University of Virginia Library



TO F. B. SANBORN.

Accept, dear friend, this rustic lay,
Owing its polish to your learned sense,
The while the lingering winter's day
Held all my sadness in a rapt suspense.
Concord, June, 1881.

7

NEW CONNECTICUT.

PART I.
THE FARMER'S BOY.

Beneath the mountain's brow, the o'erhanging wood,
The farmer's boy had here his humble birth,
From towns remote, in rural neighborhood;
His education at the homely hearth.

8

A highland district and a rugged soil,
By rough roads crossed, and dangerously steep;
Mad River's mill-stream tumbles with turmoil
O'er its rash cataract with furious leap.
Far up the slope a winding pathway leads
The forest's edge along, the summit gains;
Wide now around the opening prospect spreads,
Ample reward for all the traveller's pains.
Within the circle of the blue sky's rim
Peer forth in sight fair towns, tall steeples gleam;
The wavering lines of Hancock's Brook show dim;
Yonder wild Naugatuck, his mother's stream.

9

Mountain magnificent! still unrenowned,
Unsought for delicate air and lordly view;
Fields, orchards, murmuring woods, valleys profound,
All aptly named “Connecticut the New.”
Southward the charming landscape fills the eye,—
New Haven's beauteous shades and classic ground
Behind old Carmel's hills, hidden, yet nigh,
Close harbored on Long Island's sandy sound.
Nearer, within short distance, there discern
Potucko's woods, where once for snaring game
The Indian fired his brushwood ring; in turn
Himself was caught, and perished in the flame.

10

Not three full lifetimes now had passed away
Since this wild woodland planted was and claimed
By his robust forefathers, old and gray,—
Farms, orchards now, and “Farmingbury” named.
Here modest pride their pedigree might name,
Trace back their lineage to Old Ely's see,
And Jesus College on Cam's English stream,
Whose Vigilant Bird still names the family.
In Winthrop's ships across the dismal sea
Their fathers came, and honored names they bore
In Boston and its neighboring colony,—
From Roxbury journeying to New Haven's shore.

11

Thence inland marching, the first settler here
Surveyed his thousand acres, bound by bound;
His labors ended, left his titles clear,
In fit proportion, to his children round.
His eldest heir, of military port,
Won from his kinsman's hand a captain's sword;
Bold Trumbull's “minute men,” in field and fort,
Heard his commission and obeyed his word.
Of Derby's ancient stock his lady came,
The gentler virtues in her sweetly blent;
The Matron of the Hill,—a gracious name,—
Grandchild of Yale's first-chosen president.

12

Borne as a bride through the deep, dark defile,
Behind her lord on pillion seated high,
Mistress of his new mansion, she, the while,
Views gorge and river with admiring eye.
Bold scenery here, and wonderfully wild,—
O'er the steep, jagged rocks the hemlocks lower,
Darkening the wave below; and high o'erpiled
On either side the Alpine summits tower.
His upland district had received its name
From many a spindle, busy wheel, and quill;
Such household arts bestowed a local fame,—
It bore the homely title, “Spindle Hill.”

13

Eastward the meeting-house near two miles stood,
Reached by steep roads, and past Mad River's mill;
A few plain houses in near neighborhood,
All, by preëminency, named “The Hill.”
There, on the rock, the plain gray structure shows,
Not with broad belfry or tall steeple crowned;
And down below the precipice repose
The long-lived forefathers, yet unrenowned.
The boy's grave sire, although a captain's child,
His mother's virtues had, her quiet air,
Her patient steadfastness and temper mild;
Ingenious, bashful, scrupulously fair.

14

Resources had he when the inclement skies
Held him from wonted labor in his fields;
Some handicraft in useful ways he plies,
And this, meanwhile, an ampler income yields.
Skilful with tools, and in good husbandry,
Well harvested his crops, and safely stored,
By change of toil he earned a competency,
Frugal and sober, spread a bounteous board.
Apartments few his low-roofed home possessed;
The simple household's competent estate
For service, meal-times, shelter, and sweet rest,
All on each other dutifully wait.

15

Convenient the wide-mouthed chimney's flues
For wholesome warmth, below, but overhead
In chambers cold, thick coverlets of all hues,
And quilted by his mother's hand, are spread.
Pipe, almanac, above the mantel-piece,
Deep-seated arm-chairs standing carelessly,
The floors uncarpeted, no spot nor crease,—
Safe the latched door without or bolt or key.
Outside, the shop, where each rude implement
For farm or household use was finished new;
There stood the loom, with treadles violent,
While cunning fingers shot the shuttles through.

16

By the shop's side the aspiring well-sweep shows,
And tilting downwards dipt the bucket's rim
Sidelong below, dropt hand o'er hand; uprose
With sparkling waters dripping from its brim.
Across the meadow near, the orchard lies,
Its goodly fruits all in their season ripe;
And by the winding fence, of biggest size
The early apples hang, of ruddy stripe.
The choicer fruits are in the garden set,
The cherry-trees along the broad wayside;
Across there steals a little rivulet,
Or big with rain its narrow banks doth chide.

17

From forth the rock, near by, a cooling spring
Drips into brimming trough for creatures' sake;
All round each waits, as a concerted thing,
In turn, impatiently, their thirst to slake.
Close by the roadside, at the thicket's edge,
Not long time since befell a tragedy;
For there among the chestnuts by the ledge
The woodman died beneath the falling tree.
The mild-eyed mother, seasonably wed,
A finer culture brought to these rude parts,
Of sprightly race, considerately bred,
And thus accomplished in all household arts.

18

Bold scenery her homestead's view confines;
Beside the meadows green the river glides,
Mount Jericho uplifts his towering pines,
And fruitful orchards crown the steep hillsides.
Pillioned behind her white-haired patriarch
She often rode, while o'er the saddle swung
The Sunday's luncheon; he, the man of mark,
Read service, sermon, set the tune, and sung.
Oft his well-mounted dame with homespun roll,
Woven by herself, betwixt the river and hill,
Paced the long distance to the city's goal,
And therewith paid young “Till's” college bill.

19

In household tasks his sisters did excel,—
From roll and distaff spun an even thread;
Quick with their needles, yet they could right well
The wholesome meal prepare and table spread.
Good sleight of hand his brothers' several art,—
Their fingers apt, yet less with book and pen;
The lathe and chisel were their chosen part,
Nor shallow knowledge theirs of times and men.
Not learning but hard labor theirs to give
For homely comforts, neither beg nor steal;
Such idlers as on others' earnings live
Their firesides share not, nor their frugal meal.

20

Here raise the curtain on the evening scenes,—
The father baskets weaves, the sisters sew,
Apples the brothers pare, the mother spins,—
The boy in books finds his Elysium now.
A comely child, his aspect sage, benign,
His carriage full of innocence and grace;
Complexion blond, blue eyes, locks brown and fine,
And frank expression in his rosy face.
Of letters mindful, emulous of lore,
Not willingly let he occasion slip
To chalk upon his mother's cleanly floor
His earliest essays at rude penmanship.

21

Her family's heirloom, a rude cabinet,
Stood near, choice things there hid for privacy,—
Old “Dilworth's Spelling-Book” (its alphabet
Black-lettered) and her maiden diary.
Rare moment when she blessed his childish sight
With its quaint pictures,—cloud-throned Hercules,
Responsive to the wagoner's sad plight,
Will not to rescue come till, raised from knees,
The wheels he shoulder, and his horses scourge.
His thought for once his mother's did outrun,
Nor needed she his quick intention urge,—
Next morn his little journal he 'd begun.

22

Lovingly his mother did her lore impart;
While with soft eyes he did her daily see,
Flushed his young fancy, touched his tender heart,
His conscience christened in his infancy.
Boy not without his faults, at home, at school,
Brimful of fancies and his own quaint will,
Sly thief of time for frolic, book, and tool,—
Needs patience, counsel, good example still.
Evenings and mornings are permitted hours
For studies which delight him and refine;
He writes his journal or his book devours:
Book-shelf or corner is his chosen shrine.

23

Thus by his parents scrupulously bred,
Religious both, industrious, plain, and poor,
His infancy he passed, by fancy led,
By fellowship unharmed, or learning's lore.
Full soon his infant gifts to task he brings,
Impatient the fair world around to know;
Finds here his alphabet in nearest things,
And writes his thought with finger-pen on snow.
At cross-roads near the district schoolhouse stood
Disconsolate; its wide-mouthed chimney heats,
Fuelled all winter long with soggy wood,
Scarce reached the shivering pupils in their seats.

24

All round the room the hacked pine tables range,
Long seats in front, in corner dungeon set;
Master will lessons hear, books interchange,
Mend pens, set copies, point the alphabet.
On Saturdays forth came, yellow and dim,
New England's Primer, and the scholars all
Lord's Prayer recite, commandments, cradle-hymn,
And fatal consequence of Adam's fall.
Rude was the dialect spoken here, and strong,
It pained his ear ofttimes, and finer taste;
Old Entick's columns near, he dipt among,
And for his thoughts found words more apt and chaste.

25

Not much he gained at this rude nursery
Of homely learning,—taught to spell and read,
A glimpse he caught of ciphering's mystery,
Was sometimes mischievous, often at “the head.”
Yet for fair penmanship, both clean and neat,
He often won the wished-for monthly prize,
Which gave him preference for the better seat,
Desirable in every schoolmate's eyes.
Most memorable that morning hour obscure,
When with his playmates in tumultuous shout,
He sallied forth, much dazzled, and yet sure
Some one, up there, had snuffed their candle out.

26

Under the cool shade where the brook did flow
From forth the fissures, with contriving hand,
Often he dabbled in the pool below,
And turned his flume across the softened sand.
Here, too, his water-wheel was proudly set,
That drove the pitman's movements underneath,
And sent the forces of the rivulet
Against the slicing saw with slashing teeth.
Soon, while soft suns with the sere frosts do vie,
Drawing sweet juices upward in the spring,
The woods he forages green sprouts to spy,
And from his rod the piping whistle wring.

27

The treacherous fowling-piece and dangling hook
Most scrupulously he from choice forbore;
Enticed but once, young angler, to the brook,
Thy one inveigled minnow quick restore!
First Monday in September and glad May
Brings round the train-bands drest in blue and red,
The proud platoons their glittering guns display,
And he his fourpence spends for gingerbread.
At the Great Falls, Mad River with a bound
Turns the prodigious wheel with motion slow,
And sets the furious millstone whirling round,—
Then from the dripping buckets drops below.

28

Hither he rides, his sack of grain astride,
Waits while his grist 'neath the harsh millstone churns,
The miller taking toll,—then mounts with pride
Atop his load and leisurely returns.
His week's work done, he to the mill-pond hies,
His thirst for agile river sports to slake;
With the coy swimmers plunge, then proudly rise,
And from his dripping locks the spangles shake.
Perched on the wheel-mill's axle, with birch thong
Forward the unwilling beast he urges round
The beaten track; tedious the day and long,
Yet comes no respite till the pile is ground.

29

But when compelling screws the pomace squeeze,
And the luxurious liquor forth is prest,
His privileged moment then the boy will seize,
Ply well his straw, the cider sip with zest.
Then comes his tall white-haired grandfather old,
And takes his little namesake on his knee,
While his deep pocket does red apple hold,
That morning plucked from his June apple-tree.
Sometimes his kindly aunt the boy detains,
Brings from her pantry shelf her new-baked bread,
And while she pleasantly him entertains,
Butters his slice, with toothsome honey spread.

30

From the log cabin near his uncle comes,
Tells wondrous stories of old warlike times,—
Of Farmingbury's red fifers, rolling drums,—
And war-songs perpetrates with swaggering rhymes.
Of his commissioned father loves to tell—
His “minute men”—their secret countersign;
Of Jersey's battles, and what sore befell
The Continental troops at Brandywine.
To cheer the genial neighbor, whom long eve
And wood-fire welcomes with its friendly blaze,
The cup he passes, hopes he will not leave,—
Too short the time while he conversing stays.

31

Sweet pastime his whene'er the lowering skies
Indoors his neighbors prison and detain;
Then chalk, or book, chisel or lathe, suffice
To hold his hand, beguile his busy brain.
Once curiously he from the rifted bole
Of a clear-veinéd maple-tree shaved thin
A violin's hollowed sides, and the neck's scroll
Carved quaintly, then drew music from within.
Yet less skill had he with the fiddle-bow,
And dexterous mastery of mellifluous sound,
Than subtle insight of this splendrous show
Unmasking nature's mysteries profound.

32

Oft on the height will he his morning pass,
On his dim future musing dreamily,—
Coin piles of glimmering wealth from isinglass,
Apt type of his ideal pageantry.
Or, idly lingering by the near brookside,
His frolic fancy quick enchanted sees
Along the shallow margin spreading wide,
Fair sand-sheets for his artless traceries.
Good pleasure has he in the harvest-field,—
Their forenoon's luncheon left in the cool spring,
While the blithe mowers scythe and cradle wield,
Lay swath of grass or grain with widening swing.

33

Again on wintry days with thumping flail
The sheaves he threshes with a hearty will,
Then fans and winnows, measures the full tale,
And pours in sacks all ready for the mill.
Sometimes on sled he to the wood repairs,
The runners creaking o'er the frozen ground;
Smites the tall tree, no dexterous blows he spares
Till down it crashes with an echoing sound.
November loiters with the wished-for feast,
The bright flames kindled in the “spare room” smile
On cousins sleek and shining in their best,—
Pudding and compliments, in turn, beguile.

34

Nor fail they when in rustic glee to call
Black Tony's sweeping bow; when the smooth floor
Checkers with dancers in gay festival,
The custards waiting till the reel is o'er.
In graceful motions of the whirling dance
And cheerful frolic joined he diffidently;
Preferred the rather kindly consonance
Of heart with heart in silent courtesy.
Pleased when behind the jingling, merry bells,
With tightened rein in mittened hand they ride
Along the turnpike road, by glades and dells,
His veiled Amanda sitting at his side.

35

Indoors the Needle's Eye they both must pass,
Its thread that runs so nimbly and so true;
It has caught many a swain and blushing lass,
Best prize of all, Amanda, it caught you.
“Then come, Philander, let's be marching,
Every one speaks from his heart-string;
Choose your true-love now or never,
And forever choose no other.
Love, farewell! darling, farewell!
We are all for marching, marching.”

36

Thus must he forward fare, the farmer's boy,
Beyond the limits of his neighborhood;
Eager of heart, companionable, if coy,
Society he sought in solitude.
One youth he knew, in sight of chimney's smoke,
Fired with the love of letters,—only one;
Together they a fairer lot bespoke,—
For fortune's frown let mother-wit atone.
Of kindred mind, as kindred by descent,
Their evenings they in studies choose to spend;
Seek each the other's lore to complement,
Their diaries keep and weekly letters send.

37

Like books they borrow, projects entertain,
As life its opening pages round them spread;
What gifts are theirs seem not yet clearly plain,
Their expectations vague and dimly read.
For news long two miles ride they, at week's end,
The papers from New Haven posting slow,
Though hostile Indian cruelties impend,
And Erie's Lake sees Perry sink the foe.
Parades are common in those boyish days;
Young citizens will drill in rank and file;
Captain, lieutenant, ensign, will display
Their wooden guns in creditable style.

38

Through scenes grotesque and wild glides Hancock's Brook,
Precipitous its sides, with ivy crowned;
Neglected long, yet not at last forsook,
It leaps the mill-dam o'er with plashing sound.
Down from the farms the rustic youngsters come,
Drain the steep mountain of its bravest blood,
Each hand and tool accord to factory's hum,
And higher pay they gain beside the flood.
Here in the shop, above the flume and sand,
While whir the forces of mechanic fate,
Busied aloft, where the red clock-shops stand,
His fingers guide Time's o'er the dial-plate.

39

Meantime he counts each hapless morn and night
The while his six days' wages here he earns,
Till up the ivied gorge, for home delight,
By Saturday evening's moonlight he returns.
Past now his twelvemonth's long apprenticeship
To arts mechanic, he seeks some amends
For missed attainments, and for scholarship
The parson's three months' winter term attends.
Their morning walk the cousins here did take
From Spindle Hill to the small schoolroom, where
Far more they gained themselves for learning's sake
Than all their learned pastor had to spare.

40

A few disciples near had Wesley found,
Here in derision called the “Brand New Lights”;
The curious cousins seek the camping-ground,
Their eyes to flatter with the novel sights.
Confusing scene! with its pale kerchiefed saints,
And shrill, sweet songs, the trumpet's call for prayer,
The rapturous shoutings, and the piteous plaints,
The tearful glories, agonized despair;
Swoonings from fancy or from gloomy fear,
Mingling despondent woe with cloudless bliss,
Feigned sometimes seemed and sometimes all sincere,
Mid forest's glimmer and deep night's abyss.

41

Longwhile these wood-notes, like high minstrelsy,
Came floating downward on his raptured ear,
Chanting the dear All-Loving Mystery,
In ardent melodies, heartfelt and clear:—
“Jesus saw me when a stranger
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed his precious blood.
“Oh! to grace how great a debtor
Daily I'm constrained to be!
Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to thee.”

42

Then sometimes went he by the ivied road,
Wading the brooks with banks moss-lined and high,
Through the deep gorge to his grandsire's abode,
Where the wild Naugatuck swept rushing by
Mount Jericho's ledge, and thence along its shores
Dashed, heedless of the driftwood's eddying whirls,
As by the cornfields green it onward pours,
And 'gainst the jutting rocks its current chafes and curls;
Now, swollen by numerous streams, the flooded bank
Sees Waterbury's mills beside it rise,
Whose varied industry, in growing rank,
Sheffield and English Birmingham outvies.

43

There quivering o'er its reed-grown stagnant mire,
Hid 'neath steep hills, the ambitious village slept,
Hugged its white houses and its towering spire;
Round Abrigador's ledge Mad River swept.
Nurse of fair business and laborious art,
Whose fostering carefulness, unsparing hand,
Transformed the vale into a bustling mart,
Broidering with enterprise the river's strand.
Home of shrewd wit, its tributary brook,
Whence Trumbull's genius scorched McFingal's crest,
Chapfallen traitor, his suspicious look
By tar-pot's feathering fleece rudely suppressed.

44

Defiant still, it cleaves Rock Rimmon's pile,
Mingling its wave with gallant Humphrey's name;
Friend of Mount Vernon's chieftain, he, the while,
And warrior poet of provincial fame.
Vale of unpictured grandeur, dost await
The artist's graceful pencil, eye, and hand?
Thy peaks, forth looking o'er “The Steady State,”
Behold each stream by iron railways spanned.
Beyond the confines of his neighborhood
A fairer country lay, he had not seen;
Yet ere within its space his footsteps stood,
Thither his travelled thought post-haste had been.

45

Bound for New Haven's port, in rustic guise,
At Cheshire pauses he, through spy-glass views
The landscape round: rather his curious eyes
The bookshelves capture and their leaves peruse.
Here dwelt his reverend uncle Tillotson,
With priestly gifts and wholesome learning graced;
His noble namesake's faith he taught anon
In this sequestered academic place.
At church or school he might not miss or pass
Nor Hebrew Joseph's, nor old Homer's tale;
The while he reads, recites before his class,
His mild eye moistens and his accents fail.

46

Sound knowledge his and deep sagacity;
All seemings pondered he and duly weighed,
Deemed all things had a subtle unity,
And of “Religion, Science the handmaid.”
With cane and buckled knee he oft did tread
With stately step the pleasant village green;
His rosy cheek he bares and hoary head,
And cons his verses for the magazine.
At sight of the Elm City's shadowed Green,
Its bustling streets, long wharf, and shifting shrouds
On ocean's armlet in the offing seen,
Amazed, the boy's quick fancy overclouds.

47

Breaks on his vision here the livelier scene,—
A world of business, varied, unconfined;
Aside is drawn the dark withholding screen,
Mount Carmel's curtain he now looks behind.
This mart of wonders new his eye detains,
While by his father's guidance curiously
He views the dazzling shops, the wharves and lanes,
And plain gray homestead of his ancestry.
Nor does he pass unwonderingly the pile
Or venerable name, where Pierson's hand
Had shaped Yale's future happily, meanwhile,
In liberal learning foremost in the land.

48

Amidst the scarcity of men and books
He seeks what food his district can supply;
All round for miles most curiously he looks,
His hunger to appease, by chance to satisfy.
There lived an aunt not far, of serious mind,
Who loved her books and lent them with advice;
Coming and searching carefully, he did find
Young's Night Thoughts and great Milton's Paradise,
With other pieces of pure piety,—
What holy Hervey once did “meditate,”
Burgh's book of Human Nature's Dignity,
Adventurous Crusoe and his savage mate.

49

Again it chanced, when on this quest for lore,
Forth from smoked covert eagerly he drew
(Like prize his eye had never seen before)—
The Pilgrim's pictured Progress, strange and new.
O charming story! dear, delightful book!
Haply, I have thee now, my latest found;
My haunts by meadow, forest, rock, and brook
Made, as I read, by thee enchanted ground.
Fair Salem's turrets in the distance see,
Delectable and clear, above the mist;
Nearer, see burdened Christian frightened flee
From flashing mountains' flame, warned by Evangelist.

50

See, see, the puddle there,—Slough of Despond,—
Far in the valley low the city's fate;
Still farther on, and farther still beyond,
Behold in sight “the little wicket gate.”
Its homely pictures fill his startled mind;
A-field his oxen in the furrow wait
The while he reads, beneath the shade reclined,—
Too soon his candle fades at evening late.
His sacred classic now the book became,
Its text oft copied, read anew each day,—
New fledged his fancy, set his heart aflame,
Led him to follow safe in Christian's way.

51

Plainly books have close kinship with his mind,
And he that kinship will in kind repay;
Some compensating errand he will find,
On tables will a goodly volume lay.
In homespun shawl fast knotted carefully,
His pack he shoulders, and soon disappears
The hill-top o'er; down its declivity,
Like burdened Christian, westward then he steers.
Far onward wandering he inquires his way,
Solicits names for Flavel's “Saint Indeed,”—
Saints, sinners, without scruple, sign and pay;
He gains their names to the good Baptist's creed.

52

His slender profits at New Haven spends
For a choice copy of the Common Prayer,
His part to take when weekly he attends
The Sunday service at the schoolhouse near;
Where in plain dress he stands, or bends the knee,
Or in the anthems by the pitch-pipe set
Responsive joins, or lowly litany,
That in the pious soul finds echo yet.
The elders often choose him in their stead
Lay reader in this dedicated fane;
By priestly instincts reverently led,
The service he doth seriously sustain.

53

Plain farmers all, some Churchmen by descent,
Some signers-off from Calvin's colder creed,
Assembled here they decent Sundays spent,
And sowed of All Souls' Church the wayside seed.
The Sabbath day was holy, and all play
Was sinful, business next, and visiting too;
All should their Bible read, and humbly pray,
And, near or distant, to the meeting go.
The morning cavalcade, a proud display,—
The elders mount, the children safe behind;
And swarming households chequer all the way,
As to the Hill they numerously wind.

54

High o'er the pulpit hangs the sounding-board,
And close beneath the deacons' sober seat;
Room for whole families the pews afford,
The aisles ecclesiastically neat.
The singers' seats round the front gallery range;
The psalm is read (omitting the fifth clause),
All round the fugue notes fly in concert strange,
Yet all in time accord with rapt applause.
Fervent and worshipful ascends the prayer;
In order next the serious sound discourse;
The application follows; none can spare
The benediction, nor free intercourse.

55

Meantime the tithing-man his vigilant eyes
Straight on the Sabbath-breaker fastens so,
That scarce he needs to startle and surprise
Boys in the galleries or the pews below.
Nor fails the summer garden to fulfil
Its Sabbath promise,—sprigs of caraway,
All 'kerchiefed with sweet fennel and ripe dill,
The services appetize and make glad the day.
Dress heightens virtue, Sundays specially,
Worn then for worship and for conquest now;
And no less punctual evening's gallantry
Than that the morning's service did allow.

56

The custom favored gentle forwardness,
Those chosen evenings sealed the sweet surprise;
Could happier moment aid youth's bashfulness
To lisp his sonnet to his lady's eyes?

57

PART II.
THE PEDLER'S PROGRESS.

Youth casts its glance into the future far,
Stirred from within by its deep-felt unrest,
Led forward by some bright bewildering star,
And holds a fair ideal in its breast.
Forth from his nest before the approaching cold,
Fired by strange impulse and a dim foresight,
Thirst for adventure, novelty, and gold,
Our bird of passage takes his southward flight.

58

The Genius prompts and sends him out to find
His proper calling, and his wits to try;
Leaving his home and friends and farm behind,
He tempts the future with a prying eye.
Whilst at New Haven's long, extended quay
The sloop Three Sisters hoists her ready sails,
He steps on board; past Hurlgate, and at sea,
The little vessel rides with favoring gales.
On board a breezy company there was,—
Boisterous and bold; if winds did lull or fail,
Straightway, it almost seemed, their blustering noise
Held taut the canvas and e'en filled the sail.

59

Pedlers, by chance, they seek a kindlier clime,
A larger license; would fond hopes fulfil
Of ampler wages, cozening there, meantime,
Than their shrewd wits can earn on that cold Hill.
Speeds the bold craft before the driving wind
Past Henry's Cape, sea-kissing Rip-Raps round;
Her seven days' passage o'er, the vessel find
Beside the Norfolk pier all safe and sound.
There ocean's surges wash the docks and streets,
The tilted tumbrels line the market's side;
Across the ferry Portsmouth's numerous fleets,
Where navies of all nations proudly ride.

60

Knight-errant journeying here, anonymous,
Dismal his prospects, as he sorrowing learns;
Schoolmaster none is this Autolycus,—
Through Dismal Swamp to Norfolk he returns.
No, not to teach, as he had fondly dreamed,
This rash adventure proves no tilt at fame;
Peddle he will, but not his wits, it seemed,
Nor widely wandering from an honored name.
Need pedler's calling propagate disgrace
In offering almanacs at good people's doors?
He tries his fortune with his boldest face,
And sells at largest profits by full scores.

61

New Year's e'en here lasts not the twelvemonth round,
And almanacs are passing out of date;
Somewhere a wider circuit must be found,
Some choicer toys to lure and captivate.
He ventures next a bold experiment,
His hand-trunk fills with goods of costly sort,
Then sallies forth on fresh adventures bent,
Across the Roads to Hampton's little port.
In homespun dressed, his trinkets by his side,
He trudges hopeful, bent on goodly gains,
Thinks, as he plods, with heartfelt, homely pride,
If friendly fortune come not, wit maintains.

62

By princely mansions and plantations rare,
Along sequestered road and inland creck,
Virginia's fallow fields, laid waste by war,
By Yorktown's ruins, far-famed Chesapeake,
He takes his wandering way, afar, alone;
Rests sometimes by the roadside, undelayed,
Her tumbling temples notes, her altars gone,
Deserted now, or in piled fragments laid.
Now opening through the pines, far off, appear
The spacious court, slave-quarters, mansion hoar;
Whose guarded gates he passes without fear,
By kindly hounds escorted to its door.

63

Curious the maidens wait; the queenly dame
Our bashful chapman's errand will explore:
“No pedler he, no Northern tarnished name,
Footman like him ne'er travelled here before.
“Jewels, choice ornaments, and countless things,
From Norfolk's mart he bears, a rich display,—
All these for our convenience here he brings,—
Never was stranger turned by us away.”
Kind courtesies our guest from host receives,
In conversion stays, or hastes away,—
Amid the learned libraries' charmed leaves
Left to himself, he reads the livelong day;

64

Or courts the matron's choicer company,
Mild sunshine mirrored in her friendly face,
Or daughters' glances shy, yet fancy free,
Refined by modesty and maiden grace.
New school of manners for the farmer's boy,
Here midst Virginia's most illustrious names,
Still diffident, observant, curious, coy,
Charmed with her lovely daughters, queenly dames.
Now morn has come, and he will take his leave,
Yet on his hostess will some gift bestow;
“No, no, ourselves the benefit receive,
Again return our thanks the while we owe.”

65

Gifts to the servants then: the motley ring
Throng round the doorstep, and with sly device
Cheapen with praise each preferable thing,
Pleased to have won it at their own set price.
The creek across, or through the roadside gate
Cheerful he passes, while the morning shines
On his good fortune; no disasters wait
As on he trudges and the day declines.
If by mischance of travel he fall short
Of entertainment at some planter's hearth,
The Cross-Roads Inn becomes his best resort,
Filled with gay company and noisy mirth.

66

New England's customs find small favor here:
A freer life, more opulent, less discreet,
Far more restrained by courtesy than fear,
E'en when the master and the menial meet.
Court days together draw the country round,
Slave-dealers, slaves, senators of loud fame,
Judge, jockey, gentleman, checker the ground,
Dispute, talk politics, trade, drink, and game.
When Sundays come he joins his host in prayer,
Or from his bookshelf steals a pure delight,
Or entertains discourse, or sometimes there
Within, will letters or adventures write.

67

Sweet rural pictures on the shelves he finds,—
Goldsmith's good Vicar, piping Traveller,
The charming Seasons in their several kinds
Lavater's chart of face and character.
Nor can the youth pass by forgetfully
Old Yorktown's field, where erst the English lord,
Whom allied foes besieged by land and sea,
Resigned to Washington his conquered sword.
Nor William and Mary's University,
Nurse of proud patriots in former time,
Of princely manners and nobility,
Still sighing for its old Colonial prime.

68

His monthly circuits bring him round again,
His goods renewed, with new attractions too;
Nor Yorktown nor proud Williamsburg abstain
From traffic so convenient and so new.
Through bleak December's sleet and April's rains
Onward he fares till genial spring appears
And ends his journey. Profitable his gains,
Measured by standard of those frugal years
When knowledge ampler weighed than lighter gold.
We need not further follow, longer trace
His circuits by plantations famed and old,
Nor landlords name, their rank or social place.

69

He forms new friendships and finds genial homes,
In costly mansions spends delightful days,
Is welcomed warmly when he monthly comes,
And entertained the while, well pleased, he stays.
One blot he notes defacing the fair scene,—
The knot of keys at lofty mistress' side,
The cowhide's gashes, and the look obscene,—
Courtesy ill mingling with imperious pride.
Did there the Sphinx his gliding sense assail,
With her beguiling arts and sorceries,
And did his startled conscience then prevail,
And hold inviolate the sweet mysteries?

70

Happy if he preserve the blest estate,
And crown life's close with equanimity;
Open wide at last the Heaven's cloud-capt gates
To chaste-eyed Purity with crystal key.
His business closed, he homeward casts his eyes,
Pleased to have known such courtly company;
Gold gained by his successful enterprise,
Knowledge far more, and kind civility.
From Norfolk's Borough and through Hampton Roads
The freighted coaster sails the ocean o'er,
Passes the Hook and at her dock unloads,
In the great mart he sets his foot on shore.

71

Home near, his hopes and fears can he conceal,
As from the chimney's top smoke curls and drifts?
He thinks what six months' absence shall reveal,—
Its threshold crosses and the latch uplifts.
Welcomed, approved, his gains and ventures told,
Not strange if round the Hill the rumor ran,
Gathered, in telling, gloss of glittering gold:
“No farmer now, but a fine gentleman.”

73

PART III.
THE ADVENTURE RENEWED.

Past is the harvest now, the farming 's done,
The maple glowing with its crimson dye;
Soft shines the Indian Summer's yellow sun
On voyagers of air, that southward fly.
These omens reading, and the prosperous gale,
The adventurous cousins journey in due time
To snug New Haven's wharf-side, and set sail
Again for yonder mild, romantic clime.

74

Tempestuous passage has the laden craft,
By blasts contrarious toward Bermudas borne,
Till shifting winds and welcome pilot waft
The crazy merchantman to port, unshorn.
Unskilful seamen, on a huckstering trip,
For Charleston's market bound, their bark for sale,
If, with her cargo and scant seamanship,
She chance to outride the rough autumnal gale.
Behind the wains slow-trudging all the way
Across a country marshy and champaign,
While wagoners their luggage safe convey,
Forth to the uplands fare the pilgrims twain;

75

Through muddy stream and knee-deep puddles wade,
On some dry hillock pause above the mire,
Baiting on teamster's forage, undismayed,
Sleep on pine needles by the brushwood fire.
By fields of rice, cotton, and indigo
They travel wearily, with undaunted will,
Rise to Columbia from the fens below,
Thence to their wished-for station, Abbeville.
Persistent then their earlier dreams renew,
Bright fancy dazzled with the alluring prize;
Here the schoolmaster's calling they'll pursue,
Hope in their hearts, romance within their eyes.

76

By single terms adventuring for their board,
Cabined in walls where snow and rain make way,
Near some unwholesome spring, with drinking-gourd,—
Shall such dull tasks young pedagogues essay?
Scant rudiments of learning (rude indeed)
The gaping towheads gather here to gain;
All of that little did the teacher need,—
Such length of body, with such lack of brain!
Strangely your alphabet ye travesty,
Ye dull wiseacres of the rusty land,
Pronounce your final letters learnedly,—
“Izzard” is z, and next comes “ampersand.”

77

“Why further stay on Carolina's ground?
No prospects open here for hopeful gains;
Better remain at home the twelvemonth round,
Where ampler wages come for lesser pains.
“Let us forthwith to Norfolk's port repair;
This search for schools, awhile, we'll set aside;
Some other calling, cousin, be our care;
Thy disappointment soften, soothe thy pride.”
Along the narrow, fencéd road they passed,
Rivers they forded, oft inquired the way,
Their little bundles in their hands held fast;
At public houses seldom could they stay.

78

Next a long stretch of sand and sterile ridge,
Persimmon-patches, hovels' smoke and soot,
Tar forests, Tarborough (with its lengthened bridge);
No other cities on their weary route,
Till Gosport's pennons, Portsmouth's town appear.
The pilgrims, pausing there, fresh toilets make,
Cross the broad ferry with refreshing cheer,
To lodge in Norfolk by the waters' wake.
'T was Christmas, when the fortnight's holidays
Are given to sport and endless jollity,
By swarthy mimics in fantastic ways,
By gentlefolk in decent gayety.

79

The motley pageant in each street is seen,
Tricked out in equipage of every hue,
Tripping to jingling thump of tamborine,
While banjos tinkled, and loud trumpets blew.
Again, on ground familiar and well proved
The Yankee cousins here their calling ply;
Though such employment be but ill-beloved,
Needs must they seek it, nor their craft deny.
Such eager hawkers into business slide,
Canvassed the Borough, they to Portsmouth cross;
Offering the “New Year's Register” with pride,
They sell their stock, and that without a loss.

80

Next sallying forth, on brighter prospects bent,
From costly trinkets or plain merchandise,
Their spirits buoyant, and their minds intent,
They journey onward with observant eyes;
Plantations see, tilled by the laboring slave,
Rich vessels lading at the neighboring creek,
Or sailing on some noble river's wave,
Drank soon by many-throated Chesapeake.
Memory recalls their brave resounding names,—
Colonial some, and some of Indian trace,—
Potomac, Rappahannock, York, and James,
Of royal sound, or Pocahontas's race.

81

Again our pedlers trudge the frozen road,
Through piny forests fare, round creeks they skirt;
The gates unbolting to each grand abode,
They pass the growling mastiffs all unhurt.
Resistless is their sparkling pedlery,
All useful things, or comely ornament;
Here 's no cajoling nor chicancery,
Nor profits greater than the fair per cent.
Good bargains drive they through the inclement weeks,
Till vexed Aquarius pours chill rain and snow,
Nipping their fairest hopes: the ruddy cheeks
Of one young pedler lose their wonted glow;

82

And soon on bed of sickness low he lies,
While gloomy spectres haunt his fevered brain.
Shall Reason's sunlight animate his eyes,
And give him back to the sane world again?
Sad news from Wolcott Hill his friend received;
'Gainst these disastrous storms nought could avail.
From months of weary watch at last relieved,
He for his mountain home sets instant sail.
Bereft of thy kind counsel and good sense,
Ah! faithful friend! thou leavest me now alone,
To joust with fashion and improvidence,—
The dupe of others' follies, and my own!

83

Another playmate of life's early years
Here plied, as oft before, his gainful arts;
Unsympathetic ran our several ways,
Yet cousins kindred seem in foreign parts.
Together first through districts near we rid,
Environed still by dismal fen and pond;
For health and pleasure sought the invalid;
His cousin bargains: so through Nansemond,
And farther southward still their route extends,
And Carolina's fields their trade invite;
On Chowan's banks they found the kindly Friends,
Drab-coated followers of the Inner Light.

84

There, midst green pastures, with their swarming bees,
Dwelt these remote, and pastoral lives they led;
Not more could Virgil's swains the fancy please,
On yellower creams, or sweeter honey fed.
Less versed in books, they trusted Nature's lore,
Schooled by habitual temperance and sense;
Of worldly goods they had abundant store;
Genial and generous, and without pretence.
Oft came all pedlers from their circuits round
To spend “First Day” inside these welcome doors;
With goodly cheer their buttery did abound;
Bright were their buffets, neat their sanded floors.

85

Few books,—but “Fox's Journal” they revere,
And Penn's calm rhapsody, “No Cross no Crown;”
Esteeming silent worship more sincere
Than loud lip-service and the Churchman's gown.
Soon came pedestrian tours 'mong gentle folk,
Who spend their money fast and lavishly,
Enjoy luxurious banquets, mirth, and joke,
And take their business late and leisurely.
So sauntering pedlers wend their devious way
By fallen church and lowly hermitage,
By mansions lordly once, now in decay,
Of Wilson, Taliaferro, Taylor, Braxton, Page.

86

Ancestral places of provincial name
Lure them still farther northward each day's beat,—
Mount Vernon's homestead of immortal fame,
Potomac's windings, Alexandria's street;
Thence forward to the pillared Capitol,
Blackened and blemished by a foreign foe,
Whose English prowess men must needs extol,
Though vengeance more than valor there did show.
Through Maryland roam they, nearing the free States,
Past Carrollton and stately Baltimore,
Swayed once or now by lordly potentates,
Calverts and Carrolls from the Irish shore.

87

Slow journeying, at the plainer inns they call,
Hastening, where Clinton his proud flag unfurled,
To Penn's mild city with its spacious hall,
Where once a people's challenge roused the world.
Crossing the Delaware to the Jersey shore,
They saw the Exile's villa, once of note,
That sheltered Bonaparte in days of yore;
Thence to New York, in Amboy's ferry-boat.
Whirling with business, pleasure, noise, and pride,
Here they the city's marvels wistful view;
Here will they rest a day from their long stride,
Refresh their spirits and their garb renew.

88

For homespun suits are threadbare worn, and shine,
While garish windows all their fancy fill;
“Clad in this broadcloth, with these ruffles fine,
We'll dazzle the plain folks on Spindle Hill.”
The obsequious salesman draws a sumptuous store
Forth from his wardrobes, smiles complacently,
And clothes in garments gay, as ne'er before,
Our spendthrift pedlers, drest full fashionably.
Debarking at New Haven's lengthening quay,
In sleekest beaver and resplendent boot,
Our gallant knights of wayworn pedlery
(No stages running) take the road on foot.

89

Thence up East Mountain's rocky steep they climb,
Passing the Green, the Church, the stores, the mill,—
Familiar places all, from earliest time,—
Each bound for home on yonder sightly hill.
In these plain households, startling the surprise
At such unheard magnificence of dress,—
“Are these our pedlers here before our eyes,
These handsome fellows, with such soft address?
“Black coat? and white cravat of daintiest tie?
Crimped ruffles, gleaming amethystine pin?
Vest of Marseilles o'er trowsers of drab dye,
Gold seals at watch-fob, jewelled watch within?”

90

Next Lord's day morning, promptly sallying forth,
They flaunt in eyes devout their raiment soft,
Eclipsing thus poor homespun modest worth,—
These brilliant youth in gallery aloft.
Not undevout were they, but indiscreet;
And whilst the parson broached divinity,
Not less devotedly, from seat to seat,
Soft eyes diffused their pleasant sorcery.
Come sunset, in the shady path they strayed,
Courageous slipping by the graveyard lone,
While on their way to court some handsome maid,
No dismal spectre seeing, fearing none.

91

Shall this gay youth his soberer cousin see,
Or journal write? His mirror sees him more.
Not an accomplished coxcomb yet is he,
But far less bashful than he was before.
All through the busy, toiling summer hours
Will he for pleasure the farm-labor leave?
If o'ercast sky or threatening cloudlet lowers,
He copies verses for the Sabbath eve.
“The lovely young Lavinia once had friends,
And fortune smiled propitious on her birth.”
E'en so with him,—the sunny chapter ends,
And sudden darkness settles o'er the earth.

92

Midst these brief raptures and this gay success,
The sharp attorney, positive and bland,
Shows his instructions, strict and pitiless,
Demanding surety and a note of hand.
Ah! now the crisis comes! With agony
The frugal father, pledged for wasteful son,
His lifelong earnings puts in jeopardy,
And household troubles early have begun.

93

PART IV.
FAILURE AND RETREAT.


94

Soon this smooth-faced, exacting creditor
Demands of his delinquent instant pay;
Tells him without reserve or metaphor,
“Why, you 're above your business,—far too gay.”
Forthwith all properties and cash in hand
To pay his debt are honestly made o'er;
Shall he now follow traffic contraband,
Begging for custom at the planter's door?

96

On to the highlands then! and far remote,
Where rumor breathes not, let him come who will!
The quondam pedler there, in costly coat,
Shall show his art, wielding the feathered quill.
The stage is ready; quick he steps inside,
Knight of the goose-quill, not of tape and tin;
Southward he rides all day, with proper pride,
And 'lights, genteel, at Warrenton's best inn,—
Resort of gentle folk from far and near.
The jockeys' chariot by the door-step whirls,
While on the Seminary lawn appear,
Dancing around the May-pole, merry girls.

97

Costume now serves: the brightly polished boot,
The sleek white hat, the wearer's vernal bloom,
Watch-seal and ribbon, and becoming suit
Give the distinguished stranger the best room.
Proposals soon come forth, in fairest script,—
The new Professor will on pupils wait;
Strokes of his careful pen, in standish dipt,
The clerk declares “beat even copperplate.”
The judge, the parson, would be dashing scribes,
And pledge their names; the flattering clerk himself
Thinks praises easy and convenient bribes
To gain his lesson, without loss of pelf.
The landlord and fair lady ride away
To the spring races in their chariot fine,
Drawn by white steeds, caparisoned so gay,
And tavern business to the clerk resign.

98

The sunset's blaze forsakes the window-panes;
Then from his low apartment, with his pack,
Steals he along the streets and winding lanes,
Wandering all night, far from the beaten track,
Like fleeing slave pursued by dismal fears,
Who hopes and dreads the light of coming day,
As by the friendly star he northward steers,
Nor stops till, safe, he walks the public way;
E'en so our fugitive travels in his flight
Each unfrequented, each remotest road,
Till the great thoroughfare comes full in sight;
And pausing there, he lays aside his load.

99

By cornfields green, acres of waving wheat,
Ripe for the sickle and the threshing-floor,
Midst forests sheltering many a planter's seat,
His hasty steps avoid each open door.
For sleep and meals he can but moments spare,
Until he reach Virginia's Northern Necks,
And join again his brother trading there,—
Near Rosewell House, in sandy Middlesex.
Rosewell! fair pride of the colonial age,
Then in its grandeur, when its lord had sway,
The friend of Jefferson, baronial Page;
Thou 'rt now the mouldering monument of that day.

100

“Gay knight of goose-quill, flourishing of late,
From sudden pounce of Pinchfist newly flown,
Absconding now, needy and profligate,—
Poor footsore pilgrim, penniless and lone,
“Wouldst thou ride Fancy o'er her giddy ground?
Fancy—cool-headed judgment's constant foe—
A skittish hippogriff is always found,
And her rash rider she will surely throw.”
On foot he seeks Penn's city; o'er him dark
The threatening clouds impend, and thunders roll,
As when bold Franklin caught the crinkling spark;
Hies on, and at the ferry pays his toll.

101

There on the summit of his native hill,
Dreaming no more of fortunes won by chance,
Adventurous Fancy cannot dupe him still
With glittering vagaries of romance.