XIX.

ABOUT this time, George Milbank came to live in Merrimack. He had made a few upward turns in life since he went with Farmer Dodge in Topsfield, and now he began to feel himself a man. His mother and friends had desired him to remain on a farm, but that pursuit was too dull for him. He had behaved himself very well while there, however, and left Topsfield with many good wishes enlisted in his behalf.

George wandered about Merrimack several days before he could find a situation, and then was compelled to engage himself as a porter in a law office, for a hundred and fifty dollars a year. He saw me pass the office every day, and recognized me, and came to Mrs. Dorlon's and sought my acquaintance. He seemed well enough pleased to renew his acquaintance with me, though not without reminding me of the vengeance I wished to call down on his head in Salem, and the ruin which might have crushed him, had my voice been heard. I could not even then relinquish the little foolish pique I had against him, and I did not give him a very cordial welcome. Still I was somewhat ashamed of my conduct, and allowed him to understand that I felt that I had done

wrong. I thought he had not improved at all in his looks. His hair was still long, and he did not appear careful about keeping it dressed in a very becoming style. He was brown as a beaver, his attitudes were awkward, his gait was careless and heavy, he stooped a great deal when he walked, and, seen at a distance, people often thought he was intoxicated. His flat-and-treble voice was made up of fragments of broken sounds. He was inattentive to everybody around him, and in fruit-time he was commonly munching an apple and jerking the core across the street, or eating a melon and spitting the seeds and rind in everybody's way. I contrasted him with my elegant friend Derby, and wondered how two young men could be formed with such different looks and actions. But I must do George simple justice. At that time I was surprised by his intelligence, and did not dislike the glance of his deep black eye. I observed his manly resolution, and said to myself, "George Milbank need not always remain where he is." I took some interest in him, and was willing to see him rise.

About this time I became acquainted with Rev. Selwyn Downs, and I must give a brief account of him. Selwyn Downs was one of the gentlemen who visited our mill the day after the Puffits and Blebs were there, and who expressed so much interest in factory life. He was the son of a wealthy physician, who possessed one of the finest situations in Merrimack. Selwyn was an only son, while one daughter blessed him with the best affection which a devoted sister could bestow. He had graduated at Harvard with many honors, and performed the tour of

Europe, visiting several scenes a-foot, returned about two years before, and resumed the profession of a pastor, from a desire which had haunted him, he said, since he was fifteen. He saw a providence of God in his father's wealth, and that providence bade him consecrate his life to a mission of christian faith, hope, and charity. So he did not accept one of the flattering calls he received to settle over great and wealthy congregations, and become the favorite of a devoted people; but when a city mission was founded in Merrimack, and several wealthy persons endowed it with funds, and offered a salary of fifteen hundred dollars for a minister, Selwyn Downs accepted the call, received the salary, and distributed it among the needy of his flock.

I was not so well impressed with his appearance on an introduction as I was before and afterwards. His hair was black and glossy as the locks of a Wampanoag. His eyes were dark, mild, and intelligent, and his manly face was moulded as finely as a woman's. His elegant form and soft brunette complexion impressed me in time with more spiritual loveliness than I could discover even at the second or third sight. His manner was affable, and yet there was a prophet's sacred carnestness about it, while his electric voice and words seemed scarcely to touch his tongue or lips as they rolled from the depths of his ardent soul.

Selwyn Downs was regarded by many as quite an eccentric character; and I heard this manner ascribed to him so often, that I asked myself what it could mean. I chose my own definition, and concluded that, to be eccen

tric, in the true meaning of the word, was to eschew conformity and imitation, and obey the laws of one's own nature and of his God, just as if there were nobody else in the world to remark upon his actions. Or, if he recognizes the presence of others, he is simple and truthful with them as with himself; and, if he likes or dislikes them, or thinks them wise or foolish, he frankly tells them what he thinks and feels. If he hides anything, it is his own virtues and his neighbor's faults. If he does anything in secret to avoid exposure and remark, it is the business of a charitable christian life.

Selwyn Downs had this eccentricity, and his character appeared the more peculiar as there were too many around him who avoided eccentricity by formal concessions, and the open parade of charity, as by fashions and manners most scrupulously squared by the popular mode. But I thought of others who bore him excellent company. I thought of Nathan's eccentricity before David. I thought of Elijah's eccentric visit to the widow of Sarepta, when society would naturally say his charities were best bestowed among the poor of his own nation. I thought of Franklin, eccentrically eating his roll in the city streets, and running the risk of being taken for a clown, because his time happened to be precious, and he had an appetite for food. I thought of Oberlin, eccentrically choosing his mission in the mountains, and associating with the poor and lowly, when he could have settled in a city and received his two or three thousand a year.

Selwyn Downs was pastor of a free chapel, in which he preached on the Sabbath. He established and took

care of a Sabbath-school of vagrant children. He superintended a Thursday evening school, which was principally filled with poor young people, who had been induced to come in from haunts of idleness and dissipation. He gathered children into the Sabbath-schools of the city, and into the common schools when he could. He found places for idle and mischievous boys. Beside this, he visited the homes of the suffering and needy, administered to their comfort, and found illustrations for his sermons.