"Why, as to that, said the engineer,Ghosts ain't things we are apt to fear,Spirits don't fool with levers much,And throttle-valves don't take to such;And as for Jim,—What happened to himWas one-half fact and t'other half whim!"—Bret Harte.
"Why, as to that, said the engineer,Ghosts ain't things we are apt to fear,Spirits don't fool with levers much,And throttle-valves don't take to such;And as for Jim,—What happened to himWas one-half fact and t'other half whim!"
—Bret Harte.
David Young is principally known as the reviser and publisher of "The Morristown Ghost" in 1826, but he was also the compiler of the well-known "Farmer's Almanac", published first in 1834, and he wrote a poem of thirty-four pages in two parts, entitled "The Contrast".
The original volume of "The Morristown Ghost" was published in 1792, by whom, it is not certainly known. It gave the names of the "Society of eight", their places of meeting, and all theproceedings of the Society. The copies were bought up and destroyed, says tradition, by the son of one of its members, one lone volume not being obtainable, but this cannot be distinctly traced at present. There was published in 1876, by the Messrs. L. A. and B. H. Vogt, a fac-simile copy of the original history of "The Morristown Ghost" without the names of the original members, "with an appendix compiled from the county records". The following is the title page:
"The Morristown Ghost; an Account of the Beginning, Transactions and Discovery of Ransford Rogers, who seduced many by pretended Hobgoblins and Apparitions and thereby extorted Money from their pockets. In the County of Morris and State of New Jersey, in the Year 1788. Printed for every purchaser—1792".
In the copy of 1826, the title page is as follows:
"The Wonderful History of the Morristown Ghost; thoroughly and carefully revised. By David Young, Newark. Published by Benjamin Olds, for the author. I. C. Totten, Printer, 1826."
The author tells us in his preface he has "very scrupulously followed the sense of the original." He continues: "The truth of this history will not, I presume, be called in question by the inhabitants of Morris and the adjacent counties. The facts are still fresh in the memories of many among us; andsome survive still who bore an active part in the scenes herein recorded." He continues: "For the further satisfaction of the distant reader, on this point, I would inform him that I am myself a native of the County of Morris; that I was seven years and seven months old when Rogers first emigrated to this county; and that I well remember hearing people talk of these affairs during their progress. Every reader may rest assured that if the truth of this narrative had been doubtful, I should have taken no pains to rescue it from oblivion."
There seems to have been also another intermediate publication. From an ancient copy of this curious story, found in an old, discolored volume in our Morristown library, in which are compiled papers on various subjects, (among them a "Review on Spiritual Manifestations"), we copy the title page:
"The Morristown Ghost, or Yankee Trick, being a True, Interesting and Strange Narrative. This circumstance has excited considerable laughter and no small degree of surprize. Printed for purchasers, 1814."
The man who conducted the plot was Ransford Rogers, of Connecticut. He was a plausible man who had the power of inspiring confidence, and though somewhat illiterate, was ambitious to be thought learned and pretended, it is said, to possessdeep knowledge of "chymistry" and the power to dispel good and evil spirits.
It will be remembered that Washington Irving remarks, in his description of the family portrait gallery, of Bracebridge Hall at twilight, when he almost hears the rustling of the brocade dresses of the ladies of the manor as they step out from their frames,—"There is an element of superstition in the human mind". It seems there had long been a conviction prevailing that large sums of money had been buried during the Revolutionary War by tories and others in Schooley's Mountain, near by. There also seemed to be something of the New England belief in witchcraft throughout the community. Says the Preface of the early volume; "It is obvious to all who are acquainted with the county of Morris, that the capricious notions of witchcraft have engaged the attention of many of its inhabitants for a number of years and the existence of witches is adopted by the generality of the people." And we read on page 213 of the "Combined Registers of the First Presbyterian Church," a record as follows: "Dr. John Johnes' servant Pompey, d. 17 July, 1833, aet. 81; frightened to death by ghosts."
To obtain the treasure of Schooley's Mountain, then, was the occasion of the occurrences related in this story. Two gentlemen who had long been in search of mines, taking a tour through the country in 1788, "providentially," says David Young,fell in with Rogers at Smith's Clove, and discovered him to be the man they were in search of, and one who could "reveal the secret things of darkness," for they, too, were "covetous of the supposed treasure of Schooley's Mountain."
A society was organized by Ransford which at first numbered "about eight" but afterwards was increased to about forty. His first object was to convince them of the existence of the hidden treasure lying dormant in the earth at Schooley's Mountain. It seems repeated efforts had before been made to obtain the treasure, but all had proved abortive, for whenever they attempted to break the ground, it was said, "there would many hobgoblins and apparitions appear which in a short time obliged them to evacuate the place".
Rogers called a meeting of the eight and "communicated to them the solemnity of the business and the intricacy of the undertaking and the fact that there had been several persons murdered and buried with the money in order to retain it in the earth. He likewise informed them that those spirits must be raised and conversed with before the money could be obtained. He declared he could by his art and power raise these apparitions and that the whole company might hear him converse with them and satisfy themselves there was no deception. This was received with belief and admiration by the whole company without ever investigatingwhether it was probable or possible. This meeting therefore terminated with great assurance, they all being confident of the abilities, knowledge and powers of Rogers". To confirm the illusion of his supernatural power, Rogers had made chemical compositions of various kinds, of which, "some, by being buried in the earth for many hours, would break and cause great explosions which appeared dismal in the night and would cause great timidity. The company were all anxious to proceed and much elevated with such uncommon curiosities". A night was therefore appointed for the whole company to convene. The scene which the author proceeds to describe is worthy of Washington Irving in his "Legends of Sleepy Hollow", (see page 25 Young's edition, 1826). The night was dark and the circle "illumined only by candles caused a ghastly, melancholy, direful gloom through the woods". The company marched round and round in (concentric) circles as directed, "with great decorum" until suddenly shocked by "a most impetuous explosion from the earth a short distance from them". Flames rose to a considerable height, "illuminating the circumambient atmosphere and presenting to the eye many dreadful objects, from the supposed haunted grove, which were again instantaneously involved in obscurity". Ghosts made their appearance and hideous groans were heard. These were invisible to the rest of the company butconversed with Rogers in their hearing and told of the vast treasures in their possession which they would not resign except under certain conditions, one of which was "every man must deliver to the spirits twelve pounds in money". The procession continued 'till three o'clock in the morning, and "the whole company looked up to Rogers for protection from the raging spirits. This was in the month of November 1788". It will be noticed that the money required had to be advanced in "nothing but silver or gold" for which the paper money circulated in New Jersey could only be exchanged at twenty-five per cent. discount. Yet there was a sort of emulation among them, "who should be the first in delivering the money to the spirits."
A frequent place of meeting for this company was what is now known as the Hathaway house on Flagler street, the first house on the left after entering Flagler street from Speedwell avenue. A little distance back of this house may be seen the stump of a tree beneath which tree, it is said, the money was left for the spirits. Another field used for the midnight marches is behind the Aber house on the Piersonville Road, and still another on the road between Piersonville and Rogers' school house, the location of which is known. Other localities are also known, by old residents, of the events recorded in this story. Mt. Kemble avenue has often been the actual scene of ghostly flittings toand fro as well as of the famous imaginary ride to the Headquarters of "Thankful Blossom". Rogers was in the habit of wrapping himself up in a sheet, going to the house of a certain gentleman in the night, and calling him up by rapping at the doors and windows, and conversing in such sleek disguise that the gentleman thought he was a spirit; ending his conversation also with the words: "I am the spirit of a just man, and am sent to give you information how to proceed, and to put the conducting of it into your hands; I will be ever with you, and give you directions when you go amiss; therefore fear not, but go to Rogers and inform him of your interview with me. Fear not I am ever with you".
It must be remembered that this company, at the first, was composed of the best and most highly honored citizens of Morristown, also that toward the last, "the numbers increased daily of aged, abstemious, (at first material spirits were freely used at the nightly meetings) honest, judicious, simple church members."
What led finally to the discovery of the plot, was, that it was ordained, "a paper of sacred powder, said to be some of the dust of the bodies of the spirits, was to be kept by every member, and to be preserved inviolate. One of the aged members, having occasion to leave home for a short time on some emergency, through forgetfulnessleft his paper in one of his pockets at home. His wife happened to find it, and out of curiosity, broke it open; but, perceiving the contents, she feared to touch it, lest peradventure it should have some connection with witchcraft. She went immediately to Rev. Mr. ——, the pious clergyman of the congregation for his advice on the subject; who, not knowing its composition, was unwilling to touch it, lest it might have some operation upon him, and knew not what advice to give her. Her husband returning declared she had ruined him forever by breaking open that paper, which increased her anxiety to know its contents. Upon her promising not to divulge anything, he then related to her the whole of their proceedings, whereupon she declared they were serving the devil and it was her duty notwithstanding her promise to put an end to such proceedings. Great disturbance was thereby caused in the company."
It was at the house of one of the members, which is now standing, that Rogers was discovered in the following manner, as the story is told. Rogers, taking his sheet with him, rode, on a certain evening to this house, for the purpose of conversing with the gentleman, as a spirit. Having drank too freely he committed several blunders in his conversation, and was not so careful as usual about the ghostly costume. The good wife, whose suspicions had been aroused, managed to peep and listen duringthe interview, and after the ghost had left the house she remarked to her husband, says tradition: "My dear, do spirits wear shoe buckles? Those were very like Ransford Rogers' buckles". Rogers' foot-tracks were followed to the fence where his horse was tied, and the tracks of his horse to the house where he lived and hence to another house where he was found. He was apprehended and committed to prison, where he asserted his innocence so persistently that "in a few days he was bailed out", says our author, "by a gentleman, whom I shall call by the name of Compassion." A second time he was apprehended, when "he acknowledged his faults and confessed" the whole matter. He, however, "absconded, and under the auspices of Fortune saved himself by flight from the malice of a host."
So ends the, perhaps, most famous historic ghost story of modern times.
Mrs. Conklin has been a voluminous writer of novels and stories, published by Robert Carter & Brothers and by the Presbyterian Board. Before her marriage she was widely known as Miss Jennie M. Drinkwater, and her latest book, "Dorothy's Islands," published in Boston, August, 1892, bears that name of authorship. She has written for many papers and magazines, besides the books she has published, and of these there are twenty and more. Among them are "Tessa Wadsworth's Discipline", a love story of high order and well told; "Rue's Helps", for boys and girls, and "Electa", in which we find a certain quality of naturalness in the people, and the scenes described,—a literary quality which is prominent in Mrs. Conklin's works. "They introduce the reader", says a critic, "to agreeable people, provide an atmosphere which is tonic and healthful and enlist interest in every page." Then there are "The Story of Hannah Marigold"; "Wildwood"; "The Fairfax Girls"; "From Flax to Linen" and "David Strong's Errand", besides others, and the last one published to which we have referred, and from which we shall quote.
Several years ago, Mrs. Conklin being out of health, had her attention called to the special needs of invalids for sympathy from the active world about them, and organized a society, now world-wide and well-known, called the "Shut-In Society". It is an organization of invalids throughout the country, and now extending beyond it, who cheer each other with correspondence, send letters to prisoners in jails and sufferers in hospitals, and do other good work. Nine-tenths of its membership never see each other, but they help make each other's lives to be as cheery as possible in affliction. The amount of comfort and consolation carried by this organization to many a bed-ridden or helpless invalid, is beyond description, and the good that goes out also from those quiet chambers of sickness to the souls who seek them, mostly byletter, is greater than would be easily imagined. Mrs. Conklin was president of the Society for four years from its organization in 1885, and it now numbers several thousand members.
We quote from "Dorothy's Islands", Mrs. Conklin's latest book.
Dorothy was a child taken from a New York orphan asylum and adopted by a lighthouse keeper and his wife. She grows up supposing them to be her own father and mother, but the mother and child are antagonistic, and it is impossible for them toattract one another. This peculiarity of nature is very well given in the first chapter.
"When I grow up," said Dorothy "I am going to find an island all green and beautiful in winter as well as in summer. All around it the sand will be as golden as sunshine, and the houses—the happy houses—will be hidden away in green things, and flowers of yellow and scarlet and white. And then, father, after I find it, I will come and get you, and we will sing, and learn poems, and do lovely things all day long."
"You are going to do wonderful things when you grow up," replied the amused, tender voice overhead.
"Don't all grown-up people do wonderful things?" questioned child Dorothy.
"I never did," answered the voice, not now either tender or amused.
"No, you neverdid," broke in a woman's voice with harsh force.
"I think father doesbeautifulthings," said Dorothy in her warm voice. "He brought the sea-bird home to me, and we loved it so, but you threw it off with its wounded wing."
"Let nature take care of her own things," respondedthe voice that had nothing of love in its quality.
"I'm nature's thing," Dorothy laughed; "father said so to-day. He said I was made out of nature and poetry."
"It's he who puts the poetry in you; some day I'll send those poetry books adrift, and then you will both find something practical in your finger ends."
The child looked at the chubby ends of her brown fingers. Her nine-year-old hands, under her mother's sharp teaching, had learned to do many practical things. The only "practical thing" she loathed—and that was her own name for it—was mending Cousin Jack's pea-jacket.
One room in the lighthouse was packed with boxes containing her father's books. The "poetry box" was the only one that had been opened since their stay on the island.
"It was one of your father's beautiful things to strand us on this desert island. I told him I wouldn't come."
"But youdid," said the child.
"It's the last time he will have his own way," remarked the woman, with the heavy frown that marred her handsome face.
"Oh, don't say that!" cried Dorothy distressed. "I never like your way."
"You have got to like my way some day, miss,or it will be the worse for one of us. Don't hang any longer around your father; poetry enough has oozed out of him to spoil you already; go and pick those beans over, and put them in soak for to-morrow—a quart, mind you, and pick them over clean."
She liked to pick beans when her father sat near reading aloud to her. He had promised to read to-night "How the water comes down from Lodore," but she knew her mother's mood too well to hope for such a pleasure to-night.
When her mother was cross, she wasn't willing for anybody to have anything.
But she couldn't take away what she had learned of it; the child hugged herself with the thought repeating gleefully:—
"Then first came one daughter,And then came another,To second and thirdThe request of their brother,And to hear how the waterComes down at Lodore,With its rush and its roar—"
"Then first came one daughter,And then came another,To second and thirdThe request of their brother,And to hear how the waterComes down at Lodore,With its rush and its roar—"
"Dorothy, stop!" commanded her mother. "That muttering makes me wild. It sounds like a lunatic."
Dorothy's mouth shut itself tight; the flash of defiance from the big brown eyes her mothermissed; her father's observant eyes noted it. There was always a sigh in his heart for Dorothy, for her naughtiness, and for the misery she was growing up to. The misery was as inevitable as the growing up. Once in his agony he had prayed the good Father to take the child before her heart was rent, or his own.
After the gleeful music ceased the chubby fingers moved wearily, the brown head drooped; there were tears as well as sleep in the eyes that seemed made to hold nothing but sunshine.
(Dorothy is in bed for the night.)
"Will you keep the door open so I can hear voices?" pleaded Dorothy.
"Why child, what ails you?" said the mother.
"The wind ails me, and it is so black, black, black out over the water. When I find my island there shall be sunshine on the sea."
"But nighthasto come."
"Perhaps there will be stars there," said hopeful Dorothy.
"You may learn a Bible verse to-morrow,—'There shall be no night there.'"
"I'll say it now: 'There shall be no night there.' Whereis'there'?"
But her mother had left her to her new Bible verse and the candle-light; and Dorothy went to sleep, hoping "there" did not mean heaven, for then whatwouldshe do when she was sleepy?
A valuable contributor to the literature for children and young people, is Mrs. Burnham. Her volume of "Bible Stories in Words of One Syllable", has been of great use and influence and has no doubt led to the writing of other historical narratives in the same manner.
Count Tolstoi gives a most interesting account of his own experience in the use of the Bible in teaching children. He says "I tried reading the Bible to them", speaking of the children in his peasant's school, "and it took complete possession of them. They grew to love the book, love study and love me. For the purpose of opening a new world to a pupil and of making him love knowledge before he has knowledge, there is no book like the Bible."
Mrs. Burnham has also written a number of children's story-books which have been warmly received and still continue to please and benefit the young. Among them are "Ernest"; "The Story of Maggie" and the three volumes of the "Can and Can't Series"; "I Can"; "I Can't", and "I'll Try". "Ernest" is quite a wonderful little book and has done much good among a large class of children. Mr. A. D. F. Randolph, the New York publisher,who took it through several editions, gave it high praise to a friend just before the last edition, about three years ago, and Rev. Dr. Tyng the elder, late of St. George's Church, New York, gave it also very high praise.
We do not always fully realize that a peculiar talent is required for this department in literature. In talking, some years ago, with a young man who has now become an important editor in New York, he said: "It is my greatest ambition to be a good and interesting author of children's books; not only because it requires the best writing and the best thought, but because no literature has a more extended influence and involves higher responsibilities."
In addition to these volumes, Mrs. Burnham has for many years, been an occasional contributor to theChurchman,Christian Unionand other important papers.
The following extract is selected:
"Our Daisy is a singular girl," said Mrs. Bell to her husband the evening after Mrs. Lane's party,as they sat alone over the library fire, after all the young people had retired, and fell to talking about their children, as parents will.
"Is she? I think most parents would be glad to have a daughter as 'singular.'"
"Yes, I knew you would say that; and I appreciate her as highly as you do; but nevertheless, sometimes I am puzzled to know what to do with her. If she gets an idea into that quiet little head of hers, it is hard to modify it."
"Well, what is it now?"
"It's just this. I don't believe she will ever be willing to go out anywhere, or even have company at home. I proposed to her to-day that we should have a little company next week, and she looked absolutely pained, and said, 'O, mamma, if we could get along without it, I should be so glad—unless you wish it very much. Or, perhaps, I could stay up stairs.' I was quite provoked for the moment, and said, 'No, indeed, you couldn't. I should insist on your entertaining our friends.' And then she was so sorry she had offended me. She is so good and conscientious, that I can't bear to thwart her; and yet I am sure it will not be good for her to shut herself up entirely."
"Oh, well dear," said Mr. Bell, who had the most utter confidence in his wife's ability to train her children, as he might well have, "she will get over it in time. Let her go out a little and she will soon learn to like it."
"No, I am afraid not. Everything she does is done on principle, and unless I can make society a matter of principle, I am afraid she will never enter into it at all, her diffidence makes it a positive pain to her to meet strangers."
"Well, get a principle into it, then, somehow," said Mr. Bell. "You can manage it; you understand all these matters. I am sure Daisy is just like you in requiring a principle for everything."
"She is not a bit like me," said Mrs. Bell; but she could not help smiling nevertheless, and the conversation turned to something else. But the mother, who was in real difficulty about this matter, carried her perplexities where she always did, to the throne of grace, and there obtained light to show her how to act. She knew that nothing in her children's lives was unimportant in the eyes of the Heavenly Father, and prayed for wisdom to guide her young daughter aright at this important time of her life.
The next time that Daisy brought her work basket to her mother's room, for a "good quiet sit-down," as she expressed it, Mrs. Bell resolved to open the subject that was on her mind; but the young girl anticipated her design by saying, "Now, mamma, before we begin the second volume of our Macauley (how tempting it looks and what lovely readings we will have!) I want to ask you something."
"Well, dear?"
"I know I troubled you yesterday when you spoke about having company, dear mamma. I was so sorry afterwards; but if you knew how I dread it, I don't think you would blame me. I have been thinking about it a great deal since, and now I want to ask you a question and get one of your real good answers—asettlinganswer, mamma. Do you think it ismy dutyto go into company? Now begin, please, and tell me all about it;" and Daisy took up her work and assumed the attitude of a listener, as though she had referred her question to an oracle, and was waiting for a response.
The mother smiled a happy and gratified smile before she answered. It was very pleasant to her to see how her sweet daughter deferred to her opinion; and kissing the fair cheek she said: "I can't answer you in one word, darling. What do you mean by 'going into company?' Of course you know that I have no desire to see you absorbed in a round of parties, or even going often to companies."
"Oh, I know that, mamma; I mean quiet parties, such as you and papa go to; reading and talking parties, and big sewing societies and musicals."
"You mean going anywhere out of your own family?"
"Yes'm, that is just it. I am so happy at home. I have plenty to do, and all I want to enjoy.With you and papa and Nelly and our pet Lucy, and the boys coming home Sundays, what could one wish for more? I am perfectly happy, mamma."
"And would you never care to make acquaintances, then—to make and receive calls?"
"Oh, no'm. I dislike calls of all things, except, of course, to go and see Mrs. Lane, for she asked me to come and see her, mamma, and to go over to Fanny's to play duets, and to a few other places."
"You are a singular girl, Daisy."
"I know I am," said Daisy, earnestly, dropping her work, "and that's the very reason why I think it's just as well for me to stay at home. Now, last night, I'm sure there wasn't a girl there thought of such a thing as being frightened; except me; but I didn't really enjoy the last part very much; it was so disagreeable being among so many strangers; and even during the reading, I wished myself back in our old composition room, where I could hear Mrs. Lane without being dressed up, and being surrounded by girls dressed even more than I was."
"And would you like, then, always to live retired at home?"
"Indeed I should, mamma! and I can't see why I may not. We are told not to love the world," said Daisy in a lower tone. "Why is it not better to keep out of it entirely?"
"I will tell you, darling, why it is not," saidMrs. Bell, seriously. "Because our Master did not do so, and we cannot follow His example perfectly, if we do."
"Was it not the poor and sick that He visited, mamma, chiefly?"
"Yes, dear, and so it should be with us; but He visited, too, the rich and the high. He seems to have gone wherever His presence was desired, to make that presence felt by all classes of people, and we ought to imitate Him in this as in all other things."
"Do you think we can do that?"
"Yes, I think we can in some measure. At any rate, I am sure we ought to try. Suppose, Daisy, that every one adopted your rule—that every house was a castle, and no one in it cared for anybody outside. What a selfish world this would be! Our Christian love would be limited to our own family."
"But I would visit the poor, mamma."
"Yes, and that is by far the most important. But, dear, you have gifts of mind and heart and education that enable you to do good in other ways than in ministering to the poor and the ignorant. There are other hearts to reach, over whom you can have even greater influence, because they sympathize more entirely with you. You can show forth the love of Christ, and set a Christian example in your own sphere, darling, where you were bornand brought up, and it would be wrong for my daughter to hide the talents God has given her under a bushel, and not to care for anyone or anything outside of these four walls."
Daisy had left her seat and taken her favorite place at her mother's feet, and now looking up into her face, she said, earnestly, "You are right, mamma, as you always are. But poor me! I would rather face an army, it seems to me, than a roomful of people. I know what you are going to say—all the more my duty—and I shall try with all my might."
"My darling, in every roomful of people there are some whom you can cheer and please; and even Christ pleased not Himself. Think of that, and it will give you strength to overcome your timidity. You can serve your Master in some way, be sure of it. And you can learn much from others. You would not develop all round, but would be a one-sided character, if you had only books and your own family for companions."
"Mamma, let us have the company. I am ashamed that I have been so cowardly. You shall see how hard I will try."
Our grave and reverend scholar and historian, taking his place later amongHistorians, has surprised and delighted us all by appearing suddenly in a new character, writing a very lively, graphic, and, of course, instructive story for boys; "A Fishing Trip to Barnegat", which we find in theSt. Nicholasfor August, 1892. The following is an extract:
"Now this fish of yours, Jack," said the uncle, "is not only called the toad-fish and the oyster-fish, but, sometimes, the grunting toad-fish. There are species of it found all over the world, but this is the regular American toad-fish.
"This fish of mine is called the weakfish. Notice its beautiful colors, brownish blue on its back, with irregular brown spots, the sides silvery, and the belly white. It grows from one to three feet long and is a very sharp biter. When one takes the hook, there is no difficulty in knowing when to pull in. Why it is called the weakfish, I do not know, unless because when it has been out of the water its flesh softens and soon becomes unfit for food. When eaten soon after it is caught, it is very good."
Just as Uncle John finished his little lecture, an exclamation from Will, who had baited with a piece of the crab, and dropped his line into the water, attracted their attention. Not quite so impetuous as Jack, he landed his prize more carefully, and stood looking at it with wonder, hardly knowing what to say. At last he called out:
"Well, what have I caught?"
It was a beautiful fish, though entirely different from Uncle John's. It had a small head and the funniest little tail that ever was seen. Its back was of a bright, brown color, but its belly was almost pure white; it was quite round and flat, with a rough skin.
"Turn him over on his back, and rub him gently," said the captain. "Do it softly, and watch him."
Will complied and gently rubbed him. Immediately the fish began swelling and as Will continued the rubbing it grew larger and larger until Will feared that the fish would burst its little body.
"Well," he said, "I never saw anything like that, Captain! Do tell me what this is."
"This we call, here in Barnegat, the balloon-fish. It is elsewhere called the puffer, swell-fish, and globe-fish. One kind is called the sea-porcupine, because of its being covered with short, sharp spines. It is of no value for food."
Jack thought his time had come to catch another prodigy, and when his hook had been re-baited by the skipper, he dropped his line into the water, and was soon rewarded by another bite. Using more caution this time, he landed his fish securely on deck instead of over the sail, and exclaimed:
"Wonders will never cease! I don't know what I've got now, but I suppose that Captain John can tell!"
Mrs. Duer, whose family as well as herself has long been associated with Morristown, has published, in Morristown, in 1880, a short story entitled "The Robbers of the Woods, by Grandmother". It is a pretty, fascinating tale for children, in which the winsome innocence of two loving boys charm away all the cruelty of the "Robbers of the Woods". It is only thirty minutes reading and yet the story leaves after it an impression of the tender beauty of childhood.
The following extract is expressive both of thetouching pathos and of a certain nicety of description which belongs pre-eminently to Mrs. Duer.
The sun was up and the room quite light when Carl opened his eyes at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. "It is daylight now my little man and we must be getting you on your way home ere long, but first come and get some breakfast." The boys were soon dressed, and after saying a short prayer in which they thanked God for his goodness in making the robbers so kind to them, they opened the door and found themselves again in the hall and with a substantial meal before them. Having eaten enough and all being ready, the man who found them in the woods now came near, and putting his large brown hand gently on Carl's arm, he said, "My boys, before I can open that door you must let me tie a cloth over your eyes, and consent to let it be there till we tell you to take it off. No harm shall come to you, for I myself am going to take you through the woods and not leave you till I put you on the road that leads to your mother's door." When Eddie first heard that his eyes were to be blindfolded, he began to cry and clung tightly to his brother, fearing to look about him "lest one of the robbers should be there to cut my poor little head off," as he whispered to Carl. Butwhen Carl said, "Eddie, you must be good and believe what these men say. They are not going to harm us and we are going straight home to mother. See I will put the bandage on your eyes myself, and will sit close to you and hold your hand all the time." He then tied a clean handkerchief, which the man gave him, close over Eddie's eyes and allowed the man to do the same to him. They then were led out of the hall.
They heard the heavy door close after them, and felt the cool, morning air blow over their faces, then the boys knew they were outside the stone wall. Soon they were lifted up, and put in a wagon, and a man's voice close to them said: "Boys, I am going to put your little cart in the wagon too, so that you may get it home safely." When all was ready, the wagon began to move away, and as they drove off, they heard the voices of the robbers calling after them, "good-bye, brave boys, we wish you good luck."
Little Eddie sat quite still beside Carl; as they drove away he held tight fast to his brother, and neither of them spoke a word.
They were astonished at all they had seen and heard, while they were in the robbers' castle, and now they were once more in the free and open woods, they could not do as they pleased, but sat with their eyes bound up, not knowing where they were going. Carl did not doubt the words of the menwho told him that no harm should come to him, but at times he had to comfort and assure poor little Eddie, for he sat trembling with fear. After they had driven several miles, and the man who was with them had answered their questions as to how far they were from home now, the wagon stopped and the man got out saying, "Now boys, you are on the road that leads direct to your home and I am going to leave you very soon, but before I go you must promise me not to untie the bandage from your eyes, till you hear a long whistle, which will blow from my horn, after leaving you; you will then undo the bandage, and find something beside you to take to your mother." Saying this, the man took the boys from the wagon, and setting them carefully down, he lifted their cart out also and shaking hands with the still astonished boys, and wishing them good-bye, he sprang into the wagon and they heard him drive rapidly along the road.
They sat for some time very quiet, until the loud, long whistle from a distant horn told them the time of their captivity was at an end, and hastily tearing off the bandage from their eyes they looked eagerly around on all sides. Not a vestige of the wagon could be seen. It had been turned just at the spot where they had been left, and whether it went back the same way, or took another road, they never knew. But what wastheir surprise, when they turned to look for their own little cart, to see beside it a pile of wood cut just so as to fit in, and on top of the pile a package containing many pieces of money in bright shining gold. This was the present they were told to "take back to their mother." Carl's heart gave a great bound of joy, for he knew how sorely his dear mother needed help, and he knew now that these men were her friends, and would never harm them.
They had scarcely recovered from their surprise, and had just begun to load the little cart with the well-cut wood, when sounds of voices were heard, and the boys could distinctly hear their own names called. They knew it was the neighbors who were out searching for them, and soon saw them coming out in the open space where they stood.
The neighbors were heartily glad to find the boys safe and well, and surprised at the wonderful things they had to tell of all that had befallen them.
Many Morristonians will remember well Miss Sophie Radford, first as a little girl, living in the old Doughty House on Mt. Kemble avenue, then owned and occupied by her grandfather, Mr. Joseph Lovell, who purchased it of the Doughty estate and lived in it for a long period of time. Afterwards, Miss Radford is recalled as a charming girl and a belle in Washington Society, whence her father, Rear Admiral Radford, U. S. N., went from here, and where she met and married the handsome and elegant Secretary of the Russian Legation, M. de Meisner. Their marriage was performed first in the Episcopal church and afterwards with the ceremony of the Greek church, at her father's house, it being a law of Russia, with regard to every officer of the Empire, that the marriage ceremony of the Greek church shall be always used, a law like "that of the Medes and Persians, that altereth not".
Both M. and Mme. de Meisner were in Morristown a few years ago and met many friends. It is since then, that they went to Russia and there, after a delightful reception and experience, Mme. de Meisner was inspired with the idea of writing "The Terrace of Mon Désir".
It was published in the fall of 1886, by Cuppies,Upham & Co., of Boston. A curious fact about this book is that it was Mme. de Meisner's first appearance in the field of literature and she had never before contributed even the briefest article to the press.
"The Terrace of Mon Désir" is a pretty love story, gracefully written. The opening scenes are laid in Peterhoff, near St. Petersburg, and where is the summer residence of the Czar. The author thus finds an opportunity of describing a charming social life among the higher classes, with which, though an American girl, but married to a Russian, she seems to be and is perfectly at home, having it is evident taken kindly to the new and interesting situations of her adopted country. The characters are delightfully and simply natural and the combinations are vivacious and sparkling, by which quality American women are distinguished, and in which characteristic foreigners find an indescribable charm.
Mme. de Meisner herself has a bright animation in conversation. Some authors talk well only on paper, but to this observation the author of "The Terrace of Mon Désir" is a marked exception, as all those who know her graceful, easy flow of language will recognize.
The continuity of the story forbids an extract.
Miss Stone who has long lived and moved in our society, has written, beside the poem already given, many bright papers and stories for children which have been published in various magazines and journals, among themThe Observer;Life;Little Ones in the Nursery, edited by Oliver Optic;The Press, of Philadelphia;The Troy PressandThe Christian Weekly. These stories and other writings were published under an assumed name.
In 1885, she published a very clever booklet entitled Who Was Old Mother Hubbard? A Modern Sermon from thePortsmouth(Eng.)Monitorand a Refutation by an M. M. C., New York; G. P. Putnam Sons.
This booklet had a very large sale and went through several editions. The story of this publication is interesting. "The Modern Sermon" appeared anonymously, first in one of our prominent magazines. It was written in England and traced to its origin. This was read at a meeting of the Mediæval Club, (a literary club of some celebrity in Morristown), at the house of Mr. John Wood, one of its members. Miss Stone was at once inspired to write the "Refutation"; which was read at her own house by Mr. John Wood, arrayed in characteristiccostume for the occasion. (For the benefit of those who may not know him, we may add that Mr. John Wood is one of Morristown's best readers and amateur actors.)
We give the "Refutation" which is a clever dissection of the subject. As "A Modern Sermon illustrates the method upon which some Parsons Construct their Discourses", so "A Refutation" appears "in the Combative, Lucid and Argumentative Style of Some Others".
MY DEAR HEARERS: It is my purpose this evening to give to you the result of many hours of thought and consultation of various authors regarding the subject to which our attention has been lately called.
While I hesitate to engage in the controversial spirit of the day, I feel it my duty to expound to you the truth and to unmask any heresy that may be gaining ground.
The discourse to which I allude was upon the text,—