The long war had drained and impoverished the country; our manufactures and commerce were then in their infancy; the whole machinery of our recently organized government was new, and the hands that worked it, however wise and brave they might be, were untried, and had much to learn before the ponderous works could be brought into perfect running order.
Worst of all, President Jefferson, in 1807, laid an embargo upon American shipping, thus unwittingly striking a terrible blow at our foreign commerce, in his endeavor to force England into an amicable settlement of certain difficulties that had arisen between her and the young Republic. This, and the two years’ war with England, that broke out in 1812, made hard times for everybody, and taxed the magnanimity and skill of our foremothers to their utmost to make their homes and families present a decent and respectable appearance.
The very poor then, as now, were forced to content themselves with the barest decencies of life. But the respectable middle classes,—the farmers, mechanics, and small merchants,—were put to the greatest straits to keep up an appearance of respectability and comfort, with scant conveniences, and few or none of even the simplest elegancies of life, in dwelling, dress, or furniture.
The principal room of a New England farm-house was the kitchen, which was usually large enough to serve for a cooking, dining, and sitting room, all in one.
The enormous fireplace, with its long, soot-blackened crane, hung with hooks of various sizes, the massive iron andirons, strong enough to hold the great birch and birchen logs, that often taxed the strength of a full-grown man to lift and adjust in their places, occupied a large part of one side of the room, and served as a kind of family altar, about which the family, with their guests and friends, always assembled, in quiet chat or friendly gossip.
And a cheery spot it was, especially in those long, dark evenings in midwinter, when the ruddy, dancing flames went laughing up the great throat of the chimney, chasing the venturesome, wayward sparks, as they hurried out into the untried darkness of the winter’s night. With what a genial glow they lighted up the bare, unplastered walls, the sanded floor, the rough rafters overhead, and the scant, clumsily-fashioned furniture, until
“The rude, bare-raftered room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom.”
Nor must we forget that seldom wanting, always interesting, piece of furniture, to which was sure to be accorded the warmest, coziest spot in the wide chimney-corner,—the inevitable wooden cradle,—clumsily fashioned by loving, but unskilled hands, and always large enough to hold, besides the reigning baby, two, and, at a pinch, three, of the younger members of the household.
How the favored youngsters delighted in a ride in that clumsy old vehicle, nor dreamed that its halting, uncertain gait was other than the very poetry of motion! Even mother’s own wooden rocking-chair, a bit of boughten elegance, with its gay patchwork cushion, and dull, contented “creak! creak!” as its dear occupant swayed meditatively to and fro, knitting in hand, in the quiet, restful gloaming, was not quite equal to that dear, delightful old cradle, for a good brisk canter to “Banbury Cross,” or to the famous hunting grounds, where “Baby Bunting’s rabbit skin” was waiting for him.
Many a man, and woman too, whose names are, to-day, blessed and honored by thousands of grateful hearts all over the land, dreamed then their first misty, childish dreams of a grand and helpful manhood and womanhood, and felt swelling up within their young souls inexpressible longings to help right the wrongs of the down-trodden and oppressed, which they heard their elders talk of, and deplore as past remedy.