[This, with the account of the New Berlin Prostitute, was
communicated to me by my friend, Mrs. E. W. Farnham.]
In a remote hamlet in one of the then young Western States, Mrs. F.
became acquainted with a family which included nearly a dozen members,
and nearly all married, and settled within easy distance of the old
homestead. The sexes were pretty equally divided, each and every one
of these young men and women being in appearance and character below
mediocrity, with one exception. The latter was a young girl about
nineteen years old, who was so evidently and remarkably superior both
in personal appearance and nature, that it did not seem possible she
could belong to the same family. Beside the heavy, coarse faces of
her brothers and sisters, hers was angelic in its graceful contour,
long-fringed lids and refined, expressive mouth. The very curly hair,
which resembled the mother’s only in its curliness, had a golden glint
that removed it by several degrees of relationship from the wiry red
on one side and faded black on the other, which crowned the broad, low
heads of the gruff brothers and two drowsy-looking married sisters who
were at this time home on a long visit.
This girl, now the successful teacher of the district-school, filled
her place in the always untidy, dilapidated household, unconscious of
being an anomaly. She had made some effort to brighten the dingy walls,
and here and there the uneven floor of the living-room was concealed by
pretty rag-mats of her making.
Notwithstanding the inferiority of the family as a whole, there was a
general friendliness among the members, proceeding from the rough, but
unfailing deference shown by the father to the mother. Nelly’s wishes
received a sort of grumbling attention, and her opinion was quoted
as having weight. Still, owing to the very refined character of her
attractions, they were evidently to a great extent overlooked by all
but her mother.
Mrs. F. was a long while in getting hold of any clue that would explain
this phenomenon.
No, Nelly was not born in that low dwelling under the shadow of those
catalpas, but in a poorer shanty in Northern Tennessee.
No, there were no nice people thereabouts; no kind Methodist preacher
visited them. They were sort of outside the “circuit.”
No, there was no school-teacher boarded with them. There was quite
a spell when there was a quarrel about whose land the school-house
occupied, and school didn’t keep more than three months any way.
In view of so much content in the midst of so much dirt and disorder,
it did not seem worth while to ask if any one had lent her books which
pleased her. However, the conversation evidently recalled pleasant
memories, for the weather-beaten countenance of the kind-hearted old
woman suddenly lit up, and her small eyes twinkled with happy light as
she said:
“We were awful poor about those times, and there was no look-out for
anything better. Some of the boys had come up here to see if they
couldn’t get better land. But we had no money to buy it with if there
was, and there was a book I must tell you about--a book that lifted me
right out of myself. You see there came along a peddler--’twas a wonder
how he ever got to such an out-of-the-way place--well, he unpacked his
traps, and among them was a little book with a lovely green and gold
cover. ’Twas the sweetest little thing you ever saw, and there was
just the nicest picture in the front. I saw ’twas poetry, and on the
first page it said, ‘The Lady of the Lake;’ that was all. I _did_ want
that book, and I had a couple of dollars in a stocking-foot on the
chimney-shelf, but a dollar was a big thing then, and I didn’t feel as
if I ought to indulge myself, so I said no, and saw him pack up his
things and travel.
“Then I could think of nothing but that book the rest of the day, I
wanted it so bad, and at night I couldn’t sleep for thinking of it. At
last I got up, and without making a bit of noise, dressed myself, and
walked four miles to Scranton Centre, where the peddler had told me he
should stay that night--at the Browns--friends of ours, they were, and
I got him up, and bought the book, and brought it back with me, just
as contented and satisfied as you can believe. I looked it over and
through, put it under my pillow, and slept soundly till morning.
“The next day I began to read the beautiful story. Every page took
that hold of me that I forgot all about the pretty cover, and perhaps
you wouldn’t believe it, but before Nelly was born, if you would but
give me a word here and there, I could begin at the beginning, and
say it clear through to the end. It appeared to me I was there with
those people by the lakes in the mountains--with Allan bane and his
harp, Ellen Douglas, Malcolm Graeme, Fitz-James, and the others. I
saw Ellen’s picture before me when I was milking the cow, or cooking
on the hearth, or weeding the little garden. There she was, stepping
about so sweetly in the rhyme, that I felt it to be all true as the
day, more true after I could repeat it to myself. And then when I found
my baby grew into such a pretty girl, and so smart too, it seemed as
if Providence had been ever so good to me again. But children are
mysteries any way. I’ve wondered a thousand times why Nelly was such a
lady, and why she loved to learn so much more than the other children.
She has read to me ever since she was ten years old, and she’s got
quite a lot of books there, you see, ma’am. She’s mighty fond of
poetry, too.”