sky, Fritz and his sister went hand in hand over their rugged but
flower-strewn path of life, till he was nearly seven years old. Then
came Uncle Heinrich, his mother’s brother, and said the boy could be
useful to him at the mill, where he worked; and if the parents were
willing to bind him to his service, he would supply him with food and
clothing, and give him an outfit when he came of age. Tears were in
Liesbet’s eyes; for she thought how lonely it would seem to her and
little Gretchen, when they should no longer hear Fritz mocking the
birds, or singing aloud to the high heaven. But they were very poor, and
the child must earn his bread. So, with much sorrow to part with father
and mother, and Gretchen, the goat and the stork, and with some gladness
to go to new scenes, Fritz departed from the old nest that had served
him for a home. Mounted with Uncle Heinrich, on the miller’s donkey, he
ambled along through rocky paths, by deep ravines and castle-crowned
hills, with here and there glimpses of the noble river, flowing on,
bright and strong, reflecting images of spires, cottages, and
vine-covered slopes. When he arrived at his new home, the good
grandmother gave him right friendly welcome, and promised to set up on
her knitting-needles a striped blue cap for him to wear. Uncle Heinrich
was kind, in his rough way; but he thought it an excellent plan for boys
to eat little and work hard. Fritz, remembering the blossom-carpet of
the old castle, was always delighted to spy a clump of flowers. His
uncle told him they looked well enough, but he wondered anybody should
ever plant them, since they were not useful either to eat or wear; and
that when he grew older, he would doubtless think more of pence than
posies. Thus the child began to be ashamed, as of something wrong, when
he was caught digging a flower. But his laborious and economical
relative taught him many orderly and thrifty ways, which afterward had
great influence on his success in life; and fortunately a love for the
beautiful could not be pressed out of him. Kind, all-embracing Nature
took him in her arms, and whispered many things to preserve him from
becoming a mere animal. All day long he was hard at work; but the
blossoming tree was his friend, and the bright little mill-stream
chatted cozily, and smiled when the good grandmother gave it his clothes
to wash. The miller’s donkey, ambling along through sun-lighted paths
over the hills, was a picture to him. From his small garret window he
could see the mill-wheel scattering bright drops in the moonlight; and
he fell asleep to the gentle lullaby of ever-flowing water. Other
education than this he had not.
“His only teachers had been woods and rills;
The silence that is in the starry sky,
The sleep that is among the lonely hills.”
An aged neighbour, cotemporary with the grandmother, took a great liking
to Fritz; and on Sundays, when no work could be done, he was often
allowed to go and take dinner or supper there. The old man had traversed
nearly all Germany as a peddler, and had come to die in the old
homestead near the mill, where he had worked when a boy. He knew by
heart all the wild fairy legends of the country, and, in his character
of peddler-guest, had acquired a talent for relating them in a manner
peculiarly amusing and exciting to children. In the course of his
travels, he had likewise collected many things which seemed very
remarkable to the inexperienced eye of Fritz; such as curious
smoking-pipes and drinking-cups, and images in all the various costumes
of Germany. But what most attracted his attention was an ancient clock,
brought from Copenhagen when the peddler’s father was a young man. When
this clock was in its right mind, it could play twelve tunes, about as
simple as “Molly put the kettle on.” But the friction of many years had
so worn the cogs of the wheels, that it was frightfully out of tune.
This did not trouble the boy’s strong nerves, and he was prodigiously
amused with the sputtering, seething, jumping, jabbering sounds it made,
when set in motion. To each of the crazy old tunes he gave some droll
name. “There goes the Spitting Cat,” he would say; “now let us hear the
Old Hen.”
Father Rudolph called the rickety old machine his Blacking Box; because
he had bought it with the proceeds of a peculiar kind of blacking, of
his own manufacture. He was always praising this blacking; and one day
he said, “I have never told any one the secret of making it; but if you
are a good boy, Fritz, I will show you how it is done.” The child could
not otherwise than respect what had procured such a wonderful clock; and
when he fell asleep that night, there floated through his mind undefined
visions of being able, some time or other, to purchase such a comical
machine for himself. This seemed a very unimportant incident of his
childhood; but it was the introduction of a thread, that reappeared
again in his web of life.
Fritz passed at the old mill four years of health, happiness, and hard
labor. For three years, Father Rudolph was an unfailing source of
entertainment. Alternately with his comic old songs, and wild legends of
fairies and goblins, he imparted much of a traveller’s discursive
observation, and thorough practical knowledge concerning the glossy jet
blacking. At last he fell asleep, and the boy heard that pleasant old
voice no more, except in the echoing caves of memory. The good
grandmother survived the companion of her youth only a few months. The
ancient ballads she used to croon at her spinning-wheel, had caught
something of the monotonous flow of the water, which forever accompanied
them; and Fritz, as he passed up and down from the mill to the brook,
missed the quaint old melodies, as he would have missed the rustling of
the leaves, the chirping of crickets, or any other dear old familiar
sound. He missed, too, her kind motherly ways, and the little comforts
with which her care supplied him. With the exception of his rough, but
really kind-hearted uncle, he was now alone in the world. He had visited
Rüdesheim but once, and had then greatly amused Gretchen with his
imitations of the crazy clock. But his parents had since removed to a
remote district, and he knew not when he should see dear Gretchen again.
As none of them could read or write, there came no tidings to cheer the
long years of separation. How his heart yearned at times for the good
mother and the joyous little sister!
But when Uncle Heinrich announced his intention of removing to America,
the prospect of new adventures, and the youthful tendency to look on the
bright side of things, overbalanced the pain of parting from
father-land. It is true the last night he slept at the old mill, the
moonlight had a farewell sadness in its glance, and the little stream
murmured more plaintively as it flowed. Fritz thought perhaps they knew
he was going away. They certainly seemed to sigh forth, “We shall see
thee no more, thou bright, strong child! We remain, but thou art passing
away!”
When the emigrants came to the sea-port, every thing was new and
exciting to the juvenile imagination of Fritz. The ships out in the
harbor looked like great white birds, sailing through the air. How
pleasant it must be thus to glide over the wide waters! But between a
ship in the distance, and the ship we are in, there exists the usual
difference between the ideal and the actual. There was little romance in
the crowded cabin, with hundreds of poor emigrants eating, drinking, and
smoking, amid the odour of bilge-water, and the dreadful nausea of the
sea. Poor Fritz longed for the pure atmosphere and fresh-flowing brook,
at the mill. However, there was always America in prospect, painted to
his imagination like Islands of the Blest. Uncle Heinrich said he should
grow rich there; and a fairy whispered in his ear that he himself might
one day possess a Copenhagen clock, bright and new, that would play its
tunes decently and in order. “No, no,” said Fritz to the fairy, “I had
rather buy Father Rudolph’s clock; it was such a funny old thing.” “Very
well,” replied the fairy, “be diligent and saving, and perhaps I will
one day bring Father Rudolph’s clock to crow and sputter to thee in the
New World.”
But these golden dreams of the future received a sad check. One day,
there was a cry of “A man overboard!” It occasioned the more terror,
because a shark had been following in the wake of the vessel for several
days. Boats were lowered instantly; but a crimson tinge on the surface
of the water showed that their efforts were useless. It was not till
some minutes after the confusion subsided, that Fritz perceived his
Uncle Heinrich was missing. Terrible had been that crimson stain on the
water; but now, when he knew it was the life-blood of his last and only
friend, it made him faint and dizzy, as if it were flowing from his own
veins.
Uncle Heinrich’s hard-earned savings were fastened within the belt he
wore; and a bundle of coarse clothes, with a few tools, were all that
remained of his worldly possessions. The captain had compassion on the
desolate child, and charged nothing for his passage, or his food. When
the vessel came within sight of port, the passengers, though most of
them poor, raised a small fund for him by contribution. But who can
describe the utter loneliness of the emigrant boy, when he parted from
his ship-companions, and wandered through the crowded streets of New
York, without meeting a single face he had ever seen before? Lights
shone in cheerful basements, where families supped together; but his
good-hearted mother, and his dear little blue-eyed Gretchen--where were
they? Oh, it was very sad to be so entirely alone, in such a wide, wide
world! Sometimes he saw a boy turn round to stare at his queer little
cap, and outlandish frock; but he could not understand what he said,
when he sung out, “There goes what they call a Flying Dutchman.” Day
after day he tried for work, but could obtain none. His funds were
running very low, and his heart was extremely heavy. As he stood
leaning against a post, one day, a goat walked slowly towards him from a
neighboring court. How his heart leaped up to greet her! With her came
back images of the castle on the Rhine, the blooming terrace, his kind
father, his blessed mother, and his darling little sister. He patted the
goat’s head, and kissed her, and looked deep into her eyes, as he had
done with the companion of his boyhood. A stranger came to lead the
animal away; and when she was gone, poor Fritz sobbed as if his heart
would break. “I have not even a goat for a friend now,” thought he. “I
wish I could get back to the old mill again. I am afraid I shall starve
here in this foreign land, where there is nobody to bury me.”
In the midst of these gloomy cogitations, there was an alarm of fire;
and the watchmen sprung their rattles. Instantly a ray of hope darted
through his soul! The sound reminded him of Father Rudolph’s Blacking
Box; for one of its tipsy tunes began with a flourish exactly like it.
“I will save every cent I can, and buy materials to make blacking,”
thought he. “I will sleep under the planks on the wharves, and live on
two pence a day. I can speak a few words of English. I will learn more
from some of my countrymen, who have been here longer than I. Then,
perhaps, I can sell blacking enough to buy bread and clothes.”
And thus he did. At first, it went very hard with him. Some days he
earned nothing; and a week of patient waiting brought but one shilling.
But his broad face was so clean and honest, his manners so respectful,
and his blacking so uncommonly good, that his customers gradually
increased. One day, a gentleman who traded with him made a mistake, and
gave him a shilling instead of a ten-cent piece. Fritz did not observe
it at the moment; but the next day, when the gentleman passed to his
counting-house, he followed him, and touched him on the arm. The
merchant inquired what he wanted. Fritz showed the coin, saying, “Dat
not mine.” “Neither is it mine,” rejoined the merchant; “what do you
show it to me for?” The boy replied, in his imperfect English, “Dat too
mooch.” A friend, who was with the merchant, addressed him in German;
and the poor emigrant’s countenance lighted up, as if it had become
suddenly transparent, and a lamp placed within it. Heaving a sigh, and
blushing at his own emotion, he explained, in his native tongue, that he
had accidently taken too much for his blacking, the day before. They
looked at him with right friendly glances, and inquired into his
history. He told them his name and parentage, and how Uncle Heinrich had
attempted to bring him to America, and had been devoured by a shark on
the way. He said he had not a single friend in this foreign land, but he
meant to be honest and industrious, and he hoped he should do well. The
gentlemen assured him that they should always remember him as Fritz
Shilling, and that they would certainly speak of him to their friends.
He did not understand the joke of his name, but he did understand that
they bought all his blacking, and that customers increased more rapidly
after that interview.
It would be tedious to follow the emigrant through all the process of
his gradually-improving fortune. As soon as he could spare anything from
necessary food and clothing, he went to an evening school, where he
learned to read, write, and cipher. He became first a shop-boy, then a
clerk, and finally established a neat grocery-store for himself. Through
all these changes, he continued to sell the blacking, which arrived at
the honour of poetical advertisements in the newspapers, under the name
of Schelling’s Best Boot Polisher.
But the prosperity thus produced was not the only result of his
acquaintance with Father Rudolph. The dropped stitches of our life are
sometimes taken up again strangely, through many intervening loops. One
day, as Fritz was passing through the streets, when he was about sixteen
years old, he stopped and listened intently; for he heard far off the
sounds of a popular German ballad, which his grandmother and the peddler
often used to sing together. Through all the din and rattle of the
streets, he could plainly distinguish the monotonous minor cadence,
which had often brought tears to his eyes when a boy. He followed the
tones, and soon came in sight of an old man and his wife singing the
familiar melody. A maiden, apparently somewhat younger than himself,
played a tamborin at intervals. When he spoke to her in German, her face
kindled, as his own had done, at the first sound of his native tongue in
a strange land. “They call me Röschen,” she replied; “these are my
father and mother. We came from the ship last night, and we sing for
bread, till we can get work to do.” The soul looked simply and kindly
through her blue eyes, and reminded him of sister Gretchen. Her wooden
shoes, short blue petticoat, and little crimson jacket might seem vulgar
to the fashionable, and picturesque to the artist; but to him it was
merely the beloved costume of his native land. It warmed his heart with
childish recollections; and when they sang again the quaint, sad melody,
he seemed to hear the old brook flow plaintively by, and see the
farewell moonlight on the mill. Thus began his acquaintance with the
maiden, who was afterwards his wife, and the mother of his little
Gretchen.
Of these, and all other groups of emigrants, for many years, he inquired
concerning his parents and his sister; but could obtain no tidings. At
last, a priest in Germany, to whom he wrote, replied that Gretchen had
died in childhood; and that the father and mother had also recently
died. It was a great disappointment to the affectionate heart of Fritz
Schelling; for through all his expanding fortunes he had cherished the
hope of returning to them, or bringing them to share his comfortable
home in the New World. But when he received the mournful news, he had
Röschen to love, and her parents to care for, and a little one that
twined herself round his heart with fresh flower-garlands every day.
At thirty-five, he was a happy and a prosperous man. So prosperous, that
he could afford to live well in the city, and yet build for himself a
snug cottage in the country. “We can go out every Saturday and return on
Monday,” said he to Röschen. “We can have fresh cream, and our own sweet
butter. It will do the children good to roll on the grass, and they
shall have a goat to play with.”
“And, perhaps, by-and-by, we can go there to live all the time,”
rejoined Röschen. “It is so quiet and pleasant in the country; and
what’s the use of being richer than enough?”
The site chosen for the cottage overlooked the broad, bright river,
where high palisades of rock seemed almost like the ruins of an old
castle. Fritz said he would make a flower-carpet on the rocks, for the
goat to browse upon; and if a stork would only come and build a nest on
his thatched roof, he could almost fancy himself in Germany. At times,
the idea of importing storks crossed his mind; but his good sense
immediately rejected the plan. It is difficult to imagine how those
venerable birds, with their love of the antique and the unchangeable,
could possibly live in America. One might as well try to import loyal
subjects, or an ancient nobility.
When house and barn were completed, the first object was to secure
honest, industrious German tenants to till the soil. Fritz heard of a
company of emigrants, who wished to sell themselves for a specified
time, in order to pay their passage; and he went on board the ship to
see them. A hale man, who said he was about sixty years old, with a wife
some five or six years younger, attracted his attention by their extreme
cleanliness and good expression of countenance. He soon agreed to
purchase them; and in order to prepare the necessary papers, he inquired
their names.
“Karl Schelling and Liesbet Schelling,” replied the old man.
Fritz started, and his face flushed, as he asked, “Did you ever live in
the old castle at Rüdesheim?”
“That we did for several summers,” rejoined Karl.
“Ah, can you tell us any thing of our son Fritz?” exclaimed Liesbet,
eyeing him eagerly. “God bless him wherever he is! We came to America to
find him.”
“Mother! Mother! do you not know me?” he said; and threw himself into
her open arms, and kissed the honest, weather-beaten face.
“I see it has gone well with you, my son. Now, thanks be to God, and
blessed be His holy name,” said Karl, reverently uncovering his head.
“And where is Gretchen?” inquired Fritz, earnestly.
“The All-Father took her home, to Himself, soon after you came to see us
at Rüdesheim,” replied Liesbet. “She was always mourning for the
brother, poor little one! It troubled us to go away and leave you behind
us, without saying farewell; and I feared no blessing would follow it.
But we were very poor, and we thought then we should come to you in two
or three years.”
“Don’t speak of that,” said Fritz. “You were always good parents to me,
and did the best you could. Blessings _have_ followed me; and to meet
you thus is the crowning blessing of all. Come, let us hasten home. I
want to show you my good Röschen, and our Gretchen, and Karl, and
Liesbet, and Rudolph, and baby Röschen. My small farm overlooks a river
broad and beautiful as the Rhine. The rocks look like castles, and I
have bought a goat for the children to play with. The roof of our
cottage is thatched, and if a stork would only come and build her nest
there, then dear father and mother might almost imagine themselves again
at Rüdesheim, with plenty to eat, drink, and wear. If Father Rudolph’s
Blacking Box were only here,” added he, laughing, “I should have all
but one of my boyish dreams fulfilled. Ah, if dear Gretchen were only
here!”
The fairy who whispered to Fritz when he was crossing the Atlantic, told
him if he were diligent and saving, she would perhaps bring him the old
clock; and she kept her promise better than fairies sometimes do; for it
chanced that the heir of Father Rudolph came to America, and brought it
with him. The price Fritz offered for it was too tempting, and it now
stands in his thatched cottage. Its carved black case, inlaid with
grotesque figures of birds and beasts in pearl, is more wonderful than a
picture-book to the children. When any of them are out of health, or out
of humour, their father sets the old bewildered tunes agoing, and they
soon join in a merry mocking chorus, with “Cluck, cluck, cluck! Whirr,
whirr, whirr! Rik a rik a ree!”
NOTE.--The accidental purchase of his parents by a German emigrant
actually occurred a few years since; and this story was suggested by the
fact.
HOME AND POLITICS.
FOUNDED ON AN INCIDENT THAT OCCURRED IN NEW YORK, DURING THE
EXCITEMENT ATTENDING THE ELECTION OF PRESIDENT POLK.
O friendly to the best pursuits of man!
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace,
Domestic life.
COWPER.
At the bend of a pleasant road winding under the shade of a large elm,
stood a small school-house. It was a humble building; and the little
belfry on the top seemed hardly large enough for the motions of the
cow-bell suspended there. But it was a picturesque feature in the
landscape. The elm drooped over it with uncommon gracefulness, and
almost touched the belfry with its light foliage. The weather-beaten,
moss-grown shingles were a relief to the eye of the traveller, weary of
prim staring white houses. Moreover, a human soul had inscribed on the
little place a pastoral poem in vines and flowers. A white Rose bush
covered half one side, and carried its offering of blossoms up to the
little bell. Cypress vines were trained to meet over the door, in a
Gothic arch, surmounted by a cross. On the western side, the window was
shaded with a profusion of Morning Glories; and a great rock, that
jutted out into the road, was thickly strewn with Iceland moss, which in
the springtime covered it with a carpet of yellow stars.
It was at that season it was first seen by George Franklin, a young New
York lawyer, on a visit to the country. He walked slowly past, gazing at
the noble elm slightly waving its young foliage to a gentle breeze. Just
then, out poured a flock of children, of various ages. Jumping and
laughing, they joined hands and formed a circle round the elm. A clear
voice was heard within the school-house, singing a lively time, while
measured strokes on some instrument of tin marked the time. The little
band whirled round the tree, stepping to the music with the rude grace
of childhood and joy. After ten or fifteen minutes of this healthy
exercise, they stopped, apparently in obedience to some signal. Half of
them held their hands aloft and formed arches for the other half to jump
through. Then they described swift circles with their arms, and leaped
high in the air. Having gone through their simple code of gymnastics,
away they scampered, to seek pleasure after their own fashion, till
summoned to their books again. Some of them bowed and courtesied to the
traveller, as they passed; while others, with arms round each other’s
necks, went hopping along, first on one foot, then on the other, too
busy to do more than nod and smile, as they went by. Many of them wore
patched garments, but hands and faces were all clean. Some had a
stolid, animal look; but even these seemed to sun their cold nature in
the rays of beauty and freedom, which they found only at school. The
whole scene impressed the young man very vividly. He asked himself why
it could not be always thus, in the family, in the school, every where?
Why need man forever be a blot on Nature? Why must he be coarse and
squalid, and gross and heavy, while Nature is ever radiant with fresh
beauty, and joyful with her overplus of life? Then came saddening
thoughts how other influences of life, coarse parents, selfish
employers, and the hard struggle for daily bread, would overshadow the
genial influences of that pleasant school, which for a few months gilded
the lives of those little ones.