Front Matter
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Little Annie's ramble
 The hollow of the three hills
 The vision of the fountain
 Dr. Heidegger's experiment
 The gentle boy
 The toll-gatherer's day
 The haunted mind
 The village uncle
 The ambitious guest
 The seven vagabonds
 The white old maid
 The shaker bridal
 Endicott and the red cross
 Chippings with a chisel

Group Title: Little Annie's ramble : and other tales.
Title: Little Annie's ramble
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002752/00001
 Material Information
Title: Little Annie's ramble : and other tales
Physical Description: 252, 4 p., 1 leaf of plates : ports. ; 13 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 1804-1864 ( Author, Secondary )
Milner and Sowerby ( Publisher )
Publisher: Milner and Sowerby
Place of Publication: Halifax, Eng.
Publication Date: 1853
Subject: Short stories, American   ( lcsh )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1853   ( rbbin )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1853   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1853
Genre: Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- Halifax
General Note: Publisher's catalogue follows text.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002752
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002231339
oclc - 17456192
notis - ALH1710
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Matter
        Page 1
    Half Title
        Page 2
        Page 3
    Title Page
        Page 4
    Table of Contents
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Little Annie's ramble
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
    The hollow of the three hills
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
    The vision of the fountain
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
    Dr. Heidegger's experiment
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
    The gentle boy
        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
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        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 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
    The toll-gatherer's day
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
    The haunted mind
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
    The village uncle
        Page 130
        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
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
    The ambitious guest
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
    The seven vagabonds
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
    The white old maid
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
        Page 208
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
    The shaker bridal
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
        Page 215
        Page 216
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 221
    Endicott and the red cross
        Page 222
        Page 223
        Page 224
        Page 225
        Page 226
        Page 227
        Page 228
        Page 229
        Page 230
        Page 231
        Page 232
        Page 233
        Page 234
    Chippings with a chisel
        Page 235
        Page 236
        Page 237
        Page 238
        Page 239
        Page 240
        Page 241
        Page 242
        Page 243
        Page 244
        Page 245
        Page 246
        Page 247
        Page 248
        Page 249
        Page 250
        Page 251
        Page 252
        Page 253
        Page 254
        Page 255
        Page 256
Full Text








DB. al"ID aB's EzrPfxIEN T 38
Tf vIirAGe UWCLE 130
THE WITfl Otr MAD 194

itte juinn's xnimit

NING-DOiNG I Ding-dong Ding-dong
The town-crier has rung his bell at a dis-
tant corner, and little Annie stands on her fa-
ther's door-steps, trying to hear what the man
with the loud voice is talking about. Let me
listen too. Oh I he is telling the people that an
elephant, and a lion, and a royal tiger, and a
horse with horns, and other strange beasts, from
foreign countries, have come to town, and will
receive all visitors who choose to wait upon them.
Perhaps little Annie would like to go. Yes;
and I can see that the pretty child is weary of
this wide and pleasant street, with the green trees
singing their shade across the quiet sunshine, and
the pavements, and the side-walks, all as clean as
if the housemaid had just swept them with her
broom. She feels that impulse to go strolling
away-that longing after the mystery of the great
world-which many children feel, and which I
felt in my childhood. Little Annie shall take a
ramble with me. See I I do but hold out my

band, and, like some bright bird in the sunny air,
with her blue silk frock fluttering upwards from
her white pantalets, she comes bounding on tip-
toe across the street.
Smooth-back your brown curls, Annie; and
let me tie on your bonnet, and we will set forth!
What a strange couple to go on their rambles to-
gether! One walks in black attire, with a me-
sured stop, and a heavy brow, and his thoughtful
eyes bent down, while the gay little girl trips
lightly along, as if she were forced to keep hold
of my hand, lest her feet should dance away from
the earth. Yet there is sympathy between us.
If I pride myself on any thing, itis because I have
asmilethat children love ; and, on the other hand,
there are few grown ladies that could entice me
from the side of little Annie; for I delight to let
my mind go hand in hand with the mind of a sin-
less child. So, come, Annie; but if I moralize
as we go, do not listen to me; only look about
yon, and be merry !
Now we turn the corner. Here are backs with
two horas, and stage-coaches with four, thunder-
ing to meet each other, and trucks and carte mov-
ing at a slower pace, being heavily laden with
barrels from the wharves, and here are rattling
gigs, which perhaps will be smashed to pieces be-
fore our eyes. Hitherward, also, comes a man


trundling a wheelbarrow along the pavement. Is
not little Annie afraid of such a tumult No ;
she does not even shrink closer to my side, but
passes on with fearless confidence, a happy child
amidst a throng of grown people, who pay the
same verveence to her infncy, that they would
to extreme old age. Nobodyjostles her; all turn
aside to make way for little Annie; and what is
most-ingular, she appears-conscious of her claim
to such respect. Now her eyes brighten with
pleasure 1 A street musician as seated himself
on the steps of yonder church, and pours forth
his strains to the busy town, a melody that has
gone asray among the tramp of footsteps, the
buzz of voices, and the war of passing wheels.
Who heeds the poor organ-grinder? None but
myself and little Annie, whose feet begin to move
in unison with the lively tune, as if she were loth
that music should be wasted without a dance.
Bat where would Annie find a partner I Some
have the gout in their toes, or the rheumatism in
their joints ; some are stiff with age; some feeble
with disease ; some are so lean that their bone.
would rattle, and others of such ponderous size
that their agility would crack the flag-stones; but
many, many have leaden feet, because their hearts
are far heavier than lead. It is a sad thought
that I have chanced upon. What a company of


dancers should we be I For I, too, am a gentle-
manof sober footsteps, and therefore, little Annie,
let us walk sedately on.
It is a question with me, whether this giddy
child or my sage self have most pleasure in look-
ing at the shop windows. We love the silks of
sunny hue, that glow within the darkened premi-
ses of the spruce dry-goods' men; we are plea-
santly dazzled by the burnished silver, and the
chased gold, the rings of wedlock and the costly
love-ornaments, glistening at the window of the
jeweller; but Annie, more than I, seeks for a
glimpse of her passing figure in the dusty looking-
glasses at the hardware stores. All that is bright
and gay attracts us both.
Here is a shop to which the recollections of my
boyhood, as well as present partialities, give ape-
culiar magic. How delightful to let the fancy
revel on the dainties of a confectioner; those pies,
with sueh white and flaky paste, their contents
being a mystery, whether rich mince, with whole
plums intermixed, or piquant apple, delicately
rose-favoured; those cakes, heart-shaped or
round, piled in a lofty pyramid; those sweet lit-
tle circlets, sweetly named kisses ; those dark ma-
jestic masses, fit to be bridal loaves at the wed-
ding of an heiress, mountains in size, their sur-
mits deeply snow-covered with sugar 1 Then the


mighty treasures of sugar-plums, white, and
crimson, and yellow, in large glass vases; and
candy of all varieties; and those little cockles,
or whatever they are called, much prized by
children for their sweetness; and more, for the
mottoes which they inclose, by love-sick maids
and bachelors! Oh! my mouth waters, little An-
nie, and so doth yours; but we will not be tempt-
ed, except to an imaginary feast ; so let us hast-
en onward, devouring the vision of a plum-
Here are pleasures, as some people would say,
of a more exalted kind, in the window of a book-
seller. Is Annie a literary lady Yes ; she is
deeply read in Peter Parley's tomes, and has an
increasing love for fairy tales, though seldom met
withnow-a-days, and she will subscribe, next year,
to the Juvenile Miscellany. But, truth to tell,
she is apt to turn away from the printed page, and
keep gazing at the pretty pictures, such as the
gay-coloured ones which make this shop window
the continual loitering place of children. What
would Annie think, if in the book which I mean
to send her, on New Year's day, she should find
her sweet little self, bound up in silk or morocco,
with gilt edges, there to remain till she become a
woman grown, with children of her own to read
about their mother's childhood That would be
very queer.

LtrrTt A"NMR'S nAmoXE.

Little Annie is weary of pictures, and pulls me
onward by the hand, till asddenly we pause at the
most wondrous shop in all the town. Oh, my
stars! Is this a toyshop or is it fairy land I For
here are gilded chariots, in which the king and
queen of the fairies might ride, side by side, while
their courtiers, on these small horses, should gal-
lop in triumphal procession before and behind the
royal pair. Here, too, are dishes of china-ware,
fit to be the dining-set of those same princely per-
sonages, when they make a regal banquet in the
stateliest hall of their palace, full five feet-high,
and behold their nobles feasting down the long
perspective of the table. Betwixt the king and
queen should sit my little Annie, the prettiest
fairy of them all. Here stands a turbaned Turk,
threatening us with his sabre, like an ugly heathen
as he is. And next a Chinese mandarin, who
nods his head at Annie and myself. Here we
may review a whole army of horse and foot, in
red and blue uniforms, with drums, fifes, trum-
pets, and all kinds of noiseless music; they have
halted on the shelf of this window, after their
weary march from Liliput. But what care A-
nie for soldiers ? No conquering queen is she,
neither a Somiramis nor a Catherine; her whole
heart is set upon that doll, who gases at nu with
such a fashionable stare This is the little girl's
true plaything. Though made of wood, a doll in


a visionary and ethereal personage, endowed by
childish fancy with a peculiar life; the mimic la-
dy is a heroine of romance, an actor and a suffer-
er in a thousand shadowy scenes, the chief inha-
bitant of that wide world with which children ape
the real one. Little Annie does not understand
what I am saying, but looks wishfully at the
proud lady in the window. We will invite her
home with us a we return. Meantime, good-bye,
Dame Doll! A toy yourself, you look forth from
your window upon many ladies that are also toys,
though they walk and speak, and upon a crowd
in pursuit of toys, though they wear grave vis-
ages. Oh, with your never-closing eyes, had you
but an intellect to moralize on all that flits be-
fore them, what a wise doll would you be Come;
little Annie, we shall find toy enough, go where
we may.
Now we elbow our way among the throng
again. It is curious, in the most crowded part
of a town, to meet with living creatures that
had their birthplace in some far solitude, but have
acquired a second nature in the wilderness of men.
Look up, Annie, at that canary bird, hanging
out of a window in his cage. Poor little fellow E
His golden feathers are all tarnished in this smoky
sunshine; he would haveglistened twiceas bright*
ly among the summer islands; but still he has


become a citizen in all his tastes and habits, and
would not sing half so well without the uproar
that drowns his music. What a pity that he does
not know how miserable he is There is a parrot.
too, calling out, 'Pretty Poll! Pretty Poll!' as we
pass by. Foolish bird, to be talking about her
prettiness to strangers, especially as she is not a
pretty Poll, though gaudily dressed in green and
yellow. If she had said Pretty Annie,' there
would have been some sense in it. See that gray
squirrel, at the door of the fruit-shop, whirling
round andround so merrily within his wire wheel!
Being condemned to the treadmill, he makes it
an amusement. Admirable philosophy!
Here comes a big, rough dog, a countryman's
dog in search of his master; smelling at every
body's heels, and touching little Annie's hand with
his cold nose, but hurrying away, though she
would fain have patted him. Success to your
search, Fidelity And there sits a great yellow
eat upon a window-sill, a very corpulent and
comfortable cat, gazing at this transitory world,
with owl's eyes, and making pithy comments,
doubtless, or what appear such, to the silly beast.
Oh, sage puss, make room for me beside you, and
we will be a pair of philosophers !
Here wesee somethingto remind us of the town-
crier, and his ding-dong-bell Look look at that

great cloth spread out in the air, pictured all
over with wild beasts, as if they had met together
to choose a king, according to their custom in the
days of mEsop. But they are choosing neither a
king nor a president ; else we should hear a most
horrible snarling I They have come from the deep
woods, and the wild mountains, and the desert
sands, and the polar snows, only to do homage
to my little Annie. As we enter among them,
the great elephant makes us a bow, in the best
style of elephantine courtesy, bending slowly down
his mountain bulk, with trunk abased and leg
thrust out behind. Annie returns the salute,
much to the gratification of the elephant, who is
certainly the best bred monster in the caravan.
The lion and the lioness are busy with two beef
bones. The royal tiger, the beautiful, the un-
tamable, keeps pacing his narrow cage with a
haughty step, unmindful of the spectators, or re-
calling the fierce deeds of his former life, when he
was wont to leap forth upon such inferior ani-
mals, from the jungles of Bengal.
Here we see the very same wolf-do not go
near him, Annie -the self-same wolf that de-
voured little Red Riding Hood and her grandmo-
ther. In the next cage, a hyenafrom Egypt, who
has doubtless howled around the pyramids, and a
black bear from our own forests, are fellow-pri-


soners, and most excellent friends. Are there
any two living creatures, who have so few sym-
pathies that they cannot possibly be friends?
Here sits a great white bear, whom common ob-
servers would call a very stupid beast, though I
perceive him to be only absorbedin contemplation;
he is thinking of his voyages on an iceberg, and
of his comfortable home in the vicinity of the north
pole, and of the little cubs whom he left rolling
in the eternal snows. In fact, he is a bear of sen-
timent. But, oh, those unsentimental monkeys;
the ugly, grinning, aping, chattering, ill-natured,
mischievous, and queer little brutes. Annie does
not love the monkeys. Their uglinewsshocks the
pure, instinctive delicacy of taste, and makes her
mind unquiet, because it bears a wild and dark-
some resemblance to humanity. But here is a
little pony, just big enough for Annie to ride, and
round and round he gallops in a circle, keeping
time with his trampling hoofs to a band of music.
And here,-with a laced coat and a cocked hat,
and a riding whip in his hand, here comes a little
gentleman, small enough to be kingof the fairies,
and ugly enough to be king of the gnomes, and
takes a flying leap into the saddle. Merrily,
merrily, plays the music, and merrily gallops the
pony, and merrily rides the little old gentleman.
Come, Annie, into the street again; perchance
we may see monkeys on horseback there!


Mercy on us, what a noisy world we quiet peo-
ple live in Did Annie ever read the Cries of Lon-
don City ? With what lusty lungs doth yonder
man proclaim that his wheelbarrow is fall of lob-
sters Here comes another mounted on a carts
and blowing a hoarse and dreadful blast from a
tin horn, as mu as much as to say 'resh fish! And
hark a voice on high, like that of a muezzin from
the summit of a mosque, announcing that some
chimney sweeper has emerged from smoke and
soot, and darksome caverns, into the upper air.
What cares the world for that? But, well-a-day,
we hear a shrill voice of affliction, the scream of
a little child, rising louder with every repetition
of that smart, sharp, slapping sound, produced
by an open hand on tender flesh. Annie sympa-
thizes, though without experience of such direful
woe. Lo the town-crier again, with some new
secret for the public ear. Will he tell us of an
auction, or of a lost pocketbook, or a show of
beautiful wax figures, or of some monstrous beast
more horrible t t any in the caravan I guess
the latter. See how he uplifts the bell in his
right hand, and shakes it slowlyat first, thenwith
a hurried motion, till the clapper seems to strike
both sides at once, and the sounds are scattered
forth in quick succession, far and near.
Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong I
178 B


Now he raises his clear, loud voice, above all
the din of the town; it drowns the buzzing talk
of many tongues, and draws each man's mind
from his own business; it rolls up and down the
echoing street, and ascends to the hushed cham-
ber of the sick, and penetrates downward to the
cellar-kitchen, where the hot cook turns from the
fire to listen. Who, of all that address the public
ear, whether in church, or court-house, or hall of
state, has such an attentive audience as the town-
crier What saith the people's orator ?
'Strayed from her home, a lTTL GoiRr, of five
years old, in a blue silk frock and white pantalets,
with brown curling bair and hazel eyes. Who-
ever will bring her back to her afflicted mother-'
Stop, op town-crier! The lost is found. Oh,
my pretty Annie, we forgot to tell your mother
of our ramble, and she is in despair, and has sent
the town-crier to bellow up and down the streets,
affrighting old and young, for the loss of a little
girl who has not once let go my hand. Well, let
us hasten homeward; and as we go, forget not to
thank Heaven, my Annie, that, after wandering
a little way into the world, you may return at the
frstsummons, with an untainted and anunwearied
heart, and be a happy child again. But I have
gone too far astrav for the town-crier to call me

Sweet has been the charm of childhood' on my
spirit, throughout my ramble with little Annie I
Say not that it has been a waste of precious mo-
ments, an idle matter, a babble of childish talk,
and a reverie of childish imaginations, about to-
pics unworthy of a grown man's notice. Has it
been merely this Not so; not so. They are
not truly wise who shouldaffirm it. Asthepure
breath of children revives the life of aged men, so
is our moral nature revived by their free and sim-
pie thoughts, their native feeling, their airy mirth,
for little cause or none, their grief, soon roused
and soon allayed. Their influence on us is at least
reciprocal wit th ors anthem. When our infancy
is almost forgotten, and ourboyhood long depart-
ed, though it seems but as yesterday; when life
settles darkly down upon us, and we doubt whe-
ther to call ourselves young any more, then it is
good to steal away from the society of bearded
men, and even of gentler women, and spend an
hour or two with children. After drinking from
those fountains of still fresh existence, we shall
return into the crowd, as I do now, to struggle
onward and do our part in life, perhaps as fervent-
ly as ever, but, for a time, with a kinderand purer
heart, and a spirit more lightly wise. All this
by thy sweet magic, dear little Annie I

j Juollinb of itt Uxrf 3ills.

N those strange old times, whenfantastidreams
and madmen's reveries were realized among
the actual circumstances of life, two persons met
together at an appointed hour and place. One
was a lady, graceful in form and fair of feature,
though pale and troubled, and smitten with an
untimely blight in what should have been the ful-
lest bloom of her years ; the other was an ancient
and meanly dressed woman, of ill-favoured aspect,
and sowitbered, shrunken, and decrepit, that even
the space since she began to decay must have ex-
ceeded the ordinary term of human existence. In
the spot where they encountered, no mortal could
observe them. Three little hills stood near each
other, and down in the midst of them sank a hol-
low basin, almost mathematically circular, two or
three hundred feet in breadth, and of such depth
that a stately cedar might just be visible above
the sides. Dwarf pines were nnmerons upon the
hills, and partly fringed the outer verge of the
intermediate hollow ; within which there was no-

thing but the brown grass of October, and here
and there a tree trunk, that had fallen long ago,
and lay mouldering with no green successor from
its roots. One of these masses of decayed wood,
formerly a majestic oak, reted close beside a pool
of green and sluggish water at the bottom of the
basin. Such scenes this (so gray tradition tolls)
were once the resort of a Power of Evil and his
plighted subjects; and here, at midnight, or on
the dim verge of evening, they were saMd to stand
round the mantling pool, disturbing its putrid
waters in the performance of an impious baptis-
mal rite. The chill beauty of an autumnal sun-
set was now gilding the three hill-tops, whence a
paler tint stole down their sides into the hollow.
Here is our pleasant meeting come to pass,'
said the aged crone, c according as thou hast de-
sired. Say quickly what thou wouldst have of
me, for there is but a short hour that we may tar-
ry here.'
As the old withered woman spoke, asmile glin-
mered on her countenance, like lamplight on the
wall of a sepulchre. The lady trembled, andeast
her eyes upward to the verge of the basin, as if
meditating to return with her purpose unaeom-
plished. But it was not so ordained.
am a stranger in this land, as you know,"
said she, at length. Whence I come it matters

not ;-ut I have left those behind me with whom
my fate was intimately bound, and from whom I
am cut off for ever. There is a weight in my bo-
som that I cannot away with, and I have come
hither to enquire of their welfare.'
And who is there by this green pool. that can
bring thee news from the ends of the earth cried
the old woman, peering into the lady's face. 'INo
from my lips mayst thou hear these tidings; yet,
be thou bold, and the daylight shall not pass away
from yonder hill-top, before thy wish begranted.'
I will do your bidding though I die,' replied
the lady, desperately.
The old woman seated herself on the trunk of
the fallen tree, threw aside the hood that shroud-
ed her gray-locks, and beckoned her companion
to draw near.
'Kneel down,' she said, 'and lay your fore-
head on my knees."
She hesitated a moment, but the anxiety, that
had long been kindling, burned fiercely up within
her. As she knelb down, the border of her gar-
ment was dipped into the pool; she laid her fore-
head on the old woman's knees, and the latter
-drew a cloak about the lady's face, so that she
was in darkness. Then she heard the mattered
words of prayer, in the midst of which she start-
ed, and would have arisen.

Let me flee,-let me flee and hide myself, that
they may not look, upon me!' she cried. But
with returning recollection, she hushed herself
and was still as death.
For it seemed as if other voices,-familiar in
infancy, and unforgotten through many wander-
ings, and in all the vicissitudes of her heart and
fortune-were mingling with the accents of the
prayer. At first the words were faint and indis-
tinct, not rendered so by distance, but rather re-
sembling the dim pages of a book, which we strive
to read by an imperfect and gradually brighten-
ing light. In such a manner, as the prayer pro-
ceeded, did those voices strengthen upon the ear ;
till at length the petition ended, and the conver-
sation of an aged man, and of a woman, broken
and decayed like himself, became distinctly audi-
ble to the ladyas he knelt. But those strangers
appeared not to stand in the hollow depth be-
tween the three hills. Their voices were encom-
passed and reechoed by the walls of a chamber,
the windows of which were rattling in the breeze ;
the regular vibration of a clock, the crackling of
a fire, and the tinkling of the embers as they fell
among the ashes, rendered the scene almost as
vivid as if painted to the eye. By a melancholy
hearth sat these two old people, the man calmly
despondent, the woman querulous and tearful,

and their words were all of sorrow. They spoke
of a daughter, a wanderer they knew not where,
bearing dishonour along with her, and leaving
shame and affliction to bring their gray heads to
the grave. They alluded also to other and more
recent woe, but in the midst of their talk, their
voices seemed to melt into the sound of the wind,
sweeping mournfully among the autumn leave ;
and when the lady lifted her eyes, there was she
kneeling in the hollow between three hills.
SA weary and lonesome time yonder old couple
have of it,' remarked the old woman, smiling in
the lady's face.
And did you also hear them V exclaimed she, a
sense of intolerable humiliation triumphing over
her agony and fear.
Yea; and we have yet more to hear,' replied
the old woman. Wherefore, cover thy face
Again the withered hag poured forth the mono-
tonous words of a prayer that was not meant to
be acceptable in Heaven; and soon, in the pauses
of her breath, strange murmurings began to thick-
en, gradually increasing, so as to drown and over-
power the charm by which they grew. Shrieks
pierced through the obscurity of sound, and were
succeeded by the singing of sweet female voices,
which in their t urn gave way to a wild roar o

laughter, broken suddenly by groaning and sobs,
forming altogether a ghastly confusion of terror,
and mourning, and mirth. Chains were rattling,
fierce and stern voices uttered threats, and the
scourge resounded at their command. All these
noises deepened and became substantial to the
listener's ear, till she could distinguish every soft
and dreamy accent of the love songs, that died
cautiously into funeral hymns. She shuddered
at the unprovoked wrath which blazed up like the
spontaneous kindling of flame, and she grew faint
at the fearful merriment raging miserably around
her. In the midst of this wild scene, where un-
bounded passions jostled each other in a drunken
career, there was one solemn voice of a man, and
a manly and melodious voice it might once have
been, lie went to and fro continually, and his
feet sounded upon the floor. In each member
of that frenzied company, whose own burning
thoughts had become their exclusive world, be
sought an auditor for the story of his individual
wrong, and interpreted their laughter and tears
as his reward of scorn or pity. He spoke of wo-
man's perfidy, of a wife who had broken her ho-
liest vows, of a home and heart made desolate.
Even as he went on, the shout, the laugh, the
shriek, the sob, rose up in unison, till they chang-
ed into the hollow, fitful, and uneven sound of

the wind, as it fought ampng the pine-trees on
those three lonely hills. The lady looked up, and
there was the withered woman smiling in her face.
'Couldst thou have thought there were such
merry times in madhouse ?' inquired the latter.
True, true,' said the lady to herself ; 'there is
mirth within its walls, but misery, misery with-
'Wouldst thou hear more ? demanded the old
'There is one other voice I would fainlisten to
again,' replied the lady, faintly.
'Then, lay down thy head speedily upon my
knees, that thou mayest get thee hencebeforethe
hour be past.'
Thegolden skirts of day were yet lingering upon
the hills, but deep shades obscured the hollow and
the pool, as if sombre night were rising thence to
overspread the world. Again that evil woman be-
gan to weave her spell. Long did it proceed un-
answered, till the knolling of a bell stole in among
the intervals of her words, like a clang that had
travelled far over valley and rising ground, and
was just ready to die in the air. The lady shook
upon her companion's knees, as she heard that
boding sound. Stronger it grew and sadder, and
deepened into the tone of a death-bell, knolling
dolefully from some ivy-mantled tower, and bear-

ing tidings of mortality and woe to the cottage,
to the hall, and to the solitary wayfarer, that all
might weep for the doom appointed in turn to
them. Then came measured tread, passing slow-
ly, slowly on, as of mourners with a coffin, their
garments trailing on the ground, so that the ear
could measure thelength of theirmelancholyarray.
Before them went the priest, reading the buria
service, while the leaves of his book were rustling
in the breeze. And though no voice but his was
heard to speak aloud, still there were revilings
and anathemas, whispered but distinct, from wo-
men and from men, breathed against the daughter
who had wrung the aged hearts of her parents,-
the wife who bad betrayed the trusting fondness
of her husband,-the mother who had sinned
against natural affection, and left her child to die.
The sweeping sound of the funeral train faded
away like a thin vapour, and the wind, that just
before had seemed to shake the coffin-pall, moan-
ed sadly round the verge of the Hollow between
three Hills. But when the old woman stirred the
kneeling lady, she lifted not her head.
Here has been a sweet hour's sport!' said the
withered crone, chuckling to herself.

it eisim at l f a n.mmtain.

1 T fifteen, I became a resident in a coontryvil-
& large, more than a hundred miles from home.
The morning'fter my arrival-a September momn.
ing, but warm and bright as any in July-I ram-
bled into a wood of oaks, with a few walnut trees
intermixed, forming the closest shade above my
head. The ground was rocky, uneven, overgrown
with bushes and clumps of young saplings, and
traversed only by cattle-paths. The track, which
I chanced to follow, led me to a crystal spring,
with a border of grass, as freshly green as on May
morning, and overshadowed by the limb of a great
oak. One solitary sunbeam found its way down,
and played like a goldfish in the water.
From my childhood, I have loved to gaze into
a spring. The water filled a ciroularbasin, small
but deep, and set round with stones, some of which
were covered with slimy moss, the others naked,
and of variegated hue, reddish, white, and brown.
The bottom was covered with coarse sand, which
sparkled in the lonely sunbeam, and seemed to
illuminate the spring with an unborrowed light.

In one spot, the gush of the water violently agi-
tated the sand, but without obscuring the foun-
tain, or breaking theglassiness of its surface. It
appeared as if some living creature were about to
emerge, the Naiad of the spring, perhaps in the
shape of a beautiful young woman, with a gown
of filmy water-moss, a belt of rainbow drops, and
a cold. pure, passionless countenance. low
would the beholdershiver, pleasantly, yet fearfully,
to see her sitting on one of the stones, paddling
her white feet in the ripples, and throwing up
water, to sparkle in the sun I Wherever she laid
her hands on grass and flowers, they would im-
mediately be moist, as with morning dew. Then
would she set about her labours, like a careful
house-wife, to clear the fountain of witheredleaves,
and bits of slimy wood, and old acorns from the
oaks above, and grains of corn left by cattle in
drinking, till the bright sand, in the bright water,
were like a treasury of diamonds. But, should
the intruder approach too near, he would find on-
ly the drops of summer shower, glistening about
the spot where he had seen her.
Reclining on the border of grass, where the
dewy goddess should have been, I bent forward,
and a pair of eyes met mine within the watery
mirror. They were the reflection of my own. I
looked again, and lo I another face, deeper in the

fountain than my own image, more distinct in all
the features, yet faint as thought. The vision
had the aspect of a fair young girl, with locks of
paly gold. A mirthful expression laughed in the
eyes and dimpled over the whole shadowy coun-
tenance, till it seemed just what a fountain would
be, if, while dancing merrily into the sunshine,
it should assume the shape of woman. Through
the dim rosiness of the cheeks, I could see the
brown leaves, the slimy twigs, the acors, andthe
sparkling sand. The solitary sunbeam was diffus-
ed among the golden hair, which melted into its
faint brightness, and became a glory round that
head so beautiful!
My description can give no idea how suddenly
the fountain was thus tenanted, and how soon it
was left desolate. I breathed ; and there was the
face 1 held my breath ; and it was gone Had
it passed away, or faded into nothing ? I doubted
whether it had ever been.
My sweet readers, what a dreamy and delicious
hour did I spend, where that vision found and
left me For a long time, I sat perfectly still,
waiting till it should re-appear, and fearful that
the slightest motion, or even the flutter of my
breath, might frighten it away. Thus have I of.
ten started from a pleasant dream, and then kept
quiet, in ho es to wile it back. Deep were my

musings, as to the race and attributes of that ethe-
real being. Had I created her? Was she the
daughter of my fancy, akin to those strange shapes
which peep under the lids of children's eyes ? And
did her beauty gladden me, for that one moment,
and then die ? Or was she a water-nymph within
the fountain, or fairy, or woodland goddess, peep-
ing over my shoulder, or the ghost of some for-
eaken maid, who had drowned herself for love ?
Or, in good truth, had a lovely girl, with a warm
beart, and lips that would bear pressure, stolen
softly behind me, and thrown her image into the
I watched and waited, but no vision came again.
I departed, but with a spell upon me, which drew
me back, that same afternoon, to the haunted
spring. There was the water gushing, the sand
sparkling, and the sunbeam glimmering. There
the vision was not, but only a great frog, the her-
mit of that solitude, who immediately withdrew
his speckled snout, and made himself invisible, all
except a pair of long legs beneath a stone. Me-
thought he had a devilish look! I could have slain
him as an enchanter, who kept the mysterious
beauty imprisoned in the fountain.
Sad and heavy, I was returning to the village.
Between me and the church spire, rose a little
hill, and on its summit a group of trees, insulated

from all the rest of the wood, with their own share
of radiance hovering on them from the west, and
their own solitary shadow falling to the east.
The afternoon being far declined, the sunshine
was almost pensive, and the shade almost cheer-
ful; glory and gloom were mingled in the placid
light; as if the spirits of the Day and Evening
had met in friendship under those trees, and found
themselves akin. I was admiring the picture,
when the shape of a young girl emerged from be-
hind the clump of oaks. My heart knew her; it
was the Vision ; but so distant and ethereal did
she seem, so unmixed with earth, so imbued with
the pensive glory of the spot where she was stand-
ing, that my spirit sunk within me, sadder than
before. How could I ever reach her ?
While I gazed, a sudden shower came patter-
ing down upon the leaves. In a moment the air
was full of brightness, each rain-drop catching a
portion of sunlight as it fell, and the whole gen-
tle shower appearing like a mist, just substantial
enough to bear the burthen of radiance. A rain-
bow, vivid as Niagara's, was painted in the air.
Its southern limb came down before the group of
trees, and enveloped the fair Vision, as if the hues
of Heaven were the only garment for her beauty.
When the rainbow vanished, she, who had seemed
a part of it, was no longer there. Was her exist-


ence absorbed in nature's loveliest phenomenon,
and did her pure frame dissolve away in the vari-
ed light ? Yet, I would not despair of her return;
for, robed in the rainbow, she was the emblem of
Thus did the vision leave me; and many adole-
ful day succeeded to the parting moment. By
the spring, and in the wood, and on the hill, and
through the village ; at dewy sunrise, burning
noon, and at that magic hour of sunset, when she
had vanished from my sight, 1 sought her, but in
vain. Weeks came and went, months rolled
away, and she appeared not in them. I imparted
my mystery to none, but wandered to and fro, or
sat in solitude, like one that had caught a glimpse
of Heaven, and could take no more joy on earth.
I withdrew n intoannner world, wheremythoughts
lived and breathed, and the Vision in the midst of
them. Without intending it, I became at once
the author and hero of a romance, conjuring up
rivals, imagining events, the actions of others and
my own, and experiencing every change of pas-
sion, till jealousy and despair had their end in
bliss. Oh, had I the burning fancy of my early
youth, with manhood's colder gift, the power of
expression, your hearts, sweet ladies, shouldflut-
ter at my tale !
In the middle of January, I nas summoned
178 0

home. The day before my departure, visiting the
spots which had been hallowed by the Vision, I
found that the spring had a frozen bosom, and
nothing but the snow and a glare of winter sun-
shine, on the hill of the rainbow. Letmehope,'
thought I, or my heart will be us icy as the foun-
tain, and the whole world as desolate as this
snowy hill.' Most of the day was spent in pre-
paring for the journey, which was to commence
at four o'clock the next morning About an hour
after supper, when all was in readiness, I de-
scended from my chamber to the sitting-room, to
take leave of the old clergyman and his family,
with whom I had been an inmate. A gust of
wind blew out my lamp as I passed through the
According to their invariable custom, so plea-
sant a one when the fire blazes cheerfully, the fa-
mily were sitting in the parlour, with no other
light than what came from the hearth. As the
good clergyman's scanty stipend compelled him
to use all sorts of economy, the foundation of his
fires was always a large heap of tan, or ground
bark, which would smoulder away, from morning
till night, with a dull warmth and no flame. This
evening the heap of tan wan newly put on, and
surmounted with three sticks of red oak, full of
moisture, and a few pieces of dry pine, that had

not yet kindled. There was no light, except the
little that came sullenly from two half-burnt
brands, without even glimmering on the andirons.
But I knew the position of the old minister's arm-
chair, and also where his wife sat, with her knit-
ting-work, and how to avoid his two daughters,
one a stout country lass, and the other a con-
sumptive girl. Groping through the gloom, I
found my own place next to that of the son, a
learned collegian, who had come home to keep
school in the village during the winter vacation-
I noticed that there was less room than usual, to-
night, between the collegian's chair and mine.
As people are always taciturn in the dark, not
a word was said for some time after my entrance.
Nothing broke the stillness but the regular click
of the matron's knitting-needles. At times, the
fire threw out a brief and dusky gleam, which
twinkled on the old man's glasses, and hovered
doubtfully round our circle, hut was far too faint
to portray the individuals who composed it.
Were we not like ghosts Dreanmy as the scene
was, might it not be a type of the mode in which
departed people, who had known and loved each
other here, would hold communion in eternity ?
We were aware of each other's presence, not by
sight, nor sound, nor touch, but by an inward
consciousness. Would it not be so among the

The silence was interrupted by the consumptive
daughter, addressing a remark to some one in the
circle, whom she called Rachel. Her tremulous
and decayed accents were answered by a single
word, but in a voicethat made me start, and bend
towards the spot whence it had proceeded. Had
I ever heard that sweet, low tone ? 1f not, why
did it rouse up so many old recollections, or mock-
eries of such, the shadows of things familiar, yet
unknown, and fill my mind with confused images
of her features who had spoken, though buried in
the gloom of the parlour? Whom had my heart
recognized, that it throbbed so I listened, to
catch her gentle breathing, and strove, by the in-
tensity of my gaze, to picture forth a shape where
none was visible.
Suddenly, the dry pine caught; the fire blazed
up with a ruddy glow ; and where the darkness
had been, there was she-the Vision of theFoun-
tain A spirit of radiance only, she had vanished
with the rainbow, and appeared again in the fire-
light, perhaps to flicker with the blaze, and be
gone. Yet, her cheek was rosy and lifelike, and
her features, in the bright warmth of the room,
were even sweeter and tenderer than my recollec-
tion of them. She knew me! The mirthful ex-
pression that had laughed in her eyes and dimp-
led over her countenance, when I beheld her faint

beauty in the fountain, was laughing and dimp-
ling there now. One moment, our glance ming-
led-the next, down rolled the heap of tan upon
the kindled wood-and darkness snatched away
that Daughter of the Light, and gave her back to
me no more !
Fair ladies, there is nothing more to tell. Must
the simple mystery be revealed, then, that Rachel
was the daughter of the village squire, and had
left home for a boarding-school, the morning af-
ter I arrived, and returned the day before my de-
parture I If I transformed her to an angel, it is
what every youthful lover does for his mistress.
Therein consists the essence of my story. But,
slight the change, sweet maids, to make angels of
yourselves I

gtr. ditagger's ptrimn nt.

ay very singular man, old Dr. Heidegger,
once invited four venerable friends to meet
him in his study. There were three white-beard-
ed gentlemen, Mr. Medbourne, Colonel Killigrew,
and Mr. Gascoigne, and a withered gentewoman,
whose name was the widow Wycherly. They were
all melancholy old creatures, who had been unfor-
tunate in life, and w-hose great misfortune it was,
that they were not long ago in their graves. Mr.
Medbourne, in the vigour of his age, had been a
prosperous merchant, but had lost his all by a
frantic speculation, and was now little better than
a mendicant. Colonel Killigrew had wasted his
best years, and his health and substance, in the
pursuit of sinful pleasures, which had given birth
to a brood of pains, such as the gout, and divers
other torments of souland body. Mr. Gascoigne
was a ruined politician, a man of evil fame, or at
least had been so, till time had buried him from
the knowledge of the present generation, and
made him obscure instead of infamous. As for

the Widow Wycherly, tradition tells us that she
was a great beauty in her day; but, for a long
time past, she had lived in deep seclusion, on ac-
count of certain scandalous stories, which had
prejudiced the gentry of the town against her.
It is a circumstance worth mentioning, that each
of these three old gentlemen, Mr. Medbourne,
Colonel Iilligrew, and Mr. Gascoigne, were early
lovers of the Widow Wycherly, and had once been
on the point of cutting each other's throats for
her sake. And, before proceeding farther, I will
merely hint, that Dr. Heidegger and all his four
guests were sometimes thought to be a little be-
side themselves ; as is not unfrequently the case
with old people, when worried either by present
trouble or woful recollections.
6My dear old friends,' said Dr. Heilegger,
motioning them to be seated, I am desirous of
your assistance in one of those little experiments
with which I amuse myself here in my study.'
If all stories were true, Dr. Heidegger's study
must have been a very curious place. It was a
dim, old-fashioned chamber, festooned with cob-
webs, and besprinkledwithantiquedust. Around
the walls stood several oaken bookcases, the lower
shelves of which were filled with rows of gigantic
folios, and blackletter quartos, and the upper with
little parchmentoovered duodecimos. Over the


central bookcase was a bronzebust of Hippocrates,
with which, according to some authorities, Dr.
Heidegger was accustomed to hold consultations,
in all difficult cases of his practice. In the ob-
sourest corner of the room stood a tall and narrow
oaken closet, with its door ajar, within which
doubtfully appeared a skeleton. Between two of
the bookcases hung a looking-glass, presenting
its high and dusty plate within a tarnished gilt
frame. Among many wonderful stories related of
this mirror, it was fabled that the spirits of all the
doctor's deceased patients dwelt within its verge,
and would stare him in the face whenever he look-
ed thitherward. The opposite side of the cham-
ber was ornamented with the full length portrait
of a young lady, arrayed in the faded magnifi.
cence of silk, satin, and brocade, and with a vi-
sage as faded as her dress. Above halfa century
ago, Dr. Heidegger had been on the point of mar-
riage with tis young lady ; but beingaffected with
some slight disorder, she had swallowed one of
her lover's prescriptions, and died on the bridal
evening. The greatest curiosity of the study re-
mains to be mentioned; it was a ponderous folio
volume, bound in black leather, with massive sil-
ver clasps. There were no letters on the back,
and nobody could tell the title of the book. But
it was well known to be a book of magic ; and


once when a chambermaid had lifted it, merely to
brush away the dust, the skeleton had rattled in
its closet, the picture of the young lady had step.
ped one foot upon the floor, and several ghastly
faces had peeped peepedforth fromthe mirror; while the
brazen head of Hippocrates frowned, and said-
SForbear i
Such was Dr. Heidegger's study. On the sum-
mer afternoon of our tale, a small round table, as
black as ebony, stood in the centre of the room,
sustaining a cut-glass vase, of beautiful form and
elaborate workmanship. The sunshine came
through the window, between the heavy festoons
of two faded damask curtains, and fell directly
across the vase, so that a mild splendour was re-
flected from it on the ashen visages of the five old
people who sat around. Four champaign glasses
were also on the table.
'My dear old friends,'repeated Dr. FHeidegger,
'may I reckon on your aid in performing an ex-
ceedingly curious experiment ?'
Now, Dr Heidegger was a very strange old
gentleman, whose eccentricity had become the
nucleus for a thousand fantastic stories. Some
of these fables, to my shame be it spoken, might
possibly be traced back to mine own veracious
self; and if any passages of thepresent taleshould
startle the reader's faith, I must be content to
bear the stigma of a fiction-monger.


When the doctor's four guests heard him talk
of his proposed experiment, they anticipated no-
thing more wonderful than the murder of a mouse
in an air-pump or the examination of a cobweb
by the microscope, or some similar nonsense, with
which he was constantly in the habit of pestering
his intimates. But without waiting for a reply,
Dr. Heidegger hobbled across the chamber, and
returned with the same ponderous folio, bound in
black leather, which common report affirmed to
be a book of magic. Undoing the silver clasps,
he opened the volume, and took from among its
blackletter pages a rose, or what was once a rose,
though now the green leaves and crimson petals
had assumed one brownish hue, and the ancient
flower seemed ready to crumble to dust in the
doctor's hands.
This rose,' said Dr. Heidegger, with a sigh,
This same withered and crumbling flower, blos-
somed five-and-fifty years ago. It was given me
by Sylvia Ward, whose portrait hangs yonder ;
and I meant to wear it in my bosom at our wed-
ding. Five-and-ffty years it has been treasured
between the leaves of this old volume. Now,
would you deem it possible that this rose of half
a century could ever bloom again ?'
'Nonsense p said the Widow Wycherly, with
a peevish toss of her head. 'You might as well


ask whether an old woman's wrinkled face could
ever bloom again.'
See answered Dr. Heidegger.
He uncovered the vase, and threw the faded
rose into the water which it contained. At first
it lay lightly on the surface of the fluid, appear-
ing to imbibe none of its moisture. Soon, how-
ever, a singular change began to be visible. The
crushed and dried petals stirred, and assumed
a deepening tinge of crimson, as if the flower
were reviving from a death-like slumber; the
slender stalk and twigs of.foliage became green;
and there was the rose of half a century, looking
as fresh as when Sylvia Ward had first given it to
her lover. It was scarcely full-blown; for some
of its delicate red-leaves curled modestly around
its moist bosom, within which two or three dew-
drops were sparkling. That is certainly a very
pretty deception,' said the doctor's friends; care-
lessly, however, for they had witnessed greater
miracles at a conjurer's show; prayhow was it ef-
fected '
'* id you never hear of the "Fountain of
Youth asked Dr. Heidegger, which Ponce
De Leon, the Spanish adventurer, went in search
of, two or three centuries go ?'
'But did Ponce De Leon ever find it V said the.
Widow Wycherly.


No,' answered Dr. Heidegger, for he never
sought it in the right place. The famous Foun-
tain of Youth, if I am rightly informed, is situat-
ed in the southern part of the Floridian penin-
sula, not far from lake Macaco. Its source is
overshadowed by several gigantic magnolias,
which, though numberless centuriesold, have been
kept as fresh as violets, by the virtues of this
wonderful water. An acquaintance of mine,
knowing my curiosity in such matters, has sent
me what you see in the vase.'
Ahem I' said Colonel Killigrew, who believed
not a word of the doctor's story; and what may
be the effect of this fluid on the human frame '
'You shall judge for yourself, my dear colonel,'
replied Dr. Heidegger ; and all of you, my re-
spected friends, are welcome to so much of this
admirable fluid, as may restore to you the bloom
of youth. For my own part, having had much
trouble in growing old, I am in nohurry to grow
young again. With your permission, therefore, I
will merely watch the progress of the experiment
While he spoke, Dr. Heidegger had been fil.
ling the four champaign glasses with the water
of the Fountain of Youth. It was apparently
impregnated with an effervescent gas, for little
bubbles were continually ascending from the
depths of the glasses, and bursting in silvery spray


at the surface. As the liquor diffused a pleasant
perfume, the old people doubted not that it pos-
sessed cordial and comfortable properties; and,
though utter sceptics as to its rejuvenescent pow-
er, they were inclined to swallow it at once. But
Dr. Beidegger besought them to stay a moment.
Before you drink, my respectable old friends,'
said he, it would be well that, with the experi-
ence of a lifetime to direct you, you should draw
up a few general roles for your guidance, in pas-
sing a second time through the perils of youth.
Think what a sin and shame it would be, if, with
your peculiar advantages, you should not become
patterns of virtue and wisdom to all the young
people of the age!"
The doctor's four venerable friends made him
no answer, except by a feeble and tremulous
laugh; so very ridiculous was the idea, that know
ing how closely repentance treads behind the steps
of error, they should ever go astray again.
'Drink, then,' said the doctor, bowing; I re-
joice that I have so well selected the subjects of
my experiment.'
With palsied hands, they raised their glasses to
their lips. The liquor, if it really possessed such
virtues as Dr. Heidegger imputed to it, could not
have been bestowed on four human beings who
needed it more wofully. They looked as if they


had never known what youth or pleasure was, but
had been the offspring of Nature's dotage, and
always the gray, decrepit, sapless, miserable crea-
tures, who now sat stooping round the doctor's
table, without life enough in their souls or bodies
to be animated even by the prospect of growing
young again. They drank of the water, and re-
placed their glasses on the table.
Assuredly there was an almost immediate im-
provement in the aspect of the party, not unlike
what might have been produced by a glass of gen-
erous wine, together with a sudden glow of cheer-
ful sunshine, brightening over all their visages at
once. There was a healthful suffusion on their
cheeks, instead of the ashen hue that had made
them look so corpse-like. They gazed at one
another, and fancied that some magic power had
really begun to smooth away the deep and sad in-
scriptions which Father Time had been so long
engraving on their brows. The Widow Wycherly
adjusted her cap, for she almost felt like a woman
Give us more of this wondrous water !' cried
they, eagerly. We are younger-but we are
still too old Quick-give us more!'
Patience, patience quoth Dr. Heidegger,
who sat watching the experiment, with philoso.
phic coolness. You have been a longtime grow-

ing old. Surely, you might be content to grow
young in half an hour I But the water is at your
Again he filled their glasses with the liquor of
youth, enough of which still remained in the vase
to turn half the people in the city to the age
of their own grandchildren. While the bubbles
were yet sparkling on the brim, the doctor's four
guests snatched their glasses from the table, and
swallowed the contents at a single glph. Was it
delusion even whilethedraughtwas passing down
their throats, it seemed to have wrought a change
on their whole systems. Their eyes grew clear
and bright; a dark shade deepened among their
silvery locks ; they sat around the table, three
gentlemen, of middle age; a woman, hardly be-
yond her buxom prime.
S'My dear widow, you are charming cried
Colonel Killigrew, whose eyes had been fixed
upon her face, while the shadows of age were flit-
ting from it like darkness from the crimson day-
The fair widow knew, of old, that Colonel Kil-
ligrew's compliments were not always measured
by sober truth; so she started up, and ran to the
mirror, still dreading that the ugly visage of an
old woman would meet her gaze. Meanwhile, the
three gentlemen behaved in such a manner, as


proved that the water of the Fountain of Youth
possessed some intoxicating qualities ; unless, in-
deed, exhilaration of spirits were merely a light-
some dizzines, caused by the sudden removal of
the weight of years. Mr. Gascoigne's mind seem-
ed to run on political topics, but whether relating
to the past, present, or future, could not easily
be determined, since the same ideas and phrases
have been in vogue these ffty years. Now he
rattled forth full-throated sentences about patriot-
ism, national glory, and the people's right; now
be muttered some pe ilous stuff or other, in a sly
and doubtful whisper, so cautiously that even his
own conscience could scarcely catch the secret;
and now, again, he spoke in measured accents,
and a deeply deferential tone, as if a royal ear
were listening to his well-turned periods. Colo-
nel Killigrew all this time had been trolling forth
ajolly bottle-song, and ringing his glass in sym-
phony with the chores, while his eyes wandered
toward the buxom figure of the Widow Wycherly,
On the other side of the table, Mr. Medbourne was
involved in a calculation of dollars and cents, with
which was strangely intermingled a project for
supplying the East Indies with ice, by harnessing
a team of whales to the polar icebergs.
As for the Widow Wycherly, she stood before
the mirror, ourtsying and simpering to her own


image, and greeting it as the friend whom she
loved better than all the world beside. She thrust
her face close to the glass, to see whether some
long-remembered wrinkle or crow's-foot had in-
deed vanished. She examined whether the snow
had so entirely melted from her hair, that the
venerable cap could be safely thrown aside. At
last, turning briskly away, she came with a sort
of dancing step to the table.
My dear old doctor,' cried she, 'pray favour
me with another glass !'
Certainly, my dear madam, certainly,' replied
the complaisant doctor; see I have already fil-
led the glasses.'
There, in fact, stood the four glasses, brimful
of this wonderful water, the delicate spray of
which, as it effervesced from the surface, resem-
bled the tremulous glitter of diamonds. It was
now so nearly sunset, that the chamber had grown
duskier than ever; but a mild and moon-like
splendour gleamed from within the vase, and rest-
ed alike on the four guests, and on the doctor's
venerable figure. He sat in a high-backed, ela-
borately-carved, oaken arm-chair, with a gray dig-
nity of aspect that might have well belitted that
very Father Time, whose power had never been
disputed, save by this fortunate company. Even
while quaffing the third draught of the Foun-
178 D

tCin of Youth, they were almost awed by the ex-
pression of his mysterious visage.
But, the next moment, the exhilarating gush of
young life shot through their veins. They were
now in the happy prime of youth. Age, with its
miserable train of cares, and sorrows, and diseases,
was remembered only as the trouble of a dream,
from which they had joyously awoke. The fresh
gloss of the soul, so early lost, and without which
the world's successive scenes had been but a gal-
lery of faded pictures, again threw its enchantment
over all their prospects. They felt like new-creat-
ed beings, in a new-created universe.
e are youngWe are ongare young I' they cried,
Youth, like the extremity of age, had ef-
faced the strongly marked characteristics of mid-
die life, and mutually assimilated them all. They
were a group of merry youngsters, almost mad-
dened with the exuberant froliosoreness of their
years. The most singular effect of their gaiety
was an impulse to mock the infirmity and decrepi-
tude of which they hadso lately been the victims.
They laughed loudly at their old-fashioned attire,
the wideskirted coats and flapped waistcoats of
the young men, and the ancient cap and gown of
the blooming girl. One limped across the floor,like
a gonty grandfather; one set a pair of spectacles


astride of his nose, and prtended to pore over the
blackletter pages of the book of magic; a third
seated himself in an arm-chair, and strove to imi-
tate thevenerable dignity of Dr. Heidegger. Then
all shouted mirthfully, and leaped about the room.
The Widow Wycherly- if so fresh a damsel could
be called a widow-tripped up to the doctor's
chair, with a mischievous merriment in her rosy
'Doctor, you dear old soul,' cried she, 'get up
and dance with me !' And then the four young
people laughed louder than ever, to think what a
queer figure the doctor would cut.
'Pray excuse me, answered the doctor, quietly.
I am old and rheumatic, and my dancing days
were over long ago. But either of these gay
young gentlemen will be glad of so pretty a part-
'Dance with me, Clara cried Colonel Killi-
'No, no, I will be her partner P' shouted Mr.
She promised me her hand, fifty years ago P
exclaimed Mr. Medbourne.
They all gathered round her. One caught both
her hands in his passionate grasp-another threw
his arm about her waist-the third buried his
hand amongtheglossy curls that clustered beneath


the widow's cap. Blushing, panting, struggling,
chiding, laughing, her warm breath fanning each
of their faces by turns, she strove to disengage
herself yet still remained in their triple embrace.
Never was there a livelier picture of youthful ri-
valship, with bewitching beauty for the prize.
Yet by a strange deception, owing to the duski-
-ness of the chamber, and the antique dresses which
they still wore, the tall mirror is said to have re-
flected the figures of the three old, gray, withered
grandsires, ridiculously contending for the skinny
ugliness of a shrivelled grandam.
But they were young; their burning passions
proved them so. Inflamed to madness by the
coquetry of the girl-widow, who neither granted
nor quite withheld her favors, the three rivals
began to interchange threatening glances. Still
keeping hold of the fair prize, they grappled
fiercely at one another's throats. As they strug-
gled to and fro, the table was overturned, and the
vase dashed into a thousand fragments. The pre-
cious Water of Youth flowed in a bright stream
across the floor, moistening the wings of a butter
fly, which, grown old in the decline of summer,
had alighted there to die. The insect fluttered
lightly through the chamber, and settled on the
snowy head of Dr. Heidegger.


*Come, come, gentlemen! -come, Madame
Wycherly,' exclaimed the doctor, I really must
protest against this riot.'
They stood still, and shivered ; for it seemed
as if gray Time were calling them back from
their sunny youth, far down into the chill and
darksome vale of years. They looked at old Dr.
Heidegger, who sat in his carved arm-chair, hold-
ing the rose of half a century, which he had rea-
cued from among the fragments of the shattered
vase. At the motion of his hand, the four rioters
assumed their seats; the more readily, because
their violent exertions had wearied them, youth-
ful though they were.
'My poor Sylvia's rose !' ejaculated Dr. Heid-
egger, holding it in the light of the sunset clouds;
'it appears to be fading again.'
And so it was. Even while the party were
looking at it, the flower continued to shrivel up,
till it became as dry and fragile as when the doc-
tor had first thrown it into the vase. He shook
off a few drops of moisture which clung to its
'I love it as well thus, as in its dewy freshness,
observed he, pressing the withered rose to his
witheredlips. While he spoke, the butterfly flut-
tered down from the doctor's snowy head, and fell
upon the floor.


His guests shivered again. A strange chillnes.,
whether of the body or spirit they could not tell,
was creeping gradually over them all. They
gazed at one another, and fancied that each fleet-
ing moment snatched away a charm, and left a
deepening furrow where none had been before.
Was it an illusion ? Had the changes of a lifetime
been crowded into so brief a space; and were they
now four aged people, sitting with their old friend
Dr. Heidegger I
'Are we grown old again, so soon ?' cried they,
In truth, t h hey ha The Water of Youth pos-
sessed merely a virtue more transient than that
of wine." The delirium whichit created had effer-
vesced away. Yes i they were old again. With
a shuddering impulse, that showed her a woman
still, the widow clasped her skinny hands before
her face, and wished that the cofin-lid were over
it, since it could be no longer beautiful.
Yes, friends, ye are old again,' said Dr. Heid-
egger ; 'and o! the Water of Youth is all lavish-
ed on the ground. Well-I bemoan it not; for
if the fountain gushed at my very door-step, I
wouldn't stoop to bathe my lips in it-no, though
its delirium were for years instead of moments.
Such is the lesson ye have taught me!'


But the doctor's four friends had taught no such
lesson for themselves. They resolved forthwith
to make a pilgrimage to Florida, and quaff, at
morning, noon, and night, from the Fountain of

At 0nxtf yjo.

!N the course of the year 1656, several of the
people called Quakers, led, as they profess-
ed, by the inward movement of the spirit, made
their appearance in New England. Their repu-
tation, as holders of mystic and pernicious prin-
ciples, having spread before them, the Puritans
early endeavoured to banish, and to prevent the
further intrusion of, the rising sect. But the mea-
sures by which it was intended to purge the land
of heresy, though more than sufficiently vigorous,
were entirely unsuccessful. The Quakers, esteem-
ing persecution as a divine call to the post of dan-
ger, laid claim to a holy courage, unknown to the
Puritans themselves, who had shunned the cross,
by providing for the peaceable exercise of their
religion in a distant wilderness. Though it was
the singular fact, that every nation of the earth
rejected the wandering enthusiasts who practised
peace towards all men, the place of greatest
uneasiness and peril, and therefore, in their eyes,
the most eligible, was the province of Massachu-
setts Bay.


The fines, imprisonment, and stripes, liberally
distributed by our pious forefathers; the popular
antipathy, so strong that it endured nearly a hun.
dred years after actual persecution had ceased,
were attractions as powerful for the Quakers, as
peace, honour, and reward, would have been for
the worldly-minded. Every European vessel
brought new cargoes of the seat, eager to testify
against the oppression which they hoped to share;
and, when shipmasters were restrained by heavy
fines from affording them passage, they made long
and circuitous journeys through the Indian coun-
try, and appeared in the province as if conveyed
by a supernatural power. Their enthusiasm,
heightened almost to madness by the treatment
which they received, produced actions contrary to
the rules of decency, as well as of rational religion,
and presented a singular contrast to the calm and
staid deportment of their sectarian successors of
the present day. The command of the spirit, in-
audible except to the soul, and not to be coutro-
verted on grounds of human wisdom, was made
a plea for most indecorous exhibitions, which, ab-
stractedly considered, well deserved the moderate
chastisement of the rod. These extravagances,
and the persecution which was at once their cause
and consequence, continued to increase, till, in
the year 1659, the government of Massachusetts

Bay indulged two members of the Quaker sect
with the crown of martyrdom.
An indelible stain of blood is upon the hands
of all who consented to this act, but a large share
of the awful responsibility must rest upon the
person then at the head of the government. He
was a man of narrow mind and imperfect educa-
tion, and his uncompromising bigotry was made
hot and mischievous by violent and hasty pas-
sions ; he exerted his influence indecorously and
unjustifiably to compass the death of the enthu-
siasts ; and his whole conduct, in respect to them,
was marked by brutal cruelty. The Quakers,
whose revengeful feelings were not less deep be-
cause they were inactive, remembered this man
and his associates, in after-times. The historian
of the sect affrms, that, by the wrath of Heaven,
a blight fell upon the land in the vicinity of the
* bloody town' of Boston, so that no wheat would
grow there; and he takes his stand, as it were,
among the graves of the ancient persecutors, and
triumphantly recounts the judgment that over-
took them, in old age or at the parting hour. He
tells us that they died suddenly, and violently,
and in madness; but nothing can exceed the bit-
ter mockery with which he records the loathsome
disease, and 'death by rottenness,' of the fierce
and cruel governor.
4* ** f

On the evening of the autumn day, that had
witnessed the martyrdom of two men of the Qua-
ker persuasion, a Puritan settler was returning
from the metropolis to the neighboring country-
town in which he resided. The air was cool, the
sky clear, and the lingering twilight was made
brighter by the rays of a young moon, which had
now nearly reached the verge of the horizon. The
traveller, a man of middle age, wrapped in a gray
frieze cloak, quickened his pace when he had
reached the outskirts of the town, for a gloomy
extent of nearly four miles lay between him and
his home. The low, straw-thatched houses were
scattered at considerable intervals along the road,
and, the country having been settled but about
thirty years, the tract of original forest still bore
no small proportion to the cultivated ground.
The autumn wind wandered among the branches,
whirling away the leaves from all except the pine-
trees, and moaning as if it lamented the desolation
of which it was the instrument. The road had
penetrated the mass of woods that lay nearest to
the town, and was just emerging into an open
space, when the traveller's ears were saluted by a
sound more mournful than even that of the wind.
It was like the wailing of some one in distress, and
it seemed to proceed from beneath a tall and lone-
ly fir-tree, in the centre of a cleared, but unia.

closed and uncultivated, field. The Puritan could
not but remember that this was the very spot,
which had been made accursed, a few hours before,
by the execution of the Quakers, whose bodies
had been thrown together into one hasty grave,
beneath the tree on which they suffered. He
struggled, however, against the superstitious fears
which belonged to the age, and compelled himself
to pause and listen.
'The voice is most likely mortal, nor have I
cause to tremble if it be otherwise,' thought be,
straining his eyes through the dim moonlight.
'Methinks it is like the wailing of a child; some
infant, it may be, which has strayed from its mo-
ther, and chanced upon this place of death. For
the ease of mine own conscience, I must search
this matter out.'
He therefore left the path, and walked some-
what fearfully across the fields. Though now so
desolate, its soil was pressed down and trampled
by the thousand footsteps of those who had wit-
nessed the spectacle of that day, all of whom had
now retired, leaving the dead to their loneliness.
The traveller at length reached the fir-tree, which
from the middle upward was covered with living
branches, although a scaffold had been erected
beneath, and other preparations made for the
u ork of death. Under this unhappy tree, which

in after-times was believed to drop poison with
its dew, sat the one solitary mourner for innocent
blood. It was a slender and light-clad little boy,
who leaned his face upon a hillock of fresh-turned
and half frozen earth, and wailed bitterly, yet in
a suppressed tone, as if his grief might receive
the punishment of crime. The Puritan, whose
approach had been unperceived, laid his hand up-
on the child's shoulder, and addressed him com-
SYou have chosen a dreary lodging, my poor
boy, and no wonder that you weep,' said he.
'But dry your eyes, and tell me where your mo-
therdwells. I promise you, if the journey be not
too far, I will leave you in her arms to-night.'
The boy had hushed his wailing at once, and
turned his face upward to the stranger. It was a
pale, bright-eyed countenance, certainly not more
than six years old, but sorrow, fear, and want,
had destroyed much of its infantile expression.
The Puritan, seeing the boy's frightened gaze,
and feeling that he trembled under his band, en-
deavoure to red to reassure him.
'Nay, if I intended to do you harm, little lad,
the readiest way were to leave you here. What
you do not fear to sit beneath the gallows on a
arew-made grave, and yet you tremble at a friend's
touch. Take heart, child, and tell me what is
jour name, and where is your home !'

'Friend,'replied thelittle boy, ina sweet though
faltering voice, they call me Ilbrahim, and my
home is here.'
The pale, spiritual face, the eyes that seemed
to mingle with the moonlight, the sweet, airy
voice, and the outlandish name, almost made the
Puritan believe, that the boy was in truth a being
which had sprung up ot of the grave on which
he sat. But perceiving that the apparition stood
the test of a short mental prayer, and remember-
ing that the arm which he had touched was life-
like, he adopted a more rational supposition.
The poorchild isstricken inhis intellect,' thought
he, but verily his words are fearful, in a place
like this.' He then spoke soothingly, intending
to humour the boy's fantasy.
'Your home will scarce be comfortable, Ilbra-
him, this cold autumn night, and I fear you are
ill provided with food. I am hastening to a warm
supper and bed, and if you will go with me, you
shall share them I'
'I thank thee, friend, but though I be hungry
and shivering with cold, thou wilt not give me
food nor lodging, replied the boy, in the ouiet
tone which despair had taughthim, even soyoung.
' My father was of the people whom all men hate.
They have laid him under this heap of earth, and
here is my home.'
The Puritan, who had laid hold of little lIbra-

him's hand, relinquished it as if he were touching
a loathsome reptile. But he possessed a compas-
sionate heart, which not even religious prejudice
could harden into stone.
'Godforbid that I should leave this child to per-
ish, though he comes of the accursed sect,' said he
to himself. 'Do we not all spring from an evil
root I Are we not all in darkness till the light
doth shine upon us? He shall not perish, neither
in body, nor, if prayer and instruction may avail
for him, in soul.' He then spoke aloud and kindly
to Ilbrahir, who had again hid his face in the
cold earth of the grave. Was every door in the
land shut against you, my child, that you have
wandered to this unhallowed spot ?'
'They drove me forth from the prison when
they took my father thence,' said the boy, 'and I
stood afar off, watching the crowd of people, and
when they were gone, I came hither, and found
only this grave. I knew that my fatherwas sleep-
ing here, and I said, this shall be my home.'
'No, child, no ; not while I have a roof over
my head, oror morsel to share with you exclaim-
et the Puritan, whose sympathies were now fully
excited. Rise up and come with me, and fear not
any harm.'
The boy wept afresh, and clung to the heap of
earth, as if the cold heart beneath it were wanner

to him than any in a living breast. The traveller,
however, continued to entreat him tenderly, and
seeming to acquire some degree of confidence,
he at length arose. But his slender limbs tot-
tered with weakness, his little head grew dizzy,
and he leaned against the tree of death for sup-
'My poorboy, are you o feeble' saidthe Puri-
tan. 'When did you taste food last?'
SI ate of bread and water with my father in the
prison,' replied llbrahim, 'but they brought him
none neither yesterday nor to-day, saying that he
had eaten enough to bear him to his journey's
end. Trouble not thyself for my hunger, kind
friend, for I have lacked food many times ere
The traveller took the child in his arms, and
wrapped his cloak about him, while his heart stir-
red with shame and anger against the gratuitous
cruelty of the instruments in this persecution.
In the awakened warmth of his feelings, he resolv-
ed that, at whatever risk, he would not forsake
the poor little defenceless being whom heaven had
confided to his care. With this determination,
he left the accursed field, and resumed the home-
ward path from which the wailing of the boy had
called him. The light and motionless burthen
scarcely impeded his progress, and he soon be-

held the fire-rays from the windows of the cottage
which he, a native of a distant clime, had built in
the western wilderness. It was surrounded by a
considerable extent of cultivated ground, and the
dwelling was situated in the nook of a wood-co-
vered hill, whither it seemed to have crept for
Look up, child,' said the Puritan to Ilbrahim,
whose faint head had sunk upon his shoulder;
There is our home.'
At the word 'home,' a thrill passed through
the child's frame, but he continued silent. A few
moments brought them to the cottage door, at
which the owner knocked; for at that earlyperiod,
when savages were wandering every where among
the settlers, bolt and bar were indispensable to
the security of a dwelling. The summons was
answered by bbond-servant, a coarse-clad and
dull-featured piece of humanity, who, after ascer-
taining that his master was the applicant, undid
the door, and held a flaring pine-knot torch to
light him in. Farther back in the passage-way,
the red blaze discovered a matronly woman, but
no little crowd of children came bounding forth
to greet their father's return. As the Puritan
entered, he thrust aside his cloak, and displayed
llbrahim's face to the female.
*Dorothy, here is a little outcast, whom Pro-
178 Z

evidence bath put into our hands, observed he.
SBe kind to him, even as if he were of those dear
ones who have departed from us.'
'What pale and bright-eyed little boy is this,
Tobias?' she inquired. c Is he one whom the wil-
derness folk have ravished from some Christian
'No, Dorothy; this poor child is no captive
from the wilderness,' he replied. The heathen
savage would have given him to eat of his scanty
morsel, and to drink of his birchen cup; but
Christian men, alas had cast him out to die.'
Then he told her how he had found him beneath
the gallows, upon his father's grave; and how
his heart had prompted him, like the speaking of
an inward voice, to take the little outcast home,
and be kind unto him. He acknowledged his re-
solution to feed and clothe him, as if he were his
own child, and to afford him the instruction which
should counteract the pernicious errors hitherto
instilled into his infant mind. Dorothy was gift-
ed with even a quicker tenderness than her bus-
band, and she approved of all his doings nd in-
Have you a mother, dear child V' she inquired.
The tears burst forth from his full heart, as he
attempted to reply; but Dorothy at length un-
derstood that he had a mother, who, like the rest

of her sect, was a persecuted wanderer. She bad
been taken from the prison a short time before,
carried into the uninhabited wilderness, and left
to perish there by hanger or wild beasts. This
was no uncommon method of disposing of the
Quakers, and they wereaccustomed to boast, that
the inhabitants of the desert were more hospitable
to them than civilized man.
SFear not, little boy, you shall not need a mo-
ther, and a kind one,' said Dorothy, when she
had gathered this information. Dry your tears,
Ilbrahim, and be my child, as I will be your mo-
The good woman prepared the little bed, from
which her own children had successively been
borne to another resting-place. Before Ilbrahim
would consent to occupy it, he knelt down, and,
as Dorothy listened to his simple and affecting
prayer, she marvelled how the parents that had
taught it to him could have been judged worthy
of death. When the boy had fallen asleep, she
bent over his pale and spiritual countenance, pres-
sed a kiss upon his white brow, drew the bed-
clothes up about his neck, and went away with a
pensive gladness in her heart,
Tobias Pearson was not among the earliest emi-
grants from the old country. He had remained
in England, during the first years of the civil war,

in which he had borne some share as a cornet of
dragoons, under Cromwell. But when the am-
bitious designs of his leader began to develop
themselves, he quitted the army ofthe parliament,
and sought a refuge from the strife, which was no
longer holy, among the people of his persuasion
in the Colony of Massachusetts. A more worldly
consideration had perhaps an influence in draw-
ing him thither ; for New England offered ad-
vantages to men of unprosperous fortunes, as well
as to dissatisfied religionists, and Pearson had
hitherto found it difficult to provide for a wife and
increasing family. To this supposed impurity of
motive, the more bigoted Puritans were inclined
to impute the removal by death of all the children,
for whose earthly good the father had been over-
thoughtful. They had left their native country,
blooming like roses, and like roses they had per-
ished in a foreign soil. Those expounders of the
ways of Providence, who had thus judged their
brother, and attributed his domestic sorrows to
his sins, were not more charitable when they saw
him and Dorothy endeavouring to fill up the void
in their hearts, by the adoption of an infant of the
accursed sect. Nor did they fail to communicate
their disapprobation to Tobias ; but the latter, in
reply, merely pointed at the little, quiet, lovely
boy, whose appearance and deportment were in.

deed as powerful arguments as could possiblyhave
beenadducedin his own favour. Even his beauty,
however, and his winning manners, sometimes
produced an effect ultimately unfavourable; for
the bigots, when the outer surfaces of their iron
hearts had been softened and again grew hard,
affirmed that no merely natural cause could have
so worked upon them.
Their antipathy to the poor infant was also in-
creased by the ill success of divers theological dis-
cussions, in which it was attempted to convince
him of the errors of his sect. Ilbrahim, it is true,
was not a skilful controversialist; but the feel-
ing of his religion was strong as instinct in him,
and he could neither be enticed nor driven from
the faith which his father had died for. The
odium of his stubbornness was shared in a great
measure by the child's protectors, insomuch that
Tobias and Dorothy very shortly began to expe-
rience a most bitter species of persecution, in the
cold regards of many a friend whom they had valu-
ed. The common people manifested their opin-
ions more openly. Pearson was a man of some
consideration, being a Representative to the Gene-
ral Court, and an approved Lieutenant in the
train-bands, yet within a week after his adoption
of 11brahim, he had been both hissed and hooted.
Once, also, when walking through a solitarypiec

of woods, he heard a loud voice from some invisi-
ble speaker; and it cried, 'What shall be done
to the backslider ? Lo the scourge is knotted for
him, even the whip of nine cords, and every cord
three knots I' These insults irritated Pearson's
temper for the moment; they entered also into
his heart, and became imperceptible but power-
ful workers towards an end, which his most se-
cret thought had not yet whispered.

On the second Sabbath after Ilbrahim became
a member of their family, Pearson and his wife
deemed it proper that he should appear with them
at public worship. They had anticipated some
opposition to this measure from the boy, but he
prepared himself in silence, and at the appointed
hour was clad in the new mourning suit which
Dorothy had wrought for him. As the parish
was then, and during many subsequent years, un-
provided with a bell, the signal for the com-
mencement of religious exercises was the beat of
a drum. At the first sound of that martial call
to the place of holy and quiet thoughts, Tobias
and Dorothy set forth, each holding a hand of II-
brahim, like two parents linked together by the
infant of their love. On their path through the
leafless woods, they were overtaken by many per-
sons of their acquaintance, all of whom avoided

them, and passed by on the other side; but a se-
verer trial awaited their constancy when they had
descended the hill, and drew near the pine-built
and undecorated house of prayer. Around the
door, from which the drummer still sent forth his
thundering summons, was drawn up a formidable
phalanx, including several of the oldest members
of the congregation, many of the middle-aged,
and nearly all the younger males. Pearson found
it difficult to sustain their united and disapproving
gaze, hut Dorothy, whose mind was differently
circmastanced, merely drew the boy closer to her,
and faltered not in her approach. As they en-
tered the door, they overheard the muttered sen-
timents of the assemblage, and when the reviling
voices of the little children smote Ilbrahim's ear,
he wept.
The interior aspect of the meeting-house was
rude. The low ceiling, the unplastered walls, the
naked wood-work, and the undraperied pulpit,
offered nothing to excite the devotion, which, with-
out such external aids, often remains atent in the
heart. The floor of the building was occupied by
rows of long, cushionless benches, supplying the
place of pews; and the broad aisle formed a sex-
ual division, impassable except by children be-
neath a certain age.
Pearson and Dorothy separated at the door of

the meeting-house, and Ilbrahim, being within
the years of infancy, was retained under the care
of the latter. The wrinkled beldams involved
themselves in their rusty cloaks as he passed by;
even the mild-featured maidens seemed to dread
contamination; and many a stern old man arose,
and turned his repulsive and unheavenly counte-
nance upon the gentle boy, as if the sanctuary
were polluted by his presence. He was a sweet
infant of the skies, that had strayed away from
his home, and all the inhabitants of this miserable
world closed up their impure hearts against him,
drew back their earth-soiled garments from bis
touch, and said, 'We are holier than thou.'
Ilhrahim, seated by the side of his adopted
mother, and retaining fast hold of her hand, assum-
ed a grave and decorous demeanor, such as
might befit a person of matured taste and under-
standing, who should find himself in a temple
dedicated to some worship which he did not re-
cognise, but felt himself bound to respect. The
exercises had not yet commenced, however, when
the boy's attention was arrested by an event, ap-
parently of trifling interest. A woman, having
her face muffled in a hood, and a cloak drawn
completely about her form, advanced slowly up
the broad aisle, and took a place upon the fore-
most bench. Ilbrahim's faint colour varied, his


nerves flattered, he was unable to turn his eyes
from the muffled female.
When the preliminary prayer and hymn were
over, the minister arose, and, having turned the
hour-glass which stood by the great Bible, com-
menced his discourse. He was now wellstricken
in years, a man of pale, thin countenance, and his
gray hairs were closely covered by a black velvet
skullcap. In his younger days he had practically
learned the meaning of persecution, from Arch-
bishop Laud; and he was not now disposed tfor-
get the lesson against which he had murmured
then. Introducing the often discussed subject of
the Quakers, he gave a history of that sect, and a
description of their tenets, in which error pre-
dominated, and prejudice distorted the aspect of
what was true. He adverted to the recent mea-
sures in the province, and cautioned his hearers
of weaker parts against calling in question the
just severity, which God-fearing magistrates had
at length been compelled to exercise. He spoke
of the danger of pity, in some cases a commenda-
ble and Christian virtue, but inapplicable to this
pernicious sect. He observed that such was their
devilish obstinacy in error, that even the little
children, the sucking babes, were hardened and
desperate heretics. He affirmed that no man,
without Heaven'sespecial warrant, should attempt

their conversion, lest, while he lent his hand to
draw them from the slough, he should himself be
precipitated into its lowestdepths.
The sands of the second hour were principally
in the lower half of the glass, when the sermon
concluded. An approving murmurfollowed, and
the clergyman, having given oat a hymn, took
his seat with much self-congratulation, and en-
deavoured to read the effect of his eloquence in
the visages of the people. But while voices from
all parts of the house were tuning themselves to
sing, a scene occurred, which, though not very un-
usual at that period in the province, happened to
be without precedent in this parish.
The muffled female, who had hitherto sat mo-
tionless in the front rank of the audience, now
arose, and with slow, stately, and an unwavering
step, ascended the pulpit stairs. The quivering
of incipient harmony were hushed, and the divine
sat in speechless and almost terrified aston-
ishment, while she undid the door, and stood up
in the sacred desk from which his maledictions
had just been thundered. She then divested her-
self of the cloak and hood, and appeared in a most
singular array. A shapeless robe of sackcloth
was girded about her waist with knotted cord ;
her raven hair fell down upon her shoulders, and
its blackness was defiled by pale streaks of ashes,

which she had strewn upon her head. Her eye-
brows, dark and strongly defined, added to the
deathly whiteness of a countenance, which, ema-
ilated with want, and wild with enthusiasm and
strange sorrows, retained no trace of earlier beau-
ty. This figure stood gazing earnestly on the
audience, and there was no sound, nor any move-
ment, except a faint shuddering which every man
observed in his neighbour, but was scarcely con-
scious of in himself. At length, when her fit of
inspiration came, she spoke, for the first few mo-
ments, in a low voice, and not invariably distinct
utterance. Her discourse gave evidence of an
imagination hopelessly entangled with her reason;
it was a vague and incomprehensible rhapsody,
which, however, seemed to spread its own atmos-
phere round the hearer's soul, and to move his
feelings by some influence unconnected with the
words. As she proceeded, beautiful but shadowy
images would sometimes be seen, like bright things
moving in a turbid river; or a strong and singu-
larly-shaped idea leapt forth, and seized at once
on the understanding or the heart. But the course
of her unearthly eloquence soon led her to the
persecution of her sect, and from thence her step
was short to her own peculiar sorrows. She was
naturally a woman of mighty passions, and hatred
and revenge now wrapped themselves in the garb

of piety ; the character of her speech was chang-
ed, her images became distinct, though wild, and
her denunciations had an almost hellish bitterness.
SThe Governor and his mighty men,' she said,
'have gathered together, taking counsel among
themselves, and saying, What shall we do unto
tiis people-even unto the people that have come
into this land to put our iniquity to the blush I"
And lo the devil entereth into the council-eham-
ber, like a lame man, of low stature and gravely
apparelled, with a dark and twisted countenance,
and a bright, downcast eye. Andhe standethup
among the rulers ; yea, he goeth to and fro, whis-
pering to each ; and every man lends his ear, for
his word is slay, slay !" But I say untoye, Woe
to them that slay Woe to them that shed
the blood of saints I Woe to them that have slain
the husband, cast forth the child, the tender in-
fant, to wander homeless, and hungry, and cold,
till be die; and have saved the mother alive, in
the cruelty of their tender mercies! Woe to them
in their lifetime; cursed are they in the delight
and pleasure of their hearts Woe to them in their
death-hour, whether it come swiftly with blood
and violence, or after long and lingering pain 1
Woe, in the dark house, in the rottenness of the
grave, when the children'schildren shall revile the
ashes of the fathers Woe, woe, woe, at the judge.

ment, when all the persecuted and all the slain
in this bloody land, and the father, the mother,
and the child, shall await them in the day that
they cannot escape I Seed of the faith, seed
of the faith, ye whose hearts are moving with a
power that ye know not, arise, and wash your
hands of this innocent blood Lift your voices.
chosen ones, cry aloud, and call down a woe and
a judgment with me!'
Having thus given vent to the flood of maligni-
ty which she mistook for inspiration, the speaker
was silent. Her voice was succeeded by the hys-
teric shrieks of several women, but the feelings of
the audience generally had not been drawn on-
ward in the current with her own. They remain-
ed stnpified, stranded as it were, in the midst of
a torrent, which deafened them by its roaring,
but might not move them by its violence. The
clergyman, who could not hitherto have ejected
the usurper of his pulpit otherwise than by bodily
force, now addressed her in the tone of just indig-
nation and legitimate authority.
Get you down, woman, from the holy place
which you profane,' he said. Is it to the Lord's
house that you come to pour forth the foulness of
your heart, and the inspiration of the devil ? Get
you down, and remember that the sentence of
death is on you ; yea, and shall be executed, were
it but for this day's work !'

I go, friend, I go, for the voice hath had its
utterance,' replied she, in a depressed and even
mild tone. 'I have done my mission unto thee
and to thy people. Reward me with stripes, im-
prisonment, or death, as ye shall be permitted.'
The weakness of exhausted passion caused her
steps to totter as she descended the pulpit stairs.
The people, in the meanwhile, were stirring to
and fro on the floor of the house, whispering
among themselves, and glancing towards the in-
truder. Many of them now recognized her as the
woman who had assaulted the governor with
frightful language, as he passed by the window of
her prison ; they knew, also, that she was adjudg-
ed to suffer death, and had been preserved only
by an involuntary banishment into the wilderness.
The new outrage, by which she had provoked
her fate, seemed to render further lenity impossi-
ble; and a gentleman in military dress, with a
stout man of inferior rank, drew towards the door
of the meeting-house, and awaited her approach.
Scarcely did her feet press the floor, however,
when an unexpected scene occurred. In that mo-
ment of her peril, when every eye frowned with
death, a little timid boy pressed forth, and threw
his arms round his mother.
'I am here, mother, it is I, and I will go with
thee to prison, he exclaimed.

She gazed at him with a doubtful and almost
frightened expression, for she knew that the boy
had been cast out to perish, and she had not hoped
to see his face again. She feared, perhaps, that
it was but one of the happy visions, with which
her excited fancy had often deceived her, in the
solitude of the desert, or in prison. But when
she felt his hand warm within her own, and heard
his little eloquence of childish love, she began to
know that she was yet a mother.
Blessed art thou, my son,' ahe sobbed. My
heart was withered ; yea, dead with thee and wih
thy father; and now it leaps as in the first mo-
ment when I pressed thee to my bosom.'
She knelt down, and embraced him again and
again, while the joy that could find no words, ex-
pressed itself in broken accents, like the bubbles
gushing up to vanish at the surface of a deep
fountain. The sorrows of past years, and the
darker peril that was nigh, cast not a shadow on
the brightness of that fleeting moment. Soon,
however, the spectators saw a change upon her
face, as the consciousness of her sad estate return-
ed, and grief supplied the fount of tears, which
joy had opened. By the words she uttered, it
would seem that the indulgence of natural love
had given her mind a momentary sense of its er-
rors, and made her know how far she had strayed

from duty, in following the dictates of a wild fana-
SIn a doleful hour art thou returned to me,
poor boy,' she said, 'for thy mother's path has
gone darkening onward, till now the end is death.
Son, son, I have borne thee in my arms whenmy
limbs were tottering, and I have fed thee with the
food that I was fainting for; yet I have ill per-
formed a mother's part by thee in life, and now
I leave thee no inheritance but woe and shame.
Thou wilt go seeking through the world, and find
all hearts closed against thee, and their sweet af-
fections turned to bitterness for my sake. My
child, my child, how many a pang awaits thy gen-
tle spirit, and I the cause of all I'
She hid her face on llbrahim's head, and her
long, raven hair, discolored with the ashes of her
mourning, fell down about him like a veil. A
low and interrupted moan was the voice of her
heart's anguish, and it did not fail to move the
sympathies of many, who mistook their involun-
tary virtue for a sin. Sobs were audible in the
female section of the house, and every man who
was a father, drew his hand across his eyes.
Tobias Pearson was agitated and uneasy, but a
certain feeling like the consciousness of guilt op.
pressed him, so that he could not go forth and of-
fer himself a theprotector of the child. Dorothy,

however, had watched her husband's eye. Her
mind was free from the influence that had begun
to work on his, and she drew near the Quaker
woman, and addressed her in the hearing of all
the congregation.
SStranger, trust this boy to me, and I will be
his mother,' she said, taking Ilbrahim's band.
'Providence has signally marked out my husband
to protect him, and he has fed at our table and
lodged under our roof, now many days, till our
heartshavegrownvery strongly unto him. Leave
the tender child with us, abd be at ease concern-
ing his welfare.'
The Quaker rose from the ground, but drew
the boy closer to her, while she gazed earnestly
in Dorothy's face. Her mild, but saddened fea-
tures, and neat, matronly attire, harmonized to.
gether, and were like a verse of fireside poetry.
Her very aspect proved that she was blameless,
so far as mortal could be so, in respect to God
and man ; while the enthusiast, in her robe of
sackcloth and girdle of knotted cord, had as
evidently violated the duties of the present life
and the future, by fixing her attention wholly on
the latter. The two females, as they held each a
band of Ilbrabim, formed a practical allegory; it
was rational piety and unbridled fanaticism, con-
tending for the empire of a young heart.
178 V

Thou art not of our people,' said the Quaker,
'No, we are not of your people," replied Doro-
thy, with mildness, 'but we are Christians, look-
ing upward to the same Heaven with you. Doubt
not that your boy shall meet you there, if there
be a blessing on our tender and prayerful guidance
of him. Thither, I trust, my own children have
gone before me, for I have also been a mother;
I am no longer so,' she added, in a faltering tone,
'and your son will have all my care.'
'But will you lead him in the path which his
parents have trodden ?' demanded the Quaker.
SCan ye teach him the enlightened faith which
his father has died for, and for which I, even I.
am soon to become an unworthy martyr The
boy has been baptised in blood ; will ye keep the
mark fresh and ruddy upon the forehead V
'I will not deceive you,' answered Dorothy.
'If your child become our child, we must breed
him up in the instruction which Heaven has im-
parted to us ; we must pray for him the prayers
of our own faith; we must do towards him ac-
cording to the dictates of our own consciences,
and not of yours. Were we to act otherwise, we
should abuse your trust, even in complying with
your wishes.'
The mother looked down upon her boy with a

troubled countenance, and then turned her eyes
upward to Heaven. She seemed to pray inter-
nally, and the contention of her soul was evident.
'Friend,' she said at length to Dorothy, 'I
doubt not that my son shall receive all earthly
tenderness at thy hands. Nay, I will believe
that even thy imperfect lights may guide him to
a better world; for surely thou art on the path
thither. But thou hast spoken of a husband.
Doth he stand here among this multitude of peo-
p]e? Let him come forth, for I must know to
whom I commit this most precious trust.'
She turned her face upon the male auditors,
and after momentary delay, TobiasPearson came
forth from among them. The Quaker saw the
dress which marked his military rank, and shook
her head ; but then she noted the hesitating air,
the eyes that struggled with her own, and were
vanquished ; the colour that went and came, and
could find no resting-place. As she gazed, an
unmirthful smile spread over her features, like
sunshine that grows melancholy in some desolate
spot. Her lips moved inaudibly, but at length she
I hear it, I hear it. The voice speaketh with-
in me and saith, Leave thy child, Catharine,
for his place is here, and go hence, for I have
other work for thee. Break the bonds of natural

affection, martyr thy love, and know that in all
these things eternal wisdom hath its ends. go,
friends, I go. Take ye my boy, my precious jew-
eL I go hence, trusting that all shall be well,
and that even for his infant hands there is la-
bour in the vineyard.'
She knelt down and whispered to Ilbrahim, who
at first struggled and clung to his mother, with
sobs and tears, but remained passive when she
had kissed his cheek and arisen from theground.
Having held her hands over his head in mental
prayer, she was ready to depart.
Farewell, friends in mine extremity,' she said
to Pearson and his wife; 'the good deed ye have
done me is a treasure laid up in Heaven, to be
returned a thousandfold hereafter. And farewell
ye, mine enemies, to whom it is not permitted to
harm so much as an hair of my head, nor to stay
my footsteps even for a moment. The day is
coming, when ye shall call upon me to witness
for ye to this one ain uncommitted, and I will rise
up and answer.'
She turned her steps towards the door, and the
men, who had stationed themselves to guard it,
withdrew, and suffered her to pass. A general
sentiment of pity overcame the virulence of reli-
gious hatred. Sanctified by her love and her af-
fliction, she went forth, and all the people gazed

after her till she had journeyed up the hill, and
was lost behind its brow. She went, the apostle
of her own unquiet heart, to renew the wander-
ings of past years. For her voice had been al-
ready heard in many lands of Christendom ; and
she had pined in the cells of a Catholic Inqui-
sition, before she felt the lash, and lay in the dun-
geons of the Puritans. Her mission had extend-
ed also to the followers of the Prophet, and from
them she had received the courtesy and kindness,
which all the contending sects of our purer religion
united to deny her. Her husband and herself
had resided many months in Turkey, where even
the Sultan's countenance was gracious to them ;
in that pagan land, too, was Jibrahim's birthplace,
and his oriental name was a mark of gratitude for
the good deeds of an unbeliever.

When Pearson and his wife had thus acquired
all the rights over Ilbrahim that could be delegat-
ed, their affection for him became, like the me-
mory of their native land, or their mild sorrow
for the dead, a piece of the immoveable furniture
of their hearts. The boy, also, after a week or
two of mental disquiet, began to gratify his pro-
tectors, by many inadvertent proofs that he con-
sidered them as parents, and their house as home.
Before the winter snows were melted, the perse-


cuted infant, the little wanderer from a remote
and heathen country, seemed native in the New
England cottage, and inseparablefrom thewarmth
and security of its hearth. Under the influence
of kind treatment, and in the consciousness that
be was loved, Tlbrahim's demeanour lost a pre-
mature manliness, which had resulted from his
earlier situation ; he became more childlike, and
his natural character displayed itself with free-
dom. It was in many respects a beautiful one,
yet the disordered imaginations of both his father
and mother bad perhaps propagated a certain un
healthiness in the mind of the boy. In his gene-
ral state, Ilbrahim would derive enjoyment from
the most trifling events, and from every object
about him ; he seemed to discover rich treasures
of happiness, by a faculty analagous to that of
the wich-hazel, which points to hidden gold where
all is barren to the eye. His airy gaiety.
coming to him from a thousand sources, commu-
nicated itself to the family, and Ilbrahim was like
a domesticated sunbeam, brighteningmoodycoun-
tenances, and chasing away the gloom from the
dark corners of the cottage.
On the other hand, as the susceptibility of plea-
sure is also that of pain, the exuberant cheerful-
ness of the boy's prevailing temper sometimes
yielded to moments of deep depression. His sor-

rows could not always be followed up to their
original source, but most frequently they appear.
ed to flow, though Ilbrahim was young to be sad
for such a cause, from wounded love. The fight-
iness of his mirth rendered him often guilty of
offences against the decorum of a Puritan house-
hold, and on these occasions he did not invariably
escape rebuke. But the slightest word of real
bitterness, which he was infallible in distinguish-
ing from pretended anger, seemed to sink into his
heart, and poison all his enjoyments, till hebecame
sensible that he was entirely forgiven. Of the ma-
lice which generally accompanies a superfluity
of sensitiveness, Ilbrahim was altogether desti-
tute; when trodden upon, he would not turn;
when wounded, he could but die. His mind was
wanting in the stamina for self-support; it was
a plant that would twine beautifully round some-
thing stronger than itself, but if repulsed, or torn
away, it had no choice but to wither ontheground.
Dorothy's aouenees taught her that severity would
crush the spirit of the child, and she nurtured
him with the gentle care of one who handles a
butterfly. Her husband manifested an equal af.
fiction, although it grew daily less productive of
familiar caresses.
The feelings of the neighboring people, in re*
guard to the Quaker infant and his protectors, had

not undergone a favourable change, in spite of
the momentary triumph which the desolate mo-
ther had obtained over their sympathies. The
scorn and bitterness, of which he was the object,
were very grievous to Ilbrahim, especially when
any circumstance made him sensible that the chil-
dren, his equals in age, partook of the enmity of
their parents. His tender and social nature had
already overflowed in attachments to every thing
about him, and still there was a residue of unap-
propriated love, which he yearned to bestow upon
the little ones who were taught to hate him. As
the warm days of spring came on, Ilbrahim was
accustomed to remain for hours, silent and inac-
tive, within hearing of the children's voices at
their play; yet, with his usual delicacy of feel-
ing, he avoided their notice, and would flee and
hide himself from the smallest individual among
them. Chance, however, at length seemed to
open a medium of communication between his
heart and theirs; it was by meansof a boy about
two years older than Ilbrahim, who was injured
by a fall from a tree in the vicinity of Pearson's
habitation. As the sufferer's own home was at
some distance, Dorothy willingly received him
under her roof, and became his tender and care-
ful nurse.
Ilbrahim was the unconscious possessor of much

skill in physiognomy, and it would have deterred
him, in other circumstances, from attempting to
make a friend of this boy. The countenance of
the latter immediately impressed a beholder dis-
agreeably, but it required some examination to
discover that the cause was a very slight distor-
tion of the mouth, and the irregular, broken line,
and near approach of the eyebrows. Analogous,
perhaps, to these trifling deformities, was an al-
most imperceptible twist of every joint, and the
uneven prominence of the breast ; forming a body
regular in its general outline, but faulty in almost
all its details. The disposition of the boy was
sullen and reserved, and the village schoolmaster
stigmatized him as obtuse in intellect; although,
at a later period of life, he evinced ambition and
very peculiar talents. But whatever might be
his personal or moral irregularities, Ilbrahim's
heart seized upon, and clung to him, from the
moment that he was brought wounded into the
cottage ; the child of persecution seemed to com-
pare his own fate with that of the sufferer, and
to feel that even different modes of misfortune
had created a sort of relationship between them.
Food, rest, and the fresh air, for which he lan-
guished, were neglected ; he nestled continually
by the bedside of the little stranger, and, with a
fond jealousy, endeavored to be the medium of

all the cares that were bestowed upon him. As
the boy became convalescent, Ilbrahim contrived
games suitable to his situation, or amused him by
a faculty which he had perhaps breathed in with
the air of his barbaric birthplace. It was thatof
reciting imaginary adventures, on the spur of the
moment, and apparently in inexhaustible succes-
sion. His tales were of course monstrous, dis-
jointed, and without aim; but they were curions
on account of a vein of human tenderness, which
ran through them all, and was like a sweet, fa-
miliar face, encountered in the midst of wild and
unearthly scenery. The auditor paid much at-
tention to these romances, and sometimes inter-
rupted them by brief remarks upon the incidents,
displaying shrewdness above his years, mingled
with a moral obliquity which grated very harshly
against Ilbrahim's instinctive rectitude. Nothing,
however, could arrest the progress of the latter's
affection, and there were many proofs that it met
with a response from the dark and stubborn na-
ture on which it was lavished. The boy's parents
at length removed him, to complete his cure un-
der their own roof.
Ilbrabim did not visit his new friend after his
departure; but be made anxious and continual
inquiries respecting him, and informed himself of
the day when he was to re-appear among his

playmates. On a pleasant summer afternoon,
the children of the neighbourhood had assembled
in the little forest-crowned amphitheatre behind
the meeting-house, and the recovering invalid was
there, leaning on a staff The glee of a score of
untainted bosoms was heard in light and airy voi-
ces, which danced among the trees like sunshine
become audible; the grown men of this weary
world, as they journeyed by the spot, marvelled
why life, beginning in such brightness, should
proceed in gloom; and their hearts or their ima-
ginations answered them, and said, that the bliss
of childhood gushes from its innocence. But it
happened that an unexpected addition was made
to the heavenly little band. It was Ilbrahim,
who came towards the children, with a look of
sweet confidence on his fair and spiritual face, as
if, having manifested his love to one of them, he
had no longer to fear a repulsefrom their society.
A hush came over their mirth, the moment they
beheld him, and they stood whispering to each
other while he drew nigh; but, all at once, the
devil of their fathers entered into the unbreeched
fanatics, and, sending up a fierce, shrill cry, they
rushed upon the poor Quaker child. In an in-
stant, he was the centre of a brood of baby-fiends,
who lifted sticks against him, pelted him with
stones, and displayed an instinct of destruction,

far more loathsome than the bloodthirstineas of
The invalid, in the meanwhile, stood apart from
the tumult, crying out, with a loud toice, Fear
not, lbrabim, come hither and take my hand '
and his unhappy friend endeavoured to obey him.
After watching the victim's struggling approach,
with a calm smile and unabashed eye, the foul-
hearted little villain lifted his staff, and struck II-
brahim on the mouth, so forcibly that the blood
issued in a stream. The poor child's arms had
been raised to guard his head from the storm of
blows; but now he dropped them at once. His
persecutors beat him down, trampled upon him,
dragged him by his long, fair locks, and Ilbrahim
was on the point of becoming as veritable a mar-
tyr as ever entered bleeding into Heaven. The
uproar, however, attracted the notice of a few
neighbours, who put themselves to the trouble of
rescuing the little heretic, and of conveying him
to Pearson's door.
Ilbrahim's bodily harm was severe, but long
and careful nursing accomplished his recovery;
The injury done to his sensitive spirit was more
serious, though not so visible. Its signs were
principally of a negative character, and to be dis-
covered only by those who had previously known
him. His gait was thenceforth slow, even, and

unvaried by the sudden bursts of sprightlier mo-
tion, which had once corresponded to his over-
flowing gladness ; his countenance was heavier,
and its former play of expression, the dance of
sunshine reflected from moving water, was de-
stroyed by the cloud over his existence; his no-
tice was attracted in a far less degree by passing
events, and he appeared to find greater difficulty
in comprehending what was new to him, than at
a happier period. A stranger founding his judg-
ment upon these circumstances, would have said
that the dullness of the child's intellect widely
contradicted the promise of his features ; but the
secret was in the direction of Ilbrahim's thoughts.
which were brooding withinhim, when they should
naturally have been wandering abroad. An at-
tempt of Dorothy to revive his former sportive-
ness, was the single occasion on which his quiet
demeanour yielded to the violent display of grief;
he bursts into passionate weeping, and ran and
hid himself, for his heart ad become so miserably
sore, that even the band of kindness tortured
it like fire. Sometimes, at night and probably in
his dreams, he was heard to cry, 'Mother Mo-
ther !' as if her place, which a stranger had sup-
plied while Ilbrahim was happy, admitted of no
substitute in his extreme affliction. Perhaps,
among the many life-weary wretches then upon
the earth, there was not one who combined inno-

cence and misery like this poor, broken-hearted
infant, so soon the victim of his own heavenly
While this melancholy change had taken place
in Ilbrahim, one of an earlier origin and of differ-
ent character had come to its perfection in his
adopted father. The incident with which this
tale commences, found Pearson in a state of reli-
gious dullness, yet mentally disquieted, and long.
ing for a more fervid faith than he possessed. The
first effect of his kindness to llbrahim was to pro-
duce a softened feeling, an incipient love for the
child's whole sect; but joined to this, and result-
ing perhaps from self-suspicion, was a proud and
ostentatious contempt of their tenets and practi-
cal extravagances. In the courseofmuchthought
however, for the subject struggled irresistibly into
his mind, the foolishness of the doctrine began to
be less evident, and the points which had parti-
cularly offended his reason, assumed another as-
pect, or vanished entirely away. The work with-
in him appeared to go on even while he slept, and
that which had been a doubt, when he lay down
to rest, would often hold the place of a truth,
confirmed by some forgotten demonstration, when
he recalled his thoughts in the morning. But
while he was thus becoming assimilated to the
enthusiasts, his contempt, in no wise decreasing
towards them, grew very pierce against himself;

he imagined, also, that every face of his acquaint-
ance, wore a sneer, and that every word address-
ed to him was a gibe. Such was his state of
mind at the period of Ilbrahim's misfortune; and
the emotions consequent upon that event com-
pleted the change, of which the child had been
the original instrument.
In the mean time, neither the fierceness of the
persecutors, nor the infatuation of their victims,
had decreased. The dungeons were neverempty;
the streets of every village echoed daily with the
lash ; the life of a woman, whosemild and Chris-
tian spirit no cruelty could embitter, had been
sacrificed; and more innocent blood was yet to
pollute the hands that were so often raised in
prayer. Early after the Restoration, the English
Quakers represented to Charles II. that a vein
of blood was open in his dominions ;' but though
the displeasure of the voluptuous king was roused,
his interference was not prompt. And now the
tale must stride forward over many months, leav-
ing Pearson to encounter ignominy and misfor-
tune; his wife to a firm endurance of a thousand
sorrows; poorllbrahim to pine and droop like a
cankered rosebud; his mother to wander on a
mistaken errand, neglectful of the holiest trust
which can be committed to a woman.
t 4

A winter evening, a night of storm, had dark-
ened over Pearson's habitation ; and there were
no cheerful faces to drive thegloomfrom his broad
hearth. The fire, it is true, sent forth a glowing
heat andruddy light, and large logs, dripping with
half-melted snow, lay ready to be cast upon the
embers. But the apartment was saddened in its
aspect, by the absence of much of the homely
wealth which had once adorned it; for the ex-
action of repeated fines, and his own neglect of
temporal affairs, bad greatly impoverished the
owner. And with the furniture of peace, the im-
plements of war had likewise disappeared; the
sword was broken, thehelm and cuirass were cast
away for ever; the soldier had done with battles;
and might not lift so much as his naked hand to
guard his head. But the Holy Book remained,
and the table on which it rested was drawn before
the fire, while two of the persecuted sect sought
comfort from its pages.
He who listened, while the other read, was the
master of the house, now emaciated in form, and
altered as to the expression and healthiness of
his countenance; for his mind had dwelt too long
among visionary thoughts, and his body had been
worn by imprisonment and stripes. The hale and
weather-beaten old man, who sat beside him, had
sustained less injury from a far longer course of

the same mode of life. In person be was tall and
dignified, and, which alone would have made him
hateful to the Puritans, his gray locks fell from
beneath the broad-brimmed hat, and rested on his
shoulders. As the old man read the sacred page,
the snow drifted against the windows, or eddied
in at the crevices of the door, while a blast kept
laughing in the chimney, and the blaze leaped
fiercely up to seek it. And sometimes, when the
wind struck the hill at a certain angle, and swept
down by the cottage across the wintry plain, its
voice was the most doleful that can be conceived ;
it came as if the Past were speaking, as if the
Dead had contributed each a whisper, as if the
Desolation of Ages were breathed in that one la-
menting sound.
The Quaker at length closed the book, retain-
ing however his hand between the pages which he
had been reading, while he looked steadfastly at
Pearson. The attitude and features of the latter
might have indicated the endurance of bodily
pain; he leaned his forehead on his hands, his
teeth were firmly closed, and his frame was tremn-
lous at intervals with a nervous agitation.
Friend Tobias,' inquired the old man, compas-
sionately, hast thou found no comfort in these
many blessed passages of Scripture ?'
'Thy voice has fallen on my ear like a sound
178 a

afar off and indistinct,' replied Pearson, without
lifting his eyes. 'Yea, and when I have hark-
ened carefully, the words seemed cold and lifeless,
and intended for another and a lesser grief than
mine. Remove the book,' he added, in a tone of
sullen bitterness. I have no part in its consola-
tions, and they do but fret my sorrow the more."
Nay, feeble brother, be not as one who hath
never known the light,' said the elder Quaker,
earnestly, but with mildness. Art thou he that
would be content to give all, and endure all, for
conscience' sake; desiring even peculiar trials,
that thy faith may be purified, and thy heart
weaned from worldly desires ? And wilt thou sink
beneath an affliction which happens alike to them
that have their portion here below, and to them
that lay up treasure in Heaven ? Faint not, for
thy burthen is yet light.'
It is heavy I It is heavier than I can bear !"
exclaimed Pearson, with the impatience of a va-
riable spirit. 'From my youth upward I have
been a man marked out for wrath; and year by
year, yea, day by day, I have endured sorrows,
such as others know not in their lifetime. And
now I speak out of the love that has been turned
to hatred, the honour to ignominy, the ease and
plentifulness of all things to danger, want, and
nakedness. All this I could have borne, and

counted myself blessed. But when my heart was
desolate with many losses, I mixed it upon the
child of a stranger, and he became dearer to me
than all my buried ones; and now he too must
die, as if my love were poison. Verily I am an
accursed tuan, and I will lay me down in the dust
and lift up my head no more.
'Thou sinnest brother, but it is not for me to
rebuke thee; for I also have had my hours of
darkness, wherein I have murmured against the
cross,' said the old Quaker. He continued, per-
haps in the hope of distracting his companion's
thoughts from his own sorrows. 'Even of late
was the light obscured within me, when the men
of blood had banished me on pain of death, and
the constables led me onward from village to
village, towards the wilderness. A strong and
cruel hand was wielding the knotted cords; they
sunk deep into the flesh, and thou mightest have
tracked every reel and totter of my footsteps by
the blood that followed.-As we went on'-
Have I not borne all this; and have I mur-
mured?' interrupted Pearson, impatiently.
'Nay, friend, but hear me,' continued the other.
'As we journeyed on, night darkened on our path,
so that no man could see the rage of the persecu-
tors, or the constancy of my endurance, though
Heaven forbid that I should glory therein. The

lights began to glimmer in the cottage windows,
and I could discern the inmates as theygathered,
in comfort and security, every man with his wife
and children by their own evening hearth. At
length we came to a tract of fertile land; in the
dim light, the forest was not visible around it ; and
behold! there was a straw-thatched dwelling,
which bore the very aspect of my home, far over
the wild ocean, far in our own England. Then
came bitter thoughts upon me; yea, remembran-
ces that were like death to my soul. The happi-
ness of my early days was painted to me; the
disquiet of my manhood, the altered faith of my
declining years. I remembered how I had been
moved to go forth a wanderer, when my daugh-
ter, the youngest, the dearest of my flock, lay on
her dying bed, and'-
Couldst thou obey the command at such a mo-
ment ?' exclaimed Pearson, shuddering.
Yea, yea,' replied the old man, hurriedly. '
was kneeling by her bedside when the voice spoke
loud within me ; but immediately I rose, and
took my staff, and gat me gone. Oh that it
were permitted me to forget her woeful look, when
I thus withdrew my arm, and left her journeying
through the dark valley alone ; for her soul was
faint, and she had leaned uponmy prayers. Now,
in that night of horror I was assailed by the

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