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ï~~ELLA LINCOLN;
WESTEN PAIRIE LIFE.R
WESTERN PRAIRIE LIFE.

BY
MRS. E. A. W. H.

JAMES FRENCH & COMPANY.
BOSTON.
1857.




ï~~Entered' according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by
JAMES FRENCH & CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
Electrotyped and Printed by
W. T. DRAPER, ANDOVER, MASS.




ï~~PREFACE.
IN presenting.this work to the public, the author is aware
that it may find some readers who will be shocked by the
seeming boldness and peculiarity of her style. She is aware
that the daughters of prosperity, as they turn over its unpretending pages, may be "disgusted" with the homely faces and
undraped outlines of the stubborn facts before them.
" Coarse "- " unlady-like," may be the indignant language
of many a city lady, whose ideas of life and manners have been
formed amidst the luxuries which have never disappeared from
around her;   who has never been called upon to fling aside
the beautiful dependence of womanhood, and battle alone with
the ruder spirits of a cold, cold world.
In reply to such, we quote the language of another:
"It is well, too, that they who have objected to the representation of 'coarseness,' and shrunk away from it with repugnance, as if such conception arose out of the writers, should
learn that not from the imagination, - not from internal con(5)




ï~~VI                    PREFACE.
ception - but from the hard, cruel facts pressed down by an
external life upon their very senses, for long months and years
together, did they write out what they saw, obeying the stern
dictates of their consciences."
The style of Ella Lincoln has, in a measure, grown out of the
circumstances which have surrounded her. She has felt too
deeply to tell the story of her life in a whisper.
Nursed in luxury; and afterwards doomed to such vicissitudes
as seldom fall to the lot of any human being; it were hardly
to be expected that in describing the past, she should mellow
its roughness with a gauzy veil.




ï~~ELLA LINCOLN.
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts."
THE world is a stage; the expression not the less
true for its frequent repetition.
When we turn, in retrospection, to the first up-rising
of the curtain of life, considering all the circumstances
and influences under which we made our debut to the
world, we are constrained to acknowledge the wisdom
of the omnipotent Director of all, who has allotted to
each one of us an individual " part," saying only,
"Perform it well."
One wears the ermine or the crown; another, the
brown frock of the peasant. The serf is not required
to ape the dignity of the feudal lord, or the lord the
humility of the dependant; but each is admonished to
study his " part," and let his dress and carriage be in
perfect keeping with his character. An indiscriminating or prejudiced audience may not always award
just praise to the performers; but He who watches from
(7)




ï~~ELLA LINCOLN.

behind the scenes will justly remunerate every one of
them for their services.
The great stage of life is also divided into countless
lesser stages, upon which we play our minor pairts;
diversifying the one grand drama with farce or song,
dance or pantomime.
Alas that there should be times when we are loath to
play at all, and long to hide ourselves in some darkened corner, to turn our back upon the world and
weep - to weep for the stage-lights of our own happiness, burned low, and flickering in their sockets; while
the cold-hearted audience chides us for the shadow
which is cast upon their own selfish enjoyment!
It has fallen to the lot of Ella Lincoln to have acted
many minor parts. She has paraded in-the gay habiliments of wealth and fashion; has worn the dun
drapery of meagre competence. She has been guilty
of the'wildest freaks of comic humor, and danced in
her heart while her steps were as steady as the march
of time.  She has bowed to the audience when its
levity forbade her, respect, and pronounced her epilogue
with a smile, then stolen away to weep.
From the reminiscences of a life made up of both
tragic and comic acts, I have selected ad few scenes.
For the manner in which I present them     to you,
reader, I ask your kind indulgence.




ï~~CHAPTER I.

The demon Change hath stalked
Along the well known street,
And blasted as he walked
All whom he chanced to meet.
WOODVILLE is a thriving town in Eastern New
Jersey. The eye of the traveller rests upon its beautiful homes as he descends the easterQ slope of Scollay's Mountain; and then his attention is arrested by
the smoking nostrils of the iron horse, as he speeds
through its western suburbs, dashing away over the
plain, until finally lost in the distance; and now his
weary vision rests upon those unpretending scows
which glide so lazily along the canal, heavily laden
with coal and iron ore.
The mountain is thickly wooded with oak, hickory,
and chestnut trees; their sturdy trunks encircled with
laurel and grape-vines, sweeping the rider as he bows
himself to the saddle-bow. On its top is a ledge of
bare, brbwn rocks, difficult of access, which from time
immemorial has been a place of resort for the pleasureseeking pedestrian.
It affords an extensive view of many miles of beautiful country, traversed with brooks and flecked with
rural homes.
Woodville, as it was long ago, was the home of my
childhood.
(9)




ï~~10

ELLA LINCOLN.

The mountain is the same; the brooks have not
changed their courses; here and there I recognize a
familiar tree. But those old white cottages are overshadowed with fabrics of bricks and stone; and the
eyes of the stranger gaze curiously out at me, as I pass
my own latticed window.
I miss those ancient poplars that stood up like soldiers in battle array along the highways, and the lordly
oak that shaded the gable end of the old homestead -
gone at last, after wrestling with the winds and storms
of a hundred winters.
I miss the long row of willows whose foliage swept
gracefully over the brook; the stranger's hands have
planted the young elms in their stead. The old house
is rejuvenated and improved, but not to my eye; even
the old well-curb is superseded by a stiff, ugly pump.
The old gray stone church, where my mother worshipped, stands alone in the suburbs, deserted at last.
There, when a mere infant, I looked up wonderingly
into the face of the hoary-headed minister, and again
into hers, awed by the solemnity of his tones, and the
meek thoughtfulness of her countenance. There her
mother, too, led her toddling footsteps up the ancient
aisle, and taught her baby-lips to keep silenpe.
Relic of the past! I gaze upon it now with somewhat of the same reverent awe I felt for its square
windows and unornamented doors when my childshadow fell upon it, scarcely larger than a pigeon's
wing.
The genuine Yankee " meeting-house" was plain to
severity in its architecture - a mere shelter from the




ï~~WOODVILLE.

11

sun and storm for the convenience of true worshippers;
not like the modern "church" - a pillared, frescoed
pile, with cushions so soft and rich that honest poverty
almost fears to lean his head upon them. The old
steeple, so long and tapering, seemed to loom upwards
as we gazed, until we fancied it lost itself in the robes
of the angels that hovered there continually to bear up
to their Father the prayers of the penitent. It elicited
no speculative remarks concerning its cost, or encomiums upon the architect who designed it. It simply
seemed to say, " There is rest beyond earth's clouds
and storms; strait and narrow is the path which leads
thitherward; blessed are they whose faith shall not
waver, nor their feet slide."
They are all gone now. As often as the shadow
of that ancient pile walks over the graveyard, from
morn till sunset, it touches the grave of the designer
and the builders, and lingers awhile upon the lowly
roof of every member of that buried choir, the melody
of whose voices first filled its solemn aisles, and floated
away in silvery cadence, circling along its galleries.
Earth has no preacher so eloquent as the ancient
church, - its solemn spire forever pointing upwards,
fitting emblem of the life to come; its shadow resting
on the memorials of mortality beneath and around it.
Our Academy was a long, narrow, white building,
with as many windows as a cotton factory.
"  Ding dong,
Come along,
Juvenile throng,"




ï~~12

ELLA LINCOLN.

said its sharp, penetrating bell at nine o'clock, A. M.;
and away went Ella Lee to school.
That venerable pile has also yielded to the hammer
of modern improvement, and become a railroad depot,
full of trunks, porters, and people who travel without
errands, because it is "fashionable."  Out upon such
desecration!
And away in the suburbs of the town there is a
high, imposing brick fabric, with a cupola handsomely
ornamented; and over the carved entrance is inscribed,
in golden letters, " WOODVILLE INSTITUTE "- a place
where parents who live like kings at home send their
children to live like beggars.
All those old, "cheap, cash," "variety," "Boston,"
and "New York" stores, are superseded now by aristocratic blocks, where impertinent clerks look slyly at
each other, and smile, if an honest mountain-girl asks
for "calico."  They have all." prints" now; "calico "
reminds them of "Helen McGregor" or " Meg Merrilles."
The stores are not unlike the new churches which
have usurped the places of the old " Methodist" and
" Baptist," for which I had scarce less reverence than
for the old stone.
Fault-finding Ella! are not the stores and the
churches all stylish, and Woodville improved by their
erection?
Yes, but I liked the old-fashioned store, with the
plain pine shelves, and' one clerk at the counter; and,
when I enter the new-fashioned church, my mind
reverts to the gorgeous temple of that ancient king,




ï~~HOME LIFE.

13

who, with all his "wisdom," is a sad example for modern Christians, and the less we say about him, the
the better.
Woodville, as it is, I admire: Woodville, as it was,
I loved. Often - oh, how often! - since my own
weak hand has rowed my life-bark over the waves of
misfortune and change, I have sighed for a haven like
that! - Woodville as it was, before the din of the
great world came thundering hourly through its mountain passes, and the weary traveller reined up his horse
at the door of one of our quiet hotels, secure of rest,
undisturbed by a hurrying, jostling crowd of strangers.
I can hardly recognize the home of my childhood in
the "smart" railroad town, where suedessful speculation metamorphoses.the loafer into the gentleman, and
the man whom poverty induced to sell his lot before
" the nick-of time," has become a mere myth in society.
A good old-fashioned village spoiled by a railroad is
like a poor girl lately married to a rich nabob, bewildered with vanity, and incessantly rustling her own
silks.
Friends of my childhood, you have not forgotten
Ella Lee, the doctor's daughter, with whom many of
you learned your " A B C's" at the old Academy?
Ella, with the blue eyes and light-brown curly hair?
n6isy, laughing Ella, whose feet never seemed to grow
weary, whose lips were never at rest? You knew the
story of her outer life: come hither, sit down, and read
the story of her life's deep under current, upon whose
changeful waves hitherto* but One has gazed. "Ella
2




ï~~14

ELLA LINCOLN.

Lee," "Ella Lincoln." Throughout her strange, eventful history, memory has, at times, recalled your forms
as vividly as if she had but drawn her portraits yesterday.
You remember my father, Doctor Lee, who followed
his profession faithfully and: successfully for many
years? Unlike some of our modern " doctors," he
never forgot his "patients" to speculate in town lots or
trade in horse-flesh; never left a "patient" at the door
of death to attend a party or political meeting. When
he had "calls," he attended to them; when he had
leisure, read medical works, "keeping up" with the
improvements of the age in the healing art.
Mrs. Lee, too - kind, affectionate, free-hearted Mrs.
Lee! - pious without bigotry, charitable without
ostentation. You partook of her hospitalities, were
happy in her sympathy, and loved to look upon her
pleasant face when she said, " I am glad to see you,"
because you knew she meant every word she uttered.
She was always neatly attired; always ready to welcome her friends, her own happiness springing out of
the satisfaction of her guests.
Doctor Lee's house was a pleasant home for all. It
was a neat white cottage- with green blinds, and a
piazza in front and rear. There were tall maples in
the wide green door-yard, and lilacs, seringoes, and
roses, all along the fence; and the brick walk from the
gate to the door was bordered with the more delicate
blossoms of the garden
There was also a little forest of fruit-trees behind
the house; and rich luxuri t vines encircled their




ï~~HOME LIFE.

15

thrifty branches, and played with the zephyrs that
sighed in their leaves.
Oh, in all the world there is to each of us but one
father's house! throughout time's tangled labyrinths
we meet no second mother. "Home, sweet home!"
How oft in later life the weary heart looks back to its
innocent joys! how the poor victim of selfishness
yearns for a mother's soft caress, a father's care, a
brother's unselfish love!
"Home is where the heart is," and God hath sanctified and blessed the home of wedded love; but ever,
among its dearest comforts, nestle cares and griefs,
unimagined, when, careless as the birds and bees, we
sported about the grounds of the old homestead.
Memory, make me not again a child. Lead me not
back to the old garden, to sit in its pleasant shades, to
climb the old pear-tree that stands up like a sentinel
by the gate, to pluck the currants and raspberries, and
shake the bright dew-drops from the morning glories
into my mother's face, as she smiles upon me in the
bed-room window. Those bluebirds and yellowbirds
that built their nests under the eaves; the robins that
gathered our cherries - I see none so beautiful now!
Fancy's veil is rent asunder by the chafing cares of
time, and the maturer eye rests mournfully upon
-ndraped reality.
I have called our house " a cottage."  So it was.
But I did not say it was not larger thah a martin's
cage. It was large, with a dozen rooms, and any
number of closets.   It was furnished handsomely.
Doctor and MIrs. 'Lee were prone to the pleasures of




ï~~16'

ELLA LINCOLN.

good living. Reaping the profits of a fine farm and
lucrative profession, they were able to buy it, and had
children and servants to enjoy it. Somewhat fewer
than a dozen of us - little brown-haired, blue-eyed
creatures, laughing generally, sometimes crying for
variety's sake - looked up to them for " gingerbread"
and " good example;" and four hired persons helped
to "train us up in the way we should go."  There was
" Harry," a respectable white man, who was a kind of
overseer-general; " Peggy," the cook, as black as my
shoe; "Hannah," a mulatto; and " Stephen," colored.
"Harry" was honest and true, one of nature's aristocracy, misplaced in the cradle; " Peggy," was worthy
to have been the Queen of Africa; " Hannah" was a
good girl, a little spoiled with white blood; and " Stephen" - well, he was a convenient little imp, who
passed the bread at dinner, killed young chickens for
amusement, spoiled the ballast of the carriage horses
to get " hairs for fish-lines," and spoke the truth, not as
a rule, but an exception.
Both my grandfathers owned slaves, some of whom
are yet living, and remain as slaves in different branches of their families. They were born before the passage of that law of New Jersey which rendered colored
children free at twenty-one years of age. The present
owners, if they should free those, some of them aged
blacks, would be responsible for!heir support, in case
they did not do well, as long as they lived.
I often asked my mother, when a child, to "call the
roll" of her father's slaves. The names were short, as
"Bill," " Sam," " Jack," " Gin," " Cate." Pity all white




ï~~HOME LIFE.

17

babies were not as lucky as blacks at the christening;
for not the least of the burdens of life is a name long
enough to span a pumpkin.
In childhood, I witnessed an affecting scene between
my mother and one of her father's runaway slaves.
It was evening, and she sat knitting. Her children
gathered around her, her calm smile telling of a heart
at peace with all the world.
The door opened gently, a black face thrusting itself
inside.
"How do you do; Miss Clara? "
"If old Joe is alive, he is here!" she exclaimed,
rising, and clasping both his hands in hers, while a
throng of memories crowded upon her heart, and tears
fell thick and fast.
" O Miss Clara, I am old Joe! It was I that dandled you upon my knee; I that took you to the
meadow, lifted you up on the old black horse, and led
him around with you upon his back. I gathered nuts
4for you; made you rush-baskets. They were all here
then - master, mistress, and all the children. I took
a notion to do for myself, and ran away. But he was
a good master, she a good mistress. Great changes,
Miss Clara,! great changes! My head is as white as
wool - I am seventy-six. You are grown wonderfully;
and these little boys and girls - all yours, Miss Clara?"
" All mine, Joe."
Joe was my mother's guest for a month, during
which time he visited my uncles, and wept at the
graves of his old master and mistress, and my mother's
2*




ï~~18

ELLA LINCOLN.

only sister.  Then, laden with presents and good
wishes, he was suffered to "depart in peace."
Next to mothers, the servants of families have the
greatest influence in forming the characters of the
children. Parents should be careful not to surround
their little ones with the vulgar or vile. Many an
adult is indebted to a conscientious servant for those
better influences which follow him into scenes of temptation with a restraining power. Much has been said
and written of the influence of the pious mother;
much should be of that of the pious servant.
Heads of families are apt to estimate the worth of
servants by bodily activity and capability.  They
should see to it that there be also a moral soundness.
Better might they surround their offspring with those
poisonous vipers which only kill the body, than those
moral monsters who infuse into their higher nature the
poison which destroys the soul.
That family servant who performs his duty cheerfully and well is more deserving of praise than the
good master, because, without the same stimulus to
good behavior which may influence the superior, with
no other eyes constantly upon him than those of the
Master in heaven, he goes his quiet round, expecting
no earthly preferment as a reward for his double
service.
" Well, Miss Ella, to-morrow will be Sunday, if you
and me live to see it," said our good Peggy every Saturday. night, "and you must learn your catechise, and
not play with your dolls; for it is the Lord's Day,
and them that doesn't keep it will be sorry, forever and




ï~~HOME LIFE.

19

ever."  " Good night, dolly; to-morrow will be Sunday, the longest day of the whole we'ek; but you must
lie there, right still, in that play-house; and, if ever
Sunday is over, I'll see to you." Dear, good Peggy!
It is many a year since I have heard her pious lessons;
but just as regularly as the week rolls round, and my
heart says, " To-morrow will be the Sabbath," just so
regularly comes back the recollection of that voice;
that sentence commencing with. " Well, Miss Ella,"
ending with "forever and forever." Peggy, Ella has
never forgotten you! Your face and form      are daguerreotyped upon the tablets of her heart of hearts.
Yours - the first to hail her when her baby-boat was
launched upon the sea of life; the last to bless her,
when, in later youth, she launched upon the waves of
care - there in health, rejoicing in all her happiness;
there in sickness, holling the cup to the parched lips,
and turning the feverish pillow. I thank the good
Father that the veil of distance has long hidden Ella's
fate from thee.

Thy kindly words wouldbe too late;
I could not bear them now.




ï~~CHAPTER II.

A noble brute is a nobler thing
Than a brutish man or a soulless king.
DOCTOR LEE visited his patients on horseback. He
owned a beautiful, graceful bay, whose name was
"Cesar."  Cesar's step had-become as stereotyped in
the village, on the plains beyond, and in every path
where horse could go upon the mountain, as Ella
hopes the words she is now writing will be upon the
minds of her readers.
" There he comes! that's Cesar's step!" exclaimed
some member of the family, as he paced leisurely
into the lane leading to the barn, and, "I am so glad!"
responded our mother; "the evening is extremely dark,
and I have been somewhat troubled about your father's
absence. But Cesar is sure-footed; he is worth to us
almost his weight in gold!"
Dear old Cesar! he deserved to live a hundred years.
He did live twenty-one; and was as sleek and beautiful three days before he died as he was at five years
old. So said the Doctor; and I am sure he did not
change at all from the. time that little toddling "Ella"
first ventured out to the gate to see him, until a tall
girl she stood beside him, wondering that beneath that
comely exterior there was hidden so much spirit that
if any other person than his master ventured to mount
(20)




ï~~DOCTOR LEE.

21

him, he was pretty sure of an unceremonious hint to
get down speedily. Even his mistress, a most accomplished horse-woman, rode him at the peril of her life.
She risked herself in the saddle a few times; and then
the result of her temerity was a broken arm, and almost uncounted bruises.  When the Doctor rode, he
went pacing along like a lady's jenet; when others
asked the same favor of him, he started off like a
whirlwind.
I doubt if the customers of Doctor Lee ever separated the idea of the man from the horse. A strong
attachment had grown up between the two; and when
at last a murderous blacksmith, in setting a shoe, drove
a nail clean through the hoof into the flesh of the foot,
inducing the lock-jaw, of wgich he died, the Doctor
mourned for his favorite as he would have done for a
long tried friend.  He never became attached to
another; never acknowledged again that he had " an
easy saddle horse."
Upon " Cesar's death"" " Ella" composed the first
rhymes that ever flowed from her inkstand. Here they
are:"Oh stranger, pause! behold this corse,
Tis Cesar's own - our good old horse."
There - she will spare you the remainder of that
poem, if you will please to say she has improved
since then.
Doctor Lee's outward seeming was that of a cold,
stern man. Whatever he thought necessary for the
best good of his family, was freely lavished upon




ï~~22.ELLA LINCOLN.

them; he spared neither himself nor his purse. But
there was such a repulsive gravity in his usual manner; such an apparent want of interest in domestic
affairs; such an imperative, "do this," or "do that -
it is my will,"-that he almost cancelled an obligation
by his abruptness in bestowing it.
Mrs. Lee spent money, visited, dressed, employed
her time and entertained company agreeably to her
own taste, her husband never interfering; but there
was a something in his manner that seemed to say,
"no farther." As if always fearing that he might
not approve, she never dropped the bridle of the "unruly member," or gave full play to an exuberant
fancy when he was present. She seemed rather to
look up to him with a degree of reverence, as a child
to a superior in years and knowledge.
He was indulgent and kind; in one sense, a good
husband and father; but he ruled through fear; not
an agreeable though a convenient agent.
Ne-ver kiss your wife before your children, nor take
a little prattler upon. your knee before your wife, and
you will not need to issue "ten commandments"
every morning.
Is there any " perfection under the sun?"  Now
that I look back through the mists of time; and behold
that honest, self-denying man, toiling early and late;
educating a large family of children; surrounding them
with all the comforts and luxuries that reason could
expect, and demanding for all this kindness only obedience in return, I know that he must have assumed
that outward coldness, and that very sternness orig



ï~~MY MOTHER.

23

inated in a mistaken judgment concerning our best
good.
We never know the true varue of friends so long as
they are with us. I acknowledge, with a repentant and
grateful heart, that if "Ella Lee " had never broken
over the restraints imposed upon her by paternal love,
"Ella Lincoln" would not now be writing her own
history, - at times, with,a trembling hand, through
blinding tears.
It is the duty of every child, and paramount to all
bthers, to obey the known wishes of a parent. And
he or she who wrings the bosom of -a kind parent, to
take refuge in the affections' of the stranger, will,
sooner or later, reap the price of such unfilial conduct
in some overwhelming calamity. The duties between
parents and children are mutual, however, and in some
instances the obedience of the child ceases to be a virtue.
Let parents remember that they are in a measure
accountable to the Great Father for the happiness of
their children, and the children, that the commandment
to "honor" both "father and mother" is not qualified thus: if no other one claim  all your love and
reverence.
My mother! no sternness marred the expression of
thy calm, sweet face! It seems but yesterday since I
climbed upon thy knee, and poured into thy sympathizing ear the story of some little grief, or ran shouting into thy presence with an apron-full of flowers;
but yesterday, since a taller child I enjoyed thy sweet
companionship; yesterday,, that I saw  thee lying
white and speechless upon the pillow   of death;
yesterday, yet 0 how long!




ï~~CHAPTER III

"She had a mind
Deep and immortal; and it would not feed
On pageantry."
DoCT6R LEE believed in educating women moderately.  He could not see the use of crowding a
young girl's brain with "too much learning," which
"makes even men mad."   He thought the whole world
going crazy upon the subject of female education,
and " knew" that none except women of the stoutest
physical organizations could bear protracted mental
labor. So he felt; and of course he considered it his
duty to crush in " Ella" what he believed to be a wild,
speculative ambition - for she was a frail, sensitive
child, apparently doomed to an inert, uneventful future;
to hang like a mill-stone about some poor fellow's
neck, and look for happiness only in the heaven of his
smile.
It was a cruel, though well-meant kindness, to wish
to keep a daughter shut up forever and aye, like a
piece of white satin in a milliner's bandbox, thereby
incurring the danger of her becoming silly and uncompanionable.
When " papa" supposed that Ella knew enough
"for a girl," he set the foot of his authority down
upon the neck of her ambition, and said, "no farther;"
(24)




ï~~EARLY DEVELOPMENTS.

25:

and with a grieved heart, but a will more determined,
the natural consequence of oppression, she left school.
My time was my own, however; he did not interfere
with my manner of passing the hours in my own
room, which were hours of leisure, to speak only of
physical employment.
In my own quiet chamber I continued to study for
tw6 years, uncheered by his approving smile, unsustained by the consciousness of any one's earnest sympathy in such pursuits.
My mother did not openly encourage those aspirations which he condemned, but sometimes expressed
to her friends a regret that my father did not foster
that fondness for literature which seemed a part of
my very being; for, said she, " our different tastes
are the gifts of God, and my daughter's passionate
thirst for knowledge cannot be quenched in the frivolities of fashion and show."
"Studying again - I would it were otherwise!"
she would say, laying her hand affectionately upon
my head, and brushing back the clustering curls from
my pale, thoughtful brow; " for the path of literature
is steep and thorny, and even the few who gain the
long-wished for goal of success arrive there with weary
hearts and broken health."
And then I gazed inquiringly into her sweet, blue
eyes, hoping to read there another meaning than that
her words expressed, and fancied I detected in their
mystic depths, "It is your lot- go forward."
I persevered. When the house was thronged with
visitors, young, gay, companionable; often, upon some
3




ï~~26

ELLA LINCOLN.

slight pretence, I begged to "be excused," turned a
deaf ear to the music and laughter below, and was
soon absorbed in my studies.
Two years had glided away since I left school;
and then outward influences won me imperceptibly
from the chosen path.
Arrived at woman's most frivolous age, with the
means at my disposal for gratifying a fondness for
dress, I longed for admiration and the eclat of being
a belle.
Both parents seemed pleased with this new phase
of their daughter's ambition, and did not discourage
her from attending balls and parties at home, and visiting prominent cities and watering places, always
elegantly attired.
You know, reader, rich men's dahghters pass at a
high per cent in this money-loving world. "Ella Lee"
was 6alled witty and beautiful. I do not give it as
my own, opinion that she was. I am    writing "an
Autobi6graphy," and must not speak of such things.
I will say, however, that "Ella Lee" was a vain girl.
Her father should have fostered in her bosom that
more rational ambition which she strove to stifle by
indulging thus in idleness and folly.
Even then, within the heart's sanctuary, she despised
herself at times, and longed for higher, holier communings.
It is a fearful risk for a parent to attempt to eradicate the love of any certain object of ambition from
the heart of a child; to bring her down from her high
dreams of distinction into a sphere of more practical




ï~~EARLY DEVELOPMENTS.               27
usefulness.  The time will come when the current
long restrained will burst its feeble barriers, and rush
wildly on, bearing away with it health and peace.
Parents cannot change the innate structure of a
soul, and, do what they may to amuse the truly ambitious child, they fail entirely in their aim by an injudicious or unsteady discipline, which renders doubly
irksome to a sensitive spirit the commonest duties
of life.




ï~~CHAPTER IV.

I heard, let down by reverent hands,
The grating of the cords;
And shuddefed, as the pattering sands
Fell on the coffin boards;
I said, "a gem of rarest worth,
Christ, to thy crown is given:She's left her place of prayer on earth,
To join the choir of heaven.
JusT as stern winter melted into Spring, and the
blossoms and    green   grass sprang up    everywhere,
making the whole earth beautiful, my mother die'd.
In society she had been an ornament and leader;
the poor had hailed her as a benefactor; all who knew
had loved her.
Suddenly, as if death had come to her in the whirlwind or the lightning, she was called away.
Oh! the utter desolation of that hearthstone from
which death has swept the Guardian Spirit, - the
utter loneliness of the children when they sit there,
comfortless for the first time, gazing at her "vacant
chair."
Then they realize all her w.orth; all her self-denying
love. They think of her tireless care, her patience with
all their waywardness; that, though sorrowful when
they erred, she never frowned. They recall to mind
her sweet smile of approbation when all was well, and
regret that they ever caused a solitary tear to moisten
(28)




ï~~HOME MADE DESOLATE.

29

those eyelids, now closed forever upon the scenes of
earth.
' Will our mother never - never in all the world
come back again?" sobbed out my little brother
Edwin, as he hid his bright curls in the folds of my
dress, - all wet with the rain drops of grief.
"Never, Eddy!" replied little Carrie, clinging yet
more closely to my neck; "didn't you hear the minister say she'd gone home to God's house, where all
the angels live? and he said we would all go there
too, sometime, if we would be good, and love our
father, and each other, and God. But how can Ilove
papa as I did her, when he never takes me on his lap
and kisses me as she did; nor you either, Eddy."
Then for the first time the stern man melted into
tears, clasped the little ones to his bosom, and spoke
of our great loss.
" I will try to be as a mother to you all," he said;
"but I have not her gentle, Christ-like nature. You
will miss her still, as if I were not here. Oh, heaven,
why this stunning blow?"
"Be still, and know   that I am  God!" said the
white-haired minister, in low, solemn tones, for he had
entered unperceived as my father ceased speaking;
"let us pray."
Even the mere babes hushed their sobbing and
folded their little hands as we knelt together - that
broken family circle!
And then he poured out his own beautiful petition
in our behalf into his Heavenly Father's ear; and we
3*




ï~~30

ELLA LINCOLN.

all felt comforted, and arose with sealed lips and more
perfect resignation.
Time, the great healer, - the mourner's friend, -
slowly uplifted the cloud which had settled dark and
heavily upon our home, and let in again the light of
happiness.
My father sat not so often musing alone, with his
hand. pressed upon his forehead, his moistened eye
fixed upon the corner where her smile had always welcomed him; the little ones shouted again as they
played, speaking less often of their "dear departed
mother!"   The heart cannot always grieve; there
must be reaction or death.
It is well that we can in a measure forget; that sorrow's first keen edge becomes blunted by time, for if
the intenseness of the first suffering caused by bereavement remained unabated, the heart wouldbreak under
the accumulated weight of the numerous bereavements
of years.
In the domestic arrangements of the family there
was no important change.   Peggy studied to have
everything done in the good, old way, and if any intruding adviser ventured to say, " Why do you thus?"
she aniswered with dignity, " So - my mistress, that's
gone, learnt me to do it; I amn not as wise as she
was.1
We all looked up to Peggy as an oracle and benefactor. Like her departed mistress, she was never
weary of duty, selfish, or ill-natured.
Home was yet home - friends coming and going;
the children as neatly clad as before, and all their little




ï~~HOME MADE DESOLATE.

31

wants attended to; no discomfort, no confusion there.
Home was the same picture - from it the most perfect figure of the family group had been dashed out
by the rude hand of death.
After the usual time had elapsed, we laid aside our
mourning dresses, and resumed our cheerful colors.
" Ella" returned into gay society, not recommencing
her studies, for there was no one to encourage her now.
But she often yearned for rational occupation, and
wished a hundred miles away some arrant flatterer,
and in his stead a book.
Ella tried to be happy, to be always gay; but memory would not sleep; and as often as the exciting festivities were over, she turned away from the glare of
the stage, the voice of the flatterer, and found herself
alone- dismally alone!    Her father was kind and
indulgent; her brother a companion and friend; but
into their ears she could not pour unreservedly her
tale of hopes and fears; upon their bosoms she could
not pillow her head and weep -those April showers
of wayward girlhood!
"I miss thee, my mother, thy image is still
The deepest impressed on my heart;
And the tablet so faithful in death must be chill,
Ere a line of that image depart.".




ï~~CHAPTER V.

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."
WOMAN puts a strange, wild faith in the being preordered by Heaven to be her guardian and guide
through life. Few marriages are the result of prudence, few of convenience. I despise that sickly sentimentality which feeds upon "sighs," and prefers "a
moonlight serenade " to a substantial supper; but I
believe love is, was, and ever will be, while humanity
exists. I believe, however, that, like the wild colt, it
may be bridled and governed; and if, after all our
trouble, we find it still running away with our better
judgment on its back, we had better discard the mad
creature at once, and forget it.
Love -is one of many passions; and it is not any
more pardonable to indulge in an extravagant admiration of any of the erring children of Adam, until that
passion works our ruin, than it would be to indulge an
unreasonable hatred, until we grew mad and slew its
object. We may hate hundreds; some (profess to) love
half a dozen.
O, Ella Lincoln, you plain matter-of-fact creature!
you apostate! what are you driving at now? Do you
believe in third, fourth, and fifth marriages? That a
man may actually love a woman, and vice versa, seventeen times?
(32)




ï~~UNCLE LEMUEL.

'83

Well, my uncle T emuel certainly loved his wife, Ida,
the choice of his youth. When the hectic fever burned
upon her check, her blue eye shone with unnatural
brilliancy, and her prim, elastic step waxed feeble and
slow, he said to her, mournfully,
" 0 Ida, my first and only love, how can I lose you?
Long, and cold, and dark, will be the life-journey without you, - alone! alone! I shall never wed another!
never.!
One year from the date of her decease, he stood
gazing through the open lattice at the moon, with his
arm clasped lovingly around the fairy figure of Ellen
Bruce, his bride. I stepped on tiptoe, close up to his
side, and heard him say to her, in a low, lover-like
tone,
"Ellen, dearest, I am happy. We were surely made
for each other!"
"Ahem! ' said Ella, at his elbow.
"Why, Ella, you little chit! are you here? Ellen,
my love, this is Ella Lee, my brother's daughter - a
little pet of mine. I hope you will love each other;"
and the lady kissed me.
Of course I thought it would be very uncivil in me
not to make an appropriate speech on so grand an
occasion; and I stammered out,
"I shall like her, if she's a bit like my dear, dead
aunt Ida, who was so beautiful and good."
"Ella, you'd better run home," he said, in a quick,
nervous tone; "your mamma will be looking for you.
See! the moon has risen - time you were in bed."
About three years from  that date, I asked my




ï~~34

ELLA LINCOLN.

mother if I might go over the way to Uncle Lemuel's,
to see my new aunt Caroline, who had invited me to
visit her."
" Yes, dear, if you will be very careful about your
manners, and not say any improper words while there."
"No indeed, mamma."
" So, here you are, Ella! come to see your aunt
Caroline for the first time. I hope you may be charmed
with her, and she with you," remarked my uncle, as
the new aunt kissed me and put away my bonnet.
Then I seated myself as "properly,"' and was as
"womanly," as I supposed the occasion required, and
began to consider what kind of a remark would be
most "proper" for a child like me, as I gazed upon the
countenance of the interesting new comer.
" Well, Ella, what think you of your new aunt's
style of beauty?"
" O, she is very beautiful, with those long, black
curls, and such bright eyes! I hope she's had the
measles; for my aunt Ellen (who had light hair and
blue eyes) forgot to have 'em when she was little, and
so, when she got 'em, she died."
" Ahem! hem! I have a little business around the
corner, my dear; excuse me."
Uncle Lemuel loved "Ida,".and" Ellen," and " Caroline," - no douibt he did.
If I should be asked to write a " Chapter upon the
Loves of Ella Lee Lincoln," I should say but little;
and the story would run thus:
First of all, there was my little cousin Paul Smith,




ï~~SCHOOL ATTACHMENTS.

35

about twelve years of age, with light-brown curls and
a blue roundabout. I loved him, because he always
carried my books for me, and gathered flowers and
berries by the way for me as we went to school, and
gave them all to me, saying, "I would not give them
to Linda, Carry, nor anybody but you; for you are the
prettiest girl in school, and my little wife, aint you?"
"Indeed I am, Paul; there's not a boy I like so
well; and, when we are both older, - you twenty, and
I eighteen, - you'll be a minister, and I the minister's
wife. Won't that be fine?"
And then his blue eyes looked "unutterable things,"
as he replied, " I will be a minister, if you wish me
to be."
He was more independent six years from that date,
and became a staunch "Democrat" without my leave,
although he knew I had been a "Whig" from the
cradle; and, in revenge, I had my first flirtation, with
Willie Ray, a pale, reflective youth, who studied Greek
and Cooper's Novels.
Then I loved my cousin, Alexander Carey, who
kissed me, of course, when he left for Yale, and said -
well, no matter what. But he returned, the next vacation, tb quarrel with me upon the subject of "woman's
rights," and condemn "literary ladies" en masse, and
asked me, as a "particular favor to him; not to write
poetry," - ME, author of that " Tribute to the Memory
of old Cesar!"  And, after trying to annihilate him
with a fortnight's pouting, I went, with my aunt
Eunice to Saratoga; and there I met Captain Howard,
an interesting gentleman of about sixty-five, who had




ï~~36

ELLA LINCOLN.

golden attractions to a vast amount. He called me
his "dear Miss Lee," and took many a pleasant stroll
and ride with me, and told me I would be a celebrated
author one day; and I loved him dearly.
"Don't you think you could like me for a husband,"
he said, (right before aunty,) "were it not for the disparity of years between us? "
I am sure I thought the "disparity" very immaterial,
and I wished to tell him so; for I thought, if married
to him, I should always be entertained with those
"sea stories" which he told so admirably, having been
a traveller for many years.
There - I may have loved many others; but, as my
"chapter of loves" has grown somewhat lengthy, I
will finish it in the next book I write.
I will tell you now about that most serious of my
love affairs, whose consequences will overreach the
grave.
Thus I should have written, if asked, a "Chapter
upoi the Loves of Ella Lee Lincoln."
Beloved of earlier years! I long to clasp even now
your earnest hands, and weep - weep for the changes
I have seen, the afflictions I have suffered, the hopes
withered, the warm, gushing sympathies that have
been met by "envy, malice, and all uncharitableness."
And yet, friends of my youth, I cannot, even now,
look back to your unselfish love as the only green
oasis in a waste of withering cares. Here and there,
like flowers scattered along a desolate path, I meet
the "tried and true" of maturer years, though few -
alas, how few!




ï~~CHAPTER VI.

"I pray thee cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve."
I WILL tell no "love stories," - they would spoil
my book, - but, as a fact in my history, will merely
say, that, after an unpcounted number of blushes and
monosyllables, Ella Lee was betrothed to Allen Lincoln.
My father opposed our union on account of his
having been a speculator, hence the danger of reverses,
while I was utterly ignorant of all kinds of business.
Said he, "Mr. Lincoln was born in the Green
Mountains, and, although yet young, has ' pitched his
tent' and 'settled' in four different states. He is here
to-day, to-morrow he may be in Alabama, next week
in Mexico. 'A rolling stone gathers no moss,' and he
cannot prosper."
" Do you think he is underwitted orunamiable, sir?"
" Neither."
" I am fond of travelling, and would like to see the
world - all of it."
"You would find it a different affair to travel about
after marriage. You would find poverty a bitter thing
to bear, also. And I tell you, Ella, finally, poverty will
be his lot. Amiability is well enough, but is too often
linked with indecision, and the liability to be misled
4                          (37)




ï~~38

ELLA LINCOLN.

by others. Your amiable man sells his coat for a song
to the rogue who tells him it is 'a misfit,' or breaks up
in the midst of a lucrative business, and starts for the
ends of the earth, if some 'clever fellow' hails him
with 'Come this way, you may make a fortune here
directly.' But I shall not strongly oppose you in this
matter. I am not willing to see you married to Mr.
Lincoln; if you disregard my wishes, upon your own
head will be the sad consequences."
My father sat upon the back piazza in an arm-chair,
looking not so sternly as was his wont, but O, how
sorrowful!
" Come hither, Ella. You have decided? "
"Yes, sir."
" Then all I can do for you will be to put your
property into a situation that your husband cannot
touch a dollar of it. If you consent, I will do this;
not against your wishes."
My fingers played nervously with my auburn curls,
and the hot blood rushed to my temples. I thought
of the precipice upon which I stood; how all my happiness was about to be committed to the keeping of
another; and, in case that other should prove a broken
reed, how illy I was calculated to meet the bleak winds
of adversity. I thought of all the lessons I had heard
and read on " prudent marriages," and of some of the
victims of matrimonial miscalculations within the circle of my own observation. I trembled, almost repenting of the position in which I stood. What if my
father's fears should have foundation? What was my
judgment, compared with his? For one brief moment,




ï~~PEGGY' 8 ADVICE.

89

1 longed to throw my arms about his neck, and promise
never to go contrary to his wishes, - never to wound
him more.
But again the olden look of sternness had settled
upon his countenance; he had crushed down the grief,
and sat gazing into my face as if he took no farther
interest in my reply.
The transitory feeling of distress which had swept
over my heart-strings as a harsh discord, gave place
again to confidence in the betrothed, and I calmly
said: -
"My dear sir, I would prefer that the arrangement
of property, of which you have spoken, should not be
effected. I have been told that where women withhold their entire confidence from their husbands, it
seldom ends well; and a life of unhappiness would
weigh heavily in the balance against the safety of a
few thousands."
" Very well, Ella."
A few years after that, a clause in "the last will
and testament of Doctor Reuben Lee ran thus: -
"-Whereas, Allen Lincoln, husband to my daughter
Ella, has received her portion of my estate, etc., I do
hereby will and decree that the said Allen Lincoln
shall not receive any part or portion of said estate," etc.
" I tell you plainly, Miss Ella, that I don't approve
of this at all," said Peggy, with more emphasis than
was her wont. "It is a bad move, a bad move, going
off with that are Green Mountain Vermonter, that 's
lived in Canada, New York, and,i for all I know,' all




ï~~40

ELLA LINCOLN.

over the world.  It's all nonsense, this ere gettin'
married, when you have n't a thing to do, and have a
good father's house, the best silk dresses of any girl
within twenty miles, a good meetin' to go to, and old
Peggy to see that you never want for anything reasonable.
"And then, to think of it; how you are. a going
away out West, among the wolves, and buffaloes, and
Indians, and them white heathens that build big log
houses and barns, and grow rich, never caring if the
word of God is 'nt preached within ten miles of 'em.
What will dear, good Mr. Kirk, the minister, say? and
what would your sainted mother say if she could
come back this minute and speak to you? Well, she
instructed you in the right way while she lived; and
I've done the best I could since she went home to
heaven - my dear, blessed mistress!  And there 's
master, too; I pity him after all his care in bringin'
you up, and educatin' you, like a lady; and this is the
end of our trouble!" and Peggy burst into tears.
" This is the dreadfulest trial I have had since her
death! I shall never git over it - never!"
Never had I seen Peggy lose her self-command so
completely; never had I felt so like a guilty creature
in her presence.
I felt disposed to deny a few of her charges, as I
stood there like a condemried culprit, her great, black,
mournful eyes fixed steadily upon my face, the tears
streaming over her ebon cheeks. Not a word could I
utter, however, for I choked strangely in my throat,
my limbs grew suddenly weak, and, thinking I must
do something to extenuate my fault, I sank into a




ï~~ELLA'S MARRIAGE.

41

chair beside her, took her hand in mine, and wept with
her in silence.
"Well, I'll have to forgive -you, 'spose, poor child!
for it's too late now, after you've promised him; and
I'm sure he seems likely enough. There - don't cry
another bit, child! I'll give you my blessin', and
make all the weddin' cake with my own hands. And
may the Lord convert your soul, and make you a
good Christian, -that you may be as a candle on a hill
to them perishing heathen, that have'nt any churches
nor means of grace."
"I have done penance for contemning love."
"But now lead on,
In me is no delay; with thee to go,
Is to stay here; with thee here to stay
Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me
Art all things under heaven, all places thou."
Westward-ho!     "Good-bye, dear father, brothers,
sisters, servants, friends, one and all, good-bye, and
God bless you."    Down, weak heart! Away with
fruitless tears - with tender recollections!
" Till death do us part." Now, Ella, thy childhood
is indeed no ifore! Gird up thy strength, for the trziue
"battle of life" with thee is commencing; pray, that
amidst its coming toil and heat,.you may not faint nor
fly; pray, for the shield of paternal love is no longer
overshadowing your young head; beware of worship-.Ving a clay idol, and when the dark hours come, pour
out your tale of sorrow into His ear, who will never
mock you.
Ella is gone.
4*




ï~~CHAPTER VII.

"Sudden they see from midst of all the main,
The surging waters like a mountain rise;
And the great sea, puffed up with proud disdain,
To swell above the measure of his guise,
As threatening to devour all that his power despise."
ON a cool, foggy, disagreeable afternoon we took
passage in the steamer "Michigan," and were borne
away over the blue waters of Lake Erie.
Never was cabin so full to overflowing, never had
deck a more varied representation of all the natikons
of the earth.
Ireland had sent forth, to seek their fortunes, a legion
of her children; England was respectably represented;
and broad tongued Scotchmen were conversing together on every side.   A heterogeneous mass of all
colors, sizes, and castes of women and children, climbed
and descended the stairs, and surged over the deck.
In the cabin there was a discordant concert kept up
by nurses and babies, and the whining tones of hopeless ill-nature mingled with the silvery treble of laughing sixteen.
The steamer glided on over the waste of waters,
rocking but gently as wave after wave bowed its head
beneath her prow; and the passengers were apparentlX
as happy as any other promiscuous company whose
only brotherhood is founded in a common sense of
danger.
(42)




ï~~WESTWARD-HO                4

43

One by one the little eyelids of the children drooped
and fell, and disrobed, they were laid away in the
berths. One after another the wearied forms of the
aged were stretched upon narrow, comfortless couches,
and then the middle aged and the young gathered
together in little knots upon the deck, to take a farewell view of the shore, which was still in sight far
away to leeward, yet seen but dimly through the veil
of mist.
Suddenly the wind arose and came sighing over the
waters like the smothered tones of sorrow; the mists
rolled away, condensing into clouds; the last rays of
the setting sun trembled lovingly upon their fleecy
borders, writing in rainbow tints a soft "good night!"
" A rough night; the boys will have some work
before morning," said an old sailor, cap in hand,
leisurely viewing the sky and sea, and then bending
his glance keenly upon the boat, as if measuring her
strength for the" coming struggle.
"May I ask why you suppose we shall have a
rough night, sir," I said, timidly laying my hand upon
his arm to attract attention.
" Well, I'll tell you, sis; I think it, because I know
it. You heard the wail of the wind, did n't you, as
that confounded body of mist rolled up like a blanket,
and took itself off in a jiffy? That was'nt all wind
you heard. No; You can't deceive Old Jack! It was
a warning from the people below. And didn't you
see them are three white gulls that settled a minute
on the mainmast, and then bore away to leeward;
did n't you hear 'em screech, the imps; they didn't




ï~~44

ELLA LINCOLN.

scream for nothin', I tell you! I'm use to 'em. They
said just as plain as if they could talk, ' Blow! blow!
blow!'   And don't you feel a sort of short, quick
jerk of the waves under the vessel now? There, that
infernal moan agin! But never mind a gale - the
boat is as tight a craft as swims; and what is to
be will be."
"There, take her below, messmate," he said, addressing my husband; and, relighting a cigar which
had died out during our conversation, he sat down,
apparently as unconcerned as if he had uttered words
more acceptable to timid ears.
"You had better try to slep, Ella, the old sailor
is no seer; and I see no foundation for his prophecy.
It is a usually fair November night - these lakes are
always somewhat rough."
Slam-bang, rattle and tear - screaming, crying,
praying, hallooing, cursing - what is to pay?
Fifty old ladies poking their heads out of the berths
nearest the floor; fifty middle aged women looking up their babies and husbands; fifty Catholic
nurses crossing themselves and calling on the "virgin;"
and a young girl sobbing in the corner, " Ah! Jon-athan! dear Jon-a-than! you'll never see me again -
never!"
The wind was blowing a gale; the boat rocking
from side to -side fearfully. We had struck a schooner,
and the babel of noise we had just heard was the
smashing in of the windows, the breaking of crockery
and glass ware, the passengers springing from their
berths upon the floor, the rushing of men to and fro




ï~~DISASTER.

45

upon deck, the shouts and curses of the men on both
boat and schooner.
" There, we 're afloat again," said the same old
sailor; " hang the schooner! she came near to sending
us all to Davie Jones's locker. Well, there's a harbor
three miles along; - a good craft, aint she?"
And the " Michigan" was a strong boat.     She
rocked and rolled and plunged along through the
boiling surges; not a timber broke, not a joint gave
way; and, although somewhat shorn of her beauty,
she cast anchor in the little harbor of " Sjva," and
there we found ourselves at daybreak safe, after a
night of much confusion and terror.
We remained in the harbor many hours, on account
of the roughness of the sea.
"Ho! ho! there lies the ' Flora' as helpless as a
six weeks baby," exclaimed the same old tar at my
elbow, of whom I have spoken before, as I stood upon
deck watching the sun coming up from his oceahn-bed,
apparently rising out of the water.
There, truly she was a wreck, that beautiful steamer
which left port only a few hours before us; her wheel
and machinery twisted and broken, looking as if an
evil demon had swept her deck. She lay over upon
her side, all hands hard at work to prevent her sinking.
".Deuce take her!" said the captain; "she is heavily
freighted with blood and bones, to say nothing about
the luggage.  But we'll take off the passengers.
Heave to, boys!"
" I wish they had all gone to the bottom of the lake




ï~~46

ELLA LINCOLN.

together," growled the chambermaid, as they all came
tumbling down the cabin stairs of the " Michigan;"
old and young, married and single, gentle and simple,
with a most formidable additional force of nurses and
babies. " A pretty time I'll have of it," she continued, "stowing 'emr away in the berths, when they're
all full now; and such a crowding- and jostling and
squalling all day long. Goodness gracious! it's enough
to drive the sense out of any living being! Well,
their own chambermaid may do their chores, for I
wont -that's flat."
There were but few state-rooms on the lake steamers
at the date of my story; the price for them extravagant, hence ladies, many of them, preferred to sleep in
the lower cabin.
The new comers were all weary or sick with the
intense excitement of the last twenty-four hours; and
as soon as they felt that the danger was past, they were
all ready to lie down and forget.
The occupants of the berths below, startled by the
unusual racket, occasioned by passing the living freight
of one steamboat into another, had sprung to the
floor, and were dressing with all despatch. There was
a loud call for missing articles among the " younger
fry;" and some of the old lady new-comers were petitioning impatiently for "a place to lie down."  The
chambermaid went about the cabin snapping like a
steel-trap, and we all pitied without the power to help
them.
Ella pitied just four of them availably - a young
mother with a sick child, a poor consumptive lady,




ï~~JEANNIE LISLE.

47

and a very aged one, by telling them if they would
accept of the use of her stateroom she would show
them the way
" They 'll steal your things, may-be," said the pert
chambermaid, in a whisper. I tried to annihilate her
with a look; but she was as callous as a turtle's back.
After I had stowed them away in our berths, at the
stateroom door I met Mr. Lincoln, with a gentleman
and a very pretty young lady, waiting for me.
" Mrs. Lincoln, this is Mr. Trall, of Chicago, one of
the passengers of the "Flora," and his niece, Miss
Lisle, late *of Baltimore.  We have concluded, on
account of the dangers and unpleasantness of the
lakes at this season, that we will stop at Detroit and
cross Michigan. Miss Lisle, like yourself, would& be
pleased to see the country.  I have met Mr. Trall
before, and we can comfort and protect each other."
"Won't it be delightful!" exclaimed the young lady,
clasping my hand as warmly as if she had known me
seven years; "just you and me with some seventeen
gentlemen in a big stage wagon. We shall be taken
such excellent care of in case our own gallants should
not stand it through. We can link our- destinies with
those of some of those sturdy young farmers, help
them break up the prairie, and live in cabins seven by
nine, with wolves' eyes staring in through the cracks,
and rattlesnakes sharing our pillows.' Would n't that
be romantic?"
"Why, Jeannie!" said Mr. Trall, half disposed to
scold her for her volubility; " I say, Jeannie, have you
so soon forgotten the sad scenes of the last thirty
hours that you are jesting again?"




ï~~48

ELLA LINCOLN.

Oh! uncle, now that 's all over and all safe, why
refer to it? You should be more philosophic. If
we always look backward to danger, and forward to
death, where shall we look for happiness?"
I was pleased with my laughing companion for the
long, tedious journey before me, and thought it indeed
wonderful that a young lady of her buoyancy of spirits
should also discourse so rationally. She was a jewel,
indeed; and without her I should have been truly uncomfortable with such a little army of gentlemen as
travelled with me across Michigan.
The roads were miuddy, in some places frozen; and
stage coaches had been abandoned as a matter of
safety, except in some better sections for a few miles.
We left Detroit in a coach, but were soon obliged to
take our seats in a rude, farm wagon, or, more properly
speaking, a stage wagon, built upon the same plan,
but longer in proportion to the width. In our company were fifteen persons, including the driver.
Miss Lisle and myself were snugly disposed of in
the middle of the vehicle, Mr. Trall and Mr. Lincoln
at our side. I had noticed, as I climbed in, a small,
square box, at the driver's feet, with hammer, pihcers,
and bolts, also a variety of nails in it, and a short
chain or two.
" I say, Uncle, please, I 'm dying to know, as people
say when they don't know anything, for what purpose
the driver carries along with him that great box of
tools, chains, etc., which I tumbled over, to the great
risk of breaking my neck, as I landed into this rolling
scow? "




ï~~RIDE ACROSS THE PRAIRIES.

49

" What say you, Mrs. Lincoln: shall we torment
her before the time?"
" O, no! If you think we shall meet a regiment of
Mormons, or a clan of Ottawa Indians, and if those
be the implements of war with which to defend ourselves, pray be silent; let us be happy till the first
arrow whizzes along, grazing the bow of my bonnet.
Uncle, may I sing? Do you sing, Mrs. Lincoln? "
"No, dear, but would be happy to hear you."
"I will be very modest, dear uncle, and the strangers
will hardly hear me; " and Jeannie charmed us with a
pleasant song.  She was the light and life of the
company, stealing like a sunbeam into all our hearts,
cheating us of the tediousness of the way, and making
us laugh, with our eyes yet moistened with the recollection of the friends left behind.
We had some very fine gentlemen in that company,
with all of whom we became intimately acquainted, in
the course of a few hours, as western travellers do; and
Jeannie Lisle was parted from with deep regret by one
and all at the end of thp route. Any one of those
gentlemen Vould have given his hopes of fame and
fortune for her little, white hand.Iknew it.
Almost a day had passed away without any remarkable occurrence. Our four strong horses were sometimes submerged in sloughs, and we rather swam than
rode. Again we were almost upset by huge logs or
stones in the way; and once even Miss Lisle and
myself were obliged to get out, and, assisted by our
friends, pick our way over a creek upon.some stones,
while the wagon was taken apart and lifted over.
5




ï~~50

ELLA LINCOLN.

We felt pretty well bruised and fatigued, and somewhat chilly; for night was approaching, and it had
been a squally November day.
"We are over the best of the road now," said the
-driver, very calmly, and glancing mysteriously at that
box under his feet. " The next twenty miles will be
rough, and full of sloughs, and then we come to that
quarter-of-a-mile log bridge over Black Creek; and
then we have smoother prairie. If it doesn't freeze up
to-night, and make an ugly crust, we'll get along
better." And still he eyed that box.
"Ella, dear, let us wrap you in an extra shawl; and
you too, Miss Lisle, will need more protection from
the winds."  And husband and Mr. Trall began to
explore the travelling bags.
"Hold up, Mr. Driver!" said a tall, black-haired
New-Englander; "the ladies wish to newly arrange
their shawls, and, while they are about it, we may all
as well wrap our blankets round us, and be ready for
a bad night. We shall not reach the 'Buck-Horn
Tavern' probably before ten o'clock, if we have no
breakdown; and, from what I learned of this route
before we started, it is more probable we may not get
there until twelve or two." Then I observed that the
gentlemen were almost all of them provided with
"Mackinaw blankets."
"There, go ahead! all right!"
We went "ahead" for about fifteen minutes, when
down went the four bays, up to their throats in a
slough, and we after them, up to the wagon box. The
leaders flounced and kicked, and the driver whipped,




ï~~RIDE ACROSS THE PRAIRIES.

and hallooed, and cursed, till the prairies rang, all to
no purpose. Poor beasts! they were weary, and fast
in the mud; what could they do?
"Well, gentlemen, I shall be obliged to ask you to
work your passage," said the driver, with a rueful
countenance. "One of the leaders has hurt his shoulder; and the other is determined not to stir, if he dies
there. You'll all have to get out, and carry the women
over on your backs; then help me out with the horses
and wagon."
"What say you, Mrs. Lincoln (allow me to call you
Ella, please, as Mr. L. does) - what say you to being
carried over the slough on the backs of a dozen gents.?
Didn't you notice the driver said, You must all carry the
women,' etc.? " whispered Jeannie, with whom I now
made a bargain that we should call each other by our
Christian names, " for short," as the school-boys say.
" How deep is it, driver?"
" 0, I guess it isn't much over the tops of your
boots, if they're long ones; and you mind and step
on the bogs."
"Allow me to carry Miss Lisle? " said the tall gentleman with black hair to Mr. Trall, who was apparently sixty, and in delicate health.
" Thank you, thank you, my young friend; you will
do me a favor if you will."
So they threw their blankets across Mr. Trall's
shoulders; and the dark-haired gentleman and Mr.
Lincoln carried us over on the bogs, without any very
unfortunate missteps. Mr. Trall, Jeannie, and myself
sat down upon an old stump, and covered ourselves




ï~~52

ELLA LINCOLN.

with the blankets, while the young men returned to
assist the driver. The ground was covered with dried
leaves and partially frozen. The spot was wild, and a
deep sense of loneliness stole over my spirit as my
thoughts reverted to my absent friends -my pleasant
father's house. A tear was rolling down my cheek,
and I sighed heavily.
"Give me that cane of yours, please, uncle! I want
to fish up a rattlesnake," said Jeannie, with a shy glance
at my sorrowful face, yet not seeming to see it, and
suiting the action to the words, she took the cane and
began to overturn the leaves.
Old Nick is always near when talked about; and
presently we heard a low, buzzing sound, like that of
a nest of bumble-bees. In another moment up jumped
a short, brown-spotted snake. Did n't we jump, too,
and retreat behind that stump? even Jeannie sobered
her countenance. Mr. Trall looked up a stick and
despatched the rogue; and we looked sharply about
us, lest he might have a mate. We did not sit down
again, but stood there until the dew was falling and
the darkness gathered round us.
By the aid of ropes and chains the company succeeded in getting out the horses and dragging the
wagon over the slough. About an hour longer was
consumed in putting that machinery all together, and
then we moved forward. The horse that had hurt his
shoulder when struggling in the slough was somewhat
lame, and we progressed slowly; however, we progressed, and so did our appetites.
" Ella, dear," said Jeannie, somewhat sobered since




ï~~RIDE ACROSS THE PRAIRIES.

53

she " fished up" the rattlesnake, "I am growing hun.
gry; are not you?   Do n't you think there is any
house nearer than that log tavern the driver talks
about, where we might get a lunch? I think I heard
uncle say we should get only pork, and potatoes
with their jackets on; I never could bear pork, but
now - why now - I could eat pork, rind and all -
could n't you? "
"So I could, Jeannie, or the rind without the pork,
if we ride much longer without stopping."
By this time there was a general interest in our
conversation, and others began to wish for even substantials, delicacies out of the question. When lo!
we attracted the attention of the driver.
" Who's hungry?"
"I!"-"I""-I"    "-""I--" was vociferated loudly from fourteen pairs of lips. " Why do you ask?"
" Oh, nothing; only I have a tin-pail-full of crackers
and gingerbread rolled up in that old blanket under
the seat, which I brought along in case we got belated
and all-fired hungry; I never travel over this prairie
without something. A penny a roll for the gingerbread,
six crackers for a cent."
" Never mind the price- let us have them."
"Whoa! whoa!" Poor beasts, they didn't need
the second word of command.
It was pitchy dark now, and he looked up our lunch
by the light of a lantern.
" Hoot away, despair!"  We were all as happy as
kings and queens, out on that eight mile prairie at
9 P. M., munching crackers and gingerbread.
5*




ï~~54

ELLA LINCOLN.

"I never travel without something," said the driver,
as he cried " git ape" again;" and I never have any
left when I get through, neither. Git ape!"
Upon' the whole, we had a cozy time of it, crowded
together into that big wagon, fourteen passengers from
all quarters, like affectionate brothers and sisters.
I was so happy after that lunch of gingerbread that
I leaned over upon Mr. Lincoln's lap and fell asleep.
Jeannie's tongue was yet running when I crossed the
threshold between reality and the land of dreams;
and the driver was urging on his horses at their uttermost speed, which may have been over three feet of
prairie to the hour; I cannot recollect, but know they
were not born race-horses.
"Ella!"
" Sir."
"Wake up, Ella! here is that famous log bridge!"
"Hush, Allen-! I'm sleepy. Never mind seeing
sights!- What did you say, ' the Blue Ridge?' How
can you see mountains this dark night? Please,
Allen, be still; don't wake me again."
"But, my dear, you must waken! Every man must
walk over it."
"Over that mountain?"
" Ella! gracious! What a sleepy child! Hear me!
We - are - coming - to - the -.quarter-of - a -
mile - log - bridge - and- I-must - walk - over!
You - must - sit - up! 1" he almost screamed.
"Yes, sir! I am awake now. Where's Jeannie?"
"Here I am! - have been asleep on uncle's lap.
Oh dear, I -am as sleepy *as an owl at ten in the morn



ï~~RIDE ACROSS THE PRAIRIES.

55

ing. Is the tavern on the bridge?  and Jeannie fell
asleep again.
" I think, sir, you may better remain in the wagon,"
said Allen to Mr. Trall; "they are both so exhausted,
and the bridge so rough, that they might be jarred
out.  We young men will see you three safely
over."
"Yes, yes, let the elderly gentleman keep his seat,"
responded one and all, springing out as we bounced
over the first log
I opine, we waked up then! One - two - three -
four- smash goes a ring-bolt; and here we are, delayed again! Now that mysterious box is lifted out,
and the twelve men are dodging hither and thither,
more in the way than all the good they do, nine-tenths
of them! After some hammering and screwing and
dodging the lantern under the wagon, the men tramp
on; driver pries, " Git ape!" and the horses follow.. One - two - three - four - five - six - and here
we are again- second bolt gone. The twelve men
stop, and we witness the same manoeuvring, with box,
hammer and lantern - and all move on again.
Now there was some hay in the bottom of the
wagon, and I slid down from my seat and went to
sleep resolutely. I could have ridden over the points
of a hundred church steeples without waking.
"Ella, we are at our stopping place," said Allen,
carrying me in, and seating me in the corner before a
large, pleasant fire. "Here we are, at the tavern."
It was a large room, with a plentiful number of
board-bottomed chairs and a pine table, now spread




ï~~6

ELLA LINCOLN.

for supper. The floor was brown and bare, but clean;
and against the two little four-pane windows hung
short, white muslin curtains. In one corner was a
smaller pine table, scoured as white as milk, upon
which stood a water-pail with a tin-dipper suspended
over it. Over that table hung also a mirror, a trifle
larger than a sheet of note paper; and -along the logs
rows of male and female apparel. Upon a high shelf
I noticed a gun, a hunter's pouch, and a pair of deer's
antlers.  Suspended to the beams overhead was a
tin oven, a frying-pan, and various bunches of pennyroyal and catnip, newly gathered and fragrant. On
the hearth, stones supplied the place of andirons,
and two large yellow dishes. covered with tin pans,
stood between them.
This was "Ella Lincoln's" first opportunity of examining a log cabin; excuse her if she looked around
it with more than ordinary interest, and eyes staring
like the "man's in the moon."
Behind that room was a little, shed where 1 peeped
in and saw two little white-headed " cherubs," with
dirty faces, asleep upon a trundle-bed, partly under
another, which I supposed belonged to the heads of
the family. All the while my eyes were roying about
on an exploring expedition. I heard a tramping overhead, and a wonderful "spatting" of bolsters and
pillows;, and the light of a candle gleamed down
through some twenty knot-holes in the rough planks.
"Here we are, Jeannie; did you manage to keep
awake till we circumnavigated the remainder of those
big logs, yclept the bridge? "




ï~~RIDE ACROSS THE PRAIRIES.

57

"Alive and running; for after you betook yourself
to the hay, I just jumped out into your husband's
arms, and thence upon a big log, and walked over
with him. But the cracks were tremendous. Once I
put my foot quite through one of them, and lo! the
consequence!" and she held up one shoeless foot.
"I had broken my gaiter-string early in the day, but
had no other handy, and said nothing. So down it
went into the dead- sea below!"
"What did you do then-?"
"When my foot first slipped, I gave Mr. Lincoln's
arm such a jerk - I thought we were going quite
through together. 'Why Miss Lisle, are you hurt?'
said he, for I walked lame - those logs were terribly
rough.  ' No, thank you; are we almost there?'
SWithin a few rbds of the log-house.' And I walked
on, for I did n't mean to stop right there and make an
oration about that shoe, when it was too dark for the
audience to see my gestures."
Now the landlady appeared and " steeped the tea,"
which I will do her the justice to say was pretty good;
the gentlemen came in, and 'we gathered around the
table.
It was a good substantial repast, of fried pork, potatoes, stewed crab-apples, and Indian bread. The hostess, a smart, black-eyed Yankee woman, seemed pleased
to see us, and chatted like a mag-pie; the host dispensed pork and gravy like a gentleman. He had been
a merchant in New York; his wife was educated and
refined in her manners.
Here I might insert a paragraph about life's changes




ï~~58

ELLA LINCOLN.

and reverses; but it is half-past two o'clock; we have
done eating. "Go to bed, sleepy heads."
The stairs is a ladder with slats, the width of my
hand; and up We go - Ella and Jeannie piloted by
the landlady.
Beds! beds! beds! seven of them, all in a row,
and looking neatly.  Away in the corner was one
separated from the others by a quilt suspended to the
roof.
" You two ladies will take that; the gentlemen who
are with you the next." And Jeannie and Ella slept,
like two tired children, in the same chamber with all
their fellow travellers. Never were laid upon the same
pillow two beings more tenderly nurtured, more utterly
strangers to care and toil!
At six the next morning, with fresh horses and a
fine day before us, we travelled on. In the meantime
Mr. Trall and Mr. Lincoln had made themselves acquainted with the names of our fellow passengers, and
we were introduced to them separately.
Two miles brought us to a narrow strip of woodland, on the other side of which the road turned, running along the margin, with a low, wet prairie on the
right. Here and there a bush or stunted tree grew
along the slope, at the bottom of which was a pond.
The ground being hard, and our new driver having a
"brick in his hat," he thought to improve the time,
and struck the horses, reining them a trifle to the left,
when snap went the bolt again, and the wagon turned
a complete somerset, spilling us out, and rolling a part
of us down the hill. I caught in a bush; Jeannie




ï~~PARTING NEW FRIENDS.

59

went past me like a flash; some of the gentlemen
were buried under the wagon, the others away at the
bottom of the slope; while the driver was holding the
horses, and charging them - poor beasts! - with the
whole catastrophe.
" I say, gentlemen," he remarked, coolly, as the
more fortunate came to the rescue of their friends,
"if these ere colts had a had Tim Moody there to
break 'em when they were brought up, it wouldn't a
happened. No man could a driv 'em better."
"All safe?" shouted Jeannie, from the bottom of
the hill.
"All safe!" responded our friends at the wagon;
and then Jeannie led the concert -and such a burst
of bass and soprano never before rang through the
woods of Michigan.
There, I will not trouble the reader with a description of the exact manner in which we gathered ourselves up, and went on again, but only say, that amidst
snow-squalls and showers, cold winds and almost innumerable mishaps, we journeyed on, at last riding
all night as well as all day; and when we finally
hailed the " Garden City," Miss Lisle and myself had
not been undressed in fifty hours. There we separated
for our different places of destination, shaking hands
heartily, and expressing good wishes.
"God bless you, my daughter!" said dear, good
Mr. Trall, laying his hand affectionately upon my
head; " life is all before you, and you seem hardly
-fitted, by nature or education, for the vicissitudes of
Western society. But if sorrow should come, you




ï~~60                ELLA LINCOLN.
will bend before the blast like a reed, and lift up your
head when the storm is over; while Jeannie - my
own laughing Jeannie- will lie uprooted by the first
touch - killed by the first unkindness."
Years proved his word a true prophesy.




ï~~CHAPTER VIII.

"No splendid poverty, no smiling care,
No well-bred hate, or servile grandeur there."
MARIETTE, Ill., on the Piano River, was a small village, with two hotels, two churches, a saw, and flouring
mill, and eight or ten stores. It was the county capital,
with a forlorn court-house, and jail under it. It possessed a vast water-power, and every advantage for
becoming finally a place of importance. It was the
most available depot for the farmers throughout the
county; and every Saturday its merchants heaped up
their golden piles, the country women, for what reason
I know not, preferring that as a day for the selection
of new dresses.
"Allen Lincoln" was inscribed upon the front of
the largest store in the village; and he was one of the
most successful merchants in all prairie-land. He had
also an interest in the mills, and owned a large tract
of unimproved land in another county. He had been
a resident of Mariette two years. I first met him at a
mutual friend's in New York city.
"Ella, dear, this is our boar'ding-house," he said, as
we were set down in front of a moderately large
square hotel, quite imbedded in black mud, without
fence, tree, or any agreeable object upon which to rest
the eye. Inside, however, it was neat and well furnished for the times. We found the family pleasant,
6                               (61)




ï~~62

ELLA LINCOLN.

and the boarders gentlemanly. The landlady was one
of the best of women.
I missed the elegances to which I had been accustomed; but I was not unhappy for the want of them.
Allen studied my lightest wishes, and spent every hour
at home, he could spare from  business. We had
brought with us a few books; and I employed much
of the leisure during his absence in reading and scribbling rhyme.
I was cordially received by the ladies of Mariette;
and invitations to tea came in frequently. I walked,
and rode, and went out with the lady of the house, attended the little parties and "cotillon parties," hemmed
frills, painted flowers, and strung rhymes together; but
all in vain. Neither love nor duty, the pen nor pencil,
the social party nor ball-room, proved preventives of
home-sickness. I cried when Allen went out in the
morning, when he came in at noon, at tea-time, bedtime, all night, all the week, for two months.
"Allen, let us keep house. I feel the want of occupation; something to make me forget. You are out
so much of the time, that I dwell too much upon the
past. My own room seems like a little prison; and,
when neighbors call, they find me weeping. Even the
old washerwoman, when she brought home the clothes
to-day - poor, ignorant soul!- asked me very demurely
'if the masther had been afther batin me, shure? ' I
laughed then, for you are so kind; but, to confess all,
I fear I am getting somewhat homesick."
"Ella, my poor child! it would be indeed strange if
you were not. O, I have been very selfish! " and he




ï~~MA1VIRIETTE.:63

blended his own tears with mine. Then, for the first
time, I conquered myself.
"Forgive me, Allen! I will weep no more."
But the housekeeping? In just two weeks, we left
the hotel, and, with what furniture we could get, commenced housekeeping over the store -I, that hardly
knew a ladle from a gridiron, or flour from plaster,
with a dumb German girl, who could not raise a loaf
of bread, or turn a "flapjack."  And a fine time we
had of it! " The baker" was not there; there was no
restaurant, at which to buy a ready-baked chicken.
Betsy stared when I told her what I would like for
dinner, and bawled out, " Yaw!" then did the thing
exactly contrary, or asked me to "show" her, and I
did not know myself.
Sometimes we had breakfast at eight; sometimes
at ten; and on one occasion eleven, because we were
trying to bake flapjacks, which were made wrong, and
"stuck to the griddle." So, when Allen came up, and
noticed our progress, he took a basket, and went away
off, I never knew where, and bought bread. By the
time he returned, I was in the middle of a good cry.
"Betsy," said I, "if you did not know how to cook,
why did you come?"
"I came to learn," she replied.
Now, if Allen had even looked impatient, then Ella
would have never learned; but he smiled, opened his
basket, and said, "Poor Ella! I am sorry you are
obliged to fry yourself over the stove. I will find you
a more competent servant." Allen was a gentleman,
and I appreciated his kindness. He remembered how




ï~~64

ELLA LINCOLN.

"Ella Lee" had been sheltered from the very shadow
of care in her father's house, and knew that she was
suffering now for his sake.
Next day, "Betsy" gave place to "Martha;" the
next week," Martha" to " Sarah;" "Sarah " to " Susan;" and so they came and went, until, at last, we
succeeded in getting an excellent cook - an Irish
woman, aged forty. She remained four days, and we
liked her; but lo! when Sunday came, she went to
" church," and returned as drunk as a loafer  The
next day I dismissed her
"Ella, shall we board again? "
"No, sir; I shall learn to cook. I will have a little
girl to wash dishes, etc.; hire a woman to wash the
clothes and clean, weekly; and I will never have another full-grown woman to annoy me, until capable.of
giving her orders."
" Well done, Ella! at least, well said! But remember, I am your servant whenever you shall desire
to have a woman."
Six months from that date, I would not have "turned
upon my heel" to give place to the head cook of
Queen Victoria. But I had learned through much
tribulation, experiments, and questioning my neighbors.
Allen Lincoln moved into a large, convenient house,
with two servants; and I told them how to mnak&
puddings and pie-crust. Be liked to invite friends to
dinner; and I knew how to prepare the roast, and
season the sauces. We both liked evening parties;
and 1 was proud of my skill in the cakes and jellies.




ï~~MARIETTE.

65

Mariette improved rapidly, and so did the fortunes
of Allen Lincoln. He builded a new and elegant store,
improved the ground around Iris dwelling by trees and
shrubbery, and seemed on the high road to independence. Population rolled in like a flood, bearing on its
heterogeneous waves some jewels of intelligence and
refinement. There was room for all; and the good
and pure were like a band of brothers and sisters.
We were very happy, freed from those cold forms
which make eastern society a chain to the buoyant,
trustful heart. Our only "aristocracy" was that of
intellect.
Allen Lincoln was a kind, indulgent husband, a
successful mrerchant and speculator, a highly respected
citizen.
Allen Lincoln speculated in the town-lots of a
mushroom western city. One of those " great cities"
chalked out on the map by some lazy fellow, who
means to reap what the honest and industrious are
sowing.
Allen's step became less buoyant, his voice less
cheerful; and friends looked at me and sighed: " So
tenderly reared, nursed in affluence - God help her!"
6*




ï~~CHAPTER IX.

"Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
Many sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome at an Inn."
WE had thus far enjoyed a reasonable share of
Dame Fortune's plum pudding; but at last she had
seen fit to turn her back upon us, and we sat down,
not like two babies to cry over her fickleness, but to
consider our condition and decide upon a plan for the
future.
My husband, whose education was mercantile, and
who wielded an arm like a broomstick, could not think
of wood-sawing or ditching, and my own pale face
would hardly have recommended me to a lady who
wanted a hard job of work done. Buit I was strong
in resolution, and seeking an opportunity to turn my
poor abilities to advantage in the way of house-wifery,
I proposed and insisted upon " tavern keeping."
A single tear fell upon the hand he held in his, as
he thought of the daughter of luxury, his own pet
wife, foregoing tastes, and immuring herself within
the walls of a country tavern; then he replied like a
man: -
"What you. are willing to endure, I should be
ashamed to shrink from."
The winter set in in October.. Snow fell, the frost
(66)




ï~~LIFE IN THE LOG TAVERN.

67

incrusted the windows, and such a winter commenced
its rigorous reign as was never before witnessed in that
section of country.
My husband had contracted for a tavern north of
Chicago; and on the first of January we left our
warm, comfortable home, and with our two babes, a
young friend, and a little girl to assist in taking care
of the children, we set out for the new residence.
The children were delicate, and neither they nor their
mother had been out since the first snow; hence a
keen realization of the frosty air; but fie! were not
we going to "keep tavern.?"   Why mind a trifling
hardship!
At four o'clock on the second day we arrived at that
log tenement, the largest I ever saw. An old sign,
whose face had been washed so often by the rain that
it reminded us of an over-neat little girl's wooden doll,
whose face grows darker daily by frequent immersion,
was swinging and creaking between two unseerrntly
hickory posts. Although the first flush of its glory
had passed away, it still bore the wretched picture of
a farmer and his boy, binding each a sheaf of wheatthe wheat taller -than the man - and " Traveller's
Rest" was inscribed upon its forehead in letters of
grayish black.
"Dear Ella, here is our home," said my husband,
with a sigh, as one by one we stepped from the sleigh
out into the shovelled path.
"Aha! I am satisfied," I replied for his sake, yet
only half sincerely, for my heart beat like a frightened
rabbit's as I contrasted the new home and new duties




ï~~68

ELLA LINCOLN.

with the pleasant tenement I had left behind, and the
cares which seemed light in comparison with those
about to be assumed.
The landlord and landlady were elderly. They had
built that house, and there remained until the hoary
frosts of age hung heavily upon their temples. He
welcomed us on the outside; and entering, we were
introduced to all the married sons and daughters and
their children, who had come to bid them and the
good old home farewell!
One after another they left the paternal roof, and
settled a few miles away -yet none of them so far
distant that they could not visit their aged parents
sometimes, and come to them in times of sickness or
difficulty.
With tearful reverence, from the fathers and mothers
of many children, to the "wee bit, toddling" babies,
they kissed those wrinkled faces, and spoke a low
" God bless you," and then the sleigh-bells jingled at
the door, the buffalo robes were drawn up to their very
noses, and away they went, the horses leaping like
reindeer over the prairie.
Doubtless many a tear' fell upon the wide stone
hearths of their humble homes that night, and, "well
the dear old home is gone out of the family," was
uttered by many a sobbing voice - those voices which
first lisped the name of "mother," while the wolves
howled within the shadows of those tall, rude 'chimneys, and the traveller ventured not out after nightfall
upon these pathless prairies.  Oh, the changes of
earth!




ï~~LIFE IN THE LOG TAVERN.

69

The ex-landlord and lady remained with us, as
boarders, for a few months. They were quiet and
good people, social and refined, in their way, and no
doubt understood the philosophy of getting along
smoothly in a country. log tavern better than their
unsophisticated successors.
When the old lady saw a fire kindled on every one
of the six rude stone hearths, she said to me, with an
equivocal smile, " Wood is cheap, but flesh and blood
isn't; and, at the rate you are burning wood, it will
take one hired man to haul it from the woods, another
to cut it at the door." And, when she noticed the
abundance with which we welcomed our travellers,
she very kindly whispered in my ear a word about
"economy."
We had yet the little girl we had brought with us
from town, and we hired the young lady who had
assisted our predecessors, to do the same for us. But
her ladyship saw fit to be displeased with me, because,
as she expressed it, I "was a town lady, had big notions, stuck up my nose at the old log house, held
my baby more than there was any need of, and wasn't
fit to keep tavern at all." The first morning that I
came in from dream-land to congratulate myself that
I was mistress of the " Traveller's Rest," my eyes
opened upon a large hickory fire, which Mr. Lincoln
had kindled in the room. There he stood, with carnation cheeks and a forehead wet with perspiration; for
he had had "a time of it," setting that pyramid of
wood and chips "agoing," with one pair of unaided
lungs.




ï~~70

ELLA LINCOLN.

" Lie right there, Ella, for the babe is not well, and
you yourself have a cold. I will see to the breakfast."
I looked my gratitude for his kindness, and then
turned my face to the wall, to think how very strange
it was that Ella Lincoln, whose first loaf of bread was
made after marriage, should be really there, with great
barrels, boxes, and sacks all around her, filled with
flour, pork, lard, and molasses; and I could hardly
realize that I was to convert them into other forms,
and render them meet for the acceptance of our hungry customers,- when lo! I was startled in the midst
of my morning's reverie about changes in general, and
mine in particular, by a harsh voice in my room1.
saying, -
" Get up, Miss Lincoln; it's seven o'clock."
"That's my own business," I replied, somewhat
sharply for me, the newly installed landlady of the
" Traveller's Re st;" and out went madam, slamming
the door, and saying she " never saw a landlady before
too lazy to get up and help about the breakfast."
There were two babies in that bed then for about
five minutes, till the big baby grew ashamed of herself.
The atmosphere of the room had yielded to the
influence of the fire; and I stole softly away from the
baby's side, dressed, and went to the dining-room.
There I found some respectable travellers at breakfast;
and husband was doing the honors of hot griddlecakes, steak, and coffee, all gotten up under his superintendence; for he was the prince of landlords the
very first day of his initiation. Of course, seeing all
things as they should be, conciliated my temper; and,




ï~~LIFE IN THE LOG TAVERN.

71

not knowing how to spare the sweet damsel just then,
I leaned to the side of utility, and concluded not to
send her away.
This resolution was not lasting. One of the neighbors, who lived a mile away, had a chance conversation
with her about "hired girls being as good as anybody;"
and her insolence increased until I could enduie it no
longer, and dismissed her
Then came the tug of war. I cooked, made beds,
swept, and performed all manner of household work,
washing excepted, with the aid of the little girl only,
and the occasional kind offices of my husband.
Pies, puddings, and Johnny-cakes! how I rolled,
stirred, kneaded and baked ye! It was a great school
for pastry-making, that tavern kitchen - an excellent
school for a young lady who had made her first batch
of biscuit after marriage. I improved in my managemnent, soon arriving at such perfection that I could
persevere in getting up a dinner for ten, with Master
Baby upon one arm, protesting against it loudly. At
last, we procured a good-tempered, excellent woman,
quick as a flash, and a host of herself.
In the. mean time, our family had increased by the
addition of two respectable bachelor farmers, two
wood-choppers, and Jimmy, an Irishman, whose business was to haul and cut our wood, build the fires, and
attend to all out-door work. He was tall and goodlooking, with sandy hair, blue eyes, a smooth chin, and
lips I cannbt describe, because they were never still
long enough to decide upon their exactexpression.
Jimmy was skilled in roots and herbs, was a pro



ï~~72

ELLA LINCOLN.

fessed " cattle and horse doctor," and familiar with
"charms," which were all-potent to cure the toothache, and expel "witches."
"Charley, the best horse, is dying! " said my husband one morning, with tears swimming in his eyes,
and the sweat standing in drops upon his forehead.
"Charley? then are we ruined. He is worth more
than anything we possess, outside our indomitable
perseverance. Can nothing be done? What shall we
do? Die! he must not die. O dear! have you a
horse doctor?"
" Yes, and forty men or.more. Every traveller has
stopped to look at him for the last two hours. There
he lies, stretched out and stiff, breathing only."
"Please, nMa'am, have you a ball of twine? " said
Jimmy, rushing into the house, and puffing like a highpressure steamer. " You see, ma'am, it's an errand
I've been doing about three miles over the prairie
afoot, for I never take a horse when the distance is but
a step or two; and little did I think to get back again,
and find Charley in such a poor way. But it's only
the worms that's a eaten up the insides of him intirely;
and I know a spell - a charm like - that I learned in
ould Ireland, that will cure him."  And, taking the
ball, he commenced unwinding it, and tying here and
there a knot along the cord; as he did so, re-winding
it upon a cob which he had brought in. Then he
commenced repeating some gibberish, and started for
the barn, tying knots and winding all the way.
Well, " truth is stranger than fiction." Jimmy was
hailed with shouts of laughter, as he sat down against




ï~~LIFE IN THE LOG TAVERN.

73

Charley's head, and commenced unwinding that cord,
and untying those knots, at the same time putting his
mouth close to his ear, and whispering unintelligible
words therein.
The laughter had subsided into respectful soberness,
and the forty looked on in silence.
Death inspires solemnity and dread, even when we
witness his relentless dealing with a poor, dumb creature; and, as the spasmodic breath upheaved the sleek
sides of poor " Charley," and his wide nostrils seemed
to gasp" for air, other eyes than the afflicted owner's
gazed upon him through the mists of sympathy.
But see! he starts! Those long limbs are gathered
up in an effort to regain his feet; the glazed eyes light
up with intelligence; he gives one loud, cheerful snoth;
and -" get out of his way, gentlemen! " - he is
eating oats again. There is heard a loud, wild shout
of " Long live Jimmy!" the clapping of fourscore
hands; and the witnesses of that wonderful' transformation from the image of death to life disperse, and
go home to tell their families " how strange it was that
the horse revived only under the treatnrent of Jimmy
- strange that it happened so."  So thought Ella
Lincoln, taking first lessons in farriery; and I was as
proud of Jimmy as Jimmy was of his success.
Reader, can you realize how happiness may nestle
her bright head in the bosom of one who gazes from.
dayr to day upon the beams and plank floors of a
prairie hotel, - with old-fashioned chimneys, and fireplaces so large that a little army might ensconce itself
in the corners; with tiny seven-by-nine window-panes,
7




ï~~.74

ELLA LINCOLN

and whitewashed doors with wooden latches? Can
you imagine that such a dwelling is invulnerable to
wind and storm; and, if the heart be in tune, the
dweller therein may rise and rest, and sing, "Away
dull care!" as she performs life's varied duties, with
as little real trouble as if those doors were made of
ivory, beautifully wrought, and swung on golden
hinges?
SWith poverty, give me a secluded home, where few
know, none question me, with a reasonable amount of
life's comforts, not luxuries, a good hickory fire, and
health, not forgetting a few choice books, a bundle of
quills, and an ink-bottle.
Our house, situated upon a bluff, fronted a wide,
beautiful stream, bordered on the opposite side by a
strip of woodland. I sat with my babe upon my knee,
gazing away over that belt of prairie-land which
skirted the river, and watching the travellers, in sleighs
and on horseback, who moved along like floating
specks upon a foamy sea. The little ones clapped
their hands and shouted as they passed, hearing the
sounds of the distant bells ringing melodiously upon
the clear, keen atmosphere.
Yes, then I was comparatively happy. Poverty had
come, but not in her harshest form. I had still a home,
though a humble one; and the loved ones were there
* all there!
William Miller had prophesied the speedy termination of all things; and, although not a "Millerite," I
confess to having felt shivery at times; for the "signs"
in the earth, air, and sky were portentous that winter.




ï~~LIFE IN THE LOG TAVERN,

We had "signs" in the house, too, which were somewhat alarming - some half a dozen long faces, and
lips that preached " Millerism" from sunrise till midnight. The old lady-boarder, the ex-landlady, was
very eloquent upon the subject, and made many proselytes in the neighborhood, if it may be called a neighborhood where the nearest neighbor is a mile away.
That William Miller was a true philanthropist. Under
the genial influence of his doctrine, honesty took root,
and shot up, and "spread like a green bay tree," until
that fatal day melted quietly away into the regions
beyond sundown, when, alas! it withered in a night,
like a crushed mushroom.
Wind, rain, hail, and snow! What a winter was
that! In point of tediousness, was it ever equalld?
No wonder we had "an unusual display of" - long
faces.
An important comet was visible at that time; the
aurora borealis was peculiarly changeful and brilliant;
and the more observing saw " signs and wonders"
above and below. But my own dull soul did not
awake to any sights or sounds far beyond the andirons;
and, being overwhelmed with the newness and variety
of my duties, I left the '~ final consummation" to
people of leisure. Nevertheless, she who holds this
pen " owns up" to a medium-sized "bump of marvellousness," and a measure of superstition.
You smile; you are above being superstitious. Can
you listen to a well told " ghost" story without feeling
the slightest shiver run through your nerves? If you
should be out in the night, and a tall, white figure




ï~~'76

ELLA LINCOLN.

should cross the darkness between yourself and some
old ruin, famous for apparitions, would not, a little
moisture gather on your forehead, and your pulse beat
faster? and if that "white thing" should turn and
beckon, and come after you, would not you "dcut
stick," and around the corner like a love message by
lightning?  Wouldn't you?  Then, since you are superstitious, the very least bit if you please, sit down
patiently, and hear the story about our Jimmy, who
was somewhat given to belief in the supernatural, as
he was to the occasional taste "of the contents of the
bottle.
Our residence was eight miles from the city; and
sometimes, when Jimmy returned from   his errands
there, he was intoxicated. He was always penitent
next day, however; and being so useful, faithful to our
interests, and quite harmless, even when in that unfortunate state, we had not the self-denial to bid him
leave us.
"I've stopped drinkin', ma'am," said Jimmy, one
day, as he threw a large armful of wood into the capacious fire-place.
"Well, Jimmy, I'm glad you have decided to reform.
It is so dreadful for a young man to go down to a
drunkard's grave.! O, think of it, and never wet your
lips with that poison again, and you may become one
of the first citizens of the state. You may soon earn
enough to buy a farm, fence and stock it, and then you
may marry a good wife, and live happily all your days.
It is so wicked, too, to get drunk!"
" Faith, and that isn't the thing at all, ma'am," said




ï~~LIFE IN THE LOG TAVERN.

77

he, turning square round, and presenting such a rueful
countenance that I felt the muscles of my mouth
giving way, and drew my hand over it as a screen.
"Well, Jimmy, what is it? "
"To speak the truth, ma'am, I'm neither a -Catholic
nor a Protestant; for my father was one, and my
mother the other, and to have believed either one of
them would have made the other a liar; so I thought,
to treat them equally well, I'd just believe nothing at
all.
"But the end of the world has begun already; and
there's great signs in the clouds, and the sky, and the
earth; and I have seen 'em. There's that great longtailed comet, that comes out in the sky every night,
and blazes and burns, and scares all the priests and
gastronemers, and the common people - that's in the
west.
"And away in the north is that roarin' borealis, that
flashes and flares like a tallow candle; and then it
turns into rollin' logs like, as if these hickory sticks
was all up iW the sky yonder, all of a coal; and the
divil himself (savin' your presence) was there with his
cloven foot, keeping 'em all agoing.
" And there's been a great earthquake, and swallowed up ' Divers Place' (where that is I don't know,
as I never studied geography); and the very divil's to
pay all over the world, with shipwracks and humors of
war (excepting ould Ireland, that hasn't been heard
from); and a hin has laid an egg in one of them big
barn-yards in the city of New York, and right on the
7*




ï~~78

ELLA LINCOLN.

shell of it is plinted, in ligible writing, ' The world's to
end."
"And there is one Mr. Miller, a reverend gentleman,
a Protestant priest, who is learned in the Scriptures,
and all sorts of logics and.rithmetics - he is preaching
in tents and houses about the end of the world; and
so, ma'am, I wouldn't like to be caught in a spree on
the day of the conflageration. I will reform intirely,
or it might be the worse for me."
Two months had fled. Seldom during all that time
had we been able to see out without first scratching a
hole in the frost on the pane. Men had frozen to death
on the prairie; cattle died of starvation; and the new
settlers had with difficulty obtained necessary provisions from the towns. Even those who were well
supplied had sighed for spring, weary of solitude,
storms, and snow-banks.
That comet had gone off demurely, without dropping a single spark from its fiery skirts; and the
northern lights had kindled, rolled, and changed into
all manner of shapes, without damage to the poor
earth-worms below. That almost unremitted hurricane of wind, which had swept through the giant oaks
around our dwelling, lifting miniature avalanches from
our bluff, and scattering them over the prairie below,
had subsided into more genial breezes; whilst those
great, tall snow-banks yielded slowly to a more kindly
atmosphere.
He who rules over the elements never forgets his
children; and, though March was but a fourth edition
of December, April came smiling in, with soft south




ï~~LIFE IN THE LOG TAVERN.

79

winds and an unclouded sun. The green grass sprang
up in patches, while the snow yet lingered in less protected spots. The little blue and yellow flowers peeped
slyly up; the birds came with cheerful songs; and the
brooks, released from long imprisonment, murmured
low, pleasant music.
But where was ever a light without a shadow? Our
Jimmy got drunk again.
"Why, Jimmy! have you forgotten your promise?"
"Faith, ma'am, I haven't, but I've broken it; and a
fool I was when I made it.
" You see, ma'am, that star with a tail to it, that
roarin' borealis, and the shipwracks and earthquakes,
the egg with the printin' on it, and all the scare-crows,
was just a trick of that are Protestant priest and the
divil (savin' your presence); and, after all, the earth
hasn't stirred a peg for 'em.  The green grass is
agrowin' again.
"And the cravin' afther the liquor has come on
again, and it's eatin', me up intirely; and it's the son
of my father I am, and the love of the liquor was bred
in every bone of my body.
"But I've come in to bid you good bye, ma'am; for
the masther is afther bein' out of patience wih me for
takin' up this 'vile habit' again, as he is pleased to call
it, and says, if I will drink, I must find another place.
So I must be going. God bless you! May you be
young and handsome all your lifetime, and a hundred
years afther! Good bye, ma'am!"
Poor Jimmy! with his honest heart, herculean frame,
and every advantage for earning money and gaining




ï~~80

ELLA LINCOLN.

respectability as a tiller of western soil, he may have
already gone down to a drunkard's grave. O Rum!
thou art as relentless as death - as unpitying as the
grave!
Many amusing and some provoking incidents occurred during our experience in tavern-keeping. Sometimes the house was full to overflowing of natives of
the "Emerald Isle," on their way to and from the city;
and they would entertain us with merry songs by the
wholesale, making the very logs of the house keep time
to their music. Sleep before midnight was an absurdity. Sometimes families of beggars would turn in at
nightfall, whom we could not refuse to shelter, although
we pitied the sheets. Once, a family of two persons
"put up-" which became three before morning; and
they all staid a fortnight - one of them a little fellow,
who sometimes made "night hideous" with his eloquence; and the almost incessant call for "gruel" and
"toast" was extremely troublesome to the "landlady,"
with but two "helps.".
Once we were taken by storm by a family of "cooking movers." (" Cooking movers" are travellers who
carry along with them raw meats and crude potatoes,
and their own beds and bedding. At night, they pay
for the use of a fire, and floors to spread their beds
upon.) We were so crowded and mingled together
that no one knew, hardly, which pair of feet was his
own, for they counted fifteen children, besides scores
of adults; and, when the hurry and din of their getting their suppers and washing their dishes had subsided, they stretched themselves over at least two




ï~~LIFE IZ THE LOG TAVERN.           81
thirds of the floor in the house. Then we said, in our
hearts, " Peace be unto youi! pleasait dreams, and an
early exit in the morning!"
So they did go early; but, when we of the family
got up, not a pound of tea, coffee, or loaf-sugar could
be found in the house, some of those worthies having
slept in the storeroom.
We held a family council about the utility of pursuing them, but concluded that, there being eight
strong men among them, nothing short of a regiment
could take them, and soldiers did not parade on that
prairie; so we let the rascals go.




ï~~CHAPTER X.

"Go till the ground" - said God to man"Subdue the earth; it shall he thine;"
How grand, how glorious was the plan,
How wise the Law divine.
"ELLA, now that you have sufficiently proved your
talents for playing ' the landlady,' how would it suit you
now to be.a farmer's wife? A gentleman at Hollyville,
who is consumptive, is about to let his farm and go
East, hoping thereby to prolong his life. - It is one of
the finest farms in Cook county, containing several
hundred acres of land under cultivation; the rest is
beautiful meadow. The house is large and convenient; and he will let it partly furnished. It is painted
white, has green blinds, and a pretty yard in front.
The garden is extra; there is a fine well at the door;
and with the place he lets ten fine cows."
"I am content as I am; but if you can do as well
farming, the frame house and all the other comforts
will be just the thing. What of the neighborhood?"
"Oh, that will suit you- all Germans; not a word
of English spoken there. You will have no disagreeable old women to watch over your housekeeping, no
fears lest the rattlesnakes may creep in through the
joints of the logs. What say you?"
"As you please; I long to be so situated that I can
take time to read and write once more."
(82)




ï~~ON THE PRAIRIE FARM.

83

"But, my dear, that farm is also a hotel. However,
your cares would not be" increased, but diminished;
for the establishment is so large that you cannot begin
to be the housekeeper. I will keep as boarders yourself and the little pnes."
"My other self, my counsel's consistorr,
My oracle, my prophet! my dear cousin!
I, as a child, will go by thy direction
to Hollyville, Mexico, or Mecca." "  How soon? "
"Next week."
1 was pleased with the new, place. We were fortunate in securing good servants; and, although the
acknowledged mistress of the establishment, as Mr.
Lincoln had promised, I had but little to attend to,
except the care of the children. I found much time to
cultivate my intellect, and indulged a natural propensity to write.
Such cream and butter, fresh eggs and poultry, vegetables of our own raising, and berries from our own
garden as we had then, you never saw, city readers!
We had also all fruits of the quicker growth, peaches,
plums, and cherries. Apple and pear trees were there,
but yet small, it being but a few years since the settlement of that prairie. The fine large flock of poultry
had been left as an extra inducement for us to take
good care of the property.
One of the German women was an excellent cook;
the other managed the dairy very skilfully. We had
also a German and his wife, who both worked in the
field, neither of whomn could speak a word of English.
The little girl who accompanied us from town to the




ï~~84

ELLA LINCOLN.

log house still remained, and a young man attended to
gentlemen that called. Our company was respectable;
profits satisfactory. I sometimes glanced at the table
before the bell rang, to see that everything was in its
proper place, and then I hid myself again in my room.
Sometimes "the landlady" was inquired for by the
social wives of farmers who had stopped for the night;
but she never appeared, unless some sick person needed
her especial care.
Ella Lincoln wished for no other society than that
of her own family. She knew that her pale, thoughtful countenance and reserved air were not in keeping
with her surroundings; and she dreaded lynx-eyed
curiosity and the impertinent questions of unsympathizing coarseness.
So long as an absolute necessity for her being continually before the crowd remained, she shrank not
from the post of duty; when that necessity was removed, she preferred to be unseen. The prejudices
of her childhood clung to her in misfortune; she had
not quite succeeded in conquering herself.
We had taken possession of " Hollyville House" on
the first of' April. The spring had been cold and
backward, with copious showers of rain. But June
came blushing in with mild breezes and warm sunshine, scattering her rich purple and golden blossoms
over the prairie, and quickening vegetation in the fields
and gardens. We had promise,of an abtndant harvest, and my husband toiled for it with unremitted
energy. He arose early and retired late, attending to
his varied duties like a man determined to conquer the
difficulties which beset his onward march.




ï~~ALLEN S SICKNESS.

85

But what avails industry and carefulness when He
in whose hands we are says, " No farther?"
On a warmer day than usual he came into my
room, looking pale, and sank into a chair.
" Ella, I am sick. I was out in the field, and felt a
strange dizziness coming over me, and so I lay down
on the ground.   When my consciousness returned,
the men were carrying me home. They say that I
was sun-struck. I do not think so. I have not been
well for a fortnight, but did not wish to disturb you;
hoped to be better soon, and said nothing. I think I
am coming down of fever. My throat is dry and sore;
my head aches, and my knees tremble as I walk. Ella,
what will you do if I am sick long? What can you
do if I should never get well?"
"Borrow no trouble about me, dear Allen. I have
had a long rest since I have been 'boarding' with you
at your farm hotel; it is time that I should work again.
I can take your plac in the management of the
house, and nurse you till you get well. So go to bed
directly. The little girl must stop assisting the cook,
and give her undivided time to the children. The farm
must be entrtsted to the Dutchman and his wife.
There, all is right; go, try to sleep an hour, and perhaps you may feel better."
I knew that he would not be better in an hour, but
that he was attacked with bilious fever in its worst
form, and migh. need a good nurse and skilful physician for many weeks. The nurse was there, but where
was the physician?
In the German village, half a mile from the house,




ï~~86

ELLA LINCOLN.

resided a German who was considered successful as
a "Root Doctor," but there was not an educated physician within twenty miles.
After leaving him in a darkened roorm an hour, I
found he had not slept, and was in a burning fever.
"Will you have a physician called, Allen?"
" A physician?  Why, there's old Doctor Von
Schneeder, of the settlement, vwould steam me into
nonentity in half a day; and those city M. D's., with
their calomel and mysticism, would charge without
mercy - a dollar a minute for their time - and we
cannot pay them. Well, if you say so, Ella, we will
have the Dutchman begin; and if he does n't succeed,
there will be time enough for the ' regulars' to come
over and see me off respectably."
" Oh, Allen, how can you trifle, when you are so
very sick?"
Doctor Von Schneeder was no novice in the healing
art. In three weeks the patient sat up in his room;
the fourth, he was walking slowly about the grounds.
The fact is, the nurse was as instrumental in his
recovery as the doctor, and taking into consideration
the duties she assumed in the landlord's stead, I claim
for her two-thirds of the applause.
The healthsome glow had not yet returned to the
cheek of the father, when little Harry, the older of the
children, was seized with the same malady.
"I am   sick, mamma; so sick," he said, pitifully,
laying his little head in my lap; "please to put the
baby down and hold me, just,a little while."
I took the sweet sufferer in my arms, and laid his




ï~~HARRY'S SICKNESS.

87

velvet cheek against my own; it was hot with fever.
I put my hand over his little heart - it beat like a
frightened bird's. While I yet pressed his dear form
to my bosom, thinking what to do, he started, almost
springing out of my arms; his eyelids rose and fell
spasmodically, his teeth closed like a vice, and I
screamed for help. It was ten, A. M.
At twelve o'clock, P. M., he lay before us exhausted,
and white as the pillow which supported his head.
Until that hour he had incessant convulsions.
With tender nursing, and the attentions of good
Doctor Von Sdhneeder, he too was soon upon his feet
again.
Mr. Lincoln was now able to take charge of his
own duties in the house, and Ella took 'time to cry.
I was weary and worn, and somewhat discouraged
about the unhealthfulness of the place; and all of
life's sweet poetry seemed merging into a long dull
chapter of unwritten prose.
My turn came also; and then the cook and chambermaid's, and the laborers in the fields - and before
October, every living soul whose home was at Hollyville House, "baby" excepted, had become experimentally convinced of the skill of Doctor Von
Schneeder.
But, "long wet, long dry; "' and so of troubles in
Western fevers. In the vicinities of marshes, or as
they ar called there "sloughs," they come and go
yearly, leaving behind them  sallow faces and obstructed livers.
The Western towns which are located upon dry




ï~~88

ELLA LINCOLN.

prairies are healthsome and pleasant, and vice versa.
Let the traveller in search of a home select high,
clean prairie land; then plant out a grove of trees to
shelter his house, dig-a well at the door, and lay out a
beautiful garden, and he has a little "Eden" of his
own, barring the rattlesnakes, which are truly pestiferous upon all fenced lands.
Outside the farms, thousands of them fall victims to
the hogs, that shovel them up with their- long underjaws, like so many precious morsels. Think of this,
O ye pork eaters! What a delightful association of
ideas -pork and snakes!
I never learned whether or not their pigships devour
snakes of lower castes - striped or green, for instance,
but presume they do.
Snakes, although they never injured me, have always
been to me objects of disgust and dread. I never
could look upon the very smallest of the loathsome
creatures without a thrill of horror running through
my veins.   What then was my utter consternation
when, looking out of my chamber window, I saw my
own blessed "baby" playing with "pussy" and a
moderately large striped snake. Pussey had caught it,
and while she yet held it in her mouth, "Baby" had
lifted both together, and put them into a chip-basketso I inferred when I saw him tipping the basket this
way and that, and shouting as pussy played with her
prize.  I did not wait for pussy to decapitate that
crawling imp; I did not speak to her civilly again in a
fortnight, and I have never kissed a cat since.
" In4deed, Mrs. Lincoln, I'm very sorry! I only left




ï~~SNAKES AND WOLVES.

89

him there, playing with the basket, while I went to see
the new calf," said the little 'repentant nurse, wiping
her eyes with her apron.
On another occasion I was returning from the garden, and lo! there lay a large black snake upon the
door-sill. It was twilight, and I could not see exactly
whether he was spotted; so I did not wait for him to
introduce himself, and tell to what family he belonged,
but made all haste for the front door; and I passed
through to the kitchen, telling the cook, who stole a
march upon him with a tea-kettle full of hot water,
and, I opine, if he had been asked the next day to
what particular family of snakes he belonged, he
would have been puzzled to frame a reply.
I might tell you many snake stories, friends, but I
fear you would think them all " fish stories." Were I
sure you. would believe me, I should state that early
one Sabbath morning we found one in the dining-room
under the table, the same week another in the parlor,
both harmless, however, and they seemed to have a
subterranean city near the barn.
The time of wild beasts had nearly passed by before
it was our lot to reside upon the prairies. We sometimes heard of panthers, never of beai's; we saw a
few wolves. Some unfeeling boys captured a wolf in
our cornfield, and, after wounding it, muzzled its
nose, then dragged it into the road, and spent several
hours in tormenting it. Its piteous cries disturbed us all,
and frightened the little on6s. They were German boys,
who did not understand our language, hence I could
not expostulate with them upon their unfeeling con8*




ï~~90

ELLA LINCOLN.

duct, but sent one of the German girls with a handful
of cakes to tell them they might have them if they
would take the poor wolf away out of sight and kill
it immediately; and we heard no more of them.
Duringthe twenty-six months that we spent upon
that prairie we heard but one sermon. At Hollyville
there was a German Lutheran Church, where the
preaching was in that language.  We had become
somewhat acquainted with the minister, and requested
him to preach once in English. He did so, and that
sermon would have graced any pulpit in the commonwealth.  The congregation smiled, as he played so
harmoniously with those syllables, which to them
conveyed no meaning; and we felt conscience striken
in thus monopolizing    all of that eloquent discourse. That such a man should be the pastor of
a people illiterate, even in their own language, was
a mystery.
The profits of the farm were satisfactory. Hans
and his wife Margaret had been faithful, and indeed
all persons employed upon the place merited our
warmest gratitude for their industry and fidelity to
our interests. We had not a --stereotyped "harvest
home," as our German neighbors, but gathered in all
the rich gifts of our Heavenly Father in quiet thankfulness, sufficiently strong-handed of ourselves. An.y
unusual commotion in the family would have injured
the interests of the "hotel."
By the way, I will stop a moment to say, that after
I was called to "face the music" in my husband's
stead ~n welcoming men women and children to the




ï~~MAKING CLOTHES.

91

hospitalities of "Hollyville House," it never again
seemed exactly convenient for me to decline a certain
portion of the responsibilities I had assumed.  As
soon as harvest was over, the Dutchman and his wife
were dismissed, leaving more out-door employment for
"John," the man-of-all-work; and "Mr. Lincoln"
being sometimes obliged to do the lighter parts of
John's work, " Mrs. Lincoln" in turn assumed the
lighter duties of her "liege lord."
Then there was a call for. an industrious hand at
the needle,,as the autumn approached, and the little
ones were in need of warm flannels and hose. Shirts
were needed, too, in place of those now    waxing
thin; and when the fall sewing was really at an end,
winter was far advanced. At the "log house" I had
assisted so much in the pastry, etc., that I had not
felt it my duty to offer my services as seamstress
generally, but now I had leisure, for economy's sake
I felt it right that it should be turned to a good
account.
I was not a genius in the way of cutting, snaping,
and putting seams together, but I had in all other
departments found that "where there was the will,
there was a way," and I meant in this to find the
"way."
Such a    way.!"  One day Mr. Lincoln returned
from the city with a pair of heavy cassimeres, cut by
a fashionable tailor, and said to the little girl: " Annie,
will you run 'over to the settlement with this bundle,
and ask Mrs. Ross, the tailoress, to do the work as
soon as she. can?"




ï~~92

ELLA LINCOLN.

"What is it, Allen?"
"A pair of pantaloons."
"Let me make them - please do!"
"You, Ella!"   And you should have heard him
laugh.
"Yes, me, Ella; I insist upon it. Why not I?
I've seen others sew upon cloth, and 1 know 1 can."
"Well, take your own way.      You wont spoil
them, will you?"
Better might I have undertaken to build a ship or
reduce a fortress. Wherever there was a notch, there
was no corresponding corner; and the corners came
opposite strait edges, and they were twistified and mystified, and wrong side up and rear side foremost; and
the more I tried, the worse they grew.
At last, coming to the pockets, the most difficult of
all, and finding them extremely obstinate about "going
in," I took the liberty to trim them off, to fit them to
the "pigeon hole" I had left for them, stitching them
resolutely in. To be sure they would scarce admit my
own little fist; they must be right -didn't a fashionable tailor cut them? And the seams gathered here
and there; but that was the tailor's fault; he cut them
too long on one side. At any rate they were strong -
no rip to those seams!
"Well, Allen, they are done; not quite so handsomely finished as if Mrs. Ross had made them, but
you know I've saved the money."
" Thank you, Ella, I am pleased with your work."
And he was " pleased;" so well " pleased" that he
laughed till I cried, and ended his uncivil behavior




ï~~THE PANTALOONS.               93
by saying, he " wished it had happened before he had
the fever, there would have been less need of Doctor
Von Schneeder."
I never saw those cassimeres afterwards. " Our
paths were thenceforth separate."




ï~~CHAPTER XI.

"Not in vain the distance beckons;
Forward, forward, let us range."
THE second year at Hollyville was in all respects
more fortunate than the first, the crops being heavier,
the summer less sickly, and the travelling custom much
increased.
Allen was inclined to return to Mariette; and I was
glad to hear him say, "We will go home. There I
will have a small store, do a cash business, and we can
live comfortably, though not extravagantly. Friends
will rally around me for the sake of ' auld lang syne '
and you, Ella, will be restored to congenial society."
Mariette had grown astonishingly during our absence. A new sign, with an unknown name, in gilt
letters, had taken the place of " Allen Lincoln's; " and
new faces looked out of the windows as I passed our
once pleasant home. The trees that Allen had planted
had grown taller, and the vines that I had trained were
still there, heavy with foliage. But I dashed away the
intruding tear, for friends were calling my name from
the windows, all along the street, and coming to meet
me, and give me such a welcome as only true-hearted
western women know how to give. We took possession of a small, neat cottage; and life seemed fair
again. Not a friend had deserted us, and Allen's old
customers came flocking to the smaller store.
(94)




ï~~RETURN TO MARIETTE.

95

A year rolled on, and a competence rolled in.
A church had been erected during our absenceMy mother's church! and again I remembered old
Peggy's ' Saturday' warning -'" Well, Miss Ella, tomorrow'll be Sunday, if you and I lives to see it " -
and her concluding words --- "forever and forever."
My sainted mother's church! Not the old stone
church, with the small square windows, the old-fashioned sounding-board over the pulpit, but a place
where I heard the same teachings which fell from her
lips in the long ago,
"How often has the thought
Of my mourned mother brought
Peace to my troubled spirit, and new power
The tempter to repel."
However, from conviction, our religious views may
change as years roll on, the true-hearted child still
holds in solemn reverence his mother's faith.
" How do you like my partner, Ella? " asked Allen,
with flushed cheek and brow, the same morning he
drew up an article of copartnership with.Ralph Burt,
late of Boston, Mass.
"He looks well, is gentlemanly and intelligent; of
course, I cannot judge of his business capacities."
" I'll tell you, Ella; I have been doing well, but wish
to do better. Mr. Burt is rich, and seems honest.
His property consists principally of land, of which he
holds a vast amount; and he wishes to dispose. of it
all, and go into the mercantile business. He promises




ï~~96

ELLA LINCOLN.

to put a thousand into the concern immediately, the
rest after the land-sales. I shall go on swimminglj
with him."
"There is an old saying, Allen, ' Let well enough
alone.'"
"And another, Ella,' Nothing venture, nothing have.'"
A fortnight later, he said, " My dear, Mr. Burt goes
to New York for goods in my stead."
" Has he put his share into the firm?"
"No, but he will, soon. I have thought it better for
him to take what I have on hand, Iand purchase a
pretty variety of goods now; and one of us will go on
again in midsummer. He is acquainted with some of
the best houses in the city, and can purchase at as
good advantage as myself."
Ralph Burt went - to Texas. Allen went, after him,
to New York, and, not finding him, compromised with
his creditors, returned, gave up the store, and hired as
clerk to the gentleman that became its master. He
had no one to whom to look Tfor help, having received
and used my patrimony before his first failure. I leave
comments to those who love his memory less.
Poor Allen! The villanies of that man unnerved
him. He went about his duties with a heavy heart,
discouraged.
I too was heart-weary, but did not utterly despond.
There were the little ones, and for their sakes we must
still struggle on. My first thought was, how I should
curtail expenses. We were living comfortably, not
extravagantly. I was willing to suffer inconvenience,
and proposed that we should take a cheaper house, for
rents had risen at Mariette.




ï~~THE OLD RED HOUSE.

97

"A cheaper house? This is small, Ella."
"Never mind that; it is neat and pretty, hence commands a high rent. We will take an old one, in a less
pleasant situation - any kind of tenement that will
shelter us from the storm. I wish to save a portion
of your salary. There I will in a measure withdraw
myself from society, and do my own work with the
aid of a little girl. We must learn to tack amidst
these flaws of fortune. Never while we have heads to
plan, or hearts to work, let us drift helplessly into the
gulf of despair."
"God bless you, Ella! I will try to be a man, let
what may come, for your sake. But, when I think of
the luxuries which surrounded you in the home of your
childhood, that there you had no wish not gratified,
and again of what you have suffered for my sake, I
am almost mad. Worse than all, I have wasted your
property with mine! O, why did your father 'answer
a fool according to his folly'? "
"Hush, Allen! you do not know all!"
It was a small, red house, with a single door. and
two windows in front, which had been slightly built at
first, and greatly abused by its successive tenants.
Below was one room and kitchen; the roof over the
kitchen leaked sadly. Up stairs was a small, walled
chamber in one corner; the rest, a garret. There was
a yard and vegetable garden. An old oak shaded. the
house in front, and a wild hop-vine hung luxuriantly
over the kitchen window. Along the garden fence
grew sunflowers, catnip, and thistles. It was a cool,
9




ï~~98

ELLA LINCOLN.

pleasant home while the summer lasted. The little
ones were as happy as before; even happier, for no
one cautioned them now " not to crush the flowers."
Winter had come. The bleak winds stole in through
the shrunken doors, shaking the quilts which hung
over them as a protection from the cold; and rags
were stuffed into many a yawning crack., The kitchen was not tenantable; hence the cookingstove was removed into the one room which was carpeted and comfortably furnished. The fumes of the
cooking, the steam of boiling water, almost suffocated
a pale sufferer on the bed - that sufferer Ella Lincoln,
the daughter of luxury. Neither sin nor idleness of
her own or others had placed her there, but the common miscalculations -of youth, the mischances of business, and the villany of one whose outward seeming
was that of honesty and truth.
No one was to blame. The house I had selected
against my husband's wishes, because the rent was
cheap, thinking only of our pecuniary circumstances,
not liability to sickness there.
Allen Lincoln, yet young, had become a weary,
careworn man. He bent over the pillow of his beloved
wife with an agony like unto death's. The wondering.little ones looked at him, at the grave physician, at their
pale, pale mother, whose quick, short breathings were
interrupted with prayers for "life," mingled with the
continual cry of " That stove - it suffocates me!"
"I was wild, calling upon my distant "father!" my
buried "mother!" - crying, " Life! life! O God! not
for its own sake. but the sake of these dear babes! "




ï~~THE OLD RED HOUSE.

99

It was a long agony, a lingering fever. Another
burden was laid upon the shoulders of the poor; another soul was given to our earthly keeping.
Sweet babe! he has long since gone home to heaven;
and, though his birthplace was lowly, it far exceeded
that in which the blessed Saviour lay. We were
enabled to shelter him through his brief life from earth's
ruder storms - two winters, two summers, and his
days were all counted.
With strict economy, we were enabled to save a
third of Mr. Lincoln's salary; and I did not regret in
the end that I had submitted to the inconveniences of
the old red house. The next fall we hired a better,
and the ensuing spring purchased a little bird-cage of
a tenement in a pleasant location.
Property advancing rapidly in value, that little homestead soon became an anchor, to which we might cling
in times of sickness and adversity; for so long as there
is land, there is credit. I began to look forward once
more to better days, such as we had formerly seen,
when "Allen Lincoln" would be "himself again,"
wearing the olden smile.




ï~~CHAPTER XII.

"Delusive gold, a smiling fiend thou art,
Severing the hands that death alone should part."
COMPARED with the mass of emigrants to California,
few die there. He "without whose notice not a sparrow falls to the ground," watches over the poor wanderers by land and sea, removing the obstacles in their
overland path, or levelling the waves that foam and
dash before them, threatening to ingulf their ships.
As the heart of the earthly parent yearns over the
wayward and undutiful child, still mindful of his future
happiness, so the heavenly Father commissions his
angels to watch over his erring children, wandering in
forbidden paths, worshipping Mammon, the forbidden
god.
True, some leave their pleasant homes and the dust
of their kindred for rude graves and unlettered stones
in the far-off pathway of the stranger. Some reach
the goal of their dearest hopes to gaze upon the glittering dust with fading eyes; and some return to cast
the fruit of their toil into the laps of their families, and
then lie down to rest forever.
But these are the exceptions.    The mass return,
with improved health and amended fortunes.
Persons who have never earned their bread by the
sweat of their brow are generally poor economists,
(100)




ï~~ALLEN GOES TO CALIFORNIA.

101

when they first find themselves in the sober-hued path
of poverty. The first year of comparative destitution
is spent in useless complaining or childish indecision.
Then comes reaction, the will to do and dare even to
desperation. Such are the men who go to California,
return, and induce their neighbors to risk the same
stake for wealth.
"Ella, Ernest Wood has returned from California
with fifty thousand dollars."
" Very well; I am pleased to hear it."
"But he advises me to go, Ella."
" You, Allen? Impossible!"
A strange expression of sadness, almost sternness,
was upon his countenance; and I noticed for the first
time that premature wrinkles had intruded upon the
rounded lineaments of thirty-three.
Ella Lincdln, is thy strength sufficient for this hour?
Yes, more than equal! Long hast thou met the
exigencies of a checkered destiny with unflinching
fortitude; and the deep under-current coursing on beneath the surface-waves has been seen by only ONE.
" Ella, are you willing I shall ge? Will you go
with me?"
"I will consent to your going, Allen, if you wish it
earnestly. I will not consent to go with you. The
babe is but a few months old; the others, scarcely
more than babes. The journey would kill our children,
perhaps me; for you know my health has long been
delicate. But I have watched with solicitude your
broken spirits; and, if you can leave us comfortably
9*




ï~~102

ELLA LINCOLN.

situated for the present, and -if you are equal to the
separation, go! and God protect you and us!"
Often, and thoughtlessly, it is said of him who goes
to California, and her who remains at home, "if the
attachment were strong they would not separate."
Little knows the careless observer how year after year
of reiterated disappointments at last engenders the
one strong desire of change, which urges us forward to
the attainment of some imagined good over bleeding
affections, even though death may be within the range
of easy probabilities before us.
More solicitous about leaving a support for his family than his own personal comfort, my husband concluded to make the journey overland, with a party of
friends, who were to set out on the ffrst of April.,
There was a running to and fro, "striped shirts"
were being made here and there, and wood being
hauled for those families which were to continue housekeeping.
" Ella, I am  having sufficient wood sawed and
stacked in the barn for your use one year. My cousin,
Mr. Banks, owes me two hundred dollars. He will
pay over that sum to you in the course of a fortnight,
or in smaller sums, as may suit your convenience.
Mr. Banks, you owe me this sum, and will pay it to
Mrs. Lincoln after I am gone!" And Mr. Banks,
whom he had brought.in for that purpose, said:"I most certainly will."
"Ella, you have confidence in him; if you have not,
I will yet make another arrangement."
Mr. Banks made a speech about the propriety of his




ï~~ALLEN GOES TO CALIFORNIA.

103

taking care of his " cousin's" family during his absence, etc., and said, looking me in the face, " You
will trust to my honesty and kindness, Mrs. Lincoln?"
Now I had never questioned the honesty or goodness of Jabez Banks till that moment, for his reputation was fair, his piety undoubted. But that set
speech, his smile, every motion of his hand and wink
of his eye I noted with a new feeling of distrust, and
from that hour I disliked him.
But the company designed starting next day; to
express a doubt of his friend would both wound and
inconvenience my husband. And why yield to what
might prove an ungenerous suspicion. I replied: " I
will trust you, sir."  And so I did, and am "trusting "
him yet. Others trust him too; and his word and his
check is respected in more than one city; but there is
a bank away up yonder where his note will be "protested and dishonored," for, with all his long-faced
hypocrisy, he has no treasure there.
The arrangements were completed. Every one of
those adventurers had left a small amount of money
and a large promise of an early remittance. The
"striped shirts" were stowed away, the "parched
corn" put into sacks, as the last remedy in case of
starvation, and the long row of wagons, with white
tops, mules, and tar buckets, stood there, surrounded
by the friends of the gold seekers.
I wrestled mightily with myself, but the torrent
came; one wild, gushing tide of unmitigated agony -
then I conquered. The two little boys looked on with
tearful eyes, sympathizing in the sorrow they could not




ï~~104

ELLA LINCOLN.

fully understand; the sweet babe smiled thyough tears;
even he in a measure comprehending that all was not
well.
-Shaking like an aspen leaf, he clasped us one after
another in a passionate embrace, then broke resolutely
away, and was gone.
I watched him from the window, as he passed
through the gate, then turned to my little family with
a strange calmness of spirit, silently commending him
to His care, who only could protect him.
I heard from my husband by the way, occasionally
receiving a hastily penned letter; sometimes through
communications of others.   Often strange rumors
reached me of " murder," -" starvation," and "cholera,"
- the possibility of their truth driving me for a moment almost to madness - then I resolutely resolved
to believe no stories not well authenticated.
Unwilling to add to my solicitude through all those
long months of weariness, facing death in a thousand
forms, he never wrote the worst, but intimated that he
was, progressing on his journey as pleasantly as he
ought to expect, hoped soon to be there, and spoke of
the happiness in store for us after he should return
with the golden pile. Willing to suffer, for the future
good of the loved ones at home, he forded rivers,
crossed  morasses, climbed  perpendicular heights,
scorched by a burning sun, thirsty when no spring
was near, hungry when but a crust remained, weary
when came his turn to watch.
Worn out at last, so utterly exhausted that it seemed
as if outraged nature could not have endured another




ï~~ALLEN IN CALIFORNIA.

105

day, he set his feet upon the golden sands of California.
Be was there! Cares seemed but feathers now.
Gay visions of luxury and leisure, such as I had enjoyed in early youth, floated upon the surface of a
buoyant imagination. There were a few, a dastardly
few, who had "passed by on the other side" since the
shadows lay heavily upon our fortunes, and, forgetting
the Divine injunction, I said in my heart, "the time is
coming when I will make them feel that I am their
superior."
We are all human! Mis-name it as we may, the
principle of retaliation exists in a greater or less degree
in the breast of every living soul. It is a part of the
life of every creature. There is no beast so dumb, no
worm so senseless, that it.will not turn to strike the
hand which is raised to do it harm. God help us!
We may "clothe and feed" our enemy, trying to
"love him as ourselves," but death only wipes out the
recollection of our wrongs.
Remember, ye who wound a human heart, that
reverses come suddenly, and to-morrow you may feel
the neglect you are " putting out at interest" to-day.
God only fully renders " good for evil."




ï~~CHAPTER XIII.

He was a man
Who stole the livery of the court of heaven
To serve the devil in."
WHEN my husband left home for California, he left
in my purse five dollars. To even that I objected,
"for," said I, "your cousin, Mr. Banks, will bring the
'two hundred' in a few days, and we have provisions
sufficient for the present." Mr. Banks did not come;
and weeks rolled on. I had practised economy to the,utmost extent of my ability; and, after I had spent
the contents of my purse, I had traded with friendly
merchants upon credit.
Autumn was advancing, and the little ones and
myself needed warmer clothing. Friends were kind,
and Offered me " credit," - still " credit; " but unwilling to be in debt, I hesitated, and hoped on.   A
strange presentiment of evil swept over my heartstrings - the olden suspicion of Allen's cousin deep,
ened into almost certainty. I had sent him messages
through friends, had written note after note, stating
my need of that money, but there came no reply, I
heard of him here and there, but he did not call at our
house, hence I knew that he avoided-me.
" This will not do!" I said, a long, hysterical sigh
closing a fit of.weeping; " this will not do; tears will
(o06)




ï~~MR. BANKS.

107

not turn into bread. To-morrow I will sell the parlor
carpet to Mrs. Riggs, who.is about purchasing, a.d
the large mirror to Mrs. Stanley, who has broken
hers. I will sell all the furniture, and then let the
parlor and the rooms up stairs. May I perish if ever
I stoop so low as to ask aid of others-while I can raise
a dollar." And the next day I put those determinations
into execution.
I was annoyed by the noise up stairs, and the coarse
familiarity of the family in the room below, and those
six dirty children playing in the yard, sometimes using
profane language, and words not to be anamed, mortified and grieved me. There they were, from morn till
night, tramping over the grass, crushing the flowers,
and initiating my little ones into their disgusting
vocabulary. But there was no remedy; 1 needed the
rent for those rooms - beggars must not mind trifles.
"Five months, since I have heard from Allen. Can
he be dead? Is he pining upon a bed of sickness,
unattended, uncared for?  Has misfortune followed
him to that distant land?  Oh   Allen, my husband,
what have we done that the chastisement of our Father still rests so heavily upon us?"
" Good evening, Mrs. Lincoln!"
" Good evening, Mrs. Curdy."
" I stepped in to ask you if you would like to take
in sewing? Mrs. Hatch -has more than she can do,
cleverly; and she says she guesses you might suit her,
as she sees Harry and Tommy's clothes are made
pretty well."
Ella Lincoln's CRY was over. The indignant blood




ï~~108

ELLA LINCOLN.

rushed to her temples as she replied: " Thank you;
when I want sewing to do, I will ask for it."
Now, Ella had learned to make shirts for Allen, and
was somewhat skilful in stitching pantaloons - did n't
she prove this at Hollyville?  She had learned, also,
to fit loose sacks and trousers to Harry and Tommy;
she had been the mistress of two prairie hotels, and
since she returned to the village, had met all her "ups
and downs" unflinchingly.
But now, when a coarse woman, in a coarse manner, offered her the privilege of fitting coarse garments
to coarse bo)hood, her heart rebelled: proud Ella
Lincoln!
I should not have felt thus, I thought upon reflection; for many in better circumstances had done the
same, and probably no insult was intended by either
Mrs. Curdy or Mrs. Hatch - their abruptness was the
result of ignorance, my suffering of extreme sensitiveness and imperfect early training. They had seen the
articles of furniture which I had sold removed, and
concluded that I must be very destitute. So I was;
but I preferred to suggest my own remedies. I was
willing to say to the whole world, "I am poor," but not
to be reminded of my poverty by those who had not
the will or power to assist me. There is a great deal
of sham sympathy in this money-loving world.
Some are " sorry "-- a few words, some crocodile
tears; others insult the unfortunate.. A few - a blessed
few -see, without seeming to see, the festering wound,
and apply the only balm in secresy and silence.
" Poor and proud," has grown into an " old saying."




ï~~MR. SUTPHEN.

109

Where there is poverty without pride, God help the
worm! - the poor grovelling worm!
I had commenced dealing with myself severely, for
answering Mrs. Curdy as summarily as I did, only to
add to the misdemeanor by fliging missiles at poor
humanity in general, as I rattled the dishes preparing
the table for our evening meal
" Mrs. Lincoln?"
" Yes, sir."
" Mr. Sutphen, of Ten Mile Prairie."
" Mr. Sutphen, I am pleased to see you; I think
Mr. Lincoln sometimes mentioned your name. Has
the fever subsided on your prairie, sir?"
"Well, yes, we're all tolerably now, thank you;
cold weather is coming on fast, and scares up the
ager."
"But it sometimes continues through the winter,
I think."
"Yes, hangs on sometimes like a starved bloodsucker, and breaks a fellow right down into liver complaint, rheumatiz, or quick consumption. But my plan
is to dose it with quinine and whiskey -ten grains in
a gill of whiskey, four times a day, will rout the worst
ager that ever snapped. Why don't you come over
some time? Mrs. Sutphen would like right well to
have you -and fetch the children; plenty of fodder
for man and beast out there. I don't like your little,
nasty, stuck-up towns, not bigger than my farm, that
pattern after city fashions, with their dancing and.
playing cards, and carousing nights. I tell you there's
no good in 'em.
t0




ï~~1110

ELLA LINCOLN.

There's Hiram Steele, the lawyer, that come out
here along o' me six years ago; he's fallen into the
snares of them are blacklegs, and got to drinkin', and
he isn't worth the dirt it '11 take to cover him bim-by.
And there's Sam Car; well, Sam was a good fellow,
and owned a good farm down East. He tried to court
my wife; but she was n't the lark to be ketched by an
owl! The fact is, he is a good fellow, or was, but
lacking in the upper story. He drinks like a fish, now,
and sets up till three o'clock many a night, fooling over
them infernal cards.
"I could call the roll from this till dooms-day of men
that have been tee-totally 'ruined by gambling and
drinkin'. There's something else not to be mentioned
" to ears polite " - that's your poetry stuff, you know
more 'n I do about that - that's the shame and disgrace of Mariette, and every other Western settlement. You know it; so do I! I don't pretend to any
sort of learning - my mother had thirteen of us, and
it was all my father could do to scratch round and get
our bread and butter. But I know right from wrong,
and a good, honest man from a scoundrel. When did
you hear from your man?"
"It is many months since."
"He 's gone up into the mountains, likely. They
say there's the best gold pickin' up there; but there's
no mail away up there, and I 'spose that's the reason
you don't hear. That puts me in mind of my errand.
Do you know Tim Schenk, that lives out at Seven
Mile Grove?"
" I have seen him."




ï~~MR. SUTPHEN.

111

" Well-I hate to tell you most allfi'adly; but that's
what I come for, and I might as well out with it.
Tim holds a note against your man and that cousin
of his, Jabez Banks - a good-for-nothing stick up, and
rascal to boot! - and ' Allen Lincoln's ' name is first
on that note, and you'll have to pay it. Banks will
slick himself of it somehow - the little, slippery, pettifogger of a lawyer. Well, there's no use a contending with a lawyer - they 're the devil's own. I don't
say this to hurt your feelings, but to put you on your
guard."
" What shall I do?" Please, sir, what was the note
given for, and when, and what is the amount? "
"Three hundred dollars is the amount.    It was
given four weeks before your husband started, for
value rec'd' in mules for the journey."
" This overwhelms me! Why did Allen deceive me
thus?  Why leave me so completely in the power of
others. It was cruel - Oh, how cruel!"
"Hush! a word once gone out of your mouth never
comes back. It goes floating about all over the world,
and gets into one mouth and another, and gathers some
dirt in every one of them as it goes along, and at last
it is so altered that you don't know it yourself, and the
very folks that helped it at the start are ashamed of
it. It 's a ticklish thing for a woman to be left alone
in this great, foul-mouthed world, without any natural
protector, more especially if she's good-looking and
smart; and the very folks that fight like cats and dogs
at home are the ones to make trouble betwixt man
and wife.




ï~~112

ELLA LINCOLN.

"1 say ' Allen Lincoln ' was a fool and a madman
to leave you in this fix; but you mus 'nt say it,
no how."
"Excuse me, Mr. Sutphen; but I have had so many
trials and vexations before, this new trouble unnerves
me."
"I I'm sorry for you, poor thing; I don't believe in
saying sorry ten times over - for words don't cost
anything - but this I will say, if you get into any
tight place that yot can't get out of, just come to my
house and stay till the worst of the muss is over.
I know Mrs. Sutphen will be glad to see you, for she
is terribly pleased with them poetry pieces you put in
the paper, and always looks 'em up first thing. Her
learning is better than mine. * But I must be going.
The fact is, I heard Jabez Banks and Tim Schenk
talking about that note, and saying it must be got out
of the house, somehow; and I was bent on giving you
a friendly warning."
And Farmer Sutphen passed out of the house, not
even listening to my reiterated thanks. He left his
honest countenance and russet coat daguerreotyped
indellibly upon the tablet of my heart, until death shall
wipe out the impression.
"Ella Lincoln" had new strength vouchsafed her,
even for this hour. She proceeded to give the little
ones their suppers) undressed and put them to bed,
and then she sat down and thus communed with
herself: -
"Almost a year has expired since that note was
given, and soon it must -be paid. I have borrowed




ï~~SELLING THE HOMESTEAD.

113

of my friend, Mr. Templeton, fifty dollars; I owe for
store goods, etc., fifty more.  My winter's expenses
will amount to one-fifty or two hundred -for I cannot
economize as I have done; my health being not so
good, I must hire a servant. I will sell the house.
True, it is rising in value, and would sell at a hundred
per cent. more another year; but such an imperative
now, pressing upon me, I must sell it at once.
" Oh, Allen, if you knew all this, you would fly to
the rescue! No doubt you were deluded into the idea
that Jabez Banks would meet that note. Yes, there
has been a private understanding between you to that
effect. I was left in blessed ignorance, lest I might be
uneasy. It is well I have a ' power of attorney;' tomorrow I will look for a purchaser."
"1 think, Mr. Kenedy, the house is worth a thousand
dollars, and will be worth twelve hundred in the
spring."
" That's nothing to do with it. 'Tis a bad time o'
year selling out. I'll buy it to obleege you, and give
eight hundred, cash down, one half; a note; payable in
nine months, for the rest You see, we business men
don't buy things according to what they may be worth
another year, but for the least we can get them at now
--that's the way! You women are smart enough in
your way; but, when it comes to making bargains, we
have the start of you."
"It is true. You may have. the house upon your
own terms."
The tide of fall emigration had poured into Mariette
10*




ï~~114

ELLA L:INCOLN.

until there was a pressing demand for rooms - I cannot say "houses," for but few of all those adventurers
felt able or willing to occupy a whole house. Some
had but sufficient to "buy farms with" in the spring;
some but a limited sum to invest in business; and
some who came with pockets full of cash had the
wisdom to practise self-denial and forego " appearances," knowing that, while they had that yellow dust
in their pockets, they could buy a " position" in society
when it suited their convenience.
After walking many hours, I found a room in an
old yellow tenement, half a mile from the village,
already occupied by two families. My entrance was
in the rear, through a crazy old gate, between two
wood-piles; through a shed, filled with cut wood, washtubs, soap-casks, pork and molasses barrels; then up
a flight of stairs, so narrow and rough that I sometimes "got hung" to the'splinters projecting therefrom;
then I turned to the right, passing through a narrow
passage between two dilapidated rooms; then through
a low, whitewashed door, that would have decapitated
a six-footer; and then - Iwas there.
There I found two small windows, a wall patched
until it was more patch than foundation, sloping from
the centre to the eaves, the floor warped and cracks in
it full half an inch wide; but it was a room, and a
roomy room.
After pasting strips of cloth over the cracks, and
covering the floor with a layer of straw, then a carpet,
we moved in.




ï~~A NEW   HOME.                  115
Six chairs, two beds, two tables, a bureau, stand,
clock, mirror, cupboard, kettles, pails, pans, dishes, tubs,
wardrobes for-three, and still plenty of " sea-room."
Here we are-    Harry, and Tommy, and I! Not a
shadow of doubt concerning our welcome, and a positive certainty that any one who takes the trouble to
find us there, climbs up to our domicile for affection's
(or curiosity's) sake. Put on the tea-kettle!
The boys are as happy as two kittens - blessed
children! Smile on, Ella!
Let not the shadow of thy darkened lot
Cross their young life-paths: 'twere a selfish thought.




ï~~CHAPTER XIV.

How can I give thee up?- my own,
My pure and undefiled,
Thou whitest lamb of all my flock -
My youngest, darling child!
" RESTORE him to us, O Father! let not the time be
distant when his arms will again encircle us, when we
shall all be happy," I repeated, placing the last of my
three rose-buds upon the pillow, and seated myself by
the bed-side to watch their gentle breathing, in memory retreading the paths of my own childhood, watched
over by my own gentle mother, protected and fed by
a kind father. I thought of my own little sisters and
brothers, of the playmates of my youth who met me
on the hill-side.
The beautiful picture of the past glowed and danced
before me. There was the old family wreath unbroken,
not a flower plucked away by death. And then a
change came over it; the full-blown rose was gone,
and the dew of sorrow lay heavily upon-the buds, and
Weighed down the foliage of the tree that overshadowed
them. And again time brought the light of happiness,
whose golden beams stole in among the shadows, and
with their genial warmth exhaled the dew of sorrow.
Then thought reverted home again to the rose and
the buds from which the tree-shadow had been re(116)




ï~~SICKNESS AND DEATH.

117

moved, that I might see more clearly the hand -of the
Infinite Protector.
"Mamma! drink! drink!"
"Jesse, darling, what ails my baby?"
"Sick! O, sick!"
He clenched the cup, emptied it, and asked for
"more! more!"
I lifted him up; he was very hot with fever. I
placed a pillow under his head upon my lap, and there
I sat, all night, alone. What else could I do?  The
physician was half a mile away; the servant had been
dismissed a week; it was dark outside!    O, how
bitterly I felt now my worse than widowhood!
"Drink! drink!" All night he tossed his little arms
and moaned in his sleep, or, waking, asked for "drink!"
All night -that night, O God! how long it seemed,
with those little flushed cheeks and parched lips before
me - none there to whom I could say, "How sick he
is!" and receive in return a few blessed words of
sympathy! But morning broke at last; and then I
dressed little Harry, and sent him with a message to a
friehd.
Day and night I hung over that little prostrate form,
soothing him to *atience and rest, and attending to
the prescription of the physician; and still I asked
the question,. "Is he better?" to be answered, "Not
yet."
Slowly my heart admitted the possibility of his
death, and nerved itself for the worst. We are slow
to believe what we are not willing should occur; and
when, at' last, that announcement. "No hope," comes




ï~~118

ELLA LINCOLN.

reluctantly from the lips of the medical adviser, it falls
on startled ears.
My own sweet Jesse, the babe of two summers, with
the pure white brow, the sweet blue eyes, and tresses
as soft and beautiful as ever swept the temples of a
seraph, went up to heaven. I bent over his cradle to
feel his last dear breath upon my cheek; a ray of
intelligence lit up his fading eyes; he strove to return
my kiss; and, as if noting the tears.that fell upon his
face, said, as he had been wont to do in health, " Poor,
poor mamrnma!" and all was over. But the smile of
the angel that sealed his lips was still reflected there;
and when friends repeated, in the low undertone of
sympathy, "Be comforted, it is well with the child,"
his own glad spirit answered from the realms of glory,
" It is well."
"Alone in my misery!"
"No, not alone yet," responded the minister of God;
" you have two living children. Provoke not Him who
has chastised you, by a rebellious heart. You will
live to realize that, behind this cloud there is great
mercy.'
In many an after-hour, alone, destitute, with broken
health, and two helpless children looking to me for care
and happiness, I have said, " It is well that the babe
was taken home to heaven. He at least has escaped
the unkindly dealings of a cold, cold world."
Not quite all "cold."  There is a sunny, as well as
shady side to human character. He who denies this,
underrates the image of his Maker, and is himself the
least of all His creatures.




ï~~SICKNESS AND DEATH.          119
Not all " cold." They have buried my dead; they
have wept for the sorrows they could not mitigate;
they have saved me from starvation and despair. All
are imperfect; but MAN has left in him yet something
good.




ï~~CHAPTER XV.

One has a soul,
Shrunken, and narrow as a needle's point;
The other, wide as the world.
LIFE is the sum of many trifles. Benevolence is not
always a mighty river, rushing, roaring, sweeping on.
It is the morning exhalations of the dew of kindness;
here a drop and there a drop; a trifle to the giver,
precious to the receiver,
The presentation of a flower, oi a single word of
sympathy, awakens gladness and gratitude in the bosom of the sick man. Brush back the damp locks
from his forehead, adjust the pillow more comfortably,
bathe his aching limbs, and he suddenly discovers that
he is "better."  What drug is so life-giving as earnest
sympathy?
Cast a red apple from your window to that little
child, and see how gleefully he bounds away under his
burden of rags and dirt, poverty and grief alike forgotten.
Present some trifle to the lone widow, just as the
tears are gathering, when memory is busy with the past,
-and she smiles again like April through the raindrops; again she sings cheerfully over her stitching.
Praise the poor student, wearing out flesh and brain
in the thorny path of literature; he wipes away the
(120)




ï~~EBIN  FIP.

121

perspiration of debility, thinks better of this cold world,
and struggles on.
Lay your hand softly upon the head of the poor
Christian, commending him to the Father of all, blending your tears with his; he forgets for a season the
buffetings of the unrighteous, and lifts up his head
again, setting his face more firmly Zionward.
A few kind words, "a cup of cold water" in God's
name, are registered in the archives of heaven.
On the contrary, the churl, who never speaks a
kindly word but to secure a customer, the mouth of
whose purse never opens but to swallow, is guilty of a
twofold sin, withholding words and deeds.
In every community of noble-hearted men, we find
some dwarfish souls, wrapped in their own selfishness,
deaf to the calls of helplessness and virtue - men who
would not risk a dollar to save a fellow-creature from
want or degradation; who would stand bantering for
the last half-cent if the trumpet of the archangel were
already sounding, and reply to the imperative call to
judgment, " Wait till I get my change!"  Such a man
is Ebin Fip.
Every ill treated woman becomes a pet, finally, if
there are " gentlemen about; " and Ella Lincoln, away
up in the garret, over wood-piles, pork-barrels, etc., had
friends - available friends. Lawyers advised her "gratuitously; farmers filled her corner of the cellar with
potatoes; merchants told her to come and get all she
needed, upon credit; ladies, the loveliest, best, most
talented, clung to her resolutely as she breasted the
I1




ï~~122

ELLA LINCOLN.

adverse tide. Ella Lincoln, amid all her trials, was
yet hopeful, happy, and proud.
The little people were looking straight into the fire
with more of thoughtfulness on their smooth brows
than was wont to rest there so soon after a repast of
honey and hot biscuit.
" Well, my little philosophers!" I said, laying a
hand on each tiny head, and bending over my treasures. " Master Harry, what are you thinking about?
Tommy, what new mischief may your restless brain
be contriving? "
"I vas thinking about our butter. It was so puckerish and salty, it made me almost cry. I couldn't
taste the biscuit through it. Did you like it, Tommy?"
" O, no; I thinked of codfish, onions, and hoarhound
candy, without any candy in it. What did you think,
mamma? "
"I thought butter was scarce, and it was difficult to
get that which is very good; yet we should be thankful for what we have. But, Harry, dear, come hither.
Here is your cap; now your mittens and tippet; and
here is the little tin pail. Run down to Mr. Fip's
grocery, and ask him if he has good, sweet butter;
and, if he has, get two pounds, and say I will settle
for it soon."  And away he went to the nearest grocery.
"Have you any fresh butter?"
" Yes, very good. How much do you want?
"I want two pounds. Mamma says I can't carry
any more."
" Don't talk! I don't like children."




ï~~EBIN FIP.

123

" Why, you ain't bad. are you. Mamma says good
people love children."
".Stop your noise! John, weigh out two pounds,
and put it into that pail. Quick! he'll talk me to
death, the saucebox."
Harrywaited until the butter was deposited in the
little pail; then said, as he had been instructed
"Mamma will settle for it soon."
"What! didn't you bring the money? John, empty
that pail again; and you, boy, tell your mother we
don't trust here."
"I'll tell mamma that you're as cross as can be - I
will!" answered Harry, indignantly, and beginning to
sing a tune familiar to the ears of all mothers.
"What is the matter? what is the matter?" I
almost screamed, running to meet the little darling,
who came rattling the empty pail, and crying with all
his might.
" 0 mamma! mamma! there was butter there, but
he - he - he - he wouldn't let me have - have it -
mamma- he said - said - "
"Never mind what he said. Cheer up, little man;
we'll try again. I have thought of another place.--We
will leave Tommy with Mrs. Coe down stairs, and go
to the village. Mr. Baxter has butter, generally."
" Any butter, Mr. Baxter?" I said, half afraid of
another rebuff.
"Butter? yes, ma'am, a fresh supply of nice, fresh
butter, from the hands of one of the best butter-makers
in the county. Please look at it, Mrs. Lincoln. Isn't
it beautiful? Won't you take it all? Allow me to
send it over.




ï~~124

ELLA LINCOLN.

" It is long since I have had the pleasure of seeing
you, Mrs. Lincoln. When have you heard from your
husband? What else can we sell you? "
"But, my dear sir, I came empty-handed; cannot
pay to-night -"
"Not a word! Let us open an account with you.
We have sweet potatoes, winter squashes, an assortment of fowls, honey, and dried fruit. What else
shall we put up?"
I did venture to run in debt for a few nice things,
and went home - to cry; not because Mr. Fip had
been so niggardly, but Mr. Baxter had been so kind.
Kindness melts, rudeness hardens, the heart.
"Ebin Fip, Grocer," may yet be seen in front bof a
low building in the suburbs of Mariette; but the proprietor has not grown rich, and Ella Lincoln is not
very sorry. No woman has been silly enough to marry
him, probably from the dread of starvation, or seeing
her children murdered. There he lives, fat, sour, and
unhonored; while Mr. Baxter has become an extensive
capitalist, has a sweet wife, lovely children, and the
lifelong gratitude and good wishes, not only of Ella
Lincoln and her boys, but of all his townsmen and
the surrounding villagers.




ï~~CHAPTER XVI.

Hope, smiling cheat, still lures us on,
And ever whispers - TRY.
"He comes! dread Brama shakes the sunless sky."
"His daily prayer, far better understood
In acts than words, was simply DOING GOOD."
I HAD always, since the absence of my husband,
corresponded with different Journals and received compensation. I had written for the great "New    York
Jupiter," under the nom-de-plume of "Prairie Bird;"
for.the " Philadelphia Balloon," under that of " Aunt
Esther;" for the Cincinnati " Western Light," under
that of " Blue Bell; " for the Mariette Journals, under
" E. L." But meagre indeed was the remuneration.
The city editors had "such a press of matter - so
many under pay who had been contributors for a number of years, and so many gratuitous contributors, that,
really, although they were pleased with my articles,
and were willing to give a trifling remuneration for
them, - it was out of their power to do as much for
'me,' as their deep sympathy for one so peculiarly
situated would lead them to do under any other circumstances."
Ahem! 11ay be Ella Lincoln did not know that
" The New York Jupiter" patronized " Mrs. Bumblebee," the author of a book, so dull that Ella herself could
11*              (125)




ï~~126

ELLA LINCOLN.

have written it with her eyes shut; that her newspaper
articles were all moonshine, their most attractive feature
the ".sign" at the head - " By Mrs. Matilda Atherton
Bumblebee, author of the ' Delights of Imagination,' "
- and perhaps Ella didn't know that she was hired at
ten dollars a column, the same week that "1 Prairie
Bird" was offered " two."
Perhaps Ella did not know that the Cincinnati
"Western Light" reduced her salary from two, to one
and a half, the same week they hired " Miss Ethelwena
McPherson," author of" Fragments of Song," - in the
proportion of two songs to one idea throughout, - and
gave her seven dollars per column. Perhlaps "Blue Bell"
believed, that " The Western Light" had "one regular
rate of remuneration." Perhaps Ella knew that " Aunt
Esther" did n't wield as ready a pen as " Aunt Tabitha;" that that was the reason why Tabitha received
more " puffs" and more pay. Of course " Aunt Tabitha," being a rich broker's wife, needed money.
Ella knew two country editors who were very kind,
- country editors have souls - almost all of them
They are like " Prairie Birds," not known all over the
commonwealth. Ella owes one of them    something
more than thanks - and there is some danger that she
always will.  She likes editors as a class - of this,
more anon.
One day I took up " The Mariette Times," and my
eye fell upon a flashy announcement, running thus:"John Ralph, daguerrean artist, who has been a
resident of Mariette for two years, being about to




ï~~NEW ENTERPRISE.

127

remove to the far west, offers, for a small compensation,
to thoroughiy instruct any person in this elegant art
who will obligate himself to buy his apparatus and
take his room immediately."
Now, said I, in my heart, "writing is unprofitable.
Editors care less how a person writes, than who she is.
Presumptious mediocrity, with a few thousands, drives
talent to starvation, - I flatter myself 1 am talented,
because I live in a garret. Away with the pen! here I
go to John Ralph's daguerrean rooms to learn the art,
buy the apparatus, and supersede 'John' in 'taking
faces.'"
In just ten minutes I had concluded a bargain with
Mrs. Fox, in one of the rooms below, to keep the children a certain part of every day, while their "mamma"
learned the way to make a fortune.
"John Ralph, daguerrean artist, up stairs," was on
the street door.
Before you leave your earthly places,
Come and let me take your faces,
on the inside of door " No. 3," up stairs. No one could
have doubted that all those " faces " scattered about the
table and hanging against the wall, had been taken by
the same genius that manufactured the poetry.
" Seventy-five dollars for the camera obscura, and
sixty per year for the rent of the room," - and Ella
sighed.
"I would like to learn, sir, if the business be as profitable as you have led me to imagine by your remarks."
" You can see for yourself. I came here a poor boy,




ï~~128

ELLA LINCOLN.

two years ago, and now, if I live to get to 'Buffalo
Prairie,' I shall buy a farm there," and John looked as
innocent of deception as a rag baby.
I felt extremely anxious to buy him out, and whilst
I pondered the matter, a friend entered.
" Good morning, Mrs. Lincoln.    Out so early?
Sitting for your picture? "
" Good morning, Captain George. I am not here
for that purpose. I came " - and the Captain being
an old friend, I told him the whole truth.
" I '11 see what I can do for you," he said.
"John! John Ralph! you don't want seventy-five
dollars for that old rattle-trap you 'take faces' with; it
was old when you bought it. Say sixty, and I'll talk
with you about buying it for my friend Mrs. Lincoln."
"I might a-most as well give it away."
"Look here, John; I know more about you, probably,
than you do yourself, It is not worth sixty, but I'll
give that, to oblige her,- not a cent over."
"It's a bargain."
"And you engage to make her mistress of the art in
three weeks?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. Mrs. Lincoln, if before that time expires you should have other views, I will settle with
him for his trouble; if you conclude to take the room,
I will loan you what money you need. Good morning."
My residence was three fourths of a mile from the
artist's room. I arose every morning at six prepared




ï~~SICKNESS.

129

breakfast for the family, finished the necessary work,
and at eight went to my lessons. I returned to get dinner,
and went back in the afternoon.  The ground was
frozen in the morning, muddy in the afternoon;. the
wind blew fresh and cold from the lake. I contracted
a cold, from which I have never ceased to suffer, at
times.  The tenth day I was so hoarse I could not
speak aloud; and my throat and lungs were exceedingly
sore. I was attacked with lung fever, which left me
with a cough, and at the end of two months, instead
of daguerreotyping other people's " faces," I was startled
at the picture of my own. Since then, my strength
has ever been as a spider's web - I have been slowly,
slowly dying.
That long illness increased my expenses, and saddened my spirits. I feared that I should not prove
equal to the struggle with such complicated difficulties,
and sink into the grave.
Young as they were, my children in a measure
realized the danger of separation, and clung to me from
early morn till late in the evening, with the shadow of
a great sorrow resting upon their unwritten foreheads,
performing every little act of kindness with their own
tiny hands, which they thought might soothe or comfort me.
Mothers of little children, living in palatial homes,
were you ever sick, almost unto death? Your children
would have missed your love and tenderness had you
been called away - little more. Mine would have lost
their all- they knew it. Often at night, when the
flickering fire-light played over my pallid features, they




ï~~130

ELLA LINCOLN.

would awake from their troubled dreams, and satisfying
themselves that the weary nurse was asleep, creep up
from their low trundle-bed to my pillow, and say,
"Mamma, are you better? you will not die, will you?
Nobody would care for us if you were gone."
Oh, with what kisses of mingled, love and agony I
clasped them to my bosom then. "Not yet, my God!
not yet! Grant me a few more years for their dear
sakes! I am willing to suffer, but not to die, - not
yet, not yet!"
Down, memory! I weep as I write.
It is sorrowful, it is pleasant to remember.  God
was merciful. Friends were there, - the aged physician,
the affectionate pastor, the kind nurse; the rich, poor,
talented, honest, and good; the aged father, the stripling youth, the beautiful girl, the little child, - all came
to the humble home of Ella Lincoln, all climbed those
narrow stairs, all gazed down into her pale, thin face,
with tones and looks of sympathy; all went away to
reflect upon the mutability of human destinies.
Rosy May had come. I sat up a part of the time,
my strength was slowly returning. I was thinking of
the nice bits I had received during my illness from the
hands of farmer Sutphen, my friend of the "note"
memory, when lo! I heard a heavy step upon the stairs,
and in another moment he was before me.
"How are you to-day, Mrs. Lincoln? I have brought
along a couple of as nice prairie chickens as ever you
saw, - my son Billy shot them, - and my wife has
sent along a roll of fresh butter, and a few fresh eggs."




ï~~FARMER SUTPHEN AGAIN.

131

"Many thanks, my dear friend. How can I repay
you for your kindness? "
" Well, when I give away a thing I don't expect pay,
generally; if you like them, I am satisfied. No, no, I
can't sit down possibly. But I'll do my errand standing. You see my wife and I have' been talking over
the matter about your sickness, and how weak you are
yet, and all that, and how them little boys has been
shut right up in this store-room all winter, and we've
concluded to ask you to get ready and come out and
spend a while with us, at the farm. My daughter Polly
says she'll put a cot in our room, for herself to sleep on,
and you may have her bed. You know our house is
log, with one frame room and bed-room, - the bedroom's Polly's. And there the children can have milk
that is milk, and grow fat on it. Your town cows,
that run on the prairie, don't give as good milk as ours,
that run in clover; and we can feed you up on chickens and young turkeys, and get you well again. I've
always liked you, because you don't give up and cry
about every -little thing, but tough it out, let what will
come. You shall be just as welcome as my own children; and - to-day is Tuesday - next week Saturday,
you'll be stronger; and do you be ready, and I'll come,
if it doesn't rain, without fail."
He hurried out, his heavy boots tramping along the
passage and down stairs.
A little rain fell upon my lap, as I looked at the
presents, and told the little men of the nice ride in
prospect, and that pleasant visit; and I was glad he




ï~~132

ELLA LINCOLN.

didn't stay for an answer, lest he might have concluded that I did "cry" about some "little things."
At the appointed time, he came, with a span of fat
ponies, in a large farm-wagon. In it was a rockingchair for me to sit in, and a common quilt upon sonme
straw in the bottom.
"You just sit right down there on that quilt, you
little shavers, for'these colts travel like all forty, and
you might tumble out; and you sit in that chair, Mrs.
Lincoln, and, if I drive too fast for you, sing out."
There were no stones in our path; for I can hardly
say it was a road, the grass being but a little shorter
there than on either side. The flowers had sprung up,
golden, purple, and white, making the prairie as a
waving.sea of flowers; the birds, butterflies, and bees
flitted about among the lilies and wild roses; and the
two little freed prisoners in the wagon clapped their
hands, and shouted as we rolled smoothly on.
Here we are! A rail fence encircles the garden; a
board fence the door-yard. The house is, as our friend
described it, "log except one room."  There come the
whole family to welcome us, not stopping till they are
outside the gate - Mrs. Sutphen, with her smooth,
pleasant countenance, dressed in clean gingham; Miss
Polly, with her sweet, rosy face and blue eyes; and
the boys, whose ages rang' from six to eighteen.
I had seen Mrs. Sutphen before, during my illness.
The oldest son helped me to alight; and, as I passed
in, I saw Harry amid Tommy riding off upon the
shoulders of two stout urchins of twelve and *fourteen.




ï~~FARMER SUTPHEN S HOME.

133

That was the last I saw of them for an hour. They
were off among the colts and calves. Before they had
been there a week, they "owned," nominally, half of all
the stock upon the farm. "My black colt," "my bay
one," "my white turkey," "my gosling."  Poor children! they were somewhat richer than their mother.
Farmer Sutphen's was a well regulated family, of
which he was " prophet, priest, and king;" and, whether
I saw him with a child upon his knee, or, on bended
knee, bowing his own will submissively to his God's,
I equally admired and loved him. Mrs. Sutphen was
affectionate, sweet-tempered, industrious, and pious,
and, except,that she was moving in a different sphere
of life, reminded me of my own long-lost mother.
They had no servant. Herself and daughter, a lovely
girl of sixteen, performed all the household labor cheerfully and well.
Such a table! Upon it all the luxuries of the town
and country were combined. My health improved;
the children grew fat and rosy. A pattern family was
Farmer Sutphen's; the longer I staid, the better I
liked them all.
"What will you give me for what I hold in my
hand?" said Mr. Sutphen, one day, returning from
the village, and holding up his broad hand with a mischievous look, as I peeped round to discover what was
in it.
"Come along to the barn, boys, all of you. I never
like to see a lot of lads in the house, when it's all blue
12




ï~~134

ELLA LINCOLN.

sky up yonder." And as he went out, the boys following, he flung a letter into my hand.
" Mrs. Ella Lincoln, Mariette, Cook Co., Ill." (Postmarked " Placerville, Cal.") Hold on, Ella! don't let
that letter fall! There goes the envelope! Take care!
you will have it all torn to bits! What! dizzy?
suffocating? blind? "Water! she has fainted!"
On my own bed, Mrs. Sutphen and Polly beside me,
the crushed epistle in my hand. It reads thus:
" MY DEAR ELLA, - You muSt have been disappointed, not hearing from me for so many long months;
but I trust to your kindness for pardon. Having had
but moderate success at Placerville, earning barely
enough there to pay the enormous price for board,
soon after writing the first letter, I concluded to go up
into the mountains. Of my mountain life, I might
write a volume, but will only say, that, after difficulties
and dangers of which the uninitiated can have no conception, I have succeeded in earning a few hundreds.
"Enclosed you will find a draft on ' Gregory & Co.'
for eight hundred dollars, which I hope may be in time
to save you from any uneasiness lest you might be out
of funds.
"When I arrived at this place, I found one letter
from you," (I had written a dozen,) " that written long
ago.
"Then our sweet Jesse is dead! Ella, I had a
strange presentiment that something had occurred to
that child. Often, when I lay down upon the ground
wrapped in my blanket, with no roof but the heavens




ï~~BOARDING AT FARMER SUTPHEN'S.

135

over my head, the image of that beautiful babe, as I
last saw him, passed before my mental vision; and,
when the breath of the mountain touched my cheek, I
seemed to feel the brush of his silken hair; his tiny
fingers lifted the locks from my temples. I raised my
arms impulsively to catch the bright image that floated
between me and the stars; and it was gone. Jesse
was there, with me, Ella; he was far away, with you.
It was his nightly task to watch over us all; he was
the sweet messenger of love between our faithful
hearts. I knew that an angel watched over me, and I
slept sweetly in that mountain fastness, far from the
loved ones I could have died to shield from harm."
"A little, thin slip of paper to be worth eight hundred dollars!"  Happy Ella, " debts" will be all paid
now, and that garret-room left "alone in its glory."  I
will pay Mr. Sutphen for board till fall; then, all in
health and happy, we will return to the village; and,
for want of better business, one of us scribble for the
newspapers.
"Yes, certainly, Mrs. Lincoln, if you can put up
with our accommodations, and, since you say you
won't stay without, I'll take a dollar a head all round,
not counting the youngest, that lives on pudding and
milk mostly. That'll be just two dollars a week; and,
if ever you get hard up again, I'll give it back to you
- that's the bargain."
" But, my dear sir -"
" Hush! When 1 make a bargain with a woman, I




ï~~136

ELLA LINCOLN.

never let her talk and spoil it. Where's the use? "
and he went out.
" Sure enough, Mrs. Lincoln, from the day that we
-were married till this, he has always  lyiy taken his
own way; but that way has been for the best good of
all he dealt with. Where a man has common sense,
he ought to control his own house; where he hasn't,
let petticoats rule - that's my idea. James Sutphen
has never caused me to shed one tear by unkindness.
It is my pride and pleasure to obey him, asking no
questions." She was a happy wife.
It was harvest time. Mrs. Sutphen and her daughter were unusually busy for a week, "seeding raisins,"
"looking over coffee," and making nice, large cakes.
Then came the harvesters -' healthy, sprightly, intelligent young men, with coarse, clean shirts, open at the
throat, and cotton trowsers. Call them "backwoodsmen," you pert, spindle-shanked, powdered, and scented
city dandies! Men with hearts and souls, not ashamed
to "earn their bread by the sweat of their brows."
Any one of those dozen brown right hands could
brush you into nonentity in a moment. " Sitting
down to eat without coats!"   Better without than
coats that properly belong to the merchant and the
tailor. It was a beautiful sight to peep in from that
log kitchen, and see them at the table, happier than the
kings of the earth, to hear their pleasant jokes, and
witness that keen relish for food which is the result of
honest toil.
After they went out, the cloth was relaid, and Mrs.




ï~~BOARDING AT FARMER SUTPHEN'.

137

Sutphen, her children, and Ella and hers, sat down.
Of all the luxuries in the wide, wide world, give me
those of the liberal farmer's table.
True, there are families upon the western prairies
who live upon pork, potatoes, and sour bread, selling
their eggs, butter, poultry, and green peas, drinking
"corn coffee," "sage tea," and buttermilk; but such
instances are rare.
Western farmers generally live well - better than
the cooped up, half-starved city people that slander
them. It takes all kinds of humanity to make a world;
but let no man slander the "western farmers," or Ella
vill write "a book of revelations" of what she has
seen not a thousand miles away from this inkstand.
The "reaper" had swept over the fields; the "threshing machine " had accomplished its office; and the
grain was sifted and in.sacks ready for the market.
There it was, every sack marked "J. S.," stowed away
snugly in the barn.
" You just keep away from all them sacks in the
corner, you little fellows; I won't have 'em rolled down
no how."
" We won't touch 'em, father."
A cloud rose in the west.   At first, it appeared
light and feathery, and scarce larger than a pigeon's
wing; and then it darkened and spread, and came
up rapidly, hiding the sun, and stretching away over
the prairie till its heavy folds sank into the long prairie
grass.
The wind' sighed mournfully under the eaves; then
gathered up. its mighty wings, and rushed roaring,
12*




ï~~138

ELLA LINCOLN.

piping, thundering over the plain. The grass and the
flowers bowed low as- it passed, and the young trees
were twisted into shreds. The cattle ran bellowing
away like a herd of frightened buffaloes; and the birds
were lifted and whirled along like withered leaves.
Then came the lightning, the thunder, the pattering
rain, the pelting hail; and then the cheerful light broke
through, and the cloud rolled back and away, spanned
by the rainbow, its few lingering drops sparkling like
jewels in the sunbeams..
It was just five o'clock, and we had gathered in the
"sitting-room " for tea, when that tempest startled us'
with its suddenness and power; and, as soon as the
room  grew light again,. we seated ourselves at the
table.
"Pretty considerable of a shower!" remarked Mr.
Sutphen, as he helped us to broiled ham, cucumbers,
and raspberries. "I saw my wheat straw go flying
over the prairie when it bdgun; and them   prairie
chickens and birds - I pitied 'em. But it isn't anything to what I have seen. in my day. There was a
gale two years ago, that lifted up my. big wagon, carried it several feet, and sot it. right down into the
middle of a slough; and my oldest, Billy, who happened to be out, was landed right down onto the old
red cow's back. It tore my hay-stacks all to pieces,
and played ball with my fences, and everybody else's
within five miles.
"See here, Harry and Tommy; after tea, you'll have
a nice time, gathering up them bighail-stones that ain't
melted yet, won't, you? I always like children, when




ï~~BOARDING AT FARMER SUTPHEN S.

139

they are children, and let -big folks talk at the table,
and do their own hallooing out-doors."
"Father, the barn's on fire!"
"Why, Billy! is it possible? has the lightning struck
it? Where's my hat? Sure enough, it burns like a
candle! Come on, Billy, and all the rest of you! let's
get out them bags! Thomas, you blindfold them
horses, and lead 'em out! f'red, you untie that calf,
and start it! No fuss nor noise -just keep your wits
about you; but hurry! that mow will be down in five
minutes! There, we've saved the most of 'em; never
mind the rest! There comes roof and upper floor;
glad there wasn't any more hay in it!1 Get out of the
way! Now come and help bring boards from behind
the house to cover up the wheat, and be thankful
things isn't no worse."
The barn had burned down like a flash, filled as it
was with hay and straw, and roofed with pine.
The next day, a temporary shelter was erected; and,
in a few weeks, a new barn took its place.
It was autumn. We bade our kind friends " Good
bye," and returned to the village, where I had engaged
a comfortable house.
Another remittance of five hundred dollars had arrived from California. Allen was well, and my heart
beat as lightly as a bird's. Surely the tide had turned;
prosperity was at hand; he would return, and my cares
be over.




ï~~CHAPTER XVII.

"When sorry for others, remember
You have a few rights of your own."
THAT excellent girl and housekeeper who had nursed
me through the long winter, had " found a home of
her own," as she told me on Saturday before she was
married to Peter McMahon on Sunday.
In her place, I had secured an inferior girl, that
"wasn't obleeged: to work out, but came to help for
accommodation," and wash dishes in white undersleeves, at the moderate price of $2 per week, and
"all of Sunday to be her own." She took sly opportunities to teaze little Harry; and I actually stole a
march upon her, one day, just as she pushed Tommy
over into a tub of warm, dirty suds,
" What do you mean by that, Rachel?"
"I mean that I aint obleeged to work out, for my
father's well off, and I've a home to go to; and I
didn't come here to be bothered with anybody's young
uns; and I'm a going home to-morrow- that I amnow see if I don't!"
" Very well; go to-day, if you wish; I am ready to
settle with you."
"I'll stay if you'll take care of your. own young uns."
" 1 shall not do that. With your wages, you ought
to do my little house-work, and assist about the children. You can go home now - to-day."
(140o)




ï~~AT MARlIETTE AGAIN.

141

" Good bye, ma'am," said Rachel, hurrying tnrough
the room with an enormous bundle, and slamming the
door unmercifully.
The next time I opened my bureau drawers, they
were minus all those articles of dress which are not
the less useful for not being conspicuous; and I was
obliged to borrow "a change" of my next-door neighbor. Whence Rachel came, or whither she went, no
one knew. All that I could do, after the excitement
of sending her off, was to get our own suppers, and
put the children to bed; and, when I discovered my
loss, it was too late to trace her.
In those days, " help" was easily obtained, but not
generally good. " Hired girls "' were either ignorant
foreigners, or farmers' daughters who "had homes of
their own;" and if, with an eastern education, any
one of us happened to call "a hired girl" a "servant,"
it was well if there was a " baking aforehand," and
the clothes were newly washed and ironed, for madam
was off like a streak. Girls came and went, unknown,
unrecommended, doing what and as much as pleased
them. Every delicate woman at the head of a house
was doomed to suffer from their indolence and insolence; every master of a house had a rich experience
in " girl hunting."  I will not tell the story in full
about the miserses of keeping servants in newly settled towns. I will merely assert that those "helps"
were considered prizes who never got drunk, pinched
the babies, nor stole things of more importance than a
few eggs, a lump of butter, or a bar of hard soap.
"Well, here I am again," said I, throwing myself




ï~~142

ELLA LINCOLN.

upon the settee, weary in every limb. "No help!
Jane was the only decent girl I ever hired, and she
must be married! She is 'Mrs. Peter McMahon'
now, to be sure! What did he want of a wife? I'm
sure he was extremely selfish in taking her away."
And there I lay an hour, thinking and contriving, and
trying to be angry with poor Peter, when lo! there
was a tap at the door, and I welcomed the pleasant
face of my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Pry, to whom I
revealed my troubles.
"If you wish my advice, my dear Mrs. Lincoln, it
is this: give up housekeeping, and take a room in the
'New  York House.' The building is old, but respectable, and somewhat retired. Mr. and Mrs. Snapp,
the new occupants, are reported as excellent persons.
They have no children, and but few boarders. They
have been unfortunate; and your going there would
advance the interests of the house."
"Unfortunate! poor! "- that was enough. My
heart was always where my head ought to be. Poor
- Mr. and Mrs. Snapp!" Ella Lincoln had herself
known poverty; and, at the sound of that magic word,
she was ready, unquestioned, to take a viper to her
bosom, and warm it into life.
"I will ask my pastor if he thinks there would be
any impropriety in such a step," I said to Mrs. Pry,
who had come in to assist me to dispose of the furniture in case I should move to the hotel; and 1 put on
my sun-bonnet, and ran over the way.
"Certainly not, my dear Mrs. Lincoln. All western
boarding-houses are small hotels. Your respectability




ï~~AT MARIETTE AGAIN.

143

would, at all hazards, be a guaranty against remarks.
You need to be free from the perplexities of housekeeping. You could not do better, with your health."
"What a good, fatherly minister Mr. Brown is!"
thought Ella, taking two steps at a time, as she ran
back to tell Mrs. Pry.
Ah, Mr. Brown, you knew more about the "Psalms"
and the "Book of Esther" than about the propriety
of an unprotected woman going out to board. You,
in your own honest goodness, never thought that a
lady, boarding, is, in a measure, in the power of the
host'and hostess under whose roof she is; that, upon
the first pique, they may lead strangers to underrate
her character; that by them she may be fed or starved,
warmed or frozen, made happy or persecuted, until she
suffers any inconvenience of person or purse to be
freed again from their hateful presence  You did not
know that, Mr. Brown. You would as soon have
expected snow in August, or pirates upon dry land, as
harm to Ella Lincoln at the " New York House."
The large upper room which I had contracted for
was in a state of dilapidation; and Mr. Snapp asked
me to occupy another until he could have it repaired.
" Of course." Poor Mr. Snapp - anything to oblige
him. I was given a back room in its stead, from the
windows of which I had a fine view of the stables, a
dirty yard, ete. But, not minding a temporary annoyance, I said in my heart, " My own room will at best
be ready in a few weeks, and then all will be pleasant."
I saw some large yellow patches on the wall, which
indicated a leaky roof; but fie! it wouldn't rain again




ï~~144

ELLA LINCOLN.

until my own room would be done. The table was
strangely like an " outline map," the coffee muddy and
tea flat, pie-crust like India rubber, and the cake -
Tommy and Harry whispered, " Mamma, isn't there
soap in it? "- the cake was green with saleratus.
But --poor Mr. and Mrs. Snapp! They were just
commencing in the new business, and could not aflford
many eggs. I was determined to be satisfied with the
table.
I tried to like the personal appearance of the host
and hostess. Mr. Snapp was a trim, short, active
person, with a little black eye and smoothly shaven
face, always smiling. Mrs. Snapp was tall and straight
as an Indian, with a creamy-white complexion, and
hair not much darker, low brow, little head, and skimmilk eyes with just the least perceptible shade of blue
in them. Her nose - may it never be measured; her
mouth - never be explored.
But, God made her; she was not responsible for her
personal appearance. I resolutely began to like her.
I could have succeeded better if her dress had not
been so outrd; but she wore the Bloomer costume -
exceedingly Bloomerish. She had a right to her own
taste.
She was bold and loud-toned, and her tramp was
like that of an elephant. Even all these things I forgave her, determined not to judge of the jewel by the
roughness of the casket.
The summer advanced, cold and stormy. The little
ones fretted at the chilliness of the room - that back
room, for my own was not yet finished. I ventured




ï~~AT MARIETTE AGAIN.

145

to remind Mr. Snapp that he had promised me the
front room; and then he complained of poverty. He
" was very sorry, but really he did not know where to
get the money.' I, Ella Lincoln, loaned it to him,
leaping like a prisoner from a wall in the dark, risking
his neck, with the bare possibility of bettering his condition. I was so weary of that dark, cold back room,
and of being turned out of bed by the rain, that I was
glad of any alternative. But I tried to blame no one
in particular. Clouds would come, and rain would
fall; and, whenever it did rain, I bounded out of bed
instanter. One night I awoke in a fright, thinking I
had an alarming palpitatiqn of the heart, to which I
had long been subject. Yes, I could hear it! It was
like a Methodist minister of seventy years since, impressing his congregation by constantly pounding on
the pulpit cushion.; like the dropping of water from a
broken bucket upon the ground; like the everlasting
tongue of a scold, yet more endurable.
There I lay, not daring to stir hand or foot, lest that
might hasten the dissolution of nature, and mentally
praying to the Father in heaven that he would be
very merciful to one whose life had been so erring, and
watch over my unprotected babes. It is an awfully
solemn moment when we wait for the last beat of the
heart. - Whew! what's that? A drop of water pattering in lpy face. Up go hands, and down they fall
upon my chest, splash into a puddle of water which
has collected upon the coverlet. Ella is alive again,
and up in a hurry.
"It is a long lane that hath no turning." I had
13




ï~~146

ELLA LINCOLN.

been at the " New York House" three months, when
the landlord politely informed me that the room for
which I had contracted was duly plastered and papered,
and I moved in, saying, " Now we shall be happy.
Harry and Tommy will have more room, and from
those front windows we shall see the world again."
"Man never is, but always to be, blest."
Court week was approaching; all the landlords in
ecstasies; their harvest at hand. Away they went,
scouring the country after pigs, turkeys, and green
peas. There was  bustle in the bed-rocims, bustle in
the bar-room, confusion and racket among kettles and
tin ovens.
O, what a nice thing I tahought it was to be snugly
out of the way in my room, where, with my children,
I could remaih unmolested.
Not willing to be in the crowd, I requested the landlord to allow me to sit with my children at the second
table. I would have preferred that my meals should
be sent up, but had heard the white-eyed landlady
descant upon"" false delicacy," and feared to prefer
even so reasonable a request.
Mr. Snapp had advertised to take boarders at seventyfive cents per day, and of course Mr. Snapp was favored
with a crowd - and such a crowd! Often, after the
first tableful had risen, a second would rush in, and it
fell to my lot to eat at the third, when, alas! only the
spirit of emptiness remained. Meat, vegetables, and
sauces were not there. Sometimes ] found a few
crums of the dressing of fowls, and no potatoes; some



ï~~HOTEL LIFE.

147

times potatoes, no crums of the dressing. That whiteeyed Mrs. Snapp was a "close calculator."  The children cried. After dinner, to pacify them, I went out
and bought them cakes and candy - poor boys!
".Court week" lasted at least twenty days; but its
duration was not my worst form of grievance, for the
host and hostess seemed determined that I should
'share in all its troubles. There was a case of prosecution for stealing; and the defendant, and all the witnesses on the defence, boarded at that house. Among
these were some of the most arrant, troublesome
women I ever saw. They walked into my room uninvited, at all hours, if the door happened to be unlocked.
The weather was warm; I had neither shutters nor
shade trees on the sunny side; hence the only alternative, from the women, was suffocation.  Two of
them actually came in with pipes in their mouths,
when, abhorring tobacco, I took the liberty to'say that
I disliked smoke, and they.-" went out?"  Not they;
they just walked forward, and; each seating herself in
a front window, puffed away. "There, now. it will
blow out the window," said one; and "La sakes!
'most everybody likes it," chimed in the other. Then
followed a succession of questions about my past and
future, such as the ignorant delight to ask, and the
refined dislike to answer. All these annoyances I bore,
rather than be at open war with Mr. Snapp, whose
friends they were; and I feared to offend Mr. Snapp,
in whose power were the few comforts we possessed,
because I had foolishly obliged him by paying our
board in advance.




ï~~148

ELLA LINCOLN.

Court week was over. We rejoiced in the possessi6n of our own room, and the present seemed more
endurable by contrasting it with the past; but O, how
many difficulties and vexations I yet endured! When
the children were sick, I watched over them alone;
and, when I was sick, none cared for me - none under
that roof. I had friends, many friends, to whom I
might have gone for counsel and sympathy; but I did
not feel willing to let them know how foolishly I had
entrapped myself by paying in advance. As soon as
our accounts balance, I said to myself, I will escape
from this unpleasant situation.
I had received company in my own room, supposing
it to be more proper than to go down alone to the
public parlor. There was no "ladies' parlor" (it was
a village hotel of many years ago.) The friends of
my absent husband had called at any and all times,
I supposed unquestioned. But this did not suit the
white-eyed landlady.
One day, a lawyer called upon business, having a
paper for my signature; and afterwards he advised
me as a friend concerning the future. He remained
an hour, little Harry and Tommy playing the mischief
all that time with " Gleason's Pictorial," which I had
given them to keep them- quiet.
Soon after he went out, " Short-Skirts" came up
stairs like a whirlwind. I heard her portentous tread,
and softly turned the key.
" Mrs. Lincoln! Mrs. Lincoln!" she vociferated, with
a short, spiteful rap, that sounded in my ear like the
collapsing of a steel trap. After a moment's hesitation,




ï~~HOTEL. LIFE.

149

I opened the door: Her eyes were dilated to what
seemed to me the size of two full moons; her short,
dowdy figure was drawn up to its extreme height;
her vinegar lips quivered.
"What will you have, Mrs. Snapp'?"
"What. will I have, indeed?  I would have the
ladies who board here receive gentlemen's calls in the
public parlor. ly reputation is at stake; and let me
tell you, even you are not above suspicion."
"Very well, madam; now that your errand is accomplished, I hope to have the privilege of my own
room."
Utterly foiled by my composure, she made a speedy
exit; and I turned the key behind her, realizing - O,
how bitterly! - that I was in the power of an envious,
unfeeling woman, who might deteriorate my character
as a lady. But for confidence in the faithfulness of
those who had known me long and well, I should have
been driven to madness. I wept long and bitterly; and
then a strong hand uplifted my spirit out of the darkness, and a "still small voice" whispered, "All is well."
That night, I had pleasant dreams under the roof of
a friend, except that once I was startled by the apparition of a gigantic bird of bantum species, that crowed
most threateningly over my pillow; and, as I raised
my hand to scare him away, he gazed back saucily in
my face with the veritable head and eyes of the whiteeyed landlady.
About that time, I conceived a decided aversion to
boarding in general, (which feeling lasted about a
week,) and I jotted down my opinion in simple rhyme.
13*




ï~~150

ELLA LINCOLN.

Whatsoever ills befall you, -
Fain would I advise you once,Let no boarding-house inthrall you:
List to a repentant dulce.
If your home be neat and spacious,
Warm, and filled with comforts rare,
Thanking Him who is so gracious,
Never mind your meed of care.
If your home be rude and scanty,
And but scantily supplied,
But a straw-thatched, leaky shanty,
Strive to smile with naught beside.
Wooden be both plate and platter,
Sip your coffee from a gourd,
Gather crums the nabobs scatter,
But - I warn you - never board.
The next week found the dear little fellows and myself, so pleasantly situated in a first-class boardinghouse, that the muses, who are fond of melancholy,
actually soared away in disgust.




ï~~CHAPTER XVIII.

"How many 'angels unawares' have crossed thy casual way!"
Ma. ALTON, the proprietor of the "Boston House"
was a gentleman. Mrs. Alton made no unnecessary
noise, assumed no unwarrantable guardianship over
her boarders, but kept a general superintendence of
the house without seeming to be there. She was a
person of uncommon intellect without egotism; had
seen enough of the world, through suffering, to constitute her a judge of its ways and wickedness; was a
lady in the parlor, a mistress in the kitchen, an ornament in general society.
The boarders were courteous and respectful - genuine gentlemen and ladies, who knew the way to their
own rooms, and when it was time to go there; and
they made it a religious duty to "mind their own
business."
The servants of the " Boston House" were as superior to those of the "New York House ' as the master
and mistress of the latter to those of ihe former.
Genteel hotels command genteel servants.
My rooms were peculiarly pleasant, being on the
first floor, with a front and back entrance. I furnished
them comfortably from the remains of the furniture of
the house, and much enjoyed having a room and bedroom  once more.   When " Court Week" came, I
(151)




ï~~152

ELLA' LINCOLN.

feared no intruding women who would sit in the
front windows and smoke long pipes. I apprehended
no feminine "court-miartial" after friends had called
upon business, neglect in sickness, nor scanty fare.. I
drew one long, comfortable breath, after the last article
of furniture was adjusted to my taste, and said, in the
fulness of contentment, " HOME!"
"When the little ones are hungry, this is the place
to come," said Mrs.'Alton, flinging open a cupboard in
the dining-room, and displaying the long rows of pies
and cakes, that might have tempted an epicurean
millionaire; " and here are the knives "- opening a
drawer - 1" just bring them out, and help them to
what they ask for."
Dear, kind Mrs. Alton! Since then, it has sometimes been my lot to board where the face of the
mistress turned wrong side out, if I asked with solemn
reverence for "a piece of bread and butter for Tommy;"
and my thoughts have reverted to that whole-souled
woman, who, laying her own offspring, remembered
that other mothers' bosoms were made of the same
flesh, subject to the same painful emotions over a
grieved child. Some women actually become crosseyed from keeping one eye constantly upon the pantry
while the other attends to the world in general.
O money, money! none but those who have known
poverty to the very dregs can fully appreciate thy
worth. I bought "a dress or two," once more, without
the fear that I should atone for the waste by the lack
of bread. I went into society without the harrowing
fear that the "poor-house" waited ir the distance. I




ï~~FLORENCE DAY.

153

did not carry a face there as long as a penitential
friar's; I was happy to be there, pleased with all I saw.
I had new clothes, new rooms, new hopes, new treatment, and wore a new countenance.
But my health was yet delicate; ana after the
winter set in cold and windy, I remained generally at
home.
I had a poet-friend, whom I shall call " Florence
Day," who came sometimes to see me, and then we
were so happy. Sweet Florence Day! I had loved
her long before we met. There was a mournful cadence in her verse; a breaking heart breathed its
inspirations through every line; and all 'the holiest
sympathies of my poetic nature rose up in reverence
to meet her fair ideal. I longed to tell her how I
appreciated her worth; to clasp her to my heart of
hearts, utinawed by her superiority. We met as sister
meets sister, and communed together as they only can
whose hopes alike overreach the grave.
She was a frail creature, with a sweet blue eye, and
a world of thought upon her forehead; pious, but not
bigoted; conversable, but not talkative; with proper
self-respect, yet setting no facttfflus value upon her
own attainments. She was the genuine old-fashioned
lady - no surface politeness. Where she gave her
hand, her heart accompanied it. You might have
given her the keys of your soul's hiding-place, assured
she would not betray you.
At home she was domestic and plain, the pattern
mother, pattern housekeeper. She was yet in the




ï~~154

ELLA LINCOLN.

early noon of life, if her age had been counted in
years; but if by lines of care, by clouds of grief, in
early evening.
A few   snow-flakes blended with the bright-brown
locks upon her temples; her figure was skeleton-like,
her hands almost transparent, the blue veins interlacing
each other like net-work,, upon the surface. I watched
her often, long and sorrowfully, thinking of the wealth
of affection she had lavished upon a thankless world,
and remembered those beautiful lines which came up
from the over-tried heart of a sweet songstress;
"Her lot is on you; silent tears to weep,
And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour;
And sumless riches, from affection's deep,
To pour on broken reeds a wasted shower;
To make you idols, and to find them clay;
And to bewail that worship - therefore pray."
I pondered upon the strange mystery, that others, less
gifted, less deserving, were sitting in." high places,"
while to her were not awarded those laurels which
were her due; nor competence which ought to have
resulted from such talent and industry.
A mother toilingJfor her children, wearing out flesh
and brain in the thankless profession of a writer, -
not cursed with vain ambition, - with no unhallowed
thirst for empty applause, - turning her faltering footsteps to the thorny path of literature, as the only avenue
through which she might find her daily bread, -    why
was she still so poor?
For the want of one available friend, one with the
heart and ability to risk a few hundreds in her behalf,




ï~~FLORENCE DAyo

155

to take her,, as a brother, by the hand, publish her valuable works, and demand for her the immediate attention of a hurrying, thoughtless world.  She had
written long and well, her talents had been moderately
appreciated by the public, but she could not write
gratuitously, to be paid in "puffs," - she had no millionaire friend to insert favorable notices at advertisement
prices.
She, whom poverty obliges to eat the bread of carefulness, and mend her own clothes, if she wield the pen
of the author, will reap her reward in disappointment,
mortification, and an early death. The literary man
may go forth alone to wrestle for his rights with those
meaner souls, who, through accident, money, or friends,
h.ave gained the long coveted goal; but woman, selfdoubting, shrinking woman, in this, as in everything,
needs encouragement. Protect her, and she goes forward; without protection she falls back, appalled at the
difficulties that surround her. I speak of what I know.
These words may reach the bleeding heart of many a
"Florence- Day," weary and worn till the life-lamp
burns feeblyj flickering in the socket.  A " Florence
Day," who in her great struggle turns her beseeching
eyes to even her successful sisters, to be met with cold,
scornful looks; clenched hands, -" Florence Day," -
tracing with feeble fingers her last lines to some heartless employer, beseeching him for the stinted remuneration "due for her last story."
She is gone! Her blue eye waxed strangely brilliant;
her pale cheek glowed with a bright crimson spot; her
step dragged heavily over the floor, and she lay down




ï~~156                 ELLA LINCOLN.
to die. The destroyer was slow in his work, that the
teachings of her pure spirit might be heard, and remembered long by those who loved her. Earth has
seemed more lonely and desolate to Ella since she went
home!
"Died of consumption."    I know, - the loved ones
who watched over her to the last know, - that reiterated disappointments, a keen realization of the
unkindly dealings of those who might, and ough to
have advanced her literary interests, preyed upon her
sensitive nature, and hurried. her prematurely into the
grave. Sweet Florence Day!. There's not a look, a word of thine,
My soul hath e'er forgot;
Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine,
Nor given thy locks one graceful twine,
That I remember not."




ï~~CHAPTER-XIX.

"So much to gain, so much to lose,
No wonder that I fear to choose."
"Where ig the strength that spurned decay;
The step that rolled so light away
The heart's blithe tone? -"
" My dear Mrs. Lincoln, how would it suit you to be
associated with me in 'The Republican.' Would not
daily occupation beguile you of your present loneliness;
and the kind of employment I should offer'you be a
profitable discipline for your intellect?  I know you
hbqve editorial talent of a high order; and, at some future time, the little experience gained at Mariette might
be useful to you in a more widely circulated Journal."
"But, my dear Sir, to become a dabbler in grave
editorials, has never suggested itself to my fancy in my
wildest moods. Recollect, if I should disgrace myself, I should disgrace you.
"I have no fears."
" My health would not admit of exposure."
"You.can stay in your own room. I will call upon
you here as often as necessary. What shall I say to
our readers next week?"
" Tell them  I'll try,"- and Mr. Ward was gone.
What next, Ella?
"Our new Volume. We have introduced improverments which cannot fail of gratifying our friends. Mrs.
14                       (157)




ï~~.158

ELLA LINCOLN.

Ella Lincoln, whose graceful pen has often contributed
to our columns, will now be associated with us in the
editorial management. *
In consideration of our efforts to keep pace with the
improvements around us, we confidently appeal to a
generous public for a more extensive patronage.
Especially do we invoke the smiles -of the ladies, realizing that what they encourage must succeed.
In behalf of our associates, we promise them that no
pains shall be spared, to render our paper a fitting
companion for the boudoir or the parlor." - iMariettle
Republican.
"Mrs. Lincoln, a talented writer of both prose and
poetry, has become associated with Mr. Ward, in the
Mariette Republican. We most cordially welcome her
to the editorial chair, and congratulate our friend on
such an accession to his strength."-Mariettle Jacksonian.
"Mrs. Lincoln wields the pen of a ready writer; and
her editorial talents are not surpassed by any lady's in
the West."-Putnamville Spy.
"We have long known Mrs. Lincoln, as a writer,
and a woman, and have full confidence in her ability
and success."- Chicago Aurora.
"She is caustic and keen. We shall have good
things from her pen. She is extensively known in the
West as a poetess."-Milwaukee Star.
There, puffing myself like a quack doctor. Those
are specimens. I'll read you the rest when we've finished" The Story."




ï~~LITERARY LABORS.

159

I believe Mr. Ward was satisfied with my success,
and" I wrote homilies, obituaries, puffs, and notices of
strolling singers, almost as well as he did.
Friends, were pleased to commend me, for the faithfulness with which I battled for truth and justice;
though the young gentlemen thought me hard upon
"dancing," because I insisted upon it, that if they danced
five nights in the week, they ought to take the sixth for
rest and repentance.
Western people "go in for" amusements; generally
look at the bright side of a thunder storm; and never
cry "fire " till a roof caves in. They don't groan a
half a day over every hand-bill that announces something new; or "wonder who will be there;" but go
right along,' taking for granted the spectators make the
show respectable,- not that the show can un-make
the witnesses.
They are not yet cursed with as many " castes" as
the Brahmins. Industry, honesty and intelligence are
not pushed aside by ignorant coxcombry, backed by
the "almighty dollar."  When a lady of respectable
appearance is seen in a western town, her sister ladies
do not wait to inform themselves if she be " a Governor's daughter," or sister to " Senator Buster," before
they extend to her the courtesies due to all lonely
strangers. " Old aristocratic family," is a phrase unknown there. If some millionaire's wife should so far
forget her true interest, as to put on airs, and claim supremacy, from the fact of her having been one of the
"first settlers," it would be lucky indeed for her, if, in
that same company. there were none who could re



ï~~160

ELLA LINCOLN.

member, to have seen her rinsing clothes in the
creek with the water up to        where her gaiters
would have come, if she had had them on, and they
had been as long as gentlemen's boots.
" First settlers;" and some who settled after them,
would do well to look wise and say nothing about
"classes."
Probably, some of the "first settlers" of Mariette
will teach their children, privately, that money is the
chief good; and the surface of the third generation
will be plentifully sprinkled with FOOLS talking of the
"old families," etc.,- for sfich is the fashion of the
world. He who moved his family to the "far west"
in a coarse wagon; camping out at night; who lived
the first summer in a wretched cabin, without glass
in the windows; with a coverlet hanging in the place
of a door; whose meals were prepared by a fire outside, the kettle resting on two stones, becomes rich;
occupies a tall, brick mansion; rides in a carriage;
gives oyster suppers; -- He says to his little son, "Look
there! do you see those white wagon covers away off
upon the prairie? Those are the wagons of the cooking
movers; plain, honest people, who are moving out
farther West."
" Oh, yes. May be they'll stop here always; if they
do, -will you and mamma call and see them?"
"Of course not; my little unsophisticated pussy!
they cannot move in our circle."
The village grows into. town, the town becomes
a  city; the once " Far West is the interior;
the white man still treads in the track of the In



ï~~AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.

161

dian, the Indian marches onward towards the setting
sun.
"God guides us through perpetual change,
Yet does not change his plan."
I was called to tea; as usual; before the rush
of the boarders, at the ringing of the bell.
Opposite sat an elderly gentleman whom I immediately recognized as Mr. Trall, of Chicago, the uncle
of Jeannie Lisle. Mr. Trall and Jeannie were-the companions of our journey Westward through Michigan,
of whom mention was made in a former chapter.
His hair had become snowy white; otherwise he
was not much changed in personal appearance; but I
thought, as he answered some questions of the attendant, that his voice was sadder; even mournful in its
tone.
The past, that rough, yet not unpleasant journey -
with all its little incidents; its vexatious accidents; its
overturnings and detentions; rushed over my memory.
The companions of that weary ride; as varied in chiracter as features; the dark haired Bostonian, that carried sweet Jeannie Lisle over the slough; the smiling
young farmers, the merchants; the professional men;
- all came back before me in that momentary review,
with almost a bewildering power.
"Mamma, does your head ache?" asked Tommy,
noticing that I passed my harid over my brow as if in
pain.
" No, dear, I am quite well."
" Mrs. Lincoln; is it possible 1" said Mr. Trall, start14*




ï~~162

ELLA LINCOLN.

ing to nis feet and coming round to our side of the table.
"Our acquaintance was brief; and it is long since we
parted; yet you seem as an old friend. I am happy,
very happy to meet you again. You are changed; the
rose has given place to the lily; and yet the expression
remains - these are your little ones?"
"They are; - What of Miss Lisle - of Jeannie? "
" My dear, after tea- this evening I will call at your
room, and there we will talk of Jeannie."
After tea'in my room.
Sweet Jeannie.   You remember her vividly, I
know. She was one whom no one could see, and forget.
So womanly, and yet so child-like; so affectionate, unsuspicious; trustful, to her own hurt. She never forgot
you for even, one week- called you 'Ella, dear Ella
Lincoln.'
You remember the dark haired Bostonian who travelled with us; who carried Jeannie in my stead, over
the slough? He was a tall, handsome youth, with an
eagle eye, a high, intellectual brow, but somewhat reserved, among us. Bernard McIntosh
After we parted from you, he told me that he was about
to settle in Chicago, and practise law there. He presented credentials of character, signed by some of the
most respectable citizens of Boston, and the president of
Yale College; also Hugh Bancroft of New York, an
old college mate of my own; and then, he asked the
favor of considering me a friend, and making a permanent acquaintance with Miss Lisle.




ï~~JEANNIE LISLE, AGAIN.

163

I was proud to take so promising a youth to my
heart, and make him welcome at all times to my home.
It was both a-privilege and duty. He came and went,
his reserve wore slowly away, and his conversational
powers proved brilliant. He was a prominent member
of the bar, for one so young, very conspicuous as a
speaker. He delivered a fourth of July oration, - one
of the most thrillingly eloquent addresses I ever heard,
--.he lectured upon " poetry and the arts," enchanting
the audience with the variety of his knowledge and the
beauty of his style. He was welcomed into every circle, loved wherever he went.  When he asked for
Jeannie's hand in marriage, I hesitated. How could I
give her up? She was my only sister's child, all that
remained to remind me of her, and so like her. Just
so beautiful, frank, and childlike was my own Annette,
who only lived to smile uVon her babe, and died. Then
her noble husband fell a victim to consumption, and
bequeathed me Jeannie, to be my own, with his last
breath. I took the wee bit creature to my bosom, as
a precious gift;- and, having need of nothing, was
enabled to shield her through infancy and childhood
from the rude buffetings of a cold, hard world.
When you saw Jeannie, she was returning with me
from the Institute at Baltimore, where she had finished
her education. I took her frort there, to be the idol of
my wife, who had no children. Alas, we all made her
"a household god!"  Of society she was an ornament
and pet. But I will not dwell upon those three years
she spent with us.
Jeannie loved Bernard McIntosh, -it was her destiny.




ï~~164

1ELLA LINCOLN,

" I will run in and kiss you every day, dear uncle and
and aunt," she said, half playfully, half tearfully, as she
crossed the threshold, leaning upon his arm, a beautiful
bride; and, then we felt that the light of the house was
gone out, and another had gathered the flower which
we had tended with unwearying care.
One year Jeannie was happy. Her laugh rang out
as clearly, wildly as before; she came in every day to
" kiss" us, as she had promised, and, although we were
lonely, without her, when she wps gone, we said, it is
right, for where, in all the world, could she have found
a more perfect companion than Bernard McIntosh?
But a time came when Jeannie entered the door with
a less elastic step; when the smile that dimpled her
cheek was mocked by a tearful eye. We knew that
a cloud was settling upon her life-path, that the worm
of sorrow was already eating into her heart-strings.
Then it was whispered among friends, that Bernard
had fallen a victim to the arts of the fiends of the gambling saloons; that he had been seen intoxicated, -
that he was lost.
Jeannie came to me one night, and said: -
"He is gone again! he is there. Of late he seldom
comes home until three, in the morning, and then -
then     "
"What is it, my child? speak,- what then?"
"Q, how can I say! how can I tell, even you?" and
it seemed as if those great, heavy sobs would burst
her bosom. "How can I? O, that I could die!"
She flung herself heavily upon the sofa, and, in her
great agony, flinging up her arm, her white, drapery




ï~~JEANNIE LISLE, AGAIN

165

sleeve fell back to the shoulder, and revealed a black,
frightful bruise.
For a moment I held my breath, with grief and rage.
I felt as if I should go out and shoot the villain,- shoot
him in the hell where he was defiling himself, - dishonoring the image of God, breaking the heart of the
loveliest of her sex. No, no, upon second thought, I
would not hurry the poor besotted maniac into the
presence of his God. " Vengeance is mine," saith the
Eternal.
"Jeannie, my own dear child; you have come home
to remain. Never, with my consent, shall you go forth
again. When Bernard sees you it shall he here, in my
presence, or that of your aunt."
" O, how I have loved him! how I love him yet '
But I am sick, dear uncle, aunt; have me carried to a
chamber _   "
Bernard was sent for in the morning, at her request.
He looked upon the wreck that he had made, and wept.
He beat his great, broad breast, and called on God to
curse him.
"Jeannie! O, my wife! live, and I will be your
slave. I will forsake those evil companions, will turn
again to my long forsaken God. Not yet! Oh, Thou
who upholdest all life, not yet! Spare, O, spare her!"
"Turn my head toward y'u, Bernard," she said,
with a sweet smile; "the fiat has gone forth, I cannot
live. Repent, pray; not for my life, but your guiltstained soul. He is merciful! Kiss me, dearest, - I
forgive you."
The day wore on, - the physician still answered,




ï~~166               ELLA LINCOLN.
"no hope." Bernard, driven from her presence, raved
and wept; while Jeannie slept, occasionally murmuring
in her dreams, "Poor Bernard! forgive him, for my
sake."
At midnight there*was a low, feeble cry, - and then
the spirits of Jeannie and her new-born babe went up
to heaven together.
The old man bowed himself upon the table, and
wept.
"And Bernard McIntosh?"
" He repented for a season, as the fiends 'of hell'
repent, then returned to the cup and the cards, and
Now lives, the most degraded of men."




ï~~CHAPTER XX.

Death paused beside each household pet,
And raised his hand to slay.
ELLA was sick for a few weeks, and Harry had a
very serious turn of illness. For a few days it seemed
as if his short life was almost ended; and I watched
over him with inexpressible solicitude and sorrow. He
had been a delicate child, from the cradle, and this
was the second attack of lung fever within a few
months.   But the physician, who was very skilful,
watched over him day aid night, and, although at one
time I called the landlord, and other members of the
family, as I supposed, to see him die, his little, fragile
form rose up again, as the reed which has been bent
by the wind.
During his illness, and my own, and several periods
of sickness of later date, we received the kindest, most
considerate attentions from the family and boarders at
the Boston House. All knew our history, all felt for
our unprotected loneliness. Kind neighbors came daily
to offer their services as nurses, and speak soothing
words; and, indeed, if it be not an anomaly to say " a
pleasant illness," I should say we had more happiness
than misery, even then, it was so pleasant to have such
friends.
In the main, I am confident that I acquitted myself
(167)




ï~~168

ELLA LINCOLN.

as an editor, with satisfaction to Mr. Ward, the proprietor, and my numerous friends, and also secured the
friendship of many of the readers of "The Republican,"
before unknown. Gentlemen, of whose approbation I
was truly proud, were pleased to praise me for the
faithfulness with which I discharged my duties.
Naturally impulsive and plain spoken, I may not
always have modified the truth sufficiently to suit all
the crabs and snap-turtles living in those western
sloughs; but I know I was favorably received, as a
writer, by the better class, and that includes ninety-nine
hundredths of the whole population.
In the west, few women give their attention to literature. Here and there,.a lady of wealth and leisure,
not particularly fond of society, or one who is poor,
and has no children to occupy her attention, writes for
the newspapers, or a magazine, generally gratuitously;
but western ladies, as a community, are much occupied
with domestic cares, more especially in the earlier portion of the day, and they are fond of visiting and evening amusements.    They are intelligent, but not
literary, readers but not writers. Hence a woman who
spends the greater portion of her time in literary employment, is a more marked character in a western
town, than in one of our eastern cities, where every
tenth pair of bonnet strings rhymes together, or writes
" love" and " muider " stories for the wonder-loving
public.
In the west, the lady who writes for the newspaper
is petted and respected, whether her home be in a mansion or a garret, in the east, she whose life is summed




ï~~THE ALARM.

169

up in " chapters" and " paragraphs," must expect competition and envy at her elbow; and to be obliged to
demand the place, which, though merited, will be slowly
conceded. You remember the old saying, "two of a
trade cannot agree; " how then can hundreds " of a
trade agree?"
The ladies of Mariette, - God bless them! I have
been a weary time away; but as often as some new
wave of sorrow passes over me; when the whole heart
is weary and the head sick, I think of them - their
unselfish principles;, their unassuming intelligence;
their frank, open-hearted manners.
I have heart-sisters - heart-brothers - away in the
prairie land, whose pictures are daguerreotyped upon
the walls of memory; -time cannot dim their beauty,
nor sorrow wash it out,
I was gazing out over the broad strip of prairie between the town and the Plano River, when my attention was attracted by a crowd of persons standing
upon the bank.
My children had been out of my room, perhaps half
an hour; I supposed they were in the garden, or at
the barn, where they were fond of going to play; and,
having always forbidden them to go towards the water,
I had no uneasiness about them.
But that crowd, all along the river - what meant
that? Some horse had been drowned, probably, in attempting to ford the stream; or possibly, some little,
neglected child had fallen in. Presently a tiny figure
15




ï~~170

ELLA LINCOLN.

separated from the crowd, and as it approached, I discovered that it was hatless - a little nearer - it was
my own Harry.
"Mamma, Tommy is drowned!"
For a moment my very heart stopped beating. I
was stunned -suffocated - speechless with horror.
Mechanically I started for the river, without shawl
or bonnet.
"Here is your bonnet," said the little fellow, following; and I took it into my hand, but did not put it on.
I walked slowly; my limbs were hardly subject to my
bewildered will. As I drew nearer, I saw a man holding him up by his heels; and coming very near, I discovered that he was black in the face, and, apparently,
dead. Friends spoke to me, but I did not reply. I
breathed with difficulty, my head felt enlarged and
strangely; I was very chilly.
The water ran down from his mouth in a stream at
first, then less freely, then only dropped.
"That will do," said a bystander; " now put him
down on the grass."
And then they stripped away the thin frock from his
little bosom, and commened rubbing and rolling him,
- a man putting his lips to his, and breathing into his
mouth.
There was a bubbling sound in his chest; - simultaneously he threw up his little hands and sobbed -
sobbed.
"There, he breathes!"
"Yes, he's safe another moment in the water would
have told the story!"




ï~~THE ALARM.

171

" Yes, it is a miracle; - now he breathes pretty
well - let's put him in a wagon and take him home."
' Yes, and drive fast," said the doctor, jumping into a
wagon whose owner had stopped there to see whatwas the matter.
"Get in, Mrs. Lincoln," said a friend.
I gazed at the wagon with its inmates; the doctor;
the man who held the child, and others; but my feet
refused to climb - I shook my head. They drove
away.
A friend took me by the hand and led me slowly
home. When we arrived, he was lying on the bed,
crying. They were removing his wet clothes; combing
his hair. I watched them, but said nothing. The room
was crowded with friends for about an hour, talking
and doing little deeds of kindness; and then all left
but one; and the doctor said, "let him sleep."
I answered all questions in monosyllables during the
afternoon. My head was still full and felt strangely;
my chest felt as if being crushed in by a heavy weight.
Harry came and laid his head upon my lap; but I asked
him no questions.
" I am sorry - so sorry," he said, "that I took him
there; but a big boy coaxed me to go and see him
swim; and he took me into the water to teach me to
swim; and while I was in there, Tommy fell in; and I
did not know it. But a man saw his hat on the top of
the water; and he said, I there is a boy drowned,' and
he dove in for him, and got him out,- so I heard him
say to the other men. Excuse me this once, mamma,




ï~~172              ELLA LINCOLN.
and I'll never swim  again - never;" and Harry
wept.
At three o'clock, P. M., Tommy was brought home
- at twelve o'clock, I wept. I wept all night at intervals; and was relieved.  The great weight left my
brain and bosom - tears - blessed tears!  never before had I realized their value!
"I'll tell you, mamma," said Tommy, who now was
worth to me forty times his "weight in gold "-aye in
diamonds -" I'll tell you how I felt. Well, I knew I
was in the water; and a great many people was there;
and I was sorry for you;- and mad at Tim, for coaxing bubby to go and swim; and I was afraid nobody'd
find me; and then I forgot."




ï~~CHAPTER XXI.

"Wherefore dost thou doubt? if present good 's round thee?"
"NOT writing, as usual; and such an expression -
such a care-worn, troubled brow?  Why, my dear
friend, what has occurred to disturb ' the even tenor of
your way? ' Any bad news from husband? "
" Oh, Mr. Brown! I cannot write, read, sew, or talk
any more.   I am so miserable.  It has been many,
many months since I have heard from my husband! I
am beginning to indulge in all manner of fancies. I
fear he may have died of starvation; or by the hand
of violence; or that he has started for home and been
lost at sea. I fear everything, without any definite
fear; - I am wild - wild! "
Wild! indeed; you seem exceedingly sane. And
really I think are doing well, alone. At a good boarding house; with plenty of means, or for this week, at
least; surrounded by the best of friends; in good
health, for you; and the children well. Besides all
these blessings," he continued, eyeing me archly, from
beneath those great, black brows, a little mixed with
gray; "you ought, to have one consolation, hlie can't
treat you unkindly now,- no harsh words, no blows."
15*               (173)




ï~~174

ELLA LINCOLN.

"Mr. Brown! Sir! What do you mean! Allen
Lincoln was never unkind to me! True, he was unfortunate - a speculator; a gloomy, miserable man before he left me, but he was kind - oh, how kind! Pray
Sir, who has belied him? And how can you repeat
that falsehood to me.,I had thought better things of
you!" And did n't I look as savagely as a bearded
Turk?
"Ha! ha! ha! ha!- I like a spirited woman;"
shouted Mr. Brown at the top of his lungs, " I only
meant to change your mood, that's all; better a fit of
anger than despondency;" and he laughed on, till I
joined in. the chorus. *
"He will do well; no doubt of it. Letters have
miscarried - he is up in the mountains; picking up an
ounce to the second - anything but dead; ha! ha!
ha! Let us see - what time is it?  Seven? Yes.
there is time, I must tell you a story about my cousin
in Pompeii, Illinois. Mrs. Etta Carlisle Clark; the
wife of a wealthy lawyer there. I wish to prove to
you, that you have been happy through all your misfortunes, in having married a man, not a donkeyJust imagine ' Etta Carlisle, A Prairie Sketch,' by
Revd. Mr. Brown, over the first column in the " Republican;" and come right along with me. We commence our Story in Philadelphia.
" But you are not serious, Etta; you do not expect
Hubert Carr to visit you as an accepted lover? You
are aware of your different positions in society; you
cannot recognize in him an equal?"  And the mother




ï~~MR. BROWN'S STORY.

175

bent over the beautiful girl with' a look both earnest
and sorrowful.
" I am not jesting, mother," replied the young girl,
raising her fan to hide the emotions now writing a
forbidden language in crimson hues on neck, cheek and
brow.
"Remember, Etta! Hubert Carr was the only child
of a poor widow, whom, for charity's sake we received
into our family as seamstress; and after a year's residence with us, she died. We did not cast out her child
upon the world; but kept him still, dressed him, sent
him to school with yourself and brother, hoping to elevate him above the class in which he was born.
Strange to tell; at fifteen, he ceased to learn; was
slovenly in dress and habits; unmannerly at home,
disobedient to teachers. Your father placed him in a
store; he was soon dismissed and on our hands again;
with no other ostensible business but playing the
agreeable to a little lady eight years his junior.
Large and ungraceful, he was not admired as a parlor ornament; and we began to ponder in our hearts,
how to rid ourselves of the incumbrance, with honor
to ourselves and advantage to himself.
Your father gave him means to *buy western land,
and, after much trouble, prevailed upon him to depart;
hoping that in some way he might prove useful to his
race.
We did not hear from him for the first two years;
but for three years pas the has been writing letters of
friendship and gratitude to your father; who some



ï~~176

ELLA LINCOLN.

times laughs, wondering ' what prairie school-master
helps him to surpass himself.'  I cannot believe te composes those epistles - they are above his capacity.
And now he writes you also; I say plainly, he hires his
love-making."
"Mother, you are ubjust. I cannot hear such language! I have loved Hubert Carr from infancy. I
have promised to be his wife."
'" Never, with my consent!"
" Nor with mine," added Mr. Carlisle, entering; and
striding about that elegant apartment like a tramping
war-horse.
Hubert Carr went to Philadelphia; to be ejected
from the house of his former benefactor. But he lingered clandestinely about the city, and in an evil hour
met Etta Carlisle, and persuaded her to elope with
him.
With crushed hearts the parents read a letter, written during the journey westward; in which she already repented of her great sin.
It was too late to save her, and they sai d: "we will
not remember her unkindly - vengeance is not ours -
God pity her!"
"Why Hubert, where are we stopping? please don't
go in here - I am afraid of Indians. Why did not
you tell me they yet lingered in the vicinity of your
farm?" said the fair traveller, after a six miles ride over
a beautifully rolling prairie.
Tired of steamboats, railroads, and the bustle of tray



ï~~MVR. BROWN S STORY.

177

elling generally, she had experienced a childish delight
in this more primitive mode of conquering distance;
and, as her unbounded vision roamed over that sea of
grass and flowers, she expected every moment to see
that " white cottage home, with the tall picket fence,
half hidden among the wild roses," which Hubert had
so often described to her in his letters.  Yes, poor
"child! she every moment expected to see it emerge
from behind some swell of the prairie, and bless her
with the waking realization of her most romantic
dreams.
The horses stood at the bars of the rude door-yard
fenced with rails; and with something like a flush of
shame deepening the ruddiness of his cheeks, he answered her late question, " Where are we? " with,
"this is our home."
Petrified with astonishment, that he should have
beei guilty of falsehood, she neither wept nor smiled,
as he lighted her from  the carriage to the ground.
There she stood, as if bound by an enchanter's' spell,
gazing at four log buildings, not unlike in outward
aspect, except that a smoke issued from the chimney
of one. The largest was a barn, the second a house,
the third a pig-stye, the fourth a chicken-coop.
There was a well with a water-trough, a few bright
red and yellow flowers, and here and there a pale wild
rose scattered along the path between the bars and the
door of the cabin.
Kindly nature gives us, here and there, a few sweet
wild flowers, lifting their angel brows amidst life's




ï~~178

ELLA LINCOLN.

sterner realities, to whisper of the better home, where
weariness and care are forgotten.
The baggage being removed, the sound of the carriage again rolling over the prairie on its return to the
depot at Pompeii, aroused her from that stupor of
amazement, and she followed her hiusband into the
house.
"Please ma'am, take off your things," said Bridget,
the maid-of-all-work.
She declined removing her bonnet immediately, and
pulled it over her face, to hide the tears now gathering
upon her eyelashes.   Was that her home, hers, the
child of luxury and refinement?
The dinner was steaming upon a huge cooking-stove,
the bread tray, covered with a brown napkin, was
behind it, and Mrs. " Pussy," with her five kittens, lay
lazily dreaming on a corner of that napkin, - orver the
bread, - a tender mother, to find that nice place for
the five little ones.
The floor, brightly swept, was rough and black. A
great woollen coverlet, suspended from two nails in the
beams overhead, indicated the presence of a bed.
There were two pine tables in good condition, except
a few patches of lamp oil, which had sturdily resisted
the efforts of the scouring-brush; a mirror, the size of
a schoolboy's slate, hung over table No. 1; under it,
suspended by a string, was a comb and brash, for
heads in general. A gun and broom leaned lovingly
together, in a corner; a pail, and dipper for all mouths,
were perched upon table No. 2. A pine shelf held a




ï~~MR. BROWN'S STORY.

179

set of blue crockery; kettles and tin pans were reversed
under it, upon the floor.
Etta looked in vain for the door of another room;
her eye resting only upon the rude stair leading to the
garret above.
"Make yourself at home, Etta; you will find it comfortable here, though not citified, like your old home,"
said the fat, rosy lover.
"An surely I've done my best to get ready for the
like of her; cleaning the house, hangin' up the kiverlit
by the bed, and all. I hope she may be plaised indade,"
said Bridget. " But it's a weary -way that she's afther
comin', sure, and her heart is sore for the father and
mother behind her, - God bless her! for it's but a baby
she is, sure." Moved by Bridget's rude sympathy, her
tears gushed forth like an April shower.
Against the logs of that cabin hung the silver cblored
satin dress, the rich velvet mantilla, the big lash whip,
the hired man's green flannel jacket.  At the same
table dined Etta Carlisle, in the fashionable dress,
Hans Vandoozer, in the dirty, blue frock, Bridget
Mahoney, in the greasy checked apron, Anthony Phelps,
a respectable young farmer, hired for the summer,
Herbert Carr, the fat, lazy, stony-hearted master of
them all.
Etta received the only courtesies due to her sex and
position from Anthony Phelps, who was educated, and
naturally a gentleman. He had come West to teach,
but, thinking to improve his health thereby, hired as
"farmer " for one summer.
The lord of the cabin sat with his boots on a level




ï~~10

ELLA LINCOLN.

with his nose, smoking a puffig duet with Hans Vandoozer. Etta, with her black silk dress, lace cape, and
beautifully arranged hair, looked strangely out of place
If a stranger had been asked to select " Mrs. Carr," he
would have pointed to Bridget Mahoney.
"Ah, Anthony, I am glad you have come in at last,"
and she smiled such a smile as the innocent babe
wakes up with, on its mother's bosom.
The viper, jealousy, hissed in her husband's bosom.
" Mrs. Carr, that dress and cape became you better
in your city homne. Next month I expect the harvesters,
and I wouldn't have them tell that my wsfe was dressed
up in silk and curls, like a doll baby, - it wouldn't
sound well."
The hot blood rushed from heart to brain, - ihe felt
as if ready to die with grief and indignation. Was
that Hubert Carr, the idol of her childhood, the man
for whose sake she had broken God's holy law, and
stolen away from her parents, as a guilty thing, unblessed and unforgiven?
The curse which follows disobedience was settling
upon her, as a cloud which no rainbow spanned. O,
if in this hour of utter desolation she could have laid
her head upon a tender mother's bosom, there to weep
away the first keen edge of suffering, how comparatively happy would have been her lot. God help her
who barters a mother's love and counsel, for his, whose
love is but a selfish thought, a blaze which opposition
kindles, fruition turns to ashes!
Pride hurried to the rescue, and she answered, in a
scornful tone, " Very well, sir."




ï~~MR. BROWN'S STORY.

181

Jealousy is never born till love is dead. Anthony
pitied her, but like a wise man, said nothing.
In a few days, Etta arrayed herself in blue calico,
and twisted -her long chestnut tresses into a graceless
-knot behind, - still beautiful, though sorrow had cast
a twilight mellowness over those faultless features.
She was a slave, a married chattel, of less account
in her owner's estimation than his favorite horse. She
knew it; but sometimes she forgot, and was happy.
Then, for an hour, with her white sun-bonnet on her
head, she would fly like a bird over the prairie, or hide
her slight figure among the rushes beside some tiny pond.
Who does not love the western prairie-?   Vast,
green, and flower-decked; dotted with herds of cattle,
calm and glimmering as an ocean at rest!
"How beautiful!"   An echo answered, - she ran
timidly back to the cabin,-" wished some one would
walk with her sometimes. Pshaw! where's the use of
going?"
Harvest had come.
"Meat pies, fruit pies, puddings, sauces, for twenty;
only two hands to make them all with, and a mistress
just in the way," said Bridget to herself, just before she
modestly suggested to her, the propriety of having
" another woman" to assist her.
Now Etta would have been more perplexed to adjust
the different pieces of fowls, and season properly the
interior of a great "chicken pie," than to have translated into her mother tongue the ugliest sentence in
the most crooked language that has come down from
the tower of Babel. So she thought to parry her re16




ï~~182

ELLA LINCOLN.

sponsibility by merely repeating to her husband Bridget's request.
" Why, can't you do any thing? If you are above
work, you should not have married a farmer."
Etta wished in her heart she had not. With a face
like condensed vinegar he set down the second "help"
upon that cabin floor.
"Mrs. Carr is very beautiful," said a handsome
young farmer, seeing her for the first time.
" She looks well enough."
" Will you not build a house soon, Hubert?" said.Etta.
"House is good enough."
"But if father and mother should come? "
"What's good enough for me, is good enough for
them."
"Please drive to the village, to church, next Sabbath? "
"Pshaw! I don't like meetings."
" Wild Rose, - who can she be?" said Mr. Stokes,
the editor, to his wife.
" I have heard it is the young wife of Hubert Carr."
" I'll be bound it is. I saw her a few weeks since in
a store, where she was buying blue calico. Such large,
dreamy eyes, - pure white forehead! she has the grace
of a high-born lady. Sweet child! she is wasting her
life among thorns; her coarse husband cannot appreciate her worth."
Next day, meeting Mir. Carr, he said:"May I ask if ' Wild Rose,' my new contributor, is
Mrs. Carr? "




ï~~MR. BROWN'S STORY.

183

" I bleve my wife does write verses, - the more's the
pity. It isn't women's business; but I'd as lief she'd
write for you as anybody."
"Thank you! and please tell her that I am grateful
for her contributions. She writes very sweetly. Probably she is an orphan, sir. That low, thrilling pathos
in her lines, seems like the voice of sorrow. Good
morning, sir."
" Ah, yes," he continued mentally, "her heart is
breaking; her poetry is the music swept from its
failing cord."
"Etta, you needn't write any more for Mr. Stokes,
editor of the ' Pompeii Herald,' you'd better be a making my shirts."
" Very well, sir." She had ceased to contradict him,
and always said " very well, sir," mildly.
Etta was no longer the " wild rose," but the white
lily, growing close by the water's edge, nourished by
the spring of tears. Her cheek was like chiselled marble; a smile lingered mournfully sweet about her
beautiful mouth, which told that some rainbow of
promise had risen upon the darkness of her lot.
"A cherub had from heaven strayed,
And deigned with us to dwell;
And we had called him ours, and loved
The little stranger well;
But God reclaimed the boon he'd given,
And called the wanderer home;
Why should we wish him back from heaven,
To share our earthly doom? "




ï~~184

ELLA LINCOLN.

" Now that the baby is dead, you can get along
without the nurse, can't yoj? She has been here four
weeks, - keeping two women is expensive."
"Just as you please," she replied, feebly; then turned
to the wall and wept.
"You are not so well to-day," said Doctor Clark,
taking her hand and gazing earnestly into her face.
"A mental fever hangs its flushed flag outside. Tell
me, my child, as your friend, your father, what sorrow
greater than the loss of the babe is preying upon you
continually, nullifying those remedies which in like
cases I have never administered in vain?"
She motioned him to bow his head to the pillow,
and whispered in his ear, - " A discontented heart,"
and wept.
"Be calm, my daughter; the evil which God only
can remove, man may palliate. I will prepare a new
medicine now. Come, tell me about your native city.
In what street does your father reside?"
She told him, and that night a letter left Pompeii
superscribed "Hon. Hugh Carlisle, etc., Philadelphia."
"I hope you are better this morning. You can bear
good news, can't you?" said the doctor, as Etta looked
up with a smile. "I have heard that your parents are
coming, - perhaps next week, or sooner,- may come
to-day."
A bounding pulse, a shower of tears, a look of gratitude, and apressure of the doctor's hand, saying, " The
new medicine, - when will I see my dear father and




ï~~MR. BROWN'S STORY.

185

mother?"   The doctor stepped back, - the parents
were reunited to their child.
"We understand each other, Mr. Carr; our daughter
will remain with us in Philadelphia, until such a time
as you shall have erected a comfortable home."
"I spose so."
Hubert was glad they were going, wife and all.
Hadn't they kept the house in confusion, with their
city ways; and hadn't he felt like a convicted felon
every time they looked at him?    He drewa long
breath of relief, as the carriage rolled away, saying,
" So much for marrying for money, - yes, money!
When the old fool dies, I'll turn over a new leaf in my
own house, I will."
Rich curtains fell gracefully over the windows of
their city home, the glow of the gas lights fell softly
upon the costly furniture. Seated at the table were
Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle, Etta, and her brother. Etta had
been domesticated in the old house for six weeks, and
no one would have recognized in her the fashionable
young lady, Etta, of the blue calico and log cabin.
" Your friend, Mr. Stokes, of the Pompeii Herald,
remembers you weekly, Etta," said her father, tossing
her a paper. Do you know as often as I went from
the farm to Pompeii, he never forgot to inquire after
your health, and speak of your talents as a poetess?"
" Why, Etta, did you write poetry?  What ever set
you to stringing rhymes together?" said the brother.
" Sorrow inspired me, dear brother. You know I
was far away from you all, and -"
16*




ï~~186

ELLA LINCOLN.

Just then her eye was riveted to a paragraph running
thus: -
" Killed by lightning. - On Sunday last, during one
of the most terrific storms which ever passed over this
village, Hubert Carr, residing on a farm six miles from
Pompeii.   The destructive fluid passed down the
chimney, killing him instantly.
"Two servants, Hans Vandoozer, a German, and
Bridget Mahoney, an Irish woman, who were sitting
near him at the time, remained unhurt. His wife is
absent, on a visit in Philadelphia; but onraccount of
the heat of the weather it is thought proper to inter
him, not waiting for her return. He will be buried tomorrow at 2 P. M."
" Etta, sister! what ails you?" exclaimed the frightened brother, as she fell heavily upon his shoulder.
-She had fainted.
"Your will is law," said the beautiful woman, yet;
turning her eyes to each of her parents, as if life depended on that decision; "have you even the shadow
of a doubt?"
"None, my daughter. Edward Clark is worthy of
you. Not the least of his recommendations, that he is
the son of my old friend, the doctor, whose timely
interference saved you from an early grave."
Seven years from the date of the first marriage she
was again a bride.
Etta Clarke is my own cousin, and I learned her
story from her own lips. Her husband is a prominent
lawyer, and one of the best of men. In happy woman



ï~~MR, BROWN'S STORY.            187
hood she sometimes relates the story of her married
childhood.
I, her "reverend" cousin, Mr. Brown, and your pastor and humble servant, have thought it my duty to
preach one setmon yearly, upon the folly, sin, and
certain punishment of disobedience to parents, ever
since I learned her history. Good night!




ï~~CHAPTER XXII.

" We must not stint
Our necessary actions in the fear
To cope malicious censurers,
MEHITABEL SCREGGS "belonged to our cfturch."  She
sat opposite our slip every Sunday, with her old, yellow, straw bonnet, which poked out a foot over her
nose, the crown towering up like a steeple; and a stiff
bow of faded purple ribbon half way up the steeple.
Her nose was wonderfully long and tapering; her
forehead and chin receding; her skin sallow; her two
little blue eyes stuck out like bell buttons; and two
long curls of brown, sprinkled with gray, fell likeq pipestems over her temples.
But Mehitabel could not help her looks; neither
could I help looking at her. My attention was divided
between her and the minister, the larger portion to
Mehitabel. She looked so long, narrow, puritanical
and pharisaical; she drew down the corners of her
mouth so devoutly whenever she opened the hymn book
and stretched the lids over her eyes so piously whenever the minister prayed; that, "for the life of me," I
could not feel the solemnity of the place as I ought,
and lost the spirit of my own devotions in watching
Mehitabel, while she went through with hers.
(188)




ï~~MEHITABEL SCREGGS.

189

I sometimes thought, that while she looked so intently at Mr. Brown, she cast a stray glance at me, occasionally; and did her the injustice to suppose that
she was admiring my new buff muslin, and white silk
bonnet. I had met her sometimes at the "sewing circle," and found her somewhat talkative, and an intolerable questioner.
Very pious was Mehitabel; and for that I tolerated
as well as I could, her oddities and infirmities.
I was just commencing an article for " the Republican," which fnust necessarily be finished before night,
and it was 2 P. M.
I had plunged my pen to the bottom of the inkstand,
and turned my eyes upward to catch a little inspiration, when lo! a knock; and who should come in but
Mehitabel?
"How do you do, Mrs. Lincoln?"
"Ah!. Miss Screggs - I am happy to see you."
(Not a word of truth in that.)
"Well, I thought, as I had never called round at
your room, and it was a pleasant day; I'd just put on
my things and come -just as I was."
" It is a fine day for walking."-(thought I would'nt
tell another "fib," about being glad to see her.)
" I've wanted to talk with you for a good while; and
the more I thought on't, the more I thought I ought to
-but may be I interrupted your writing?"
"No."- (there went another story.)
"I guess I'll take off my bonnet; it's kinder warm
in this room."
" Of course - I did n't think to "- (hush, Ella, not




ï~~190

ELLA LINCOLN.

another lie.) And I took that long canal boat of a
bonnet, and put in the- back room with a sigh, for I
knew the office-boy would come for my article at sunset - and taking off that bonnet looked so portentous.
"Heard from your man lately?"
"Not for a long time."
"Don't see how you ever could consent to let him go,
in the first place."
" He was his own master; I did not send him
away."
"But, they say, there never was a man morefonder of
a woman, than he was of you. You could have coaxed
him to stay, could n't you?"
"I did not try."
"So I thought you did n't: but I hope you coax him
to come back, don't you?"
" Not much. When he is ready I shall be happy to
see him."
"Well, I hope it is n't meddling with what is none
of my business; but, I come just to speak with you
about another thing; the way you dress. You know
it's such an observing, talking world." (Ella thought
so.) " That new buff muslin dress of yours, is made
up so light and trifling like, for a woman whose husband is n't to home; and that white silk bonnet, with
the pink roses in the inside - well, they disturb me
considerably Sundays; to think how you lay yourself
liable to be talked about."
" The bonnet cost three dollars, the dress two-fifty.
Am I extravagant?"




ï~~MEHITABEL SCREGGS.

191

"' No,- not that but you look so sort o' gay in 'em
like - that's all.'
"What would you have me wear? "
"Well, a dark purple or drab bonnet, and a sort of
a brown muslin I think would become you better; considering all the circumstances. It's a pretty ticklish
thing, I can tell you, for a woman to be living along
without her husband, all alone, and boarding at a tavern; and them are folks from the printing office coming
in every day. Not that Ithink there is any harm in it;
but the world is so evil spoken."
"Why; have you heard anything? "
"No, but I've spoken to some seven or eight of the
church members about it; and they was all very mealymouthed about saying anything against you. They
say you'r one of the properest women in your manners
there is among us. But there is the world's people -
they might talk."
"Very well, Miss Screggs; I'll consider upon what
you have said; but, really, I must beg you to excuse
me now, as I have an article to write before sunset,
and cannot delay another moment."
"'Spose, then I may as well be going -hope you'll
take it all in good part - I only meant it as a friendly
warning."
" Oh! all right."
" Good day; - I'll call over again some time when
you ain't so busy."
"Gracious goodness! I hope not," thought Ella -
"long live her pious soul."
" She'll ring my name the length and breadth of




ï~~192               ELLA LINCOLN.
Mariette 'ere to-morrow; as having said that I did n't
try to hinder Allen from going."
The next Sunday, the buff muslin and pink buds sat
in the same place, and Mehitabel stared again, in per.
feet horror of the same.




ï~~CHAPTER XXIII.

"The world's a hive
From whence thou canst derive
No good but what thy soul's vexation brings."
"THE Ladies' Sewing Circle will meet on Wednesday afternoon at the house of Mrs. Small," read MVr.
Brown, on Sunday, among his other announcements
for the week.
"I say, my dear Mrs. Lincoln; how -did you get up
a tea for the ' Sewing Circle' whilst you kept house,
and when it came your turn?"
"Oh,- biscuit, gingerbread, dried fruit, etc., with tea
and coffee."
"Was n't it a great deal of trouble? "
"Yes, so much, that 1 gave up the whole affair long
ago."
"And my name will be great, instead of " Small,"
before I ever undertake to get them up another supper.
But I have excused myself as long as I can with decency; and now I am bound to get up that supper. It
is n't the work I care for, nor the expense, particularly;
but I hate the whole thing.
In the first place, I don't know how; in the second, I
don't wish to know such a heterogeneus tribe of wo17               (193)




ï~~194

ELLA LINCOLN.

men, of all ages, sizes, shapes and complexions; with
their characters and tastes as unlike as their fates; all
packed in together in my little parlor - it's ridiculous
to think of it.
There will be the minister's wife, Mrs. Brown, as tall
and stately as a queen; Mrs. Tuttle, the doctor's wife,
as precise and fidgety, as if her whole future destiny
hung upon every word she utters; Mrs. Condit, the
butcher's wife, forever telling how to "try out lard,"
and "make soft soap;" Mrs. Pinch, the grocer's wife,
telling for the fortheth time, " how poor " Mr. Pinch
was when he started in life, and how "well to do in the
world " he is now; Mehitabel Screggs, descanting upon dress and folly in general, "-  and their name is
legion." You must come, Mrs. Lincoln, and see me
safely through, and I will never ask your company
again, upon a like occasion - never - good bye - be
sure to come."
I dropped in occasionally through the week, to see
how her preparations sped, and when Wednesday
came, remembered to go.
The day was pleasant, and such a company in that
little parlor! It reminded me of a flock of sheep in a
pen, - of flies around a molasses hogshead.
The work was a quilt. Some of the " sisters " had
kindly been in and put it into the frame in the morning, that no time might be lost. But time sped, and at
six o'clock, Mrs. Small whispered in my ear, "come
out and see my table."  The refreshments stood upon
a table, looking nicely; and I said, "all is right -
they are to stand?"




ï~~THE CIRCLE.

195

" Yes, there would not be room for chairs.--Oh, dear,
I am so tired - but I will ring the bell now, for the
ladies lhave concluded to remain and quilt till nine
o'clock." And she rung.
The Minister and a Theological student had come
in, kindly, to assist in dispensing the tea, and, except
that some one tipped a full cup of coffee over and
spoiled Miss Singleton's new, pea green silk dress, no
more serious accidents happened, than a general treading upon toes. All were in high spirits, and "had a
good time."
"It's going off nicely," said Mrs. Small, as the last
pair of slippers tripped back to the parlor-" but bless
me! I'd forgotten the lamp."  And so she put the lard
to melt, while I went for the lamp.
" There, it is ready."
After a rest of half an hour, the ladies drew near the
quilt again.
"'The lamp? "
"Here it is."  And the lamp was set upon a large
plate in the centre of the quilt.
"That is too heavy - it sinks too - won't do at.all."
" rll arrange it for you, ladies," said the student,
taking up a stand from the corner and placing it
under the quilt, while some one held the lamp, now
lighted.
" Oh, this is too low," and seeing some books, he
placed two of them upon the stand.
"That's it exactly," said a lady setting down the
lamp upon the quilt, over the books -" now all hands
to work."




ï~~196

ELLA LINCOLN.

Swiftly moved those fair hands over the patch work;
and, all things going on so pleasantly, I began to repent that I had condemned ' Sewing Circles' en masse
- and resolved upon doing better in future; when lo!
those morocco-bound intelligences under the lamp, and
beneath the quilt, concluded to "strike for liberty;"
and, sliding away over the stand, fell upon the floor,
overturning that great solar "luminary," spilling the
lard which was yet as soft as oil, and spreading darkness and consternation where all was peace before.
The quilt was spoiled; the vile stream dripping
through, ruined the carpet below; and those treacherous books atoned for their trick by having their covers
disgraced forevermore.
"That Carpet,- so new and good - that I set more
value upon it than any article in the house;" whispered Mrs. Small to me, as she proceeded to take up
the lard with a spoon.
Then followed a string of "receipts for removing
grease;" and offers of assistance, not accepted; and
then the " circle" dispersed. It met in sunshine, dispersed under a cloud.
"Please, Madam, I have taken the liberty to call and
ask you if you know of any lady who wants plain
sewing done," said a pale widow the next week, leading a little child of about two years old, and sinking
wearily upon the seat I offered her. " I used to get all
the work I wanted, before my husband died - he was
long sick. But now the 'sewing circles,' that they
have in all the churches, take in all the work, such as I
could do, and I have hard work to get along, with this
baby and the two boys."




ï~~THE CIRCLE.                197
It was long since Ella had heard from Allen, and she
was not flush of money, but she said in her heart; as I do
unto this poor widow, may God put it into the hearts
of others to do unto me and mine, if ever I stand in
like need; and she gave her a dollar, and promised to
remember her to others.
17*




ï~~CHAPTER XXIV.

" Slowly folding, how she lingered
O'er the words his hands had traced."
"You may have wondered, my dear Ella, that I
have not remitted you any money of late; but Iknow
you will be satisfied with my explanation.
"Know then, that the picking at Placerville had become not quite so good, on account of the great crowd
assembled there; and the last time I was there (when
I sent you the $500,) I entered into an arrangement
with a company to go to this place,-' Little Fork Creek,'
and turn the river from its bed, by digging a canal
around it, that we may secure the gold which is hidden at the bottom. It is a pretty formidable piece of
work, and will require a great amount of capital, so
that I felt justifiable in not remitting you any money,
just now, as I think you have still enough for present
wants.
" Our little canal is progressing finely, and I hope we
shall, ere many weeks, have the pleasure of seeing ' Little Fork Creek' step out of his bed, leaving us the
the golden feathers.
"A friend has forwarded from Placerville some half
dozen letters from you. I presume you have received
several from me, - although you do not mention them.
(198)




ï~~LETTERS FROM ALLEN.

199

' Then Banks has wronged you. As soon would I
have expected to see an angel with black wings, as to
find a rogue in my most pious, honorable cousin.
-But, never mind it, Ella; you shall never want for
money whilst I live; and, as for Banks, if I ever see
his face again, I'll take care of him. I will remit to
you in about a month. I think the canal will be done
as soon."
Six weeks later: -
" My DEAR ELLA,- I am grieved, mortified, confounded with a new misfortune. That creek was not
worth its length and breadth in thistle blossoms. There
were twenty men in our company; and, after enduring
all manner of hardships for many, many weeks, -
wading in the water almost to our throats; going to
our cabin every night as- muddy as so many swine,when at last we got the whole thing accomplished,
and ' Little Fork Creek' walked out at our command,
into that little neat ditch, which we had paid a hun-.
dred men for digging, there was not as much gold
there as would have filled my boots.
"But these things will occur in California; we must
all venture, all lose sometimes. If I had not a dear
family to provide for, I should not feel so very badly
about this; but, as it is, I am unhappy, for their sakes.
" You will not be discouraged, Ella? To-day, I am
here without a dollar; but next week I may be doing
well again. Think as well of me as you can. Kiss
the little ones for me. God bless you.
ALLEN."




ï~~200

ELLA LINCOLN.

Three months later -
" My DEAR ELLA,- I am building a quartz mill, in
company with eight of the old Little Fork Creek boys.
We went back to Placerville, picked up a little dust,
and here we are on Yellow Brook.
" I think our prospects for making fortunes better
than before; the quartz being very near, on the mountain, and the water-power couldn't be beaten.
" You have still some means in your hands; and 1
will defer sending a remittance till our mill starts. I
know you have had debts to pay, and of course
your expenses are somewhat heavy, you are so feeble
and the children so often sick. It was a burning shame
that you were obliged to sell our home - curse that
villain! But 'there is a good time coming,' dear
wife. I am determined to succeed or die. Borrow no
trouble; do not lose confidence in
ALLEN."
Four months later: -
" I remit only fifty, my dear Ella, just to show my
good will. One month from now look out for a pile.
"Our mill has just started. There is not a prettier
piece of machinery on Yellow Brook; it goes like a
whirlwind. I look up at the tall mountain over our
heads, and fancy we shall grind a goodly portion of it
to powder, 'ere long.
"At the end of one year I will sell out my share,
and come home with "a pocket full of rocks," etc.
Later: -
"Our machinery proved too light. We are having
heavier wheels cast, in the city; this delays us some




ï~~LETTERS FROM ALLEN.

201

weeks. As soon as we get started again, that "pile,"
I promised you will be forthcoming," etc.
Later:"I send another fifty, for a mere introduction to that
"pile." Our expenses, for repairs, have been heavy.
But now that she is going again, there is n't as noble
a mill on Yellow Brook. One month from this day I
intend to send you a remittance worth counting. May
you be as happy in spending, as I am in earning it.
Good bye; and most faithfully yours,
ALLEN LINCOLN.
Later:" My wife, my dear Ella! How can I write you?
Oh, I am wild, - crazed! Again a beggar!
Scarcely had I written you last, when it commenced
storming. First rain, then snow, then rain and snow
alternately. It seemed as if there had come another
deluge to destroy the earth. When it rained, it poured;
when it snowed, it fell in avalanches. After the storm
had lasted three days there was a short cessation, -
the wind rose, the clouds rolled back against the mountain, the sun appeared, and the snow melted, pouring
down in streams.
Yellow Brook rushed and roared like an angry sea.
Great timbers floated on its surface, and grass and
roots, and canoes, which had been swept from their
mooring, and barrels and boxes which had been emptied of their contents and left outside the cabin, along
the stream.
We had intended to connect a rude stone house
with our mill, and the lumber was already drawn there,




ï~~202

ELLA LINCOLN.

and lying outside; so we employed our time, after the
brook commenced rising, in propping our mill with
it, as well as we could; and it did seem stout enough
to have resisted a very deluge.
But scarcely had we rejoiced in a streak of sunshine,
when the cloids gathered again; and, if any difference,
the storm was more severe than before; Our cabin
floor, which consisted of a few loose planks, began to
show symptoms of moving, provided the logs would get
out of the way; so we took our blankets, clothes, and
what provisions we could, and our cow from her stable
on one side the cabin, our mules from the other, (we
kept them so near, and locked up, to prevent their being
stolen,) and then started for the mountain. There was
an old, deserted wigwam a few rods up, and towards
that we directed our steps.
A more forlorn set of men than we, never trod the
soil of California. We were wet, muddy, and worn
with our late exertions to save our property; and we
all had the stamp on our foreheads of those whose
loved ones were afar, looking to us for the bread about
to be swept away. However, we "hoped against
hope." Kindling a fire in the wigwam, from whence
we could look down upon our mill, we set some one at
the door to watch, and then commenced drying our
clothes.
"There she goes!" said the man on the look-out, and
we rushed outside. She swam off like a duck; followed by the cabin, lumber - everything. * Not a stick
remained that. we could call our own. We watched
the mill* until it parted and fell, and was swept on




ï~~LETTERS FROM ALLEN.

203

with the general mass of wrecks, toward the Pacific;
and then - then, Ella, we crowded into that hut again,
- to weep. Yes, to weep. There we had garnered
up our hopes, - there some of us' had invested our
all. Life looked all dreary and 'dark before us, -
how could we try again?
Ella, I loved every one of those strangers then; they
were my brothers in sorrow; all had their "dear Ellas"
and " Harrys" and " Tommys" at home; and as one
after another they sank down, in their great agony,
upon that cabin floor, covering their faces with their
hands to weep, I felt the common brotherhood of man,
and wondered that in this world of toil and sorrow
any one could hate another.
Ella, I will struggle on. Only death can stop me in
the search for gold. I will be rich, or leave my bones
to mingle with the soil of California.
God help you, my dear, patient wife. You have
some means yet - and I will soon earn you more- if
I work like a slave, by the day, you shall not want.
You will not blame me, Ella? With a sore heart, I bid
you farewell for the present:
Ever yours,
ALLEN."




ï~~CHAPTER XXV.

"Rashly, nor oftimes truly, doth man pass judgment on his
brother; "THOUSANDS live and die without "friends," but who
ever heard of a man without "relations."
Some of Allen's relatives did hot like Ella. She
had not been brought up "in the way she should go,"
according to their views of propriety; and Allen had
not helped the matter, by indulgence. She had helped
him to spend his property; and did not know how to
help him to another; - not a word of her own. She
had seemed to take it for granted, when living in
" taverns," " old red houses," and " garrets," that she
had gotten there through mistake; - was out of her
proper sphere; - that it was but a temporary correction, inflicted upon her by her Heavenly Father - not
a life-time destiny.
True, she had gone through " all the motions;" and
acted her varied parts, as well as she could, and to Allen's satisfaction; but, when " weighed" in their" balance," she was in many respects " found wanting."
She had not understood the secret of "putting the
better foot foremost; " and crying " peace," with an
earthquake under the other. She thought she had been
a martyr for affection's sake; and almost deserved to
(204




ï~~FAMILY FRIENDS.

205

be canonized for the spirit with which she had met
misfortune; but so did not think all Allen's "relations."
What was the use of telling "tales out of school?"
and talking about "poverty?"  Was n't it bad enough
for them, to know that she was poor? why tell this
fact to the whole world?
And then, her economy was all moonshine. When
she kept house, she was too fond of a good dinner.
"She did not like to live on love."
She had never attempted to stitch cassimere, since
the day of the famous "pantaloons," at " Hollyville
House;" she could not cut her own dresses; and Allen's shirts;- well, if she made them, they fitted like a
blanket to a bean pole.
Strange, that it should take Ella all her time to keep
Harry and Tommy in order, and see to the little household affairs. " My mother and sisters do more,"' said the
redoubtable Banks. " What better is she than my
mother and sisters? (Banks is a great man.)
But, Ella "kept the even tenor of her way;" and if
the shirts did not suit, they were shirts, and Allen was
grateful. If she hired her dresses made, she did not
have many; if she hired her washings she cooked her
own dinners, and took care of her own babies.
She had not always done this; but did now. It was
a grief to Allen, to see her " work so hard;" a pleasure to his cousins; she was happy to please -them of
course; - or would have been if she had known then,
as she does now, how much they loved her.
"The exceptions?"   Oh, yes, "the exceptions;"
s18




ï~~206               ELLA LINCOLN.
Mrs. Omar and her husband are exceptions; they were
kind to Ella, in sickness and health, joy and sorrow,as far as their circumstances would permit. May peace
and plenty attend them through life! Mks. Omar is
Allen's half sister
Both Allen and I have brothers, none of whom
would like to be called poor; but some of them are
only in moderate circumstances, with families to provide for; others, have no sympathy with Ella in her
pursuits, and deem her views about the final education of her children, wild and foolish; hence, she has
made few direct calls upon them for aid in the most
" troublous times."  When she has, a few have kindly
responded. She brings no charge against any for what
they have not done; she thanks others for what they
have. She is writing her own memoirs; not theirs.




ï~~CHAPTER XXVI

"Soft, buzzing slander; silky motlis that eat
An honest name."
" W  vY does n't Mrs. Lincoln go to California?"
says Banks. " Why does n't she go?" says his" Mamma; "Why does n't she go? " say his five unmarried
sisters; " Why does n't she go? " says everybody who
has no business to ask; more especially all those persons who envy her for the friends she has won individually, and the gifts her Creator has been pleased to bestow upon her.
In the first place, Ella Lincoln is " better off" where
she is.
In the second, Allen does not wish her to come.
In the third, she has not the means to go with.
In the fourth, she would not go if she had.
What a pity that, among the many brotherhoods of
the world, there were not another, more important than
all,-a " mind-your-own-business society."
Ella knows "why;" "the heart knoweth its own
bitterness."
How could I with my delicate health and nervous temperament, risk the dangers anid sfifferings of a journey to
ICalifornia? How could those little boys; one of them a
confirmed invalid; the other inheriting all my weakness of
(207)




ï~~208

ELLA LINCOLN.

nerve; fainting at the sight of blood; going into convulsions if he chanced to run a brier in his finger; or with
the slightest fever; endure the hurry and fatigue, the
sights and sounds,- perhaps hunger and sickness incident to a journey to California, either by land or sea.
When I thought of the sufferings those children had
endured at home, for my sake; during long sad months
of illness, when it seemed as if Death himself, with his
bow already bent, his aim made sure, pitied them, in
their utter helplessness, and turned away his dart.
When I thought how they had suffered sometimes since
we had no home; how they had sympathized with me
in the griefs which they could not understand; the apprehensions, which I might not name to them; leaving
shadow after shadow, on my pallid brow; - when I
thought of all these; I felt that I had no right to lay
another burden upon their weak shoulders, to wring
another sigh of sorrow from their young bosoms.
And if I had been an unnatural mother, willing to
sacrifice the happiness, health, life of my children; to
murder them by piecemeal, that "our cousins" might
be satisfied; Allen, did not wish them with him. He
was paying twelve dollars per week, for board; for
mere pork and black biscuit; living upon the same luxuries, and washing his own dishes when he "kept
house."
What did he want of us, in that old crazy cabin; with
a few loose planks under his feet, deluged by every
rain? What did he want of me? to fry the pork and
knead the biscuit; then play the agreeable to a dozen
hungry miners, in their red flannel shirts, and beards




ï~~GRATUITOUS ADVICE.

209

like wild goats? What did Allen want of those two
delicate pets, to eat that biscuit and pork, and cry
because one was so "puckery," the other so "salty?"
Let me read to you what he says.
"Then Banks and his sisters say that you ought to
follow me to this distant country; ' that I wish you to
come,' etc. Well for him that he isn't at this moment
in the vicinity of my gun! Who told them more than
Allen Lincoln knows himself about his own business?
the slanderers.....
"There are times, Ella, when I forget my very manhood, and yield for a few moments to a forbidden tenderness. My wife! my boys! cries my poor, yearning
heart, I will go home, or they shall come to me. O,
this wretched separation! That is the heart,of Allen
the baby. Then comes back again the heart of Allen
the man, and says: No, I will not yield to such selfishness. What, cap the climax to my thoughtless wrongs
to Ella Lee Lincoln, by bringing her here, with her
darling pets, to associate with Mexicans, Spaniards,
Chinamen, and Indians,-to share their-pillows at night
with bedbugs, head-bugs, cockroaches, fleas, red ants,
musquitoes, and thousand-legged worms?     Never!
I strike my hand hard upon the rough table, and repeat, never! I stamp my great miner's boot upon the
loose plank floor, rocking it like an earthquake,never! never! never!
"There, don't you see how I can step from the
ridiculous' to the ' sublime,' which I deem better than
the contrary. Never mind what they say, Ella; it is
hard, but they cannot hurt you. I shall meet them ere
18*




ï~~210

ELLA LINCOLN.

many months. O, Ella, my wife; how I long to stand
once more between you and the cold, censorious world!
dod keep you!"
Allen Lincoln was one of nature's noblemen; his
heart always in the right place, but hardly fitted for
the scenes in which his lot was cast; and if he had not,
at all times, that business foresight which distinguishes
from others the man whose head is always foremost,
instead of the heart, his wife loved him not the less for
that.
There are men, too many of them, who would have
said, in reference to having a wife go to California,
under like circumstances: " She is no better than I am,
let her come. She can cook, wash, and manage household affairs, making my life pass more pleasantly.
As for the children, they must take their chance. I
cannot turn the world upside down about a couple of
babies."
Allen was at. heart a true man! But if he had not
been, if he had been selfish, and ordered me, - as many
male tyrants do, - to the spot where I could be a more
available servant, IP had not means sufficient at my
command to "settle up debts, and pay the passage."
Never, except the day I received the first remittance,
had I enough to pay the debts, saying nothing of the
passage money. Any one who knows how much it
costs to support any family of three, knows that it costs
somewhat more than a penny a day to feed and clothe
a sickly woman and two children.
My literary labors availed but little more than the




ï~~GRATUITOUS ADVICE.

211

mental training which I received. I was not always
well enough to write, too often distracted with cares,
driven almost to madness by the unkindness of aTew
who perseveringly persecuted me.
That I would not have followed my husband to California if I had possessed the means, is as true an expression as ever fell from my own, and more true than
those which fall, generally, from the lips of my defamers.
My bodily sttength has never, since his absence,
been equal to the performance of such a journey, and
if it had been, I would not have thus sacrificed the best
interests of my children.
He who holds all destinies in the hollow of his hand,
knows why Ella Lincoln is not now in California.
"Judge not, lest ye be judged."
" The Mariette Republican, of this week, contains
the parting words of its editors.
"Mr. Ward, who has conducted that journal for
seven years, in a manner creditable to himself, and
satisfactory to his friends, carries with him the respect
and confidence of all.
" Of Mrs. Lincoln, we only reiterate the opinions of
some of the best judges and literary critics when we
say, that her duties have been admirably performed.
May her talents be appreciated, occupied, and paid in
future. We hope still to be favored, through the literary journals of the day, with farther, and more elaborate productions from her pen." - Keyport Herald.
"We shall miss Mrs. Lincoln from the editorial chair.
She has been a bold and eloquent advocate in the cause




ï~~212               ELLA LINCOLN.
of truth and virtue. She retires approved and beloved
by numerous friends."- Mellina Star.
"They have both done well. Mr. Ward, who has
edited that journal for several years, Mrs. Lincoln for
many months." - Athens Reporter.
"We have taken much pleasure in reading her
spirited and able articles, for the last two years. Our
best wishes go with her." - Salem Traveller.
" There are some of them."
Proud Ella Lincoln! Even the Crabbes seemed less
crabbed after reading those generous notices.
"Heaven bless their kindly hearts!" said Ella, with
quivering lip and dewy eye; "they know the value of
a good word, spoken in season," and she felt as if she
could take the great, cold-hearted world in her arms,
and love the meanest soul that lived, for their sakes.




ï~~CHAPTER XXVII.

"Frail art thou, 0 man, as a bubble on the breaker;
Weak, and governed by externals."
" BLAME yOU, Allen? because misfortune has dogged
you at every step? Blame you, because every flower
you seek to gather turns to ashes in your hands?
Never! You, whose whole life has been made up of
dreams and disappointments, hope and despair; whose
very weaknesses 'have sprung from a too amiable
temper; whose sins, from unselfish devotion to others.
If it be a sin, to have, been unsuspicious, trustful,
generous, always preferring the comforts of friends before his own, willing to take his life in his hand, and
lay it down, if called for, for the sake of the dear ones
who look up to him only for support, if to have fallen
into the hands of the selfish and vile, who have betrayed and ruined him, be a sin, then Alle'n Lincoln is
a great sinner. If to follow still the phantom wealth,
which has deceived him, as an ignis fatuis for years,
hanging out her false light in the darknessi and luring
him on, till he stands, weary and worn, upon the furthermost verge of the middle heights of life, still poor,
be sin, then, may heaven forgve him! he is as the chief
of sinners! But I, his wife, for whose sake he has
erred, may not condemn him.
"You will not blame me,- Ella?"  Never!
(213)




ï~~214

ELLA LINCOLN.

" I will have wealth, or lay my bones upon the soil
of California." Fearfully has he kept that promise!
Alas! there is defiance in the expression - unmeant,
yet defiance. Oh, Thou who holdest in thy hand the
destinies of all men, take not the poor wanderer at his
word!
I had thought The worst was over; that although a
cloud still floated here and there, the body of the storm
had passed by; that the morning was indeed breaking,
and the time was not distant when the 'broken family
circle would be reunited, when we should again have a
home.
But this letter, after a four years absence, dashed out
the newly kindled light of hope. I did not weep over it
then; those words were of too deep an import to touch
the tenderer chords. Down, down into the chamber of
the sterner self they sank, awaking all my energies.
A strange voice seemed to whisper in my ear, " He
will never return. Waste no time in tears; a double
burden is laid for life upon you; up, and work!"
I was yet owing some little debts, which I had not
paid, because the creditors said till now, " Wait, we
are not in haste; your husband will return." But now,
when I told them that to pay them might never be in
my power again - that Allen was poor in California,
and likely to be, they answered: " Yes, they would like
to have that little debt paid, having large liabilities to
meet themselves," or some such reason; except in one
instance.  One gentleman stoutly refused his due,
saying:"I kiow Allen Lincoln; if he comes back, he will pay




ï~~ALLEN LLNCOLN.

215

'John Bird'; if he does not, you will greatly need that
hundred dollars, and will be welcome to it."
God himself has paid the interest on that note with
unremitted prosperity, to John Bird; and if ever I am
able, or my children after me, to pay the principal and
the "ten per cent," he will not be forgotten.
All men would be willing to lend, if sure of repayment; few would refuse to be paid immediately in a
doubtful case. John Birds are few and far between.
Those "settlings up" of mine were generally conducted something ih this manner.
"Good morning, Mr. Cook."
"Good morning."
" How much do I owe you, Mr. Cobk? Fifteen,
twenty, or twenty-five dollars?"
"Well, I declare, I've forgotten, but I'll see."  And
Mr. Cook goes to his book.
"Twenty-five dollars and fifty cents. I'll throw off
the cents."
(Ella outside). "I am astonished; I thought I'd be
sure to say enough, but for my life I cannot remember
more than fifteen or twenty. Seems to me I did set it
down, but it is such a trouble to be particular, when I
am half dead with grief and care. He is honest, I
know, however, and he was kind to throw off the fifty
cents."
Business doing Ella! She has learned a little wisdom since.
My safety was in a tell-tale tongue. I -always told
Mr. Carver what I had bought of Mr. Cook, and vice
versa, when I settled, and how much I paid, and as




ï~~216

1ELLA LINCOLN.

"two of a trade never agree," if one had cheated me,
the other would have given me a friendly hint.
I think, too, my forlorn countenance, when I went
to pay a bill, was a safeguard; for I was always thinking how soon I might be minus a dollar; and no one
with a drop of compassion in his veins would have
dealt deceitfully with poor, pale-faced Ella Lincoln,
He who would have done so, would have stolen the
plate from a church altar.
And now that those little " settlements" were made
for the fortieth time, or less, I began to consider in
what way I could still lessen my expenses; or how I
should earn more than I ever had earned towards supporting myself and children. Mr. Ward had sold out
his interest in " The -Republican," and retired, and
" Mrs. Lincoln," who had nothing to sell, had retired
upon her " glbry."
I began to consider the propriety of leaving the
West, and settling in the vicinity of some eastern 'city,
where I could have easier access to "the powers that
be" in literature; and perhaps find some friends among
them who would patronize me for sweet charity's sake.
I thought, that if I could once see some of those lordly
city editors, who had the destinies of poor writers at
their disposal, I might, by telling them all about my
"ups and downs" in life, so interest them in me, personally, that they would be constrained to advance my
literary interests, in preference to those of persons who
merely wrote for notoriety's sake.
While the idea of changing my place of residence
yet floated vaguely through my brain, 1 was invited to




ï~~SETTLING UP.

217

tea at the house of a friend, and there met Mrs. Dayton, who resided two miles from town. She was a
very pretty woman, handsomely dressed, and wore one
of the sweetest smiles that ever adorned a human face.
I was particularly pleased with her, now that I was
introduced to her for the first time, although I had
sometimes observed her at our church.
During the evening she remarked in my presence,
that she was " lonely *with no other society than that
of her children," (she had but ten,) and that she had
"concluded to take a few boarders, if she could find
persons whose business would not prevent their going
so far from town."
"I would board them cheaply," she said, merely
charging enougl to cover my expenses. I am so fond
of society, that good company would be half remuneration."
" That would be the very place for you and your
children," whispered Miss Crow, always ready to help a
friend into a dilemma by volunteering, her advice, but
never quite ready to help her out of ijt, after the mischief was done. "Such a pretty green yard, and a
brook there in the meadow, just deep enough to amuse
the boys, and they couldn't drown if they should lie
down in it., They could play all day in the care of
those large boys of Mrs. Dayton's, and you could write,
write, write."
"But winter is coming."
" Oh, yes, then the children can all herd together in
one of those rooms up stairs, cracking nuts and building cob houses; they would not trouble you at all."
19




ï~~218

ELLA LINCOLN.

" Have you been there?'
"Yes; I have seen the parlor. Called one day with
a friend when we were out riding. Beautiful parlor!
Come and talk with Mrs Dayton." And we moved up
nearer.
One week later: -
"I have concluded, Mr. Alton, that it will be my
duty to leave my pleasant rooms in your hotel, jnd
board two miles away from town,where a lady has
offered to take me for a mere trifle per week, and my
company. I mean Mrs. Dayton, who has been a
widow three years, and still perseveres in managing
her farm - is not she energetic? Having more room
than she needs, and being lonely, she wishes a few
boarders. The fact is, Mr. Alton, I am not flush of
money; it is long 'since Mr. Lincoln has remitted me
any; and I earn but little, hence it seems proper that I
should take advantage of an opportunity like this to
reduce my expenses. I can pay you now; a year
hence I may not be able."
"My dear madam,- let not any uncertainty about
your finds have any weight with you in this matter.
I have boarders in my house who have not paid up in
two years; you have never failed at the roonth's end;
I am willing to accommodate you to the uttermost of
my ability; I am your husband's friend, and yours."
Noble Mr. Alton.
But I occupied in that house two of the most pleasant and desirable rooms; and he was offered more for
them than I gave, the very day I entered them; I had




ï~~ANOTHER MOVE.

219

not yet become so hardened with poverty, that I could
look a man boldly in the face whom I was owing for
bread and butter, and I preferred to risk having inferior
accommodations, to staying there, and perhaps finally
be obliged to wrong him.
I never dreamed of such a thing, at that time, as living upon the courtesies, or charities of others, farther
than I could see my way clear to pay them. And yet
those men who had boarded with Mr. Alton two years
without settling, men in business and rich, had no
compunctions of conscience in taking advantage of his
good nature, and putting him to an inconvenience.
I was such an unsophisticated creature!  Always
jumping off precipices to elude shadows.
I had furnished my own rooms. When I ceased
housekeeping and commenced boarding at the New
York House, after selecting from my furniture such
articles as I needed for my present use, I stored away
the remainder, until such time as I should use it again
or sell it.
Just as I was in the midst of the hurry and confusion of packing up, and carrying out, the team standing at the door, who should enter unannounced but a
certain forlorn widow, Mrs. Malley.
Mrs. Mally had buried a husband and three children, of cholera, only three months before, and to me
she was an object of melancholy interest. I lowered
my voice, lest perchance some ruder note might fall jarringly upon the mourner's heart, and sat down with
her upon the side of a bedstead, from whence the beds
had been removed.




ï~~220

ELLA LINCOLN.

" How do you do, Mrs. Malley?"
" Oh, I'm as well as can be expected, after my great
loss.  But I don't sleep very well nights. I can't.
It is, so strange that they were all taken away, leaving
me a poor, childless widow, all alone in the world, with
nobody to care for me. Never was as good a man as
Hiram Malley, never. And three sweeter, better children never lived -never." And she wept, and I helped
her; for who could think of such a sad bereavement
without feeling deeply for the afflicted one? Who
with a heart not of stone could have seen her tears,
and kept her own eyelids dry?
Brt I felt in a hurry to get out of those rooms,
with all my furniture, trunks, band-boxes, et cetera;
and although I sympathized with her deeply, I could
not help indulging the intruding wish that she would
excuse me that time, and come over to Mrs. Dayton's after I settled there and stay all day if she Wished,
and cry with me at leisure. I could not help wishing
that whatever her business might be, she would make it
known and depart, for there stood the team at the door,
the carpet was taken away, and the dust flying about
as often as the boys ran over the floor, both doors were
wide open, the fire out, and I wished in my heart she
would go.
' Do you take all your things, Mrs. Lincoln?"
" Yes, all from these rooms. I have some stowed
away in the garret of the house I last occupied."
" That's what I came to speak to you about. You
see, right away, after poor, dear Hiram Malley died,
and the dear little boys followed him, I thought the




ï~~MRS. MALLEY.

221

house was not home to me any more, and so I told the
owner he might rent it to some other person, and I sold
the few things I had, to pay the expenses of the funerals
and the doctor's bills, and I've made my home with
my sister ever since. But, somehow, now that I don't
keep house, I feel worse than I did before; and my
sister says, if I can get a few things to keep house
with, I can have her two rooms up stairs, and it will
take up my attention to cook, and do the chores, and
I'll in a measure forget my troubles."
"It may be better for you. There is nothing like
employment when one is afflicted."
"Well, as I said, my own things are all sold, and I
t-hought, as you wasn't a using all yours, and they
was all stowed away up garret where you used to live,
that I'd like to borrow a few, if it would not be asking
too great a favor, - and I'd take good care of 'em;
and do sewing for you any time to pay for the use
of 'em. It's of no use, any how, for things to be
stowed away for the rats and mice to get at them, and
destroy them; and furniture sort a cracks when it
stands in a dry place, and never looks so well."
Just then Bill Bunce put his head inside and said -
"Mrs. Lincoln, if you don't go soon I shall have to
charge you more; I can't stay for nothin'."  And I began to lose all sympathy for Mrs. Malley, and wish
her at the world's end. However, I made a strong call
upon my better nature, and said -
"What kind of furniture do you wish to borrow?"
"Well, I thought, if you would let me take the old
dining room carpet, and table, and three chairs, and
19*




ï~~222

ELLA LINCOLN.

the light stand, and the middling sized looking glass,
and the bed and bedstead your girl used to sleep on,
and a half a set of your common blue crockery, and a
few knives and forks, I could get along."
"Really, Mrs. Malley, I wish to oblige you, and will;
but to-day, you see how it is, I could not go over with
you to select the articles you want. If you can wait
a fortnight, I shall be over in town probably, and will
call at your sister's and go with you."
"Couldn't you write a line to the family in the house,
and tell them to let me go up and pick them out myself? I would not leave anything out of place, nor
take anything but the things you told me I might. I
kinder feel so uneasy, and want to be doing I don't
know what, since they all died."
Poor woman! I did not wonder. "My paper is
gone. Harry, run in to Mr. Alton, and ask him to let
me have a little paper, quick." And, laying the paper
on the top of the dusty stove, I wrote an order. I felt
like crying for my own troubles now, for I did dislike
to have my furniture, all nicely packed as it was, disturbed and used by any one. Wouldn't her sister's
children scratch the table and chairs, break the dishes,
and tramp that carpet into holes? Would not she set
her cook-stove in that very room, and do her washing
there?" But it was too late to repent of what I had
done; so I merely asked how long she would need
them, and she answered, "But a few weeks," at the
end of which time she would either buy them if I
would sell, or replace them...
"Thank you! the Lord bless you for your kindriess"
and I was glad to see her depart.




ï~~IRSÂ~ DAYTON'S.

223

The very next evening she was married - that disconsolate widow - to Tim  Hildebrant, a notorious
scoundrel, and went off with my property, as I learned
a fortnight afterwards. I left others to tell that story.
-It was not the first time my heart had run away with
my head; but this was the last " unkindest cut of all.".I bade them " Good bye " at the Boston House, with
much regret. Master and mistress, boarders and servants, had been kind to me in sickness and health. It
was emphatically a home, and such a home as is seldom found at a hotel.
During the exposure incident to moving, I contracted
a new cold; and, when I found myself at last in Mrs.
Dayton's parlor, I was feverish and sick. My furniture
was tumbled promiscuously into my room, a -back
room on the first floor, my bed matlte, and a fire kindled. But the chimney was a bad one, and the wind
"the wrong way" - so said Mrs. Dayton; and it
smoked so intolerably that I was glad to have the fire
go out. We had a very pleasant cup of tea, however,
everything very good; and Usaid "inmy sleeve," " She
at least lives well."
Very early we went to bed, and thought, as we lay
down upon our pillows, that the wind would change
probably, and " all be right in the morning."
Harry and Tommy were not as sanguine of that as
myself, however; for I heard one of them say, just
before they passed into the land of dreams, "' It is a
dreadful nasty kitchen," and the other responded, " But
up stairs it's worser - not a sign of a carpet, nor nice




ï~~224

ELLA LINCOLNt

white quilt, nor anything; and the chairs are as dusty"
- and then he fell asleep.
I awoke in the morning with a pain in my head, a
sore throat, and was exceedingly hoarse and thirsty.
The room was filled to suffocation with smoke; somebody was rattling at the stove, -and Tommy crying to
go back to the Boston House. Sick as I was, I sprang
out of bed, dressed, and started with Tommy for the
parlor. No fire had been kindled there, and I ventured
on to the kitchen. I involuntarily held up my skirts,
as I threaded my way along among chairs, boxes, tin
pans and kettles, till I reached the fire, where stood a
fat Dutch girl frying some veal, with dishevelled hair,
a greasy linsey-woolsey petticoat; above that was visible the upper portion of a coarse chemise, and over
that a blue-plaid cotton kerchief. Her hair was tangled, and plainly unexplored; but she gave me a chair
on the hearth, and expressed sympathy for my apparent
ill health. Her countenance was that of good nature
and honesty; and, well trained, no doubt she would
have made one of the best of servants.
Christine, dirty and forlorn as she was, had under
that rough exterior all the better elements of human
character.
" Christine, where is your mistress?"
" She's in bed. I gits all the breakfast, then calls
her."
"How long have you been with her?"
" Two years - since 1 first crossed the sea."
"Then you like her - she likes you?"
"Yes; she teached me English; she's good to me."




ï~~MRS. DAYTON.S.

225

"At what time do you breakfast?"
"Sometimes I gits breakfast for the family at seven,
sometimes eight. Hans Schoefner and Patrick Mahoney eat at six."
Now Harry came in, and whispered, "I wish they'd
ever have breakfast, I'm so hungry!" and Tommy
renewed his entreaties to go back to the "Boston
House." Christine, thinking to please them, took a
piece of the veal she was frying, with her fork, held it
up before her mouth and commenced blowing, blowing,
and, after it became cool, tore it apart with her fingers,
giving each of them half. They looked at Christine,
the veal in their hands, and at me, until I said, " It
looks very good; eat it."
Presently the whole hungry herd of little Daytons
came tumbling down stairs, and then "my lady" appeared.
" Good morning, Mrs. Dayton. My room smoked
so badly that I took the liberty to find my way to the
kitchen."
" All right, my dear Mrs. Lincoln; I hope you will
always make yourself perfectly at home. Sorry to
hear you talking so hoarsely. I perceived, as I passed
your door) that your room is still smoking; the wind
is yet the wrong way."  And always was, thought
Ella.
"Breakfast is ready," said Christine; and then, pretty,
graceful, low-toned Mrs. Dayton piloted us into a little
darksome place, yclept a "dining-room,P where there
was no fire, no comfort, that cool September morning.
The children came in after us, before us, and almost




ï~~226

ELLA LINCOLN.

over us, hungry, ill-mannered, and half-dressed, the
girls with their frocks not fastened behind, the boys
with jackets all awry, and heads like chestnut-burs.
Hush! what's that? The four-year-old, tumbling headforemost down stairs. Christine picks him up. Mrs.
Dayton smiles on.
"Coffee agreeable, Mrs. Lincoln? "
" Yes, thank you."
"Little boys have coffee, or milk?"
Milk, please."
By this time, the Daytons all around the table were
in a perfect uproar,
"Give me some meat!" acried one; "Some coffee!"
another; " I want some bread and butter! " another;
and "You never help me till you've helped all the
rest!" another. And, the last complaining throat being
at last filled, they proceeded to despatch the provisions
with only occasionally singing out," Bread!" " Meat!"
"Coffee! " "Pertater!" until, all appetites satisfied,
they yawned and stretched themselves all round, and
then, pitching through the door, scattered here and
there.
During all that stuffing process, for I could call it by
no softer name, Mrs. Dayton smiled pleasantly, sipped
her own coffee very genteelly, and conversed of all
irrelevant affairs, seemingly anxious to absorb my attention, that I might not notice the shocking misdemeanors of her ungoverned family.
Harry and Tommy enjoyed the show, and ate with
a relish. I, so sick and disappointed, excused myself
after a single cup of coffee, and went to my room.




ï~~MRS. DAYTON'S.

227

That fire was out again. There was no draught in the
chimriey; and the room never had been free from
smoke, except when the wind was low and " the right
way."
Poor me! there I was, sitting in that chilly room,
and thinking of the comparative palace I had left
behind, wondering how I should get the carpet down,
and the furniture arranged,- how I could stay if I did.
Christine attempted to make a second fire; but the
more she tried, the more it smoked, the whole blaze
rushing out, over and under the stove-door, until, weary
and angry at last, she said, " Smoke on, and be d-d
to you!" and, kicking the stove like a spiteful colt,
away she went.
" My dear Mrs. Lincoln, I will have Christine kindle
a fire im the parlor, and you' can sit there through the
day," said Mrs. Dayton, with her same unruffled countenance. "The wind will go down probably after a
few hours; and I suppose you are in no haste about
the carpet."
That carpet shall never go down in that smoke-house,
thought I to myself, but not aloud. I was beginning
to feel very, very sick, and concluded "discretion was
the better part of valor" till I should feel better. I sat
in the parlor about two hours, and went to my bed,
from whence I was removed the next day to an upper
chamber, to have the advantage of a little fireplace,
where the wind was always " the right way." There
was no carpet, the floor swept in the middle, the dirt
Sall swept under the bed; every article of furniture was
covered with the dust of many weeks. While I lay




ï~~-228

ELLA LINCOLN.

there from day to day, the inhabitants of the bedstead
came out often to inquire after my health; and Harry
and Tommy discovered that there were walking idees
on the roofs of the Daytons. O, what a long, miserable
three weeks I spent upon that bed! Sometimes my
children would be struck by those little untutored savages, when they were out-doors at play; often they
tore their clothes, and no one mended them; and they
never could eat in peace for the scrambling and noise
at the table. At first it amused, now it disgusted them.
Yet Mrs. Dayton, that little, helpless, good-natured
nobody, was as kind as her laziness would permit,
made me plenty of gruel, asked me'seventeen times a
day "how I was," and told me how she loved me.
I have never liked good-natured women since. Just
four weeks from the day I entered that house as a
boarder, the doctor was at the bed-side for the fiftieth
time, at least. A board-bottomed chair, covered with
dust, stood beside my bed; and I wrote with my finger
in the dust, "Doctor, I can neither live nor die in such
a hole as this."
A few days later, I left her, fearing it might grieve
her sadly; but she received the announcement with
perfect nonchalance, smiling when I went out as
sweetly as when I went in.
" A soft, low voice" may be "an excellent thing in
woman," but, blended with all other kinds of softness,
there is too much of a good thing.
Peace be unto her! No wrinkle of care will ever
mar the outlines of her perfect features. How can she
grow old?




ï~~CHAPTER XXVIII.

" And, like some low and mournful swell,
To whisper but one word - farewell!"
I RETURNED to the Boston House, to take a little
more comfort in the way of seeing good housekeeping,
to recruit my strength, and prepare to leave Mariette.
I had not now any important "settlements" to
make, and but little money to have "settled" with if
I had. I thought that, with strict economy, in some
country town, I might subsist for a year upon what
remained in my hands, perhaps longer, counting in
with my present funds what I should probably earn
with my pen.
Ihad written letters to several friends in New York,
Ohio, and Pennsylvania, concerning locations, schools,
etc.; for now it was time that Harry should commence
his education in earnest; and I was anxious, if possible,
to place him in a high school, and, his health being
still delicate, I could not bear the idea of being separated from him. To obviate the unpleasantness of
separation, I determined to seek a neighborhood where
I myself could board with him, at the same time giving him the opportuniity of obtaining an education.
A letter from a friend who resided at. Willowdale,
New York, decided me to go there. She represented
the village as a little " Eden," where sin never entered;
20                      (229)




ï~~230

ELLA LINCOLN.

as " prominent for its healthfulness, and the intelligence
of its people; " while the school was the "very best in
the world, and the prices low."  So I said in my heart,
Willowdale will be the place for a poor woman like
Ella Lincoln; and I answered my friend's epistle to
that effect. And now 1 undertook the herculean task
of " getting ready; " for, although those "settlements"
proper were all" done up," there were yet many things
remaining to be done.
All those goods and chattels that Mrs. Malley was
pleased to leave for me in the garret were to be sold,
and those I had furnished my own rooms with, and
some I had loaned long ago, about which I said
nothing, because I was ashamed of myself; and it was
no light trouble for me to look them up and get them
all in the right place, and then find purchasers,. and
give half of them away at last.
But after walking and riding every day for two
weeks, telling everybody where I was going, what for,
how long I expected to stay, etc., the thing was accomplished. What goods I could not sell privately, were
sold at auction; their paltry price was in my hand,
and nothing remained to be done but to kiss the ladies,
shake hands with the gentlemen, and turn resolutely
away from a place endeared to me by both pleasurable
and sorrowful recollections.
Promenading for the last time about the old familiar
grounds, I saw the house we had first occupied, the
trees we had planted, the well that stood close by the
door, the picket fence over which I had often leaned




ï~~LEAVE-TAKING.

231

with the first baby on my arm, conversing with friends,
or waiting the approach of my husband coming up
the street.
Again I seemed to stand there, a young, happy
wife, the cool breeze of evening lifting my curls, and
stirring them over my temples; the last sunbeams
resting on the baby's golden locks, and making them
almost as dazzling as themselves. Again I heard him
clap his tiny hands and shout as he spied his "papa"
in the distance; and then that tall form was beside us.
There was the olden undertone of love and kindness,
the voice that never chided, the lips whose sternness
was for the crowd, whose smiles for the dear ones at
home.
Those maples which Allen planted with his own
hands had grown tall and stately, and were beginning
to shadow the roof; and the tiny mound which he had
sodded was there as green as ever. There was the
well, and the old trough from whose trickling sides he
playfully sprinkled the bright drops into the baby's
face. There was everything to remind me that reverses
had come - such deep reverses as seldom fall to the
lot of any human being. I thought of him as he then
stood erect in his young manhood, a tower of defence
between us and the cold, harsh world, the life-pulse
leaping joyously in his veins, the fiery ardor of a too
hopeful spirit ydt undimmed by the ashes of regret.
I thought of him as he moved about the apartments,
and sat sighing under the eaves of a humbler home,
with a melancholy light in his eye, a lip that seldom
smiled. I thought of him as he stood bending under




ï~~232

ELLA LINCOLN.

a weight of agony that made the strong man a child,
gazing upon me and three little children, one a tiny
babe, through great, blinding tears, trembling on the
brink of the untried future before him. I thought of
him as I fancy he is now, a weary-footed, browncheeked man, with the wrinkles of life's autumn set
prematurely in his forehead - a monomaniac, still
chasing the phantom which has lured him on through
life, as false as the mirage wells of the desert.
"Jesse's grave!" No, I must not go there! I could
not have borne the agony which must have seized
upon me, wringing the last fibre of my being.
It seemed that there I should die; that I should hear
his baby voice again, calling me from the place where
we laid him long ago; that I never, never could leave
him there alone.
It is a forest grave. The shadows of the ancient
oaks walk over that lonely cemetery from morn till
sunset; wild vines creep over its uneven sod; there
are rocks, and underbrush, and wild roses; the birds
sing all day in the branches; and a river steals quietly
along on the south side, murmuring for our Jesse a
perpetual funeral hymn.
So I thought it were better not to visit that little
grave on the hill-side, but leave our baby there, sleeping in peace among the vines and wild roses, where
the birds and the river would sing tb him, and the
angels would wake him in time.




ï~~CHAPTER XXIX.

"They see not the frightful dreams that crowd a bad man's pillow."
What can I pay thee for this noble usage
But grateful praise, so heaven itself is paid.
ONE thing must not be forgotten, - that call upon
Allen's cousin, to whom I owed but little good will,
and much of my misery and poverty. He had avoided
me altogether of late, going his own way, buying
"town lots," wearing fine broadcloth, and a beaver so
smooth that many a hapless fly slipped thereon, perilling life and limb. He walked very tall, that Jabez
Banks, Esq., always stretching himself "the long way
of the cloth," as I have heard housekeepers say, when,
after shrinking, their cotton factory looked wofully
short. He was a little man, with a little learning, a
little head, (but wonderfully long,) and a heart less than
a grain of mustard seed,- who scrupled not to use any
of the tricks of trade "during the week," and could
read a sermon and pray according to rule, if the minister was not at church on Sunday.
I walked into his office and found him alone. He
partly rose, as if to ask me to be seated, then leaned
back again, saying nothing.  A weakness stole over
me for a moment; I almost fainted, when I recollected
that I was there to provoke still farther, one who had
20*                     (233)




ï~~234

ELLA LINCOLN.

not scrupled to rob me of money, and then misrepresent
me to the world.
That weakness yielded to a stony will, and, after
leaning for a few moments against a desk, I said:" Mr. Banks, I am about to leave the State, for some
months, or years,- One, only, knows how long; and I
could not, in duty to myself and you, omit to come and
speak to you a few parting, words." I then reminded
him of all the past, of act after act of his of hypocrisy
and roguery, and concluded my speech by calling him
ungentlemanly, and a villain.
He started to his feet, his eyes glowed and burned
like two living coals of fire, and, if I had not expected
this, should have been frightened, as the hot, heavy
artillery of wrath came hissing through his teeth. His
last words were, "You shall remember me, madam;
aye, I will remind you of this hour when you least
expect it. I have wealth; I fear not your feeble malice;
friends, and I will buy yours."
"Mine are not of the purchaseable order, sir. If I
have one such, you are welcome to him. Good bye!
May God spare you to repent?"
Silly Ella. I had gone into the very nest of a viper,
and awakened him, that he might sting me anew.
And yet I was relieved. When a woman has no
money with which to buy friends, or frighten away her
enemies, it is a pleasure to use her tongue freely. If
Ella had passed through the fire of persecution with
her mouth muzzled, she would have died long ago.
Say what we may of the "unruly member," it is the
"safety-valve" of nature, when the pressure is terrible




ï~~FARMER SUTPHEN.

235

at the heart's core. Did you never read in the books,
that more men die of apoplexy than women? May
"a word to the wise be sufficient."
"I don't know what to say," said farmer Sutphen,
looking somewhat doubtful, very grave, and a great
deal sorry. " These sudden changes in the wind are
often followed by snow squalls. It may be the best
thing that you can do, under the circumstances; but
' distance lends enchantment to the view,' as some fool
of a poet says, and I do hate to see you go off there,
among perfect strangers, with them poor little boys of
yours, to be pushed round, hither and thither, with no
home of their own, and you sick half the time. But it
isn't so far but you can get back again; and if you get
badly used, come back; you shan't want a friend while
I live.
"Try and keep above crying and fretting, let what
may come, for where's the use in it? If your heart is
brimful of trouble, go to God; and if you want money,
if I live, send to farmer Sutphen, of Ten Mile Prairie;
remember that. Good bye!"
I watched him from the window with a sad, sad
heart, as his broad brimmed hat and russet coat mingled with the fashionable coats, and tall, narrow-rimmed
beavers of the crowd; and then I sat down to weep
away those emotions of gratitude and admiration,
which I always feel for one so superior to his kind.
There have been times since then, when I looked
around mrne in vain, for his living counterpart, - when,
heart-sick and weary, I longed for his honest counsels,




ï~~236

ELLA LINCOLN.

his earnest sympathy. But the sod of the prairie lies
heavy on his bosom. When I had been absent one
short year, I heard that he had passed away.
Why do the wicked live; they who stand up in the
great thoroughfare of life as cursed and withered trees,
sheltering no fragile vines, no tender buds, from the
hot sun and sweeping storms of the world, while men
whose bosoms are fountains of love and benevolence,
whose strong arms are forever outstretched to shield
the helpless and defend the injured, are cut off in the
meridian of life, wringing so many hearts, desolating
unnumbered hearthstones?
" Lo! these are parts of His ways, but how little a
portion is heard of him? But the thunder of His
power who can understand? '
"You go to Willowdale, New York?"
"Yes, Mr. Brown."
"Then you will be almost within the shadow of the
land of steady habits."
" Yes, sir, and may be quite there before we meet
again. I must fulfil my destiny."
" Well, if you do go among the Yankees proper, never
speak disrespectfully of ' codfish,' or ' baked beans;'
and, wherever you may go, always think three times
before you speak. Good bye!"
Mr. Brown knew Ella "like a book," as they say.
SA very hasty " good bye" was that from my respected
pastor; but it saved me from a foolish cry, just then,
when I had no time for such indulgence. I have sometimes been made sick, and unfitted for all business, for




ï~~ANOTHER MOVE.

237

a fortnight, by some affectionate friend's injudicious,
long-faced " farewell!"  It is a sad thing to part with
friends; but, when those partings come, each should
endeavor, by cheerfulness, to sustain the other, more
especially the stronger should consider the temperament
of the weaker party. It is better, if possible, when
about leaving a community to which we have been
long attached, to run away as fast as we can, not stopping to kiss even our favorite "aunty."  There are
persons who, though really glad we are going, will be
sure to come and tell us how "sorry" they are, and
conjure up a tear or two, to make us spoil our faces.
Fie! run away from them all, as quick as you can, and
write your apology to all whom you know to be friends,
at leisure.
It rained. Was ever a rainy day more lucky? Only
one day more in which to pack our trunks and complete the arrangements for our journey, and now I could
finish in peace. It dashed against the windows like a
torrent, and stood in great ponds in the road. None
but strong men would venture out to-day, and Ella
could get down on the carpet and scatter those bundles and garments all around, and have a good time
truly. Mrs. Alton had kindly offered to keep the boys
down stairs all day, and on this particular occasion I
was glad to be without them.
I had been tumbling about over the floor, about an
hour, stowing away a dress here, a jacket there; here
a scarf, there a collar; here a book, there a pair of old
slippers; and still I folded, rolled up, and distributed
into those two capacious trunks, glad that I had deferred




ï~~238

ELLA LINCOLN.

packing until the last day, for now I was too busy to
be'gloomy.
My room was up stairs, in front, commanding a
view of the street for a quarter of a mile, and as often
as my feet ached, from being used as a stool, as they
were, I arose and looked out.
"Well done; if there isn't a woman out, this rough
day! How her umbrella sways and twists in the wind!
She rocks like a foundering schooner. Luckily the
gents have so much trouble in managing their own
umbrellas, that they cannot see her. My heart! she is
the veritable Mehitabel Screggs, and she is crossing
the street. What shall I do?
It was not the fashion of the ladies of Mariette to
say ".not at home "to friends calling at inconvenient
hours. We were too honest for that.
Was Mehitabel a friend? In one sense she was.
She always said to me just what she meant to say
about me to others, as some do not.  I knew what
amount of mercy I might expect at her hands. Of
course she did not make the same allowarince for my
short comings that I did myself, but I readily forgave
her candor, which at this age of the world has become
a most precious rarity.
I honored her penetration. I might have insulted
her by refusing to be seen, but my better self prevailed,
and I concluded to admit her. So I dragged and
pushed the articles on the floor, with hands and feet,
into a corner, and, looking as pleasantly as possible,
opened the door.
" Good morning, Mrs. Lincoln. I guess you think I




ï~~ANOTHER MOVE.

239

like you amazingly, to be out in this rain. But I heard
you was agoing to-morrow, certain, and I couldn't
think of such a thing as not bidding you good bye, so
I told sister Mary, I'd just put on my things and come
over and set a while, as it was the last day we'd meet
on earth, probably; for it's so far to New York, that I
fear you'll never Come back."
"-It was very considerate in you, Miss Screggs, to
take so much trouble; but I hope you will excuse the
disordered state of the room, as I am just packing my
trunks, and am short of time."  I thought I would not
say this time that I was " pleased" to see her.
" O, as for packing, - can't I help you? I'Mn an old
hand at the business. I have a great many cousins,
living all round the State, and I visit 'em all, without
fail, every year. Travelling's cheap, you know, and it
doesn't cost nothing after I git there.  One gits so
tired of staying right in the same place all the while,
it's handy to have plenty of relations," - and Mehitabel
talked on, at the same time deliberately taking off her
bonnet, - that tall, yellow straw, - and depositing it
in the corner of the sofa.
",Thank you, Miss Screggs, but I need no-assistance,
and I proceeded with my work. But it was extremely
annoying to have those bell-button eyes of hers following every motion, as I picked up this and that,
elevating that night-robe, depressing this shoe, and
attending to all the et-cetera's of the affair. I began
to feel somewhat nervous, and pondered in my heart
how I should rid myself of Mehitabel and her never
ending tongue.




ï~~240

ELLA LINCOLN.

I thought, too, as I glanced at her occasionally, that
I perceived a solemn gravity settling upon her interesting countenance, and once I heard her sigh. I began
to fear that she might consider it her " Christian duty"
to preach me a parting sermon upon vanity, and impropriety of dress, manner, etc.  So I said: "Ella,
whatsoever you do, do quickly; for if once the text be
taken, which was sure to be, - "when have you heard
from your man? " she will go on to the end like a race
horse. That is not all; she is long-winded, and may
go three times over the course.
Luckily I lifted a pink scarf, and shook it out previously tfb folding, when lo! it attracted her notice, and
she called it "pretty."
"Do you like it, Miss Screggs? If you do, allow me
to present it to you."
" What, give it to me, out and out? You are very
kind, - much obleeged to you. I'll keep it nice to remember you by," and she went to the mirror, trying it
on. " Well, it is becoming." It looked, on her long,
sallow neck, like a pink tape tied around a tallow
candle.
She sat down again. One more venture, Ella.
"Miss Screggs, does buff become you? "
"Well, if it isn't too deep, too near a yellow."
" I asked, because here is this buff muslin dress, not
much worn, as you see; and I really am not anxious
to wear it longer, it not being particularly becoming to
me. If you will accept of it, I should be pleased to
give it to you. Suppose you try it on."
She sprang to her feet, throwing off the old striped




ï~~ANOTHER MOVE..241

delaine instanter. The dress fitted, except being some
inches too short,- a fault easily obviated by turning
down the broad hem. Mehitabel smiled like a May
morning.
" Well, if that wasn't worth coming after, I don't
know what is? I declare, Mrs. Lincoln, you are one
of the best women in the world, and I kinder hate to
have you go away. Much obleeged to you. It isn't
so very yellow, after all, and the very thing to wear in
warm weather. I guess I'll be going now; I see it
slacks up a mite, and may be the walking will be
worse, if I stay longer."
My plan had worked like a charm. She arrayed
herself again in the delaine, tied up the presents in her
handkerchief, mounted old steeple-top straw., and away
she went, not forgetting to say that she kissed me very
hard for good bye.
That was the same "buff muslin" she had lectured
me so eloquently upon not many months before. Then
she called it a -" yellow " dress; now, lopine, on her, it
became a delicate buff. " O, consistency!"
But she went home. That was kind, - and I finished
the packing.
2




ï~~CHAPTER XXX.

"To part - what sorrows mingle in that word!"
THE arrangements being completed; the ' goodbyes" spoken; the rebellious heart, that left reluctantly
its dear western home, stilled beneath the iron will,
and made the slave of circumstances, - nought remained to be done, but to take our seats in a railroad
car, and be whirled rapidly away.
No riding out of Mariette now; as Ella rode into it
many years ago, in a big stage wagon, in the same
dress she had slept in for several successive nights,
sometimes in the room with fourteen gentlemen, sometimes on the hay under their feet, with her' bonnet
smashed as flat as a clam-shell, her hair heavy with
the night dew.    The strong arm    upon which she
leaned during that wearisome journey was not around
her now; and, in its stead, two little feeble pairs of
hands clung trustfully about her for support and happiness. A crowd of memories came trooping wildly
over her brain; her heart leaped in her bosom as if
ready to burst its fetters; and then all was over; for,
with all her weakness and impulsiveness, there was an
inner strength, a high, controlling power, that arrested
the wild waves of feeling as they rushed to and fro,
saying, Peac e! be still!" Yet it was not her strength,
(242)




ï~~THE JOURNEY.

243

but His who fashioned her so weak and self-doubting.
Staff after staff upon which she had leaned had proved
as a breakipg reed; home, health, and competence had
passed away together; and then He imparted to her a
portion of his own vitality, and bade her stand at her
post, where before she was ready to die.
I left Mariette pledged to one sacred object - the
moral and mental advancement of my children. I had
no other ambition now than this; I asked not fame,
fortune, or friends for my own sake, but coveted all for
theirs, that these might, indirectly, give them character
and position in the world. I was willing, if necessary,
to live secluded and unnoticed, to toil early and late,
to wear plain clothes, and hide from the sun and storm
under the lowliest roof that civilized man calls home,
if, by such sacrifices on my part, I could but further
their future interests, and give to the world hereafter
two intelligent, upright, and unselfish men, to be blessings to their country, and benefactors to their race.
God himself recognized in me the maternal martyr,
took me silently by the hand, and led me forward.
Sometimes, poor and sick among strangers, I have
been appalled by the difficulties which arose before me
mountain high, and, faithless for a moment, said, "It
is over! I can do no more!" and then those heights
have been levelled by the unseen hand, and all was
fair and symooth again.
Away we sped over the prairie towards Chicago.
The grass, wet with the recent rain, sparkled as if set
with innumerable gems; and the little rivulets,, born




ï~~4

ELLA LINCOLN.

of yesterday to be kissed away by the sunbeams of
'to-day, bubbled and smiled as we passed.
Here we rushed past a gnarled old oakwor stunted
crab-tree, there a cluster of hazel-bushes or blackberryvines; yonder in the slough grew the rushes. The
cattle, frightenied at the whistle, went snorting over the
fields; and the birds rose in flocks from the grass-lands.
We swept on through the heights and hollows, over
bridges and through "cuts" in the rocks, all of which
amused the little men at my side, but afforded me neither pain nor pleasure; for mine was a weary heart,
viewing familiar scenes. Every traveller describes his
route; every school-girl keeps a diary of her journeyings, "last fall" or "summer," in the West. - I refer
you to them and the " Guide Book," and step out of
the car, sans ceremonie, at the " Tremont" in Chicago,
a large, beautiful hotel, comparing favorably with the
best in our eastern cities.
Chicago was comparatively a small place when I
s'w it for the first time, a few years before; now it is
one of the greatest marts of the world. I walked up
and down its principal thoroughfares, and rode along
the lake shore, and thence to all the principal buildings
about the city, that the children might see and remember; but they forgot - O, how soon! Children
see and enjoy, and go away and forget. Their plastic
intellects are easily impressed; those impressions easily
erased, except in some instances where their sympathies are awakened, their passions aroused.
I sometimes think, however, that even upon those
velvet tablets there is one little corner of a firmer




ï~~THE JOURNEY.

245

texture, where they engrave their wrongs; and years
roll on, bringing no Lethean waters to that guarded
spot. Think of it, you who wantonly wrong a little
child: the time is coming when his arm will be strong,
and yours will have lost its vigor; his voice may yet
hold the magic key that unlocks a million hearts; you
may speak when none will listen.
Nothing of moment occurred on our journey. We
left Chicago when the' rain literally "poured," and it
poured all day; and then the stars came out, the air
was cool and bracing, and we threw open the windows to enjoy it. " See how beautifully it has cleared
away!" was passed round from lip to lip in such gladsome, earnest tones, that it was evident the spirits of
the passengers had partaken of the gloominess of the
weather, and there was now a general "clearing up"
inside.
As night approached, we drew a long sigh or two
at the prospect of sitting up and sleeping, and then,
making a grace of necessity, wrapped our blanket
shawls around us, and invoked
"Tired Nature's sweet restorer."
Harry lay down independently; Tommy bestowed
his head in my lap. They dreamed, apparently, as
sweetly as if resting upon beds of down. I gazed
upon their innocent features, fancy shaping for their
future a thousand misty forms, mentally pledging
myself anew to the work of educating them for respectability and usefulness.
21*




ï~~246

ELLA LINCOLN.

I thought, too, of the motley crowd of restless sleepers occupying the seats around, and wondered that, in
a world where our individual interests are as various
as our countenances, we have still common hopes,
fears, sympathies, weaknesses, and virtues; that all
our countless destinies are marked out by one unerring
hand; we all meet finally at the gate of death and lie
down and rest together in the arms of our 1cormfta
mother.
Poor wanderers all! stage passengers of the world!
We meet; perhaps love each other; the coach stops;
we offer the reluctant hand; take different routes;
some arrive at home. May we be taking but different
routes to the same eternal city! There will be happy
recognitions, blessed reunions.
" Our Father's house!"   More numerous than the
leaves of the forest, the drops of the ocean, will be
that family of happy hearts. Jealousy and fear will
be forgotten; friendship will have ceased to doubt its
object; love that had no voice on earth will freely
speak in heaven.
Morning broke over the world. The sunbeams came,
and rolled awdy the vapor back against the hills; and
still we hurried on. There is a monotony in railroad
travelling, a kind of weariness we feel in no other
situation; and, long continued, it would be to me as
intolerable as the ceaseless round of -the treadmill.
A lady alone, or with children, almost perils her life
in getting out at one of those refreshment saloons, and
finding her way to the table; and then that filling
one's mouth with all possible despatch, and swallowing




ï~~THE JOURNEY.

247

the contents by the way, is death upon a dyspeptic
stomach. It is still harder for children, with their keen
appetites, living, as they do, almost exclusively in the
present, to hear that provoking cry of " All aboard!"
just as the meat and potato are mashed up and deluged with gravy, and they are coming down upon
them like wolves on their midnight prey.
How often they inquire by the way "how far" it is,
" if we are half way there," if we "have got to sleep
out-d~oors any more nights,"' etc.! How soon after the
commencement, of a journey their little faces wax
wonderfully grave, and they cease to inquire "who
lives there? " or the name of this town or that millstream! Poor things! the houses, barns, brooks, mountains, chicken-coops, and church-steeples, all mingle
together and beckon as they pass, leaving with them
no other impression than that of hurrying and confusion.
As I had been advised to do by a friend at Mariette,
I stopped the second night to rest; "for," said she,
"you will certainly be sick if you don't, and arrive at
Willowdale in ' forlorn condition indeed. Foxville
was one of those smart new villages that smell of
pitch and paint, with fussy landlords, who charge
every traveller as if they feared another would never
come that way; as if they had never heard a sermon,
or opened a Bible, and believed death to be an " eternal sleep."
My head was aching sadly. After partaking of an
indifferent meal, I hoped we should have a nice quiet
sleep, and arriving at our chamber, saw no indications




ï~~248

ELLA LINCOLN.

to the contrary. There were two beds with Marseilles
quilts, apparently clean; the floor was covered with matting; the furniture of the room was highly respectable.
They are wise about lights, those hotel-keepers;
always a night-lamp or a short candle, thought JI, extinguishing the tiny thing that the servant had'set
upon the table, and throwing myself heavily upon the
bed. O, what a luxury is a bed when one is so thoroughly jaded and sleepy! and this 1s a pretty good
house, if we did not have a good supper, I'said mentally, as my eyes closed upon the moonbeams which
stole in to shai-e my pillow.
My dreams were not pleasant, and I did not dream
long. I dreamed that I was away in a lonely desert,
very weary; and, after travelling many a mile over
those arid sands, I came to a veritable bed, - dreams
are never consistent, - and that bed was cleanly and
invitingly spread; it was of the softest down. But
ere long I was awakened from    my slumber by a
prickling sensation from head to foot, and lo! instead
of feathers, I had lain down upon a bed of chestnutburs; and springing out, as I thought, upon the ground,
I found myself wide awake upon the floor of my
chamber. Touching a match to the bit of a candle
that remained, I carried it to my bed; and there -
worse than the chestnut-burs of my dream - I saw a
legion of uninvited companions. I turned towards
the other, and Harry and Tommy were being devoured
with like kiidness, kicking and flinging their arms, the
clothes trailing down upon the floor, their feet where
their heads should 'have been, their heads everywhere.




ï~~THE- JOURNEY.

249

Nokv I had heard of those pestiferous vermin, that
they will not continue their depredations long in the
light, so I put down the candle upon the table, and,
while I murdered a. few of the grandfathers, the rest
beat a hasty retreat.
I lay down again, leaving the light, and was soon
locked in the arms of a horrible nightmare. I thought
myself in the power of fiends, who were tormenting me
with briers and needles, pricking every inch of my
flesh, and there I lay, utterly Vnable to move.
"Mamma!" -- it was Harry's voice,-- there is
something biting us all the time, and we can't sleep
any more."
The candle had burned out, and I began to ponder
upon the necessity of having another, for with a light
we might get rest, and it was only two o'clock; but
how was that candle to be obtained?
I remembered to have seen, as we camne up, a lady
go into a room just at the bottom of the stairs, with a
tall candle in her hand; it was possible I might get
that; but how? Was that door locked? was any ode
with her? It seemed the only hope of getting a light,
for there Was no bell, and I could not go to the barroom withou.t dressing, - if dressed, I did not like to
go there. I started for the room of my fellow-passenger, inR my slippers, with a shawl over my night dress,
and, stealing softly across the hall, and down stairs,
was soon at the door where I had seen the lady enter.
Away down, in the hall of the first floor, I could see
a dim lamp. I listened; all was still. I tapped gently
at the door, --no answer. I ventured a louder sum



ï~~250

ELLA LINCOLN.

mons. I heard some one spring to the floor; there was
a clatter as if a gentleman was hastily dressing, and
the door was opened by a man.
" What the deuce are you disturbing us at this time
of night for? I tell you the stage we go in does n't
start till four, - now it's only two. By gracious! old
fellow; if you don't take yourself back to your nest in
less than no time, I'll-    A woman, by George!
What would you have, madam? "
"A sleep walker," whispered his wife, now at his
elbovha "You'd better get between her and the stairs,
and I'll try to waken her."
I had been so startled and confounded at the great
masculine, thunder-tones of his voice, that, for once, I
had forgotten the use of my tongue, and stood there as
dumb as a brick.
But her presence reassured me, and I explained my
errand, asked pardon for the intrusion, and joined those
strangers in a laugh at my own expense. They gave
me that tall candle, - I was glad it was not burning,---
and away I went. It was their own. She told me
she never travelled through the country without a little
box of candles. I have profited by that information
since, always taking with me a sperm candle or two.
Arrived at my room, I slew the nobility and scattered
the commonalty, as before; and in the light of that
candle we slept, with little molestation, until morning.
The next night we slept in the cars, and at nine
o'clock next day arrived at Willow-dale, New York.
The village was situated on a bluff, at the bottom of




ï~~WILLOW-DALE.

251

which was " Willow Creek.'   Well might it thus be
named, for never have I seen such a little forest of willows as grew on either side. Some were very ancient;
their tops had been cut away, and new branches started
from the stumps; others were in their prime, stately
and graceful; and all along, between, grew innumerable whips. Just over the bluff was a narrow strip of
woodland, which formed a pretty background for the
white homes of the citizens; but the village, to my
taste, was a comfortless looking affair, standing up in
the glare of the sunbeams, with its three churches, three
hotels, and half a dozen stores, not forgetting the " Institute" buildings, which, to my mind, had more of brick
than beauty, - long and narrow, full of windows, and
chalked and pencilled from gable to gable; a sufficient
number of pickets missing from the fence to make it
look shabbily; dilapidated out-buildings, and other
idications that the boys, from time immemorial, had
been the executive power of the institution.
And this Willow-dale was the "Eden" to which my
friend, had directed my steps. An   Eden" without
trees. If I had been absolute Queen of America, I
would have issued an edict forthwith, that the village
of Willow-dale be removed, house after house, to the
brook, and set under 'the shade of the willows, and the
Institute carried back to the grove, to be set under the
shade of the oaks. Like a horse minus a mane, a hat
without a brim, a peacock shorr of his train, is a village without trees. Show me a country house, three
years old, without a tree around it, and, unseen, un



ï~~252

ELLA LINCOLN.

heard, if the family have usual health, I pronounce
them lazy in the extreme.
I do not say there was not a single tree at Willowdale, for I counted eleven, but a general want of them;
and yet the town is old.
X3e were received kindly, but I missed the hearty
western welcome. There was more reserve, a wonderful slowness of approach, a kind of manner which said:
" I am at home here, one of the old settlers, of course
your superior. I will wait and watch, and if you behave well, I will be your friend.  Where were you
born, and where have you been, and what do you think
about ' abolition' and' Woman's rights?' What church
do you belong to? and are you a member in good
standing? They were. all willows, those Willow-daleites; born of the same old roots, watered by the same
old current of opinion, shadowing only themselves and
their neighbors.
But about our boarding-house.   My friend Mrs.
Elwood, who induced me to come to this "Eden," had
engaged board for me with Mrs. Gwinn, who had a
small family, and was just the nicest housekeeper in
the country. " This will be the very place for you,"
she wrote; "Mrs. Gwinn has a horse and carriage, and
I have no doubt will be pleased to have you ride out
with her often, which will be a benefit to your health
and a pleasure to the boys. She is a very pious lady,
and her conversation profitable."
So in my heart of hearts I wrote down Mrs. Gwinn




ï~~MRS. GWINN.

253

as a little, delicate, soft-voiced lady, with the sweetest
smile and lightest step in the State of New York. 1
had fancied her residence as lovely as her gentle spirit,
surrounded with trees and flowers; half hidden in the
vines which her own fair hands had trained. Now, I
said, those trees and vines will be touched with the
yellow and crims6n of decay, but 'autumn will fade
into winter, and then we shall have such pleasant
sleigh-rides with that nice pony and cutter, - of course
she keeps one, - and she must have nuts and apples
then, - all Easter -farmers do, - and winter will speed
rapidly away; and then will come spring, and spring
will deepen into summer, and then we Will wander
through the peach orchards, and shake the great blue
plums from the trees,-and gather aprons full of ripe,
yellow pears, Mrs. Gwinn and I. - I shall board a long
time with dear, little, gentle and generous Mrs. Gwinn,
Ella and her boys.
In imagination I forgot to reserve any time for scribbling for the newspapers; almost forgot the main object of going to Willow-dale, - to educate my sons. -
That was the " Mrs. Gwinn" of my dreams; to the
real Mrs. Gwinn, come, let me introduce you.
A tall, athletic woman, of fifty, in a clean gingham,
sleeves rolled up to the shoulder.
"Mrs. Gwinn?"
" Yes."
" Mrs. Lincoln, of Illinois."
" O, yes; the same Mrs. Elwood has engaged board
for."
"Take a seat. These are your sons?"
22




ï~~254

ELLA LINCOLN.

"Yes, ma'am; Harry and Tommy."
" You find me all in the suds."
" I percieve you are washing."
" Yes, I do my own work, always believe in people stirring about as long as they can. Lazy women
are always sickly and sallow; I never knew one of
them yet with a mite of health. Besides, it's a duty to
work. Whatsoever your hand findeth to do, do it with
all your might; for there's no work, nor device, nor wisdom, nor knowledge in the grave, whither thou uest.
Take off your things?"
" I will go to my room, if you please."
"Here is your room. Mrs. Elwood insisted upon
your having a front one. I could have spared the back
one better."
" I do prefer a front room."
"You'll do your own washing, won't you?"
" I cannot; but if no arrangement has been made, I
will see to it; give yourself no trouble about it."
I thought her black eyes flashed, and the border of
her cap shook slightly.
"Well, it isn't my business, but I told Mrs. Elwood
that, when a woman is boarding, and has nothing to
do, it is better for her to do her own washing. It stirs
up the blood once a week, and sets it to circulating,
and besides, it saves a great deal in a year."
" I presume Mrs. Elwood does not realize my feebleness. I have never been able to wash, and never have,
although I have experienced many changes, and done
other kinds of work."
"Ha! ha! ha! ha! it's the healthiest work in the




ï~~MRS. GWVINN.

255

world to get up at daylight and go right at it, and finish up by ten o'clock; then there's all the rest of the
day to do other things in. But I must go down, -
make yourself at home;"
"And this is sweet Mrs. Gwinn, that pattern Christian, whose conversation was to be so instructive to.
Ella,- what can.it mean?   Mrs. Elwood has sadly
misused me. I cannot endure such coarseness; I shall
be wretched if I stay here, mused Ella, wondering at
the strange destiny which still held my.feet entangled,
leading me forever among thorns and stones.
But the boys had sunk down into the cushions. of the
settee, and were looking so sadly, from sympathy, that
I brushed away the cloud, and said: -
"Here we are, - a beautiful place, is n't it? and I
am glad to find these two large cherry trees in front;
they will shade the windows nicely in warm weather."
"That is the ugliest woman I ever saw," said Harry.
"And the crossest," said Tommy.
" O, do not judge at first sight! Mrs. Elwood likes
her, and we may. Some persons are naturally bold
and plain."
SMy room was small, barely space enough to pass
between the bed and stand, and not an inch left for a
table. But there was a little room behind it, just large
enough for a bed, which, after much talking, and an
extra charge, I secured for the boys. I went out and
purchased for myself a suitable table, and was ready
to work.
It being the last of the week, I did not attempt to
see the teacher of the Institute concerning Harry; but




ï~~256

ELLA LINCOLN.

sat down and wrote a few letters to editors and friends,
and tried to be happy.
" Tried" - and there it ended.  As well might I
have tried to be happy encagedwith a tigress. The
first time I went down to dinner she said: -
" You're a California widow?"
" Mr. Lincoln is in California."
"Then you must be worried about him. So much
vice and immorality there. Men may be ever so moral
and good to their families here, and when they get
there they run into all sorts of wickedness and gambling, and worse things, too. Was he pious? "
" He was not a professor."
" Humph! then I wouldn't trust him any farther than
I could see him. A man who goes there without the
restraints of religion, forgets all moral obligations the
moment he gets there. By the way, I.don't think there
is any pure morality without religion. It must spring
out of the grace of God in some way. It is a pity for
any girl to marry a man that is n't pious. Were his
parents pious?"
" They were Methodists."
" Methodists! I don't think much of them. Great
many hypocrites in that denomination. They make a
great noise and display, but, come to know them intimately, they are backbiters and slanderers, a great
many of them. Well, there is but one right way, and,
bless God, I believe I have found that. You don't
believe there is more than one church right, do you?"
" I believe they are all right, all wrong. All err in
some respects, all are right in others. There is no




ï~~MRS. GWINN.

257

perfection under the sun. Churches are made up of
fallible men and women. Only one perfect man has
ever lived."
"Why, aint you a member of our church?"
"Yes; but I claim for it no superiority over others."
"Pity the church, if it have any more such members!
Pie, or pudding?"
O, Ella! your old pastor, Mr. Brown, gave you, as a
parting injunction, the words " think three times before
you speak." -A pretty time you'll have of it now!
See how she flings that chair against the wall, and
how her cap border flies back. She'll report you to
the sisters! And so she did.
I boarded with Mrs. Gwinn just one month, then
made an arrangement with the principal of the Institute to receive me into his family; for I had not been
received as cordially by the citizens as I thought my
due, and I meant to stay there till I made them sorry.
Where people do not love me, I always wish to remain
among them until they respect me. I put on my very
best manners and went to the " Institute."

22*




ï~~CHAPTER XXXI.

A ruler hath not power for himself.
Daily unkindness saps the springs of life,
Slowly, yet surely as the murderer's knife.
MR. RooD was a Reverend gentleman who had been
settled over several congregations, but never remained
long in a place.
Always about the time the people were weary of
him  he was taken with "a cough," and his " health
required" that he should rest for a season; and, after
a few weeks, being in better condition, he appeared
upon a new field of labor, and was popular for a short
time.
At last his fame as a transient pastor became pretty
general throughtout the State, and wherever he appeared as " candidate," the deacons" shook their heads,
and said, "something wrorig - either with him or his
wife - no use of settling him -he won't stay if we
do; and discovering that, although he drew large audiences, he did not draw " calls," he was taken with such
"a cough" that he was unable to preach at all, and
took charge of the Institute.
He was " Mrs. Lincoln's" humble 'servant for a few
months, and she mistook him for a gentleman.
(258)




ï~~AIR. ROOD.

259

His wife, like himself, was an educated nobody; they
had neither common sense nor good humor, patience
nor charity.
The first evening I spent in their house I was invited into the parlor. There were present several of
the older scholars who boarded with them, a young
lady who was employed as seamstress, and the assistant
teachers, a lady and gentleman, when lo! they entertained us with strictures upon Mr. Anderson, the
village pastor, whom I afterwards found to be one of
the best of men, and a pattern minister.
Self-conceited, and without dignity of character,
MVI. and Mrs. Rood wished to be acknowledged as
superiors, by the community.  They lowered themselves, however, in the estimation of the older, graver
class, by alternately assuming undue authority over
their pupils, and then jesting and playing with the
boys and girls.
Always culpably lenient or shamefully severe, the
house and school were destitute of the presence of evenhanded justice, and those boys who were surprised by
a rude shake occasionally when they had not been remarkably good, were repaid for the unkindly dealing
by having imperfect lessons "winked " at, and grave
misdemeanors dismissed with a single word.
Harry was pleased with the regulations. He had
attended the common schools a few months in the
West, when health permitted, and was annoyed by the
ruder spirits that assembled where schools were composed of the children of people of "all nations, kindreds
and tongues," and where the little, delicate child re



ï~~260

ELLA LINCOLN.

ceived many a blow from the sons of rowdy fathers,
who taught them there was merit in fighting well.
The time was, and not very long ago, when in the
streets of Western villages, American citizens would
stand by and see boys fight like dogs; yes, cheer them
on. I remember to have heard a father say: " I have
told my James that if he lets any boy beat him, I'll
whip him after he gets through."
All those little villages have grown into cities now;
strictly and judiciously governed; and the boys come
in for their share of the benefits of corporations.
No village, receiving such an immense influx of population as Marriette for the last four years, is safe without an independent government of its own.
Harry liked the Willow-dale Institute; and a better
assorted circle of- boarders than made their homes under
the roof of Mr. Rood are seldom found.
But did they learn? Hush! not they. Mr Rood
taught for money. I sometimes thought he hardly
knew one child from another; and Mrs. Rood, professedly the lady principal, curled her hair every day
and went to the recitation room, merely playing a part.
If some more ambitious than others, knew their lessons
pretty well, she did not seem to know they merited
praise; the less deserving she dismissed with: "I
shall punish you one of these days, if you do not do
better."
At home, she was often unlady-like, and a scold.
There, when the thousand little vexations of housekeeping came trooping on, one after another, she was




ï~~THE INSTITUTE.

261

angry, and fretted; sometimes she was roused into
frenzy.
She was the mother of three children; she alternately
slapped and kissed them when at home, almost every
hour. She had a little girl for nurse, whom she dismissed very summarily, for accidentally breaking a
mirror while playing with *the stout twvo-year-old; and
she turned like a tigress upon the only tolerable cook
she had, while I was there, because she divided a cake
of hot gingerbread among a half dozen hungry boys,
attracted to the kitchen door by its delicious flavor.
By the way, the table was just the thing tb put one's
philosophy to the test. Sour bread, raw beef, codfish
and salt ham in homceopathic doses, - poor boys, I
pitied them!  Many a little lip curled at the first
mouthful, many a sweet blue eye turned sorrowfully
away. I pitied Ella's boys, but I was resolved not to
leave for trifles - and they grew wonderfully. Ella
turned a longing, lingerling look behind, towards Mrs.
Gwinn's loaves and fishes, sometimes; but then I remembered her coarseness and bigotry, and was thankful for the change.
It was a great school, that Willow-dale Institute!
Anarchy, starvation and confusion from foundation to
chimney top. I knew it from the first glimpse I had
of the chalk and pencil marks upon the building proper
and out buildings.
I. flatter myself I did secure the respect of a few of
the citizens of Willow-dale; Mr. Anderson, the pastor,
and his wife, I shall ever remember with feelings of
the deepest gratitude. They' were kind to me in sick



ï~~262

ELLA LINCOLNo

ness; very sympathizing, and seemed to realize my
peculiai situation and its incident trials, yet alluded to
it with much delicacy.
Mrs. Elwood, whose over painted "Eden " picture
lured me there, seemed to take no warm interest in
my happiness. First, " Our Church," next " Our Institute," then Ella - poor, lonely Ella!
While at the Willow-dale School, my feelings became painfully interested in one of the humbler members of the family, whom  we called " Albert, The
Errand-boy."
Poor Albert was early bereaved of his parents; and
after being kindly cared for in the Orphan Asylum of
New York, until ten years of age, was " bound out"
to a family in the country, where he received daily
bread and coarse clothing for the labor of his hands.
At fourteen, he was persuaded to go into the neighboring country, with a man who had engaged to procure a boy to do chores and errands for the Rev.
principal of a boarding School."
There was a secret reason why his master so willingly resigned him to another, - the boy suffered at
times with inflammation of the eyes, and there was
danger of his becoming blind at no distant day.
Never shall I forget my first impression upon seeing
the little errand boy. A slight creature, with a pale
face and shabby gray clothes was swaying to and fro
with the wood-saw.
His hands were bare, his feet encased in men's old
boots, his cap, minus front and buckram, dangled from




ï~~THE ERRAND BOY.

263

the back of his head; and his hair - bush and sea
weed!- what hair! Like a tangled mass of flaxen
thread, it hung over his forehead and temples, quivering
with the motion of the saw, and lifted now and then
from his high, pale brow by the rude dalliance of the
autumn wind.
"Poor boy! " I exclaimed, involuntarily, contrasting
the happier lot of my own pet boys with his.
The old saw ceased its grating sound; a pair of sad,
dull blue eyes were upturned to mine.
" What is the matter with your eyes, child? Are
you near sighted? "Yes ma'am. I have been near
sighted two years."
I did not linger by the little laborer then, but secretly
resolving to aid him with my sympathy in future as
occasion might offer, I turned away.
An orphan, so frail and dim-sighted! - Ah! Shone
that late November's sun that day upon an object more
pitiable than the little errand boy?
Day after day, I met him on the stairs, in the yard,
or in the street, hurrying as if for life, with bundle,
basket or wheelbarrow; carrying clothes to the washerwoman, or bringing home provisions for the family.
Evening followed evening, and others rested from their
work.
Soon as it grew dark out of doors, the mistress
called him in to " do chores " for the lazy kitchen girls,
until ten o'clock; and when morning came, he arose
from a hard, cold bed, to kindle all the fres in a large
boarding-house, then do his work at the barn; then,




ï~~264

ELLA LINCOLN.

if no other duty offered, saw away again at the everlasting wood pile.
Weeks hurried on, my interest in the little white
slave increasing; for still he wore the same hopeless
look, as he went half seeing, half feeling, over the frozen ground, or stumbling from cellar to garret, and garret to cellar., I could not enjoy the blessings within
my reach, with so sad a picture of wretchedness ever
before me.
Christmas; - and a bitter cold morning it was. More
favored children were receiving presents from parents
and guardians; per favor of Santaclaus; I wished to
make glad the heart of the little Errand Boy, who had
none to love him; so I gave him a pair of woollen
stockings, and mittens, and a nice warm tippet, at the
risk of offending his Rev. master and mistress.
Mother, there are whitd spots on Albert's eyes. Albert looked up - I was sick. The entire pupil of one
eye was covered with a filmn; a tiny speck of milky
white just touched the surface of the other.
God forgive me - I prayed that the darkness of
death might cover his mental sight, before 'he should
become conscious of his situation.
Bitterly, most bitterly I'then felt my inability to provide even life, and lesser comforts, for one so soon to be
deprived of the blessing of sight.
Oh, cruel poverty! if ever I realize thy galling chain,
it is when I am denied the blessed privilege of holdingo
the cup of plenty to the lips of some poor suffering
child.
Poor orphan child! thy story is the tale of thousands!




ï~~THE ERRAND BOY.

265

To bear cruel rebukes in silence; to be whipped and
not complain; to eat the very crumbs which fall from
4 master's table, is the lot of thousands.
Shame! that there should be such sufferers in a
Christian land- in Christian families, even in sinless
childhood.
That may have been a home, compared with some;
but such a home as I would rather die, than know
would be the lot of my own dear ones; where the sensitive child toils on without the reward even of a smile;
his best acts unappreciated and forgotten.
The Rev. Mr. Rood and his family go to church on
Sunday, - a fine family-- Mr. and Mrs. Rood, their
two elder children and the boarders, all dressed in
comely apparel, with demure faces, and carrying hymn
books.
But where is the little "errand boy?"
At home, in rags, with elfin locks -sorrow in his
face - all days are alike to him. Yes, there he sits;
the girls are out; at church, perhaps, or gossiping with
their friends - he is alone - his hymn book, a huge
knife, with which he is preparing vegetables for the
Sabbath dinner.
He is in deep thought; thinking perhaps of the
mother that long ago laid him softly to sleep, kissing
his baby cheeks and singing of the rest for the weary
in heaven.
He wonders if she is near him, in all his struggles
to subdue himself; - if she weeps over hiii now, when
his young eyes wax dim?
"Mother," he sobs in agony, listening for her voice;
23




ï~~.266

ELLA LINCOLN.

-it is over. A something fanned the air; he heard
a whisper, - she has been with him - she loves him
yet, and he is comforted. Toil on, young slave; - be
strong - be resigned; - govern thyself. God help poor
orphans in this stony-hearted world!
Of sedentary habits, I was always the last person up
at night in that large boarding-house. Often, during
the long, cold winter, putting off my shoes, I stole softly to the eight-by-ten apartment, which, besides holding
all the old lumber in the house, was occupied by Albert
as a bed-room. I tucked the bed-clothes (their name
not legion) carefully about him, then taking down old
clothes, skirts and coats from their nails on the wall,
and piled them on the bed; then gazing for a moment on the little sleeper's care-worn face, blessed
God, that sleep brought forgetfulness. I wondered too,
that the Rev. Mr. Rood dared to pray to the God of
the poo.r.
I closed the door, going back on tiptoe, lest I might
be detected by the impudent chambermaid, whose
mistress might endorse her wrath:; for persons harsh
and unfeeling themselves, have a strange disrelish for
the milk of human kindness in others.
March came, with high winds and pelting storms;
the snow lay in large, irregular patches upon the muddy
ground.
Other children had warm clothes and dry stockings.
But Albert's boots were now worse than skeletons; and
he went day after day upon his countless errands;
wrung out his saturated hose at night, and put




ï~~THE ERRAND BOY.

-267

them on in the morning, heavy with mud and moisture.
" The boy is not up," said the fretful chambermaid
to her mistress; "and the cook says she built the
kitchen fire with her own hands; and I am come to
tell you, that I knocked twice for him at the door, and
he wont get up."
"Not up?" said the mistress. "Not up?" said the
master -" the lazy fellow; I'll see to him," and up
stairs he came, pushing the door with violence.
" Albert! Albert!"  He started up- attempted to
speak, and fell back upon the pillow, with a hoarse,
squealing sound.. He was sick - sick unto death.
They removed him to a comfortable room; called in
a physician, and administered his medicines with regularity and order. In vain! as well might they have
cried "fire," after a house had burned down.
"Drink - drink "- he whispered; "Mother - it is
so cold - the wood is so hard - the saw is so dull -
Mother! - sweet mother! - let me come to you and
rest - rest - rest." He soon, poor sorrowful one, slept
that sleep which knows no waking. A few kind strangers attended the funeral, and that slight form was
laid away at rest; but little did they dream, who
buried him, of the weight of agony which crushed the
life out of that young heart.
I thanked my God that he was at last at " rest"that he had gone to meet his mother, where taskmasters
are unknown.
He slept well. His " errands were all done. The




ï~~268                 ELLA LINCOLN.
eyes which had so early waxed dim on earth, had
reopened amidst the flowers of paradise.
" It is well with the child;" but for the master, and
mistress, there comes a day of reckoning. " Inasmuch
as ye did it not unto one of the least of these, ye did
it not unto me."




ï~~CHAPTER XXXII.

Alas! sad tidings; or in flood or fire,
Fate still pursues thee with relentless ire.
A LETTER from Allen, forwarded from Mariette.
"My dear Ella; - I wrote you in my last that, by
dint of toil and self-denial, almost to nakedness and
starvation, I had succeeded in raising a sufficient sum
to establish a grocery at Georgetown. It was a fine
place for that business, and having made many friends
among the miners in that vicinity, my chance for doing
well was very fair. I erected a little temporary building, filled it to the brim with such articles as are mostly
called for; and then said:-" Strike once more, Allen,
for wealth, and the dear ones at home." But I told
you all about the store, etc., in that last letter;" (That
letter I never received) "why annoy you by repetitions?  Ah, Ella, I am so loath to leave the past for the
miserable present; if I were not sure that what I might
withhold concerning my misfortunes would reach you
through another channel, I would just tell you that store
was on the old spot, this night crowded with customers,
and a thousand dollars, ihe profits of the day, in Allen
Lincoln's money drawer. Yes, write you a pleasant
fiction, and the last line of the book should be a
draft for that" one thousand."  But " murder will out,"
23*                (269)




ï~~270

ELLA LINCOLN.

so here I make clean breast of it - that store is in ashes.
I slept there. At about two o'clock, a windy night,
I was aroused by a loud noise at the door, and my
eyes opened on an intolerable glare of light. " Lincoln! halloo there, Lincoln! I believ6. you'd sleep on if
h-ll had come up to take you before your time!"
shouted a rough voice at the door, at the same moment
the speaker bursting in and uttering a volley of oathsnot for your ears, Ella. "On with your jacket, quick,
man! or you'll be all blown up in a jiffy! Don't you
know the whole town is gone to thunder; and this is
the last corner of it? There, give me your pistols;you secure your money - now for cooler quarters!"
My unceremonious friend was, or had been my roommate at the hotel where I boarded; a rough fellow, but
kind-hearted. Just as we emerged into the street, there
was a loud hissing sound, then an explosion that shook
us like an earthquake. It was the simultaneous bursting up of a nest of powder-kegs and whiskey barrels,
a few doors below; and knowing there was another
establishment of the kind still nearer, I thought, sure
enough, we had better make tracks instanter. I tell
you, Ella, I marched out #ith a long face. Now, do
not imagine a fire at Mariette, New York, or any place
you ever saw. Just fancy a street; a whole town built
up of pine boards, rags, and brown paper; and you
will have a faint idea of it. Every third house a tent;
a powder-keg or whiskey cask in a hole under every
one of them, and a bucket of water a rarity. Well,
my old room-mate, John Jack, and I, hurried away.
We did not go to our boarding-house-that was among




ï~~SAD NEWS FROM ALLAN

271

the missing articles; we didn't look up a new one, for
they had all " stepped out;" we didn't go to a friend's,
for we had none; if we had had, they would have been
minus houses; we didn't turn round to help put out
the fire; we knew that would be madness; and if not
blown up, we should be robbed of our money. So we
stepped along to a pretty quick tune of Yankee-doodle.
I felt more in the spirit of' old hundred,' and when out
of danger and by a big rock, we sat down to consider,
and look back at that burning town.
" There goes your store, Allen; by George, it blazes
nicely. Why did n't we bring off a host of cigars? it
would be so pleasant to sit here and smoke, and take
it easy. Yes, there she goes! ' pop.goes the weasel!'
Look here, old fellow! you may thank my big boots
that you didn't snooze on 'till you roasted alive. Why,
what the deuce makes you sleep so, anyhow, with all
them Mexicans, Spaniards, Chinamen, and cannibals
all around you? You ought to have seen our big corn
crib go down. I helped get out the women and children. My gracious, how they yelled! Pretty nice bonfire after all, isn't it?'
And John talked on. I have given you the style except the oaths, and in my heart I thanked him for his
well-meant effort. He knew what a great wave of sorrow was sweeping over the bosom of Allen Lincoln, as
he sat there upon that rock, watching the progress of
the devouring element, and he opposed to it such barriers as he possessed; forgetting himself, and attempting to make me forget. I knew that his cheerfulness
was assunied; that below the surface was deep, deep




ï~~272

ELLA LINCOLN.

bitterness of spirit; for he, too, had struggled along
against innumerable difficulties, in a strange land; and
when, at last, he thought the worst was over, the daylight breaking - that night his all was swept away.
He, too, had a wife and children far away; and I had
seen him weep over his dear wife's letters. But after
all, when the worst came, he was of sterner mould
than Allen Lincoln, and he knew it. "I didn't swear
at home, " he said to me one day; "but since I have
been here and suffered so much, it seems to me it is a
relief to me to swear; as it is to a woman in trouble
to cry often."
Oh, Ella! Ella! Ella! here I am, running on about
John Jack! I'm almost wild. When I saw the forked
flames sweeping along that street, and taking my all
as they hissed and crackled on; but for you, I should
have put a pistol to my forehead, and there, on that
rock, ended the drama of life.
Ella, why am I thus met, at every step, by disappointment and sorrow? Why am 1 not rewarded for all
my labor and self-denial by a reasonable share of this
world's good things? Why am I the dupe of villains;
the sport of flood and fire; doomed to this long, long
separation from my beloved wife afid children? What
have I done that a curse follows me through life? Are
we, indeed, " the creatures of an overwhelming, neverswerving destiny; pre-ordered to one doom; bound to
a wheel that whirls us on until it reaches the, point at
which we are crushed?"
Forgive me, Ella, perhaps I am very wicked to feel
thus, but I will tell you all - all; then you will be




ï~~SAD NEWS FROM ALLEN.

273

prepared for the worst.- And I could not live without
your entire sympathy. Be very lenient. - I have never
meant to wrong you - but I have - God knows how
much.
In my money drawer, at the time of the fire, I had
fifty dollars, which I saved; in a belt, around my person,
two hundred- the last I send to you, and hope to be
able to forward more before you shall need it - I have
not decided yet, what to do, but shall keep on trying.
As I have often written you - I write you now -
when I am rich, I will return - not till then. God bless
you. It is because I love you, that I will either succeed,
or die - Allen.
What could I do, but commit him anew to the care
of Him without whose notice not a sparrow falls to
the ground, and give up my own strength anew, for the
great battle of life.
I had heard from him; and while there was life,
there was hope; but little hope, however, that we"
should meet again.
He had vowed to be " rich, or die," in that distant
land; there was ONE who owned all the wealth of the
world' and denied it to whom he would.- Shall a man
strive with his Maker?
But why think of Allen? why sit down in fruitless
impotence, reviewing the different features of that wild,
strange destiny, whose waves roll on, dashing him
forwardg- backward;- crested to-day with the sunbeams of hope - to-morrow, one broad waste of inky
waters.
Why think of the villains that robbed him at Mari



ï~~2-74

ELLA LINCOLN.

ette - the flood that swept away his mills at Yellow
Brook, - the fire that came rushing dowh that street of
tents and shantees, consuming all before it, and driving
him out, again a desperate and broken-hearted man at
Georgetown? - Why think of what he had been; -
what he was now; - what he might become? - God is
over all. The inner-self grew strong, but the poor,
frail body bent once more before the blast. I crushed
down all the agony, covered the well of tears; - none
knew that I had heard again from Allen - such news!
But in vain I said to my right hand, " work; " in vain
I seated myself at the table to write; -what ailed
me? -the hand trembled, the brain whirled, the feet
refused their office - I was sick.
The doctor said, "you are very frail - you write too
constantly - as soon as I brace you a little with medicine, you must go out; -must change your habits; -
your life will depend upon this. Do not write - I beseech of you as your friend and brother -do not! "
He was a good doctor - Doctor Jones- skilful, kind,
sympathetic. He came in often, sat an hour when he
could, ordered but little medicine, told them to prepare
such diet as I relished, to converse with me cheerfully.
Slowly I recovered; - for after a time comes reaction
or death.
Mr. and Mrs. Rood were not remiss in their attentions during that illness. There is a class of human
beings who are very kind when the object is of sufficient importance to attract the observatioi of the
world. They would not like to have had it said, if
Ella Lincoln had died there, that she lacked for any




ï~~ANOTHER MOVE.

2 7 e)

little luxury within their reach; - and yet if a veil
could have been drawn between them and the world,
and Ella had died,and had not left abundant means to
defray aHll expenses, I opine - well, no matter what -
but "actions speak louder than words;" and when I
know that people have no regard for my comfort in
health, the more they stay out of my sick room, the
more I respect them.
Just as the willows along the brook were putting
forth their myriad leaves, and the boys sat under them
with bright, happy faces, making whistles, I rode by,
accompanied by my boys, in a great ugly jolting stagecoach, bound for Pinkneyville, New York. I had noticed,
in running my eye over " The Presbyterian," a little
paragraph running thus: " Pinkneyville Academy, New
York. This old and highly popular institution, has
been for the last five years under the care of Alexander
Stubbs, A. M., an experienced and competent instructor, etc., etc. For healthfulness and pleasantness, Pinkneyville, compares favorably with any village in the
State, etc., etc. For furtheri information, apply to A.
Stubbs, A. M., or the Board of Trustees, through Rev.
Benjamin Underwood, President."
"Cannot do worse!" said Ella, and to Pinkneyville
she went.
She could not say as Mehitabel Scregg's did, when
she talked about those "summer visits" among her relations; travelling does not cost much and it wont cost
me a cent after I get there; but she knew that Harry
had learned but little at Willow-dale and time was pre



ï~~276              ANOTHER MOVE.
cious, and she resolved to find if possible, a better
school.
Pinkneyville was thirty miles from the city of New
York, and forty from Willow-dale. As we jogged
along over the heights and hollows of a State, presenting much variety of surface, we indulged anew in pleasant anticipations.




ï~~CHAPTER XXXIII.

"Prettily shaded, neat and high;
Earnests of prosperity."
I FOUND.Pinkneyville a pretty town, pleasantly located on a bluff, and shaded with elms and locusts; and
hence inferred the general thrift and good taste of the
citizens.
No pre-engagement for board, - I had grown wiser;
- but we stopped at a hotel, where I deemed it expedient to remain for a few days, and look round for a
home.
After a good supper, and a night of quiet repose, I
threw open the shutters to inhale the morning air, and
was satisfied my moonlight impressions of the last
evening had been correct. There was no costly fabric;
no imposing architecture; but the spirit of beauty
glided among the shadows of those ancient elms,
played with the locust leaves and slept in the vines.
Mr. Van Ness, the proprietor of the Washington
Hotel, was a gentleman, and his wife a lady; and if it
had not been an imperative duty to economize, I should
not have indulged a wish beyond remaining with them.
But that never-ending necessity for economy ruled the
hour;_ and reluctantly I admitted the fact that we must
board in a private family.
" A private family" -  private boarding house "24                 (277)




ï~~278

ELLA LINCOLN.

always, excepting six, I have never seen anything of
the kind. Yet, I have tried a few; having boarded
almost all the time for eight years.
If you wish to enjoy retirement, reside in a city; if
you wish a retired -boarding-house let it be a large
hotel. It is in the country, - at the smaller boardinghouse - the affatirs of your life are the business of all.
It seems so pleasant to have a few take an interest in
us personally; - it seems so like a family there, that
we unconsciously throw off a prudent- reserve, talk too
much of ourselves, answer too many questions; and
at last, fully committed, repent at leisure.
Mr. and Mrs. Van Ness, of the " Washington Hotel,"
were very much like Mr. and Mrs. Alton of the BostoH
House, Mariette. They were so kind to my children
that I loved them for that; so unobtrusive, yet respectful towards me,-they seemed so at a glance to take
in all the difficulties of my peculiar position, without
any outward expression of sympathy, that I loved
them for that.
There is in the world a kind of rioisy interest which
people take in the affairs of the unfortunate; a sort of
ringing of bells and blowing of trumpets, about those
sorrows which the truly delicate individual prefers to
cover with the veil of silence. Oh, those cruel questioners; who ask to wound, and listen, to report; who
stretch the poor victim upon the mental rack; then
sit and watch the varying color as it comes and goes;
and the dew of agony as it gathers upon the forehead;
--who love to see the warm glad smile fade out, and
the lip that wore it steeped in bitterness.




ï~~P1INKNEYVILLE.

279

Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs and Mr. and Mrs. Underwood
called. As friends, I liked them. But Mr. Stubbs
came in with such a short, quick step, he spoke with
such a quick, sharp intonation; his sentences were so
precise and pointed; and I thought there was manifest
the least possible uneasiness when others were somewhat slow of speech; that I said in my heart, he is
high-tempered, overbearing, severe, and woe to the
child who hesitates when he-commands.
The society at Pinkneyville was superior to that of
Willow-dale in intelligence and good manners.. When
I had been there but a few weeks, I esteemed many of
the ladies and gentlemen very highly. They seemed
to know that there was a time for all things; and that
upon the great dusty thoroughfare of life there was
room for persons of all casts and colors; of every
variety of taste and opinion.  They were generally
pious and consistent, each "sweeping his own door
clean," not running to sweep his neighbor's. True
Christians care less if the stranger who comes in
among them   be. attached to their own particular
church, than if he love to do the will of '" Our Father in
Heaven."
After remaining at the hotel three weeKs, I removed
to the residence of Mr. Rice, one of the trustees of the
Academy. He was a good man, and above littleness.
Mrs. Rice was a pretty woman, and pattern housekeeper, who went round the house like a-bird; economizing without starving her household; and making
herself as generally agreeable as any human being
could who was too industrious to sit down.




ï~~280

ELLA LINCOLN.

1 was pleased with the house and family; but not
with my room, which was no one's fault in particular.
They had taken me in as a favor, and given me such
rooms as they had.
My room was low and narrow, with one window,
that in the rear, commanding a view of the kitchen
door.  It contained all the appurtenances of a bedroom, wardrobes for three, the monstrous trunks we
travelled with, and our books. The books were piled
in one corner on the floor, and the table was placed
against the window.
Do you know, reader, that in some villages it is
almost impossible for a woman to secure a boarding
place, except in the larger establishments. In many
families where they would be glad to accommodate
two or more gentlemen, they are unwilling to be
Uibled with two or more ladies; or a woman with
L o or three children.
I can see the propriety of their not liking to be
troubledwith small children; but so long as women
do not eat any more, and take up no more room than
men, I cannot understand why their sister women refuse,hem place, and bread and butter, at the same
price as is paid by men.
One says" No, ii not have a woman in my way;
women notice too much;" anothier, " She '11 always
be wanting something;" another, "if I take her she'll
wait upon herself, I can tell her."
I have heard them  say, "I don't like women as
boarders - I'd rather have two men than one woman,
any time." - No doubt of that. 1 have heard them say




ï~~TOMMY.

281

that " women require more attention than persons of
the opposite sex;" which I know they do not get, if
they expect it.
Fie! for a fetv days, it is " Mrs.---" or " Miss - will
you have this, that or the other thing," then there is
a woful falling off, - the bell is not answered, the
chambermaid looks daggers if you ask her to do reasonable service; and if in despair she goes down, down
to the subterranean rooms, and there finds the cook
absent, and the black hen in the half-stirred pudding
up to her second joint, or the cat and her kittens skimming the cream; - why, if she sees it - she "prefers
tea without cream," and " never eats pudding" for a
fortnight - that's all.  Tells of it, - never!  If she
should, she'd better "go to her tent and lie down in
despair," forthwith. -Where are you, Ella?
Harry was doing well at school. Naturally amiable,
he became a favorite with his mates, was generally
master of his lessons, and if guilty of winking or twisting his physiognomy sometimes, not according to rule,
he generally eluded the observation of his superiors.
Harry was doing well; and now I thought it better
that Tommy also should go to school.
There was not a particle of" Harry," (at least youngHarry,) about Tommy. " I won't be driven," had
been written upon his forehead from the earliest cradle
hour.
Kindness could lead him  by a silken thread, but
harshness could not draw him with a chain of iron.
When a babe, he was as arbitrary as his " celestial
24 *




ï~~282

ELLA LINCOLN.

highness," the emperor of China; older, although he
never yielded his own fights, he respected, as soon as
he could understand them, the rights of others. Through
all his infancy he was delicate and nervous; and I
watched over him as a sensitive plant, guarding him
from collisions with coarse, selfish natures, and gradually gaining over him a stronger maternal influence.
He learned early to appreciate a mother's tender
care, and returned my affectionwith a warm self-denying love. If any other person controlled a single act
of his, it was through my direct infhluence. - If all the
executive power on earth had been vested in one
mortal man, and that man had said to him authoritatively "take off your hat- I am your superior!" he
would have held it onwith both hands, looking him
defiantly in the face.
The Creator fashioned Tommy; I, Ella Lincoln,
received him into my care, to bring up for Himr; as a
precious and responsible gift.
I knew that in that little bosom was placed a mighty
motive-power for gogd or evil, and it was my duty to
study its right direction.'
He had learned much at home; or rather taight
himself, for he read and wrote seemingly intuitively
when smaller than any other child I ever knew, and 4hen
he had no disposition to confine himself farther to study.
But now, circumstances being so favorable for him
to begin to be mentally disciplined, I said: " We will
see, commencing gently."  And what I have now
written, I ventured to say.to Alexander Stubbs, A. M.,
principal of the Pinkneyville Academy.




ï~~TOMMY.

283

" You will pardon my maternal solicitude, sir - I
think he will give you no trouble; if' he should, you
will please send him home to me. I would esteem' it
a favor if you will not repeat what I have said; only
name it to his teacher in the primary department; the
children need not know it, to create jealousy and dislike."
"Certainly, madam; it is proper to deal with various
temperaments and dispositions in various ways. I
understand you perfectly, and appreciate your solicitude
for a child so delicate and peculiar. 1 approve of your
course; you may depend upon my co-operation. Good
morning, madam."
But the beaver settled down upon his head so hastily;
the good words came out so nervopsly; and he walked
away with such a martial tread, I trembled to think of
what I had done.
SAbout ten days afterwards, my door was opened
violenitly, and in rushed Tommy.
"Mother, I hate him! I can't help it - I do! Guy!
he couldn't catch me; I outran him. You won't send
me back, will you? Please let me study and recite to
you? "
"What is the matter? why are you here?"
"He struck me - he did!" He was deathly pale,
and sank into a chhir.
"Who struck you?"
"Mr. Stubbs."
"What did you do then?"
"I struck him back, hard as I could."
"My son,. I am very, very sorry."




ï~~. 284

ELLA LINCOLN.

"1I couldn't help it."
"Yes, you could have helped it; but tell me all about
it."
"Well, he was in that room; and I had my lessoin,
every word of it; so I was tired, and lay there withi
my head upon the desk. He said, ' Get up, Tommy;'
we don't allow boys to go to bed in this Academy."
Then the boys all looked that way, and some of them
laughed; and he came right there and hit me with a
book, on my head; and then I-  "
"Never mind telling more now; I am going out to
walk, come with me."
"Mother, I am not well."
"Oh, yes you are, pretty well; come, we shall both
feel better for a walk." And we did go.
My time was worth so much to nme that I hardly
knew how to hear lessons at home; but after that I did,
while I remained at Pinkneyville.
Not a word upon that subject was spoken between
Mr. Stubbs and myself until the day I left him for
another school; then I reminded him of the promise he
had so summarily broken.
"But, madam, you will ruin your child. "
"If I do, none shall help me. "
But I am not gone yet. Harry was doing finely,
the place and people I liked, and there I remained until
fall.
There is much monotony in country life, more particularly to those who have no home.
When the fruit came, and the blackberries and whortleberries ripened, we made frequent excursions to the




ï~~TOMMY.

285

neighboring woods; and there was a brook not far
away, shaded with tall pines and hemlock: there we
went to fish and read - Tommy to fish, I to read.
He talked of being a soldier and statesman; a traveller in foreign lands; a sea-captain, a king. I thought
of the checkered past, the unrevealed future; of my
own abitious dreams in girlhood, never fostered, but
rudely met with jests and words of discouragement by
a mistaken father. I remembered how miserable I then
was to be told this or that could never be attained by
me, little fragile Ella Lee; and now, when I recognized
the same spirit in the little bosom before me, I uttered
no cold, sarcastic words, but said: "Yes, you may yet
become both great and good. Cultivate first the intellect; learn first the secret of self-government, and in
good time you may both teach and govern others."
I dared not talk of the sorrows and uncertainties of
life; nor tell him then the story of my own crushed
hopes; young life's faded dreams. I saw and respected
the fire which God had kindled in that young dreamer's
bosom, nor dared to cast upon its glowing face one
single cooling drop.
I loved Harry, with his amiable temper and evenly
balanced mental powers - he never grieved me; but
others loved him too; he had many, many friends.
Tommy needed my more tender care because I, only,
knew him well. I, only, appreciated..beneath the outward adamant the deep, beautiful undercurrent which
in God's good time might go forth as a refreshing
stream to purify and bless mankind.
Dear Mrs. Rice, how kind she was. She never looked




ï~~ELLA LINCOLN.

like vinegar when Ella came to the breakfast table,
after a hot summer night, almost too feeble to breathe;
she never rattled the tea set, or overturned the gravy,
because the poor invalid's fitful appetite refused this or
that, or she called for ' something tart,' three times a
day. No, there was many a tit-bit for.me alone; the
first ripe peach was mine; the first strawberry. Often,
oh! how often, she asked ' if I liked something she had
not,' and if I answered ' yes,' the next meal, there it
was. May she never need a friend, never know the
sorrows that I have known, when a stranger and an
invalid, conscious that none cared for me.
"My husband has contracted to prepare the' fourth
of July dinner,' said my friend Mrs. Van Ness of the
' Washington,' and I invite you now to come, with
your boys, and dine with us. Mr. Van Ness will see
you safely to the table, and wait upon you; and
although you may not care particularly to be there, I
am sure the boys will be delighted." Kind Mr. and
Mrs. Van Ness.
We went ' to the fourth of July,' so said the children,
as they all arrayed themselves in their best, and marched
towards the church, where the Rev. Mr. Underwood
made a great speech about ' liberty and union, antislavery, the extravagance of American ladies, and the
best method of bringing up babies in the way they
should go.'
Such an oration! shade of Demosthenes! His lungs
were as substantial as a blacksmith's bellows. There
he stood, blow, blow, blow, himself as cool as a cu



ï~~FOURTH OF JULY

287

cumber, while we were all in the last stage of suffocation.
Think of it! one common-sized country church,
scantily supplied with windows; and inside, right in
front of the pulpit, is erected a stage for the accommodation of the greater lights, orator, reader, etc.; then
the band of musicians in front of that; on either side
of the. aisle, a square battalion of moustaches, epauletts and feathers; then a promiscuous mass of silks,
muslins, gold ear-rings, pea-jackets, pantalettes and
babies; not a breath of air except the sighs of disconsolate 'lovers and that manufactured by the fans; and
then think of that interminable burst of eloquence!
Oh, dear; if there had been a way of escape! As
well might a wedge have walked out of a back-log
before the final splitting. But ' nought terrestrial lasts
forever,' and just as we were all in danger of losing
our patriotism, and wishing 'liberty' and the Rev.
orator himself, back into the shades of barbarism, he
rounded the last period.
The table was spread under an awning of green
boughs, in the rear of the hotel; and amidst the roar of
artillery and the beating of drums, the long procession
marched from the church to the Washington.
"We should have dined at on'e, now it is past two;
that oration was a mile too long," said Mr. Van Ness,
as he helped me to a beautiful joint of roast pig; "and
a cloud is rising - I fear it may rain."
I cast my eye adown the long row of knives and
forks, as they commenced their earnest work, and
thought what a little harvest of shillings my friend, the




ï~~288

ELLA LINCOLN

landlord, was reaping now; when lo! there arose a
gust of wind, carrying away the arbor, and scattering
the guests hither and thither. The dust settled like a
cloud upon the unlucky viands; the rain came down in
torrents; and tumblers, pitchers, platters, dishes, sauces
and gravies, pigs and turkeys; the innumerable items
of a ' fourth of July' dinner, were all mingled, and
broken, and rolled together like the sweelings.in the
wake of an earthquake.
The frightened crowd had turned en-masse into the
house, until every room and nook was full. There
they stood, with dirty faces, and dinnerless, until that
shower abated; when they made a forlorn rush for
their homes, or the houses of friends.
Behind the kitchen was a wee bit of a room, into
which Mr. Van Ness had piloted Ella and her boys as
they rushed in with the first wave of humanity; and
there they dined, thankful for themselves,'" sorry for the
less fortunate.
A wofully unprofitable dinner was that to my friend
Van Ness; and all because the Rev. Mr. Underwood
liked to hear himself talk; for if he had shut his mouth
after a reasonable time, one table-full, at least, Would
have dined beTore the shower.




ï~~CHAPTER XXXIV.

Uncertainty, thou worse than real ill.
Whose every moment is an age of grief,
To real woe we oppose the stubbornwill,
But for thy sickness there is no relief.
Better to meet and wrestle with our doom,
And die or conquer, than in feverish gloom
To linger or in life.
My health had become as an empty shell. I longed
to go South; but had not the means to justify my undertaking so long a journey.
Oh, when life itself seems to depend upon seeking
more genial skies, it is hard to be chained to a meagre
purse, - to practise a narrow economy, - oh, the heart
sickness of uncertainty! Summer mellowed into autumn, yet I lingered there. I sometimes feared that
both mind and body would yield to outward influences,
and a, cold apathy settle upon my energies forever.
"A friend," cried the poor tired heart incessantly"friends, such as I have had in days gone by."    In
vain I wrote, read, walked,- there I found no kindred
spirit - there was no one who loved me for the sorrows
I had met, for the difficulties I had conquered; none to
whom I might confide the grief now crushing me into
the very dust; that anguish hidden from    the world,
drinking up the very life stream at the fountain head.
"A friend!" God, whose eye is upon every leaf and
line of my past history, knows how tenaciously I have
25                   (289)




ï~~290

ELLA LINCOLN.

sometimes clung to the hand of friendship, but to have
it rudely withdrawn; then with what an overwhelming
bitterness of spirit I resigned it; - bitterly, yet proudly.
I think of one, who, while I was yet but as a creeping
babe in literature, smiled, and took me by the hand,
and said, "write on, you are talented, success must
ultimately crown your efforts. I am yours, with heart
and hand, to speak a good word for you in season and out
of season. Let us be friends through life; write me
often when you are far away." Wyen the dark hours
came, when sick and alone, surrounded by unsympathizing spirits, I wrote, - where was he then? A few
unmeaning words, an empty promise in reply, a dashing
envelop, and he was gone again.- Ella was poor.
Little Jamie Huff, a sweet child in his eighth year,
came to my room sometimes with Tommy. I was
pleased to have those little ones come in, who were far
away from home, that we might beguile away a few
tedious hours of their boarding-school lives, by manifesting in their welfare a real interest, and conversing with
them pleasantly.
Jamie had large blue, dewy, eyes, and the long heavy
lashes swept over a cheek as fair as an infant's;
soft and fair, with a faint peach-like bloom. His forehead was very high, and the light brown hair fell
lightly over it in wavy curls; his mouth and chin
were beautifully moulded; his hands tiny and soft.
He was one of those early-gifted, precocious little
ones, who seem to have "not long" written upon their




ï~~JAMIE HUFF,

291

temples, -" not long for earth."  Why was he there?
the son of wealthy parents, an only child.?
For health, pure country air, to be educated away
from the noise and bustle, and evil influences of the
city.
Then why was not his mother there, to guard his
delicate frame from extremes of heat and cold; to see
to it that his intellect was not overtasked by unreasonably long lessons; to walk and ride out with.him; to
pillow his young head on the maternal bosom, when it
ached with weariness, or swelled almost to bursting
with the consciousness of real or imaginary wrongs?
She was wealthy; her home but a few miles away;
and yet she only came to Pinkneyville when the session
closed. Oh, yes, she thought to " make a man of him,"
by thus casting him off upon the tender sympathies of
strangers.-" Mr. Stubbs was a good man - a thorough
teacher- governed his school admirably- that was
the place for Jamie "- all alone.  Unfeeling mother!
- cold, cruel father!
" Is n't it nice to have your mamma always with you,
Tommy; and so kind to you?" he said one day as he
came in at noon; for his boarding house was but a
few steps from ours. " My mamma is very pretty;
and she wears flounces, and ribbons in her hair, but she
does n't want me with her - she says children are so
troublesome. Papa pats me on -the cheek when I go
home vacations, and says: " Why Jamie, how you
grow," and that is all he says. They go to the theatre
and to the balls, and have great parties at home."
The bell rang for dinner.




ï~~292

ELLA LINCOLN.

"Come, Jamie, eat with us - Mrs. Rice will be
pleased to have you, and I'll go home with you, and
make all right with Mrs. Jeffries, where you board."
Mr. Rice being absent, there was plenty of room,
and Jamie was delighted to be there.
"Why, what good sweet bread - ours is heavy and
sour; and these potatoes are all jammed, with butter
in 'em - I wish I could board here," - and he ate
heartily, talking all the while.
"Well, can't you?" said Harry, liking to hear his
tell-tale little tongue.
"I spose not.  When mother comes, vacations,
things is good enough, and she does'nt believe what I
tell her about the sour bread, and old bread puddings -
that's sour too. She thinks I only want to go home."
"I thank you," said he, when he had finished, and I
went home with him as I had promised.
" I think Mr. Stubbs is unkind to little Jamie Huff,
and so is Mr. Burr, the assistant," said Harry.
"Why; how unkind?"
"Well, if he does not have his lessons as well as the
rest of his class, he keeps him in nights, and if he
does n't get them in an hour, he ferules him."
"Ferules him- Jamie? - that dear little creature -
as innocent as a babe: and so feeble."
"He does - I am glad you took Tommy out of
school; but I cohtrive to please him, although I cannot like him. Mr. Burr is always setting- him up
against some one; and then he comes in and watches,
and the first chance he hV to get angry, down he
pounces on him."




ï~~JAMIE HUFF.

293

"Little Jamie Huff is sick; he has a fever, and the
doctor has written to his parents."
"Why, Harry!"
SHe just lies there crying for his mother, and saying
she does not love him, not to come, - and they will be
here to-morrow in a carriage to take him home."
"Do you think our Jamie will be sick long, doctor?"
said the fashionable mother, as they wrapped him in a
blanket and laid him on the bed in the bottom of the
coach.
"Yes, madam; very long; till he goes up."- and
he pointed heavenwards. She grew death-like pale.
" Hush!" doctor, why alarm his mother?" said the
stolid father, "I never believe in borrowing trouble,"
and they seated themselves in the coach.
"Good bye, boys, Good bye, Mrs. Lincoln, Mrs.
Rice, and everybody. If ever I come back, I want to
board with Mrs. Rice, mamma."
"You can, dear."
"I handled them roughly," said Doctor Bell as they
drove away. "That child well nursed and cared for
at home, his little brain not burdened with Arithmetic
and Latin, might have lived to manhood - now he is
consumptive - indirectly they have murdered him. I
know them! -they are as heartless as two bricks -
that child, only eight, has been away from them two
years."
Jamie suffered on three months, and found the better
home.
Little " Georgie," the doctor's baby, was a sweet
25*




ï~~294

ELLA LINCOLN.

creature of a few months, with great earnest eyes, and
a pure brow.
Never was father fonder of a darling boy. As often
as he went out he kissed his velvet cheek; and no
matter how late he returned, " Georgie" was inquired
for - he had not been forgotten during that tedious
round.
I had become much attached to Doctor Bell, and his
wife, whose residence was next door to that of Mr. Rice,
and called upon them often, without ceremony.
"Please Ma'am, the baby's worse, and mistress
wishes you to come in and sit with her till the doctor
returns."
" Yes, Ann, I will be in directly."
Stillness and gloom rested upon the household; shoes
were left at the door; latches softly raised; no voice
rose above a whisper.
Spasm followed spasm; the veins stood out conspicuously in the little white neck; the tiny fingers
were clenched into the palms of the baby hand; -
could that be " Georgie?"
Where was the doctor's skill? was it lost in the
solicitude of the father?
No, with a heart full of grief, he was yet the wise
physician, but he could not avert God's stroke; the
lifted rod must fall.
Slowly it fell, yet with a crushing weight. The
child lived on three weeks. The young mother scarcely
left it during all that time, for rest or sleep; the father
hurried through his daily round to get back to the
home sufferer; for the truly good physician forgets




ï~~LITTLE GEORGIE.

295

none whose lives are in his care, in the selfishness of
individual sorrow.
It was a sickly season, and one or more prostrated
With fever in every house; but " Georgie" was such
a little favorite, he was never forgotten.
Sometimes for a few hours, the spasms ceased, the
blue eyes turned lovingly to his natural protectors, and
in his own pretty way he asked for food - or slept
sweetly upon his mother's bosom. At such times hope
revived, and we all thought he might yet live - then a
change - a moan of suffering ---the contracted limband we again despaired.
For three days he had seemed better; sleeping
calmly, awaking naturally, eating with apparent relish.
The mother who had been apparently resigned to give
him up to God, was now encouraged, and doubly
anxious for his recovery; and the doctor passed in and
out with the olden smile, thinking the little pet would
live.
I was alone with Mrs. Bell, and she said, "if Georgie
recovers, I am going to take him to see his grandparents, who have never seen him. I sent them his
miniature a few days since - dear little one."
A low moan and slight motion drew her attention.
She bent over him for a moment, then said, "he is
worse - he will never be well - oh that his father
would return!"
How soon the fond mother detects the slightest
change in the sick babe. It seemed as if some attendant angel whispered in her ear, "the time has comeput on the girdle of your strength- death comes to
claim your child."




ï~~296

ELLA LINCOLN.

That night I watched with them alone. Mrs. Bell
was exhausted. She felt that strange weariness which
steals over the frame.when hope first dies out from the
breast; yet still she clung resolutely to the innocent
sufferer, until we almost forced her from the room.
Poor young mother! how wildly she begged to stay,
saying, "how can I leave him now? - not now - oh,
do not tell me to leave him now."
At last, promising to call her up if any change came
over him, we prevailed on her to retire.
We bathed the little restless head, wet the parched
lips; nay, even administered medicine after life, and
death were struggling together for the mastery.
Sometimes, for a moment, the doctor slept; for he
was in feeble health, and utterly worn down with
fatigue; and then I was alone with death, yet in the
least terrific form; - then, except the quick, short respiration of the babe, and the deep hard breathing of
the tired man, there was no sound.
Past midnight and a fearful change. He moved his
little head, rolled as if in extreme agony; his fingers
were so tightly clenched we could not open them.
" How can 1 see this? " said the unhappy father.
I hoped he was Unconscious of pain, - for there are
persons who believe the throes of death are but muscular imitations of agony, after the nervous power to
suffer is removed.
Past two- and Mrs. Bell was again bending over
him. "Can this be our own little Georgie!" she uttered mournfully.
Then came up, with a deep groan, from the tried
heart of manhood, " Georgie - sweet Georgie!"




ï~~LITTLE GEORGIE. o

297

Those sobbing breaths- so far between, had ceased
- we felt for his little fluttering heart - it was still.
He was in heaven.
We nerved ourselves now, expecting a wild wail of
grief from the stricken mother; but in this were disappointed. She gazed upon him in silence for some
minutes, then said:
" He is gone - it is God's will, and he knows what
is best. Mrs. Lincoln, if you are willing, I wish to
dress the little corse myself, and lay it out."
That young mother "laid out" the little sleqper,
moving him this way and that, upon the pillows, until
satisfied with the position of his head, then called her
husband, saying: " Pa, come and see all that is left of
dear little Georgie," then calmly turned away.
Many friends were there ready to remove him from
the winding sheet, to the coffin; but she herself lifted
him from that temporary couch, and placed him in the
narrow house, merely remarking, "if it had been God's
will I would gladly have kept my child, but He knows
what is best."
It is indeed good for us to go to the house of mourning, if there we ldarn a lesson of submission to our
Father's will; for it is a dying world, and sooner or
later, the rod of chastisement must fall heavily upon
us all. Let us not say we cannot bear it; but bowing
submissively to his will, repeat the words of that young
Christian mother. " God knows what is best for us."




ï~~CHAPTER XXXV.

Roving ever, roving ever,
Climbing mountains, crossing streams,
Peace we seek to find it never,,Save in hope's delusive dreams,
WINCHESTER, Pa.
"MY DEAR MRS. LINCOLN - I left Mariette three
months since, and have been visiting my friends in this
vicinity. My design in leaving the West for a time
was to educate my two boys. 1 have at last ' finished
up ' my visiting, and settled for the present at this place,
where I am satisfied the school is excellent; and, other
advantages as a residence equally desirable.
" It would be a pleasure to have you with me; and I
think the little folks would enjoy it very much. Let
me hear from you upon this subject, if you please.
"Yours, etc.,
" HENRIETTA BURGESS."
" There is a sensible letter; - not a tissue of nonsense about ' Eden' and people who are ' good examples;' but a mere wish expressed, that an old friend
might find a home where she is; and her children have
the advantages of education, which she esteems as
very fair. I like long letters when writers know what
they are talking about, but it is a great pleasure to
have them stop when they get through."
(298)




ï~~WINCHESTER.

299

Winchester is a day's ride from New York, - half
a day's ride from Philadelphia. I will go there - the
autumn is now far advanced, and the sooner the
better.
Then came another packing time; another course
of a good byes;" another wearisome jaunt for poor,
world-weary Ella. But another link was to be added
to her destiny by the Invisible Hand; - the strong
undercurrent swept her life-bark darkly Oiln; - and
seeming to take her own path over the changeful surface-waves, she felt that she was led.
Winchester lies sweetly nestled among the hills, on
both sides of the Susquehanna.
We arrived there just as the sun was sinking behind
the western slope, and casting a tenfold deeper flood
of glory over the gorgeous leaves of autumn.
As we descended the mountain on the eastern side,
gazing down upon its white cottages and neat door
yards, I was impressed with its great beauty and the
stillness of its broad, cleanly streets.
There rolled along leisurely a family carriage, here
paced along a lady and gentleman on horseback;
yonder played a group of children; farther on came
hurrying homeward the well wonted family cows.
" Winchester High School," was engraved in gilt
u pon the front of a respectable stone edifice; the declining sunbeams reflected upon those large, distinct
letters; - they glowed like burning coals; the church
spire seemed to flash, and blaze like a long fiery arm;
the river glimmered as it rolled like molten lead; and




ï~~300

ELLA LINCOLN.

then the sunset glory faded into twilight's first gauzy
dimness.
To the lovers of rural life Winchester is a second
Eden.
Softly blends its light and shade, brown and green;
in chastened grandeur steals along the beautiful Susquehanna; the hills slope gently away until lost in
the -distance; and we look upon nature unawed by her
wilder contrasts, - the heart softened into love for the
Creator of such dream-like beauty.
But let the restless, adventurous spirit stand aloof!
- there is nothing to charm him in a scene like this;
- he would die of ennui. He who listens with zest
for the stroke of the builder's hammer, the snorting of
the "iron horse," but not for the carol of the robin,
should come not hither.
There are men who would starve both body and
soul in the midst of all this luxury of nature; who
would look out from the windows of their cottage
homes, and curse the very vines which clustered lovingly
around them; and the stillness which permitted them
to hear the buzzing of the tiniest insect; and meet the
placid countenances of more contented neighbors with
the scowl of contempt.
Are your sentient nerves forever on the rack in the
crowded city, go to Winchester and rest, - is your
very breath of life the fannings of the agitations around
you, go not there.
Men have two natures. One ponders, defers, and
feet's along his way; another fixes high the goal to
which he would attain, and dashes wildly on, unawed




ï~~A PLACE OF REST.

301

by difficulties or dangers, till death cuts him down as
he runs.
But here we are, in the midst of our moralizing, at
the door of ' Winchester House;' long, low, cleanly
and well kept. No more squeaking of the old stage
coach, nor bracing one's self to help the horses hold
back going down hill; no more dust in our faces, -
now for ablution,,a good supper, downy beds, and,' all
right in the morning.
In the morning I learned, to my regret, that my friend
Mrs. Burgess was not there, having been called away
upon business. Mrs. Fitch, her friend, with whom she
had made an arrangement for our board, provided we
liked it, calls, and being pleased with her appearance,
we go to her home. Here, may our 'ups' be many, our
'downs,' few; and Ella have little to write about.
The principal, his wife, the assistants, students, were
all of the better class; the government of the school
mild, but firm; the accommodations at the boardinghouses good; and all the influences at, and around the
school, tended to one point - the mental and moral
advancement of the children. I placed both my sons
in the care of Mr. West, the principal, with confidence
in his ability and integrity; drew a long sigh of relief;
and sat down, to write.
Mrs. Fitch was a systematic housekeeper; breakfast
at six, dinner twelve, tea six again, without variation.
That was the school for me; laziness not taught as a
science; no cuffing, kicking or starvation; where little
children are reasoned with as reasonable creatures, not
controlled like brutes, by mere physical force. I was
26




ï~~302

ELLA LINCOLN.

happier now; knowing that my children were well
taught and tenderly cared fpr, half the maternal burden was removed from my poor, weak shoulders. And
so we lived, quietly, doing our duty according to our
light, no one intruding upon our proper privileges; never,
ourselves, designedly encroaching upon the rights of
others.
Harry and Tommy had grown astonishingly since
we left Mariette; and to me,,they seemed already
manly and companionable. They were old enough
now to begin to appreciate a mother's love and selfdenial; to feel for the peculiar trials of my situation;
and they. made fewer demands than formerly upon my
time and patience.
I gently lifted the veil from that past which I had
sedulously concealed, that they might profit by knowing the rocks which had shipwrecked the hopes of
others; and pointed to the future as a checkered map,
traversed by noisy, turbid rivers, shadowed by dangerous steeps, flecked with arid wastes. I told them, too,
that life has bright, sweet waters, sunny vales, and cool,
refreshing gardens, all accessible at times, where the
pure, and good may rest; that life is a long, long battle,
but for all good soldiers there is a great reward; and
as weeks and months rolled on, the chords of affection
which held us three together grew stronger, more reliable. We felt as three alone, surrounded by a world
that at best could have for us but little sympathy; we
had no hope of happiness but in each others' society;
no greater fear than that of separation.
You, who have wealth and friends, can form no just




ï~~OF ALLEN.

303

idea of the love I felt for those children, whose every
hope for the future seemed garnered up in my frail life.
Oh, how precious to me seemed that life, I was willihng to linger on in suffering, but not to die - not to
leave them alone. Too well I knew the common lot
of the motherless, and the misery in store for mine, if I
should be removed by death. And still I petitioned
for ' life,' life ' - not for its own sake, but theirs.
Letters from Allen Lincoln had become less frequent as months rolled on, and oh, so hopeless, so discouraging! One reiterated tale of ill luck, of disappointed hopes; plans frustrated on the eve of fruition;
and still that monomaniacal cry, 'I will have wealth or
die.' No want of tenderness, no abatement of apparent solicitude for the struggling ones at home; but I
seemed to detect in every line and word of his the low
undertone of despair.
"Ella, I do not love you less, God knows that. But
here is enough for all, and, if I should not finally succeed, my return would be a curse to you. Why go
where the chances for success are fewer? Why return
to you a disgraced and broken-hearted man, to see
others, who have comparatively done nothing, evershadowing my beggar2's cot with their stately mansions?
Never! the tide may turn, by and by. I will stay here
and wait, doing what I can, remitting all that I can
spare. You will not judge me harshly, Ella?"
Xnd still those letters grew less frequentL the remittances smaller. But I earned a few dollars weekly,
and with strict economy, contrived to meet my indebtedness.




ï~~304

ELLA LINCOLN.

No one knew why I did not dress and go out; why
my face was bleaching whiter, whiter, and my figure
became more skeleton like, until all strength forsook
me; my brain reeled, and I.lay down once more, sick
almost unto death.
"Want of air and exercise, said one;" ' an overworked brain,' said another; ' a feeble constitution
slowly wearing out,' said a third. Iknew! God knew!
On that bed of suffering, with a feverish pulse and
whirling brain, I wrote for the newspapers. Sometimes, when my trembling hand could hold the pen, with
my portfolio braced against a pillow on my chest, I
wrote with my paper upon that; when my hand was so
unsteady that it jerked hither and thither, making my
chirography look even worse than Harry's, I dictated,
Harry wrote.
We wrote humorous articles, Harry and I; but we
did not laugh when we penned them. Oh, how little
knew they who read, what they were pleased to call
those 'spicy,' light-toned articles, in the newspapers,
by whom, or under what circumstances they were written. Ella Lincoln's thin, white hand was not there to
freeze the smile which the tenor of her words elicited;
her colorless lips were not there to say -' a little more,'
when the editor enclosed to her that paltry remuneration; her sad-faced children were not there when the
editor decided between her and the rich spinster, which
of the two he should continue to employ, to say, ' please
let the favored one be my mother, since you say their
abilities are equal, though the spinster be more widely




ï~~ILLNESS.

305

known. Thoughtless readers and editors, the world
has many an Ella Lincoln!
We had a fine time, Harry and I, hiding away that
portfolio from Mrs. Fitch, who came on tip-toe along
the hall, opening the door so stealthily. Just as soon
as the door of the room oin the other side creaked upon
its hinges, Harry took the ink, and I disposed of that
portfolio under the bed-clothes, half closed my eyes, and
was ready for all questions concerning the effect of the
medicine, etc. Very kind was Mrs. Fitch; but 1 opine
if she had been aware of the whereabouts of that paper,
it would have gone up through the stove pipe sans-ceremonie.
" The way of the transgressor is hard."  Those mental efforts increased the fever; my brain became seriously injured; the last fibre of my strength failed; and
I seemed as helpless as one already dead. The doctor
was put to his 'wit's end.' I could not bear 'tonics'
nor ' depletion,' had no appetite for food - no strength:
and what could he do?
I required now the most indefatigable attention;
had frequent fainting spells, or, some call them, ' sinking spells.' I was frightened, always, when that strange
faintness was coming on; and the children, who seldom left my room, were greatly distressdd by the sight.
Oh how they suffered, too!
There was a stout Irish girl in the house, and after
Mrs. Fitch was weary and exhausted, she sent Biddy
to take care of me, sometimes. She slept on a cot in
my room. Well, after seeing me faint once, Biddy
26*




ï~~306

ELLA LINCOLN.

bethought her of a remedy. So, I said to her, as I felt
that warmth which precedes a fainting fit,' I'm going,
Bridget! - oh Bridget!- gone.' And didn't she marshal a brandy bottle instanter; emptying its contents
down my throat as if I had been an alligator.
"Courage! that'll put the courage into you! Drink!
drink! d'ye see, its weakness, all weakness. indade
ma'am."
I didn't faint' intirely - that time; but when the doctor came, I was - oh, how drunk!
"Very high fever to-night; a hard, quick pulse" -
and then he snuffed the air.
"Brandy! do I smell brandy? A drunken nurse;
this won't do!" and he. bent his ear close to my chest,
as if to hear the beating of my heart.  -
"My patient's breath! what does it mean! Look
here, woman, nurse! what have you given the patient?"
"It's only a drop o' the brandy, sir, to put the courage
into her when she was a dying of weakness sir; that's all.'
" Fool! you have killed her."
" Niver a bit is she kilt shure; it's only for the want
of it she's been a dying of weakness these three weeks."
"Woman, what is your name?"
"Bridget O'Flanaghen, sure."
"Well, Bridget, call your mistress, please;" and she
went out.
I was very sleepy; had a sort of swimming consciousness that Mrs. Fitch and the doctor bent over me
with sorrowful countenances; and then I ' forgot,' as
little Tommy said about the sensation of drowning,
long ago:




ï~~ILLNESS.

307

Poor Ella was tenacious of life. Neither sorrow,
nor fever, nor the well-meant blunder of Miss O'Flanaghen, had power to quench that little, feeble spark.
She lived, as some express it, at the very 'door of
death' for six weeks; and it was many months before
she recovered her usual strength.
Mrs. Fitch and her family, and, indeed, almost all
the citizens of Winchester, endeared themselves to me
by repeated acts of kindness during that long, long
illness. Oh, much of mercy blends with every cup of
bitterness! Strangers were as brothers and sisters; my
children, for their sympathy and little acts of kindness,
grew dearer every day; and God spared me for their sakes.
Sick among strangers,' are words but little understood by persons who are surrounded by brothers, sisters, parents, wives, husbands; little understood by such
as have the means to buy the services so much needed
by the sick. There is no higher christian grace than
that of kindness to the stranger. Almost all kind!
There are those, even at Winchester, who knew Ella
Lincoln was ' sick and a stranger,' yet passed her coldly by; who would riot have taken her in for Jesus' sake,
if she had perished with hunger or thirst, - they are
the exceptions that prove the rule - Ella has sometimes met even their superiors. She ' knows who is who.'
"A real spirit
Should neither court neglect, nor dread to bear it."
"There is a strength
Imbedded in our hearts, of which we reck
But little 'till the shafts of Heaven have pierced
Its fragile dwelling. Must not earth be rent
Before her gems are found?"




ï~~CHAPTER XXXVI.

"Hope's at best
A star that leads the weary on;
Still pointing to the unpossessed,
And paling that it beams upon."
THAT long tedious illness left me nervous and sensitive for many months. A word, a look, a line misconstrued in the communication of a friend, often wrung
my spirit with intense agony. As I grew slowly better,
I longed for change; and to attempt something untried
before, to improve my'condition.
I felt that the Creator had endowed me with a certain measure of talent for composition; that now he
had blocked up every other avenue through which I
might have earned my bread; and hence there was laid
upoh me an imperative necessity to write.
I knew that before a writer could support herself entirely by the pen, she must be far and favorably known;
that she must struggle mightily as she climbs; jostled
and pushed backwards by rivals; and looked down
by those who have toiled their way up the same bold
heights, and finally reached the goal of success. And
I said in my heart, I may have been too passive, too
self-doubting; the world concedes but little, where
little is demanded; - perhaps I may not have told my
(308)




ï~~NEW ENTERPRISES.

309

story to the right ones; such as have it in their power
to help me in the only available ffianner.
" O, that I could write t book.!"  But I could not
live, while writing it, if I did; who would furnish Ella
Lincoln with bread and butter, while writing a book?
A book, a book? why dear me, Ella! you have
thought of it now; you have on hand five hundred,
more or less, manuscript poems, long and short, grave
and gay; written at all times and seasons, from babyhood till now- you have only to write to some kindhearted publisher, and tell him how poor, and sick, and
discouraged you are becoming, and that letter will walk
right straight into his heart - he will write you a kind,
brotherly epistle;.offer to aid you all he can, - and he
will publish that work of yours - it will sell, because
he will know how to sell it - you will "wake up some
morning and find yourself famous" - half your troubles ended, and plenty of cash in your purse.
After that, all the e4itors will be anxious to secure
you as a contributor; and your only perplexity will be
about the best manner of declining solicitations from
them. - Silly Ella!
I had editorial friends in the West, and others to
whom- I had always gone for advice in the more important events of my life; and I wrote them now, for this
was surely an important occasion.
I waited for their several replies before addressing
the " powers that be "- prudent Ella!
Within ten days, all those letters were on hand-.
full of professions of friendship, and promises of assistance in the way of favorable notices, etc, -" yes, any




ï~~3110

ELLA LINCOLN.

work of" mine "must have an immense sale" "such a
general favorite, etc."  I had also encouragement from
friends wherever I had resided, and credentials forwarded from various places.
Now roll up the MS. and send it to the publisher -
let that book appear, and " astonish the world; "- or
rather attract the attention of the few whom I desired
to please. Money was not then my object. I looked
forward to the future, for an indirect remuneration.
Manuscripts and credentials, I sent first to " Lafever
& Co.," Philadelphia, accompanied with one of my
own unsophisticated, silly letters, telling the whole
story, as if I had known them all my life, and knew
that they would take interest in me personally, for
"sweet charity's sake."
Very gentlemanly was " Lafever & Co's" replying
immediately; not with a short, crusty, "I won't do it,"
but many "regrets, that on account of pressure of business, just now, it would be impossible for them to undertake the publication of those poems, which they
liked very much, etc. - had "their best wishes for success," etc.
My specimen manuscripts were returned, as I had
requested, through the politeness of a friend. Ella was
very nervous. She wrote "De Hart & Co, New York."
Two weeks, and no reply - well, it would have been
kind in them to answer, as I had stated that I was an
invalid, and barely able to sit up. They might have
replied, and given me the advice I solicited, at least
might have dealt with me as they would that others




ï~~NEW ENTERPRISES.

311

should have dealt with their own dear ones under like
circumstances.
I wrote again, and was answered. It was a kindly,
gently worded letter, - such as the true brother writes
to the suffering sister, whose body and mind are both
prostrated by disease, heart and soul in every line.
They never publish light literature or poetry -they
thought that generally understood;
But, unwilling to discourage me, and earnestly seeKing my welfare, they had taken the liberty to forward
the specimens I'sent them, to Brinkerhoof & Co., Boston, who dealt principally in poetry and lighter literature!
They offered to do "anyttnig within their power
for the advancement of- my literary interests, -- in the
way of good words, etc;" and gave me such information concerning the expenses and hazards of book
publishing that I relinquished the idea of a literary
venture at once.
Enclosed was the reply of " Brinkerhoof & Co."
short, crusty, and business like.
"Dear Sirs: - We cannot undertake to publish the
volume of which you speak," etc. Respectfully, etc.
I have since learned that poetry is poor capital, both
for author and publisher. One of those days, however
those poems of Ella's will appear, though her share of
the profits may be Glory and a Garret!
I was not sorry I had written De Hart & Co., for it
was a pleasure to find them gentlemen; and afterwards
they kindly secured me some work to do for a city
editor




ï~~312

ELLA WNCOLN.

If I had been in usual health, I should not have
made an attempt of that nature; or, if having made
it I had been unsuccessful, I should have brought all my
egotism to the rescue and said, I know the poems are
respectable; and by and by they shall be published.
As if was, although no one's fault in particular, the
disappointment was a cruel one. Such repulses, not
then understood, added to the weight of sorrow for
which there was no earthly balm, threatened the very
springs of life - and but for God's mercy would have
unstrung the intellect forever.
We had been long at Winchester, boarding at the
same excellent HOME; performing the same daily
round of duties with no new difficulties, no serious discoufagements. Ella continued to read, write, sew on
buttons, and stitch up rents; the boys grew out of their
clothes and into intelligence;- their lives were all surface, hers all under-current.
Mr. Harris of the New England Branch of Peace,
had long been a kind friend to me. He had placed my
articles in his columns in the most favorable light; spoken of me often to his readers as a talented contributor;
paid me liberally; - and written me kind, brotherly
letters.
I knew he was a gentleman; there was so much
delicacy in his expressions of sympathy; so much of
respect, blended with the tenderest compassion for an
invalid stranger; a mother struggling against an adverse tide for the support and education of her children;
- I knew he was a good fnan, the first epistolatory
line of his I ever read.




ï~~THE BRANCH OF PEACE.

313

An editor may do much to advance the interests of
his writers by judicious praise; by placing their articles conspicuously before the public; by cheering them
on with private approval, and paying them promptly
and liberally.
On the contrary, an editor may retard the interests of
any writer, by keeping her articles long on hand, while
he publishes others of not greater merit; by praising
others and not mentioning her name; by sliding in her
contributions at last among patent " Pill" advertisements, " Strayed Cows" and " Houses to Let."
If a writer possesses only medium talents, it is in the
power of the editor of any popular journal to lay for
her a foundation for future success, or to forge for her
the first link of a hard, cold chain of circumstances
which will fetter her energies to the dust.
So reasoned Mr. Harris as he put away Ella Lincoln's
first appeal for sympathy among the letters to be answered by his own hand at his earliest convenience;
thus should reason every editor who has a heart.
Mr. Harris knew that Ella Lincoln was poor, that
her poverty had hindered her promotion.  He knew
that, if by her own desperate energy, she shofld struggle up the hill at last, many who seemed not to see her
now would offer her the hand of fellowship at the top;
and he resolved now when she was but half way up,
that he would prevent her from falling back to her first
position, and then he wrote her thus
"DEAR MADAAM:- I have long desired to be of more
service to you as a friend -than I have yet been able
27




ï~~314

ELLA LINCOLN.

to be. Now if it should meet your approbation, I have
a plan which I think might promote your interests and
my own, and I trust the gratification of my readers.
" Mrs. Jared, the present assistant editor, being in
delicate health, and the time for which she had contracted to remain in the office having nearly expired;
she will probably discontinue her valuable services
soon.
"I have engaged no one to fill her place, and if you
would like the situation, I should be most happy to see
you here with your family, as soon as it may suit your
convenience, etc. Be so kind as to reply immediately.
I remain,
Most truly yours,
MARK HARRIS."
I was yet feeble, often being obliged to lie down and
rest through the.day; and at first I only regretted that it
was so utterly beyond my power to accept of so desirable situation. But the temptation to reply in the
affirmative was strong; the wages a great inducement;
and I thought it barely possible that a change of climate might benefit my health. After much useless
reflection, I concluded to submit the matter to the kind
friends with whom we had so long resided.
" Shall I go, Mr. Fitch? "
"Is Mr. Harris young, or elderly?"
"I presume he is middle-aged, sir."." Is he a married man?"
"I recollect ir one of the humorous editorials something about the little brancles,- I supposed that meant




ï~~THE BRANCH OF PEACE.

315

children; but they may be the property of Mr. Harrison,
a reverend gentleman connected with the office. It is
probable, however, that he is married."
"Does he know that your health is delicate? - how
many hours' labor per day, will he expect at your hands?
You can endure but little; remember that."
"He does know I am frail - I am to enter the office
at eight A. M., and leave at five P. M.; an hour for
dinner."
" Fie, it will kill you."
"But think of the salary; how much better than the
fluctuating pay for stories and essays. Oh, I am willing
to be very weary every day; to work when my head
aches; if I can get a good regular salary weekly, that
will support my children and finally pay all my debts!"
"Distance lends enchantment to the view, - what
would you do with your boys? "
" That's a hard question. What I am earning here
will go farther toward our support, than will my salary
there, if I take them, board there being enormously high.
I dislike, too, to remove them from this school, which
is so excellent. Harry might remain, and Tomriny go
with me; and then it would be hard to separate the
brothers.
"Well, Tommy cannot be left, he won't stay of
course; so young, and never having been separated
from you- but if you choose to leave Harry, he is old
enough, and to stay alone will do him good. I will
look after his welfare as I do after that of my own
children; but about going, I will not advise you -
the road runs both ways."




ï~~316

ELLA LINCOLN,

" Yes, indeed, I shall go with you," said Tommy,
"for who would take care of you if you were sick? "
"I shall not be sick there, probably, the change of
air will be beneficial; and if I should be, Mr. Harris
will see to it that I do not suffer. But I am willing,
and wish you to go, if you are inclined to do so, indeed,
if Harry is not willing to remain here alone, I will stay,
or he shall go."
Harry did not reply then, and we droppeld the subject.
A few days afterwards, I said " now I must decide,
and answer Mr. Harris."
What was my surprise when Tommy said, with all
the firmness and dignity of manhood; " Mother, if you
think it would be better for both brother and me to stay
here at school; and if you will not need me to help you
there, I am willing to stay; because it will not cost so
much to live here, and it will be better for me."
I looked at him in astonishment. It seemed but
yesterday since he was a tiny creature, clinging to the
neck of his 'mamma,' and was indulged in every
whim of babyhood. Now here he stood talking, of
what would " be best for him," and addressing his
"mother" with all the confidence of one who had
already learned to reason and govern himself. Tommy,
the nervous, sensitive, as some were pleased to say,
"spoiled child," who at Pinkneyville "struck Mr. Stubbs
back again."
Oh, 1 knew then that after all my solicitude, all my
care, he would not disappoint me; that if I lived to see
him a man in stature he would be a man in spirit.




ï~~THE BRANCH OF PEACE.

317

Harry, always quiet, governable and good, was manly
and reflective beyond his years; Tommy, once as impetuous as an unbroken colt, had grown reflective too;
I was proud of them -and again away down in the
depths of my maternal heart, I resolved anew, that
death only should quench the ardor of my exertion in
their behalf - Ella Lincoln, so frail that friends hardly
dared to expect her life from year to year, devoted
herself anew to the education of her children. No true
mother rests satisfied with doing less - rather would
I live out-but half my days, and leave my boys behind,
educated and honorable men, than to look back from
three score and ten upon those children doomed to
hopeless mediocrity, by rmy own selfish neglect - there
is my view of a mother's duty - I will perform it all,
God being my helper - and if, after all, they prove
false to themselves and me, my hands will be guiltless
of their sin -let them look to it; fearful will be their
responsibility if they break a mother's heart.
I wrote Mr. Harris that I would come. I did not
then fully resolve to leave Tommy behind, but went
about making preparations for a long absence, thinking
that if even at the last hour, if he should express a wish
to accompany me, it would not be too late.  I even
had his clothes prepared with reference to taking him,
in case he should thus decide.
I said to him often, " if you go, my son, you will have
many things to sell or give away to the school boys;
your skates, balls, story-books, fish-pole; every thing
you play with here, it will not be convenient to take
so far," and he replied as often that he did not wish to
27*




ï~~318

E3TlA  LINCOLN.

go. -I knew it would be better that he should remain,
but never said to him" I prefer to leave you;" I could
not have been so cruel.
That long dreaded morning came at last. I was
ready. I committed both my dear ones, without reserve to the care of their beloved teacher, and' said to
my friends, one and all, "be kind to my poor lonely
boys, when I am gone "- and then, "Ella, be strong!"
Whatever they may have seemed to others, to me
they were beautiful and sprightly boys, affectionate,
talented, giving high promise of future usefulness.
They were mine only - my all. Through years of
loneliness, grief, and toil, I only had clung to them -
they to me.
When so young that a cup of cold water trembled in
their -little feeble hands, they had held it to my lips in
sickness; when other children slept, they,,poor babes,
had lain down by my side, in their clothes, watching the
movements of my restless hands, listening to catch my
faintest utterance.
" Mamma, you won't die, will you?" they would say,
their sweet blue eyes swimming in tears, their little
throats choking with emotion, "you wont die, and
leave us alone - there would he no one to care for us
if you were gone - you will be better to-morrow, wont
you?"
" Hush, brother! let us be still; may be she will
sleep, and feel better."
They had shared all my griefs, disappointments,
wrongs; could I leave them now --leave them there




ï~~LEAVING THE BOYS.

81.9

among strangers, to ply their little life barques along
alone, with no surety save the eternal Father's promise
that they should not lack bread?  Long and weary
would be the distance between us; sickness might
come; one of us be laid in the grave. Many circumstances might arise at least to keep us long, long separated - how could I go?
One wild, bitter gush of anguish swept over my
heart-strings as a flood; one moment of anguish, then
all was over; the everlasting arm was beneath me;
the still small voice whispered, "I will keep them."
Crushing down the strong maternal yearning to be
with them - I hurried away.
There is an acme of human suffering, and the evil
which does not kill us very soon, we learn to bear with
patience and submission. Yonder rises the cloud in
frightful blackness; we hear the sullen roar of the tempest; the big drops fall upon our uncovered heads; we
bow down with sickening fear, praying for a place of
refuge. But when all is over; when the fury of the storm
is sated with the desolation it has nade; when the earthly
possessions in which we had garnered up our hopes
are all swept away by the remorseless tide, we look
calmly out upon the track of that tempest, feeling that
no danger could move us to such agony again.
Better is a sad certainty than a deep, secret, withering apprehension! I sometimes think that the fact
of my having out-lived such great calamities is an
earnest of better days in store; that God has preserved
me through all trials, that purified and made wiser, I
may be intrusted with some nobler and more perfect
work.




ï~~CHAPTER XXXVII.

Oh, memory! why this bitter taunt!
Oblivion - wourd thy wave
Could wash away the forms that haunt
Us ever from the grave.
My route lying through Woodville, New Jersey, I
stopped there to pass a few days with a friend, who
was very dear to me, having been one of the companions of my childhood.
I was surprised and pleased to meet Peggy there;dear Peggy of the olden time; who rocked me in the
cradle, and gave me good advice every Saturday night,
about keeping the Sabbath, then more on Sunday
about behaving properly through the week.
She had not faded; her large dark eyes had not lost
their benevolent expression; her lips wore the same
peaceful smile.
But I observed that the crisped hair beneath her
lawn cap was sprinkled with gray, and a few additional
lines traversed her high, full forehead.
Peggy had foufnd a home with one of her relatives
in another town; but she came to Woodville sometimes to visit the old neighbors, who were all happy
to see her, and as often as she left them, invited her
to came again.
(320)




ï~~WOODVILLE AGAIN.

321

"'Pears to me," she said, " you have grown old
amazingly fast! That western wilderness did n't agree
with you. I thought it would n't; I never believe it 's
right for folks to stray off so far away from where
they've been born and brought up. It is n't nat'ral,
nohow. Folks used to stay at home and see to their
own business, and be thankful that they had enough
to eat and drink and wear - now they go all over the
world, like a lot of jack-lanterns, lookin' for they don't
know what. Well, I did all I could to keep you, but
you, know what the sayin' is, ' Young folks thinks old
folks fools, and old folks knows young folks is!'
" I had a sort of warning that your goin' wouldn't
end well; and, sure enough, it's all come true; there's
your family all split up, and divided, and scattered,
like chaff before the wind, and you've even left your
own children, to go to Massachusetts; - that I don't
approve of- did n't they cry? I 'spose they've got
a church or two out in Illinois, by this time, and a
Sunday school   hav n't they? I tell you how it is,
Miss Ella, where there's no meeting-houses, the Sabbath is broken every day; and where there's no Sunday
schools the children grows up in ignorance and uncivilization."
I was glad that Peggy was in one of her imperial
moods, for I was somewhat amused, and that helped
me to stay back the tears, that were fast rising in their
living beds; and I did not wish to treat my friends in
the parlor to "a scene" that evening.
Peggy did not know all, or she would not have wondered that I had "grown old amazingly."




ï~~322

ELLA LINCOLN.

"My life is lingering in its prime,
If life by length of years be told;
If sorrows mark the flight of time
I'm death-like old.
"The numbness and the damps of age
Have chilled me many years too soon;
I faint, while yet my pilgrimage
Is in its noon.
"The lighnting from my veins has fled,
The visions and the rapture high,All, all are gone, and in their stead
Cold ashes lie."
So thought Ella, as she struggled mightily to subdue
herself; and felt that she would like to be alone to
weep.
With a look of maternal tenderness, those large
dark eyes had settled upon her countenance; the sable
arms closed lovingly around her; and she pillowed her
head once more upon the bosom where it had often
slept, free from sorrow and racking cares, long ago.
The fountain was unsealed, - the waters flowed, -
then came relief and peace, - that peace which is born
of the consciousness that God is behind every cloud,
still guiding - ever pitying the sorely tried.
Just as the sun went down behind the mountain,
Peggy and myself entered the low gate of the old
graveyard. It was fuller now than when I saw it last.
Many a new stone.had been added to the long rows
of brown and white, and I recognized familiar names,




ï~~WOODVILLE AGAIN.

323

as we threaded our way along through the tall grass
to the old family corner.
Ella has a poem of hers somewhere, on that old
village church. She gives you the closing lines:
There The earth doth kindly spread
Shelter o'er a mother's head,
There a sister found a tomb,
Life just budding into bloom,
And a father's weary eye,
Closed for age, is sleeping nigh,
There my parents' parents sleep;
There their brethren silence keep,
Still doth bloom the sweet wild rose,
Where they all in peace repose,
And the grass is rank and tall
O'er the buried forms of all:
Memory - memory, close thy book!
What availeth it to look?
Soul! the living claim thy care
God will watch the sleepers there.
SIt seems but a little while," said Peggy, "since I
saw even the oldest of them, busy and smiling, as they
came and. went to see my master and mistress, and
the little children at the old homestead; -   and there
they lie. Even that lily-bud, Miss Carrie, that grew
up so pale and white, and seemed to sink down so
weary-like into the first chair that offered, I hoped
would stay a little longer - but she grew whiter -
whiter, every day, until it seemed as if every drop of
blood in her body was gone -      only a few blue veins
showed in her neck, and her thin hands looked so wvax



ï~~o24

ELLA LINCOLN.

like - and all one month she was up and down, up and
down again on the bed, - and one night she called me
to her, and said, 'Peggy, I feel strangely - I shall die
soon,' and then I called the family, and, as they gathered
around the bed she said: 'I am almost there - they
wait for me --homine, home! -' and she was gone.
"All that was since you went away, Miss Ella."
" Yes, what of my father? tell me how he died."
" Well, master was a good man, and loved his family
and was kind to the poor;. but some said he was cold
and self-willed -I never thought so - he just did
what he thought was right, and if other folks didn't
think so - why who was to judge between him and
them?"
" Well, he was, old when he died. The young folks
had all married and gone away to the city, and there
he lived alone, with just me to keep the house, after
Miss Carrie was gone, - and, the hired man - nobody
else but the company that called sometimes, and the
relations that staid weeks when they came, to keep
him cheerful like; - and he had strange turns sometimes, and was kind-a suffocated in his chest; and I
said to him: ' Master, we must all die -.1 hope you
will live a great many years - but if the Good Lord
should call for you, is your lamp all trimmed and burnin', and are you ready to go? '
"And he always answered, ' Yes, Peggy, when it is
His will I trust I am ready,' - but he would n't see
the minister - he said ' what man ci stand between
my soul and God? ' And one night, just as he finished
his tea, he fell back in his chair - and died.




ï~~WOODVILLE AGAIN.

325

" Then the children came to the-funeral - and after
a little time the property was divided, and the old
homestead sold, and my home was broke up for this
world.
" But there is another, away up yonder - where that
steeple points - and we shall all go there by and by
-home, sweet home!"
As she spoke, her sable finger pointed upward, and
her eyes closed in devotion - she uttered a few low
words of prayer, and then we turned away.
The old homestead, we passed it on our way back
to my friend's. That low, white house, with the trellised porch, and the green blinds, has stood sixty years.
it has been repaired and re-painted many times, since
my dear old grandfather presented it fresh from the
builder's hands to his beloved daughter; the green
grass in that wide door-yard has been trodden by
almost countless feet, and the flowers along the borders
have been planted and tended by almost innumerable
fingers.
That garden fence has been many times rebuilt, and
the old brick walk has been broken and trodden into the
earth - and re-laid - making it new again. It was a
very fine house "in its day," but now is, like Ella, old
fashioned.
The panes in the windows are small, the windows
are smaller than those of the more modern dwellings
around them; the doors are narrower and have fewer
decorations; and the roof patched here and there, looks
brown and weather-worn.
There is an air of comfort and luxury about it which
28




ï~~326

ELLA LINCOLN.

time has not destroyed; many of the old trees remain,
and the brook still meanders through the garden and
grounds; and there is the little fish-pond away where
the willows used to be - but the willows were old
when Ella was young, and they are gone now; and a
row of young locusts stand up in their place. The old
pear tree that stood by the garden gate is broken down
- that too was old when Ella was young. The grape
vine that hung over the arbor, making it dark and cool
within, has died out, and a wild honeysuckle grows in
its stead. The purple morning glories, that grew by
my mother's bed-room window -that were replanted
for her sweet sake, and tended year after year, when
the sod lay heavy upon her bosom - they are not there.
The tall cherries still interlace their branches over the
garden walk; but some of them are old and ready to
fall, and the robins that sit there and sing, seem not so
beautiful as those of long ago.
The hand of the stranger has opened the door, and
Peggy, who knows-her, says:
"This is Miss Ella Lee, that went away long ago.
I wanted her to see the old house, and the room that
was hers, and her mother's bed-room, and the old back
room where her sister and so many have died; for the
Lord's ways are wonderful, and she may never see the
homestead again."
It was quite dark now, and as the polite and sympathetic stranger piloted us through the rooms, I started
at the sound of our own footsteps, and our own
shadows as they glided along the walls.
The carpets and the furniture were all new, the old




ï~~WOODVILLE AGAIN.

827

book-case full of leather-bound, standard works, was
surperseded by one of modern style, filled with cloth
covers and modern nonsense; the old piano-forte, with
slender feet, carved and gilded exterior, by one of heavy
modern fashion; the old family pictures,' thc portraits
of the loved and lost, had disappeared from those
familiar places, and the fixed eyes of strangers looked
down in their stead.
Ella Lee's room. It seemed lower and smaller than
it did long ago. But the latch of the old door was
the same, and the very creak of its hinges familiar; the
windows on the south and east looked forth over the
same landscape
I sat down in each of them just where I used to sit,
and looked out upon the olden scenes, - olden - yet
oh, how changed!
The moonlight streamed in through the shrubbery
and glimmered on the dew upon the grass; lights
danced in the village windows - and Ella left the
homestead, never to return.
Home of my childhood,
Oh, faded from my view,
Nor quicken the anguish
I would not renew.




ï~~CHAPTER XXXVIII.

The sunlight glowed on pavements smooth,
And granite fabrics high,
And all throughout that busy mart
Was life and energy.
"CARRIAGE, Sir? "-     Carriage, Madame?"" United
States House " - " American Hotel" etc.
" Carriage, Madame?"
" Yes, Sir, take me to the United States."  "That is
right here at the depot. I'll call a porter for you."
"Thank you, sir."
Room   " 106," second floor - tea sent up, and all
things agreeable-; - but I felt deeply the loneliness of
my present situation, and retired to spend a restless
night, and think of the past, and the untried future before me. Why was I here; so far from     all my loved
ones, in a strange city in Massachusetts; where but a
single human being took interest in my welfare, and
that one not personally known to me? Had I come
here to prosper, or to sink into still deeper poverty; to
find friends, or be wounded by neglect? Many hours
of the night had passed away when I fell into an uneasy slumber, from which I awoke at day-break, with a
severe nervous headache.
I had not arrived as soon as I was expected by Mr.
Harris, who politely sent a friend to meet me at the
(328)




ï~~A NEW HOME ONCE MORE.

329

depot, for two days in succession; and now, how unfortunate, he was out of town. But the Rev. Mr.
Harrison, who was connected with " The Branch of
Peace," called upon me at the Hotel, also the two brothers-in-law of Mr. Harris, and this somewhat relieved
me of the oppressive loneliness one feels in a strange
Hotel.
After Mr. Harris returned, he secured for me a room
in a first-class private boarding house, where there
may have been some two hundred boarders; - the
number seemed large to me, after a long residence in
the country, where twenty in a family was considered a
houseful indeed.
It was with reluctance that I entered a house of that
character, as I was out of health, low-spirited, and disinclined to go much into society. I was averse to
being questioned by strangers, for I knew that my
heart-history had a "preface " upon my forehead, which
honest nature had written there, in despite of all my
efforts to present to the world a smooth, blank sheet.
They were kind to me there, the hostf and hostess,
and the few boarders with whom I became partially
acquainted..But I declined all invitations to go into the parlor,
and evaded all conversation at the table, - not that I
underrated the kindly efforts of the host, hostess
and boarders, to while away those hours which seemed
to them passing so gloomily away; - but from a
sheer, hopeless ennui; - a sinking of the animal spirits,
a kind of silent aberration, a home-sickness which
almost crushed me into the grave.
28*




ï~~330

ELLA LINCOLN.

I attempted to commence my labors in the office, but
without success: my brain was stupefied, bewildered, I
could not think; I went out and returned, alway mistaking my way; I did not notice my own seat at the
table; - I was wretched; - wretched; - and could
not rally, could not bring reason or necessity to the
rescue. Thus passed three weeks, losing all my time.
The fourth, I said to myself, "Ella, thou canst not
return, it is too late; thou canst not live without
wages; thou art too poor - for shame, Ella; fainthearted, cowardly Ella; cast off this incubus, and be
up and doing, for the sake of the dear ones dependant
upon thy care "- and Ella was herself again.
A few weeks later, found me as busy as a bee, reading dusty manuscripts, and proofs, and scribbling
editorials.
Mrs. Harrison was there, Editress of " The Ladies'
Budget;" dear, kind MVrs. Harrison, whom I afterwards
found as a sister, whom everybody knows so well, that
to say much in her praise would be fulsome flattery;her Rev. husband was there, and a number of persons
of both sexes iii various departments of the establishment.
I did not like to be exposed in that office to the gaze
of every person who came in; I would have given my
fortune for a screen between me and even the person's
employed in the same room; but what could I do? -
It is a cruel destiny which drives a woman of such
habits, tastes and temperament as mine, out into the
face of the great, staring world; to earn her bread, as




ï~~A NEW HOME ONCE MORE.

331

it were by working on the highway, for what but a
public thoroughfare is an editor's office?
I asked Mr. Harris as a favor, to give me the most
retired position in the room, and he gave me a desk in
a recess, for which I was very grateful.
In the fuxthermost corner froth me, sat Mrs. Harrison,
next, Mr. Harris; next, between him and me, Mr. Harrison. The office was large, handsomely fitted up with
desks, etc., and a mere casual observer would have said
we were all very happy, and there was no life like an
editor's.
And there is none - So thought Mr. Harris; harassed with cares, pestered with intruders, beset from
morn till night with solicitations for employment and
pay, from the poor and suffering whom he could not
aid; and glancing now and then at those ponderous
books which told the tale of " loss and gain."
So thought Mrs. Harrison, as she toiled from day to
day over that never ending " Ladies' Budget;" with
weary heart and aching head; and so thought Ella,
doing the best she could, with no hour unoccupied from
sabbath to sabbath again.
Oh! if every reader could know the solicitude, toil
and expense, connected with every issue of a newspaper, he would prize that little weekly messenger more
highly, and pity every soul whose handi-work was in
every line.
Mrs. Harrison, yet in early middle age, was a veteran
in editorial business; the pride and pet of her husband, and all who knew her well loved her for her gentle nature, her ardent piety, and*unassuming manners.




ï~~332

ELLA LINCOLN.

Few persons of her fine talents bear their honors so
meekly, few are so companionable - so ready to hear
and help all who stand in need of kind words or deeds.
She pitied Ella, with her pale cheek and care-pencilled
brow; - and Ella went to her at all times for the counsel and encouragement she so much needed,
But the time came- all too soon for Ella; when
Mrs. Harrison discontinued the " Ladies' Budget," and
accompanied her Rev. husband to a field of labor far
away.
For her sake, Ella was glad; for her own sake, Oh,
how sorry! and for the sake of all who had learned to
love her through her gifted pen. But she retained an
editorial position in " The Branch of Peace," and Ella
was still privileged to commune with her through the
pen.
Oh, the troubles of an editor! Reams, bushels, haystacks of manuscripts, which have been accumulating
for years, and still they come.
Ho! you scribbling "Jose;" or " Susy;" "Uncle
Ned," or " Aunt Deborah," do you suppose that sheet
of fools-cap, which you are now folding and directing
in your best manner, will ever find its way into that
newspaper for which you design it? sure you have riotwasted your precious time, and all that ink? - what
right have you to expect that veritable article of yours
will fare better than the hundreds already "accepted;"
to be published sometime before newspapers shall
cease to be?
"These manuscripts are some of them very ancient," said Mr. H., opening the drawer which displayed




ï~~A NEW HOME ONCE MORE.

333

all styles of folding, rolling up, and directing.- I have
no doubt but that some of them may be good; and, if
your are willing, we will re-read and select the most
valuable from the mass,with a view to future publication.
It seems too bad to have treated really worthy authors in this manner, but what could we do? so much
sent in, and but one little sheet to publish it all in; -
few do really write well; those who do not, expect the
same favors and pay.
Some boldly dash off a note and send it with their
MS., demanding ten or fifteen dollars; others leave all
to our liberality - which is worse - and some ask
room for theirs, as a favor; while we sigh over yesterday's pile, there comes another, and to-morrow, another,
and we toss them aside in despair for future consideration; - that future never comes.
I read manhood's bold chirography; woman's gossamer lines; the blots and erasures of the unpractised
school-girl; the ungrammatical sentences and misspelt
words of the aspiring youth; sonnets, homilies, comic
essays, stories, - translations - accompanying notes,
etc.
" Dear Sir: - I trust you will pardon the liberty I
take in sending my first effort, etc."
"Mr. Editor: - You will oblige me by publishing the
enclosed sketch, and sending me five dollars -send four
copies to my address, etc."
"Dear Sir:- I am very poor, the widowed mother
of four children; there is but one thing I can do -
write. I do not profess to be a superior writer, but to
have fair newspaper talent. Friends tell me you are




ï~~334

ELLA LINCOLN

kind to the poor; - hence I take the liberty to send
you my first MS. Oh, befriend me, sir, as you would
that God should raise up friends for you in youp greatest
need; publish and pay for my articles," etc.
"Mr. Ed. - I am a mere boy. I wish to write for a
newspaper in order that I may help myself through
college. By paying me a trifle for this article, you will
greatly encourage and oblige," etc.
Timid school girl, it is long since you penned that
first song; aspiring boy, may you have reached the
goal of success years ago; presumptuous man, demanding "five dollars and four copies," - poor widow, appealing for sympathy and help, - your paper is faded
and yellow; the dust lies heavy in every fold, - years
have passed and no response; WE estimated you differently, yet treated you the same - you have gone
your different ways - God only knows your destiny -
scattered here and there over the earth; - doubtless
some in the grave.
Ah, many a sensitive spirit has been wounded by
our neglect; many a poor widow, whose pen was her
only -hope, has watched for the weekly coming of our
Journal with feverish anxiety;- while there, in that
deep, deep drawer, has lain the crumpled MS., its identity forgotten.
The bosom of every editor is made the repository of
tales of suffering which would melt the heart of a stone;
while he has but one alternative, to deny others or ruin
himself.
Some are cold and even cruel to correspondents;
others reject their communications with dewy eyes,




ï~~A NEW HOME ONCE MORE.

335

and think of those crushed hopes with a sigh, amidst
cares and vexations as numberless as the sands of the
sea. Ella has a fellow-feeling with all poor contributors, but never envies an editor.
Ella put many a dislocated distich into joint, and
wrote editorials after ten P. M., as a penalty; and Mr.
Harris was always pleased to do all he could to encourage modest worth, even though it did cost time
and labor.
Months rolled on; I received many kind and courteous letters from persons corresponding with our
Journal.  I received letters, which came from the
homes of poverty and sorrow, like a low, dismal wail;
- full of anguish which I felt but could not mitigate,
-thrilling appeals to me for counsel and aid - ME -
myself the very sport of misfortune; - how could I
bind up the wounds of others, with none to minister
to my own?
But I gave them my sympathies; those suffering
ones - I told them how I had struggled, was struggling still; and commended them to Him upon whose
strong arm all might lean. I thank them for their confidence; love them, though personally unknown to
me; they aife my brothers and sisters of the heart.
When life's "weary watch is o'er," we shall meet and
know each other in our Father's house.
I had left the larger establishment and taken an
attic room in a widow's house.
It was high, and the stairs seemed - oh, how long;
but when I reached my chamber, it was pleasant, and
still, and, when evening came, the stars looked in




ï~~336

ELLA LINCOLN.

lovingly at the windows, and the gentle ocean-breeze
played in the folds of the curtains.
I looked out upon the stars, sometimes, at the still
midnight hour, thinking of two young sleepers far
away, and the strong man who had bidden them
"good night," and lain down to rest in distant California.
I was comparatively happy. Letters from Winchester were, satisfactory, the children were well, and improving rapidly in their studies; I was enabled to
remit them more money by this self-denial on my part
- which only consisted in climbing the stairs; - and
I was retired; passing in and out as a shadow unquestioned. My bed was beautifully clean; the furniture
convenient; and none of those worse than " Egyptian
plagues" which infest the city boarding-houses, were
pleased to dWell with Ella Lincoln so near the moon.
There, angels bright
Came down at night,
To watch my, pulse's play;
Their shadowy wings,
In circling rings,
Went up at break of day.




ï~~CHAPTER XXXIX.

"To hallowed duty
Here with a loyal and heroic heart,
Bind we our lives."
MRS. HARRISON, editress of the" Ladies' Budget," and
assistant in the "Branch of Peace," had long been
absent.
I sat down from morning till evening, writing, reading manuscripts, reviewing books, reading proofs.
I had asked as a favor of Mr. Harris, that he would
allow me to do all that I possibly could, and increase
my salary in consideration of my having assumed such
varied duties.
It was necessary at that time for Mr. Harris to have
his work done by the fewest possible pairs of hands;
and he may have allowed me to assume more work to
do than he would have done under less perplexing circumstances; and more than I could accomplish with
justice to his interest.
But I was content; saying in my heart, "it is for
the sake of my own dear children that I toil; I am
happy, if by my unwearying industry I can shield them
from ignorance and imposition.
It was pleasant to know that, far away in that valley
home, they were well cared for, by their excellent teacher
29                  (337)




ï~~338

ELLA LINCOLN.

and numerous friends. Every week I enclosed to
them all my wages, except barely enough to pay my
board, and boarded where I was merely comfortable,
with a poor widow who, like me, had seen "better
days." I sought no luxuries, purchased no new article
of clothing, for appearance' sake; indeed, when I first
met the cold, searching winds of a New England winter,
I looked sometimes at the long rows of furs and cloaks
in the shop windows, and envied those whose duty
did not forbid them to buy.
I coveted no society, obstinately refused all invitations from my hostess to "go into the parlor," and wrote
- wrote. At eight A. M. every day, I entered the
office, and, allowing myself but half an hour to dine,
remained there at my desk until five P. M., sometimes
six. Seven was our tea hour, at the boarding-house,
and I invariably arose from the table and walked
directly to my room. Then I took up my pen, and
kept it running until eleven - always eleven, - sometimes twelve.
Yet, still weary and worn as I was, adding a new
care-mark to my tell-tale countenance every day -
knowing that by this bold outrage upon the rights of
nature, I was shortening my journey to the last resting
place, I was comparatively happy. I thought only of
my children -still my children; - and for their dear
sakes was willing to forego the last league of my own
life's journey.
Mr. Harris went about the office without the accustomed smile; his hand trembled as he wrote; he gazed




ï~~REVERSE AGAIN.

339

abstractedly out of the window, or into the fire; and
I knew that he was suffering intensely, but did not
divine the cause.
Many persons came in, and went out to return soon
again, and there was an unexplained confusion about
the establishment that greatly troubled me. More than
ever before I longed for retirement - a home - a
place where my pale, thin face would not be constantly
exposed to the rude stare of the stranger.
" Sold out " - " suspended payment "-" compromised with creditors "-" failed," - so said rumor.
I only knew that some difficulty had occurred, but did
not know the exact extent of his misfortune. I was
aware, however, that his present trouble was not the
result of indolence or want of economy, but of the
common mischances of business.
His expenses had been enormous, his receipts not
in proportion; others did not meet their obligations
to him; the crisis came; no friend happened to have
both the ability and generosity to assist him, and he
met the common fate.   So I suppose; for the same
event happens to thousands yearly all over the world
- why not to Mr. Harris?
It is hard. He has a lovely wife, and little dependent
family, accustomed to luxuries and indulgence; it is
hard, because some who have suffered through his misfortune will charge with him unkindness, others with dishoQnesty. He suffers intensely, for he is sensitive and
refined; temporary wrinkles gather upon his brow, his lip
quivers; a great wave of sorrow is sweeping over him.
May God temper the wind to the shorn lamb!




ï~~34.0

ELLA LINCOLN.

He suffers; but he is young; he will, ere long, surmount that wave, and ride on to prosperity and happiness, guided by the experience of the past.
Mr. Harris and his amiable wife have the deepest
sympathies of a large circle of friends.
But Mr. Harris is only one of many sufferers. In
that editorial room are several persons suddenly deprived of their salaries, and many also in the printing
office. There is the foreman, Mr. Primble; he has finished his work there; his salary is discontinued: and
he must look for a new home.
Mr. Primble has a lovely and talented wife, and a
little family dependent upon him - God keep them;
and to all whom Mr. Harris has given employment,
whether they have or have not families!
When we hear of the suspension of business in an
establishment like that of " The Branch of Peace," if
we have not a personal acquaintance with any of the
parties concerned, we hear it as we do the thunder afar
off, with but little emotion; but when we not only
are acquainted with sufferers, but are ourselves under
the cloud; when the " flash and the clap come together,"
we view it in a different light.
Ella Lincoln was accustomed to sudden reverses;
she had virtually " taken the bankruptcy " every Saturday night, year after year; but she had not yet learned
to like these sudden flaws of fortune; her nerves had
not become less sensitive from receiving such reite'ated
shocks - perverse nerves!
I was turned out of employment into the streets of
a strange city, without a dollar, not knowing where to
go, or what to do.




ï~~REVERSE AGAIN.

341

Always feeble, always weary, I had not sought to be
known; not anticipating an hour like this, I had not
cultivated the friendship of city editors generally, and
was personally acquainted with only two. They expressed sympathy, but offered me no work; and I did
not ask them for it; I was too much grieved, too proud.
Should not their own generous hearts have suggested
the propriety of their giving me employment until I
could have time to make other arrangements. Rather
would I have starved than ask a favor where I had
reason to suppose it would be granted grudgingly!
A literary lady who had professed some interest in
my welfare promised to interest those editors who
were her personal friends, in my behalf.  Of course I
cannot doubt that she was sincere in her professions of
regard; as I have never seen her, or so much as received
a kindly message from her since. Perhaps her" numerous cares" have prevented her from seeing or writing
me since she "felt for" my "peculiar situation," as she
is boarding at a first-class hotel, and "has n't a child in
the world."
I addressed two editors in distant cities; personal
friends of long ago; and received such pathetic epistles
in return, that if I had not been short of time, I should
have wept over their troubles, not mine. They had on
hand" such an overplus of matter; " so many contributors engaged for the present year" that really they did
not know what to say; and one of them "regretted
that I had not applied at an earlier date." I did not
regret that the present misfortune had not occurred at
an earlier date; it seemed even now too soon.
29*




ï~~,342

ELLA LINCOLN.

Some offered to employ me at insulting prices;
some offered me the places of correspondents who would
discontinue after a few weeks or months, if we could
agree upon terms.
Mrs. Harrison interested herself, unavailably, in my
behalf. In her reply to the communication which announced to her the recent change of editors in the
"Branch of Peace," she said: "the whole fraternity
will take you by the hand; how can it be otherwise-?
What noble-hearted editor could refuse to assist a
woman in circumstances so peculiarly:afflictive?"
Kind hearted lady; she judged of the fraternity as an
unbroken chain, forgetting that its separate links are
composed of metals of various degrees of hardness -
she judged others' hearts by her own.
As a class, I have a higher respect for editors than if
I had not been in situations to see and appreciate their
labors and trials. I respect many who have employed
me, some who have not. There are a few in the city
where I am writing who have not been in circumstances
to assist me pecuniarily. Such have still given me the
friendly hand, and fraternal advice; and influenced
others, more fortunately situated, in my behalf.
When I consider how hard they work; how almost
incalculable are their weekly expenses, and then think
of the pitiful price which they receive for each particular newspaper, I am astonished that so many do contrive to live, and some prosper. As a class they are
not cold-hearted, though in some instances thoughtless
in their dealings with the sensitive and refined; but
a few of them have hearts like flints - would they were
fewer still!




ï~~REVERSE AGAIN.

-343

Now, thought I, if I can get something else to do,
some employment for the day time, I can write at
night, almost all night, and attend to the otber business
again next day.
Not knowing where else to apply, I went to an
Intelligence office and left my name as one in need of
employment; "any respectable employment."
There now, on the big book of the intelligence office,
was written the name of " Ella Lincoln," the village
belle of years ago; whose every want was anticipated,
every whimgratified.. " Ella Lincoln;" think of it!
Life is not all dark, but by and by it is crossed by a
golden thread of sunshine.
Frightened by the coldness of those to whom I had
first applied; confounded by the tone of the replies
which came up from beneath those piles of " manuscript" - so heavy that they had crushed out comnpassion from the hearts of the poor editors upon which
they lay; wondering aid grieved at the apathy of all
of whom I had thought better things, I sank into a
mental stupor; a misanthropic spirit seized me; I forgot
the blessed few-" the exceptions," and looked upon
the great world of hearts as one illimitable stone heap.
Ella, is that you? are you not ashamed of yourself?
- where is your hitherto indomitable perseverance?
Remember, your children have no hope but in your
success! - up and work for your life. God helps only
those who try to help themselves.
How. could I call upon those stranger editors; tell
them the story of my griefs and wrongs; and appeal




ï~~344

ELLA LINCOLN.

to them for aid. Were there not persons in the city
whose interest it might be to tell another story; who
would indorse my report? Would they not think it
strange, that one who professed to have written so long
for remuneration; who had lately been associated with
a prominent Journal, should have difficulty in getting
immediate employment? Why was not she employed
by the new editors of that Journal? If they thought
her talented; if they believed she had been true to her
trust? It was a natural question- how could I blame
them?
A friend who took an interest in my welfare said to
me one day: " Why do n't you write to Mr. Downham,
of the new firm at " The Branch of Peace?" He is
a good man, a Christian; and whatever he may say,
the others will do. Ask him for employment. Tell
him that indirectly, himself and partners have injured
you as a writer, by dispossessing you of your situation;
leaving the matter a mystery to your friends abroad,
and standing in the way of your obtaining the same
kind of employment, lie has a heart; that Mr. Downham!"
I wrote Mr. Downham, stating to him frankly my
circumstances, telling him of my utter destitution, that
I was here a stranger, without a dollar, etc.,- that my
children were away in Pennsylvania without a dollar;
that my connection with " The Branch of Peace" had
been very unfortunate for me, as it had ended; I told
him all that I thought necessary to enlist his sympathies in me personally, and as a writer, whom he had
indirectly dispossessed of her salary.




ï~~REVERSE AGAIN.

345

I appealed to him as a husband, brother, Christian;
I wrote an impulsive, earnest letter; such an one as
comes from the heart of every woman so sorely tried.
The reply was kind, gentle, manly, brotherly; closing
with, " May you ever look to me as a friend."
In that letter he promised me a little work - a little
pay. " Three colutmns, more or less, of short articles,
at five dollars per week," for an indefinite time.
Now for that amount of short articles, bona-fide editorials, I had received from ten to twelve dollars always;
but " five" would pay my board until I could do better; so I accepted the offer, with a warm-hearted
"thank you."   Every one, who knows how to write
them, at all knows that four short, pithy, condensed
articles, either grave, or witty, in one column, are better worth ten dollars, than are four columns of story
matter worth two. It is more trouble, more labor, to
" get them up."  But in our arrangement, " sketches"
were prohibited.
" Sketches!" why, were not they to have  'sketches'
from the pen of the renowned Miss Cross-bow, the farfamed Mr. Hilltop? ' Sketches from the pen of Ella
Lincoln!' Who ever heard of her as a story write
Her talent lay in a different vein, if she had any, which
was at least questionable. Strange that the readers of
'The Branch of Peace' had ever tolerated ' Ella Lincoln;' indeed, very strange that she had had the audacity to write at all; that Mr. Harris had patronized her;
that Mrs. Harrison had condescended to appear with
her in the newspaper.
I read Mr. Downham's letter with a grateful heart.




ï~~346

ELLA LINCOLN.

' Respected my talents, was pleased with the manner
in which I had discharged my editorial duties; had
thought, on account of the strength of the editorial
corps that, very reluctantly, he must dispense with my
services. But this appeal!' well, it overpowered him,
and his letter overpowered me; overpowered my better
judgment. Silly Ella! I thought it came fresh from
the heart, one heart, not many; that it had but one
reader, and was strictly confidential; a private letter.
Ah, me!
I heard of its fac simile a day or two since, and
Ella's reply. The original of his was fresh, but the
copy is stale and worn. Can mine have been fingered
by clerks, pandered by curious eyes? Alas! it went
forth as a dove; will it yet return to me a viper? Of
this, more anon.
Now, Ella, courage! try again. What, make my debit in another publisher's office, to be received coldly,
or make a bad bargain? No news from the 'Intelligence Office.' Well, probably they would not want
me in a store, because the man at the desk could not
recommend me as experienced in measuring tape and
cambric; as a gentleman's housekeeper, because he did
not know I had kept tavern - I forgot to tell him that;
as a chambermaid, because 1 did not look strong
enough to lift a blanket; as a cook, because I so resembjed starvation. That man at the counter knew.
"Is this the office of ' The Old Mortality?"
"Yes, madam."
"Editor within?"
"He is not, but will be in presently; take a seat."




ï~~REVERSE AGAIN.

347

" Mr. Howell?"
"Yes, madam."
"Mrs. Lincoln, late assistant editor of ' The Branch
of Peace.'
Mr. Howell said not a word.
"By the late misfortune of Mr. Harris, former editor
of ' The Branch of Peace,' I am reduced to necessity,
and have not yet secured so much work as I need. I
thought it possible that you might furnish me with
occupation until I could make other arrangements."
" I know you as a writer; like you very well, but
don't need you - can't employ you, madam;" and
Mr. Howell scribbled, "scribbled.
" Good evening, sir. "
"Good evening, madam."
"Pie crust abridged; a perfect old steel-trap!" said
Ella, going home. " No more publishers to-day; my
nerves are all unstrung."
" A letter! whose chirography? Don't know. Oh,
from Mr. Thomas, a dissenting glergyman. I recollect
now. I addressed a note to him three days since, having heard he was benevolent, asking him to befriend
me."
"My dear madam, yours came, etc. I regret your
misfortune, etc. Situated as I am, there is but little
that I can do, except in the way- of giving you good
advice, and making you known to others. If you need
me, call upon me. Anything within my power I will
be pleased to do, in the way of assisting you. Mr.
John Wilkes, of the 'Daily News,' is a good man,
and liberal; if you will mention my name to' him, I




ï~~348

ELLA LINCOLN.

have no doubt but that he will find a way to help
you.             I am most truly yours,
RALPH THOMAS."
I wept over that letter. A heart was there; a heart
with the will and the power to help me.
No matter if there was a deep snow, and my boarding house was a mile from his office. Not a thing
worth minding, that the wind was cold and searching,
lifting great snow-drifts and whirling them in my face;
no matter if I had to borrow a fellow boarder's furs and
moccasins, to prevent my freezing to death! I walked
resolutely to the office of the 'Daily News,' hope buoying up my spirits, and making my step as elastic as a
child's.
He was not within. I retured, not at all discouraged,but grieved at the delay. I wrote a note, stating that
I had called; the object of that call; and appealed to
him for sympathy and aid. Dropping that into the
Sub. Post Office, I calmly waited the result.
" My dear Mrs. Lincoln," - I could read no more
just then. The lines twisted, rolled and danced before
me. The words were all underscored and italicised.
The capitals loomed up like steeples.
He had never seen my face. No man had said to
him,' Respect her for my sake.' I was 'dear' to him
as a suffering sister of humanity; as such, he gave me
heart and hand.
No wonder that I wept, wept tears of joy and gratitude. God's image yet remained on earth, and earth
was beautiful.




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349

I brushed away those tears and read:" If you will be so kind as to come to my office, on
Saturday, between the hours of twelve and two, we
will have a little conversation about your affairs."
" Be assured, that whatever may be in my power
towards the advancement of your interests, I will.do
most cordially, etc.
With a deep interest in your welfare, I remain,
Very truly yours,
JOHN WILKES."
When Saturday' came, I did not forget ' between
the hours of twelve and two.'
I found him there, a youthful personage, tall and
graceful, with a world of thought upon his high, white
forehead, a world of feeling in his clear, blue eye.
"Mrs. Lincoln, I am very happy to see you, etc.
You wish for more literary employment?"
"Yes, sir."
"There seems to be but little that a lady can do in
a daily, so much of the work being done in the night;
but what you can do conveniently, you may. Here is
a subject upon which I had thought of writing myself;
I think you would manage it better, and if you please,
you may write the article; I will pay you now."
He handed me a bill.
"But what if the article should not please you, when
finished
" Oh, I am confident it will."
Now I knew that the writing of that article was
mere moonshine; that he did not need it; that he him30




ï~~350

ELLA LINCOLN.

self could have written it better. I knew that he only
took this delicate manner of bestowing the money
which he feared I much needed.
I merely thanked him for the employment, and rolled
the stone resolutely over the well of tears, unwilling to
wound him by giving vent to emotions which struggled
for utterance. Heaven bless hinr!
Mr. Wilkes gave me a letter of introduction to a
friend of his, whom I found a gentleman. When I
say "gentleman," I mean something. A man who is
willing to suffer inconvenience to befriend a woman in
distress; who does not say one word when he thinks
another; who does not cough and "hem;" and twist
in his chair; and tell her "how highly he respects her "
just to pass away the time, until he can get his "courage up " to tell her that he will do nothing for her.
Mr. Barnard, of " The Stripes and Stars," is a gentleman. He looked at Ella Lincoln's pale, care-worn
face, dewy eye, and pitied her for the great sorrow
which had darkened her life.
Mr. Barnard promised me employment; and has
made that promise good. I knew he would, at the first
glimpse of that fine, benevolent countenance. ' And
yet he was not "hard up " for "contributors."
He had " Alps on Alps" of manuscripts in that
office. Heaven bless him, also --- may he never taste
the cup of poverty - never want a friend!
Another letter, commencing with: "My Dear Mrs.
Lincoln "- expressing sympathy, promising to use influence in my behalf.
A letter, like the voice, has an undertone sometimes;




ï~~REVERSE AGAIN.

351

a low whisper of kindly feeling, distinct from the written words; and we read, and re-read that letter, until
we seem to have known and loved the writer long ago.
Such was the one before me. I felt its true fraternal
spirit, sweeping over my bosom-strings, like a sweet
strain of melody, melting my soul to tears - sweet,
grateful tears!
Another, " Most Truly Yours," from one whose high
position rendered his friendship doubly valuable.
One, two, three, four - Ella was rich now! Thousands who move in the gilded circles of fashion, have
not four friends. Many, who had been mine in prosperity, had looked on coldly while I struggled with the
adverse tide, saying insultingly, " God help you!"
Yet now -  now, when a cloud of darkness, tenfold
more appallihg than before, had settled over all my
prospects, almost putting out the light of hope, God
had raised up friends for me.




ï~~CHAPTER XL.

"May speak thy mind;"
Oh pray that the shadows
Though darkly they fall
On mute retrospection,
The handmaid of all;
Though far o'er the future,
Their wings may be cast,
May fade into brightness
And glory at last."
I WAS anxious to please Downham & Co., of " The
Branch of Peace," and to continue to write for them
until the time had expired for which my own personal
friends had subscribed for that Journal, on my account.
I had suggested to Mr. Downham, the propriety of
his explaining to his readers the reason why I had so
suddenly ceased my editorial duties; and he replied
that "there was no necessity for such an announcement; that my articles would appear under the editorial head; and it would be better for me that things
should remain as they were;"- kind Mr. Downham!
I contributed the stipulated amount of MS. weekly,
for a few weeks; then observing that it was not used,
I did not furnish the usual quota. I thought in my
humility, that those gentlemen had never been pleased
with  me, as a writer; but, in their overflowing
goodness of heart, had paid me the sum of five dollars,
(352)




ï~~LITERARY TRIALS.

353

weekly, in the same spirit that they would have put a
slice of cold ham into a beggar's basket; and it being
necessary that I should earn as much as possible, I
wrote for other papers, thinking that at some future
day, if in more favorable circumstances, I might refund to them the money which they were overpaying
now.
I received a hint from them, and a loudly spoken one,
that the full amount of MS. was expected weekly, to
be used or not as they pleased; and they were pleased
to say at the same time' that they were satisfied with
my articles, etc."
"Thef why do you not use them as you engaged to
do?"
" That is our affair;" and they said a few words
which wounded the sensitive nature of Ella, while at
the same time it aroused all her pride, and led her to
utter something more than "sugar-coated" phraseology in return.
Downham & Co. differed from each other in their
literary tastes; and both, from Ella; and although she
used her versatile talents with the greatest allowable
license, she failed of pleasing either. She began to
wonder if she could write; if she ever did write; and if
she could not, and never could, why she had received a
fair share of compliments from editors and friends; and
why her articles had been somewhat extensively copied,
which is a pretty good criterion by which to judge of a
writer's success.
For the first time in a long newspaper experience,
the propriety of one of her articles was questioned;
30*




ï~~354

ELLA LINCOLN.

half of it printed, the remainder thrown away; and
many "straws," unobserved by any eyes save hers, indicated to her the direction in which the wind was
blowing.
But, pressed as I was for time, I gave but little heed
to lesser incidents, and wrote on; for the hopes of
THREE seemed chained to the energies of one right
hand.
"Have you seen the new Prospectus, in the Branch
of Peace?" said one of our boarders, putting a paper
into my hand. It read thus: - "The far-famed Mr.
Northern-light writes for this Paper; the accomplished
Miss Morning-star writes for this Paper; sweet, playful,
bewitching Daffodil writes for this Paper; and numerous
other gifted contributors, under various nom-de-plumes,
write for this Paper."  Not a word of Ella Lincoln.
I was not quite annihilated, but felt the flagrant insult offered me in those very columns in which I had
labored so long, and, some were pleased to say, successfully; I knew it would be read, and felt, by numerous
friends. But alone, poor, and unprotected, as I was, I
saw at once that my only policy was to " suffer and be
strong."
Men, in their business-transactions with men- may
do things honest and honorable, which appear in a different light when their dealings are with unfortunate
women. Men who are MEN, will not persecute any
woman, until she is constrained to utter "hard things,"
then stereotype those hasty, heart-wrung expressions,
for the rude staie of the world.
Ella "loved Rome more than Cwsar; " a weapon




ï~~LITERARY TRIALS.

355

was pointed at her heart; and her only alternative was
to level her own piece at him who held it. Ella is not
writing a romance, herself the heroine, and representing
herself as without a fault; she writes the history of living flesh and blood, and of a strong, earnest nature, in
whose cup of life the Father blended every element
which tends to make up a hu-man character; of one
peculiarly fitted for trials and endurance; claiming no
mental superiority, but soul enough to honor or despise;
to appreciate a courtesy, or resent an insult.
"Downham & Co. paid Ella Lincoln five dollars
per week for manuscript, which she promised, but has
never furnished."  So says Report.
After Downham & Co. use all the manuscript which
Ella has put into their hands, giving her articles an
honorable place in their columns - if Fortune favors
her sufficiently - she will refund to them the amount of
money which they may have overpaid.
But so long as the names of the present proprietors
shall remain at the head of its columns, Ella Lincoln,
who has, in days gone by, secured numerous subscribers for the '. Branch of Peace,' will never say to another
friend; ' Take it for my sake.'
She cannot point to Downham, personally, as a pattern of generosity, and say: 'Respect him for my sake;
he was kind to me in misfortune;' because he first led
her to confide in him as a friend; and then, when her
literary reputation was in a measure in his power, he
depreciated her as a writer, in the estimation of some of
his readers, by a covert, cowardly insult.
Some, not all. Ella has numerous friends, who un



ï~~356

ELLA LINCOLN.

derstand and appreciate those favors she has received of
Mr. Downham. Some have discontinued the 'Branch
of Peace;' to others, it no longer comes as a welcome
messenger; and more than a few would willingly see it
sleeping in peace, with a new ' Branch' rising, Phcenix-like, from its ashes, with the name of 'Mark Harris' on its forehead.
Mr. Harris, the former editor of The Branch of
Peace," seems already to have found, again, the highway to prosperity. Mr. Primble, the former foreman of
the 'Branch, etc., is associated with him in business.
I was in the office of ' The New England Mercury,
which they edit; and there I saw the faces of several of
the former employees of the ' Peace," all wearing the
smile of content; and apparently viewing life on the
brighter side again. Mr. Harris has proved true to me
as a friend. I came down from my attic months ago;
and am pleasantly situated, in an excellent family, relatives of Mr. Primble. I remain a widow of the heart,
mourning my living dead, with but little hope of a future earthly reunion.
My children remain at Winchester, cheered in their
loneliness by the sympathy and care of those persons
who have them more especially in carge; and receiving the kindest courtesies from that excellent community; to many of whom we owe more gratitude than
words or'money could repay.
We have a few relatives, and many friends, to whom
we are indebted for acts of kindness, both in earlier and
more recent troubles. God bless such as have souls,
and pity all who have none!




ï~~CHAPTER XLI.

CONCLUSION.
"He that writes,
Or makes a feast, more certainly invites
His judges than his friends; there's not a guest
But will find something wanting or ill drest."
"AN autobiography! Oh, Ella!" some will say; "it
is a shame for you to go back into the high-ways and
by-ways of the past, and bring out its joys and sorrows
for the rude gaze of an unfeeling world; to talk of the
poverty which has dogged you like a shadow; the unkindness that has stung you like a serpent; of your
faults, and follies, and the weaknesses of your dearest
friends. Some will charge you with untruthfulness;
some say you cannot write; others, that you add your
mite to the list of " trashy works," fit only for the bonfire, to make money."
That is the thing, money! money, for the comforts it
purchases, the rest it allows to the weary, the home it
provides for the homeless, money to educate the young,
to feed the poor, to comfort the afflicted.
But not all money, not all a willingness to wound
those sensitive friends who would not have my somewhat eventful life reviewed by curious eyes; who would
not have my faults and weaknesses the subject of remark and criticism.
No, not that, or this; I have, here and there in the
(357)




ï~~358

ELLA LINCOLN,

wide, wide world, brothers and sisters of the heart; I
meet them in my daily walks; I commune with them
in my dreams. They are here. I know them by their
mournful eyes; the mystic haze of sadness wreathed
around their temples; the net-work of care upon their
foreheads; the quiver of their thin, pale lips; the restless movements of their vein-traced hands. They are
there. I seek in vain for their fleshly portraits in the
halls of memory; I know not if their foreheads be
snowy or brown; if their eyes be like the eagle's or
the dove's; if their locks are like midnight, or chestnut,
or silvered by time.  But I know that they are there;
for there' comes to me a low under-tone of sorrow in
every breeze; they have spoken to me through the pen;
they have read and understood the words traced by my
earnest hand.
Seen or unseen, I love them, and long to Whisper
words of comfort and encouragement amidst the cares
which press so heavily upon them; I will tell them the
tale of my own outer and inner life, that they may
profit by my short-comings, and avoid them; I will tell
them how I have persevered in the onward path, sustained by one high purpose; never, in my darkest hours,
utterly forsaken of God.
I will tell them to struggle on, true to one holy aspiration: seeking the happiness of all around; educating
themselves for life and heaven. I will entreat of them
to cling to their little ones; never to " put them out,"
lest their young lives be turned to bitterness by cold
looks and unreasonable commands; to cling to them
while existence lasts, lifting up their own weak hands




ï~~LITERARY TRIALS.

359

between them and the world, with one prayer upon
their lips continually: "Let not these go forth to ask
for sympathy among the mamnmon-worshippers, who
will underrate in them the noblest gifts of Heaven."
I will tell them, never to bow their foreheads to the
dust, underrating themselves because their inferiors accept of menial service at their hands. I will say
to them: " Though your earthly relatives may look
on coldly when your last hope grows brittle as a
spider's web, the Eternal Father looks down and pities
you; Jesus forgets you not; and although the night
may be yet dark, the morning waits in the distance to
burst its fetters in a flood of glory.
For the sake of all the poor and sorely tried, whom I
love but cannot see; or, seeing, cannot otherwise bless,
Ella Lincoln will write this Book.
" What is written is written." There are some who
will condemn both the book and the author. Was
there ever a book or an author without faults which
might be magnified and over-colored by ill-nature?
I trust the good and generous reader will judge me
leniently; if persecuted by those of an opposite character, I will try to be resigned, remembering "it is good
to be afflicted."




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