themselves from an unjust accusation?" asked Mrs. Clark.
"Her saying so proved nothing; we found out the truth ourselves. If she
had waited, she would not have lost her place. I am sorry for her, I am
sure. If you do not want her, I do not know what will become of her. Her
family are quite destitute."
"Do you not need her help?"
"Oh, yes; but, then"----
"You are satisfied of her innocence, you say; why not have her come back
to you?"
"That would be too humiliating. I never give my servants a chance to
triumph over me in that way."
The visitor departed, and the conversation was continued, as at the
commencement of the story.
Mrs. Clark was a lady. It was not necessary to inquire who her ancestors
were, to be sure of that; yet it was not her dress, or manner, or voice,
or sentiments, either of them, alone, but harmony and appropriateness in
everything she said or did, that left with you that impression. In her
presence you never thought whether she was handsome or well-dressed, but,
on leaving her, you would be more than ever in love with moral beauty.
In the evening, we girls--I call myself one of them, though so much
older--were sitting round the fireplace in the pleasant room; it was just
fit for dreaming or story-telling, at twilight, when Sarah referred to
the conversation of the morning, wondering if Mrs. Hart had conquered her
pride, or poor Anna had found a place.
"I have always pitied servants," said she; "it seems that they ought to
know their place; yet, if they are unjustly accused, it is hard if they
must lose a home when they defend themselves."
"For my part," said Isabel, "I like to see ladies know their places, as
well as servants. What right has any one to charge another with falsehood,
and expect them to be silent under the false charge, merely because they
have agreed to give them the labor of their hands for a paltry sum counted
out to them on Saturday night? Anna was educated to thoughts and habits of
strict integrity, and I do not wonder at her proud retort."
Isabel had been indignant all day, but had controlled her lips till now;
her eyes flashed as she spoke, and, when she was done, she went to the
piano and played several spirited airs with even more spirit than was
necessary; then, turning to us, said--
"Did mother ever tell you her history?"
"No," said Sarah.
"Nor you, Miss Bell?"
"Never."
"She wrote it out for me a year ago. I will read it to you, if you wish."
Now, I had often wished to know her earlier life, but did not think
it right for Isabel to read to us what was probably written for her
alone; so I ran up stairs, where Mrs. Clark was engaged with the younger
children, and told her what Isabel proposed doing, inquiring if it met her
approbation.
"I wrote it," said she, pleasantly, "as a lesson for my daughter; but I am
willing others should be benefited with her."
Feeling that I had wronged Isabel by supposing she would do anything
improper, I returned to the parlor just as she was ready to read the
following:--
* * * * *
The first dream of my life was to be a school-teacher. The first
morning of my going to school, the sweet lady who was teaching in our
district took me on her lap, and asked me if I did not wish to become a
school-teacher. I felt that to be like her would be pleasant; and so, from
that time, it was the acme of my ambition to become what Polly Frazier
was--pleasant name it is, even now--and I was careful about _this_, and
I learned _that_, because it was necessary for a teacher to know such
things. My parents and instructors encouraged the idea, and it was with me
a settled purpose. I hardly know how young I was when I learned that, to
teach successfully, I must govern well. I desired not to rule merely, but
to instruct; and, when my teacher would let me hear the little ones read,
how tearfully happy I was if I succeeded in giving them a new sound, or
right pronunciation!
Thus time passed with me until I was twelve, when my father came from an
eastern State to Pennsylvania. Soon after, by one of those great wrongs,
where no one is to blame, my father lost the little property he brought
with him to this part of the country, and a family of eight was dependent
on what he could earn at his trade. Money was scarce and provisions dear,
and you may judge of my feelings when my father came home every day more
and more tired, and our resources became day by day more and more reduced;
for, though my mother was a good manager, yet there are limits beyond
which it is impossible to manage at all.
If I could only do something! I thought it over at night, but said
nothing. I knew I was not prepared to teach even children, or, at least,
no one would think I was, and that was all the same, for all the good
it would do me, and I must give up the thought of it, at least for the
present.
I could not tell you all the day-dreams I had about the one thing, how I
could help my father. At last I found a way to help myself, and thus help
him, by reducing the number of mouths at home, and also adding something
to a wardrobe that was becoming quite scanty.
I became acquainted with a girl some years older than myself, who was
"working out." She earned seventy-five cents a week. I had done nearly all
of the kinds of work at home that were expected of her; why, then, could
I not obtain as much? I saw no reason why I should not. True, girls of my
own age had but fifty cents, but then they never washed or ironed, except
coarse clothing, while I could do all, except the finest.
"Where there is a will, there is a way;" so I soon was from home trying
my best. I need not tell you how much I was disappointed in some things;
but, as yet, I saw no reason why my main object could not be accomplished.
I was the more encouraged to hope this, as it was evident the people were
satisfied with my endeavors, and said I "was as much help as those who
were four or five years older."
I had been there six weeks before anything was said about my pay. The
family sewing was done for the winter, and they did not keep help only at
times, so I was not needed; and, as a matter of _ceremony_, I was asked
"what I expected a week." I had all along thought they would not hesitate
to give me as much as older girls received, inasmuch as they had often
said I was as much help. I even thought they would have the delicacy to
give me that amount without the ceremony of asking how much I expected.
The manner of asking me, however, made me think that perhaps I had
over-estimated my services, and I rather hesitatingly said five shillings
would do.
How they stared at me! I then found that, for all I had done more than was
expected of my age, I had my pay in praise; something I did not value,
only as it helped me to forward my main design. Still, fifty cents a week
and my board was better than doing nothing at home, so I submitted to
what was inevitable. Thus passed the years until I was sixteen. In the
interval, I had managed to attend school three months. I helped about
house mornings and evenings, and stayed at home Mondays to wash. At some
places I was permitted to read or study, if I could get the usual work
out of the way; besides, I kept a book or paper by me, and thus picked up
and pondered over many thoughts that would have escaped me, if I had had
the opportunity of reading as much as I wished; for, during this time, I
used to get as hungry for mental food as ever woodcutter did for physical
aliment. The kind of reading I had made me earnestly desire to attend
school. Philosophical, chemical, or botanical allusions were often made,
and I could only half understand what I read, even with the help of the
dictionary.
A change of employment offered, which I eagerly accepted, as it brought
back my old dreams of the pleasure I should enjoy as a school-teacher. An
assistant was required in the village school. I was too eager to get the
place to inquire about the remuneration, and I enjoyed myself too well to
think about it much; but I took for granted that I should have a dollar
a week, and consequently should be able to attend the academy the next
winter. I was disappointed when, at the close of the term, I found I was
to be allowed only seventy-five cents, or what I was able to get as a
"hired girl," though I boarded at father's. I had some time to study, or
the disappointment would have been even greater. By working for my board,
I found I could attend the district school.
The reputation I acquired as a teacher of the lady I assisted, was the
means of my being employed in an adjoining district; but, as much as I
desired the situation, and as much as I loved teaching, and wished to
do my duty, I always considered that school a failure. Not that any one
complained of me, for the pupils improved; but everything became too
mechanical, and, while they learned their lessons well, their minds seemed
to rest, not expand, and I did not know how to remedy the evil. Still, I
loved my school, and set myself to learn why I had failed.
As I studied _myself_, I was more than ever conscious of my deficiencies
in mental cultivation, and of a hungering after mental food. Every chance
I had for study I improved. I was too conscious of a want of preparation
for teaching to offer myself as a teacher, so I must do what I could.
Just then an incident occurred that roused more pride than I had supposed
I possessed. One Sabbath, in the interval between the morning and
afternoon service, a lady came to me, and, in a manner intended to be very
kind, said--
"Are you going to attend the examination of teachers on Saturday?"
"I have not decided. I am not engaged as a teacher."
"Well, never mind, go. If you cannot pass examination so well as Samantha
and the rest, go; it will do you good."
Samantha was her daughter, and had always been at school, and consequently
ought to have known more than she did; but opportunity does not always
make scholars any more than want of opportunity prevents others from
becoming such. Now, I had been at school with Samantha, and knew that,
if _she_ could bear examination as fitted for a teacher, _I_ could; and
I resolved to attend, and, if opportunity was given, I also would be
examined with the rest. And I did, and have _that_ certificate now.
No opportunity offered for teaching, however; in fact, I hardly
desired one, until I had more chance for improvement myself. I made my
arrangements, as I thought, for attending school the next winter; but
winter came, and the next summer passed, and still I was as far from
what I so earnestly desired as ever. I could not pay my board, and I
could not always get a place where I could work mornings and evenings for
it; my clothes would be worn; so, with one thing and another, it seemed
impossible that I should ever be anything but a drudge. Not that my pride
rebelled against doing the _kind_ of work I did, but so constant and
ceaseless and unsympathizing a round of duties left no time for thinking
except of what was just about me.
The elasticity of spirits that had sustained me heretofore was failing me;
for, worn with labor, I felt my mind, as it were, contracting upon itself,
and felt, if I could not break from the bondage, I should be miserable
enough. For that I could see no way. Now I had a dollar a week, and I must
earn it. My employers seemed to consider it treason against them if I so
much as looked into a book. From early in the morning until ten, eleven,
and often until the "small hours," I must labor; and, if I so much as made
myself a garment, I was charged for it, as if it had been hired for me.
I submitted to many impositions rather than contend about them, though I
questioned with myself if it was to last always. It did not last always. I
will relate one incident that occurred, and pass on to pleasanter days.
A glass dish that was cracked about half way across, I accidentally
finished breaking. I went immediately to the sitting-room, and explained
how it was done. Mrs. ---- did not appear displeased at what I had done;
told me not to mind; it was an old dish; she had expected for some time it
would come apart; there was enough more; told me what one to use in place
of it. There was also considerable conversation on the impropriety of
fretting if anything was accidentally broken; and she ended by saying, "I
make it a point _never_ to reproach my girls if an accident occurs."
I left the room, feeling grateful that such was her practice, and thinking
how pleasant it would be if all could think so, not only about accidents,
but other things, and be careful not to "break the bruised reed." I
thought, too, that though many persons did not seem to sympathize with
those who labor for them, it was more in seeming than real. This incident
showed me that our feelings were regarded.
A few days after this, Mrs. ---- came into the kitchen to make some
preparation for company, and when she wanted a dish inquired about that
one. I thought it strange if she had forgotten it, and reminded her of its
being broken.
"Yes, and I think very carelessly broken, too."
A very expressive remark, I thought, after her boasted forbearance, and it
stung none the less that the dart was unexpected.
* * * * *
My long-desired wish was gratified, and I was spending the winter at
the academy, and among friends who took an interest in my welfare, and
assisted me whenever they could. The prospect was fair before me of my
being able to prepare for what I had wished from childhood. Still, envy
and contempt had a shaft or two, but they generally flew too high or too
low, for I knew a _man_ would "_be a man for a' that_."
A little boy said to me one day, tauntingly: "Mother says you can't be a
schoolma'am anyhow; anybody as has allus been a servant don't know 'nough.
I sha'n't go to school to you."
"Ah, you think you would not like to come then?" said I, pleasantly.
"If mother would let me."
Then, looking up to me in a confiding way, he asked: "Is it bad to be a
servant?"
Heaven bless the child! thought I, as I kissed his face, sweet now
with gentle thoughts; why must such hearts be poisoned with bitter and
contemptuous thoughts?
It was nearly spring when a party was made by one of the principal
families of the village. Some of the pupils of the academy were to leave
before the term expired, and it was intended as a compliment to them.
Some of the villagers had begun to think the habits of our village too
primitive, and that "hired girls," farmers' sons, and apprentices, should
no longer be invited to the village gatherings. To this party I was among
the uninvited. I was too proud, too independent, too much intent on my
studies to resent it, and intended not to notice it. One does not like to
be the subject of deliberate neglect; but all I meant to do about it was
to prepare myself for the future, and I resolved _my_ future should be
such that they and their descendants would be proud to associate with me.
A young gentleman, a favorite in the village, boarding at the same place,
asked permission to attend me to the party. His favorite girl was a
particular friend of mine, and he had been escort to both on a previous
occasion, but now she was out of the village. Without telling him I could
not go, and for what reason, I endeavored to put him off to go alone, or
find another lady, saying, "I must learn my lessons; I did not like to be
out late."
He knew that, but had resolved I should go this time, as I had
successfully excused myself before. He protested I was studying too much;
a social evening would do me good; said he would come home as soon as I
said, after nine o'clock. Thus he endeavored to overrule all my objections
and excuses.
There was no _real_ reason why I should not go with him, only the one why
I should not go at all. I did not intend to tell him I had such an one,
but he gave me no peace until I told him I could not go, and why.
"No invitation!" repeated he, in astonishment; "how is that?"
"Excuse me; I must keep my suspicions to myself."
He sat thoughtfully a few moments, then, starting up as if a new thought
occurred to him, said--
"I understood they were not intending to invite 'hired girls;' but why
should they slight you? You are as much a pupil at the academy as any one
there."
"Yes, but I work for my board, and next summer I shall probably be 'hired
girl' again."
"Well," said he, pleasantly, "we can have a party here."
I protested against his staying on my account.
"Yes, yes, they made me promise to come, but I insisted on qualifying it
with 'providential,' and I consider this I have learned quite in that
light. Nay, speak not, I command you. I _shall not_ go. I only wish Mary
was at home. However, we can have a pleasant evening here, and no thanks
to the 'codfish aristocracy.'"
The next day, inquiry was made after Mr. ----, and why he did not attend
the party; but he gave them no more satisfaction than they were entitled
to. Afterward I was invited whenever there was a party; I did not care
about going always, though I was glad to have my right to an invitation
unquestioned, as, according to my definition of respectable, a man or
woman either was so who could _conscientiously_ respect himself.
The next summer, and for years, until my marriage, I had the satisfaction
of knowing that my schools were not failures. Though I had anticipated so
long, the enjoyment was equal to the anticipation.
Here Mrs. Clark's history of her days of trial ceased.
* * * * *
"Why did she not write more of her school-teaching life?" I asked. "I
should like to hear her account of it; I am sure it would be interesting."
"It is," said Isabel; "she has related many incidents to me that are very
amusing, and some pathetic. I will ask her to tell you about them some
time. This she wrote for me to correct some very foolish notions I had
acquired at Mrs. W.'s school. Who would think, after seeing mother, that
work must necessarily degrade any one? You know Burritt says: 'If a man
thinks at his work, his thoughts are strong,' and mother exemplifies it;
her thoughts are also gentle."
Again Isabel resorted to the piano, but this time it was accompanied by a
gentle evening hymn.
[Illustration]
TIME'S CHANGES; OR, FASHIONS IN THE OLDEN TIMES.
JULY, 1730.
_Extracts from the Diary of my Greatgrand-mother._
_Five o'clock._--Got up an hour before my usual time to distil
surfeit-water. Said my prayers. Finished one of my father's new shirts.
Mem. To send to town for some currants, raisins, and ratafia water.
_Six._--Some poor women came for medicine to my mother; gave out of the
store-room several doses, and a pint of sack. Mem. To carry two shillings
to Tom, the carpenter's wife, who is ill.
_Seven._--Breakfasted. A card has come from Mr. Jenkins, to let us know he
will do himself the pleasure of dining with us. The match debated during
breakfast. My father says, if he finds him a man of good morals, he'll not
differ as to the settlements. I am ordered never to be alone with Mr. J.
until all the writings are drawn.
_Eight._--Read the Psalms and chapters for the day. Taught little Jemmy
his catechism. Mem. Betsey has marked J. in her sampler to-day: that
stands for _Jenkins_.
_Nine._--Darn some old point-lace tuckers. Do some clear-starching and
ironing for next week.
_Ten._--Go see the carpenter's wife. Her family in very great want. Give
them a shilling from my own pocket-money.
_Eleven._--Sit down to my cross-stitch. A shepherdess the subject, for an
urn-rug.
_Twelve._--My mother orders me to make a custard-pudding, to show Mr.
Jenkins what I can do. Orders me to wear my best gown at dinner, and only
two patches. Mem. I mean to appear in my new hoop and laced stomacher. Mr.
J. is a man of figure, so will look to my appearance.
_One._--Too much ratafia water in the pudding. Mr. J. praised some hare
of my potting. I begin to like him vastly well, but must not let him
perceive it. Mem. Our currant wine just out. Mislaid the key of the
corner-cupboard. Thinking of Mr. J.
_Two._--Miss T. and her lover stepped in to tea. Promise her receipt for
pickling mushrooms. Mem. Mrs. Hart's receipt for burns very good. Must
have it in the house. Garlick syrup excellent for coughs.
_Eight._--Supper. My brother tells me Mr. Jenkins is very wild. Mem. Never
to see his face again!
SATURDAY, MARCH, 1778.
_Notes from my Grandmother's Pocket Diary._
_Two o'clock._--Arrived this moment in town. We have been three days
coming from S---- in our own coach. Just put off my riding-dress, and
huddled on my green gown, to get to the milliner's, mercer's, &c.
Overjoyed to be in town; so have no appetite for my dinner.
_Four._--Going out with Miss Tendrill. She tells me _coque de perle_
necklace and ear-rings are much in vogue. Mem. To teaze my mother until
she gets them for me. Arrive at Truefit's. N. B. Truefit the first
_modeste_ in the world. Ordered a cane hat, lined with cerulean blue
Persian, trimmed with blonde lace and ribbons, for walking in the Park,
and making morning calls. Mem. Must bespeak two pairs of white leather
shoes, with red heels, and bindings to correspond. Advised to have a Saint
Teresa of sarsnet and blonde lace, as 'tis the latest mode. Ordered it at
once. Mem. Blonde lace ruffles, with a large slope, vastly genteel. Uneasy
till I get them.
_Eight._--Go home, fearing I may miss Mr. Cleveland. He advises, as my
shoulders are rather round, that my stays be made high behind. He says
'tis quite the thing to have them so. I have desired they should be cut
low before, as it shows the chest off to advantage.
_Sunday. Eleven o'clock._--Had no rest last night, anticipating the
pleasure of the week to come. Too late for church. I shall dress time
enough for a ride in the Park.
_One._--Miss Wyndham has called for me. Go to Mrs. Emerson, to engage
her to matronize us to an assembly to-morrow night. Mr. ---- walked up
to speak to us. An acquaintance of Miss Wyndham. A fine well-made man;
improves on better acquaintance. He took great notice of me, and told Miss
W. I was a prodigious fine girl. Miss W. jealous, and anxious to return
home; he offered to escort us. Miss W. complained of headache, and would
not speak. I improved the opportunity, by chatting away merrily to Mr.
---- all the way home. Mem. To get a green Persian calash, same as Miss
Wyndham's. Mr. ---- praised it, so I won't be outdone.
_Seven._--Mr. ---- invited to dinner by my mother. I engrossed all his
attention. He is very rich.
_Eleven._--Desired Mary to waken me at two in the morning, to have my hair
dressed. It will be done in about four hours.
_Monday. Two in the morning._--Crumpe just arrived. Read _Damon and Ella_,
whilst my head is being operated on. A sweet book!
_Seven._--My hair finished. Mem. Crumpe the first hair-dresser in Europe.
Only 463 black pins in it. No other could have accomplished it with less
than 470.
_Eleven._--Out shopping with Mrs. Emerson. Take the round of the
fashionable milliners. Bespeak a grenadier cap of blonde lace, with a Mary
Stuart peak. Saw a lovely clouded lute-string at Ball and Campbell's.
Resolved to have it. 'Tis very much genteeler than Miss Wyndham's.
_Twelve._--Had a glance at Mr. ----. They say half the reigning belles are
dying for love of him. Charming creature! Mem. To dance the first minuet
with him to-night, if possible.
_One._--Much fatigued from tumbling over silks, &c. Tried on my new
_negligée_. Mem. Must not go to the assembly until ten. Country hours will
not do here.
_Tuesday. One._--Paid so many visits yesterday before the assembly,
that I was tired and out of sorts. Mr. ---- danced with Miss Wyndham
half the night. Well, to be sure, what taste _some_ people have! She
looked downright frightful. Her fortune is a large one; _that_ covers all
defects, I suppose. I am mortified, have a bad headache, and wish our stay
in town was at an end. I have just heard that Mr. ---- proposed for Miss
Wyndham last night. I shall cut her acquaintance most certainly.
DECEMBER, 1820.
_Leaves from my Mother's Journal._