1837.] Death of a Village Patriarch. 431 is always a cover awaiting the frugal and industrious laborer (or even gleaner) in her fruitful fields. Any thing short of absolute want, perhaps even that, it seemed to our young friends happiness to encounter together. Oh ye perjured traffickers in marriage vows! ye buyers and sellers of hearts - hearts! they are not articles of commerce buyers and sellers of the bodies that might envelope and contain celestial spirits, eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow ye die! To-morrow your home, that temple of the affections, which God himself has consecrated, shall be their tomb, within whose walls shall be endured the torpor of death with the acute consciousness of life! Our simple friends wotted not of the miseries of artificial life. These had never even crossed the threshold of their imaginations. The colonel gave his hearty consent for the asking, and his prudent help-mate was too true-hearted a woman to withhold hers. There are those wise as serpents, if not harmless as doves, in village life; and such shook their heads, and wondered if the colonel calculated to live and be post-master for ever! or if Loyd could be such a fool as to expect to succeed to the office, when every body knew it was just as good as promised to Mr. Barton! Loyd Barnard, a steady, consistent (our own side is always consistent) whig, expect the tender mercies of the Jackson party! No, Loyd Barnard indulged no such extravagant expectation. He had stood by old Massachusetts' through her obstinate or her consistent opposition to the general government, and he expected to reap the customary reward of such firmness or — prejudice. To confess the truth, he thought little about the future, and not all of the Malthusian theories. His present happiness was enough, and it was brightened with the soft and equal light of the past. As to Paulina, it was her nature, 'Ne'er to forgather wi' sorrow and care, But gie them a skelp as they 're creepin alang.' The preliminaries being adjusted, it was agreed on all hands that the wedding should not be deferred. Quilts were quilted the publishment pasted on the church door- and the wedding-cake made. Never had the colonel seemed better and brighter; his step was firmer, his person more erect than usual; and his face reflected the happiness of his children, as the leafless woods warm and kindle in a spring sunshine. At this moment came one of those sudden changes that mock at human calculations. An epidemic influenza, fatal to the feeble and the old, was passing over the whole country. Colonel Barnard was one of its first victims. He died after a week's illness; and though he was some years beyond the authorized period of mortality, his death at this moment occasioned a general shock, as if he had been cut off in the prime of life. All - even his enemies, we should have said, but enemies he had none - spoke of the event in a subdued voice, and with the sincerest expressions of regret. The grief of his own little family we have not space to describe, or, if we had, how could we depict the desolation of a home from which such a fountain of love and goodness was suddenly removed? Notwithstanding the day of the funeral was one of the coldest of a severe January, the mercury being some degrees below cipher, and the gusty, cutting wind driving the snow into billows, numbers collected from the adjoining towns to pay the last tribute of respect to the good colonel. There is a reality in the honor that is rendered at a rustic funeral to a poor, good man, a touching sincerity in sympathy where every follower is a mourner. The custom, growing in some of our cities, of private funerals, of limiting the attendants to the family and nearest friends of the deceased, is there in good taste. The parade of ceremony, the pomp of numbers, the homage of civility, and all the show and tricks of hollow conventional life, are never more out of place, never more revolting, than where death has come with its resistless power and awful truth. But a country funeral has, beside its quality of general sorrow, somewhat of the nature of the Egyptian court that sat upon the merits of the dead. The simplicity and frankness of country life has truly exhibited the character of the departed, and if judged in gentleness (as all human judgments should be rendered) it is equitably judged. The colonel's humble home was filled to overflowing, so that there were numbers who were obliged to await the moving of the procession in the intense cold on the outside of the house, and they did wait, patiently and reverently—no slight testimony of their respect. The coffin was placed in the centre of the largest apartment, in country phrase, the dwelling-room.' Within the little bed-room sat the mourners;' but a stranger, who should have seen the crowd as they pressed forward one after another, for a last look at their departed friend, might have believed they were all mourning a father. They were remembering a parent's offices. There was the widow, whom he had visited in her affliction; there the orphans, now grown to be thriving men and women, fathers and mothers, whom he had succored, counselled, and watched over; there were those whom he had visited in prison; there were sometime enemies converted to friends by his peace-making intervention; there was the young man reclaimed by his wise counsel and steady friendship, for the good colonel had a skeptic smile' for what others deemed hopeless depravity, and believed some pulse of good must live Within a human nature.' And there were children with wet eyes, for the rare old man who had always a smile for their joys, and a tear for their troubles; and one, I remember, as her mother lifted her up for the last look, whispered, 'Oh, he is too good a man to bury up in the ground!' And there, in the midst of this sad company, and with a face quite as sad as his neighbors', stood Lyman Barton. A little urchin, a particular friend of the old colonel's, and of mine too, who stood beside me, pulled my ear down to his lips, and turning his flashing eye upon Barton, whispered, 'Ought not he to be ashamed of himself?' Why, Hal, why?' 'He is making believe cry, just like a crocodile! Every body says 1837.] A Village Busy-Body. 433 he has written to old Jackson already to be made post-master. I wish he was in the colonel's place.' 'You could not wish him in a better, my dear.' 'Oh, I did not mean that! I did not mean that!' He would have proceeded; but I shook my head, and put an end to the explanation he was eager to make. THE funeral was over, the, cold wind was howling without, the sigh of the mourners alone was heard, where a few days before all had been cheerfulness and preparation for the happiest event of human life. Paulina had lighted a single lamp, and placed it in the farther part of the room, for there seemed something obtrusive even in the cheerfulness of light. She was seated on a low chair beside the old lady. The passiveness of grief was peculiarly unsuited to her active and happy nature; and, as she sat as if she were paralyzed, not even heeding the Colonel's favorite cat, who jumped into her lap, and purred, and looked up for its accustomed caress, one could hardly believe she was the same girl who was for ever on the wing, laughing and singing from morning till night. Poor Loyd too, who had so gently acquiesced in the evils of his lot, who had bent like the reed before the winds of adversity, suffered now as those only do who resist while they suffer. Perhaps it was not in human nature not to mingle the disappointment of the lover with the grief of the son, and, while he was weeping his loss, to ponder over some of his father's last words. 'Of course, my children,' he had said, 'you will dismiss all thoughts of marriage for the present, I mean. It will be all, I am afraid more, than you can do, Loyd, when the post-office and the pension are gone, to get bread for your mother. If you marry, you can't tell how many claims there may be upon you. But do n't be discouraged, my children; cast your care upon the Lord-something may turn up-wait- blessed are they who wait in faith.' Both promised to wait, and both, as they now revolved their promise, religiously resolved to abide by it, cost what it might. Their painful meditations were interrupted by a knock at the outer door, and Loyd admitted Major Perrit, one of his neighbors, and one of those everlasting meddlers in others' affairs, who, if a certain proverb were literal, must have had as many fingers as Argus had eyes. I am sorry for your affliction, ma'am,' said he, shaking Mrs. Barnard's extended hand, while a sort of simpering smile played about his mouth, in spite of the appropriate solemnity he had endeavored to assume; do n't go out, Miss Paulina; what I have to communicate is interesting to you, as well as to the widow and son of the deceased.' 'Some other time, Sir,' interposed Loyd, whose face did not conceal how much he was annoyed by the officiousness and bustling manner of his visiter. Excuse me, Loyd; I am older than you, and ought to be a little wiser; we must take time by the fore-lock; others are up and doing; why should we not be?' Loyd now comprehended the Major's business, and, pained and somewhat shocked, he turned away; but, remeinbering the intention was kind, though the mode was coarse, he smothered his disgust, and forced himself to say: We are obliged to you, Major Perrit, but I am not in a state of mind to attend to any business this evening.' 'Oh, I know you have feelings, Loyd; but you must not be more nice than wise. They must not get the start of us. I always told my wife it would be so, and now she sees I was right. I tell you, Loyd, in confidence, your honored father was not cold, before Lyman Barton was handing round his petition for the office.' It was not in human nature for the old lady to suppress an ahem! at this exact fulfilment of her prediction to the poor colonel. 'Barton's petition,' continued Perrit, 'will go on to Washington in the mail to-morrow, and ours must go with it; here it is.' He took the paper from his pocket, and, opening it, showed a long list of names. 'A heavy list,' he added; but every one of them whigs; we did not ask a Jackson man; there would have been no use, you know; Lyman Barton leads them all by the nose.' Here Perrit was interrupted by a knock at the entry door. A packet addressed to Loyd was handed to him. Perrit glanced at the superscription, and exclaimed, This is too much, by George! He has had the impudence to send you the petition.' 'I could not have believed this of him,' thought Loyd, as he broke the seal; for he, like his father, reluctantly believed ill of any one. There were a few lines on the envelope; he read them to himself, and then, with that emotion which a good man feels at an unexpected good deed, he read them aloud: 'MY DEAR FRIEND LOYD; 'Excuse me for intruding on you, at this early moment, a business matter that ought not to be deferred. You will see by the enclosed, that my friends and myself have done what we could to testify our respect for the memory of your excellent father, and our esteem for you, Wishing you the success you deserve, 'I remain very truly yours, 'LYMAN BARTON.' The enclosed paper was a petition, headed by Lyman Barton, and signed by almost every Jackson partisan in the town, that the office of post-master might be given to Loyd Barnard. A short prefix to the petition expressed the signers' respect for the colonel, and their unqualified confidence in his son. Perrit ran his eye over the list, and exclaiming, This is the Lord's hand! by George!' he seized his hat and departed, eager to have at least the consolation of first spreading the news through the village, Few persons comprehend a degree of virtue beyond that of which they are themselves capable. 6 It is, indeed, in one sense,' said Loyd, as the door closed after Perrit, the hand of the Lord; for He it is that makes his creatures capable of such disinterested goodness.' Those who heard the fervid language and tone in which Loyd expressed his gratitude, when he that night, for the first time, took his father's place at the family altar, must have felt that this was one of the few cases where it was equally blessed to give and to receive.' Loyd's appointment came by return of mail from Washington. In due time the wedding-cake was cut, and Our Village Post-master is as happy as love and fortune can make him. It was a bright thought in a philanthropist of one of our cities, to note down the actual good deeds that passed under his observation. We have imitated his example in recording an act of rare disinterestedness and generosity. It certainly merits a more enduring memorial; but it has its fitting reward in the respect it inspires, and in its blessed tendency to vanquish the prejudices and soften the asperities of political parties. SONNETS: BY 'QUINCE.' AUTUMN. IMPERIAL Autumn! Season's Monarch! throned Earth's harvest king! with smiles and sunshine crowned, Thou art the vaunted glory of the year; Scarlet and gold and emerald leaves are thine, APPEARANCES. IN fruit most tempting, ashes hidden lie; In richest flowers lives not the sweetest breath; Poisons impregnate, in whose taste is death; To list the song-bird's dulcet melody! But vice discerned, in ermine we despise ; And virtue known, we honor as a queen. AVARICE. He comes with stealthy step and restless eye, He comes to feast (his only meal) thereon: His famished body through his greedy eye, Envied on earth he'd live, and envied die; |