repeat something from memory, and thus passed nearly all the night. The next morning Jesse returned to Wenham, Walter to Danvers, and I set out for Merrimack. The parting was sad as usual, and I had a few sad things to remember. But I was greatly benefited by the visit. Those glimpses of October left warm and sunny spots on my heart. The winter seemed warmer and more cheerful in consequence, and I had a better relish for my work, and my books and friends. for I must not forget to mention here, that I passed Bessie Plympton's on my way out of Salem, and found my old friend among her sunflowers, in the little back yard. She had about fifty of them, and if I had guessed their “language," I should have said it described the warm and constant love of that faithful creature's heart. They reflected abundant, if it was homely light, and they held their mild faces toward their lord, and turned with him as he rode around the sky. So did her heart reflect abundant, if it was homely love, and her face was toward her Lord from morning until night. But Bessie was tired of living in Salem, and that morning, for the first time, she expressed a desire to go to Merrimack. "Does Maircy think poor Bess could keep soul and body tergether, wid any sort of useful work thar?" asked she, as she led me up to her chamber, sat down in her chair, and puffed short breaths. Well, really, Bessie, you take me by surprise; but I should think you could get washing enough from the boarding-houses, or go into a family and do housework. I don't think there would be any danger of disappointment. But would not you get home-sick there? After all, Bessie, Merrimack is not Salem." But I's so lonesome here. No buddy but Massa Buxton's folks cares for me any more, since so many my quaintance move away, and people git so gret and fashionble here. I hev to hev the coldest back corner in the church now. 'Twant so, Maircy, when ole Massa Wilbur libbed, and preached, and hed his way, and made me set up 'mong others to the communion and forgit that I was black and poor! 'Twant so when he libbed, and used to come reg'lar ebbry month, and see'f I was needy, and go off and hev wood and flour sent to me, and my little winders sot wid new glass. Taint so now. The new preacher's handsomer, but he seems afeard o' colored people. He takes good texes, but he don't foller em. Las' Sunday, his tex was, 'There's nidder bond nor free, there's nidder Jew nor Greek, Af'can nor Ingin in Christ Jesus.' But he don't foller his texes nor the people nidder, any more. O, how times is altered sin Massa Wilbur was here! Things gits nicer and nicer ebbry day, I know. They hev velvet covered pulpits and velvet quishioned pews, and velvet sarments, and a velvet religin, and sich like; but they don't foller the good old Bible texes and dew a body good. "Then the boys is orful ugly yit, Maircy. They laugh at my fat old body, and keep teasin me for my ivory teeth to make combs of. See how many paper lights I've got now in my winder! The boys stones out the glass and I hev to paste in paper, and ole Massa Wilbur don't come any more to have em sot wid glass. Then the boys comes and sings under my winders a nights. Las night, he he! they sung Heavenly Union, alterin it a leetle. I was mad as hops, and arter all, I could'nt help laughin, it was so funny.-Curis how they could dicker it up in that way though. I sung the real Heavenly Union in confence las Sundy night, and yit this went so funny, I laid on my bed and spatted my hands, and laughed till I cried aloud. You know the reel hymn goes "I wonder why ole saints don't sing," &c ? Wal, they had it "I wonder why ole Sayles don't sing, And draw his nose down to his chin, And sing for heavenly union." But I's tired to death libbin here, Maircy, and if ye see a good place for me over thar, you let me know, won't you, Maircy, and O, I'll be so drefful thankful, I will, I will." "I will let you know, Bessie, and be glad to have you there, if you think you can be contented." XVI. AFTER another year I could discover that my new vocation had wrought a few more hopeful changes in my life. I was encouraged. There were hours, I confess, when my heart misgave me, and I envied those daughters of fortune who had pleasant homes, - plenty of books, and leisure to read, and to enjoy nature and society, with none of the anxieties which often made me tremble, and none of the sad recollections which often made me weep. I thought how sad and how perilous it was to pass through this world as I was passing, with no mother to comfort or advise me. I felt that it was very hard to have to depend entirely upon my own exertions for such unsufficing comforts as I got. I sometimes fancied that nobody really cared for me, and that I was of no use in the world. These fancies gave me many gloomy hours, and increased the sense of loneliness in my yearning heart. Then I saw the wants that lay pleading before me. I wanted two years leisure, at least, to attend school and cultivate my mind. I wanted to see my brothers in different situations, and more intelligent pursuits. O, how I wanted a father and mother and home! If I had had parents and a pleasant country home, and hopes of future independence, like Agnes Newman's, I would have prided myself on working at least four years in the mill, nor envied the most fortunate lady in town. I sometimes dreamed that father returned from his voyage, and built a fine cottage in South Salem, and mother and all were still alive, and happy to enjoy it. Night after night I returned to that home, and passed into the summer-house, and through the grape-arbor, and round among the maples, pines, and larches, which he talked so much of planting in his grounds; then visited the parlor and kitchen, and all the chambers, and found them so pleasant, and father and mother so young and happy! Then I dreamed that I was dreaming, and had no father, mother, or home, and woke and found my heart throbbing with anguish and my pillow drenched with tears. Still I experienced happy changes, and felt the rising of ⚫new hopes. I was blessed with a health that even brought me compliments, gave me spirit and power, and sent warm surges of the briskest life to my fingers'-ends. I had tastes which I would not have exchanged for gold or silver. I had a knowledge of books, and a sphere of mental life which, small though they were, I had not dared to anticipate. If I was a factory girl, of course I had no occasion to apologize or look down; and Nature did not scorn to commune with me, and give me fair possessions in all her light and beauty. Irving seemed pleased to enter my pleasant little chamber, as I sat in sight of my cascade, and talk to me about the "Van Tassel House" and the "Alhambra." Allston painted pictures for me as for the President's daughter. Bryant came and sang to me. Wordsworth took me away on |