I gladly returned, like a tired child, to the kindly faces and hearty greetings of my loving and much loved father, mother, brothers, green fields, and all the beautiful children of summer.
"Born where the night owl hooted to the stars,Cradled where sunshine crept through leafy bars;Reared where wild roses bloomed most fair,And songs of meadow larks made glad the summer air,
"Each dainty zephyr whispers follow me,Ten thousand leaflets beckon from each tree;All say, 'why give a life to longings vain?Leave fame and gold: come home: come home again.'
"I hear the forest murmuring 'he has come'A feathered chorus' joyous welcome home;Each flower that nods a greeting seems a partOf nature's welcome back to nature's heart."
The old home was much changed, and for the better. With much patient toil, the unsightly rocks and stumps had been removed from the fields which sloped gracefully to the little river and were covered with tall, waving, luxuriant grasses, starred with buttercups, clover, and daisies. The dilapidated house and barn had given place to modern buildings; apple, pear, and peach-trees, covered with fragrant blossoms were substituted for their decayed and skeleton prototypes; the narrow, crooked, muddy lane, where horses and wagons had struggled through the knee-deep, and often hub-deep sticky clay, had become a firm and fairly straight highway.
My house in the tree on the hilltop, where I had often rehearsed my orations and sermons in such stentorian tones that the amazed cows lifted their tails on high and took to their heels, welcomed me back embowered in leafy new-grown branches.
My second brother, realizing that as "unto the bow the cord is, as unto the child the mother, so unto man the woman is—useless one without the other," had taken unto himself a good wife, the daughter of the deacon, our next neighbor. My mother thus had a much needed helper, as their farms, like their owners, were joined in wedlock.
[Illustration: I Rehearsed My Orations with Startling Effect.]
The worthy deacon and my deeply religious father alternately led the family devotions, and peace and comfort prevailed. The mowing machine, horse-hoe, corn-planter and power-rake dispensed with the drudgery of the scythe and back-breaking hand tools. A protective tariff had set the mill wheels rolling in the neighboring cities, thus furnishing excellent markets for all the products of the farm. The sky-scraping shoe manufactories, where men, like automatons, delved night and day for a few weeks and then leaving them to semi-starvation for the rest of the year, had not yet arrived.
One of my brothers had, like most of the farmers of that day, his little shop where in winter he coined a few hundred dollars making boots and shoes, and where I earned many precious pennies, blackballing the edges and occasionally pegging by hand, all of which is now done by machinery.
We could now afford occasional holidays, when we all gaily sailed down the river, dug clams, caught lobsters in nets, regaled ourselves with toothsome chowders, broils and stews in the open air, and had many rollicking good times swimming in the breakers, frolicking, old and young, like children. We pitched our tents on old Bar Island, slept on the fragrant hay at night, played ball, and renewed our youth inhaling deep draughts of the salty wind which bloweth in from the sea.
When sailing home one day with a wet sheet, a flowing main, and a breeze following far abaft, we espied a boat submerged to the gunwhale floating out to sea. Throwing our yacht up into the wind, we took the craft in tow to the landing, and were surprised and delighted beyond measure to find it nearly half full of fine large lobsters, held there by a wire netting. For weeks we and all the neighbors held high carnival boiling and eating the luscious crustaceans.
We had much merriment one day on a fishing excursion at the expense of a parsimonious member of our crew. At first he alone pulled in the much prized tomcods and flounders. "Well," said he, "I think we better go in, each one for himself." "All right," was the reply, but soon stingy ceased to catch any, while the rest of us pulled in the fish as fast as we could throw the hooks. Mr. Greedy looked very solemn, and at last, unable to repress his selfishness longer, shouted: "I think we better share all alike!" "Too late," was the chorus, and while he carried home but a beggarly string, the rest rejoiced in our great abundance.
These seem like little incidents, light as airy nothings, but they come back to memory in the twilight of life when other and greater events are all forgotten.
When the crops were all harvested, and the winds and snows of winter shut me out from my woodland, river, and seashore haunts, I grew weary of the monotony of the indoor country life, and once more went to the city of Boston in the endless quest of the unattainable.
Restless as the sea, we are never satisfied this side the stars; but we are all looking forward to that sweet by and by, "as the hart panteth for the water brook."
I shall be satisfied, not here, not hereNot where the sparkling waters fade into mockingsands as we draw near,Where in the wilderness each footstep falters,I shall be satisfied; but, oh, not here.
Not here, where every dream of bliss deceives us,Where the worn spirit never finds its goal,But haunted ever by thoughts that grieve us,Across our souls floods of bitter memories roll.
Satisfied, satisfied, the soul's vague longing,The aching void, which nothing earthly fills,Oh, what desires upon my mind are thronging,As my eyes turn upward to the heavenly hills!
Shall they be satisfied, the spirit's yearning,For sweet communion with kindred minds?The silent love that here meets no returning,The inspiration, which no language finds?
There is a land, where every pulse is thrilling,With rapture, earth's sojourners may not know,Where heaven's repose the weary heart is stilling,And peacefully earth's storm-tossed currents flow.
Far out of sight, while yet the flesh enfolds us,Lies that fair country, where our hearts abide,And, of its bliss, naught more wondrous is told us,Than these few words, I shall be satisfied.
The fates, who lead the willing-and drive the unwilling, guided me to the old time firm of B. & T. publishers. They were overwhelmed with applications from the great army of the impecunious, and did not wish to pay any more salaries; but "mercy tempers the blast to the shorn lamb," and they persuaded me, by a tender of large profits on their Worcester's Dictionaries, to strike out on my own hook and endeavor to induce a reluctant public to buy these instead of the popular dictionaries written by "Noah Webster who came over in the ark."
The special prices granted by the publishers enabled me to undersell the wholesalers, and by securing their adoption as regular text-books by school boards, I made more money than ever before in my life, sometimes from $25 to $100 per day, consequently the firm finding I was filling the markets and my own pockets so that they had no sales at regular prices, hired me at a liberal salary as representative of all their publications.
In this business I won my "double stars," although the competition was intense. I often found as many as twenty agents at the same time and in the same town, log-rolling with school committees for the adoption of their books, the merits of the publications "cut but little ice." Nearly every school official "had his price," wanting to know what there was in his vote for him, and the agent who best concealed the bribery hook by dining and wining teachers and committeemen, filling their libraries with complimentary books and their pockets with secret commissions, "caught the most fish."
When among Romans, I was, much to my disgust, obliged to do as Romans did. I would often go to cities where my opponent's readers or arithmetics had been adopted the night before, point out the defects of rival publications, give an unabridged dictionary to each official, offer a ten per cent. commission to the "king pin," take the board in a hack to their headquarters, secure a reconsideration, telegraph for my books, and the next day with express wagons and helpers, put our readers into every school in the town.
This was sharp practice, prices were cut, until finally, we gave new books in even exchange for old ones, trusting to future sales to reimburse us, but when they needed another supply, they would swap even with another publisher, so that our bread cast upon the waters never returned.
We often secured "louder calls" for influential teachers and clergymen in reciprocation for their votes, bought anything they had to sell at their own prices until many publishers became bankrupt; the big fish swallowing the little ones, and then came the survival of the longest purse.
One evening, after my day's work in the city of G—was ended, being lonesome in my hotel, I thought of a family residing there who had a summer residence in R——, and concluded to renew my acquaintance with the eldest daughter with whom I had enjoyed many rides and sails, and to whom I had quoted many romantic poems the previous season.
With fear and trembling, for I was always a bashful youth, I rang the door bell, and was ushered into the parlor where I caught my first glimpse of a fair-haired, rosy-cheeked, graceful younger sister to whom, at a glance, I knew I was married in heaven.
Whence came that vital spark blending our souls in one? Had we lived and loved on some fairer shore? Who can tell? Had our spirits been wandering through the universe millions of years seeking each the other, nor finding rest until we met? Only the angels know.
All we knew and all we seemed to care to know was that at last each had found the "alter ego" for which it pined. There were no others on earth—father, mother, sister, brothers, came and went almost unheeded. Strange as it may seem, on this evening of our first meeting, we told each other the old, old story, first told in Eden, reiterated by millions since, and will continue to be rehearsed until Gabriel through his trumpet sounds the final love song to the world.
With favoring winds, o'er sunlit seas,We sailed for the Hesperides,The land where golden apples grow;But that, ah that was long ago.
How far, since then, the ocean streamsHave swept us from that land of dreams,That land of fiction and of truth,The lost Atlantis of our youth.
Ultima Thule, utmost isle,Here in thy harbors for a while,We lower our sails; awhile we restFrom the unceasing, endless quest.
For a long time I had divided homes and a divided heart, one at the old home with the old folks, the other in the city by the sea.
In our new-born and first-born enthusiasm, we applied to Mary's parents for an early union of hands as well as hearts; but they wisely insisted upon a year's interim, promising that, if at the end of this trial time our ardor had not cooled, they and the minister would "bless you my children," and our hearts should beat as one forevermore.
The course of true love never did run smooth, and when the claiming day arrived, Mary's mother told me that she had been credibly informed that another girl had a prior claim to my promised hand. I protested in vain, and, as the daughter was invisible, I left the house in a rage.
A week, which seemed like a century, passed by on leaden wings in which I strove to drown my sorrows in the "flowing bowl" of hard work, and foolish declarations that "I didn't care"; then came a kind letter from Alderman B——, gracefully apologizing for his wife's mistaken assertions, stating that "Mary was giving them no peace day or night," and inviting me to call at my earliest convenience.
The very next train took me to the old familiar trysting-place, once more the white-winged dove of peace brooded over the B—mansion, and we all, especially the parents, fully realized that in order to appreciate heaven we must have at least seven days of hell.
Shortly after, at the home of the bride's parents, we twain were made one in the presence of numerous friends and presents; the old shoes and rice were duly showered, and we were off for a month's tour, and a lifelong honeymoon.
During this wedding tour, at the request of my employers, I combined business with pleasure, the firm generously paying all our expenses, and continuing my salary.
We visited many cities, greatly enjoying their varied attractions; but the business part of our journey, which was collecting large sums of money due for books, was not particularly delightful, as the banks had all suspended specie payments as a result of the "green back craze," and I was often obliged to resort to legal measures and attachments of property, to secure from reluctant book sellers the sums long overdue.
At one hotel we met with an adventure which well-nigh proved serious. I was awakened at night by the flash from a bull's eye lantern, a sense of suffocation and a scream from my wife. A masked burglar was before me, pressing to my face a handkerchief saturated with chloroform, and endeavoring to take from under the mattress a large sum of money which I had collected the day before.
"No noise," said he, "your money or your life."
"All right," said I quietly, "I'll get it for you." He stepped back a pace, I quickly pulled from under the pillow my self-cocking revolver, and fired in rapid succession.
His pistol exploded at nearly the same time, he dropped to the floor, his light vanished, and for a time all was darkness and suspense. I expected another bullet any moment, and seeing nothing to fire at myself, feared to jump from the bed lest I be seized by invisible hands of the desperate villain. Then came shouts and pounding upon the door by neighbors aroused by the uproar. Encouraged by the reinforcements, I struck a light but the ruffian had escaped through the open window on to a piazza roof, thence by a pillar to the ground.
Then we were besieged by excited inquirers, and the rosy-fingered Aurora, daughter of the dawn, appeared before the calm which succeeded the storm.
Shortly after our return from this journey, a great light went out on earth to shine in heaven. My wife's father suddenly left the body,—he did not die, for
There is no death, what seems so is transition,This life of mortal breathIs but a suburb of the life Elysian,Whose portal we call death.
Alderman B—— was a gentleman of the old school, a loving father, a very successful business man, managing marine railways, ship-building and repairing, as well as grain mills. We missed him sadly; but were consoled by the reflection that our great loss was his eternal gain.
My eldest brother, and two of my brother Mark's children, at about this time crossed the same bright river and rested under the shade of the celestial trees.
Myself and wife had intended to live in G——, but as her father was gone, and as she had formed a strong mutual attachment for my family, my wife the following summer took much pleasure in building a handsome cottage nearly opposite my father's house, and on a beautiful lot of land given us by my brother. We formed a literary and musical club, which met weekly at our house, making it the social centre of the entire town.
I was elected chairman of the school committee, and proceeded vigorously in a crusade against ignorance; but soon found that the life of a reformer is crowned with more thorns than roses, a thousandfold! I removed incompetent teachers who, by their silly question and answer methods, were producing parrots—not scholars.
On one occasion, when I substituted a trained normal school graduate for a useless dancing doll who had made herself popular by flattering parents and coddling their children, all pupils were withdrawn from the school. I told the new teacher to ring the bell, take in sewing if she wished, and draw her salary even if she was left alone in her glory; then I notified the parents that unless they at once sent their children to the school, I should have the pupils arrested for truancy, and themselves fined for violating the laws of the state. Moral suasion had failed; but the strong arm of the law prevailed, and they soon acknowledged that the new instruction was the best they had ever had in the district.
Much time had hitherto been worse than wasted by cramming the minds with the jaw-breaking names of unimportant rivers, mountains, descriptions of all the frog ponds in Ethiopia, and other useless trash in the so-called geographies; in memorizing the obsolete rules of duodecimals, compound proportion, etc., in the arithmetic; long-winded, unpractical rules for grammar, etc.
I issued a circular eliminating this trash from the course of study, substituting the practical short cuts of modern business principles, and in this, also, I met with opposition from the "moss-backs," who insisted that what they had learned in the year one was good enough for their children; they wanted no "new-fangled" notions.
They reminded me of the way-back-hard-shell preacher whose hymn book had been stuffed with profane poems by some lewd fellows of the baser sort. He always opened at random and, trusting to divine guidance, read the first hymn that presented itself; he commenced: "We will sing together the one thousand three hundred and forty 'leventh hime."
"'All around the cobbler's bench the monkey chased the weasel—'"
He was amazed; the congregation was dumbfounded. Taking off his spectacles, wiping them carefully, he put them on his nose again, gazed at the book in consternation: "Well," said he, "I never seed that hime in this yer hime-book before; but the Lord put it in, and we'll sing it whir or no," and proceeded:
"'The preacher kissed the cobbler's wife, pop goes the weasel.'"
As I have said before, it requires a surgical operation to get progressive ideas through our thick heads; but the knife was used freely by me, and I had the satisfaction as well as the odium of infusing much young blood into the worn out educational body during my two years' service as school superintendent in this town.
A few of us wasted our money in building a new church, dedicated to the teaching of the advanced thoughts of the liberal faith; but the people were joined to their idols, and it is now deserted, though the "little leaven has largely leavened the whole lump" of the ancient hell fire theology.
It is very, very hard to endure the slings and arrows of the jealous and envious for whose good you are toiling; to be slandered and reviled by your neighbors whose feeble intellects fail to appreciate your strenuous efforts to push forward the car of progress in their midst; but the consolations expressed in this poem bring balm to every wounded spirit.
"I know as my life grows older,And mine eyes have clearer sight,That under each rank wrong, somewhere,There lies the root of right.That each sorrow has its purposeBy the suffering oft unguessed;But as sure as the sun brings morning,Whatever is, is best.
"I know that each sinful action,As sure as the night brings shade,Is some time, somewhere punished,Though the hour be long delayed.I know that the soul is aidedSometimes, by the heart's unrest,And to grow, means often to suffer;But whatever is, is best.
"I know there are no errorsIn the great eternal plan,And all things work togetherFor the final good of man.And I know when my soul speeds onwardIn the grand eternal quest,I shall say, as I look earthward,Whatever is, is best."
By and by unwonted silence and anxiety reigned in our house. The family doctor remained all night, then a faint cry was heard, and little baby May came into this world of ours,
"The gates of heaven were left ajar;With clasping hands and dreamy eyes,Wandering out of paradise,She saw this planet, like a star;We felt we had a link betweenThis real world and that unseen."
These beautiful lines of one of the sweetest of earth's singers, came to us like a new revelation at the advent of our first-born, as also those other immortal words—
"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting,The soul that rises with us, our life's star,Hath had elsewhere its setting,And cometh from afar.Not in entire forgetfulnessAnd not in utter nakedness,But trailing clouds of glory do we comeFrom heaven, which is our home."
Our little vocalist commenced rehearsing for her chosen profession the very minute that she first saw the light, and she certainly continued the development of her lungs with marvelous persistency. Then her numerous grandparents, uncles, and aunts all vied with each other in petting and spoiling the one pet lamb of the several families, and she basked in the sunshine of unlimited affection.
A few bright years sped by, all roseate with love, prosperity and contentment in this happy valley. Then two little cherubs, just alike as "two peas in a pod" came to us at dawn of day, like twin rays from the rising sun, their blue eyes beaming with smiles which have continued ever since.
We named them Ada and Ida: but were obliged to label them to tell "which was which," and said label is essential for distinguishment to this very day, though twenty-four bright summers have passed since the sight of them first gladdened our hearts.
But almost with the sunbeams came the terrible cloud overspreading all our lives. The mother had scarcely welcomed the twin buds of promise, when she faded away like a flower and was
"Gone beyond the darksome river,Only left us by the way;Gone beyond the night forever,Only gone to endless day;
Gone to meet the angel faces,Where our lovely treasures are;Gone awhile from our embraces,Gone within the gates ajar."
There seemed to be no light left on earth; the sun was blotted out forever,
Oh glory of our youth that so suddenly decays!Oh crimson flush of morning that darkens as we gaze!Oh breath of summer blossoms that on the restless airScatters a moment's sweetness, and flies we know not where!
"A boat at midnight sent aloneTo drift upon the moonless sea;A lute whose leading chord is gone;A wounded bird that hath but oneImperfect wing to soar upon,Are like meOh loved one, without thee;"
but the pitiful wailings of the twin girl babies called me back to earth again, and I took up the cares of existence, though they seemed greater than I could bear.
The largest church in the village was filled to overflowing with sincere mourners, for the sweet face of the departed had brought good cheer into many darkened households in our town. All sectarian barriers were for the time burned away by the flame of sympathy, and wonderful to tell, the Universalist clergyman who married us was allowed to pronounce the eulogy in an orthodox Congregational church.
When the organ pealed the requiem and the choir chanted the ever dear words of the hymn—
"Only waiting till the shadows are a little longer grown,"
and closing with the triumphant expression of a deathless faith; it required but a little imagination to see the light streaming through the open door of heaven, and to hear the responses of the angel choir from the great cathedral on high, and we wended our homeward way thinking not of "dust to dust, ashes to ashes," but of the disembodied spirit to be our guardian angel forevermore.
"Faith sees a star, and listening love hears the rustle of a wing." Infinitely sad was the passing of our beloved, to those left in the earth-life; but soothingly comes to us the song chanted by the choir invisible whenever a soul escapes the mortal coil:
"Passing out of the shadow,Into a purer light;Stepping behind the curtain,Getting a clearer sight.
"Laying aside a burden,This weary mortal coil;Done with the world's vexations—Done with its tears and toil.
"Tired of all earth's playthings,Heartsick and ready to sleep—Ready to bid our friends farewell,Wondering why they weep.
"Passing out of the shadowInto eternal day—Why do we call it dying,This sweet going away?"
But we must descend from the sublime to the stern realities of this workaday world. Of all the people on this earth, a lone, lorn widower with three babies on his hands, is the most forlorn and miserable. Take care of them himself he cannot, and if he hires the ordinary woman to do so, she immediately sets her cap for him, and leaves no stone unturned to secure him for a husband, especially if he is possessed of some of this world's goods which she covets with all her mind and soul.
Words are inadequate to describe the annoyances I endured for two weary years from this class of women, who seemed to be the only ones who would come to a lonely country home to assume such responsibilities and endless labors. The world seemed full of these anxious but not aimless women, who claimed to adore little children; but who really cared for nothing except to capture a "widower with means."
One nurse carelessly slipped on the stairs, and the twins went flying from her arms through the air down the long passageway, apparently to their death; only a miracle saved them. I picked up the little wingless cherubs, scarcely bigger than my fist, and their blue eyes smiled at me, as if they had really enjoyed their aerial flight.
They seemed to have a charmed and charming existence; they were the admiration of all the people far and wide who flocked to our house to see and fondle the really "heavenly twins." My business kept me from home nearly all the time; but my father, mother, brother, and sister-in-law kindly watched my caretakers with argus eyes, and the so-called triplets throve wonderfully day by day.
Whenever in my absence, my good childless brother and his wife found one of my hired women unworthy, he would tell her to pack her trunk, then he would drive her to the depot, banish her from the town over which he long reigned as chairman of the selectmen and State representative, telegraph me to hunt up another one, and thus the road to the station was nearly worn out, and the railroad receipts were greatly augmented.
One of these women, while I was far away, greatly scandalized the whole town by leaving the "light infantry" to their fate one Sunday, and indulging in the pious delights of shooting wood-chucks. My indignant brother and his father-in-law deacon disarmed the jezabel, made her sleep in the barn that night, sent her off flying the next morning, and personally, tenderly as mothers, watched over the children until I arrived with another nurse.
One woman whipped little May secretly with a stick; but the victim's wonderful lungs aroused my mother who, reinforced by the entire family, overpowered the virago, and sent her off on the next train. It is evident from these thrilling recitals that I was not a good mind-reader of woman character; but they were as sweet as angels when I was at home, and evidently the unwonted self-restraint to thus appear reacted very forcibly when the widower was out of sight.
I vowed in my wrath that I would never again speak to a woman outside my own immediate family. I tried in vain to hire men nurses, and I sympathized with Paolo Orsini, who slipped a cord around the neck of Isabella di Medici, and strangled her; I almost envied Curzon of Simopetra who had never seen a woman. But I soon found that this misanthropy was unjust, that I misjudged the pure depths of life's river by a little dirty froth floating upon the surface.
Women can no more be lumped together in level community than men can be. There is an ample variety of tenacious womanly characters between the extremes marked by Miriam beating her timbrels, and Cleopatra applying the asp; Cornelia, caring for nothing but her Roman jewels; Guyon, rapt in God; Lucrezia Borgia raging with bowl and dagger, and Florence Nightingale sweetening the memory of the Crimean war with philanthropic deeds.
What group of men can be brought together more distinct in individuality, more contrasted in diversity of traits and destiny, than such women as Eve in the garden of Eden, Mary at the foot of the cross, Rebecca by the well, Semiramis on her throne, Ruth among the corn, Jezabel in her chariot, Lais at a banquet, Joan of Arc in battle, Tomyris striding over the field with the head of Cyrus in a bag of blood, Perpetua smiling on the lions in the amphitheatre, Martha cumbered with many cares, Pocahontas under the shadow of the woods, Saint Theresa in the Convent, Madame Roland on the scaffold, Mother Agnes at Port Royal, exiled DeStael wielding her pen as a sceptre, and Mrs. Fry lavishing her existence on outcasts?
One day I was introduced by a friend to a very attractive lady school-teacher, who combined with superior domestic training, elocutionary and musical accomplishments. She was so sincere and sympathetic that I found myself almost unconsciously expressing the same sentiments that I had spoken to another long ago in the city by the sea.
The love which I supposed had passed on forever to the other world, seemed to be sent back to me through the opening clouds of evening by my self-sacrificing spirit bride, to give to another who would love and cherish the helpless little ones who so needed a mother's care.
I poured forth all my sorrows, troubles, perplexities and needs to a congenial, sympathetic spirit, and she consented to go to my home and take up the burdens which the ascended mother had been required by the angel-world to lay down.
On the arrival of the new housekeeper, order was evolved out of chaos; the children received the best of care, and the horse a much needed rest after his arduous labors in carting to and from the depot the numerous hired women who had been "weighed in the balance and found wanting." In the following month of roses, Lillian concluded that my "first glance" attachment was reciprocated; we were married in her father's house at Allston; we enjoyed a brief tour of the White Mountains, and then settled down in our cottage to our life work. The peace of God, which always comes, sooner or later to those who strive to do their duty, was ours, and the inspiration of Whittier's sweet poem "My Psalm" brought infinite consolation to our blended lives.
"I mourn no more my vanished years;Beneath a tender rain,An April rain of smiles and tears,My heart is young again.
"All as God wills, who wisely heedsTo give or to withhold,And knoweth more of all my needsThan all my prayers have told.
"All the jarring notes of lifeSeem blending in a psalm,And all the angles of its strifeSlow rounding into calm.
"And so the shadows fall apart,And so the sunbeams play;And all the windows of my heartI open to the day."
I had always been somewhat prominent in politics, being President of the Republican Club in our town, and that autumn I was hired by Dr. George B. Loring to conduct his campaign for the position of Representative in Congress; this I accomplished so successfully that Judge Thayer, the chairman of the State Committee, hired me to stump the Commonwealth against General Butler and in favor of the Hon. George D. Robinson as candidate for Governor. This campaign will long be remembered as being the most fiercely contested of any in the political history of Massachusetts, and many incidents in my career as a public speaker are much pleasanter in the reminiscence than in the endurance. One will suffice by way of illustration.
Free speech was not tolerated by our frantic greenback opponents, and stale eggs with decayed cabbages hurled at the heads of Republican orators were the strongest arguments used by the General's admirers to combat our appeals for protective tariff and sound money. At a meeting of our state committee in Boston, Judge Thayer announced that General Hall of Maine, one of our most brilliant speakers, could not reach Rockport, where he was billed to hold forth, before ten o'clock that evening, and called for volunteers to hold the audience for two hours. Rockport was almost solid for Butler, and his friends had declared that no Republican should speak there, consequently no one volunteered. At last, the Judge, in despair, said:
"Foss, will you go?"
"I shall obey orders," was my reply, amid cheers of the much-relieved shirkers, and I bolted for the train.
On arriving at my destination, I found the station crowded with a howling mob, and the Republican town committee were frantically shouting: "General Hall, General Hall!" "Here," said I, and only by the vigorous aid of the clubs of the police was I hustled through the embattled hosts to a hack, which took me to the hall where I walked on the shoulders of a friendly uniformed club to the platform, which I finally reached with torn apparel and in a condition of almost physical and mental collapse.
The "hail to the chief," by the band was drowned by the cat-calls: "Put him out!"—"Duck him!"—"Ride him on a rail!" etc., etc., Yells of the Butlerites who had packed the hall. At last I got my "mad up," and rising, I lighted a cigar, puffed vigorously, and smiled upon my uproarious foes. This astonished the "great unwashed," and a big Irishman jumped on the stage, shouting:
"Shut up, shut up, byes! Let's hear what the cuss has to say; he's a cool un."
There was silence. Taking out my cigar, I laughed long and loud.
"What you laughing at?" howled the mob.
"This reminds me," said I, very slowly, "of a little story."
"Out with it," was the response.
"When I was a teacher in Marblehead," drawled I, "I had occasion to wallop a boy with a cowhide. I made him touch his toes with his fingers and laid on the braid where it would do the most good; the more I whaled him the more he laughed. I laid on Macduff with a 'damned be he who first cries hold, enough,' determination, and yet he laughed. 'What you laughing at?' cried I. 'Oh, ha, ha, ha, you're licking the wrong boy,' giggled the unspeakable scamp. It's just that way here. You gentlemen are licking the wrong boy; I am not General Hall, at all, I am Lieutenant-General Ulysses S. Grant." The crowd roared: "He's a good un, let's hear him—ha, ha, ha, he's a good un," and for two hours I had as good-natured an audience as you ever saw.
"You say you don't want a protective tariff; you don't want sound money. Well, you remind me of the man who killed his father, mother, brothers, sisters, and when condemned to death he begged the judge to have mercy upon a poor orphan. You have killed the tariff twice, and nearly every mill wheel stopped, and you and I had to beg from door to door or live on dry crackers and shin-bones. Do you want that kind of provender again? Butler says, 'give us greenbacks by the ton, and everybody will be rich.' You tried that once and you carried your money to market in a bushel basket, and brought back the dinner you bought with it in a gill dipper. Do you want any more such times?"
"Be Gorrah," cried my big Irish friend, "that's so: I rimimber it well. I'd forgut it; the bye's right, he is."
"Yes," I yelled, "Butler says he'll leave the Republican party out in the cold. It reminds me of the old farmer who rushed outdoors in his bed-shirt, bareheaded and barefooted in winter, grabbed a barking dog who was disturbing his rest, by the ears; his wife came down to hunt him up. 'What on airth, father, you doin'?' she cried, as she saw his knees knocking together, and his teeth chattering with the cold. 'I've gut the cuss,' he shouted, 'and I'll hold him here till he freezes to death.'
"You'll hold your employers out in the cold, will you? Well, who'll freeze to death first if you stop the factories? The owners who have plenty of money, or you who are dependent upon the work they give you for every cent you get? General Butler who lives in a palace, and drives a kingly equipage tries to frighten you by painting the bugaboo; 'the rich growing richer, and the poor growing poorer,' that soon a half-dozen plutocrats will have all the money there is in the world, and then the rest of the people will all starve. It reminds me of the old farmer who set up such an outrageous looking scarecrow in his field that the crows not only let his present corn alone, but they actually brought back in their terrible fright all the corn they had stolen in the previous ten years. Are we craven crows to be scared by such windy effigies?"
Thus having caught their attention by light weight stories, I gave them broadsides of facts and arguments until I won the greatest political fight of my life. We won a famous victory; the workers, as usual, were soon forgotten; the elected exulted in their brief authority; the defeated at once began log-rolling for the next election, and so the office hunting strife goes on forever. After this I resumed the work of my crusade against ignorance and bad literature, having had my pockets well filled by those who are always eager to trade money for fame.
Our home was three miles from the railroad station, and the wintry winds with deep snows made the frequent journeys to and fro over the bleak, uncomfortable country roads, extremely cold and often hazardous.
I had endured for years these alternate freezing and roasting rides for the pleasure of living near the old folks; but now the numerous colds and coughs resulting from the exposure drove me to move nearer to the depot, and we bought a large three-story house with barn and fourteen acres of land on High Street in the city of N——.
We rejuvenated our old castle with paint, new boiler and paper, letting loose upon our devoted heads numerous fevers and other diseases which generations had stored up on the walls, all eager for new victims. Strange it is, that all bad things are so contagious and so long-lived to punish the innocent for the sins of the guilty.
Upon me, the descendant of a long line of farmers, fell the agricultural fever, and I broke my own back as well as that of the hired man, cultivating that sterile soil where my potatoes cost me about a quarter of a dollar a piece, and each blade of grass, sickness and much hard-earned cash. We made the old place to bud and blossom like the rose, but the game as usual was not worth the candle, and an ulcerated sore throat which some predecessor had breathed upon the paper which we tore off, left me a walking skeleton, when ex-Congressman Loring, then United States Commissioner of Agriculture, came to my relief by appointing me his deputy for Florida at a good salary, to investigate and report upon the developed and undeveloped resources of that State, and its attractions for northern settlers. I gladly accepted this commission to serve my country, for—
Somewhere the sun is shining,I thought as I toiled alongIn the freezing cold of the winter,Yes, somewhere the sun is shiningThough here I shiver and sigh,Not a breath of warmth is stirringNot a beam in the arctic sky.
Somewhere the thing we long forExists on earth's wide bound,Somewhere the heat is cheeringWhile here winter nips the ground.Somewhere the flowers are springing,Somewhere the corn is brown,And is ready unto the harvestTo feed the hungry town.
Somewhere the twilight gathers,And weary men lay byThe burdens of the daytime,And wrapped in slumber lie.
Somewhere the day is breaking,And gloom and darkness flee;Though storms our bark are tossing,There's somewhere a placid sea.
And thus, I thought, 'tis alwaysIn this mysterious life,There's always gladness somewhereIn spite of its pain and strife;And somewhere the sin and sorrowOf earth are known no more;Somewhere our weary spiritsShall find a peaceful shore.
This season there broke out in our community, as elsewhere, what has always appeared to me, to be a distemper, misnamed by its crafty creator, "Christian Science." Unchristian scienceless would be a more appropriate name, as the so-called divine revelation was made to its Eddyfying high priestess about 1800 years after the sublime career of Christ was ended, and its preposterous claims antagonize every principle of modern science.
This craze seized certain discontented young women who studied "Science and Health" under the tutorage of its author, and they soon became too transcendental to perform the useful duties of life, posing as teachers of the "utterly utter." It monopolized the feeble intellects of some farmers' boys, who at once began to try to get a lazy living by sitting beside sick women with their hands over their eyes, ostensibly engaged in prayer, but really endeavoring to prey upon the weak minded.
Some superstitious people who had been long under the care of a regular physician, and who were just at the turning point of receiving benefit therefrom, took an "Eddy sitting" and jumped to the conclusion that said mummery affected a miraculous cure.
As a drowning man clutching at a straw, I confess that I accepted the offer of treatments, made by a pleasant lady "Christian science" doctor. I found it tolerably agreeable to sit by her side, holding her soft hand while she assumed an attitude of supplication, but my malady was in nowise benefited thereby. This amiable lady finally loaned me a copy of their sacred book called "Science and Health," expressing the opinion that a careful reading thereof would renew my youth and make me a believer in their modern Eleusinian mysteries forever.
I read this preposterous book with all the earnestness and prayerfulness of which I was capable; but found it to be a heterogeneous conglomeration of words—mere words, a hodge podge of all the exploded philosophical, religious, and scientific heresies of the past ages, so cunningly jumbled that the gullible, unable to find any meaning to it, conclude that it is too profound for their comprehension, and unwilling to acknowledge the fact for fear of being called ignorant, solemnly pronounce it to be great.
One quotation will reveal the utter nothingness of this book, from the sale of which "Pope Eddy" is said to have realized, a half-million dollars. Says this modern goddess: "The word Adam is from the Hebrew Adamah, signifying the red color of the ground, dust, nothingness. Divide the name Adam into two syllables, and it reads a dam or obstruction. This suggests the thought of something fluid, of mortal mind in solution."
Like all the other humbugs of superstition, this new doctrine seems to me to contain but a single drop of truth submerged in an ocean of folly. Mary Baker G. Eddy, the great high priestess, claims to possess the power to heal the sick and raise the dead; yet she has retired with much lucre to her palatial residence, lives like a queen, rolling in luxury, refusing to exercise her pretended healing power upon the thousands writhing in agony and whom she claims to be able to cure. Surely her "Key to the Scriptures" should thunder in her ears the anathema, "To him who knoweth to do good and doeth it not, to him it is a sin."
I, too, claim a great discovery, a new "sacred book," which I have been inspired to write, and if people will give it the implicit faith required to benefit by "Christian Science," I will guarantee to cure all mental ills, and to bring eternal peace on earth. I herewith give my revelation to all, without money and without price, in strong contrast to the mercenary methods of the Eddy healers. My "science and health" ismultum in parvo. Here it is:
Columbus discovered the new world; but his wife discovered the old world. The name of his wife, of course, was Columba, which in Latin, means a dove. Columba, the dove, flew forth from the ark, and so discovered the Eastern Continent. Columbus sailed from G—noa; but Columba sailed from Noah, and when the gods saw her with the olive-branch, they said "blessed be the dove, for whosoever shall receive her by faith into his heart, the same shall be free from unrest and from war forevermore."
Faith can remove mountains, and faith is all there is to "Christian Science," so far as we have been able to ascertain. We concede to its many devotees an almost unlimited amount of this saving grace; but sincerely claim that our "Columba science" will be equally efficient for good if received in the same spirit which has greeted the new gospel promulgated by Saint Mary Baker G. Eddy.Selah.
[Illustration: We Steamed up the Lordly St. John's River of Florida.]
After these scientific investigations, my wife and I left New England covered with snow and swept by fierce, freezing winds to find this far-famed peninsular basking in delicious sunshine, the air full of the exquisite perfume of orange blossoms and the songs of rejoicing birds. It was an enchanted land, the balsamic odors from the beautiful evergreen pine forests starred by the fragrant magnolia blossoms of spotless white, exorcised the ulceratic demons from throat and lungs.
We feasted upon the delicious fruits and vegetables fresh from the trees and earth, and the returning healthy appetite was refreshed by tender venison, wild turkeys and quails from the woods, nutritious and abundant fish and ducks from the lakes and rivers. It was a new heaven and a new earth, full of gladness and semi-tropical luxuries.
As soon as the hospitable people learned that I represented our beloved Uncle Sam, I was overwhelmed with free passes and free hotels, anywhere and everywhere.
The Count De Barry, who had amassed a vast fortune as the American representative of "Mum's Extra Dry," and who had received numerous valuable seeds and shrubs from our generous department, took us on his palatial steamer for hundreds of miles up the lordly St. John's River, where we feasted our eyes upon acres of wild ducks, pelicans, cranes and many huge, lazy alligators floating on the waves, rejoicing in the life-giving beams of the sun.
The stately trees along the banks, old when Adam was a baby, were covered with flowering vines of wondrous beauty and fragrance; then vast orange groves appeared covered with blossoms, small and ripe fruit all at the same time; numerous herds of cattle standing knee deep in the water, leisurely browsing upon the river plants both on the surface and under the shallow river.
We would anchor, and throwing a clasp-net which spread out on the bottom and then closed like a purse, we pulled in excellent fish by the hundreds; sitting on the canopied deck we shot ducks which the negroes captured in small boats, and soon served cooked for our delectation; pineapples and berries were brought from the shore, in fact, it was a lotus-eater's dream of paradise, and seemed to be a land and a river "flowing with milk and honey."
The words from Willis' confessional came floating to our minds.
"On ocean many a gladsome night,When heaved the long and sullen sea,With only waves and stars in sight,We stole along by isles of balm;We furled before the coming gale,We slept amid the breathless calm,We flew beneath the straining sail.
Oh, softly on these banks of hazeHer rosy face the summer lays,Becalmed along the azure skyThe argosies of cloudland lie;The holy silence is God's voiceWe look, and listen, and rejoice."
When the night fell, and one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, blossomed out the beautiful stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels, they seemed so near that you almost expected to touch them with the hand, and the silver moon arising, set the clouds on fire with gladness and "left upon the level water one long track and trail of splendor, down whose stream we sailed into the purple vapors, to the islands of the blessed, to the kingdom of Ponemah to the land of the hereafter."
While thus we dreamed, the balmy zephyr brings from the forecastle to our delighted hearing, the tinkling music of the banjo and guitar, the melody of the singing voices and dancing feet of our freedmen boat's crew. The lines of Whittier were resurrected in our thoughts.
"Dear, the black man holds his giftsOf music and of song,The gold that kindly nature siftsAmong his sands of wrong,The power to make his toiling daysAnd poor home comforts please;The quaint relief of mirth that playsWith sorrow's minor keys."
For they sang among others the identical words of the poet's expressive song,
"Ole massa on he trabbels gone,He leaf de land behind:De Lord's breff blow him furder on,Like corn-shuck in de wind:We own de hoe, we own de plow,We own de hans dat hold,We sell de pig, we sell de cow,But nebber chile be sold.
De norf wind tell it to de pines,De wild-duck to de sea,We tink it when de church-bell ring,We dream it in de dream,De rice-bird mean it when he sing,De eagle when he scream,De yam will grow, de cotton blow,We'll hab de rice and corn;Nebber you fear, if nebber you hearDe driber blow his horn."
And so all too quickly passed that ideal night, without thought of sleep, till the rising sun shot his radiant beams over the great river, when we steamed slowly up to the long pier, and walked under an arch of stately palms to our host's beautiful home, embowered in orange trees and luxuriant trumpet creepers in this summer land of perpetual bloom.
Close by the Count's residence was a lake of sulphur water, gushing from deep down in the earth. Into this we plunged and swam until we seemed to be born again into immortal youth, then on the broad piazza we enjoyed a feast which would have delighted Jupiter and all his gods, every course of which was taken from the adjoining trees, grounds and waters.
We then inspected the great plantation, where was found growing in profusion, everything essential to the wants of the most fastidious of mortals, while the surrounding woods and river teemed with a great variety of fish and game.
I roam as in a waking dreamThe garden of the Hesperides,And see the golden fruitage gleamAmid the stately orange-trees.
Unfading green is on the hill,The vales are decked with countless flowers,While hums the bee, the song birds trillSweet music through the sunny hours.
The moss is waving in the galeFrom live oak, hickory, and pine,And draping like a bridal-veilThe beauteous yellow jessamine.
Through countless vistas in the woodI see the windows of the mornOpe to the world a glowing floodOf glory when the day is born.
And when, with robes of Tyrian dye,The evening comes when day is done,I see around the radiant skyA hundred sunsets blent in one.
We parted from our genial entertainer with much reluctance when the superintendent of the railroad claimed us as his guests, and with him, we inspected the famous orange groves along his line, resting on Sunday at a palatial hotel where the St. John's River broadens into the great Lake Munroe.
While at church we were much entertained by the lively, frolicsome manoeuvres of the numerous beautiful chameleons of rapidly changing colors, who greatly distracted the attention of the congregation from the service by their pranks on the walls and decorations.
Directly in front of us was a sleepy, bald-headed man upon whose shining, nodding, snoring pate several flies were resting in quiet enjoyment of the sermon. All at once, this toothsome collection attracted the attention of a very large bright-eyed chameleon admirer who launched himself through the air upon said bald head in pursuit of his dinner. With a yell of fear, the sleeper struck the animal with his huge hand, sending the long tailed frolicsome creature heels over head directly upon the clergyman's manuscript, and the alarmed preacher, in turn, with a smothered imprecation and a sweeping blow, hurled the sprawling legs and elongated tail down upon some frightened children who screamed and tumbled over each other upon the floor in a struggling heap.
This was too much for the pent-up risibilities of the audience who laughed long and loud, greatly to the disturbance of the solemnity of the occasion. The witty minister remarked that this addition to his flock, like some church members, seemed to care more for the carnal than the spiritual, and proceeded to the thirteenthly division of his discourse.
From here we traveled for hundreds of miles over the flat, monotonous, arid sands of south Florida, where green grass and fresh garden vegetables were unknown, frequently remarking that if we owned these localities and hades, we would give away the former and live in the latter place. But when we retraced our steps, and reached the rich highlands of the northern counties of Marion, Bradford, and Clay, found the earth covered with green grass in winter, the trees beautiful with blossoms and luscious oranges, the air fragrant with rare flowers, and resonant with songs of birds, saw the planters shipping thousands of crates of fruit and vegetables, and finally arrived at the far-famed Silver Springs, it seemed as if we had found Ponce de Leon's fountain of immortal youth.
The crystal clear waters of this wonderful spring, or more properly called lake, gush in immense volumes seemingly from the very centre of the earth, spreading out until wide and deep enough to float a great navy, and are so transparent that multitudes of fishes are seen disporting among marine plants and shells plainly discernible hundreds of feet below.
Here we embarked on a comfortable steamer, and sailed nearly twenty-four hours down the incomparable Ocklawaha River, through scenes that are indescribably picturesque; under arches of gigantic trees covered with sombrely beautiful Spanish mosses and trumpet creeper vines, where all day long are heard the ecstatic songs of mockingbirds, and where flutter the plumages of all the colors of the rainbow.
[Illustration: The Indiscribably Picturesque Ocklawaha River ofFlorida.]
Swiftly the golden hours fly, as we float over this marvelous river; softly the dusky boatmen chant their love songs, the fires from their "fatwood" cauldron on the upper deck illuminates the stately trees, and the strains of the poet, Butterworth, come plaintively to our mental hearing.
"We have passed funereal glooms,Cypress caverns, haunted rooms,Halls of gray moss starred with blooms—Slowly, slowly, in these straits,Drifting towards the cypress gatesOf the Ocklawaha.
"In the towers of green o'erheadWatch the vultures for the dead,And below the egrets redEye the mossy pools like fates,In the shadowy cypress gatesOf the Ocklawaha.
"Clouds of palm crowns lie behind,Clouds of gray moss in the wind,Crumbling oaks with jessamines twined,Where the ring-doves meet their mates,Cooing in the cypress gatesOf the Ocklawaha.
"High the silver ibis flies—Silver wings in silver skies;In the sun the Saurian lies:Comes the mockingbird and pratesTo the boatman at the gatesOf the Ocklawaha.
"Now the broader waters gleam—Seems my voyage upon the streamLike a semblance of a dream,And the dream my Soul elates;Life flows through the cypress gatesOf the Ocklawaha.
"Ibis, thou wilt fly again,Ring-dove, thou wilt sigh again,Jessamines bloom in golden rain;And a loving song-bird waitsMe beyond the cypress gatesOf the Ocklawaha."
When I had concluded the recitation of the poem which closes the preceding chapter, a fine-looking gentleman sitting near us arose, and lifting his hat very gracefully, said:
"Pardon me. As a native Floridian, I have much enjoyed hearing you repeat that poem relating to my State."
This led to a pleasant conversation, during which he introduced us to his wife as being one of the aborigines. We expressed much interest in this statement, and finally persuaded him to give us an account of his courtship, which, with some amplifications, was substantially as follows:
It is midnight in the vast everglades of Florida. The mammoth forest trees seem to support the arch of heaven as the pillars uphold the great dome of the nation's capitol. Here and there the century-old orange trees are resplendent with the golden globes of the luscious fruit, and millions of flowering vines beautify even the dead monarchs of the woods.
All these tropical splendors are illumined by the rays of the full hunter's moon, which transforms the trailing streamers of dewy Spanish moss into long-drawn chains of sparkling silver. From swamp and foliage the voices of the night fill the balmy air with quavering wailings, punctured by the occasional screams of wild-cats and hootings of the melancholy owls. Here in this forest primeval, mid the murmuring pines and star-eyed magnolias, nature rules supreme, uncontaminated by the trammels of civilization.
But what is that? Surely human forms swinging noiselessly from limb to limb over dark pools where the deadly moccasins and ferocious alligators slumber, over stagnant lagoons beautified by great lilies, and densely populated with rainbow colored fishes, and gaily decorated by water-fowl now all motionless in the embrace of sleep, the brother of death.
The moonbeams reveal a band of broad-shouldered, copper-colored aborigines, who once ruled over the whole of this fair peninsular. They are returning, with packs of supplies strapped upon their backs, from a trading journey to the city of Kissimmee, where they have exchanged the fruits of their hunting for many-colored calicos, ammunition, and alas for the once-noble red men! fire-water. They had left their canoes when they could no longer be floated, and are now returning in this, the only possible manner, to their fertile oasis, protected from the white men by many miles of bogs into which all foot travelers would sink to unknown slimy depths and death.
On they come in single file, hand over hand from tree to tree, their long legs dangling in the air, led by Tiger-tail, the chief of the survivors of the most intelligent and powerful of all the Indian tribes. Suddenly the leader stops, gives the low cry of the Ring-dove, which halts his followers, and suspended in air, gazes at the sleeping form of a young white man, reclining, with his rifle beside him, on a hammock which rises dry and grass-covered above the surrounding morasses.
Motioning his band to follow, the chief drops noiselessly beside the sleeper, stealthily seizes the gun, revolver, and bowie-knife of the helpless victim, hands them to others, and shouts "Humph, wake up!" The pale-face reaches for his weapons, and finding them gone, jumps to his feet, gazing without flinching at his stalwart captors.
"Who you be?" grunted the chief. "What for you here?"
"I am Henry Lee of Lawtey," was the calm reply, "and I am hunting."
"Humph, you white man hunt Seminole from earth. You no right here. You my prisoner; follow me, my slave."
As resistance was useless, the youth silently obeys, climbing hour after hour until his arms seemed about to be wrenched from their sockets. At last, just as the rising sun shot his lances of light through the forest's gloom, the chief drops to solid earth, followed by all.
A romantically beautiful scene lies before them. No longer the styx-like waters; the funereal realms of Pluto have vanished, and an elevated plateau appears, partially cleared. Here and there graceful palms, tall, slender cocoanut and orange trees laden with fruit; sparkling springs; abundant harvests of varied crops; picturesque wigwams and huts, fair as the garden of the Lord. A pack of dogs started to yelp, but at once slunk away at a word from the chieftain, who points to a hut, quietly saying: "Go in there till I call you."
Henry obeyed, and exhausted with his journey, sank quickly to sleep upon the straw-covered floor. At length, when the sun was high in the heavens, he was awakened by a black man, who placed before him some venison and corn bread, then silently withdrew. After satisfying his hunger, he went out to explore.
It was an ideal scene of tropical luxuriance; cattle and sheep were feeding upon the abundant grasses; but they suddenly took to their heels, with uplifted tails and terrified eyes, at the sight of his white face, a spectacle never before seen on this oasis, peopled hitherto exclusively by "Copperheads." Swarms of children were shooting their arrows at deer-skin targets; groups of braves, fantastically attired, lounged under the shade of the wide-spreading umbrella trees, smoking fragrant tobacco in long-stemmed pipes, but they did not deign to give the visitor even an inquiring glance.
Henry interviewed a number of negroes hoeing corn and sweet potatoes, who informed him in broken English that they were the slaves of the Indians; that they had never heard of the civil war, nor of Abraham Lincoln. They claimed to be well treated, and were contented, having plenty to eat and no very severe labor. They cast anxious glances towards the village, and seemed glad when he walked away, saying they had never before seen a white man and thought he must be "big medicine."
The birds were singing gaily, all nature smiled complacently, and he strolled over the flower-bedecked fields into the recesses of the forest, where he seated himself under a blossom-covered magnolia around which twined the fragrant jessamine. He gave himself up to day-dreams. All at once a light, moccasined footfall is heard, and there stepped from the woods an Indian girl, graceful as a fawn, with her head crowned with flowers, and softly singing a strange, sweet song in an unknown tongue. When the stranger was seen she started to flee, but with a smile he beckoned her to stop, which she did, as though hypnotized.
"Oh," she whispered, "you are the pale-face my father has captured; but if Tiger-tail should see me speaking to you, he would kill us both. Such is the law of the Seminoles. No Indian maiden must speak to a white man; but I never saw such as you before."
"But, how happens it," said he, in astonishment, "that you speak my language?"
"My father taught me," was the reply, "he is a scholar; we all speak some American."
"May I know your name?" asked our hero.
"I am Sunbeam, daughter of the Seminole chief."
"And mine is Henry Lee," he replied to her inquiring look. "You are well named," he continued. "I have seen many daughters of the pale-faces; but none so fair and bright as you. Sunbeam, at this my first glance, I love you; can you sometime love me?"
"I do love you now," replied the artless girl; "the Great Spirit tells me to do so; but we must not be seen together; they will kill us, we must part at once."
"Dearest," cried Henry, "when can we meet again?"
"To-morrow at noon," came the impulsive reply. "In my cave there back of that cypress; no one is allowed to enter but me; there I say my prayers, and my father says it is sacred to me alone. Good-bye, Henry," and she sped like a deer into the shades of the forest.
The youth was sincere, for it had flashed upon him like an inspiration when their eyes first met, that she was born for him, and he for her. They were married in heaven, ages ago. It came like a word from the Infinite to these kindred souls. A sudden rent in the veil of darkness which surrounds us manifests things unseen. Such visions sometimes effect a transformation in those whom they visit, converting a poor camel driver into a Mohammed, a peasant girl tending goats, into a Joan of Arc.
This love-flash from the invisible blent these two hitherto widely separated souls into one, even as the positive electricity leaps through the spaces to find the negative, and when met, dissolves the separateness into a harmonious oneness which can never be sundered. The unsophisticated Indian maiden went her way, thrilling with the thought that her heart is in his bosom, and his in hers, useless one without the other.
The white youth was suddenly changed from an idle, wandering, purposeless dreamer, into a fearless lover, ready to face death itself to secure the object of his worship, and he sauntered back to his hut with no flinching from the many dangers which surrounded him.
There a black slave met him, bearing an abundant feast. "Eat," said the negro, "and then go to the lodge of Tiger-tail, the largest in the village, with the skin of a tiger stretched on the door."
As soon as Henry had assuaged his hunger, he hastened to obey the summons. As before, no human being noticed him, and he walked to the wigwam, knocked on the door-post, and answering the "come" from within, entered. To his astonishment, the giant leader was evidently trying to read a newspaper, but took no notice of his entrance for some minutes, when he suddenly said:
"What is this?" pointing to a line of what Henry saw was the message to Congress of the President of the United States. The chief watched closely as his captive slowly read: