necessarily assume in a commnnity where intellect is characterised by activity rather than developmeait. Society, in its broader sense, is un- known to these people, — ^was his refleoiion. In the absence of cnltlTation, they are ruled by popular ideas: Reforms are marshalled in, as reserve corj'S. behind the ranks of Religion, and not even the white flag of a neutral is recognised in the grand crusade. "Join us and establish your respectability, or resist us and be cut down I"' is the cry. '- Tet" — he mused further — " is it not something that, in a remote place like this. Ideas have vitality and power ? Ad- mitting that the channels in which they move are contracted, and often lead in false directions, must tliey not rest on a basis of honest, unselfish aspiration "? The vices which spring from intolerance and vulgar egotism are not to be lightly pardoned, bat, on the other hand, they do not corrupt and demoralize like those of the body. One must respect the source, while resist- ing the manifestation. How much in earnest tliac Quaker girl 6ee-iiedl It was quite a serious lecture she gave me, about* gniii a trifie as this" (puffing an immense blue ring into the air). '• But it was worth taking it, to see how she enjoyed the Sakontala. She certainly possesses taste, and no doubt thinks better than she talis. By the by. I quite forgot to give her the translation of the Megha-DutaP Springing up, Woodbury found the volume, after some Bearch, and soon became absorbed, for the second time, in its pages. " Bute," said Mrs. Babb, as she wiped the dishes, and care- fiiTy put away Ae odds and ends of the refreshments ; " Tears 104 HANNAH THURSTON : to me you was gallivantiu' round that Carrline DilwUth, mor« than's proper." Bute, standing with legs spread out and back to the fire, answered, as he turned around to face it, whereby, if ha blushed, the evidence was covered by the glow of the flame: " Well, she's a gay little creetur, and 'taint no harm." " I dunno about that," sharply rejoined the housekeeper. " She's a cunnin', conceited chit, and '11 lead you by the nose. You're just fool enough to be captivated by a piece o' wax- work and curls. It makes me sick to look at 'em. Gals used to comb their hair when I was young; I don't want no sieh a thing as she is, to dance at my buryin'." " Oh, Mother Forty, don't you go oflf about it !" said Bute, deprecatingly. " I ain't married to her, nor likely to be." " Married ! I guess not ! Time enough for that when Z'm dead and gone. Me that brought you up, and to have some- body put over my head, and spendin' all your earnins on fine clothes, and then hankerin' after my money. But it's locked up, safe and tight, I can teU you that." " I'm man-grown, I reckon," said Bute, stung into resistance by this attack, " and if I choose to git married, some day or other, I don't see who can hinder me. It's what everybody else does, and what you've done, yourself." Bute strode off to bed, and the housekeeper, silting down before the fire, indulged in the rare luxury of shedding seve- ral tears. A dlOIiy OF AilEEICAU I^Ui-B. 105 CHAPTER Vm. Df WHICH ME. WOODBUET PATS AN UNEXPHCTED VISIT. On the following Monday, Woodbury having occasion to visit Ptolemy, took with him the volume of Kalidasa, intend- ing to leave it at the cottage of the widow Thui-ston. The day was mild and sunny, and the appearance of the plank sidewalk so inviting to the feet, that he sent Bute forward to the Ptolemy House with the cutter, on alighting at the cot- tage gate. The door of the dwelling, opening to the north, was pro- tected by a small outer vestibule, into which he stepped, designing simply to leave the book, with his compliments, and perhaps a visiting-card — though the latter was not de rigueur in Ptolemy. There was no bell-pull ; he knocked, gently at first, and then loudly, but no one an&wered. Turning the knob of the door lie found it open, and entered a narrow little hall, in which there was a staircase leading to the upper story, and two doors on the left. Knocking again at the first of these, an answer presently came from the further room, and the summons, " Come in !" was repeated, in a clear though weak voice. He no longer hesitated, but advanced into the sitting-room. Friend Thurston, sunning herself in her comfortable chair, looked around. A fleeting expression of surprise passed over her face, but the next moment she stretched out her hand, saying : " How does thee do ?" " My name is Woodbury," said he, as he took it respectfully, « I ' 106 HANNAH TIlIJRSTOif: " I tliouglit it must be thee," she interrupted. " Hanuah described thy looks to me. Won't tbee sit down ?" " I have only called tt leave a book for your daughter, and will not disturb you." " Thee won't disturb me. I feel all the better for a little t.'ilK now and then, and would be glad if thee could sit and chat awhile. Thee's just about the age my little Richard would have been if he had lived." Thus kindly invited, Woodbury took a seat. His eye ap- preciated, at a glance, the plainness, the taste, and the cozy comfort of the apartment, betraying in every detail, the touches of a woman's hand. Friend Thurston's face attracted and interested him. In spite of her years, it still bore the traces of former beauty, and its settled calm of resignation recalled to his mind the expression he remembered on that of Mrs. Dennison. Her voice was unusually clear and sweet, and the deliberate evenness of her enunciation, — so different from the sharp, irregular tones of the Ptolemy ladies, — was most agree- able to his car. "Hannah's gone out," she resumed ; " but I expect her back presently. It's kind of thee to bring the book for her. Thee bears no malice, I see, that she lectui-ed thee a liltle. Thee must get used to that, if thee sees much of our people. We are called upon to bear testimony, in season and out of season, and especially towards men of influence, like thee, whose re- sponsibilities are the greater." " I am afraid you over-estimate my influence," Woodbury replied ; " but I am glad you do not suppose that I could bear malice on account of a frank expression of opinion Ei'ery man has his responsibilities, I am aware, but our ideas of duty sometimes difler." " Thee's right there," said the old lady; "and peihaps we ought not to ask more than that the truth bo sought for, in a sincere spirit. I don't think, from thy face, that there is much of stubborn worldly pride in thy nature, though thee belongg to the world, as vi e Friends say." A STOKY OF AMElaCAX LIFE. 107 ^ I have found that a knowledge of the world cures one of am-easonable pride. The more I mingle with men, the more I find reflections of myself, which Ibetter enable me to estimato my own character." " If thee but keeps the heart pure, the Holy Spirit may come to thee in the crowded places, even as The Saviour was caught up from the midst of His Disciples !" she exclaimed with fervor. Gazing on her steady, earnest eyes, Woodbury could not help thinking to himself: "The daughter cornea legitimately by her traits." " Can thee accustom thyself to such a quiet life as thee leads now ?" she asked ; and then gazing at him, continued, as if speaking to herself: " It is not a restless face. Ah, but that is not always a sign of a quiet heart. There are mysteries in man, past finding out, or only discovered when it is too late !" " This life is not at all quiet," he answered, " compared with that which I have led for the past ten or twelve years. In a foreign country, and especially within the tropics, the novelty of the surroundings soon wears offj and one day is so exactly the repetition of another, that we almost lose our count of time. It seems to me, now, as if I were just awaking out of a long sleep. I have certainly thought more, and felt more, in these three months than in as many years abroad ; for I had come to believe that the world was standing still, while now I see that it really moves, and I must move with it." " I like to hear thee say that !" exclaimed the widow, turn- ing suddenly towards him, with a bright, friendly interest in her face. " Men are so apt to be satisfied with their own opin- ions — at least, when they've reached thy age. Thee's over thirty, I should think ?" " Thirty six," Woodbury respectfully answered, " but I hope I shall never be so old as to suppose, lika the counsellors of Job, that wisdom will die with me." The widow understood his allusion, in the literal sense which he intended : not so another auditor. Hannah Thurs- ton, who heard -the last words as she entered the room, at once 108 HANNAH THUESTON: suspected a hidden sarcasm, aimed principally at herself. The indirect attacks to which she had been subjected,— especially from persons of her own sex,— had made her sensitive and sus- picious. Her surprise at Woodbury's presence vanished in the spirit of angry antagonism which suddenly arose within lier. She took the hand he frankly offered, with a mechanical colJ. ness strangely at variance with her flushed cheeks and earnest eyes. " I'm glad thee' s come, Hannah," said the old lady. " Friend Woodbury has been kind enough to brmg thee a book, and I've been using an old woman's privilege, to make his acquain- tance. He'll not take it amiss, I'm sure !" Woodbury rephed with a frank smile, which he knew she would understand. His manner towards the daughter, how- ever, had a shade of formal deference. Something told him that his visit was not altogether welcome to her. " I found the translation of the Megha-Duta, Miss Thurston," he said, •' and have called to leave it, on my way to the village. If it interests you, I shall make search for whatever other frag- ments of Indian literature I may have." " I am very much obliged to you," she forced herself to say, inwardly resolving, that, whether interesting or not, this was the first and last book she would receive from the library of Lakeside. " It is really kind of thee," interposed the widow ; " Hannah finds few books here in Ptolemy that she cares to read, and we cannot afford to buy many. What was the work, Hannah, thee spoke of the other night?" Thus appealed to, the daughter, after a moment's reluctance, answered: "I was reading to mother Carlyle's Essay on Groethe, and his reference to ' Wilhelm Meister' excited my curiosity. I believe Carlyle himself translated it, and therefore Ihe translation must be nearly equal to the original." " I read it some years ago, in Calcutta," said Woodbury, " but I only retain the general impression which it left upon my mind. It seemed to me, then, a singulaf medley of wi* A STOBY OF AMERICAN LIFM. 109 dom and weakness, of the tcndercst imagination and tli9 eoavsest reality. But I have no copy, at present, by ivhich to test the correctness of that impression. I am not a very criti- cal reader, as you will soon discover. Miss Thurston. Do you like Carlyle ?" " I like his knowledge, his earnestness, and his clear insiglit into characters and events, though I cannot always adopt his conclusions. His thought, however, is strong and vital, and it refreshes and stimulates at the same time. I am afraid he spoils me for other authors." " Is not that, in itself, an evidence of something false in his manner ? That which is absolutely greatest or truest should not weaken our delight in the lower forms of excellence. Pe- culiarities of style, when not growing naturally out of the sub- ject, seem to me like condiments, which disguise the natural flavor of the dish and unfit the palate to enjoy it. Have you ever put the thought, which Carlyle dresses in one of his solemn, involved, oracular sentences, into the Quaker garb of plain English ?" " No," said Hannah Thurston, somewhat startled. " I con- fess," she added, after a pause, " the idea of such an experi- ment is not agreeable to me. I cannot coldly dissect an au- thor wliom I so heartily admire." Woodbury smiled very, very slightly, but her quick eye caught and retained his meaning. " Then I will not dissect him for you," he said; "though I think you would find a pleasure in the exercise of the critical faculty, to counter- balance the loss of an indiscriminate admiration. I speak for myself, however. I cannot be content until I ascertain the real value of a man and his works, though a hundred pleasant illusions are wrecked in the process. I am slow to acknowl- edge or worship greatness, since I have seen the stuff of which many idols are composed. The nearer an author seems to re- flect my own views, the more suspicious I am, at first, of his influence upon me. A man who knows how to see, to think, and to judge, though he may possess but an average intellect, 110 HANNAH THUKSTON : is able to get nt all important truths himself, without taking them at secoud-hand." There was no assumption of superiority — not the slightest trace of intellectual arrogance in Woodbury's manner. He spoke with the simple frankness of a man who was utterly un- conscious that he was dealing crushing blows on the mental habits of his listener — ^not seeming to recognize, even, that they were different from his own. This calmness, so unlike the heat and zeal with which other men were accustomed to discuss questions with her, disconcerted and silenced Hannah Thurston. He never singled out any single assertion of hers as a subject of dispute, but left it to be quietly overwhelmed in the general drift of his words. It was a species of mental antagonism for which she was not prepared. To her mother, who judged men more or less by that compound of snow and fire who had been her husband, Woodbury's manner was ex- ceedingly grateful. She perceived, as her daughter did not, the different mental complexion of the sexes ; and moreover, she now recognized, in him, a man with courage enough to know the world without bitterness of heart. "I thank thee," said she, as he rose to leave with an apology for the length of his stay ; " I have enjoyed thy visit. Come again, some time, if thee finds it pleasant to do so. I see thee can take a friendly word in a friendly way, and thee may be sure that I won't judge thy intentions wrongly, where I am led to think differently." "Thank you. Friend Thurston : it is only in differing, that we learn. I hope to see you again." He took the widow's offered hand, bowed to Hannah, and left the room. "Mother!" exclaimed the latter, as she heard the outer door close behind him, "why did thee ask him to come again ?" " Why, Hannah ! Thee surprises me. It is right to bear testimony, but we are not required to carry it so far as that. Has thee heard any thing against his character ?" "No, mother: he is said to be upiight and honorable, but I A STOEY OF AMEKICAN L]FB. Ill do not like to be obliged to him for kindnesses, wlien he. no doubt, thinks my condemnation of his habits impertinent, — ■ when, I know, he despises and sneers at my views !" "Hannah," said the mother, gravely, "I tliink thee does him injustice. He is not the man to despise thee, or any one wlio thinks earnestly and labors faithfully, even in a cause he cannot appreciate. We two women, living alone here, or only seeing the men who are with us in sympathy, must not be too hasty to judge. Is thee not, in this way, committing the very fault of which thee accuses him ?" " Perhaps so," said Hannah: "I doubt whether I know what is true." She sank wearily into a chair. The volume Wood- bury left behind, caught her eye. Taking it up, she turned over the leaves listlessly, but soon succumbed to the tempta- tion and read — read until the fairy pictures of the Indian moonlight grew around her, as the Cloud sailed on, over jun- gle and pagoda, and the dance of maidens on the marble ter- races. Meanwhile, Woodbury having transacted his business and Bute Wilson his, the two were making preparations to return to Lakeside, when a plump figure, crossing the beaten snow- traek in front of the Ptolemy House, approached them. Even before the thick green veil was thrown back, Woodbury recog- nized the fat hand which withdrew itself from a worn chinchil- la muff, as the hand of Mrs. Waldo. Presently her round dark eyes shone full upon him, and he heard — what everybody in rtolemy liked to hear — the subdued trumpet of her voice. "Justin time to catch you !" she laughed. "How do jou do, Bute ? Will you call at the parsonage, Mr. Woodbm'y ? No ? Then I must give you my message in the open street. Is anybody near ? You must know it's a secret." After hav- ing said this in a loud tone, she lowered her voice: " Well, I don't mind Bute knowing it : Bute is not a leaky pitcher, I'm sure." " I reckon Mr. Max knows that," said Arbutus, with a broad laugh dancing in his blue eyes. .112 IJANXAH THUKSTOX: " "Wh.at is it ? Another fair for the Cimmerians ? Or ii Miss Eliza Clancy engaged to a missionary ?" asked Woodbury. "Be silent, that you may hear. If it were not for my feet getting cold, I would be a quarter of an hour telling you. But I must hurry — there's Mrs. Bue coming out of her yard, and he scents a secret a mile off. Well — it's to be at Merryfiold's en Saturday evening. Tou must be sure to come." " What — the Sewing Union ?" " Bless me ! I forgot. No — Dyce is to be there." " Dyce ?" " Yes. They don't want it to be generally known, as so many would go out of mere curiosity. I must say, between us, that is my only reason. Neither you nor I have any faith in it ; but Mrs. Merryfield says she will be glad if you can come." " First tell me who Dyce is, and what is to be done," said Woodbury, not a little surprised. The expression thereof was instantly transferred to Mrs. Waldo's face. " Well — to be sure, you're as ignorant as a foreigner. Bute knows, I'll be bound. Tell him, Bute, on the way home. Good-by! How do you do, Mrs. Bue? I was just telling Mr. Woodbury that the vessel for Madras" — and the remainder of the sentence was lost in the noise of the departing bells. " Dyce is what they call a Mejum," explained Bute, as they dashed out on the Anacreon road : " Merryfields believe in it. I was there once't when they made the dinner-table jump like a wild colt Then there's sperut-raps, as they call 'em, but it's not o' much account what they say. One of 'em spoke to me, lettin' on to be my father. ' Arbutus,' says he (they spelt it out), 'I'm in the third spere, along with Jime.' Hal ba ! and my naother's name was Margaretta! But you'd better see it for yourself, Mr. Max. Seein' 's belie vin', they say, but you won't believe more'n you've a mind to, after all." 8T03Y OF AALEKICAJS LIFB. ]l3 CHAPTER IX. SPIEIT0AI, ^ND OTHER EAPPINGS. Uat) the invitation to a spiritual sSance been given hy any cue but Mrs. Waldo, Woodbury would probably have felt lit- tle inclination to attend. The Merryfields alone, with their ambitious sentiment and negative intellect, were beginning to be tiresome acquaintances, now that the revival of old memo- ries was exhausted ; but the warm heart and sound brain of that one woman made any society tolerable. His thoughts re- verted to Hannah Thurston : would she be there ? Of course : was his mental reply — yet she certainly could not share in the abominable delusion. Why not, after all ? Her quick, eager intelligence, too proud and self-reliant to be restrained by trar ditional theories, — too unbalanced, from the want of contact with equal minds, — too easily moved by the mere utterance of attractive sentiment, — was it not, rather, the soil in which these delusions grew strong and dangerous? He would go and see. Nevertheless, he was conscious of a feeling of reluctance, al- most of shame at his own curiosity, as he left Lakeside. Tlie night was overcast, with a raw, moaning wind in the tree-tops, and Bute was forced to drive slowly, feeling rather than seeing the beaten tracks. This employment, with the necessary re- marks to the old horse Dick, fully occupied his attention. Finally, however, he broke silence with : " I s'pose they'll have Absalom up to-night ?" " What ! Do they go so far as that ? Can they really be- lieve it ?" Woodbury asked. "They jest do. They want to b'lieve it, and it comes easy ] ] 4 HANNAH XHUESTON ; If brains was to be ground, between you and me, neither of 'em would bring much grist to the mill. I don't wonder a1 Iter so much, for she set a good deal of store by Absalom, and 't seems natural, you know, for women to have notions o' that kind." " Are there many persons in Ptolemy who believe in such things?" uvy-ell— I don't hardly think there be. Leastways, they don't let on. There's Seth Wattles, o' course : he's fool enough for any thing ; and I guess Lawyer Tanner. Ever sence Mr. Styles preached ag'in 'em, it a'n't considered jist respectable. Infidel-like, you know." Woodbury laughed. "Well, Bute," said he, "we shall hardly find Mr. Waldo there to-night, if that is the case." " He'll be there, Mr. Max, if she is. She'll bring him clear, no matter what folks says. Miss Waldo's a wife worth bav- in' — not but what he's got considerable grit, too. He's not strong at revivals, but he's a good hand at holdin' together aU he gits." As they drove up the lane to Merryfield's farm-house, all was dark and silent. The shutters were closed, and there was no appearance of other visitors having arrived. At the noise of the bells, however, the door opened, and the owner, after sum- moning his hired man from the kitchen, to assist Bute in tak- ing charge of the horse, waited until Woodbury approached, ui order to help him ofi" with his overcoat. "They are all here that are likely to come," he announced in a whisper. James Merryfield was a man of fifty, or a little more, in whom the desire to be a reformer had been excited long after he had reached his maturity as a simple, unpretending farmer. The fictitious character but imperfectly overlaid the natural one, giving him an uncertain, hesitating air. Indeed, with all his assertion and self-gratulation, he never could overcome a secret doubt of his abihty to play the new part. But he wa? honest and sincerely conscientious, and a more prominent posi' tion than he would have assumed, of his own choice, was A STOEY OF AlIEBIUAN LIFE. 115 forced upon him by his friends. He possessed a comfortable property, and they were well aware of the advantage of being represented by men with bases. His frame had been soundly developed, not over-worn, by labor in his own fields, yet he was awkward, almost shambling; in his movements. His head was usually held on the left side, and a straight line dropped from the centre of his brow would not nearly have coincided with the axis of his nose. The large, irregular mouth expressed both the honesty and the weakness of the man. His voice, always nasal, rose into a shrill, decla- matory monotone when he became excited — a key which he continually let drop, and again resumed, in disagreeable fluc- tuations. Thus Woodbury, while heartily respecting his char- acter, found much of his society tiresome. His wife, Sarah, who was six or seven years younger, was one of those women, who, without the power of thinking for themselves, have, nevertheless, a singular faculty for accepting the thoughts and conclusions of others. She was entirely de- pendent on two or three chosen leaders in the various " Re- forms," without the slightest suspicion of her mental serfdom. Every new phase of their opinions she appropriated, and reproduced as triumphantly as if it had been an original dis- covery. She had, in fact, no intellectual quality except a tol- erable fluency of speech. This, alone, gave her some consider- ation in her special circle, and kept her hesitatiug husband in the background. Both had been touched by the Hand of Pro- gress, rather too late for their equilibrium. They had reached the transition state, it is true, but were doomed never to pass through it, and attain that repose which is as possible to shal- low as to deep waters. In person she was thin, but not tall, with a face expressive of passive amiabUity, slightly relieved by dyspepsia. The pale, anhealthy color of her skin, the dulness of her eyes, and the lustreless hue of her thin, reddish-brown hair, hinted at a sys- tem hopelessly disordered by dietetic experiments. Her chil- dren had all died young, with the exception of Absalom, wh» 116 HANNAH THUKSTON: bad barely readied manhood, when the care of his health, as Bute said, proved too great a burden to him. Woodbury was ushered, not into the parlor, but into the room ordinarily occupied by the family. A single caudle was burning on the table, dimly lighting the apartment. Mrs. Merryfield came forward to receive her guest, followed by M is, Waldo, who said, with unusual gravity : " You are in time— we were just about to commence." Seated around the table were Hannah Thurston, Mr. Waldo, Seth Wattles, Tanner, the lawyer, and a cadaverous stranger, who could be no other than Mr. Dyce. A motion of his hand dissuaded the company from rising, and they gi-avely bowed to Woodbury without speaking. Mr. Dyce, after a rapid glance at the new-comer, fixed his eyes upon the table. He was a middle-aged man, broad-shouldered but spare, with long, dark hair, sunken cheeks, and eyes in which smouldered some powerful, uncanny magnetic force. After Woodbury had taken his seat at the table, and Mr. Merryfield had closed the door, the medium spoke, in a low but strong voice : " Take away the candle." It was placed upon a small stand, in a corner of the room. " Shall I put it out ?" asked the host. Mr. Dyce shook his head. Presently a succession of sharp, crackling raps was heard, as if made on the under surface of the table. They wandered about, now fainter, now stronger, for a few moments, and then approached Mrs. Merryfield. " It's Absalom !" she cried, the yearning of a mother's heart overleaping the course of experiment. " What has he to say to-night?" " Will the spuit communicate through the alphabet ?" asked the medium. Three raps—" Yes." Lettered cards were laid upon the table, and the medium, commencing at A, touched them in succession until a rap an- A STOET OW AMERICAN LIWK. ' llH nounced the correct letter. This was written, and the pvocesi repeated until the entire communication was obtained. " I have been teaching my sisters. They are waiting for me on the steps of the temple. Good-night, mother !" — was Absalom's message. " How beautiful !" exclaimed Seth Wattles. " The temple • must mean the future life, and the steps are the successive gpheres. Will any spirit communicate with me ?" The raps ceased. Mr. Dyce raised his head, looked around with his glow-worm eyes, and asked : " Does any one desire to speak with a relative or friend ? Does any one feel im- pressed with the presence of a spirit?" His glance rested ou Hannah Thurston. ' " I would like to ask," said she, as the others remained si- lent, " whether the person whose name is in my mind, has any message for me." After a pause, the medium shuddered, stretched out his hands upon the table, with the fingers rigidly crooked, lifted his head, and fixed his eyes on vacancy. His lips scarcely seemed to move, but a faint, feminine voice came from his throat. '^ I am in a distant sphere^'' it said, " engaged in the labors J began while on earth. I bear a new name, for the promise of that which I once had is fulfilled." Hannah Thurston said nothing. She seemed to be ponder- ing the meaning of what she had heard. Mrs. Waldo turned to Woodbury, with a face which so distinctly said to him, without words: "It's awful!" that he answered her, in a similar way : "Don't be afraid !" " Will you ask a question, Mr. Woodbury ?" said the bost. " 1 have no objection," he said, in a serious tone, "to select D name, as Miss Thurston has done, and let the answer test fi-om what spirit it comes." After a rapid glance at the speaker, the medium pushed pencil and paper across the table, saying: " Write the name, 118 HANNAH THURSTON: fold tlie paper so that no one cm see it, and hold it in yowt hand." He then placed one elbow on the table, nnd covered his face with his hand, the fingei-s slightly separated. Woodbury wrote — a kmg name, it deemed to Ibe — and folded the paper as directed. Some wandeiing, uncertain raps followed. Communication by means of the alphabet •was proposed to the spirit, without a response. After a" sufficient pause to denote refusal, the raps commenced again. Mr. Dyce shuddered several times, but no sound proceeded from his mouth. Suddenly turning towards Woodbury with set eyes, and pointing his finger, he exclaimed : " He is stand- ing behind you !" The others, startled, looked towards the point indicated, and even Woodbury involuntarily turned his head. " I see him," continued the medium — " a dark man, not of our race. He wears a splendid head-dress, and ornaments of gold. His eyes are sad and his lips are closed : he is permit- ted to show his presence, but not to spieak to you. Now he raises both hands to his forehead, and disappears." " Who was it ?" asked Mrs. Waldo, eagerly. Woodbury silently unfolded the paper, and handed it to her. Even Mr. Dyce could not entirely couceal his curiosity to hear the name. " What is this !" s.aid she. "lean scarcely read it : Bab — ■ IJaboo Ivugbutty Churn Chuckcrbutty ! It is certainly no- body's name!" " It is the actual name of an acquaintance of mine, in Cal' cutta," Woodbury answered. " A Hindoo !" exclaimed Mr. Dyce, with a triumphant air/ " that accounts for his inability to use tlie alphabet." " I do not see why it should," rejoined Woodbury, " unless he has forgotten his English since I left India." "He did speak English, then ?" several asked. " Did, and still does, I presume. At least, he was not dead, three months ago," he answered, so quietly and gravely that A BTOET OF AMERICAN LIFE. 119 none of the company (except, perhaps, the medium) supposed that a trick had been intended. " Not dead !" some one exclaimed, iu great amazement, " Why did you summon him ?" "Because I did not wish to evoke any friend or relative ■whom I have lost, and I had a curiosity to ascertain whether tlie spirits of the living could be summoned, as well as those of the dead." There was a blank silence for a few moments. Only Bute, who had stolen into the room and taken a quiet seat in one corner, with his eyes wide open, gave an audible chuckle. Mr. Dyce, who had concealed a malignant expression under his hand, now lifted a serene face, and said, in a solemn voice : "The living, as we call them, cannot usurp the powers and privileges of those who have entered on the spiritual life. The spirit, whose name was written, has either left the earth, or that of another, unconsciously present in the gentleman's mind, has presented itself." The believers brightened up. How simple was the explana tion ! The mere act of writing the name of one Hindoo had recalled others to Mr. Woodbury's memor)', .and his thoughts must have dwelt, en passant, — probably without his being in the least aware of it, so rapid is mental action, — on some other Hindoo friend, long since engaged in climbing the successive spheres. In vain did he protest against having received even a flying visit from the recollection of any such person. Seth Wattles triumpbantly asked: "Are you always aware of every thing that passes through your mind ?" Mrs Merryfield repeated a question she had heard the week before ; " Can you always pick up the links by which you pass from one thought to another ?" Her husband modestly thrust in a suggestion : " Perhaps your friend Chuckerchurn is now among the spirits, as it were." Mr. Dyce, who had been leaning forward, with his arras un- der the table, during these remai-ks, suddenly lifted his hoad, 120 HANNAH THURSTON: exclaiming: "He has come back!" — wHch produced a inomen- taiy silence. "Yes — I cannot refuse you!" he added, as if addressing the spirit, and then started violently from his seat, twisting his left arm as if it had received a severe blow. He drew lip his coat-sleeve, which was broad and loose, then the eluove of his shirt, and displayed a sallow arm, upon the skin of which were some red marks, somewhat resembling the let- teis "R. R." In a few moments, however, the marks faded away. "His initials ! Who can it be ?" said Seth. "Rammohun Roy!" said Hannah Thurston, betrayed, as it almost seemed, into a temporary belief in the reality of the visitation. " I assure you," Woodbury answered, " that nothing was further from my thoughts than the name of Rammohun Roy, a person whom I never saw. If I wished to be convinced that these phenomena proceed from spirits, I should select some one who could give me satisfactory evidence of his identity." " The skeptical will not believe, though one came from heaven to convince them," remarked the medium, in a hollow tone. There was an awkward silence. "My friends, do not disturb the atmosphere!" cried Mr. Merryfield ; " I hope we shall have further manifestations." A loud rap on the table near him seemed to be intended as a reply. Mr. Dyce's hand, after a few nervous jerks, seized the pen- cil, and wrote rapidly on a sheet of paper. After compleling the message and appending the signatui-e to the bottom, ho heaved a deep sigh and fell back ui his chair. ]\rr. Merryfield eagerly grasped the paper. "Ah !" said he, " it is my friend !" and read the following : "i?e yc not loeak of vision to perceive the coming triumph of Truth. Even though sJie creep like a tortoise in tJie race, while Error lerqjs like a hare, yet shall sh-e first reach the goal. A STOKY OP AJIEEICAN LIFE. 121 ITie light from the spirit-doorld is only heginning to Hmon up- on the night of Earth. When the sun shall rise, oitby the owls and bats among m,en will be blind to its rays. Then the per' feet day of Liberty shall f II the sky, and even the spheres of spirits be gladdened by reflections from the realm of mortals t " Benjamin Lundt." In spite of certain inaccuracies in the spelling of this mes- sage, the reader's face brightened with satisfaction. " Thore !" he exclaimed — " there is a genuine test ! No one but the spirit of Lundy, as it were, could have written those words." " Why not ?" asked Woodbury. "Why — why — the foot of Hercules sticks out!" said Mr. Merryfield, falling, in his confusion, from the lofty strain. " You never knowed the sainted Lundy, the purest and most beautiful spirit of this age. Those are his very — ^yes, he would make the same expressions, as it were, if his voice could, — if he were still in the flesh." Woodbury's eyes, mechanically, wandered to Mrs. Waldo and Hannah Thurston. The former preserved a grave face, but a smile, perceptible to him alone, lurked at the bottom of her eyes. The latter, too earnest in all things to disguise the expression of her most fleeting emotions, looked annoyed and uneasy. Woodbury determined to take no further part in the proceedings — a mental conclusion which Mr. Dyce was suffi ciently clairvoyant to feel, and which relieved while it discon- certed him. Various other spirits announced their presence, but their communications became somewhat incoherent, and the semi- believers present were not strengthened by the evening's ex- periments. Mr. Waldo, in answer to a mental question, re- ceived the following message : " I will not say that my mind dwelt too strongly on the symbols by which Faith is expressed, for through symbols the Truth was made clear to me. There are many paths, but they all have the same ending" 122 HtNUAH thukston: " There can be no doubt of that. Are you not satisfied ?" asked Seth Wanles. " Not quite. I hid expected a different message from the spirit I useiected," said Mr. Waldo. "Was it not Beza Cimmer?" "'Nol" was the astonished reply: "I was thinking of a . 8c)>ool-mate and friend, who took passage for the West Indies ill a vessel that was never heard of afterwards." "We must not forget," said Mr. Dyce, "that our friends in the spirit-world still retain their independence. You may send for a neighbor to come and see you, and while you are waiting for him, another may unexpectedly step in. It is just so in our intercourse with spirits : we cannot control them. We cannot say to one : 'come!' and to another: 'go!' We must abide their pleasure, in faith and humility." Mr. Waldo said nothing, and made no further attempt at conversation with his lost school-mate. Seth Wattles summon- ed, in succession, the spirits of Socrates, Touissant L'Ouver- ture, and Mrs. Ilemans, but neither of them was inclined to communicate with him. After a while, some one remarked: "WUl they not more palpably manifest themselves ?" "We can try," said Mr. Dyce. Mr. Merryfield thereupon took the solitary candle into an ad- joining room. As the shutters were closed, the apartment was thus left in complete darkness. The guests kept their seats ■around the table, and it was specially enjoirred upon them not to move. At the end of a few minutes rustling noises were heard, loud raps resounded on the table, which was several times violently lifted and let down, and blows were dealt at random by invisible hands. Those who were so fortunate as to be struck, communicated the news in a whisper to their neighbors. Presently, also, the little old-fashioned piano, standing on one side of the room, began to stir its rusty keys. After a few discordant attempts at chords, a sin- gle hand appeared to be endeavoring to play ^'^ Days of A STOKT OF AMERICAN LIFE. 123 Absmce" the untuned keys making the melody still ijiore dismal. It was enough to set one's teeth on edge, but Mrs. Meriy- field hurst into tears. " Oh !" she cried, " it's Angelina her- self! She was taking lessons, and had just got that far when she died." Tlie sounds ceased, and light was restored to the room. Mr. Dyce was leaning on the table, with his face m liis hands. As he lifted his head, a large dark stain appeared under his right eye. " Why, what has happened to you t'" cried Merryfield. "Your eye is quite black!'' The medium, whose glance happened to fall upon his right hand, closed it so suddenly that the gesture would have at- tracted notice, if he had not skilfully merged it into one of his convulsive shudders. A rapid flush came to his face, and pass- ed away, leaving it yellower than before. "The unfriendly spu-its are unusually active to-night," fie finally answered : " They are perhaps encouraged by the pres- ence of doubters or scoffers. I name no names. I received several severe blows while the light was removed, and feel ex- hausted by the struggles I have undergone. But it is noth- ing. The spirit of Paracelsus will visit me to-night, and re- move the traces of this attack. Had the atmosphere been pure, it could not have occurred. But some who are here present are yet incapable of receiving the Truth, and theu- presence clouds the divine light through which the highest manifestations are made." Woodbury was too much disgusted to answer. His eye fell upon Bute, who sat in the corner, with his large hand cover- ing his mouth, and his face scarlet. " I confess," said Mr. Waldo, turning to the medium, " that I am not convinced of the spiritual character of these phenomena. I do not profess to explain them, but neither can I explain much that I see in Nature, daily ; and I do not perceive the necessity of referring them at once to supernatural causes. 124 HANN.VH TIIUKSTON : By sucli an assumption, the spiritual world is degraded in oiii" eyes, without, in my opinion, any increase of positive truth, even if the assumption were correct. A man who is really so blind as to disbelieve in the future life, would not be converted by any thing we have seen here to-night ; while for us, who be- lieve, the phenomena are unnecessary." " What !" exclaimed Mr. Dyce. " You do not appreciate the divine utterances from the world of spirits! You do not recognize the new and glorious Truths, the germs of a moro perfect Creed !" "I would prefer," the parson mildly answered, "not to hear the word ' divine' so applied. No : to be entirely frank, I see nothing new, or even true, in comparison with the old, Eternal Truth." " But," interrupted Merryfield, desperately, seeing the bright assent on Hannah Thurston's face ; " do you not believe in Progress ? Have we, as it were, exhausted — are we at the end of truth?" " Most certainly I believe in the forward march of our race. We are still children in wisdom, and have much to learn. But let me ask, my friend, do you not believe that the future life is an immeasurable advance upon this ?" " Yes," said Merryfield. " Then," Mr. Waldo continued, " why is it that the profess- ed communications from great minds, such as Socrates, Luther, or the Apostles themselves, are below the expressions of even average human intellect ?" The believers stared at each other in dumb amazement. The coolness with which the parson took hold of and tiamplod upon their gems of superhuman wisdom, was like that of St. Boniface, when he laid the axe to the sacred Hessian oaL His hearers, like the Druids on that occasion, were passive, from the sheer impossibility of comprehending the sacrilege. Mr. Dyce shook his head and heaved a sigh of commiseration, Seth Wattles clasped his hands, lifted his eyes, and muttered in a hoarse voice: "The time will come." Mrs. Merryfield A STOKY QF AMEEICAN LIFE. 125 was unable to recall any phrase that applied to the case, but wiped her eyes for the third time since the mysterious peifor- mance on the piano. Mrs. Waldo, however, looked at her husband with a smile which said to him : " I knew you could silence them whenever you choose to show your strength." Then, rising, she added, alodd : " Now the atmosphere is certainly disturbed. Let ua come back to our present existence, which, after all, is very good, when one has health, friends, and a contented spirit." Mr. Merryfield whispered to his wife, who disappeared in the kitchen. " Don't go yet," ,he said to his guests, who had risen from the table ; " we must warm you, before you start." " Is it possible ? whiskey-punch ?" asked Woodbury, aside, of Mrs. Waldo. " Hush ! The very suggestion of such a thing would ruin you, if it were known," she replied. At the end of a few minutes, Mrs. Merryfield reappeared, followed by a negro girl, who bore several steaming plates on a japanned tray. They proved to contain slices of mince-pie, richauffee, and rather palatable, although heavy, in the absence of brandy. Mrs. Merryfield, during the day, had seriously thought of entertaining her guests with coffee ; but as she was thoroughly convinced of the deleterious nature of the bever- age, she decided that it would be no less criminal to furnish it to others than if she drank it herself. Consequently they re- ceived, instead, glasses of hot lemonade, which, by an associa- tion of ideas, almost convinced Woodbury, in spite of himself, hat he was suffering under an attack of influenza. Mr. Dyce, who adroitly managed to keep the left side ot his face towards the candle, ate his portion with great relish. His spiritual office being ended for the day, he returned with avidity to the things of this world, and entered into a defence of animal food, addressed to Seth Wattles, who was inclined to be a Vegetarian. Indeed, the medium dropped hints unfa- vorable to the Temperance reform, which would have shocked 126 nASNAH THUllaTON : Bome of his hearers, if he had not based them, like the most ol his opinions, on spiritual communications. As the guests were putting on their coats and cloaks in the hall, Woodbury overheard Mrs. Waldo, furtively saying to her spouse : " I am so glad you spoke your mind." " I must thank you, also, Mr. Waldo," said Hannah Thurs- ton. " One should not too willingly accept any thiug so new and strange. For the sake of the truth we already possess, it is right to be cautious " " And now it is my turn to thank you, Miss Thurston," re- joined Woodbury, gayly, as they went out into the cool night- air. She understood him. For one instant her habitual .antago- nism asserted itself, but she conquered it by a strong effort. The night hid her face, and her voice was even-toned and sweet as ever, as she answered ■ " I am glad there is one point on which we can agree." " Oh, there are a great many, I assure you," he exclaimed, with a lightness .whioL, she knew not why, struck her unpleas- antly : " If we could take away from your surplus of earnest- ness, to complete my lack of it, we should get on very well together." " Can one be too much in earnest ?" she asked. " Decidedly. There are relative values in ethics, as in every thing else. You would not pull a pink with the same serious application of strength which you would use, to wind a bucket out of a well. But Mrs. Waldo waits : good-night !" He lifted her into the cutter, the horses started, and she was off before she had fairly time to consider what he jneant. But the words were too singular to be forgotten. Bute now made his appearance, and Woodbury took his seat in the cutter beside him. Dick was another horse when hid head was pointed towards home, and the bells danced to a lively measure as they passed up the valley in the face of the wind. The rising moon struggled through clouds, and but two or three stars were visible overhead. The night was weird A STOKT OV AMEKICAN LIFE. 12'J and sad, and in its presence the trials and the indulgencies of daylight became indistinct dreams. Woodhury recalled, with a feeluig of intense repugnance, the occurrences of the even- ' ing. "Better," he said to himself, " a home for the soul with- in the volcanic rings of yonder barren moon, with no more than the privacy it may command in this life, than to be placed on l)ie fairest star of the universe, and be held at the beck and call of every mean mind that dares to juggle with sano- tities." Plunged in these meditations, he did not at first notice the short, half-suppressed spirts of laughter into which Bute occa- sionally broke. The latter, at last, unable to enjoy his fun alone, said : "When you looked at me, Mr. Max., I thought I'd ha' bust. I never was so nigh givin' way in my life.'' "What was it ?" asked Woodbury. " Well, you niusn't say nothin'. J done it." "You!" " Yes, ha ! ha ! But he's no idee who it was." " Did you strike him in the face, Bute ?" " Lord, no ! ITe done all the strikin' there was done to-night. I fixed it better 'n that. You see I suspicioned they'd git Ange- lina's spirut to playin' on the pyanna, like th' other time I was there. Thinks I, I've a notion how it's done, and if I'm right, it's easy to show it. So, afore comin' into the settin'-room, I jist went through the kitchen, and stood awhile on the hearth, to warm my feet, like. I run one arm up the chimbley, when nobody was lookin', and rubbed my hand full o' soft sut. Then I set in the corner, and held my arm behind me over tha back o' the cheer, till the candle was took out. !Now's the time, thinks I, and quick as wink I slips up to the pyanna — I knowed if they'd heerd me they'd think it was a spirut — and rubbed my sutty hand very quietly over the black keys. I didn't dare to bear on, but, thinks I, some '11 come off, and he 'U be sure to git it on Ms hands. Do you see it, Mr. Max. ? hen the light come back, there he was, solemn enough, with 128 HANS AH thueston: a hlack eye, ha ! ha ! I couldn't git a sight of his hand, though ; he shet his fist and kep' it under the table." Woodbury at first laughed heartily, but his amusement soon gave place to indignation at the swindle. " Why did you not expose the fellow ?" he asked Bute. " Oh, what's the use ! Them that believes wouldn't beUeva any the less, if they'd seen him play the pyanna with their own eyes. I've no notion o' runnin' my head into a hornet's nest, and gittin' well stung, and no honey to show for my pains." With which sage observation Bute di'ove up to the door of Liikeside. A STOKY OF A3IE11ICAN LIFE. 129 CHAPTER X. N WHICH -WE HEAB A DITEKTING STOET. The winter wore away, slowly to the inhabitants of PtoJ einy, rapidly and agreeably to the owner of Lakeside, who drank life, activity, and cheerfulness from the steady cold. Every day, while the snow lasted, his cutter was to be seen on the roads. Dick proved entirely inadequate to his needs and was turned over to Bute's use, while the fastest horse out of Fairlamb's livery-stable in Ptolemy took his place. Wood bury's drives extended not only to Anacreon and the neighbor- ing village of Nero Corners — a qneer little place, stuck out of sight in a hollow of the upland, — ^but frequently as far as Tibe- rius, which, being situated on a branch of the New York jOen- tral, considered itself quite metropolitan. The inhabitants took especial delight in its two principal streets, wherein the houses were jammed together as compactly as possible, and huge brick blocks, with cornices and window-caps of cast-iron, star- ted up pompously between one-story buildings of wood, saying to the country people, on market days : " Behold, a city !" The farmers around Ptolemy, who believe that every man born in a large town, and ignorant of cither farming or some mechanical employment, must necessarily be soft, weak,^ and effiiminate in his nature — " spoiled," so far as true masculine grit is concerned — were not a little astonished at Woodbury's activity and powers of endurance. More than once some of them had met him, sheeted with snow and driving in the teeth of a furious north-eastern storm, yet singing merrily to himself as if he liked it all ! It was noticed, too, that a vigorous red was driving away the tan of Indian summers from his cheeks, a* 130 HANNAH THURSTON . tliat a listless, indifferent expression, which at first made them say " he has sleepy eyes," had vanished from those organs, as if a veil had been withdrawn, leaving them clear and koen, ■with a cheerful, wide-awake nature looking out. Thus, although his habitual repose of manner remained, it no longer impressed the people as something foreign and uncomfortable; and the general feeling towards him, in spite of the attacks of Mr. Grindle and the insinuations of Seth Wattles, was respect- ful and friendly. Bute, who was a confirmed favorite atnoug the people, would suffer no word to be said against his master, and went so far as to take a respectable man by the throat, in the oyster-cellar under the Ptolemy House, for speaking of him as a " stuck-up aristocrat." That part of a man's life which springs from his physical temperament seemed, in Woodbury's case, to have stood still during his sojourn abroad. After the tropical torpidity of his system had been shaken off, he went back ten years in the sudden refreshment of his sensations. The delicate cuticle of youth, penetrated with the finer nerves which acknowledge every touch of maturing existence as a pleasure, was partially restored. The sadness engendered by hard experience, the scorn which the encou^nter with human meanness and selfish- ness left behind, the half contemptuous pity which the pride of shallow brains provoked — these were features of his nature, which, impressed while it was yet plastic, were now too firmly set to be erased; but they were overlaid for the time by the joyous rush of physical sensation. His manner lost that first gravity which suggested itself even in his most relaxed and playful moods ; he became gay, brilliant, and bantering, and was the life of the circles in which he moved. As the owner of Lakeside, all circles, of course, were open to him ; but lie soon discovered the most congenial society and selected it, without regard to the distinctions which prevailed in Ptolemy. As no standard of merely social value was recognized, the Uttle conmiunity was divided according to the wealth, or the religious views of its members ; whence arose those jealousiu* A STOKY OF AMEHICAN UFB. J 3] and rivali'ies which the Great Sewing-Union had for a time suppressed. Woodbury soon perceived this fact, and deter mined, at the start, to preserve his social independence. Neither of the circles could complain of being neglected, yet neither could claim exclusive possession of him. He took tea twice in one week with the Rev.. Lemuel Styles, and the heart of Miss Legrand, the clergyman's sister-in-law, began to bo agitated by a vague hope ; but, in a few days afterwards, he accompanied the Misses Smith (Seventh-day Baptists) on a sleighing party to Atauga City, and was seen, on rae follow- ing Sunday, to enter the Cimmerian church. Between the Waldos and himself, a sincere friendship had grown up. The parson and his wife possessed, in common with Woodbury, a basis of healthy common sense, which, in spite of the stubborn isolation of their sect, made them tole- rant. They had no idea of turning life into a debating-school, and could hear adverse opinions incidentally dropped, in the course of conversation, without considering that each word was thrown down as a gage of combat. Hence, Woodbury found no pleasanter house than theirs, in all his rounds, and the frank way in which he occasionally claimed their scanty hospi- tality was so much like that of a brother, that the parson de- clared to his wife, it expressed his idea of Christian society. I am afraid I shall injure Mr. Waldo's reputation, but I am bound to state that Woodbury was the last man whom he would have attempted to secure, as a proselyte. One evening in March, after the winter had begun to melt away on the long hill sweeping from the eastern valley around to Lakeside, a little party accidentally assembled in Mrs.~ Waldo's parlor. Since the proceeds of the Fair had'enabled lier to cover its walls with a cheap green paper, and to substitute a coarse carpet of the same color for the tattered thing which she had transferred to her bed-room, the apartment was vastly improved. The horse-hair sofa and chairs, it is true, had per- formed a great deal of service, but they were able to do it ; the sheet-iron stove gave out a comfortable warmth ; and the 1?2 HANNAH THURSTON: one treasure of the parsonage, a raelodeon, which did tlie duty of an organ on Sundays, was in tolei-able tune. Hannah Thurston contributed a vase of grasses, exquisitely arranged, which obhged Mrs. Waldo to buy a plaster bracket from an itinerant Italian. She could ill afford to spare the half-dollar which it cost — and, indeed, most of the women in her husband's congregation shook their heads and murmured: " Vanity, vanity !" when they saw it — but a little self-denial in her housekeeping, which no one else than herself ever knew, reconciled' the deed to her conscience. Woodbuiy brought to her from New York an engraving of Ary Scheffer's " Christus Consolator," which not only gave her great delight, but was of service in a way she did not suspect. It himg opposite to the grasses, and thus thoroughly counterbalanced their pre- sumed " vanity," in the eyes of Cimmerian visitors. Indeed, they were not sure but a moral effect was intended, and this uncertainty stopped the remarks which might otherwise have spread far and wide. The party in Mrs. Waldo's parlor was assembled by acci- dent, we have said ; but not entirely so. Hannah Thurston had been invited to tea by the hostess, and Woodbury by Mr. Waldo, who had met him in the streets of Ptolemy. This coincidence was unintentional, although not unwelcome to the hosts, who, liking both their guests heartily, could not account for the evident prejudice of the one and the indifference of the other. Mrs. Waldo had long since given up, as insane, her first hope of seeing the two drawn together by mutual magnetism ; all she now desired was to establish an entente eordiale, since the entente cP amour could never be. On this occasion, the parties behaved towards each other with such thorough courtesy and propriety, that, had Hannah Thurston been any other woman, Mrs. Waldo would have suspected the existence of an undying enmity. After tea Mr. and Mrs. Merryfield made their appearance. They had come to Ptolemy to attend a lecture on Temperance by Abiram Stokes, a noted orator of the cause, who, however, A STORY OF AJtERICAN LIFE. 133 failed to arrive. Seth Wattles presently followed, apparently by accident, but really by design. He had ascertained where Uannah intended to pass the evening, from the widow Thurs- ton's little servant-maid, whom he waylaid as she was coming out of the grocery-store, and did not scruple to thrust himself upon the company. His self-complacency was a little dis- turbed by the sight of Woodbury, whose discomfiture, during the evening, he mentally resolved to accomplish. His victim, however, was in an unusually cheerful mood, and every arrow which the indignant Seth shot, though feathered to the barb with insinuation, flew wide of the mark. Wood- bury joined in denunciation of the opium traffic ; he trampled on the vices of pride, hypocrisy, and selfishness ; he abhorred intemperance, hated oppression, and glorified liberty. But ho continually brought the conversation back to its key-note of playful humor, cordially seconded by Mrs. Waldo, whose only fault, in the eyes of her reforming friends, was that she had no taste for serious discussion. Seth, finally, having exhausted his quiver, began to declaim against the corrupting influence of cities. " It is time that hackneyed superstition were given up," said Woodbury. " Everybody repeats, after poor old Cowper, ' God made the country and man made the town ;' thei'efore, one is divine, and the other — the opposite. As if God bad no part in that human brain and those human afieclions, out of which spring Art, and Discovery, and the varied fabric of Society ! As if man had no part in making Nature attractive and enjoyable to us !" " Cities are created by the selfishness of man,'' cried Seth, a little pompously. "And farms, I suppose, are created entirely by benevo- lence!" retorted Woodbury, laughing. "You Reformers ha^e the least cause to complain of cities. You got your Temperance from Baltimore, and your Abolition from Bos- ton." "That proves nothing: there was one just man even in 134 HANNAH tiiukhion: Sodom!" exclaimed Seth, determined not to be put down "But, of course, people who think fashion more Importam than principle, will always admire a city life." " Yes, it is Fashion," added Mrs. Merryfield, who was wxm usually dyspeptic that evening — "it is Fashion that has ini- feded the cause of woman. Fashion is the fetters whicli chains her down as the slave of man. How can she know her rights, when she is educated, as a child, to believe that Dress is her Doom ?" " If you were familiar with cities, Mrs. Merryfield," said "Woodbury, " you would find that they admit of the nearest approach to social independence. Fashion is just as rigid in Ptolemy as it is in New York ; among the Hottentots or Dig- ger Indians, far more so. Not only that, but Fashion is actually necessary to keep us from falling into chaos. Suppose there were no such thing, and you and Mr. Merryfield lived in tents, dressed in oriental costume, while Mr. Waldo preached in feathers and war-paint, to Miss Thurston, in a complete suit of steel armor, Mr. Wattles with Chinese pig-tail and fan, and myself in bag-wig, powder, and ruflles !" The hearty laughter which followed this suggestion did not silence Seth. " It is not a subject for frivolity," he exclaimed ; " you cannot deny that Fashion corrupts the heart and de- Btroys all the better impulses of human nature." " I do deny it," replied Wo'odbury, whose unusual patience was nearly exhausted. " All sweeping, undiscriminating asser- tions contain much that is both false and absurd, and yours is no exception. The foundation of character lies deeper than external customs. The honor of man, the virtue of woman, the pure humanity of both, is not affected by the cut or colors ©f their dress. If the race is so easily corrupted as one mitrht infer from your assertions, how can you ever expect to sue. ceed with your plans of reform ?" "I should not expect it," interposed Mrs. Merryfield, "if I had to depend on the women that worships the Moloch of fashion. Why, if I was the noblest and wisest of my sex, A STORT OF AMERICAN LIFE. 135 they'd turn up their noses at me, unless I lived In Fifth Avenue." A sweet, serious smile, betraying that breath of dried rosea which greets us as we open some forgotten volume of tlie past, stole over Woodbury's face. His voice, also, whun he spoke, betrayed the change. Some memory, suddenly awakened, had banished the present controversy from his mind. "It is strange," said he, slowly, addressing Mrs. Waldo, rather than the speaker, " how a new life, like mine in India, can make one forget what has gone before it. In this mo- ment, a curious episode of my youth suddenly comes back to me, distinct as life, and I wonder how it could ever have beeu forgotten. Shall I give you a story in place of an argument, Mrs. Merryfield ? Perhaps it may answer for both. But if you can't accept it in that light, you may have the last word." " Pray tell us, by all means !" exclaimed Mrs. Waldo. Woodbury looked around. Hannah Thurston, meeting his questioning glance, silently nodded. Seth was sullen and gave no sign. Mrs. Merryfield answered, " I'd like to hear it, well enough, I'm sure," whereto her husband added: "So would I, as — as it were." Thus encouraged, Woodbury began : " It happened after my father's death, and before I left ISTe w York for Calcutta. I was not quite twenty when he died, and his bankruptcy left me penniless, just at the time of life when such a condition is most painfully felt. In my case it was worse than usual, because so utterly unexpected, and my education had in no way prepared me to meet it. Every thing went : house, furniture, library, and even those domestic trifles which are hardest to part with. A few souvenirs of my mother were saved, and a friend of the family purchased and gave to me my father's watch. My brother-in-law was unable to help me, because he was greatly involved in the ruin. He sent my sister and their children to iive in a cheap New Jer- sey village, while he undertook a joui-ney to New Orleans, in the hope of retrieving his position by a lucky stroke of 136 HAlOfAH THtrrwbTON : business. Thus, witliin a month after the funeral of ray father, I found myself alone, poor, and homeless. It was in 1837, and the great financial crash was just beginning to thunder in men's ears. My father's friends were too much concerned about their own interests to care especially for mine. It was no single case of misfortune : there were ex- amples equally hard, on all sides, very soon. " Nevertheless, I was not suifered to become a vagabond, A subordinate clerkship was procured for me, at a salary of two hundred and fifty dollars a year I was ignorant of business, for my father had intended that I should study Law, after completing my collegiate course, and the character of my mind was not well adapted for commercial life. The salary, small as it was, fully equalled the value of my services, and I should have made it suifice to meet my wants, if I had received it punctually. But my employer so narrowly escaped ruin during the crisis that he waS often unable to- pay me, or my fellow-clerks, our monthly wages, and I, who had no little hoard to draw upon, like the others, sometimes suffered the most painful embarrassment. I have frequently, this winter, heard the praises of a vegetable diet. I have some right to give my opinion on the subject, as I tried the experiment for two months at a time, and must say that it totally failed. " I was too proud to borrow money, at such times, and was, moreover, exceedingly sensitive lest my situation should become known. The boarding-house, where I first made my home, be- came uncomfortable, because I was not always ready with my money on Saturday morning. Besides, it was a cheap place, kej)! by an old woman with two sentimental daughters, who wore their hair in curls and always smelt of sassafras soap. There were various reasons which you will understand, without my tellirg you, why my residence there grew at last to be insufferable. I accidentally discovered that the owner of a corner grocery in the Bowery had a vacant room over his store, with a separate entrance from the cross-street, and that he could supply me, at a cheap rent, with the most necessary furniture. The bargain A STOET OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 137 was soon made. The room and furniture cost me a dollar awcek, and ray food could be regulated according to my means. Tho common eating-houses supplied me, now and then, with a meal, but I oftenest bought my bread at the baker's, and filled my pitcher from the hydrant in the back-yard. I was also so far independent that I could choose my associates, and regulate my personal habits. I assure you that I never washed my face with sassafras soap." Mrs. Waldo laughed heartily at this declaration, and Mrs. Merryfield innocently exclaimed : " Why, I'm sure it's very good for the skin." " Meanwhile," Woodbury continued, " I still kept up inter- course with the circle in which my father moved, and which, at that time, would have been called ' fashionable.' Some families, it is true, felt a restraint towards me which I was too sensitive not to discover. The daughters had evidently been warned against too great a display of sympathy. On the other hand, I made new and delightful acquaintances, of equal social standing, by whom I was treated with a delicacy and a gener- ous consideration which I shall never forget. In fact, what- ever Christian respect I may exhibit, in my intercourse with others, I learned from those families. You may know wh.at they were, Mr. Waldo, by imagining how you would treat me, now, if I should suddenly lose my property. " I had been living in this manner for a year, or thereabouts, when the main incident of ray story occurred. In the circle where I was most intimate, there were two or three wealthy bachelors, who had handsome residences in the neighborhood of Bleecker street (there was no Fifth Avenue then). These gentlemen had, in turn, given entertainments during the win- ter, and had taken such pains to make them agreeable to the young ladies, that they constituted a feature of the season. The company was small and select; on these occasions, two or three married pairs being present for the sake of propriety, but no society was ever more genial, joyous, and unconstrained in tone. At the last entertainment, our host finished by giving 138 HANXAH thukston: ns a choice supper, to which we sat down in order to enjoy it thorouglily. I have had a prejudice against all ambulatory suppers since. There were songs and toasts, and fun of tho purest and most sparkling quality. At last, one of the young ladies said, with a njock despair: ' So, t.his is the end of our bachelor evenings. What a pity ! I am ready to wish that you other gentlemen had remained single, for our sakes. You know you cannot give us such delightful parties as this.' " ' Are there really no more bachelors V exclaimed Miss Remington, a tall, beautiful girl, who sat opposite to me. ' Must we sing : Lochaber no more ? But that will never do : some married man must retract his vow, for our sakes.' " One of the latter, looking around the table, answered : Let us be certain, first, that we are at the end of the list. Belknap, Moulton, Parks — yes — ^but stop ! there's Woodbuiy ! too modest to speak for himself.' " ' Woodbury 1 Woodbury !' they all shouted, the young ladies insisting that I should and must entertain them in my turn. My heart came into my throat. I attempted to laugh off the idea as a jest, but they were too joyously excited to heed me. It was a cruel embarrassment, for none of the com- pany even knew where I lived. My letters were always sent to the office of my employer. Moreover, I had but five dol- lars, and had made a resolution never to live in advance of my wages. What was I to do ? The other guests, ignorant of my confusion, or not heeding it, were already talking of the entertainment as settled, and began to suggest the evening ■when it should take place. I was meditating, in a sort of des- peration, whether I sliould not spring up and rush out of the house, when I caught Miss Remington's eye. I saw that she understood my embarrassment, and wanted to help me. Her look said 'Accept!' — a singular fancy darted through my mind, and I instantly regained my self-possession. I informed the company that I should be very happy to receive them, and that my entertainment should bear the same proportion to my means as that of our host. The invitations were given and A STOEY Off AMERICAN LIFB. 13S accepted on the spot, ana an evening selected from the follow- ing week. " ' But where is it to be ?' asked one of the young ladies. " ' Oh, he will let you know in time,' said Miss Remington, who took occasion to whisper to me, before the company sepa- rated : ' Come to me first, and talk the matter over.' "I called upon her the next evening, and frankly confided to her my situation and means. She was three or four years older than myself, and possessed so much natural judgment and good sense, in addition to her social experience, that I had the utmost confidence in her advice. A woman of less tact would have offered to assist me, and that would have been an end of .the matter. She saw at once what was best to be done, and we very soon agreed upon the preparations. Every thing was to be kept secret from the rest of the company, whom she determined to mystify to her heart's content. She informed them that the entertainment would be unlike any thing they had ever seen ; that the place was not to be divulged, but the guests were to assemble at her father's house on the appointed evening ; and that they must so dress as to do the highest honor to my hospitality. The curiosity of all was greatly ex- cited ; the affair was whispered about, and others endeavored to join the party, but it was strictly confined to the original company. " On my part I was not idle. Adjoining my chamber was a large room, in which the grocer kept some of his stores. This room I thoroughly cleaned, removing.some of the articles, but retaining all the kegs and boxes. The grocer, an honest, amiable man, supposed that I was preparing a little festival for some of my relatives, and gave me the free use of his ma- terial. I arranged the kegs and boxes around the walls, and covered them with coarse wrapping-paper, to serve as seats. The largest box was stationed in a corner, with a keg on the top, as a post for the single musician I had engaged— an old Irish fiddler, whom I picked up in the street I went out towards Yorkville and brought home a bundle of cedar 140 HANNAH XHU11ST0:5*: boughs, with which I decorated the walls, constructing a largo green word — Welcome — above tlie fireplace. I borrowed twelve empty bottles in which I placed as many tallow candles, and disposed them about the room, on extemporized brackets. For my own chamber, which was designed to answer as a dros- singroom for the ladies, I made candlesticks out of the largest turnips I could find in the market. In fact, I purposely remov- ed some little conveniences I possessed, and invented substi- tutbs of the most grotesque kind. I became so much inte- rested in my preparations, and in speculating upon the efiect they would produce, that I finally grew as impatient as my guests for the erening to arrive. " Nine o'clock was the hour appointed, and, punctually to the minute, five carriages turned out of the Bowery and drew up, one after another, at the side-door. I was at the entrance, in complete evening dress, with white gloves (washed), to receive my guests. I held a tray, upon which there were as many candles fixed in large turnips, as there were gentlemen in the party, and begged each one to take a light and follow me. The ladies, magnificently dressed in silks and laces, rustled up the narrow staircase, too much amazed to speak. As I threw open the door of my saloon, the fiddler, perched near the ceiling, struck up 'Hail to the Chief.' The efiect, I as- sure you, was imposing. Miss Remington shook hands with me, heartily, exclaiming : ' Admirable ! You could not have done better.' To be sure, there were some exclamations of surprise, and perhaps one or two blank faces— but only for a moment. The fun was seen immediately, and the eveninn' commenced with that delightful social abandon in which other evenings generally end. The fiddler played a Scotch reel, and the couples took their places on the floor. Two of the older gentlemen were familiar with both the Scotch and Irish dances, and the younger ladies set about learning them with a spirit which charmed the old musician's heart. The superb silka floated about the room to the jolliest tunes, or rested, in the btervals, on the grocer's kegs, and once a string of pearls A STOKT OF AMEBICAN LIFE. 141 broke and rolled into the fireplace. After a while, the gro- cer's boy, in his shirt-sleeves, made his appearance with a large market-basket on his arm, containing a mixture of cakes raisins, and almonds. He was in great demand, especially as I furnished no plates. It was then agreed to put the basket on a keg, as a permanent refreshment-table, and the boy brought in lemonade, in all kinds of drinking-vessels. I had taken some pains to have them all of different patterns. There were tin-cups, stoneware mugs, tea-cups, bowls, and even a cologne bottle. By this time all had fully entered into the spirit of the affair: I was not only at ease but jubilant. The old fiddler played incessantly. Miss Remington sang 'The Exile of Erin' to his accompaniment, and the old man cried : we had speeches, toasts, recitations : we revived old games : we told fortunes with cards (borrowed from the porter-house across the way) : in short, there was no bound to the extent of our merriment, and no break in its flow. "It occurred to some one, at last, to look at his watch. — ' God bless me ! it's three o'clock !' he cried. Three I — and six hours had already passed away ! The ladies tore up my green word ' Welcome,' to get sprigs of cedar as souvenirs of the evening: some even carried off the turnip-candlesticks. Miss Remington laughed in her sleeve at the latter. ' I know bet- ter than to do that,' she said to me ; ' turnips have a habit of rotting.' It was unanimously voted that I had given them the best entertainment of the season ; and I am sure, for my own part, that none had been so heartily enjoyed. " The story, as you may suppose, soon became known ; and it was only by sheer resolution that I escaped a social popu- larity which might have turned my head at that age. I was even asked to repeat the entertainment, so that others might have a chance to participate in it ; but I knew that its whole Buccess lay in the spontaneous inspiration which prompted, and the sui-prise which accompanied it. The incident, how- ever, proved to be one of the influences to which I must attri- bute mj subsequent good fortune." 142 HANNAH THUESTON I " Pray, how was that ?" asked Mr. Waldo. "My employer heard, in some way or other, that I had given a splendid entertainment. Knowing my means, and fearing that I had fallen into reckless habits, he called mo into his private office and very seriously asked for an explana- tion of my conduct. I related the circumstances, precisely as they had occurred. He easily ascertained that my story was true, and from that day forward took an increased interest in me, to wliich I must attribute, in part, my rapid advancement. Now, if there is any moral in all this, I think you can easily find it. If there is not, perhaps you have been diverted enough to pardon me for talkmg so much about myself." "Why, it's delightful! I never heard anything better!" cried Mrs. Waldo. " It shows, though," interposed Mrs. Merryfield, " how in- ' consistent those fashionable women are. They can be coura- geous and independent for the sake of pleasure, but they'd be horrified at venturing so far for the sake of principle." "You are hardly just," said Hannah Thurston, addressing the last speaker ; " Mr. Woodbury's story has a moral, and I am very glad he has given it to us." Seth Wattles had been interested and amused, in spite of himself, but he was not the man to acknowledge it. He was endeavoring to find some point at which he might carp, with a show of reason, when Miss Carrie Dilworth entered the room, and presently Bute Wilson, who had driven from Lakeside to take Woodbury home. " Mr. Max. !" cried the latter, whose face had a flushed, Btrauge expression, " Diamond won't stand alone, and I must go out and hold him tUl you're ready." "m come at once, then," said Woodbury, and took leave of the company. A STOBT OF AMEEICAN LIPB. H3 CHAPTER XI. CtONTAINING TWO DECLAEATIONS, AND THE AlfSWBES rHEEBlO. As Bute, on entering the village, passed the Widow Thurs- ton's cottage, he noticed^ dim little figure emerging from the gate. Although the niglit was dark, and the figure was su muffled as to present no distinct outline, Bute's eyes were particularly sharp. Like the sculptor, he saw the statue in the shapeless block. Whether it was owing to a short jerk- ing swin^ in the gait, or an occasional sideward toss of what seemed to be the head, he probably did not reflect ; but he immediately drew the rein on Diamond, and called out " Miss Carrie !" " Ah !" proceeded from the figure, as it stopped, with a start ; " who is it ?" Bute cautiously drove near the plank sidewalk, before answering. Then he said : " It's me." "Oh, Bute," exclaimed Miss Dilworth, "how you fright- ened me ! Where did you come from ?" " From home. I'm a-goin' to feteh Mr. Max., but there's no Lurry. I say, Miss Carrie, wouldn't you like to take a little sleigh-ride ? Where are you goin' to ?" " To Waldo's." " Why, so am I ! Jump in, and I'll take you along." Miss Dilworth, nothing loath, stepped from the edge of the sidewalk into the cutter, and took her seat. Bute experienced a singular feehng of comfort, at having the soft little body wedged so closely beside him, with the same wolf-skin spread over theii' mutual knees. His heart being on the side nex4 Hi BANNAH THUKSTON : her, it presently sent a tingling warmth over his whole frame; the sense of her presence impressed him with a -vague physiaal delight, and he regretted that the cutter was not so narrow as to oblige him to take her upon his knees. It was less than half a mile to the parsonage— about two minutes, as Diamond trotted — and then the doors of heaven would close upon him. " No ! by Jimminy !" he suddenly exclaimed, turning around in the track, at the imminent risk of upsetting the cutter. " What's the matter ?" cried Miss Dilworth, a little alarmed at this unexpected manoeuvre. " It isn't half a drive for you, Carrie," Bute replied. " The sleddia's prime, and I'U jist take a circuit up the creek, and across into the South Road. We'll go it in half an hour, and there's plenty of time." Miss Dilworth knew, better even than if he had tried to tell her, that Bute was proud and happy at having her beside him. Her vanity was agreeably ministered to ; she enjoyed sleighing ; and, moreover, where was the harm ? She would not have objected, on a pinch, to be driven through Ptolemy by Arbutus Wilson, in broad daylight ; and now it was too dark for either of them to be recognized. So she quietly submitted to what was, after all, not a hard fate. As they sped along merrily over the bottoms of East Atauga Creek, past the lonely, whispering elms, and the lines of ghostly alders fringing the stream, where the air struck their faces with a damp cold, the young lady shud- dered. She pressed a little more closely against Bute, as if to make sure of his presence, and said, in a low tone: "I should not like to be alone, here, at this hour." Poor Bute felt that the suspense of his heart was no longer to be borne. She had played with him, and he had allowed himself to be played with, long enough. He would ask a serious question and demand a serious answer. His resolution was fixed, yet, now that the moment had arrived, his tongue seemed to become paralyzed. The words were in his mind, A STOKY OF AMEBICAN LIFE. 145 every one of tbeni — lie had said them over to himself, a hun- dred times — but there was a muzzle on his mouth which pre- vented their being put into sound. He looked at the panels of fence as they sped past, and thought, " so much more of the road has gone, and I have said nothing." Miss Dilworth's voice was like a palpable hand stretched out to draw him from that quagmire of silence. " Oh, Carrie!" he exclaimed, "you needn't be alone, anywheres — leastways where there's any thing to skeer or hurt you." She understood him, and resumed her usual tactics, half- accepting, half-defensive. " We can't help being alone some- times, Bute,'' she answered, " and some are born to be alone always. Alone in spirit, you know ; where there is no con- genial nature." "You're not one o' them, Carrie," said Bute, desperately. " You know you're not a genus. If you was, T shouldn't keer whether I had your goodrwill or not. But I want that, and more'n that, because I like you better than any thing in this world. I've hinted the same many a time, and you know it, and I don't want you to turn it off no longer." The earnestness of his voice caused Miss Dilworth to trem- ble. There was a powei' in the man which she feared she could not withstand. Still he had made no definite proposal, and she was not bound to answer more than his words literally ludicaied. ""Why, of course I like you, Bute," said she; "everybody does. And you've always been so kind and obliging towards mo." " Like ! I'd ruther you'd say hate than like. There's two tu.ds c' likin', and one of 'em's the kind that doesn't fit any- body that comes along. Every man, Carrie, that's wuth his talt, must find a woman to work for, and when he's nigh onto tnii'(,y, as I am, he wants to jsee a youngster growin' up, to lake his place when he gits old. Otherways, no matter how lucky he is, there's not much comfort to him in livin'. Now, I'm awful serious about this. I don't care whether we're con- 146 HA2srsrA.H thukston: genial spirits, or not, but I want you, Carrie, for my wife You may hunt far and wide, but you'll find nobody tbat'lJ keer for you as I will. Perhaps I don't talk quite as fine as some, but talkin's like the froth on the creek ; maybe it's shallow, and maybe it's deep, you can't tell. The heart's the main thing, and, thank God, I'm right there. Carrie, this once, jist this once, don't trifle with me." Bute's voice became soft and pleading, as he closed. Miss Dilworth was moved at last ; he had struck through her affeo ted sentimentalism, and touched the small bit of true womanly nature beneath it. But the impression was too sudden. She had not relinquished her ambitious yearnings ; she knew and valued Bute's fidelity, and, precisely for that reason, she felt secure in seeming to decline it. She would have it in reserve, in any case, and meanwhile, he was too cheerful and light- hearted to suffer much pain from the delay. Had he taken her in his arms, had he stormed her with endearing words, had he uttered even one sentence of the hackneyed sentiment in which she delighted, it would have been impossible to re- sist. But he sat silently waiting for her answer, while the horse slowly climbed the hill over which they must pass to reach the South Road ; and in that silence her vanity regained its strength. " Carrie?" he said, at last. "Bute?" " You don't answer me." " Oh, Bute !" said she, with a curious mixture of tenderness and coquetry, "I don't know how. I never thought you were more than half in earnest. And I'm not sure, after all, that we were meant for each other. I like you as well as I like anybody, but — " Here she paused. "But you won't have me, Is'pose?" said Bute, in a tone that was both bitter and sad. " I don't quite mean that," she answered. " But a woman has so much at stake, you know. She must love more than a A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 147 man, IVe been told, bufore she can give up her name and her life to him. I don't know, Bute, whether I should do right to promise myself to you. I've never thought of it seriously. Besides, you come upon me so sudden — you frightened me a little, and I really don't exactly know what my own mind is." " Yes, I see," sai4 Bute, in a stern voice. They had reached the top of the hill, and the long descent to Ptolemy lay before them. Bute drew the reins and held the horse to his best speed. Some inner prop of his strong breast seemed to give way all at once. He took the thick eud of his woollen scarf between his teeth and stifled the con- vulsive movements of his throat. Then a sensation of heat rushed through his brain, and the tears began to roU rapidly down his cheeks. He was grateful for the darkness which hid his face, for the bells which drowned his labored breathing, and for the descent which shortened the rest of the drive. He said nothing more, and Miss DU worth, in spite of herself, was awed by his silence. By the time they had reached the par- sonage he was tolerably calm, and the traces of his passion had disappeared from his face. Miss Dilworth lingered while he was fastening the horse. She felt, it must be confessed, very uneasy, and not guiltless of what had happened. She knew not how to interpret Bute's sudden silence. It was probably anger, she thought, and she would therefore lay the first stone of a temple of recon- ciliation. She liked him too well to lose him wholly. " Good-night, Bute !" she said, holding out her hand : " you are not angry with me, are you ?'' "No," was his only answer, as he took her hand. There wtis no eager, tender pressure, as before, and the tone of his voice, to her ear, betrayed indifference, which was worse than Bnger. After Woodbury had taken leave, there was a general move- raeni of departure. The sempstress had come to speTid a few days with Mrs. Waldo, and did not intend returning; it was rather late, and the Merryfields took the nearest road home, so 148 HANNAH THUESTON : thfit Hannah Thurston must have walked back, alone, to her mother's cottage, had not Selh Wattles been there to escort her. Setli foresaw this duty, and inwardly rejoiced thereat. The absence of Woodbury restored his equanimity of temper, and lie was as amiably disposed as was possible to his incoherent nature. He was not keen enough to perceive the strong relief into which his shapeless mind was thrown by the symmetry and balance of the man whom he hated^ — that he lost ground, even in his own circle, not merely from the discomfiture of the moment, but far more from that unconscious comparison of the two which arose from permanent impressions. He was not aware of the powerful magnetism which social culture exer- cises, especially upon minds fitted, by their honest yearning after something better, to receive it themselves. Seth was therefore, without reason, satisfied with himself as he left the house. He had dared, at least, to face this self- constituted lion, and bad found the animal more disposed to gambol than to bite. He flattered himself that his earnestness contrasted favorably with the levity whereby Woodbury had parried questions so important to the human race. Drawing a long breath, as of great relief, he exclaimed : "Life is real, life is earnest! We feel it, under this sky: here the frivolous chatter of Society is hushed." Hannah Thurston took his proffered arm, conscious, as she did so, of a shudder of something very like repugnance. For the first time it struck her that she would rather hear the sparkling nothings of gay conversation than Seth's serious platitudes. She did not particularly desire his society, just now, and attempted to hasten her pace, under the pretext that the night was cold. Seth, however, hung back. " We do not enjoy the night as we ought," said he. "It elevates and exp.ands the soul. It is the time for kindred souls to hold communion." " Scarcely out of doors, in winter, unless they are disembod- ied," remarked Miss Thurston. Seth was somewhat taken aback. He had not expected so A STOEY OF AMBEICAN LIFE. 149 light a tone from so grave and earnest a nature. It was un isual with her, and reminded him, unpleasantly, of Wood, bnry's frivolity. But he summoned new courage, and con- tinued : " We can say things at night for which we have no couragg in daylight. We are more sincere, somehow — less selfish, you know, and more affectionate." "There ought to be no such difference," said she, mechani- oaly, and again hastening her steps. " I know there oughtn't. And I didn't mean that I wasn't as true as ever ; but — ^but there are chosen times when our souls are uplifted and approach each other. This is such a time, Hannah. We seem to be nearer, and — and — " He could get no farther. The other word in his mind was too bold to be used at the outset. Besides, having taken one step, he must allow her to take the next: it would make the crisis easier for both. But she only drew her cloak more closely around her, and said nothing. " The influences of night and — other things," he resumed, "render us insensible to time and— temperature. There is one thing, at least, which defies the elements. Is thei'e not ?" " What is it ?" she asked. " Can't you guess ?" " Benevolence, no doubt, or a duty so stem and sacred that life itself is subordinate to its performance." " Yes, that's true — but I mean something else!" Seth ex- claimed. " Something I feel, now, deep in my buzzum. Shall 1 unveil it to your gaze ?" "I have no right to ask or accept your confidence," she replied. "Yes, you have. One kindred soul has the right to demand every thing of the other. I might have told you, long a'go, but I waited so that you might find it out for yourself, with- out the necessity of words. Surely you must have seen it in my eyes, and heard it in my voice, because every thing powei ful in us expresses itself somehow in spite of us. The deepest 160 HASSTAII THUESTON' : emotions, you know, are silent ; but you understand my silencfl now, don't you ?" Hannah Thurston was more annoyed than surprised by tliisr declaration. She saw that a clear understanding could not bo avoided, and nerved herself to meet it. Her feehng of repug- nance to the speaker increased with every word he uttered ; yet, if his passion were genuine (and she had no right to doubt that it was so), he was entitled at least to her respect and her pity. Still, he had spoken only in vague terms, and she could not answer the real question. Why? Did she not fully un- derstand him ? Was the shrinking sense of delicacy in her heart, which she was unable to overcome, a characteristic of sex, separating her nature, by an impassable gulf, from that of man ? " Please explain yourself clearly, Seth," she said, at last. " Oh, don't your own heart explain it for you ? Love don't want to be explained : it comes to us of itself. See here — we've been laboring together ever so long in the Path of Pro- gress, and our souls are united in aspirations for the good of our fellow-men. All I want is, that we should now unite our lives in the great work. You know I believe in the equal rights of Woman, and would never think of subjecting you to the tyranny your sisters groan under. I have no objection to taking your nnme, if you want to make that sort of a protest against legal slavery. We'll both keep our independence, and show to the world the example of a true marriage. Somebody must begin, you know, as Charles Macky, the glorious poet of our cause, says in his Good Time Coming." " Seth," said Hannah Thurston, with a sad, deliberate sweet- ness in her voice, " there is one thing, without wliich there should be no union between man and woman." " What is that ?" he asked. "Love." " How ? I don't understand you. That is the very reason why " " Tou forget," she interrupted, " that love must be reoipro- A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 151 6!\\. You have taken it for granted that I returned, in equal measure, the feelings you have expressed towards me. Where the fortune of a life is concerned, it is best to be frank, though frankness give pain. Seth, I do not, I never can, give you love. A coincidence of opinions, of hopes and aspirations, is not love. I believe that you have made this mistake in yoiii ovi n mind, and that you will, sooner or later, thank me for having revealed it to you. I have never suspected, in you, the existence of love in its holiest and profoundest meaning, nor have I given you reason to suppose that my sentiments towards you were other than those of friendly sympathy and good-will. I deeply regret it, if you have imagined otherwise. I cannot atone to you for the ruin of whatever hopes you may have cherished, but I can at least save you from disappoint- ment in the future. 1 tell you now, therefore, once and for- ever, that, whatever may happen, however our fates may change, you and I can never, never be husband and wife." Sweet and low as was her voice, an inexorable fate spoke in it. Seth felt, word by word, its fatal significance, as the con- demned culprit feels the terrible phrases of his final sentence. He knew, instinctively, that it was vain to plead or expostulate. He must, perforce, accept his doom ; but, in doing so, his in- jured self-esteem made a violent protest. It was the fretful anger of disappointment, rather than the unselfish sorrow of love. He could only account for the fact of his refusal by the supposition that her affections were elsewhere bestowed. " I see how it is," said he, petulantly ; " somebody else is in the way.'' " Do not misunderstand me," she answered. " I, only, am responsible for your disappointment. You have no right to question me, and I might well allow your insinuation to pass without notice ; but my silence may possibly mislead you, as it seems my ordinary friendly regard has done. I will, there- fore, for my own sake no less than yours — for I desire, in so solemn a matter, to leave no ground for self-i-eproach — volun tarily say to you, that I know no man to whom I could surren- 152 HANNAH thueston: der my life in the unquestioning sacrifice of love. I have long since renounced the idea of marriage. My habits of thought — the duties I have assumed — my lack of youth and beauty, perhaps" (and here the measured sweetness of her voice was interrupted for a moment), " will never atti-act to me the man, unselfish enough to be just to my sex, equally pure in his as- pirations, equally tender in his affections, and wiser in the richness of his experience, whom my heart would demand, if it dared still longer to cherish a hopeless dream. I have not even enough of an ideal love i-emaining, to justify your jeal- ousy. In my association with you for the advancement of mutual aims, as well as in our social intercourse, I have treated you with the kindly respect which was your due as a fellow- being, but I can never recognize in you that holy kinship of the heart, without which Love is a mockery and Marriage is worse than death !" Seth felt it impossible to reply, although his self-esteem was cruelly wounded. She thought herself too good for him, then : that was it! Why, the very man she had described, as the ideal husband she would never meet — it was exactly himself! It was of no use, however, for him to say so. She had reject- ed him with a solemn decision, from which there was no ap- peal. He must, also, needs believe her other declaration, that she loved no one else. Her inordinate mental pride was the true explanation. They had stopped, during the foregoing conversation. Han- nah Thurston had dropped her hold on his arm, and stood, facing him, on the narrow sidewalk. The night was so dark that neither could distinctly see the other's face. A melan- choly wind hummed in the leafless twigs of the elms above ,'hein, and went oflf to sough among a neighboring group of pines. Finding that Seth made no answer. Miss Thurston slowly resumed her homeward walk. He mechanically ac- companied her. As they approached the widow's cottage, he heaved a long, hoarse sigh, and muttered : "Well, there's another aspii-ation deceived. It seems A STORY OF (VMEItlCA.N LIFE. 163 there's no quality of human nature which, we can depend upon." " Do not let this disappointment make you unjust, Seth," she said, pausing, with her hand upon the gate. " You have deceived yourself, and it is far better to become reconciled to the truth at once. If I have ignorantly, in any way, assisted in the deception, I beg you to pardon me." She turned to enter the cottage, but Seth still hesitated. " Plannah," he said at last, awkwardly : " You — you won't say any thing about this ?" She moved away from him with an instant revulsion of feel- ing. " What do you take me for ?" she exclaimed. "Repeat that question to yourself, and perhaps it may explain to you why your nature and mine can never approach !" Without Baying good-night, she entered the house, leaving Seth to wan- der back to his lodgings in a very uncomfortable frame of mind. Hannah Thurston found the lighted lamp waiting for her in the warm sitting-room ; her mother was already in bed. She took off her bonnet and-cloak, and seated herself in the widow's rocking-chair. Tears of humiliation stood in her eyes. " He does not deserve," she said to herself, " that I should have opened my heart before him. I wanted to be just, for I thought that love, however imperfect or mistaken, was always at least delicate and reverent. I thought the advocacy of moral truth presupposed some nobility of soul — that a nature which ac cepted such truth could not be entirely low and mean. I have allowed a profane eye to look upon sanctities, and the very effort I made to be true and just impresses me with a sense of self-degradation. What must I do, to reconcile my instincts with the convictions of my mind ? Had I not suppressed the exhibition of my natural repugnance to that man, I should have been spared the pain of this evening — spared the shrinking shudder which I must feel whenever the memory of it re- turns." Gradually her self-examination went deeper, and she con -7* 164 HijnSTAH THUESTON I fessed to lierself that Seth's declaration of love was in itself her greatest humiliation. She had not told bini the whole truth, though it had seemed to be so, when she spoke. She had not renounced the dream of her younger years. True, she had forcibly stifled it, trodden upon it with the feet of a stern resolution, hidden its ruins from sight in the remotest chamber of her heart — but now it arose again, strong in ita immortal life. Oh, to think who should have wooed her under the stars, in far other words and with far other answers — the man whom every pulse of her being claimed and called upon, the man who never came ! In his stead this creature, whose love seemed to leave a stain behind it — whose approach to her soul was that of an unclean footstep. Had it come to this ? Was he the only man whom the withheld treasures of her heart attracted towards her ? Did he, alone, suspect the splendor of passion which shone beneath the calmness and reserve of the presence she showed to the world ? It was a most bitter, most humiliating thought. With hei head drooping wearily towards her breast, and her hands clasped in her lap, with unheeded tears streaming from her eyes, she sought refuge from this pain in that other pain of the imagined love that once seemed so near and lovely — lovelier now, as she saw it through the mist of a gathering despair. Thus she sat, once more the helpless captive of her dreams, while the lamp burned low and the room grew cold. A. STOKY OP AJFEIUCAJN" Lie a. 1£5 CHAPTER Xn. MOTHEK AND DATTGHTBE. Tub morning came, late and dark, with a dreary Marcli rain, the commencement of that revolutionary anarchy in the weather, through which the despotism of Winter is over- thrown, and the sweet republic of Spring established on the Earth. Even Woodbury, as he looked out on the writhing trees, the dripping roofs, and the fields of soggy, soaked snow., could not suppress a sigh of loneliness and yearning. Bute, whose disappointment, bitter though it was, failed to counter- act the lulling warmth of the blankets after his ride home against the wind, and who had therefore slept soundly all night, awoke to a sense of hoUowness and wretchedness whicli he had never experienced before. His duties about the barn attended to, and breakfast over, he returned to his bedroom to make his usual Sunday toilet. Mr. Woodbury had decided not to go to church, and Bute, therefore, had nothing but his own thoughts, or the newspapers, to entertain him through the day. Having washed his neck and breast, put on the clean shirt which Mrs. Babb took care to have ready for him, and combed his yellow locks, he took a good look at himself in the little mirror. " I a'n't handsome, that's a fact," he thought to himself, " but nuther is she, for that matter. I've got good healthy blood in me, though, and if my face is sunburnt, it don't look like taller. I don't see why all the slab-sided, lantern-jawed, holler-breasted fellows should have no trouble o' gittin' wives, and me, of a darned sight better breed, though I do say it, to 159 HANJSAH thukston: have sich bad luck ! I can't stand it. I've got every thing here that a man could want, but 'ta'n't enough. O Lord ! to think her children should have somebody else than me for a father!" Bute groaned and threw himself on the bed, where he thrust both hands through his carefully combed hair. His etrong masculine nature felt itself wronged, and the struggle was none the less severe, because it included no finer s])ii'itunl disappointment. He possessed only a true, honest, tender heart, as the guide to his instincts, and these, when baffled, suggested no revenge, such as might occur to a more reckless or more imaginative nature. His life had been blamelesa, heretofore, from the simple force of habit, and the pure atmos- phere in which he lived. To confess the truth, he was not particularly shocked by the grosser experiences of some of his friends, but to adopt them himself involved a change so vio- lent that he knew not where it might carry him. If the thought crossed his mind at all, it was dismissed without a moment's hospitality. He did not see, because he did not seek, any escape from the sore, weary, thirsty sensation which his disappointment left behind. The fibres of his natui-e, which were accustomed to give out a sharp, ringing, lusty twang to every touch of Life, were now muffled and deadened in tone : that was all. It might have been some consolation to Bute, if he could have known that his presumed rival was equally unfortunate. In the case of the latter, however, there was less of the pang of blighted hopes than of the spiteful bitterness of wounded vanity. Seth Wattles was accustomed to look upon himself, and not without grounds of self-justification, as an unusual man. The son of a poor laborer, oi-phaned at an early age, and taken in charge by a tailor of Ptolemy, who brouglit him lip to his own business, he owed his education mostly to a quick car and a ready tongue. His brain, though shallow, was active, its propelling power being his personal conceit ; but he was destitute of imagination, and hence his attempted A KTOHr OF AMEEICAJSr LIFE. 157 flights of eloquence were often hopelessly confused and illogi- cal. The pioneer orators of Abolition and Temperance, who visited Ptolemy, found in him a willing convert, and he was quick enough to see and to secure the social consideration which he had gained in the small community of " Reformers" — ■ an advantage which the conservative society of the village do" nied to him. Indeed, the abuse to which he was occasionally subjected, was in itself flattering ; for only men of importance, he thought, are thus persecuted. Among hig associates, it was customary to judge men by no other standard than their views on tiie chosen reforms, and he, of course, stood among the highest. His cant, his presumption, his want of delicacy, were all overlooked, out of regard to an advocacy of " high moral truths,'' which was considered to be, and doubtless was, sincere. Let us not, therefore, judge the disappointed tailor too harshly. His weaknesses, indeed, were a part of his mental constitution, and could, under no circumstances, have been wholly cured ; but it was his own fault that they had so thoroughly usurped his nature. Whatever spiritual disturbance he might have experienced, on aAvaking next morning to the realities of the world, the woman who rejected him was much more deeply and painfully troubled. Years had passed since her heart had known so profound an agitation. She felt that the repose which she had only won after many struggles, had deceived herself. It was a false calm. The smooth mirror, wherein the sunshine and the stars saw themselves by turns, was only smooth so long as the south-wind failed to blow. One warm breath, coming over the hills fi'om some far-off, unknown region, broke into fragments the steady images of her life. With a strange confl.ict of feeling, in which there was some joy and much humiliation, she said to herself: " I am not yet the mistress of my fate." She rose late, unrefreshed by her short, broken sleep, and unclieered by the dark, cold, and wet picture of the valley. It was one of those days when only a heart filled to the brim ir>8 IIANXAU THURSTON : with unraingled happiness can take delight in life — when the Bimplest daily duties present themselves as weary tasks— when every string we touch is out of tune, and every work at- tempted is one discord the more. Descending to the sitting- room, she found her mother in the rocking-chair, before a brisk fire, while the little servant-girl was busy, preparing the table for breakfast— a work which Hannah herself usually performed. " Thee's rather late, Hannah," said the widow. " I thought thee might/ be tired, and might as well sleep, while Jane set the table. She must learn it some time, thee knows." " I'm obliged to thee, mother," the daughter replied. " I have not slept well, and have a little headache this morning. It is the weather, I think." " Now thee mentions it, I see that thee's quite pale. Jane, put two spoonfuls of tea in the pot ; or, stay, thee'd better bring it here and let me make it." Hannah had yielded to the dietetic ideas of her friends, so far as to give up the iise of tea and coffee — a step in which the widow was not able to follow her. A few months before, the former would have declined the proposal to break her habit of living, even on the plea of indisposition ; she would have resisted tlie natural craving for a stimulant or a sed- ative as something moi-bid; but now she was too hstless, too careless of such minor questions, to refuse. The unac- customed beverage warmed and cheered her, and she rose from the table strengthened to resume her usual manner. " I thought it would do thee good," said the widow, noting the effect, slight as it was, with the quick eye of a mother. " I'm afraid, Hannah, thee carries thy notions about diet a little too far." " Perhaps thee's right, mother," was the answer. She had no inclination to commence a new discussion of one of the few Bubjects on which the two could not agrue. After the bouse had been put in order for the day, prepa- rations made for the frugal dinner, and the scr\'antgirl de- A STOllY OF AMERICAN LIFB. 159 spatched to the Cimmerian Churcli, ILinnah took her usual Beat by the window, saying : " Shall I read to thee, mother ?" " If thee pleases." There was no Quaker Meeting nearer than 'Tiberius, and hence it had been the widow's custom, on "First-Days,'' to read, or hear her daughter read, from the classics of tlie sect. To Hannah, also, in spite of her partial emancipatiorj, there was a great charm in the sweet simplicity and sincerity of the early Friends, and she read the writings of Fox, Bar- clay, Elwood, and William Penn, with a sense of refreshment and peace. To these were added some other works of a similar character, which the more cultivated Quakers have indorsed as being inspired by the true spirit — -Thomas k Kempis, Jeremy Taylor, Madame Guyon, and Pascal. She now took the ofl>read " No Cross, No Crown," of William Penn, the tone of which was always consoling to her ; but this time its sweet, serious utterances seemed to have lost their effect. She gave the words in her pure, distinct voice, and strove to take them into her mind and make them her own : in vain ! something interposed itself between her and the familiar meaning, and made the task mechanical. The widow felt, by a sympathetic presentiment, rather than from any external evidence which she could detect, that her daughter's mind was in some way disturbed; yet that respectful reserve which was habitual in this, as in most Quaker faniilies, prevented her from prying into the nature of the trouble. If it was a serious concern, she thought to herself, Hannah would men- tion it voluntarily. There are spiritual anxieties and strug- gles, she knew, which must be solved in solitude. No one, not even a mother, should knock at the door of that chamber \vhere the heart keeps its privacies, but patiently and silently wait until bidden to approach and enter. Nevertheless, after dinner, when the household order was again restored, and Hannah, looking from the window upon the drenched landscape, unconsciously breathed a long, weary gigh. Friend Thurston felt moved to speak. 160 HANNAH THUKSTON : "Hannah," she said, gravely and softly, " ',hee seems to have something on thy mind to-day." For a minute the daughter made no reply. Turning away from the window, she looked upon her mother's woin, p.a!e face, almost spectral in the cloudy light, and then took her ' iccustomed seat. " Yes, mother," she answered, in a low voice, " awl I ought to tell thee." " If thee feels so, tell me then. It may lighten thy own burden, without making mine heavier." "It is scarcely a burden, mother," said Hannah. "I know that I have done what is right, but I fear that I may have un- consciously brought it upon myself, when it might have been avoided." She then repeated the conversation which had taken place between Seth Wattles and herself, omitting only that secret, impassioned dream of her heart, a glimpse of which she had peimitted to escape her. She did not dare to betray it a second time, and thus her own sense of hu miliatioD was but half explained. Friend Thurston waited quietly until the story was finished. " Thee did right, Hannah," she said, after a pause, " and I do not think thee can justly reproach thyself ibr having given him encouragement. He is a very vain and ignorant man, though well-meaning. It is not right to hold prejudice against any one, but I don't mind telling thee that my feeling towards him comes very near being that. Thee never could be happy, Hannah, with a husband whom thee did not re- spect : nay, I mean something more — whom thee did not feel was wiser and stronger than thyself." A transient flush passed over the daughter's face, but she made no reply. " Thee has a gift, I know," the widow continued, " and thee has learned much. There is a knowledge, though, that comes with experience of life, and though I feel my ignorance in many ways, compared to thy learning, there are some things which I am able to see more clearly than thee. It requires no A STOllY OF AJIBKICAN LIFE. Ifll book-learning to read the heavti, and there is less difference in the hearts of women than thee may suppose. We cannot ba wholly independent of the men : we need thoir help and com- panionship : we acknowledge their power even while wa resist it. There are defects in us which we find supplied in them, as we supply theirs where marriage is perfect and lio.'y. lint we cannot know this, except through our own experience. I liave agreed with thee in most of thy views about the rights of our sex, but thee never can be entirely wise on this subject so long as thee remains single. No, Hannah, thee won't think hard of me for saying it, but thee does not yet truly know either woman or man. I have often quietly wished that thee had not set thy heart against marriage. The Lord seems to have intended a mate for every one, so that none of His children should be left alone, and thee should not shut thy eyes against the signs He gives. "Mother!" Even while uttering this exclamation, into which she was startled by the unexpected words of her mother, Hannah Thurston felt that she was betraying herself. " Child ! child ! thy father's eyes — thee has his very look ! I am concerned on thy account, Hannah. Perhaps I have been mistaken in thee, as I was mistaken in him. Oh, if I could have known him in time ! I shall not be much longer with thee, my daughter, and if I tell thee how I failed in my duty it may help thee to perform thine, if — if my prayers for thy sake should be fulfilled." The widow paused, agitated by the recollections which her own words evoked. The tears trickled down her pale cheeks, bat she quietly wiped them away. Her countenance thus changed from its usual placid repose, Hannah was shocked to see how weak and wasted it had grown during the winter, The parting, which she did not dare to contemplate, might be nearer than she had anticipated. "Do not say any thing that might give thee pain,'' she eaid. 162 HANNAH THUESTO^'. " Give thyself no concern, child. It will bring me relief, I have often felt moved to tell thee, but there seemed to be no fitting time before now." " Is it about my father ?" Hannah asked. "Yes, Hannah. I wish he could have lived long enough to leave his face in thy memory, but it was not to be. Thee often reminds me of him, especially when I feel that there is some- thing in thy nature beyond my reach. I was past thy ago when we were married, and he was no longer a young man. We had known each other for some years, but nothing passed between us that younger persons would have called love. I was sincerely drawn towards him, and it seemed right that my life should become a part of his. It came to me as a natural change. Richard was not a man of many words ; he was considered grave and stern ; and when he first looked upon me with only a gentle smile on his face, I knew that his heart had made choice of me. From that time, although it was long before he spoke his mind, I ac- customed myself to think of him as my husband. This may seem strange to thee, and, indeed, I never confessed it to him. When we came to live together, and I found, from every cir- cumstance of our daily life, how good and just he was, how strong and upright and rigid in the ways that seemed right to him, I leaned upon him as a helper and looked up to him as a guide. There was in my heart quite as much reverence as love. An unkind word never passed between us. When I happened to be wrong in any thing, he knew how to turn my mind so gently and kindly that I was set right without knowing how. He was never wrong. Our married life was a season of perfect peace — yes, to me, because my own con ■ tentment made me careless, blind. "I sometimes noticed that his eyes rested on me with a sin- gular expression, and I wondered what was in his mind. There was something unsatisfied in his face, a look that asked for I knew not what, but more than the world contains. Once, when I said : ' Is any thing the matter, Richard ?' he turned A SrOKY OF ASIEEICAN LIl'E. 168 quickly away and answered sharply. After that, I said noth- ing, and I finally got accustomed to the look. I recollect when thy brother was born, he seemed like another man though there was no outward change. When he spoke to me his voice was trembly, and sounded strange to my ears ; but m.y own weakness, I thought, might account for that. Ila would take the babe to the window, before its eyes could bear tbe light ; would pick it up when asleep, and hold it so tightly as to make the poor thing cry ; then he would put it down quickly and walk out of the room without saying a word. I noticed all this, as I lay, but it gave me no concern : I knew not but that all men found their first children so strange and curious. To a woman, her first babe seems more like some- thing familiar that is brought back to her, than something en- tirely new that is added to her life. "I scarcely know how to make clear to thy mind another change that came over thy father while our little Richard still lived. I never could be entirely certain, indeed, when it com- menced, because I fancied these things were passing moods connected with his serious thoughts — he was a man much given to reflection — and did not dream that they concerned myself. Therein, our quiet, ordered life was a misfortune. One day was like another, and we both, I think, took things as they were, without inquiring whether our knowledge of each other's hearts might not be imperfect. Oh, a storm would have been better, Hannah — a storm which would have shown us the wall that had grown up between us, by shaking it down ! But thee will see that from the end — thee will see it, without my telling thee. Richard seemed graver and sterner, I thouo-ht, but he was much occupied with business matters at that time. After our child was taken from us, I began to see that he was growing thinner and paler, and often felt very uneasy about hira. His manner towards me made me shy and a little afraid, though I could pick out no word or act that was not kind and tender. When I ventured to ask him what was the matter, he only answered : ' Nothing that can be helped.' I knew after 164 nANNAH tuukston: tliat, that all was not right, but ray eyes were not opened to the truth." Here Friend Thurston paused, as if to summon strength to continue her narrative. Her withered hands were trembling, and she clasped them together in her lap with a nervous ener- gy which did not escape her daughter's eye. The lattei- had listened with breathless attention, waiting with mingled eager- ness and dread for the denouement, .which she felt must be more or less tragic. Although her mother's agitation touched her own heart with sympathetic pain, she knew that the story had now gone too far to be left unfinished. She rose, brought a glass of water, and silently placed it on the little table beside her mother's chair. When she had resumed her seat, the latter continued : " Within a year after our boy's death, thee was born. It was a great consolation to me then, although it has been a much greater one since. I hoped, too, that it would have made Richard a little more cheerful, but he was, if any thing, quiet- er than ever. I sometimes thought him indifferent both to me and the babe. I longed, in my weakness and my comfort, to lay my head upon his breast and rest a while there. It seemed a womanly fancy of mine, but oh, Hannah, if I had had the courage to say that much ! Once he picked thee up, stood at the window for a long while, with thee in his arms, then gave thee back to me and went out of the room without saying a word. The bosom of thy little frock was damp, and I know now that he must have cried over thee. " I had not recovered my full strength when I saw that he was really ailing. I began to be anxious and uneasy, though I scarcely knew why, for he still went about his business as usual. But one morning — it was the nineteenth of the Fifth month, I remember, and on Seventh-day — he started to go to the village, and came back to the house in half an hour, look^ ing fearfully changed. His voice, though, was as steady as ever. ' I believe I am not well, Gulielma,' he said to me ; ' DerhaDS I'd better lie down a while. Don't trouble thyself — A. STOEY OF AMBSICAN LIFE, 105 it will soon he over.' I made him undress and go to bed, for my anxiety gave me strength. Then I sent for the doctor, •without telling Richard what I had done. It was evening when the doctor came ; thee was rather fretful that day, and I had taken thee into another room, for fear Richard might be- disturbed. I only noticed that the doctor stayed a long time, but they were old friends, I thought, and might like to talk- By the time I had pat thee to sleep, he had left and Richard was alone. I went directly to him. ' What is thee to take ?' I askedr ' ^ othing,' he said, so quietly that I ought to have been relieved, but— I do not know how it was — I turned to him trembling like a leaf, and cried out : ' Richard, thee has not told me all !' " ' Yes, all, Gulielma,' said he, ' nothing wUl help : I must leave thee.' I stared at him a while, trying to stand still, while every thing in the room went spinning around me, until I saw nothing more. I was lying beside him on the bed when I came to myself. My hair was wet : he had picked me up, poured water on his handkerchief and bathed my face. When I opened my eyes, he was leaning over me, looking into my eyes with a look I cannot describe. He breathed hard and painfully, and his voice was husky. ' I have fright- ened thee, Gulielma,' said he ; ' but — but can thee not resign thyself to lose me ?' His look seemed to draw my very soul from me ; I cried, with a loud and bitter cry, ' Richard, Richard, take me with thee !' and threw my arms around his neck. Oh, my child, how can I tell thee the rest ? He put away ray arms, he held me back, and gasped, as he looked at me with burning eyes : ' Take care what thee says, Gulielma ; I am dying, and thee dare not deceive me ; does thee love me as I love thee — ^more than life, more, the Lord pardon me, more than heaven ?' For the first time, I knew that I did. • If it was a sin, it has been expiated. I cannot remember what was said, after that. It was all clear between us, and he would allow no blame to rest on me ; but he could not speak, except at intervals. He held my hnnd all night, pressing it faintly hi his sleep. The next day he died. ]66 HANNAH thukston: " He had loved me thus all the time, Hannah, and it was thfl pride and the strength of his love which deceived me. He would not ask for a caress or a tender word, because he thought that a woman who loved would freely give it — nor would ho offer one, so long as he suspected that the sacred ex- pression of his heart might be only passively received. Ah, it was a sad doubt of me on his part, a sad blindness towards him on mine. When he began to suffer from disease of 1 he heart, and knew that his life was measured, his self-torture in- creased. He purposely tried to subdue the mild, tempered aflection which he supposed I felt for him, in order that his death might be a lighter grief to me. And I lived with him day after day, never guessing that his stern, set manner was not his real self! I do not dare to think on the cross he must have borne : my own seems heavy, and my spirit sometimes grows weary under it, and is moved to complain. Then I re- member that by bearing it cheerfully I am brought nearer to him, and the burden becomes light." Hannah Thurston listened to the last words with her face buried in her hands, and her heart full of pity and self reproach. What was the pang of her own fruitless dream, her baffled ideal, beside the sharp, inconsolable sorrow which consumed hei- mother's years ? What availed her studies, her intellec- tual triumphs, her fancied comprehension of life, in comparison with that knowledge of the heart of man thus fearfully won ? Humble, as when, a child, she listened to her mother's words as the accents of infallible wisdom, she now bowed down bufore the sanctity of that mother's experience. The widow leaned back in her chair, with closed eyes, but with a happy seienity on her weary face. Hannah took her hand, and whispered, with a broken voice: "Thank thee, mother!" The weak old arms drew her gently down, and the pale lips kissed her own. " Bless thee, my daughter. Now lake thy book and let ma rest a while." Hannah took the book, but not to read. A 8I0KY or AMERICAN LIFB. Ifc] CHAPTER Xin. IN WHICH SPEING OPENS. Tub rainy Sunday was the precursor of a thaw, which lasted for a fortnight, and stripped the landscapes of Ptolemy of every particle of snow, except such as found a lodgment in fence-corners, behind walls, or in shaded ravines. The wands of the willow clumps along the streams brightened to a vivid yellow, and the myriad twigs of low-lying thickets blushed purple with returning sap. Frozen nights and muddy days enoBgh were yet in store ; but with ev«ry week the sun gained confidence in his own alchemy, and the edge of the north-wind was blunted. Very slowly, indeed, a green shimmer crept up through the brown, dead grass ; the fir-woods breathed a resinous breath of awaking ; pale green eyes peeped from the buds of the garden-lilacs, and, finally, like a tender child, igno- rant of danger, the crocus came forth full blown and shamed the cowardly hesitation of the great oaks and elms. During this season, Woodbury's intercourse with the soci- ety'of the village was mostly suspended. After the termina- tion of the Great Sewing-Union, families fell back into their narrower cii'cles, and rested for a time both from their social and their charitable labors. Even the itinerant prophets and philanthropists ceased their visits, leaving Ptolemy in its nor- mal darkless. Only Mr. Dyce, it was whispered, had again made his appearance at the Merryfields', where his spiritual sessions were attended by a select circle of the initiated. Neither Woodbury nor Mr. Waldo had been again invited to attend. All nnnor gossip, however, was lost sight of, in the interest 168 HANNAH thueston: occasioned by an event which occurred about this time. Miss Eliza Clancy, to the surprise of everybody, had at last re- ceived " a call." During a visit to Syracuse, she had made the acquaintance of the Rev. Jehiel Preeks, a widower who, hav- ing been driven away from Tristan d'Acunha after losing his wife there, had been commissioned by the A. B. C. F. M. to a law lidd of labor in the Telugu country. Ills station was to be Cuddapah, only a day's journey from Jutnapore. MisH Eliza displayed such an intimate knowledge of the latter mis- sion, derived from Mi'S. Boerum's letters, and such a vital con- cern in the spiritual welfare of the Telugus, that the Rev. Jehiel, at their third interview, asked her to share his labors. There were persons in Ptolemy so malicious as to declare that tiie proposal really came from Miss Eliza herself; but this is not for a moment to be believed. Tlie missionary made a bet- ter choice than such persons were willing to admit. Although verging on forty, and ominously thin, Miss Clancy was sincere, active, and patient, and thought more of the heathen souls whom she might enlighten than of the honors of her new posi ti3 flock, rather tlian his own power of wielding the thunder bolts of Terror — Mr. Waldo gained three or four solitary fish out of the threescore who were hauled up from the deeps by the various nets. The Cimmerian rite of baptism had this ad- vantage, that it was not performed in public, and its solemnity was not therefore disturbed by the presence of a crowd of curious epecfators, such as are especially wont to be on hand when the water is cold. Mr. Waldo even disregarded the peculiar form of initiation which characterized his sect, affirming that it added- no sanctity to the rite. During the period of the revivals, there was a temporary suapension of the social life of Ptolemy. Even kindred fami- lies larely assembled at tea except to discuss the absorbing trpic and compare the results obtained by the various churches There was a great demand for Baxter's " Saint's Ke-t, Alleine's " Alarm," Young's " Night Thoughts," and Pollok's " Course of Time," at the little bookstore. Two feathers dis- appeared from the Sunday bonnet of Mrs. Hamilton Bue, and tha Misses Smith exchanged their red ribbons for slate-colored. Still, it was not the habit of the little place to be sombre; its gayety was never excessive, and hence its serious mooda A STOET OF AMERICAiT LIFE. 171 never assumed a penitential character, and soon -wore off. In this respect it presented a strong contrast to Mulligansvilla and Anacreon, both of which communities retained a severe and mournful expression for a long time after their revivals had closed. By this time the meadows were covered with young giass, the willows hung in folds of misty color, and a double row of daffodils bloomed in every garden. The spring ploughing and all the other various forms of farm labor commenced in tho valleys, and on the warm, frostless hillsides. The roads were again dry and hard ; the little steamer resumed its trips on the lake ; and a new life not only stirred within the twin valleys, ■ but poured into them from without. As the uniformity of winter life at Lakeside gave way to ike changes exacted by the season, Woodbury became dimly sensible that Mrs. Fortitude Babb, with all her virtues as a housekeeper, stood too prominently in the foreground of his home. Her raw, angular nature came so near him, day by day, as to be felt as a disturbing element. She looked upon hei dominion as reassured to her, and serenely continued the exer- cise of her old privileges. While entertaining the profoundest respect, not unmixed with a moderate degree of affection, for her mafater, she resisted any attempt to interfere with the regular course of household procedure which she had long since established. He was still too ignorimt, indeed, to dis- pute her authority with any success, in-doors ; but when the gardening weather arrived, and she transferred her rule to the open air, his patience was sometimes severely tried. He knew, from his boyish days, every square foot in the' sunny plot of ground — the broad alley down the centre, with flowerbeds on either side, producing pinks, sweet-williams, larkspurs, marigolds, and prince's-feathers, in their succession ; the clumps of roses at regular intervals ; the low trellis, to be overrun with nasturtiums and sweet-peas; the broad vegeta> ble beds, divided by rows of currant and gooseberry bushes, and the crooked old quince-treos against the northern walL 112 HAinSAH THUESTON : There were they all, apparently unchanged ; but, reverently as he looked upon them for the sake of the Past, he felt that if Lakeside was to be truly Ms home, its features must, to some extent, be moulded by his own taste. The old arrange- ments could not be retained, simply for the sake of the old associations ; the place must breathe an atmosphere of life, not of death. In spite of the admirable situation of the house, its surroundings had been much neglected, and the trained cje of its master daily detected new capacities for beauty. Nothing of all this, however, suggested itself to the ossified brain of the housekeeper. In her eyes, Woodbury was but a tenant of Mrs. Dennispn, and that lady would cry down from Paradise to forbid the position of her favorite plants and her trees from being changed. Hence, Mrs. Babb was ahnost petrified with astonishment, one warm morning, on Woodbury saying to her, as they stood in the garden : " I shall extend the garden, so as to take in another half- acre. The ground must be first prepared, so it can scarcely be done this spring ; but, at least, this first row of currants can be taken up and set beyond tbe second. The vegetables will then be partly hidden from sight, and these beds can be planted with flowers." " O, the land !" exclaimed the housekeeper. " Did a body ever hear o' sich a thing ! Where'U you get your currans for pics, I'd like to know ? They won't bear a mite if you take 'em up now. Besides, where am I to plant peas and early beans, if you put flowers here ?" " There," said Woodbury, pointing to the other end of the garden. "Why, I had 'em there last summer. Here, where these cabbages was, is the right place. To my thinkin', there's flowers enough, as it is. Not that I'd take any of 'em up : «Ae was always /ond of 'em, and she was satisfied with my fixin' of the garden. But there's them that thinks they knows better. 'T'an't any too big as it was, and if you take off" all this here ground, we'll run out o' vegetables afore the sum- A STOET OF AMEKICAK LIFE. 173 mer's over. Then, I'll git the blame, all over the neighbor- hood. People knows I 'tend to it." " Mrs. Babb," said Woodbury, a little sternly, " I shall take care that your reputation does not suffer. It is my intenti(.in to engage an experienced gardener, who will take all this work off your hands, for the future. But the improvements 1 intend to make cannot be carried out immediately, and I rautt ask you to superintend the planting, this spring. You shall have sufiipient ground for all the vegetables we need, and it can make little difference to you where they grow." The housekeeper did not venture upon any further remon- strance, but her heart was filled with gall and bitterness. She could not deny to herself Woodbury's right to do what he pleased with his own, but such innovations struck her as be- ing alhiost criminal. They opened the door to endless con- fusions, which it distressed her to contemplate, and the end whereof she could, not foresee. That evening, as Bute was shelling his seed-corn in the kitchen, he noticed that her thin lips were a little more tightly compressed than usual, while she plied her knitting-needles with an energy that betrayed a serious disturbance of mind. Bute gave himself no concern, however, well knowing that, whatever it was, he should hear it in good time. Mrs. Babb sighed in her usual wheezy manner, drawing up and letting down her shoulders at the same time, and knit a few minutes longer, with her eyes fixed on the kitchen clock. At last she said : " Ah, yes, it's well she's gone." Bute looked up, but as she was still inspecting the clock, lie said nothing. " I was afeard things couldn't stay as they was," she again remarked. Bute picked up a fresh ear, and began grinding the butt- end with a cob, to loosen the grains. " It's hard to see sich things arcomin' on, in a body's old days,'' groaned the housekeeper. This time her gaze was re^ moved from the clock, and fell grimly upon her adopted soa 174 nANXAII THUESTOS " " What's the matter, Mother Forty ?" he asked. " Matter, Bute ? I should think you'd ha' seen it, if you was in the habit o' seein' furder than your nose. Things is goin' to wrack, fast enough. He will have his way, no mattei how onreasonable it is." " Well, why shouldn't he? But as for bein' unreasonable, I don't see it. He's gettin' the hang of farmin' matters ama- zin'ly, and is goin' to let me do what I've been wantin' to, these five year. Wait till we get the gewano, and phosphate, and drainin' and deep ploughin', and you won't see such another farm in the hull county." " Yes, and the garden all tore to pieces," rejoined the house keeper ; "if she could come out of her grave next year, she won't know it ag'in. And me, that's tended to it this ever so long, to have a strange man, that nobody knows, stuck over my head !" Bute bent his face over the ear of corn, to conceal a malicious smile. He knew that" a'll the housekeeper wanted, was to " speak out her mind" — after which she would resign herself to the inevitable. He accordingly made no further reply, and commenced whistling, very softly, " Barbara Allen," a tune which of late seemed to harmonize with his mood. Woodbury, on his part, was conscious of a restless stirring of the blood, for which his contact with the housekeeper was in the least degree responsible. Her figure, nevertheless, formed a hard, sharp, rocky background, against which was projected, in double sweetness from the contrast, the soil out- lines of a younger form, glimmering indistinctly through a mist Avhich concealed the face. He did not deceive hhnself. He saw that his apparent in- dependence was a belligerent condition, in which he could never find adequate peace ; but not for this reason — not from any cool calculations of prudence — did he long to see the household of Lakeside governed by its legitimate mistress. If the long years of summer had made his heart apathetic or A ST014Y OF AMERICAN LIFE. llo indifferent, it had not deadened his nature to the subtle magio of spring. A more delicate languor than that of the tropica crei^t over him in the balmy mornings ; all sounds and odors of t[ie season fostered it, and new images began to obtrude upon his sleeping as well as his waking dreams. lie knew the symptoms, and rejoiced over the reappearance of the old disease. It was not now the fever of youth, ignorantly given up to its own illusions. He could count the accelerated pulsa- tions, hold the visions steadily fast as they arose in his brain, and analyze while he enjoyed them. Love and Experience must now go hand in hand, and if an object presented itself, the latter must approve while the former embraced. Reviewing, in his mind, the women whom he knew, there was not one, he confessed to himself, whom he would ever, probably, be able to love. His acquaintances in Xew York were bright, lively girls— the associates of his nieces— in some of whom, no doubt, there was a firm basis of noble feminine character. It could not be otherwise; yet the woman who must share his seclusion, finding in him, principally, her society, in his home her recreation, in his happiness her own, could scarcely be found in that circle. Coming back to Ptole- my, his survey was equally discouraging. He could never overlook a lack of intellectual culture in his wife. Who pos- sessed that, unless, indeed, Hannah Thurston ? She, he ad- mitted, had both exquisite taste and a degree of culture re- markable for the opportunities she enjoyed ; but a union with her would be a perpetual torment. She, with her morbid notions of right, seeing an unpardonable sin in every innocent personal habit ! What little she had observed of his external life had evidently inspired her with a strong dislike of him ; how could she bear to know him as he was — to look over the pages of his past life ? JBTis wife, he felt, must be allowed no illusions. J£ she could not find enough of truth and manliness in his heart to counterbalance past errors and present defects, she should find no admittance there. In spite of these unavailing reviews, one important result 176 HAinsrAn tiiurston: was attained. He ■would no longer, as heretofore, shrink from the approach of love. From whatever quarter the guest might come, the door should be found open, and the word " Welcome," woven of the evergreen leaves of immortal longing, should greet the arrival. Jl stoey op amekican upb. J'T CHAPTER XIV. COiriAINTSG CONVEESATIONS MOEB IMPOETANT THAN IIIBI SEEM TO BE. One balmy afternoon, when the dandelions were beginning to show their golden disks among the grass, Woodbury started on foot for Ptolemy, intending to take tea with the Waldos, whom he had not seen for a fortnight. Sauntering along the road, at the foot of the eastern hill, with the dark, pine-fringed rocks and the sparkling cascade on one hand, and the fresh, breath- ing meadows on the other, he found himself, at last, at the end of the lane leading to the Merryfield farm-house, and paused, attracted by the roseate blush of a Judas-tree in the garden. The comfortable building, with its barn and out- houses, seemed to bask in happy warmth and peace, half-hid- den in a nest of fruit-trees just bursting into bloom. The fences around them had been newly whitewashed, and gleamed like snow against the leafing shrubbery. An invigorating smell of earth came from the freshly-ploughed field to the south. Every feature of the scene spoke of order, competence, and pastoral contentment and repose. In such a mood, he forgot the occasional tedium of the farmer's talk, and the weak pretensions of his wife, and only remembered that he had not seen them for some time. Turning into the lane, he walked up to the house, where he was cordi- ally received by Mr. Merryfield. "Come in,'' said the latter: " Sarah's looking over seeds, or something of the kind, with Miss Thurston, but she'll be down jiresently. Tou recollect Mr. Dyce ?" The last words were spoken as they entered the 8* IVfc HANNAH TIITJUSTON: room, where the medium, with his sallow, unwholesome face, Bat at an open window, absorbed in the perusal of a thick pamphlet. He rose and saluted Woodbury, though by no means with cordiality. " How delightful a home you have here, Mr. Merryfield," Woodbury said. " You need not wish to change places with any one. An independent American farmer, with his affairs in such complete order that the work almost goes on of it- self, from year to year, seems to me the most fortunate of men." "Well — jes — 1 ought to be satisfied," answered the host : " I sometimes wish for a wider spere, but I suppose it's best as it is." " Oh, be sure of that 1" exclaimed Woodbury : " neither is your sphere a narrow one, if it is rightly filled." " Nothing is best as it is," growled Mi-. Dyce, from the win- dow, at the same time; "private property, family, isolated labor, are all wrong." Woodbury turned to the speaker, with a sudden doubt of his sanity, but Mr. Merryfield was not in the least surprised. "You know, Mr. Dyce," said he, "that I can't go that far. The human race may come to that in the course of time, as it were, but I'm too old to begin." "Nobody is too old for the Truth," rejoined the medium, so insolently that Woodbury felt an itching desire to slap him in the face. — "especially, when it's already demonstrated. Here's the whole thing," he continued, giving the pamphlet a whack on the window-sill : " read it, and you'll find how much better off we are without those selfish institutions, marriage and tho right to property." " What is it ?" asked Woodbury. " It's the annual report of the Perfectionists. They have a i-ommunity near Aqueanda, where their principles are put in practice. Every thing is in common : labor is so divided that no one feels the burden, yet all live comfortably. The children are brought up all together, and so the drudgery of a family i» A STORY Of AMJSKICAX LIFE. 179' avoided. Besides, love is not slavery, but freedom, and the affections are true because they do not wear legal chains." " Good God! Is this true?" exclaimed Woodbury, turning to Mr. Merryfield. "I believe it is," he answered. "I've read part of the re- port, and there are queer things in it. Even if the doctrine ia right, I don't think mankind is fit for it yet. I shouldn't like, even, to let everybody read that book : though, to be sure, we might be much more outspoken than we are." "Read it," said Mr. Dyce, thrusting the pamphlet into Woodbury's hand. "It's unanswerable. If you are not blinded by the lies and hypocrisies of Society, you will see what the true life of Man should be. Society is the Fall, sir, and we can restore the original paradise of Adam whenever we choose to free ourselves from its tyranny." " No doubt, provided we are naturally sinless, like Adam," Woodbury could not help saying, as he took the pamphlet. He had no scruples in receiving and reading it, for he was not one of those delicate, effeminate minds, who are afi'aid to look on error lest they may be infected. His principles were so well-based that every shock only settled them the more firmly. He had never preferred ignorance to unpleasant knowledge, and all of the latter which he had gained had not touched the sound manliness of his nature. " We are !" cried Mr. Dyce, in answer to his remark. " The doctrine of original sin is the basis of all the wrongs of society. It is false. Human nature is pure in all its instincts, and we distort it by our selfish laws. Our life is artificial and unnatural. K we had no rights of property we should have no theft : if we had no law of marriage we should have no li- centiousness : if we had no Governments, we should have no war." Mr. Merryfield did not seem able to answer these declara- tions, absurd as they were, and Woodbury kept silent, from self-respect. The former, however, was stronger in his instincts than in his powers of argument, and shrank, with a sense o^ 180 HANNAH TnUESTON : painful repugnance, from a theory -which he was unable to com- bat. Mr. Dyce's prolonged visit was beginning to be dis* greeable to him. His ambition to be considered a prominent reformer was liis weak side, and his freely-offered hospitality to the various apostles had given him a consideration which misled him. His kindness had thus frequently been imposed upon, but the secret fear of losing his place bad prevented him, hitherto, from defending himself Mr. Dyce, on the other hand, was one of those men who are not easily shaken off. He led a desultory life, here and there, thi-ough New York and the New England States, presiding at spiritual sessions in the houses of the believers, among whoia he had acquired a certain amount of reputation as a medium. Sometimes his performances were held in public (admittance ten cents), in the smaller towns, and he earned enough in this way to pay his necessary expenses. When he discovered a be- lieving family, in good circumstances, especially where the table was well supplied, he would pitch his tent, for days, or weeks, as circumstances favored. Such an oasis in the desert of existence he had found at Mr. Merryfield's, and the discom- fort of the meek host at his prolonged stay, which would have been sufficiently palpable to a man of the least delicacy of feel- ing, was either unnoticed by him, or contemptuously ignored. Woodbury read the man at a glance, and received, also, a faint suspicion of Mr. Merryfield's impatience at his stay ; but he, himself, had Uttle patience with the latter's absurdities, and was quite content that he should endure the punishment he had invoked. Putting the pamphlet in his pocket, and turning to Mr. Dyce, he said : " I shall read this, if only to find out the point at which Progress becomes Reaction — where Moral RefoiMU shakes hands with Depravity." The medium's sallow face grew livid, at the firm coolness with which these words were spoken. He half-started from his scat, bat sank back again, and turning his head to the windoWi ga^ e a contemptuous snort from his thin nostrils. A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 181 "There is mischief in that man," thought Woodbury. Mr. Merryfield, in spite of his trepidation — for he was a thorough physical coward, and the moral courage on which ha plumed himself was a sham article, principally composed of vanity — nevertheless felt a sense of relief from WoodKiiry's oomposed, indifferent air. Here, at least, was one man who could meet the vampire unconcernedly, and drive, if need be, a stake through his gorged carcass. For once, he regretted that lie did not possess a similar quality. It was almost resist- ance, he was aware, and the man capable of it might probably be guilty of the crime (as he considered it) of using physical force ; but he dimly recognized it in a refreshing element of strength. He did not feel quite so helpless as usual in Wood- bury's presence, after that. Still, he dreaded a continuance of the conversation. "Will you come, as it were" — said he ; " that is, would you like"^ Woodbury, who had turned his back upon Mr. Dyce, after speaking, suddenly interrupted him with : " How do you do, Mrs. Merryfield ?" The mistress of the house, passing through the hall, had paused at the open door. Behind her came Hannah Thurstoni in her bonnet, with a satchel on her arm. After the greetings were over, Mrs. Merryfield said : " We were going into the garden.'' " Pray, allow me to accompany you," said Woodbury. " Oh, yes, if you care about flowers and things." The garden was laid out on the usual .plan : a central alley, bordered with flower-beds, vegetables beyond, and currants planted along the fence. It lay open to the sun, sheltered by a spur of the eastern ridge, and by the orchard to the left of the house. In one corner stood a Judas-tree, every spray thickly hung with the vivid rose-colored blossoms. The flowers wero fa) ther advanced than at Lakeside, for the situation was much lower and warmer, and there had been no late frosts. The hyacinths reared their blue and pink pagodas, filling the walk with their opulent breath ; the thick green buds of the tulips 182 IIANXAII tiiuuston: began to show poiuts of crimson, and the cushiony niassos of mountain-pink fell over the boarded edges of the beds. Mrs. Merryfield had but small knowledge of floriculture. Iler bods were well kept, however, but from habit, rather than taste, " My pineys won't do well, this year, I don't think," said she : " this joon-dispray rose is too near them. Here's plenty of iarkspurs and coreopsisses coming up, Hannah ; don'c you want some ?" "Thank you, my garden is wild with them," Miss Thufstou answered, " but I will take a few plants of the flame-colored marigold, if you have them to spare." " Qh, that's trash ; take them all, if you like.'' " Miss Thurston," said Woodbury, suddenly, " would yoL like to have some bulbs of gladeolus and tiger-lily ? I have just received a quantity from Rochester." " Very much indeed : you are very kind," she said. " How magnificent they are, in color!" The next moment, she was vexed at herself for having accepted the ofier, and said no more. Mrs. Merryfield, having found the marigolds, took up a number and placed them in a basket, adding various other plants of which she had a superfluity. As they left the gar- den, Woodbury quietly took the basket, saying : " I am Vi'alk- ing to Ptolemy also. Miss Thurston." It was impossible to decline his company, though the undefinable sense of unrest with which his presence always afiected her, made tha prospect of the walk far from agreeable. Side by side they passed down the lane, and iiad nearly gained the highway, when Woodbury broke the silence by saying : " What do you think of Mr. Dyce?" Hannah Thurston was a little startled by the unexpected question. "I have scarcely formed an opinion," ahe answered : " it may not be just to decide from impressions only. If I did BO, the decision would not be favorable to him." " You are right !" he exclaimed, with energy. " Do not speak to him again ! I beg pardon," he added, apologetically A STOEY OF AMEUICAX LIFE. IHi " I did not mean to be dictatorial ; but the man is thoroughly false and bad." " Do you know any thing of him ?" she asked. " Only what I have myself observed. I have learned to trust my instincts, because I find that what we call instinct is only a rapid and subtle faculty of observation. A man can never completely disguise himself, and we therefore see hiia most truly at the first glance, before his powers of deception can bo exercised upon us." "It may be true," she said, as if speaking to herself, "but one's prejudices are so arbitrary. How can we know that we are right, in yielding to them?" For a moment, a sharp retort hovered on Woodbury's tongue. How can we know, he might have said, that we ai-e right in accepting views, the extreme character of which is self-evident? How can we, occupying an exceptional place, dare to pronounce rigid, unmitigated judgment on all the rest of mankind? But the balmy spring day toned him to gentle- ness. The old enchantment of female presence stole over him, as when it surrounded each fair face with a nimbus, to the nar- cotized vision of youth. One glance at his companion swept away the harsh words. A tender gleam of color flushed her cheeks, and the lines of her perfect lips were touched with a pensive softness. Her eyes, fixed at the moment on the hill beyond the farther valley, were almost as soft as a violet in hue. He had never before seen her in the strong test of sunshine, and remarked that for a face like hers it was no disenchant- ment. She might be narrow and bigoted, he felt, but she was nevertheless true, earnest, and pure. "We are not required to exhibit our prejudices," he said, "In Society, disagreeable persons are still individuals, and have certain claims upon us. But, after all the latitude we are required to grant, a basis of character must be exacted. Do you think a man consciously false and depraved shoiild be tol- erated on account of a coincidence in opinions ?" " Certainly not," she replied. 184 UANNAH TliUKSTOX : Woodbury then related the incident of the piano. He be- gan to feel a friendly pity for the girl walking beside him. Her intense earnestness, he saw, and her ignorance of the true nature of men, were likely to betray her, as in the present case, into associations, the thought of which made hun shuddei-. He would at least save her from this, and therefore told the story, with an uncomfortable sense, all the while, of the pamphlet in Lis pocket. llannah Thurston was unfeignedly shocked at the deception of Mr. Dyce. " I am glad you have told me this," said she, "for I wanted a justification for avoiding him. Have you mentioned it to the Merryfields ?" "No." ''■Why not?" " In the first place, you know that they are too infatuated with the spiritual delusion to believe it. He would have an explanation ready, as he had that night. Moreover, it would cost Bute, who gave me the details in confidence, the loss of two friends. For his sake let it still be confidential." She met his deep brown eyes, and bowed in reply. He plucked the stalk of a dandelion, as they went along, pinched off the flower, split the lower end, and putting it into his mouth, blew a tiny note, as from a fairy trumpet. His man- ner was so serious that Hannah Thurston looked away lest he should see her smile. " You are laughing, I know," said he, taking the stalk from his mouth, " and no wonder. I suddenly recollected having blown these horns, as a boy. It is enough to make one boy- ish, to see spring again, for the first time in fifteen years. I wonder if the willow switches are too dry. Henry Denison and I used to make very tolerable flutes of them, but we never could get more than four or five notes." " Then you value your early associations ?" she asked. " Beyond all others of my life, I think. Is it not pleasant, to look back to a period when every thing was good, when all men and women were infinitely wise and benevolent, when life A STOBY OF AMEBICAN LIFE. 186 took care of itself and the future was whatever you ohoso to make it? Now, when I know the world — ^know it, Miss Thurston" — and his voice was grave and sad — "to be far worse than you, or any other pure woman suspects, and still keep my faith in the Good that shall one day be triumphant, I can smile at my young ignorance, but there is stiU a glory around it. Do you know Wordsworth's Ode ?" " Yes — ' the light that never was on sea or land.' " " Never — until after it has gone by. We look back and see it. Why, do you know that I looked on Mrs. Merryfield as a Greek must have looked on the Delphian Pythoness ?" Hannah Thurston laughed, and then suddenly checked her- self. She could not see one of her co-workers in the Great Cause ridiculed, even by intimation. The chord he had touched ceased to vibrate. The ease with which he recov- ered from a deeper tone and established conversation again in mental shallows, annoyed her all the more, that it gratified some latent instinct of her own mind. She distrusted the influence which, in spite of herself, Woodbury exercised upon her. " I see your eyes wander off to the hills," he said, after an interval of silence. " They are very lovely to-day. In this spring haze the West Ridge appears to be as high as the Jura. How it melts into the air, far. up the valley! The effect of mountains, I think, depends more on atmosphere than on their actual height. Tou could imagine this valley to be one of the lower entrances to the Alps. By the way. Miss Thurston, this must have given you a suggestion of them. How did you manage to get such a correct picture in your mind ?" She turned her surprised face full towards him. The dreamy expression which softened its outline, and hovered in the luminous depth of her eyes, did not escape him. " Oh, I know it," he added, laughing. " What was the song you sang at Mr. Bue's ? Something about an Alpine hunter : it made me think I was standing on the Schej 1 86 IIAXNAII THUKSTON : deck, watching the avalanches tumbling down from the Jung frau." "You have been in Switzerland, Mr. Woodbury!" she exclaimed, with animation. " Yes, on my way from England to India." Jle described to her his Swiss tour, inspired to prolong the narrative by the eager interest she exhibited. The landscajjea of the higher Alps stood clear in his memory, and he had the faculty of translating them distinctly into words. Commenc- ing with the valley of the Reuss, he took her with him over the passes of the Furca and the Grimsel, and had only reached the falls of the Aar, when the gate of the Widow Thurston's cottage shut down upon the Alpine trail. " We will finish the trip another time," said Woodbury, as he opened the gate for her. " How much I thank you ! I seem to have been in Switzer- land, myself. I think I shall be able to sing the song better, from knowing its scenery." She ofiered him her hand, which he pressed cordially. ''I should Uke to call upon your mother again," he said. " She will be very glad to see you." As he walked down the street towards the Cimmerian par- sonage, his thoughts ran somewhat in this wise : " How much natural poetry and enthusiasm that girl has in her nature! It is refreshing to describe any thing to her, she is so absorbed in receiving it. What a splendid creature she might have be-, come, imdei- other circumstances ! But here she is hopelessly warped and distorted. Nature intended her for a woman and a wife, and the role of a man and an apostle is a monstrous per- version. I do not know whether she most attracts me through what she might have been, or repels me through what she is. She suggests the woman I am seeking, only to show me how vain the search must be. I am afraid I shall have to give it up." Pursuing these reflections, he was about passing the parson- age without recognizing it, when a cheery voice rang out to him from the open door : A STORY OF AMJEKICAN LIFE. 187 " Elave you lost the wny, Mr. Woodbury ?" "'Not lost, but goue before,' " said he, as he turned back to the gate. "What profanity!" exclaimed Mrs. Waldo, though sha laughed at the same time. "Come in: our serious season is over. I suppose I ought to keep a melancholy face, for two ■«'eel as if paralyzed — " at the head of the fall !" Mechanically, but as rapidly as possible, they obeyed her. Woodbury, after letting go his hold of the shrub, turned his face with the stream, to spy, in advance, some new point of escape. He saw, a hundred feet ahead, the sharp edge of silver where the sun played on the top of the fall : the suddeu turns of the stream were all behind him, and it now curved gradually to the right, slightly widening as it approached the brink. His perceptions, acting with the rapidity of lightning, told him that he must either gain the left bank before makins^ 198 nA>TS-AH THUESTOS-: half the remaining distance, or keep in the middle of the cur rent, and trust to the chance of grasping a rock which rose a little above the water, a few feet in advance of the fall. Ha was an experienced swimmer, but a few strokes convinced him that the first plan would not succeed. Before reachina; the rock the water grew deeper, and the current whirled in strong eddies, which would give him some little power to di- rect his course. In a second they seethed around him, and, though the bottom fell away from under his feet, he felt a su(l den support from the back water from the rock. One tremep dous effort and he reached it. To the agonized spectators on the bank, the scene was terri- ble. Unable to avert their eyes from the two lives sweeping like a flash to destruction — feeling, instinctively, that there was no instantaneous power of action which could save — they uttered low, incoherent cries, too benumbed to speak or think. Only Seth and Dyce, who had conveyed the board to the head of the fall, were hurriedly endeavoring to thrust it out over the water. In their excitement they had placed it too low.lpo reach the rock. " Bring it further up 1" shouted Mr. Whitlow. Seth, nervously attempting to slide it up the bank, allowed the outer end to drop into the current. It was instantly twist- ed out of his hands and whirled over the fall. Woodbury had gained a firm hold of the rock, but the water was up to his shoulders, the conflicting currents tugged him this way and that, and he was unable to clasp his charge securely. Her arms were still tight about his neck, but if her strength should give way, their situation would become criti- cal. He saw the effort made for their rescue, and its failure. " Another board !" he shouted. Seth and Dyce darted through the grove in search of one, while Merryfield, more practical, made off with his utmost speed for the saw-miU. Hannah Thurston, in spite of her re< lief at the escape, recognized the danger which still impended. A single glance showed her the difficulty under which Wood A STOEY or AMEBICAU LIFE. 199 bury labored, and a sickening anxiety again overcame her. To stand still was impossible ; but wliat could she do ? On a stump near her lay a fragment of board about four feet in length. The distance from the bank to the rock was at least twelve. Another glance at the rapid current, and an idea, which, it seemed to her afterwards, some passing angel mus( have let fall, flashed through her brain. Snatching her silk Bummer-shawl from the bough where it hung, she tied one end of it tightly around the middle of the board, drawing it to a firm knot on the edge. Mrs. Waldo was no less quick in com- prehending what she intended. By the time the knot was tied, her own and Mrs. Merryfield's shawls were brought and quickly fastened, one to another. By this means a length considerably greater than the breadth of the stream was obtained. " One thing more," said Hannah Thurston, breathlessly, aa she took the scarf from her neck. Knotting one end and drawing the other through, so as to form a running noose, she fastened it to her shawl, near the board. Her plan came to her in a complete form, and hence there was no delay in put- ting it into execution. Taking her stand on a point of the bank, some feet above the rock where Woodbury clung, she gathered the shawls in loose links and held the board ready to throw. Woodbury, whose position was such that he could see her movements without risking his hold, now called to her : " As far as you can throw !" Mrs. Waldo had followed to the bank, and stood behind Hannah Thurston, grasping a handful of her dress, lest she, too, should lose her balance. But excitement gave Hannah firmness of nerve, when other women trembled. She flung tho board with a steady hand, throwing the weight of the shawls, as much as possible, with it. It fell beyond the centre of the current, whirled around once or twice upon an eddy, and waa sheering back towards the bank again, when Woodbury, whispering to Phillis, " Hold fast, darling !" put out one hand and caught it. With some difficulty, and with more risk to himself than the two anxious women on the bank were awara 200 HANNAH THUESTON : of, he drew the wet, sticky slip- noose of the scarf over PhiUis'a head and one arm, bringing it under her elbow before he could loosen her hold upon his neck. Thrusting the board under this arm, it was an easier task to disengage the other. " Wind the end of the shawl around that sapling besida you !" he called to Hannah Thurston. " One of you go below to meet her." Mrs. Waldo was on the spot before his words were finished, " Now, hold fast, my little girl, and you will be safe in a minute. Ready 1" he cried. Phillis obeyed, rather through blind trust in him, than from her consciousness of what was going on. The poor creature was chilled and exhausted, half strangled by the water she had swallowed, and wild with terror. Her arms having once been loosened, she clasped them again around the board in a last convulsive effort of strength. Woodbury let go the frail raft, which, impelled by the dragging weight of the shawls, darted at once half-way across ,the stream. Then it began to move more slowly, and the force ©f the current seemed to ingulf it. For a moment the water rushed over the child's head, but her dress was already within reach of Mrs. Waldo's hand, and she was drawn upon the bank, gasping and nearly insensible. Mrs. Merryfield picked her up and carried her to the mother, who still lay upon the ground, with her face in her hands. Woodbury, relieved of his burden, now held his position with less difficulty. The coldness of the water, not yet tem- pered by the few days of summer, nevertheless, began to be- numb him, and he was obliged to struggle against a growing exhaustion. Hannah Thurston, as soon as the child was rescued, drew in the board, examined the knots of the shawls, and gathered them together for another throw ; but at the same instant Mr. Merryfield, out of breath and unable to speak; appeared with a plank on his shoulder. With the aid of tot. others, the end was secured between two trees, and it was then run out above the water, a little below the rock, whera the stream was shallower. Woodbury cautiously slid dowc A STOEY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 201 gained a firm foothold, and slowly crossed, walking side wise, supported by the plank. As he neared the bank, he stretched out his left hand, which was grasped by Merryfield, who drew s© tremendously that he almost lost his footing at the last ni'jment. As he felt the dry earth under him, a singular numbness fell upon him. He saw, as in a dream, Mrs. Waldo and Hannah Thurston ; the former streaming with gratefid tears, the latter pale and glad, with a moist light in her eyes. He sat down upon the nearest rock, chilled to the bone ; his lips were blue and his teeth chattered. " It is cold bathing," said he : " have you any wine ?" "We do not use intoxicating beverages," said Mr. Whitlow, who could not forget, even in his gratitude for his daughter's rescue, the necessity of bearing testimony against popular vices, Mrs. Waldo, however, hastily left the company. Mr. Merryfield took off his coat, and having removed Woodbury's with some little trouble, substituted it. The dry warmth be- gan to revive him. " Where is my new acquaintance ?" he asked. Mrs. Whitlow, after an hysterical outburst of alternate laughter and tears, had wrapped Phillis Wheatley in the only remaining dry shawl and given her a saucer of mar- malade ; but the child was still too much frightened to eat. Her father brought her in his arms and set her down before Woodbury. " There, Phillis," said he, and his voice trembled little, " you must thank the gentleman for saving your life." " Thank you for saving my life !" said Phillis, in a rueful /oiee. " Not me," said Woodbury, rising slowly and wearily, and turning towards Hannah, " but Miss Thurston. Your cool ■ftcss and presence of mind saved both of us." He took her hand. His fingers were as cold as ice, yet a warmth she never before felt streamed from them through her whole frame. Mrs., Waldo suddenly made her appearance, as breathless as before Mr. Merryfield had been, with the plank on his shoulder. She carried in her hand a tumbler full of a yellowish liquid. 9* 202 HANlSrAH THUKSTON : '« There," she panted, " drink it. Thankful am I that thers are still sinners in the world. The sawyer had a black jug. It's poisonous stuff, I know — leads to the gates of death, and all that — but I thanked God when I saw it." " Good Samaritan !" exclaimed Woodbury fervently, as he drank. It was, in truth, the vilest form of whiskey, but it steadied his teeth and thawed his frozen blood. " E'ow for my horse and a gaEop home !" he said. " Where is the horse ?" they asked. " I'll get him," exclaimed Seth, with alacrity. "Hadn't you better go up to Jones's, as it were," said •Merryfield " He's stopped the saw-mill, and run to the house to get a fire kindled. You can dry yourself first, and Sarah can make you some tea or coffee." Jones made his appearance at almost the same instant. " I ketched y'r horse, Mr. Maxwood," said he, running the names together in his excitement. " He's all right. Gome up t' th' house: Mary Jane's made a rousin' fire, and you kin dry y'rself " "Thank you, my friends," Woodbury answered. "Your whiskey has done me great service, Mr. Jones, and what I now want more than any thing else is a little lively motion. Will you please lend Mr. Merryfield one of your coats, since he has kindly given me his? I shall ride over and see you to- morrow ; but now let me get to my horse as soon as possible." lie put his hand on the sawyer's shoulder, to steady him-/ self, for his steps were still tottering, and was turning away, when he perceived his wet coat, spread out on a rock. Pick, ing it up, he took a note-book and some pulpy letters from the breast-pocket. After examining the latter, he crushed theit in his hand, and tossed them into the stream. He then fei<, the deep side-pockets : in one there was a wet handkerchief, but on reaching the other he dropped the coat. "There, Mr. Dyce," said he, "you will find your pamphlet. I had it in my pocket, intending to leave it with Mr. Merry- field this afternoon. It is pretty thoroughly soaked by this A STOKV OF AMERICAN LIFE. 203 time, but all die waters of Roaring Brook could not wash it clean." Nodding a cheerful good-by to Mrs. Waldo, a respectful one to Hannah Thurston, and giving PhiUis a kiss which left her staring at him in open-mouthed astonishment, he left the company. The sawyer, with a rough tenderness, insisted ou keeping his arm around Woodbury's waist, and on reaching the mill produced the black jug, from which it was impossible to escape without a mild libation. Woodbury repaid it the next day with a bottle of smoky " Islay," the remembrance of which made Jones's mouth water for years afterwards. The pic-nic, of course, was at an end. Without unpacking the refreshments, the party made immediate preparations to return. The fire Mrs. Jones had kindled was employed to dry Phillis and the shawls, while the gentlemen harnessed the horses. Mr. Merryfield went about in the sawyer's Sunday coat, which had been first made for his wedding, sixteen years before. It was blue, with brass buttons, a high rolling collar, very short waist, and tails of extraordinary length. No one laughed, however, except Mary WoUstonecraft. In spite of the accident, which left an awed and subdued impression upon all minds, the ride home was very animated. Each was anxious to describe his or her feelings, but Mrs. Whitlow was tacitly allowed to play the chief part. " You were all running here and there," said she, " and the movement was some relief. What Zsufiered, no tongue can describe. But I am reconciled to it now. I see in it a mysterious sign that Phillis Wheatley is to have an im- portant mission in the world, and my duty is to prepare her for it." Fortunately, no injuiy resulted to the girl thus mysteriously commissioned, from the manner in which it was done. Sho was obliged, very much against her will, to lie down for tho [•est of the day ; but the next morning she was discovered in the stable, pulling the tail-feathers out of an old cock she had caught. 204 HAinifAn THrESTON: On Monday, che Wintlows took their departure for Niagara, greatly to the relief of their hosts. As they do not appear again in the course of this history, we may hope that the re- mainder of their journey was agreeable. k STOET OF ^VJUEKICAN LIFE. 906 CHAPTER XVI. OOWCEENING AN UNEXPECTED JOITKNET TO TIBEKTtrS. Two days after the departure of the Whitlows, Mr. Dyce, during breakfast, announced his intention of leaving Ptolemy. " I have promised to visit the Community," said he, " and it is now a pleasant time to be there. Could you lend me your horse and carriage. as far as Tiberius, Merryfield?" " Not to-day, I guess," said the farmer ; " I must go to Mulligan sville this afternoon, to see about buying another cow, and Henry has the hill-field to hoe. You could take Jinny and the carriage, but how would I get them back again ?" " I will go," said his wife, with an unusual eagerness. " I must go there soon, any way. I've things to buy, you know, James, and there's Mrs. Nevins that I've been owing a visit to, this ever so long." " Well, if you want to, Sarah," he answered, " I've nothing against it. Are you sure it won't be too much for you ? You know you've been having extra work, and you're not strong." Mrs. Merryfield drew up the corners of her mouth, and gave a spasmodic sob. " Yes, I know I am the weaker vessel," she wailed, " and my own judgment don't pass for any thing." "Sarah, Sarah, don't be foolish!" gaid her husband; " you tnow I never interfere unreasonably with your ways. You can do as you please. I spoke for your own good, and yon needn't cry about it." He rose with an impatient air, and left the table. He could ttot but admit to himself, sometimes, that the happiness of his married life had not increased in proportion to his progress in 206 HANNAH thuestoit: the knowledge of Reform. When he looked back and recalloc' the lively, rosy young woman, with hei' first nuptial bashful- uoss and air of dependence on her husband fresh about her, whom he had brought to the farm-house twenty-five yeara before, when they lived in utter ignorance of dietetic laws and polenin duties towards the Human Race, he could not repress a feeling of pain. The sallow, fretful woman, who now con- sidered her years of confiding love as a period of servitude, which she strove to balance by claiming more than an equal share in the direction of the household, was another (and less agreeable) creature, in comparison with her former self. Of late, she had grown more than usually irritable and unsatisfied, and, although he had kindly ascribed the fact to housekeeping perplexities, his patience was sorely tried. There was no remedy but endurance, so far as he could see. It was impos- sible, now, to change his convictions in regard to woman's rights, and he was too sincere to allow the practice of his life to be inconsistent with them. When he returned at noon from a distant field, where he had been engaged all the morning, he was surprised to find the carriage still at home, although his man Henry was engaged in greasing the hubs of the wheels. " Why, Sarah," said he, as he sat down to dinner, " I thought you would have been off." " I couldn't get ready," she answered, rather sullenly. " Bui I need not come back to-night. It will be better for Jinny, anyhow." Mr. Dyce was unusually talkative on the subject of the Cora- muuity, the charms of which he painted in the liveliest colors. His host was tired of the subject, but listened with au air of tolerance, as he was so soon to get rid of the speaker. Bidding the latter good-by, immediately after dinner, ho saddled his horse and rode to MuUigansville. The new cow met his requirements, and a bargain was soon concluded. She was to be brought to the farm next day, when the price agreed upon would be paid. Mr. Merryfield had adopted the seusibla A STORY Oli' ASIEKICAN LIFE. 201 rule of defraying all such expenses as they arose. Ilenoo hia crops were never mortgaged in advance, and by waiting until they could be sold to the best a;dvantage, he prospered from year to year. When he reached home again, it was nearly four o'clock Putting up his horse, he entered the house and went directly to the old-fashioned mixture of book-case, writing-desk, and chest of drawers, which stood in a corner of the sitting-room. He must make a note of the purchase, and, since he was alone, might as well spend an hour, he thought, in looking over hia papers and making his calculations for the summer. He was very methodical in his business arrangements, and the desk was in such perfect order that he always knew the exact place of each particular paper. This was one of the points of controversy with his wife, which he never yielded : he insisted that she should not open the desk in his absence. This time, however, as he seated himself, drew out the sup. ports for the lid, and let it down upon them, his exact eye showed him that something had been disturbed. The papers in- one of the pigeon-holes projected a little further than usual, and the corners were not square as they should be. Besides, the pile appeared to be diminished in height. He knew every paper the pigeon-hole contained, took them out and ran rapid- ly through them. One was missing ! — an envelope, containing bonds of the New York Central Railroad, to the amount of three thousand dollars, the private property of his wife. It was the investment of a sum which she had inherited at her father's death, made iu her own name, and the interest of which she had always received for her separate use. He leaned back in his chair, thunderstruck at the discovery. Could one of the servants have taken the envelope ? Impossi- ble. Dyce ? — how should he know where to find it ? Evi- dently, nothing else had been touched. Had his wife, perhaps, taken it with her, to draw the semi-annual interest at Tiberius? It was not yet due. Mechanically, hardly conscious of what ha suspected or feared, he arose and went up-stairs. In the bed- 208 HANNAH THUKSTON . room wliiuh Dyee had last occupied, every thing was in order, lie passed into his own, opening closets and wardrobes, ex- pecting either to find or miss something which might enlight- en him. In his wife's wardrobe three pegs, upon which dresses had hung, were empty. He jerked open, in haste, the draw- ers of her bureau: many things had apparently been removed. Closing them again, he raised his head, and a little note, stick- ing among the bristles of the hair-brush, which lay on its back in front of the lookmg-glass, caught his eye. He seized it, un- folded it with shaking hands, put on his spectacles and read. There were but two lines : " Send to Tiberius for the carriage. I am going to the Community." It was a hard blow for the poor man. The idea of conjugal infidelity on the part of his wife was simply incredible, and no suspicion of that nature entered his mind. It was a deliberate case of desertion, and the abstraction of the bonds indicated that it was meant to be final. What her motives were, he could only guess at in a confused way ; but he knew that she would never, of her own accord, have determined upon a course so mad and ruinous. Many things were suddenly clear to him. The evil influence of Dyee, strengthened by his assumed pow- er, as a medium, of bringing her children near to her ; the mag- netic-strength, morbid though it was, of the man's words and presence ; the daily opportunities of establishing some intan- gible authority over the wife, during her husband's absence, until she became, finally, the ignorant slave of his will — all this, or the possibility of it, presented itself to Merryfield's mind in a rush of dim and tangled impressions. He had neither the time nor the power to unravel them, but he felt that there was truth at the core. Following this conviction came the deter mination to save her — yes ! save her at once. There was no time to be lost. Tiberius was eighteen miles distant, and they could not yet have arrived there. He must follow instantly, and overtake them, if possible, before the departure of the train from the west. A STOKY OF AMERICAN LIF3S. 209 Why was he delaying there? The ten minutes that he had been standing, motionless, in the centre of the room, with the note in his hand, his eyes mechanically reading the two lines over and over, until the first terrible chaos of his feelings sub- Bided, had lengthened themselves into hours. Breaking the spell at last, he drew a long breath, which resolved itself into a groan,, and lifted his head. The little looking-glass on the bureau was before him: moving a step nearer, he examined his •own face with a pitiful curiosity. It looked old and haggard ; the corners of his mouth were rigidly drawn and tightened, and the pinched nostrils twitched in spite of himself, but his eyes were hard and dry. "It don't make much diflerence in my looks, after all," he said to himself, with a melancholy laugh ; and the next instant the eyes overflowed. After this brief outbreak, he recovered some strength and steadiness, and rapidly arranged in his mind what .was first to be done. Taking off his work-day clothes, he put on a better suit, and descended the stairs. Calling to the servant-girl in the kitchen, he informed her, in a voice which he strove to make natural and unconcerned, that he was suddenly obliged to visit Tiberius on business, but would return the next day, with his wife. He left directions with her for Henry, the field-hand, regarding the morrow's work, then resaddled his horse and rode rapidly to Ptolemy. On the way, his thoughts involuntarily went in advance, and , he endeavored to prefigure the meeting with his wife. It was impossible fur him, however, to decide what course he should pursue in case she should persist in her determination. It was not enough to overtake her ; he must be armed at all points to subdue and reclaim her. She had a stubborn power of re- sistance with which he was well acquainted ; and, moreover, Dyce would be ready enough to assist her. He foreboded his own helplessness in such a case, though the right was on his side and the flagrant wrong on hers. " It's my own fault,'' he groaned, bitterly ; " Tve given 210 HAjfNAH thuestoit: way to her so long that I've lost my rightful influence ovei her." One raecans of help suggested itself to his mind, and was immediately accepted. Leaving his horse at the livery stable, and ordering a fast, fresh animal and a light buggy to be sent to the Cimmerian Parsonage, he proceeded thither on foot. Mr. Waldo was in . his " study," which was one corner of his wife's sitting-room. He was engaged in an epistolary con- troversy with a clergyman of the Free-will Baptists, occasion- ally reading aloud a paragraph as he wrote. His wife, busily at work in remaking an old dress, listened and commended. They were both startled by the entrance of Mr. Merryfield, whose agitation was apparent in bis face, and -stiU more so in his voice, as he greeted them. " What has happened ?" exclaimed Mrs. Waldo. " I don't hardly know, as yet," he stammered. " I want your help, Mr. Waldo. Come with me — I'm going to Tiberius. My wife" Here he paused, blushing with utter shame for T\eT. " Would you rather speak to my husband alone ?" said Mrs. Waldo, rising from her seat. " Xo, you must hear the rest, now," he answered. " You're a good woman, Mrs. Waldo — good and true, and perhaps you, too, can help. Sarah wants to leave me, and I must bring her back — I must, tliis night." He then told them, briefly and brokenly, his painful story. Amazement and pity filled the hearts of the two good people, who felt his misfortune almost as keenly as if it were their own. Mrs. Waldo commenced making the few preparatioua necessary for her husband's departure, even before his consent was uttered. When the team was announced as ready, she took Ml. Merryfield's hand and bade him God-speed, with tears in her eyes. The poor man was too much moved to reply. Then, catching her husband's arm, as he wa,s issuing from the room, she whispered earnestly, " No harshness — I know her : she must lie coaxed and persuaded." A STOEY OF AMEKICAN LIFE. 211 " I wish it were yon who were going, my good wife," said Mr. Waldo, kissing her ; " you would make no mistake. Bal be sure that I will act tenderly and carefully." They drove away. She watched them turn the next corner, and went into the house powerfully excited by such a sudden and singular icatastrophe. Her quick, intuitive mind, and hei knowledge of Mrs. Merryfield's weak points, enabled her to comprehend the action more correctly than the husband him- self. This very knowledge was the source of her gieatest anxiety ; for she saw that the success of the journey hung by a hair. Having already committed herself, Mrs. Merryficld, she foresaw, would not give up her plan from the discovery of it, merely. She was not the woman to fall at her husband's feet, repentant, at the first sight of him, and meekly return to her forsaken home. The utmost tact would be required — tact of a kind, of which, with all her respect for the sex, she felt that a man was not capable. The more she pondered on the matter, the more restless and anxious she grew. Her husband's last words remained in her ears : " You would make no mistake." That was not certain, but she would make none, she knew, which could not at once be rectified. An inner voice continually said to her, " Go !" Her unrest Became at last insupportable ; she went to the stable, and harnessed their horse to the old gig with her own hands. Then taking her shawl, and thrusting some re- freshments into a basket — for she would not delay even long enough to make a cup of tea — she clambered into the creaking vehicle, and drove oflf. Mrs. Waldo, however, like many good women whose moral courage is equal to any emergency, was in some respects a ridiculous coward. Even in company with her husband, she never passed along the country roads, at night, without an in- cessant sensation of fear, which had no positive shape, and therefore could not be battled against. It was now six o'clock, and the darkness would be upon her long before she coula reach Tiberius. The thought of making the journey alone, 212 HANNAU TIIUKSTON : ■was dreadful ; if the suspended fate of the Merryfields was Ui be decided by her alone, she would have been almost readj to hesitate. There was but one person in Ptolemy to whom she dared tell the story, and who was equally authorized with herself, to go — that person was Hannah Thurston. All these thoughts passed through her mind, and her reso- lution was taken, while she was harnessing the horse. She drove at once to the Widow Thurston's cottage, and was for- tunate enough to find her and her daughter at their early tea Summoning them into the next room, out of ear-shot of the little servant, she communicated the story and her request in the fewest possible words. She left them no time to recover from the news. " Don't stop to consider, Hannah," she said, " we can talk on the way. There is not a moment to lose." Miss Thurston hesitated, overcome by a painful perplexity. The matter had been confided to her, without the knowledge of the principal actors, and she was not sure that her unex- pected appearance before them would lead to good. Besides, Mrs. Merryfield's act was utterly abhorrent to all her womanly instincts, and her virgin nature shrank from an approach to it, even in the way of help. She stood irresolute. The widow saw what was passing in her mind. " I know how thee feels, Hannah," said she, " and I would not advise thee, if thy way were not cleai to my mind. I feel that it is right for thee to go. The Saviour took the hand of the fallen woman, and thee may surely take Sarah's hand to save her, maybe, from falling. Now, when thy gift may be of service ■ — now is the time to use it freely. Something tells me that thy help will not be altogether in vain." "I will go, mother," the daughter replied. "Thy judg- ment is safer than mine." In five minutes more the two women were on their way. The loveliest evening sunshine streamed across the valley, brightening the meadows and meadow-trees, and the long, curving sweep of the eastern hill. The vernal grass, which, in its flowering season, has a sweeter breath than the roses of Gu- A STOKY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 213 listan, was cut in many places, and lay in balmy windrows. The air was still and warm, and dragon-flies, emitting blue and emerald gleams from their long wings, hovered in zigzag lines along the brooksides. Now and then a thrush fluted from the alder-thickets, or an oriole flashed like a lighted brand through the shadows of the elms. The broad valley basked In the lazy enjoyment of its opulent summer hues ; and what- ever sounds arose from its bosom, they all possessed a tone of passive content or active joy. But the travellers felt nothing of all this beauty : that repose of the spiritual nature, in which the features of the external world are truly recognized, had been rudely disturbed. They passed the Merryfield farm-house. How sadly at vari- ance with its sunny air of peace was the tragic secret of its owners, which the two women carried with them ! The huge weeping willow trailed its hanging masses of twigs against the gable, and here and there a rose-tree thrust its arm through the white garden paling and waved a bunch of crimson, as if to say : " Come in and see how Jve are blooming !" Towards the barn, the field-hand was letting down bars for the waiting' cows, and the servant-girl issued from the kitchen-door with her tin milk-kettle, as they gazed. What a mockery it all seemed ! A little further, and the cataract thundered on their right. All below the rocky wall lay in shadow, but the trees on its crest were still touched by the sun, and thin wreaths of spray, whirling upward, were suddenly converted into dust of gold. Hannah Thurston looked up at the silent grove, and shuddered as she recalled the picture she had last seen there. The brook could never again wear to her its former aspect of wayward, impetuous jubilation. Under its green crystal and glassy elides lurked an element of terror, of pitiless cruelty. Yet even the minutes of agonizing suspense she had there endured were already softened in her memory, and seemed less terrible than the similar trial which awaited her. Near the entrance to Lakeside they met Bi.tt Wilson, witli 214 HANNAH thueston: a yoke of oxen. He recognized the old gig, and with a loud " Haw, Buck,— come hither!" drew his team off the road." " Takin' a drive, are ye ? How d'you do, Mrs. Waldo- Miss Hannah ?" " Good-evening, Bute !" said Mrs. Waldo. "How is Mr Woodbury ? 1 hope he has not suffered from being so long in the water." " Bless you, no ! Mr. Max. is as sound m a roach. He rid over to Tiberius this afternoon. I say, wasn't it lucky that jist he should ha' come along at the right time ?" Bute's face glowed with pride and delight. " It was Providential : good-by !" Slowly climbing the long ravine, through dark woods, it was after sunset when they reached the level of the upland. The village of Anacreon soon came in sight, and they drove rapidly through, not wishing to be recognized. Beyond this point the road was broad, straight, and firm, and they could make better progress. A low arch of orange light lingered in the west, but overhead the larger stars came out, one after another. Belts of warm air enveloped them on the heights, but the dusky hollows were steeped in grateful coolness, and every tree by the roadside gave out its own peculiar odor. ■The ripe, antique breath of the oak, the honeyed bitter of the tulip-tree, and the perfect balsam of the hickory, were breathed upon them in turn. A few insects stiU chirped among the clover, and the unmated frogs serenaded, by fits, their reluctant sweethearts. At one of the farm-houses they passed, a girl, eoated in the porch, was singing : " "We have lived and loved together, Tlirough many changing years." Every circumstance seemed to conspire, by involuntary con- trast, to force the difiicult and painfid task they had under- taken more distinctly upon their minds. After Mrs. Waldo had imparted all she knew, with her own conjectures of the A SXORT OF AMBEICAS LIFE. 215 causes of the desertion, both women were silent for a long time, feeling, perhaps, that it was impossible to arrange, in advance, any plan of action. They must trust to the sugges- tions which the coming interview would supply. "I cannot understand it," said Hannah Thurston, at last. "After so many years of married life — after having children born to them, and lost, uniting them by the more sacred bond of ^sorrow — how is it possible ? They certainly loved each other : what has become of her love ?" " She has it somewhere, yet, you may be sure," said Mrs. Waldo. " She is weak and foolish, but she does not mean to be criminal. Dyce is a dangerous man, and he has led her to the step. No other man she knows could have done it." " Can she love him ?" "Probably not. But a strong, unscrupulous man who knows our sex, Hannah, has a vast power which most women do not understand. He picks up a hundred little threads of weakness, each of which is apparently insignificant, and twists them into a chain. He surprises us at times when our judgment is clouded, his superior reason runs in advance of our thoughts — and we don't think very hard, you know — and will surely bind us hand and foot, unless some new personality comes in to interrupt him. We women are governed by per- sonal influences — there is no use in denying the fact. And men, of course, have the strongest." " I have sometimes feared as mucb," said Hannah Thurston, Badly, " but is it not owing to a false education ? Are not women trained to consider themselves inferior, and thus de- j)endent? Do not the daughters learn the lesson of their mothers, and the fathers impress the opposite lesson on their sons ?" " I know what you mean, and you are partly right. But that is not all. There are superior women whom we look up to— I look up to you, Hannah, who are, intellectually, so far above me — but they never impress us with the same sense of j iwev, of protecting capacity, that we feel in tiie presence of 210 HAS^NAH THURSTON : almost any man. It is something I cannot explain — a sort of physical magnetism, I suppose. ,1 respect men: I like them because they are men, I am not ashamed to confess : and I ain not humiliated as a woman, by acknowledging the difference " " Habit and tradition !" Plannah Thurston exclaimed. " I know you will think so, Hannah, and I am not able to an- swer you. When I hear you speak, sometimes, every word you say seems just and true, but my instincts, as a woman, remain the same. Your life has been very different from mine, and perhaps you have taken, without knowing it, a sort of warhka position towards men, and have wilfully resisted their natural influence over you. For your sake, I have often longed — and you must pardon me, if I ought not to say such a thing — that some man, in every respect worthy of you, should come to know you as you are, and love you, and make you his wife." "Don't — don't speak of that," she whispered. "I couldn't help it, to-night, dear," Mrs. Waldo soothingly replied. " I have been thinking as I came along, what cause I have to thank God for having given me a good and faithful husband. I should never have been happy as a single woman, and for that reason, no doubt, your life seems imperfect to me. But we cannot always judge the hearts of others by our own." By this time the glimmering arch of summer twilight had settled behind the hills, and only the stars lighted them ou their way. The road stretched before them Uke a dusky band, between the shapeless darkness of woods and fields, on either side. Indistinct murmurs of leaves and rustlings among the grass- began to be heard, and at every sound Mrs. Waldo Btarled nervously. " Was there ever such a coward as I am ! " she exclaimed, in a low voice. " If you were not with me, I should go wild with fear. Do you suppose any man in the world is so timid ?" "There, again, I cannot judge," Miss Thurston answered. « I only know that I am never alarmed at night, and that this A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. B17 journey would be a perfect enjoyment, if we were not going on such an unfortunate errand." "I always knew you were an exception among women. Your nerves are like a man's, biit mine are altogether feminine, and I can't helj) myself." The horse stopped at a toll-gate. They were only two miles from Tiberius, and the road descended the greater part of the way. Mrs. Waldo recovered her courage, for the houses were now more thickly scattered, and the drive woixld goon be at an end. The old horse, too, had by this time recog- nized the extent of his task, and determined to get through wi'.;Q it. They rattled rapidly onwards, and from the next i-ise saw the lights of the town, twinkling around the foot of Atauga Lake. As they reached the suburban belt, where every square, flat-roofed, chocolate-colored villa stood proudly in the centre of its own square plot of ground, Hannah Thurston asked: " Where shall we go ?" " Bless me, I never thought of that. But I think my hus- band generally stops at ' The Eagle,' and we can at least leave the horse there. Then we must try to find him and — the others. I think our best plan would be to go to the railroad station.", The gardens and villas gradually merged into the irregular, crowded buildings which lined the principal street. Many stores were open, the side-walks were lively with people, transparencies gleamed before ice-cream saloons, and gas- lamps burned brilliantly at the corners. " What time is it ?" asked Mrs. Waldo. Hannah Thurston looked at her watch. "A quarter past nine." " We have made good time,'' said her companion ; " Heaven grant that we are not too late !" 10 21 a HAKXAH THUKSTOH: CHAPTER XVn. WHICH SOLTES TUB PRECEDING OlfB. Mes. Meekyfield, on forsaking her home, had not anticipatecl the possibihty of an immediate pursuit. She supposed, of course, that her husband would first discover her intention the next mornins, when he would have occasion to use the hair- brush. He would then, sooner or later, she believed, follow h'sr to the Community, where the sight of a Perfect Society, of an Eden replanted on the Earth, would not only convinco him of the wisdom of her act, but compel him to imitate it. If their convictions had been reversed, and he had desired to try the new social arrangement, could he not have done so with impunity, regardless of her opposition? Then, their rights being equal, why should she consult his pleasure ? Thus she reasoned, or, rather, Dyce reasoned for her. She ■was a very weak and foolish woman, afflicted with that worst of temperaments which is at the same time peevish and stub- born, and did not at all appreciate the gravity of the step she had taken. An inner voice, indeed, told her that its secrecy was unjustifiable — that she should openly and boldly declare her intention to her husband ; but her base friend easily p(!r- suaded her that it was better to draw him after her when she had reached the Community, and settle the difference there. His own eyes would then convince him of her wisdom : oppo- sition would be impossible, with the evidence before him. She would thus spare herself a long and perhaps fruitless encounter of opinions, which, owing to the finer organization of her spiritual nature, she ought to avoid. Such differences, he said, disturbed the atmosphere in which spirits most readily A STOEY OF AMEEICAN UI-E. 219 approached ar.d communicated with her. In the pure and harmonious life of the Community, she might perhaps attain to the condition of a medium, and be always surrounded by an- gelic company. The afternoon was hot and they drove slowly, so that even before they reached Tiberius, the two parties of pursuers were on the way. Just as they entered the town, Mr. "Woodbury passed the carriage on horseback. Glancing at its occupants, be recognized Mrs. Merryfield, bowed, and reined in his horso as if to speak, but seeing Dyce, his cordial expression became suddenly grave, and he rode on. This encounter troubled Mrs. Merryfield. A secret uneasiness had been growing upon her during the latter part of the way, and Woodbury's look inspired her with a vague fear. She involuntarily hoped that she might not meet him again, or any one she knew, before leaving Tiberius. She would not even visit Mrs. Nevins, aa she had proposed. Moreover, Woodbury would probably put up at the hotel which she and her husband usually visited. Another must be selected, and she accordingly directed Dyce to drive through the town to a tavern on its northern side, not far from the railroad station. At half-past eight in the evening her husband and Mr. Waldo alighted in front of " The Eagle." As the former was giving orders about the horse to the attendant ostler, Wood- bury came down the steps and immediately recognized the new arrivals. " What !" be exclaimed, " is all Ptolemy coming to Tiberius to-day ? Your wife has the start of you, Mr. Merryfield : I paS'ied her this evening" A violent grasp on his arm interrupted him. " Where is she ? Have they left ?" the husband hoarsely asked. The light from the corner-lamp fell full upon his face. Its expression of pain and anxiety was unmistakable, and a pre sentiment of the incredible truth shot through Woodbury's mind. "Hush, my friend!" said Mr. Waldo. "Control yourself 220 HAXXAII THtJESTON : while we register our names, and then we will go to work It is fortunate ihat you have betrayed yourself to Mr. Wood- bury instead of some one else. Come with us I" he added, turning to the latter ; " you must now know the rest. We can trust every thing to your honor." They entered the office of the hotel. Merryfield, after di-inking a large tumbler of ice- water, recovered some degi-ee of composure. Mr. Waldo ascertained from the landlord that the next train for the east would leave at midnight, the pre- vious train having left at five o'clock. Woodbury, seeing the necessity of a private understanding, invited them both to his room, where the whole afiair was explained to him, and he was able to assure them, by recalling the hour of his own ar- rival, that Dyce and Mrs. Merryfield must be still in the town. " We have three hours," said he, " and they must be found in half the time. There must not be a meeting at the station. Have you no idea, Mr. Merryfield, where your wife would go ?" " She spoke of visiting Mrs. Nevins, as it were," he replied. " Then it is quite unlikely that she is there," said Woodbury. " But we must first settle the point. Let us go at once : where is the house?" Merryfield led the way, much supported and encouraged by Woodbury's prompt, energetic manner. He had now less dread of the inevitable encounter with Dyce. A walk of ten minutes brought them to the ]!f evins mansion. It was a small villa, with a Grecian portico, seated in a diminu live garden. There was a light in the front room. Mr. Waldo was unacquainted with the inmates, and afraid to allow Merryfield to entei the house alone. There was a moment of perplexity. " I have it," said Woodbury, suddenly. " Move on a little, and wait for me." He boldly entered the garden and stepped upon the Grecian portico. The windows had muslin curtains across their lower half, but he easily looked over them into V e room.. A middle-aged woman, in a rocking-chair, was knitting some worsted stuff with a pair of wooden needles. A STOESr OF AMliKICAN LIFE. 221 On the other side of the lamp, with his back to her, sat a man, absorbed in a newspaper. A boy of ten years old lay asleep on the carpet. Noting all this at a glance, Woodbury kiioclied at the door. A rustling of the newspaper followed, footsteps entered the hall, and the outer door was opened. Woodbury assumed a natural air of embarrassed disappoint ment. " I am afraid," said he, " that I have made a mistake, Docs Mr. Israel Thompson live here ?" " Israel Thompson ? I don't know any such person. There's James Thompson, lives further down the street, on the other Bide." " Thank you. I will inquire of him. I am a stranger here," and he rejoined his friends. " Now," said he, " to save time, Mr. Waldo, you and I must visit the other hotels, dividing them between us. Mr. Merryfield had better not take any part in the search. Let him wait for us on the corner opposite ' The Eagle.' We can make our separate rounds in twenty minutes, and I am sure we shall have discovered them by that time." An enumeration of the hotels was made, and the two gen- tlemen divided them in such a manner as to economize time in making their rounds. They then set out in different direc- tions, leaving Merryfield to walk back alone to the rendezvous. Hitherto, the motion and excitement of the pursuit had kept him up, but now he began to feel exhausted and desponding. He had not eaten since noon, and experienced all the weakness without the sensation of hunger. A powerful desire for an artificial stimulant came over him, and, for a moment, he halted Vefore the red light of a drinkiug-saloon, wondering whether there was any one inside who could recognize him. The dooi opened, and an atmosphere of rank smoke, tobacco-soaked saw dust, and pungent whiskey gushed out ; oaths and fragments of obscene talk met his ears, and he hurried away in disgust. At " The Eagle " he fortified himself again with ice-water, and then took his stand on the opposite corner, screened from the lamp-light by an awning-post. 222 HAXXMi thukston: The late storekeepci-s up and dowu the street were putting up their shutters, but the ice-cream traasparencies still shone brightly, ai:d the number of visitors rather increased than di- minished. From a neighboring house came the sound of a piano, and presently a loud, girlish voice which sang : " I dreamt that I dwe-helt in ma-harble halls." What business, ho thought, had people to be eating ice-cream and singing songs ? It was an insulting levity. How long a time his friends had been absent ! A terrible fear came over him — what if he should not find his wife ? At night — no, he dared not think of it He looked down the crossing streets, in all four direc- tions, as far as his eye could pierce, and inspected the approach- ing figures. Now he was sure he recognized Woodbury's commanding form ; now the brisk gait of the short clergy- man. But they came nearer and resolved themselves into strangers. Then he commenced again, striving to keep an equal watch on all the streets. The appointed time was past, and they did not come ! A cold sweat began to gather on his forehead, and he was ready to despair. All at once, Mr Waldo appeared, close at hand, and hurried up to him, breath- less. " I have finished my list," said he. " Have you found them ?" "No, but what does this mean!" cried the clergyman, starting. " That is my horse, certainly — and the old gig ! Can my wife" He did not finish the sentence, but sprang into the street and called. The horse turned his head from a sudden jerk of the lines, and in a moment was di-awn up beside the pave- ment. " How glad I am we have met you ! I could not stay at home, indeed. You will let us help, will you not ? Are we in time ?" cried Mrs. Waldo, apology, entreaty, and anxiety all mingling in her voice. " With God's favor, we are still in time," her husband au- swered. , A STOEY OF AMEEICASr LIFE. 223 "I thank you for coming — you and Hannah, both," Merry- field sadly added, " but I'm afraid it's no use." " Cheer up," said the clergyman, " Mr. Woodbury will bo here in a moment." "He is here already," said Woodbury, joining them at the instant. " I have " He paused, recognizing the gig and its occupants, and looked inquiringly at Mr. Waldo. •' They know it," answered the latter, " and for that reason lliey have come." " Brave women ! We may need their help. I have foimd the persons we are looking for — at the Beaver House, in the second-story parlor, waiting for the midnight train." " Then drive on, wife," said Mr. Waldo ; " you can put up Iho horse there. You are known at the Eagle, and we had better avoid curiosity. . Follow us : Mr. Woodbury will lead the way." They passed up the street, attracting no notice, as the con- nection between the movements of the women in the gig, and the three men on the sidewalk, was not apparent. In a short time they reached the Beaver House, a second-rate hotel, with a deserted air, on a quiet street, and near the middle of the block. Two or three loafers were in the office, half sliding out of the short arm-chairs as they lounged, and lazily talk- ing. Woodbui-y called the landlord to the door, gave the horse into his charge, and engaged a private room until mid- night. There was one, he had already ascertained, adjoining the parlor on the second story. He offered liberal pay, pro- ; vided no later visitors were thrust upon them, and the landlord w^as very willing to make the arrangement. It was not often that he received so much patronage in one evening. After a hurried consultation, in whispers, they entered the house. The landlord preceded them up-stairs with a lamp, and ushered them into the appointed room. It was a small oblong chamber, the floor decorated with a coarse but very gaudy carpet, and the furniture covered with shiny hair-cloth, very cold, and stiff, and slippery. There was a circular table of mahogany, upon which lay a Bible, and the Odd-Fellow's 224 HANNAH THUESTON : Annual, bound in red. Beside it was a huge spittoon of brown Btoue-ware. Folding-doors connected with the adjoining par- lor, and the wood-work, originally of unseasoned pine, gotten up without expense but regardless of durability, was so warped and sprung that these doors would not properly close. Privacy, so far as conversation was concerned, was impossible. In fact, no sooner had the landlord departed, and the noise oi' entrance subsided a little, than Dyce's voice was distinctly heard : " You should overcome your restlessness. All pioneers iu great works have their moments of doubt, but they are caused by the attacks of evil spirits." Merryfield arose in great agitation. Perhaps he would have spoken, but Mr. Waldo lifted his hand to command silence, beckoned to his wife, and the three left the room. At the door the clergyman turned and whispered to Woodbury and Hannah Thurston : " You may not be needed : wait until I summon you." The next instant he knocked on the door of the parlor. Dyce's voice replied : " Come in." He entered first, followed by his wife, and, last of all, the injured husband. Dyce and Mrs. Merryfield were seated side by side, on a sofa. Both, as by an involuntary impulse, rose to their feet. The latter turned very pale ; her knees trembled xmder her, and she sank down again upon her seat. Dyce, however, remained stand- ing, and, after the first surprise was over, regained his brazen efirontery. Merryfield was the first to speak. "Sarah," he cried, '* What does this mean ?" She turned her head towards the window, and made no answer. " Mrs. Merryfield," said Mr. Waldo, gravely, yet with no harshness in his tone, " we have come, as your friends, be- lieving that you have taken this step hastily, and without con- sidering what its consequences would be. We do not think you appreciate its solemn importance, both for time and for A STOKY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 225 eternity. It is not yet too late to undo what you have done, and we are ready to help you, in all kindness and tenderness." "I want nothing more than my rights," said Mrs. Merry- field, in a hard, stubborn voice, without turning her head. " I will never interfere with your just rights, as a woman, a wife, and an immortal soul," the clergyman replied. " But you have not alone rights to receive : you have duties to per- form. You have bound yourself to your husband in holy marriage ; you cannot desert him, whose faith to you has never been broken, who now stands ready to pardon your present fault, as he has pardoned all your past ones, without incurring a greater sin than infidelity to him. Your married relation includes both the moral laws by which society is bound, and the Divine laws by which we are saved." " The usual cant of theologians !" interrupted Dyce, with a sneer. " Mrs. Merryfield owes nothing to the selfish and arti- ficial machinery which is called Society. Marriage is a part of the machinery, and just as selfish as the rest. She claims equal rights with her husband, and is doing no more than he would do, if he possessed all of her convictions." " I would never do it !" cried Merryfield, — " not for all the Communities in the world ! Sarah, I've been faithful to you, in every thought, since you first agreed to be my wife. If I've done you wrong in any way, tell me !" " I only want my rights," she repeated, still looking away. " If you really think you are deprived of them," said Mr. Waldo, "• come home with us, and you shall be fairly heard and fairly judged. I promise you, as an impartial friend, that no advantage shall be' taken of your mistake: you shall be treated as if it had not occurred. Have you reflected how this act will be interpreted, in the eyes of the world ? Can you bear, no matter how innocent you may be, to be followed, through all the rest of your life, by the silent suspicion, if not the oj)en reproach, of the worst shame that can happen to woman ? Suppose you reach your Community. These ex« perimcnts have often been tried, and they have always failed, 10* 226 UANNAH thukston: Yon might hide yourself foi- a while from the judgment of tha world, but if the association should break to pieces — what then ? Does the possession of some right which you fancy is withheld, compensate you for incurring this feaiful risk — nay, for eiiauring this fearful certainty ?" " What do you know about it ?" Dyce roughly exclaimed. " You, a petrified fossil of the false Society ! What right havo you to judge for her ? She acts from motives whicli youi narrow mind cannot comprehend. She is a disciple of the Truth, and is not afraid to show it in her life. If she lived only for the sake of appearances, like the rest of you, she might still be a Vegetable !" Mrs. Merryfield, who had colored suddenly and violently, as the clergyman spoke, and had turned her face towards him, for a moment, with an agitation which she could not conceal, now lifted her head a little, and mechanically rocked on her lap a travelling-satchel, which she had grasped with both hands. She felt her own inability to defend herself, and recovered a little courage at hearing it done so fiercely by her com- panion. Mr. Waldo, without noticing the latter, turned to her again. " I will not even condemn the motives which lead you to this step," said he, "but I must show you its inevitable conse- quences. Only the rarest natures, the most gifted intellects, may seem to disregard the ruling habits and ideas of man- kind, because God has specially appointed them to some great work. You know, Mrs. Merrjrfield, as well as I do, that you are not one of such. The world will make no exception in your favor. It cannot put our kindly and tolerant construc- tion upon your motives : it will be pitiless and inflexible, and its verdict will crush you to the dust." "Sarah," said her husband, more in pity than in reproach, " do stop and think what you are doing ! What Mr. Waldo says is true : you will bring upon yourself more than you can bear, or I can bear for you. I don't charge you with any thing wrong; /don't believe you would be guilty of — of — I A STOEY 01? AMEBICAN LIFt. 227 can't say it — but I conldn't hold up my head, as — as it were, and defend you by a single word." " Oh, no ! of course you couldn't !" Dyce broke in again, ■with an insufferable impudence. " You know, as well as I do, — or Mr. Waldo, for that matter, — rwhat men are. Don't brag to me about your morality, and purity, and all that sort of humbug : what's fit for one sex is fit for the other. Men, you know, have a natural monopoly in the indulgence of passion : it's allowed to them, but woman is damned by the very sus- picion. You know, both of you, that any man would as lief be thought wicked as chaste — that women are poor, ignorant fools" One of the folding-doors which communicated with the ad- joining room was suddenly torn open, and Woodbury ap- peared. His brown eyes, flashing indignant fire, were fixed upon Dyce. The sallow face of the latter grew livid with mingled emotions of rage and fear. With three strides, Woodbury was before him. " Stop !" he cried, " you have been allowed to say too much already. If you" he added, turning to the others, " have patience with this beast, I have not." " Ah ! he thinks he's among his Sepoys," Dyce began, but was arrested by a strong hand upon his collar. Woodbury's face was pale, but calm, and his lips parted in a smile, the expression of which struck terror to the heart of the medium. " Now, leave !" said he, in a low, stern voice, "leave, or I hurl you through that window !" Relinquishing his grasp on the collar, he opened the door leading to the staircase, and waited. For a moment, the eyes of the two men met, and in that moment each took the measure of the other. Dyce's figure seemed to contract; his breast narrowed, his shoulders fell, and his knees approached each other. He walked slowly and awkwardly to the end of the sofa, picked up his valise, and shuffled out of the room without saying a word. Wood- bury followed him to the door, and said, before he closed it; " Recollect, you leave here by the midnight train." None 228 HAIOTAH THURSTON : of those who heard it had any doubt that the comrnaud would be obeyed. Mr. Merryfield experienced an unbounded sensation of reliel on Dyce's departure ; but his wife was only frightened, not conquered. Although pale and trembling, she stubbornly held out, her attitude expressing her collective defiance of the com- pany. She avoided directly addressing or meeting the eyes of any one in particular. For a few moments there was silence in the room, and she took advantage of it to forestall the appeals which she knew would be made, by saying : " Well, now you've got me all to yourselves, I suppose youll try to bully me out of my rights." " We have no intention to meddle with any of your rights, as a wife," Mr. Waldo answered. "You must settle that question with your husband. But does not your heart tell you that he has rights, as well ? And what has he done to justify you in deserting him ?" " He needn't be deserted," she said ; " he can come after me." "Never !" exclaimed her husband. " If you leave me now, and in this way, Sarah, you will not see me again until you voluntarily come back to me. And think, if you go to that place, what you must then seem to me ! I've defended you, Sarah, and will defend you against all the world ; but if you go on, you'll take the power of doing it away from me. Whether you deserve shame, or not, it'll come to you — and it'll come to me, just the same." Tlie deluded wife could make no reply. The consequences of her step, if persisted in, were beginning to dawn upon her mind, but, having defended it on the ground of her equal rights as a woman, a pitiful vanity prevented her from yield- ing. It was necessary, therefore, to attack her from another quarter. Hannah Thurston felt that the moment had arrived when she might venture to speak, and went gently forward to the sofa. " Sarah," she said, " I think you feel that I am your friend. Will you not believe me, then, when I say to you that w« A STOKV OF AMimiCAN LIFE. 229 have all followed you, prompted only by the pity and dislress which we feel for your sake and your husband's ? We beg you not to leave us, your true friends, and go among strangers. Listen to us calmly, and if we convince you that you are mis- taken, the admission should not be difficult." " You, too, Hannah !" cried Mrs. Merryfield. " Tou, that taught me what my rights were ! Will you confess, first, that you are mistaken ?" An expression of pain passed over Hannah Thurston's face. " I never meant to claim more than natural justice for woman," said she, " but I may have been unhappy in my advocacy of it. I may even," turning towards Mrs. Waldo, " have seemed to assume a hostile position towards man. If so, it was a mis- take. If what I have said has prompted you to this step, 1 win take my share of humiliation. But we will not talk of that now. Blame me, Sarah, if you like, so you do not forget the tenderness you cannot wholly have lost, for him whose life is a part of yours, here and hereafter. Think of the children who are waiting for you in the other life — waiting for both parents, Sarah." The stubborn resistance of the wife began to give way. Tears came to her eyes, and she shook as if a mighty struggle had commenced in her heart. " It was for them," she mur- mured, in a broken voice, " that I was going. He said they would be nearer to me." " pan they be nearer to you when you are parted from their father? Was it only yotir heart that was wrung at their loss? If all other bonds were broken between you, the equal share in the beings of those Immoi'tals should bind you in life and death ! Pardon me for renewing your sorrow, but I must invoke the purer spirit that is born of trial. If your mutual watches over their cradles cannot bring back the memory of your married love, I must ask you to remember who held your hand beside their coffins, whose arm supported you in- the lonely nights !" The husband could endure no more. Lifting his face from 230 HANNAU TUUKSTON : liis hands, he cried : " It was me, Sarah. And now, if you leave me, there will be no one to talk with me about Absalom, and Angelina, and our dear little Kobert. Don't you mind how I used to dance him on my knee, as — as it were, and tell him he should have a horse when he was big ? He had such >retty hair ; you always said he'd make a handsome man, ^arah : but now they're all gone. There's only us two, now as it were, and we can't — no, we daren't part. We won't part, will we ?" Mrs. "Waldo made a quiet sign, and they stole gently from the room. As he closed the door, Woodbury saw the con- quered and penitent wife look up with streaming eyes, sobbing convulsively, and stretch out her arms. The next instant, Mrs. Waldo had half embraced him, in the rush of her pent-up gratitude. " Oh !" she exclaimed, striving to subdue her voice, " how grand it was that you put down that — that man. I never believed in non-resistance, and now I know that I am right." Hannah Thurston said nothing, but her face was radiant with a tranquil light. She could not allow the doubts which had arisen in her mind — the disturbing influences which had, of late, beset her, to cloud the happy ending of such a painful day. A whispered conversation was carried on between Woodbury and the Waldos, so as not to disturb the low voices in the next room ; but at the end of ten minutes the door opened and MerrySeld appeared. " We will go home to-night, as it were," said he. " The moon rises about this time, and the night is warm." " Then we will all go !" was Mrs. Waldo's decision. " Tlie carriages will keep together — ^husband, you must drive one of them, alone — and I shall not be so much alarmed. It is better jio : curious folks wUl not see that we have been absent, and need not know." Woodbury whispered to her : " I shall wait until the train leaves." " Will you follow, afterwards ?" A SJORY OF ASIERICAN LIFK. 231 " Yes — but no : my intention to stay all night is known, and I ought properly to remain, unless you need my escort." " Stay," said Hannah Thurston. The vehicles left the two hotels with the same persons -whs had arrived in them — Dyce excepted. Outside of Tiberius they halted, and Merryfield joined his wife. The two women followed, and Mr. Waldo, alone, acted as rear-guard. Thus, in the silent night, over the moonlit hills, and through the rust- ling darkness of the woods, they went homewards. Vague suspicions of something haunted the community of Ptolemy for a while, but nothing was ever discovered or be- trayed which could give them a definite form. And yet, of the five persons to whom the truth was known, three were women. 2S2 HANNAU TIIUESTOlf" CHAPTER XVIII. ONE OF THE SUMMEK DIVBESIONS OP PTOLEMY. Ten days after the joui-ney to Tiberius, the highways in both valleys, and those descending from the hills on either side, were unusually thronged. Country carriages, buggies of all fashions, and light open carts, rapidly succeeded each other, all directing their course towards the village. They did not halt there, however, but passed through, and, climbing the gentle acclivity of the southern hill, halted at a grove, nearly a mile distant. Here the Annual Temperance Conven- tion of Atauga County was to be held. The cause had been languishing for the past year or two ; many young men had become careless of their pledges, and the local societies were begmning to fall to pieces, because the members had heard all that was to be said on the subject, and had done all that could conveniently be done. The plan of procuring State legislation in their favor rendered it necessary to rekindle, in some meas- ure, the fires of zeal — if so warm an expression can be applied to so sober a cause — and one of the most prominent speakers on Temperance, Mr. Abirara Stokes, was called upon to brush up his well-used images and illustrations for a new campaign. It was announced, by means of large placards, posted in all the village stores, post-offices, and blacksmiths' -shops, far and wide, that not only he, but Mr. Grindle and several other well-known speakers were to addross the Convention. Strange as it may seem, the same placard was conspicuously displayed in the bar-room of tne Ptolemy House, the landlord candidly declarmg that he would be glad if such a convention A STORY OP AilEEICAN LIFE. 23S wore held every week, as it brought him a great deal of cus- tom. Tlie friends of the cause were called upon for a special effort ; the day was carefully arranged to come at the end of haying, yet before the wheat-harvest had fairly commenced ; moreover, it was Saturday, and the moon was nearly full. The weather favored the undertaking, and by noon the line of the roads could be diBtinguished, at some distance, by the dust which arose from the strings of vehicles. The principal members of the local societies — especially those of Atauga City, Anacreon, Nero Corners, Mulligansville, and New Pekin — came in heavy lumber-wagons, decorated with boughs of spruce and cedar, carrying with them their banners, whenever they had any. With some difficulty, a sufficient sum was raised to pay for the services of the Ptolemy Cornet Band, in performing, as the placard stated, " melodies appropriate to the occasion." What those melodies were, it was not very easy to determine, and the managing committee of the Ptolemy Society had a special meeting on the subject,, the night before. A wag suggested " The Meeting of the Waters," which was at once accepted with delight. " Bonny Doon"'' found favor, as it " minded" the hearers of a Scottish brook. " The Campbells are Comin' " was also on the list, until some one remembered that the landlord of the Ptolemy House bore the name of that clan. " A wet sheet and a flowing sea" hinted too strongly at " half-seas over," and all the familiar Irish airs were unfortunately associated with ideas of wakes and Donny- brook Fairs. After much painful cogitation, the " Old Oaken Bucket," "-Allan Water," "Zurich's Waters," and "The Haunted Spring" were discovered ; but the band was not able to play more than half of them. Its most successful perform- anc6, we are bound to confess, was the air of " Landlord, fill the flowing bowl," which the leader could not resist giving once or twice during the day, to the great scandal of those votaries of the cause who had once been accustomed to sing it in character. The grove was a beautiful piece of oak and hickory timber 234 HANJS^AU THURSTON : sloping towards the north, and entirely clear of underbrusU It covered about four acres of ground, and was neither so dense nor fell so rapidly as to shut out a lovely glimpse of the valley and the distant, dark-blue sheet of the lake, between the boles. It was pervaded with a grateful smell, from the trampled grass and breathing leaves ; and wherever a beam of sunshine pierced the boughs, it seemed to single out some bit of gay color, in shawl, or ribbon, or parasol, to play upon and utilise its brightness. At the bottom of the grove, against two of the largest trees, a rough platform was erected, in front of which, rising and radiating amphitheatrically, were plank benches, capable of seating a thousand persons. Those ■who came from a distance were first on hand, and took their places long before the proceedings commenced. Near the main entrance, venders of refreshments had erected their stands, and displayed" to the thronging visitors a tempting variety of indigestible substances. There was weak lemonade, in tin buckets, with huge lumps of ice glittering defiantly at the sun ; scores of wired bottles, filled with a sarsaparilla mix- ture, which popped out in a rush of brown suds ; ice-cream, the cream being eggs beaten up with watei , and flavored with lemon sirup ; piles of dark, leathery ginger-cakes, and rows of glass jars full of candy-sticks ; while the more enterprising dealers exhibited pies cut into squares, hard-boiled eggs, and even what they called coffee. Far down the sides of the main road to Ptolemy the vehicles were ranged, and even inside the adjoining fields — the owner of which, being a friend to the cause, had opened his bars to the multitude. Many of the farmers from a distance brought their own oats with them, and miharnessed and fed their horses in the fence-corners, before joining the crowd in the grove. Then, accompanied by their tidy wives, who, meanwhile, ex- amined the contents of the dinner-baskets and saw that every thing was in order, they approached the meeting with satisfied and mildly exhilarated spirits, occasionally stopping to greet an acquaiatanoe or a relative. The daughters had already pre- A STOET OF AMEKICAN LIFE. 23f) ceded them, with their usual indepeudence, well knowing the impatience of the young men, and hoping that the roost agree- able of the latter would discover them before the meeting was called to order. This was the real charm of the occasion, to old as well as young. The American needs a serious pretext for his recreation.' He does not, in fact, recognize its ne- cessity, and would have none at all, did not Nature, with benevolent cunning, occasionally furnish him with diversion under the disguise of duty. As the banners of the local societies arrived, they were set up in conspicuous positions, on and around the speaker's plat- form. That of Tiberius was placed in the centre. It was of b.'ue silk, with a gold fringe, and an immense geyser-like foun- tain in its field, under which were the words : " Ho ! every one that thirsteth !" On the right was the banner of Ptolemy — a brilliant rainbow, on a white ground, with the warning : " Look not upon the Wine when it is Red." What connection there was between this sentence and the rainbow was not apparent, unless the latter was meant to represent a watery deluge. The banner of Anacreon, on the left, held forth a dancing female, in a crimson dress. One foot was thrown far out behind her, and she. was violently pitching forward; yet, in this un- comfortable position, she succeeded in pouring a thick stream of water from a ewer of blue china into the open mouth of a fat child, who wore a very scanty dress. The inscription was: "The Fountain of Youth." The most inge- nious device, however, was that from Nero Corners. This lit- tle community, too poor or too economical to own a temper- ance banner, took a political one, which they had used in the campaign of the previous year. Upon it were- the names of the candidates for President and Vice-President: "Pierce and KnTG." A very little alteration turned the word " Pierce" into "Prince," and the word " Watee" being prefixed, the inscription became: "Water, — Prince and King." Those from other neighborhoods, who were not in the secret, greatly admired the simplicity and force of the expression. 236 HASTNAU thueston: "Woodbury, who was early upon the ground, was much in- terested in the scene. Between two and three thousand i)er- Bons were present, but an order and decorum prevailed, which •would be miraculous in lauds where the individual is not per- mitted to grow up self-ruled, or swayed only by the example of his fellows, and self-reliant, No servant of the law was pres- ent to guard against disorder, because each man was his own policeman. Even some tipsy rowdies, who came out fi'om Ptolemy towards the close of tlie afternoon, were sobered by the atmosphere of the place, and had no courage to make their intended interruptions. Tiie effect of such meetings, "Woodbury confessed to himself, could not be otherwise than good ; the reform was necessary among a people whose excitable temperament naturally led them to excesses, and perhaps it was only one extreme which could counteract the other. There was still too little repose, too little mental balance among them, to halt upon the golden middle-ground of truth The band occupied the platform for some time after he ar- rived, and its performances gave intense satisfaction to the people. The clear tones of the horns and clarionets pealed triumphantly through the shade, and an occasional slip in an instrument was unnoticed in the hum of voices. Gradually, the hearers were lifted a httle out of the material sphere in which they habitually moved, and were refreshed accordingly. They were made capable, at least, of appreciating some senti- ment and imagination in the speakers, and words were now lieard with delight, which, in their common moods, would have been vacant sound. They touched, in spite of themselves, that Tipper atmosphere of poetry which hangs over all human life — where the cold marsh-fogs in which we walk become the rosy cloud-islands of the dawn ! At two o'clock, the band vacated the platform, and the Con- vention was called to order. After an appropriate prayer by the Rev. Lemuel Styles, a temperance song was sung by a large ehorus of the younger members. It was a parody on Hoff- A STOET OF AMEEIOAlir LITE. 237 man's charming anacreontic : " Sparkling and Bright," the ■words of which were singularly transformed. Instead of; " Aa the bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, And break on the lips at meeting," the refrain terminated with : " There's nothing so good for the youthful blood, Or so sweet as the sparkling water 1" —in the style of a medicinal prescription. Poor Hoffman ! Noble heart and fine mind, untimely darkened ! He was at least spared this desecration ; or perhajDS, with the gay humor with which even that darkness is still cheered, he would h.ave parodied the parody to death. The Annual Report was then read. It was of great length, being mainly a furious appeal to voters. The trick of basing a political issue upon a pei'sonal habit was an innovation in the science of government, which the natural instincts of tiie peo- ple were too enlightened to accept without question. The County Committee, foreseeing this difficulty, adopted the usual tactics of party, and strove to create a headlong tide of sym- pathy which would overbear all hesitancy as to the wisdom of the movement, or the dangerous precedent which it introduced into popular legislation. "Vote for the Temperance Candi- dates," they cried, in the Report, " and you vote for morality, and virtue, and religion ! Vote against them, andyou vote for disease, and misery, and crime ! Vote for them, and you vote reason to the frantic brain, clearness to the bleared eye, steadi- ness to the trembling hand, joy to the heart of the forsaken wife, and bread to the mouths of the famishing children ! Vote against t)iem, and you vote to fill our poor-houses and peniten- tiaries — to tighten the diabolical hold of the rumseller on his struggling victim — to lead our young men into temptation, and bring ruin on our beloved land ! Yes, you would vote to fill the drunkard's bottle ; you would vote oaths and obscenity into his speech ; you would vote curses to his wife, blows to his children, the shoes off their feet, the shirts oif their backs, the beds from under them, and the roofs from over their heads." 238 HANNAH THURSTON : The Report was adopted with tremendous unanimity, and the faces of the members of the Committee beamed with sat- isfaction. The political movement might be considered aa successflilly inaugurated. This was the main object of the Convention, and the waiting orators now saw that they had a clear and pleasant field before them. Woodbury, who was leaning against a tree, near the end of a plank upon which his Iriends the Waldos were seated, listened with an involuntary sensation of pain and regret. The very character of the Report strengthened him in the conviction that the vice to be cured had its origin in a radical defect of the national temperament, which no legislation could reach. Mrs. Waldo looked up at him, inquiringly. He shook his head. " It is a false movement," said he ; " good works are not accomplished by violence." " But sometimes by threatening it," she amswered, with a meaning smile. He was about to reply, when the President announced that Byron Baxter, of the Anacreon Seminary, would recite a poem, after which the meeting would be addressed by Mr. Abiram Stokes. Byron Baxter, who was an overgrown, knock-kneed youth of nineteen, with long hair, parted in the middle, advanced to the front of the platform, bowed, and then suddenly started back, with both hands extended before him, in an attitude of horror. In a loud voice, he commenced to recite : " Oh, take the maddening bowl away 1 Eemove the poisonous cup I My soul is sick ; its burning ray Hath drunk my spirit up. ■' Take, take it from my loathing lip Ere madness fires my brain : Oh, take it hence, nor let me sip Its liquid death again I" As the young man had evidently never tasted any thing A STORY OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 239 Stronger than molasses-aiid-water, the expression of his abhor- rence was somewhat artificial. Nevertheless, a shudder ran through the audience at the vehemence of his declamation, and he was greeted with a round of applause, at the close. The orator of the day, Mr. Abirara Stokes, then made hi appearance. He was a man of forty-five, with a large, hand some head, and an imposing presence. His hair and eyes wera dark, and his complexion slightly tinted with olive. This trait, with his small hands and showy teeth, seemed to indicate it mixture of Spanish blood. He had a way of throwing his head forward, so as to let a large lock of his hair fall over his forehead with a picturesque eflect, and then tossing it back to its place with a reverse motion. His voice was full and sono- rous ; although, to a practised ear, its pathos, in passages in- tended for eflfect, was more dramatic than real. Few of his present auditors, however, were able to discriminate in this respect; the young ladies, especially, were in raptures. It was rumored that his early life had been very wild and dissi- pated, and he was looked upon as one of the most conspicuous brands which had been snatched from the burning. This ru- mor preceded him wherever lie went, created a personal inte- rest for him, in advance, and added to the efiect of his oratory. His style of speaking, nevertheless, was showy and specious. He took no wide range, touched but sUghtly on the practical features of the subject, and indulged sparingly in anecdotes and illustrations. None of the latter professed to be drawn from his personal experience : his hearers might make what- ever infei'ence they pleased, he knew the value of mystery too well, to enlighten them further. He was greatest in apostro- phes to Water, to Reform, to Woman, to anything that per- mitted hira, according to his own expression, " to soar." This feature of his orations was usually very effective, the first time he was heard. He was in the habit of introducirig some ol his favorite passages on every Occasion. Woodbury, who was npt aware of this trick, was agreeably surprised at the natural warmth and eloquence of the speaker's language. 240 HAiofAH thueston: His peroration ran something in this wise : " This, the purest and most beneficent of the Virtues, comes not to achieve hei victory in battles and convulsions. Soft as the dews of heaven, her white feet are beautiful upon the mountains, bringing glad tidings of great joy! Blessed are we that she has chosen her abode among us, and that she has selected us to do her worli ! No other part of the world was fitted to receive her. She never could have been produced by the mouldering despotisms of Europe, where the instincts of Freedom are stifled by wine and debauchery ; the Old World is too benighted to behold her face. Here only — here on the virgin bosom of a new Con- tinent — here, in the glorious eifulgence of the setting sun — licre only could she be born ! She is the child of the West — Temperance — and before her face the demon Alcohol flees to his caverns and hides himself among the bones of his vic- tims, while Peace sits at her right hand and Plenty at her left!" "Beautiful!" "splendid!" was whispered through the au- dience, as the speaker took his seat. Miss Carrie Dil worth wiped her eyes with a very small batiste handkerchief, and sighed as she reflected that this man, her beau-idfeal (which she understood to mean an ideal beau), would never know what an appreciative helpmeet she would have made him. " Oh, Hannah !" she whispered, leaning forward, to Miss Thurston, who was seated on the next plank, " did you ever hear any thing so beautiful ?" " I thought it fine, the first time I heard it," Hannah re- plied, with a lack of enthusiasm which quite astounded the little sempstress. She began to fear she had made a mistake, when the sight of Miss Riihaney Goodwin, equally in tears, , (and no wonder, for her brother Elisha had been a miserable drunkard), somewhat revived her confidence. " Flashy, but not bad of its kind," said Woodbury, in re- ply to Mrs. Waldo's question. " Are you not ashamed ? It's magnificent. And he's such a luuidsome man!" she exclaimed. "But I see, you are de- termined not to admire any of them ; you've not forgotten A STOET OP AMBEICAIf LIFE. 241 Grindle's attack. Or else you're a pess — what's the name of it ? Mr. "Waldo explained the word to me yesterday — pess " — " Oh, a pessimist ? Not at all, Mrs. Waldo. On the con- trary, I am almost an optimist." " Well, that's just as bad — though I am not sure I know ■v.'hat it is. Oh, there's Grindle going to speak. Now you'll catch it !" She shook her hand menacingly, and Woodbury, much amused and not a little curious to hear the speaker, resumed his position against the tree. Mr. Grindje, who carried on a moderate lumber business in Atauga City, neglected no opportunity of making himself heard in public. He was a man of shallow faculties, but profound conceit of himself, and would have preferred, at any time, to be abused rather than ignored. His naturally fluent speech had been cultivated by the practice of years, but as he was neither an earnest thinker nor a close reasoner, and, moreover, known to be unscrupulous in the statement of facts, the consider- ation which he enjoyed as a speaker would soon have become exhausted, but for the boldness and indecency of his personal attacks, whereby he replenished that element of hot water in which he rejoiced. Mr. Campbell, the landlord of the Ptolemy House, had several times threatened him with personal chas- tisement, and he only escaped by avoiding an encounter until the landlord's wrath had a little cooled. He was so accus- tomed to insulting epithets that they never produced the slight- est impression upon him. Tie had spoken nearly half an hour, airing a quantity of sta- tistics, which he bad mostly committed to memory — where that failed, he supplied the figures from his imagination — wli(!n he perceived that the audience, after having tasted the spiced meats of Mr. Abiram Stokes, seemed to find the plain food he offered them rather insipid. But he had still the re- source of personality, which he knew, from long experience, ia alwiiys entertaining, whether or not the hearers approve of it. The transition was easily made. "Looking at this terrible 11 242 HANNAH thueston: array of facts," said he, " how can any man, who is worthy the name of a human being, dare to oppose the doctrines of Tem- perance ? How dare any man suppose that his own miserable personal indulgences are of more consequence than the moral salvation of his fellow-creatures? Yet there are such men — not poor, ignorant, deluded creatures, who know no better, find are entitled to some allowances — ^but men who are rich, who appear to be educated, and who claim to be highly moral and respectable. What are we to think of those men ?" Mrs. Waldo glanced up at Woodbury with a look which said : "Now it's coming!" " Let it come !" his look replied. "They think, perhaps," the speaker continued, "that there are different laws of morality for different climates — that they can bring here among us the detestable practices of heathen races, which we are trying to root out ! I tell such, they had better go back, and let their unhappy slaves hand them the hookah, filled with its intoxicating draught, or steady their tottering steps when the fumes of sherbet have mounted to their brains !" Many persons in the assembly knew who was meant, and as Woodbury's position made him easily distinguished, they watched him with curiosity as the speaker proceeded. He leaned against the tree, with his arms folded, and an amused half-smile on his face, until the foregoing climax was reached, when, to the astonishment of the spectators, he burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Mr. Grindle, too, had discovered his victim, and occasionally darted a side look at him, calculating how far he might carry the attack with safety to himself. Woodbury's sudden and violent merriment encouraged while it disconcerted him : there was, at least, nothing to be feared, and he might go on. " Yes, I repeat it," he continued ; " whatever name may be given to the beverage, we are not to be cheated. Such men may drink their sherbet, or their Heidsick ; they may call their drinks by respectable names, and the demon of Alcohol laughs A STOET OF AilEEICAN LIPE. 243 Rs he claims them for his own. St. Paiil says ' the Prince of Darkness is a gentleman :' beware, beware, my friends, lest the accursed poison, which is harmless to you under its vulgar names, should beguile you with an aristocratic title !" " Will the speaker allow me to make a remark ?" "Woodbury, coiitrolliug his laughter with some difficulty, straightened himself from his leaning position against the tree, and, yielding to the impulse of the moment, spoke. His voice, not loud, but very clear, was distinctly heard all over the crowd, and there was a general rustling sound, as hundreds of heads turned towards him. Mr. Grindle involuntarily paused in his speech, but made no reply. " I will only interrupt the proceedings for a moment," Wood- bury resumed, in a cool, steady tone, amidst the perfect silence of the multitude — " in order to make an explanation. I will not wrong the speaker by supposing that his words have a personal application to myself; because that would be charging him with advocating truth by means of falsehood, and defend- ing morality by the weapons of ignorance and insult. But I know the lands of which he speaks and the habits of their people. So far from drunkenness being a ' detestable heathen habit' of theirs, it is really we who should go to them to leam temperance. I must confess, also, my great surprise at hearing the speaker's violent denunciation of the use of sherbet, after seeing that it is openly sold, to-day, in this grove — after hav- ing, with my own eyes, observed the speaker, himself, drink a large glass of it with evident satisfaction." There was a sudden movement, mixed here and there with laughter, among the audience. Mr. Grindle cried out, in a hoarse, excited voice: "The chai-ge is false! I never use in- toxicating beverages !" " I made no such charge," said Woodbury, calmly, " but it may interest the audience to know that sherbet is simply the Arabic name for lemonade." The Idtighter was universal, Mr. Grindle excepted. 'Tho speaker, also," he continued, "mentioned the intoxi 244 HANNAH thueston: eating beverage of the hookah. As the hookah is a pipe, in which the smoke of the tobacco passes through water before reaching the mouth, it may be considered a less dangei'ous beverage than the clay-pipe of the Irish laborer. I beg pardon of the meeting for my interruption." The laughter was renewed, more heartily than before, and for a minute after Woodbury ceased the tumult was so great that Mr. Grindle could not be heard. To add to the confusion, the leader of the Ptolemy band, taking the noise as a sign that the Convention had adjourned, struck up "Malbrook," which air, unfortunately, was known in the neighborhood by the less classical title of " We won't go home till morning." The other members of the Committee, on the platfoi-m, pri- vately begged Mr. Grindle to take his seat and allow them to introduce a new orator ; but he persisted in speaking for an- other quarter of an hour, to show that he was not discomfited. The greater portion of the audience, nevertheless, secretly re- joiced at the lesson he had received, and the remainder of his speech was not heard with mucb attention. Woodbury, to escape the curious gaze of the multitude, took a narrow and uncomfortable seat on the end of the plank, beside Mrs. Waldo. He was thenceforth, very much against his will, an object of great respect to the rowdies of Ptolemy, who identified him with the opposite cause. There was another song, commencing : " The wine that aH are praising la not the drink for me. But there's a spring in yonder gien, Whose waters flow for Temperance men," eii,., •which was likewise sung in chorus. Then succeeded other Bjieakers, of less note, to a gradually diminishing circle of hear- ers. The farmers and their wives strayed ofi" to gossip with acquaintances on the edges of the grove ; baskets of provisions woie opened and the contents shared, and the stalls of cake and sarsaparilla suds experienced a reflux of custom. As the A. STOEY OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 245 young men were not Lord Byrons, the young ladies did not scruple to eat in their presence, and flirtations were carried on with a chicken-bone in one hand and a piece of bread in the other. The sun threw softer and slanter lights over the beau- tiful picture of the valley, and, gradually creeping below the boughs, shot into the faces of those who were still seated in iVont of the platform. It was time to close the performaiicea of the day, and they were accordmgly terminated with a thii'tl song, the refrain of which was : " Oh, for the cause is rolling on, roUing on, roUing on. Over the darkened land." "Woodbury and the Waldos, to avoid the dust of the road, walked back to Ptolemy by a pleasant path across the fields. Ere long they overtook Hannah Thurston and Miss Dilworth. Mr. Grindle was, of course, the theme of conversation. "Wasn't he rightly served, Hannah?" Mrs. Waldo ex- claimed, with enthusiasm. Woodbury was fast assumicg heroic proportions, in her mind. " I think Mr. Woodbury was entirely justifiable in his inter- ruption," Miss Thurston answered, " and yet I almost wish that it had not occurred." " So do I !" Woodbury exclaimed. " Well — you two are queer people I" was Mrs. Waldo's amazed remark 246 HAJiWAH tiiurston: CHAPTER XIX. IS WHICH THEEB IS BOTH ATTRACTION ANH EEPULSIOS. Hannah Thueston's remark remained in Woodbury's eara long after it was uttered. His momentary triumpli over, he began to regret having obeyed the impulse of the moment. Mr. Grindle's discomfiture had been too cheaply purchased ; he was game of a sort too small and mean for a man of refined instincts to notice even by a look. His own interruption, cool and careless as he felt it to have been, nevertheless betrayed an acknowledgment that he had understood the speaker's in- sinuation ; and, by a natural inference, that he was sufl3.ciently sensitive to repel it. Mr. Grindle was acute enough to make this inference, and it was a great consolation to him, in his own overthrow, to think that he had stung his adversary. Woodbury, however, forgot his self-blame in the grateful surprise of hearing its echo from Miss Thurston's lips. Her remark betrayed a delicacy of perception which he had not expected — more than this, indeed, it betrayed a consideration for his character as a gentleman, which she could not have felt, had she not, in imagination, placed herself in his stead. Ho knew that a refined nature must be born so ; it can only be partially imitated by assiduous social study ; and his previous intercourse with Miss Thurston had not prepared him to find her instincts so true. He looked at her, as she walked beside him, with a renewed feeling of interest. Her slender figure moved along the grassy path with a free, elastic step. She wore a dress of plain white muslin, with wide sleeves, and a knot of pearl'colored ribbon at the throat. Her parasol, and the trimming of her hat, were of the same quiet color; the A STOKT OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 247 only ornament she wore was a cluster of little pink flowers in the latter. The excitement of the occasion, or the act of walking, had brought a soft tinge to her usually pale cheek, and as her eyes dropped to avoid the level light of the sun, Woodbury noticed how long and dark were the lashes that fringed her lids. "At eighteen she must have been lovely,' he said to himself, "but, even then, her expression could scarcely have been more virgrnly pure and sweet, than now." He turned away, repressing a sigh. How one delusion could spoil a noble woman ! Before descending the last slope to the village, they paused, involuntarily, to contemplate the evening landscape. The sun was just dipping behind the western hill, and a portion of Ptolemy lay in shadow, while the light, streaming through the gap made by a lateral glen, poured its dusty gold over the distant elms of Roaring Brook, and caused the mansion of Lakeside to sparkle like a star against its background of firs. Far down the lake flashed the sail of a pleasure-boat, and the sinking western shore melted into a vapory purple along the dim horizon. The strains of the band still reached tham from the grove, but softened to the any, fluctuating sweetness of an ^olian harp. " Our lines are cast in pleasant places," said Mr. Waldo, looking from hill to hill with a cheerful coutent on his face. "Every part of the earth has its moments of beauty, I think," Woodbury replied: "but Ptolemy is certainly a J, favored spot. If the people only knew it. I wonder whether liappiness is not a faculty, or a peculiarity of temperament, quite independent of the conditions of one's life ?" " That depends on what you call happiness," Mrs. Waldo rejoined. " Come, now, let us each define it, and see how wa shall agree. My idea is, it's in making the best of every thing." "No, it's finding a congenial spirit!" cried Miss Carrie. " You forget the assurance of Grace," said the clergyman. " Fairly caught, Mrs. Waldo ! You are no better than I 248 HAlTN^AIl THURSTON : you confess yourself an optimist!" Woodbury merrily ex- claimed. " So far, you are right — but, unfortunately, tliere are some things we cannot make the best of." "We can always do our duty, for it is proportioned to oiir powei-," said Hannah Thurston. "If we know exactly what it is." " Why should we not know ?" she asked, turning quickly towards him. " Because the simple desire to know is not enough, although I trust God gives us some credit for it. How much of Truth is there, that we imperfectly grasp ! How much is there, also, that we shrink from knowing !" "Shrink from Ti-uth!" " Yes, since we are human, and our nearest likeness to God is a compassionate tenderness for our fellow-men. Does not the knowledge of a vice in a dear friend give us pain ? Do we not cling, most desperately, to our own cherished opinions, at the moment when we begin to suspect they are untenable ? No : we are not strong enough, nor stony-hearted enough, to do without illusions." " Yet you would convince me of mine !" Hannah Thurston exclaimed, with a shade of bitterness in the tone of her voice. The next moment she felt a pang of self-rebuke at having spoken, and the color rose to her face. The application she had made of his words was uncalled-for. He must not thus be met. He was so impregnable in his calmness, and in the con- clusions drawn from his ripe experience of life ! Her own faith tottered whenever their minds came in contact, yet if she gave up it, how could she be certain, any longer, what was Truth ? He was not a hard materialist ; he possessed fancy, and feeling, and innate reverence ; but his approach seemed to chill her enthusiasm and benumb the free action of her mind. " Oh, no !" he answered, with kindly seriousness, "I would not consciously destroy a single innocent illusion. There are even forms of Error which are only rendered worse by antag- onism. I have no idea of assailing all views that do not bar- A STOKT OF AMERICAN LLFE. 24S monize with my own. I am but one among many millions, and my aim is to understand Life, not forcibly change its character." Walking a little in advance of the others, as they spoke, tho conversation was interrupted by their arrival in Ptolemy. Woodbury declined an invitation to take tea with the Waldos, and drove home with Bute, in the splendor of sunset. The latter took advantage of the first opportunity to describe to Mrs. Fortitude Babb the confusion which his master had inflicted on Mr. Grindle. " And sarved him right, too," said she, with a grim satisfac- tion. " To think o' him turmn' up his nose at her best Sherry, and callin' it pizon I" She could not refrain from expressing her approbation to Woodbury, as she prepared his tea. Her manner, however, made it seem very much like a reproof " I've heard, Sir," she remarked, with a rigid face, " that you've been speakin'. I s'pose you'll be goin' to the Legislatur', next." Woodbury smiled. "Ill news travels fast," he said. " 'T'a'n't ill, as I can see. She wouldn't ha' thought so, nuther. Though, to be sure, sich fellers didn't come here, in her time." " He will not come again, Mrs. Babb." "I'd like to see him try it!" With which words Mrs. Babb slapped down the lid of the teapot, into which she had been looking, with a sound Uke the dischai'ge of a pocket-pistol. Woodbury went into the library, wheeled his arm-chair to the open window, lighted a cigar, and watched the risen moon brighten against the yielding twilight. The figure of Hannah .Thurston, in her white dress, with the pearl-colored ribbon at Iier throat, with the long lashes falling over her dark-gray eyes, the flush on her cheek, and the earnest sweetness of her lips, rose before him through the rings of smoke, iu the luminous dusk of the evening. A persistent fate seemed to throw them together, only to show him how near they might have been, how far apart they really were. When he recalled her com"- U* 250 HAJSNAH thueston: age and self-possession during tlie scene in t?]e grove above the cataract, and the still greater courage which led her to Tiberius, daring reproach in order to rescue a deluded creature from im- pending ruin, he confessed to himself that for no other living woman did he feel equal respect. He bowed down in rever- ence before that highest purity which is unconscious of whnt it ventures, and an anxious interest arose in his heart as he re- cognized the dangers into which it might lead her. He felt that she was capable of understanding him ; that she possessed the finer instincts which constituted what was best in his own nature ; that she yielded him, also, a certain respect : but it was equally evident that her mind was unnecessarily alert and suspicious in his presence. She assumed a constant attitude of defence, when no attack was intended. He seemed to ex- ercise an unconscious repellant force towards her, the secret of which he suspected must be found in herself — in the tenacity with which she held to her peculiar views, and a feminine ina- patience of contrary opinions. But, as he mused, his fancies still came back to that one pic- ture — the pure Madonna face, with its downcast eyes, touched with the mellow glory of the sunset. A noiseless breath of the night brought to his window the creamy odor of the locust blossoms, and lured forth the Persian dreams of the roses. The moonlight silver on the leaves — the pearly obscurity of the sky — the uncertain murmurs of the air — combined to steep his senses in a sweet, semi-voluptuous trance. He was too truly and completely man not to know what was lacking to his life. He was accustomed to control passion because he liad learned its symptoms, but this return of the fever of youth was now welcome, with all its pain. Towards midnight, he started suddenly and closed the win- dow. " My God !" he exclaimed, aloud ; " she in my arms ! her lips on mine ! What was I thinking of? Pshaw — a strong- minded woman! Well — the very strongest-minded of them all is still very far from being a man." With which consoling excuse for the absurdity of his thoughts, he went to bed. A STOET OF AMEEICAif LIFE. 251 The next morning he spent an hour in a careful inspeition of the library, and, after hesitating between a ponderous trans- lation of the " Mahorbharata" and Lane's " Arabian Nights," finally replaced them both, and took down Jean Paul's " Sic benkas " and " Walt and Vult." After the early Sunday diii ner, he put the volumes into his pockets, and, mounting his horse, rode to Ptolemy. Hannah Thurston had brought a chair into the open air, and seated herself on the shady side of the cottage. The afternoon •was semi-clouded and mildly breezy, and she evidently found the shifting play of sun and shade upon the eastern hill better reading than the book in her hand, for the latter was closed. She recognized Woodbury as he came into the street a little distance below, and watched the motion of his horse's legs under the boughs of the balsam-firs, which hid the rider from sight. To her surprise, the horse stopped, opposite the cot- tage-door : she rose, laid down her book, and went forward to meet her visitor, who, by this time, had entered the gate. After a frank and unembarrassed greeting, she said : " My mother is asleep, and her health is so frail that I am very care- ful not to disturb her rest. Will you take a seat, here, in the shade ?" She then withdrewr for a moment, in order to bring a second chair. In the mean time, Woodbury had picked up her book ; it was Bettine's Correspondence with Gilnderode. " I am glad," said he, looking up at her approach, " that I was not wrong in my selection." She aaswered his look with an expression of surprise. " I am going away, in a few days, for a summer excursion," he added, by way of explanation, taking the books from hia pockets, " and in looking over my library this morning I found two works, which, it occurred to me, you might like to read. The sight of this volume convinces me that I have judged correctly : they are also translations from the German." Hannah Thurston's eyes brightened as she took the books, and looked at their title-pages. " Oh !" she exclaimed, " 1 252 HAtnifAH thubston: thank you very much ! I have long wished to see these works ■ Lydia Maria Child speaks very highly of thera." " Who is Lydia Maria Child ?" She looked at him, almost in dismay. " Have you never read her ' Letters from New York ?' " she asked. " I do not suppose you are a subscriber to the Slavery AnnihilaCor, which she edits, but these letters have been collected and pub- lished." " Are they doctrinal ?" " Perhaps you would call them so. She has a generous sym- pathy with all Progress ; yet her letters are mostly descriptive. I would offer them to you, if I were sure that you would read them wiJlingly — not as a task thrust upon you." "You would oblige me," said Woodbury, cordially. "I am not unwilling to hear new views, especially when they are eloquently presented. Anna Maria Child, I presume, is an advocate of Woman's Rights ?" " You will, at least, find very little of such advocacy in her letters." " And if I should ?" he asked. " Do not confound me. Miss Thm-ston, with the multitude who stand in hostile opposition to your theory. I am very willing that it should be freely dis- cussed, because attention may thereby be drawn to many real wrongs. Besides, in the long run, the practice of the human race is sensible and just, and nothing can be permanently adopted which is not very near the truth." "'Heal wrongs !'" she repeated ; " yes, I suppose our wrongs are generally considered imaginary. It is a convenient way of disposing of them." " Is that charge entirely fair ?" She colored slightly. Is the man's nature flint or iron, she thought, that his mind is sc equably clear and cold ? Would not antagonism rouse him into warmth, imparting an answer- ing warmth to her thoughts, which his unimpassioned manner chilled to death ? Then she remembered his contagious gay- ety dui'jng the walk to Ptolemy, his terrible indignation in the inn at Tiberius, and felt that she had done him wrong. A STOr.T OF AMERICAN LIFE. 253 "I ask your pardon," she answered, presently. "I did not mean to apply the charge to you, Mr. Woodbury. I was thinking of the prejudices we are obliged to encounter. We present what we feel to be serious truths in relation to our sex, and they are thrown aside with a contemptuous indifference, which wounds us more than the harshest opposition, because H implies a disbelief in our capacity to think for ourselves. You must know that the word 'feminine,' applied to a man, is the greatest reproach— that the phrase ' a woman's idea' is never uttered but as a condemnation." " I have not looked at the subject from your point of view," said Woodbury, with an expressed respect in his manner, "but I am willing to believe that you have reason to feel aggrieved. You must remember, however, that the reproach is not aU on one side. You women are just as ready to con- demn mascuhne habits and ideas in your own sex. Among children a molly-coddle is no worse than a tomboy. The fact, after all, does not originate in any natural hostility or contempt, on either side, but simply from an instinctive knowledge of the distinctions of sex, in temperament, in habits, and in mind." " In mind ?" Hannah Thurston asked, with unusual calmness. " Then you think that minds, too, are male and female ?" " That there are general distinctions, certainly. The exact boundaries between them, however, are not so easily to bo defined. But there is a radical difference in the texture, and hence in the action of the two. Do you not always instinctive- ly feel, in reading a book, whether the author is a man or a woman ? Can you name any important work which might have been written, indifferently, by either ?" Miss Thurston reflected a while, and then suggested : " Mrs, Somerville's ' Physical Geography ?' " " Fairly answered," said Woodbury, smiling. " I will not reject the instance. I will even admit that a woman might write a treatise on algebraic equations, in which there should be no sign of her sex. Still, this would not affect the mair 254 HANNAH THUKSTON • fact., which I think you will recognize upon reflection. I admit the greatness of the immortal women of History. Nay, more : I claim that men are not only willing, without the least touch of jealousy, to acknowledge genius in Woman, but are always the first to recognize and respect it. "What female poet has . Selected for her subject that ' whitest lily on the shield of France,' the Maid of Orleans ? But Schiller and Southey have not forgotten her. How rare it is, to see one of these famous women eulogized by a woman ! The principal advocate of your cause — what is her name? — Bessie Stryker, would be treated with more fairness and consideration by men than by those of her own sex who are opposed to her views." "Yes, that is it," she answered, sadly ; "we are dependent on men, and fear to offend them." "This much, at least, seems to be true," said he, "that a sense of reliance on the one hand and protection on the other consti-- tutes a firmer and tenderer form of union than if the natures were evenly balanced. It is not a question of superiority, but of radical and necessary difference of nature. Woman is too finely organized for the hard, coarse business of the world, and it is for her own sake that man desires to save her from it. He stands between her and human nature in the rough." " But could she not refine it by her presence ?" " Never — never !" exclaimed Woodbury. " On the con- trary, it would drag her down to unutterable depths. K woman had the right of suffrage there would be less swearing among the rowdies at the polls, the first time they voted, but at the end of five years both sexes would swear together. That is" — he added, seeing the shocked expression of Hannah Tlmrston's face, — "supposing them to be equally implicated in the present machinery of politics. The first time a female candidate went into a bar-room to canvass for votes, she would see the inmates on their best behavior ; but this could not last long. She would soon either be driven from the field, or brought down to the same level. Nay, she would go below A STOEY OF AiiyAilCXS LIFE. 255 it, for the rudest woman would be injured by associations through which the most refined man might pass unharmed." The tone of grave conviction in his words produced a strong though painful impression upon his hearer. She had heard very nearly the same things said, in debate, but they were always met and apparently overcome by the millennial assuran- ces of her friends — by their firm belief in the possible perfeo- tion of human nature, an illusion which she was too ready to accept. A share in all the special avocations of Man, she had believed, would result in his elevation, not in the debasement of Woman. "I should not expect a sudden change," she said, at last, " but might not men be gradually redeemed from their low tastes and habits ? Might not each sex learn from the other only what is best and noblest in it ? It would be very sad if all hope for the future must be taken away from us." " All hope ? No !" said Woodbury, rising from his seat. " The human race is improving, and will continue to improve. Better hope too much than not at all. But between the na- tures of the sexes there is a gulf as wide as all lime. The laws by which each is governed are not altogether arbitrary ; they have grown, age after age, out of that difference in mental and moral development of which I spoke, and which — pardon me — you seem to overlook. Whatever is, is not always right, but you may be sure there is no permanent and universal rela- tion founded on error. Tou would banish profanity, excesses, brute force from among men, would yon not ? Have you ever I'eflected that these things are distorted forms of that energy which has conquered the world ? Mountains are not torn down, rivers bridged, wildernesses subdued, cities built, states founded, and eternal dikes raised against barbarism, by the eaters of vegetables and the drinkers of water! Everyman who is worth the name possesses something of the coarse, original fibre of the race: he lacks, by a wise provision of Providence, that finer protecting instinct which holds woman back from the rude, material aspects of human nature. He knows and 256 ^ HANNAu thueston: recognizes as inevitable facts, many things, of which she does not even suspect the existence. Therefore, Miss Thurston, when you apply to men the aspirations of progress which you have foi'med as a woman, you must expect to be disappointed. I'ardon me for speaking so plainly, in opposition to views which I know you must cherish with some tenderness. I nave', at least, not been guilty of the ofl'ence which you chiirged upon my sex." "No," she answered, "you have been frank, Mr. Wood- bury, and I know that you are sincere. But may not your views be still somewhat colored by the old prejudice ?" She blushed, the moment a,fter she spoke. She had endeav- ored to moderate her expressions, yet her words sounded harsh and oifensive. But Woodbury smiled as he answered : " If it be so, why should old prejudices be worse than new ones? A prejudice is a weed that shoots up over night. It don't take two years to blossom, like this foxglove." He broke oflF one of the long purple bells, and Btnck it in the button-hole of his coat. "I like what slowly matures, and lasts long," said he. Hannah Thurston repeated some words of thanks for the books, as he gave her his hand. From the shade of the fir she watched him mount and ride into the village. " He will prob- ably take tea with the Waldos," she thought : " I shall stay at home." She resumed her seat, mechanically taking up the volumes he had left, but did not open them. His words still lingered in her mind, with a strange, disturbing effect. She felt that he exercised an influence over her which she was not able sat- isfactorily to analyze. The calmness of his utterance, the ripe- ness of his opinions, the fairness of his judgment, attracted her : she knew no man who compelled an equal respect : yet there seemed to be very little in common between them. She never met him without a painful doubt of herself being awa< kentid, which lasted long after his departui-e. She determined, A .STOKY OF AMEEICASr LIFE. 257 again and again, to avoid these mental encounters, but some secret force irresistibly led her to speak. She felt, in her in- most soul, the first lifting of a current, which, if it rose, would cari'y her, she knew not where. A weird, dangerous power in his nature seemed to strike at the very props on which her life rested. With a sensation, almost of despair, she whis- pered to herself: "I will see him no more." Woodbury, riding down the street, shook his head, and thought, as he unnecessarily pricked his horse with the spur • " I fear she is incorrigible." 258 HANNAH TUUESTON: CHAPTER XX. IN WHICH SETH 'WATTLES IS AGAIN DISAPPOINTED. After their return from Tiberius the life of the Merryfieldn was unusually quiet and subdued. The imprudent wife, re- leased from the fatal influence which had enthralled her, grad- ually came to see her action in its proper light, and to under- stand the consequences she had so happily escaped. She comprehended, also, that there was a point beyond which her husband could not be forced, but within which she was secure of his indulgent love. Something of the tenderness of their early married life returned to her in those days ; she forgot her habit of complaint; suspended, out of very shame, her jealous demand for her " rights ;" and was almost the busy, contented, motherly creature she bad been to James Merry- field before either of them learned that they were invested with important spiritual missions. He, also, reflected much upon what had happened. He per- ceived the manner in which his wife's perverted views had grown out of the belief they had mutually accepted. The possible abuses of this belief became evident to him, yet his mind was unable to detect its inherent error. It rested on a few broad, specious propositions, which, having accepted, lie was obliged to retain, with all their consequences. He had neither suflacient intellectual culture nor experience of life to understand that the discrepancy between the ideal reform and its practical realization arose, not " so much from the truths asserted as from the truths omitted or concealed. Thus, tha former serenity of his views became painfully clouded and dis- turbed, and there were times when he felt that he doubted A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 259 wliat he knew must be true. It was better, he said to himself, that he should cease, for a while, to speculate on the subject ; but his thoughts continually returned to it in spite of himself. He greatly felt the need of help in this extremity, yet an un- conquerable shyness prevented him from applying to either of Ihe two persons — Woodbury or Mr. Waldo — who were capa ble of giving it. Towards his wife he was entirely kind and considerate. After the first day or two, the subject of the joui-ney to Tiberius was tacitly dropped, and even the question of Woman's Rights was avoided as much as possible. While he read aloud the " Annihilator" in the evening, and Mrs. Merryfield knit or sewed as she listened, the servant-girl and the field-hand exchanged their opinions in the kitchen. They had detected, the first day, the change in the demeanor of the husband and wife. "They've been havin' a row, and no mistake," said Henry, "and I guess he's got the best of it." " Ko sich a thing," rephed Ann, indignantly. " Him, in- deed ! It's as plain as my hand that he's awfully cut up, and she's took pity on him." " Why, she's as cowed as can be !" " And he's like a dog with his tail between his legs." There was a half-earnest courtship going on between the two, and each, of course, was interested in maintaining the honor of the sex. It was a prolonged battle, renewed from day to day with re-enforcements drawn from observations made at meal-times, or in the field or kitchen. Most persons who attempt to conceal any strong emotion are like ostriches with tlioir heads in the sand : the dullest and stupidest of mankind will feel, if not see, that something is the matter. If, to a man who knows the world, the most finished result of hypocrisy often fails of its effect, the natural insight of those who do not think at all is scarcely less sure and true. The highest art that ever a Jesuit attained could not blind a ship's crew or a company of soldiers. It was fortunate for the Merryfields, that, while their de- pendents felt the change, the truth was beyond their suspicions 260 HAirerAH thueston: Towards the few who knew it, there was of course no necessity for disguise, and hence, after a solitude of ten days upon the farm, Mr. Merryfield experienced a sense of relief and satisfac- tion, as, gleaning the scattered wheat with a hay-rake in a field adjoining the road, he perceived Hannah Thurston approach- ing from Ptolemy. Hitching his horse to the fence, he climbed over into the road to meet her. It was a warm afternoon, and he was in his shirt-sleeves, "with unbuttoned waistcoat ; but, in the country, conventionalities have not reached the point of the ridiculous, and neither he nor his visitor was aware of the least impropriety. The farmers, in fact, would rather show their own brawny arms and bare breasts than see the bosoms of their daughters exposed to the public gaze by a fashionable ball-dress. " I'm glad you've come, Hannah," said he, as he gave her his hard hand. " It seems a long time since I seen you before. We've been quite alone ever since then." " I should have come to see you sooner, but for mother's ill- ness," she replied. " I hope you are both well and — happy." Her look asked more than her words. " Yes," said he, understanding the question in her mind, " Sarah's got over her delusion, I guess. Not a hard word has passed between us. We don't talk of it any more. But, Hannah, I'm in trouble about the principle of the thing. I can't make it square in my mind, as it were. There seems to be a contradiction, somewhere, between principles and work- ing them out. You've thought more about the matter than I have : can you make things straight ?" The struggle in Hannah Thurston's own mind enabled hor. to comprehend his incoherent questions. She scarcely knew how to answer him, yet would fain say something to soothe and comfort him in his perplexity. After a pause, she an- swered : " I fear, James, that I have over-estimated my own wisdom ^-that we have all been too hasty in drawing conclusions from abstract reasoning. We have, perhaps, been presumptuous in A STOET OF AMEKICA.X LIFE. '261 taking it foi granted that we, alone, possessed a truth which the world at large is too blind to see — or, admitting that all is true which we believe, that we are too hasty in endeavoring to fulfil it in our lives, before the needful preparation is made. You know that the field must be properly ploughed and har- rowed, before you sow the grain. It may be that we are so impatient as to commence sowing before we have ploughed." This illustration, drawn from his own business, gave Merry- field great comfort. " That must be it !" he exclaimed. " 1 don't quite understand how, but I feel that what you say must be true, nevertheless." " Then," she continued, encouraged by the effect of her words ; " I have sometimes thought that we may be too strict in applying what we know to be absolute, eternal truths, to a life which is finite, probationary, and liable to be affected by a thousand influences over which we have no control. For in- stance, you may analyze your soil, and the stimulants you apply to it — measure your grain, and estimate the exact yield you ought to receive — but you cannot measure the heat and moisture, the wind and hail, and the destructive insects which the summer may bring ; and, therefore, you who sow accord- ing to agricultural laws may lose your crop, while another, who disregards them, shall reap an abundant harvest. Tet the truth of the laws you observed remains the same." " What would you do, then, to be sure that you are right ?" the farmer asked, as he opened the gate leading into his lane. " To continue the comparison, I should say, act as a prudent husbandman. Believe in tlie laws which govern the growth and increase of the seed, yet regulate your tillage according to the season. The crop is the main thing, and, though it sounds like heresy, the farmer may be right who prefers a good harvest secured in deiiance of rules to a scanty one with the observance of them. But I had better drop the figure before I make a blunder." " Not a bit of it !" he cried. " You've cheered me up mightily. There's sense in what you say; queer that it didnt 262 HAiosAH thukston: come into mj mind before. I'm not sure that I can work ray own case so's to square with it — but I'll hold on to the idee." As they reached the garden, Hannah Thurston plucked a white rosebud which had thrust itself through the paling, and fastened it to the bosom of her dress. Mr. Merryfield imi*e- diately gathered six of the largest and reddeat cabbage-roses, and presented them with a friendly air. " There," said he, " stick tliem on ! That white thing don't show at all. It's a pity the piueys are all gone." Mrs. Merryfield, sitting on the shaded portico, rose and mot her visitor at the gate. The women kissed each other, as usual, though with a shade of constraint on the part of the for- mer. The farmer, judging it best to leave them alone for a little while, went back to finish his gleaning. After they were comfortably seated on the portico, and Hannah Thurston had laid aside her bonnet, there was an awk- ward pause. Mrs. Merryfield anticipated an attack, than which nothing was further from her visitor's thought. " How quiet and pleasant it is here !" the latter finally said. " It is quite a relief to me to get away from the village." " People are difierently constituted," answered Mrs. Merry- field, with a slight defiance in her manner : " I like society, and there's not much life on a farm." " You have enjoyed it so long, perhaps, that you now scarcely appreciate it properly. A few weeks in our little cot- tage would satisfy you which is best.'' " I must be satisfied, as it is ;" Mrs. Merryfield replied. " We women have limited missions, I suppose." She intended herewith to indicate that, although she had do- eisted from her purpose, she did not confess that it had been wrong. She had sacrificed her own desires, and the fact should be set down to her credit. With Mr. Waldo she would have been candidly penitent — more so, perhaps, than she had yet allowed her husband to jDcrceive — but towards one of her own Bex, especially a champion of social reform, her only feeling was a stubborn determination to vindicate her action as far as pos- A STOET OP AMEBICAN LIFE. 203 iible. Hannah Thurston detected the under-enrrent of het thought, and strove to avoid an encounter with it. " Yes," said she ; " I suspect there are few persons of aver- age ambition who find a sphere broad enough to content them. But our merits, you know, are not measured by that. You may be able to accomplish more good, here, in your quiet cir- cle of neighbors, than in some more conspicuous place." "J^ should be the judge of that," rejoined Mrs. Merryfield, tartly. Then, feeling that she had been a little too quick, sho added, with mournful meekness : " But I suppose some lights are meant to be hid, otherways there wouldn't be bushels." As she spoke, a light which did not mean to be hid, what- ever the accumulation of bushels, approached from the lane. It was Seth "Wattles, gracefully attired in a baggy blouse of gray linen, over which, in front, hung the ends of a huge pur- ple silk cravat. He carried a roll of paper in one hand, and his head was elevated with a sense of more than usual impor- tance. The expression of his shapeless mouth became almost triumphant as he perceived Hannah Thurston. She returned his greeting with a calmness and self-possession which he mis- took for a returning interest in himself. By the time the usual common-places had been exchanged, Merryfield had returned to the house. Seth, therefore, hastened to communicate the nature of his errand. " I have been work- ing out an idea," said he, " which, I think, meets the wants of the world. It can be improved, no doubt, — I don't say thai it's perfect — ^but the fundamental basis is right, I'm sure." " What is it ?" asked Merryfield, not very eagerly, " A Plan for the Reorganization of Society, by which we can Jighlon the burden of labor, and avoid the necessity of Govern- ments, with all their abuses. It is something like Fourier's plan of Phalansteries, only that don't seem adapted to this country. And it' 3 too great a change, all at once. My plan can be applied immediately, because it begins on a smaller scale. I'm sure it will work, if I can only get it started. A dozen peisons are enough to begin with." 264 HANNAH THURSTON : " Well, how would you begin ?" asked the farmer. " Take any farm of ordinary size — yours for instance — and make of it a small community, who shall represent all the neces- sary branches of labor. With the aid of machinery, it will bo entirely independent of outside help. You want a small steam- engine, or even a horse-power, to thresh, grind, saw, chnrL turn, and hammer. Then, one of the men must be a black- smith and wheelwright, one a tailor, and another a shoe and harness maker. Flax and sheep will furnish the material fot clothing, maple and Chinese cane will give sugar, and thera will really be little or nothing to buy. I assume, of course, that we all discard an artificial diet, and live on the simplest substances. Any little illness can be cured by hydropathy, but that would only be necessary in the beginning, for diseases would soon vanish from such a community. The labor of the women must also be divided : one will have charge of the gar- den, another of the dairy, another of the kitchen, and so on. When any branch of work becomes monotonous, there can be changes made, so that, in the end, each one. will understand all the different departments. Don't you see?" " Yes, I see," said Merryfield. "I was sure you would. Just consider what an advantage over the present system ! There need not be a dollar of out- lay : you can take the houses as they are. Nothing would be bought, and all the produce of the farm, beyond what the community required for its support, would be clear gain. In a few years, this would amount to a fund large enough to hire all the necessary labor, and the members could then devote the rest of their lives to intellectual cultivation. My plan is diplo inatic — that's the word. It will reform men, in spice of them Reives, by appealing to two of their strongest passions- acquisitiveness and love of ease. They would get into a higher moral atmosphere before they knew it." " I dare say," Merryfield remarked, as he crossed one leg over the other, and then put it down again, restlessly. " And who is to have the general direction of affairs ?" A STOEY OF AMEKICAK LIFE, 265 " Oh, there I apply the republican principle !" Seth exclaimed. " It will be decided by vote, after discussion, in which all take part, women as well as men. Here is my plan for the day. Each takes his or her turn, week about, to rise before sunrise, make the fires, and ring a bell to rouse the others. After ■• cold plunge-bath, one hour's labor, and then breakfast, accom- panied by cheerful conversation. Then work until noon, when dinner is prepared. An hour's rest, and labor again, when necessary. I calculate, however, that six hours a day will generally be sufficient. Supper at sunset, followed by discus- sion and settlement of plans for the next day. Singing ia chorus, half an hour ; dancing, one hour, and conversation on moral subjects until eleven o'clock, when the bell rings for rest. You see, the plan combines every thing ; labor, recreation, society, and mental improvement. As soon as we have estab- lished a few communities, we can send messengers between them, and will not be obliged to support the Government through the Post-Office. Now, I want you to begin the reform." " Me !" exclaimed Merryfield, with a start. " Yes, it's the very thing. You have two hundred acres, and a house big enough for a dozen. I think we can raise the community in a little while. We can call it ' Merryfield,' or, if you choose, in Latin — ^Tanner says it's Campus Gaudius, or something of the kind. It will soon be known, far and wide, and we must have a name to distinguish it. I have no doubt the Whitlows would be willing to join us ; Mrs. Whitlow could take the dairy, and Miss Thurston the garden. He's been in the grocery-line : he could make sugar, until he got acquainted with other kinds of work." " Dairy, indeed !" interrupted Mrs. Merryfield. " Yes, she'd like to skim cream and drink it by the tumbler-full, no doubt. A delightful community it would be, with the cows in her charge, somebody else in the bedrooms, and me seeing to the kitchen !" " Before I'd agree to it, I'd see all the communities " Mr. Merryfield's exclamation terminated with a stronger 12 266 HAiWAH thtteston: ■word than his wi-fe had heard hitn utter for years. He jumped from his seat, as he spoke, and strode up and down the portico. Hannah Thurston, in spite of a temporary shock at the unex- pected profanity, felt that her respect for James Merryfield had undergone a slight increase. She was a little surprised at h« she Btood by the bedside, " she's a-goin' fast. She soon set" de glory. Don't you wish fur her to stay, 'case dat'U interfere wid her goin'." Her breath grew fainter, and came at longer intervals, but the moment when it ceased passed unnoticed by either of the watchers. Melinda first recognized the presence of Death. " You go an' lay down," she said to Miss Carrie. " You can't do no good now. I'll stay wid her till mornin'." The sempstress obeyed, for she was, in truth, ^VTetchedly weary. For the remainder of the night Melinda sat on a low chair beside the corpse, swinging her body backwards and forwards as she crooned, in a low voice : " De streets is payed wid gold, Ober on do udder shore." 308 HANNAH THUKSTOJSr: CHAPTER XXrV. VARIOUS CHAJSTGES, BUT LITTLE PEOGEESS IN THE 8T0BT. As soon as the news of Mrs. Babb's death became known, the neighbors hastened to Lakeside to offer their help. Tlie necessary arrangements for the funeral were quietly and speedily made, and, on the second day afterwards, the body of the housekeeper was laid beside that of Jason Babb, in the Presbyterian churchyard at Ptolemy, where he had been slumbering for the last twenty-three years. The attendance was very large, for all the farmers' wives in the valley had known Mrs. Babb, and still held her receipts for cakes, pre- serves, and pickles in high esteem. The Reverends Styles and Waldo made appropriate remarks and prayers at the grave, so that no token of respect was wanting. All the neighbors said, as they drove homewards, "The funeral was a credit to her." Her spirit must have smiled in stern satisfac- tion, even from its place by Jason's side, and at the feet of Mrs. Dennison, as it looked down and saw that her last un- conscious appearance among mortals was a success. Miss Dilworth took counsel of her friends, Hannah Thurston nnd Mrs. Waldo, on the day of the funeral. She confessed lo them, T^ith returnuig misgivings, what had taken place be- tween Bute Wilson and herself, and was a little surprised at the hearty gratification which they both expressed. "How glad I am!" ci-ied Mrs. Waldo; "it is the VC17 thing!" "Yes," said Hannah Thurston, in her grave, deliberate man- nej', " I think you have made a good choice, Carrie." A STORY OF AMEKXCAN LIFE. 309 If any fi]iark of Miss Caroline Dihvortli's old ambition still buniecl' among the ashes of her dreams, it was extinguished at that moment. The prophets of reform were thenceforth dead to iier. She even took a consolation in thinking that if her ■wish had been fulfilled, her future position might have had its embarrassments. She might have been expected to sympa- thize with ideas which she did not comprehend — to make use of new shibboleths before she had learned to pronounce thera —to counterfeit an intelligent appreciation when most con- scious of her own incompetency. Now, she would be at ease. Bute would never discover any deficiency in her. She spoke better- English and used finer words than he did, and if she made a mistake now and then, he wouldn't even notice it. With the disappearance of her curls her whole manner had become more simple and natural. Her little affectations broke out now and then, it is ^rue, but they had already ceased to be used as baits to secure a sentimental interest. There was even hope that her attachitient to Bute would be the means of de- veloping her somewhat slender stock of common-sense. " Bute says we must be married as soon as he gets well," she said : " he won't wait any longer. Is there any harm in my staying here and taking care of him until he's entirely out of danger?" Mrs. Waldo reflected a moment. " Certainly none until Mr. Woodbury returns," she said. "Mr. Waldo has answered his letter to Bute, which came this morning. If he leaves Saratoga at once, he will be here in three or four days. The doctor says you are an admirable nurse, and that is reason enough why you should not leave at present." "The other reason ought to be enough," said Hannah Thurston. "She owes a wife's duty towards him now, when be needs help which she can give. I am sure Mr. Woodbury will mo. it in the same light. He is noble and honorable." " Why, Hannah !" cried Mrs. Waldo, " I thought you and be were as far apart as the opposite poles !" " Perhaps we are, in our views of certain subjects," was the 310 UANNAU TliUKSTOjy : quiet reply. " I can, nevertheless, properly estimate his char actor as a man." Mrs. Waldo suppressed a sigh. " If you could only esti mate your own true character as a woman !" she thought. Miss Dilworth's duties were now materially lightened. The danger of further contagion had passed, and some one of the neighbors came every day to assist her. Bute only required stimulating medicines, and the usual care to prevent a relapse, of which there seemed to be no danger. He began to recover his healthful sleep at uiglit, and his nurse was thus enabled to keep up her strength by regular periods of rest. Once or twice a day she allowed him to talk, so long as there was no appearance of excitement or fitigue. These half hours were the happiest Bute had ever known. To the delicious languor and peace of convalescence, was added the active, ever-renewed bliss of his restored love, and the promises which it whispered. He delighted to call Miss Carrie, in anticipation, " Little wife !" pausing, each time he did so, to look for the blush which was sure to come, and the smile on the short red lips, which was tlie sweetest that ever visited a woman's face. Of course it was. One day, nevertheless, as he lay looking at her, and think- ing how much more steady and sensible she seemed since her culls were gathered up— how much more beautiful the ripples of light brown hair upon her temples — a cloud came over his face. "Carrie," he said, "there's one thought worries me, and 1 want you to put it straight, if you can. S'pose I hadn't got sick, — s'pose I hadn't lost my senses, would you ever ha' come to your'n ?" She was visibly embarrassed, but presently a flitting roguish expression passed over her face, and she answered: "WoulJ you have given me a chance to do it, Bute ?" "Likely not," said he. "You spoke plain enough last win ter, and 'twasn't for me to say the first word, after that. When a man's burnt his fingers once't, he keeps away from the fire. But I want to know why you come to take keer c" A STORY OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 311 me and Motlier Forty. Was it only because you were sorry, aud wanted to pay me for my disapp'intment in that way ? Can you lay your hand on your heart and say there was any thing more ?" Miss Carrie immediately laid her hand on her heart. " Tes, Bute," she said, "there loas something more. I was begin- ning to find it out, before, but when I heard you were so bad, it came all at once." "Look here, Carrie," said Bute, still very earnestly, although the cloud was beginning to pass away, "some men have hearts like shuttlecocks, banged back and forth from one gal to an- other, and none the wuss of it. But I a'n't one of 'em. When- ever I talk serious, I 'xpect to be answered serious. I believe what you say to me. I believed it a'ready, but I wanted to be double sure. You and me have got to live together as man and wite. 'Twon't be all skylarkin' : we've got to work, and help one another, and take keer o' others besides, if things goes right. What'll pass in a gal, won't pass in a married woman : yon must get shut o' your coquettm' ways. I see you've took the trap out o' your hair, and now you must take it out o' your eyes. 'Ta'n't that it'll mean any thing any more — if I thought it did, I'd feel like killin' you — but it won't look right.'" "You mustn't mind my foolishness, Bute," she answered, penitently, " and you mustn't think of Seth Wattles !" "Seth be — consarifi d P Bute exclaimed. "When I see you pickin' up dead frogs, I'll believe you like to shake hands with Seth ! I've got agreeabler thoughts than to have him in ray head. Well — I don't bear no grudge ag'in him now ; but I can't like him." " I don't like him either. Fancy such a fellow as he think' iiig himself good enough for Hannah Thurston ! There's no man good enough for her !" " Like enough she thinks herself too good for any man,' Bute remarked. " But them a'n't the women, Carrie, Uiat a man wants to marry. It'U be a lucky woman that gits Mr. Max." 812 HANNAU THUHSTOX : "Oh, I must go and see to Mr. Woodbury's room !" cried Miss Dilworth, starting up. "Perhaps he'il come this vei7 day. Then I suppose I must go away, Bute." "I hope not, Carrie. I wouldn't mind bein' a bit sicker for a day or two, o' purpose to keep you here. What! are you goin' away in that fashion, Little Wife ?" Miss Dilwortb darted back to the bedside, stooped down, like a humming-bird presenting its bill to a rather large flow- er, and was about to shoot off again, when Bute caught her by the neck and substituted a broad, firm kiss, full of consistency and flavor, for the little sip she had given him. " That's comfortin'," said he. " I thank the Lord my moutU a'n't as little as your'n." Before night, Mr. Woodbury arrived, having taken a carriage at Tiberius and driven rapidly over the hills. Mr. Waldo's letter, announcing Bute's dangerous condition and Mrs. Babb's death, had greatly startled and shocked him. His summer tour was nearly at an end, and he at once determined to return to Lake- side for the autumn and winter. He was not surprised to find his household in charge of Miss Dil worth, for the news had already been commimicated to him. She met him at the door, blusliing and slightly embarrassed, for she scarcely felt herself entitled to be ranked among his acquaintances, and the calm reserve of his usual manner had always overawed her. " I am very glad to find yon still here. Miss Dilworth," he said, pressing her hand warmi/; "how can I repay you for your courage and kindness? Bute — ?" " He is much better. Sir. He is expecting you : will yon walk up and see him ?" " Immediately. I suppose I ought not to carry all this dust with me. I will go to my room first." " It is ready. Sir," said Miss Dilworth. " Let me have your coat." Before Woodbury had finished washing his face and hands, and brushing the white dust of the highway out of his hair, there was a light tap on the door. He opened it and beheld A ST0-3T OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 313 his coat, neatlj dusted and folded, confronting him on the back of a chair. Bute's room he found in the most perfect order. The weather had been warm, dry, and still, and the window furthest from the bed was open. The invalid lay, propped up with two extra pillows, awaiting him. Woodbury was at first shocked by his pale, wasted face, to which the close-cut huif gave a strange, ascetic character. His eyes were sunken, but still bright and cheerful, and two pale-blue sparks danced in them as he turned his head towards the door. " Bute, my poor fellow, how are you ? I did not dream this would have happened," said Woodbury, taking the large, spare hand stretched towards him. "Oh, I'm doin' well now, Mr. Max. 'Twas queer how it come — all 't once't, without any warniu'. I knowed nothin' about it till I was past the danger." "And Mrs. Babb — was she sick long? Did she suffer much?" " I don't think she suffered at all : she was never out of her head. She seemed to give up at the start, I'm told, and all the medicines she took was no use. She jist made up her mind to die, and she always had a strong will, you know, Mr. Max." Bute said this quietly and seriously, without the least thought of treating the memory of his foster-mother lightly. " She had a good nurse, at least," said Woodbury, " and you seem to be equally fortunate." "Well, I guess I am," answered Bute, his face on a broad grin, and with more color in it than he had shown for many days. "I've had the best o' nussin', Mr. Max. Not but what Pat and Mr. Merryfield was as kind as they could be — 'twasn't the same thing. And I may as well out with it plump : there's no nuss quite ek'l to a man's own wife." " Wife !" exclaimed Woodbury, in amazement. " Well — no — not jist yit," stammered Bute ; "but she will be as soon as I git well enough to marry. I'd been hankeria' after her for these two years, Mr. Max., but it mightn't ha' come to nothin' if I hadn't got sick." 14 314 HANNAH thubston: " You mean Miss Dilworth, of course ?" Bute nodded Ms head. " You astonish me, Bute. I scarcely know her at all, but I think you have too much good sense to m.ake a mistake. I wish you joy, with all my heart ; and yet" — he continued in a graver tone, taking Bute's hand, " I shall be almost sorry for it, if this marriage should deprive me of your services on the farm." "How?" cried Bute, instantly recovering his former pale- ness, " do you mean, Mr. Max., that you wouldn't want me afterwards ?" " No, no, Bute ! On the contrary, I should be glad to see you settled and contented. But it is natural, now, that you should wish to have a farm of your own, and as Mrs. Babb's iegac}' will enable you to buy a small one, I thought " " Bless you, Mr. Max. !" interrupted Bute, " it would be a small one. Wliat's a few hundred dollars ? I've no notion o' goin' into farmiii' on a ten-acre lot." " Mr. Waldo tells me that her property amounts to about twenty-seven hundred dollars.'' " Twenty — seven — hundred V and Bute feebly tried tt, whistle. " Well — Mother Forty always was a cute 'un — who'd ha' thought it ? And she's left it all to me — -she keered a mighty sight more for me than she let on." Here something rose in his throat and stopped his voice for a moment. " I'll do her biddin' by it, that I will !" he resumed, " I shall leave it out at interest, and not touch a cent of the capital. Time enough for my children to draw that. Oh, Mr. Max., now the Lord may jist send as many youngsters to me and Carrie, aa He pleases !" A dim sensation, like the memory of a conquered sorrow, weighed upon Woodbury's heart for an instant, and passed away. " I know when I'm well off," Bute went on. " I'm content- ed to stay as I am : every thing on the farm — the horses, th' oxen, the pigs, the fences, the apple-trees, the timber-land — A. STOKT OF AMEEICA2S' LIFE. 315 B iems to me as much rame as it is your'n. If I had a farm o' 111)' own, it'd seem strange Uke, as if it belonged to somebody else. I've got the hang of every field here, and know jist what it'll bring. I want to make a good livin' : I don't deny that; but if I hold on to what I've got now, and don't run no resks, and put out th' interest ag'in every year, it'll roll up jist about as fast and a darned sight surer, than if I was to set up for my- self. If you're willin', Mr. Max., we can fix it somehow. If the tenant-house on the 'Nacreon road was patched up a little, it'd do for the beginnin'." " We can arrange it together, Bute," said Woodbury, rising. "Now you have talked long enough, and must rest. I will see you again before I go to bed." As Miss Dilworth, at his request, took her seat at the table and poured out the tea, Woodbury looked at her with a now interest. He had scarcely noticed her on previous occasions, and hence there was no first impression to be removed. It seemed to him, indeed, as if he saw her for the first time now. The ripjjles in her hair caught the light ; her complexion was un- usually fair and fresh ; the soft green of her eyes became almost brown under the long lashes, and the mouth was infan- tine in shape and color. A trifle of afteotation in her manner did not disharmonize with such a face ; it was natural to her, and would have been all the same, had she bein eighty years old instead of twenty-six. With this affectation, however, were combined twa very useful qualities — a most scrupulous neatness and an active sense of order. " Upon my soul, it is Lisette herself," said Woodbury to himself, as he furtively watched her airs and movements. Who would have expected to find so many characteristics of the Parisian grisette in one of our staid American communities ? And how astonishing, could he have known it, her ambitious assumption of Hannah Thurston's views ! It was a helmet of Pallas, which not only covered her brow, but fell forward over her saucy retrousse nose, and weighed bar slender body half-way to the earth. She felt his scrutiny, and i)erformed her tea-table duties with 310 HANNAH THUBSTON: two spots of bright color in her cheeks. Woodbury tiiew that she suspected what Bute's principal communication to him had been, and, with his usual straightforward way of meeting a delicate subject, decided to speak to her at once. She gave a little start of confusion — not entirely natural — as he commenced, but his manner was so serious, frank, and re- spectful, that she soon felt ashamed of herself and was drawn to her own surprise, to answer him candidly and naturally. "Bute has told me. Miss Dilworth," said he, "of youi niutuijl understanding. I am very glad of it, for his sake. He is an honest and faithful fellow, and deserves to be happy. I think he is right, also, in not unnecessarily postponing the time, though perhaps I should not think so, if his marriage were to deprive me of his services. But he prefers to con- tinue to take charge of Lakeside, rather than buy or lease a farm for himself. I hope you are satisfied with his decision ?" " Yes, Mr. Woodbury," she answered : " I should not like to leave this neighborhood. I have no relatives in the country, except an aunt in Tiberius. My brother went to Iowa five years ago." " Bute must have a home," Woodbury continued. " He spoke of my tenant-house, but besides being old and ruinous, it is not well situated, either for its inmates, or for the needs of the farm. I had already thought of tearing it down, and building a cottage on the knoll, near the end of the lane. But that would take time, and " " Oh, we can wait, Mr. Woodbury !" He smiled. " I doubt whether Bute would be as ready to wait as you. Miss Dilworth. I am afraid if I were to propose it, he would leave me at once. No, we must make some other arrangement in the mean time. I have been turning the matter over in my mind and have a proposition to make to you." " To me !" " Yes. Mrs. Babb's death leaves me without a housekeeper My habits are very simple, the household is small, and I see A STOESr OP AMERICAN LITE. 317 already that you are capable of doing all that will be required. Of course you will have whatever help you need ; I ask no- thing more than a general superintendence of my domestic aifaii-s until your new home is ready. If you have no ob- jection of your own to make, will you please mention it to Bute?" " Bute will be so pleased !" she cried. " Only, Mr. Wood- bury, if it isn't more than I am capable of doing ? If I'm able to give you satisfaction !" "I shall be sure' of your wish to do so. Miss Dilworth," said Woodbury, rising from the table ; " and I have the fiir- ther guarantee that you will have Bute to please, as well as myself." He went into the library and lighted a cigar. "Lucky fellow !" he said to himself, with a sigh. " He makes no in- tellectual requirements from his wife, and he has no trouble in picking up a nice little creature who is no doubt perfection in his eyes, and who will be faithful to him all his days. If she doesn't know major from minor ; if she confuses tenses and doubles negatives ; if she eats peas with her knife, and trims her bonnet with colors at open war with each other ; if she never heard of Shakespeare, and takes Petrarch to be the name of a mineral — what does he care ? She makes him a tidy home ; she understands and soothes his simple troubles ; she warms his lonely bed, and suckles the vigorous infants that spring from his loins ; she gives an object to his labor, a con- tented basis to his life, and a prospect of familiar society in the world beyond the grave. Simple as this relation of the exes is for him, he feels its sanctity no less than I. His es- pousals are no less chaste ; his wedded honor is as dear, his paternal joys as pure. My nature claims aU this from woman, but, alas ! it claims more. The cultivated intelligence comes in to question and criticize the movements of the heart. Here, on one side, is goodness, tenderness, fidelity ; on the other, grace, beauty, refinement, intellect — both needs must be ful- filled. How shall I ever reach this double marriage, except HAXN'AII tijuikton: through a hlincT chance ? Yet here is one woman in whom it would be nearly fulfilled, aud a strange delusion into which she has fallen warns me to think of her no more !" The conscious thread of his thoughts broke off, and thej loosened themselves into formless reverie. As he rose to re- >'isit Bute's chamber, he paused a moment, thinking : " That I can analyze her nature thus deliberately, is a proof that 1 do not love her." Bute was dehghted with the new arrangement which Wood- bury had proposed to Miss Dilworth. The latter would leave in a few days, he said, and spend the subsequent two or three weeks before the wedding could take place, at the Widow Thurston's. " After it's all over, Mr. Max.," said Bute, " she shall stay here and tend to the house jist as long as you want ; but — you won't mind my savin' it, will you ? — there's only one right kind of a housekeeper for you, and I hope you won't be too long a-fiadin' her." A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 3] 9 CHAPTER XXV. m WniCII HAJWAH THURSTON MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCEi In another week, Bute was able to dispense with the grate- ful nursing which had more than reconciled him to the con- finement of his sick-room. He required no attendance at night, and was able to sit, comfortably pillowed, for a gi-eat part of the day. He consumed enormous quantities of chicken- broth, and drank immoderately of Old Port and Albany Ale. Miss Dilworth, therefore, made preparations to leave : she was now obliged to sew for herself, and a proper obedience to cus- tom required that she should not remain at Lakeside during the last fortnight of her betrothal. On the morning of her departure, Woodbury called her into the library. " You have done me a great service, Miss Dilworth," said he, " and I hope you will allow me to acknowl- edge it by furnishing you with one article which I know will have to be provided." With these words he opened a paper parcel and displayed a folded silk, of the most charming tint . of silver-gray. The little sempstress looked at it in speechless ecstasy., "It's heavenly !" she at last cried, clasping her hands. " I'm obliged to you a thousand times, Mr. Woodbury. It's too much, indeed it is !" " Bute won't think so," he suggested. She snatched the parcel, and darted up-stairs in three bounds. " Oh, Bute !" she cried, bursting into his room, " on'y look at tliis ! It's my wedding-dress ! And he's just given it to me !" 320 HANNAH tiiueston: "It's the prettiest thing I ever laid my eyes on," daid Bute, looking at the silk reverently but not daring to touch it. "That's jist like Mr. Max. — what did I always tell you about him ?" After Miss Dilworth's departure, the housekeeping was conducted, somewhat indifferently, by the old negress. Sho had, however, the one merit of being an admirable cook, and Woodbury might have managed to live with her assistance, for a fortnight, but for one awkward circumstance. He re- ceived a letter from Mrs. Blake, saying that her husband had completed his business in the East and they were preparing to leave Saratoga. Would it be still convenient for him to entertain them for a few days at Lakeside, on their return to St. Louis? If the illness in his household, which had called him home so suddenly, still continued, they would, of course, forego the expected pleasure ; but if not, they would be the more delighted to visit him, as it was probable they would not come to the East the following summer. Would he answer the letter at once, as they were nearly ready to leave ? Woodbury was uncertain what to do in this emergency. There was no longer the slightest fear of contagion, and he particularly desired the offered visit ; but how could he enter- tain his friends without a housekeeper ? He finally decided that it must be arranged, somehow; wrote an affirmative an- swer, and rode into Ptolemy to post it without delay, first calling at the Cimmerian Parsonage to ask the advice of a sensible female friend. ■ " You see," said he, after stating the dilemma to Mrs. Wal- do, " now that my tyrant has gone, I wish her back again. A despotism is better than no government at all." " Ah, but a republic is better than a despotism !" she replied. "Do. you take ray meaning ? I'm not certain, after all, that the figure is quite correct. But the thing is to find a tempo- rary housekeeper. I know of no single disengaged woman in Ptolemy, unless it is Miss Ruhaney Goodwin, and her mourn ful countenance and habit of sighing, would be very discour- A STOEY OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 321 aging to your guests, even if she were willing to go. Mrs. Bua is a complete intelligence office for Ptolemy servants. Tour only chance is to see her."' "And if that fails?" " Then there is no hope. I shall be vexed, for I want to see tliis Mrs. Blake. If it were not for taking care of my good II iisband, I should myself be willing to act as mistress of Lake- ide for a few days." " I knew you would be able to help me !" cried Woodbury, joyfully. "Let me add Mr. Waldo to the number of my guests. I shall be delighted to have him, and the change may be refreshing to him. Besides, you will have us all at the Cimmerian Church, if the Blakes remain over a Sunday." " You are mistaken, if you supposed that any thing of the kind was in my thoughts," said Mrs. Waldo. " But the pro- posal sounds very pleasantly. I am sure we both should enjoy it very much, but I cannot accept, you know, before consulting witli my husband." " Leave Mr. Waldo to me." The matter was very easUy arranged. The clergyman, faith- ful to the promise of his teeth, appreciated a generous diet. His own table was oftentimes sparely supplied, and he was conscious of a gastric craving which gave him discouraging views of hfe. There was no likelihood of Sfiy immediate birth or death in his congregation, and it was not the season of the year when membei-s were usually assailed by doubts and given to backshding. More fortunate clergymen went to the water- ing places, or even to Europe, to rest their exhausted lungs ; ■why should he not go to Lakeside for a week ? They had no servant, and could shut up the parsonage during their absence : but the old horse ? i " Wife, we must get somebody to look afler Dobbin," he said, thoughtfully. " Bring Dobbin along," Woodbury laughed, " my ol4,Dick ^ will be glad to see him." Although neither he nor the Waldos were aware that they 4* 322 HANIfAH THUESTON. had spoken to nny one on the subject, t)ie arvangemcnt that had been made was whispered to everybody in Ptolemy be- j fore twenty-four hours were over. Nothing was known of the Blakes, except that they were "fashionable," and those who would have been delighted to be in the place of the poor clergyman and his wife, expressed their astonishment at the conduct of the latter. " It's what I call very open communion," said the Rev. Mr, Pinchman, of the Campbellite Church. Miss Ruhaney Goodwin heaved three of her most mournful Bighs, in succession, but said nothing. " Merry-makings so soon after a death in the house," re- marked Mrs. Hamilton Bue : " it's quite shocking to think of." " Our friend is getting very select," said the Hon. Zeno Harder, in his most pompous manner, thereby implying that he should not have been overlooked. !Mr. Grindlo, of course, improved the opportunity on every possible occasion, and before the Blakes had been two days at Lakeside, it was reported, in temperance circles, that they had already consumed one hundred dollars' worth of wine. Had these rumors been known to the pleasant Jittle com- munity of Lakeside, they would have added an additional hilarity to the genial atmosphere which pervaded the house. But it was quite i®noved from the clatter of the village gos- sip, and by the time such news had gone its rounds, and been conveyed to the victim by sympathizing friends, the occasion which gave rise to it had entirely passed away. Li our small country communities, nothing is so much resented as an indr- rect assumption of social independence^ A deviation from the prevailing habits of 'domestic life — a disregard iov prevailing prejudices, however temporary and absurd they may be — a visit from stjangers who excite curiosity and are not made com- mon social propj^ty: each of these circumstances is felt as au act of injustice, an^^onstitutes aiegttimate excuse for assault Since the railroad had reached Tiberius, and the steamer -on ^tanga Lake began to bring summer visifors t^Ptoleiny, A STORY OF AMEKICAN LIFE. 323 this species of despotism had somewhat relaxed, but it now and then flamed up with the old intensity, and Woodbui-y was too cosmopolitan in his nature not to provoke its ex- ercise. Mr. and Mrs. Waldo reached Lakeside the day before the arrival of the Blakes, and the latter took immediate and easy possession of her temporary authority. In addition to Me- linda, than whom no better cook, in a limited sphere of dishes, could have been desired, Woodbuiy had hit upon the singular expedient of borrowing a chamber-maid from the Ptolemy House. Mrs. Waldo's task was thus rendered light and agreeable — no more, in fact, than she would have voluntarily assumed in any household rather than be idle. It was more than a capacity — it was almost a necessity of her nature, to manage something or direct somebody. In the minor details her sense of order may have been deficient ,' but in regulating departments and in general duties «he was never at fault. Her subordinates instantly felt the bounds she had drawn for them, and moved instinctively therein. The Blakes were charmed with Lakeside and the scenery of the Atauga Valley. Between the boy George and Bute, who was now able to sit on the shaded veranda on still, dry days, there grew up an immediate friendship. Miss Josephine was beginning to develop an interest in ^Betry and romances, and took almost exclusive possession of the Ubrary. Mr. Blake walked over the farm with Woodbury in the forenoons, each developing theoi-ies of agriculture equally original and impracticable, while the Mesdames Waldo and Blake improved their acquaintance in house and garden. The two ladies un- derstood each other from the start, and while there were some points, in regard to which — as between any two women that maybe selected — each commiserated the other's mfttaken views, they soon discovered many reasons for mutual sympathy and mutual appreciation. Mrs. Blake had the greater courage, Mrs. Waldo the greater tact. The latter had more naturaf • grace and pliancy, the former more acquired refinement "of 324 HANNAH THURSTON: manner. They were alike in the correctness of their instincts, but in Mrs. Blake the faculty had been more exquisitely de- veloped, through her greater social experience. It was the same air, in the same key, hut played an octave higher. Mrs. Waldo was more inclined to receive her enjoyment of life through impulse and immediate sensation ; Mrs. Blake through a philosophic discrimination. Both, perhaps, would bavo borne misfortune with like calmness ; but the resignation, of one would have sprung from her temperament, and of the other from her reason. The fact that the resemblances in their matured womanhood were developed from different bases of character, increased the interest and respect which they mutually felt. On one point, at least, they were heartily in accord ; namely, their friendship for Woodbury. Mrs. Blake was familiar, as we have already described, with his early manhood in New York, and furnished Mrs. Waldo many interesting particulars in return for the description which the latter gave of his life at Lakeside. They were also agreed that there was too much masculine sweetness in him to be wasted on the desert air, and that the place, beautiful as it was, could never be an actual home until he had brought a mistress to it. " He was already chafing under Mrs. Babb's rule," said Mrs. Waldo, as they wAed up and down the broad garden-alley, "and he will be less satisfied with the new housekeeper, Bute's wife — as she will be — is a much more agr.eeable per- son, and will no doubt try to do her best, but he will get very tired of her face and her silly talk. It will be all the worse because she has not a single characteristic strong enough for him to seize upon and say : This offends me ! You know what T mean ?" " Perfectly ; and your remark is quite correct. Mr. Wood- Viury is one of those men who demand positive character, of Bomejcind, in the persons with whom they associate. Ho likes fast colors, and this new housekeeper, from your descriptioHt must be a piece that will fade the longer it is used. In that A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 325 case, she will become intolerable to him, though she may not possess one sei-ious fault." " That characteristic of his," said Mrs. Waldo, " is the -very reason, I think, why it will be difScult for him to find a wife." " By the by," asked Mrs. Blake, pausing in her walk, " he spoke to me, when we met on the Saguenay, of one woman, here, in your neighborhood, who seems to have made a strong impression upon his mind." " It was certainly Hannah Thurston !" " He did not give me her name. He seemed to admire her sincerely, except in one fatal particular — she is strong-minded." " Yes, it is Hannah !" exclaimed Mrs. Waldo. " She is a noble girl, and every way worthy of such a man as he — ^that is, if she were not prejudiced against all men." " You quite interest me about her. I heard Bessie Stryker once, when she lectured in St. Louis, and must confess that, while she did not convince me, I could see very well how she had convinced herself. Since then, I have been rather tole- rant towards the strong-minded class. The principal mistakes they make arise from the fact of their not being married, or of having moral and intellectual milksops for husbands. In either case, no woman can understand our sex, or the opposite." " I have said almost the same thing to Hannah Thurston," Mrs. Waldo remarked. "If she would only take one step, the true knowledge would come. But she won't." " I suspect she has not yet found her Fate," said Mrs. Blake. " Was she ever in love, do you think ?" " No, I am sure of it. She has refused two good offers of marriage to my knowledge, and one of them was from a man who believed in the doctrine of Women's Rights. I can't imderstand her, though I love her dearly, and we have been intimate for years." " Can you not contrive a way for me to make her acquaint »nce ?" " Whenever you please. I have no doubt she remembers the story Mr. Woodbui-j told us last winter. I am hostess. 326 HANNAH Thurston: now, you know, and I can invite her to dinner to-morrow, only I must ask somebody else. I have it ! Mr. "VVoodbury must invite Mr. and Mrs. Styles. It will not do for him to show too much partiality to our little sect, and that will keep up the bal- ance of civility." Woodbury accepted the proposition with more satisfaction han he judged proper to express. It was the very object he desired to accomplish, yet which he could not himself mention Without exciting suspicions in the minds of both the ladies. He ha'3. not seen Hannah Thurston since his return, and felt a strange curiosity to test his own sensations when they should meet again. Under the circumstances, the invitation could be given and accepted without in the least violating the social propriety of Ptolemy. The disturbing emotion which had followed her last inter- view with Woodbury had entirely passed away from Hannah Thurston's mind. Her momentary resolution to avoid seeing h;m again, presented itself to her as a confession of weakness- A studied avoidance of his society would be interpreted as springing from a hostility which she did not feel. On the con- trary, his culture attracted her : his bearing towards her was gj-atefully kind and respectful, and she acknowledged a certain iatellectual pleasure in his conversation, even when it assailed her dearest convictions. Her mother's health, always fluctu- ating with the season and the weather, had somewhat improved m the last calm, warm days of August, and she could safely leave her for a few hours in Miss Dilworth's charge. The lat- ter, indeed, begged her to go, that she might bring back a minute account of Bute's gi'ade of convalescence. In short, 'there was no plausible excuse for declining the invitation, had she been disposed to seek one. It was a quiet but very agreeable dinner-party. Mr. and Mrs. Styles were both amiable and pleasantly receptive persons, and Mrs. Waldo took care that they should not be overlooked in the lively flow of talk. Hannah Thui-ston, who was seated baside Mr. Blako and opposite his wife, soon overcame her first timid- A STORf or AMERICAN LIFE. 327 ity, and conversed freely and naturally with her new acquaint- ances. Woodbury's reception of her had been frank and kind, but he had .said less to her than on former occasions. Never- theless, she occasionally had a presentiment that his oyes wero ujion her — that he listened to her, aside, when he was engaged in conversing with his other guests. It was an absard fancy, of courst- but it constantly returned. Alter dinner, the company passed out upon the veranda, or seated themselves under the old oaks, to enjoy the last mellow snn'hine of the afternoon. Mrs. Blake and Hannah Thurston found themselves a little apart fi'om the others — an opportunity which the former had sought. Each was attracted towards the other by an interest which directed their thoughts to the same person, and at the same time restrained their tongues from uttering his name. Hannah Thurston had immediately recognized in her new acquaintance the same mental poise and self-possession, which, in Woodbury, had extorted her unwil- ling respect, while it so often disconcerted her. She knew that the two were natives of the same social climate, and was curious to ascertain whether they shared the same views of life — whether, in fact, those views were part of a conventional creed adopted by the class to which they belonged, or, in each case, the mature conclusions of an honest and truth-seeking nature. With one of her own sex she felt stronger and better armed to defend herself. Mrs. Blake was not a woman of un- usual intellect, but what she did possess was awake and active, to its smallest fibre. What she lacked in depth, she made up in quickness and clearness of vision. She did not attempt to fol- low abstract theories, or combat them, but would let fall, as if by accident, one of the sharp, positive truths, with which both uistinct and experience had stored her mind, and which never failed to prick and let the wind out of every bubble blown to- wards her. This faculty, added to the advantage of sex, made her the most dangerous antagonist Hannah Thurston could liave mjt. But the latter, unsuspecting, courted her fate. The conversation, commencing with the beauties of tlia 328 HANKAH thueston: landscape, branohiiig thence to Ptolemy and its iiiliabitants, to their character, their degree of literary cultivation, and the means of enlightenment which they enjoyed, rapidly and naturally approached the one important topic. Hannah Thurs- ton mentioned, among other things, the meetings which were held in the interest of Temperance, Anti-Slavery, Nou-Resist- ance, and Women's Rights ; Mrs. Blake gave her impressions of Bessie Stryker's lecture : Hannah Thurston grasped the ■who'.e gauntlet'where only the tip of a finger had been pre Bonted, and,both women were soon in the very centre of the debatable ground. " What t moSt object tQj|j said Mrs. Blake, " is that women should demand a sphere of action for which they are incapaci- tated — understand me, not by want of intellect, but by sex." "Do yoi\ overlook all the examples which History fur- nishes ?" cried Hannah Thurston. " What is there that Wo- man has not done ?" " Commanded an army." "Zenobia!" " And was brought in chains to Rome. Founded an em- pire ?" " She has ruled empires !" "After they were already made, and with the help of men. Established a religion ? Originated a system of philosophy ? Created an order of architecture ? Developed a science ? In- vented a machine ?" "I am sure I could find examples of her having, distin- guished herself in all these departments of intellect," Hannah Thui'ston persisted. "Distinguished herself! Ah! yes, I grant it. After the raw material of knowledge has been dug up and quarried out, and smelted, and hewn into blocks, she steps in with her fine band and her delicate tools, and assists man in elaborating the nicer details. But she has never yet done the rough work, and I don't believe she ever will." " But with the same education — the same preparation — the A. STOBT OF AMERICAN LIFE. 329 same advantages, trom birth, which man possesses ? Slie ia taught to anticipate a contracted spRere — she is told that these pursuits were not meant for her sex, and the d^rmination to devote herself to them comes late, when it oomes at all. Those intellectual muscles which might have had the same vigor as man's, receive no early training. She is thus cheated out of the very basis of her natural strength : if she has done so much, fettered, what might she not do if her limbs were free ?'' Hannah Thurston's face glowed: her eyes kindled, and her voice came sweet and strong with the intensity of^a faitE that would not allow itself to be shaken. She was wholly lost iu her subject. m- * - After a pause, Mrs. Blake quietly said : " Yes, if we Had broad shoulders, and narrow hips, we could no doubt wield sledge-haminers, and quaiTy stone, and reef sails in a storm." Again the sauie chill as Woodbury's conversation had some- times invoked, came over Hannah Thurston's feelings. Here was the same dogged adherence to existing facts, she thought, the same lack of aspiration for a better order of things ! The assertion, which she would have felt inclined to resent in a man, saddened her in a woman. The light faded from her face, and she said, mournfully : " Yes, the physical superiority of man gives him an advantage, by which our sex is overawed and held in subjection. But the rule of force cannot last for- ever. If woman would but assert her equality of intellect, and claim her share of the rights belonging to human intelli- gence, she would soon transform the world." Mrs. Blake instantly interpreted the change in countenance and tone ; it went fai' towards giving her the key to Hannah Thurston's nature. Dropping the particular question which had been started, she commenced anew. " When I lived in New York," said she, " I had many acquaintances among the artists, and what I learned of them and their lives taught me this lesson — that there can be no sadder mistake than to mis- calculate one's powers. There is very little of the ideal and imaginative element in me, as you see, but I have learned its 330 HAOTfAH THUKSTON-: nature from observation. I have never met any man who in- spired me with so much pity as a painter whom I knew, who might have produced admirable tavern-signs, but who per- sisted in giving to the world large historical pictures, which Avere shocking to behold. No recognition came to the man, for there was nothing to be recognized. If he had raoderateil his ambition, he might at least have gained a living, but h,; was ruined before he could be brought to perceive the truth, and then died, I am sure, of a broken heart." "And you mean," said Miss Thurston, slowly, "that I — that we who advocate the just claims of our sex, are maldng the same mistake." ..^ " I mean," Mrs. Blake answered, " that you should be very careful not to ovei'-estimate the capacity of our sex by your own, as an individual woman. Tom may be capable — under certain conditions — of performing any of the special Intel • lectual employments of Man, but to do so you must sacrifice your destiny as a woman— you must seal up the wells from which a woman draws her purest happiness." " Why ?" "Ah, my dear," said Mrs. Blake, tendurly, "if your hair were as gray as mine, and you had two such creatures about you as Josey and George yonder, you would not ask. There are times when a woman lias no independent life of her own — when her judgment is wavering and obscured — when her impulses are beyond her control. The business of the world must go on, in its fixed order, whether she has her share in it or not. Congresses cannot be adjourned nor trials postj)oned, nor suffering patients neglected, to await her necessities. The prime of a man's activity is the period of her subjection. She must then begin her political career in the decline of her faculties, when she will never be able to compete successfully with man, in any occupation which he has followed from youth." Hannah Thurston felt that there must be truth in thesa words. At least it was not for her, in her maiden ignorance. A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 331 to contradict them. But she was sure, nevei'tholess, that Mi-s. Blake's statement was not sufficient to overthrow her tiieory of woman's equality. She reflected a moment before she spoke again, and her tone was less earnest and confident than usual. " The statesmen and jurists, the clergymen, physicians, and men of science," she said, " comprise but a small number of the men. Could not our sex spare an equal number ? Would not some of us sacrifice a part of our lives, if it were necessary ?" "And lose the peace and repose of domestic life, which consoles and supports the public life of man !" exclaimed Mrs. Blake. " It is not in his nature to make this sacrifice — still less is it in ours. You do not thimi what yon are saying. There is no true woman but feels at her bosom the yearning for a baby's hps. The milk that is never sucked dries into a crust around her heart. There is no true woman but longs, in her secret soul, for a man's breast to lay her head on, a man's eyes to give her the one look which he gives to no- body else in the world !" Hannah Thurston's eyes fell before those of Mrs. Blake. She painfully felt the warm flush that crept over neck, and cheek, and brow, betrayuig her secret, but betraying it, for- tunately, to a noble and earnest-hearted woman. A silence ensued, which neither knew how to break. " What are you plotting so seriously ?" broke in Wood- bury's voice, close behind them. " I must interrupt this tUe- d-tete, Mrs. Blake. See what you are losing ?" They both rose, and turned, in obedience to the movement of his hand. The sun had sunk so low that the shade of the western hill filled all the bed of the valley, and began to creep up the eastern side. A light blue film was gathering over the marsh at the head of the lake, where it divided into two lines, pointing up the creeks. But the patches of woodland on the East Atauga hill, the steep fields of tawny oat-stubble, and the fronts of white farm-houses and barns in the distance, were 332 HASTNAH THPESTON I drowned in a bath of airy gold, slowly deepening into flame- color as its tide-mark rose higher on the hills. Over Ptolemy a mountain of fire divided the forking valleys, which receded on either hand, southward, into dim depths of amethyst Higher and higher crept the splendor, until it blazed like a fringe on the'topmost forests and fields : then it suddenly went out and was transferred to a rack of broken cloud, overhead. Mrs. Styles presently made her appearance, bonneted for the return to Ptolemy. Hannah Thurston was to accompany her. But as they drove homewards through the cool evening air, through the ripe odors of late-flowering grasses, and the golden-rods on the road-banks and the eupatoriums in the meadows, it was the passionate yearning of the woman, not the ambition of the man, which had entire possession of her heart. A 8T0BT OF A3IKEICA2f LIFB. 333 CHAPTER XXVI. rer which a wedding takes place. " Do you know, Mr. Woodbury," said Mrs. Blak»i, the same evening, as they were all gatherfed together in the library, '* that I have taken an immense liking to your strong-minded woman V" " Indeed !" he remarked, with assumed indifference. " Yes. I had a serious talk with her. I employed a moral probe, and what do you think I found?" " What ?'' he repeated, turning towards her with an expres- sion of keen interest. "No, it would not be fair," tantalizingly answered Mrs. Blake, in her most deliberate tones. " I shall not betray any discoveries I have accidentally made. She is too earnest and genuine a nature to be disposed of with a pleasantly. I will only say this — as far as she is wrong — which, of course, is admitting that she is partly right, I, woman as I am, would undertake to convince her of it. A man, therefore, ought to be able to restore her to the true faith more easily. Yet you have been living at Lakeside nearly a year and have not succeeded." " I have never tried, my friend," said Woodbuiy. "Really?" "Of course not. Why should I? She is relentless in her prejudices, even in those which spring from her limited knowl- edge of life. The only cure for such is in a wider experience. She cannot understand that a humane and liberal tolerance of all varieties of habit and opinion is compatible with sincerity »f character. She would mak^ every stream turn some kind of a mill, while I am willing to see one now and then dash 834 HAHNAii tiiueston: itself to pieces over the rooks, for the sake of the spray ami the rainbows. I confess, though, that I do not think this moral rigidity is entirely natural to her ; but the very fact that she has slowly reasoned herself into it, and so intrenched and defended herself against attack from all quarters, makes it so much the more difficult for her to strike her flag. If yon were to approach her position disarmed and propose a truce, she would look upon it as the stratagem of an enemy." " No, no !" cried Mrs. Blake, shaking her head, with a mis- chievous sparkle in her eyes ; " that is not the way at all ! Don't you know that a strong woman can only be overcome by superior strength? No white flags — no proposals of truce — but go, armed to the teeth, and fire a train to the mine which shall blow her foitress to atoms in a moment !" "Bravo! What a commander is lost to the world in you! But suppose I don't see any train to the mine ?" "Ji'shaw!" exclaimed Mrs. Blake, turning away in mock contempt. " You know very well that there is but one kind of moral gunpowder to be used in such cases. I am going to drive into Ptolemy this afternoon with Mrs. Waldo, and I shall make a call at the Thurston cottage. . Will you go with us?" " Thank you, not to-day. Mr. Blake and I have arranged to take a boat on the Lake and fish for pickerel. It is better sport than firing trains of moral gunpowder." The two ladies drove into Ptolemy as they had proposed. Mrs. Blake made herself quite at home at the Cimmerian Parsonage, where she recognized the Christus Consolator as an old friend out of her own bedroom, and went into raptures over Hannah Thurston's bouquet of grasses. She mentally determined to procure from the donor a similar ornament for hfer boudoir in St. Louis, and managed the matter, indeed, with such skill that Miss Thurston innocently supposed the offer to make and forward the bouquet came spontaneously from herself. To the Widow Thurston's cottage Mrs. Blake came like a A STOET OF AMERICAJU LIFE. 33ft strong, refreshing breeze. In other households, her sharp, clear, detective nature might have uncomfortably blown away the drapery from many concealed infirmities, but here it encountered only naked truthfulness, and was welcome. Sho bowed down at once before the expression of past trials in the old woman's face, and her manner assumed a tenderness all the sweeter and more fascinating that it rarely came to the surface. She took Miss Dilworth's measure at a single glance, and the result, as she afterwards expressed it to Mrs. Waldo, was much more favorable than that lady had anticipated. " He could not have a better housekeeper than she, just at present." " Why, you astonish me !" Mrs. Waldo exclaimed ; " why do you think so ?" " I have no particular reason for thinking so," Mi's. Blake answered ; " it's a presentiment." Mrs. Waldo turned away her eyes from Dobbin's ears (which she always watched with some anxiety, although the poor old beast had long since forgotten how to shy them back), and inspected her companion's face. It was entirely grave and serious. " Oh," she said at last, in a puzzled tone, " that's all?" "Yes, and therefore you won't think it worth much. But my presentiments are generally correct : wait and see." The Blakes remained over a Sunday, and went, as it was generally surmised they would, to the Cimmerian Church. The attendance was unusually large on that day, embracing, to the surprise of Mrs. Waldo, the Hamilton Bues and Miss Ruhaney Goodwin. On the entrance of the strangers into the church, a subdued rustling sound ran along the benches (pews were iiot allowed by the Cimmerians), and most of the heads turned stealthily towards the door. The imme- diate silence that followed had something of disappointment in it. There was nothing remarkable in the tall, keen-eyed lady in plain black silk, or the stout, shrewd-faced, gray- whiskered man who followed her. Miss Josephine's flat straw 330 HANifAH thueston: hat and blue silk mantilla attracted mucli more attention among the younger members of the congregation. After the hymn had been given out, however, and the first bars of the triumphant choral of "Wilmot" (according to the music- books, but Carl Maria von Weber in the world of Art) were heard, a new voice gradually took its place in the midst of the accustomed and imperfectly according sounds, and very soon assumed the right of a ruler, forcing the others to keep step with it in the majestic movement of the choral. Not remarkably sweet, but of astonishing strength and metal- lic sonority, it pealed like a trumpet at the head of the ill- disciplined four battalions of singers, and elevated them to a new confidence in themselves. The voice was Mrs. Blake's. She professed to be no singer, for she knew her own deficiencies so well, that she never at- tempted to conceal them ; but her voice had tlie one rare element, in a woman, of power, and was therefore admirably efi'ective in a certain range of subjects. In society she rarely sarig any except Scotch songs, and of these especially such as dated fi'om the rebellion of 1745 — those gloriously defiant lays, breathing of the Highlands and the heather and bonnie Prince Charlie, which cast an immortal poetic gleam over the impotent attempt to restore a superannuated dynasty. Had she lived in those days Mrs. Blake might have sung the slogan to the gathering clans : as it was, these songs were the only expression of the fine heroic capacity which was latent in her nature. She enjoyed the singing fully as much as her auditors the hearing, and, if the truth could be distinctly known, it is quite probable that she had prompted Mr. Waldo in his se- lection of the hymn. Her participation in it threw the whole Cimmerian congregation on her side, and the Hamilton Bues privately expressed their belief that the clergyman had taken an undue advantage of his opportunities as a guest at Lake- side, to instil his heretical ideas of baptism into the minds of Mr. and Mrs. Blake. It transpired afterwards, however, that the latter were Episcopalian, both by faith and inheritance. A STOKY OF AMEEICAN XIPB!. 337 The day .at last arrived for the breating up of the new household, to the great regret of aU. its members. Miss Jose- phine tore herself with diflSculty from the library, only par- tially consoled by the present of "Undine" and "Sintraim." George wanted to stay with Bute and learn to trap musk-rats and snare rabbits. Mr. Waldo half sheathed his teeth with bis insuflBcient lips and went back to his plain fare with a sigh of resignation. The ladies kissed each other, and Woodbury would assuredly have kissed them both if he had known how charitably they would have received the transgression. Bute was embarrassed beyond all his previous experience by the present of half a dozen silver tearspoons which Mrs. Blako had bought in Ptolemy and presented to him thi'ough her boy George. " You are going to begin housekeeping, I hear," said she, " and you must let George help you with the outfit." Bute colored like a young girl. " They're wuth more'n the silver, comin' to us that-a-way," he said at last. " I'U tell Carrie, and we sha'n't never use 'em, without thinkin' o' you tad George." The farewells were said, and Lakeside relapsed into its ac- customed quiet. The borrowed chambermaid was returned to the Ptolemy House, and the old Melinda alone remained in the kitchen, to prepare her incomparable corn-cake and broiled chicken. Bute was now able, with proper precautions, to walk about the farm and direct the necessary labor, without taking part in it. Woodbury resumed his former habit of horseback exercise, and visited some of his acquaintances in Ptolemy and the neighborhood, but the departure of his pleasant guests left a very perceptible void in his life. Pic had sufficient resources within himself to endure solitude, but he was made, like every healthily-constituted man, for society. Thus a few days passed away, and Bute's convalescence began to take the hue of absolute health. He now visited '^tolemy every day or two, to watch the progress made in a 15 338 HANNAH thukston: certain silver-gray dress, and to enjoy the exquisite novelty of consulting Miss Dihvortli about their future household ar- rangements. The latter sometimes, from long habit, reassumed her former air of coquetry, but it was no longer tantalizing, and an earnest word or look sufficed to check her. A charm- ing humility took the place of her affected superiority, and became her vastly better, as she had sense enough to discern. Her ringlets had disappeared forever, and her eyelids grad- uallj recovered strength for an open and steady glance. In fact, her eyes were prettier than she had supposed. Their pale beryl-tint deepened into brown at the edges, and when the pupil expanded in a subdued light, they might almost have been called liazel. In Spain they would have been sung as " ojos verdes" by the poets. On the whole, Bute had chosen more sensibly than we supposed, when we first made Miss Dilworth's acquaintance. The arrangements for the wedding were necessarily few and simple. Woodbury first proposed that it should be solemnized at Lakeside, but Mrs. Waldo urged, that, since her husband was to officiate on the occasion, it would be better for many reasons — one of which was Mrs. Babb's recent death — that it should take place at the parsonage. Miss Dilworth was se- cretly bent on having a bridesmaid, who should, of course, be Hannah Thurston, but was obliged to relinquish her project, through the unexpected resistance which it encountered on the part of Bute. "None of the fellows that I could ask to stand up with me would do for her" said he. "Why not Mr. Woodbury?" suggested Miss Carrie. " He ! Well — he'd do it in a minute if I was to ask him, but I won't. Between you and me, Carrie, they can't bear each other ; they're like cats arid dogs." " Bute ! a'n't you ashamed ?" " What ? O' telliu' the truth ? ISTo, nor a'n't likely to be. See here, Carrie, why can't we let it alone ? Mr. Waldo'll tie us jist as tight, all the same, and when it's over you won't know the difference." A STOET OF AMEEICASr LIFE. 339 , " But — Bute," Miss Carrie persisted, " I think she expects it of me." " She ha'n't set her heart on it, I'll be bound. I'll ask lien Miss Hannah !" The two were in the open air, at the corner of the cottage nearest the garden. The window of tho little sitting-room was open, and Bute's call brought Miss Thurston to it. " Oh, Bute, don't !" pleaded Miss Dilworth, ready to ciy, but he had already gone too far to stop. "Miss Hannah,' said he, " we're talkin' about the weddin'. I'm thinkin' it'll be jist as well without waiters. Carrie'd like to have you for bridesmaid, and I'm sure I'd be glad of it, only, you know, you'd have to stand up with somebody on my side, and there's nobody I could ask but Mr. Max, and — and I'm afraid that wouldn't be agreeable, like, for either o' you." " Bute !" cried Carrie, in real distress. Bute, however, was too sure of the truth of what he had said to suspect that he could possibly give pain by uttering it. The first rude shock of his words over, Haimah Thurston felt greatly relieved. " You were right to tell me, Arbutus," said she ; " for, although I should be quite willing, at another time, to do as Carrie wishes, no matter whom you might choose as your nearest friend, I think it best, at present, that there should be as little ceremony as possible. I will talk with you about it afterwards, Carrie." And she moved away from the window. At length the inyortant day arrived. Bute woke when the cocks crowed three o'clock, and found it impossible to get to sleep again. His new clothes (not made by Seth Wattles) were in the top drawer of the old bureau, and Melinda had laid some sprigs of lavender among them. He tried to imagine how he would look in them, how he would feel during the ceremony and afterwards, how curious it must be to have a wife of your own, and everybody know it. He pictured to himself his friends on the neighboring farms, saying : " Ilow'a your wife, Bute ?" when they met, and then he thought of 340 HANNA.H THURSTON : Mother Forty, and what a pity that she had not lived long enough to know Carrie Wilson — who, of course, would be a very different creature from Carrie Dilworth ; but he always came back to the new clothes in the top bureau-drawer, and the duty of the day that was beginning to dawn. Then, he heard Pat.'s voice among the cattle at the barn ; then, a stir- ring in the kitchen under him, and presently the noise of the coffee-mill — and stUl it was not light enough to shave ! More slowly than ever before the sun rose ; his toilet, which usually lasted five minutes, took half an hour ; he combed his hair in three different ways, none of which was successful ; and finally went down to breakfast, feeling more awkward and uncom« fortable than ever before in his life. Woodbury shook hands with him and complirnented him on his appearance, after which he felt more composed. The preparations for the ride to Ptolemy, nevertheless, impressed him with a certain solemnity, as if he were a culprit awaiting execution or a corpse awaiting bnrial. A feeling of helpless- ness carae over him : the occasion seemed to have been brought about, not so much by his own will as by an omnipo- tent fate which had taken him at his word. Presently Pat. came up grinning, dressed in his Sunday suit, and announced : " The bosses is ready, Misther Bute, and it'll be time we're off." After the ceremony Pat. was to drive the happy pair to Tiberius, where they proposed spending a honeymoon of two days with the bride's old aunt. He wore a bright blue coat with brass buttons, and Melinda had insisted on pinning a piece of white ribbon on the left lappel, " Kase," as she re- marked, " down Souf ole Missus always had 'urn so." Woodbury mounted his horse and rode off, in advance, through the soft Sep'tember morning. At the parsonage ho found every thing in readiness. Mrs. Waldo, sparkhng with satisfaction, rustled about in a dark-green silk (turned, and with the spots carefully erased by camphene), vibrating inces- santly between the little parlor where the ceremony was to take place, and the bcdi'oom up-stairs, where tl;e bride was A STORY OF AMBBICAN LIFE. • 341 bolng arrayed under the direction of Hannah Thurston. Nothing, as she candidly confessed, enlisted her syrapatliies so completely as a wedding, and it was the great inconvenience of a small congregation that her husband had so few occasions to officiate. "Promise me, Mr. Woodbury," she said, as she finally paused in her movements, from the impossibility of finding any thing else to do, " that you will be married by nobody but Mr. Waldo." " I can safely promise that," he answered : " but pray don't ask me to fix the time when it shall take place." " If it depended on me, I would say to-morrow. Ah, there is Bute ! How nicely he looks !" With these words she went to the door and admitted him. Bute's illness had bleached the tan and subdued the defiant ruddiness of his skin. In black broadcloth and the white silk gloves (white kids, of the proper number, were not to be found in Ptolemy) into which he had been unwillingly persuaded to force his large hands, an air of semi-refinement overspread the strong masculine expression of his face and body. His hair, thinned by fever and closely cut, revealed the shape of his well-balanced head, and the tender blue gleam in his honest eyes made them positively beautiful. Mrs. Waldo expressed her approval of his appearance, without the least reserve. Soon afterwards, a rustling was heard on the stairs ; the door opened, and Miss Carrie Dilworth entered the parlor with blushing cheeks and downcast eyes, followed by Hannah PhurstOD, in the white muslin dress and pearl-colored ribbons which Woodbury so well remembered. The bride was really charming in her gray, silvery silk, and a light-green wreath crowning her rippled hair. Orange-blossoms were not to be had in Ptolemy, and there were no white garden-flowers in bloom except larkspurs, which of course were not to b« thought of. Hannah Thurston, therefore, persuaded her to content herself with a wreath of the myrtle-leaved box, as tha 342 HANNAH TH0RSTON: neai'ost appvoach to the conventional bridal diadem, and the effect was simple and becoming. Each of the parties was agreeably surprised at the other's appearance. Bute, not a little embarrassed as to how he ehould act, took Miss Dilworth's hand, and held it in his own, deliberating whether or not it was expected that he should kiss her then and there. Miss Dilworth, finding that he did not let it go, boldly answered the pressure and clung to him with a natural and touching air of dependence and reliance. Nothing could have been more charming than the appearance of the two, as they stood together in the centre of the little room, he all man, she all woman, in the most sacred moment of life. They expressed the sweetest relation of the sexes, he yielding in his tenderness, she confiding in her trust. No declaration of mutual rights, no suspicious measurement of the words of the compact, no comparison of powers granted with powers received, but a blind, unthinking, blissful, recipro- cal self-bestowal. This expression in their attitude and their faces did not escape Hannah Thurston's eye. It forced upon her mind doubts which she would willingly have avoided, but which she was only strong enough to postpone. Pat. had already slipped into the room, and stood awkwardly in a corner, holding his hat in both hands. The only other stranger present was Miss Sophia Stevenson, who had kindly assisted ;iia bride in the preparation of her wardrobe, and who differed rrom her sister spinster, Miss Ruhaney Goodwin, in the fact that she was always more ready to smile than sigh. All being assembled, Mr. Waldo came forward and performed the simple but impressive ceremony, following it with an earnest prayer. Miss Carrie lifted up her head and pronounced the " I will" with courage, but during the prayer she bent it again so that it partly rested against Bute's shoulder. When the final " Amen !" was said, Bute very gently and solemnly kissed his wife, and both were then heartily congratulated by the clergyman, who succeeded in closing his lips sufficiently to achieve the salute which an old friend might take without A STOET OF AILEKICAN LIFE. 34J blame. Tlieu there were hearty gi-eetings all round : the cer- tificate of marriage was signed and given to the wife for safe- keeping, as if its existence were more important to her than to the husband; and finally Mrs. Waldo prepared what the lion. Zeno Harder would have called a " coe-Iation." Wood- bury liad been thoughtful enough to send to the parsonage a bottle or two of the old Dennison Madeira, rightly judging that if Mrs. Babb had been alive, she would have desired it for the reason that " s/ie" would have done the same thing. On this occasion all partook of the pernicious beverage except Hannah Thurston, and even she was surprised to find but a very mild condemnation in her feelings. The newly-wedded couple beamed with a mixture of relief and contentment ; Carrie was delighted at hearing herself addressed as "Mrs. Wilson," and even Bute found the words " your wife," after the first ten minutes, not the least strange or embarrassing. Presently, however, the wife slipped away to reappear in a pink gingham and a plaid shawl. The horses were ready at the door, aad Pat. was grinning, whip in hand, as he stowed away a small cai-pet-bag, containing mingled male and female articles, under the seat. A few curious spectators waited on the plank side-walk, opposite, but Bute, having gone through the grand ordeal, now felt courage to face the world. As they took their seats,' and Pat. gave a preliminary flourish of his whip, Mrs Waldo produced an ancient slipper of her own, ready to hurl it at the right moment. The horses started ; the slipper ; flew whizzed between their heads and dropped into the bot- tom of the carriage. " Don't look back !" she cried ; but there was no danger of tliat. The road must have been very rough, for Bute wa» obliged to put Ids arm around his wife's waist, and the dust mt'St have been very dense, for she had raised her liandker chief to her eyes. " Will you take care of me to-day ?" said Woodbury to the Waldos. " 1 shall not go back to Lakeside until evening." J*44 HANNAIl THFBSTON-' CHAPTER XXVn. DESCBIBING CERTAIN TROUBLES OF MR. WOODBURT. When they returned to Mrs. Waldo's parlor, the eonvers* lion naturally ran upon the ceremony which had inst been sol- emnized and the two chief actors in it. There was but one judgment in regard to Bute, and his wife, also, had gained steadily in the good opinion of all ever since her betrothal beside the sick-bed. " I had scarcely noticed her at all, before it happened," said Woodbury, " for she impressed me as a shallow, ridiculous, little creature — one of those unimportant persons who seem to have no other use than to fill up the cracks of society. But one little spark of affection gives light and color to the most insipid character. Who could have suspected the courage and earnestness of purpose which took her to Lakeside, when the fever had possession of the house ? Since then I have heartily respected her. I have almost come to the conclusion that no amount of triumphant intellect is worth so much reverence as we spontaneously pay to any simple and genuine emotion, common to all human beings." "lam glad to hear you say so 1" exclaimed Mrs. Waldo. " Because then you will never fail in a proper respect to o;ir sex. Hannah, do yoa remember, when you lent me Long- fellow's Poems, how much I liked that line about ' affection ?' I don't often quote, Mr. Woodbury, because Pm never sure of getting it exactly right ; but it's this : " ' What I esteem in woman Is her affection, not her intellect,' " And I believe all men of sense do." A STOEY OF AltEKICAN LIFE, 345 " I L'annot indorse the sentiment, precisely in those words," Woodbniy answered. " I esteem both affection and intellect ill woman, but the first quality must be predominant. Its ab- sence in man may now and then be tolerated, but to woman it is indispensable." " Might not woman malce the same requirement of man ?" Hannah Thurston suddenly asked. " Certainly," he answered, " and with full justice. That ia one point wherein no one can dispute the equal rights of the sexes. But the capacity to love is a natural quality, and there is no true affection where the parties are continually measuring their feelings to see which loves the most. Bute and his wife will b,e perfectly happy so long as they are satisfied with the simple knowledge of giving and receiving." " That's exactly my idea !" cried Mrs. Waldo, in great delight. " Husband, do you recollect the promises we made to each other on our wedding-day ? There's never a wedding happens but I live it all over again. We wore Navarino bon- nets then, and sleeves puffed out with bags of down, and you would lay your head on one of them, as we drove along, just like Bute and Carrie to-day, on our way to Father Waldo's, I said then that I'd never doubt you, never take back an atom of my trust in you — and I've kept my word from that day to this, and I'll keep it in this world and the next !" Here Mrs. Waldo actually burst into tears, but smiled through them, like the sudden rush of a stream from which spray and rainbow are born at the same instant. " I am a silly old creature," she said: "don't mind me. Half of my heart has been in Carrie's breast aU morning, and I knew I should make a fool of myself before the day was ont." " You're a good wife," said Mr. Waldo, patting her on the head as if she had been a little girl. Hannah Thurston rose, with a wild, desperate feeling in her heart. A pitiless hand seemed -to clutch and crush it in her bosom. So, she thought, some half-drowned sailor, floating on the plank of a wreck, must feel when the sail that promised 1.5* 346 IIANJSTAII THUESTOW : him deliverance, tacks witli the wind and slides out of ina horizon. The waves of life, which had hitherto only stirred for her with the grand tidal pulse which moves in their depths, now heaved threateningly and dashed their bitter salt in her fiice at every turn. Whence came these ominous disturb- ances ? What was there in the happy marriage of two ignorant and contented souls, to impress her with such vague, intolerable foreboding ? With the consciousness of her in- ability to suppress it came a feeling of angry shame at the deceitfulness of her own strength. But perhaps — and this was a gleam of hope — what she experienced was the dis- appointed protest of an instinct common to every human be- ing, and which must therefore be felt and conquered by others iis well. She stole a glance at Woodbuiy. His face was abstracted but it expressed no signs of a struggle akin to her own. The large brown eyes were veiled with the softness of a tender, subdued longing ; the full, regular lips, usually closed with all the firmness and decision of his character in their line of junction, were slightly parted, and the corners drooped with an expression unutterably sad. Even over checks and brow, a soft, warm breath seemed to have blown. He appeared to hor, suddenly, under a new aspect. She saw the misty shadow which the passion of a man's heart casts before it, and turned away her eyes in dread of a deeper revelation. As she took leave of the Waldos, he also rose and gave her his hand. The tender cloud of sadness had not entiiely passed from his face, and she avoided meeting his gaze. Whether it was the memory of a lost, or the yearning for an absent lo^'e, which had thus betrayed itself, she felt that it gave him the temporary power to discern something of the emotion which Lad mastered her. Had he done so, she never could have met him again. _To this man, of all men, she would continue to assert her equality. Whatever weaknesses others might discover, he at least should only know her in her strength. The rest of the day passed rathei- tamely to Woodbury, and A STOKY OF AMKEICAN LIFE. 347 as he rode down the valley during the sweet and solemn coming-ou of the twilight, he was conscious of a sensation which he had not experienced since the days of his early trials in New Yofk. He well remembered the melancholy Sabbath evenings, when he walked along the deserted North Kiver [■.iers, watching the purple hills of Staten Island deepen intu gray as the sunset faded — when all that he saw, the quiet vessels, the cold bosom of the bay, the dull red houses on the shores and even the dusky heaven overhead, was hollow and unreal — when there was no joy in the Present and no promise in tiie Future. The same hopeless chill came over him now. All the life had gone out of the landscape ; its colors were cold and raw, the balmy tonic odor of the golden-rods and meadow marigolds seemed only designed to conceal some rank odor of decay, and the white front of Lakeside greeted him with the threat of a prison rather than the welcome of a home. On the evening of the second day Bute returned, as de- lighted to get back as if he had made a long journey. The light of his new life still lay upon him and gave its human transfiguration to his face. Woodbury studied the change, un- consciously to its subject, with a curiosity which he had never before acknowledged in similar cases. He saw the man's su- preme content in the healthy clearness of his eye, in the light, elastic movement of his limbs, and in the lively satisfaction with which he projected plans of labor, in which he was to perform the principal part. He had taken a fresh interest in life, and was all courage and activity. In Carrie, on the other hand, the trustful reliance she had exhibited appeared now to havo assumed the form of a willing and happy submission. She recognized the ascendency of sex, in her husband, without being able to discern its nature. Thus Bute's plain common- sense suddenly took the form of rough native intellect in her eyes, and confessing (to herself, only) her own deficiency, her afifection was supported by the pride of her respect. HeT old aunt had whispered to her, before they left Tiberius : S48 HANNAH THURSTON : " Carrline, you're a lucky gal. Y'r husband's a proper nice man as ever I see, and so well set-up, too. You'll both be well to do, afore you die, if yoa take keer o' what you've got, and lay up what it brings in. I shouldn't wonder if you was able to send your boys to CoUidge." This suggestion opened a new field for her ambition. The thought seemed still a scarcely permitted liberty, and she did tiot dare to look at her face in the glass when it passed through her mind ; but the mother's instinct, which Inrks, un suspected, in every maiden's breast, boldly asserted its ex- istence to the young wife, and she began to dream of the future reformers or legislators whom it might be her for- tunate lot to cradle. Her nature, as we have already more than once explained, was so shallow that it could not contain more than one set of ideas at a time. The acquired affec- tations by which she had hitherto been swayed, being driven from the field, her new faith in Bute possessed her wholly, and she became natural by the easiest transition in the world. Characters like hers rarely have justice done to them. Gen- erally, they are passed over as too trivial for serious inspec- tion : their follies and vanities are so evident and transparent, that the petit verre is supposed to be empty, when at the bottom may lie as potent a drop of the honey of human love, as one can find in a whole huge ox-hom of mead. Now began for Woodbury a life very different from what he had anticipated. Bute took possession of his old steward- ship with the joyous alacrity of a man doubly restored to the world, and Mrs. Carrie Wilson fidgeted about from morning until night, fearful lest some neglected duty in her department might be seen. The careful respect which Woodbury ex- ercised towards her gave her both courage and content in her new position, while it preserved a certain distance between them. She soon learned, not only to understand but to share Bute's exalted opinion of his master. In this respect, Wood- bury's natural tact was unerring. Without their knowledge, he guided those who lived about him to the exact places. A STOKY OF AMEEICAN LIFE. . 349 which he desired lliem to fill. In any European household such matters would have settled themselves without trouble ; but in America, where the vote of the hired neutralizes that of the hirer, and both have an equal chance of reaching the Presidential chair — where the cook and chambermaid may happen to wear more costly bonnets than their mistress, and to have a livelier interest in the current fashions, it requires no little skill to harmonize the opposite features of absolute equality and actual subjection. Too great a familiarity, ao- cording to the old proverb, breeds contempt; too strict an assertion of the relative positions, breeds rebellion. The man of true cultivation, who may fraternize at will with the humblest and rudest of the human race, reserves, nevertheless, the liberty of selecting his domestic associates. Woodbury insisted on retaining his independence to this ex- tent, not from an assumption of superiority, but from a resist- ance to the dictation of the uncultivated in every thing that concerned his habits of life. He would not have hesitated to partake of a meal in old Melinda's cottage, but it was always a repugnant sensation to him, on visiting the Merryfields, when an Irish laborer from the field came in his shirtsleeves, or a strapping mulatto woman, sweating from the kitchen fire, to take their places at the tea-table. Bute's position was above that of a common laborer, and Woodbury, whose long Indian life had not accustomed him to prefer lonely to social meals, was glad to have the company of his wedded assistants at breakfast and dinner, and this became the ordinary habit ; but he was careful to preserve a margin suificient for his own freedom and convenience. Carrie, though making occasions I mistakes, brought so much gOod-wiU to the work, that the housekeeping went on smoothly enough to a bachelor's eyes. If Mrs. Blake's favorable judgment had reference to this aspect of the case, she was sufficiently near the truth, but in another respect she certainly made a great mistake. It was some days before Woodbury would confess to him> self the disturbance which the new household, though so con 360 HANNAH THURSTON: v^eiiiently regulated, occasioned him. Tlie sight of Bute's clear morning face, the stealthy glance of delight with which he followed the movements of his beaming little wife, as she prepared the breakfast-table, the eager and absurd manopuvres which she perpetrated to meet hiai for just one second (long enough for the pui-pose), outside the kitchen-door as he ro turned from the field — all these things singularly annoye