CI 
 
 'Ul BRARY OF COiNTtRE SS. 
 
 ^ [SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT.] 
 
 ! UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.! 
 
iS"A-tt/\\,c€^ '(^. (2J^Vya\lv,i>AyY\). 
 
THE 
 
 FRAGMENT: 
 
 OR, 
 
 LETTERS & FOEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. FRANCES F. MATTESON. 
 
 There is a plane for every ray, 
 Still bearing back a faint response ; 
 So let the livid light pour forth 
 And genial worth in minds enhance. 
 
 •' A prophet is not without honor, 
 
 Save in his own country" — and in his own town. 
 
 ^J2^^. 
 
 ROME, N. Y. : 
 
 A. SANDFORD, PRINTER. CITIZEN OFFICE, 
 1855. 
 

 Entered according to Act ef Congress, in the year 1855, 
 
 BY MRS. FRANCES F. MATTESON, 
 
 In the Clerk's OflSce of the District Court of the United States 
 
 of the Northern District of New York. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In compiling the Memoirs of my Life and 
 some other matter which I added to that volume, 
 a considerable part of the following work was 
 thrown aside. Subsequently, I collected it, and 
 with some little addition since written, I un- 
 scrupulously leave them before a generous pub- 
 lic, not for any superior amount of worth they 
 may be supposed to contain ; yet, unhesitatingly, 
 believing that what is sown in faith from an hon- 
 est heart, will be reaped in gladness. 
 
 I breathe where Jurking Envy's blight 
 Has spread her mildew far and wide ! 
 
 And see the assassin's hand put forth ! 
 Feel too, mayhap, the world may chide. 
 
 A 2 
 
THE FRAGMENT 
 
 DEATH OF HENRY CLAY. 
 
 To D. J. 
 
 Dear Sir, — You will, doubtless, ere this have 
 received the sorrowful tidiugs of the death of 
 Henry Clay. Yes ! sorrowful tidings. Although 
 he had numbered many years, and nearly each 
 had been crowned with some glorious achieve- 
 ment, and every one knitting a closer envelope 
 of his country's love. Yet, he is gone ! and there 
 is deep melancholy mingled in the reverberations 
 of that solemn sound. Yet, the sorrow of these 
 mourning communities will be met with a joyful 
 response; for who that contemplates the calm, 
 serene peace that gathered near the great man's 
 heart at the trial of hope, can but feel a thrill of 
 joy to witness the mighty of earth narrowing 
 down to the common goal of humanity under a 
 calm repose of conscience, which must penetrate 
 a3 
 
6 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 the hearts of his countrymen, there to proclaim 
 that his peace was made with God. 
 
 And Death has stood back for once, as it were, 
 appalled at the mighty magnitude of his victim, 
 and in the response to his mission a jjerfect 
 characteristic of a good man was portrayed in 
 the childlike meekness of the answer, " I am 
 ready ;" yet, no person that ever felt an interest 
 in the venerable statesman can smother a feeling 
 of regret from the presentiment of the recollection 
 that he was disappointed in the proud aspirations 
 of his nature after that honorable reward so 
 justly due to him, not only from his praiseworthy 
 exertion, but from the reposing confidence and 
 affectionate regard his countrymen had ever led 
 him to suppose they cherished in their own 
 bosoms for him. Still had his noblest aspiration 
 been gratified, it will be doubted whether it would 
 not rather have eclipsed the glory and the splen- 
 dor of the man and the statesman. He was truly 
 one of Nature's genuine noblemen, and the buoy- 
 ancy of his nature bore him on in triumph to a 
 youthful old age. "But our stars are nearly 
 set ;" and had he attained to the highest position 
 his countrymen could honorably have sustained 
 
TO MY DAUGHTER. i 
 
 for him, lie would, as it were, but have followed 
 the rabble in this sophisticated day of political 
 change, which would in the opinion of very many 
 of his admirers have eclipsed the brilliancy of 
 his glory ; although it might have lured the fra- 
 grance his friends might have induced to gather 
 near to embalm the laurels fame had so justly 
 wove to cluster around his brow. 
 
 Draw the veil of charity over my opinions. 
 Give my love to your friends, and write me as 
 usual. F. F. Matteson. 
 
 TO MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Dear Daughter, — Many and important are 
 the duties which devolve upon me, and there are 
 very many to which I fear I shall have to plead 
 guilty. 
 
 I have had so little time from the real necessi- 
 ties of life to spend in the cultivation of the 
 minds of my children, that it has always been a 
 matter of the deepest regret to me. And little 
 
O THE FRAGMENT, 
 
 as ,1 have cultivated this primitive desire of my 
 heart, I can but feel called upon when T see you 
 occupying the important position of a mother, to 
 treat you with some of the fimcies, and, mayhap, 
 some of the prejudices of a mother's bosom, 
 which you may think you have flourished uncon- 
 scious of. 
 
 As you have an only daughter, I feel as if you 
 would have called into requisition all the know- 
 ledge and firmness of purpose you could have 
 possibly gleaned from so frail a source either by 
 precept or example. Reared up, as it were, 
 from the germ of hope, the infant female comes 
 forth to seek for the beautiful ; and in a sort of 
 mute astonishment as the dancing sight drinks in 
 the wonders of light and the surrounding objects, 
 it feels the first powers of delight. And second 
 to the desire to satiate the appetite, comes a de- 
 sire for that which is beautiful in nature, or the 
 mechanical illustrations of man in the absence of 
 such to satisfy that desire. All within the range 
 of the infant vision seems to be coveted, so easily 
 is the admiring nature captivated with beauty. 
 And how easily are those led on wdio are con- 
 stantly encouraged in this dangerous propensity 
 
TO MV DAUGHTER. V 
 
 before the infant germ is fully matured c»r estab- 
 lished. And how often do we see this desire for 
 beauty, takmg the precedenee of every virtue and 
 supplanting itself as the yery index to point out 
 the road to the different grades of folly, at the 
 end of one of which this misguided star must 
 set in gloom for ever. Yet we see mothers as 
 proudly adorning their daughters as if their 
 eternal prosperity depended upon it, and actually 
 opposing' a healthy development of their bodies, 
 as well as enslaving the minds of the timid little 
 sufferers to those showy attainments which they 
 have been educated to prize above virtue. I de- 
 plore the selfishness and feeling of superiority 
 that generally pervades the minds of children in 
 what is usually termed superior society, which 
 must be repugnant to every Christian's heart ; a 
 self love inculcated by the delicate restrictions of 
 refinement in a modern sense, which must either 
 exclude the natural generosity of nature or dwin- 
 dle it pretty nearly to nothing. I must acknowl- 
 edge there is beauty in the delicate female and in 
 the pale attenuated transparent hand, almost an- 
 gelic, so divinely fair, yet so strangely contrasted 
 with the well developed proportions of healthful 
 
10 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 beauty, that it reminds us of coming into close 
 proximity to the loveliness of death, which, though 
 there may be a loveliness in death, it can never 
 claim our admiration or our love, and though 
 there may be intellect in the delicate sensitive 
 child of fashion, it is foreign from the freshness 
 and healthy exuberance of a healthful child. I 
 have often scanned their sickly sentimentality, to 
 try if I could to make amends for the loss of 
 those jewels that so much enliven society; but 
 nature is restricted, or at least it can never join 
 in the associations of health and happiness until 
 it shall break over the caprices of folly and 
 flishion to enjoy the blessing of some adventurous 
 changes that shall in the consistency of reason 
 allow nature instead of pride to predominate. 
 Keep the child a child, has ever been my motto, 
 and the miss a miss, till every germ of the infant 
 mind is fully developed and matured. All time 
 not absolutely required for rest should be occu- 
 pied, not merely to carry out the principles of 
 economy and usefulness, but to invigorate the 
 l^ody as well as substantiate the mind. The 
 lisping child should be taught with her own hands 
 to bear back tp their proper places any customary 
 
' TO MY DAUGHTER. 1 I 
 
 articles of her wardrobe, for the power of exer- 
 tion aceiimulates as the abilities are applied. 
 Idleness is the very propagator of mischief, or a 
 simple sensitiveness which must sink even the 
 child in the estimation of every good and sensible 
 person, I would not make her a harlequin or 
 termagant,* but would tea*ch her a conscientious 
 love of duty, which I would be careful to ripen 
 into a respect for every thing useful, desirable 
 and commendable. Impress upon her mind the 
 awe of respect ; be careful that mirthfulness is 
 never coupled with reproof, neither should she 
 ever become the subject of a passionate control, 
 and no labor should ever be substituted for a 
 punishment. A due regard should be paid to 
 cleanliness, as well as the attainments of a literary 
 and scientific nature, for as vanity inflates the 
 mind with vanity and love of finery, so does 
 neatness become a housing for the mind as w^ell 
 as health and comfort for the body. Benevolence 
 should be cultivated ; it has a softening influence 
 upon every note that grates upon the human un- 
 derstanding. Yes, I would make her alive to 
 sympathy, to moralit}^, and would impress the 
 most righteous regard for truth, hush every 
 
12 THE FKAUMENT, 
 
 thought of talebearing and slander, and, above 
 all, teach her the pure analloyed principles of re- 
 ligion and grace, and, however light-hearted and 
 gay she may become, in all her acts will be 
 mingled holiness and love. 
 
 I cannot help again reminding you of the general 
 desire of mothers to beautify their daughters, in- 
 stead of making them useful and happy. How 
 in my heart do I cherish a love for beauty, and 
 sometimes I fear that which is vainly so. But 
 depend upon it, my daughter, while we destroy 
 health, we more or less implant a folly that su- 
 percedes every other development of the human 
 understanding, giving its very ignorance a su- 
 premacy, coupled with a vain self-love and love 
 of finery, which beggars the very life of existence. 
 Modesty is a quality, that is said to beautify and 
 adorn a woman. Let all dress be useful, suit- 
 able and comfortable. 
 
 I feel that a time must come, w^hen this bilious 
 atmosphere of idleness and folly must become 
 extinct or nearly so ; and that the time will come 
 when it will be respectable, as well as commend- 
 able, for the affluent, as well as the indigent, to 
 make themselves useful in their families and so- 
 
IT IS SO. io 
 
 «'iety, thereby strengthening and adorning the 
 <;'ireies whose jewels they will then become. 
 
 Accept this from your aftectionate mother, 
 %vith a mother's true devotion, 
 
 F. Y. Matteson, 
 
 IT IS SO. 
 
 Friendship blessed my buoyant heart. 
 And God attuned my tongue to praise ; 
 
 So whether in busllj or cell, or state, 
 I shall pour forth my simple lays. 
 
 Chaste as the vestal virgin's breast, 
 
 Though wild, with wayward steps, I rove 
 
 And while I reverence pay to God, 
 To each award a cordial love. 
 
 No enemy shall thwart my course. 
 Or shake m}^ purpose when 'tis set ; 
 
 I would in vain account to man ; 
 
 T«) God s]ia1] stri^■p to pay each debt, 
 
 B 
 
14 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 But should I fail, there's mercy still — 
 Still flows my Savior's pardoning blood 
 
 And should I tail to gain his grace, 
 Compassion fills that boundless flood. 
 
 A WISH FOR CHILDHOOD.. 
 
 I would I were as I have been, 
 Sporting upon the village green ; 
 
 O'ershadowed by yon#owering elm, 
 That used my curly locks to screen. 
 
 My bonnet loosed and apron crammed 
 With fragrant flowers the scene to grace,. 
 
 And nimble feet to sport at will, 
 
 With smiles to meet each happy face. 
 
 Then would I sport, with gladsome hearty 
 Till mirth should at its fount be dry ; 
 
 Then with a joy I can't express, 
 Award to each a fond good bye. 
 
A* WISH FOR CHILDHOOD. 15 
 
 With perspiration on my brow, 
 Then seat me in my parent home, 
 
 And dream of joys of after years, 
 Till they would fancied seem to come. 
 
 But, ah ! they brought nought but of joy, 
 
 And I, a maid of easy grace. 
 Would seem to lead a mystic dance, 
 
 And still would smile to meet each face. 
 
 I often soared to realms unknown. 
 And sat in triupmph with the just ; 
 
 On lists of favor was enrolled. 
 
 And 'mid the worthy ranked the first. 
 
 I felt no pride invade my soul. 
 
 But with untiring zeal I strove 
 That all participants should come 
 
 And taste with me God's boundless love. 
 
 For boundless seemed the joys I felt. 
 An Angel seemed each seraph form, 
 
 'Till sleep would throw her halo o'er, 
 And send to naught this fairy storm. 
 
16 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 Home ! sacred theme for poet's pen, 
 
 Or painter's varying brush ; 
 Or chanter, in melodious strain, 
 
 Love's whispers e'en to hush. 
 What should attract the angel gaze 
 
 Of seraphs from on high, 
 If to the clustering joys of home 
 
 Such deigned not to come nigh 1 
 See wife and mother in her toil, . 
 
 Unwearied to the end. 
 While one faint hope of cheering love 
 
 Can to some good j^ortend. 
 She feels no waning wish for rest, 
 
 While Noah's heavenlike dove, 
 In form of husband, is abroad. 
 
 To care for her in love. 
 Then with what listless footsteps she . 
 
 Springs to unbar the door ; 
 Each sound is music to the ear. 
 
 Each smile she does adore. 
 Blest is the hearth where varied strifes 
 
 Are never known to come 
 
PIHLANTHROPV. 
 
 Within the sacred precincts of 
 
 The love-sequestered home. 
 Vain turmoils rudely from without 
 
 May beset on every hand ; 
 Sickness may come and death assail, 
 
 And not dissolve this hand. 
 A halo shine, of holy love. 
 
 Heaven's canopy o'erspread, 
 And love will linger in memory still 
 
 When they are with the dead. 
 What can the painter's brush portray, 
 
 Or warm to love and life, 
 If not the rural quite home, 
 
 And pretty modest wife. 
 Let him bring out, in bold relief. 
 
 Woman's loved rounded form, 
 And lovely infant's- smiles and curls, 
 
 Which canvass to life must warm. 
 
 • PHILANTHROPY. 
 
 < )ne would think to look broad cast philanthropy 
 beaconed, 
 That devotees called for^all misery to bless; 
 b3 
 
18 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 Is it SO *? or is grandeur unfurling her banner, 
 And leading the way for some sordid Ijcliest ? 
 
 Or, is it to chafe toiling millions to action, 
 
 To wring from the honest the fruits of their toil, 
 
 While the rich bear the baton and pass on to glory, 
 Thus in pomp to luxuriate, the unwary to en- 
 thrall ? 
 
 The gospel is preached to the heathen benighted, 
 Asylums are reared the lone orphan to bless ; 
 
 A home for :;he indigent, libraries and free schools. 
 And missions designed to relieve much distress. 
 
 The negroes are fed and the Irish are cherished, 
 And charity's image impressed on each heart ; 
 
 Yet love o'er philanthropy lingers still dreaming. 
 For ftiir human nature comes in for her part. 
 
 Where is their love for their kindred and neigh- 
 bors. 
 Who should claim the first throb in philanthro- 
 py's breast, 
 Have they sought them to cheer and awaken re- 
 pentance, 
 And that God may have glory, put their love 
 to the test. 
 
PHILANTHROPY. ]9 
 
 \V^h(?re's their brothers and sisters in Clirist, in 
 their meekness, 
 And the poor 'tis throiigli tliem are made hum- 
 ble and low, 
 And 'tis only at times when they favors solicit, 
 That their haughty hearts can concede to a bow. 
 
 But where is our youth, frail emblem of beauty 
 
 And purity, left to seek for a home — 
 Tho' often made brilliant by most powerful exer- 
 .tion, 
 !For lack of much wealth, this worth may not 
 come. 
 
 And where are sinners left, lightlcss, benighted, 
 
 Unsought for, unheeded, beside some lone way ; 
 While the bell doles their time on, and they in 
 their grandeur, 
 In the full might of greatness, philanthropy 
 portray. 
 
'20 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 THE STREAM. 
 
 There's music in the ripling stream, 
 
 As curling past it wends, 
 Yet something is in its noisy course, 
 
 That to departure tends. 
 
 We hurry down the stream of time. 
 
 Oft on rude billows toss'd. 
 Till amid these rippling shoals and gulfs 
 
 Our barks are sometimes lost. 
 
 Yet if we safe their cargoes bring, 
 
 And hail the happy land, 
 And Jesus there a welcome gives, 
 
 Our frailer barks may strand. 
 
 Then glory to a brighter joy 
 Than rippling stream or rill : 
 
 Hosannah to the living God 
 Our endless days must fill ! 
 
21 
 
 FATE. 
 
 Oh ! fate of man ! how fickle, fiilse ! 
 
 Oh ! sin and crime, how base ! 
 Those natm-e formed for greatness true 
 
 Are tarnished by disgrace ! 
 
 Superior talent, tact, and skill. 
 
 Are but a guide to woe ; 
 And vain distinction, but a mark 
 
 To prove our overthrow. 
 
 But when unerring mind hath set 
 Their talent to be just. 
 
 With stalwart strength and industry- 
 She chips rude Nature's bust. 
 
 Not so with vain and empty strife — 
 
 A bubble in the sun. 
 Which back each verdant %ue directs. 
 
 It's virtues still to shun. 
 
 Nations, and realms, and atoms move 
 Obedient to God's will ; 
 
22 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 And innate virtues of the soul, 
 Each hardened bosom thrill ! 
 
 Mysterious wonder, power sublime 
 To yield to woe and strife ! 
 
 Yet hapless man a debtor sues 
 For an immortal life ! 
 
 And still I bend my soul to God — 
 
 Pliant to Nature true ; 
 Let all within his grace reflect, 
 
 And stubborn will subdue. 
 
 Let me behold in every branch 
 Some image of his love. 
 
 And guide my aspirations all 
 His holiness to prove. 
 
 THE t)LD YEAR 1845. 
 
 Farewell to the year, since departure just 
 To the sorrows and turmoils which with it were 
 thrust ! 
 
• THJa OLD Y£AK 1845. 2S 
 
 J^a'rewell ! farewell ! though in memory stored 
 With all thy quaint treasures which time thus 
 
 may hoard, 
 We bid thee farewell with thy sorrow and strife, 
 Thy joys and thy life-giving impulse farewell ! 
 Yet all thy odd freaks must in memory dwell. 
 Were we born with the year to keep record and 
 
 die. 
 Or to take our departure like the shrude little fly, 
 We might feel a sure triumph as the year swept 
 
 us by. 
 But, alas ! wdien we sum up of all we've misspent ; 
 All our follies and changes, in the time to us lent ; 
 With our haphazard and chances, with the little 
 
 that's just, 
 Which nature ^nd fortune in our favor have thrust ; 
 We may justly feel prospered, that we are spared 
 
 to record 
 Our gleaning from folly, with no greater reward. 
 We have hoped to achieve some object, 'tis true; 
 Have advanced, but only our progress to rue ! 
 Have started and blunder'd, have sighed and be- 
 
 moan'd, 
 And often amid some lieart's anguish have 
 
 irroan'd : 
 
24 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 Have doffed our high plumes, then resinned thenl' 
 
 again, 
 And scarce o'er our folly from laughter refrained, 
 While often, in course, has grief swell'd the heart, 
 And mayhap from the kindest of friends had to' 
 
 part. 
 While Sorrow and gain, and darkness and strife, 
 Must be summed as the products of this mortal 
 
 life. 
 So adieu to the year, to sorrow and love, 
 It has fled like a vapor and wafts as above. 
 
 TO MY COUSIN.* 
 
 Dear Marian, — You ask me, why there is 
 such a diversity of opinion with regard to erroi* 
 in and position in society ? How often am I led 
 to exclaim, what a strange world, and what cs 
 strange herd of human beings inhabit it. 
 
 Does every one realize the influence they have- 
 upon the formation of character in society ? T 
 trust they do not. Every one hugs s-^me fancy 
 
To MV COUSIK. .^:> 
 
 or motive to his tempted bosom, that mitst to 
 her or his peculiar prejudice help to bear them 
 on over the ills, follies, or enjoyments of life, 
 pretty generally for self, instead of any general 
 advancement to society. 
 
 In business, self is the ruling propensity; in 
 position, it is the same. And it is with deep re- 
 gret, that 1 have to respond to conscience, and 
 record this mania as it really exists. It may 
 reasonably be supposed, there is no more than 
 one in fifty that ever make it a business or duty 
 to benefit society. Thus we travel on trans- 
 versely through time, not onl}' not doing good, 
 but accomplishing a vast amount of evil. I know 
 an old maid (Heaven protect 3'ou from being 
 one) that contaminates, like the poison of the 
 Bohon upas, the very atmosphere she l)reathes, 
 and yet she is the very paragon of precision, and 
 doles on, no doubt, through all the public require- 
 ments of religion and grace, without leaving the 
 weight of a feather in the true balance of worth 
 in society. She is too selfish to difiuse the ray of 
 light kindled in her soul by a Savior's love, for 
 tear she will lose some favorite position, and thu?« 
 finally extinguishc's the light of that I'-no which 
 c 
 
26 TIIK FUAGMKNT, 
 
 should illLuiiiiiate her title to the glories of im 
 mortality ; and,, not only that, but casts a shade 
 in some corner of every heart where real friend^ 
 ship should be sought. She sighed for popularity, 
 and having attained a slight foot4iold, she clipped 
 every thing that did not, in her estimation go to 
 secure some favorite position, to gratify her pro- 
 pensity for fashion or hypocrisy. 
 
 Alas ! she is so much afraid of being mixed up 
 with something vulgar, that she often turns her 
 back upon those far above her in intellect and 
 position, save the deference paid to hypocrisy, 
 thus often bringing distrust about the real deserv- 
 ing, there are very few she does not deny some- 
 where. She will occasionally squeeze something 
 from the gratification of her vanity, which will be 
 elaborately heralded to her philanthropy. 
 
 But will she ever hazard her position to restore 
 an erring sister, or raise the humble occupant of 
 an adjoining pew, while she says to her smothered 
 conscience be still, or endeavors to make it appear 
 that all is peace within? No, this is not the 
 circle in which she moves, and she endeavors to 
 make it appear this is not her proper sphere; 
 vet she will freelv circulate a slander however 
 
TO MY OOUHIN. 4i 
 
 deadly, and add her own supposition to the des- 
 parity of a wound that might not otherwise prove 
 mortal ; still claiming her position, buoyed up 
 by the very frailty of society. Thus traveling 
 the daily rounds of business or pleasure as for- 
 tune may direct, while the very sun of her clouded 
 atmosphere is quickly to set in a never ending 
 gloom. Would it not be more advisable or more 
 commendable, to make herself useful for good- 
 ness or friendshijo's sAveet sake, if for no other 
 reason, that there migl^t be some few to bear 
 record of her genial worth, whom nature had 
 prompted to bring a good report? 
 
 What kind of virtue is it which shrinks from 
 duty, or what kind of friendship that which will 
 not acknowledge a friend, for fear they shall be 
 coupled with something that is unpopular '? But 
 our fashionable world is full of such Christians, 
 who own at a dying hour, to disgrace a crucified 
 Savior, that they'have been mislead or have mis- 
 guided others. But who will nerve their hearts 
 to restore those whom misfortune has shaded, 
 mayhap at last, with "nothing but ill suppressed 
 suspicions, the good seemingly had attached to 
 them. In this way, do they sow discord and 
 2 
 
28 ■ THE FRAGMENT, 
 
 strife, instead of encouraging iinproveinent and 
 reform. As in the struggle to save the drowning 
 the up2Jermost go down, those in higher positions 
 often go down and become wh(jlly unfit for the 
 society of those they ha^'c spurned from their 
 presence. 
 
 The haughty often meet the most severe mis- 
 fortiines, and those who sneer and carry their 
 heads the highest, are deserted at their death, in 
 nine cases out of ten. I was never high, never 
 lofty. I have only to ke^p moving. You know 
 pretty well how^ I anl disposed towards these 
 subjects. 
 
 God preserve you, dear Marian, and at least 
 keep you from the blight of popularity. Treat 
 every one according to your own whole-hearted 
 soul's dictates. ]\Iarry and endeavor to make 
 yourself blessed, and there is seven chances out 
 of ten to become so. Excuse this, and write me 
 often. Give my love to your father and mother. 
 1 need not add that I wish much to see you. 
 Your affectionate cousin, 
 
 Frances F. AIatteson.. 
 
SUNSET AT SKA. '29 
 
 SUNSET AT SEA. 
 
 The sun has gone down behind his sea bed, ' 
 Like an urchin that's tired of his glee ; 
 Though he boldly looks back 
 On the scenes thus passed by, 
 Ere he buries his light in the sea. 
 
 Now twilight's gray mist floats over the earth, 
 And lingers o'er floweret and lawn ; 
 
 Yet lends her rich hue 
 
 To this watery expanse, 
 Man's frail admiration to charm. 
 
 And the moon, gentle Phoebus, ascends in her 
 car, 
 To lave all beneath her in light, 
 While the heavenly expanse 
 Set with gems of rich hue, 
 Thus feasting the sense of delight. 
 
 Now, Time guide us on, thou art weighty with 
 years, 
 Yet in nature's rich bounty still blest; 
 
30 THE FRAGMENT, 
 
 Though thy visage be thinned 
 With thy warfare and strife, 
 Give us peace as the soul's best beliest. 
 
 Now, let us once more with sweet slumber be 
 blest, 
 And our keeping commit to God's care; 
 While by danger surrounded 
 We are safe in his arms, 
 As the babe by its mother carest ! 
 
 DEATH OF DANIEL WEBSTER. 
 
 To D. J. 
 
 Dear Sir, — I must acknowledge my heartfelt 
 satisfaction in the receipt of yoitr last communi- 
 cation, bearing your affecting and appropriate re- 
 marks on the death of our most honorable states- 
 man, Daniel Webster; and likewise thank you 
 for your compliment on my opinion. 
 
 Scarcely have the damps of death been wiped 
 from the brow of one of our ablest statesmen, and 
 we are called upon to witness the defeat of the 
 
DEATH OF DANIEL WEBSTER. 6i 
 
 party whose patriotism he ever so nobly espoused. 
 Feeble in themselves and divided in their senti- 
 ments, the Whigs have rent the bond of unity 
 which should have remained inseparable. 
 
 And may we not too, justly think that factious 
 demagogues do by their uneasy jangling extin- 
 guish very many of our brightest lights. A 
 shocking subject to reflect upon ; yet we may sup- 
 pose that each guilty party will be ready to cast 
 the sin of these crimes on some offending brother. 
 I can but feel disposed* to say, there is no true 
 Whig that would not have devoted his own par- 
 ticular interest to the elevation of the Honorable 
 Daniel Webster to the chief magistracy of a 
 people to whose patriotic cause he had devoted 
 the best energies of his life : a life, no doubt, 
 which was buoyed up and nerved to quite too 
 much mental energy through the selfish pride of 
 position — "Vain glory." Yet the best do seek 
 after position ; yea! and sip in flattery too ! 
 
 How I wish to endorse the events of every-day 
 life, as the unavoidable mishaps of a people whose 
 sagacity, renown and the true principles of moral 
 greatness inspired them with a nation's zeal. Yet 
 it must, be made plain to every truth-loving mind, 
 
32 THE FRAGMENT, 
 
 that all is not right in the political economy of 
 our nation. Party and privilege seem to be the 
 order of the day, while faction and misrule, we 
 may justly fear, will be the fruit of this hot-bed 
 growth of the iniquity of our political leaders. 
 Must we say, that mental energy is wanting, or 
 that the characteristic greatness of this nation is 
 waning away, and that anarchy and confusion, 
 with love of power, is to overwhelm this pros- 
 perous republic. Why do men not wake to an 
 honest zeal, before it is- too late, and with the 
 true love of liberty engraven on their hearts, 
 dispense with personal interests and refrain from 
 imbuing their hands in each other's blood? 
 
 Alas! have we no great men left? none with 
 penetration sufficient to solve this political enig- 
 ma that is knitting an envelope of self-will which 
 they will never have energy sufficient to unravel. 
 Can they not realize that a stubborn indifference 
 to consequences will involve the character of any 
 party in disgrace, if not annihilate it for ever? 
 What are the agitating questions of the day, and 
 how are we benefitted by them ? Some favorite 
 hobby may be housed, which some arch-rascal 
 may have rode trinraphant into some emolument. 
 
UE'ATH of DANIEL WEBHTKU. '58 
 
 But what are the considerations of slavei-y, free 
 trade, home protection, free soil, and internal im- 
 provements, in the bosoms of managing poli- 
 ticians ? Not so much as the air they consume 
 would be to the health of their constituents, when 
 balanced against the selfishness and uncomprom- 
 ised meanness of a nation's champions. A na- 
 tion's glory should be the clear reverberations 
 from the bosom of truth of a free enlightened 
 people. Condescension and humanity united be- 
 come a stimulus sufficient to invigorate eveiy 
 honest heart. Self should be laid aside, and 
 every selfish motive should be buried in the 
 accumulated rubl)ish of a nation's woes and 
 wants. Let every lover of the public weal con- 
 cede the best energies of his soul for his country's 
 glory. Each can make himself useful, if only to 
 form reconciliations, unite disaffections and sub- 
 scribe to the motives of their acquaintances whom 
 they may daem it proper to rely upon in cases 
 of emergency, and that too, honest in heart,M'ithout 
 counting for his share of the spoils. 
 
 If our leaders would but put forth generous 
 social sympathy, and secure the good will of the 
 bxboring classes, there would be no need of 
 
34 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 bribery and corruption to throw emolument upon 
 those who cannot fail to be looked upon as they 
 themselves can see their own naked souls. 
 
 People must act upon honest principles ; like 
 begets like ; and if an honest man is the noblest 
 work of God, Avhat a pity so many should for- 
 bear from ennobling themselves. 
 
 Let every man be truly what he is, instead of 
 clothing himself for an imposition to palm off 
 upon society, to make the farce doubly ludicrous 
 by their being known precisely as they are. 
 
 I acknowledge the raggedness of this com- 
 munication, it is only a little of the much 1 have 
 constantly at heart. I realize to whom, it is ad- 
 dressed. Give my best respects to all your 
 friends and lose no leisure opportunity of writing 
 to me. 
 
 Yours, with much respect, 
 
 F. F. Matteson. 
 
rilE FUNERAL. 35 
 
 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 I met in funeral group where I was one, 
 
 Not one to stanch the bleeding wound of grief, 
 
 Nor yet commissioned to soothe the aching heart, 
 Nor by the active hand to offer kind relief 
 
 Nor there to list of friendship for the one be- 
 moan'd, 
 
 But barely came as nature prompts to do, 
 To join the solemn heartfelt prayer. 
 
 And oifer sympathy to mitigate their woe. 
 
 And there I saw the rustic furrowed cheek, 
 
 And forms that glided soft, with an instinctive 
 tread, 
 And the heaving sigh that could of sorrow speak, 
 Which told in dreamy sadness of the loved 
 one dead. 
 
 No lofty gestures or rustlings of display, 
 Or pompous equipage for ignoble pride; 
 
 My own plain style a picture would portray, 
 And all the follies of previous lifetime hide. 
 
36 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 Ohl^nonitor of time, thy mandate true dotii' 
 come, 
 To speak in voiceless terror in the care-clogged 
 ear, 
 While vainly we cling to life and hope below, 
 And torture each sensibility with the pangs of 
 fear V. 
 
 Yet friendship and dearer ties still brood o'er 
 earth, 
 And gather near, nor whisper of decay ;^ 
 Till in the unfitful dramas of our lives. 
 
 We marvel that by the intruder we are swept 
 away. 
 
 Thus passes time, and man the garnered treasure 
 of his wing, 
 Is swept, to clean the floor for other sheaves. 
 And all that's spared from years of toil and 
 strife 
 Is hope ; he lives, he dies, and in the hope of 
 endless life believes. 
 
Vo MAKIA ->7 
 
 TO MARIA. 
 
 Dear Maria, — As I walked abroad to inhale 
 the atmosphere of a fine salubrious summer eve- 
 ning, willing to satisfy the dou])ting uncertainty 
 of my mind, I stepped into the office of one of 
 our high functionaries in this place, and offered to 
 sell him a book. I shall not soon forget the sig- 
 nificant look he gave, neither Mould I describe it 
 to you. lie turned his head a^'ay and after a 
 moment's pause answered no, with a sort of mean= 
 ing emphasis I shall not soon forget. But oh ! 
 what a suspension of kindly sympathy pervaded 
 my mind in those very few short seconds? And 
 what a world of mingled pity and disgust I felt 
 in that short space 1 Oh ! how his very person 
 seemed to shrink to the narrowness of his limited 
 soul, while with silent pity I stood contempla- 
 ting the thing before me, I will not attempt to 
 call him a man. Although in thef full maturity 
 of age, blessed with all the advantages of educa- 
 tion, fostered and even pilloM-ed up in society to 
 his heart's content — first in the patronage of the 
 little world around him, and a communicant in a 
 
 D 
 
38 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 Christian church ; yet he could feel no interest in' 
 common with the unfortunate. What a blank 
 palmed off into the open hand of society. A 
 Christian and no sympathy, even should the sub- 
 ject be a willful child of error, which our com- 
 mon Parent must realize was not the case. — 
 Should it not be the pride and joy of every 
 Christian to strengthen and encourage all such as 
 should show positive signs of reform, even should 
 they have been deluded, instead of persecuting 
 those who have not erred '? Why wonder that so 
 many of the human family are sinking into iufa- 
 my and disgrace, when there are so few willing to- 
 breathe even a breath of friendship to waft them 
 in a better course. 
 
 How very many there are who are striving to 
 look beyond the unfortunate, as if self was the 
 only object, and when we contemplate the little 
 good and vast amount of evil such have done, 
 what a strange figuring it brings to memory 1 — 
 Oh ! why is i%so that people so truly blessed are 
 lost so far in pride and vanity as to exert such a 
 deadly influence upon society "? Did you not tell 
 wc once that money might change my sentiments 
 in il'cse matters ? Let me tell you, dear Maria, 
 
10 MAUI A. r :>J^ 
 
 1 want for nothing, I have all the necessaries and 
 anany of the elegancies of life, and yet do I feel 
 iinore keenly the pressing calls for sympathy 
 ■around me. Yet I see the worthy often being 
 'Cast aw^ay for want of some kind hand to lead 
 /them to their true position. It is fashionable 
 among «ur gentry ; they do not think the re- 
 tired, modest victims of poverty and sorrow, 
 however beautiful, pious and exemplary may be 
 ;their import, worthy to be recognized. They 
 belong to another class; this is the summing of 
 this important matter ; circumstances that in- 
 volve hundreds of the posterity around them 
 In interminable disgrace. Why do not our 
 ^would be worthies immortalize themselves by 
 bringing these people into repute, thus making 
 them respectable as well as reaping for their 
 own bosoms the reward of their affections? — 
 What stimulates them to treat themselves to such 
 'distinguished merit when life is so uncertain ? — 
 What should make their bread and butter orgies 
 so distinguished that a respectable young lady 
 may not be a participant % When they give a 
 party, why not include all to a certain limit, 
 w^here all may come under the influence of refine- 
 d2 
 
40 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 merit, and the promoters be as the star of Beth- 
 lehem to a fallen world, the love, the beauty, the 
 joy of society. It is engraven upon my heart that 
 such change ought and must take place before so- 
 ciety can be rendered healthy oi; prosperous. — 
 Our leaders of the ton should try as much as 
 possible to afford amusements and to render them 
 systematic and respectable, then will they be able 
 to control such as might otherwise err, and render 
 themselves the means of reclaiming sin-sick souls 
 from error, won by gentleness to their unspeak- 
 able joy. 
 
 But I have already given you too much ; but 
 you say you like long and badly written epistles, 
 if so, for once you must try to be grateful. 
 My love to all, 
 
 Frances F. Matteson. 
 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 Oh ! the talent daily wasted, 
 Lavished o'er the w^oes of man. 
 
 To arouse his frozen nature, 
 
 Oh ! God sustain this laborint^ clan. 
 
' SYMPATHY. 41 
 
 Thine own missionaries wending 
 Onward o'er the world's cold blight, 
 
 And their toils are daily ending 
 In a gloom desponding night. 
 
 Guide their influence in mercy 
 To some worthy, feeling heart, 
 
 Where they like a flooding river 
 Streams of joy may yet impart. 
 
 Worldly fanatics may labor 
 
 To achieve some giant feat. 
 Blend their minds and means forever, 
 
 Yet inspiration can't defeat. 
 
 O'er the woes of men and nations 
 
 Eloquence will melting lave, 
 And o'er the mighty, wise and holy 
 
 Inspiration bears the wave. 
 
 d3 
 
THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 THE FOLLY OF FAME. 
 
 Fame weaving her wreath o'er the brow of op- 
 pression, 
 Stooped to kiss the fair hand that once labored 
 for bread, 
 The minstrel awoke, as it were from a slumber. 
 And twirled the rich floweret as onward he 
 sped. 
 
 Let me go, let me leave all the thralldoms of 
 fashion. 
 
 To sing my love lays mid the beauties of earth. 
 I seek not for crowns, for chaplets or honors. 
 
 The glad song of nature was sung at my birth. 
 
 Let me sing to the low, the meek and the humble, 
 And cheer the lone heart which oppression has 
 scared. 
 And leave all the honors, the wreaths and the 
 chaplets. 
 To grace that fair brow my sins once had 
 marred. 
 
THE FOl.LY OF FAME. 43 
 
 Let me leave all temptation still far in the dis- 
 tance, 
 Leave honors and grandeur where yet there is 
 room ; 
 For fame and renown and honor must perish, 
 While the poor humble bearer must mould in 
 the tomb. 
 
 Let me hope on as ever, and still bear my an- 
 guish, 
 It were better by far than the chaplets of fame. 
 While hope swells my bosom and peace, gentle 
 handmaid, 
 Still lingers beside me my spirit to tame. 
 
 So that when this rough sea from its tumult sub- 
 siding. 
 Shall waft my frail bark to its haven of rest, 
 I may meet with the godly on the rich banks of 
 Jordan, 
 And at last with my Saviour be welcomed a 
 
44 THE -FRAGMENT. 
 
 WOMEN AND TEMPERANCE. 
 
 To M. L. 
 
 Dear Madam, — After the j^leasing interview I 
 iiad with you, withal so accidental, I had a safe 
 transmit to my qniet home. And, after contem- 
 plating this haphazard meeting, coupled with the 
 intricacy of your business and the delicacy of 
 your nature, I can but feel called upon promptly 
 to comply with yonr request in giving you some 
 of my views upon the important position of wo- 
 men and temperance. My bosom has often been 
 lacerated, and the unhealed wounds of sorrow 
 laid bare to the exulting triumph over abused 
 affection ; yet I have formerly borne my sor- 
 rows as one beyond the reach of hope, and might 
 almost quietly resign my energies as devoted to 
 a cause beyond the reach of reform. 
 
 I have not accumulated the wrongs of the thou- 
 sands around me ; it was my own pierced heart 
 that bled, and it is m}'^ own unexampled triumph 
 above misfortunes that prompts me to go on. — 
 Aware that intemperance is increasing and that 
 
WOMEN AND TEMPERANCE. 45 
 
 crime and sorrow accrue from it, and that men 
 are becoming involved in political, national and 
 speculative engagements, and by far too callous to 
 the causes of inhumanity that fall beneath their 
 observation and call for their energy and com- 
 passion. 
 
 I have often seen, in imagination, the masses 
 of wisdom accumulated in our Legislative Halls, 
 swerve to and i\-o beneath the burning eloquence 
 that flowed forth from the deep anguish and un- 
 told despair of woman's desecrated heart. And 
 long, very long have I felt that energy aroused 
 from the smothered wrongs of sorrowing females, 
 would yet burst forth, touched by the finger of 
 Almighty God, and lit up by the blaze of in- 
 spiring love, not to be quenched till w^e were re- 
 lieved of this national calamity intemperance. I 
 rejoice that a few ladies, warmed by the expiring 
 rays of sympathy, have broken over the popular 
 restraints of custom, and shown as it were with 
 their own peculiar lusture, congenial love. 
 
 They need no stimidus but the fast accumula- 
 ting woes of humanity. And none but those 
 who have struggled for res])iration in the contam- 
 inated atmosphere of the upas of intemperance, 
 
46 
 
 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 ■can justly associate their judgments with its un- 
 perishing yet fast accumulating evils. Neither 
 can others contemplate the helpless, clown-trod- 
 «den, deplorable condition of that benign and 
 Jheaven-born portion .of suffering humanity called 
 wives and mothers. 
 
 What legislator feels that helpless woman is 
 aiot at liberty to secure a day's sustenance, but is 
 to be. carted here and there at the bidding of a 
 ityrant who acts within the limits of the very 
 laws that were designed for her protection ? The 
 political despondency that is cast over the burn- 
 ing anguish of this national calamity is calculated 
 to inspire in the bosom of wisdom that energy 
 which must arouse mankind .from the lazy apa- 
 thy into which they have fallen. 
 
 And even intemperance with her accumulated 
 evils, already too powerful for national contention, 
 is not our only evil. We are involved in popu- 
 larity, in an aristocratic selfishness of principle, 
 and our national stars are flxst setting forever. 
 
 Society is becoming frail, fashionable and fickle. 
 Women are by fiir too diffident, doubting and del- 
 icate, and men are more and more being chained 
 to their idols, to their whims and peculiar preju- 
 
WgMEN AND TEMPERANCE. 
 
 47 
 
 dices. Fashion is the ruling queen of society ; 
 and it has become fashionable, even in the best 
 society, to sweep by congenial worth and glory 
 the downfall of the worthy and even the godly.. 
 
 And we call for reform, not only reform in a 
 political sense, for the enactment of such laws as 
 shall secure us our rights and privileges, but in 
 our social and domestic relations, and in wisdom, 
 indeed, everything that will propagate our dis- 
 tinction in the annals of a national characteristic 
 of this great and chivalrous nation. 
 
 Our Presidents and Governors and rulers have 
 wisdom. Our husbands, fathers and brothers 
 have wisdom, energy and fortitude to prepare 
 them for the various ■ exigencies of their day.-^— 
 Our scientific men have wisdom and energy with 
 a persevering firmness of purpose to seek after 
 those truths so essential to the well doing and 
 prosperity of mankind. Mechanics are masters 
 of their various arts, and the skill of all practi- 
 cal knowledge seems to be apjoroaching its zenith.- 
 Yet we feel it is but a mediocrity of greatness, 
 and that no star of uncommon magnitude is sus- 
 pended above our path. And the question often 
 arises among the iuarvelous from whence is wis- 
 
•48 iiiK Fl{A(iMEi\'f, 
 
 lioin ? h' 1 were to heiid to the limited sphere ul' 
 my positi(.)ii, or should in the least regard the 
 peculiar diffidence of my nature, I should lay my 
 hand upon my mouth and remain silent. Yet I 
 feel something from within prompting me to go 
 •on and contribute my mite. 
 
 I would render to C?esar that which is Caesar's, 
 honor where honor is due ; but woman must un- 
 questionably be the main-spring of wisdom and 
 the guiding star to greatness, however much her 
 magnitude may be diminished by the restrictions 
 which fashion or custom may form around her. 
 I will not attempt to delineate the conceptions of 
 mind ; for nature will portray to every sensible 
 person that ail the additional qualities to the pa- 
 rent stock are derived from the brilliant or in- 
 spired elevations of thought in the maternal 
 bosom. 
 
 I could cpiote very many examples of distin- 
 guished men who have passed off the stage of 
 action, who derived the characteristics, even of 
 their national greatness, from tlic inspirations or 
 early influences of maternal greatness. And I 
 would cite your experience to show me an in- 
 stance where our great minded men have pro= 
 
WOMEN AND TfiMrEKANCE. 411 
 
 Uuced iiilc'oininon children, except the mother 
 possessed ah unusual degree of intellect, or was 
 more oi* less noted for the brilliancy of some nat- 
 ural endowment. This is the source of intellect, 
 and it is no Wonder that men should feel a degree 
 i)f envy, and that many aspirants should even 
 resist the influence of female sympathy and per- 
 severance, however they might have strayed to 
 •encourage them through insipid compliments. 
 
 There is something desirable in the position of 
 an honorable woman. Something superior to 
 Ihe mere outside show of those art-ogant women, 
 who live merely to gratify tlieil' propensity to 
 show and parade, to which cplite* too many of 
 Dur females are inseparably attached. Woman 
 \vas the finishing touch in creation, and thus was 
 I'Onsummated the grand auspices of Jehovah's 
 Will. 
 
 God in the unlimited greatness, of his wisdom 
 -consigned "the moulding of a Savior's heart to 
 woman, in all the affectionate tenderness of her 
 kindly natul'e ; however sublime the idea, if He 
 nad not rerpiircd a finishing touch to the sublim- 
 Hty of his nature or sympathy, that could not have 
 Ix'^n ac(julred i'vom any other source, he might 
 
50^ THE FRAGMEN-Jf. 
 
 have formed him independent of human nriturcr 
 But women must be educated on the principles- 
 of liberality, sociability and love, and must be^ 
 inducted into all the preliminary and fundamen- 
 tal rules of useful life, instead of an endless va- 
 riety of accomplishments to render her miser-- 
 able instead of useful and happy. 
 
 Break them off from the milk of a sickly sen- 
 timentality, and let nature instead of pride pre-- 
 dominate, and their influence will be brought ta 
 bear upon society. There can not be a doubt 
 when the nature, character and temperature with 
 the sublime beauty of the structure is contem- 
 plated, that thej were formed for truth, for holi- 
 ness and love, to v/hich man is a stranger, except 
 through the heaven-inspired purity of her nature 
 he may become a partaker in his relations through 
 infinite wisdom to those sympathies. 
 
 I have said that woman was formed for truth,, 
 for holiness and love, and in her gentleness, affec- 
 tionate charity, meekness and repentance, I faid 
 enough to w^arrant the supposition. So delicate, 
 so frail the link between affection and determined 
 purpose that hardly could she be supposed not to 
 err. But to err is mortal, and what satisflictory 
 
WOMEN ANiD TEMPERANCE. 51 
 
 amends do woman make for any acts of despe- 
 ration she may be left to commit, in her truly 
 penitential sorrow. Behold, oh ! believers, a Sa- 
 vior's meek rebuke for faults, accompanied with- 
 out a question with his holy pardoning love. — 
 Wise I would wish to consider woman, devoted 
 to every cause where sympathy or love would 
 seem to solicit her attention — devoted to all the 
 tender sympathies of wife, mother, sister and 
 daughter. And, even in her social relations, I 
 would have her closely allied to all the tender 
 sympathies of her kindly nature, meek, contem- 
 plative and undesponding. Being, as I consider 
 her, the main-spring of human nature, I would 
 have her gather strength from every succeeding 
 hope, till in the untaught buoyancy of her nature, 
 she were inspired with that superhuman great- 
 ness which only is suitable for the propagation of 
 her kind. Women have pride, and a holy con- 
 scientiousness of principle, that should sustain 
 every impulsive movement of the mind. Paul 
 may plant and Apollos water, but God must give 
 the increase ; it is so with our race. We are in- 
 debted largely to our fathers, husbands and broth- 
 ers, yet it is from wx)man, as far as inspiration is 
 E 2 
 
52 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 concerned, that we look for grctatness, for eleva- 
 tion of thought and nobleness of soul. I fear 1 
 shall encroach upon your patience, for it would 
 take much time to tathom the deep excavations 
 sorrow has cleft in my wounded heart, and the 
 labor of a martyr to glean together the hallowed 
 reasonings which have gone forth as the eiferves- 
 cence of my sorrowing soul ; yet I live to rejoice 
 in the budding energy a few worthy ladies are 
 beginning to portray. 
 
 But it is not without a degree of fear — still I 
 would say God speed you ! May you go forth 
 in the simplicity of holiness giving God the glory, 
 casting your bread upon the waters that after 
 many days of anxious waiting it may return to 
 you. To my very sincere and indulgent friend. 
 
 F. r. Matteson. 
 
 I WOULD BE A LADY. 
 
 I would not be a lady, 
 
 To mew and paint and prim, 
 And study high-flown phrases, 
 
 To keep my mind in trim. 
 
.1 WOULD BE A LADY. 
 
 J would not be a lady, 
 And cause another pain, 
 
 Or show them I was prosperous 
 By treatment of dif^lain. 
 
 1 would not be a lady, 
 
 Or shrink away with pride, 
 
 From what should be my duty, 
 Anotl^er's faults to hide. 
 
 I would not be a lady, 
 
 And not my rights defend, 
 
 Although some proud aspirant 
 This duty might offend. 
 
 But I would be a lady. 
 In all that's just and kind, 
 
 And to the ills of fortune 
 Would always be resigned. 
 
 And I would be a lady, 
 To sooth the aching heart, 
 
 And from the sad and sorrowful 
 Would never wish to part. 
 E 3 
 
54 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 So I would be a lady, 
 A blessing to my kind, 
 
 And to the ills of fortune 
 Would ever be resigned. 
 
 ON THE MARRIAGE OF FROST WITH 
 ELIZABETH ^. 
 
 The frost has nipped the fairest flower 
 That e'er bedecked the parent vine, 
 
 Though blooming in an autumn shade, 
 Tinged with a beauty most sublime. 
 
 Still may it yield a rich perfume, 
 
 And around that parent stalk still twine, 
 
 To shield it from the wintry blast. 
 Though chiseled by the hand of time. 
 
 May all that grace by angels lent 
 Exist, though ne'er to bloom again, 
 
 But onward progenerate its kind, 
 That genial worth to earth remain. 
 
ox RETIRING TO REST. 55 
 
 Be calm that brow, serene in hope, 
 That shadows e'en the manly groom ; 
 
 May glory mark his onward conrse, 
 And fame's sweet laurels ever bloom. 
 
 UN RETIRING TO REST. 
 
 ^ow alone and in my chamber, 
 Prison house of tenant clay, 
 'ome my spirit, my companion, 
 Come from business, come away. 
 
 And come whisper softly, gently ; 
 
 For night has drawn her curtain close, 
 Come shade my brilliant vivid fancies, 
 
 And give a balm for all my woes. 
 
 Treat to me of celestial glory. 
 And let my weary heart expand. 
 
 Anoint my soul with love most holy. 
 And still my waning strength command. 
 
56 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 Treat of some celestial glories, 
 
 Of seraph songs and heavenly love, 
 
 And call my -y^^ayward wandering fancy, 
 Up to thy sacred courts above. 
 
 "Bricks and mortar are no prison, 
 
 While yet the soul's unfledged and free," 
 
 Come let some seraph angel listen, 
 While you whisper joy to me. 
 
 While I in insatiate joy and rapture. 
 Shall feast my soul with love and truth, 
 
 Then guide me softly, nor break my slumber, 
 Back to the guileless bowers of youth. 
 
 Then let me look abroad on folly. 
 With the full hope of future years, 
 
 And let me mingle bliss most holy. 
 With my flooding, scalding tears. 
 
 Then may I sink in gentle slumber, 
 And feel my heart of misery shorn, 
 
 'Till refreshed from care with hope still gleaming, 
 I arouse again at early moru. 
 
TO MY corsiN. 57 
 
 TO MY COUSIN. 
 
 Dear Cousin, — With full purpose do I open 
 the avenues of that obstinate, member of my own 
 vitality, the heart. From time to time disclos- 
 ing to you many of its changes and many circum- 
 stances which would otherwise be clothed in ob- 
 livion. But alas ! so much for our regards which 
 will, whether or no, form themselves into liga- 
 ments to fasten us to something in this unwhole- 
 some world, to which we quite too fondly cling. 
 I often come to the conclusion, there is so little 
 that is really substantial, that I have almost at 
 times ventured to let my vacant understanding 
 border upon despair. 
 
 So trying have been the circimi stances by which 
 I have been surrounded that I have often, not- 
 withstanding my firm belief in human progress, 
 been prompted to declare I could venture no 
 farther in these varying scenes of life, but this is 
 impossible. Yet, I have often been constrained, 
 like the doubting politican, to desist and remain 
 stationary, to the great detriment of maturing 
 the mind for those final events so fraught with 
 
58 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 consequences for which a preparation is so neces- 
 sary. Yes, so dark and gloomy and so despond- 
 ing has been the interior of the self that even the 
 mind's eye could not discover a ray for the illu- 
 mination of hope. 
 
 For so inflexible is the metal of the human 
 mind that when once a prejudice is engraved 
 thereon, and poj)ularity has emblazoned it, it is 
 impossible to erase it however groundless it may 
 appear. And some adhering to their obstinacy 
 and an overweening desire to trample down the 
 ambitious beneath their willful prejudices, will, 
 against their better judgment, through pride and 
 folly, sustain slander. No persons, however, know- 
 ing my real position have ever withdrawn their 
 affection from my martyred heart. Yet, so as- 
 piring are the motives by which the mass of hu- 
 man beings are propelled, that the loftiest posi- 
 tion they can attain to is evidently the most sat- 
 isfactory, even should they climb upon the shoul- 
 ders of their fellow beings, leaving them after 
 the subjects of their own degradation. 
 
 Better might the unfortunate wife yield to the 
 requirements of bigoted tyranny, and allow her- 
 self to be interred alive in the dreary limited 
 
TO MY COUSIN. 59 
 
 '!3averns of earth, with the perishing remains of a 
 companion by whom she had been beloved in life, 
 than to attempt to withdraw herself from a loath- 
 some vagrant whose ill treatment she has patient- 
 ly borne for full a score of years. I rejoice that 
 yon are not a stranger to many of the events of 
 this protracted series of sufferings. And how 
 cheerfully do I call to mind your prayerful ex- 
 pressions of kindness and sympathy, with your 
 heartfelt desire that I should live to see many 
 and better days. And how often have I looked 
 forward in the fulness of blessed anticipation for 
 the fulfillment of that confidential appeal, believ- 
 ing that the sun of prosperity must eventually 
 dawn to glad my ravished soul with blessings yet 
 below. I am often seized with surprise from 
 something that is related to me, and almost 
 prompted to look about me, to see if some evil 
 genius is not located in the immediate vicinity. 
 When I see people professing to be Christians, 
 circulating reports they know to have been gath- 
 ered from the incredulous and the vile of the 
 earth, and scattering abroad the productive seeds 
 of scandal, and even strengthening them by sup- 
 positions, I cannot forbear exclaiming in the brief- 
 
60 TflE FKAGMEKr. 
 
 est manner, God have mercy on them ! Is it not 
 astonishing that people professing to be followers- 
 of the meek and lowly Jesus, He that sacrifice(i 
 all the vivacity of his youth and beauty of his 
 manhood to acts of beneficence and charity, and 
 at last gave his life for their redemption, should 
 have made so slight an impression upon the minds 
 of professing Christians 1 What a pity that pop- 
 ularity could not ensconce itself in a coat of mail, 
 where friendship and affection could never ap- 
 proach it, and where the baleful influences of an 
 aristocratic pride could not infuse itself into the 
 balm of society. 
 
 Let me for once, (by the way, thank you for 
 the example,) look to merit alone, unshackled by 
 envy or any of her supposed incumbrances, where- 
 ever it may be found, and between the veil of 
 charity and the light of love award to merit} 
 whatever is claimed, leaving judgment to an all- 
 wise Judge, and let friendship radiate our hearts' 
 and kindness dictate our motives. As the mir- 
 ror throws back the illuminating rays of the sun- 
 light, so does real friendship cast back a stimula- 
 ting halo of affection which brightens and beauti- 
 fies every creature on \\lnch it falls. Yon imcd 
 
A •VERSION 0¥ FKlENDSHIPi Of 
 
 not think I have forgotten the obligations I am 
 under to you, nor accuse me of neglecting you. 
 I have nothing to say to you ; I have not told you 
 many times concerning myself. For you? sym- 
 pathy and unfeigned affection many times, I hope 
 to thank you. May the pure, unalloyed grace of 
 God replace the love and sympathy you have be- 
 stowed upon my devoted self. 
 
 F. F. Matteson. 
 
 A VERSION OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Friendship, thy folds can warm the heart, 
 Though drear or cold by grief and pain, 
 
 And in her inner bird-like home, 
 A captive can each beat retain. 
 
 Thou canst the bosom light with fire, 
 To burn congenial in the soul. 
 
 And in a spell-bound magic trance, 
 Thou o'er the heart canst hold controL 
 
62 THE FRAGMENT, 
 
 Thy charm encircles round the heart, 
 And spreads its halo far and wide, 
 
 Which naught but love can light within, 
 Or canker blight or death divide. 
 
 Envy may steal her sleek wan form, 
 Within the portals of this shrine. 
 
 May in a cold, complacent mood, 
 Around the heart like ivy twine. 
 
 Or recreant still may hold a claim, 
 And may a fostering youth improve ; 
 
 But ne'er can warm or cheer the soul, 
 Or sap life's fountain of its love. 
 
 'Tis friendship's breath must light the fire ; 
 
 Or, lit from rays of love divine, 
 Friendship may warm that. charm to life, 
 
 And around the heart its beauties twine. 
 
TRUST IN GOD. 
 
 TRUST IN GOD. 
 
 When has woman yearned, 
 
 'Neath the cumbrance of sorrow, 
 
 Where her pure aspirations 
 
 Were breathed forth to God, 
 And the joy of her heart 
 On some transient morrow, 
 
 Did not to her bosom 
 New impulse impart *? 
 
 Or, when has she leaned 
 On the staff of his mercy ? 
 And could quench the fond hope 
 
 That her wish was sustained, 
 Or hoped on forever 
 Through life, though 'twere gloomy 
 To think that God's bosom 
 
 Of love could be drained. 
 
 A prayer fraught with hope, 
 In faith was recorded, 
 Embalmed with rich mercy 
 
 Tn the Lamb's Book of Life, . 
 
 f2 
 
 63 
 
64 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 Wrung forth from the heart 
 In its deep, bitter anguish, 
 From the sorrow that broods 
 O'er the love stricken wife. 
 
 Thus sustained was the hope 
 That faith had implanted, 
 In one whose fond wishes 
 
 An empire could charm, 
 Whose magnetic impulse 
 Gave life to a nation. 
 Whose proud aspirations 
 
 Each bosom could warm. 
 
 I ask but an heir 
 
 To His empire and glory, 
 
 And each aspiration 
 
 From my bosom is shorn. 
 Yes, let my heart swell with anguish, 
 And grief rend my bosom, 
 If from my own kindred 
 
 This heir can be born. 
 
 Lo ! the Prince of this hope, 
 Born abroad and degraded, 
 His name made a scoif 
 
, TRUST IN GOD. 05 
 
 For the faithless and proud ; 
 While the heart that sustained, 
 Yea, destined him for glory, 
 Must moulder to dust 
 
 In Josephine's shroud. 
 
 Mark her nature's fond yearnings, 
 Her heart burning anguish, 
 Her bitter chagrin, 
 
 When her fond love was spurned. 
 Mark the splendor of woman, 
 Amid her proud anguish. 
 When the heart of a nation 
 
 To her bosom was turned. 
 
 Submissive and tranquil. 
 She still loved the monster, 
 Who wanton could smother 
 
 Her true heart's last throb — 
 Who escaped not the vengeance 
 Of man or his Maker, 
 And scarce the disgrace 
 
 And the rage of a mob. 
 
 i>orne on to the meridian 
 
^)6 
 
 TAE FRAGMENT, 
 
 Of his proncl pomp and.glory, 
 Remorse lent its pall 
 
 While blight touched his fome, 
 And naught but the hope 
 Which swelled that fair bosom, 
 Could call from oblivion 
 
 A trace of his 'name. 
 
 Quaint, manoeuvring monarchs 
 Have lingered on dreaming, 
 And broad awake amid riot 
 
 Their rights have assumed ; 
 But a murmuring nation 
 And the jargon of menials, 
 This pure hope of woman 
 
 From the past must exhume. 
 
 Now this Heir sought in faith 
 To perpetuate glory. 
 Can reap the reward 
 
 Of the faithful and just. 
 May he bear the glad mandate 
 Of peace to a nation. 
 And learn from past folly 
 
 That in God he must trust. 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE. Hv 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 Long hallQwed night, birth night of hope, 
 
 Thy sacred shade o'er glory broke, 
 
 When Jesns o'er a dying world 
 
 Bespoke the hope of glory hnrled. 
 
 Man was redeemed and Angels sung, 
 
 'Till heaven with glorious anthems rung. 
 
 Emblem of richest boon to man, 
 
 A link to note his earthly span. 
 
 Tho' often rendered dark^and drear, 
 
 No star of Bethlehem shining near ; 
 
 Yet Jesus radiant glowing stands, 
 
 Burning wilJi love, with outstretched hands. 
 
 To light our way and bless us still. 
 
 As when joy through Jerusalem thrilled. 
 
 Angels afresh may tune their lyres, 
 
 Celestial courts may join their choirs. 
 
 And holy anthems sound above, 
 
 'Till earth and heaven are joined in love. 
 
 The answering hills of Palestine, 
 
 Send back the echo 'tis divine. 
 
 And hill and dale through nature moved, 
 
 May pulsate o'er this boon of love, 
 
68 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 And floods of light and glory move, 
 To chant this festive night. 
 
 TO MY HUSBAND. 
 
 Dear husband, by thy magic voice, 
 
 I am to consciousness aroused, 
 Tho' sadly joined to wretchedness, 
 
 I feel in heart to thee espoused. 
 
 Yet I would not have thee partake 
 Of sorrows time may yet remove ; 
 
 So linger on in silent hope, 
 
 And pause before the man I love. 
 
 I heed not those who cringe around. 
 
 Nor those that strive to wound my peace, 
 
 Nor do I heed thy soothing words, 
 For they my sorrows don't appease. . 
 
 But deep within my boding heart, 
 
 I have formed a brighter home for peace, 
 
 And reared within an altar there. 
 To chant of heaven 'till my release. 
 
TO MY ABSENT SON. »)9 
 
 A SENTIMENT. 
 
 How many ape some shallow device of reput- 
 ■*ed greatness, for the mere soulless reputation of 
 being considered great ; when an utter contempt 
 for the ignorance they portray, would form the 
 very 'soul of virtue '? 
 
 TO MY ABSENT SON. 
 
 Oh ! where art thou my wandering son. 
 That thou hearest not a mother's call ? 
 
 Art thou wandering amid this world's rude storm, 
 Or lying beneath thy pall 1 
 
 Or art thou plowing the briny deep, 
 
 To reef the flitting sail 1 
 To lament the comfort of thy mother's hearth, 
 
 Or thy heavy task to wail 1 
 
 Or art thou beside some rural board. 
 
 With earth's rich bounty spread ? 
 With friends and all that thou carest for, 
 
 And ar* thou by friendship fed ? 
 
70 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 Or art thou Math noble youthful pride. 
 
 Seeking frail manhood's boon? 
 That thy glorious morning sun may set 
 
 With honors thick at noon. 
 
 And canst thou forget thy mother dear, 
 Who thy tender ji;)rm caress'd, 
 
 Who taught thy ba]>y voice sweet sounds, 
 And thy form so often press'd. 
 
 OF THE SAME. 
 
 They laid him alone 
 
 On the sea-beaten shore, 
 
 Where the fresh sail is greeted 
 With joy as of yore. 
 
 Tho' his moans pierced the air 
 As he call'd for his in other 
 
 They laid him alone 
 
 Without sister or frii^nd. • 
 
• EVENING AND MOKN, 71 
 
 No sigh e'er pervades 
 
 The stilhiess o'er brooding, 
 
 Or tear meets the wave 
 That kisses the shore. 
 
 Nor memory nor word 
 
 Will break the long silence, 
 
 That broods o'er this loved spot 
 Throujih time ever more. 
 
 EVENING AND MORN. 
 
 I bless those stars that shine by night, 
 And bless yon timid moon, 
 
 That casts her silvery rays of light 
 O'er evening's sable gloom. 
 
 And golden sunlight's radiant beams 
 Caressing the drapered earth, 
 
 Gleaming with rapturous light and love 
 To aid young nature & bulh. 
 
72r THE I-KAGMENT. 
 
 I hail thy rising with a joy 
 That feasts my inward seiise,* 
 
 While in the humble walks of life^ 
 To hope I make pretence. 
 
 Yes, radiant in mingling rays 
 
 Congenial to the soul, 
 Thou art entwined with all that's pure 
 
 O'er earth to hold control. 
 
 Still let me chant my hynnis of praise, 
 And nature's charms admire, 
 
 'Till in a flood of endless light 
 God's love has quenched desire. 
 
 ON DIVORCE. 
 
 Dear Sir, — I assume the presumption based 
 upon the slight acquaintance I had with you, to 
 address a few lines to you. It has generally been 
 my good fortune to have some acquaintance 
 among the Honorable Members of Assembly to 
 whi»m I could communicate anything I wished to 
 
ON fc(IV<5RCE. 73 
 
 'duburthen my bosom from. Unfortunate for my 
 present cause, the member from this district is 
 not a very suitable person, and one with whom I 
 have not the slightest acquaintance. And the 
 subject I would introduce one that should be wed- 
 ded to the sympathy before it can arouse a suit- 
 able energy in its behalf— one that has been for 
 a great length of time, as it w^ere, entirely over- 
 looked, and a great deal of inhumanity accumu- 
 lated tJiereby. 1 feci how justly liable we are to 
 err from interested motives, and too, how liable 
 we are to be steeled by prejudice, education and 
 the stimulants of custom ; yet, feel likewise that 
 it should be the duty of every person to follow, 
 as nearly as possible, the dictates of reason, as 
 far as prompted by sympathy for suffering hu- 
 manity, and strive, as nearly as possible, to w^alk 
 in the footprints of our blessed Master, and wipe 
 the tears of contrition from every sorrowing eye. 
 The subject I v.ould present, is the unfortunate 
 position of those persons who are restricted from 
 the privileges of matrimony by a lawful divorce, 
 and the unfortunate children of illegal alliances 
 under such circumstances, in.^tead of marriage, 
 the occurrence of which and its unfortunate issue, 
 o 
 
1f4 IHE fRAGMExVTV 
 
 is far more common and numerous than most 
 people would inconsiderately have supposed. 
 
 It is hardly to be supposed that the man thus 
 restricted would consign himself honorably to 
 celibacy, and it is a far more illegitimate consid- 
 eration to suppose that woman, under the misera- 
 ble desecration of her heart, would sit down too 
 in gloom and desuetude to the end of time with 
 her. And in the case of many females there is 
 something to arouse the sympathy of every hon- 
 est heart. Many of them, even charming in them- 
 selves, are persuaded under the spur of licentious- 
 ness to become wives where no affection ever ex- 
 isted, to be discarded from the heart as soon as 
 such unnatural monsters are tired of the burthen 
 they have so heedlessly drawn over their own 
 shoulders. 
 
 Then whither wanders woman's blighted affec- 
 tion which nature has formed to twine itself about 
 some congenial substance. There is a world ©f 
 circumstances by which frail woman is more ex- 
 posed than protected, and who would not avert 
 the gloom that must hang like a pall forever above 
 her penitential sorrow, i have found persons 
 who fully concurred in my opinion that this su'b' 
 
014 DIVORCE. 75 
 
 ject had never been duly considered, and that the 
 occurrences were far more numerable and laments 
 able to posterity than the most judicious were 
 aware. There arc many cases in my own imme- 
 diate vicinity that call loudly for sympathy, some 
 of them already rearing those illegal progenies 
 of misfortune and disgrace. And some of them 
 calculated to arouse sympathy in any but a dor- 
 mant soul. Those who were shorn as it were of 
 :affection, and left the reluctant victims of design- 
 ing insinuations, intrigue and flattery, too lament- 
 able and disgraceful to be tolerated among heath- 
 ens. And some have even through the remorse 
 of the inhuman arbiters of their destiny, after 
 they have been divorced, actually gone back, like 
 the dog to his vomit, to an inhuman tyrant, who 
 had entailed misery upon them, to rear a family 
 to iiiftimy and disgrace. 
 
 I could present one case alone, which ought to 
 -call forth the sympathy of all mankind, of a wo- 
 man in high life, who has in all probability been 
 shorn from society, hewn down by an error, ma- 
 tured perhaps by the most artful intrigues and 
 aggrivated circumstances that ever enthralled a 
 human being, where too, may -hap, the guilty par- 
 g2 ' 
 
76 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 ty escaped even to be derogated by slander. Is 
 there to be no limitation to these unfortunate 
 cases — no intervention of human sympathy — no 
 change in the rigid restrictions of the law, to al- 
 low them to form new alliances 1 Many an hon- 
 orable man, considering the frailty of female na- 
 ture contrasted vvith the inequity of his own prin- 
 ciples, and what is more, the mild attractions by 
 which the dispenser of wisdom has seen fit to 
 adorn a woman, might, inspired with the senti- 
 ment of affection, take her to his bosom, thus 
 not only in a measure to restore her to society, 
 but to glad the hearts of all who ever felt an in- 
 terest in her. ^nd who would not join in accla- 
 mations of joy, that the heart thus cleft with re- 
 morse, sorrow and contrition, was again made 
 whole, to pulsate on in tranquil triumph above 
 misfortune, when it would glad the hearts of so- 
 many, and elevate the condition of a little accu- 
 mulating posterity ? Christ has with his written 
 signature upon the earth, as much as to say it 
 should remain through "time, given us his meek 
 assurance of forgiveness^ and bade the sorrowing 
 sister go her way. 
 
 Man too is a hapless being without a com pan- 
 
ON DIVOROK. 71 
 
 ion to cheer his declining age. and if we hope he 
 will seclude himself from society or abandon 
 himself to despair, we hope against our better 
 judgment. It is not in the heart of man always 
 to mourn, the impression of sorrow even will 
 wear away, the cauterized surface will heal again, 
 and in many instan||ps present itself as smooth 
 as ever. So with the wounded heart, it will heal 
 again, and the life giving mucus again flow over 
 a healthy surface. We live in a day of change, 
 of invention, yea, and of prosperity. The child- 
 ren of Israel were forty years in the wilderness 
 making a journey we might now perform in as 
 many hours. 
 
 Ruth gleaned in the field of Boaz and present- 
 ed herself according to ancient custom, to be ac- 
 cepted as a wife. Would it be thought proper 
 at this sophisticated day ? The. answer is no, 
 without delay, then w4iy not do away other cus- 
 toms 1 Who dare say that divorce in many in- 
 stances is not profitable, not honorable. People 
 are mismated, and the veriest fool would be more 
 suitable for some than the very personification of 
 wisdom. Stephen had ordered that the adult- 
 erer should be stoned. But our Redeemer with 
 g3 
 
78 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 his affectionate sympathy, wiped away this injuc- 
 tion, adding forgiveness to His modest rebuke. 
 I am well aware of my inability to present this 
 case to you, but the necessity forces the responsi- 
 bility upon those who -are impressed with the ex- 
 pediency of this" important affair. 
 
 And could. I inspire mj%pen with the same 
 spirit that lights up the burning eloquence that 
 often pervades your halls, and still felt as now 
 the magnitude of this accumulating evil, I should 
 already rejoice over the hope of success. 
 
 But I am led to suppose, that after mature de- 
 liberation, no persons could withhold their sympa- 
 thy from such an appeal in behalf of sorrow- 
 stricken children, who must of necessity feel this 
 blight, if they should fail to reciprocate the anx- 
 ious desire of such afflicted parents. Fortune 
 has favored me-with plenty of advocates for this 
 intrusion, in your amiable sisters. I will there- 
 fore defer all excuses. 
 
 Yours with the most profound respect, 
 
 F. F. Matteson. 
 
MY CANARIK8. 
 
 MY CANARIES. 
 
 7^ 
 
 The matin song of my loved birds 
 Oft' charms my weary soul to rest, , 
 
 And as I listen to their notes, 
 
 A calm steals o'er my troubled breast. 
 
 Though caged, and almost fledged 'tis true, 
 Your daily sports a charm inspires, 
 
 Which prompt my energies afresh, 
 And in my soul awake desires. 
 
 Oh ! could I notes of thankful song. 
 For all God's kindred love for me. 
 
 Pour forth, where strains of love belong. 
 To bless the hand that made me free. 
 
 And in my daily gambols I 
 
 Could present my song thus pure from sin, 
 Could of celestial joys partake. 
 
 And my Redeemer's heart could wm. 
 
 Then could I soar in mind beyond 
 
 These servile chains of sin below, 
 And from my tongue in accents sweet, 
 Immortal praise through time should flo-vr. 
 
80 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 WOMAX"S AID IN SORROW. 
 
 When she rises unassisted though feeble and 
 waning, 
 And depends on the fresh air of morn for her 
 strength. 
 Then soothingly calm all tliine anguish and sor- 
 row, 
 Though her arm may be waning there still 
 must be strencrth. 
 
 Though she may resist you and add purpose to 
 firmness. 
 Yet she may bring treasures from research and 
 love, • 
 
 After all shouldst thou yield, might bring joy on 
 reflection, 
 That would guide thee in meekness to glory 
 above. 
 
 For when pain and anguish thy Hody is writhing, 
 And with sickening terror all thine energies 
 wane, 
 
 This soother of sorrows, this joy in misfortune, 
 This counsel in cares will relieve half thy pain. 
 
SI 
 
 But when death confronts you and the tide of thy 
 
 life ebbs, 
 
 And all his dread damps steal over thy brow, 
 
 Who can cheer thee like woman, or lave thy cold 
 
 temple, 
 
 Or whisper to Angels to restore thy lost vow. 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 Dear Mary, — Most unaffectedly do I enter 
 into all your real as well as imagmary happiness, 
 or anticipations and hopes so mingled with pres- 
 ent enjoyments. I feel to look upon that blessed 
 little charge and love it for you, as if indeed I 
 thought the idolatry of a mother over her first 
 born was not sufficient for so heavenly an object. 
 But alas ! how I feel the fond yearnings of a 
 mother's heart each moment clinging to some 
 new and endearing flmcy. How well do I remem- 
 ber when unobserved by any human eye, I clasp- 
 ed the little helpless being to my bosom, which 
 to my then figufttive fancy w^as to fill my every 
 
82 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 day atmosphere with sunshine and earthly hope. 
 1 was completely cut down, poor, disappointed 
 ^nd dispirited, but what an opening future did 
 this little helpless being present before me. Even 
 the sun shone or seemed to shine with unwonted 
 lustre. I had suffered unusually for months — 
 had an afflicting cough and fever, and had not for 
 a long time cherished one single ho]3e for the fu- 
 ture. But was after all my suffering well, and at 
 once all joys returned to my bosom, like a fright- 
 ed dove that had escaped the poacher's shot, to 
 help me to exult over this lovely object, through 
 whom I hoped to be restored, at least, to the 
 bright bosom of love. Oh ! hope, how dost thou 
 mar the peace of thine unhappy votaries here be- 
 low ; yet, with the blessed assurance of a here- 
 after. But I was pej-mitted to clasp my lovely 
 boy to my bosom ; but nay, I can not associate 
 this rude term with my lovely infant, the image 
 of which is so indelibly engraved upon my mem- 
 ory. It was in after years, when he began to 
 manifest the developments of other children, that 
 this would be applicable. But there he was my 
 'Own sweet babe, and I fancied there was none 
 .othej* Uke him. Although he \flis ushered into 
 
• to MARY. 80 
 
 the world at a proper period', yet sickness and 
 sorrow had greatly retarded his growth, and he 
 was uncommon small and looked unusually old,^ 
 with an unusual growth of most beautiful shiny 
 "brown hair completely enveloping his little round 
 head, and his bright blue eyes which I used to 
 fancy claimed the admiration of all who beheld 
 them. And how often did I fly over the interven- 
 ing y6ars of childhood, and fancy myself in all 
 the pride of womanhood, loving and being loved, 
 by this adorable object* But time brought its 
 changes ; he became a boy, a youth wild and gid- 
 dy and unconquerable ; yet the instinctive affec- 
 tion that sorrow had so indelibly enstamped upon 
 his nature, bound him to my heart, and the ini- 
 pulse of that heart, for as it was made known ta 
 him, was his sure control. Onward sped time, 
 and his lineaments began to assume the graven 
 outlines of manhood, and with time grew up an 
 awe of respect and love mingling with gratitude 
 for every kind sympathy he manifested, till it 
 seemed that earth must be his sure abiding place. 
 Every tender sensibility of my nature warmed 
 towards him, ripening into the full enjoyment of 
 the fondest anticipations of a mother's love.^--- 
 
"84 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 But alas ! he died. I know the greatness of your 
 goodly nature, I feel too, that I need not narrate 
 these circumstances, so trifling in themselves, to 
 impress upon your mind that I appreciate for 
 you the unbounded delight with which I feel you 
 must hail this extension of the capacity to love. 
 Yet, so sacred are these emotions of the soul that 
 none but parents ever ought to be admitted with- 
 in the sacred precincts of parental love. When 
 we associate ourselves with this boundless river 
 of affection, on which are destined to ^float our 
 fond anticipations and future hopes, and begin if 
 only to see it checked with the varied tints of 
 our mortal sojourn, w^e nerve ourselves to the 
 most adroit systems, and to the last stretch is 
 taxed the vitality of our natures, to complete the 
 furtherance of the one grand object, the spiritual 
 and temporal prosperity of our children. I feel 
 that I can now after a long lapse of time, and 
 after my nature has lost the elasticity of youth, 
 anticipate some of the happiness by which you 
 are surrounded. I feel too, how gratifying it will 
 be to you, to know that I too have a good hus- 
 band and am abundantly blessed with this world's 
 goods, after all my privations and sorrows. I 
 
to MARY. S5 
 
 know you are surrounded with all that in your 
 opinion could make life a pleasure. I feel 
 to appreciate it the more for all the early pri- 
 rations I have endured myself. I need not tell 
 you that I have pressed my delicate babe many 
 times to an almost famishing mother's bosom ; 
 yet will I tell you that you may taste over with 
 me the bitter cup of disappointment — that our 
 present abundance may not fail to come home to 
 our hearts with a suitable impression, that God 
 is the giver of every good and perfect gift that 
 we enjoy. The sustainer of our healths, and the 
 allwisc source from whence the youthful develop- 
 ments of our children must be attained, and the 
 last finale of their mental as well as spiritual 
 prosperity be perfected through the glory of their 
 Redeemer, and through the deep channel of affec- 
 tion, I transmit this communication to you, which 
 although it must cease for a time to flow, will I 
 trust wend its way in modest triumph through 
 ^n eternity of time. Write me soon and tell 
 Jn.ie all. 
 
 Yours with much affection, 
 
 Fraxop^s F. Matteson-. 
 
80 rilK iRAGMEN'r. 
 
 A REVIEW OF PARTING WITH MY SON. 
 
 WHO DIED IN THE NAVY IN NOVEMBER, 1844, 
 
 He said, there's a God ! 
 
 As he broke from my bosom, 
 
 And pi'ay for me mother, 
 
 Religion is just. 
 Don't heed me I go 
 To plow the dark billow ; 
 Believe dear mother. 
 
 In God I shall trust. 
 
 • 
 
 1 shall listen in silence 
 As evening approaches, 
 And 'mid the rude storm 
 
 My ear shall incline, 
 To catch some betokening 
 Of thy heart's pure devotion,. 
 While thy form is bent low 
 At religion's pure shrine. 
 
TO MY SISTER. S*? 
 
 TO MY SISTEE. 
 
 Dear Sister, — Much time has passed away 
 since I received any intelligence from you, and, 
 of course, many changes have taken place. For 
 many and varied are the incidents that border 
 the stream of time, down which the frail crafts 
 of human nature are destined to float. However 
 brilliant our prospects faay appear, yet there is 
 mostly bitter in the sweetest draught. For my 
 own part I never looked for anything very bril- 
 liant, and so varying and so trying have been the • 
 scenes I have been called from time to time to 
 encounter, that I have often determined in my 
 mind to conceal from the younger members of 
 my family, everything which I thought would 
 have a tendency to throw a shade over the sunny 
 days of their infant 3^ears. Yet having as it were 
 accidentally happened, upon a communication 
 from your husband, couched in very affectionate 
 terms, I felt moved as it Avere by some instinct- 
 ive impulse to break the silence which has so long 
 hung like a pall over my misfortunes, and to 
 inquire after my parents, who must feel very sen- 
 11-2 
 
88 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 sibly the decrepitness of age. I have not felt for 
 a time past as if I wished to encumber their 
 minds with any of the perplexities that have har- 
 rassed my own. Aware that my position was 
 one in which it was impossible for their sympa- 
 thies to reach me. And although I felt the deep- 
 est solicitude for their welfare, I have relied re- 
 posingly upon the goodness of your heart, know- 
 ing that you were with them. I received a letter 
 two years ago, from si^er Derby and another 
 from sister ^Miln. 1 answered them promptly, 
 yet received no more communications from them, 
 which I must charge I fear to some fault of my 
 own in the destination of them. I have very 
 many things to tell you which I fear would mul- 
 tiply exceedingly by a proper explanation ; but 
 for the present I will forbear. I know you are 
 not a stranger to very many of the misfortunes 
 and sorrows that have eclipsed the atmosphere of 
 my joyous youth; at least, you had a partial 
 knowledge of the character of my husband, and 
 must have known something of my late adven- 
 tures. Your own good sense will teach you I 
 must have been a great suiferer. Ah ! when did 
 woman attempt to rise above oppression without 
 
TO MV SISTER. 80 
 
 danger, dread, and the most woe-begotten mis- 
 fortunes ? And if she fail to escape from the goal 
 of tyranny, let her prepare her humble body for 
 the grave. For none but the darkened atmos- 
 phere of suspicion will ever hover over her path, 
 so determined are those who would gladly be 
 called the sisters of charity, to blacken with in- 
 famy all who come within their deadly scourge. 
 How often did I, and how devoutly did I call on 
 Ood, the ever living God, for mercy 1 My suit 
 was protracted to near four years through my 
 poverty and unprotected situation, while my 
 business situation was the most precarious and 
 anno3'ing that could be imagined. For some 
 wise purpose, I trust, I escaped at last being made 
 a living sacrifice for my enemies, and some of 
 them too once so dear to my heart, who will 
 whatever may happen " strive to make out their 
 case somehow," while they add insult to brutal- 
 ity, too outrageous to be tolerated among barba- 
 rians. He prolonged my sorrows, knowing the 
 sensitive delicacy of my nature, as well as the 
 dread I felt of entailing the disparagement of a 
 separation upon my children, hoping I would 
 change. But this v.-as im])ossible ; for his evil 
 n8 
 
00 THE FRAGMEN'T. 
 
 course which }ie persisted in with so much obsti- 
 nacy had erased ever}' vestige of affection for 
 him, and it was merely an act of charity for him 
 and my predisposition to pride which allowed me 
 to tolerate him for years. But I succeeded in 
 ridding myself of a man, whom you must be as- 
 sured had made my life one protracted year of 
 sadness. Yet scarcely have I escaped ; so wan 
 and sickly have 1 become that scarcely a vestige 
 of my former self can be traced, and my flimc 
 so depreciated, how^ever much or little I might 
 have aspired to that, I have already formed an- 
 other matrimonial alliance. So closely have these 
 events followed upon the heels of each other, that 
 the garb of decency has scarcely been displayed ; 
 but circumstances and events have transpired in 
 the arrangement of wdiich I had no opportunity 
 but just to keep my place in the grand drama, and 
 shall leave it to the wisdom of a higher power 
 to decide whether the course I have taken was a 
 judicious one. I was married to Mr. Simon Mat- 
 teson one year ago, and after the lapse of a year, 
 feel to claim a greater share in his affections, than 
 hitherto I had ever ventured to hope for from any 
 human being. His fortune is ample for my limit). 
 
AFFECTION. 91 
 
 •ed desires ; he is certain]}' an affectionate husband, 
 and so unlocked for were these blessings that I 
 often fear I do not know how to appreciate them, 
 or, at least, to turn to a profitable account the 
 benign influences these privileges are calculated 
 to inspire. I have not yet laid aside the perplex- 
 ity of business, having still a wish to finish every- 
 thing in its proper order. Yet I feel to trust and 
 hope I shall be able to reap many spiritual as 
 well as temporal gratifications. I am already 
 able to gratify my propensity for reading and 
 meditation to a limited degree, which affords a 
 cheering consolation. I trust I shall hear from 
 you often. Remember me to all those so dear 
 to me, and give me all the particulars concerning 
 my friends and aged parents. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 F. F. Matteson. 
 
 AFFECTION. 
 
 Affection's throb will tremble after 
 Sorrow's tears are shed and dried ; 
 
92 TTIE FRAGMENT. 
 
 And though a guilty worhi deride you, 
 Affection's lieart thy fliults will hide. 
 
 'Tis rare we find spotless perfection — 
 A flower may stinted leaves assume ; 
 
 But stinted leaves, and sometimes canker 
 Do not quench a sweet perfume. 
 
 Love may linger in the bosom 
 
 Where some blight has left its stain ; 
 
 Repenting tears will cleanse the fountain, 
 Though canker still may there remain. 
 
 And shafts malignant hurled from Envy, 
 Though poison tipped may harmless fall ; 
 
 And serpents lurking beneath an ambush, 
 May fail the unwary to enthrall. 
 
 It is a narrow, winding pathway 
 
 Ascends the loftiest mountain's height, 
 
 And eagles perch on rocks and brambles 
 Ere they make the loftiest flight. 
 
 Onward in meekness, shall be my motto. 
 Till more than envy obstruct my way ; 
 
 For sorrow-like tears exhaust the fountain, 
 And the heart speeds on more blithe and gay 
 
STILL WE HOPE. 93 
 
 STILL WE HOPE. 
 
 Dark is imanimated hope, — 
 
 Who has not felt within his breast 
 
 A something swelling to be free, 
 
 A something deep within compressed 1 
 
 That he e'er long would rouse to life, 
 And rear thereon some fancied joy 
 
 To ease his careworn breast from strife, 
 Unmixed with bitter earth's alloy. 
 
 Who has not fancied friends and home, 
 Away from strife, from care and toil, 
 
 Where want and sorrow, pain and w^oe 
 No more his innate peace would spoil ? 
 
 Who has not turned in cold dismay, 
 That could life's richest joys attest. 
 
 And shrank to hide rai aching heart, 
 
 Or who his feverish brow hasn't pressed I 
 
 W^ho has not felt the deep despair 
 
 That lingers o'er earth's woes and strife 1 
 
 Who has not, when the heart was sad, 
 Wished for some purer joys than life? 
 
94 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 Then who has not felt, in gentlest love, 
 The spirit's counsel whisper peace, 
 
 And did not soar away in thought, 
 To triumph o'er his sweet release '? 
 
 ADIEU TO FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Cease friendship now to twine thy tendrils 
 Around my fond and loving heart ; 
 
 Cease to allure my waning fancy, 
 
 For friends with friends and time must part. 
 
 Treat me to some reiteration 
 
 Of the joys of former years, 
 And let the network of their fancies 
 
 Sweep beyond all boding fears. 
 
 Nerve my heart to wise submission 
 
 To the waning joys of sense, 
 And clean my soul of doubt and sadness, 
 
 And make my hope a sure defence. 
 
. TO AN INVALID. 95 
 
 Ouide me back to wisdom's fountains, 
 And fill my heart with love and truth, 
 
 And turn my thoughts from vain allurements 
 Back to the guileless bowers of youth. 
 
 Let me beneath her softest sunshine 
 Beguile the shortened years of age, 
 
 And let my simple round of duty, 
 All my waning thoughts engage. 
 
 tThen sound the clarions of your friendship, 
 Nor note the disc that surrounds my fame, 
 
 For Jesus has meekly borne my burthen. 
 Though crucified and mocked with shame. 
 
 TO AN INVALID. 
 
 Dear Madam, — I hasten to comply with your 
 request, for so intensely do I feel the sufferings 
 or misfortunes of my fellow-beings, that it is next 
 to impossible for me to withhold my sympathy 
 for suflfering humanity. 
 
 When first made acquainted with the state of 
 your health, I hoped nothing serious would accrue 
 from it, and rather sluggishly passed 'by your 
 
96 THK FRAGMENT. 
 
 position with my good wishes. From yom- last 
 I have learned you were in a more critical situa-- 
 tion than I had before imagined, yet I firmly trust 
 not without hope of recovery. Almost all the 
 miseries to^ which flesh is heir, may be attribu-- 
 ted to ignorance, negligence, or mismanagement. 
 In the first place, habit is everything to preserve 
 or destroy a healthy organization of the system.- 
 I do not mean that a habit of intempel'ance, or a 
 habit of persisting in any course that will precip- 
 itate or retard any of the ordinary functions of 
 life, will be prosperous. There are exceptions, 
 to be sure, to the general rule, such as atmos- 
 pheric causes and hereditary complaints, and the- 
 like, yet they are flir less com.mon than is gener- 
 ally supposed^ 
 
 The system is a slave to all the flishionable 
 vices of the day^ and all the desires of a corrup- 
 ted nature undef the control of a mind that has 
 been schooled to custom. You will, therefore^ 
 discover it is a sla\'e to such influences, instead 
 of becoming head of the household, to which ev- 
 ery deference should be paid. In the first place^ 
 some parts of the female body is crushed into the 
 smallest possible compass, while other parts are 
 
To AN INVALID'. ^ 
 
 compelled to hibor under an almo,st insupport- 
 able burden to gratify the insatiable desire im- 
 planted or encouraged in our nature for display =r 
 And in this situation, the body is compelled to 
 perform its daily evolutions without regard to 
 convenience or choice. Were a sensible person, 
 who had never submitted to the inconvenience of 
 a fashionable lady's dress, confined to one for four 
 hours, she v/ould scarcely find herself able to en- 
 dure the restrictions. In the next place, the stom- 
 ach is to be imposed upon at any and every un- 
 suitable time of day or evening. The mind, too, 
 must be drilled into all the usual yet unnatural 
 eccentricities of fashion, that it may respond to 
 all the nice turned notions of popularity, till she 
 become indeed Madam Etiquette. Then, as if 
 to eclipse as it were every other misfortune of 
 her life, she is to know nothing of disease or its 
 requisite requirements with regard to the recov- 
 ery of health ; and often feels while there is a 
 shadow of it remaining rather inclined t(; court a 
 sort of sensitive delicacy approaching to an irre- 
 coverable loss of healthful buoyancy. She feels, 
 too, a sort of assurance that everything particu- 
 larlv inconvenient can lie expelled from the svs" 
 
^8 TilE ^'RAGMENTv 
 
 tern, as we would exj^el an imwholsome intruded 
 from our household, without considering that ex- 
 pulsion must more or less mar the symmetry of 
 the structure. But perhaps I am going beyond 
 the particular sphere of your case, yet I can but 
 fear that some of the objectionable features of 
 these conclusions must more or less attach them- 
 selves to all fashionable life. You say your 
 friends and physicians all tell you you are in a 
 decline. The first thing I would have you consid- 
 er, is that physicians do not know everything ; next, 
 that the very basis of this conclusion has been 
 drawn perhaps from the slight knowledge you 
 possess of disease and its requirements, coupled 
 with the difficulty of managing your case under 
 such circumstances ; next I would tell you that 
 all the simple requirements of nature must be 
 responded to. Let your rooms, notwithstanding 
 they may be small, be well ventilated, and the 
 cleanliness and comfort of your person, be the 
 next consideration ; not, that I would not regard 
 you as being scrupulously^ nice with regard to 
 cleanliness, as far as good taste or the appearance 
 of decency would warrant, but examine your skin, 
 rub your body with a bit of dark colored worsted 
 
• TO AN INVALID. 00 
 
 goods to discover if there be not an accumulation 
 of whitish powder incorporated therewith, for 
 this is the very propagation of disease ; and al- 
 though it may not be the main cause, the remo- 
 val should be among the first remedial a]3pliances, 
 for if the secretions of the skin become too mor- 
 bid or tenacious to be absorbed by your linen, 
 the pores of your skin will be closed and the un- 
 wholesome effervescence from digestion will be 
 retained in the system, thereby causing disease. 
 If you find this to be the case, take a warm sitz 
 bath, for which the common wash-tub will serve, 
 fasten a coarse sheet at the throat about your 
 shoulders, and wif h a towel disencumber your skin, 
 and this should be followed several days, taking 
 care at intervals between to take a towel bath of 
 cold or tepid water to invigorate the skin. Then 
 if ulceration has not taken place, (which must 
 render the case hopeless,) apply the tepid com- 
 presses or chest wrapper to your lungs. It should 
 be made in the form of a jacket, reaching nearly 
 to your hips, the material to be double, wetting 
 it in water tepid or cold, a part or the whole of 
 it as you may bear it best, always taking care 
 that it be well covered with dry cloth, that it may 
 I 2 
 
100 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 not daraj^ your clothing, continuing your daily 
 towel bath two or three times a day till better 
 strength permit a more thorough course of treat- 
 ment. If jour cough is occasioned by an irrita- 
 tion of the lungs or oppression of the liver, deriv- 
 ative baths are to be used in concert with the 
 wrapper. The lungs in a healthy state should be 
 covered with a slimy mucus, and in no case un- 
 less it be a hopeless one should this be disturbed. 
 Half the cases of irritation of the lungs are ma- 
 tured from common colds, in vain attempts to 
 hawk or haul off what incumbers them, which 
 only increases the difficulty ; for some parts of 
 the lungs are left without their nt^cessary covering, 
 and inflammation and fever are generally the conse- 
 quences. Remain quiet with a cold till actual sup 
 puration takes place and nature will predominate 
 and the lungs throw off their unwholesome secre- 
 tions. The most soothing external appliances are 
 safest to be relied upon, such as the warm sitz 
 bath and the tepid compress to the lungs. In 
 some obstinate cases it is necessary to submit to 
 such internal remedies as are repelling to disease, 
 (repudiating opiates, or such remedies as Alo- 
 pathies term soothing, as you would a deadly 
 
TO AN INVALID. 101 
 
 bane,) while the external application of water 
 will be a sufficient tonic. 
 
 Hydropathic physicians adhere so tenaciously 
 to theory that they will neither vary treatment 
 nor apply remedies even in doubtful cases, and 
 from thence arises those unfavorable results so 
 appalling to humanity. So, often where it seems 
 impossible for the patient to bear cold water with 
 trifling medication, the warm may produce a fa- 
 vorable result ; therefore do not despair, for when 
 disease is changed or removed, the cold water 
 may be resumed with good hope of success. In 
 all cases where fever follows chills the envelope 
 or pack should be resorted to, and will prove sal- 
 utary in its effects. The water should be moderate- 
 ly cold and the appliances ingeniously managed, 
 that a congenial glow may respond to the appli- 
 cation of the water. The whole envelope should 
 be di'awn close, and if reaction does not imme- 
 diately take place, artificial heat should be substi- 
 tuted to such parts as should portray symptoms 
 of rigors or chills, and should the case prove an 
 obstinate one, the patient should be removed to 
 the dry blanket until a congenial warmth is re- 
 stored ; yet none need despair while there is the 
 i3 
 
102 THE FRAGMENT, 
 
 least hope of recovery from other means. Abdom- 
 enal bandages should be applied, as all diseases 
 coupled with dyspej)sia, liver complaints, or pul- 
 monary consumption, affect more or less the kid- 
 neys, spine, abdomen, &c., and should be applied 
 tepid or cold as the patient may find most profit- 
 able, in cases of hemorrhage of the womb very 
 cold water may be used, and sometimes where 
 there is danger of a rush of blood to the head, 
 the feet may be previously placed in warm water. 
 With regard to diet, I would recommend to hit 
 upon something as harmless as possible ; a plain 
 fruit, vegetable, and farinaceous diet would be 
 preferable, but whatever this should consist of, it 
 should be taken sparingly, till after a regular 
 convalescence is established, or at least, after 
 every symptom of crisis, which will follow treat- 
 ment almost invariably, has disappeared. 
 
 If your stomach is unusually bad, a glass of 
 warm water at rising intercepted by a tepid injec- 
 tion persisted in for two or three days, will have 
 the desired effect. Particular attention should be 
 paid to the requirements of the bowels ; if con- 
 stipation is prevalent the tepid injection should 
 be used till cold water could be substituted, and 
 
TO AN INVALID. 10^ 
 
 followed till a regular course of nature ensues. 
 Afterwards you can safely adopt a regular course 
 of treatment. Take an ordinary daily doucli bath, 
 which you can avail yourself of in the folh^wing 
 manner : — Fasten a sheet at the centre of the sel- 
 vage, the highth from the floor of the width of it, 
 in the corner of your bedroom, extend the sel- 
 vage each way from the corner three-fourths of a 
 yard and fasten to the wall, bring the bottom to- 
 gether into a common wash-tub ; have ready a 
 pail of water at seventy degrees or from that to 
 eight}^ as circumstances may require, always re- 
 membering the colder is the most invigorating ; 
 step into the tub, hold the sheet so as to leave 
 your head and shoulders bare, instruct your maid 
 to throw the water upon you about two quarts at 
 u time, wrap yourself in a dry sheet and rub 
 briskly with your own hands, while she renders 
 such assistance as the case may require. This 
 bath is incalculably valuable in comparison with 
 any of the patent or premium baths ; besides its 
 ready construction renders it so available. 
 
 A large draught of cold water should be taken 
 immediately, and a free inhalation of wholesome 
 air is indispensable that it may unite with the 
 
104 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 blood and invigorate the system. And as exer^ 
 cise is the best incentive to long, deep, full per- 
 spiration it is incalculably valuable. I would 
 particularly give you some of my views concern- 
 ing exercise. All exercise should be brisk and 
 active; if the- system has been too much jaded 
 and the mind too active and anxious, long inter- 
 vals of quiet repose, will be both invigorating 
 and refreshing; if too languid and desponding, 
 great. effort should be made to have exercise ac- 
 tive and affect the mind. A person will find im- 
 provement in a frail state of health from swing- 
 ing after a few moments brisk exercise, like danc- 
 ing, jumping, or the like. Let the swing be so 
 constructed as to require the hands to hold on ; 
 the seat a hard substance should not be broad, 
 while both feet should be required to give the 
 motion. A feeble person should not sit down 
 languidly idle, neither remain too long in conver- 
 sation ; but let them a good share of the time, 
 employ the hands in some employment that will 
 engage the active attention of the mind. Horti- 
 culture is a fine employment for the invalid ; let 
 them arrange plants, dig earth, and the like exer- 
 cise in the open air. Tliey may shield the hands 
 
TO .\N IN VALID. i05 
 
 and face, if in possession of a sentiment of deli- 
 cacy which very many carry to their graves with 
 them. But this I trust will not be your case, for 
 life begets the love of life and health its like, and 
 this sickl3/ sentimentality will wear away, and the 
 merry laugh and happy heart will take possession 
 of the blank that gathered over the once buoyant 
 2iature of the invalid. 
 
 Now, as much of the unwholesome evapora- 
 tion of the system passes downward, the feet 
 should be the subject of not only cleanliness and 
 care, but an active restoration of health should 
 be kept up by such useful appliances as may from 
 time to time be required. Thus a douch at morn- 
 ing followed by the wet comj^ress or girdle thick- 
 ly covered with dry flannel, the hip or sitz bath, 
 closing with tepid foot bath at evening, may 
 serve as a general rule or direction in ordinary 
 cases of debility or depletion of the system. I 
 hope after you have complimented me so far as 
 to ask my advice concerning your health, you 
 will consider none of my conclusions as being 
 coupled with reproof; it is in the fullest confi- 
 dence of your affections, coupled with the sincere 
 regard I feel for you, that prompted me to tres- 
 
106 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 pass thus upon your credulity, and thus freely to 
 communicate my convictions upon water treat- 
 ment with regard to the recovery of health. 
 Yours with much affection, 
 
 Frances F. Matteson. 
 
 THE POET. 
 
 The Poet drank the morning dew, 
 
 And dined where fragrant flowers combine, 
 Supped as the nightly banquet spied. 
 
 Then slept where richest osiers twine. 
 
 He labored to procure his bread, 
 
 Though earned a scanty pittance rare ; 
 
 But when he had his household fed, 
 He gave the poor an ample share. 
 
 His hallowed labors reared a fame, 
 
 The world could neither blast nor blight, 
 
 Then by redeeming love he sought. 
 To soar in peace to realms of light. 
 
, • Alf EXCURSION. 
 
 His brow with laurels thickly twined, 
 Friendship inspired his heart with truth, 
 
 Joy beamed through all his social love, 
 And age was fresh as buoyant youth. 
 
 The world hymned praises to his worth, 
 And loudly blew the trump of fame, 
 
 Ethereal spirits joined the choir, 
 
 And from oblivion snatched his name. 
 
 m 
 
 AN EXCURSFOiN. 
 
 Dear Madam,— As I promised to give you an 
 account of our excursion I will attempt to do so, 
 however little it may prove to interest you. We 
 were fairly under way at half past eleven o'clock, 
 and proceeded stopping at the various stations, 
 till we were set down at the station half a mile 
 from Sand Banks, to which place we proceeded 
 on foot, making altogether a rather ludicrous ap- 
 pearance. Here we partook of some hurried re- 
 freshments, procured a two horse buggy, with a 
 
108 I'HE FKAGSIEKT, 
 
 fine country lad of about eighteen summers as 
 driver, and proceeded on our way to Redfield, 
 whither we were bound. Passing through woods 
 and dales, and over the finest little streams that 
 ever watered nature's richest dells, we wound our 
 way, sometimes through dense forests, overhang- 
 ing the road with living drapery, tijl we came to 
 a little stream in the town of Orwell, where art 
 in one of her fantastic moods had interfered to 
 spoil the loveliness of nature, and rudely mingle 
 sadness and dismay. At the distance of about 
 twenty rods from the road, a well looking saw- 
 mill peered its noisy' head above the bank of the 
 stream. Some six or eight acres of land had 
 been mangled over and a base attempt at cultiva- 
 tion had been made ; or rather as if a demand 
 had been made upon the soil to yield her produce 
 into the exacting Imnd of her possessor, A pret- 
 ty building had been erected, in the form of a 
 house unfinished, save its scanty covering which 
 was in a dilapidated state. Here our little par- 
 ty alighted, for the purpose of angling, save my- 
 self, and I, as you will readily suppose, made an 
 unpremeditated attack upon the inmates of this 
 humble dwell iiij^'. But guess my surprise to find 
 
AN EXCURSION. 100 
 
 it occupied by a beaiitifnl young mother and her 
 infant child, the objects always so treasured in 
 my affections, and so associated M'ith the dearest 
 imaginations of my fancy, which had broken in 
 as it were to destroy the rude associations which 
 in spite of me has accumulated in my mind from 
 the objects around me. I was courteously and 
 politely received. Yes, politely ; for who has 
 witnessed the native smile of approbation and 
 respect, unminglcd with the cold heartless reserve 
 termed refinement, that will not deem him or her 
 one of nature's genuine no])lemen, who shall 
 stand ready with open heart and hand to receive 
 you under any circumstances. We immediately 
 entered into conversation, and I ventured to ask 
 where this May Queen was from. Nay, her 
 staid matronly deportment forbade this appella- 
 tion ; yet her youthful appearance, and the love- 
 ly smile which danced upon her lip, were so in- 
 stinctively blended with the greatness of her 
 mind, one could scarcely forbear the remark. For 
 believe me, much mind lies buried in the native 
 rubbish accumulated within the precincts of pov- 
 erty. She told me she was a native of the town, 
 and had never been out of it. To ray inquiries 
 
 K 
 
110 
 
 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 whether she was happy, she answered promptly, 
 she was — that with her husband and child she 
 was never lonesome. Our party was soon under 
 way, not having met with any considerable suc- 
 cess. 
 
 We passed on through a rugged farming coun- 
 try, with an uncommon productive soil, inter- 
 spersed with hills and vallies and occasional dales, 
 with the most delightful purling streams, with 
 here and there a flirm house surrounded by herds 
 of cattle, w^hich might seem to stand as sentinels 
 to guard the quiet inmates of those comfortable 
 dwellings. We stopped to look at Salmon River 
 Falls, a place of the most sublime beauty. So 
 rudely wild, and yet nature smiles in all her cap- 
 tivating charms to fasten herself upon the unsat- 
 isfied eyes of man. The cavity which stands as 
 a reservoir to receive the maddened stream, pre- 
 sents itself in the form of a huge basin, lined up 
 on every side with a receding sloped wall inter- 
 spersed with shrubbery protruding through the 
 crevices. The water falls one hundred and seven 
 feet ; the rocks at the projection forming a beau- 
 tiful curve over which the water falls in one entire 
 sheet, and passes on through the aperture scarce- 
 
AN EXCURSTOy. ] 11 
 
 ly perceived by those who look at it from an op- 
 posite direction. 
 
 We were just in time to witness the effect of 
 the expiring rays of the setting sun, which form- 
 ed a most beautiful rainbow in the mist below. 
 At half past eight o'clock in the evening, we ar- 
 rived at our place of destination, stopping at the 
 house of Mr. Griswold, and sat down to a supper 
 of the finest trout, to which we did ample justice. 
 After a night of the most refreshing slumber, we 
 met the morning much invigorated and refreshed. 
 
 Our party immediately set out to amuse them- 
 selves with that Ivind of sport with which I have 
 not yet made myself familiar. Yet with the 
 kind attentions of my hostess, and the disposi- 
 tion to participate in the pleasure of others, wdth 
 the privilege to devote that portion of the day 
 allotted to myself to writing and meditation, the 
 time, I trust, was not altogether unprofitable. 
 
 The gentlemen partook of some slight refresh- 
 ments at two o'clock, not affording themselves 
 time for dinner, and returned each elated with 
 the hope of out-doing his companion in having 
 secured some of the best specimens of the liber- 
 ty-loving finny tribe. Six o'clock brought them 
 k2 
 
112 TTIE FRAGMENT. 
 
 again together, and most heartily did . they par- 
 take of as comfortable a meal as the supper bell 
 ever need to announce. 
 
 Morning again returned bearing upon its bo- 
 som a most pitiless storm ; yet not at all to the 
 dismay of those dear lovers of sport, whom it 
 would seem had each set out resolutely deter- 
 mined to substantiate happiness, invigorate their 
 bodies, and return happier if not better men. — 
 After partaking of a substantial breakfast, which 
 consisted of the finest trout, which we enjoyed in 
 the greatest abundance, with ham, eggs and veg- 
 etables, finally, everything that constitute the 
 prime luxuries of life, our party sat down, each 
 to amuse themselves as best they might till elev- 
 en o'clock, when the clouds broke away, and the 
 great fountain of light again inspired their hearts 
 for frolic and the selfish love of mastery. 
 
 Having taken some fine specimens of the finny 
 tribe, we started at three o'clock homeward. My 
 husband and self, as you will readily suppose, 
 sufficiently satisfied with a rural excursion. We 
 reached home in safety. I have complied with 
 your request, and have only to subjoin the affec- 
 tion I have ever cherished in my heart for you. 
 
THE POETIC VVIPB. 
 
 118 
 
 I need not tell you how anxiously I long to see 
 you, neither how anxiously I shall await your 
 communication. I am with sincere regard as 
 ever. Frances F. Matteson. 
 
 THE POETIC WIFE. 
 
 It is not the cheek with the rose tinted hue, 
 Nor the diamond like eyes which have no light 
 
 for you, 
 Nor the lip full and pouting, though with anger 
 
 and strife, 
 That ne'er through their portals drew the nectar 
 
 of life. 
 
 It is not the limbs so graceful and round, 
 Nor the foot which so lightly, to music can bound, 
 Nor the soft thrilling notes so plaintive and clear, 
 When thy care stricken heart by sorrow is drear. 
 
 Nor is it the dignified, stately and proud, 
 Whose gestures and air might be sought in the 
 crowd, 
 
114 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 Nor the breast where the diamond's soft azure 
 
 and blue, 
 Created no charm but the diamond's rich hue. 
 
 Nor the face which for pleasure can wear the soft 
 smile, 
 
 Like the calm glow of sunshine the heart to be- 
 guile; 
 
 Or the queenly apparel so gracefully worn. 
 
 While the heart of its friendship is rigidly shorn. 
 
 Nor is it the wife who makes sonnets and rhymes, 
 Neglecting her husband while he earns the dimes. 
 Who arranges the comforts of life with good 
 
 tastti, 
 The fortune that's wrung from his hardships to 
 
 waste. 
 
 • 
 But it is the glad heart so thrilling and kind. 
 That amid all your hardships the closer has 
 
 twined. 
 The heart that privation nor sorrow nor blight. 
 Could e'er drown in sadness or quench with de- 
 light. 
 
THE POETIC WIFE. 115 
 
 The form, though 'tis crooked, yet elastic with 
 
 love, 
 Which all the sweet waters of friendship can 
 
 move — 
 The lip, though 'tis palid with sorrow's wan hue, 
 With the lustre lack eye that beams joyful on 
 
 you. 
 
 It's a wreath of affection to encircle thy brow, 
 To exhume a fresh fragrance to sustain your first 
 
 vow H 
 The soul-stirring pathos of joy and true love, 
 To illumine thine earth and light thee above. 
 
 It's the glad song of ifriendship so blithesome 
 
 and gay, 
 The heart's softest sunshine to light its lone way, 
 The hand always ready to succor distress. 
 To lave thy hot temples and make each care less. 
 
 'Tis the light of thy kitchen, thy nursery's pride, 
 And the soft radiant meteor thy footsteps to 
 
 guide ; 
 And such is the wonder of man's toilsome life. 
 The charm of existence, the poetic wife. 
 
no THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 TO M. G. 
 
 Rome, June 10, 1852. 
 
 Dear Madam, — When I begin to ponder over 
 the mysteries .and attempt to trace the various 
 intricacies of our natures, I am lost in amaze- 
 ment, and exclaim in the most pathetic manner, 
 "truly we are most wonderfully made." 
 
 Ill magnitude the mysteries of existence are 
 developed according to the understpiding of the 
 interlocutor. You will therefore readily define 
 the principles upon which I should attempt to de- 
 lineate any of the suppositions of my own fancy. 
 
 Alienated in my views it would be strange, un- 
 sophisticated as I am, if I did not run into ex- 
 travagancies in almost any supposition I might 
 be led to portray. That the spirit, or life giving 
 impulse of our natures, has originated in an eter- 
 nal purpose, is made prominently plain to every 
 ordinary contemplative understanding. When 
 we behold the beauty, purity and order of nature, 
 and contemplate the vast magnitude of the de- 
 signs, and witness the harmony and the termina- 
 tions and connecting links in the formidable plant 
 
, TO M. G. 117 
 
 of Jehovah, we may well raise our eyes and bow 
 our humble bodies to the mighty majesty of De- 
 ity. Yea, Deity robed in all the righteous splen- 
 dor of imaginative fancy, adorned with all the 
 purity of heavenly love, through which we may 
 read the delineations and magnify to ourselves 
 that hope which binds the believer's heart insep- 
 arably to God. Faith wafts the home-bound 
 fancy over the interminable waters of strife and 
 leads us to contemplate the ri'ches of the sacrifice 
 in the atonement for sin, and fills us as it were 
 impulsively with the love of a Creator. And so 
 nearly does man seem by the proneness of will, 
 the variableness of the mind and selfishness of 
 principle to be born an independent being, that 
 the finely drawn thread which connects humanity 
 with the creative will is so nearly extinct, as un- 
 mistakably often to become the subject of de- 
 bate even among the most discerning. 
 
 And when we contemplate how very nearly 
 mankind were left to themselves, we need not be 
 surprised at the errors so closely connected with 
 human existence. But when we behold the mag- 
 nanimity of Jehovah, in His consideration for 
 the errors of the human understanding, we are 
 
118 TTIE FRAGMEXT. 
 
 doubly at a loss to tatliom the mlglity How of 
 affection whicli must so nearly have terminated 
 in the creation of mankind. And in considera- 
 tion of error, we can only be led to trace the 
 severity of judgment to where this connecting tie 
 of affection should have ceased to exist. There- 
 fore we can but feel where compunction of con- 
 science exists there still is hope. Thus in the 
 case of Peter who went away and wept bitterly, 
 we find sympathy. warming towards him. While 
 the tate of the thief upon the cross must arouse 
 an awe as near akin to condemnation as the pos- 
 itive injunction of judge not will, with this sure 
 ligament binding us to the love of God, allow us 
 to pronounce. 
 
 We live in the glorious land of liberty ; the 
 picture of intellectual greatness is drawn out be- 
 fore us. Our country is the foster-mother of re- 
 ligion, and is stretching far and wide on every 
 hand ; and within the portals of its glory in all 
 the triumphant meekness of Christian charity sits 
 hope. Deity is scanned and in all the purity of 
 heavenly beauty reigns triumphant over the soul. 
 Man no longer despairs, but as a participant in 
 the riches of God's grace, walks joyfidly forward 
 
TO M. G. 119 
 
 fulfilling his destiny in tlio propagation of his 
 kind, impressing future generations with the very 
 faith which buoyed up his sinking nature amid 
 the shoals and quicksands of his mortal sojourn 
 here below. Oh ! nature, how art thy beauties 
 blended with the loveliness of immortality. Yea, 
 emblem of immortal life, thou art bursting. forth 
 on every hand, engraved with the lessons wlii(^h 
 teach immortal wisdom to the soul of man, fraught 
 with impossibilities, "save from the eternal source 
 from whence all our help must come." 
 
 The fire that warms our bodies can be extract- 
 ed in all its purity, and the ditferent parts of the 
 structural whole can all be se23arated save the 
 life giving impulse, which we trust will yet be 
 laid at the door of man's understanding, when 
 all the mysteries of life will vanish like a scroll. 
 And then will flow forth the glory and the maj- 
 esty of redeeming love. All impossibilities are 
 daily lessening, intervening distances are limited 
 to the restrictions of a thought, we fly over 
 intermediate space at a velocity once thought im- 
 practicable, and the very doors as it were of im- 
 mortality begin to emit faint rays of the light 
 and glory and the love of God. A very litth' 
 
120 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 study \vhen the mind is illuminated with the rays 
 of divine love through faith in the mercy of a 
 Redeemer, opens to the mind a rational view of 
 these mysteries, and creates a ripening anxiety 
 to stroll over the waste of nature^ and combine 
 our feeble efforts with those who have come out 
 before us, for the means of grace to carry into 
 effect the principles of the final equality of all 
 mankind. Some warmed by the rational love of 
 immortality, or moved by the chimera of imag- 
 ination, are already beginning to blend their spir- 
 itual interest with the shades of departed worth, 
 who have preceded them to the spirit land ; or 
 are shrinking instinctively away from what 
 might seem too close proximity to the dear de- 
 parted ones of life. Almost every person feels 
 a justness in the conception of the spiritual exist- 
 ence of the life giving impulse of our natures ; 
 and feels it too, as a reliable fict, that immortal- 
 ity must expand itself onward over interminable 
 space of time, in boundless rivers of delight, 
 which no rational mind will end in infatuation. 
 Believe me, I am none too skeptical upon those 
 subjects. I often bow myself mechanically, from 
 the very machinations of mind that hold sweet 
 
• TO M. G. J 21 
 
 converse with those imaginations brought in con- 
 tact with my immediate position. And often do 
 I feel that but a thin veil is mysteriously drawn 
 ■over immortality to hinder from disclosing that 
 which would be too glorious for mortal gaze. 
 
 Ilow many mysteries have already dissoh^ed 
 to float in the vacant air and exhilarate mankind, 
 as the warm sunshine diffuses its gladsome influ- 
 ence over the life that vegetation Arears, which 
 have proved the bewilderment of the understand- 
 ing. Let us contemplate without the aid of chi- 
 mera the momentous importance of that which 
 might burst forth amongst us to the astonishment 
 of the ravished vision of mankind, and the mys- 
 terious will sink away, and we behold that which 
 once appeared marvelous reduced to the scale of 
 ordinary understanding. I would that every per- 
 son might study, might contemplate, might lay 
 aside their prejudices and unbelief, and bring close 
 to a view of their own conscientiousness the pro- 
 fession of their faith. Then bare their under- 
 standing for a full flow of reciprocal love which 
 has been consecrated between themselves and 
 their blessed Redeemer. Then will that gentle 
 stream become more lucid, and the turbid waters 
 
 L 
 
122 THE FRAGME^•T. 
 
 of strife, envy and liatred, nay all the bickering 
 of the human mind subside into that gentle calm 
 for which every sensible Christian must so de- 
 voutly pray. I need not tell you how much I 
 long to feed my weary sight on scenes of social 
 love, when each shall strive to buoy his sinking 
 neighbor — when equity and Christian love shall 
 be the inoving mainspring of this wayward life. 
 As I was, so am I ever yours with sincere affec- 
 tion. F. F. Matteson.. 
 
 . TO SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. 
 
 A waiting world and wisdom joined with skill 
 And energy, which through nations thrill. 
 Bending between woe and rapture wait for some 
 
 response. 
 From wdiat to sorrowing millions seems to be 
 
 thy trance. 
 Where sheltered now is that embodiment of 
 
 thought 1 
 Which hurried thee to scenes with so much peril 
 
 fraught ? 
 
♦ TO SIR JOITX FRANKLIX. 123 
 
 Art thou in regions where the polar heur 
 Lies half the season couched in icy lair 1 
 Where naught but seabird wafts her frost-tipped 
 
 wing, 
 And beasts of hardy nature to scant subsistence 
 
 cling ? 
 Or, art thou roaming through some world of 
 
 wealth, 
 To clothe thyself with glory and then escape by 
 
 stealth '? 
 And thy boon companions, come answer, where 
 
 are they ? 
 Sharing thy trophies, or to beasts a prey ? 
 May the love which warmed thy never-dying soul, 
 Lit from the light of heaven, thy fate control, 
 And waft some gentle whisper from that ice- 
 bound shore. 
 Or seal thy saddened flite for nations to deplore. 
 Oo valiant hearts speed on through dreary ocean 
 
 wild. 
 Till from icy bondage you release this nature's 
 
 child ; 
 Or bring some tidings of his ill-fotcd wreck, 
 AYhich in ocean's vastness would seem a single 
 
 speck, 
 
 l2 
 
124 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 FROM A GENTLEMAN. 
 
 When woman's joyous smile don't cheer. 
 
 For joy 'tis vain to strive, 
 Though purchased at an aching heart, 
 
 It points us still to live. 
 
 The secret heart o'er burdened oft. 
 
 With woes it must conceal. 
 Which prey beneath life's vital core. 
 
 That we may not reveal — 
 
 That breed distractions in the soul, 
 
 And guide man to despair, 
 With woman's guardian love and smiles. 
 
 Vanish like foeted air. 
 
 W^oman's deep sympathy 'tis said, 
 
 Is from some instinct riven ; 
 I know not this, yet joy it brings, 
 
 To guide our hearts to heaven. 
 
 Some say they are Avearisome, and woes. 
 
 Have ever marked their course. 
 There may be such, but woman's love 
 
 Flowed not from such a source. 
 
UN RELIGION. 1'2-) 
 
 ON RELIGION, 
 
 Dear Madam, — As you desire me to write, 
 And I am never in want of a subject, I will at- 
 tempt to fill the present space lent to me in m.y 
 existence, by giving you some of my vievv^s, ta- 
 ken broad cast, of religion, the whims of popu- 
 larity, and ill omens and mischances of hypocrisy, 
 •vvilh which our otherwise quiet and thrifty little 
 village is so banefully beset. You may think 
 perhaps that it so w^ith every little uniraportant 
 locality in the universe ; but this is a mist-ike. 
 Neither is it destiny ; but a purely hereditary 
 complaint emanating from our immediate prede- 
 cessors. For an illustration with regard to des- 
 tiny, I A^ould call your attention to the position 
 of the Irish, r.nd ranyhap may brush some of the 
 loose cliist from some of your own cast aways ; but 
 no disparagem.ent. They are the most sensitive, 
 discriminating creatures that inhabit the earth, 
 having the most indisputable title to friendship 
 that ever animated the licnrts of any people since 
 the world began. 
 
 But they are built upjipon prejudice and ex- 
 
 L S 
 
12G THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 ample. Their parents are bigoted and unedu- 
 cated, and they themselves have been the subject 
 of a passionate control. Now they gather inspi- 
 rations on the entire absence of that generous 
 gift from the bosoms of their parents. And if 
 an instance ever occurs where precept and exam-c 
 pie are united to decompose or neutralize the un- 
 hallowed effects of these prejudices, they are so 
 rare as to have very little effect. Their parents 
 are bigoted, and we wonder at the hallucinations 
 of their minds to which our own fancies and 
 judgmciits find them so closely allied. 
 
 They can not see the beauty of forbearance nor 
 the pleasure that would arise from associating 
 themselves with our particular creeds, and those 
 of more enlightened views — those who are post- 
 ed up in discoveries and have gathered 'together 
 those truths from inspiring love to brighten the 
 hopes of immortality. But as they were, so they 
 niust go down to that oblivious night of immor- 
 tality from whence there is no return. Our little 
 city like community has imbibed the same pre- 
 judices, and mayhap the same disadvantages of 
 example that have ever beset the dear people of 
 whom I speak. 
 
ON RELIGION. 127 
 
 But I am retrograding from my subject ; there 
 is greater darkness, and more utter destitution, 
 and more irretrievable folly than that which per- 
 vades the half honest intentions of that deluded 
 people. We follow faithfully the footsteps of our 
 predecessors. Our leading men having emana- 
 ted from aristocratic families, and having for their 
 w^atchword fortune making, took very little inter- 
 est in anything that interfered with society save 
 the due observance of religion. Thus their pos- 
 terity excelled in nothing that did not cheer and 
 animate the bosoms of their parents. And as 
 they were not mixed up with society generally, 
 they saw none of its necessities, its restrictions 
 or its beauties, therefore had never anything to 
 inspire them to make themselves useful. Others 
 claiming that that position was a popular one, 
 have aspired to follow each other in the same 
 course, as the poor deluded Irish follow the prej- 
 udices of big<3try and superstition to w^hich they 
 are so inseparably attached. 
 
 The scions of aristocracy were not originally 
 planted in the genial soil of republican America, 
 but were drifted here and there, borne on the 
 wings of Christian charity, and that purity of 
 
1"38 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 principle wliidi every where, the love of God must 
 teach,; and they have accumulated in a ratio so 
 fearfidly as to threaten the entire extinction of 
 the purity and equalitj" of the principles which 
 first pervaded the bosoms of our puritan flithers, 
 and prostrated all their consolidated plans for the 
 furtherance of the Gospel and final equality of all 
 mankind. There is a time to come when every 
 heart shall be united, wdien every tongue f^hall 
 sing the praises of an eternal and ever living God, 
 and every man shall love his neighbor as him- 
 self. But when or where is the precise locality 
 of such an event, we have no prescribed limits to 
 ascertain. But one thing is pretty plain, that is, 
 that Rome must change materially if it should 
 ever become that locality. Its seeds of grace 
 were too aristocratically sown, and too much im- 
 pregnated with an original selfishness of princi- 
 ple, have been too long consolidated by custom, 
 and too artiticially woven with the network of 
 hypocrisy ever to be blended with the holiness of 
 Christian love. There are a goodly number who 
 claim to draw their precepts from the ever liv- 
 ing source of love ; yet just as destitute of the 
 impregnable principles of brotherhood and social 
 
ON RELIGION. 1 29 
 
 love, as if they had been born among heathens, 
 or received their inspiring influences of religion 
 and social intercourse among savages of the dark- 
 est ages of the world. 
 
 They have other notions, other impulses to 
 propel the animating inspirations of their bosoms. 
 And the refined sentimentality of their intellect- 
 ual capacities, have received impressions which 
 are registered on coats of mail, to shield them 
 from the glare of the vulgar herd of human be- 
 ings by which they are surrounded. 
 
 If they would give honor to their principles, 
 they would not share the pardoning blood of a 
 Savior with the unsophisticated society in which 
 they are located. How often you hear them 
 speaking of something that has happened in some 
 of the best families, and after tracing it to its 
 point, you find it obscured in popularity, rolled 
 up in a crysolis of hypocrisy, to be known no 
 more of, except by its shining exterior, which 
 may be jostled as often as you please without 
 stirring the unoffending embryo, till it bursts 
 forth upon community with a newness of life not 
 to be intercepted by rebuke. It has always prey- 
 ed upon my care-worn bosom, that there was so 
 
loO THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 great an anioiint of genial worth cast aside and 
 drifted as it were by the winds of heaven, to lodge 
 promiscuously here and there to the great detri- 
 ment of society, while bigotry, seltishness and 
 popularity should assume a superiority over even 
 the righteous and the worthy. The leading mem- 
 bers of the various branches of the Christian re- 
 ligion, seem to aspire to nothing greater than to 
 out do each other in the popular opinion of the 
 world around them. And in the wickedness of 
 my heart I am often inclined to illustrate my sup- 
 position, by noting a small number who have 
 passed away from earth, w'hose highest achieve- 
 ments have been to rank in the foremost position 
 in society, without the attributes of honor or 
 even personal regard, save by being remembered 
 by a few of those immediate associates who have 
 been swept down into the silent oblivion of futu- 
 rity, without once Avaking up to the errors they 
 so carelessly committed with regard to posterity. 
 "We see the newly converted children of grace 
 seeking after the souls of such of those who are 
 still left in darkness, but their antiquated parents 
 will soon persuade them to desist, and thus smoth- 
 er that glorious light which has but faintly dawn- 
 
ON relic; lox. lol 
 
 ed to flicker in its socket unci then expire. For 
 they will easily be persuaded to believe it would 
 jeopard the peace of the rehned portion of soci- 
 ety, if they should be coupled y>ith anything that 
 did not bear their own peculiar insigna of popu- 
 larity. If people would make themselves hap- 
 py, useful and scientific, let them be sj^stematic, 
 and form the ends of exertion to meet the re- 
 quirements of those by whom they are surround- 
 ed. In the first endeavor to render society sus- 
 ceptible and capable of improving and appreciat- 
 ing the tender solicitudes you would twine around 
 them, make them feel you live but to elevate 
 the position of the worthy and . the good, and if 
 you can cement the afiections of the worthy and 
 good, with the chivalrous knights of the would 
 be millionaires of our community, all that is 
 worth paving is immediately admitted. It is not 
 for people to couple themselves with cast aways. 
 I can readily feel your generosity warming to- 
 wards them ; but where one spark of genial worth 
 remains, it will revive, and there will still re- 
 main some good Samaritan, on whose heart is 
 engrav-en by the finger of God, the cheeriug word 
 of forgiveness, cind they can be sustained by 
 
132 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 pointing to the purity of that blood which flowed 
 for all. But I truly feel that very many go down 
 to infamy for want of a position in society, that 
 would gain strength from example and increase 
 in virtuous purity, if they could but find a step- 
 ping stone, till they could gain strength sufficient 
 to sustain them. But my communication has 
 grown to prodigious length. Once more with 
 the best good feeling and sympathy, I invite 3 
 communication from you. Yours with an affec- 
 tionate regard. F. P. Matteson. 
 
 MY PROMISE PJNG. 
 
 Pride of my heart, the treasure of my bosom f 
 When music minstrelled from heaven's undy- 
 ing love. 
 Came thrilling my heart with her never-ceasing- 
 halo, 
 And sealed this magic promise in her courts^ 
 above. 
 
MY PROMISED RING 133 
 
 Then time in succession brought her weary 
 mornings, 
 Mingling with the brightness of my ardent 
 hope, 
 Till o'er the sunny marvel of my youthful joy- 
 ousness, 
 Sorrow reigned supreme in her wide spread- 
 ing scope. 
 
 Then again would hope, luckless knave of fortune, 
 Revert me back to promises and love, 
 
 To distill once more heaven's lucid waters, 
 Fragrant with odors wafted from above. 
 
 Then memory which lingered beneath recollec- 
 tion, 
 Undying surges would still o'er me roll, 
 To wave back its dismal woes still ladened with 
 sorrow, 
 "While disappointment each act controlled. 
 
 And added wounds to the aching bosom, 
 
 Till in the whirling darkness, tears of diamond 
 lustre flow, 
 
134 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 To drown in oblivion, love's joyful sunlight, 
 And forever darken that maddened phrenzied 
 glow. 
 
 THE SUNLIGHT. 
 
 One April morn while fever rankled in my veins, 
 I was ushered in a room, for home, it was of 
 lonely hue, 
 
 Save in the comforts its lone walls adorned. 
 And in heart I felt its shadows much to rue. 
 
 I lingered there for days and even weeks. 
 
 And looked in vain for sunlight's golden gleam ; 
 
 For April showers chased in succession by. 
 And each succeeding day was but a prison 
 dream. 
 
 At length a morning came, 'twas May, 
 
 And o'er huge piles of brick and mortar reared, 
 
 Amid the narrow space that clustered round. 
 The golden sunlight in its beauty peered. 
 
THE SUNLIGHT. lo5 
 
 All sorrow vanished from my wcafy heart, 
 And pleasure revelled once more within my 
 soul. 
 
 Nay, all the golden beauties of the mind awoke, 
 And shined beyond the limits of control. 
 
 So golden hope arises to adorn the soul, 
 
 Bright morning from sin's withering sunset 
 born, 
 Where clouds of despond gathered near and dark, 
 And the "flower of joy" was of its beauty 
 shorn. 
 
 • 
 
 The chime that meted time had noted seven. 
 Nay daintily was drawing on the midline note. 
 
 When speedily as from some unexpected gleam. 
 This beauty of the morn transcendant broke. 
 
 So rises after night expelled from all the hope 
 of worth. 
 The frail wan beauty of the soul. 
 And mid her mimic wonders, the sentiment 
 That warmed affection's heart, still holds con- 
 trol. 
 
 m2 
 
136 THE FRAr.MENT. 
 
 A MORNING LAY. 
 
 Awake the lyre to bear my song, 
 And let nie tune my heart afresh ; 
 
 Per mspiration's watchful guard, 
 
 AYill thoughts of this rude world suppress. 
 
 Then let the mandate of thy will 
 
 Go forth, and teach God's wondrous ways, 
 And shout bosannahs to a world. 
 
 Lit by the star of Bethlehem rays. 
 
 Oh ! glorious orb, within the soul. 
 To lightf the sinner's darkened way, 
 
 And too, the love lit soul to warm. 
 With hope of heaven to coming day. 
 
 Lispire my darkened depth of thought, 
 Spirit of grace within my soul. 
 
 Bear forth in strains of heavenly song. 
 The sacred joy thou canst control. 
 
 Light up diverging rays within. 
 To strike the limits of my time ; 
 
 Nor let the hope my bosom warms. 
 In one short space its light decline. 
 
THE REQUEST. 137 
 
 THE REQUEST. 
 
 Bury me, dear husband, near the shade of the 
 forest, 
 Where the herbage and flowers unseemingly 
 creep, 
 Where the peace loving wanderer unseen by the 
 wary. 
 In deep cohtemphition and silence can weep. 
 
 Weep not there thyself, for pent in love's bosom, 
 The tears for the lost one can never flow forth. 
 
 Thy heart will congeal, and wave recollection, 
 Till the anthems of Angels awaken us both. 
 
 'Twill be joyful beneath thy soft head to lie quiet, 
 When aflection is knov;n still to live in thine 
 heart. 
 When we know that each herb, each leaf and each 
 flow'rct. 
 Will to thy sad bosom consolation impart. 
 
 1 know that each spadeful of earth will be num- 
 
 , bered. 
 Which measures the distance that severs our 
 
 clay. 
 
 m3 
 
138 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 Undivided we lived, and redeemed to God's glory, 
 We shall sliine forth iniinortal at some future 
 
 day. 
 
 Think not that I tore my fond bosom to slumber, 
 Away from the folds of thy loving embrace ; 
 
 For the memory of all that was dear in our union. 
 Each thought from thy bosom that's selfish 
 will chase. 
 
 ON SLAVERY. 
 
 Dear Madam, — I have j ust encountered through 
 the columns of the Sentinel^ what I should term 
 an abstract from your principles of slavery, and 
 beg pardon if I should diverge materially from 
 what, no doubt, after mature deliberations, should 
 prove to be your honest convictions. 
 
 The conclusion is, that if the master has no 
 control over the intellect of the slave, that the 
 condition of the slave is more favorable. 
 
ON SLAVERY. 139 
 
 I am somewhat surprised that you, or even 
 your favorite editor should discover rays from so 
 obscure a light to illumine the paths of servitude. 
 If the holder of the slave has no claim upon the 
 intellectual prosperity of the slave, it must cer- 
 tainly be considered for the interest both of slave 
 and master that he should remain in ignorance of 
 every intellectual ability he may be supposed to 
 possess. And would therefore render the condi- 
 tion of slavery more intolerable to those who 
 feel the worth of souls and the degradation of the 
 intellect. 
 
 In the present condition of slavery, the less 
 the slave is capable of understanding the more 
 agreeable will be his bondage, and the less vigor- 
 ous will be his exertion to emancipate from that 
 condition. 
 
 The idea has often occurred to me, or impress- 
 ed itself favorably upon my imaginative fancy, 
 that the improvement of the intellect would not 
 only enhance the value" of the slave, but render 
 the bondage more endurable to the subject, if it 
 could but be so meted as to compare favorably 
 with the restrictions of that assuredly barbarous 
 custom. 
 
140 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 Yet if manual labor is all that is required by 
 the master, I can discover no sort of chance for 
 improvement or amelioration of the condition or 
 advancement in scientific or intellectual capacities. 
 
 If the master feels no interest in the advance- 
 ment of the slave, very little improvement, under 
 the close restrictions of servitude thrown about 
 those humble creatures, so calculated to excite 
 religious sympathy, will ever occur. 
 
 For a lack of the proper stimulus not only re- 
 tards the purpose aimed at, but clothes with de- 
 spond the very inspirations of nature, and makes 
 the condition at once deplorable. Were slaves 
 more generally under the influence and discipline 
 of religion, they would be more contented and 
 much easier ccntrollecl. The position of the 
 Irish laborers, without the restraint of the Cath- 
 olic religion, would be more dangerous with Ihe 
 advantages they possess, than if they had rema'n- 
 ed isolated from society. But slavery is anoth- 
 er subject, and involves every humane and gen- 
 erous nature more or less in the great conflict for 
 its emancipation. 
 
 That the African is afiectionate and tenderly 
 attached to all the endearing and sympathetic ties 
 
ON SLAVERY. 141 
 
 of nature, is bejond the least cause of dispute, 
 and the ordinary plea of incapacity must dwindle 
 to ncfthing where even emancipation has taken the 
 place of slavery, Man, w^hite or black, is a lazy be- 
 ing, and is only capable of sustaining his position 
 by the force gathered from surrounding objects, as 
 the ball gathers force from the alacrity of the 
 thro^ei', till in its onward course it is retarded 
 by the denser atmosphere, and thus does it often 
 stop short of its destination. 
 
 We often find people of our own color, and 
 stamped too with the insignia of genial worth, 
 meeting the same obstructions that we would 
 throw in the way of the unsophisticated African, 
 unadorned or amalgamated with any of the more 
 sublime beauties of huiiian nature. Yes, and 
 among those even who are pillowed and buoyed 
 up in society with all the advantages of experi- 
 ence, refined taste, and the appearance of sound 
 judgment. Let the poor degraded slaves derive 
 their natures from experienced mothers, propaga- 
 ted by flithers who have reaped the benefit of ex- 
 perience from succeeding generations, and gath- 
 ered firmness, stability and love from the inspi- 
 rations of the free, devoted, happy parents of their 
 
142 TITE FRAOMEXT. 
 
 race, and be educated by those whose symj^athies 
 are congenial, and manners amelioratmg and fa- 
 miliar, and eventually amalgamation will he to 
 the imaginative fancy no such horror as inconsid- 
 erately it might be supi:)Osed. I have witnessed 
 cases myself, where remonstrance seemed neces- 
 sary to restrain the inclinations of some of the 
 lower classes of young ladies, from being capti- 
 vated with the pleasing address and easy man- 
 ners of some of our colored population. 
 
 This, of course, is alarming and even disgust- 
 ing under ordinary circumstances, but where 
 would be the harm in some of our western states, 
 populated with people from almost every part of 
 the inhabitable globe, if a little darker die should 
 float among them, to bleach in a prairie sun, or to 
 be fl ided away by succeeding generations. Might 
 it not serve to wash a stain from some of our 
 southern masters, and render their acts more 
 compatible with human nature, and no less eligi- 
 ble by the light of common sense, religion and 
 justice ? at least, it might mitigate the pang of 
 that shade which so indelibly stamps them for the 
 reproach of the ungodly and inconsiderate of 
 mankind. Thus have I given you in the pre- 
 
REFLECTION. 14o 
 
 scribed limits of a hasty coininmiicatioii, as many 
 of my views as conveiiieiitly I could so hastily 
 summon. Excuse the liberty I have taken and 
 write me as usual. 
 
 With esteem, F. F. Matteson. 
 
 REFLECTION. 
 
 There's none but the vain 
 Who will laugh at my memor}^, 
 
 No others deride my weak efforts and toil. 
 And none will e'er grieve 
 That my heart was less cheerly, 
 
 So ready as those whom my fame could despoil. 
 
 And no love but theirs, 
 
 Will so readily garnish 
 The friendship that gathers where memory recalls; 
 
 Nor any who will wipe 
 
 The stain flite imparted, 
 Or remove the foul blight from the page where 
 it falls. 
 
144 THE FRAGMENT. 
 
 An enemy hath planted 
 
 The seeds of my sorrow, 
 And that owner shall pluck the deep roots from 
 the soil, 
 
 And repentance shall make him 
 
 Rejoice on some morrow, 
 For mercy's inviting his soul to recall. 
 
 Though sorrow assailed me, 
 
 And my hopes were oft' blighted. 
 Yet the clouds wliich enveloped were encircled by 
 love. 
 
 And though I waned in my hope, 
 
 And oft' turned from sorrow. 
 That blight is the halo to light me above.