~1Y ~ I"~~1~'' CISO
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The Baldwin Library
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MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.
I Iust at tr.
ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS,
No. 285 BROADWAY.
.- -__________________ ________
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS,
In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New York.
THOMAS B. SMITH,
216 William Street.
AN Olive leaf was the first gift of the earth after the
flood, to the sole survivors of a buried race It was borne
by the Dove, spreading a timid wing over the surging
waters, so lately without a shore.
The plant thus honored, as the love-token of a World,
rising in freshness from the wrecks of the Deluge, has long
been a consecrated emblem of peace. It then brought the
joyful tidings to the voyagers in the lonely Ark, of a home
once more upon the green earth; and has since cheered
many a Christian heart, with the assurance that the'bitter
waters of strife had abated.
These, my simple "Olive Leavgs," would fain be love-
tokens'to you, sweet young friends, who may chance to take
them in your hand. Buds of the olive and of the rose, are
ye:--pour forth the spirit of peace and love, as ye unfold and
ripen on the pilgrimage of life, that you may be gathered
at its close, where their bloom is eternal
TEn LOST AND FOUND .... 9
CHILDHOOD'S PIET .. 25
FRANK LUDLOW 26
VICTORY . .. 64
SILENT PEOPLE 6
LAURA BRIDoMA .. 83
HUMBLE FRIENDS 85
BUTTERFLY IN A SCHOOL-BOOM 95
A BRAVE BOY ... 97
MAY MONING 102
THE HUGUENOT GRANDFATHER'S T 108
THE OLD WATCH 186
ENTERTAINING BOOKS 187
THE NEW YEAR 14
ROME AND ITS RULERS 149
THE PLOUGHING OF THE SWORD 168
THE GOOD AND BAD EMPEROR 166
BONAPARTE AT ST. HELENA 187
CHRISTMAS HYMN .. .. 196
THE FRIVOLOUS KING .. 1
TO A PUPIL LEAVING SCHOOL ... 201
PIOUS PRINCES 202
EVILS OF WAR 211
THE LIBERATED FLY.... 219
THE GOOD BROTHER AND SISTER ... 222
THE WAITING CHILD. ... 288
THE ADOPTED NIECE ..... 239
THE ORPHAN .. 246
THE ONLY SON 249
LIFE . 270
A REMARKABLE CHILD ... 272
THE DYING SUNDAY SCHOOL BOY 289
THE PRECOCIOUS INFANT .. 291
THE LAST ROSE BUD 802
THE CHERUB'S WELCOME .. .. 804
THE BABE, AND THE FORGET-ME-NOT 807
1 ruszt anuh ntuit.
I HAVE something to say to the young,
about the advantage, as well as duty of obey-
ing their parents. My story will be of an in-
teresting boy, by the name of Charles Morton.
He had a pleasant temper, and almost al-
ways wore a smile. He ardently loved his
sister Caroline, who was several years younger
than himself,-and whenever he came from
school, would ask for her, and take her in his
arms, or guide her tottering footsteps.
But Charles, with all his kindness of heart,
had a sad fault. He would sometimes dis-
obey his parents, when he was out of their
sight. He did not remember that the Eye of
God always saw him, both in darkness and in
light, and would take note of the st that he
committed, thch %is parents knew it not.
At a short distance from his home, was a
beautiful river, broad and deep. His parent*
had strictly charged him never to venture
in,-and had explained to him the danger
which a boy of eight years old would incur,
in a tide so strong. Notwithstanding this, he
would sometimes seek a spot where the
banks, or the trees upon the shore, concealed
him, and take off his shoes, and step into the
water. He grew fond of wading, and would
occasionally stay in the water a long time.
Then, he greatly desired to swim. He fre-
quently saw larger boys amusing themselves
in this way, and longed to join them. But
he feared lest they might mention it to his
father, and determined to go alone.
Here was the sin of the little boy, not only
in continuing to disobey, but in studying how
to deceive his kind parents. One fine af-
ternoon in summer, school was dismissed at
an earlier hour than usual. Now, thought
Charles, I can make a trial at swimming, and
get home$before my mother misses me. He
THE LOST AND FOUND. 11
sought a retired spot, where lpad never seen
his companions go, and hastened to throw off
his clothes, and plunge into the water. He
did not imagine that it was so deep there,
and fiat the current was so exceedingly
swift. He struggled with all his might, but
was borne farther and farther from the shore.
The sea was not a g at distance from the
mouth of the river, ana the tide was driving
on violently, and what could he do ? Noth-
ing, but to exhaust his feeble strength, and
then give up, and be carried onwards. He
be me weary of beating the water with his
fe and hands to no purpose, and his throat
was dry with crying, and so he floated along,
like a poor, uprooted weed. It was fearful to
him to be hurried away so, with the waters
roaring in his ears. He gave up all hope of
seeing his dear home again, and dreaded the
thought of being drowned, and devoured by
monstrous fishes. How he wished that he
had not disobeyed his good parents; and he
earnestly prayed God to forgive him, and
have mercy upon his soul. *
12 OLIVE LEAVES.
At Charles. Mton's home, his mother had
prepared a bowl of bread and milk for him,
because he usually was hungry when he came
At length she began to look from the win-
dow, and to feel uneasy. Little Caroline
crept to the door, and continually called
" Tarle-Tarle." Bu.when the sun disap-
peared, and Mr. Morton returned, and nothing
had been seen of the dear boy, they were
greatly alarmed. They searched the places
where he had been accustomed to play, and
questioned his companions, but in vain. hie
neighbors collected, and attended the fa er
in pursuit of his lost son. What was their
distress, at finding his clothes in a remote
recess, near the river's brink! They imme-
diately gave him up as drowned, and com-
menced the search for his body. There was
bitter mourning in his once happy home, that
night. Many weeks elapsed, ere little Caro-
line ceased calling for her dear Tarle," or
the sad parents could be comforted. And it
was. remembered amid their affliction, that
THE LOST AND FOUND.
the beloved child whom the d endeavored
to teach the fear of God, had forgotten that
All-seeing Eye, when he disobeyed his parents.
But while they were lamenting their lost
son, he was not dead. While faintly strug-
gling on the river, he had been discovered,
and taken up by an Indian canoe. He had
been borne by the swif~current far from the
place where he first went into the water.
And it was very long after he was rescued,
before he came to his senses, so as to give
any connected account of himself. Then, he
was greatly shocked at finding himself in a
boa with two huge Indians. He shrieked,
and begged to be taken to his father's house;
but they paid no attention to his cries, and
silently proceeded on their voyage. They
wrapped a blanket around him, because he
had no clothes, and offered him some parched
corn, but he had no heart to eat. By the
rough tossing of the boat, he discovered that
they were upon the deep sea, and the broad
moon rose high, and shone long, ere they dre*
near to land. Stupefied with terror, one of
THE LOST AND FOUND.
island. A dreadful feeling of desolation came
over him, and he laid down his head, and
mourned bitterly. The Ied-brow'd woman
pitied him, and adopted him into her heart,
in place of the child she had lost. She
brought him the coarse garments of her dead
son, and he was obliged to put them on, for
he had no other.
His heart sunk within him, when on going
out of the door, he could see no roof save the
one where he had lodged. Some little rocky
islands were in sight, but none of them in-
habited. He felt as if he was alone in the
world, and said, This is the punishment of
my disobedience." Continually he was beg-
ging with tears, to be taken to his home, and
the men promised when we go so far again
in the boat, we will carry you." But their
manners were so stern, that he began to fear
to urge them as much as he wished. So
every night, when he had retired to sleep, the
woman said to her husband, We will keep
him. He will be contented. His beautiful
blue eye is not so wild and strained, as when
16 OLIVE LEAVES.
you brought him. My heart yearns towards
him, as it did over the one that shall wake
She took him with her, to gather the
rushes, with which she platted mats and
baskets, and showed him where the solitary
bittern made her nest, and how to trace the
swift steps of the heron, as with whirring
wing half spread it hasted through the
marshes to the sea. And she taught him to
dig roots, which contain the spirit of health,
and to know the herbs that bring sleep to the
sick, and staunch the flowing blood : for she
trusted that in industry, and the simple
knowledge of nature, he would find content.
At first, she brought him wild flowers, but
she perceived that they always made him
weep, for he had been accustomed to gather
them for his little Caroline. So she passed
them by, blooming in their ;mild recesses, and
instructed him how to climb the trees where
the grape-vine hung its airy clusters. And
. she gave him a choice bow and arrow, or-
namented with brilliant feathers, and enicour-
THE LOST AND FOUND.
aged him to take aim at the birds that sang
among the low branches. But he shrank
back at the thought of hurting the warbler,
and she said silently,
Surely, the babe of the white woman is
not in spirit like his red brother. He who
sleeps in the grave was happy when he bent
the bow and followed his father to the chase'
Little Charles spent a part of each day in
watching the sails, as they glided along on
the broad sea. For a long time, he would
stand as near the shore as possible, and make
signs, and shout, hoping they might be in-
duced to come and take him to his home.
But an object so diminutive, attracted no at-
tention, and the small island with its neigh-
boring group of rocks, looked so desolate, and
the channel so ob e d and dangerous, that
vessels had no m:a approach it.
When the chill of early autumn was in
the air, the Indian woman invited him to
assist her in gathering the golden ears of the
mai*i and in separating them from their in-
vesting sheath. But he worked sorrowfully, for
_---_ ? -I
he was ever thinking of his own dear home.
Once the men permitted him to accompany
them, when they went on a short fishing ex-
cursion; but he wept and implored so vio-
lently to be taken to his parents, that they
frowned, and forbade him to go any more in
the boat. They told him, that twice or thrice
in the year they performed a long voyage, and
went up the river, to dispose of the articles
of eir manufacture and purchase some
nO6essary stores. They should go when
spring returned, and would then carry him to
his parents. So the poor little boy perceived
that he must try to be patient and quiet,
thruogh the long, dreary winter, in an Indian
hut. The red-browed woman ever looked
smilingly upon him, and spoke to him with a
sweet, fond tone. She d(Le him to call her
mother, and was alwa y~ g to promote his
comfort. After Charles had obtained the
promise of her husband and father, to take
him home in the spring, his mind was more
at rest. He worked diligently as his stongth
and skilawould permit, on the baskets, mats
.....__ + __
THE LOST AND POUND. 19
and brooms, with which the boat was to be
freighted. He took pleasure in painting with
the bright colors which they obtained from
plants, two baskets, which were intended as
presents for his mother and Caroline.
The Indian woman often entertained him
with stories of her ancestors. She spoke of
their dexterity in the chase, of their valor
battle. She described their war-dance
the feathery lightness of their canoe
the wave. She told of the gravity of
chiefs, the eloquence of their orators, the re-
spect of the young men for those of hoary
hairs. She related instances of the firm-
ness of their friendship, and the terror of
Once the whole land was theirs, said she,
and no white mam elt in it, or had dis-
covered it. Now race are few and feeble,
they are driven away and perish. They
leave their fathers' graves, and hide among
the forests. The forests fall before the axe
of t4 white man, and they are again driven
out, we know not where. No voice Skks after
20 OLIVE LEAVES.
them. They fade away like a mist, and are
SThe little boy wept at the plaintive tone in
which she spoke of the sorrows of her people,
and said "I will pity and love the Indians, as
long as I live." Sometimes, during the long
storms of winter, he would tell them of the
le, in which he had loved to read, and
repeat the hymns and chapters which
learned at the Sunday-school. And
he regretted that he had not exerted
himself to learn more when it was in his
power, and that he had ever grieved his
teachers. He found that these Indians were
not able to read, and said, Oh that I had
now but one of those books, which I used to
prize so little when I was at home, and had
so many." They listed ttentively to all
that he said. Someti told them what
he had learned of God, and added,
"He is a good God, and a God of truth,
but I displeased him when I was disobedient
to my parents." .
At lexith, Spring appeared. The heart of
THE LOST AND FOUND.
little Charles leaped for joy, when he heard
the sweet song of the earliest bird. Every
morning he rose early, and went forth to see
if the grass had not become greener during
the night. Every hour, he desired to remind
them of the long-treasured promise. But he
saw that the men looked grave if he was im-
patient, and the brow of his Indian mother
became each day more sad.
The appointed period arrived. Th.
was laden with the products of their in
All was ready for departure. Charles
when he was about to take leave of his kind
"I will go also," said she; and they made
room for her in the boat. The bright sun
was rising gloriously in the east, as they left
the desolate island. Through the whole voy-
age she held the b ar her, or in her arms,
but spoke not. Ims were winging their
way over the blue sea, and after they entered
the river, poured forth the clearest melodies
from shore and tree, but still she spoke not. i
TheA seemed a sorrow at her breast, which
-K S--- 9 --
made her lip tremble, yet her eye was tear-
less.-Charles refrained to utter the joy which
swelled in his bosom, for he saw she was un-
happy. He put his arm round her neck, and
leaned his head on her shoulder. As evening
approached, they drew near the spot, where
she understood she must part from him.
Then Charles said eagerly to her,
Oh, go home with me to my father's
Yes, yes, come all of you with me,
ar, good people, that all of us may
Wnk you together for having saved my life."
No," she answered sorrowfully, "I
could not bear to see thy mother fold thee in
her arms, and to know that thou wert mine
.no more. Since thou hast told me of thy
God, and that he listened to prayer, my
prayer has been lifted up to Him night and
day, that thy heart migtlt d rest in an In-
dian home. But this ifover. Henceforth,
my path and my soul are desolate. Yet go
thy way, to thy mother, that she may have
joy when she rises up in the morning, and
at night goes to rest." 1
THE LOST AND FOUND.
Her tears fell down like rain, as she em-
braced him, and they lifted him upon the
bank. And eager as he was to meet his
parents, and his beloved sister, he lingered to
watch the boat as it glided away. He saw
that she raised not her head, nor uncovered
her face. He remembered her long and true
kindness, and asked God to bless and reward
her, as he hastened over the well-known
that divided him fromehis native village
His heart beat so thick as almost to
cate him, when he saw his father's roof.
was twilight, and the trees where he used to
gather apples, were in full and fragrant bloom.
Half breathless, he rushed in at the door.
His father was reading in the parlor, and his
eye turned coldly on him. So changed was
his person, and dress, that he did not know
his son. But the mother shrieked. She
knew the blue eye, that no misery of garb
could ,change. She sprangito embrace him,
and fainted. It was a keen anguish to him,
that his niother thus should suffer. Little
Caroline clung around his neck, and as he
24 OLIVE LEAVES.
kissed her, he whispered, Remember, God
sees, and punishes the disobedient." His
pale mother lifted up her head, and drew him
from his father's arms, upon the bed, beside
her. "Father, Mother," said the delighted
boy, forgive me." They both assured him of
their love, and his father looking upward
said, My God, I thank thee!-for this my
Swas dead, and is alive again ;-and was
1 ad is found."
Ir the meek faitl that Jesus taught,
Admission fail to gain,
'Neath domes with wealth and splendor fraught,
Where dwell a haughty train,-
Turn to the humble hearth and see
The Mother's tender care,
Luring the nursling on her knee
To link the words of prayer,-
Or to the little bed, where kneels
The child with heaven-rais'd eye,
And all its guileless soul reveals
To Him who rules the sky,--
Where the young bab e'first lispings 1 e
So ght the par hn? ftear,-
The Now, I lay me downto sle~,"
That angels love to hear.
IT is time Frank and Edward were at
home," said Mrs. Ludlow. So she stirred
and replenished the fire, for it was a cold
"Mother, you gave them liberty to stay
and play after school," said little Eliza.
"Yes, my daughter, but the time is ex-
pired. I wish my children to come home at
the appointed time, as well as to obey me in all
other things. The stars are already shining,
and they are not allowed to stay out so late."
Dear mother, I think I hear their voices
now." Little Eliza climbed into a chair and
drawing aside the window-curtain, said joy-
fully, 0 yes, they are just coming into the
Mrs. Ludlow told her to go to the kitchen,
and see that the bread was toasted nice and
warm, for their bowls of milk which had been
some time ready.
Frank and Edward Ludlow were fine boys,
of eleven and nine years old. They returned
in high spirits, from their sport on the frozen
pond. They hung up their skates in the
proper place, and then hastened to kiss their
"We have stayed longer at play than we
ought, my dear mother," said Edward.
You are nearly an hour beyond the
time," said Mrs. Ludlow.
Edward reminded me twice," said Frank,
"that we ought to go home. But O, it was
such excellent skating, that I could not help
going round the pond a few times more. We
left all the boys there when we came away.
The next time, we will try to be as true
as the town-clock. And it is not Edward's
fault now, mother."
My sons, I always expect you to leave
your sports, at the time that I appoint. I
know that you do not intend to disobey, or to
give me anxiety. But you must take pains
to be punctual. When you become men, it
will be of great importance that you observe
your engagements. 'Unless you perform what
is expected of you, at the proper time, people
will cease to have confidence in you."
The boys promised to be punctual and obe-
dient, and their mother assured them, that
they were not often forgetful of these impor-
Eliza came in with the bread nicely toast-
ed, for their supper.
What a good little one, to be thinking of
her brothers, when they are away. Come,
sweet sister, sit between us."
Eliza felt very happy, when her brothers
each gave her a kiss, and she looked up in
their faces, with a sweet smile.
The evening meal was a pleasant one.
*.TIhe mother and her children talked cheerfully
together. Each had some little agreeable
circumstance to relate, and they felt how
happy it is for a family to live in love.
After supper, books and maps were laid on
the table, and Mrs. Ludlow said,
Come boys, you go to school every day,
and your sister does not. It is but fair that
you should teach her something. First ex-
amine her in the lessons she has learned with
me, and then you may add some gift of
knowledge from your own store."
So Frank overlooked her geography and
asked her a few questions on the map; and
Edward explained to her a little arithmetic,
and told a story from the history of Eng-
land, with which she was much pleased.
Soon, she grew sleepy, and kissing her broth-
ers, wished them an affectionate good-night.
Her mother went with her, to see her laid
comfortably in bed, and to hear her repeat
her evening hymns, and thank her Father in
heaven, far his care of her through the day.
When Mrs. Ludlow returned to the parlor,
she found her sons busily employed in study-
ing their lessons for the following day. She
sat down beside them with her work, and
when they now and then looked up from their
books, they saw that their diligence was re-
warded by her approving eye.
When they had completed their studies,
they replaced the books which they had used,
in the book-case, and drew their chairs nearer
to the fire. The kind mother joined them,
with a basket of fruit, and while they partook
of it, they had the following conversation.
Mrs. Ludlow. "I should like to hear, my
dear boys, more of what you have learned to-
Frank. "I have been much pleased with
a book that I borrowed of one of the boys.
Indeed, I have hardly thought of anything
else. I must confess that I put it inside of
my geography, and read it while the master
thought I was studying."
Mrs. Ludlow. "I am truly sorry, Frank,
that you should be willing to deceive. What
are called boy's tricks, too often lead to false-
hood, and end in disgrace. On this occasion
you cheated yourself also. You lost the
knowledge which you might have gained, for
the sake of what, I suppose, was only some
book of amusement."
Frank. Mother, it was the life of Charles
the XII., of Sweden. You know that he was
the bravest soldier of his times. He beat the
king of Denmark, when he was only eighteen
years old. Then he defeated the Russians,
at the battle of Narva, though they had
80,000 soldiers, and he had not a quarter of
Mrs. Ludlow. How did he die ?"
Frank. He went to make war in Nor-
way. It was a terribly severe winter, but be
feared no hardship. The cold was so great,
that his sentinels were often found frozen to
death at their posts. He was besieging a
town called Frederickshall. It was about the
middle of December. He gave orders that
they should continue to work on the trenches,
though the feet of the soldiers were be-
numbed, and their hands froze to the tools.
He got up very early one morning, to see if
they were at their work. The stars shone
clear, and bright on the snow that covered
everything. Sometimes a firing was heard
from the enemy. But he was too courageous
to mind that. Suddenly, a cannon-shot struck
him, and he fell. When they took him up,
his forehead was beat in, but his right hand
still, strongly grasped the sword. Mother,
was not that dying like a brave man ?"
Mrs. Ludlow. "I should think there was
more of rashness than bravery in thus expos-
ing himself, for no better reason. Do you not
feel that it was cruel to force his soldiers to
such labors in that dreadful climate ? and to
make war when it was not necessary? The
historians say that he undertook it, only to fill
up an interval of time, until he could be pre-
pared for his great campaign in Poland. So,
to amuse his restless mind, he was willing to
destroy his own soldiers, willing to see even
his most faithful friends frozen every morn-
ing into statues. Edward, tell me what you
Edward. My lesson in the history of
Rome, was the character of Antoninus Pius.
He was one of the best of the Roman Em-
FRANK LUDLOW. 38
perors. While he was young, he paid great
respect to the aged, and when he grew rich
he gave liberally to the poor. He greatly dis-
liked war. He said he had 'rather save the
life of one subject, than destroy a thousand
enemies.' Rome was prosperous and happy,
under his government. He reigned 22 years,
and died with many friends, surrounding his
bed, at the age of 74."
Mrs. Ludlow. "Was he not beloved by
the people whom he ruled ? I have read that
they all mourned at his death, as if they had
lost a father. Was it not better to be thus
lamented, than to be remembered only by the
numbers he had slain, and the miseries he
had caused ?"
Frank. But mother, the glory of Charles
the XII., of Sweden, was certainly greater
than that of a quiet old man, who, I dare
say, was afraid to fight. Antoninus Pius
was clever enough, but you cannot deny that
Alexander, and Caesar, and Bonaparte, had
far greater talents. They will be called heroes
and praised, as long as the world stands."
Mrs. Ludlow. My dear children, those
talents should be most admired, which pro-
duce the greatest good. That fame is the
highest, which best agrees with our duty to
God and man. Do not be dazzled by the
false glory that surrounds the hero. Consider
it your glory to live in peace, and to make
others happy. Believe me, when you come
to your death-beds, and oh,,how soon will that
be, for the longest life is short, it will give
you more comfort to reflect that you have
healed one broken heart, given one poor child
the means of education, or sent to one heathen
the book of salvation, than that you lifted
your hand to destroy your fellow-creatures,
and wrung forth the tears of widows and of
The hour of rest had come, and the mother
opened the large family bible, that they might
together remember and thank him, who had
preserved them through the day. When
Frank and Edward took leave of her for the
night, they were grieved to see that there
were tears in her eyes. They lingered by her
FRANk LUYLOW. 35
side, hoping she would tell them if anything
had troubled her. But she only said, My
sons, my dear sons, before you sleep, pray to
God for a heart to love peace."
After they had retired, Frank said to his
t"I cannot feel that it is wrong to be a
soldier. Was not our father one? I shall
never forget the fine stories he used to tell me
about battles, when I was almost a baby. I
remember that I used to climb up on his
knee, and put my face close to his. Then I
used to dream of prancing horses, and glitter-
ing swords, and sounding trumpets, and wake
up and wish I was a soldier. Indeed, Ed-
ward, I wish so now. But I cannot tell dear
mother what is in my heart, for it would
No, no, don't tell her so, dear Frank, and
pray, never be a soldier. I have heard her
say, that father's ill health, and most of his
troubles, came from the life that he led in
camps. He said on his death-bed, that if he
could live his youth over again, he would be
a meek follower of the Saviour, and not a
man of blood."
"Edward, our father was engaged in the
war of the Revolution, without which we
should all have been slaves. Do you pretend
to say, that it was not a holy war ?"
I pretend to say nothing, brother, only
what the Bible says, Render to no man evil
for evil, but follow after the things that make
The boys had frequent conversations on the
subject of war and peace. Their opinions
still continued to differ. Their love for their
mother, prevented their holding these dis-
courses often in her presence. For they per-
ceived that Frank's admiration of martial
renown, gave her increased pain. She de-
voted her life to the education and happiness
of her children. She secured for them every
opportunity in her power, for the acquisition
of useful knowledge, and both by precept and
example urged them to add to their knowl-
edge, temperance, and to temperance, brotherly
kindness, and to brotherly kindness, charity."
FRANK LUDLOW. 37
This little family were models of kindness
and affection among themselves. Each strove
to make the others happy. Their fire-side
was always cheerful, and the summer evening
walks which the mother took with her chil-
dren were sources both of delight and im-
Thus years passed away. The young sap-
lings which they had cherished grew up to be
trees, and the boys became men. The health
of the kind and faithful mother, became feeble.
At length, she visibly declined. But she wore
on her brow the same sweet smile, which had
cheered their childhood.
Eliza watched over her, night and day,
with the tenderest care. She was not willing
that any other hand should give the medicine,
or smooth the pillow of the sufferer. She re-
membered the love that had nurtured her
own childhood, and wished to perform every
office that grateful affection could dictate.
Edward had completed his collegiate course,
and was studying at a distant seminary, to
prepare himself for the ministry. He had
38 OLIVE LEAVES.
sustained a high character as a scholar, and
had early chosen his place among the fol-
lowers of the Redeemer. As often as was in
his power, he visited his beloved parent,
during her long sickness, and his letters full
of fond regard, and pious confidence, con-
tinually cheered her.
Frank resided at home. He had chosen to
pursue the business of agriculture, and super-
intended their small family estate. He had
an affectionate heart, and his attentions to his
declining mother, were unceasing. In her
last moments he stood by her side. His
spirit was deeply smitten, as he supported his
weeping sister, at the bed of the dying. Pain
had departed, and the meek Christian pa-
tiently awaited the coming of her Lord. She
had given much counsel to her children, and
sent tender messages to the absent one. She
seemed to have done speaking. But while
they were uncertain whether she yet breathed,
she raised her eyes once more to her first-born,
and said faintly, My son, follow peace with
FRANK LUDLOW. 89
These were her last words. They listened
attentively, but her voice was heard no more.
Edward Ludlow, was summoned to the
funeral of his beloved mother. After she
was committed to the dust, he remained a
few days to mingle his sympathies with his
brother and sister. He knew how to comfort
them, out of the Scriptures, for therein was
his hope, in all time of his tribulation.
Frank listened to all his admonitions, with
a serious countenance, and a sorrowful heart.
He loved his brother, with great ardor, and to
the mother for whom they mourned, he had
always been dutiful. Yet she had felt pain-
fully anxious for him to the last, because he
had not made choice of religion for his guide,
and secretly coveted the glory of the warrior.
After he became the head of the household,
he continued to take the kindest care of his
sister, who prudently managed all his affairs,
until his marriage. The companion whom he
chose, was a most amiable young woman,
whose society and friendship, greatly cheered
the heart of Eliza. There seemed to be not a
shadow over the happiness of that small and
But in little more than a year after Frank's
marriage, the second war between this coun-
try and Great Britain commenced. Eliza
trembled as she saw him possessing himself
of all its details, and neglecting his business
to gather and relate every rumor of war.
Still -she relied on his affection for his wife, to
retain him at home. She could not under-
stand the depth and force of the passion that
prompted him to be a soldier.
At length he rashly enlisted. It was a sad
night for that affectionate family, when he in-
formed them that he must leave them and join
the army. His young wife felt it the more
deeply, because she had but recently buried
a new-born babe. He comforted her as well
as he could. He assured her that his regi-
ment would not probably be stationed at any
great distance, that he would come home as
often as possible, and that she should con-
stantly receive letters from him. He told her
that she could not imagine how restless and
FRANK LUDLOW. 41
miserable he had been in his mind, ever since
war was declared. He could not bear to have
his country insulted, and take no part in her
defence. Now, he said, he should again feel
a quiet conscience, because he had done his
duty, that the war would undoubtedly soon
be terminated, and then he should return
home, and they would all be happy together.
He hinted at the promotion which courage
might win, but such ambition had no part in
his wife's gentler nature. He begged her not
to distress him by her lamentations, but to let
him go away with a strong heart, like a
When his wife and sister found that there
was no alternative, they endeavored to comply
with his request, and to part with him as
calmly as possible. So Frank Ludlow went
to be a soldier. He was twenty-five years old,
a tall, handsome and healthful young man.
At the regimental training in his native
town, he had often been told how well he
looked in a military dress. This had flattered
his vanity. He loved martial music, and
42 OLIVE LEAVES.
thought he should never be tired of serving
But a life in camps, has many evils, of
which those who dwell at home are entirely
ignorant. Frank Ludlow scorned to com-
plain of hardships, and bore fatigue and pri-
vation, as well as the best. He was un-
doubtedly a brave man, and never seemed
in higher spirits, than when preparing for
When a few months had past, the novelty
of his situation wore off. There were many
times, in which he thought of his quiet home,
and his dear wife and sister, until his heart
was heavy in his bosom. He longed to see
them, but leave of absence could not be ob-
tained. He felt so unhappy, that he thought
he could not endure it, and always moved
more by impulse than principle, absconded to
When he returned to the regiment, it was
to be disgraced for'disobedience. Thus hum-
bled before his comrades, he felt indignant
and disgusted. He knew it was according to
i ~_~~_~_____~__~~_ j
FRANK LUDLOW. 43
the rules of war, but he hoped that he might
have been excused.
Some time after, a letter from home, in.
formed him of the birth of an infant. His
feelings as a father were strong, and he
yearned to see it. He attempted to obtain a
furlough, but in vain. He was determined
to go, and so departed without leave. On the
second day of his journey, when at no great
distance from the house, he was taken, and
brought back as a deserter.
The punishment that followed, made him
loathe war, in all its forms. He had seen it
at a distance, in its garb of glory, and wor-
shipped the splendor that encircles the hero.
But he had not taken into view the miseries
of the private soldier, nor believed that the
cup of glory was for others, and the dregs of
bitterness for him. The patriotism of which
he had boasted, vanished like a shadow, in
the hour of trial; for ambition, and not prin-
ciple, had induced him to become a soldier.
His state of mind rendered him an object
of compassion. The strains of martial music,
44 OLIVE LE~
which he once admired, were discordant to
his ear. His daily duties became irksome to
him. He shunned conversation, and thought
continually of his sweet, forsaken home, of
the admonitions of his departed mother, and
the disappointment of all his gilded hopes.
The regiment to which he was attached,
was ordered to a distant part of the country.
It was an additional affliction to be so widely
separated from the objects of his love. In
utter desperation he again deserted.
He was greatly fatigued, when he came in
sight of his home. Its green trees, and the
fair fields which he so oft had tilled, smiled
as an Eden upon him. But he entered, as a
lost spirit. His wife and sister wept with
joy, as they embraced him, and put his in-
fant son into his arms. Its smiles and ca-
resses woke him to agony, for he knew he
must soon take his leave of it, perhaps for-
He mentioned that his furlough would ex-
pire in a few days, and that he had some
hopes when winter came, of obtaining a sub-
j ____~~_ ~_~~ ~_____ ~__~ __ ~~~ ~_~ ~~_~~~__~ ~~__~_______~_i
FRANK LUDLOW. 45
stitute, and then they would be parted no-
more. He strove to appear cheerful, but his
wife and sister saw that there was a weight
upon his spirit, and a cloud. on his brow,
which they had never perceived before. He
started at every sudden sound, for he feared
that he should be sought for in his own house,
and taken back to the army.
When he dared no longer remain, he tore
himself away, but not as his family supposed,
to return to his dhty. Disguising himself, he
travelled rapidly in a different direction, re-
solving to conceal himself in the far west, or
if necessary, to fly his country, rather than
rejoin the army.
But in spite of every precaution, he was
recognized by a party of soldiers, who carried
him back to his regiment, having been three
times a deserter. He was bound, and taken
to the guard-house, where a court-martial
convened, to try his offence.
It was now the summer of 1814. The
morning sun, shone forth brightly upon rock
and hill and stream. But the quiet beauty
of the rural landscape, was vexed by the
bustle and glare of a military encampment.
Tent and barrack rose up among the verdure,
and the shrill, spirit-stirring bugle echoed
through the deep valley.
On the day of which we speak, the music
seemed strangely subdued and solemn. Muf-
fled drums, and wind instruments mournfully
playing, announced the slow march of a pro-
cession. A pinioned prisoner came forth from
his confinement. A coffin 'of rough boards
was borne before him. By his side walked
the chaplain, who had labored to prepare his
soul for its extremity, and went with him as
a pitying and sustaining spirit, to the last
verge of life.
The sentenced man wore a long white
mantle, like a winding-sheet. On his head,
was a cap of the same color, bordered with
black. Behind him, several prisoners walked,
two and two. They had been confined for
various offences, and a part of their punish-
ment was to stand by, and witness the fate
of their comrade. A strong guard of soldiers,
marched in order, with loaded muskets, and
Such was the sad spectacle on that cloud-
less morning, a man in full strength and
beauty, clad in burial garments, and walking
onward to his grave. The procession halted
at a broad open field. A mound of earth
freshly thrown up in its centre, marked the
yawning and untimely grave. Beyond it,
many hundred men, drawn up in the form of
a hollow square, stood in solemn silence.
The voice of the officer of the day, now
and then heard, giving brief orders, or mar-
shalling the soldiers, was low, and varied by
feeling. In the line, but not yet called forth,
were eight men, drawn by lot as executioners.
They stood motionless, revolting from their
office, but not daring to disobey.
Between the coffin and the pit, he whose
moments were numbered, was directed to
stand. His noble forehead, and quivering
lips were alike pale. Yet in his deportment
there was a struggle for fortitude, like one
who had resolved to meet death unmoved.
48 OLIVE LEAVES.
"May I speak to the soldiers ?" he said.
It was the voice of Frank Ludlow. Permis-
sion was given, and he spoke something of
warning against desertion, and something, in
deep bitterness, against the spirit of war.
But his tones were so hurried and agitated,
that their import could scarcely be gathered.
The eye of the commanding officer, was
fixed on the watch which he held in his hand.
" The time has come," he said. "Kneel upon
The cap was drawn over the eyes of the
miserable man. He murmured, with a stifled
sob, God, I thank thee, that my dear ones
cannot see this." Then from the bottom of
his soul, burst forth a cry,
"'O mother! mother! had I but believed"-
Ere the sentence was finished, a sword
glittered in the sunbeam. It was the death-
signal. Eight soldiers advanced from the
ranks. There was a sharp report of arms.
A shriek of piercing anguish. One convulsive
leap. And then a dead man lay between his
coffin and his grave.
"' Gazing earnestly upon the rigid features, he clasped the man-
.led and bleeding bosom to his own."
There was a shuddering silence. After-
wards, the whole line was directed to march
by the lifeless body, that every one might for
himself see the punishment of a deserter.
Suddenly, there was some confusion; and
all eyes turned towards a horseman, approach-
ing at breathless speed. Alighting, he at-
tempted to raise the dead man, who had fal-
len with his face downward. Gazing earnestly
upon the rigid features, he clasped the man-
gled and bleeding bosom to his own. Even
the sternest veteran was moved, at the heart-
rending cry of Brother 0 my brother."
No one disturbed the bitter grief which the
living poured forth in broken sentences over
Gone to thine account! Gone to thine
everlasting account! Is it indeed thy heart's
blood, that trickles warmly upon me? My
brother, would that I might have been with
thee in thy dreary prison. Would that we
might have breathed together one more
prayer, that I might have seen thee look unto
Jesus of Nazareth."
Rising up from the corpse, and turning to
the commanding officer, he spoke through his
tears, with a tremulous, yet sweet-toned
"And what was the crime, for which my
brother was condemned to this death ? There
beats no more loyal heart in the bosom of any
of these men, who do the bidding of their
country. His greatest fault, the source of all
his misery, was the love of war. In the
bright days of his boyhood, he said he would
be content to die on the field of battle. See,
you have taken away his life, in cold blood,
among his own people, and no eye hath pitied
The commandant stated briefly and calmly,
that desertion thrice repeated was death, that
the trial of his brother had been impartial,
and the sentence just. Something too, he
added, about the necessity of enforcing mili-
tary discipline, and the exceeding danger of
remissness in a point like this,
If he must die, why was it hidden from
those whose life was bound up in his ? Why
were they left to learn from the idle voice of
rumor, this death-blow to their happiness?
If they might not have gained his pardon
from an earthly tribunal, they would have
been comforted by knowing that he sought
that mercy from above, which hath no limit.
Fearful power have ye, indeed, to kill the
body, but why need you put the never-dying
soul in jeopardy ? There are those, to whom
the moving of the lips that you have silenced,
would have been most dear, though their only
word had been to say farewell. There are
those, to whom the glance of that eye, which
you have sealed in blood, was like the clear
shining of the sun after rain. The wife of
his bosom, would have thanked you, -might
she but have sat with him on the floor of his
prison, and his infant son would have played
with his fettered hands, and lighted up his
dark soul with one more smile of innocence.
The sister, to whom he has been as a father,
would have soothed his despairing spirit, with
the hymn which in infancy, she sang nightly
with him, at their blessed mother's knee.
Nor would his only brother thus have mourn-
ed, might he but have poured the consolations
of the gospel, once more upon that stricken
wanderer, and treasured up one tear of peni-
A burst of grief overpowered him. The
officer with kindness assured him, that it was
no fault of theirs, that the family of his
brother was not apprized of his situation.
That he strenuously desired no tidings might
be conveyed to them, saying that the sight
of their sorrow, would be more dreadful to
him than his doom. During the brief interval
between his sentence and execution, he had
the devoted services of a holy man, to pre-
pare him for the final hour.
Edward Ludlow composed himself to listen
to every word. The shock of surprise, with
its tempest of tears, had past. As he stood
with uncovered brow, the bright locks cluster-
ing around his noble forehead, it was seen
how strongly he resembled his fallen brother,
ere care and sorrow had clouded his manly
beauty. For a moment, his eyes were raised
FRANK LUDLOW. 58
upward, and his lips moved. Pious hearts
felt that he was asking strength from above,
to rule his emotions, and to attain that sub-
mission, which as a teacher of religion he en-
forced on others.
Turning meekly towards the commanding
officer, he asked for the body of the dead,
that it might be borne once more to the deso-
late home of his birth, and buried by the side
of his father and his mother. The request
was granted with sympathy.
He addressed himself to the services con-
nected with the removal of the body, as one
who bows himself down to bear the will of
the Almighty. And as he raised the bleeding
corpse of his beloved brother in his arms, he
said, 0 war! war! whose tender mercies
are cruel, what enmity is so fearful to the
soul, as friendship with thee."
WAFT not to me the blast of fame,
That swells the trump of victory,
For to my ear it gives the name
Of slaughter, and of misery.
Boast not so much of honor's sword,
Wave not so high the victor's plume;
They point me to the bosom gor'd,
They pointed me to the blood-stained tomb.
The boastful shout, the revel loud,
That strive to drown the voice of pain,
What are they but the fickle crowd
Rejoicing o'er their brethren slain ?
And ah, through glory's fading blaze,
I see the cottage taper, pale,
Which sheds its faint and feeble rays,
Where unprotected orphans wail:
Where the sad widow weeping stands,
As if her day of hope was done;
Where the wild mother clasps her hands
And asks the victor for her son:
Where the lone maid in secret sighs
O'er the lost solace of her heart,
As prostrate in despair she lies,
And feels her tortur'd life depart:
Where midst that desolated land,
The sire lamenting o'er his son,
Extends his pale and powerless hand,
And finds its only prop is gone.
See, how the bands of war and woe
Have rifled sweet domestic bliss;
And tell me if your laurels grow,
And flourish in a soil like this ?
Iiint 46nyo t
IT was supposed in ancient times, that
those who were deprived of hearing and
speech, were shut out from knowledge. The
ear was considered as the only avenue to the
mind. One of the early classic poets has said,
"To instruct the deaf, no art could ever reach,
No care improve them, and no wisdom teach."
But the benevolence of our own days has
achieved this difficult work. Asylums for
the education of mute children, are multiply-
ing among us, and men of talents and learn-
ing, labor to discover the best modes of adding
to their dialect of pantomime the power of
written language. The neighborhood of one
of these Institutions has furnished the oppor-
K__ __ __--
------- ~ ~ --------~- --- --,
SILENT PEOPLE. 57
tunity of knowing the progress of many in-
teresting pupils of that class. Their ideas,
especially on religious subjects, are generally
very confused, at their arrival there, even
when much care has been bestowed upon
them at home.
A little deaf and dumb boy, who had the
misfortune early to lose his father, received
tender care and love from his mother and a
younger sister, with whom it was his chief
delight to play, from morning till night.
After a few years, the village where they re-
sided was visited with a dangerous fever, and
this family all lay sick at the same time.
The mother and daughter died, but the poor
little deaf and dumb orphan recovered. He
had an aged grandmother who took him to
her home, and seemed to love him better for
his infirmities. She fed him carefully, and
laid him in his bed with tenderness; and in
her lonely situation, he was all the world to
her. Every day she labored to understand
his signs, and to communicate some new idea
to his imprisoned mind. She endeavored to
instruct him that there was a Great Being,
who caused the sun to shine, and the grass to
grow; who sent forth the lightning and the
rain, and was the Maker of man and beast.
She taught him the three letters G 0 and D,
-and when he saw in a book this name of
the Almighty, he was accustomed to bow
down his head with the deepest reverence.
'But when she sought to inform him that he
had a soul, accountable, and immortal when
the body died, she was grieved that he seemed
not to comprehend her. The little silent boy
loved his kind grandmother, and would sit
for hours looking earnestly in her wrinkled
face, smiling, and endeavoring to sustain the
conversation. He was anxious to perform
any service for her that might testify his
affection-he would fly to pick up her knit-
ting-bag or her snuff-box when they fell, and
traverse the neighboring meadows and woods,
to gather such flowers and plants as pleased
her. Yet he was sometimes pensive and
wept-she knew not why. She supposed he
might be grieving for the relatives he had
_ _-~ .. ----.-~ ----- ----.- ..- -- -------.- ..---- -- -.-- --.-.-1
SILENT PEOPLE. 59
lost, and redoubled her marks of tenderness.
She often perused with great interest, ac-
counts of the intelligence and happiness of
the deaf and dumb, who enjoy a system of
education, adapted to their necessities, and
thought if anything could separate her from
her beloved charge, it would be that he might
share such an inestimable privilege.
At length, the eyes of this benevolent lady
grew dim through age, and when the little
suppliant, by his dialect of gestures, besought
her attention, she was unable to distinguish
the movements of his hands, or scarcely the
form of his features. It was then her earnest
request that he might be placed at the Ameri-
can Asylum in Hartford, for the education of
the deaf and dumb. There, when his first
regrets at separation had subsided, he began
to make rapid improvement. He became at-
tached to his companions and teachers, and
both in his studies and sports, was happy.
When he had nearly completed the period
allotted for a full course of instruction-a
conversation like the following took place one
L--- ~---~L-- -- --- -L __ __ -_-
evening, between him and a preceptor whom
he loved :
I have frequently desired to ask what
were some of your opinions, before you be-
came a pupil in this Institution. What, for
instance, were your ideas of the sun and
I supposed that the sun was a king and a
warrior, who ruled over, and slew the people,
as he pleased. When I saw brightness in the
west, at closing day, I thought it was the
flame and smoke of cities which he had de-
stroyed in his wrath. The moon, I much
disliked. I considered her prying and offi-
cious, because she looked into my chamber
when I wished to sleep. One evening, I
walked in the garden, and the half-moon
seemed to follow me. I sought the shade of
some large trees, but found she was there be-
fore me. I turned to go into the house, and
advised her not to come, because I hated her.
But when I lay down in my bed, she was
there. I arose and closed the blinds. Still
there were crevices through which she peeped.
SILENT PEOPLE. 61
I bade her go away, and wept with passion,
because she disregarded my wishes. I sus-
pected that she gazed at me, more than at
others, because I was deaf and dumb, and
that she would tell strangers of it, for I felt
ashamed of being different from other children."
What did you think of the stars ?"
They were more agreeable to me. I im-
agined that they were fair and well-dressed
ladies, who gave brilliant parties in the sky;
and that they sometimes rode for amusement,
on beautiful horses, carrying large candles in
Had you any conception of death ?"
When my little sister died, I wondered
why she lay still so long. I thought she was
lazy to be sleeping when the sun had arisen.
I gathered violets, and threw them in her
face, and said in my dialect of signs, "' Wake
up; wake up!" And I was displeased at
her, and went so far as to say, What a fool
you are!" when she permitted them to pu
her in a box, and carry her away, instead of
getting up to play with me.
62 OL1VE LEAVES.
"Afterwards, when my mother died, they
told me repeatedly, that she was dead, dead;
and tried to explain to me what death meant.
But I was distressed when I asked her for
bread, that she did not give it to me; and
when she was buried, I went every day where
they had laid her, waiting, and expecting that
Sshe would rise. Sometimes I grew impatient,
and rolled upon the turf that covered her,
striking my forehead against it, weeping and
saying, "Mother, get up! get up! why do
you sleep there so long with the child ? I am
sick, and hungry, and alone. Oh, Mother!
mother! get up !" When I was taken to my
grandmother's house, I could no longer visit
the grave, and it grieved me; for I believed
if I continued to go and cry there, she would
at length hear me and come up."
I know that more pains were taken to
instill religious principles into your mind, than
are commonly bestowed upon the deaf and
dumb. Will you tell me what was your
opinion of the Supreme Being ?"
"My kind grandmother labored without
SILENT PEOPLE. 68
ceasing, to impress me with reverence for the
Almighty. Through her efforts I obtained
some idea of the power and goodness which
are visible in creation; but of Him, who
wrought in the storm and in the sunshine, I
was doubtful whether it were a strong man,
a huge animal, or a vast machine. I was in
all the ignorance of heathen sin, until by
patient attendance on your juditious course
of instruction, knowledge entered into my
He then expressed to his teacher, the grati-
tude he felt for the blessings of education,
and affectionately wishing him a good night,
retired to repose.
Instances of the development of kind affec-
tions and religious hopes, are often touchingly
displayed among the children who share in
the privation of hearing and speech. This
was peculiarly the case with two little silent
sisters, beautiful in person and of gentle dis-
positions. Their names were Phebe and
Frances Hammond. The eldest was a very
fair, interesting child. She was deaf and
64 OLIVE LEAVES.
dumb from her birth, but from infancy showed
quick perceptions and a lively attention to
every object that passed before the eye. She
seemed perfectly happy, when the little sister,
two and a half years younger, and like her-
self mute, was old enough to play with her.
She would lead her with the greatest gentle-
ness, keeping watch lest she should get hurt,
with a tender, continual care. When they
were permitted to amuse themselves out of
doors, if she saw anything approaching which
she feared, she thought not of herself, but
encircled the little one in her arms, and
by cries sought for her relief and protection.
If they wished to climb a fence, she would
proceed at first, alone, trying every part, to
be sure of its safety, ere she returned to aid
her darling sister, keeping a firm hold on her
as she ascended, and jumping over on the
other side, to extend her little arm and lift
her tenderly down. It was a touching sight,
to view these silent children, at their health-
ful sports upon the smooth green lawn, or be-
neath the shade of spreading trees, supplying
SILENT PEOPLE. 65
as it were, the deficiency of Nature, by an
increased exercise of the sweetest, most sus.
Ere long, they expressed their desire to at-
tend school, that they might "learn to do,
like other children." Here they were very
diligent, and by great attention from the in-
Sstructress were taught to sew, to write, and
to spell many words. Visitants of the school
Expressed surprise at the neatness of their
needle-work, and chirography.
When they were brought by their father,
from their home in Massachusetts, to the
Asylum for the deaf and dumb, in Hartford,
Phebe was ten, and Frances seven and a half
years old. There was at that time a regula-
tion in force, that no pupil under the age of
ten years, could be received, being supposed
unable to derive full benefit from their system
Yet these little silent sisters, who had been
together night and day,-whose features and
garb were the same,-the smile or the sad-
ness of one face, being suddenly reflected on
the other, as if but one soul animated two
bodies, how could they be parted ? The idea
of a separate existence, a divided pleasure,
had never entered their minds. Now, they
gazed on each other with an expression of the
deepest anguish. They folded each other in
their arms. No power of speech was so elo-
quent as their imploring looks. The law re-
laxed its prohibition in their case. They
were permitted to remain together.
Phebe took her seat immediately among
the one hundred and forty pupils, forgetting
in her desire to learn, the embarrassment of
a stranger. Little Frances was more diffident
and clung to her as to a mother, never for a
moment disappointed in finding the tenderest
sympathy and love. Soon they became cheer-
ful and happy. Their affectionate hearts were
open to every innocent Iasure. Though the
youngest in school, they were so docile and
industrious as to obtain a rank among the
best scholars; and when the lessons of each
day were over, they comforted themselves
with their sweet, sisterly love. If one re-
ceived the simplest gift, it was instantly
shared, if it could not be divided it was con-
sidered as the property of both.
Phebe taught the little one to keep her
clothes without spot or stain, and to put every
article in its proper place. She led her by
the hand wherever she went, and if there was
a tear on her cheek she kissed it away. Lit-
tle Frances looked up to her, with the most
endearing and perfect confidence. When
they went home, at the vacations in spring
and autumn, the affectionate deportment of
these beautiful mute children, and their pro-
gress in the dialect of signs, as well as in
written speech, was admired by all. After
they had enjoyed the benefit of instruction
somewhat more than two years, Phebe was
observed to have a slight cough, and being
taken ill, was obliged to return to her parents.
Symptoms of consumpsion were too plainly
revealed to be mistaken. As she became
more emaciated and feeble, she desired to be
carried every day at a certain hour, into an
unoccupied room, and left for a while, by
68 OLIVE LEAVES.
herself. On being asked why she wished
this, she answered that she might better
lift up her thoughts to Him who heareth
In heaven," she said, "there are babes,
and children, and persons of every age. I
.think I have seen this in my mind, in a bright
dream. I am so weak, I shall die. I pray
that I may go to heaven. Oh! I wish
Frances to. love God. She is my good sister."
She was asked if it was her wish to live
and be restored to health. She replied,
No, I would see Jesus."
So, in quietness and peace, the voiceless
spirit of the loving child departed, to rejoice,
we trust, amid the melodies of heaven.
Sweet, sisterly affection seemed to have been
her principal solace, here below. And if it
was capable of imparting such happiness to
these deaf mutes, surely the children who are
blessed with hearing and speech, might still
more fully enjoy, and exemplify it. All who
have brothers and sisters should perform their
duty tenderly towards them, with constant
gratitude to Him who has vouchsafed them
the comfort of such relations.
Any little departure from kindness, will
cause painful remembrances, in a. time of be-
reavement. A boy was seen ofi at the
grave of a brother, younger than himself.
He hid his face upon the grassy mound and
wept bitterly. A friend who once saw him
there, said, "How much you loved your
brother." But he replied through his tears,
" My grief is because I did not love him
We have spoken of silent people. I can
tell you of one who suffers a still heavier
calamity. At the same Institution for the
deaf and dumb, is a girl, to whom noonday
and midnight are the same, who takes no
pleasure in the summer landscape, or the fair
changes of nature,-hears not the sound of
brooks bursting loose in spring, nor the song
of birds, nor the laughter of the young child,
neither looks upon the face of mother or of
friend. She is not only deaf and dumb, but
blind. Her name is Julia Brace. Her ear.
liest years were spent in the home of her pa-
rents, who were poor, and had several younger
children. Of all their movements she was
observant, as far as her state would allow;
and whelhe weather was cold, would some-
times kneel on the floor of their humble dwel-
ling, to feel if their little feet were naked as
well as her own. If she ascertained that.
others, and not herself, were furnished with
shoes and stockings, she would express uneasi-
ness at the contrast. Her perception, with
regard to articles of dress, was more accu-
rate than could have been expected, and
when any gifts were presented her, soon as-
certained and preferred those which were of
the most delicate texture. Seated on her lit-
tle block, weaving thin strips of bark with bits
of leather, which her father who was a shoe-
maker threw away, she constructed for her
oat, strange bonnets, or other ornaments,
equally rude, and yet not wholly discordant
with the principles of taste.
Sometimes, when the mother went out to a
day's work of washing, she left Julia, not.
SILENT PEOPLE. 71
withstanding her peculiar helplessness, with
the care of the younger children. On such
occasions, she evinced more of maternal so-
licitude, and even of skill in domestic leg-
islation than could have been rationally ex-
Once, when a dish had been broken, she
imitated what she supposed might be her
mother's discipline, and shook the little care-
less offender with some force. Then placing
her hand upon its eyes, and discovering that
it wept, and considering the act of discipline
complete, she hastened to take it in her arms
and press it to her bosom, and by persevering
tenderness, soothe it into good-humor and con-
While yet a child, her parents were relieved
from the expense of her maintenance, by
some charitable ladies, who placed her in the
family of an elderly matron who kept a small
day-school. Her curiosity was now called
forth into great activity, to search out the
employment of the scholars, and try to imi-
tate them. She observed that much of their
72 OLIVE LEAVES.
time was occupied with books. So, she held
a book long before her own sightless eyes.
But no knowledge visited her imprisoned
mind. Then, she held an open book before
the face of her favorite kitten, feeling its
mouth at the same time, and perceiving that
its lips did not move, shook its shoulder and
rapped its ear, to quicken its imitation of the
Trifling as these circumstances are in them-
selves, they show perception, and persever-
ance, struggling against the barriers that
Nature had interposed. Needle-work and
knitting had been taught her, and from these
employment she drew her principal solace.
With these she would busy herself for hours,
until it became necessary to prompt her to
the exercise that health required. Counter-
panes, patiently constructed by her, of srrfall
pieces of calico, were sold to aid in supplying
her wardrobe, and specimens of her work
were distributed by her patrons, to prove of
what nicety and industry the poor, blind and
silent girl was capable.
It was sometimes an amusement to her
visitants, to give into her hand their watches,
and test a peculiar sagacity which she
possessed, in restoring each to its owner.
Though their position with regard to her, or
to each other, was frequently and studiously
varied, and though she might hold at the
same time, two or three watches, neither
stratagem nor persuasion could induce her to
yield either, except to the person from whom
she received it. This tenacity of principle,
to give every one his own, might be resolved
into that moral honesty which has ever formed
a conspicuous part of her character. Though
nurtured in poverty, and after her removal
from the parental roof, in the constant habit
of being in contact with articles of dress or
food, which strongly tempted her desires, she
has never been known to appropriate to her-
self, without permission, the most trifling
object. In a well-educated child, this might
be no remarkable virtue; but in one, whose
sealed ear can receive no explanation of the
rights of property, and whose perfect blind-
ness must often render it difficult even to de-
fine them, the incorruptible firmness of this
innate principle, is truly laudable. There is
also, connected with it, a delicacy of feeling,
or scrupulousness of conscience, which ren-
ders it necessary, in presenting her any gift,
to assure her repeatedly, by a sign which she
understands, that it is for her, ere she will
consent to accept it.
After her admission into the Asylum for the
deaf and dumb, in Hartford, her native place,
efforts were made by one of the benevolent
instructors in that Institution to teach her the
alphabet. For this purpose, raised letters, as
well as those indented beneath a smooth sur-
face, were put in requisition. Punctually
she repaired to the school-room, with the see-
ing pupils, and spent hour after hour in imti-
tating with pins upon a cushion, the forms of
each separate letter. But all in vain. How-
ever accurate her delineations might some-
times be, they conveyed no idea to the mind,
sitting in thick darkness. It was therefore
deemed best that it should pursue those occu-
SILENT PEOPLE. 75
pations which more immediately ministered
to its comfort and satisfaction.
It has been observed that persons who are de-
prived of any one sense, have additional vigor
infused into those that remain. Thus blind
persons are distinguished by exquisite delicacy
of touch, and the deaf and dumb concentrate
their whole souls in the eye, their only avenue
to knowledge. But with her, whose ear,
eye, and tongue, are alike dead to action, the
power of the olfactory organs is so heightened,
as almost to form a new and peculiar sense.
It almost transcends the sagacity of the
SAs the abodes which from her earliest rec-
ollection she had inhabited, were circum-
scribed and humble, it was supposed that at
&er first reception into the Asylum, she might
testify surprise. But she immediately busied
herself in quietly exploring the size of the
apartments, and smelled at the thresholds,
and then, as if by the union of a mysterious
geometry with a powerful memory, never
made a false step upon a flight of stairs, or
76 OLIVE LEAVES.
i ~~~- ------ -- -
entered a wrong door, or mistook her seat at
the table. At the tea-table with the whole
family, on sending her cup to be replenished,
if one is accidentally returned to her, which
has been used by another person, she per-
ceives it in a moment, and pushes it from
her with some slight appearance of disgust,
as if her sense of propriety had been invaded.
There is not the slightest difference in the
cups, and in this instance, she seems endowed
by a sense of penetration not possessed by
those in the full enjoyment of sight.
Among her various excellencies, neatness
and love of order are conspicuous. Her sim-
ple wardrobe is systematically arranged, and
it is impossible to displace a single article in
her drawers, without her perceiving and re-
instating it. When the large baskets of cleaD
linen are weekly brought from the laundress,
she selects her own garments without hesita-
tion, however widely they may be dispersed
among the mass. If any part of her dress
Requires mending, she is prompt and skillful
S in repairing it, and her perseverance in this
j -i-~ -- --- -- ~,.., __ .
SILENT PEOPLE. 77
branch of economy, greatly diminishes the
expense of her clothing.
The donations of charitable visitants, are
deposited in a box with an inscription, and
she has been made to understand that the con-
tents are devoted to her benefit. This box
she frequently poises in her hand, and ex-
presses pleasure when it testifies an increase
of weight, for she has long since ascertained,
that money is the medium for the supply of
her wants, and attaches to it a proportionable
Though her habits are perfectly regular and
consistent, yet occasionally, some action oc-
curs which it is difficult to explain. One
summer morning, while employed with her
needle, she found herself incommoded by the
warmth of the sun. She arose, opened the
window, closed the blinds, and again resumed
her work. This movement, though perfectly
simple in a young child, who had seen it per-
formed by others, must in her case have re-
quired a more complex train of reasoning.
How did she know that the heat which she
--- ___ .-^--- i- ~------ --- -- ---------
78 OLIVE LEAVES.
felt was caused by the sun, or that by inter-
posing an opaque body, she might exclude his
Persons most intimately acquainted with
her habits, assert, that she constantly regards
the recurrence of the Sabbath, and composes
herself to a deeper quietness of meditation.
Her needle-work, from which she will not
consent to be debarred on other days-she
never attempts to resort to-and this, wholly
without influence from those around her.
Who can have impressed upon her benighted
mind the sacredness of that day? and by
what art does she, who is ignorant of all
numerical calculation, compute without error
the period of its rotation? A philosopher
who should make this mysterious being his
study, might find much to astonish him, and
perhaps something to throw light upon the
structure of the human mind.
Before her entrance at the Asylum, it was
one of her sources of satisfaction, to be per-
mitted to lay her hand upon the persons who
visited her, and thus to scrutinize with some
SILENT PEOPLE. 79
minuteness, their features, or the nature of
their apparel. It seemed to constitute one
mode of intercourse with her fellow beings,
which was soothing to her lonely heart, and
sometimes gave rise to degrees of admiration
or dislike, not always to be accounted for, by
those whose judgment rested upon the com-
bined evidence of all their senses. But since
her removal to this noble institution where
the visits of strangers are so numerous as to
cease to be a novelty, she has discontinued
this species of attention, and is not pleased
with any long interruption to her established
system of industry.
The genial influences of spring, wake her
lone heart to gladness, and she gathers the
first flowers, and even the young blades of
grass, and inhales their freshness with a de-
light bordering on transport. Sometimes,
when apparently in deep thought, she is ob-
served to burst into laughter, as if her associa-
tions of ideas were favorable, not only to cheer-
fulness, but to mirth. The society of the
female pupils at the Asylum is soothing to
fulnss, ut o mith.The ocity o th
her feelings, and their habitual kind offices,
their guiding arm in her walks, or the affec-
tionate pressure of their hands, awaken in
her, demonstrations of gratitude and friend-
ship. One of them was sick,-but it was
not supposed that amid the multitude that
surrounded her, the blind girl would be con-
scious of her absence. A physician was called,
Sand she was made to understand his profes-
sion, by placing a finger upon her pulse. She
immediately arose, and led him with the
earnest solicitude of friendship, to the bedside
of the invalid, placing her hand in his, with
an affecting confidence in the power of heal-
ing. As she has herself never been sick, it is
the more surprising, that she should so readily
comprehend the efficacy and benevolence of
the medical profession.
Julia Brace is still an inmate of the Asy-
lum at Hartford. She leads a life of quiet
industry, and apparent contentment. Some
slight services in the domestic department
supply the exercise that health requires, and
the remainder of the time she chooses to be
SILENT PEOPLE. 81
employed in sewing or knitting. Visitants
often linger by her side, to witness the mys-
tical process of threading her needle, which is
accomplished rapidly by the aid of her tongue.
So, the tongue that hath never spoken is still
in continual use.
Her youth is now past, and she seems to
make few, if any, new mental acquisitions.
Her sister in calamity, Laura Bridgman, of
the Institution for the Blind in Boston, has
far surpassed her in intellectual attainments,
and excites the wondering admiration of
every beholder. The felicity of her position,
the untiring philanthropy of her patron,
Dr. Howe, and the constant devotion of an
accomplished teacher, have probably produced
this difference of result, more than any origi-
nal disparity of talents or capacity.
Julia, in her life of patient regularity,
affords as strong a lesson as can be given, of
the power of industry, to soothe privation and
to confer content. While employed she is
satisfied, but if at any time, unprovided with
work, her mind preys upon itself,-not being
able to gather ideas from surrounding objects,
and having but a limited stock of knowledge
to furnish material for meditation. If this
poor heart which is never to thrill at the
sound of a human voice, or be lifted up with
joy at the fair scenery of earth, and sky, and
waters, finds in willing diligence a source of
happiness, with how much more gladness
should we turn to the pursuits of industry,
who are impelled by motives and repaid by
results, which she must never enjoy.
Dear young friends, who can see the smile
on the faces of those whom you love, who
can hear their approving voices, who can
utter the words of knowledge, and rejoice in
the glorious charms of nature, who know
also that life is short, and that you must give
strict account of it to God, how faithfully
and earnestly should you improve your time.
You who have the great, blessed gift of
speech, be careful to make a right use of it.
Yes, speak kind, and sweet, and true words,
and so help your own souls on their way to
THE DEAF, DUMB, AND BLIND GIRL, AT THE INSTITU-
TION FOR THE BLIND, IN BOSTON.
WHERE is the light that to the eye
Heaven's holy message gave,
Tinging the retina with rays
From sky, and earth, and wave ?
Where is the sound that to the soul
Mysterious passage wrought,
And strangely made the moving lip
A harp-string for the thought ?
All fled all lost! Not even the rose*
An odor leaves behind,
That, like a broken reed, might trace
The tablet of the mind.
That mind! It struggles with its fate,
The anxious conflict, see !
Laura is deprived of the sense of smell, which in Julia's case is so
84 OLIVE LEAVES.
As if through Bastile-bars it sought
Communion with the free.
Yet still its prison-robe it wears
Without a prisoner's pain;
For happy childhood's beaming sun
Glows in each bounding vein,
And bless'd Philosophy is near,
In Christian armor bright,
To scan the subtlest clew that leads
To intellectual light.
Say, lurks there not some ray of heaven
Amid thy bosom's night,
Some echo from a better land,
To make the smile so bright ?
The lonely lamp in Greenland cell,
Deep neathh a world of snow,
Doth cheer the loving household group
Though none beside may know;
And, sweet one, hath our Father's hand
Plac'd in thy casket dim
Some radiant and peculiar lamp,
To guide thy steps to Him?
KINDNESS to animals, shows an amiable
disposition, and correct principles. The in-
ferior creation were given for our use, but not
for our abuse or cruelty. Many of them add
greatly to the comfort of domestic life, and
also display qualities deserving of regard.
The noble properties of the dog, the horse,
and the half-reasoning elephant," have long
been known and praised. But among the
lower grades of animals, especially if they
receive kind treatment, traits of character are
often discovered that surprise or delight us.
Cats, so frequently the objects of neglect
or barbarity, are more sagacious than is gen-
erally supposed. The mother of four young
kittens, missed one of her nurslings, and dili-
86 OLIVE LEAVES.
gently searched the house to find it. Then
shi commenced calling upon the neighbors,
gliding from room to room, and looking under
sofas and beds, with a troubled air. At
length, she found it in a family in the vicinity,
where it had been given by her mistress.
Taking it in her mouth, she brought it home
and bestowed on it her nursing cares, and
maternal caresses for a few weeks, then car-
ried it back to the same neighbor, and left it
in the same spot where she found it. It would
seem as if she wished to testify her approba-
tion of the home selected for her child, and
desired only to nurture it until it should be
old enough to fill it properly.
A cat who had repeatedly had her kittens
taken from her, and drowned immediately
after their birth, went to a barn belonging to
the family, quite at a long distance from the
house. She so judiciously divided her time,
as to obtain her meals at home and attend to
her nursery abroad. At length she entered the
kitchen followed by four of her offspring, well-
grown, all mewing in chorus. Had she fore-
Me SauWtod L. kitchen folk lomdW b7 i.r 9(bur obepriag$
sight enough to conclude that if she could
protect them until they reached a more ma-
ture age, they would escape the fate of their
unfortunate kindred ?
A little girl once sate reading with a large,
favorite cat in her lap. She was gently strok-
ing it, while it purred loudly, to express its
joy. She invited a person who was near, to
feel its velvet softness. Reluctant to be in-
terrupted in an industrious occupation that
required the use of both hands, the person did
not immediately comply, but at length touched
the head so abruptly that the cat supposed
itself to have been struck. Resenting the in-
dignity, it ceased its song, and continued al-
ternately rolling and closing its eyes, yet
secretly watching, until both the busy hands
had resumed their employment. Then, stretch-
ing forth a broad, black velvet paw, it inflicted
on the back of one of them a quick stroke, and
jumping down, concealed itself beneath the
chair of its patron. There seemed in this
simple action a nice adaptation of means to
ends: a prudent waiting, until the retaliation
88 OLIVE LEAVES.
that was meditated, could be conveniently in-
dulged, and a prompt flight from the evil that
The race of rats, are usually considered re-
markable only for voraciousness, or for in-
genious and mischievous inventions to obtain
the gratification of appetite. A vessel that
had been much infested by them, was, when
in port, fumigated with brimstone, to expel
them. Escaping in great numbers, they were
dispatched by people stationed for that pur-
pose. Amid the flying victims a group was
observed to approach slowly, upon the board
placed between the vessel and the shore.
One of those animals held in his mouth a
stick, the extremities of which were held by
two others, who carefully led him. It was
discovered that he was entirely blind. The
executioners making way for them, suffered
them to live. It was not in the heart of man
to scorn such an example.
Another of our ships, while in a foreign
port, took similar measures to free itself from
those troublesome inmates. Amid the throngs
.. ..... ~.~ ._. ___ _
S -HUMBLE FRIENDS. 89
that fled from suffocating smoke to slaughter-
ing foes, one was seen moving laboriously as
if overburdened. Climbing over the bodies
of his dead companions, he bore upon his
back another, so old as to be unable to walk.
Like Eneas, escaping from the flames of
Troy, perhaps it was an aged father that he
thus carried upon his shoulders. Whether it
were filial piety, or respect for age, his noble
conduct, as in the previous instance, saved his
Ifle and that of his venerable friend.
Sheep are admired for their innocence and
meekness, more than for strong demonstra-
tions of character. Yet the owner of a flock
was once surprised by seeing one of his fleecy
people rushing to and fro beneath his window,
in great agitation and alarm. Following her
to the pasture, where she eagerly led the
way, he found a fierce dog tearing the sheep.
Having put him to flight, he turned in search
of the messenger, and found her in a close
thicket, where she had carefully hidden her
own little lamb, ere she fled to apprize the
master of their danger. This strangely in-