Educational Trainings—Maria’s Departure from her Childhood’s Home—Musings in the Coach—The Seeress of Lucky Basin—Maria’s Interview with her—The Result, and the Mystery—Fate imprisoned by Sealing-wax—Burning Words from a Crow-quill—The Fatal Promise—A Terrible Dream—Arrival at Brunswick.
Maria was blessed with kind and doting parents, who, in the plenitude of their regards for her welfare, were inexorably solicitous that her whole youth might be devoted to the acquirement of knowledge. Themselves ignorant of the common rudiments of education, of course they were incapable of selecting the best methods of instruction. Knowledge, they imagined, came from the school-house. It was manufactured there by some peripatetic old bachelor. To school, then, Maria must go, armed with a spelling-book, at first, and afterwards, an arithmetic: and at school the golden, unreturning hours of her youth rolled into the lap of oblivion, until time had notched her fourteenth year upon his dial. And now there was to be a change in her tuition. Arrangements were completed for her attendance at the high school in Brunswick, an interesting little village, some seventy-five miles distant. The day of departure, for the first time, from beneath the paternal roof, was an important event in her life. It was at hand. She bore it with but little apparent emotion, and brushed from her cheek but a single tear.
“Adieu, ye pensive shades and early joys! I will not say farewell. They tell me there is a recompense for every sacrifice—but my swelling heart—”
The remainder of the sentence was not uttered. The clock struck nine, and the rattling of wheels announced the coach for Brunswick. On this occasion it was full of passengers of high and low degree, from far and near—all strangers. The driver was belated and impatient. In a few moments all was in readiness, and Maria opened the wicket gate, which seemed to swing reluctantly upon its hinges, and entered the coach.
Along they went, at full gallop, leaving grove, and meadow, and friend, and every cherished thing, behind. It was a July morning. The air was soft and fragrant, and merrily the birds rang out their joyful songs. Though ladened with heaviness of spirit, Maria could not but be pleased with the new sights that met her view, and the sounds that saluted her ears.
“And this is the world, the great and wicked world, of which I have heard so much—so long desired to see. How enchanting! And how favored are they who can travel it all over! Such fortunes and pleasures are not mine; they never can be, for I am poor and helpless. But it must be so. Well, I will be contented with a humbler lot: there are millions who are even less fortunate. It is my destiny: I am satisfied.”
These were silent reflections. On and on they rode. Now they ascended a mountain, now launched into a valley, and jolted across a pole-bridge. At length the tall pines laid their shadows on the earth, and other thoughts came into her mind—other emotions into her heart. Day’s parting smile played upon the green foliage, and soon the mellow light announced a golden sunset. Half an hour after this, the driver reined his wearied horses up to a dilapidated hotel, in front of which dangled an old sign, bearing the words, “Half-way House.” They all alighted, to tarry for the night.
This place is known, to this day, by the appellation of the “Lucky Basin,” a title which it then bore. Now (as then) there may be seen some eight or ten slab-sided houses, the largest and best of which is the hotel. Here might have been found, at that time, a very select community, whose reigning queen was a shrivelled old Quakeress who, during twenty years, and until death made a requisition upon her bony frame, enjoyed a world-wide reputation as a fortune-teller. And really a good old dame was she, in head and in heart; for it appeared that not only the name, but the good fortune of the place, was attributable to her fame; that, but for her, the poverty-stricken habitations thereabouts, with their inmates, would have gone to perdition long before. She was respected and venerated, of course, and loaded with caresses, praises, and blessings, by the whole circle of her dependent neighbors—and she was surely a true philosopher’s stone to them, in her own person, even if there was no virtue in that green pebble which the old lady pretended to have received by spiritual bequest, and which was always wrapped in a shiny covering.
It would be out of our province here to enter into any lengthened commentary on fortune-telling. This much we will allow—that when we hear of any helpless woman turning her wits to account in that manner, thereby delighting the countless votaries of curiosity, and earning a lucrative livelihood for herself at the same time, we rejoice heartily, for her sake. Now no one of “the profession” ever made sharper guesses than Quakeress Jemima Soule, (that was her name,) and deep was the frequent surprise thereat. And it was sometimes truly marvellous that her predictions were fulfilled with such exactness. She was honored with visits from many seemingly intelligent persons, some residing more than three hundred miles distant. And when we consider the excitement produced upon those who lived in her own vicinity, or not farther away than a day’s ride, we need not wonder at the fact that Lucky Basin was thronged with anxious, and often bewitching faces, at a rate of not less than three thousand a year.
And let it not be supposed that her visiters were only from among the poorer classes of society. Her widely-spread fame frequently excited deep anxiety among many wealthy persons, who never failed, in their visits, to reward her with gold: and thus was she enabled to extend the sphere of her unostentatious benevolence, and to secure the fervent blessings of the unfortunate.