With many blushes she thanked me cordially for the kind interest we had taken in his welfare. Frank made satisfactory arrangements with Dr.

Clapp, as to leaving his business with him during our short absence, and when he began earnestly to express his thanks, my husband cut him short by saying, "I regard myself altogether as the obliged party." We enjoyed the visit much. After returning a few of the many calls made upon me, I was glad to be at home again. "There is no place like home."

_Monday, September 14th._

We have decided to leave home on Wednesday morning, in order to take P---- on our way, to be present at a Quaker wedding, when Elizabeth Estes will become Elizabeth Nelson. We expect to go to B----, a flourishing town in the western part of New York. I pleaded hard to take Pauline with me, as Ann could well be spared for nurse; but the Doctor was inexorable. When he is decided, one might as well undertake to remove the mountains into the sea, as to change his determination. Yet I must confess his decisions are generally wise. Respectful as he always is to his mother, and ready to yield to her wishes, yet when she sees he has fully made up his mind upon a point, she never tries to change his decision. Pauline will remain under the care of mother and Emily. Frank is determined that I shall reap great benefit from this journey, and so I suppose I shall. In truth, my health is his great motive for going. I have grown excessively nervous and low-spirited. I want to sit on a cricket at your feet, and lay my head in your lap, dear mother, and have you comfort and cheer me. I try to reason with myself that I have no occasion to feel thus, but I cannot help it; the next morning I am as bad as ever. Frank tries to comfort me by saying that it is owing to my state of health and to my loss of appet.i.te, and that I shall soon be better.

_Tuesday, September 15th._

This morning Ann knocked at my door, and said Phebe begged I would go to the kitchen. I went and found a little girl and boy hand in hand awaiting me. The girl I should judge was six or seven years of age; the boy was not more than four. He kept his eyes fixed upon me, with an earnest, serious expression, while his sister explained her errand, as if the business they came upon, was in their opinion of great importance and magnitude. The little girl, in a singularly sweet voice, asked me humbly if I had any work I wanted to have done. I smiled as I inquired, "is the work for you or for your brother?" She understood the smile and said quickly, "I can weed in a garden, or run of errands, or," turning to Phebe with rather a doubtful look, "scour knives and wash dishes.

I'll be very careful not to break them, ma'am."

"Where are your parents, Anna?" I asked when she had given me her name.

"My mother is sick in bed," she replied sadly.

"And your father, is he dead?"

"No, ma'am," she answered, timidly dropping her eyes to the floor, while a burning blush flashed over her pale wan countenance, extending even to her very temples. Her little brother looked at her, and then at me.

Encouraged, I suppose, by my sympathy, he said, "Pa aint good. _Pa's a bad man_, he licks ma when she's sick."

I hastily inquired where they lived, and requesting Phebe to give them some breakfast returned to my room, where Frank was shaving. I told him what I had heard, when he interrupted me, "Ah, Reynolds has been having another spree! I'm sorry for his poor wife and children. This man," said he, turning from the mirror to look at me, "is another of Squire Lee's hopeful _proteges_. Oh!" he continued after a moment's pause, while he went on with his shaving, "the misery that distillery has caused in this place, would if written down fill volumes."

"What can I do for the poor children," I asked. "They want work."

"Well, give them something to do, and pay them with a basket of food.

Mrs. Reynolds would hardly accept it as a gift. I will ride around that way when I am out, and see what can be done."

As I returned to the kitchen, I fairly taxed my ingenuity to find some employment suited to their capacities; but in vain. So I determined to appeal to Phebe. "My good Phebe," said I, "have you no work for these children who are so anxious to be employed?"

"Laws now missus!" answered Phebe, "It's no kinder use settin sich babies to work. There's heaps on em comes here a beggin. If missus would give em a cold bite now to carry to their sick ma, 'pears like dere'd be some use in dat ar."

I wish I could describe to you the anxious expression with which these poor little creatures regarded Phebe as she replied, as if they would implore her to answer more favorably. I saw that the good woman had no idea of the real state of the case, and taking her into the hall I explained to her that they had not been used to begging, and I did not like to break down the independence and delicacy of feeling, I so much admired. With a toss of her turban the truly kind-hearted woman signified that she fully understood me, and when I told her farther that her master was going out directly to the aid of their mother, she was ready to do her full part in a.s.sisting them. She stood one moment to think what she should set them about, as she expressed it, when her countenance brightened as she exclaimed, "Wal now, if that ar aint kind o' curus. There's me's been a tellin my ole man how desp't bad I wanted de brush picked up clean out dar in de orchard fore cold wedder comes; but laws, he never has no time for notting." When we returned to the kitchen, the brother and sister had finished their breakfast, and sat awaiting the important decision. I suggested that it would be well for them to carry something previously to their mother, and obtain her consent to remain through the day. She would thus be relieved from all anxiety concerning them.

As I committed the basket of food to the eager hand stretched out for it, I was struck with the expression of the child's countenance. It shone like that of an angel. Nor did I wonder at it, when gently pulling my dress she reached up to speak to me, and said, "I felt sure, ma'am, we should get some," glancing at the basket.

"Why, my dear?"

"Because this morning, I said, please G.o.d give me some bread for my poor sick ma."

"Were you sure, G.o.d would hear you?" I asked, wishing to hear farther.

Looking up in surprise, she answered, while her eyes grew bright, "why you know ma'am, he says, 'ask and ye _shall_ receive.' Ma told me that he says so in the Bible."

What a beautiful lesson of trust! I kissed them both and let them go.

Phebe, whose sympathies were now thoroughly enlisted, followed them to the door, saying, "tell your ma, she shan't want for vittles while ma.s.s'r 'lows ole Phebe to save em for yees;" and then remembering what I had told her, she added, "tell her thar's heaps o' work o' waiting for yees."

_Afternoon._

As I have finished my packing, I will tell you that Phebe's _proteges_, Anna and Willie, soon returned and went to work with such good will upon the brush that madam was enthusiastic in their praise. They brought me word that their mother was very much obliged to me for letting them earn the food. The Doctor found her sick with a cold. In a fit of intoxication her husband turned her out of the house, where she was obliged to remain until chilled through. Frank advised her to complain to the public authorities and have him confined for a time. "Oh, Doctor!" she replied, "he's not himself when he treats me so ill. He never would do it if it were not for rum. Oh, dear!" she continued, beginning to cry, "we were so happy until he went to work in that horrid distillery."

How many poor distressed wives and children have said the same! Happy indeed should we be if it were not for _rum_! I have become so much interested in the family, that I would gladly postpone my journey another day, for the sake of visiting her, were it not for my desire to be present at Elizabeth's wedding. Mother Lenox needed no urging to attend to the wants of the family while the Doctor is absent. I requested Frank to give me the history of the Reynolds family; but he smiled as he said, "you are so systematic a person I should be obliged to begin at the beginning, and relate every fact in due order, which would take more time than I can well spare." He promised, however, to gratify my curiosity at another time. Dear little Pauline has no idea that I am to leave her. But she will be taken good care of I doubt not.

Emily pets her rather too much.

CHAPTER XIV.

"On thee, blest youth, a father's hand confers The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew; Each soft enchantment of the soul is hers; Thine be the joys to firm attachment due." ROGERS.

_Monday, October 19th._

It is six months to day since I was married and left my beloved home.

What would you say to your daughter if she were to tell you that sometimes she has been so unthankful for all her mercies as to wish she had never left the shelter of the paternal roof or the warm embrace of parents and sisters. But so it has been, and I have determined to confess it to you. I think it will guard me from ever indulging again in distrust or jealousy. But I forget that I have told you nothing of our journey and return. I have enough to fill many pages of my journal.

We started on a clear, bright morning in September, and in two or three hours reached P----. We went directly to the house of Friend Shove, where we met by appointment Friend Estes, her husband Jotham, and her daughter Elizabeth. I suppose Jenny, our old nurse at home, would have told me as she used sometimes to do when I was a child, that I had "got out of bed wrong," for I felt cross all the morning. And when as we rode on, (we were in our own carriage, and some of the wedding party were to take it back,) Frank tried to cheer me, and said kindly, "You must expect sometimes to feel a little out of tune," I only felt worse. When, however, I saw the smooth, placid face of Friend Estes, and her bright, smiling, blushing Lizzie, as she is affectionately called, I began to think there were pleasant spots in the world after all. And when I had sat down at a neat table covered with everything to tempt one's appet.i.te, and had taken a cup of delicious coffee, and a slice of ham, I felt decidedly more reconciled to life. I could eat nothing before I started. After waiting half an hour, we all walked to meeting, where, as in England, among the same denomination, the males occupy one part of the house and the females the other. Josiah Nelson and Elizabeth Estes sat on the high seat in front of the audience, and in sight of all of them. After sitting for some time without a word being spoken, Josiah arose and took Elizabeth by the hand, saying, "In the presence of this a.s.sembly, I take this my friend Elizabeth Estes to be my wife, promising through divine a.s.sistance to be unto her a faithful and affectionate husband until death shall separate us."

Then Elizabeth in a sweet voice which she vainly tried to keep from trembling, said, still holding her friend by the hand, "In the presence of this a.s.sembly, I take this my friend Josiah Nelson to be my husband, promising through divine a.s.sistance, to be unto him a faithful and affectionate wife until death shall separate us."

They then subscribed their names to the certificate, which was as follows:--"Whereas, Josiah, son of Samuel and Hannah Nelson, and Elizabeth, daughter of Jotham and Elizabeth Estes, have declared their intentions of taking each other in marriage to P---- monthly meeting of the Society of Friends held in P----, according to the good order used among them; and their proceedings after due inquiry and deliberate consideration thereof being allowed by the said meeting; they appearing clear of all others, and having consent of parents, these are to certify to all whom it may concern, that for the full accomplishment of their said intention, this sixteenth day of the ninth month, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-five, they, the said J. N. and E. E., appeared at a religious meeting of the aforesaid society in P----, and did declare," etc. [See marriage contract as above.]

After this novel and interesting ceremony had concluded, we returned to a most bountiful dinner with the hospitable family of Friend Shove; and soon after bidding our friends "farewell," we proceeded on our journey.

CHAPTER XV.

"Foul jealousy! that turnest love divine To joyless dread, or mak'st the loving heart With hateful thoughts to languish and to pine, And feed itself with self-consuming smart; Of all the pa.s.sions in the mind thou vilest art." SPENSER.

_Evening, October 19th._

We reached B---- on Tuesday evening, September 22d, where we were cordially welcomed by Mrs. Morgan, a sister of Frank's father. The family consists of Mr. and Mrs. Morgan, and their son Joseph Lenox, named for his uncle. There was also Mrs. Fidelia Schuyler, an orphan niece of aunt Morgan, who had been married but a few months. She is a child of aunt Morgan's brother, who has been deceased many years. As I shall have much to say of her, I will describe her as she presented herself to me at the time. She appeared to be about twenty years of age, with very light flaxen hair, hanging in loose curls at the side of her face. She had blue eyes, and a somewhat fair complexion. At the first glance I thought her a very little like Emily in expression; but afterwards wondered how I could have thought so. Emily's eyes are a splendid gray, fringed with long, black lashes, and her hair is the darkest shade of auburn, like Frank's.

Fidelia received me cordially enough; as I was a stranger, I could not expect she would be as glad to see me as she was to see her own cousin.

I felt almost hurt that Frank did not more fully reciprocate her joy at their meeting. There was a perfect fascination to me about this young bride. She was constantly changing like the colors and figures in a kaleidoscope. Sometimes she would introduce conversation with the Doctor upon politics, and really talk very sensibly, so that I felt ashamed that I was ignorant of such subjects. Then she would talk of old times in a manner I did not at all understand. I fancied once or twice that Frank, to whom all this conversation was addressed, looked rather annoyed, and supposed it was in consequence of my listening so closely; I therefore turned to my cousin Joseph. He claimed me as such, before I stepped from the carriage. He is a fine intelligent youth near my own age I should imagine; and though he made many inquiries about his aunt and Emily, which I was occupied in answering, yet I could not wholly withdraw my attention from the cousin near me. Her voice would often drop to so low a key that I could not distinguish the words; but its intonation was soft and languishing, and her whole appearance, to say the least, as she sat upon the sofa with Frank, was certainly _peculiar_. Joseph observed my frequent glances in that direction, and he whispered, "The greatest coquette," motioning with his head towards his cousin, "in the known world."

"Is she a widow then?" I asked eagerly, "I understood aunt she was _Mrs._ Schuyler; if so, I should hardly think, she would waste her energies on a _married_ man. _You_ would be a better subject." He laughed so heartily that for a minute or so, he interrupted the conversation on the sofa, when I heard Fidelia say to Frank, in a voice hardly raised above a whisper, "Your wife seems very free and easy; I suppose it results from her being educated in Paris. One would think from her manner, she had been acquainted with Joseph a long time."

I could hear no more, for at that moment Joseph commenced again.

"My dear coz, how old do you take me to be?"

"About as old as I am," I replied.