onexpected like, a feller fetched her. When I see him a-liftin’ her
outen the sleigh I felt like a-heavin’ a claw-hammer at him; but when
he turned round, and I saw what a putty-face he was, says I to myself,
‘Pshaw!’ Several times that winter he come, and set and set, and onct
I got up and was a-goin’ up the kitchen stairs when I felt somethin’
in my heel. I sot down on the top step and pulled my stockin’ off,
a-lookin’ fer a tack or perhaps a broke-off needle, when all of a
sudden the door was ajar and they hadn’t spoke a word afore I heard Jim
Whiffles say: ‘I knowed a feller as went a-courtin’ one gal fer a whole
year.’
“‘P’r’aps,’ said Pamely.
“‘And she didn’t chuck him off neither.’
“‘S’pose not.’
“I tell you I listened close after that, but there was not a sound
until Jim shove his chair and got up to go and she took the candle to
the outside door, and then she come in and went right off to bed.
“Next mornin’ I looked at her sharper’n ever but I couldn’t see a
shadder on her cheek. She was jest as bloomin’ and as quiet as ever,
and I knowed she cared more fer my leetle finger than fer the whole of
Jim Whiffles’ body.
“Next time he came it was near New Year’s and he sot a big red apple
plump in her lap; but she did not so much as say ‘thankee.’ I thought
she kinder of turned toward me, as much as to say, ‘Ef ye had done it,
all right.’
“‘But I didn’t _know_, and I reckoned I needn’t begrudge Jim an
evenin’s lookin’ at her. So I off to bed ag’in. I was thinkin’ how
mean I had been about listenin’ on the stairs, when up through the
big stovepipe hole come these words, jerked out as usual: ‘I think
sometime there’s goin’ to be a weddin’ up to our meetin’-house.’
“‘Like as not.’
“‘And I reckon Jim Whiffles is goin’ to pay the dominee.’
“‘Likely.’
“That was all. My heart beat so I thought they must hear it, so I
covered my head with the bed clothes, and in five minutes more he went
away, callin’ out as he drove off, ‘Good-night!’
“I did not sleep much, but I kep’ up a thinkin’; and at last I made out
that nobody’d be such a fool as to ask a woman to have him that way;
and it must be Jim felt kinder sneakin’, arter visitin’ of her, and let
her know he was a-goin to marry Ary Edwards that I had heard tell he
went with. So I was comforted ag’in.
“It wa’n’t more’n two weeks afore I was took down with a fever. Pamely
nursed me night and day, and every time I see her I said to myself,
‘Jest the first time I’ve got strength to walk to the dominee’s house
we’ll be made happy.’ Dear little soul! What a good supper she laid
on the table the night I was so tired out with doin’ of the milkin’,
havin’ done nothin’ fer so long.
“‘Ezra,’ she says, and her face flushed up; ‘Ezra eat. I’ve cooked it
fer you.’
“I wanted to blurt right out then that I loved her, but I didn’t.
“I had to tuck myself up mighty early, for I was clean beat out, and I
declare fer it, but I was jest fallin’ into a doze like when I heard
Jim Whiffles come. Pamely wa’n’t done the dishes, so she clattered
away, and at last sot down to knittin’. Nary one spoke much, only to
tell a word or two about the snow storm that was a-brewin’. And I was
comforted ag’in, but it was short measure. When the clock had struck
nine Jim got up, and while he was puttin’ on his top coat I heard him
say:
“‘Pamely, I was a-tellin’ ye last time I was here about Jim Whiffles
paying the preacher?’
“‘Jest so.’
“‘And you was the gal that the dominee told to love and obey her man.’
“‘Jest so.’
“I was breathless! Was there nothin’ more to come? I had almost made up
my mind that Jim was gone, when I caught the sound of a very decided
smack. Good Lord forgive me, but I fought with the devil that night!
“Pamely and Jim Whiffles was made one April 6, 1850. He fell heir to
some property, and she got a thousand dollars when her uncle died, and
a couple thousand more--in land--when Mrs. Hinman went off. So things
prospered with them. He was hardworkin’ kind of a putterer, but she was
a master hand to save, and them children all was like her--smart as a
steel trap.
“Eight years come next Tuesday Jim Whiffles died. I didn’t need a
second lesson--Lord A’mighty knows how hard it come to me onct! and
I had loved Pamely right straight through. So, jest six months arter
Jim was laid away I made a kind of an errant up to her house, and the
very minnit I see her, it all came over me so I couldn’t help it, and I
screeched right out:
“‘Pamely, hev me; do, fer goodness sake, say yes! Don’t you know I
allers wanted ye?’
“She turned ’round, and her eyes was a-flashin’ when she answered:
“‘_Allers?_ And lived in the same house nigh onto four years? You had
first chance, and now you come whinin’ afore Jim’s cold.’
“I sneaked off. I thought the Lord was ag’in me this time, but I jest
couldn’t give her up. I kep’ right on goin’. All the children one arter
another, has married and done well, and she boosted ’em all.
“Last Sunday I was over there ag’in, and, somehow, I thought she kind
o’ squeezed my hand at meetin’; so I swelled up, and says I, ‘Pamely,
is Jim cold?’
“And she answered back, ‘Yes.’”
SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS FROM A QUAKER GIRL.
Ninth Mo., 27th.
Mother Dear: When first thy loved face faded from view as our carriage
left the crooked lane, my tears were inclined to flow, but Uncle Joseph
has much of dear father’s gentle manner, and he sought to turn my
attention to the objects around us.
I will not pause now, to tell thee about the pleasures and pains of
the journey, for my poor head ached sadly ere we reached Boston, but
with all the interests that surrounded my first long ride in the
railroad cars, I could not forget that I was going among comparative
strangers, and leaving the dearest spot on earth. I want now to give
thee a glimpse, if I can, of the life here, and ask whether or not thee
approves of the course I am pursuing.
It was quite dark when we got to Uncle Joseph’s house, and I think I
had a little fear of meeting his wife, whom I can scarcely call “Aunt”
without an effort, so different is she from the simple women that I
love. Her very first greeting disturbed me, it was so extravagant, and
as full of embraces as if she had always known me; but she was very
kind when she learned that my head ached, and supported me tenderly to
my chamber, where she helped me undress, and then with her own hands,
although they have several domestics, brought me a bit of toast and
tea. I was sorry to disappoint her but I could not taste it, and she
exclaimed petulantly, yet I may have mistaken the tone:
“Bless me, child, you are too young to have whims--and it is my duty to
see that you keep the roses in your cheeks, or where will the lovers
be? Sit up now, and eat your supper.”
I am afraid I betrayed the astonishment I felt, but, dear mother,
_thee_ could never speak thus, and--I did _not_ eat the toast!
Next morning I was out in the garden marveling over the wondrous beauty
of their surroundings, when Uncle Joseph came to look for me. His is a
very sweet spirit, and I may be wrong, but there is pity in my heart
for him. Not that Aunt Élise (as she calls it, although I should
pronounce it Eliza) does not try to do her duty by him, but that her
education has given her false standards.
She was surprised to see me at breakfast, and asked why I had not
called “the maid” to help me dress. I replied that I needed no one, and
that thee and father believed that it was best to wait upon ourselves;
then she held up her finger glistening with jewels, and said:
“Tut, tut! I fear we have a rebel to deal with, and rebels are never
attractive. No, no, _ma petite_ (which means little one), the maid
_must_ assist you. She is from Paris, and knows the _art_ of dressing,
which country girls know nothing about, and I want to send you home
with a lover and a trousseau, and that could _never_ be if you comb
your curls out, and wear a gray frock.”
I believe she means to be kind to me, and is not at all disagreeable,
even though I cannot seem pleased.
Well the day passed quickly by, for I was charmed with their green lawn
running down to the river-side, and a little hedge of white hawthorn,
that I am sure would delight thee. Toward evening aunt invited me to
drive into the city with her and bring Uncle Joseph home. They do not
have dinner until seven o’clock, which seems very late to me; but
about one, or a little before, we have a nice meal which I thought was
dinner, until I was told to call it lunch. Aunt herself says it is
breakfast.
The roads are so pretty, fine houses on every hand. It only seems to
me that there is an air of extravagance, which I deprecate, for there
seem to be no small and unpretentious homes, until the city is reached,
and there everything is so dreary! I am sure I should get lost very
easily, for Boston’s streets are as crooked as Philadelphia’s are
straight. I said to aunt that I should hardly dare for some time to
come to town alone, and she answered:
“Never, I trust. It is highly improper for a pretty young girl to go
out without an attendant.”
I am sure _thee_ never thought thus. Perhaps she was but trying to play
upon my vanity.
I think the neighborhood must be a pleasant one just about Uncle
Joseph, for yesterday a number of persons called, and spoke kindly to
me. Toward four o’clock one of the young women asked aunt’s permission
for me to accompany her in a walk by the river. Soon after we left the
house we came upon a group of young men, and my companion explained to
them that she had succeeded in getting me away from my guardian, and
then she gave me the names of the party, and I was surprised to know
that two of them belonged to the old and respected families of A. and
H. It seemed strange to mingle with the descendants of revolutionary
times, and perhaps I expressed a little of the awe I felt, when I
acknowledged their presence.
Thee has often told me that the Lord is no respecter of persons,
and warned me against doing honor to anything mortal. Perhaps I
have received a severe lesson, for I soon found that this was a
premeditated excursion on the water, and there was a deal of laughter
over the ease with which Anna W. had outwitted my aunt. Thee can
imagine my discomfiture, both at finding myself in a false position
and also at the discovery of their willingness to engage in deceit.
Oh, mother, how have the mighty fallen! When I became conscious of the
whole situation I said, just as I would have said to thee:
“If there is any doubt about my aunt’s willingness to have me go with
you, I must go back at once.” And can thee believe it? _they laughed_,
and off the boat started.
Of course there was nothing to do but make the best of it. I tried to
talk to young A. about his famous great-grandfather--but he seemed not
to know much about him, and when I spoke of his nobility of character,
the young man looked bewildered, and said if there had ever been
anything of that kind in the family, it had died out.
I began to think so, too, as the afternoon went on--for he puzzled me
greatly. All of these young men are being educated at Harvard College,
yet they did not appear to regard their opportunities as unusual, and
their references to the professors were not respectful. Edward H.
inquired whether I read French and on my saying yes, he at once asked
me if I had a good pony--and I told him I did not ride on horseback at
all, which seemed to amuse them greatly, and Anna afterward explained
that a _pony_ was a translation--a key of the whole lesson which the
teachers do not expect them to use, but which nearly the entire class
possess.
We talked about the matter a little, and I said I should not think one
could learn anything thus, and Edward H. replied “_That_ is not what we
go to Harvard for!”
How strange it sounded! And yet it was not so distressing to me as
the discovery that these young men have absolutely no interest in
anti-slavery movements. They talked about Garrison and Phillips as
fanatics, and said “This meddling with other people’s concerns is a
very dangerous business.”
I ventured to ask “And was it not ‘meddling’ to throw the tea
overboard.”
But they said I was getting too deep for them. And then F. A. told
me that only a very insignificant part of Boston people respected
the Abolitionists. This new party they admitted has an anti-slavery
wing, but that it must be clipped or we shall have trouble. “Trouble”
I cried--and I admit, mother dear, that I talked perhaps, more than I
ought--“how can a man rest easy without troubling the public conscience
about the poor slaves.” A. tried to show me that the best way to
eradicate slavery is to be on good terms with the slaveholders, and
have no concern for the black man, who is only an animal--I think he
said--after all, and when it proves itself a failure in a business
sense, as he admitted it must be, then slavery will die out!
Not a spark of humanity about him, not a thought of God’s suffering
children, only a fear of disturbing business relations with a rich
section! My heart stood almost still with astonishment. Here in
Boston, where I had looked for the broadest humanity and the clearest
intelligence, here on the lips of the descendant of a great patriot
were words of cowardice and self-seeking!
When at last the boat turned about, and the young men gave Anna W. and
myself lessons in rowing, we came again to the little landing, and
there on the bank stood aunt in search of us.
I felt mortified, and would have explained only that I could not
reproach others, and I expected her to reprimand me, but lo! she only
shook her finger and said:
“Well, girls will be girls, and even a pretty Quakeress is not proof
against temptation.” How I wanted to tell the whole story! But, mother
dear, I did not. Was I wrong? And the young men went away and my
cheeks burned as aunt called after them, “I know you will want to see
those roses again.”
Good-night dear, dear mother.
Tenth Mo., 30th.
MY DEAR MOTHER: I know thee will not feel it to be wrong for me to
tell thee of my trials as well as my pleasures, for thee has taught me
that nothing is too small a matter to lay before our Heavenly Father,
and in many respects I am puzzled by the new life I am leading here.
Particularly do I regret having to think, and even to dwell upon,
questions concerning money. That is, as thee has said, a necessity of
our physical being, but must ever be relegated to the background in our
thoughts. Uncle Joseph has asked me several times already whether my
purse was not empty, but although I have answered with a laugh that I
did not see the bottom yet, I feel that I have been a little lavish,
and of course I cannot permit another to purchase for me the luxuries
which my pleasure-loving heart alone demands.
If thee wishes thee may send me some more, but should it prove
inconvenient to do so, merely mention such to be the case, and I will
absent myself from those excursions that are likely to be expensive.
I have been much mortified more than once already, by Edward H. or F.
A. paying where I am concerned.
The first time this occurred was the day we sailed in the harbor. There
were car fares, and boat tickets to be purchased, and I awaited Anna
W.’s movement, before getting out my purse. To my surprise she said
nothing about it, and the young men bought everything for us all. I
estimated the cost at about a dollar apiece, which thee sees is quite
an item when figured for four. So at the close of the day, for we had
lunch and all, I spoke to Edward about it. We were walking at the time,
and he stopped and laughed so immoderately that I was hurt. Perceiving
this, he turned and taking my hand, said gently: “Do not deny me this
pleasure. Oh, if I could always do it for you! Your gratitude is so
sweet.”
What does thee think he meant, mother dear? I was so perplexed by his
speech that I was almost glad when Anna and F. A. turned to ask the
cause of the laughter. But how thoughtful Edward was not to expose me
to others’ merriment, for he turned the talk in another way immediately.
Was it not right and womanly in me to offer to pay the expense I had
incurred? I want thy opinion, for I think it was, only, from his manner
and that of Anna before, I fear such is not the custom; but I shall
greatly hesitate to place myself under similar circumstances again.
It was with this thought in mind that I declined to go with them the
next Seventh day. Everyone thought I was sick, and aunt began to
imagine that I had looked pale all day! I denied feeling poorly, and
was beginning to get embarrassed, when Edward H. walked to the window
and asked me to come and see a peculiar cloud. This drew away the
attention of the others and he said very gently:
“That cloud is no more peculiar than the one which has arisen between
us, and it does not threaten half the harm.” Then he went on to
tell me that he suspected the reason of my refusal, and asked me to
consider whether I would not like to do some small favor for him. I
replied “Certainly.” “Then,” he said, “never speak of money where I am
concerned, again. I have much more than I need, and I could not spend
it in any manner that could both profit and please me more than by
taking you about this region. Consider, too, the favors our family have
had from your uncles.”
Was it not kindly done? And too, does thee not agree with my opinion
that it _sounded_ like Friends’ teaching? I shall await thy judgment
impatiently--but I went with him.
Another curious thing has happened too. I expect thee will laugh at the
many adventures that befall me. On Sixth-day evening it rained very
hard, but Uncle Joseph had tickets for a concert, which they wished
very much that I should hear. I thought it would be discourteous to
decline, although I do feel that vast sums are thus frittered away,
which might benefit the poor. To my surprise aunt said I should wear a
wool frock, as we were not going to take the horses on account of the
rain, but would be driven only to a point where we can meet the horse
railroad, which is often a very great convenience.
Notwithstanding the bad weather there was a large number of persons
present in the hall. I cannot pronounce judgment upon the concert, for
I have no knowledge concerning these things. One lady who sang seemed
to have, naturally, a sweet voice, but it was overstrained, and the
long drawn notes were quite offensive. I am sure, however, that the
audience was satisfied, and uncle and aunt have repeatedly signified
their delight, and hope to have another opportunity to listen to her. I
did my best to express my thanks for the kindness in taking me, without
mentioning my distaste for such entertainments, but my aunt suspected
me, and laughingly said “I believe you are sleepy, child.” And in truth
I was! However, I was soon wide enough awake. We missed the car we had
hoped to gain, and had to wait in a little room, nearly half an hour.
All sorts of people were there. More than once aunt said wearily, “I
hate these mixed crowds, and I shall not let my pity for the horses
inconvenience us like this again.”
For my part I was quite interested in watching the people. Just as the
car came there was a new throng, and we found it necessary to separate
our seats. Indeed uncle, with many other gentlemen, was forced to stand
the whole way. Just in front of me was a group of Harvard students, and
the moment of starting added to their numbers some who were evidently
under the influence of liquor. One of them was a very young fellow,
neatly dressed and with a sweet expression of countenance, but, mother
dear, he was really intoxicated. He staggered into the door, and
leaning against the post actually _snored_. Many of the persons present
laughed, but the sight was very sad to me, and a nice young man, tall
and straight as Cousin Benjamin, who was close beside me, said, no
doubt observing my distress: “This troubles you.” I answered: “Indeed
it does; think of the boy’s parents!” He assented, and remarked that
the lad was evidently a “Freshman”--that is, a newcomer at college--for
that is what they are called in their first year.
“And what will become of him when he gets out of the car?” I asked, for
I could plainly see that the poor boy was too much befogged to find his
way home alone.
“If he has no friend with him, a policeman may get hold of him.”
“How terrible,” I said, with some warmth perhaps.
“I suppose,” continued the young man after quite a pause, “that I
_could_ take him to his room if he has any way to indicate where that
is, or to mine until morning, if that will relieve your mind.”
I supposed I brightened up a good deal at this, and I urged it upon
him, but he did not positively promise, for he quite shocked me by
bending close to me and saying almost in a whisper:
“If I do, it will be done for your sake, remember, and one good turn
deserves another, so tell me where you go to church.” I was so much
surprised that for a moment I could not answer; then he repeated his
request, but the car stopped with a jerk that it usually has, and my
uncle and aunt signified that we were to get out.
The carriage was waiting, but we had scarcely made ourselves
comfortable, when my aunt exclaimed:
“Sallie, I do believe you were talking to those strange men in the car.
What will you do next to astonish me?”
I saw my uncle closely regarding me, and with a more severe expression
than I had ever seen him wear, but I could not believe I had done wrong
to take a humane interest in the tipsy boy. So I told them all about
it--except that I did not repeat the foolish speech of the tall young
man; it was not worth remembering.
My uncle’s face softened as he heard me out, and he patted my aunt’s
plump hand and said, smiling at me:
“I guess she means well always, Élise. Customs differ, you know.”
But I do not think she regarded it so lightly, for she sighed heavily,
and on First day when I stood ready to accompany her to meeting--I mean
church--she came into the entry leading to my room, and began:
“Sallie, child, I beg you not to talk to the minister between prayers,”
and then she suddenly turned, took my cheeks between her hands and
kissed each of them, saying rather wildly I thought, “But I declare,
_ma petite_, you are pretty enough to turn the head of any male
creature.”
She is a strange person! So full of moods--and tenses I might say--but
very very kind to thy simple Sallie.
Of course thee understands that I gave no clew whatever to the place
of worship where I was in the way of going.
Nevertheless, last First-day night, when I walked to the “Vesper
Service,” I think it is called, in company with our young friends,
Anna, F. A., and Edward H., whom should I see standing in the
vestibule, but the tall young man! I assure thee I wanted to ask him
how it fared with the poor tipsy boy, but I dared not, particularly
after what aunt had said to me. Still, I could not be unmindful of his
presence all through the hour, for he followed us into the room and sat
just where he could see us all the time. I resolved to banish worldly
thoughts, but I am afraid I did not, so that I grew very uncomfortable,
and was glad when the end came, but even then I was pained by Edward
asking me where in the world I had met Jack D. I answered that I was
not acquainted with any person so named.
“Well, that _is_ a puzzle,” he said, “for he has been in Europe six
months, and this is the first time I have laid eyes on him, yet I could
have declared [he really said _sworn_, but I don’t think he means evil
by it] that he recognized you as we went in.”
I had to say something, so I inquired what class “Jack D.” belonged to,
and this was his response:
“Great Jehosephat! Jack D. is the swellest senior on record. If once
you get into his cave he sports his oak, and treats you like a nabob.”
The Harvard vernacular is sometimes hard to translate! But I am
burning too much gas.
Affectionately,
THY DAUGHTER.
Eleventh Mo., 3d.
MOTHER DEAR: Anna W. and I have just returned from what was in many
respects a most interesting excursion, and yet it had its dark side.