——Screw your courage up to the sticking place,And we'll not fail.Shakspeare.
The first settler in Hollis, New Hampshire, was Captain Peter Powers. He removed thither in 1731. His nearest neighbor, for a time, was ten miles distant; and in order to exchange courtesies it was necessary for the families to cross the Nashua river. It had but one convenient and safe fording place in that vicinity, and that one only when the river was low.
Having occasion, on a pleasant August morning, to visit her neighbor, Mrs. Powers mounted a Narraganset, hastened away, and reached the place of destination long before noon. Early in the after part of the day a fearful thunderstorm came up, and continued for several hours. Just at sunset the clouds began to break away, and Mrs. Powers immediately started on her return. She did not reach the river until some time after dark; and coming to the ford, she found the bank full and the water—as a narrator of the incident has it—"pressing on it with greatrapidity." Added to this alarming circumstance, the wind had shifted and rolled the clouds up the sky again, so that the rain was descending in torrents, and drowning the threatening voice of the waves. Trusting to the experienced animal to keep the ford, and giving a slack rein, without realizing the danger, the courageous woman plunged into the black stream. The steed almost instantly lost its foothold, and "rolling in the waves at a full swim," made for the opposite shore. Missing the ford, and striking a forefoot on a rock in the bed of the stream, the animal was raised momentarily half way out of the water. Then plunging forward, it sank so deep that Mrs. Powers was raised from the pommel; but seizing the horse's mane as it rose, she held her grasp till they were safely on shore. The faithful animal soon found the right track, and in a brief hour Mrs. Powers was under the shelter of her cabin.
More can I bear than you dare execute.Shakspeare.
"Not a great way from Steel's and Taylor's forts was a settlement consisting of a few families, among which were those of William McKenny and his brother James. These lived near Fishing creek. In the summer of 1761, sixteen Indians, with some squaws of the Cherokee tribe, took up their abode for several weeks near what is called Simpson's shoals, for the purpose of hunting and fishing during the hot months. In August, the two McKennys being absent on a journey to Camden, William's wife, Barbara, was left alone with several young children. One day she saw the Indian women running towards her house in great haste, followed by the men. She had no time to offer resistance; the squaws seized her and the children, pulled them into the house, and shoved them behind the door, where they immediately placed themselves on guard, pushing back the Indians as fast as they tried to force their way in, and uttering the most fearful outcries. Mrs. McKenny concluded it was their intentionto kill her, and expected her fate every moment. The assistance rendered by the squaws, whether given out of compassion for a lonely mother, or in return for kindness shown them,—proved effectual for her protection until the arrival of one of the chiefs, who drew his long knife and drove off the savages. The mother, apprehending another attack, went to some of her neighbors and entreated them to come and stay with her. Robert Brown and Joanna his wife, Sarah Ferguson, her daughter Sarah and two sons, and a young man named Michael Melbury, came, in compliance with her request, and took up their quarters in the house. The next morning Mrs. McKenny ventured out alone to milk her cows. It had been her practice heretofore to take some of the children with her, and she could not explain why she went alone this time, though she was not free from apprehension; it seemed to be so by a special ordering of Providence. While she was milking, the Indians crept towards her on their hands and knees; she heard not their approach, nor knew any thing till they seized her. Sensible at once of all the horror of her situation, she made no effort to escape, but promised to go quietly with them. They then set off towards the house, holding her fast by the arm. She had the presence of mind to walk as far off as possible from the Indian who held her, expecting Melbury to fire as they approached her dwelling. As they came up, he fired, wounding the one who held Mrs. McKenny; she broke from his hold and ran, and another Indianpursued and seized her. At this moment she was just at her own door, which John Ferguson imprudently opening that she might enter, the Indians without shot him dead as he presented himself. His mother ran to him and received another shot in her thigh, of which she died in a few days. Melbury, who saw that all their lives depended on prompt action, dragged them from the door, fastened it, and repairing to the loft, prepared for a vigorous defence. There were in all five guns; Sarah Ferguson loaded for him, while he kept up a continual fire, aiming at the Indians wherever one could be seen. Determined to effect their object of forcing an entrance, some of the savages came very near the house, keeping under cover of an outhouse in which Brown and his wife had taken refuge, not being able, on the alarm, to get into the house. They had crept into a corner and were crouched there close to the boarding. One of the Indians, coming up, leaned against the outside, separated from them only by a few boards, the crevices between which probably enabled them to see him. Mrs. Brown proposed to take a sword that lay by them and run the savage through the body, but her husband refused; he expected death, he said, every moment, and did not wish to go out of the world having his hands crimsoned with the blood of any fellow creature. 'Let me die in peace,' were his words, 'with all the world.' Joanna, though in the same peril, could not respond to the charitable feeling. 'If I am to die,' she said, 'I should like first to sendsome of the redskins on the journey. But we are not so sure we have to die; don't you hear the crack of Melbury's rifle? He holds the house. I warrant you that redskin looked awfully scared as he leaned against the corner here. We could have done it in a moment.'
"Mrs. McKenny, meanwhile, having failed to get into her house, had been again seized by the Indians, and, desperately regardless of her own safety, was doing all in her power to help her besieged friends. She would knock the priming out of the guns carried by the savages, and when they presented them to fire, would throw them up, so that the discharge might prove harmless. She was often heard to say, afterwards, that all fear had left her, and she thought only of those within the building, for she expected for herself neither deliverance nor mercy. Melbury continued to fire whenever one of the enemy appeared; they kept themselves, however, concealed, for the most part, behind trees or the outhouse. Several were wounded by his cool and well-directed shots, and at length, tired of the contest, the Indians retreated, carrying Mrs. McKenny with them. She now resisted with all her strength, preferring instant death to the more terrible fate of a captive in the hands of the fierce Cherokees. Her refusal to go forward irritated her captors, and when they had dragged her about half a mile, near a rock upon the plantation now occupied by John Culp, she received a second blow with the tomahawk which stretched her insensible upon the ground. Whenafter some time consciousness returned, she found herself lying upon the rock, to which she had been dragged from the spot where she fell. She was stripped naked, and her scalp had been taken off. By degrees the knowledge of her condition, and the desire of obtaining help came upon her. She lifted up her head, and looking around, saw the wretches who had so cruelly mangled her, pulling ears of corn from a field near, to roast for their meal. She laid her head quickly down again, well knowing that if they saw her alive, they would not be slack in coming to finish the work of death. Thus she lay motionless till all was silent, and she found they were gone; then, with great pain and difficulty, she dragged herself back to the house. It may be imagined with what feelings the unfortunate woman was received by her friends and children, and how she met the bereaved mother, wounded unto death, who had suffered for her attempt to save others. One of the blows received by Mrs. McKenny had made a deep wound in her back; the others were upon her head....
"The wounds in Mrs. McKenny's head never healed entirely; but continued to break out occasionally, so that the blood flowing from them stained the bed at night, and sometimes fragments of bone came off; nevertheless, she lived many years afterwards and bore several children. She was at the time with child, and in about three months gave birth to a daughter—Hannah, afterwards married to John Stedman—and living inTennessee in 1827. This child was plainly marked with a tomahawk and drops of blood, as if running down the side of her face. The families of McKenny and McFadden, residing on Fishing creek, are descended from this Barbara McKenny; but most of her descendants have emigrated to the West. The above mentioned occurrence is narrated in a manuscript in the hand-writing of her grandson, Robert McFadden."[82]
Strong affectionContends with all things, and o'ercometh all things.Joanna Baillie.
"One of the small islands in Boston bay was inhabited by a single poor family. The father was taken suddenly ill. There was no physician. The wife, on whom every labor for the household devolved, was sleepless in care and tenderness by the bedside of her suffering husband. Every remedy in her power to procure was administered, but the disease was acute, and he died.
"Seven young children mourned around the lifeless corpse. They were the sole beings upon that desolate spot. Did the mother indulge the grief of her spirit, and sit down in despair? No: she entered upon the arduous and sacred duties of her station. She felt that there was no hand to assist her in burying her dead. Providing, as far as possible, for the comfort of her little ones, she put her babe into the arms of the oldest, and charged the two next in age to watch the corpse of their father. She unmoored her husband's fishing boat, which, but two days before, he had guided over the seas, to obtain foodfor his family. She dared not yield to those tender recollections, which might have unnerved her arm. The nearest island was at the distance of three miles. Strong winds lashed the waters to foam. Over the loud billows, that wearied and sorrowful woman rowed, and was preserved. She reached the next island, and obtained the necessary aid. With such energy did her duty to her desolate babes inspire her, that the voyage which depended on her individual effort, was performed in a shorter time than the returning one, when the oars were managed by two men, who went to assist in the last offices to the dead."
A fault doth never with remorseOur minds so deeply move,As when another's guiltless lifeOur error doth reprove.Brandon.
Sarah Childress Polk is the daughter of an enterprising and wealthy merchant of Rutherford county, Tennessee. She was married on the first of January, 1824.
Fitted to dignify and adorn any station appropriate for woman, while presiding at the White house she was universally esteemed, and retired as honorably as any woman since the days of Washington. She is intelligent, refined, unaffected, affable, courteous, hospitable, and, above all, pious, and exemplary as a Christian. She has been for years in communion with the Presbyterians; and while at the Capital, and the eyes of the whole nation were upon her, she forbade, in the President's mansion, any amusement not in keeping with the Christian profession. In this respect, it may be said of her, in the language of Shakspeare,
Thou art not for the fashion of these times.
The following poetical tribute, from the pen and heart of Mrs. Stephens, is well merited:
Lady! had I the wealth of earthTo offer freely at thy shrine,Bright gold, and buds of dewy birth,Or gems from out the teeming mine,A thousand things most beautiful,All sparkling, precious, rich, and rare,These hands would render up to thee—Thou noble lady, good and fair!For, as I write, sweet thoughts ariseOf times when all thy kindness lentA thousand hues of ParadiseTo the fleet moments as they went;Then all thy thoughts were winged with light,And every smile was calm and sweet,And thy low tones and gentle wordsMade the warm heart's blood thrill and beat.There, standing in our nation's home,My memory ever pictures theeAs some bright dame of ancient Rome,Modest, yet all a queen should be.I love to keep thee in my mind,Thus mated with the pure of old,When love with lofty deeds combined,Made women great and warriors bold.When first I saw thee standing there,And felt the pressure of thy hand,I scarcely thought if thou wert fair,Or of the highest in the land;I knew thee gentle, pure as great;All that was lovely, meek and good;And so I half forgot thy stateIn love of thy bright womanhood.And many a sweet sensation cameThat lingers in my bosom yet,Like that celestial, holy flameThat vestals tremble to forgetAnd on the earth, or in the sky,There's not a thought more true and freeThan that which beats within my heart,In pleasant memory of thee.Lady, I gladly would have broughtSome gem that on thy heart may live;But this poor wreath of woven thoughtIs all the wealth I have to give.All wet with heart-dew, fresh with love,I lay the garland at thy feet,Praying the angel forms aboveTo weave thee one more pure and sweet.
In humblest vales the patriot heart may glow.J. T. Fields.
At the time Colonel Watson, the commander of a corps of regulars and tories, was making inroads upon the Pedee, he pitched his tent one night near the house of a widow named Jenkins, and took up his own quarters under her roof. Learning, in the course of the evening, that she had three sons fighting under General Marion, he commenced the following conversation with her:
"So, madam, they tell me you have several sons in General Marion's camp; I hope it is not true."
She said it was very true, and was only sorry that it was not a thousand times truer.
"A thousand times truer, madam!" replied he, with great surprise, "pray what can be your meaning in that?"
"Why, sir, I am only sorry that in place of three, I have not three thousand sons with General Marion."
"Aye, indeed! well then, madam, begging your pardon, you had better send for them immediately to come in and join his majesty's troops under mycommand: for as they are rebels now in arms against their king, should they be taken, they will be hung as sure as ever they were born."
"Why, sir, you are very considerate of my sons; for which, at any rate, I thank you. But, as you have begged my pardon for giving me this advice, I must beg yours for not taking it. My sons, sir, are of age, and must and will act for themselves. And as to their being in a state of rebellion against their king, I must take the liberty, sir, to deny that."
"What, madam! not in rebellion against their king? Shooting at and killing his majesty's subjects like wolves! don't you call that rebellion against their king, madam?"
"No, sir, they are only doing their duty, as God and nature commanded them, sir."
"The d——l they are, madam!"
"Yes, sir, and what you and every man in England would glory to do against the king, were he to dare to tax you contrary to your own consent and the constitution of the realm. 'Tis the king, sir, who is in rebellion against my sons, and not they against him. And could right prevail against might, he would as certainly lose his head as ever king Charles the First did."[83]
Labor in the path of dutyBeam'd up like a thing of beauty.C. P. Cranch.
"A very profane and profligate sailor, who belonged to a vessel lying in the port of New York, went out one day from his ship into the streets, bent on folly and wickedness. He met a pious little girl, whose feelings he tried to wound by using vile and sinful language. The little girl looked him earnestly in the face, warned him of his danger, and, with a solemn tone, told him to remember that he must meet her shortly at the bar of God. This unexpected reproof greatly affected him. To use his own language, 'it was like a broadside, raking him fore and aft, and sweeping by the board every sail and spar prepared for a wicked cruise.' Abashed and confounded, he returned to his ship. He could not banish from his mind the reproof of this little girl. Her look was present to his mind; her solemn declaration, 'You must meet me at the bar of God,' deeply affected his heart. The more he reflected upon it, the more uncomfortable he felt. In a few days his hard heart was subdued, and he submitted to the Saviour."
Blest that abode where want and pain repair,And every stranger finds a ready chair.Goldsmith.
In his Three Years in California, the Rev. Walter Colton speaks as follows of the native women:
Their hospitality knows no bounds; they are always glad to see you, come when you may; take a pleasure in entertaining you while you remain; and only regret that your business calls you away. If you are sick, there is nothing which sympathy and care can devise or perform, which is not done for you. No sister ever hung over the throbbing brain or fluttering pulse of a brother with more tenderness and fidelity. This is as true of the lady whose hand has only figured her embroidery or swept her guitar, as of the cottage-girl wringing from her laundry the foam of the mountain stream; and all this from theheart! If I must be cast, in sickness or destitution, on the care of a stranger, let it be in California; but let it be before avarice has hardened the heart and made a god of gold.
Where'er the path of duty led,With an unquestioning faith she trod.T. W. Renne.
Among the many names endeared to the friends of missions, is that of Sarah L. Smith, a native of Norwich, Connecticut. Her maiden name was Huntington. She was born in 1802; made a profession of religion in youth; became the wife of the Rev. Eli Smith in July, 1833; embarked with him for Palestine the September following; and died at Boojah, near Smyrna, the last day of September, 1836.
Her work as a foreign missionary was quickly finished. She labored longer as a home missionary among the Moheagans, who live in the neighborhood of Norwich, and there displayed most conspicuously the moral heroism of her nature. In conjunction with Sarah Breed, she commenced her philanthropic operations in the year 1827. "The first object that drew them from the sphere of their own church, was the project of opening a Sabbath school for the poor Indian children of Moheagan. Satisfied that this was a work which Heaven would approve, they markedout their plans, and pursued them with untiring energy. Boldly they went forth, and, guided by the rising smoke or sounding axe, visited the Moheagans from field to field, and from hut to hut, till they had thoroughly informed themselves of their numbers, condition, and prospects. The opposition they encountered, the ridicule and opprobrium showered upon them from some quarters, the sullenness of the natives, the bluster of the white tenants, the brush wood and dry branches thrown across their pathway, could not discourage them. They saw no 'lions in the way,' while mercy, with pleading looks, beckoned them forward."
The Moheagans then numbered a little more than one hundred, only one of whom was a professor of religion. She was ninety-seven years of age. In her hut the first prayer meeting and the first Sabbath school gathered by these young ladies, were held.
Miss Breed soon removed from that part of the country, and Miss Huntington continued her labors for awhile alone. She was at that time very active in securing the formation of a society and the circulation of a subscription, having for their object the erection of a chapel. She found, ere long, a faithful co-worker in Miss Elizabeth Raymond. They taught a school in conjunction, and aside from their duties as teachers, were, at times, "advisers, counsellors, lawgivers, milliners, mantuamakers, tailoresses and almoners."[84]
"The school was kept in a house on Fort Hill, leased to a respectable farmer in whose family the young teachers boarded by alternate weeks, each going to the scene of labor every other Sabbath morning and remaining till the evening of the succeeding Sabbath, so that both were present in the Sabbath school, which was twice as large as the other. A single incident will serve to show the dauntless resolution which Miss Huntington carried into her pursuits. Just at the expiration of one of her terms of service during the winter, a heavy and tempestuous fall of snow blocked up the roads with such high drifts, that a friend who had been accustomed to go for her and convey her home in bad weather, and had started for this purpose in his sleigh, turned back, discouraged. No path had been broken, and the undertaking was so hazardous that he conceived no female would venture forth at such a time. He therefore called at her father's house to say that he should delay going for her till the morrow. What was his surprise to be met at the door by the young lady herself, who had reached home just before, having walked the whole distance on the hard crust of snow,alone, and some of the way over banks of snow that entirely obliterated the walls and fences by the roadside."
While at Moheagan, Miss Huntington corresponded with the Hon. Lewis Cass, then Secretary of War, and secured his influence and the aid of that department. In 1832, a grant of nine hundred dollars was made from the fund devoted to the Indian department,five hundred being appropriated towards the erection of missionary buildings and four for the support of a teacher. Before leaving the Moheagan, for a wider field, this devoted and heroic missionary had the happiness of seeing a chapel, parsonage and school house, standing on "the sequestered land"[85]of her forest friends, and had thus partially repaid the debt of social and moral obligation to a tribe who fed the first and famishing settlers in Connecticut, and strove to protect them against the tomahawk of inimical tribes, and whose whoop was friendly to freedom when British aggressors were overriding American rights.
Brave spirits are a balsam to themselves.Cartwright.
During the invasion of the Mohawk valley by Sir John Johnson, Samson Sammons, of Johnstown, and his three sons, were taken captive early one morning in May. The females were not made prisoners. While a soldier was standing sentinel over the youngest son, named Thomas, who was about eighteen, the latter, who was not more than half dressed, said he was not going to Canada in such a plight; that he should need his shoes especially; and asked permission to go to his chamber and get his clothes. The favor was not granted; but Thomas, resolving to have his shoes, stepped towards the door, when the barbarous soldier pointed a bayonet at his back, and made a plunge. At that moment a sister, who had watched every movement with breathless anxiety, sprang forward, seized the gun, threw herself across its barrel, bore it to the ground, and thus saved her brother's life. After a brief struggle, the soldier disengaged his weapon, but before he had time to make another plunge, anofficer rushed forward and asked what was the trouble. The heroic girl stated the case, when the soldier was severely rebuked, and her brother permitted to obtain his shoes and all the raiment he desired.[86]
They love their land because it is their own.Halleck.
At the darkest period of the Revolution, New Jersey was, for a short time, full of British soldiers, and Lord Cornwallis was stationed at Bordentown.[87]He visited Mrs. Borden one day, at her elegant mansion, and made an effort to intimidate her. He told her that if she would persuade her husband and son, who were then in the American army, to join his forces, none of her property should be destroyed; but if she refused to make such exertions, he would burn her house, and lay waste her whole estate. Unintimidated and patriotic, she made the following bold reply, which caused the execution of the threat: "The sight of my house in flames would be a treat to me, for I have seen enough to know that you never injure what you have power to keep and enjoy. The application of a torch to my dwelling I should regard as the signal for your departure." And such it was.
Where cannon boomed, where bayonets clashed,There was thy fiery way.Sara J. Clarke.
An act similar to that recorded of Mrs. Pitcher at the battle of Monmouth, was performed by Mrs. Margaret Corbin at the attack on Fort Washington. Her husband belonged to the artillery; and, standing by his side and seeing him fall, she unhesitatingly took his place and heroically performed his duties. Her services were appreciated by the officers of the army, and honorably noticed by Congress. This body passed the following resolution in July, 1779:
"Resolved,—That Margaret Corbin, wounded and disabled at the battle of Fort Washington, while she heroically filled the post of her husband, who was killed by her side serving a piece of artillery, do receive during her natural life, or continuance of said disability, one-half the monthly pay drawn by a soldier in service of these States; and that she now receive out of public stores, one suit of clothes or value thereof in money."
——The truly brave,When they behold the brave oppressed with odds,Are touched with a desire to shield or save.Byron.
Soon after the commencement of the Revolutionary war, the family of Dr. Channing,[88]being in England, removed to France, and shortly afterwards sailed for the United States. The vessel, said to be stout and well-armed, was attacked on the voyage by a privateer, and a fierce engagement ensued. During its continuance, Mrs. Channing stood on the deck, exhorting the crew not to give up, encouraging them with words of cheer, handing them cartridges, and aiding such of them as were disabled by wounds. When, at length, the colors of the vessel were struck, she seized her husband's pistols and side arms, and flung them into the sea, declaring that she would prefer death to the witnessing of their surrender into the hands of the foe.
Have chivalry's bold daysA deed of wilder braveryIn all their stirring lays?Sara J. Clarke.
An incident which occurred at one of the forts in the Mohawk valley, might have been mentioned in connection with the heroism of Schoharie women. It is briefly related by the author of Border Wars of the American Revolution. "An interesting young woman," he writes, "whose name yet lives in story among her own mountains, perceiving, as she thought, symptoms of fear in a soldier who had been ordered to a well without the works, and within range of the enemy's fire, for water, snatched the bucket from his hands, and ran forth for it herself. Without changing color, or giving the slightest evidence of fear, she drew and brought back bucket after bucket to the thirsty soldiers, and providentially escaped without injury."
I dare do all that may become a man.Who dares do more, is none.Shakspeare.
For three-fourths of a century, there has been a wealthy settlement of Germans four or five miles north of the village of Herkimer, in the upper part of the Mohawk valley, called Shell's Bush. Among the early settlers, was John Christian Shell, who had a family of six brave sons and a no less brave wife. When, on the sixth of August, 1781, a Scotch refugee named Donald McDonald, at the head of sixty-six tories and Indians, attacked that settlement, Mrs. Shell acted the part of an heroic dame. The house was built for border emergencies, and when the enemy approached, the husband and older boys[89]fled from the fields, entered their castle, and strongly barricaded the doors. From two o'clock in the afternoon until twilight, the besieged kept up an almost incessant firing, Mrs. Shell loading the guns for herhusband and older sons to discharge. During the siege, McDonald attempted to force the door with a crow bar, and was shot in the leg, seized by Shell and drawn within doors. Exasperated at this bold feat, the enemy soon attempted to carry the fortress by assault, five of them leaping upon the walls and thrusting their guns through the loopholes. At that moment the cool and courageous woman seized an axe, smote the barrels and bent and spoiled them. Her husband then resorted to stratagem to drive the besiegers away: running up stairs and calling to Mrs. Shell in a very loud voice, he said that Captain Small was approaching with help from Fort Dayton. Then raising his voice to its highest pitch, he exclaimed, "Captain Small, march your company round upon this side of the house. Captain Getman, you had better wheel your men off to the left, and come up upon that side."[90]Fearing the phantom troops whom Mr. Shell's imagination had conjured, the enemy shouldered their guns—crooked barreled and all—and quickly buried themselves in the dense forest.
Humble toil and heavenward duty.Mrs. Hale.
"A pious widow, who resided among ignorant and vicious neighbors in the suburbs of B——, Massachusetts, determined to do what she could for their spiritual benefit; and so she opened her little front room for weekly prayer meetings, and engaged some pious Methodists to aid in conducting them. Much of the seed thus scattered on a seemingly arid soil, produced fruit. One instance deserves special notice.
"Among others who attended, was a young sailor of intelligent and prepossessing countenance. A slight acquaintance with him discovered him to be very ignorant of even the rudiments of education; but, at the same time, he had such manifestly superior abilities, that the widow became much interested in his spiritual welfare, and could not but hope that God would in some way provide for his further instruction, convert him and render him useful. But in the midst of her anticipations, he was suddenly summoned away to sea. He had been out but a short time when the vessel was seized by a Britishprivateer and carried into Halifax, where the crew suffered by a long and wretched imprisonment.
"A year had passed away, during which the good woman had heard nothing of the young sailor. Still she remembered and prayed for him with the solicitude of a mother. About this time, she received a letter from her relations, who resided in Halifax, on business which required her to go to that town. While there, her habitual disposition to be useful, led her with a few friends to visit the prison with Bibles and tracts. In one apartment were the American prisoners. As she approached the grated door, a voice shouted her name, calling her mother, and a youth appeared and leaped for joy at the grate. It was the lost sailor boy! They wept and conversed like mother and son, and when she left she gave him a Bible—his future guide and comfort. During her stay at Halifax, she constantly visited the prison, supplying the youth with tracts, religious books, and clothing, and endeavoring by her conversation to secure the religious impression made on his mind at the prayer meetings in B——. After many months she removed to a distant part of the provinces; and for years she heard nothing more of the young sailor.
"We pass over a period of many years, and introduce the reader to Father T——, the distinguished mariners' preacher in the city of B——. In a spacious and substantial chapel, crowded about by the worst habitations in the city, this distinguished man delivered every Sabbath, discourses as extraordinary, perhaps, as are to be found in the Christianworld. In the centre column of seats, guarded sacredly against all other intrusion, sat a dense mass of mariners—a strange medley of white, black, and olive; Protestant, Catholic, and Pagan. On the other seats in the galleries, the aisles, the altar, and on the pulpit stairs, were crowded, week after week, and year after year—the families of sailors, and the poor who had no other temple—the elite of the city—the learned professor—the student—the popular writer—the actor—groups of clergymen, and the votaries of gayety and fashion, listening with throbbing hearts and wet eyes, to a man whose only school had been the forecastle, and whose only endowments were those of grace and nature.
"In the year 183—, an aged English local preacher moved into the city of B—— from the British provinces.
"The old local preacher was mingling in a public throng one day with a friend, when they met 'Father T——.' A few words of introduction led to a free conversation, in which the former residence of his wife in the city was mentioned, and allusion was made to her prayer meeting—her former name was asked by 'Father T——;' he seemed seized by an impulse—inquired their residence, hastened away, and in a short time arrived in a carriage, with all his family, at the home of the aged pair. There a scene ensued which must be left to the imagination of the reader. 'Father T——' was the sailor boy of the prayer meeting and the prison. The old lady was the widow who had first cared for his soul."
This is my own, my native land.Scott.True wit is nature to advantage dressed.Pope.
Mrs. Eliza Wilkinson resided during the Revolution on Yonge's island, thirty miles south of Charleston, South Carolina. She was a cheerful, witty and accomplished young widow, and a keen sufferer on account of her whig principles. Her letters, arranged by Mrs. Gilman, and published several years ago, afford a panoramic view of many dark scenes at the gloomiest period of American history, and beautifully daguerreotype her own pure and patriotic heart. A single extract will show her character. She visited the city of Charleston soon after its surrender, and witnessed the departure of her exiled friends. Referring to matters about that period, she writes:
"Once I was asked by a British officer to play the guitar.
"'I cannot play; I am very dull.'
"'How long do you intend to continue so, Mrs. Wilkinson?'
"'Until my countrymen return, sir!'
"'Return as what, madam?—prisoners or subjects?'
"'As conquerors, sir.'
"He affected a laugh. 'You will never see that, madam!'
"'I live in hopes, sir, of seeing the thirteen stripes hoisted once more on the bastions of this garrison.'
"'Do not hope so; but come, give us a tune on the guitar.'
"'I can play nothing but rebel songs.'
"'Well, let us have one of them.'
"'Not to-day—I cannot play—I will not play; besides, I suppose I should be put into the Provost for such a heinous crime.'
"I have often wondered since, I was not packed off, too; for I was very saucy, and never disguised my sentiments.
"One day Kitty and I were going to take a walk on the Bay, to get something we wanted. Just as we had got our hats on, up ran one of the Billets into the dining-room, where we were.
"'Your servant, ladies.'
"'Your servant, sir.'
"'Going out, ladies?'
"'Only to take a little walk.'
"He immediately turned about and ran down stairs. I guessed for what.... He offered me his hand, or rather arm, to lean upon.
"'Excuse me, sir,' said I; 'I will support myself if you please.'
"'No, madam, the pavements are very uneven; you may get a fall; do accept my arm.'
"'Pardon me, I cannot.'
"'Come, you do not know what your condescension may do. I will turn rebel!'
"'Will you?' said I, laughingly—'Turn rebel first, and then offer your arm.'
"We stopped in another store, where were several British officers. After asking for the articles I wanted, I saw a broad roll of ribbon, which appeared to be of black and white stripes.
"'Go,' said I to the officer who was with us, 'and reckon the stripes of that ribbon; see if they arethirteen!' (with an emphasis I spoke the word)—and he went, too!
"'Yes, they are thirteen, upon my word, madam.'
"'Do hand it me.' He did so; I took it, and found that it was narrow black ribbon, carefully wound round a broad white. I returned it to its place on the shelf.
"'Madam,' said the merchant, 'you can buy the black and white too, and tack them in stripes.'
"By no means, sir; I would not have themslightly tacked, butfirmly united.' The above mentioned officers sat on the counter kicking their heels. How they gaped at me when I said this! But the merchant laughed heartily."
——He stopped the fliers.Shakspeare's Coriolanus.
Many years ago, while a stage was passing through Temple, New Hampshire, the driver's seat gave way, and himself and a gentleman seated with him, were precipitated to the ground. The latter was killed. The horses took fright at the noise, and ran a mile or more at full speed. Meanwhile, Miss Abigail Brown, the only inside passenger and now the sole occupant of the stage, endeavored, by speaking soothingly, to stop the horses. At length they came to a high hill, when their speed began to slacken, and Miss Brown, having previously opened the door and taken a convenient position to alight, sprang out. Not content to save her own life, but bent on acting the part of a heroine, she rushed forward, seized the leaders, turned them out of the road, and held them fast till persons whom she had passed and who had tried to stop the flying steeds, came to her relief. Had this feat, trifling as it may seem, been performed by the wife of some Roman dignitary, she would have been apotheosized and her biography inserted in Lempriere's Classical Dictionary.
They who forgive most shall be most forgiven.—Bailey.
"A worthy old colored woman in the city of New York, was one day walking along the street, on some errand to a neighboring store, with her tobacco pipe in her mouth, quietly smoking. A jovial sailor, rendered a little mischievous by liquor, came sawing down the street, and when opposite our good Phillis, saucily crowded her aside, and with a pass of his hand knocked her pipe out of her mouth. He then halted to hear her fret at his trick, and enjoy a laugh at her expense. But what was his astonishment, when she meekly picked up the pieces of her broken pipe, without the least resentment in her manner, and giving him a dignified look of mingled sorrow, kindness and pity, said, 'God forgive you, my son, as I do.' It touched a tender cord in the heart of the rude tar. He felt ashamed, condemned and repentant. The tear started in his eye; he must make reparation. He heartily confessed his error, and thrusting both hands into his two full pockets of 'change,' forced the contents upon her, exclaiming, 'God bless you, kind mother, I'll never do so again.'"