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THE LIBRARY OF THE

UNIVERSITY OF

NORTH CAROLINA

ENDOWED BY THE

DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC

SOCIETIES

PSI586
.E53

C.2

UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL

00008832221

NEW ENGLAND'S CHATTELS:

OR,

life in tijc flortljcnt |1ooi'-|)OHSt.

I

Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2011 with funding from

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill

http://www.archive.org/details/newenglandschattOOelli

" Antii"|ne, hut not attractive." — paoe 2fi.

NEW ENGLAND'S CHATTELS:

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Pauper: A poor person; particularly one so indigent as to depend on the
parish or town for maintenance." — Webster.

^ e tD " 8 0 r k ;
H. DAYTON, lOT NASSAU STREET;

INDIANAPOLIS, IND. : DAYTON & ASHEB.
1858.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by

n. DAYTON,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern

District of New York.

j. J. Reed, Printer & SxEREOTypBR,
43 & 45 Centre Street.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
The Story begins with Relics, where many a one ends, - - - » 13

CHAPTER II.

In preparing Statistics of the Population, and tables on Political Economy, we
should pay especial attention to what appears on the Surface. As there may
have been other persons alive in our places, now below the surface, so there may
once have been other mansions where now are found but such as these, - 26

CHAPTER III.
Gentlemen who sell their Cattle, Sheep, and Hogs by Auction, so contrive it that
the highest bidder gets them : so they realize. When a lot of Paupers is dis-
posed of at Auction, the town so contrives it that the lowest bidder gets them :
so the town realizes, ----------33

CHAPTER IV.
Captain Isaac Bunco, Mrs. Bunce, all the Bunces, more especially the Captain,
who has a moral and religious standard. His merciful convictions have a tri-
umphal ascendency over his daily overt practice, and rule him uncommonly
well disposed, ..-----..--38

CHAPTER V.
Joe Harnden and his visitors. When visits and calls are made they should bo
civil and short. Do not bore a friend to death by the length of your civility, but
cut it short off before he shall even begin to wish you hadn't called at all, 49

CHAPTER VI.

"We've fifteen poor folks, lacking the last death — Joe Harnden." — Squire Ben.
Stout's Remark. It is well to keep the Population intact, to know exactly what
to say when the Government gets in readiness for the National Census. A cor-
rect Census is the glory of an Administration, ... _ - 56

CHAPTER VIi.
The Haddocks, - 70

VI CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VIII.'

Beep for the Pauper?. " He that considereth the poor, lendeth to the Lord."
The immense deposits of virtuous credits laid up by a great many stocli-towns in
New England, of and for their regard for the Poor, it will take a good while in
the next world to estimate, ---------77

CHAPTER IX.

Northern fear of the Poor-House. The Peppers. Very poor people, and people
not the poorest, often and generally envy the rich. It was an early development
in society that riches carried great weight, so all the poor people have been mad
after them. Here we show you what a pleasant thing it is to be rich, - 92

CHAPTER X.

DtTY leads in the way of securing and laying in Provisions. Jims vs. Dan, and
Dan vs. Jims. -.-.-...--- 103

CHAPTER XL

Mag Davis. — Were it not for beautiful Woman in this world, we should not have
half the respect for ourselves that we now exercise, nor would Society so rise to
the dignity of an Institution. As it is, we highly congratulate ourselves, and as
to Woman are strictly conservative, - - - - - - -113

CHAPTER XII.

The Ladies' Benevolent Society. Miss E. Flush, President, - - - 128

CHAPTER XIIL

Fire. Water is the natural element with which to oppose fire. The circumstances
must be quite unfavorable, therefore, when it remains unextinguished even in
the presence of this agent, --------- 145

CHAPTER XIV,

The Little Incendiary. Be very careful how you stand up for an Incendiary.
The Partaker is as bad as the Thief, you know, ----- 154

CHAPTER XV.
Alanson, -_---------- 171

CHAPTER XVI.
Jims at the Manse, ...--- "T" ^^^

CONTENTS. VU

CHAPTER XVII.

The Tuckers. Very remarkable character like that of a Johnson, a Pitt, a More,
a Bonaparte, or a Washington, but occasionally gleams on the path of human
life. It becomes our duty, consequently, to ponder well every such appearance,
and endeavor to estimate the chances in favor of any one age or country reaping
the honor of it ; for grpat, indeed, is that honor, ----- 195

CHAPTER XVIII.

Crape for Aunt Dorothy. Crape is a great institution. It belongs to the Genus
Sackcloth, and so hails from Job, and other far off Personages. Government
goes for crape. An Administration that wouldn't vote "thirty days" crape
would be put down ; Jobbers and Consumers would rouse the nation, and Old Mo-
nopoly get awfully crushed between them. You never see a Dignitary, a Dogma-
tist, a Delectable, a sensible Bachelor, or a sincere Widower who marries the second

■ and third time aerly for the sake of his children, despising crape ! - - 205

CHAPTER XIX.

Sermon to the Paupers. Was it or was it not a Gospel Endeavor ? There is a
great itching now-a-days to preach Homiletics and Philosophic Yams, and some
preach like Yellow Dandelions and Buttercups ! The Gospel's the Gospel for a'
that, and happy soul is he who preaches it, - - - - - -212

CHAPTER XX.

Northern Human Chattels. Where is Aunt Dodge 7 - - - - 219

CHAPTER XXI.

Paupers not their own masters or law-makers ; which appears very like a state
of Involimtariness — were it not in New England ! . _ - - 232

CHAPTER XXII.

Has Mr. Warren lost that box ? He may fancy so. He may even search in
vain for it. He may give the case into the hands of the Police, who are sure to
find stolen property. But after all, is the box lost ? - - • 237

CHAPTER XXIII.
Hag! 243

Vlll CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XXIV.

What happened to the Cabin. Remarks upon Cabins are useless, for they fulfill
their day, never behind, never ahead of it. They are a standing Prophecy of
Shelter and Refuge to Society. They show us, that if we cannot live in a Palace,
we can in a Hut. Ho, the Cabin ! . 257

CHAPTER XXV.
Polly in the Ruins, 262

CHAPTER XXVI.
What's to be done 1 .--. 268

CHAPTER XXVII.

Captain Bunce settles a score with Jims, and Jims with bastardy and pauperism.
Remarkable geniality discoverable in unpropitious circumstances, which is proof
that Society is homogenous and vital. Flaws are Exceptions to the Rule. The
Rule remains, 274

CHAPTER XXVIII.

" We should of course miss a Pauper, Mr. Savage, of course !" It is quite a Mathe-
matical certainty that two and two are four ; and that if one be taken from four,
there are left but three. Now, as Pure Mathematics is a dead certainty, we
have no difficulty with it until wo yoke to it our Moral Certainties. Then wo
may say, " Of course. Mr. Savage !" But there's a lingering doubt — an absence
of Demonstration, after all, --------- 290

CHAPTER XXIX.

Mrs. Armstuong's great apprehension. Poverty is very ugly to look straight
at! 300

CHAPTER XXX.

The Missionary's Letter. We have known one Missionary who complained that
he couldn't be thankful enough, and another who complained that he was too
thankful. So we fancy that somewhere near the middle of the beam lies the true
emotion, .-...------. 307

CHAPTER XXXI.

Abraham Bacon and Mrs. Bacon, Mr. and Mrs. Siddleton— actors all, in the grand
Pauper Drama, representing Shrewdness, Profit, Speculation, Genius, Morality
and Religion, 315

CONTENTS. IX

CHAPTER XXXII.

The Paupers at Auction. To many a one there is a charm in the very sound of
the word " Auction." And so at auction decent people often buy those goods
they neither need nor really desire. But they find a comfort in having bought
them " low — at auction .'" Much good may they do them. Rag, Tag and Bob-
tail, are often bolted off with Good, Better, Best, at the Sales: so one bids off
the former for the sake of the latter. "When one takes lot All of the Town's
Chattels, he of course takes the good and the bad. Contrary to the usual notion,
however, the good paupers in such a trade are, the weak-ready-to-die-off class ;
the bad, the healthy, strong, good-livers 1 Kind Providence! save Thou us and
ours from this block, ---------- 326

CHAPTER XXXIII.

The Ministers get hold of it. Let us see what they think, . - - 339

CHAPTER XXXIV.

100,000 Brick. Paupers at twenty cents a day for the lot— i. e., " one forty" per
week : a considerable amount of money, all things taken into the account, 356

CHAPTER XXXV.

Mr. Siddleton's idea of the Gospel. Somehow or other our ideas are not always
the same, nor are they always just. But if we happen tohit on right notions, by all
means let them out. They may do somebody good, - - - - 368

CHAPTER XXXVI.

The European Tour.— Blind Henrietta, a Teacher of Good Things, - - 380

CHAPTER XXXVII.
Christian Benevolence. Dan, -------- 389

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Miss E. Flush argues for the Sacred Scriptures vs. the Righteous Poor. It is well
to let the Scriptures interpret themselves on some questions ; when we interpret
them, it is very often to favor our cause. But if you are in want of a good, saga-
cious interpreter of Holy Writ, send for Emeline Flush, - - - 400

CHAPTER XXXIX.
Grandfather Sherman, --. 4l4

CHAPTER XL.
A Northern Doughface ; ! - - - - - - -426

X CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XLI.

Miss Flush pays a visit to the Poor- House. She forms a high estimate of the per-
sonal charms and character of Miss Margaret Davis, and appears in what may be
called a new character herself. So thinks at least Lawyer Tools, whose profes-
sional business leads him closely to scrutinize individual members of society in
what changes soever they may appear, --_... 434

CHAPTER XLII.

Search for Property. Writers on Political Economy represent Labor as the only
source of wealth, for by ' labor all the wealth of the world,' as says Mr. Adam Smith,
' was originally purchased.' It is labor that gives value to all commodities and pro-
ducts. At the same time, what miserable creatures we should all prove to be,
were it not for Capital. We have it then, ' Searching' implies Labor, and
'for property,' Capital. We hope James searched a good while before h«
finally abandoned it, ---------- 448

CHAPTER XLIII.

James in the Town-meeting. Very humorsome times they frequently have in
Town-meetings, there being generally present all the great men and all tho
small men of the place, not a few of whom offer their sentiments oratorically to
their fellow-citizens, and the great men bow very low to the small men, and tho
small men shake their heads, look wise, and can't say precisely 2z;/io they shall
vote for. ------------ 454

CHAPTER XLIV.

The new Town Farm. Dreams take a high rank. Mercy mingles in the cup of
Poverty. Reunion of old Ideas, nothing inconsistent with modern improvements
and innovations, ----------- 464

APPENDIX, 475

PREFACE.

I HAVE here written a few things concerning the
paupers of New England, the land of civilization
and religion, but not a THOUSANDTH part of those
TRUE stories that may yet be told of them, their
sufferings, their neglect, their vice, nor have I told
the loorst — judge ye !

I have not dealt in personalities. My actors, such as
Squire. Stout, Mr. Haddock, Captain Bunce, etc., repre-
sent character merely. Nor have I given in caricature
a real locality to the scenes. Unhappily these lie broad-
cast all over New England.

THE AUTHOR.

NEW ENGLAND'S CHATTELS;

OB,

LIFE m THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE.

CHAPTER I.

The Story begins with Relics, where many a one ends.

Among the ragged and miserable creatures in the
Crampton poor-house, some of them old and others
young, put in and there kept by the town authorities,
was a widow of seventy years, a pious old soul, whose
name was Charity Prescott. They called her sometimes
Mrs. Prescott, or Miss Prescott, the widow Prescott, and*
the pious old Mrs., Miss, or the widow Prescott. She
was poor, but good. Almost everybody loved her, and
there were a good many individual Christians and moral
people in Crampton who had much preferred she had
not gone to the poor-house for her sujDport. However,
there she went, and Captain Bunce, the proprietor, held
her in some sort of regard. He told Mrs. Bunce that
she was probably honest, and well meaning, though
broken down in mind, and very simple and childish, and
he should grant her " every indulgence."

" Don't be too generous now, Captain Bunce," said his
wife, " for you know these are hard times, and we may
work ourselves to death for the creatures, without the
first red cent or thank'e ma'am from the town, or any

14 NEW England's chattels ; or,

soul in it. And as for the lazy, idle coots themselves,
the more you do for them, the more you may do ; don't
you know it, Captain Bunce ?"

Captain Bunce knew all about it, he said, as well as
she did ; knew the whole thing by heart — kneW it per-
fectly— but his mind was made up about the widow
Prescott, that she should have " every possible indul-
gence."

Now to hear this honeyed phraseology as it dropped
from the mouth of the Captain, one would be sure that
Mrs. Prescott would be well taken care of at all events ;
that she could not feel the want of any thing that lay in
Captain Bunco's power to provide for her ; that he
would not hesitate the fractional part of a minute to do
her any service. One would suppose that " every," as
he used it, covered a great field of indulgences — a very
great many comforts represented — almost too many.

Mrs. Prescott tvas indulged with a single room. Once
there had been a large closet to the bed-room on the
north side of the kitchen, under the kitchen stairs. This
had now been enlarged by building on a small wing — so
called — about four feet being added, and this enlarge-
ment— nay, the whole affair, closet and appendage — was
assigned to Mrs. Prescott as her room. It had a door
that might be fastened ; a little window, a narrow, old
cot-bed, a piece of a looking-glass, a comb, and a paper
curtain. It was a room, some eight by nine feet, quite
a commodious little affair. Here in an old ruined bowl
she cultivated a geranium. No vicissitudes of her for-
tunes had robbed her of her Bible. This apartment,
with its furniture, and two chairs also, one of them
smuggled in by blind Hetty, was, to Mrs. Prescott, one
of the Captain's indulgences.

Was she not, reader, a well cared for human being ?

LIFE IN THE NOETHERX POOR-HOUSE. 15

Consider that she had outlived two or three generations ;
that her usefulness was gone ; that she was hardly known
on the church records as a living member ; that she was
very poor, very dependent — say, was not the pious old
widow Prescott well taken care of? The town taxed
itself to support her at five cents a day, and sold her
every year at auction, or " contracted," as we say at the
North, for her support on these conditions, if others bet-
ter failed. And here she is, in a ripe old age, cared for
in this nice little jewel of a way, i. e., room. Could any
thing be more appropriate ? Was she not a happy,
heaven-ripening saint under these peculiar indulgences
and privileges ? At any rate, here she is. So we go on
and say that here the good old widow passed her days
and nights whenever she wished to retire from the com-
mon sittings of her companions. Here she put on and
off her spectacles, read her Bible, and prayed. Here
she meditated on the ways of Providence. Here she
occupied herself in the trifling sewings, knittings and
darnings. Here she not unfrequently had a visitor of
the " House," as they called their own quarters, and gave
good counsel to the desponding and reproof to the way-
ward and vicious. And it was not a rare thing for some-
body from, the " Captain's" to run in and chat with her,
especially for " blind Hetty," who, in the summer, would
stand for an hour at the open window, asking questions
and telling stories, and hearing good things and many
Bible truths, and comforts for a poor young blind crea-
ture such as she. Nor were they lost upon her. No, no.
On the blind Hetty ? No.

This aged, poverty-stricken widow, had seen a fair
supply of misfortune, as we call it, in her life. She was
early married to Mr. Samuel Prescott — afterwards, Dea-
con Samuel Prescott. She became the mother of eight

16 NEW England's chattels ; or,

children, most of whom died before they were twenty
years of age, although her eldest son and one of the
daughters lived to get married and settle down in com-
fortable homes near the paternal dwelling. But tho
daughter died when her second child was born, which in
a fortnight followed her, and the husband becoming in-
temperate died on the eve of another marriage with a
dissolute woman. Their first child lived with his grand
parents till he was ten years of age, when a cold which
he had taken threw him into a fever and soon ended his
days. So the family branch in that direction failed. —
The married son had no children, and both husband and
wife fell victims to a malignant fever in the neighbor-
hood during the tenth year of their married life.

Deacon Prescott and his wife were nearly the whole
time of their married life in mourning. Is it not strange !
A married pair always clad, however green and fair the
world, sunny and joyous and gay, themselves always,
always in mourning ! Their little property by degrees
failed them in consequence of their repeated trials, and
the deacon himself was stricken with paralysis, and lay
five years helplessly on his couch. He was not a man
of much worldly thrift, though a Christian man of great
experience and readiness in divine things. When at
last he gave up life, his property was about gone, and
his wife left childless, feeble, poor, dependent — after
several years of effort to support herself aided by the
charities of the church, and of her friends, cast herself
on the town. And here, in the poor-house is Mrs. Pres-
cott, as comfortable as the poor-house customs will
allow.

She is a little childish or simple, it is true — not pre-
cisely what she once was, although she has got through
a great sum of earthly trouble with much fortitude, and

LIFE IN THE NOETHEEN POOR-HOUSE. 17

with as much strength of mind as might be expected,
left to one in her circumstances. But whatever weak-
ness of mind she may occasionally exhibit, her recollec-
tions of Scripture are ever fresh, and on religious mat-
ters her conversation is remarkably clear and happy.
There's a good deal in old mother Prescott after all.
She'll cost the town something yet, even at five cents a
day.

The cool mornings and evenings of late October days
have come, the trees drop off their autumn-dyed leaves,
heavy frosts often crisp the grass, the sheep and fowls
begin to seek the warm side of the old buildings where
the morning brings n-p the rays of the sun. And one of
these mornings, directly after breakfast, at the poor-
house, a breakfast of gruel, potatoes, and poor bread and
molasses, served on the old pine table, served with iron
spoons, broken knives and forks, on blue-edged and
glazed-cracked plates, Mrs. Prescott, in one of her last
white cambric caps, with that old-fashioned, motherly,
wide, starchless, flapping border, in dark woolen skirt,
and apron with long strings — a neat " fix on " even for
herself and her " indulgences," is in her little room, put-
ting it to rights, and then brushing back the gray locks
that hang out here and there a fluttering signal of old
age, when in comes aunt Dorothy Brinsmade. This old
woman, say of sixty-five, appears as usual in a very tat-
tered, ragged rig, carelessly hitched together, and un-
equally equipoised on her curving frame, shufiling along
in old shoes she comes, smoking at a broken pipe, with
heavy clouds of strong smoke curling in her wake, and ,
her advance noted by the odd and even tune of her old
crooked staff and crutch on the floor. She comes in
humming some strange thing between a march and a
psalm tune, as aunt Dorothy is now rather weak-headed

18 NEW England's chattel's ; or,

• — having got on the slippery side of her life's hill.
Twenty years of her time have been penitentiary years,
a long flight of years truly ; some of them, we would
say, passed in poor-houses. She has had, at times, a
reputation by no means the best, including in the cate-
gory, the matters of lying, pilfering and wantonness,
although it was always hard to " spot" her in the very
matters that this gossip was built on, and at all events,
since aunt Dorothy came, eight or ten years ago, to the
stajff and the crutch, light fingering and frolicsomeness
have been of her rather matters of the historic past, than
of actual present recurrence. She is rather a good soul
among the poor ones of the poor-house, and bears up
tolerably well under her day of trial. She is a native of
the town, and was once married, but marriage and she
had little to say of one another.

" And how does Mrs. Prescott do this morning ?" said
she, "ai?

" Drum, drum, drum ; dro, de-dro, de-dri, dri dri ;
The mountains melt, the seas retire.

" Pretty well, Mrs. Prescott ?

" Bubadnb — rubadub, rubadub, dub, dub ;
The seas retire ."

" I'm tolerable for an old woman, aunt Dorothy, thank

ye."

" Wal now — drum, drum — that's about all a body can
'spect of life now days. I'm tolerable too — thanks to a
good constitution from Providence, and a merry sort of
spirits —

" Drum de drum ; drum de drum, drum dro ;

Once I thought my mountain strong — mountain strong,
Drum, drum ."

" Never mind, aunt Dorothy," interrupted the widow,

LIFE IN THE NOETHEKN POOR-HOUSE. 19

well knowing her visitor's wandering, loquacious tongue,
and endless songs — so hoping to put her on a new track,
" How old do you think I am to-day V she asked.

" How old ! — drum, drum, drum — I reckon you are
nigh on t' eighty, p'raps eighty-five or ninety — at any
rate, considerable up in life and growing older mighty
fast, .ai ?"

" Why, aunt Dorothy ! you don't now — why I am only
seventy-four, that's not so very old, specially on Bible
grounds. You know the Bible tells us of persons
livino- • "

" Three score and ten — dum de dum — ," interrupted
aunt Dorothy.

" Yes, I know ; and four-score — but they used to live
several hundreds, and now-a-days persons often live
ninety and a hundred years."

" Not very often. — drum di'u "

" Once, aunt Dorothy, people lived to be eight hun-
dred years old. There was Adam, the first man, who
lived even till he was nine hundred and thirty years
old ; and Methuselah, you know, was nine hundred and
sixty-nine years old. And there was Noah "

" Pshaw, pshaw, widow Prescott ! Them's old folks
that's been dead and gone morne a thousand years, when
there warn't any poor-houses, and everybody was rich,
and all the women rode in coaches, in silk dresses, and
never knew when they got old. But I say — drum, drum,
drum — nobody now-a-days sees such times ; nor nobody
wants to — do you. Miss Prescott ? They were a great
long time ago ; folks now-a-days get old when they are
fifty or sixty — drum de drum, drum, drum — ^who cares
for Adam ?"

" But, aunt Dorothy, the Bible's the Bible for all that,
and you know we must believe it."

20 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Sartin ! I've been a firm believer of it all my born
days."

" It ain't of no consequence, aunt Dorothy, whether we
are old or young, if we have a good firm faith in the
Bible, and a good hope, for then we are ready to die
any time, you know 1"

" Sartin ! I know it, and that's what I tell them all —
drum, drum, dro."

" You see, aunt Dorothy, ain't your pipe going out ?"

" I believe so. (Pyff, i^'{^> JP^^ff-) Now it smokes
again."

" "Well, as I was going to say, we're in rather straiten-
ed circumstances here — but it might be worse ; now we
want the Bible to comfort and support us."

" Yes." (Puff, puff, puff.) " Is this pipe out or not ?"
(Puff pi[ff, puff).

" I don't let a day go by without drawing comfort
from it."

" It's a great comfort to you." (Piff, p^ff, P^ff)-

" I find it so. I read very often the words of good old
pious David. ' I have never seen the righteous forsaken,
nor his seed begging bread.' "

" Is that in the Bible ? Now it goes. (Puff, piff,
puff).

" ' In the Bible,' aunt Dorothy ! Indeed it is, every
word of it ; did not you know that ?"

" Well, I guess I did, but I don't know exactly. Drum,
drum, drum."

" Precious words they are for us poor souls," said the
widow.

" Well, we are poor souls, sure enough. I told Cap'n
Bunce I had'nt a whole dress to my back, nor a sheet to
my bed, and what do you think he said, ai ?"

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 21

" I don't know ; sometimes he speaks rather quick
and "

" I know. He told me to go to , with my back ;

he'd give me a new dress when his ship come in from
India, and not afore, ai 1 How do you like that, widow?

D him !" said she, with a fury-fire in her face — a

shake of her staff ; after which she hummed away as
before —

" Drum de drum ; drum-de drum, dri, dro ;
Rise my soul and stretch thy wing "

" Oh, well, aunt Dorothy — he's * quick,' I say — and it's
a trying world ; but we must have patience and not re-
turn railing for railing, but contrariwise blessing "

" I ' blessed' him," she replied. " I told him he'd go
there before I did, or never get his just desarts."

•'* You did, not now, aunt Dorothy, speak so to him ?"

" Yes I did too ; and I slamm'd the door in his face.
He's an old, hard, grinding hypocrite. Hang him ! He's
starving us to death, and freezing us to death — and the
other day he kicked old Joe so that he's laid up for all
winter, I'll bet you a guinea, as stiff as my cane."

" What made him do that ?"

" Nothing. Just because Joe did'nt incline to work
out in a rain storm. Nothing."

" And is old Joe really hurt ?"

" ' Really hurt !' I guess you'd think so."

" And laid up ?"

" ' Laid up ?' Yes, he can't get off the bed. He's half
dead ; and he says he'd rather die than live any longer,
any how."

" It's terrible to die so, aunt Dorothy."

" Who cares ?" (Pnff, pvff, imff).

" Perhaps I can go and comfort him with something
out of the Bible — what do you think, aunt Dorothy ?"

22 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Well now, that's a good notion, Mrs. Prescott, any
way. Just do it now. He's a harmless old crittur, we
all know, and it won't hurt him if it does him no good,
just as it don't me, you know.

" Drum, drum, drum ; dri, dro, dri,

Saints and sinners there shall meet — shall meet,
Dri, dro, dri, drum, dri, dro "

" Well, let us go and see him, right away. Perhaps
he'll relish a little good talk if he's so poorly off, any
how."

So old aunt Dorothy Brinsmade, with her staff and
crutch, hobbled away, and the widow, bending with age,
hobbled after. But at the foot of the stairs, up which
their way led them to Joe's quarters, they encountered
blind Hetty, with a bowl and a plate in her hands. She
had evidently been on an errand of kindness to some
one, probably old Joe himself — so it proved.

" So it's you, gal, is it ?" sajd aunt Dorothy.

" Ah, it is Hetty 1" said the widow.

" Yes," said the blind girl. " I've been round a little."

" Ah ! Hetty," said the widow, " remember the words
of the Saviour — ' I was hungered and ye gave me meat ;
thirsty and yet gave me drink ; naked and ye clothed
me.'"

" I have often heard them," said she in reply, " and I
wish I could do more as they bid me."

" The Lord bless you, gal, for the good that's in your
soul," said the old woman."

" Drum, drum, drum ; dro, dro, dro, de-dro ;
Life is the time to serve the Lord — "

" Have you seen old Joe this morning. Miss Hetty ?"
inquired the widow.

" Yes, I have just been to him with a little breakfast.
He is old, and seems to be lame and stiff and sore "

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 23

" Seems so, gal ! Your father's almost

" Hiish ! aunt Dorothy," said the widow, laying her
hand suddenly on her mouth. And in a lower tone she
added — " Don't hurt the poor girl's feelings."

The old woman raised for a moment her flashing eyes,
but the fury in them softened as they met those of the
pious widow, and fell on the delicate form of the young
girl before her, so nearly blind, yet smiling kindly
through her tears.

" What were you about to say of my father, aunt
Dorothy ?" she asked.

" Nothing ! nothing, gal," she answered, " only he's
not got your gal's heart in him."

" That's true of a great many men," said the widow,
softly.

" I'll swear to that !" quickly chimed in the old wo-
man. " There's a score of them to one who've just no
heart at all, and old Joe might die for it afore he'd get
much pity from "

Here again the widow pressed her finger on the old
woman's mouth, who gulped down the remainder of the
sentence, and the blind girl was left in doubt of her
meaning, or in perfect ignorance of it.

" I hope you think old Joe is better now," said the
widow to Hetty.

" Yes, he says he is, and he ate my breakfast with a
good appetite."

" You've done him a mercy, Miss Hetty, and the
Bible says, that he who gives a cup of water to a disci-
ple, in the name of the Lord, shall not lose his reward."

" That's a great promise for so small a favor," said the
girl.

" And it's a great Saviour, Hetty, who gives it, re-
member."

24 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" I know — I know, you always told me so."

" Yes, don't forget him."

" Is Joe a disciple ?" inquired aunt Dorothy, humming
her tones, and saying, " ' Blest be the tie that binds.' "

" Joe's a poor, innocent sort of a body, a sufferer any
way," said the widow, and perhaps the Saviour meant
him."

"P'raps so," said aunt Dorothy. " Wall, good-bye, gal ;
we're going to try to climb these old rotten stairs to see
him — old Mrs. Prescott and I ; may he's we can get
some comfort in his soul — from the Bible. Mrs. Prescott,
come along — the old stairs won't break down, I guess,
though it would'nt hurt them much, if Cap'n Bunce
would make a new sett."

Blind Hetty went off, and escaped hearing the last of
the sentence, which might have wounded her.

On a wretched bed, with scarcely clothes to cover
him, unshaven, uncombed, unwashed, in an unfinished
part of the loft, they found the object of their search.
Shall we say the dying man ? Yes, truly, Joe was dying.
He was feeble and aged ; and the cold nights coming
on, combined -with rougher usage of late than usual, and
poor Joe was "getting down" fast. Nobody knew
this, least of all did he know it. As for the Captain,
he had often seen the paupers sick and feeble, near death,
and quite dead ; he had also seen them low, and unac-
countably weak, but up they came, and were smart
again, so that he could not tell " for the life of him"
how it would go with any of them when a little sick or
ailing ; but finding that Joe did not " rally," and having
some idea that he might have been instrumental in
" upsetting " him, as he termed Joe's illness, he sent
word to the doctor to " call round in the course of the
day."

LIFE IN THE NORTHEEN POOR-HOUSE. 25

Mother Prescott and the old woman approached the
bed very quietly on which the sick man lay. The kind
little, visit and the nourishing breakfast of Hetty, had
really given him much relief. The old man raised his
eyes on the new comers, and seeing the pious old widow
one of them, he immediately smiled and put out his
withered and trembling hand towards her.

But before we advance further with this interview, we
desire to introduce the reader a little more plainly to the
poor-house itself, and some of its immediate collaterals
and surroundings, so we shall see where the paupers
live.

26 NEW England's chattels ; or,

CHAPTER 11.

In preparing Statistics of the Population, and tables on Political Economy, we
yhould pay especial attention to what appears on the Surfa.ee. As there may
have been other persons alive in our places, now below the surface, so there may
once have been other mansions where now are found but such as these.

You have seen the palaces, and the marble and elej^ant
brown-stone front houses of the rich, and large, tight,
handsome farm-houses, and gentlemen's cottages in city
and country, but have you ever seen one of our moral
poor-houses, where the paupers live ? Here then is
one. It is The Poor-House of Crampton, a New Eng-
land town, of three or four thousand inhabitants, an old
ruined edifice, having an antique but not an attractive
or original model, as it is simply a low one story house
with a high, sharp roof. It represents peculiarities
common to many an old house. It has been painted, and
painted red, perhaps twice or three times painted ; but
this was a long time ago, and indeed it was a long time
ago that any mere casual observer would notice it had
ever been thus treated and protected. Once it was a
snug, tight, warm, dry dwelling house, full of busy, happy
children, the home of some souls now gone to their rest.
But it is now an open, cold, decayed affair, shaking and
rattling in the winds, and has served as a shelter for
swine and cattle, a home of bats, mice, fowls. The
shingles are decayed, some are all gone, others very
loose, and mould-covered. The wind and storms easily
displace them, so that of course the roof is no longer

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 27

%yater-tight and rain-proof, and the apartments it covers
are seldom otherwise than wet, or damp all round when
it rains or the snows melt. But in this case it some-
times happens, as it not unfrequently does in leaky
houses, that in one rain, this part of a room drips water,
and in another that. Thus the furniture in these rooms
acquired a great facility of locomotion, the chairs and
beds where these necessary articles of domestic life
abounded, moving here and there according to the exi-
gences of the case, with little difficulty in worn and
well-smoothed grooves. Good doors, tight clapboards,
sound windows once belonged to the house, but now the
doors are old and warped, hanging out of true, flaky,
creaking on their hinges, swinging over decayed, loose
or absent thresholds. The clapboards here and there
drop an end for want of a nail. The windows show
many a broken pane, many a place filled with rags and
papers, or perchance an old weather-beaten hat. The
old, ruined, wide-picket fence in front, racked this way
and that, the posts being eaten off, and the upper por-
tion settled down into their soft, decayed parts, and
wrapt around by the heaving earth and the rank grass
and vines, one bracing this and another that way, con-
trives, nobody ever knew how a fence like this could
do so, to hold up against every sort of gale, year in and
year out. So the old chimney stands, though now and
then an ancient-looking, blackened brick, that has been
poising long on the edge of the crumbling pile, falls
with a startling sound on the old roof, and half slides off
to the ground.

The interior of this house has, it is true, the advantage
of the outside covering, be the same more or less,but
then there are not wanting disadvantages of its own, that
may be fairly said to compensate for that superiority.

28 . NEW encxLand's chattels ; or.

The apartments immediately under the roof, for exam-
ple, are low, damp, as we have said, the ceiling grimy,
cracked, or fallen ; the walls untidy, heavy lines of dis-
coloration sweep over them in all directions ; modern
white-washing they " ignore," as we use a term ; and
paper-hangings, alias wall-paper, well moistened with
gum-solvents or paste, have no affinity or adhesiveness
for walls already too moist from outside causes. All
sorts of ugly pictures, therefore, such as grim, horrid
faces of giants ; distant and uncertain landscapes ; mon-
sters of the animal creation ; dark and foreboding storm-
clouds ; yawning chasms, and far-extending, crooked
and lawless rivers, paint themselves on the walls before
you. The floors creak under your tread, and are full of
yawning seams, and these are choked with filth seldom
thoroughly brushed away. These rooms, almost never
washed and scoured, old, decayed, and rat-eaten, are
musty with age and bad use. The rooms, moreover,
boast not of solid partitions ; but the apartments are
separated one from the other by boards poorly matched,
or gaping wide, and so with hingeless doors, are as un-
safe hiding-places of secret things, as uncomfortable
retirements of innocence for sleep, meditation, prayer,
or of fatigue for rest, of sickness for quiet, of old
age for death. Thus uninviting are the three old
chambers under the roof of the poor-house, the most
direct way to which is by a very rickety, worn, unsafe
flight of stairs, with here and there a step partly or en-
tirely missing. And in these so-called rooms, the furni-
ture, if of varied style, is of little varied value. Here is
a crazy nine-penny chair, and there an antiquated, long-
out-of-date bedstead, the worse for wear, but wearing
little worse by longer use, rough, creaking, dangerous.
A greasy, worn sack of straw partially conceals its knotty

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 29

cord, that makes no promise safely to bear one through
the. night. Tattered and foul bedding, and sparse at
that, lies twisted together there ; happy he who feels
no need of seeing it unwound. In one apartment, an
appearance of a chest meets the eye ; in another, a poor,
miserably cheap table ; a piece of mirror rests on the
window sash, and a comb with two or three generations
of hair combings and aggregations of all sorts, even
nameless aggregations ; and broken, brown, glazed
earthen ware, of short supply — these make up the fur-
niture— these are all, or so nearly all, that it is not worth
the time nor ink to write the balance. Carpets ? None
whatever. Rockers, soft and easy ? None. Lounges ?
No. Paintings and statuettes ? All wanting. Rose-
wood, mahogany, cherry, even stained bureaux ? They
are not here. Nor are there downy beds, wnth full,
luxuriant pillow, and sheets of purest white, curtains
and mirrors, and " balm of a thousand flowers," and
costly apparatus for queenly toilette. No! no! no!
These are in queen's houses, and in the courts and halls
of the great. There is nothing here of beauty, taste or
convenience ; nothing beyond the simplest calls of ne-
cessity. That is the law of these rooms. A dollar
would buy all we have shown you. No auctioneer would
strike them down but on a special commission.

On these old creaking beds, many a half-starved, ruin-
ed, desperate, lost soul has stretched himself for the last
time, and quickly given up the ghost, little effort it may
be making, or (being made by others) to hinder life's
last throbbing in him.

Descending by these trembling stairs to the large,
open kitchen, with its low, dark w^alls, blackened by the
smoke of 3'ears from the great fire-place, whose wide
find uglv flue refuses to float off the heavv waste ol

30 NEW England's chattels ; or,

sputtering fires beneath it ; and blackened by constant
adhesions of direful, nauseating clouds of smoke from
pipes well filled with coarsest product of the old Domin-
ion's staple — found in the street, begged here and there,
or stolen, as the case might chance, which poor and for-
saken w'retches, tenants of these quarters, men and wo-
men, used to while away the hours, and misery make, if
not merry, less miserable ; and blackened by its dark-
ened windows, stained by no magic art of pencil, but by
the common law of unwashen glass ; and blackened by
its ow^n reflections, every object in it dark and gloomy
— even the countenance divine of men and women
moving there from place to place — you are in the great
common room of the poor-house, where the people throng
by day, and where they often rest by night.

Here are the same styles of broken wnndows, worn
and feeble chairs and tables, shattered walls and gaping
doors elsewhere on the premises discoverable. And in
one corner of the room there is a stout, common, grindy
looking bedstead, where some of the tenants fling them-
selves if the few chairs and benches are occupied by
others, or it is the refuge of the weary, the sullen, the
sick, or intemperate — a miserable refuge — a very poor,
ugly bed.

By a large, wide door on the end of the building,
egress and ingress to and from this apartment takes
place. Then there is the so-called parlor, and front
south room, and the north bed-room, rooms once very
aptly thus denominated, and put to use in manner cor-
responding. But now these same apartments are only
caricatures of those specifications, haggard dormitories
now they are, for haggard beings, otherwise minus dor-
mitories altogether. And all these rooms are, as to
cleanliness, furniture, comfort, about as marked and at-

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 31

tractive as those already spoken of. The doors of more
than one of these apartments are altogether missing* —
perhaps in some great necessity of fuel, they were " cast
into the fire ;" others may want a panel, or a hinge,
or latch or key and other fastening, so yielding little pro-
tection from outsiders, and giving little place of secresy.

By twos, threes, fours and sixes, the wasted, ill-sorted,
and trembling wretches of this New England poor-house
were wont to huddle together in these rooms which we
have thus imperfectly described. They were never cer-
tain of their respective couches, although certain always
if sleep o'ertook them, and the light of day awoke them,
to arise, gaunt, hungry, cold, and miserable.

But why should they complain of what was charitably
given them by their fellow men, and, especially, when to
complain would prove them unmindful of their mercies,
and fail to soften the hardship ? A labor, this, extrava-
gantly useless.

In respect to raiment, the Crampton paupers enjoyed
a monopoly of one in many. Their daily, holiday, and Sun-
day garments were the same. It made no difference with
them what saint's day or jubilee or holiday came round ;
their garments were always ready for the occasion. You
would know a pauper by his raiment as certainly as a
state-prison fugitive. It was law at the poor-house to
wear out their changes of attire — to wear them to the
last shreds, beyond the shiny thread-bare surface, and the
treble patch, and many-colored piecing — to put them
clear through, and then resign them with regret. And
they wandered here and there, with and without hats,
slouching and broken ; bonnets flaring and faded ; in
worn, large, cast-away shoes and boots, in very awkward
and misfitting covering throughout — wandered about
idle, vagrant, mournful relics, many — yea, most of them.

32 NEW ENGLAND'S CHATTELS : OR,

of better days — prominent candidates for a hastily dug,
hastily filled, and an unmarked grave.

Such were the white and black paupers of Crampton ;
a good town of New England ; a land of religion, learn-
ing, and refinement ; a place of thrift, charity, and im-
provement.

Yet occasionally it would happen that some forlorn
wretch, man or woman, driven into the poor-house by
disaster common to many and uncommon to some, with
memory of other days yet fresh in him, and love of order
yet surviving, would trim both room and bed with such
an air of neatness or taste, that, despite all the surround-
ings of wretchedness and mockery of happiness, there
would seem in them much of earthly comfort. And also,
among these despairing creatures, sometimes there would
be found one who loved the Lord, and who would act the
part of reprover unto others in their sins, and to all the
miserable and dying be a friend and counsellor. So has
Providence ordained that even the wretched and the
vile shall receive instrnction,warning, persuasion, while
they remain on earth, although their condition is unfe-
vorable for the exercises of practical piety, and their
wickedness would seem too flagrant for hope.

Mrs. Prescott seemed sent to the poor-house by an
over-ruling Hand. Nobody could exactly tell why she
was allowed to spend her last days there — so good, pious,
charitable as she was and had been ; but there she was.
And who knows but she was sent there by the Lord to
do good? There were some creatures in that poor-
house who had souls ! They were a squalid, miserable
set of beings ; but what they wanted was just what you
and I want, and every body else wants — a thorough soul-
cleansing.

So aunt Prescott thought. So aunt Dorothy said and
sung.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 33

CHAPTER III.

Gentlemen who sell their Cattle, Sheep, and Hogs by Auction, so contrive it that
the highest bidder gets them : so they realize. When a lot of Paupers is dis-
posed of at Auction, the town so contrives it that the loicest bidder gets them :
so the town realizes.

Let no one suppose that in this description of the
poor-house of Crampton,we mean to say it is the property
of that town. Not at alL The only property in it the tovrn
claims is, to its tempbrary occupants, the paupers. These
belong to it. They are natives of the town — "town-born,"
as we say — or long resident citizens, wdio have acquired
what is called a " legal settlement" there. They may
also have become residents, and gained a settlement by
owning real estate to the value of three hundred and
fifty dollars,* voting, and paying taxes on this and other
estate, if other, in possession. Fallen into the arms of
Poverty, while legally citizens of a town, the paupers
have a claim of support from it, and go to the poor-house.
But as we have said, not to the town's house, though the
town may, and often does, own a town or poor-house.
It is the house of a private individual of the place into
whose care the town has confided its paupers for a given
period — say a year. The manner of this conveyance?
That we shall show jon as we proceed ; it is an impor-
tant quality in the act, and has much to do with our
story. Here, we simply say, the paupers of the town,
be the number more or less, are disposed of at the annual

* And in some of the New Ensland States one hundred dollars.— At-TiniH.

34 XEw England's chattels; or,

town meeting when tlie voters assemble to choose their
selectmen and other officers for the year, either at pub-
lic auction to the lowest bidder, or they are more

quietly worked off by the selectmen and overseers of
the poor, (at the best bargains possible,) at what may be
called a private town Sale, selling the whole to one indi-
vidual, or selling, i. e. (if you please,) boarding, or rent-
ing, or farming them out in parcels to several individu-
als, always at the loiccst 2'>ossihlc price, that the town may
feel their supjjoi't as little as may he ! They are disposed
of by the town or its agents in " lots to suit purchasers,"
or in a body, as it may best suit the town. Free white
men, women, and children, educated — once, if not now
respectable — voters, tax-payers, the ill-tides of fortune
bearing them to the town hall, they are " passed upon"
as paupers, and sold out — work, wages, food, clothing,
body and soul — for the year, the town agreeing to pay
so much money to him who will take the risk and do the
best he can with it — working them as he likes, clothing
them as he deems it pecuniarily safe, and so feeding them
likewise ; and in the event of sickness and death, quietly,
and at such charges as he deems it wise for him, con-
signing them to the grave.

The successful bidder for this stock of New England
pauper-humanity is usually a citizen of the town, who
may be in debt, and wish to free himself therefrom — in
itself a laudable desire ; he may be a man of small fam-
ily, to whom a larger responsibility may not be very
irksome ; he may be a large farmer, who can employ the
paupers on his grounds ; he may be one who has a large
house and little use for it, who, in its wings and garrets,
thinks he can accommodate the poor ; or he may be one
who owns a long, dark, dilapidated, forsaken :*-enement,
where his father lived or his more distant grandfather,

LIFE IX THE NORTHERN P002-H0USE. 35

since then used as a storehouse for grain and lumber — a
retreat for the fowls and sheep and swine — abandoned,
otherwise, long years ago ; but which, by the aid of
broom, and shovel, and soap, and nails, the tightening
of floor boards, doors and windows, may be deemed a
snug quarters for the town's poor !

The reader will understand that this mode of support-
ing the paupers is a private enterprise — a private risk
or speculation — in which the town bears no part, having
nothing to hope or fear in it ; these exercises of the
mind being altogether confined to the individual specu-
lator. The part which the town has in this transaction
is the putting up of the property at sale, to be worked
off as a temptation to somebody ; the moral, conscien-
tious, and religious people voting to give him so many
good dollars a year, as he, in a fair competition with other
bidders, takes the job for, and risks all its possible con-
tingencies and consequences.

The speculator in this sort of chattels sometimes makes
the risk a valuable one, and at other times ruinous to
himself. It is very much as the man is as to genius,
tact, energy, calculation. Remuneration in poor-house
tenantry is got by " grinding the faces of the poor" to
a considerable degree of sharpness, and by ciphering
down the cost of things till they aggregate in ciphers.
A man who would remunerate himself in such risks,
must be a man of great faith in the ability of paupers to
live on almost notliing, to suffer almost every thing, and
to be contented with almost any thing !

There is another feature of this private enterprise in
human stocks (!) that it may be well simply to mention.
It is, that the poor generally fall into the hands of a
class of persons, not over scrupulous on conscientiou-
grounds as to the manner of fulfilling their contract with

36 NEW England's chattels ; or.

the town — a class " hard up" for funds, familiar with
profanity, wath coarse and vulgar associates ; an order-
less mode of life, w^ith crowds of talkers and idlers round
them — a class of the more desperate, hardened and in-
temperate, whose families, wives and children are scolds,
rough and overbearing, w^ith whom kind words and gen-
tle demeanor are rare exceptions ; or perchance a class of
mere and much-loving money-getters — getters of money
" for the last days." The easy, quiet, well-off families —
the gay, the thriving, industrious, conscientious farmers
and residents of the town — have no or little rivalship
with this class of speculators ; they do not want, they
will not bid on it: — they care not to take " the risk."

Accordingly, it is pretty much all one way with the
poor — a poor way. Speculators have it all pretty much
after their own way — a grinding, w^ay.

Every town in New England has (or a modification of
it) one of these pauper institutions ; for all New England
has its town paupers. In many hundreds of instances
at this very day, the town poor are held in the most ab-
ject and wretched condition, equaling in every respect
all that we say of the Crampton paupers. But we are
happy that it is not so in every town. There has been
introduced a very great improvement of the system in
many localities. Town and count}^ forms, with appro-
priate dwellings and shops, and a permanent agency to
look after the welfare of the poor, have made their state
far more comfortable than it once was, and have more
nearly allied the institution itself to a benevolent and
Christian one, or house of mercy.

Still, there we find the half-clad pauper, the orphan
girl, the ignorant boy, the forgotten old member of soci-
ety and the church. In her old poor-houses are yet

LIFE IN THE NORTHERX POOR-HOUSE. 37

found the representatives of hard fortune, and the Wit-
nesses of Christian Neglect.

" What is to be done with the paupers this year ?"
inquired Captain Bunce of one of the old selectmen.

'•This year V

"Ai."'

" Why this year in particular, he}'-?"

" Because there's a row among some of the folks about
disposing them at a fair trade or auction."

" I don't care that for the stir-about that's made !" said
the other, snapping his thumb and finger in the air.
" We shall dispose of them to suit ourselves. Ain't we
the town ? Han't Ave got the majority five to one ? A
putty idea to knuckle to A., B., and C. to suit their
consciences. No, sir 1 The town is poor, and must look
out for itself. Sell the paupers, I say, to the lowest man ;
and that man, I see, Captain, is just yourself. Ha ! ha 1
Ai, Captain ? Eh ?"

38 NEW England's chattels ; or,

CHAPTER IV.

Captain Isaac Bunce, Mrs. Bunce, all the Bunces, more especially the Captain,
who has a moral and religious standard. His merciful convictions have a tri-
umphal ascendency over his daily overt practice, and rule him uncommonly
■well disposed.

In the old weather-beaten and comfortless edifice we
have described standing plump up by the stage-road in
the valley of the great Slip-Slop Creek, with a ridge of
high hills close in the rear, and long, rolling mounds and
some hills in front, and wide-spreading farms to the
south and east, were gathered the paupers of the town
of Crampton, numbering about fifteen persons. Besides
these, there were a few other individuals in the town
not yet absolutely needy, living at present with friends
or relatives, receiving each a small allowance, say from
two to five dollars a year, which was paid by the town
to their friends who took care of them, and in considera-
tion whereof they furnished them a little more kindlily
an abode at their ov/n homes, but usually " homes" that
another death in the family, another paralysis, a foreclo-
sure of a mortgage, or possibly the next twelve-month
ebbings of compassion, would entirely break up — happily
for the town if it did not add two instead of one to the
number of its actual paupers.

This poor-house, a sort of half-habitable looking edifice,
overshadowed by the old appte trees of the orchard that
had grown strong, great heavy trees, ^ome of them fifty,
sixty, or even seventy years old, an orchard of them in

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 39

the rear -vvhere the swine rooted, the geese gabbled, the
calves and lambs frolicked, the horses rolled, and bullocks
pawed the earth and bellowed, large famous old trees
with their roots wound among the rocks, and their arms
stretching far out, here and there intertwining, and
among them hens and turkies finding safe refuge from
nightly prowling foxes. Sometimes, from its enormous,
ruined chimney lazily rolled off the smoke indicating
life within ; at other times, in the warm summer, its win-
dows were thrown open, and human faces thrust them-
selves out into human view ; and again, its crazy front
door, beneath the old untrimmed lilacs, (where was there
ever an old country ruin that had no lilac bushes at its
portals ?) was sw^ung wide on its rusty hinges ; and per-
chance two or three human beings filled the entrance, or
lounged lazily on its threshold. Near the east end of
the house a babbling and rapid rivulet passed, that came
off the hills and through the woods, a clear sparkling
stream tumbling over the rocks and gurgling through
the walls and meandering through the pastures and mea-
dows to the Slip-Slop Creek. The water was pure, soft,
abundant, one of the natural blessings of the poor. They
sometimes washed their clothes in it, and occasionally
their faces, hands, and feet.

Another large, red, two-story, sharp-roofed house, no
wise trim and neat, and comfortable looking and attrac-
tive, stood within hailing distance on the north side of
the poor-house. This, with its wide drive-way to the
yard and sheds, and huge barn in the rear, was the dwell-
ing-house of Captain Isaac Bunce, owner of the poor-
house and keeper of the paupers. Separated from the
poor-house by a high board fence, yet communicating
with it through a gate, it represented property, bustling
activity, and independence. In the wide yard around

40 NEW England's chattels ; or

th.e house there were sheds — a long, low line of dark
sheds for housing wood, for sheltering wagons and carts,
for storing ploughs, and barrows, and scrapers, and all
the utensils and apparatus of the farm. And the yard
was 611ed with wood, chips, old fence rails, broken
ploughs, carts, and other instruments, uiensils, and im-
plements of work-life, gone somewhat or totally to decay.
And there were sheds around the barn, flanking it on
this side and that, where the uneasy, wandering cattle
lounged, going in and coming out as they listed, or the
stiiBfer horn of some old ox made moving less a choice
than a necessity. And here too were the poultry and
the calves, and the sheep and lambs.

In this broad yard, the paupers, if any were active and
able-bodied, were " held to service," some in making,
others in gathering chips, others still in sentinel duty
watching the romping pigs and calves. Of the females,
work of various kinds was oft demanded in the house,
mopping, scrubbing, washing clothes, making beds,
sweeping, etc. Half of every sunny day there might be
seen here and there crouched down on the warm side of
a shed, or a wood-pile, among loose barrels, or cart-wheels,
or perchance stretched out on a pile of boards, or rails,
some feeble, aged person, almost done with earth, yet
yearning for its warmth and sunshine ; or sad and mel-
ancholy and drooping human forms passed here and
there on the grounds — high and hilarious shoutings,
voices in merry story tellings and railleries, laughter
that maketh glad the hearts from the large dwelling
where were busy women, or jovial men, reposing from
work or cheerful from wine, falling on their ears, not as
shoutings and voices and laughter of encouragement,
not as from circles of loving children, not as sympathetic
with sorrow and friendlessness, nor as attracting to its

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOK-HOUSE. 41

circle the lonely and broken-hearted — not as these, oh !
no, no.

Men and women shouted there over their own free
jests, in forgetfulness of the sorrow that was weighing
down the poor.

For five successive years Captain Bunco had kept the
poor of Crampton ; it seeming to be the opinion of a
majority of the town that his terms were easier for them
than any that others proposed, and his accommodations,
on the ivJiole, the best for the poor that could be had. It
is true that some of the citizens of Crampton were dis-
inclined to go with the majority, and urged a different
mode and system of supporting the poor. They were,
however, a small minority, and by most regarded and
treated derisively, as fanatics or squanderers of the town
treasury, or possibly with patronizing civility. Other
individuals there were who had a strong desire for a
portion of the "loaves and fishes" — i. e., to share the
spoils in the disposition of the poor at a cash valuation.
Hence they were competitors for the job, risk, or duty,
with the Captain and with one another.

But party politics, diplomatic shrewdness, lobby but-
ton-pulling, and the wishes of the majority all favored
the Captain, and his bids prevailed.

In person, Captain Bunce was a large, florid-looking
man, nearly six feet in height, with broad shoulders,
long, stout arms, and hard hands. He was careless of
dress, rough and ready in his manners. He was not
usually and wantonly profane, but easily and often fell
into the practice. In his orders, he was rather loud and
dictatorial ; swaggering in his talk ; always making a
good stor^" better by recapitulation ; professing great
familiarity u. ' the details of all sorts of business ; a
knuwiedge of the value of property, real and personal ;

42 NEW England's chattels ; or,

a positive love of hard work for work's sake ; and an
acquaintance with human nature that enabled him to
draw out of every body around him more work than any
other man under the same circumstances.

Notwithstanding he seemed always well supplied with
funds, he was one of a class ever in debt. His bills
against the town had been sometimes as high as eight
hundred dollars a year ; but competition is the ruin of
high prices, and it had run the Captain down to six
hundred — an income still that his rivals deemed almost
the same as clear gain, and that he also did not under-
rate in his own bosom's thoughts. None knew better
than he that the ready first cost of provisions for the
paupers simply, was very trifling. It was absolutely
and scripturally necessary that the Captain should pro-
vide for his own household ; and as this was rather large,
a little over — a very little extra supply of provisions —
would make an abundance of fare " for all the poor folks
that Crampton ever got together" — i. e., from the over-
plus, ibid the leavings. Hence, from a certain point of
necessary charges any way, (the Captain figured it,) the
paupers' food would be about the same to him in the
actual deficit of his ways and means, as the true value
of two decimals themselves in a fractional place where
the units and tens were wanting, and the whole repre-
senting— a cipher !

Although the nominal guardian of the poor of the
town, which implied some benevolence of feeling, he
really "cared not for the poor," except in so far as he
carried " the bag" by which they, in being supported,
supported him. As with every other individual who, at
any given time, had been put in charge of the paupers, it
was for the sake of making money he kept them a single
day. Boasting of his benevolence, and of a merciful and

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 43

humane treatment of his poor dependents, the treatment
after all was such as the weight of " the bag" demon-
strated expedient. Of course !

The Captain farmed a good many acres, heavily under
mortgage ; and as far as they were able, sometimes ex-
ceeding their ability, he compelled the paupers to lend
him their assistance. He held this to be a proof of his
humanity and benevolence, inasmuch as they being
somewhat in years ; somewhat stiff and cold ; somewhat
decrepid ; the blood sluggish and low, with little ambi-
tion or motive to execution, they were greatly inclined
:o inaction, and to a dull, monotonous, sleepy sort of
life, the indulgence of which was bad — very ; productive
of distempers, fevers, agues, and that sort. He would
frequently, therefore, counsel them to "stir" themselves,
to "take the air," to "shake off melancholy," and "drow-
siness," and "gloomy recollections" of the past.

" It is better for you," said he, " better for you ' by
half,' to be busy at some close, steady employment, from
morning till night, than to sit here moping."

With this merciful and humane vieAV of his duty, Cap-
tain Bunce " stirred" up the poor-house community every
day with directions to do this and that job of work, to
hire which done would have been expensive, and alto-
gether useless with so much unemployed material on
hand — his good intentions sometimes failing, it is true,
and the benefit coming short, as the individuals in ques-
tion, and that not unfrequently, were found more feeble
in body than the given employment contemplated, per-
adventure actually on the sick list, a bed. But sickness
and disappointment are human inconveniences.

This mercy in the direction the Captain gave it, filled
a very large field — an almost boundless one. It contri-
buted very much, in his opinion, to realize a joyful re-
union of both ends of the financial year, and thus secure

44 NEW England's chattels ; or,

to the paupers themselves the continuous advantages of
his roomy and desirable quarters for their home. We
ought not to forget it, and will say while it is in mind,
that Captain Bunco was by his works a religious man.
He attended church, rented a good slip, and when any
of the paupers died he sent word religiously and
promptl}' to the minister to lose no time in attending
the funeral obsequies. Perhaps there was not one man
in the town who entertained a more vivid conception of -
his own personal integrity, independence, morality , mercy,
humanity, diligence, thrift, popularity with all classes of
citizens, and reverence for religion than Captain Bunce.
But standards of personal excellence are seldom lived
up to, and still more rare is it that we see them exceed-
ed. This was the case with the Captain. He formed,
notwithstanding every good thing about him, no excep-
tion to the rule — certainly he did no more than equal
his. Disguise the matter as he would in his own eye,
to others it was palpable that he wore a rum face, man-
aged his affairs loosely, blustered and stewed and swag-
gered, instead of diligently and successfully minding his
proper business, while his humanity and mercy, as well
as all the moral qualities of which he boasted a large
surplus, were in reality satellites of his extreme selfish-
ness. A very great and wide difference of opinion this,
from that which he entertained, and teaching all of us
not to think more highly of ourselves than we ought!

However, Captain Bunce had a great many mouths
to feed ; and this was a trial of his disposition — of his
moral qualities not only, but of his calculations — his
mental qualities. He seemed to have imposed on him
directly, a double share of trial, and this required in him
all the virtues that, in a hasty enumeration of personal
qualities, he accorded to himself.

Annually on the town books of Cramp ton — a town of

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 45

three or four thousand persons — there "was a good ave-
rage of fifteen paupers. This number, in full, now
looked up to Captain Bunce every day of their succes-
sive three hundred and sixty-five, for all they had !

In the Bunce family proper, beside the Captain, there
was Mrs. Bunce. She was a stout, healthy woman, and
the mother of four living children grown up, viz. : Dick
and Elisha, Betsey and Henrietta ; and beside these,
there was a hired man and a servant girl. These were
the mouths to feed daily, and the Captain was put hard
up to meet the demand ; but his heart did not fail him
at all as long as brandy and water could be had, and six
or seven hundred dollars a year for the paupers found
their way to his pockets.

And yet, sublunary calculations and sublunary posses-
sions are closely allied to sublunary disappointments ;
and the Captain himself could not escape the operation
of their causes and effects. The town paupers were be-
ginning to slip through his fingers, and his farm and all
that he possessed through his hands. For Mrs. Bunce,
though a stout, healthy woman in the common use of
language, was rather a red-faced woman, and fond of
cider, ale, wine, and all the minor beverages proper for
a woman to be fond of; and the two Bunce boys, Dick
and Elisha, had a fondness for brandy and cigars ; and
Dick, the elder, had a cough similar to one that carried
off his elder brother Hallowell. Betsey Bunce was a
coarse sort of a girl, strong for service — a stout, noisy,
bold girl, engaged to marry Sam Durkee, the butcher.
Henrietta, the youngest child, was now seventeen — a
sweet-tempered, pale, good girl, gentle and kind, but
unfortunately, nearly blind. When ten years of age,
she lost an eye by the carelessness of her brother Elisha,
then twelve years old. The boy held in his hand a
large bow and arrow, and was showing Hetty his skill

46 NEW England's chattels ; or,

in shooting. At length, pointing his arrow in mere play
at his sister, with the bow drawn tightly up, by accident
the arrow escaped, and struck the right eye of the poor
child, and destroyed it. The nerve of the other was so
much affected through sympathy, that she was nearly
blind ever after. She could, however, read a little, sew
a little, knit, and do errands and light work about house.
But Hetty was a child of misfortune ; and it seemed as"
if her days would be few on earth, and that she would
always be a source of anxiety, trouble, and expense to
her parents — one, indeed, on whom they could place no
reliance for help in the times of their own distress.
Parents often say of lame Willie and blind Hetty, " we
can't expect from them any help or comfort : alas ! what
a misfortune to us and them." This is, fortunately, a
great mistake. Lame Willie and blind Hetty often are
lamed and blinded by Heaven for us.

It was into the care of Captain Isaac Bunce and his
amiable family that the poor of Crampton were confided
by the authorities. They placed them with him mainly
on these two considerations — First, That he had bid for
them lower than any other of the respectable, moral and
humane citizens of the town. Second, Because he was
deemed responsible to fulfil his contract. They did not
ask him where or how he would keep them, " provided
always " that they were " suitably " kept, and in such a
manner as " to save the town harmless " of any further
cost than what the contract specified. Of this they
were morally certain that neither he nor any other of
the citizens of Crampton could be expected to keep
them in his own house unless perfectly convenient, and
absolutely necessary for the want of other accommoda-
tions. Nor would he of course keep them in the same
rooms and beds that he appropriated to his own family,
and the relatives and occasional visitors of the family.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 47

The stipulation was not of this sort, although the
tender mercies of the town authorities were so actively
in exercise that they contracted in the name of mercy
and justice, which sometimes go sweetly together, of
humanity and religion, (which sometimes have kissed
each other,) such at least as Captain Bunce immortalized
in his daily practice towards the paupers, for the " suit-
able" keeping of the unfortunates in his charge. " Suit-
able " keeping of town paupers means, in a manner that
hardly any other human being would endure, i. e., in a
very unsuitable way for persons who have money and are
respectably, well off. This done, for example, by Cap-
tain Bunce, and the town authorities, unless sent for,
rarely visited the quarters of the poor, nor tarried long
when they did. Captain Bunce courted no investiga-
tion of his private practice of town officials, nor did he
care especially that curious, prying, jealous eyes should
examine his premises, and spy out his management.
Feeling wholly competent to manage his own* concerns,
what possible advantage was it to him that one and an-
other person of the town should visit his " works " and
volunteer advice ? The overseers rather liked this in-
dependent spirit, and the town as a whole, felicitated
itself in having the right sort of a man to take on his
shoulders the tuhole charge of the pauper family. Seldom
do we find two separate interests so nicely balanced as
were these of the town and of Captain Bunce, and work-
ing so harmoniously to a common end.

As our friend the Captain did not intend to keep,
shelter, feed and clothe the paupers in his own house,
" where," it may be asked by some, " where did he in-
tend to keep them ?" To be sure, in the poor-house, so-
called, or rather in the old house we have described,
and which, a great while ago, had been inhabited by the

48 NEW England's chattels ; or,

ancestors of the Bunce family, thus malsing the gene-
alogical structure itself one of uncommon respectability.

" Why," said Captain Bunce. " my father was born in
this very house ! Yes, indeed, he was. And my grand-
father lived here forty years. It is a most venerable, re-
markable, extraordinary old house."

" It is indeed," said Bill, the colored man, " it is as old
as the hills."

But the true character of such old forsaken tenements,
the floor of the kitchen over the cellar trembling with
its own weight, who does not know ?

Here then the poor folks of Crampton had their home.
They were not confined there as to a penitentiary or
jail. They roamed about here and there, making neigh-
borhood excursions, went to the Captain's kitchen and
barn, were sent of errands, worked in the fields, etc.,
and occasionally some of them went away to beg or steal,
or in idle curiosity roved off and were gone some days.
But whatever they did, wheresoever they roamed, they
never arose out of their condition of paupers, depen-
dent, broken down, forgotten, doomed paupers ! They
never found themselves in a situation that did not forci-
bly remind them of their poverty, that great ill of hu-
man life, that cause of much sinning, that blight on hu-
man happiness and hope, that dimmer even of heaven's
own glorious light. Their rooms, their raiment, their
food, their means of enjoyment, their field of industry,
their circle of friends and associates, the prayers and
exhortations to which they listened, the portions of the
gospel selected for their benefit, all, all reminded them
that they were the poverty-stricken ones of the earth ;
that their fellow-men regarded them as useless, thriftless,
wasteful consumers, with but one scene in the play of
life unacted, viz. — the death scene I

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE.

CHAPTER V.

Joe Harnden and his visitors. "When visits and calls are made they should be
civil and short. Do not bore a friend to death by the length of your civility, but
cut it short off before he shall even begin to wish you hadn't called at all.

" And how do you feel to-day, Mr. Harnden ?" said the
pious old widow with a very kind tone of voice, and
taking him by his extended hand.

" Joe's very sick," said he, " very sick, Mrs. Prescott,
but he's on the mending order now, and will be up again
by to-morrow or next day."

" They that sow in tears shall reap in joy, you know,"
said she. " That's a precious word of consolation, Joe.
It means that if we have some troubles and sorrows here,
Ave shall get the better of them hereafter, in the help of
the Lord."

" My troubles, Mrs. Prescott," said the old man, " my
troubles have come on me by my own doing, and it sort
of strikes me that the Bible comfort isn't meant of such
sinners ; it's meant for better sort of persons than de-
serve to die in the poor-house."

" Oh ! la sus, Joe," said the old woman Brinsmade,
" then what's the chance for me and half of us ? Ye see,
Joe, we must all consider there's some hope. Now
your'n, and mine, may he's small. But — drum, drum,
drum — a little's better than none at all — ain't it so —
Miss Prescutt ?"

" The Saviour of the world says, ' I am come to seek
and to save them that are lost.' ' I come not to call the

3

50 NEW England's chattels ; or,

righteous, but sinners to repentance.' ' Go ye out into
the hignways and hedges and compel them to come in,
(meaning poor folks, you know ? " Yes,'^ said aunt Doro-
thy,) that my house may be filled.' "

" And do you really reckon, Mrs. Prescott," inquired
the sick man, " that a poor fellow like me, or any body
like us, might have been meant by that sort of merciful
language ?"

" Oh, I know it, Joe ! It is all a perfect revelation of
pity, the gospel — meant for the greatest of all sufferers,
poor, and ignorant, and dying."

'* Wall, I'll be hanged if I don't wish it might be true,"
he replied, wiping a tear from his eye.

*' Oh, it's all true, Joe," said aunt Dorothy, " I'm a firm
believer in it, and it'll do you a heap of good to believe
it too."

" Yes," said the widow, " a great deal, for we read,
' He will wipe away all tears from their eyes, neither
shall there be any more sorrow nor pain, and they shall
be forever with the Lord, and your sins and iniquities
will I remember no more forever.' "

" That's a very good, and seems like a gracious pro-
mise," said the poor creature.

" Oh, it is, it has a great deal of comfort in it."

" I've been a great rebel sinner," said the man, " a
swearer, a drinker, gambler, and all that's bad ; but of
late years I've thought on my ways some, and getting
old I've left off some of my bad ways, but not from an
understanding mind. Now I think I see where the truth
is, if I can only get hold of it."

*' You do, you can, sartain," said aunt Dorothy, " it is
as plain as daylight. Don't put it off."

" If you cast yourself on the Saviour for salvation, and
do not cling to your own righteousness — "

LIFE IN THE NOEIHERN POOR-HOUSE. 51

" No, I throw that away, it's about as good as these
bed-quilts — "

" A hit, I s 1" cried aunt Dorothy, throwing her

hands into the air in a perfect transport of feeling.

" Mercy on us ! What do you mean, aunt Dorothy, to
talk so ?" said the offended widow, and the old dying Joe
rolled his eyes on her mournfully enough.

" Well, it's no use fretting," said she, " I only spoke in

earnest, not in wickedness, so help me ; ah ! now,

I say, Joe, we are mighty glad you've got rid of your
own righteousness, and begin to see the right sort —
drum, drum, drum."

" Joe," said the widow, stooping down to his pillow,
and speaking in a low voice, " the Saviour says, ' He that
Cometh unto me shall in no wise be cast out.' Now you
must turn your mind to him and believe on him as your
own suffering Saviour, dying on the tree, to save you.
Then you must try to repent of all your sins, and cast
yourself just as you are, by faith, upon the Lord. He'll
accept you then, and it'll be just like the Prodigal Son
going home to his father. Do you understand ?"

" Yes, I think I do, a little," said he.

" * Ask and ye shall receive, seek and ye shall find,
knock and it shall be opened unto you.' "

After a few moments the invalid raised his eyes to
her's and said, " It seems to me, if I could only pray —
but it's of little use to think of it — I don't know how to.
Can anybody pray for old Joe in his time of need ?"

" Yes," said she, " I'll pray for you myself. Aunt
Dorothy, let us kneel down and pray for him. He's
feeling the ne«d of it, I know."

Aunt Dorothy required no second asking, and then
they kneeled down their aged limbs, poor, helpless sin-
ners as they were, and while Joe shut his eyes and

52 NEW ENGLAND'S •CHATTELS ; OR,

moaned a true, penitent groan, the pious old lady offer-
ed her humble and earnest petition ta the Saviour in
his behalf. She was a praying saint, doubtless, and
many an old pauper under that roof had heard her
prayers in similar circumstances, and acknowledged her
great kindness. So the good widow, even in her old
age and weakness, was helpful to the poor ones there, in
guiding them out of their dark and sinful paths into the
light and pleasant ways of the Lord.

Poor Joe had been a merchant. But the reverses of
fortune and the allurements of the cup, long ago im-
poverished him, and without a living relative near enough
of kin to care for him, he became a pauper, shattered
and weak of intellect, and a miserable wreck of humani-
ty every way — a great change indeed from the gay and
active young man of business, Mr. Joseph Harnden, of
New York, merchant in Broadway. So it is with the
poor of the north frequently. They are men who have
been in a far better condition, and to all appearances,
far enough from the poor-house. But no man knows
what is before him in life, especially if he be addicted
to any vice. It is very certain that even yet many a
proud speculator, many a lady in silks, many a blushing
maiden, many a hard-working laborer, will end his days
among the paupers, as poor and miserable as any of
whom we are now writing — because every antecedent
cause of poverty, extravagance, intemperance, pride,
licentiousness, dishonesty, anger, revenge, hatred, vio-
lence, sickness, pestilence, conflagration and famine, now
preys on the vitals of society very much as it has hitherto
done.

But we return to poor dying Harnden. The prayers
and exhortations of the aged widow, good, old, pious,
heaven-minded saint, seemed to have a very happy effect

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 53

on his mind, and he said that whether he " dropped off"
or " came up," he hoped it would be well with him ; and
in this most heartily joined aunt Dorothy, whose good-
ness was of that uncertain, impulsive nature, that neither
she nor any one else knew in what direction her mind
and heart would drive her. She went with the circum-
stances around her, now religiously inclined, and anon
moving on with the world. Her's was not the best
model of piety, but as her pretentions were not very
high, her influence was correspondingly trifling. Joe
Harnden, notwithstanding his mind was weak, gave
what he had apparently with a full heart to the Lord,
and rejoiced in the promise of the gospel.

" There is one thing I want to know, Joe Harnden,"
said aunt Dorothy, " and that is, if old Cap'n Bunco
did'nt hit you a hard kick in the back that made you
lame ?"

" Cap'n Bunco did not kick me "

" He did, you lie, Joe Harnden ! You know he did."
This was uttered so quickly that the widow could not
prevent it. Joe groaned on his bed, and tears trickled
down his cheek. The old woman began her

" Drum, drum, drum,

Behold the aged sinner goes —
Drum, drum, drum, dro, dri, dro, dri,

Laden with guilt and

Drum, drum, drum."

" No," said Joe, partly turning in his bed, and fasten-
ing his eyes on her, " Cap'n Bunco gave me a punch
with his hand, but I told a falsehood when I said he
kicked me. If it w^ere the last word I ever uttered, I
would say Cap'n Bunco did not kick me."

With his eyes still fastened on her, the old pauper
lank back on his couch, a ghastly expression came ov

54 NEW England's chattels ; oe,

his face, he trembled slightly, gave a dying groan, and
as the widow hurried to his relief, drew his last breath.

" Joe 1" cried a voice from below : no answer. " Joe^
I say 1" still no answer. " Joe Harnden, have you got no
ears, I say !"

But no answer was returned ; only widow Prescott,
moving on tip-toe to the head of the stairs, beckoned
Captain Bunce to come up. Suddenly the Captain felt
a shudder creeping all over him, as though something
awfully serious had occurred. Stepping softly up three
or four stairs towards her, he saw beyond, old aunt Do-
rothy, standing like a statue, with both hands stretched
above her head, and her eyes riveted on the bed. But
as the blood began to run cold in his veins, the widow
stooped dow^n and whispered through her fingers, " Joe's
GONE 1"

" Good heavens ! Mrs. Prescott "

" Just breathed his last !"

The Captain reeled and grew dizzy on the stairs.
But directly a voice from the door opening out below,
called him to himself."

" Captin Bunce ! Captin Bunce 1 he's come — the doc-
tor's here !"

" Hurry him up, then, for God's sake, Jims ! Why in
the world haven't you hurried along, hey ? Here's old
Joe dying, and nobody to bleed him."

*' I guess there arn't much blood in him," cried Jim.
" More likely his blood's frized up into icicles. I reckon
you'd do better to sweat him."

Under ordinary circumstances. Captain Bunco would
have knocked the boy down for his impudence ; but now
he paid no attention to him. He hurried the doctor up
etairs, who approached the bed.

Putting his ear to the mouth of the dead man, and

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 55

feeling his pulse carefully for a moment, he turned to
the Captain, who stood on the stairs within three or four
steps of the top. — ''He's gone," said he.

" Dead !" exclaimed the Captain.

" As lead," replied the Doctor, "^e's done I"

"Jims!" said the Captain, going down with a very
white face, and trembling in spite of himself, " tell the
people that Joe Harnden's dead, and will be buried
to-morrow."

Harnden's last visitor was death.

66 NEW England's chattels ; or,

CHAPTER VI.

" We've fifteen poor folks, lacking the last death — Joe Harnden." — Squire Ben
Stoufs Remark. It is well to keep the Population intact, to know exactly what
to say when the Government gets in readiness for the National Census. A cor-
rect Census is the glory of an Administration.

One important personage in Crampton was Benjamin
Stout, Esquire — or Squire Ben Stout ; otherwise, and
more universally, called Squire Ben. He was always
head man in town affairs, and a capital manager of the
public interests. Squire Ben was fat and easy. He
could smoke, drink ale, and brandy as a slight change.
He was a good joker, and a generous, hospitable, gentle-
manly liver. First selectman of the town, he wielded a
large influence, and enjoyed in that office, as his col-
leagues and coadjutors, Mr. Jonas Savage and Mr. George
Haddock.

Now Stout and Savage went in on the same ticket ;
Haddock, on the opposition ticket, Haddock's party
was not a large one, though respectable men belonged
to it. Policy led the democratic majority, who could
make a clean sweep of every thing in Crampton, to put
in Haddock. There w^ere some agitating matters always
coming up in town affairs, and the minority felt easier
and behaved better if they had a voicC; even though it
were but as one to three or five, in the town business.

In relation to the town paupers, these men were classi-
fied thus : Stout and Savage for the town ; Haddock for
the paupers. Now S. and S. really claimed that they

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 57

were for the paupers — i, e., for their best good ; and
they put Haddock down as a fanatic. We shall see the
ideas which all these gentlemen entertained on the sub-
ject, as well as their ideas in general, on morals, educa-
tion, benevolence, crop out here and there in the pro-
gress of our story.

Although differences of opinion were entertained in
the town, as to the great question of supporting the
poor, and sundry hints were floating here and there that
the present manner was wanting in mercy and kindness,
and behind the age, yet the town at large was united in
sustaining the system, and felt safe as long as Squire
Ben and Savage were a majority of the Board. And
they said the time had not yet come to alter a policy as
old as " seventy-six."

Jonas Savage, though a man of some business talent,
was a coarse, bold, swaggering fellow. He was ignorant
and overbearing. Really one of those uncultivated men
that, while they know a good deal, are sharp, exert an
influence, and can't be got rid of, you feel uncomfortable
when they are about. Savage made his mark on every
thing he took up. The town knew he was trustworthy
for them. He went, on all occasions, for " retrenchment."
Mr. Savage's idea of town expenses was, that they were
always unnecessarily high, and he maintained as his the-
ory, and promulgated the same in loud, long, and windy
speeches at town-meetings, that by strict economy at
least two per cent, of the taxes might be struck off.
Esq. Ben. Stout was for retrenchment, but he also ear-
nestly advocated paying up, and a thorough collecting
of the taxes, and liquidating all the town r^harges. Mr.
Haddock was earnest in advocating improvements, and
for a tax sufBcient to meet every needed reform in the
community, and for such laws and doings as were con-
■^.istent and honorable.

58 NEW England's chattels ; or,

The town business requires attention. The selectmen
must meet together and talk it up very often. So our
Crampton officials often met and discussed the town
affairs, town policy, and town interests. They sometimes
grew rather heated in argument, especially when the
rival views and parties came in decided collision. By
appointment, we find the three gentlemen already intro-
duced to the reader, assembled one afternoon at the
office of Squire Ben Stout. It happened that Savage
arrived a few minutes before Mr. Haddock, and was
very warmly greeted by his superior, Squire Ben.

" Did you know," said he, " I was just thinking over
the matter — a little — and it struck me, that our last con-
tract for the poor wasn't bad, after all. Savage, eh?"

" I don't know," said the other, rather doggedly.

" Why, you see, you see, Savage ; here it is, six Inin-
drecl dollars — that's all, every cent — it ain't six fifty, or
seventy-Jive, nor is it seven hundred ! Don't you see the
point, eh ?"

" Oh ! hang it, Squire, I know all that ; yes, I know
it's but six hundred ; and yet I , that's enough !"

Squire Ben drew a long breath as Savage struck his
hand smartly on the old law book that lay open on the
table before him, and looked him straight in the eye.
Finally he said,

" Well, it strikes me we have it about as low as it will
bear this year, eh? Isn't it low for the present time.
Savage ? Don't it strike you so, eh ?"

" Why, tolerably, tolerably, but I don't think we can
ever get it down too low ; the fact is, the taxes are un-
conscionably high and hard. But if the Captain must
have six hundred, we can't help it, I 'spose. They've
got to have a living, somehow. They're a trouble, and
an expensive sett of good-for-nothings. Hang 'em, say I."

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 59

" As for me," said the Squire, " I had rather not have
the responsibility of contracting for them. The town
had better do it at the annual meeting, when they are
all there, you know ?"

" Altogether," said Savage, " this milk and water way,
just to avoid selling them at auction, don't suit me ; it's
just no way at all. Put them right up in a lot, and down
they go to somebody, probably fifty dollars cheaper than
when we contract in this manner."

"/({ is the best ivay,^' said the Squire, with firmness un-
usual. " I go for it with all my heart."

" We could manage it easy enough," said Savage, " if
it was not for these croaking fanatics, like Haddock and
Phillips. They go so unmercifully for the ' Gospel,' as
they call it, that common sense and hard times stand a
mighty poor chance, I tell you."

" Ha ! ha ! ha 1 Savage, you have struck out the thing
just as it is. They are queer."

"Queer!"

" Ai ; that is, they — are — singular, you see."

" Singular 1 They are confounded bores and bothera-
tion."

Now Squire Ben always got along by carefully picking
his way and feeling of men. Savage was blunt, and came
right out. He frequently " blew up" the Squire for his
caution ; and he would have done it now, only the whole
current of conversation was changed by the sudden ar-
rival of Haddock himself — a stout, handsome, gentle-
manly man — who carried a cane, was easy in his man-
ners, frank and self-possessed. Mr. Haddock knew a
good deal of society in general, and of his colleagues in
particular. He was judicious withal, and very hard to
get up a quarrel with, or to really despise and insult
As for the Squire, he greeted him very cordially, anci
made him take his own chair.

60 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Yes, of course, friend Haddock, I always do so ;
keep it, keep it. We are glad to see you."

" Thank you, sir ; I am glad to return the compliment."

" How are you ?" said Savage, reaching out his hand.

" Very well, indeed. How is your own health, sir ?"

" First rate ; sound as a nut," said the second selectman.

" I suppose, gentlemen, you are getting on rapidly with
business ?"

" Why, Haddock !" exclaimed the Squire ; " we have
done nothing — nothing. We were just looking out for
you, hoping you'd be on hand to help us. We are none
too many, altogether, to manage this town's affairs. I
am getting old and clums}^. Haddock. I can't do much,
any how. But you and Savage, now, are just in the
prime of life. Yes, yes — well, so it is. But — er — where
were we. Savage ? What business were we on when
Haddock came in ? Let's see — er — ah ! ai ! — I have it !
You see it strikes us, Haddock, in regard to the taxes,
that the collector is dilatory, and ought to be pricked
up. What do you think ?"

Mr. Haddock wasn't posted up, he said.

" How can we get on with town affairs, if the collector
fails to bring in the m.oney ?"

" That is every body's honest opinion," said Savage.
" Now I reckon that whereas we ought to have eighteen
hundred dollars, we shall fall short near to seventeen.
We want to know about it — must know. We have a
world of money to make out. There's the extra ex-
penses, roads to be repaired injured by the great rain,
cost of Rundel's old horse that fell through the Little
Bear's Bridge, and extra funerals of the paupers that
Buuce says the town ought to pay for : all these call for
close calculation. We can't go headlong any longer.
We must bring up somewhere ; and I think it is as well
to do it now as by-and-bye, when we've got to.'"

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 61

" Just SO," said Squire Ben. " It won't do to run the
town in debt. We must get the town oat of debt, then
we can go on."

" That's it, that's it !" said Savage. " The town won't
hear to any extra expenses."

" xso, gentlemen, I agree with you," said Mr. Haddock
*' The town don't wish a large, heavy bill brought in be-
yond the money raised. But the town is willing to take
just views of its own responsibilities, and guard against
future expenses and contingencies, by timely provision.
As, for example, it is better that the Little Bear Bridge
should be built of stone, with an arch, though it should
cost fifty dollars more, than of wood, with string-pieces
and plank."

" Well, now, I differ from that idea," said Savage.
" The towTi can't afford to spend fifty dollars here and a
hundred there, just for improvements. The Little Bear's
Bridge can be put up in good, thorough shape for a hun-
dred and fifty dollars. And who will give a job to the
masons, and saddle a bill on the town of two hundred,
just to have a stone arch there instead of solid old-
fashioned timbers ? For my part, I'm satisfied with a
plank bridge. It's good enough, if stone is better.
What do you say, Squire ?"

" I should think, on the whole, that the town would be
afraid — under the circumstances of so many extras and
abatements — to build of stone. I think we must have
the plank bridge, Mr. Haddock, for the town is in honor
bound to pay every thing that's lawful, and we must
consult for the honor of the town."

"Yes," said Mr. Haddock. "But you recollect the
Little Bear Bridge has been swept off twice in five years,
besides this wearing out of the plank, while the Slip-
Slop Bridge of stone has stood without any repairs, or a
cent of cost, ten years already."

62 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" True enough !" said Savage. " But the Slip-Slop cost
the town a deal of cash, and made a mighty grumbling.
Folks said if town money was to be squandered in that
way, every body would have to pawn his farm to pay
taxes ; so they turned out the selectmen, you know, and
put in a new sett."

" That's about as it was, to be sure," said the Squire.

" Yes, and Haddock knows it," said Mr. Savage, " Ha 1
ha !"

" But that is not the whole of the story," replied he.
" I remember that when the '39 freshet swept all the
bridges off but the arch-bridge of the Slip-Slop, and cost
the town an extra one per cent, tax, every body was
satisfied, and said it was money well laid out."

" Oh ! that was merely on the excitement of the mo-
ment," replied Savage. " The town has never voted any
stone bridges since."

" No, nor is it likely to, as long as some of the influ-
ential tax payers go dead against it," said Haddock.
" But every body knows that it is true economy to do
things well, when they are done."

" I go in for that," said Squire Ben, " and so does
Savage — I dare say — only — that is — Savage is sharp and
sees a long way ahead, hey. Savage ?"

" Why, as for that, I ain't proud of myself, by no means.
But I do hold that a sixpence saved is sixpence earned."

" Ha ! ha ! ha ! I thought so," was the merry reply
of the Squire.

" There are tw { w^ays to save sixpences," said Mr.
Haddock, who very well knew that it was two to one
in all the talk of this Board, and consequently kept his
temper whatever provocation might seem calculated to
inflame it. " One other way is so to spend sixpences,
that they will not need spending again very soon."

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOTl-HOUSE, 63

"Oh, pshaw! pshaw! Haddock, jou're always for
doing things for the town, just as you build your own
stone walls. You don't care what money it takes, if the
work will only stand. Now towns are different from in-
dividuals, you see. A man can do as he pleases with his
own matters, but the town must manage just to keep
along from year to year — doing the iDest it can under all
the circumstances. Ain't it so, Squire Ben ?"

" Rather of — that is — my notion is, something so —
something so — yes, a little so," said the Squire, throw-
ing a side glance from the floor to Haddock, and from
Haddock to the ceiling, and from the ceiling to Savage,
and so resting again on the floor. Now the Squire was
a very sensible man, and except in cases where he ])er-
formed popular duty, he was a sort of Haddock-man him-
self, making every thing substantial and secure. Popu-
lar favor ! How vsmall a matter this. Yet Squire Ben
Stout was too weak to resist it. As for Savage, he
gloried in a set of principles that looked to popularity
among the people as their great object.

" I brought up the little Bear Bridge," said Haddock,
by way, merely, of example. " You don't yield the point
there, and probably you won't in the case of the paupers.
Now I am of the opinion that we must adopt a more
merciful, truly benevolent, thorough, and, in the end,
more economical way of supporting them. I want you
to look at it with your eyes all open, and decide as can-
did men what we should do. Let us decide first on the
principle. What is our duty to these poor creatures.
What can they reasonably claim of us. Then we shall
come easily, or at least understandingly, to the question
of ' waj^s and means.' "

" You want, Mr. Haddock, that the town should sad-
dle itself with a debt of five thousand dollars or vote a

64 NFW England's chattels : or.

tax to meet it, just to put these old crazy coots, lying old
devils, half of them, into a brick palace, and furnish
waiters for them, and pay even something- to boot, in-
stead of pursuing the present economical and humane
course that we have followed ever since the town had a
pauper. How, in the name of reason, C'ln you advocate
so preposterous a plan ? It's idle. Haddock, perfectly
idle. Five thousand dollars ! Good heavens ! Haddock,
why, you're crazy. Do you think. Squire Ben, that
Crampton folks will ever come to that, hey ?"

" I consider that "

" One minute, Squire, if you please," interrupted Mr.
Haddock.

" Let the Squire speak." interrupted Savage, in his
turn.

" Oh, to be sure, I only wanted to say "

" Time enough to say it when Squire Ben's got through.
This subject is a confounded bore any wa}'^ "

" But we ought not to dodge it — we can't dodge it.
I know," said Haddock, " that this town has got a con-
science; and I am determined to let the town have all tlie
light I can, to operate on that conscience. We have a
system of pauperage that is a disgrace to us. And to
defend and to perpetuate it is an outrage."

Haddock was usually mild, but if he was crowded he
could storm some as well as Savage ; as for Squire Ben,
he never stormed. He hesitated to commit himself
irretrievably any way — but always went with his party
at least in hypothesis. Before Savage could reply,
therefore. Squire Ben lifted his right foot from the
floor, and resting it on his left knee, leaned forward with
a finger pointing towards Haddock, as indicating the
course of his reply, and an eye resting on Savage (who
was ready with town retrenchment argument to over-

111!

t i«ff!'v'"r"!!'

Illil iM.'iilJlilUllUii.l/L.. 1

'You sec eenllfincn," said the Squire," the times are har.l !''

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOP-HOUSE. 65

whelm Haddock) as if he were the party to profit by his
observations, and said at once —

" The town, Haddock, is one thing, conscience is an-
other thing, and — we know it — we all understand ifl; —
the poor another, or a third thing. Now, we must take
care of the poor. That's principle — ain't it. Mr.
Savage ?"

" Sartain," said Savage.

" Just so," said Squire Ben. " We must do that thing.
And so conscience and principle go together. Now we
— don't need, Haddock, any — that is, any considerable —
more light on that point you see — for we are all posted
up — square up on the point of duty and principle —
morals and religion, and so forth. Now the next great
question is, tJie money .'"

" That's it, that's it, by thunder !" said Savage—" the
money."

" Well, there's money enough," said Haddock, " where
there's a will."

" But there ain't a will," fiercely said Savage.

" You see, gentlemen," said the Squire, " the times arc
hard /"

" Cursedly hard !" said Savage.

" They are hard on the paupers, I know," said Had-
dock.

" Well, gentlemen, consider," said the Squire, " that
the town must pay as it goes along. Now it is just as
much as the voters will come up to, to raise a poor tax
of four per cent. That's the most we've ever got ; and
that gives us eight hundred. Now we've fifteen poor
folks, lacking the last death — Joe Harnden — and winter's
at hand, when there'll be, probably, four or five more,
and some half-pays about town in families. It — seems
to me, gentlemen — that — our course of duty lies just

66 NEW England's chattels ; or,

here. Hem ! I think we should tell Bunce to give the
paupers an extra allowance of cider in winter, a little
more fire, a good substantial dinner of cheapish sort of
food — of course ?"

" Of course !" said Savage.

" And see that they have doctoring — some religious
ceremonies ; in a word, all necessary and suitable care :
for the poor devils can't, you know, Haddock — now you
know that, don't you? — caiiH, I say, take care of them-
selves, and so try to brush off the bad spots of the thing
as much as possible — and — and — "

" Let 'em slide," said Savage.

" Well, not exactly ; yes, something so. Give it a
good, humane setting out, and keep easy afterwards
— for," said he, shaking his finger portentously, and
changing feet and knees, " the town won't be at the
damage of any great reform."

" No, I s r !" said Savage. " The system is a reli-
gious and humane one. Captain Bunce told me that
the old widow Prescott kept the establishment as moral
as a church, and that her prayers were enough to save
the whole concern from ruin, nere and hereafter ; and
that as for himself, he never felt more softened and hu-
manely inclined, than when he saw the poor old creatures
looking up to him for all their daily bread."

" Captain Bunce," said the Squire, " is a very good
sort of a man, take him — all in all. Sometimes Bunce
is rather too snug in his management, perhaps — very
humane people would say so ; but we must judge men
by the long run, and Cap'n Bunce has had the job now
going five years. Bunce knows how to manage them,
all things considered — as well — for the town as we could
reasonably expect."

" How long is it since you looked in there, Squire
Stout?" inquired Mr. Haddock.

LIFE IN THE NORrHERN POOK-HOUSE. 67

" Well — whe — w Let's see, Savage. Didn't we

drop in there — last — Sep — tern — or was it — ?"

" D d if I know !" said that worthy.

" We called, I'm sure. Savage, last summer ; it might
have been a little earlier, or a little later. It don't make
much difference."

" Well, I don't recollect calling since a year ago last
fall," said Savage. " But what's the odds ? Bunce takes
all proper care of them ; and it always gives me a sort
of melancholy to see the critturs. They are a blasted
sickly set, not long for this world at best, and a plaguey
deal better off when out of it than in. But there it is.
They are what they are, and can never be any thing
else. Now what's the use, I say, of spending money, or
even philanthropy, over the lot, when neither will do
any good ? They are paying up for past sins. They'd
been a good deal better off if they hadn't sinned."

Mr. Haddock answered that, in his opinion, a great
deal might be done to improve their condition even where
they now were. They might have better clothing, food,
rooms, fires, companionship or association ; pursue a
more desirable mode of daily exercise or labor, and be
elevated, instructed, comforted, and prepared the better
to live and to die. That here, as in other towns he had
heard of, an entirely different system might be pursued,
which would consist in placing the poor under the con-
stant and humane care of the town agent, and avoid the
sin and shame of knocking them down, as so many cat-
tle, at auction, to any body who thought, by pinching
them in every possible way, he might make a little
money out of the job. " Nobody," he continued, will
bid them off on the score of humanity, but always are
they bid off on grounds of selfish considerations. A
man bids on them to make money in keeping them — that

68 NEW England's chattels ; or,

is, in half starving', half clothing, half warming them ;
half burying them when they, fortunately for him, drop
off. Now, gentlemen," he continued, " do you call that
a Christian institution — ^a house of mercy and Christian
humanity ? Has it one solitary vestige of philanthropy ?
If yourselves were paupers, would it be a comfortable
thing to live and die as Harnden did — as others have
done, and still are doing ? Where is it better than sla-
very itself in many of its daily forms ? What feature in
it can truly meet the cordial approval of a good man
of even common Christian views or humane principles ?"

Squire Ben, and even Savage himself, listened atten-
tively to Haddock's remarks, and confessed that there
was more truth than fiction in them, but solemnly declared
that the thing could not b^ helped.

" Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Haddock, " I have con-
sulted with some men about it, and although at present
we are few, yet we intend to persevere in an attempt to
ameliorate the condition of our paupers. No system of
tyranny and oppression resting in human selfishness can
stand right in human consciences, nocis it right in the
sight of God. These poor creatures have a claim on us
to smooth their path to the grave. We owe it to our
enlightened humanity and religion to make such a pro-
vision for our poor, that it may truly be termed a Chris-
tian beneficence. Every other thing is simply oppression
or tyranny."

The Squire and Savage told Mr. Haddock that his sen-
timents spoke well for his heart, but that the project
was perfectly chimerical.

" When the Little Bear runs up stream. Haddock,
you'll get the thing through, and not afore," said Savage.

" Gentlemen," said the Squire, " let us — drop in at the
hotel and take a sling — what do you say — Savage — Had-
dock, a sling, or ale — hey?"

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 69

Mr. Haddock said he did not drink intoxicating liquors,
and "\vislied heartily they would follow his " example."
Mr. Savage took a sling on principle. He thought it
wrong to decline an invitation from one man, and accept
from another — it looked selfish and partial. Squire Ben
seldom drank any thing but ale, (and little of that,) but
'■ town-business" always " wore on him," and his educa-
tion had led him to put confidence in invigorating bev-
erages at such times ; they spurred up the system to its
full energy, and, in his case, always seemed to possess
the exact virtues of a tonic.

The selectmen adjourned their session, and the pau-
pers of Crampton remained at Bunce's.

70 NEW ENGLAND'S CHATTELS ; OR,

CHAPTER VII.

The Haddocks.

An hour had not passed after Harnden's departure,
before a gentleman on horseback rode up to the poor-
house, and pulling up as he saw some of the people in
the yard, exclaimed, *' Good morning all, good morning I
It's a fine cold air to-day."

" It's ruther too cold for a Carolina nigger like Bill,
there," responded a gruff old fellow in a tattered drab
coat and a slouching apology for a hat.

" Bill don't care fur dat two lo v^ies. When I wms in de
West Indies wid massa Col. Rathburn, the weather make
no diff'rence wad Bill ; hot and cold all like, so guess Bill
can stand a little snap like a dis October grit, without
much a grumble."

" Bill's pluck," screamed a wasted hag on the chips,
whose garments were sadly torn and soiled, and whose
face was wrinkled and disfigured. "Bill's pluck!"
screamed she, " he's none of your craven, chicken-
blooded scamps like Dan Barnes."

" Mind your lying tongue, Mag, or I'll heave at you !"
retorted the grufi" old fellow who first spoke, balancing
a brick in his hand.

" Hold up ! hold up, my good people," said the stran-
ger, " no cause of quarrel here — why get up one ? Bet-
ter be on good terms."

" Dan wants his grog," shouted the hag, and just then

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 71

the heavy brick went whizzing over her head, and tore
off the bark of a tree, which, luckily for Mag, it encoun-
tered instead of her form. Before he could repeat it,
she leaped to her feet, and rushed behind the house.
The stranger dismounted, determined to stop the affray.

" This won't do, Dan ; we shan't allow it, you know
better," said he, " than to flare up in this manner ; you
might have killed her with that brick."

" Wish to I had," grumbled he, " she'd gone then

with Joe to 'tother world."

" Joe I" said the stranger, in an inquiring and surprised
way.

"Yes, old Joe Harnden."

" What of him ? What's he doing ?"

" They're laying him out, now — you knew Joe was
dead and gone ?"

The stranger turned away with a surprised and sor-
rowful expression towards the house. Directly he en-
countered a slovenly looking boy, grown out of his pants
very nearly, with no hat on his head, and his long hair
dangling uncombed over his neck and ears. The boy
made a low bow and stopped.

" It's too late, sir, Joe's gone too," said he.

" Jims," said Mr. Haddock, for it was he, " why did
you not run over and inform me of his sickness ?"

" I was going tur ; but, you see, the Cap'n sent me to
git the doctor, and Joe died so thunderin' quick there
warn't no time ; it's the way, you know, with the poor
folks !"

Mr. Haddock groaned as he stood over the body of
the departed one, meditating on that life of sorrow, sin,
and disappointment, now ended in the society and under
the roof of paupers. And he said to his wife on his re-
turn home, " Once, Joe Harnden would have knocked a

72 NEW England's chattels ; or,

man down who told him he would die in any other con-
dition than that of those who deem themselves worthy
of the best lots in Greenwood or Mount Auburn. See,
in his case, the work of intemperance and ' fast living.'
It is a terrible life they pass, too, in the poor-house ; it
is sad and wretched in the extreme — still, we must not
give them up."

" Oh, no," said she ; " let us hope to benefit them in
some form, and especially that the public mind will, by-
and-bye, be aroused to reform these places, and give the
poor a more proper care. I do think there will yet be
a change in Crampton."

As for the paupers, they must be classed as among
the rubbish of this w^orld's humanity. They have no
property; few relations and friends, have feeble consti-
tutions and poor health, very little ambition, less calcu-
lation ; the lines of their faces show no beauty, nor their
forms symmetry or grace. They look out of ugly eyes,
they breathe a hateful atmosphere, are ragged, uncouth,
and are often very vicious and sinful. Well, there they
are. You must look at them. See what a piece of bro-
ther humanity can come to. Reflect that these disagree-
able beings are in this degeneracy by reason, mainly, of
outside pressure. Originally, they had a good start ;
but they fell behind in the life-race, and finally pitched
headlong into the great slough of Poverty. Here they
are — so poor, so poverty-stricken, that they are ashamed
of themselves ; cringing, ragged, fearful creatures. But
they owe it to poverty that they are so despicable now.
They might retain the same souls ; if their bodies were
better clothed, they would pass for better stuff. It
seems to be an outside pressure, in more senses than
one, that they go into the pauper class. And what a
class ! Very well, there they are. Now consider them

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 73

uctually despised, and as far as possible, forgotten and
neglected. We want the line drawn fairly between
them and the rich, and to show them most grudgingly
supported, and no concealment of the grudge. Now if
we can't easily love that which is in itself no longer
lovely and loveable, ive may truly pity and befriend it.
And this is duty, especially if applied to man. The suf-
fering and the poor we ought to relieve, and so put in
our relief that it will not only gladden, but elevate the
subjects of it. If we do this, we show that we work for
the poor out of real principle, from true pity, not to say
love.

But these paupers seem, and they are, a forbidding
class of men and women to work on. We must be very
charitable indeed, or we shall fail of doing them any real
good. They represent the great idea of want, or pov-
erty. There they are in the clutches of poverty. Now
consider the case and decide for thyself, reader, if duty
does not lie towards them in the shape of help and en-
couragement, instead of neglect and contempt.

The inhabitants of Crampton knew, in general, less
about the condition of their town-paupers than they did
about the slaves of South Carolina, or the Sepoys in In-
dia. Those they read about ; their town-paupers they
left in the care of the "overseers" or selectmen.

Still, we should give credit where it belongs. There
were persons who pitied them, and endeavored to do
them service, and who sought to change the manner of
their public support. We need hardly say that such
an one was Mr. Haddock, who was one of those open-
hearted, generous souls, that if he saw any body suffer-
ing in his power to relieve him, would go about it at
every cost to himself. He never stopped to ask if a
man was rich or powerful, or poor and tminfluential ; if

4

74 NEW England's chattels ; or,

he could relieve him, he at once attempted it. He lived
not far from the poor-house, and often went over there
to inquire how they got along.

So Mrs. Haddock was a lady of rare qualities of mind
and heart. She was a sincere Christian, a pure-minded
philanthropist, agreeing with her husband in all his
benevolent plans, and to the utmost of her ability, help-
ed them on. She was a lady of dignity and beauty, with
great sweetness of character and energy of mind. Her
views of duty were as clear as the light, and her decisions
formed with surprising quickness, because her standard
was the word of God, But the gentleness of woman
shone through all her actions, things visionary, forward,
bold, and absurd, forming no part of her excellent
character, and commanding no attention or sacrifice of
her womanly dignity and loveliness. They had three
agreeable and very intelligent daughters, Frances, Ellen,
and Sarah, and Mrs. Haddock took the highest interest
in the formation of their characters. Her aim was to
cultivate in them a correct idea and sincere love of bene-
volence. She desired them to possess an earnest com-
passion for the poor and suffering, and to have it for a
great aim in life to do good- -not merely because there
might be those who needed their kind offices, but for
good's own sake, from a principle of goodness. Then
she knew that artificial character, and spasmodic exhi-
bitions of goodness would form no part of their mature
development. In the main, she was successful. The
girls were remarkable for system, thoroughness, true
taste, excellent discrimination in their " charities," and
for a judgment that very earl}^ distinguished them from a
great many giddy heads and would-be-fashionable young
ladies around them. They were not very handsome
girls, but they were decidedly agreeable ; and they were

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 75

positively propossessing to many who professed to be
good judges of beauty, but who declared it impossible
to say whether they were handsome, or for some other
cause attractive and winning. They had so many agree-
able ways with them, people were so much pleased with
their conversation, that it was almost impossible not to
feel that, inasmuch as many look for beauty in females
to interest them, they must be after all, very handsome
young ladies !

It was well for the poor of Crampton that this family be-
friended them ; that under all circumstances they could
rely on their sympathy. Mr. and Mrs. Haddock lament-
ed the condition the paupers were in, and the want of
active and sympathetic labor in their behalf. It did not
seem to them necessary that they should be kept in a
manner at once disgraceful to the town, and mortifying
and painful to themselves. They could see no good
reason Avhy there should be an unwillingness to provide
for at least their conditional elevation.

" AVhy should they not be comfortable also ?" inquired
Mr. Haddock, "why always kept in a state of abjectmisery,
subject to every human trial that such a state supposes,
and of which it is the fruitful parent ? Why not be re-
spectably clothed, comfortably fed, and warmly housed ?
Why not put to suitable employment, and when they
are sick, in want of assistance, why should they not en-
joy the attendance of physicians, and the care of a
nurse ?"

They frequently brought up the subject in their
family, and made it a topic of conversation with their
neighbors. And living near to Captain Bunco, Mr.
Haddock not unfrequently called on him, and visited
the poor. Sometimes he had a little work that he would
offer them ; occasionally some blind, lame, or feeble re-

76 NEW England's chattels ; or,

presentative of the poor-house would stray away to his
premises, leaning on a rough staff, and Mrs. Haddock
seldom permitted such a visitor to go away without a
good bit of the breakfast or dinner that had been pre-
pared for her own household.

If Mrs. Haddock or her daughters discovered any of
the paupers needing warmer clothing, they w^ould do all
in their power to supply their wants. Still, it was often
difficult to render as much relief as the charitable feel-
ing prompted, for they were " Captain Bunce's people,"
and he occasionally resented all " interference," as he
termed it, with his plans. He was on the best of terms
with Mr. Haddock, but now and then he would fly in a
passion, and say that Haddock and his wife were " hu-
moring the ^patients' to death, and making them uneasy
and mightily particular." Moreover, the manner of
supporting the Crampton paupers was bad for their
morals. They had little or no good instruction, ex-
ample or motive. They were neglected and despised.
If any were intemperate and vicious, very little restraint
was ever used to correct their ways, so that it was not
always safe to bestow your charities upon them, and was
always discouraging. There were among them those
who would not hesitate to pawn a coat, or a dress, a
piece of meat, or even the Bible, for a small bottle of
rum, or for a little tobacco. There were some of this
class improvident, rough, saucy, wicked. All were not
so. Some were truly virtuous persons, who had been
brought into circumstances of poverty by afflictions and
misfortunes that they themselves could not avoid. ^Vnd
there were others who were simple, weak in body and
mind, their wants few, their condition never a very ele-
vated one, never lower than now.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 77

CHAPTER VIII.

Beep for the Paupers. " He that considereth the poor, lendeth to the Lord."
The immense deposits of virtuous credits laid up by a great many stock-towns in
New England, of and for their regard for the Poor, it will take a good while in
the next world to estimate.

" I WILL go over and pay Captain Bunce a visit," said,
or thought, Mr. Savage, as he counted over, for the twen-
tieth time, a stock of salt provisions in his cellar, con-
sisting of sundry portions of beef A, I ; beef A, II ; beef
A, III, C. B. ; salt beef, long since packed, and waiting
a favorable turn in the market for a cash transaction.
" A, I," represented lot of first packed beef — a lot of pro-
visions bought on speculation, selected a long time back
from the butcher's slaughterings, and made up of neck
pieces, shanks, and their side bits, rather dark, bloody,
and tough, this was " A, number 07ie." " A, number tivo,''
represented a more recent purchase of similar provisions,
longer packed. It was beef "A." In this respect it re-
sembled " number one." But the honest severity of the
speculator led him to designate it as " number two, A,"
which carried the appearance of prime " A" beef as to
time, inferior only in the reasonable item of quality.
As for " A, III, C. B.," the brand itself represented good
beef, of third choice as to the cuts, inspectedbeef of good
number three brand. But " A, III, C. B.," was really
the owner's private mark on the barrel, by means of it
he read as follows : " A barrel of three qualities of meat,
one pa,rt being poor enough, another part poorer, and .

78 NEW England's chattels ; or,

third part the poorest salt meat in market. " " C. B."
What do these letters represent, branded boldly on the
head of the barrel? C. B. ! They may stand for the
name of the owner by whom the beeves were fatted and
driven to market for slaughter, a good and honorable
mode of pledging the article now under salt and brine.
" C. B !" Yes, truly ; they may simply convey the idea
of Corned Beef, a good and delicious article for a stout
and hungry man to dine on ; or they may be the initials
of Cash Beef, bought for cash, worth the cash, to be sold
for cash ; or they may contain an idle boast, CanH he Beat
beef, that you know about as soon as you see it ! But in
Mr. Savage's nomenclature they simply denoted Cast
Beef, i. e., beef that came to salt in consequence of an
unfortunate termination of life, by a sort of suicide on
the part of the animal himself, rolling down into a posi-
tion that he might have known would kill him before
help could arrive in the morning. Criminal Beef, there-
fore. Cursed Beef — but who cares w^hat it is, or what it
is not? It has a fair brand, " A, III, C. B.," call it beef,
worked off — for — cas — h, which is smoother than cas — t.
*' I will go over and see Bunco," said, or soliloquized the
owner. "He can use this stuff; it is doubtful about
selling to "Wallace, the merchant, at any price. His cus-
tomer's won't buy it, and it won't bear a very tall recom-
mendation any where. That's so. But the folks at
Bunco's, what do they care? They'll like it, I reckon.
It was good once, bad as it is now, and if Bunco buys it,
why of course they'll eat it, and for aught I know, will
be confoundedly thankful for it. ' People musn't starve
in this free and fertile country. No, no. Let them live
and be merry, say I. Yes, I'll go over and bargain off
this lot — let us see. Lot A, I, two barrels. Lot A, 11,
three barrels. Lot A, III, C. B., i. e., can't bless it, ha!

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 79

ha ! ha ! Nice lot, that — two barrels. In all, seven bar-
rels— I'll go right off, for the beef has evidently seen its
best days, and won't improve by storage."

" Where now, Mr. Savage ?" inquired his wife, " don't
you see the dinner is just ready ; are you going away
before dinner, eh?"

" Yes, hang the dinner, wife. I have been ruminating
over that villainous meat down stairs, till the very idea
of corned beef is sickening. I am bent on getting it oif
my hands. Don't you think Bunce will like it for the
poor folks, eh ?"

"Well, why not, now? That's what I have thought
on a dozen times. Yes, they'll do well with it."

" What's it worth, wife ?"

" All you can get, I'll venture."

" Seven dollars ?"

" Seven dollars !"

" Yes."

" No, Mr. Savage, it is not worth seven dollars. You
can buy the best for nine and ten, you know."

" I guess it'll bring six, won't it ?"

" No, if you sell it for five dollars, Mr. Savage, you'll
be a lucky man, my word for it."

" Well, I shall sell it for what I can get. As for
storing it longer in my cellar I won't. I'll work it off on
Bunce or somebody, if I get but three dollars a hundred
for it. Why, it has got awfully bad the last month."

" Sell it, sell it, Mr. Savage — or give it away."

" Give it away !"

" Yes, if you can't sell it."

" Oh, nobody will want it as a gift, must sell it if I get
rid of it. I'll work it off at some. price — and the higher
we put it the more we'll get. So good-bye."

Captain Bunce was thinking what he should do next

80 NEW ENGLAND S CHATTELS ; OR,

with his stock of poor folks to supply them with pro-
visions not too substantial and costly, when he was sur-
prised and delighted by a call from Mr. Savage, one of
the overseers, between whom and himself there was a
complete understanding as to expenses for the pau-
pers. Now Sav^age had no thought of doing anything
for the poor on the town, except what might be deemed
absolutely necessary to preserve their lives ; as for
comfort, cleanliness, improvement, and the like, these
never entered into his calculations. " Pinch them all
you can, and then pinch them a little more," was his
motto. Capt. Bunco was glad, I say, to see him, because
sure that he would be able to help him in his dilemma,
and endorse his plans.

The conversation between these worthies led forth-
with to the subject uppermost in their minds.

" You have a good many to feed. Captain Bunco."

" About tw^enty ; you see the cold has driven in
some."

" They are a hard set of folks, ain't they though ?"

" A bad lot, Mr. Savage ; spoiled by indulgence and
luxury."

" The overseers know about it, Cap'n ; they know
you've a task to provide for them, and to clothe and
warm them, and all that thing. Yes, they consider these
matters, and really sympathize with you a great deal."

" Ah !" said the Captain, " they don't now ?" and he
drummed with his foot.

"Yes," said Mr. Savage, " ' a great deal,' that is, Capt'n,
they think you're a plaguy sight too lenient with them,
and put yourself too much out to comfort them." And
Mr. Savage rubbed his knee wuth his left hand, and
scratched his temple with the forefinger of his right.

" It is impossible to please everybody," replied the

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 81

Captain, " and if I err on the side of humanity— and the
Board dislike it, why then, I must bear it, though I
could wish to keep in with them."

" Never fear, Capt'n Bunce ; the Board put the great-
est confidence inyou— all things considered— only they've
an idea or two that might do you good if you under-
stood."
"Yes?"

" To be sure. You see. Captain, the fact is, the Board
know that you are the right man to manage these folks,
and that you are as indulgent and careful of them as of
your own limbs. In fact we are afraid you'll lose mone j
—and iliat you can't afford to. The Board don't want
you to do that, you know !"

" Of course not," said the Captain.
" Of course," said Savage in reply. " Now as winter
comes on, and they'll want more clothes, and more cider,
and more of this, that and the other— a mighty fuss they
make about nothing— the Board hope you'll be judicious,
and not run behind hand, by being quite too lavish."
" Of course," said Bunce.

" Yes," said the other, " we understand this matter.
The Board think you'll gain it by dosing pretty stiff
with hard cider, which is a cheap drink, and they all
like it, you know ?"
"Very true."

"Yes, very," said Savage. "Then they think that
you xnight burn a little cheaper sort of fuel— more brush,
soggy wood, old knots, chips, and so forth, and blaze
away at little expense, but with quite a comfortable fire.
You see they're a cold-blooded, shivery sort of folks, and
fire goes as far as food with them.

" A good deal further," said Bunce, " it don't make
much difference with them what they eat, if it's hot, and

4*

82 NEW England's chattels ; or,

if they have a heating fire.' So I reckon soup, hot soup,
made of anything that's decent, you know "

" Just so," said Savage — " and a good blaze, are about
all they want."

" Well, I'll be hanged, Capt'n, if that ain't about my
idea on the point. Cheap food, well cooked, is as good
for them as dear food, especially if it ain't half done, you
know."

" I want just now to find a lot of something for them.
I've run out a lot of dull codfish that Wallace furnished
me, and "

"^ I wonder. Captain Bunce, if you couldn't afford to
go in for them, a little lot of my stock beef, stored in
my cellar ; a small lot, not over dear — in fact I'll sell it
cheap."

" Beef, you say ?''

" Ai, beef."

" Well — I rather think — but I don't know, to be sure,
that you wouldn't want too much for it."

" I want all it's worth, Capt'n, but I have got more
than I want for my own family — and to say the truth, it
is rather a hard lot of meat, and we don't eat much of it
at our house. But what of that ? There it is for sale
cheap."

" Then you don't ask full market price for it ?"

" Not at all, not at all, no, no, Captain, not at all."

" And what discount do you make on it, eh ?"

" I'll sell it low — I will now, depend on't. What
should you say. Captain Bunce, were I to put it down
three dollars below the market, eh? Yes, sir — three
dollars !"

" And call it seven ?"

" Ai, seven. How does that strike you, eh?"

i( T "

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 83

" You see, Captain, it is solid, full weiglit, and will
last like an old family Bible. One barrel will keep the
whole company a month, and eat it all the time. I
never saw such beef. You see it is home fed — none of
your western, stringy, distillery fed stuff— not at all,
but regular pack-beef, prime."

" Not mess — of course," said the Captain.
" Why, no, of course not ; mess is worth twelve dol-
lars, cash. But this little lot is good, prime beef. It
ain't the best of pieces, we all know — and is a little
old, hard, but three dollars off, you know, eh, Captain ?
And just the thing for your people. You see it comes
handy for you just as winter sets in, a tough winter com-
ing on, and prices of food going right up. I will put it
at seven for the lot, eh ?"

" I dare say it is cheap," said Captain Bunce, " but I
am rather afraid of tough beef, for the folks are a little
lame in the jaws, you know, being oldish, and fond of
slosh."

" Ha! ha ! ha ! Captain, good, not bad. But the beef
is nourishing, though rather stiff, and once down it an-
swers all purposes, and nobody knows or cares whether
it's first chop, and tender, or not — and it saves lots of
money."

" The beef, Mr. Savage, will answer, I dare say, but
you and I know it is tough."

" Why, yes, Capt'n, it is ; but then it is so d

cheap, you know ?"

" ril think of it, Mr. Savage, yes, I will," and the Cap-
tain put his hands in deep in his pantaloons pockets.

" Think of it !"

" You know one wants a little time to think of the
matter. But I'll make you an offer. You say there ar<
three or four barrels ?"

84 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Yes, I should think so." And Savage counted them
over three or four times on his fingers to be sure of it.
" Yes, there are three, certain," said he — and after a
pause he added, " I won't swear but there's a trifle more."

" Well, Savage, I'll take the lot on six months at six
dollars."

" Oh, ho ! Captain. Hang your ' six.' You know it's
dog-cheap at seven. Take it at seven, and feed 'em on
it till they're fat as bucks. The Board will like it, I
know. Fact is, you took the gang fifty dollars under,
and every body knows it. Now you must buy cheap, and
buy the right sort, or you'll come out sold, eh ? I want
to help you all I can — call it seven and it's yours, eh?"

" Savage, you are a little heavy on me. I want the
meat, but seven is not cheap for it. No. You say there
are three barrels — I wish there warn't but two, now I
do, on my honor. I'll tell you. Savage, what I'll do —
give me two barrels, * A, I,' at seven, and keep the bal-
ance to yourself."

"Pshaw, now Capt'n, what's two barrels of beef in
your family ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! You want the entire lot.
I can't sell A, I, and keep the other. Now that wouldn't
do at all."

" Well, I say. Savage, I'll take the lot at six fifty, six
months."

" Six fifty," soliloquized the other, " six fifty, too con-
founded low, too bad, tremendous discount — can't, can't
stand it. It's a bad spec, I vow — six f-i-f-t-y — w-h-e-w" —

" Well," interrupted Captain Bunce, " what do you
say, Savage ; it's all FU give you for the grizzly stuff if
you ponder over it for a month. What say you ?"

" You shall have it — yes — let it go. Take it, Bunce,
and feed your folks on it till they're as strong as stags.
Fact is, they will draw heavy on you if you don't buy

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 85

cheap. Board think you are too easy with them, and
will run behind if you keep them too well. You shall
have the beef."

" Agreed," says BuLce, " four barrels at the outside ?"

" One, two, three, four — there's certainly four, I don't
swear to the barrels," and Savage counted over his fin-
gers again and again. " But more or less, take it at your
own offer, six fifty, six months."

" I'll take it," said Captain Bunce.

" And now," said the second selectman, " you know
these poor devils will die off pretty fast, any way, so
you'd better get the doctor to call once in a while, and
take a little blood from some of them, and give a little
mercury and ipecac, and paregoric or rhubarb. It will
look humane. And so," said he in a whisper, " now and
then call in Parson Rowland or Rector Evans to give the
folks a religious Bible-talk. It will have a grand effect.
Captain. Every body. Haddock, and all, will feel satis-
fied that you do every thing in your power, for both
body and soul of the wretches. Esq. Ben and I think
you do too much for them now, and you had better be
careful not to overfeed them — as you have done some-
times— because. Captain, you can't afford to be too gen-
erous."

After this Mr. Savage left, and Captain Bunce fell to
ruminating over his past conduct towards the paupers.
He eventually became rather sober and melancholy, a
little absent-minded, and curt in his manners, insomuch
that the folks noticed it, and made sundry comments on
his actions.

•' He is thinking of poor Harnden, I think," said the
widow, " of his sorrowful death, and I hope it will be
blessed to him."

" More likely he is thinking of his own sins, and is

86 NEW e>}gland's chattels ; OK,

justly alarmed," said Alanson Boyce, the State pauper,
who was sustained at this institution according to the
statute law of the State, at a sum " not exceeding one
dollar" per week. Alanson, whatever he once had been
— and that we shall have time to speak of by-and-bye —
was now a forlorn being, impotent, poor to the last de-
gree, who, in his poverty, wandering here and there, fell
into the hands of the authorities of Crampton, and he
became a State charge. When he dies, his funeral
charges, which the common law of the States fixes at six
dollars — not exceeding that, and as much less as you
please — will go into the bill against the Commonwealth.

" The Captain's had seas of trouble," said colored Bill,
one of the paupers, who worked a little in the fields, cut
up wood at the door, took some care of the cows, horses,
and young cattle ; and when moving about was seen
bare-headed, and often bare-footed, under all skies, and
in all seasons. His red flannel sleeves cropped out at
his elbows, and at every other convenient loop-hole ;
and when he was without a coat, his cord suspenders
showed the service they rendered his patched and tat-
tered breeches.

Bill was a clever, simple person, of a decided color,
being a regular importation from Africa — a West India
slave, belonging to Colonel Rathburn. When the Colo-
nel came to America, and settled in a romantic, beautiful
spot in Crampton, Bill accompanied him, and had his
freedom given him — poor soul ! — as though he were not
entitled to it, all the Colonel Rathburns in the country
notwithstanding — all the laws and customs of men and
nations to the contrary notwithstanding : Ms freedom
given him! Who gave it? God, his Maker. Who
took it away — Colonel Bathhurn? Yes, Colonel Rath-
burn bought him, soul and body, and worked him in the

LIFE IN THE NOETHEEN POOE-HOUSE. 87

West Indies, and brought him to America, and there he
also conferred on him here the honor of freedom ! So
Bill having two good titles to liberty — viz., one on the
part of his Maker, and the other on the part of Colonel
Rathburn — was a man of some consequence. He lived
in the family till the Colonel died, and until his wife
died and the children had spent the estate. Two of
them died in great want and disgrace. Bill was their
chief helper for a long time, fairly earning money by
day's work to support them in their great destitution.
He was now old and feeble. His hair was thin and gray.
He Avore a serious, solemn look, and said but few words.
He could hoe a little, pick up stones, cut a little brush
for the fire, wait on Mrs. Bunce and the family, (and all
white people are fond of having a negro do chores for
them, because negroes are very deferential, and so well
seem to know their inferior position !) But he is old, is
rather stiff, often cold, of little real use, of little personal
comfort. Bill may not last long. There's many a worse
man than he. He is never hateful, selfish, or clamorous ;
never in any body's way ; never sports with the unfor-
tunate. He really does to others all the good he can,
knowing from his own experience that this is a " troub-
lous world." Bill speaks kindly and sorrowfully to poor
reduced white people, for he knows that they must suffe
much to be brought down from an easy and a high posi-
tion in life to such a state of want as is indicated by the
poor-house.

" Yes," says Bill, " the Captain's had seas of trouble ;
I don't wonder he's sort'er sad and down at the mouth.
Who wouldn't be ?"

Aunt Dorothy, smoking her pipe, and leaning on her
staff, shook her old sides as she laughed and shouted —
" The Captain's thinking of my blessing, I guess ; don't
you, aunt Prescott ? ha, ha !"

88 NEW EXGLAND S CHATTELS ; OR,

In tins group of paupers there is Dan Barnes, an old
man of sixty-five, with a firm, iron-like constitution, of
late somewhat shaken by his excessive intemperance,
the besetting sin of a life-time. He is coarse, brutal and
ugly. Ten years of his precious probation, he has pass-
ed in the State Prison, by his assiduous attention to
business there, materially lessening the expenses of his
sojourn in that quiet institution, though learning there
no valuable lessons to apply in his individual practice
outside. He is a hard fellow, being an old fighter and
swearer, but shiftless and thriftless — a starving old pau-
per at the last. There is hardly a more unblushing vil-
lain, a more desperate character than he, only that being
nearly three-score-and-ten, and broken up somewhat by
a life of extraordinary forage on society, and collision
with conscience, as Avell when out of as when in the
quarters furnished him by the State, he cannot execute
all the wickedness that is in him. He will practice it
out more perfectly, as is supposed, when he gets into
the prison house, which favors uneasy souls in acting
out character, i. e., perfect character — a character that
here, by reason of some moral and social relations, they
find it a little difficult to make as transparent as they
could humbly wish. Maugre all this, it is fearful to have
him about — to hear his coarse jests, listen to his foolish
speeches and songs, his oaths and obscenity. It is one
of the objections to a life at the poor-house, that Dan is
one of its regular inmates — so thinks old aunt Dorothy
— the widow Prescott even, with all her goodness and
charity ; the young, half-witted Roxy Waldins and
squalid Mag Davis. So thought once old Joe Harnden.
Even colored Bill dislikes him ; and Jims, the boy, hates
him as he hates salt pork when it is sweet, and coming
but once in a week, fails to go round 1 " C the

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOJSE. 89

pork," says Jims on such uneasy occasions. Alas ! that
the imprecation should have a reflex influence more
direful than its direct. In like manner even, Mrs. Joanna
Dodge, the old lady in a red cotton handkerchief for her
head dress, and the lame, staff-using widow Rice, and
tall Ebenezer Cowles, ruined by hard drink, and Brige,
the old shoe-maker of Crampton.

And even old Joe Tucker and Polly his wife, and all
the others wish Dan, comfortable and sober in his old
apartments, another secured to him against all outsiders
by the careful consideration of the State, for the term
of his natural life. It is uncomfortable to any man of
spirit to be harassed in this way. So Dan is continually
ruffled by the treatment he receives from his fellow
mendicants, and determines that he will be a real porcu-
pine among the snakes. Dan had once owned a farm ;
he had a good house, a pleasant wife, and was thought
to be well off. But by degrees his own coarse nature
revealed itself, he got down to a point so low in charac-
ter and position, that there was no rehef. He went to
prison. His wife, who had long suffered sadly at his
hands, now obtained a separation from him, and, albeit,
she survived his liberation, she never saw him more.
He was a bloated, swearing, evil man, and few there
w^ere of any class in human life, who affiliated with him.
Dan, with one of his muttered oaths, declared that he
had studied character a good deal in his former residence,
meaning his long ten years' residence, to which we have
already alluded, and was sure that Captain Bunco was
" trying a sort of States prison reform of life." Nobody
knew better than Dan what State prison penitence
meant ! Very generally Captain Bunco was criticised
by his poor people who, on the whole, rather regarded

90 NEW England's chattel's ; or,

him as working a sort of up-hill-repentance for the short-
comings of his past life.

But Captain Bunce had in a measure forgotten Joe
Harnden, aunt Dorothy's blessing, and the widow's
prayers. The " short comings of his past life" were, it
is true, overwhelming hiiti, but the short comings them-
selves were the out goes of his establishment, that he
rather considered had been too generous — too satisfac-
tory to the town, unnecessarily burdensome to himself.
He was, in a sort of penitent brown-study as to the best
way of retrieving his past errors, and applying his hu-
manity by a more stringent and rigid rule, avoiding such
a tremendous going beyond his duty. He could not get
over it that he should lose the " good opinion," as he
called it, of Squire Ben Stout, and of the other select-
men, or that they should be troubled with the idea that
he was treating the paupers too well.

" Heaven knows," soliloquized he, " that I never meant
to do that ; the most I ever dreamed of was to do about
right, but to be charged with sqandering money on
them too lavishly — ah ! ' that is the unkindest of all
cuts.'" The Captain had heard this saying in his life
as applied to others, but he now thought it would ap-
ply to him better than anything else he could recall to
mind, either of an oral or recorded nature, and so he
" out with it," adding, as he put his hands in his pockets
and fumbled over the loose coppers and ten cent pieces
there, " Heaven save me from my best friends," which
was another sentiment the Captain recollected just in
time to give him some comfort.

But on the w^hole he was unhappy over this subject.
He did not like to be called a spendthrift in a case so
utterly destitute of true merit. He could conceive of
no real temptation to such a sin, if sin it were, and he

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 91

confessed himself more troubled about it than he ever
remembered to have been before.

Poor, conscience-stricken Bunce. He has very sad
reflections — the paupers notice and speak of it — but at
the same time, he encounters another great difficulty,
the two are almost enough to crush him ; it is this, to
find a rule of fractions by which to work a larger de-
nominational value to his poor-house " findings."

92 NEW England's chattels; or,

CHAPTER IX.

Northern fenr of the Poor- House. The Pepper's. Very poor people, and people
not the poorest, often and generally envy the rich. It was an early development
in society that riches carried great weight, so all the poor people have been mad
after them. Here we show you what a pleasant thing it is to be rich.

Crampton had a large, busy town-population, i. e., an
active, enterprising village citizenship, where the major-
ity of the people resided, and it had a large rural popu-
lation. There were some very large and fine farms in
the place. The village, or " city," as it was called, quite
on the east side of the town, like many others in New
England, was filled up with mechanic shops, manufacto-
ries of various kinds, stores, hotels, and so forth. A
large, rapid stream, formed by the union of the Little
Bear and Slip-Slop Creeks, furnished a magnificent power
for machinery, and was improved to its utmost extent
by the enterprising capitalists of the place and of the
neighboring towns. A very large cotton factory, four
stories high, two hundred feet in length, containing
eight thousand spindles, and thirty or forty looms, in-
volving a first cost of three hundred and fifty thousand
dollars, and giving work to more than two hundred men,
women, and children, was the principal manufacturing
establishment in the place, though as it was on the east
side of the bridge, it was really in the town of Ladder-
ville. But the bridge, a wide, strong, stone arch, formed
a connection so complete that it was all called by the
name of Crampton, a very busy, factory-bell sounding

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR HOUSE. 93

village, grown up rapidly, having also a large imported
population, three or four churches with and without
crosses, long lines of similar looking dwellings, inter-
spersed with hotels, stores, " saloons,''^ as they are called,
and " bazaars,^^ entered at the sides of screens, and bril-
liantly lighted, where, behind the screens, pieces of naked
statuary fill the niches and recesses of the w^alls, (such is,
indeed, the public taste !) and exquisite paintings of
robeless women in every luscious attitude also adorn
them, pleasant incitives these to a social " round" at the
bar ; billiards, cards, and dancing completing the happy
joviality of these — forsooth — saloons ! bazaars !

In this busy town there were also found the usual ap-
pendages to society in its highly civilized state, and with-
out which a certain per cent, of the population would
die of ennui, sensibly and painfully noting the absence
of their chief good — and making the streets of Crampton
as still and as gloomy as a Sabbath to them — I mean the
appendages of oyster shops, groggeries, and beer-holes,
nine-pin alleys, cock-fights, cards, billiards, and so forth.
And at and in these, graduated much of the pauperism
of the town. In these rummies, and licensed houses for
the " refreshment" of body and spirit, many a Harnden,
Dodge, and Sherman, got his ticket to the privileges and
entertainments of the poor-house. Here, also, were liv-
ery-stables where horses and carriages were furnished
on Sundays, at higher prices than on week days, for the
demand was greater. Here were found open drug-stores,
all day and evening of the Sabbath, for there are more
calls for ipecac and elixir paregoric on Sunday than on,
any other day. We wonder why the banks did not fol-
low the example, on account of notes maturing on that
day. It would, indeed, seem to be more in accordance
xvith the exactness of banking rules, than to make tJiose

94 NEW England's chattels ; or,

notes payable on Saturday, or to " grace" them till Mon
day — a never-tliought-of-thing, this last, we agree !

In the village proper, or city as was its nom de j^^Mue,
there were also here and there, in the so-called " places,"
" avenues," and " squares," smart blocks of houses, ten-
anted by the aristocracy of the place, i. e., by retired
rich men, by owners of stock in the factory, bank presi-
dents, directors, stockholders, brokers, overseers, heavily
salaried agents, officers in various benevolent institu-
tions, etc., etc. And in one of these, a princely dwell-
ing it was, on the Ladderville side of the stream, where
were several of the handsome public buildings, and three
or four modern built churches, lived George Pepper,
Esq., a hundred thousand dollar stockholder in the great
brick factory.

Pepper was an only child of John Pepper of Cramp-
ton — miserly, churlish, rich old John Pepper — who,
though once young, once an active merchant, once a man
'among men, is now a peevish, unhappy, fearful old miser,
living in the outskirts of the town, on one of his farms,
in a low, dingy-looking house, once tenanted by one of
his farmers. He is an owner, though unwillingly, in the
factory — George Pepper managing his interest there
and his own. But the old gentleman does not leave it
wholly to George, his anxiety forbidding this wholesale
reliance on another, even his first-born son and only one.
He is owner in other stock, in bank stock, in real estate,
and has money on exorbitant interest well and securely
funded. But he is poor : nobody is more so. He has
not a dollar he can call his own ; he has no money to
let, or lend, or give to any body or for any object. But
still he is every body's banker who can give him his se-
curity ; and notwithstanding his great poverty, he can
command immense sums of money. The miserly quality

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 95

of John Pepper's old age is communicated to the soul of
his wife, Mrs. Rachel Pepper, who incessantly busies her
mind v,^ith the uncomfortable consideration that her
husband is too great a spendthrift, and that both he and
she will yet come to be occupants (in re) of the Cramp-
ton poor-house. So thought Pepper himself. It was
this idea that made him extremely nervous, unaccommo-
dating, and personally griping. Mr. and Mrs. Pepper
lived on less food than the individual half-fed paupers.
But their dieting in this cheap way was a voluntary act,
the result of their private reasonings on the future, and
the conviction of their minds on the score of duty.

In the case of the Peppers was truly exhibited the
apprehension of the people at the North of coming to
the poor-house. If they have a terror — the people in
general — of any earthly calamity or downfall, it is this
condition of poverty. It is feared by the rich as well as
by the poor ; the learned as w^ell as the ignorant ; many
an author, poet, teacher, divine, having had the pinch-
ings of hunger in the garret, and tasted in an alms-house
or hospital the bitterness of want. It has foreshadow-
ings of evil to the young as well as the old, having a
terrible and common celebrity and importance. Parents
introduce the idea early to the notice of their children,
informing them that unless they save all their money,
unless they are sharp in their bargains, look well to
their own advantage, are very economical in their ne-
cessary expenses, and disinclined to generous charity
and benevolence, they will surely come to the poor-house.
This is the instruction of many a fireside, the seed sown
in the youthful heart, that takes root and grows up into
a tree of deadly shade on the pathway of life.

This fear of the poor-house, the terror it inspires, has
in itself the gleamings and rumblings of retribution ; for

96 NEW England's chattels ; or,

as one has cultivated a heart of selfishness, and denied
the calls of mercy and charity, so he thinks it may fall
to him in the end that the same blasting winds shall
sweep away his goods which have carried away the
goods of others.

The poor-house is the possible chance of every man,
woman and child. It is the refuge of the blind, the
lame, the outcast. And who may not become as one of
these, even ?

Old Mr. and Mrs. Pepper were very careful accumu-
laters. Tliey worked together to this end always, never
designedly parting with any portion of their gains for
private enjoyment, nor willingly for any public good.
Their dwelling house much resembled in point of age.
color, and true value — the poor-house itself. "Within,
however, it must«be confessed, the very miserly disposi-
tion of its occupants, led them to scrub the walls, and
air the rooms, and preserve them from decay. Mrs.
Pepper thought little or nothing of scrubbing skin from
her fingers, and of deadening the tender sensibility of
hands and limbs in the service of a drudge at all work.
It was nothing worth to wear out herself if thereby she
saved a penny, and put a little in the background the
tormenting vision of future poverty.

The roof of their old mansion was patched up here
and there, that it might not leak a drop ! Dampness on
the roof was bad enough ; but in the chambers — lo ! the
poor-house. The house boasted a front door, but it sel-
dom swung on its hinges, as the other entrance on the
east end of the dwelling was the more convenient to the
kitchen, and it was there the worthy couple passed most
of their hours when together. But it had no front fence.
That were an idle expense, both to make and keep it in
repair — especially, also, as neither shrub nor flower

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 97

grew and thrived under the eaves. It was a low, dark,
dingy looking house, cheerless, forbidding, uncomforta-
ble. True, man and icoman tenanted it — a married pair
sworn to love and helpfulness ; but there also was ap-
prehension, selfishness, worldly care, and shudderings
over a possible future — a certain seeming assurance of
the dark and gloomy days of want. This it was that
ruled out love, happiness, and peace from their home ;
that blasted their old age, and transformed every bless-
ing into a curse. Omens of the future ; omens of a
dark and wretched future ; omens of poverty, loomed
up in eviery picture of life, to others pleasing and predi-
catory of enjoyment.

Mr. Pepper was close with himself to a penu}', em-
phatically cautioning his aged spouse never to buy
steaks for dinner above the six cent rounds, and those
but once in a fortnight ; and Mrs. Pepper begged him
to moderate his appetite for steaks, by previous indul-
gence on herrings two for a cent. Mr. Pepper threat-
ened to sell all his hens if Mrs. Pepper allowed herself
to use an eg^ in cooking pies, puddings, or cake ; while
Mrs. Pepper administered reproof to her husband for
putting twelve eggs under a hen, when it was evident
from the brood of chickens that only eleven would hatch,
in twelve and a half cent trades, Mr. and Mrs. Pepper
seldom failed to appropriate the half cent to themselves.
Whenever interest on notes for odd days made the frac-
tional value doubtful, Mr. Pepper reasoned the doubts
into assurances in his favor. Both Mr. and Mrs. Pepper
had, time and again, proved to their perfect conviction,
by numerical calculations, the absolute wasting of their
fortune in a given time, and they grew more and more
miserly, mean, and mercenary as they approached the
grave — seeing, hearing, dreaming of nothing- so much as

5

98 NEW England's chattels ; or,

the same portentous symbol of their latter end, the
poor-house.

Even Christian men and women at the North are
much troubled at the idea of future poverty. It requires
all their philosophy, and the aid of much prayer, to over-
come these apprehensions. They work hard, and save
every thing in their power : very frequently is this so,
that they may not die in the poor-house, or in poverty.

Thus passed they into life beyond their three-score
years and ten, feeling more and more the need of wealth,
of what comforts it might procure them, of the good
they might accomplish with it, but, under the ceaseless
workings of a miserly fear of want, viewing themselves
every ncAV year poorer than in any previous one. What
ceaseless activity did Mr. Pepper display in guarding
his investments ! How constantly he predicted the fail-
ure of banks and associations, the downfoU of prices, the
ruin of all capital, and the failure of all men to meet their
engagements ! He would frequently declare, when a
payment was made him of interest on a note, or the prin-
cipal itself, that he would never again loan a dollar !
But the renewal of the temptation, when the security
was undeniably good, as often led him to break his pro-
mise, in spite of his predictions and fears. Accordingly,
his interest money was yearly of great amount, and as
he expended literally almost nothing, of course his pro-
perty was ever and largely on the increase.

But more begets its want, and Mr. and Mrs. Pepper
were the poorest people in Crampton ! They never had
any thing for new clothes, new furniture, new food, new
house, or barn, or vehicle. Never any thing for improv-
ing the town, or the country. Never a dollar for some
heart-stirring benevolence, no money for the poor, none
for education, none for morals and religion. No, nothing.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 99

" We are too, too poor, and shall come to the poor-
house."

Surely there must be something in the poor-house, as
an institution in every town, contrary to human pride,
comfort, desire, and happiness — the very opposite of the
life man ever seeks for himself, for which he toils, and
risks life, and reputation, and present enjoyment ; the
dark picture this, undoubtedly, that man holds up before
him to nerve his efforts, to fortify his weakness, to en-
courage his self-denials. Oh ! if he can save his wife,
and children, and himself, from the miserable fates of
poverty — from the tender mercies of pauperism, from
the cold charity of the town, the compulsory help of men
who have no souls, and from the self-tortures and degra-
dation of such a state, what labor, to what effort and sac-
rifice will he not submit, and on how small and scanty
portion of life's good nourishment, feed himself!

Yes ! I have seen the poor-house, where the inmates
huddled together with gleaming eyes, in ragged and
patched garments, in cold, and hunger, and wretched-
ness, men, and women, and children, vice and virtue, in-
nocence and sin, making one fire warm as they gathered
round it, and at night making common lodgings on the
same creaking, scantily provided bed. Opened doors,
and opened halls, and broken windows, in winter let
pierce them, blasts which their enfeebled frames could
ill endure. And at all seasons of the year the uncleanly,
unventilated apartments, gave off a revolting efiiuvia,
from which all the good and wholesome of earth would
shrink back in blank and terrible amazement.

And every one of these miserable objects, though a
human being, was a pauper, one who could not help him-
self, who had got through his chances of good fortune,
(if we except the young,) and was here to look back on

100 NEW England's chattels ; or,

life and shudder over it ; to look forward to a gift-grave,
without a head-stone, or a handsome coffin or funeral,
the very prayer over his grave a donation, and lament-
ably patronizing — the mourners, none.

I know not why it is so, fully, but the fact cannot and
will not be denied, that men at the North have not only
fearful apprehensions of the poor-house, but they despise
and hate it. No man respects it ; no man esteems it a
desirable refuge — not even the poor ; no men or women
pray over it as a Christian institution. It is not once
named in the catalogue of church charities. No contri-
bution for the poor-house, as such, is ever made in the
sanctuary ; be it, however, true that individual charity
may sometimes flow that way through undiscovered
channels. Of late, on days of public thanksgiving, and
at Christmas and New Years, the great hotels in our
cities have liberally bestowed, for distribution among
the suffering and reclaimed ones at the Five Points and
elsewhere, the good things of their own princely tables.
But it is true, as we have said, that the poor-house is
not a special charity of individuals, or of communities of
even Christian men. It is the taxed jjt^ovision of the town.
Every man's property — hard and selfish old bankers,
young and enterprising farmers, men of all trades and
professions — their property is taxed to support those
who have no property ; to support those that belong to
their town, because no other town will support them —
one of them. Unwillingly taxed, yet made to bear it ;
taxed too heavily, as hundreds reason ; taxed unreason-
ably long, say they. The poor have been through this
themselves ; have often, it is likely, paid their tax to
support the town paupers, and cursed them between
their teeth as they did it. Now they are receiving the
same unwillingly jjrofTered soup and bread ! The curs-

LIFE IX THE XORTHERX POOR-HOUSE. 101

ings of generations rest on this house of wailing. Not
a being is there, it may be, who has not seen his day of
pride, when he cursed the poor for their imbecility and
thriftlessness. And so, the " curse causeless" coming
not, they in their turn bear it : and it is a fell and bitter
one. Every tax-payer is secretly glad, perhaps, when
this and that incumbrance on the town gets through,
and goes to his last cold pillow. How the tides of sel-
fishness all set up against this last and unfortunate
stopping-place of the poor livers, the poor, thriftless
vagabonds, and houseless, homeless, dollarless, dimeless
ones of the world ! As every body hates and dreads
and curses it, so the curse seems to rest upon it ; and I
do not know so undesirable a home as it, in what may be
called a free condition or state of the human body. To
be sent to the prison or goal is disgraceful, but not so
hopeless and pitiless. A man goes to prison for three,
five, or ten years ; but he does not by that lose caste
with the world. He may survive the ordeal, and with
unbroken energies, achieve afterwards a name and se-
cure a fortune. But the pauper is done with. Society
hopes not nor expects from him any improvement, nor
any available labor or remittances, save the last labor of
his dying breathings, the remittances of his taxable
support !

Old Mr. Pepper had often cursed the poor-house ;
Mrs. Pepper had denounced it. Both of them feared
it. They predicted their last home in it. They hated
it, yet were sure they should tenant its rooms, and taste
its bitterest cups. To the poor-house and all its hor-
rors they were fast gliding, though now nearly eighty
years of age, and of unquestioned w^ealth. " We shall
go to the poor-house yet," said Mrs. Pepper, when a
lady asked her for a dollar to buy garments for Mrs.

102 NEW England's chattels ; or,

Sevens and her eight children ; " we shall go to the
poor-house ourselves yet." " Before we die we shall
get into the poor-house," said John Pepper, Esq., to his
son, who begged him to assist in building a new church ;
we shall go to the poor-house, and you know it." And
to the poor-house, it is true, they finally went! Did
the3^ not deserve to go there ?

LIFE IN THE XORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 103

CHAPTER X.

Ddty leads in the way of securing and laying in Provisions. Juts vs. Dan,
and Dan vs. Jims.

One morning, soon after the interview whicli took
place between Mr. Savage and Captain Bunco, the latter
directed Dick, his son, to have the team put to the cart,
" both yokes," and to go over with John, the hired man,
and with Dan and Bill, to Mr. Savage's for a lot of beef
he had bought of him, and to stop at Durkee's, the
butcher, for a barrel or two of heads, neck pieces,
and shanks, and at Bowler's for a couple of barrels
of cider. *' And if you want him, take Jims along with
you," said he.

" Want him !" exclaimed Dick ; " I should as soon
want a wild cat. He's a young devil at best, and needs
a flogging every day of his life."

" Hold up, Dick, hold up," said his father ; " Jims is a
brat, I know ; but we must consider that he's young,
yet, in manners, and that he will grow better by-and-bye."

" He'll swing for it one of these days, or I'll marry
old Mag, by heavens !" said the hopeful Dick.

" Oh, don't be too dead on Jims," replied the Captain.
" He may come to the State prison ; but I hope he'll
escape the gallows. Call him if you want him."

" Jims !" shouted Dick, three or four times, in vain.

" Jims !" hoarsely and sternly cried the Captain. But
no "Jims."

" Dan," said Dick, as that worthy appeared, " if you

104 NEW England's chattels ; or,

know where Jims is bring hiin here, and also old Bill
I want you three to go with us this morning."

" Go where ?" savagely growled the old criminal.

" Over t'other side, with the team."

'•' When are you going ?"

' Now, in five minutes."

" Havn't had any thing to eat yet."

" Well, whose fault is that ? There's food enough, if
you are a mind to eat it."

" The cold vituals getting bad tho', and not much on't."

" None of your impudence, Dan. Eat your stuff and
come along. Find Bill and Jims, and bring them. Tell
Jims to ride old Roan to Sparks' and get her shod, and
then come to Savage's with the tackling to hitch her
ahead of the team."

In a warm corner of the poor-house "public room," as
it was called, not far from the fire, rolled up in a tattered
and faded blanket, a human figure might be noticed, ap-
parently in a deep sleep. He seemed regardless of the
chattering voices around him, of the shoutings without,
even of his own name, of his own hard bed and comfort-
less bedding, of every thing, of life. His breathings
were long and heavy, and he occasionally grated his
teeth together, as you have seen or heard children whose
sleep is more or less uncomfortable and disturbed, and
anon he muttered unintelligible words. But no one no-
ticed him, no one spoke to him, although a number were
in the room, and some were loquacious and even merry
and facetious over their cold breakfast of yesterday's
bone-pickings and liver. They were accustomed to his
ways, which also resembled their own, for all in the
poor-house lounged down when and where they chose.
Besides, Jims was a lad cf but ten or twelve years of
age, a mere stripling among them, who, though some-

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 105

what wilful and headstrong, was rather a favorite with
the old folks, on account of his willingness to take their
part when the Captain was rough and hard on them, and
because he often rendered them boyish services, running
into the yard for chips, and up stairs for a pipe, and
could get down on his hands and knees and stoutly blow
up the coals when the fire was low, and now and then
coidd get an extra mug of cider, without discovery, to
cheer some fainting soul or thirsty palate, or perchance
steal or beg a parcel of tobacco for the common good,
and it might happen, a chicken ! Naturally a smart,
bright boy, the life led at this institution was any thing
but appropriate to the development of his true nature,
its associations being far below the true standard of mo-
rality ; its amusements, its labors, its experiences, its com-
forts degrading and demoralizing. Jims, notwithstand-
ing the disadvantages of his position, was a tall, stout,
athletic boy, although rather awkward and ungainly.
He now slept on, and breathed heavily as though his
rest in the night had been disturbed, and he determined
to get its equivalent after sunrise.

In the meantime, aunt Dorothy was trying to munch
her breakfast of hard bread and tough liver, washing it
down her throat with cheap tea, sugarless and milkless,
anon alternating with well watered cider, and interlard-

" Drum, de drum, drum, drum, Come let us join,
Do, de, dro, dro, drum our cheerful songs,
Drum, drum, drum, dro, de dro drum, with angels
Dro, dro, dro, round the throne."

Bill had just fired up his pipe, and was preparing for
a good cruise against Old Time, Hard Luck, and Dame
Fortune. Boyce, the " author of Blamstown, a novel,"
had unrolled his musty and undecipherable manuscript,

106 NEW England's chattels ; or,

and, leaning over a chest, was carefully reading it, as he
alone could read it, and at the same time soaked a hard
crust in harder cider, thus essaying to feed at the same
time both soul and body. (Poor Alanson, his last manu-
script would not sell. " The Trade" refused to take the
risk, and its author being too poor to print it himself,
retired first to a small third-story room, where he lived
cheap, and then to a garret where he lived on — nothing.
Driven thence by a remorseless landlord, he finally took
out into the country, roving here and there, wandering
about until he at last fell within the limits of Crampton,
and the " authorities" took him in a very weak and half-
starved condition to the poor-house. Here he has been
for two or three years, no publisher appearing to print
his last work, despite his former celebrity as the author
of a work that run through ten editions in six months.
Poor Alanson Boyce ! He has spent his ten per cent,
copyright, and now there is but " a wreck of him left
behind." Accustomed to hard fare, he will not immedi-
ately " drop off," but he will gradually go down. He has
got near the last round of his ladder. He is a tall, dark-
eyed, slender-framed man of thirty. His black hair falls
down over his face, hiding in part his sunken, shrivelled,
and wan features, that still betray no ordinary intelli-
gence. Boyce has seen better days, and came to Ame-
rica from England. When he walks, he bends over his
staff and warily picks his way, lest the least obstruction
should throw him down. His hand trembles violently
as he lifts the glass to his lip, or conveys food to his
mouth. His hat is broken, the buttons to his coat are
worn through, the white liiiing of the elbow reveals it-
self, pants and shoes are seedy. He is moneyless, friend-
less— nay, the girl named Roxy befriends him, and occa-
sionally pats him on the cheek, gives him a cracker, picks

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 1Q7

wp bis cane, gives him her seat by the fire, begs him a
cup of warm tea, and bids him " cheer up." Jims always
loves to hear him read his " stories" from his papers, and
takes his part against the churls of the establishment.
The pious widoAv reads to him from her worn Bible — so
he is not wholly friendless. But the busy world has
nearly forgotten him — indeed few, if any of his readers
and former admirers, know the first word of his present
misery. Through the long, cold, and damp winter of
forty , Boyce, the fine writer and agreeable gentle-
man of other days, dragged the weary months away in
the poor-house of Crampton, a state pauper.) Some are
walking here and there, or looking out of door or win-
dow. Blind Hetty threads her way through the dingy
abode to seek aunt Prescott — still Jims rouses not, nor
seems to be any nearer the end of his sonorous sleep.
Sweet is sleep, even to the poor and miserable vagrant.
Sleep — that boon of God to man universal. It comforts
the weary, it restores the sick and drooping, it shortens
the up-hill of life, it graduates human experiences for
the time being, it obliterates present woes, and gives
one strength for future ones.

We know not how much longer Jims might have
slumbered, but for the approach of Dan — surly, heavy-
treading, hateful, prison-escaped Dan. He came on the
errand of beating up and breaking up the quarters of
Bill and Jims, by the mandate of Dick Bunce.

" Where's Bill ?" said he, in a coarse, gruff tone, as he
came to the door and encountered the girl Roxy.

" He's in," said she, dodging away from him. Dan
looked after her with a frown, but she passed on without
looking back.

" Bill," said he, " the team's ready."

" What's Bill care if 'tis ?" inquired the sapient negro.

108 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Why, you'll just go with Dick and me and Jiras.
"Where's Jims ? Oh, I hear the brat 1 You'll go over
to Savage's for a load ; and so be up and stirring, old
fellow, or the Captain himself '11 be in your hair."

Poor old Bill grumbled bitterly to be ordered off just
then, "but s'posed he must go." Dan passed on, and
rousing Jims with a heavy kick, exclaimed —

" Get up here, you young scamp — get off that blanket,
you lazy cuss, or I'll tallow you. Don't you hear folks
calling ? If you don't get up in less than no time, I'll
kick you into the fire where you'll finally go, if there is
any. Hey ?"

Jims was now thoroughly awake. Raising himself
partly up, he encountered the fierce glare of Dan, who
had so unceremoniously broken up his sleep, and for a
moment quailed before it. But this was onl}'- for a mo-
ment. Springing to his feet, and staring back into the
old pauper's eyes a fierceness equalling his own, he ex-
claimed—

" What do you want of me, old Brimstone, hey ? Go
to the devil, for all I care. Kick me, will you, old cider-
drinker !"

" Yes, I'll kick your life out of you in five minutes, if
you don't go about your bisness."

" Kick me again, old villain, and I'll get you horse-
whipped. I've a right to sleep on the blanket if I get
it first. You know it's none of yourn ; nor's any thing

in this d rotten old house yourn, if it's ever so

poor."

" Well, you're under my orders, you young lout, and
I tell you to be moving. Move ! or I'll tallow you with
a raw-hide."

" Move ! I won't move a peg for you, old c ."

" You shall, you bastard ; be off!"

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 109

" I won't !" And Jims doubled up his fists, and braced
back against him. As for Dan, who liked this fun, he
violently thrust forward both his brawny arms 'o seize
and crush the youngster, when a blow from another arm
behind him felled him to his knees. Just in time, ^vce
had sprung up to rescue the lad ; and now, as Pan slowly
recovered himself, and with a look of savage ferocity,
seemed meditating a thorough revenge on him for inter-
fering, Boyce calmly informed him that if he advanced
a step towards him he would annihilate him. The old
rascal, however, seemed bent on making an assault, when
aunt Dorothy planted herself between the combatants,
and told them, with arms stretched out towards each
one, that she would " have no fighting there !"

What power to restrain from it she would have had,
we know not ; but, perhaps fortunately for all parties,
at this moment the form of Captain Bunce darkened the
door, and Dick followed him with his cart-whip in his
hand. The Captain, perceiving at a glance the true
state of the case, snatched the whip from the hand of
his son, and pushing Boyce aside, put the lash across the
shoulders of Dan, and tingled Jims' sides with it, till they
both begged for quarters, and promised to have no fur-
ther dispute.

" Well, now, be off," said the Captain, •' both of you ;
and if they make you any trouble, Dick, put on the lash.
They knoAV what their duty is ; if not, I'll teach them.
As for the rest on you," said he, " keep out of brawls.
Better find steady employment, than spend the time in
idle talk and wrangling. You'll get a short allowance
for this, I'll promise you."

It was night before the men got back.

The team drove slowly into the yard. It consisted of
two yoke of oxen, and old Roan the mare on the lead.

110 NEW England's chattels ; or,

Jims was on her back sitting- sideways, his feet careless-
ly dangling by her side, his back curving like the new
moon, and his chin resting on his hands. Dan plodded
along behind. Bill was riding stowed in among the
barrels.

" Well, Dick," said his father, " good luck, hey?"

" Have had a hard pull of it anyhow," said that
^\ orth}' .

" What, with three or four barrels, and a little cider ?
Whew, Dick 1"

" Three or four barrels ! Thunder !"

" Yes, perhaps so, that's enough."

" We'll count them off, if you wiU."

The Captain grew black with anger, when he counted
six barrels of poor beef on the load, a quantity suffi-
cient for him two years.

" What's all this, Dick ? What have you here, hey ?
Six barrels ! By George, I'll not stand that any how.
Savage knows I never bought six barrels of him."

" So I told him," said Dick. " He had seven barrels,
but I refused to take any more than six, and told him
we couldn't eat it in two years. But Savage swore you
bought the lot."

" So I did the lot of three or four barrels, not all the
beef in creation by any means. Six barrels !" and the
Captain swore hard. " Well, well, roll it in. Only con-
sider, Dick," said he in a whisper, " the more they eat
of it the faster they'll die off."

" That's a true bill and no mistake," replied his hope-
ful one. " But it's plaguy disagreeable work to handle
coffins. If it wan't for that, I'd just as Hef they'd drop
off one a week as any way."

"Never mind about the coffins, Dick ; we get used to
them, and the most I care about the beef, is the likeli-

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOll-HOUSE. Ill

hood of having a lot on hand t^vo or three years hence.
The chances are that beef '11 fall off ten per cent, before
the year's up. I want enough of this feed only, to
keep the folks along when other things' scarce you
know — not enough to pay interest on for all future time.
Savage's a hard one any how, and to get a trade out of
him, a man must look two or three ways for Sunday.'^

"What have you got there, Cap'n Bunce ?" shouted
a female from the open door of the large mansion. This
individual was none other than Mrs. Bunce herself,
stout, red-faced, loud talking, coarse and vulgar-looking
Mrs. Bunce. The Captain to her inquiry said he'd got
home a lot of beef from Savage's.

" Lot of beef from Savage's !" said she, " and is that
ail beef?"

" To be sure it is — why not?"

" What you going to do with it, Cap'n ?" said she ap-
proaching him.

" Why, 3'ou see, Mrs. Bunce," and the Captain spoke
m a low confidential way, and nudged her a little deli-
cate sort of a you-know-a-thing-or-two nudge in her fat
arm, " tJds is cheap l)eef ; it's just the sort of feed for the
people over yonder, with now and then a good cut for
the rest of us."

" Well, if this don't beat all my ' Avife's relations,' Cap
tain Bunce — six barrels of poor beef !"

" True, but we can't afford good."

" No — but six barrels ! Why, Captain Bunce, you're
crazy ! All the poor folks in creation couldn't eat it in
a year ; and as for cooking it, the Lud knows I shan't."
Poor Mrs. Bunce ! " The Lord knows." Yes, He knows
many things that seem hidden from us.

But Mrs. Bunce liked a joke. She wasn't so hard on
the Captain, after all, as her words seemed. She had a
thorough conviction of his supremacy, but was now and

112 NEW England's chattel's ; or,

then a little assuming ; just enough, at least, to give the
Captain a homeopathic dose of uneasiness.

" Mrs. Bunce !" said the Captain, seriously.

" What?" said she, rather suddenly.

"/will take care of the beef!"

Mrs. Bunce looked up for an explanation. She looked
into her husband's face : it was cold and resolved.

" Very well," said she. " Beef it is, poor beef, and
enough on't."

Mrs. Bunce turned and went into the house. The
beef was rolled into the cellar, and the paupers of
Crampton were fated to feed on it.

One barrel was opened that evening ; the next day
the whole family made a dinner of it.

" It's tough," said the Captain to his spouse.

She nodded.

"It's lean," said Dick.

" Confoundedly so !" said Elisha.

" It's salt," said Betsey.

" I wish father hadn't bo't it," said Henrietta.

What said the paupers ?

" It is impossible, with my poor gums, to eat this
beef," said the widow Prescott.

" It is very hard and yellow," said Ebenezer Cowles
and Mrs. Dodge.

" It'll bear munching a good while," said aunt Doro-
thy and Mrs. Rice.

" It's tough as bull's hide," said old Dan.

" It's poor folks' turkey," said poor Boyce.

" My teeth are good," said Jims, " but they crack
.some."

" Too salt," said Bill. " Good salt-water ham, yaw !
yaw !"

On the whole, the beef was condemned at the first
meal, f^.nd it grew no better very fast.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 113

CHAPTER XI.

Mag Davis. — Were it not for beautiful Woman in this world, we should not have
half the respect for ourselves that we now exercise, nor would Society so rise to
the dignity of an Institution. As it is, we highly congratulate ourselves, and as
to Woman are strictly conservative.

Winter approacliing, the people of Crampton calked
their doors and windows to keep out the cold ; some
banked up their houses, and closed the roll-ways with
straw, leaves, and tan. New stoves, finely polished,
were ordered ; new furnaces, that warmed the whole
house, were put up, or the old repaired with new grates,
and put in order to heat up at a moment's warning.
Abundance of fuel was laid in without regard to cost,
and so garments were ordered, furs purchased. Winter
arrangements complete were made on every side, be-
cause no man or woman with any thing of a competency
would think of meeting the rigors of a northern winter
unprepared.

There was one class of persons in the town, who, in a
very imperfect manner, imitated this consistent example.
We mean the poor-house class. Every body belonging
to it folded the garments he happened to have on a little
closer to him, crept a little nearer to the fire, and was
thankful if the cold of December could be endured on
gruels, pale cider, beef-bone soup, hard neck and grizzly
pieces of beef, rusty pork and cheap beans, in quantities
proportioned to the cost.

As the wintry weather pinched more and more, all

1 14 NEW England's chattels : or,

the stragglers, one after anotlier, who in mild Aveather
wandered off and got their living — some by begging,
others by working a little, and some by stealing and
light pilfering — came in from their excursions, and took
up with their old quarters at the poor-house. Among
these came old 3Iag Davis, hag that she was — an out
and out piece of sinful and wretched humanity. So
came in John and Polly Tucker, gipsies in their mode of
life. And there were two or three orphan children,
ragged and dirty and ignorant. Vicious women and
wicked men came, and all who could make out a good
claim on the town staid : others passed on.

The snow began to fall. Captain Bunce ordered out
into the fields, and yards, and woods, all the hands who
could be of any service, and made Bill and Dan, and
Boyce and Tucker and Jims accomplish a good deal of
work, while Mrs. Bunce compelled the women and more
infirm men to help her about house. " You must
work," said she, " or starve ; we can't feed idle bodies.''

In vain the poor creatures complained ; work was
good for them, and it cost a world of money to keep
them. Captain Bunce could not afford to keep them if
they were to render him no service. Captain Bunce
discharged his hired man, and told Dick and Elisha to
make " the folks " do his work.

A cold hard day closing in with snow and rain, gather-
ed the miserable, wretched paupers into their hovel. Bu
Jims dripping with rain and covered with snow, brough
in some large armfulls of brush, chips, and a log or two
which were cast on the fire. The flames flashed up into
the chimney, and threw their bright light into the large,
comfortless room. A single taper burned in an iron
candlestick. The forms of the inmates seated singly.
and in groups, or lounging here and there, and moving

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 115

through the room, cast shadows in very grotesque
shapes along the soiled walls, and creaking floor.

On the whole, it was the happiest hour of the twenty-
four for them, for the eating of the day was over, a ra-
ther self-denying operation, the labor was over, sleep
was at hand. Yet the society was not entirely homogen-
eous, except in the one item of poverty, and as the
elements of discord are not always absent in the best of
families, how could they be thought always absent here,
in a group of characters never before in their best days
quite affiliating together ? It is true, however, that
common misfortune often makes common friends, anil
here were friendships grown and growing into some
form and comliness, where the normal condition was
one of repugnance. For instance, aunt Prescott was
become every body's friend, and in her every other
person learned to have some friendship for his fellows.
Aunt Dorothy Prinsmade possessed some kindness of
heart, and tried to serve her companions. All felt a com-
munity of sentiment, and regarded themselves at liber-
ty to prey on the interests of the rest of the world.
Their condition gave them little hope of ever rising
above want, and to satisfy this, they bound themselves
together to accomplish what they could. Yet not in form.
They took no common oath, nor made any common
plunder. It was in the feelmg of the heart that they
foraged on society, and bound themselves together, not
in formal covenant.

It was seven o'clock. All the chores were done, the peo-
ple all in— but Roxy. She had sHpped out, a wildish saucy
faced girl, under-witted they called her, and sometimes
uncontrolable— she went and came as she liked. Neither
for her, nor for any other one of their number was there
ever felt any very great uneasiness of mind when ab-

116 NEW England's chattels ; or,

sent, how long soever that absence might be continued.
She has not a rehitive in the world that she can name,
nor has she a solitary farthing in money.

Most of the company gathered near the fire, turning
this way and that, to feel its genial heat, Jims indus-
triously supplying fuel. They maintained quite a con-
versation among themselves, the general drift of which
was in complaint of their present lot, or mourning over
their departed happiness.

" How the cold comes in under the doors, and through
that broken Avindow," said Boyce, who had thrown him-
self on the old bed, and tried to cover up his shivering
limbs.

" Jims," said he, " take my old hat and crowd it into
that broken window, will ye ? It's plaguy chilly here."

Jims did so, and at the same time heaped more fuel
on the fire.

" It is a cold night, Mr. Boyce," said widow Prescott,
" and a lot of poor souls like us feel it. For my part, I
should have relished a cup of hot tea to-night ; and I
think it would have done you good."

" Hot tea, Mrs. Prescott !" said the other ; " when the
paupers of Crampton get what they like and need to
eat and drink, somebody beside Captain Isaac Bunce
will have the care of them."

" That's a fact .'" screamed a voice in the rear of a
group near the fire, which all knew to be that of Mag
Davis. " That's a fact !" she exclaimed, coming forward
a little, and sitting down on one of the old chairs near
the foot of the bed — " Captain Bunco's tea bill," said
she, " won't swamp him, I'll swear."

Mag was an uncommonly hard and desperate charac-
ter. Not that there never appeared another like her.
This we do not mean, but that she was one of her ov^-n

«

MAG DAVIS

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 117

class, and that a ver}^ depraved one. Similar personages
are now and then seen in all our public institutions.
They have a character formed in the streets, formed in
the schools of licentiousness and unrestrained self-indul-
gence. Mag Davis was once a handsome girl. All her
youthful history we do not pretend to know. Write it
we would not if known to us. Sufficient be it, that
there is one record kept of every mortal life, and of her
life of course. We know her as Mag Davis. She would
pass for a female ; her long dangling hair spoke this of
her, and in her face were yet some feminine traceries — ^
enough to warm your heart to her, at least in compassionj^i
if there were wanting nothing to deaden its emotions.
But ugliness, recklessness, and ferocity mingled their
expression in her face, and lurked in her eyes. She
Avore tattered and draggled skirts, and nothing in her
person was more pleasing than in the character of her
mind. She was an ugly old crone, yet she knew a great
deal, and could converse wuth great fluency. And now
she sat rather back in the group, at the foot of the bed-
stead, crowded partly into a corner, half hidden by the
slouching form of John Tucker, drunken and debauched
as he was, and Polly, his miserable, red-faced w^ife, who
had both lately found winter quarters at the poor-house.
Here, in the faintly lighted portion of the room, she sat
and snapped her fingers in the air, higgling and hitch-
ing and swaying this way and that, jerking her head
violently and spasmodically from one side to another,
and often leading off, in a rapid, screaming voice, the
conversation of the miserable and haggard wretches
around her. Her conversational power, as we have
said, was great. She could frame good sentences, and
express them with an emphasis of earnestness that made
one re,j;ard them, and with intonations of voice peculiar

,v

118 NEW England's chvttels; or,

to well-bred ladies. But yet she was a polluted wretch.
Her life had been one of criminal self-indulgence — her
associations vile and wretched. A female, without the
grace of one — with no outlines remaining of virtue,
loveliness, attraction — 3"ou saw her but with loathing.
With squinting eyes she leered on you, and opened her
toothless jaws to utter words.

Whatever character or position she may once have
borne, she is now here, without delicacy, purity, soft-
ness, fear, love, or hope. She is one of the paupers of
Crampton. The authorities have her in their charge,
t makes no sort of difference with them what else she
^s, was, or might be. She costs the town so many dol-
lars a year to keep her as she is I

Poor thing, though ! She has a human soul and body,
although these things are not, in her case, very Avell de-
fined ; and she is a lost, doomed one. She is as certain
to die a forgotten, toothless hag, an old gone-by crone, a
coarsely fed and shabbily dressed sinner, as ever certain
was to any one of mortal name or kind. And prayers
for the POOR in the church mean not such as she ! Her
class is forgotten — is too hopeless — is on the town — is
provided for already. Her class is the degraded one
known only in law, not in charity — a class sold to the
public bidder — sold out of Christian communities and
Christian relationships, into the charnel-house — sold to
save church-going members, and all religious people of
all religious denominations, if possible, one, two, or three
per cent, additional tax on the grand list. Call not the
poor-house we speak of a Christian institution. Its cru-
elties, its sufterings, its neglect, its forgotten, prayerless
state point it out as one of the common and degraded
institutions of selfishness, though planted in the very
soil of New England.

LIFE IN THE NORTHEiSN POOR-HOUSE. 119

"Hot tea and coffee, Mr. Boyce, you'll get enough of it
in the other world," said Mag, rocking her body back-
Avards and forwards, and crossing her feet. " But those
things are only for the rich in this world. Poor folks
must not complain if they have cold victuals. All that's
wanted is to keep the life in them, no matter whether
the blood is warm or not."

" It's a confounded lie," said old Dan, who was holding
his place close to the chimney coi'ner, and as usual chew-
ing a large piece of tobacco. " Poor folks are's good
as any body. Who cares for the rich? Burn down
their house, and they are as poor as the rest ov usj«
And for my part, I love to see a good smart fire." ™

" Oh ! pshaw^, now, Dan, don't talk of incendiarism in
your old age ; one state prison job, I should think, would
do for you," replied the hag.

" State prison's a palace to this rotten affair, and ten
thousand like it. You never '11 deserve to go there,
d you."

" It must be a grand place," said she, " it costs a great
deal to educate folks there, especially so cursedly de-
serving ones as old Dan."

" Go to ," growled that worthy and said no more.

Poor old widow Prescott ! How she sighed as she
saw and heard all this, and thought of by-gone days.
But aunt Prescott was a good deal broken, and her
sensitiveness not as formerly. Yet she groaned and
turned away saying, " The Lord have mercy on us."
A.unt Dorothy quietly smoked her pipe, and neither said
anything nor offered a line of song.

As for poor Boyce the author, he was really unwell, and
a little help would have done him good. He groaned
on the bed, and said he was cold.

" Well now, the Lord bless you and send deliverance,"

120 NEW England's chattels ; or,

said the good widow, trying to make him a little more
comfortable. You shall have more clothes on your
bed, and we'll heat a brick at the fire and warm your
feet."

So saying, she brought a blanket from her own room,
and threw it over him, and Jims got out of the ashes a
warm brick, which they managed to roll up in a cloth,
and applied to his feet. And this was scarcely done
before the creaking outside door swung open, and the
slight form of Henrietta glided into the room. She bore
in her hand a bowl of hot tea, which she had prevailed
on her mother to make, and send over to the "folks."

Aunt Dorothy, before unmoved, and careless, appa-
rently, as to the condition of every thing around her,
now suddenly laid aside her pipe, and jumping to her
feet, exclaimed — " The Lord's heard your prayers. Miss
Prescott, and sent deliverance to Boyce, as he did of old
to Peter, ha ! ha !

" Drum, drum, drum ; praise j"o the Lord,
Drum, de drum, drum, dro; with one consent,
Drum, drum, dro."

" Mr. Boyce !" shrieked Mag, " your tea's come, and
I believe the Lord's angels went right after it when
they heard us talking. For my part, I always believed
the angels had a mighty deal to do with us in this
world."

" They've kept a good account of you, I'll swear !"
grumbled Dan.

" Ha ! ha ! ha !" shrieked the hag — " set a thief to catch
a thief."

After Boyce had taken his tea, aunt Prescott covered
him up as warmly as possible, and he declared he never
felt better in his life. He really began to perspire, and
soon fell into a sound sleep. Henrietta glided from the
room and went homo.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 121

Still the evening's storm kept on, though not a very-
hard and driving one. It was winter's fore-paw, and
v\^ith it he kept scratching at the windows and doors, and
seeking for admission to every body's house and room.

Mr. and Mrs. Haddock, having thought all day of go-
ing over to the poor-house in the evening, were not pre-
vented by the storm. As they turned from the street
and passed an open lot leading to the gate of the grounds,
they encountered Dick Bunco and Roxy, sauntering off
together in high glee.

" A young rascal, bent on mischief, and sure to find it,"
said Mr. Haddock, when fairly past them. " And how
do you aU find yourselves to-night ?"' he inquired, step-
ping in among the paupers.

The whole company started at the sound of his voice,
as though it were the voice of a deliverer, and especially
at the sweet words that fell from the lips of his wife, as
she tenderly took the hand of Mrs. Prescott and em-
braced her, and went among them all with kindly and
encouraging words.

" We are doing tolerably well, I believe," said Mrs.
Prescott, " but the cold creeps in, and we feel it some in
our poor bodies — "

" Here's Boyce sick abed," shouted Mag, " but Boyce
'11 come up again if he can have good care, and nourish-
ing food and drink."

" Well, those he ought to, and shall have ; how long
has he been sick ?"

" He's always ailing, you know, but he's been shaking
and feverish about two hours — and two hours is enough
to end a pauper, you know, ha ! ha ! ha !"

" He is better, much better, Mrs. Haddock," said the
widow, " since Henrietta brougli'' him in a cup of hot
tea."

6

1 22 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Did she, sweet girl I"

" The Lord's best blessing on Aer," said aunt Dorothy.

" Drum, drum, drum."

" She's Captain Bunce's best side," said Mag.

" We put a hot brick to his feet, too," said the widow ;
" see, he's asleep now, and in a good sweat."

" He has a good, warm blanket on him, too," said Mr.
Haddock.

" Miss Prescott got that for him, off her own bed,"
said Mag, " and how in the world she's going to lie warm
without it the Lord knows, not I."

" And so you don't have every thing here you could
desire, after all ?" inquired Mr. Haddock.

" We don't starve, sir, by no means, nor do we suffer
the want of clothing as many do, but it is not as it once
was," said Mrs. Prescott.

" You have good meat to eat once a day ?"

•' We have generally some meat," said she.

" Tough as the side of a barn," said Tucker.

*' Salt as the sea," said Polly.

" Bought on a speculation," said Dan.

" Good enough," said Bill and Jims, " forrf)Oor folks."

" It '11 last more than one generation," said Mag ; " as
for my eating it, I never '11 eat a pownd of it if I stay
here a thousand years."

" What have you had to-day, Mag ?" inquired he.

" Had ! Hog's liver, and bone soup, and cider," said
she.

" What's Boyce eaten ?"

" Boyce has eaten his finger nails," said she.

" Has he had nothing ?"

" Nothing he could relish. He drank a quart of cider,
and just now two mugs of tea, but he has not eaten a bit
of any food this twenty-four hours."

LIFE IN TUB NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 123

" Why don't he eat ?"

" He can't."

" What's the reason ?"

" Don't have the food he likes, I s'pose."

" Is he failing ? Is he so sick he can't eat ?"

" He's a slender body, sir, and can't endure as much
as some of us can," answered the widow. " He really
wants nursing, like a child — a good and kind home —
good care, good and nourishing food, would save him."

" Give him some more beef — Savage's beef," said old
Dan. " That's what Captain Bunce calls hearty food
and nourishing."

" Ha I ha ! ha !" shouted Mag.

Boyce began to move and be disturbed in his sleep.

" Don't, for the world, wake him," said Mrs. Prescott.

And aunt Dorothy chimed in her lullaby, as follows :

" Drum, driim, drum, hush my dear,

Dro, di, dro, dro, dro, lie still and slumber —

Dro, drum, drum, drum, holy angels.

Battle, te drum, drum, drum, guard thy bed."

Mr. and Mrs. Haddock went softly to his bed and ex-
amined him. They found him evidently much sick, and
requiring medical attention, as well as good and careful
nursing. They resolved to remove him to their own
house, if Captain Bunce was willing, on the morrow.

" WeU, then, I see how it is, good people," said Mr.
Haddock. " Sometimes you have enough to eat and
drink, at other times are rather short, eh ? Isn't it so ?"

" Something so," said Tucker ; " only the poor-house is
never over well fed."

" No, no : so I understand. Well, how is it for warmth
— are you warm enough ?"

" Can't say we are," said Bill. " The house is old, and

124 NEW England's chattels ; or,

fuel light — clothes thin, rather — nights long. We feel
cold nights."

" Then yon don't have clothes enough ? You ought to
have a blanket or two, and some tAvo or three comforters,
to each bed."

" Whew !" screamed Mag. " That's more than we've
all got— ain't it, Dan ?"

" Blankets and comforters are scarce in my quarters,"
said he, " the Lord knows."

" Cold weather has come on rather suddenly, you
know, Mrs. Prescott," said Mrs. Haddock, " and perhaps
the Captain isn't prepared yet to make every thing as
comfortable as he will by-and-bye."

" We don't know how it is," said she, in reply ; " but
my trust is in the Lord of Hosts. I know that this is a
suffering world. The Lord Jesus suffered here. He
had no where to lay his head. How much are we the
better off than he, the Lord of Glory I"

It seemed to flash like a new revelation from heaven
into the minds of Mr. and Mrs. Haddock, that there was
peculiar sin in suffering an institution so poorly (or
badly) managed as this to exist among them ; and that
this old saint, and others like her, would rise up at the
last as swift witness against them if they neglected to
do their work of mercy and reform — if they forgot the
misery that some here suffered, who they believed were
truly the children of God, and all undeserving the
neglect of those who could relieve them. They re-
solved in the future to do more for them than they had
done hitherto.

Jims now threw a fresh armful of brush on the fire,
and a fine warm glow was diffused through the room.
Just at this instant, who should blunder in but Captain
Bunco, the merciful and humane landlord of this estab-

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 125

lishment ! He was just enough in liquor to be good-hu-
mored and familiar, and did not at first observe Mr. and
Mrs. Haddock.

" Well, now, I declare," said he, " if this isn't just the
smilingest looking place I've been in for a week. Jims,
give me a chair. Ah, Mr. Had — dock — and Mrs. Had-
dock ! I vow, this is nice ! Why, how in the world did
you get out this stormy night? I'll be hanged if I ain't
dreadfully obliged to you, and glad to see you. Draw
up by the fire. Now, ain't this sort of cheerful ? Jims,
don't spare the wood ; put on the best you can find, and
'nough on't. It's sort of cold out doors, but in here it's
as warm and pleasant as a May morning. You see, our
folks are pretty comfortable here, friend Haddock. Give
me one of these large old-fashioned chimney fire-places,
and plenty of wood, (Jims, put on the wood,) and it's a
thousand times better than one of your modern six-by-
eight close stoves for coal — ha! ha! ha! Don't you
think so, Mr. Haddock ?"

" I don't like small stoves very well, I allow ," said he.

" You are just of my opinion," replied Bunce. " Stoves
are unhealthy, coal is unhealthy, and every body is un-
healthy who has any thing to do with them. Well, I'm
right glad to see you, and you musn't say ' no,' you must
both go in and make my wife a call when you leave.
Here you see the ' folks ' are all doing charmingly, all
growing fat, and young, and sprightly — how is it. Bill ?"

" Yes, sir : bery ?" said the black with a slight nod of
the head.

" I thought so, ha ! ha ! ha I" shouted the Captain.
" Well," said he, " suppose you just drop in and see us —
hey ? — eh, Mrs. Haddock, what say ?"

" I have no particular objection, if Mr. Haddock can
spend the time."

126 NEW England's chattels ; or,

"Oh! hang the 'time.' 'Time' is nothing. I have more
time on my hands than I want — absolutely so now. Why,
my evenings are often as long, and dull as Bill's face, and
it does me good to see a friend."

"Before we leave," said Mr. Haddock, "perhaps you
would like to see a little hoAv Boyce is getting on, for
he appears to be sick, and I understand you sent him
in a nice cup of hot tea to-night."

" Did I, by jove, that's a new idea, ha ! ha ! I guess I
did though, or, perhaps Mrs. Bunce and Hetty looked
out for the poor souls. Boyce ! Boyce ! let's see, oh 1 the
devil, yes, Boyce. He's a little in the dumj)a, but he'll
rouse again in the morning as good as new. Aunt
Prescott ! how's Boyce ?"

" He's doing better, sir, I think."

" Yes, that's the case," said the Captain, returning
from his bedside. " You see he's all nice and warm,
well blanketed, and fast asleep, doing well. He'll be as
bright as a new cent in the morning ; we keep the folks
here, Mr Haddock, all warm and comfortable these cold
nights."

" Then 3^ou aim to give them all a blanket, and
warm bed-clothes ?" said Mr. Haddock.

" Oh ! — of — course we keep them well-to-do these cold
nights. (Put on the wood, Jims.) We get on them just
as much as the poor critters will bear."

" That's a lie," screamed Mag.

" So it is, by ," said Dan and Tucker in a breath,

and aunt Dorothy commenced a song forthwith.

At this moment the door suddenly flew open, and in
came Dick and Roxy, in a half angry scuffle without
noticing the company present.

The Captain, glad of any interruption, turned, and
peremptorily inquired : " What's this mean, Dick ?"

LIFE IN THE NOETHEKN POOK-SOUSE. 127

" Oh ! nothing, only Rox and I have been on a gale this
evening, and she's got my watch."

" Take your watch, hatefulness," said she, throwing
it at him, and disappeared up the stairs.

Mr. and Mrs. Haddock, perceived that Captain Bunce
was too much intoxicated, to make it profitable to talk
with him or to prolong their visit. Under the excuse
of the storm too, as they all left the house, they declined
his pressing invitation to call at his residence, and as
fast as possible, made their way home.

The poor folks got through the night as they best
could. Jims laid himself down by the fire on an old
blanket, and kept the fire up through the night. Bill
slept at the foot of the bed, and kept the sick man's
feet warm.

During its dark hours, an emigrant ship from Liver-
pool went ashore on the Jersey coast, a perfect wreck.
Few were saved of either crew or passengers ; among
the latter, a lady and her child five years old, were res-
cued and taken care of, of whom we may hear more by
and bye.

As soon as the storm subsided, Mr. Haddock conveyed
Boyce to his own house, where under careful attention
he in a little time be2:an to amend.

128 NEW England's chattel's ; or,

CHAPTER XII.

The Ladies' Benevolent Society. Miss E. Flush, President.

One of those very common and very praiseworthy
modes of doing good, which accomplish by association of
effort what is seldom brought about by the individual
alone, which one society of ladies takes up after another,
and so the action of the whole is as leaven, leavening
the mass — one of these, we say, was in full and satisfac-
tory experiment among the ladies of Crampton. It was
two or three days, it might have been five, for it was on
Friday evening that the storm came, and the ladies usu-
ally met on Wednesday — call it five days then, after the
visit of Mr. and Mrs. Haddock at the poor-house, that an
unusually large number of ladies met at the house of
Esquire Ben. Stout, prepared with thread and needlea
to do a great amount of sewing before they separated.

Mrs. Stout and her maiden sister. Miss Emeline Flush,
particularly the latter, and Mrs. Stout's two daughters,
Judith and Hope, were devotedly attached to this be-
nevolent association. Not unfrequently they all went
out and passed the afternoon session, and some of them
the evening, let the meeting be where it might, indus-
triously plying the needle, wielding the scissors, and im-
parting as well as receiving information on the great
point of Christian benevolence.

It must be confessed that their aim and result were
both alike good, and that the ladies generally were gov-
erned by the highest considerations in their enterprise.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 129

If they committed an error, it was in shooting beyond a
point of necessity, and rendering help in one case to the
neglect of another. But the Stouts, the Haddocks, the
Phillips, the Boutwells, the Hayes, the Smiths, the New-
combes, the Scranneys, the Shires, and the Lincolns,
were most of them regarded as sensible and benevolent
minded families, some of the ladies living daily to do
good to their fellow-men, with some perhaps trifling dis-
similarity of views as to the mode. On the Wednesday
we have specified, the society met at Esq. Ben. Stout's.
Mrs. Haddock and her daughters arrived a little later
than usual, on account of driving round by the poor-
house on their way, to make particular inquiries about
the winter clothing of the paupers. The room was full
of ladies, and they were, as usual at these sessions, chatty
enough.

Every body seemed very happy to see Mrs. Haddock
and her daughters. They were indeed of great service
in the society, Mrs. Haddock being one of the main offi-
cers, and a sort of right arm to the enterprise, while
Frances, her eldest daughter, was treasurer and secre-
tary of the society.

So the ladies fluttered around them on their arrival,
and protested that they should have felt lonesome, and
the work would not have been half done without them.
Mrs. Stout said she never felt reconciled tc it if Mrs.
Haddock was absent when the ladies held their meeting,
especially if it was at her house. And Mrs. Haddock
never thought for a moment of not coming, she regretted
being late, but was unavoidably detained. Jane Phillips,
one of the sweetest girls in Crampton, folded her friend
Frances Haddock in her arms, and in a snug corner of
the room they plied their needles and chatted together
for a long time.

6*

130 NEW England's chattels ; or,

Thirty or forty ladies, met together in a sewing circle,
do a good deal of work. They also " work off" a large
amount of conversation, and it is pleasing to be among
them and to listen to the talk, if you cannot add to it.

" 1 am told," said Miss Flush, " that after we complete
our present work, and fill this box for the missionaries,
Mr. Longwell, the merchant, wishes the society to en-
gage to sew for him the next three months."

'• Why, Miss Flush !" exclaimed several voices.

'* Is it possible !"

" Can it be true ?" inquired others at the same time.
, " Yes," said Miss Flush, " he applied to me this morn-
ing, and said he had a contract with a city jobber for
three hundred summer coats, pants, and vests, for the
spring trade, and five hundred shirts and bosoms."

" Did you ever see such luck !" exclaimed several.

" It is most too good to be^rue," said others.

" It shows us," said Mrs. Haddock, " that if we are
willing to busy ourselves to do good, we shall not be de-
prived of the opportunity."

" How true, Mrs. Haddock," replied Mrs. Ben. Stout.

" I wish we could go right about it," said one.

" How much will Mr. Longwell be willing to pay us
for the work ?" inquired Mrs. Phillips.

" Of course that will depend on the style of the
sewing, and on the quality and cut of the garments. He
will give us twenty-five cents each for shirts made in
good style, w^ith bosoms and wristbands, the work all.
cut out ; and twenty-five cents each for thin pants and
vests cut, and fifty cents for best coats."

The ladies all stopped their w^ork and listened during
this recital, and resumed it again, with sundry exclama-
tions; as Miss Flush finished speaking.

"It is a good deal of money, doubtless," said old Mry.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 131

Hayes, looking over lier spectacles, and furrowing up
her forehead, as she smiled round the room ; " but, ladies,
when I was young, we never made a coat for less than
a dollar, nor pants for less than fifty cents ; while every
body gave us fifty cents to make a shirt."

" Well, nobody gives now as much as formerly, you
know, Mrs. Hayes," pleasantly put in Mrs. Stout. " Be-
sides, the cloth is different, and the sewing is different.
We hurry off work now-a-days ; in those old times, it
was a week's work to earn a dollar."

Mrs. Hayes said the times were different, she knew.

The ladies thought they could make something by Mr.
Longwell's job, although the prices were low. It was a
great relief to have the work all cut and ready for them ;
and besides, every one would know before hand just
what work was to be undertaken.

" How much longer will it take us, Miss Flush," inquired
Mrs. Haddock, " to finish our present work for the mis-
sionaries ?"

" I do not know exactly. Shouldn't you think, Miss
Lincoln and Mrs. Smith, that we might get this work
done in two weeks ?"

Mrs. Smith hadn't thought much about it. She now
began to consider, and to reckon up and form her esti-
mates.

" Why, Miss Flush," said she, " we have three pair of
sheets made already ; we have two pair of gent's pants,
and three pair boy's pants, and two vests done. We
have two ladies' dresses, two thick quilts, three flannel
petticoats, four chemise, four night-gowns, six pair stock-
ings, caps, gloves, thread, needles, shoes, embroidered
slippers, two bed-blankets, one large bed-quilt — these
are all ready, you know — and this one in the works.
Then there are making four shirts, four under-shirts

132 NEW England's chattels ; or,

three pair stockings, ten towels, two children's frocks,
and a silk mantilla. Yes, I should think — shouldn't you,
Mrs. New' ton and Mrs. Phillips ? — I rather think in two
meetings more we may get through. I haven't thought
of it. What do you think. Miss Flush ?"

Miss Flush thought they might in three, if not in two.
So thought Mrs. Smith ; and this seemed to be the pre-
vailing opinion, all the ladies putting their work in their
laps, and listening to Mrs. Smith's summary of their
labors with opened eyes and mouths.

" Did you ever see such an amount of work done by
the society before ?" inquired Jane Phillips of her friend,
Frances Haddock.

" It's a great deal, I tell you," said she, with a little
shake of her head, and a soberish expression, as she plied
faster and faster her needle.

" I do think," said Mrs. Newton, " that we shall make
some good Christian missionary and his family very
comfortable indeed, when our box is received by them."

" Undoubtedly !" exclaimed Mrs. Stout, in the fulness
of her zeal and faith. Now Mrs. Stout kept running out
and in all the time, as she was very busy with her ser-
vant and girls, preparing the ladies' tea. In some soci-
eties of this kind tea and biscuit are dispensed with, the
ladies working hard and eating nothing, to save trouble
and unnecessary charges. But it was not so here.
Every lady at her house gave her friends a good tea ;
and that custom we, for some reason, seem to like best
ourselves.

Mrs. Stout fully believed that the box of clothing, etc.,
etc., they were preparing for the missionaries, would do
some poor individuals, laboring in much want and
trouble, "a deal of good" — full as much good- as the
labor cost to prepare it protracted through the last half

LIFE IN TilE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 133

of the year — and so doubtless it might. Mrs. Stout
gave her principal attention to this box of clothing for
the missionaries, and was a little surprised, on coming
into the room, to hear the ladies conversing about their
own poor in the town.

Mrs. Phillips said there was a family in her neighbor
hood of very decent people, who were sick and in rathei
reduced circumstances, who she knew were in w^ant of
clothing, and another family she had heard of who were
short of provisions.

" Oh, well, Mrs. Phillips, the poor we always have
with us, you know," said Mrs. Stout ; " and for my part,
I hope the ladies will let nobody suffer ; though it seems
to me we had better get off the box before we attempt
to do much for any other persons."

" It is true that we may weaken all our plans by hav-
ing too many," said Mrs. Phillips ; " but as it is now
cold weather, and they immediately need some help, I
think we had better consider their case, especially as wo
do not know where the box is to be sent ; and it is some-
what doubtful whether it will now get forwarded at all
till the spring opens."

" Oh, let us labor in hope, dear Mrs. Phillips," said the
other. " Nothing casts a greater gloom over a society
than discouraging intimations of that sort. Now I firml}^
believe the box will be immediately despatched — the
committee are so much in want of clothing, and are so
pressing in their demands. But, dear me ! I forgot
my "

And away flew Mrs. Stout to look after her scorching
biscuit.

The discussion of the poor families in town went on ;
and it saddened the heart of Mrs. Haddock as the theme
changed to that of fashions and dress in particular, to

134 NEW England's chattels ; ok,

see liow entirely forgotten were the wretched, miserable
paupers at that very moment sulTering the ills of poverty
in the poor-house of Crampton.

When the conversation allowed it, she informed Miss
Flush that one reason why she had inquired about the
time that would be required to complete the missionary
work, was from a desire that the ladies might afterwards,
if they saw fit, do some work for " that other class of
poor people in town, quite often overlooked, the town
paupers."

" The poor creatures 1" exclaimed Mrs. Smith, ^.Irs.
Newton, Miss Lincoln, Miss Flush, both the Misses
Scranney, and Mrs. Shire.

" I forgot entirely there were any such persons among
us," said Miss Flush, the president of the society.

" And I am sure I never considered that it was our
duty to look after the town poor," said Mrs. Shire.

" No, nor I," said Mrs. Smith. " Does not the town
support them, Mrs. Haddock ?"

. " The town nominally takes care of the paupers," said
she. " It pays Captain Bunco so many dollars a year to
support them ; but it makes no adequate provision for
their enjoyment and comfort."

" Why, I am utterly surprised to hear of that 1" said
Mrs. Newton. " My husband has repeatedly, time and
again, informed me that the town was very generous in
its support of the poor. He says it is a great tax on
the people, and that they feel it."

" I don't know he w that is," replied Mrs. Haddock,
" but I do know that the poor in that institution have
been, many of them, in circumstances far more comfort-
able than they now are — as the widow Prescott, for
example, whose husband was once a deacon in this
church — and that they now are in great want of the

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 135

most common clothing, of nourishing food, and comfort-
able rooms ; in short, of every thing to make life to one
of us desirable."

Mrs. Stout had again entered. She was overwhelmed
at the statement. Her husband was one of the over-
seers of the poor, and she didn't know how many,
many times he had told her, that the paupers were
leading a very comfortable life of it for them. " He
always said, however," she continued, " that they were
a rather depraved set of beings, and past hope, that
we couldn't do much, if anything to improve them."

" Mrs. Stout," said her friend, " I have been among
them often. I called there to-day, on my ride here. I
know that they are in the most pitiable plight in the
world. It is true that many of them are morally
depraved, and almost hopeless of good, perhaps entirely
so as they now are, but among them there are very
decent persons, whose greatest crime is that they are
unmeasurably poor, and friendless, and weak-mifided.
They are as low in poverty as any body can ever get in
this world, being wholly dependent on charity for every
comfort or necessary they enjoy. We have by great
exertion induced Captain Bunco to allow us to take
home one of the sick men, Mr. Boyce — you don't know
him, do you ?"

Every body was silent — no one seemed to recollect
the name.

" True," she went on to say, " you don't know him.
But in our village library, and on more than one of your
parlor tables, ladies, I have seen a popular work, of which
he is the author — at the present time, without a change
of clothes, without flannels, without good shoes, or hat,
with nearly worn out coat and pants, in poor feeble
health, and weak in mind, Boyce is one of the paupers.
We have him now under our roof."

136 NEW England's chattels ; or,

Mrs. Hays raised both her hands and eyes in astonish-
ment, so did Mrs. Newton, Miss Flush, Miss Lincoln, and
every other lady, for Mrs. Haddock enjoyed their confi-
dence and respect. They all again, and again, protest-
ed their utter ignorance of any such circumstance of
poverty among them, and showered on Mrs. Haddock
their thanks for taking care of him. They had no idea
there was any particular suffering there, the more espe-
cially as Captain Bunce was said to be a very humane
sort of a man.

" It is true of them, my friends," said Mrs. Haddock,
" that they all want warmer under-clothing than they
now have, and warmer bedding. They are very poorly
protected against the approaching cold weather, having
nothing to wear, that is different from their fall and sum-
mer clothing. And we know that such feeble and aged
persons cannot live so."

The conversation was interrupted, by the arrival of
the pastor Avith his wife. The usual salutations were
forthwith gone into, and a happy smile diffused itself
over the group, as the new comers exerted themselves
to say something agreeable to every one. Nor had
they been long present, ere Mrs. Stout again, and again
appearing, now announced 'tea.' The whole company
gathered around the well loaded tables of Mrs. Stout,
and Mr. Rodman, their pastor, implored the Divine
blessing. Then as afterwards in his prayer, he was
careful to remember the poor, on whom he implored the
best mercies of heaven. But it was evident to Mrs.
Haddock, and to nearly every other lady present, whose
mind had been aroused to think of the paupers, that
his petitions had no reference whatever to them, but to
the icortliier poor in the families about town, or to the
great family of poverty, represented, not in the tangible

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 137

poor-houses, but in the mere idea of poverty, which the
mind is wont to indulge on that subject. " "We in our
prayers for the poor," thought she, " pray either for
those we cannot reach, a class of humanity in the ab-
stract, or for those among us, but little our inferiors, to
assist whom confers honor on ourselves. We overlook
the poor who cannot recompense us again."

When a fit opportunity oifered, she again brought up
the subject, and particularly to the notice of her pastor.

" Well," said he, " this is a singular state of things in-
deed. I have long been aware of the incongruity of our
poor-house system and our Christian benevolence, but I
have never seen the thing exactly right, have never felt,
acted, prayed aright over it."

" We have all, Mr. Rodman, too much overlooked this
class of our fellow-beings. If they are old offenders and
morally vile, they are still worthy of Christian commis-
eration and effort. And certainly there ought to be
some arrangement to separate the more depraved and
hardened of both sexes from the society of those who
are simply the victims of misfortune, without any loss of
virtuous and moral principle — and especially ought the
more youthful, the boys and girls, to be kept separate
from the older inmates who are vulgar and profane."

Mrs. Haddock told the ladies that if they were willing
to devote any time to relieve the wants of the poor by
sewing, she should be happy to unite with them, and
would invite them to her house. Several professed a
willingness to do so. But Miss Flush thought the ladies
had better finish the missionary box first, and in this
opinion some others warmly coincided. Mrs. Shire, a
little aside, declared that as for the old paupers, they
were a miserable, swearing, drinking set any way, and
slic had seen enough of them. Many of the ladies, how-

138 NEW England's chattels ; or,

ever, promised immediately to send Mrs. Haddock par-
cels of second-hand clothing for them, and this promise
was not entirely broken. She was able to make several
of the poor creatures far more comfortable than they had
been, through the liberality of her friends.

But Mrs. Haddock was not permitted to have the whole
ground to herself. By-and-bye in came Mr. Ben. Stout
himself, first selectman of Crampton, overseer of the
poor, etc., etc. Of course Mr. Stout knew every thing
that any body else did about the paupers, and a little
more — certainly much more than any lady of the town
could be supposed to.

Rev. Mr. Rodman appealed to Mr. Stout in behalf of
the poor, and asked if something more could not be done
for them.'

" As for that matter," said he in reply, " there is a
great deal of what we may call mawkish sympathy ex-
pressed in behalf of these paupers. Now we must admit
that they are human beings. This is an evident truth.
Secondly : They are poor and miserable. No one can
deny this. Thirdly : They have made themselves so —
almost equally a self-evident truth. Fourthly : They
' need help. Now, in my opinion, these are the important
points in their history, and cover the whole ground.
Out of this summary grows the following idea, viz., ' It's
the duty of the town to support the paupers.' We come,
then, to view the matter from this very clear point, and
we see that what is the duty of the town, is not the duty
of the individual. So, as an individual, I feel no respon-
sibility in this case. As a member of the community, I
give my vote to lay a tax sufficient to answer all the rea-
sonable charges of this unfriended class of persons, and
commit the keeping of them, for a valuable consideration,
to A, B, or C, as the case may be. If, then, I have done

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 139

my duty as a man of the community, what further call
can there in reason be made on me, eh ?"

" Ah — well — er — " said the minister, being a little be-
fogged.

" Yes, you see it's just here. They are hopelessly
poor, and w-ant boosting all the time. Now we can't be
always running after them. They are done with. Soci-
ety can't expect any thing further from them. And all
we can do, you know, Mrs, Haddock, it's about so, after
all — all we can do, is to put them where they'll be, on the
whole, in a comfortable sort of a condition ; eh, say so ?"

Mrs. Haddock couldn't bear that their clergyman
should carry away just that impression of the paupers
from so respectable a source likewise, and she answered
Mr. Stout as a Christian woman should.

" But, my dear sir, these are our own fellow-beings.
They are poor and dependent, I admit, and are, some of
them, even vicious and ill-deserving ; but ours is a duty
not so easily surrendered to the town, as 3'ou seem to
regard it. We certainly, as a town, are in duty bound
to take care of them, and to show them such care as is
worthy the name ; but as individuals who receive daily
mercies from God, and mercies we do not, nor can de-
serve, we are bound to reach out to them the helping-
hand, and to make their path to the grave as comfortable
as lies in our power."

Mr. Rodman assented to this. He now began to get
the fog a little from his eyes, and his heart began to re-
spond to the earnest pleadings of gospel mercy. But
Esq. Stout maintained that we might feel too deeply,
and do too much. " The fact is, Mrs. Haddock, where'll
you stop ? There must be some stopping-place, you
know. , Now give old Tucker and Polly a new dress to-
day, and they'll want another to-morrow. Give Jims a

140 NEW England's c battels ; or,

new suit this fall, and he must have another next spring.
And so you go on : no stopping-place, you see, if you
once begin."

" Then ought we to begin at all, Mr. Stout, if we can
not pursue our intentions to the end ? I do not see how
the town may feel liberated from a full and proper care
of the poor, if it assumes it at the first."

" It is something so," said the Squire. " And I — am —
rather of the opinion — that is — I have been so — that
you Avill find, on inquiry, that our poor folks are, on the
ivliole — you understand, we must lump these things, you
know — about as well cared for as the poor ever are — or
can be. It costs the town seven hundred dollars to take
care of them : that's a large sum in these days. And
really, Mrs. Haddock, what do they want ?"

This was said with such an earnest manner, and be-
trayed so true ignorance of their real condition, that she
replied, directl}- —

" They uxint the very things the toivn pays for T

The countenance of Squire Stout immediately fell.
His conscience told him she was right, and that the
town had bargained for the support of its helpless poor,
to take suitable care of them — meaning good and kind
care — but that its chief desire, after all, had been to
hire them out, so as to cost the town the least possible
sum, so as to be sure of hearing nothing further of
them.

" Yes," said slie — and all the other ladies listened, and
now and then said a few words — " the town, Mr. Stout,
Welshes them kept in a suitable manner, and pays seven
hundred dollars that they may be so kept. But is it
fulfilling the contract to pinch them in fuel, bedding,
nursing, and medicine, and to feed them on the ^coarsest
of beef, and the very worst pieces of the slaughter-

- LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 141

house? on unmerchantable ham and pork, on tainted
butter, and food, in general, revolting to the taste ?
But the poor here, and every where in similar circum-
stances, are so kept."

" Oh — well — hang it, Mrs. Haddock — but then, you
see — they are a plaguy ugly set to have any thing to
do with. And God — in mercy to them, as I think — has
made them less sensitive to these matters than other
folks are, so they wouldn't mind it at all — as we may
say — if — that is, I rather think so — if somebody didn't
tell them of it. Don't you think so, Mr. Rodman ?"

Like all clergymen, Rev. Mr. Rodman felt himself a
sort of town pauper, dependent on the salary which the
good will of his people gave him. That salary was small
enough, in all good reason, as he well knew, to meet his
wants ; but it was better than none, and he honestly
believed it was fairly his due. Squire Stout Avas one of
his particular friends, and he did not like to differ from
him in a point where the Squire might be supposed to
have some sensitiveness. On the other hand, Mrs. Had-
dock was also one of his particularly kind friends, and a
lady of very great superiority of character. He did not
know at first what to say, and he was on the point of
taking the usual course of half this and half that, attempt-
ing some pacificatory remarks, when he encountered
the mildly beaming eye and calm, expressive countenance
of his own wife, who sat at her ease among the ladies, a
little at the other side of the room. Mr. Rodman was
not the only one who, in like circumstances, has felt a
wife's support ; even though she may not offer a word,
her look has often been enough to strengthen the heart
of one who trusteth in her. And so Mr. Rodman, as he
encountered the calm, yet speaking countenance of his
wife, read there in an instant his duty, and replied, as
anv m;n ought —

142 NEW ENG. aND's CHATTELS ; OR,

" I think, Squire Stout, that it is our duty to befriend
them, to repent of our indifference to them, and for the
future, to treat them as though they were bone of our
bone and flesh of our flesh. They certainly deserve
from this Christian community every degree of atten-
tion consistent with our means ; and so far are they, in
my opinion, from wanting in sensitiveness on this jDoint,
they feel, more than any body else can feel for them,
their degradation and sufferings."

Mrs. Rodman rewarded her husband with a smile and
a tear. Mrs. Haddock and Mr. Stout prolonged the
conversation awhile, the latter affirming that there must
be some mistake in Mrs. Haddock's estimate of their
sufferings and destitution, because Captain Bunco was
a merciful and humane man. He however said that he
would, some time or other, call down and see him, and
look over the establishment.

After this, the ladies became interested in some vil-
lage gossip, chatted merrily with the gentlemen who
arrived, estimated their missionary work, as usual, at a
high figure, and laid many a plan for the future building
up of their society through the instrumentality of the
needle. Every body said it had been a most interesting
society-day, and so one by one the party left.

" And who are all these grand folks, \ wonder, flour-
ishing about with their fur caps, and bonnets, and buf-
falo skins, and fine sleighs and tinkling bells ? "Wonder
if they ever think of poor folks ? Wonder if they ever
was poor ? Wonder if they ever had a father or mother
to take care of them ? They don't care for me, I know ;
nor do I care for them. They are proud, I know ; they
are rich, I s'pose. But who makes them rich ? Wonder
if they'd be rich if I were to burn down their houses ?
Good mind to ; they don't prize their houses. They

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-KOUSE. 143

don't deserve them, neither, as I can see. What do
they care for poor Bojce or aunt Prescott ? "Who cared
for Joe ? Nobody. Mag says they are mean. Who
cares for Jims ? Who gives him any thing but kicks
and sneers? Jims's as good as any on 'em. Here's a
match I I'm almost minded to burn down this shed and
store ! I can set it a-fire — nobody'll see me — nobody'll
care. Here's some straw ; it'll blaze in half a minute.
I will !"

The poor neglected Jims — for it was he — strayed off
from home, and shivering under a shed, among the
horses, w^here he had a view of the people going to and
coming from this festive society, thus soliloquized and
reasoned. The boy had never done any thing so bad as
this which he now began to contemplate. He had com-
mitted little thefts, and been guilty of sundry smaller
wicked actions ; but now he took the match in his hand,
impelled by the spirit of evil, and stealthily approached
the corner of the shed where he had observed the loose
straw. He was acting wildly, against his conscience,
but in accordance with his hatred and revenge. Just
as he stooped down to light the match, the low growd of
a dog half covered in the straw arrested him, and caused
him to start back.

" Poor dog !" said he, " I don't want to disturb you, I
wouldn't burn your house down for the world. You and
I are somewhat alike. And see how the poor dog
whines now ! He seems glad that I won't hurt him.
Perhaps the dog know^s me ! Wonder if he's heard my
thoughts 1 Dogs, they say, are knowing." And then a
rooster on the beam overhead crowed, and the hens rus-
tled as though disturbed ; and another dog in the neigh-
borhood set up a piteous, moaning bark. Jims was
startled. He cast the match into the snow, and pulling

144 NEW England's chattels ; or,

his cap over his face, and his loose roundabout closely to
his body, rushed out into the open air, and as fast as pos-
sible made his way to the poor-house.

Arrived there, he threw himself panting on the rude
bed in the kitchen, by the side of Bill, and rolling him-
self all up that no body might see him, after a long, long
time, in which he vowed he would never do anything so
wicked again if he lived a thousand years, he fell asleep.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 145

CHAPTER XIII.

Pike. Water is the natural element with which to oppose fire. The circumstances
must be quite unfavorable, therefore, wh€n it remains unextinguished even in
the presence of this agent.

" What do yon think the town of Crampton 's coming
to, when a poor tax of two per cent, isn't enough to keep
the paupers, eh ?" inquired Mr. George Shire of his
neighbors, Mr. Peter Newcombe and Timothy Smith.

" For my part," said Mr. Newcombe, " I say it's a pkguy
shame. If two per cent, on the grand list of Crampton
ain't enough to support the wretches, let them get their
living elsewhere, or beg or starve — two per cent. 1 Why
that's enough to buy a farm. It raises eight hundred
dollars, and I regard it all as about so much thrown
away."

" Yes," said Mr. Smith, ^' all them folks down thar is a
pack of scamps. They's had good times once, and now
'cause they're poor the town of Crampton must jest fork
over and pay expenses. It's darned hard for poor and
honest citizens to pull out their own eye teeth for sich
stuff."

" WeH, they say," continued Shire, " that we ve got to
come to it and pay more."

" Who says so ?" inquired Smith.

" There's Haddock, you know" —

" Haddock ! Go to thunder," said Newcombe.

" Haddock and Phillips are always grumbling," said
Smith.

7

146 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" The women are wide awake, they say," said Shire.

" Blast the w^omen, I say," said Newcombe.

" They're always meddling about things they don't un-
derstand," said Smith. " But I can tell you of one avo-
man who don't go for more charity to paupers, that's
Mrs. Smith."

" Good I" said Newcombe. " But my wife has got in-
doctrinated some how or other, and thinks ifs a sin (I)
to show charity to any body else under the sun before
we look out for our own poor."

" Pshaw ! pshaw ! Got that notion at the sewing so-
ciety. These sewing societies, I begin to think, are bad
things," said Shire. " They lead the women to ' go it
blind' into benevolence, and if any body says a word to
the contrary, why he's little better than an infidel, even
if he belongs to the church."

" You can't get along now-a-days," said Smith, " with-
out running every thing into religion. The minister
and the church take it up. I shouldn't wonder if our
minister got hold of this thing next, and went to preach-
ing on it."

" Why, he has already got hold of it," said Shire, " my
wife tells me that he and Squire Ben had the warm-
est talk on it, at the sewing society there, she ever
heard."

" Well, ministers had hettcr let such things alone,^' said
Newcombe. '* What business is it to them?"

" It ain't gospel preaching," said the other, " to find
fault with the town about paupers, ha ! ha ! ha !"

(All.) "Ha! ha! ha!'

" No, by thunder," said Smith. •' Guess he's a man of
too much sense, to bring it into the pulpit, any how."

" If he does bring it into the pulpit, my word for't the
town won't stand it," said Shire. " I kept the poor one

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 147

year myself, you know ? Glad enough, was I to get rid
of them. They're a squalid, dirty, profane, drunken,

broken-down set of old c s, as ever trod the face of

the earth. As for deserving more help and a world of
pity, now I know better.' And I'm the last man that'll
vote another cent to keep them."

" I'm another," said Smith.

" And I, ditto," said Newcombe.

" There goes that little scamp, Jims Tucker," said
Shire. " He's off now on some plundering excursion, I'll
bet you a dollar. Hulloa ! Jims. How goes the times
at Captain Bunco's, eh ?"

Jims, a poorly dressed tall boy of twelve years of age,
with a slouching hat, and a hanging look about him, drew
up at this address, and feeing Mr. Shire, looked him
straight in the eye, and answered, "First rate, sir, got a
flogging this morning."

" Got a flogging, did you, what's that for, eh ?"

" Oh, for grumbling and sauce."

" Then }ou think you deserved it, eh ? Well, it's half
to own up, Jims. Who flogged you ?"'

" Well, Captain Bunco ended it."

" ' Ended it,' who began it, pray?"

" Mistress Bunce herself, said she'd teach me to hook
chickens, ha! ha! ha! good."

'"Hook chickens?"

"Yes— Why ?"

" You don't steal chickens, I hope ?"

" How in the world shall we get 'um then ? We don't
own any birds. We've got no money to buy 'um. How
bhall we get 'um ?"

" Then let them alone."

" Yes, and the foxes would steal them then."

" And do you call yourself as mean as a fox ?"

148 NEW England's chattels ; or.

" I wish I was half as cunning, by George, wouldn't!
have a chicken now and then : golly, I would."

" Well, Jims, you have enough to wear, and enough
to eat, now-a-days, I believe."

" All I've got or want to wear, is what you see on me,
and we have every day some of Savage's salt beef, that
wants pounding on an anvil under a trip hammer, before
it can be eaten. The old sow died last week, and we're
smoking her shoulders and hams for us now. The Cap-
tain says we need good, hearty, substantial food."

All the men laughed heartily at this, but Jims was
sober.

" Where you going now, Jims ?" inquired Shire.

" Going a fishing," said the boy.

"'Fishing?'"

" Yes, up to the old pond, through the ice."

" What for ?"

" For Mr. Boyce — he that's sick, you know."

" Boyce ! sick I and so forth, and so forth," ejaculated
Shire. " Who's Boyce, pray ?"

" Don't you know Boyce, the great author ?"

" Well, if I do, I've forgotten about him. How long's
he been there ? How old's he ?"

" He's been there two or three years, I s'pose. He
ain't very old — not over thirty or fifty, I reckon."

" Oh, well, I don't seem to recollect the dog. He's a
state-prison fellow, ain't he ?"

" No, he ain't a ' state-prison fellow,' nor a 'dog,' either,
you old scamp. He knows as much as a dozen like you,
and Mr. Haddock's trying to get him well."

" Just none of your sauce, boy, to me," said Shire,
shaking him by the collar, "or I'll give you another
flogging that'll make you stand round. Do you hear ?
I know you of old, you little villain I"

LIFE IX THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 149

Jims gave a sudden spring as Shire said this ; and
leaving a portion of his garment in his grasp, fled out of
his reach, and catching up a stick or club that lay on
the snow, hurled it at him with all the strength of his
arm. Shire was obliged to dodge quickly to avoid it ;
and before he could seize and throw it back, the wild
boy had dodged behind a house, and was swiftly bound-
ing away over the fields.

" A vicious, good-for-nothing young devil !" said Shire.
" I know him well, and his mother before him."

" Who was she ?" inquired Newcombe.

" She was old Tucker's daughter, Annie Sue, who died
in the poor-house the year the paupers were in my
hands. She was a roving, hard thing, and Jims is just
like her. Somebody's his father, but nobody owns him
I believe. He's a young villain, any how."

In an hour from this, Jims had reached the frozen
pond, and with a hatchet, concealed under his round-
about, had cut a hole in the ice large enough to fish.
He had borrowed a fish-line of a boy in the neighbor-
hood, and determined to catch some trout for Boyce, and
take them to him at Mr. Haddock's.

Long and carefully the boy watched for his wily vic-
tims ; but at length he caught two or three fine fish,
weighing, one of them, more than half a pound ; and
ere nightfall, he had reached in safety the house of Mr.
Haddock.

It is unnecessary to say that poor Boyce rejoiced to
see them. Every body admired the trout, and Jims felt
a thousand times rewarded for his long, cold tramp and
watching to procure them. Jims received something
more than thanks, too, and was sent home only after
eating a hearty supper, which he devoured with the
eagerness of a hungry wolf.

150 NEW ENGLAND'S CHATTELS ; OR,

It was past nine o'clock when the boy left Mr. Had-
dock's. He hurried on towards the poor-house ; and as
the snow^ was not deep, took a cross cut that led him
close by Captain Bunco's lower barn, filled with hay and
grain. Young cattle were in the yard, and a well-beaten
path led right from it to the house. Just as the boy
was about to turn the corner of the large stone wall and
get into the path, he observed a man stealthily creeping
through the bars, and then hastily hurrying along the
path towards the house of Captain Bunco. The night
was not so dark but that Jims could see his precise form
and movements. He knew in a moment who the man
w^as ; and to avoid him, made a new path for himself to
the main road in another direction, through the untrod-
den snow. As he leaped over the fence into it, he en-
countered Dan slowly plodding his way homeward, with
a bag of cold victuals slung over his shoulder, the pro-
ceeds of a day's work of begging.

The two paupers made their way into the poor-house,
and raking open the hot ashes in the fire-place, were
warming and drying their feet when they were startled
with the cry of " Fire !"

This is always, especially in the country, a very exci-
ting, as it is there a somewhat unusual alarm. It awa-
kens from sleep every body in great terror, and all, both
men and women, hurry in the greatest trembling to the
scene of the conflagration. And when there, they do lit-
tle besides look on and utter exclamations of surprise
and sorrow at the occurrence. The alarming cry of
" Fire ! fire ! fire !" began in the neighborhood of it, soon
had its echo and reecho on every side. And away it
rolled to the village, and soon the bells of the town took
it up, and all Crampton was astir and pell-mell for the
locality of the startling scene. Riders in sleighs and on

LIFE m THE NOKTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 151

horseback hurried away at fullest speed, crying, as they
rode and ran, " fire ! fire ! fire !" Men and women and
boys hurried along on foot, venturing opinions as to
where and what the fire was, and how and when it broke
out, who caused it, and what the motive was. And in a
very short space of time there were four or five hundred
people gathered around the burning pile, who could do
little else than look on as the flames fiercely consumed
the building, reducing it in an incredibly short time
with all its contents to ashes.

The building thus destroyed was Captain Bunco's
lower barn, filled with hay and grain, and having some
young cattle in the yard, which were driven out through
the bars by the first who arrived on the premises. So
the loss was confined to the hay and grain, and the build-
ing. There Avas an insurance on the whole, but Captain
Bunco thought only about half enough to save him.

Before many of the people had arrived on the ground,
some curious persons, always on the alert to spy out and
detect the parties in transactions involving criminal con-
duct, had observed in the snow the fresh tracks made
that very evening by Jims, in his return home from Mr.
Haddock's.

Rumors were of course rife that the fire was the work
of an incendiary. Captain Bunce knew of no body visit-
ing the barn that evening with a lantern or any light
whatsoever, and it was generally conceded that the barn
had been fired by some one with evil intentions.

It was very easy, of course, to identify the foot-tracks
of Jims, and he was suspected and believed to have
caused the fire.

The agents of the insurance company came the next
day on to the ground, and settled with Captain Bunce
the amount of damages he should receive, if every thing

152 NEW England's chattels ; or,

appeared satisfactory in regard to the manner of the fire.
The policy of insurance was for nine hundred dollars,
three hundred on the barn, three hundred on the hay,
and thr^e hundred on the grain. As the Captain couldn't
positively swear to the amount of hay and grain, he was
content to call the whole loss seven hundred dollars.
This showed that he was fully insured.

Poor Jims 1 What a dismal condition he was now in !
HoAV many circumstances all lay flatly against him 1 The
motive ? Revenge for the flogging he had received, and
for other instances of ill treatment. The proof? His
absence in the evening ; his return just before the fire
occurred ; his track in the snow to the barn-yard wall,
and thence to the street ; his own confession that he re-
turned at that hour across the field ; the testimony of
Mr. Haddock, unwillingly given, that he left his house
at the time specified.

Jims had now enough to sadden him, and almost drive
him to despair. He was shut up by himself, and com-
pelled to reflect long and bitterly on his unhappy con-
dition. But there were two sources of comfort that he
enjoyed, and they contributed very much to carry him
calmly through his trial. The first was the full con-
sciousness of his innocence. He knew, absolutely, that
of the crime with which he w^as charged he was not
guilty. The second was the reflection that, only a short
time previously, he had made a firm resolve, having
escaped a temptation, that he would never do an act of
this nature if he were to live a thousand years. So it
had never entered his thoughts to fire the barn.

At the very first of the suspicions against Jims, Mr.
Haddock had sought him out, and in a private interview
had draw^n from him a full recital of the whole day's
history, including the circumstance of seeing a man

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 153

stealing out of the barn-yard as he was ready to pass it.
He also obtained the name of the person, but enjoined
it on Jims by no means to mention it, or the fact of see-
ing him, till he should direct. Mr. Haddock was fully
persuaded of the boy's innocence. How to make it ap-
pear, was a work of some study.

154 NEW ex^'iland's CHAZTELS . OK,

CHAPTER XIV.

The Little Incendiary. Be very careful how you stand up for an Incendiary. The
Partaker is as bad as the Thief, you linow.

Of course, the next two or three days there was a
good deal of talk about the burning of Captain Bunce's
barn. That it was the work of an incendiary, no one
seemed to entertain the least doubt ; while the general
opinion was equally decisive, that the cause of all the
trouble was the vicious young pauper, Jims Tucker.

Before the insurance company was willing to pay over
even the seven hundred dollars agreed on as the amount
of damage to the Captain, they insisted on an examina-
tion before a justice of the peace. Accordingly, although
Captain Bunce was willing to waive this, and rather
thought by taking up with seven hundred it would not
be pressed — the Captain shrinking from public notori-
ety ! also being a merciful and humane man ! But an
examination was ordered, and it was held, with all due
legal forms, before Squire Ben Stout.

The object of the insurance company by the examina-
tion, was simply to ascrrtain whether Captain Bunce
was directly or indirectly concerned in firing the barn —
not to ascertain the guilty party, if other than he, and
procure a conviction. And they, in prosecuting their
inquiries, were especially anxious to save themselves
the payment of the loss.

Accordingly, Captain Bunce was called to the stand,
and put through a very rigid examination.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-DOUSE. 155

" You were insured, Captain Bunce, in the

companj, on jour barn, for nine hundred dollars ?" said
Lawyer Ketchum.

" On the barn and contents — yes."

" True — 3"es. Well, sir, would this cover the whole
value, at any one time, since the policy was made out ?"

Lawyer Tools objected. This was " a leading ques-
tion involving Captain Bunce's private pecuniary con-
cerns : it could not properly come up."

Lawyer Ketchum wished " to know what this investi-
gation was ordered for, if not to look into a question of
a pecuniary nature. Was not the whole subject a pure
case of dollars and cents?"

The Justice thought " the question must be answer-
ed." So Captain Bunce replied, that " it might cover it
and it might not."

" Precisely, then, you think it might cover it ?"

" Yes, sir, and it might not."

" What do you mean by that. Captain Bunce ?"

" Why, that if I had fifteen hundred dollars' worth in
the barn, it wouldn't cover it."

" That seems highly probable. But did you ever have
fifteen hundred dollars' worth of hay and grain in the
barn at one time ?"

" Well — I should f ly — that — it was rather — rather
doubtful."

" Doubtful, eh ?"

" He means to say " said Lawyer Tools.

" No matter what he means to say ; lue understand
him," said the other lawyer.

" Oh, well, Ketchum, give a man a fair chance," grum-
bled Tools.

" Then what do you mean. Captain Bunce, when yor
say it might not cover the loss ?"

156 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Well, that possibly there might be more stuff in the
barn than the policy would cover."

" That is, more than nine hundred dollars," said Ket-
chum.

" Now, Captain Bunco, be so good as to tell us how
much hay there was in the barn — how much rye, how
much corn, how much oats and straw, and so forth."

Captain Bunco couldn't recollect precisely, but ac-
cording to his best belief and knowledge, there were
twenty tons of hay, one hundred bushels of rye, two
hundred and fifty bushels of corn, and one hundred and
seventy-five bushels of oats. The Captain stuck at this
all the way through, having that very morning cast up
this amount, as making out the sum of nine hundred
dollars, calling the barn worth three hundred.

Had he sold any ? None of any account. Had he fed
out any hay ? Very little. Why did he offer to take
seven hundred ? To do the right thing with the com-
pany.

" Captain Bunce !" (A long pause.)

" Yes, sir," said the Captain, looking ready to answer.

" Well — did you on the night of the fire have any oc-
casion to go to the barn with a cigar, lantern, match, or
other lighted material, or means of fire ?"

" Not to my best recollection."

" You did not even go to the barn that day or even-
ing, eh ?"

" I presume I went to it in the course of the day."

" Yes, but not in the evening ? Not after dark, you
are sure ?"

Lawyer Tools interposed to say that this was crowd-
ing his client and friend, Captain Bunce, and he should
object to the question.

Justice Stout considered the matter, and rather thought

LIFE IX tiil: xorthern poor-house. 157

Captain Bunce must, on the whole, answer that ques-
tion. Lawyer Tools thought that it might be best to
call a man guilty and prove him so afterwards.

Captain Bunce said he did go there after dark.

" Yes ; you say you did go there after dark. Now,
Captain Bunce, did you or did you not take any fire
with you to that barn ?"

" Not any at all, sir ; I went down to see if all was
safe, and did not go into the barn. I often — generally
do so."

" Did any of your family go down in the evening ?"

" Not to my knowledge."

" Did any of the paupers — I believe you have the town
poor on your hands, Captain Bunce — did any of the
poor folks go down ?"

" We shall show tliat,^^ said Lawyer Tools.

" Never mind, sir, perhaps ive can," retorted Ketchum.

" Gentlemen may as well pursue a straightforward
course," interposed Justice Ben Stout.

" Well, Captain Bunce, have you any idea how that
fire occurred?"

" Of course he has an ' idea,^ " said Tools. " What
evidence is that ?"

" Yes, I have an ' idea,' " said Captain Bunce.

" Never mind the idea — never mind that now," said
Ketchum.

" Have you any well grounded proof that the barn
was set on fire ?"

Captain Bunce said he had, the best in the world.
He believed, he almost knew it was set on fire by Jims,
the town pauper, because he (the Captain) had flogged
him. The boy's tracks were seen in the snow. He had
been absent all day and all the evening until just about
the time of the fire. He had been afraid of the boy for
some time.

158 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Did you see the bov that dav after you floo-fred him ?"

" No, sir. He ran away."

" Do you know where he went to ?"

" He went up town some where."

" Where ?"

" Went, I belieye, a-fishing."

*' And was gone all day ?"

" Yes."

" Then you didn't see him that day at all?"

" Not till the fire, of course."

" Of course — of course ! You didn't see him go to the
barn or come from it that day or evening, till the alarm
of fire?"

" That's all, that's all ; sit down. Captain, sit down ;
sit down, sir."

" Stop a moment. Captain," said Lawyer Tools. " How
do you account for Jims' haying burned the barn ?"

"Why, just out of spite. You see the boy often gets
a flogging — he's a hard boy to get along with any how — ■
and we flogged him that morning for stealing chickens."

" And he set the barn on fire from revenge ?"

" Yes, sir ; undoubtedly."

" Undoubtedly !" said Lawyer Tools.

" You say he did set the barn on fire ?" said Lawyer
Ketchum.

" Well — er — that is — ' undouhtedly' he did — yes, sir."

" With that qualification, Ketchum, that's all," said
Tools. " Ain't you satisfied ?"

" I am not exactly," replied the other.

" You say you didn't see the boy all day till the fire
in the evening, yet swear that he undoubtedly burned
the barn. Now what proof have you of this? It must
be very strong, Captain Bunce."

Here Mr. Tools was highly incensed. He said it was

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 159

a mere professional dodge and snare. It was going all
round Robin Hood's barn to prove that Captain Bunco's
barn wasn't burned by a boy that every body Icneto
burned it ; and burned it at no connivance of Captain
Bunco, but purely and of his own instincts from a desire
of revenge. Mr. Tools never saw a question so plain as
this made so complete a fog of. For his part, he hoped
that the investigation would be kept in due bounds of
law and evidence. His time was too precious to throw
away, and his ideas of professional practice too sensitive
to relish fun and stratagem, where character and pro-
perty were at stake, as in the instance before them.

The business of the " investigation" then again went
on. Mr. Ketchum said he was a straightforward man,
and only wanted to get at the truth.

" Proceed, gentlemen," said Justice Stout. " What
proof have you. Captain Bunco, that the boy burned
the barn, and that he alone burned it ?"

" The marks in the snow, the fact of his returning at
the time, his ill will towards me, and so forth."

" You saw those foot-prints yourself?"

"I did."

" You knew when he returned ?"

" I saw him at the fire."

Captain Bunce was permitted to sit down.

Mr. Smith swore to his encounter with the boy in the
morning. Dick Bunce and Elisha and Mrs. Bunce swore
to his being flogged, and -leaving in a pet. Dick was
sure the boy burned the barn — was ready to swear to
it ; none too good to do it, nor any thing else. Dick
talked loud, and a great deal. He said the boy was
gone all day and all the evening.

" Were you at home in the evening?" inquired Lavv-
ver Ketchum.

160 NEW England's chattels :m,

" I — yes — no, I was not all the evening."

" How, then, do you knoiv the boy was absent?"

" By what others tell me — every body says so."

" Yes, but this is not your own knowledge. Did you
return home that evening ?"

" Yes, sir, I returned home, of course."

" Before the fire, or at the alarm of fire ?"

" Oh, I don't just recollect now — yes, after the fire."

" You did not return in season to go down to the barn
to feed the stock, or any thing of that sort ?"

" Oh, no, of course."

" Call in colored Bill," said Lawyer Ketchum.

" Bill, w^ere any of the poor folks gone from home that
day of the fire, except Jims ?"

" Yes, Dan was gone, Mag was gone, John Tucker and
Pol was gone."

" Did they come back that night ?"

" Dan come back with Jims, and the rest come back
some time, don't know when."

" Did you see Captain Bunce that evening, Bill ?"

Mr. Tools objected.

Mr. Ketchum persisted.

Mr. Stout wasn't certain — finally allowed.

" "Wall, I saw him about eight o'clock, I guess."

" You must not guess here," said Mr. Tools.

" Wall, then, I hiow:'

" How so ?" inquired Ketchuir.

" He come into the poor-house, and asked where all
the folks was ?"

" What did you tell him ?"

" I told him Roxy was gone off with Dick. Ha ! ha !
ha !" The negro's laugh was communicated to others.

" Ha ! ha — " began the crowd.

" Order !" shouted the justice, " there must he order /"

LIFE IX THE NOETHERN" POOR-HOUSE. 161

" What did he say to that?"

" He said Dick was hazeing after that girl too much."

Justice Stout promptly put down all manifestations of
excitement in the crowd, and Mr. Ketchum inquired if
Captain Bunce appeared anxious to see Dick.

Lawyer Tools objected — objection sustained.

" Well, Bill, can you tell me whether Dick came home
that evening ?"

" He did, sir, he came home before the fire."

" You mean at the fire," quickly suggested Lawyer
Tools.

" No, sir-ee, I mean half an hour before the fire," said
the negro stoutly.

" Why, there must be some error here," said Tools.

" Keep quiet, Mr. Tools," said Ketchum, " we shall get
at the thing by degrees : don't fly into a heat now, don't."

Mr. Tools looked flushed, but sat down.

" He came home half an hour before the fire. How do
you know ?"

" Because he said it was half-past eight, and Jims and
Dan and Mag and Pol and Tucker were out, when they'd
ought to be home, bed, and sleep — wondered if any of
'em had gone down to the barn to sleep."

Mr. Tools, with some excitement, requested the jus-
tice to observe that this testimony was flatly in contra-
diction with that of Mr. Richard Bunce, wdio testified
that he did not return till after the fire, etc., etc.

Justice Stout took a note of it.

Mr. Ketchum said it was his liberty to show, by a dis-
interested witness, wherein the witnesses on the part of
Captain Bunce had testified erroneously. Mr. Tools
shook his head, Mr. Stout considered the matter by look-
ing first at one party and then at the other over his
spectacles. ,

I(i2 NEW ENGLAND'S CHATTELS ; OR,

" Go on, Bill," said Justice Stout.

" Haven't anything more to say, sir — except this, Dick
told me he believed Jims or some of them would get
into State's prison yet. What for ?*I said. For burn-
ing barns or something else."

" A c d lie !" roared a voice from the crowd. It

was Richard Bunce.

" Undoubtedly !" said lawyer Tools.

" What is the point, gentlemen ?" inquired the jus-
tice.

" It is this, may it please the Court," said Mr. Ket-
chum, " that this witness swears to a conversation with
Richard about the ' burning of barns,' evidently think-
ing of his father's barns, half an hour before the event,
or before any body else had apparently thought of such
an event 1"

" The witness ought not to be interrupted," said the
justice, " though he should remember to speak only the
truth and what he knows."

Bill said he didn't pretend to know anything. He
only said just what he saw " with his natural eyes and
lieard with his natural ears." So he was dismissed.

Now it came for Jims to be examined. The boy look-
ed very much abashed and shy when brought forward
■ — you would say at once guilty — and how could he be
otherwise than guilty ? Did not all the evidence lean
against him ? Was he not friendless too, and suspected
of every crime committed in the neighborhood ?

But Jims' appearance was rather the natural awk-
wardness of one brought up in an inferior condition,
who had all his life been abused and kept in the dust ;
it was more this than the effect of guilt. He was op-
pressed by the scrowling look of the people, and by the
consciousness of their verdict already made up against

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 163

him, as well as by the circumstances all harmonizing to
convict him, but not by any sense of his criminality in
the case — so he showed as good a face as he, poor boy,
felt able to, and several times made such replies to the
lawyer's interrogatories as to rather interest the spec-
tators in his favor.

He admitted the flogging and the cause of it. His
evil temper ; his brush with Mr. Shire, but told them
Mr. Shire inflamed him by calling Mr. Boyce names,
and then by shaking him and threatening to flog him
again. The people all looked at Shire rather search-
ingly and inquiringly.

" Well, it was something so, by thunder, boy," said
Shire, in the crowd.

" It was, eh.?" said Law^^er Tools, jocosely.

Jims told his story till he got to the corner of the
barn-yard wall. Here the lawyers and the justice, and
all the people were very intent to get hold of every
word he spoke, and of every idea and shade of thought
the poor boy had.

" You say," said Tools, " you went acrost the lot in
the snow because it was nearer ?"

"Yes, sir."

" How much nearer was it?"

" I don't know, some considerable."

" You went to the corner of the wall ?"'

" Yes, I went there."

" Did you go round the corner into the path ?"

" No, I didn't."

" Did you get over the wall, my boy ; you needn't be
afraid to say so if you did. Did you get over the wall
into the yard ?" blandly inquired Tools.

" No, i didn't."

" You didn't even climb the wall to see the cattle ?"

164 NET England's chattels ; or,

" No, not a bit.'

" Well, my boy, you say you stopped at the corner
of the wall a little time — say how long."

" A minute."

" "Was it not fifteen minutes ?"

" ' Fifteen minutes !' Oh, dear, no ! I was home
talking with old Dan in less than that."

" Perhaps you went acrost the fields to meet Dan ?"

" No, I didn't ; met him by accident. It was darl,.'

" Well, now, 3^ou neither went round the corner of Jie
wall, nor got up on to it, nor over it, nor round /he
barn — how then did you get into the yard "

" I didn't get there, I tell you, at all !" said the lad,
with the quickness of lightning.

" You see," said Ketchum, " this game won't do, 1 jols ;
he's a straight out-and-outer. You can't fog him, no-
cross him, nor trip him."

" Well," said Tools, " he must tell the truth."

" By all means !" said the justice.

"Any thing further to ask?" inquired Ketchum.

" Yes — stay a moment. Haddock ! call Mr. Haddock."

Mr. Haddock came forward.

" I think you said, Mr. Haddock, that this boy left
your house a little past nine ?"

" Yes, sir."

" Did he appear in a hurry to go ?"

" Nothing unusually so."

" Did he seem morose, look dog-eared, and bent on
mischief?"

" He seemed perfectly mild and harmless."

Mr. Ketchum inquired if he thought " it very likely
he Avould go away and set a barn on fire in five minutes
from that time."

Mr. Haddock regarded it morally impossible.

LIFE IN THE NORTHKKN POOR-HOUSE. 165

Lawyer Tools didn't " care a pin" what Haddock
thought, or Ketchum, or any body else. He only wanted
facts, and he'd " have them if they were not covered up
and befogged by ' moral impossibilities,' till it was legally
impossible to tell black from white !" Tools had a way
of getting off things that pleased the crowd, who always
pricked up their ears, opened their eyes, and gaped
with their mouths till he finished off, and then took a
long breath as a relief.

" Well, boy," said Tools, " you say you didiiH go round
the corner of that ic-cdl into the 2^cdh, Now I want to
know one thing. Why did you stop there 'a minute,'
as you say, and then run off in another direction in the
snow, when there was a good path right home from the
bars ! Now answer that !"

" I had rather not answer it."

" But you must," said Lawyer Tools.

" By all means," said the justice.

" May be you'd let me bear the blame if I didn't ?"
said the boy, with tears.

" It don't look very much like guilt," said one and an-
other, whispering through the crowded hall.

" May it please the court," said Lawyer Ketchum, " if
the boy ran through the snow, in preference to taking a
beaten path where his tracks would not be seen, it ap-
pears to me he had some good reason for so doing other
than the consciousness of guilt."

" Oh, ho !" said Tools ; " impressions and opinions are
of no consequence. The boy had a reason for not tak-
ing the path. Now I want him to disclose it."

" I had rather not," said the boy, with his head down.

Mr, Haddock whispered Mr. Ketchum, and Mr. Ketch-
um wliispered Tools, and they both conferred with the
justice to the following purport : That the justice should

166 NEW England's chati els ; or,

kindly assure the boy of his favor, and lead him to dis-
close what he knew. So Justice Stout put on his best
appearance, and caUing the boy a little nearer him, told
him that he need be under no apprehension that any
body would hurt him if he told what he knew, and assured
him tiiat every body in the room was his friend !

Jims said he wasn't afraid " of being hurt."

" What are you afraid of?" inquired the justice.

" Who said I was afraid of any thing ?" he asked.

" True, but we all thought so," said Mr. Ben Stout.

" I don't w^ant to hurt Mm — I ain't afraid of being
hurt."

" Who do you mean by ' /</»?,' my boy ?"

" I mean Dich Biuice.^''

" Whew !" exclaimed Tools, and it was noticed that
Dick Bunco looked blank and trembled.

" Well, what of him — how can he be hurt ?"

" I saiv him /" said the boy.

" It's a lie, d you !" shouted a voice in the crowd,

and Dick Bunce, pale and trembling, stood forth before
the assembly. Captain Bunce cast an uneasy glance
around him. The people scarcely breathed.

" Well, my boy, tell us now all you know."

" Speak the truth !" said a low, solemn voice near
him, and Jims immediately stood up straight and firm,
and said in a clear voice : " I was going round the corner
into the path, when I saw a man come out through the
bars stealthily, and take the path before me directl}^ to-
wards the house. I turned into the snow, because I
didn't want to have him see me."

" Did you know him ?"

" Yes, I knew him at once."

" Who was that man ?"

" The truth now, boy," said Tools.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 167

" Dick Bunce !"

" ' Spotted' him, by George !" said Nelson Smith to
Ralph Newton, as he noticed how Dick colored, trem-
bled, perspired, and finally sat dowr..

" Call Doctor Murdock," said Lawyer Ketchum.

" What do you want of Doctor Murdock, Ketchum —
you ain't sick, I hope ?"

" We want to know Avhether the doctor has any prac-
tice in his profession dark evenings, away from home,"
said the other limb of the law.

" Doctor Murdock, were you out on professional busi-
ness the evening of this fire ?"

" I believe I was, sir."

" Did you have occasion to ride by Captain Bunco's
that evening ?"

" Yes, sir, on my return home."

■' What time in the evening was that, doctor ?"

" Not many minutes after nine o'clock."

" And can you state any thing in relation to this
fire ?"

" That is," interposed Lawyer Tools, " did you or did
you not notice that the barn was on fire ?"

" No, I did not observe any fire."

" Good — you should say the barn was not on fire !"

" I saw no fire — no light."

" Every thing remained quiet ?" continued Tools.

" Yes, so far as I noticed about the barn. But there
were people in the road — "

" No matter about ' people in the road,' there are
always people ^oing and coming in our streets and high-
ways— no fire, you say ?"

" None that I observed."

" All right, doctor ; any thing further, Ketchum ?"

Mr. Ketchum said " Yes — did you see the boy Jims

168 NEW England's chattels ; or,

on the road, or about the premises, as you rode b}- that
evening ?"

" Not to my recollection."

" Did you see the girl Roxy, or Mag Davis, or any of
the poor-house folks, wandering about ?"

" I remember passing ' old Dan,' as they call him,
about fifty or a hundred rods below, with a bag or
something of the kind on his shoulder."

" Dan, eh ?" said Tools.

" Dan 1" said Justice Stout. " Did Dan burn the
baTn ? Oh, excuse me ! — er — all right — go on, gentle-
men." The justice seemed to be a little lost for some
reason.

" You are sure it was Dan ?" inquired Lawyer Ketchum.

" Yes, for I spoke to him, and oflered him a seat."

" Oh, well, of course the doctor knew him — why puz-
zle the doctor on a self-evident point?" said Tools.
" And that was all, I suppose ?" he continued — " nothing
seemed out of place — nothing new — nothing terrible
going on, was there, doctor ?"

" That was all, except this, if I remember right : Just
as I got against Captain Bunco's — my mare walking
along — a man suddenly ran acrost the road, from the
barnside to the other, just ahead of me, and frightened
the mare so that she darted out one side and nearly
upset me. I, however, reined her in ; and just then I
heard the man, in a rather hoarse and rough voice that
I recognized, exclaim, ' The d — L !' "

" Who, in your opinion, uttered those words ?" inquired
Ketchum.

■' I took it to be Dick ; I know Dick pretty well, and
thought it was he."

"You ^thougM it was Dick Bunco?" said Tools.

" I KNEW it was Dick Bunce," said the sound and un-
flincliina; doctor.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. IG'J

It is always curious to mark the changes of opinion
that take place in a court-room when one is on trial, or
a question is pending before a jury. Opinions there
are often entirely reversed — and that not only once, but
two or three, or even half a dozen times — swaying now
this way and anon that way, so that at last it often hap-
pens that persons who went to a trial perfectly con-
vinced that Mr. A. was guilty, have gone away with the
full belief that the guilty party w^as Mr. B. So they
have been known to say, " We don't know which is
guilty, or whether either of them is so, if there has
been even any guilt or criminality at all."

In this case, every body at first seemed perfectly sat-
isfied that Jims Tucker was an infernal little scoundrel,
who had, out of revenge, burnt up a thousand dollars'
worth of property belonging to Captain Bunco. But
after Doctor Murdock got through, his testimony corro-
borating the straightforward, simple story of Jims, every
body in the court-room — especially as Dick was so much
agitated that he leaped up and rushed, pale and trem-
bling, out of the hall — believed Dick Bunco alone the
guilty party, and Jims as innocent as Squire Ben him-
self.

In all human probability, Dick saved himself from the
State prison by running away and escaping to sea, where
he soon after died. Mrs. Bunce was terribly mortified
by the result of this investigation, as Dick was her very
favorite son, and she soon after was attacked with a fever
that carried her ofi". Poor woman ! she did not live to
" cook the beef."

As no evidence appeared to show that Captain Bunce
knew any thing of Dick's act or intention in burning
the barn, he got his seven hundred dollars of the
insurance company, and took to drinking harder than
ever. 8

170 NEW England's chattels ; or,

In the meantime, Durkee, the butcher, and Betsey
Bunce made a hurried match and went out West.
Captain Bunce was left in rather poor circumstances to
carry on his poor-house estabhshment, especially as
Henrietta and Elisha were infirm, and of very little
help to him. But with two good stout servant girls,
and a hired man, he contrived to keep along."

Contrary to the general expectation, the Captain
manifested towards Jims a much more kind demeanor
than ever before, so that the boy was far less uncom-
fortable in his quarters than he would otherwise have
been.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 171

CHAPTER XV

Alanson.

The cold of winter continued. It was painful to wit-
ness its effect on the decrepid and poorly clad inmates
of the poor-house. Without money to relieve their ne-
cessities, without friends to whom they could fly for aid,
without strength to engage in any remunerative em-
ployment, without food nourishing in quality and kind-
ly dealt to them, without warm and cleanly clothing,
without comfortable rooms and beds ; without congenial
or desirable society, and daily companionships — with-
out the kind sympathy of the world, and yet quite near
the end of it, they drooped rapidly, sensibly, certainly,
and especially during the reign of cold. The paupers
always lost from three to five of their number every
winter, their broken and undermined constitutions being
unable to resist its severity.

So it happened with Alanson Boyce, the author, that
in two weeks' time, notwithstanding the care of Mr. and
Mrs. Haddock, he began to fail.

Captain Bunco came once to see him, and proposed
that he should return if able in two or three days, as he
didn't like to have a bad example set before the other
paupers. It made them uneasy if one fared any differ-
ent from the rest.

" I think," said the Captain, *' you are now in a very
fair way ; you'll be all right, 0. K. in a few days, and
able to help us. I guess by day after to-morrow — eh —

172 NEW England's chattels; or,

don't you think by day after morrow you can get home
again, eh, Boyce ?"

" Don't, pray don't fix the time now, if you please,
Captain Bunce — I will consult with Mr. Haddock."

" Oh, that's of no use ; you see your doing as well
now as can be expected, and the folks at the house want
dreadfully to see you."

" Yes, but I am very weak yet."

" You need to get out into the open air : now a little
good exercise will give you strength and an appetite.
I think you had better fix the time as I mentioned."

" If I must I will ; but w^on't you see Mr. Haddock
first ?"

" Well, if it comes right — but never mind that ; you
know I can't afford to board you here ; and Haddock
will be sure, I think, to charge us a sweet bill for your
trouble in the end."

Boyce groaned and turned away his head. He knew
better ; he knew Mr. Haddock had no such intentions,
but as he was conscious of receiving from him his pre-
sent kindness as a gratuity, it would be indelicate to
argue this, and he said nothing. But he thought he
could not return to the poor-house. How he loathed it!
His sensitiveness was deeply wounded at the idea. He
shrunk from any and all dependence, especially from
that public relief which the town in its boasted philan-
thropy provided, but which made poverty more fearfully
appalling and humiliating, so proving true that —
" Nothing in poverty so ill is borne,
As its exposing men to grinning scorn." — Oldham.

Boyce felt in his soul a desire that he might rather
die than go back to the poor-house. The Captain see-
ing him rather the worse for his visit, told him to "' chirk
up and be a man." " I will come over," said he, " with

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-KOUSE. 173

the red cutter and bear's skin and bells. Won't we
have a fine, nice ride of it, hey? So chirk np, man —
good-bye. And the Captain bowed ojEf.

Mr. Haddock happened to be absent when the Cap-
tain made this call, and was pained on his return to
witness the discouraged and anguished look of his poor
patient. But he assured him he should be taken care
of and kept from the poor-house, as long as he had a
home to shelter him. The terrible shadow of the poor-
house had, however, again passed over the soul of the
enfeebled sufferer, and it quickened his decline to the
grave.

And now something seemed to weigh heavily on his
mind and to cause him frequently to sigh and groan to
the infinite distress of his good and kind friends. What
it was, they could not understand. It led them to be
more attentive to every one of his wants, and by many
acts of kindness to merit his confidence.

At length Boyce informed them, that he left in Eng-
land, five years before, a beautiful and aflectionate wife
and a child one year old, who had never been permitted
to join him since, although till within the last two years
he had received regular communications and letters
from her. He now felt it almost certain that he was
destined never again to see on the earth that beloved
one, nor his sweet little Alice ; and the thought was
harrowing to his soul. A merciful God had given him
friends, and restored to him his intellect from its late
wretched and weakened state, but, alas ! with what
quickened sensibilities he now contemplated the whole
truth of that condition which forbade him the hope of
ever again clasping in his arms the tender one from
whom this long, long separation was but the prelude to
one as boundless as time. Should he never see again

174 NEW England's chattels ; ob,

liis adored, his chaste, his lovely Laura ? "Were the waves
of the sea to divide them on earth, and the wheels of
time to roll their separating cycles on their pathway —
forever, till in the future world — dissolving the golden
chain that had bound together their youthful hearts ?
Was true love born in time, but only thus to perish, and
the friends wdio are to each most dear and affectionate,
to suffer the rudest separations ; and while their hearts
are beating, their hands opened, their eyes o'erflowing,
shall they be made to feel that the joy of meeting is to
them forbidden ?"

It was thus that Boyce, his understanding now fully
restored to him, continued to dwell on the history of his
life we have now sketched. It was touching to hear
him, painful to see him sinking, a mild, sweet, gentle
sufferer — one of the bright young geniuses of earth, his
lamp burning pure and faithful at the last lightings of
it, but in its flashings giving presage of its near extinc-
tion.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Haddock deemed it advisable that
he should see and converse with their pastor. They
proposed the interview, and Boyce gladly consented.
It took place the next day, and contributed much to the
relief of the sufferer's mind, especially on the subject of
meeting one's friends in the future world, and mutually
recognizing each other, a point on which Boyce was
much excited. It was Mr. Rodman's firm conviction
they would do so, and he advanced many suggestions in
favor of his opinion, that tended to the conviction and
comfort of the invalid. " We shall know the Saviour in
his glory," said he, " and we shall, each one of us, bo
known and loved by him and by the Father. How rea-
sonable to suppose, then, we shall also know each other,
and communicate to one another our joy." He was able

LIFE IN THE NORTHEEN POOR-HOUSE. 175

also to help him more clearly comprehend the fulness of
that redemption by the Son of God which is the Spirit
of Prophecy, and the hope of all true Christian believers.
Boyce became more and more calm and hopeful, and
child-like in his confidence, as he approached nearer the
outline of his life's boundary, and saw the shadows fall
beyond it.

On an evening somewhat dark and stormy, after a
rather mild winter's day, Jims, in his slouching hat, and
coarse and tattered garments, went sauntering off to-
wards the town. He carefully avoided stopping any
where, and kept along in the middle of the road, where,
without any intention on his part, he was soon to meet
a person who like himself was carefully avoiding all in-
tersecting roads and places of rest, although needing
shelter and fondly hoping to find it. A poor, feeble,
delicate woman is taken up at mid-day by a traveler in
a large sleigh, on the public road, and carried by him
fifteen miles, to the borders of Crampton, where she
alights with a young child and a small bundle, thanking
earnestly and with lady-like words the kind old gentle-
man for his humanity. "^

" And what will you do now, my young friend ?" he
inquired, as the lady stepped upon the snow path with
her child.

" I will walk, as before," she answered, " and hope to
reach the town before dark."

" You must walk fast — too fast, I fear, for your strength
to do it," said he, " and I wish I could take you further."

" Never mind it, sir ; you have done me great kind-
ness in bringing me and my little one so far ; may God
reward you, as he will, I doubt not," so saying, she took
the child's hand and walked on.

The old gentleman's heart smote him as she walked

176 NEW England's chattels ; or,

painfully away, and the little child seemod ready to fall
at every step. Still the mother held on, and by-and-bye,
as she followed a curve of the road, she was hidden from
the traveler, and he slowly walked his horse alon^^ his
own way. Three weary miles the woman walked that
evening — her little child often crying with fatigue and
cold and hunger, and no one happening to pass along
who could take them up. At length a man with an ox-
team and sled overtook them, and carried them through
the village of Crampton a quarter of a mile, to his own
gateVay. The lady wished to go further if possible,
about half a mile further, on the way to Captain Bunce's.

The man was struck with the delicate, kindly, and at-
tractive appearance of the lady, and tried to interest her
in conversation. But she said few words, except mono-
sjdlables, inquiring occasionally how she might find the
poor-house, and if the people there were we]l taken
care of, and were in good health. The man studied her
face and bearing earnestly, to assure himself of her char-
acter and object, and from all that he could discern con-
cluded that she could be none other than the celebrated
Miss Dix, bent on one of those benevolent excursions to
their own poor-house, he had often read of her making
elsewhere. He remained of this impression up to the
time of her leaving him. It was nearly — nay, it was
dark, when the man stopped his team at his own door,
and civilly and urgently invited her to go in and stay
with them all night — at least allow his wife to give her
a cup of tea.

" How far is it on this road," said she, earnestly, " to
the poor-house ?"

" Well, ma'am," he replied, " it is half a mile."

" And is it so near !" she exclaimed. " No, sir, I will
not stop a moment. We will soon reach it. Thank
you, mv 2:ood friend — farewell I"

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 177

So saying, she claS|>^d the little child by the arm and
fairly hurried her along.

Toiling on, for it was dark now — the road was slip-
pery, the storm beginning, the winds moaning, the
clouds growing thicker, — the woman and child nearly
sinking to the snow, almost despairing — yet so near the
goal of their labors, they encountered a solitary being
walking dreamily along the same road, a boy with his
hat pulled over his face, and his shoes and garments in-
dicating poverty and misery.

The two parties naturally observed each other as they
met, and the lady inquired of Jims how much further it
was to the poor-house.

" The poor-house !" said the boy, wildly.

" Yes, if you please, my lad," said she, quietly.

•' The Lord bless us ! You arn't going there ?"

" But why not go there ?"

" Oh, it's the most wretchedest place on earth !" said
the boy.

"But people live in it," said the vv^oman.

" Yes, we live in it — we, a sort of people ; but no
ladies or smart folks live there. It's a forsaken spot."

" Then you live there !" exclaimed she, with thrilling
anxiety and earnestness.

" I do," said Jims. " It's my own, my only home."

" Guide me there, boy — now, noio^ this minute — and I
will reward you — if I can."

" Oh ! if you want to get there, come then. I know
every foot of the way there, in the dark as well as in
the day."

So Jims led her along, the woman trembling and hold-
ing the little one by her side, occasionally carrying her
a few rods ; and by-and-bye they reached the gate of

that dwellin •, towards which the heart of this poor

8«-

178 NEW England's chattels ; or,

traveler had been pointing for the last ten days with
consuming* fervor.

" Here we are, ma'am," said Jims, throwing open the
door. " Walk in. Every body is at home here."

A large dingy room, dimly lighted, with a small, feeble
fire on the hearth, and ten or twelve persons around it,
(feeble, singular-looking, old, and broken down,) now re-
ceived the stranger and her child. Involuntarily, both
drew back by the door, and experienced a shuddering,
revolting sensation at the sight before them.

" Here's a new comer, I guess, Mrs. Prescott," cried
Jims. " She's tired, though, and so is the little girl
with her."

" Come here, poor soul," said the widow, rising and
hobbling towards her.

And aunt Doroth}', who was smoking her pipe, ex-
claimed :

" Drum, drum, drum, dro, do dro, dri do —

On Jordan's stormy banks I stand ;
Drum, de drum, dri, dro,

And cast a wishful look behind."

" Never mind /^er," said Mag to the stranger, as she
wildly stared at her in real alarm.

" Come, sit down, good lady," said the widow, " and
warm your feet."

" Perhaps you can tell me," said the lady, trembling
all over as she spoke, " whether there's one Mr. Alwison
Boyce in these quarters ?"

" Boyce ! Heh gone^^ said Jims, " to "

But before he could finish the speech, the lady dropped
from her chair to the floor, fainting with agitation, f;v
tigue, and disappointment.

They raised her and placed her on the bed, and
bathed her temple s in cold water, while Bill hurried

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 179

over to the Captain's and procured his assistance. Hen-
rietta came over with camphor ; and the lady was just
beginning to revive, when in came Jims, bounding from
the door, follo^ved by Mr. and Mrs. Haddock. The boy's
instincts had told him what to do in this emergency,
and he had darted away over the fields, with the sAvift-
ness of a deer, to communicate the intelligence to them.
Almost as rapidly, the whole party had returned.

" Where has he gone ? Tell me, and I will go to him.
Tell me," said the stranger, recovering. " Am I not his
wife ? Is not this child his own Jittle Alice ? Tell me
where I shall find him, my husband !"

" Dear creature !" said Mrs. Haddock, pressing her to
her lips, and soothing her with the gentlest tones of her
voice. " Believe me, he is not far ofi". He is under our
own roof, but a short, very short distance off, and will
be most happy and overjoyed to see you."

The lady leaned her head on the breast of Mrs. Had-
dock, and burst into a flood of tears. She filled the room
with her sobs and exclamations of gratitude ; and Alice
also cried, as a child will often cry, with fear, and won-
der, and fatigue, intermingled.

As for Captain Bunce, he expressed the utmost joy
that Mr. and Mrs. Haddock had come over, for he
shouldn't have known " what in the world to do with the
poor critur any how."

By degrees, as he could bear it, Boyce was made ac-
quainted with her arrival. The flame of the poor suf-
ferer's life almost flashed out in its brilliant burnings, as
he at length came to understand the good news. He
wildly called her name, and soon after pressed her to his
heart. It was an hour of deepest emotion to both — the
hour of their first meeting. How she called him hei
lost " Alanson !" and roUed her long, delicate fiugerji

1 80 NEW England's chattels ; or,

through the dark locks of his hair. How she wept on
his cheek and kissed away his and her own tears, and
pressed his hands which fondly clung to licr's. Their
eyes failed them as they looked on one another, and
their voices were voices of joy and sorrow intermingled
as they spoke to one another. It was now of old Eng-
land ! and anon of America 1 It was of prosperity and
adversity. It was of hope and fear, of the past and
present. And Bo^^ce, with a father's pride and joy,
pressed to his heart his dear little Alice, now six years
of age, sweet image of her mother, a young, sunny-haired
child of the old world, but early transplanted, through
a storm-cloud on the sea and death-vraves to many hap-
less ones, to the new.

It was a long story that occupied them day after day
to tell each other of the past. We must in the recital
cut it short. Suffice it that she had followed both her
parents to the grave, and had failed during the last two
or three years of receiving any letters or intelligence
from her husband. At length, with Alice, she left Eng-
land for America, determined to find her husband, or
learn what had become of him. The ship was wrecked
on the Jersey shore in a gale, and she was the only lady
passenger rescued. She and Alice were saved, but
nearly every thing of value was lost. They were hu-
manely treated, however, being taken to New York, and
efforts made at her request to ascertain some tidings of
her husband. For a long time their efforts were un-
availing, but finally she heard through a publishing
house in the city, that he had been unfortunate in his
recent manuscripts, finding no publisher ready to under-
take them, (but that chiefly owing to his oAvn weak state
of health, affecting his intellectual accuracy,) and that
he had been driven by " hard times" out of the city,

LIFE IN TEE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 181

they knew not where ! This was a killing bloAv to her.
For many days she was so much discouraged by it, that
her health sensibly declined, and she anticipated a long,
distressing sickness. One day, however, the darkness
was all dissipated in a moment. The publisher already
referred to sent her a letter, received from the Rev. Mi'.
Rodman, of Crampton, enclosing one from her husband,
written at Mr. Haddock's, and requesting him to forward
it in the most direct manner to England, at the same
time urging him to make inquiry for letters to him at
the post office in New York. In this letter, Boyce in a
few words told his wife of his forlorn condition as an in-
mate of the poor-house. But he also mentioned the
kind friends he had found in the Haddocks, and hoped
he should never again be forced to feel all the biting
of want he had experienced. He said that his address
at the present time was " care of Captain Bunco,
Crampton."

In a short time, Mrs. Boyce with Alice, was on the
way there, with little money to defray her expenses ; a
stranger in the country, and depressed by the know-
ledge of her husband's state of health, the journey was
a long one, and a weary one.

But we have seen its end. How blessed once more to
meet — to see each other's faces in the flesh, and to re-
new the love of other days ; to talk of all the past and
cheer each other with bright hopes of future joy. * * *
And yet hopes brighter than their reality. Boyce linger-
ed on till the spring and died. So lingered on a little
further the loving wife, and she too slept beside him ;
their graves marked by the purest marble, for their
lives had been innocent and good. And Alice was
left alone — an orphan in a land of strangers, but
by no means an unfriended, homeless orphan, still a
fatherless, motherless child.

182 NEW England's chattels ; or.

CHAPTER XVI.

Jims at the Manse.

The pastor of the old and well-known town of Cramp-
ton sat dozing in his chair in the south front room ot
the parsonage. The hour was about eight in the even-
ing ; and as usual, from eight to nine, when he was
wont to wake up and go to bed, sleepy — provided there
were no appointments or calls abroad — he resigned him-
self to a leaning, easy snooze, with his feet on an elevated
stool, his hands folded on his lap, his head and shoulders
cast back upon the cushioned rocker, while his industri-
ous, quiet wife knitted and sewed and trimmed the light.
There was a large fire in the open Franklin stove, and
occasionally a " snapping" stick would throw off a spark,
mon a coal that broke the thread of the industrious
Bewer, and partially the dream of the sleeper, and which
was instantly quenched by the shoe of the former, or
pointed at with the finger of the latter, as one half-
opened eye followed in its wake, and noted the place of
its rest.

Thus the evening was weaving itself up. It was now
eight — anon, eight and a quarter — presently it was eight
and a half — thirty-five, and six, and seven. The wind
was howling ; the snow began to slant on the windows,
and to hum its flurry-tune. And yet it was comfortable
in the pastor's domestic south room, and there was quiet
also, for it happened that there were no children in this

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 183

family ; and Ann was busy in the kitchen over the
ironing ; Growler lay quietly in his corner, and Tabby
in hers. But outside the parsonage, and all along the
road, through the woods, beside the creek, over the hill
and down in the hollows, it was dark, stormy and drear.

I said it was "eight and thirty-five, six, and seven."
It was just about that, and would soon be thirty-eight,
nine, and then forty, when the pastor's wife was startled,
and the pastor was startled, by the opening and slam-
ming of the yard gate. Now this gate had rusty hinges
and an iron latch and key ; and when opened and shut,
it always made a great noise, that invariably awoke the
dozing divine, and arrested the attention of his indus-
trious and economizing lady. On the present occasion,
they both aroused at the same instant, and they both
exclaimed as usual, only with rather more than their
ordinary interest, for it implied something serious ; it
might be sickness, or a death, or a dying message, or a
traveler benighted, or a contemplating bridegroom, or a
seasonable present from a thoughtful parishioner, or a
troubled conscience that would not rest. Something of
an earnest and positive character hung on the hinges of
the gate as eight, thirty and seven, and eight, walked
up the dial-ladder that stormy December night.

So at least thought he — and with hand upraised, ana
breath held up to hear more, she, and both said, " There

it is ! THE GATE !"

But before any more words were uttered, or time for
any took place, there was a loud knock at the back-door
opening into the hall. The servant-girl arrested her
smoothing-iron, held it up a moment, listening ; then
down it went on the red hot stove, and she seized a
light. The pastor seized a light, his wife seized another ;
and as they all met and stood in the hall the door sud-

184 NEW England's chattels ; or,

denly opened. It was not locked ; nor was the outsider
aware that any thing, even fashion or law, required him
to wait in a storm after giving the usual sign of being
there : so in he came. He was covered with snow ; his
long hair fell over his shoulders, and filled up his face
in part, through which, however, glowed two ruddy
cheeks and flashing eyes. His features were coarse.
His garments, as he shook oif the snow, appeared to
have nearly got through with service. His shoes were
nearly twice too large for him, filled with snow, and his
hat was a broken-in slouching felt.

The comer w^as a tall, overgrown boy, twelve or thir-
teen years of age perhaps, and as tall and thin as one
may be at fifteen. Grown out of erect shape, his shoul-
ders, back, chest, and limbs betrayed, in the general
outline, a neglected fellow-creature — with how much ol
intellect by his Creator gifted, unknown. He was a
shabby, sorry fellow, and yet awoke in you instinctive
interest — perhaps compassion — perhaps suggestion.
" Are you sufiering ?" " Whence came, who, and what

are you

?"

The intruder, opening the door on such a flood of
light, stopped and gazed a moment in apparent surprise.
He drew himself up, and looked at the company present
to receive him with such an unusual display of lights,
with a wild inquiring gaze, which every one of the trio
returned in his and her usual and appropriate form ol
such expression. But the out-door hero came to himsell
first. He took off his hat, shook off the snow, and threw
back his wetted locks and snow-covered coat.

" May be," said he, " you don't know it's mighty hard
snowing, d'ye ?"

" Well, my lad," said the parson, " we havn't been
out, but we have heard it on the windows."

LIFE IN THE NOKTHEEN POOE-HOFSE. 185

" Glory ! 's that all ? IVe been tracking in't two
miles, and it's dumb'd plaguy soft and cold. But what's
that to me ? I'm out in all sorts of weather — wet, cold,
and dry — and sleep where I can. It's a tough sort of life
I leads any way ; and so you'd think yourselves, pro-
viden you'd try it."

Sy this time the party had all got into the kitchen,
where the cheerful fire in the stove seemed greatly to
please the new comer, and led him to edge his way to-
wards it.

" I suppose," said the pastor, " you wouldn't have come
out to-night, if you had not been sent out on business ?"

" No, sir, I just shouldn't. You see, the Lord sends
the storms ; the Lord sends fair weather, too ; and it's
the Lord who sends death."

" Is any one dead in the town ?"

" Not as I knows of, exactly ; the town is the rich peo-
ple, I s'pose, and all the well off sort o' folks, ain't they ?"

" Why, no ; the town means the whole people, old and
young, high and low, rich and poor."

" Well, I declar', if that isn't a great piece of news to
me. Down in our place, the Pooe don't seem to be reck-
oned much on, and I'd kinder tho't they only belonged
to the town, and warn't the town itself, or any part of
it."

" The poor of the town are just as much a part of the
town as the rich, my lad, only — "

" ' Only' they ain't as much tho't on, or needed, ay?"

" Ah ! well — they are an unfortunate and suffering
class of persons. But the town makes some, if not am-
ple provision for their comfort."

" Yes, I s'pose so ; but I reckun it's a sort of relief
when any of the old (riturs like aunt Dorothy goes off
the handle— what ?"

186 NEW England's chattels ; ok,

" Why, you see, it costs Captain Bunce a deal of money
to feed um, and it's a gain when they dies. They do no
sort of good, take it in the winter, and they need a plaguy
site of soup and cider, and tea fixings, besides some more
bed clothes, and other clothes, and fires. Consequence
is, that the cost is mighty hard. Captain says, on the
town, and on himself."

" Why, the town don't have any thing to do with those
matters. He, th3 Captain, bears all those charges for
so much a year, and it is his duty to keep them well,
and see that they are comfortable every way."

" Is it, indeed ! Well, I should like it if he only
know'd this, for the Captain says his duty is to see that
we don't starve nor freeze."

" Abominable !" said Mrs. Rodman. ""

" Cruel and horrible monster !" said Ann.

"And then you belong to the poor-house, do you?"
kindly questioned Mrs. Rodman.

" Yes, I live there. I've been there a good while —
it's sort of home to me."

" Then you like to live there, I suppose, better than
you would to live any where else ?"

" I s'pose so — don't know about other folks much — I
likes Mr. Haddock."

" Is your mother, or your father alive, my boy ?" she
asked.

" No ; they died great while ago — most afore I can re-
member. The Cap'n and Mrs. Bunce are my dad and
ma'am, so they say."

" They probably know and can tell us all about the
boy's parents," said Mr. Rodman to his wife, " they know
if they are alive."

" They don't, nuther f said the boy, wdth something of
a fierce expression .

LIFE IN THE NORTHERX POOR-HOUSE. 187

" HoAV do you know, my lad ?" soothingly asked the
lady.

The boy's angry expression relaxed as he listened to
her kind tones, and turned his eyes full on her amiable
and smiling countenance — " Oh, ma'am," said he, " they
sware at me, they flog me, they shut me up all day, they
say if my father or mother was alive they'd send me
home — they'd get me flogged from morning till night.
Little do they know or care for me, but to call me names.
What do they know about my father or mother, except
that they's dead ?"

" Well, it may be as you say, poor boy."

" When the people down there are sick, do they have
good doctoring ?" inquired the minister.

" We sometimes have doctoring, and sometimes not.
I've no need of doctor's stuflF. I takes care of myself.
But old aunt Dorothy wanted doctoring, so all the poor
folks say."

" Ah ! Then if I now understand you, aunt Dorothy
is dead ?"

" Yes, sir, she's gone."

" When did this happen ?"

" She took to ailing this mornin', and afore night,
when the Cap'n said he guess'd the doctor'd happen
round, she got crazy, and when it was good candle
lighting, she ris up in the bed, shook her old crazy head,
laughed out kinder wild, sung one of her old tunes, and
fell back as dead as a door nail."

" Oh, dear !" sighed out the smitten wife of the
pastor,

" A shocking death, I declare," said Ann.

" And now that the good old lady has breathed her
last," said the minister, " what is your errand to me ?"

" Well, the Cap'n says she must be buried as soon as

188 NEW England's chattels ; or,

possible, for craziness is sort of catching, and scary any
way, so he wants you should come down to-morrow at
one o'clock to make the prayers and see to the fun'ral."

" I will endeavor to be there," was the low and solemn
reply.

" But, husband, is it not strange to hurry her so soon
to her grave ?"

" Yes, it seems unnecessary. Yet, there the poor
creatures are huddled together, and easily frightened,
and rendered troublesome, and there are few to care for
them. If one of them is really gone out of the world,
the silent grave may as well receive the remains. What
lessons will the living learn by keeping the unclaimed
body from it ?"

" Cruel, inhuman, desperate fate !" said she.

" The poor-house, Mrs. Rodman, is the worst refuge
of religious humanity that claims to be an institution of
mercy. My attention has of late been called to it by
Mrs. Haddock and others, as you know. In fact, it is
not called so much a mercy as a necessity. The town
PAUPEES must be supported ; that is the rule under
which they are leased out and cared for. But mercy
would clotiie them, warm them, feed them, comfort and
bless them. Necessity but sells them to the lowest
bidder — a bidder who cannot make any thing out of the
job, if he exercises compassion. I am heartily, thorough-
ly sick of it, disgusted, mortified at its picture. How
strange a fact is this in our social. Christian system.
How has it come to be a universal condition of things —
how discreditable to civilization, wealth, refinement,
sociality and religion."

The boy who answered to the name of Jims, seemed
to listen to these remarks with an attentive ear. It was
plain that he understood something of what Mr. Rod-

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 189

m;in had been saying, and was turning over in his
mind a new development of thought.

Mr. Rodman continued — " The poor are, in all our
towns, the most degraded, unfortunate, imbecile, un-
happy class found in them. Every town has them. In
some communities they are numerous, v/hile in others
they are few, but they all answer to one general, hrohen-
dowii description. They have no money, often little
character, few if any living friends and relations. They
have been intemperate, vicious, idle, or extremely un-
fortunate beyond the bounds of ordinary charity to sup-
port them. They have, therefore, fallen into this last
living destiny of humanity, the poor-house."

" Is it not possible to elevate them ?" inquired his
wife. " Cannot measures be taken to bring about an
entire change in the system that now provides in part
for them — so that the selfishness of tJie benevoleiice may
not be so prominent ?"

" We don't know how generally there may be an
amelioration effected, and the comfort and alleviation of
the poor secured ; there are those who have deep feel-
ing in regard to it, and I hope to live to see arrive a
great improvement in our poor-houses."

" So do I, by George !" shouted the rude boy, starting
up from his seat by the stove, and clapping his hands
together smartly on his bare head. " Say what they
will," he continued, " the poor-house is a darned patched
up old consarn. It's so plaguy rotten you are afraid
you'll fall through the floor into the cellar, and so c — ~ d
cold ."

" Don't, don't, my dear boy," said Mrs. Rodman, " don't
make use of such hard and wicked words. You can
speak to us calmly, and in words that we shall under-
stand without using those severe and bitter expressions

190 NEW England's chattels ; or,

— can't you — now try." She said this with woman's
sweetest and most persuasive smile.

The boy gulped down a whole sentence of oaths, and.
looked completely at a stand. At last, recovering a lit-
tle, he began in a mild way —

"Down there — you know, at the poor-house — it's a- -a
— a terrible cold place. You see, there's a big fire-place,
and a tarnal lot of wood, sich as they picks up, thrown
in, but the old ricketty house hasn't many good doors,
tight windows, warm floors, or good shingles on the roof.
"Wet weather drowns us, cold weather pinches us, hot
weather smuthurs us, and I s — s — swanny, it's no use try-
ing to git along, and be any body, by — by thunder !"

" Jist so ; an' you're right, sure ye ar," said Ann, with
a deep indignation-color over her whole face, and with
a voice almost as loud, too, as Jims.

" Well, they call you * James,' I suppose, at the poor-
house ?" asked the pastor.

" No, sir ; they call me ' Jims.' "
'Would you not rather be called James ?" inquired
Mrs. Rodman.

" May be I should, if I got used to it. ' Jims' is good
enough for poor folks, and we are all of us, as the parson
says, x>oor. We're the poorest kind of folks. There
ain't one of us who's got a sixpence, unless happen'd so,
somehow. We don't own any thing, never call any thing
our own in arnest, not even the clothes we have on, or
the victuals we eat. Our cider is given to us. We don't
seem to own our time, our comfort, our pen-knives, our
loose strings in our pockets, the tools we work with, the
beds we sleep on. No, sir, w^e ain't worth, as I can see,
a copper. And, now, these poor folks, when they dies,
as aunt Dorothy has, is they jist as bad off, or worse ?
I've a notion, because Cap'n Bunce so of en ' wishes me

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 191

in ,' and * d s' and ' c s me to ,' that there's

a terrible site worse poor-houses in 'tother world than
there is in our'n."

This was uttered with a wild, solemn, staring look,
and Mr. Rodman, as well as he could under the circum-
stances, explained to him what the Bible revealed on the
subject.

Jims said he believed there was a heaven for some-
body, because the old widow Prescott often told him so,
and urged him to be good and patient, and perhaps he
would some time go there. But of this he professed to
have considerable doubt.

" Good Mrs. Prescott 1" said the pastor's wife, " and
who is she, Jims ?"

" Oh, she's one of us ; she's an old body, in a neat let-
tie room all alone by herself, and I thinks she's as good a
body as there is amongst us — but, zounds, here it is past
nine o'clock, and two miles of snow to waller through
yet."

" You had better stay here," said all at once.

" No, no ; I've got to help Cap'n Bunco in the morn-
ing, and he'd be jist mad enough to liide me if I wam't
there arly."

At this moment another loud knock at the door ar-
rested every one's attention. Mr. Rodman took a light
into the hall and cried out, " Come in !" The storm,
which had not in the least abated, seemed to come into
the hall as fast as the outsiders themselves, who were
an old, tipsy, clumsily moving man, shabbily dressed,
and a woman in a coarse close hood, through which a
face was seen glowing with the fires of a life of intem-
perance and brutal exposure.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Rodman knew them at once. They
were old residents of the town, vagrants, paupers,

192 NEW England's chattels ; or,

thieves, wasters, who led a gipsey sort of life, though
in general bringing themselves round to their own crazy,
storm-exposed cabin, situated on a lonely bye-path of
the town, near a swamp and a high rocky range of hills.
Occasionally, they were " on the town," in consequence
of great inebriacy, sickness, actual want, or for minor
offences that in them the town could adjudicate. They
were now under the care of the town. What had driven
them forth on such a night as this ?

Jims started up on their appearance, stared at them,
and they at him. At length he abruptly vociferated —

" Well, old Jock Tucker, what y're arter up here this
time o'night, hay? and you, too, old Pol?"

" None yer bisness, Jims."

" 'Tis tother— "

" No, it ain't, you young varmint 1" said the hag, shak-
ing her long arm towards him.

" Well, well, good people," said Mr. Rodman, " don't
get into a quarrel here now. Just be orderly. Come
up and warm yourselves."

" Why, Polly Tucker I" said Mrs. Rodman — " is it pos-
sible you can be wandering about in such a storm as
this, and seeming to have no care for yourself! How it
looks in you, a woman I And besides that, it will be
very likely to make you really sick. How is it possible
you can do so ?"

" Oh, la sus ! Mrs. Rodman, we can't live at the poor-
house any way. It's a mighty worse way than living in
the street, or in a decent prison. We won't live in the
poor-house any longer than we are made to — that'H
flat !" said she, with terrible firmness.

" I'll tell yer what it is," said Jims. " You've just run
away — that's it."

" None your bisness," said Tucker again.

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 193

" 'Tis !" said Jims. " You got scart, did ye ! lia ! lia !
Because old aunt Dorothy's dead, you made off. Ha !
ha! I'm mighty tickled that old Jock and Polly's got
out the house, for they're as ugly as bulls, and as scaiy
as owls."

Luckily Jims, as he said this, darted warily to the
door and out into the storm, for thus he avoided a heavy
blow aimed at his head by Tucker with his large cane ;
Polly, at the same time, snatching her hood from her
head and hurling it at him with the utmost violence of
manner.

" Little c — s !" said Tucker, biting his teeth.

" Tut, tut ! Mr. Tucker, remember I don't accustom
myself or family to the hearing of profane words."

" Well, right is right. You're the best man, Parson
Rodman, that I ever did see, and I ax your pardon ten
thousand times. I never swears lest I git riled, and
that's not of 'en, is it, Pol?"

" Yes," said she, " every day."

" It's a darned lie, any how !"

So the brutal pair went on. They finally pushed ofi"
into the storm, to go to their own cold, desolate hut,
only asking for some cold victuals to put in their bag,
which Tucker slung over his shoulder. They would
not stay over night : evidently they were afraid " Cap-
tain Bunco" might be after them to return them to the

POOR-HOUSE.

" I wish I knew more about that boy," said Mrs. Rod-
man. " His countenance interests me, and his condition
awakens my solicitude,"

" He is the boy who was thought to have burnt Cap-
tain Bunco's barn," said her husband.

" Is he !"

" To be sure. A very bright boy naturally, but so

194 NEW England's chattels ; ok,

educated there as almost to destroy him, both for this
world and the next."

" Have our ladies done any thing yet for the pau-
pers ?"

" I don't know," said he. "I suppose they have ; but
really I don't know."

" "Well, do you find out to-morrow and let me know,"
said she, and the conversation dropped.

LIFE IN THE NOETHERX POOR-HOUSE. 195

CHAPTER XVII.

The Tuckers.* Very remarkable character like that of a Johnson, a Pitt, a More,
a Bonaparte, or a Washington, but occasionally gleams on the path of human
life. It becomes our duty, consequently, to ponder well every such appearance,
and endeavor to estimate the chances in favor of any one age or country reaping
the honor of it ; for great, indeed, is that honor.

"We have sjDoken of the Tuckers, and as inmates,
occasionally, of the poor-house. It is now time that
something should be said more definitely about them,
inasmuch as quite a link in the history of this tale of
poverty and misery hangs on them.

In early life John Tucker married Polly Gooms, a
wild, stout, ignorant girl, and who, whatever were the
ways and fortunes of John, clave unto him and them to
the end.

Accordingly, as he became a roving, careless, drinking
vagabond, so did she. They occupied, as their own
property, a small two-story house, grown crazy by
neglect and hard usage, situated far from any main road
in the town, quite at the extreme end of a grass-grown
street and lane, the upper parts of which were fenced
in, so that no teams went along there without taking
down the bars. NotAvithstanding its apparently lone-

* This story of the Tuckers, their mode of life, their house, its location, its demo-
lition, the burning scene, and some other matters woven in the same, is given as a
Connecticut story, true to fact, by the Adthok,' who never knew, however, whjthe
house was called then- property, nor by what right, whether of possession, deed, or
otherwise they held it as theirs. It is certain that a pauper, de facto, cannot o^vn
property over a small amount. He becomes a pauper because of his necessity.

196 NEW England's chattels ; or,

some position, it was in a romantic spot ; in the summer,
a most attractive and beautiful retreat. Behind the
house there grew a large cluster of tall hickory and oak
trees ; and beyond this, there was a green and luxuriant
pasture for the neighbors' cows, for on the parallel
streets the farmers' dwellings were numerous. On the
i.orth grew a natural forest of large extent, and in the cen-
tre there was an extensive swamp, wild and overgrown,
where luxuriant grapes, and native plums, and scrawny
apples flourished, and in the openings cranberries, rasp-
berries, blackberries, wild cherries, strawberries, whor-
tleberries, etc. This forest was a great protection to the
house in winter from the winds. It also invited the occu-
pants to ramble there on business or pleasure at all sea-
sons— as for fallen (!) fire w^ood in the season of cold, or in
the summer for nuts, and fruit, and berries, by the sale of
which they might replenish their lessening stores of
provision and whisky. In front of the house, between
it and the lane, there was a little garden lot for potatoes,
onions, beets, cucumbers, radishes, parsnips, corn, etc.,
but usually allotted to w^eeds ; for whisky drinkers in
general are poor gardeners — pomology and horticulture
have little interest to them. A low wall, much rolled
down and crushed together by time and frequent clam-
bering over, separated this lot from the grass-grown
lane, and across this there spread away to the East an
open, enchanting prospect over the valley, where the
streams meandered, and little hillocks were covered wnth
flocks, and wide meadows overgrown with rankest grass
and sweet-flavored clover ; w^here the corn grew tall
and luxuriantly, and other grain waved to and fro in the
gentle breezes that wandered there ; and in the blue
distance rose the beetling hills, and the waves of the sea
washed their ragged base, and ships slumbered at their
anchors.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 197

Above all this, on the far-off hill-side or slope, was the
old cottage of Tucker ; and though it looked on the
loveliest scenery and landscape in nature, it was a deso-
late, forsaken, smoky, blasted abode. No love, virtue,
or peace ; no order, thrift, or cleanliness was there. It
was the habitation of foul and hateful spirits, the home
of vagrancy and intemperance.

Beside this cottage, on the same height and street, a
little removed to the South, there was a single other
house in sight through the trees — the cherry trees, the
pear, the apple trees — a small red cottage, occupied by
an aged couple by the name of Warren. They were
both infirm, and their children had all left them to en-
gage in business ways more in accordance v>rith their
notions of life than the simple mode of their parents.
Occasionally they made flying visits to the homestead,
and so, in the time of fruits, came to see the old couple
scores of their friends and acquaintances in town.

This aged pair, without the power to lend assistance,
or to fly if danger threatened to come near them, not
unfrequently heard the midnight orgies of the Tuckers.
Oft the cry of " murder," and screams for help, came to
them through the branches of the trees, and in the
morning, they were glad to learn it, if nothing worse
than bruises and swollen eyes resulted from the low
debauch.

Polly had her seasons of partial sobriety ; and then
the neighboring farmers' wives, on washing, and scrub-
bing, and all-work days, would draw her into service.
Occasionally John, also, would do a little work, but
never any thing like a good day's service, at hoeing,
mowing grass, or harvesting grain. John was nobody's
right-hand-man for help. Indeed, they were both little
better or other than home-made gipsies — vagrants of the

198 NEW England's chattels . or,-

lowest type of humanity. For the little help they now
and then rendered, they were paid in money, pork,
eggs, grain, clothing, and the like. But they laid not
by the money, neither ate the food, nor wore the gar-
ments. Every thing that could purchase whisky went
for whisky, and they ate and wore something poorer.

And so what was duty in the case ? If Mrs. Rodman,
the pastor's wife, gave her twenty-five cents for half a
day's work, it was sure to be spent for rum — in the end
it was as if Mrs. Rodman had sent and bought for her a
jug of intoxicating liquor 1 Of course this was a great
perversion of her wishes and intentions in hiring and
paying her. Many needed her help, and were of course
willing, as obliged to pay for it if rendered, so that this
was a trial to the ladies. What should they do in the
case ? Many a one said, " I will not hire my work done
by one whom I know will spend the money she receives
for it to procure the means of a disgraceful and dis-
gusting debauch ; I will sooner let it remain undone —
or attempt it myself." But there were always some
feeble women, and hard pressed farmers, who occasion-
ally let go every other consideration if they could ob-
tain their help.

We have said that Tucker's house was desolate and
forbidding whatever were its natural advantages. True,
it lay in the direction many of the neighboring farmers
took when by some one or another path, over the broad
pastures and intervening wood-lands, they sought a
nearer way than by the road to church, town meeting,
public fair, or to their acquaintances and friends in other
parts of the town, but seldom did the passers by call
and go in. John was often seen ai the door of his cabin
smoking his pipe, or perhaps lounging around the
premises in drunken, beastly imbecility and stupidity,

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 199

or with bloated, haggard and glaring features, leaning
over the fence, or hard up against a corner of his house ;
and Polly was like him. They were drunk together,
and so if ever sober. Sometimes they were mutually
very cross, savage and brutal ; at other times they were
simple, foolish and talkative. They had their seasons
of spasmodic penitence, strange as it my seem ! Then
they confessed their sins, wept over their life, promised
to do better, and to seek for the truth. But their good-
ness soon evaporated ; their reforms were sure antece-
dents to a drunken revelry and row. In matters of or-
dinary worldly care, they were wholly thriftless, care-
less of property, reckless of to-morrows, wasters, wander-
ing, dissolute vagabonds. Call them gipsies, but then
they fell below the gipsy in point of true character.
They were samples, good and true, of intemperance,
ignorance, profanity and vice.

As for their dwelling, it never knew the luxury of
paint, and seldom, except on its outside when the rains
fell, did it enjoy the dashing over it of water, accom-
panied by the scrubbing hand of an active and energetic
housewife. The floors were partly torn up for fuel ;
the clapboards on the outside stripped off for the same
purpose, and the steps were gone — probably the same
way. The house throughout bore no marks of neatness,
no signs of order ; nothing within it was attractive. It
had no carpets, no window curtains, no soft, downy
beds and pillows ; nor had it soft ottomans, tete-a-tetes,
and no rocking-chairs, no neat crockery filled the closets,
no well-furnished larder supplied the table-dinners ;
sadirons were wanting in the chimney fire-place, and the
very wood on the fire was stolen from the fences and the
neighboring forests, to the great irritation of the owners.

Notwithstanding these things, they brought up quite

200 NEW EN eland's chattels ; OR,

a family of children, some of whom, despite their paren-
tage, went away at an early age, and, forming virtuous
associations, became respected men and women ! But
they sought in vain to influence their parents to give up
their nomadic for a fixed and virtuous mode of life :
others lived with them and became likewise dissolute
and wicked.

The house was the resort of the lowest vagrants. Men
and women who wandered every where accursed by their
own ways of wantonness and sin, here frequently passed
whole days and nights together, carousing in the most
disgusting ways, and separating only as hunger and
thirst drove them asunder. These were for the most
part the wandering subjects of the poor-house in town
and out of it, or those who were from low groggeries
here and there, rapidly forming characters for the insti-
tutions of vagrancy.

Out of this admixture of lewdness and criminality, oc-
casionally it happened that the town gained a moiety of
new population, despite the loss in morals and whole-
some order. And so it sometimes happened, further,
that the icy touch of death here rested on a victim, and
then a funeral went forth from the drunken house of
Tucker.

" Blarney Moll," as she was called, his oldest daughter,
died here at twenty-three, a poor creature. And another
perished in a city where she often strayed. The last
that died was " Annie Sue," six years before this present
time, at the age of twenty-five. She was a regular town-
pauper — was rather stupid, though not a very wild,
noisy, daring creature, and she really bore some marks
of feminine delicacy and interest. A child of hers died
in two weeks from its birth, and the manner in which
its place was supplied, brings us to an interesting part
of our story. *

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 201

We have spoken of the Warrens who lived in the
neighborhood of Tuckers.

A young mother lay dying there. *****
Let us here mention something of her previous history :

Julia Carlile was the only child of Henry and Eliza-
beth Carlile, very respectable inhabitants of Crampton,
who bestowed on her their united endearments, and
commenced to give her a finished education. But before
she was twelve years of age she lost her mother, and just
after she was thirteen, her father. A great misfortune-
to a young girl — a great, irreparable loss to Julia, who,
in consequence, was thrown upon the care of an elderly
aunt whose ways and government she thoroughly dis-
liked. Naturally very impulsive, she grew to be ex-
travagantly wild and thoughtless, neglectful of her
studies and general cultivation of the mind, and graces
of the heart and life. Mindful more of her own wishes
than of her aunt's, and contrary to her expostulations,
she permitted the attentions of James Sherman, a dash-
ing blade of the town, a fond son of his parents, but a
spendthrift, and in love with ways of life that awakened
at first the solicitude of his father and mother, and at last
their opposition and rebuke. In two months after tho
sudden death of her aunt she was married to Sherman,
then being nineteen j^ears of age. Mr. Sherman was
highly incensed and mortified. So much was he dis-
tressed at the conduct of his son, that he soon sold off all
his property and removed to the West, leaving James a
very slender portion. With care and economy even on
this he might have built up for himself a small, quiet
home, and have had a comfortable maintenance. But
his pride was wounded, and he became by-and-bye more
than usually idle and wasteful in his habits. Of course
the path of temptation is ever widening to its victims,

9*

202 NEW England's chattels ; or,

and James found it so. Not a great while was it ere he
played hard and drank deep. Of Julia he was passion-
ately and truly fond. They greatly loved each other,
and the marriage had on her an effect directly the reverse
of him — she became more thoughtful and industrious.
But James' love of his wife was not strong enough to
save him, his evil genius triumphed — not even the death
of their first two children sobered and reformed him.
He became ruinously intemperate, and before their third
child was born forsook wife and home and sailed for
the West Indies, where, she learned afterwards, soon
after his arrival he fell a victim to the yellow fever.

When this distressing news reached her, she was oc-
cupying a hired chamber in another town, the mortgage
on their house having expired, and the holder of the
claim being unwilling that she should remain in it. Left
as no young wife could wish to be, without the presence
of her husband, suffering from poverty, loneliness, and
neglect, Julia hardly knew which way to turn for relief,
and in her heart of hearts bitterly lamented the days of
her youtkful heedlessness and folly.

Divine Providence takes far better care ol? his creatures
than they do of themselves, and especially sends relief
to those who earnestly cry to Him, and also strive to
help themselves. So it proved in Julia's case. As she
anxiously, day after day, inquired, " What shall I do ?
where shall I go ? who will befriend me ?" she remem-
bered her maternal great uncle, Isaac Warren, the in-
firm old neighbor to citizen John Tucker, whom we have
before mentioned. She immediately went and cast her-
Belf on his protection. The good old man and his wife
received her with the utmost kindness, and forthwith
made her more comfortable than she had been for seve-
ral weeks past.

LIFE IN THE NOETHEKN POOR-HOUSE. 203

We have said a young mother lay dying at the War-
rens. This was Jidia. She had been with them eia;ht
weeks, and her third child was now about a week old.

Every thing earthly — all considerations of family,
home, affection other than the affection that now cen-
tred in the little infant at her side, led Julia to desire
to leave the world. For the sake only of the babe, she
wished to live, and in that point of view, it seemed to
her cruel to die, although she was fully aware that she
could not recover. When left alone, she would often
address her little, unconscious one in words that came
warm and fresh from her thoughts — " My dear little
child ! My sweet baby boy 1 Mother must leave you.
Who will love you and take care of you ? How I cling
to you, sweet one ! I fear to leave you in this cold
world alone — poor, poor child ! But God will take care
of my baby. God will feed him. Heaven will guard
the darling little lamb. Yes — oh, yes, may its mercy
bless the innocent." Then she would mourn over her
husband — " I loved him ; I gave him my whole heart ;
I pitied him ; I mourned for him ; I mourn him still.
Poor forsaken one. Ruined ? How can it be ? For-
saken— sick — dying — in a strange land too ! But I have
never forgotten him — never. I have loved on as at
first, and shall do so to the end. My own — my all. My
husband — precious in the recollections of the past. I
come to you. I forget you not — no, never, nor shall I
in death forget, or forsake you."

Cherishing these sentiments so honorable to herself,
and comforting to her heart, the young and lovely one
passed gently away, and the aged couple closed her
eyes in their last sleep.

Not long after Mrs. Sherman died. " Annie Sue"
came into the house weeping for the death of her owt

204 NEW England's chattels ; or,

babe. And as the Warrens were perplexed what to do
with their little charge, and by little and little came at
last to realize what a providential arrangement this was
for at least the present rearing of the child, and " Annie
Sue" herself joyfully acquiesced in the plan, they gave
her the orphan babe and she became his nursing mother !

Before Julia died she called for a pen, and while she
yet had strength enough for the effort, she wrote as
follows : " Call my baby James, after his father. This
is the dying request of his mother ; and let him know
he had a true and kind father, and a mother who loved
him to the last. (Signed) Crampton, January 15, 1S3-,
Julia Carlile Sherman." She then asked for a little,
delicate silver-mounted tobacco-box, w^hich had been his
father's, and bore his name on the lid, and into it, after
carefully folding, she pressed the paper.

This was the mother of Jims !

As for " Annie Sue," she nursed the child, and called
it her owm. But in every Sense he was a pauper, by his
parental title, by his foster mother's claim, and his own
necessity. " Annie Sue" at length would hear to no
compromise by which she should resign the child. And
as the old people were rather ashamed of having given
it up in the first place, they kept the matter secret —
only the old couple kept possession of the box and its
precious testimony.

Although " Annie Sue" had now been dead some five
or six years, leaving Jims on the town as a pauper, old
Mr. Warren survived and still kept the document that
affirmed the actual parentage and legitimacy of our
young hero.

In his possession there were also some other papers
and waitings, incidental fragments of the family history.

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 205

CHAPTER XVIII.

Crape for Aunt Dorothy. Crape is a great institution. It belongs to the Genus
Sackcloth, and so hails from Job, and other far off Personages. Government
goes for crape. An Administration that wouldn't vote "thirty days" crape
would be put down ; Jobbers and Consumers would rouse the nation and Old Mo-
nopoly get awfully crushed between them. You never see a Dignitary, a Dogma-
tist, a Delectable, a sensible Bachelor, or a sincere Widower who marries the second
and third time only for the sake of his children, despising crape !

Quite to the surprise of Jims, early in the morning
appeared John and Polly Tucker at the poor-house, com-
paratively sober, come to pay their respects to the
remains of old aunt Dorothy. It seems that during- the
night they had fallen into a discussion on the propriety
of wearing mourning for her, and as one was in favor,
and the other in doubt at least, they came down to dis-
cuss the point with their fellow-sufferers, the mourning
and bereaved paupers.

It was a self-evident fact that somebody must act the
part of mourners for aunt Dorothy, and as she had living
no near relations, Captain Bunco and the paupers were
in duty bound to pay her this respect.

John and Polly started the subject immediately on
their arrival at the poor-house precincts. It was forth-
with discussed with considerable animation :

" It is very proper indeed," said the widow Prescott,
" and I am glad you have mentioned it. She was an old
lady, a citizen of the town, that every body used to
know, and she was good to us — now she is gone, we
ought by all means to put on mourning." So thought

206 NEW England's chattels ; or,

Mrs. Rice, an old, infirm I)ody, who walked with a staff,
and aunt Joanna Dodge, whose husband, once smart and
rich, kept the turnpike gate, at the time of his death
being poor and friendless ! " By all means," said they,
" go into mourning. How it would look not to do so !"
" Never was any thing more rational," said tall Ebenezer
Cowles, who was once a tanner in the town and became
poor, and who was considerably intemperate and often
very piously inclined and talkative, " she was a good
soul with all her failings — I say mourning for her is
duty." So thought Birge the shoemaker — and Mag
said, " mourning will be becoming, because ever3'body
'goes into it' w^hen a friend dies — we shan't be sin-
gular !"

" That's my opinion," said John Tucker.

" We owe it to the dead," said Mrs. Rice and Mrs.
Prescott.

" And to the living," said Birge and Cowles.

" To society of course," said aunt Joanna Dodge.
" What would society think of us if nobody here put on
mourning for aunt Dorothy ?"

" True," said Mrs. Rice, " we ought especially to con-
sult the feelings of the world."

" Why so ?" grumbled Dan.

" Because the world has always put on mourning for
the departed."

" Well," said the gruff old pauper, " you see if the
world puts it on for Aer, — "

" That's what I'm thinking," said Polly.

" So was I," said Bill.

" But the point is," said Tucker, '' what we ought to
do."

" Well, it is my opinion," said Mrs. Prescott, " that
all of us who can, ought to go to the grave, and as far as
possible in deep crape."

LIFE IX THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 207

" That is just what I think," said Mrs. Rice, " it's the
way that every body does, and we can't escape our duty
because we are Aere."

" Well now," said Mag, " if we are going into deep
mourning, we must all go immediately to work, for the
funeral is at one, and there'll be none too much time.
You know the bonnets have to be trimmed, and the
dresses flounced with crape, and gloves and veils pre-
pared— it will take all our time and all our efforts to get
ready."

All agreed that this w^as true, but no one moved.

" When my poor man died," said Mrs. Dodge, " we
went into mourning of course, and it took the whole
time of two days to get ready, and the Lord knows I
was in mourning enough without that."

" I think we might borrow a good many things," said
Mrs. Prescott. " It's a chastening Providence, Mrs.
Dodge, when one loses a friend, and one likes to regard
it properly. No doubt the heart is in mourning with-
out crape. But then it's the universal practice to appear
in black, you know ?"

" Oh, yes, to be sure," said that lady, with a long-
drawn sigh.

" Well, I reckon," said Tucker, " mourning for the
dead goes a great way to reconcile us to Providence ;
it seems to look as if one felt it dreadfully .'"

" At all events it is good for the heart of man, John
Tucker," said the widow.

" I think if there's any good in it," said Mag, " it's a
pity it wasn't thought of for the town paupers a good
while ago."

" Why so ?" inquired Polly.

" Because they lose about their full share of friends
every year, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to keep them

208 NEW England's chattels ; or,

in mourning the year round. It ivould do their poor
souls good /"

Mrs. Prescott was rather ruiSed at this sarcastic cut
of the old hag, and said in reply, " Nobody ever mourned
too much."

" The richest people in the world," said Mag, " always
get the most good, aunt Prescott, when their friends die,
you know !"

" How so ?"

" Why, they dress in crape from head to foot, and it's
all ordered in ' cap-a-pie' style from the shops, and their
attention isn't distracted by sewing, and borrowing, and
fitting, and calculating, and so on and so forth — they've
nothing to do but put on their new-made crape fixings
when they come, and keep weeping, too, from morning
to night."

" Poor souls !" exclaimed Mr. Ebenezer Cowles.

" How much they may mourn !" said Mrs. Polly Tucker.

" What a benevolent example to the poor !" said Mrs.
Rice.

" How kind they can be in giving away their mourning
things to somebody else," said Mrs. Dodge.

" Rich mourners have a good time of it in cities," said
Mag, " they ride to the cemetery through the handsomest
streets, in smart coaches, all dressed in their new crapes,
and smile out of the windows as they go, as if they'd got
the mourning all on their clothes on the outside."

" Why, Mag Davis !" said Roxy.

" Ain't it so, Dan ?"

" Why shouldn't it be ?" said he, " they're glad at heart,
for they've got a new pile of money, and that pays for
the outside rig, coaches and all."

" And middling sort of folks copy the example, and
pay as they can," said Jims, who had hitherto said noth-
ing, but sat a la Turk in the midst of them.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 209

" Yes, Jims is right, by thunder !" said Tucker.

"And who pays ior poor folks?'''' inquired Polly.

" Captain Bunce," said some.

" The town," said others.

" There are four things to settle about," said Mag.
" There's, first, whether we'll go into mourning ; next,
who'll furnish it ; and then, third, whether we shall ride
to the grave ; and last, if we'll have prayers at church."

Now who will say that these poor creatures, once ac-
customed to all these ceremonies, should not be allowed
them still ? Is a mourning suit, is a mourning carriage,
is a church prayer for the dead merely for you and for
me, who happen to stand on our feet, and are nobody's
poor ? They felt the loss of an old comrade, or fellow,
as sincerely as any other class. Their family was in-
vaded by death — a very prominent member of it was
stricken from the roll, and now the education of earlier
life taught them to put on crape.

But when they sent to Captain Bunce to know whether
he thought they should do so, and to advise about it,
what answer do you think the Captain gave them?

" Go into mourning for old aunt Dorothy !" exclaimed
he ; " what, the town paupers go into mourning ! If that
ain't a joke, I'll give up. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! If that isn't
rich, I can't tell what is. It ought to go on the town re-
cords, and into all the newspapers. The toicn paupers
of Crampton, who arn't worth, the whole kit and boodle
of them, two bright cents in the world, come to me to
ask if they shan't put on a regular suit of crape ! By the

L ," said he, " I shall die of laughing. Ha ! ha ! ha !

ha ! I wonder old aunt Dorothy don't sing them a psalm
tune in her coffin. And then they propose coaches —
and even prayers on the Sabbath ! I vow I believe the
world is coming to an end. They.seem to think as much

210 NEW England's chattels ; or,

of themselves as if they were lords of the soil, with
money at interest. And yet it would be fun alive to see
the old crones dressed out in mourning ! All Crampton
would laugh for a fortnight." The Captain loved a joke.
There was not an inhabitant of the town who was more
fond of one. A real good laugh, moreover, always
«ieemed to do him good, only sometimes it seemed to
shake him up rather more than most persons would call
comfortable. He had a way when the paroxysm lasted,
or when it was at its height, of holding on to something
like a door-handle, or the back of a chair, or a tree, or a
post, throwing back his head, looking right up towards
the sky, and thus stayed up he could give way to the en-
joyment till the tears ran down his cheeks, and his
cheeks grew red, and the perspiration gathered in large
quantities all over him. So he took this joke. One of his
laughing paroxysms, lasting ten or fifteen minutes, quite
unmanned him for any earnest, soberly employment, and
he vowed again and again that he hadn't been so much
amused since he took the paupers — " It was the very
height of the ridiculous."

Most every body would agree with him. Why, what
nonsense to think of a parcel of broken down, disfran-
chized, vagrant old paupers presuming to do as society
in its best condition finds expensive, a terrible — a — a —
a — terrible bore ! Put on mourning for one that society
thinks is better off by seven cents a day, at least, for
dying ? Are these people, the survivors, to ride in our
carriages to the grave — to borrow our hats and shawls?
Ridiculous I Is our minister to preach them a funeral
sermon in our church and make them a prayer ? Non-
sense ! nonsense ! nonsense ! No, " let them," as Mr.
Savage says, " let them slide." They are little better than
dead themselves. And where's the sense in making

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 211

such an ado about a half dozen paupers, when a hundred
smart, rich, decent folks are burnt up or drowned in one
steamboat disaster, or killed in a smash-up of the cars in
little less than no time, and forgotten in seven days ! I
say, where's the sense in making so much ado over a
small lot of paupers ? Arn't they the poorest sort of
humanity that's alive — a bill of expense, a town-charge,
always wanting something — and complaining ? What
good do they do for the public ? — as Savage says — " Let,
tJiem slide /"

" Seriously," said the Captain, " you'd do well, all of
you, to wash yourselves up, and comb your hair, for the
parson will be here soon, and the funeral will be over
before you can count twelve. Come, now, stir round,
be lively, and get things in order here !"

Thus repulsed, the paupers went shivering about the
rooms and premises ; the old women feeling happy if
among their worn clothing they could find a bit of soiled
crape to tie over a dilapidated cap ! And so the mourn-
ing for aunt Dorothy was confined to the heart.

212 NEW England's chattels; or,

CHAPTER XIX.

Sermon to the Paupers. Was it or was it not a Gospel Endeavor? There is a
great itching now-a-days to preach Homiletice and Philosophic Yams, and some
preach like Yellow Dandelions and Buttercups ! The Gospel's the Gospel for a'
that, and happy soul is he who preaches it.

At one o'clock Mr. Rodman arrived, and still it snow-
ed. The storm of the night had filled the roads with
snow, and the wind had piled it here and there so as
greatly to impede the traveling. Mr. Rodman, on his
way down, was frequently obliged to get out of his
sleigh and break the road open before his horse could
proceed. It was difficult to convey a coffin to the grave
under these circumstances, and some persons would, in
a like state of things, have deferred the funeral to an-
other day, especially as the storm would prevent many
of the mourners from arriving, and others from going to
the grave. But neither of these objections weighed a
feather in the case of aunt Dorothy. She hadn't a friend
the less at her funeral for the storm, nor a carriage the
less went to the grave. And it was no object to keep
her corpse a moment above ground beyond the appoint-
ed hour, as no one could receive from it the least possi-
ble good, and the society at the poor-house wanted all
the room there was in that institution.

Captain Bunce hardly regained his usual composure
sufficiently to look concerned and sorry, when the
clergyman arrived, especially as he observed the effort
made by all the paupers to look as if in mourning. The
widow Prescott had on her very cleanest cap, an old

LIFE IN THE NOKTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 213

relic of other days, musty Avitli time and careful preser-
vation in a tight drawer, around it circling a plain band
of mourning ribbon. Prink and prim she sat near the
head of the coffin, and appeared as chief mourner. One
and another had found some rag or strip of black for
dress, hat, or cap ; the instinct natures, or education, and
the longing for mourning, inducing the conceit in them
that it made the sad obsequies of aunt Dorothy more
accordant with the mournful Providence ! And all, as
Captain Bunce directed, had washed them, and brushed
and combed their locks. There sat they, grouped to-
gether, the aged, feeble, pale, sallow, simple ones, with
the younger also, equally squalid and wretchedly clad,
with lustreless eyes and sad, desponding features — mere
wrecks of humanity, dependent on the cold charity of
the world for every comfort, however small, that they
enjoyed, and pining away, nearly helpless from old age,
or from chronic diseases they had no power of constitu-
tion to resist — who were sure victims of cold and wet,
and burning heat, and especially of any prevailing sick-
ness or epidemic in the community around. And they
sat together as mourners — the chief mourners in the
case of a departed companion, in the tribulation of this
weary " mortal state." Though too poor to buy them a
mourning habit, the God of nature clad every counte-
nance of them with a grief that spoke the language of a
true sorrow, and they looked to the observer as really
weeping for the dead, as though it had not been to her
an infinite gain !

Thus hold we all to life.

Mr. and Mrs. Haddock were at the funeral, and two
or three other neighbors. The minister, Mr. Rodman,
before the prayer, made a short address to the people,
and selected as the ground of his remarks the solemn

214 NEW England's chattels; or,

words of Scripture, " So then every one of us shall give
account of himself to God." Mr. Rodman was a very
good dissector of Bible truth, and of human cliaracter.
He knew very well that nothing would reach the hitman
depraved heart, if the words of the gospel failed of this,
and he was, consequently, very faithful and skilful in
exposing the heart, and applying to it the healing word
of truth. This was his usual character. But the con-
gregation he now addressed was somewhat new, a little
out of his usual routine, and he had some difficulty in
choosing the course of argument with them, that would
enable him most effectually to meet their necessities,
and so improve their hearts. Ee had felt this before,
it is true, on like occasions, but never did he more
sensibly so feel it than now. After coming to a decision,
:e attempted to perform his duty in a faithful, though
iffectionate manner.

Apprising them of their loss, he then called their at-
tention to two very serious and important truths pre-
sented in the words of the text. First, the universal
fact, that we ourselves, and all men must appear before
God. Second, the equally solemn and- universal truth
that we must give a personal account of our life to God.
Under the first department of thought, he assured them
that they would all, one after another, leave the world
and appear before their Maker. He told them, that not
one of their number could possibly avoid this ; there
being no age long enough to outlive the Almighty, no
arm strong enough to resist death, no secret place
where one might cover himself from view, no flight so
distant whereunto the arrow of the King of Terrors
would not follow them. He further represented the
different modes of death and times of it, and assured
them that as it had been with the deceased so would it

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 215

prove with them, that they must go alone out of the
world, how many friends or companions soever they
might now have around them. Death would cut them
all down.

Under the second division of the subject, he repre-
sented earnestly the great and solemn fact that any one
who goes into eternity is a sinner, condemned and vile,
and utterly lost forever, in consequence of his sinful-
ness, except as he may have the forgiveness of God
through repentance of sin and faith in the merits of the
Saviour, the Lord Jesus. He represented the certainty
of a solemn, searching, judgment day, when the hearts
of all men would be laid open, and every one, willing or
unwilling, be required to give a strict account of him-
self to God, the Searcher of Hearts. " Then," said he,
" what a painful revelation of the sins and follies of
life Avill be made ! Is it not enough to startle and af-
fright you here ? Do you not tremble when you think
of your manifold iniquities — the sins, and all the shame-
ful vices of your lives ? Oh ! how will they appear be-
fore the great white throne — before God the judge of
the world ?" He besought them to consider these so-
lemn truths then, even while gathered around the cold
remains of their deceased friend, and so by timely re-
pentance escape the horrors of the judgment day.

Mr. Rodman's prayer was in some sense a repetition
of his sermon, although as he got nearer and nearer to
the mercy-seat it waxed more fervent, and breathed out
earnest and affectionate supplications in behalf of the
desolate group that surrounded him.

Mr. Rodman had begun to see and to feel the misery
— the blight and mildew of the poor-house system under
which these wrecks of humanity were plodding their
way to the grave. Frequent short conversations with

216 NEW England's chattels ; or,

the Haddocks and Phillips' had contributed to awaken
his interest in the matter, so that he was often found
alluding to the poor in his sermons and prayers, to the
evident surprise and discontent of his parishioners,
Messrs. Smith, Newcombe, Shire & Co. But still his
eyes were holden that he should not see the whole
truth.

After the services of the hour were closed, he went
among the people — ^the paupers, shaking hands with all
and saying a few words to them. As he came near
where Mag Davis w^as sitting, coiled up something like
a catamount ready to spring on her pre}^, she spoke out
in her usual sententious and sarcastic manner — " Your
sermon, parson Rodman, was, I doubt not, every word
'ont true, but it was no new thing to one of us ; we've
all of us sinned under just sich truth of the law all our
born days, having had the law but not kept it. Now,
havn't you a Gospel for such poor devils as we are —
some invitation, some entreaty, some word of marcy —
some promise — hey ?"

" Don't be troubling the minister here," said Captain
Bunce, rudely coming up and making preparations to
receive the coffin, which consisted of the plainest stain-
ed boards, with few — very few ornaments ! " Mr. Rod-
man is tired, and we have much to do !"

The conversation closed, and Mr. Rodman fell back to
his place, but the arroAv had left the bow, and it quiver-
ed deep in his own soul. His sermon had recoiled on
himself, and the whole power of its thunder was echoing
along the domains of his own heart. He had proclaimed
the terrors of the law to those who knew the law, but
yet had all their life known and resisted it, were still
resisting it. They had not felt the tender pleadings of
the Gospel — had not so seen the suffering Saviour and

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 217

his cross, as that their sorrow and love were revived,
but they stood trembling when the Gospel might, and
the Gospel alone could do them good. Mr. Rodman's
eyes were now opened, and he was forever made a
soul-friend and pleader for these miserable, wretched
outcasts, the forgotten people of the gay and busy
world. And all the way to the grave he meditated
over the subject. He accused himself bitterly, too, for
his past blindness and obtuseness of heart ; that he
could see the poor wretches suffer and die without re-
flecting on their need of all the consolations the Gospel
is fitted to impart to them — without sympathy for
them, Avithout any earnest thought or action in their
behalf, they of the highways and hedges, for whom the
son of God suffered and proclaimed the Gospel !

Aunt Dorothy's remains were taken to their last rest-
ing place on a large common sleigh bottom. It was
usual to take the bodies of inmates of the poor-house to
their burial in a similar manner. A hearse was not
thought of for a moment. The funeral charges of a
pauper are not, says the law, " to exceed six doUars."
In the summer, when one died, the remains were carried
in a sort of lumber-wagon. The whole thing was eco-
nomically arranged, and the grave was made along side
of others from the poor-house, so that the general lo-
cality could be known without the necessity of particu-
larizing it by the help of marble ! No head-stones were
furnished for their graves. They slumbered in them
who were their tenants, forgotten and unknown, till the
judgment morn.

The storm was a fearful one in which aunt Dorothy's
corpse was lowered to its rest, forbidding all remarks,
and requiring every degree of exertion, and all haste
possible. But the tempest of the old songstress' mind

10

218 NEW England's chattels ; or,

was hushed ; her cares and difBculties were ended.
Little thought or cared she for the storm that howled a
requiem over her.

As they turned away from the grave, Mr. Rodman ob-
served the slender form of Jims in the snow, holding his
horse by the head. " Thank you, my lad," said he, " I
am sorry that I can't talk with you a little, but we must
all hurry aw^ay. Will you come up and see me some one
of these days, eh ?"

Jims rolled up his hat from off his eyes and said, " I'll
come when the next one goes off, if the Cap'n says so."

"Eh?"

" I say, when the next one of us tips the bucket, I'll
come and tell you."

" Oh, ho ! I suppose I understand you. But I should
like to see you any other time, so good-bye ; come if you
can."

Jims put his hands in his pockets, and was staring
after him, when he felt himself seized by the collar and
jerked violently backwards into the snow, at the same
time the voice of Captain Bunce, like a buU bellowing in
a tornado, rung in his ears. " Don't stand there with
your hands in your breeches, boy, but help fill up this
grave! There now, pull in the gravel with that hoe.
Here, Dan ; work nimbly, boys, or we shall get covered
up by this tremendous snow-storm. Hang her — die in
such a storm as this ! It costs more to bury her than
two of her are worth. But she's done with — she's made
us a world of trouble, and this closes the account. There,
boys, that'll do for aunt Dorothy. Now bring round the
team. It's a mile home, and I don't see but we must
make a new track, every foot of it. Nimble, now\" And
so they moved away, leaving there poor old aunt Dorothy
Brinsmade in her winding-sheet, the deep, cold snow
fast gathering on her grave.

LIFE IN THE NORTHEBN POOR-HOUSE. 219

CHAPTER XX.

Northern Human Chnttels. Where is Aunt Dodge?

A MONTH now wore away. The grave had been again
opened, but this time to receive all that was mortal of
Mrs. Bunce, whom we mentioned as cut down by sick-
ness soon after the conclusion of the arson examination.
Boyce was tending the same way, and the constitution
of Mrs. Boyce, as it was found, had received so great a
shock by her shipwreck and subsequent trials, as to
leave small hope that her life would not be the forfeiture.
Every day Jims came in to inquire how they did, and his
heart trembled for the little Alice, lest she also should
become a pauper, after her parents had left the world.

The care of their little daughter greatly troubled both
of her parents. It was true that she had many a friend
and relative in England, but none nearer than uncles
and aunts, and the difficulty of returning her there at so
early an age seemed to them almost insurmountable.
But if they did not, she would most positively be left in
the hands of those strangers to whom they were them-
selves indebted for their present comforts ; who could
tell what misfortunes or the changes of life might com-
pel them to do with her ?

But those friends were tried friends, whose charities
were not stimulated by the uprisings of a mere transient
emotion of pity, or the desire of applause from the world.
They had in them the true convictions of duty, and they

220 NEW England's chattels ; oe,

obeyed them. Conscience and reason spoke to them,
and they listened. Religion shewed them her paths of
benevolence and self-denial only to inspire them with a
determination to walk in them at every sacrifice. They
knew from the Gospel, and from their own experience,
it Avas " more blessed to give than to receive."

Mrs. Rodman, Mrs. Haddock, and Mrs. Phillips now
frequently held sessions together, in which they consult-
ed for the good of the poor in general, and in which
they made an arrangement for the little Alice in par-
ticular. It w^as the earnest desire of Mrs. Rodman that
the child might be given into her care, and she would
undertake to educate and provide for her in the future.
To the two friends, Mrs. Haddock and Mrs. Phillips,
this arrangement was entirely desirable. To Mr. and
Mrs. Boyce it was melancholy pleasing, their hearts
yearning over their dear one, and the wish yet living
in their hearts that she should once more be permitted
to see her native land.

And it was finally stipulated that when she was
eighteen years of age, she should be allowed to make a
visit to her relatives in England, and look after any
legacies or property that might have in the meantime
fallen to her there, provided she herself was anxious to
go, and there w^ere no insurmountable obstacles in the
way.

And thus the orphaned one found a home and friends.

But who can tell us where the red-capped widow
Dodge has gone ? It is now February, and she has been
away for a fortnight ; no one knows where, no one
seems to consider it of much importance. When Cap-
tain Bunce was asked what he thought of it, he replied
that he thought very little of it, unless that she had got
into some other poor-house, and the town there would

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR- EOUSE. 221

be sending him a bill soon for keeping her. As for look-
ing after her, the Captain never thought of that. He
said the paupers always came back as soon as he cared
to see them.

And so she remains off a long time — probably doing
well in some other habitation of God's poor !

But her place is somewhat missed by the widow Pres-
cott, for she is a sensible old lady of piety, and the two
have long been acquainted. Mrs. Dodge was raised in
affluent circumstances. Her young life was one of al-
most unalloyed happiness. Her father and mothei
moved among the highly influential of the town, her
two brothers and three handsome sisters were her un-
selfish admiration and constant companions, and they all
moved in the first society of the place.

But a great change came over the family. Joanna
married one of the young merchants of the town, and
her prospects were bright and her heart y/as buoyant
and happy for a time. At length the dark cloud began
to gather round her, and she lived to follow to the
grave every one of her father's house. And her hus-
band became, as alas ! too many have done in whom the
hopes of wives, loving through all changes of life, have
centered, confirmed in ways of intemperance, and saw
the ruin of his fortune.

In this advanced life they were glad of the humble
station of keepers of the turnpike gate, and when the
death of her husband left Mrs. Dodge a widow, it was
not long ere in her infirmity of body and mind she was
forced to apply to the town for support.

And now she is " the widow Joanna Dodge, with the
red cap." And she who was the "belle Joanna Mar-
tin" in her youth, and the excellent Mrs. Dodge in her
middle life, sensible and chatty and benevolent — good

222 NEW England's chattels; or,

to all — even to the poor, may go and come as a town
pauper any where, it makes but little difference where
or when, provided she is no bill of expense to him who,
for a stipulated sum, gives her her daily food and yearly
raiment. Nobody feels in duty bound to carry her if
lame, weary or sick, nobody to feed her if hungry, or
clothe her if her garments are tattered and soiled. She
is too poor to make one any return for his benevolence
to her ; or to merit the attention of society, as the prin-
ciple on which benevolence generally turns with them
is this : to do good to those who can in some manner
repay us the same again. The poor people have a very
slim chance therefore, considered as so much per cent,
of society under marketable valuation, or as so much to
the loss and gain of community — they are despised, and
turned from as of less value than good working, hearty
servants, be the same white or black. The town paupers
as such, are not regarded as eligible to office, as capable
of any business or trust of importance above that of a
child, or a half idiotic, sputtering dunce.* In the old
poor-houses they were, and now are, a cast-off portion of
humanity, moaning in weakness, hunger, thirst, naked-
ness, filth, disease and moral contamination, too de-

* From the following note, taken from the New York Sun, January 8, 1857, it
would appear that a town pauper was once elected to a very important ofiSee. —
Author.

" It may be remarked here, that the attempts made by town authorities to get
rid of the support of paupers are generally very pertinaciotis, and sometimes lu-
dicrous. It is a fact, that, in one of the neighboring States, where there was but
one pauper, he was elected a member of the Legislature, and actually took his
seat ; and, it may be added, the fact of his being a pauper might not have been
known, had not a bill been introduced to give the bodies of paupers to surgeons,
which he understanding to mean while the said paupers were alive, was so agitated
that his real character became known ; and the scene raay be better imagined than
described, when he made a solemn appeal to his constitutional rights, against such
a monstrous law as the one proposed."

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 223

graded, too loathsome often to awaken other than re-
volting reflections. Accordingly, following this fashion
of the world, the church, and the individual Christian
cast them off, and passed by on the other side. The
" contributions for the poor" at the Lord's table, were
not made for the poor paupers — they received them not,
such monies were carried past them, to some sick or
weak, though respectable poor brother or sister in some
respectable family, or under what might still be his or
her own roof. How little of it, if any, ever visited the
poor-house !

Thus it was and is, that the principle on which it
stands, of reducing the poor of the town to the condition
so nearly of chattels, is wrong. Nobody will seek to
relieve distress that is provided for by the public vote
and law. The persons who bind themselves to feed and
clothe and comfort the paupers, are expected to do this
in their own way, especially as the bargain made is a
tight one for the contracting parties, as all concede !
They are not to be interfered with by my ways and
directions ! How can they carry out their plans secure-
ly if you and I, and others, may dictate to them, and
undertake to do anything that will create among the
subjects of pauperism a state of ingratitude — a complain-
ing, jealous spirit? Hence the paupers are often worse
off than slaves. They are sold for the year to one who,
if he cannot work them some, will be sure to make up
his loss from their food, raiment, and shelter. And
their position is the more degrading, that it is often a
perfect contrast to their former life. Many a one has
known the luxury of wealth ; many have been in large
business, in offices of trust, in places of fashion and
amusement ; others have traveled much abroad ; and
again, others have been great readers of books, and in-

224 NEW England's chattels ; or,

structor in science ; they have been advocates at the
bar, and ministers at the altar. The changes of Fortune
are many and wonderful. Look in at one of our prisons,
and see who are the operatives there at the anvil, on the
work-bench, at the loom, at stone cutting, at coopering,
tailoring, and so forth. Are they not from every grade
in human society ? And so is it with the poor. Misfor-
tune, infirmity, disease, and old age, instead of statute
crime, have made men paupers. Unfortunate, though
often personally vicious in their ways, they have come
to be imbecile and harmless, instead of strong for crime
and cunning for evil. So they drop out of the leaf of
the book of humanity, and are known no more. They
may suffer, may be horribly, cruelly treated, may starve,
sicken and die — die of fever, of cold, and hunger and
nakedness ; but it makes little, if any difference to other
men. The world is glad to let them go to their last home t
We speak of the poor-house that is made such by the
hammer of the auctioneer. Paupers at the North, in
public town-meeting of freemen, religious men, intelli-
gent men, the husbands of delicate and refined lady-
wives, the fathers of promising and gifted sons and
daughters, men in business, men in office, men who read
and think and pray, do sell their oiim -poor and infirm fel-
loiv-citizens, because they are poor and helpless! TO
THE LOWEST BIDDER ! They sell them for so much
a year — and repeat the sale at the end of the time for
another year — growing no wiser, more thoughtful or
merciful by the lapse of time, or the workings of the
system. While slaves are sold, even the aged and infirm,
to the highest bidder, as are cattle, horses, lands, goods,
stocks — these, the paupers, being destitute of value and
having only souls, not bodies tit for toil or pleasure, are
cast aside as useless, mere excrements on the great body

LIFE IN THE NOETHEEN POOE-HOUSE. 225

of society, valuable only as they perish and so make room
for others !

The work-houses, the colored homes, the orphan asy-
lums, the lunatic asylums, the penitentiaries are places
for the recovery of some and of hopeful labor in respect
of most ; or else they are the charity of the public and
of individuals to relieve such as have some claim on
them for the exercise of benevolence, distinct from that
of mere pauperism. The hospital is not the poor-house.
The alms-house is, in some sense, the modern improve-
ment of the poor-house — it is one form of improvement,
and is peculiarly adapted to populous towns and cities.
It is not always well conducted. But where this is not
appropriate, there should be either a county farm, or
town farm, with ample accommodations for healthful ex-
ercise, and opportunity for such and so much labor, as
individual cases may require, with every degree of care
to secure clean and well ventilated apartments for every
person in the establishment, correct associations and
familiarities ; securing to the aged women, and infirm or
delicate, warm, pleasant rooms, with easy seats and car-
pets and curtains and lights, bibles and other books ;
to the children proper care and instruction, and to all
that proper food, which every one of us, gentle readers !
would, under similar circumstances, desire. If, under
this kind and reasonable care, the lives of the paupers
were lengthened out some five or ten years, and so the
town might fear that an additional expense would arise
from so keeping them, it must be replied that in all
cases, or nearly so, where this system has been adopted,
the paupers have work on the farm and jDremises more
than enough to support the institution,'^ and so the town

* Article in Kew York Tribune, from James Brewster, Esq., of New Haven,
Ct., Dec, 1856— AuTH.

in*

226 NEW England's chattels ; or,

has actually derived from it a surplus revenue. At the
same time, it should be to us a joyful consideration that
the paupers are in this way brought up from a state of
humiliation and degradation once more to the rank of
comfortable citizenship — in effect no longer slaves, or
worse than slaves, they are where the benevolence of
Christianity can reach them — where society no longer
casts on them her dark shadow of neglect.

But where is the widow Dodge ? She comes not.
Poor Henrietta sits a long hour with the widow Prescott,
and wonders why Mrs. Dodge is not at home. Jims says
she is better off somewhere. Mrs. Rice thinks she has
found some old relation who has opened her doors to
give her w^inter quarters, and Bill thinks she is old
enough to take care of herself. Mrs. Prescott thinks it
would be a pity if anything should happen to her in her
old age, and as she looks on the cold snows of February,
shakes her head, and says — " I fear I shall dream bad
things of her."

" Now, Miss Prescott," said Mag Davis, " you're a be-
liever in dreams, are you ?"

" I believe in them ! of course I do. Didn't the peo-
ple of God in old times ' dream dreams' ?"

" Perhaps they did," said Mag, " but dreams now-a-
days seem to me of mighty little consequence."

" Don't all dreams come from the Lord ?" inquired
Mrs. Prescott.

" No, I don't believe they do. How should He have
anything to do with making your dream a thing that
never comes to pass, hey ?"

" There ain't such dreams !" said Bill.

" There ain't many I guess," said Mrs. Prescott, a little
bewildered.

" They are as thick as beef soup," said Mag.

LIFE IN THE NOKTHERN POOS-HOUSE. 227

" Well now, name one," said the old lady Rice.

" Ob, that's very easy," said Mag, " I dreamed the
other night that all the paupers of Crampton were put
into a grand house, with carpets on the floors, and cur-
tains to the windows, and good changes of clothes fur-
nished them, and as good a home as they ever had, and
victuals and drink of the very best kind. Now that's
an instance. Every one of you knows that the Lord
never gave any body such a dream as that — so perfectly
impossible a thing !"

" The Lord— no, indeed !" said Bill.

" Why not ?" inquired Mrs. Prescott.

" Because it would be tantalizing his creatures, and
tempting them, which the Lord never does."

" Well, now, it seems to me," said the widow, "just
like this — that the Lord was so merciful to you and to
us, that he was willing to show us in such a dream how
unbounded was his power and his mercy ; that he could
even lift us up out of this pit of woe, as he did Jeremiah
and Joseph, and as he recovered Daniel from the den of
lions, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the fiery
furnace. Now we must believe in him with strong faith
— perhaps if we had faith he would do something for us
as good as that dream, every bit of it, Mag."

Good old praying saint, she sees mercy in every dis-
pensation, the outstretched arm of Israel's God in every
cloud.

" Now, Mrs. Prescott," said Dan, " what's the use of
talking after that sort? You know that Mag's dream is
a regular devil's idea to worry people. There's no more
hope of it's coming to pass than there is that Captain
Bunco will live a hundred years."

" I have great faith," said she in reply, " in the Lord's
promises ; and does he not say, your sons and your
daughters shall dream dreams?"

228 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Well, did that mean Mag Davis ?" said Dan.

" Of course it did !" said Mag, with a shout and a
laugh. " Well, now," continued she, " I had another
dream — want to hear it, say ?"

" Yes, tell it," said several.

Poor, ignorant, and oppressed creatures always love
to tell and hear dreams ; they are a superstitious class
of persons. " Well," said Mag, " now get your ears wide
open ; this is a true dream, and scarey, too. One night,
it was a dark, stormy night, the wind was very high, and
the old trees swayed one way and another, groaning
like the ghosts that sometimes come round here from
the graves of our sort of folks — for you know they can't
rest easy in their graves, don't you ?"

" That's likely enough," said Cowles, who was rather
easily frightened, having thought he had seen a ghost
two or three times running through the orchard and
dancing about among the trees — " I have no doubt they
do rise."

•' Nor I," said Mag, " not one jot nor grain."

" I hope there are none out to-night," said Dan, with
some more concern than he usually exhibited.

" If there are any," said Jims, " they'll shake their teeth
in your face, old Dan, I know."

'' Why so ?" growled he.

" Because they are going to have your body and soul
as soon as they can make room for you," said the boy.

" Get you gone, boy, don't fury me — what's the use ?
Well, go on, Mag."

" The ghosts rise, everybody knows that, when they're
a mind to, and I say it was a good night to remind one
of them that I speak of, a dark, stormy, windy, howling
night, and I could see something moving about in the
orchard that seemed to me half ghost, and half animal

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 229

with horns— all scaring me a good deal, so that I went
and told aunt Dorothy, now dead and gone, though I
think lier ghost isn't far off."

" Pshaw !" exclaimed Dan.

" Well, she said it looked frightful, and we both trem-
bled, till finally it slowly began to fade away, and by-and-
bye totally disappeared behind the barn."

" The old white horse !" said Bill, " as true as I'm a
live soul, ha ! ha ! ha !"

"How do you know what it was, nigur?" shouted
the hag.

" Because I saw him, and led him away myself. Miss."

" You lie— it was a ghost," said Mag, in tones as sharp
and mad as a hyena—" it was a ghost I I saw it and so
did aunt Dorothy."

" I led the old horse away, I tell you, by the ear of his
head, and took him round behind the barn, and so on
into his stable. There was no ghost, miss, not a speegle
was out that night— nor is there — very often, my word
for it," said old Bill, with spirit.

But Mag was a hard one to put down, and was only
pacified by Dan seizing her by the wrists and holding
her as in a vice, while he thundered in her ears — " Be
still, you hag, and tell your dream. Let the ghosts go to
h— , where they came from. Give us the dream, I say
— do you hear ?"

" By and bye," said Mag, " we laid down and went
Id to a hard sleep. But I kept dreaming all night, and
once I dreamed that aunt Joanna Dodge was out a good
way from home, plodding along in the snow with her red
handkerchief on her head, weeping on account of her
sorrows and the bad walking ; when all at once a good-
looking person dressed in misty white came along and
threw a white blanket over her and took her into his

230 NEW ENGLANI S CHATTELS ; OR,

care. Then she got along well. By and bye I thought
there was a great wedding and a mighty crowd of people
present. But "who do you think was the bride, hey ?"

" Don't know !" said several.

" Can't you guess ?" inquired she.

" No, unless it was aunt Joanna herself," said Mrs.
Prescott.

" And it was she ! It was old aunt Joanna herself,
married and took to a steady home in her old age. Ha !
ha ! ha !" shouted the dreaming Mag.

The widow fairly hung her head down in her lap.
She didn't know what to say.

" There I I knew it would puzzle you," said Mag. —
" Isn't it * odds and likely' that my dream of aunt Joanna
will come to pass ? ha ! ha ! ha !"

" Perhaps it will for all," said Mrs. Rice. " You know
old folks sometimes get married."

" But they are not often paupers !" said the old crone.

" Well, I knew of one old cripple. Miss Hugglewill,"
said Mrs. Rice, " that the overseers of the poor in a

town in , hired another to marry, by giving him a

hundred dollars — and they were actually married."

" Yes," said Mag, " and how long did they live to-
gether ?"

" Don't know, nor care," said the other.

" Well, I know. They lived together just three weeks,
and then petitioned for a separation, and the courts
said there had been no legal marriage at all, ha ! ha !
ha!"*

" Who knows," said aunt Prescott, looking up calmly
upon them, " who knows," and she now looked serious
and solemn, " who can tell, but this also was one of the
Lord's dreams, to show us poor, sinful creatures, that

* M , Vermont. — Auth. See Appendix, A.

LITE IN THE NOKTHEEN POOR-HOUSE. 231

aunt Joanna will be invited to and entertained at the
marriage supper of the Lamb at the great white throne
of God in heaven?"

And the frightened, and railing, and laughing group
of wretched paupers, grew serious also, and still, and
thoughtful, and more calm, and one by one they slunk
away to their quarters for the night.

Jims rolled in the old blanket on the floor, snored and
dreamed, and shrieked, for he seemed once to think
three or four ghosts were chasing him through the
branches of the apple trees, and Mag was one of them,
spouting fiery arrows at him from her burning eyes and
mouth, and threatening to shake him over the pit of fire.
And then he dreamed that Captain Bunce kept him for
a whole week in a dark, dungeon-like room, on a crust
of bread and a little water, for stealing chickens.

Dan dreamed that he was in heaven, and awoke hor-
ribly exercised in mind lest it should, alas ! for him, prove
true. Little heart had he for tliat world. But the night
wore away and the speegles retired to their graves.
Ghosts never rise but in the night.

232 NEW England's chattels ; or,

CHAPTER XXI.

Paupers not tneir own masters or law-makers ; which appears very like a state
of Involuntariness — were it not in New England !

It is not strange that neglected and poorly cared for,
and despised as were the paupers, many of whom had
seen better days, and still carried with them some re-
maining sparks of former character and life, they should
develope in this condition the very worst features of
vice, and justly incur the odium that rests on those who
lead a vagrant, idle, wasteful life ? They could but
know and feel their degradation. They were not sent
to the poor-house as lunatics, nor as criminals against
the laws. They were held in the condition occupied by
them simply because they were poor and friendless — or
because they could not supply themselves actual food
and raiment enough to keep them alive. Society in a
Christian land know that they must not starve by the
way side, nor offend community by their nakedness.
And the poor-house system grew out of this conviction
and the necessity of the case. It was not a system of
cheerful, sympathetic benevolence, but a system of co-
erced relief, in which the people at large submitted to
a tax on their property at the smallest possible rate — it
being understood that the paupers who received the aid
should not be regarded as claimants on their property
in any sense, and the tax should be a gratuity sufficient
only for the merest necessity, and nothing beyond.

Of course, at the annual town meeting, the poor, these

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 233

white men, women and children (!) were, and in many a
town in New England it is still so, put up at puhlic auc-
tion and sold to be thus supported for the term of one
year, to the lowest bidder — to that person, who after care-
fully figuring all the cost, is of the opinion he can safely
to himself take the risk ! or the selectmen of the town
make a contract with him in the name of the town.

So is it in good, wise and pious New England, the
land of a brave and chivalrous ancestry, the land of the
free, the land blessed with and afiluent in schools, and
colleges, and churches, whose praises live in the songs of
ages !

But shame on New England, that she can thus sit
calmly by the degradation of her poor — that she can for-
get the thousands of her own native children in these
polluted poor-houses, half-starved, half-clad, half-shel-
tered, pampered stock for early graves, tottering souls
but half informed, or remembering that a Saviour came
into the world !

Is there a church of Christ in New England guilty of
this blood ? a priest who walks by on the other side this
great poverty? Let both remember that it was of the
poor in the hedges and by the highways, that the mar-
riage was supplied with guests ; that to the poor the
Gospel was preached ; that the Son of God came to seek
and save the lost ; that the impotent and feeble folk
were the special objects of a Saviour's touch and re-
covering word ; that the despised harlot was forgiven,
and that Jesus went among the poor with charity's
purest aim, with a benevolence that heaven smiled on,
and that earth, awakening from her sloth and sin, should
arise to imitate.

Not only are the paupers of New England poorly sup-
plied with food, raiment, and often shelter, but from

234 NEW England's chattels ; oe,

them have been taken many civil rights and privileges
incident to a state of freedom. We shall make this ap-
pear as we proceed. Suffice it to say in this place, that
in some of the Free States those citizens who became
chargeable, as paupers, to the towns or to the State,
are disfranchised.* They are not allowed to vote ; they
do not serve on a jury ; they can not marry as they
will ; if they have children, they cannot decide where or
when they shall go to school or leave it, learn a trade, or
go to any other service or business. Neither can they
choose who shall keep themselves ; nor, except by en-
treaty, can they have any particular or special mode of
life when at the poor-house, as to room, employment,
food, or associates. Still they are not absolutely slaves ;
for although they are paupers simply on the ground of
destitution, they may recover themselves out of that
state if property falls to them, or they may be taken out
of it by individuals assuming their support. If, how-
ever, they have no property — and as 2Mi(j)e7's they can
not hold property — and no friends arise to keep them,
they remain on the hands of the town. Though inde-
pendently rich to-day; if to-morrow poor, they are cast
into the poor-house and disfranchised — in effect, dis-
franchised.

A majority of the people of Crampton thought the
poor were well enough cared for. They viewed them
as the off-shoots of society — as worn-out, intemperate,
profane, blasted old hags and stragglers — suffering no
one undeserved disability, social, civil, religious, or
moral, and were really unaffected by the story of their
sufferings and neglect. Such reports, if any reached
them, they invariably attributed to fanaticism, or charged
them to weak and credulous persons, who were never

* Appendix B.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 235

wanting in a community of even sensible men and
women !

It was self-evident to another class, that the paupers
never could be elevated. This was the strong argu-
ment of the Smiths, the Newcombes, the Shires. They
said, with Squire Ben Stout, that they had got through
with their usefulness, and hopes, and pleasures, as well
as their sensitiveness to neglect and ill-fortune. Of
course such a statement of the case, if defended, i. e., if
capable of being maintained, would go far towards
pacifying the voice of conscience, and fatally hinder all
appeals to the benevolent.

They argued this from observation and nature.

This was so regarded, they said, by sensible people
in all the States of the North. Every town acted on some
such principle — and the facts in their own community,
in the course of any ten years, went absolutely to show
this.

So was it they argued in nature. Things would wear
out. Brute creatures grow feeble, and sicken and die.
Farms would run out, and the best of lands become
worthless. Beautiful trees would wax old and die.
Ships on the ocean rot and moulder away. Elegant
houses and princely castles perish. " Even the rocks,"
said they, " decompose in the atmosphere and crumble
to powder. The heavens and the earth themselves, the
Scriptures assert, will wax c Id as doth a garment, and
pass away !"

Having established the proposition, it was then easy
to see the Christian charity or benevolence of the poor-
house regulations. In fact, two-thirds of the people of
Crampton regarded it as a fixed truth, that the paupers
of that town were under heaven-high obligations to them
for paying the expenses of their pauper condition. It

236 NEW England's chattels ; or,

is so yet in many a good New England town — alas!
ttiat we must say it.

One good fact in the case sweeps away this cobweb
argument, and one such even Crampton had — viz., in
the case of poor Alanson Boyce. He was one of those
inestimably indebted paupers that this argument would
cover. But under the treatment of the poor-house he
was at the point of death, half crazed and suffering. It
was when the kind hand of true mercy was stretched
out towards him, that he revived and sat up, clothed
and in his right mind.

We shall yet see another instance, and may learn
from it the feebleness and injustice of those views which
men often bring forward to cover up their hypocrisy
and selfishness, calling evil good, and good evil.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 237

CHAPTER XXII.

Has Mr. Warren lost that box ? He may fancy so. He may even search in
Tain for it. He may give the case into the hands of the Police, who are sure to
find stolen property. But after all, is the box lost ?

Old Mr. Warren has outlived his wife some years,
and a nephew of the aged man, with his wife, lives in
the house and takes care of him. His property will fall
to them on his demise. He is very old, very feeble, and
cannot long hold body and soul together. The young
may, the aged must die ! But old Mr. Warren is a good
man, and has long been preparing himself for the hour
of his departure. It will not come on him with the sur-
prise it does on many, though as in the case of all living
men he trembles as he thinks how certain is that hour
to arrive !

But there is one cause of anxiety on his mind, that as
yet he has not revealed to any one ! It frequently dis-
turbs his quiet days and nights, and he sits now in a
brown study over it, and anon walks the room and looks
from the window. He is evidently recalling some past
event of life, but is unwilling to communicate his reflec-
tions to those who are around him.

George Herring and his wife Eliza, are plain, simple
folks, and while they notice the old man's disturbed
feeling, they have no philosophy to account for it, only
Mrs. Herring takes to grieving herself in the firm be-
lief that she does not cook his food to his liking, nor
furnish him with any degree of attention he needs for
his comfort. Sbe. even goes alone into her room and

238 NEW England's chattels ; or,

weeps over it, and studies how she may do better, and
give the old man some relief from his disquietude. She
and George both study over the matter, but George
thinks Eliza has not failed in her duty, and that the old
gentleman is displeased or pained at his management of
the farm. So they both counsel each other, and resolve
to leave undone nothing which will tend to old Mr.
Warren's happiness.

Mr. Warren is annoyed at one circumstance. He has
two or three times noticed Polly Tucker stealing round
the house, and even detected her in peering into his
room through the window, when she thought him out
of it. Her wicked face, her gleaming eyes troubled him.
What can she want ? Both John and Polly now often
come to the house and sit down ; and they talk, and they
offer to do little chores, and they are free to get round
the house ; and especially helpful to the old gentleman,
offering him any assistance by night or day. What can
they want ? What are they after ?

One day not long before, in an unguarded moment,
Mr. Warren, like an old man in his dotage, informed the
Tuckers that he had in his possession, in a silver to-
bacco-box, some important documents that Jims' oivn
mother left for him before the boy became an orphan.

He had hardly made the admission before he repented
it, for they both were highly excited, and said they
should like to see the box ; and they likewise declared
that there must never any thing come to light that
" Annie Sue" was not the boy's own mother. " Now
mind that," said both John and Polly, " if you ever say
any thing about it we'll burn your house down and you
in it !"

The old man found himself, therefore, in a bad posi-
tion, and this it was that troubled him. He still retained

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 239

the box and its contents, and the secret. He longed to
surrender them all to a proper person^ but rather hesi-
tated to make them over to George and Eliza, or to say
any thing about the legitimacy of the boy on account of
the threatening of the reputed grandparents. He kept
the box in his upper bureau drawer, near the foot of his
bed, and it was carefully kept among some relics of small
value that were once the property of his wife.

" What time, Miss Herring, does the old gentleman
get his nap now-a-days?" inquired Polly one morning,
as she happened in and lounged down in a kitchen chair
by the fire.

" Oh, well, he gets his best nap between eleven and
twelve. To be sure he sleeps in the afternoon, but not
so regularly, you know ; he always lies down, you know,
at eleven, and he enjoys it, you know, mightily — and it
rests him, too, more than any nap he has in the whole
twenty-four I do verily believe."

" Possible !" exclaimed Polly.

" Yes ; he says so himself, and that he couldn't get
through the day without it. Old men, you know, are
feeble bodied, and they seem to needs more sleep than
most folks — don't you think they do, Polly ?"

Polly said " Yes," but she evidently was thinking of
something else. " I told John," said she, " I'd come over
and help you this forenoon about your chores ; you look
so pale and sickly these days I feel almost concerned for
3'^ou — so," said she, laying off her old hood, " you maj
put me to doing your work, if you will."

" Well, Polly, I don't feel very smart now-a-days, and
it's clever in you to make the offer. It's considerable to
make the fires in the old gentleman's room, and then run
up stairs and down stairs so many times, you know, as
one must, and by night I do get terribly tired out and
lame."

240 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Now just let me, Miss Heri-ing, do a deal for you to-
day. I'll even make the old gentleman's fires for liim
when he's asleep, and brush up the things, and you shall
git a little rest."

A guarded, stealthy step ! It is half-past eleven. The
fire is made afresh in the old gentleman's room while he
sleeps — a step as if taken by a cat towards the bureau
in the room — the old man sleeps, and breathes gently ;
but any noise will arouse him. Another step, and a
form crouches down to the very floor at the foot of the
bed. A hand is laid on the knob of the lower drawer.
With the least possible noise it is opened and searched,
and half-breathlessly are those above it searched — even
the upper drawer is now opened. With eyes distended
and glaring the search goes on, and with hands that
tremble, the lid of a small trunk in the drawer is raised.
An exulting chuckle, scarcely as loud as a whisper,
breaks o^en the lips of the guilty one, and a savage
smile passes over her features as she plucks the silver
box from its long safe depository, and conveys it to her
bosom ! More agitated than before, she closes up the
bureau drawer, and the little noise so nearly awakens
the sleeper that she crouches to the floor at the foot of
the bed and scarcely breathes. Full five minutes she
hugs the floor, till the long breathings of the old man re-
assure her, and she creeps up towards the door to escape.
It opens with slight creaking, and she steps through into
the kitchen, closing it carefully after her. And the old
man sleeps on — and rests him well in undisturbed repose !

" Now, Miss Liza," said Polly, " I must run up home
to see old John afore he gets off, and when you want me
to help you I'll come again."

" I shall be very glad of your help when you are about
here and feel like it," said Eliza. "You know it is a

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 241

great care that of old Mr. Warren, and you have helped
me so much ; dear me, I feel like another creature. I
thank you, Polly !" cried she, as the latter was making-
long and hasty strides towards her own cabin.

" Never mind it," exclaimed Polly, with her face to-
wards home.

Exulting over her theft, she held up the purloined
object to the astonished gaze of John, too drunken to
fully realize all the importance of her adventure, but
not totally lost to its meaning.

"Well done, PoUl by the Lord Harry!" said he—
"now that young brat may whistle for his mother — won-
der if he'll find her ? ha i^ha !"

" I told you I'd have it, live or die !" shouted she. — •
I'd had it if 'twas necessary by cutting the throat of old
Warren. Where's the whisky, John ?"

"Here it is — drink till you can't get down any more.
You shall have all you want."

In their drunken spree, which lasted two days, they
failed totally of finding the spring by which the box
was opened, and at last Polly cast the box into the
ashes, exclaiming, " Lie there, good-for-nothing old trin-
ket !" Subsequently in poking for the treasure among
the ashes, which fortunately were not hot, she rolled it
out on the hearth rather violently, and before she could
seize and hold it in her hand, it fell through the floor by
one of its numerous apertures, and down under the
walls of the house, not into the cellar apartment, nor any
other part accessible but by removing the floor boards
or the outside walls. And they could neither see nor
reach it. Both were disconcerted by this, but they said
it was safe there anyhow, and when they wanted it they
would tear up the floor.

After old Mr. Warren had finished his morning sleep,

11

242 NEW England's chattels ; or,

he felt unusually comfortable, and when Eliza called
him to dinner, he expressed great thankfulness to her
for all her care and kindness. He made a good dinner
also, and was in extraordinary spirits. So Eliza was
very much relieved and put on her best smiles, and
talked and laughed with him a long, long time. And
by and bye George came in, and he ate his dinner hap-
pily and heartily, and took great interest in the old
man's cheerfulness. And the sun-light of comfort and
joy once more broke in on the little family circle there
— alas 1 how little cause for it. Could the old man have
known what he had lost during that very sleep, what
treasure had been pilfered from him, a gloom greater
than ever would have marked his features, and sadness
of a fearful kind settled on his heart. But he deems all
safe, and it is therefore well with him.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 243

CHAPTER XXIII.
Hag!

Early in the history of modern -western emigration,
Mr. and Mrs. McDougal removed from the east and
located themselves on a farm in "Western New York.
They subsequently went out into Michigan, and there
they raised a family of five sons and two daughters.
The eldest daughter, who was a person of rather sedate
mien, an intelligent, pious girl, beloved my many for her
kindness of heart, and respected for her excellent judg-
ment and good sense, in her twentieth year was married
to a young clergyman of a neighboring town, and enter-
ed on the practical duties of a minister's wife among the
people of his parish. These, in the infant settlements,
the wide-spread parishes of the West, were numerous
and self-denying. Both she and her husband lost their
health in their employment, and were a long time en-
feebled. Her mother, sister, and two of her brothers
fell victims to the bilious fevers of the neighborhood,
and they, at the direction of their friends, and especially
of their physician, resolved on a journey to New Eng-
land. Arrived there, they allowed themselves all need-
ed recreation, and passed several weeks by the sea-
shore, attending mainly to their health. They also
went into the mountains and breathed the fresh air of
those elevated northern regions, and soon perceived
that they were rapidly recovering strength. In a com-
paratively short period, the husband began to preach

244 NEW England's chattels ; or,

here and there, and passed at one time several months
in a parish, performing the duties of a minister. And
by and bye it happened that he received an invitation
to settle in one of the goodly towns of New England,
where the finger of Providence pointed him so unmis-
takably as to a field proper for his efi"orts, that both he
and his wife agreed for the time to sacrifice the "West,
and make their abode at the East.

This clergyman and his wife were Mr. and Mrs. Rod-
man. They had now been five years at Crampton, and
had become familiar with the people. But what was
always a consideration of great interest to Mrs. Rodman,
it was from this very town of Crampton her own mother
removed in early life to the West when married to Mr.
McDougal. Of course she had heard her speak of her
eastern home, and of friends, many of whom were now
no more. Mrs. Rodman had found very few relations of
the family, even of distant connection, alive, although
there were many persons in town who remembered her
mother. It was a great pleasure to her to meet with any
of the older citizens who could speak of her. She re-
moved forty years before — Mrs. Rodman herself being
now over thirty years of age. The Phillips and Haddocks
were themselves too young to remember. Squire Ben
Stout and his wife recollected her well, as they were now
sixty years of age.

Once when they were conversing on this topic. Squire
Ben told her that if old Mr. Warren, who lived back a
mile from the village, retained his memory still unim-
paired, he could give her, as he thought, many state-
ments of the early life of her mother which would be in-
teresting. " Moreover," said the Squire, " if I remember
rightly there was a distant relationship between the
families by marriage — I think so, somehow or other — I
have forgotten what, on my word."

LIFE IX THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 245

Mrs. Rodman resolved that she would, as soon as con-
venient, make old Mr. Warren a visit, and so learn from
him all she could in relation to her mother and the
family. It happened, therefore, on a pleasant win-
ter's day, that her husband proposing a sleigh-ride over
the parish, she consented, and asked that it might be in
the direction of Mr. Warren's retired house — " for," said
she, " I have long thought I should like to see him and
have some conversation about my mother and her family,
especially the older members of it."

" Yery well," said her husband, " let us go there," and
away they drove.

Passing the bridge just below the large pond where
Jims had caught his fish sometime previous to this, they
were surprised to see the boy sitting below the dam,
where the water fell from beneath the ice into a deep,
dark hole, and intently watching his hook, with which
it seemed the trout were sporting in the pool. He had
on the same slouching hat, the same tattered clothing
as when they last saw him, but his face and hands were
washed clean and white, his hair fell long and handsome
into his neck.

The clergyman reined up his horse, and cried out to
him — " What luck to-day, my boy ?"

At the sound of his voice, Jims turned quickly in the
direction of it, and blushed slightly when he perceived
Mr. and Mrs. Rodman looking down from the bridge and
speaking to him. Withdrawing his line from the water
and laying it down on the snow, he ran up quickly into
the road, and with his hat in his hand made them a
slight nod, saying that the water made such a noise he
could not understand them. So Mr. Rodman again asked
him what luck he had found in fishing. " Well, sir,"
said Jims, " it is not a good day — the sun is out. I shall

246 NEW England's chattels ; or,

catch them near night, I hope, for poor Mr. Boyce's
sake."

" Then you catch fish for him?" said Mrs, Rodman.

" Oh, yes, ma'am, every few days. He loves them."

" And you sometimes have a good taste of them your-
self?" said Mr. Rodman.

" Not often, sir ; I give them to him. He's a sick
man."

" "Well now, Jims, when are you coming up to our
house ; we want to see you and show you some books,
and talk with you ; come, won't you, before long ?" in-
quired Mrs. Rodman.

" Yes, ma'am, if the Captain says ' yes.' I can't go if
he refuse, you know. We are his folks. "We ain't our
own, by any means. I run away to go fishing, but I
shouldn't like to, to go to your house."

" Why not ?"

" Because he would be sure to find you and tell you
such an awful story about me you'd never want to see
me, nor I to see you again in the world."

" Oh, I hope not."

" I know him," said the boy, " may be he'll let me
come, if so, I will."

" Do," said both, " come if you can ; and now, Jims, is
the road open, do you think, to Mr. Warren's ?"

" I don't know, sir ; there's sleds and cattle go up
there, and old John and Polly go through that way — I
guess you can get along."

" Well, we must go on, I believe ; be a good boy,
Jims."

" Good-bye !" said Mrs. Rodman.

" Grood-bye, ma'am," said the boy, and then he looked
after them as they drove on till they were lost to his
view.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 247

" There is something in the countenance of that boy,"
said Mrs. Rodman, " that instinctively fills me with inter-
est. I wish we might know more about him, and be
able to do him some service."

" He is, naturally, a very bright boy," said her hus-
band. " It will be too late to do him any good soon."

" Well, husband, let us make inquiries about him, and
see if something can't be done, eh ?"

" Very good, we will."

They arrived at Mr. Warren's at length, although the
road was none of the smoothest for an easy sleigh-ride,
and were very cordially welcomed. The whole family
considered it a very great mark of attention, that the
minister and his wife should visit them when the roads
were so poorly opened. They built the fires up anew,
and brushed the hearth afresh, and put the room in good
order all round. As for old Mr. Warren, he entertained
his guests with many reminiscences of the parish, its
former size in square miles, and the actual number of
the inhabitants ; the different clergymen who had been
settled over it in sixty years ; the history of many an
ancient family ; the changes in the state of society, in
business, wealth, moral character, etc. He then inquired
of Mr. and Mrs. Rodman about the West, whether, in
their opinion, the West could not grow too fast for its
own good, and in the r^ge for speculation and wealth
agriculture come to be overlooked, to the great detri-
ment of the inhabitants.

Mr. Rodman thought not. He said, " The West can-
not fail to be cultivated, for no speculation in land, or in
stocks, or staple productions can, in general, pay so rich
a return as the garden soil of that mighty world ! One
good, able-bodied farmer, can there take care of and se-
cure twenty-five or thirty acres of corn ! While it is

248 NEW England's chattels ; or,

impossible for one man here to cultivate more than two
acres, or at most three, along with his other work. And
the corn there is worth, on the ground, nearly what it is
here — and the land is much cheaper. I think that the
farmers of the West know where their true strength
lies, and that if they speculate in lands and stocks they
will not neglect to till the soil."

Mr. "Warren said -that those were sensible views, at
any rate, and he hoped that, being so, they would be
sensibly adhered to, and also, that religion and educa-
tion would take good root in the soil with other things.
" They are the two great important foundations of soci-
ety, sir."

" Undoubtedly they are," replied the pastor.

" We have a large school fund in this State," said the
old man. "It pays about one hundred and twenty thou-
sand dollars a year, to be divided among the children of
the State. But I think there is a fault somewhere in
the distribution ; the principle on which it is given out
is defective."

'• I fear it may be," said Mr. Rodman.

" Yes, it is so, I think. We should give to every town
its proportion, but making it actually incumbent on the
town to raise at least a dollar for every one the fund
gives it. This would inspire zeal in the cause, (save
those little peculations on the State by which some dis-
tricts take the whole money due them on the scholar
for the year, and putting it all together, hire teachers
for as long a time only as it will pay — perhaps three,
perhaps four or six months,) and insure 2)rogress. That
is what we most need in our district schools."

" I confess to a similar opinion," said Mr. Rodman.
" I do think there is far too little generosity in the sup-
port of common-school education in this State. We have

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 249

too much money, unless it is more wisely disbursed.
We want advancement — ' progress/ as you say, sir — in
the common schools. Fresh books, higher standards,
more emulation, better school-houses, the best of teach-
ers, and terms of proper and consecutive length."

" Do we not, in all our large towns, need a high school
as well as a graded grammar school, where Latin, French,
German, Spanish, and so forth, may be thoroughly
taught?" inquired Mrs. Rodman.

" I am of that opinion, ^^ said the old gentleman, " from
what I hear and read. It seems that the country is fill-
ing up most rapidly with a foreign population, whose
language our children at least ought to acquire."

" One is struck with this at the West," she replied.

" And in all the cities," said her husband.

" Yes, and even here," said Mr. Warren, " I frequently
have a foreigner at my door for work, or offering my
people goods, or entertaining us with music, of whose
language I am as ignorant as though he were from the
South Sea Islands."

" Yes, indeed !" said the pastor.

" I have thought," continued Mrs. Rodman, " that un-
less we introduce these studies fully and freely into our
high schools, nothing can save us from incurring the
charge of superficially educating our children."

" The English language will undoubtedly prevail over
the world," said her husband; "but it will undergo
changes, and form new phases in the actual and certain
mingling of the diff'erent tongues. It will not stand
alone, either. It will range and rank with others, and
be the more potent if those who speak it also under-
stand the various idioms and dialects of other peoples."

" I see no objection to the study of living languages,"
said Mr. Warren ; " nor do I object to the ancient clas-

250 NEW England's chattels ; or,

sics, although I never enjoyed the opportunity of ac-
quiring them."

George, who came in during this discussion, ventured
to say here —

" I am thinking that too much is said on these things
now-a-days, and too much relied on education, any way.
I go for good common-school teaching, such as arithme-
tic, geography, grammar, writing, and spelling. If you
have these, with good bible-reading, the boys and girls
will do pretty well, I guess, without Latin or Greek."

" But this seems to be a bright, smart age, Mr. Her-
ring," said the pastor. " Our lads and girls who are in
the schools seem, at a very early period, to develop un-
common powers of mind, and to yearn for advanced
studies before the period when the law shuts them out
of the schools."

" Ah ! well, if they get their learning early," said
George, " they can go to trades and on to farms earlier ;
that will be a gain, you know, to both masters and
apprentices."

" Yes ; but we want they should learn all they can,"
said Mr. Rodman.

" I don't care for that," he replied. " Give them plain
English while they do learn, and good common sense,
and the sooner they get it the better."

" But, then, consider how many foreigners there are
here, and what wonderful facilities we enjoy for visiting
other lands, and for trading with different nations —
would it not be well to understand their language ?"

" No ; no great need of it, for you can always make
use of signs to understand foreigners. And if you can't
talk with them any way, they won't have so much temp-
tation to come over here. I don't like foreigners myself.
And as for trading with them, it's just taking the bread

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 251

and meat out of the mouths of the poor people here to
put the value in silks and gewgaws on the backs of the
rich, or to support the tyrannical governments of the
old countries. All the gold of California isn't enough
to pay these foreign silk bills, besides our produce.
Now, for my part, I wish half the big stores in New
York were shut, and half the vessels on the Atlantic
were rotting at the wharves. What are they doing, all
of them ? What ! Why, they are as busy as ten thou-
sand hives of bees all the time, running us into debt,
and ruining the country. Now, the smarter the boys
and girls become — ■' learned,' as you call it — the more
they'll do these very things ; and I say I don't like too
much schooling."

The company found George a go-ahead " Young
American" of the old school. And as he hung tight to
his peculiar opinions, the conversation passed on to
other and to some personal matters. For instance, as
Eliza smilingly prepared tea for her visitors, old Mr.
Warren remarked —

" I must have known your mother, Mrs. Rodman. She
was married to Mr. McDougal when she was young — I
think about seventeen or eighteen years old — and soon
after left us for the West, as New York and Eastern
Ohio were then called. I remember her well by her
family name."

" Do you, indeed, sir ? I am rejoiced to hear it. I
presume you can tell me many things about her early
life ? I should be most happy to hear any thing you
can recollect of her, believe me."

" Well, it is forty years si.ice she went from here. If
living, she would now be nearly, or quite, sixty years of
age. She has somewhat dimmed on my recollection ]
but let me say that I remember her as a romantic, fear-

252 NEW England's chattels ; or,

less girl, rather fond of adventure, and good at contriv
ing plays and amusements."

" Well, she always icas, to her very dying day, Mr. War
ren," said the pleased and excited Mrs. Rodman.

" True, very true !" reechoed her husband.

" Ah ! I remember hearing her say she was going out
to get acquainted with the Western Indians, for she liked
the Indian character, and wasn't a bit afraid of them."

" Just like her, for all the world ! Was it not, hus-
band?"

" Precisely."

*' Then she said she would give more to see the great
lakes, and sail across them, than two Atlantic Oceans."

" And then, husband, you know what a passion she
always had for a sail in a schooner ; and later, for a
steamboat excursion on the lakes, Mr. Rodman ?"

" I know it well," said he.

" She also said — I well remember it," said the old
man — " ' if a person had any disposition to do good, the
West was the place for it then, and would be for a thou-
sand years to come.'"

" Dear soul I" exclaimed Mrs. Rodman — " she always
had a Bible and a Testament, or other good book, large
or small, to give to eveiy one whom she thought
needed it."

" And would frequently teach the children in the
neighborhood to read," said Mr, Rodman.

'• She was neat and tidy too in her dress and appear-
ance," said the old gentleman, " very careful of trinkets
and mementoes ; an early riser, brisk and cheerful
walker, and a great reader."

" Was she, indeed ! Even when so young ?"

" Yes, even then, and I remember she studied Latin,
and recited it to our minister before she was thirteen.

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 253

And I should like to know if she retained her knowledge
of it ?" he inquired.

" To some extent," said Mrs. Rodman, " but not enough
to be of much help to her children, whom, however, she
had invariably attend to it. My mother, sir, neither
wore out, lost, nor seemed to neglect any thing. If she
had a ribbon on her hat that was not immediately want-
ed for further use, it was ' done up' carefully and put
away in her box of ' collars,' ' wrist-bands,' ' muslins,'
* beads,' 'rings,' 'patterns,' and 'gloves.' She had boxes
of trinkets all arranged with care, mementoes of her
own early life, and of all the children. She always kept
things in the most perfect system. She could in a mo-
ment find anything she wanted that was in the house.
And she was neither parsimonious nor selfish, but was
liberal, and always bestowing on others such things as
they seemed to need. But there are always some things,
you know, sir, that do not seem to get out of the house
any way — and these she kept in perfect order, making
every thing do double the work that we, many of us,
seem capable of doing."

" You are a pretty good type though," said her hus-
band.

" Thank you, husband. For example, my mother, sir,
kept her striped silk wedding-dress more than thirty
years, and I remember she would often bring it forward,
and put it into some new form, and wear it about, look-
ing in it as sweet and dear as you ever saw her, I dare
say, in her best and loveliest youth."

" Yery likely," said the old gentleman, highly grati-
fied.

" Then she kept her wedding-shoes, and would fre-
quently put in here and there a new stitch in the bind-
ing, and mend and wear them a few days, when she

254 N'EW England's chattels ; or,

would replace them carefully among the * relics' to wear
again some other day."

" She was one of the right sort of pioneer women. I
doubt not," said Mr. Warren.

" And the family are now all gone from these parts ?"
said she.

" Yes."

" No near relatives in any of the towns about, are
there ?"

" None that I can now remember."

" There were no uncles and aunts ?"

" There was one — an uncle ; but he and his wife died
early, or in ten or twelve years after."

" Yes, I have heard my mother speak of them — and
their children — had they any, Mr. Warren ?"

The old gentleman seemed to waver on the point of
memory here for a moment, and to look rather confused.

" Do not try to recollect, sir, if it is any trouble to
you. Now, pray do not, sir — we have consumed a long
time. Your tea, Mrs. Herring, has made us very talk-
ative."

Eliza was glad if the tea was " agreeable."

" It is very, indeed," said Mrs. Rodman.

" Your uncle did leave one child, Mrs. Rodman — and
she married young, and was unfortunate."

" Unfortunate ?"

" Yes ; her husband was gay and wild, and dissipated,
and at last, having been cast off by his father, who re-
moved away, he left her and died afar off. She lost her
children, her property, her home, her health and life.
She came here in her last sickness — and here she died !"

" Is it so, indeed ; why, what an interest you have
awakened in my mind about her and the family !"

" I am myself," said he, " a distant relation of the
family, a great uncle on b^r rnother's side !"

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 255

" Well, now, Mr. Warren, that is the most surprising
of all."

" It is really quite a genealogical fact, Mrs. Rodman,"
said her husband.

" Truly so," said she.

The tea-sitting now broke up. Mr. Warren seemed
weary. The fact was, he had exerted himself more than
he usually did, but he had reached a point beyond which
he felt that he could not safely go in his communications.
He compelled himself, therefore, to silence on the mat-
ters of family history, and passed to other subjects while
his visitors remained.

Before dark they were on their return.

Ere he slept that night the old man carefully opened
the drawer of his bureau and took out the small, covered
trunk and opened it, and looked among its various relics
and curious things for the secret-box, the keeping of
which began to trouble him. In vain he took away this
and that object. It could not be seen ! He will find it
in another corner, under the shells. It is not there !
He has overlooked it — but he fails to discern it even
now 1 Surely it is there, and he again removes and dis-
places every one of the choice articles contained there ;
but he finds it not ! It may have been carelessly left
oui in the drawer, or put elsewhere in the bureau. And
he goes carefully on, and on, and on with the search —
and the hour grows late for him, the old man, to burn his
candlC' — so thought George, and so Eliza, as they saw its
light beneath the door — and then they wondered what
light work he pursued so long and steadily, for they
heard the moving now and then of objects he displaced,
and of drawers moved to and fro in his search. And
then there was a long silence, yet the light burned on.

" I will go to him, I think," said George.

" Do go," said Eliza.

256 NEW England's chattels ; or,

And George tapped at his door — " Grandfather, are
you abed and comfortable, eh ?"

No answer, and then another gentle tap and question,
but still all was silent. George opens the door a little
<way, and there stands the old man, wildly and painfully
staring into the little trunk, out of which he has removed
every one of its precious things, that he may be sure he
has not made in his search an oversight.

" Grandfather !" exclaimed George.

" Why, grandfather," says Eliza, " what is to pay I"

The old man slowly and solemnly turned towards
them and exclaimed — " The silver box ! — It is gone !"
and sunk into their arms. They laid him on his bed,
and long it seemed to them that he would faint away
and die. With camphor they revived him, and he sat
up, leaning on the shoulder of George. Presently he
was calmer, and he began to tell them distinctly what
he had lost, when all at once he started from the bed,
his hand pointing to the wdndow, towards which his
flashing eye was fixed, and exclaimed in a sharp, quick,
angry voice, " Hag !"

George and Eliza, turning quickly to look in the direc-
tion, saw distinctly the vanishing face of the gipsie Poll,
who had been gloating her ugly soul in the old man's
anguish as she gazed on him from without.

" To the devil ivith you /" shouted George at her, as he
quickly lifted the window, and saw her leap over the
wall and vanish from sight and pursuit. " Infernal
witch ! What do you hang round here for ?" But she
was gone, the exultation of a fiend marking her counte-
nance.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 257

CHAPTER XXIV.

What happened to the Cabin. Remarks upon Cabins are useless, for they fulfil
their day, never behind, never ahead of it. They are a standing Prophecy of
Shelter and Refuge to Society. They show us, that if we cannot live in a Palace,
we can in a Hut. Ho, the Cabin !

A week's carnival of drunkenness at Tuckers'. Noisy,
boisterous company of wicked, lewd, and desperate crea-
tures. Then there came a quiet of a few days, for the
occupants were exhausted, their whisky gone, their food
diminished, and they scattered themselves abroad for
more.

This house of Tuckers' had often been complained of
at town-meetings, and before the selectmen of the town,
as a nuisance. The difficulty of keeping John and Polly
long at the poor-house, and the necessity that they should
have a place at intervals where they could retreat, in-
duced the authorities to spare it. But the proprietors
of real estate around it grew more and more resolved to
have the house abated as a nuisance, or to pull it down,
if by that means or any other they could force the old
couple away. " We are losing," said they, " all our
fences, all our wood, all our fruit in the orchards around,
all the nuts on the trees, all the wild grapes, and so forth ;
and besides this, there is the general disgrace of such a
house resting on the town." It was not long before a
band of men was formed determined to raze the house
to its foundation.

Its occupants were gone when one stormy, dark, and

258 NEW England's chattels ; or,

gusty night, form after form passed silently along in the
same beaten track, b}'' a given point near the house of
old Mr. Warren. All the inmates of that house had Ions
before retired to rest. The house was dark, no light
from any window gleaming forth into the darkness, and
so the men passed by. There was one ear, however,
awake. Eliza roused herself to hear what she fancied
was an uncommon moaning in the winds, or the tread as
that of elves o'er the roof well covered with the winter's
snows.

It has been often remarked that in lonesome situa-
tions, sounds of passing footsteps are more plainly no-
ticed by any who may dwell there, even though the
tread may be light, and the noise much slighter than
would awaken attention in more densely occupied quar-
ters. And Ave think this is so. We think on this account
it was that Eliza herself heard what no other living ear
in that house that night did hear — the tramp, tramp,
tramp of passing men — for she crept silently to the win-
dow casement, turned aside the corner of the curtain,
and, in robe de nuit, gazed out into the dark midnight
to note the passing, unwonted sounds. And if she saw
aught she moved not, nor uttered any sound of alarm,
even awakening no one that dreamed on and slept a
faithful, honest sleep under her roof. * * -s^-

Was it that George himself had left the house that
night, and in his movements disturbed her own slumbers,
and was she peering forth into the darkness in quest of
his form ?

Silently the work goes on. It sways this way and
that. Stout men, with their might, have hold with
hooks and ropes of the main part of this desolate old
home of sin and shame, the Tuckers' house. Now rises
the wind, and it lifts hard with the strong men to over-

LIFE IN THE NOETHEEN POOE-HOUSE. 259

throw the hateful dark object crouching beneath tlie
trees and the forest for protection, where the orgies of
drunkenness have long had their most famous abode.
The winds moan through the forests, and the gloom
deepens as the work goes on. Dark nights become our
deeds of lawlessness — when we lift our hands against
another's right, how humble soever that may be. Si-
lence, too, and labored breathings, told it as the work of
violence done another, though perchance a foe or vil-
lain. But these were brave hearts and determined
ones. They knew not a surer way, nor a better, than
the one devised to "spot" a plague among them that
had long been to many an intolerable nuisance. And
at last, as they pull and weigh themselves against the
posts and braces of the house, and the winds pour their
full strength against the resisting walls, the heavy
structure yields ; these working men feel it yielding ;
they have it at an angle ; it breaks, it sways here and
crumbles there, and it falls and crashes, and breaks into
a hopeless, disordered mass of ruins !

When the morning curtains were drawn up from the
darkened rooms of night, and the sun arose, nothing of
the former order of Tucker's house remained. The
chimney had not fallen — the west wall was standing —
the roof over that part of the building had crushed in
and rested, one side, on the upper edge of this wall, the
other side of it on the floor — and beneath this lay a
mass of straw — and near it the fire-place, undisturbed.
All else was changed. The house lay in ruins, broken
up by the violence of its overthrow. And well was it,
if the winds blew it down, (?) this structure, that no
one had slept there when it fell !

And certain it is, no one ever lived to know, who did
not at the first know, much, if any thing positive, about

260 NEW England's chattels ; or,

this extraordinary overthrow. Even Eliza knew no
more. She slept that night so soundly that she heard
no noise ; she saw no one. Her husband was asleep
beside her when she awoke ! No one seemed ever to
have dreamed of any such event. Nobody could tell
what somebody had to do with it. Everybody spoke of
it as a thing done, but nobody appeared as a witness.
Some persons thought to be very innocent (!) complained
loudly that it was an outrage ; but the outrage had no
clients. The universal sentiment was, that if the family
had been present when the building fell they must have
been crushed ; and the public relief at their escape went
far to assuage the public grief at their loss I

In a day or two the winds and snows had filled up all
the footsteps and paths around the premises, and as
white as new fallen snow could make look a deed of
darkness, so white and innocent looked this.

Returning in the twilight of the third day from their
long forage abroad, and Mag Davis with them, John and
Polly Tucker stood aghast over the ruins of the house.
It made them almost sober to contemplate the sad con-
dition in which those ruins now left them. They no
longer had a home retreat, no house which they might
call their own, no good shelter nearer than the poor-
house where they might betake themselves and feel
secure from storms of wind, and snow, and rain.

They were first sad, then as they regarded it the
work of human hands, they gave way to anger — to vio-
lent, profane wrath. No, we cannot write the words
they uttered, the wicked oaths they muttered, the re-
venge they promised.

Feeling carefully around the ruins, they discovered
the shelving protection of the roof as it leaned up
against the wall, and one after another they crept in and

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 261

rolled themselves up in the old untouched garments
they had left there and in the vicious straw. Their
well-filled whisky jug they took in with them. Full and
heavy draughts from this relieved their half-sobered
senses, and sent over them quickly the benumbing touch
of a heavy and prolonged inebriacy. The three lay
coiled together long after the sun arose in the morning,
and no one of them left the rude shelter during the
whole day.

At evening, Mag Davis made her way back to the
poor-house, and John and Polly kindled a fire on the
hearth, easily finding fuel in the ruins of their splinter-
ed dwelling. John soon fell asleep again from renewed
potations of whisky, concealed in a smaller flask fi'om
Mag, (or she had not left them,) and Polly sat on the
straw watching the fire and feeding it, as she quietly at
the same time took from the loosening grasp of her hus-
band the half emptied flask, and drank her mairied
half ! "Was not she his wife ?

262 NEW England's chattels ; or,

CHAPTER XXV.

Polly in the Ruins.

The next day was the Sabbath. No one passed by
the ruined house that day. And Monday came, but no
one was astir there, and Tuesday morning, fresh and
calm and beautiful, a mild, warm, melting day of early
March arrived.

Mrs. Phillips wondered that Polly had not come, as
she had promised ten days before, to help about her
washing on Monday. The Phillips lived not half a mile
from the Tuckers, on another and handsomer road, where
there were large and fine dwellings and farms. They
often crossed the fields to Tuckers if any thing was
wanted, and on Tuesday morning, as Polly did not make
her appearance, Mrs. Phillips §ent over their hired man
to bring her.

The faithful fellow stopped in perfect astonishment
as he came up near the house to see the plight of things,
and would have turned about without more ado, sup-
posing, of course, no one was there, had he not, on com-
ing a little nearer, heard something like a groan and a
curse arising out of the ruins. Half afraid, he approach-
ed quite to the broken walls of the house, and called
lustily —

" Halloa there ! John — an' is it you, sure ?"

" No, you , it's me and Pol. What the you

want to groan so for, Pol — can't you bear it, hey ?"

" No, I can't, John Tucker — call him in, that's Miss

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 263

Phillips' man," and Polly Tucker groaned heavily, so
that Peter, who stood outside, heard her plainly and
knew that there was trouble. At first he thought John
had been beating, and had half killed her.

" Halloa there, Pete ! Is it you ?" said Tucker.

" An' sure it is, John Tucker. What'll ye be after
having of me ?"

" Come here, Pete I There, do you see. "We're in a
pig's house here, ha ! ha ! But Poll's got firedly scorch-
ed, and can't help herself, she says. How is 't, old wo-
man, hey ?"

" Pete, do you go home and tell Miss Phillips I'm half
burnt up ! Go, for the Lord's sake. Go."

" Don't be in a hurry about it," cried old Tucker, as
he saw Peter start back from the entrance and hasten
away.

It is well that there are kind, truly benevolent hearts
in this bad, this foul, this drunken world ! That there
are those to whom the wicked even flee in their times
of wretchedness and misery, and on them call in earnest
voices for relief.

Scarcely an hour has passed away, and a tender, deli-
cate woman and one of her neighbors, accompanied to
the ruins by their husbands, have crept in on their
hands and knees, to find this groaning, blackened, suf-
fering fellow-creature. The brutal husband, grown more
sober, passes out into the light of day. But he can an-
swer no questions, he knows nothing of what has hap-
pened save that " Poll is half burnt to death."

Mrs. Phillips and Mrs. Wilson, her neighbor, discover-
ed as soon as they entered this loathsome covert, that
Polly had been very badly burned about the arms, and
chest and face. Her face was blackened by it to her

264 NEW England's chattels ; or,

forehead ; her eye-brows burned off, her eyes were badly
inflamed and swollen, and by the long neglect, for she
was burnt that Saturday evening, when we left her by
the fire she had kindled, the skin was peeling off and
dripping from her arms and breast. She was in real
agony, and besought them, if it lay in their power, to
apply something that would allay the burning and pain-
ful sensation, that seemed ready to consume her every
moment 1

The ladies removed her soiled and half-consumed gar-
ments, but the crisp and blackened skin followed them.
They applied oil, and cotton, and flour to the surface,
binding up carefully the deepest wounds, and then put
on her new and clean garments throughout. As it was
impossible to remove her, they ordered over a soft
feather bed ; they scraped out and brushed away all
the old filth and straw, and made her as comfortable as
the circumstances of the case allowed.

" TeU us, PoUy, if you can," said Mrs. Phillips, " tell
us all about it. How did it happen ?"

" Oh — don't ask — me — I hardly remember, Miss Phil-
lips. "We came here and had a drinking time with our
whisky — and I built a rousing fire — and — I recollect
that John was swearing at me for taking his flask away
— when I saw some of the straw a-fire — and soon my
dress. So I called to him — and he — really — he couldn't
get up. (Oh! what a dreadful feeling burns is!) He
cried out, ' D — the fire ! who cares ?' "

" Oh, dear !" exclaimed the ladies. " How dreadful it
is, Polly ! It is a shame — a disgrace — a dreadful shame
to you to live so ; and it is a wicked, outrageous sin
against God !"

" Well, (oh, dear me !) I found he couldn't help me —
so — I rolled over on the flames, and with the old rag of

LIFE IN THE NOETHEEN POOE-HOUSE. , 265

a blanket, and a bit of carpet that were here, I succeeded
in putting it out before it burnt us botli to a crisp."

" Thank God you succeeded !" said they.

" Yes, indeed !" reiterated Mrs. Wilson.

" And thank also the villains who tore down the house
over us and caused it !" said Polly, bitterly.

" Polly ! Polly Tucker !" said Mrs. Phillips, solemnly.
" You know better than to speak so, or to indulge those
revengeful feelings. You know that you have lived
here in a most unbecoming and sinful manner, against
the wishes and entreaties of all the people, even of your
own children — and in opposition, I fully believe, to your
own conscience — and the people have borne it long, yes,
very long ; and I have been afraid you would finally
suffer for it. Now, as you find you are suffering, rather
accuse yourself than the people. Put the blame on
your own determined and desperate career of intemper-
ance and sin. Be thankful, Polly, that you are not now
this moment in eternity — a fearful eternity, too, I fear,
to you, had it been entered on from such a drunken
brawl as you have just described to us."

Polly covered her face and wept. She was now per-
fectly sober ; and what, with the pain of her burns and
the convictions of her conscience, 'she was sadly broken
up, and felt her woeful and humbled condition.

But we are not going to chronicle Polly Tucker as a
converted saint because she wept. Polly had wept be-
fore. This, it is true, proved nothing against her pre-
sent tears. But she did not profess to repent now.
She only felt the truth smarting for a time on her con-
Bcience, and with mingled sense of shame and helpless-
ness, tears were her natural relief. Her friends wept
with her, and they besought her to repent earnestly and

12

260 NEW England's chattels ; or,

forever, and to cast herself on the mercy of Jesus now,
while she felt her own need of assistance.

But Polly said, as many a one before her has said, —
" There is time enough yet to repent. When I am
about to die and leave the world, I mean to !"

With perfect astonishment, the two ladies listened to
this argument of the self-deceived victim of sin. " Time
enough yet !" the destroying belief of thousands, though
on the very brink of woe ! How terribly this argument
for further dilatoriness, and continuance in the ways of
sin, addressed itself to the attention of her friends, mourn-
ing over the poor burned creature, bitterly moaning in
her agony, and hardly removed herself the turning of a
hand from death in the most awful shape ! Ah 1 is there
then " time enough yet ?"

"But,"^said Polly, "Miss Phillips and Miss Wilson,
dreadful as you may deem it to lie here, yet here let me
lie rather than in that awful, loathsome, hateful poor-
house ! It is chock full and running over with vermin.
They've got the scurvy there ; they're cold, and starved,
and forsaken. I had rather lie and suffer here, and die
here, than go there."

Both the ladies sighed over the truth of this descrip-
tion. It fell within their belief, if not actual knowledge,
that the poor-houses of New England were any thing but
cleanly and well-ordered refuges for the fallen and guilty
ones who sought there shelter and relief. Here was a
new argument for a reform in the system of pauperage
support, as the same was practiced among them ! Was
it indeed true, that a hovel such as this was preferable
to the poor-house ! Were all the associations of that es-
tablishment necessarily not only mortifying, but abso-
lutely hateful and revolting ? It would seem to be so.
The feeling in opposition to the life led there seemed

LIFE IN THE NOETHEEN POOE-HOUSE. 267

deep in the soul, as though it were one of the instincts
of the human nature. They long remembered the im-
pressions which that scene left on their hearts.

There was no other way but to leave her there that
night. It was impossible to move her, nor was it the
next day, nor the following — she was badly burned.

Captain Bunce was notified by the selectmen of the
state of things at Tuckers, and directed to take them as
soon as possible into his immediate care. Protesting
that they would not go ; that they had rather die ; that
they would never live there, they were on Saturday re-
moved to the poor-house — again Mag, and Dan, and Jims,
and Bill, and the widows all were fellow inmates of that
institution.

After they were removed, the whole structure (chim-
ney and every other part) was leveled with the ground.
Mr. Phillips, in tearing up the floor, discovered a bright
looking trinket among the rubbish, and getting down to
it found a silver tobacco — snuff-box — and on the lid was
engraved the name of " James Sherman !" Without ex-
amining, he carried it home and presented the curious
object to his wife. She opened the box directly. Dis-
covering the paper folded in it, she carefully withdrew,
unfolded, and read what was written on it with a lady's
pen. Astonishment held her mute for a few moments.
She then spread the document before her husband.
Twice carefully did Mr. Phillips read over the paper.
Then folding, he replaced it in the box, and gave it to
his wife, saying, " Guard it, my dear, as carefully as life
itself; it is of inestimable value to the persons con-
cerned."

268 NEW England's chattels; or,

CHAPTER XXVI.

What's to be done 7

The events of tlie last few days caused a very great
excitement in the towm. There was scarcely a family,
or an individual, who did not hear and speak of them
over and over again, as often as any chanced to meet.
This continued for several days. Directly and indirectly
the poor-house affairs came in for a large share of the
talk ; and the selectmen were much blamed for allowing
the Tuckers to roam about as they did, and for not in-
sisting on more attention to the poor generally. Indeed,
you would think, during the period of eight or nine days,
that the whole town of Crampton was going to cast all
its sins on the shoulders of the selectmen, and begin im-
mediately a new and a better life.

So are the first impressions, when one peruses a well-
written novel, a mere fiction of the imagination, designed
to picture forth some human suffering to move the sym-
pathies of the reader. But though the public feeling of
Crampton soon subsided to its customary level, the
minds of individuals were more than ever aroused and
resolved.

" Well, now, Mrs. Stout," said Squire Ben, " this is a
very unfortunate and — dreadful kir d of business — isn't
it?"

" So it is, and I have just this minute said the same
thing to sister Emeline. It is really quite a melancholy
and disgraceful affair."

LIFE IN THE NOETHEEN POOE-HOUSE. . 269

" Something ought to be done — that's certain — there
ought to be done — something, — ought there not some-
thing to be done — Mrs. Stout ?" inquired the Squire.

" So Emeline was telling me and Mrs. Shire, who
dropped in yesterday evening. Said Emeline, ' One
thing is true, something ought to be done.' And Mrs.
Shire and I both exclaimed, ' there ought certainly some-
thing to be done !' "

" Question is — precisely, loliat ?" said the Squire, look-
ing between his legs, that were a little yawning and re-
laxed from the thighs to the feet, where the limbs again
came together. The Squire was leaning his left elbow
on his knee, and with his left hand was gently rubbing
his eyebrows. His right hand grasped the top of an-
other chair, and thus supported right and left, he was
evidently studying out the path of duty.

" Precisely what/' often gives men some perplexity.
Squire Ben was relieved of one part of his quandary by
the coming in of his confederate, Mr. Jonas Savage.

" Bad business this," said that gentleman.

" Terrible ! terrible !" replied the Squire. " I was
just saying so to Mrs. Stout."

" Well, I met her myself outside, and said the same
thing," replied the second selectman.

" I believe it is the — very — general impression, Mr.
Savage."

" Oh, it's as bad as murder, just about," said the other,
" and so I told Haddock."

" Ah ! and what said brother Haddock ?"

" Oh ! Haddock said it was all * off the same piece,'
and that it was the natural result of bad management."

" Ah ! ha ! And — what now — neighbor Savage, is
your real honest opinion about it — yourself — yes, eh ?"

" To be up and down about it," said Savage," I think

270 * ifEw England's chattels ; or,

the selectmen could be indicted by the Grand Jury for
mismanagement and neglect of dut}^ — and a smart thing
grow out of it against us."

The Squire mused over this a little, twisting his
watch-key. At length he said —

" I — rather — think not — towns can't be responsible
for individual misfortunes, and especially when they
usually attend to matters — about and about — as they
ought !"

" So I reckon on," replied Savage. " But Haddock
and that gang have* a leetle the joke on us now, haven't
they. Squire Ben ?"

" A very * little' — not to say — any more than that, I
grant."

" Yes, confound the business, I just wish old Tucker
and Poll had died twenty years ago, than to have had
this happen," said Savage, with considerable warmth of
manner and feeling.

" Why, yes, said the other, " that would indeed have
been — comparatively — a light misfortune to us — and
just so to them. But then we can't have things always
just as we think best,"

" No, sir-ee," replied Savage, " if we could, Squire, I'd
go in for a regular reform in the town of Crampton."

" So, so ! Savage."

" Yes, I would."

" What would you do ?"

"Do? I would go in for another cent tax on the
grand list year in and year out, for an action at law be-
fore the courts against every one of these foreign State
paupers. They make a deuced amount of fuss for us.
Captain Bunce says he's had more trouble growing out
of folks sympathizing with Boyce, and — er — I don't
know who, than all the rest put together."

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 271

" Well, what does the Captain say about Tucker's
affair ?"

" Oh, he says it will all blow over in a few days."

" And is that your notion ?"

" Yes — that's my opinion. You see. Squire, the state
of the case is just here — It is done and canH he helped.
Poll is badly scorched — the house is torn up. The
whole concern is in a new shape. It's bad — bad for
them, bad for us, bad for Bunce. But the only cure is
to let her slide. Things will come up right by and bye."

" Then you think we can't do any thing better than
that, eh?"

" I don't see that we can. Time is the great settler,
you know."

" Yes," the Squire knew that, and after musing a lit-
tle, he came to feel of the same opinion with Savage,
and to enjoy a good deal of relief.

So when Mr. Haddock happened in, all the gentlemen
shook hands, and Squire Ben led off by saying —

" A bad, bad, horrible state of things, Mr. Haddock !"

" Quite so," replied he.

*' Yes," said Savage. " As I told Haddock, not twenty
minutes ago, up at Jones' store, and a dozen others in
there, it's ' about as bad as murder.' You know I said
that, Haddock ?"

Mr. Haddock recollected the remark.

" Well, isn't it about half so at any rate. Haddock?"

Mr. Haddock (very coolly) didn't know what it was
like. He had " never before seen such a case."

" And now, Mr. Haddock," said the Squire, " what is
best to do about it ?"

Mr. Haddock (very calmly) wasn't prepared to do any
thing further about it at present. " We have them
down at Captain Bunce's," said he, " and they are as

272 NETW England's chattels ; or,

comfortable a*s possible in their case just at present.
The town must pay the bills, I suppose."

" Well — yes — I reckon so, if they are light."

" Must mind that, though," said Savage.

" The folks over at Jones' talk,^^ said Mr. Haddock,
" as though they would like to have the town authorities
prosecuted, and be willing to pay the bills, let them be
ever so large."

"Mere talkl" said Esquire Ben. "I've seen such

things before. Men don't like to pay such bills so well."
*******

Miss Emeline Flush ran to Mrs. Shire's, and the two
hastened in to Mrs. Smith's, and the three departed with
celerity to Mrs. Newcombe's, and these, the four, were
met by four more, who all, with one breath, hegan to say
the same thing, and then branched all off to saying sev-
eral things of the same import. ''Did you ever hear of
such an HORRIBLE thing!" " How could it have happen-
ed ?" Was there any body to blame ? Is she dead or
alive? Does she know any thing? Is she drunk?
Was she sober ? Is old Tucker burnt also ? When did
they find her ? Who found her ? How did they find
her ? Dreadful ! Horrible ! Awful ! Mysterious !
Shows the uncertainty of life ! Miserable couple ! Fil-
thy creatures ! Drunken brutes ! Worse than brutes !
Shame and disgrace to us ! Dreadful catastrophe ! Un-
foreseen event! Calls for prayer! Ought to be im-
proved ! Trust it will be a warning to our young peo-
ple ! Awful dispensation ! Unexpected ! Dreadful !
Touching ! Painful !

And yet the speakers did not appear fully to realize
what it was that wore so " dreadful" an aspect. True,
Polly Tucker had been exposed to death in the way we
have mentioned, and her case was a deplorable one ; but

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 273

the thing most dreadful and to be deplored, was the
cruel and harsh regulations of the town in respect to its
pauper and dependent population, in consequence of
which, the Tuckers, wandering, vicious persons, were
allowed their drunken orgies, and to celebrate them un-
molested with all other persons, far and near, whom
they might be able to persuade into them.

Old Mr. Warren, George, and Eliza said "it was a
dreadful misfortune ;" but they were not surprised at
it. — something of the kind they had long anticipated.
In like manner the Phillips, Wilsons, and Haddocks had
expected some awful calamity would befall them sooner
or later. But the class of persons who scarcely ever
thought of them, or saw them, were absolutely over-
whelmed and astonished when the news came flying
over the town.

The sympathy of the town for the sufferers, and its
respect for the Providence, ran out about the usual
length of such excitements, then wholly passed off ; and
the paupers of Crampton, Polly and John Tucker in-
cluded, remained at Captain Isaac Bunco's.

12*

274 NEW England's chattels; or,

CHAPTER XXVII.

Captain Bunce settles a score with Jims, and Jims with Bastardy and Pauper-
ism. Remarkable Geniality discoverable in unpropitious circumstances, which
iy proof that Society is hompgonous and vital. Flaws are exceptions to the rule.
The Rule remains.

Old Mr. Warren in a few days regained his usual
strength and calmness, although there remained on him
a perceptible grief at the loss of his precious trust. He
now informed George and Eliza in confidence the whole
of that secret ^vhich had so seriously weighed of late
upon his mind. He also told them of the fear he had
entertained that the Tuckers would put in practice
their threatenings, and actually burn them up if he di-
vulged the secret. What had become of the box he did
not know ; but he said it contained the only document-
ary evidence in the world respecting the true parentage
of Jims ; and he should of course suspect the Tuckers,
if he could, for a single moment, imagine how they had
obtained access to his drawers.

Quickened to activity by the remark, Eliza's memory
recalled the morning when Polly came and so kindly
offered her services to help off the morning work ; and
that she was anxious to make the fire in Mr. Warren's
room, and put it in order while he slept. And now she
remembered the haste vith which she left after she
came from the room, although the work was not all done>

" I have no doubt she found it and took it," said she.

The old gentleman groaned assent.

LIFE m THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 275

** Farewell, then," said he, " to any help from that
source. They will destroy the paper, and hide the box.
They have it — there is hardly a doubt of it."

" I now see," said George, " why she has been hanging
round the house evenings, peering in at the windows,
and watching us — especially you, sir."

" Yes, I have no doubt she has been watching me
when I have taken out the box, or any of my little curi-
osities or relics, to see where they were kept."

" Very likely — the miserable creature !" said Eliza.

" But they are pretty effectually broken up now," said
George. " I hope they will find a steady home at the
poor-house for the next twelve months."

" I do," said Mr. Warren. " And now that the papers
are gone, I must do what I can by my own testimony to
avert from Jims the la'sting disgrace they would inflict
upon him. I will go before a justice, and make my oath
to the fact of the death of his mother here, and the cir-
cumstances of our giving away her child to Annie Sue."

They all came to think this would be highly important

in the case ; and it was agreed that, as the weather was

mild, and no one could tell what a change might spring

up in any half day of the month of March — windy and

stormy March — they would go that very day, after an

early dinner.

* * * ^ * * *

" Jims, did you and Roxy and Dan steal one of my
red roosters last night, you young villain, hey ?"

This was Captain Bunco, with his hand fiercely and
ruffianly hold of the youngster's collar. Jims hung his
head and trembled as only the guilty tremble.

" Why don't you speak!" thundered the Captain.

" I havn't ate your rooster."

" No, but didn't you steal him, and Dan cut ofi" his
head, and Roxy pick oif his feathers, say?"

276 NEW England's chattels ; ob,

" Well," said Jims, " old Bill and aunt Prescott's got

the scurvy eating your c d salt beef, and — what shall

we do ?"

" I'll teach you, you scamp ; and it isn't the first time
either, is it, you've felt the rod, hey ?"

" No !" said the boy, looking up with an imploring
look into his face. But the Captain seized hold of a ma-
ple rod within his reach, and as few fathers ever do, he
chastised the young thief, who cringed and cried with
pain, and promised by all in heaven, earth and hell he
would never do so any more, " no, not if I starve to
death."

" Starve ! you young reptile — Avho's starving you ?"

" Nobody, nobody I" said the young liar.

" Oh, Dan ! Dan !" cried Roxy, " do go out and stop
him — the old rascal's hiding Jims to death."

Dan, who was complicated in this transaction, raised
himself slowly up from a half sleeping state on the floor
of the old musty mansion, and hearing the outcry, went
outside. He looked on for a little time, and waxing in-
dignant, although not personally Jims' friend, he cried
out, " Halloa there, Captain, what's to pay !"

The Captain deigned no answ^er. It is not in human
nature to stand calmly by and see a fellow-creature, who
is even guilty, intolerably abused ; and Dan, who instinc-
tively comprehended the cause of the punishment, and
his own exposure to the Captain's ill will, approached
with such a threatening demonstration of his two gigan-
tic fists that the Captain, casting the boy headlong from
him, turned himself fiercely on his new assailant, and
commanding him to go about his business, dealt him over
the shoulders a fierce cut with the same, though now
broken rod. But this was the signal of his own over-
throw. Dan, who was uncommonly sober, and who when

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOE-HOrSE. 277

sober was yet a stout man, rushed on Mm with a terrible
blow — one that if leveled on the head of Alanson Boyce
had almost consigned him to perpetual silence. The
Captain, now unsupported by Dick, had no chance of
escaping it. He sunk to his knees under the blow, and
fairly rolled to the ground. Dan, who of all other men
in the establishment was the least humane and merciful,
fell upon him, and would have beaten him terribly ir
this condition, had not Jims and Roxy grappled him and
pulled him away.

The Captain soon got again on his feet, and shaking
his fists at them as they retired, swore that he would
yet pay them soundly for it, if it cost him his life !

Jims was severely flogged. He had never before re-
ceived so terrible a punishment. Smarting with the
pain, he ran into the house and cried piteously. He
tore oS his coat, and unrolling his shirt at the neck and
from his arms, he bathed himself in water, and sought
help from every one of the inmates, who gathered
around him and tried to comfort him. Mag took him
up in her lap, big boy as he was, and held him while
Mrs. Rice got off his stockings, and they bathed his
limbs. Dan brought in a great handful of snow and held
it on his neck and shoulders. Tucker brought an oiled
rag, taken off from his wife's burns, and put it on his
chest, and the widow Prescott sent word to him to lift
uj) his heart to God !

By-and-bye, as he became easier, they laid him on the
bed by the side of Bill, who, as well as Ebenezer Cowles,
was down with the ^urvy, consequent on steadil}^ feed-
ing for a long time on the Captain's " prime beef," and
in the course of one or two hours he fell asleep.

" Yesterday morning," said Mrs. Rodman to her hus-
band, who had returned home from an ordination in a

278 NEW England's chattels ; or,

neighboring town, "yesterday morning, I had a call
from our queer young friend Jims."

" Indeed," said he. " Well, what said Jims ?"

" Oh 1 he became quite sociable, and as usual got off
Bome smart things."

" I presume so."

" Yes, indeed. He said Captain Bunce wasn't afraid
of any thing but * lightning and ghosts ;' and they had
* lately frightened him most out of his seven senses, by
telling him Joe Harnden's ghost was walking about the
orchard with a dagger all covered with blood in his
hand !"

" Frightful 1 frightful ! wife. What shall be done ?
What a place that poor-house is — especiafly for this boy
to be educated in. What can be done about it and
about him?"

'• I don't know as you have thought of the thing any
further, but I have seriously reflected on that hint of
yours, that we should take him. He isn't a bad boy.
He is a very smart lad, and may be taught aright even
yet."

" Oh, yes, I think so. But it would require much at-
tention and time."

" True, it would — perhaps more than we could well
devote to him."

" I don't know," said the pastor, thoughtfully.

" He might be of much help to you about the horse
and cow. He could do nearly all your chores, and make
the paths in winter. I think we might find him enough
to do when out of school, to keep him from idle habits,
and it certainly would be a relief to you."

" I think it might — I really think it would," said he.

" Suppose then," said she, " we ride down to Mr. Had-
dock's this afternoon and talk with them about it."

LIFE IN THE NORTHEEN POOR-HOUSE. 279

" This afternoon, eh ?"

" Yes, if you are able to spend the time, and do not
feel too much wearied."

" This afternoon — let's see — Thursday — to-morrow's

Friday — then Saturday. Thursday ? Well, so be it,
wife, we'll go."

* * % * * ^

Mr. and Mrs. Haddock had made arrangements to
spend the afternoon of Thursday at Judge Fuller's in
the next town, a drive of about eight miles. Mrs. Ful-
ler was Mrs. Haddock's sister, a very estimable and in-
telligent lady. They were just on the point of starting
from home, when Judge Fuller's sleigh, containing him-
self, wife and daughter, drove up to their own door.
They came for a ride and a call, " and," said Mrs. Fuller,
" we came for a bit of your cold chicken which we know
you had for dinner, and for one of your handsome daugh-
ters to take this other seat in the sleigh, when we re-
turn to-morrow. She must, she must, she shall now go
back with us and stay a week, and then you all come
over for her, and we'll have a time, eh ?"

" Do, aunt Haddock, do, do say yes, will you ?"

" Why, of course she will 1" said the Judge. *' How
can she do otherwise ?"

In fact it was not possible ; and as the Judge was go-
ing to see a brother lawyer a few miles off, the Had-
docks' ride for that day was postponed. The Fullers
left before three o'clock, and then arrived the Phillips.

How singularly things do happen in this world ! The
Haddocks were going from home on this Thursday, and
were just about driving off when the very persons they
were intending to visit came to see them, and they were
prevented from leaving.

At the same time several persons, without any con-

280 NEW England's chattels ; or,

cert with one another, had made plans to call on the
Haddocks, on more than usually interesting business.
It would have been a disappointment to all parties had
they not met — and how nearly they failed of it !

" Yes," said Mr. Phillips, " this afternoon, if you
please."

" Be it so," said his wife ; " early ?"

" Why, not so very — say by two or three o'clock."

" You would like to be home before dark ?"

" If possible — oh, yes."

" It is a singular affair."

" Very."

" Do you think any thing can be brought to light ?"

" Yes, I do ; don't you ?"

" Somehow or other I fancy so."

" Why shouldn't there be ? here's evidence."

" Yes, as far as it goes."

** It is almost demonstration."

" What does it need to make it so ?" she inquired.

" To prove it is her writing."

" And that the hoy is Jims .^"

" Very true. TXell, well, we will go to Haddock's."

" You say early after dinner ?"

" Put it at two o'clock," said he.

At three o'clock the PhiUips came up to the door of
Mr. Haddock, and were gladly received. The excite-
ment of Mr. and Mrs. Haddock was very great when
the box and its contents were shown them, and the
manner of finding came to be explained.

" I remember perfectly well," said Mr. Haddock,
" there was a belief in the community, years ago, that
Jims wasn't Annie Sue's child. There was a report
that Julia Sherman's baby did not die, and that it was
given to 'Annie Sue' to nurse. But then the people

LIFE IN THE NOETHEEN POOE-HOUSB. 281

took no very great interest in the affair ; and without
investigation — for what real difference would it have
made so far as the pauperage was concerned ? — what
real difference will it make even now ? — it was suffered
to die away."

They were talking on the subject, when who should
drive up but old Mr. Warren, accompanied by Mr. and
Mrs. Herring. And before the party were well through
their greetings in came Mr. and Mrs. Eodman !

" I declare !" said Mrs. Haddock, " this must be a
surprise party. Did you not pass others — come now,'
don't say you did not — I shall hardly believe you if you
do !"

" Yes, we saw one sleigh load," said Mr. Rodman.

" Why, husband !"

" I thought it quite likely, sir. Will it arrive soon ?"

" Mrs. Haddock, it was Judge Fuller's sleigh, you
know, going in the other direction," said Mrs. Rodman.

" Oh, ho ! WeU, I understand you. It is the same
thing, though ; for they, you know, preceded you."

" Yes, so they told us," replied Mr. Rodman.

" Well, is it not singular we should all meet here this
afternoon ?" he continued. " It does almost look like a
concerted movement."

" So it does, sir," replied the aged Mr. Warren, " es-
pecially as I, who seldom leave home on any occasion,
am of the party."

" Whether it be concerted or purely accidental," said
Mrs. Haddock, " it is most pleasing to us."

" We were going out ourselves — over to Judge Ful-
ler's," said her husband ; " but they came up here, just
as we were leaving, and rode away only a few moments
since."

The conversation was continued in this way for a

282 NEW England's chattels ; or,

time, and at length all parties began to feel a little
restraint, as each one had come on rather private and
special business, though, as it finally appeared, on sub-
stantially the same.

The allusions that were made to the Tuckers — to
their past and present condition — brought the different
parties so nearly to the point of interest in each mind
present, that directly Mr. Warren said he had lately
been reflecting on a subject which was of deep interest
to him, and on which he thought his advanced age, and
the whole nature of the case, made it highly important
he should disclose his feelings, and that, indeed, in order
to state the case to them, he had made the ride that
afternoon,

" We are all friends," said Mr. Haddock, " if your
communication is one that you can make to all of us, be
pleased to speak — if not — if you would see the pastor,
or any one of us "

" Oh ! no, sir — I think ; George and Eliza, there is
nothing I need withhold from those Avho are present."

" Just as you think best," said they.

" Twelve years ago," said he, " and it was more, I
think — certainly twelve years ago, a distant relative ot
mine came to me in circumstances of personal distress.
She had passed through much family sorrow and change.
Her father, and mother, and aunt were dead. Her hus-
band had become a ruined man and left her, going far
off to sea, where he soon perished, and she came to my
house to die. You know to whom I refer, most of you ?"

" Mrs. Sherman ?"

" Yes, Mrs. Julia Sherman. Before she died, she gave
birth to her third child, under my roof, and as we reside
remote from the village, few knew of it. At about the
same time, ' Annie Sue' lost a child a week old, and after

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 283

Mrs. Sherman died, my wife and I gave lier our little
one to nurse, and he grew up under her care as her
child."

The whole company betrayed the utmost sensation,
although to mt)st of them this was but a quickening of
their memories of a certain portion of the history.

* " But before Mrs. Sherman, my grand-niece, expired,
she left in our care a paper, containing a note of the
boy's parentage, and signed it with her own hand "

Mr. and Mrs. Phillips could hardly restrain their im-
patience, and did not attempt to check their absorbed at-
tention.

" She folded the paper carefully, and calling for a
small silver tobacco-box, with her husband's name on it,
she pressed in the paper, and closing the box, gave it
to us to preserve."

The Phillips and Haddocks were more than ever in-
terested.

" I kept the box after my wife deceased, among some
little mementoes of her, in an upper drawer of my
bureau, in a small trunk, occasionally opening it to see
if it was untouched — for the Tuckers gave me — these
same wretched people — gave me much annoyance, and
have threatened to burn us down, if I ever revealed to
any body the fact that 'Annie Sue,' their daughter, was
not the true mother of the child. Of late, Polly has
been very much about our house, prying in at doors and
windows, and offering her services. Not long since she
came one morning, and, as Eliza was very busy, she
gladly accepted of her help. She made myfire^ also, when
I was asleep, and brushed up the room a little, and we
have no recollection of seeing the box from that day to
this. It is gone !

Hardly had he finished, when Mr. and Mrs. Phillips

284 KEW England's chattels; or,

sprang from their seats, and Mrs. Phillips reaching out
the box, exclaimed —

" We have it / We have found it again ! See ! see !
Here, is not this the same — the identical box ?"

Mr. Warren was almost as much unnerved at the sight
of his regained treasure, as he had been at discovering
its loss. Both George and Eliza also were almost wild
with joy.

" But," said Mr. Warren, " is not the paper missing?"

" No ! it is all there, every thing appears safe, and as
you have described it."

" In the name of truth and of God, my friends," said
the old gentleman, " how did you come by it ?"

Mr. Phillips answered, " After the Tuckers were re-
moved to the poor-house, we tore down what remained
of the old structure, and under the floor, near the hearth,
whence I conclude it must have escaped from them
through the holes in the floor-boards, I discovered it
among the stones and rubbish, and took it home to my
wife."

" For which God be thanked," said the old man. " It
is He who bringeth to naught the devices of the wicked.
I came here to make oath before Mr. Haddock, who is a
Justice of the Peace, to the statements you have heard.
I am now ready to do so, if thought best in regard to the
box and paper contained in it."

" I think it would be as well," said Mr. Haddock.

" By all means," said Mr. Rodman.

" It would be proper," said Mr. Phillips.

Mr. Rodman and his wife began to be much interested
in this account, although as old Mr. Warren had not, in
his previous interview with them, mentioned the name
of Jims' father, they did not feel all the interest in it
they subsequently came to do.

LIFE IN THE NORTHEEN POOR HOUSE. 285

" Before we take this step," said Mr. Haddock, " let us
see the document itself."

" To be sure," said Mr. Warren, handing the box to
Mr. Haddock, who opened it and withdrew the paper.

"' Will you read it, sir ?"

" No, sir, I think you may as well read it yourself,"
said Mr. Warren.

And so Mr. Haddock read as follows :

" Call my baby James, after his father. This is the
dying request of his mother ; and let him know he had
a true and kind father, and a mother who loved him to
the last. Crampton, January 15, 183-. Julia Caelile
Sherman."

" My God !" exclaimed Mrs. Rodman, and bursting
into a flood of tears, was borne by her husband to a sofa
almost insensible, and quite incapable for some time of
further utterance than that of grief. The whole com-
pany were astonished and overwhelmed. Mr. Haddock
ran for camphor, and the ladies fanned her. Mr. Rod-
man was too much occupied to explain, and all were in
doubt about the cause of her emotion, except, perhaps,
old Mr. Warren, when she regained her composure suffi-
ciently to sit up and lean upon her husband. Presently
she said :

" Ladies, that poor, neglected child, is the son of my
own cousin, Julia Carlile 1 I knew," she continued,
" there was something uncommonly interesting to me in
the boy — and we came here this day to offer to take him
from the town and educate him."

" Now of course we shall do that, my dear !" said her
husband, with a smile of true and earnest sympathy.

Mrs. Rodman repaid this expression of her husband's
interest and divination of her thoughts by a kind pres-
sure of his hand.

286 NEW England's chattels ; oe,

" Thank you," said she, " I knew you would feel and
say so."

" Oh, yes !" said all as with one breath. " And now
Jims will have a home !"

The whole company now passed an hour in the most
rapid conversation on the subject, and only broke ofif
when it was concluded best for Mr. Haddock, Mr. Rod-
man, and Mr. Phillips to ride over to the poor-house and
make arrangements with Captain Bunco for the removal

of the boy.

******

" But what is this !" said the astonished and excited
Mr. Haddock, " and what does this mean ?" said Mr.
Phillips and Mr. Rodman, as they approached the bed
of Jims and saw the red lines on his arms and shoulders,
received by the boy at the hands of Captain Bunce.

" It's only a flogging the boy's had," shrieked Mag
Davies.

" Only a flogging !" said Mr. Haddock.

" That's all ! and that's enough, ain't it ?" she cried.

" How is this, Jims ?" inquired Mr. Haddock.

" Oh ! it's nothing, sir," said the boy, " I'm better
now. The Captain got rather high against us for steal-
ing one of his roosters last night, and though we got it
for the scurvy folks here. Bill and Cowles and widow
PresGott, he took the pay out of my hide — but I don't
care, it's all about well now," and the boy jumped to his
feet and walked about as usual.

" But," said Mr. Haddock, " this won't do, Jims ; it's
not right to beat you so."

" No," said Jims, " nor to steal his chickens, ha ! ha 1"

" Well, I guess Dan give it to him," cried Mag.

" ' Give it' to who, pray ?" he asked.

" The old Captain, ah ! ah ! Dan knocked him over

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 287

with his fist, ha 1 ha ! ha ! head and heels, didn't he,
Rox?"

" Ha ! ha ! ha I" shouted Roxy. " Yes, he did."

" Didn't hurt the old c ," grumbled that worthy

from a corner. " Do him some good I hope though."

" Where is the Captain ?" inquired Mr. Haddock.

" Gone to bed drunk, I'll bet a thousand dollars," said
Mag.

" Yes," said old Tucker. " He'll not show himself
again to-day."

This was a painful interview to all, and it was espe-
cially so to Mr. Rodman. Sad was it to contemplate the
life the child had led there to this its culminating point 1
Sad to know that in the neglected state into which he
had been cast, he had acquired habits that might never
cease their ravages upon his moral being ; sad to see
him marked and dishonored thus with the rod of a
tyrant, and distressing to bear him in this condition into
the presence ot his newly-found relatives and friends.

Mr. Haddock succeeded in finding Captain Bunce, but
not in a condition to be reasoned with, and he left him
saying, they would take away the boy and the town
would be released from his further support.

" Take him if you like — take him ! take him, I say 1
Do you hear me ? Take him ! — oh, yes, take him — and
— welcome — take him !" Mr. Haddock shut the door
and left his presence.

" James," said Mr. Haddock, " come with me, — can
you walk ?"

" Oh, yes," said the boy.

" Come with us. Good night, folks."

" Good night, sir. Thank ye," said Mag.

" Jims," said Mr. Haddock.

" What, sir ?" inquired the boy.

288 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" We have found you a new home."

"Sir?"

" We think of taking you away from the poor-house."

" Sir ?"

" We wonder if you wouldn't like^ to live in a better
place ?"

" I don't know, sir."

" Suppose Boyce would like to go back there ?"

" Sooner go to the grave !" said he.

" Well, would you like to get away ?"

" For good and all ?"

" Yes, for good and all."

" You know that, sir."

" We are going to take you away from him."

" From the Captain ?" The boy stopped for a mo-
ment as if rivetted to the earth.

"Yes."

" Will you go and live with me and Mrs. Rodman, my
boy ?" now interposed the clergyman.

Jims trembled and leaned his hand on Mr. Haddock.

" We have thought of it for some time, James," said
he, " and to-day have aU made up our minds, if you are
willing, that you shall be our boy and live with us. So
just tell us if you are willing ?"

' If I could be of any use to you, or not be in the way,
I should like it dreadfully,^'' said the boy through his
tears, hardly daring to believe himself awake. But as
they went on and drew nigh the house, and then went
in, and the ladies and the children, and old Mr. Warren
and George and Eliza gathered round him and shook
hands with him and comforted him, while they also
could hardly refrain .from weeping at the wretched
plight he was in, he began to feel that he was not only

LIFE IN THE NORTHEEN POOR-HOUSE. 289

awake, but that be also bad been liberated from the
sunken grave of (New England) pauperism !

That very night Jims, washed, combed, and made of
a Tiew thing, bis old bat and garments made a bonfire of,
Jims no longer, but James by a title to manhood and
freedom no one could question, slept away the hours on
what to him was a bed of down under the roof of the
kind Mr. and Mrs. Rodman.

la

290 NEW England's chattels : or.

CHAPTER XXYTII.

" We should of course miss a Pauper, Mr. Savage, of course !" It is quite a Mathe-
matical certainty that two and two are four ; and that if one be taken from four,
there are left but three. Now, as Pure Mathematics is a dead certainty, we
have no diflSculty with it until we yoke to it our Moral Certainties. Then we
may say, " Of course, Mr. Savage !" But there's a lingering doubt — an absence
of Demonstration, after all.

The announcement of these things went with great
rapidity over the town of Crampton, causing no small
amount of excitement every where. There was gene-
rally much joy at Jims' good fortune ; surprise at the
romance of his history, and Mrs. Rodman's relationship ;
consternation among some who apprehended it an en-
tering wedge to impose on the town a new poor-house
system ; and in the mind of Captain Bunco the fear of a
legal investigation, and a fine for his barbarity.

But Mrs. Polly Tucker was enraged. She became
frantic and wild under the excitement, and tore the
bandages from her wounded person. She cursed and
swore, calling old Mr. Warren " a great, good-for-nothing
old hypocrite, fit only for the stake." She " would like
an opportunity to burn him up," and believed she should
yet find one.

In fact, Polly could not be pacified. The injury done
to the memory of her daughter was of such a flagrant
description, she could see no relief from it — no excuse,
therefore, would palliate it. She stormed about, cast
all her medicines into the fire, refused food, heaped

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 291

maledictions on everybody, and became a perfect fury.
A fever, that left no doubt on the minds of any how it
would terminate, now seized her ; and in a few days,
unlamented, poor Polly's remains went to the grave in
one of the poor-house coffins.

The attention of Captain Bunce was now particularly
called to his scurvy patients. They had taken the dis-
order under the generous and plethoric treatment of the
Captain, ever since the purchase of Savage's "prime"
beef. It proved too much of a good thing — the last
feather that killed the camel. Requiring an entirely
new change in diet to restore them and keep them well,
the Captain traded away three barrels of the beef, and
got in exchange a lot of rusty number three and four
mackerel, and some damaged feet and heads of pork,
and accused Savage of selling him bad meat 1 But Mr.
Savage knew better than that ; the meat was all he
recommended it ; he only sold it for cheap meat, good
enough for the paupers ; and any fool might know better
than to feed it out every day for two months, even to
them. The Captain had the worst of the argument, as
well as the worst lot of "prime" beef in town. More-
over, as he apprehended, the article actually fell in
value, so that he lost two dollars a hundred on what he
traded off. In many respects, the trade with Mr. Sav-
age resulted badly for Captain Bunce.

The snows began to dissolve away towards the last
of March and in the first days of April. Many a bank,
and even many a pyramid of the flaky substance melted
down. It was observed, in an adjoining town, that as
the snow settled away on the south side of a long piece
of woods near the road, the birds of winter, the crows,
and hawks gathered the: e, cawing and screaming, and
diving down towards the earth furiously, and then again

292 NEW England's chattels ; or,

sailing away into the atmosphere, fluttered for a while,
and then made another sudden and angry descent ; or,
perched on the topmost branch of an old hemlock tree,
peered down into the shade as if to notice some object
not entirely concealed from view. And also the dogs
in the neighborhood, or that passed by, ran from the
woods, howling and moaning, and in the night barked a
hideous barking, that kept awake their owners, and led
them to speak of it the next day.

SloAvly in the shade of hemlocks, and in the dense
growth of branches and alders — slowly settles down and
melts aw^ay the winter's snow. But warmer suns, longer
days, gentle rains prevail ; the snow dissolves away
even there, and presently there is an end to all the
mystery of this gathering and wild flying and cawing
of the birds ; the painful barking and wild trembling
and midnight howling of the dogs. The neighbors have
found there, and now completely removed it from the
snow, the frozen, poorly clad corpse of a human being.
A basket is beside it, and a jug half filled with poorest
wine. It is a female — an aged woman — long dead, and
buried in the deep snows of the winter !

The coroner's inquest that was held on the body, de-
cide that she died from exposure to the cold.

But who is this snow-clad one ? Whence came she ?
Have any lost a friend, beloved, revered — a grey-haired
mother, wife, sister, neighbor? And echo answers,
have they?

Go throughout the families of the place, and no one
will be found who have missed her. There is not a so-
cial relation snapped by her decease and absence in the
town. No church there has lost a member, no hamlet
is one the less for her.

The town is astir, however, with the news, and many

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 29B

go to the lonely place where the body was discovered,
and walk away saying, " this is a strange and mysterious
affair !"

The investigations of the coroner's jury go to show
that the woman was aged and friendless, poorly clad,
and that she probably belonged in some other town —
perhaps even a pauper ; that she was overtaken by night
in a severe storm, or cold day, and betook herself for
shelter to this clump of trees, where she perished, and
lay entombed over the sojourn of winter.

Word is forthwith sent out into the towns around an-
nouncing this sad and unusual event, and giving all the
particulars of the inquest.

" No such person has been living here 1" said Squire
Ben Stout.

" I think not !" said the selectman, Mr. Jonas Savage.

" You know — of course you know — you would know —
Mr. Savage, if any body was missing from the roll of
our paupers — of course you would," said Squire Ben.

" I ought to know," said that gentleman, "I have been
there often enough this winter — and — lets me see — they
are more full now than ever, I believe."

" Well, so I had got the idea," replied the Squire, " I
guess it don't belong to us any how ; do you. Savage ?"

" The body 1"

" Yes/of course — the body !"

" Don't see how it can, if they are all on hand and
alive."

" Just so ; that's my opinion. We of course should
miss a pauper gone all winter ! Better tell them we
havn't lost any. Faith and here comes Haddock — and
on my soul ! Bunco ! How do you do, gentlemen ?
Savage and I were just counting noses down at the
poor-house, and find it all right with us ; about this dead

294 NEW ENGLAND^S CHATTELS ; OR,

person, what is it, Haddock ? Do you get any hold of
the rumor, Bunce, eh ?"

" Why, we feel a little startled," said the latter.

" We fear. Squire Stout," said Mr. Haddock, " that
the deceased woman does belong to us, and is the aged
Mrs. Dodge of the poor-house family."

" Whe-w !" exclaimed the Squire — " Dodge I Dodge .
Did I ever know any thing about Dodge, Savage ?"

" Why, I rather think," said that mouth-piece of the
old Squire, " there is a Dodge on the books."

" I've a confoundly treacherous memory," said the
Squire. " What Dodge was it, and how long had she
been on ?"

" Mrs. Dodge was the widow of Mr. Hiram Dodge,
formerly a thriving business man here," said Mr. Had-
dock, " and at last a poor man, keeper of the turnpike
gate. You remember Mm, Squire Ben?"

" To be sure I to be sure, Mr. Haddock, I do indeed.

A fine man of business and character he once was.
Pity though that he fell off, and went down ; a great, sad
misfortune. And our Dodge on the roll was his widow.
I declare, I recollect it now as well as if it happened
only yesterday. But then it can't be she — you know —
why, she was of the wevj first family in Cramp ton ! No,
it's some other person — it's not Mrs. Dodge, Savage!
Heavens, no ! Besides, Captain Bunce would miss her,
you know, at once, and look her up."

" Oh, yes, to be sure," said Captain Bunce, " we missed
her, and I asked the paupers about her, and we kinder
expected the old lady in every day or two. She didn't
come, however, and after a reasonable while we gave
up looking for her. One can't spend all the winter
months, you know, running after wandering and vaga-
bond paupers.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 295

" True. That's true, Captain Bunce, I don't see but
you are excusable if it is she."

" Have they not a claim on us, gentlemen," inquired
Mr. Haddock, in a very solemn and serious manner,
*' for at least a reasonable share of attention and sym-
pathy ?"

"Now, Haddock, don't! Don't go into the matter as
if any body was unreasonable and inhuman," said Sav-
age. " You know that Captain Bunce makes every pro-
vision in his power "

" I don't know any such thing, Mr. Savage," he ex-
claimed, interrupting him. " I am not at all conscious
of any such thing. Captain Bunce is here, and can
answer for himself; I can't."

"Why it is simply here, Captain," said Savage —
" when you find any of the folks gone, you feel it your
duty to inquire after them, don't you ?"

" To be sure."

" Yes ; and so you inquired, as usual, about Mrs.
Dodge ?"

" To be sure."

" Yes ; and so you would inquire for Tucker, or any
of them?"

" To be sure."

" And if you are around about, if it comes handy, you
inquire of strangers ?"

" Oh, yes, to be sure."

" I thought so. Well, now, Mrs. Dodge, she went
away and didn't come back— ^-and you couldn't hear any
thing of her ?"

" Just so, sir."

" Why, it is as clear as daylight, gentlemen," said Mr.
Savage, " that Captain Bunce is 0. K. He's an upright
overseer — a very careful, conscientious man in his con-
tract."

296 NEW England's chattels ; or,

"Well, gentlemen, what's to be done?" inquired the
Squire. " I think, on the whole, it must be Mrs. Dodge,
and that she wandered off last winter as w^as stated, and
got into the snow. Think so. Haddock ?"

" "We think it altogether probable," answered Mr.
Haddock.

" Oh 1 there ain't any doubt of it," said Savage.
" She's been gone, it seems, and couldn't be found all
winter. Now, the spring has set in, up she turns, froze

to death, and covered up in one of these d deep

snows. Who in thunder could expect the old lady to
come to light till the snows left ? And so, it's all right
and nat'ral, here she is."

This harangue of Savage's, which set out the case in
a very vivid, life-like manner — in striking brevity of
style, after the usual terseness of earnest men, in right
earnest ways of speaking — was a perfect settler of the
whole matter to the overwhelming conviction and satis-
faction of both the Squire and the Captain ; and it was
ordered that Captain Bunce, accompanied by Mr. Sav-
age, should go over to A , and if they found it the

body of Mrs. Dodge — the lamented and diligently-search-
ed for, late a pauper of Crampton, and once the belle of
Crampton — they were to fetch it home, and as soon as
might be, consistent with funeral proprieties, give it a
(Christian) pauper's burial 1

A dull, heavy tread — a slowly moving vehicle — wea-
ried, jaded horses — a heavy, lead-like load — and the team
draws up at the side entrance of the poor-house in
Crampton.

" It is best. Captain — altogether best, as you say," re-
marked Mr. Savage. " They would be terribly shocked
if the body were carried in and kept over night. It is

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 297

now four o'clock. Let the folks come out and see the
corpse. Send word to have the minister meet us at the
grave — which is dug, I presume, by this time, for I told
Whuggs to have one ready — and let her be buried to-
day."

" By all means," said the Captain.

Mr. Haddock was sent for, and counselled delay ; but
they out-voted him. And the poor folks came out as
they best could to see their old companion, who had in
this singular manner gone to her last abode. They were
struck with the naturalness of the features, and with
the very smile that the old lady usually carried about
with her when she was pleased, and in her sociable
moods. They all affirmed at once to the identity of the
corpse, and in due time a little procession moved on —
and on — and on — towards the last old home that dying
mortals, reaching, tarry in from generation to genera-
tion to the end.*

* * * -St * *

Gathered around their cheerless fire, the lessening
band shivered and paled before the striking testimony
of their own dreams.

"Ah," said Mag, " I once was heedless about them.
I didn't believe a word of them. I laughed at them —
and now see how they're fulfilled !"

* Woman Found Dead. — The body of an elderly woman was found in the woods
close by Three-Cornered Pond, in the south part of Granby, on Sunday. From
appearances, she had been dead several months : the body had been covered with
snow. A basket, and some small change, was found beside her. She was appa-
rently an American woman, and may have been a pauper. An inquest was held,
and the verdict was in accordance with the facts. From her dress, basket and
bundle, it is believed she was Mrs. Lattimer, of Simsbury, who has been missing
since last October. This supposition is strengthened by the fact that Mrs. L. was
last seen in October near this spot, in a partially bewildered condition, endeavoring
to find her way to Simsbury from her place in Granby, where she had been kept
with some of the town -poor. ^Hartford Times. April 1st, 1857.

13

298 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Yes," said Mrs, Prescott, " she was married to tho
* misty white gentleman/ the winter's flying snow ; it
fell over her as a blanket, and kept her safely. She
slept calmly all the winter and suffered no more. And
then was she not taken to the great wedding of the
Lamb, to the great and crowded assemblage there?
Oh ! Mag, what a dream — what a dream was that 1"

" A dreadful, solemn one !" she answered. " Yes,
I'm now and forever a firm believer in them. Aunt
Joanna Dodge has undoubtedly got to heaven, where
she is happy, and now, who knows — who knows but the
other dream will come to pass, eh ?" And Mag walked
up and down the room with folded hands. "

" Pshaw ! pshaw !" said Dan.

" Pshaw ! pshaw ! psliaiu ! if you will," sputtered Mag,
" I know it will. There's Jims already got out of the
poor-house and become a smart one they say. And who
knows what's before the whole of us ?"

" Dan !" said the old widow, " is the Lord's hand
shortened that it cannot save ?"

" That's a plaguy sight more than I know," said he.

" But I know," says Mag. " He^s Almighty .'"

" Yes," said Mrs. Rice, " it's nothing for him to do
wonders."

Had Mrs. Dodge died when she was Joanna Martin, in
the height of her loveliness, at seventeen, all the young
men and ladies of Crampton would have gone mourning
to her grave. How many words of consolation would
her parents and sisters have received ! What prayers
would have been offered, what sermons preached ! Had
she died at forty, in the zenith of her womanhood, in the
full glare of her influence, the pattern of good mothers
and wives, what an array of grief-stricken ones had there
been at her funeral ! What solemn tones would have

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 299

been in the tolling bell ! Who of Crampton's best men
would not have gladly officiated as her pall-bearers ! — ■
What newspaper would not have been more than willing
to give her an extended obituary ! And what a rude
shock would have gone over the hearts of all in the par-
ish had not prayers been asked and said in her memory!

So it makes a difl'erence how we die !

Men should not allow themselves to say or even think
it dies not.

Reader, if you die from one of New England's poor-
houses — though now you may be Judge, Squire, Cap-
tain— Mrs. this one or Mrs. that — if you die a pauper,
you will never get your case into any pulpit in the land ;
nor will any respectable newspaper give you an obituary
notice, unless it be as a statistical fact, probably a cut-
ting one, sarcastic, facetious or solemn, for the benefit of
Summary, — a long, wide awake, factotum sort of an indi-
vidual the newspapers are mighty thick with !

Mrs. Dodge happened to die just as she did, and
when she did — in a remarkable manner even for a pau-
per ; but prayers were not asked or said for her in
church ; no one went to her grave but officials, and no-
body considered the world a loser by her departure. —
The papers announced the singular manner of her death,
and Summary took it up in several quarters, and Scrap-
Book pasted the announcement on a blank brown-paper
page for future reference ; but that was the end of it — •
that was all. No marble ever graced the head of her
grave ; no exotic plant, rose or shrub Wci« planted on its
sods. Wild nature, alone, grassed her sleeping place,
and the sexton was the only man of a thousand who
could point you to it.

" It makes a difference — guess it does indeed," said
Old Mortality, " death is the same, but we are not!"

300 NEW England's chattels ; or.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Mrs. Armstrong's great apprehension. Poverty ia very ugly to look straight at !

" It's a dreadful place 1 ob-h-li !" sighed and groaned
Mrs. Armstrong, whose husband was a merchant, when
she heard these things. " And it is a possible fate to
many a one of us. Oh, how could I survive it — how.live in
that awful, wretched manner for an hour ! And yet there
is aunt Prescott w'ho holds out, and they say is compara-
tively cheerful. But what neglect, what cruelt}^, what
uncleanliness, what language, what absence of the fear
of God and of man. I could not live there, and yet my
husband says ' we may come to it.' I know I should
never endure it. I would rather die to-night ! How
carefiil ought every body to be in his expenses who is
exposed to such a fate as this !" Mrs. Armstrong de-
clined going to a sleigh ride that day, the last of the
sleighing, with her husband, " for," said she, " it would
be an awful thing to want the very necessaries of life in
the poor-house in consequence of extravagance now."
" Pshaw, Lucy, who's been scaring you to-day, pray ?"
" Oh ! I am scared to death every day, when I see
what danger there is of poverty. Don't you know, Mr.
Armstrong, you are in debt ? That you have notes
coming due every day, and that you are harassed and
dream ugly dreams ? Now be warned by me, and don't
run headlong into expenses. Let us save money while
we have a little, for the tender mercies of the town are
cruelty."

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 301

" Well, Lucy, if 5^011 ain't about crazy on this point,
I'll give up. I tell you I am worth ten thousand dollars
to-day, and there is just no danger of the poor-house at
all."

" You needn't argue in that way, Frederic. I know
that ten thousand dollars is a dreadful little sum of
money in these days ! The interest of it is but six hun-
dred dollars a year, and if we had nothing but that we
should soon come to poverty, and beggary itself.
Oh-h-h !"

" Lucy, now pray get rid of this whim."

" I tell you, Fred, it ainH a ' whim,' it's living truth."

" What's set you agoing so intolerably fast to-day ?"
he asked.

" Oh, nothing new — only — yes. There is old aunt
Joanna Dodge who used to be the belle of Crampton, I
have heard my grandmother speak of her as the hand-
somest creature she ever set eyes on, and she was a
familiar friend of my mother twenty years ago, she has
been buried all winter in the snow, just because she had
become a pauper, and nobody cared enough about her
to seek for her."

" Well, it is a hard and tough story, that's a fact.
But why need it so frighten you ?"

" Frighten me ! Because it is such a dreadful place,
the poor-house. Such a cold, starving, corrupt, forgot-
ten community is there. I shudder when I think it
even possible that you and I, or one of our children
should ever go over its threshold."

Mr. Armstrong embraced his wife lovingly, and as-
sured her that he really believed they would be able to
keep out of it, and admitted there was too much ex-
travagance and too much disregard of the facts of pov-
erty daily passing before them. He said he meant to be

302 NEW England's chattels ; or,

economical and wary, and begged his wife to regain her
composure.

One of the boys soon after came in for a shilling to
pay for mending his sled.

" Willard !" said Mrs. Armstrong, " I suppose there
are some poor boj's at the poor-house who never have
a sled, and who almost never see a shilling. Now, don't
you think it wicked to break your sled and then come
to me for twelve-and-a-half cents to mend it, when your
poor father and mother can hardly live as it is ?"

" Ma'am !" exclaimed the frightened boy.

" I say, my son, we are poor and can't afford to mend
sleds."

" I didn't know we were so poor, mother !"

" Well, ^ve may he ; and it is the duty of all of you
children to try and save money, so as not to come to
want, and go to that dreadful place, the poor-house."

Ellen came in and begged her mother to buy her a
new pair of shoes, but Ellen was denied

" Your old shoes, Ellen, are better than many wear,
and many a one has been reduced to beggary by need-
lessly spending money for shoes, ribbons, puff-combs,
rings, bri /les, and hair-pins."

" Mot^ jr, do you think we shall be ?" inquired Ellen,
thoughtfully.

" I cannot tell you, my child. Sometimes I greatly
fear it. Expenses are all the time increasing, and
there seems no end to the extravagance of building,
trading, living. If we ever do come down to the poor-
house we shall be mortified to death, besides under-
going all the suffering."

Mrs. Armstrong told a pedlar to go away ; she
didn't need any of his goods. She declined giving even
Miss Flush, president of the Ladies' Sewing Society, her

LIFE IN THE NORTHERiSr POOR-HOUSE. 303

usual annual donation of a quarter of a dollar on the
same plea.

" Why, Miss Flush, we are all bound to the poor-
house ; did you know it ? Did you know that there
was going to be an awful crash among us one of these
days ? And then to think of the end to which we are
approaching — perhaps just such another death as Mrs.
Dodge !"

Miss Flush said it was an awful and flesh-crawling state-
ment : it had almost sickened her of society and of life.
But she daily said her prayers, and interested herself in
works of benevolence, and so hoped she should be saved
from absolute poverty, and especially from the poor-house.

" Well, I do hope. Miss Flush, you'll never come to that."

" As I live a single life," said that lady

" Nobody knows how long you may," quickly retorted
the other.

" What, ma'am ! Did you imply that I might be mar-
ried some day ?"

" I did."

" And yet you know that I am violently opposed to
matrimony ?"

" True ; but ladies frequently marry against their
inclination "

" Never shall I give myself away, Mrs. Armstrong, to
a person who has not my entire regard."

" One would imagine. Miss Flush, that most ladies
would marry any body with a goTjd, genteel property
that would keep them from want."

" You are severe on the ladies to-day, Mrs. Armstrong.
Now that is not my idea at all. I think our ladies
marry from true principle, and from a desire of correct
happiness."

" I think that many of them marry without much idea

304 NEW England's chattels ; or,

at all, except to make a display and avoid being old
maids. But who would not rather be an old maid all
her days, than to be the mother of children sent to the
poor-house !"

" Well, it is a dreadful, dismal place, I suppose."

" Have you never been there ?"

" Been there — what, I !"

" Yes, to be sure."

" Why, no, of course : have you ?"

" What, me !"

" Yes, indeed, you."

" No, not inside ; but I have heard enough of it to
frighten me out of sleep for a fortnight. (Heigho //'

" It is said the town takes good care of the inmates."

" Miss Flush, it is false I The town does not furnish
them with any of the comforts of life. Many of them
sleep on the floor, in poorly-warmed and exposed rooms ;
many have the poorest of clothing ; some of them almost
starve to death. And the evil falls where you wouldn't
expect it — on our own native-born citizens."

" Well, I am surprised !"

" It is literally so ; ask Squire Ben, he'll tell you all
about it."

"Uncle Stout seems to think they are comfortably
off."

" Ask Mr. Haddock."

" Oh, I know ; Haddock's a fanatic."

" Well, suppose he is. He has been all over the poor-
house, which is more than any of us can say."

" And now, my dear friend, (to change the eubject,)
you won't forsake us and decline to bestow your usual
donation, now don't refuse, Mrs. Armstrong — pray, don't
now."

" I must to-day, I certainly must ; I do not feel that a

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 305

cent of money in my possession is my own to give away
to anything."

" True, but this is lending, as we hope, to the Lord."

" Well, if so, the Lord loves the cheerful giver. I must
bring myself right before I can do any good v/ith my
money."

Accordingly Miss Flush bade her a kind afternoon,
and went elsewhere.

On the next Sabbath, Mrs. Armstrong was at church,
in a rich, dark silk dress, and a very heavy cashmere
shawl, but her face wore a rather serious aspect, and it
was not relieved till the minister preached on the sin of
extravagance, and prayed that the people might not
come by their sins to the doors of poverty.

" I told you so, Mrs. Pepper," said her rich old miserly
husband. " I have long foreseen it — the sequel can't be
long coming. We are doomed to the poor-house."

" What now ?" grumbled she.

" George wants more money I" (whispered the old
miser.)

" George does ?"

" Yes !"

" Well, he can't have it, can he ?"

" No, not fairly — not without security."

" Then he can't have it at all, can he ?"

" I don't see that he can."

" How can he ? Hasn't he any security left ?"

" His stock is about all mortgaged !"

" Then tell him he can't have it, hey ?"

" I think I must— but— but "

"'But' what?"

" He will secure a little further — — "

" Look out, old man, for the poor-house 1"
" I'm afraid on't, I vow."

306 NEW England's chattels ; oh,

" If we get there we shall never go any tiifiii.;;-, up
nor down."

" How so ?"

" It's as bad as the pit," said she.

" Horrible necessity," said her husband, and they
both ruminated over it for a long time.

" One thing is as plain as day to me, Mrs. Pepper."

" What is it, eh ?"

" That we can't afford to be so extravagant !"

" I know it."

" We can't afford to buy tea, flour, sugar, tobacco."

"No," said she, " nor any new shoes, nor pipes, nor
snuff."

" We must eat up close all the old crusts. Have we
any left of yesterday ?"

" Yes, two or three pieces, and some bad cold pota-
toes."

" Make our dinner out of them."

"Can we afford salt?"

" And vinegar !"

"And pepper?"

" And mustard ! No, no, no .'" said he. Salt is good
enough alone sometimes. We must live on nothing
that costs us anything ; we shall then be at the poor-
house soon enough."

LIFE liSr THE N^OKTHERN POOK-nOUSE. 307

CHAPTER XXX.

The Missionary's Letter. "We ha\e known one Missionary who complained that
he couldn't be thankful enough, and another who complained that he was too
thankful. So we fancy that somewhere near the middle of the beam lies the true
emotion.

If you would not have known James, {alias Jims,) the
next day after his introduction into Mr. Rodman's family,
you certainly would not have known him a month later.
The very next day he appeared in a new hat, new grey
pants, brown jacket, neat shoes and stockings, with a
clean, bright face, and well-combed black and curling
locks. He stood also erect, like a free boy and a happy
one, with a look of firmness and decision that occasion-
ally gleamed out in the days of his degradation, in cir-
cumstances connected with his past history.

Mrs. Eodman was proud of him, and with her husband
formed a system of daily life for the present, in which
they strove to bring out his powers of self-government
and personal reliance, as well in small things as in those
that were greater. They wished him to pursue a course
of study and of life that would lead him to deep reflec-
tion, and so bring him to realize the true nature of
things, to know something of his own being, and of his
personal obligations ; of God's holiness ; of the nature
of sin, of love and truth, and to lead him to right exer-
cises of mind in general. They did not expect the boy
would immediately become a man of maturity of knowl-
edge, but they did expect that he would make progress

308 NEW England's chattels ; or,

in knowledge by observation and experience every day
he lived. He was not too young to entertain many defi-
nite and clear ideas of life ; and such had been his posi-
tion for more than twelve years, that there was reason
to begin forthwith a course of thorough systematic de-
velopment of his true nature, and put him on the right
track of life.

James, rejoicing in his newly-found liberty, was per-
fectly willing to conform to the rules they established
over him, and his conduct every day showed that he ap-
preciated their kindness, and that he was determined to
make it the duty of his life to please them.

Mr. and Mrs. Rodman themselves at the first attended
altogether to his instruction. They found him able to
read a little, though awkwardly and wdth hesitation.
He could also write a very poor page. Of arithmetic
he knew the simplest rules ; of grammar and history
almost nothing. But such was his desire and such his
application, such the grasp of his intellect and the atten-
tion of his friends, that in three months he had shot
ahead far in advance of his friends' expectation. He also
immediately came to be respected by the other boys,
and to be known to them. He was received into the
Sabbath-school, and was attentive and respectful to his
teachers, always in the slip also on the Sabbath. Scarcely
a vestige of his former character could be noticed about
him at the end of three months ; and among the boys
and girls he associated with it scarcely seemed to be re-
membered that he had once been a poor, abused, a wild,
good-for-nothing pauper !

Meanwhile Miss Flush and her ladies made up and for-
warded the missionary things — a very large, complete
assortment of clothing, and of other articles that would
be wanted somewhere, and they sent it off with many

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 309

tears and prayers. Mr. Rodman himself \vrote a letter,
besides the one which Miss Flush penned, forwarding it
unsealed, along with the articles sent, hoping it Avould
meet the eye of the fortunate yet afflicted family to whom
the goods might come in the far "West, as soon as they
opened the box !

There was great rejoicing over this long enterprise
completed. Indeed, it was a work that required much
devotion, labor, patience, and calculation to bring
through successfully — and these were not wanting in the
elements of Miss Flush's constitution. She was great
on boxes of this sort, and the parish of Crampton knew
her importance and worth, although we are of the opin-
ion that it did not but about half know and appreciate
her after all !

When this was all done, which it took five weeks in-
stead of three to do, and Mrs. Smith said she must have
made a wrong calculation in putting it at three, the so-
ciety was ready to do a day's work for Mrs. Phillips'
poor neighbors. In the meantime, one of the children
had been carried off by a sudden cold and lung fever,
and the necessities of the family had been relieved by
the charities of the neighbors. But Mrs. Phillips had
calls for help from other sources, and the society's offer
was accepted.

As for the paupers, it was the general opinion that
Captain Bunce would resent any interference to relieve
them, and it was left with Mrs. Haddock to do as she
thought best in that respect.

The ladies were now at work for the merchant, Mr.
Longwell.

They entered on this work with a great stock of en-
thusiasm, and made by calculation out of it and a public
fair that they intended to advertise about strawberry

310 NEW England's chattels ; or,

time, at least five hundred dollars. With this monev
they were going to remodel the church pulpit, new
cushion and carpet the house, and put a new row of posts
with iron chains in front of it along by the side-walk.

In the course of a few weeks, Miss Flush received the
following letter from a distant missionary, to whom it
seems their box of clothing, bedding, etc., etc., had been
forwarded : —

« M , 111, May 25, 184-.

Miss E. Flush : —

Your favor and that of the Rev. Mr. Rodman, accompanying a
large box of clothhig, and other domestic work, came safely to hand
on the 20th inst. We live in a retired part of the world, and have
but small opportunity of seeing the faces of our benefactors. Your
generosity and that of the ladies of Crampton, is very generally re-
garded in our small family as a favor worthy of the highest regard.
We shall hope to appropriate the articles by and bye to the use con-
templated by the kind and generous donors, but are at present
making up our supply from a similar presentation sent on by my
wife's friends in New York.

Accept, dear friend, for yourself and your associates, my kindest
Christian regards, and in these my wife begs heartily to unite. The
pressure of public business must be my apology for brevity.

Truly, &c., &c,, Moses Diamond."

Now, Miss E. Flush had often received letters of ac-
knowledgment for similar favors before. But she had
never received one quite as cool and business-like as this.
She and her friends expected to receive a letter of at
least four pages, giving an account of the particular
adaptedness of every article of goods in the box to the
peculiar situation of some one in the family that received
it, containing over and over again the great sense of
obligation awakened, abounding in ejaculatory thank,9-
givings, and making a general confession of " unworthi-
nesa to receive the like of it," <fec. &c. It was expected

LIFE IN THE NORTHERX POOR-HOUSE. 311

also to be a document, extracts from which the pastor
would read from the pulpit, and in the social meetings ;
especially giving a summary of the religious condition
of the West, its educational wants, and so forth ; also
setting forth the state of the temperance enterprise, and
that of the Sabbath-school — happy if the document did
not cover eight instead of four pages !

But this was decidedly cool — too cool — it did not pay.
Some of the ladies said they should know it when they
gave anything for another missionary box. Others said
he was a rich man, and hacl a rich wife — still others that
he didn't know any better — and others still, that he was
proud, and ought not to be a missionary. Some even
went so far as to afSrm that they had rather given the
box to the town paupers ! or scattered the articles about
to the poor in the various neighborhoods of the town.

Expecting too much in one case, and doing too little
in another, they were at the end visited by a natural
punishment from both. They forgot the great rule of
the Gospel : " This ought ye to have done, and not to
have left the other undone." They had no idea that
any needy, seedy missionary family at the West, could
receive a gift-box of clothing from them without writing
a most melting letter of thanks for it — a letter that would
stir up the emotional feeling of all the parish — a letter
that would go into the religious newspapers, and stir up
to emulation a great many other religious sewing societies
throughout the country. They expected more would
be said and done about that box of clothing altogether
than the real value of twenty such boxes. And they
seemed to forget that a poor and self-denying missionary
could have the independence of mind to write a modest
acknowledgment of their generosity, and even harbor
the ivish to cover up from the eyes of the tvorld his necessity

312 NEW England's chattels ; or,

of charity ! They would publish it broad-cast over the
land ; he would wish it a transaction between himself
and them.

Do we know our own hearts ? Do they not often lust
within us to envy ? The shock to the Missionary Sew-
ing Society of Crampton by this letter of acknowledg-
ment was very great indeed.

Their efforts went now, for a considerable time, to
the repairing of their own church. They raised a good
sum of money by their industry, and appropriated it in
that way till they accomplished their object, to the
great satisfaction of the whole town. Crampton was
regarded by the neighboring towns as a sort of model
place for churches and sewing societies. It was a neat,
handsome, well-ordered, business community and town.
The church, especially, was a thing that everybody had
a good word for ; and it seemed to pay for what was laid
out on it. To all appearance, the Gospel declaration,
" The poor ye have always with you," did not apply to
Crampton. Indeed, had any one asked an active com-
mon citizen of the town if there were many poor people
in the place, he would probably have said, " No — almost
none at all ;" meaning respectable poor people, of course.
And perhaps he would not have known that in the poor-
house of that town there were always to be found from
ten to fifteen and twenty paupers, so utterly wretched
and woe-begone that their condition, in common with
the universal condition of paupers, led some, even among
the high and wealthy, to tremble at the possibility of
their own future poverty ; so forgotten, that the cast-
off garments of even the common people were not
thought of for them and given for their comfort ; so
poorly nourished, wet, and cold in their leaky habita-
tions and cheerless rooms, that they paid out of their

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOE-HOUSE. 313

little class the heaviest per cent, of death in the town
per annum — a community in want of every temporal
mercy, for it had been stripped from them ; wanting
spiritual light and consolation, for they were feeble and
dispirited ; the remnants and relics of themselves ; the
" vestiges of creation ;" the needy poor of the hedges
and waysides these — would he have known all this?
Had he seen, heard, thought of it ? Had he ever been
there — ever taken it into his mind to go and inquire if
there was a sufferer in the house of want to whom he,
for Jesus' sake, could bring relief? Alas ! the paupers
of New England linger near their last goal, few remem-
bering them in their sad and deplorable state of absolute,
unchangeable poverty. And surely poverty is an evil
oft leading one to crime 1

" Thou knowest what a thing is Poverty
Among the fallen on evil days ;
'Tis Crime, and Fear, and Infamy,
And houseless Want, in frozen ways,
Wandering ungarmented, and Pain,
And, worse than all, that inward stain.
Foul Self-contempt, which drowns in sneers
Youth's starlight smile, and makes its tears
First like hot gall, then dry forever !" — Shelley.

Rosalind <^- Helen, p. 314, Hazard's ed.,Phila., 1856.
******

" Homes there are, we are sure, that are no homes ; the home of the
very poor." * * *

" But what if there be no bread in the cupboard i" * * «
" The children of the very poor do not prattle."

Charles Lamb's Essay of Elia, xii, p. 291-2.

* * * * * *

" Nothing in poverty so ill is borne
As its exposing men to grinning scorn."
Boswell's Johnson, p. 28, Bond's ed., Bait., Oldham's imi. of Juv.

* * * * * * •

14

814 NEW England's chattels ; or,

"Extreme and abject poverty is, vice excepted, the most deplorable

condition of human nature."
Harriet Lek's Canterbury Tales, " Clandine," vol. ii., Mason Bro.'s ed.
# « # # # *

" The consequence of poverty is dependence." — Web.

" ' Pauper' — A poor person ; particularly, one so indigent as to depend
on the parish or town for maintenance. * * The in-
crease of pauperism is an alarming evil." — Ibid,

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 315

CHAPTER XXXI.

Abraham Bacon and Mrs. Bacon, Mr. and Mrs. Siddleton — actors all, in the grand
Pauper Drama, representing Shrewdness, Profit, Speculation, Genius, Morality
and Religion.

Father Time with his light, quick tread, passed along
over Crampton five successive summers, and James
Sherman, a tall grown, handsome, self-possessed youth,
borne by him through every difficulty, and guarded by
the same scythe that had been the scourge and death of
others, was now entered a student at Yale College. He
was nearly seventeen years of age, and had long since,
under the kind tuition of his guardians, the Rodmans,
got far out of the slough of ignorance and pauperism.

Five years flow quickly by with some ; they linger on
with others, and make deep furrows and strong points
in society every where. In Crampton it was so. Mrs.
Phillips was no more, and her stricken husband was a
sufferer from acute rheumatism, though living at home
still with one of his married daughters. Mr. and Mrs.
Shire had removed from town ; Squire Ben was grown
more corpulent and more fond of ale ; Savage more and
more keen for trade and speculation. Indeed he was
now rather heavy on the grand list, and grumbled sorely
at the taxes. Long since. Captain Bunco had lost the
poor-house, lost his property, lost one of his eyes, was
half incapacitated for labor, and lived with his blind
daughter Henrietta, in a low, rude cottage, attached to
which there was a small garden, the rent of all, ten dol-

316 NEW England's chattels ; or.

lars a year. Henrietta could knit, and ^yash, as well as
do a little sewing. Her father v,-as often intoxicated
and helpless. They received some help from the select-
men of the town, and it was expected would soon be
thrown entirely on it as paupers 1 Of the old paupers
there yet survived aunt Prescott, Mag Davis, Tucker,
Roxy, Dan and Bill. All the others had gone to their
long rest, besides many new ones received during this
period. Mr. and Mrs. Haddock and all their family re-
mained. Miss Flush was yet as busy as ever in her
public enterprises, although she had declined, for the
first time in seven years, at the last annual meeting of
the ladies' sewing society, the post of president in that
association. The office was filled by the appointment
of Mrs. Smith.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Boyce had paid the debt of nature,
and rested side by side in the village church-j^ard, their
graves identified by two marble slabs, procured for them
by their friends, and Alice was now a sweet girl of
twelve, the adopted daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Rodman.

The paupers of the place were as numerous as ever,
and fored about as well as when we last knew them.
They had been from under Captain Bunce's care more
than four years. Two years Mr. Abraham Bacon had
them. Mr. Bacon seldom furnished them with fresh
ham ; although he flourished a surname that indicated
an ample supply of that delicious sort of provision.
" Abraham" was his affix, or appendage to " Bacon,"
that came up at his christening a good while ago. He
was so called not from any positive indications that he
was an especial favorite of heaven, or would be a prince
in the land, but because it had a good sound to it, was
the antecedent initial letter to B — Bacon, and might
have a pious bearing on him from its historical promi-
nence.

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOTJSE. 317

But Abraham Bacon in his maturity was less an ob-
ject of love and attraction than Abraham Bacon in his
infancy and early youth.

In size the man was short, though broad shouldered,
thick and heavy all over, a man good for an hundred
and eighty pounds. His face was of a deep red color,
such at all times, as some men carry when violently
angry ; features large, with swollen furrows in his
cheeks and around his huge mouth and blunt, old-fash-
ioned sort of nose. Two moles marked his left cheek,
and a scar his right. Altogether Mr. Bacon was a
specimen-man of toughness and energy, fond of cider,
not averse to roast beef. He possessed very little edu-
cation, and in refinement had made almost no progress
in a life of fifty years I He was a shrewd, close-calcula-
ting man of business.

In a sharp rivalry with one or two competitors for
these loaves and fishes of the town, when Captain Bunco
lost them, Abraham, by a little diplomatic shrewdness,
got the bid, and the paupers went into his quarters for
the space of two years.

These " quarters" constituted one of his claims to the
care of the poor. Abraham put in the following de-
scription of his premises — " A large two-story house,
forty by twenty-eight feet, with ten rooms, besides
ample garret room and cellar. A long wing, slightly
disconnected with the main building, twenty by fifty
feet, water-tight, and capable of good ventilation, used
formerly for pork packing, boiling food for cattle, and
so forth, but now in good order for comfortably housing
the paupers. Will accommodate above and below
twenty-five persons very happily."

Mr. Bacon got the contract to keep them one year
for six hundred dollars ; and as soon as it was conve-

318 NEW England's chattels ; ob,

nient, they were removed there — some walking, others
taken in a cart and the long wagon. They carried all
their effects in the first exodus — these consisting of very
little other than what they had on, or what each tied up
in an old handkerchief, or rolled together in a paper.
The women went in black and white straw bonnets, of
faded, and much worn, and very dingy appearance —
wide, flaring styles, of past, forgotten years. They were
dressed in short-waisted kersey frocks, or tattered cheap
calico, loosely hooked together, and unevenly at that,
gaping in front and behind, loose and flapping at the
neck. Ragged quilts hung down below the skirt, and a
very great figure of shabbiness they made altogether.
The men, in slouching, torn, indented hats of every pos-
sible old fashion — in coats torn and seedy and yawning,
too large and too small, vests and pants too short and
too long, faded, worn, and soiled, with open necks, and
dirty shirts accompanied them, some with and others
without shoes. This outre company made land at pious
Abraham's one morning, the first week in October, be-
fore ten o'clock, and were ushered into and introduced
to their new quarters.

The long wing to the main house, " slightly discon-
nected," was in reality apart from it only about three
feet ; and a door opened from it on the end to the
kitchen of the other building. It was divided into two
main apartments. In the one there were from three to
five straw beds for the females — two of them on bed-
steads, the others on the floor. The other room con-
tained two bedsteads, with straw beds, for the men, and
a stairway leading to a low, dark chamber under the
roof, where an indefinite number of persons might lie
on the floor. This was the eating-room — also the kitchen
and sitting-room of the establishment. These were the
accommodations proper for the paupers.

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 319

Much better than none at all, it mtist be confessed,
they were. Aunt Dodge would not have frozen to
death if she could have got to her quarters. But if we
consider that these poor and feeble folks were, some of
them, persons reared in the lap of comfort, and accus-
tomed to the sacredness of home — the females, especially,
entertaining notions of delicacy, and personal protection
from rudeness and vulgarity ; if we remember their
helplessness and need of indulgences, we shall be led to
believe that this old pork-house of Abraham Bacon,
with only one slender partition, one large fire-place, no
carpets, no curtains except newspapers pinned up as
temporary shades, without soft beds or chairs, low and
crowded, the good and bad together — that this place, I
say, must be a poor place for happiness ; a poor place
for daily joy, for nightly pains, for sickness, weakness,
decrepitude and death.

But how could they remedy it ? What voice had tliey
in the condition of life they were to lead ?

They had no voice in it but that of entreaty or com-
plaint— a voice that might be answered with insult or
with renewed rigor of treatment. The paupers must
submit. They OAvn nothing. Every thing is a gratu-
ity. Live while they can — die when they must ; but
let them not dictate !

They cannot choose their own masters or keepers.
It is possible that among them there is one who was
himself once an overseer of the poor. But it makes no
difference ; he must come into the same treatment with
the others. The rule works evenly and well for all.

Why should not the vision of the poor-house rise in
dreadful terror on the souls of all men and women in
the North exposed to that tide of fortune which makes
one a pauper ? That the old rural poor-house was and
is a frig::t'ul reality, we dare not deny.

320 NEW England's chattels ; or,

Mr. Haddock resided four miles from Bacon's, and Mr.
Phillips about two. His house was quite on the east
side of the parish, among the hills. His farm was a
rather hilly, hard piece of land for cultivation, but good
for grazing, and, in consequence, he was in the habit of
raising considerable stock for market.

The paupers could drive his cattle to pasture, help
repair fences, milk the cows, feed the stock, and so forth.
They were likewise able to do a little hoeing in the corn-
field, weeding in the garden, coarse sewing in the house,
washing of dishes, mopping and scouring. Mr. Bacon
thus calculated a good twenty per cent, profit on their
necessary expenses. He went over the figures a good
many times before he ventured to undertake the risk.
One of his papers preserved read as follows :

Use of apartments, pork room and garret, per year, saj, $ 10.00
Cost of apparel per j-ear for each one, say 15, each $2. is, 30.00
(Note. — Apparel, shoes, &c., cast-off articles.)
" " fuel per year, say brush-wood and rotten stumps, &c., 5.00
" " " " '■ to cook for them extra, possible, . . 2.00
" " extra clothing, fixings, nursing, and the like in sick-
ness, 3.00

" " Doctor's bill, in all, per year, say, .... 5.00

" " Sexton's, undertaker's, &c., in all. perhaps, a year,
{Note. — Must expect a good many to die off. But
there's a positive gain in this, in the matter of sup-
port, so say,) ........ 15.00

'' '' paupers who stray off into other poor-houses and no-
tice given me, ........ 10.00

" " provisions, say 15 persons in all, §2 ner week, 52

weeks O ^2, ' . . . 104.00

" " furniture, say, in all, 10.00

" " extra help to take care of them, .... 10.00

204.00
Trouble to my wife in taking care of them, . . ^100.00

•• myself " " " " " . . 300.00 400.00

Total, . . §604.00

Deduct 20 per cent, for their labor from expenses, . . 40.08

Whole expenses ^564.92

LIFE IN THE NOKTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 321

Abraham concluded on the whole that, saying nothing
of the four hundred dollars to himself and wife for their
salary in the great and necessary vocation of taking care
of them, he could stand it with twenty per cent, on their
earnings. This he determined on, or he would take it
out of their rations. This seems to have been the inten-
tion of their keepers generally. If they found the pau-
pers, i.' e., some of them, strong enough to earn some ten
or twenty per cent, of the whole cost, they would con-
tinue their meals as usual, viz., beans and cheap pork
one day in seven, bean soup and bread and cider one
day, cider each day, (if needed,) salt prime beef one day,
warmed bones and grizzle one day, and crusts of brown
and white bread from the house ; Friday, hard codfish,
or number three rusty mackerel ; Saturday, neck pieces
of beef, or liver, pickings of the last days, and in summer
occasional luxuries of greens and vegetables ; cheap tea,
Vv-ithout cream or sugar, was given them at Abraham's.
This was about the general bill of fare. Of course no-
body could be expected to starve on it if he could relish
the bill. But, we say again, if the paupers were not
helpful and saving by their manual labors, their rations
were cut down to a point where the proprietor could
feel himself safe. He did not take them to lose money.
He was not expected by the town to feed and pamper
them as he would pigs and fine stock for market ! They
were only broken-down human creatures, who, even at
the best, would stay with us but a little time, and the
whole of that time be to us only a bill of expense. Why
endeavor to lengthen out life under these conditions ?

Madam Bacon stands out to view as one of those ever-
busy, all-work sort of Yankee women each of us has seen
und read of a hundred times. Sh(i was a smallish body,
firmly put together, her arms as h ird and solid as bed-

14*

322 NEW England's chattels ; oe,

posts, her figure, though slight to the view, having a de-
cided appearance of elasticity and vigor. In fact, there
did not seem to be a weak, or faint spot in her. She
loved work ; she loved the broom, the needle, the loom,
the axe, the hoe, the coffee-mill, the dinner-kettle, the
tea-kettle, the oven, the fire-place, the brasses, the car-
pets, the "windows, the milk pails, the milk room, the
churn, the cheese press, fowls, calves, lambs, bees, geese,
dogs, cattle, swine, horses, company, visiting, talking,
trading, buying, selling, and laying up money against a
wet day. What ! a " wet day" for Madam Bacon ? Im-
possible ! Well, that was her way of talking.

It is evident that such a smart, energetic creature as
Madam Bacon must, of course, be well fitted to have
the care of our friends, the paupers, and that she, if any
body, would be able to draw out their energies in a way
that would secure at least the aforesaid twenty per
cent. And we must say, she was not wanting in this
respect. She was out and in among them all day long,
and evening too, from five o'clock till nine or ten ; and
it was a very rare thing indeed to see one of them who
could work idle.

Here was the widow Prescott knitting, or heeling and
darning stockings or old clothes, or again picking over
beans, dried apples, rags, or dampening clothes to iron.
Here was Mag Davis winding yarn, getting ready the
dinner, scrubbing, night and morning milking "Aer coiv,^'
as the mooley was facetiously called ; Roxy ditto, and
making beds for Madam Bacon. Mrs. Jane Huggins, with
her two or three little children, was making rags for a
carpet, or mending pants, vests, and coats for the pau-
pers. Molly Weaknis was scouring knives, or brushing
the rooms. In the fall of the year, all hands often
passed the evenings and part of the day paring, quar

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 323

tering, and stringing apples to dry for market. During
the day the men worked at the cider-press ; in hay time
they assisted in making and securing hay ; and so in
harvest time they bound up sheaves ; they planted,
hoed, and gathered corn and potatoes. Men and women
often worked in the garden, and kept it free from weeds.
More than half the whole number could do some work —
perhaps full three-fourths — and a good many were able
to work more or less vigorously all day. No good far-
mer would give one of them the full price of a vigorous
day-laborer for his help ; but some could earn a good
twenty per cent., to say the least, on the cost of the
whole. Abraham was sure of that ; and so was his
wife.

Nothing was truer, as Mr. Haddock, Mr. Phillips, and
Mr. Rodman said, from Mr. Bacon's success, than that
the paupers could, under more advantageous circum-
stances, earn the whole cost of their support, and be
every way better taken care of, and happier. And
they brought the subject to the notice of the town, and
argued it repeatedly. They even offered to be respon-
sible for the results ; but the time had not come. Their
propositions were not received.

Abraham, as we have said, had them in charge two
years. He had made all the necessary arrangements to
take them a third, when he was most unexpectedly
under-bid by a close-calculating, rummy sort of a man
over in the south-east part of the town — a man in
rather embarrassed circumstances, but a great swag-
gerer, and particularly strenuous for the paupers, be-
ing a merciful and humane manager. This man was
Jacob Siddleton ; and as he had but a small house for
his own family, and still smaller for the new comers,
they lived, while in his hands, stowed away in poorly-

324 NEW England's chattels ; or,

ventilated rooms, and in a very damp, unwholesome,
and inconvenient way altogether. Neither Mr. nor
Mrs. Siddleton cared to set them about any work,
except to mend and wash their own clothes, cut and
burn their fuel, and prepare their owm meals. These,
even, were sometimes performed under embarrassments
and difficulties, as the Israelites in Egypt once expe-
rienced difficulty in the tale of bricks. At Siddleton's
six of the paupers died. Some w^ere down with the
scurvy a part of the time, and all of them grew lifeless
and wan while there.

Mr. and Mrs. Siddleton's' great and merciful design
was to keep them as quiet as possible. Mrs. Siddleton
sometimes sat dow^n among them and showed them pic-
tures, and read little stories for their amusement. Again,
she would show them her cast-off caps, and frocks, and
trinkets of various hues and fashions, and talk of other
days, and of what she and Mr. Siddleton were going to
do when they w^ere rich. When any of them were sick
she prepared water gruel, and catnip and motherwort
and elderberry tea for them ; and if they were hurt she
melted tallow and rubbed it on the wounds, advising
them always to moderate their diet, to eat simple food,
never to crowd the stomach, and only to allow them-
selves the use of nourishing food.

Notwithstanding all these particulars, they were never
a very lively and happy company ; and they frequently
felt the gnawings of hunger. They desired changes of
raiment and more comfortable rooms. But Mrs. Siddle-
ton told them the Saviour of sinners, when on earth,
had not where to lay His head ; and they must allow
that they were in a far more desirable condition than
he "was ; and that as to raiment, the same Saviour had
said, " Take no thought for the body what ye shall put

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 325

on." " The world," said she, " is all gone mad after
fashions and expensive clothing. It is a real shame and
disgrace to this Christian age, that so much extrava-
gance is practiced by ladies and gentlemen ; it makes
no difference whether rich or poor, white or black. Ifc
is only yesterday I saw a smart-looking, elegantly-dressed
colored girl, swinging and tiptoeing along to church,
dressed in expensive moire antique silk, of a very high
and splendid color ; and directly after another colored
girl, with a modern summer ivliite-fringed cape, and her
companion with one of our fashionable cheap grey
dusters. Thus they go — all following Fashion, wherever
she leads the way. Now it is better to appear dressed
in poor clothing as a rebuke of the age in which we live
— and it is especially commendable in the poor, to feel
contented with their lot, and to avoid all useless repin-
ings at the appointments of Divine Providence !"

In this truly judicious and practical Christian way,
with attentions given to the spiritual rather than to the
merely physical, perishing, and temporal nature of
things, Mrs. Siddleton daily held communications with
the paupers that were under her roof. She gave them
line upon line, precept upon precept, and evinced a
very intimate knowledge of the Word of Truth ; and
so she was regarded in town as a very exemplary, wise,
and Christian guardian for the poor folks. But they,
the paupers, while they heard her instructions, and
received into their minds the comforting words of
Scripture, which she, again and again, informed them
were for their special support and consolation — " to
the poor the Gospel is preached " — found themselves
often condoling in heart with unhappy " Esau, who, for
one morsel of meat, sold his hirthriglit !"

326 NEW England's chattels: or,

CHAPTER XXXII.

The Paupers at Auction. To many a one there is a charm in the very sound of
the word " Auction." And so at auction decent people often buy those goods
they neither need nor really desire. But they find a comfort in having bought
them " low — at auction !" Much good may they do them. Rag, Tag and Bob-
tail, are often bolted off with Good, Better, Best, at the Sales : so one bids off
the former for the sake of the latter. AVhen one takes lot All of the Town's
Chattels, he of course takes the good and the bad. Contrary to the usual flotion,
however, the good paupers in such a trade are, the weak-ready-to-die-off class ;
the bad, the healthy, strong, good-livers ! Kind Providence ! save thou us and
ours from this block.

Early in the fall every year there is held the public,
or town-meeting, to hear the report of the selectmen,
and of all the other oiEcers of the town. Then also, ac-
counts are examined, new officers are elected, money is
appropriated, a customary tax is voted for the expenses
of the year, and all other business is done that circum-
stances seem to call for. Such a meeting came off in
Crampton.

Esq. Ben Stout was appointed moderator of the meet-
ing, an office he would not have failed of for the best
coat he ever wore, one of which he was always sure
when party lines run at all close, but w4iich he some-
times declined, after having been appointed, for the
gratification of some personal friend. On the present
occasion the Squire said that he would willingly serve
the town as chairman, for he had so long been made to
occupy that position, one ever gratifying to his ambi-
tion, that he probably knew as well as — most — men —
(not all) among them what was wanted, and doing, he

LIFE IN THE NORTHEEN POOR-HOUSE. 327

could — he — presumed, facilitate the business before the
public, and so procure an early adjournment. But he
regretted to say it — he said it with reluctance — lie
ivas groicing old ! His sight, his hearing, his activity,
were not as formerly. He regretted to say these things.
It was much to the mortification of his mind — anxious
as he was " to serve and oblige his fellow-citizens." The
people all looked straight at him. Most of them had
their hats on, and were standing in groups upon the
floor of the Town Hall. Some of them were aged, gray-
haired men ; lame and feeble others ; a large portion
men of middle age, strong and healthy. The^ looked, we
say, straight at him. Then they looked at each other,
and some renewed their tobacco ; others passed round
their snuff-boxes. A few whispered and smiled, and
said — " The old Squire isn't going to give it up, is he?"

" Oh ! no, ha ! ha ! He's on the old track now !"

" He'll come up directly," said one.

The people kept quiet, looking straight at him, as we
have already said twice.

The Squire at this point took snuff from Charles
Caldwell, Esq.'s box, kindly held out, and concluded as
follows :

" But — my fellow townsmen — Qieiglio !) it has never
been my way of life to cringe for a little pain, or to shirk
off responsibility. If, in the judgment of my fellow citi-
zens who have given me their flattering suffrages, not
only as their chairman and moderator of this meeting,
but often as their representative in the legislative halls
of the State — if, I repeat it, they in their judgment deem
me yet serviceable to them "

" I told you so," said the speaker just referred to.

" Oh, ycft," said the first speaker ; " the Squire is
always ' this side up.' "

328 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" He is on the gaining tack now you see," said the
second speaker.

" And especially if they demand it by their vote, I
will wave my own preferences and most heartfelt desires,
and to the best of my abilities serve them noio and as
long as I live /"

A tremendous " hurrah !" followed this extraordinary
good hit of the Squire's, and that gentleman never be-
fore entered on a public duty of this nature with a more
decidedly genuine feeling of personal gratification.

The Squire called for the reading of the town records
of last meeting, then in order called up the other busi-
ness— the reports of selectmen, overseers of the poor,
town listers, grand jury reports, school society's report,
and listened to debates on this, that, and the other mat-
ter, as they were ofi'ered, with a clear head and an im-
partial mind, presiding as usual with dignity and firmness.

But as we are mainly interested in the affairs of the
paupers, we shall not particularize on any other part of
the business than such as had a bearing on them — for
example, the report of the overseer of the poor.

This document was drawn up with some care, and
signed by Squire Ben Stout, first selectman of the town,
and by Ezekiel Harris, second selectman. There was
also a mmority report, signed by Erastus Corning, third
selectman. The two documents were read. The former
represented the whole number of actual paupers on the
town during the year, for the -whole time or part of it,
at twenty-one persons, and beside these there were a
few individuals, in a state of necessity or dependence,
who required some assistance. There were three young
children on the town, one an infant left by — somebody,
and the town would be compelled to support it. The
parents of the other children were very infirm and shift

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE.. 329

less. The balance, of thirteen individuals, were adults,
most of them aged. Of the whole number there had
deceased during the year but six individuals, which
might be considered extraordinary when their diseased
and weakened physical state was remembered, were, if
not in a great measure accounted for by the fact of their
very merciful and humane treatment, especially on the
part of Mrs. Siddleton, who seemed to have done all that
a pious matron could do to render the unfortunate poor of
the town comfortable and happy. And the report con-
cluded with a resolution of the two overseers above
named, recommending the town to confide the care of
them still to the same hands, in case nobody else made
better terms I

This report was received. But it was severely criti-
cised and cut up by Squire Ketchum of the town, who
had been quite a thorn of late years in the sides of the
old management of the paupers. Between him and Law-
yer Tools there was a good deal of sparring. Mr. Had-
dock also referred to some of the cases reported as de-
ceased during the year, and inquired if there had been
" five dollars spent for medical advice and assistance for
the whole of them ?" He knew one of the paupers to
have actually died of starvation in his room, being un-
willing to come down — a young man of ruined property
and character, mortified, sick, and half-deranged by his
position, he shut himself in his room — " and I Ttnow^^
said Haddock, with tremendous energy, " that Mr. and
Mrs. Siddleton did not send for a doctor, nor for any as-
sistance whatever in his case, but they said, ' if he will
make a fool of himself, and not eat when he can, let him
starve.' And, sir, starve he did. He was found in a
feeble and dying state by Mr. Corning, your third select-
man, when on a visit to the poor-house, and who was

330 ^ NEW England's chattels ; or,

compelled to burst open his d/ or before he could reach
him, no difficult matter it is true, for the door was huns:
on leather hinges, and fastened with a stick. This
young man was, as you well know, left an orphan with
a large estate ; and he spent it most lavishly among
wild and dissipated companions, till want and absolute
penury compelled him to beg for bread — and among the
dead of our poor the past year is this young man, only
twenty-eight years of age, ruined, forsaken, left to
starve."*

A dozen men started for " the floor."

" Mr. Siddleton has the floor 1" cried the chairman.
Now, Mr. Siddleton was not a very smooth speaker,
because he had not received the advantages of early
education as Mr. Haddock evidently had. But he was
a very earnest, decided man, and could make as long a
talk as any body. In the present instance " he hoped,"
he said, " that the majority's report would be put right
through and through, for it was a first rate town-paper
any way. And it didn't find unnecessary fault with
folks neither. It was a considerate document, signed by
Squire Stout and Mr. Harris, men he reckoned who
knew which way to look for Sunday. He guess'd the
whole town thought so too ! As for starving Bill Scud-
der, that was all a regular piece of hunkerism ! Bill
was as fat when he died as a hog. He got wilful, re-

* We copy tlie following, as we found it, from the Fremont Journal, Ohio, April
10, 1857.— Author.

" A Warning to Fast Young Mek. — John Miller, aged twenty-eight years,
died at Indianapolis on Friday. The Journal gives a brief history of his sad
career : He was born in Dayton, Ohio, left an orphan with a large estate, and to
bis own guidance— became a ' fast young man,' and rapidly spent a fortune which
was counted by tens of thousands. He kept a circle of dashing young fellows about
him until his money was gone, who then deserted and left him. He sought Indi-
anapolis as a home, and there in some menial capacity, lived for a time, and died
in a strange garret, friendless and alone. — Fremont Journal, April 10, 1857."

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 331

fused to eat ; we carried food to his door ; we called
him down, but the young scamp got mortified and sort
of crazy — and, your honor — what could a body do ? For
my part I was glad when the poor fellow died, because
he just grew worse and worse^ and he didn't want to live
any longer any how. And that's all, your honor, there
is about starving any body !"

Lawyer Tools got the floor. This gentleman said he
didn't rise to make a speech, but simply to say that the
town poor always made more fuss in their annual meet-
ing than every and all other things combined. He
hoped that some gentlemen who loved to make capital
out of the subject and to roll up votes for their political
party, would make as much as they possibly could out
of this " starving case," (ha ! ha !) for it was not likely
they would soon have any thing quite as good to work
at. {Applause.) One thing he especially desired, viz. :
that these " croakers," he called them, should bid off
the poor for themselves, and just keep them for a year
or two as they thought others should ; then, he thought
they could better give advice and more justly find
fault."

" Just so !" " Good !" " Give it to 'urn. Tools !" went
round the hall.

Then the justice said, " Order, gentlemen — please
come to order. Mr. Ketchum has the floor."

Lawyer Ketchum said he was always emulous of
every good thing he ever saw in his brother Tools ;
and so, like him, would preface his remarks by saying
he did not rise to make a speech. He would simply
say that the town poor always would be a bone of con-
tention to the town until they were disposed of in a
proper manner. They were human beings, and required
humane and proper attention. They did not usually

332 NEW England's chattels ; or,

receive it, as he believed, nor would they be apt to un-
der the present system of locating them. They wanted
more attention to their common daily little ills and dis-
comforts, good nursing, some medical attention, good
shelter, warm rooms, clean and respectable garments — "

" Take them yourself," cried a voice in the crowd.

" Let Haddock take them," said another.

" Order, gentlemen^' said the moderator.

" I should like to ask the gentleman," said Lawyer
Tools, " if he would consent to have the care of these
people, and do for them what he proposes for others to
do, for even eight hundred dollars a year 1"

" Good !" " Go it. Tools !" exclaimed voices.

" In reply to brother Tool's inquiry," said Mr. Ketch-
um, " I have to answer, that as I am not a married man
yet, following as usual the example of my elder brother
in the profession "

" Good ! Hurrah for Ketchum and Tools !" cried the
whole house.

" Regular old bachelors !" said some.

" Genuine stuff, those chaps !" said others — " ha ! ha 1
ha!"

" I couldn't, Mr. Moderator, under these circum-
stances, make the engagement proposed. But further,
it is a little out of my usual line of business, let the case
be as it might ; and then, again, and decidedly, it ivould
violate all my principles to take them at any price /"

" Good !" said Mr. Haddock and his friends.

(Coughing, stamping, and some hissing on the otbei
side.)

" Order, gentlemen .'" said the moderator, looking over
his spectacles.

Much opposition to the reading of the minority report
was made, and with diflSculty it was got in. Finally it

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 333

was read, but it went no furtlier. It represented the
poor as suffering many privations and much needless
humiliation as they were now kept, and recommended
that the town adopt the new system of purchasing a town
farm, and placing the poor there, as in a comfortable
and respectable home, where all due attention would be
paid to their wants, and the town delivered from the
ignominy of selling them as so many worthless slaves at
auction — actually to the lowest bidder /

Mr. Haddock moved to accept the report. Mr. Phil-
lips seconded the motion. The moderator put it to
vote, and it was voted not to accept, by a very large
majority.

By-and-bye the question came up for the disposal of
the poor for the ensuing year.

Many persons were in favor of Mr. Siddleton having
them at six hundred dollars. Mr. Siddleton said he
would take them at that, although he couldn't afford it.
His wife and he labored for their good from morning
till night, and he really thought that Mrs. Siddleton's
health was seriously affected by her great attention to
their temporal and spiritual comfort.

There were other bidders, however.

" Six hundred dollars ! gentlemen, is Mr. Siddleton's
offer. He will take the paupers and give them suitable
provision for a year for six hundred dollars ! Six hun-
dred dollars for the town paupers for one year, going !•
Does any body say less than six hundred .'"'

" Five hundred and seventy-five T said Abraham Bacon.

" Whew ! — you," said Siddleton. " Whew, man ! you
cant " (Now Bacon was known by his skillful man-
agement to have made out of his two years' contract a
thousand dollars !)

" Gentlemen," said the moderator, '•' we have a bid

334 NEW England's chattels ; or,

from another responsible man — of five hundred and
seventy-five dollars — Mr. Abraham Bacon — knows all
about it — ^five hundred seventy-five, going f Now's your
chance, Siddleton ; can't be helped ; the town paupers
of Crampton for one year^^^i^e hundred seventy-five "

" Seventy /" cried Siddleton in desperation — (Siddle-
ton Avas known to have lost money by his contract.) —
The people stared !

" Sixty five /" said Bacon.

" Sixty /" said John Stoddard.

" rive hundred and sixty dollars 1 ha ! ha !" said the
moderator. " Doivn they go ! What's a loss to 3'ou,
gentlemen, is gain to us, ha ! ha ! ha !" and every body
shouted — (no 1 some there w^ere who could not shout —
"ha! ha! ha!")

" Five hundred and fifty-five !" said Siddleton.

" Five hundred and fifty," quickly retorted John Stod-
dard— and as every body refused to go below him, John
Stoddard got the contract.

This individual was a lame, and a rather significant
looking piece of humanity, walking always with a stafi",
and using constantly a good deal of tobacco ; but there
was a sharp twinkle to his little left eye, that spoke
more than words, and volumes of books, about his true
character. It seemed to say, " Now, I've thought this
thing over myself — eh ? Didn't think of that, did ye, eh ?
It's all put dowm in black and white, dollar for dollar,
dime for dime, penny for penny, eh ? Did you know
that, say ? Don't be uneasy. We've got our thumb on
it, and it's there, eh ? Did you know that, hey ?" He
was a remarkably close calculating and shrewd man. —
He was never known to have made a poor bargain. He
always appeared to come oflf best in all his trades, even
in his pious ones, for though John always bid off a high

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 335

priced slip in church, and seemed to be shifting his
ground and looking towards the benevolent and easy'
side of things, i. e., spending money rather too freely —
he was shrewd enough to know that he could always
rent or sell such a slip at a good profit ; that half or two-
thirds of it would rent to some body who wanted a smart
slip, for very nearly the cost of the whole, and so he at
the very smallest cost maintain a high stand in the sanc-
tuary. He went to the town-meeting with his mind
made up to bid in the paupers at any sum over five hun-
dred dollars — and so he made fifty dollars on the specu-
lation at the outset.

Mr. Siddleton ivas vexed. He was galled. He knew
that he lost money last year, but he had determined to
recover it this. (The paupers did not know of that de-
termination, poor souls !) Mr. Siddleton knew that his
wife would feel bitterly disappointed. She wanted to
do more for them than ever. Her attention had been
fully aroused to their spiritual wants ; so many of them
necessarily die off every year, she intended to be more
faithful to them for the year to come, and endeavor to
eradicate from their minds and hearts all love of the
world, its passing and vain shows, its fashions, pleasures,
indulgences and desires. He knew that she proposed
to follow up vigorously a course of instruction in these
matters that would eminently fit them to die, no matter
how soon, and Mr. Siddleton thought he had good and
just occasion to feel bad.

So he went among the people and made several insinu-
ations that if they meant anything — meant that in his
opinion John Stoddard was a hard case, and just about
no man at all. There were some who thought so too ;
while there were these who had the good sense to be-
lieve that the paupers would be as well off with Stod-

336 NEW England's chattels ; oe,

dard as with Siddleton. Mr, Siddleton didn't know
these- latter sentiments, and so he continued to express
his opinions as freely as at the first.

There Avere several persons who stood as ready as
Siddleton to bid on the paupers at six hundred, or at
seven hundred dollars, and these of course thought, if it
was not folly in John Stoddard to bid them in at five
hundred and fifty dollars, it would have been in them.
He himself, shrewd as he was known to be, was rather
reg-aided as " sold," and a good many told him so ; but
every. body neticed a decided twinkling of Johnnie's
little eye whenever the thing was cast at him, and they
began to think he had something in the wind that every
body didn't exactly comprehend.

After a time, Siddleton and Stoddard happened to fall
in with each other as they were walking here and there
in the hall and in front of it, and Siddleton slapping
him on the shoulder said, " Well, you've got a tough job
of it, neighbor Stoddard I I'm good on that in a bet of
one hundred dollars ; ha ! ha ! ha I" and Siddleton shook
the bank bills in his face.

" I dare say it's a tough one, neighbor Siddleton ; you
found it so, now didn't ye, eh ?"

" Yes, blast me if I didn't ! I'm mighty glad the
stuff's off my hands — it'll go hard with you, Stoddard ;
come, plank us a hundred on a bet of that — eh ?"

" Oh, I don't want to lose money too fast, neighbor
Siddleton. My money comes too hard for that. Now,
with your experience you know it'S perfectly safe to bet
a hundred dollars ! You know I shall lose it, so what's
the use, eh ?" and twinkle went the little eye.

" Ay I ay ! I see where you'd hide, old fellow ; plank
the money if you dare."

" Oh, no, I guess not, Siddleton."

LIFE IN THE NOKTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 337

" Try him, try him," said Lawyer Tools.

" No, I guess not. You see it's a tough, tight squeeze
to make any thing at best."

" And be humane and merciful," said Siddleton.

" That's it exactly," said Stoddard ; " it's too bad to
bet on the poor devils, and to be under temptation to
screw them if you don't come out good towards the end,
eh? {Twinkle, twinkle.)

" That's the best thing I have heard to-day," said
Lawyer Ketchum to Mr. Haddock, standing by.

" Well, it is a sensible matter-of-fact remark," replied
that gentleman.

" Then you dare'snt bet any how — there's a hundred,"
said Siddleton, throwing five twenty dollar bills on the
table. Stoddard pulled out his well-filled pocket-book,
deliberately opened it, and laying a hundred dollar note
on the table, put the pocket-book, with a thousand un-
touched dollars in it, back into his pocket.

" There," said he, " if I don't make three hundred and
fifty dollars out of this job and treat them as well as
ever you did, in the opinion of the selectmen of Cramp-
ton, you may have that — so put up your hundred dollars,
Siddleton ; you may want them, and, Lawj^er Tools, just
take care of that money till the year comes round, eh ?
(Twinkle, flash and twinkle.)

" Very well," said the lawyer, picking up the bill.
The crowd fell back as Stoddard walked away, and Sid-
dleton, ashamed and vexed, and discomfited, could hard-
ly tell what to do or say. At length, as the people
said, " take up the money, Siddleton ; he's neck or no-
thing, you see, and if he fails you get the money."

" Yes, but it wouldn't be very honorable to take it, I
think, under just these circumstances."

15

338 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" A pretty good thought that, too," said Lawyer
Ketchum to Mr. Haidock.

" A very just one, a good, cool, second thought," he
replied.

"It's 'honorable' enough," said some one ; "if he's
got himself into a scrape let him get out."

" Yes," said another, " and he's underbid you and got
away the job."

" So he has !" said Siddleton, " I forgot that ;" and
without more ado he put the money back into his
purse.

" Halloa there, Stoddard !" cried he, as he went out
of the hall in front of the building, " come over early to-
morrow morning — before breakfast if you can, and take
off the c ! for they've cost me enough already."

Mr. Stoddard, leaning on his staff, walked away to his
wagon, backed out his two heavy horses, cramped the
wheels to get into it by the aid of the step, and seating
himself in an easy sort of a way, turned the heads of his
five hundred dollar nags towards home.

There was one man at this town-meeting, blind of one
eye, lame, poorly dressed, and evidently in reduced
worldly circumstances, who took no part in the debates,
and said few words to any persons present — a man on
the down-hill of life— none other than Captain Isaac
Bunco. But who can help it — who protect himself
against vicissitudes when it was long time ago said, and
has been ever found in the experience and observation
of many, to have been truly, thougli in a dead language
said, " sic mundi, gloria transit .^" Never mind church
members and widoAvs, and little boys and girls, nor the
sick and aged. They all belong to the same class — the
" sic mundi" class. Down with them. The lowest bid-
der gets them How much ? Must he sold ! !

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 339

CHAPTER XXXIII.

The Ministers get hold of it. Let us see what they think.

John Stoddard had been a close observer of the
manner pursued bj Abraham Bacon with the paupers,
and was satisfied that he could employ them still more
profitably than that gentleman had done. He cultivated
a good farm of soft, easy river land, and had gone con-
siderably into the raising of garden seeds for market.
It was work that required a good deal of attention and
many hands, but was light, clean kind of work for the
greater part — such as boys, girls, women, and feeble
persons might do. There were the roots of the differ-
ent vegetables to be set out in the spring, and after this
the hoeing, weeding, and care of the growing shoots.
There were also seeds of annual plants to be sown, and
care used in their growth and ripening. In the fall
there were gathered the seeds of carrots, parsnips,
beets, and the like were thrashed out on the barn floor.
Then came the winnowing processes and packing in
barrels ; after which they were safely kept till a late
period of the year, when the cold drove the people in
doors. And what a busy and useful employment for all
the paupers who were able to do any thing, to measure
out and fill the little paper bags, previously prepared,
with the seeds, especially for the little ragged children
of the establishment !

In short, by labors of this kind, without materially

340 NEW England's chattels ; or,

altering the extei nal condition of the paupers, John
Stoddard cleared on his seeds this year over a thousand
dollars. Siddleton lost the expected hundred dollar
note ; for Stoddard showed his bills and expenses, de-
monstrating to everybody's conviction that he had fairly
made on his poor-house contract three hundred and fifty
dollars.

The eyes of a good many people began to open about
this time as to the advantage of a new poor-house sys-
tem ; but for some years still the opposition to it de-
feated every measure that was brought forward. Now
there were enough money-loving persons in the town
who wanted the help of the paupers in their different
sorts of work — light work which they could do — and
they would not let Israel go on this account. Said
they, " If there is any money to be made out of the
paupers, why give it to the town ? No ; we will make
and keep it ourselves."

The close of Stoddard's year marked the fifth year of
James Sherman's removal from Captain Bunce's, and
the period of his entering college. Four years from that
time he graduated, acknowledged by his classmates
among the highest of their class. It was a proud day
for Mr. and Mrs. Rodman when he came forward at
Commencement and delivered an earnest, soul-thrilling
oration on the Injustice of Man to his Fellow-man, stating
and arguing the principle, and proving all his points by
references to the Scriptures, and by apt quotations from
the writings of the great poets and philosophers. And
there, too, sat Alice in her loveliness, now sixteen years
of age, between whom and James there had been from
childhood a spirit of sympathy, ripening and unfolding
into the tender and absorbing emotion of love. How
often have they pursued their studies together by the

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 341

same evening lamp ! How often roved together by the
brook-side, and along the green pasture, and threaded
the mazes of the wood ! And older growing, and more
fearful and tender and careful, how difficult it is to each
to think or speak or move, without the consciousness
that the other is affected by it ! The orphan Alice and
the orphan James, in their peculiar station, could hardly
fail of a deep interest in each other ; and as their char-
acters developed rich veins of thought and principle,
great love of truth, and extraordinary benevolence, their
guardians were gratified to observe their mutual attach-
ment.

Mr. Rodman had ever cultivated in James a spirit of
compassion towards the unfortunate — his own early his-
tory, rising ever before his mind, being brought out to
illustrate his meaning. James never ceased to feel the
deepest interest in the welfare of the poor sufferers
among whom his early life had been passed ; and Alice
would sit hours listening to him as he portrayed the
condition of her father and himself, and that of all the
rest of the degraded and forgotten paupers. She could
never fully realize, however, either her father's or her
mother's trials. She did, indeed, just remember the
dreadful shipwreck, and the long, cold, dark, and fearful
walk in the snow the evening when a ragged boy met
them, and guided them to the shelter of the poor-house.

And so they gathered up in repeated conversations
the history of their early life, and kept fresh in memory
the miseries of those who were still in the house of
poverty.

" If I am ever able," said James, " I will make one
person in that old poor-house company better off than
she now is. I will put Mrs. Prescott in a better home.
She is too ffood a saint to languish and die there."

342 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" It would be a happiness," said Alice, " to relieve
tlieni all."

" Yes, indeed, and they will find relief yet. Lawyer
Ketclmm tells me there is a growing interest in the
subject, and that they hope to carry through the very
next town-meeting a project of relief."

" Well, won't that be fine, if they succeed ? Now, I
do hope they will, don't you, James ?"

" I do. Yes, it is a great injustice."

" Oh, yes, James, I knew what you were thinking of
when your oration came on. And a good, a grand
speech it was too — and how every body listened — I saw
the attention."

" Ah, Alice, you hit me right in the face and eyes, see
bow I color up ! It must have been a great speech,
truly !"

" It was the greatest speech that was made, and
every body said so. I was as proud of you as I could
be."

" Now, Alice, you are just quizzing me ; I don't think
it was a remarkable good oration any way. The subject
of it, I know, is interesting to our minds ; but I think I
never was so conscious before of failing to bring out
ideas that were suited to the theme."

" Dear me, James, I never saw so many ideas before
put into so small a space, and the audience looked at
you as though ready to devour both you and your
words !"

" Well, I declare, Alice, I won't say any thing more —
you have completely blown me up, I am afraid unless
you tie some bags of sand to me, that I shall sail away,
a la balloon."

" Oh ! dear. Well, you may go — sail away, balloon !
But I hope you will make a safe descent somewhere and
brine: back the balloon."

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 343

James was now entered as a student a+ law in Mr.
Ketchum's office, and applied himself vigorously to his
new studies.

In the meantime, Mr. Rodman met with the clergy of
his district and association, at their annual session for
business, and by previous appointment read before them
an essay on the subject of pauperism. The subject had
been introduced, and once or twice warmly discussed
before, and it had led many of the ministers to make in-
quiry and look into the matter at home. These investi-
gations always resulted in opening more clearly their
minds to the abuses of the pauper system as the same
was practiced among them. They saw that the paupers,
fallen from what grade soever of society they might,
were almost totally forgotten and neglected ; that they
were an incumbrance to the town ; that they were in-
humanly treated, and regarded as beyond the ordinary
pale of Christian benevolence ; that on these accounts,
the idea prevailed over the community that there was
•nothing so dreadful as absolute poverty, necessitating
one to receive the grudged charity of the town.

Mr. Rodman, in his report to the ministers, said —

" It was announced by the Saviour of the world that
his coming to our earth was to seek and to save the lost.
He made repeated allusions to the condition of poverty,
drawing some of his most thrilling illustrations from it ;
as of the poor woman and her offerings in the temple ;
as of the beggar named Lazarus ; as of the impotent
man at the pool Bethesda ; as of the occupants of the
hedges and stragglers by the highway sides ; as of the
sick and suffering in prison. And his own history
teaches that he identified himself when here with the
poor as a class, never seeking to be known as or called
one of the great, noble, rich. His Gospel is an annun-

344 NEW England's chattels ; or,

ciation of mercy to the poor in spirit, and is a word of
salvation for the rearing, elevating, ennobling, and bless-
ing the poor and miserable beings of our world. It is
for salvation to the ends of the earth — no more happily-
beneficial for me than for my children — for me than for
my servants. ' To the poor the Gospel is preached.^

Here then is the universal Christian platform. Society
in all parts of the world now needs, and society in every
past age has been in want of it, to act aright. As men
have swerved, and as they now do swerve from it, they
fall off into error.

We must receive it as our platform, or suffer the evil
consequences ourselves.

It is one of the striking characteristics of the Saviour
that while he was on the earth he went about doing
good, healing all manner of sicknesses and diseases
among the people, and carrying consolatory messages to
the poor ; but in our day it is too far characteristic of us
that we go about on our own business, seldom visiting
the prisons, penitentiaries, hospitals and poor-houses,
condoling with the wretched in them, drawing out words
of true consolation from the Gospel of Christ, while we
assiduously regard and court the favor of the rich and
titled. Conformed ourselves in all the ways of fashion
and modes of life, to the gay and thoughtless and busy
ones by whom we are surrounded, we forget, and if not
forgetting it, fail to exemplify the self-denial of the Son
of God — making ourselves even objects of envy and
hopeless aspiration to the poor ones by the way-side, in
the hedges, at the pools, in hospitals, alms-houses, and
prisons ! Can this be right ?

The Gospel has produced very great elevation of the
human family where it has been and is now preached.
Its refining touch has put away or weakened the super-

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 345

stition, cannibalism, paganism of the world, and it has
done a great work in liberating the human mind from
all error of doctrine and practice, from falsehood, bigotry,
degradation, evil and corrupt habits.

But it has not yet, by any means, made man perfect.
It has not yet reproduced the scenes and innocence of
Paradise. The present attainment is full of error, if not
in theory — in practice. Nominal Christian people live
in the constant exercises of pride, self-love, vanity, plea-
sure, worldliness,' etc., in some one or many of their
forms. There are few — very few — if any, who are true
in all things, meek, patient, forgiving, benevolent, as
was the Son of God, as know they in their own con-
sciences, they should be.

At the present time, society acknowledges the Gospel
idea of benevolence towards the poor, and there are
laws that bind us to the performance of this duty. We
have our hospitals, our alms houses, homes of refuge,
poor houses, etc. But private charity comes in to the
aid of the unfortunate, in many cases, or the relief of
the State would often be so indiscriminating that the
evil and the good mingled together, would seethe into
a measure of corruption.

The public provision for the support of paupers, on
which matter I chiefly speak, is, a provision to supply
all the actually poor people of each town in a State with
necessary and suitable temporal relief, it being ascer-
tained that there was a positive certainty of a class of
citizens without friends to help them, without health,
without thrift, without strength — a needy, but not
strictly criminal class — a fallen, impoverished class, in
danger of starving and of previous great suffering, to
the reproach of the State unless provided for.

From a very early period, therefore, 'here has existed

346 NEW England's chattels ; or,

a State law securing the poor the benefit of town sup-
port.

The number of actual paupers in a town, who have
no property in their own right, is generally conceded as
from five to eight for every one thousand inhabitants.
The number is probably much greater than this in the
large cities, many of whom are destitute foreigners —
often the pauperage of Europe sent here to save their
support at home.

In our own country towns, these paupers are the
wrecks of society among us, representatives of our-
selves ; they are what we may become. A town pau-
per is one {any one) whose residence in any town is
such as to give him a settlement there ; who cannot
support himself, and needs and receives relief from the
selectmen of the town or overseers ; although it does
not follow that he must always remain a pauper.

A State pauper is one in a similar condition of neces-
sity, but who has no such settlement in the State. Na-
tives of one town lose their residence and settlement
there, when they gain a new one in some other town
by living in it a given number of years — usually six
years. It often happens that persons have no settle-
ment in the State.

The law obliges each town to support its paupers ;
but it does not direct the mode. (In some of the States
" it does, and then the poor of a county are all sent to a
common centre, called the county poor-house, or farm.)
Every town in New England is empowered to build a
poor-house. If, however, the people think they can
support the paupers " cheaper" without it, they have
the right to do so.*

This freedom leads to their disposal in various forms.

* Mass. law ; D. B. Esq '« correspondence with Auth.

LIFE IN THE NORTHEEN POOR-HOUSE. 347

They ai'e sometimes kept in comfortable quarters at the
town farm, so called, which the town, by tax or other-
w^ise, finds the money to buy, and there they are per-
mitted many personal conveniences, as at a quiet, well-
ordered home, and are employed about the premises in
various work and occupations proper to their condition
and useful to their health, invariably lessening to the
town their actual expense. And beside all this, it gives
the suffering ones and the aged the proper and constant
care of a nurse, places them in clean and warm rooms,
provides for them good food, and in giving them a
home, elevates them to the position of living, thinking,
true human beings. There will often be found in these
happy homes of the poor from fifteen to twenty-five
persons. I say ' happy homes,' using the phrase in a
liberal sense, for they elevate tlie institution into the
lists of Gospel or Christian institutions.

When they are not kept in this manner, they are
sometimes supported in small companies, or gangs here
and there about town, as the overseers can make con-
tracts with different persons at so much per week.
Then again, they divide the sexes, contracting with one
or more individuals to support the females, and with
another party to support the males. Not unfrequently
they contract for the support of one in a family, so
variously do they attend to this business, and secure
the end of providing for them through a year.

But the most outrageous and reprehensible manner
— one that has become very common, although not uni-
versal— is the selling of the paupers at the town-meet-
ing, or soon after, by the overseers, to the lowest bid-
der, who takes them off the hands of the town, and sup-
ports them as he best can — working them as he pleases,
clothing and feeding, nursing and burying them as he
thinks he can afford to do.

348 NEW England's chattels; or,

This is a common practice. The lowest bidder is one
who takes them at the lowest rate possible, after having
been run in his bids by rival speculators in the stock,
and is, further, one not usually a strictly conscientious,
Christian man — the principles of such an one forbidding
him to engage in the sale, even temporarily, of ' his own
flesh.' Consequently, they are in the hands of money-
makers, close calculators, worldly men, who, having bid
them off at a very low price, feel justified in keeping
them accordingly.

And it is estimated that a shrewd business sort of a
man will manage to keep fifteen paupers a year at an
aggregate cost of only one hundred and fifty or two
hundred dollars !

As it frequently happens that under this system they
are supported year after year for three or five years by
the same person, he comes to regard them as his crea-
tures, to do with just as he feels inclined. He is some-
times a very hard master, and then their condition is
one of extreme suffering, danger and death ; at other
times he is one of peculiar mercenariness, and then they
go about akaost starved. Then he is thriftless and rum-
my, and they fall into the same ruinous course.

As thus managed, it is purely a selfish and unchristian
institution. Of course, the paupers, bid off on specula-
tion by a man formerly interested in the matter to make
money out of it, other people see little of it, and have
comparatively no interest in the management. They
feel no obligation to remember the town's poor ; let the
person who has taken, or bought them for the year, see
that they are taken care of according to his contract !

Now, the contract may read well enough and be ex-
plicit enough, but the town knows that if an individual
bids off the poor at a low rate, he will of course keep

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 349

them on very poor ai>.d coarse diet, and provide for
them the most meagre accommodations. The only rea-
son why this system has maintained its hold among the
people here at the North is, that a majority of the
voters, often a small, sometimes a large one, have re-
garded it as the cheapest system. Simply to save a few
dollars in the taxes, they have overlooked every other
consideration, especially the inhumanity of it. They
have not consulted at all the feelings of the poor them-
selves, who have been sometimes persons of sensibility
and virtue. They have gone in opposition to Christian
principles — often Christian vows.

You will find this to have been a prevalent custom in
New England, says a friend who resides in a neighbor-
ing town, writing to me some of these facts. ' About
the time of my being appointed overseer of the poor,
along with the selectmen, complaints began to arise
against the high rates of taxes for the support of the
poor. It costs too much to keep them — we won't board
them about here and there any longer, but will sell
them off in a lump, and so they did. By a small major-
ity they carried a vote to sell the poor — not to the
highest bidder, as our southern brethren sell their poor
— but to the lowest, i. e., to him, who for the smallest
sum, would keep them a year and clear the town of all
expenses on their account. This,' he says, ' was a
course as revolting to myself and to others, as it ivas
mortifying to the poor themselves. But a majority ruled
and continued the practice, thinking it the cheapest
course. It was repeatedly proposed by the few, to
purchase a farm and put it in proper condition to give
the paupers a home. But this was uniformly opposed
by the many.' *

* 0. S., Esq., B — vt.

350 NEW England's chattels ; or,

In the town of Crampton we have an average of fifteen
paupers a year. Of these, ten are aged persons, male
and female, from fifty to eighty years of age ; some of
them were reared in the best society and enjoyed a fine
reputation. Circumstances, I cannot now detail, have
made them poor. Their last years are periods of misery
often indescribable. The men and women have lit-
tle separate accommodations, and the vulgar, at plea-
sure, offend the modest and delicate. The younger
portion mingle with the old and learu their evil ways.
Together they go on in idleness, uncleanliness and
vicious ways — often little children are found there with
the aged, the vulgar and wicked.

We have had one State pauper, a Mr. Boyce, a talent-
ed author, a foreigner among our poor, with a half de-
mented intellect. He was removed by a friendly neigh-
bor. His wife and child came from England to find
him. Shocked beyond endurance at finding him as she
did, the Avife went into a decline herself, and both hus-
band and wife died leaving an orphan daughter who has
been reared in my own family as an adopted daughter,
and is now in her seventeenth year.

We have now actually as a town pauper, an aged
widow of one of the deacons of the church, a woman of
remarkable scriptural knowledge, and of good sense on
many subjects, who ought not to have been sent there,
nor to be confined there a day longer. We are daily
looking for the time when Captain Isaac Bunco, former-
ly the keeper of the town poor for several years, will
be himself in that condition. I have, as many of you
know, educated a young man from there, a relation of
my wife, whose parents were of respectable families in
this town. The young man has been through college.
and will, I think, maks his mark upon the world.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 351

I shall close this essay, already too long, when I have
mentioned some of the civil rights that paupers lose.

In the first place, They are not in all cases all-oived to
vote.

In the second place. They cannot act on a jury.

In the third place, They cannot, as paiipers, own any
-property.

In the fourth place. They cannot direct in what man-
ner they shall be supported.

In the fifth place,They cannot choose their own keepers.

In the sixth place. They cannot direct the care of 1:heir
children, as

(a) whether they shall live with them.
(&) " " " go to school.

(c) " " " be bound out as apprentices.

(d) ivhen " " be bound out, or to whom.

As long as they remain actual paupers, these rights are
denied them.

They also lose their social and religious position. That
is — they go not into society ; they seldom attend church ;
they seldom put on mourning for the dead ; it is not
customary to lift up prayers for them as a class in the
pulpit ; seldom do ministers preach about them or con-
demn the manner in which they are supported. Few of
them if any are remembered when the church assem-
bles at the table of the Lord. And rarely are there any
contributions taken for their benefit, and even churches
frequently allow their aged and infirm members to close
their days in the poor-house.*

They are a neglected, sufiering, dying class of our fel-

* James Brewster, Esq., of New Haven, found two women at the alms-house,
who were members of t lie church to which he belonged. He immediately took
them away, brought their case before the brotherhood, and a vote was taken that
the church should assume their support. At the same time it was voted that, every

352 NEW exgland's chattels ; or,

low-men, often punished severely by their keepers, if
they even on a good excuse of fatigue, or weakness, or
old age, refuse to do as they are told.

Such is the northern poor-house in our moral and vir-
tuous communities — prevailing more or less extensively
through the New England States, a mode of supporting
the pauper people — numbering, outside of the cities,
perhaps ten thousand souls /"

The report was listened to with great attention, and
deeply mortified and distressed most of the clergymen
present.

Rev. Mr. Archdale begged leave to inquire of the
brother, whether town paupers could act as witnesses ?

Mr. Eodman replied, " They can, because the town
may be benefited in certain cases by their testimony."

Rev. Mr. Dilly inquired, " Can town paupers be sued
for debt?"

Mr. Rodman said, " Yes, they can be sued, but at the
risk of the plaintifi' in the case. If he sues a pauper for

Christian church ought to maintain its individual poor members. ' From Mr. B 's
private journal. — Auth.

Mr. B. educated a young man and a young girl, taken from the paupers, but
they died early after giving promise of fine intellectual character.

He also sent the Rev. Claudius Herrick to the alms-house six years, at his private
expense, who acted there in the capacity of chaplain. He says in his journal : —
" By him many an inmate's dying hours were consoled and his heart cheered."

Mr. Brewster could report cases of sufi"ering, wretchedness, and misfortune, con-
nected with the pauperism of New Haven, that would stir the blood of honest men,
and wring out tears. And he who thinks the writer has exhausted his subject in
the cases which have been here brought to view, is informed that these are but
specimens of large generalization. A thousand heart-rending histories of paupers
suffering and dying in the poor-houses of Kew England, are in the memories of her
population, and found on the records of her public offices. The cases which have
been mentioned here have been brought forward lo illustrate the principle we have
rebuked. They faintly represent the system in its corruption and wickedness, as
the same is even yet pursued in hundreds of New England towns. — Auth

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOE-HOUSB. 353

debt, and gets a judgment in his favor, he must run all
the risk of serving on him the writ."

" Can he himself sue for debt ?^' inquired Rev. Charles
Shirley.

" Yes, because if he receives any property, he liberates
the town from his future support."

" Are paupers free to contract marriage ?" inquired
the moderator, Rev. Samuel Chapman, D.D.

" A woman can be married out of her state of pauper-
age of course by a responsible party, and paupers some-
times are said to be married legally under ordinary
circumstances. I doubt whether the selectmen of a
town would allow a pauper to marry a wife who was a
pauper in another town, and bring her home an expense
to them. They do sometimes marry, but the circum-
stances of the case are always considered."

Rev. Mr. Shirley said he wished to read to the breth-
ren the following scrap which he had cut out of a news-
paper recently — he believed from the Washington
Union of May : — " An aged maiden lady of Portland,
Maine, 74 years of age, was carried to the work-house,
who has a brother living in that city who was taxed the
past year on the assessor's book for over $14,000 ; also
a sister whose husband is taxed for $8,000 ; and a cousin
who is reported to be worth $50,000."

" Now," said Mr. Shirley, " I know nothing about this
matter further, but if it is true, as is here represented,
ought we not to blush for our humanity, and weep over
the imperfect workings of our common and holy re-
ligion ?"

" I saw a statement in, I think, a Connecticut paper,"
said the Rev. Henry Wile}-, " that the town paupers of
Stamford, in that State, to the number of thirty, (more
or less,) were kept during the last severe winter, in a

354 NEW England's chattels ; or,

cold, damp building, in a manner most revolting and
cruel ; the writer, a Southern man said, * in a much
worse condition than even blacks at the South.' I
haven't with me the paper, but I remember the sub-
stance of it, and it was as I have given it you. I think
if these things are true, or any portion of them nearly
so, we have a solemn duty to discharge in our own
towns."

The Moderator, and also other brethren, said they
had often seen such statements, but they had not trea-
sured them up, neither paid them much attention at
the time. They confessed that they had been guilty of
great neglect towards the paupers. " I hope," said the
Moderator, " we shall not let this matter die from our
recollections, but that we may make inquiries at home
and elsewhere preparatory to our individual and asso-
ciational action. We must not sit quietly over a subject
of such amazing wrong !"

" The Legislature of Connecticut," said Mr. Rodman,
** has just affirmed the anti-citizenship of paupers, placing
them on the same footing with fugitive slaves. This is
a section of the act : ' Third, all other persons, being in
or coming into and locating within this State, with in-
tent to remain and reside permanently as citizens, ex-
cept aliens, jJaupers, fugitives from justice and fugitives
from service, and all persons within the jurisdiction of
this State, shall in all cases be entitled to the protection
of its constitution and laws.' It appears," said he,
"from this, that when any individual of that State,
though previously a man of business and character, be-
comes a pauper, he lose;?, his citizenship — is no longer
entitled ' to the protection of its constitution and laws.'
Is not this rank with injustice and cruelty ? — shall we
tolerate a state of things in New England, in respect to

•LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 355

our poor white people — our own citizens, that simply
for the offence of poverty, denies them the benefits of
citizenship — the benefits of the constitution of free and
intelligent States ? I think we may well hang our heads
if we do, and hereafter, forever close our mouths upon
the enormities and cruelties of Slavery ! Shall we con-
sent to it that ten or twenty thousand white citizens,
aged, infirm and poor, dependent on the charity of their
fellow-men, yet guilty of no crime, shall we give our
consent to the statute that takes from them their citi-
zenship and the protection of the laws ? Truly, if so,
this is the age of refined barbarism, instead of high, en-
lightened Christianity. We need not go out of New
England to thrust home the sacred remonstrance, ' phy-
sician ! HEAL THYSELF.' "

356 NEW England's chattels : or,

CHAPTER XXXIV.

100,000 Brick. Paupers at twenty cents a day for the lot — i. e., " one forty" per
week : a considerable amount of money, all things taken into the account.

* John Stoddard, a man of good calculations, and for-
tunate in his business affairs, took the paupers off the
hands of their great god-father, the Town of Crampton
■ — the paupers, I say, men, women, and children — three
or four 3'ears ; when, being unwilling to harbor them
longer, they fell again into the hands of our friends Mr.
and Mrs. Siddleton. Mr. Siddleton had been a close
observer the meantime of the management of others,
and he thought whether it would not be a nice thing
for himself and his wife if they could make " the thing"
fay!

" Now," said he, " Mrs. Siddleton, we musn't keep
these poor crittures too tenderly, nor bestow too much
pious instruction on them. You see it really is a mat-
ter of dollars and cents. Stoddard and Bacon have
made money out of them, and why can't we ? I intend
they shall work now to pay for past idleness, and really
think a little manual exercise will be good for them.
There's Dan, and Tucker, and Bill, and Rogers, and Sam
White, and young Harry the deaf boy, besides Mag

* My friend, Mr. , who had much experience in the details of the

management customary with the poor, gave me often many interesting f3,cts, and
much information on the subject. But he has recently deceased, to the grief of
his friends, and to my individual regret, inasmuch as I had calculated much on the
assistance 1 should derive from him in making up these papers. — Auth.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSEi 357

Davis, Roxy, Ma'am Upliam, aunt Jemima, the old widow
Prescott, Miss Carpenter, and granny Wakeup, besides
the children and the bed-rid ones, old Josh Hicks and
sister Peters. Here they are, seven-eights of 'urn able
to help a great deal. Now don't let's give up all our
time to nursing on 'um and teaching them, but let's see
if we can't make them fly round, and earn at least the
salt they eat. What's the use of having so much work-
ing material on hand without improving it ? For my
pa'tt, I begin to think it's a sin." And Mr. Siddleton
looked at his wife very soberly indeed ; Mrs. Siddleton
looked thoughtfully at the subject some time. At last
she said —

" It is my duty to do all for these poor souls in my
power consistent with every other actual obligation.
There may be such a thing as paying too much regard
to their spiritual state, and too little to their tempo-
ral "

" That's just it 1" said he.

"Now, I agree in opinion with you, that if they can
they ought to earn something ; and as you have taken
them so low this year, I feel it my duty to help you in
your plans to realize something from the risk. So now
what do you propose to do, Mr. Siddleton ?"

" Well, first," said he, " you must dispense with the
servant girl, and make the paupers do your work."

" Yes, that I can do, or can try it."

" Just so. Then we must begin, as we can hold out
as to feeding and clothing them. You see it is now Oc-
tober, and the winter is before us — the most expensive
season of the year — a long time of it now before they
can do much in the fields. When the spring returns
and Slimmer, I shall take them into the fields to plant
and lioe corn, make hay, reap grain, etc. But in the

358 NEW England's chattels ; or,

meantime, wc must get through the winter with as little
money paid out for food and clothing as possible."

" That looks to me very reasonable ; and you know I
always did advise them to practice abstinence from tem-
poral vanities, on the well-known Gospel principle,
" Tahe no thought— for food."

" Yes, that's all right, my dear."

" They don't really need much food, Mr. Siddleton."

" Ah ?"

" No ; for their natures are low, their blood is feeble,
they arn't accustomed to it, they are inactive and dull,
their teeth are gone or defective, and they don't expect
what other folks have."

" Just so ; well ?"

" I was going to say," she added, " and will now, if
you please, before I forget it. They are a great deal
more submissive if kept on low feed than on high. I
think gruel and soup are very good for them."

" That's the kind we can best afford, you know," said
he. " And we must throw in some potatoes, onions,
bony pieces of meat, and provide a good deal of cheap
salt meat and fish. I think that we will begin our out-
goes for them at one dollar and fifty cents a week. If
we can bring it inside of that, well and good — ticenty-
two cents a day ! That's almost a quarter of a dollar,
Mrs. Siddleton."

" A good deal of money in the end," said she.

" A very large sum, indeed ! Perhaps we hadn't bet-
ter come up quite to that figure. If we begin with too
great generosity, we shall certainly run aground."

" I know it," said she.

" What if we call it twenty cents a day, eh ? — one dol-
lar forty per week !"*

* Says a friend, wri •ng to mo from a town in Massachusetts — " If I had the

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 359

" There's nothing like trying, husband. I can tell
them we must be as economical as possible, for the
times are hard and we are restricted in our out-goes."

" Very true, you can. Well, then, sa}^ ' one forty' per
week. That's settled. Now, I think of opening my old
brick-yard again this fall and burning a hundred thou-
sand brick, won't that be nice work for them ?"

" It will, indeed ! why that's a good thought — if it
will not be too hard for them, Mr. Siddleton."

" No, not at all. They can pick out the clay by little
and little, load it, dump it, grind it, mould it, dry it, and
pack it, fire it, watch it — do almost every thing about
the kiln, and I look on, give directions, and work when
I please."

" I like the plan, husband, exceedingly. It will keep
the men away from the house too a great deal, and so
make it more comfortable for me, and more agreeable
for all."

" I've got an order for a hundred thousand brick from
George Pepper and Company over at the Falls "Works.
They are going to put up a new factory, and will pay
me the cash on delivery."

" Well, husband, go right about it. Make that your
principal business till it is done, and between us we'll
manage the paupers somehow or other to make them
help along and earn their own support."

Mr. and Mrs. Siddleton, and the town paupers, all
lived in a sociable sort of a way under the same roof.
The principle adopted throughout this entire establish-
ment was, compactness, centralization, no spare room,
no waste. This house was somewhat picturesque and

time I could give you some individual case? of ' fallen fortunes,' and of the way in
which the poor have been treated, which, if published to the world, would make
the ears of some to tiugle." — Mr. W. E., to Auth.

360 NEW England's chattels ; or,

romantic in its outward look, having a main part origi-
nally twenty by twenty-eight feet, tw^o stories in front
and one in the rear, w^hich was a wing running back in-
to a steep hill that overshadowed it. This wing was on
a level with, the upper floor, and the roof was straight
from front to rear, and under the roof w^as garret room
for the paupers, who could climb there by a very nar-
row, very steep and neck-breaking little flight of stairs,
the width of a closet door, occupying in the ascent but
three feet leaning distance. The garret was partitioned
oS by a curtain, the south part for the females, who had
their accommodations in that loft, the north by the men.
The wing below was divided into a sitting-room eight
feet by ten, and four dormitories averaging eight feet
square. Besides these, there was a small Aving on the
west side of the rear room, used as a common room for
the females, where from four to six, according to cir-
cumstances, and one or two small children extra, could
bunk down over night.

We don't know how little room we really need, good
friends, till we are brought into straights ! A room eight
feet square will very comfortably accommodate two or
three souls, (so said Mrs. Siddleton,) if they can't by any
possibility of things have any more square feet. And
inasmuch as " three or four in a bed" is often a jocose
amusement for happy-hearted, well-to-do folks in the
world — why wonder at it that a large room ten feet by
twelve say, should be capable of accommodating six or
eight paupers of all sizes and ages ? It is perfect
amusement for paupers to snuggle up together as they
sleep, for they impart warmth to each other in this
manner, so doing away with the necessity of extra bed-
ding, where that article is not to be had for love and — no
money.

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 361

These apartments were the special privileges of the
paupers. The balance of the building was carpeted,
the windows of the front chamber-parlor were hung
with embroidered muslins ; a sofa, soft rockers and
chairs ; a large mirror, handsome vases, some few pic-
tures, a large family Bible, etc., etc., were among its
treasures, conveniences and ornaments. Below there
was a large front dining-room, commodious bed-room,
large pantrv, and extra sleeping room.

From these rooms the smell of good savory dishes of-
ten found its way to the wings and lofts above. Some-
times the savory odor was the only thing of the kind
that ever hobbled up those stairs.

We are not instituting any comparisons in these pages
between the state of wretchedness and degradation wit-
nessed among the paupers in the country poor-houses,
and the paupers and other miserable victims of want in
the cities and in their alms-houses. It is probable that
in many respects the rural paupers often suffer less than
those, for there is hardly any measurement of the human
degradation the poor exhibit in the cities, in groups
where they are driven by their common, absolute want.
In one thing it is true, the country paupers have a great
advantage. They can inhale the pure atmosphere of
heaven, whenever they step forth from their confined
and ill-flavored apartments. They also usually have ac-
cess to the purest water as a beverage. And how many
soever ameliorating circumstances we might hunt up
and mention, these will readily enough occur to others,
to the critics especially. But it is enough, that the old
rural poor-house system, in its denial of citizenship ; the
sale of the poor to the lowest bidder as chattels, the
compulsory labor it permits ; the degradation it winks
at ; the heartlessness and cruelty it cultivates, is a

16

362 NEW England's chattels ; or,

NORTHERN INSTITUTION, hard by the free press, the free
soil, the free school, the church of Jesus Christ the Son
of God.

It is false in principle ; it is evil in practice ; it is
inhuman and needlessly corrupt.

But to return to our paupers. They went back to
their old quarters at Siddleton's with downcast faces,
some of them in tears.

"Oh ! Mag," said Mrs. Prescott, " will that dream ever
be fulfilled?"

" God only knows," said the other, smiting her with-
ered hands upon her head and staring wildly round her :
" Yes, it must be — we can't live so. If there's a God in
heaven he will fulfill it, and have mercy on us."

But Dan shook his head and grumbled, " What if there
isn't a God?"

" Itll make no diiFerence, Dan, you know it won't,"
said she. " Mankind themselves will see our afflictions
and relieve them."

" I never saw any good thing in mankind," said Tucker.

" No, nor I," said Dan.

" There's a m — m — mi — migh — ^mighty little dif— dif-
france in — m — m — mankind — any how," stammered out
Sam White, the poor shoemaker.

" There's a great difference, Mr. White," said the widow,
" between God and men."

" Ye — ye-s there — is — is — so," said he.

" I believe in the Lord," said Bill.

" So — do Ij" emphatically replied White.

Granny Wakeup came in on her crutch from one of
the side doors. " Well," said she, " does any body know
whether we are to have any supper to-night ?"

" Didn't you eat dinner enough. Granny, to last over
night ?" inquired Mag Davis.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 363

" No, 1 didn't. I want my three meals a day, and
hearty one's too, or I'm fit -for nothing."

" I guess mother Siddleton ■will teach you in the course
of two or three days that the last thing to be calculated
on here with regularity is a meal of victuals."

" Then I can tell her she'll feel the rap of my crutch,"
said the haggard old creature.

" Ha ! ha ! ha !" screamed Roxy and Mag.

" It's no laughing matter, girl, I tell you," said she.
" Do you think that aunt Prescott and me, and sister
Peters, and old Joshua Hicks, eighty or ninety years of
age, arn't going to have what victuals we want ?"

" I tell you, she'll give you what she's a mind to, won't
she, aunt Prescott ?" asked Mag.

" She wants to take off our thoughts from eating and
drinking, and worldly fashions, and make us ready for
the other world. So far she is right, I suppose," said
the widow with a sigh.

" Well, I could always say my prayers best," said
granny Wakeup, " after a good warm cup of tea and a
biscuit."

" Biscuit ! by the Lord !" exclaimed Dan.

" Don't you have any biscuit here ?" asked she.

" We have an oat-meal cake once in a while, or an In-
dian hard crust ; do you call that biscuit ?"

" No, I don't."

" You'll look through that door a good many times for
any other biscuit in this house," said Mag.

" Well then, give us some milk toast."

'^ Ha ! ha ! ha !" cried Tucker.

" That ain't very dear living, is it ?" said she.

"We don't get it though in this place. Toast! why
I've forgot how it tastes, havn't you, Dan ?"

" Yes, ten years ago," said he.

364 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Dried beef is good, then," said the old lady.

" Well, the beef is dry enough !" shouted Mag.

" Ha ! ha ! ha !" snored out Dan.

" Good for Mag," said Tucker.

" First rate," said Roxy.

Alas ! old granny Wakeup, you have yet to take your
tirst lessons in the poor-house. You will find that you
have stepped down a long step from the poorest level
of free society, where there is a private home and small
means to do with. Oh, what a happy home is that of
a poor, unpainted cottage, with a green lawn before it,
a lilac bush and rose at the window, a plain, rough fence
shutting it in from the road-side ; a little stream warb-
ling by ; a rough shed where the little brindled cow
with milk for the children, chews her cud, and the fowls
walk around her, finding in the loft their nests ; where
the cheerful boys and girls may fill their hands with eggs
for breakfast ; the little pig-pen near, its occupant
grunting for his evening meal ; the little garden filled
with plants and choicest vines. What a happy home is
that to the desolation that reigns here !

Yes, granny Wakeup found it so. Mrs. Siddleton in-
formed her that she had, all her long life, thought too
much of creature comforts, and that she must now school
herself into self-denial. " I shall give you all a cracker
each and a little weak tea to-night," she said ; " after
which you had better retire, at least very soon, to rest.
And mind," said she, " before you close your eyes, to
lift your prayers to the Bountiful Giver of every good
and perfect gift for tJiis day's mercies."

Granny Wakeup had just come to the poor-house —
her last reliance having failed her in the shape of an old
faithful servant, brought up in her family in better
days, and who, to the last, rented a part of a small

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 365

house and took in washing, by which she managed to
support her aged and broken-down benefactress. The
old lady had been a widow nearly twenty years. Her
husband left her with a small property, which she was
obliged to spend in her support ; and when brought
into a state of destitution, her faithful Eunice, herself
nearly sixty years of age, determined to devote herself
to her comfort. Eunice had heard of the poor-house,
and shuddered to think that either herself or her be-
loved mistress might be compelled to accept of its hol-
low-hearted charity, especially to submit to the degra-
dation of a public sale at the auction block, as articles of
little value.

And so Eunice labored on ten years in her benevo-
lent duty, and the two were happy. When she died
she left a little money, accumulated and saved day by
day, to her aged companion ; and the only great grief
she felt was for her mistress, for she saw no other way
of support possible to her than that of the institution
she had so long and so successfully labored to save her
from.

When you degrade man, and crowd him down instead
of elevating and honoring him, it makes little difference
whether the act be in regard of one man in higher
honor at times than another ; you commit an error that
cries out against all your theories of religion, education,
and refinement. If you build up yourself on another's
ruins, may you not fear the foundation beneath will
utter groans, and finally crumble ? Can there be a last-
ing peace or condition of quiet where, in town or State,
there exists by law and practice a foul wrong so emi-
nently unjust as that of denying to the aged and suffer-
ing poor, simply because of their poverty, the rights of
citizenship and the protection of the laws — aye, that

366 NEW England's chattels ; or,

permits them to be placed in circumstances where nu-
man selfishness and meanness can have full power of
action, to their real distress and humiliation of the body
and mind ? If it must be that the poor we have ever
with us, it is not necessary that we should ourselves be
the guilty party in the cause of their poverty, especially
in adding to their mortification and despair.

Such provision should be made for the poor as will
relieve and comfort those who are driven by their want
to cast themselves on the public charity. Give them
work such as they can do ; preserve their own self-
respect ; cheer them, encourage them, bless them. We
can see no good reason for disfranchising men of pov-
erty, who are not criminals. Are there not hundreds
and thousands of men in every State in New England
who are, in respect to themselves, absolutely paupers,
but who are living on their friends, or on their own bra-
zen wits, or on borrowed capital ; yet not disfranchised,
because, forsooth, they have not been entered paupers
on the books of the town ?

Something akin to this has been advanced by another
writer on the general subject of pauperism, and more
particularly on its development in crowded cities. He
says : " Where the poor are admitted to a just share in
the privileges of society, the benefits for which govern-
ment was appointed, and are so educated as to be pre-
pared to avail themselves of those privileges, there the
higher classes are constantly recruited by a virtuous
and disciplined energy that, under such a beneficent
system, has made its way from the lower, and the great
end of a good government is gained, and all classes are
pledged for its support and security."

He further says : '"^ But if, instead of the poor having
hope, they are trampled down into despair ; if, by the

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 367

neglect, selfishness, and oppression of the government
(and neglect on the part of the government is itself, in
his thing, oppression,) and the grasping avarice and,
selfish luxury of the wealthy, they are kept in ignorance
and wretchedness, and thus their very poverty is made
the destruction of the poor, by such diabolic crushing
operations of the social state as effectually forbid the
poor man, or the virtuous and conscientious poor, to
rise, there is no reprieve for such a state from utter
perdition. The causes of rottenness and ruin are at
work as powerfully and certainly in the very prosperity
of the upper classes as in the ignorance and riot ot
vicious elements in the lower, and like the crater of a
slumbering volcano, all will tumble in upon the same
fire, or perhaps in some awful eruption, bury the social
state in desolation."*

* G. B. Cheever.

368 NEW England's chattels ; or,

CHAPTER XXXV.

Mk. Siddletos's idea of the Gospel. Somehow or other our ideas are not always
the same, nor are they always just. But if we happen to hit on right notions, by all
means let them out. They may do somebody good.

The last time Siddleton took the paupers off the
hands of the town, there was a great noisy town-meet-
ing discussion of the whole case. Many of the former
opponents of the measures advocated by the " reform-
ers," as they were called, came over from their party
and voted for reform. Among these were Abraham
Bacon and John Stoddard. They had seen enough in
their own management to prove that the paupers might
be supported at much less expense to the toivn than they
now were ; and as their tax was a heavy one, they, out
of purely selfish regard, voted to abolish the system of
public sale, and purchase a town farm, to be carried
on under the care of some person of faithful and econo-
mical character for the ultimate benefit of the town.

By the small majority of fifteen votes, the town car-
ried through the old measure of farming out the paupers
to the lowest bidder. There was great rejoicing among
the reformers at the announcement : it was the promise
of success ere long. The subject having been warmly
and intelligently discussed, many who voted with the
old party began to waver and say they were almost con-
vinced that the new measure was worthy of a trial.
Squire Ben, Lawyer Tools, and Mr. Savage, were put in
selectmen, Mr. Haddock and his party being all crowd*

JFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 369

ed out ; the vote was too close for the exercise of any-
party Hberality.

Mr. Siddleton, by crowding all hands into the work,
was ready by the middle of October for his brick-yard
operations. Not for a long time had Dan or Tucker
done as much regular work day after day as now each
of them performed. Bill also, old and feeble as he was,
put himself to do a good day's work. Harry, the deaf
boy, and Sam White also, worked hard. But by the
middle of November the kiln was not ready for burning,
and the weather beginning to pinch, the paupers often
stopped and bent over their mouldings and shivered.
Siddleton observed this, and dosed them with cider and
whisky, and so drove the pile to burning. But he was
compelled to hire more help than he expected. No
serious accident arising, the brick were burned in good
season, and Siddleton and two of his neighbors' teams,
driven by liis own hands, began the carting. The brick
were all delivered on the first of February, and Siddle-
ton, rejoicing in the speculation as the best one he had
ever made, was illy prepared for the news that spread
consternation over the whole vicinity the next day,
when he was looking for a settlement with the com-
pany, that "Pepper & Co." at the Falls Works had
made an assignment, and estimated their indebtedness
at half a million of dollars.

Mr. Siddleton was not the only one who hurried over
to the factory when this news reached him, and en-
deavored to secure his individual claim. But his efforts
were unavailing ; he returned home to dole out his com-
plaints to his wife, whose quality of resignation was a
larger degree of self-command than his, but actually a
high pressure amount of resistance and ill blood, ten
degrees higher than her husband's.

370 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Well, wife, we are ruined ! — we are knocked in the
head as sure as fate," said Siddleton.

" Why— it canH he, Mr. Siddleton !"

" The bricks are gone as sure as the world," said he.

" Why, what do you mean ? Your are not in earnest !"

" Yes, the company have signed over, and my bricks
go in with the assets !"

" Impossible ! Mr. Siddleton. Is there no law ?"

" None that will help us now, hang it ! I wish I had
been fool enough to have taken that check for a thou-
sand dollars last week that Pepper offered me "

" A check declined by you for a thousand dollars, Mr.
Siddleton, ?"

" Yes ; you see I wanted it all in a lump, and so de-
clined it. He said, in a rather low voice, ' 3Ir. Siddle-
ton, ivho knows what ivill he on the morrow ? You had
better take it.' But I wouldn't, I told him. I would
wait for the whole "

" Oh ! Mr. Siddleton ! Well— I declare," and she bit
her lip, and compressed her lips, " We are really in the
midst of — a Providence, Mr. Siddleton — a hard — terri-
ble— unlooked for Providence !"

" Yes, we are, by thunder I Who would have thought
it? I had my suspicions the company w^asn't safe a
month ago," said he.

" Suspicions, Mr. Siddleton ! That don't speak very
well for you — what, suspicions ?"

" I heard the men up stairs say, * Wonder if Siddleton
will ever get his pay of Pepper ?"

" Why, husband — and didnH that trouble you ?"

" Yes, I thought of it a good while."

" And didn't tell me ! Oh, Siddleton ! Siddleton !"

" Oh, well, it was vague after all."

" These folks often know what's going on as correctly

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 371

as other people — (oh ! dear — well !) How sJiould they
know ? — it's strange that they should know anything — "

"Confound the luck!" said Siddleton, pacing the
floor.

" Mr. Siddleton ! we must be resigned 1"

" Confound the * Pepper Co.,' say I "

" Mr. Siddleton, compose yourself."

" I wish the whole concern was tipped into the river 1"

" Why, Mr. Siddleton, have you forgotten to bear
with meekness your trials and afflictions? Have you
received corrections in vain ?"

" They're a set of unprincipled swindlers, I "

'' Do, Mr. Siddleton, strive to endure the chastenings
of Providence "

" If I had a raw-hide I'd just put it round Pepper's
back till he cried for mercy "

" The Lord deliver you from the evil one, Mr. Sid-
dleton 1"

" Half a million dollars in ! hey ?"

" That's a great failure, isn't it, Mr. Siddleton ?"

" "Well, the scamps may as well fail for half a million
as for any other sum — they'll cheat us out of all we have
at any rate, and I don't see but we shall go to the poor-
house ourselves !"

" Oh 1 no, Mr. Siddleton, there is no danger, and even
if there were, ive should be treated well ; we have done
so much for others."

" Hur ! !" grunted out the ill-minded Siddleton.

" What do you mean by that, Mr. Siddleton ?"

" I mean, they'd apply 1 5 us our own principles,"
said he.

" Well, they are Bible principles, you know ?" she re-
plied, a little tartly.

" Mrs. Siddleton, the Bible should be interpreted by

372 NEW ENGLAND S CHATTELS ; OR,

those who are in trouble, not by those in comfort and
power."

" Why, Mr. Siddleton ! what do you mean !"

" If I were old Josh Hicks, with my bones looking
through the flesh, from long confinement to my bed ;
my scrawny arms all shrunken and rattling, the skin of
my face shrivelled and clinging to the bones of the
cheek and nose ; my body tormented with rheumatic
pain ; too weak to rise and too miserable to lie down — I
should want to interpret the Bible in its most comfort-
ing ways to me, rather than in its severer words and
more condemning power."

*' And pray what would you in such a case do other
than I have done to him ?"

" I don't know that you are particularly in fault. I
would interpret the Bible to me as a great, helpless suf-
ferer, needing all its grace to sustain me."

" Well, so I do interpret it, I hope 1"

" But, Mrs. Siddleton, you and I are, where it suits best
our convenience, to say to them in Bible language. You
must ' show yourselves men f ' endure hardness as good
soldiers of the cross ;' ' man should not live by bread
alone, but by every word of God.' ' He that ivill not work,
neither shall he eat J But there is a Bible class of inter-
pretations that just suits the case of a man in the condi-
tion of Hicks."

" Well, perhaps I grant it."

" Yes, ' Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy
laden, and I will give you rest.' ' In my Father's house
are many mansions, I go to prepare a place for you.'
' Cast aU your care upon the Lord, for he careth for you.'
' In my distress I called upon the Lord and he heard me
out of his holy hill.' "

" Now, Mrs. Siddleton, I don't say that ive had better

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 373

do any differently from what we have already done.
But I tell you the Bible is the •poor man^s friend when
you get the cream of it. It is not merely a teacher and a
scourge, but it is also a sovereign balm for all his woes."

Mrs. Siddleton was perfectly overwhelmed at her
husband's intimate perception of Bible truth. She felt
convicted by his reasonings of much one-sidedness in
her own course of interpretation, and thought that per-
haps she had some lessons to learn from the Bible her-
self.

But she also knew that he was laboring under a very
highly excited condition of the intellect, and wisely, she
concluded, deferred any permanent change in her sys-
tem of management till the customary level of feeling
was again perceptible. She, however, put on the tea-
kettle at an early hour, and heard it hissing and steam-
ing with unaccustomed sensations of pleasure, for she
had resolved to give the whole of the paupers a tea
supper and some buttered toast !

If you can get only a little leaf of the Bible properly
into the heart of man, it will astonishingly humanize him,
opening it a great way and causing it to throb, ^Aro5, throb
almost to bursting. There's a difference in the effect,
whether the Bible be got into the heart therefore, or be
packed all round it, and especially, whether it lie in the
hrain or in the heart.

Mrs. Siddleton's Bible was clear, brain-Bible, and it
was handsomely folded near, but just outside of her
heart, and that, a heart of stone.

When the tea-kettle boiled, and the flavor of the tea
rose like sweet incense over her bead, and went frolick-
ing and gamboling up the narrow stairway, and pene-
trated under the doors and by the side of the doors and
through the latchets of the doors ; and the savory fra-

374 NEW England's chattels ; or,

grance of the buttered toast followed it, the Bible had
begun to work down into her heart, thawing out its ice,
softening its rock and showing her a heart of flesh 1

That's the kind of heart the Gospel is looking after,
and when it is found, the world over, mankind will be-
gin their true jubilee.

As for Mr. Siddleton, he retired to his room, took
down his books, went over all his accounts again and
again, and continued that occupation until dark, mean-
time pulling his hair, giving vent to ejaculatory curses,
and regarding himself as the most unfortunate man alive
on the face of the earth. Unfortunately for Siddleton's
plan of employing the paupers in the manufacture of his
brick, the work was too hard and too great for them,
while the season was cold and difficult to endure. They
frequently gave out before doing a half day's work, and
at no time after the first three wxeks were there in the
company more than two or three that were at all reli-
able. Many were either sick or feignedly so, and he
was forced to hire, at great wages, two or three extra
hands. Of course Mr. Siddleton resented behavior and
disappointment of this sort, and they who loould not
work, were taught from the Word of God that they
sJiould not eat.

Eating and working were the two great points of in-
terest in the case of paupers. It was certain that they
must eat more or less, and the practical, interesting in-
quiry in that connection was, " how much work can be
got out of them ?" He who could best solve this dubi-
ous question, could also best meet the practicalities of
the other point.

Siddleton, try as he would, never seemed to succeed
in his plans of work. Either the plans were unsound in
themselves, or the manner of carrying them out was de-

LIFE IN THE NJETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 375

fective. He was sure to find himself a loser whenever
he undertook to accomplish his plans by the help of the
paupers. Not being philosophic enough to discover
the true cause of his failure, however, he unfailingly-
charged it on the wilfulness of the men, (or women,)
and then regarded himself in the light of a responsible
party, who was conscientiously held to the duty of pun-
ishment. He established it as a rule, therefore, that if
one of the men gave out before dinner, he should have
no dinner ; if before supper, (as was generally the case,)
no supper.

How many times the poor old, heart-broken creatures
went supperless to bed, let " the opening of the books"
declare, for Siddleton was too much exasperated by his
disappointment, to flinch. The paupers, however, among
themselves, had inaugurated a system which, despite
the police regulations of Mr. and Mrs. Siddleton, afford-
ed them partial relief. This was simply a system ot
begging. Dan was particularly successful in this sort
of foraging. Taking with him an old bag, he wandered
off some distance from home, often two, four and six
miles, varying his field of operations to avoid too great
frequency of application, and frequently returned with
a large quantity of provision, of every possible kind and
quality, which was freely passed around among the
company. But for this timely supply, Mr. Siddleton's
meagre looking folks had we fear, during this period,
paid larger installments than ever they had before on
the great debt of Nature.

The sun had hardly gone down, when Mrs. Siddleton
entered the sitting-room of her dependent household
with her scalding hot tea and smoking hot cream and
buttered toast. Let us show you some of them.

Here is the widow Prescott, nearly ninety years of

376 NEW England's chattels ; or,

age, not yet quite purified in iha furnace, and so her
trial-day lasts on. Here is Dan, trembling with the
breaking up of his strong constitution, and shrinking
and wasting like other feeble men ; and Bill is half bed-
rid and lame, his mind being stronger than his frame ;
and there sits Tucker on a chest, leaning on a stalDF, look-
ing out of ghastly eyes, and holding up an unshaven
face, ugly and hateful. Within that room where there
is an opened door, on his bed, groaning in his bodily
suffering, is Hicks, the old man, who is not long for
earth. There, in another room, are two women in one
bed : these are Mag Davis and Roxy. Roxy is failing ;
she has not been well for several weeks ; but this causes
her no particular feeling. She is more disturbed about
the non-fulfillment of that dream of Mag's, than any thing
else of mortal or immortal thought. She often asks,
"Will it not be fulfilled, Mag?" And Mag answers,
" Yes !" Mag Davis is tired and hungry, and expects no
supper on account of offending her mistress in the morn-
ing. Mag holds well to life. Aunt Wakeup sits rock-
ing herself to and fro in another room, smoking her pipe,
and talking vehemently and rapidly through her long,
thin skeleton lips to sister Peters — poor, forsaken, cough-
ing old invalid, one of these days to pass off!

Here also, in another quarter, in the vnug opening
beyond, are the paupers Rogers, aunt Jemima Hildreth,
Mrs. Upham, Sam. White, Susan Carpenter, and Harry
the deaf boy.

They wear a hungry, wan-looking, wretched aspect,
and seem nerveless, irresolute, and stupified. Their
garments hang flapping over their loose and lean anato-
my like the wet, dripping, and torn canvass of a vessel
around the bending yards and ropes. There is a cadav-
erous expression on their countenances, a ghastlv, furi-

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 377

ous, lean look, that makes one shrink away. Their
breathing makes the air of the room loathsome beyond
the freshening breezes of the outside to sweeten — a
smell of mouldy ink, of rusty rope, of dark, unventilated
closets, filled with old and musty shoes and soiled gar-
ments. It smells of wounds undressed and festered ; of
hair uncombed for long ; of scurvy-fever left unwashed
upon the surface, and a visitation oft of death-air in first
at this, and anon at that, window of the house. Their
movements are tottering, or carelessly bold and slatter-
ing. Their bearing towards you is timid or lawless, to-
wards each other stupid and aimless. Here they live,
sicken, starve, tremble, mourn and die. Crowded toge-
ther in rooms that Would poorly accommodate four per-
sons, are nearly twenty paupers ; and still — it might he
woi'se!*

It was here that the matron of this charnel house,
Mrs. Siddleton, betook herself with her unusual supply
of good things for an evening repast.

" Come," said she, " good people, I have brought you

* In the N. Y. Evangelist of July 16, 1857, we find the following. It shows us
a little how the victims of intemperance and poverty live in that city. — Auth.

" As an evidence of the moral and physical need of the ' Five Points,' the follow-
ing indicates it pretty fully :

" 'Recently, Mr. Pease found a dying woman in a foul apartment in Cowbay,
occupied also by eight other women and one man, all drunken and infamous in the
last extreme. In the upper end of the same pestilent court or close, were found, in
ffteen rooms, twenty-three families, making an aggregate of one hundred and
seventy-nine persons, or twelve to a room! In Jive of these fifteen rooms, intoxi-
cating liquors were kept for sale! Indescribable filth, privation, disease, and in-
decency reigned through them all ; yet seventeen children from these rooms attend
the schools of the House of Industry. In eleven other rooms were eighteen families,
and in nearly half of these rooms ardent spirits were sold. In one of the garrets
lived two negroes with eleven abandoned white women. In twelve other rooms were
found twenty-four families, consisting of one hundred and four persons. Here were
two blind women, two just past the peril of child-birth ; and seventy-one were chil-
dren, only eight of whom attended any school, and these attended a papist school.' "

378 N?w England's chattels ; oe,

a little nice and warm tea and toast ; will you like a cup
of good tea ?"

There was so much of the kindly tone of child or
mother in the words she uttered, that every soul of them
for the moment forgot what the kindness was that they
announced ; and they started from their various dull
and sinking attitudes into almost the forms of earnest,
living men and women. Only Roxy whispered to Mag
as the latter leaped into the middle of the floor, seizing
wildly her arm, and staring up into her eyes — " I'm
afraid of her ; she's crazy, or has poisoned it !"

" Pshaw 1 you simpleton," said Mag, " it's only natur."
And now they gathered in and about her, the old, the
lame, the maimed and the blind ; the bed-ridden and
feeble ones reached out their wasted arms, and stretch-
ed wide open their great, feverish eyes from out their
hollow caves, .searching for their portion, and rewarding
the giver with their tears. And when the savory toast
went round, and their mistress bade them eat of it to
their content, they invoked on her the blessing of the
poor, and of those that were ready to perish.

" We've nothing to pay you for this," said one.
■ " All can feel grateful," said another.

" It's a good soul that's done it," said Bill.

" Mercy on us ! said madam Wakeup. " This is like
old times with Eunice and I."

" The Lord gives us friends," said widow Prescott.

" Bless the Lord 1" exclaimed Hicks, on his bed. .

" It's mighty good, ain't it ?" said Roxy, recovered
from her alarm.

" I hope Mrs. Siddleton will forgive Mag for her sulki-
ness 1" said the humbled old crone, receiving a supper
of hot tea and toast with the rest.

" Never mind, Mag," said Mrs. Siddleton.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 379

After these things the paupers fared better during the
balance of Siddleton's year. Mrs. Siddleton got hold of
the other end of the Bible and became a very good
teacher and comforter. The poor souls needed it, alas !

Did Mr. Siddleton commit suicide in his room that
evening ? No, he did not.

Did Mr. Siddleton go~into apoplexy? No. Did he
get crazy ? No, he did not fall crazy. What in the
world did happen to him ? He burnt up the candle,
found himself exceedingly languid and almost faint over
his cogitations ; so he quickly undressed, rolled himself
up in the bed-clothes, and slept till morning.

380 NEW England's CHATTELS ; or,

CHAPTER XXXVI.

The European Tour. — Blind Henrietta, a Teacher of Good Things.

Alice Boyce was now eighteen years of age, and there
existed between her and James Sherman, who was nearly
through with his studies, an engagement of marriage !
It was during this year that, accompanied by Mr. and
Mrs. Rodman, Alice made a trip to England. They were
absent nearly six months, and were received and enter-
tained among the relatives of her father and mother with
the greatest respect, some of whom were distinguished
in position of refinement, intelligence and wealth. Her
appearance was so pleasing to an elderly sister of her
mother, Mrs. Gladstone, a widow, that she formed the
plan immediately of making her heir to her property at
her decease, and promised her a marriage portion of a
thousand pounds. In every delicate way possible they
endeavored to persuade her to remain with them, hold-
ing out inducements that even she felt it hard to with-
stand, and that would have been sufficient with many
bound by slighter ties of gratitude, to induce a hearty
compliance. But Alice had left America, fully aware of
the force of the trial that awaited her in respect to many
things of this nature, it being unnecessary that we should
say more than this, that between herself and Mr. and Mrs.
Hodman, a correspondence with friends in England, had
long been secured. She promised her friends that at some
future day, she would again visit them, and would never

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. j)81

cease to cherish a lively impression of their love, their
beautiful homes, and faces, their intelligence, piety and
personal attentions.

A personal young friend of the family of her uncle,
Hugh Boyce, Esq., M. P., Sir Charles Raven, a gentle-
man of much gravity, intelligence, wealth, paid her his
marked attentions, and even sought a private interview
through the medium of her uncle, to proffer to her his
hand and fortune. Alice kindly, but firmly opposed it,
and informed her uncle that her hand was already en-
gaged to another, who also held entire possession of her
heart, and begged him to decline the honor Sir Charles
proposed to confer upon her, with many sincere regrets
for the disappointment of his affections.

The party wandered into Scotland, Wales and Ireland.
They also visited Paris and Rome. They went to Gen-
eva, and made the beautiful tour of the Rhine. Return-
ing to England, after a month, passed rapidly and felicit-
ously, they embarked on one of the ocean steamers for
America, waving adieu to friends they had found so
generous and kind abroad, in the hope of rejoining those
they loved at home.

Between the absent party and James, a constant and
lively correspondence was maintained during the whole
period of the journey. It formed no small part of the
enjoyment of Alice's visit to write it in detailed para-
graphs to her friend, nor did she pass silently over the
matter in which Sir Charles sought to complicate her.
To James, this was a source of slight annoyance and
anxiety. He had no real fear of her integrity. But he
could comprehend sufficiently to awaken his solicitude,
that the force of the lemptaticn might be very great,
and if it did not prove sufficient to break off her engage-
ment, it might be an after reflection of disappointment,

382 NEW England's chattels ; or,

or of chagrin. Her letters, however, dispelled his
uneasiness, and he looked forward with a lover's impa-
tience to her return.

It must not be thought by the reader that in the
meantime our young friend Jims had forgotten his early
history, nor that with attention to present personal du-
ties, he is unmindful of the sufferers among whom were
passed the years of his boyhood.

Not a day passes that he forgets them in his prayers
— for James has learned to pray !

Not a dollar goes into his purse, without a portion
being laid by for the poor who have no money. All his
useless clothing he gives to them, and to the relief of
other poor in town in danger of the poor-house. Often
through his solicitation he procures for them the chari-
table donations of other persons ; and especially urges
those who are weak and almost despairing, yet out of
the poor-house, to make every possible exertion for their
own support, promising them aU the help in his power,
to keep aloof from " the tender mercies of the town, for
they are cruel."

It is a morning of summer. Blind Henrietta, who has
been the stay and staff of her father's helpless years, is
sick and languishing, and with difficulty her father can
procure for her what is wanted from the pantry and the
closet to make her comfortable. But he makes the en-
deavor— Henrietta is to him more than silver and gold.
She is his hands and feet, his bank, his provider and
daily nurse. By her industry he has a home of his own,
and is saved from the poor-house. This, to Captain
Bunce, is more than all other mercies. The poor-house
is, in his eyes, a terrible reality ; not a greater neces-
sity than a scourge of retaliation for one's own past sins
and cruelties.

LIFE IN THE NOETHEEN POOE-HOUSE. 383

Henrietta is a simple, confiding girl, a child of nature,
and she loves her father dearly, being quite unaware of
any great dereliction on his part from the great perfect
road of righteousness. To her, he has been ever a kind,
an affectionate parent, and in her heart's deepest cells,
she loves him, and loves nobody beside as much. She
never loved mother, brother or sister as she loved him.
And she pities him for his misfortunes, while she esteems
it a special permission of good Providence that she has
been spared to comfort him in them. She wonders
what God will do for him when she is taken away, if
taken away she is, before him. But as some way seems
to be provided for every body, she thinks " God will
not forget her papa." So she finds something to com-
fort her even on a sick bed.

" And how do you feel now, Hetty, since I made you
that cup of tea ?" said her father.

" It seems to me I am a good deal revived. Don't
you think I look brighter for it ?"

" Why, yes, I rather think it lias chirked you up,
Hetty. A cup of good hot tea often raises one consi-
derable."

" I believe it does, father ; I've often seen it do you
good."

*' Oh ! Lord, yes, my dear. I have had a great many
good cups of tea of your dressing."

" Well, father, you will find a small loaf of bread in the
jar down in the cellar, and a little piece of dried beef,
and a bit of butter, and a wee pot of jelly in the cup-
board. Now go right off and get them for your supper ;
now do, while the tea is hot, father, will you?"

" Now, Hetty, I am thinking I'd better not, for you'U
want them yourself. You've only eaten a small piece
of a cracker. I think the jelly and the beef would do
you a great deal of good."

384 NEW ENGLAND S CHATTELS ; OK,

" No, no, father, please go and eat them. I don't need
any thing else to-night, and shall sleep a very good
sleep."

" I am right glad to hear you say so, Hetty, but I
really think you haven't a very smart appetite ; and
you know a body must eat, or he can't get strength."

" I know that ; but my appetite and strength will
come both together by-and-bye, when the fever goes
away. I never can bear simply to make myself eat if I
don't want food."

" No, neither can I, Hetty ; and so to-night I will just
make the tea a little hotter, and make a supper on
crackers too."

" And a little beef, papa, do !"

" Well, yes — a little beef ; that will be good."

" Very, indeed !" said she.

And so they lived together, helping each other in
their infirmity. The Captain sat down by the little
table and drank his tea, while Hetty talked to him, and
fanned herself upon the bed.

" We are much better off, father, than the poor folks."

" Oh ! dear, yes. They are suffering, miserable peo-
ple."

" And, father, how do so many persons in the world
come to poverty ?"

" Oh, Lord ! child, I don't know — suppose it happens
so."

" So I suppose, too. And riches with some people
happen, too ?"

" Yes ; nobody knows who'll be rich or who'll be
poor."

" I suppose the rich people never know any thing
about suffering ?"

" They try not to, Hetty ?"

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 385

" And can't they get rid of it ?"

" No ; they are sometimes sicker than you or I ever
are."

" Why, father, they have the best of doctors and
medicines, you know !"

" Yes ; but don't you know they die, Hetty ?"

" I know that ; but, I was thinking they died easy.
They have rich, soft beds and pillows, and so many to
wait on them."

" It don't make a farthing's difference, child. They're
just as dependent as any body when they come to the
pinch."

" And that seems strange I Can't any of the doctors
help them ?"

" Sometimes the doctors help us, you know ; so they
sometimes help them. But they would have a poor
means of living if it were not for a great many sick rich
folks."

" So they would, indeed, father ! Why didn't I think
of that ! You always tell me something I hadn't thought
of before."

" You see, Hetty, I am around more than you are,
and notice things how they are done ; that's all the dif-
ference."

" Well, perhaps it is," said she. " I wonder if there's
many sick people now at the poor-house ? Do you
know, father ?"

" No, not exactly ; some are sick, I believe."

" Is old Avidow Prescott alive, father ?"

" Yes, she's living, and Tucker and Mag and Roxy ;
so is BiU and old Dan."

" Any more alive ?"

" No, not that used to live with us."

" All dead and gone ?"

17

380 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Yes."

" Well, wasn't it lucky that Jims got away and found
a good home ?"

** Yery good for Jims."

" Yes it was — I was so glad /"

The Captain's recollections thus stimulated, seemed
to him a little less pleasing on that point than her's, but
she noticed it not, and the father said, " Jims has proved
a smart boy."

" He will be a great man, won't he ?"

" I think it likely ; but we can't tell, you know."

"I really think he will though, and a very good
man."

" Well, Hetty, you must not talk too much. It will
tire you. Can't you get a little sleep now ?"

" I do not feel wearied a bit ; but if you think best, I
will try to sleep."

" It will do you good."

" There is one thing, father i"

" What, my child ?"

" How I should love to see old aunt Prescott."

" Why so ?"

" Because she's so good."

"Good!"

" Yes, she talks so good."

" Oh, yes. She's a saint, undoubtedly."

" She loves the Bible and knows it all by heart. How
I wish I could hear her talk about it. I have never for-
gotten what she used to tell me."

" What did she say ?"

" She said the Bible was meant for the poor and
needy and sick and blind. ' Come unto me all ye that
labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest
' That,' said she, ' is the spirit of the Gospel.' "

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 387

" I suppose/' said Captain Bimce, regarding his poor
child with affection, and contrition, and pity, " I sup-
pose, my daughter, she was right. We must all go to
Him for rest."

" Must we — ^must every body ? Is it He that gives
rest of soul to such as go to him ?"

" Yes, I suppose so. That's what the Christians
say."

" Well, father, then let us go to Him — will you go
with me ? Go to Him that gives the weary rest ?"

Captain Bunce never had such an appeal before —
never one that so shook him from head to foot, and con-
vulsed his chest, and choked his utterance.

" Let us both go to Him, father, and we shall obtain
the promise — one as well as the other."

Still the Captain said nothing in reply, only he shook
and sobbed till the poor girl heard his heavy breathings
and begged him to come near her. Then she threw her
arms around his neck, and said, " though our sins be as
scarlet, they shall be as wool, though they be red like
crimson, they shall be white like snow."

Her father bowed his head on the pillow and wept,
and she also shed with him a flood of tears, as she mur-
mured a prayer, beginning — " Our Father who art in
Heaven."

" We have, dear father, a Saviour — an ' all-suflScient
Saviour' aunt Prescott called him ; and it is he that bids
us come to him. He it was who healed the sick — who
opened the 'eyes of the blind — who raised Lazarus from
the dead — who, when he was himself crucified and
buried, rose again to life and went up to Heaven. He
is the Judge of the world, and the Redeemer of men. I
begin to love him for his love, to triumph in his glory,
and to confide in his promise. Oh ! father, let us follow

388 NEW England's chattels ; or,

him to prison and to death, through evil report and
good, till we die."

"It seems to me, my daughter, that I will," said the
liumbled father.

" Oh, what a blessed thing to us, then, is that pro-
mise, ' I will give jou rest !' " said the weeping invalid.

" May be it means spiritual rest," said her father.

" May be it does. How comforting to feel, then, our
sins forgiven for his sake, aiid all our iniquities purged
away !"

" That, oh ! that," said her father, " is what I need ;
for I have sinned greatly, and have lightly esteemed the
rock of my salvation."

The poor girl wept ; the father bowed down and
prayed.

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 389

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Christian Benevolence. — Dan.

Between Mr. and Mrs. Haddock and James, there
still continued a friendship of the strongest nature.
The latter remembered them in connection with every
incident of his boyhood that had any bearing on his
after-life of freedom and happiness. Had it not been
for them, he confessed he might still be a gaping, half-
idiotic fool, in rags and deep poverty, the chattel of the
town. He frequently called at their house — running in
at breakfast, dinner, or tea, as it best suited him, or
passing the evening and" night. They called him one
of their children.

In concert with each other, they often formed some
plan of visiting the poor at their rendezvous, the poor-
house, or of carrying relief to such of the inhabitants of
the town as they knew were pressed with hard fortune.

About the time the events alluded to in the last chap-
ter occurred, Mrs. Haddock asked James when he would
accompany her on a visit to Henrietta and her father.

" I have some little things that I wish to give Hetty,"
said she.

" Day after to-morrow I will go," said he.

" Is it some time since you were there ?" she asked.

" I have been there within five or six weeks," he
answered.

" I visited them three weeks ago with Mr. Haddock,"

390 NEW England's chattels; or,

said she, " and Henrietta was not very well at that
time. Although I presume it was only the result of
fatigue and over-exertion to support her father, yet I
am quite anxious to see her again."

" Go by all means," said her husband.

** Let us take Ellen with us," said James.

" Ellen is going to pass the week at her sister Frances'."

" Too bad, Ellen !" said James.

" Yes, I should think so, if I didn't hope for some
other opportunity," said she.

" I would not deprive Fanny of your visit on any ac-
count. And you look for me at tea some evening, too,
will you ?"

" Oh, yes — with pleasure."

" Well, then, I will not fail to be there. And, by the
way, tell Mr. Maitland and Fanny that we expect our
tourists home the first of September."

" Ah I is it possible ?" said all. " Then you have just
heard?"

" Yes, this morning," said he. " They have returned
to London, and will not fail to leave for home about the
middle of August."

This was very pleasing news to the company. Mr.
and Mrs. Rodman were very happy in their parochial
relations, having secured the regard of the greater por-
tion of the people, old and young. Their absence was a
source of regret to the parish, but not of discontent.
On the contrary, they had encouraged them in taking
the excursion, and readily contributed in part to its
expense, in the meantime paying a young unmarried
minister a hundred dollars a month to supply the pulpit.

True to his appointment, James appeared at Mr. Had-
dock's to accompany Mrs. Haddock to the cottage of
Captain Bunce. They arrived there about eleven in

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 391

the forenoon. It was a very ordinary looking dwelling,
very small, very common ; but the hand of neatness had
evidently been there ; and all round the building there
were marks of taste that reconciled one to the lowly
looks of the cottage itself.

Our friends were surprised to find Henrietta so ill.

" Why did you not send up word to me ?" said Mrs.
Haddock, reproachfully, though tenderly.

" I had no opportunity," said she ; " and I did not feel
as much unwell as now until Monday last. Since then
I have looked for you, and have greatly desired to see
you."

" I am very glad that I came. Now I shall stay with
you all day, and James can return with the horse when
he feels obliged to. Mr. Haddock will come for me at
evening."

" I am in no haste," said he, " and I should like to talk
with the Captain awhile when he comes in."

"Father will be home directly, I think," said Hen-
rietta. " He has gone into the woods for winter green
leaves and spruce to make himself a little beer. I think
he can't have gone far."

" I will wait awhile," said James, " and if he should
not return will go for him. And how is your father,
Henrietta?"

" He is pretty well, I think, and very attentive to me
now."

" I am very happy to hear that," said Mrs. Haddock.

" It is very good in him certainly," said James. " You
have been always a help to him, and he must feel your
sickness very sensibly."

" Just see here, Henrietta, what a huge bouquet of
roses we have brought you ! James and Sarah made it
before we left home."

392 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" "Why ! it is perfectly delicious and reviving," said
Hetty. " Thank you, sir, and thank Sarah for me — the
dear girl, I wish she had come with you."

" Oh ! Sarah is my main ' arm' at home. I could hard-
ly keep house but for her. She will manage in my ab-
sence very well, and see that her father's dinner is ready
for him in season."

" Yes, Sarah is a sterling girl," said James, " and a
great favorite of her father and mother."

" She is the youngest, Mr. James," said Mrs. Haddock.

" Well, there is something in that I grant," said he.

" She must come and see me as often as she can ; may
she, Mrs. Haddock ? You know I can't go about a
great deal, and am a * home body ' on my own and on
father's account."

" She certainly may come often. Here is one of her
custard pies for you, made by herself. And here are a
few biscuit, and some bread, and a little jar of quince
jelly for you, and so on. And her father has sent you
some meat in the basket. So you need not feel any un-
easiness about food for the present. The girls have
sent you down several little articles of dress, Henrietta,
which we will look at by and bye.

" They are kind — ^you are all so kind," said she. " 1
can hardly bear it, especially as I can do nothing to re-
pay you."

" Ohl Hetty, never mind about that, do not speak so.
We have done nothing that was not our duty to do.
We should be poorly paid if we looked for some return,
for freely we have received, and freely we must give."

" Were it not for you, we may have been obliged be-
fore this wholly to go upon the town," said she, " and
that we both shrink from. But now we do not fear it
as much as we once did."

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 393

" Oh, I hope and trust there will be no necessity for
taking that step," said Mrs. Haddock, " and if you do
not think there will be, why of course it is not very
likely to happen."

" I did not mean to be understood precisely so,
ma'am," said the deeply sensitive and affected Hetty.
" We are but a little way from pauperism, although
through your kindness, and my own work, and what the
town has given us here, we have had sufficient means
for our support. But where there is poor health, such
as both father and I have, and nothing laid up ' against
a wet day,' the danger is very great of coming to want.
I, however, meant to say, that father looks at tilings vjitJi
a different eye, Mrs. Haddock, and he seems so resigned —
that's what I referred to."

" Dear child ! dear Hetty ! Bless you, my dear friend,
how you have awakened my surprise and gratitude.
How is it — pray tell me ?"

" Sure enough," said James, " we rejoice at the good
news."

" It is nothing that ought not to be the case always,"
said Hetty. " Have we not received of the Lord, and
shall we not repay him with our love ! So I had the
other evening a long good talk with father about aunt
Prescott, and her love of the Bible, and how I wished
she would come here and talk with me ; and we both of
us got deeper and deeper and deeper into the subject,
till we both said we would go to Him who in the New
Testament invites the weary and heavy laden to come
to Him for rest. And if you will believe it, fither was
so much overcome, that he sobbed aloud, and kneeled
down and prayed ! And so it has been ever since. He
prays a humble, penitent prayer, and says the Lord may
do with him as seemeth to Him best."

17*

394 NEW England's chattels ; ob,

Mrs. Haddock covered her eyes with her handkerchief,
and for a moment she could not utter a word. But she
pressed the hand of Hetty in her's, and silently lifted
her heart in thankfulness to God.

" Well, I declare," said James, " your narrative has
interested me exceedingly. I rejoice with you, and I
trust you will both find friends enough to keep you
henceforth from all fear of the poor-house. I think if
they don't, the Lord will."

" Yes, yes," said Mrs. Haddock, " never doubt that. I
am glad that you have been able to tell me this. No-
thing, not even thousands of silver and gold, could do
you so much good as that peace of mind which is of
God, and that leads one to confide in him, and to rejoice
in his government over us."

" I am ignorant, very ignorant, so is father, of the
Bible. But we now mean to read and study it more
every day."

" That is right — that is the true way to enlighten the
mind, for the Word of God is a light unto our path and
a lamp unto our feet, and it is able through faith to
make us wise unto eternal life. We are, moreover, in-
structed to search the Scriptures, and to believe in them
as the record God has given us of his Son, Jesus Christ.
They unfold a most sublime and most beautiful system
of mercy, justice and benevolence in the government of
God, and are indeed to one as a well of water springing
up into eternal life. The Bible, Hetty, will be a great
source of enjoyment to you now, and I do feel most hap-
py that you have come to find its value, both you and
your father,"

" Yes, it is a joyful piece of intelligence," said James.
" I must see your father — I wonder he is out so long."

" He will come soon, I think," said Hetty.

LIFE IN :he northern poor-house. 395

" I will go out and find him ; you know I love to roam
in these woods. Hereabout I used to fish in those cold
winter days for Boyce, and roam for nuts in the sum-
mer. Oh, Hetty ! do you remember those times — was
it not a singular sort of life ! Don't it look like pure fic-
tion—eh?"

" A sorry sort of one," said she.

" Yes, indeed — ' a sorry sort of one,' " said Mrs. Had-
dock.

" Oh, to be sure," said he. " But a real one. I de-
clare to you it rises to my view every day of my life, as
the strangest and yet most interesting and eventful
thing that could ever have happened to me — and, in-
deed, as a most strange and singular life to us all,
abounding in circumstances of melancholy interest from
first to last, but not wanting points of positive enjoy-
ment. It was a wild, painful life, motionless, wretched.
We shall have better things, Hetty," said he, " bet-
ter things at the poor-house soon !"

" Indeed !"

" Yes, we shall see the old manner of supporting the
poor abandoned ; and they will occupy a large house
and live on a fine farm, and work at good trades in
shops, and be again men and women. I shouldn't object
to living among them myself if it should be found
necessary."

" Are you sure it will be so ?" inquired the poor girl,
almost with an earnestness of wildness.

" We think there is little doubt of it," said both Mrs.
Haddock and James

" Then," said she, " father can be comfortable if he
should be left alone and friendless !"

" Don't grieve for your father, Hetty, we will see
that he is taken good care of. He will not want for
friends."

396 NEW ENGLAND S CHATTELS ; OR,

" Well, then, if that is so, Mag Davis' dream will come
to pass, won't it ? How strange !" said Hetty. And so,
as they asked her about it, she had to tell them of Mag's
i(iream. James said Mag had told it to him years ago,
and predicted its fulfillment partly on his own good for-
tune.

" They might have been something, those paupers —
they were not all demented nor demoralized," said James
— " if their poverty had been made respectable. Tliere
was and is the error. It was put down so low, that it
effectually crushed them. If they had any desire to rise,
they could not ; and they were shut out of the pale of
Christian benevolence by a selfishness that denied them
any true commiseration. They were neither respected
nor pitied. Indeed, as paupers, they occupied little at-
tention any way. Little was expected of them. They
were viewed as past their usefulness, and a burden. So
the paupers were an incumbrance in life, and in death
were hardly worth the cost of the undertaker's bill. A
bill introduced into one of our Legislatures to give the
bodies of paupers to surgeons, was probably to get rid
of the expense of burying them.* Oh ! there is no
boundary to human selfishness. Give it fair play, and
it Avould strip the earth of every thing green, and the
sky of every tiling bright. It has instituted this system
of supporting poor folks. There is no Christian benevo-
lence in it. The object is to save a greater expense by
preparing for this. Paupers left to roam at large would
demoralize the country, and be a heavy tax on indivi-
duals. So they are put into one common charge, as the
town's worn-out property, like old wagons with rattling
spokes and broken arms ; carts with broken tire and
axle ; stoves rusted through, and valueless pails with

* New York Sun, Jan. 8, 1857 See page

LIFE lil THE NOETHEEN POOE-HOUSE. 307

broken handles, dresses too often patched to be longer
worth the thread to mend them, brooms worn short up,
an old horse without teeth to grind his food "

" Why, James !" said Hetty.

" Quite a picture !" said Mrs. Haddock.

" I know it," said he, " but it's the truth. Do not the
poor-house laws disfranchise men, sell them at auction,
refuse them a vote, forbid them to serve on a jury, (but
not to be judged^ take away their children, refuse to
sanction a freedom of marriage, or always to legalize it ;
and as we have seen, would not many be found willing
to give their ' dead bodies to the surgeons V (You
may condemn the system of slavery, but remember your
own glass house.) And to complete the picture, sell
them on the block, in public town-meeting, to the low-
est bidder ! Here is our Christian institution. I have
a right to speak of it, and to denounce it. I have seen
and felt it. I have on my body now its seal. This is
Northern Christianity and humanity ! This is the com-
passion of enlightened free citizens But I will not go

on. I will leave you and go after Captain Bunco."

So saying, James strolled out into a dense grove on
the border of the old pond where he had formerly spent
a good many da^^s in fishing. Following a path that led
through it to a large open field beyond, he was about to
cross a ravine through which a small stream was pass-
ing, when the sound of voices arrested him ; and look-
ing attentively through the hemlock boughs that hung
thickly around, he saw two men seated on a log at the
edge of the stream, quite earnestly engaged in talking.
One of these was the Captain — the other, after a little
scrutiny, he discovered to be none other than Dan Barnes.

Knowing very well the wandering, gipsy manner of
liie the paupers led, and Dan in particular, he waa not

?98 NEW England's chattels ; or,

surprised to see him. Hesitating whether to retire or
to advance, he heard enough to satisfy him that their
conversation was on the subject of religion. Curious to
know what these two men would say on a theme they
had not usually been accustomed to regard with much
solemnity of feeling, he continued in the concealment of
the boughs for some minutes. The men had evidently
been sitting there and talking for a good while. The
Captain had gathered a bundle of spruce boughs for his
beer, and they lay beside him. In like manner, Dan
had replenished his foraging bag, and it lay near on the
ground. He was evidently listening attentively to the
conversation of the other, w^ith his head bent forward
and his eyes on the ground. The other was sitting
facing him ; and as he talked, he frequently elevated
his hand and reached it out, and pointed with his finger
as men do when engaged in conversation — especially
when in argument one w^ould convince or persuade
another.

Without being near enough to hear connected sen-
tences, James was satisfied that the Captain was endea-
voring to impress on the mind of his listener the great
riches of salvation, and to induce him, a poor, lost and
guilty being, to make them his.

James would not interrupt the scene. He was about
to withdraw, when he was overwhelmed with the sight
of those men, w^hom he had known as hardened in sin,
violent in temper, and personally hateful to each other,
kneeling down together as if in the attitude of prayer 1

Silently withdrawing to the edge of the wood, he there
waited ten or fifteen minutes till Captain Bunce came up
with his bundle of twigs, when the two passed on to the
cottage, James remarking an unusual expression of seri-
ousness and truth resting on the countenance of his old
master.

LIFE IN THE NOETHEEN POOE-HOUSE. 399

It indeed seemed almost too good to be true, that one
Vv^liose course of life had been so misdirected and violent
as that of Captain Bunce, should be led in his advancing
years to honor, by his faith and repentance, the cross of
Christ. But is it not of the lost and guilty among men
the followers of the Lamb are to be chosen ? Was he
too guilty to repent and too old in sin to show his faith ?
Might we not expect of his class larger numbers would
be gathered into the fold, and be found the most labo-
rious and serviceable of disciples ? Yea, verily, for says
the Son of God, " Go ye rather to the lost sheep of the
house of Israel. * * * I came not to call the righteou.s
but sinners to repentance."

400 NEW England's chattels j or,

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Mi-R E. Flush argues for the Sacred Scriptures rs. the righteous poor. It is well to
let the Scriptures interpret themselves on some questions ; when we interpret
them, it is very often to favor our cause. But if you are in want of a good,
sagacious interpreter of Holy Writ, send for Emeline Flush.

Among the inmates of the poor-house, we have spoken
of Joshua Hicks, an aged, bed-ridden pauper. His life
had been one of great vicissitude and some suffering.
He "was a native of Crampton, and of a highly educated
and respectable family. When a boy he was regarded
as the best mathematician in the schools of the town.
At twenty-one he was formally voted as the town surveyor.
Nearly all the early surveys of land in that town had
been made or re-examined by him during a period of
forty years. His disposition inclining him to see foreign
parts, he had several times made voyages to sea, as cir-
cumstances favored it, and had twice been round the
world. He had made large collections of shells and
minerals and plants, from the different places and parts
of the world visited, the Pacific Islands, the Mediter-
ranean, its Asiatic and African coasts, Capes Horn and
Good Hope, India and Japan, the Coasts of Norway,
Sweden and Denmark, the distant waters of the Black
Sea. Thrice he was shipwrecked. The jolague seized
him in the East, and he nearly lost his life. He was
never long at a time, over three or five years, it is cer-
tain, absent from home. He was never married, but
when he was thirty years of age, a young lady died to

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 401

whom he was engaged, and caused him his first and
deepest earthly sorrow. Within the next ten years, his
father and mother died, and his only brother. Engaging
in mercantile pursuits, he was burnt out and lost his
property. When sixty years of age he removed to an-
other State and continued there four years, but returned
to Crampton, where he followed the business of survey-
ing till he was seventy-five, and was fined during that
period sixty-seven dollars for bringing into the town a
pauper.* Soon after he was seventy-five years of age,
he became very ill and lost the use of one of his limbs.
His general strength also failed him, and having no re-
lations within the proper legal boundaries to afi:brd him
aid, he was partially supported by the town till his
eighty -fifth year.f After this he became a pauper in re.
Slowly but surely the surveying and voyaging of Joshua
Hicks brought him round to the narrow limits of life at
the poor-house.

Sam White, the poor shoemaker — yes, what of him ?
He was not a native of Crampton, but acquired a set-
tlement there — so it was finally decided, a suit at law
having arisen on the question whether he belonged to
Crampton or to Oakville, his native town, or to Hare-
town, where he had also lived.

It was proved, however, that he lost his residence in
Oakville, never truly had one in Haretown, and just
gained it by only one week in Crampton. But for this,
he would have become a State pauper.:]:

In Haretown he resided a part of ten years. But he
also resided in three other towns a portion of the same
ten years, never long enough to acquire a title to the
support of either town. Once, it is true, he owned a

* See Conn. Statutes, f Father, mother, grandfather or grandmother, brother or
Bister, children or grandchildren. % One who has no legal settlement in the State.
— Conn. Law.

402 NEW England's chattels ; or,

piece ot real estate in Haretown, paid taxes on it and
voted. But the amount was not enough to answer the
law, as it was proved on trial.*

In Crampton, he resided a year and then left the
town and also the State. He returned to it again in six
months and remained, industriously prosecuting his
trade for about two years, when he again removed. He
was unknown at Crampton then for thirteen months,
when one day, about the first of January, he appeared
again in that village and put himself to hard industry
at his shoe bench. Five years he thus supported him-
self, w^hen he was seized with a fever and laid by from
his bench f©r his maintenance during the rest of his
life. On his recovery he performed slight service here
and there for such persons as needed help, and begged
some portion of his scanty subsistence. This he did
for (as it was proved) the period of fifty-three weeks,
when he left Crampton and went back to Haretown and
Oakville, where he resided in all seven years, dividing
his time between them. Happily (shall we say it?) for
White he held over in Crampton that one week. It
made sure his continuous residence in the State six
years without, during any portion of that time, receiv-
ing aid from the town authorities, and so he acquired a
legal settlement there.f

He was warned out of Haretown and Oakville during
the periods of his last sojourn there in beggary, it being
evident that he would sooner or later become some-
body's pauper ! The authorities of the towns were as
much afraid of him as of a wild beast that is hunted

* See Conn., Vt., Mass. Laws, Chitty on Evidence, etc.
f Six years residence in a town, if one has no real estate, and has had no help in
that time from the town, constitutes a claim to a legal settlement. Where there is
actual ownership of real estate to the value of three hundred and Cfty dollars, and
taxes are paid on it, a legal settlement is secured.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERISr POOR-HOUSE. 403

from place to place, and a price set on his head.* Un-
fortunately for Crampton, it was proved that he had
resided as a good and faithful citizen, a voter, and payer
of a poll tax in that town the full period (though little
more !) of six years, and Crampton had to meet his sup-
port. He was now sixty years of age, and Siddleton
made him hammer and stitch at his shoe-bench on the
shoes of the paupers.

Miss Peters, otherwise called Sister Peters, a tooth-
less, feeble, wasted old specimen of single-blessedness,
had been one of the gay beauties of a town where there
was a large and very celebrated university. She enjoy-
ed the highest facilities of fashionable life in the place,
and went through several rounds of admirers in many a
distinct and passing class of university students. But
at length she lost her youth and beauty. Her coquetry
and sentiment grew stale. The students paid attention
to younger girls, and Miss Peters and her falling locks
went by the board. Out of ten chances for matrimony,
on which she reckoned as certain any time she wanted
them, no one ever ripened. The pear looked beautiful
for a time and then it blasted. In the waning of her
triumphs. Miss Peters removed with her father to Cramp-
ton, and at seventy-five years of age, after having been
very serviceable there for years as a member of the
Ladies' Sewing Society, and a pattern of virtue and in-
dustry, she found herself too feeble to maintain herself,
and with no friends able to support her. She came on
to the hands of the authorities a feeble old woman, poor

* According to Conn. Statutes, a poor man liable to come to a legal settlement in
his poverty in tlie State may be warned out of town.

Pauperism and Prosperitt. — The late John Avery Parker, a successful mer-
chant of New Bedford, was at one time " warned" to leave Westport, Mass., under
the old law or custom of warning strangers who were likely to become a public
charge. He died worth $1,300,000— Ind. March 25, 18S3.

404 NEW England's chattels ; oe,

in purse, poor in health, poor in intellect, poor in
every thing but poverty, and in that affluent !

Yet Miss Emeline Flush did not see how important it
was in these respects that she should use all her art to
secure the hand and heart of Lawyer John Tools. She
played a long, systematic game of coquetry with that
gentleman, and only surrendered under other and en-
tirely different circumstances from those that Miss Pe-
ters permitted to rule her. She idolized Mr. Tools, and
Mr. Tools was half crazy for her. But Miss Flush didn't
tell Mr. Tools how much she adored him ; nor did Mr.
Tools get a convenient occasion to whisper to her his
ruling passion for a good long day of trial. But Mr.
Tools' attentions were very marked, and they were read
by Miss Flush, and by Miss Shauney, and by Mrs. Cor-
nelia Williams, a widow of thirty. Xhey were very evi-
dent attentions, and Miss Flush knew it.

But at length Miss Flush and Mr. Tools were com-
pelled to make a declaration. Mr. Tools' was, that he
had for several years admired her character, and that
she possessed just the points of feminine loveliness that
pleased him ; and he had no objection to a common lot
with her, if agreeable. Miss Flush's was, that she had
not thought much about it ; she had been otherwise
pre-occupied in her thoughts ; she had a good home
with her sister, and very little to care for in this world ;
but she would confess that Lawyer Tools' attentions to
her had not passed without her notice or reflection.
She supposed it might be right for her to take the sub-
ject into consideration, and she would do so. Mr. Tools
thanked her, and begged the liberty to kiss her hand,
which she neither gave nor declined \ so Mr. Tools took
it gracefully to his lips.

Theirs was a long courtship ; and it might have been

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 405

longer, but that Miss Shauney began to die of love for
Lawyer Tools, considering herself the object of a rea-
sonable share of his attentions to warrant that course of
action. Now Miss Flush could not endure this in Miss
Shauney, and she made up her mind that Miss Shauney
should for once in her life be disappointed. So when
Lawyer Tools came round again, as he did every day,
she gave him a most cordial welcome, and put so much
personal regard into her manners, that if Mr. Tools had
ever for a moment wavered in his attachment and devo-
tion, there was an end to it now and forever. According-
ly, when she gave him permission to kiss her hand again,
(this was now the second permission of this sort,) as he
stooped down to do it, she dexterously so interposed
her cheek that Mr. Tools (who was altogether taken by
surprise) could not help substituting it for her hand, to
the heightening of her color and his own. Indeed, they
Avere both compelled to sit down on the sofa side by
side ; and Mr. Tools declared he was almost perfectly
happy, and Miss Flush rewarded him with a long side
glance, that spoke more than any words could.

From this time Miss E. Flush consented to regard her-
self as actually under an engagement of marriage to
Lawyer John Tools ; and such was the understanding
some time ago, and such is it even now — the parties not
yet feeling at liberty to consummate the act of matri-
mony, on account of the high rates of living and the
dangers of a poor-house !

Miss Flush is also the same earnestly-engaged member
and president of the Ladies' Sewing Society, and advo-
cates doing more than ever to fill out missionary boxes,
and to earn money by fairs, lottery sales, fortune-telling,
and so forth, to repair churches, and to build up reli-
gion ! This is Miss Flush's great, clear idea of Christian

406 NEW England's chattels ; or,

progress. She is opposed to almost all other kinds of
benevolence — not perhaps from principle, but because
it introduces confusion. She can't see things as clearly.
The idea of a town farm-house and all its appendages to
elevate the poor, and to relieve the sick and feeble ones,
she does not consider as lying within the direct sphere
of her woman's influence or efibrt. She thinks it a mat-
ter that should be left to the action of the town authori-
ties ; but she tells James Sherman that her " mind is
open to conviction."

" Then go with me and one or two of our ladies to the
poor-house. Go to Mr. Siddleton's and see the poor
creatures there for yourself."

" I don't know but I may," said she. " I should like
to see if they really come within the sphere of our ladies'
benevolence. Should it prove so — should I perceive
that they are really a forsaken and deserving class, most
assuredly I should labor for their elevation and comfort."

" You cannot fail to make this discovery, especially if
degradation and misery, squalid poverty and misfortune
have any claim to your regard and patronage. They are
a conglomerate of good, bad, and indifferent characters,
yet every one of them has a sensitive nature, a human
intellect, more or less sound, and an immortal soul."

" Are they not vicious and ill mannered ?" '

" They are not particularly offensive in these respects
to strangers. They frequently utter oaths in their con-
versations, and drop remarks on the spur of occasions
you may not relish ; but generally they speak a very
earnest and sincere language. And you should remem-
ber that they are far the greater part native citizens of
Cramp ton."

" Born here !"

" ' Born here 1' Of course they were, and they have

LIFE IN THE NORTHEEN POOR-HOUSE. 407

been in some instances persons of influence, refinement
and piety."

" I should doubt their ' piety ' I think, Mr. Sherman."

" On what account — why may they not have piety ?"

" Simply on Bible grounds I should place it. Do we

not read in the Psalms,* ' I have been young and now I

am old ; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor

his seed begging bread ?' "

" And do you quote this as showing that true Chris-
tians may never become so poor as to want for bread ?"
" I do ; I think the language is absolute."
" It may be as to David's experience."
" And that was a long life, Mr. Sherman."
" True, it was ; yet he himself once begged bread of
Ahimelech the priest, you remember."

" Yes, he did ; but was not that a peculiar exception?"

" The same that every rare case presents — nothing

further. He was then seeking to escape the search of

Saul. Exceptions to absolute and general statements

of Scripture even, frequently arise."

" Do you find them in this case of which the Psalmist
so confidently speaks ?"

" To be sure. Has not the Saviour taught us this ?"
" In what manner, pray ?"

" Oh ! well : in the case of persecution for righteous-
ness' sake. * Ye shall be hated of all men for my sake,
persecuted and driven from city to city, subsisting with
the utmost difficulty in hunger, cold and nakedness. He
that killeth you will think that he doeth God service.'
Does not this imply poverty and great want ?"
" What further instances of this nature ?"
" These might be deemed sufficient to prove excep-
tions ; they are, however, numerous — they almost indeed

* Ps. S7 : 25.

408 NEW England's chattels ; or,

make of themselves a rule ; as for example, ' He that
giveth a cup of water to a disciple in the name of a dis-
ciple, shall not lose his reward.' The Saviour represents
a case of desii^ or want in the one case, and of ability
in the other. No proof here of absolute poverty or beg-
gary, it is true, but it illustrates such a condition. We
have the case given of Lazarus, covered with sores, beg-
ging crumbs from the table of Dives. We are shown
the proceedings of the last judgment — ' I was an hun-
gered and ye gave me meat,' says the Judge, ' athirst
and ye gave me drink ; naked and ye clothed me ; sick
and in prison and ye came unto me, i. e., inasmuch as yo
have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren,
ye have done it unto me.'"

" These are all striking instances of Gospel grace to
poor and undeserving sinners." said Miss Flush ; " but
I hardly think they can be taken to disprove the posi-
tive statement of so wonderful a saint as David. I
might admit them as exceptions — still, I should hardly
be willing to say that modern paupers were exceptions
to this great Bible standard, so far, at least, as my own
observation has gone."

" You must certainly go and visit them. Miss Flush —
go and see the old widow Prescott. She is a very ex-
cellent old lady, and I think her a pious soul. But I
wish to say further about this matter of argument on
the words of David, that his language does not so much
regard a state oi actual need of help — such, for instance,
as our paupers are in — as that of vagrant beggary from
door to door, although even that I hold might actually
be witnessed, and not vitiate the words of the Psalmist.
But there is a wide difference between a necessity of
help and actual strolling beggary."

" Do not the paupers stroll about begging?"

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 409

" Some of them do : it is no admission against the ar-
gument I advance if so ; but I do not believe it is cus-
tomary for the professedly pious even of the, paupers to
stroll about the country begging for food."

" Well, Mr. Sherman, can we really put confidence in
the professed piety of one v^^ho is actually in want of
assistance to keep him from starving or beggary, in the
face of such a sweeping standard, so plain and unambi-
guous as that I have called to your notice ? Would it
not almost lead to skepticism and infidelity to do away
with the force of those words ?"

" I must be allowed to say. Miss Flush, that your ad-
herence to your own theological ideas, and your par-
tiality for the truisms of the Bible, are deserving of
great applause, viewing you merely in the light of a
polemist. But I cannot avoid saying that you seem to
move in a rather circumscribed orbit, which indeed
hardly ever brings you where the light of the Gospel
and the very words of Christ fall on you. But this is
perhaps rather a consequence of your impregnable po-
sition, than an evidence of weakness."

" I adhere to it, Mr. Sherman, simply because it is
represented as so absolute, universal, and necessary
truth. I can not see a reason why it should be found
longer among the sacred writings, if such arguments as
have been advanced by you could for an instant weak-
en it."

" Your argument, Miss Flush, is, I think, one that
proves too much, and in that light should be abandoned.
Now philologists, as you know, suggest different read-
ings of the passage itself; as, for example, 'I have not
seen the righteous forsaken (even when most reduced,
though) his seed were begging bread.' Whether this be

admissible or not "

18

410 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Not by me 1" said Miss Flush.

" Well, let it go. But whether admissible or not, you
imply that a pauper or a beggar is synonymous with
one ' forsaken' of God. This, I think, is a weak point in
your argument ; for Job himself demonstrated, and in
his own case exemplified, the contrary. Job was in the
deepest affliction and poverty. His friends regarded this
as you do our poor and afflicted Christian paupers, pre-
cisely— as evidence that God considered him as a hypo-
crite, and had forsaken him. They overlooked his present
state as one of trial and discipline, and the future as a
state of retribution.* They said to him, ' God will not
cast away a perfect man.' (Job. 8 : 20.) ' Whoever
perished,' inquired Eliphaz, (Job 4:7,)' being innocent,
or where were the righteous cut off V But Job to this
might have said, ' Was not righteous Abel cut off, being
innocent ?' — and godly ' Lot driven from Sodom to a
mountain cave ?'t He did say, ' Naked came I out of my
mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither. The
Lord gave, and the Lord haih taken OAvay ; blessed he the
name of the Lord J And he also said, ' What J shall we
receive good at the hand of God, and shall tve not receive
evil ?'X Is not this a state of trial ? Do not the right-
eous suffer here ? Must they expect only good things ?
Thus Job answers and reasons, ever afiirming that the
tabernacle of robbers prospered here ; that the wicked
spend here their days in wealth, and in a moment go
down to the grave, as the Psalmist himself says of them,
* Thou sittest them in slippery places, and their feet
shall slide in due time.' David himself, like Job, saw
the godly often in affliction, while the wicked spread
themselves in wealth and power like the green bay tree.
But what was Job's latter end and experience ? He,

* Hemij in Cornp. Com., Job. t Scott, Job 8 : 20-22. t Job. 2.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 411

the most afflicted and miserable of mortals, yet main-
tained through the trial his integrity, his purity, his
honest trust in God ; and we read that the Lord blessed
the latter end of Job more than his beginning."

" There are two objections," said Miss Flush, " to your
argument from Job. The first is, that he is represented
as a man of great integrity, and without any perceptible
fault of his own, was given over into the power of Satan
to prove how much his piety could resist his assaults —
(our paupers, Mr. Sherman, have most of them, by lives
of intemperance and extravagance, ruined themselves !)
The second is, that the whole history of Job may be
fabulous, and so unworthy of credence."

" Then some of the most precious truths and princi-
ples of religious faith must perish."

" Oh ! I do not say it is so — but it may be, you
know?"

" I ' know' no such thing, but build my faith on it as
confidently as on the Psalms of David."

" Well, I do not see that it is necessary to depend on
the second objection, as the other is so unanswerable."

" I do not think it at all ' unanswerable.' Satan can
do an injury to no good man without Divine permission.
Job's case is illustrative of many whose trials and
scourges have been brought on them for the glory of
God and for the direct good of their souls. It is a
marked, a special, a most extraordinary case, but by no
means wanting in circumstances that place it outside
the range of human casualties, and so illustrative of hu-
man experience. We are all in the hands of God, who
can give us over to temptations from Satan that will
inevitably destroy us unless we are supported by him.
So was it with Job, God defended-his life and delivered
his soul. And he will, with every temptation, provide

412 NEW England's chattels ; or,

a way of escape to all sucli as fear him, although he
may see it best greatly to scourge and afflict them."

" The paupers, Mr. Sherman, hardly will pass for a
class of righteous men — even if there are persons among
them who have piety, perhaps of a dubious sort."

" Miss Flush, let me read you what David says on the
very point you so bravely defend. ' The steps of a good
man are ordered by the Lord ; and he delighteth in his
way. TJiough he fall/ — notice this, if you please —
' Though he fall he shall not be utterly cast down : for the
Lord upholdeth him with his hand. I have been young
and now am old, yet have I not seen the righteous for-
saken, nor his seed begging bread.' Now, my friend,
please tell me, if you have ever fully considered this mat-
ter in the light of its antecedent truths ?"

" Well, I cannot say precisely, I may have."

" I know it is altogether probable you have read the
connecting passages a hundred times ; but I am con-
strained to think you have thought far less of their im-
port than of the other. They surely teach that a good
man may ' fall' into affliction, poverty if you please, and
be no less immediately a subject of Almighty grace and
love ; that to be in affliction, that is, say in poverty or beg-
gary, is not necessarily to be ' forsaken,' but to be in a
state of discipline and trial. And we are especially to
notice, that this language, ' I have not seen the right-
eous forsaken,' &c., ' may relate especially to those who
are charitable to the poor, and liberal of their substance
to meet the necessities of the needy and afflicted, and
intimates that David had never observed any, in his
long life none, who by reason of their charities had ever
been brought into straits of poverty themselves, or en-
tailed it as a consequence on their children.'"*

* See this mutter here elaborated into an argument, in C'om/)re/ie)istee Com.^
Henry, Scott, etc., etc., Job, Psalms, Gospels, etc. — Auth.

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 413

" Why ! Mr. Sherman, I never did regard the subject
in that light. Is it at all' probable it may have any such
explanation ?"

"I think so."

" You must excuse my frankness ; I receive new in-
terpretations of favorite scripture passages with great
reluctance. I will converse with you again sometime,
but assure you my views of the main question, while
they are exceedingly tenacious, are yet such as at the
outset I informed you ) they leave my mind open to
conviction."

James' heart, however, sunk within him at the dismal
prospect of convincing by argument such an open mind,
and though well aware he was no match for her in con-
centration or subtlety, he yet felt confident he had 'put'
the case for the poor before her in the honest convic-
tions of truth, not always deficient either in strength of
argument. He was very anxious that Miss Flush might
alter her opinions respecting the paupers, for no other
woman nor any dozen men in the town had so much in-
fluence as she in keeping up the opposition to the efforts
of the reformers. She seemed to regard the movement
as fanatical, and as anti-scriptural — especially, though
altogether erroneously believing that it would turn away
the minds of the people from their customary and long
approved modes of Christian benevolence, and so be an
injury to the cause of religion ! * * **

Miss Flush said she would sometime or other visit the
poor-house.

From time to time, a good many of the citizens of
Crampton, besides Miss Flush, had thought they should
visit the poor-house.

il4 NEW England's chattels ; or,

CHAPTER XXXIX.

Grandfather Sherman.

When James Sherman, senior, sold all that he had in
Crampton, and removed to the West, he knew not to
what part of that country he should finally direct his
course. Oppressed as many a doting father has been
by the bad conduct of a son, in whom he has built up
the bright and cherished hopes of life, he cared very
little where he went, if he might seclude himself from
the sight of the " ingrate" boy, and be safe from his pur-
suit and the importunity of his sure, future want. Mr.
Sherman well knew that the course of extravagance,
idleness and sin, which his son had chosen, would in a
short time leave him in a dependent condition ; from
this, he had some hopes of his ultimate reform. But
alas ! what little hope of repentance well founded was
there in his case.

Mr. Sherman was a man of sudden impulses, and of
strong passions. At the same time he was unquestion-
ably a person of very great affection, and was sure to
feel its exercise in all its true force under the requisite
and appropriate terms of it. Unlike some men of his
peculiar temperament, lie was universally regarded as a
man of good judgment, clear views, and real benevolence.
By the citizens of Crampton he was held in high regard,
and had two or three times been sent as their represen-
tEijtive to the General Assembly of the State.

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 415

The western part of New York, the northern parts of
Ohio, and the country west of these points, was com-
paratively a wilderness from 1820 to 1830, between
which periods Mr. Sherman removed from Crampton,
so that he found no difficulty in locating himself in a re-
tired position in the northern parts of Illinois.

Here he purchased from time to time considerable
wild land at government prices, and lived to see even in
five years a considerable tide of emigration setting in
towards him, and even going beyond him from the East.

At this period of his sojourn in that country, he lost
his amiable wife, who, in her dying moments, implored
his forgiveness of their only son. Under the solemn
aspect of death, all sublunary things assuming their true
inferiority of regard, and duty imperiously attesting her
great importance, the husband and the father, his heart
truly yearning for his son, could not refuse his assent to
this request. He promised her all that she required.

After her departure accordingly, he made special and
earnest inquiries about him, and took all the necessary
steps to restore him legally to his forfeited heirship.
But great was his disappointment, sorrow, and chagrin
to learn the whole history of his son and of his family,
all of whom were reported as no longer living. Mr.
Sherman never fully recovered from these accumulated
disappointments and sorrows. He married again, how-
ever, a lady of excellent character, of aifectionate re-
gard— a cousin to his former wife, by whom he had two
daughters, but was ere long removed from them by
death.

By his will, he gave the whole of his property to his
wife in trust for " all his children, their true heirs and
assigns, forever."

Mrs. Sherman, left a widow with these daughters — she

416 NEW England's chattels ; or,

being now forty-five years of age, with a very large
landed estate, increasing yearly in value — found that
the care of this property and the education of her
children required the utmost diligence and exe.rtion on
her part. Unaccustomed heretofore to so much exer-
tion and to so great responsibility, it for a long time
sensibly wore upon her strength, and excited apprehen-
sions that the daughters would at an early age be left
orphans in the world. But these unfavorable clouds at
length dispersed. She was able to perform her required
labors with more comfort to herself, and with decided
advantage to the young heiresses, as she was eminently
fitted to give a guiding hand to the formation of their
characters.

Chicago was now become a city of great extent and
business, the pride of Northern Illinois — filled with in-
habitants, evidently destined to be one of the most im-
portant and magnificent cities of the country. It was
within the liniits of this rising metropolis that a part of
Mr. Sherman's estate lay, and the remainder was near by,
every rood of which commanded a high price, every foot
of that within the limits of the city valued at almost
fabulous prices. Such has been the rise of landed estate
in our great western towns and cities.

Of the Puritan Fathers, there never lived one who,
we suppose, dreamed of the great West of that country
whose eastern margin he beheld in glorious outline from
the deck of the May Flower. The Puritans never saw
the mighty lakes and western prairies of the land they
took in possession. Stern and rugged men, they strug-
gled for a century and more on the margin where they
first planted cornfield and city, school and church. It
was two centuries before Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and
Michigan were fully comprehended. The Indian and

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 417

the dark-haired bison were there, but not the early set-
tlers of New England.

"Well, it makes no difference ; we mean, it is just as
■well — as well for them, and as well for us — for the world.
The good old Puritan came not here to buy government
land at one dollar and twenty-five cents the acre, and to
speculate in its rise ; but as the poets justly say —

" He came to worship God !"

The generations long after his, spread themselves over
the mighty West, and Chicago grew up a city of great
renown, of wealth untold, of business unrivalled ; with
an immense population ; of gigantic proportions ; the
thoroughfare of travel from the East to the West be-
yond 1

Of course we do not know why it was that here, rather
than in some less favored place to realize a great for-
tune, Mr. Sherman chose to locate himself. But as his
estate lay here, when the city rose and spread itself
along the shores of Michigan, calling still — " More
room !" " Eoom for us !" " Room for Chicago, room !"
— it attained to an immense value.

The two Misses Sherman — elegant, accomplished
young ladies — both married during the lifetime of
their mother, and according to her wishes. The hus-
band of the elder daughter, Elizabeth, was a young and
intelligent merchant of New York city. Her sister,
Mary, afterwards married a lawyer of Chicago. It was
strange if both these gentlemen were ignorant of the
value of money. We suppose they must have been
fully aware at the time of so grave an act that they were
" proposing" to heiresses.

Indeed, both of these gentlemen knew well the value
of money, and how to take care of the immense estate

18*

418 NEW ENGLAND'S CHATTELS ; OR,

now placed partially under their management, as the
widow and the trustees wished them to assume some
share of the responsibility attendant on its rapidly in-
creasing importance.

We now leave this subject and return to our friends
at Cramj^ton.

It was James' frequent custom to visit Mr. "Warren,
from whom he was ever seeking to gain some new in-
formation respecting the early history of his parents.
He also was frequently led to inquire about his grand-
father and grandmother. Every particular scrap of in-
formation thus acquired, he treasured up in his mind
with the deepest interest and regard, valuing it as
above all price.

" Your father, James, when he left here, went to the
West Indies, and he died there. We suppose he died
there."

" What is the strongest proof of it ?" inquired James.

" We had letters from the American Consul at Bar-
badoes to that effect ; his trunk of clothes and watch
were sent home. Every thing had the look of truth
about it, and we never afterwards heard it contra-
dicted."

" Never ?"

" No, never."

" How long was it after he left here ?"

" Not a great while."

" Some months ?"

" Yes ; a few months."

" Was the yellow fever raging there at the time ?"

" Very much so, if I remember aright."

" Undoubtedly he perished," said James.

" Hardly is there a doubt of it. He was a bright and
ami;}ble boy," said the old gentleman, " but the force of

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 419

temptation overcame him, and he sinned grievously ; I
have often wished that I could have known what were
the thoughts and the resolutions of his last hours."

" Probably he soon sunk under his disease, and be-
came lost to all personal consciousness, and so died — I
fear it at least," said James.

" It may be so. But when I remember the prayers
of his mother, I have hope in his repentance."

" What a singular and happy Providence it was," said
James, " that my mother came here in her last hours.
I am sure I owe you ten thousand thanks for your kind-
ness to her, poor creature !"

" Oh, I owed her my love, James. I only did my
duty. We were but too happy to comfort her."

" Your attention to her, nevertheless, involved you in
a series of cares and anxieties "

" The result of which, James, you in your own person
exemplify and cancel. My last years abound with fruit
I am daily eating to my high and increasing enjoy-
ment."

" And I am happy that it is so," said James. " I am
often thinking now-a-days about my grandfather. You
say he removed to the West after disinheriting my
father, and settled in Illinois ?"

" Yes, he did so. Your grandmother died there in a
few years, and she obtained your father's forgiveness
from her husband, on her dying bed."

" Yes 1 That is a matter which gives me the highest
pleasure !"

" Of course it must. Your grandfather wrote a letter
here, after the death of your mother, informing us that
he had forgiven his son and removed the restriction of
his claims to his property. But, as the answers he re-
ceived must have been highly unsatisfactory to him, it

420 NEW England's chattels ; or,

is probable that his property, if he had any, fell into
the hands of his new wife, and so passed from you for-
ever."

" And this is all that you know of him ?"

" All — I have absolutely no knowledge of him further
than this, for more than twenty years. I even do not
know whether he is dead or alive, but my impression is
— my memory is almost certain on the point — that he
died a good many years ago."

" It is not possible, I presume, to find that letter which
he wrote containing my father's forgiveness?"

" You may find it at the town clerk's."

Thus repeatedly they conversed together, James be-
ing conscious of an increasing conviction that the whole
history of his grandfather was not yet unravelled. On
inquiring there, he could find no letter at the office of
the town clerk, nor any writing or record of any kind
affording him any clue to the mystery, or any relief to
his mind.

One day, when conversing with Mr. Warren on the sub-
ject, he was told that there was an old package of letters
left by his mother at her death, which had been preser-
ved, but never regarded as of much value, and it was
difficult at once to find them. This was a new scrap of* his-
tory for James, and with his anxious assistance in search-
ing over the house, the package was brought to light.

What was his surprise and joy, as he diligently and
carefully opened all the papers, when the very letter he
was in search of came to light !

It read as follows — being addressed to his son, within
an envelope to the post-master of the toAvn :

" Chicago, Illinois, Aug. 17, 183—.
Dear James : — With a broken heart I resigned my home and its asso-
ciations at the East, and came into this almost untrodden wilderness in

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 421

search of a new one, and associations that might give me peace of mind,
and at least partial forgetfulness of my sorrows. But even here the recol-
lections of the past have often arisen before me, and embittered the hours
of my life. One cannot go away from himself. If his own heart is right,
he may be comparatively as quiet in one place as another. My heart has
not been right towards you, nor towards Julia. I will not say that the
cause of my unhappiness might have been spared me, had my son con-
sidered well his own filial respect, and in all things made it his main
object to please me — and I have carried with me a heavy grief, a mourn-
ing for my only son, that all my efforts have not enabled me to conceal.
In addition to this, I am now groaning under a dispensation of bereave-
ment by the'work of death. Your beloved mother, the joy and solace
of my life, who never cherished towards you a spark less of affection for
your neglect, who accompanied me in my wanderings without a reluc-
tant word, now rests in her last sleep.

But before your mother's death, she called me to her couch, and
warmly interceded with me on your behalf for my reconciliation with
you and restitution of your legal rights. . . . The same request had
never before been uttered even in our most confiding and most mourn
ful hours. She knew well her time, and waited it with patient confi-
dence. In that hour then, under all the solemn sanctions of events that
take hold on the future, I complied, and that most heartily, with all
that she requested, and had the almost unearthly pleasure to see her
smile her saintly approval of the act as she breathed out her last fare-
wells.

On my own mind, also, there came directly a positive, sensible re-
lief. I felt a burden removed at once from my soul, that I would not
again endure for worlds ! I hope never again to feel that crushing
weight !

You are forgiven all that an earthly parent can forgive. Look to God
for his reconciliation and love through the atonement and mediation of
His only Son, Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of the world. Hereby I ap-
prise you that the legal restriction to a claim on my property, under
which I placed you by my formal act, is this day removed, and will
never again, I trust, be renewed. You are to-day the only legal heir tc
my property. This, I beg leave to assure you, is increasing in value,
as my real estate here seems to be located well. Give my love to Julia,
and affectionately urge her to accompany you here whenever it may be
best for the children.

I shall hope for an early answer, and in the meantime am.
As of yore, affectionately your father,

James Shkkman."

422 NEW England's chattels ; ok,

What must have been the depth of feeling with which
James perused this letter ! He seemed to himself as
standing within the spirit circle of his family, and to
hear voices saying, one to another, " Lo ! the lost is
found, and we are again one !" He could scarcely con-
tain his self-command ; it seemed to him a letter of
the utmost importance and its preservation in the cir-
cumstances of the case, almost as the special interposi-
tion of Heaven.

" How was the letter answered, Mr. Warren ?"

" The answer to it, I have heard, was by the post-
master."

" What sort of an answer ?"

" A very unfavorable one, of course. Your father had
left the country and was reported dead. Your mother
was no more, and your two elder brothers were dead ;
these were the facts returned in the answer." .

James groaned in the bitterness of his thoughts, and
walked the room for several moments, struggling for
composure.

" How came you in possession of the letter ?" in-
quired James of Mr. Warren.

" After a long time, the post-master gave it to me,
but he said, there was nothing further to be done in the
case as he could see — Mr. Sherman, if alive, having
doubtless willed his property to his second wife, so I
put away the letter with the package."

" If my grandfather left property," said James, " it
can hardly be supposed he would will any portion of it
to his son James, or his children, after receiving intelli-
gence of their death. At the same time, while it is
probable that he did will it to his second wife, it is cer-
tain that he restored the legal and natural claim of my
father, and it is not improbable, I think, either that he

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 423

made no direct will of his property, or that he did by
will convey it, as is often done, to his wife, in trust for
his children and heirs."

Mr. Warren assented to this view. He was warmly
interested in it, and saw at once how valuable a relic he
had preserved in case of certain contingencies arising.

James laid the whole thing open before Lawyer
Ketchum. Lawyer Ketchum advised with Mr. Tools
about it. All parties waited impatiently for the return
of Mr. and Mrs. Rodman.

The subject itself formed one or two of the main
items contained in his latest correspondence with his
absent friends. And among other topics introduced,
was the following : —

" We think more of the people are beginning to favor
our cause. We shall carry the reform in the fall, I con-
fidently predict. I have lately been on a visit to old
Mr. and Mrs. Pepper. A more abject, sunken state and
scene of misery and despair, I scarcely remember ever
to have seen. The house of Pepper & Co. at the Falls
Works, have made a very bad failure, and old Mr. Pep-
per is involved beyond all his real and personal effects,
so that in perfect despair both he and his wife avow
their necessity of support from the town. They reso-
lutely refuse to purchase any food to eat, but beg it in
small allowances from those who live the nearest to
them. George Pepper, Esq., has thought it best, on
account of the great excitement against him in the com-
munity, to leave town, it is said the country. When I
called on the Peppers, they sat alone in their house
trembling, pale, hungry and desolate. I endeavored to
encourage them, and to convince them that something
might be saved, enough to support comfortably their
old age, but the attempt met with a perfect howl of de-

424 NEW England's chattels ; or, '

spair from them. They accused every body of their
downfall, cursed their son and all the company, impre-
cated the judgment of Heaven on the town, and on all
business stock associations in particular. Then they
bewailed the day in which they were born, married, and
the life they had lived together. They concluded by
bitterly reproaching each other, and by invoking the
town to take them to the poor-house.

The overseers have been to see them — so has Mr.
Siddleton ; and it seems to be regarded, on the whole,
the best way to get along with them at present — at
least to put them at Mr. Siddleton's, especially as Pep-
per absolutely affirms he is not worth a sixpence, and as
they both refuse to purchase or prepare for themselves

the first morsel of provisions."

*******

Agreeably to the expectations formed on all sides, Mr.
and Mrs. Rodman, accompanied by Alice, arrived in New
York about the first of September, where a joyful wel-
come and reception awaited them on the part of James
and Mr. and Mrs. Haddock, who had accompanied him
to the city. The party all soon returned to Crampton — ■
James hardly giving himself time to see and hear any
thing but the smile and voice of Alice, who seemed to
have matured into a more thoroughly beautiful woman
during her few months' absence.

There was great excitement and rejoicing at the safe
return of their pastor and his family in the parish of
Crampton. Hundreds of the people called on them, and
congratulated them on having safely and so happily
accomplished their tour. Every body praised their
good looks, and many an invalid said he would like such
a voyage himself.

They themselves were extremely happy to feel once

LIFE IN THE NORTHEEN POOR-HOUSE. 42S

more at home, among their old, long-tried, and beloved
people ; and Mr. Rodman, on the Sabbath, in his prayers
and sermons, made frequent and affecting allusions to
their separation, and reunion under circumstances that
proved to them all the goodness and mercy of the Lord.

And Alice buried her face in her hands, and wept with
mingled feelings of present pleasure and past recollec-
tions. How gladly was she here, in this dear home of
her adoption and guardianship and love ! The wide
and perilous ocean was past, the discomforts of the voy-
age over. But, then, the dear ones in the island of her
nativity ! Alas'! should she ever behold again their
homes, their countenances, and feel their embraces ?

Then came the assurances of that Gospel which is life
and peace ; then fell on her ears the sweet promises of
the Word of Life ; then rose distinctly in her soul the
peaceful whisperings of the Spirit, talking of the things
that are Christ's, and presenting them to her heart.
Alice felt that all was well.

And Alice and James were dear to one another —
dearer than ever before — dearer for all of earth, its joy
and sorrow. Pledged, also, were they to labor for the
good of their fellow-men, and to relieve the sorrows of
such as were poor and needy, to whom were appointed
the pinchings of want, the misfortunes and mortifica-
tions of poverty.

426 NEW England's chattels ; or,

CHAPTER XL.

A NoBTHEKN Doughface ; !

" It is a singular state of things any how," said Squire
Ben Stout.

" Confound the old rascal — he's buried his money !"
said Mr. Savage.

" Well, he will have a nice opportunity to live on
nothing now !" said Tools, with a laugh.

" I wish," said Savage, " he might go hungry for a
week — old c !"

*' He is a hard case," said Tools.

'' A town nuisance !" said Savage.

" Queer specimens, both of them, of humanity !" said
the Squire.

" How does Siddleton accommodate them ?" inquired
Tools.

" Oh, he put them into his back room, with five or
six others, on an old bedstead that hadn't seen the out-
side of the house in five years, and told them it was the
best he could do for them till Hicks died," said Mr.
Savage.

" How did they seem to relish it ?" inquired the
Squire.

" They said it was ' better than they deserved,' I be-
lieve— old hypocrites ! misers ! confounded old money
lovers I"

" Singular instance of vicissitude, Mr. Tools !" said
Squire Ben.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 427

" Remarkable, remarkable !" rejoined he.

" Shows the instability of fortune."

" Quite a plain case," said the lawyer.

" Well, what the devil is going to be done about it in
the end?" inquired Mr. Savage.

" Oh ! the town must watch closely for remuneration,"
said Tools ; " and if any thing comes to light, just nab
it— that's all."

" He has undoubtedly taken a false oath," said Savage.

" Well, he won't need to vote any longer — ha ! ha !
ha !" said Tools.

" No, he's safe iliere^'' said Squire Ben.

" And it is a queer state of things, too — only a month
ago reputed worth three hundred thousand dollars, and
a voter ; to-day, a pauper and disfranchised. Queer,
isn't it ?"* said Tools, bringing out his cigar case, pass-
ing it round, and lighting.

" Well, it is so, by George !" said Savage.

" The best and wisest laws sometimes seem to work
unequally," said the Squire. " But it is right, gentle-
men, that old Pepper should feel the law in the same
places, as well as Sam White and Tucker."

"Yes, that's fair," said Savage.

"True," said Mr. Tools, " but I don't think much of
the law any way."

"Don't?"

" No ; what's it good for ?"

" Why, who the d ^1 wants Tom, Dick and Harry,

town paupers, round voting against the town ?"

" It ain't certain they would."

" * Ain't certain !' Then there's nothing certain, that's
all," said Savage. " Wouldn't they vote themselves
better accommodations if they could ? ha ! ha ! ha ! —

* Shows a strong ease, in order to make the severity of the law apparent. — Auth.

428 NEW England's chattels ; or,

Now I've got you, Tools — own up beat on that — don't
be hoggish now, eh ?"

" ' Yote themselves better !' So would you, perhaps,
and Squire Ben and I, if in their places. Don't they
need them ?"

" Oh, ho 1 that's your dodge, hay ? Well, suppose we
should — suppose we needed them. I don't know as the
town ought to grant them."

" Well now, just for argument, why not ?"

" Well, we can't afford it !"

" Squire Ben, what do you think ?" inquired the smok-
ing laAvyer.

" Oh ! the case don't — it somehow — or other — don't
exactly seem to — it don't look just right, you see, as it
is — nor — does it look very well in any different form."

" That's it. Squire, out with it one way or another,"
cried Savage.

" You see, Savage, the town pays a good deal noiv.''^

" I know that,''^ said Savage, " but that ain't the ques-
tion "

" True," said the Squire, " the question is if the town
can afford to pay more to accommodate the paupers ? I
should rather — be — of the opinion, it can't."

" That's it, Squire. You've hit the nail hard, just as I
knew you would in the end." (The fact is, that Savage
had a tremendous influence over old Squire Ben Stout,
and the town knew it. Nobody knew it better than
Savage himself.)

" Well now, men," said Tools, knocking off the ashes
from his cigar, " I'll just give you my opinion. I know
the town can afford it ; but I know also the town won't
afford it till she's made to."

" Good ! good ! Tools ! I go in for that," said Savage.
*' I don't know but Lawyer Tools has just about covered
my idea of the thing," said the Squire.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 429

" Oh ! never mind, Squire Ben," said Savage,' — " you
hit the thing off about right yourself."

" And do you say the town can't afford to do any
better by the paupers ?" said Tools. " Now, gentlemen,
that's all humbug. The town of Crampton is as able to
pay six, seven, and eight cents on the dollar as it is three.
What is the tax on individual tax-payers, in reality ?
Why, what an insignificant affair is a few dollars a year,
more or less, to secure a man all the liberty and protec-
tion he wants for himself, family, and property 1"

" Well, for my part," said Savage, " nothing with me
goes so against the grain as heavy taxes."

" You don't care how light they are !" said the Squire
facetiously.

" Not 7, Squire Ben ; do you ?"

" No, I can't say I do, exactly."

" I love money myself," said Tools, " but so far as
taxes are concerned, I just make up my mind that they
are always light enough, and pay over the tin as readily
as I take my ale and cigars."

" But the town always grumbles," said Squire Stout,
" if we go half a cent beyond the customary jooint."

" ' Grumbles !' yes, and they've a right to," said Sav-
age— " don't the town have to support every sort of a
thing that any body like Haddock or Phillips or Ketcham
happens to take a fancy to throw on it, such as schools,
high schools, crazy folks, deaf and dumb boys, beggars,
and such like, and pay for old bridges, protecting bad
places in the roads, pay for somebody's falling off his
horse, and somebody being at large ? Why shouldn't
the town grumble ?"

" Sure enough," said the Squire, " and so I was about
to tell Lawyer Tools, that what was fun^to him, was
death toothers. Ha! ha! ha!"

430 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" That's a good idea, Squire, ha ! ha ! ha !" said both
Tools and Savage.

" I know about as well as the rest of you," said the
lawyer, " what taxes we can usually raise ; I was only
saying that more might be put on us just as well, if loe
were a mind to have it so.''''

" There's the rub !" said the Squire and Savage.

" But I think very little of the disfranchising paupers.
It's making a good deal out of nothing, and exposes us
to a good deal of hard talk."

" You went for it in the Legislature," said the Squire.

" Oh, yes, a man can't row against every body. I
don't, however, think we really need the law, because
the paupers are half of them females, and of the balance,
two-thirds are too feeble to vote if they wanted to ; and
who would ever think of putting in their names to draw
a jury from ? No," said he, smoking freely, " the law is
worse than nothing. Just abolish the whole, and make
a simple provision to take care of the poor ; that's all
we want."

" I don't agree to that, by a great sight," said Savage.
" Do you, Squire ?"

" Can't say I exactly like it," replied he.

" Do you like, Squire Stout, to sell men and women
who are as respectable as old Mr. Pepper ?"

" Don't call old John Pepper respectable, for heaven's
sake," said Savage, interrupting.

" Oh ! well just for argument say so, or Josh Hicks,
or the old widow Prescott. Do you like it 'exactly'
that we should have a law that effectually obliges us to
sell them off as slaves, and disfranchise them ? Don't
we give our Southern folks a chance to talk * Turkey'
against us ?"

" Well, let the Southern folks ' talk,' who cares for

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 431

them ? Is it any of their business ? Let them mind
their own laws and take care of their own slaves, and of
their own white poor folks. They've got enough of it
to do," said Savage.

" Yes, and so they can say to us. Now, I think that
one old pious white woman, like aunt Prescott, is worth
more in the scales of reason and society, than a whole
plantation of negroes, though I'm dead set against
slavery," said the lawyer, lighting another cigar, " as
you all know."

" Why, Tools, you're about half crazy," said Savage.
" You know that our poor-house laws are as humane and
Christian as they can be. We are every where in the
Bible told to take care of the poor : ' Blessed is he that
considereth the poor, the Lord shall remember him in
time of trouble.' Now our laws don't contemplate a
state of involuntary servitude. They merely make a
kind and regular provision to keep the poor folks com-
fortable."

" I know all about it," said Tools.

" Well, you don't talk as though you knew any thing
about it."

" I know what I'm talking about," said the lawyer.

" Well then, talk so other people can know too, ha I
ha!"

" You do know it," said Tools.

'• ril leave it to Squire Ben if you dare," said Savage.

Now Tools had rather not, and Squire Ben had rather
not ; but there was no escaping, and so Tools said —

" Done ! Leave it to him."

" Well, Squire, how is it ?" said Savage. " Does Tools
talk on this matter according to law and Gospel, so
that people can understand him, or is he befogging the
whole subject?"

432 NEW England's chattels ; or,

"That's not the point, Squire," said Tools. "The
point is, whether I know what I'm talking about, and
Avhether Savage understands me."

" I don't care how you put it," said Savage ; " it's all
one. For if I don't understand you, hoAV can any body
else?"

" We all know, Mr, Savage," began the Squire, " that
Lawyer Tools is good in matters of law "

" Oh, yes, that's all clear," said Savage.

" Well, then, Tools must argue the matter as a lauijer,
if he does at all ; so that you and I, Savage, may not as
well comprehend his lawisms as he does, and yet it be
not actually incomprehensible, because he must reason
from facts that are well understood by us. On the
whole, while I think Tools is rather bold and free in his
notions — and Tools is no man's fool, j^ou know, ha ! ha ! —
I should say he was not so far out of the way, but that
yon and I could at least get hold of about half that he
says with a tolerable degree of clearness."

Savage studied over this decision with his feet and legs
stretched out about two feet apart, with a hand resting
on each knee, leaning forward and looking straight be-
fore him, at nothing in particular, for about a minute —
the deep twist around his mouth, the lines in his fore-
head and cheeks, indicating some confusion of ideas.
But at length, coming to himself, he exclaimed —

"All right, I verily believe. Squire, though I don't
get hold of the whole case as well as I want to. But if
I do get at it, you make Tools out, or if not Tools, you
make yourself out a regular Northern Doughface — lia !
ha ! ha ! — by thunder ! Is that it. Squire, eh ?"

At this hit on the part of Savage, the Squire burst
into a regular red-in-the-face, hearty old New England
justice laugh ; and Tools, leaning clear back in his

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 433

chair, with his face looking up to the ceiling, roared
and laughed till the tears ran off his face like water,
stamping with his feet, and clapping and rubbing his
hands in the very highest kind of lawyer glee and satis-
faction.

At length Tools started up and pulled out his gold
watch. " Whew ! wh-e-w 1 This won't do for me," he
said. " I have a case to argue this afternoon, and a writ
to make out for the sheriff. Is there any more business,
gentlemen ?"

" No, not exactly," said the Squire. " We must have
a fight, I suppose, next town-meeting day."

" Well, we shall whip their eye-teeth out of them, Ba-
con and Stoddard to boot," said Savage.

" I don't know how it will be," said Tools. " We must
lay our heads together, and pull all one way : they are
moving heaven and earth to carry it."

" They can't do it," said Savage.

" They will try," he replied.

" Oh ! they are clearly in a minority," said the Squire.

" It won't do to be idle and too confident," said the
lawyer.

" No," said Savage ; " watch them like dogs. They'll
steal a march on us if possible ; then look out for heavy
taxes !"

" Hang the taxes !" exclaimed Tools, and left the office.

Now Lawyer Tools really knew that he was on the
wrong side, but his =^elf-interest kept him with his
party ; and he was, as Savage represented it, a good

specimen man of a " ?" Northern Doughface:

the Squire was another I

19

434 NEW England's chittels; or,

CHAPTER XLI.

Miss Flush pays a visit to the Poor-House. She forms a high estimate of the per-
sonal charms and character of Miss Margaret Davis, and appears in what may be
called a new character herself. So thinks at least Lawyer Tools, whose profes-
sional business leads him closely to scrutinize individual members of society in
what changes soever they may appear.

When James, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Rodman
and Alice, made an early visit to the poor at Siddleton's,
he was not a little surprised to find there, engaged in an
earnest conversation with Mrs. Siddleton, his late con-
troversialist, Miss Emeline Flush. He was no less pleased
than surprised, for he believed that a half hour's visit
among the wretched people would be more " convincing
to her mind" than a fortnight of argument.

Miss Flush, however, colored a little at the unexpect-
ed meeting, for she had promised to make the visit with
him. However, that was soon excused, and Miss Flush
said she had gathered a great many very interesting
facts in relation to the paupers, from her " obliging
friend, Mrs. Siddleton." " We have not yet visited any
of their wards, but were on the point of doing so when
you arrived," said she.

" Yery good ; if Mrs. Siddleton has no objection, we
will all go with you," said he.

" You all know how it is, good friends," said she ;
" we have them in close quarters, but it can't be avoid-
ed. We do not know how to make new apartments,
and they are really uuv'omfortably packed. And then,

LIFE IN THE NCRTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 435

as you know is always the case, several of them are
more or less unweU, wtiich adds to the difficulty of
giving them all proper accommodations."

So saying, she led their way up the narrow stairs and
introduced them to the quarters of her charge.

Our friends were by no means strangers here, all,
with the exception of Miss Flush, having several times
before made the place a visit. - But, when Miss Flush
entered the rooms, the insufferably close air was very
offensive to her ; notwithstanding the outside door was
swung wide open, she seized Mrs. Siddleton's arm for
support : the whole company were much oppressed by
it.

There was an immediate sensation among the group
of paupers at the coming of so many visitors, a sensa-
tion of a pleasurable kind as soon as they discovered
who they were. Mr. and Mrs. Rodman and Alice were
well known to them now, and so was James, of course ;
and they gathered round them, or raised themselves up
from every possible lounging position, and reached out
their scrawny hands to welcome them ; although some
were bashful and afraid, and so eyed them through the
creaks of the doors ; and others were ashamed, and pull-
ed together more closely round them their tattered rai-
ment ; and with feminine habit, Mag and others of the
females with both hands smoothed down their frizzled
and fugitive locks of hairs, or gave a new twist to soiled
night-cap or head-dress, of what material or cut soever
it might chance of. Some of them clustered in groups,
looked over each other's shoulders and kept aloof, while
there were others who w ilked right forward, easily and
with great self-composure or confidence, and began a
lively conversation.

Such, of course, were Mag Davis, widow Prescott. now

436 NEW England's cillttels ; or,

very old, aunt Wakeup, Mrs. Upliam, Sam White,
and Tucker.

" Well, I'm dreadful glad to see you all," said Mag
Davis, with one of her long, skinny laughs, that was
meant to prove the welcome her words expressed, but
was to virtue and youth a terrible expression of
withered innocence and expiation of the past. " Yes,
come in," said she, " coilie and sit down, if you will. We
are always glad to see you, let what will happen. Josh
is very sick, sir, you've come just in time to give his
poor soul a little light, hasn't he, Mrs. Siddleton ?"

" Doubtless Mr. Hicks will be very glad to see him,"
she replied.

" Yes, he will, and so will sister Peters and widow
Prescott ; * we're all poor crittures,' sir, and need the
Gospel, so Dan himself says," continued she.

"Don't talk too much, Mag," said Mrs. Siddleton,
mildly, " we shall see you all."

" Who in the world is that creature ?" inquired Miss
Flush, in a whisper, as she leaned heavily on Mrs. Sid-
dleton's arm.

" Why, my dear Miss Flush, don't you know her ?
That is Mag Davis."

Miss Flush did not recollect ever meeting her before,
although she had heard of her, and sometimes seen her
wandering through the town.

" She has been here a long time," said Mrs. Siddleton.

" Oh, of course, Mrs. Siddleton, I don't wish to monopo-
lize the talk," said Mag, " but I thought somebody ought
to do the honors of the establishment !"

" You see she knows how to talk," said Mrs. Siddleton.

" It is surprising ! And yet what a dreadful looking
creature ! I am afraid of her, and shocked at her appear-
ance. Mrs. Rodman, do you know her ?" inquired Miss
Flush.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 437

" Oh, to be sure ; I have often spoken to her."

" Mag belonged to a tolerably good family," said Mr.
Rodman. " Her education was thorough, but she lost
her parents early, became poor and idle, and, here she
is — was it not so, Mrs. Rodman ?"

" Yes, I think so ; I have heard something of her his-
tory."

Mag had now wandered off into her room, where Roxy
was lounging on the bed.

Tucker, with his long, gray beard, and red, almost
blistered whisky face, encountered the party, and hoped
they were " all well." As for James, he went right
among them shaking hands, chattering with all, and in-
quiring into their several circumstances. Every one
stared after him as he passed on, and wondered how he
got out of the poor-house, and Mag and Roxy said they

were c glad of it, for he was head and shoulders too

tall to stay there.

" And they say," said Mag, " he's courting Alice there.
Do see her, Roxy ; here, you fool, peek through the door
at her. 'Darn't?' Pshaw! you're jealous, coot, you won't.
Ain't she tall and plump and handsome ? Don't be a
fool ; look at her and say ' yes.' "

" I see her — she's mighty handsome, I believe."

" That's it, and true. She'll make him as happy as a
Frenchman."

" Pshaw ! how do you know, old Mag ?"

" You needn't snub me, Rox, Jims is no old beau of
yours. He'd marry me just as quick as he would you."

" It's a c lie, you old trollope ; he's romped with

me a hundred times."

" Much good may it do you, miss . He'll marry

that English girl, now, and she's as graceful as a swan.
See her walk ! And she's good too. See her shake old

438 NEW England's chattels ; or,

granny Wakeup and widy Prescott by the hand. Hang

it — but I'll go and shake hands with her myself ,"

and so off she started, but first she encountered James,
and seizing him by the hand, cried out, " How are you,
mister James ? We are mighty glad to see you."

*' Well, Mag, how do you do yourself ? I am glad to
see you looking pretty well — ' alive and hearty,' as they
say."

" Oh ! ho ! the Lord keeps some of us on hand yet,
ha ! ha ! but I am getting sober, ha ! ha !"

" Now I think, Mag, you are about as young as ever
in your courage ; you don't give up, I see."

" Lord, no, it's Roxy that does that "

*' It's a lie, you wicked creature, and you know it !"
screamed a voice behind the door.

" Whew ! whew ! old jealous Rox, I , ha I ha !"

screamed the old hag, and passed on till she got Alice
by the hand, and congratulated her on returning safe
from her voyage.

" We had a fine voyage, Mag," said she.

" Yes, so Jims told me," she answered.

" Jims and you are old friends I believe," said Alice
with a smile.

" Yes — ha ! ha ! ha ! Jims and I and Roxy used to
sit up nights and tell stories. He's a mighty tall, hand-
some chap now, ain't he, though, eh ?"

" I dare say he thinks pretty well of himself," said
Alice, with a smile.

Miss Flush came up, and Mag, not having seen her
before, on being told who she was made a sidelong cour-
tesy, and smoothed down her dress and hair. Miss
Flush couldn't keep her eyes off from her. There was
a smartness and singularity about her that attracted her
towards the old creature, repulsive as she was.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 439

Mag told her she had been a poor miserable being
more than forty years. She was born well, of goodly
parents, educated well, and saw good company in her
younger days. She was now over sixty years of age.

" When I was fifteen I was cast an orphan upon the
world ; and before I was thirty I had lost all friends — all
home restraints — all virtuous modes of a living. I hired
myself out as a housekeeper at the age of twenty-two to
an old widower, who turned me off in six months, de-
praved and wicked. I have been so ever since, though,
thank God! not always as wicked. But we are a poor,
miserable set of outcasts ; we are jpoor ; we haven't any
thing of our own ; no money, no clothes fit to wear, no
friends to help us. We are cursed by the Lord with
the shame and degradation of poverty, that has no other
name for it so bad. May God have mercy on you, young
ladies, and keep you from it all your days ! We are all
dying as fast as we can, and hope it won't be as bad for
us in the next world ; but — we don't know — we suffer
enough, one would think, in this world, if that were any
thing. But widow Prescott says our sufferings arn't the
thing ; it is the sufferings of the Lord for us. Now how
is it, Miss Flush, eh ?"

Miss Flush could hardly refrain from weeping as she
took Mag by the hand, and told her by all means to heed
the counsel of Mrs. Prescott, and to go and cast all
her sins away, believing cordially and simply on the
righteous expiation of the Son of God for salvation.

" Yes," said Mag, " we need just such a Saviour, I
presume. For my part, I don't read the Bible much ;
but Dan says we ought to, and Dan is becoming mighty
religious now-a-days."

" Who is Dan ?" inquired Miss Flush.

" That's Dan in the doorway with a slouching hat on,
sitting curled up so. Do you see him ?"

440 NEW England's chattels ; or,

" Yes ; but who is he ?"

" Why, he's an old fellow of us — a State-prison chap ;
one of the hardest old villains, they say, that ever was.
Jims knows all about him. But he's getting as sober as
a deacon now-a-days, and speaks and acts kinder."

'' What makes him do that ?"

" Oh, he says Captain Bunce, who used to keep us — a
rough, grinding old master — who Dan used to quarrel
with a good deal, and Jims used to trouble all he could,
(ha! ha! ha!) and get flogged for it. Didn't you,
Jims?" said she, as he came up. "Didn't Captain
Bunce used to flog you within an inch of your life, eh?"

" Yes," said he, " I believe so, Mag. But those days
are gone by now : and the Captain's a better man, I
hope, if I am not."

" I guess you both needed a little grace," said she,
bluntly.

" You are more than half right, Mag," said he, and
walked by.

" Well," says she, resuming, "this Captain Bunce is
now poor, with a blind daughter, and they are both com-
ing to the poor-house themselves. But the Captain
tells Dan he's met with a change, and is willing the Lord
should do with him as he pleases ; and he talks with
Dan till the poor soul really seems to act like a different
kind of fellow. But after all, how's a person to be reli-
gious Aere.^ Do you know?"

Miss Flush said they must all be patient, and commit
themselves to God, who would, she had " no doubt,
assist them, and by-and-bye make them much better off."

" Oh !" said Mag, " we expect that. Why, we should
die right off if we gave up hope. Now, Miss Flush, we
are expecting there'll be a great change one of these
days, just on account of my dream "

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 441

" Your dream ?"

" Yes, a good many years ago it was too. Aunt Pres-
cott thinks it will be fulfilled, and so do most all of us,
for the dream was fulfilled about aunt Dodge, you know,
and so we think this will be."

" What was it ?"

'! Why, that we were all liberated from these little
pest-holes, and poor, short way of living, and put into a
nice large house, where we had a sweet, good home, and
every thing as comfortable as a body could wish —
wouldn't it be good if it did come to pass, Miss Flush?"

Miss Flush breathed heavily, for she had opposed the
fulfillment of this very dream a good many years, little
thinking it was the hope and longing desire of those
destitute and suffering ones by whom she now found
herself surrounded.

" Yes, Mag," she said at last, " it would be a blessing
indeed, and I think you ought to have something of the
kind, I am sure." Miss Flush was feeling very earnest
thoughts in her soul, thoughts of labor in behalf of these
poor outcasts, God bless her !

" God bless you. Miss — perhaps we shall have. Now,
do you go and see the old widow Prescott. There she
is talking with the parson — do you see her, an old lady
in a cap ? And there too, is old aunt Wakeup, with her
crutch, see them ?"

" Yes, I see them — good bye."

» Good bye, Miss."

Passing the opened door of poor Hicks' room, she
was struck with horror at his ghastly, dying look, and
nearly opposite was the room of Miss Peters, who was
languishing out her life also, though perhaps her danger
was less immediate than his ; her face was haggard and
sunken, its belle-beauty gone — its virgin life wound up

19*

442 NEW England's chattels ; ok,

near to breaking. Quietly, Miss Flush stood in the
circle.

" We have but little life left to us," said the widow,
" may it be passed in the fear of God."

" Amen !" said aunt Wakeup.

" We have seen a strange life, sir," said the widow.

*' It has been an eventful one, indeed," he replied.

" All's right, though," said aunt Wakeup, " whom the
Lord loveth he chasteneth, you know ?"

" True," said the widow. " The Psalmist says, ' be-
fore I was afflicted, I went astray.' We need afflic-
tions."

" We get 'um too !" said aunt Wakeup.

" I hope they are rightly improved by you all," said
Mr. Rodman, " for no one of us knows precisely what is
best for him, and he should therefore endeavor to see
the hand of the Lord in every one of his trials."

" Oh, to be sure," said the widow, meekly.

" I know it," said aunt Wakeup, bluntly, " and so I
tell Mrs. Upham, who has just lost her children "

" Lost her children !"

" Yes, the town have put them out to places, one has
gone to learn a carpenter's trade, and the other to work
on a farm "

" Well, did she not approve of it ?"

"No ; she' wanted they should go to school longer :
they are only eight or nine years old. But the town
said they had better go now to these places, and they
would see that they had three months' schooling a year
till they were twelve or fourteen years old."

" What did she say to this ?"

" Oh !" said widow Prescott, " she took it rather hard
that she couldn't have the boys longer with her, and
provide homes for them such as she might approve."

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 443

" And don't the selectmen give a mother here that
privilege, pray ?" inquired Miss Flush.

"No, indeed, they do not," said aunt Wakeup.

" They always consult with her," said Mrs. Prescott.

" They do not force from her the children abruptly, so
to speak, but they finally do with them as they think
best."-^

" That is, I believe, the rule they follow," said Mr.
Rodman.

" Well, is it not a hard one ?" inquired she.

" We should think so," said Mrs. Rodman.

" I never saw or heard of the thing before," said Miss
Flush. " And pray where is Mrs. Upham ?"

" She is rocking herself in the chair there, and James
and Alice are talking with her," said Mrs. Rodman.

" How really sorrowful she looks," replied Miss Flush.
"Mrs. Upham was a pleasant and happy wife, with a
good home that was all lost by her husband's intempe-
rance and gambling. She came here with those two
children left her out of a family of seven sons and daugh-
ters, and it seems cruel to take them — still, fMs is no
place for them," said Mrs. Rodman.

" You are certainly right," replied the other. " How
I wish all odious laws were swept away, and every
wicked custom of society abandoned ! What dreadful
woes have followed and rested on man, in consequence
of indulging the vices you have named."

Mrs. Wakeup and widow Prescott now fell into con-
versation with Miss Flush, and she became deeply in-
terested in their personal history as they gave it oif to
her, and in hearing them speak of their religious sup-
port in afflictions.

* This shows how the law works in respect to children being separated from
parents. — Auth

444 NEW England's chattels ; or,

Miss Peters said little to the visitors, but she groaned
and wept, and hoped her days of suffering would shortly
end. She longed to hide herself in the grave, the recol-
lections of her " past life were too agonizing to bear."
" Pray for me," said she, " pray ! pray 1" and covered
her face with her hands.

On the side of a dull looking, narrow bed, in the west
room, where a half dozen persons lived crowded into its
corners and filling all its area, there sat both Mr. and
Mrs. John Pepper, late " the rich old Peppers" worth
their hundreds of thousands, the envy and abuse of
money lovers and seekers, and disappointed Avorldlings,
now toivn paupers of Crampton, penniless, wretched,
friendless, clear down the ladder of respectability and
fortune, broken on the wheel of misfortune.*

They seemed ashamed of themselves — and what was
worse, horrified with a sense of their condition — it had
come upon them ! The apprehension of a life of poverty
had seized them at the last, and had come in all its
severity without a moment's warning — save that every
rustling of the leaves was one, and every rumor of trou-
ble and tightness in the money market was another —
yea, every want of life an admonition to expect the-
poor-house !

They hung down their heads in abject, dismal shame
as Mr. Rodman came near to console with them ; for it
was one more proof in the series that they had fallen.

* Read the following, which we clip from the N. Y. Evangelist, of July 23, 1857.

— AUTH.

" Life's Vicissitudes. — There is an old gentleman in one of the city pauper
institutions at South Boston, who was for many years the President of one of the
largest insurance companies in this part of the country. He was for a whole
generation the associate and friend of the Thorndikes, the Brookses, the Lymans,
the Amorys, the Cabots, the Perkinses, and other merchant princes of Boston. He
has insured millions upon millions of property in a single year, and is now, in his
Did age, maintained at the public charge."

LIFE IX THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 445

Henceforth, all approaches to them to speak words of
even Christian comfort, would be turned into the stings
of scorpions, as demonstration sure that they had now
come to want the very things they had through life de-
nied themselves, though fully able to enjoy them. They
could no longer, even in idea, boast themselves above
other men ; but henceforth poverty and haggard want
were to them stern, unflinching verities. But Mr. and
Mrs. Pepper, in every other sense than the necessity of
poverty, had lived for years as paupers do. They had
denied themselves all wantonness in delicacies ; super-
fluity of even simple and daily necessities they care-
fully avoided ; and their ever-earnest study, more in-
tense in their old age than ever, was how they might
reduce the cost of their most imperious daily wants.
Still, it was not for love of these conditions that they
thus wantonly and perversely fought against their natu-
ral instincts and in-bred desires. No ! It was out of a
grown-up idea of the dreadfulness of poverty, which
was almost sure to overtake them — a cherished form of
misery that became in them a thorough demon of mo-
nomaniac horror and trembling — a mere fancy, that
made them personally cruel — an idle whim, founded in
the apprehension of a state possible to them, but by no
means probable — it being generally the result of intem-
perance, vice, extravagance, thriftlessness — that caused
them to go hungry and athirst when others envied them
their riches.

They were now, indeed, where they had ever foretold
the certainty of being ; and their state was one that the
proud lover of earthly riches might comprehend with
fear and trembling. Among the sufi"ering outcasts of
the town — the sick, the aged, the half-demented, the
dying — all complaining ; the hungry, ghastly, c^idave-

446 NEW England's chattels ; or,

rous, slatterly, profane, and selfish — remnants of them-
selves, and relics of past fortunes and events ; a sorrow-
ful pattern of what humanity may be ; a memorial of
past offences — with these, in themselves a wheel of ex-
istence and of nature, whirling slowly round and on
creaking axle — with these, the feared but unchosen
companions of a gloomy old age, they now had fixed
their last passing stage. No, it was no chosen condi-
tion, but a feared— to them a fated, fatal one. Pepper
is disfranchised ! He can not vote at the next election ;
he can sit on no jury ; he can own no property (as a
pauper). Were he a State pauper, the State would pay
the town one dollar a week for his board, at the most ;
and were he to die, six dollars — no more — for his funeral
charges.* So it is a fearful thing to play with Nature's
laws — to fancy them and fear them and forestall them.
True, they may ; but it is also true they may not, in
the severer forms, crush down on us their invincible
destruction :

" Yet Nature hath her day and power —

'Twere well to know these things ;
N(ir risk the backward tides

That bear upon and rend life's firmest strings."

Dreams tf- Realities.

When the party had been over to the poor-house pre-
cincts, and seen and conversed wdth nearly all the in-
mates, the last visit being to the sick room of the aged
and suffering Hicks, Mr. Rodman offered up a fervent
prayer in his behalf, and for all the poor people gather-
ed there. The visit terminated, Miss Flush that very

* One dollar a week seems, from time immemorial, to have been the extent of
the allowance paid for keeping State or vagrant paupers. The State of Connecticut,
by a recent act, allows the sum of one dollar and fifty cents per wp.et for this
object.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 447

day evening, in an interview with Lawyer Tools, pro-
tracted a little more t.lian they were wont to practice on
the night, desired to know what were the real opinions
he entertained respecting the poor and wretched in-
mates of the poor-house. And she perfectly amazed
and electrified him by saying, that she had that day ful-
ly resolved, in her own mind, hereafter to befriend them
to the last of her influence with both friends and foes.
" So," said she, " if you are not their friend, you must
be, you luill be — I know I may say that! " And Miss
Flush regarded him with a kind and winning smile.
Lawyer Tools sort of nodded. " Hereafter," she con-
tinued, " I will befriend and help them, though it cost
me the dearest friend that I have ever cherished." Miss
Flush grew pale and trembled — Lawyer Tools was
taken. He never was so frightened in his life ! He
ran for a glass of water — she regained her self-command,
and Lawyer Tools, pressing her hand to his lips, swore
by the love of years, he would go with her in her work
of repentance and mercy ! That very evening they
fixed on an early day for love's consummation, so long-
delayed, and vowed together that through good and
evil they would help each other in the path of life, a
life to some of joy and gladness, to other some, of thorns
and tears.

Miss Flush immediately set about a system of bene-
volence for the town's poor. She organized a society for
that purpose. She was indefatigable, earnest, success-
ful. Through her assistance and the labors of her asso-
ciates, by-and-bye a great improvement was manifested
in the condition of the paupers, and duly acknowledged
by the town agent and overseers.*

* ippendix, C.

448 NEW ENGLi.ND's CHATTELS • OR,

CHAPTER XLII.

Search for Property. Writers on Political Economy represent Labor as the only
Bource of wealth, for by ' labor all the wealth of the world,' as says Mr. Adum Smith,
was originally purchased.' It is labor that gives value to all commodities and pro-
ducts. At the same time, what miserable creatures we should all prove to be,
were it not for Capital. We have it then, ' Searching' implies Labor, and
'for property,' Capital. We hope James searched a good while before he
finally abandoned it.

When Mr. Rodman returned from abroad, he and
James and Lawyer Ketchum were often closeted to-
gether over the subject of James' possible interest in
property at the West, left by his grandfather. And it
was finally agreed that James and Mr. Ketchum should
go out there and make inquiries.

On the fourth day after leaving home, they found
themselves in Chicago, and read in the evening papers

of that day, the notice of the marriage of ,

Esq., lawyer of that city, to " Miss Mary , daughter

of the late James Sherman, Esq.," of that city.

That they were near the sources of information in re-
spect to the object of their visit, they could not now
doubt. In conversation with a gentleman of the hotel,
Mr. Ketchum ascertained that the marriage to which he
referred was a very splendid affair, got up in a style
worthy an heiress of so great wealth, but he could not
give him much further inforpation. But the next day,
both Mr. Ketchum and James called on a brother lawyer
in the city, to whom they had letters of introduction,
and with him they repaired at once to the office of the

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 449

Judge of Probate. They asked for the record of Mr.
Sherman's will, having ascertained that he left such an
instrument, and owned much property in and around
Chicago at his decease.

Their at-tention was at once arrested by the phrase-
ology of the will. They were satisfied of the validity of
James' claim under it to a right in the property of his
grandfather. After an ample provision for the benefit
of his wife, Mr. Sherman left with her, in trust for his
children, their heirs and assigns, to be delivered them
on reaching lawful age, the balance of all his property,
real and personal, to be equally divided among them.
Whatever intentions he had in respect to his daughters,
as the heirs of his property, the will was so worded that
it could not but meet the claims of all his offspring,
even were there any such, his natural heirs, much more
all who M^ere truly legitimate whose claims could be
established. If this had not been the real desire of the
testator, but if it had fully been his intention to give his
whole property to his two daughters, Elizabeth and
Mary, he would have said this in so many words ; and
taken in connection with his letter to the father of
James, it was clear that he made his will to meet any
claim that might possibly arise in that quarter.

They secured the services of the lawyer above refer-
red to in their further proceedings, and laid before him
all the proof they were able to produce in relation to
the true identity of James. It was his opinion that the
claim was substantial. He begged them to secure the
opinion of anothey gentleman of great legal eminence in
the city, familiar with questions of this sort, and were
happy to learn that his decision was perfectly in agree-
ment with that of the other.

It now remained to see the family, and to present

450 NEW England's chattels ; or,

their claim — a difficult and painful task, as they knew it
must be unexpected and thankless. Mr. Ketchum and
the two lawyers w^aited on the trustees, and made known
to them their business. The announcement of another
heir to the estate, overwhelmed them with well-imagined
surprise. It was communicated to the widow in the
mildest manner possible ; but at first the shock w^as too
much for her, and she begged her attorneys, before they
proceeded further with their statements, to give her
time to recover from her surprise.

The next day the business was resumed. James had
not yet been presented either to the trustees, attorneys,
or the widow. Mr. Ketchum, acting as his representa-
tive, held an interview with the widow and her daugh-
ters, together with their husbands. This was followed
by another, in which all the attornies and trustees were
present, and the will was examined, and the new claim
under it presented in full and investigated.

It was the opinion of the widow, decidedly expressed,
that her husband had no idea of the existence of his
grandson when he made the will, and that consequentl}'-
he could not have intended to bequeath to him an inter-
est in his estate. She fully believed that it was his sup-
position that he was, by will, giving his property to her
two daughters solely. But she also frankly confessed
that he had often spoken to her of his son, and lamented
his fate ; that he had repeatedly told her he was recon-
ciled to him, and had removed all his former legal em-
barrassments to property under his will ; that nothing
would be more pleasing to him than to know that he
had left a son who could bear the family name. But
she said, in justice to his memory and to her daughters,
she must have the very highest proof of her duty in the
case — the very strongest, most irrefragable proof of the

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOE-HOUSE. 451

personal identity of the new claimant, before she con-
sented to his position as an heir. Her attorneys advised
this, of course, as also did the trustees. But the opinion,
in general, seemed to favor the application of the newly
found heir.

Mr. Rodman was daily informed of the proceedings ;
and at the request of Mr. Ketchum, accompanied by
Mrs. Rodman, he repaired to Chicago. But before leav-
ing, he secured several affidavits of importance to attest
the claim — that of old Mr. "Warren, one from Captain
Bunce, and a very decided one from old John Tucker,
corroborating in every respect the testimony of Mr.
Warren. He also took with him sundry papers found
at Mr. Warren's, and relics preserved, garments left by
" Julia Carlile Sherman," with her name wrought in
them, and a small locket containing a miniature of her
husband. Purposely James refrained from visiting the
widow till Mr. Rodman's arrival. He left the city, and
went East to Cleveland. Here he intercepted his
friends, and returned with them to Chicago.

Mrs. Rodman remembered that when she was a girl
of fifteen or sixteen years of age, the present Mrs. Sher-
man had made her mother, who was her cousin, a visit,
and she had always retained a pleasant recollection of
her as an agreeable and rather fascinating lady. Accom-
panied by her husband she made a call on her at Chicago,
but avoided any allusion to James or the subject in agi-
tation, for she perceived that Mrs. Sherman seemed de-
pressed in spirits, and that she carefully waved any ap-
proaches to it. Her visit was not very agreeable.

Mr. Ketchum informed the party on their arrival at
the city that he was apprehensive of a law suit to re-
cover ; that the parties made no progress in the settle-
ment of the case, and the Shermans threatened to resist

452 NEW England's chattels ; or,

the new claim. There was but one more step he could
think of to prevent a trial, and that was to present
James to the widow.

We have said that Mrs. Sherman was a cousin to her
husband's first wife. She removed to the West in her
childhood with her father and mother, but she had often
seen and played with James Sherman, then a boy, five
or six 3'ears younger than herself. She saw him once
afterwards when he was about twelve or fifteen years of
age, and retained a distinct recollection of his features.
And accordingly when by appointment and consent of
all parties — the trustees, attorneys, and friends being
present, James was led into the presence of Mrs. Sher-
man. She recognized the family likeness in an instant.
At first she gasped for breath, and clung to the arms of
her children ; but as James approached her with a smile,
and extended his hands, she sprung upon his neck, and
bursting into tears, exclaimed —

" It is he ! It is James Sherman himself, the son op
my husband, or his child !"

The scene that followed maybe better imagined than
described. Of course the claim of another party to a
third of their estate could not in itself be a pleasure to
the daughters or their husbands. But the evidence of
the justice of the claim was so overwhelming, they had
no further desire to resist it, even though, according as
it would seem to our natural instincts, where there is
immense wealth, and enough, of course, for all, it is as
tenaciously grasped as where there is a much smaller
estate.

Mrs. Sherman advised her trustees and attorneys that
she fully recognized the claim of James Sherman to an
equal share in the estate of her husband, and directed
them to act in the premises strictly according to the
egal rights of all parties.

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 453

In consequence of this admission, James was awarded,
as justly due him, out of the past income of the estate,
over one hundred thousand dollars ; his future revenue
time only could develope its great amount !

The news of these proceedings filled the city with
astonishment, and James became of course one of the
lions of the day. Before the party returned to Cramp-
ton, the papers there and in the vicinity were filled
with the romantic story. The whole history of James
was published in the papers far and near, and was re-
garded, as in truth it was, one of the most remarkable
that had ever occurred. Next to his ruling passion,
one that had grown with him into life, that of relieving
human suffering, so far as he had the power to do it,
James desired to throw himself and all that he had ac-
quired at the feet of Alice, although he well knew that
the gold of the richest mine, were it his to bestow on
her, would be deemed as worthless, unaccompanied by
a heart she valued for its faithful love.

454 NEW England's chattels ; oe,

CHAPTER XLIII.

James in the Town-meeting. Very humorsome times they frequently have in
Town-meetings, there being generally present all the great men and all the
small men of the place, not a few of whom offer their sentiments oratorically to
their fellow-citizens, and the great men bow very low to the small men, and the
small men shako their heads, look wise, and can't say precisely ic/io they sliall
vote for.

The annual meeting of the town of Crampton occur-
ring at the usual time, the voters were highly excited by
the pauper question, especially as both Lawyers Tools
and Ketchum threw themselves warmly into the canvass
in favor of reform, and others manifested much less op-
position than formerly to the measure. Even Mr. Sid-
dleton went with the new party, affirming that the death
of Joshua Hicks, a man of such character as he had for-
merly enjoyed, and a man of learning and of great use-
fulness to the town — that his death in the poor-house,
under the conditions of great personal distress and mor-
tification, had opened his eyes on the mean and despica-
ble character of the present poor-house regulations. —
" And further," said he, " it is but a week since we re-
ceived into our premises a poor, miserable, squalid,
drunken man, on the eve of starving, who now lies at
the point of death, formerly a lawyer of keen wit and of
great social reputation ; the son of a distinguished
lawyer, a candidate for the gubernatorial office of his
native state ; whose brothers were men of celebrity at
the bar, or in trades and merchandise, — we received
him on the state account, and now wait for his decease.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 455

Here is one born and bred in luxury, reduced by the
exigencies of fortune, (bad fortune attendant on his own
follies to be sure,) to a condition or state of relief that
might save a man from starving, it is true, but to one of
humiliation and suffering far too great for the least re-
mains of his sensitive nature to endure. Shall we not
do something better than this for our miserable and
destitute paupers ?"

But it was uncertain how the thing would go. Speeches
were made on both sides, and the house was very nearly
equally divided in opinion. Mr. Savage went among
all his party friends, and pushed them forward, inflaming
their minds by false statements of the plans and move-
ments of the reformers, and by promising that there
should be a tax voted of one per cent, less this year than
usual if they carried the town. " But," said he, " we

must work like the , or suffer defeat. Don't you

see how they are plotting against us ?"

Tools spoke against his old ally, and with great effect.
Squire Ben Stout, as moderator, could speak on neither
side, and so made the more merit of trying to give each
party an impartial trial of strength. Mr. Armstrong
worked hard with Savage. Mr. Haddock swung in his
historical arguments, and Ketchum proposed inquiries
that made the other party reel. But when the question
came to a vote as to what course the town would take,
it was so evident that a strong party yet remained to be
overcome, the heart of the new-measure men grew
faint and depressed. The moderator called the house
to order for a vote, when a voice was heard from the
other end of the hall, and a gentleman, more youthful in
appearance than any who had spoken before him, but
wearing in his features marks of the utmost firmness and
decision — tall and dignified in his person — walked boldly

456 NEW England's chattels ; or,

forward and addressed the meeting. We need hardly
say that this was James. Murmurs of discontent and
applause rose as he laid his hat on the table before him,
and commenced a speech. But silence soon stole over
the crowd, and people in the hall and outside the build-
ing all gathered in, and crept up on tiptoe nearer and
nearer, as they heard his voice. Never had he before
spoken in the hall on this question, and now had been
returned from Chicago but a week. James felt the im-
portance of the position he now assumed, as the public
advocate of the cause of the poor, and that unless his
speech should open the eyes and hearts of the opposi-
tion, again, as was most probable, would the town of
Crampton be disgraced by selling its town paupers to
the lowest bidder, to be supported for the year of our
Lord 185- ; and his whole spirit rose up to meet the
foul injustice and oppose the wrong. He laid before
the meeting a carefully arranged table of statistics, show-
ing the cost of the poor to the town, as compared' with
some other communities where a different plan was fol-
lowed, and that in those towns the income of the farm-
house system had been equal to the expense, and even
frequently greater ; and this, beside all the moral im-
provement, and the general health and good name of the
institution.* He showed how easily the same course
might be adopted here, and the great good it would at
once and in aU the future accomplish. Then he argued

* The reader will notice, in the Appendix D, extracts from a statement on this
point, as published in the N. Y. Tribune, prepared by James Brewster, Esq., of New
Haven, Conn.— a document of great practical value, and worthy of being read.—

AUTH.

Also, report of an Address to citizens of Syracuse, N. Y., by Andrew D. White.
Esq., copy furnished by Daniel C. Gilman, Esq., for N. Y. Tribune, Feb. 26, 1857.
Subject, Mr. Brewster's New Haven Aims-House Experiment, &c. &c. Also, Ex-
tracts on same, from Springfield Republican, Jany. 13, lS57.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 457

against the present plan, as grossly unjust to man as a
human being ; its cruelty ; its inliumanity ; its unbound-
ed selfishness ; its certainty of degradation and suffering.
" It is the last cruelty that can fall on a human being
this side the grave," said he. " You put him there to
endure all he can ere he lies down in his death sleep
and expires, simply because there is no provision made
to help lengthen out his existence ; you place him
where he can never rise, but must ever feel the omni-
potence and dishonor of poverty. And there, in this
great dismal charnel house, where thirty per cent, of
all your paupers yearly go to the grave, he struggles in
vain to feel himself a man ; you disfranchise him, you rob
him of his children ; under certain conditions only, and
those not looking to the good of the individual but of
the town, and therefore purely selfish, you allow him to
marry ; you do not provide for him a good and comfort-
able home, but strive to procure a bid for his support
that will save as much as possible to the town ; in all
your arrangements for him, you look to a saving on the
part of the town, and in every sense the working of the
system tends to the degradation and intense mortifica-
tion of the pauper. He cannot choose his own food,
his own room, his own clothes, his own associates, his
own employment ; he is allowed to own no property, to
command no money. He cannot choose his own masters
or keepers, but must go wherever the overseers of the
town send him under a contract, of which he knows
none of its conditio-ns ; in effect, you make a slave mart
of your Town Hall, and take bids for your slaves, not
holding them up as valuable chattels worth round sums
to their purchasers, but as poor stock — the poorer the
better — whose value lies in their proximity to the grave,
and of whom full thirty per cent, a year may safely be

20

458 NEW England's chattels; or,

calculated as falling oflf the bidder's hands. You place
them where cruelties may be experienced daily, inhu-
manities that should stifle the breath to hear of, inde-
cencies and vulgarities constantly forcing themselves
upon the mind ; profanity and blasphemy cultivated in-
to gigantic growth, and you deny your paupers Chris-
tian charit}". The system as practiced has in it cruel-
ties. Look here," said he, flinging ofl" his coat and baring
his arm, " I am one who can speak from experience. On
that arm I can trace the scars of many a rawhide, ot
many a flogging which I carry with me to the grave,
and I point you to them as evidence of the desperate
cruelty of the plan. You degrade man — see yonder
proof of it," said he, pointing to him as Tucker came
blundering half-drunk into the hall, " and now perhaps
he comes to tell us that the son of one of the first gentle-
men of a neighboring State, lately sick in our poor-
house, has given up the ghost, no one but his miserable
companions near him to receive his last messages, or to
render him the attentions dying men all need. Who
of you will go hence to follow him to the grave ? "Who
of you attended the sick and dying bed of Mr. Hicks,
formerly the public surveyor of this town, a man of great
reputation, and how many of you went to his grave ?
As it now is, your poor-house is little better than a
highway to corruption and death. And well may every
one of you who votes to keep it what it has now be-
come, fear, that like as Hicks and Pepper have found it
their old age asylum, so m^y you go into it in shame.
Vote to continue your present poor-house system and
to sell your paupers as slaves ! Well may every South-
erner shout over you exultingly, and bid you first wash
your own garments ere you complain of his. Do you
say the laws that cover him are humane, and are framed

James shows the Scars.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 459

to protect his life and to secure his comfort ? So may
reply to you the owner of a thousand slaves — ' I am for-
bidden to injure them — and am required to use my
power in them for their good.' But laws secure not
the object where the work itself is wrong. If you give
men the power to exercise cruelt}", what security have
you they will not ? If you seU fifteen or twenty of the
town poor to a citizen of the town for five hundred dol-
lars a year, i. e., promising to give him so much to sup-
port them, which is at the rate of forty dollars a month
for the whole twenty persons ; twenty-six dollars a year,
each, or fifty cents a week, which is seven cents a day !
think you he will not make them work to meet the bill
of their expenses, or reduce them to the simplest, cheap-
est, coarsest diet in his power ?* I know it all — so may
you, if you do not already. You give the masters an
opportunity to grind these people down to the very
dust, and grind them they do, and will, if poorly paid,
human nature remaining as it is.

I institute no comparison with slavery though I say
this. It is not my object. Draw your own inferences.
I have not time, nor is this the place to give you the
whole history of slavery — American slavery — that great
mother of abominations and cruelties in this our glorious
land, in this free Republic, in this age of learning, re-
finement and religion. Let slavery be as it may, let the
poor whites at the South be as they are, an abused,
down-trodden people — still shall we in our free towns at
the North, in our noble New England, be guilty of the
meanness and cruelty of supporting this old past century
pauper system with its crushing evils on the unfortu-
nate ? WiU we tolerate the cruelties and sins of the
system, and excuse them by saying, ' the laivs are good,

* See Appendix, E.

460 NEW England's chattels ; or,

icell framed, and cover the whole ground /' or even by
pointing to the greater cruelties, and more atominable
wickedness of Southern slavery ? Will we be guilty of
disfranchising a fellow-citizen, and selling him here in
town-meeting before the ministers of our religion, in
the sight of our best men, professedly Christian men,
members of the churches in the town, the husbands and
brothers of our pious and amiable ladies, our Christian
mothers and sisters — in fact every man, who by law can
do so, voting him no longer a free citizen, or worthy of
his personal privileges, — will he do this simply because
he is poor, and his necessity compels him to ask and to
receive the charity of his fellow-men ? Is this humane ?
Is this Christian treatment ? Is it just ? Will not the
great Avenger of wrongs number against us this in-
justice ?

Let us not hide ourselves under the specious cry,
' The laics are good/ — ' they expressly " say so and so," '
when we know that the laws give us directly tlie poiver,
give every town the power, to support the poor just as
we please, and deny the privilege of any efFectual
complaining on their part — when we know that the towns
will use their power not to secure the very best possible
treatment and comfort of the paupers, hut to save them-
selves, as far as they possibly can, from tlie taxes that must
be laid to pay the bill /

Here is the ground of all the difficulty. Here it is —
Let the laws be as high and pure as heaven, if you en-
trust their execution to ' Mammon,' he will nullify all
their benevolent reservations and outlines. Yes, you
must away with this opportunity cf extreme selfishness,
or, as our nature is, your laws will do little, if any good,
the case.

Now we desire a remedy — a complete modification of

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 461

the system. We have the poiver by the law to keep the
poor as we choose. So that our slavery is not Southern
slavery ; but it is heartless, mercenary, voluntary in the
highest sense. We may, we do discuss the question.
We may, we can, we shall, I trust, change the mode and
liberate these paupers from their present debasement.
Hence the value, the true elevation of our freedom of
speech and of action at the North.

I go for their entire elevation, reform, and civil relief.
I am opposed to their disfranchisement. I would give
them their liberty to vote, if of sound mind like other
men, to serve as jurymen, if wanted, to marry if they
choose, to have a positive influence in the disposition
of their children ; and above all things, save them from
the block of the auctioneer !

To do these things aright, they should be supported
on an entirely different plan from what we now have.
I am in favor of so arranging matters in relation to
them, that every pauper may have an opportunity to
earn money for himself, as a free man, his earnings be-
ing set down to his credit, and from this deducting his
expenses ; and so in the town-house, as in the great out-
side house of the world, supplying man with motive and
encouragement to personal exertion. Give him useful
and appropriate employment and a home.* Why not
give him this encouragement ? Is it not far preferable
to the rule that now crowds him down quick to the
grave ? I say we desire a remedy. It is simple duty
which the town owes to itself. Let us not be proud of
modernizing and ornamenting our cemetery where the
sleeping dead repose, while we are guilty of sustaining
such an institution, so perfectly unhallowed and accursed
as our corrupt and inhuman poor-house institution, where

* See Appendix F. & G.

462 NEW England's chattels ; or,

the living citizens of the town are driven in their old
age, sickness and poverty, for support. Why not truly
support and comfort them ? And echo in her faithfulness
answers, ' Why not ?' But selfishness yells out her in-
fernal response, ''It is expensive, and I canH afford it.'
Away with this refuge of lies. Let us be true to our-
selves and just to humanity. Let not the reproach any
longer rest on us that we are faithless, and deserving
each in his own turn, in himself, his children or chil-
dren's children, the same bitter shame and experience
that has now to be expiated by that unfortunate citizen
of this town, of late worth his hundreds of thousands,
and now so poor that there are none to do him reverence.

And hear me but a moment further, while I here
pledge the town, and here lay down on the table, or in
the hand of the moderator, the written proposition that
if the town will now vote to raise the sum of five thou-
sand dollars, in five annual payments of a thousand dol-
lars a year, to purchase a town-farm, buildings, etc., etc.,
and raise and empower a committee to act with the
selectmen of the town in the purchase of it and arrange-
ment, and choose a town-agent to look directly after the
afiairs of the paupers, I will, and hereby do, present the
town with the like sum of five thousand dollars — making
ten thousand in all — to carry out, in the best possible
manner, the design of humanity, benevolence, and sim-
ple justice."

The old town-hall of Crampton rung with the shouts
of all the people when young Sherman closed. The
young men of the town rallied around him ; his friends
congratulated him ; a great sensation, lasting for seve-
ral minutes, pervaded the whole meeting. Knots of
voters here and there discussed the question — some
even yet holding out ; others giving in, and going for
the reform.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 463

At length the moderator, for the third or fourth time,
calhng for order, Lawyer Tools stepped forward and
made the following motion :

Resolved^ That in accordance with the proposition of
James Sherman, Esq., to appropriate five thousand dol-
lars to the purchase of a town-farm, with suitable build-
ings, etc., etc., for the home of the paupers of this town,
provided a like sum of five thousand dollars be voted
and raised for this purpose by the voters of the town
now present ; the whole to be expended or appropriated
as the town shall direct, under the care of a committee,
town-agent, and the selectmen of the town — be it there-
fore voted, that this proposition be, and hereby is, ac-
cepted, and that a tax necessary to raise the first pay-
ment of a thousand dollars be now laid.

The moderator called for remarks. Mr. Savage said
a few words and sat down ; nobody else followed. The
vote was put and carried almost unanimously, only ten
men voting in the negative.

And thus ended the slavery of Crampton poor-house !
Thus came to pass Mag Davis' dream ! Thus was there
a Providence seen shaping the end of a poor boy, and
making wealth the instrument of good.

It is the inordinate and selfish love of money that is
its evil root.

If you are blessed with wealth, reader, go make it
your instrument of good to those who pine away daily,
sorrowing over crumbs and bones, while you are feeding
on the fatted calf ind on the sweetest loaves. The
prayers of the poor are ever ascending to heaven. Oh !
let them be in thanksgiving for your mercy — not the
imprecations of wrath for your cruelty and neglect.

464 NEW :ingland's chattels ; or,

CHAPTER XLIV.

The ^ew Town Farm. Dreams take a high rank. Mercy mingles in the cup ol
Poverty. Reunion of old Ideas, nothing inconsistent with modern improvements
and innovations.

The work of years — the effort to introduce a salutary
reform is oft the work of years, so slow are mankind to
adopt new theories and practices for old, even poor
ones — " the work of years" pushed on by men of clear
heads, determined and benevolent hearts, was at \ast
carried. Crampton, that for a long time had refused to
her paupers the kindly attention and Christian care
which their enfeebled state demanded, and that had
even joined other communities in the unrighteous
work of degrading them, either by a public sale un-
der the hammer of the auctioneer, or by the private
sale of the overseers, to the lowest bidder for the year,
and so emulating or endorsing the high injustice of
slavery itself — now placed herself on the side of human-
ity and truth. She voted to do to those who had no
helper, the work of tender and merciful guardianship,
and furnish them a home in their old age of bruises and
poverty and shame.

" Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least
of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

" I w^as an hungered, and ye gave me meat ; I was
athirst, and ye gave me drink ; naked, and y.e clothed
me ; sick and in prison, and ye came unto me."

"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain
mercy."

LIFE IN THE NORTHEEN POOR-HOUSE. 465

" Then said the master of the feast to his servant.
' Go out into the highways and hedges and bring in
hither the lame, the halt, and the blind.' "

" Go ye and tell John, * * * ' The jooor have the Gos-
pel preached unto them.' "

" I am come to seek and to save them that are lost."

GOSPELS.

The work thus happily begun, went on. * * * And
now, who of all the citizens of Crampton so fit to repre-
sent it in the office of Town Agent, as James Sherman
himself? It was tendered him, and accejDted.

Here is then one redeemed from the miserable and
degraded condition of j)auperism, as alas ! too plainly
visible among us in our free New England, who in his
elevation shows that society owes it to herself to burst
off the fetters of the poor, and make them free ; to give
them the guardianship of a true humanity ; to supply
all their wants in the spirit of true Christianity, and a
hopeful, peaceful end.

In the exercise of its commission, the committee
made choice of a very fine farm that was offered them,
situated a mile from the centre, having a large, commo-
dious house, sheltered by wide-spreading branches of
trees, occupying a pleasant, elevated site. The house
might easily be altered to furnish much more room than
at present would be wanted, and there were barns,
sheds, and other convenient outbuildings on the premi-
ses to make the property very well adapted to the wants
of the new tenants.

As it was immediately an available possession, the
committee purchased it. The cost was five thousand
doUars.

In a short time the poor were conveyed to their new
quarters. Words would faintly describe the jov the}^

20*

466 NEW England's chattels ; dr,

felt, the gratitude they manifested in this change of
their condition.

" Oh !" said she, who had lived so long in misery,
bending now over her staff, away up near the hill-top
of mortal life — good old pious Mrs. Prescott. " True
and faithful are thy ways, thou King of Saints. * * * I
have never seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed
begging bread. * * * My life testifies to the good-
ness, the long-suffering, the faithfulness and mercy of
the Lord, and now I will sing praises to him as long as
I live."

Roxy — poor, emaciated, demented, silly Roxy^ — half-
witted— sometimes showing a sparkling line of human-
ity, and then a dull, uncertain glimmering of it ; Roxy,
believing in, hoping for, living to behold it, the great
fulfillment of that extraordinary dream, of the wonderful
wise dreamer Mag ; Roxy sprang up and danced with
joy, and clad in a neat dress, and placed in a neat room,
with its cheap, but new and wholesome bed and carpet,
its sweet little mirror, its washstand and towel, and all
things necessary for comfort, was she not immensely
happ3^ ? And Mag said, " This is heaven on earth."

Mag regarded herself as the prophetess of a new dis-
pensation, and clothed herself with propriety and dig-
nity, as with a garment. Mag swore she had said her
last oath. She vowed henceforth to live a new life, and
to study and preach the Gospel, The widow Wakeup
said she was " now willing to depart in j^^aceJ' She
could now think to say her prayers ; and they did her
good, because she was not all the time thinking she
might be sent supperless to bed. " For my part," said
she, " I have been a very unfaithful Christian ever since
I Avent to the poor-house, because I have had so little to
eat, and so many other troubles : the Lord forgive me !"

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 467

Tucker didn't know what the d it all meant ; but

he believed in his soul it was " an improvement."

" Ye-ye-yes, it — it — it-t-t is sof said Sam White.
"The Lor — Lor — Lord's done — done — it, I hnoio!"

" I just knew Jims wouldn't leave us," said Bill. " He
told me he'd work out something for us afore he died,
as sure as he was a born crittur, and so he's done it."

Dan says he can verily see a great deal more of the
Gospel, and get hold of the Christian religion better
than he ever could before. Somehow or other, the old

ways looked to him like serving the d , and they

kept him in the dark, in spite of conscience and the
Bible.

There was a great change in every one's counte-
nance— a happiness in every heart longing for a day of
jubilee.

James' attention was at first called to the improve-
ments and necessary arrangements of the place, so that
he was there almost every day. One afternoon of a mild
day, near the close of October, Mr. Rodman, Mrs. Rod-
man, and Alice were with him walking about the grounds,
when one of the workmen came and called James to the
entrance to see an old man in poor raiment, who was in-
quiring for the town-agent ; so leaving his friends, James
went with him. Arrived at the gate, a man in poor,
tattered clothes, leaning on a staff, who was perhaps
sixty years of age, and looking older than that, bowed
to him, and stated that he had been directed there to
see the town-oflScer.

"I am poor," said he.

" Come in, my good sir," said James ; " that's a plea
we regard here ; come in, and I will talk with you. Sit
down on that seat, for I see you look fatigued."

" Thank you, sir ; I have walked some distance to-

468 NEW England's chattels ; or,

day, but my necessities have compelled me. I am poor,
sir."

" Well, I am sorry for that ; we will help you if we
can ; we do all we can for those who are in want. If
you are now in need of something to eat, or if you wish
for rest, you can have it."

" I have eaten a little by the way, but am more in
want of repose than of food, having walked over twenty
miles to-day."

" Possible ! You look too infirm for so long a walk."

" It may be, but I have frequently performed a longer
march. In my life-time I have seen many a weary day,
sir, and a great many vicissitudes of fortune."

" I think it very possible," said James. " We have
here persons of all grades in life ; their private history
is remarkable."

" I have seen better days. My youth was fair and
promising ; I had kind parents ; every thing to make
me happy ; my misfortunes have been brought on me
by myself. Now I am probably near the end, and I
regret my former ways."

" Life," said James, " is always teaching us a lesson.
We live to learn in the passing years, how much we
have done amiss and to repent, often when our repent-
ance is at so late an hour, we cannot enjoy it as we
would. But I hope your good days may yet be many ;
see, here is a cup of our fresh, cool water ! Thank you,
John ! Now just gather up the limbs and bushes you
have been trimming off, and throw them together in the
yard — will you ?"

" Yes, sir," said the man, and walked away.

" Have you ever been here before ?" inquired James.

" Yes, sir ; I suppose this is my native place. I have
been from it, however, a good many years ; ev^ry thing
seems new — I scarcely see a face I know."

LIFE IN THE NOKTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 469

" And do you propose to apply to us for support ?"
inquired James.

" I have thought I must, for I am now old and poor,
and my means of support are all gone — I have no
friends, and you see how I am clothed."

" Have you any legal settlement in the town ?"

" I don't know that I have ever lost it, except that I
have resided in foreign parts — not in any other State in
this country."

" You have been out of the country — abroad ?"

" Yes."

" How long ?"

" A good many years — thirty or forty."

" And Cramp ton is your native town ?"

" It is."

" Well, please to sit here a few moments. I must see
some gentlemen on business who have come on the
grounds, and I mil then return here. Make yourself
easy."

So saying, James hurried away, and soon returned up
the walk accompanied by our old friends, Squire Ben
Stout and Mr. Haddock. Soon Mr. and Mrs. Rodman
and Alice joined them, and James pointed out to the
company the improvements they had made in the walks
and shrubbery.

" We have a fine ground here. Squire Ben !" said
James.

" Very ! very ! It is an admirable spot — just the
thing," said the Squire, who at the same time, as he
now stood very near him, noticed the stranger start
involuntarily at the mention of his name and the
sound of his voice, and also that be was intently sur-
veying him.

Squire Ben, however, did not at first pay much atten-

470 NEW England's chattels ; or,

tion to him, but he said to James — " Who have we here,
sir ?"

" He is a stranger, a sufferer. He may need aid from
the town," said James.

Squire Ben regarded him a moment with interest.
" Mr. Haddock !" said he.

And the stranger started again, and fixing his eyes on
the two gentlemen, rose to his feet, still leaning on his
staff.

" Mr. Haddock !" said Squire Ben, " who is this ?"

" Pardon me. Squire," returned he, " I do not know.
He appears truly to be a person in want."

But the Squire's attention was not lessened by this
reply. He turned the eyes of the company on him by
saying — " There is something in the man, that seems
familiar to me."

" I see. Squire Stout," said the poor man, " that
you recognize something in my features, sorrowfully
worn as they are by the sins and toils of my life, that
reminds you of the past. And do you, George Had-
dock, see in me any thing that you can recall or re-
cognize ?"

" Something, perhaps, in the voice has a familiar
sound — I do not notice any thing further "

" But, good Heavens !" exclaimed the Squire — " for
God's sake — is it so — or am I mistaken, are you dead or
alive ? What on earth ! speak again, sir ! what, in the
name of all the marvellous — what does this mean ?" and
he grasped the stranger by the hand. " Haddock !
Haddock 1 what, don't you see — James ! Jims, for God's
sake, where are you, Jims ?"

" Why, here I am I Squire, what do you mean ?
Speak ! What is all this ?"

The Squire dropped the hand he had grasped —
" t/a??ics," said he, " by Heaven, this is your father /"

LIFE IN THE NORTHEKN POOR-HOUSE. 471

With a shriek of wild amazement, mingled with moan-
ing and affection, the son fell on the neck of the stranger
— himself bewildered now — yet stranger no longer — his
long-lost FATHER. And they wept together firmly lock-
ed in each other's arms. And around them was nothing
but surprise and weeping — even the workmen left their
labors and the inmates ceased their strolling, and all
gathered round, and flocked together, weeping and re-
joicing.

The father and son were almost borne together by
their friends to the house, who now entreated them to
be calm.

" Take off that accursed robe of poverty and wretch-
edness— take it from him !" cried James. " He shall
want no longer ! And if there's a fatted calf on the
farm let it be killed ; and we will have music and danc-
ing, for the lost is found. My father who was dead is
alive again !"

Nothing like this had ever before transpired in
Crampton ; nothing ever before so stirred up the feel-
ings of surprise in its inhabitants, or produced a more
joyful and tearful set of emotions and sympathies.

Long explanations followed — too long for us to repeat
them. We simply say that Mr. Sherman, (for it was
he,) having survived the attack of fever in the West In-
dies, and wishing to produce the impression at home of
his death, had, with the aid of a fellow-sailor, practiced

deceit on the American Consul, Mr. H s, at Barba-

does, and shipped for Calcutta. Here he fell into Avays
of life agreeable to his present views and customs, and
suffering extremely, enlisted in the service of the East
India Company. He continued in the British army there
ten years, when, being severely wounded in an engage-
ment in a hard battle with the natires of one of the in-

472 NEW England's chattels ; or,

terior provinces, be was laid by from further garrison
and camp dutj^, and transferred, after two years, to tbe
navy. Here be remained six or eigbt years, and was at
lengtb released tbrougb tbe agency of tbe American Con-
sul at Calcutta. He subsequently sailed to tbe Pacific,
and after tbree years returned again to tliat port, wbere
be engaged a passage to bis own country. On tbe pas-
sage be was wrecked on tbe African coast ; and it was
a long time, at least two years, before be found an op-
portunity of escape. Wben be did, it was by a vessel
bound to tbe East ; and it was tbree years before be
finally reacbed New- York, sick, dispirited, and witbout
any money to pay bis ordinary expenses.

In tbis situation, be made an eflfort to reacb bis native
town. Enfeebled by disease, lame, wounded, destitute
of money, be begged bis way from town to town, or
gladly received tbe aid tbat common bumanity proffered
him, gazing ever earnestly for a sigbt of bis early
bome. A stranger told bim, as be entered the town,
tbat the poor-bouse was situated wbere be bad found
it, and no one bad mentioned to him the name of tbe
agent.*

We have little more to say. Tbe arrangements of tbe
town for the support of the paupers gave almost, if not,
universal satisfaction. Tbe number of paupers dimin-
ished under the new treatment, as it was found to con-
tribute largely to their elevation and improved condi-
tion generally. The effect on the funds of tbe town was
such as to convince the most sceptical that it was pecu-
niarily a great gain.

Tbe good old widow Prescott, after a short time, died

* Appendix H.

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 473

in an unexpected hour, her strength suddenly failing, as
the very aged often die ; but her mind failed not till near
the last moment. Among her weeping companions,
her head supported by James, while Rev. Mr. Rodman
offered up a prayer for her departing spirit, Mr. and
Mrs. Haddock, and one or two deacons and brethren of
the church present, she closed her eyes on the world of
trials, faith, and patience, and, as we believe, went home
to the bright world of fruition, glory, and song. Every
one of the paupers who was able went to her grave and
saw her buried. This was a new thing to them. They
began to see the difference in their condition, even at
funerals ; and being dressed like other people, they were
not ashamed to walk among the graves, to answer ques-
tions, and to speak to those who accosted them. They
could not avoid thinking it was a handsome thing to be
decently buried ; to see a good many people at your
grave — i. e., at your companion's grave ; to be thought
a human being worthy of a burial notice, and perhaps a
marble slab in memory of one, as at least belonging to
the great race — the human people.

Captain Bunce was employed by James and the over-
seers to assist in the care of the poor. He regained the
confidence of all who had formerly known him, and be-
came very useful in the position assigned him. Henri-
etta, failing day by day, yet rejoicing in the kind provi-
sion made for her father's comfort, at length found rest
from all earthly sorrows in the grave.

So, one after another, dropped from off the Life Book
on earth these aged and infirm men and women — with
many it being true that their last were their best days.
Pray God that they all — yea, that we ourselves all —
may be found on the Book of Life Eternal in the

474 NEW England's chattels ; or,

Heavens — our home there in that house not made with

hands I

The venerable Mr. Warren was, soon after the events

we have now described, gathered to his fathers.
*******

" For the needy shall not always be forgotten ; the

expectation of the poor shall not perish forever." —

Psalm 9 : 18.

ITEM.

Mag Davis — One word about her and a singular coincidence.
Interested in her personal character, my readers must devour with
eagerness a precious vwrceau like this, which, I confess, should
have appeared earlier in this little drama. Mag Davis — don't deny
it, ladies, and say that Queen Victoria, or the Empress Eugenia were
the first to discover and apply them — no such thing. Mag Davis,
beyond all reasonable doubt, was the first one to discover and ap-
ply that world-renowned appendage to female attire, called hoops.
The apparatus was of course in her hands, rude, consisting of wooden
hoops from old casks. But it answered the object, and Mag adopt-
ing, Roxy imitated and pursued the fashion : so it spread. The
imitators and disciples of Miss Margaret Davis are now the univer-
sal daughterhood of Eve.

This may seem to you, my readers, trifling with a serious, money-
making business and custom, (and every body knows that hoops are
the envy of all men !) but I mention it on account of a remarkable
coincidence, which is, that this fashion (which now pervades the
world, and has swept the hats of every gentleman, how fine soever
the beaver, out of all the aisles of the churches in Christendom !)
which will undoubtedly end i7i the poor-house, should have had its
ORIGIN there.

* * * When we last heard of Mag Davis she was in a brown study,
moody, and complaining. She said she had long since lost sight of
her own invention, and had altogether abandoned it. Alas ! — yet
such is often the fate of Genius.

APPENDIX

A.— p. 230.

CURIOUS FACTS.

Certain inhabitants of Moretown, Vermont, says a Boston paper,
in order to rid the town of the support of a pauper cripple, feeble in
body and mind, induced a man to marry her by the payment of §60
in hand and the promise of ^40 in addition. It appeared that the
would-be, or hired husband professed to entertain a special spite
against the town of his own legal settlement, and hoped that he should,
by the marriage, impose the burden on them. The ceremony took
place, and the parties lived together about three weeks, when the
husband abandoned the wife, in consummation of his original purpose.
On her petition for a decree of nullity, the Court held that the trans-
action was wanting in all the essentials of a valid marriage. It was
a sham and pretence ; and in regard to the petitioner, it was a most
flagrant and disgraceful fraud. — iV. Y. Sun. Jan. 8. 1857.

B.— p. 234.

ANSWERS GIVEN TO QUESTIONS PUT BY THE AUTHOR.

I. Question. '• What civil rights do they lose, if any, in becoming
paupers ?"

Ans. " The right to vote, and to hold property as against the town
which supports them." -

Question. " Can they vote ?"

Ans. '• No."

Question. " Can they act on a jury ?"

Ans. "No."

Question. " (/an they own any prcperty ?"

Ans, "No."

476 NEW England's chattels ; or,

Question. " Can thej, if they have children, direct when and where
they shall be apprenticed out ?"

Ans. '• No."

Mass. Law. Answers given bj' D. B., Esq., an Attorney residing in
the State.

II. Question. " What civil rights do they lose ?"

Ans. '"Jurors must be freeholders : they cannot act as jurors."

Question. " Can they vote ?"

Ans. "Yes."

Question. " Can they own any property V

Ans. " If they relinquish their support as paupers, they can."

Question. " Can they legally marry ?"

Ans. •' Yes : But when the overseers of one town fraudulently pro-
cure a male pauper of another town to marry their female pauper,
such marriages have been annulled."

(I believe the overseers of the poor always object to paupers mar-
rying where the said marriage will be a burden to the town. They
do not oppose the marriage of a woman who is on the pauper list, to
a man who is a freeholder, or who will take her away to another
town. Author".)

Question. As to children ? Ans. As before.

Vermont Law. Answers by L. G. M., Esq., and J. D. B., Esq., at-
torneys residing in the State.

By the laws of Connecticut, Judge 0 of New Haven, and

Judge E. R. F. of the same city, informed the writer, formerly pau-
pers could not act as jurors, because required to be freeholders^
which restriction was now removed. — Pauperage itself does not dis-
qualify for voting. But children are not under the direction of their
parents. The usual marriage restriction prevails in Conn. Paupers
cannot there choose their own mode, or place of support. Neither
can they select their own masters. They are often kept on poor fare in
miserable houses.

C— p. 447.

Judge T. B. Osborne, of New Haven. Conn., informed me that three
towns, including the old and respectable town of Fairfield as one of
them, combined together and built a poor-house for their common use.
Here he said the utmost filth, vice and wretchedness prevailed. Sev-

LIFE IN THE NORTUERN POOR-HOUSE. 477

era! children, in the most squalid, degraded condition, were kept there,
and no body would tolei-ate one of them in his house. At length
two ladies determined to investigate the matter and attempt its re-
form. They made a visit to the poor-house, and such was their re-
port of its condition that the town took up the matter and voted it
a nuisance, and broke up the establishment. The ladies then took
these children, washed them, dressed them, took care of them, and ap-
plying for it to the legislature, obtained an act incorporating their
society as the Female Benevolent Society of Fairfield, (I think.) The
town also voted to give them the amount it had formerly paid for the
support of the poor. They went forward with their benevolent en-
terprise, and soon had the happiness to see the whole system of
squalid pauperism, especially in respect of children, entirely run out.
The children were placed in good families, the best of families. Mrs.

O herself brought up one of them, a young girl, who married

afterwards one of the most respectable and intelligent men in the
county. The wife of the Hon. R. M. S., brought up several of them,
who were afterwards among the finest women m that vicinity. And
one excellent result of this movement was, almost totally to put an
end to all such vagrancy and pauperism in the town,. — Auth.

Mr. Brewster says of the Alms House in New Haven : " Provi-
dentially I visited the Alms House, and found it in a miserable con-
dition— three-fourths of all the inmates having been brought there
directly or indirectly by intemperance, and they still had access to
strong drink. Not only this ; it was a brothel ; many had been con-
fined there for licentiousness, and the evil was continued in the place
designed for reform. But more than all, I found more than a score
of children, some of whom were the ofispring of the inmates, and many
were orphans indeed.

The condition of all was deplorable. No stated or uniform wor-
ship was held on the Sabbath; and the instruction of the children,
if instructed at all, was conducted in the most loose and indifferent
manner." Mr. Brewster's Private Journal. — Auth.

Mr. Brewster advocated at the town meeting his plan of improv-
ing the condition of the inmates, and was met generally by jeers and
rebukes, and especially when he asked for an additional tax of one
cent on the dollar to effect his plans. — Auth.

478 NEW England's chattels ; or,

D.-p. — .

The writer proposed questions which were answered by L. G.

Mead, Esq., J. Dorr Bradley Esq.. and 0. Smith, Esq. of B" , Vt.,

to this effect

Question. " Are the paupers any direct tax on the town, as you
keep them ?"

Ans. " The farm cost ^2,500. Its interest is no otherwise realiz-
ed than being thus applied. The superintendent has a salary of $;200.
Some years a trifle is saved towards the next year's wants or im-
provements. At other times the expenses slightly overrun the
earnings.

Question. " Were they not formerly a direct tax on the town ?''
Ans. "They formerly cost nearly (not quite) f}^l,000 per annum."
Question. " Does the present mode work more beneficially to the
paupers as well as more profitably to the town, than did the old
method of keeping them ?" (i. e. by sale, contract, private agreement.)
Ans. " Much, very much better for both."

Question. " Is the old method entirely or but partially abandoned ?"
Ans. "Only partially, but the change is progressing."
Question. " In what manner were they formerly kept ?"
Ans. " By contracts with persons to board and clothe them, each
being sold separately, and by contract with the Doctor for medical
attendance for the whole.

Says James Brewster, Esq : " In the year 1825, my attention was
called to the subject ; and at our annual town meeting of that year
I asked an appropriation for improving the condition of the Alms
House, and gave my views in full. A committee was appointed, who,
after an investigation of the matter in all its relations, reported in
fa^or of my proposition, and the appropriation was granted. The
moral and physical improvement of the paupers were considered as
indissoluhly connected^ and it was recommended that suitable employ-
ment should be found for all.

The improvements were effected as speedily as possible, and labor
suitable to the ability of the inmates was introduced in all the de-
partments. Those most able were employed in farming and horti-
cultural pursuits, and the products were sent in their season to mar-
ket, where they found ready sale.

The beneficial effects were soon manifest, not only in the improved
condition of the inmates, but in the decrease of the expenses of their

LIFE IN THE NORTHERN POOR-HOUSE. 479

support. Although the population of the city at that time was (less
than) but about seven thousand, the annua,! cost was about !^5.000,
The improvement has been progressive ; and though we have now
some thirty-three thousand inhabitants, yet for many years past the
income has exceeded the expenditures.

As a moral duty, no one should be indifferent to the condition of
the poor ; for such are the vicissitudes of human life, that many of
the descendants of those who once rode in their coaches through
Broadway are now inmates of an Alms House."

Mr. White in his report, says of the new Alms House and farm at
New Haven ;

" Ninety acres of land were bought about a mile and a half from
the centre of the city, and a new Alms House erected. The land
cost $100 per acre, the buildings .§15,000. Soon after this, expendi-
tures were made for farm buildings and stock, beside 150 acres of
wood land, which brought the whole outlay nearly to$30,000. Much
objection was raised against these appropriations, but it proved a
most fortunate investment, as in consequence of the advance of the
city in that direction, the farm of 90 acres could now be sold for more
than four times its original cost.

COMPARATIVE ECONOMY OF OLD AND NEW SYSTEMS,

'•From the year 1811 to the year 1820 inclusive, the expenditures
of the town for the support of the poor in the Alms House alone was
$42,902, or about $4,300 a year. This was under the old system,
with all its folly, laziness, filth and licentiousness ; and as the popu-
lation of New Haven was then 6.000, we may infer that under a like
system, to-day, now that the population is 30,000, the yearly expen-
diture would be over $21,000. But under the present system, with
its stately edifice, its fine farm, its neatness and home-like comforts,
the institution proves not only self-sustaining, but actually a revenue
to the town. Expenses from 1852 to 1856 inclusive, 5 years, $14,
075,50. Eeceipts for the same period, $15,539,68 ! The success of
this reform is triumphant."

In the Springfield, !Mass. Republican, Jan. 13, 1857, we read as
follows, (the article by the editor is a review of Mr. Brewster's let-
ter to the N. Y. Tribune on Pauperism.)

" The New Haven policy is that which is aimed at in Massachu-
setts, in connection as well with the reformatory as the charitable
institutions, but without the same success. The State paupers are

480 NEW England's chattels ; or,

a heavy tax upon the commonwealth, and the town paupers upon the
towns. * * * * l^he aim to make every pauper establishment,
so far as possible, a self-supporting one, is a humane aim as well as
one which best consults a sound public policy. * * *

Thus there is essentially no pauperism in New Haven. The City
takes those who are not all able to manage for themselves, and man-
aging for them, places them where they can earn their own living.
In other words, the pauperism of New Haven is a self-supporting
institution."

E.— p. 459.

From returns to the General Assembly of Connecticut, in May,
1852, by a committee on the subject of State and Town Paupers, it
appears that there were in 1851, in 134 towns from which reports
were obtained, (there being 15 other towns that gave no answers,)
3,680 paupers in the State. These were kept in 37 Alms Houses,
and 90 Poor-Houses, and other places as circumstances made it de-
sirable.

From these returns, which must be regarded as authentic, inas-
much as they were given by the proper authorities of the several
towns, it appears that in the year 1851 there were actually reported
3,680 paupers, and the remaining 15 towns would probably swell the
number to 4,000. We find in these papers, prepared with much
care and printed by order of the General Assembly or Legislature,
of that state, that —

In Hartford County :

There were in the to^vn of Avon, 12 paupers, costing the town per year $240,
1. e. $20 per year fur each pavjper, or a 2-3 cents each per day. How many crackers would
this buy?

Windsor, same county, 56 paupers, cost $838,56 : each per year$14.97, perday 4 1-lOc.
In New Haven Coun^- :

Branford, 17 paupers, cost S193,29 : each per year $29,00, per day 7 9-10 c.
In New London County :

Groton, 22 paupers cost $492 : each per year $22,36, per day 6 1-10 c.
In Fairfield County :

Huntington, 25 paupers cost $400 : each per year $16,00 : each per day 4 1-3 c.

Wilton. 24 '• " $490 : " " •' $20,41 2-3 " " '• 5 6-10 c.

Westport, 40 " " $620 : " " " $15,50 : " " " 4 1-4 c.

In Litchfiold County :

Barkhamsted, 34 " " $500 : " " " $14,70."
In Middlesex County :

Haddam, 32 paupers " $497 ; « " " $15,53

In Tolland County:

Vernon, 30 paupers " $680: " " " $22,66
In Windham County :

Pomfret, 14 pauiiers " $350 : " " " $25,00

BR00KLY5, 19 " " $-450 : " " " $23,68

4 1-10 c

41-4 c.

61-4 c.

6 4-5 c.
6 2-5 c.

LIFE IN THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 481

Some of the towns mentioned in the report from which we make
up this little morceau, gave more than those we have mentioned.
The average cost here is less than 7 cents each per day.*

According to the United States census of 1850, there were in Conn,
supported in whole or in part for the year ending June 1st, 2,337
paupers. This is, I think, far below the truth. — Author.

From the same returns, Massachusetts is represented as supporting
but 3,712 paupers, but by the Mass. State Returns in ISoG, there were
21,102 paupers relieved in whole or in part.

In Massachusetts :
Northampton, with a population of 5,278 souls, 38 were wholly
relieved, 16 partially— costing §633 ; 17 of those relieved were by the
Masons and Odd Fellows,

From the census we also gather this remarkable fact, viz., that in
the ten years from 1843 to 1853, the order of Odd Fellows had paid to
relieve its poor and sick members an aggregate of §3.023,221 !

The census also shows that whereas much relief has been granted
to the poor by Ladies' Sewing Circles, by Widows' and Orphans'
Societies, by Churches, viz,, Cong., Bap., Meth., Episco., Pres., Relig-
ious Societies in General. Sons of T., Daughters of T.. Masons, Hiber-
nian Societies, Odd Fellows' Lodges, Fuel Societies, City Missions, &c.,
&c,, these have been generally, (not always.) but in the great majority
of cases, given to relieve the partially poor, not the absolute paupers,
* Tho report closes as follows :

" This subject viewed in any of its aspects, is one of great interest and importance to
the people of this State. In a pecuniary view alone, the annual expenditure of nearly
one hundred thousand dollars, demands a scrutinizing and vigilous attention]; but in
Its moral and sooiiil aspects it makes upon us a far higher demand. For lie, who
created man in His own express Ukeness and image, hath ordained to him other and
deepel- wants than those he feels in common with the brute. Neglect may leave the
skin to be shrivelled wth cold, and the stomach to be pinched with hunger ■ but the
heart and the spirit may be left to a keener and a deeper suffering stU] ; and any system
of Charity which merely provides for the sufferings of the former, entii-ely regardless of
the latter, is hardly worthy of the name.

Mere food and raiment are not enough. The virtuous aged and infii-m Bhoiild be
fostered with respect, and in substantial ease and comfort ; the sick should have kind
nnd careful ministrations ; the ab.e should be required to labor for the common support
aocordmg to their real strength and ability ; the young should be properly trained and
educated and all should he surroimded by a genial, moral, and social home influence '•
A good report, good, generous sentiments, and the public shall have the names of the
committee who drafted it. They are If. H. Morgan, S. H. Kbeler * ♦ *

And Judge Osborne, together with the young Secretary of State, Hon. N. D Sperry
whofurn,,hed me with the report and with other valuable information, will please
accept mj thankg.— Author.

482 NEW ENGLAND'S CHATTELS ; OR,

So the census has it in two divisions, as " number wholly reUeved^^^
paupers in re, and as '■^number relieved in part" i. e. the common
and respectable poor, who are thus, it may be, kept out of the poor-
house. — AUTH.

F,— p. 461.

Pauperism abroad : in Belgium, showing its frightful extent, and
that " in procuring labor for the poor" is the hope of its abatement.

ACTH.

" Pauperis Ji. — The discussions of the Second Chamber on the Char-
itable Institutions bill elicited very valuable information on the
present state of pauperism in Belgium. According to Tsl. Percival, a
speaker of the Liberal party, the nation consists of 908,000 families,
89,000 of which are wealthy, 373,000 are in embarrassed circum-
stances, and 446,000 live upon what every day brings them. Of the
latter 226,000 femilies are paupers, whom the state has to support.
The aggregate income of the charitable institutions amounts to about
ten millions of francs. Estimating the number of paupers who have
to be supported at 800,000 individuals, the average support which
the charitable institutions are able to afford to every individual would
be four centimes a day. From 1828 to 1850, the number of paupers
has been increased by 300,000 individuals, and from 1840 to 1850,
the communities have had to contribute thirty millions for the sup-
port of the paupers. ]\I. Percival concludes from these frightful
statistics, the accuracy of which no speaker from the other side of
the Chamber has contested, that the solution of the question of
pauperism lies neither in an unlimited freedom of donations and be-
quests, nor in the restoration of corporations with personal rights,
but in procuring labor for the poor. Some of the Catholic speakers
charged against Protestantism with having produced pauperism, and
found the only remedy for it in the Catholic Church, and more par-
ticularly in the spreading of convents, but they did not explain why
so many countries which are almost entirely without a Protestant
population, suffer so dreadfully from the spreading of pauperism,"
N. Y. Independent, June 25, 1857.

• LIFE M THE NOETHERN POOR-HOUSE. 483

G.— p. 461.

Pauperism in England and "Wales. — It declines when the poorer
classes can have employment. A few years since the paupers of
England,- Scotland, Ireland and Wales, were estimated at several
millions. And even now, by the following ' Parliamentary return,'
the paupers of England and Wales are nearly 1,000,000 persons. —

AUTH.

" Decline op Pauperism. — It is gratifying to observe, from a Par-
liamentary return issued on Tuesday, that throughout the quarter
ending at Lady-day last, there has been in every week a diminution
of the numbers relieved both of in-door and out-door paupers, in
England and Wales, as compared with the corresponding weeks of last
year. In the last week of the quarter the total number was 897,445,
against 928,561 last year, showing a decrease of 31,110. This is
doubtless to be attributed, to a considerable extent, to the comparative
cheapness of bread ; but it is also a favorable indication as regards
the employment of the poorer classes." — N. Y. Independent, July IG,
1857.

In 1848 the number relieved in England and Wales, in door and
out door, was 1,026,201."— C/". S. Census, 1850.

H.— p. 472.

The following bit of ' Romance' we found in either a New York or
Philadelphia paper, but were unusually careless at the time in noting
which. — AuTH.

Romance of Life.

The Orleans Republican, published at Albion, gives the following
instance of romance in real life :

" In 1816 an enterprising man, possessed of some capital, removed
to this section, which was then an unbroken forest, and took up a
considerable tract of land, a part of which is now included in the
limits of our thriving village. Where the Seminary now stands, he
commenced his clearing, and built his humble cabin. After a while
he became discontented, perhaps involved, sold his farm for a trifle,
and suddenly disappeared, leaving behind his wife and child. After
the lapse of years, a rumor came that he had been accidently killed
in Canada, llis supposed widow, re-married, lived with her second

484 NEW England's chattels

husband several years and died. In the fall of 1855, an old man, of
most forlorn appearance, was seen at the corner of our principal
streets, inquiring for the Poormaster. That officer was pointed out,
and the old man told him that poverty had overtaken his old age,
and that as he was one of the pioneers of Orleans county, he' thought
he should be supported here, and concluded by asking to be sent to
the county house. After becoming satisfied of his identity, the Poor-
master took him to the county house, and then proceeded to inform
the son, whom the father considered dead, that his long absent parent
was alive and had returned. The son — who was well-to-do in the
world — immediately sought out his father and took him home, where
he still is."

Instances of re-union after so long a separation are rare ; and still
less often does it happen that a man returns to what was once his
own property, and which he left almost an unbroken wilderness, to
find it a thriving and prosperous village of four thousand inhabitants,
and to witness on every hand evidence of wealth, while he who was
formerly lord of the soil still remains in abject poverty.

H. DAYTON S PUBLICATIONS.

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JUST PUBLISHED,

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M sells at $1 00 in cloth, full gflt back.

g From the Sentinel, Lawrence, Mass.

IP This story, revealing, as it does, many of the dark spots upon the history of Pa-
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fc in possession of the facts, from the mouth of one of the principal actors in the sketch,
|h a former Roman Catholic Priest.

1^ Fram the Journal, Clinton, Mass. j

E^, This work has for its object the keeping in perpetual remembrance the monstrous ;
t evils of that system of theology that binds down the conscience, and Lays claim to I
r' implicit obedience on the part of all its followers. The plot of the tale is deeply ;
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Sf, ling character, that whoever commences the reading will continue to the terrible I
h denouement, the violent death of Madclon, and the speedy retribution that followed i
Ij the crimes of the infamous Father Ileustace. i

Kj( _ From the Am. Presbyterian, Philadelphia, Pa. i

p This, as its title page denotes, is a tale of horrors. Its scene is laid in Philadel- ;
T' phia, its chief actor being a Jesuit Priest, under whose sacred exterior lie hid mur- '
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Wc begin to find that the great question of the day in all our large v
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From (he Christian Advocate and Journal
This is certainly among the most delightful volumes we have ever road. It is
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/', in one who fesls and realizes his personal interest in the " story of the cross."

I<J From the Dispatch, Kichmond, Va. .g

OS Jesus was man, as well as God ! In this book Ho is seen^ conversed with, eaten gg
with as a man ! The book presents him in the social and moral relations of life, y
with exemplary fidelity to the Scripture narrative, and yet with a freshness which ^
pi falls upon the mind like a new and thrilling narrative, and a life-likeness in every ^7
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j^h I.;, of the Divine character, so touching and so true. ^

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1 Vol. 12mo. 500 pages. PRICE ^1 25. |

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In his preface, the author informs us that the work '•' is not designed as a system- yl
I? atic treatise, but as an humble essay on the great, the inexhaustible subject of the "H
""^ ■' ■■' * ' to a lost TTorld." It is divided into four parts, under 6^

Christ and Him Crucified ;" t]
These are subdivided into

love of Christ, as manifested

the following general heads : " The Love of Christ ;"
" AVanderings of a Pilgrim ;" " Immanuel's Land;
some eight or ten chapters each.

From the New- York Chronicle.
In coming to the pages of this good book, after noticing so many of quite a differ- , i
ent character, we feel our souls refreshed like a man who reaches a green, beautiful
rivulet — irrigated oasis in a land where no water is, a land which is as the shadow f\
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rion 75
)sed ^

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the gates of death, and well nigh terminated his life." It offers Christianity to the J
reader, not in any controversial aspect, not in any acute, metaphysical or philoso- it
phical form, not as gratifying curiosity by new revelations in reference to departed ^
spirits or their abode, not in any of the phases of it in which so many are solely ab- 'J[
sorbed, but Christianity as embraced by one who has been slain by the law and ,%
made alive by Christ, as the biilm of a wounded heart, as salvation for the lost, as gQ
life for the dead. And as the matter of this work is thus purely evangelical, so its (j
style is eminently simple, direct, appropriate. It is made to bear with great force "^
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up the spiritual affections from their deepest fountains. We could wish that wh.at- ^
ever books are given on the holidays, this one may accompany them as the crown- as
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|) •A BOO EL FOR EI'*ZiiY' ^^MILY*,

9

uisriArERSA.1:. guide,

8vo., Paper. Price 50 cents.

This Book makes known some of the most remarkable discoveries in Household
Affairs. Many of these Piccipes have never before been published, and actually
cost from $20 to S50 each ; and we believe that the Contents below will strong-
ly commend the Work to the Patronage of every Family in the land. Here will
be found ample information upon a varietj' of important subjects, from the best
authorities.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

Part I. — The Arts Revealed, or, Secrets made Knnjon. — Tlie Celebrated Chiuese Cement, fur
I Mending Glass, Marble, China, Earthenware, &c. ; The Magic Copj'ing Press or Manifold Writer,
Recipe tor the Colors used ; to make a Powder by which you Write with Water ; Powder for
; Removing Superfluous Hair ; Imperial Gina:er Pop ; Volatile Soap for removing Paint, Grease-
spots, &c. ; White Spruce Beer ; Cheap and Excellent Blue Color for Ceilings, &c, ; Unsurpassed
I Blacking ; Ink Powder for Immediate Use ; to make Ink for marking Linen with Type ; For In-
, delible Ink ; Common Small Beer ; Boot Beer ; to make Cologne Water ; to take off instantly
^ the Copy of a Print ; to Prepare a Transparent Paper for Drawing ; to make Water Oil for
Painters ; to make Paint without White Lead and Oil ; to Prepare Gun Cotton ; to Remove
j Writing Ink from a Printed Page ; Composition for Lucifer Matches ; Lemon Syrup ; To make
; Sarsaparilia Mead ; Essences ; A VVaterproof Glue ; Celebrated Kecipe for Silver Wash ; Remark-
able Chemical Erasive Compound ; Gold and Silver Coin Detector ; Iron Cement ; Wood Cement ;
Infallible Cure for Cancer.

Part II. — Invaluable Recipes for Families. — To setColors Past in Calicoes and other Goods : to
take Stains out of Mahogany ; to Restore Colors taken out by Acids ; to take Mildew out of
Linen ; to Clean badly-soiled Bed ticks ; to Destroy Bed Ants ; to Cleanse Black Veils ; to Clean
Britannia or Silver ; Cure for Bleeding at the Stomach ; Hard Soap ; Method of Cleaning China ;
to Cleanse Foul Casks ; to Destroy Bedbugs ; To Preserve Hams ; Labor-saving Soap ; To Clean
Light Kid Gloves ; to Clean Stoves and Stone Hearths ; to Clean Mahogany and Marble Furni-
ture ; to Restore Rusty Italian Crape ; to Clean Phials and Pie Plates ; to Cleanse Feather Beds
and Mattresses ; to Remove Paint and Putty from Window Glass ; tc extract Stains from While

- Cotton Goods and Colored Silks ; to Extract Grease from silks, Paper, Woolen Goods, and Floors ,
to Remove Black Stains on Scarlet Woolen Goods ; to Remove Stains from Broadcloth ; to Ex-
tract Ink from Floors ; on the Mixture of Colors ; Names of Principal Dyeing Drugs ; Causes for
the Holding of Colors ; Lime Water ; of Blue, Black ; to make Chemio Blue and Green ; on Dye-
ing Silks in the Small or False Dye ; for Discharging Colors ; Light Blue SUks, Green Silks ; A
very pretty Hair Brown ; for Slate-colored Silks ; for a Stone-colored Silk ; to Make Half Violet
or Lilac ; to Dye a Shawl Crimson ; to make Flesh Colors ; for a Common Shawl ; for Dyeing

' Straw and Chip Bonnets ; for Dyeing Silk Stockinv,? Black ; on Dyeing Blacks and Browns ; to
take Stain of Dye from Hands ; for Bleaching Cotl-cn ; for Slate-colored Cotton ; for an Olive

j Green ; for a Full Yellow ; to Dye a Pelisse Black ; to Dye Woolen Stuffs Black ; A Pretty Red
Brown, very bright, the Dye costing but sixpence ; for Dyeing Black Cloth a Dark Green ; L^rec-
tions for Washing Calicoes ; for Cleaning Silk Goods ; for Washing White Cotton Cloths j for
Washing Woolens ; to Clean Woolen and SUk Shawls.

1 Part IV.— Important Im^ruclums to Touno Ladies and Young Omilemen in Reject to Dress,
Clea-nlino'S. <£c. — The Dress, Evening Dresses ; the Hat, High-neck Dresses ; Flounces, Tucks ;
Short Cloaks, Dressing the Hair ; Gaps, Purity of Breath; Important hints to Young Men ; Style
and Dress of Gentlemen ; Choic3 of a Wife ; How to Treat a Wife ; A Gnide in all Things.

» [Continued on nead page.

1

AETS EEVEALED.—OontaiU ConUmied.

Part V. — NeedUvyrrk for Totmg Ladies, embradng In^ructums in Embroidery on Muslin, SiUt
Vdvet, lie. — Kmbroidery with FI088, three-corded isilk, Chenille. Worsted, &c. ; Raised Embroid-
ery ; atitches in Embroidery on Muslin and Lace- Work ; Iiouble Button h<fle Stitch ; Gluver'B
Stitch, Eyelet Holes ; Embroidery, Feather Stitch ; Formation of Bars ; Button-hole Stitch,
Darniug ; Eyelet holes in Lacework ; Interior Stitch, Chain .stitch ; Veining Open Hem ; Pearl-
ing. Lines ; Straight Open Hem ; Half Herring bone Stitch ; Tambour Stitch, Spots on Net ; Em-
broidery on Muslin ; Embroidery in Gold Thread ; Ia:?tructions ia Lace-work ; Embroidery for
Insertion ; Things to be Remembered.

Part VI. — Rules of Politeness for Ladies and Oentlenun. — Rules of Politenees ; Models of Invito"
tiou Cards ; How to Address a Lady ; Language of the Finger Ring j Rules of Conversation •
Young People's Primary Instruction in the Art of Drawing.- '

Part VH. — Miscellaneous Recipes, — To, keep the Hair from falling off ; Oil for!the Hair, to make
it Curl ; to CUfe Freckles, Shaving Soap ; Tincture for Diseased Gums ; Red Boitle Wax ; White-
wash that will not Rub off ; to make Cloth wind and rain proof ; J'eathers, Icy Steps ; to Poli.ih
Stoves, Black Ball ; Inflamed Eyes ; to Blacken the Eyelashes ; to Perfume Clothes ; Certain Cure
for Eruptious, Pimples, ic; Cheap, white House Paint ; Confectionery : Ornamental Frosting ;
to Clarify Sugar for Candies ; Fine Peppermint Lozenges ; Icing for Cakes ; Saffron Lozenges ;
Strawberry Ice Cream.

Part Vin. — T%e Doctor ai Home. — New Cure for Consumption, Scrofula, Rickets, Diarrhsea, &c. ;
Cure tor a Xail Run into the Foot ; Fever and Ague ; Cure for the Toothache ; A very Strength-
ening Drink ; Cure for Rheumatism ; Very Valuable Remedy for Rheumatism ; Cure for Hydro-
phobia ; Tonic Bitters, Bowel Complaints ; Inflammation of the Bowels ; Common Canker, Gravel;
Prevention of Bilious Fever ; Consumption ; Hypochondria, or Hysteric Passion ; Rabes, or Hy-
dvoidkobia-, Incubus, or Niglitmare ; Cough Compound, Canker Cure ; Piles, Dysentery ; Pain in
the Breast or Side; Convulsion Fits, Inward Ulcers ; Sore Eyes, Numb Palsy ; Flying Rheuma-
tism ; Rheumatic Oil, Soothing Lotion ; Dysentery Spec\lic, particularly for Bloody Dysentery ;
Invalid Cordial ; Balm of Life, Headache Drops ; for Cleansing and Purifying the Blood ; for
Strengthening and Invigorating the Nerves ; A Shrank Sinew or Stiff Joint ; Cancer of the
Breast ; Remedy for Cancer.

Part IX. — Medical Qualities of Roots and fferbi. — Black Aider : Alam Root — Angelica: Thorn
Apple ; Arrow-Root — Avens Root : A?;irum, or .Swamp Asarabacca : Agrimony : Beech Drops :
Bearberry : Five Fingers, or Cinquefoil : Crawley, or Fever Root : Comfrey , Feather-few : Black-
berry : Dandelion— Wild Turnip . Blood Root — Thoroughwort : Indian Tobacco : Wlntergreen :
Burdock — Pleurisy Root : Queen of the Meadow : Cicuta, or Poisoc Hemlock : Broad Leaved
Laurel : Sweet Flag, Rose Willow : Dogwood, Dwarf Elder : American Gentian: Sampson Snake-
root : Foxglove, Tobacco : Mustard, Mallows : Oak Bark, Deadly Nightshade : American Ipecac,
or Indian Physic : Camomile : Rhubarb Root : Mandrake, or May Apple : Colt's Foot, Bitter-:
sweet : Pokeweed : Shumach, orShoemake : Slippery Elm. Poplar : Sanicle, Black Snake-root r
Skuuk Cabbaue : Tansy : Wormwood, Horse Radish : King's Evil Weed: Oak of Jerusalem, o:
Wormseed : American Senna : Yellow Dock, Gravel Weed : SarsapariUa, Beth Root : Tag Alder :
Langworth, Ladies' Slipper : Rattlesnake's Plantain, Blue Flag: Sassafras, River Willow;
Milkweed : Peach Tree, Valerian ; Butternut Tree, Ground Pine : Blue Kohosh : White Poppy :
Peppeiiuint, Charcoal of Wood : Ergot, Smut Rye, or Spurred Rye : Hops : Sweet Fern: Mea-
dow Saffron : Witch Hazel • Prickly Ash : Directions for Collecting and Preserving Vegetables ;
Roots, Seeds and Fruits : Leaves and Flowers.

Part X. — Di'cases "f Children. — ^Treatment of Infanta ; Infant's Syrup ; Cholera Infantum,
Hiccups ; Griping and Flatulency ; the Thru.sh, Diarrhjea ; Cutaneous Eruptions ; Falling dowi»
of the Fundament ; Dentition or Cutting Teeth ; Convulsions, the Rickets ; Inward Fits ; Distor-
tion of the Spine; Dropsy on the Brain, or Hydrocephalus, Causes, Treatment: Inflamma-
tion of the Trachea, Hives, Rattles, or Croup ; Croup, Symptoms, Causes, Treatment : th«
Sleep of Infants : the Y'ellow Gum : Aphthoe or Thrush, Acidities : Galling and Excoriation :
Vomiting.

Part Xn. — AccidenU or Emergencies. — How to be Prepared for Accidents and Emergencies ; Re-
medies for Poisons ; for Corrosive Sublimate ; Sugar of Lead ; for Opium, Laudanum, Hemlock,
and other Vegetable Poisons ; for Tartar Emetic ; Bite of a R.attlesnake ; for Oil of Vitriol, Tar-
taric or Prusaic Acid, or any other Acid ; for Potash or other Alkalies ; for Arsenic, Drowned
Persons ; Cautions in Visiting Sick Rooms ; Security against Lightning ; The Tongue ; to make
Leeches Take Hold; Castor-Oil made Palatable ; Poultices ; to Purify the Atmosphere of a Sick
Room ; Importance of WeU-Ventilatod Apartments ; Three Rules for Preserving Good Health ;
Consumption ; Codfish Liver Oil for Consumption ; Rules for Diet and Digestion ; General Rule*
for Preserving Life and Health ; Sir R. PhUip's Rules ; Dr Boerhaavo's Rules.

The way to get a cojiy of ARTS REVEALED, is to send iis 50 cents in
posta<Te sttmps, and we will send you a copy by return of mail, postage pai^l.
Ac!-!n-^^, H. DAYTON, Publisher,

- 107 NASSAU-ST.,N.T.

JS'E'W "VVOEKII

AXD

HOUSEKEEPEES' GUIDE.

8vo., Paper. Price 50 Cents.

We believe that no one can read the contents of this work, without being
convinced of its great cheapness and utility.

Here will be found about 500 recipes, embracing the very best directions for
the Behavior and Etiquette of Ladies and Gentlemen ; Ladies' Toilette Table ;
Safe Directions for the Management of Childi-en ; and a large variety of plain
common sense Eecipes on Cookery, &c., &c., &c.

T.A.BLE OF COiTTE3SrTS.

PART I.

Ague : Air : Asiatic Cholera : Asthma, Cure of Eillious Choh'c ; Billious Complaints : Bite of
Poisonous Creatures : Bleeding at the Lungs, Stomach, and from the Nose : Bloody Urine :
Boils : Bowel Complaints in Children : Burn or Scald : Burns : Cancer : Callus : Catarrh : Cer-
tain Cure for a Cold : Chilblain : Cholera Morbus : Consumption, No. 1 : Consumptive Cough :
Continued Fever: Convulsion Fits : Corns: Costiveness in Children : Coughs and Colds in Chil-
dren : Cough : Cough, Recipe for : Courses, painful ; Cow-pox : Cramp in ths Stomach : Croup
No. 1 : Croup, No. 2 : Cutting Teeth: Deafness : Delirium Tremens : Diabetes : Diarrhoea':
Distress after Eating : Dropsy : Dropsy of the Head : Drowning, recovery from : Dysentery •
Dyspepsia : Earache, No. 1 : Earache, No. 2 : Elecampaign for a Cough : Epeleptic Fits ; Eyes'
Inflammation of : Eyes, Sore and Weak : Eyes, Weeping : Falling of the Bowels in Children ':
Felon in the Eye : Felon on the Hand : Female Obstructions : Fever and Ague : Fever Sore :
Fits or Convulsions in Children : Flaxseed Tea : Fluor Albus : Food for Children : Food for In-
fants brought up by hand : Frost Bite : Gleets : Good Remedy for Fits : Gout : Gravel or Stone
No. 1 : Gravel or Stone No. 2 : Headache, Sick : Hiccough : Hoarseness : Humors, No. 1 :
Humors, No. 2 : Hysterics ; Inflammatory Fever : Itch ; Jaundice : Joints, Stiffened : Keeping
Children clean : King's Evil : Lame Feet : Liver Complaint, No. 1 : Lock ^faw : Measles : Medi-
cine for Children : Menstrual Difcharges : Mortification : Mumps : Nervous Affections : Nip-
ples, Sore : Numb Palsey : Old and Inveterate Sores : Old Sores, to Cure : Pains : Painter's
ChoHc : Palpitation of the Heart : Pectoral Syrup for Coughs : Files : Piles, Bleeding : Phthis-
ic : Pimples : Poisons, taking, Tartar Emetic : Poisons, Saltpetre, Laudanum, Lunar Caustic,
Corros. Sublimate : Polypus : Raising Blood : Rattlesnake Bite : Rattles in Children : Recipes
for Rheumatism : Remedy for Dropsy in the Head : Rheumatic Plaster : Rickets, Symjitoms
of: Rickets, Remedy for. Ring Worms: Rupture: Salt Rheum : Scarlet Fever : Scrofula, Humor:
Scrofula: Scrofula, Remedy for : Scurvey ; Sleep, to procure it; Smallpox : Sore Throat, Pu-'
trid : Sore Legs : Sore Lips : Spine Compiaints : Sprains ; St. Anthony's Fire : Stomach Sick-
ness ; Strengthening plaster ; Strained' Stomach : St. Vitus' Dance : Sweat : Swellings, to
reduce them ; Swelluigs, No. 2 ; Tape Worm ; Teething and Diarrhoea in Children ; Tic liolo-

[Continu«i on next f<iQt.

to Pienerve ; Family Minco Vie ; Peach Jam : Puiupkin Pie ; Raspberry
Squash Pie ; Strawberry Jam ; Sprace Beer ; Tomato Catsup ; Tomato Sau

* " INDISPENSABLE COilPANIO> —Contents Coniinued.

reaux ; Toothache, No. l,No. 2, Ko. 3 ; Treatment of XMUren; Typhus Fever ; Ulcer ; UK'
Inward ; Universal Cure all ; Urinary l>i.scharges, too ^r s; Urinary Obstructions ; Varioloii
Volatile Liniment ; Vomiting prevented ; Wiirta, Na. ^ V7artd, Ko. 2 ; Weak Fyes ; We.i
Limbs ; Weak Stomach •, Wen ; Wliite llixture for » i Jugh, No. 1, So. 2 ; W'lnle.s ; WLiI
Swelling ; Whooping Cough, No. 1 ; Whoo^iug Coutjh, '^' 2 ; Windy Stomach ; Worma.

PART II.

CaKIS, BRKAD, YilLlST, ti I. K

Apple Snow : Baker's Ginger Bread : Best Cup Cake : B;c kfast Butter Cakes : Brown or Oyim
pepsia Bread: Buckwheat Cakes: Butter Cakes for Tei, : ( tke without Kggs: Common Pluill
t'alce : Composition Cake : Cream Cup Cake : Cream Cake • C *am Cake, No. '1 : Cake, Uieh smallfl
I)y.sp«p.sia Cake : Dough Nuts : Dyspepsia Bread : GiufjQ;- J fead : Ginger Nuts : Ginger ^napH||
Good Family Cake : Green Corn Cake : Hard Wafers : Kcj' ake ; Icing for fakes ; luUian take^ >
Indmn Cum Cakes ; Indian Griddle Cakes ; .lelly Cake • lu ables ; l.eiann Cake ; l.i^hl Cake i t
be Baked in Cups; Loaf Cake ; Lemon I'ie ; Muusure '"al t ; Molasses Dough take; lluflins £
New York Cup Cake; Plain Indian Cakes: Plum Cake; .'ound Cake; Kich Jumbles; Koll> f
Rye and Indian Bread ; Kice Waffles ; Seed Cakes ; iSavo Cakes ; Sugar Ginger Bread ; Syu I
bals ; Tea Cake, No. 1 ; Yeast — to make it good ; do. Milk , do. of Cream Tartar and Saleralus.

Pies, Preserves, Jellies, Sauce, &o.

Apple Saune ; Arrow Root Cuslard ; Barbecries, to Preserve ; Black Currant Jelly ; Bland
Mange ; Calf's Foot ,)elly ; Cc/nserve Roses ; Currant Jelly ; Curries : Curry Powder ; Dam^on^

Jam ; Kiev Jelly |
luce.

PCDDIXOS.

Arrojv Root Pudding ; Boiled Indian Pudding ; Bird's Nest Pudding ; Christmas Plum Pui
ding ; Damson Pudding ; Indian Fruit Pudding ; Orange Pudding ; lUun Pudding ; Kice Pui
ding. Baked or Boiled ; Rich Apple Pudding ; tago Pudding ; Sauce for Pudding ; Tapioca Pudl
ding.

Meat, Fish, Gravies, &o.

Boiled Beef: Beef Balls ; Beef, Cold Tenderloin ; Beef. Cold Steaks, to warm ; Beef, Minced
Beef Steaks Broiled ; Boiled Ilam ; Boiled . "Salmon; Bread t'auce ; Broiled Cod ; Broiled' Ham
Broiled Salmon ; Broiled Salmon, Dried ; Cabbage Soup ; Caper Sauce ; Chicken, good way t
preiiare ; Chicken Pie ; Chicken Pot Pie ; Chicken Salad ; Chicken Soup ; Chicken Soup, Nt
2 ; Chowder, how to make ; Codfish, salt. Stewed ; Codfish, Salt ; Cod. or other Fish, to Fry
Codfish Cakes ; Cold Boiled Cod, to make a dish; Cold Slaw : Dried CodGsh ; Dried Cod, :
small difh ; Dried Salmon ; Fgg Sauce ; Fried Cod ; Fresh Mackerel Soused : Fried Sausages
Fried Shad ; Haddock ; ijobster Soup ; Mackerel, Salt ; Melted Butter ; Minced Meat ; Moc
Turtle Soup ; Mutton Broth ; Mutton, to boil Leg of ; Mutton Chops ; Mutton, to stew shout
der of ; Oyster Mouth Soup ; Oysters, to Fry ; Oyster Sauce ; Parsley and Butter ; Pig, ti
Koast ; Pork Ste.ak; Roast Pork ; Sandwiches ; Sausage Meat ; Sausages ; Sweet Bread, Liver
and Heart ; Salmon ; Salmon to Broil ; Savoy Soup ; Shad, to broil ;■ Shad : Shell Fish ; Spar
Rib : Stewed Lobster : Stewed Oysters • Stock for Gravy Soup or soup : Turtle Soup : Tripe
White Sauce for Boiled Fowl.

VEGirrADLES, &f!.

Cabbage : Coffee, how to Make : Green Peas ; Mashed Potatoes ; Onions ; Potatoes, to Boil
Turnips.

PART III.

Ml.SCELLANEOrS.

Apples, Preserved ; Blacking, to make ; Britannia Ware, to Clean ; Cucumbers, to Pickle
Ice Cream ; Keep out Ked Ants ; Oysters, to Pickle ; Take Ink from Floors ; Washing Recipe
celebrated

Ladies' Toilette Tablb.

Dress ; Evening Dresses ; Flounces ; High-necked Dresses ; Lotion for Promoting tin
■-■--■ ■" ...-.■ ^ „....„ ^

H

) Growth of the fi.air, and Preventing itiroin turning Grey ; Style of Bonnet; Short Cloal
*> to prevent Loosening of the Hair : to Cure Ringworm.

The way to set a copy of the LADIES' INDISPENSABLE COMPANION,
is to send us 50 cents in postage stamps, and we will send you a coiiy by
return of mail, postage paid, Address,

11. DAYTON, Publisher,
. 107 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.

i

This book is due at the LOUIS R. WILSON LIBRARY on the ]

last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it may be ]

renewed by bringing it to the library. j

SuE^ RET.

DATE

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