THE PRYING FAMILY.
The farms of the brothers Prying were situated in a beautiful valley. On
the one side were the Vermont snow-crowned and cloud-capped mountains,
rising up like eternal ramparts against all eastern hostile incursions
of the elements. On the other, or the western side, were the pleasant
hills of York State, which, in contrast with the mountains of Vermont,
looked like so many tumuli of the deceased Indian giants of ages gone
by. In the centre between, in a southerly course, ran a clear, silver
brook, well stocked with an abundance of trout and other species of the
finny tribe. On both sides of this stream were situated the extensive
farms of the Pryings. They had abundance of woods from the elevated
extremes on either side. The rivulet constituted a cooling retreat for
cattle in summer, and in spring afforded an abundant source of
irrigation to the rich meadows on both sides.
Ephraim's family, where Paul and Bridget remained, consisted of Mrs.
Prying, Amanda, the senior daughter, Melinda, and Mary, called after her
grandmother, who was Irish. There were besides, Calvin, Wesley, Cassius,
and Cyrus, younger members of the family, together with old uncle
Jacob, an unmarried brother of Ephraim, the head of this family. We may
as well here remark that Mr. Prying was, from the beginning, averse to
receive these orphans into his house, seeing, as he said, "that he
wanted no more such hands as they were;" but Amanda persuaded him, in
order to have the glory of being instrumental in the conversion of the
"interesting orphans," as they were called.
There were frequent friendly contentions in the family to see who would
have the special care of the new comers. Little Mary insisted on having
Bridget to sleep with herself instead of her sister Melinda, whom she
wanted to dispossess. Wesley, Calvin, and Cassius wanted to monopolize
Paul, especially on Sundays, when each of them were about to separate
for their respective meetings to hear the preacher.
"Father," said Calvin, "won't Paul come with me? Our minister, Mr.
Gulmore, is such a clever preacher, and our Sunday school the best and
the largest."
"I say he shan't, now, Calvin," replied Wesley. "Your minister, the old
feller, is nothing, compared with ours, Mr. Barker."
"Well, brothers," said Cassius, "I don't see the use of your jawing
about it. But I say Paul had better come to our meeting--the very name,
Universalist, signifying the same with Catholic, as I was telling Paul
yesterday, while a-fishing, and as our minister said."
"Well, boys," said uncle Jacob, laughing, "my advice to you is; to see
first whether Paul is willing to go with any of ye to yer meetings. I
think his mind is made up to stay at home, like myself."
Amanda now stepped forward to inform this conference that Paul had been
spoiled by their example; that he cried when told he must go to meeting;
and that it was better now not to urge the matter further. In future,
she intended to instruct Paul and Bridget herself; and she was resolved
to cut off all intercourse between them and the younger members of the
family.
Our readers are aware that Amanda was the Miss Prying, a child of her
father by a former marriage; and besides this, she was an old maid. In
addition to the foregoing circumstances, she became pious, attended camp
meetings, donation parties, and _quilting matches_ at young ministers'
houses, who were just preparing to get a _rib_. And though she was
praised as the best needle lady in the town, her epistles on love to
young preachers were the most admirable mixture of classical and
biblical composition that could be found. Though she had a good pair of
hands at making pies, puddings, and other culinary preparations, though
she was praised, flattered, and admired, yet nobody ever yet went beyond
this. All was admiration, praise, flattery, no more. Again: Amanda,
though a strict old school Presbyterian, in order to exhibit her
liberality and prove that she had no objection to a partner from any of
the other countless sects of Protestantism, be he Baptist, Methodist, or
Unitarian--in order to prove her liberality, she attended the donations
of the six ministers of her village, and each of the dominies received
from her a neatly-worked handkerchief for pulpit use. Yet, though she
was at once liberal and strict, pious and politic; though she induced
one Sally Dwyer to join her church and declare she "got the change of
heart;" though she was eternally working and planning to bring others to
her way of thinking, and had some success in her proselyting
efforts,--she never could, with all her art, biblical lore, and policy,
succeed in causing any body to say, "I take thee, Amanda, to my wedded
wife." This was the chief point; and here is just where she failed. What
was the cause of it? She was not too old--not near so old as Miss
Longface, whom the youthful parson Barker lately wedded. "And besides,"
said she, in a soliloquy, "when I was young, it was just the same bad
luck. Is it that men are less numerous than ladies? There might be
something in that, for she had seen it stated in their newspaper, 'The
Home Journal,' that female births exceeded that of males by forty
thousand annually in certain European kingdoms. The number of Popish
priests also," she said, "who remain unmarried, adds greatly to the
superfluity of the female sex. Hence there is no part of the wicked
Popish system I regard so much contrary to God's holy word as celibacy.
Celibacy!" she cried aloud; "one of the doctrines of devils, as any one
can tell, who has been these twenty years in search of a mate, and could
never yet find one! O horrid thought!" She had consulted the famous
fortune teller at the state fair of Vermont, and, after having paid that
"seer of future events" a fee of ten dollars, she found his prediction
was false. For she was told she would be married within two years, and
to a neighboring minister; but now it was twenty-six months since, and
the only single minister around lately got married to Miss Longface, a
very ignorant and unamiable person. But there was no taste, or judgment,
or discernment nowadays in men, as this fact clearly proved.
"Thunderation on them!" said she, in a rage.
Such were the ideas that were passing through the brain of Amanda one
Sunday morning, as she lounged on the sofa of her sitting room, when,
upon her looking out towards the lawn in front, she perceived Paul and
Bridget kneeling by a seat, at the foot of a large wild plum tree that
stood at the end of the green plot in front of the house, and that had
its branches bent within a few feet of the ground by the embraces of a
rich grape vine that for years had grown around it and impeded its
development. For a few moments she watched the movements of the orphans
as they smote their breasts at the "Confiteor," or bowed their heads at
the "Sanctus," accompanying the priests who, they knew, in thousands of
churches, were engaged in offering sacrifice to God; and reading the
"Prayers at Mass" out of the Key of Heaven manual of devotion.
Instead of admiring this sincerity of devotion, or giving thanks to God
for the grace of fidelity and piety that his mercy had vouchsafed to
these children of grace, Amanda, as if she could not endure the sight of
such happiness, or mortified at the miscarriage of her vain attempts to
rob these innocent hearts of the treasure of true faith and piety which
they possessed, still pale with rage in consequence of her ruminations
about her own misfortune, the ill-tempered old maid there and then
resolved to try another and a severer plan to effect her purpose of
proselytism.
"Confound yer impudence, ye little Popish paupers!" she said to herself.
"I shall soon make ye give up these superstitious practices. Paul, Paul,
dear," she said, tapping at the window, "come in out of that, come in
Bridget, ye little fools; the sun will spoil yer features, cover ye with
tan."
"Yes, miss, in a few minutes; we are just finishing," said Paul.
Ever since Paul came to this house, in obedience to the advice of his
mother, as well as in accordance with the prescriptions of the excellent
religious education he received at home in the diocesan seminary, he
always read the "Prayers at Mass," accompanied by his sister Bridget,
first; and after having read them with her at home, he went across the
brook to Reuben Prying's, where his brothers lived, and taking them into
the fields, or to the barn if the weather did not answer, he read for
them the same devotions, causing them to answer "Amen" after the end of
each prayer, and reading to them a chapter of the catechism for
committal to memory. And to do justice to Reuben, whose wife was a
southern lady, there was no obstacle thrown in the way of the children
to prevent them from discharging their duties to their religion. On the
contrary, the fidelity of Paul, and his watchfulness over the faith and
morals of his younger brothers Patrick and Eugene, commanded the
highest approbation of Mrs. Reuben Prying. And such was her horror of
any thing like the domestic tyranny or intolerance of Amanda, that Mrs.
Reuben always allowed the two young lads to say their own prayers in
private, notwithstanding the advice of the ministers to the contrary.
The only times that Pat and Eugene were ever asked into the parlor to
pray was on some rare occasions, when Mrs. Reuben, through a laudable
curiosity, and to serve as an example to her own children, caused the
orphans to say their prayers aloud before retiring to bed. The two
little fellows, one five and the other eight years of age, joining their
hands before their breasts, repeated the Lord's Prayer, Hail Mary, the
Apostles' Creed, the General Confession, the Acts of Faith, Hope, and
Charity, the Litany of the Blessed Virgin, the Prayer of the Angel
Guardian and Patron Saint, and Prayers for the Dead: these they repeated
aloud, and correctly, to the astonishment of the other children and the
edification of the mistress.
"Ah, Reub, Ben, and Will," she said, "when will you be such good boys as
Patsy and Geny? You can't say the Lord's Prayer yet."
"I can tell," said Reub, blushing, "more than Pat can. I know how old
Mathusalem was, who was the wife of Abraham, and who was the mother of
Solomon, and the wife of Putiphar."
"I don't know how to say so many prayers," said Ben, contemptuously;
"but I can tell how many cents in ten dollars, how many states in the
Union, and how large England is."
"I can sing a hymn," said Will, "which I heard in the choir in the
Methodist meeting house when I went there with cousin."
"Let us hear you, Will," said his mother.
"Mother, I have only a little of it," said Will.
"Say all you remember," said she, "and sing it."
"The ladies first said, ma," said he, commencing,--
'O for a man--O for a man--O for a mansion in the skies.'
"The men answered,--
'Send down sal--send down sal--
Send down salvation to our souls.'"
At this specimen of ludicrous poetical composition the mother burst out
a-laughing, in which she was joined by the two arch Irish lads; and
Will, discouraged, blushed and stopped.
"I would rather not have any prayer than have that foolish hymn," said
Ben. "O Will! O, you goose!"
"Silence, boys!" said Mrs. Prying. "Pat and Eugene, can you not sing?
Come, let us hear how you can sing. Commence. Don't be ashamed."
"Will we sing, ma'am, what the Christian brothers taught us?"
"Yes, Pat, any thing; don't be shy," said the lady. The lads began thus,
with joined hands and uplifted eyes:--
"Ave Maria! hear the prayer
Of thy poor helpless child!
Beneath thy sweet maternal care
Preserve me undefiled.
"Ave Maria! do I sigh
In deep affliction's hour.
Nor to a suppliant heart deny
Thy mediative power.
"Ave Maria! for to thee,
Whom God was pleased to choose
The mother of his Son to be,
No prayer will he refuse.
"Ave Maria! then implore
One only grace for me--
This heart to give forevermore
To God alone and thee."
"To bed, children, with you all," said the good lady, covering her face
with her handkerchief, for the tears started from their source in her
noble soul on hearing this delightful hymn sung by the poor orphans,
whose countenances looked like those of angels' while chanting it. "God
forgive those," she said to herself, in a half-audible tone, "that would
rob these poor children of that divine religion that teaches her
children such heavenly hymns."
This incident recalled to her mind vividly the days of her girlhood,
when, in the "sunny south," she heard Catholic hymns sung and Catholic
devotion practised in the convent where she, though a Protestant,
received her education. And probably her conscience, too, reproached her
for the neglect of the good resolutions she formed while there.