In traversing that region of country in the wilds of Maine, that
borders one of her finest rivers, if you look carefully on your right
hand as you pass through the town of ----, by the post-road, you may
observe a cart-path leading directly into a thick wood, where the trees
tower in majesty and beauty to the very clouds, and look as if they had
thus stood ever since the day when "the heavens and the earth were
finished, and all the host of them." Were it not for this same
cart-path, with its three ridges of bright greensward, and its four
lines of dusky brown, you might doubt whether the silent grandeur of
the forest had ever echoed to the voice or the footstep of man.
There is something truly grand and impressive in forest scenery. The
lofty trees stretching high toward heaven; the graceful and majestic
waving of the branches, breathing nature's own soft music, which
scarcely removes the impression of profound silence--or which, to
parody the words of Milton, "just makes silence audible;" the deep, and
seemingly "boundless contiguity of shade," and the awful solitude, make
man shrink into himself, and feel that he is in the presence of the
Eternal. The weak spirit of a creature frail as man, is soon
overpowered, if it give itself up to the impressions naturally produced
by contemplating, in solitude, the grandeur of creation. The first
feeling is delight,--next admiration,--then wonder,--then awe,--and
then oppression;--and when it arrives at this point, the sight of such
a little cart-path as I have mentioned, is a great relief to the
feelings: for it shows that a being having passions, and feelings, and
sympathies like his own--as short lived, as dependant, as insignificant
as himself, is, or has been near. The deep shade has been penetrated;
the solitude has been interrupted; and an unbroken and eternal silence
has not forever reigned in the forest.
If the reader wishes, we will follow this path, and see whither it will
conduct us. Its course is a little devious, probably to avoid the
trunks of the trees, for not one appears to have been felled to shorten
the distance, which is about three fourths of a mile, under the
unbroken shade of the same noble woodland. Now the path begins to
descend a little, and by almost imperceptible degrees, you arrive in a
valley lying between two lofty ridges, that become more and more abrupt
as you advance; and when you have proceeded about the fourth of a mile,
they seem nearly perpendicular on either side. And their summits being
crowned by the lofty trees of the same far stretching forest, adds much
to the apparent depth of the valley, and you feel as if verging towards
the centre of the earth. That little ripling stream in the valley,
beside which we have been walking, now begins to widen, and presently
expands itself into a mimic lake, restrained on the one hand and on the
other by the mountain side, leaving just room enough on the left for
the unbroken cart-path. Your ear is now assailed by the sound of
rushing waters, and a roof appears beyond the lake--so that a
habitation of man is near. No, it is a mill; the dwelling house is
sixty rods below: there it lies, on a beautiful swell in the narrow
valley, made, it would seem, on purpose for its site--and the again
diminished stream is softly murmuring by its side. That is the Cottage
in the Glen. If you please, we will descend, and take our station in
front of it. Before we turned that angle to attain this spot, you were
about to exclaim, "This is the very home of solitude, shut out from the
rest of creation." But look straight down the valley, and far--far off,
see the picturesque and busy village of ----, and the sparkling waters
of the river. The valley is so straight and narrow, and widens so
gradually towards its mouth, and the banks on either side are so
precipitous, that it produces the same effect on the scene beyond, that
a tube does in viewing a picture. Is it not beautiful! Now if you will
climb with me to the foot of that tree that stands part way up the
bank, we will be seated in the shade, and I will give you a sketch of
the inhabitants of the cottage.
* * * * *
Mr. Kirkwood, a native of Massachusetts, and head of the family, is now
upwards of seventy-five years of age; and until verging towards sixty,
was decidedly a man of the world. He was educated at Harvard
University, and at the age of twenty-eight, when he married, was a good
scholar, a finished gentleman, and a successful lawyer.
"There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune."
Mr. Kirkwood seized the favorable moment, and his wealth rapidly
increased. He wished to be rich; not to hoard his wealth--but that he
might be enabled to procure all the indulgencies and elegancies of
life, and move at the head of society. His wish was gratified. He
became rich; lived in splendid style; and his house was the favorite
resort of the wealthy, the elegant, and the fashionable. His wife was a
model of good housewifery, propriety and politeness; and his only
child, a son, was all that the heart of a man of the world could wish.
Highly gifted by nature, and favored with every advantage for the
cultivation of his talents, young Kirkwood was ushered into society,
elegant in person, elegant in mind, and correct in morals. It was
generally conceded that whoever obtained him, would gain a first rate
prize in the matrimonial lottery. Of course, there was no little
competition among mothers who had daughters to dispose of; and young
ladies who wished to dispose of themselves. But the lovely, well
educated, and retiring Mary Bust, engaged his affections without
seeking them; and in winning her heart, and securing her hand, he
insured his own earthly felicity. Gentle by nature, polished and
enlightened by education, unblemished in reputation, and thoroughly
well principled, through the assiduous care and unwearied instructions
of wise and pious parents,--she was all a man could wish for as a wife,
companion and friend; all he could wish for as the mother of his
children. The son's choice gave perfect satisfaction to his parents;
and when in the course of a few years, the young wife gave successively
to the arms of her husband, three sons and a daughter,--there seemed to
be around this family, a confluence of all that constitutes the
felicity of earth.
But, alas, in the tide of men's affairs, there is an _ebb_ as well as
_flood_; and this the Kirkwood family now began to experience. The
elder Kirkwood had just begun to discover that his affairs were in some
confusion, when his wife was suddenly snatched away by death. It was a
heavy blow, and he felt it as such. But men seldom die of grief!
Millions have buried the wife of their youth, and been very comfortably
supported under the bereavement; and so was Mr. Kirkwood. Indeed he had
little time to spend in unavailing sorrow, or in brooding over the
memory of the departed one; for the clouds of adversity became more and
more dense about him, and he soon found that the combined energies of
himself and son, could not avert the storm. Poverty seemed coming upon
them "like an armed man." In the meantime, two of the blooming
grandsons were in quick succession conveyed to the tomb; and just as
the storm burst upon them in all its fury, the younger Kirkwood
followed his mother and his two children to the world of spirits. After
this tempest of adversity, Mr. Kirkwood stood like an oak, scathed by
the lightning,--its verdure blasted, and its branches scattered abroad.
He sunk, overwhelmed, and gave way to the most hopeless despondency.
There is a spirit in woman that will sustain her under circumstances
which will drive man to despair. And when that spirit is moulded,
guided, and strengthened by religion, it is invincible. Soft as the
harp-tones of the "sweet singer of Israel," did Mary's voice now
breathe on the ear of her disconsolate father.
"'Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive
evil,' my father? Let us endeavor to say, 'The Lord gave, and the Lord
hath taken away, and blessed be his name!' Arise, my father, and call
upon our God. He 'hears the young ravens when they cry,' and will he
not give his children food? He clothes the lilies of the field, and
will he not clothe us? He binds up the broken heart; will he not then
console ours?"
"Alas, my daughter," cried the old man, "He is thy God, but not mine.
In the hour of prosperity I forgat him; in the hour of adversity I dare
not approach him. May he, indeed, feed, and clothe, and console thee,
and thy remaining little ones. For me--his vengeance alone will pursue
me. Would I could hide me from his avenging hand, and lay my head in
the grave!"
The despondency of her father added not a little to the load of sorrow
that pressed on Mary's heart; but she had no time for idle lamentation.
She had duties to perform; duties to him, herself, and her children;
and laying herself low before the throne of mercy, she spread her
sorrows and her wants before her Father in Heaven, and taking fast hold
of Almighty strength, she went forward.
"My father," said Mary, "'Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and
scourgeth every son whom he receiveth;' and, 'like as a father pitieth
his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.'"
"But I have not feared him, Mary,--therefore he does not pity me. And
his chastening is the chastening of an offended judge--in
vengeance--not the chastening of a father."
Mary despaired not, though her father thus repelled all consolation;
and when he sat absorbed in melancholy, and she scarcely dared intrude
upon his thoughts, she would move about the room, just breathing the
lines,
"Come ye disconsolate, where'er you languish,
Come, at the shrine of God, fervently kneel;
Here bring your wounded hearts; here tell your anguish;
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal;"
and at the same time raise a fervent prayer, that his sorrow might not
ultimately prove to be that "sorrow of the world that worketh death,"
but the "sorrow that worketh repentance unto salvation." Her prayer was
heard; her efforts were successful. It was not long ere with heartfelt
gratitude, she heard him say, "'It is good for me that I have been
afflicted.' 'The Lord gave,' but I have abused his gifts; and he 'hath
taken away,' and blessed be his name for thus bringing an erring son
near to himself." When this happy change first took place in the
feelings of her father, Mary felt as though she had scarcely a care or
a sorrow left. A future world, uncorroded by cares, unstained by tears,
unblemished by sin, and unvisited by sorrow, opened on the eye of
faith,--and all was peace within. But their pilgrimage was not yet
accomplished; this home was not yet attained; and in the meantime,
something must be done. Scarcely a wreck of their fortune remained; and
Mr. Kirkwood, verging towards sixty, with the energies of his mind
crushed by misfortune, felt it impossible to begin again his career as
a lawyer. The remaining pride of his heart, rendered it extremely
painful to remain amidst his former associates, with whom he could no
longer, on equal terms, hold intercourse; and where every scene called
back the visions of former splendors, and buried friends, with a
sickening influence.
"Let us fly far from hence, my daughter," said he; "elsewhere I may
recover something of my energy, and be capable of making some effort;
_here_ I can do nothing. Let us fly from the world, and hide ourselves
in seclusion. My soul needs repose. A withering blast has swept over
it, to tear away its idols. The work is done--but the wounds are still
bleeding: and though, I trust, the great physician is at work, there
needs time to perfect a cure. Let us fly from hence, and in some new
and humble occupation, strive to support ourselves for the remainder of
life's journey, and rear these little ones for immortality."
So that she could be with her father, and her children, to receive the
blessing of the one, and the caresses of the others, it mattered little
to Mary what spot on earth she called home. She was a "_widow indeed_."
The long, bright vista, through which she had looked on years of future
happiness, with the husband of her love, was closed by death; and what
mattered it, where she fulfilled the remaining duties of life, so they
were but faithfully discharged?
Through the agency of a friend, the Cottage in the Glen, with the mill
that appertained to it, and a few acres of ground, were purchased. Mary
collected together the few articles that remained of former abundance;
and with the feelings of a woman of cultivated mind and literary taste,
and with all the providence of a mother, foreseeing the future wants of
her children, did she most carefully gather up all the books that
remained of the once large and well selected library. All things
finally arranged, they removed hither.
A complete revolution had taken place in Mr. Kirkwood's views. He felt
that nothing is really degrading that is not sinful; and he resolved,
as far as practicable, to do his own labor with his own hands. But,
until he could learn the art himself, he was constrained to hire an
assistant, to take charge of his little mill; once familiar with the
business, it was his own employment. The family were very comfortable,
and soon became very happy. Though the furniture of the cottage was
scanty, it was arranged with so much taste, and kept in such perfect
order, that it wore the air of gentility; and a profusion of wild
flowers in the summer, and a blazing fire in the winter, gave an
additional cheerfulness to its appearance. The mill supplied them with
bread, and many other comforts of life, beside paying a poor man for a
day's labor now and then on their little enclosure of potatoes. They
procured an honest and faithful maid servant, who milked their two
cows, prepared the butter and cheese, and spun the wool of their half a
dozen sheep, beside doing all the more laborious work of the family. No
human eye was upon them that had seen them in former days, and they
were fast forgetting a world, by which they were already nearly
forgotten. No real want of nature remained unsatisfied, and their
Heavenly Father was as near them here, as in any other place. Glorious
and consoling idea! that his children can be carried to no spot in
creation, where he will not be present to sustain and comfort them! How
glorious the idea of an Omnipotent God!
Nothing, under the power of religion, served so much to console the
heart of Mr. Kirkwood, as the presence and the happiness of his
grandchildren. Frederic was eight, and Clara three years old; and they
were as happy at the Cottage in the Glen, as they would have been in
the palace of the Thuileries. From his heart, he could adopt the
language of Paley: "I seem to see the benevolence of the Deity more
clearly in the pleasures of young children, than in any thing else in
the world. The pleasures of grown persons may be reckoned partly of
their own procuring; but the pleasures of a healthy child are so
manifestly provided for by another, and the benevolence of the
provision is so unquestionable, that every child I see at its sport,
affords to my mind a kind of sensible evidence of the finger of God."
"These children are happy, Mary," he would say; "they feel no regrets
for the past--no fears for the future, but enjoy the present with zest.
Our wants are scarcely greater than theirs. Let us, then, not regret
the past; let us not be anxious for the future; but in performing
present duty, and being grateful for present good, let us trust our
heavenly father, without fear or misgiving."
Neither Mr. Kirkwood nor his daughter found any leisure for idle
repinings. The indispensable labors of each day, with the care and
instruction of the children, occupied them fully. Frederic was sent to
the district school, there to acquire what he could of education; but
he was an intellectual and thinking boy, and soon began to call on his
grandfather to assist him through the difficulties he encountered, as
his mind rapidly developed. The education of Clara, Mrs. Kirkwood
considered her own peculiar business. And when the little girl was old
enough to go to school, she still preferred pursuing the task herself,
as she dreaded lest her daughter should breathe other than a pure moral
atmosphere.
Next to religion, the abundant means of education is undoubtedly the
glory and bulwark of New England. And the district school, where the
son of the town pauper may obtain the foundation of an education that
will render him intelligent and useful, is an incalculable blessing.
But wherever human nature is, there is depravity; and where human
beings mingle together, this depravity is called into exercise. Even
young children are not the innocent creatures some persons appear to
suppose; but in almost every school may be found the _germ_ of almost
every vice. So thought Mrs. Kirkwood; and it led her to educate her
daughter entirely at home.
Time rolled on; and the children at the cottage increased in wisdom and
stature: the parent and grandparent in meetness for the kingdom of
heaven. Industry and economy, both of time and goods, was the order of
the house; and the children cheerfully followed the example set them by
their superiors. Frederic was always diligently employed, when not
engaged with his books; and the healthful and joyous little Clara was
the assistant of each one, as circumstances required, from her
grandfather in the mill, to the servant girl at the washing tub.
Permission to play in the open air, was a holiday to her heart; and she
was light and joyous in spirit as the warblers of the grove. Content
and peace reigned in the family. With each returning sun, their orisons
were duly offered on the family altar; and when the shades of evening
closed around, their thanksgivings and praises ascended to the throne
of the Eternal.
"A holy incense--sweeter, richer far
Than that upon the golden altar shed
In Judah's sacred fane."
No change of any moment took place in their circumstances, and nothing
in futurity was looked forward to with peculiar interest, until
Frederic attained his fifteenth year. Then, one evening, after having
been unusually thoughtful and silent, he suddenly looked up, and said,
"I want to be a minister of the gospel, and I want to go to college,
grandfather."
Both the grandfather and the mother looked up in some astonishment; but
they listened patiently to his plans, and heard him declare what
efforts he was willing to make--what deprivations to endure.
"Dear grandfather--dear mother," said the eager boy, in conclusion, "do
listen to me kindly. It will do me no harm to make the attempt. You,
grandfather, and our good pastor, will help fit me for college; and I
doubt not, that by my own industry, and what you can conveniently do
for me, I shall some how or other get through. I feel that I can do
nothing without an education."
"We will think on the subject, my son," said his grandfather, "and in
due time let you know the result of our deliberations. Meantime, attend
to your present duties, and 'take no _anxious_ thought for the
morrow.'"
The important subject was not mentioned again for the evening; but it
engrossed Mrs. Kirkwood's mind, and kept her waking many hours of the
night. From her son's birth, she had consecrated him to the service of
her Heavenly Father, though she knew not in what way that service might
be demanded. Now she hoped he had consecrated himself; and that what
seemed so aspiring in a youth in his situation in life, was an impulse
from above, rather than the natural workings of an ambitious mind. But
she was helpless in herself, and could only ask to be directed by Him
who is perfect in wisdom; to be provided for by Him who is infinite in
riches. What needed she more!
The next day Mr. Kirkwood and his daughter held a consultation on the
subject; and when, toward evening, Frederic saw his mother searching
over a chest of old books, his eyes sparkled, and his heart throbbed
with feverish impatience to ascertain if his conjectures were accurate.
His joy was complete, when he saw the necessary books and grammars come
forth; some in a mutilated state, it is true,--but no matter, so the
important parts were but entire. He went about his task like one in
earnest; his progress was rapid; and in due time he was admitted at
college.
The years of his collegiate life passed rapidly away. The vacations of
spring and autumn he spent in the bosom of his family, giving delight
to the hearts of all by his improvement; assisting in their
labors,--and superintending with deep interest, and assiduous
tenderness, the education of his sister. But the long winter vacation
was devoted to school-keeping,--the most lucrative employment to which
he could, for such limited periods, devote himself. Once he was so
highly favored as to get a school in the neighborhood of the Glen; and
then his labor was a delight, rather than a task, as he could be with
his beloved friends, and direct his sister in her studies. The family
at the Glen, it is true, had to practice more than wonted frugality, to
help in defraying his unavoidable expenses; but no self-denial was
hard, when one so dear was to be benefitted--no sacrifice painful that
was made for so important an object. Clara was by no means the least
efficient in her endeavors to aid her darling brother. As soon as she
completed her thirteenth year, at her earnest and reiterated
entreaties, the servant girl was dismissed, and she cheerfully took her
labors on herself, that Frederic might have the considerable sum thus
saved to the family.
Meanwhile, Clara's own education progressed, notwithstanding her
situation seemed so unfavorable for study. But she was a rigid
economist of time; and when that is the case with any one, great things
may be accomplished. Although her hands were busily employed a large
portion of the time, a mind, thirsting for knowledge, surmounted all
difficulties. She could not, indeed, touch the keys of a piano, or the
strings of a harp; the spinning wheel and other domestic machines
demanded too large a portion of her time, to have permitted the
acquisition of skill on these instruments, even had she possessed them.
But she knew who Dugald Stewart was, and what he thought of the "active
and moral powers of man;" with Smellie she was intimately acquainted;
and Rollin, Hume, Gillies and Gibbon were her daily companions. The
works of Pascal and Massillon she could read in the language in which
they were written; and with Virgil she could converse in his native
tongue. Above all, she had studied the volume of inspiration, and had
learned the way of eternal life.
Never had the family at the Glen been happier than when Frederic
returned home, bearing his parchment roll, duly adorned with the
riband, and the imposing seal; and, after some preamble, running thus:
Notum esto, _quod nos, consentiendibus honorandis admodum ac reverendis
collegii antedicti_ Inspectoribus, _anno Christi_ MDCCC--_admisimum_
Fredericus Kirkwood _ejusdem alumnum, ad gradum_ Baccalaurealem _in_
Artibus; &c. But when he joined the domestic circle, authorized to
preach the everlasting gospel, their joy was of a deeper, holier
character. Would I could show you a picture of the group, as they
encircled the blazing hearth on that happy evening. I will even make
the attempt. There sits the venerable grandfather, in his large
arm-chair, his white hairs smoothly parted from off his ample forehead,
with every feature speaking of passions subdued, and a heart full of
gratitude, content and love. Next the mother, with something like the
bloom of youth stealing over her matron cheek,--while her eye moves in
a tear that rises from that deep fountain of mingled feeling, known
only to a _pious mother's_ heart, as she looks on the son of her love,
and that son a _believer!_ Between these two sits Frederic, comely in
manly strength, his whole countenance expressing heart-felt benevolence
to all mankind--and peculiar love, gratitude and veneration for those
by whom he is encircled. Last, and the darling of all, is Clara, seated
on her brother's knee, with one arm around his neck, while her other
hand is sometimes clasped in his,--sometimes straying amid his dark
luxuriant hair. She is not exactly beautiful, but she is lovely. Her
stature is rather below than above the medium size; and fresh air and
healthy exercise have given elasticity to her limbs, and a bloom to her
cheek, that rivals the richness of the peach. If her features are not
regular, they defy criticism; for her whole face has such a glow of
love and happiness, that the delighted beholder cannot seek for
defects. Thus they all sat, enjoying the full tide of domestic
happiness; and each might have said to the other, with Galatee,
"Tu me demandais ton bonheur,
Et c'etait moi que tu rendais heureuse."
Even the knowledge that Frederic was soon to leave them, to enter on
the duties of his vocation, could scarcely moderate their joy.
He has now entered on his holy calling; and though far removed from
those who loved him so tenderly, nurtured him so carefully, governed
him so wisely, and made such personal sacrifices to fit him for
usefulness, they are happy still. Far from selfishly regretting that at
the moment he was fitted for action, and capable of making some return
for all their kindness, they are obliged to resign him altogether,--in
the benevolence of their hearts they rejoice that they have been used
as instruments to prepare him for a life of usefulness in the world;
and their most fervent prayer for him is, that he may "turn many to
righteousness," and then "shine as a star forever."
Yes, the family at the Glen are happy still. The aged grandfather is
"waiting patiently his appointed time till his change come," with a
"hope full of immortality." The mother, patient, gentle, subdued,
serene, in fulfilling her quiet and unostentatious duties, is carefully
laying up treasure, where "neither moth nor rust corrupt nor destroy."
And the lovely Clara is the sunshine in the path of both. She hushes
the sighs,--wipes the tears,--soothes the pains, and lightens the cares
of each. Her voice is music to their ears; her presence brings gladness
to their hearts; and they both pronounce her blessed.
But you inquire,--is she who breathes such fragrance around, forever to
be immured in this sequestered valley? No--she will move in a wider
sphere; yet it is doubtful whether she elsewhere tastes such pure and
peaceful happiness as she has tasted here. She may find more luxuriant
roses, but then she must encounter the thorns; and what she may gain in
untried sources of happiness, will be counterbalanced by unknown cares
and sorrows. Yet she will, by and by, run the hazard: for her brother's
dearest college friend once begged an invitation to spend a vacation at
the Cottage; and when he left it, he left his heart behind him. Clara
could do no less than give her's in exchange; and so she has promised,
at some future day, to become his wife.
And now, as I have finished my sketch, we will leave the valley.
Do you further inquire what is the secret of their happiness? and
whether she who has been so eagerly sought through the wide world, has
chosen this for her favorite residence? I will give you the answer Mr.
Kirkwood gave to Clara, when she asked him a question of similar
import.
"Happiness, my daughter, has, on earth, no local habitation. She _may_
dwell in the palace or in the cottage; with the rich, or with the poor;
with the learned, or with the ignorant. Her seat is in the soul,--and
its security does not depend on external circumstances. A _peaceful
conscience_, and a _humble_, _contented_ heart, grateful for blessings
bestowed, and feeling no craving desire for those that are withheld,
are the pillars of her throne. But there are two classes of persons
that she will never deign to visit, be their rank or station what it
may. Neither the _idle_ nor the _vicious_ are ever happy."