SCHOOL AT MILL TOWN.
I believe there is no season more favorable to sober reflection than
when we find ourselves alone, after mingling for a time in a scene of
mirth and gaiety. After the departure of our guests, and my uncle and
aunt had retired to rest, I indulged in a long fit of musing, as I sat
alone by the kitchen-fire. In the silence and loneliness of the hour, my
thoughts turned to my former home, and to the circumstances which had
caused me to leave it; and although I had resolved to think no more of
Willie Leighton, somehow or other, on this occasion, I found my thoughts
wandering to him and to the seeming fatality which had separated us. The
only living relatives of whom I had any knowledge were my uncle and
aunt, and the before-mentioned aunt of my mother.
But a circumstance which I had heard my father mention in my childhood
had of late often recurred to my mind. I recollected often hearing my
father speak of a twin-brother, and that they had been left orphans at
the age of eight years; also, that he, my father, had been adopted by a
gentleman residing about fifty miles from the city of Philadelphia, who
had given him a very good business education, and had procured for him a
situation in the city when he became of suitable age. But the case had
been different with his brother Charles. He too had been adopted, but by
a very different kind of man from the one who had received my father. He
did not give him sufficient education to qualify him for mercantile
business, and at the time that Mr. Williams procured a situation for my
father in the city, his brother Charles was apprenticed to learn the art
of printing. He had, it seemed, entertained a dislike to the employment
from the first, which increased to such a degree that he ran away from
his employer; and instead of returning to his former home, he left the
city. He was then fifteen years of age. My father had never been able to
gain any tidings from him, and at length came to the conclusion that he
must be dead. I know not why it was, but of late this circumstance had
haunted my mind continually. The idea seemed to fix itself in my mind
that I should yet see this long-lost uncle. I tried to banish the
thought as an absurdity, but was unable to do so. As the idea returned
to my mind with such frequency, I ceased trying to banish it, and prayed
that what I now thought to be an idle fancy might prove a happy reality.
How cheering to us is the return of spring, after the deep snows and
severe frosts of winter.
I very much enjoyed the sugar-making season at my uncle's farm. I
derived all the more pleasure from its being to me such a novelty.
Although quite happy in my uncle's home, I still wished to carry out my
former design of teaching, and as the season advanced, I again spoke to
my uncle and aunt upon the subject. They were at first very unwilling to
yield their consent; but, as they perceived that I was really anxious
about the matter, they yielded their assent to my wishes.
About five miles west of my uncle's farm was the small village of Mill
Town, so called from the number of different mills erected on the fine
water-privilege it contained. As the village was small, it contained but
two schools; one a public school, and the other a select school, which
had for three years been taught by a young lady from the State of Maine,
who had relatives residing at Mill Town. But Miss Landon, for such was
the lady's name, intended returning to her home in Maine in the month of
June. I had formed a very pleasant acquaintance with this young lady
during the winter, and she strongly advised me to secure her pupils, if
I wished to teach, promising to use her influence to aid me in obtaining
pupils; and, owing to her kindness, I had no difficulty in obtaining a
sufficient number of pupils for opening a school. I was very glad to
obtain a situation so near my home, that I might be able to visit my
uncle and aunt at least once every week, and spend my Sabbaths with
them.
"After all," said my uncle, "I don't know but you are right in wishing
to teach, and I dare say, will be happier thus employed than otherwise."
Accordingly, I opened my school about the middle of June, with
twenty-five pupils. I had made arrangements to board in the house of the
minister, who resided in the village. His name was Mr. Northwood, or
Parson Northwood, as he was usually called by the villagers. He was very
much respected on account of his many excellent qualities both as pastor
and friend. His family consisted of himself, his wife, and two little
girls, who attended my school.
I was highly pleased with my school at Mill Town. My pupils were mostly
girls between the ages of ten and fifteen years. I had one class of
quite young boys, whose parents preferred a select to a public school.
Many years have passed since I was wont to summon those loved pupils
around me in that little school-room. Since that period, when far
removed from those scenes, and surrounded by circumstances widely
different, memory oft recalled those pupils in that New England village.
About this time I received a letter from Aunt Patience. The letter
informed me that her health was somewhat impaired, and that she sensibly
felt the approaching infirmities of age. I knew not her exact age, but I
was certain that she must be considerably advanced in years. She stated
that she was quite happy in her home, but added,--
"My Dear Clara, I had thought to have ended my days with your dear
mother; and when the thought comes home to my mind, that she is now no
more, it makes me very sad."
I was happy to know that, owing to the provision made for her, Aunt
Patience enjoyed all the comforts of life. Since her removal to
Massachusetts we had not often corresponded; but, as often as I did
write, I enclosed a small sum from my own earnings, lest the interest of
the deposit should prove insufficient for all her wants.
My mother left with me the injunction that, should my own life be
spared, never to forget Aunt Patience in her old age: and I would
cheerfully have endured any privation myself, if, by so doing, I could
have added to her happiness; for the injunction of my dying mother I
regarded as most sacred.
I closed my school for the summer holidays, and I was, as well as my
pupils, glad to be released from the school-room during the sultry
weather which prevails in the month of August.