Transcriber's note:
Spelling and punctuation inconsistencies have been harmonized.
Obvious printer errors have been repaired. Paragraph breaks,
as they are in the book, have been retained. Italic text has been
marked with _underscores_.
THE HAWTHORN.
[Illustration: THE MOTHER'S JOY.]
THE HAWTHORN:
A
CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR'S
PRESENT.
MDCCCXLV.
NEW YORK:
J. C. RIKER,--129 FULTON STREET.
1845.
WEST BROOKFIELD, MASS.
C. A. MIRICK, PRINTER.
PREFACE.
We call our little book "THE HAWTHORN." We chose the name
of a blossom for our young readers, in preference to that of a gem,
because the cold glittering beauty of the latter has little in common
with the affectionateness, and beaming freshness of the young, to
whom the nature of flowers seems more analogous.
When the young man came to the blessed Saviour to inquire as to
eternal life, he bade him keep the commandments, and being told "all
these things have I observed;" it is then recorded that, "Jesus
beholding him, loved him." We know too, that he "loved little
children," for he "took them in his arms," in token of tenderness; we
infer that he loved the flowers likewise, for he said, "consider the
lilies of the field;" and we find the most beautiful illustrations of
the Divine precepts of Jesus borrowed from the kingdom of flowers.
What wonder then that we should love these delicate creations;
and that when we wish to appeal to the young and the trustful, the
hopeful and the good, we should seek these, for appropriate utterance.
"They tremble on the Alpine height,
The fissur'd rock they press,
The desert wild with heat and sand
Shares too, their blessedness;
And wheresoe'er the weary heart
Turns in its dim despair,
The meek eyed blossom upward looks
Inviting it to prayer."
Thus it is, my dear friends, that we present you, not a Bouquett,
which, however tasteful, and however beautiful, might still confuse
you with its many significations; we present you not a Gem, to remind
you of the brilliancy of mind, that may yet be unsympathizing, and
bewildering, but a simple flower, one, from a paradise of freshness
and beauty.
CONTENTS.
Page
Frederick Ormsby, ELIZA LESLIE, 9
The Rustic Wreath, MRS. HUGHS, 28
The Storm, MRS. HUGHS, 38
The Mysterious Picture, ELIZA LESLIE, 57
The Father's Pride, MRS. CHILDS, 71
The Pet Lamb, MRS. HUGHS, 72
The Clean Face, ELIZA LESLIE, 99
Le Loup et L'Agneau, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE
LIGHTS OF EDUCATION, 100
The Christmas Visit, MRS. HUGHS, 111
The Little Girl and her Kitten, 132
The Quilting, ELIZA LESLIE, 133
The Little Runaway, J. W. S., 155
The Souvenir, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE
YOUNG AMERICANS, 157
The Mother's Joy, MRS. CHILD, 172
The Percevals, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE
LIGHTS OF EDUCATION, 173
Child left on the Sea Shore, MRS. SIGOURNEY, 185
The Eagle of the West, 187
The Launch of the Frigate, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE
YOUNG AMERICANS, 196
EMBELLISHMENTS.
Page
1. Frontispiece, Engraved by NEAGLE,
2. Ornamental Title-page, " ELLIS,
3. The Rustic Wreath, " NEAGLE, 28
4. The Father's Pride, " KEARNEY, 71
5. The Pet Lamb, " KEARNEY, 72
6. The Clean Face, " NEAGLE, 99
7. Le Loup et L'Agneau, " NEAGLE, 100
8. The Little Girl and her Kitten, " KEARNEY, 132
9. The Little Runaway, " STEEL, 155
10. Child left on the Sea Shore, " STEEL, 185
FREDERICK ORMSBY.
Mr. Ormsby, a gentleman residing in the city of New-York, took his
family to West Point, to spend a week of unusually warm weather at
the close of spring, and to see his nephew Gustavus, who had been
a cadet at the Military Academy for near three years, and who was
a boy of a very different disposition from Frederick Ormsby, being
spirited, manly, and of a most amiable temper. Frederick, whose age
was almost thirteen, was not entirely devoid of good qualities; but
he was idle, rude, mischievous, and took the greatest delight in
frightening and tormenting every one about him, particularly his
sister Madeline.
Gustavus, having obtained permission to visit his uncle and aunt at
the hotel, devoted all his leisure time to them; and being one of the
cadets that act as assistant professors, and are therefore exempt
from military duty, it was in his power to accompany them on all
their walks, and to show them every thing on West Point worthy the
attention of visiters. These walks would have been delightful, had
not Frederick caused much annoyance by his vexatious tricks, and
(to use his own expression) by planning frights for his mother and
sister. Reproof affected him only for a few minutes, and even during
their short voyage in the steam-boat from New-York, his father more
than once regretted that Frederick had not been left at home.
Their first walk was to Washington's Valley, so called from having
been the head-quarters of the illustrious commander-in-chief. On
their way thither they visited the German Flats, once the encamping
place of a great number of Hessian deserters, who came over to the
American army while it lay at West Point. These fields, formerly
a desert of stones and weeds, are now in high cultivation; and at
their farthest extremity, where the wooded heights run out into the
river, is the cemetery, shaded with old cedars, and ornamented with
an elegant monument of white marble, round which are buried the few
cadets that die here.
The walk from the German Flats to Washington's Valley, is
delightfully cool and shady, being cut through the forest. The trees
meet across the road, while their tangled roots project in the most
fantastic forms from the banks on each side, and between their
branches are seen at intervals the waters of the Hudson glittering
far below.
The house, for ever memorable as the temporary residence of
Washington, is a mere cottage; but under its low roof heroes once
met, and plans were discussed, whose results we are now enjoying. It
is surrounded by locust-trees, at this season resplendent with their
conic clusters of beautiful white blossoms; and a clear brook murmurs
through the garden, seeking its way to the river, whose waves roll
gently in, washing the smooth grey sand that lies in front of the
valley. Immediately behind this classic spot, ascends the mountain
called the Crow's Nest, the longest and highest of the chain, that,
extending along both shores of the Hudson, appears to inclose it on
every side, giving it at West Point, the form of a lake from which
there seems to be no outlet. On the opposite, or northern shore,
rise the wild and barren mountains of Fishkill, far beyond which
lie the fertile plains of Connecticut. Looking up the river, the
view is terminated by the town of Newburgh, at ten miles distance,
with Polipel's Island in front, and a fine range of country behind;
the Chemungo mountains (a branch of the Catskills) closing the long
perspective, their vast blue forms faintly visible on the remotest
verge of the horizon.
Mr. and Mrs. Ormsby, with Gustavus and Madeline, took their seats
on one of the numerous fragments of rock that are scattered over
the sands at Washington's Valley; and while they were admiring the
prospect, Gustavus (who was skilled in revolutionary lore) reminded
his uncle and aunt, as they cast their eyes down the river, and
looked toward the plain, of the ball given there by the American
officers to their French companions in arms, in honour of the birth
of the Dauphin. For this purpose, there was erected on the green an
arbour of immense length, constructed of laurel-branches brought by
the soldiers from the hills. This rustic arcade was illuminated by a
multitude of little tin lamps, which have been kept ever since in the
public store-house, and which are still used with great pride at the
balls given by the cadets. On this occasion, Washington led off the
first dance with the lady of General Knox.
Frederick, who had no taste for such conversation, soon rambled
away, and amused himself by throwing stones at some ducks that were
paddling in a brook at the entrance of the woods, returning now and
then to the party at the river side, and soliciting Madeline to join
him.
"I am sure," said he, in a low voice, "you will find it much more
amusing to ramble about with me than to sit here listening to tales
of the old war."
"Indeed," answered Madeline, "I am always glad to hear as many tales
of the old war as I possibly can, provided that there is nothing in
them shocking or disgusting, and no particulars of the killing; and
my father says that no person of good feelings or good manners will
ever detail the horrors, the real sickening horrors of a battle, in
presence of females. But I will go with you, if my mother will give
me permission."
Mrs. Ormsby's leave was asked and obtained, and Mr. Ormsby cautioned
his children to be absent but a short time.
Frederick took his sister toward the woods that stretched down to the
water's edge, a little beyond the cottage, and they were soon out of
sight.
In a short time, the little party that remained on the sands,
were alarmed by a succession of violent shrieks, accompanied by
another voice laughing loudly; and looking up the river, they
perceived Madeline alone in a little boat, drifting out from behind
a projecting point of rock, and evidently in great terror, while
Frederick stood on the shore leaning against a tree, and ridiculing
her fears. They all ran to her assistance, Gustavus foremost, and Mr.
Ormsby supporting the trembling steps of his wife.
Suddenly a steam-boat, on her way down from Albany, came round the
stupendous head-land absurdly called Butter Hill, and emerged into
sight with thick clouds of smoke issuing from her chimneys, her
wheels throwing up volumes of foam, and her prow dashing aside the
water with a velocity that seemed irresistible. The shrieks of poor
Madeline redoubled when she saw this tremendous machine coming on
with a force that apparently nothing could stop, and threatening, in
a few minutes, to overwhelm her little boat, unnoticed and unseen.
Frederick was now terrified himself, and he called out to his sister,
"Oh! Madeline, what have I done! The steam-boat will run over you.
She will be upon you in three minutes."
"No, no," exclaimed Gustavus, "do not be frightened, Madeline.
The boat is too far off; there is no danger." "We will get you
immediately out of the way," cried her father, "but they will see
you from the steam-boat, and avoid passing too near you." "Where is
the rope," asked Gustavus, "by which this little boat was fastened?"
"Here, here," said Frederick, "round the stump of this old tree. I
proposed to Madeline that we should go and sit in the boat which we
found at the water's edge. And as soon as I got her in, I thought
that just for fun, and to set her to screaming, I would cut the rope
with my knife and let her float off. I supposed she would drift down
to the place where you were all sitting, and I only meant to frighten
her. I knew that somehow she could be got out of the boat."
In the mean time, having lengthened the rope by fastening to it all
their pocket handkerchiefs and Mrs. Ormsby's long shawl, Gustavus
took one end in his hand, (the other being fast to the tree,)
and jumping into the river, swam to the boat, by which means it
was immediately hauled in to the shore, and in a few moments the
affrighted little girl was safe in the arms of her parents, mingling
her tears with those of her mother.
Mr. Ormsby's indignation was so much excited, that he declared
if there was time to reach the wharf before the arrival of the
steam-boat, Frederick should be put on board, and sent immediately
down to New York. This, however, was impossible, the boat being now
close at hand; and as Frederick appeared very penitent, and made fair
promises of never again being guilty of similar conduct, his father,
at the intercession of Gustavus and Madeline, consented to pardon
him, and for the remainder of the day he behaved perfectly well.
On the following afternoon, they set out on a walk in another
direction, and Frederick, who had been very good all the morning, was
allowed to accompany them.
They went first to the Moss House, constructed, at his leisure
hours, by the French cook at the hotel, and entirely the work of his
own hands. He had opened a path through the thick woods, (hitherto
in this place an impassable wilderness,) and carried it down the
declivity of a craggy hill that descends to the river. This path,
though narrow, steep, and winding, was neither rugged nor dangerous,
and the trees interlacing their branches, formed an impervious shade
across it. At its termination was a little garden, surrounded on
all sides by a high wall of rough stones piled one on another, the
interstices filled up with earth from which various wild plants were
growing. This wall was overhung with masses of the forest grape-vine
and other woodland shrubbery. The miniature garden was laid out in
walks and heart-shaped beds, and planted with flowers, among which
were lady-slippers, pinks, and convolvuluses. In one corner stood
the moss-house, made of cedar branches, trimmed and cut of even
length, filled in between with earth, and covered all over with a
thick coat of the rich and beautiful moss that abounds in the woods
and on the rocks of West Point. The door was open, and inside was
a sort of settee, also of moss, and a little table made of twisted
vine branches. In the garden near the house, was another rustic seat,
or bench, the back formed of small boughs, curiously interwoven.
Innumerable birds had taken up their residence near this charming
retreat, and enlivened its dark shades with their brilliant colours.
The oriole darted from tree to tree with his splendid plumage of
orange and black, the blue-bird fluttered about in azure and purple,
the yellow-hammer far surpassed the tints of the brightest canary,
and the cedar-bird displayed his beautiful pinions of the richest
brown, delicately pencilled at the edges with lines of fine scarlet,
while the little humming-bird hovered over the flowers, and looked
like a flying gem.
The Ormsby family next visited the monument erected by the cadets
in commemoration of the gallant Kosciusko, who crossed the Atlantic
to take a part in the American contest for independence, and who
afterward so nobly, but unsuccessfully, defended the rights of
Poland, his own ill-fated country. The monument is a fluted column of
white marble, on a broad pedestal, simply inscribed with the name of
Kosciusko. It stands near the ruins of Fort Clinton, on the eastern
side of the plain, and on one of the lofty and abrupt heights that
overlook the river.
They then descended to Kosciusko's Garden, a picturesque retreat half
way down the rocks. Here, while with our army at West Point, the
Polish officer had been accustomed to spend a portion of his leisure
hours; and he had embellished the wild and rugged spot by planting
it with lilacs and rosebushes. The cadets, with the surplus of the
money subscribed by them for the erection of Kosciusco's monument,
have facilitated the descent to this romantic and interesting
retreat, (which was before almost inaccessible to ladies,) by causing
to be made a long flight of stone stairs, firm and convenient, but
sufficiently rude to be in unison with the surrounding scenery. These
stairs, winding down between the rocks, lead to a beautiful grassy
platform, backed by a lofty precipice of granite, which the hand of
nature has ornamented with wild flowers that creep along its ledges,
and shrubs and saplings that grow out from its crevices. Under a
willow which droops on the level beneath, is a fountain bubbling in
a basin of white marble, sculptured with the name of Kosciusko, and
surrounded with flowering shrubs similar to those planted by the hero
of Poland.
On the northern side of this beautiful spot the rocks are broken
into the most picturesque masses, and shaded with forest trees
of infinite variety; their foliage at this time displaying the
liveliest tints of spring. The wild grape-vine clasped its crooked
and wandering branches round the mossy stones, and scented the air
with its fragrant blossoms; and the woodland honeysuckle threw around
the sweetest odours from its clustered flowers of the most delicate
pink. In front a shelf of rock projected over the river, whose clear
blue waters glided far below, reflecting in their calm mirror "the
headlong mountains and the downward skies." On the opposite shore
rose the highlands of Putnam county; and Gustavus explained to his
aunt and cousins, that in the year 1779, all the heights nearest the
water had been crowned with batteries and covered with tents, the
American army being encamped on both sides of the river; and that on
the eastern bank, a short distance below West Point, is the house
occupied by the traitor Arnold, and from which he made his escape
when apprised that Washington was informed of his correspondence with
the British general.
Mrs. Ormsby cast her eyes down the precipice that impended over the
water, and beautiful as it was, being tufted with shrubs and trees to
the very bottom, she turned away her head, and said it made her dizzy
to look at it. They then sat down on one of the benches, and Mrs.
Ormsby spoke of the strange and unaccountable fancy, said to be felt
by some people, who, whenever they venture to the verge of a height,
imagine that they feel an irresistible desire to jump down. "Mother,"
said Frederick, advancing to the edge of the rock "I feel that desire
at this moment. I shall certainly jump in an instant. I shall be down
directly."
Mrs. Ormsby turned pale, and desired Frederick immediately to come
away from the precipice. "My dear," said Mr. Ormsby, "do you not see
the laugh lurking in Frederick's eye? He only intends to frighten us.
Can you suppose he has really any idea of leaping from the rock? No,
no--though he delights in terrifying others, I am well convinced that
he will never do any thing to hurt himself."
Gustavus then told of a soldier's wife, who, a few years since,
(being, as was supposed, in a state of temporary derangement,)
wandered in the night to these rocks, and falling over the precipice,
her mangled body was discovered next morning, lying almost in the
river.
Our little party then returned to the fountain, and Gustavus being
provided with a leather drinking-cup, they all tasted the water.
They stood there conversing for a considerable time; and when they
turned to go away, they found that Frederick was not with them. They
looked all around, but he was not to be seen; and when they called
him, there was no answer. "Where can he be?" exclaimed Mrs. Ormsby,
in much alarm. "I fear he has really fallen down the rocks. You heard
him say that he felt that unaccountable inclination we were talking
of." "But," said Mr. Ormsby, "I did not believe him, and neither
should you. We know Frederick too well."
His father and Gustavus called Frederick loudly, but no answer
was returned, except by the mountain echoes. The terror of his
mother and sister was extreme. "Frederick!" exclaimed Mr. Ormsby,
"Frederick--you surely hear us,--reply immediately." "Oh! Frederick,"
cried the mother, "if you really hear us, answer at once--put an end
to our fears--how can you keep us in such agony?" There was still
no reply. "Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Ormsby, "if Frederick yet lives, can
he allow me to remain in this dreadful state of fear and suspense?
Frederick, Frederick--this moment answer your mother!"
Mr. Ormsby's persuasion of Frederick's safety now began to give way
to alarm, and Madeline trembled and cried. Mrs. Ormsby sunk, nearly
fainting, on the bench; and while her husband brought water from the
fountain and endeavoured to revive her, Gustavus, who knew every
recess of the rocks, explored them in search of Frederick. He shortly
returned, and said in a low voice, "Compose yourself, dear aunt, I
have just had a glimpse of Frederick. He is safe, and not near the
precipice. He has concealed himself in a sort of cavity in yon rock
near the stairs, though the space is so small that I wonder how he
got into it. He must have coiled himself up with some difficulty."
"Do not let us go thither to seek him," whispered Mr.
Ormsby. "He shall not have the gratification of jumping up and
laughing at us." Mrs. Ormsby and Madeline, finding that Frederick was
really safe, endeavoured to calm their agitation; and Mr. Ormsby and
Gustavus began to talk of other things.
After sitting a few minutes longer, "Come," said Mr. Ormsby, in a
loud voice, "we will now return; and as Frederick's concealment will
not produce so great an effect as he supposes, he may sneak out of
his hole and follow us at his leisure."
They left the bench, and were ascending the lower flight of stone
steps, when a violent scream startled them all, and it was repeated
with sounds of the most terrible agony. "Those screams are close by,"
exclaimed Madeline. "They came from the place in which Frederick is
hidden," said Gustavus. "Another of his foolish jokes," said Mr.
Ormsby. "Oh! no, no," cried Mrs. Ormsby, "those are the screams of
real suffering."
Gustavus and Mr. Ormsby then sprung to the cavity in the rocks,
and saw Frederick on the ground, wedged into a most uncomfortable
posture, and sprawling out his hands with a gesture of the greatest
terror, exclaiming, "Oh! take it off--take it out--take it away!"
"Take what?" asked his father. "Oh! the snake--the snake!" cried
Frederick. "It is crawling down my back--it _must_ have a nest in
this hole." Gustavus had by this time got his hand down Frederick's
back, and was feeling for the snake. At last he drew out a small
lizard, and held it up, to the great relief of Mrs. Ormsby and
Madeline, whose terror had been nearly equal to Frederick's.
"Let me see it," said Frederick. "Is it really a lizard? How cold
and slippery it felt, and how disagreeably it crawled down my back."
"And you had not courage," observed his father, "to put your hand
over your shoulder, and take it out, but you lay there screaming like
a baby." "I was afraid it would bite my hand," said Frederick. "And
would you rather it had bitten your back?" asked Mr. Ormsby.
"It must have fallen upon you accidentally from the rock above,"
remarked Gustavus, "and slipped down your back without intending
it, for these animals are too timid to crawl voluntarily, and in
day-time, over a human being."
"I suppose," said Frederick, "I shall be told that this is a just
punishment for frightening my sister yesterday morning, when I set
her adrift in the boat."
"Most assuredly," replied Mr. Ormsby; "and you have given us another
proof that those who find the greatest pleasure in terrifying others,
are, in general, very easily terrified themselves. To take delight
in giving pain, is cruelty; and courage and cruelty are rarely found
in the same person. However, we will not have our excursion to West
Point spoiled by any more of your mischievous and unfeeling tricks;
therefore I shall send you down to the city in the first steam-boat
that comes along this evening, and to-morrow morning you may go to
school again."
Frederick was much mortified at the punishment in prospect, and
earnestly besought his father to allow him to remain; but Mr. Ormsby
said to him, "The pain you feel at being sent home, is nothing to
that you caused your mother and sister when you tried to make them
suppose you had fallen down the precipice."
"But I will do these things no more," said Frederick. "So you said
yesterday," replied Mr. Ormsby, "after cutting the boat adrift with
your sister in it."
"Dear father," said Madeline, "did he not suffer sufficiently for
that, when he believed that a snake was crawling down his back? Pray
let him have no more punishment on that account."
Mrs. Ormsby, who was the fondest of mothers, now interceded for
Frederick, and her husband at last yielded to her intreaties, and
allowed him to remain, on condition of the best possible behaviour
during the remainder of their stay at West Point.
After stopping on the plain to see the evening parade of the cadets,
and to hear the band, the Ormsbys returned to the hotel and took tea.
The night being perfectly clear and dry, and the moon at the full,
Gustavus proposed to them a visit by moonlight to the ruins of Fort
Putnam.
Ascending the steep and rocky path that leads up the side of the
mountain, amid the deep shade of the woods, that resounded with
the croak of the tree-frog, and the rapid and singular cry of the
night-hawk--they emerged into an opening where the moon shone
brightly down, and arrived at the entrance of the fort--whose ruins
are scattered over a large space of ground, now covered with grass
and wild flowers. They looked into the arched and gloomy cells which
once served as quarters for the garrison, or receptacles for military
stores; and ascending the eastern rampart by a few narrow steps of
loose and tottering stone, they looked down upon the whole extent
of the plain lying far below them, with its gardens and houses, on
whose windows the moonbeams glittered; its extreme point terminating
in a ledge of naked rocks, running far out into the river. They saw
a steam-boat coming down, all cast into shade, except the sheets of
flame that issued from her chimneys, and her three lanterns sparkling
far apart, their brilliant lights reflected on the water; after
turning the point, her form was distinctly defined, as she crossed
the broad line of moonlight that danced and glittered on the silent
river.
Gustavus then conducted his friends to the western side, where the
shattered walls of the old fort run along the utmost verge of a
perpendicular mass of rock of a stupendous height. Mrs. Ormsby and
Madeline shuddered as they looked over the broken parapet into the
abyss beneath, the bottom of which is strewed with stones fallen from
the lonely ruins; and Mrs. Ormsby kept Frederick carefully beside
her, and held him tightly by the hand.
Just then the sound of the fifes, and the drums beating tattoo,
ascended from the plain, and our party returned to the other side
of the fort, that they might hear it more distinctly. Every note
was repeated by the echoes, and the effect was that of another set
of musicians playing immediately beneath the mountain. It being now
half past nine o'clock, they turned their steps downward; and after
proceeding a little distance they missed Frederick. "Another of his
tricks," said Mr. Ormsby, "this time we will take no notice."
As they proceeded they heard the most dismal groans. "Frederick
again," said Mr. Ormsby. "Incorrigible boy! let us, however, walk on;
when he finds that he has failed to frighten us, we shall soon see
him running down the mountain. Twice in one day is rather too often
to make us believe that he has fallen down the rocks. I wonder he
cannot think of something new. To-morrow, he shall certainly be sent
home."
They walked on till they reached the foot of the mountain; Mrs.
Ormsby and Madeline again feeling very apprehensive as to Frederick's
safety--though Mr. Ormsby said he had no doubt he would soon overtake
them, or that perhaps he would strike into another road, and be at
the hotel as soon as they were.
This, however, did not happen; and after a while, finding that
Frederick did not appear, his father became really uneasy, and Mrs.
Ormsby and Madeline were exceedingly alarmed. Gustavus had taken
a hasty leave, and left them when they reached the plain--being
obliged, according to rule, to return to his room in the barracks
before ten o'clock.
Two officers who were at the hotel, volunteered to assist Mr. Ormsby
in searching for his son; and they went back to Fort Putnam, where,
as they approached the entrance of the ruins, the groans again were
heard. Guided by the sound, they approached the east side of the
parapet; and looking over, perceived something moving among the
branches of a cedar that grew half way down. "Frederick!" called Mr.
Ormsby. This time he was immediately answered. "Here, here," cried
Frederick, "I did really fall down this time, without intending to
frighten any body."
They went to him, and found that the cedar tree had saved his life by
catching him among its branches and holding him there; but that in
the fall he had severely strained his shoulder. The pain, added to
his fright, and to his total want of presence of mind, had prevented
him from trying to get out of the tree; and he could do nothing but
lie there and groan, being really very much hurt.
He was extricated and put on his feet again, and the two gentlemen
assisted Mr. Ormsby in conveying him down the mountain. "Now," said
his father, "had you not been so much in the habit of raising false
alarms, we should have stopped at once when we heard your groans,
and had gone in search of you; and you would not have been obliged
to remain so long in the tree, and to have suffered so much before
you could be relieved." "Oh!" said Frederick in a piteous voice, "I
feared I should have been obliged to lie there all night, and perhaps
die before any one came near me. However, it is fortunate I did not
fall down on the side where the precipice is, for I should certainly
have been dashed to pieces among the stones at the bottom."
When Frederick was brought to the hotel, his mother and sister were
much shocked on finding him in such a condition. His shoulder was so
swelled that the sleeve of his coat had to be cut open, as it was
impossible for him to draw his arm out of it. He suffered great pain,
and it was a week before he was well enough to be taken home; during
which time he made many resolutions of amendment.
In conclusion, we have the satisfaction of saying, that this last
lesson was not lost on Frederick Ormsby; and that he ceased to derive
amusement from exciting pain and terror in others.
ELIZA LESLIE.
THE RUSTIC WREATH;
OR
THE GLEANER.
BY MRS. HUGHS.
"Come, papa," said Cecilia Beldon, "come and sit down beside Louisa
and me, in this arbour, and tell us something about England. You have
described St. Paul's Church, Westminster Abbey, Blenheim Castle,
and a great many other fine places; but we want to hear something
that will give us some idea of the manners of the people, and the
impressions that were made on your mind by the appearance of the
country generally."
"That is a request that I shall be very glad to comply with to the
very best of my power," returned the father, as he seated himself
between his two daughters, and put an arm round the waist of each;
"but it will not be a very easy task to give you an idea of scenes so
very different from any thing that you have ever seen."
"Well, try at any rate, papa," said Louisa; "describe things as well
as you can, and we shall, at all events, get a few ideas, though they
may not, perhaps, be equal to the reality."
[Illustration: Painted by W. F. Witherington. Engraved by J. B.
Neagle.
THE RUSTIC WREATH.]
"True. Then to begin. It was the middle of September when I landed
in England; but unless you had experienced the monotony of a sea
voyage, you could form little conception of the pleasure with which
I exchanged the continuous prospect of the 'dark blue wave' of the
Atlantic, for the bright and gay scenes which England presented. You
know I had left our own dear land at a time when, of all others,
it appears to the least advantage; for the fervid heats of a July
sun had scorched every blade of grass, and a long and distressing
drought had given an almost autumnal tint to the foliage of the
trees. The few inhabitants, too, that remained in the city, looked
pale and languid, and crept along the streets as if deprived of all
the energy that was requisite for the performance of the business
of life, and wishing for nothing so much as a comfortable place, to
rest on the brow of some mountain, and a portion of Rip Van Winkle's
power of forgetfulness, that they might sleep away the sultry hours,
till the moderated sun, the cool and bracing nights, and the clear
pure air of the autumnal months, should again give life a zest. But
when I arrived in England, all was life, activity and bustle in the
towns; the people were fresh, ruddy, and animated; while the humidity
of the atmosphere had preserved the bright tints of vernal beauty
over the country. Few things in the world, perhaps, present a more
strikingly beautiful picture to the eye than an English landscape.
The graceful undulations of the country--the deep rich verdure that
overspreads the ground--the high cultivation that every where meets
the eye, and speaks of industry and wealth--the gothic edifices,
telling tales of former times--the country seats, which display at
once the elegance and taste of their inhabitants; and above all, the
neat cottages, which impart a truth most delightful to the benevolent
heart, that comfort, and a considerable portion of refinement, are
enjoyed by even the lowest ranks, are all points of beauty which are
particularly striking to an American traveller; for they unfold a
train of new ideas to his mind, and he at once realizes all the fairy
pictures, the outlines alone, of which, he had before been able to
trace; and for the first time in his life, he becomes fully sensible
of the magic of Shakespeare, the richness of Thomson, and the graphic
paintings of Cunningham. Nor did I find the English people less
interesting than the landscape. My letters of introduction placed me,
at once, in the most delightful society, where, if it had not been
for the little girls whom I had left behind me," added the father, as
he pressed his daughters closer to him, "I might have been in danger
of forgetting that I was not at home."
"But I always understood, papa," interrupted Cecilia, "that the
English were exceedingly cold and reserved in their manners."
"They have that character amongst their neighbours, the French,
who, you know, carry their ideas of politeness to perhaps rather an
extravagant height; but such they did not appear to me; nor have I
ever met with an American traveller, that had had an opportunity of
seeing English domestic manners, who did not bear willing testimony
to their frankness, refinement, and hospitality; indeed, there is
a cordiality in their manner of receiving a stranger, that is an
irresistible evidence of their sincerity.
"A gentleman, in whose house I became early familiar, told me one day
that he was going to take his wife and children the following morning
to have a day's ramble in the country, and kindly invited me to
occupy a seat in one of the carriages; and you may be sure I was much
pleased with the opportunity of peeping at the beauties of nature,
amongst a happy group of children, some of whom, from a similarity of
age, as well as other circumstances, often reminded me of yourselves.
"For the first half hour after we had set out on our little journey,
the presence of the 'American gentleman' rather checked that buoyancy
of spirit, which the suppressed smile, the half whisper, and the side
glance showed was waiting only for a little better acquaintance, to
burst out with the most frolic gayety; nor was it long before a few
well-timed inquiries, and a happily applied anecdote or two relative
to the scenes of this country, removed the embargo under which their
little tongues had lain, and in a short time, their mother and I
became the listeners, instead of the talkers, of the company."
"This is the birth-day of these two," said the mother, who seemed, at
length, to feel it necessary to make some apology for the volubility
of the party, and pointing, as she spoke, to two lovely little girls,
who were twins, "and as this treat is given on the occasion, their
father and myself are disposed to make it as complete as possible, by
allowing the whole party unrestrained indulgence in the pleasures of
talking; an enjoyment, which, I suppose, as you have children of your
own, you can form some idea of."
"Are your daughters fond of talking?" asked a fine, open-countenanced
girl, about ten years old.
"They are, indeed. They will not yield the palm even to you, in that
respect, I assure you."
"I should like to see them. Why did you not bring them with you?"
asked another.
"If they were here," said one of the little twins, "I would give them
some of my pretty flowers. Are they fond of flowers?"
"Oh! certainly; but they have not an opportunity of cultivating
them so much as you do here, for the excessive heat of our summers,
and the severity of our winters, are particularly unfavourable to
flowers. Besides, you must know, my little girl, that mine is a
very young country, and my countrymen have hitherto been too busy
in draining marshes, felling forests, and extending the boundaries
of civilization and government, to think much of what is purely
ornamental."
"How can America be a young country, mamma?" asked the other twin
sister. "I thought the world had all been created at one time."
"Julia, can you explain that difficulty to your sister?" asked their
mother, of one of her elder daughters.
"I suppose," replied Julia, colouring at being thus called upon, yet
speaking without hesitation or awkwardness, "the reason of America
being called a young country, is because it is only about three
hundred years since it was discovered by Columbus; and before that
time, it was only inhabited by savages, who knew nothing of building
houses, or cultivating the ground, or any of those things."
"We had a great deal of conversation of this kind, which proved the
children to be both intelligent, and accustomed to think and inquire
for themselves; and the time went over so pleasantly, that I was
quite surprised when the stopping of the carriage announced the
termination of our ride. The farm house, at which we stopped, was a
neat, substantially built stone house, with a pretty green, enclosed
by well painted white rails in front, and a large garden at one side,
surrounded by the same kind of enclosure, and proving, by its clean
walks, its neat well weeded beds, and the variety of flowers and
vegetables which flourished in it, that horticulture was considered
a part of the owner's business. Though we arrived early, the cattle,
which had been collected for the purpose of being milked, in the
neat well paved farm yard, were already dispersed, the business of
the dairy despatched, and the cheese made; but we were just in time
to see the wholesome breakfast of bread and cheese and milk, set out
for the troop of reapers, whom we saw in the distance, following each
other with beautiful regularity, cutting down the ripened grain, and
binding up the sheaves. On the summons for breakfast being given,
the whole group, with good humoured, though noisy hilarity, hastened
to the house; and I, whilst astonished at their number, which was so
much greater than I had ever seen engaged in a similar way at home,
was amused with the variety of young and old, grave and gay, and male
and female, which it exhibited. I was surprised, however, to find,
that even after the reapers were all assembled round the breakfast
table, the field which they had left was still covered over with
a great many stragglers, who appeared to wander about without any
definite object in view, whilst the master, with his stick thrown
over his shoulder, strolled about amongst them, as if his work was
not yet suspended. Upon inquiry, I found that these were gleaners,
a race of beings of whom we know nothing in this country, except
through the poets; and my imagination instantly taking flight at the
name, I hastened to the field, not doubting that I should find a
Ruth, or a Lavinia, to fill the only corner that was now vacant of
the brilliant picture before me. For a long time, however, creeping
age, and infant hands, were the only objects which met my view, and
I was about to leave the field, disappointed that no 'form fresher
than the morning rose' had met my view, when, turning to a remote
corner, a being attracted my attention, whose loveliness would
require the pen of a Thomson to describe. It was a young female, who
had laid an infant, of which she was evidently the youthful mother,
upon the bundle of corn which she had just gathered, and left it
under the protection of a faithful guardian, a large dog, which still
kept watch by its side. I conjectured, that the infant had been
asleep when first laid there, but it was now awake, and was tossing
about its little hands and feet, and crowing in great glee, highly
delighted with a flower that it had accidentally caught in its little
hand. The mother had, probably, come when the reapers left the field,
to take her breakfast of bread and milk, which was in a basket near
her, as well as to look after the safety of her child; and finding
it so happy on its rural bed, she had allowed it to remain there,
whilst she, with a mother's vanity, amused herself with ornamenting
its little hat with some of the ears of corn that she had just
gathered. I do not know that even Thomson would have described her as
beautiful, though certainly, 'a native grace sat fair proportioned on
her polished limbs,' and the sweet expression of maternal tenderness,
which beamed from her eye, and illumined her whole countenance,
would have afforded ample scope to his descriptive powers. I stood
riveted to the spot, and gazed on this interesting young creature
and her child, both as lovely as poet's dream, or the flower that the
traveller sees springing from the arid sand of the desert. I took my
pencil and endeavoured to sketch the group, with the farm house and
the village spire in the distance; not however, for myself, for the
picture rests on my mind in more vivid colours than ever were spread
on painter's palette, but with the hope of giving you some faint idea
of the loveliness that had so much seized my own fancy."
"Ah, papa," said Louisa, archly, "I see, though you are always so
anxious to keep us from setting much value on personal beauty, that
you admire it as much yourself as any body does."
"You must remember, however, Louisa," returned her father, "that
what I have spoken of, is that most delightful species of beauty
which is expressive of high moral qualities; and this depends not on
regularity of feature, or perfection of form, but on that which is
infinitely superior to both, good and amiable dispositions. Where
the mind is pure, the thoughts elevated, and the sentiments liberal
and kind, a pleasing expression will be found to pervade the most
rugged set of features that were ever bestowed upon a human being.
Besides, this species of beauty is highly improvable, for as the mind
becomes cultivated--as it takes a wider range among the works of
nature, and a deeper interest in the happiness of its fellow-beings,
and the cultivation of its own powers, the expression of the face
will become more refined and elevated. The chief beauty which struck
me in the English gleaner, was that of expression, the expression of
a kind and amiable heart, and the light of moral goodness illumined
her countenance: and it is that species of beauty alone, my dear
children, for which I am anxious to see you conspicuous."
"But, papa!" exclaimed both the sisters at once, as their father now
rose from his seat, "you must not leave us so soon, we have not heard
half enough about England yet."
"I have spent as much time with you as I can spare at present, but
will take an early opportunity of indulging myself in retracing some
more English scenes, many of which were as new, though few more
interesting than the Gleaner."
THE STORM.
BY MRS. HUGHS.
"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."
"Will you come to our house, and help Jenny, for my mother is very
ill?" said a little girl, in the feeble accents of childhood, whilst
she knocked at the door of a cottage. The voice was weak, but it
uttered tones, which, though they may sometimes be heard with
indifference by the inmates of a palace, never fail to find a ready
way to the heart of the humble cottager. "What sound is that I hear?"
said the mistress of the lowly dwelling, as the voice of the child
roused her from a sound sleep; "was I dreaming? or did I really hear
a voice?"
"Will you come to my mother, for Jenny thinks she is dying?"
continued the little girl, as she again applied her hand to the door.
Convinced now that it was no dream, the benevolent cottager started
from her bed, and opening the door, exclaimed in a tone of surprise,
"Why, Sally, is that you?--Here, all by yourself, in the very dead of
night!"
"My mother is so ill that Jenny could not leave her, and she had
nobody else to send to ask you to come and help her."
"Come John, get up directly!" said the woman, rousing her husband,
who under the influence of a previous day of hard labour, had slept
too soundly to hear what passed. "Get up! for you will very likely
have to go for the doctor. And come in, Sally dear, till I get
something on me, and I will go with you in a minute."
Very little preparation was necessary, and in a few minutes the
kind hearted woman hastened to the house of sickness, accompanied
by the little girl, and followed by her husband, who though no less
willing, was much less able to throw off the lethargic influence of
sleep, and trudged after the nimble feet of his wife as if scarcely
conscious whither he was going. As the distance was very short, he
had no time to get fully awake, before the little Sally opened the
door of her mother's house and ushered himself and his wife in; but
on entering, a sight presented itself to their view that instantly
roused every feeling of the soul to pity and commiseration. On a
humble bed, in the corner of a very humble apartment, lay stretched
the form of her to whose assistance they had been summoned; not,
however, either writhing with pain or burning with fever, but cold,
stiff, and lifeless; whilst a bowl stood near, which told at once, by
its contents, that the rupture of a blood vessel had produced the sad
catastrophe. By the side of the bed knelt her daughter, a girl about
sixteen, who, "struck with sad anguish at the stern decree," seemed
to retain little more of life than the corpse, the hand of which she
grasped between hers, whilst her eyes were riveted on the motionless
face, with an expression of the most heartrending agony. Grief wears
a variety of forms, according to the nature of the mind of which
it takes possession; but it assumes no appearance that imparts so
immediate a sense of its intensity to the heart of the spectator,
as that silent and speechless sorrow that finds no relief from
utterance. In vain did the benevolent neighbours endeavour to rouse
the poor girl from her trance of wo; the stroke had been so sudden,
so unlooked-for, and was so appalling in its nature, that poor Jenny,
though she had been long familiar with adversity, seemed ready to
sink under it, without a single effort to resist its overpowering
influence.