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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Delusion, or The Witch of New England, by 
+Eliza Buckminster Lee
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license
+
+
+Title: Delusion, or The Witch of New England
+
+Author: Eliza Buckminster Lee
+
+Release Date: March 17, 2012 [EBook #39176]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DELUSION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                             DELUSION;
+
+                    OR THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
+
+                      By Eliza Buckminster Lee
+
+
+     "There is in man a HIGHER than love of happiness: he can do without
+     happiness, and, instead thereof, find blessedness."--SARTOR.
+
+
+    BOSTON:
+    HILLIARD, GRAY, AND COMPANY.
+    1840.
+
+    Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1839,
+    BY HILLIARD, GRAY & CO.
+    in the clerk's office of the district court of Massachusetts.
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+The scenes and characters of this little tale are wholly fictitious. It
+will be found that the tragic interest that belongs to the history of
+the year 1692 has been very much softened in the following pages.
+
+The object of the author has not been to write a tale of witchcraft, but
+to show how circumstances may unfold the inward strength of a timid
+woman, so that she may at last be willing to die rather than yield to
+the delusion that would have preserved her life.
+
+If it is objected that the young and lovely are seldom accused of any
+witchcraft except that of bewitching hearts, we answer, that of those
+who were _actually_ accused, many were young; and those who maintained a
+firm integrity against the overwhelming power of the delusion of the
+period must have possessed an intellectual beauty which it would be vain
+to endeavor to portray.
+
+This imperfect effort is submitted with much diffidence, to the
+indulgence of the courteous reader.
+
+
+
+
+THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+    "Ay, call it holy ground,
+    The soil where first they trod:
+    They have left unstained what there they found,--
+    Freedom to worship God."
+
+
+New England scenery is said to be deficient in romantic and poetic
+associations. It is said that we have no ruins of ancient castles,
+frowning over our precipices; no time-worn abbeys and monasteries,
+mouldering away in neglected repose, in our valleys.
+
+It is true that the grand and beautiful places in our natural scenery
+are not marred by the monuments of an age of violence and wrong; and our
+silent valleys retain no remnant of the abodes of self-indulgent and
+superstitious devotion; but the descendant of the Pilgrims finds, in
+many of the fairest scenes of New England, some memento to carry back
+the imagination to those heroic and self-sacrificing ancestors. His soul
+is warmed and elevated when he remembers that devoted company, who were
+sustained amid hardship and every privation, on the trackless ocean, and
+in the mysterious and appalling solitudes of the forest, by a firm
+devotion to duty, and an all-pervading sense of the immediate presence
+of God.
+
+The faults of our ancestors were the faults of their age. It is not now
+understood--and how wide from it was the conviction then!--that _even_
+toleration implies intoleration. Who is to judge what opinions are to be
+tolerated? He whom circumstance has invested at the moment with power?
+
+The scene I wish to describe was on the borders of one of the interior
+villages of New England,--a mountain village, embosomed in high hills,
+from which the winter torrents, as they met in the plain, united to form
+one of those clear, sparkling rivers, in whose beautiful mirror the
+surrounding hills were reflected. The stream, "winding at its own sweet
+will," enclosed a smooth meadow. At the extremity of the meadow, and
+shadowed by the mountain, nestled one of the poorest farm-houses, or
+cottages, of the time.
+
+It was black and old, apparently containing but two rooms and a garret.
+Attached to it were the common out-houses of the poorest farms: a shed
+for a cow, a covering for a cart, and a small barn were all. But the
+situation of this humble and lonely dwelling was one of surpassing
+beauty. The soft meadow in front was dotted with weeping elms and
+birches; the opposite and neighboring hills were covered to their
+summits with the richest wood, while openings here and there admitted
+glimpses of the distant country.
+
+A traveller coming upon this solitary spot, and seeing the blue smoke
+curling against the mountain side, would have rejoiced. There is
+something in the lonely farmhouse, surrounded with its little garden,
+and its homely implements of labor, that instantly touches our sympathy.
+There, we say, human hearts have experienced all the changes of life;
+they have loved and rejoiced, perhaps suffered and died.
+
+The interior consisted of only two rooms. In the ample chimney of that
+which served for the common room, was burning a bright flame of pine
+knots; for, although it was the middle of summer, the sun sank so early
+behind the hills, and the evenings were so chilly, that the warmth was
+necessary, and the light from the small window cheered the laborer
+returning late from his work.
+
+An old man sat by the chimney, evidently resting from the labors of the
+day. He was bent by time, but his brilliant eye and his flowing gray
+locks gave a certain refinement to his appearance, beyond that which his
+homely garments would warrant.
+
+A woman, apparently as aged as himself, sat by the little window,
+catching the last rays of evening, as they were reflected from her white
+cap and silvery hair. Before her was a table on which lay a large Bible.
+She had just placed her spectacles between the leaves, as she closed it
+and resumed her knitting.
+
+These two formed a picture full of the quiet repose of old age. But
+there was another in the room,--a youth, apparently less than twenty,
+kneeling before the flaming pine, over the leaves of a worn volume that
+absorbed him wholly.
+
+The ruddy flame imparted the glow of health to a countenance habitually
+pale. Over his dark, enthusiastic eye was spread a clear and noble brow,
+so smooth and polished that it seemed as if at seventy it would be as
+unwrinkled as at seventeen. His piercing eye had that depth of
+expression that indicates dark passions or religious melancholy. He was
+slender in form, and very tall; but a bend in the shoulders, produced by
+agricultural labor, or by weakness in the chest, impaired somewhat the
+symmetry of his form.
+
+They had been silent some moments. The young man closed his worn volume,
+an imperfect copy of Virgil, and walked several times, with hurried
+steps, across the little room.
+
+At length he stopped before the woman, and said, "Mother, let me see how
+much your frugal care has hoarded. Let me know all our wealth. Unless I
+can procure another book, I cannot be prepared for the approaching
+examination. If I cannot enter college the next term, I never can. I
+must give up all hope of ever being any thing but the drudge I am now,
+and of living and dying in this narrow nook of earth."
+
+"No, no, my son," answered the woman; "if my prayers are heard, you will
+be a light and a blessing to the church, though I may not live to see
+it."
+
+The young man sighed deeply, and, taking the key she gave him, he opened
+an old-fashioned chest, and, from a little cup of silver tied over with
+a piece of leather, he poured the contents into his hand. There were
+several crowns and shillings, and two or three pieces of gold.
+
+Apparently the examination was unsatisfactory, for he threw himself into
+a chair, and covered his face with his hands.
+
+The old woman rose after looking at him a few moments in silence, and
+laid her hand gently on his shoulder.
+
+"My son," she said, "where is the faith that sustained your ancestors
+when they left all their luxuries and splendor, their noble homes for
+conscience' sake. Yes, my son, your fathers were among the distinguished
+of England's sons, and they left all for God."
+
+"Mother," said he, "would that they had been hewers of wood and drawers
+of water. Then I should have been content with my lot. Mother, all your
+carefully hoarded treasure will not be enough to pay my first term in
+college. Without books, without friends, I must give up the hope of an
+education," and the large tears trickled between his fingers.
+
+"You forget," she said, "your good friend at C. who has lent you so many
+books. Why not apply to him again?"
+
+A deep blush flushed the young man's countenance, but he made no answer,
+and seemed to wish to change the subject.
+
+"It is almost evening," he said; "shall we not have prayers?" and,
+placing himself near the window to catch the last rays of departing
+daylight, he read one of the chapters from the Old Testament.
+
+The aged man, who had not spoken during the discussion, stood up and
+prayed with great fervency.
+
+His prayer was made up, indeed, by quotations from the Old Testament,
+and he used altogether the phraseology of the Scriptures. He prayed for
+the church in the wilderness, "that it might be bright as the sun, fair
+as the moon, beautiful as Tirzah, and terrible as an army with banners;"
+"that our own exertions to serve the church and our strivings after the
+Holy Spirit might not be like arrows in the air, traces in the sea, oil
+upon the polished marble, and water spilt upon the ground."
+
+He asked for no temporal blessing; all his petitions were in language
+highly figurative, and he closed with a prayer for his grandson, "that
+God would make him a polished shaft in the temple of the Lord, a bright
+and shining light in the candlestick of the church."
+
+When he had finished his prayer,--"My son," he said, "do not be cast
+down; you forget that the great Luther begged his bread. The servants of
+the church, in every age, have been poor and despised; even the Son of
+God," and he looked reverently upwards, "knew not where to lay his head.
+_You_ have only to labor. The peat at the bottom of the meadow is
+already dry; there is more than we shall need for winter fuel; take it,
+in the morning, to C----, and with the produce buy the book you need."
+
+"No," said the young man, "there are many repairs necessary to make you
+and my grandmother comfortable for the winter. I cannot rob you of more.
+I can borrow the book."
+
+He lighted his lamp, made from rushes dipped in the green wax of the bay
+bush, which affords a beautiful, but not brilliant flame, and went up a
+few steps to his chamber in the garret. The old woman gathered the ashes
+over the kindling coal, and, with her aged partner, retired to the
+bed-room opposite the narrow entrance.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+    "Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye;
+    Silent when glad, affectionate, though shy:
+    And now his look was most demurely sad,
+    And now he laughed aloud, yet none knew why.
+    The neighbors stared and sighed, yet blessed the lad;
+    Some deemed him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad."
+
+    Beattie.
+
+
+Our young student retired to his garret, a small room in the roof of the
+cottage, heated by the summer sun resting on its roof almost to the heat
+of a furnace. One small window looking towards the east admitted the
+evening breeze.
+
+In the remotest corner was a low and narrow pallet, by the side of which
+hung the indispensable articles of a man's apparel.
+
+A small table, covered with ink spots, and a solitary chair stood in the
+centre of the little apartment. A few deal shelves contained the odd and
+worn volumes of the student's library. A Greek Testament, several
+lexicons, half a volume of Horace, lay scattered on the table. Virgil
+was the book he had brought with him from the pine-knot torch, and it
+was the old Grecian, Homer that he was so anxious to possess.
+
+The uncarpeted floor was thickly strewn with sheets half written over,
+and torn manuscripts were scattered about. Wherever the floor was
+visible, the frequent ink spots indicated that it was not without mental
+agitation that these manuscripts had been produced.
+
+It was not to repose from the labors of the day that the young man
+entered his little chamber: to bodily labor must now succeed mental
+toil.
+
+He cast a wistful look towards his little pallet; he longed to rest his
+limbs, aching with the labor of the day; but no; his lamp was on the
+table, and, resolutely throwing off his coarse frock, he sat down to
+think and to write.
+
+Wearied by a long day of labor, the student in vain tried to collect his
+thoughts, to calm his weakened nerves. He rose and walked his chamber
+with rapid steps, the drops of heat and anguish resting on his brow.
+
+"Oh!" said he, "that I had been content to remain the clod, the
+toil-worn slave that I am!"
+
+Little do they know, who have leisure and wealth, and all the
+appurtenances of literary ease--the lolling study-chair, the convenient
+apartment, the brilliant light--how much those suffer who indulge in
+aspirations beyond their lowly fortune.
+
+The student sat down again to write. His hands were icy cold, while his
+eyes and brow were burning hot. He was engaged on a translation from the
+Greek. His efforts to collect and concentrate his thoughts on his work,
+exhausted as he was with toil, were vain and unavailing. At length he
+threw down his pen.
+
+"Oh God!" thought he, "is this madness? am I losing my memory, my mind?"
+Again he walked his little room, but with gentler steps; for he would
+not disturb his aged relatives, who slept beneath.
+
+"Have I deceived myself?" he said; "were all my aspirations only
+delusions, when, yet a boy, I followed the setting sun, and the rainbow
+hues of the evening clouds, with a full heart that could only find
+relief in tears?--when I believed myself destined to be other than a
+hewer of wood and a drawer of water, because I felt an immeasurable pity
+for my fellow-men, groping, as I did myself, under all the evils of
+ignorance and sin? Was it only vanity, when I hoped to rise above the
+clods of the earth, and aspired to have my lips, as Isaiah's, touched by
+a coal from the holy altar? Was it only impatience at my lot which
+destined me to inexorable poverty?"
+
+"Let me not despair of myself;" and he took from his table a manuscript
+of two or three sheets, and began to read it.
+
+As he went on, his dissatisfaction seemed to increase. With the
+sensitiveness and humility of true genius, when under the influence of
+despondency, every line seemed to him feeble or exaggerated; all the
+faults glared out in bold relief; while the real beauty of the
+composition escaped his jaded and toil-worn attention.
+
+"Oh Heaven!" he said, "I have deceived myself; I am no genius, able to
+rise above the lowliness of my station. The bitter cup of poverty is at
+my lips. I have not even the power to purchase a single book. Shall I go
+again to my good friend at C----? Shall I appear as a beggar, or a
+peasant, to beg the trifling pittance of a book?"
+
+A burning blush for a moment passed over his pale countenance. "Will
+they not say, and justly, 'Go back to your plough; it is your destiny
+and proper vocation to labor?'"
+
+He sat down on the side of his little pallet, and burst into tears. He
+wept long, and, as he wept, his mind became more calm. The short
+summer's night, in its progress, had bathed the earth in darkness, and
+cooled the heated roof of his little apartment. The night breeze, as it
+came in at his window, chilled him, and he rose to close it.
+
+As he looked from his little window, the dawn was just appearing in the
+east, and the planet Venus, shining with the soft light of a crescent
+moon, was full before him.
+
+"O beautiful star!" he thought, "the same that went before the sages of
+the East, and guided them to the manger of the Savior! I aspire only to
+be a teacher of the sublime wisdom of that humble manger. Let me but
+lift up my weak voice in his cause, and let all worldly ambition die
+within me.
+
+    '---- Thou, O Spirit! who dost prefer,
+    Before all temples, th' upright heart and pure,'
+
+I consecrate my powers to thee."
+
+The morning breeze, as it blew on his temples, refreshed him. The young
+birds began to make those faint twitterings beneath the downy breast of
+the mother, the first faint sound that breaks the mysterious silence of
+early dawn.
+
+He turned from the window; the rush-light was just expiring in its rude
+candlestick. He threw himself on his bed, and was soon lost in deep and
+dreamless slumbers.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+    "I give thee to thy God,--the God that gave thee
+    A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart!
+          And, precious as thou art,
+    And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee!
+    My own, my beautiful, my undefiled!
+          And thou shalt be his child."
+
+
+While the student sleeps, we will make the reader acquainted with his
+short and simple annals.
+
+His maternal grandfather had been among the Puritan emigrants who sought
+the rock-bound coast of New England. He was a man of worth and property,
+had been educated at Oxford, and distinguished for classical learning
+and elegant pursuits. But at the call of conscience he left the
+luxurious halls of his fathers, the rank, and ancestral honors that
+would have descended to him, to share the hardships, privations, and
+sufferings of the meanest of his companions. He brought with him his
+wife and an only child, a daughter of twenty years.
+
+Like her mother, she had been carefully nurtured, and had lived in much
+luxury, although in the strict seclusion of the daughters of the
+Puritans.
+
+The wives and daughters of the Pilgrims have never been honored as they
+deserved to be. Except the Lady Arbella Johnson, is there a single name
+that has descended with pride and honor to their daughters, and been
+cherished as a Puritan saint?
+
+It is true they lived in an age when the maxim that a woman should
+consider it her highest praise to have nothing said about her was in
+full force; and when the remark of Coleridge would have been applauded,
+"That the perfection of a woman's character is to be _characterless_."
+
+But among the wives of the Pilgrims there were heroic women that endured
+silently every calamity. Mrs. Hemans says, with poetry and truth,--
+
+    "_There_ was woman's _fearless_ eye,
+    Lit by her deep love's truth."
+
+But how many _fearful_ days and nights they must have passed, trembling
+with all a mother's timidity for their children, when they heard the
+savage cry, that spared neither the touching smile of infancy, nor the
+agonized prayer of woman!
+
+They had left the comforts, and even the luxuries, of their English
+homes,--the hourly attendance of servants, to meet the chilling skies
+of a shelterless wilderness. She whose foot had trodden the softest
+carpets, whose bed had been of down, who had been accustomed to those
+minute attentions that prevent the rose-leaf from being crumpled, must
+now labor with her own hands, endure the cold of the severest winter,
+and leave herself unsheltered; all she asked was to guard her infant
+children from suffering, and aid by her sympathy, her husband.
+
+It is indeed true, that the sentiment of love or religion has power to
+elevate above all physical suffering, and to ennoble all those homely
+cares and humble offices that are performed for the beloved object with
+a smile of patient endurance; and it asks, in return, but confidence and
+tenderness.
+
+The wife of Mr. Seymore soon sank under the hardships of the times, and
+the severity of the climate of New England. Her grave was made in the
+solitude of the overshadowing forest, and her daughter, who had brought
+with her a fine, hardy, English constitution, lived to console her
+widowed father.
+
+He died about five years after his wife, and then his daughter married
+an Englishman of small fortune, who had come over with his family: his
+father and mother, both advanced in life, had settled on the small farm
+we have attempted to describe. He built the cottage for his parents, and
+then, with his wife, the mother of our young friend Seymore, returned to
+England.
+
+She lived not long after her return. The religious enthusiasm of the
+time had taken possession of her mind, and, before her death, she
+dedicated this, her only child, to the service of the church, and
+requested her husband to send him to America, where poverty presented no
+insurmountable barrier to his success.
+
+His father, in sending him to America in his twelfth year, promised to
+advance something for his education; but unfortunate circumstances
+prevented, and the boy was left to make his own fortune under the roof
+of his grandparents.
+
+His disappointment was great to find his grandparents in so narrow
+circumstances, and himself condemned to so obscure a station. He had
+aspirations, as we have seen, beyond his humble circumstances. The few
+books he brought with him were his consolation. They were read, reread,
+and committed to memory; and then he longed for more. An accident, or
+what we term an accident--the instrument that Providence provides to
+shape our destiny--threw some light upon the gloom that seemed to have
+settled on his prospects.
+
+He met at C----, where he had gone on some business connected with his
+agricultural labors, the clergyman of the place.
+
+Mr. Grafton was interested by his fine intellectual expression, and
+pleased with the refined and intelligent remarks that seemed unsuited to
+his coarse laborer's frock and peasant's dress.
+
+He took him to his house, lent him the books that were necessary to
+prepare him for our young college, and promised his aid to have him
+placed on the list of those indigent scholars who were devoted to the
+church.
+
+From this time his industry and ambition were redoubled, and we have
+seen the poor aspirant for literary distinction striving to unite two
+things which must at last break down the body or the mind,--heavy daily
+labor, with severe mental toil at night.
+
+He was young and strong; his health did not immediately fail, and we
+must now leave him where thousands of our young men have been left, with
+aspirations and hopes beyond their humble fortunes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+    "Ay, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath!
+      When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
+      And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,
+    And the year smiles as it draws near its death:
+      Wind of the sunny south, O, still delay!"
+
+    BRYANT.
+
+
+It was the close of one of those mild days at the end of October, that
+we call the Indian summer, corresponding to the St. Martin summer of the
+eastern continent, although the latter is wanting in some of the
+essential elements of beauty that belong to ours.
+
+The sun was setting in veiled and softened light, while a transparent
+mist, like a silver gauze, was drawn over woods and hills and meadows.
+The gorgeous robe of autumn gave to the landscape an air of festivity
+and triumph, while the veil of mist, and the death-like silence, seemed
+as if happy nature had been arrested in a moment of joy, and turned into
+a mourner. The intense stillness pressed on the heart. No chirp of bird
+or hum of insect broke the deep silence. From time to time a leaf,
+"yellow and sere," loosened, as it were, by invisible fingers from the
+stem, lingered a second on its way, and fell noiselessly to the earth.
+In the deep distant wood, the sound of the ripe nuts as they fell, and,
+at long intervals, the shrill cry of the squirrel, came to the ear, and
+interrupted the revery of the solitary wanderer.
+
+The scene I would describe was bounded on one side by high rocks and the
+vast ocean, but sloping towards the land into soft and undulating
+beauty. A noble river was on one side, and on the promontory thus
+formed, were left some of the largest trees of the forest that covered
+the whole country when our fathers first arrived. Although so near the
+ocean, the scene had a character of tranquil sylvan beauty strangely
+contrasted with the ocean when agitated by storms.
+
+One of the largest villages of the time was on the opposite bank of the
+river; but, as there was no bridge, the place I would describe was
+almost as solitary as if man had never invaded it. The trees upon it
+were the largest growth of elm and oak, and seemed left to shelter a
+single dwelling, a house of moderate size, but which had much the
+appearance of neatness and comfort.
+
+A few rods from the house, and still nearer the headland, stood the
+plain New England meeting-house of that period,--square, barn-like,
+unpainted, solitary, but for the silent tenants of its grave-yard. A
+grass-grown path connected the church with the dwelling-house, and the
+overshadowing trees gave to the spot an air of protection and seclusion
+unknown to modern New England churches.
+
+At one of the windows of this modest dwelling, that looked towards the
+setting sun, which now bathed the whole scene in yellow light, was a
+young woman who might have seen seventeen summers. She was slightly but
+well formed, and, had it not been for her fresh and radiant health, she
+would have possessed that pensive, poetic expression that painters love.
+She was not indeed beautiful, but hers was one of those countenances in
+which we think we recall a thousand histories,--histories of the inward
+life of the soul,--not the struggles of the passions; for the dove
+seemed visibly to rest in the deep blue liquid eye, brooding on its own
+secret fancies.
+
+By the fire sat a gentleman whose countenance and gray hair showed that
+he was approaching the verge of threescore years and ten, and his black
+dress indicated his profession. His slippers and pipe presented a
+picture of repose from the labors and cares of the day; and, although it
+had been warm, a fire of logs burned in the large old-fashioned chimney.
+
+The furniture of the room, though plain, and humble, had been kept with
+so much care and neatness that it was seen at once that a feminine taste
+had presided there, and had cherished as sacred the relics of another
+age.
+
+The occupants of the room were father and daughter. A portrait over the
+fireplace, carefully guarded by a curtain, indicated that he was a
+widower, and that his child was motherless.
+
+They had both been silent for a long time. The young lady continued to
+watch with apparent interest some object from the window, and the old
+man to enjoy his pipe; but at last the night closed in, and the autumn
+mist, rising from the river, veiled the brilliancy of the stars.
+
+The daughter drew near the table, and seated herself by her father: her
+countenance was pensive, and a low sigh escaped her.
+
+Her father laid his hand tenderly on her head: "My poor child," he
+said, "I fear your life is too solitary; your young heart yearns for
+companions of your own age. True, we have few visitors suited to your
+age."
+
+Edith looked up with a smile on her lips, but there was a tear in her
+eye, called there by her father's tender manner.
+
+"And where," continued he, "is our young friend the student? It is long
+since he came to get another book. I fear he is timid and sensitive, and
+does not like that you should see his poor labor-swollen hands; but
+_that_ he should be proud of,--far more proud than if they were soft,
+like yours."
+
+Edith blushed slightly. "Father," she said, "I want no companion but
+you. Let me bring your slippers. Ah! I see Dinah has brought them while
+I have been gazing idly at the river. It shall not happen again. What
+book shall be our evening reading? Shall I take up Cicero again, or will
+you laugh at the Knight of the rueful Countenance."
+
+How soon is ingenuous nature veiled or denied by woman. Edith thus tried
+to efface the impression of her sigh and blush, by assuming a gayety of
+manner which was foreign to her usual demeanor, and which did not
+deceive her father.
+
+"We must go and find out our young friend," pursued her father. "He has
+much talent, and will surely distinguish himself, and he must not be
+suffered to languish in poverty and neglect. The first fine day, my
+daughter, we will ride over and visit him."
+
+Edith looked her gratitude, and the long autumn evening wore pleasantly
+on.
+
+It was at the time when slavery was common in New England. At the close
+of the evening, Paul and Dinah, both Africans, entered, and the usual
+family prayers were offered.
+
+At the close of the prayer, the blacks kneeled down for their master's
+blessing.
+
+This singular custom, though not common to the times, was sometimes
+practised; and those Puritans, who would not bend the knee to God except
+in their closets, allowed their slaves to kneel for their own blessing.
+
+They went to Edith, who kissed Dinah on both dark cheeks, and gave her
+hand to Paul, and the family group separated each to his slumbers for
+the night.
+
+The head of the little group we have thus described was one of the most
+distinguished of the early New England clergymen. He had been educated
+in England, and was an excellent classical scholar; indeed, his passion
+for the classics was his only consolation in the obscure little parish
+where he was content to dwell.
+
+He had been early left a widower, with this only child, and all the
+affections of a tender heart had centred in her. The mildness of his
+disposition had never permitted him to become either a bigot nor a
+persecutor. He had been all his life a diligent student of the human
+heart, and the result was tolerance for human inconsistencies, and
+indulgence for human frailties.
+
+At this time accomplishments were unknown except to those women who were
+educated in the mother country; but such education as he could give his
+daughter had been one of his first cares.
+
+He had taught her to read his favorite classics, and had left the
+mysteries of "shaping and hemming," knitting and domestic erudition, to
+the faithful slave Dinah. Edith had grown up, indeed, without other
+female influence, relying on her father's instructions, as far as they
+went, and her own pure instincts, to guide her.
+
+The solitude of her situation had given to her character a pensive
+thoughtfulness not natural to her age or disposition. Solitude is said
+to be the nurse of genius, but to ripen it, at least with woman, the
+sunny atmosphere of love is necessary.
+
+Genius is less of the head than of the heart: not that we belong to the
+modern school who believe the passions are necessary to the developement
+of genius;--far from it. The purest affections seem to us to have left
+the most enduring monuments. Among a thousand others, at least with
+woman, we see in Madam De Sevignč that maternal love developed all the
+graces of a mind unconscious certainly of its powers, but destined to
+become immortal.
+
+Our heroine, for such we must try to make her, had grown up free from
+all artificial forms of society, but yearning for associates of her own
+age and sex. After her father, her affections had found objects only in
+birds and animals, and the poor cottagers of one of the smallest
+parishes in the country.
+
+Living, as she did, in the midst of beautiful nature, and with the
+grandeur of the ocean always before her, it could not fail to impart a
+spiritual beauty, a religious elevation, to her mind that had nothing
+to do with the technical distinctions of the day. Edith Grafton was
+formed for gentleness and love, to suffer patiently, to submit
+gracefully, to think more of others' than of her own happiness. She was
+the light and joy of her father's hearth, and the idol of her faithful
+slaves, and she possessed herself that "peace that goodness bosoms
+ever."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+    "The mildest herald by our fate allotted
+     Beckons! and with inverted torch doth stand
+           To lead us, with a gentle hand,
+     Into the land of the departed,--into the silent land.
+
+       Ah, when the frame round which in love we cling,
+      Is chilled by death, does mutual service fail?
+      Is tender pity then of no avail?
+      Are intercessions of the fervent tongue
+      A waste of hope?"
+
+    WORDSWORTH.
+
+
+The two slaves that completed the evening group had been brought into
+Mr. Grafton's family at the time of his marriage. Dinah was the most
+striking in personal appearance. She had been born a princess in her
+native land; and her erect and nobly-proportioned form had never been
+crushed by the feeling of abject slavery.
+
+From the moment they entered the family of Mr. Grafton, they were
+regarded as children, even the lambs of the flock.
+
+They were both at that time young, and soon entered into the more
+intimate relation of husband and wife; identifying their own dearest
+interests, and making each other only subordinate to what seemed to them
+even more sacred,--their devotion to their master and mistress.
+
+Dinah's mind was of a more elevated order than Paul's, her husband. If
+she had not been a princess in her own country, she belonged to those
+upon whose souls God has stamped the patent of nobility.
+
+Naturally proud, she was docile to the instructions of her excellent
+mistress; and her high and imperious spirit was soon subdued to the
+gentle influences of domestic love, and to the purifying and elevating
+spirit of Christianity.
+
+Her mistress taught her to read. The Bible was her favorite book; and
+she became wise in that best wisdom of the heart, which is found in an
+intimate knowledge of the Holy Scriptures. Her character, under the
+burning sun of Africa, would have been intolerable; but it was tempered
+to a soft moonlight radiance, by the shading of Christianity.
+
+Though her imperious spirit at first rebelled against slavery, there was
+no toil, no fatigue, no menial service, however humble, which she would
+not have sought for those she loved. Love elevated every toil, and gave
+it, in her eyes, the dignity of a voluntary and disinterested service.
+
+She had been the only nurse of her kind mistress through her last long
+illness. Hers was that faithful affection that preferred long vigils at
+the bedside through the watches of the night,--the nurse that the
+sleepless eye ever found awake. Hers was that sentient sympathy that
+could interpret the weary look,--that love that steals into the darkened
+room, anticipating every wish, divining every want, and which, in
+silence, like the evening dew on drooping flowers, revives and soothes
+the sufferer.
+
+Her cares were unavailing: her kind mistress died, commending the little
+Edith to her watchful love.
+
+Dinah received her as if she had been more than the child of her own
+bosom. Henceforth she was the jewel of her life; and, if Mr. Grafton had
+not interposed, she would have treated her like those precious jewels of
+the old Scottish regalia, that are said to be approached by only one
+person at a time, and that by torch-light.
+
+Our forefathers and foremothers had a maxim that the will of every child
+must be early broken, to insure that implicit and prompt obedience that
+the old system of education demanded. Mr. Grafton wisely left the
+breaking of the little Edith's will to Dinah.
+
+As we have seen, she was of a gentle temper, but, as a child, determined
+and obstinate. Obstinacy in a child is the strength of purpose which, in
+man and woman, leads to all excellence. Before it is guided by reason,
+it is mere wilfulness. It was wonderful with what a silken thread Dinah
+guided the little Edith.
+
+She possessed in her own character the firmness of the oak, and an iron
+resolution, but tempered so finely by the influences of love and
+religion, that she yielded to every thing that was not hurtful; but
+there she stopped, and went not a hair's breadth further.
+
+It was beautiful to see the little Edith watching the mild and loving
+but firm eye of Dinah,--which spoke as plain as eye could speak,--and,
+when it said "_No_," yielding like a young lamb to a silken tether.
+
+Nothing is easier than to gain the prompt obedience of a young child.
+Gentleness, firmness, and steadiness, are all that is requisite.
+Gentleness, firmness, and steadiness,--the two last perhaps the rarest
+qualities in tender mothers. When a young child finds its mother
+uniform--not one day weakly indulgent, and the next capriciously severe,
+but always the same mild, firm being--she is to the child like a
+beneficent but unchanging Providence; and he no more expects his own
+will to prevail, than children of an older growth expect the sun to
+stand still, and the seasons to change their order, for their
+convenience.
+
+As soon as the little girl was old enough, she became the pupil of her
+father. Under his instruction, she could read the Latin authors with
+facility; and even his favorite Greek classics became playfully familiar
+as household words, although she really knew little about them. But the
+Christian ethics came home more closely to her woman's heart: their
+tender, pure, self-denying principles were more congenial to the truly
+feminine nature of the little Edith.
+
+The character and example of her mother were ever held up to her by
+Dinah. At night, after her little childish prayer, when she laid her
+head on her pillow, her last thought was of her mother.
+
+Ah, it is not necessary to be a Catholic, to believe in the intercession
+of saints. To a tender heart, a mother lost in infancy is the beautiful
+Madonna of the church; and the heart turns as instinctively to her as
+the devout Catholic turns to the holy mother and child.
+
+In all Edith's solitary rambles, her pensive thoughts sought her mother.
+There was a particular spot in the evening sky where she fancied the
+spirit of her mother to dwell; and there, in all her childish griefs,
+she sought sympathy, and turned her eye towards it in childlike
+devotion.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+    Where now the solemn shade,
+     Verdure and gloom, where many branches meet;
+    So grateful, when the noon of summer made
+     The valleys sick with heat?
+
+    Let in through all the trees,
+     Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright:
+    Their sunny-colored foliage, in the breeze,
+     Twinkles like beams of light.
+
+    BRYANT.
+
+
+A few days after the evening before mentioned, Edith and her father
+prepared for their little journey, to visit the young student.
+
+It was a brilliant morning in the very last of October. All journeys, at
+this time, were made on horseback: they were mounted, therefore, Mr.
+Grafton on a sedate old beast, that had served him many years, and Edith
+on the _petite fille_ of this venerable "ancestress,"--gentle, but
+scarcely out of its state of coltship.
+
+The Indians, at this time, were much feared, and the shortest excursions
+were never undertaken without fire-arms. Paul, as well as Mr. Grafton,
+was well armed, and served them as a guard.
+
+As soon as they had left their own village, their course was only a
+bridle-path through the forest; and the path was now so hidden with the
+fallen leaves, that it was sometimes indicated only by marks on the
+trees. The trees were almost stripped of their foliage, and the bright
+autumn sun, shining through the bare trunks, sparkled on the dew of the
+fallen leaves. It was the last smile of autumn. The cold had already
+commenced. No sound broke the intense stillness of the forest but the
+trampling of their horses' feet as they crushed the dry, withered
+foliage.
+
+The sky was intensely blue, and without a cloud. The elasticity of the
+air excited the young spirits of Edith. She was gay, and, like a young
+fawn, she fluttered around her father, sometimes galloping her rough
+little pony in front, and then returning, she would give a gentle cut
+with her whip to her father's horse, who, with head down, and plodding
+indifference, regarded it no more than he did a fly.
+
+Mr. Grafton, delighted with his daughter's playfulness, looked at her
+with a quiet, tender smile: her gayety, to him, was like the play of her
+infancy, and he delighted to think that she was yet young and happy.
+
+Edith had ridden forward, and they had lost sight of her, when she came
+galloping back, pale as death, and hardly able to retain her seat from
+terror.
+
+"Edith, my child," said her father, "what has happened?"
+
+She could only point with her finger to a thin column of blue smoke that
+curled above the trees. Mr. Grafton knew that it indicated the presence
+of Indians, at this time the terror of all the inhabitants.
+
+"No doubt they are friendly, my dear child," said Mr. Grafton; and he
+sent Paul, who was armed, forward to reconnoitre.
+
+Paul soon returned, showing his white teeth from ear to ear.
+
+"The piccaninnies," he said.
+
+Mr. Grafton and Edith rode forward, and in a little hollow at the foot
+of a rock, from which bubbled a clear spring, a young Indian woman, with
+a pappoose at her feet, was half reclining; another child, attached in
+its birch cradle to the pendent branch of an elm tree, was gently rocked
+by the wind. A fire was built against the rock, and venison suspended
+before it to roast.
+
+It was a beautiful little domestic scene, and Mr. Grafton and Edith
+stopped to contemplate it. They soon learned that the husband of the
+Indian was in the forest; but he was friendly, and, after exchanging
+smiles, Edith dismounted.
+
+She sat on the grass, caressing the young pappoose, and talked with the
+mother in that untaught, mute language that young and kind hearts so
+easily understand.
+
+This little adventure delayed them so long that it was past noon when
+they reached the secluded farmhouse we have described in the first
+chapter of our little tale.
+
+The old man was sitting at the door, enjoying the kindly warmth of the
+declining sun. Seymore was not far off, at work in his laborer's frock.
+A vivid blush of surprise, and pleasure, and shame, covered his temples
+and noble brow, as he came forward to meet them.
+
+Edith, quick in her perceptions, understood his feelings, and turned
+aside her head while he drew off his laborer's frock. This gave an
+appearance of embarrassment to her first greeting, and the vivid delight
+faded in a moment from his brilliant countenance, and a melancholy shade
+passed over it.
+
+They entered the house, and Edith endeavored to remove the pain she had
+given, by more marked attention to Seymore; but simple and sincere,
+ignorant as she was of all arts of coquetry, it only increased the
+bashfulness of her manner.
+
+The family had already dined; but, after some delay, a repast was
+prepared for the travellers; and, before they were ready to depart, the
+long shadows of the opposite hills brought an early twilight over the
+little valley.
+
+Mr. Grafton looked at his daughter; he could not expose her to a dark
+ride through the forest; and the pressing invitation of the good old
+people, that they should stay the night, was accepted.
+
+After much pleasant talk with the enthusiastic young student, to which
+Edith listened with deep interest, Mr. Grafton was tasked to his utmost
+polemical and theological knowledge by the searching questions of the
+old Puritan. Like douce Davie Deans, he was stiff in his doctrines, and
+would not allow a suspicion of wavering from the orthodox standard of
+faith. But Edith soon gave undeniable evidence that sleep was a much
+better solacer of fatigue than theological discussions; and, after the
+evening worship had been scrupulously performed, a bed was prepared for
+Mr. Grafton on the floor of the room where they sat, for he would not
+allow the old people to give up theirs to him.
+
+Seymore gayly resigned his poor garret to Edith, and slept, as he had
+often done before, in the hayloft. Slept? no; he lay awake all night
+thinking how lovely Edith looked in her riding _Joseph_,[1] which fitted
+closely to her beautiful shape, and a beaver hat tied under the chin, to
+confine her hair in riding. She was the angel of his dreams. But why did
+she turn aside when they met? and the poor student sighed.
+
+[Footnote 1: We have in vain endeavored to find the etymology of this
+name. It might first have been of many colors, and named from the coat
+of the patriarch's favorite son.]
+
+Edith looked around the little garret with much interest, and some
+little awe. There were the favorite books, heaps of manuscripts, and
+every familiar object that was so closely associated with Seymore.
+Nothing reveals so much of another's mind and habits, as to go into the
+apartment where they habitually live.
+
+The bed had been neatly made with snowy sheets, and some little order
+given to the room. Edith opened the books, and read the marked passages;
+the manuscripts were all open, and with the curiosity of our mother
+Eve, she read a few lines. She colored to the very temples as she
+committed this fault; but she found herself irresistibly led on by
+sympathy with a mind kindred to her own; and when she laid her head on
+the pillow, tears of admiration and pity filled her eyes. She lay awake,
+forming plans for the student's advancement; and, before sleep weighed
+down her eyelids, she had woven a fair romance, of which he was the
+hero.
+
+Ah, that youth could be mistress of the ring and the lamp! then would
+all the world be prosperous and happy. But wisdom and experience, the
+true genii, appear in the form of an _aged_ magician, who has forgotten
+the beatings of that precious thing, the human heart.
+
+The next morning, when they were assembled at their frugal breakfast,
+Seymore said, "I fear you thought, from the frequent ink-spots on my
+little garret, that, like Luther, I had thrown my ink-bottle at the
+devil whenever he appeared."
+
+"I hope," said Edith, "you have not thrown away all its contents; for I
+had some charming fancies last night, inspired, I believe, by that very
+ink-bottle."
+
+Seymore blushed; but he did not look displeased, and Edith was
+satisfied.
+
+The next morning was clear and balmy, and, soon after breakfast, they
+mounted their horses for their return.
+
+There are few things more exhilarating than riding through woods on a
+clear autumnal morning; but Edith felt no longer the wild gayety of the
+previous morning. With a thoughtful countenance, she rode silently by
+her father's side when the path would permit, or followed quietly when
+it was too narrow.
+
+"You seem to have found food for thought in the student's garret, my
+dear," said her father.
+
+Edith blushed slightly, but did not answer.
+
+They had accomplished about half their journey, when Mr. Grafton
+proposed turning off from the direct path to visit an old lady,--a
+friend of Edith's mother, an emigrant of a noble family from the mother
+country.
+
+Edith followed silently, wondering she had never heard her father
+mention this friend of her mother before.
+
+They soon after emerged from the forest upon open fields, cleared and
+cultivated with unusual care. A beautiful brook ran winding in the
+midst, and the whole domain was enclosed in strong fences of stone.
+About midway was built a low, irregular, but very large farmhouse. It
+consisted of smaller buildings, connected by very strong palisades; and
+the whole was enclosed, at some distance, by a fence built of strong
+timbers. It was evidently a dwelling designed for defence against
+Indians. They entered the enclosure by an iron gate, so highly wrought
+and finished that it must have been imported from the mother country.
+
+Edith found herself in a large garden, that had once been cultivated
+with much care and expense. It had been filled with rose-bushes,
+honeysuckles, and choice English flowers; but all was now in a state of
+neglect and decay. The walks were overrun with weeds, the arbors in
+ruins, and the tendrils of the vines wandering at their own wanton will.
+It seemed as if neglect had aided the autumn frost to cover this
+favorite spot with the garb of mourning.
+
+There was no front entrance to this singular building; and the visitors
+rode round to a low door at the back, partly concealed by a pent roof.
+After knocking several minutes, it was opened by a very old negro,
+dressed in a tarnished livery, with his woolly hair drawn out into a
+queue, and powdered. He smiled a welcome, and, with much show of
+respect, led them through many dark passages to a low but very
+comfortable room. The walls were hung with faded tapestry; and the low
+ceiling, crossed with heavy beams, would have made the apartment gloomy,
+but for two large windows that looked into the sunny garden. The sashes
+were of small, lozenge panes of glass set in lead; while the bright
+autumn sun streamed through, and shone with cheerful light on the black
+oak furniture, and showed every mote dancing in its beams.
+
+Edith looked around with surprise and delight. A lady not much past the
+meridian of life came forward to greet them. She was dressed in an
+olive-colored brocade, with a snowy lawn apron and neckerchief folded
+across her breast. The sleeve reached just below the elbow, and was
+finished with a ruffle, and black silk mitts met the ruffle at the
+elbow. A rich lace shaded her face, and a small black velvet hood was
+tied closely under the chin.
+
+The lady's manner was rather stately and formal, as she greeted Mr.
+Grafton with all the ceremony of the old school of politeness, and
+looked at his daughter.
+
+"She is the image of her mother," said Lady C----.
+
+"She is a precious flower," answered Mr. Grafton, looking at Edith with
+pride and affection, as she stood, half respectful, half bashful, before
+the lady.
+
+"You have called her Mary, I hope,--her mother's name."
+
+"No," answered Mr. Grafton; "I have but _one_ Mary,"--and he looked
+upwards.
+
+Edith pressed closer to her father. "Call me Edith, madam," she said,
+with a timid smile.
+
+Lady C---- smiled also, and was soon in earnest conversation with Mr.
+Grafton.
+
+Edith was engaged in examining a room so much more elegant than any she
+had seen before. Her eyes were soon attracted by a full-length portrait
+on the opposite side of the apartment. It was a lady in the bloom of
+youth, dressed in the costume of the second Charles. It was evidently an
+exquisite work of art. To Edith, the somewhat startling exposure of the
+bust, which the fashion of the period demanded, was redeemed by the
+chaste and nunlike expression of the face. Tender blue eyes were cast
+down on a wounded dove that she cherished in her bosom; and the long,
+dark eyelash shaded a pale and pensive cheek.
+
+Edith was fascinated by this beautiful picture. Who was she? where did
+she live? what was her fate? were questions hovering on her lips, which
+she dared not ask of the stately lady on the couch; but, as she stood
+riveted before it, "O that I had such a friend!" passed through her
+mind; and, like inexperienced and enthusiastic youth, she thought how
+fondly she could have loved her, and, if it were necessary, have
+sacrificed her own life for hers.
+
+Lady C---- observed her fixed attention.
+
+"That is a portrait of the Lady Ursula," she said, "who built this
+house, and brought over from England the fruits and flowers of the
+garden. Alas! they are now much wasted and destroyed."
+
+At this moment, the old negro appeared, to say that the dinner was
+served.
+
+They passed into another low room, in the centre of which was a long
+oaken dining-table, the upper end raised two steps higher than the
+lower, and the whole was fixed to the floor. At this time, the upper end
+only was covered with a rich damask cloth, where the lady and her guests
+took their seats; the other half of the table extending bare beneath
+them.
+
+"In this chair, and at this table, the Lady Ursula was wont to dine with
+her maidens and serving-men," said Lady C----, as she took her seat in a
+high-backed, richly-carved chair of oak; "and I have retained the
+custom, though my serving-men are much reduced;" and she glanced her eye
+on the trembling old negro.
+
+Edith thought how dreary it must be to dine there in solitary state,
+with no one to speak to except the old negro, and she cast a pitying
+look around the apartment.
+
+A beauffet was in one corner, well filled with massive plate, and the
+walls were adorned with pictures in needle-work, framed in dark ebony.
+
+The picture opposite Edith was much faded and defaced, but it was meant
+to represent Abraham offering his son Isaac in sacrifice.
+
+"It was the work of the Lady Ursula's fingers," said Lady C----, "as
+every thing else you see here was created by her."
+
+"Is she now living?" asked Edith, very innocently.
+
+"Alas! no, my dear; hers was a sad fate; but her story is too long for
+the dining hour;" and as dinner was soon over, they returned to the
+other apartment.
+
+Edith longed for a ramble in the garden. When she returned, the horses
+were at the door, and she took a reluctant leave, for she had not heard
+the story of the Lady Ursula.
+
+As soon as they had turned their horses' heads outside the iron gate,
+Edith began her eager questions:
+
+"Who was that beautiful woman, the original of the portrait? Where did
+she live? How did she die? What was her fate?" Her father smiled, and
+related the following particulars, which deserve another chapter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+    "Loveliest of lovely things are they
+    On earth, that soonest pass away.
+    Even love, long tried, and cherished long,
+    Becomes more tender, and more strong,
+    At thought of that insatiate grave
+    From which its yearnings cannot save.
+
+    "But where is she, who, at this calm hour,
+      Watched his coming to see?
+    She is not at the door, nor yet in the bower:
+    He calls,--but he only hears on the flower
+      The hum of the laden bee."
+
+    BRYANT.
+
+
+"The Lady Ursula was the daughter of an English nobleman, the proprietor
+of Grondale Abbey. She was betrothed, in early life, to a young man, an
+officer in the army. As she was an only daughter, and inherited from her
+mother a large fortune, her father disapproved of her choice, and wished
+her to ally herself with the heir of a noble family. He was rejoiced,
+therefore, when a war broke out, that obliged Col. Fowler to leave the
+country with his regiment, to join the army.
+
+"The parting of the lovers was painful, but they parted, as the young
+do, full of hope, and agreed to keep up a very frequent correspondence.
+
+"For a year, his letters cheered his faithful mistress; but then they
+ceased, and a report of his death in battle reached her. Her father then
+urged the other alliance. This the Lady Ursula steadily refused; and she
+was soon after relieved from all importunity, by the death of her
+father.
+
+"She was an only daughter, but her father left several sons. His estate
+belonged to the eldest, by entail, and the younger brothers, having
+obtained large grants of land in this country, determined to emigrate to
+the new world.
+
+"The Lady Ursula, disappointed of all her cherished hopes, after much
+reflection, decided to accompany them, and become an actual settler in
+the wilderness.
+
+"She purchased a large farm on this beautiful part of the coast, and as
+she was much beloved by her dependents, she persuaded a large number to
+unite their fortunes with hers. She brought out twenty serving-men, and
+several young maidens, and created a little paradise around her. The
+garden was filled with every variety of fruit and flower then cultivated
+in England, and the strong fence around the whole was to protect her
+from the Indians.
+
+"At the time the Lady Ursula came to this country, she very much
+resembled the beautiful portrait that has charmed you so much. It was
+painted after she parted from her lover, and was intended as a present
+for him, had she not soon after heard of his death."
+
+"You have seen her, then, my dear father," said Edith. "You knew the
+beautiful original of that lovely portrait."
+
+"I scarcely knew her," said Mr. Grafton. "Soon after I came to this
+country, I was riding, one day, near a part of her estate. The day was
+warm and sultry: under some large spreading oaks a cloth was laid for a
+repast. I stopped to refresh my horse, and soon after I saw the lady
+approach, drawn in a low carriage.
+
+"She had brought her workmen their dinner, and after it was spread on
+the grass, she turned her beautiful eyes towards heaven, and asked a
+blessing. She then left her men to enjoy their food, and returned as she
+came, driving herself in a small poney chaise.
+
+"Among the maidens who came over with her from England was one who had
+received a superior education, and was much in her lady's confidence.
+This young girl was often the companion of her lady's solitary walks
+about her estate. One evening they were walking, and the Lady Ursula was
+relating the circumstances of her early life, and said that till this
+time she had never parted with all hope; she had cherished unconsciously
+a feeling that her betrothed lover might have been a captive, and that
+he would at length return. The young girl said, 'Why do you despair now,
+my lady? that is a long lane that has no turning.' The lady smiled more
+cheerfully. 'My bird,' she said, 'you have given me a name for my
+estate. In memory of this conversation, it shall be called _Long Lane_;'
+and it has always retained that name.
+
+"The dews were falling, and they returned to the house. Her men and
+maidens were soon assembled, and the Lady Ursula herself led the evening
+devotions. They were scarcely ended, when a loud knocking was heard at
+the gate. It could not be Indians! No; it was a packet from England;
+and, O joy unspeakable! there was a letter from her long-lost friend and
+lover. He had been taken prisoner when half dead on the field of battle,
+had been removed from one place of confinement to another, debarred the
+privilege of writing, and had heard nothing from her. But the war was
+ended, there had been an exchange of prisoners, and he hastened to
+England, trembling with undefined fears and joyful anticipations. He
+would embark immediately, and follow his mistress to the new world,
+where he hoped to receive the reward of all his constancy.
+
+"The lady could not finish the letter: surprise, joy, ecstasy,--all were
+too much for her, and the Lady Ursula fainted. As soon as she recovered,
+all was bustle and excitement through the house. The lady could not
+sleep that night, and she began immediately to prepare for the arrival
+of her lover. He said he should embark in a few days; she might
+therefore expect him every hour.
+
+"Every room in the house was ornamented with fresh flowers. A room was
+prepared for her beloved guest, filled with every luxury the house could
+furnish; and her own portrait was placed there.
+
+"She was not selfish in her joy: she told her men to get in the harvest:
+for when _he_ arrived, no work should be performed; there should be a
+jubilee. A fatted calf was selected, to be roasted whole: and every one
+of her large household was presented with a new suit of clothes. 'For
+this my _friend_,' she said, 'was lost, and is now found; was dead, and
+is alive again.'
+
+"When all was ready, the Lady Ursula could not disguise her impatience.
+She wandered restlessly from place to place, her eye brilliant, and her
+cheek glowing. At every sound she started, trembled, and turned pale.
+
+"Her men were at work in a distant field; and she determined again, as
+usual when they were far from home, to carry them their dinner. When she
+took her seat in the little carriage, she said, 'It is the last time, I
+hope, that I shall go alone.'
+
+"The repast was spread, and they all stood around for the blessing from
+the lips of the lady. It was remarked by her men that she had never
+looked so beautiful: happiness beamed from her eyes, and her usually
+pale cheek was flushed with joy. She folded her hands, and her meek eyes
+were raised. At that moment, a savage yell was heard; an Indian sprung
+from the thicket. With one blow of his tomahawk the Lady Ursula was
+leveled to the ground, and, in less than a moment, her long, fair hair
+was hanging at his girdle. The Indian was followed by others; and all
+but one of her faithful servants shared the fate of their mistress."
+
+Mr. Grafton paused; Edith's tears were falling fast. "What became of her
+lover?" she said, as soon as she could speak.
+
+"He arrived a few days after, to behold the wreck of all his hopes, and
+returned again, heart-broken, to England."
+
+"And the picture," said Edith; "why did he not claim it, and take it
+with him, to console him, as far as it could, for the loss of his
+beautiful bride?"
+
+"As she had made no will," said Mr. Grafton, "all the Lady Ursula's
+estate belonged to her own family. The lady we have visited to-day is a
+daughter of her brother."
+
+Edith continued silent, and heeded not that the shades of evening
+gathered around them. She was pondering the fate of the Lady Ursula.
+That one so young, so beautiful, so good, should lead a life of sorrow
+and disappointment, and meet with so sudden and dreadful a death,
+weighed on her spirits; for Edith had not yet solved the mystery of
+life.
+
+The sun had long set, when they reached their own door. Dinah had
+prepared the evening meal, and the cheerful evening fire; and Edith
+smiled her thanks.
+
+As she helped her young mistress to undress, she said, "How pale you
+are, and how tired! You need a sweet, refreshing sleep to rest you
+again."
+
+When Edith laid her head on the pillow, she called her humble friend to
+her: "Ah, Dinah," she said, "I have heard a story that makes me think
+there is no happiness on this earth."
+
+Dinah had heard the story of the Lady Ursula.
+
+"Was it not too sad, that she should meet that dreadful fate just as her
+lover returned, and she was going to be so happy?"
+
+Dinah thought it was very sad. "But the lady was pure and good: the
+words of prayer were on her lips, and she went straight to heaven
+without much pain. Had she married and gone to England, she might have
+become vain and worldly; she might have lost the heavenly purity of her
+character."
+
+"Yes," said Edith; "and Col. Fowler, having lived so long in the army,
+might not have loved her as well as she thought he did. Ah, who could
+live without love?"
+
+Dinah thought many could and did. "Women depended too much," she said,
+"on their affections for happiness. Strong and deep affections were
+almost always disappointed; and, if not, death must come and sever the
+dearest ties;" and she stooped down and kissed Edith's hand, which she
+held in hers.
+
+Poor Dinah! she little knew how entirely her own heart was bound up in
+Edith.
+
+"But what can we live for, if not for love?" said Edith.
+
+"For many things," answered Dinah, in her simple and quiet manner; "to
+grow better ourselves, and to do good to others; to make sacrifices, and
+to love _all_ good works."
+
+"I should not wish to live, were I to lose my father, and you,
+and"--Edith paused, and closed her eyes.
+
+Dinah drew the curtain, and bid her, softly, "good night."
+
+Edith could not sleep. She was reflecting on the fate of the Lady
+Ursula. With Dinah's assistance, she had begun to solve the mysteries of
+Providence;[2]
+
+    "Without, forsaking a too earnest world,
+    To calm the affections, elevate the soul,
+    And consecrate her life to truth and love."
+
+[Footnote 2: The story of the Lady Ursula is founded on fact. In the
+author's youth, the farm of "Long Lane" retained its name, and belonged
+to the C---- family.]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+    "A little cottage built of sticks and weeds,
+    In homely wise, and walled with sods around,
+    In which a witch did dwell, in loathly weedes
+    And wilful want, all careless of her needes;
+    So choosing solitairie to abide. Far from all neighbours."
+
+    SPENSER.
+
+
+I wish I were a painter, or a poet, to describe a little sheltered nook
+on the sea-shore, where devotion would retire to worship, love to dwell
+in thought on the beloved, or sorrow to be soothed to rest. It was a
+small cove, sheltered on the north by high, overhanging cliffs, that ran
+out into the ocean in a bold headland. Opposite these rocks the land
+sloped gently down, and the ocean, lulled to rest, came in like a spent
+and wearied child, and rippled on a smooth, white sand.
+
+The top of the cliff was covered with many-colored shrubbery. The
+drooping branches of the birch, the sumac, and the aspen, tinted with
+the rich coloring of autumn, hung half way down the cliff, and were
+reflected, like a double landscape, in the water. At sunset, the entire
+glassy surface was burnished with the red and yellow rays of the setting
+sun; and when the young moon, like a fairy boat, just rested on the
+surface, it was a scene of beauty that could not be surpassed in any
+country.
+
+Immediately under the cliff, and sheltered like a swallow's nest, was
+the smallest of human habitations; so dark, and old, and moss-grown,
+that it seemed a part of the rock against which it rested. It consisted
+of one room: a door and single pane of glass admitted the light, and the
+nets hanging around, and an old boat drawn up on the beach, indicated
+that it was the shelter of a fisherman.
+
+The Indian summer still continued, and a few mornings after the little
+journey, Edith was induced, by the soft beauty of the weather, to visit
+the cove. It was a walk of two miles, but the inhabitants of the cottage
+were among the poor of her father's parish, and she was never a stranger
+in their cottages.
+
+The brilliant sun gave to the ever-changing ocean the tints of emerald
+green, royal purple, crimson, and sapphire, and made a path of light,
+fit for angels' footsteps. The tide was out, and the smooth beach
+glittered in the morning sun. The ocean, as far as the eye could reach,
+was smooth as glass. It was not then, as now, white with the frequent
+sail: a solitary vessel was then a rare occurrence, and hailed with
+rapture, as bringing news from _home_. The white-winged curlew was
+wheeling around in perfect security, and the little bay was dotted, in a
+few spots, with fishermen's boats. The absence of the old boat from the
+beach showed that the owner of the cottage was among them.
+
+Edith was sorry her friend the fisherman was absent, for the old woman
+who kept his house was a virago; and, indeed, was sometimes thought
+insane. Although Edith's moral courage was great, she possessed that
+physical timidity and sensitiveness to outward impressions that belongs
+to the poetic temperament.
+
+She lingered in her walk, watching the curlews, and listening to the
+measured booming of the waves as they touched the shore and then
+receded. The obvious reflection that comes to every mind perhaps came to
+hers, that thus succeed and are scattered the successive generations of
+men. No; she was thinking that thus arrive and depart the days of her
+solitary existence; thus uniformly, and thus leaving no trace behind.
+Will it be always thus? she sighed; and her eyes filled with tears. Her
+revery was interrupted by a rough voice behind her.
+
+"What have you done, that God should grant you the happiness to weep?"
+said the old woman, who now stood at her side.
+
+Edith was startled, for the woman's expression was very wild, but she
+answered mildly, "Is that so great a boon, mother, that I should deserve
+to lose it?"
+
+"Ask her," she said, "whose brain is burning, and whose heart is like
+lead, what she would give for one moist tear. O God! I cannot weep."
+
+Whatever timidity Edith felt when she first saw the malignant expression
+of the old woman's countenance, was now lost in pity. She knew that the
+poor creature's reason was impaired, and she thought this might be one
+of her wild moments.
+
+She laid her hand gently on her arm, and said, with a smile, "Nanny, I
+have come on purpose to visit you. Let us go into the house, and you
+shall tell me what you think, and all you want to make you comfortable
+for the winter."
+
+Nanny looked at Edith almost with scorn. "Tell you what I think!" she
+said. "As well might I tell yonder birds that are hovering with white
+wings in the blue sky. What do you know of sorrow? but you will not
+always be strangers. Sorrow is coming over you; I see its dark fold
+drawing nearer and nearer."
+
+A slight shudder came over Edith, but she smiled, and said, soothingly,
+"I came to talk with you about yourself; let my fate alone for the
+present."
+
+"Ah! no need to shake the glass," answered Nanny; "grief is coming soon
+enough to drink up your young blood. The cheek that changes like yours,
+with sudden flushing, withers soonest; not with age, no, not, like mine,
+with age, but blighted by the cold hand of unkindness; and eyes, like
+yours, that every emotion fills with sudden tears, soon have their
+fountains dry, and then, ah! how you will long and pray for one drop, as
+I do now!"
+
+They had entered the poor hovel, and the old woman, who had been
+speaking in a tone of great excitement, now turned and looked full at
+Edith: her beauty seemed to awake a feeling of envious contempt.
+
+The contrast between them was indeed great. Edith stood in the narrow
+door, blooming with youth and health. Her dark hair, which contrasted so
+beautifully with her soft blue eye, had lost its curl by the damp air,
+and she had taken off her bonnet to put back the uncurled tresses.
+
+The old woman had seated herself in an old, high-backed chair, and, with
+her elbows on her knees, looked earnestly at Edith. Her face might once
+have been fair; but it was now deeply wrinkled, and bronzed with smoke
+and exposure. Her teeth were gone, and her thin, shriveled lips had an
+expression of pain and suffering; while her eyes betrayed the envy and
+contempt she seemed to feel towards others.
+
+"Ah," she said, "gather up your beautiful shining locks. How long, think
+you, before they will be like mine? But mine were once black and glossy
+as yours; and now look at them."
+
+She took down from under her cap her long, gray hair, and spread it over
+her breast. It was dry and coarse, and without a single black hair. She
+laid her dark, bony hand on Edith's white arm.
+
+"Sorrow has done this," she said,--"not time: it has been of this color
+for fifty years."
+
+"And have you then suffered so much?" said Edith,--and her eyes filled
+with tears.
+
+The old woman saw that she was pitied, and a more gentle expression came
+into her eyes, as she fixed them on Edith.
+
+"My child," she said, "we can learn to bear sorrow, bereavement, the
+death of all that are twined with our own souls, old age, solitude,--all
+but remorse--_all but remorse_;" and the last word was pronounced almost
+in a whisper.
+
+"And cannot you turn to God?" said Edith; "cannot you pray? God has
+invited all who are sinners to come to him."
+
+She stopped; for she felt her own insufficiency to administer religious
+consolation.
+
+"And who told you I was so great a sinner?" said the old woman, all her
+fierceness returning immediately.
+
+Edith had felt herself all the comfort of opening her heart in prayer to
+God; but she was abashed by the old woman: she said only timidly and
+humbly, "Why will you not confide in my father? Tell him your wants and
+your misery, and he will pray for you, and help you."
+
+"Tell him! and what does he know of the heart-broken? Can he lift the
+leaden covering from the conscience? Can he give me back the innocence
+and peace of my cottage home in the green lanes of England, or the
+blessing of my poor old father?" And, while an expression of the deepest
+sadness passed over her face,--"Can he bring back my children, my
+beautiful boys, or bid the sea give up its dead? No, no; let him preach
+and pray, and let these poor ignorant people hear him; and let me,--ah,
+let me lie down in the green earth."
+
+Edith was shocked; and the tears she tried in vain to suppress forced
+themselves down her cheeks.
+
+"Poor child!" said the old woman; "you can weep for others, but yours is
+the fate of all the daughters of Eve: you will soon weep for yourself.
+With all your proud beauty and your feeling heart, you cannot keep your
+idols: they will crumble away, and you will come at last to what I am."
+
+Edith tried to direct her attention to something else. She looked around
+the cottage, which had not the appearance of the most abject poverty.
+The few articles of furniture were neat, and in one corner stood a
+comfortable-looking bed. A peat fire slumbered on the hearth, and many
+dried and smoked fish were hanging from the beams.
+
+She said, very mildly, "I came, Nanny, to see if you did not want
+something to make you comfortable for the winter. My father sent me, and
+you must tell me all you want."
+
+"I want nothing," said the old woman; "at least for myself. All your
+blankets cannot keep the cold from the heart."
+
+At this moment, a little girl about five years old came running into the
+cottage, with a basket of blackberries she had been picking on the
+cliffs above the house. Edith was well known to her, as she was to all
+the children of the parish. The little girl went up to her and presented
+the blackberries, and then ran to her grandmother with the air of a
+favored child, as if she were sure of a welcome.
+
+An expression that Edith had never seen, a softened expression of deep
+tenderness, came over the face of the old woman.
+
+"I was going to speak of this child," she said. "I feel that I shall
+soon be _there_,"--and she pointed towards the earth,--"and this child
+has no friend but me."
+
+The little girl, meantime, had crept close to the old woman, and laid
+her head on her shoulder. The child was not attractive: her feet and
+legs were bare, and her dress was ragged and much soiled; but covering
+her eyes and forehead was a profusion of golden-colored ringlets; and,
+where her skin was not grimmed with dirt and exposure to the sea air, it
+was delicately white.
+
+There was something touching in the affection of the poor orphan for the
+old woman; and the contrast, as they thus leant on each other, would
+have arrested the eye of a painter.
+
+Edith promised to be a friend to her grandchild, and then entreated
+Nanny to see her father, and confide her sorrows to him. This she
+steadily refused; and Edith left her, her young spirits saddened by the
+mystery and the grief that she could not understand. As she walked home,
+she thought how little the temper of the old woman was in harmony with
+the external beauty that environed her. The beauty was marred by sin and
+grief. And even in her own life, pure as it was, how little was there to
+harmonize with the exquisite loveliness around her!
+
+Edith was not happy: the inward pulse did not beat in harmony with the
+pulse of nature. She was not happy, because woman, especially in youth,
+is happy only in her affections. She felt within herself an infinite
+capacity of loving, and she had few to love, Her heart was solitary. Her
+affection for her father partook too much of respect and awe; and that
+for Dinah had grown up from her infancy, and was as much a matter of
+habit as of gratitude. She longed for the love of an equal, or rather of
+some one she could reverence as well as love. How she wished she could
+have been the companion of the Lady Ursula!
+
+Edith was beginning to feel that she had a soul of infinite longings;
+but she had not yet learnt its power to create for itself an infinite
+and immortal happiness; and the beauty of nature, that excited without
+filling her mind, only increased her loneliness.
+
+It is after other pursuits and other friends have disappointed us, that
+we go back to the beautiful teachings of nature; and, like a tender
+mother, she receives us to her bosom.
+
+    "O, nature never did betray
+    The heart that loved her."
+
+She alone is unchangeable. We may confide in her promises. I have
+planted an acorn by a beloved grave: in a few years I returned, and
+found a beautiful oak overshadowing it.
+
+Nature is liberal and impartial as she is faithful. The green earth
+offers a home for the eyes of the poorest beggar; the soft and purifying
+winds visit all equally; the tenderly majestic stars look down on him
+who rests in a bed of down, and on him whose pallet is the naked earth;
+and the blue sky embraces equally the child of sorrow and of joy.
+
+The teachings of nature are open to all. The poor heart-broken mother
+sees, in the parent leaves that enfold the tender heart of the young
+plant, and in the bird that strips her own breast of its down to shelter
+her young from the night air, the same instinct that teaches her to
+cherish the child of sorrow. He who addressed the poor and illiterate
+drew his illustrations from nature: the lily of the field, the fowls of
+the air, and the young ravens, he made his teachers to those who, like
+him, lived in the open air, and were peculiarly susceptible to all the
+influences of nature.
+
+To return from this digression. Perhaps my readers will wish to know
+more of poor Nanny, as she was called.
+
+Nothing was known of her early history. She had come from the mother
+country four years before, with this little child, then an infant, and
+had taken a lodging in the poor fisherman's hut. She said the little
+girl was her grandchild, and all her affections were centred in her. She
+was entirely reserved as to her previous history, and was irritated if
+any curiosity was expressed about it, though she sometimes gave out
+hints that she had been an accomplice and victim of some deed for which
+she felt remorse. As she was quite harmless, and the inhabitants were
+much scattered, she was unmolested, and earned a scanty living by
+picking berries, fishing, and helping those who were not quite as poor
+as herself. Edith visited her often, and Mr. Grafton, though she would
+not acknowledge him as a spiritual guide, ministered to all her temporal
+wants.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+    Thou changest not, but I am changed,
+    Since first thy pleasant banks I ranged;
+    The visions of my youth are past,
+    Too bright, too beautiful, to last.
+
+    BRYANT.
+
+
+More than two years had passed since Edith's visit to the old woman of
+the cliff. Changes had taken place in all the personages of my little
+tale; but in Edith they were most apparent. She who had sung all day as
+the birds sing, because she could not help it, at nineteen had learned
+to reflect and to analyze; a sensitive conscience had taken the place of
+spontaneous and impulsive virtue; and the same heart that could be happy
+all day long in nursing a young chicken, or watching the opening of a
+flower, or carrying food to a poor old woman, now closed her days with
+_thinking_, and moistened her pillow with unbidden tears.
+
+It is the natural course of womanhood. Ah! that we could always be
+children. We have seen that after Edith had learned the story of the
+Lady Ursula, she began to solve some of the mysteries of life. She had
+since turned over many of its leaves, all fair with innocence and truth,
+but she had not yet found an answer to the question, "Why do we suffer?"
+
+The change that had taken place in young Seymore was deeper and sterner,
+but not so apparent. Externally, he was the same beautiful youth that he
+was when we introduced him to our kind readers, in his attic.
+
+Since then, he had had much to struggle with; but poverty had not been
+his greatest temptation. He could not indeed hope to be exempt from the
+bitter experience of almost all who at that time were scholars.
+
+To this very day, the sons of clergymen, and many of the most
+distinguished men in New England, have held the plough in the intervals
+of their preparation for the university. How many poor mothers have
+striven, and labored, and denied themselves all but the bare necessaries
+of life, that their sons might gain that sole distinction in New
+England,--an education at one of the colleges.
+
+Poverty was not his greatest trial. When he first saw Edith, her timid
+and innocent beauty had made an impression on his fancy, that all his
+subsequent dreams in solitude, and his lonely reveries, had only served
+to deepen. She seemed to embody all his imaginations of female
+loveliness. He had, indeed, never before seen a beautiful girl, and he
+had no acquaintance with women, except his grandmother.
+
+The remembrance of his mother came softened to him, like something
+unconnected with earth; and when he thought of the darkened chamber, the
+pale, faint smile, her hand on his head, and her solemn consecration of
+him to the church, on her death-bed, he felt a sensation of awe that
+chilled and appalled him.
+
+After his acquaintance with Edith and her father, life wore a brighter
+hue. His efforts to gain an education to distinguish himself were
+redoubled. Mr. Grafton aided in every way; and with the sympathy of his
+kind friend came the image of his beautiful daughter. His labors were
+lightened, his heart cheered, by the thought that she would smile and
+approve.
+
+Thus days of bodily labor were succeeded by nights of study; and, for
+some time, with his youth and vigorous health, this was hardly felt as
+an evil. But we have seen, in our first chapter, that he had moments of
+despondency, and of late they had been of more frequent occurrence.
+
+At such times, the remembrance of his mother, and her solemn dedication
+of him to the church, came back with redoubled power, and the time he
+had spent in lighter literature, in poetry, and even his dreams of
+Edith, seemed to him like sins. A darker and less joyous spirit was
+gradually overshadowing him. A morbid sensitiveness to moral evil, an
+exaggerated sense of his own sins, and of the strict requisitions of the
+spirit of the times, clouded his natural gayety.
+
+His visits to the parsonage, indeed, always dissipated his fears for a
+little time. Edith received him as a valued friend, and he returned to
+his studies, cheered by her smiles, and sustained by new hopes.
+
+He never analyzed the cause of this change, or the nature of his
+feelings: but, when he thought of his degree at the college, it was her
+sympathy and her approbation that came first to his mind; and, when he
+sent his thoughts forward to a settlement and a parsonage like that of
+his venerable friend's, it would have been empty, and desolate, and
+uninhabitable, if Edith had not been there.
+
+It was in Edith's beloved father that a year had made the saddest
+change. The winter had been unusually severe, and the snow deep. His
+parish was much scattered, and it was his custom to visit them on
+horseback; and, in the deepest snows, and most severe storms, he had
+never refused to appear at their bedsides, or to visit and comfort the
+afflicted. He had lived, and labored, and loved among his simple flock,
+but he now felt that his ministry was drawing towards a close.
+
+In March, he had returned from one of his visits late at night, and much
+wet and fatigued. The next morning he found himself ill with a lung
+fever. It left him debilitated, and much impaired in constitution; and a
+rapid decline seemed the almost inevitable consequence at his advanced
+age.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+                                 Pride,
+    Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,
+    Is littleness; and he who feels contempt
+    For any living thing, hath faculties
+    Which he has never used.
+
+                              O, be wiser, then!
+    Instructed that true knowledge leads to love:
+    True dignity abides with him alone,
+    Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
+    Can still suspect, and still revere himself,
+    In lowliness of heart.
+
+    WORDSWORTH.
+
+
+It has been the fashion, of late, to depreciate the clergymen among our
+Puritan fathers. It is true they erred, but their errors belonged to the
+time and the circumstance that placed in their hands unusual power.
+There were among them men that would have done honor to any age; perfect
+gentlemen, who would have adorned a drawing-room, as well as consecrated
+a church.
+
+The traits that constitute _gentlesse_ do not belong to any age or any
+school: they are not formed by the conventions of society, nor the forms
+that are adopted to facilitate and give grace to the intercourse of
+equals. The precept that says, "In honor preferring one another," if
+acted on in perfect sincerity of heart, and carried out in all the
+intercourse of society, would form perfect gentlemen and ladies. We have
+heard Jesus called the most finished gentleman that ever lived.
+Undisguised benevolence, humility, and sincerity, would form such
+gentlemen, and the intercourse of society, founded on such principles,
+would be true, noble, graceful, and most attractive.
+
+Such a gentleman was Edith's father; and while he was an honored and
+cherished guest at the tables of the fathers and princes of the colony,
+he seldom left his humble parish. His influence there was unbounded, and
+his peculiarities, if he had them, belonged to the age. In an age of
+persecutors, he was so averse to persecution, that he did not escape the
+charge of heresy and insincerity.
+
+The clergy of that time loved to preach from the Old Testament, and to
+illustrate the lives of the patriarchs. An unlimited and implicit faith,
+that made each believe he was the especial care and favorite of God, was
+the foundation of the religion of the Old Testament. Our fathers had
+much of the same persuasion. To an audience of fishermen, and scattered
+cultivators of the sterile fields of New England, such a faith came home
+to their hearts; the one committing their frail boats to the treacherous
+ocean, the other depending on the early and the latter rains, and genial
+skies, for their support.
+
+June had come, the genial month of June, and Mr. Grafton was not revived
+by its soft air. He declined daily, and Edith, his tender nurse, could
+not conceal from herself that there was little hope of his ever
+reviving.
+
+Dinah had watched with him almost every night, but, worn out with
+fatigue, Edith had persuaded her to take some moments for repose. After
+a night of much restlessness, towards morning, her father fell into a
+tranquil slumber. Edith was alone in the darkened room, and as she sat
+in the deep silence by his bedside, an old-fashioned clock, that stood
+in the corner, seemed, to her excited nerves, to strike its monotonous
+tick directly on her temples. A small taper was burning in the chimney,
+and the long shadows it cast served only to darken the room. From time
+to time, as Edith leaned over her father, she touched his forehead with
+her hand: in the solitude and stillness, it seemed a medium of
+communication with the mind of her father, and held the place of
+language.
+
+At length he opened his eyes, and seeing her bending over him, he drew
+her towards him, and kissed her tenderly. In a whisper, he said, "I
+feel, my child, that I am dying."
+
+"Do not weep," said he, observing how much Edith was shocked; "you can
+trust in God. You can be near me in death, as you have been in life. Now
+is the time, my Edith, to feel the value of all those principles we have
+learned together through life. I feel that God is near us, and that when
+I am gone, he will be near to you."
+
+Edith threw herself into his arms. Her father laid his hand on her head,
+and prayed audibly. She arose more calm, and asked him if she should not
+call the faithful slaves.
+
+"No, my child," he said; "let the poor children"--he always named them
+thus--"let the poor children sleep. God is here. I hold your hands in
+mine. What more do we want? Let the quiet night pass. The morning will
+be glorious! it will open for me in another world."
+
+It was a beautiful sight, that young and timid woman sustaining her aged
+father, and he trusting so entirely in God, and feeling no anxiety, no
+grief, but that of leaving her alone.
+
+As she sat thus holding his hand in hers, his breath became less
+frequent; he fixed his eyes on hers with a tender smile. His breathing
+stopped--his spirit was gone!
+
+Edith did not shriek, or faint. It was the first time she had been in
+the chamber of death, and a holy calmness, a persuasion that her
+father's spirit was still there, came over her. She closed his eyes, and
+sat long with his hand strained in hers.
+
+The first note of the early birds made her start. She arose, and opened
+the window. The morning had dawned, and every leaf, every blade of
+grass, was glittering in the early dew. Her father's horse, that had
+borne him so many years, was feeding in the enclosure. At the sound of
+the window, he came forward: then a sense of her loss came over Edith,
+and she burst into tears.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+    "----Whene'er the good and just
+      Close the dim eye on life and pain,
+    Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust,
+      Till the pure spirit comes again.
+    Though nameless, trampled, and forgot,
+      His servant's humble ashes lie,
+    Yet God has marked and sealed the spot,
+      To call its inmate to the sky."
+
+
+It was one of those brilliant and transparent days of June, never
+surpassed in any climate. The little church stood clearly defined
+against the deep blue sky. The ocean, as the sun shone on it, was gemmed
+with a thousand glancing diamonds, and here and there a light sail rose
+and fell upon it, like the wings of a bird. It was so still that the hum
+of the noontide insects was distinctly heard. At intervals, the slow
+tolling of the little bell sent its echoes back from the surrounding
+forest.
+
+It was the day of the funeral of the beloved pastor, and small groups of
+the parishioners began to collect about the church and the house.
+Heartfelt grief seemed to shadow every countenance, but the severe and
+reserved character of the New England Puritans allowed them to make no
+demonstration of sorrow: they shut up within themselves every trace of
+emotion, and spoke only in whispers, with a stern, determined air.
+
+The garb and appearance of the people was rough and homely. There were
+farmers with their wives, on pillions; fishermen with their rough
+sea-coats; aged women, bent and wrinkled, who had come to lay in the
+grave one whom they had hoped would have prayed at and blessed their own
+burial.
+
+The house at length was filled with those who had the nearest claim, and
+the ministers of the surrounding villages darkened, with their black
+dress, the little apartment.
+
+The two slaves stood near the bier, and the excitable temperament and
+violent grief of the poor Africans contrasted with the stern, and
+solemn, and composed countenances around them.
+
+Edith at last came in. She was calm, but very pale; and, as she entered
+the room, she gave her hand to those who stood nearest. She tried to
+speak, but the words died on her lips. Dinah was in a moment at her
+side. Her delicate and youthful beauty contrasted by her sable friend,
+and her lonely, unprotected state touched the hearts of these stern, but
+also tenderly affectionate Puritans, and there were tears in many eyes,
+as they looked at her with respect and interest.
+
+The windows were all open; the concert of joyous birds, in their season
+of love and happiness, showed no sympathy with man in his grief. It was
+so still that the silvery sound of the waves, as they touched the beach,
+was distinctly heard; and the voice of prayer, as it broke the silence,
+was the only human sound.
+
+The voice of prayer ceased, and the quick hoof of a horse was heard. In
+a few moments Seymore entered. He had heard of the death of his friend,
+and, impelled by an irresistible impulse, he could not remain at his
+studies. As he entered he was violently agitated, for death and sorrow
+were new to him.
+
+The color rushed to Edith's pale cheek, as she silently gave him her
+hand; but she felt a calmness which she could not herself understand. A
+change had been wrought in her character by that nightly death-bed, and
+by four days of lonely sorrow. She felt that she must rely on herself.
+
+The changes that are wrought by sorrow and reflection in a timid woman
+are not less apparent than those wrought by love. They seem, at first,
+to take from the exquisite feminineness of the character, but they bring
+out the latent beauty and strength of her spiritual nature. It is said
+"that every wave of the ocean adds to the beauty of the pearl, by
+removing the scum that reveals its interior and mysterious light." It is
+thus with time and sorrow: they reveal to ones self the inward pearl
+beyond all price, on which we must forever rely to guide us.
+
+The oldest of the parishioners now approached, to bear their beloved
+pastor on their shoulders to the silent grave-yard. The ceremonial of a
+country burial is extremely simple, but they had then an affecting
+custom which has since been discontinued. As they bore the body to the
+grave, they sang an anthem, and, as it entered the little enclosure, the
+groups on each side receded, and uncovered their heads. The boys were
+hushed to awe, as the anthem rose on the evening air; the sun sank
+behind the forest, and its last rays were reflected from the grave of
+this servant of God.
+
+The exquisite beauty of the scene oppressed and wearied Edith as she
+returned to her solitary home. She felt that though nature may
+sympathize with our joy, there is nothing in her bosom that responds to
+our sorrow.
+
+But she did not return alone: Seymore had followed her; and, as they
+entered the deserted room, her father's arm-chair was in its accustomed
+place: even his slippers had been accidentally placed ready for him. The
+curtain had been removed from her mother's picture, and as she
+approached it, she met its pitying eyes fixed upon her. The unnatural
+tension of the nerves, which had denied her, for the last four days, the
+relief of tears, gave way, and the very fountains of her soul seemed
+opened. She sank down on a chair, and yielded to the overwhelming
+emotion.
+
+There are states of the mind when the note of a bird, the fall of a
+leaf, the perfume of a flower, will unlock the bars of the soul, as the
+smallest sound will loosen the avalanche. The unexpected sight of her
+mother's picture had overpowered Edith. O that we should receive a
+mother's love in infancy, when we cannot value or understand it; and, in
+after life, when we need it most, when we long for the heart that has
+cherished us, "we must go back to some almost forgotten grave," where
+that warm heart lies that loved us as no other will ever love us.
+
+Seymore was terrified: he had never seen grief like this, and he walked
+the room with rapid and agitated steps.
+
+Edith longed to be alone. She tried to conquer her emotion, but the sobs
+that came from the bottom of her heart shook her whole frame. At last
+she said, "Pray leave me; I wish to be, _I must_ be alone."
+
+Seymore could not leave her thus. He took her passive hand. "O," said
+he, "would that I could spare you one of these tears! If you could know
+how I reverence your sorrow, how my heart bleeds for you--O pardon
+me--if you could see my heart, you would see there a devotion, a
+reverence, such as angels feel in heaven. Might I dare to hope that you
+would forgive, that you would pardon the poor, unknown, homeless
+scholar, that he has dared to love you?"
+
+Edith had become calm as he spoke thus impetuously, and her hand grew
+cold in his. She looked up: a beautiful and timid hope shone in her
+eyes; and, though her tears fell fast, a smile was on her lips. "We are
+both homeless," she said,--"both orphans."
+
+He caught from her expression a rapturous hope. At this moment the
+faithful slave Dinah opened the door to look after her young mistress.
+It was the first time since her childhood, that the face of her sable
+friend had been unwelcome to Edith; but perhaps it was happy for both;
+it arrested their tumultuous emotions, and gave Seymore, who left the
+room immediately, time to arrange his thoughts, and reflect on the
+blissful prospect opening before him.
+
+Edith held out her hand to her friend. I have before remarked the
+figurative expressions in which Dinah clothed her thoughts. Her language
+and her feelings were fervid, like her climate.
+
+"I thought," she said, "the heartsease had withered in your bosom; but
+it has sprung up, and is blooming again." Then seeing the crimson
+overspread Edith's cheek, she added, "perhaps your warm tears have
+revived it." But, as if ashamed of having said something not perfectly
+true, she took Edith's hand, looked earnestly in her face, as if asking
+an explanation of this sudden change.
+
+Edith was wholly overcome. She threw herself into the arms of the
+faithful slave, and longed to hide herself there. None but a mother
+could understand her feelings, or one who had been to her in the place
+of a mother, and knew every beating of her innocent heart.
+
+There are moments when woman needs the sympathy of a mother, that first
+and dearest friend of every human being. Dinah could not understand the
+imaginative character of Edith's mind; she could not sympathize with her
+thirst for knowledge, her love of the beautiful and the unknown; but the
+tear in her eye, and her quivering lip, as she pressed her child closer
+and closer to her, as though she would cherish her in her inmost heart,
+showed that she understood her nature, and sympathized in her happiness
+with all a woman's heart.
+
+That night, when Edith laid her head on her pillow, she felt a secret
+joy, a lightness of heart, which she could not understand. She
+reproached herself that she could feel so happy so soon after the death
+of her father. She did not know how insensibly she had suffered an
+interest in Seymore to grow in her heart, and that the sentiments of
+nature are weak when brought into contact with an absorbing passion.
+When she came to offer her prayer for guidance and protection, a feeling
+of gratitude, of thankfulness, overpowered all other emotions, and she
+closed her eyes, wet with grateful tears.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+    "Is this a tale?
+        Methinks it is a homily."
+
+
+Seymore indulged himself with a few days of perfect, unalloyed
+happiness. The tumultuous feeling of joy subsided, the dark shade that
+had begun to gather over his mind vanished, and a sober certainty of
+bliss--bliss too great, he feared, for mortal, appeased his too keen
+sensibility to his own imperfections.
+
+The character of Edith was formed to produce this effect. There was
+nothing exaggerated in it. Her solitary life, without mother or sister,
+had taught her great self-reliance; while her genuine humility had
+preserved her from that obstinacy of opinion that a want of knowledge of
+the world sometimes creates. The grave and solid studies she had entered
+into with her father had strengthened her mind, as it were, with the
+"bark and steel" of literature; while the native tenderness of her heart
+had prevented her from becoming that odious creature, a female pedant.
+Her greatest charm was the exquisite feminineness of her character: this
+perhaps, without religion, would have degenerated into weakness, or,
+without an enlightened reason, into superstition.
+
+How entirely is the divine spirit of Christianity adapted to woman's
+nature! loving as she does, and trembling for the objects of her love;
+doomed
+
+    "To weep silent tears, and patient smiles to wear,
+    And to make idols, and to find them clay."
+
+If ever woman enjoyed all worldly advantages, if ever she was flattered,
+made an idol, and worshipped, it was in Europe previous to the French
+Revolution. Yet the letters and memoirs of the women of that time, light
+and frivolous as they are, reveal a depth of sadness, a desolation of
+spirit, a weariness of life,--destitute as many of them are of all
+aspiration after an immortal hope,--that tells us how indispensable to
+woman's nature are the hopes and consolations of religion. Love was at
+that time the object of woman's existence,--a love that, with our
+standard of morals, leaves a stain as well as a wound; but, with their
+peculiar notions, it robbed them neither of the adulation of society,
+nor of their own self-respect. But, with all this, together with their
+influence in the affairs of state, we read their memoirs not only with a
+shame that burns on the cheek, but with feelings of the deepest
+commiseration.
+
+How few, even of the happiest among women, are blest with that love that
+can fill and satisfy a woman's heart! How many, disappointed and weeping
+o'er "idols of clay," stretch out the arms of their souls for something
+they can lean on in safety! How many, solitary at heart in the midst of
+gayety, turn away to look into themselves for something more satisfying!
+How many broken and contrite spirits feel that he alone who knows what
+is in the heart of man, can teach them to bear a wounded spirit!
+
+How full of sympathy for woman is the New Testament! He knew the heart
+of woman who said, "She is forgiven; for she has loved much."
+
+It must have been a woman who first thought of prayer. Madame de Stael
+says that a mother with a sick child must have invented prayer; and she
+is right: a woman would first pray, not for herself, but for the object
+of her tenderness.
+
+It had been an object much at heart with Mr. Grafton to save a little
+property for his daughter. He had succeeded in purchasing the small
+house, and a few acres about it, which was kept in perfect order and
+good cultivation under the excellent management of Paul.
+
+Edith's unprotected state, being without near relatives, made him
+desirous that she should have an independent home among his attached but
+humble parishioners. He knew that she was scarcely less beloved by them
+than himself. But he looked forward to his place being filled by a
+stranger; and he was mainly anxious that her comfort should not depend
+on the bounty, or even the gratitude, of the most disinterested of his
+flock.
+
+He was able to accomplish his wish, and leave her a small patrimony,
+abundantly equal to the wants of their frugal establishment; and Edith
+thanked God, with tears of gratitude, that she was not obliged to
+separate herself from the graves of both her parents.
+
+The summer and winter that followed her father's death were passed in
+tranquillity by Edith, watched over and guarded with the most faithful
+care by her two sable friends. No pastor had yet been chosen in her
+father's place; and an unacknowledged but cherished hope arose in her
+mind, that Seymore might one day stand in that sacred place, hallowed in
+her affections, and now regarded with trembling hope.
+
+Seymore indulged himself with as many short visits to Edith as his
+circumstances would allow, always struggling as he was with almost
+insurmountable obstacles, and straining every nerve to attain that goal
+of his hopes, a position in society that would allow him to claim his
+bride. The joy that her presence imparted to his whole being, the change
+that came over him the moment his weary eye caught sight of the steeple
+that rose above the dear spot of all his dreams, the sunshine that she
+diffused in the dark places of his mind, prevented Edith from being
+sensible of the change, the painful change, that a constant struggle
+with the coarse realities of his position had made in his noble nature.
+She had often, indeed, said, with Jenny Deans, "It is no matter which
+has the siller, if the other wants it." But Seymore's nature was proud
+as well as tender.
+
+He possessed, as we have before seen, the temperament of the poet--that
+pure, rare, and passionate nature so little able to contend with the
+actual difficulties of life--to whom every-day regular labor is a burden
+hard to bear. We have seen that his deep religious impressions had made
+him consecrate all his fine powers to the service of God; and the
+tenderness of his conscience made him fear that the sacrifice was
+imperfect. The conflict was ever in his soul. He was unable to satisfy
+his own aspirations after a spirituality and purity, which is the slow
+growth of a life of exertion. Despondency so intimately allied to the
+poetic temperament produced a morbid sensibility, a sort of monomania in
+his mind, having the effect of those singular mirages seen from the
+sea-shore, where the most trivial and familiar objects are magnified to
+temples and altars, and hung, as it were, in the clouds.
+
+We touch with a reverend spirit and trembling hand the mysterious
+influences of hidden causes, uniting with unhappy external
+circumstances, to involve those who seem formed to bless and to be
+blessed in a self-tormenting melancholy. I know not that, under any
+circumstances, Seymore's would have been a happy spirit. Under the
+present, his love for Edith seemed the only light that could save him
+from total shipwreck.
+
+The two lovers wrote to each other as often as the state of
+communication between different parts of the country would allow, before
+post-roads had been established, and when letters were often entrusted
+to wandering Indians, and the postage paid with a little tobacco, or a
+handful of meal.
+
+We may judge of the nature of Seymore's letters by one of Edith's, which
+appears to be an answer to one of his:
+
+     _October, 1692._
+
+     How can I be so little solitary, when I am more alone than ever? I
+     awake from dreams of you to feel your presence still with me; and
+     my first emotion is gratitude to God for having given me this
+     happiness. Forgive me, beloved father! that I can be so content
+     without you! The bonds of nature are weakened, when an absorbing
+     emotion fills the heart. The time may come when nature will be
+     avenged. Ah, it cannot be wrong to love as I do. God has opened
+     this fountain in the desert of life, as a solace for all its evils.
+     Ah, how can those who love be sufficiently grateful to God? Every
+     hour should be an act of adoration and praise.
+
+     You will tell me, my friend, that this all-absorbing love should
+     be given to God. I cannot separate God from his works. This
+     beautiful nature--the ocean, in all its majesty, the quiet stars,
+     as they seem to look down upon us, the beauty spread every where
+     around me--remind me always of God. I cannot represent to myself
+     God in his personal form: I feel him every where, and I love him
+     especially for having made us capable of love.
+
+     That religion should be a different thing from this pervading love
+     and reverence, I cannot yet understand. Faith is the gift of God;
+     such faith as you, my dear friend, wish me to possess; but it seems
+     to me, like all the other precious gifts of the soul, to be
+     obtained by earnest prayer and infinite strivings. When the young
+     man mentioned in the gospel came to our Saviour, he demanded of him
+     no profession of mysterious faith, but only a proof of
+     disinterested love.
+
+     Religion is not a distinct thing from the every-day life,
+     as--pardon me, my dear friend--I think you would make it. It is
+     like the air we breathe, requisite for a life of goodness, but not
+     less nor more perceptible to our well-being than the air is to our
+     existence. It should not make itself felt in storms and tempests,
+     in hot and cold fits, but in a calm and equal power, sustaining,
+     purifying, and nourishing our souls.
+
+     You believe the direct influence of the Spirit of God upon every
+     individual mind is necessary, to make him a religious being. I
+     cannot but think that the _indirect_ influence, the beautiful and
+     ever-renewed miracle of nature, the observation of God's providence
+     in the care of his creatures, and the study of the adaptation of
+     Christianity to our particular dispositions--not merely by a
+     process of reasoning, but aided by the religious sentiment which
+     seems to me innate and natural to every human being--is more
+     powerful.
+
+     And now that I have finished my sermon, let me scold you for
+     wronging yourself, as you too often do. _Truth_ is not to be set
+     aside, in looking at our own characters. We should do the same
+     justice to ourselves that we do to others. There is a secret
+     dishonesty in depreciating ourselves. Could I esteem and honor you
+     as I do, were you what you call yourself? I honor you for all the
+     noble exertions you have made,--for the ardor of your love of truth
+     and duty. Ah, call me not a partial and blinded judge: your true
+     honor and your most precious happiness are too dear to me to allow
+     me to be a false or partial friend. I would give you a little, a
+     very little vanity; not enough to make you a sumptuous robe, but
+     just enough to keep you from the cold.
+
+     You say you look upon this delusion of witchcraft, that is
+     spreading through the country, with fearful and trembling interest,
+     and that you believe God may permit his will to be made known by
+     such instruments as these. God forbid that I should limit his
+     power! but I fear these poor children are wicked or diseased, and
+     that Satan has nothing to do with it.
+
+     The old woman at the cliff is now very ill: I trust God will take
+     her from the world before she is seized for a witch. There are many
+     ready to believe that she has ridden through the air on a
+     broomstick, or gone to sea in an egg-shell. But you do not love me
+     to jest on this subject. Forgive me! I will not jest again.
+
+     And this balmy Indian summer,--it seems as if it would last
+     forever. But I am so happy now, I can hardly believe there is
+     sorrow in the world, or winter in the year. Winter has no terror
+     now: the long evenings and nights bring me dreams of you, and I
+     awake with the consciousness that you are mine. * * *
+
+Perhaps the reader may think the letter just read a very singular
+love-letter. But it must be remembered that religion was the
+all-absorbing sentiment of the Puritans, and that Seymore's enthusiastic
+temperament made it the subject that most interested him in his letters
+to Edith.
+
+Edith's mind was too well balanced and too happily constituted to allow
+her to partake of his extravagance; but she gave him that dearest proof
+of love, that of softening all his defects, and even exalting them into
+the most precious virtues.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+    "Apart she lived, and still she rests alone:
+    Yon earthly heap awaits no flattering stone."
+
+
+As it was mentioned in Edith's letter, the old woman who lived at the
+cottage by the cliff had become very ill, and it was apparent that she
+would never leave her bed again. Edith had been assiduous in her
+kindness. Dinah had been with her a part of every day, and had watched
+with her many nights. Edith insisted, at last, that her poor slave
+should sleep, and resolved herself to take her place by the bedside.
+
+The old woman had made herself feared and hated by the scattered
+inhabitants. She was called a witch, and they deserted her sick bed,--a
+thing most rare among the kind-hearted dwellers in a thinly-peopled
+neighborhood.
+
+It was a threatening evening when Edith took her station by the low
+pallet of the sick woman. The solitary hut, as I have mentioned, stood
+on the edge of the little bay; and, at high water, it was almost washed
+by the waves.
+
+How different the whole scene from that brilliant morning when Edith
+visited the tenant of the cottage! A leaden cloud seemed now to rest on
+the water, shutting out the fair sky; and, as the sullen waves rolled on
+the beach, a close and stifling air oppressed Edith's spirits.
+
+The old woman was alone: her poor grandchild, wearied with the services
+of the day, had fallen asleep with her hand in her grandmother's, and
+her head falling over the pillow: her long hair rested on the old
+woman's face, which she seemed not to have strength to remove.
+
+Edith's first care was to take the little girl from her grandmother's
+pillow; and, laying her gently on the foot of the bed, she took off her
+own shawl, and made a pillow for her head. The old woman looked at her
+without speaking, and a tear coursed slowly down her cheek.
+
+Edith hoped the hardness was melting from her heart. She took her hand
+tenderly in hers, and whispered, "Cannot you put your trust in God?"
+
+"I cannot pray--to God; no, it is too late. But"--and her voice was
+interrupted with short, impeded breath. She pointed to the child, and
+looked at Edith with an expression so imploring, so full of tenderness
+for the child, of agony that she must leave her, of appeal to Edith's
+compassion, that the tears started to her eyes, and she answered, "Fear
+nothing: I will take care of her; I will be a mother to her."
+
+The old woman pressed her hand: the look of agony passed away from her
+features, and she closed her eyes to sleep.
+
+Edith sat silently by the bedside. The tempest that had been gathering
+over the water now shook the little dwelling: torrents of rain fell, and
+frequent flashes lighted the little room. At last, a gust of wind from
+the broken window extinguished the taper, and Edith was in total
+darkness. It was a warm night for the season, and no fire on the hearth
+to afford a spark by which she could relight it.
+
+Edith trembled; but she tried to be calm. She only feared the old woman
+would die while she held her hand, which she imagined was already
+growing cold in hers.
+
+The storm gradually passed away into silence. There was no sound but the
+short, interrupted breath of her patient, and the soft, healthful,
+regular breathing of infancy. Edith longed for the dawn, and looked
+anxiously through the little casement for the first gray streak. As far
+as the eye could reach, the bay was white with foam; but no light yet
+dawned upon it from the morning.
+
+The old woman awoke. "I cannot see you," she said; "a film is over my
+eyes."
+
+Edith told her the lamp had been extinguished with the wind.
+
+"Alas!" she said; "and I must die as I have lived,--in darkness."
+
+Edith assured her she was not then dying, and begged her to try to pray,
+or to listen while she endeavored, as far as she was able, to offer a
+prayer to God.
+
+"No," she said; "I have lived without prayer, and I will not mock God on
+my death-bed; but, if there is mercy for me, God may listen to you, pure
+and good as you have ever been."
+
+Edith knelt; and, with lips trembling with timidity and responsibility,
+she uttered a low, humble, and earnest prayer.
+
+The old woman seemed at first to listen; but her mind soon wandered:
+broken and, as it afterwards would almost appear, prophetic sentences
+escaped from her lips: "Judgments are coming on this unhappy
+land,--delusions and oppression. Men and devils shall oppress the
+innocent. The good like you, the innocent and good, shall not escape!"
+Then she looked at the sleeping child: "Can the lamb dwell with the
+tiger, or the dove nestle with the hawk? But you have promised: you will
+keep your word; and when God counts his jewels"--
+
+Edith arose from her knees, and trembled like a leaf. With inexpressible
+joy, her eyes fell on her own Dinah, standing looking on, with the
+deepest awe in her countenance. She had risen before the dawn, and come
+to relieve her young mistress, and had entered while Edith was kneeling.
+She now insisted on taking her place. Edith committed to her care the
+sleeping child, and then sought the repose the agitation of the night
+had rendered so necessary.
+
+Before evening, the old woman died; and the next day she was to be
+committed to the earth. Little preparation was necessary for her
+funeral. No mourners were to be summoned from afar: there was no mockery
+of grief. She had lived disliked by her neighbors. A few old women came
+from curiosity to see old Nanny, who had never been very courteous in
+inviting her neighbors to visit her; and they came now to see how she
+had contrived to live upon nothing.
+
+The poor child, since the death of her only friend, had refused to leave
+the body, but sat subdued and tearless, like a faithful dog, watching by
+the side of her grandmother, apparently expecting her to return again to
+life.
+
+Towards evening, a few persons were assembled in the hut to pay the last
+Christian services to the dead. The old woman had always said she would
+be buried, not in the common grave-yard, but near a particular rock
+where her last son who was drowned had been washed on shore and buried.
+
+The neighbors were whispering among themselves, as to what was to be the
+fate of the poor child; every one avoiding to look at her, lest it
+should imply some design to take charge of her. The child looked on with
+wonder, as though she hardly knew why they were there. She had clung to
+Dinah as the best known among them; but, when the prayer was finished,
+and they began to remove the coffin, she uttered a loud cry, flew from
+Dinah's arms, and clung to the bier with all her strength.
+
+The men instinctively paused and laid down their burden. The voice of
+nature in that little child was irresistible. They looked at Edith, who
+had now made known her promise to the grandmother to take care of the
+child, to ask what they should do. She took the child in her arms and
+quieted her till all was over, and then, consigning her to the care of
+Dinah, she was taken to their own home.
+
+Edith felt deeply the responsibility she had assumed in the care and
+instruction of this child. She knew the tenderness of her own heart, her
+yielding nature, and feared she should err on the side of too much
+indulgence. She said to herself, "She shall never need a mother's care.
+I know the heart of the orphan, and no unkindness shall ever make her
+feel that she is motherless."
+
+The poor little Phoebe had cried herself to sleep in Dinah's arms, and
+had been put to bed in her soiled and dirty state. The next morning a
+clean new dress banished the memory of her grandmother, and her childish
+tears were dried, and grief forgotten.
+
+Dinah had brought to aid her the power of soap and water, and had
+disentangled her really soft and beautiful hair; and when Edith came
+down, she would scarcely have known her again. The soil of many weeks
+had been taken from the child's skin, and, under it, her complexion was
+delicately fair: her cheeks were like pale blush roses, and her lips
+were two crimson rosebuds. But with this youthful freshness, which was
+indeed only the brilliancy of color, there was an expression in her face
+that marred its beauty. It was coarse and earthly, and the absence of
+that confiding openness we love to see in children. It reminded one of
+her old grandmother; although the one was fair, and smooth, and
+blooming, the other dark and wrinkled, a stranger would have said they
+were related.
+
+Edith called the child to her, and kissed her fair cheek; but when she
+observed the likeness to the old woman, she turned away with a slight
+shudder, and something like a sigh.
+
+Dinah, an interested observer of every passing emotion, said, softly,
+"The cloud is not gone over yet; a few more tears, and it will pass away
+from her young brow, and then it will be fair as your own."
+
+"It is too fair already," answered Edith; "so much beauty will be hard
+to guide; and then look at that dark, wayward expression."
+
+"Say not so, my dear mistress;" and Dinah drew back the hair from her
+fair forehead. "Look at her beautiful face: in a few days your heart
+will yearn to her as mine does to you."
+
+"God grant I may be as faithful to my duty," said Edith; but this is not
+the way to begin it; and she drew the child to her knee, and a few
+moments of playful caressing brought smiles to the young countenance
+that nearly chased away the dark expression.
+
+Edith, although superior to the age in which she lived, could not but be
+influenced by its peculiarities. The belief that an all-pervading and
+ever-present Providence directed the most minute, as well as the more
+important events of life, was common to the Puritans. She could not free
+herself from a superstitious feeling that this child was to have, in
+some way or other, she knew not how, an unfavorable influence upon her
+happiness. She was free, indeed, from that puerile superstition
+
+    "That God's fixed will from nature's wanderings learns."
+
+But the tempest that shook the little building, the incoherent ravings
+of the old woman's mind, and the solemn darkness of the hour when she
+promised to take charge of the child, had made a deep impression on her
+mind.
+
+It is true "that coming events cast their shadows before." Who has not
+felt presentiments that certain persons and certain places are, in some
+mysterious way, we know not how, connected by invisible links with our
+own destiny? The ancients gave to this hidden and mysterious power the
+name of Fate. The tragedy of life arises from the powerless efforts of
+mortals to contend with its decrees. All that the ancient tragedy taught
+was, to bear evils with fortitude, because they were inevitable; but the
+"hope that is full of immortality" has taught us that they are the
+discipline appointed by Heaven to perfect and prepare our souls for
+their immortal destiny.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+     "There has been too much cause to observe that the Christians that
+     were driven into the American desert which is now called New
+     England, have, to their sorrow, seen Azahel dwelling and raging
+     there in very tragical instances."
+
+     COTTON MATHER.
+
+
+The delusion that passed through our country in 1692 has left a dark
+chapter in the history of New England. But it was not alone in New
+England that this fearful delusion influenced the minds and actions of
+men. It was believed all over Europe, in the seventeenth century, that
+evil spirits mingled in the concerns of mortals, and that compacts were
+made with them, and sealed with the blood of many of the most eminent
+persons of the age.
+
+The desire to penetrate the mysteries of the spiritual natures that we
+believe every where to surround us, has taken different forms in
+different states of society. In New England, it seems to have begun in
+the wicked fancies of some nervous or really diseased children, who were
+permitted, at last, to accuse and persecute persons who were remarkable
+for goodness or intellect, and especially females who were distinguished
+for any excellence of mind or person.
+
+An historian of the time says, "In the present world, it is no wonder
+that the operations of evil angels are more sensible than that of the
+good; nevertheless 'tis very certain that the good angels fly about in
+our infected atmosphere to minister to the good of those who are to be
+the heirs of salvation. Children and ignorant persons first complained
+of being tormented and affected in divers manners. They then accused
+some persons eminent for their virtues and standing in society."
+
+We have seen that Edith was disposed to think lightly of the subject at
+first, although she rejoiced that the old woman of the cliff had escaped
+suspicion by a timely death. But when she found that some of her own
+neighbors had been suspected, and that one old woman, in another
+village, for denying all knowledge of evil spirits, had been executed,
+she was filled with consternation; and when others, to save themselves
+from the same dreadful fate, increased the delusion of the times by
+confessing a compact with the evil one, her pity was mingled with
+indignation. With so much clearness of intellect, and simplicity of
+heart, she could not persuade herself that it was any thing but wilful
+blindness, and a wicked lie.
+
+But Edith began soon to feel much anxiety for her faithful Dinah.
+Persons in any way distinguished for any peculiarity were most likely to
+be accused, and she had secretly made arrangements to send her away, and
+conceal her, should the smallest indication of suspicion fall upon her.
+For herself Edith had no fears. It would have been hard to make this
+pure and simple-minded creature believe that she had an enemy in the
+world. She had not read the French maxim, that there may be such a
+weight of obligation that we can only be released from it by
+ingratitude.
+
+Dinah had remarked, for several days, in the little Phoebe most strange
+and unnatural contortions, and writhings of the body, startings and
+tremblings, turning up her eyes and distorting her mouth; and also that
+she took little food, and often was absent from home; but, with her
+usual tenderness, and fear of giving anxiety to Edith, she had forborne
+to mention it.
+
+Indeed, the child had always been wayward and strange, and especially
+indocile to Edith's instructions, although she seemed at times to have a
+strong affection for her. She was fond of long rambles in the woods, and
+of basking in the sun alone on the beach, and retained all her love for
+those vagrant habits she had learned from her grandmother. Edith had too
+much tenderness and indulgence to restrain what appeared a harmless and
+perhaps healthful propensity.
+
+She had tried, however, to civilize the poor, neglected child, and had
+taught her to say her prayers every night, kneeling at her side.
+
+It was a cold, chilly evening in our tardy spring: the little family had
+drawn around the cheerful evening fire, and the evening meal was just
+finished: Edith felt happy, for she had been reading a cheerful letter
+from Seymore. The shutters were closed, and she had indulged the little
+Phoebe, as she often did at this hour, with a noisy game. Edith was
+already tired: she looked at the clock: it was the bed hour for the
+child.
+
+"Come, my child, be serious for a moment, and say your evening prayer."
+Phoebe kneeled: the prayer was short, but whenever she came to the word
+God, or Savior, she cried out that she could not say it.
+
+Edith concealed her fears, and said, very quietly, "I will say it for
+you; and now, my child, go peaceably to bed, and pray to God to keep you
+from telling falsehoods." Phoebe was awed by her calm, decided manner,
+and, without further disturbance, went quietly to bed.
+
+Full of anxiety, and even terror, Edith sought her humble friend, told
+her the circumstance, and besought her to fly and conceal herself. She
+had provided the means for flight and concealment, and entreated her to
+use them before it was too late.
+
+"I do not fear for myself, my dear mistress," said Dinah. "If the child
+has such design, she has already formed her plan and already accused us;
+and she will not be content with accusing me; you are not safe. You do
+not know her hard and stubborn temper. She is like the young hawk in the
+nest of the dove."
+
+Seeing Edith was dreadfully alarmed, Dinah added, "Do not fear; we are
+in _his_ hand who feeds the young ravens, and numbers the hairs of our
+heads."
+
+Edith began to be a little more composed, when a loud knocking was
+heard at the door. Two men entered, well known to Edith; the officials
+in all occasions of this nature. One was the deacon of the church, a
+heated fanatic, full of religious bigotry, whose head was too weak to
+govern the passionate and blind motions of his heart. While he had been
+under the restraint of Mr. Grafton's calm, enlightened reason, he had
+been only a zealous and useful officer of the church; but now, that he
+considered his own light as no longer hidden under a bushel, his zeal
+burned out with more violence, and he lent himself to all the wild
+fanaticism of the time. The other was an old man, an elder in the
+church; with much tenderness of heart; but he was timid, and relied
+little on his own judgment, which was so little enlightened that he
+easily yielded to what he afterwards, when the delusion passed away,
+bewailed with bitter tears.
+
+Edith was perfectly acquainted with the characters of both. When she saw
+them enter, she turned deadly pale; but she pointed courteously to a
+seat, and placed herself instinctively between them and Dinah, to shield
+her, for she knew too well that there was no escape for her humble
+friend if once in their power. She felt, therefore, a sensible relief
+when she found that she was herself the object of their visit.
+
+Edith had had time to recover a little from her first consternation,
+and, with much self-possession, she asked who were her accusers, and
+demanded the right of being confronted with them.
+
+The men informed her that she would be taken in the morning to the
+meeting-house for examination, and then it would be time enough to know
+her accusers: in the mean time they should leave a guard in the house,
+to prevent all attempts to escape.
+
+Escape! ah, there was none for her. But Edith answered that she wished
+not to escape; that she should demand an examination. Alas! she knew not
+yet the spirit of the times. She was deluded by her own consciousness of
+innocence, and she thought fanaticism itself could not attach a
+suspicion to harmlessness like hers.
+
+Not so Dinah. She was seized with a terror and grief that, for one
+moment, shook her faith in God, and took away all self-possession. She
+knew that innocence, youth, piety, beauty, had been of no avail against
+the demoniac fury of the accusers. She besought, on her knees, and with
+floods of tears, her dear child--as, in her agitation, she called
+her--to avail herself of flight. She convinced Edith that they could
+easily elude the vigilance of their guard; that they could escape by
+water. Paul was an excellent boatman, the sea smooth as a mirror, the
+moon nearly full; they could reach Boston without suspicion. Or she
+would hide her in the woods: she herself knew a place where she could
+bring her food and clothing, and form a shelter for her, and keep her
+safe till all suspicion had ceased.
+
+It would have been better for Edith had she yielded; but her own clear
+reason, free from the mists of fanaticism, deluded her into the
+persuasion that, as nothing could appear against her, it would confirm
+the suspicions against her if she were to avoid by flight a full and
+open examination.
+
+Before they retired for the night, they kneeled down to pray. Dinah
+could not subdue her sobs; but Edith's voice was calm and firm as she
+asked the protection of the Father of the fatherless, and committed her
+poor friend to him who is no respector of persons.
+
+Dinah entreated her mistress to allow her to sit by her all night and
+watch, while she tried to sleep. This Edith refused: she wished to be
+alone. She had much to do to prepare herself for to-morrow, and she
+justly feared that Dinah's distress would soften her heart, and shake
+her firmness too much.
+
+As they passed through the chamber, Dinah bearing the candle, the little
+Phoebe, restless in her sleep, had nearly thrown herself out of bed.
+Edith stopped, and, bending over, replaced the bedclothes, and said
+softly to Dinah, "If to-morrow should be fatal, if I should not live to
+keep my promise to the old woman, I can trust her to you: you will be to
+her, as you have been to me, a mother; O, more than a mother?"
+
+She stopped; her voice choked. She removed the thick hair from the brow
+of the sleeping child, but even in sleep her face wore the frown that so
+often marred its beauty. "Dinah," she said, "she is yours; you will love
+her as you have me."
+
+"That I can never promise; but I will do my duty," said Dinah.
+
+Edith pressed her lips--thirsting as they ever did for a return of
+love--on the fair brow, and then, taking the candle from Dinah, entered
+her own room. Her heart was oppressed with apprehension, and she would
+not trust herself to say good night to her faithful servants.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+    "But ye! ye are changed since ye met me last:
+    There is something bright from your features past;
+    There is that come over your heart and eye,
+    Which speaks of a world where the flowers must die.
+    Ye smile; but your smile has a dimness yet:
+    Oh! what have ye looked on since last we met?"
+
+    THE VOICE OF SPRING.
+
+
+Before the events mentioned in the last chapter occurred, the winter had
+passed away, and the reluctant footsteps of our northern spring began to
+appear. The purple Hepatica opened her soft eye in the woods, and the
+delicate Sanguinaria spread her snowy bosom to catch the pale sunbeam.
+Already the maple-trees had hung out their beautiful crimson blossoms,
+and the thrilling note of the song-sparrow echoed through the forest.
+Then came the chilling wind from the east, its wings loaded with frost;
+and the timid spring hid her tender blossoms, and wrapped herself in a
+watery veil.
+
+The weather and the spring were unnoticed by Dinah, when she sought,
+soon after sunrise, the pillow of her mistress. The night had brought
+no rest to her throbbing temples and anxious heart: she was surprised,
+therefore, to find Edith still sleeping. She had sat up late, arranging
+her father's and her own papers, and providing, by a distribution of her
+little property, for the old age of her two faithful servants. They were
+no longer slaves; Mr. Grafton had given them freedom at his death. She
+left the little Phoebe under their guardianship. She had also written a
+letter to Seymore, to ask him to come and aid her by his counsel in this
+extremity. It was nearly dawn when she sought her pillow; and sleep,
+which has been called the friend of sorrow--"but it is the happy who
+have called it so"--had only for a few moments left her with untroubled
+dreams. Her sleep was not heavy; for the gentle footstep of Dinah awoke
+her. When she saw her humble friend's troubled expression, she tried to
+smile; and, stroking her dark cheek as she bent over her, she said, "We
+must look bright to-day, my poor Dinah, or they will think we are
+afraid."
+
+They prepared for the arrival of the officers; and, when breakfast was
+ready, the little Phoebe was not to be found. Although Dinah looked
+very grave, this occasioned no anxiety in Edith, when she recollected
+the vagrant habits of the child.
+
+After breakfast, which was indeed not tasted, the same persons who had
+visited her the night before came to conduct Edith to the meeting-house,
+the place of examination. The house was nearly full; and among that
+crowd there was scarcely one to whom Edith had not been a friend and a
+benefactor, as far as her humble means would allow. As she entered,
+there was one by whose sick bed she had watched; another whose infant
+had died in her arms; and children stood looking on with stupid wonder
+to whom she had given flowers, and primers, and, more than all, her own
+gentle smile. But now every eye was averted, or turned on her with
+suspicion and terror,--so hardening is the power of fanaticism.
+
+I believe I have said that my heroine was not beautiful; but the inward
+harmony must have given a spiritual beauty to features animated with
+intellect, and softened by tenderness of heart; and a self-relying
+innocence and purity imparted something more of grace to her person than
+the most finished art could have given.
+
+Edith became very pale as she entered; and Dinah, who had followed her
+closely, begged permission to stand near and support her. This was
+denied, and she was placed between two men, who each held an arm, and in
+front of those who were to examine her.
+
+The afflicted--that is, the accuser--was now called in. Edith looked
+eagerly around, and, with grief and astonishment, saw her little Phoebe,
+the child of her care, when almost close to her, utter a piercing cry,
+and fall down in violent convulsions. She started forward to assist and
+raise her, but the men drew her rudely back. And this was her accuser!
+
+At the same time with Edith, a poor old woman, nearly eighty years of
+age, was brought in. Her accuser was her own grandchild,--a girl about
+the same age as Phoebe. Together they had concerted this diabolical
+plot, and had rehearsed and practised beforehand their contortions and
+convulsions, excited, no doubt, by the notoriety of wicked children they
+had heard of.
+
+The poor old creature was bent and haggard. She would have wept, but,
+alas! the fountain of her tears was dried up; and she looked at her
+grandchild with a sort of stupid incredulity and wonder. Her inability
+to weep was regarded as an infallible proof of her guilt. As she stood
+beside Edith, she shook with age and terror; and Edith, touched with
+pity, though she trembled herself, and was deadly pale, tried to give
+her a smile of hope and encouragement. The poor old wretch did not need
+it: she not only confessed to every thing of which she was accused, but
+added such circumstances of time and place, and of the various forms the
+devil had taken in her person, that Edith almost sickened with disgust.
+She could not understand how an old person, on the very verge of the
+grave, could wish to lengthen out her few years by such base and wicked
+lies.
+
+The young cannot believe that the old are unwilling to die. But it is an
+acknowledged truth, that the longer we have worn our earthly vesture,
+the dearer becomes the thin and faded remnant. The young resign their
+hold of life with hardly a regret, while the old cling with the utmost
+tenacity to the wavering and nearly-parted thread.
+
+Edith turned away from the partner of her suspected guilt, and asked to
+have the child brought near her. She held out her hand, and looked
+mildly in her face. The moment the child touched Edith's hand, she was
+still: this was a part of the plot: but the moment her hand was
+withdrawn, she fell down again in violent convulsions, and cried out
+that pins were thrust into her. In the midst of this acting, she caught
+Dinah's stern, reproachful eye fixed upon her, and she instantly became
+still. But this did not aid poor Edith's cause; for they cried out that
+the child was struck dumb by the accused.
+
+The old woman also, feeling perhaps that Edith's integrity was a
+reproach to her own weakness, cried out that she was pierced with pins,
+and pinched by Edith, although with invisible fingers, as she stood near
+her; and, turning back her sleeve from her bony and wrinkled arm, she
+showed a discolored spot, which she declared had not been there when she
+left her home. It had not, indeed; but every one knows how quickly a
+bruise is visible in the stagnant blood of age, and the mark had been
+left by the hand of the person who held her arm.
+
+Edith, wearied and disgusted, desired to be taken back to her prison,
+there to await her trial before the judges of the Province. Every thing
+had occurred that was most unfavorable to her, and she felt but too well
+that she must bear the suspicion of a crime of which she was as
+unconscious as the unborn infant. Her heart yearned towards the poor
+infatuated child, and she earnestly begged that she might be permitted
+to talk with her alone. This was granted, and she was guarded to her
+prison.
+
+There was no proper prison in our village, and Edith was guarded in one
+of the rooms of the deacon's house who had been so active in her
+accusation.
+
+During the night that passed after her examination, Edith had time to
+arrange her thoughts. Before she knew who her accusers were, she had
+been moving in the dark; and now, when she thought of the whole insane
+proceeding, she could scarcely believe they would be guilty of the
+monstrous crime of condemning her on the testimony of that child alone.
+
+When the deacon visited her in the morning, she said, with much warmth,
+"Have the days of Queen Mary come back? Am I to be suspected, condemned,
+imprisoned, on the testimony of that poor child,--the child that I took
+to my home when no one else among you would offer her a shelter?"
+
+The deacon answered, "that the testimony was so much more convincing, as
+the child had lived in the house with her."
+
+"And is her word to be taken against the testimony of my whole life? You
+know how I have lived among you from my infancy."
+
+"Yes; but God may choose the fairest of his works as instruments of his
+sovereign will."
+
+"Have you forgotten my father?" said Edith,--"how he lived among you? He
+was ever your friend--always near you in every trouble. And myself"--she
+stopped; for she would not remind them of her deeds of kindness,--of the
+daily beauty of her life in their humble circle; nor would she recall
+her orphanhood, her unprotected state; but she looked down, and her eyes
+filled with tears. "God," she said, at length, "is the protection of the
+orphan; and he will avenge this great sin, and you will answer for it at
+his bar."
+
+The deacon looked sternly decided and unmoved, but he began to urge her
+to confess,--to do as others had done, and save her life by
+acknowledging the crime.
+
+Indignation kindled in Edith's eye; but she checked it, and said, "I
+cannot, I durst not, belie my own soul, and commit so great a sin. God,
+who is the searcher of my heart and your heart, as we shall both answer
+at the judgment day, is witness that I know nothing of witchcraft,--of
+no temptation of the evil one. I have felt, indeed--as who has not?--the
+temptations that arise from our own passions; but I know no other, and
+can confess no other."
+
+She then desired that Phoebe might be brought to her, and Dinah
+permitted to attend her in her prison. They consented that Edith should
+see the child in the presence of one witness; and the mild old man who
+was with the deacon said he would bring her himself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+     "I am constrained to declare, as the result of as thorough a
+     scrutiny as I could institute, my belief that this dreadful
+     transaction was introduced and driven on by wicked perjury and
+     wilful malice."
+
+     UPHAM'S LECTURE OX SALEM WITCHCRAFT.
+
+
+     "Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts?"
+
+     LEAR.
+
+
+There seems sometimes to be an element of evil in the heart of a child,
+that would almost persuade us to believe in original sin. In the breast
+of those who have been favorably born and kindly nurtured, it may sleep
+forever; but, when the conscience has been soiled in early childhood, it
+awakes the appetite for sin, and the restraint that comes afterwards
+curbs without subduing the disposition to evil.
+
+It is true that poor Phoebe had felt a strong affection for her
+grandmother; and, without all other moral restraint, it was the only
+point in which her heart could be touched. The vagrant life she had led
+had also had its influence:
+
+    "Happy because the sunshine was her dower,"
+
+she could not always be insensible to the beauty of the heaven that had
+so often canopied her sleep, or the grandeur of the ocean where she had
+passed whole days playing with the waves. She rebelled against the
+restraint that every feminine occupation imposed on this wild liberty.
+She quailed, indeed, before Dinah's more resolute spirit; but Edith's
+gentleness had failed to touch her heart; and she knew that her forced
+obedience to Dinah was only the result of Edith's authority.
+
+When the child appeared, Edith held out her hand with her own grave,
+sweet smile; but, the moment the child saw her, she began again to act
+her part, and to throw her body and limbs into violent contortions.
+Edith was not alarmed: she saw it was feigned; and, drawing her to her
+knees, she held both her little hands tightly clasped in hers. Phoebe
+became instantly calm; but this was a part of the system of
+deception,--that, as soon as the accused touched the afflicted, they
+should be calmed and healed.
+
+Edith looked in her face, and said, very kindly, "Tell me, my poor
+child, who has persuaded you to do this wicked thing,--to accuse me of
+this horrible crime? tell me truly. I shall not be angry with you, I
+shall not punish you, if you tell me the truth. Who first spoke to you
+about it? What have they promised you for bringing this trouble on me?"
+
+The child, unmoved, said, "You yourself made me do it."
+
+"I! O, my poor Phoebe, how can you be so wicked as to tell this dreadful
+lie? Do you not know that God sees you and hears you, and that he will
+punish you for it? I may die: you may cause my death; but you will live
+to repent; and, O, how sorry you will be in after years, when you think
+how much I loved you, and you have caused my death! But, my poor Phoebe,
+you know not what you do; you know not what death is."
+
+"My grandmother died," said the child.
+
+"Ah, yes; but she died quietly in her bed, and you were sleeping near;
+and when I took you in my arms to look at her, you saw only her peaceful
+countenance. But I shall not die thus: I shall be dragged before angry
+men, and, with irons on my hands and ankles, I shall be lifted to the
+scaffold, and there, before hundreds of angry faces turned towards me,
+I shall die alone! not peacefully, as your grandmother did, when with my
+own hands I closed her eyes, but horribly, in pain and agony! and you
+will have done this,--you that I have loved so"--
+
+Phoebe became very red, and the tears came to her eyes.
+
+Edith thought she had touched the child's heart, and continued: "I knew
+you could not be so wicked, so young and looking so innocent. No, my
+child; you love me, and you will unsay all you have said, and we will go
+home again together."
+
+The child answered, with much violence, "No, no, never! you pricked me
+with pins, and you tormented me."
+
+"O, monstrous!" said Edith; "if I could believe in devils, I should
+believe you were now possessed. O, it is not natural! so young, and with
+a woman's nature! You do not love me, then. I have punished you when you
+have done wrong, and you have not forgiven me: you wish to be revenged.
+You do not answer. Phoebe! tell me: are you angry that I punished you?
+God knows it pained me to do so. But your poor grandmother gave you to
+me that I might try to make you a good child; and if I had not punished
+you when you did wrong, you would have grown up a wicked woman. God
+grant you may not be so now! you are already revenged."
+
+Phoebe said, very sullenly, "You punished me twice."
+
+"Good God! and is it for that you have brought on me this terrible evil?
+Can such revenge dwell in so young a heart?"
+
+Edith walked several times across the room, trying to calm her agitated
+nerves. The child stood with an expression of obstinate determination in
+her whole manner.
+
+At length Edith went to her, and took her, as she had often done at
+home, in her arms.
+
+"My dear Phoebe, do you remember the day when your grandmother died? I
+was there by her bedside; and you, a poor, deserted child, were crying
+bitterly. I took you home to my house. Like myself, you were an orphan;
+and I prayed to the orphan's Father that from me your little heart might
+never know a pang of sorrow. You fell asleep in my arms; and since then
+I have ever loved you almost as though I were indeed your mother, and
+you were my own child. And you, Phoebe, you have loved me, have you
+not?"
+
+The child was silent.
+
+"Do you remember the fever you had soon after? when you were restless in
+your bed, and I took you in my arms, and all night my bosom was your
+pillow, and I watched you many nights, and thought not of sleep or
+fatigue when I held your little hand, burning with fever, in my own all
+night? Ah! you loved me then; you will love me again, and--"
+
+"I never loved you," said the child; "I do not love you now."
+
+Edith put her quickly from her arms, and turning to the man who was
+present, "Take her away," she said; "take the poor child away. O, my
+God! is it for this I have lavished on her the tenderness of my heart! I
+warmed her in my bosom, and she has stung me to the quick. O, had I been
+less indulgent, I might have subdued her stubborn nature. Of what avail
+has been a life of self-denial, of benevolence? Of what avail that I
+have striven to enlighten my own mind and to do good to others? In one
+moment, by that child of my own cherishing, but the creature of my own
+bounty, I am suspected of a horrible, contemptible crime; humiliated to
+the very dust. O, my Father! it is too much." She covered her face with
+her hands, and burst into tears.
+
+The person who had witnessed the scene with the child was the same elder
+I have mentioned as possessing much tenderness of heart, but too weak a
+head to listen to its dictates when opposed to the influence of others.
+He had been much affected by her appeal to the child, and came back to
+urge her, if she had any friends to espouse her cause, to send for them.
+He said the fanaticism was increasing; that the prisons in many villages
+were filled with the accused; that the hearts of the people were
+hardened against them; and that her own cause had been much injured by
+the confession of the old woman: and he ended by entreating her to
+confess also, and save her life.
+
+To the last proposal, Edith did not answer. She said she had already
+written to the only friend on whom she could rely, and that Paul had
+gone himself with her letter. Her cause, she said, seemed already lost,
+and all she wished at present was, that Dinah might be permitted to
+visit her, and that she might be left alone.
+
+When Edith was alone, she felt the depression that succeeds to great
+excitement. She looked back on her life with that sick and heart-broken
+feeling that the young experience after severe disappointments. She was
+too young to die; and, though her life had been comparatively blameless,
+the excess of feeling she had lavished on a few idols seemed now to her
+almost like a crime. She had forgotten, she thought, that her duties had
+been plain, and simple, and humble, lying all about her path like
+unnoticed flowers, while she had longed for something more exciting to
+fill her heart.
+
+It is easy for the accused to believe themselves guilty. She trembled
+when she thought how many, not weaker than herself, when suspected and
+deserted by friends, had yielded to their fears, and even fancied
+themselves _guilty_ of crimes which they abhorred; and she mentally
+prayed, "Ah, my Father, save me from myself." Then came the thought of
+Seymore, of his grief, his desolation! "Ah, who will understand him,"
+she said; "who will comfort him when I am gone? But will he remember
+me?" thought she; "will he think of me in 'widowhood of heart?'"
+
+Who would die and be wholly forgotten? We long intensely to live in the
+hearts that love us now. We would not pass away "like the summer-dried
+fountain," forgotten when its sound has ceased. We would have our lowly
+grave visited by holy, twilight thoughts, and our image return at the
+hour of prayer. How few are thus remembered! Now Edith thought of her
+father, and all the yearning of her heart, which her love for Seymore
+had stifled, came back, and torrents of tears flowed as she recalled her
+happy childhood.
+
+They were checked by the entrance of Dinah. She brought comfort with
+her, and a cheerful countenance, for she did not know the result of
+Edith's conversation with the child, and she was full of hope that
+Phoebe would retract all she had said.
+
+Edith could not bear to undeceive her poor friend, and smiled, and
+thanked her as she arranged a nice, clean bed, placed the books she had
+brought within her reach, and pressed her to eat of the delicacies she
+had prepared. She arranged the little repast with all the neatness of
+home, and gave to the gloomy apartment an air of comfort; and Edith
+smiled again, and felt lightened of half her load of despondency, by the
+presence of this faithful guardian.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+                        "'T is past! I wake
+      A captive and alone, and far from thee,
+    My love and friend! yet fostering, for thy sake,
+      A quenchless hope of happiness to be;
+    And feeling still my woman's spirit strong
+    In the deep faith that lifts from earthly wrong
+    A heavenward glance."
+
+    MRS. HEMANS.
+
+
+The next morning Edith was informed that Seymore had arrived. As soon as
+he received her letter he travelled with all the rapidity the state of
+the country permitted, when the journey from Boston to Salem was the
+affair of a day, as it is now of half an hour.
+
+From all we have learned of the character of Seymore, the reader will
+not be surprised to find that, although never taking an active part in
+the persecutions of the time, the character of his enthusiasm was such
+that he lent an easy faith to the stories he had heard of the possessed,
+and believed that God was manifesting his power by granting, for a
+season, such liberty to the prince of evil.
+
+When, however, he received Edith's letter, he felt pierced as it were
+with his own sword. He trembled when he thought of his almost idolatrous
+love, and with a faith which he fancied resembled that of Abraham, he
+believed the time had now come when he must cut off a right hand, and
+pluck out a right eye, to give evidence of his submission to the will of
+God.
+
+With this disposition of mind he arrived at the scene of our narrative.
+In the mean time the tender-hearted elder had become so much interested
+to save Edith, that he contrived to have Seymore placed on the jury,
+hoping that his deep interest in her would be the means of returning a
+verdict of _not guilty_. Seymore was therefore spared the pain of an
+interview with Edith, which would probably have convinced him of her
+innocence, before the trial.
+
+Edith awoke the next morning from a happy dream. She was walking with
+Seymore by the margin of the great ocean, and his low, deep voice
+mingled in her ear with the liquid sound of the dying wave. She awoke, a
+captive and alone: no, not alone, for the faithful Dinah was standing by
+her bedside, so tearful, so subdued, that the smile the happy dream had
+left on Edith's lips instantly faded. She remembered it was the day of
+her trial, and she prepared to meet it.
+
+These trials were held in the meeting-house, and were opened and closed
+with a religious service. This seems like a mockery to us, but our
+fathers thought they were performing a sacred duty; and however
+frivolous or disgusting were many of the details, the trial was rendered
+more appalling by giving to the whole the appearance of a holy
+sacrifice.
+
+Edith was far from being insensible to the terrors of her situation, but
+she found it necessary to assume a cheerfulness she did not feel, in
+order to soothe the dreadful agitation of Dinah. The poor African
+trusted in God; but she could not shield her child from the tyranny of
+human power.
+
+When Edith entered the thronged meeting-house, a paleness, like that of
+death, overspread her countenance. She requested that Dinah might stand
+near her to support her, lest she should faint. This was rudely denied.
+She was answered, "If she had strength to torment that child, she had
+strength to stand alone."
+
+She could not wipe the tears that gushed into her eyes at this cruel
+answer, for each hand was extended, and closely held by an officer,--a
+precaution always adopted in these trials, lest the prisoner should
+afflict some person in the crowded multitude.
+
+She had no sooner become a little calm, than her eye sought Seymore
+among the crowd. She was shocked with the change an "o'erwrought spirit"
+had effected in his person. His pale forehead was traced with veins that
+were swelled almost to bursting; a fire was burning in his dark, sunken
+eyes, and crimson spots flushed each cheek.
+
+As Edith looked at him, her heart swelled with an infinite pity. For the
+moment, her own appalling situation melted away from her thoughts. For
+the moment, it was of little importance to her whether she lived or
+died. All she wished was to be near Seymore, to speak to him, to soothe
+and calm his agitated spirit.
+
+She was recalled to herself by the opening of the trial. The prisoner
+was first commanded to repeat the Lord's prayer. This Edith did in a
+low, sweet voice, that sounded to the hushed audience like plaintive
+music.
+
+It is not my purpose to enter into the details of this trial. It is
+enough that "every idle rumor, every thing that the gossip of the
+credulous, or the fertile memories of the malignant could produce that
+had an unfavorable bearing on the prisoner, however foreign it might be
+to the indictment, was brought before the jury,"[3] in addition to the
+testimony of the child, and the falsehood of the old woman.
+
+[Footnote 3: Upham's History of Witchcraft.]
+
+The cause was at length given to the jury. They did not leave their
+seats; and when it came to the turn of Seymore, who was the last to
+speak, the crimson blood rushed to the cheek, brow, and temples of
+Edith, and then left them paler than before: a sick sensation came over
+her, and she would have fainted, had she not been relieved by tears,
+burning hot, that gushed from her eyes.
+
+Seymore had covered his face when he first entered, and had not looked
+at Edith. So hushed was the crowd, that the word "_guilty_," wrung as it
+were from him in the lowest whisper, was heard distinctly through the
+whole meeting-house. It pierced Edith's ear like the voice of a trumpet;
+and from that moment the spirit of a martyr entered her breast. She felt
+herself deserted by the whole of her little world, falsely convicted of
+a crime she abhorred, and left without human sympathy. She turned to
+God. "He who seeth in secret," she said, "knows my innocence;" and she
+bowed her head, and made no further answer.
+
+The trial was closed as it began,--with religious services. A hymn was
+sung; and Edith, feeling, as I have said, an elevation that she could
+not herself understand, joined in the devotion. The others stopped; for
+they would not mingle their voices with one convicted of witchcraft: the
+very evil one was mocking them. Edith continued alone; and her rich,
+sweet tones thrilled their hearts like the voice of an angel. She was
+reminded by a whisper from Dinah that she was singing alone; and,
+ceasing, she blushed deeply, and covered her face from the curious gaze
+of the multitude.
+
+As Edith returned to her prison, guarded on each side, and followed by
+Dinah, she thought of the Lady Ursula, whose cruel fate had moved her so
+deeply. And was she indeed the same person? The child that had wept her
+fate so bitterly was now to meet one far more terrible: and she felt
+strength to meet it. Every wave, as it had passed over her, had brought
+out the hidden beauty and strength of her soul; and, though there was in
+her no air of triumph, a tranquil contentment and repose was expressed
+in her whole person.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+    "No, never more, O, never in the worth
+    Of its pure cause, let sorrowing love on earth
+    Trust fondly,--never more! The hope is crushed
+    That lit my life,--the voice within me hushed
+    That spoke sweet oracles."
+
+
+The unnatural excitement that had borne our heroine up during the last
+part of her trial forsook her when she entered once more her dreary
+prison. She was again alone,--again a weak and timid woman. The
+momentary exaltation that a sense of injustice had given her when under
+the gaze of numbers, gave way to memories of the deep and unforgotten
+happiness she had connected with Seymore. All her sweet anticipations of
+soothing his spirit, of leading him to more rational views of God and of
+himself, faded away. In a few days, she would be no more, and
+remembered, perhaps, with pity or scorn. One last, lingering weakness
+remained: it was the fear of losing the respect and tenderness of
+Seymore.
+
+Like all who love deeply, she had dated her existence from the time she
+became acquainted with Seymore: all before had become a blank in her
+memory; but now her early years rose up before her, like the reflected
+sunlight on distant hills. The thought of her father came back with
+melting tenderness. Ah, now was he avenged for the short forgetfulness
+with which she had ever reproached herself.
+
+She threw herself on her knees, and prayed silently. She felt calmed and
+elevated, as if in immediate answer to her prayer. All selfish and
+agitating emotions passed away. A spirit of forgiveness, of endurance,
+of calm and patient trust, entered her soul. She felt that, with
+Seymore's convictions and sense of duty, he could not have acted
+otherwise; he could not but bear his testimony to what he thought truth;
+and almost a divine pity for his errors, and a purer love for his truth,
+filled her heart.
+
+She was informed that Seymore was waiting to see her. This was a trial
+she had expected, and she was now prepared to meet him. He entered
+trembling, pale, and wholly unmanned. As he tried to speak, his voice
+failed, and he burst into tears.
+
+It is fearful to see a strong man weep. Edith was not prepared for this
+excess of emotion. Those who have seen Retch's exquisite drawing of
+Cordelia when Lear awakes, and she asks "if he knows her," can imagine
+the tender pity of her expression as she went to him and placed her hand
+in his. A sweet smile was on her lips,--that smile that shows that woman
+can mingle an infinite tenderness with the forgiveness of every injury.
+He pressed her hand to his heart--his lips; and when he caught her
+eye,--"O, do not look so mildly at me," he said; "reproach me, scorn me,
+hate me: I can bear all rather than those meek eyes,--than that
+forgiving smile."
+
+"Be calm, dear Seymore," she said; "with your convictions, you could not
+have done otherwise. You believe in the reality of these possessions.
+The evidence against me was more and stronger than has been sufficient
+to condemn many as innocent as I am. You can have no cause for
+self-reproach."
+
+"Innocent! O, say not that you are innocent! God has many ways of trying
+his elect. You he has tried severely with temptations from the prince of
+evil. He chooses souls like yours. O, Edith, for my sake, for your own
+sake, acknowledge that you have been tempted. It only is required that
+you should say you have been deceived; then all will be well."
+
+For a moment, Edith's face was crimsoned. "What! become a traitor to my
+own soul! lose forever the unsullied jewel of truth, and the peace of a
+pure conscience! and do you counsel this?"
+
+"Many have confessed," he said, "many of undoubted truth, of ripe
+wisdom, who could not be deceived, and who would not confess to a
+lie."[4]
+
+[Footnote 4: "Fifty-five persons, many of them previously of the most
+_unquestionable character for intelligence, virtue, and piety_,
+acknowledged the truth of the charges that were made against them,
+confessed that they were witches, and had made a compact with the devil.
+It is probable that the motive of self-preservation influenced most of
+them: an awful death was in immediate prospect. The delusion had
+obtained full possession of the people, the witnesses, the jury, and the
+court. By acknowledging the crime, they might in a moment secure their
+lives and liberty. Their principles could not withstand the temptation:
+they made a confession, and were rewarded by a pardon."--_Upham's
+Lectures on Salem Witchcraft._]
+
+"But _I_ should confess to a lie,--a base and wicked lie. I have no
+faith in these temptations. I believe God suffers us to be tempted by
+our own passions and unrestrained imaginations, but not by visible or
+invisible evil spirits. O, listen to me: go no further in this mad,
+this wicked delusion. Spare the innocent blood that will be shed. If I
+must die, let my death be the means of turning you and others from this
+dreadful sin."
+
+"And can you bear to have your name sullied by this alliance with the
+wicked? Those who die as criminals are believed guilty of crimes; and
+can you consent to be remembered as the associate of evil spirits?"
+
+"Falsehood can live but a few years," she answered; "there is an
+immortality in truth and virtue. I cannot blush to be confounded with
+the guilty; for it is my unwillingness to sully my conscience with a lie
+that leads me there."
+
+Seymore was silent for a few moments. "Edith," he said at last,
+straining both her hands in his, "have you been able to think how cruel
+this death may be? Have you fortitude? Can you bear to think of it?" and
+he shuddered, and covered his face with his hands.
+
+Edith for a moment turned pale. "I have ever shrunk," she said, "from
+physical pain. My own extreme timidity has never given me courage to
+bear the least of its evils. I believe, then, that it will be spared me:
+God will give me courage at the moment, or he will mercifully shorten
+the pain; for what is beyond our strength we are not called to bear."
+
+"And can you part with life thus triumphantly?"
+
+"Ah, my friend, there is no triumph in my soul. In its deepest
+sanctuary, I feel that God will pardon my sins, and accept my death as
+in obedience to my conscience. But, O! I have not sought it: life is
+still sweet to me."
+
+"You shall not die,--you must not! you will not leave me! Edith, have
+you forgotten our moments of bliss,--our dreams of happiness to
+come,--the quiet home, the peaceful fireside, where we hoped to pass our
+lives together? Have you forgotten how long, how truly, how fervently, I
+have loved you? and is this to be the close of all?"
+
+Edith's hand trembled in his, but she answered cheerfully: "The close!
+ah, no: look upward. God has tried us both with grievous trials. Mine
+will cease first. Yours is the hardest to bear: to linger here--to do
+God's work alone. Let me be to you like one departed a little while
+before you, that would not be mourned, but remembered always."
+
+They were both silent for some moments; Seymore contending with
+unutterable regret, oppressed with an emotion that was almost the agony
+of remorse.
+
+Edith understood his contending emotions. "Think," she said, "that you
+have been the instrument of Providence to lead me to heaven. I do not
+regret to die early: God has permitted me to solve the mystery of life.
+I see his hand even from the moment when that child was committed to my
+care. Thank God, I can now submit to his will; and, although life were
+sweet with you, my death may bring you nearer to heaven."
+
+"Edith," he said at last, "I have been deceived. Such faith, such divine
+forgiveness, such noble fortitude, cannot be the work of evil spirits.
+Your faith is purer and stronger than mine,--your reason more
+enlightened. I have erred, dreadfully erred."
+
+A bright smile illumined her face, and she pressed his hand in hers.
+
+"I have done most dreadfully wrong," he said; "I sinned from ignorance."
+
+"God will forgive you," said Edith; "and I,--I cannot forgive, for I
+could not blame."
+
+He started up. "It is not too late to repair this dreadful evil: it will
+be easy for you to escape. If I cannot gain a reversion of the
+sentence, we can escape: we will leave this country of delusion and
+error; we will go home--to England. There, O Edith--"
+
+The blood for a moment rushed to Edith's cheek and brow; but she
+answered, sadly, "No, Seymore, it cannot be; after all that has passed,
+it would ruin your character, your prospects, your usefulness, forever.
+We are too weak to stem, to oppose this mad delusion. Bigotry and power
+are all around us."
+
+"You hesitate. Ah, you do not love me as you did;" and he became again
+violently agitated.
+
+Edith took his hand in hers, and pressed it to her lips. "Tempt me not,"
+she said, "with visions of happiness that can never be. Let us rather
+pray to God to support us in this bitter hour."
+
+They bowed their young heads together, and their tears mingled. Edith's
+silent prayer was wholly for him. True to her woman's nature, she forgot
+herself in his deeper sorrow.
+
+He was calm, and Edith would not prolong the interview; and Seymore left
+her all the more hastily as he was determined to employ every means to
+save her. He was not permitted to enjoy that happiness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+      "See, they are gone!--
+    The earth has bubbles, as the waters have,
+    And these are some of them. They vanished
+    Into the air, and what seemed corporal,
+    Melted as breath into the wind."
+
+    SHAKSPEARE.
+
+
+When Edith was alone, she felt that weakness and exhaustion of the body
+that all the painful excitements of the day had produced. She threw
+herself on the bed, and Dinah was soon at her side.
+
+"Sing me one of the hymns you used to sing in my happy childhood;
+perhaps I may sleep."
+
+Dinah sat by the side of the bed, and Edith laid her head on the breast
+of her faithful friend, while she began in a tremulous, low tone, that
+became stronger and clearer as the holy fervor of the hymn inspired her.
+
+Edith lay motionless, but between her closed eyelids the large tears
+forced themselves, and fell slowly down her cheeks. At length, like a
+tired infant, she slept.
+
+Dinah laid her head gently on the pillow; with the tenderest hand, wiped
+away the tears; drew the covering over her; with noiseless step excluded
+the light, and then sat down to watch by her.
+
+It was the bitterest hour poor Dinah had ever passed. She tried to pray,
+but she found submission impossible. She had had many trials. She had
+been torn from her native land, chained in a slave ship, exposed for
+sale in the slave market; but since she had been a Christian, she had
+blessed her various trials. Now her faith in God seemed entirely to
+fail.
+
+She took, as she had often done to comfort her, the cool, soft hand of
+her mistress in hers. It was now burning hot, and her own tears, as they
+fell, seemed to scald her.
+
+But just at that moment a thought darted into her mind, and she has
+often said that it was a direct inspiration from God. "I will save her!"
+was the thought. The blood rushed to her head and face, and then
+retreated again to the heart; she trembled, and, for the first time in
+her life, the poor African was near fainting. She fell on her knees:
+"Yes, God help me, I will save her." The operations of the mind at such
+moments are rapid as lightning; and, in a few moments, her plan was
+arranged.
+
+When Edith awoke and saw the change a few moments had wrought in Dinah's
+appearance, the light that shone in her eye, and her cheek "flushed
+through its olive hue," she feared, for an instant, that great anxiety
+and grief had shaken her reason.
+
+"My poor Dinah," she said, taking her hand in hers, "you are ill; you
+are feverish; you have been too long shut up in this dismal room with
+me. Go out, I pray you, and take the cool evening air, and I will try to
+sleep again."
+
+It was what Dinah wished, for she desired to consult Paul; but she
+busied herself with all those little nameless attentions that love alone
+can devise. As she was folding her mistress's hair for the night, Edith
+said, "Dinah, I can escape this dreadful death that awaits me."
+
+"O, my dear mistress, how?" said Dinah, her whole face quivering with
+emotion.
+
+"With a lie! by confessing that I have tormented that poor child, and
+that I am myself possessed by evil spirits."
+
+Dinah drooped again. "You could not do that," she said; "no, you could
+not dishonor yourself with a falsehood: but if you could escape without
+violating your conscience, would you not?"
+
+"Certainly," answered Edith: "if God were to place the means of escape
+within my reach, I would make use of them, as I would use the means to
+recover from a fever. I should violate no law, for the proceedings
+against me were unjust, and the testimony false. I could not yield to
+Seymore's desire that I should escape, because his was one of the voices
+that condemned me, and he could open my prison door, if at all, only by
+an open and honorable confession of his error."
+
+Dinah trembled with joy at hearing Edith speak thus of her willingness
+to escape, could it be effected with truth; but she would not hint at
+her hopes till she had arranged her plan with the assistance of Paul.
+
+After a pause, Edith said, "Alas, there is no hope of escape: and why do
+you fold my hair so carefully? it will never delight your eyes more."
+
+Dinah answered, "Never despair: I see a light behind the cloud: the
+morning is breaking."
+
+Dinah consulted Paul, and the plan they concerted together was not
+difficult to execute. Edith, after long entreaty, yielded to the
+affectionate creature, and the more readily, as she knew Dinah was so
+great and universal a favorite in the village that no evil could befall
+her.
+
+After having her complexion darkened with an herb which Dinah had
+prepared, Edith exchanged clothes with her humble friend; and at night
+Dinah remained in the prison, while, with infinite precaution, she
+eluded the observation of the one person who had been placed at the door
+to guard her. Paul was secreted without, and the trembling Edith,
+without being observed, found shelter and concealment in the ruined hut
+of Phoebe's grandmother.
+
+Paul, as I have said before, was an excellent boatman. Soon as the first
+streak of dawning light appeared, secretly and in silence, he dipped his
+oar into the water.
+
+The beautiful morning star shone alone in the sky, and as the shore
+melted away, Edith strained her eyes to catch the outline of her happy
+home, and the little mound where her parents reposed.
+
+They reached a place of safety, and Edith was soon made happy by hearing
+of the safety of her affectionate and humble friend.
+
+It is well known that this fearful delusion of our country ceased as
+suddenly as it had risen. Edith was one of the last of the accused. When
+it was discovered that she had escaped, no inquiries were made, and no
+regret expressed. "The curtain had fallen, and a close was put to one of
+the most tremendous tragedies of real life. The wildest storm, perhaps,
+that ever raged in the moral world, instantly became a calm. The tide
+that had threatened to overwhelm every thing in its fury sank back, in a
+moment, to its peaceful bed."
+
+What could have been Seymore's emotions when the cloud had vanished, and
+he stood in the clear sunshine of reason? Happy he was indeed,
+inexpressibly happy, that his beloved Edith had escaped the most
+dreadful consequences of this mad delusion.
+
+Whether their union ever took place, I must leave to the imagination of
+my readers. The young who have never had their hearts stirred with a
+deeper love than that for a pet lamb, or a canary bird, will reject the
+thought as impossible. The old, if any who have passed the age of
+thoughtless amusement should condescend to read these pages, perhaps
+will judge otherwise. Having learned from that severe teacher,
+experience, how prone we are to err, and how often we need forgiveness
+from each other, as well as from Heaven; having found, also, that the
+jewel of true love, though sullied by error, and sometimes mixed with
+baser stones, yet, like the diamond, can never lose its value,--they
+will cherish the belief that Seymore found, in the devoted affection of
+Edith, a balm for his wounded spirit, and an unfailing strength for the
+duties and trials of life.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Delusion, or The Witch of New England, by 
+Eliza Buckminster Lee
+
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+  </head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Delusion, or The Witch of New England, by 
+Eliza Buckminster Lee
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license
+
+
+Title: Delusion, or The Witch of New England
+
+Author: Eliza Buckminster Lee
+
+Release Date: March 17, 2012 [EBook #39176]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DELUSION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+<h1>DELUSION;</h1>
+
+<h3>OR THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.</h3>
+
+<h2>By Eliza Buckminster Lee</h2>
+
+<p class="center">"There is in man a HIGHER than love of happiness: he can do without<br />
+happiness, and, instead thereof, find blessedness."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Sartor.</span></p>
+
+<p class="center">BOSTON:<br />
+HILLIARD, GRAY, AND COMPANY.<br />
+1840.</p>
+
+<p class="center">Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1839,<br />
+BY HILLIARD, GRAY &amp; CO.<br />
+in the clerk's office of the district court of Massachusetts.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>PREFACE.</h2>
+
+
+<p>The scenes and characters of this little tale are wholly fictitious. It
+will be found that the tragic interest that belongs to the history of
+the year 1692 has been very much softened in the following pages.</p>
+
+<p>The object of the author has not been to write a tale of witchcraft, but
+to show how circumstances may unfold the inward strength of a timid
+woman, so that she may at last be willing to die rather than yield to
+the delusion that would have preserved her life.</p>
+
+<p>If it is objected that the young and lovely are seldom accused of any
+witchcraft except that of bewitching hearts, we answer, that of those
+who were <i>actually</i> accused, many were young; and those who maintained a
+firm integrity against the overwhelming power of the delusion of the
+period must have possessed an intellectual beauty which it would be vain
+to endeavor to portray.</p>
+
+<p>This imperfect effort is submitted with much diffidence, to the
+indulgence of the courteous reader.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"Ay, call it holy ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">The soil where first they trod:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">They have left unstained what there they found,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Freedom to worship God."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>New England scenery is said to be deficient in romantic and poetic
+associations. It is said that we have no ruins of ancient castles,
+frowning over our precipices; no time-worn abbeys and monasteries,
+mouldering away in neglected repose, in our valleys.</p>
+
+<p>It is true that the grand and beautiful places in our natural scenery
+are not marred by the monuments of an age of violence and wrong; and our
+silent valleys retain no remnant of the abodes of self-indulgent and
+superstitious devotion; but the descendant of the Pilgrims finds, in
+many of the fairest scenes of New England, some memento to carry back
+the imagination to those heroic and self-sacrificing ancestors. His soul
+is warmed and elevated when he remembers that devoted company, who were
+sustained amid hardship and every privation, on the trackless ocean, and
+in the mysterious and appalling solitudes of the forest, by a firm
+devotion to duty, and an all-pervading sense of the immediate presence
+of God.</p>
+
+<p>The faults of our ancestors were the faults of their age. It is not now
+understood&mdash;and how wide from it was the conviction then!&mdash;that <i>even</i>
+toleration implies intoleration. Who is to judge what opinions are to be
+tolerated? He whom circumstance has invested at the moment with power?</p>
+
+<p>The scene I wish to describe was on the borders of one of the interior
+villages of New England,&mdash;a mountain village, embosomed in high hills,
+from which the winter torrents, as they met in the plain, united to form
+one of those clear, sparkling rivers, in whose beautiful mirror the
+surrounding hills were reflected. The stream, "winding at its own sweet
+will," enclosed a smooth meadow. At the extremity of the meadow, and
+shadowed by the mountain, nestled one of the poorest farm-houses, or
+cottages, of the time.</p>
+
+<p>It was black and old, apparently containing but two rooms and a garret.
+Attached to it were the common out-houses of the poorest farms: a shed
+for a cow, a covering for a cart, and a small barn were all. But the
+situation of this humble and lonely dwelling was one of surpassing
+beauty. The soft meadow in front was dotted with weeping elms and
+birches; the opposite and neighboring hills were covered to their
+summits with the richest wood, while openings here and there admitted
+glimpses of the distant country.</p>
+
+<p>A traveller coming upon this solitary spot, and seeing the blue smoke
+curling against the mountain side, would have rejoiced. There is
+something in the lonely farmhouse, surrounded with its little garden,
+and its homely implements of labor, that instantly touches our sympathy.
+There, we say, human hearts have experienced all the changes of life;
+they have loved and rejoiced, perhaps suffered and died.</p>
+
+<p>The interior consisted of only two rooms. In the ample chimney of that
+which served for the common room, was burning a bright flame of pine
+knots; for, although it was the middle of summer, the sun sank so early
+behind the hills, and the evenings were so chilly, that the warmth was
+necessary, and the light from the small window cheered the laborer
+returning late from his work.</p>
+
+<p>An old man sat by the chimney, evidently resting from the labors of the
+day. He was bent by time, but his brilliant eye and his flowing gray
+locks gave a certain refinement to his appearance, beyond that which his
+homely garments would warrant.</p>
+
+<p>A woman, apparently as aged as himself, sat by the little window,
+catching the last rays of evening, as they were reflected from her white
+cap and silvery hair. Before her was a table on which lay a large Bible.
+She had just placed her spectacles between the leaves, as she closed it
+and resumed her knitting.</p>
+
+<p>These two formed a picture full of the quiet repose of old age. But
+there was another in the room,&mdash;a youth, apparently less than twenty,
+kneeling before the flaming pine, over the leaves of a worn volume that
+absorbed him wholly.</p>
+
+<p>The ruddy flame imparted the glow of health to a countenance habitually
+pale. Over his dark, enthusiastic eye was spread a clear and noble brow,
+so smooth and polished that it seemed as if at seventy it would be as
+unwrinkled as at seventeen. His piercing eye had that depth of
+expression that indicates dark passions or religious melancholy. He was
+slender in form, and very tall; but a bend in the shoulders, produced by
+agricultural labor, or by weakness in the chest, impaired somewhat the
+symmetry of his form.</p>
+
+<p>They had been silent some moments. The young man closed his worn volume,
+an imperfect copy of Virgil, and walked several times, with hurried
+steps, across the little room.</p>
+
+<p>At length he stopped before the woman, and said, "Mother, let me see how
+much your frugal care has hoarded. Let me know all our wealth. Unless I
+can procure another book, I cannot be prepared for the approaching
+examination. If I cannot enter college the next term, I never can. I
+must give up all hope of ever being any thing but the drudge I am now,
+and of living and dying in this narrow nook of earth."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, my son," answered the woman; "if my prayers are heard, you will
+be a light and a blessing to the church, though I may not live to see
+it."</p>
+
+<p>The young man sighed deeply, and, taking the key she gave him, he opened
+an old-fashioned chest, and, from a little cup of silver tied over with
+a piece of leather, he poured the contents into his hand. There were
+several crowns and shillings, and two or three pieces of gold.</p>
+
+<p>Apparently the examination was unsatisfactory, for he threw himself into
+a chair, and covered his face with his hands.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman rose after looking at him a few moments in silence, and
+laid her hand gently on his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"My son," she said, "where is the faith that sustained your ancestors
+when they left all their luxuries and splendor, their noble homes for
+conscience' sake. Yes, my son, your fathers were among the distinguished
+of England's sons, and they left all for God."</p>
+
+<p>"Mother," said he, "would that they had been hewers of wood and drawers
+of water. Then I should have been content with my lot. Mother, all your
+carefully hoarded treasure will not be enough to pay my first term in
+college. Without books, without friends, I must give up the hope of an
+education," and the large tears trickled between his fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"You forget," she said, "your good friend at C. who has lent you so many
+books. Why not apply to him again?"</p>
+
+<p>A deep blush flushed the young man's countenance, but he made no answer,
+and seemed to wish to change the subject.</p>
+
+<p>"It is almost evening," he said; "shall we not have prayers?" and,
+placing himself near the window to catch the last rays of departing
+daylight, he read one of the chapters from the Old Testament.</p>
+
+<p>The aged man, who had not spoken during the discussion, stood up and
+prayed with great fervency.</p>
+
+<p>His prayer was made up, indeed, by quotations from the Old Testament,
+and he used altogether the phraseology of the Scriptures. He prayed for
+the church in the wilderness, "that it might be bright as the sun, fair
+as the moon, beautiful as Tirzah, and terrible as an army with banners;"
+"that our own exertions to serve the church and our strivings after the
+Holy Spirit might not be like arrows in the air, traces in the sea, oil
+upon the polished marble, and water spilt upon the ground."</p>
+
+<p>He asked for no temporal blessing; all his petitions were in language
+highly figurative, and he closed with a prayer for his grandson, "that
+God would make him a polished shaft in the temple of the Lord, a bright
+and shining light in the candlestick of the church."</p>
+
+<p>When he had finished his prayer,&mdash;"My son," he said, "do not be cast
+down; you forget that the great Luther begged his bread. The servants of
+the church, in every age, have been poor and despised; even the Son of
+God," and he looked reverently upwards, "knew not where to lay his head.
+<i>You</i> have only to labor. The peat at the bottom of the meadow is
+already dry; there is more than we shall need for winter fuel; take it,
+in the morning, to C&mdash;&mdash;, and with the produce buy the book you need."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said the young man, "there are many repairs necessary to make you
+and my grandmother comfortable for the winter. I cannot rob you of more.
+I can borrow the book."</p>
+
+<p>He lighted his lamp, made from rushes dipped in the green wax of the bay
+bush, which affords a beautiful, but not brilliant flame, and went up a
+few steps to his chamber in the garret. The old woman gathered the ashes
+over the kindling coal, and, with her aged partner, retired to the
+bed-room opposite the narrow entrance.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Silent when glad, affectionate, though shy:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And now his look was most demurely sad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And now he laughed aloud, yet none knew why.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">The neighbors stared and sighed, yet blessed the lad;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Some deemed him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i25"><span class="smcap">Beattie.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>Our young student retired to his garret, a small room in the roof of the
+cottage, heated by the summer sun resting on its roof almost to the heat
+of a furnace. One small window looking towards the east admitted the
+evening breeze.</p>
+
+<p>In the remotest corner was a low and narrow pallet, by the side of which
+hung the indispensable articles of a man's apparel.</p>
+
+<p>A small table, covered with ink spots, and a solitary chair stood in the
+centre of the little apartment. A few deal shelves contained the odd and
+worn volumes of the student's library. A Greek Testament, several
+lexicons, half a volume of Horace, lay scattered on the table. Virgil
+was the book he had brought with him from the pine-knot torch, and it
+was the old Grecian, Homer that he was so anxious to possess.</p>
+
+<p>The uncarpeted floor was thickly strewn with sheets half written over,
+and torn manuscripts were scattered about. Wherever the floor was
+visible, the frequent ink spots indicated that it was not without mental
+agitation that these manuscripts had been produced.</p>
+
+<p>It was not to repose from the labors of the day that the young man
+entered his little chamber: to bodily labor must now succeed mental
+toil.</p>
+
+<p>He cast a wistful look towards his little pallet; he longed to rest his
+limbs, aching with the labor of the day; but no; his lamp was on the
+table, and, resolutely throwing off his coarse frock, he sat down to
+think and to write.</p>
+
+<p>Wearied by a long day of labor, the student in vain tried to collect his
+thoughts, to calm his weakened nerves. He rose and walked his chamber
+with rapid steps, the drops of heat and anguish resting on his brow.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said he, "that I had been content to remain the clod, the
+toil-worn slave that I am!"</p>
+
+<p>Little do they know, who have leisure and wealth, and all the
+appurtenances of literary ease&mdash;the lolling study-chair, the convenient
+apartment, the brilliant light&mdash;how much those suffer who indulge in
+aspirations beyond their lowly fortune.</p>
+
+<p>The student sat down again to write. His hands were icy cold, while his
+eyes and brow were burning hot. He was engaged on a translation from the
+Greek. His efforts to collect and concentrate his thoughts on his work,
+exhausted as he was with toil, were vain and unavailing. At length he
+threw down his pen.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh God!" thought he, "is this madness? am I losing my memory, my mind?"
+Again he walked his little room, but with gentler steps; for he would
+not disturb his aged relatives, who slept beneath.</p>
+
+<p>"Have I deceived myself?" he said; "were all my aspirations only
+delusions, when, yet a boy, I followed the setting sun, and the rainbow
+hues of the evening clouds, with a full heart that could only find
+relief in tears?&mdash;when I believed myself destined to be other than a
+hewer of wood and a drawer of water, because I felt an immeasurable pity
+for my fellow-men, groping, as I did myself, under all the evils of
+ignorance and sin? Was it only vanity, when I hoped to rise above the
+clods of the earth, and aspired to have my lips, as Isaiah's, touched by
+a coal from the holy altar? Was it only impatience at my lot which
+destined me to inexorable poverty?"</p>
+
+<p>"Let me not despair of myself;" and he took from his table a manuscript
+of two or three sheets, and began to read it.</p>
+
+<p>As he went on, his dissatisfaction seemed to increase. With the
+sensitiveness and humility of true genius, when under the influence of
+despondency, every line seemed to him feeble or exaggerated; all the
+faults glared out in bold relief; while the real beauty of the
+composition escaped his jaded and toil-worn attention.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh Heaven!" he said, "I have deceived myself; I am no genius, able to
+rise above the lowliness of my station. The bitter cup of poverty is at
+my lips. I have not even the power to purchase a single book. Shall I go
+again to my good friend at C&mdash;&mdash;? Shall I appear as a beggar, or a
+peasant, to beg the trifling pittance of a book?"</p>
+
+<p>A burning blush for a moment passed over his pale countenance. "Will
+they not say, and justly, 'Go back to your plough; it is your destiny
+and proper vocation to labor?'"</p>
+
+<p>He sat down on the side of his little pallet, and burst into tears. He
+wept long, and, as he wept, his mind became more calm. The short
+summer's night, in its progress, had bathed the earth in darkness, and
+cooled the heated roof of his little apartment. The night breeze, as it
+came in at his window, chilled him, and he rose to close it.</p>
+
+<p>As he looked from his little window, the dawn was just appearing in the
+east, and the planet Venus, shining with the soft light of a crescent
+moon, was full before him.</p>
+
+<p>"O beautiful star!" he thought, "the same that went before the sages of
+the East, and guided them to the manger of the Savior! I aspire only to
+be a teacher of the sublime wisdom of that humble manger. Let me but
+lift up my weak voice in his cause, and let all worldly ambition die
+within me.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'&mdash;&mdash; Thou, O Spirit! who dost prefer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before all temples, th' upright heart and pure,'<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>I consecrate my powers to thee."</p>
+
+<p>The morning breeze, as it blew on his temples, refreshed him. The young
+birds began to make those faint twitterings beneath the downy breast of
+the mother, the first faint sound that breaks the mysterious silence of
+early dawn.</p>
+
+<p>He turned from the window; the rush-light was just expiring in its rude
+candlestick. He threw himself on his bed, and was soon lost in deep and
+dreamless slumbers.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"I give thee to thy God,&mdash;the God that gave thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart!<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">And, precious as thou art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee!<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">My own, my beautiful, my undefiled!<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">And thou shalt be his child."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>While the student sleeps, we will make the reader acquainted with his
+short and simple annals.</p>
+
+<p>His maternal grandfather had been among the Puritan emigrants who sought
+the rock-bound coast of New England. He was a man of worth and property,
+had been educated at Oxford, and distinguished for classical learning
+and elegant pursuits. But at the call of conscience he left the
+luxurious halls of his fathers, the rank, and ancestral honors that
+would have descended to him, to share the hardships, privations, and
+sufferings of the meanest of his companions. He brought with him his
+wife and an only child, a daughter of twenty years.</p>
+
+<p>Like her mother, she had been carefully nurtured, and had lived in much
+luxury, although in the strict seclusion of the daughters of the
+Puritans.</p>
+
+<p>The wives and daughters of the Pilgrims have never been honored as they
+deserved to be. Except the Lady Arbella Johnson, is there a single name
+that has descended with pride and honor to their daughters, and been
+cherished as a Puritan saint?</p>
+
+<p>It is true they lived in an age when the maxim that a woman should
+consider it her highest praise to have nothing said about her was in
+full force; and when the remark of Coleridge would have been applauded,
+"That the perfection of a woman's character is to be <i>characterless</i>."</p>
+
+<p>But among the wives of the Pilgrims there were heroic women that endured
+silently every calamity. Mrs. Hemans says, with poetry and truth,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"<i>There</i> was woman's <i>fearless</i> eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lit by her deep love's truth."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>But how many <i>fearful</i> days and nights they must have passed, trembling
+with all a mother's timidity for their children, when they heard the
+savage cry, that spared neither the touching smile of infancy, nor the
+agonized prayer of woman!</p>
+
+<p>They had left the comforts, and even the luxuries, of their English
+homes,&mdash;the hourly attendance of servants, to meet the chilling skies
+of a shelterless wilderness. She whose foot had trodden the softest
+carpets, whose bed had been of down, who had been accustomed to those
+minute attentions that prevent the rose-leaf from being crumpled, must
+now labor with her own hands, endure the cold of the severest winter,
+and leave herself unsheltered; all she asked was to guard her infant
+children from suffering, and aid by her sympathy, her husband.</p>
+
+<p>It is indeed true, that the sentiment of love or religion has power to
+elevate above all physical suffering, and to ennoble all those homely
+cares and humble offices that are performed for the beloved object with
+a smile of patient endurance; and it asks, in return, but confidence and
+tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>The wife of Mr. Seymore soon sank under the hardships of the times, and
+the severity of the climate of New England. Her grave was made in the
+solitude of the overshadowing forest, and her daughter, who had brought
+with her a fine, hardy, English constitution, lived to console her
+widowed father.</p>
+
+<p>He died about five years after his wife, and then his daughter married
+an Englishman of small fortune, who had come over with his family: his
+father and mother, both advanced in life, had settled on the small farm
+we have attempted to describe. He built the cottage for his parents, and
+then, with his wife, the mother of our young friend Seymore, returned to
+England.</p>
+
+<p>She lived not long after her return. The religious enthusiasm of the
+time had taken possession of her mind, and, before her death, she
+dedicated this, her only child, to the service of the church, and
+requested her husband to send him to America, where poverty presented no
+insurmountable barrier to his success.</p>
+
+<p>His father, in sending him to America in his twelfth year, promised to
+advance something for his education; but unfortunate circumstances
+prevented, and the boy was left to make his own fortune under the roof
+of his grandparents.</p>
+
+<p>His disappointment was great to find his grandparents in so narrow
+circumstances, and himself condemned to so obscure a station. He had
+aspirations, as we have seen, beyond his humble circumstances. The few
+books he brought with him were his consolation. They were read, reread,
+and committed to memory; and then he longed for more. An accident, or
+what we term an accident&mdash;the instrument that Providence provides to
+shape our destiny&mdash;threw some light upon the gloom that seemed to have
+settled on his prospects.</p>
+
+<p>He met at C&mdash;&mdash;, where he had gone on some business connected with his
+agricultural labors, the clergyman of the place.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Grafton was interested by his fine intellectual expression, and
+pleased with the refined and intelligent remarks that seemed unsuited to
+his coarse laborer's frock and peasant's dress.</p>
+
+<p>He took him to his house, lent him the books that were necessary to
+prepare him for our young college, and promised his aid to have him
+placed on the list of those indigent scholars who were devoted to the
+church.</p>
+
+<p>From this time his industry and ambition were redoubled, and we have
+seen the poor aspirant for literary distinction striving to unite two
+things which must at last break down the body or the mind,&mdash;heavy daily
+labor, with severe mental toil at night.</p>
+
+<p>He was young and strong; his health did not immediately fail, and we
+must now leave him where thousands of our young men have been left, with
+aspirations and hopes beyond their humble fortunes.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"Ay, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath!<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And the year smiles as it draws near its death:<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">Wind of the sunny south, O, still delay!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i25"><span class="smcap">Bryant.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>It was the close of one of those mild days at the end of October, that
+we call the Indian summer, corresponding to the St. Martin summer of the
+eastern continent, although the latter is wanting in some of the
+essential elements of beauty that belong to ours.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was setting in veiled and softened light, while a transparent
+mist, like a silver gauze, was drawn over woods and hills and meadows.
+The gorgeous robe of autumn gave to the landscape an air of festivity
+and triumph, while the veil of mist, and the death-like silence, seemed
+as if happy nature had been arrested in a moment of joy, and turned into
+a mourner. The intense stillness pressed on the heart. No chirp of bird
+or hum of insect broke the deep silence. From time to time a leaf,
+"yellow and sere," loosened, as it were, by invisible fingers from the
+stem, lingered a second on its way, and fell noiselessly to the earth.
+In the deep distant wood, the sound of the ripe nuts as they fell, and,
+at long intervals, the shrill cry of the squirrel, came to the ear, and
+interrupted the revery of the solitary wanderer.</p>
+
+<p>The scene I would describe was bounded on one side by high rocks and the
+vast ocean, but sloping towards the land into soft and undulating
+beauty. A noble river was on one side, and on the promontory thus
+formed, were left some of the largest trees of the forest that covered
+the whole country when our fathers first arrived. Although so near the
+ocean, the scene had a character of tranquil sylvan beauty strangely
+contrasted with the ocean when agitated by storms.</p>
+
+<p>One of the largest villages of the time was on the opposite bank of the
+river; but, as there was no bridge, the place I would describe was
+almost as solitary as if man had never invaded it. The trees upon it
+were the largest growth of elm and oak, and seemed left to shelter a
+single dwelling, a house of moderate size, but which had much the
+appearance of neatness and comfort.</p>
+
+<p>A few rods from the house, and still nearer the headland, stood the
+plain New England meeting-house of that period,&mdash;square, barn-like,
+unpainted, solitary, but for the silent tenants of its grave-yard. A
+grass-grown path connected the church with the dwelling-house, and the
+overshadowing trees gave to the spot an air of protection and seclusion
+unknown to modern New England churches.</p>
+
+<p>At one of the windows of this modest dwelling, that looked towards the
+setting sun, which now bathed the whole scene in yellow light, was a
+young woman who might have seen seventeen summers. She was slightly but
+well formed, and, had it not been for her fresh and radiant health, she
+would have possessed that pensive, poetic expression that painters love.
+She was not indeed beautiful, but hers was one of those countenances in
+which we think we recall a thousand histories,&mdash;histories of the inward
+life of the soul,&mdash;not the struggles of the passions; for the dove
+seemed visibly to rest in the deep blue liquid eye, brooding on its own
+secret fancies.</p>
+
+<p>By the fire sat a gentleman whose countenance and gray hair showed that
+he was approaching the verge of threescore years and ten, and his black
+dress indicated his profession. His slippers and pipe presented a
+picture of repose from the labors and cares of the day; and, although it
+had been warm, a fire of logs burned in the large old-fashioned chimney.</p>
+
+<p>The furniture of the room, though plain, and humble, had been kept with
+so much care and neatness that it was seen at once that a feminine taste
+had presided there, and had cherished as sacred the relics of another
+age.</p>
+
+<p>The occupants of the room were father and daughter. A portrait over the
+fireplace, carefully guarded by a curtain, indicated that he was a
+widower, and that his child was motherless.</p>
+
+<p>They had both been silent for a long time. The young lady continued to
+watch with apparent interest some object from the window, and the old
+man to enjoy his pipe; but at last the night closed in, and the autumn
+mist, rising from the river, veiled the brilliancy of the stars.</p>
+
+<p>The daughter drew near the table, and seated herself by her father: her
+countenance was pensive, and a low sigh escaped her.</p>
+
+<p>Her father laid his hand tenderly on her head: "My poor child," he
+said, "I fear your life is too solitary; your young heart yearns for
+companions of your own age. True, we have few visitors suited to your
+age."</p>
+
+<p>Edith looked up with a smile on her lips, but there was a tear in her
+eye, called there by her father's tender manner.</p>
+
+<p>"And where," continued he, "is our young friend the student? It is long
+since he came to get another book. I fear he is timid and sensitive, and
+does not like that you should see his poor labor-swollen hands; but
+<i>that</i> he should be proud of,&mdash;far more proud than if they were soft,
+like yours."</p>
+
+<p>Edith blushed slightly. "Father," she said, "I want no companion but
+you. Let me bring your slippers. Ah! I see Dinah has brought them while
+I have been gazing idly at the river. It shall not happen again. What
+book shall be our evening reading? Shall I take up Cicero again, or will
+you laugh at the Knight of the rueful Countenance."</p>
+
+<p>How soon is ingenuous nature veiled or denied by woman. Edith thus tried
+to efface the impression of her sigh and blush, by assuming a gayety of
+manner which was foreign to her usual demeanor, and which did not
+deceive her father.</p>
+
+<p>"We must go and find out our young friend," pursued her father. "He has
+much talent, and will surely distinguish himself, and he must not be
+suffered to languish in poverty and neglect. The first fine day, my
+daughter, we will ride over and visit him."</p>
+
+<p>Edith looked her gratitude, and the long autumn evening wore pleasantly
+on.</p>
+
+<p>It was at the time when slavery was common in New England. At the close
+of the evening, Paul and Dinah, both Africans, entered, and the usual
+family prayers were offered.</p>
+
+<p>At the close of the prayer, the blacks kneeled down for their master's
+blessing.</p>
+
+<p>This singular custom, though not common to the times, was sometimes
+practised; and those Puritans, who would not bend the knee to God except
+in their closets, allowed their slaves to kneel for their own blessing.</p>
+
+<p>They went to Edith, who kissed Dinah on both dark cheeks, and gave her
+hand to Paul, and the family group separated each to his slumbers for
+the night.</p>
+
+<p>The head of the little group we have thus described was one of the most
+distinguished of the early New England clergymen. He had been educated
+in England, and was an excellent classical scholar; indeed, his passion
+for the classics was his only consolation in the obscure little parish
+where he was content to dwell.</p>
+
+<p>He had been early left a widower, with this only child, and all the
+affections of a tender heart had centred in her. The mildness of his
+disposition had never permitted him to become either a bigot nor a
+persecutor. He had been all his life a diligent student of the human
+heart, and the result was tolerance for human inconsistencies, and
+indulgence for human frailties.</p>
+
+<p>At this time accomplishments were unknown except to those women who were
+educated in the mother country; but such education as he could give his
+daughter had been one of his first cares.</p>
+
+<p>He had taught her to read his favorite classics, and had left the
+mysteries of "shaping and hemming," knitting and domestic erudition, to
+the faithful slave Dinah. Edith had grown up, indeed, without other
+female influence, relying on her father's instructions, as far as they
+went, and her own pure instincts, to guide her.</p>
+
+<p>The solitude of her situation had given to her character a pensive
+thoughtfulness not natural to her age or disposition. Solitude is said
+to be the nurse of genius, but to ripen it, at least with woman, the
+sunny atmosphere of love is necessary.</p>
+
+<p>Genius is less of the head than of the heart: not that we belong to the
+modern school who believe the passions are necessary to the developement
+of genius;&mdash;far from it. The purest affections seem to us to have left
+the most enduring monuments. Among a thousand others, at least with
+woman, we see in Madam De Sevignč that maternal love developed all the
+graces of a mind unconscious certainly of its powers, but destined to
+become immortal.</p>
+
+<p>Our heroine, for such we must try to make her, had grown up free from
+all artificial forms of society, but yearning for associates of her own
+age and sex. After her father, her affections had found objects only in
+birds and animals, and the poor cottagers of one of the smallest
+parishes in the country.</p>
+
+<p>Living, as she did, in the midst of beautiful nature, and with the
+grandeur of the ocean always before her, it could not fail to impart a
+spiritual beauty, a religious elevation, to her mind that had nothing
+to do with the technical distinctions of the day. Edith Grafton was
+formed for gentleness and love, to suffer patiently, to submit
+gracefully, to think more of others' than of her own happiness. She was
+the light and joy of her father's hearth, and the idol of her faithful
+slaves, and she possessed herself that "peace that goodness bosoms
+ever."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"The mildest herald by our fate allotted<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Beckons! and with inverted torch doth stand<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">To lead us, with a gentle hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Into the land of the departed,&mdash;into the silent land.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i9">Ah, when the frame round which in love we cling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">Is chilled by death, does mutual service fail?<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">Is tender pity then of no avail?<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">Are intercessions of the fervent tongue<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">A waste of hope?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i25"><span class="smcap">Wordsworth.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>The two slaves that completed the evening group had been brought into
+Mr. Grafton's family at the time of his marriage. Dinah was the most
+striking in personal appearance. She had been born a princess in her
+native land; and her erect and nobly-proportioned form had never been
+crushed by the feeling of abject slavery.</p>
+
+<p>From the moment they entered the family of Mr. Grafton, they were
+regarded as children, even the lambs of the flock.</p>
+
+<p>They were both at that time young, and soon entered into the more
+intimate relation of husband and wife; identifying their own dearest
+interests, and making each other only subordinate to what seemed to them
+even more sacred,&mdash;their devotion to their master and mistress.</p>
+
+<p>Dinah's mind was of a more elevated order than Paul's, her husband. If
+she had not been a princess in her own country, she belonged to those
+upon whose souls God has stamped the patent of nobility.</p>
+
+<p>Naturally proud, she was docile to the instructions of her excellent
+mistress; and her high and imperious spirit was soon subdued to the
+gentle influences of domestic love, and to the purifying and elevating
+spirit of Christianity.</p>
+
+<p>Her mistress taught her to read. The Bible was her favorite book; and
+she became wise in that best wisdom of the heart, which is found in an
+intimate knowledge of the Holy Scriptures. Her character, under the
+burning sun of Africa, would have been intolerable; but it was tempered
+to a soft moonlight radiance, by the shading of Christianity.</p>
+
+<p>Though her imperious spirit at first rebelled against slavery, there was
+no toil, no fatigue, no menial service, however humble, which she would
+not have sought for those she loved. Love elevated every toil, and gave
+it, in her eyes, the dignity of a voluntary and disinterested service.</p>
+
+<p>She had been the only nurse of her kind mistress through her last long
+illness. Hers was that faithful affection that preferred long vigils at
+the bedside through the watches of the night,&mdash;the nurse that the
+sleepless eye ever found awake. Hers was that sentient sympathy that
+could interpret the weary look,&mdash;that love that steals into the darkened
+room, anticipating every wish, divining every want, and which, in
+silence, like the evening dew on drooping flowers, revives and soothes
+the sufferer.</p>
+
+<p>Her cares were unavailing: her kind mistress died, commending the little
+Edith to her watchful love.</p>
+
+<p>Dinah received her as if she had been more than the child of her own
+bosom. Henceforth she was the jewel of her life; and, if Mr. Grafton had
+not interposed, she would have treated her like those precious jewels of
+the old Scottish regalia, that are said to be approached by only one
+person at a time, and that by torch-light.</p>
+
+<p>Our forefathers and foremothers had a maxim that the will of every child
+must be early broken, to insure that implicit and prompt obedience that
+the old system of education demanded. Mr. Grafton wisely left the
+breaking of the little Edith's will to Dinah.</p>
+
+<p>As we have seen, she was of a gentle temper, but, as a child, determined
+and obstinate. Obstinacy in a child is the strength of purpose which, in
+man and woman, leads to all excellence. Before it is guided by reason,
+it is mere wilfulness. It was wonderful with what a silken thread Dinah
+guided the little Edith.</p>
+
+<p>She possessed in her own character the firmness of the oak, and an iron
+resolution, but tempered so finely by the influences of love and
+religion, that she yielded to every thing that was not hurtful; but
+there she stopped, and went not a hair's breadth further.</p>
+
+<p>It was beautiful to see the little Edith watching the mild and loving
+but firm eye of Dinah,&mdash;which spoke as plain as eye could speak,&mdash;and,
+when it said "<i>No</i>," yielding like a young lamb to a silken tether.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing is easier than to gain the prompt obedience of a young child.
+Gentleness, firmness, and steadiness, are all that is requisite.
+Gentleness, firmness, and steadiness,&mdash;the two last perhaps the rarest
+qualities in tender mothers. When a young child finds its mother
+uniform&mdash;not one day weakly indulgent, and the next capriciously severe,
+but always the same mild, firm being&mdash;she is to the child like a
+beneficent but unchanging Providence; and he no more expects his own
+will to prevail, than children of an older growth expect the sun to
+stand still, and the seasons to change their order, for their
+convenience.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the little girl was old enough, she became the pupil of her
+father. Under his instruction, she could read the Latin authors with
+facility; and even his favorite Greek classics became playfully familiar
+as household words, although she really knew little about them. But the
+Christian ethics came home more closely to her woman's heart: their
+tender, pure, self-denying principles were more congenial to the truly
+feminine nature of the little Edith.</p>
+
+<p>The character and example of her mother were ever held up to her by
+Dinah. At night, after her little childish prayer, when she laid her
+head on her pillow, her last thought was of her mother.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, it is not necessary to be a Catholic, to believe in the intercession
+of saints. To a tender heart, a mother lost in infancy is the beautiful
+Madonna of the church; and the heart turns as instinctively to her as
+the devout Catholic turns to the holy mother and child.</p>
+
+<p>In all Edith's solitary rambles, her pensive thoughts sought her mother.
+There was a particular spot in the evening sky where she fancied the
+spirit of her mother to dwell; and there, in all her childish griefs,
+she sought sympathy, and turned her eye towards it in childlike
+devotion.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">Where now the solemn shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">Verdure and gloom, where many branches meet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">So grateful, when the noon of summer made<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">The valleys sick with heat?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">Let in through all the trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Their sunny-colored foliage, in the breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">Twinkles like beams of light.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i25"><span class="smcap">Bryant.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>A few days after the evening before mentioned, Edith and her father
+prepared for their little journey, to visit the young student.</p>
+
+<p>It was a brilliant morning in the very last of October. All journeys, at
+this time, were made on horseback: they were mounted, therefore, Mr.
+Grafton on a sedate old beast, that had served him many years, and Edith
+on the <i>petite fille</i> of this venerable "ancestress,"&mdash;gentle, but
+scarcely out of its state of coltship.</p>
+
+<p>The Indians, at this time, were much feared, and the shortest excursions
+were never undertaken without fire-arms. Paul, as well as Mr. Grafton,
+was well armed, and served them as a guard.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as they had left their own village, their course was only a
+bridle-path through the forest; and the path was now so hidden with the
+fallen leaves, that it was sometimes indicated only by marks on the
+trees. The trees were almost stripped of their foliage, and the bright
+autumn sun, shining through the bare trunks, sparkled on the dew of the
+fallen leaves. It was the last smile of autumn. The cold had already
+commenced. No sound broke the intense stillness of the forest but the
+trampling of their horses' feet as they crushed the dry, withered
+foliage.</p>
+
+<p>The sky was intensely blue, and without a cloud. The elasticity of the
+air excited the young spirits of Edith. She was gay, and, like a young
+fawn, she fluttered around her father, sometimes galloping her rough
+little pony in front, and then returning, she would give a gentle cut
+with her whip to her father's horse, who, with head down, and plodding
+indifference, regarded it no more than he did a fly.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Grafton, delighted with his daughter's playfulness, looked at her
+with a quiet, tender smile: her gayety, to him, was like the play of her
+infancy, and he delighted to think that she was yet young and happy.</p>
+
+<p>Edith had ridden forward, and they had lost sight of her, when she came
+galloping back, pale as death, and hardly able to retain her seat from
+terror.</p>
+
+<p>"Edith, my child," said her father, "what has happened?"</p>
+
+<p>She could only point with her finger to a thin column of blue smoke that
+curled above the trees. Mr. Grafton knew that it indicated the presence
+of Indians, at this time the terror of all the inhabitants.</p>
+
+<p>"No doubt they are friendly, my dear child," said Mr. Grafton; and he
+sent Paul, who was armed, forward to reconnoitre.</p>
+
+<p>Paul soon returned, showing his white teeth from ear to ear.</p>
+
+<p>"The piccaninnies," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Grafton and Edith rode forward, and in a little hollow at the foot
+of a rock, from which bubbled a clear spring, a young Indian woman, with
+a pappoose at her feet, was half reclining; another child, attached in
+its birch cradle to the pendent branch of an elm tree, was gently rocked
+by the wind. A fire was built against the rock, and venison suspended
+before it to roast.</p>
+
+<p>It was a beautiful little domestic scene, and Mr. Grafton and Edith
+stopped to contemplate it. They soon learned that the husband of the
+Indian was in the forest; but he was friendly, and, after exchanging
+smiles, Edith dismounted.</p>
+
+<p>She sat on the grass, caressing the young pappoose, and talked with the
+mother in that untaught, mute language that young and kind hearts so
+easily understand.</p>
+
+<p>This little adventure delayed them so long that it was past noon when
+they reached the secluded farmhouse we have described in the first
+chapter of our little tale.</p>
+
+<p>The old man was sitting at the door, enjoying the kindly warmth of the
+declining sun. Seymore was not far off, at work in his laborer's frock.
+A vivid blush of surprise, and pleasure, and shame, covered his temples
+and noble brow, as he came forward to meet them.</p>
+
+<p>Edith, quick in her perceptions, understood his feelings, and turned
+aside her head while he drew off his laborer's frock. This gave an
+appearance of embarrassment to her first greeting, and the vivid delight
+faded in a moment from his brilliant countenance, and a melancholy shade
+passed over it.</p>
+
+<p>They entered the house, and Edith endeavored to remove the pain she had
+given, by more marked attention to Seymore; but simple and sincere,
+ignorant as she was of all arts of coquetry, it only increased the
+bashfulness of her manner.</p>
+
+<p>The family had already dined; but, after some delay, a repast was
+prepared for the travellers; and, before they were ready to depart, the
+long shadows of the opposite hills brought an early twilight over the
+little valley.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Grafton looked at his daughter; he could not expose her to a dark
+ride through the forest; and the pressing invitation of the good old
+people, that they should stay the night, was accepted.</p>
+
+<p>After much pleasant talk with the enthusiastic young student, to which
+Edith listened with deep interest, Mr. Grafton was tasked to his utmost
+polemical and theological knowledge by the searching questions of the
+old Puritan. Like douce Davie Deans, he was stiff in his doctrines, and
+would not allow a suspicion of wavering from the orthodox standard of
+faith. But Edith soon gave undeniable evidence that sleep was a much
+better solacer of fatigue than theological discussions; and, after the
+evening worship had been scrupulously performed, a bed was prepared for
+Mr. Grafton on the floor of the room where they sat, for he would not
+allow the old people to give up theirs to him.</p>
+
+<p>Seymore gayly resigned his poor garret to Edith, and slept, as he had
+often done before, in the hayloft. Slept? no; he lay awake all night
+thinking how lovely Edith looked in her riding <i>Joseph</i>,<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> which fitted
+closely to her beautiful shape, and a beaver hat tied under the chin, to
+confine her hair in riding. She was the angel of his dreams. But why did
+she turn aside when they met? and the poor student sighed.</p>
+
+<p>Edith looked around the little garret with much interest, and some
+little awe. There were the favorite books, heaps of manuscripts, and
+every familiar object that was so closely associated with Seymore.
+Nothing reveals so much of another's mind and habits, as to go into the
+apartment where they habitually live.</p>
+
+<p>The bed had been neatly made with snowy sheets, and some little order
+given to the room. Edith opened the books, and read the marked passages;
+the manuscripts were all open, and with the curiosity of our mother
+Eve, she read a few lines. She colored to the very temples as she
+committed this fault; but she found herself irresistibly led on by
+sympathy with a mind kindred to her own; and when she laid her head on
+the pillow, tears of admiration and pity filled her eyes. She lay awake,
+forming plans for the student's advancement; and, before sleep weighed
+down her eyelids, she had woven a fair romance, of which he was the
+hero.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, that youth could be mistress of the ring and the lamp! then would
+all the world be prosperous and happy. But wisdom and experience, the
+true genii, appear in the form of an <i>aged</i> magician, who has forgotten
+the beatings of that precious thing, the human heart.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning, when they were assembled at their frugal breakfast,
+Seymore said, "I fear you thought, from the frequent ink-spots on my
+little garret, that, like Luther, I had thrown my ink-bottle at the
+devil whenever he appeared."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope," said Edith, "you have not thrown away all its contents; for I
+had some charming fancies last night, inspired, I believe, by that very
+ink-bottle."</p>
+
+<p>Seymore blushed; but he did not look displeased, and Edith was
+satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning was clear and balmy, and, soon after breakfast, they
+mounted their horses for their return.</p>
+
+<p>There are few things more exhilarating than riding through woods on a
+clear autumnal morning; but Edith felt no longer the wild gayety of the
+previous morning. With a thoughtful countenance, she rode silently by
+her father's side when the path would permit, or followed quietly when
+it was too narrow.</p>
+
+<p>"You seem to have found food for thought in the student's garret, my
+dear," said her father.</p>
+
+<p>Edith blushed slightly, but did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>They had accomplished about half their journey, when Mr. Grafton
+proposed turning off from the direct path to visit an old lady,&mdash;a
+friend of Edith's mother, an emigrant of a noble family from the mother
+country.</p>
+
+<p>Edith followed silently, wondering she had never heard her father
+mention this friend of her mother before.</p>
+
+<p>They soon after emerged from the forest upon open fields, cleared and
+cultivated with unusual care. A beautiful brook ran winding in the
+midst, and the whole domain was enclosed in strong fences of stone.
+About midway was built a low, irregular, but very large farmhouse. It
+consisted of smaller buildings, connected by very strong palisades; and
+the whole was enclosed, at some distance, by a fence built of strong
+timbers. It was evidently a dwelling designed for defence against
+Indians. They entered the enclosure by an iron gate, so highly wrought
+and finished that it must have been imported from the mother country.</p>
+
+<p>Edith found herself in a large garden, that had once been cultivated
+with much care and expense. It had been filled with rose-bushes,
+honeysuckles, and choice English flowers; but all was now in a state of
+neglect and decay. The walks were overrun with weeds, the arbors in
+ruins, and the tendrils of the vines wandering at their own wanton will.
+It seemed as if neglect had aided the autumn frost to cover this
+favorite spot with the garb of mourning.</p>
+
+<p>There was no front entrance to this singular building; and the visitors
+rode round to a low door at the back, partly concealed by a pent roof.
+After knocking several minutes, it was opened by a very old negro,
+dressed in a tarnished livery, with his woolly hair drawn out into a
+queue, and powdered. He smiled a welcome, and, with much show of
+respect, led them through many dark passages to a low but very
+comfortable room. The walls were hung with faded tapestry; and the low
+ceiling, crossed with heavy beams, would have made the apartment gloomy,
+but for two large windows that looked into the sunny garden. The sashes
+were of small, lozenge panes of glass set in lead; while the bright
+autumn sun streamed through, and shone with cheerful light on the black
+oak furniture, and showed every mote dancing in its beams.</p>
+
+<p>Edith looked around with surprise and delight. A lady not much past the
+meridian of life came forward to greet them. She was dressed in an
+olive-colored brocade, with a snowy lawn apron and neckerchief folded
+across her breast. The sleeve reached just below the elbow, and was
+finished with a ruffle, and black silk mitts met the ruffle at the
+elbow. A rich lace shaded her face, and a small black velvet hood was
+tied closely under the chin.</p>
+
+<p>The lady's manner was rather stately and formal, as she greeted Mr.
+Grafton with all the ceremony of the old school of politeness, and
+looked at his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>"She is the image of her mother," said Lady C&mdash;&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p>"She is a precious flower," answered Mr. Grafton, looking at Edith with
+pride and affection, as she stood, half respectful, half bashful, before
+the lady.</p>
+
+<p>"You have called her Mary, I hope,&mdash;her mother's name."</p>
+
+<p>"No," answered Mr. Grafton; "I have but <i>one</i> Mary,"&mdash;and he looked
+upwards.</p>
+
+<p>Edith pressed closer to her father. "Call me Edith, madam," she said,
+with a timid smile.</p>
+
+<p>Lady C&mdash;&mdash; smiled also, and was soon in earnest conversation with Mr.
+Grafton.</p>
+
+<p>Edith was engaged in examining a room so much more elegant than any she
+had seen before. Her eyes were soon attracted by a full-length portrait
+on the opposite side of the apartment. It was a lady in the bloom of
+youth, dressed in the costume of the second Charles. It was evidently an
+exquisite work of art. To Edith, the somewhat startling exposure of the
+bust, which the fashion of the period demanded, was redeemed by the
+chaste and nunlike expression of the face. Tender blue eyes were cast
+down on a wounded dove that she cherished in her bosom; and the long,
+dark eyelash shaded a pale and pensive cheek.</p>
+
+<p>Edith was fascinated by this beautiful picture. Who was she? where did
+she live? what was her fate? were questions hovering on her lips, which
+she dared not ask of the stately lady on the couch; but, as she stood
+riveted before it, "O that I had such a friend!" passed through her
+mind; and, like inexperienced and enthusiastic youth, she thought how
+fondly she could have loved her, and, if it were necessary, have
+sacrificed her own life for hers.</p>
+
+<p>Lady C&mdash;&mdash; observed her fixed attention.</p>
+
+<p>"That is a portrait of the Lady Ursula," she said, "who built this
+house, and brought over from England the fruits and flowers of the
+garden. Alas! they are now much wasted and destroyed."</p>
+
+<p>At this moment, the old negro appeared, to say that the dinner was
+served.</p>
+
+<p>They passed into another low room, in the centre of which was a long
+oaken dining-table, the upper end raised two steps higher than the
+lower, and the whole was fixed to the floor. At this time, the upper end
+only was covered with a rich damask cloth, where the lady and her guests
+took their seats; the other half of the table extending bare beneath
+them.</p>
+
+<p>"In this chair, and at this table, the Lady Ursula was wont to dine with
+her maidens and serving-men," said Lady C&mdash;&mdash;, as she took her seat in a
+high-backed, richly-carved chair of oak; "and I have retained the
+custom, though my serving-men are much reduced;" and she glanced her eye
+on the trembling old negro.</p>
+
+<p>Edith thought how dreary it must be to dine there in solitary state,
+with no one to speak to except the old negro, and she cast a pitying
+look around the apartment.</p>
+
+<p>A beauffet was in one corner, well filled with massive plate, and the
+walls were adorned with pictures in needle-work, framed in dark ebony.</p>
+
+<p>The picture opposite Edith was much faded and defaced, but it was meant
+to represent Abraham offering his son Isaac in sacrifice.</p>
+
+<p>"It was the work of the Lady Ursula's fingers," said Lady C&mdash;&mdash;, "as
+every thing else you see here was created by her."</p>
+
+<p>"Is she now living?" asked Edith, very innocently.</p>
+
+<p>"Alas! no, my dear; hers was a sad fate; but her story is too long for
+the dining hour;" and as dinner was soon over, they returned to the
+other apartment.</p>
+
+<p>Edith longed for a ramble in the garden. When she returned, the horses
+were at the door, and she took a reluctant leave, for she had not heard
+the story of the Lady Ursula.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as they had turned their horses' heads outside the iron gate,
+Edith began her eager questions:</p>
+
+<p>"Who was that beautiful woman, the original of the portrait? Where did
+she live? How did she die? What was her fate?" Her father smiled, and
+related the following particulars, which deserve another chapter.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"Loveliest of lovely things are they<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">On earth, that soonest pass away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Even love, long tried, and cherished long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Becomes more tender, and more strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">At thought of that insatiate grave<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">From which its yearnings cannot save.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"But where is she, who, at this calm hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">Watched his coming to see?<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">She is not at the door, nor yet in the bower:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">He calls,&mdash;but he only hears on the flower<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">The hum of the laden bee."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i25"><span class="smcap">Bryant.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>"The Lady Ursula was the daughter of an English nobleman, the proprietor
+of Grondale Abbey. She was betrothed, in early life, to a young man, an
+officer in the army. As she was an only daughter, and inherited from her
+mother a large fortune, her father disapproved of her choice, and wished
+her to ally herself with the heir of a noble family. He was rejoiced,
+therefore, when a war broke out, that obliged Col. Fowler to leave the
+country with his regiment, to join the army.</p>
+
+<p>"The parting of the lovers was painful, but they parted, as the young
+do, full of hope, and agreed to keep up a very frequent correspondence.</p>
+
+<p>"For a year, his letters cheered his faithful mistress; but then they
+ceased, and a report of his death in battle reached her. Her father then
+urged the other alliance. This the Lady Ursula steadily refused; and she
+was soon after relieved from all importunity, by the death of her
+father.</p>
+
+<p>"She was an only daughter, but her father left several sons. His estate
+belonged to the eldest, by entail, and the younger brothers, having
+obtained large grants of land in this country, determined to emigrate to
+the new world.</p>
+
+<p>"The Lady Ursula, disappointed of all her cherished hopes, after much
+reflection, decided to accompany them, and become an actual settler in
+the wilderness.</p>
+
+<p>"She purchased a large farm on this beautiful part of the coast, and as
+she was much beloved by her dependents, she persuaded a large number to
+unite their fortunes with hers. She brought out twenty serving-men, and
+several young maidens, and created a little paradise around her. The
+garden was filled with every variety of fruit and flower then cultivated
+in England, and the strong fence around the whole was to protect her
+from the Indians.</p>
+
+<p>"At the time the Lady Ursula came to this country, she very much
+resembled the beautiful portrait that has charmed you so much. It was
+painted after she parted from her lover, and was intended as a present
+for him, had she not soon after heard of his death."</p>
+
+<p>"You have seen her, then, my dear father," said Edith. "You knew the
+beautiful original of that lovely portrait."</p>
+
+<p>"I scarcely knew her," said Mr. Grafton. "Soon after I came to this
+country, I was riding, one day, near a part of her estate. The day was
+warm and sultry: under some large spreading oaks a cloth was laid for a
+repast. I stopped to refresh my horse, and soon after I saw the lady
+approach, drawn in a low carriage.</p>
+
+<p>"She had brought her workmen their dinner, and after it was spread on
+the grass, she turned her beautiful eyes towards heaven, and asked a
+blessing. She then left her men to enjoy their food, and returned as she
+came, driving herself in a small poney chaise.</p>
+
+<p>"Among the maidens who came over with her from England was one who had
+received a superior education, and was much in her lady's confidence.
+This young girl was often the companion of her lady's solitary walks
+about her estate. One evening they were walking, and the Lady Ursula was
+relating the circumstances of her early life, and said that till this
+time she had never parted with all hope; she had cherished unconsciously
+a feeling that her betrothed lover might have been a captive, and that
+he would at length return. The young girl said, 'Why do you despair now,
+my lady? that is a long lane that has no turning.' The lady smiled more
+cheerfully. 'My bird,' she said, 'you have given me a name for my
+estate. In memory of this conversation, it shall be called <i>Long Lane</i>;'
+and it has always retained that name.</p>
+
+<p>"The dews were falling, and they returned to the house. Her men and
+maidens were soon assembled, and the Lady Ursula herself led the evening
+devotions. They were scarcely ended, when a loud knocking was heard at
+the gate. It could not be Indians! No; it was a packet from England;
+and, O joy unspeakable! there was a letter from her long-lost friend and
+lover. He had been taken prisoner when half dead on the field of battle,
+had been removed from one place of confinement to another, debarred the
+privilege of writing, and had heard nothing from her. But the war was
+ended, there had been an exchange of prisoners, and he hastened to
+England, trembling with undefined fears and joyful anticipations. He
+would embark immediately, and follow his mistress to the new world,
+where he hoped to receive the reward of all his constancy.</p>
+
+<p>"The lady could not finish the letter: surprise, joy, ecstasy,&mdash;all were
+too much for her, and the Lady Ursula fainted. As soon as she recovered,
+all was bustle and excitement through the house. The lady could not
+sleep that night, and she began immediately to prepare for the arrival
+of her lover. He said he should embark in a few days; she might
+therefore expect him every hour.</p>
+
+<p>"Every room in the house was ornamented with fresh flowers. A room was
+prepared for her beloved guest, filled with every luxury the house could
+furnish; and her own portrait was placed there.</p>
+
+<p>"She was not selfish in her joy: she told her men to get in the harvest:
+for when <i>he</i> arrived, no work should be performed; there should be a
+jubilee. A fatted calf was selected, to be roasted whole: and every one
+of her large household was presented with a new suit of clothes. 'For
+this my <i>friend</i>,' she said, 'was lost, and is now found; was dead, and
+is alive again.'</p>
+
+<p>"When all was ready, the Lady Ursula could not disguise her impatience.
+She wandered restlessly from place to place, her eye brilliant, and her
+cheek glowing. At every sound she started, trembled, and turned pale.</p>
+
+<p>"Her men were at work in a distant field; and she determined again, as
+usual when they were far from home, to carry them their dinner. When she
+took her seat in the little carriage, she said, 'It is the last time, I
+hope, that I shall go alone.'</p>
+
+<p>"The repast was spread, and they all stood around for the blessing from
+the lips of the lady. It was remarked by her men that she had never
+looked so beautiful: happiness beamed from her eyes, and her usually
+pale cheek was flushed with joy. She folded her hands, and her meek eyes
+were raised. At that moment, a savage yell was heard; an Indian sprung
+from the thicket. With one blow of his tomahawk the Lady Ursula was
+leveled to the ground, and, in less than a moment, her long, fair hair
+was hanging at his girdle. The Indian was followed by others; and all
+but one of her faithful servants shared the fate of their mistress."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Grafton paused; Edith's tears were falling fast. "What became of her
+lover?" she said, as soon as she could speak.</p>
+
+<p>"He arrived a few days after, to behold the wreck of all his hopes, and
+returned again, heart-broken, to England."</p>
+
+<p>"And the picture," said Edith; "why did he not claim it, and take it
+with him, to console him, as far as it could, for the loss of his
+beautiful bride?"</p>
+
+<p>"As she had made no will," said Mr. Grafton, "all the Lady Ursula's
+estate belonged to her own family. The lady we have visited to-day is a
+daughter of her brother."</p>
+
+<p>Edith continued silent, and heeded not that the shades of evening
+gathered around them. She was pondering the fate of the Lady Ursula.
+That one so young, so beautiful, so good, should lead a life of sorrow
+and disappointment, and meet with so sudden and dreadful a death,
+weighed on her spirits; for Edith had not yet solved the mystery of
+life.</p>
+
+<p>The sun had long set, when they reached their own door. Dinah had
+prepared the evening meal, and the cheerful evening fire; and Edith
+smiled her thanks.</p>
+
+<p>As she helped her young mistress to undress, she said, "How pale you
+are, and how tired! You need a sweet, refreshing sleep to rest you
+again."</p>
+
+<p>When Edith laid her head on the pillow, she called her humble friend to
+her: "Ah, Dinah," she said, "I have heard a story that makes me think
+there is no happiness on this earth."</p>
+
+<p>Dinah had heard the story of the Lady Ursula.</p>
+
+<p>"Was it not too sad, that she should meet that dreadful fate just as her
+lover returned, and she was going to be so happy?"</p>
+
+<p>Dinah thought it was very sad. "But the lady was pure and good: the
+words of prayer were on her lips, and she went straight to heaven
+without much pain. Had she married and gone to England, she might have
+become vain and worldly; she might have lost the heavenly purity of her
+character."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Edith; "and Col. Fowler, having lived so long in the army,
+might not have loved her as well as she thought he did. Ah, who could
+live without love?"</p>
+
+<p>Dinah thought many could and did. "Women depended too much," she said,
+"on their affections for happiness. Strong and deep affections were
+almost always disappointed; and, if not, death must come and sever the
+dearest ties;" and she stooped down and kissed Edith's hand, which she
+held in hers.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Dinah! she little knew how entirely her own heart was bound up in
+Edith.</p>
+
+<p>"But what can we live for, if not for love?" said Edith.</p>
+
+<p>"For many things," answered Dinah, in her simple and quiet manner; "to
+grow better ourselves, and to do good to others; to make sacrifices, and
+to love <i>all</i> good works."</p>
+
+<p>"I should not wish to live, were I to lose my father, and you,
+and"&mdash;Edith paused, and closed her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Dinah drew the curtain, and bid her, softly, "good night."</p>
+
+<p>Edith could not sleep. She was reflecting on the fate of the Lady
+Ursula. With Dinah's assistance, she had begun to solve the mysteries of
+Providence;<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Without, forsaking a too earnest world,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To calm the affections, elevate the soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And consecrate her life to truth and love."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"A little cottage built of sticks and weeds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">In homely wise, and walled with sods around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">In which a witch did dwell, in loathly weedes<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And wilful want, all careless of her needes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">So choosing solitairie to abide. Far from all neighbours."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i25"><span class="smcap">Spenser.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>I wish I were a painter, or a poet, to describe a little sheltered nook
+on the sea-shore, where devotion would retire to worship, love to dwell
+in thought on the beloved, or sorrow to be soothed to rest. It was a
+small cove, sheltered on the north by high, overhanging cliffs, that ran
+out into the ocean in a bold headland. Opposite these rocks the land
+sloped gently down, and the ocean, lulled to rest, came in like a spent
+and wearied child, and rippled on a smooth, white sand.</p>
+
+<p>The top of the cliff was covered with many-colored shrubbery. The
+drooping branches of the birch, the sumac, and the aspen, tinted with
+the rich coloring of autumn, hung half way down the cliff, and were
+reflected, like a double landscape, in the water. At sunset, the entire
+glassy surface was burnished with the red and yellow rays of the setting
+sun; and when the young moon, like a fairy boat, just rested on the
+surface, it was a scene of beauty that could not be surpassed in any
+country.</p>
+
+<p>Immediately under the cliff, and sheltered like a swallow's nest, was
+the smallest of human habitations; so dark, and old, and moss-grown,
+that it seemed a part of the rock against which it rested. It consisted
+of one room: a door and single pane of glass admitted the light, and the
+nets hanging around, and an old boat drawn up on the beach, indicated
+that it was the shelter of a fisherman.</p>
+
+<p>The Indian summer still continued, and a few mornings after the little
+journey, Edith was induced, by the soft beauty of the weather, to visit
+the cove. It was a walk of two miles, but the inhabitants of the cottage
+were among the poor of her father's parish, and she was never a stranger
+in their cottages.</p>
+
+<p>The brilliant sun gave to the ever-changing ocean the tints of emerald
+green, royal purple, crimson, and sapphire, and made a path of light,
+fit for angels' footsteps. The tide was out, and the smooth beach
+glittered in the morning sun. The ocean, as far as the eye could reach,
+was smooth as glass. It was not then, as now, white with the frequent
+sail: a solitary vessel was then a rare occurrence, and hailed with
+rapture, as bringing news from <i>home</i>. The white-winged curlew was
+wheeling around in perfect security, and the little bay was dotted, in a
+few spots, with fishermen's boats. The absence of the old boat from the
+beach showed that the owner of the cottage was among them.</p>
+
+<p>Edith was sorry her friend the fisherman was absent, for the old woman
+who kept his house was a virago; and, indeed, was sometimes thought
+insane. Although Edith's moral courage was great, she possessed that
+physical timidity and sensitiveness to outward impressions that belongs
+to the poetic temperament.</p>
+
+<p>She lingered in her walk, watching the curlews, and listening to the
+measured booming of the waves as they touched the shore and then
+receded. The obvious reflection that comes to every mind perhaps came to
+hers, that thus succeed and are scattered the successive generations of
+men. No; she was thinking that thus arrive and depart the days of her
+solitary existence; thus uniformly, and thus leaving no trace behind.
+Will it be always thus? she sighed; and her eyes filled with tears. Her
+revery was interrupted by a rough voice behind her.</p>
+
+<p>"What have you done, that God should grant you the happiness to weep?"
+said the old woman, who now stood at her side.</p>
+
+<p>Edith was startled, for the woman's expression was very wild, but she
+answered mildly, "Is that so great a boon, mother, that I should deserve
+to lose it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ask her," she said, "whose brain is burning, and whose heart is like
+lead, what she would give for one moist tear. O God! I cannot weep."</p>
+
+<p>Whatever timidity Edith felt when she first saw the malignant expression
+of the old woman's countenance, was now lost in pity. She knew that the
+poor creature's reason was impaired, and she thought this might be one
+of her wild moments.</p>
+
+<p>She laid her hand gently on her arm, and said, with a smile, "Nanny, I
+have come on purpose to visit you. Let us go into the house, and you
+shall tell me what you think, and all you want to make you comfortable
+for the winter."</p>
+
+<p>Nanny looked at Edith almost with scorn. "Tell you what I think!" she
+said. "As well might I tell yonder birds that are hovering with white
+wings in the blue sky. What do you know of sorrow? but you will not
+always be strangers. Sorrow is coming over you; I see its dark fold
+drawing nearer and nearer."</p>
+
+<p>A slight shudder came over Edith, but she smiled, and said, soothingly,
+"I came to talk with you about yourself; let my fate alone for the
+present."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! no need to shake the glass," answered Nanny; "grief is coming soon
+enough to drink up your young blood. The cheek that changes like yours,
+with sudden flushing, withers soonest; not with age, no, not, like mine,
+with age, but blighted by the cold hand of unkindness; and eyes, like
+yours, that every emotion fills with sudden tears, soon have their
+fountains dry, and then, ah! how you will long and pray for one drop, as
+I do now!"</p>
+
+<p>They had entered the poor hovel, and the old woman, who had been
+speaking in a tone of great excitement, now turned and looked full at
+Edith: her beauty seemed to awake a feeling of envious contempt.</p>
+
+<p>The contrast between them was indeed great. Edith stood in the narrow
+door, blooming with youth and health. Her dark hair, which contrasted so
+beautifully with her soft blue eye, had lost its curl by the damp air,
+and she had taken off her bonnet to put back the uncurled tresses.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman had seated herself in an old, high-backed chair, and, with
+her elbows on her knees, looked earnestly at Edith. Her face might once
+have been fair; but it was now deeply wrinkled, and bronzed with smoke
+and exposure. Her teeth were gone, and her thin, shriveled lips had an
+expression of pain and suffering; while her eyes betrayed the envy and
+contempt she seemed to feel towards others.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah," she said, "gather up your beautiful shining locks. How long, think
+you, before they will be like mine? But mine were once black and glossy
+as yours; and now look at them."</p>
+
+<p>She took down from under her cap her long, gray hair, and spread it over
+her breast. It was dry and coarse, and without a single black hair. She
+laid her dark, bony hand on Edith's white arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorrow has done this," she said,&mdash;"not time: it has been of this color
+for fifty years."</p>
+
+<p>"And have you then suffered so much?" said Edith,&mdash;and her eyes filled
+with tears.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman saw that she was pitied, and a more gentle expression came
+into her eyes, as she fixed them on Edith.</p>
+
+<p>"My child," she said, "we can learn to bear sorrow, bereavement, the
+death of all that are twined with our own souls, old age, solitude,&mdash;all
+but remorse&mdash;<i>all but remorse</i>;" and the last word was pronounced almost
+in a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"And cannot you turn to God?" said Edith; "cannot you pray? God has
+invited all who are sinners to come to him."</p>
+
+<p>She stopped; for she felt her own insufficiency to administer religious
+consolation.</p>
+
+<p>"And who told you I was so great a sinner?" said the old woman, all her
+fierceness returning immediately.</p>
+
+<p>Edith had felt herself all the comfort of opening her heart in prayer to
+God; but she was abashed by the old woman: she said only timidly and
+humbly, "Why will you not confide in my father? Tell him your wants and
+your misery, and he will pray for you, and help you."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell him! and what does he know of the heart-broken? Can he lift the
+leaden covering from the conscience? Can he give me back the innocence
+and peace of my cottage home in the green lanes of England, or the
+blessing of my poor old father?" And, while an expression of the deepest
+sadness passed over her face,&mdash;"Can he bring back my children, my
+beautiful boys, or bid the sea give up its dead? No, no; let him preach
+and pray, and let these poor ignorant people hear him; and let me,&mdash;ah,
+let me lie down in the green earth."</p>
+
+<p>Edith was shocked; and the tears she tried in vain to suppress forced
+themselves down her cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor child!" said the old woman; "you can weep for others, but yours is
+the fate of all the daughters of Eve: you will soon weep for yourself.
+With all your proud beauty and your feeling heart, you cannot keep your
+idols: they will crumble away, and you will come at last to what I am."</p>
+
+<p>Edith tried to direct her attention to something else. She looked around
+the cottage, which had not the appearance of the most abject poverty.
+The few articles of furniture were neat, and in one corner stood a
+comfortable-looking bed. A peat fire slumbered on the hearth, and many
+dried and smoked fish were hanging from the beams.</p>
+
+<p>She said, very mildly, "I came, Nanny, to see if you did not want
+something to make you comfortable for the winter. My father sent me, and
+you must tell me all you want."</p>
+
+<p>"I want nothing," said the old woman; "at least for myself. All your
+blankets cannot keep the cold from the heart."</p>
+
+<p>At this moment, a little girl about five years old came running into the
+cottage, with a basket of blackberries she had been picking on the
+cliffs above the house. Edith was well known to her, as she was to all
+the children of the parish. The little girl went up to her and presented
+the blackberries, and then ran to her grandmother with the air of a
+favored child, as if she were sure of a welcome.</p>
+
+<p>An expression that Edith had never seen, a softened expression of deep
+tenderness, came over the face of the old woman.</p>
+
+<p>"I was going to speak of this child," she said. "I feel that I shall
+soon be <i>there</i>,"&mdash;and she pointed towards the earth,&mdash;"and this child
+has no friend but me."</p>
+
+<p>The little girl, meantime, had crept close to the old woman, and laid
+her head on her shoulder. The child was not attractive: her feet and
+legs were bare, and her dress was ragged and much soiled; but covering
+her eyes and forehead was a profusion of golden-colored ringlets; and,
+where her skin was not grimmed with dirt and exposure to the sea air, it
+was delicately white.</p>
+
+<p>There was something touching in the affection of the poor orphan for the
+old woman; and the contrast, as they thus leant on each other, would
+have arrested the eye of a painter.</p>
+
+<p>Edith promised to be a friend to her grandchild, and then entreated
+Nanny to see her father, and confide her sorrows to him. This she
+steadily refused; and Edith left her, her young spirits saddened by the
+mystery and the grief that she could not understand. As she walked home,
+she thought how little the temper of the old woman was in harmony with
+the external beauty that environed her. The beauty was marred by sin and
+grief. And even in her own life, pure as it was, how little was there to
+harmonize with the exquisite loveliness around her!</p>
+
+<p>Edith was not happy: the inward pulse did not beat in harmony with the
+pulse of nature. She was not happy, because woman, especially in youth,
+is happy only in her affections. She felt within herself an infinite
+capacity of loving, and she had few to love, Her heart was solitary. Her
+affection for her father partook too much of respect and awe; and that
+for Dinah had grown up from her infancy, and was as much a matter of
+habit as of gratitude. She longed for the love of an equal, or rather of
+some one she could reverence as well as love. How she wished she could
+have been the companion of the Lady Ursula!</p>
+
+<p>Edith was beginning to feel that she had a soul of infinite longings;
+but she had not yet learnt its power to create for itself an infinite
+and immortal happiness; and the beauty of nature, that excited without
+filling her mind, only increased her loneliness.</p>
+
+<p>It is after other pursuits and other friends have disappointed us, that
+we go back to the beautiful teachings of nature; and, like a tender
+mother, she receives us to her bosom.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O, nature never did betray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The heart that loved her."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>She alone is unchangeable. We may confide in her promises. I have
+planted an acorn by a beloved grave: in a few years I returned, and
+found a beautiful oak overshadowing it.</p>
+
+<p>Nature is liberal and impartial as she is faithful. The green earth
+offers a home for the eyes of the poorest beggar; the soft and purifying
+winds visit all equally; the tenderly majestic stars look down on him
+who rests in a bed of down, and on him whose pallet is the naked earth;
+and the blue sky embraces equally the child of sorrow and of joy.</p>
+
+<p>The teachings of nature are open to all. The poor heart-broken mother
+sees, in the parent leaves that enfold the tender heart of the young
+plant, and in the bird that strips her own breast of its down to shelter
+her young from the night air, the same instinct that teaches her to
+cherish the child of sorrow. He who addressed the poor and illiterate
+drew his illustrations from nature: the lily of the field, the fowls of
+the air, and the young ravens, he made his teachers to those who, like
+him, lived in the open air, and were peculiarly susceptible to all the
+influences of nature.</p>
+
+<p>To return from this digression. Perhaps my readers will wish to know
+more of poor Nanny, as she was called.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing was known of her early history. She had come from the mother
+country four years before, with this little child, then an infant, and
+had taken a lodging in the poor fisherman's hut. She said the little
+girl was her grandchild, and all her affections were centred in her. She
+was entirely reserved as to her previous history, and was irritated if
+any curiosity was expressed about it, though she sometimes gave out
+hints that she had been an accomplice and victim of some deed for which
+she felt remorse. As she was quite harmless, and the inhabitants were
+much scattered, she was unmolested, and earned a scanty living by
+picking berries, fishing, and helping those who were not quite as poor
+as herself. Edith visited her often, and Mr. Grafton, though she would
+not acknowledge him as a spiritual guide, ministered to all her temporal
+wants.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">Thou changest not, but I am changed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Since first thy pleasant banks I ranged;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">The visions of my youth are past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Too bright, too beautiful, to last.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i25"><span class="smcap">Bryant</span>.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+
+<p>More than two years had passed since Edith's visit to the old woman of
+the cliff. Changes had taken place in all the personages of my little
+tale; but in Edith they were most apparent. She who had sung all day as
+the birds sing, because she could not help it, at nineteen had learned
+to reflect and to analyze; a sensitive conscience had taken the place of
+spontaneous and impulsive virtue; and the same heart that could be happy
+all day long in nursing a young chicken, or watching the opening of a
+flower, or carrying food to a poor old woman, now closed her days with
+<i>thinking</i>, and moistened her pillow with unbidden tears.</p>
+
+<p>It is the natural course of womanhood. Ah! that we could always be
+children. We have seen that after Edith had learned the story of the
+Lady Ursula, she began to solve some of the mysteries of life. She had
+since turned over many of its leaves, all fair with innocence and truth,
+but she had not yet found an answer to the question, "Why do we suffer?"</p>
+
+<p>The change that had taken place in young Seymore was deeper and sterner,
+but not so apparent. Externally, he was the same beautiful youth that he
+was when we introduced him to our kind readers, in his attic.</p>
+
+<p>Since then, he had had much to struggle with; but poverty had not been
+his greatest temptation. He could not indeed hope to be exempt from the
+bitter experience of almost all who at that time were scholars.</p>
+
+<p>To this very day, the sons of clergymen, and many of the most
+distinguished men in New England, have held the plough in the intervals
+of their preparation for the university. How many poor mothers have
+striven, and labored, and denied themselves all but the bare necessaries
+of life, that their sons might gain that sole distinction in New
+England,&mdash;an education at one of the colleges.</p>
+
+<p>Poverty was not his greatest trial. When he first saw Edith, her timid
+and innocent beauty had made an impression on his fancy, that all his
+subsequent dreams in solitude, and his lonely reveries, had only served
+to deepen. She seemed to embody all his imaginations of female
+loveliness. He had, indeed, never before seen a beautiful girl, and he
+had no acquaintance with women, except his grandmother.</p>
+
+<p>The remembrance of his mother came softened to him, like something
+unconnected with earth; and when he thought of the darkened chamber, the
+pale, faint smile, her hand on his head, and her solemn consecration of
+him to the church, on her death-bed, he felt a sensation of awe that
+chilled and appalled him.</p>
+
+<p>After his acquaintance with Edith and her father, life wore a brighter
+hue. His efforts to gain an education to distinguish himself were
+redoubled. Mr. Grafton aided in every way; and with the sympathy of his
+kind friend came the image of his beautiful daughter. His labors were
+lightened, his heart cheered, by the thought that she would smile and
+approve.</p>
+
+<p>Thus days of bodily labor were succeeded by nights of study; and, for
+some time, with his youth and vigorous health, this was hardly felt as
+an evil. But we have seen, in our first chapter, that he had moments of
+despondency, and of late they had been of more frequent occurrence.</p>
+
+<p>At such times, the remembrance of his mother, and her solemn dedication
+of him to the church, came back with redoubled power, and the time he
+had spent in lighter literature, in poetry, and even his dreams of
+Edith, seemed to him like sins. A darker and less joyous spirit was
+gradually overshadowing him. A morbid sensitiveness to moral evil, an
+exaggerated sense of his own sins, and of the strict requisitions of the
+spirit of the times, clouded his natural gayety.</p>
+
+<p>His visits to the parsonage, indeed, always dissipated his fears for a
+little time. Edith received him as a valued friend, and he returned to
+his studies, cheered by her smiles, and sustained by new hopes.</p>
+
+<p>He never analyzed the cause of this change, or the nature of his
+feelings: but, when he thought of his degree at the college, it was her
+sympathy and her approbation that came first to his mind; and, when he
+sent his thoughts forward to a settlement and a parsonage like that of
+his venerable friend's, it would have been empty, and desolate, and
+uninhabitable, if Edith had not been there.</p>
+
+<p>It was in Edith's beloved father that a year had made the saddest
+change. The winter had been unusually severe, and the snow deep. His
+parish was much scattered, and it was his custom to visit them on
+horseback; and, in the deepest snows, and most severe storms, he had
+never refused to appear at their bedsides, or to visit and comfort the
+afflicted. He had lived, and labored, and loved among his simple flock,
+but he now felt that his ministry was drawing towards a close.</p>
+
+<p>In March, he had returned from one of his visits late at night, and much
+wet and fatigued. The next morning he found himself ill with a lung
+fever. It left him debilitated, and much impaired in constitution; and a
+rapid decline seemed the almost inevitable consequence at his advanced
+age.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i20">Pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Is littleness; and he who feels contempt<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">For any living thing, hath faculties<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Which he has never used.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i16">O, be wiser, then!<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Instructed that true knowledge leads to love:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">True dignity abides with him alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Can still suspect, and still revere himself,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">In lowliness of heart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i25"><span class="smcap">Wordsworth</span>.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>It has been the fashion, of late, to depreciate the clergymen among our
+Puritan fathers. It is true they erred, but their errors belonged to the
+time and the circumstance that placed in their hands unusual power.
+There were among them men that would have done honor to any age; perfect
+gentlemen, who would have adorned a drawing-room, as well as consecrated
+a church.</p>
+
+<p>The traits that constitute <i>gentlesse</i> do not belong to any age or any
+school: they are not formed by the conventions of society, nor the forms
+that are adopted to facilitate and give grace to the intercourse of
+equals. The precept that says, "In honor preferring one another," if
+acted on in perfect sincerity of heart, and carried out in all the
+intercourse of society, would form perfect gentlemen and ladies. We have
+heard Jesus called the most finished gentleman that ever lived.
+Undisguised benevolence, humility, and sincerity, would form such
+gentlemen, and the intercourse of society, founded on such principles,
+would be true, noble, graceful, and most attractive.</p>
+
+<p>Such a gentleman was Edith's father; and while he was an honored and
+cherished guest at the tables of the fathers and princes of the colony,
+he seldom left his humble parish. His influence there was unbounded, and
+his peculiarities, if he had them, belonged to the age. In an age of
+persecutors, he was so averse to persecution, that he did not escape the
+charge of heresy and insincerity.</p>
+
+<p>The clergy of that time loved to preach from the Old Testament, and to
+illustrate the lives of the patriarchs. An unlimited and implicit faith,
+that made each believe he was the especial care and favorite of God, was
+the foundation of the religion of the Old Testament. Our fathers had
+much of the same persuasion. To an audience of fishermen, and scattered
+cultivators of the sterile fields of New England, such a faith came home
+to their hearts; the one committing their frail boats to the treacherous
+ocean, the other depending on the early and the latter rains, and genial
+skies, for their support.</p>
+
+<p>June had come, the genial month of June, and Mr. Grafton was not revived
+by its soft air. He declined daily, and Edith, his tender nurse, could
+not conceal from herself that there was little hope of his ever
+reviving.</p>
+
+<p>Dinah had watched with him almost every night, but, worn out with
+fatigue, Edith had persuaded her to take some moments for repose. After
+a night of much restlessness, towards morning, her father fell into a
+tranquil slumber. Edith was alone in the darkened room, and as she sat
+in the deep silence by his bedside, an old-fashioned clock, that stood
+in the corner, seemed, to her excited nerves, to strike its monotonous
+tick directly on her temples. A small taper was burning in the chimney,
+and the long shadows it cast served only to darken the room. From time
+to time, as Edith leaned over her father, she touched his forehead with
+her hand: in the solitude and stillness, it seemed a medium of
+communication with the mind of her father, and held the place of
+language.</p>
+
+<p>At length he opened his eyes, and seeing her bending over him, he drew
+her towards him, and kissed her tenderly. In a whisper, he said, "I
+feel, my child, that I am dying."</p>
+
+<p>"Do not weep," said he, observing how much Edith was shocked; "you can
+trust in God. You can be near me in death, as you have been in life. Now
+is the time, my Edith, to feel the value of all those principles we have
+learned together through life. I feel that God is near us, and that when
+I am gone, he will be near to you."</p>
+
+<p>Edith threw herself into his arms. Her father laid his hand on her head,
+and prayed audibly. She arose more calm, and asked him if she should not
+call the faithful slaves.</p>
+
+<p>"No, my child," he said; "let the poor children"&mdash;he always named them
+thus&mdash;"let the poor children sleep. God is here. I hold your hands in
+mine. What more do we want? Let the quiet night pass. The morning will
+be glorious! it will open for me in another world."</p>
+
+<p>It was a beautiful sight, that young and timid woman sustaining her aged
+father, and he trusting so entirely in God, and feeling no anxiety, no
+grief, but that of leaving her alone.</p>
+
+<p>As she sat thus holding his hand in hers, his breath became less
+frequent; he fixed his eyes on hers with a tender smile. His breathing
+stopped&mdash;his spirit was gone!</p>
+
+<p>Edith did not shriek, or faint. It was the first time she had been in
+the chamber of death, and a holy calmness, a persuasion that her
+father's spirit was still there, came over her. She closed his eyes, and
+sat long with his hand strained in hers.</p>
+
+<p>The first note of the early birds made her start. She arose, and opened
+the window. The morning had dawned, and every leaf, every blade of
+grass, was glittering in the early dew. Her father's horse, that had
+borne him so many years, was feeding in the enclosure. At the sound of
+the window, he came forward: then a sense of her loss came over Edith,
+and she burst into tears.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"&mdash;&mdash;Whene'er the good and just<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">Close the dim eye on life and pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">Till the pure spirit comes again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Though nameless, trampled, and forgot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">His servant's humble ashes lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Yet God has marked and sealed the spot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">To call its inmate to the sky."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>It was one of those brilliant and transparent days of June, never
+surpassed in any climate. The little church stood clearly defined
+against the deep blue sky. The ocean, as the sun shone on it, was gemmed
+with a thousand glancing diamonds, and here and there a light sail rose
+and fell upon it, like the wings of a bird. It was so still that the hum
+of the noontide insects was distinctly heard. At intervals, the slow
+tolling of the little bell sent its echoes back from the surrounding
+forest.</p>
+
+<p>It was the day of the funeral of the beloved pastor, and small groups of
+the parishioners began to collect about the church and the house.
+Heartfelt grief seemed to shadow every countenance, but the severe and
+reserved character of the New England Puritans allowed them to make no
+demonstration of sorrow: they shut up within themselves every trace of
+emotion, and spoke only in whispers, with a stern, determined air.</p>
+
+<p>The garb and appearance of the people was rough and homely. There were
+farmers with their wives, on pillions; fishermen with their rough
+sea-coats; aged women, bent and wrinkled, who had come to lay in the
+grave one whom they had hoped would have prayed at and blessed their own
+burial.</p>
+
+<p>The house at length was filled with those who had the nearest claim, and
+the ministers of the surrounding villages darkened, with their black
+dress, the little apartment.</p>
+
+<p>The two slaves stood near the bier, and the excitable temperament and
+violent grief of the poor Africans contrasted with the stern, and
+solemn, and composed countenances around them.</p>
+
+<p>Edith at last came in. She was calm, but very pale; and, as she entered
+the room, she gave her hand to those who stood nearest. She tried to
+speak, but the words died on her lips. Dinah was in a moment at her
+side. Her delicate and youthful beauty contrasted by her sable friend,
+and her lonely, unprotected state touched the hearts of these stern, but
+also tenderly affectionate Puritans, and there were tears in many eyes,
+as they looked at her with respect and interest.</p>
+
+<p>The windows were all open; the concert of joyous birds, in their season
+of love and happiness, showed no sympathy with man in his grief. It was
+so still that the silvery sound of the waves, as they touched the beach,
+was distinctly heard; and the voice of prayer, as it broke the silence,
+was the only human sound.</p>
+
+<p>The voice of prayer ceased, and the quick hoof of a horse was heard. In
+a few moments Seymore entered. He had heard of the death of his friend,
+and, impelled by an irresistible impulse, he could not remain at his
+studies. As he entered he was violently agitated, for death and sorrow
+were new to him.</p>
+
+<p>The color rushed to Edith's pale cheek, as she silently gave him her
+hand; but she felt a calmness which she could not herself understand. A
+change had been wrought in her character by that nightly death-bed, and
+by four days of lonely sorrow. She felt that she must rely on herself.</p>
+
+<p>The changes that are wrought by sorrow and reflection in a timid woman
+are not less apparent than those wrought by love. They seem, at first,
+to take from the exquisite feminineness of the character, but they bring
+out the latent beauty and strength of her spiritual nature. It is said
+"that every wave of the ocean adds to the beauty of the pearl, by
+removing the scum that reveals its interior and mysterious light." It is
+thus with time and sorrow: they reveal to ones self the inward pearl
+beyond all price, on which we must forever rely to guide us.</p>
+
+<p>The oldest of the parishioners now approached, to bear their beloved
+pastor on their shoulders to the silent grave-yard. The ceremonial of a
+country burial is extremely simple, but they had then an affecting
+custom which has since been discontinued. As they bore the body to the
+grave, they sang an anthem, and, as it entered the little enclosure, the
+groups on each side receded, and uncovered their heads. The boys were
+hushed to awe, as the anthem rose on the evening air; the sun sank
+behind the forest, and its last rays were reflected from the grave of
+this servant of God.</p>
+
+<p>The exquisite beauty of the scene oppressed and wearied Edith as she
+returned to her solitary home. She felt that though nature may
+sympathize with our joy, there is nothing in her bosom that responds to
+our sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>But she did not return alone: Seymore had followed her; and, as they
+entered the deserted room, her father's arm-chair was in its accustomed
+place: even his slippers had been accidentally placed ready for him. The
+curtain had been removed from her mother's picture, and as she
+approached it, she met its pitying eyes fixed upon her. The unnatural
+tension of the nerves, which had denied her, for the last four days, the
+relief of tears, gave way, and the very fountains of her soul seemed
+opened. She sank down on a chair, and yielded to the overwhelming
+emotion.</p>
+
+<p>There are states of the mind when the note of a bird, the fall of a
+leaf, the perfume of a flower, will unlock the bars of the soul, as the
+smallest sound will loosen the avalanche. The unexpected sight of her
+mother's picture had overpowered Edith. O that we should receive a
+mother's love in infancy, when we cannot value or understand it; and, in
+after life, when we need it most, when we long for the heart that has
+cherished us, "we must go back to some almost forgotten grave," where
+that warm heart lies that loved us as no other will ever love us.</p>
+
+<p>Seymore was terrified: he had never seen grief like this, and he walked
+the room with rapid and agitated steps.</p>
+
+<p>Edith longed to be alone. She tried to conquer her emotion, but the sobs
+that came from the bottom of her heart shook her whole frame. At last
+she said, "Pray leave me; I wish to be, <i>I must</i> be alone."</p>
+
+<p>Seymore could not leave her thus. He took her passive hand. "O," said
+he, "would that I could spare you one of these tears! If you could know
+how I reverence your sorrow, how my heart bleeds for you&mdash;O pardon
+me&mdash;if you could see my heart, you would see there a devotion, a
+reverence, such as angels feel in heaven. Might I dare to hope that you
+would forgive, that you would pardon the poor, unknown, homeless
+scholar, that he has dared to love you?"</p>
+
+<p>Edith had become calm as he spoke thus impetuously, and her hand grew
+cold in his. She looked up: a beautiful and timid hope shone in her
+eyes; and, though her tears fell fast, a smile was on her lips. "We are
+both homeless," she said,&mdash;"both orphans."</p>
+
+<p>He caught from her expression a rapturous hope. At this moment the
+faithful slave Dinah opened the door to look after her young mistress.
+It was the first time since her childhood, that the face of her sable
+friend had been unwelcome to Edith; but perhaps it was happy for both;
+it arrested their tumultuous emotions, and gave Seymore, who left the
+room immediately, time to arrange his thoughts, and reflect on the
+blissful prospect opening before him.</p>
+
+<p>Edith held out her hand to her friend. I have before remarked the
+figurative expressions in which Dinah clothed her thoughts. Her language
+and her feelings were fervid, like her climate.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought," she said, "the heartsease had withered in your bosom; but
+it has sprung up, and is blooming again." Then seeing the crimson
+overspread Edith's cheek, she added, "perhaps your warm tears have
+revived it." But, as if ashamed of having said something not perfectly
+true, she took Edith's hand, looked earnestly in her face, as if asking
+an explanation of this sudden change.</p>
+
+<p>Edith was wholly overcome. She threw herself into the arms of the
+faithful slave, and longed to hide herself there. None but a mother
+could understand her feelings, or one who had been to her in the place
+of a mother, and knew every beating of her innocent heart.</p>
+
+<p>There are moments when woman needs the sympathy of a mother, that first
+and dearest friend of every human being. Dinah could not understand the
+imaginative character of Edith's mind; she could not sympathize with her
+thirst for knowledge, her love of the beautiful and the unknown; but the
+tear in her eye, and her quivering lip, as she pressed her child closer
+and closer to her, as though she would cherish her in her inmost heart,
+showed that she understood her nature, and sympathized in her happiness
+with all a woman's heart.</p>
+
+<p>That night, when Edith laid her head on her pillow, she felt a secret
+joy, a lightness of heart, which she could not understand. She
+reproached herself that she could feel so happy so soon after the death
+of her father. She did not know how insensibly she had suffered an
+interest in Seymore to grow in her heart, and that the sentiments of
+nature are weak when brought into contact with an absorbing passion.
+When she came to offer her prayer for guidance and protection, a feeling
+of gratitude, of thankfulness, overpowered all other emotions, and she
+closed her eyes, wet with grateful tears.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"Is this a tale?<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Methinks it is a homily."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>Seymore indulged himself with a few days of perfect, unalloyed
+happiness. The tumultuous feeling of joy subsided, the dark shade that
+had begun to gather over his mind vanished, and a sober certainty of
+bliss&mdash;bliss too great, he feared, for mortal, appeased his too keen
+sensibility to his own imperfections.</p>
+
+<p>The character of Edith was formed to produce this effect. There was
+nothing exaggerated in it. Her solitary life, without mother or sister,
+had taught her great self-reliance; while her genuine humility had
+preserved her from that obstinacy of opinion that a want of knowledge of
+the world sometimes creates. The grave and solid studies she had entered
+into with her father had strengthened her mind, as it were, with the
+"bark and steel" of literature; while the native tenderness of her heart
+had prevented her from becoming that odious creature, a female pedant.
+Her greatest charm was the exquisite feminineness of her character: this
+perhaps, without religion, would have degenerated into weakness, or,
+without an enlightened reason, into superstition.</p>
+
+<p>How entirely is the divine spirit of Christianity adapted to woman's
+nature! loving as she does, and trembling for the objects of her love;
+doomed</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"To weep silent tears, and patient smiles to wear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to make idols, and to find them clay."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>If ever woman enjoyed all worldly advantages, if ever she was flattered,
+made an idol, and worshipped, it was in Europe previous to the French
+Revolution. Yet the letters and memoirs of the women of that time, light
+and frivolous as they are, reveal a depth of sadness, a desolation of
+spirit, a weariness of life,&mdash;destitute as many of them are of all
+aspiration after an immortal hope,&mdash;that tells us how indispensable to
+woman's nature are the hopes and consolations of religion. Love was at
+that time the object of woman's existence,&mdash;a love that, with our
+standard of morals, leaves a stain as well as a wound; but, with their
+peculiar notions, it robbed them neither of the adulation of society,
+nor of their own self-respect. But, with all this, together with their
+influence in the affairs of state, we read their memoirs not only with a
+shame that burns on the cheek, but with feelings of the deepest
+commiseration.</p>
+
+<p>How few, even of the happiest among women, are blest with that love that
+can fill and satisfy a woman's heart! How many, disappointed and weeping
+o'er "idols of clay," stretch out the arms of their souls for something
+they can lean on in safety! How many, solitary at heart in the midst of
+gayety, turn away to look into themselves for something more satisfying!
+How many broken and contrite spirits feel that he alone who knows what
+is in the heart of man, can teach them to bear a wounded spirit!</p>
+
+<p>How full of sympathy for woman is the New Testament! He knew the heart
+of woman who said, "She is forgiven; for she has loved much."</p>
+
+<p>It must have been a woman who first thought of prayer. Madame de Stael
+says that a mother with a sick child must have invented prayer; and she
+is right: a woman would first pray, not for herself, but for the object
+of her tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>It had been an object much at heart with Mr. Grafton to save a little
+property for his daughter. He had succeeded in purchasing the small
+house, and a few acres about it, which was kept in perfect order and
+good cultivation under the excellent management of Paul.</p>
+
+<p>Edith's unprotected state, being without near relatives, made him
+desirous that she should have an independent home among his attached but
+humble parishioners. He knew that she was scarcely less beloved by them
+than himself. But he looked forward to his place being filled by a
+stranger; and he was mainly anxious that her comfort should not depend
+on the bounty, or even the gratitude, of the most disinterested of his
+flock.</p>
+
+<p>He was able to accomplish his wish, and leave her a small patrimony,
+abundantly equal to the wants of their frugal establishment; and Edith
+thanked God, with tears of gratitude, that she was not obliged to
+separate herself from the graves of both her parents.</p>
+
+<p>The summer and winter that followed her father's death were passed in
+tranquillity by Edith, watched over and guarded with the most faithful
+care by her two sable friends. No pastor had yet been chosen in her
+father's place; and an unacknowledged but cherished hope arose in her
+mind, that Seymore might one day stand in that sacred place, hallowed in
+her affections, and now regarded with trembling hope.</p>
+
+<p>Seymore indulged himself with as many short visits to Edith as his
+circumstances would allow, always struggling as he was with almost
+insurmountable obstacles, and straining every nerve to attain that goal
+of his hopes, a position in society that would allow him to claim his
+bride. The joy that her presence imparted to his whole being, the change
+that came over him the moment his weary eye caught sight of the steeple
+that rose above the dear spot of all his dreams, the sunshine that she
+diffused in the dark places of his mind, prevented Edith from being
+sensible of the change, the painful change, that a constant struggle
+with the coarse realities of his position had made in his noble nature.
+She had often, indeed, said, with Jenny Deans, "It is no matter which
+has the siller, if the other wants it." But Seymore's nature was proud
+as well as tender.</p>
+
+<p>He possessed, as we have before seen, the temperament of the poet&mdash;that
+pure, rare, and passionate nature so little able to contend with the
+actual difficulties of life&mdash;to whom every-day regular labor is a burden
+hard to bear. We have seen that his deep religious impressions had made
+him consecrate all his fine powers to the service of God; and the
+tenderness of his conscience made him fear that the sacrifice was
+imperfect. The conflict was ever in his soul. He was unable to satisfy
+his own aspirations after a spirituality and purity, which is the slow
+growth of a life of exertion. Despondency so intimately allied to the
+poetic temperament produced a morbid sensibility, a sort of monomania in
+his mind, having the effect of those singular mirages seen from the
+sea-shore, where the most trivial and familiar objects are magnified to
+temples and altars, and hung, as it were, in the clouds.</p>
+
+<p>We touch with a reverend spirit and trembling hand the mysterious
+influences of hidden causes, uniting with unhappy external
+circumstances, to involve those who seem formed to bless and to be
+blessed in a self-tormenting melancholy. I know not that, under any
+circumstances, Seymore's would have been a happy spirit. Under the
+present, his love for Edith seemed the only light that could save him
+from total shipwreck.</p>
+
+<p>The two lovers wrote to each other as often as the state of
+communication between different parts of the country would allow, before
+post-roads had been established, and when letters were often entrusted
+to wandering Indians, and the postage paid with a little tobacco, or a
+handful of meal.</p>
+
+<p>We may judge of the nature of Seymore's letters by one of Edith's, which
+appears to be an answer to one of his:</p>
+
+<blockquote><p><i>October, 1692.</i></p>
+
+<p>How can I be so little solitary, when I am more alone than ever? I
+awake from dreams of you to feel your presence still with me; and
+my first emotion is gratitude to God for having given me this
+happiness. Forgive me, beloved father! that I can be so content
+without you! The bonds of nature are weakened, when an absorbing
+emotion fills the heart. The time may come when nature will be
+avenged. Ah, it cannot be wrong to love as I do. God has opened
+this fountain in the desert of life, as a solace for all its evils.
+Ah, how can those who love be sufficiently grateful to God? Every
+hour should be an act of adoration and praise.</p>
+
+<p>You will tell me, my friend, that this all-absorbing love should
+be given to God. I cannot separate God from his works. This
+beautiful nature&mdash;the ocean, in all its majesty, the quiet stars,
+as they seem to look down upon us, the beauty spread every where
+around me&mdash;remind me always of God. I cannot represent to myself
+God in his personal form: I feel him every where, and I love him
+especially for having made us capable of love.</p>
+
+<p>That religion should be a different thing from this pervading love
+and reverence, I cannot yet understand. Faith is the gift of God;
+such faith as you, my dear friend, wish me to possess; but it seems
+to me, like all the other precious gifts of the soul, to be
+obtained by earnest prayer and infinite strivings. When the young
+man mentioned in the gospel came to our Saviour, he demanded of him
+no profession of mysterious faith, but only a proof of
+disinterested love.</p>
+
+<p>Religion is not a distinct thing from the every-day life,
+as&mdash;pardon me, my dear friend&mdash;I think you would make it. It is
+like the air we breathe, requisite for a life of goodness, but not
+less nor more perceptible to our well-being than the air is to our
+existence. It should not make itself felt in storms and tempests,
+in hot and cold fits, but in a calm and equal power, sustaining,
+purifying, and nourishing our souls.</p>
+
+<p>You believe the direct influence of the Spirit of God upon every
+individual mind is necessary, to make him a religious being. I
+cannot but think that the <i>indirect</i> influence, the beautiful and
+ever-renewed miracle of nature, the observation of God's providence
+in the care of his creatures, and the study of the adaptation of
+Christianity to our particular dispositions&mdash;not merely by a
+process of reasoning, but aided by the religious sentiment which
+seems to me innate and natural to every human being&mdash;is more
+powerful.</p>
+
+<p>And now that I have finished my sermon, let me scold you for
+wronging yourself, as you too often do. <i>Truth</i> is not to be set
+aside, in looking at our own characters. We should do the same
+justice to ourselves that we do to others. There is a secret
+dishonesty in depreciating ourselves. Could I esteem and honor you
+as I do, were you what you call yourself? I honor you for all the
+noble exertions you have made,&mdash;for the ardor of your love of truth
+and duty. Ah, call me not a partial and blinded judge: your true
+honor and your most precious happiness are too dear to me to allow
+me to be a false or partial friend. I would give you a little, a
+very little vanity; not enough to make you a sumptuous robe, but
+just enough to keep you from the cold.</p>
+
+<p>You say you look upon this delusion of witchcraft, that is
+spreading through the country, with fearful and trembling interest,
+and that you believe God may permit his will to be made known by
+such instruments as these. God forbid that I should limit his
+power! but I fear these poor children are wicked or diseased, and
+that Satan has nothing to do with it.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman at the cliff is now very ill: I trust God will take
+her from the world before she is seized for a witch. There are many
+ready to believe that she has ridden through the air on a
+broomstick, or gone to sea in an egg-shell. But you do not love me
+to jest on this subject. Forgive me! I will not jest again.</p>
+
+<p>And this balmy Indian summer,&mdash;it seems as if it would last
+forever. But I am so happy now, I can hardly believe there is
+sorrow in the world, or winter in the year. Winter has no terror
+now: the long evenings and nights bring me dreams of you, and I
+awake with the consciousness that you are mine. * * *</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>Perhaps the reader may think the letter just read a very singular
+love-letter. But it must be remembered that religion was the
+all-absorbing sentiment of the Puritans, and that Seymore's enthusiastic
+temperament made it the subject that most interested him in his letters
+to Edith.</p>
+
+<p>Edith's mind was too well balanced and too happily constituted to allow
+her to partake of his extravagance; but she gave him that dearest proof
+of love, that of softening all his defects, and even exalting them into
+the most precious virtues.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"Apart she lived, and still she rests alone:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Yon earthly heap awaits no flattering stone."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>As it was mentioned in Edith's letter, the old woman who lived at the
+cottage by the cliff had become very ill, and it was apparent that she
+would never leave her bed again. Edith had been assiduous in her
+kindness. Dinah had been with her a part of every day, and had watched
+with her many nights. Edith insisted, at last, that her poor slave
+should sleep, and resolved herself to take her place by the bedside.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman had made herself feared and hated by the scattered
+inhabitants. She was called a witch, and they deserted her sick bed,&mdash;a
+thing most rare among the kind-hearted dwellers in a thinly-peopled
+neighborhood.</p>
+
+<p>It was a threatening evening when Edith took her station by the low
+pallet of the sick woman. The solitary hut, as I have mentioned, stood
+on the edge of the little bay; and, at high water, it was almost washed
+by the waves.</p>
+
+<p>How different the whole scene from that brilliant morning when Edith
+visited the tenant of the cottage! A leaden cloud seemed now to rest on
+the water, shutting out the fair sky; and, as the sullen waves rolled on
+the beach, a close and stifling air oppressed Edith's spirits.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman was alone: her poor grandchild, wearied with the services
+of the day, had fallen asleep with her hand in her grandmother's, and
+her head falling over the pillow: her long hair rested on the old
+woman's face, which she seemed not to have strength to remove.</p>
+
+<p>Edith's first care was to take the little girl from her grandmother's
+pillow; and, laying her gently on the foot of the bed, she took off her
+own shawl, and made a pillow for her head. The old woman looked at her
+without speaking, and a tear coursed slowly down her cheek.</p>
+
+<p>Edith hoped the hardness was melting from her heart. She took her hand
+tenderly in hers, and whispered, "Cannot you put your trust in God?"</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot pray&mdash;to God; no, it is too late. But"&mdash;and her voice was
+interrupted with short, impeded breath. She pointed to the child, and
+looked at Edith with an expression so imploring, so full of tenderness
+for the child, of agony that she must leave her, of appeal to Edith's
+compassion, that the tears started to her eyes, and she answered, "Fear
+nothing: I will take care of her; I will be a mother to her."</p>
+
+<p>The old woman pressed her hand: the look of agony passed away from her
+features, and she closed her eyes to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>Edith sat silently by the bedside. The tempest that had been gathering
+over the water now shook the little dwelling: torrents of rain fell, and
+frequent flashes lighted the little room. At last, a gust of wind from
+the broken window extinguished the taper, and Edith was in total
+darkness. It was a warm night for the season, and no fire on the hearth
+to afford a spark by which she could relight it.</p>
+
+<p>Edith trembled; but she tried to be calm. She only feared the old woman
+would die while she held her hand, which she imagined was already
+growing cold in hers.</p>
+
+<p>The storm gradually passed away into silence. There was no sound but the
+short, interrupted breath of her patient, and the soft, healthful,
+regular breathing of infancy. Edith longed for the dawn, and looked
+anxiously through the little casement for the first gray streak. As far
+as the eye could reach, the bay was white with foam; but no light yet
+dawned upon it from the morning.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman awoke. "I cannot see you," she said; "a film is over my
+eyes."</p>
+
+<p>Edith told her the lamp had been extinguished with the wind.</p>
+
+<p>"Alas!" she said; "and I must die as I have lived,&mdash;in darkness."</p>
+
+<p>Edith assured her she was not then dying, and begged her to try to pray,
+or to listen while she endeavored, as far as she was able, to offer a
+prayer to God.</p>
+
+<p>"No," she said; "I have lived without prayer, and I will not mock God on
+my death-bed; but, if there is mercy for me, God may listen to you, pure
+and good as you have ever been."</p>
+
+<p>Edith knelt; and, with lips trembling with timidity and responsibility,
+she uttered a low, humble, and earnest prayer.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman seemed at first to listen; but her mind soon wandered:
+broken and, as it afterwards would almost appear, prophetic sentences
+escaped from her lips: "Judgments are coming on this unhappy
+land,&mdash;delusions and oppression. Men and devils shall oppress the
+innocent. The good like you, the innocent and good, shall not escape!"
+Then she looked at the sleeping child: "Can the lamb dwell with the
+tiger, or the dove nestle with the hawk? But you have promised: you will
+keep your word; and when God counts his jewels"&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Edith arose from her knees, and trembled like a leaf. With inexpressible
+joy, her eyes fell on her own Dinah, standing looking on, with the
+deepest awe in her countenance. She had risen before the dawn, and come
+to relieve her young mistress, and had entered while Edith was kneeling.
+She now insisted on taking her place. Edith committed to her care the
+sleeping child, and then sought the repose the agitation of the night
+had rendered so necessary.</p>
+
+<p>Before evening, the old woman died; and the next day she was to be
+committed to the earth. Little preparation was necessary for her
+funeral. No mourners were to be summoned from afar: there was no mockery
+of grief. She had lived disliked by her neighbors. A few old women came
+from curiosity to see old Nanny, who had never been very courteous in
+inviting her neighbors to visit her; and they came now to see how she
+had contrived to live upon nothing.</p>
+
+<p>The poor child, since the death of her only friend, had refused to leave
+the body, but sat subdued and tearless, like a faithful dog, watching by
+the side of her grandmother, apparently expecting her to return again to
+life.</p>
+
+<p>Towards evening, a few persons were assembled in the hut to pay the last
+Christian services to the dead. The old woman had always said she would
+be buried, not in the common grave-yard, but near a particular rock
+where her last son who was drowned had been washed on shore and buried.</p>
+
+<p>The neighbors were whispering among themselves, as to what was to be the
+fate of the poor child; every one avoiding to look at her, lest it
+should imply some design to take charge of her. The child looked on with
+wonder, as though she hardly knew why they were there. She had clung to
+Dinah as the best known among them; but, when the prayer was finished,
+and they began to remove the coffin, she uttered a loud cry, flew from
+Dinah's arms, and clung to the bier with all her strength.</p>
+
+<p>The men instinctively paused and laid down their burden. The voice of
+nature in that little child was irresistible. They looked at Edith, who
+had now made known her promise to the grandmother to take care of the
+child, to ask what they should do. She took the child in her arms and
+quieted her till all was over, and then, consigning her to the care of
+Dinah, she was taken to their own home.</p>
+
+<p>Edith felt deeply the responsibility she had assumed in the care and
+instruction of this child. She knew the tenderness of her own heart, her
+yielding nature, and feared she should err on the side of too much
+indulgence. She said to herself, "She shall never need a mother's care.
+I know the heart of the orphan, and no unkindness shall ever make her
+feel that she is motherless."</p>
+
+<p>The poor little Phoebe had cried herself to sleep in Dinah's arms, and
+had been put to bed in her soiled and dirty state. The next morning a
+clean new dress banished the memory of her grandmother, and her childish
+tears were dried, and grief forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>Dinah had brought to aid her the power of soap and water, and had
+disentangled her really soft and beautiful hair; and when Edith came
+down, she would scarcely have known her again. The soil of many weeks
+had been taken from the child's skin, and, under it, her complexion was
+delicately fair: her cheeks were like pale blush roses, and her lips
+were two crimson rosebuds. But with this youthful freshness, which was
+indeed only the brilliancy of color, there was an expression in her face
+that marred its beauty. It was coarse and earthly, and the absence of
+that confiding openness we love to see in children. It reminded one of
+her old grandmother; although the one was fair, and smooth, and
+blooming, the other dark and wrinkled, a stranger would have said they
+were related.</p>
+
+<p>Edith called the child to her, and kissed her fair cheek; but when she
+observed the likeness to the old woman, she turned away with a slight
+shudder, and something like a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>Dinah, an interested observer of every passing emotion, said, softly,
+"The cloud is not gone over yet; a few more tears, and it will pass away
+from her young brow, and then it will be fair as your own."</p>
+
+<p>"It is too fair already," answered Edith; "so much beauty will be hard
+to guide; and then look at that dark, wayward expression."</p>
+
+<p>"Say not so, my dear mistress;" and Dinah drew back the hair from her
+fair forehead. "Look at her beautiful face: in a few days your heart
+will yearn to her as mine does to you."</p>
+
+<p>"God grant I may be as faithful to my duty," said Edith; but this is not
+the way to begin it; and she drew the child to her knee, and a few
+moments of playful caressing brought smiles to the young countenance
+that nearly chased away the dark expression.</p>
+
+<p>Edith, although superior to the age in which she lived, could not but be
+influenced by its peculiarities. The belief that an all-pervading and
+ever-present Providence directed the most minute, as well as the more
+important events of life, was common to the Puritans. She could not free
+herself from a superstitious feeling that this child was to have, in
+some way or other, she knew not how, an unfavorable influence upon her
+happiness. She was free, indeed, from that puerile superstition</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"That God's fixed will from nature's wanderings learns."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>But the tempest that shook the little building, the incoherent ravings
+of the old woman's mind, and the solemn darkness of the hour when she
+promised to take charge of the child, had made a deep impression on her
+mind.</p>
+
+<p>It is true "that coming events cast their shadows before." Who has not
+felt presentiments that certain persons and certain places are, in some
+mysterious way, we know not how, connected by invisible links with our
+own destiny? The ancients gave to this hidden and mysterious power the
+name of Fate. The tragedy of life arises from the powerless efforts of
+mortals to contend with its decrees. All that the ancient tragedy taught
+was, to bear evils with fortitude, because they were inevitable; but the
+"hope that is full of immortality" has taught us that they are the
+discipline appointed by Heaven to perfect and prepare our souls for
+their immortal destiny.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>
+
+<blockquote><p>"There has been too much cause to observe that the Christians that
+were driven into the American desert which is now called New
+England, have, to their sorrow, seen Azahel dwelling and raging
+there in very tragical instances."</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Cotton Mather.</span></p></blockquote>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>The delusion that passed through our country in 1692 has left a dark
+chapter in the history of New England. But it was not alone in New
+England that this fearful delusion influenced the minds and actions of
+men. It was believed all over Europe, in the seventeenth century, that
+evil spirits mingled in the concerns of mortals, and that compacts were
+made with them, and sealed with the blood of many of the most eminent
+persons of the age.</p>
+
+<p>The desire to penetrate the mysteries of the spiritual natures that we
+believe every where to surround us, has taken different forms in
+different states of society. In New England, it seems to have begun in
+the wicked fancies of some nervous or really diseased children, who were
+permitted, at last, to accuse and persecute persons who were remarkable
+for goodness or intellect, and especially females who were distinguished
+for any excellence of mind or person.</p>
+
+<p>An historian of the time says, "In the present world, it is no wonder
+that the operations of evil angels are more sensible than that of the
+good; nevertheless 'tis very certain that the good angels fly about in
+our infected atmosphere to minister to the good of those who are to be
+the heirs of salvation. Children and ignorant persons first complained
+of being tormented and affected in divers manners. They then accused
+some persons eminent for their virtues and standing in society."</p>
+
+<p>We have seen that Edith was disposed to think lightly of the subject at
+first, although she rejoiced that the old woman of the cliff had escaped
+suspicion by a timely death. But when she found that some of her own
+neighbors had been suspected, and that one old woman, in another
+village, for denying all knowledge of evil spirits, had been executed,
+she was filled with consternation; and when others, to save themselves
+from the same dreadful fate, increased the delusion of the times by
+confessing a compact with the evil one, her pity was mingled with
+indignation. With so much clearness of intellect, and simplicity of
+heart, she could not persuade herself that it was any thing but wilful
+blindness, and a wicked lie.</p>
+
+<p>But Edith began soon to feel much anxiety for her faithful Dinah.
+Persons in any way distinguished for any peculiarity were most likely to
+be accused, and she had secretly made arrangements to send her away, and
+conceal her, should the smallest indication of suspicion fall upon her.
+For herself Edith had no fears. It would have been hard to make this
+pure and simple-minded creature believe that she had an enemy in the
+world. She had not read the French maxim, that there may be such a
+weight of obligation that we can only be released from it by
+ingratitude.</p>
+
+<p>Dinah had remarked, for several days, in the little Phoebe most strange
+and unnatural contortions, and writhings of the body, startings and
+tremblings, turning up her eyes and distorting her mouth; and also that
+she took little food, and often was absent from home; but, with her
+usual tenderness, and fear of giving anxiety to Edith, she had forborne
+to mention it.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, the child had always been wayward and strange, and especially
+indocile to Edith's instructions, although she seemed at times to have a
+strong affection for her. She was fond of long rambles in the woods, and
+of basking in the sun alone on the beach, and retained all her love for
+those vagrant habits she had learned from her grandmother. Edith had too
+much tenderness and indulgence to restrain what appeared a harmless and
+perhaps healthful propensity.</p>
+
+<p>She had tried, however, to civilize the poor, neglected child, and had
+taught her to say her prayers every night, kneeling at her side.</p>
+
+<p>It was a cold, chilly evening in our tardy spring: the little family had
+drawn around the cheerful evening fire, and the evening meal was just
+finished: Edith felt happy, for she had been reading a cheerful letter
+from Seymore. The shutters were closed, and she had indulged the little
+Phoebe, as she often did at this hour, with a noisy game. Edith was
+already tired: she looked at the clock: it was the bed hour for the
+child.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, my child, be serious for a moment, and say your evening prayer."
+Phoebe kneeled: the prayer was short, but whenever she came to the word
+God, or Savior, she cried out that she could not say it.</p>
+
+<p>Edith concealed her fears, and said, very quietly, "I will say it for
+you; and now, my child, go peaceably to bed, and pray to God to keep you
+from telling falsehoods." Phoebe was awed by her calm, decided manner,
+and, without further disturbance, went quietly to bed.</p>
+
+<p>Full of anxiety, and even terror, Edith sought her humble friend, told
+her the circumstance, and besought her to fly and conceal herself. She
+had provided the means for flight and concealment, and entreated her to
+use them before it was too late.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not fear for myself, my dear mistress," said Dinah. "If the child
+has such design, she has already formed her plan and already accused us;
+and she will not be content with accusing me; you are not safe. You do
+not know her hard and stubborn temper. She is like the young hawk in the
+nest of the dove."</p>
+
+<p>Seeing Edith was dreadfully alarmed, Dinah added, "Do not fear; we are
+in <i>his</i> hand who feeds the young ravens, and numbers the hairs of our
+heads."</p>
+
+<p>Edith began to be a little more composed, when a loud knocking was
+heard at the door. Two men entered, well known to Edith; the officials
+in all occasions of this nature. One was the deacon of the church, a
+heated fanatic, full of religious bigotry, whose head was too weak to
+govern the passionate and blind motions of his heart. While he had been
+under the restraint of Mr. Grafton's calm, enlightened reason, he had
+been only a zealous and useful officer of the church; but now, that he
+considered his own light as no longer hidden under a bushel, his zeal
+burned out with more violence, and he lent himself to all the wild
+fanaticism of the time. The other was an old man, an elder in the
+church; with much tenderness of heart; but he was timid, and relied
+little on his own judgment, which was so little enlightened that he
+easily yielded to what he afterwards, when the delusion passed away,
+bewailed with bitter tears.</p>
+
+<p>Edith was perfectly acquainted with the characters of both. When she saw
+them enter, she turned deadly pale; but she pointed courteously to a
+seat, and placed herself instinctively between them and Dinah, to shield
+her, for she knew too well that there was no escape for her humble
+friend if once in their power. She felt, therefore, a sensible relief
+when she found that she was herself the object of their visit.</p>
+
+<p>Edith had had time to recover a little from her first consternation,
+and, with much self-possession, she asked who were her accusers, and
+demanded the right of being confronted with them.</p>
+
+<p>The men informed her that she would be taken in the morning to the
+meeting-house for examination, and then it would be time enough to know
+her accusers: in the mean time they should leave a guard in the house,
+to prevent all attempts to escape.</p>
+
+<p>Escape! ah, there was none for her. But Edith answered that she wished
+not to escape; that she should demand an examination. Alas! she knew not
+yet the spirit of the times. She was deluded by her own consciousness of
+innocence, and she thought fanaticism itself could not attach a
+suspicion to harmlessness like hers.</p>
+
+<p>Not so Dinah. She was seized with a terror and grief that, for one
+moment, shook her faith in God, and took away all self-possession. She
+knew that innocence, youth, piety, beauty, had been of no avail against
+the demoniac fury of the accusers. She besought, on her knees, and with
+floods of tears, her dear child&mdash;as, in her agitation, she called
+her&mdash;to avail herself of flight. She convinced Edith that they could
+easily elude the vigilance of their guard; that they could escape by
+water. Paul was an excellent boatman, the sea smooth as a mirror, the
+moon nearly full; they could reach Boston without suspicion. Or she
+would hide her in the woods: she herself knew a place where she could
+bring her food and clothing, and form a shelter for her, and keep her
+safe till all suspicion had ceased.</p>
+
+<p>It would have been better for Edith had she yielded; but her own clear
+reason, free from the mists of fanaticism, deluded her into the
+persuasion that, as nothing could appear against her, it would confirm
+the suspicions against her if she were to avoid by flight a full and
+open examination.</p>
+
+<p>Before they retired for the night, they kneeled down to pray. Dinah
+could not subdue her sobs; but Edith's voice was calm and firm as she
+asked the protection of the Father of the fatherless, and committed her
+poor friend to him who is no respector of persons.</p>
+
+<p>Dinah entreated her mistress to allow her to sit by her all night and
+watch, while she tried to sleep. This Edith refused: she wished to be
+alone. She had much to do to prepare herself for to-morrow, and she
+justly feared that Dinah's distress would soften her heart, and shake
+her firmness too much.</p>
+
+<p>As they passed through the chamber, Dinah bearing the candle, the little
+Phoebe, restless in her sleep, had nearly thrown herself out of bed.
+Edith stopped, and, bending over, replaced the bedclothes, and said
+softly to Dinah, "If to-morrow should be fatal, if I should not live to
+keep my promise to the old woman, I can trust her to you: you will be to
+her, as you have been to me, a mother; O, more than a mother?"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped; her voice choked. She removed the thick hair from the brow
+of the sleeping child, but even in sleep her face wore the frown that so
+often marred its beauty. "Dinah," she said, "she is yours; you will love
+her as you have me."</p>
+
+<p>"That I can never promise; but I will do my duty," said Dinah.</p>
+
+<p>Edith pressed her lips&mdash;thirsting as they ever did for a return of
+love&mdash;on the fair brow, and then, taking the candle from Dinah, entered
+her own room. Her heart was oppressed with apprehension, and she would
+not trust herself to say good night to her faithful servants.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"But ye! ye are changed since ye met me last:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">There is something bright from your features past;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">There is that come over your heart and eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Which speaks of a world where the flowers must die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Ye smile; but your smile has a dimness yet:<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Oh! what have ye looked on since last we met?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i25"><span class="smcap">The Voice of Spring.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>Before the events mentioned in the last chapter occurred, the winter had
+passed away, and the reluctant footsteps of our northern spring began to
+appear. The purple Hepatica opened her soft eye in the woods, and the
+delicate Sanguinaria spread her snowy bosom to catch the pale sunbeam.
+Already the maple-trees had hung out their beautiful crimson blossoms,
+and the thrilling note of the song-sparrow echoed through the forest.
+Then came the chilling wind from the east, its wings loaded with frost;
+and the timid spring hid her tender blossoms, and wrapped herself in a
+watery veil.</p>
+
+<p>The weather and the spring were unnoticed by Dinah, when she sought,
+soon after sunrise, the pillow of her mistress. The night had brought
+no rest to her throbbing temples and anxious heart: she was surprised,
+therefore, to find Edith still sleeping. She had sat up late, arranging
+her father's and her own papers, and providing, by a distribution of her
+little property, for the old age of her two faithful servants. They were
+no longer slaves; Mr. Grafton had given them freedom at his death. She
+left the little Phoebe under their guardianship. She had also written a
+letter to Seymore, to ask him to come and aid her by his counsel in this
+extremity. It was nearly dawn when she sought her pillow; and sleep,
+which has been called the friend of sorrow&mdash;"but it is the happy who
+have called it so"&mdash;had only for a few moments left her with untroubled
+dreams. Her sleep was not heavy; for the gentle footstep of Dinah awoke
+her. When she saw her humble friend's troubled expression, she tried to
+smile; and, stroking her dark cheek as she bent over her, she said, "We
+must look bright to-day, my poor Dinah, or they will think we are
+afraid."</p>
+
+<p>They prepared for the arrival of the officers; and, when breakfast was
+ready, the little Phoebe was not to be found. Although Dinah looked
+very grave, this occasioned no anxiety in Edith, when she recollected
+the vagrant habits of the child.</p>
+
+<p>After breakfast, which was indeed not tasted, the same persons who had
+visited her the night before came to conduct Edith to the meeting-house,
+the place of examination. The house was nearly full; and among that
+crowd there was scarcely one to whom Edith had not been a friend and a
+benefactor, as far as her humble means would allow. As she entered,
+there was one by whose sick bed she had watched; another whose infant
+had died in her arms; and children stood looking on with stupid wonder
+to whom she had given flowers, and primers, and, more than all, her own
+gentle smile. But now every eye was averted, or turned on her with
+suspicion and terror,&mdash;so hardening is the power of fanaticism.</p>
+
+<p>I believe I have said that my heroine was not beautiful; but the inward
+harmony must have given a spiritual beauty to features animated with
+intellect, and softened by tenderness of heart; and a self-relying
+innocence and purity imparted something more of grace to her person than
+the most finished art could have given.</p>
+
+<p>Edith became very pale as she entered; and Dinah, who had followed her
+closely, begged permission to stand near and support her. This was
+denied, and she was placed between two men, who each held an arm, and in
+front of those who were to examine her.</p>
+
+<p>The afflicted&mdash;that is, the accuser&mdash;was now called in. Edith looked
+eagerly around, and, with grief and astonishment, saw her little Phoebe,
+the child of her care, when almost close to her, utter a piercing cry,
+and fall down in violent convulsions. She started forward to assist and
+raise her, but the men drew her rudely back. And this was her accuser!</p>
+
+<p>At the same time with Edith, a poor old woman, nearly eighty years of
+age, was brought in. Her accuser was her own grandchild,&mdash;a girl about
+the same age as Phoebe. Together they had concerted this diabolical
+plot, and had rehearsed and practised beforehand their contortions and
+convulsions, excited, no doubt, by the notoriety of wicked children they
+had heard of.</p>
+
+<p>The poor old creature was bent and haggard. She would have wept, but,
+alas! the fountain of her tears was dried up; and she looked at her
+grandchild with a sort of stupid incredulity and wonder. Her inability
+to weep was regarded as an infallible proof of her guilt. As she stood
+beside Edith, she shook with age and terror; and Edith, touched with
+pity, though she trembled herself, and was deadly pale, tried to give
+her a smile of hope and encouragement. The poor old wretch did not need
+it: she not only confessed to every thing of which she was accused, but
+added such circumstances of time and place, and of the various forms the
+devil had taken in her person, that Edith almost sickened with disgust.
+She could not understand how an old person, on the very verge of the
+grave, could wish to lengthen out her few years by such base and wicked
+lies.</p>
+
+<p>The young cannot believe that the old are unwilling to die. But it is an
+acknowledged truth, that the longer we have worn our earthly vesture,
+the dearer becomes the thin and faded remnant. The young resign their
+hold of life with hardly a regret, while the old cling with the utmost
+tenacity to the wavering and nearly-parted thread.</p>
+
+<p>Edith turned away from the partner of her suspected guilt, and asked to
+have the child brought near her. She held out her hand, and looked
+mildly in her face. The moment the child touched Edith's hand, she was
+still: this was a part of the plot: but the moment her hand was
+withdrawn, she fell down again in violent convulsions, and cried out
+that pins were thrust into her. In the midst of this acting, she caught
+Dinah's stern, reproachful eye fixed upon her, and she instantly became
+still. But this did not aid poor Edith's cause; for they cried out that
+the child was struck dumb by the accused.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman also, feeling perhaps that Edith's integrity was a
+reproach to her own weakness, cried out that she was pierced with pins,
+and pinched by Edith, although with invisible fingers, as she stood near
+her; and, turning back her sleeve from her bony and wrinkled arm, she
+showed a discolored spot, which she declared had not been there when she
+left her home. It had not, indeed; but every one knows how quickly a
+bruise is visible in the stagnant blood of age, and the mark had been
+left by the hand of the person who held her arm.</p>
+
+<p>Edith, wearied and disgusted, desired to be taken back to her prison,
+there to await her trial before the judges of the Province. Every thing
+had occurred that was most unfavorable to her, and she felt but too well
+that she must bear the suspicion of a crime of which she was as
+unconscious as the unborn infant. Her heart yearned towards the poor
+infatuated child, and she earnestly begged that she might be permitted
+to talk with her alone. This was granted, and she was guarded to her
+prison.</p>
+
+<p>There was no proper prison in our village, and Edith was guarded in one
+of the rooms of the deacon's house who had been so active in her
+accusation.</p>
+
+<p>During the night that passed after her examination, Edith had time to
+arrange her thoughts. Before she knew who her accusers were, she had
+been moving in the dark; and now, when she thought of the whole insane
+proceeding, she could scarcely believe they would be guilty of the
+monstrous crime of condemning her on the testimony of that child alone.</p>
+
+<p>When the deacon visited her in the morning, she said, with much warmth,
+"Have the days of Queen Mary come back? Am I to be suspected, condemned,
+imprisoned, on the testimony of that poor child,&mdash;the child that I took
+to my home when no one else among you would offer her a shelter?"</p>
+
+<p>The deacon answered, "that the testimony was so much more convincing, as
+the child had lived in the house with her."</p>
+
+<p>"And is her word to be taken against the testimony of my whole life? You
+know how I have lived among you from my infancy."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; but God may choose the fairest of his works as instruments of his
+sovereign will."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you forgotten my father?" said Edith,&mdash;"how he lived among you? He
+was ever your friend&mdash;always near you in every trouble. And myself"&mdash;she
+stopped; for she would not remind them of her deeds of kindness,&mdash;of the
+daily beauty of her life in their humble circle; nor would she recall
+her orphanhood, her unprotected state; but she looked down, and her eyes
+filled with tears. "God," she said, at length, "is the protection of the
+orphan; and he will avenge this great sin, and you will answer for it at
+his bar."</p>
+
+<p>The deacon looked sternly decided and unmoved, but he began to urge her
+to confess,&mdash;to do as others had done, and save her life by
+acknowledging the crime.</p>
+
+<p>Indignation kindled in Edith's eye; but she checked it, and said, "I
+cannot, I durst not, belie my own soul, and commit so great a sin. God,
+who is the searcher of my heart and your heart, as we shall both answer
+at the judgment day, is witness that I know nothing of witchcraft,&mdash;of
+no temptation of the evil one. I have felt, indeed&mdash;as who has not?&mdash;the
+temptations that arise from our own passions; but I know no other, and
+can confess no other."</p>
+
+<p>She then desired that Phoebe might be brought to her, and Dinah
+permitted to attend her in her prison. They consented that Edith should
+see the child in the presence of one witness; and the mild old man who
+was with the deacon said he would bring her himself.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2>
+
+<blockquote><p>"I am constrained to declare, as the result of as thorough a
+scrutiny as I could institute, my belief that this dreadful
+transaction was introduced and driven on by wicked perjury and
+wilful malice."</p>
+
+<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Upham's Lecture ox Salem Witchcraft.</span></p>
+
+
+<p>"Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts?"</p>
+
+
+<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Lear.</span></p></blockquote>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>There seems sometimes to be an element of evil in the heart of a child,
+that would almost persuade us to believe in original sin. In the breast
+of those who have been favorably born and kindly nurtured, it may sleep
+forever; but, when the conscience has been soiled in early childhood, it
+awakes the appetite for sin, and the restraint that comes afterwards
+curbs without subduing the disposition to evil.</p>
+
+<p>It is true that poor Phoebe had felt a strong affection for her
+grandmother; and, without all other moral restraint, it was the only
+point in which her heart could be touched. The vagrant life she had led
+had also had its influence:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Happy because the sunshine was her dower,"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>she could not always be insensible to the beauty of the heaven that had
+so often canopied her sleep, or the grandeur of the ocean where she had
+passed whole days playing with the waves. She rebelled against the
+restraint that every feminine occupation imposed on this wild liberty.
+She quailed, indeed, before Dinah's more resolute spirit; but Edith's
+gentleness had failed to touch her heart; and she knew that her forced
+obedience to Dinah was only the result of Edith's authority.</p>
+
+<p>When the child appeared, Edith held out her hand with her own grave,
+sweet smile; but, the moment the child saw her, she began again to act
+her part, and to throw her body and limbs into violent contortions.
+Edith was not alarmed: she saw it was feigned; and, drawing her to her
+knees, she held both her little hands tightly clasped in hers. Phoebe
+became instantly calm; but this was a part of the system of
+deception,&mdash;that, as soon as the accused touched the afflicted, they
+should be calmed and healed.</p>
+
+<p>Edith looked in her face, and said, very kindly, "Tell me, my poor
+child, who has persuaded you to do this wicked thing,&mdash;to accuse me of
+this horrible crime? tell me truly. I shall not be angry with you, I
+shall not punish you, if you tell me the truth. Who first spoke to you
+about it? What have they promised you for bringing this trouble on me?"</p>
+
+<p>The child, unmoved, said, "You yourself made me do it."</p>
+
+<p>"I! O, my poor Phoebe, how can you be so wicked as to tell this dreadful
+lie? Do you not know that God sees you and hears you, and that he will
+punish you for it? I may die: you may cause my death; but you will live
+to repent; and, O, how sorry you will be in after years, when you think
+how much I loved you, and you have caused my death! But, my poor Phoebe,
+you know not what you do; you know not what death is."</p>
+
+<p>"My grandmother died," said the child.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, yes; but she died quietly in her bed, and you were sleeping near;
+and when I took you in my arms to look at her, you saw only her peaceful
+countenance. But I shall not die thus: I shall be dragged before angry
+men, and, with irons on my hands and ankles, I shall be lifted to the
+scaffold, and there, before hundreds of angry faces turned towards me,
+I shall die alone! not peacefully, as your grandmother did, when with my
+own hands I closed her eyes, but horribly, in pain and agony! and you
+will have done this,&mdash;you that I have loved so"&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Phoebe became very red, and the tears came to her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Edith thought she had touched the child's heart, and continued: "I knew
+you could not be so wicked, so young and looking so innocent. No, my
+child; you love me, and you will unsay all you have said, and we will go
+home again together."</p>
+
+<p>The child answered, with much violence, "No, no, never! you pricked me
+with pins, and you tormented me."</p>
+
+<p>"O, monstrous!" said Edith; "if I could believe in devils, I should
+believe you were now possessed. O, it is not natural! so young, and with
+a woman's nature! You do not love me, then. I have punished you when you
+have done wrong, and you have not forgiven me: you wish to be revenged.
+You do not answer. Phoebe! tell me: are you angry that I punished you?
+God knows it pained me to do so. But your poor grandmother gave you to
+me that I might try to make you a good child; and if I had not punished
+you when you did wrong, you would have grown up a wicked woman. God
+grant you may not be so now! you are already revenged."</p>
+
+<p>Phoebe said, very sullenly, "You punished me twice."</p>
+
+<p>"Good God! and is it for that you have brought on me this terrible evil?
+Can such revenge dwell in so young a heart?"</p>
+
+<p>Edith walked several times across the room, trying to calm her agitated
+nerves. The child stood with an expression of obstinate determination in
+her whole manner.</p>
+
+<p>At length Edith went to her, and took her, as she had often done at
+home, in her arms.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Phoebe, do you remember the day when your grandmother died? I
+was there by her bedside; and you, a poor, deserted child, were crying
+bitterly. I took you home to my house. Like myself, you were an orphan;
+and I prayed to the orphan's Father that from me your little heart might
+never know a pang of sorrow. You fell asleep in my arms; and since then
+I have ever loved you almost as though I were indeed your mother, and
+you were my own child. And you, Phoebe, you have loved me, have you
+not?"</p>
+
+<p>The child was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you remember the fever you had soon after? when you were restless in
+your bed, and I took you in my arms, and all night my bosom was your
+pillow, and I watched you many nights, and thought not of sleep or
+fatigue when I held your little hand, burning with fever, in my own all
+night? Ah! you loved me then; you will love me again, and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I never loved you," said the child; "I do not love you now."</p>
+
+<p>Edith put her quickly from her arms, and turning to the man who was
+present, "Take her away," she said; "take the poor child away. O, my
+God! is it for this I have lavished on her the tenderness of my heart! I
+warmed her in my bosom, and she has stung me to the quick. O, had I been
+less indulgent, I might have subdued her stubborn nature. Of what avail
+has been a life of self-denial, of benevolence? Of what avail that I
+have striven to enlighten my own mind and to do good to others? In one
+moment, by that child of my own cherishing, but the creature of my own
+bounty, I am suspected of a horrible, contemptible crime; humiliated to
+the very dust. O, my Father! it is too much." She covered her face with
+her hands, and burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>The person who had witnessed the scene with the child was the same elder
+I have mentioned as possessing much tenderness of heart, but too weak a
+head to listen to its dictates when opposed to the influence of others.
+He had been much affected by her appeal to the child, and came back to
+urge her, if she had any friends to espouse her cause, to send for them.
+He said the fanaticism was increasing; that the prisons in many villages
+were filled with the accused; that the hearts of the people were
+hardened against them; and that her own cause had been much injured by
+the confession of the old woman: and he ended by entreating her to
+confess also, and save her life.</p>
+
+<p>To the last proposal, Edith did not answer. She said she had already
+written to the only friend on whom she could rely, and that Paul had
+gone himself with her letter. Her cause, she said, seemed already lost,
+and all she wished at present was, that Dinah might be permitted to
+visit her, and that she might be left alone.</p>
+
+<p>When Edith was alone, she felt the depression that succeeds to great
+excitement. She looked back on her life with that sick and heart-broken
+feeling that the young experience after severe disappointments. She was
+too young to die; and, though her life had been comparatively blameless,
+the excess of feeling she had lavished on a few idols seemed now to her
+almost like a crime. She had forgotten, she thought, that her duties had
+been plain, and simple, and humble, lying all about her path like
+unnoticed flowers, while she had longed for something more exciting to
+fill her heart.</p>
+
+<p>It is easy for the accused to believe themselves guilty. She trembled
+when she thought how many, not weaker than herself, when suspected and
+deserted by friends, had yielded to their fears, and even fancied
+themselves <i>guilty</i> of crimes which they abhorred; and she mentally
+prayed, "Ah, my Father, save me from myself." Then came the thought of
+Seymore, of his grief, his desolation! "Ah, who will understand him,"
+she said; "who will comfort him when I am gone? But will he remember
+me?" thought she; "will he think of me in 'widowhood of heart?'"</p>
+
+<p>Who would die and be wholly forgotten? We long intensely to live in the
+hearts that love us now. We would not pass away "like the summer-dried
+fountain," forgotten when its sound has ceased. We would have our lowly
+grave visited by holy, twilight thoughts, and our image return at the
+hour of prayer. How few are thus remembered! Now Edith thought of her
+father, and all the yearning of her heart, which her love for Seymore
+had stifled, came back, and torrents of tears flowed as she recalled her
+happy childhood.</p>
+
+<p>They were checked by the entrance of Dinah. She brought comfort with
+her, and a cheerful countenance, for she did not know the result of
+Edith's conversation with the child, and she was full of hope that
+Phoebe would retract all she had said.</p>
+
+<p>Edith could not bear to undeceive her poor friend, and smiled, and
+thanked her as she arranged a nice, clean bed, placed the books she had
+brought within her reach, and pressed her to eat of the delicacies she
+had prepared. She arranged the little repast with all the neatness of
+home, and gave to the gloomy apartment an air of comfort; and Edith
+smiled again, and felt lightened of half her load of despondency, by the
+presence of this faithful guardian.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i16">"'T is past! I wake<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">A captive and alone, and far from thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">My love and friend! yet fostering, for thy sake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i9">A quenchless hope of happiness to be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And feeling still my woman's spirit strong<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">In the deep faith that lifts from earthly wrong<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">A heavenward glance."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i25"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Hemans.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>The next morning Edith was informed that Seymore had arrived. As soon as
+he received her letter he travelled with all the rapidity the state of
+the country permitted, when the journey from Boston to Salem was the
+affair of a day, as it is now of half an hour.</p>
+
+<p>From all we have learned of the character of Seymore, the reader will
+not be surprised to find that, although never taking an active part in
+the persecutions of the time, the character of his enthusiasm was such
+that he lent an easy faith to the stories he had heard of the possessed,
+and believed that God was manifesting his power by granting, for a
+season, such liberty to the prince of evil.</p>
+
+<p>When, however, he received Edith's letter, he felt pierced as it were
+with his own sword. He trembled when he thought of his almost idolatrous
+love, and with a faith which he fancied resembled that of Abraham, he
+believed the time had now come when he must cut off a right hand, and
+pluck out a right eye, to give evidence of his submission to the will of
+God.</p>
+
+<p>With this disposition of mind he arrived at the scene of our narrative.
+In the mean time the tender-hearted elder had become so much interested
+to save Edith, that he contrived to have Seymore placed on the jury,
+hoping that his deep interest in her would be the means of returning a
+verdict of <i>not guilty</i>. Seymore was therefore spared the pain of an
+interview with Edith, which would probably have convinced him of her
+innocence, before the trial.</p>
+
+<p>Edith awoke the next morning from a happy dream. She was walking with
+Seymore by the margin of the great ocean, and his low, deep voice
+mingled in her ear with the liquid sound of the dying wave. She awoke, a
+captive and alone: no, not alone, for the faithful Dinah was standing by
+her bedside, so tearful, so subdued, that the smile the happy dream had
+left on Edith's lips instantly faded. She remembered it was the day of
+her trial, and she prepared to meet it.</p>
+
+<p>These trials were held in the meeting-house, and were opened and closed
+with a religious service. This seems like a mockery to us, but our
+fathers thought they were performing a sacred duty; and however
+frivolous or disgusting were many of the details, the trial was rendered
+more appalling by giving to the whole the appearance of a holy
+sacrifice.</p>
+
+<p>Edith was far from being insensible to the terrors of her situation, but
+she found it necessary to assume a cheerfulness she did not feel, in
+order to soothe the dreadful agitation of Dinah. The poor African
+trusted in God; but she could not shield her child from the tyranny of
+human power.</p>
+
+<p>When Edith entered the thronged meeting-house, a paleness, like that of
+death, overspread her countenance. She requested that Dinah might stand
+near her to support her, lest she should faint. This was rudely denied.
+She was answered, "If she had strength to torment that child, she had
+strength to stand alone."</p>
+
+<p>She could not wipe the tears that gushed into her eyes at this cruel
+answer, for each hand was extended, and closely held by an officer,&mdash;a
+precaution always adopted in these trials, lest the prisoner should
+afflict some person in the crowded multitude.</p>
+
+<p>She had no sooner become a little calm, than her eye sought Seymore
+among the crowd. She was shocked with the change an "o'erwrought spirit"
+had effected in his person. His pale forehead was traced with veins that
+were swelled almost to bursting; a fire was burning in his dark, sunken
+eyes, and crimson spots flushed each cheek.</p>
+
+<p>As Edith looked at him, her heart swelled with an infinite pity. For the
+moment, her own appalling situation melted away from her thoughts. For
+the moment, it was of little importance to her whether she lived or
+died. All she wished was to be near Seymore, to speak to him, to soothe
+and calm his agitated spirit.</p>
+
+<p>She was recalled to herself by the opening of the trial. The prisoner
+was first commanded to repeat the Lord's prayer. This Edith did in a
+low, sweet voice, that sounded to the hushed audience like plaintive
+music.</p>
+
+<p>It is not my purpose to enter into the details of this trial. It is
+enough that "every idle rumor, every thing that the gossip of the
+credulous, or the fertile memories of the malignant could produce that
+had an unfavorable bearing on the prisoner, however foreign it might be
+to the indictment, was brought before the jury,"<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> in addition to the
+testimony of the child, and the falsehood of the old woman.</p>
+
+<p>The cause was at length given to the jury. They did not leave their
+seats; and when it came to the turn of Seymore, who was the last to
+speak, the crimson blood rushed to the cheek, brow, and temples of
+Edith, and then left them paler than before: a sick sensation came over
+her, and she would have fainted, had she not been relieved by tears,
+burning hot, that gushed from her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Seymore had covered his face when he first entered, and had not looked
+at Edith. So hushed was the crowd, that the word "<i>guilty</i>," wrung as it
+were from him in the lowest whisper, was heard distinctly through the
+whole meeting-house. It pierced Edith's ear like the voice of a trumpet;
+and from that moment the spirit of a martyr entered her breast. She felt
+herself deserted by the whole of her little world, falsely convicted of
+a crime she abhorred, and left without human sympathy. She turned to
+God. "He who seeth in secret," she said, "knows my innocence;" and she
+bowed her head, and made no further answer.</p>
+
+<p>The trial was closed as it began,&mdash;with religious services. A hymn was
+sung; and Edith, feeling, as I have said, an elevation that she could
+not herself understand, joined in the devotion. The others stopped; for
+they would not mingle their voices with one convicted of witchcraft: the
+very evil one was mocking them. Edith continued alone; and her rich,
+sweet tones thrilled their hearts like the voice of an angel. She was
+reminded by a whisper from Dinah that she was singing alone; and,
+ceasing, she blushed deeply, and covered her face from the curious gaze
+of the multitude.</p>
+
+<p>As Edith returned to her prison, guarded on each side, and followed by
+Dinah, she thought of the Lady Ursula, whose cruel fate had moved her so
+deeply. And was she indeed the same person? The child that had wept her
+fate so bitterly was now to meet one far more terrible: and she felt
+strength to meet it. Every wave, as it had passed over her, had brought
+out the hidden beauty and strength of her soul; and, though there was in
+her no air of triumph, a tranquil contentment and repose was expressed
+in her whole person.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8">"No, never more, O, never in the worth<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Of its pure cause, let sorrowing love on earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Trust fondly,&mdash;never more! The hope is crushed<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">That lit my life,&mdash;the voice within me hushed<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">That spoke sweet oracles."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>The unnatural excitement that had borne our heroine up during the last
+part of her trial forsook her when she entered once more her dreary
+prison. She was again alone,&mdash;again a weak and timid woman. The
+momentary exaltation that a sense of injustice had given her when under
+the gaze of numbers, gave way to memories of the deep and unforgotten
+happiness she had connected with Seymore. All her sweet anticipations of
+soothing his spirit, of leading him to more rational views of God and of
+himself, faded away. In a few days, she would be no more, and
+remembered, perhaps, with pity or scorn. One last, lingering weakness
+remained: it was the fear of losing the respect and tenderness of
+Seymore.</p>
+
+<p>Like all who love deeply, she had dated her existence from the time she
+became acquainted with Seymore: all before had become a blank in her
+memory; but now her early years rose up before her, like the reflected
+sunlight on distant hills. The thought of her father came back with
+melting tenderness. Ah, now was he avenged for the short forgetfulness
+with which she had ever reproached herself.</p>
+
+<p>She threw herself on her knees, and prayed silently. She felt calmed and
+elevated, as if in immediate answer to her prayer. All selfish and
+agitating emotions passed away. A spirit of forgiveness, of endurance,
+of calm and patient trust, entered her soul. She felt that, with
+Seymore's convictions and sense of duty, he could not have acted
+otherwise; he could not but bear his testimony to what he thought truth;
+and almost a divine pity for his errors, and a purer love for his truth,
+filled her heart.</p>
+
+<p>She was informed that Seymore was waiting to see her. This was a trial
+she had expected, and she was now prepared to meet him. He entered
+trembling, pale, and wholly unmanned. As he tried to speak, his voice
+failed, and he burst into tears.</p>
+
+<p>It is fearful to see a strong man weep. Edith was not prepared for this
+excess of emotion. Those who have seen Retch's exquisite drawing of
+Cordelia when Lear awakes, and she asks "if he knows her," can imagine
+the tender pity of her expression as she went to him and placed her hand
+in his. A sweet smile was on her lips,&mdash;that smile that shows that woman
+can mingle an infinite tenderness with the forgiveness of every injury.
+He pressed her hand to his heart&mdash;his lips; and when he caught her
+eye,&mdash;"O, do not look so mildly at me," he said; "reproach me, scorn me,
+hate me: I can bear all rather than those meek eyes,&mdash;than that
+forgiving smile."</p>
+
+<p>"Be calm, dear Seymore," she said; "with your convictions, you could not
+have done otherwise. You believe in the reality of these possessions.
+The evidence against me was more and stronger than has been sufficient
+to condemn many as innocent as I am. You can have no cause for
+self-reproach."</p>
+
+<p>"Innocent! O, say not that you are innocent! God has many ways of trying
+his elect. You he has tried severely with temptations from the prince of
+evil. He chooses souls like yours. O, Edith, for my sake, for your own
+sake, acknowledge that you have been tempted. It only is required that
+you should say you have been deceived; then all will be well."</p>
+
+<p>For a moment, Edith's face was crimsoned. "What! become a traitor to my
+own soul! lose forever the unsullied jewel of truth, and the peace of a
+pure conscience! and do you counsel this?"</p>
+
+<p>"Many have confessed," he said, "many of undoubted truth, of ripe
+wisdom, who could not be deceived, and who would not confess to a
+lie."<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p>
+
+<p>"But <i>I</i> should confess to a lie,&mdash;a base and wicked lie. I have no
+faith in these temptations. I believe God suffers us to be tempted by
+our own passions and unrestrained imaginations, but not by visible or
+invisible evil spirits. O, listen to me: go no further in this mad,
+this wicked delusion. Spare the innocent blood that will be shed. If I
+must die, let my death be the means of turning you and others from this
+dreadful sin."</p>
+
+<p>"And can you bear to have your name sullied by this alliance with the
+wicked? Those who die as criminals are believed guilty of crimes; and
+can you consent to be remembered as the associate of evil spirits?"</p>
+
+<p>"Falsehood can live but a few years," she answered; "there is an
+immortality in truth and virtue. I cannot blush to be confounded with
+the guilty; for it is my unwillingness to sully my conscience with a lie
+that leads me there."</p>
+
+<p>Seymore was silent for a few moments. "Edith," he said at last,
+straining both her hands in his, "have you been able to think how cruel
+this death may be? Have you fortitude? Can you bear to think of it?" and
+he shuddered, and covered his face with his hands.</p>
+
+<p>Edith for a moment turned pale. "I have ever shrunk," she said, "from
+physical pain. My own extreme timidity has never given me courage to
+bear the least of its evils. I believe, then, that it will be spared me:
+God will give me courage at the moment, or he will mercifully shorten
+the pain; for what is beyond our strength we are not called to bear."</p>
+
+<p>"And can you part with life thus triumphantly?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, my friend, there is no triumph in my soul. In its deepest
+sanctuary, I feel that God will pardon my sins, and accept my death as
+in obedience to my conscience. But, O! I have not sought it: life is
+still sweet to me."</p>
+
+<p>"You shall not die,&mdash;you must not! you will not leave me! Edith, have
+you forgotten our moments of bliss,&mdash;our dreams of happiness to
+come,&mdash;the quiet home, the peaceful fireside, where we hoped to pass our
+lives together? Have you forgotten how long, how truly, how fervently, I
+have loved you? and is this to be the close of all?"</p>
+
+<p>Edith's hand trembled in his, but she answered cheerfully: "The close!
+ah, no: look upward. God has tried us both with grievous trials. Mine
+will cease first. Yours is the hardest to bear: to linger here&mdash;to do
+God's work alone. Let me be to you like one departed a little while
+before you, that would not be mourned, but remembered always."</p>
+
+<p>They were both silent for some moments; Seymore contending with
+unutterable regret, oppressed with an emotion that was almost the agony
+of remorse.</p>
+
+<p>Edith understood his contending emotions. "Think," she said, "that you
+have been the instrument of Providence to lead me to heaven. I do not
+regret to die early: God has permitted me to solve the mystery of life.
+I see his hand even from the moment when that child was committed to my
+care. Thank God, I can now submit to his will; and, although life were
+sweet with you, my death may bring you nearer to heaven."</p>
+
+<p>"Edith," he said at last, "I have been deceived. Such faith, such divine
+forgiveness, such noble fortitude, cannot be the work of evil spirits.
+Your faith is purer and stronger than mine,&mdash;your reason more
+enlightened. I have erred, dreadfully erred."</p>
+
+<p>A bright smile illumined her face, and she pressed his hand in hers.</p>
+
+<p>"I have done most dreadfully wrong," he said; "I sinned from ignorance."</p>
+
+<p>"God will forgive you," said Edith; "and I,&mdash;I cannot forgive, for I
+could not blame."</p>
+
+<p>He started up. "It is not too late to repair this dreadful evil: it will
+be easy for you to escape. If I cannot gain a reversion of the
+sentence, we can escape: we will leave this country of delusion and
+error; we will go home&mdash;to England. There, O Edith&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The blood for a moment rushed to Edith's cheek and brow; but she
+answered, sadly, "No, Seymore, it cannot be; after all that has passed,
+it would ruin your character, your prospects, your usefulness, forever.
+We are too weak to stem, to oppose this mad delusion. Bigotry and power
+are all around us."</p>
+
+<p>"You hesitate. Ah, you do not love me as you did;" and he became again
+violently agitated.</p>
+
+<p>Edith took his hand in hers, and pressed it to her lips. "Tempt me not,"
+she said, "with visions of happiness that can never be. Let us rather
+pray to God to support us in this bitter hour."</p>
+
+<p>They bowed their young heads together, and their tears mingled. Edith's
+silent prayer was wholly for him. True to her woman's nature, she forgot
+herself in his deeper sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>He was calm, and Edith would not prolong the interview; and Seymore left
+her all the more hastily as he was determined to employ every means to
+save her. He was not permitted to enjoy that happiness.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i9">"See, they are gone!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">The earth has bubbles, as the waters have,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">And these are some of them. They vanished<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Into the air, and what seemed corporal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i8">Melted as breath into the wind."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i25"><span class="smcap">Shakspeare.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p>When Edith was alone, she felt that weakness and exhaustion of the body
+that all the painful excitements of the day had produced. She threw
+herself on the bed, and Dinah was soon at her side.</p>
+
+<p>"Sing me one of the hymns you used to sing in my happy childhood;
+perhaps I may sleep."</p>
+
+<p>Dinah sat by the side of the bed, and Edith laid her head on the breast
+of her faithful friend, while she began in a tremulous, low tone, that
+became stronger and clearer as the holy fervor of the hymn inspired her.</p>
+
+<p>Edith lay motionless, but between her closed eyelids the large tears
+forced themselves, and fell slowly down her cheeks. At length, like a
+tired infant, she slept.</p>
+
+<p>Dinah laid her head gently on the pillow; with the tenderest hand, wiped
+away the tears; drew the covering over her; with noiseless step excluded
+the light, and then sat down to watch by her.</p>
+
+<p>It was the bitterest hour poor Dinah had ever passed. She tried to pray,
+but she found submission impossible. She had had many trials. She had
+been torn from her native land, chained in a slave ship, exposed for
+sale in the slave market; but since she had been a Christian, she had
+blessed her various trials. Now her faith in God seemed entirely to
+fail.</p>
+
+<p>She took, as she had often done to comfort her, the cool, soft hand of
+her mistress in hers. It was now burning hot, and her own tears, as they
+fell, seemed to scald her.</p>
+
+<p>But just at that moment a thought darted into her mind, and she has
+often said that it was a direct inspiration from God. "I will save her!"
+was the thought. The blood rushed to her head and face, and then
+retreated again to the heart; she trembled, and, for the first time in
+her life, the poor African was near fainting. She fell on her knees:
+"Yes, God help me, I will save her." The operations of the mind at such
+moments are rapid as lightning; and, in a few moments, her plan was
+arranged.</p>
+
+<p>When Edith awoke and saw the change a few moments had wrought in Dinah's
+appearance, the light that shone in her eye, and her cheek "flushed
+through its olive hue," she feared, for an instant, that great anxiety
+and grief had shaken her reason.</p>
+
+<p>"My poor Dinah," she said, taking her hand in hers, "you are ill; you
+are feverish; you have been too long shut up in this dismal room with
+me. Go out, I pray you, and take the cool evening air, and I will try to
+sleep again."</p>
+
+<p>It was what Dinah wished, for she desired to consult Paul; but she
+busied herself with all those little nameless attentions that love alone
+can devise. As she was folding her mistress's hair for the night, Edith
+said, "Dinah, I can escape this dreadful death that awaits me."</p>
+
+<p>"O, my dear mistress, how?" said Dinah, her whole face quivering with
+emotion.</p>
+
+<p>"With a lie! by confessing that I have tormented that poor child, and
+that I am myself possessed by evil spirits."</p>
+
+<p>Dinah drooped again. "You could not do that," she said; "no, you could
+not dishonor yourself with a falsehood: but if you could escape without
+violating your conscience, would you not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," answered Edith: "if God were to place the means of escape
+within my reach, I would make use of them, as I would use the means to
+recover from a fever. I should violate no law, for the proceedings
+against me were unjust, and the testimony false. I could not yield to
+Seymore's desire that I should escape, because his was one of the voices
+that condemned me, and he could open my prison door, if at all, only by
+an open and honorable confession of his error."</p>
+
+<p>Dinah trembled with joy at hearing Edith speak thus of her willingness
+to escape, could it be effected with truth; but she would not hint at
+her hopes till she had arranged her plan with the assistance of Paul.</p>
+
+<p>After a pause, Edith said, "Alas, there is no hope of escape: and why do
+you fold my hair so carefully? it will never delight your eyes more."</p>
+
+<p>Dinah answered, "Never despair: I see a light behind the cloud: the
+morning is breaking."</p>
+
+<p>Dinah consulted Paul, and the plan they concerted together was not
+difficult to execute. Edith, after long entreaty, yielded to the
+affectionate creature, and the more readily, as she knew Dinah was so
+great and universal a favorite in the village that no evil could befall
+her.</p>
+
+<p>After having her complexion darkened with an herb which Dinah had
+prepared, Edith exchanged clothes with her humble friend; and at night
+Dinah remained in the prison, while, with infinite precaution, she
+eluded the observation of the one person who had been placed at the door
+to guard her. Paul was secreted without, and the trembling Edith,
+without being observed, found shelter and concealment in the ruined hut
+of Phoebe's grandmother.</p>
+
+<p>Paul, as I have said before, was an excellent boatman. Soon as the first
+streak of dawning light appeared, secretly and in silence, he dipped his
+oar into the water.</p>
+
+<p>The beautiful morning star shone alone in the sky, and as the shore
+melted away, Edith strained her eyes to catch the outline of her happy
+home, and the little mound where her parents reposed.</p>
+
+<p>They reached a place of safety, and Edith was soon made happy by hearing
+of the safety of her affectionate and humble friend.</p>
+
+<p>It is well known that this fearful delusion of our country ceased as
+suddenly as it had risen. Edith was one of the last of the accused. When
+it was discovered that she had escaped, no inquiries were made, and no
+regret expressed. "The curtain had fallen, and a close was put to one of
+the most tremendous tragedies of real life. The wildest storm, perhaps,
+that ever raged in the moral world, instantly became a calm. The tide
+that had threatened to overwhelm every thing in its fury sank back, in a
+moment, to its peaceful bed."</p>
+
+<p>What could have been Seymore's emotions when the cloud had vanished, and
+he stood in the clear sunshine of reason? Happy he was indeed,
+inexpressibly happy, that his beloved Edith had escaped the most
+dreadful consequences of this mad delusion.</p>
+
+<p>Whether their union ever took place, I must leave to the imagination of
+my readers. The young who have never had their hearts stirred with a
+deeper love than that for a pet lamb, or a canary bird, will reject the
+thought as impossible. The old, if any who have passed the age of
+thoughtless amusement should condescend to read these pages, perhaps
+will judge otherwise. Having learned from that severe teacher,
+experience, how prone we are to err, and how often we need forgiveness
+from each other, as well as from Heaven; having found, also, that the
+jewel of true love, though sullied by error, and sometimes mixed with
+baser stones, yet, like the diamond, can never lose its value,&mdash;they
+will cherish the belief that Seymore found, in the devoted affection of
+Edith, a balm for his wounded spirit, and an unfailing strength for the
+duties and trials of life.</p>
+
+
+<h3>THE END.</h3>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> We have in vain endeavored to find the etymology of this
+name. It might first have been of many colors, and named from the coat
+of the patriarch's favorite son.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The story of the Lady Ursula is founded on fact. In the
+author's youth, the farm of "Long Lane" retained its name, and belonged
+to the C&mdash;&mdash; family.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Upham's History of Witchcraft.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> "Fifty-five persons, many of them previously of the most
+<i>unquestionable character for intelligence, virtue, and piety</i>,
+acknowledged the truth of the charges that were made against them,
+confessed that they were witches, and had made a compact with the devil.
+It is probable that the motive of self-preservation influenced most of
+them: an awful death was in immediate prospect. The delusion had
+obtained full possession of the people, the witnesses, the jury, and the
+court. By acknowledging the crime, they might in a moment secure their
+lives and liberty. Their principles could not withstand the temptation:
+they made a confession, and were rewarded by a pardon."&mdash;<i>Upham's
+Lectures on Salem Witchcraft.</i></p></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Delusion, or The Witch of New England, by 
+Eliza Buckminster Lee
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Delusion, or The Witch of New England, by
+Eliza Buckminster Lee
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license
+
+
+Title: Delusion, or The Witch of New England
+
+Author: Eliza Buckminster Lee
+
+Release Date: March 17, 2012 [EBook #39176]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DELUSION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                             DELUSION;
+
+                    OR THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
+
+                      By Eliza Buckminster Lee
+
+
+     "There is in man a HIGHER than love of happiness: he can do without
+     happiness, and, instead thereof, find blessedness."--SARTOR.
+
+
+    BOSTON:
+    HILLIARD, GRAY, AND COMPANY.
+    1840.
+
+    Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1839,
+    BY HILLIARD, GRAY & CO.
+    in the clerk's office of the district court of Massachusetts.
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+The scenes and characters of this little tale are wholly fictitious. It
+will be found that the tragic interest that belongs to the history of
+the year 1692 has been very much softened in the following pages.
+
+The object of the author has not been to write a tale of witchcraft, but
+to show how circumstances may unfold the inward strength of a timid
+woman, so that she may at last be willing to die rather than yield to
+the delusion that would have preserved her life.
+
+If it is objected that the young and lovely are seldom accused of any
+witchcraft except that of bewitching hearts, we answer, that of those
+who were _actually_ accused, many were young; and those who maintained a
+firm integrity against the overwhelming power of the delusion of the
+period must have possessed an intellectual beauty which it would be vain
+to endeavor to portray.
+
+This imperfect effort is submitted with much diffidence, to the
+indulgence of the courteous reader.
+
+
+
+
+THE WITCH OF NEW ENGLAND.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+    "Ay, call it holy ground,
+    The soil where first they trod:
+    They have left unstained what there they found,--
+    Freedom to worship God."
+
+
+New England scenery is said to be deficient in romantic and poetic
+associations. It is said that we have no ruins of ancient castles,
+frowning over our precipices; no time-worn abbeys and monasteries,
+mouldering away in neglected repose, in our valleys.
+
+It is true that the grand and beautiful places in our natural scenery
+are not marred by the monuments of an age of violence and wrong; and our
+silent valleys retain no remnant of the abodes of self-indulgent and
+superstitious devotion; but the descendant of the Pilgrims finds, in
+many of the fairest scenes of New England, some memento to carry back
+the imagination to those heroic and self-sacrificing ancestors. His soul
+is warmed and elevated when he remembers that devoted company, who were
+sustained amid hardship and every privation, on the trackless ocean, and
+in the mysterious and appalling solitudes of the forest, by a firm
+devotion to duty, and an all-pervading sense of the immediate presence
+of God.
+
+The faults of our ancestors were the faults of their age. It is not now
+understood--and how wide from it was the conviction then!--that _even_
+toleration implies intoleration. Who is to judge what opinions are to be
+tolerated? He whom circumstance has invested at the moment with power?
+
+The scene I wish to describe was on the borders of one of the interior
+villages of New England,--a mountain village, embosomed in high hills,
+from which the winter torrents, as they met in the plain, united to form
+one of those clear, sparkling rivers, in whose beautiful mirror the
+surrounding hills were reflected. The stream, "winding at its own sweet
+will," enclosed a smooth meadow. At the extremity of the meadow, and
+shadowed by the mountain, nestled one of the poorest farm-houses, or
+cottages, of the time.
+
+It was black and old, apparently containing but two rooms and a garret.
+Attached to it were the common out-houses of the poorest farms: a shed
+for a cow, a covering for a cart, and a small barn were all. But the
+situation of this humble and lonely dwelling was one of surpassing
+beauty. The soft meadow in front was dotted with weeping elms and
+birches; the opposite and neighboring hills were covered to their
+summits with the richest wood, while openings here and there admitted
+glimpses of the distant country.
+
+A traveller coming upon this solitary spot, and seeing the blue smoke
+curling against the mountain side, would have rejoiced. There is
+something in the lonely farmhouse, surrounded with its little garden,
+and its homely implements of labor, that instantly touches our sympathy.
+There, we say, human hearts have experienced all the changes of life;
+they have loved and rejoiced, perhaps suffered and died.
+
+The interior consisted of only two rooms. In the ample chimney of that
+which served for the common room, was burning a bright flame of pine
+knots; for, although it was the middle of summer, the sun sank so early
+behind the hills, and the evenings were so chilly, that the warmth was
+necessary, and the light from the small window cheered the laborer
+returning late from his work.
+
+An old man sat by the chimney, evidently resting from the labors of the
+day. He was bent by time, but his brilliant eye and his flowing gray
+locks gave a certain refinement to his appearance, beyond that which his
+homely garments would warrant.
+
+A woman, apparently as aged as himself, sat by the little window,
+catching the last rays of evening, as they were reflected from her white
+cap and silvery hair. Before her was a table on which lay a large Bible.
+She had just placed her spectacles between the leaves, as she closed it
+and resumed her knitting.
+
+These two formed a picture full of the quiet repose of old age. But
+there was another in the room,--a youth, apparently less than twenty,
+kneeling before the flaming pine, over the leaves of a worn volume that
+absorbed him wholly.
+
+The ruddy flame imparted the glow of health to a countenance habitually
+pale. Over his dark, enthusiastic eye was spread a clear and noble brow,
+so smooth and polished that it seemed as if at seventy it would be as
+unwrinkled as at seventeen. His piercing eye had that depth of
+expression that indicates dark passions or religious melancholy. He was
+slender in form, and very tall; but a bend in the shoulders, produced by
+agricultural labor, or by weakness in the chest, impaired somewhat the
+symmetry of his form.
+
+They had been silent some moments. The young man closed his worn volume,
+an imperfect copy of Virgil, and walked several times, with hurried
+steps, across the little room.
+
+At length he stopped before the woman, and said, "Mother, let me see how
+much your frugal care has hoarded. Let me know all our wealth. Unless I
+can procure another book, I cannot be prepared for the approaching
+examination. If I cannot enter college the next term, I never can. I
+must give up all hope of ever being any thing but the drudge I am now,
+and of living and dying in this narrow nook of earth."
+
+"No, no, my son," answered the woman; "if my prayers are heard, you will
+be a light and a blessing to the church, though I may not live to see
+it."
+
+The young man sighed deeply, and, taking the key she gave him, he opened
+an old-fashioned chest, and, from a little cup of silver tied over with
+a piece of leather, he poured the contents into his hand. There were
+several crowns and shillings, and two or three pieces of gold.
+
+Apparently the examination was unsatisfactory, for he threw himself into
+a chair, and covered his face with his hands.
+
+The old woman rose after looking at him a few moments in silence, and
+laid her hand gently on his shoulder.
+
+"My son," she said, "where is the faith that sustained your ancestors
+when they left all their luxuries and splendor, their noble homes for
+conscience' sake. Yes, my son, your fathers were among the distinguished
+of England's sons, and they left all for God."
+
+"Mother," said he, "would that they had been hewers of wood and drawers
+of water. Then I should have been content with my lot. Mother, all your
+carefully hoarded treasure will not be enough to pay my first term in
+college. Without books, without friends, I must give up the hope of an
+education," and the large tears trickled between his fingers.
+
+"You forget," she said, "your good friend at C. who has lent you so many
+books. Why not apply to him again?"
+
+A deep blush flushed the young man's countenance, but he made no answer,
+and seemed to wish to change the subject.
+
+"It is almost evening," he said; "shall we not have prayers?" and,
+placing himself near the window to catch the last rays of departing
+daylight, he read one of the chapters from the Old Testament.
+
+The aged man, who had not spoken during the discussion, stood up and
+prayed with great fervency.
+
+His prayer was made up, indeed, by quotations from the Old Testament,
+and he used altogether the phraseology of the Scriptures. He prayed for
+the church in the wilderness, "that it might be bright as the sun, fair
+as the moon, beautiful as Tirzah, and terrible as an army with banners;"
+"that our own exertions to serve the church and our strivings after the
+Holy Spirit might not be like arrows in the air, traces in the sea, oil
+upon the polished marble, and water spilt upon the ground."
+
+He asked for no temporal blessing; all his petitions were in language
+highly figurative, and he closed with a prayer for his grandson, "that
+God would make him a polished shaft in the temple of the Lord, a bright
+and shining light in the candlestick of the church."
+
+When he had finished his prayer,--"My son," he said, "do not be cast
+down; you forget that the great Luther begged his bread. The servants of
+the church, in every age, have been poor and despised; even the Son of
+God," and he looked reverently upwards, "knew not where to lay his head.
+_You_ have only to labor. The peat at the bottom of the meadow is
+already dry; there is more than we shall need for winter fuel; take it,
+in the morning, to C----, and with the produce buy the book you need."
+
+"No," said the young man, "there are many repairs necessary to make you
+and my grandmother comfortable for the winter. I cannot rob you of more.
+I can borrow the book."
+
+He lighted his lamp, made from rushes dipped in the green wax of the bay
+bush, which affords a beautiful, but not brilliant flame, and went up a
+few steps to his chamber in the garret. The old woman gathered the ashes
+over the kindling coal, and, with her aged partner, retired to the
+bed-room opposite the narrow entrance.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+    "Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye;
+    Silent when glad, affectionate, though shy:
+    And now his look was most demurely sad,
+    And now he laughed aloud, yet none knew why.
+    The neighbors stared and sighed, yet blessed the lad;
+    Some deemed him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad."
+
+    Beattie.
+
+
+Our young student retired to his garret, a small room in the roof of the
+cottage, heated by the summer sun resting on its roof almost to the heat
+of a furnace. One small window looking towards the east admitted the
+evening breeze.
+
+In the remotest corner was a low and narrow pallet, by the side of which
+hung the indispensable articles of a man's apparel.
+
+A small table, covered with ink spots, and a solitary chair stood in the
+centre of the little apartment. A few deal shelves contained the odd and
+worn volumes of the student's library. A Greek Testament, several
+lexicons, half a volume of Horace, lay scattered on the table. Virgil
+was the book he had brought with him from the pine-knot torch, and it
+was the old Grecian, Homer that he was so anxious to possess.
+
+The uncarpeted floor was thickly strewn with sheets half written over,
+and torn manuscripts were scattered about. Wherever the floor was
+visible, the frequent ink spots indicated that it was not without mental
+agitation that these manuscripts had been produced.
+
+It was not to repose from the labors of the day that the young man
+entered his little chamber: to bodily labor must now succeed mental
+toil.
+
+He cast a wistful look towards his little pallet; he longed to rest his
+limbs, aching with the labor of the day; but no; his lamp was on the
+table, and, resolutely throwing off his coarse frock, he sat down to
+think and to write.
+
+Wearied by a long day of labor, the student in vain tried to collect his
+thoughts, to calm his weakened nerves. He rose and walked his chamber
+with rapid steps, the drops of heat and anguish resting on his brow.
+
+"Oh!" said he, "that I had been content to remain the clod, the
+toil-worn slave that I am!"
+
+Little do they know, who have leisure and wealth, and all the
+appurtenances of literary ease--the lolling study-chair, the convenient
+apartment, the brilliant light--how much those suffer who indulge in
+aspirations beyond their lowly fortune.
+
+The student sat down again to write. His hands were icy cold, while his
+eyes and brow were burning hot. He was engaged on a translation from the
+Greek. His efforts to collect and concentrate his thoughts on his work,
+exhausted as he was with toil, were vain and unavailing. At length he
+threw down his pen.
+
+"Oh God!" thought he, "is this madness? am I losing my memory, my mind?"
+Again he walked his little room, but with gentler steps; for he would
+not disturb his aged relatives, who slept beneath.
+
+"Have I deceived myself?" he said; "were all my aspirations only
+delusions, when, yet a boy, I followed the setting sun, and the rainbow
+hues of the evening clouds, with a full heart that could only find
+relief in tears?--when I believed myself destined to be other than a
+hewer of wood and a drawer of water, because I felt an immeasurable pity
+for my fellow-men, groping, as I did myself, under all the evils of
+ignorance and sin? Was it only vanity, when I hoped to rise above the
+clods of the earth, and aspired to have my lips, as Isaiah's, touched by
+a coal from the holy altar? Was it only impatience at my lot which
+destined me to inexorable poverty?"
+
+"Let me not despair of myself;" and he took from his table a manuscript
+of two or three sheets, and began to read it.
+
+As he went on, his dissatisfaction seemed to increase. With the
+sensitiveness and humility of true genius, when under the influence of
+despondency, every line seemed to him feeble or exaggerated; all the
+faults glared out in bold relief; while the real beauty of the
+composition escaped his jaded and toil-worn attention.
+
+"Oh Heaven!" he said, "I have deceived myself; I am no genius, able to
+rise above the lowliness of my station. The bitter cup of poverty is at
+my lips. I have not even the power to purchase a single book. Shall I go
+again to my good friend at C----? Shall I appear as a beggar, or a
+peasant, to beg the trifling pittance of a book?"
+
+A burning blush for a moment passed over his pale countenance. "Will
+they not say, and justly, 'Go back to your plough; it is your destiny
+and proper vocation to labor?'"
+
+He sat down on the side of his little pallet, and burst into tears. He
+wept long, and, as he wept, his mind became more calm. The short
+summer's night, in its progress, had bathed the earth in darkness, and
+cooled the heated roof of his little apartment. The night breeze, as it
+came in at his window, chilled him, and he rose to close it.
+
+As he looked from his little window, the dawn was just appearing in the
+east, and the planet Venus, shining with the soft light of a crescent
+moon, was full before him.
+
+"O beautiful star!" he thought, "the same that went before the sages of
+the East, and guided them to the manger of the Savior! I aspire only to
+be a teacher of the sublime wisdom of that humble manger. Let me but
+lift up my weak voice in his cause, and let all worldly ambition die
+within me.
+
+    '---- Thou, O Spirit! who dost prefer,
+    Before all temples, th' upright heart and pure,'
+
+I consecrate my powers to thee."
+
+The morning breeze, as it blew on his temples, refreshed him. The young
+birds began to make those faint twitterings beneath the downy breast of
+the mother, the first faint sound that breaks the mysterious silence of
+early dawn.
+
+He turned from the window; the rush-light was just expiring in its rude
+candlestick. He threw himself on his bed, and was soon lost in deep and
+dreamless slumbers.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+    "I give thee to thy God,--the God that gave thee
+    A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart!
+          And, precious as thou art,
+    And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee!
+    My own, my beautiful, my undefiled!
+          And thou shalt be his child."
+
+
+While the student sleeps, we will make the reader acquainted with his
+short and simple annals.
+
+His maternal grandfather had been among the Puritan emigrants who sought
+the rock-bound coast of New England. He was a man of worth and property,
+had been educated at Oxford, and distinguished for classical learning
+and elegant pursuits. But at the call of conscience he left the
+luxurious halls of his fathers, the rank, and ancestral honors that
+would have descended to him, to share the hardships, privations, and
+sufferings of the meanest of his companions. He brought with him his
+wife and an only child, a daughter of twenty years.
+
+Like her mother, she had been carefully nurtured, and had lived in much
+luxury, although in the strict seclusion of the daughters of the
+Puritans.
+
+The wives and daughters of the Pilgrims have never been honored as they
+deserved to be. Except the Lady Arbella Johnson, is there a single name
+that has descended with pride and honor to their daughters, and been
+cherished as a Puritan saint?
+
+It is true they lived in an age when the maxim that a woman should
+consider it her highest praise to have nothing said about her was in
+full force; and when the remark of Coleridge would have been applauded,
+"That the perfection of a woman's character is to be _characterless_."
+
+But among the wives of the Pilgrims there were heroic women that endured
+silently every calamity. Mrs. Hemans says, with poetry and truth,--
+
+    "_There_ was woman's _fearless_ eye,
+    Lit by her deep love's truth."
+
+But how many _fearful_ days and nights they must have passed, trembling
+with all a mother's timidity for their children, when they heard the
+savage cry, that spared neither the touching smile of infancy, nor the
+agonized prayer of woman!
+
+They had left the comforts, and even the luxuries, of their English
+homes,--the hourly attendance of servants, to meet the chilling skies
+of a shelterless wilderness. She whose foot had trodden the softest
+carpets, whose bed had been of down, who had been accustomed to those
+minute attentions that prevent the rose-leaf from being crumpled, must
+now labor with her own hands, endure the cold of the severest winter,
+and leave herself unsheltered; all she asked was to guard her infant
+children from suffering, and aid by her sympathy, her husband.
+
+It is indeed true, that the sentiment of love or religion has power to
+elevate above all physical suffering, and to ennoble all those homely
+cares and humble offices that are performed for the beloved object with
+a smile of patient endurance; and it asks, in return, but confidence and
+tenderness.
+
+The wife of Mr. Seymore soon sank under the hardships of the times, and
+the severity of the climate of New England. Her grave was made in the
+solitude of the overshadowing forest, and her daughter, who had brought
+with her a fine, hardy, English constitution, lived to console her
+widowed father.
+
+He died about five years after his wife, and then his daughter married
+an Englishman of small fortune, who had come over with his family: his
+father and mother, both advanced in life, had settled on the small farm
+we have attempted to describe. He built the cottage for his parents, and
+then, with his wife, the mother of our young friend Seymore, returned to
+England.
+
+She lived not long after her return. The religious enthusiasm of the
+time had taken possession of her mind, and, before her death, she
+dedicated this, her only child, to the service of the church, and
+requested her husband to send him to America, where poverty presented no
+insurmountable barrier to his success.
+
+His father, in sending him to America in his twelfth year, promised to
+advance something for his education; but unfortunate circumstances
+prevented, and the boy was left to make his own fortune under the roof
+of his grandparents.
+
+His disappointment was great to find his grandparents in so narrow
+circumstances, and himself condemned to so obscure a station. He had
+aspirations, as we have seen, beyond his humble circumstances. The few
+books he brought with him were his consolation. They were read, reread,
+and committed to memory; and then he longed for more. An accident, or
+what we term an accident--the instrument that Providence provides to
+shape our destiny--threw some light upon the gloom that seemed to have
+settled on his prospects.
+
+He met at C----, where he had gone on some business connected with his
+agricultural labors, the clergyman of the place.
+
+Mr. Grafton was interested by his fine intellectual expression, and
+pleased with the refined and intelligent remarks that seemed unsuited to
+his coarse laborer's frock and peasant's dress.
+
+He took him to his house, lent him the books that were necessary to
+prepare him for our young college, and promised his aid to have him
+placed on the list of those indigent scholars who were devoted to the
+church.
+
+From this time his industry and ambition were redoubled, and we have
+seen the poor aspirant for literary distinction striving to unite two
+things which must at last break down the body or the mind,--heavy daily
+labor, with severe mental toil at night.
+
+He was young and strong; his health did not immediately fail, and we
+must now leave him where thousands of our young men have been left, with
+aspirations and hopes beyond their humble fortunes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+    "Ay, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath!
+      When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
+      And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,
+    And the year smiles as it draws near its death:
+      Wind of the sunny south, O, still delay!"
+
+    BRYANT.
+
+
+It was the close of one of those mild days at the end of October, that
+we call the Indian summer, corresponding to the St. Martin summer of the
+eastern continent, although the latter is wanting in some of the
+essential elements of beauty that belong to ours.
+
+The sun was setting in veiled and softened light, while a transparent
+mist, like a silver gauze, was drawn over woods and hills and meadows.
+The gorgeous robe of autumn gave to the landscape an air of festivity
+and triumph, while the veil of mist, and the death-like silence, seemed
+as if happy nature had been arrested in a moment of joy, and turned into
+a mourner. The intense stillness pressed on the heart. No chirp of bird
+or hum of insect broke the deep silence. From time to time a leaf,
+"yellow and sere," loosened, as it were, by invisible fingers from the
+stem, lingered a second on its way, and fell noiselessly to the earth.
+In the deep distant wood, the sound of the ripe nuts as they fell, and,
+at long intervals, the shrill cry of the squirrel, came to the ear, and
+interrupted the revery of the solitary wanderer.
+
+The scene I would describe was bounded on one side by high rocks and the
+vast ocean, but sloping towards the land into soft and undulating
+beauty. A noble river was on one side, and on the promontory thus
+formed, were left some of the largest trees of the forest that covered
+the whole country when our fathers first arrived. Although so near the
+ocean, the scene had a character of tranquil sylvan beauty strangely
+contrasted with the ocean when agitated by storms.
+
+One of the largest villages of the time was on the opposite bank of the
+river; but, as there was no bridge, the place I would describe was
+almost as solitary as if man had never invaded it. The trees upon it
+were the largest growth of elm and oak, and seemed left to shelter a
+single dwelling, a house of moderate size, but which had much the
+appearance of neatness and comfort.
+
+A few rods from the house, and still nearer the headland, stood the
+plain New England meeting-house of that period,--square, barn-like,
+unpainted, solitary, but for the silent tenants of its grave-yard. A
+grass-grown path connected the church with the dwelling-house, and the
+overshadowing trees gave to the spot an air of protection and seclusion
+unknown to modern New England churches.
+
+At one of the windows of this modest dwelling, that looked towards the
+setting sun, which now bathed the whole scene in yellow light, was a
+young woman who might have seen seventeen summers. She was slightly but
+well formed, and, had it not been for her fresh and radiant health, she
+would have possessed that pensive, poetic expression that painters love.
+She was not indeed beautiful, but hers was one of those countenances in
+which we think we recall a thousand histories,--histories of the inward
+life of the soul,--not the struggles of the passions; for the dove
+seemed visibly to rest in the deep blue liquid eye, brooding on its own
+secret fancies.
+
+By the fire sat a gentleman whose countenance and gray hair showed that
+he was approaching the verge of threescore years and ten, and his black
+dress indicated his profession. His slippers and pipe presented a
+picture of repose from the labors and cares of the day; and, although it
+had been warm, a fire of logs burned in the large old-fashioned chimney.
+
+The furniture of the room, though plain, and humble, had been kept with
+so much care and neatness that it was seen at once that a feminine taste
+had presided there, and had cherished as sacred the relics of another
+age.
+
+The occupants of the room were father and daughter. A portrait over the
+fireplace, carefully guarded by a curtain, indicated that he was a
+widower, and that his child was motherless.
+
+They had both been silent for a long time. The young lady continued to
+watch with apparent interest some object from the window, and the old
+man to enjoy his pipe; but at last the night closed in, and the autumn
+mist, rising from the river, veiled the brilliancy of the stars.
+
+The daughter drew near the table, and seated herself by her father: her
+countenance was pensive, and a low sigh escaped her.
+
+Her father laid his hand tenderly on her head: "My poor child," he
+said, "I fear your life is too solitary; your young heart yearns for
+companions of your own age. True, we have few visitors suited to your
+age."
+
+Edith looked up with a smile on her lips, but there was a tear in her
+eye, called there by her father's tender manner.
+
+"And where," continued he, "is our young friend the student? It is long
+since he came to get another book. I fear he is timid and sensitive, and
+does not like that you should see his poor labor-swollen hands; but
+_that_ he should be proud of,--far more proud than if they were soft,
+like yours."
+
+Edith blushed slightly. "Father," she said, "I want no companion but
+you. Let me bring your slippers. Ah! I see Dinah has brought them while
+I have been gazing idly at the river. It shall not happen again. What
+book shall be our evening reading? Shall I take up Cicero again, or will
+you laugh at the Knight of the rueful Countenance."
+
+How soon is ingenuous nature veiled or denied by woman. Edith thus tried
+to efface the impression of her sigh and blush, by assuming a gayety of
+manner which was foreign to her usual demeanor, and which did not
+deceive her father.
+
+"We must go and find out our young friend," pursued her father. "He has
+much talent, and will surely distinguish himself, and he must not be
+suffered to languish in poverty and neglect. The first fine day, my
+daughter, we will ride over and visit him."
+
+Edith looked her gratitude, and the long autumn evening wore pleasantly
+on.
+
+It was at the time when slavery was common in New England. At the close
+of the evening, Paul and Dinah, both Africans, entered, and the usual
+family prayers were offered.
+
+At the close of the prayer, the blacks kneeled down for their master's
+blessing.
+
+This singular custom, though not common to the times, was sometimes
+practised; and those Puritans, who would not bend the knee to God except
+in their closets, allowed their slaves to kneel for their own blessing.
+
+They went to Edith, who kissed Dinah on both dark cheeks, and gave her
+hand to Paul, and the family group separated each to his slumbers for
+the night.
+
+The head of the little group we have thus described was one of the most
+distinguished of the early New England clergymen. He had been educated
+in England, and was an excellent classical scholar; indeed, his passion
+for the classics was his only consolation in the obscure little parish
+where he was content to dwell.
+
+He had been early left a widower, with this only child, and all the
+affections of a tender heart had centred in her. The mildness of his
+disposition had never permitted him to become either a bigot nor a
+persecutor. He had been all his life a diligent student of the human
+heart, and the result was tolerance for human inconsistencies, and
+indulgence for human frailties.
+
+At this time accomplishments were unknown except to those women who were
+educated in the mother country; but such education as he could give his
+daughter had been one of his first cares.
+
+He had taught her to read his favorite classics, and had left the
+mysteries of "shaping and hemming," knitting and domestic erudition, to
+the faithful slave Dinah. Edith had grown up, indeed, without other
+female influence, relying on her father's instructions, as far as they
+went, and her own pure instincts, to guide her.
+
+The solitude of her situation had given to her character a pensive
+thoughtfulness not natural to her age or disposition. Solitude is said
+to be the nurse of genius, but to ripen it, at least with woman, the
+sunny atmosphere of love is necessary.
+
+Genius is less of the head than of the heart: not that we belong to the
+modern school who believe the passions are necessary to the developement
+of genius;--far from it. The purest affections seem to us to have left
+the most enduring monuments. Among a thousand others, at least with
+woman, we see in Madam De Sevigne that maternal love developed all the
+graces of a mind unconscious certainly of its powers, but destined to
+become immortal.
+
+Our heroine, for such we must try to make her, had grown up free from
+all artificial forms of society, but yearning for associates of her own
+age and sex. After her father, her affections had found objects only in
+birds and animals, and the poor cottagers of one of the smallest
+parishes in the country.
+
+Living, as she did, in the midst of beautiful nature, and with the
+grandeur of the ocean always before her, it could not fail to impart a
+spiritual beauty, a religious elevation, to her mind that had nothing
+to do with the technical distinctions of the day. Edith Grafton was
+formed for gentleness and love, to suffer patiently, to submit
+gracefully, to think more of others' than of her own happiness. She was
+the light and joy of her father's hearth, and the idol of her faithful
+slaves, and she possessed herself that "peace that goodness bosoms
+ever."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+    "The mildest herald by our fate allotted
+     Beckons! and with inverted torch doth stand
+           To lead us, with a gentle hand,
+     Into the land of the departed,--into the silent land.
+
+       Ah, when the frame round which in love we cling,
+      Is chilled by death, does mutual service fail?
+      Is tender pity then of no avail?
+      Are intercessions of the fervent tongue
+      A waste of hope?"
+
+    WORDSWORTH.
+
+
+The two slaves that completed the evening group had been brought into
+Mr. Grafton's family at the time of his marriage. Dinah was the most
+striking in personal appearance. She had been born a princess in her
+native land; and her erect and nobly-proportioned form had never been
+crushed by the feeling of abject slavery.
+
+From the moment they entered the family of Mr. Grafton, they were
+regarded as children, even the lambs of the flock.
+
+They were both at that time young, and soon entered into the more
+intimate relation of husband and wife; identifying their own dearest
+interests, and making each other only subordinate to what seemed to them
+even more sacred,--their devotion to their master and mistress.
+
+Dinah's mind was of a more elevated order than Paul's, her husband. If
+she had not been a princess in her own country, she belonged to those
+upon whose souls God has stamped the patent of nobility.
+
+Naturally proud, she was docile to the instructions of her excellent
+mistress; and her high and imperious spirit was soon subdued to the
+gentle influences of domestic love, and to the purifying and elevating
+spirit of Christianity.
+
+Her mistress taught her to read. The Bible was her favorite book; and
+she became wise in that best wisdom of the heart, which is found in an
+intimate knowledge of the Holy Scriptures. Her character, under the
+burning sun of Africa, would have been intolerable; but it was tempered
+to a soft moonlight radiance, by the shading of Christianity.
+
+Though her imperious spirit at first rebelled against slavery, there was
+no toil, no fatigue, no menial service, however humble, which she would
+not have sought for those she loved. Love elevated every toil, and gave
+it, in her eyes, the dignity of a voluntary and disinterested service.
+
+She had been the only nurse of her kind mistress through her last long
+illness. Hers was that faithful affection that preferred long vigils at
+the bedside through the watches of the night,--the nurse that the
+sleepless eye ever found awake. Hers was that sentient sympathy that
+could interpret the weary look,--that love that steals into the darkened
+room, anticipating every wish, divining every want, and which, in
+silence, like the evening dew on drooping flowers, revives and soothes
+the sufferer.
+
+Her cares were unavailing: her kind mistress died, commending the little
+Edith to her watchful love.
+
+Dinah received her as if she had been more than the child of her own
+bosom. Henceforth she was the jewel of her life; and, if Mr. Grafton had
+not interposed, she would have treated her like those precious jewels of
+the old Scottish regalia, that are said to be approached by only one
+person at a time, and that by torch-light.
+
+Our forefathers and foremothers had a maxim that the will of every child
+must be early broken, to insure that implicit and prompt obedience that
+the old system of education demanded. Mr. Grafton wisely left the
+breaking of the little Edith's will to Dinah.
+
+As we have seen, she was of a gentle temper, but, as a child, determined
+and obstinate. Obstinacy in a child is the strength of purpose which, in
+man and woman, leads to all excellence. Before it is guided by reason,
+it is mere wilfulness. It was wonderful with what a silken thread Dinah
+guided the little Edith.
+
+She possessed in her own character the firmness of the oak, and an iron
+resolution, but tempered so finely by the influences of love and
+religion, that she yielded to every thing that was not hurtful; but
+there she stopped, and went not a hair's breadth further.
+
+It was beautiful to see the little Edith watching the mild and loving
+but firm eye of Dinah,--which spoke as plain as eye could speak,--and,
+when it said "_No_," yielding like a young lamb to a silken tether.
+
+Nothing is easier than to gain the prompt obedience of a young child.
+Gentleness, firmness, and steadiness, are all that is requisite.
+Gentleness, firmness, and steadiness,--the two last perhaps the rarest
+qualities in tender mothers. When a young child finds its mother
+uniform--not one day weakly indulgent, and the next capriciously severe,
+but always the same mild, firm being--she is to the child like a
+beneficent but unchanging Providence; and he no more expects his own
+will to prevail, than children of an older growth expect the sun to
+stand still, and the seasons to change their order, for their
+convenience.
+
+As soon as the little girl was old enough, she became the pupil of her
+father. Under his instruction, she could read the Latin authors with
+facility; and even his favorite Greek classics became playfully familiar
+as household words, although she really knew little about them. But the
+Christian ethics came home more closely to her woman's heart: their
+tender, pure, self-denying principles were more congenial to the truly
+feminine nature of the little Edith.
+
+The character and example of her mother were ever held up to her by
+Dinah. At night, after her little childish prayer, when she laid her
+head on her pillow, her last thought was of her mother.
+
+Ah, it is not necessary to be a Catholic, to believe in the intercession
+of saints. To a tender heart, a mother lost in infancy is the beautiful
+Madonna of the church; and the heart turns as instinctively to her as
+the devout Catholic turns to the holy mother and child.
+
+In all Edith's solitary rambles, her pensive thoughts sought her mother.
+There was a particular spot in the evening sky where she fancied the
+spirit of her mother to dwell; and there, in all her childish griefs,
+she sought sympathy, and turned her eye towards it in childlike
+devotion.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+    Where now the solemn shade,
+     Verdure and gloom, where many branches meet;
+    So grateful, when the noon of summer made
+     The valleys sick with heat?
+
+    Let in through all the trees,
+     Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright:
+    Their sunny-colored foliage, in the breeze,
+     Twinkles like beams of light.
+
+    BRYANT.
+
+
+A few days after the evening before mentioned, Edith and her father
+prepared for their little journey, to visit the young student.
+
+It was a brilliant morning in the very last of October. All journeys, at
+this time, were made on horseback: they were mounted, therefore, Mr.
+Grafton on a sedate old beast, that had served him many years, and Edith
+on the _petite fille_ of this venerable "ancestress,"--gentle, but
+scarcely out of its state of coltship.
+
+The Indians, at this time, were much feared, and the shortest excursions
+were never undertaken without fire-arms. Paul, as well as Mr. Grafton,
+was well armed, and served them as a guard.
+
+As soon as they had left their own village, their course was only a
+bridle-path through the forest; and the path was now so hidden with the
+fallen leaves, that it was sometimes indicated only by marks on the
+trees. The trees were almost stripped of their foliage, and the bright
+autumn sun, shining through the bare trunks, sparkled on the dew of the
+fallen leaves. It was the last smile of autumn. The cold had already
+commenced. No sound broke the intense stillness of the forest but the
+trampling of their horses' feet as they crushed the dry, withered
+foliage.
+
+The sky was intensely blue, and without a cloud. The elasticity of the
+air excited the young spirits of Edith. She was gay, and, like a young
+fawn, she fluttered around her father, sometimes galloping her rough
+little pony in front, and then returning, she would give a gentle cut
+with her whip to her father's horse, who, with head down, and plodding
+indifference, regarded it no more than he did a fly.
+
+Mr. Grafton, delighted with his daughter's playfulness, looked at her
+with a quiet, tender smile: her gayety, to him, was like the play of her
+infancy, and he delighted to think that she was yet young and happy.
+
+Edith had ridden forward, and they had lost sight of her, when she came
+galloping back, pale as death, and hardly able to retain her seat from
+terror.
+
+"Edith, my child," said her father, "what has happened?"
+
+She could only point with her finger to a thin column of blue smoke that
+curled above the trees. Mr. Grafton knew that it indicated the presence
+of Indians, at this time the terror of all the inhabitants.
+
+"No doubt they are friendly, my dear child," said Mr. Grafton; and he
+sent Paul, who was armed, forward to reconnoitre.
+
+Paul soon returned, showing his white teeth from ear to ear.
+
+"The piccaninnies," he said.
+
+Mr. Grafton and Edith rode forward, and in a little hollow at the foot
+of a rock, from which bubbled a clear spring, a young Indian woman, with
+a pappoose at her feet, was half reclining; another child, attached in
+its birch cradle to the pendent branch of an elm tree, was gently rocked
+by the wind. A fire was built against the rock, and venison suspended
+before it to roast.
+
+It was a beautiful little domestic scene, and Mr. Grafton and Edith
+stopped to contemplate it. They soon learned that the husband of the
+Indian was in the forest; but he was friendly, and, after exchanging
+smiles, Edith dismounted.
+
+She sat on the grass, caressing the young pappoose, and talked with the
+mother in that untaught, mute language that young and kind hearts so
+easily understand.
+
+This little adventure delayed them so long that it was past noon when
+they reached the secluded farmhouse we have described in the first
+chapter of our little tale.
+
+The old man was sitting at the door, enjoying the kindly warmth of the
+declining sun. Seymore was not far off, at work in his laborer's frock.
+A vivid blush of surprise, and pleasure, and shame, covered his temples
+and noble brow, as he came forward to meet them.
+
+Edith, quick in her perceptions, understood his feelings, and turned
+aside her head while he drew off his laborer's frock. This gave an
+appearance of embarrassment to her first greeting, and the vivid delight
+faded in a moment from his brilliant countenance, and a melancholy shade
+passed over it.
+
+They entered the house, and Edith endeavored to remove the pain she had
+given, by more marked attention to Seymore; but simple and sincere,
+ignorant as she was of all arts of coquetry, it only increased the
+bashfulness of her manner.
+
+The family had already dined; but, after some delay, a repast was
+prepared for the travellers; and, before they were ready to depart, the
+long shadows of the opposite hills brought an early twilight over the
+little valley.
+
+Mr. Grafton looked at his daughter; he could not expose her to a dark
+ride through the forest; and the pressing invitation of the good old
+people, that they should stay the night, was accepted.
+
+After much pleasant talk with the enthusiastic young student, to which
+Edith listened with deep interest, Mr. Grafton was tasked to his utmost
+polemical and theological knowledge by the searching questions of the
+old Puritan. Like douce Davie Deans, he was stiff in his doctrines, and
+would not allow a suspicion of wavering from the orthodox standard of
+faith. But Edith soon gave undeniable evidence that sleep was a much
+better solacer of fatigue than theological discussions; and, after the
+evening worship had been scrupulously performed, a bed was prepared for
+Mr. Grafton on the floor of the room where they sat, for he would not
+allow the old people to give up theirs to him.
+
+Seymore gayly resigned his poor garret to Edith, and slept, as he had
+often done before, in the hayloft. Slept? no; he lay awake all night
+thinking how lovely Edith looked in her riding _Joseph_,[1] which fitted
+closely to her beautiful shape, and a beaver hat tied under the chin, to
+confine her hair in riding. She was the angel of his dreams. But why did
+she turn aside when they met? and the poor student sighed.
+
+[Footnote 1: We have in vain endeavored to find the etymology of this
+name. It might first have been of many colors, and named from the coat
+of the patriarch's favorite son.]
+
+Edith looked around the little garret with much interest, and some
+little awe. There were the favorite books, heaps of manuscripts, and
+every familiar object that was so closely associated with Seymore.
+Nothing reveals so much of another's mind and habits, as to go into the
+apartment where they habitually live.
+
+The bed had been neatly made with snowy sheets, and some little order
+given to the room. Edith opened the books, and read the marked passages;
+the manuscripts were all open, and with the curiosity of our mother
+Eve, she read a few lines. She colored to the very temples as she
+committed this fault; but she found herself irresistibly led on by
+sympathy with a mind kindred to her own; and when she laid her head on
+the pillow, tears of admiration and pity filled her eyes. She lay awake,
+forming plans for the student's advancement; and, before sleep weighed
+down her eyelids, she had woven a fair romance, of which he was the
+hero.
+
+Ah, that youth could be mistress of the ring and the lamp! then would
+all the world be prosperous and happy. But wisdom and experience, the
+true genii, appear in the form of an _aged_ magician, who has forgotten
+the beatings of that precious thing, the human heart.
+
+The next morning, when they were assembled at their frugal breakfast,
+Seymore said, "I fear you thought, from the frequent ink-spots on my
+little garret, that, like Luther, I had thrown my ink-bottle at the
+devil whenever he appeared."
+
+"I hope," said Edith, "you have not thrown away all its contents; for I
+had some charming fancies last night, inspired, I believe, by that very
+ink-bottle."
+
+Seymore blushed; but he did not look displeased, and Edith was
+satisfied.
+
+The next morning was clear and balmy, and, soon after breakfast, they
+mounted their horses for their return.
+
+There are few things more exhilarating than riding through woods on a
+clear autumnal morning; but Edith felt no longer the wild gayety of the
+previous morning. With a thoughtful countenance, she rode silently by
+her father's side when the path would permit, or followed quietly when
+it was too narrow.
+
+"You seem to have found food for thought in the student's garret, my
+dear," said her father.
+
+Edith blushed slightly, but did not answer.
+
+They had accomplished about half their journey, when Mr. Grafton
+proposed turning off from the direct path to visit an old lady,--a
+friend of Edith's mother, an emigrant of a noble family from the mother
+country.
+
+Edith followed silently, wondering she had never heard her father
+mention this friend of her mother before.
+
+They soon after emerged from the forest upon open fields, cleared and
+cultivated with unusual care. A beautiful brook ran winding in the
+midst, and the whole domain was enclosed in strong fences of stone.
+About midway was built a low, irregular, but very large farmhouse. It
+consisted of smaller buildings, connected by very strong palisades; and
+the whole was enclosed, at some distance, by a fence built of strong
+timbers. It was evidently a dwelling designed for defence against
+Indians. They entered the enclosure by an iron gate, so highly wrought
+and finished that it must have been imported from the mother country.
+
+Edith found herself in a large garden, that had once been cultivated
+with much care and expense. It had been filled with rose-bushes,
+honeysuckles, and choice English flowers; but all was now in a state of
+neglect and decay. The walks were overrun with weeds, the arbors in
+ruins, and the tendrils of the vines wandering at their own wanton will.
+It seemed as if neglect had aided the autumn frost to cover this
+favorite spot with the garb of mourning.
+
+There was no front entrance to this singular building; and the visitors
+rode round to a low door at the back, partly concealed by a pent roof.
+After knocking several minutes, it was opened by a very old negro,
+dressed in a tarnished livery, with his woolly hair drawn out into a
+queue, and powdered. He smiled a welcome, and, with much show of
+respect, led them through many dark passages to a low but very
+comfortable room. The walls were hung with faded tapestry; and the low
+ceiling, crossed with heavy beams, would have made the apartment gloomy,
+but for two large windows that looked into the sunny garden. The sashes
+were of small, lozenge panes of glass set in lead; while the bright
+autumn sun streamed through, and shone with cheerful light on the black
+oak furniture, and showed every mote dancing in its beams.
+
+Edith looked around with surprise and delight. A lady not much past the
+meridian of life came forward to greet them. She was dressed in an
+olive-colored brocade, with a snowy lawn apron and neckerchief folded
+across her breast. The sleeve reached just below the elbow, and was
+finished with a ruffle, and black silk mitts met the ruffle at the
+elbow. A rich lace shaded her face, and a small black velvet hood was
+tied closely under the chin.
+
+The lady's manner was rather stately and formal, as she greeted Mr.
+Grafton with all the ceremony of the old school of politeness, and
+looked at his daughter.
+
+"She is the image of her mother," said Lady C----.
+
+"She is a precious flower," answered Mr. Grafton, looking at Edith with
+pride and affection, as she stood, half respectful, half bashful, before
+the lady.
+
+"You have called her Mary, I hope,--her mother's name."
+
+"No," answered Mr. Grafton; "I have but _one_ Mary,"--and he looked
+upwards.
+
+Edith pressed closer to her father. "Call me Edith, madam," she said,
+with a timid smile.
+
+Lady C---- smiled also, and was soon in earnest conversation with Mr.
+Grafton.
+
+Edith was engaged in examining a room so much more elegant than any she
+had seen before. Her eyes were soon attracted by a full-length portrait
+on the opposite side of the apartment. It was a lady in the bloom of
+youth, dressed in the costume of the second Charles. It was evidently an
+exquisite work of art. To Edith, the somewhat startling exposure of the
+bust, which the fashion of the period demanded, was redeemed by the
+chaste and nunlike expression of the face. Tender blue eyes were cast
+down on a wounded dove that she cherished in her bosom; and the long,
+dark eyelash shaded a pale and pensive cheek.
+
+Edith was fascinated by this beautiful picture. Who was she? where did
+she live? what was her fate? were questions hovering on her lips, which
+she dared not ask of the stately lady on the couch; but, as she stood
+riveted before it, "O that I had such a friend!" passed through her
+mind; and, like inexperienced and enthusiastic youth, she thought how
+fondly she could have loved her, and, if it were necessary, have
+sacrificed her own life for hers.
+
+Lady C---- observed her fixed attention.
+
+"That is a portrait of the Lady Ursula," she said, "who built this
+house, and brought over from England the fruits and flowers of the
+garden. Alas! they are now much wasted and destroyed."
+
+At this moment, the old negro appeared, to say that the dinner was
+served.
+
+They passed into another low room, in the centre of which was a long
+oaken dining-table, the upper end raised two steps higher than the
+lower, and the whole was fixed to the floor. At this time, the upper end
+only was covered with a rich damask cloth, where the lady and her guests
+took their seats; the other half of the table extending bare beneath
+them.
+
+"In this chair, and at this table, the Lady Ursula was wont to dine with
+her maidens and serving-men," said Lady C----, as she took her seat in a
+high-backed, richly-carved chair of oak; "and I have retained the
+custom, though my serving-men are much reduced;" and she glanced her eye
+on the trembling old negro.
+
+Edith thought how dreary it must be to dine there in solitary state,
+with no one to speak to except the old negro, and she cast a pitying
+look around the apartment.
+
+A beauffet was in one corner, well filled with massive plate, and the
+walls were adorned with pictures in needle-work, framed in dark ebony.
+
+The picture opposite Edith was much faded and defaced, but it was meant
+to represent Abraham offering his son Isaac in sacrifice.
+
+"It was the work of the Lady Ursula's fingers," said Lady C----, "as
+every thing else you see here was created by her."
+
+"Is she now living?" asked Edith, very innocently.
+
+"Alas! no, my dear; hers was a sad fate; but her story is too long for
+the dining hour;" and as dinner was soon over, they returned to the
+other apartment.
+
+Edith longed for a ramble in the garden. When she returned, the horses
+were at the door, and she took a reluctant leave, for she had not heard
+the story of the Lady Ursula.
+
+As soon as they had turned their horses' heads outside the iron gate,
+Edith began her eager questions:
+
+"Who was that beautiful woman, the original of the portrait? Where did
+she live? How did she die? What was her fate?" Her father smiled, and
+related the following particulars, which deserve another chapter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+    "Loveliest of lovely things are they
+    On earth, that soonest pass away.
+    Even love, long tried, and cherished long,
+    Becomes more tender, and more strong,
+    At thought of that insatiate grave
+    From which its yearnings cannot save.
+
+    "But where is she, who, at this calm hour,
+      Watched his coming to see?
+    She is not at the door, nor yet in the bower:
+    He calls,--but he only hears on the flower
+      The hum of the laden bee."
+
+    BRYANT.
+
+
+"The Lady Ursula was the daughter of an English nobleman, the proprietor
+of Grondale Abbey. She was betrothed, in early life, to a young man, an
+officer in the army. As she was an only daughter, and inherited from her
+mother a large fortune, her father disapproved of her choice, and wished
+her to ally herself with the heir of a noble family. He was rejoiced,
+therefore, when a war broke out, that obliged Col. Fowler to leave the
+country with his regiment, to join the army.
+
+"The parting of the lovers was painful, but they parted, as the young
+do, full of hope, and agreed to keep up a very frequent correspondence.
+
+"For a year, his letters cheered his faithful mistress; but then they
+ceased, and a report of his death in battle reached her. Her father then
+urged the other alliance. This the Lady Ursula steadily refused; and she
+was soon after relieved from all importunity, by the death of her
+father.
+
+"She was an only daughter, but her father left several sons. His estate
+belonged to the eldest, by entail, and the younger brothers, having
+obtained large grants of land in this country, determined to emigrate to
+the new world.
+
+"The Lady Ursula, disappointed of all her cherished hopes, after much
+reflection, decided to accompany them, and become an actual settler in
+the wilderness.
+
+"She purchased a large farm on this beautiful part of the coast, and as
+she was much beloved by her dependents, she persuaded a large number to
+unite their fortunes with hers. She brought out twenty serving-men, and
+several young maidens, and created a little paradise around her. The
+garden was filled with every variety of fruit and flower then cultivated
+in England, and the strong fence around the whole was to protect her
+from the Indians.
+
+"At the time the Lady Ursula came to this country, she very much
+resembled the beautiful portrait that has charmed you so much. It was
+painted after she parted from her lover, and was intended as a present
+for him, had she not soon after heard of his death."
+
+"You have seen her, then, my dear father," said Edith. "You knew the
+beautiful original of that lovely portrait."
+
+"I scarcely knew her," said Mr. Grafton. "Soon after I came to this
+country, I was riding, one day, near a part of her estate. The day was
+warm and sultry: under some large spreading oaks a cloth was laid for a
+repast. I stopped to refresh my horse, and soon after I saw the lady
+approach, drawn in a low carriage.
+
+"She had brought her workmen their dinner, and after it was spread on
+the grass, she turned her beautiful eyes towards heaven, and asked a
+blessing. She then left her men to enjoy their food, and returned as she
+came, driving herself in a small poney chaise.
+
+"Among the maidens who came over with her from England was one who had
+received a superior education, and was much in her lady's confidence.
+This young girl was often the companion of her lady's solitary walks
+about her estate. One evening they were walking, and the Lady Ursula was
+relating the circumstances of her early life, and said that till this
+time she had never parted with all hope; she had cherished unconsciously
+a feeling that her betrothed lover might have been a captive, and that
+he would at length return. The young girl said, 'Why do you despair now,
+my lady? that is a long lane that has no turning.' The lady smiled more
+cheerfully. 'My bird,' she said, 'you have given me a name for my
+estate. In memory of this conversation, it shall be called _Long Lane_;'
+and it has always retained that name.
+
+"The dews were falling, and they returned to the house. Her men and
+maidens were soon assembled, and the Lady Ursula herself led the evening
+devotions. They were scarcely ended, when a loud knocking was heard at
+the gate. It could not be Indians! No; it was a packet from England;
+and, O joy unspeakable! there was a letter from her long-lost friend and
+lover. He had been taken prisoner when half dead on the field of battle,
+had been removed from one place of confinement to another, debarred the
+privilege of writing, and had heard nothing from her. But the war was
+ended, there had been an exchange of prisoners, and he hastened to
+England, trembling with undefined fears and joyful anticipations. He
+would embark immediately, and follow his mistress to the new world,
+where he hoped to receive the reward of all his constancy.
+
+"The lady could not finish the letter: surprise, joy, ecstasy,--all were
+too much for her, and the Lady Ursula fainted. As soon as she recovered,
+all was bustle and excitement through the house. The lady could not
+sleep that night, and she began immediately to prepare for the arrival
+of her lover. He said he should embark in a few days; she might
+therefore expect him every hour.
+
+"Every room in the house was ornamented with fresh flowers. A room was
+prepared for her beloved guest, filled with every luxury the house could
+furnish; and her own portrait was placed there.
+
+"She was not selfish in her joy: she told her men to get in the harvest:
+for when _he_ arrived, no work should be performed; there should be a
+jubilee. A fatted calf was selected, to be roasted whole: and every one
+of her large household was presented with a new suit of clothes. 'For
+this my _friend_,' she said, 'was lost, and is now found; was dead, and
+is alive again.'
+
+"When all was ready, the Lady Ursula could not disguise her impatience.
+She wandered restlessly from place to place, her eye brilliant, and her
+cheek glowing. At every sound she started, trembled, and turned pale.
+
+"Her men were at work in a distant field; and she determined again, as
+usual when they were far from home, to carry them their dinner. When she
+took her seat in the little carriage, she said, 'It is the last time, I
+hope, that I shall go alone.'
+
+"The repast was spread, and they all stood around for the blessing from
+the lips of the lady. It was remarked by her men that she had never
+looked so beautiful: happiness beamed from her eyes, and her usually
+pale cheek was flushed with joy. She folded her hands, and her meek eyes
+were raised. At that moment, a savage yell was heard; an Indian sprung
+from the thicket. With one blow of his tomahawk the Lady Ursula was
+leveled to the ground, and, in less than a moment, her long, fair hair
+was hanging at his girdle. The Indian was followed by others; and all
+but one of her faithful servants shared the fate of their mistress."
+
+Mr. Grafton paused; Edith's tears were falling fast. "What became of her
+lover?" she said, as soon as she could speak.
+
+"He arrived a few days after, to behold the wreck of all his hopes, and
+returned again, heart-broken, to England."
+
+"And the picture," said Edith; "why did he not claim it, and take it
+with him, to console him, as far as it could, for the loss of his
+beautiful bride?"
+
+"As she had made no will," said Mr. Grafton, "all the Lady Ursula's
+estate belonged to her own family. The lady we have visited to-day is a
+daughter of her brother."
+
+Edith continued silent, and heeded not that the shades of evening
+gathered around them. She was pondering the fate of the Lady Ursula.
+That one so young, so beautiful, so good, should lead a life of sorrow
+and disappointment, and meet with so sudden and dreadful a death,
+weighed on her spirits; for Edith had not yet solved the mystery of
+life.
+
+The sun had long set, when they reached their own door. Dinah had
+prepared the evening meal, and the cheerful evening fire; and Edith
+smiled her thanks.
+
+As she helped her young mistress to undress, she said, "How pale you
+are, and how tired! You need a sweet, refreshing sleep to rest you
+again."
+
+When Edith laid her head on the pillow, she called her humble friend to
+her: "Ah, Dinah," she said, "I have heard a story that makes me think
+there is no happiness on this earth."
+
+Dinah had heard the story of the Lady Ursula.
+
+"Was it not too sad, that she should meet that dreadful fate just as her
+lover returned, and she was going to be so happy?"
+
+Dinah thought it was very sad. "But the lady was pure and good: the
+words of prayer were on her lips, and she went straight to heaven
+without much pain. Had she married and gone to England, she might have
+become vain and worldly; she might have lost the heavenly purity of her
+character."
+
+"Yes," said Edith; "and Col. Fowler, having lived so long in the army,
+might not have loved her as well as she thought he did. Ah, who could
+live without love?"
+
+Dinah thought many could and did. "Women depended too much," she said,
+"on their affections for happiness. Strong and deep affections were
+almost always disappointed; and, if not, death must come and sever the
+dearest ties;" and she stooped down and kissed Edith's hand, which she
+held in hers.
+
+Poor Dinah! she little knew how entirely her own heart was bound up in
+Edith.
+
+"But what can we live for, if not for love?" said Edith.
+
+"For many things," answered Dinah, in her simple and quiet manner; "to
+grow better ourselves, and to do good to others; to make sacrifices, and
+to love _all_ good works."
+
+"I should not wish to live, were I to lose my father, and you,
+and"--Edith paused, and closed her eyes.
+
+Dinah drew the curtain, and bid her, softly, "good night."
+
+Edith could not sleep. She was reflecting on the fate of the Lady
+Ursula. With Dinah's assistance, she had begun to solve the mysteries of
+Providence;[2]
+
+    "Without, forsaking a too earnest world,
+    To calm the affections, elevate the soul,
+    And consecrate her life to truth and love."
+
+[Footnote 2: The story of the Lady Ursula is founded on fact. In the
+author's youth, the farm of "Long Lane" retained its name, and belonged
+to the C---- family.]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+    "A little cottage built of sticks and weeds,
+    In homely wise, and walled with sods around,
+    In which a witch did dwell, in loathly weedes
+    And wilful want, all careless of her needes;
+    So choosing solitairie to abide. Far from all neighbours."
+
+    SPENSER.
+
+
+I wish I were a painter, or a poet, to describe a little sheltered nook
+on the sea-shore, where devotion would retire to worship, love to dwell
+in thought on the beloved, or sorrow to be soothed to rest. It was a
+small cove, sheltered on the north by high, overhanging cliffs, that ran
+out into the ocean in a bold headland. Opposite these rocks the land
+sloped gently down, and the ocean, lulled to rest, came in like a spent
+and wearied child, and rippled on a smooth, white sand.
+
+The top of the cliff was covered with many-colored shrubbery. The
+drooping branches of the birch, the sumac, and the aspen, tinted with
+the rich coloring of autumn, hung half way down the cliff, and were
+reflected, like a double landscape, in the water. At sunset, the entire
+glassy surface was burnished with the red and yellow rays of the setting
+sun; and when the young moon, like a fairy boat, just rested on the
+surface, it was a scene of beauty that could not be surpassed in any
+country.
+
+Immediately under the cliff, and sheltered like a swallow's nest, was
+the smallest of human habitations; so dark, and old, and moss-grown,
+that it seemed a part of the rock against which it rested. It consisted
+of one room: a door and single pane of glass admitted the light, and the
+nets hanging around, and an old boat drawn up on the beach, indicated
+that it was the shelter of a fisherman.
+
+The Indian summer still continued, and a few mornings after the little
+journey, Edith was induced, by the soft beauty of the weather, to visit
+the cove. It was a walk of two miles, but the inhabitants of the cottage
+were among the poor of her father's parish, and she was never a stranger
+in their cottages.
+
+The brilliant sun gave to the ever-changing ocean the tints of emerald
+green, royal purple, crimson, and sapphire, and made a path of light,
+fit for angels' footsteps. The tide was out, and the smooth beach
+glittered in the morning sun. The ocean, as far as the eye could reach,
+was smooth as glass. It was not then, as now, white with the frequent
+sail: a solitary vessel was then a rare occurrence, and hailed with
+rapture, as bringing news from _home_. The white-winged curlew was
+wheeling around in perfect security, and the little bay was dotted, in a
+few spots, with fishermen's boats. The absence of the old boat from the
+beach showed that the owner of the cottage was among them.
+
+Edith was sorry her friend the fisherman was absent, for the old woman
+who kept his house was a virago; and, indeed, was sometimes thought
+insane. Although Edith's moral courage was great, she possessed that
+physical timidity and sensitiveness to outward impressions that belongs
+to the poetic temperament.
+
+She lingered in her walk, watching the curlews, and listening to the
+measured booming of the waves as they touched the shore and then
+receded. The obvious reflection that comes to every mind perhaps came to
+hers, that thus succeed and are scattered the successive generations of
+men. No; she was thinking that thus arrive and depart the days of her
+solitary existence; thus uniformly, and thus leaving no trace behind.
+Will it be always thus? she sighed; and her eyes filled with tears. Her
+revery was interrupted by a rough voice behind her.
+
+"What have you done, that God should grant you the happiness to weep?"
+said the old woman, who now stood at her side.
+
+Edith was startled, for the woman's expression was very wild, but she
+answered mildly, "Is that so great a boon, mother, that I should deserve
+to lose it?"
+
+"Ask her," she said, "whose brain is burning, and whose heart is like
+lead, what she would give for one moist tear. O God! I cannot weep."
+
+Whatever timidity Edith felt when she first saw the malignant expression
+of the old woman's countenance, was now lost in pity. She knew that the
+poor creature's reason was impaired, and she thought this might be one
+of her wild moments.
+
+She laid her hand gently on her arm, and said, with a smile, "Nanny, I
+have come on purpose to visit you. Let us go into the house, and you
+shall tell me what you think, and all you want to make you comfortable
+for the winter."
+
+Nanny looked at Edith almost with scorn. "Tell you what I think!" she
+said. "As well might I tell yonder birds that are hovering with white
+wings in the blue sky. What do you know of sorrow? but you will not
+always be strangers. Sorrow is coming over you; I see its dark fold
+drawing nearer and nearer."
+
+A slight shudder came over Edith, but she smiled, and said, soothingly,
+"I came to talk with you about yourself; let my fate alone for the
+present."
+
+"Ah! no need to shake the glass," answered Nanny; "grief is coming soon
+enough to drink up your young blood. The cheek that changes like yours,
+with sudden flushing, withers soonest; not with age, no, not, like mine,
+with age, but blighted by the cold hand of unkindness; and eyes, like
+yours, that every emotion fills with sudden tears, soon have their
+fountains dry, and then, ah! how you will long and pray for one drop, as
+I do now!"
+
+They had entered the poor hovel, and the old woman, who had been
+speaking in a tone of great excitement, now turned and looked full at
+Edith: her beauty seemed to awake a feeling of envious contempt.
+
+The contrast between them was indeed great. Edith stood in the narrow
+door, blooming with youth and health. Her dark hair, which contrasted so
+beautifully with her soft blue eye, had lost its curl by the damp air,
+and she had taken off her bonnet to put back the uncurled tresses.
+
+The old woman had seated herself in an old, high-backed chair, and, with
+her elbows on her knees, looked earnestly at Edith. Her face might once
+have been fair; but it was now deeply wrinkled, and bronzed with smoke
+and exposure. Her teeth were gone, and her thin, shriveled lips had an
+expression of pain and suffering; while her eyes betrayed the envy and
+contempt she seemed to feel towards others.
+
+"Ah," she said, "gather up your beautiful shining locks. How long, think
+you, before they will be like mine? But mine were once black and glossy
+as yours; and now look at them."
+
+She took down from under her cap her long, gray hair, and spread it over
+her breast. It was dry and coarse, and without a single black hair. She
+laid her dark, bony hand on Edith's white arm.
+
+"Sorrow has done this," she said,--"not time: it has been of this color
+for fifty years."
+
+"And have you then suffered so much?" said Edith,--and her eyes filled
+with tears.
+
+The old woman saw that she was pitied, and a more gentle expression came
+into her eyes, as she fixed them on Edith.
+
+"My child," she said, "we can learn to bear sorrow, bereavement, the
+death of all that are twined with our own souls, old age, solitude,--all
+but remorse--_all but remorse_;" and the last word was pronounced almost
+in a whisper.
+
+"And cannot you turn to God?" said Edith; "cannot you pray? God has
+invited all who are sinners to come to him."
+
+She stopped; for she felt her own insufficiency to administer religious
+consolation.
+
+"And who told you I was so great a sinner?" said the old woman, all her
+fierceness returning immediately.
+
+Edith had felt herself all the comfort of opening her heart in prayer to
+God; but she was abashed by the old woman: she said only timidly and
+humbly, "Why will you not confide in my father? Tell him your wants and
+your misery, and he will pray for you, and help you."
+
+"Tell him! and what does he know of the heart-broken? Can he lift the
+leaden covering from the conscience? Can he give me back the innocence
+and peace of my cottage home in the green lanes of England, or the
+blessing of my poor old father?" And, while an expression of the deepest
+sadness passed over her face,--"Can he bring back my children, my
+beautiful boys, or bid the sea give up its dead? No, no; let him preach
+and pray, and let these poor ignorant people hear him; and let me,--ah,
+let me lie down in the green earth."
+
+Edith was shocked; and the tears she tried in vain to suppress forced
+themselves down her cheeks.
+
+"Poor child!" said the old woman; "you can weep for others, but yours is
+the fate of all the daughters of Eve: you will soon weep for yourself.
+With all your proud beauty and your feeling heart, you cannot keep your
+idols: they will crumble away, and you will come at last to what I am."
+
+Edith tried to direct her attention to something else. She looked around
+the cottage, which had not the appearance of the most abject poverty.
+The few articles of furniture were neat, and in one corner stood a
+comfortable-looking bed. A peat fire slumbered on the hearth, and many
+dried and smoked fish were hanging from the beams.
+
+She said, very mildly, "I came, Nanny, to see if you did not want
+something to make you comfortable for the winter. My father sent me, and
+you must tell me all you want."
+
+"I want nothing," said the old woman; "at least for myself. All your
+blankets cannot keep the cold from the heart."
+
+At this moment, a little girl about five years old came running into the
+cottage, with a basket of blackberries she had been picking on the
+cliffs above the house. Edith was well known to her, as she was to all
+the children of the parish. The little girl went up to her and presented
+the blackberries, and then ran to her grandmother with the air of a
+favored child, as if she were sure of a welcome.
+
+An expression that Edith had never seen, a softened expression of deep
+tenderness, came over the face of the old woman.
+
+"I was going to speak of this child," she said. "I feel that I shall
+soon be _there_,"--and she pointed towards the earth,--"and this child
+has no friend but me."
+
+The little girl, meantime, had crept close to the old woman, and laid
+her head on her shoulder. The child was not attractive: her feet and
+legs were bare, and her dress was ragged and much soiled; but covering
+her eyes and forehead was a profusion of golden-colored ringlets; and,
+where her skin was not grimmed with dirt and exposure to the sea air, it
+was delicately white.
+
+There was something touching in the affection of the poor orphan for the
+old woman; and the contrast, as they thus leant on each other, would
+have arrested the eye of a painter.
+
+Edith promised to be a friend to her grandchild, and then entreated
+Nanny to see her father, and confide her sorrows to him. This she
+steadily refused; and Edith left her, her young spirits saddened by the
+mystery and the grief that she could not understand. As she walked home,
+she thought how little the temper of the old woman was in harmony with
+the external beauty that environed her. The beauty was marred by sin and
+grief. And even in her own life, pure as it was, how little was there to
+harmonize with the exquisite loveliness around her!
+
+Edith was not happy: the inward pulse did not beat in harmony with the
+pulse of nature. She was not happy, because woman, especially in youth,
+is happy only in her affections. She felt within herself an infinite
+capacity of loving, and she had few to love, Her heart was solitary. Her
+affection for her father partook too much of respect and awe; and that
+for Dinah had grown up from her infancy, and was as much a matter of
+habit as of gratitude. She longed for the love of an equal, or rather of
+some one she could reverence as well as love. How she wished she could
+have been the companion of the Lady Ursula!
+
+Edith was beginning to feel that she had a soul of infinite longings;
+but she had not yet learnt its power to create for itself an infinite
+and immortal happiness; and the beauty of nature, that excited without
+filling her mind, only increased her loneliness.
+
+It is after other pursuits and other friends have disappointed us, that
+we go back to the beautiful teachings of nature; and, like a tender
+mother, she receives us to her bosom.
+
+    "O, nature never did betray
+    The heart that loved her."
+
+She alone is unchangeable. We may confide in her promises. I have
+planted an acorn by a beloved grave: in a few years I returned, and
+found a beautiful oak overshadowing it.
+
+Nature is liberal and impartial as she is faithful. The green earth
+offers a home for the eyes of the poorest beggar; the soft and purifying
+winds visit all equally; the tenderly majestic stars look down on him
+who rests in a bed of down, and on him whose pallet is the naked earth;
+and the blue sky embraces equally the child of sorrow and of joy.
+
+The teachings of nature are open to all. The poor heart-broken mother
+sees, in the parent leaves that enfold the tender heart of the young
+plant, and in the bird that strips her own breast of its down to shelter
+her young from the night air, the same instinct that teaches her to
+cherish the child of sorrow. He who addressed the poor and illiterate
+drew his illustrations from nature: the lily of the field, the fowls of
+the air, and the young ravens, he made his teachers to those who, like
+him, lived in the open air, and were peculiarly susceptible to all the
+influences of nature.
+
+To return from this digression. Perhaps my readers will wish to know
+more of poor Nanny, as she was called.
+
+Nothing was known of her early history. She had come from the mother
+country four years before, with this little child, then an infant, and
+had taken a lodging in the poor fisherman's hut. She said the little
+girl was her grandchild, and all her affections were centred in her. She
+was entirely reserved as to her previous history, and was irritated if
+any curiosity was expressed about it, though she sometimes gave out
+hints that she had been an accomplice and victim of some deed for which
+she felt remorse. As she was quite harmless, and the inhabitants were
+much scattered, she was unmolested, and earned a scanty living by
+picking berries, fishing, and helping those who were not quite as poor
+as herself. Edith visited her often, and Mr. Grafton, though she would
+not acknowledge him as a spiritual guide, ministered to all her temporal
+wants.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+    Thou changest not, but I am changed,
+    Since first thy pleasant banks I ranged;
+    The visions of my youth are past,
+    Too bright, too beautiful, to last.
+
+    BRYANT.
+
+
+More than two years had passed since Edith's visit to the old woman of
+the cliff. Changes had taken place in all the personages of my little
+tale; but in Edith they were most apparent. She who had sung all day as
+the birds sing, because she could not help it, at nineteen had learned
+to reflect and to analyze; a sensitive conscience had taken the place of
+spontaneous and impulsive virtue; and the same heart that could be happy
+all day long in nursing a young chicken, or watching the opening of a
+flower, or carrying food to a poor old woman, now closed her days with
+_thinking_, and moistened her pillow with unbidden tears.
+
+It is the natural course of womanhood. Ah! that we could always be
+children. We have seen that after Edith had learned the story of the
+Lady Ursula, she began to solve some of the mysteries of life. She had
+since turned over many of its leaves, all fair with innocence and truth,
+but she had not yet found an answer to the question, "Why do we suffer?"
+
+The change that had taken place in young Seymore was deeper and sterner,
+but not so apparent. Externally, he was the same beautiful youth that he
+was when we introduced him to our kind readers, in his attic.
+
+Since then, he had had much to struggle with; but poverty had not been
+his greatest temptation. He could not indeed hope to be exempt from the
+bitter experience of almost all who at that time were scholars.
+
+To this very day, the sons of clergymen, and many of the most
+distinguished men in New England, have held the plough in the intervals
+of their preparation for the university. How many poor mothers have
+striven, and labored, and denied themselves all but the bare necessaries
+of life, that their sons might gain that sole distinction in New
+England,--an education at one of the colleges.
+
+Poverty was not his greatest trial. When he first saw Edith, her timid
+and innocent beauty had made an impression on his fancy, that all his
+subsequent dreams in solitude, and his lonely reveries, had only served
+to deepen. She seemed to embody all his imaginations of female
+loveliness. He had, indeed, never before seen a beautiful girl, and he
+had no acquaintance with women, except his grandmother.
+
+The remembrance of his mother came softened to him, like something
+unconnected with earth; and when he thought of the darkened chamber, the
+pale, faint smile, her hand on his head, and her solemn consecration of
+him to the church, on her death-bed, he felt a sensation of awe that
+chilled and appalled him.
+
+After his acquaintance with Edith and her father, life wore a brighter
+hue. His efforts to gain an education to distinguish himself were
+redoubled. Mr. Grafton aided in every way; and with the sympathy of his
+kind friend came the image of his beautiful daughter. His labors were
+lightened, his heart cheered, by the thought that she would smile and
+approve.
+
+Thus days of bodily labor were succeeded by nights of study; and, for
+some time, with his youth and vigorous health, this was hardly felt as
+an evil. But we have seen, in our first chapter, that he had moments of
+despondency, and of late they had been of more frequent occurrence.
+
+At such times, the remembrance of his mother, and her solemn dedication
+of him to the church, came back with redoubled power, and the time he
+had spent in lighter literature, in poetry, and even his dreams of
+Edith, seemed to him like sins. A darker and less joyous spirit was
+gradually overshadowing him. A morbid sensitiveness to moral evil, an
+exaggerated sense of his own sins, and of the strict requisitions of the
+spirit of the times, clouded his natural gayety.
+
+His visits to the parsonage, indeed, always dissipated his fears for a
+little time. Edith received him as a valued friend, and he returned to
+his studies, cheered by her smiles, and sustained by new hopes.
+
+He never analyzed the cause of this change, or the nature of his
+feelings: but, when he thought of his degree at the college, it was her
+sympathy and her approbation that came first to his mind; and, when he
+sent his thoughts forward to a settlement and a parsonage like that of
+his venerable friend's, it would have been empty, and desolate, and
+uninhabitable, if Edith had not been there.
+
+It was in Edith's beloved father that a year had made the saddest
+change. The winter had been unusually severe, and the snow deep. His
+parish was much scattered, and it was his custom to visit them on
+horseback; and, in the deepest snows, and most severe storms, he had
+never refused to appear at their bedsides, or to visit and comfort the
+afflicted. He had lived, and labored, and loved among his simple flock,
+but he now felt that his ministry was drawing towards a close.
+
+In March, he had returned from one of his visits late at night, and much
+wet and fatigued. The next morning he found himself ill with a lung
+fever. It left him debilitated, and much impaired in constitution; and a
+rapid decline seemed the almost inevitable consequence at his advanced
+age.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+                                 Pride,
+    Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,
+    Is littleness; and he who feels contempt
+    For any living thing, hath faculties
+    Which he has never used.
+
+                              O, be wiser, then!
+    Instructed that true knowledge leads to love:
+    True dignity abides with him alone,
+    Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
+    Can still suspect, and still revere himself,
+    In lowliness of heart.
+
+    WORDSWORTH.
+
+
+It has been the fashion, of late, to depreciate the clergymen among our
+Puritan fathers. It is true they erred, but their errors belonged to the
+time and the circumstance that placed in their hands unusual power.
+There were among them men that would have done honor to any age; perfect
+gentlemen, who would have adorned a drawing-room, as well as consecrated
+a church.
+
+The traits that constitute _gentlesse_ do not belong to any age or any
+school: they are not formed by the conventions of society, nor the forms
+that are adopted to facilitate and give grace to the intercourse of
+equals. The precept that says, "In honor preferring one another," if
+acted on in perfect sincerity of heart, and carried out in all the
+intercourse of society, would form perfect gentlemen and ladies. We have
+heard Jesus called the most finished gentleman that ever lived.
+Undisguised benevolence, humility, and sincerity, would form such
+gentlemen, and the intercourse of society, founded on such principles,
+would be true, noble, graceful, and most attractive.
+
+Such a gentleman was Edith's father; and while he was an honored and
+cherished guest at the tables of the fathers and princes of the colony,
+he seldom left his humble parish. His influence there was unbounded, and
+his peculiarities, if he had them, belonged to the age. In an age of
+persecutors, he was so averse to persecution, that he did not escape the
+charge of heresy and insincerity.
+
+The clergy of that time loved to preach from the Old Testament, and to
+illustrate the lives of the patriarchs. An unlimited and implicit faith,
+that made each believe he was the especial care and favorite of God, was
+the foundation of the religion of the Old Testament. Our fathers had
+much of the same persuasion. To an audience of fishermen, and scattered
+cultivators of the sterile fields of New England, such a faith came home
+to their hearts; the one committing their frail boats to the treacherous
+ocean, the other depending on the early and the latter rains, and genial
+skies, for their support.
+
+June had come, the genial month of June, and Mr. Grafton was not revived
+by its soft air. He declined daily, and Edith, his tender nurse, could
+not conceal from herself that there was little hope of his ever
+reviving.
+
+Dinah had watched with him almost every night, but, worn out with
+fatigue, Edith had persuaded her to take some moments for repose. After
+a night of much restlessness, towards morning, her father fell into a
+tranquil slumber. Edith was alone in the darkened room, and as she sat
+in the deep silence by his bedside, an old-fashioned clock, that stood
+in the corner, seemed, to her excited nerves, to strike its monotonous
+tick directly on her temples. A small taper was burning in the chimney,
+and the long shadows it cast served only to darken the room. From time
+to time, as Edith leaned over her father, she touched his forehead with
+her hand: in the solitude and stillness, it seemed a medium of
+communication with the mind of her father, and held the place of
+language.
+
+At length he opened his eyes, and seeing her bending over him, he drew
+her towards him, and kissed her tenderly. In a whisper, he said, "I
+feel, my child, that I am dying."
+
+"Do not weep," said he, observing how much Edith was shocked; "you can
+trust in God. You can be near me in death, as you have been in life. Now
+is the time, my Edith, to feel the value of all those principles we have
+learned together through life. I feel that God is near us, and that when
+I am gone, he will be near to you."
+
+Edith threw herself into his arms. Her father laid his hand on her head,
+and prayed audibly. She arose more calm, and asked him if she should not
+call the faithful slaves.
+
+"No, my child," he said; "let the poor children"--he always named them
+thus--"let the poor children sleep. God is here. I hold your hands in
+mine. What more do we want? Let the quiet night pass. The morning will
+be glorious! it will open for me in another world."
+
+It was a beautiful sight, that young and timid woman sustaining her aged
+father, and he trusting so entirely in God, and feeling no anxiety, no
+grief, but that of leaving her alone.
+
+As she sat thus holding his hand in hers, his breath became less
+frequent; he fixed his eyes on hers with a tender smile. His breathing
+stopped--his spirit was gone!
+
+Edith did not shriek, or faint. It was the first time she had been in
+the chamber of death, and a holy calmness, a persuasion that her
+father's spirit was still there, came over her. She closed his eyes, and
+sat long with his hand strained in hers.
+
+The first note of the early birds made her start. She arose, and opened
+the window. The morning had dawned, and every leaf, every blade of
+grass, was glittering in the early dew. Her father's horse, that had
+borne him so many years, was feeding in the enclosure. At the sound of
+the window, he came forward: then a sense of her loss came over Edith,
+and she burst into tears.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+    "----Whene'er the good and just
+      Close the dim eye on life and pain,
+    Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust,
+      Till the pure spirit comes again.
+    Though nameless, trampled, and forgot,
+      His servant's humble ashes lie,
+    Yet God has marked and sealed the spot,
+      To call its inmate to the sky."
+
+
+It was one of those brilliant and transparent days of June, never
+surpassed in any climate. The little church stood clearly defined
+against the deep blue sky. The ocean, as the sun shone on it, was gemmed
+with a thousand glancing diamonds, and here and there a light sail rose
+and fell upon it, like the wings of a bird. It was so still that the hum
+of the noontide insects was distinctly heard. At intervals, the slow
+tolling of the little bell sent its echoes back from the surrounding
+forest.
+
+It was the day of the funeral of the beloved pastor, and small groups of
+the parishioners began to collect about the church and the house.
+Heartfelt grief seemed to shadow every countenance, but the severe and
+reserved character of the New England Puritans allowed them to make no
+demonstration of sorrow: they shut up within themselves every trace of
+emotion, and spoke only in whispers, with a stern, determined air.
+
+The garb and appearance of the people was rough and homely. There were
+farmers with their wives, on pillions; fishermen with their rough
+sea-coats; aged women, bent and wrinkled, who had come to lay in the
+grave one whom they had hoped would have prayed at and blessed their own
+burial.
+
+The house at length was filled with those who had the nearest claim, and
+the ministers of the surrounding villages darkened, with their black
+dress, the little apartment.
+
+The two slaves stood near the bier, and the excitable temperament and
+violent grief of the poor Africans contrasted with the stern, and
+solemn, and composed countenances around them.
+
+Edith at last came in. She was calm, but very pale; and, as she entered
+the room, she gave her hand to those who stood nearest. She tried to
+speak, but the words died on her lips. Dinah was in a moment at her
+side. Her delicate and youthful beauty contrasted by her sable friend,
+and her lonely, unprotected state touched the hearts of these stern, but
+also tenderly affectionate Puritans, and there were tears in many eyes,
+as they looked at her with respect and interest.
+
+The windows were all open; the concert of joyous birds, in their season
+of love and happiness, showed no sympathy with man in his grief. It was
+so still that the silvery sound of the waves, as they touched the beach,
+was distinctly heard; and the voice of prayer, as it broke the silence,
+was the only human sound.
+
+The voice of prayer ceased, and the quick hoof of a horse was heard. In
+a few moments Seymore entered. He had heard of the death of his friend,
+and, impelled by an irresistible impulse, he could not remain at his
+studies. As he entered he was violently agitated, for death and sorrow
+were new to him.
+
+The color rushed to Edith's pale cheek, as she silently gave him her
+hand; but she felt a calmness which she could not herself understand. A
+change had been wrought in her character by that nightly death-bed, and
+by four days of lonely sorrow. She felt that she must rely on herself.
+
+The changes that are wrought by sorrow and reflection in a timid woman
+are not less apparent than those wrought by love. They seem, at first,
+to take from the exquisite feminineness of the character, but they bring
+out the latent beauty and strength of her spiritual nature. It is said
+"that every wave of the ocean adds to the beauty of the pearl, by
+removing the scum that reveals its interior and mysterious light." It is
+thus with time and sorrow: they reveal to ones self the inward pearl
+beyond all price, on which we must forever rely to guide us.
+
+The oldest of the parishioners now approached, to bear their beloved
+pastor on their shoulders to the silent grave-yard. The ceremonial of a
+country burial is extremely simple, but they had then an affecting
+custom which has since been discontinued. As they bore the body to the
+grave, they sang an anthem, and, as it entered the little enclosure, the
+groups on each side receded, and uncovered their heads. The boys were
+hushed to awe, as the anthem rose on the evening air; the sun sank
+behind the forest, and its last rays were reflected from the grave of
+this servant of God.
+
+The exquisite beauty of the scene oppressed and wearied Edith as she
+returned to her solitary home. She felt that though nature may
+sympathize with our joy, there is nothing in her bosom that responds to
+our sorrow.
+
+But she did not return alone: Seymore had followed her; and, as they
+entered the deserted room, her father's arm-chair was in its accustomed
+place: even his slippers had been accidentally placed ready for him. The
+curtain had been removed from her mother's picture, and as she
+approached it, she met its pitying eyes fixed upon her. The unnatural
+tension of the nerves, which had denied her, for the last four days, the
+relief of tears, gave way, and the very fountains of her soul seemed
+opened. She sank down on a chair, and yielded to the overwhelming
+emotion.
+
+There are states of the mind when the note of a bird, the fall of a
+leaf, the perfume of a flower, will unlock the bars of the soul, as the
+smallest sound will loosen the avalanche. The unexpected sight of her
+mother's picture had overpowered Edith. O that we should receive a
+mother's love in infancy, when we cannot value or understand it; and, in
+after life, when we need it most, when we long for the heart that has
+cherished us, "we must go back to some almost forgotten grave," where
+that warm heart lies that loved us as no other will ever love us.
+
+Seymore was terrified: he had never seen grief like this, and he walked
+the room with rapid and agitated steps.
+
+Edith longed to be alone. She tried to conquer her emotion, but the sobs
+that came from the bottom of her heart shook her whole frame. At last
+she said, "Pray leave me; I wish to be, _I must_ be alone."
+
+Seymore could not leave her thus. He took her passive hand. "O," said
+he, "would that I could spare you one of these tears! If you could know
+how I reverence your sorrow, how my heart bleeds for you--O pardon
+me--if you could see my heart, you would see there a devotion, a
+reverence, such as angels feel in heaven. Might I dare to hope that you
+would forgive, that you would pardon the poor, unknown, homeless
+scholar, that he has dared to love you?"
+
+Edith had become calm as he spoke thus impetuously, and her hand grew
+cold in his. She looked up: a beautiful and timid hope shone in her
+eyes; and, though her tears fell fast, a smile was on her lips. "We are
+both homeless," she said,--"both orphans."
+
+He caught from her expression a rapturous hope. At this moment the
+faithful slave Dinah opened the door to look after her young mistress.
+It was the first time since her childhood, that the face of her sable
+friend had been unwelcome to Edith; but perhaps it was happy for both;
+it arrested their tumultuous emotions, and gave Seymore, who left the
+room immediately, time to arrange his thoughts, and reflect on the
+blissful prospect opening before him.
+
+Edith held out her hand to her friend. I have before remarked the
+figurative expressions in which Dinah clothed her thoughts. Her language
+and her feelings were fervid, like her climate.
+
+"I thought," she said, "the heartsease had withered in your bosom; but
+it has sprung up, and is blooming again." Then seeing the crimson
+overspread Edith's cheek, she added, "perhaps your warm tears have
+revived it." But, as if ashamed of having said something not perfectly
+true, she took Edith's hand, looked earnestly in her face, as if asking
+an explanation of this sudden change.
+
+Edith was wholly overcome. She threw herself into the arms of the
+faithful slave, and longed to hide herself there. None but a mother
+could understand her feelings, or one who had been to her in the place
+of a mother, and knew every beating of her innocent heart.
+
+There are moments when woman needs the sympathy of a mother, that first
+and dearest friend of every human being. Dinah could not understand the
+imaginative character of Edith's mind; she could not sympathize with her
+thirst for knowledge, her love of the beautiful and the unknown; but the
+tear in her eye, and her quivering lip, as she pressed her child closer
+and closer to her, as though she would cherish her in her inmost heart,
+showed that she understood her nature, and sympathized in her happiness
+with all a woman's heart.
+
+That night, when Edith laid her head on her pillow, she felt a secret
+joy, a lightness of heart, which she could not understand. She
+reproached herself that she could feel so happy so soon after the death
+of her father. She did not know how insensibly she had suffered an
+interest in Seymore to grow in her heart, and that the sentiments of
+nature are weak when brought into contact with an absorbing passion.
+When she came to offer her prayer for guidance and protection, a feeling
+of gratitude, of thankfulness, overpowered all other emotions, and she
+closed her eyes, wet with grateful tears.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+    "Is this a tale?
+        Methinks it is a homily."
+
+
+Seymore indulged himself with a few days of perfect, unalloyed
+happiness. The tumultuous feeling of joy subsided, the dark shade that
+had begun to gather over his mind vanished, and a sober certainty of
+bliss--bliss too great, he feared, for mortal, appeased his too keen
+sensibility to his own imperfections.
+
+The character of Edith was formed to produce this effect. There was
+nothing exaggerated in it. Her solitary life, without mother or sister,
+had taught her great self-reliance; while her genuine humility had
+preserved her from that obstinacy of opinion that a want of knowledge of
+the world sometimes creates. The grave and solid studies she had entered
+into with her father had strengthened her mind, as it were, with the
+"bark and steel" of literature; while the native tenderness of her heart
+had prevented her from becoming that odious creature, a female pedant.
+Her greatest charm was the exquisite feminineness of her character: this
+perhaps, without religion, would have degenerated into weakness, or,
+without an enlightened reason, into superstition.
+
+How entirely is the divine spirit of Christianity adapted to woman's
+nature! loving as she does, and trembling for the objects of her love;
+doomed
+
+    "To weep silent tears, and patient smiles to wear,
+    And to make idols, and to find them clay."
+
+If ever woman enjoyed all worldly advantages, if ever she was flattered,
+made an idol, and worshipped, it was in Europe previous to the French
+Revolution. Yet the letters and memoirs of the women of that time, light
+and frivolous as they are, reveal a depth of sadness, a desolation of
+spirit, a weariness of life,--destitute as many of them are of all
+aspiration after an immortal hope,--that tells us how indispensable to
+woman's nature are the hopes and consolations of religion. Love was at
+that time the object of woman's existence,--a love that, with our
+standard of morals, leaves a stain as well as a wound; but, with their
+peculiar notions, it robbed them neither of the adulation of society,
+nor of their own self-respect. But, with all this, together with their
+influence in the affairs of state, we read their memoirs not only with a
+shame that burns on the cheek, but with feelings of the deepest
+commiseration.
+
+How few, even of the happiest among women, are blest with that love that
+can fill and satisfy a woman's heart! How many, disappointed and weeping
+o'er "idols of clay," stretch out the arms of their souls for something
+they can lean on in safety! How many, solitary at heart in the midst of
+gayety, turn away to look into themselves for something more satisfying!
+How many broken and contrite spirits feel that he alone who knows what
+is in the heart of man, can teach them to bear a wounded spirit!
+
+How full of sympathy for woman is the New Testament! He knew the heart
+of woman who said, "She is forgiven; for she has loved much."
+
+It must have been a woman who first thought of prayer. Madame de Stael
+says that a mother with a sick child must have invented prayer; and she
+is right: a woman would first pray, not for herself, but for the object
+of her tenderness.
+
+It had been an object much at heart with Mr. Grafton to save a little
+property for his daughter. He had succeeded in purchasing the small
+house, and a few acres about it, which was kept in perfect order and
+good cultivation under the excellent management of Paul.
+
+Edith's unprotected state, being without near relatives, made him
+desirous that she should have an independent home among his attached but
+humble parishioners. He knew that she was scarcely less beloved by them
+than himself. But he looked forward to his place being filled by a
+stranger; and he was mainly anxious that her comfort should not depend
+on the bounty, or even the gratitude, of the most disinterested of his
+flock.
+
+He was able to accomplish his wish, and leave her a small patrimony,
+abundantly equal to the wants of their frugal establishment; and Edith
+thanked God, with tears of gratitude, that she was not obliged to
+separate herself from the graves of both her parents.
+
+The summer and winter that followed her father's death were passed in
+tranquillity by Edith, watched over and guarded with the most faithful
+care by her two sable friends. No pastor had yet been chosen in her
+father's place; and an unacknowledged but cherished hope arose in her
+mind, that Seymore might one day stand in that sacred place, hallowed in
+her affections, and now regarded with trembling hope.
+
+Seymore indulged himself with as many short visits to Edith as his
+circumstances would allow, always struggling as he was with almost
+insurmountable obstacles, and straining every nerve to attain that goal
+of his hopes, a position in society that would allow him to claim his
+bride. The joy that her presence imparted to his whole being, the change
+that came over him the moment his weary eye caught sight of the steeple
+that rose above the dear spot of all his dreams, the sunshine that she
+diffused in the dark places of his mind, prevented Edith from being
+sensible of the change, the painful change, that a constant struggle
+with the coarse realities of his position had made in his noble nature.
+She had often, indeed, said, with Jenny Deans, "It is no matter which
+has the siller, if the other wants it." But Seymore's nature was proud
+as well as tender.
+
+He possessed, as we have before seen, the temperament of the poet--that
+pure, rare, and passionate nature so little able to contend with the
+actual difficulties of life--to whom every-day regular labor is a burden
+hard to bear. We have seen that his deep religious impressions had made
+him consecrate all his fine powers to the service of God; and the
+tenderness of his conscience made him fear that the sacrifice was
+imperfect. The conflict was ever in his soul. He was unable to satisfy
+his own aspirations after a spirituality and purity, which is the slow
+growth of a life of exertion. Despondency so intimately allied to the
+poetic temperament produced a morbid sensibility, a sort of monomania in
+his mind, having the effect of those singular mirages seen from the
+sea-shore, where the most trivial and familiar objects are magnified to
+temples and altars, and hung, as it were, in the clouds.
+
+We touch with a reverend spirit and trembling hand the mysterious
+influences of hidden causes, uniting with unhappy external
+circumstances, to involve those who seem formed to bless and to be
+blessed in a self-tormenting melancholy. I know not that, under any
+circumstances, Seymore's would have been a happy spirit. Under the
+present, his love for Edith seemed the only light that could save him
+from total shipwreck.
+
+The two lovers wrote to each other as often as the state of
+communication between different parts of the country would allow, before
+post-roads had been established, and when letters were often entrusted
+to wandering Indians, and the postage paid with a little tobacco, or a
+handful of meal.
+
+We may judge of the nature of Seymore's letters by one of Edith's, which
+appears to be an answer to one of his:
+
+     _October, 1692._
+
+     How can I be so little solitary, when I am more alone than ever? I
+     awake from dreams of you to feel your presence still with me; and
+     my first emotion is gratitude to God for having given me this
+     happiness. Forgive me, beloved father! that I can be so content
+     without you! The bonds of nature are weakened, when an absorbing
+     emotion fills the heart. The time may come when nature will be
+     avenged. Ah, it cannot be wrong to love as I do. God has opened
+     this fountain in the desert of life, as a solace for all its evils.
+     Ah, how can those who love be sufficiently grateful to God? Every
+     hour should be an act of adoration and praise.
+
+     You will tell me, my friend, that this all-absorbing love should
+     be given to God. I cannot separate God from his works. This
+     beautiful nature--the ocean, in all its majesty, the quiet stars,
+     as they seem to look down upon us, the beauty spread every where
+     around me--remind me always of God. I cannot represent to myself
+     God in his personal form: I feel him every where, and I love him
+     especially for having made us capable of love.
+
+     That religion should be a different thing from this pervading love
+     and reverence, I cannot yet understand. Faith is the gift of God;
+     such faith as you, my dear friend, wish me to possess; but it seems
+     to me, like all the other precious gifts of the soul, to be
+     obtained by earnest prayer and infinite strivings. When the young
+     man mentioned in the gospel came to our Saviour, he demanded of him
+     no profession of mysterious faith, but only a proof of
+     disinterested love.
+
+     Religion is not a distinct thing from the every-day life,
+     as--pardon me, my dear friend--I think you would make it. It is
+     like the air we breathe, requisite for a life of goodness, but not
+     less nor more perceptible to our well-being than the air is to our
+     existence. It should not make itself felt in storms and tempests,
+     in hot and cold fits, but in a calm and equal power, sustaining,
+     purifying, and nourishing our souls.
+
+     You believe the direct influence of the Spirit of God upon every
+     individual mind is necessary, to make him a religious being. I
+     cannot but think that the _indirect_ influence, the beautiful and
+     ever-renewed miracle of nature, the observation of God's providence
+     in the care of his creatures, and the study of the adaptation of
+     Christianity to our particular dispositions--not merely by a
+     process of reasoning, but aided by the religious sentiment which
+     seems to me innate and natural to every human being--is more
+     powerful.
+
+     And now that I have finished my sermon, let me scold you for
+     wronging yourself, as you too often do. _Truth_ is not to be set
+     aside, in looking at our own characters. We should do the same
+     justice to ourselves that we do to others. There is a secret
+     dishonesty in depreciating ourselves. Could I esteem and honor you
+     as I do, were you what you call yourself? I honor you for all the
+     noble exertions you have made,--for the ardor of your love of truth
+     and duty. Ah, call me not a partial and blinded judge: your true
+     honor and your most precious happiness are too dear to me to allow
+     me to be a false or partial friend. I would give you a little, a
+     very little vanity; not enough to make you a sumptuous robe, but
+     just enough to keep you from the cold.
+
+     You say you look upon this delusion of witchcraft, that is
+     spreading through the country, with fearful and trembling interest,
+     and that you believe God may permit his will to be made known by
+     such instruments as these. God forbid that I should limit his
+     power! but I fear these poor children are wicked or diseased, and
+     that Satan has nothing to do with it.
+
+     The old woman at the cliff is now very ill: I trust God will take
+     her from the world before she is seized for a witch. There are many
+     ready to believe that she has ridden through the air on a
+     broomstick, or gone to sea in an egg-shell. But you do not love me
+     to jest on this subject. Forgive me! I will not jest again.
+
+     And this balmy Indian summer,--it seems as if it would last
+     forever. But I am so happy now, I can hardly believe there is
+     sorrow in the world, or winter in the year. Winter has no terror
+     now: the long evenings and nights bring me dreams of you, and I
+     awake with the consciousness that you are mine. * * *
+
+Perhaps the reader may think the letter just read a very singular
+love-letter. But it must be remembered that religion was the
+all-absorbing sentiment of the Puritans, and that Seymore's enthusiastic
+temperament made it the subject that most interested him in his letters
+to Edith.
+
+Edith's mind was too well balanced and too happily constituted to allow
+her to partake of his extravagance; but she gave him that dearest proof
+of love, that of softening all his defects, and even exalting them into
+the most precious virtues.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+    "Apart she lived, and still she rests alone:
+    Yon earthly heap awaits no flattering stone."
+
+
+As it was mentioned in Edith's letter, the old woman who lived at the
+cottage by the cliff had become very ill, and it was apparent that she
+would never leave her bed again. Edith had been assiduous in her
+kindness. Dinah had been with her a part of every day, and had watched
+with her many nights. Edith insisted, at last, that her poor slave
+should sleep, and resolved herself to take her place by the bedside.
+
+The old woman had made herself feared and hated by the scattered
+inhabitants. She was called a witch, and they deserted her sick bed,--a
+thing most rare among the kind-hearted dwellers in a thinly-peopled
+neighborhood.
+
+It was a threatening evening when Edith took her station by the low
+pallet of the sick woman. The solitary hut, as I have mentioned, stood
+on the edge of the little bay; and, at high water, it was almost washed
+by the waves.
+
+How different the whole scene from that brilliant morning when Edith
+visited the tenant of the cottage! A leaden cloud seemed now to rest on
+the water, shutting out the fair sky; and, as the sullen waves rolled on
+the beach, a close and stifling air oppressed Edith's spirits.
+
+The old woman was alone: her poor grandchild, wearied with the services
+of the day, had fallen asleep with her hand in her grandmother's, and
+her head falling over the pillow: her long hair rested on the old
+woman's face, which she seemed not to have strength to remove.
+
+Edith's first care was to take the little girl from her grandmother's
+pillow; and, laying her gently on the foot of the bed, she took off her
+own shawl, and made a pillow for her head. The old woman looked at her
+without speaking, and a tear coursed slowly down her cheek.
+
+Edith hoped the hardness was melting from her heart. She took her hand
+tenderly in hers, and whispered, "Cannot you put your trust in God?"
+
+"I cannot pray--to God; no, it is too late. But"--and her voice was
+interrupted with short, impeded breath. She pointed to the child, and
+looked at Edith with an expression so imploring, so full of tenderness
+for the child, of agony that she must leave her, of appeal to Edith's
+compassion, that the tears started to her eyes, and she answered, "Fear
+nothing: I will take care of her; I will be a mother to her."
+
+The old woman pressed her hand: the look of agony passed away from her
+features, and she closed her eyes to sleep.
+
+Edith sat silently by the bedside. The tempest that had been gathering
+over the water now shook the little dwelling: torrents of rain fell, and
+frequent flashes lighted the little room. At last, a gust of wind from
+the broken window extinguished the taper, and Edith was in total
+darkness. It was a warm night for the season, and no fire on the hearth
+to afford a spark by which she could relight it.
+
+Edith trembled; but she tried to be calm. She only feared the old woman
+would die while she held her hand, which she imagined was already
+growing cold in hers.
+
+The storm gradually passed away into silence. There was no sound but the
+short, interrupted breath of her patient, and the soft, healthful,
+regular breathing of infancy. Edith longed for the dawn, and looked
+anxiously through the little casement for the first gray streak. As far
+as the eye could reach, the bay was white with foam; but no light yet
+dawned upon it from the morning.
+
+The old woman awoke. "I cannot see you," she said; "a film is over my
+eyes."
+
+Edith told her the lamp had been extinguished with the wind.
+
+"Alas!" she said; "and I must die as I have lived,--in darkness."
+
+Edith assured her she was not then dying, and begged her to try to pray,
+or to listen while she endeavored, as far as she was able, to offer a
+prayer to God.
+
+"No," she said; "I have lived without prayer, and I will not mock God on
+my death-bed; but, if there is mercy for me, God may listen to you, pure
+and good as you have ever been."
+
+Edith knelt; and, with lips trembling with timidity and responsibility,
+she uttered a low, humble, and earnest prayer.
+
+The old woman seemed at first to listen; but her mind soon wandered:
+broken and, as it afterwards would almost appear, prophetic sentences
+escaped from her lips: "Judgments are coming on this unhappy
+land,--delusions and oppression. Men and devils shall oppress the
+innocent. The good like you, the innocent and good, shall not escape!"
+Then she looked at the sleeping child: "Can the lamb dwell with the
+tiger, or the dove nestle with the hawk? But you have promised: you will
+keep your word; and when God counts his jewels"--
+
+Edith arose from her knees, and trembled like a leaf. With inexpressible
+joy, her eyes fell on her own Dinah, standing looking on, with the
+deepest awe in her countenance. She had risen before the dawn, and come
+to relieve her young mistress, and had entered while Edith was kneeling.
+She now insisted on taking her place. Edith committed to her care the
+sleeping child, and then sought the repose the agitation of the night
+had rendered so necessary.
+
+Before evening, the old woman died; and the next day she was to be
+committed to the earth. Little preparation was necessary for her
+funeral. No mourners were to be summoned from afar: there was no mockery
+of grief. She had lived disliked by her neighbors. A few old women came
+from curiosity to see old Nanny, who had never been very courteous in
+inviting her neighbors to visit her; and they came now to see how she
+had contrived to live upon nothing.
+
+The poor child, since the death of her only friend, had refused to leave
+the body, but sat subdued and tearless, like a faithful dog, watching by
+the side of her grandmother, apparently expecting her to return again to
+life.
+
+Towards evening, a few persons were assembled in the hut to pay the last
+Christian services to the dead. The old woman had always said she would
+be buried, not in the common grave-yard, but near a particular rock
+where her last son who was drowned had been washed on shore and buried.
+
+The neighbors were whispering among themselves, as to what was to be the
+fate of the poor child; every one avoiding to look at her, lest it
+should imply some design to take charge of her. The child looked on with
+wonder, as though she hardly knew why they were there. She had clung to
+Dinah as the best known among them; but, when the prayer was finished,
+and they began to remove the coffin, she uttered a loud cry, flew from
+Dinah's arms, and clung to the bier with all her strength.
+
+The men instinctively paused and laid down their burden. The voice of
+nature in that little child was irresistible. They looked at Edith, who
+had now made known her promise to the grandmother to take care of the
+child, to ask what they should do. She took the child in her arms and
+quieted her till all was over, and then, consigning her to the care of
+Dinah, she was taken to their own home.
+
+Edith felt deeply the responsibility she had assumed in the care and
+instruction of this child. She knew the tenderness of her own heart, her
+yielding nature, and feared she should err on the side of too much
+indulgence. She said to herself, "She shall never need a mother's care.
+I know the heart of the orphan, and no unkindness shall ever make her
+feel that she is motherless."
+
+The poor little Phoebe had cried herself to sleep in Dinah's arms, and
+had been put to bed in her soiled and dirty state. The next morning a
+clean new dress banished the memory of her grandmother, and her childish
+tears were dried, and grief forgotten.
+
+Dinah had brought to aid her the power of soap and water, and had
+disentangled her really soft and beautiful hair; and when Edith came
+down, she would scarcely have known her again. The soil of many weeks
+had been taken from the child's skin, and, under it, her complexion was
+delicately fair: her cheeks were like pale blush roses, and her lips
+were two crimson rosebuds. But with this youthful freshness, which was
+indeed only the brilliancy of color, there was an expression in her face
+that marred its beauty. It was coarse and earthly, and the absence of
+that confiding openness we love to see in children. It reminded one of
+her old grandmother; although the one was fair, and smooth, and
+blooming, the other dark and wrinkled, a stranger would have said they
+were related.
+
+Edith called the child to her, and kissed her fair cheek; but when she
+observed the likeness to the old woman, she turned away with a slight
+shudder, and something like a sigh.
+
+Dinah, an interested observer of every passing emotion, said, softly,
+"The cloud is not gone over yet; a few more tears, and it will pass away
+from her young brow, and then it will be fair as your own."
+
+"It is too fair already," answered Edith; "so much beauty will be hard
+to guide; and then look at that dark, wayward expression."
+
+"Say not so, my dear mistress;" and Dinah drew back the hair from her
+fair forehead. "Look at her beautiful face: in a few days your heart
+will yearn to her as mine does to you."
+
+"God grant I may be as faithful to my duty," said Edith; but this is not
+the way to begin it; and she drew the child to her knee, and a few
+moments of playful caressing brought smiles to the young countenance
+that nearly chased away the dark expression.
+
+Edith, although superior to the age in which she lived, could not but be
+influenced by its peculiarities. The belief that an all-pervading and
+ever-present Providence directed the most minute, as well as the more
+important events of life, was common to the Puritans. She could not free
+herself from a superstitious feeling that this child was to have, in
+some way or other, she knew not how, an unfavorable influence upon her
+happiness. She was free, indeed, from that puerile superstition
+
+    "That God's fixed will from nature's wanderings learns."
+
+But the tempest that shook the little building, the incoherent ravings
+of the old woman's mind, and the solemn darkness of the hour when she
+promised to take charge of the child, had made a deep impression on her
+mind.
+
+It is true "that coming events cast their shadows before." Who has not
+felt presentiments that certain persons and certain places are, in some
+mysterious way, we know not how, connected by invisible links with our
+own destiny? The ancients gave to this hidden and mysterious power the
+name of Fate. The tragedy of life arises from the powerless efforts of
+mortals to contend with its decrees. All that the ancient tragedy taught
+was, to bear evils with fortitude, because they were inevitable; but the
+"hope that is full of immortality" has taught us that they are the
+discipline appointed by Heaven to perfect and prepare our souls for
+their immortal destiny.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+     "There has been too much cause to observe that the Christians that
+     were driven into the American desert which is now called New
+     England, have, to their sorrow, seen Azahel dwelling and raging
+     there in very tragical instances."
+
+     COTTON MATHER.
+
+
+The delusion that passed through our country in 1692 has left a dark
+chapter in the history of New England. But it was not alone in New
+England that this fearful delusion influenced the minds and actions of
+men. It was believed all over Europe, in the seventeenth century, that
+evil spirits mingled in the concerns of mortals, and that compacts were
+made with them, and sealed with the blood of many of the most eminent
+persons of the age.
+
+The desire to penetrate the mysteries of the spiritual natures that we
+believe every where to surround us, has taken different forms in
+different states of society. In New England, it seems to have begun in
+the wicked fancies of some nervous or really diseased children, who were
+permitted, at last, to accuse and persecute persons who were remarkable
+for goodness or intellect, and especially females who were distinguished
+for any excellence of mind or person.
+
+An historian of the time says, "In the present world, it is no wonder
+that the operations of evil angels are more sensible than that of the
+good; nevertheless 'tis very certain that the good angels fly about in
+our infected atmosphere to minister to the good of those who are to be
+the heirs of salvation. Children and ignorant persons first complained
+of being tormented and affected in divers manners. They then accused
+some persons eminent for their virtues and standing in society."
+
+We have seen that Edith was disposed to think lightly of the subject at
+first, although she rejoiced that the old woman of the cliff had escaped
+suspicion by a timely death. But when she found that some of her own
+neighbors had been suspected, and that one old woman, in another
+village, for denying all knowledge of evil spirits, had been executed,
+she was filled with consternation; and when others, to save themselves
+from the same dreadful fate, increased the delusion of the times by
+confessing a compact with the evil one, her pity was mingled with
+indignation. With so much clearness of intellect, and simplicity of
+heart, she could not persuade herself that it was any thing but wilful
+blindness, and a wicked lie.
+
+But Edith began soon to feel much anxiety for her faithful Dinah.
+Persons in any way distinguished for any peculiarity were most likely to
+be accused, and she had secretly made arrangements to send her away, and
+conceal her, should the smallest indication of suspicion fall upon her.
+For herself Edith had no fears. It would have been hard to make this
+pure and simple-minded creature believe that she had an enemy in the
+world. She had not read the French maxim, that there may be such a
+weight of obligation that we can only be released from it by
+ingratitude.
+
+Dinah had remarked, for several days, in the little Phoebe most strange
+and unnatural contortions, and writhings of the body, startings and
+tremblings, turning up her eyes and distorting her mouth; and also that
+she took little food, and often was absent from home; but, with her
+usual tenderness, and fear of giving anxiety to Edith, she had forborne
+to mention it.
+
+Indeed, the child had always been wayward and strange, and especially
+indocile to Edith's instructions, although she seemed at times to have a
+strong affection for her. She was fond of long rambles in the woods, and
+of basking in the sun alone on the beach, and retained all her love for
+those vagrant habits she had learned from her grandmother. Edith had too
+much tenderness and indulgence to restrain what appeared a harmless and
+perhaps healthful propensity.
+
+She had tried, however, to civilize the poor, neglected child, and had
+taught her to say her prayers every night, kneeling at her side.
+
+It was a cold, chilly evening in our tardy spring: the little family had
+drawn around the cheerful evening fire, and the evening meal was just
+finished: Edith felt happy, for she had been reading a cheerful letter
+from Seymore. The shutters were closed, and she had indulged the little
+Phoebe, as she often did at this hour, with a noisy game. Edith was
+already tired: she looked at the clock: it was the bed hour for the
+child.
+
+"Come, my child, be serious for a moment, and say your evening prayer."
+Phoebe kneeled: the prayer was short, but whenever she came to the word
+God, or Savior, she cried out that she could not say it.
+
+Edith concealed her fears, and said, very quietly, "I will say it for
+you; and now, my child, go peaceably to bed, and pray to God to keep you
+from telling falsehoods." Phoebe was awed by her calm, decided manner,
+and, without further disturbance, went quietly to bed.
+
+Full of anxiety, and even terror, Edith sought her humble friend, told
+her the circumstance, and besought her to fly and conceal herself. She
+had provided the means for flight and concealment, and entreated her to
+use them before it was too late.
+
+"I do not fear for myself, my dear mistress," said Dinah. "If the child
+has such design, she has already formed her plan and already accused us;
+and she will not be content with accusing me; you are not safe. You do
+not know her hard and stubborn temper. She is like the young hawk in the
+nest of the dove."
+
+Seeing Edith was dreadfully alarmed, Dinah added, "Do not fear; we are
+in _his_ hand who feeds the young ravens, and numbers the hairs of our
+heads."
+
+Edith began to be a little more composed, when a loud knocking was
+heard at the door. Two men entered, well known to Edith; the officials
+in all occasions of this nature. One was the deacon of the church, a
+heated fanatic, full of religious bigotry, whose head was too weak to
+govern the passionate and blind motions of his heart. While he had been
+under the restraint of Mr. Grafton's calm, enlightened reason, he had
+been only a zealous and useful officer of the church; but now, that he
+considered his own light as no longer hidden under a bushel, his zeal
+burned out with more violence, and he lent himself to all the wild
+fanaticism of the time. The other was an old man, an elder in the
+church; with much tenderness of heart; but he was timid, and relied
+little on his own judgment, which was so little enlightened that he
+easily yielded to what he afterwards, when the delusion passed away,
+bewailed with bitter tears.
+
+Edith was perfectly acquainted with the characters of both. When she saw
+them enter, she turned deadly pale; but she pointed courteously to a
+seat, and placed herself instinctively between them and Dinah, to shield
+her, for she knew too well that there was no escape for her humble
+friend if once in their power. She felt, therefore, a sensible relief
+when she found that she was herself the object of their visit.
+
+Edith had had time to recover a little from her first consternation,
+and, with much self-possession, she asked who were her accusers, and
+demanded the right of being confronted with them.
+
+The men informed her that she would be taken in the morning to the
+meeting-house for examination, and then it would be time enough to know
+her accusers: in the mean time they should leave a guard in the house,
+to prevent all attempts to escape.
+
+Escape! ah, there was none for her. But Edith answered that she wished
+not to escape; that she should demand an examination. Alas! she knew not
+yet the spirit of the times. She was deluded by her own consciousness of
+innocence, and she thought fanaticism itself could not attach a
+suspicion to harmlessness like hers.
+
+Not so Dinah. She was seized with a terror and grief that, for one
+moment, shook her faith in God, and took away all self-possession. She
+knew that innocence, youth, piety, beauty, had been of no avail against
+the demoniac fury of the accusers. She besought, on her knees, and with
+floods of tears, her dear child--as, in her agitation, she called
+her--to avail herself of flight. She convinced Edith that they could
+easily elude the vigilance of their guard; that they could escape by
+water. Paul was an excellent boatman, the sea smooth as a mirror, the
+moon nearly full; they could reach Boston without suspicion. Or she
+would hide her in the woods: she herself knew a place where she could
+bring her food and clothing, and form a shelter for her, and keep her
+safe till all suspicion had ceased.
+
+It would have been better for Edith had she yielded; but her own clear
+reason, free from the mists of fanaticism, deluded her into the
+persuasion that, as nothing could appear against her, it would confirm
+the suspicions against her if she were to avoid by flight a full and
+open examination.
+
+Before they retired for the night, they kneeled down to pray. Dinah
+could not subdue her sobs; but Edith's voice was calm and firm as she
+asked the protection of the Father of the fatherless, and committed her
+poor friend to him who is no respector of persons.
+
+Dinah entreated her mistress to allow her to sit by her all night and
+watch, while she tried to sleep. This Edith refused: she wished to be
+alone. She had much to do to prepare herself for to-morrow, and she
+justly feared that Dinah's distress would soften her heart, and shake
+her firmness too much.
+
+As they passed through the chamber, Dinah bearing the candle, the little
+Phoebe, restless in her sleep, had nearly thrown herself out of bed.
+Edith stopped, and, bending over, replaced the bedclothes, and said
+softly to Dinah, "If to-morrow should be fatal, if I should not live to
+keep my promise to the old woman, I can trust her to you: you will be to
+her, as you have been to me, a mother; O, more than a mother?"
+
+She stopped; her voice choked. She removed the thick hair from the brow
+of the sleeping child, but even in sleep her face wore the frown that so
+often marred its beauty. "Dinah," she said, "she is yours; you will love
+her as you have me."
+
+"That I can never promise; but I will do my duty," said Dinah.
+
+Edith pressed her lips--thirsting as they ever did for a return of
+love--on the fair brow, and then, taking the candle from Dinah, entered
+her own room. Her heart was oppressed with apprehension, and she would
+not trust herself to say good night to her faithful servants.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+    "But ye! ye are changed since ye met me last:
+    There is something bright from your features past;
+    There is that come over your heart and eye,
+    Which speaks of a world where the flowers must die.
+    Ye smile; but your smile has a dimness yet:
+    Oh! what have ye looked on since last we met?"
+
+    THE VOICE OF SPRING.
+
+
+Before the events mentioned in the last chapter occurred, the winter had
+passed away, and the reluctant footsteps of our northern spring began to
+appear. The purple Hepatica opened her soft eye in the woods, and the
+delicate Sanguinaria spread her snowy bosom to catch the pale sunbeam.
+Already the maple-trees had hung out their beautiful crimson blossoms,
+and the thrilling note of the song-sparrow echoed through the forest.
+Then came the chilling wind from the east, its wings loaded with frost;
+and the timid spring hid her tender blossoms, and wrapped herself in a
+watery veil.
+
+The weather and the spring were unnoticed by Dinah, when she sought,
+soon after sunrise, the pillow of her mistress. The night had brought
+no rest to her throbbing temples and anxious heart: she was surprised,
+therefore, to find Edith still sleeping. She had sat up late, arranging
+her father's and her own papers, and providing, by a distribution of her
+little property, for the old age of her two faithful servants. They were
+no longer slaves; Mr. Grafton had given them freedom at his death. She
+left the little Phoebe under their guardianship. She had also written a
+letter to Seymore, to ask him to come and aid her by his counsel in this
+extremity. It was nearly dawn when she sought her pillow; and sleep,
+which has been called the friend of sorrow--"but it is the happy who
+have called it so"--had only for a few moments left her with untroubled
+dreams. Her sleep was not heavy; for the gentle footstep of Dinah awoke
+her. When she saw her humble friend's troubled expression, she tried to
+smile; and, stroking her dark cheek as she bent over her, she said, "We
+must look bright to-day, my poor Dinah, or they will think we are
+afraid."
+
+They prepared for the arrival of the officers; and, when breakfast was
+ready, the little Phoebe was not to be found. Although Dinah looked
+very grave, this occasioned no anxiety in Edith, when she recollected
+the vagrant habits of the child.
+
+After breakfast, which was indeed not tasted, the same persons who had
+visited her the night before came to conduct Edith to the meeting-house,
+the place of examination. The house was nearly full; and among that
+crowd there was scarcely one to whom Edith had not been a friend and a
+benefactor, as far as her humble means would allow. As she entered,
+there was one by whose sick bed she had watched; another whose infant
+had died in her arms; and children stood looking on with stupid wonder
+to whom she had given flowers, and primers, and, more than all, her own
+gentle smile. But now every eye was averted, or turned on her with
+suspicion and terror,--so hardening is the power of fanaticism.
+
+I believe I have said that my heroine was not beautiful; but the inward
+harmony must have given a spiritual beauty to features animated with
+intellect, and softened by tenderness of heart; and a self-relying
+innocence and purity imparted something more of grace to her person than
+the most finished art could have given.
+
+Edith became very pale as she entered; and Dinah, who had followed her
+closely, begged permission to stand near and support her. This was
+denied, and she was placed between two men, who each held an arm, and in
+front of those who were to examine her.
+
+The afflicted--that is, the accuser--was now called in. Edith looked
+eagerly around, and, with grief and astonishment, saw her little Phoebe,
+the child of her care, when almost close to her, utter a piercing cry,
+and fall down in violent convulsions. She started forward to assist and
+raise her, but the men drew her rudely back. And this was her accuser!
+
+At the same time with Edith, a poor old woman, nearly eighty years of
+age, was brought in. Her accuser was her own grandchild,--a girl about
+the same age as Phoebe. Together they had concerted this diabolical
+plot, and had rehearsed and practised beforehand their contortions and
+convulsions, excited, no doubt, by the notoriety of wicked children they
+had heard of.
+
+The poor old creature was bent and haggard. She would have wept, but,
+alas! the fountain of her tears was dried up; and she looked at her
+grandchild with a sort of stupid incredulity and wonder. Her inability
+to weep was regarded as an infallible proof of her guilt. As she stood
+beside Edith, she shook with age and terror; and Edith, touched with
+pity, though she trembled herself, and was deadly pale, tried to give
+her a smile of hope and encouragement. The poor old wretch did not need
+it: she not only confessed to every thing of which she was accused, but
+added such circumstances of time and place, and of the various forms the
+devil had taken in her person, that Edith almost sickened with disgust.
+She could not understand how an old person, on the very verge of the
+grave, could wish to lengthen out her few years by such base and wicked
+lies.
+
+The young cannot believe that the old are unwilling to die. But it is an
+acknowledged truth, that the longer we have worn our earthly vesture,
+the dearer becomes the thin and faded remnant. The young resign their
+hold of life with hardly a regret, while the old cling with the utmost
+tenacity to the wavering and nearly-parted thread.
+
+Edith turned away from the partner of her suspected guilt, and asked to
+have the child brought near her. She held out her hand, and looked
+mildly in her face. The moment the child touched Edith's hand, she was
+still: this was a part of the plot: but the moment her hand was
+withdrawn, she fell down again in violent convulsions, and cried out
+that pins were thrust into her. In the midst of this acting, she caught
+Dinah's stern, reproachful eye fixed upon her, and she instantly became
+still. But this did not aid poor Edith's cause; for they cried out that
+the child was struck dumb by the accused.
+
+The old woman also, feeling perhaps that Edith's integrity was a
+reproach to her own weakness, cried out that she was pierced with pins,
+and pinched by Edith, although with invisible fingers, as she stood near
+her; and, turning back her sleeve from her bony and wrinkled arm, she
+showed a discolored spot, which she declared had not been there when she
+left her home. It had not, indeed; but every one knows how quickly a
+bruise is visible in the stagnant blood of age, and the mark had been
+left by the hand of the person who held her arm.
+
+Edith, wearied and disgusted, desired to be taken back to her prison,
+there to await her trial before the judges of the Province. Every thing
+had occurred that was most unfavorable to her, and she felt but too well
+that she must bear the suspicion of a crime of which she was as
+unconscious as the unborn infant. Her heart yearned towards the poor
+infatuated child, and she earnestly begged that she might be permitted
+to talk with her alone. This was granted, and she was guarded to her
+prison.
+
+There was no proper prison in our village, and Edith was guarded in one
+of the rooms of the deacon's house who had been so active in her
+accusation.
+
+During the night that passed after her examination, Edith had time to
+arrange her thoughts. Before she knew who her accusers were, she had
+been moving in the dark; and now, when she thought of the whole insane
+proceeding, she could scarcely believe they would be guilty of the
+monstrous crime of condemning her on the testimony of that child alone.
+
+When the deacon visited her in the morning, she said, with much warmth,
+"Have the days of Queen Mary come back? Am I to be suspected, condemned,
+imprisoned, on the testimony of that poor child,--the child that I took
+to my home when no one else among you would offer her a shelter?"
+
+The deacon answered, "that the testimony was so much more convincing, as
+the child had lived in the house with her."
+
+"And is her word to be taken against the testimony of my whole life? You
+know how I have lived among you from my infancy."
+
+"Yes; but God may choose the fairest of his works as instruments of his
+sovereign will."
+
+"Have you forgotten my father?" said Edith,--"how he lived among you? He
+was ever your friend--always near you in every trouble. And myself"--she
+stopped; for she would not remind them of her deeds of kindness,--of the
+daily beauty of her life in their humble circle; nor would she recall
+her orphanhood, her unprotected state; but she looked down, and her eyes
+filled with tears. "God," she said, at length, "is the protection of the
+orphan; and he will avenge this great sin, and you will answer for it at
+his bar."
+
+The deacon looked sternly decided and unmoved, but he began to urge her
+to confess,--to do as others had done, and save her life by
+acknowledging the crime.
+
+Indignation kindled in Edith's eye; but she checked it, and said, "I
+cannot, I durst not, belie my own soul, and commit so great a sin. God,
+who is the searcher of my heart and your heart, as we shall both answer
+at the judgment day, is witness that I know nothing of witchcraft,--of
+no temptation of the evil one. I have felt, indeed--as who has not?--the
+temptations that arise from our own passions; but I know no other, and
+can confess no other."
+
+She then desired that Phoebe might be brought to her, and Dinah
+permitted to attend her in her prison. They consented that Edith should
+see the child in the presence of one witness; and the mild old man who
+was with the deacon said he would bring her himself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+     "I am constrained to declare, as the result of as thorough a
+     scrutiny as I could institute, my belief that this dreadful
+     transaction was introduced and driven on by wicked perjury and
+     wilful malice."
+
+     UPHAM'S LECTURE OX SALEM WITCHCRAFT.
+
+
+     "Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts?"
+
+     LEAR.
+
+
+There seems sometimes to be an element of evil in the heart of a child,
+that would almost persuade us to believe in original sin. In the breast
+of those who have been favorably born and kindly nurtured, it may sleep
+forever; but, when the conscience has been soiled in early childhood, it
+awakes the appetite for sin, and the restraint that comes afterwards
+curbs without subduing the disposition to evil.
+
+It is true that poor Phoebe had felt a strong affection for her
+grandmother; and, without all other moral restraint, it was the only
+point in which her heart could be touched. The vagrant life she had led
+had also had its influence:
+
+    "Happy because the sunshine was her dower,"
+
+she could not always be insensible to the beauty of the heaven that had
+so often canopied her sleep, or the grandeur of the ocean where she had
+passed whole days playing with the waves. She rebelled against the
+restraint that every feminine occupation imposed on this wild liberty.
+She quailed, indeed, before Dinah's more resolute spirit; but Edith's
+gentleness had failed to touch her heart; and she knew that her forced
+obedience to Dinah was only the result of Edith's authority.
+
+When the child appeared, Edith held out her hand with her own grave,
+sweet smile; but, the moment the child saw her, she began again to act
+her part, and to throw her body and limbs into violent contortions.
+Edith was not alarmed: she saw it was feigned; and, drawing her to her
+knees, she held both her little hands tightly clasped in hers. Phoebe
+became instantly calm; but this was a part of the system of
+deception,--that, as soon as the accused touched the afflicted, they
+should be calmed and healed.
+
+Edith looked in her face, and said, very kindly, "Tell me, my poor
+child, who has persuaded you to do this wicked thing,--to accuse me of
+this horrible crime? tell me truly. I shall not be angry with you, I
+shall not punish you, if you tell me the truth. Who first spoke to you
+about it? What have they promised you for bringing this trouble on me?"
+
+The child, unmoved, said, "You yourself made me do it."
+
+"I! O, my poor Phoebe, how can you be so wicked as to tell this dreadful
+lie? Do you not know that God sees you and hears you, and that he will
+punish you for it? I may die: you may cause my death; but you will live
+to repent; and, O, how sorry you will be in after years, when you think
+how much I loved you, and you have caused my death! But, my poor Phoebe,
+you know not what you do; you know not what death is."
+
+"My grandmother died," said the child.
+
+"Ah, yes; but she died quietly in her bed, and you were sleeping near;
+and when I took you in my arms to look at her, you saw only her peaceful
+countenance. But I shall not die thus: I shall be dragged before angry
+men, and, with irons on my hands and ankles, I shall be lifted to the
+scaffold, and there, before hundreds of angry faces turned towards me,
+I shall die alone! not peacefully, as your grandmother did, when with my
+own hands I closed her eyes, but horribly, in pain and agony! and you
+will have done this,--you that I have loved so"--
+
+Phoebe became very red, and the tears came to her eyes.
+
+Edith thought she had touched the child's heart, and continued: "I knew
+you could not be so wicked, so young and looking so innocent. No, my
+child; you love me, and you will unsay all you have said, and we will go
+home again together."
+
+The child answered, with much violence, "No, no, never! you pricked me
+with pins, and you tormented me."
+
+"O, monstrous!" said Edith; "if I could believe in devils, I should
+believe you were now possessed. O, it is not natural! so young, and with
+a woman's nature! You do not love me, then. I have punished you when you
+have done wrong, and you have not forgiven me: you wish to be revenged.
+You do not answer. Phoebe! tell me: are you angry that I punished you?
+God knows it pained me to do so. But your poor grandmother gave you to
+me that I might try to make you a good child; and if I had not punished
+you when you did wrong, you would have grown up a wicked woman. God
+grant you may not be so now! you are already revenged."
+
+Phoebe said, very sullenly, "You punished me twice."
+
+"Good God! and is it for that you have brought on me this terrible evil?
+Can such revenge dwell in so young a heart?"
+
+Edith walked several times across the room, trying to calm her agitated
+nerves. The child stood with an expression of obstinate determination in
+her whole manner.
+
+At length Edith went to her, and took her, as she had often done at
+home, in her arms.
+
+"My dear Phoebe, do you remember the day when your grandmother died? I
+was there by her bedside; and you, a poor, deserted child, were crying
+bitterly. I took you home to my house. Like myself, you were an orphan;
+and I prayed to the orphan's Father that from me your little heart might
+never know a pang of sorrow. You fell asleep in my arms; and since then
+I have ever loved you almost as though I were indeed your mother, and
+you were my own child. And you, Phoebe, you have loved me, have you
+not?"
+
+The child was silent.
+
+"Do you remember the fever you had soon after? when you were restless in
+your bed, and I took you in my arms, and all night my bosom was your
+pillow, and I watched you many nights, and thought not of sleep or
+fatigue when I held your little hand, burning with fever, in my own all
+night? Ah! you loved me then; you will love me again, and--"
+
+"I never loved you," said the child; "I do not love you now."
+
+Edith put her quickly from her arms, and turning to the man who was
+present, "Take her away," she said; "take the poor child away. O, my
+God! is it for this I have lavished on her the tenderness of my heart! I
+warmed her in my bosom, and she has stung me to the quick. O, had I been
+less indulgent, I might have subdued her stubborn nature. Of what avail
+has been a life of self-denial, of benevolence? Of what avail that I
+have striven to enlighten my own mind and to do good to others? In one
+moment, by that child of my own cherishing, but the creature of my own
+bounty, I am suspected of a horrible, contemptible crime; humiliated to
+the very dust. O, my Father! it is too much." She covered her face with
+her hands, and burst into tears.
+
+The person who had witnessed the scene with the child was the same elder
+I have mentioned as possessing much tenderness of heart, but too weak a
+head to listen to its dictates when opposed to the influence of others.
+He had been much affected by her appeal to the child, and came back to
+urge her, if she had any friends to espouse her cause, to send for them.
+He said the fanaticism was increasing; that the prisons in many villages
+were filled with the accused; that the hearts of the people were
+hardened against them; and that her own cause had been much injured by
+the confession of the old woman: and he ended by entreating her to
+confess also, and save her life.
+
+To the last proposal, Edith did not answer. She said she had already
+written to the only friend on whom she could rely, and that Paul had
+gone himself with her letter. Her cause, she said, seemed already lost,
+and all she wished at present was, that Dinah might be permitted to
+visit her, and that she might be left alone.
+
+When Edith was alone, she felt the depression that succeeds to great
+excitement. She looked back on her life with that sick and heart-broken
+feeling that the young experience after severe disappointments. She was
+too young to die; and, though her life had been comparatively blameless,
+the excess of feeling she had lavished on a few idols seemed now to her
+almost like a crime. She had forgotten, she thought, that her duties had
+been plain, and simple, and humble, lying all about her path like
+unnoticed flowers, while she had longed for something more exciting to
+fill her heart.
+
+It is easy for the accused to believe themselves guilty. She trembled
+when she thought how many, not weaker than herself, when suspected and
+deserted by friends, had yielded to their fears, and even fancied
+themselves _guilty_ of crimes which they abhorred; and she mentally
+prayed, "Ah, my Father, save me from myself." Then came the thought of
+Seymore, of his grief, his desolation! "Ah, who will understand him,"
+she said; "who will comfort him when I am gone? But will he remember
+me?" thought she; "will he think of me in 'widowhood of heart?'"
+
+Who would die and be wholly forgotten? We long intensely to live in the
+hearts that love us now. We would not pass away "like the summer-dried
+fountain," forgotten when its sound has ceased. We would have our lowly
+grave visited by holy, twilight thoughts, and our image return at the
+hour of prayer. How few are thus remembered! Now Edith thought of her
+father, and all the yearning of her heart, which her love for Seymore
+had stifled, came back, and torrents of tears flowed as she recalled her
+happy childhood.
+
+They were checked by the entrance of Dinah. She brought comfort with
+her, and a cheerful countenance, for she did not know the result of
+Edith's conversation with the child, and she was full of hope that
+Phoebe would retract all she had said.
+
+Edith could not bear to undeceive her poor friend, and smiled, and
+thanked her as she arranged a nice, clean bed, placed the books she had
+brought within her reach, and pressed her to eat of the delicacies she
+had prepared. She arranged the little repast with all the neatness of
+home, and gave to the gloomy apartment an air of comfort; and Edith
+smiled again, and felt lightened of half her load of despondency, by the
+presence of this faithful guardian.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+                        "'T is past! I wake
+      A captive and alone, and far from thee,
+    My love and friend! yet fostering, for thy sake,
+      A quenchless hope of happiness to be;
+    And feeling still my woman's spirit strong
+    In the deep faith that lifts from earthly wrong
+    A heavenward glance."
+
+    MRS. HEMANS.
+
+
+The next morning Edith was informed that Seymore had arrived. As soon as
+he received her letter he travelled with all the rapidity the state of
+the country permitted, when the journey from Boston to Salem was the
+affair of a day, as it is now of half an hour.
+
+From all we have learned of the character of Seymore, the reader will
+not be surprised to find that, although never taking an active part in
+the persecutions of the time, the character of his enthusiasm was such
+that he lent an easy faith to the stories he had heard of the possessed,
+and believed that God was manifesting his power by granting, for a
+season, such liberty to the prince of evil.
+
+When, however, he received Edith's letter, he felt pierced as it were
+with his own sword. He trembled when he thought of his almost idolatrous
+love, and with a faith which he fancied resembled that of Abraham, he
+believed the time had now come when he must cut off a right hand, and
+pluck out a right eye, to give evidence of his submission to the will of
+God.
+
+With this disposition of mind he arrived at the scene of our narrative.
+In the mean time the tender-hearted elder had become so much interested
+to save Edith, that he contrived to have Seymore placed on the jury,
+hoping that his deep interest in her would be the means of returning a
+verdict of _not guilty_. Seymore was therefore spared the pain of an
+interview with Edith, which would probably have convinced him of her
+innocence, before the trial.
+
+Edith awoke the next morning from a happy dream. She was walking with
+Seymore by the margin of the great ocean, and his low, deep voice
+mingled in her ear with the liquid sound of the dying wave. She awoke, a
+captive and alone: no, not alone, for the faithful Dinah was standing by
+her bedside, so tearful, so subdued, that the smile the happy dream had
+left on Edith's lips instantly faded. She remembered it was the day of
+her trial, and she prepared to meet it.
+
+These trials were held in the meeting-house, and were opened and closed
+with a religious service. This seems like a mockery to us, but our
+fathers thought they were performing a sacred duty; and however
+frivolous or disgusting were many of the details, the trial was rendered
+more appalling by giving to the whole the appearance of a holy
+sacrifice.
+
+Edith was far from being insensible to the terrors of her situation, but
+she found it necessary to assume a cheerfulness she did not feel, in
+order to soothe the dreadful agitation of Dinah. The poor African
+trusted in God; but she could not shield her child from the tyranny of
+human power.
+
+When Edith entered the thronged meeting-house, a paleness, like that of
+death, overspread her countenance. She requested that Dinah might stand
+near her to support her, lest she should faint. This was rudely denied.
+She was answered, "If she had strength to torment that child, she had
+strength to stand alone."
+
+She could not wipe the tears that gushed into her eyes at this cruel
+answer, for each hand was extended, and closely held by an officer,--a
+precaution always adopted in these trials, lest the prisoner should
+afflict some person in the crowded multitude.
+
+She had no sooner become a little calm, than her eye sought Seymore
+among the crowd. She was shocked with the change an "o'erwrought spirit"
+had effected in his person. His pale forehead was traced with veins that
+were swelled almost to bursting; a fire was burning in his dark, sunken
+eyes, and crimson spots flushed each cheek.
+
+As Edith looked at him, her heart swelled with an infinite pity. For the
+moment, her own appalling situation melted away from her thoughts. For
+the moment, it was of little importance to her whether she lived or
+died. All she wished was to be near Seymore, to speak to him, to soothe
+and calm his agitated spirit.
+
+She was recalled to herself by the opening of the trial. The prisoner
+was first commanded to repeat the Lord's prayer. This Edith did in a
+low, sweet voice, that sounded to the hushed audience like plaintive
+music.
+
+It is not my purpose to enter into the details of this trial. It is
+enough that "every idle rumor, every thing that the gossip of the
+credulous, or the fertile memories of the malignant could produce that
+had an unfavorable bearing on the prisoner, however foreign it might be
+to the indictment, was brought before the jury,"[3] in addition to the
+testimony of the child, and the falsehood of the old woman.
+
+[Footnote 3: Upham's History of Witchcraft.]
+
+The cause was at length given to the jury. They did not leave their
+seats; and when it came to the turn of Seymore, who was the last to
+speak, the crimson blood rushed to the cheek, brow, and temples of
+Edith, and then left them paler than before: a sick sensation came over
+her, and she would have fainted, had she not been relieved by tears,
+burning hot, that gushed from her eyes.
+
+Seymore had covered his face when he first entered, and had not looked
+at Edith. So hushed was the crowd, that the word "_guilty_," wrung as it
+were from him in the lowest whisper, was heard distinctly through the
+whole meeting-house. It pierced Edith's ear like the voice of a trumpet;
+and from that moment the spirit of a martyr entered her breast. She felt
+herself deserted by the whole of her little world, falsely convicted of
+a crime she abhorred, and left without human sympathy. She turned to
+God. "He who seeth in secret," she said, "knows my innocence;" and she
+bowed her head, and made no further answer.
+
+The trial was closed as it began,--with religious services. A hymn was
+sung; and Edith, feeling, as I have said, an elevation that she could
+not herself understand, joined in the devotion. The others stopped; for
+they would not mingle their voices with one convicted of witchcraft: the
+very evil one was mocking them. Edith continued alone; and her rich,
+sweet tones thrilled their hearts like the voice of an angel. She was
+reminded by a whisper from Dinah that she was singing alone; and,
+ceasing, she blushed deeply, and covered her face from the curious gaze
+of the multitude.
+
+As Edith returned to her prison, guarded on each side, and followed by
+Dinah, she thought of the Lady Ursula, whose cruel fate had moved her so
+deeply. And was she indeed the same person? The child that had wept her
+fate so bitterly was now to meet one far more terrible: and she felt
+strength to meet it. Every wave, as it had passed over her, had brought
+out the hidden beauty and strength of her soul; and, though there was in
+her no air of triumph, a tranquil contentment and repose was expressed
+in her whole person.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+    "No, never more, O, never in the worth
+    Of its pure cause, let sorrowing love on earth
+    Trust fondly,--never more! The hope is crushed
+    That lit my life,--the voice within me hushed
+    That spoke sweet oracles."
+
+
+The unnatural excitement that had borne our heroine up during the last
+part of her trial forsook her when she entered once more her dreary
+prison. She was again alone,--again a weak and timid woman. The
+momentary exaltation that a sense of injustice had given her when under
+the gaze of numbers, gave way to memories of the deep and unforgotten
+happiness she had connected with Seymore. All her sweet anticipations of
+soothing his spirit, of leading him to more rational views of God and of
+himself, faded away. In a few days, she would be no more, and
+remembered, perhaps, with pity or scorn. One last, lingering weakness
+remained: it was the fear of losing the respect and tenderness of
+Seymore.
+
+Like all who love deeply, she had dated her existence from the time she
+became acquainted with Seymore: all before had become a blank in her
+memory; but now her early years rose up before her, like the reflected
+sunlight on distant hills. The thought of her father came back with
+melting tenderness. Ah, now was he avenged for the short forgetfulness
+with which she had ever reproached herself.
+
+She threw herself on her knees, and prayed silently. She felt calmed and
+elevated, as if in immediate answer to her prayer. All selfish and
+agitating emotions passed away. A spirit of forgiveness, of endurance,
+of calm and patient trust, entered her soul. She felt that, with
+Seymore's convictions and sense of duty, he could not have acted
+otherwise; he could not but bear his testimony to what he thought truth;
+and almost a divine pity for his errors, and a purer love for his truth,
+filled her heart.
+
+She was informed that Seymore was waiting to see her. This was a trial
+she had expected, and she was now prepared to meet him. He entered
+trembling, pale, and wholly unmanned. As he tried to speak, his voice
+failed, and he burst into tears.
+
+It is fearful to see a strong man weep. Edith was not prepared for this
+excess of emotion. Those who have seen Retch's exquisite drawing of
+Cordelia when Lear awakes, and she asks "if he knows her," can imagine
+the tender pity of her expression as she went to him and placed her hand
+in his. A sweet smile was on her lips,--that smile that shows that woman
+can mingle an infinite tenderness with the forgiveness of every injury.
+He pressed her hand to his heart--his lips; and when he caught her
+eye,--"O, do not look so mildly at me," he said; "reproach me, scorn me,
+hate me: I can bear all rather than those meek eyes,--than that
+forgiving smile."
+
+"Be calm, dear Seymore," she said; "with your convictions, you could not
+have done otherwise. You believe in the reality of these possessions.
+The evidence against me was more and stronger than has been sufficient
+to condemn many as innocent as I am. You can have no cause for
+self-reproach."
+
+"Innocent! O, say not that you are innocent! God has many ways of trying
+his elect. You he has tried severely with temptations from the prince of
+evil. He chooses souls like yours. O, Edith, for my sake, for your own
+sake, acknowledge that you have been tempted. It only is required that
+you should say you have been deceived; then all will be well."
+
+For a moment, Edith's face was crimsoned. "What! become a traitor to my
+own soul! lose forever the unsullied jewel of truth, and the peace of a
+pure conscience! and do you counsel this?"
+
+"Many have confessed," he said, "many of undoubted truth, of ripe
+wisdom, who could not be deceived, and who would not confess to a
+lie."[4]
+
+[Footnote 4: "Fifty-five persons, many of them previously of the most
+_unquestionable character for intelligence, virtue, and piety_,
+acknowledged the truth of the charges that were made against them,
+confessed that they were witches, and had made a compact with the devil.
+It is probable that the motive of self-preservation influenced most of
+them: an awful death was in immediate prospect. The delusion had
+obtained full possession of the people, the witnesses, the jury, and the
+court. By acknowledging the crime, they might in a moment secure their
+lives and liberty. Their principles could not withstand the temptation:
+they made a confession, and were rewarded by a pardon."--_Upham's
+Lectures on Salem Witchcraft._]
+
+"But _I_ should confess to a lie,--a base and wicked lie. I have no
+faith in these temptations. I believe God suffers us to be tempted by
+our own passions and unrestrained imaginations, but not by visible or
+invisible evil spirits. O, listen to me: go no further in this mad,
+this wicked delusion. Spare the innocent blood that will be shed. If I
+must die, let my death be the means of turning you and others from this
+dreadful sin."
+
+"And can you bear to have your name sullied by this alliance with the
+wicked? Those who die as criminals are believed guilty of crimes; and
+can you consent to be remembered as the associate of evil spirits?"
+
+"Falsehood can live but a few years," she answered; "there is an
+immortality in truth and virtue. I cannot blush to be confounded with
+the guilty; for it is my unwillingness to sully my conscience with a lie
+that leads me there."
+
+Seymore was silent for a few moments. "Edith," he said at last,
+straining both her hands in his, "have you been able to think how cruel
+this death may be? Have you fortitude? Can you bear to think of it?" and
+he shuddered, and covered his face with his hands.
+
+Edith for a moment turned pale. "I have ever shrunk," she said, "from
+physical pain. My own extreme timidity has never given me courage to
+bear the least of its evils. I believe, then, that it will be spared me:
+God will give me courage at the moment, or he will mercifully shorten
+the pain; for what is beyond our strength we are not called to bear."
+
+"And can you part with life thus triumphantly?"
+
+"Ah, my friend, there is no triumph in my soul. In its deepest
+sanctuary, I feel that God will pardon my sins, and accept my death as
+in obedience to my conscience. But, O! I have not sought it: life is
+still sweet to me."
+
+"You shall not die,--you must not! you will not leave me! Edith, have
+you forgotten our moments of bliss,--our dreams of happiness to
+come,--the quiet home, the peaceful fireside, where we hoped to pass our
+lives together? Have you forgotten how long, how truly, how fervently, I
+have loved you? and is this to be the close of all?"
+
+Edith's hand trembled in his, but she answered cheerfully: "The close!
+ah, no: look upward. God has tried us both with grievous trials. Mine
+will cease first. Yours is the hardest to bear: to linger here--to do
+God's work alone. Let me be to you like one departed a little while
+before you, that would not be mourned, but remembered always."
+
+They were both silent for some moments; Seymore contending with
+unutterable regret, oppressed with an emotion that was almost the agony
+of remorse.
+
+Edith understood his contending emotions. "Think," she said, "that you
+have been the instrument of Providence to lead me to heaven. I do not
+regret to die early: God has permitted me to solve the mystery of life.
+I see his hand even from the moment when that child was committed to my
+care. Thank God, I can now submit to his will; and, although life were
+sweet with you, my death may bring you nearer to heaven."
+
+"Edith," he said at last, "I have been deceived. Such faith, such divine
+forgiveness, such noble fortitude, cannot be the work of evil spirits.
+Your faith is purer and stronger than mine,--your reason more
+enlightened. I have erred, dreadfully erred."
+
+A bright smile illumined her face, and she pressed his hand in hers.
+
+"I have done most dreadfully wrong," he said; "I sinned from ignorance."
+
+"God will forgive you," said Edith; "and I,--I cannot forgive, for I
+could not blame."
+
+He started up. "It is not too late to repair this dreadful evil: it will
+be easy for you to escape. If I cannot gain a reversion of the
+sentence, we can escape: we will leave this country of delusion and
+error; we will go home--to England. There, O Edith--"
+
+The blood for a moment rushed to Edith's cheek and brow; but she
+answered, sadly, "No, Seymore, it cannot be; after all that has passed,
+it would ruin your character, your prospects, your usefulness, forever.
+We are too weak to stem, to oppose this mad delusion. Bigotry and power
+are all around us."
+
+"You hesitate. Ah, you do not love me as you did;" and he became again
+violently agitated.
+
+Edith took his hand in hers, and pressed it to her lips. "Tempt me not,"
+she said, "with visions of happiness that can never be. Let us rather
+pray to God to support us in this bitter hour."
+
+They bowed their young heads together, and their tears mingled. Edith's
+silent prayer was wholly for him. True to her woman's nature, she forgot
+herself in his deeper sorrow.
+
+He was calm, and Edith would not prolong the interview; and Seymore left
+her all the more hastily as he was determined to employ every means to
+save her. He was not permitted to enjoy that happiness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+      "See, they are gone!--
+    The earth has bubbles, as the waters have,
+    And these are some of them. They vanished
+    Into the air, and what seemed corporal,
+    Melted as breath into the wind."
+
+    SHAKSPEARE.
+
+
+When Edith was alone, she felt that weakness and exhaustion of the body
+that all the painful excitements of the day had produced. She threw
+herself on the bed, and Dinah was soon at her side.
+
+"Sing me one of the hymns you used to sing in my happy childhood;
+perhaps I may sleep."
+
+Dinah sat by the side of the bed, and Edith laid her head on the breast
+of her faithful friend, while she began in a tremulous, low tone, that
+became stronger and clearer as the holy fervor of the hymn inspired her.
+
+Edith lay motionless, but between her closed eyelids the large tears
+forced themselves, and fell slowly down her cheeks. At length, like a
+tired infant, she slept.
+
+Dinah laid her head gently on the pillow; with the tenderest hand, wiped
+away the tears; drew the covering over her; with noiseless step excluded
+the light, and then sat down to watch by her.
+
+It was the bitterest hour poor Dinah had ever passed. She tried to pray,
+but she found submission impossible. She had had many trials. She had
+been torn from her native land, chained in a slave ship, exposed for
+sale in the slave market; but since she had been a Christian, she had
+blessed her various trials. Now her faith in God seemed entirely to
+fail.
+
+She took, as she had often done to comfort her, the cool, soft hand of
+her mistress in hers. It was now burning hot, and her own tears, as they
+fell, seemed to scald her.
+
+But just at that moment a thought darted into her mind, and she has
+often said that it was a direct inspiration from God. "I will save her!"
+was the thought. The blood rushed to her head and face, and then
+retreated again to the heart; she trembled, and, for the first time in
+her life, the poor African was near fainting. She fell on her knees:
+"Yes, God help me, I will save her." The operations of the mind at such
+moments are rapid as lightning; and, in a few moments, her plan was
+arranged.
+
+When Edith awoke and saw the change a few moments had wrought in Dinah's
+appearance, the light that shone in her eye, and her cheek "flushed
+through its olive hue," she feared, for an instant, that great anxiety
+and grief had shaken her reason.
+
+"My poor Dinah," she said, taking her hand in hers, "you are ill; you
+are feverish; you have been too long shut up in this dismal room with
+me. Go out, I pray you, and take the cool evening air, and I will try to
+sleep again."
+
+It was what Dinah wished, for she desired to consult Paul; but she
+busied herself with all those little nameless attentions that love alone
+can devise. As she was folding her mistress's hair for the night, Edith
+said, "Dinah, I can escape this dreadful death that awaits me."
+
+"O, my dear mistress, how?" said Dinah, her whole face quivering with
+emotion.
+
+"With a lie! by confessing that I have tormented that poor child, and
+that I am myself possessed by evil spirits."
+
+Dinah drooped again. "You could not do that," she said; "no, you could
+not dishonor yourself with a falsehood: but if you could escape without
+violating your conscience, would you not?"
+
+"Certainly," answered Edith: "if God were to place the means of escape
+within my reach, I would make use of them, as I would use the means to
+recover from a fever. I should violate no law, for the proceedings
+against me were unjust, and the testimony false. I could not yield to
+Seymore's desire that I should escape, because his was one of the voices
+that condemned me, and he could open my prison door, if at all, only by
+an open and honorable confession of his error."
+
+Dinah trembled with joy at hearing Edith speak thus of her willingness
+to escape, could it be effected with truth; but she would not hint at
+her hopes till she had arranged her plan with the assistance of Paul.
+
+After a pause, Edith said, "Alas, there is no hope of escape: and why do
+you fold my hair so carefully? it will never delight your eyes more."
+
+Dinah answered, "Never despair: I see a light behind the cloud: the
+morning is breaking."
+
+Dinah consulted Paul, and the plan they concerted together was not
+difficult to execute. Edith, after long entreaty, yielded to the
+affectionate creature, and the more readily, as she knew Dinah was so
+great and universal a favorite in the village that no evil could befall
+her.
+
+After having her complexion darkened with an herb which Dinah had
+prepared, Edith exchanged clothes with her humble friend; and at night
+Dinah remained in the prison, while, with infinite precaution, she
+eluded the observation of the one person who had been placed at the door
+to guard her. Paul was secreted without, and the trembling Edith,
+without being observed, found shelter and concealment in the ruined hut
+of Phoebe's grandmother.
+
+Paul, as I have said before, was an excellent boatman. Soon as the first
+streak of dawning light appeared, secretly and in silence, he dipped his
+oar into the water.
+
+The beautiful morning star shone alone in the sky, and as the shore
+melted away, Edith strained her eyes to catch the outline of her happy
+home, and the little mound where her parents reposed.
+
+They reached a place of safety, and Edith was soon made happy by hearing
+of the safety of her affectionate and humble friend.
+
+It is well known that this fearful delusion of our country ceased as
+suddenly as it had risen. Edith was one of the last of the accused. When
+it was discovered that she had escaped, no inquiries were made, and no
+regret expressed. "The curtain had fallen, and a close was put to one of
+the most tremendous tragedies of real life. The wildest storm, perhaps,
+that ever raged in the moral world, instantly became a calm. The tide
+that had threatened to overwhelm every thing in its fury sank back, in a
+moment, to its peaceful bed."
+
+What could have been Seymore's emotions when the cloud had vanished, and
+he stood in the clear sunshine of reason? Happy he was indeed,
+inexpressibly happy, that his beloved Edith had escaped the most
+dreadful consequences of this mad delusion.
+
+Whether their union ever took place, I must leave to the imagination of
+my readers. The young who have never had their hearts stirred with a
+deeper love than that for a pet lamb, or a canary bird, will reject the
+thought as impossible. The old, if any who have passed the age of
+thoughtless amusement should condescend to read these pages, perhaps
+will judge otherwise. Having learned from that severe teacher,
+experience, how prone we are to err, and how often we need forgiveness
+from each other, as well as from Heaven; having found, also, that the
+jewel of true love, though sullied by error, and sometimes mixed with
+baser stones, yet, like the diamond, can never lose its value,--they
+will cherish the belief that Seymore found, in the devoted affection of
+Edith, a balm for his wounded spirit, and an unfailing strength for the
+duties and trials of life.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Delusion, or The Witch of New England, by
+Eliza Buckminster Lee
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