THE SEAMSTRESS. 209 pared to leave Paris. Her maid accompanied her to Havre, and was there dismissed; and alone and unattended, Adelaide embarked on board the packet. The weather was stormy, the voyage long and wearisome, and her health began to give way. Oh, how the stricken one longed for home! When she had landed and procured a carriage, she gave the driver her father's address, and in a state of nervous anxiety threw herself back in the seat, and tried to think how it would look at home. "The day was drawing to a close, and the streets were thronged with multitudes all hurrying homeward. The laborer, with his weary frame and toil-stained garments, and the successful moneymaker, with his self-satisfied bearing and fine apparel, were jostling each other in their eager haste. Their object was the same-to reach their home -how widely different! "With a beating heart Adelaide ascended the steps of her father's house. It had a strange, deserted look. There were no lights in the drawing-room, and the servant who opened the door was not old Hector, who had been in the family since her childhood. She was passing through the hall without speaking, when the servant asked who she wished to see?' was he who poured the baptismal water on the brow of Adelaide's child, and, in her conflict with the King of Terrors, administered the consolations of religion to Adelaide herself. It was he who whispered comfort and resignation to the sadlystricken survivors, showing them that the Lord loveth whom he chasteneth,' and that 'those outward afflictions which are but for a moment, worketh for us an exceeding weight of glory.' "Herman Hope was the last of a family who had one by one passed away, with a beaming of the eye and a burning of the cheek which was beautiful to the last. Often had Mary trembled as the azure veins in his forehead grew more transparent, and the bright flush came and went inore rapidly; but Herman, buoyed by the hope of calling her his wife, gave no heed to the disease stealing stealthily upon him. The knowledge came The physician told them his only hope for Herman's recovery was in a winter's residence at Santa Cruz. too soon. "Not live here! this is Mr. G's residence, turned to her home-duties with a feeling of loneliis it not?' ness greater than she had ever known before. "The servant hesitated a moment, and then answered, 'It was, madam, but Mr. G- moved away two weeks ago.' "Adelaide was stunned, and leaned against the wall for support. "Can you tell me where he has removed to?' "The man gave her the direction, and with sad forebodings Adelaide turned from the home of her happy years. She could scarcely believe that the humble-looking tenement to which she had been directed could be the shelter of her parents and her sister. Parents! alas, she had but one. A week before her arrival her mother had died, even while praying that she might be spared to see her child. The shock of meeting her family under such altered circumstances preyed upon Adelaide's already enfeebled frame, and in four months after her return she was laid beside her mother, leaving an infant of two weeks old to the care of her sister. "From the moment that misfortune overtook the once prosperous merchant, Herman Hope, the young clergyman to whom I have alluded, was a constant visitor when in the city. It was he who stood by the bedside of Adelaide's mother, when death released her from her sorrows, and it was his voice which repeated at the grave the blessed words, I am the resurrection and the life.' It VOL II-NO. V. 66 Mary received a letter from her lover soon after his arrival. It was written in that glad and buoyant tone which always marks the renewed health of one who has been suffering from illness, and who feels the life-current once more flowing warmly through his veins. "And now Mary's step grew lighter, and her heart-pulse beat quicker, as she played with the child, or administered some gentle restorative to her parent. It was time that she should receive another letter, but when none came, she thought it was because Herman wished to surprise her with his presence, and daily did she picture their happiness when he should again be at her side. Nestle a little longer, thou bright-winged angel of hope, nestle a little longer in the maiden's heart! A little longer let her dream, for hers will be a fearful waking! The beloved-the betrothed-has passed away to the Silent Land, and she sat not by him when the dark angel veiled his eyes in shadow-she kissed not his last breath, when the bright angel bore his soul to bliss. A lock of hair! a ring! and these are all that is left! Precious mementos of the dead, to be laid aside sacredly, to be wept over in secret, to be kissed by the lips, to be pressed to the heart until the hand can no longer clasp its treasures! Of Mary's sorrow I may not speak. It 14 "Notwithstanding Mary's strict economy, the little that had been spared her father by his creditors was nearly spent, and the time she could steal from attendance on him, and the child, was given to her needle. "Many a beautifully embroidered fabric was admired by her former associates, without their being aware that to the merchant's daughter was due the praise so freely given. "A few years more, and Mary was left alone with the child. She still toiled on, though, owing to the failure of her eye-sight, she had ceased to embroider, and was obliged to resort to plain sewing to earn a subsistence. Some of her former friends wished to aid her, but she gently refused their kindness, and for fourteen years she has maintained herself and the orphan boy." Mr. Boardman paused, and Clara eagerly asked, "Where is she now, papa? What is her name? How I should like to see such a woman! And she never got married? What a pity!" (Clara seemed to think that woman's only mission was the mission matrimonial.) "Well, I should like to see her, though. Do you know where she lives, papa?" Yes, and if you had gone where I requested you to yesterday, you would have known too." "It is a long story I have told you, my daughter, but my feelings were too much interested to allow of my shortening its details. There is a brief tale connected with it which I will also relate to you. "You remember that I said Mr. Grey had many vessels trading to foreign ports. The mate of one of these vessels was often at the office of the merchant, and sometimes at his house, on business, where he was always received with kindness. Frequently, at dusk, he met a very pretty girl leaving the house, who, he ascertained, did the plain sewing of the family. One evening they chanced to leave the house at the same time, and the mate walked by the young girl's side, and by degrees entered into a conversation with her, which was only interrupted by her stopping before her own door, and thanking him for his civility. He still lingered without bidding her good night, and with some little hesitation she invited him to enter. "He did so gladly. After one or two more voyages she became his wife. His captain died, and through the kindness of the owner he was promoted to the command of a fine ship. In time he became owner himself of part of her cargo. Fortune smiled upon him, all his investments were profitable, and in a few years he no longer went to sea, but took his place among the wealthiest merchants of the city. "His wife was a handsome, fashionable woman, and his eldest daughter was in many respects like her mother. The father was fond of his daughter, too fond to see her faults. He did not know how deeply the hateful weed of pride had taken root in her heart, until he heard her speak contemptuously of the class to which her mother had belonged, until he heard her refuse to visit one to whose father her own owed all his prosperity." THE LAST SABBATH OF THE OLD YEAR. BY JULIET A. CHADWICK. Bedecked with robes of ermine Nature lies, Look on us, restless spirit, and be still; Think'st thou that He who at his gracious will Thus mantles as 'mid Winter's direst rage, May not the tempest in thy breast assuage, And thy sere heart with summer gladness fill? O well may we a New Year's Sabbath greet, If with responsive souls, we Nature's lesson meet! LITERARY ambition is the last to be awakened in a new state of society. The tangible takes the place of the imaginative to such an extent, that the mere envelopings of our ideas seem of no consequence, provided the ideas themselves have a decided, utilitarian value. The dreams of the poet, capable of bearing up into Elysium the mind prepared for such ministrations, seem utter folly to him whose thoughts are filled with matters of merely outward interest; and the luxuriance of imagery and delicacy of discrimination which can ennoble for the cultivated the description of seemingly common occurrences, are to the rude and ignorant but impertinence and folly. "Where's the use!" say they; "the woods got a-fire," or, "the old man could n't stan' it after his darter acted so and there's an end on 't!" The sublime, or the pathetic, as depending on language for their effect, is to them powerless. What is to be seen with the bodily eye, they can see; what is visible only to the eye of mind, and that after special anointing, has to them no existence. The language of passion has some power over them; but it moves them not in proportion to its true expressiveness, but in proportion as it accords with their own habits of expression. Language is an instrument whose higher powers are unrecognised by the illiterate; and it is therefore not to be expected that they should devote much time or thought to it for its own sake. But there is another view of it which has immense influence with our active and intelligent Western brethren. They perceive plainly that "book-larnin'" is, after all, that which most clearly distinguishes one man or one class of men from another; that which exacts involuntary respect under all circumstances, and even that which confers power and influence in cases where mere bodily ability would be necessarily subservient. To obtain this great good is therefore an object, though the means employed are too often quite erroneous, and in a majority of instances utterly incompetent and even shabby. The proverbial shrewdness of our people in all matters of business, makes their conduct when education is in question, really surprising. Even after assent has been obtained to the necessity for some attention to learning, the very moment measures come to be devised, it seems as if the demon of penuriousness had taken possession of all concerned. An election will command money; a new-fangled fanning-mill which promises profit will fetch its price; a fine gown or bonnet will be compassed, in spite of frowns and groans; but a school-house, and, above all, a schoolmaster, gets but the leavings, and that most grudgingly. The school-house, where the children are to pass most of their time, is destitute of every comfort; and the master, ill-paid and ill-kept, must be active and good-humored through pure disinterested benevolence, if he is so at all, for he has none of the stimulants and encouragements that help other men to the performance of duty. All the stories that have ever been told, in fun or in earnest, of the sufferings of schoolmasters, that boarded round and that did not board round, are true to nature, and have been surpassed in point of fact. It is impossible to exaggerate on this subject. A poor young woman told us once, with tears of mortification, that she had been dismissed from her situation as teacher, because she declined sleeping in the same room with a whole family, including the master of the house! and this is no singular case in point of enormity. Where the teacher is held thus cheap, it is not difficult to infer the prevailing notions as to education. There may be a general idea that learning is a good thing; but what learning, and what amount of it may be desirable, is quite another question. To read and write and cipher-all tending directly towards advancement in lifemust be advantageous to all; this is a conceded காட்டு posed that a standard of spelling and pronunciation should be adopted, and that no book should be used, and no teacher employed that did not conform to that standard; in other words, the town officers were to decide on the proper system of spelling and pronouncing the English language, which system was to be received and acknowledged within their bounds as the true one. One of the Board, who, contrary to rule or custom, had some professional knowledge of the subject, suggested that perhaps said Board was not a competent tribunal for the decision of this question; that to fix a standard for the language required no common acquaintance with it; that few persons, however learned, would venture to attempt what the most learned felt to be so difficult; that as the point. But one step beyond these, opposition begins. That spontaneous Western question"Where's the use?" always has the very narrowest utilitarian drift, and it is invariably in use when any refinement is proposed. The very shadow of aesthetics frightens the hardy citizen of the new country. We have known a farmer tear up the flower-beds which his wife and daughter had planted about the house in his absence, declaring he would have no such nonsense; and another who said in a similar spirit, of an accomplished person who was proposed as school-inspector, "We do n't want po scholars for school-inspectors; we want plain farmers like ourselves." While this class of sentiment is cherished, anything more than the merest rudiments of education must be of course out of the question; and no one who has become inti-County Board met only at considerable intervals, mately acquainted with the state of things at the West, but must perceive, that while the improvement in physical condition is most marked and cheering, it is none the less true in matters of far higher importance, Barbarism" is still "the first danger." It is well for the American citizen that, owing to the beneficent constitution of our political affairs, there is an education constantly in progress which does not depend on books; but we none the less rejoice in the hopeful aspect of the new enterprise under the care of Gov. Slade and Miss Beecher. To provide instructed teachers of literature and religion for the West, is giving to that land, blessed of Heaven, an opportunity of acquiring what is alone wanting for its perfecting. and then only for an hour or two, while their everyday pursuits were in general far removed from those of a literary character, it would seem hardly likely that their decision in this case would win the assent of the community. These remarks were received with little favor, and after some short debate the Board finished by voting itself competent, and proceeded forthwith to choose a standard.' Here new difficulties arose, since the Board were by no means agreed among themselves as to the matter. Some of the elder members, who did not think the new-fangled ways any improvement, wished to see the books of their youth in the hands of their children; while younger members were for change at any rate, whether for better or worse. But matters were at length harmonized by means of a fortunate suggestion. It was this: that as to the best standard, that might be a matter of opinion; an American standard was the one thing needful. We were an independent people, and ought of right to have an Perhaps some of our readers imagine that one must go as far west as the Lake country to find grotesque literary ideas; but we must not leave our beloved back-woods under such an imputation. At a certain county meeting of school-officers, in a region much nearer the great metropolis than that which we have been talking about, the sub-independent language. Any reference to English ject of school-books became, as it often does in similar cases, the point of warm discussion; indeed, there seems a vague impression that some books may yet be devised, endowed with a magical power of instruction which may supersede the necessity for any knowledge at all in the teacher. At any rate, at the meeting in question it was pro* See the celebrated sermon on this subject, preached before the Home Missionary Society, in May. 1847, by Rev. Dr. Bushnell, of Hartford, Conn. standards was decidedly unpatriotic. Webster's mode of spelling, being American, was of course the true one for Americans. This was carried by acclamation, and even our professional friend, overborne by the spirit of the hour, contented himself with a silent vote against this novel mode of settling philological questions. Let us not flatter ourselves, in view of such a scene as this, that the schoolmaster is wanted only at the West. It was one of Ireland's greenest lanes that wound its way down to a rippling brook in the rear of Friend Goodman's house. And there, by a mound of rocks that dipped their mossy feet in the rivulet, Friend Goodman walked slowly, watching for his little daughter, who had been spending the day with some children in the neighborhood. Presently, the small maiden came jumping along, with her bonnet thrown back, and the edges of her soft brown ringlets luminous in the rays of the setting sun. Those pretty curls were not Quakerly; but Nature, who pays no more attention to the regulations of Elders, than she does to the edicts of Bishops, would have it so. At the slightest breath of moisture, the silky hair rolled itself into spirals, and clustered round her pure white forehead, as if it loved the nestling-place. Jumping, likewise, was not a Quakerly proceeding. But little Alice, usually staid and demure, in imitation of those around her, had met with a new companion, whose temperament was more mercurial than her own, and she was yielding to its magnetic influence. Camillo Campbell, a boy of six years, was the grandson of an Italian lady, who had married an Irish absentee, resident in Florence. Her descendants had lately come to Ireland, and taken possession of estates in the immediate neighbor hood of Friend Goodman, where little Camilio's foreign complexion, lively temperament, and graceful broken language, rendered him an object of great interest, especially among the children. He it was with whom little Alice was skipping through the green lane, bright and free as the wind and sunshine that played among her curls. As the sober father watched their innocent gambols, he felt his own pulses quicken, and his motions involuntarily became more rapid and elastic than usual. The little girl came nestling up to his side, and rubbed her head upon his arm, like a petted kitten. Camillo peeped roguishly from behind the mossy rocks, kissed his hand to her, and ran off, hopping first on one foot and then on the other. "Dost thou like that little boy?" inquired Friend Goodman, as he stooped to kiss his darling. "Yes, Camillo's a pretty boy, I like him," she replied. Then with a skip and a bound, which showed that the electric fluid was still leaping in her veins, she added, "He's a funny boy, too: he swears you all the time." The simple child, being always accustomed to hear thee and thou, verily thought you was a profane word. Her father did what was very unusual with him: he laughed outright, as he replied, "What a strange boy is that!" |