This was the time when

"Woodsy and wild and lonesome, The swift stream wound away, Through birches and scarlet maples Flashing in foam and spray."

"Down on the sharp-horned ledges Plunging in steep cascade, Tossing its white-maned waters Against the hemlock's shade."

"Woodsy and wild and lonesome, East and west and north and south; Only the village of fishers Down at the river's mouth;"

"Only here and there a clearing, With its farm-house rude and new, And tree-stumps, swart as Indians, Where the scanty harvest grew."

What a picture that is! And then behind these tree-stumps, the great forest with its possibilities of comfort and even of competence in its giant timbers,—when they were fairly floored, but; as it stood, a threatening foe with a worse enemy in its depths than the darkness of its shadows, or the wild beasts.

Several of Mr. Whittier's songs of the Merrimac were written for picnics, given at the Laurels on the Newbury side of the river by a gentlemen and his wife from Newburyport. They were early abolitionists, friends and hosts of Garrison, of George Thompson and others of that brave band, and of course friends of the poet. This hospitable couple gave a picnic here every June for twenty years. The first was a little party of perhaps half-a-dozen people, the twenty-first was a large assembly. Mr. Whittier was present at these picnics whenever able, and, as has been said, sometimes wrote a poem to be read there. He never reads in public himself.

Although the Powow river has been made so emphatically a stream of use, there are glimpses of a native beauty in it that its hard fate has never obliterated; these are still there, as one stands upon the little bridge that spans its last few rods of individual life and looks up the stream upon a wintry landscape, or upon summer fields, and longingly toward the bend.

Whether the Powow has any power to set in motion the wheels of fancy as it does the wheels of the factories it is impossible to say, but this much is certain; on its banks was born an artist who has made his name known on the banks of the Seine. The father of Mr. Charles Davis, our young artist of great promise and of no mean performance, was for years a teacher in Amesbury, and the garden of the house where this son was born bordered upon the Powow.



At Pond Hills, between Amesbury and Merrimac, is lake Attitash, which, before Mr. Whittier took pity upon it, rejoiced in the name of Kimball's Pond. There is a slight suspicion that it is still occasionally called by its old name. In dry seasons the water is used by the mills. But the blue lake is as beautiful as if it were never useful. On its shore enough grand old pines are left to dream under of forests primeval, of Indian wigwams, and of canoes on the bright water; for the red men knew very well the hiding places of the perch and of the pickerel. So did the white men who chose the region of the Merrimac for their new home. In the "Maids of Attitash" is described the lake where

"In sky and wave the white clouds swam, And the blue hills of Nottingham Through gaps of leafy green Across the lake were seen."

All these are still here, but one misses the maidens who ought to be sitting there

"In the shadow of the ash That dreams its dream in Attitash."

No doubt they are about here somewhere, only it takes a poet's eye to find them. And yet it was not very far from here that there lived a few years ago a young girl, a descendant of one of the early settlers of Amesbury, who on her engagement said to a friend proudly:—"I am going to marry a poor man, and I am going to help him." And so she always nobly did, in ways different from tawdry ambition. The courage of the old Puritans has not died out here any more than the old beauty has deserted the land.

* * * * *



KATE FIELD'S NEW DEPARTURE.

BY EDWARD INCREASE MATHER.

Miss Kate Field has been so exclusively identified with artistic and literary success that her new departure as a lecturer on existing political evils has excited no little surprise and comment. An exceptional degree of public interest as well as of purely private and personal regard has followed her almost, indeed, from childhood; partly due, it may be, to a certain indefinable magnetism of temperament which always makes the place where she chances to be at the time seem a social centre, and somewhat, too, from a life that has not been without its picturesque setting of scenery and circumstance. "Kate Field was started right,"—remarked Miss Frances E. Willard of her one day. "As a child Walter Savage Landor held her on his knee and taught her, and she grew up in the atmosphere of Art." The chance observation made only en passant, never the less touched a salient truth in that vital manner in which Miss Willard's words are accustomed to touch truth. She was, indeed, "started right." The only child of gifted parents, endowed with a rare combination of intellectual and artistic talent; with a nobility and genuineness of nature that has ever been one of her most marked characteristics; attuned by temperament to all that is fine, and high, and beautiful,—it is little wonder that her life has presented a series of advancing achievements. She has studied, and read, and thought; she has travelled, and "sipped the foam of many lives;" and a polished and many-sided culture has added its charm to a woman singularly charming by nature and possessed of the subtle gift of fascination. When very young she studied music and modern languages abroad in Florence, and in London. To music she especially devoted herself studying under Garcia and under William Shakespeare, the great English tenor, whose favorite pupil she is said to have been. Walter Savage Landor conceived a great fondness for her, gave her lessons in Latin, and left her at his death a valuable portfolio of old drawings. In some verses addressed "To K.F." he alludes to her as:—

Modest as winged angels are, And no less brave and no less fair.



His interest was richly repaid by the young girl who, after his death, wrote reminiscences of Landor in a manner whose sympathetic brilliancy of interpretation added an enduring lustre to his life and achievement. In her early girlhood as, indeed, in her womanhood, her brilliancy and charm won all hearts. It was in Florence that she met George Eliot, and a moon-light evening at the Trollope villa, where Marion Lewes led the girl, dream-enchanted, out on the fragrant and flowery terrace, left its picture in her memory, and exquisitely did she portray it in a paper on George Eliot at the time of her death. By temperament and cultivation Miss Field is admirably adapted to interpret to the world its masters, its artists. Her dramatic criticism on Ristori ranks among the finest ever written of the stage; her "Pen Photographs of Dickens's Readings" have permanently recorded that memorable tour. Her Life of Fechter wins its praise from the highest literary authorities in our own country and London. She has published a few books, made up from her fugitive articles in the Tribune, the London Times, the Athenaeum, and the magazines, and more of this literature would be eminently refreshing and acceptable. It is no exaggeration to say that among the American writers of to-day no one has greater breadth, vigor, originality and power than Kate Field. She is by virtue of wide outlook and comprehension of important matters, entirely free from the tendency to petty detail and trivial common-place that clogs the minds and pens of many women-writers. Her foreign letters to the Tribune discussed questions of political significance and international interest. Miss Field is a woman of so many resources that she has never made of her writing a trade, but has used it as an art; and she never writes unless she has something to say. This fact teaches a moral that the woman of the period may do well to contemplate.

Yet with all the varied charms of foreign life, passed in the most cultivated and refined social circles of Europe, Kate Field never forgot that she was an American, and patriotism grew to be a passion with her. She became a student of English and American politics, and her revelations of the ponderous machinery of the British Parliament, in a series of strong and brilliant press letters, now collected into the little volume called "Hap-Hazzard," was as fine and impressive in its way as is her dramatic criticism or literary papers. All this, perhaps, had paved the way for her to enter into a close and comprehensive study of the subject which she is now so ably discussing in her notable lectures on the social and the political crimes of Utah. The profound and serious attention which she is now giving to this problem stamps her lectures as among the most potent political influences of the time. Miss Field's discussion of Mormonism is one of those events which seem pre-determined by the law of the unconscious, and which seem to choose the individual rather than to be chosen by him. In the summer of 1883, by way of a change from continental travel, Miss Field determined to hitch her wagon to a star and journey westward. She lingered for a month in Denver where she received distinguished social attention and where, by special request, she gave her lecture on an "Evening with Dickens" and her charming "Musical Monologue." Of this Dickens' lecture a western journal said:—

"Charles Dickens was the novelist of humanity, and Kate Field is, to-day, his most sympathetic and intelligent interpreter. Those who were so fortunate as to attend her reading last evening enjoyed an intellectual pleasure not soon forgotten. They saw a slender, graceful woman, dressed in creamy white, with soft laces falling about her; with low, broad brow, and earnest, sympathetic eyes, under a cloud of soft dark hair. With a rich and finely modulated voice of remarkable power of expression, she held her audience for two hours spellbound by the magic of her genius."

In Colorado Miss Field enjoyed an unique and picturesque holiday. Picnics and excursions were gotten up in her honor; special trains were run; she rode on horseback with gay parties of friends twenty-five miles a day; she joined friends from New York who were camping out on "The Needles," and she made a visit to the San Juan Silver-mining district. Among other diversions she had the honor of naming a new watering place, located on "The Divide," an hour by rail from Denver, to which, in honor of General Palmer who has practically "made" that region, Miss Field gave the name of Palmero, the Spanish for Palmer.

How unconsciously Miss Field came to study the problem presented by the peculiar institutions of Utah is curiously indicated in a letter from Salt Lake City, under date of Jan. 16, 1884, which she wrote to the Boston Herald, and which opens thus:—

"I know of nothing that would do Bostonians so much good as a prolonged trip across this continent, giving themselves sufficient time to tarry at different points and study the people. For myself—about half a Bostonian—I became so ashamed of sailing east year after year, that last summer I made up my mind to hitch my wagon to the star of empire and learn as much of my own country as I knew of Europe. I started from New York in July, expecting to be absent three months, and in that period obtain an intelligent idea of the far West. After passing two months and a half in wonderful Colorado and only seeing a fraction of the Centennial state, I began to realize that in two years I might, with diligence, get a tolerable idea of this republic west of the Mississippi. Cold weather setting in, and the fall of snow rendering mountain travelling in Colorado neither safe nor agreeable, I came to Utah over the wonderful Denver & Rio Grande railroad, intending to pass a week prior to visiting New Mexico and Arizona. My week expired on the 22nd day of October and still I linger among the 'saints.' I am regarded as more or less demented by eastern friends. If becoming interested in a most extraordinary anomaly to such an extent as to desire to study it and to be able to form an intelligent opinion therein is being demented, then I am mad indeed, for I've not yet got to the bottom of the Utah problem, and if I lived here years, there would still be much to learn. Despite this last discouraging fact, I have improved my opportunities and am able to paragraph what has come under my own observation or been acquired by absorption of Mormon and Gentile literature. If the commissioners sent here by Congress to investigate the Mormon question, at an annual expense of forty thousand dollars per annum, had studied this question as earnestly as I have, they never would have told the country that polygamy is dying out. One or two members of that commission know better, and sooner or later they must tell the truth or stultify their own souls."

This extract reveals how deeply the anomaly of Mormon life had at once impressed her. Miss Field was too keen and cultivated an observer not to see beneath the surface of this phase of living a problem whose roots struck deep into national prosperity and safety. The distinguished essayist and critic, Mr. Edwin P. Whipple, said of her study of Mormonism:—

She undertook a perfectly original method of arriving at the truth, by intimate conversations with Mormon husbands and wives, as well as with the most intelligent of the "Gentiles." She discarded from her mind pre-conceptions and all prejudices which discolor and distort objects which should be rigidly investigated, and looked at the mass of facts before her in what Bacon calls "dry light." Cornelius Vanderbilt, the elder, was accustomed to account for the failures and ruin of the brilliant young brokers who tried to corner the stocks in which he had an interest, by declaring that "these dashing young fellars didn't see things as they be." Miss Field saw things in Utah "as they be." She collected facts of personal observation, analyzed and generalized them, and, by degrees, her sight became insight, and the passage from insight to foresight is rapid. After thorough investigation, her insight enabled her to penetrate into the secret of that "mystery of iniquity" which Mormonism really is; while her foresight showed her what would be the inevitable result of the growth and diffusion of such a horrible creed.

The winter lapsed into spring and still she lingered in Salt Lake City. She relinquished all pleasure for the real work of studying deeply the anomaly of a Polygamous hierarchy thriving in the heart of the Republic. Every facility was accorded to her by United States officials, military officers, leading Gentiles and Apostates. Prominent "Latter Day Saints" offered her marked courtesy. She pursued this research unremittingly for eight months and when, at last, she left Salt Lake City, the leading Gentile paper, the Tribune, devoted a leading editorial to Miss Field's marvellously thorough study of Mormon conditions, and, on her departure, said:—

"Miss Field is probably the best posted person, outside the high Mormon church officials, and others who have been in the church, on this institution, in the world, and its effects upon men, women and governments. With a fixedness of purpose which nothing could swerve, and with an energy which neither storm, mud, snow, cold looks, the persuasions or even the loss of friends, could for a moment dampen, she has held on her course. In the tabernacle, in the ward meeting house, in the homes of high Mormons, and, when these were closed to her, in the homes of the poor, she has worked upon the theme, while every scrap of history which offered to give any light upon the Mormon organization she has devoured. Mormonism has been to her like a fever. It has run its course and now she is going away. If she proposes to lecture, she ought to be able to prepare a better lecture on Mormonism than she has ever yet delivered; if a book is in process of incubation it ought to be of more value than any former book on this subject. Lecture or book will be intense enough to satisfy all demands. The 'Tribune' gives the world notice in advance that Miss Field has a most intimate knowledge of the Mormon kingdom."

Returning to the East she stopped on the way in Missouri and at Nauvoo, Illinois, looking up all the old camping-grounds of Mormonism, and meeting and interviewing people who had been connected with it, including two sons of Joseph Smith, Miss Field opened her course of lectures on this subject in Boston last November, before a brilliant and distinguished audience, including the Governor and other officials of state, Harvard University professors, and men and women eminent in art, literature and society. She dealt with the political crimes of the Mormons, arguing that the great wrong was not, as many had believed, polygamy, but treason! Polygamy, though "the cornerstone of the Mormon church," was not inserted in its printed articles of faith and was not taught until the unwary had been "gathered to Zion." The monstrosity of the "revelation" on celestial marriage; the tragic unhappiness of Mormon women; the elastic conscience of John Taylor, "prophet, seer and revelator" to God's chosen people, were vividly depicted. Her extracts from Brigham Young's sermons, and from those of his counsellors, are forcible arguments on the Gentile side. Indeed, throughout her entire discourse, Miss Field clinches every statement with Mormon proof, rarely going to Gentile authorities for vital facts connected with her subject. The lecturer's sense of humor betrayed itself now and then, when, with fervor, she related an incident in her own experience, or quoted a "Song of Zion." The refrain of one of these songs still rings in our ears:

Then, oh, let us say God bless the wife that strives And aids her husband all she can To obtain a dozen wives!

The prodigious contrast between the preaching and practice of polygamy was fully displayed. Mormons claim that there is a vast difference between bigamy and polygamy; that only good men are allowed to take plural wives; that no saint takes more wives than he can support, and that a muchly married "man of God" exercises the most rigid impartiality in the bestowal of his affections upon his various women. Miss Field upsets these beautiful theories by graphic pictures drawn from life, and cited Brigham Young himself as "a bright and shining lie to the boast of impartiality." Brigham Young's coup d'etat in granting woman suffrage in 1871 was illuminated, and emphasized by the assertions:—"A territory that has abolished the right of dower, that proclaims polygamy to be divine, that has no laws against bigamy and kindred crimes, that has no just appreciation of woman, is unworthy of self-respecting humanity, woman suffrage or no woman suffrage." Miss Field makes in these lectures a telling exposition of the doctrine of blood atonement, passing on to these Mormon missionaries and their methods, and the people who become "fascinated with the idea of direct communication with heaven through the medium of a prophet," and to whom the missionary brethren prudently "leave the mysteries of polygamy to the imagination," while they inculcate the importance of "gathering to Zion." She outlined the educational status and the discouragement given by Brigham Young to all educational progress. Of Mormon treason she says:—

"Five years after the United States had established the Territory of Utah its people were in armed rebellion because the government dared to send a Gentile governor and national troops to Utah."

Nor does she spare the United States in its responsibility for these crimes. "The United States to-day," said Miss Field, "is responsible for thirty years' growth of polygamy, with its attendant degradation of woman and brutalization of man." As an illustration of this conclusion, she told a most interesting story of which Governor Harding of Utah, Brigham Young, Benjamin Halliday, Postmaster General Blair, Abraham Lincoln and William H. Seward were the characters. The story is a dramatic and significant bit of Mormon history, related for the first time. It led up to an earnest and eloquent peroration of which the final words were: "'I'll believe polygamy is wrong when Congress breaks it up; not before!' exclaims a plural wife. Men and women of New England! You who forge public opinion; you who sounded the death knell of slavery, what are you going to do about it!"

William Lloyd Garrison used to tell his friends that it was worth an admission fee just to see Kate Field on the platform, as she made so lovely a picture. Her attitudes—for they are too spontaneous and unconscious to be termed poses—are the impersonation of grace, and, aside from the enjoyment of the intellectual quality and searching political analysis of her lectures, is that of the artistic effect. She gave a course of three lectures on this "Mormon Monster." They were efforts whose invincible logic, graphic presentation and thrilling power held spellbound her audience. They were a drama of social and political life, and almost unprecedented on the lyceum platform was this eloquence and splendor of oratory, combined with the trained thought, the scholarly acquirement, and the finished eloquence of its delivery. This course of lectures finished there was a popular call for Miss Field to repeat one at Tremont Temple which, by invitation of Governor Robinson, the Mayor and a number of distinguished citizens, she consented to do. The triumph was repeated. From Boston she was invited to lecture in Brooklyn, Philadelphia and Washington. Press and people were alike enthusiastic. It is to the work of Miss Kate Field more than to any other cause, that the present disintegration of Mormon treason is due. Other travellers in Utah have made but the briefest stays, and have been ready to gloss over the tale. Miss Field is telling the truth about it, and she does it with a courage, a vigor, an honesty, and a power that renders it one of the most potent influences in the national life of the times. Kate Field holds to-day the first place on the Lyceum platform of America. She has a rare combination of judicial and executive qualities.

She is singularly free from exaggeration, and her sense of justice is never deflected by personal feeling or emotional impulse. She has that exceptional balance of the intellectual and artistic forces that enables her to give to her lecture a superb literary quality, and to deliver it with faultless grace of manner and an impressiveness of presence rarely equalled. In Kate Field America has a woman worthy to be called an orator.

* * * * *



THE MONUMENT AND HOMESTEAD OF REBECCA NURSE.

BY ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD.

Perhaps the greatest incentive to ideal living in a changing world is the firmly held conviction that truth will finally vindicate itself. When this vindication is made apparent, as in the case of Rebecca Nurse, one of the most striking martyrs of the Salem witchcraft days of 1692, the cause of human progress seems assured. For it is thus seen that truth has within itself a living seed which in its development is destined to become man's guide to further knowledge and growth. This idea was impressed upon me anew as I stood before the granite monument, some eight and a half feet high, erected this past summer in Danvers,—originally Salem,—to the memory of Mrs. Rebecca Nurse, by her descendants. A carpet of green grass surrounded it, and a circle of nearly twenty pine trees guarded it as sentinels. The pines were singing their summer requiem as I read on the front of the monument these words:—

REBECCA NURSE, YARMOUTH, ENGLAND, 1621. SALEM, MASS., 1692.

O Christian martyr, who for Truth could die When all about thee owned the hideous lie, The world, redeemed from Superstition's sway, Is breathing freer for thy sake to-day.

I lingered a moment over these fitting lines of Whittier, whose charming home, "Oak Knoll," a short distance off, had just given me a restful pleasure. Then I walked around to the other side of the monument, where I read, with mingled feelings, the following words:—

Accused of witchcraft She declared, "I am innocent, and God will clear my innocency."

Once acquitted yet falsely condemned, she suffered death July 19, 1692.

In loving memory of her Christian character, even then truly attested by forty of her neighbors, this monument is erected.

These last lines reminded me of the fact that the paper with its forty signatures, testifying to the forty years' acquaintance of the good character of Rebecca Nurse, was still in existence. Alas! why couldn't such a testimony of neighbors and friends have saved her? But it was not so to be. The government of the colony, the influence of the magistracy, and public opinion elsewhere, overpowered all friendly and family help; and on the 19th July, 1692, at the advanced age of seventy-one years, Rebecca Nurse was hung on Gallows hill.

As I left the monument, which is in the old family burying-ground, and wandered up the time-honored lane towards the homestead where she was living when arrested, the March before, my thoughts would go back to those dreadful days. I thought of this venerable mother's surprise and wonder, as she learned of the several distinct indictments against her, four of which, for having practised "certain detestable acts called witchcraft" upon Ann Putnam, Mary Walcot, Elizabeth Hubbard, and Abigail Williams, were still to be found in the Salem records. I thought of the feelings of this old and feeble woman as she was borne to the Salem jail, then a month later sent off, with other prisoners, to the jail in Boston (then a whole day's journey), to be sent back to Salem for her final doom. I pictured her on trial, when, in the presence of her accusers, the "afflicted girls," and the assembled crowd, she constantly declared her innocence ("I am innocent, and God will clear my innocency"), and showed a remarkable power in refuting the questions of the magistrate. I thought of her Christian faith and courage, when, upon seeing all the assembly, and even the magistrate, putting faith in the "afflicted girls'" diabolical tantrums (what else can I call them?) as there enacted, and now preserved in the records of the trial, she calmiy said, "I have got nobody to look to but God." I again pictured her, as, just before the horrors of execution, she was taken from the prison to the meeting-house, by the sheriff and his men, to receive before a great crowd of spectators the added disgrace of excommunication from the Church.

But I could picture no more. My heart rebelled. And as I had now reached the old homestead on the hill I paused a moment, before entering, to rest under the shade of the trees and to enjoy the extensive views of the surrounding country. This comforted my troubled feelings, and suggested the thought that in the fourteen years that Rebecca Nurse had lived there she must have often come under the shade of the trees, perhaps after hours of hard work and care, to commune alone with her God. How could I help thinking so when there came up before me her answer to the magistrate's question, "Have you familiarity with these spirits?"—"No, I have none but with God alone." Surely, to one who knew Him as she did, who in calm strength could declare her innocence when many around her, as innocent as she, were frightened into doubt and denial, the quiet and rest of nature must have been a necessary means of courage and strength.

Then what did not the old house, with its sloping roof, tell me, as it still stood where Townsend Bishop had built it in 1636, upon receiving a grant of three hundred acres? Yes, this old "Bishop's mansion," as the deed calls it, had felt the joys and sorrows of our common human life for almost two hundred and fifty years. It had known the friends whom Townsend Bishop, as one of the accomplished men of Salem village, had gathered about him in the few years that he had lived there. It must have heard some of Hugh Peters' interesting experiences, since, as pastor of the First Church those very years (1636-1641), he was a frequent visitor. Why couldn't one think that Roger Williams had often come to compare notes on house-building, since he owned the "old witch house" (still standing on the corner of Essex and North streets) at the same time that Mr. Bishop was building his house? It certainly was a pleasure to remember that Governor Endicott once owned and lived on this farm. He bought it in 1648, for one hundred and sixty pounds, of Henry Checkering, to whom Mr. Bishop had sold it seven years before.

I recalled many other things, that summer day, concerning this ancient place. Shall I not tell them? While the Governor lived on it he continued his good work for the general opening of the country around about. Among other things he laid out the road that passes its entrance-gate to-day.

Here his son John brought his youthful Boston bride, and gave to her the place as a "marriage-gift." Then, some years later, she, the widow of John, having become the bride of a Mr. James Allen, gave it to him as a "marriage-gift;" and upon her death, in 1673, he became the possessor. Five years later he sold it to Francis Nurse, the husband of Rebecca, for four hundred pounds. Mr. Nurse was an early settler of Salem, a "tray-maker," whose articles were much used. He was a man of good judgment, and respected by his neighbors. He was then fifty-eight years of age, and his wife fifty-seven. They had four sons and four daughters. The peculiar terms of the purchase had always seemed interesting to me; for the purchase-money of four hundred pounds was not required to be paid until the expiration of twenty-one years. In the meantime a moderate rent of seven pounds a year for the first twelve years, and ten pounds for each of the remaining nine years, was determined upon. Suitable men were appointed to estimate the value of what Mr. Nurse should add to the estate while living upon it, by clearing meadows, erecting buildings, or making other improvements. This value over one hundred and fifty pounds was to be paid to him. These various sums, if paid over to Mr. Allen before the twenty-one years had expired, would make a proportionate part of the farm at Mr. Nurse's disposal.

The low rent and the industrious, frugal habits of Mr. Nurse and his family, added to the fact that not a dollar was required to be paid down at first, led to the making of such good improvements that before half the time had elapsed a value was created large enough to pay the whole four hundred pounds to Mr. Allen. When Mr. Nurse thus became owner of this estate he gave to his children, who had already good homes within its boundaries, the larger half of the farm, while he reserved for himself the homestead and the rest of the land. By the deeds he gave them, they were required to maintain a roadway to connect with the old homestead and with the homes of each other.

While the different members of the Nurse family were thus working hard for the money to buy the place there was hanging over its owner the shadow of litigation for its possession. But this was Mr. Allen's affair, not theirs, so they went on their way in peace. Indeed, it has been thought that their steady success in life was one cause of their future trouble. They became objects of envy to those restless ones less favored. And so, when the opportunity came to merely whisper a name for the "afflicted girls" to take up, Rebecca Nurse's fate was in the hands of an enemy. A striking example of the innocent suffering for the guilty. Does not vicarious suffering seem to be an important factor in the development of the race? Two years after, this faithful wife and mother had been led from her peaceful home to suffer the agonies of prisons, trials, and hanging. When the children had all married, the father gave up the homestead to his son Samuel, and divided his remaining property among his sons and daughters. He died soon after, in 1695. He was a kind, true father, whose requests after death were heeded. This homestead was in the Nurse name as late as 1784, when it was owned by a great-grandson of Rebecca. He sold it to Phineas Putnam, a descendant of old Nathaniel Putnam, who, in the hour of need, wrote the paper for the forty signatures above mentioned. The estate descended to the great-grandson of Phineas, Orin Putnam, who, in 1836, married the daughter of Allen Nurse. And thus a direct descendant of Rebecca Nurse was again placed to preside over the ancestral farm, and to their descendants it belongs to-day.

After thus thinking over this interesting history of the old place, as I reclined under the shade of its trees, I was better prepared to enjoy the kind hospitality which it then offered me. I felt a peculiar pleasure in stepping into the same little front porch which Townsend Bishop had built so many years ago. And upon ascending the stairs I found myself lingering a while by the old original balusters, the building of which Roger Williams had perhaps viewed with interest. Upon reaching the attic it was a pleasure, indeed, to see in this new world the frame-work of a house which for two hundred and fifty years had stood so well the test of nature in all her moods. No saw was used in shaping those oaken timbers. They knew only the broad-axe. From this attic I descended to the sitting-room, to spend a while under the same low beams which had greeted the first visitors of the house. Here I imagined the Nurse family living in quiet and peace. Here I pictured the son Samuel, as, later, he wondered over and over again how he could remove the reproach which was on his mother's name. And I thought that to him his descendants owed much, for it was mainly to his pleadings that the General Court exonerated her in 1710, and the Church in 1712.

While sitting there I learned of some alterations which had been made from time to time: how the front of the house, before which the old roadway used to be, had been widened by extending the western end beyond the porch.

As I came out of the house upon the green grass around it, I enjoyed again the grand outlook over the surrounding country,—the same which in the days of agony had strengthened human souls,—and then walked down the hill, by the family burying-ground, out through the entrance-gate into Collins street, the public thoroughfare.

I left the monument and its interesting associations that August day of 1885 (it was dedicated only the July 30 before) with the feeling that as the present descendants of Rebecca Nurse owe much to her son Samuel, so their future descendants will be indebted to them for the appropriate manner in which they have still further striven to vindicate before the world the innocence of a much-wronged ancestor.

* * * * *



THE PRESENT RESOURCES OF MASSACHUSETTS.

BY H.K.M.

Massachusetts is a busy state. The old time factory bell has not entirely given way to the steam whistle, nor the simple village spire to the more pretentious ecclesiastical tower of to-day, yet the energizing force of material prosperity has quickened the blood in nearly every hamlet, modernized the old, or built up a new, so that throughout the state there is a substantial freshness indicative of progressive thrift.

The Tenth Census of the United States classifies the entire working population of the state in four divisions of labor as follows:—Agriculture, 64,973; Professional and Personal services, 170,160; Trade and Transportation, 115,376; Mechanical, 370,265; with a total population of 1,941,465.[4] The aggregate steam and water power in 1880 was 309,759 horse power; the motive power of 14,352 manufacturing establishments having an invested capital of $303,806,185; paying $128,315,362 in wages to 370,265 persons who produced a product value of $631,135,284. These results, in proportion to area and population, place Massachusetts first in the Union as a manufacturing state. In mechanical science a complete cotton mill has been considered the cap stone of human ingenuity. In 1790 Mr. Samuel Slater established in Pawtucket, R.I., the first successful cotton mill in the United States, but the saw gin, a Massachusetts invention of Mr. Eli Whitney in 1793, laid the foundation of the cotton industry throughout the world.

There are 956 cotton mills in the United States with an invested capital of $208,280,346, with a wage account of $42,040,510. The relative importance of the four leading states in the manufacture of cotton goods is shown as follows:—

No. Capital Wages Value of Mills. State. Invested. Paid. of Product.

206 Mass. $74,118,801 $16,240,908 $74,780,835 133 R.I. 29,260,734 5,623,933 24,609,461 97 Conn. 21,104,200 3,750,017 17,050,126 41 N.H. 19,993,584 4,322,622 18,226,573

As in cotton, so also in the manufacture of woolen goods has Massachusetts maintained from the first the leading position. In 1794 in Byfield parish, Newbury, Mass., the first woolen mill went into successful operation. In 1804 a good quality of gray mixed broadcloth was made at Pittsfield, Mass., and it is said that in 1808 President Madison's inaugural suit of black broadcloth was made there.

The five leading states in the production of woolen goods are thus classified:—

No. Capital Wages Value of Mills. State. Invested. Paid. of Product.

167 Mass. $24,680,782 $7,457,115 $45,099,203 324 Penn. 18,780,604 5,254,328 32,341,291 78 Conn. 7,907,452 2,342,935 16,892,284 50 R.I. 8,448,700 2,480,907 15,410,450 159 N.Y. 8,266,878 1,774,143 9,874,973

In its kindred industry, dyeing and finishing textiles, Massachusetts is a controlling force; as seen in the classification of the three leading states in this department of labor:—

No. Capital Wages Value of Mills. State. Invested. Paid. of Product.

28 Mass. $8,613,500 $1,815,431 $9,482,939 16 R.I. 5,912,500 1,093,727 6,874,254 60 Penn. 3,884,846 1,041,309 6,259,852

Nearly one half of the entire American production of felt goods comes from her, as indicated in the classification of the four leading states:—

No. Capital Wages Value of Mills. State. Invested. Paid. of Product.

11 Mass. $820,000 $163,440 $1,627,320 6 N.J. 313,000 86,170 685,386 4 N.Y. 157,500 35,289 257,450 1 Penn. 150,000 80,000 450,000

Massachusetts is also an all-important factor in the total production of American carpets. The 59 mills in the United States made in 1880 a wholesale product valued at $31,792,802. Massachusetts made the most Brussels, 1,884,723 yards; Pennsylvania came next with 919,476 yards. She came next to New York in yards of Tapestry, and next to Connecticut in Wiltons, a good second in these important grades. The three leading carpet states are thus classified:—

No. Capital Wages Value of Mills. State. Invested. Paid. of Product.

10 N.Y. $6,422,158 $1,952,391 $8,419,254 172 Penn. 7,210,483 3,035,971 14,304,660 7 Mass. 4,637,646 1,223,303 6,337,629

In the manufacture of Boots and Shoes Massachusetts stands conspicuously at the front; her position in this great industry is clearly seen in the three states controlling this special product:—

No. of Capital Wages Value Factories. State. Invested. Paid. of Product.

982 Mass. $21,098,133 $24,875,106 $95,900,510 272 N.Y. 6,227,537 4,902,132 18,979,259 145 Penn. 3,627,840 2,820,976 9,590,002

One evidence that Massachusetts is not sitting down all the time is the fact that she stands up to manufacture so many chairs. From a small beginning of wood and flag seated chairs, Mr. James M. Comee in 1805, with his foot lathe, in one room of his dwelling in Gardner. Mass., laid the foundation of this important industry, which has given the town of Gardner, where over 1,000,000 of chairs are annually made, a world wide reputation.

The relative positions of the five leading chair states:—

No. of Capital Wages Value Factories. State. Invested. Paid. of Product.

62 Mass. $1,948,600 $1,028,087 $3,290,837 62 N.Y. 991,000 472,974 1,404,138 45 Penn. 111,700 143,037 437,010 37 Ohio 497,026 321,918 821,702 37 Ind. 395,850 232,005 632,746

In the currying of leather Massachusetts is a notable leader:—

No. Capital Wages Value Establishments. State. Invested. Paid. of Product.

194 Mass. $4,308,169 $1,939,122 $23,282,775 185 N.Y. 1,720,356 366,426 6,192,002 455 Penn. 2,570,969 334,950 7,852,177 56 N.J. 1,983,746 762,697 8,727,128 61 Wis. 1,299,425 281,412 4,496,729 18 Ill. 534,786 141,096 2,391,380

Her position in the manufacturing of worsted goods is also an all important one:—

No. Capital Wages Value of Mills. State. Invested. Paid. of Product.

23 Mass. $6,195,247 $1,870,030 $10,466,016 28 Penn. 4,959,639 1,473,958 10,072,473 11 R.I. 4,567,416 1,222,350 6,177,754

Again we find her at the head of another very important industry, the manufacture of paper.

The five leading states in production are given their relative positions.

No. Capital Wages Value of Mills. State. Invested. Paid. of Product.

96 Mass. $11,722,046 $2,467,359 $15,188,196 168 N.Y. 6,859,565 1,217,580 8,524,279 60 Ohio 4,804,274 839,231 5,108,194 78 Penn. 4,099,000 752,151 5,355,912 65 Conn. 3,168,931 656,000 4,337,550

In 1880 Massachusetts manufactured 27,638 tons of printing paper, 24,746 tons of writing paper, 10,255 tons of wrapping paper, 945 tons of wall paper, 3,706,010 pounds of colored paper, 255,000 pounds of bank note paper, 878,000 pounds of tissue paper, and 27,607,706 pounds of all other kinds of paper.

She manufactures more shovels than any other state, about 120,000 dozen annually. Rhode Island comes next with about one-half the quantity, and Ohio stands third, her product being about 7,000 dozen annually.

It also falls to her lot to manufacture more Hay and Straw cutters, about 6,000 annually. In the manufacture of hard soap Massachusetts falls a little behind some of her sister states, but she comes smilingly to the front with her 16,000,000 pounds of soft soap, about one half of the total production. New York brings her annual offering of about 5,000 pounds.

The 4,000 boats she annually builds constitute nearly one half of the number built in the United States.

There are 131,426 persons in the United States engaged in the fisheries.

The prominent share of Massachusetts in this industry is seen in the classification of the five leading states.

State. No. of Capital Value Persons Invested. of Product. Employed.

Mass. 20,117 $14,334,450 $8,141,750 Md. 26,008 6,342,443 5,221,715 N.Y. 7,266 2,629,585 4,380,565 Me. 11,071 3,375,994 3,614,178 Vir. 18,864 1,914,119 3,124,444

She has invested:—Over $1,000,000 in the manufacture of Baskets and Rattan goods; over $1,600,000 in the manufacture of Brick and Tile; over $2,000,000 in the manufacture of Wagons and Carriages; over $5,000,000 in the manufacture of Men's Clothing; over $1,500,000 in the manufacture of Cordage and Twine; over $2,000,000 in the manufacture of Cutlery; over $3,000,000 in the manufacture of Fire Arms; over $16,000,000 in the Foundries and Machine Shops; over $2,000,000 in the manufacture of Furniture; over $2,000,000 in the manufacture of Iron Nails and Spikes; over $6,000,000 in the manufacture of Iron and Steel; over $1,500,000 in the manufacture of Jewelry; over $3,000,000 in the manufacture of Liquors, Malt; over $3,000,000 in Slaughtering and Packing; over $2,000,000 in Straw goods; over $2,000,000 in Sugar and Molasses, refined; over $2,000,000 in the manufacture of Watches; over $2,000,000 in the manufacture of Wire, and over $11,000,000 in unclassified industries.

The limitations of this article will only allow brief reference to a few of the leading industries of Massachusetts. The facts presented give her a commanding position in the sisterhood of manufacturing States, while the condition of her operatives, their moral and intellectual character, has no parallel in any other manufacturing district in the world.

On her well known but dangerous coast special provisions are made to aid the mariner; so likewise upon her more dangerous coast of sin we find 2,397 ministerial light houses whose concentrated spiritual lens-power upon an area of 8,040 square miles, make the rocks of total depravity loom up far above the white capped waves of theological doubt. The lower law being less important than the higher, it takes but 1,984 lawyers to successfully mystify the juries of the Commonwealth. Of physicians and surgeons there are 2,845. It requires the constant services of 2,463 persons to entertain us with music, and just one less, 2,462 barbers, who are in daily tonsorial conflict with our hair, either rebuking it where it does grow, or teasing it to come forth where heretofore the dome has been hairless.

Of the 4,000,000 farms of 536,081,835 acres in the United States, 38,406 farms of 3,359,097 acres valued at $146,197,415 yielding an annual income of $24,160,881 lie within the borders of the state. Her 150,435 cows produce 29,662,953 gallons of milk, which is the foundation of her annual product of 9,655,587 pounds of butter, and 829,528 pounds of cheese. She would be unjust to her traditional sense of justice were she to send her beans out into the world single handed, with true paternal solicitude she provides them with the charmed society of 80,123 swine, thus hand in hand Massachusetts' pork and beans stride up and down the earth, supremely content in the joyous ecstasy of their Puritan conceit. While Massachusetts has well known agricultural tendencies, and her Agricultural college is one of the most important factors in her system of practical instruction, it cannot be claimed that she is a controlling element in the agricultural interests of the country. Of all her influences for good, perhaps her educational interests would command the greater prominence. She has ever regarded the instruction of her youth as one of her most sacred trusts, and in all the details of her public school system she ranks second to no state in the Union.

In the various departments of technical instruction, she has a national reputation. Her colleges and universities so richly endowed secure the highest attainable advantages. These privileges supplemented by the free public libraries of the state, place possibilities within the reach of every young man or young woman, the value of which cannot be approximated by human estimate.

Six of the leading states are thus classified:—

Public School Sittings School Schools. State. Buildings. Provided. Property.

6,604 Mass. 3,343 319,749 $21,660,392 15,203 Ill. 11,880 694,106 15,876,572 11,623 Ind. 9,679 437,050 11,907,541 18,615 N.Y. 11,927 763,817 31,235,401 16,473 Ohio 12,224 676,664 21,643,515 18,618 Penn. 12,857 961,074 25,919,397

The following institutions for higher education have about $5,000,000 invested in grounds and buildings, about $9,000,000 in endowments, yielding an annual income of about $1,000,000, having about 4,000 students and about 400,000 volumes in libraries, Universities and Colleges.

UNIVERSITIES AND COLLEGES.

Amherst College, organized 1821 Boston College, organized 1864 Boston University, organized 1872 College of the Holy Cross, organized 1843 Tufts College, organized 1852 Harvard College, organized 1636 Williams College, organized 1793

COLLEGES FOR WOMEN.

Mount Holyoke Female Seminary, organized 1837 Sophia Smith College, organized 1872 Wellesley College, organized 1874

THEOLOGICAL SCHOOLS.

Andover Theological Seminary, organized 1808 Boston University School of Theology, organized 1847 Divinity School of Harvard University, organized 1816 Episcopal Theological School, organized 1867 Tufts College Divinity School, organized 1867 Newton Theological Institution, organized 1825 New Church Theological School, organized 1866

LAW SCHOOLS.

Boston University School of Law, organized 1872 Law School of Harvard University, organized 1817

SCHOOLS OF MEDICINE.

Boston University School of Medicine, organized 1869 Harvard Medical School, organized 1782 New England Female Medical College, organized 1850 Boston Dental College, organized 1868 Dental School Harvard College, organized 1867 Massachusetts College of Pharmacy, organized 1823

THE SCHOOLS OF SCIENCE.

Massachusetts Agricultural College, organized 1867 Massachusetts Institute of Technology, organized 1861 Lawrence Scientific School, organized 1848 Worcester County Free Institute of Industrial Science, organized 1868

While Massachusetts is a model state in all her educational interests, we do not forget that there are 75,635 persons in the state who cannot read, and 92,980 persons who cannot write, but of the 990,160 native white persons of ten years and upwards only 6,933 are unable to write, being seven-tenths of one per cent., the lowest ratio of any state. Arkansas, per cent, being 25.0; Alabama, 24.7; Georgia, 22.9; Kentucky, 22.0; No. Carolina, 31.0; So. Carolina, 21.9; Tenn., 27.3; West Virginia, 18.2; Connecticut, 5.5; Illinois, 5.9; New Hampshire 5; Pennsylvania, 6.7; New York, 5.3.

There are 15,416 colored persons in the state, of 10 years and upwards; of this number 2,322 are unable to write, but from 10 to 14 years of age, both inclusive, these being 1,504, but 31 persons are reported as unable to write, or 2.1 per cent. South Carolina out of a colored population of 75,981 between the same ages, reports 57,072 persons as unable to write or 74.1 per cent. There are 1,886 colored persons in the state between the ages of 15 and 20, and only 70 are reported as unable to write, or 3.7 per cent.; we find this also the lowest ratio of any state.

South Carolina's per cent. being 71.9; Alabama, 64.9; Georgia, 76.4; Texas, 69.2; and North Carolina, 68.5.

Her density of population makes it exceedingly convenient for her 52,799 domestic servants to compose notes over neighborly fences. Her 281,188 dwelling houses house 379,710 families, placing 6.34 persons to the credit of each dwelling, and 4.70 persons to each family. This density gives her 221.78 persons to a square mile, a far greater ratio than any state except Rhode Island. This neighborly proximity has its social tendencies, which may account in part for the hospitable amenities which are a rightful part of Massachusetts' well known loyalty to a higher regard for the purest type of home, a comparative statement of the density of population of a few states.

State. Square Miles. Persons to Square Miles.

Rhode Island, 1,085 254.87 Massachusetts, 8,040 221.78 Connecticut, 4,845 128.52 Georgia, 58,980 26.15 Illinois, 56,000 54.96 Iowa, 55,475 29.29 Maine, 29,895 21.71 Michigan, 57,430 28.50 New Hampshire, 9,005 38.53 New York, 47,620 106.74 Pennsylvania, 44,985 95.21 West Virginia, 24,645 25.09

As inseparable as night is from day, so also are the ills of life from life itself. Massachusetts is no exception to the inexorable law which defines the conditions of human society; but through her public and private charities so wisely administered, she humanely softens the asperities which shadow the life of her unfortunates. To her lot fall 1,733 idiotic persons, 978 deaf mutes, 5,127 insane, 1,500 of whom are cared for at home, and 3,659 prisoners, 1,484 of whom are of foreign birth. Human life teaches that the boundary lines of a smile and tear are the same, for where happiness is, there sorrow dwells. In the general estimate of 391,960 annual deaths in the United States, about 33,000 occur in Massachusetts.

One evidence of her unswerving faith in the national credit is seen by her holdings in U.S. registered bonds. The four leading states are reported as follows:—

No. of Per cent. of Persons. State. Bondholders. Amount.

16,885 Massachusetts, 23.05 $45,138,750 10,408 Pennsylvania, 14.23 40,223,050 14,803 New York, 20.24 210,264,250 4,130 Ohio, 5.65 16,445,050

In the classification of the four leading states, of assessed valuation and taxation, it appears that the assessed valuation of her personal property exceeds that of any state.

The four leading states are thus classified:—

Area Real Personal Total State. Sq. M. Estate. Property. Total. Tax.

N.Y. 47.620 $2,329,282,359 $323,657,647 $2,651,940,006 $56,392,975 Penn. 44,985 1,540,007,657 143,451,059 1,683,459,016 28,604,334 Mass. 8,040 1,111,160,072 473,596,730 1,584,756,802 24,326,877 Ohio 40,760 1,093,677,705 440,682,803 1,534,360,508 25,756,658

The grandest monument of human skill in modern railway science is unquestionably the St. Gothard Tunnel which connects the valley of the Reuss with the valley of the Ticino, which is from 5,000 to 6,500 feet below the Alpine peaks of St. Gothard, being a little over 9-1/4 miles in length, costing over $47,000,000, one-half of which was paid by the governments of Italy, Germany, and Switzerland. Until its completion in 1880, there was but one railway tunnel, Mont Cenis, that outranked our own Hoosac Tunnel of nearly 5 miles in length and costing about $10,000,000.

The service, equipment, and management of Massachusetts' railway system is well nigh perfect. Out of 4,100 miles of track in the state, 2,453 are laid with the steel rail. Including the 1,150 engines, 1,554 passenger cars, 394 baggage cars, and 24,418 freight cars, the total cost of railroad equipment in the state has been $178,862,870; from this investment the total earnings in 1884 reached $33,020,816 from which $4,568,274 were paid in dividends. The number of passengers carried were 57,589,200 and 17,258,726 tons of freight moved. One of the most important elements in her system is the Boston and Albany. Its engine service the past year was 5,680,060 miles, the company carried 94,721 through passengers and 8,699,691 way, whose total earnings were $8,148,713.34 and total expenses were $5,785,876.98.

In this connection we would refer to the city and suburban tramway service, which has taken an important part in the development of the state. The total cost of the 336 miles of road and equipment, including 8,987 horses and 1,918 passenger cars is stated at $9,093,935. Number of passengers carried in 1884 was 94,894,259, gross earnings $4,788,096, operating expenses $3,985,617, total available income $924,440. When we consider that the street railway service carried more than 37,000,000 passengers in excess of the steam railways, we realize its importance.

While there are 66,205 more females than males in the state, in the wider distribution of the sexes their equality indicates that it could not happen by chance, and that marriage of one man to one woman was intended.

An authentic estimate of the numerical proportions of the sexes is as follows:—

United States, 983 women to 1,000 men; America, (at large) 980 women to 1,000 men; Scotland, 1,096 women to 1,000 men; Ireland, 1,050 women to 1,000 men; England and Wales, 1,054 women to 1,000 men; France, 1,007 women to 1,000 men; Prussia, 1,030 women to 1,000 men; Greece, 940 women to 1,000 men; Europe, (at large) 1,021 women to 1,000 men; Africa, (estimated) 975 women to 1,000 men; Asia, 940 women to 1,000 men; Australia, 985 women to 1,000 men. In an aggregate of 12,000 men there is a surplus of about 161 women.

Massachusetts has been making notable history ever since 1620, and in picking out here and there a few of the influences which have tended to develope her material resources, we would not be unmindful of those Christian influences which are also a part of her imperishable history.

To the lover of nature, perhaps no state in range of rugged coast and water views blended with mountainous background, can offer more pleasing bits of picturesque scenery. The historic hills of Berkshire and the beautiful Connecticut River, with its 50 miles of sweep through the state, ever hurrying on to the sea, have inspired the tireless shuttles of descriptive imagery to weave some of the finest threads in American thought.

Nowhere within the range of human vision can the eye find a more restful scene of quiet simplicity and softer blending of river, hill and foliage, than in the valley of the Deerfield on any sunny summer day. Let him who would have a sterner scene of majestic grandeur stand upon the storm-beaten cliffs of some rock-fringed coast, while the silver-crested sea and the dark, deep toned clouds, like mercy and righteousness, kiss each other.

To us who love Massachusetts, her principles, her institutions, her hills, valleys and rocks, her future is but the lengthening out of a perfect present; and at last, when the scroll of states is finally rolled up, may her eternal record stand for the highest type of Christian citizenship.

[Footnote 4: Census of 1885.]

* * * * *



ELIZABETH.[5]

A ROMANCE OF COLONIAL DAYS.

BY FRANCES C. SPARHAWK, Author of "A Lazy Man's Work."

CHAPTER XXVI.

A GRAVE DECISION.

After the greetings were over, Elizabeth, looking at Stephen Archdale, realized fully the difficulties of her task. She was to go through with it alone she perceived, for her father had turned away and taken up a spyglass that had been brought him at the moment, and was absorbed in looking through it at the new fascine battery. Evidently he expected her to give Captain Archdale the history of the facts and conclusions that had brought her father and herself to Louisburg. As she looked at the young man in his strength, she felt more than ever the necessity for speaking. He knew well enough that Mr. Edmonson hated him, and that was necessary to be known. And yet, speech was hard, for even though he could never imagine Edmonson's contemptible insinuations, still before he believed in his own danger he might have to learn his enemy's foiled purpose toward herself; and to be sought for her fortune was not a thing that Elizabeth felt proud of. Her head drooped a little as the young man stood watching her, and the color began to come into her face. Then the courage that was in her, and the power that she had of rising above petty considerations into grandeur, came upon her like an access of physical strength. The strong necessity filled her, and the thought that she might be bringing life where she had almost brought death, at least death of joy, lighted her face. Still she hesitated for a moment, but it was only to study how she should begin. Shall she give him Katie's letter at once, and in her name warn him to take care of the life that was of so much value to his betrothed? No, for with Katie's letter in his hand, he could not listen carefully to Elizabeth's words, he could think only of what was within. His thoughts would refuse to have to do with danger; they would be busy with joy. That must wait.

"We have come here, my father and I," she began, "to say one word to you, Captain Archdale. We talked it over, and we saw no other way."

"You are pale," cried Stephen suddenly. "You must be very tired. Let us sit down here while you tell me." And he pointed to a coil of rope at hand. But she shook her head.

"I am not tired, thank you; I am disappointed that I can't go back immediately, that I must wait until to-morrow, when the dispatches will be ready."

"You need not," he cried. "The General shall let you go if you wish it. I will insist upon it. The dispatches can go some other way. If the Governor wants news in such haste, he would do better to send us some powder to make them out of. He was enough in a hurry to get us off, to give us something to do after we are here."

"I should think you had something to do," she said pointing to the battlements of Louisburg which at that distance and from that angle looked as if no shot had ever been fired against them. "But don't on any account speak to the General. We are glad to do even so little for the cause. And perhaps it's not that that makes me pale. I don't know. I have a warning hard to deliver to you. I have come hundreds of miles to do it. I will give it to you immediately, for you may need it at any moment." She drew closer to him, and laid one hand upon his arm as if to prevent his losing by any chance the words she had to say. Her gesture had an impressiveness that made him realize as much as her face did how terribly in earnest she was.

"It must be something about Katie," he thought. And the vision of Lord Bulchester rose before him clearly.

"Listen," said Elizabeth absorbed in her attempt to make him feel what she feared would seem incredible to him. "Stray shots have picked off many superfluous kings in the world—and men and the world not been the wiser. This is what some one said when the war was being talked of, said at your house, and said in speaking of you."

"Said it to you?" interposed Archdale with a quick breath.

"Oh, no, but about you, I am sure, sure, though it has taken me all this time to find it out. And,—oh, wait a moment,—the man who said it was your guest then, and he is here now, else we should not have come; he is here, perhaps he is close by you every day, and he,—he is meaning the shot for you." She waited a moment drawing a breath of relief that she had begun. "You know he is your enemy?" she went on with a longing to be spared explanations.

She was spared them.

"I do know it," said Archdale looking at her, and as she met his eyes a great relief swept over her. Her warning had been heard and believed, she was sure of that. She heard Archdale thanking her, and assuring her that he would give good heed to her warning. And she had not had to tell why Edmonson hated him, she had not even been obliged to utter the name that she was coming to hate. "Do you know?" she had asked wonderingly, and he had told it to her. Did he know the man so thoroughly, then? And were there other causes of hatred, possibly money causes, that had spared her?

She had told her listener more than she dreamed, far more than her words. She had stood before him in the noblest guise a human being can wear, that of a preserver from evil fate; she had looked at him out of holy depths in her clear eyes, she had turned upon him a face in which expression had marvellously brought out physical beauty. Also, in her unconsciousness that he knew the reason of his danger, she had looked at him with a wonder at his ready credulity before there had come her smile of relief that she need speak no more. He knew Edmonson's story, knew how this play at marriage between Elizabeth and himself had interfered with the other's plans, guessed the further truth, looked at her, and muttered under his breath:—"Poor fellow!" It was with his own eyes, and not another man's that Archdale saw Elizabeth. Yet, it was not in human nature that she should not seem the more interesting as she stood there, since he had learned his own life to be in danger because another man had found her so desirable, and so unapproachable. Watching Elizabeth, he acquitted Edmonson of mercenary motives, whatever they might once have been. His appreciation had no thought of appropriation in it. Katie was his love. But comprehension of Elizabeth made him glad that their mistake had saved her from Edmonson. And then again after a moment he muttered under his breath:—"Poor fellow!"

"You are very, very kind," he said to her.

"Don't think me rude," she answered with a smile. "But, you know we must have done this for any one. Only,"—and her voice became earnest again, "I was very grateful that the least thing came to me for you and Katie. I have not done with Katie yet" she added, "here is something that I have brought you from her." And she handed him a letter. "She gave me this as I was leaving," she said.

"Thank you," he said again, and holding it clasped in his hand, stood not looking at it, but as if he still had something to say. "Has Bulchester gone yet, Mistress Royal?" he asked abruptly at last.

"No. But I think that he must be very hard to send away, and Katie you know hates to say anything unkind. She doesn't see that it is the kindest way in the end. We shall not go until to-morrow, you know. If you have any letters, we shall be so glad to take them."

"Thank you once more." He stood still a moment. "The earl may be wise to stay on the field," he said. "I may be swept off conveniently. Yes, he is wise to wait and see what the fortunes of war will do for him."

"Oh! Mr. Archdale," cried Elizabeth, between indignation and tears at his want of faith. "How can you not trust her? Your letter that she was so eager to send will prove how wrong you are." Here Mr. Royal sauntered up, and the conversation turned upon the scene before them.

But in the midst of Archdale's description of one of their skirmishes a signal was given from the new battery. "They are signalling for me," he said. "My place is in command of those guns. I am sorry to leave my story half told, but I must go. I shall try to see you to-morrow." And with a hasty farewell he sprang into the boat. As he was rowed away, Elizabeth saw him put his hand into the pocket where he had slipped Katie's letter, and draw this out.

She sat down again in her favorite place on deck, laid her arms on the railing of the schooner and her face upon them. Now that her errand was done, she became aware that she was very tired. She sat so quiet that she seemed to be asleep. But she was only in a day-dream in which the thought of which she was most conscious was wonder that Archdale could doubt Katie. Had she not always been a coquette? And had she not always loved him? Yet Elizabeth wished that she could have said that Lord Bulchester had gone, wished that she could have seen Stephen Archdale's face brighten a little before he left them, perhaps forever; she had not forgotten the danger of his post. Nancy softly drew her chair close. But Elizabeth made no movement. She sat with her face still buried, thinking, remembering, longing to be at home again, counting the hours until they should probably sail.

Suddenly she started up. For there had come light that she saw through the dark folds that she had been pressing her eyes against. To her there was a sound as if the heavens were being rent, and she felt a trembling of the earth, as if it shook with terror at the spectacle. She stood a moment bewildered. It seemed as if the light never paled at all, but only changed its place sometimes; the roar was terrific, it never ceased, or lulled, and the water beneath them tossed and hissed in rage at its bed being so shaken. Nancy's hand sought her companion's with a reassuring pressure, for speech was impossible. But Elizabeth had only been unprepared. She recovered herself and smiled her thanks. Then she sat down again with her face toward the city and watched this cannonade, terrible to men grown grey in the service, as officers from the fleet bore witness, and to the enemy deadly.

For the fascine battery had opened fire.

At midnight General Pepperell sent for Archdale to detail him for special service the next day.

"Why! what's the matter?" he cried, looking at the young man as he came into the tent.

"Nothing, General Pepperell. I am quite ready for service," replied Stephen haughtily.

"Ah!—Yes. Glad of that," returned the General, and he went on to give his orders, watching the other's pale face as he did so, and reading there strong emotion of some kind.

When he was alone, and his dispatches had all been written, he sat musing for a time, as little disturbed by the glare and the thunder about him as if stillness were an unknown thing. His cogitations did not seem satisfactory, for he frowned more than once. "What's the matter with the fellow?" he muttered. "Something has gone wrong. I've seen an uneasiness for a long time. Now the blow has fallen. Poor fellow! he doesn't take life easy. The news is it, I wonder? or the letter?" He sat for a while carefully nursing his left knee, while his thoughts gradually went back to military matters, and worked there diligently. At last he straightened himself, clapped this same knee with vigor, put both feet to the ground and, rising, took up from his improvised table—a log turned endwise,—a paper upon which he made a note with a worn pencil from his pocket. "Yes," he cried, "I can do that. It's the only thing I can do. And I need it so much they will not mind." He finished by a smile. "Strange I hadn't thought of it before," he said.

Then he threw himself down upon his bed of boughs and moss, and with the terrific din about him slept the sleep of weariness. At sunrise, according to his directions, an orderly roused him.

Archdale had already gone with his reconnoitering party. His heart was bitter against the conditions of his life, and he felt that it would be no misfortune, perhaps quite the contrary, if Edmonson's plan were not interfered with. "It's beyond her comprehension," he said to himself. "How confident she was. What will she say when she knows?"

In the morning, Elizabeth standing beside her father turned a tired face toward the shore as she watched General Pepperell's approach. Sleep had been impossible to her in the strangeness and terror of her surroundings.

"You are very thoughtful to come to bid us good-bye," she said, giving him her hand as he stepped on board.

He smiled, and still holding it, asked after a moment's hesitation, "Should you be very much disappointed if I begged you not to return this morning?"

She certainly looked so for a moment, before she answered: "If it will help, if I can be of any use, I am ready to stay. Are there soldiers in the hospitals? Can we do anything for them, Nancy and I?"

He caught at the diversion readily. "The hospitals? Yes, I should be very glad, infinitely obliged to you, if you would pay them a visit. I've not a doubt that your suggestions would make the poor fellows more comfortable, and there are a number of new ones there this morning. I'm sorry to say our health record is discouraging. Not that I'm discouraged, but I want to put this business through as quickly as possible." Then he turned to Mr. Royal. "I must tell you both," he said, "that I came to you this morning bent upon purposes of destruction, (though, happily, not to yourselves,) and not purposes of health, except of saving lives by making the work as short as possible. I should like this schooner. I have an immediate use for it, and in two days, or, at the outside, three, I'm going to send to Boston. Will you permit me to take this as a fire-ship, and will you remain under my especial care until this other vessel sails?" He turned to Elizabeth as he spoke. "If you consent," he said to her, "I am quite sure your father will. It will be a great favor to me, and I hope to the cause, if you do. But I won't insist upon it. If you say so you shall go this morning."

Elizabeth glanced at her father, "But I don't say so," she answered. "I am compelled to stay if my father consents. It's not you that make me but a stronger power. You won't be offended if I call patriotism a stronger power?" And she smiled at him.

"Thank you, my dear," he said with a gravity which showed that she had touched him. "You shall not regret your sacrifice."

In the course of conversation he told Mr. Royal that Archdale had been sent off at dawn upon an exploring expedition. "I want to find out how near to us the Indians are," he said, "they are hanging about somewhere. You will not see him to-day."

That morning, Elizabeth was rowed ashore with Nancy, and under an escort they went to the hospitals; not for a visit of inspection, as it turned out, but as workers. Nancy had had experience in illness, and Elizabeth was an apt pupil. Before the day was over the poor fellows lying there felt a change. There were no luxuries to be had for them, but their beds were made a little softer with added moss and leaves, the relays of fresh water from the brook running through the encampment were increased. One dying man had closed his eyes in the conviction that the last words he had sent to his mother would reach her; he had watched Elizabeth write them down, and she had promised to put a lock of his hair into the letter. He was sure that she would do it, and he died happier for the thought. Altogether, in many ways the comfortless tents grew less comfortless, for Elizabeth interpreted literally the general's permission to do here what she chose. The eyes of the soldiers followed both women with delight, and one rugged fellow, a backwoods man, whose cheerfulness not even a broken leg and a great gash in his forehead could destroy, volunteered the statement: "By George! whether in peace or war we need our women." This was responded to by a cheer from the inmates of his tent. The demonstration was all the more touching, because its endeavor to be rousing was marred in the execution by the physical weakness of the cheerers.

They spent that night on shore. Elizabeth's tent was next her father's and a few rods from the general quarters. As Mr. Royal left her, she stood a moment at the swinging door of her strange room, and looked at the stars and at the scene so new to her on which they were shining. Then leaving it reluctantly, for it fascinated her, she laid down upon the woodland couch prepared for her, and was soon as soundly asleep as her maid near by, while around the tent patrolled the special guard set by General Pepperell.

The next day also was spent in the hospital. In the course of the afternoon, Nancy, looking over the Bay in a vain search for the schooner which had brought them, said; "I wonder how we really shall get home, and when?"

"As General Pepperell promised us," answered her mistress. "And probably we shall leave to-morrow. I expect to hear from him about it then. So does my father; he was speaking of it this morning."

They were right; the next day the General told them that the "Smithhurst" would sail that afternoon with prisoners of war from the "Vigilant," a captured French vessel. "She is one of the ships that Governor Shirley has sent for to guard the coast," he said to Elizabeth speaking of the "Smithhurst." "She goes to Boston first to report and discharge her prisoners. Be ready at four o'clock. If I can, I will take you to the vessel myself; but if that is impossible, everything is arranged for your comfort. Your father is at the battery, I have just left him there. He is undeniably fond of powder. I've told him about this." Elizabeth was in one of the hospital tents when Pepperell came to her with this news. She staid there with Nancy all the morning, and at noon when her father came and took her away for awhile to rest, she had an earnest talk with him upon some subject that left her grave and pleased.

After a time she went back to the hospitals again. At the last moment the General sent an escort with word that he had been detained. Just before this message arrived, Elizabeth called her maid aside.

"Nancy," she said, "you see how many of our soldiers are here, hundreds of them, almost thousands. They are fighting for our homes, even if the battle-ground is so far away. And see how many have been sent in, in the short time we have been here. Do you want to desert them? Tell me how you feel? Shall we go back to our comfortable home, and leave all this suffering behind us, when we might do our little to help? Shall we, Nancy? I have no right to insist upon your staying; but don't you think we ought to stay? and won't you stay with me?"

"Indeed I will," was the quick answer. "I hated to leave the poor fellows, but I did not see what else to do. The General won't like it one bit though. And your father, Mistress Elizabeth?"

"The General has no authority over me. I'm not one of his soldiers. And as to my father, it's all right with him."

Yet she felt very desolate when the ship which was to have carried them had gone with its companion vessel, and from the door of one of the hospital tents she stood watching the white sails in the distance. But it was not that resolution had failed her; for she would have made the same decision over again if she had been called upon at the moment.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE NIGHT ATTACK.

As Elizabeth stood at the door of the hospital tent looking after the Smithhurst, General Pepperell came along, alone, in a brown study, his brows knit and his face troubled. For though the French ship-of-war, "Vigilant" had been captured, Louisburg had not, and every day was adding to the list of soldiers in the hospitals. But when he saw her, he stopped, and his expression, at first of surprise, changed to anger.

"What does this mean?" he said abruptly. "The ship has sailed. I sent you word in time."

"Yes," she answered.

"Then what does it mean?" he reiterated, "Why are you here?"

"It means," she returned, resenting the authority of his tone, "that when New England men are fighting and suffering and dying for their country, New England women have not learned how to leave them in their need, and sail away to happy homes. That's what it means, General Pepperell." As she spoke she saw Archdale behind the General; he had come up hastily as Pepperell stood there.

"Thought you were in a desperate hurry to be off," said Pepperell dryly.

Elizabeth blushed. She was convicted of changeableness, and she felt that she had been impatient. "Forgive me," she said. "So I was. But I did not realize then what I ought to do."

"Um! Where's your father?"

"Just gone out in the dispatch boat to the fleet."

"Does he know of this—this enterprise? Of course, though," he corrected himself, "since he has not sailed."

"Yes, of course," she said. "He stays with me. But," she added, "I suppose he expected me to ask you about it first."

"And you knew I wouldn't consent—hey?"

The girl smiled without speaking. "Mr. Royal is over-indulgent," he went on decidedly.

"Perhaps," answered Elizabeth, "He thinks that a little over-indulgence in being useful will not be bad for me. You assured both Nancy and me that we were doing good service, real service, and that you should be sorry to lose us."

"So you have done, and I shall be sorry to lose you, both personally and for the cause. Nevertheless, I shall send you home at once. Your father would never have consented to your staying if he had realized the danger. I never know where the shells will burst. I'll stop work upon that schooner that you came in, and send you home again in it. It's fitting up now as a fire-ship, but it can be made fairly comfortable. Your safety must be considered."

"Why is my safety of any more importance than the soldiers'? No, General, you have no right to send me away. I refuse to go. I am not speaking of military right, understand, but of moral right."

Pepperell gave a low whistle.

"That's it, is it?" he said. "One thing, however; if you stay, you must submit to my orders. You are under military law."

"I surely will. And now thank you," she returned with a smile so winning that, although for her own sake Pepperell had been angry, he relented.

"Oh, of course, it's very good in you, my dear," he said. "Don't think I forget that."

Capt. Archdale had been standing a little apart looking out to sea during a conversation in which he had no place. Now as he perceived the General about to move on, he came forward and spoke to Elizabeth. "You know that you are running a great risk?" he said to her gravely.

"Yes," she answered him, "or at least somewhat of a risk. When did you come back from your reconnoitering party?"

"The night before last," he said, not pursuing a subject that she did not wish to discuss with him. Elizabeth heard something hard in his voice, and saw a new sternness in his face that made her wonder suddenly if Katie's letter had lacked any kindness that Stephen deserved from her as he stood in the midst of danger and death. Could she have shown coquetry, or in any way teased him now?

"Well, good-by for the present, my dear, and Heaven keep you," said the General, giving her hand a cordial pressure. Archdale bowed, and the two went on, Pepperell at first full of praises of Elizabeth's courage, though he regretted her decision. But life and death hung upon his skill and promptness, and he had little time for thoughts of anything but his task. Henceforth he only took care that Mr. Royal and his daughter were as well protected, and as well cared for as circumstances permitted.

Yet, one evening soon afterward, he saw something which for the moment interested him very much. Elizabeth, with Nancy Foster who was now more companion than maid, was walking slowly toward her tent. Both were looking at the gorgeous sunset. Its brilliancy, vying with that of the deadly fireworks, offered a contrast all the more striking in its restfulness and happy promise. The two women had grown somewhat accustomed to the cannonade, and as they went on they seemed to be talking without noticing it. Just then a figure in captain's uniform came quickly up the slope toward them, and with a most respectful salute, stood bare-headed before Elizabeth.

"Edmonson," commented the General even before he caught sight of his face. "Nobody else has that perfection of manner. Stephen won't condescend to it. Edmonson is the most graceful fellow I know. And, upon honor, I believe he is the most graceless. But his theories can't harm that woman." Yet as Pepperell stood watching the young man's expression now that it was turned toward him, and understood by his gestures the eager flow of words that was greeting Elizabeth, he held his breath a moment with a new perception, muttered a little, and stood staring with the frown deepening on his face. He wanted to catch her answering look, but she had turned about in speaking and her back was toward him. In an impatient movement at this, he changed his own range of vision somewhat, and all at once caught sight of another face, also bent upon Elizabeth with eager curiosity to catch her expression. Pepperell turned away delighted. "After all, he's not too much of a grand seigneur to have a little human curiosity," he chuckled, watching the new figure. "Yes, we'll do very well to go on a reconnoitering expedition together, you and I, Captain Archdale!" And he laughed to himself as he slipped quietly away, without having been perceived. "More news to write to pretty Mistress Katie," he commented, still full of amusement. Then his thoughts went back again to the problem that was growing daily more perplexing. And as he was again becoming absorbed in it, he was conscious of an undercurrent of wonder that he could ever have laughed. The thing next to be done was to make an attack up Island Battery, the one most serviceable to the enemy, most annoying to themselves. So long as that belched forth its fires against them, Warren's fleet must remain outside, and there could be no combined attack upon the city, and Louisburg was still unconquerable. Any day might bring a French fleet to its rescue, and then the game was up. Beyond question, Island Battery must be attacked, but it was a difficult and dangerous attempt, and Pepperell sat with his head upon his hand, thinking of the men that must fall even if it were successful. Still, every day now some among the soldiers were smitten down by disease and the French ships were nearer. It was only a question of sacrificing a part of his army or the whole of it. Warren was right to urge the measure, and it must be pressed upon his Council. But Pepperell felt as if he were being asked to sign a hundred death-warrants.

It was not quite time for the members of his Council to assemble. He went to the nearest battery where the firing was hottest, sighted the direction of the guns, examined the state of the city walls where these had been played upon by them, cheered the gunners with his praise, even jested with one of them, and left the men more full of confidence in him, more desirous than ever to please him, and, if possible, more resolved to win the day. Not a trace of anxiety in his face or his tones had betrayed the weight that was upon him. Then he went back to his tent. The Council had assembled. When he took his place at the head, he had forgotten the incident that a few minutes before had moved him to laughter.

Archdale stood motionless. The underbrush hid him from the speakers, and he was too far off to hear a word. It seemed to him that Elizabeth wished to shorten the interview, for soon Edmonson with another of his inimitable bows retired and she passed on. As Stephen caught sight of her face he saw that it was troubled. "He shall not persecute her," he said to himself. Nancy had gone on while Edmonson was speaking to her mistress, and now Elizabeth following was almost at the door of her temporary home, when a hand was laid heavily upon Archdale's shoulder, and Vaughan's hearty voice cried;—

"Come on! I'm going to speak to our charming, brave young lady there. I want to tell her how proud of her courage I am. Come on! he repeated. Stephen followed. He had not taken her determination in this way. He thought her unwise and rash, and hated to have her there. And yet he could not deny that the camp had seemed a different place since she had entered it.

"You take it that way," he said to Vaughan. "But I think we should be feeling that she may get hit some of these days, or be down with fever."

"We'll hope not," returned the other cheerfully. "Let us look on the bright side. She is doing a work of mercy, and we will trust that a merciful Providence will protect her. We were just talking about you, Mistress Royal," he continued, striding up to Elizabeth and grasping her hand warmly. "Stephen, here, says he's always thinking you'll get hit somehow, or get a fever. I say, look on the bright side of things, 'trust in the Lord,' as old Cromwell used to put it."

"'And keep your powder dry,'" finished Archdale. "It's not safe to quote things by halves. Decidedly, this staying is not a prudent thing."

"I didn't know that beseiging Louisburg could be called a prudent thing," she returned. "And so we're all in the same boat."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Vaughan. "You have him there, Mistress Royal. He's always in the hottest places himself; he likes them best."

"Somebody else likes them, too; somebody else who can capture Royal Battery with thirteen men," said Elizabeth. "I knew long ago that you were a genuine war-horse, Colonel Vaughan. Give me credit for my discernment."