• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 Dedication
 Table of Contents
 Preface
 The old chair-mender and his...
 The torn frock
 The rainbow-pilgrimage
 Dennis O'Brien
 Strawberrying
 Tom Shelby's visit to the...
 The two ladies from the city
 The aunt from the west
 Little Charlie's will
 The hermit
 Effie Grey's sleep-walking
 Lizzie in the mill
 Jack and his Jack-O'Lanterns
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: Recollections of my childhood
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002233/00001
 Material Information
Title: Recollections of my childhood and other stories
Physical Description: 144 p., <5> leaves of plates : ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Greenwood, Grace, 1823-1904
Billings, Hammatt, 1818-1874 ( Illustrator )
Baker, William Jay ( Engraver )
Ticknor, Reed, and Fields ( Publisher )
Hobart and Robbins ( Stereotyper )
Publisher: Ticknor, Reed, and Fields
Place of Publication: Boston
Manufacturer: Stereotyped by Hobart & Robbins
Publication Date: 1852, c1851
Copyright Date: 1851
 Subjects
Subject: Girls -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Country life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
 Notes
General Note: Also published under title: Stories of my childhood.
General Note: Illustrations engraved by W.J. Baker.
Statement of Responsibility: By Grace Greenwood <pseud.> ; with engravings from designs by Billings.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002233
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA2505
notis - ALH1201
oclc - 04175839
alephbibnum - 002230836
lccn - 07015869

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Frontispiece
        Frontispiece
    Title Page
        Page i
        Page ii
    Dedication
        Page iii
        Page iii-a
    Table of Contents
        Page iv
    Preface
        Page v
        Page vi
        Page vii
        Page viii
        Page ix
    The old chair-mender and his grand-daughter
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
    The torn frock
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 24a
        Page 24b
    The rainbow-pilgrimage
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
    Dennis O'Brien
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
    Strawberrying
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    Tom Shelby's visit to the country
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
    The two ladies from the city
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
    The aunt from the west
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 90a
        Page 90b
    Little Charlie's will
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 106a
        Page 106b
    The hermit
        Page 107
        Page 108
    Effie Grey's sleep-walking
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
    Lizzie in the mill
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
    Jack and his Jack-O'Lanterns
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
    Back Cover
        Page 145
        Page 146
    Spine
        Page 147
Full Text
































'WIF












oft








AL





RECOLLECTIONS


01


M Y


CHILDHOOD,


AND


OTHER STORIES.




BY


GRACE


GRE EN WO OD,


ATTIlR OF "BISTOKRY OF NMT rrTI.




WITH ENINGATINGS FROM DEKIrGNS BY BIILLIN 9.





BOSTON:


TICKNOR, REED,


AND FIELDS.


N DCCC I1.






























Enterel nrcording to Art of Conqresa, in Ihe yenr IRMA, by
SARA J. CLAnKE,
In the Clerk' Office ofhe Dri the Dirifor the Ditrt aMa 3asmrhusetti.





















*I te Ir o yp it by y
HOBART A RIOBBINI,
BOSTON.























Vehitatitn.





t'NA AND JULIAN IHAWTHORNE,

HORACE AND GORGE MANN,

I AM PR AD AND HIAPPT TO DEIDTCATE THIS VOIUTf.ll

lURACE GREENWOOD.













CONTENTS.


PAOX
THE OLD CHAIR-MENDER AND HIS GRAND-DAUGHTER I

THE TORN FROCK,-A LITTLE STORY FOR LITTLE

GIRLS 14

THE RAINBOW-PILGRIMAGE 25

DENNIS O'BRIEN 9 34

STRAWBERRYING 45

TOM SHELBY'S VISIT TO THE COUNTRY 55

THE TWO LADIES FROM THE CITY 70

THE AUNT FROM THE WEST 80

LITTLE CHARLIE S WILL 91

THE HERMIT 107

EFFIE GREY'S SLEEP-WALKING 109

LIZZE IN THE MILL 119

JACK AND HIS JACK LANTERNS 131










PREFACE.


TO THE MOTHERS OF THE CHILDREN INTO WHOSE
HANDS THIS BOOK MAY FALL.

MY FRIENDS -
Many times, while writing this little volume of
stories, I have seemed to feel your eyes upon me,
in a look so serious, so searching, that my heart
almost quailed under it. I have felt, more deeply
than I can tell, that I was to be judged not alone
by literary umpires, by professional critics, %ut
by the unbiased reason, the quick conscience, the
jealous watchfulness, the wondrous instincts, of
your maternal hearts.
As a practical florist would watch keenly, if
not distrustfully, a young gardener, in his first
essays at binding up rose-trees, watering and prop-
ping lilies, and training tender young vines, so,
but with infinitely deeper anxieties, must you
regard one like me, a stranger in your conserva-




VI


PREFACE.


tory of fair soul-flowers, newly blossomed out of
the great life of God, seeking to stay with some
rude support the luxuriant growth and affluent
flowering of childish affections, to nourish the pure
white bloom of earliest thought, to train those beau-
tiful vine-like instincts of faith and holiness which,
even undirected, creep blindly toward heaven. As
Eve learned horticulture of the angels in Eden, so,
in the life of maternal love, have you been divinely
taught to rear your plants of immortality. Yet do
not distrust one who but seeks, as a subordinate, to
aid you in your labors. She may go about her
work with "a 'prentice hand," all too unskilful,
but, surely, neither rash nor ungentle.
Aside from the dear love I bear them, I have a
genuine reverence for children,-for that open-
browed innocence, that simple trust, that utter
unworldliness, which once drew them into the arms
of Jesus, and called from his lips that blessing
which is the seal of his divinity to the heart of a
mother. I look upon a joyous group of children,
not envying them their careless happiness, with the
sad retrospective feeling which murmurs, I, too,
dwelt in Arcadia; "-but, regarding their purity,





PREFACE.


I say, with a sort of grateful pride, Have I not
been as one of these 7 Did I not also inherit the
blessing?"
I have faith to believe that this book will speak
to the hearts of children, because, in writing it, I
truly lived again the life of my childhood; my
heart was dismayed anew at its little dangers, and
thrilled by its little joys; it bled again with its
sharp little sorrows, where the later, deeper wounds
of womanhood were healed forever.
It may be I have written too much as a child,-
too impulsively and inconsiderately. You may think
the imirth of some portions of the book rather too
free and wild. I can only reply that my humor is
not under my control; it plays "fantastic tricks"
on its own responsibility, in defiance of good sober
sense and the nice rules of propriety.
For the homely democratic sentiments scattered
through the volume I make no apology; I will
stand by them at all times. The religious senti-
ments arc alike those of my reason and my heart.
I have sought to point my readers to a heaven of
peace and brightness, notw of storm and gloom; to
i,-ulitc, a hlierif which nmny bring comfort and joy


VII





VII


PREFACE.


to their young spirits, not awe and terror; -a
faith as bright, as free, as clear, as cheerful, as the
skies, the birds, the waters and the flowers, of my
own remembered childhood.
In regard to the language employed, I have not
been conscious of striving after simplicity. I have
been a goxl deal influenced by the advice of a little
girl, who, on hearing that a lady was writing a
juvenile work, said, Do, papa, tell her not to talk
to the children more childishly than they ever talk
themselves."
And now, dear friends, let me say I do not even
hope that you will pronounce my story-book fault-
less; but, if you will only admit. that it is harm-
less, that it will do some little good, -if you
will believe I have meant well, I hall be quite
content. G. GO












RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.


THE OLD CHAIR-MENDER AND HIS
GRAND-DAUGHTER.

PERHAPs some of my little readers have
seen in the country chairs bottomed with
thin strips of wood, or woven bark. These
make very easy seats, but do not last a
great while. We had such chairs in our
kitchen, and about once a year they needed
repairing. There was an old man, by the
name of Richards, who used to do this
work for us. I remember him now, as
plainly as though I had seen him only yes-
terday. He was a little fat man, between
sixty and seventy years of age, with a
good-natured, rosy face, and hair as white
as snow, which was very thick, and hung
down on his shoulders. He generally wore
1





2 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHmLDHOOD.

a suit of coarse cloth, called "sheep's
gray," and a brown felt hat, with a round
crown and a wide brim. IIe always came
in a little unpainted wagon, drawn by a
sorel one-eyed pony, in a home-made
harness of light leather, with rope reins.
I remember that this pony, whose name
was Dolly," had once a little colt, which,
not being as sober-mannered and lazy as
herself, gave her more trouble than pleasure.
He seemed remarkably cunning, and would
often get on the blind side of his mother,
and keep as quiet* as a mouse, while the
poor creature was whinnying for him, in
great distress.
Mr. Richards lived in a small log house,
a few miles cast of us, with the only near
relative he had in the world,- a little
grand-daughter, named Amy, who, from
the age of ten years, when her mother
died, was her grandfather's housekeeper.
Amy Ellis was one of the best, as she
was one of the prettiest girls in the coun-
try, far and wide. People called her "a





THE OLD CHAIR-MENDER. 3

perfect little woman," she was so active,
so steady and industrious. She was strong,
healthy and happy, and really could do more
work in a day than many a full-grown
woman, and with less fuss. She was not
tall, but rather stout, like her grandfather;
her hands were hardened by work, and her
feet somewhat spread by going without
shoes in the summer time ; but she had a
clear brown complexion, rosy cheeks, and
very handsome hazel eyes. Her frocks
and aprons, though plain, and cut in rather
an old-womanly way, were always neat and
whole, and her grandfather's clothes were
kept carefully brushed and mended.
I can see now that Amy was a very won-
derful child; but I own that there was a
time when I grew' tired of her very name,
from hearing her praised so much, and held
up as a model for me to imitate.
Amy had a good deal of taste. I remem-
ber that she used to train up ivy-vines and
rose-bushes against her grandfather's house,
till you could scarcely see the logs. She




4 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

was very fond of her old grandfather, and
he of her. It was pleasant to see them
working in the field and garden together,
or walking to church, or sitting of a Sunday
evening in the burial-ground, on the rough
bench, by the graves of old Mrs. Richards
and Amy's father and mother. They were
too poor to put up head-stones; but they
had placed boards, with nicely painted
inscriptions, there, and had planted the
sweet-brier and violets in great abundance.
I remember the last chair which Mr.
Richards mended for us, and how it was
broken. There was a certain old soldier, a
very stout man, who was in the habit of
calling at our house and asking for cider.
He grew rather troublesome, at last, and my
mother resolved to give him no more, as he
was suspected of drinking too much,-
though, for that matter, any cider is too
much. But, one hot summer day, he came
in, and asked for a drink. My mother
looked at him, saw that he had not been
drinking, and that he was very tired. So





THE OLD CHAIB-MENDER. 6

she went for the cider herself, calling to
my brother William to hand the gentleman
a chair. Will was very mischievous, and
so brought forward an old arm-chair, the
bottom of which was broken in several
places. Of course, Mr. More, tired as he
was, came down so heavily that all gave way
under him, and when he rose the chair rose
with him. My mother returned in time to
reprove my brother for his "carelessness,"
as she called it. I wish I could believe it
was carelessness, and no trick. She then
handed a brimming tumbler to our neigh-
bor; he drank one great swallow, then
made up a dreadful face, set down the glass,
and hurried angrily out of the house. My
mother, much astonished, tasted of that
which was left in the pitcher, and found
that it was vinegar. What a laugh we
children had at her carelessness But
old Mr. More never again called at our
house for cider.
Mr. Richards happened along in a day or
two, and wove a new bottom for the chair.




6 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CIIILDHOOD.

That time he brought with him his grand-
daughter, who was then between eleven
and twelve years old. My sister and I,
wishing to amuse her, showed her our dolls ;
but she said, "How can you waste so
many pretty pieces of calico in these little
frocks and aprons ? I would sew them
together, and put them into a bed-quilt."
We took her to see our pretty pet pig,
" Nuggie," who lived in a little house by
himself, and was washed every day; and
after looking at him a minute, she said,
"Do you mean to keep such a nice fat pig
as that ? If he were mine, I'd have him
killed, and roast him."
I thought this was very cruel of Amy,
for our Nuggie was no common pig; lie
was civilized and good-mannered, and we
had taught him a great many cunning tricks.
I afterwards asked my mother if it was not
a hard-hearted remark; but she replied that
Amy looked more to the useful than the
ornamental. Poor Nuggie died that very





THE OLD CHAIR-MENDER. 7

summer, of cholera-morbus, from my over-
feeding him with green apples.
Amy seemed most pleased with our ducks
and a pair of twill calves, which, she said,
were nearly as thriving as her own; but
she soon went into the house, took out her
knitting, and sat down near her grand-
father. My mother was making some pastry
in the kitchen, and Mr. Richards was con-
versing with her. I remember that he was
talking of a neighbor of ours, .who, he
said, was well enough off, but who. had sold
out, pulled up stakes," and started for
the far-away State of Ohio, in hopes of
making his fortune. He said, As for me,
I have lamed 'in whatsoever state I am,
therewith to be content,' and all I want,
here below, is food and raiment, and mid-
dling good clothing, and three meals of
victuals a day."
Why, grandfather," said Amy, "does
anybody ask more than that ?"
Yes, child," he answered; some folks
take a notion that they must be rich or




RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.


great. I had a brother that never would
give up peddling till he was worth a thou-
sand dollars; and my father, your great-
grandfather, was a Justice of the Peace;
but I don't think he was ever the happier
for his greatness. I rather think that it
shortened his life, though he was a-most
eighty when he died."
My mother invited Amy to stay with us
that night and the next day ; but she
answered, "I thank you,- I cannot possibly
stay, for to-morrow is my baking-day."
When she was going, we children offered
to lend her some of our story-books. She
looked at them as though she longed to take
them; then shook her head, and said to my
mother, "I have no time to read such things
as these; but, if you could lend me a good
cookery-book, I should be very glad."
The very autumn after the visit I have
described, Mr. Richards was taken down
with a fever. The neighbors kindly offered
assistance, and did all they could for him;
but he liked best to be tended by Amy, and





THE OLD CHAIR-MEDER. 9

she wished to do all the nursing for him.
One afternoon, when he seemed somewhat
better, and nobody, not even the doctor,
thought him dangerously ill, it happened
that Amy was alone with him. As she sat
by his bedside, he stretched out his thin
hand and laid it on her head, saying, in a
faint voice, "Poor Amy, I am sorry to
leave you; you have been a good child to
me. Keep a good girl, love God, and lie '1
take care of you. You must n't live here
all alone when I am gone; but you'll see
that somebody takes care of old Dolly."
"Why, grandfather," said Amy, "you
will live to take care of her yourself."
MSr. Richards was silent a moment; then
he asked,
Is there room between your mother and
your grandmother for me ? They 'll have
to take up the sweet-brier; but, if it dies,
maybe you '11 plant another over your poor
old grand'ther."
0, grandfather," cried Amy, don't




10 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

talk so,-- don't You will live a great many
years yet, won't you, dear grandfather ? "
Well Amy, I 'l try," he said; "and
now I think I will sleep a little."
He turned his face toward the wall, and
lay very quiet. Amy sat by him more than
an hour ; then she went out softly and made
him some nice broth. When she came in
with this, she thought that he had slept long
enough; so, laying her hand lightly on his
shoulder, she said, Come, grandfather,
wake up and take your broth before it gets
cold But he did not wake. She stooped
over him, and when she saw his face, she
started with fear; it was so white, and the
eyes were so sunken. She laid her hand
on his forehead, and it was quite cold. Her
grandfather was dead!
Then Amy flung herself down beside
him, wound her arms about his neck, and
cried aloud.
It happened that a stranger gentleman
and his wife were at that moment passing
the house in a travelling carriage, and hear-




THE OI CHAI-MENDER. 11

ing the mournful cries of the poor girl,
they alighted and came in. The first that
Amy knew, she was lifted gently up from
the bed, and when she looked round she
saw a lady in deep mourning, who held her
in her arms, and was striving to comfort
her. She had never seen the sweet face
of that lady before; but she loved her at
once, and clung to her as though she were
her own mother.
The strangers, Mr. and Mrs. Temple, had
a little while before lost their only child, a
daughter, about the age of Amy; and after
hearing Amy's sad story, and seeing her
lonely condition, they resolved to befriend
her. They stayed in the village near by
till after the funeral of Mr. Richards, wait-
ing to take his grand-daughter home with
them.
When Mr. Temple had led the weeping
Amy out of the little log house, so many
years her dear home, and handed her into
his carriage, he was heard to tell the driver
to drive rather slowly, so as not to hurry too


L.




12 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

much lazy old Dolly, who was fastened
behind.
Mr. and Mrs. Temple soon grew to loving
Amy very much, and finally adopted her as
their own daughter. They were wealthy,
and thinking that she should have a fine
education, they concluded to send her to a
fashionable boarding-school. But, though
Amy was clever, and proved to be a diligent
scholar, she was neither happy nor healthy
there. She grew so pale and languid, at
last, that her friends took her home, and
began to nurse her, and give her medicine.
But, one morning, Mrs. Temple missed her
from the sick room. She searched through
the house, and at length found her in
the kitchen, busy at the ironing-table. Then
it was agreed upon that Amy should do
some house-work every day, and study at
home; and, I assure you, it was not long
before she was in fine health and spirits.
Amy is a woman now, and has a house
of her own to manage. She married a lit-
erary man- a poet, and a writer of stories.





THE OLD CHAIm-MENDER. 13

I have heard it said that she took him
instead of any one of her wealthy lovers,
because she knew that, as his wife, she
should not be obliged to play the fine lady,
but would always have plenty of good hard
work to do.










THE TORN FROCK. -A LITTLE STORY FOR
LITTLE GIRLS.

I WAS the most unlucky child in the world
in respect to my clothes. My frocks and
aprons never kept whole, like those of other
little girls, but somehow went to pieces
before I knew it. If there was a brier in
my path, it was sure to fasten itself to my
pantalet, and tear the trimming off. If
a nail 'protruded from a box, I was sure to
come in contact with it, and find it was too
much for me. If a rail had an ugly splinter,
I was sure to undertake to get over the
fence in that very place; and if there was
a thorn-bush on my way from school, just
as I was under full speed, my skirts were
sure to be blown against it, and awful con-
sequences to follow.
Some people said that these sad acci-
dents happened to my clothes because I





THE TORN FROCK. 15

never was slow or thoughtful, but did every-
thing with a hop, skip, and jump. But I
knew it was luck. I was born to have my
frocks torn. My mother sometimes talked
of dressing me in stout brown linen; but it
would have been of no use. I don't think
I should have been safe in a canvas frock
and cassimere pantalets.
When I was between seven and eight
years of age, my mother went away from
home, to spend some months, and left us
children under the care of a housekeeper. I
suppose that the widow Wilkins was a very
respectable, well-meaning woman ; she kept
the house neatly, sent us regularly to school,
and gave us enough to eat; but I do think
she was rather too hard on me for tearing my
clothes. She did n't seem to believe in it
being all ill luck. Sometimes I would steal
slyly into the house, about dusk, with a
rent in my frock carefully pinned up, hoping
it would escape her notice ; but she never
failed to spy it out, and to be down upon
me at once. You would have thought that





16 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY -CHIDHOOD.

she mistook me for her bottle of bitters,
labelled, When taken, to be well shaken,"
she exercised me in such a remarkable man-
ner ; then she would settle me in my chair,
as though she meant that I never should
rise again on any occasion. But I did not
care so much for these things as I did for
her talk. Such long lectures as she would
give me on my carelessness; such awful
warning of the poverty and want I was
bringing on myself; such dreadful stories
she would tell of the melancholy end of
little girls who kept on slitting up their
frocks and rending their pinafores!
In late years, I have heard women speak
in public lecture and preach, sometimes
talking very fast, and often quite loud and
brave; but, even now, as I look back, I
think the widow Wilkins was a wonderful
woman with her tongue.
I did not improve under her severe
rule. I am sorry to say that I rather grew
worse; for now, when I was not careless





-__ TORN FROCK. 17

I was awkward, from fear of her, and
blundered into tearing my clothes.
At last, our mother came home. How
well I remember that morning! She *
arrived early, came to our beds, and waked
us with her kisses. I remember how she
laughed at our youngest, Albert, who did
not know her at first, ahd as he was very
bashful, hid under the bed-clothes, and
when she caught him and pulled him out,
said, joyfully, "0, it's you, mamma! I
thought 't was a lady."
I remember that she brought the little
fellow some toys, the like of which were
never seen i our part of the country.
There was a wee man, called "Merry
Andrew," with a mouth on the broad grin,
and you had only to pull a string to make
him fling out his legs and throw up his arms
i a surprising manner. There was a cob-
bler always mending a shoe that was never
done, and a pasteboard cuckoo, which, with
a tlie squeezing, would send forth a sound
which we were so polite as to call singing.
2




18 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

This my little brother" smashed the next
day, to see what made the noise. But, most
wonderful of all, was a village, the little
white block-houses all standing in rows on
a green board, and with little figures of men
and women which you could move about.
There was a meeting-house, with a sharp
steeple; and when all was rightly fixed, a
minister, with a very long face, was just
going into the door, and the people were
following him. But Albert turned this
minister round, moved him across the street,
and made him going into the tavern-door,
which we told him was very wrong.
My sister Carrie and myself received each
a pretty black-eyed doll, all dressed, and a
new frock. Such splendid fine-lady dolls
we had never before seen. Why, they
actually had knee-joints and elbow-joints,
and red Morocco shoes! Our frocks were
of fine buff lawn, figured with the tiniest
.white rose-buds in the world ; and our mother
made them in some wonderful new fasltion,





THE TORN FROCK. 19

which almost threw us into convulsions of
delight.
There was in a distant part of the, yard,
surrounding our house, an old apple-tree,
among the lower branches of which I had a
favorite seat, which I used to reach by the
help of a board, leaned against the trunk
of the tree. Two or three crooked limbs
formed an easy seat, and one higher up
made a nice shelf for books and playthings.
I have heard that the great poetess, Mrs.
Hemans, when a little girl of seven, had such
a perch, where she read Shakspeare. I never
undertook such fine reading in my apple-
tree, but I read "The Babes in the Wood"
and Goody Two-Shoes" there, with great
pleasure; and, though I was no genius,
I rathq% think I understood them quite
as well as she understood her grand old
Shakspeare. On my shelf, in pleasant
weather, I kept two rather plainly-dressed
cloth-dolls, called Polly and Bltsy ; and to
these I went to complain when I had been
ill-used at school, or widow Wilkins' scold-





20 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

ing had been more than I could bear. I
liked to talk to these two friends, they lis-
tened so respectfully, never interrupting or
contradicting me. I can't say that they
comforted me, as I was obliged to say every-
thing for them; but they never blamed me,
or in any way took sides against me.
When, for the first time, I was dressed
in my new buff lawn, and it had been
admired by all in the house, I felt that I
really must give Polly and Betsy a sight of
it; and soon I was up in my lofty seat,
spreading out my fine gown, and talking of
the color, the fit, the ruffles and tucks, in
two little admiring voices, which I made
believe came from the pink button-hole
mouths of Polly and Betsy. When they
had said all the pretty and strong words I
could think of, I very uncivilly forgot their
presence, took up my book, and began to
read. The day was sultry, I was tired ; the
story was am old one, and, at last, I fell
fast asleep. When I awoke, some time after
sunset, I found that one of my mischievous





TfE TORN FROCK. 21

brothers had taken the board away from the
tree, and that I must get down as best I
could. I was too proud and independent
to call for help, though I knew the boys
must be somewhere near, but jumped at
once. As usual, I forgot to gather my
frock around me; and, as I leaped from my
perch, there came an awful sound!-a
sound I knew too well. As I rose from the
ground and looked about me, I found that
my beautiful new frock was torn half across
one breadth, in that hateful zigzag way
that my frocks were always tearing. Of
course, the first thing I did was to sit down
and have a good cry ; then I stole up to my
chamber by the back stairs, took off my
buff lawn, folded it, laid it away in my
drawer, and put on an old gingham frock,
feeling that it was vastly too good for me.
After a while, I went down to supper,
though I felt sure I could not swallow a
mouthful. As I took my seat at the table,
my brother Rufus looked up from his bowl
of bread and milk, and said, 0 ho! you've





22 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

come down, have you ? I thought you had
gone to roost for the night."
I wished to make a clean breast of it, and
tell all to my mother, but did not dare, for
fear she would punish me, or give me what
widow Wilkins had taught me to dread a
thousand times more -a severe scolding.
That night, oh, how I longed to have some
kind fairy come, when I was fast asleep, and
nicely dar my torn frock! I thought, too,
that the wicked being, whose name I never
then dared to speak, and even now would
rather not mention,- that the evil one would
not be so very bad, after all, if he would go
about sewing tears for poor unlucky little
girls while they slept!
The next day, at noon, my mother said
that I need not go back to school, but might
go with her to spend the afternoon at a
neighbor's house, a most pleasant place. I
knew that she would tell me to wear my
new buff lawn; so I answered, "I would
rather go to school, if you please." My
mother was surprised at this,but she praised





TUE TORN FROCK. 23

me for being so fond of my books. How
ashamed I felt at her praises That night,
she told me that she had invited some little
girls of the house where she had visited to
spend the next afternoon with me. In the
morning, I longed more than ever to tell
her all; I even began,-but the words
seemed to choke me, and I ran away to
school without having confessed. I knew
I should be required to put on the lawn;
and I lingered on the way home, and paused
a long time on the door-step, fearing to go
in, because then my secret must come out.
At last, I softly opened the door, and
stepped into the sitting-room. My mother sat
by the window, sewing. I went up to her
so quietly that she did not hear me. In her
lap lay my new buff frock, and she was
putting the last stitches into the nicest piece
of darning ever done in the world! I
started with both joy and alarm, and my
mother looked round with a smile, saying,
" Why, my little daughter is late to-day!"
and that was all! I knelt down by her




24 RECOLLECTONS OF MY CHIDIIOOD.

side, hid my face in her lap, had a hearty
cry, and felt better. The girls soon came,
and we had a happy afternoon.
My mother said nothing about my frock
for days after,- not even to ask how I had
torn it. But her silent, forbearing kindness
did more to make me careful in future than
any punishment or scolding could have done.
Yet I still tore my frocks occasionally ; and,
even now, I sometimes tear my best dresses,
and expect to tear them, as long as I live.
When, a year or two after my apple-tree
adventure, I saw my sister Sophie cutting
up my out-grown buff lawn for a bed-
quilt, I begged a scrap containing that
nicely-darned rent, which I had always
thought the prettiest part of the frock, and
laid it carefully away among my little treas-
ures, where I kept it for many years, as
" a specimen of my mother's fine needle-
work," I told others, but, in truth, as a
reminder of her patience and goodness
toward her careless and luckless child.











THE RAINBOW-PILGRIMAGE.

ONE summer afternoon, when I was about
eight years of age, I was standing at an
eastern window, looking at a beautiful rain-
bow, that, bending from the sky, seemed to
be losing itself -in a thick, swampy wood,
about a quarter of a mile distant. We had
just had a violent thunder-storm; but now
the dark heavens had cleared up, a fresh,
breeze was blowing from the south, the
rose-bushes by the window were dashing
rain-drops against the panes, the robins were
singing merrily from the cherry-trees, and
all was brighter and pleasanter than ever.
It happened that no one was in the room
with me, then, but my brother Rufus, who
was just recovering from a severe illness,
and who was sitting, propped up with pil-
lows, in an easy-chair, looking out, with me,
at the rainbow.




26


RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.


See, brother," I said, "it drops right
down among the cedars, where we go in
the spring to find winter-greens !i"
"Do you know, Gracie," said my
brother, with a very serious face, that if
you should go to the end of the rainbow, you
would find there purses filled with money,
and great pots of gold and silver ?"
"Is it truly so ?" I asked.
Truly so," answered my brother, with
a smile. Now, I was a simple-hearted child,
that believed everything that was told me,
although I was again and again imposed
upon; so, without another word, I darted
out of the door, and set forth toward the
wood. My brother called after me as
loudly as he was able, but I did not heed
him. I cared nothing for the wet grass,
which was sadly drabbling my clean frock ;
on and on I ran ; I was so sure that I knew
just where that rainbow ended. I remem-
ber how glad and proud I was in my
thoughts, and what fine presents I promised
to all my friends, out of my great riches.
4
*





THE RAINBOW-PTLGRIMAGE. 27

Father should have a pair of new gold-
rimmed spectacles, and a silver tobacco-box.
Grandmother should have a gold snuff-box,
and silver knitting-needles. I would allow
my mother two or three purses of money,
but would reserve the right to lay it out
for her, in gayer dresses and caps than her
grave taste would allow her to purchase.
M3y eldest sister should have a white horse,
with the longest possible tail, and a crim-
son side-saddle, with a silver stirrup. To
my sister Carrie and myself I promised
rings, necklaces, breast-pins, silk dresses
and false curls, in great abundance. My
elder brothers should have watches, guns,
silver fish-hooks, and each a scarlet soldier-
coat, and a pair of green velvet pantaloons.
For Albert, the youngest, I would buy a
rocking-horse, that should whinny when he
should mount it, as his cuckoo had sung
when squeezed. Carlo should have a new
red Morocco collar, hung with silver bells;
and I even resolved to furnish a silver ring
for the nose of my pet pig, Nuggie.




28 'RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

So thinking, and laying delightful plans,
almost before I knew it, I had reached the
cedar-grove, and the end of the rainbow
was not there But I saw it shining down
among the trees a little further off; so on
and on I struggled, through the thick bushes
and over logs, till I came within the sound
of a stream which ran through the swamp.
Then I thought, "What if the rainbow
should come down right into the middle of
that deep, muddy brook!" Ah! but I was
frightened for my heavy pots of gold and
silver, and my purses of money. How
should I ever find them" there ? and what a
time I should have getting them out! I
reached the bank of the stream, and "t the
end was not yet." But I could see it a
little way off, on the other side. I crossed
the creek on a fallen tree, and still ran on,
though my limbs seemed to give way, and
*my side ached with fatigue. The woods
grew thicker and darker, the ground more
wet and swampy, and I found, as many grown
people had found before me, that there was





TH BAINBOW-PIlGRIMAGE. 29

rather hard travelling in a journey after
riches. Suddenly, I met in my way a large
porcupine, who made himself still larger
when he saw me, as a cross cat raises its
back, and makes tails at a dog. Fearing
that he would shoot his sharp quills at me,
and hit me all over, I ran from him as
fast as my tiredc feet would carry me. In
my fright and hurry, I forgot to keep my
eye on the rainbow, as I had done before;
and when, at last, I remembered and looked
for it, 'twas nowhere in sight I suppose
because it had quite faded away. When I
saw that it was indeed gone, I burst into
tears; for I had lost all my treasures, and
had nothing to show for my pilgrimage but
muddy feet, and a wet and torn frock. So
I set out for home. But I soon foutd that
my troubles had only begun; I could not
find my way ; I was lost. I could not tell
which was east or west, north or south, but
wandered about, here and there, crying and
* calling, though I knew that no one could hear
me. All at once, I heard voices shouting





30 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

and hallooing ; but, instead of being rejoiced
at this, I was firihtened, fearing that the
Indians were upon me! I had never before
been afraid of the Onondagas, who were a
harmless, peaceful tribe; but that week I
had been listening to a novel called "The
Wept of Wish-ton-wish," a story of the old
Indian wars, which my mother had read
aloud to my invalid brother, I remember
how, one night, when I was thought abed
and asleep, I was hid behind, or rather
under, my brother's great arm-chair, with
ears open and mouth close shut, scarcely
daring to breathe, till I was found out by
my sobs for the death of poor Uncas. Now,
I thought of the cruel deeds of those bloody
Indians of the old time, till, getting more
and more alarmed, I crawled under some
bushes, by the side of a large log, and lay
perfectly still. I was wet, cold, scared,-
altogether very miserable indeed; yet,
when the voices came near, I did not start
up and show myself. At last, I heard my
own name called; but I remembered that





THE RAINBOW-PILGRIMAGE. 31

Indians were very cunning, and thought
they might have found it out some way; so I
did not answer. Then came a voice near
me, that sounded like that of my eldest
brother, who lived away from home, and
whom I had not seen for many months;
but I dared not believe the voice was his.
Soon some one sprang up on to the log by
which I lay, and stood there, calling. I
could not see his face ; I could only see
the tips of his toes, but by them I saw that
he wore a nice pair of boots, and not moc-
casins. Yet I remembered that some
Indians dressed 'like white folks. I knew
a young chief, who was quite a dandy;
who not only
Got him a coat and breeches,
And looked like a Christian man,"
S but actually wore a fine ruffled shirt, outside
'of all. So I still kept quiet, till I heard-
shouted over me a pet name, which this
brother had given me. It was the funniest
name in the world. I don't know where
he found it. I rather think he made it up
himself,-" Roxana Kusberger !"





32 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CmHLDROOD.

I knew that no Indian knew of the name,
as it was a little family secret; so I sprang
up, and caught my brother about the ankles.
I hardly think that an Onondaga could have
given a louder yell than he gave then ; anR
he jumped so that he fell off the log down
by my side. But nobody was hurt; and,
after kissing me till he had kissed away all
my tears, he hoisted me on to his shoulder,
called my other brothers, who were hunt-
ing in different directions, and we all set
out for home.
I had been gone nearly three hours, and
had wandered a number of miles. Joseph's
coming, and asking for me, had first set
them to inquiring and searching me out.
When I went into the room where my
brother Rufus sat, after I had had a bath
and a change of dress, he said, "Why, my
poor little sister! I did not mean to send
you off on such a wild-goose chase to the
end of the rainbow. I thought you would
know I was only quizzing you."
I am afraid I made up a naughty face, as





THE RAINBOW-PLGRIMAGE. 33

I answered, It was very cruel of you,
and now I will not give you that fine rifle I
was going to buy."
Then my eldest brother took me on his
knee, and told me what the rainbow really
was : that it was only painted air, and did
not rest on the earth, so nobody could ever
find the end ; and that God had set it in
the cloud to remind him and us of his
promise, never again to drown the world
with a flood.
0, think God's promise would be a
beautiful name for the rainbow!" I said.
Yes," replied my mother, but it tells
us something more than that he will not send
great floods upon the earth,-it tells us of
his beautiful love always bending over us
from the skies. And I trust that when my
little girl sets forth on a pilgrimage to find
God's love, she will be led by the rainbow
of his promise through all the dark places
of this world, to 'treasures laid up in
heaven,' better, far better than silver or
gold."
3










DENNIS O'BRIEN.

ONCE, when I was quite a little girl, I
went to spend a few months in the family
of my uncle, Colonel Grove, who lived in
an old country-house, on a large farm, some
twenty or thirty miles from us. Here I was
always as happy and contented as in my own
home, as everybody was kind to me, and I
was, allowed to have pretty much my own
way.
I found living at my uncle's an Irish lad,
a sort of boy of all work, named Dennis
O'Brien. He was about sixteen, but rather
short of his age, with a broad; ruddy face,
bright blue eyes, and auburn hair. Though
not handsome, he looked frank and intelli-
gent, and almost everybody liked him at first
sight. He had always been industrious, -
had earned enough mowy in Ireland to
bring him to this country, -and he was now
il





DENNIS O'BRIEN. 35

working very hard, and saving every penny,
so as to be able to send for his widowed
mother and young sister. Was he not a
noble boy?
Dennis and I struck up a great friendship,
at once. In the long winter evenings, when
there was company in the parlor, I liked
nothing better than to sit by the great kitchen
fire, and listen to his stories of Ireland,-
especially of the Irish fairies, or "little
folk," as he called them. But, though Den-
nis talked a great deal at these times, he was
never idle, but was always making ase-
S helves, hoe-handles, or pudding-sticks,--
which he sold in the neighborhood,-or
small cross-bows and arrows for me, as I was
much given to shooting at the barn-yard
fowls, who took it all in good part, as they
were seldom hit. I have now a little bow,
and two arrows, whittled out of a shingle by
the great General Houston, but which, I am
sorry to say, do not come up to those my
Irish friend used to make for me.
One evening, after sitting quite still for





86 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

some minutes, Dennis asked, in a humble
way, if I would teach him to read. I was
astonished; a boy sixteen years old not
know how to read! But I ran for a
spelling-book, and began at once to teach
him. I never knew any one learn so easily
and eagerly as be. I soon had him through
a- b abs, but he stuck a while on Baker."
After that, all seemed smooth sailing, and
we were in words of four and five syllables
before we knew it. Ah, I was a proud girl
about those days! I had never been a re-
markably good scholar myself; I could
count up on my fingers, without thd aid of
my toes, all the times I had been at the
head of the second class in spelling. Now
I found out that teaching was the work for
me -to sit with the spelling lesson before
me, so that there was no danger of my mak-
ing mistakes, and laugh or look severe at
the blunders of my pupil. I began to put
on the airs of a school-ma'am, and begged a
little old penknife of my aunt, with which I
was always whittling hen's quills into tooth-





DENNIS O'BRIEN. 37

picks, and calling them pens; and if my
pupil had been a little smaller, I don't know
but I should have flourished a switch about
his ears. Hle was so provokingly good, he
never would have given me any occasion to
use it; as it was, he scarcely gave me
chances of reproving him enough to keep
up my dignity. *
When Dennis went from spelling to read-
ing, I gave him, as a "reward of merit,"
a nice New England Primer." I first set
him to learning the verses beginning

In Adam's fall
We sinned a""

"You know about Adam's fall, don't
you, Dennis ? I said, very solemnly.
SOch, yes, Miss," he answered; ."he
fell from an apple-tree, in the Garden of
Aden, --did n't he?" 1
0 Dennis," said I, "I 'm afraid your ,
folks are heathens."
But Dennis got his lesson verywell, only
he would always say,


S





38 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

"Goliah's beauteous wife
Made David seek his life,"
when the good little book says ifr was
Uriah's wife that did the mischief.
Faith," he would say, "and did n't
David go out to slay Goliah with a sling,
and so sake his life ? "
"But you don't suppose that little David
would want to marry a big giant's wife-
you stupid fellow !"
When Colonel Grove heard what I had
been doing, e praised me very much; and
when he found how anxious Dennis was to
learn, he bought him books, and sent him
to the district school. I was willing to let
him go; for, to tell the truth, I was getting
rather tired of teaching; besides, I some-
times suspected Dennis of slyly making fun
of me; he certainly did not stand in much
awe of his school-ma'am.
After school, Dennis used often to draw
me on a large sled to the top of a steep hift,
near the hIuse, then sit down in front of me
* to steer with his feet, and down we would





DENNIS BRIEN. 89

go, like a flash! Ah, how I enjoyed the
sport! One very cold evening, he took me
out, wrapped in a warm cloak of my aunt's,
and fearing that my feet would be cold, he
drew this over them, and tied it down with
his handkerchief. We were hardly started
on the first course, before he happened to
tip us over, and I began to roll down the
hill. Dennis called to me to stop; but
how could I stop, bagged up as I was ? I
rolled on, faster and faster, and did not
pause till I was half across the pond, at the
bottom of the hill.
My uncle had many maple-trees in his
wood, from which he made sugar every
spring. The place where this agreeable
work was done was called the sugar-
camp; there were great iron kettles, set
upon large stones, for boiling down the sap,
and bright fires kept burning under them;
there was a shanty built of green hemlock
botths, quite nice and comfortable. Alto-
gether, this sugar-camp was a very pleasant
place. My anpit her daughter and I, visited
** a





40 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

it daily, and watched my cousin and Dennis
at their work, which, though really hard,
seemed to me to be half play.
One night Dennis happened to be all
alone in the camp. We had just been
"sugaring-off," and'a dozen pans, filled with
the nice, soft sugar, were standing in the
shanty. My uncle had given Dennis all
that he could make after that day; and, as
you may suppose, the lad was very happy
and proud.
Near midnight,.he took his buckets, and
went to some trees, at a distance, for more
sap; and when he came back, he found a
number of young men and boys in the
shanty, making free with the sugar. He
set down his buckets, and boldly shouted
out, "This way, Colonel Grove! this way,
Master Harry! Here are thaves staling
your sugar."
In a minute, the cowardly fellows scat-
tered and ran, crackling through the brush-
wood, and tumbling over one another in





0bENNts o'BMEN. 41

their fright, leaving Dennis to laugh at his
own wit.
How kind was Dennis always! I remem-
ber that this spring, when he was ploughing,
he would let me sit on the little round of
timber before him, with my feet on the
plough, and sometimes even let me hold the
reins. I don't suppose it would look very
proper in me to indulge myself in that way
now; but, to this day, I cannot think of
any kind of riding half so pleasant.
I soon had an opportunity to repay Den-
nis for some of his kindness. One day, -I
was sent to carry him his dinner to a distant
field, where he was ploughing with one
horse, between the rows of corn. I found
him unhitching his plough to come home.
He said the little boy who had been riding
the horse had been sent for by his mother,
and he must give up for the day, though
the corn needed ploughing sadly. "Stop,
Dennis I" I said; "I 'll ride horse for this
afternoon." He laughed at me at first, but
after a while agreed to let me try. I did





42 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CtLDHOOD.

my best, and we got along famously.
Though I went home at night dusty, tired,
and sunburned, I felt that I had done my
duty, and earned my supper of bread and
milk.
After this visit, I did not see any more
of Dennis, but I heard that at the end of the
very next year he was able to send enough
money to Ireland to bring over his mother
and sister. He hired a little place for them'
in the country, which he afterwards bought.
Though he still worked very hard through
spring, summer, and fall, he gave every
spare moment he could get to his books,
and every winter attended school. At last,
he had a fine education, and commenced the
study of the law. Soon after he began to
practise, he moved out West, and I heard no
more of him.
Not many months ago, as I was crossing
the Alleghany Mountains, a friend in the
cars introduced a fine-looking gentleman to
me as "Judge O'Brien, of Iowa." The
stranger smiled as though he knew me very





*DENNIS 'BBLE. 43

well, and I thought I had seen his pleasant
faoe before; but I could not tell when or
where. There was a man sitting near us,
holding a little model of a patent plough in
his hand. This Judge O'Brien took for a
moment, and pointing to the little round of
wood between the handles, said, "When I
was a farmer-boy, there was a little black-
eyed gypsy of a child, who used to sit be-
fore me, on this part of the plough, and ride
by the hour."
Then I knew him; but I only said,-
"What a sad romp she must have been "
We just then began to go down an in- *
cined plane, very swiftly; and the judge
said, with a sly smile,-
"This is very fast riding; but don't you
think it is pleasanter to slide down a steep
hill, on a sled, in the winter time ?"
"-es, Dennis," I answered, laughing,
"if you don't let some awkward fellow tie
you up, tip you over, and dump you down
hill, like a bag of potatoes !"
After that, we had a long, lively talk





44 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

about old times; and then my friend told
me of his success in the West; how he had
made quite a fortune, had been appointed
judge, and had married "the best wife in
the world."
"I thank God," he said, "for bringing
me to America, and giving me such
friends."
But Dennis O'Brien would never have
had such friends, if he had not himself heen
so good, so faithful, and industrious.











STRAWBERRYING.

09E pleasant Saturday, in June, when I
was about ten years of age, and my sister
Carrie twelve, we had an unexpected visit
from a little girl of the-, llage,- Susan
Smith, the merchant's daughr. We were
happy to see her, but we really did not
know ivhat to do with her. She was no
older than Carrie, andsmall of her age,
but in her own opiinon quite too much of
a woman to play with dolls, though we had
a pretty little house fitted up with every
convenience (it had once been the smoke-
house), and containing no less than fourteen
inhabitants, of all sizes and conditions.
She was quite too grand to take any notice
of our pet dogs, cats, ducks or chickens,
and too much of a little coward to mount
Milly, and take a good gallop. At length,
my mother proposed that we should go after
S




46 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD-

strawberries, to a meadow, about a mile
distant. We joyfully agreed, and started
off at once, with our b ets on our arms;
all three,-or rather ur, for Carlo, the
pointer, was with us,--s merry and noisy
as we could well be. Susan Smith said a
great many bright things; at least, she
laughed at them a good deal, and Carrie
and I thought it no more than polite to
laugh also. She had a brother Sam, of
whom she was very proud, and she talked
about him nearly all the way.' It was very
amiable in her to love her brother; but,
betwn you and me, dear children, there
are 6me better young men in the world
than Sam Smith. I am sorry to say that
he was a wild, idle fellow, that nobody
knew much good of. -As we were passing
atr d where my brohers were hoeing
corn, Susan exclaimed, Why, do your
brothers do such work as that? Our Sam
tends store in the day-time, and, in the
evening, he dresses up, oh, so fine! and
goes to parties and balls."





BTRAWBERRTIG. 47

"Isn't it wicked to go to balls ?" I asked.
" My Sunday-school teacher says it is."
Why," answered Susan, looking very
much astonished at my stupidity, didn't
I tell you our Sam goes to balls ?-and our
Sam can't sin."
After crossing our farm, and passing
through a piece of woods, we came upon
the strawberry-plot. We had never found
a great many here before, but this season
they were very plentiful. We had only to
part the high grass to find the ground all
red with the ripe, luscious fruit. Sister
and I went to work in good earnest, saying
how pleasant it would be to take home our
baskets quite full; but Susan soon com-
plained of being tired. She would pick
away diligently for a little while, and
then lie down in the grass and eat all she
had gathered. At last, as she lay looking
up into the sky, she called to us to stop,
and start for home, as a storm was surely 1
coming on. We saw that the clouds were
rolling up, dark and threatening; but our

15i





48 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

baskets were not quite filled,-so we only
picked the faster. Before we knew it, the
rain was upon us. It was one of those
pelting, soaking showers, which drive you
to seek any shelter. There was but one
house i, sight,- a little log building, on the
edge of the wood,- and to this we ran. The
woman who came to the door knew my sis-
ter and me at once; she had often spun
yarn and woven linen for our mother. She
took us into her one room, very kindly
kindled a fire, and began to take off our
wet clothes, declaring that we hadn't a
dry thread to our backs." She was all
alone, she said, as her husband (her old
man," she called him) was "down to the
village," and her son Jerry 1 d gone to
his grandther's;" so we need not be.afraid.
But the poor woman was soon puzzled what
to do. She had never had any little girls, and
had but two spare dresses of her own,-one
for my sister, and one for Susan. What
was I to wear, while my clothes were dry-
ing ? Presently, she begAs to'laugh; she
ft





STRAWBERRY. 49

was a good-natured, funny old lady, and
said she thought I would become" Jerry's
new summer suit. I refused to put it on,
at first, saying I would rather go to bed for
an hour or two; but she said she didn't
want her nice bed tumbled and torn to
.pieces by children. I shall always suspect
that worthy Mrs. Jones really wanted the
fun of seeing me dressed in boy's clothes.
Any how, she had her way, and I was soon
rigged out in a pair of fine tow pantaloons,
and a long-tailed striped linen coat, with
great, shiny brass buttons.
Jerry was a big boy, of thirteen or four-
teen,-so his clothes were not a very nice
fit. The coat-tails nearly touched the floor,
and Mrs. Jones was obliged to roll up the
cuffs several inches to get at my hands;
indeed, I felt very much at large in the
whole suit.
0, how Susan and Carrie laughed at me!
But they could not say much, for Mrs.
Jones was a ry stout person, and they
looked like t old women in- her great
4





50 RECOLLWTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

brown gingham frocks, with the big balloon-
sleeves. Mrs. Jones told us that we should
not make sport of one another; but I sus-
pected her of sticking her head into the
cupboard, two or three times, to hide her
own laughter.
When she had made us all nice and
comfortable," as she said, she set out a
little round table, covered it with a white
cloth, placed on it some excellent bread and
milk, hulled some of our strawberries, and
invited us to sit up and take our dinner.
She had had hers two hours before. We
gladly obeyed. I helped the ladies politely,
and behaved like a gentleman, as well as I
knew how. I remember how Susan Smith
took up her pewter spoon, turned it over
and over, and looked at it very contemptu-
ously, which was certainly rather ungrate-
fil and uncivil. Mrs. Jones did not seem
to mind it, but, as the rain had now ceased,
she took our wet and soiled frocks, and car-
ried them to a stream, a little way off, to
rinse them. When she was ge, Susan com-





STRAWBERRYING. 51

plained that she could hardly lift her spoon,
and that she tasted the tin of her bright
basin. She said she had never been used
to eating bread and milk out of anything
but a china bowl, with a silver spoon. I
answered that these spoons were the best that
Mrs. Jones had ; that they were clean and
bright, and that I did not see but that bread
and milk and strawberries tasted as good
eaten from a tin basin as from grand-
mother's 'silver porringer. That hushed
her at once. I don't think she had ever
heard of a silver porringer before. I did
not see but that Miss Susan ate as heartily
as sister and myself. Fine ladies do not
always have delicate appetites.
When the dinner-dishes had been cleared
away, and our frocks were spread on chairs
before the fire to dry, Mrs. Jones went up
the ladder-stairs to her weaving, and left
us to amuse ourselves as we could. I had
lost my shame-facedness, and felt in very
good spirits since dinner. Seeing an old
hat of Jerry's hanging against the wall, I




52 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

took it down, placed it on my head, a little
to one side, and began striding up and down
the room, thrusting my hands into my
pockets, and talking large, in a way very
unbecoming to a little girl, but which I
thought only brave and manly in a boy. For-
getting the length of the pantaloons, I some-
how got entangled, and tripped myself up.
But I was on my feet in an instant, as large
as ever.
The .girls, who were more prudent and
kept their seats, laughed heartily at my
fall.
I think, sir," said my sister, that you
would walk more gracefully if you would
shorten your suspenders don't you say so
too, Susan ?"
"You be quiet, old ladies!" said I;
what do you know about suspenders, and
such things ? "
Just at that moment Carlo set up a loud
barking, and I heard a whistle and a step
near the door! I gave but one bound, and
was under the bed The quilt came down





SRAWBBnRYLNG. 53

low in front, and I felt quite safe. But,
alas! those unlucky long coat-tails, with
their shining buttons, betrayed me! They
were partly left out, and Jerry Jones-for it
was he who came in -saw them at once.
" Why, how came my Sunday-coat under
the bed?" he said, and, stooping down, he
pulled me from myhiding-place. "Hello!"
he cried, what fellow is here, rigged out
in my clothes ? Let me see.who you are,
won't you? And, while I struggled and
cried, he laughingly pulled my hands away
from my face. Why," said he, 'this
boy is a girl! 0, I know you now! But
don't cry; this kind of dress is becoming
to you, and my new suit never looked so
handsome before,- don't cry "
Jerry Jones, do you clear out of the
house!" called his mother from the top of
the ladder. Jerry did not wait for another
word, but took himself off. He stayed in
the garden till our clothes were ironed, and
we started for home, when he asked leave to
go with us, and carry our baskets. All the





54 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD,

way; though he talked constantly,* e never
once spoke of catching me in such a ridcu-
lous dress; and though I was so ashamed
I could hardly say a word, even to thank
him when he helped me over a fence, or a
wet place, I liked him, and always liked
him, from that day to this. Mrs. Jones, too,
that good, kind woman, I must always think
pleasantly of her. She and her old man"
were living on the same place, but in a new
house, when I heard about them last. By
great industry and economy, they were able
to educate Jerry, to send him to college.
He is a minister now; but, for all that, I
don't believe he has grown too solemn to
laugh whenever he remembers pulling me
out from under the bed, by the long skirts
of his striped linen coat.











TOM SHELBY'S VISIT TO THE COUNTRY.

NEAR the home of my early childhood,
there lived a plain but wealthy farmer, b.?
the name of Austin. He was a pleasant,
intelligent man, and his wife was an excel-
lent woman. They had a fine family of
children, -from Ann, about sixteen, down
to Johnny, a bright little rogue of six.
But the pleasantest and cleverest of all was
Frank, the oldest son a happy, handsome,
hearty, funny fellow, whom everybody liked,
although he was rather mischievous, and
fond of playing off little tricks. More was
pardoned to him than to any one else, be-
cause he was never ill-natured, even when
he seemed most wild and lawless.
Mr. Austin had a sister married to a rich'
merchant of the city of Albany, Mr. Shelby,
who had a son about the age of Frank, a good
enough boy at heart, but rather wild in his




56 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

ways, and full of foolish, fine-gentleman
notions. One spring, when Frank was about
thirteen, he made a short visit to the city,
and when he came home, brought his cousin
with him to spend the summer and fall. It
was whispered about the neighborhood that
-Master Tom was sent into the country
because his folks could n't manage him at
home." I do not know that this was the
case ; but very likely the report was correct.
I was very intimate with Hattie Austin,
one of the dearest and prettiest playmates
of my childhood, and happened to be
making her a visit when the boys arrived.
Frank leaped down the steps first, embiced
his mother heartily, and hugged all the
children. Master Tom Shelby descended
with slow dignity. lie was dressed in a
suit of fine blue broadcloth--the panta-
loons tightly fitting, and strapped down
under a pair of stylish, narrow-toed, high-
heeled boots. HIIs delicate hands were en-
cased. in dark kid gloves, and very much on
one side of his head he wore a black velvet





TOM BHELBY'S VISIT TO THE COUNTRY. 57


cap, with a long dangling tassel. His hair
was long and straight;- by the way,
Frank could afterwards vex him very much
by telling that it curled naturally in Albany,
but that somehow it straightened out more
and more, the further he travelled from
French hair-dressers. I remember Tom
so plainly because he was the first dandy.
ever saw.
The first thing he did was to brush the
dust from his polished boots with his cam-
bric handkerchief; then, looking up to the
driver, he drawled out, "Boy, will you
hand me down my dressing-case ? "
"Yes, grandfather," answered the good-
natured driver, taking off that elegant arti-
cle, and the other baggage.
That afternoon, a number of the boys and
girls of the neighborhood came to welcome
Frank home, and to have a peep at the
young stranger. I never shall forget the
airs that fellow gave himself. He walked
about the yard where we were at play, for
all the world, as a fine peacock struts' among

.*
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*1?
ICc


'Ip
I
..l
S
I'


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58 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

a crowd of pullets, ducks, and young
roosters. How scornfully he eyed our
homely clothes, and refused to join in our
merry game of "tag," saying it was too
rude and'childish! Some of us took off our
stockings and shoes, to run the faster, and
he looked down at our bare feet with as
much horror as though they had been hoofs
or claws. But he soon found out, as some
great people had done before him, that it
was tiresome work to be grand. We let
him alone, and he soon came down from his
stilts. He began to talk about Albany:
"We do this," and We have that, in Al-
bany; everything was handsomer and
finer there than in the country.
Dreadful big of his Albany !" said little
Johnny. I had read in my copy-book, that
" God made the country, and man made the
town," and I told him so, right to his face,
and said I did n't think men had better set
up to do things better than God.
"I don't know about that," he said;
"but I do know that we city people put up





TOM SAELBY'S VISIT TO THE COUNTRY. 59

handsomer buildings than you country people
ever dreamed of. My father, now, lives in
a great brass house, with a brick knocker on
it!"
What a laugh we had at his blunder!
In the morning, we all went to take a
stroll in the woods. On the way, Tom
amused himself, and, I must confess, "us
also, by telling of the tricks that, before he
left home, he had played off on Frank, who,
he said, was as green as that meadow,"
pointing to a wheat-field. He had made
his poor visitor drink the water from his
finger-glass, for lemonade; had sent him to
the Female Academy, telling him it was the
Capitol; and to an undertaker's to buy a
new trunk; and one evening he sent him
home on the full run, by pointing to a watch-
man, and telling him that after one appeared
in the streets all strange boys were liable
to be dragged off to the watch-house.
Frank Ilpghed good-humoredly while Tom
was relating these cunning exploits; but
shook his head once in a while, as much as
a


^e~




-r


60 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

to say, "Wait a bit, my lad, and I 'l pay
you!"
As we were passing through a cow-
pasture, on the edge of the wood, we came
upon a flock of geese, with a host of goslings,
and a fierce old gander flew at us, hissing
like a serpent. Tom started back, and
called out, Why, Frank, what is the mat-
ter with that great white goose, that it hisses
so ?"
It does behave strangely," said Frank,
quite soberly; "what can ail it ? Can it
be that it has gone mad ? "
In a moment Tom took to his heels, and
did not stop till he reached the wood, rods
away. While we were screaming with
laughter, Frank called out, "Stop, Tom!
stop! -it's only a gander; you 're the
goose yourself!"
In the afternoon, Tom brought out his
.fishing-tackle,--his nicet-jntod rods, his
delicate lines, and his flies, -an invited
Frank to go trouting with him. Though he
talked large, as usual, Frank saw at once
4 'a


S





TOM SHELBY'S VISIT TO THE COUNTRY. 61

that he knew little or nothing of that sort
of fishing. So he started out with him,
stopped at the first piece of water they came
across, put his finger on his lip in token of
silence, then lazily flung himself on the
grass under a willow, to watch the sport.
The little sheet of water was nothing but a
frog-pond; weedy and muddy, where fish
had never made their appearance. Tom
had heard that trout were exceedingly shy,
and went very softly to work, never
speaking above a whisper to Frank. After
about an hour, he concluded that flies were
not inviting bait, and, by Frank's advice,
used worms instead.
Do they bite now ? whispered Frank,
yawning, for he had taken a nice nap in the
shade of the willow.
"No," said Tom, "but they begin to
nibble; and in a minute after he cried,
joyfully, Now'1 have one! Conie, Frank,
and heljne out with it. I think it must be
a salmon-trout."
But before Frank reached him, he pulled

oi *
.




aI -r -- -


62 RECOLLECTIONS OP MY CHILDHOOD.

up a great mud-turtle, which he had hooked
by the leg. Frank rolled on the ground
with laughter, and Tom did not soon hear
the last of his fine "salmon-trout."
The next day, however, Frank took his
cousin to a real trout stream, some miles
distant, and taught him how to capture that
most shy and delicious fish.
* ot long after this, Tom proposed a hunt.
Now, Frank was a good shot, but Tom knew
about as much of hunting as he had known
of trouting. Yet you would have supposed,
from his way of talking, that he was a per-
feet Nimrod a "mighty hunter." He
had an elegant little fowling-piece, and all
the accoutrements, even to a hunting-jacket
of the latest English fashion. But, alas! his
fine outfit brought him neither skil nor
luck; he popped away incessantly, and, as
the boys say, "killed nothing but powder."
At last, Frank, who had separated from him,
and had nearly filled his game-hag with
squirrels and partridges, took pity on the
poor fellow. Hie happened, himself, to have






TOM SHBLBY 's VISIT TO TI couNTRY. 63

shot an old owl, and, climbing a tree, he
fixed this on a large limb, so that it looked
very lifelike and natural. Then, going for
Tom, he led him softly within sight of the
game, telling him that there was a big bird
of some sorb, he might have for the shooting.
Thinking that a big bird would require a
big charge, Tom put in a double quantity
of powder and shot, and the consequence
was, that he was kicked clean over-boys
will understand how. But he brought down
the owl, and never would believe but that
he had the first shot at him.
A few days after this, Mr. Austin said to
his young guest, I 've a letter from your
father, my boy, and he tells me to set you
to work, and get some of the nonsense out
of you. I don't want to put you to hard
labor; you may do as you please; but
Frank, here, has been fooling about long
enough, -he must go to work."
Tom turned up his aristocratic nose at
the thought of his working on the farm;
and when he saw Frank shoulder his hoe,





64 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

and go cheerfully over the hill to the corn-
field, he wondered at and pitied him.
But Tom had somehow become attached
to his good-natured playmate ; and, as he
idled away hour after hour of the pleasant
morning, through the house and about the
yard, he found himself very lonely and
stupid.
By the middle of the afternoon of the
second day, he felt that he really could not
stand it any longer; so paid a visit to the
corn-field, "just to see how they got along,"
he said. After watching his cousin a while,
he went to Mr. Austin, and asked for a
hoe,-"just to help Frank a little." His
uncle gave him one, with a smile, telling
him to be careful of his fine clothes.
Though Tom found that this work was even
harder than fishing for trout in a frog-pond,
-though it made his back ache, and almost
blistered his hands,--yet he liked it, and
hoed his row bravely. The next morning,
after an early breakfast, he drew on an old
pair of boots, rolled up his pantaloons,





TOM SHELBY'S VISIT TO THE COUNTRY. 65

shouldered his hoe, and set out with the
other workmen, feeling very stout and im-
portant. In the course of the week, he
found in his room a regular farmer's suit of
clothes, -more easy than elegant, of
strong, but cool material. These he put on
with much pleasure; indeed, it was' soon
hard to persuade him to dress himself in
broadcloth, even to go to church. He said
that, in tow jacket and corduroy trousers, a
man had room,-a man could do as he
pleased, -and that a good straw hat was
the thing for a man, after all.
Mr. Austin gave his nephew a small piece
of land in the corn-field, for a melon-patch.
Tom planted and cultivated it, and was very
proud of the thriving condition of his water-
melons and canteleups. It happened that a
neighboring farmer had a fine melon-patch
in the very next field. This Mr. Johnson
was a cross, disobliging man, on whom theW
boys loved to play little mischievous tricks,
so I suppose Tom did not think he was
proposing anything wicked, when he said
5





66 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

to his cousin, one evening in September,
"Frank, let's go, to-night, and hook old
Johnson's water-melons "
Do you mean steal them, Tom ? asked
Frank.
Why, yes; if you've a mind to call a
little fun by such a hard name. I don't see,
for my part, what harm there could be in
taking a few water-melons from such a stingy
old fellow."
Frank, with all his wildness, had never
been guilty of a mean or a dishonest act;
yet now, after thinking a moment, he agreed
to go with his cousin, but persuaded him to
wait till the moon was down, and it was
quite dark. Then, by a roundabout way
through the woods, he led Tom to his own
melon-patch, where he told him to hurry and
fill the basket, while he kept watch at a
little distance. He afterwards said that he
lever came so near dying with silent laugh-
ter, as he did when he saw Tom creeping
softly about on all fours, stealing his own
melons, thinking that they were Mr. John-





TOM SHELBY'S VISIT TO THE COUNTRY. 67

son's! At last, hearing some noise near,-
a cow, or a colt, perhaps,-he shouted,
"Run, Tom! run! Look out for old John-
son! "- and started for home, at full speed.
Tom followed fast, breathing hard, and
dropping a melon or two, in his fright. But
he reached the house with three fine ones,
of which he ate enough to make him so ill
that he was obliged to lie abed and take
medicine the next forenoon. At night,
when he was much better, Frank confessed
the trick he had played off; and, I assure
you, the poor fellow made up a worse
face at the story than he had at the
bitter dose of the morning. Yet he did not
keep anger long, and he never forgot the
hard lesson he had learned,-never at-
tempted to steal again, even from himself.
Tom Shelby was more and more liked,
the longer he stayed with the Austins ; and
in little more than half a year he grew to
be a sensible, industrious, agreeable lad.
So much did he become attached to his
cousin, that he could not be persuaded to

if




68 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

return home without him ; and it was finally
agreed that Frank should be sent to one of
the excellent schools in Albany, and that
the two friends, if they remained good boys,
should be educated together.
I remember the day they left us. They
were to go by stage some twenty miles, to
the town of S- It was a keen morn-
ing in November, yet these two hardy,
ruddy-cheeked boys chose to ride outside,
with the driver. The night before, they had
gone all about the neighborhood, to bid
their friends good-by; and everybody, even
old Johnson, was sorry to see the merry lads
go. Tom had laid out a generous portion
of his pocket-money in parting gifts,-
from a Pilgrim's Progress," in large type,
for grandmother Austin, to a bag of painted
marbles for little Johnny. But to Hattie,
his favorite, he made half a dozen handsome
presents, for her "to remember cousin Tom
by," .he said. If he could have known how
she cried over them, when he was gone, he





TOM SHELBY' VISIT TO THE COUNTRY. 69

would have been both glad and sorry, I
think.
After the boys had taken a hearty leave
of us all, and clambered to their seats,
while the driver was gathering up the reins,
Tom called out, If any of you happen to
meet a slender, long-haired, milky-faced
young dandy, from Albany, who was about
here for a while last spring, just bid him
good-by for me, for I never shall see him
again.



Fi









THE TWO LADIES FROM THE CITY.


IT was near Christmas time, and Frank
Austin was at home for the holidays, hav-
ing with him his cousin, Tom Shelby. The
friends, now nearly sixteen, were as full of
merriment, as fond of laughter, and all
sorts of innocent fun, as ever. Ah! such
wild times as we all had together, for more
than one of my brothers might be counted
on, at any time, for any kind of a frolic.
It happened that Mr. and Mrs. Austin
went to the town of S for a day -or
two, on business, they said, which we
suspected meant little else than the
purchase of Christmas gifts. They left
Ann, the eldest daughter, as housekeeper.
By the wIay, I have scarcely mentioned
Ann. She was a kin'd-hearted, clever
girl, but was a little spoiled by reading
novels, and by some grand ideas of style
and fashion, which nobody knew how she





THE TWO LADIES FROM THE CITY. 71

came by. For instance, she disliked her
plain name, and always wanted to be called
Antoinette. HTer brothers called her by
that romantic name, when they wanted
buttons sewed on, or hats lined; if they
wished to. see her vexed, they called her
Ann; hut they must make up their minds to
be chased out of the house with the broom-
stick, if they called her "Nanny." She
really loved hard work, and yet she was
ashamed to be caught at it. Once, I remem-
ber, in house-cleaning time, while she was
washing the kitchen-floor, in an old gown,
with her sleeves rolled up, and no stockings
on her feet, the minister called. No one
heard his knock, and he walked through the
sitting-room, into the kitchen, where Ann
was making a great splashing with her mop.
When she caught sight of that solemn man,
she screamed, dropped her mop, and jumped
through an open window, right into- the
rain-water trough.
But Ann was the pleasantest sort of a
housekeeper while her mother was gone,




72 RECOLLECTIONS OP MY CHILDHOOD.

and we had things quite to our liking. I
say we, for I was visiting Hattie that week.
To be sure, there was old grandmother Aus-
tin, always sitting in the warmest chimney-
corer; but she was amiable, and so deaf
and sleepy that she did not interfere with
us much.
One afternoon, at supper, Ann talked
a good deal with Frank and Tom about two
young ladies from Albany, Miss Flagg, and
Miss Dillingham, who were visiting some
friends in the village. Ann had made an
early call on them, but did not see them,
-they were not at home; and now she was
fretting because the call had not been
returned.
After supper, I noticed Frank and Tom
whispering together, and presently they
said they were going to our house, to see
my brothers for a little while ; and, putting
on their caps, they went off, running mer-
rily down the road, and chasing each other
with snow-balls.
In the course of an hour, a sleigh came





THE TWO LADIES. FROM THE CITY. 73

jingling up to the house; two ladies got
out, came to the door, and knocked, rather
loudly. Mrs. Austin's only hired girl was
out for the evening; Hattie and I were too
bashful to go to the door; so Ann was
obliged to open it herself. Is Miss
Antoinette Austin at home asked one of
the ladies, in a little, mincing voice. Yes,
ma'am," answered Ann. "Well, then,
my good girl," said the other lady, with a
toss of her head, will you inform her that
Miss Flagg and Miss Dillingham have
called?" "Why, I am Miss Antoinette
Austin, myself."
0, I beg your pardon," said Miss Dil-
lingham, while she and her friend walked
forward and took the chairs which Ann
offered them; but they would not sit very
near the fire, or the candle, and kept their
black lace veils partly over their faces.
Grandmother," said Ann, "these are
some ladies from the city,-Miss Flagg
and Miss I)illingham."
"Who ?" said the poor, deaf old lady;




74 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

" Miss Ragg and Miss Dinner-horn, did you
say ?"
"No, grandmother," answered Ann,
speaking loud in her ear, "Miss Flagg and
Miss Dillingham "
Yes, yes, I hear; Miss Lagg and Miss
Dinghammer."
The ladies laughed outright at this, and
poor Ann grew very red in the face. But she
sat down and began conversing with her
visitors, about Albany. I don't suppose that
she knew it, but she talked very affectedly,
indeed, in a little, fine voice, nobody ever
heard her use before. She spoke of the
city as though she knew all about it, and
once in a while she brought out a French
word, but pronounced it so queerly that
Miss Flagg made her repeat it, and, even
then, did n't seem to understand it. Once
she asked, Do you know my aunt, Mrs.
Mayor Shelby ?"
"No," answered Miss Dillingham, but
I know Mrs. Alderman Shelton."
Hattie and I sat on a settee, near the





THE TWO LADIES FROM THE CITY. 75

fire, watching the grand visitors. "An't
it funny," whispered Hattie, that such
little voices come out of such great
mouths !"
Yes," I answered, and haven't they
big feet, for such fine ladies !"
I think that Miss Flagg heard me, for she
drew her feet under her cloak. Then I
noticed that both her cloak and bonnet were
like those my eldest sister wore, and that
Miss Dillingham's were a good deal like my
mother's. I felt proud to know that my
mother and sister were in the fashion.
After a rather short call, the ladies rose,
made each a great courtesy, and took
leave. As we watched them from the win-
dow, getting into the sleigh, I thought the
boy that drove looked strangely like my
brother Will.
In about half an hour, the boys came
home. Hardly were they in the house
before Ann cried out, "0, you don't
know what you have missed! Miss Flagg
and Miss Dillingham have been here, and
T




76 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

oh, such elegant, genteel young ladies as
they are I never was so provoked in my
life, for Susan was gone, ard I was obliged
to be waiter myself; they actually took me
for a servant-girl. But you should have
seen them such airs! Just proud and
haughty enough, I think."
Well, I say," spoke up old Mrs. Aus-
tin, that they are two pert, affected hus-
sies, with no manners at all."
Why, grandmother," said Ann, "you
have always lived in the country, and don't
exactly know what is genteel."
"I know," said Mrs. Austin, raising her
voice, "that it's not the sign of a Iddy to
rilp a body's hand as they did ; and no real
lady or gentleman would giggle out loud at
a deaf old woman's mistake."
You are very right, grandmother," said
Frank, "and Tom and I beg pardon for our
rudeness."
What do you mean ? asked Ann.
"' Why, Nanny," said Frank, mimicking





TE TWO LADIES FROM THE CITY. 77

her, do you know my aunt, Mrs. Mayor
Shelby?"
You good-for-nothing, hateful fellows!
how dare you play off such a trick on me ? "
said Ann, laughing and crying all at once,
while we set up a perfect shout. But the
boys soon soothed her, by promising not to
tell her father, who loved dearly to tease
her about any such foolish little thing. I
saw how it was: the boys had been dressed
at our house, had come in our sleigh to
make their visit; and I was not sure that
my mother anrU sister were in the fashion,
after all. But I enjoyed the joke, rather
more than Ann, I think. Yet she profited
by it, certainly, for she was never known
to talk in an affected or boasting way again.
The real ladies, from the city, came to see
her, a day or two after. They were nice,
quiet girls, with frank, easy manners, and
liked Ann so well, on acquaintance, that they
persuaded her to spend some time with
them the next winter, when she visited her
aunt, in Albany. Then she saw city-life
I




78 RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD.

without having her head turned by its
grandeur, but came home loving the coun-
try,- the dear, free, fresh, healthful coun-
try,-bette than ever.
The spring after that merry Christmas-
time, we moted from our old home, further
west, and saw no more and heard very lit-
tle of the Austins. I parted from Hattie
with great sorrow. We solemnly agreed to
love each other dearly, for ever and ever;
we exchanged locks of hair, and she prom-
ised to take care of the cat I left behind
me.
A year or two since, I received a call
from a Dr. Austin," whom I recognized,
at once, as my old friend Frank. I was
glad to see that he was rL healthy and
hearty, as fond of laughter and fun, as ever.
lie brought me a short letter from his sister
Ann, who wrote that they still lived in the
old place ; that her mother had been dead
three or four years, and that Hattie was
married, and living near ; that was all the
news she told me. Why, Frank," I said,





THE TWO LADLES FROM THE ITY. 79

" Ann does not tell me the name of Hattie's
husband."
Ah, haven't you heard ?" he replied,
" it's cousin Tom Shelby. His father
could n't make a merchant, a lawyer, a min-
ister, or a doctor, out of him ;.he would be
nothing but a farmer. So he bought old
Johnson's place, married our Hattie, and
settled down to farming, as happy as a
king:"
I am very glad to hear it!" I said.
" But how is this, Frank! I see, by your sis-
ter's letter, that she does not write her
name Antoinette any more."
Why, no," he answered; she calls
herself 'plain Ann,' now; but no one else
calls her so, for, I assure you, my sister is a
very pretty woman; and she is better than
pretty, she is good; you know she always
was,-- but now more than ever, for, since
mother died, she has been like a mother to
is all."










PART SECOND.


THE AUNT FROM THE WEST.


IN the eastern part of
York, there once lived
and Jewy Starr. They
wh very young, and h
some kind relations; b
four or five years the old
the care of Jenny. S
motherly girl, very pru
she was plain in all b
dark brown eyes, and a
black hair. But she t


the State of New
two sisters, Sarah
were left orphans
id been adopted by
ut Sarah, who was
lest, took almost all
arah was a good,
dent and serious;
it a pair of large,
great mass of curly
bought nothing of


herself, so dearly did she love her little
sister. And Jenny was, indeed, a darling
child, with a far prettier face than Sarah's,
and the gladdest heart in the world. She
would play, and laugh, and sing, all the day





THE AUNT FROM THE WST. 81

long. No one ever saw Jenny sad, or out
of humor; but, perhaps, this was partly
because, being so beautiful and so prettily
dressed always, everybody was kind to her,
and indulged her. It is easy for such pet-
ted children to be happy and good-natured.
But, any way, it was a pleasant sight to see
her dancing about here and there, chasing
butterflies, hunting flowers, frolicking with
her pretty spaniel Fido, laugh
little silver brook, and singing
merry mocking-bird; most ofte -her.
gypsy hat fallen back from her ht and
her long bright curls floating in the wind.
When Jenny was only sixteen, she was
married to a Mr. Silsbee, a very wealthy
gentleman, and went to live in a,beautiful
place, near the town where she was born.
She had an elegant house, surrounded with
trees and flowers, and everything delightful
about her.
Soon after this, Sarah was also married
to a young man who had loved her a num-
ber of years, but whom she had not been
6




82 THE AUNT FROM THE WEST.

willing to marry until she could see her sis-
ter Jenny living in a home of her own.
Henry Williams was not rich, but he was a
good, amiable person. Sarah loved him,
and was very happy to be his wife. lHe
was a physician, and soon took her with
him to the far west, thinking that he might
do better there than in the east.
The sisters grieved much at parting.
Both wept a great deal, -Jenny the most
violently, and Sarah the longest. But they
hoped to see each other before a very long
time.
In about two months, Jenny had a long
letter from her sister. Dr. Williams had
bought some land, and built a little frame-
house, in a beautiful oak-grove, on one of
the great western prairies. Sarah wrote
very cheerfully, and begged her sister to
come out and make her a visit, in a year or
two. But Jenny was indolent, and dreaded
the trouble of journeying, which was much
greater at that time than it is now. So
she was always promising, but never went





THE AUNT FROM THE WEST. 83

to see her sister; neither did she write to
her regularly. Sarah grew tired of writing
long letters, which received short answers,
or none at all, and wrote herself less often;
and, at last, the sisters, who, in childhood,
had been such close and loving companions,
scarcely heard from one another once a
year. Yet they loved each other still,
though the thoughtful Sarah remembered
the dear old times oftener than the light-
hearted Jenny.
And so eight long years went by. Jenny
was yet as happy as ever. Her husband
was very fond of her, and she still had all
around her that her heart could desire.
First, among the good things that God had
given her, were three lovely children,-
two boys, Georgie and Willie, and one
daughter, little Kate."
Jenny made a funny sort of a mother.
She was just like a child with her children;
would romp and laugh with them, run
races, and play with balls, kites, kittens and
doll-babies. And Jenny looked like a child




84 THE AUNT FROM THE WEST.

herself. She was short and plump, with
dimpled cheeks, rosy lips, bright curls, and
twinkling blue eyes. Any little boy or girl
would be very unreasonable to ask a merrier
playmate than Jenny Silsbee.
To Sarah had been given two daughters,
whom she had named for her mother and
sister, Alice and Jenny. They were not so
pretty as the children of Mrs. Silsbee, for
the climate of the new country proved
unhealthy, and they were always pale and
sickly. But their father and mother loved
them all the more dearly and cared for
them the more tenderly for that. Mrs.
Williams was also often sick, and her hus-
bandu did not have much practice; so they
were quite poor. But the doctor was a
proud man, and did not ask his friends in the
east for assistance; and Sarah was also too
independent in her feelings to write to her
wealthy sister for help. She did not doubt
but that Jenny would be glad to give it;
but she knew it must come from Mr.
Silsbee, and she did not wish to have the




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