expression of his mother's face when she came out. "They are all just gone
or going, or else 'ain't obleeged to work out.' I wish some of them _had_
to."
"Oh no, that is wrong, Wally. I would not have a domestic unless it would
be for her interest to serve me as well as for mine. But I do believe
these uncultivated girls sometimes stand very much in their own light in
refusing to go where they might be learning something valuable, and be
really improving themselves, as well as helping those who need."
"Well, I am sick of this," said Walter, half laughing, and almost half
crying. "I am tired and hungry. Cannot we have some dinner?"
His mother assured him that they would stop for dinner soon. In the mean
time, they continued their inquiries. One girl who, they were assured,
was at home spinning, and who intended to engage out for the season,
they found had started the day before for Boston in search of a place.
At another house, a sweet-looking girl, blue-eyed and fair, with her
white arms bare almost to the shoulders, had her trunk already packed for
Lowell. She "could not go." One pale mother had three daughters, one of
whom was at the academy, a second in the paper-mill, and the third she
must keep to assist herself. One stout, healthy girl, whom Mrs. Harding
urged to the very verge of decency, preferred to stay at home to knit for
the merchants at one dollar per pound. And one woman, with very yellow
skin and snapping black eyes, wouldn't "have her girls go where folks
were so grand. They were as good as anybody, and better than some who sot
themselves up to be so smart."
It was two hours past noon when our tired, worn-out travellers drove up to
a small tavern to dine. As they sat at table, a new thought struck Mrs.
Harding. She would inquire of the table-girl.
"No, ma'am," replied the girl to her question, with a smile and a shake
of the head. "We can't get girls enough here to do our work. Most all the
girls here go to the factory. There was a man along last week, who had
been up country to get a lot of girls, and he had engaged sixteen hundred
to go to a new factory in Lowell. He pays them so much a head, and takes
them down by the lot, just like cattle to the market."
"Shall you go home now, mother?" asked Walter, when the girl had left the
room.
"Certainly I shall; and I can see no other way but to do my own work at
present."
It was a late hour in the evening when Mrs. Harding and her son drove up
to their own door. Mr. Harding, notwithstanding his rheumatism, laughed
heartily as they rehearsed the incidents of the day. He still insisted,
however, that it was because they had taken an unfortunate direction, and
that, if they should take a different route, they would surely be more
successful.
"No," said Mrs. Harding, laughing; "I can assure you I have had enough
of it. All I get for my day's labor is the privilege of getting my own
supper. I can get along alone, and _must_."
"Ah, you will think differently, wife, when the Wallaces and Pinkertons
get here. It will be no trifling affair to play the parts of lady and
housemaid, hostess and table-girl, with so many visitors on your hands."
Mrs. Harding, however, kept up good courage. The expected guests, some
eight or ten, including the babies, arrived. By making extra preparations
before their arrival, she managed to get along comfortably for a few
days; but the cake and tarts could not always last where there were so
many mouths, the house would not keep in order, and the care and labor of
meeting the wants of her large family pressed every day, she thought, with
greater weight upon her.
"I can tell you, Ellen, I will not consent to this another day," said Mr.
Harding to his wife, as he met her burning face one day in the kitchen,
just as dinner was ready for the table. "Why, you look as if you had baked
yourself as well as the mutton," he added, laughing.
"Pray, how will you help it, my dear?" asked Mrs. Harding.
"I will go myself for help. I do believe I can find somebody who can tend
the roast and wash the dishes."
"Don't be too positive, Mr. Harding; remember your good wife's
experience," interposed Mrs. Pinkerton, with an arch shake of the finger
and a roguish twinkle of the eye.
"Well, one thing is certain," replied Mr. Harding, laughing, "I shall not
come back till I find one, extraordinaries excepted. So, when you see me
driving up, you will see some one else."
Old Dobbin was duly harnessed next morning, and Mr. Harding, full of hope,
started off "bright and early," while the whole family, guests and all,
ran down to the gate to wish him success and a pleasant ride.
One, two, three days passed, but he did not return, and Mrs. Harding began
to cast uneasy glances down the street, and to watch and listen every time
she heard carriage-wheels.
"He will be as good as his word, Ellen," said her sister, Mrs. Pinkerton.
"When he does come, you will have help; that is a comfort."
"Perhaps," cried little Anna Pinkerton, "he cannot find a girl, and then
he will never come back."
Just then, however, a step was heard in the hall, and the next moment the
parlor door was darkened by his tall form. There he stood, but alone.
"Where is your girl?" asked Mrs. Harding, anxiously.
"I left her to come in the cars. She will be here in three days."
"Oh, did you get one, then?" asked his wife and two or three others, in a
breath.
"To be sure I did; but I had hard enough work to find her. My experience
was almost as romantic as yours, wife."
"Do give us your history," said Mrs. Pinkerton, after Mr. Harding was
settled, and quietly sipping his tea.
"Well," said Mr. Harding, with a self-satisfied air, for he had actually
engaged a girl, "one experiences wonderful alternations of hope and fear
in this business, I can assure you. I have made as many as fifty calls,
and inquiries without number. I rode over frightful hills and almost
impassable roads, and met with many discouraging receptions; but I was
determined to succeed, and I did."
Mr. Harding's history of his "girl hunt" kept his family chatting,
laughing, and wondering till a late hour. But we spare the reader the
details of his ride.
The day that the new girl was expected was damp and cloudy. The sun
scarcely showed itself all the morning, and, now and then, a heavy mist
or slow drizzling rain added to the discomfort and gloom. Late in the
morning, a lumbering old stage-coach came rattling up to Mr. Harding's
door, and from it alighted a girl, evidently somewhat over twenty years
of age, with a very dark, sallow complexion and large coal-black eyes,
which seemed made on purpose to look everything through. Notwithstanding
the dull, uncomfortable morning, she was dressed in a flounced lawn with
a white ground. A gold pencil dangled at her side, and she flaunted the
largest of gold hoops in her ears, and an enormous piece of red glass in
her breast-pin.
"Can that be the new girl?" asked Mrs. Pinkerton, as the stranger whisked
up the gravel-walk and pulled the bell.
"The very one," answered Mr. Harding, who caught a glimpse of her figure
at the door.
Zilpah Ann Swain, for such was her euphonious appellative, was soon
ushered into the kitchen, where Mrs. Harding was busy with the dinner, and
quietly seating herself at the window, without offering her aid, she fixed
her staring black eyes upon Mrs. Harding's red, weary face, and followed
her through all the evolutions of getting up dinner.
"I am very glad you have come to-day," said Mrs. Harding, attempting to be
a little social. "I have friends with me, and need very much some one to
take care of the kitchen."
"Well, I thought I'd come a spell, jest to accommodate; but I told Mr.
Harding I wouldn't be boun' to stay. I ain't obleeged to work out, if
I ain't a mind teu," replied Zilpah Ann, her black eyes flashing with
independence.
It was soon evident that Zilpah Ann came simply as "help." She had not
the slightest idea of taking charge of the kitchen, or of relieving her
mistress by going on independently in any department of the work. The
morning after her arrival, Mrs. Harding gave her special directions about
sweeping the front stairs and hall, and the brick walk which led to the
gate. She was to go through a certain process every morning. But her work
was so badly done that Mrs. Harding determined to speak to her about it.
"Zilpah Ann," she said, as she passed through the hall one morning, about
one week after her arrival, "I wish you to be particular to sweep the
corners of the stairs clean. You will find the small brush better for that
purpose."
"I guess I know how to sweep, Miss Harding," exclaimed the surprised
Zilpah Ann, starting up from her work and throwing the full fire of her
eyes upon Mrs. Harding's calm face. "I don't want nobody to tell me how to
sweep out corners. I knows some things, if I hain't got so much l'arnin'
as some folks."
"Oh, yes, I presume you do know how. I only wished to remind you of the
corners; I am very particular about having them swept clean, and the walk,
too. You will remember that, Zilpah Ann."
"I didn't come here to be a nigger nor a sarvent, Miss Harding, I'll
let you know," exclaimed Zilpah Ann, dropping her broom in a passion
and bolting to her room. Half an hour afterwards, she appeared at the
parlor door with her bonnet on, and her bandbox in her hand, and demanded
to be carried to the depot. The Hardings let her go without a word of
remonstrance. They had had "help" enough for one week, and Mrs. Harding
went about her work alone again, with a feeling of positive relief.
"What do you think of girl-hunting now, brother Harding?" asked Mrs.
Pinkerton, as they sat round the tea-table, making themselves merry with
the trials and helps of the week.
"Oh, I call it an unprofitable business," exclaimed Mr. Harding, with a
hearty laugh. "I rode three days in a broiling sun after Zilpah Ann, paid
her fare fifty miles, bore with her help for a week, and received nothing
for my pains. It is just like chasing your own shadow, or '_hunting a
needle in a haymow_.'"
[Illustration]
NIAGARA.
A RECENT tour to Niagara, in affording welcome recreation, gave me
opportunity to look upon this stupendous curiosity. I had had years ago a
faint foresight in observing, at a favorable season, Passaic Falls. The
river at these falls is forty yards wide, and one entire sheet of water
descends seventy feet. The cascade presented a unique scene of beauty, and
has been regarded as the greatest curiosity in "the State of the Broad
Seal." But the Falls of Niagara far outreach all comparison. They are
really stupendous, and challenge the world to outvie them in grandeur. On
first witnessing them, your sensations are peculiar. Your nature becomes
suffused with a sublimity of feeling. A fulmination of "the great and
glorious" strikes one to silent amazement. With a "pleasing terror," akin
to grandeur, you approach the precipice, and gaze unweariedly upon the
wonderful cataract.
I proceeded without refreshing my memory with any account of the wonder.
Conversation touching the falls, with all fulsome descriptions, I had
avoided. I beheld them from many points of observation, at evening, in
the morning, and during the sunny day. I was sensible that the great
natural curiosity of the New World had presented itself to my view. The
sense of grandeur augmented with repeated observations. No description can
adequately convey an idea of their true sublimity.
Niagara has had many admirers. Some, in their descriptions, have been
borne very far by fancy; others have given occasional circumstances as
the general. The precipice which produces the cataract was said to be not
less than six hundred feet. This was an account of an early tourist. It
does not, in reality, exceed one hundred and sixty feet. "The noise is
such," says Father Hennepin, "that people distant from it several miles
cannot hear each other speak." At some seasons, and at particular times,
the roar of the cataract is very loud, and is heard for many miles; but it
would be exceeding strange if found so deafening as indicated by the above
account. "As the traveller advances," says _Howison_, "he is frightfully
stunned by the appalling noise, clouds of spray sometimes envelop him, and
suddenly check his faltering steps; rattlesnakes start from the cavities
of the rocks; and the scream of eagles soaring among the whirlwinds of the
cataract, at intervals, announce that the raging waters have hurled some
bewildered animal over the precipice." These intervals, at present, are
very long.
When the red man gazed exclusively upon the cataract, it is supposed it
was of greater height than now. Not only, indeed, of greater height, but
that it was differently located. The intelligent geologist maintains that
the falls were once at Lewiston, and that they must eventually recede
to Lake Erie. Thus, any poetical apostrophe to Niagara which sings, "As
creation's dawn beholdst," &c., loses its verity. As years wind on, the
falls must gradually become less grand as their height decreases; and,
"Lake Erie being drained, they will sink to the wild beauty and hoarse
roar of the rapids." Accurate observation proves that the falls wear
backward a trifle over a foot each year, having receded forty-two feet in
the last forty years. Many thousands of years have gone by since the falls
were on the borders of the Ontario, and over another hundred thousand
years must pass ere they retire to the sister lake.
At the efflux from Lake Erie, Niagara River is three-quarters of a mile
wide, and from forty to sixty feet deep. Its current flows at the rate of
seven miles an hour. As it proceeds, the river widens and imbosoms Grand
and Navy Islands, which terminate in points a mile and a half above the
falls.
Below these islands are rapids which extend a mile to the precipice, in
which space the river descends fifty-seven feet. Down these rapids the
stream rushes, foaming and dashing, giving to the beholder a wild scene
of novel interest. Goat Island divides the river into two courses. A
small island but a few yards from Goat Island divides the channel on the
American side. Between the two is a beautiful cascade; and, from the small
island to the American side, the sheet is broad, with a greater descent,
though less quantity of water, than at the other fall on the Canada side.
Much the greater body of water passes through the course between Goat
Island and the Canada shore. This fall, from its shape, has been named the
Horse-shoe Fall.
The waters, as they wend their way over the edge and downward, assume a
white appearance, save a streak eastward in the Horse-shoe Fall, which
streak is of a green color, like the water of the river where it is
deep and undisturbed. In one spot, near "the Cave of the Winds," on the
American side, I saw a narrow cascade with so thin a sheet that it assumed
a pearl color, and descended in congregated globules, or beads, sparkling
in their beauty, and altogether variable from the heavier masses rolling
over the more central parts. Farther centreward, the bounding waters
assume a snowy appearance; and, in gazing upon them, they seem large
volumes, or rather avalanches of foam, rolling down into the trembling
depths of the lower river. A gentleman skilled in science, who has
measured the water above, below, and on the brink of the falls, reports
that three millions of tons of water fall over the precipice every second.
The moving water below the falls creates one vast mass of "liquid foam,"
which, like pressed down, floats upon the surface of the river. Here, amid
the roar of the rumbling and rushing waters, the spray rolls up in clouds,
like ascending smoke. Rainbows dawn amid the dull-appearing mist, and we
have, as a whole, Niagara presented to us as she is, and as no language
can describe her. The grand view remains fixed upon the mind, and a halo
of happy fancies takes hold of the conceptions.
The scenery around the falls is not without its interest. Nature retains
her roughest aspect, and looks pleasingly rugged and wild. There is,
indeed, much that is romantic around Niagara. Along the river, below
the falls, there are trees of many kinds and an abundance of uncultured
shrubbery. The impending cliffs seem to vibrate with the rolling murmurs
and echoes of the cataract. Table Rock, a portion of which fell some years
since, and the remainder recently, was on a level with the edge of the
cataract on the Canada side. It projected beyond the cliffs that supported
it, resembling the leaf of a table, which circumstance caused its name.
Under this projecting rock I passed, after descending a flight of stairs,
and approached the sheet of rolling water. The spray here danced on the
eddying currents of the air, and ascended in clouds. The waters plash and
foam, the cataract sounds with a winnowing roar, echo resounds amid the
rocky hills, and the beholder is thrilled with emotions of awe.
A little way below the falls, where the river loses its excessive
agitation, and resumes an unexcited course, a small "row-boat" plies to
and fro. In going over this ferry, your boat is swayed with a turning
motion by the force of the current. While visited lightly by the fleeting
spray, the traveller looks towards the wonderful fall. The cliffs on each
side of the river are lofty. The tides glide down in a rapid current
towards the distant whirlpool. Passing the eye upward, and gazing upon
the falls, they are now presented in all their stupendous grandeur. The
waters roll over in huge bodies, never ceasing--rolling, rolling, rolling.
You see it, and linger to see it. Echoes reverberate, and the constant
murmur and rumble, like a hundred mill-races in a freshet, send a feeling
which you cannot forget. No one has inclination to speak while viewing
the falls. The luxury is to look in silence at the picture here presented
in lively colors by Nature. 'Tis a pleasure to stand and contemplate. You
must; your soul ponders upon the novelty and grandeur before the eye. The
memory has garnered a clear impression. It will hold it forever.
Surrounding rugged and fossil exhibitions lead the mind to the convulsions
and changes through which Nature has gone since the Creation. Fancy
retains Niagara long after it ceases to be visible. The falls appear
in both their pleasing terror and dancing beauty. Nature, ceasing to
be unanimated, has exhibited at once her heavy artillery and rainbow
beauties. The soul recognizes and does involuntary homage to the Grand
Master of the universe.
THE WILD FLOWERS OF THE MONTH.
BY HARLAND COULTAS, PROFESSOR OF BOTANY IN PENN MEDICAL UNIVERSITY,
PHILADELPHIA.
THE early spring flowers, whose lovely forms were nurtured amidst
the falling snows of February and the rude cold winds of March, have
disappeared from the wild parterre of nature. Flora's first offering,
how welcome to the botanist! The vernal sun now pours forth on the cold
damp earth floods of warm, life-giving radiance. Vegetation is in full
activity, and by the forces of nature the earth and atmosphere are being
woven into green leaves and beautiful flowers. Behold the rich feast which
is provided for the support of every living thing. There is not an insect
wantoning in the sunbeam, or a bird singing sweetly amongst the branches,
or a poor worm crawling at your feet, for which ample provision has not
been fully made.
To those who are interested in botanical pursuits, the country now
possesses an especial attraction. June is pre-eminently the month of
flowers. To describe them all would fill a volume. We will, however,
mention the following, which are both abundant and beautiful, and may be
very easily procured:--
[Illustration: Fig. 1.]
AQUILEGIA CANADENSIS (_Wild Columbine_).--This beautiful plant may now
be found growing out of the crevices of the rocks on the west bank of
the Schuylkill, between Manayunk and Columbia Bridge. It has biternate
leaves, or leaves which are twice three parted and deeply toothed at
their margin. Fig. 1 shows the foliage and flower of the Columbine. The
sepals of the calyx and petals of the corolla are of the same color, and
so intermingled as to be not easily distinguished from each other. The
corolla is composed of five horn-shaped petals, one of which is shown
detached at _a_. The petals are curved at the upper end and form a sort
of coronet, terminating below in spurs or horns which contain honey. The
five oval and colored sepals of the calyx alternate with them. The stamens
and styles are exerted, or hang below the mouth of the corolla. The
corolla and calyx are of a beautiful scarlet or rather coral color, and
the whole plant, together with its drooping, pendulous flowers, is really
an ornament to the barren rocks from which it springs. How wonderful
that so much beauty should thus flourish in so unpromising a situation!
_b_ Represents the appearance of the fruit after the flowers have faded
and fallen, which consists of five carpels or follicles, many seeded and
acuneinated by the persistent style. _c_, A separate follicle.
[Illustration: Fig. 2.]
HOUSTONIA CŒRULEA (or _Quaker Lady_).--The fresh green grass on every
hill-side is now adorned with the tufts of this beautiful wild plant. It
grows, however, most luxuriantly in moist, shady situations. This plant
is easily recognized by its profusion of handsome bright blue blossoms,
fading to white, with a yellow eye. Fig. 2 shows the form of its leaves
and flowers. Each little plant, when examined apart from the rest,
presents a few forked branches an inch or two in length. The radical
leaves are spatulate, the corolla monopetalous and salverform. It has four
stamens and one pistil. _a_, One of the anthers opening longitudinally.
_b_, Cross-section of that anther magnified. _c_, The capsule enveloped by
the persistent calyx. _d_, _e_, Views of the dehiscence of the capsule.
MITCHELLA REPENS (_Partridge-berry_).--This pretty little evergreen is
now in flower in moist, shady woods, about the roots of trees. Its stem
and branches trail along the ground, bearing opposite ovate leaves, and
pairs of white, monopetalous, four cleft, and singularly villous or
downy-looking flowers. After flowering, a bright scarlet berry is produced
by the coalescence or engraftment of the drupes or fruit of each pair of
flowers, which is crowned with the calyx teeth of each of them. This plant
commemorates Dr. John Mitchell, an early correspondent of Linnæus and an
excellent botanist. The berries remain over winter.
EPIGŒA REPENS (_Trailing Arbutus_).--This is a favorite spring flower,
especially with ladies. It is very abundant in the woods on the banks of
the Wissahicon. It may be readily distinguished by its prostrate stems,
which bear evergreen, reticulated, rounded, alternate leaves, and axillary
clusters of rose-colored flowers, which are most delightfully fragrant.
The stem and stalks of the leaves are bristly with rusty hairs. Name
derived from [Greek: epi], upon, and [Greek: gê], the earth. Ten stamens
and one pistil will be found within the floral envelops.
CLAYTONIA VIRGINICA (_Spring Beauty_).--This plant is common in moist
woods on the banks of the Schuylkill. It is named in honor of John
Clayton, one of the earliest botanists of this country. It sends up in
early spring from a small, deeply buried tuber, a simple stem bearing
two linear lanceolate, opposite leaves, and a simple raceme of pale,
rose-colored flowers. Fig. 3 is a representation of this ornament of
the vernal woods. Sepals of the calyx, two, ovate, free, green, and
persistent; that is, they remain after the corolla has faded as a
protecting envelop to the fruit. Stamens, five, adhering to the claws
of the petals. Style, three-lobed. Capsule, three-valved, three to
five-seeded. _a_ Shows the persistent two-leaved calyx enveloping the
capsule. _b_, A section of the dehiscing or opening capsule, with the
seeds in its interior.
[Illustration: Fig. 3.]