Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXVI, No. 2, February 1850

by Various

The persons concerned in the narrative which I have to repeat, are now nearly all departed. Some sleep beneath the sod in the rear of the meeting-house on yonder hill, and some are of the number of those who wait until the sea shall give up its dead, and like the informant of Job I may almost say, “that I only have escaped to tell.”

One day the stage which passed between Plymouth and Boston, at stated periods, and rarely varying in its time of passing any particular point more than two or three hours, (the whole distance, you know, is now performed in one hour and a half by rail-road.) One day the stage stopped at the small house of Mrs. Wendall, near Stony Brook, and a young, well-dressed lady was seen to alight, with an infant, and enter the house. A large trunk was deposited, and the stage passed on. It was soon known throughout the village that a lady with whom Mrs. Wendall had formed an acquaintance at a boarding-house in Boston, had come to spend some time with her. Curiosity and courtesy induced several persons to call on Mrs. W. and her new guest, though little was seen of the latter, excepting on Sunday, when she was early at meeting, and devout in her deportment. She was handsome certainly, and much more refined in her manners than most of our people. She declined entering into much social intercourse, assigning as a reason that she was in delicate health, and censure was therefore busy with her name, and the conduct of Mrs. W. for receiving and entertaining her. But an application having been made, about this time, to the clergyman to admit her to membership in the church, certain papers were exhibited to him, and his sanction of her wish, and his introducing her to his family, at once settled the question of propriety. To a few leading questions, which some of her more inquisitive female neighbors chose to put, in what they denominated a spirit of Christian feeling, and which they hoped would be answered with Christian candor, the lady gave no definite answer, but contented herself and quieted the guests with the remark, that whatever she had to say of herself she would make known without interrogation, and whenever she declined an answer to such questions as had been put, it would be because such an answer involved the secrets of other persons.

This mode of treating the inquisitive was effective if not satisfactory, and as Mrs. Bertrand did not thrust herself upon any one, and as both the clergyman and Mrs. W. were satisfied with the lady, things were allowed to remain. It was supposed that Mrs. Wendall, in her semi-annual visits to Boston, received some money for Mrs. Bertrand. And at the death of Mrs. Wendall, Mrs. B. entered upon the possession of her neat house, and became the head of a little family, consisting of herself, her daughter Amelia, and one female in the character of assistant.

The education of Amelia was conducted by her mother—we had then no school in which education could be acquired—and the home lessons, by precept and example, which Mrs. B. gave to her daughter were effective in the formation of one of the most lovely characters that ever blessed our neighborhood. The melancholy, fixed and sometimes communicative, of the mother had an effect upon the daughter. Not indeed to infuse into her moral character any morbid sensibility, but to check the exuberance of youthful feeling, and to chasten and direct a girlish fancy. There was religion, too, in all her thoughts—religion lying at the foundation of her character—religion operating upon all her plans and directing all their execution. There was no time when she seemed without this power, no time when she came into its possession. She lived in the atmosphere of her mother; she was from the cradle a child of prayer, and she participated in thousands of acts of goodness and plans of beneficence, of which none but herself and mother knew the source, but which made the heart of the afflicted beat with joy.

While such goodness blessed the dwelling of Mrs. Bertrand, it was diffused through the neighborhood.

I dwell on these things because I have always thought that the loveliness of Mrs. B.’s little family circle, though peculiar, undoubtedly, was imitable, and that the same education in the parent, and the same care for the child, would result in similar excellencies. But somehow, I never could make my views understood—and people around seemed to be impressed with the idea that what they admired in the mother and daughter was some special endowment by Providence, not attainable by any others. It is in this matter pretty much as it was with the minister’s garden—all admired its beauty, and each was willing to share in the excellence of its produce, but we had few who were willing to think that its beauty and usefulness resulted from his culture, and that with the same care their own weedy patch might have become rich in beauty and profitable in fruits.

Such, however, was the chastened excellence of Mrs. Bertrand’s character, such the beauty of her life, I might add, indeed, of her person, and such the sweetness of disposition and almost angelic temper and devotion of Amelia, that perhaps it was not strange that many should regard their domestic and social virtues and their Christian graces as inimitable. Oh, how often have I sat down in my chamber and resolved, with God’s blessing, to copy into my heart some of the heavenly lessons of their lives, and to exhibit in my conduct and conversation something of the lesser graces of this mother and her daughter. Alas! while I feel much benefit in myself from the examples and excellence with which I was occasionally associated, I have little hope that I ever made others sensible of my efforts.

It is certain that our whole town felt and acknowledged the benefit of Mrs. Bertrand’s residence among us; and, strange as it may appear, I do not remember that any envious tongues were employed to diminish the credit of her efforts, or to lessen her power of usefulness. It was a beautiful homage to female excellence which our neighborhood paid to the virtues of mother and daughter, and I have often thought that some credit was due to us all for thus appreciating what was so truly beautiful, without allowing the disparity between us and them to excite envy. Perhaps, however, it was the vast difference between us that served to keep down jealousy.

During a violent gale that followed the vernal equinox, a vessel coming, I think, from Havana, and bound for Boston, was wrecked on one of the outer capes of the bay. She strode at some distance from the shore; and went to pieces in the gale. It was believed that all on board had perished as several dead bodies washed ashore. One person, however, was taken up lashed to a spar; he exhibited some evidence of remaining vitality, and was put into a vessel to be conveyed to Plymouth, but the tide and wind favored the landing at this end of the bay, and he was conveyed to a solitary house on the point of land at the mouth of the river. There medical men ascertained that an arm was broken, and some injury sustained in one of the sufferer’s legs. Surgical aid was given, and careful nursing was required. This was most difficult to procure—money was to be had, for the pockets of the sufferer were filled with gold coin, and subsequently portions of the ceiling of the ship’s cabin which washed ashore, were found to be studded with guineas, driven into the boards that they might drift ashore. As the suffering man was found to have similar coin with him, it was supposed that these waifs were his also.

Mrs. Bertrand was at the time quite too unwell to visit the Nook, as the place was called, where the sick man lay—so Amelia went with such appliances for the sick chamber as her mother could send, and afterward she obtained permission of her mother to remain and assist one of the other persons of the village to take care of the sick man, that the family whose rooms he occupied, might not be drawn from their necessary labor.