Meanwhile, the schoolmaster having gone west, it was thought that Timothy Pettigrew might fill his place pro tem., it being known that he had several times in his life acted in that capacity. And (though as an instructor he was found to be barely better than nothing) his pupils liked him very well, because he attempted no control over them; did not dare to punish anything; and gave them frequent holidays, being always wanted at home on washing days and scrubbing days; and besides was frequently sent for on pretence of his wife's being sick, or the baby cross. On these occasions he would say, "Boys and gals, you may take your choice -either go home, or stay here and play under the trees, for it's dubious if I shall be back again. As wifey says, a man's first duty is to his own family. Mrs. Corndaffer sometimes stopped in at Stony Lonesome, and gave its mistress much salutary advice as to industry and neatness, which Mrs. Pettigrew thought it best to take in good part (at least ostensibly); and indeed she sometimes acted upon it, so that the Corndaffers imagined they perceived signs of improvement. 66 Mrs. Corndaffer, like all the neighbour women," never visited without taking with her some knitting or sewing, and she often spoke of this custom as a very excellent one, saying, "It's wonderful how much work we can get through when we go to spend an afternoon with a neighbour. It's killing two birds with one stone." One day little Sally Pettigrew came to announce that her mother was coming to drink tea with Mrs. Corndaffer, and that she would bring her work. "I'm very glad to hear that," said the good Margy. "Tell her to mind and be here early" Mrs. Pettigrew came about two o'clock in the afternoon, and did bring her work. This work was nothing less than candle-dipping.* She carried, in a basket, a crock of tallow, which she took great credit to herself for having saved. After removing her bonnet, and rocking awhile in the chair, with the basket beside her, she said to her wondering hostess, "You haven't got such a thing as a coarse apron, have you-a bib apron ?" "It's a'most an affront to suppose I have not," answered Mrs. Corndaffer. "I want to borrow one to save my gownd, while I'm greasing about at making my candles," pursued the visitor. "Are you going to make candles here?" inquired the visited. "No, not just here in the setting-room. I mean to do it in the kitchen, where all the conveniences is. I s'pose I can have the use of an iron pot to render the taller; and all the rest of the things what's wanted for candledipping?" *Fact. "Oh! good gracious! oh! oh!" exclaimed Betsey Buffum, stopping her wheel, in horror. "This is a strange kind of business to take abroad," remarked Mrs. Corndaffer. "Well, it happens to be the only job I have in view for to-day," answered her guest. "Haven't you told me yourself that no woman should never lose no time when they go out a visiting, but take something to be 'dustrious at all the while? So, now then, if all your help has had their dinners, and cleared up the kitchen, I'll go there and set in to work right off. Did you never hear that the sooner a thing's begun the sooner it's finished ? I often say that to Timothy when he puts off whipping the children, and when I'm too busy to do it myself." To be brief, Mrs. Pettigrew took her work into the kitchen, where she and her crock of tallow were received with a very ill grace by the two hired girls, Jenny and Kitty; and with an ill-suppressed giggle by the boy Nace, who ran behind the door to have his laugh out, with his face to the wall, till summoned by his mistress's guest" to make up a good fire, and put on the pot for melting the fat, and keep himself at hand to wait upon her with what was wanted." The dinner things had been washed and set in their places; the kitchen put in nice order; the girls were seated at their afternoon sewing, and Nace was sitting at the door and thinking about returning to his weeding in the garden, when Mrs. Pettigrew thus made her unwelcome appearance among them, and commenced her most inconvenient business. While the tallow was being melted and skimmed, she entertained the maids by setting forth to them the greatness of the Loudenslager family, and the lowness of the Pettigrews (particularly her husband); and she told how the whole country was "dumbfounded" with wonder when Miss Hulda Loudenslager stooped to Timothy. 66 "I must have been bewitched," she proceeded, or I never could have bemeaned myself to take him when I had so many better offers. Old Squire Drumbleby, who wanted me himself, shook his head hard when he heard of my marrying among the Pettigrews, (and Timothy above all), and said that that plagued old Scotch woman Anny M'Nanny ought to be sent out of the country (if there was any law for doing it), with her hovel at the cross roads, and her black cat, and her red short-gown, and her witchy looks; for he faithfully believed she had done something to dement me, or I would never have acted so. I've often thought since, Squire Drumbleby was not far wrong as to Anny M'Nanny. Everybody thought her a fearful woman. She had an old dirty thin book without a cover, that people found her reading in even of Sundays. She called it Mockbeth, and them that had looked at it said it had all sorts of 'bominable receipts for witch-doings, so that any wicked body might learn out of it. And there were murders in it besides, and bloody ghosts. Now we all know that there has been such things as witches and conjurors, so why shouldn't there be now? I've heard that folks who are counted quite sensible, are beginning to allow that all sorts of pow-wowing is coming round again, and that pow-wowing is true, and can be done; only they give it another name, and gentlemen do it now. Nace, go and get me some stout rods to hang my wicks to." Then, addressing one of the girls, she proceeded," Jenny, I s'pose you're always full and plenty of candlewick here. I didn't bring none with me. Kitty, just hand me that big pan to strain my taller into." "Nace," said Jenny, "get one of the balls of candlewick out of the dresser drawer, and the old scissors to cut it in lengths, and bring the woman that big arthen pan." The apparatus being at last arranged, Mrs. Pettigrew dipped and talked, and talked and dipped, till she grew tired of both. Finally, a range of candles very lank, and the wicks all crooked and unevenly clothed with tallow, might be seen standing up to cool round the trunk of a large tree near the yard door. She took off her exceedingly greasy apron, bundled it up, and threw it on a bench; and then made Nace bring her water to wash her hands, to which she added her face, on being informed by the boy that "considerable tallor had splattered up as high as her forehead." When the washing was over, she smoothed her hair and her gown, and sailed back into the sitting-room, leaving Nace to clear away all the "muss (as a New Yorker would have called it), and the maids to wash the utensils she had employed in her job of candle-making. The clearing away of musses was quite as agreeable to Nace as any other work, so he only laughed ; but of the maids, Kitty actually scolded, and Jenny almost cried, declaring that her feelings were hurt, and that she was not born to wait upon trash. Of the little toleration that the Pettigrews had ever experienced in the lower house of the Corndaffers, "the last link was broken." Mrs. Pettigrew threw herself into the rockingchair, complained of fatigue, and hoping that tea would soon be ready. Betsy Buffum quitted her wheel, murmuring, "I can't stand her-I can't any longer; that woman's too sickening." So she went out into the porch to recover herself in the open air, from whence she made a transition into the kitchen, 66 to hear all about her doings there," remarking, as she looked towards them, What despisable candles!" "The candles are no better than sluts," said Kitty, "just like them that made 'em." 66 But enough of this visit, and the work that accompanied it. (To be concluded in our next.) SPRING ASPIRATIONS. BY FREDERICK ENOCH. Twitter and flit along the shining air, Where the rude sunlight o'er the green earth rushes, With a great swoop-e'en as the spirit gives, Hast thou been in the beautiful places To me thou bringest the old familiar faces And memories, by which soul-aspiration Thus Grief is only Love, with wings all wet By tears-like unto Spring, she unto me Twitter and flit along the shining air, Swallow! When stars, the wakeful night to grace, When from the young-leaft woods the singing comes And other realms; even in spirit seeking Longingly; in the unreach'd ether land Following with holy flight which knows no daze, And voices whisper on my upward way Of happier regions, and of fuller springs, Mariner bird-where stream the sunbeams fair, Scatt'ring the rain that through the clear air rushes, Which, with the conflict, pales and shines and blushes, Twitter and flit along the crystal air. FIRST LO V E. (A Tale.) Romances are quite as common in real life as in fictitious stories, with this unfortunate exception, that they do not invariably end in a happy marriage. But I know my romance to be such an one as might be the fate of any mortal to experience; and will even acknowledge that although my story commences ten years ago, my heroine is not yet married. Shall I, in the approved fashion of the 19th century, transport my readers to her as she is now? No, I will not. As a dream gone by, I will strive to describe scenes long passed away, and Alicia Ford as she then was. Do not expect perfection-realities are seldom found to be so: enough that, without being perfect, she was both lovely and honourable-a fit creation for the station assigned woman in this world, as a companion to man. One must not look, in this life, for all good things centered in one object. Those very bumps which phrenology teaches us indicate the highest mental superiority, of themselves destroy the regular line of beauty; and if we come to analyze the common run of heroines, their personal charms may easily find rivals in the waxen figures of a fashionable hair-dresser's hop; and the heroes, so thickly strewn with sweets that but, forgive me, I am too censorious, and Alicia Ford is even now waiting for an introduction to you. It is now ten years ago. She is standing, half hid by the curtains of it, in the window of an old-fashioned room, whose dropsical chairs and grim dark pictures of defunct warriors speak of a time which has passed to return no more. The last are not alone, for their ladies keep their costumes in countenance by the proportionate grotesqueness of their own; and here a Diana and there a shepherdess tell how, on canvas, they admired the chasteness and simplicity of each; whilst their own fair faces need no herald to speak of hearts lost and won. It is the library at Stoke Hall. The rays of an evening autumnal sun are playing with the ringlets of her fair hair. Her soft blue eyes are raised to the face of a young man beside her, whose arm encircling her waist, gazes into the depths of those clear eyes; as if he read therein the best guarantee for a lover's hopes. But listen! for she speaks: "Even could I be happy without you, the playmate and friend of my earliest years; even could I bear with calmness the mere separation from one I love as I do you, dearest Egan; let all this alone, what must my sorrow be, when I know that the life which henceforth you will lead must be one of danger?" "Poor child! dry your eyes. You should think of the time when I shall return; and then, dearest Alice, the hours passed with each other will be doubly pleasant--when, from the knowledge of past separation, present enjoyment will be all the better appreciated. I would not wrong you so much as to express a doubt of your constancy. Need I speak of myself? Centuries-if I lived them-could not change me, my darling; and I trust that I shall come back to you speedily--more speedily than we now think; and Heaven bless and keep you the while, my own!" No, thank heaven, my fears are not for your faith, Egan. It is sickness, danger, even death that I dread. Your departure hangs over my head like a dark cloud, and shuts out even Hopeonly for a while, I trust! She will come again. We shall be happy, although this hour is most bitter. Forgive my tears-forgive me for rendering the last few moments we pass together more painful than necessary by my weakness. It will pass away, and in the memory of the happiness I have experienced I will strive to bury the present and look only to the future." Egan's only reply was to press her hand, and try to wipe away the tears which rained from her eyes. At last he said: "It is a great comfort to me to know that I leave you living happily with your uncle, and that you will continue to do so, until having a house to offer in exchange, you leave his roof for mine. It will be, likely enough, but a poor one in comparison, darling; but I will work hard to procure you even that." "Is not your heart my home, Egan? I desire nothing better than to rest my head there; and when we are married, if poor, we must trust to God to keep us from want.' "You shall never want, Alice, whilst there is work-even the meanest-to do, and I hands to do it. What you are not afraid to face, surely I should be a coward to retreat from. If fortune does not enrich me, we will be content to be poor, happy in each other's love." And to look at them, as they then stood, the words seemed not improbable. Again a silence of some minutes. It is broken by Alicia: "In the numerous last words I have forgotten one subject of great importance, about writing! You will write as soon as possible-only a line to say you are well-I shall be so anxious to hear." 66 Certainly; you shall have a long letter from the first port we touch at. I shall have nothing to do, when not thinking of you, but writing to you; and I shall expect volumes from you, dearest-a regular journal. Only let it be all of yourself; no other subject can have an equal interest, as you well know." Just now the sound of carriage-wheels on the drive tells that it is the hour of separation, and that the last words have been spoken. The time is come, and they must bid each other a long farewell; but still Egan delays-still returns to press Alicia once more to his heart; until a servant, entering to say that unless he departs immediately the ship will have sailed, the last kiss is given, the horses bear him from his betrothed, and she, left to herself, sinks into the chair nearest to her, to relieve an overcharged heart in a flood of tears. Egan Dalkeith was the second son of a baronet of the same name, destined, from a child, for the church, on account of an advantageous benefice in the gift of his father. It was not until he was old enough to think of going to college that, disliking the fortune which his parents had carved out for him, he declared his intention of becoming a soldier. Fathers are not (as in dramas we are led to suppose) always in an excited and enraged state of existence, and, notwithstanding that Sir E. Dalkeith was both annoyed and disappointed at his son's choosing a profession in which he had not any interest, he yielded to his wishes, making all due allowance for his youth, and hoping that he might, by perseverance, rise to distinction in the army of which he had determined to become a member. Contiguous estates had conduced to the great intimacy which for years had existed between the family of the Dalkeiths and the inmates of Stoke Hall; and the two young men and Alicia Ford growing up together, and now arrived at the respective ages of one and twoand-twenty and seventeen, it is not extraordinary that the Platonic love with which, as children, they had regarded each other, had merged into a warmer feeling; and those who before had in play called themselves man and wife, now looked forward to being so in reality. from his unvarying kindness to her, she had not hitherto felt what it was to be without parents. Let us follow Egan. I grieve to disparage my own sex; but I have often observed that when we are put out by any unavoidable event, we are apt to use it as a cloak under which to hide ill temper; and in the consolatory idea that we are ourselves supremely unhappy and uncomfortable, do our best to make others equally so. Egan felt very dull. The sun had by this time set, and the evening was cold. Wrapping his coat around him, he threw himself back in the carriage, and for the moment almost wished he had consented to be a clergyman, for Alicia's sake; and then he thought of an affectionate father, and many small disagreements which they had had rose before him ; and then his leaving-perhaps for years—all that was dear to him; and then, springing up, he threw open the window and rated the postilion soundly for not making more haste. On reaching Southampton, a boat soon took him on board the "Fury," then lying in the harbour, purposing to sail next day before the sun was risen. It was now night, and Egan was the last arrival. He was in no humour for talking or making any new acquaintances; and so he left the deck for those who, striving to look nautical, by the cheap addition to their wardrobe of a glazed hat and telescope, walked fore and aft until the cold sent them down below also. It needed not the crowing of those doomed cocks between the decks to say that the day was breaking. Already, amidst horrible convulsions and puffs of ambitious smoke, the Fury's paddles are beginning to turn, and she is on her route to India; and soon-too soon, alas !--the nautical gentlemen are laid in their berths, and our hero is warned that for the present he must let his love-sickness give place to that sickness which Neptune claims. The weather was rough, and it was two weeks or more before Egan reappeared on deck. The elder brother, Charles, was a young man of dissipated habits, heir to a good fortune. It was a beautiful day, and he stood gazing at No occupation had been allotted him, and his the blue sea. The rays of the sun strove to days were passed-or the greater part of them-calm its still crested waves as they quickly in the stable. By inclination, and perhaps intellect, he was more fitted for a run with the hounds, or the doctoring of a horse, than to lounge in a lady's boudoir, or improve his mind by literature. The properties of the various land-holders being large, acquaintances in the neighbourhood were in consequence scarce, and visits rendered formal by taking place so seldom made it anything but pleasant when duty proposed and carried out a frozen dinner-party or dull evening; where young ladies, just out, shivered in white muslin dresses, and amused the assembled company by a little music-which article, as generally dispensed in boarding-schools, is very little, and proportionately bad. So much her own mistress in regard to time, Alicia felt, even more than she might otherwise have done, the loneliness which the loss of so dear a friend as her early playmate must, of necessity, bring upon her. Father and mother she had not; but from her birth, almost, adopted by her uncle, chased one another, each dying as it overtook its sister-wave, and melting into one with her. A soldier's life is glorious in perspective; but ah! the treacherous sea pulls down the noble fabric, and a sick cadet feels little disposed to lead a forlorn-hope, or even to try on his red coat and count the buttons. Melancholy, in thought, is a great luxury; but requires, like all other pleasures, change. Our cadet is tired of gazing at the sea, and so sits down to talk to a young lady on a camp stool, surrounded by countless shawls. She is very pretty; but what is that to him? He had as soon she had been like one of the witches in Macbeth! But he finds her very good-humoured and willing to entertain him; for she guesses from what his lowness of spirits proceeds, and remembers her own, when her lover left for India. She is now on her way to join him, as he cannot come to England to fetch her, and they will soon be married, Egan and his fair young friend are soon quite intimate, and engaged in a long conversation; until the dinnerbell, announcing that important hour for digestion has arrived, they together go down into the cabin. I will not "carry" my readers (which, if they are as numerous as I could wish, would be rather a laborious task) with me the whole overland-route to India; because never having undertaken the journey myself, I might, not withstanding my lion's skin, show my long ears; and so simply rely on my superior knowledge for the fact that all the passengers in the Fury landed safely at their several destinations without any accident, excepting the loss of a small dog, who, much to the grief of its mistress, and her maid more especially (whose arm it had bitten the day before), fell overboard, and left nothing but its memory in their hearts. What became of Egan Dalkeith after joining his regiment I cannot say, for I lost sight of him until his return to England, which did not take place for three years afterwards. During these three years I must again bring Alicia before you. We left her in tears on a sofa. A few days, and although Egan's name was the signal for a fresh effusion, still the weather was fine, for it was April. A few weeks, and summer was coming. We will not proceed to months, for then a letter had told of his safety and unchanged love, etc., filled with those sentiments which form the staple commodity of most love-letters, and Alicia only thought of his return. She was much alone; preferring the society of her uncle and the few intimate friends she had living near her, to anything of a gayer nature; and leading such an unvarying life, her thoughts had neither opportunity nor inclination to wander, for a moment, from their resting-place. Egan has been away now eighteen months, and the mail has never failed to bring her letters from him; and now she is expecting it in, and must drive to the post-town herself to get it. She is sure of one-a long one, to make up for the last, which was unusually short. She is so sure of a letter that she does not ask if there is one for her; but asks at once for hers. That old man, so redolent of snuff, is a long time fumbling over the packet; and then, in the coolest manner, replies to her question: "None to-day, mam." Oh, indeed!" anxiously rejoins Alicia; "there must be some mistake. Will you be so kind as to look again. Surely there has been some mistake. Has the post-bag-has the mail not come in ?" "The mail was in with the Ingian letters last night, mam; but I will look again." Look again, postmaster, if you will; but the letter is not there. It is no use waiting. Alicia returns home. What can have prevented his writing? He is ill; he never could have missed doing so had he not been ill. His last letter What makes you start, Alicia? You do not doubt his faith? No; that is the last thing a woman believes. And under the firm impres sion that he is ill, her fears at times exaggerating the evil until she can scarcely endure the uncertainty, Alicia passes half sleepless nights and anxious days, vainly conjecturing and eagerly looking forward to the next arrival from India. It comes at last. The mail is in; there is a letter this time. It is very short. Why does Alicia weep at receiving what she has so often anticipated in thought? the very first sentence tells her that her fears are groundless on the score of his health. Is the letter unkind? No. In what does it differ from those preceding ones, the bearers of such unmixed pleasure? Alicia cannot say; but she feels the difference, and is unwilling to speak on the subject. Egan writes in very good spirits; but does not make everything depend on his return to England, as he used. He even says that living in India unfits a man for toiling at home. Do the last words, that evening eighteen months ago, ring in your ears, Alicia, as they do in mine, and contrast disagreeably with the present? You are sorely disappointed and sad at heart. Awaking from a pleasant dream is always painful; but you are far from awake yet-only disturbed a little. The three years are nearly over. Time passes slowly in life to what it does on paper. Mr. Ford is an old man, and his mind seems breaking up with his body. He can scarcely leave his room, and Alicia is always with him; and now one wintry day, Death comes stealthily, and steals his soul whilst he is in the arms of his sister, Sleep; and Alicia is left alone to mourn the loss of a dear friend. All supposed that, having adopted his niece, he would leave her all his property, and she never doubted that his promises made her to that effect would be fulfilled; but now, as he rests in his long home and the funeral is over, no will can be found. All search is fruitless; he has died without one-and Alicia finds herself a beggar, cast on her own resources for a livelihood, and the estate, which by intention was hers, the property of a nearer relation of Mr. Ford's. Friends, in such cases, are generally very kind in offering advice. Many did so now. One only offered a substantial proof of friendship, and that was a home for Alicia until she could decide on anything for the future; and this she gratefully accepted: for too proud, after Egan's late coolness, to write and apply to him, she waited that he might be the first to make overtures, now her poverty so altered her position. But month succeeded month, and still the letter full of sympathy and reawakened affection on account of her late sorrows, for which she so earnestly hoped, came not; and at last she read his name in the papers as having landed in England. She had received but one letter from him during the preceding six months, and now her eyes opened to the dreadful reality that the love she bore him was a gratuitous donation on her part, which he did not care to acknowledge, |