Part 24 (1/2)
Distressing Accident.--Last evening, about six o'clock, as Mr. William Schuyler, an old and respectable citizen of South Park, was leaving his residence to go down town, as has been his usual custom for many years, with the exception only of a short interval in the spring of 1850, during which he was confined to his bed by injuries received in attempting to stop a runaway horse by thoughtlessly placing himself directly in its wake and throwing up his hands and shouting, which if he had done so even a single moment sooner, must inevitably have frightened the animal still more instead of checking its speed, although disastrous enough to himself as it was, and rendered more melancholy and distressing by reason of the presence of his wife's mother, who was there and saw the sad occurrence, notwithstanding it is at least likely, though not necessarily so, that she should be reconnoitring in another direction when incidents occur, not being vivacious and on the look out, as a general thing, but even the reverse, as her own mother is said to have stated, who is no more, being a Christian woman and without guile, as it were, or property, in consequence of the fire of 1849, which destroyed every single thing she had in the world. But such is life. Let us all take warning by this solemn occurrence, and let us endeavour so to conduct ourselves that when we come to die we can do it. Let us place our hands upon our hearts, and say with earnestness and sincerity that, from this day forth, we will beware of the intoxicating bowl.
”FOREVER”
[Sidenote: _Calverley_]
Forever; 'tis a single word!
Our rude forefathers deem'd it two: Can you imagine so absurd A view?
Forever! What abysms of woe The word reveals, what frenzy, what Despair! For ever (printed so) Did not.
It looks, ah me! how trite and tame!
It fails to sadden or appal Or solace--it is not the same At all.
O thou to whom it first occurr'd To solder the disjoin'd, and dower Thy native language with a word Of power:
We bless thee! Whether far or near Thy dwelling, whether dark or fair Thy kingly brow, is neither here Nor there.
But in men's hearts shall be thy throne While the great pulse of England beats, Thou coiner of a word unknown To Keats!
And nevermore must printer do As men did long ago; but run ”For” into ”ever,” bidding two Be one.
Forever! pa.s.sion-fraught, it throws O'er the dim page a gloom, a glamour It's sweet, it's strange; and I suppose It's grammar.
Forever! 'Tis a single word!
And yet our fathers deem'd it two: Nor am I confident they err'd; Are you?
OPEN AIR [Sidenote: _Th.o.r.eau_]
My spirits infallibly rise in proportion to the outward dreariness. Give me the ocean, the desert or the wilderness! In the desert, pure air and solitude compensate for want of moisture and fertility. The traveller Burton says of it: ”Your _morale_ improves; you become frank and cordial, hospitable and single-minded.... In the desert, spirituous liquors excite only disgust. There is a keen enjoyment in a mere animal existence.” They who have been travelling long on the steppes of Tartary say: ”On re-entering cultivated lands, the agitation, perplexity, and turmoil of civilisation oppressed and suffocated us; the air seemed to fail us, and we felt every moment as if about to die of asphyxia.” When I would recreate myself, I seek the darkest wood, the thickest and most interminable, and, to the citizen, most dismal swamp. I enter a swamp as a sacred place--a _sanctum sanctorum_. There is the strength, the marrow of Nature. The wild-wood covers the virgin mould--and the same soil is good for men and for trees. A man's health requires as many acres of meadow to his prospect as his farm does loads of muck. There are the strong meats on which he feeds. A town is saved, not more by the righteous men in it than by the woods and swamps that surround it. A towns.h.i.+p where one primitive forest waves above while another primitive forest rots below--such a town is fitted to raise not only corn and potatoes, but poets and philosophers for the coming ages. In such a soil grew Homer and Confucius and the rest, and out of such a wilderness comes the Reformer eating locusts and wild honey.
”MARY POWELL”
[Sidenote: _Anonymous_]
_Journall_
Forest Hill, _May 1st, 1643_.
Seventeenth Birthday. A gypsie Woman at the Gate would fame have tolde my Fortune; but _Mother_ chased her away, saying she had doubtless harboured in some of the low Houses in _Oxford_, and mighte bring us the Plague. Coulde have cried for Vexation; she had promised to tell me the Colour of my Husband's Eyes; but _Mother_ says she believes I shall never have one, I am soe sillie. _Father_ gave me a gold Piece. Dear _Mother_ is chafed, methinks, touching this Debt of five hundred Pounds, which _Father_ says he knows not how to pay. Indeed, he sayd, overnighte, his whole personal Estate amounts to but five hundred Pounds, his Timber and Wood to four hundred more, or thereabouts; and the t.i.thes and Messuages of _Whateley_ are no great Matter, being mortgaged for about as much more, and he hath lent Sights of Money to them that won't pay, so 'tis hard to be thus prest. Poor _Father!_ 'twas good of him to give me this gold Piece.
May 2nd.--Cousin _Rose_ married to Master _Roger Agnew_. Present, _Father, Mother,_ and _Brother_ of _Rose_; _Father, Mother, d.i.c.k, Bob, Harry_, and I; Squire _Paice_ and his Daughter _Audrey_; an olde Aunt of Master _Roger's_, and one of his Cousins, a stiffe-backed Man with large Eares, and such a long Nose! Cousin _Rose_ looked bewtifulle--pitie so faire a Girl should marry so olde a Man--'tis thoughte he wants not manie Years of fifty.
May 7th.--New misfortunes in the Poultrie Yarde. Poor _Mother's_ Loyalty cannot stand the Demands for her best Chickens, Ducklings, &c, for the Use of his Majesty's Officers since the King hath beene in _Oxford_. She accuseth my _Father_ of having beene wonne over by a few faire Speeches to be more of a Royalist than his natural Temper inclineth him to; which, of course, he will not admit.
May 8th.--Whole Day taken up in a Visit to _Rose_, now a Week married, and growne quite matronlie already. We reached _Sheepscote_ about an Hour before Noone. A long, broade, strait Walke of green Turf, planted with Holly-oaks, Sunflowers, &c, and some earlier flowers alreadie in Bloom, led up to the rusticall Porch of a truly farm-like House, with low gable Roofs, a long lattice Window on either Side the Doore, and three Cas.e.m.e.nts above. Such, and no more, is _Rose's_ House! But she is happy, for she came running forthe, soe soone as she hearde _Clover's_ Feet, and helped me from my Saddle all smiling, tho' she had not expected to see us. We had Curds and Creams; and she wished it were the Time of Strawberries, for she sayd they had large Beds; and then my _Father_ and the Boys went forthe to looke for Master _Agnew_. Then _Rose_ took me up to her Chamber, singing as she went; and the long, low Room was sweet with flowers. Sayd I, ”_Rose_, to be Mistress of this pretty Cottage, t'were hardlie amisse to marry a man as old as Master _Roger_.” ”Olde!” quoth she, ”deare _Moll_, you must not deeme him olde; why, he is but forty-two; and am not I twenty-three?” She lookt soe earneste and hurte, that I coulde not but falle a laughing.
May 9th.--_Mother_ gone to _Sandford_. She hopes to get Uncle _John_ to lend _Father_ this Money. _Father_ says she may _try_. 'Tis harde to discourage her with an ironicalle Smile, when she is doing all she can, and more than manie Women woulde, to help _Father_ in his Difficultie; but suche, she sayth somewhat bitterlie, is the lot of our s.e.x. She bade _Father_ mind that she had brought him three thousand Pounds, and askt what had come of them. Answered; helped to fille the Mouths of nine healthy Children, and stop the Mouth of an easie Husband; soe, with a Kiss, made it up. I have the Keys, and am left Mistress of alle, to my greate Contentment; but the Children clamour for Sweetmeats, and _Father_ sayth, ”Remember, _Moll_, Discretion is the better Part of Valour.”