University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

I was once, upon a warm summer afternoon, journeying on
horseback in that wild and picturesque tract of country, in New
Hampshire, which borders on the upper portion of the mountain-born
Merrimac, when a dark thunder cloud, that had been gathering,
unperceived by me, in the distance, rose up suddenly from
behind the screening hills, apprising me at once, by its threatening
aspect, and the rapidity with which it was rolling towards
me, that a thorough drenching was only to be avoided by an immediate
flight to some place of shelter.

Applying the spur, therefore, I put my horse to his best speed,
and fortunately, succeeded in reaching a substantial looking farm
house by the road side, just as the big, bright drops of rain, as
if shaken down by the crashing peal of thunder, that heralded
their descent, came merrily dancing to the smoking earth.

While standing in the open shed, that I had been so lucky as
to gain, listening to the roar of the elements, and marking that
almost terrific sublimity, with which a thunder-storm in the
mountains becomes invested, the owner of the establishment, a
fine, hale looking man of about forty, came out, and very courteously
invited me into the house, adding at the same time, that he
thought, from the unpromising appearance of the clouds, I might
as well make up my mind, at once, to remain with him through
the night.

As it was then late in the afternoon, and the rain still continued
to pour down, with little prospect of abating in time for me
to resume my journey before dark, I soon concluded to accept
the proffered hospitality; when I was immediately ushered into

the house by my kind entertainer, and introduced to his interesting
family, as “a stranger who had been induced to put up
with their poor fare for the night.”

I had already been struck with the appearance of thrift and
good management in every thing about this establishment without,
and my admiration was now equally awakened by the neatness
and rustic taste of all within, and the peculiar quiet and order,
with which the family concerns seemed to be conducted
under the superintendence of my hostess, who was one of the
most comely and engaging matrons I remember ever to have
seen. I very soon discovered my host to be a man of much native
shrewdness and of fixed and well-formed opinions on almost
all subjects that presented themselves; and these qualities, united
with a spice of sly humor and a good tact for description, failed
not to impart a high degree of piquancy and interest to his conversation.
After the excellent supper, with which we were soon
favored, was over, the household affairs regulated, and the smaller
children disposed of for the night, the amiable mistress of the
house took her knitting-work and joined us in the sitting-room,
adding a still further interest to the converse by her quiet presence,
and the well-timed and pertinent remarks which she occasionally
threw in, on the different subjects that were introduced.
The conversation at length turned on the Shakers, an establishment
of whom I had visited that very morning. Perceiving that
my host appeared to dissent from some general remark I had
made in praise of that singular society, I turned to him and
said:—

“You believe them to be an industrious, quiet and very honest
people, surely,—do you not, sir?”

“Industrious and quiet enough, doubtless, and just as honest
as other people, and not a whit more so,” he replied.

“Why, I had supposed them,” I rejoined, “not only peculiarly
honest and sincere, but in a great degree devoid of all those
passions and vices that most move and agitate the rest of society.”

“All that, in the exterior they generally present, I grant you;
but are you willing to take that as a criterion of their true character?”
he asked.

“By no means,” said I.

“Well, sir, could you lift the curtain, and see all that this sober
and wonderfully honest exterior is sometimes made to conceal,
you might, perhaps, be a little less inclined to exempt them
from the common feelings and frailties of other people. I have
half a mind to tell you a story of an affair, which oecurred some
twenty years ago at the very establishment you visited, and
which would show—”

“Now don't, husband!” interrupted my hostess, with a deprecating
look.

“Only by way of argument, wife,” briskly replied the man,
casting an arch look at the other—“I want to show him, that
love and intrigue may sometimes be found under a broad brim,
as well as a narrow one.”

“Oh! pray let us have it; go on—go on, by all means,” I eagerly
interposed, delighted at the novel idea of a love story
from such an unpromising source as that of the Shaking Quakers.
With another roguish glance at his slightly disturbed, though
now acquiescent companion, my host, after a brief pause, began:

It was a delightful evening in the month of October, and the
setting sun was throwing his parting beams over the yellow forests
of the surrounding uplands, whose burnished foliage threw
back the mingling streams of reflected light, and spread a red,
quivering glow over the slumbering waters of the Mascomy and
the beautiful meadows that lie stretched along its shores. Nearly
the whole of the Shaker Family, numbering at that time something
less than a hundred, were in the field, a short distance from
the pond, engaged in gathering the rare fruit of their extensive
orchards—the women, with their hand-baskets, picking the
choicer kinds for market, or for winter preservation, and the men
gathering and conveying to the teams, stationed at different
points of the field for the purpose, that part of the fruit which
was destined for the ordinary uses of the society. The almost exact
uniformity in the fashion and color of their dresses, produced a
singular sameness in the appearance of them all; but this was
more particularly the case with the females, whose neat, prim
dresses of never-varying slate color, white linen kerchiefs and
snowy caps, surmounted by their low, plain bonnets, from which
peeped their thin, pale visages, all seemingly marked with the

same demure, downcast and abject expression, might have disposed
an ordinary spectator, as they were moving about the field
as silent and gestureless as a band of automatons, to look upon
them with sensations much resembling those we experience in
beholding a flock of wild folws, where an inspection of one is
an inspection of the whole. A closer observer, however, in examining
the faces and figures of each, would have discovered,
that here, as well as elsewhere, nature had not forgotten to be
partial in the distribution of her favors; and that here, as well
as elsewhere, were those on whom the gift of personal beauty
had not been so altogether charily bestowed: and among the
latter class there was particularly one, whose rounded, symmetrical
person, fair and blooming face, and intelligent and
sweetly expressive countenance, all strikingly contrasted with the
drooping forms, plain features, and passive, unmeaning looks of
most of her unattractive companions.

Just as the last rays of the sinking sun were fading from the
lofty summit of the distant Kearsarge, the word was passed for
the people to leave work and return to their houses. As the
company were promiscuously, though in their usual quiet and
unsocial manner, retiring from the field, one of the men, a dark
eyed, compactly built young fellow of about twenty one, bearing
a large basket of apples upon his shoulder, contrived to cross the
path of the young Quakeress just described. While doing this,
and when directly before her, at a few yards distance, he made
a seemingly accidental misstep, which suddenly brought his basket
to the ground, and sent its contents rolling over the grass
around, till they met the feet of the approaching maiden, who instantly
paused, and smiled at the little mishap, which had thus
oddly interrupted her in her course. The young man immediately
threw himself upon his knees among the scattered fruit, as
if intent only on gathering it up; but while his hands were busily
employed for that purpose, his eyes turned with a quick, eager
look upon the face of the girl.

“At the Elm tree, Martha,” he said, in a low, hurried tone;
“meet me at the Elm tree, at the lower end of the orchard, immediately
after worship.”

“It is dangerous—dangerous, Seth!” replied the maiden,
slightly coloring, and casting an uneasy glance around her.

“Now I do beseech thee, Martha,” he persisted imploringly;
“I have matters of great moment to impart to thee; and it may
be the last time—yea, it will be, if thee refuse me now. Will
thee not come, then?”

“Perhaps,”—answered the girl, after a hesitating pause, in
which she threw a look of enquiry and concern upon the youth,
but seemed to suppress the question which rose to her lips—“perhaps—that
is, if I can get away from the buildings without being
noticed. But thee need not have spilled thy apples for so poor a
purpose, Seth,” she added with a faint smile.

So saying, she turned hastily away, and with quickened steps
pursued her course after her retreating companions; while the
other now proceeded in earnest to pick up his scattered apples.
This being completed, he was about to rise, when looking around
him, he encountered the gaze of a man peering at him from under
the low-hanging branches of a neighboring apple tree. A
glance sufficed to apprise the young man of the character and object
of the interloper; for, in the thick, dumpy figure, little hooked
nose, whitish, gloating eyes and ill-omened countenance of the
man, he at once recognized one of the Leaders of the Society,
and the one above all others whose notice, at this juncture, he
would have been most anxious to avoid.

“Well, make the most of it, thou vile seeker of accusations,”
indignantly muttered the young man between his teeth, as, with
a look of defiance, he shouldered his basket and proceeded homeward,
followed, at a short distance, by the object of his aversion,
who did not seem inclined to make any immediate use of such
discoveries as he might have made with his eyes, for the distance
precluded the possibility of his hearing a word that had been uttered.

But before proceeding any further with our story, it may now
be as well, perhaps, to speak a little more particularly of the different
characters we have introduced, and advert to such circumstances
of previous occurrence as may be necessary for a full understanding
of the situation in which they relatively stood towards
each other, at the time chosen for their introduction.