In view of so much content in the midst of so much dirt and disorder, it did not seem worth while to ask if any one had lent her books which pleased her. However, the conversation evidently recalled pleasant memories, for the weather-beaten countenance of the kind-hearted old woman suddenly lit up, and her small eyes twinkled with happy light as she said:
“We were awful poor about those times, and there was no look-out for anything better. Some of the boys had come up here to see if they couldn’t get better land. But we had no money to buy it with if there was, and there was a book I must tell you about—a book that lifted me right out of myself. You see there came along a peddler—’twas a wonder how he ever got to such an out-of-the-way place—well, he unpacked his traps, and among them was a little book with a lovely green and gold cover. ’Twas the sweetest little thing you ever saw, and there was just the nicest picture in the front. I saw ’twas poetry, and on the first page it said, ‘The Lady of the Lake;’ that was all. I did want that book, and I had a couple of dollars in a stocking-foot on the chimney-shelf, but a dollar was a big thing then, and I didn’t feel as if I ought to indulge myself, so I said no, and saw him pack up his things and travel.
“Then I could think of nothing but that book the rest of the day, I wanted it so bad, and at night I couldn’t sleep for thinking of it. At last I got up, and without making a bit of noise, dressed myself, and walked four miles to Scranton Centre, where the peddler had told me he should stay that night—at the Browns—friends of ours, they were, and I got him up, and bought the book, and brought it back with me, just as contented and satisfied as you can believe. I looked it over and through, put it under my pillow, and slept soundly till morning.
“The next day I began to read the beautiful story. Every page took that hold of me that I forgot all about the pretty cover, and perhaps you wouldn’t believe it, but before Nelly was born, if you would but give me a word here and there, I could begin at the beginning, and say it clear through to the end. It appeared to me I was there with those people by the lakes in the mountains—with Allan bane and his harp, Ellen Douglas, Malcolm Graeme, Fitz-James, and the others. I saw Ellen’s picture before me when I was milking the cow, or cooking on the hearth, or weeding the little garden. There she was, stepping about so sweetly in the rhyme, that I felt it to be all true as the day, more true after I could repeat it to myself. And then when I found my baby grew into such a pretty girl, and so smart too, it seemed as if Providence had been ever so good to me again. But children are mysteries any way. I’ve wondered a thousand times why Nelly was such a lady, and why she loved to learn so much more than the other children. She has read to me ever since she was ten years old, and she’s got quite a lot of books there, you see, ma’am. She’s mighty fond of poetry, too.”
[RESULTS OF UNUSED TALENT.]
To illustrate the advantages of healthful duties and self-esteem, and the evils following want of occupation, I will give the experience of an old friend, a former resident of this State. For convenience I will call her Mrs. Hosmer.
This daughter of an orderly and peaceful home, in Western New York, became engaged when quite young to an intelligent young man, who afterward became foreman in her father’s iron-works. Several years elapsed before the young man felt at liberty to take on himself the cares and expenses of a family. He sought to expedite matters by obtaining a California agency from a large hardware establishment. This took him from home, and pending the decision, he became intimately acquainted with another young woman possessing marked personal attractions, different entirely from those of his long time fiancée. News of his supposed disloyalty reached his betrothed simultaneously with his return to his native town with the agency in his pocket—ready for the ceremony, and removal to California. The beauty, and alert, independent ways of the young woman in question, were set forth to the betrothed in a manner calculated to depress her own self-esteem, and raise a doubt of her lover’s satisfaction in her, but not enough doubt, she thought, to justify an explanation, or to impede the marriage, which therefore took place at once.
In San Francisco, Mrs. Hosmer found herself in what are considered most fortunate circumstances, i. e., she had nothing to do, and had no need of doing anything. She was a born housekeeper and a skillful cook, but in a boarding-house these talents remained unexercised. She was a neat and swift seamstress, but her mother having supplied her with the usual superfluity of garments included in a wedding outfit, her talent lay dormant in this direction also. Then she was amongst strangers, shy, and unacquainted with others needing assistance. So, while her husband was at his place of business, her sole thought was—bearing in mind her imaginary rival—Is Martin satisfied with me? Is he happy? Will he think this dress becoming to me?
Mr. Hosmer went and came, wholly ignorant of the doubt in his wife’s mind. He was now jovial and unreserved, now abstracted and anxious, as business promised success or failure; but always gentle and considerate with his wife. The latter was a sisterly rather than a wifely person. There was, therefore, a lack of spontaneity in the union, yet no real unhappiness on either side.