A few miles to the north-east of Sudbury the country, at the time I
speak of it, had a wild and forbidding appearance. This was partly owing
to the immense forest which stretched along a continuous ridge of land
covering both sides of it and the plain below. On one side of this ridge
the face of the country was very rough; on the other side, through a
fine intervale, flowed a stream of respectable size called Pine Creek,
which took its rise in the mountains at some distance, and was fed by
innumerable springs and rivulets from the surrounding hills. Nearly a
thousand acres of these lands were owned by an old merchant in New-York,
who had taken them for debt many years before, and had become, as he
said, tired of paying taxes on them.
Joel had had his eye on the property for two or three years. What his
views were, we shall presently see, for no sooner did Miss Bellows quit
Sudbury with her aunt, than Joel, after remarking to the sheriff that he
did not propose to interfere with him in any way, proceeded to pack his
trunks, which he removed to the inn. Then he hired a horse and wagon for
a week, and set off no one knew whither. He came back within the time
limited, and found a committee of creditors awaiting his return. They
wanted to engage him to sell out the stock of goods and to close up Mr.
Bellows' affairs. Joel declined the service, although the offers were
liberal and coupled with the intimation that it would be the means of
starting him in business as the successor of Mr. Bellows. Joel
resolutely declined. He knew the estate was hopelessly insolvent, and
that he could not be of the least service to Ellen by any labors he
should undertake; and besides, he did not care to even appear to thrive
out of the broken fortunes of his patron. When still pressed by the now
perplexed creditors, he turned sharply on them and said: 'Gentlemen,
don't you think it would have been more judicious, not to say more
humane, had you waited on Mr. Bellows in his lifetime, and requested
_him_ to undertake this service instead of pouncing on his property,
closing his store, and hurrying him into his grave? He was an honest
man, and would have worked honestly for your benefit, and I would have
aided him. As it is, I do not feel disposed to lift a finger for you.
Good morning.'
Joel left the same day for New-York, and did not again return to
Sudbury. Some weeks afterward, in mid-winter, the report was circulated
that he was living in the woods on Pine Creek. Then the story went
abroad that the poor fellow was crazy and had turned hermit. This was
followed by other rumors still more ridiculous.
I have no desire to alarm the reader on Joel's account. It is time,
therefore, I should say that he had formed extensive plans for the
future, which he was proceeding to carry out. During his week's absence
he went carefully over the entire tract owned by the old merchant in
New-York. This lay on both sides of the creek, and extended to the
eastward quite over the 'ridge.' It was well timbered and beautifully
situated. After making these observations, Joel proceeded to New-York
and called on the proprietor. He stated his object to be to purchase a
hundred acres of the tract, for which he would pay five dollars an acre
cash. He wanted, besides, the refusal of the rest of the property, for a
certain time, at the same rate. The old merchant was pleased with Joel's
ingenuous manner as well as with his intelligence. He questioned him
minutely about the lands, for he had never seen them, and asked him what
he proposed to do with his purchase. Joel answered promptly and
truthfully. He put the owner in possession of every material fact.
'And all you will give is five dollars per acre?'
'Yes.'
'Do you think that is all the lands are really worth?'
'I hope to make them worth much more to me, else I would not seek to
buy,' responded Joel. 'What they are worth to you, is for you to judge
after what I have said about them.'
Thereupon the old gentleman told Joel he would do better by him than he
asked. He would sell him the whole, receive the five hundred dollars,
and take back a mortgage for the balance. Joel would not accept this
proposition. He wanted one hundred acres, and he wanted to pay for them,
and the money was ready at five dollars the acre, and he desired the
refusal of the balance at the same rate. The bargain was closed in this
way, and Joel went on to his own property rejoicing. The plot selected
by him was from that portion nearest to the road, which here was about a
mile distant, and at a point of the stream most favorable for the
erection of a _saw-mill_. This hundred acres Joel had had carefully
surveyed before he went to New-York. It embraced a portion of the
'ridge,' with a front on the stream. The old village was miserably
situated, on the ancient principle of putting it in the centre of the
township, and a new road had been talked of for some time, which would
shorten the communication between two important points, and leave it to
one side. This was also known to Joel, and it led him to greater energy
in trying to secure the property. But he did not omit to mention this
circumstance in his interview with the proprietor, though, if the truth
be told, he was tempted to keep silent. Joel Burns had a fine moral
sense, to violate which, gave him pain. Without going through any
argument on the subject, he _felt_ that it would amount to a deception
if he withheld the information.
At the time of Mr. Bellows' death Joel was worth about twelve hundred
dollars. His benefactor had not only paid him a full salary, but,
besides this, perceiving that Joel displayed an aptitude for business,
Mr. Bellows allowed him privileges by which he was able to make some
money on his own account. The result was, he had accumulated the sum I
have mentioned, from which had now been disbursed five hundred dollars
for the land purchase.
Through the winter Joel was very busy. He hired four stout, active
lumber-men, built a rude log-hut, which was comfortable enough inside,
and all set to work first to cut a road to the highway. Then they
commenced clearing. The timber was magnificent first-growth pine. It cut
up splendidly. The lumber-men now saw what Hiram was driving at. They
began to respect the young fellow who looked so much like a boy, yet who
showed such pluck, nerve, and sagacity. After a while, in a pleasant
position on the ridge could be seen a very neat log-house in progress of
erection. It contained four rooms--a spacious edifice for the woods--all
of course on the ground floor, for there was no second story. Great
attention was paid in a rude way to the interior, and by spring it was
finished.
During the winter Joel was twice absent from the 'settlement' for two or
three days. He was making a visit to--- Ellen's aunt. That worthy woman
had only been half-persuaded when she invited her niece home. Very soon,
she began to think she had made a mistake in 'harboring' her, especially
as the news spread abroad that Bellows' estate was a very great deal
worse than nothing. To be sure Joel's presence reässured her, he looked
so competent, and spoke so confidently yet still so mysteriously. On his
second visit, however, the lady pretty flatly intimated she was losing
confidence in his assertions. She did not believe her brother had left
Ellen a cent in any shape.
'And I tell you what it is, Joel Burns, you need not think we are going
to support her. She must earn her living like other folks.'
'_I_ will be responsible for Ellen's board,' said Joel indignantly. 'I
would have said that before, but I should feel mortified to have her
know I had made the offer, or you had accepted it.'
'You need not mount your high horse with me, Joel,' retorted the other,
but in a mollified tone. 'You know I am just as kind to Ellen as any
body would be under the circumstances.'
'As kind as Mr. Bellows would have been to Tilly and Eliza, had they
been left orphans, I suppose,' interrupted the still indignant Joel.
'Yes, to be sure. You don't imagine I should have expected him to take
care of my children!'
'But he would have done it though.'
'Well that may or may not be--he is dead and gone, poor man, and I have
done my best to make it pleasant for Ellen, and she will tell you so. We
have got along very well; I like her and her cousins like her, and I am
satisfied after what you have said.'
By the middle of April, the people of Sudbury had made up their minds
that Joel Burns was neither crazy nor exactly a hermit, nor yet a fool,
though some candidly admitted they had been fools when they so judged of
him. For by the middle of April a saw-mill with a double set of saws had
been put in operation, and was turning out the lumber rapidly. Quickly
the knowing ones saw into it, (but they did not see into it till Joel
had made his demonstration,) and now wondered why they had overlooked
the speculation. One very keen fellow determined to make the most out of
Joel's beginning. He examined the records at the office of the register
of deeds and discovered that Joel had title to but a hundred acres.
Thereupon he went to New-York with the object of purchasing the adjacent
lands. Imagine his chagrin, when he was told Joel had the refusal of the
whole tract. With a low cunning he endeavored to make the old merchant
dissatisfied with the sale, by telling him that he had parted with his
property for a quarter of its value--in fact, had given it away. He
would have offered twice the money himself.
'I am glad to hear you say so,' was the only reply the fellow received,
'for I take a great interest in that young man. So he has got his mill
a-going, has he? Good.'
'But if I should offer you ten dollars an acre for the next
hundred-acre-lot, don't you think you could manage to let me have it?'
'No.'
What an excitement there was when our smart man returned and gave an
account of his trip. Then followed all sorts of rumors. Joel was in
partnership with a rich old fellow in 'York,' who was going to let him
have all the money he wanted. There was to be a new village right away,
situated somewhere--on the ridge--on the stream--across the creek--on
the plain--under the hill. What wouldn't the speculators give to know
_just_ where! With the erection of the saw-mill, several little huts
went up near it for the use of those employed there. These huts were not
made of logs--there was plenty of lumber now--but cheaply constructed
and clap-boarded with slabs. Some of the Sudbury wits derisively called
the place 'Slab City.' The lumber-men seemed to like this name, for they
at once adopted it, and it has never been known by any other.
But before this, a remarkable event occurred, affording still greater
food for town-talk and gossip generally. The neat log-house on the ridge
had been comfortably furnished, and Ellen Bellows--now Ellen
Burns--installed as its mistress.
On his third visit the mystery was solved in a manner quite satisfactory
to the aunt. To do that lady justice, we must say she was not half so
selfish nor so calculating as she might have been. It is true she had
not generosity enough to run the risk of offering Ellen a home as long
as she might require one, whatever should happen. But she was tolerably
kind to her, and when she heard that a wedding was to be speedily
improvised, she entered into it heart and soul, and made every thing
pass pleasantly, yes, happily. Furthermore, I am bound to record that
she refused to take one penny for Ellen's 'board,' although Joel pressed
her to do so.
'Do you think I am an old hunks, Joel, because I did not feel able to
undertake Ellen's support? Prudent I try to be, it is my duty. Haven't I
my own children to look after? but because I _am_ prudent and do my
duty, can't I show some kindness to my poor brother's only child? Don't
talk to me about 'board,' and, Joel, don't say any thing to Ellen about
our previous conversation. You know I have always been perfectly
satisfied with every thing you told me.'
Joel felt too happy then to question the fact, if indeed, it could be
questioned. He reässured the good woman on that head, and added he
should in due time expect visits from Tilly and Eliza.
'They will be delighted to go, and what is more Mr. Barron (her husband)
has been thinking a good deal of leaving here, and I should not be
surprised if he paid you a visit one of these days to see what chances
offer, for we have all heard how smart _you_ have been.'
It is essential I should explain to the reader why Joel Burns, who was
ingenuous and truthful, and by no means fond of mystery or concealment,
should make use of both in his intercourse with Ellen's aunt. We have
previously stated how desperately he was in love with Ellen, and further
how hard he tried to make himself believe his affection could never be
reciprocated. When, however, the day of trial came suddenly on _her_,
all the nonsense was scattered from Joel's brain like mist before the
wind. But the romance in his heart was not dissipated, because romance
is _not_ nonsense. Genuine romance is a real element in our natures, and
so long as we preserve it, we are young. When Joel found himself placed
in the position of Ellen's sole protector, he took prompt and decisive
steps _for_ her protection. But while he hoped to win her for his wife,
he could not endure the thought that possibly a part of his success
might be due to the change in Ellen's fortunes, or that her choice
should not be free and unrestrained. It was for this reason he mystified
the aunt and procured for Ellen a cordial invitation to stay with her
'till the business matters were settled,' thus mystifying Ellen also.
She, poor girl, continued in happy ignorance of her absolutely
destitute condition. She loved Joel dearly, and it was one of her
happiest day-dreams to plan how she could aid him in his projects by
putting him in possession of all she should have--yes, all.
The evening before the wedding, after Joel had given a full history of
the progress of the 'settlement' and what he hoped to do in the future,
Ellen, overcoming the timidity which had before prevented her speaking,
exclaimed:
'O Joel! how much you have done--all alone, too! When you get what is
coming to me, won't _that_ help you? and you shall have the whole of it,
dear Joel, every dollar!'
She stopped and blushed, half-frightened at her boldness. Tears came
into Joel's eyes, he was so happy. He threw his arms around his beloved
and pressed her to his heart.
* * * * *
People could now understand where the village was to be. The new road
had been laid out and was in course of construction. It passed along the
ridge near the centre. On computing the distances, it was found this
point would be a convenient one for a stage-house, where passengers
could pass the night. Joel sold to the stage company what lots they
required, at a very low price, on condition that they would erect a
first-rate public house. The water-power at 'Slab City,' three fourths
of a mile distant, attracted attention. The 'fell' was large, and the
supply of water abundant. One man started with a turning-machine, which
was attached to the mill. Another, with more capital, established a
fulling-mill, and so on. Joel avoided the ordinary errors of
landholders. He did not attempt to carry on all sorts of business
himself, neither did he hold his lots at too high prices. To actual
settlers he sold very cheap; to speculators he would not sell at all.
The old merchant continued his friend. By his recommendation a man with
considerable capital visited the place, and being well pleased,
purchased some of the water-power and built a large button-factory,
Joel's views proved most judicious. By laying out the village on the
ridge, he secured a beautiful site, which was relieved from a close
proximity to shops and mills and factories, while it had really the
support of all these. Several fine houses were now erected. Two stores
were started, and a meeting-house built, for which Joel gave nearly all
the lumber. Next a post-office was established, and the place called
Burnsville. It was a beautiful spot, and how it grew and flourished! But
Burnsville would have amounted to little had it not been for Slab City.
Joel took care not to lose an opportunity for strengthening _it_.
Water-power could always be had of him cheap. I forgot to say he erected
a 'grist-mill,' which was much needed. Two other saw-mills beside his
own were built a little way further up, but on his tract. Mr. Barron and
family did move to Burnsville, as Mrs. B. intimated they might. He
brought a good deal of money with him, and turned his enterprise to
account. The families continued intimate. In ten years Burnsville became
one of the most prosperous villages in the State. Joel Burns was a rich
man, as well as _the_ man of the place. These ten years had wrought no
great changes in Joel's character or habits. To be sure he had become
more engrossed in plans for future operations. By degrees he had
narrowed his mind into the channel of _successful effort_. The
circumference of his existence was probably more limited than when he
brought his little wife into the pretty log-house on the ridge. (He now
lived in the handsomest one in the village.) Still, he was more active,
more perseveringly energetic, more effective than ever before. But the
romance of which I spoke had faded, or was overshadowed, by the forms of
active, busy, bustling life. Still Joel Burns was in the main the same
ingenuous, honest-hearted fellow as ever. A happy man--happy in his
home--happy because prosperous in his business--but by no means as happy
as he might have been. Regarding him in this view, it was melancholy to
see him so utterly engrossed in his pursuits and plans. He did not take
time to look about him and enjoy. The Sabbath to him was a dull,
wearisome, restless day. He had too much respect for it to desecrate it
by even a private attention to his affairs, and he had very little idea
of any spiritual wants. He was active in erecting a church and securing
a good preacher, on whose ministrations he attended regularly with his
family. Yet it was a great relief to him when Sunday was over, and he
welcomed the succeeding morning with a renewed zest.
Joel Burns became a very popular man; he was universally beloved; he was
generous and public-spirited. He was unselfish in his ordinary dealings,
and always ready to lend a helping hand to those about him. His success
was not owing to a close, hard, grasping nature, but was the result of
fine business abilities, coupled with extraordinary energy and
perseverance.
Joel Burns was unjust to no one but himself. He neglected to cultivate
his moral nature, and left it in danger of being choked by the cares he
voluntarily assumed. He had one safeguard, however. I have observed that
he was happy in his family. This consisted of his wife, and one child--a
daughter named Sarah, after Joel's mother. When with them, Joel _did_
forget his business life. His love for his wife and child was like a
gushing fountain of pure water. It preserved his heart from becoming
arid, and his nature from ossification.
Twelve years passed, and found Burnsville more nourishing than ever, and
Joel Burns yet without any interruption to his fortunes or his
happiness.
Late in summer, typhus fever--a dreadful visitor in this part of
New-England--made its appearance, and became more prevalent than usual,
and assumed a severer type. Mrs. Burns was among the first attacked, and
with great severity.
Joel felt the foundations of his soul giving way when the possibility
presented itself that his wife _might_ die. He called to mind with a
shudder the scene at the village tavern in Sudbury, when, a child, he
stood by his mother's bedside and heard, awe-struck, her incoherent
ravings while the delirium of fever was on her. 'O my God! she will die,
she will die!' he exclaimed, as he rushed out of the room, unable to
control his feelings.
The country was scoured for doctors. An eminent medical man from
New-Haven was sent for. He was unable to come; but the house was filled
with consulting physicians. Alas I they knew little in those days how to
treat this terrible malady, or rather how to skillfully let it alone.
Day after day, Joel paced up and down, now in this room, now in that,
all over the house. At night he watched by his wife. He insisted on
doing so; no argument or entreaty could prevail on him to leave her a
moment. She was delirious nearly all the time. Then her voice would be
strong, her eyes glassy bright, her cheeks flushed and burning. She
recognized neither husband nor child.
* * * * *
It was in the middle of the night. The 'watcher' who sat up in company
with Joel, slumbered in his chair. He did not slumber, but sat with eyes
fixed on his wife, who for some time seemed to be resting easier than
before. Presently her lips moved. Her husband bent over her.
'Joel.'
'I am here, my darling.'
'Joel.'
'Yes, dearest.'
'We have not lived right'
'No, dear.'
'You do not think we have lived right, do you?'
'No, oh! no.'
'I am going to die, Joel.'
'Do not speak in that way!' and the poor fellow groaned, in spite of
every effort to control himself.
'I must, Joel, I must. We have not lived right _You_ will live right
when I am gone. You will teach Sarah to live right, won't you?'
'I don't want to live at all if you do not live!' was the passionate
answer.
'For our child's sake, Joel.'
No reply.
'What a kind, loving husband you have been to me--been to me always! I
loved you--loved you before you knew it, Joel.' Here she opened her eyes
languidly, and essayed to turn them on him. 'But we have not lived
right.'
There was still no response, save by audible sobs.
'I think I have made my peace with God. Are you glad, Joel?'
'Now I don't care what happens, if you only feel happy!' he cried. 'But
to have you die in distress of mind! It would drive me crazy.'
'Give God the praise, Joel. I _am_ happy. It is so sweet to trust in
Him! You won't neglect--neglect--you won't----' She fell into a stupor,
from which she never fully awoke. Although she lived another day, she
exhibited no signs of consciousness. Joel fancied that she was aware of
his presence; but she never spoke again.
The funeral was attended by a large concourse of people--very different
from that of Joel's mother, whom three selectmen followed to the grave.
When it was over, Joel and his daughter went back to their desolate
house, while the village set to work to speculate as to whom the widower
would marry. '_Such_ a match! _So_ rich, and only one child! Emily Parks
would make him a good wife; only Emily was rather old--at least
twenty-seven or eight--and Mr. Burns would marry a young girl, of
course. Why shouldn't he, with the amount of money he had? He might take
a fancy to Julia Davis--she had just left school.' 'Why shouldn't he
marry Lizzie?' said Mrs. Barron to herself. And Lizzie was sent over
that very day to 'see to things' for Mr. Burns.
His trials were not ended. Sarah, who was now in her twelfth year, was
taken ill the following week. The fever was no doubt going through the
family, said the doctors. Joel's faith in medical men was a good deal
shaken, but he had to call them in, and Sarah grew worse. Three weeks
she lay, submitting to the old treatment, waiting for the 'crisis.' Joel
could endure it no longer. He started for New-Haven, changing horses
every ten miles. He found the doctor he went in quest of at home; but he
said it was impossible for him to go.
'I have lost my wife, and shall lose my child,' said Joel Burns
hoarsely.
'My friend,' said the doctor in a mild tone, 'people are dying every
where. I have my own patients, whom I ought not to neglect.'
'Go with me, I, implore you,' urged the despairing man; 'I have relays
of horses, and I will drive ten miles an hour.' Joel's importunity
prevailed. The distance was accomplished in a marvelously brief time.
It was a hot, sultry day, the second week of September, about noon, when
Joel, accompanied by the doctor, entered the sick-room.
'How is Sarah?'
'No better,' whispered Miss Barron, who had remained in the house. 'The
doctor left half an hour ago. He says he thinks she will go as her
mother went.'
'I am awake, father!' (He had approached the bed very carefully, so as
not to disturb her.) 'It seems a great while since you went away.'
'I have brought a doctor to cure you, my child,' said Joel. He knew the
value of hope and confidence.
Meanwhile the physician was glancing around the room. As I have said, it
was a close, sultry day; but the windows were all closed, so that not a
breath of air could circulate through the apartment. The doctor quietly
threw up every one of them. Perceiving a cot standing near, he ordered
it made up with fresh sheets. Going to the bedside of his little
patient: 'How do you feel, my child?' he asked.
'I don't know.'
'Bring me a bowl of water and a soft napkin.'
'Warm water, I suppose?' said the nurse.
'Cold.' He threw off the heavy blanket from the bed, and unbuttoning the
night-dress, which came close around her, he bathed the child's face and
neck with the grateful fluid.
'You feel better now?'
'Yes,' she whispered.
'Don't you want any thing, my dear?'
'I want some water.'
'Give her water, nurse,' said the doctor.
The woman stared in utter amazement. If she had been ordered to cut the
child's throat, she could not have been more astounded.
'I say, bring a tumbler of water.'
This was done, and the nurse offered the patient a few drops in a
tea-spoon.
'Give me the glass,' and he took it out of her hand. Tenderly he raised
the sick child to a comfortable position, and placed it to her lips.
'Take as much as you like, my dear. Water was made to drink.'
He now directed a complete and speedy change of garments, and then he
himself took Sarah in his arms and laid her on the other bed. In fifteen
minutes, she was sleeping, while a gentle perspiration showed the crisis
had passed. Joel Burns stood still, regarding the doctor as he would a
being from another world. When he saw him doing just what was invariably
prohibited, doing it with such an air of decision and self-confidence
yet with no peculiar ostentation, he felt it would all be right. The
nurse, at first, was in very bad humor; but nobody noticed her, so she
concluded it was best to be good-natured and obey orders. The next day,
the doctor pronounced little Sarah out of danger, provided she was
properly nursed, and after leaving special directions, which he charged
Joel to see to personally till he could hear from him, he returned home
as rapidly as he came. When the man who accompanied him came back, he
brought the doctor's favorite student, who had directions to devote
himself to the 'case,' in which the doctor took so strong an interest.
The good man had another motive. He believed the fever was about to
attack Joel, and he determined to exert his skill to save him, if
possible. To have advised him of his fears, would have been injudicious.
He therefore dispatched a young man in whom he had great confidence,
after giving him minute instructions. Little Sarah, watched and tended
with great care, grew rapidly better. But when the excitement produced
by the scenes through which Joel had passed was at an end, a great
reaction took place, which left him in a very weak state. In that
condition, he was seized by the terrible malady, which found a fit
subject in his weakened frame and broken spirits. For weeks Joel Burns
lay balancing between life and death. It seemed as if a feather's weight
on either side would turn the scale. Morning after morning, the question
was put by the whole village: 'Is Mr. Burns alive?' Twice, on occasions
which seemed specially urgent, did our worthy doctor come from
New-Haven, spend a few hours, and return. The medical student kept his
post manfully. It was something to go counter to the opinions and
judgments of all the physicians about, far and near. Especially when, if
the patient should die, the voice of authority would proclaim that a
murder had been committed. [Now, it would be considered murder to follow
the old method.] But the doctor was firm, his pupil an enthusiastic
believer in his master's genius, and the course was persisted in. At
length, the daily reports were modified. First, Mr. Burns was 'no
worse.' After that, he was 'a little more comfortable.' Then came the
announcement that he was 'better.' The medical men round about were
excessively chagrined; but every body else rejoiced at the good news.
All this time, what of Joel Burns? How did he do? Not what was the
history of his physical malady. But what was his state morally,
mentally, religiously before God! Recollect, the man had never had a
check in his whole career before. The circumstances of his childhood
served rather to give strength and firmness to his nature. The sudden
failure and death of his benefactor only threw him the more on his own
resources, with which he was amply provided. His plans had been
successful. His friends were many. His hopes for the future were large,
yet not unreasonable; while on all sides, as we have said, he was
regarded as _the_ man of the community in which he lived.
Joel had scarcely time for reflection, after the death of his wife,
before his child was taken ill, and ere she was really out of danger, he
himself was stricken down. All that long, weary time, during days and
nights of fever and delirium, of exhaustion and weakness, of
convalescence and recovery, the whisper of his dying wife was constantly
heard:
'Joel, we have not lived right! Do you think we have lived right, Joel?'
'_Lived right_!' What did that mean? Was Joel Burns a dishonest man? Was
he not kind-hearted, generous, loving toward his wife, affectionate to
his child, charitable and public-spirited?
'_Lived right_.' Joel had answered his wife instantly, not daring then
and there to soothe her by equivocation, but replying truthfully out of
his soul: 'No, oh! no.' What did he mean by that? Of what did he stand
convicted, and wherefore? These were the thoughts which occupied his
mind, especially after the fever had left him, during the long weeks of
his recovery. Joel was a man of extraordinary perceptive faculties. The
situation in which he had been placed, the remarkable health which he
had enjoyed, (for he had never been ill in his life,) and the success
which had attended every plan and effort, served to still more develop
all his practical talents, and were at the same time unfavorable to
reflection or serious thought. Now he could do nothing else but reflect
and think. He looked about him. His wife was gone, and his happiness
wrecked. What was he to do? Should he make haste to push on the schemes
which his sickness had brought to a stand? The idea was loathsome to
him. He had seen how completely they were liable to interruption and
blight. The thought of his daughter was the only comfort left, but she
might be taken--then _what_?
Ah! Joel Burns! how long and wide you searched to answer that question
when the answer was so near at hand and so easy to discover. He did
discover it at last. His wife, with her latest breath, had given him the
clue. He examined himself more carefully. What are the relations between
me and my Maker? Do I recognize any?... When Joel Burns rose from his
sick-bed and could walk abroad, all things wore to him a new and pleased
aspect. The current of his hopes were changed. He no longer revolved
around himself as a centre. He was conscious of his error before God,
and sought and found 'peace in believing.' He now regarded all things in
the light of His providence and felt submissive to His will.
Joel was no longer indifferent to his affairs. There was so much he
could do to benefit every body. What a happy feeling to try to be
working out good for some body all the time! When, however, he was able
actively to engage in business, there was very little difference between
his course of action and in what he did and his old course and what he
used to do. The fact is, Joel _did_ about what was right before. We have
already related that he was kind, charitable, generous, and
public-spirited. The difference, however, was, that Joel _himself_ was
changed. The _springs_ of life and conduct were new: this is why he
seemed to himself to be living so differently. And he _was_ living
differently. There was no similitude between the Joel Burns who,
impelled by an active brain and an energetic purpose, was successfully
prosecuting certain plans with reference solely _to_ those plans, and
the Joel Burns who had learned to feel that the chief _object_ of
existence lay above and beyond, and was centred in the Omnipotent.
* * * * *
Sarah recovered rapidly from the fever, and before her father was
himself convalescent the bloom of health had returned to her cheeks.
Joel's love for his child was increased ten-fold. She became, as she
grew up, an inseparable companion. It was evident he had no thoughts of
marrying. The people of the village decided _that_ at the end of a year.
The widower gave none of the ordinary tokens that he was seeking a new
wife, that is, he did not 'brush up' any, and took no special pains with
his personal appearance, but went about much as usual. It was a great
pity, every body said, for a man as young as he--hardly
three-and-thirty--to live without a wife. Sarah required a motherly care
over her, her father was spoiling her. Yes, it was a great pity Mr.
Burns did not marry. The fact was, strange as it will seem, Joel could
not forget his wife, though she was dead. A sweet and solemn link bound
him to her since the night he stood over her to catch her last words,
and it would appear his affections were not to be diverted from her
memory. He did not send Sarah away to school. He could not reconcile
himself to her absence, but he supplied her abundantly with teachers,
and personally took great pains with her education.
Two years after the death of Mrs. Burns, Joel and his daughter stood up
together before the assembled church and congregation, and made a public
profession of religion. It was a touching sight. And when after the
services father and child took their way homeward, every eye followed
them with looks of deepest interest and with feelings of almost
universal kindness and regard. Joel had delayed presenting himself from
a desire to test his feelings, having great fear of bringing reproach on
the church by entering it unworthily. And now he had an increased joy
that he could bring his darling into the fold with him.
It was very natural, as she was situated, that Sarah should acquire an
accurate knowledge of her father's affairs. She enjoyed listening to the
story of his early life, the rise and progress of Burnsville, with
explanations of his many undertakings. As she grew older, this interest
took a more practical turn. She would copy letters and arrange
confidential papers, and perform various services of a like nature.
Two or three years more passed. Things went on as usual, at Burnsville.
It is true that Joel Burns did not display that sharp faculty of
acquisition which he formerly did, though he was never more active or
energetic; but it was noticeable that those in his employ got on better
than before, while the general prosperity of the village exceeded that
of any former period.
Sarah was almost a young lady. She was growing up a beautiful girl. She
had her father's brilliant complexion and her mother's fine form and
regular features. Of course, with so much youth and beauty, and such
'brilliant prospects,' (by which, I suppose, was meant her father's
death and a large fortune to the child,) Sarah already became an object
of much attention. I will not say that her peculiar position did not
produce something of an independent manner which some called hauteur,
and others exclusiveness. Part of this was owing to her education, part
to the necessity of repelling sometimes the advances of conceited
coxcombs. But she was really a most interesting girl, with much of her
father's spirit, resolution, and ability. Her affection for him was only
exceeded by his for her. True, their lives were centred in each other
too much. But it was very beautiful to behold.
Such was the condition of Burnsville, and such the situation of Joel
Burns, when Hiram Meeker sought to remove to that place and enter his
service.
A MERCHANT'S STORY.
'All of which I saw, and part of which I was.'