THE CAPTIVE FREE.
THE CAPTIVE FREE.
THE CAPTIVE FREE.
The neigh of a horse, faint and distant, but unmistakable, had come floating up the ravine upon the still night air. And though, after waiting many minutes, it was not repeated, it had been so distinct as to exclude all doubt.
“It must have come up the hollow,” he muttered, “from any other direction I could never have heard it.”
And, without hesitating for a moment, he prepared to go in the direction indicated. Throwing his blanket at the foot of the tree, he grasped his rifle, poured fresh powder into the pan, lest the night air might have affected the priming, and then, drawing his belt around so as to bring his knife convenient to his hand, he set out cautiously down the ravine—one man in pursuit of more than twenty!
Cautiously and slowly he proceeded down the bed of the ravine—gradually descending toward the lower level of the river bottom. He was guided wholly by the little rivulet which tinkled quietly along his path—for the dim starlight could not penetrate the depth in which he walked; and his progress was consequently very slow. The way was winding, too, and seemed almost to run parallel with the river;[9]and its channel grew deeper and more broken. Other streams came flowing in on either hand, and at every moment he was compelled to halt and grope his way across the gorges. Large trees stood obstinately in his path; and roots and briars, vines and thickets, impeded his advance. But patient perseverance, strengthened by the hope of rescuing the captive, still carried him forward over every obstacle.
More than an hour had been spent thus, and he had begun to listen more attentively, and, if possible, watch more closely for signs of his enemies. He halted on the brink of a deep ravine, which furnished a channel for another small stream; and, before venturing down into its bed, stooped nearly to the ground, and remained for many minutes profoundly listening to every sound. The stillness of night was quite unbroken; and he was on the point of beginning the descent, when his eye caught the flash, as of faint lightning, playing briefly upon the leaves at the bottom of the ravine! It was gone in a moment; and his first impulse was to look up through the tree-tops at the sky. But the stars were shining serenely—there was not the slightest cloud in the heavens. He watched for a long time for its reappearance—but the darkness remained as deep as before. It might have been a fire-fly; yet it was strange that it was not repeated; and it had been, not so much a light, as a flicker, like the blaze of thin fuel, and it had died out gradually, not suddenly disappeared. While he stood irresolute, reflecting upon the singularity of the appearance, an imperfect sound, as of very distant thunder, seemed to float along the earth and die away at his feet. He placed his ear to the ground, and again listened. The stamping of numerous horses became plainly audible—and they could be but a short distance from him. To his practiced ear the sound was familiar enough—and he had no difficulty in determining its locality.
He at once rose to his feet and again examined his arms. Moving cautiously and slowly, he then descended the bank until he reached the bottom of the ravine. Turning to the right, he glided silently and stealthily along its bed for two or three hundred yards, when, on coming to a bend where the stony soil had resisted the action of the elements, his progress was suddenly arrested by a stream of lightwhich shone from beyond the projection, and cast deep shadows upon the opposite bank. The fire from which it came was evidently built within the ravine for concealment—for it was only from above that it could become visible at any considerable distance.
To approach nearer in this direction would not be prudent—for, by the shadows on the bank, Edgar could see that at least twenty horses were picketed just beyond the shoulder of the ridge; and a snort from one of these might attract attention. He had no fear of other sentinels; he well understood the Indian practice of posting none; for, apparently so negligent are these most vigilant of all warriors, that even in their incursions, when they are constantly liable to attack, every man lies down to sleep, trusting solely to concealment and their Manitous for protection.
The ranger therefore slowly retreated a few paces, and then silently climbed the bank upon the left. From this point he could see no light; but, upon advancing along the ridge, a little nearer than he had ventured below, he gained a view, not only of the light, but also of the fire, and the formidable group around it!
More than a score of swarthy Indians, all in their war-paint and grotesque ornaments, and each with his gun and tomahawk beside him, sat smoking, one after the other, in a circle about the fire! A little without the line the excited captain could indistinctly see the shape of something white; and, as his eyes became accustomed to the light, all doubt vanished—it was the Captive Bride, seated apart from her captors, with her face buried in her hands. Could she have known whose eyes were at that moment straining their gaze upon her, how different must have been her emotions.
Edgar grasped his rifle and knife with a fierce energy, which threatened the suicide of an immediate attack. But he soon recovered his calmness, and set coolly about making a thorough examination of the position, and calculating the chances of a rescue.
The place had been well chosen for concealment. It was a circular area, inclosed on all sides, except the southern, by the broken and rain-washed ridges, and not more than an acre in extent. It was, indeed, a sort of basin among the hills; and it was the volume of water, collected here into one stream, that had cut out the ravine along which Edgar was advancing. It was dry now, however, and the grass, which in this country everywhere follows the rains of spring, was growing luxuriantly beneath the shelter of large oak and hickory trees.
Of these there was a little clump or grove in the northern arm of the area; and it was just within the edge of this that the fire was kindled. From that side an experienced scout might have approached within a few paces unobserved; but what could one man do against twenty? All that he could now effect, Edgar thought, was to watch the movements of his enemies, and take advantage of whatever opportunity might offer; or, if none should present itself, as was most probable, patiently to await the arrival of his men.
And now a harassing reflection occurred: What if White should not meet them, or they should miss the way? He would lose the benefit of all the diligence he had used, and having success and rescue almost within his grasp, would have the misfortune to see them glide out of his power! Here, within a few rods of him—buried, perhaps, in thought of him—sat the captive, snatched almost literally from his side, at the altar; and, though she might have heard his voice, he dared not raise it—though he might reach her side in one minute, he dared not advance! His rifle might do him service; for, even at that distance, his unerring skill would have disabled an enemy at every shot; but he knew that, at the first discharge, the pursued would become pursuers, and all chance of a rescue would be at an end! He was sure, besides, that the first motion of the savages upon an attack would be the murder of their prisoner; and, brave as he was, he shuddered, and shrank from the thought.
While he stood in the shadow of a tree, harassed by these reflections, a sudden movement took place in the circle of savages. One, who seemed the chief, rose to his feet, and the council broke up. The warrior turned toward the captive, and, taking a large blanket from the ground, spread it at the foot of a tree, and beckoned her to take it. He did this with so much more courtesy than was usually displayed by Indians to their female prisoners, that Edgar’s blood tingled to the very ends of his fingers.
“The redskin dog designs her for his wife!” he muttered; “but he shall die first, if I lose my scalp!”
Jane rose quietly from her seat, and, wrapping the blanket about her, lay down upon the ground. The chief and two other warriors then placed themselves near her, to prevent escape; the remainder of the party spread their blankets around the fire; and, within a few minutes, all was as still within the faintly lighted space, as if not a living being breathed between the rivers. The fire gradually burnt down to a bed of coals; as the flame went out the shadows crept closer and closer to the dusky group; and so still was the night that, on stealing a little nearer, Edgar could plainly hear the heavy breathing of the tired sleepers.
Still nearer and nearer he slowly crept, though with no definite design or plan of action. The bride who had been snatched almost from his arms, was within that circle—and this gave it a fascination not to be resisted. He was now upon the bank, which sloped gently down to the level of thebivouac; and here a narrow, sandy path wound round the jutting points, and led directly toward the smouldering fire. Almost without an effort of the will—drawn by the charm of her presence—he stepped upon the noiseless sand. He commenced the descent—issued from the shadow of a little ridge—was, for a moment, in full view of the whole party—passed on again into the shadows, and stood within twenty feet of the object of his search.
The light from the dying fire played fitfully uponJane’s face, and a smile, serene as in her happiest moments, gave meaning to the flitting shadows. Beside her, motionless as fallen statues, lay the stern, impassive forms of her captors; but Edgar knew too well that, rigid as they seemed, profoundly as they slept, the slightest noise would rouse them to a dangerous vigilance. Three of them lay between her and him—and two were near enough to grasp her, should she rise. But he gazed upon her face once more, beautiful in the holy calm of sleep—as tranquil as a summer sky. The impulse which had led him thus almost within arm’s length of her, slowly shaped itself into a purpose—the vague attraction settled into conscious resolution.
He began to move cautiously to the left, around the sleeping circle, within the deeper shadows of the grove, from tree to tree, toward that beneath which Jane was slumbering. Nearer, step by step, and silently as the closing in of night, he approached like a shadow. He was now within the influence of the light, and but one tree stood between him and that which he was endeavoring to reach. A breathless pause, during which he gazed upon the form of every sleeper—they were apparently as unconscious, as if each had been a corpse. And yet, how fearful was the risk at every step. The slightest rustle of a bush, the breaking of a twig, even the grating of his feet upon the gravel, might awake his enemies—and then farewell all hope of rescue!
But his was not a nature to shrink from danger. Cautiously drawing the ramrod from his rifle, he took the irrevocable step. Swiftly, but silently, he glided from one tree to the other. Within four feet of him lay Jane, in profound and tranquil sleep, her head resting upon her arm, and one hand extended toward him; while on each side of her, but still nearer than he, her captors were ready to awake at the first movement.
But again he resolved to take the risk, and stretching forth the ramrod, gently touched her open hand. She did not move—he touched it again—and she slightly drew it away. Once more—she opened her eyes, and gazed upon the sleeping Indian before her—fortunately, without disturbing him. He passed the rod slowly before her face; she turned her head, and was about to speak, when he showed himself for an instant, and pressed his finger to his lips. She was silent, though breathless with excitement. But the nerves of a true frontier girl were not easily shaken; and Jane saw at once that her lover’s safety, as well as her own liberty, depended upon her self-command. Obeying a sign from him, she commenced slowly and cautiously, though with trembling hands, to unfold the blanket which protected, but also impeded her. As fold after fold fell gradually off, her heart beat with a wilder and stronger pulsation; and when, finally, she found herself free, she could scarcely forbear springing to her feet, and rushing into Edgar’s arms. By a great effort she restrained herself, and cautiously rose to her feet.
Full fifteen minutes—an age at such a time—had passed since Edgar approached the tree. But the suspense was amply compensated, when, without the least noise, he saw her, by his direction, gain the shadow of the first tree. He lingered still to see that she was unobserved, and then one moment brought him to her side, and joined their lips in a kiss as intense as was the danger by which they were surrounded.
Yet he dared not speak, and there was no time to be lost. The savages might discover the escape at any moment, and their last chance would be gone. He took her by the hand, andwalking swiftly, though cautiously, began to retrace his steps through the wood. Five minutes brought them to the head of the ravine, and here he should turn to the left, if he wished to regain the path by which he had approached. But by this course, he must take a wide circuit to avoid the Indian encampment—and every moment was precious. Turning, therefore, to the right instead, he led her, as rapidly as she could walk, in the direction, as he supposed, of the dividing ridge, along which he had traveled in the evening. His observation of localities was usually so accurate, that there seemed no danger of missing the way. But he had been so much absorbed in the approach to thebivouac, that he had not noted the windings of the ravine, or even the points of the compass; and his surprise was very great on finding, after an hour spent in pushing forward, that he was apparently as far as ever from the ridge.
It was long past midnight, and but a short time could elapse before the prisoner’s escape must be discovered. It was vitally necessary that he should recross the river before sunrise; and yet, without his horse, this was impossible. Jane expressed confidence in her ability to walk even much farther; but the speed of even so active a walker as she was far from sufficient for escape. Edgar grew silent and anxious, though the cheerfulness of his companion at another time would have drawn many a smile from the gloom of his face.
“We can only push forward, John,” said she; “an enterprise so successfully begun should not be given up in despair.”
“I can never despair so long as you are with me, Jane,” he replied; “but I ought to tell you that, unless I can find my horse, our capture is certain.”
“See, then, if I am not a better night-ranger than Captain John Edgar,” she said; “I hear your horse, now!”
The Ranger drew her to him and kissed her warmly.
“I shall resign in your favor,” said he. “I should have passed without hearing him!”
This was more compliment than earnest; for, as he spoke, a low nicker from the bushes directly in front, indicated the spot where his horse was still standing. The faithful animal was aware of his master’s approach. A few moments sufficed to prepare him for retreat. Edgar doubled his blanket, and placed it behind the saddle. Lifting Jane to thisimpromptupillion, he threw himself into his seat, and turned his horse’s head toward home.
“What is that!” Jane exclaimed.
Floating up the ravine came a prolonged war-whoop,ringing among the trees, and dying away in a thousand echoes along the ridges.
“They have discovered your escape,” Edgar said.
He waited to hear no more, but regaining the dividing ridge, set off at a swift pace toward the south. The order was reversed—the chased were now the pursuers—and speed alone could decide the race. Edgar rode a powerful horse, who had borne him safely through many a fight as well as march; but the double weight he was now carrying, the journey he had made, and the efforts still expected of him, forbade the idea of rapid traveling. Yet the bloodhounds were upon histrack; and at the dawn of day, now scarcely an hour distant, Edgar knew that they would sweep down upon him like the wind. Escape seemed as difficult as before the rescue.
Yet the Ranger was not cast down, and the strong-hearted pioneer’s daughter gave little thought to danger. As in all women of her class, excitement only evolved her energies; and she talked with a sort of cheerful elation, as if the peril were already passed, and home once more regained. Edgar was far from being so much at his ease; but he had never known fear, and, save on account of the loved one, whose arms encircled his waist, he would rather have made his dispositions for battle than for flight.
His only hope was that the Indians might be delayed in searching the woods around their encampment until he could gain a sufficient start; and this hope vanished almost as soon as formed. They had scarcely ridden three miles, when the thunder of many hoofs came rolling down the ridge. The enemy were in full chase, scarcely a mile behind.
“We must try the virtue of speed,” said Edgar; dashing his spurs into his horse’s flanks, he sprang away at a rate which gave promise of soon distancing the pursuers. Their footsteps soon died away in the distance; and, could he have kept up the pace at which be started, the captain hoped he might reach the river before being overtaken. But at the end of a few minutes, he was forced to draw his rein. The ridge had grown so narrow, that the ravines on either hand intersected each other, and broke it into steep and dangerous gorges. At the first of these his horse came to a dead halt, and neither voice nor spur could force him forward. Edgar sprang to the ground, and looking over the precipice, shuddered at the leap he had been endeavoring to take. A hollow, whose bottom he could not see, cut directly across his path, and extended both to the right and left, farther than his eye could penetrate.
“They are coming, John!” exclaimed Jane, springing to the ground; and he had scarcely time to lead his horse a few yards to the left, when twelve or fifteen Indians dashed furiously up, and, like him, came to a sudden halt. He could plainly see the dusky outlines of their forms, riding back and forward, searching for a crossing. He drew Jane, whose white dress might betray them, behind a tree, and breathlessly awaited their motions. At a word from the chief they all turned directly toward him. He seized Jane by the arm, and dropping his horse’s rein, sprang down the precipitous bank. A fearful yell from the pursuers told him that he was seen; and a rush and a scramble, regardless of the crumbling bank, brought them almost upon him.
“Run, Jane! Down the ravine—run!” he exclaimed, and bringing his rifle up, the foremost warrior fell to the ground, pierced through the head. Another yell, more fearful than the first, heralded a wild spring upon him. But the ranger was more agile than any savage; with one bound he gained a tree, and before they had recovered from their confusion, his rifle was reloaded. Slowly he began to climb the bank—but his first movement was observed, and again they rushed toward him. He turned and fired his last shot—another savage rolled groaning down the bank. But the odds were too great. His enemies were too near to allow his again charging his gun, and an attempt to retreat up the steep ascent would be instant death. He gave himself up for lost—but, drawing his knife, resolved to die fighting to the last.
The click of a rifle-lock directly behind him caught his attention, and the next moment a volley of balls whistled over his head. A rush down the bank immediately followed. The company of rangers, led on by White, had arrived in time to save their captain. The savages, taken by surprise, were unable to make a stand; for with them, as among all undisciplined men, a panic was irremediable. Edgar joined his men, and assumed the command, pushing the charge directly home upon the confused and scattered party. But such as were not disabled by wounds sprang actively up the ascent, and gaining their horses, took to flight. They left seven of their warriors, among whom was the tall chief, lying dead in the bottom of the ravine.
Edgar called his men back from the pursuit, and mustered them within the gorge. Not one of them had received a wound.
“We are all safe,” said George Fielding; “but where is Jane?”
“Here I am,” Jane answered from the ridge above. Instead of flying down the ravine, as Edgar had directed, she had climbed the bank behind him; and, unwilling to leave him in peril so fearful, had determined there to await the issue. Had she been armed, he would not have been alone in the fight.
Day had dawned on the conflict, and now the shadows of the forest were fast melting away. Leaving their enemies to be recovered by their companions, who would soon return for them, the rangers remounted, and set out toward home. Edgar lifted Jane into his saddle, and with little difficulty, catching one of the Indian horses, rode, happy as if already her husband, by her side. On the morning of the third day they once more reached her father’s house, where the rejoicings at her rescue were shared by the reassembled guests, at her wedding with the Ranger-Captain.
[9]
Mississippi.
IMPRESSIONS OF ENGLAND.
———
BY FREDERIKA BREMER.
———
Asylum for Aged Governesses.—Home for the Young.—Queen’s College.—Government School of Design for Women.—Ladies’ Guild.—Some Thoughts.—Review of England.—Its Authors and Authoresses.—Departure.
Asylum for Aged Governesses.—Home for the Young.—Queen’s College.—Government School of Design for Women.—Ladies’ Guild.—Some Thoughts.—Review of England.—Its Authors and Authoresses.—Departure.
I had heard some years since, whilst yet in Sweden I had listened to the news, as one listens to some beautiful, half incredible story; I had heard that persons of talent, rank and fortune, had united in England to establish a Home for Aged and Poor Governesses, to enable them to enjoy a bright evening of life, free from anxiety. I had also read Mrs. S. C. Hall’s charming story, “The Aged Governess,” and wished that it might be read and thought upon by many. This story, written solely for the promotion of this good object, describes one of the most common occurrences of life, as we all must acknowledge; namely, how the old instructress, neglected by the young whom she has brought up, often as a second mother—how they, not from badness of heart, not from premeditated neglect, merely from common thoughtlessness—leave her to her fate, after her long, laborious career in the family when they had need of her, and out of the family when they need her no longer—left alone, to live or to die, utterly forsaken.
This story had caused me to think the undertaking must succeed; it is an affair of humanity, and its advocate knows how to touch the heart.
I heard in America that the work had been accomplished; the Asylum for Aged Governesses had been erected, and I set my heart upon visiting it during my visit to London.
Nothing more was needed than that I should mention my wishes to my friends in London. One of the most effective promoters of the good institution, the excellent and cheerful Mrs. Laing, conducted me thither.
It was a beautiful afternoon. It was pleasant to drive with that agreeable and kind woman, in an open carriage, away from the crowded, noisy London into the pleasant suburb of Kentish Town, where the green fields shone in the sun, and trees and flowers nodded in the wind; it was pleasant to listen all this time to Mrs. Laing, who told me how that, ever since her earliest youth, she had wished above every thing to be able some time to be of use to the distressed of her own sex, whose smoother path of life she herself was beginning to tread; and of the happiness which she now experienced, in finding herself in a position to accomplish the warm wishes of her youthful years. Beautiful and cheering is the sun! But still more beautiful and cheering is the sun of human kindness in a human eye!
The carriage drew up at a pair of iron gates. Within these, upon an open space and with a free look-out, stood a large, splendid house, built of gray stone, in the beautiful antique style. This was the Asylum of the Aged Governesses, their last calm haven and home on earth. The building had been completed only in June 1849, and was calculated to receive twenty-two inmates. Rooms for more may yet be added. We passed through the garden, which, however, consisted principally of beautiful grassplats and beds of flowers, shrubs and newly planted trees. Some of the old ladies were walking here, in the bright light of the setting autumnal sun, and tending the flowers. We entered the house. The steps, the doors, all, from foundation to roof-tree, were built as if for a thousand years’ duration, beautifully and excellently—the sterling English spirit breathed throughout it.
In the large common drawing-room, adorned with pictures, book-cases, and all those various things which constitute the peculiar little world of a beautiful room intended for social enjoyment, sat two of the old ladies at their work. Mrs. Laing was received by all as one receives a messenger of joy. The old ladies evidently regarded her as one of their best friends. They were anxious to prove to her that they were well and full of the energy of life. For she had made them understand that no greater trouble could happen to her than that they should die; that she wished them all to live and be happy here, the longer the better.
A little, cheerful, bright old lady, more than seventy years of age, but very lively, and as agile almost as a young girl, went with me through all the different rooms. They were all exactly alike as to arrangement, had the same kind of furniture; carpets and all comforts equally alike. My little conductress was quite alive to all this, and showed me with how much thought every thing had been arranged for their convenience, how easily the bonnet-boxes under the tables were drawn out, how accurately and noiselessly the doors closed, because the edges were lined with listing; how every thing was so arranged that they might find life easy and agreeable. In one of the rooms sat an old lady, who was an invalid, and was no longer able to walk out. She sat in her comfortable easy-chair, the dim eyes, which shone like feeble lights in the still handsome countenance, gazed out from a window which commanded a lovely view over the distant green, church-crowned heights, behind which the sun was now sinking in the calm splendor of autumn, illuminating the room where the old lady sat. Her voice was weak, so were evidently the powers of life; the lamp was about to be extinguished. But within, as well as without, all seemed to be peaceful and bright as regarded her. Freed from the gnawing anxieties of providing for the day, protected from cold rooms,shortness of food, from a desolate home, she may now calmly await the night, sinking quietly; like the sinking sun, which glanced into her chamber kindly, like the loving eye of a friend.
That aged governess, and all the aged ones there! my heart throbs warmly at the thought of them, and of their asylum.
It is in institutions of this kind that one sees the heart in a nation. Here the question was not about any “dangerous classes,” whom society must take in hand in order to secure its own safety. Here the question was about a class, the least dangerous of all, the most defenseless within the range of society—about solitary women, who, after a life of toil and self-denial in the service of the young generation, go forth into silence, no one knows where, and hide an existence which they almost feel to be supernumerary, to be a burden—go forth, often, like the sick bird, which seeks out a gloomy solitude of the wood in which to die.
The aged governess! How hard is frequently her lot! How thankless is society for her labor, how indifferent toward her fate, how unsparing toward her faults—faults which arise precisely from the disproportion in her fate, which demands from the teacher all a mother’s qualities and self-denial, without giving her in return any of the mother’s recompense, the esteem of society, the gratitude of the child, or even a home.
During the several years’ labor which noble-minded men and women in England have given to searching out and alleviating the silent misery which prevailed in this class of society, it has been proved that there is no class more deserving of esteem and attention; that no women better deserve the aid and esteem of society than the aged governesses.
Out of seven thousand teachers (it is estimated that the number of governesses in England amounts to about fifteen thousand) who during this time had come under the notice of the Committee of Direction which had been organized for their aid, several were found in lunatic asylums, but none in prisons. Many were without means of support in their old age, because they had maintained aged parents with the wages of their labor, assisted young brothers and sisters, or had brought up orphan nephews or nieces. Too many in consequence of their labor had weak sight, or were suffering from severe nervous complaints, of all suffering the worst.
Since the public attention in England has been so much directed to the responsible vocation of the governess, to her difficult position, and her unprovided-for old age; the public endeavor has increased with every succeeding year to elevate and improve the condition of the governess. Academies have been established for the education of young persons; annual pensions have been established for the old and needy; the crowning flower of this beautiful growth of human love and gratitude being the Home for the Aged Governesses, the asylum in which I now found myself, and which, when completed, will leave it difficult to imagine one more perfect.
Among the earliest promoters of this institution I found the names of—men. Men had been the earliest friends and protectors of the old, solitary ladies! The Duke of Cambridge, Dr. Thackeray, John Hatchard, (who lately closed a life full of good works) had long, both by word and deed, labored to improve the fate of these lonely beings. These good men, in connection with noble-minded ladies, such as Mrs. S. C. Hall and Mrs. Laing, had carried through this beautiful undertaking, and hence this final home for the aged governess.
Since then have the subscriptions for the support of aged governesses been so numerous, and so considerable in amount, that now a better future may be anticipated with certainty.
A payment of five hundred pounds entitles to nominate a lady to the asylum. And with all the conveniences and even luxuries of the establishment, all has been so well calculated that the cost of each inmate’s support is remarkably small. A physician and medicine are also provided by the institution.
One agreeable thing for the old ladies seemed to me, that they were permitted to have their friends and acquaintance to tea, on the payment of a mere trifle for each guest.
I saw, finally, in the handsome, light dining-room, the greater number of the inmates of the asylum assembled. There, seated at the piano, I played to them Swedish ballads and dances, and afterward cordially shook hands with the kind old ladies, recommending them to follow Mrs. Laing’s advice, to live long and remain well; they must take care and not die; they must take care and not grieve the good lady! They laughed, and seemed especially willing to attend to my admonition.
Why should they not? Every thing which makes old age bright—yes, perhaps, which makes it the most cheerful portion of a woman’s life—quietness, a secure future, all the amenities of daily life, society, retirement, the kindest care, the most faithful guardianship, every thing which at their age might reasonably be desired, all this is theirs. With a joyful heart I left this institution, over which the most splendid autumnal sun seemed to cast its blessing, and drove with Mrs. Laing to the home of the younger governesses, which also, I was desirous of visiting. This institution—under the same direction as the former, is designed as a shelter and home for young ladies who come to London in search of situations as governesses; is intended to be self-supporting through the payments of the parties whom it receives, as well as that it shall afford them all possible comforts at as low a price as possible. Not far from this institution, which is calculated to receive somewhat above twenty young ladies, isQueen’s College, a newly established academical institution, which enables young women to study and graduate in the same way as young men; and to advance as far in the acquisition of knowledge as their natural powers will admit of. The formation of a skillful class of teachers, of which it is said there is a great want in England, is the highest object of this college, which is under the direction of the Governmentand the Established Church.[10]“The Ladies’ College,” situated at no great distance, is an academy of the same class, founded by dissenters from the Established Church. Both institutions are promising beginnings in a path, in which the youngest of earth’s nations, the United States, has gone far in advance of the mother country, and of all the nations of Europe; namely, in its superior means for the intellectual development of woman.
Having long since become clear in my own mind as to the importance of this intellectual development, not merely for women themselves, but even for men, for the whole rising generation; I had inquired in England, as well as in America, what was being done for women? There was only very little to tell me of in England; they had, however, in London, the Asylum for Aged Governesses, (and a more beautiful institution cannot be exhibited in any land,) the Home for Young Governesses, the two Female Colleges, together with “The Government School of Design for Females.” I had already noticed this inscription upon the door-posts of a house in the Strand, directly opposite to where I had my own excellent lodgings. I was very anxious to visit the Female School of Design in this great, magnificent London, the school which bore the grand appellation of “The Government School of Design for Women.” It must be something really great and magnificent, thought I to myself.
The entrance did not promise much. It was narrow and rickety. But—that did not matter, the Englishman has sometimes a way of putting a simple outside to that which within is very splendid. I went up into a room, story above story, in the third floor. Ah! now had vanished all hope of and all esteem for the care of Government, as regarded the instruction of women, at least in the art of design. In a close, dark room, sat from sixty to seventy young women, so closely packed together that they took away from each other light, space, and, as it seemed to me, breathing-room. They had not even space in which to place their models, (some plaster of Paris casts stood on the floor in a dark corner of the apartment) they had not room to place any thing in a right light or proper perspective. In order to enable me to move along the room, the girls were obliged to stand aside, both they and their drawings. I saw two of them busy drawing a real—no, awitheredplant which stood in a glass. And yet they came hither, and yet they sat here, day after day, industriously, crowded together as they were, the poor young girls! So great was their desire, so great the necessity for them to learn.
In the house on the opposite side of the street, in “Somerset House,” was “The Government School of Design for Young Men,” and they had every advantage which large rooms, models, teachers could give. And, nevertheless, and in spite of there being every unfavorable circumstance on the side of the girls, yet, in the two years, when public examination had been made of the productions of the two schools, the prises had been awarded to the girls. So unquestionable was the superiority of their talent for decorative art, so nobly just the decision of the male judges. I heard much praise bestowed upon the head mistress of the Female School of Design, as being herself a distinguished artist. I cannot but deplore for her that she has not a better opportunity of developing her own talent and the talent of her young pupils than that which is afforded her by the Government School of Design for Women.
My thoughts involuntarily sped back across the sea to the country, to the people who preëminently among all the nations of the earth govern themselves, and to one of the Schools of Design for Women, which have lately begun to spring up there, with that fresh, vigorous growth, which all great, public, useful undertakings have in the soil of the New World. I saw the school which had been commenced in the first instance in the shade of private life, by Mrs. Sarah Peter, an English lady, with a warm feeling of fellow-citizenship; which had been taken up by the government, and incorporated with the Franklin Institution, at Philadelphia, with an annual endowment of three thousand dollars. I saw once more the large, light halls there; saw the kind, cheerful mistress happy in her vocation, happy in the progress of her pupils, and in the flourishing condition of the school.
I saw the young girls’ beaming countenances, saw how a happy consciousness had arisen within them, as if they would say, “We also have now obtained work in God’s beautiful vineyard!”
I saw them drawing vine-shoots and palms, as decoration for walls and floors; saw genius here unfold its youthful wings in joyful amazement at its own powers; and patient industry gladly take her place in the service of her more ardent sister; saw in the practical direction which the spirit of the New World gives to all work, an infinite future and sphere of operation opened for women in the employment of that talent which Mother Nature has given to them for the beautifying of life—the sense of the beautiful, a feeling for the tasteful and the ornamental—a talent which has hitherto been employed merely in a circumscribed manner.
“See!” said a warm-hearted, right-minded man, Dr. E., who accompanied me through the scholars’ room, “this work by Elizabeth B.! fifteen dollars have been paid for it. And this second design for a carpet, by Miss ——, this has been ordered and twelve dollars are paid for it. This little pattern for calico-printing—see how pretty it is!—has been bought for two dollars—this for three. And these wood-cuts, are they not well done? The young girls who do these are full of orders for similar ones, and can command their own price. This lithograph is another work of Miss ——; and these lithographedgroups of flowers, ordered for a little book, are by Miss ——, and twelve dollars are paid for each. But I must introduce you to this young girl, Miss ——. She used formerly to maintain herself by her needle; she did needlework even for my family; but it was discovered that she possessed so remarkable a talent for drawing, that after only seven months’ instruction,she is secure of provision for the whole of her life, by means of art.”
Dr. E. and the head mistress together, selected specimens of the young girls’ various works. “Take,” said they, “this, and this, and this, and this, home with you to your fatherland.”
This was in North America; in the country which preëminently opens a free field for the development of women. In Europe a few individual voices are raised for this object. In America it is the universal voice which says—
“He who points out a new field for the employment of female industry, ought to be regarded as one of the public benefactors. And every means by which such a field becomes accessible to woman recommends itself to society as an important agent in the civilization of the future.”
It delighted me to hear that Charles Dickens, in his Household Words, had made some remarks upon it worthy of his warm heart and clever pen; also to hear that it was seriously contemplated to remove the school to a more favorable locality.
“The Ladies’ Guild,” is the name given to a Female Association in London, which I visited. It is as yet in its earliest commencement, and depends principally upon a discovery of a Miss Wallace, for the application of glass to the hitherto unknown purposes in ornamenting rooms, and the material of furniture. Miss Wallace has taken out a patent for her invention, which she uses entirely for the benefit of persons of her own sex. She was not at this time in England, but the ladies to whom she had communicated her art had united themselves for the formation of a guild, in which instruction in this particular branch of art is given, under certain conditions, to all such as wish to enter the association as working members. I saw here many original and particularly beautiful decorations of glass. I was, however, most struck with the branch of the art called “gems,” in which pieces of cut glass crystals were set in flower-like groups of various colors, yellow, green and red; as well as with plates of glass prepared and burned, so that they resemble white marble, and of a strength so great that a man might stand and stamp his foot upon them without their being cracked. A room whose walls should be set with clusters of these gems, and some of the various brilliant paintings on glass which I saw here, would have the appearance of a fairy-palace, and would realize the most brilliant dreams of our childhood.
They were at this time desirous of preparing such a number of works as would enable them to have an exhibition, by which means the public interest might be turned to the undertaking.
May it succeed! May the well-intentioned, earnest women who commenced the undertaking be so happy as to carry it out for the benefit of their sex! How great the need of such institutions is, may be shown by the simple fact that a single advertisement offering work in this glass manufactory, called forth four hundred replies from gentle-women desirous of obtaining employment.
I saw several of these employment-seekers; for the greater part they were women of middle age, or in the latest youth; and the greater number were clad in deep mourning. They seemed to me like beings who had sat long in darkness, and now were come forth half astonished, half mistrusting, inquiring, “Is there any light, is there any life for us?”
Alas! That in God’s rich, beautiful abundantly-living world, so many beings erected in His image, called to participate in His life, should need to ask thus!
“It must, it will succeed with us!” said the lady superintendent of this new undertaking, with the courageous calmness of conviction.[11]And I believe it will. The thing speaks for itself, and noble-minded men extend a brotherly hand to the ladies to aid them in carrying it out.
Yet once more: may the undertaking flourish, and may it be the precursor of many a similar one!
What a field of beautiful and advantageous activity lies waste through the neglect of rightly cultivating the talent which God has entrusted to woman! Thus, for example, her taste and her feeling for the beautiful are universally acknowledged, and she is permitted to cultivate it—merely for her own adornment and beautifying; and by so doing makes this heavenly talent minister to vanity and self-love. What if this sense of beauty were developed under the guidance of knowledge, for the use of society, for the beautifying of life? Does not woman’s natural taste for ornament and for ornamenting give her an hereditary title in the realm of decorative art? And if she were allowed there to employ her single gift, if she felt herself, through it, living and working, as a fellow-citizen——?
Ought not every country to have its school of art, in which the artistic skill of women might develop itself, in a peculiar and national manner? Might there not, by these means, be a northern art, which, as such, might obtain acknowledgment even in foreign countries?
Might not the daughters of Sweden, so rich in natural feeling and fresh life, study the natural productions of Sweden; draw the pine and the linea borealis, the Apollo-butterfly, and such like beautiful things which God has given to the soil of their fathers; and arrange them in tasteful groups, in vases and baskets, for the decoration of walls and floors; and thus from northern scenes bring forth a northern art, tended by the hands of women, which might beautify northern homes, from the highest to the lowest; which might chase away ugly and common pictures, and let the brightest eye of home, the eye of the child, open into a world of beauty?
Is not, for all men and in all countries, one of the gates which opens into the sanctuary, like that in Solomon’s temple—the beautiful?
We are speaking now merely of a branch of art. But is there not in many other arts and in many manufactures—nay, perhaps in every art and manufacture and science, the more they are developed and ennobled—a department which ought preëminently to be cultivated by women, expressly because of that one talent which has been given to them by nature?
We merely ask. We acknowledge to a profound faith in our own questions. But we would beseech of thinking men and women to consider the subject with us.
For the importance of it lies not merely in the peculiarity of woman’s work. There is something beyond this in woman, through her own work, being able to acquire a self-relying position in society, a noble independence for the life both of soul and body; that she may feel, may know from childhood upward that she may courageously look toward a future which she, through her own power of work, can prepare for herself; to know that creditable work is not disgrace. And that beautiful consciousness which already exists in the intellectual heights of society, may alike in the palace and the cottage of the peasant be acquired by all.
What is it that people are afraid of in this independence of woman? Are they afraid that thereby she will become less womanly? Are they afraid that any being, if it develops itself in freedom and in truth, can become any other than that which God designed in its creation?
Are they afraid that women may take the work away from men?
But all development, all natural division of labor in the world prove that its multiplication and affluence increases in proportion to the various powers which are employed upon it, each in his own way.
In truth, at the present moment, and with the mistaken purposes of existence which have so long depressed the life and consciousness of women, and with them those of men also, one can only wonder that women are what they are.
But when woman becomes that which God intended her to be, man’s equal and helpmate in all spheres of life,Manua, or she-man, as the Bible calls her in the first morning of creation.
Amid many gloomy scenes, many sorrowful experiences, I yet live in the steadfastly joyful anticipation of the future, which will some time dawn for society, when the fettered woman shall become wholly free.
It enchants me when I think upon the beautiful relationship—and of this we already, thank God, have seen and still see many examples—which must take place when these two halves of life stand together—not master and slave—resting only upon God and upon themselves, relying upon each other, merely through the free homage of the heart and the intellect. He sees in her a noble, self-dependent being, who needs not and seeks not him for any lower object. And he loves her for that cause. She sees in him a free and noble being, who seeks not and needs not her for an unworthy object, advantage, or pleasure. And she esteems him for that reason. But each needs the other as a helper in the highest work upon earth—the perfecting of life. That they know, and for that cause they extend to each other the hand, as a married pair, as friends; two free, divine beings, united in the highest!
Thus is paradise regained on earth; no longer that first merely natural paradise; but the higher, spiritual paradise, where man and woman shall live together as the angels in heaven.
Is this sight too beautiful ever to become true?
It is too beautiful not to become true!
But if before this a new development of woman’s life and consciousness must take place, the subject need not be further pursued here.
The Chinese cramped up their women’s feet in tight shoes, that they might not go far from home. But the Chinese themselves have remained standing on the same spot, whilst all the rest of the world has gone forward.
Often when the starling comes in spring to our northern land have I seen him sit in the top of the trees, saluting with his song the rising of the sun over the morning-illumed country. And at this moment, when I sit like the bird upon the bough ready for flight, ready to seek my nest, I feel like the starling glancing abroad over the country upon which a new day is ascending.
For the sight of England at this moment is the sight of a new birth, of an awakening life, calculated to awaken every soul in which are the principles of vitality.
Whilst Germany is mute in the sense of an internal chaos, and all her poets dumb, (since her last comet-like genius, wearied of elliptic circuits in search of the eternal, conceals himself in a cloister;) whilst beautiful Italy lies bound, like the Greek slave, yet noble in her deferred revenge—whilst heroically bold France, always foremost in the struggle for the advance of thought—foremost, though too impetuous, wearied by her own eccentric endeavors, allows a daring adventurer to put a rope round her neck, and a gag in her mouth—how vigorously and calmly England proceeds onward in her work for the future; how powerfully she advances under her banners, “the Law and the Gospel;” and in the spirit of these, works out her great destiny by means of her free institutions, her free public discussion; her constellation of statesmen, poets, authors; her scientific and industrial institutions, and lastly, by her movement for a general, unexclusive system of education throughout the nation; retaining through all this a clear consciousness of the foundation of all true freedom and happiness for the people of the earth.
May she advance triumphantly in her career for the new future of Europe, and with her the nations which stand in near alliance with her life!
No country in the world can at this time exhibit such an affluence of good authors as England. And their influence is founded upon the great principles of humanity, which they serve not merely by power of genius, but of practical reason. Authors of the mostvaried political and religious opinions are united in this—the advocacy of some human right; some human advantage, the crown of which is in heaven, while its root is on earth; or they are rejected by the public mind; every thing must become subservient to the supreme claims of humanity. Merely to mention here some of the cultivators of polite literature: there is the aristocratic Bulwer, spite of his inclination for the merely strong; the democratic, warm-hearted Dickens;Thackeray, the flagellator of much that is great and small, but by no means of the good; Charles Kingsley, whose warm sympathies for suffering humanity might make him unjust toward the self-indulgent if that life which inspires did not also restrain him; and lastly, him who, standing aloof from all parties, yet influences all.
So also, among the beautiful group of England’s distinguished authoresses—women whose power is acknowledged by the whole cultivated world. Mary Howitt, Mrs. Marsh, Mrs. S. C. Hall, with many others still living, among the latest and most remarkable of whom stand Mrs. Gaskill, the Author of Mary Barton, and Miss Bronte, the author of the fascinating novel of Jane Eyre; all these are united in working for the moral elevation of life, although frequently regarding it from different points of view. Nevertheless are they sisters in the higher harmonies and the same fundamentally pure accords, the same holy anthems sound from their harps. They also have obtained free entrance into every noble home in the world, and great power over the life of the heart.
Novels such as Eugene Sue’s and George Sand’s cannot possibly become popular in England, although people are not blind to the gleams of light discoverable in the mysteries of the former; and the many beautiful things which there are in the glorious Consuelo of the latter. But they could not have been written there, nor could their authors live there with any success. The genius of England distinguishes itself from that of France, not so much by its genius, but by its sound reason. The dissimilar fate of England and France, at this time, may be estimated by the dissimilarity in the works of their romance writers. The romance of a people and of their authors have more in common than people believe.
Now that I am about to leave England, I feel with regret how much, from want of time, I must give up seeing, give up knowing—amongst which is the knowledge of persons whose acquaintance would be to me of great value, and of whom I saw sufficient for me to regret it all the more. This is often the sorrowful lot of the traveler, and I have no right to complain. If I should never again see England, yet I shall be eternally thankful that I have seen it, and for that which I have there seen. I thank England for the glorious Asylum which she afforded to a people who raised themselves in the consciousness of their own power, and with no lower object in view than the highest which humanity is capable of. I thank England for affording a new hope for the future of Europe, a new and a fresher courage. And seeing as I do that England is preëminently beyond all other nations designed to extend its dominions, I shall henceforth only rejoice in this, because it extends at the same time the Law and the Gospel, God’s dominion upon earth.
Add to this, that the English race are also the handsomest now existing on the earth; no one can do other than wish that, in this point of view also, they should increase and multiply.
These Englishwomen—I am fond of them. They approach with a frank, warm cordiality which is irresistible, or with a quiet demeanor which expresses esteem both of you and of their own worth, or else—they leave you in peace. This dignity of manner, added to an agreeable kindliness, struck me particularly in the class of female domestic servants, whilst they are commonly as well dressed as the persons whom they serve; at once, as well dressed as unpretending.
And then—they are so handsome, these Englishwomen, that certainly, the whole figure included, they are the most beautiful women in the world.
I have no word sufficiently strong to express my grateful sense of the noble hospitality and good-will which were shown to me while in England. They live in the sanctuary of my heart, together with the names of the friends from whom I received them; I must call some of them mybenefactors, because the human beings who awaken in us a warmer faith in and love to mankind, are our eternal benefactors.
And greater benefactors in this sense have I never found anywhere than in the United States, and in England, excepting in my own beloved fatherland!
[10]
This is a misconception.—Ed.
[11]
A worthy daughter is this lady of the well-known philanthropist, Dr. Southwood Smith. Dr. Southwood Smith stands at the head of the movement for Sanitary Reform in England, which is now being effectively carried out in many towns, and the main principles of which are, that every house and family shall have a constant and sufficient supply of fresh water, the erection of healthy dwellings for the poor, together with the careful removal and consumption of all impurity.