It was a matter of much wonderment to us youngsters |
that Miss Susan had never married, for she had the
remains of considerable beauty, was affluent in her
circumstances, and setting aside a few peculiarities more
of manner than of temper, was a very amiable woman.
Her contemporaries told us that she had been hard to
please, had refused several offers, and I have an indistinct recollection that uncle Bob said something to me
of a young man lost at sea. She had a very compassionate heart, and one of her greatest delights was the
getting up of benevolent societies, of which she was
either President, Secretary or Treasurer. Bucklesbury,
however, afforded but a narrow field for the exercise of
her genius in this particular. Every body being able to
set a joint of meat on table, her soup house languished
for want of customers ; and a barefooted child in winter
being a thing unknown, the stock of thick stockings and
stout boots, which formed the capital of her Provident
Society, was some years in going off. Excepting some
domestic medicines of her own compounding, the recipes
for which she kept secret, her supplies for the poor were
generally unclaimed dividends. It was thought at one
time that she and our friend the Major were about to
make a match of it. This she stoutly denied, declaring
that a man so fond of military amusements would never
suit her. His cannonades were her especial aversion.
Perhaps those little brass field pieces prevented her becoming Mrs. Lane. Greater trifles have produced greater
results.
Tom Hardwicke was a nephew of Miss Susan's, and generally looked upon as the destined heir of her possessions, a supposition which, perhaps, led to his being brought to lead a life of genteel uselessness. When I first knew Tom he had lost both parents, and spent his time living about among his relations. His own possessions were small, and it was amazing how well he got along upon so little money. His mother, his last surviving parent, had been a great favorite in the place, and the orphan boy if he received little else, fell heir, on her death, to the good will of the community. The shopkeepers let him have every thing at cost, and sometimes at a little under. He was a good horseman, and no contemptible sportsman. . Under his tutorship I took my first lesson in angling in Bluebird creek, which skirted the village. No kinder hearted creature than Tom ever lived, and he was of great assistance to his aunt in her benevolent enterprises. It was a fortunate thing for any one with a broken arm or leg to fall under his notice. He had the first news of the existence of the varioloid, and had re-vaccinated half the people in the place before the physicians heard of it. Though no student, Tom read much , though with little system. He played a little on the flute, and had his head well stored with old ballads, with which, in an uncultivated but musical voice, he sometimes favored his friends. Poor Tom! he has been dead for many years, but there are hearts yet beating that cherish his memory.
I passed three days in Bucklesbury, during this past summer. I went to spend a month, but the change in every thing was too painfully great to bear. Twenty years make most perceptible alterations in a small place. The town contains three thousand people, but the spirit of love and cordial sociability has diminished in greater proportion. The society is cut up into three or four circles, which never touch not even in a point. The two congregations have split and re-split, and though there are now six churches, not one of them is half full, and it takes less than two years to starve out every clergyman that settles among them. Somebody invented a new religion there the summer before last, but what its tenets are I was unable exactly to ascertain. They have got a bank at one end of the town, and a poor house at the other. The place seemed close and crowded, and I detected an aping of city manners most disagreeable. "The old familiar faces" had nearly all disappeared, and the second and third generations of those whom I had loved looked coldly on me. I strolled out of town toward my old fishing ground, hoping to find nature, at least, unchanged. Oh nymphs and hamadryads ! they had dammed up the creek and built a paper-mill. Three days, as I have said, were the limit of my visit. The pleasure I had anticipated was not realized, and I left the town resolved to see it no more. The Bucklesbury I loved shall live forever in my memory ; as for this modern town which calls itself by its name, is an impostor. Slowly walked the stage horses up the hill to the point where the first view of the town is seen by those arriving by the northern road. In old times I had anticipated that view with delight, but now I turned not to take a last view. It was my own dear old Bucklesbury no longer.
THE SISTERS . BY LOUIS FITZGERALD TASISTRO. IN Lavinia see manners and mildness combin'd, Grace plays on each feature, truth dwells in her mind : With feminine softness each bosom she warms, And by goodness she keeps what she wins by her charms. By her kindness and love all around her are blest, And her house, like her heart, is a mansion of rest. Her sister, young Charlotte, with soul light as air, To each guile is a stranger, and cheerful as fair ; With spirit delightful she joins in life's throng, By innocence guarded, she cannot go wrong; "Tis the absence of art gives her freedom and grace ; "Tis the pureness of heart gives the smiles to her face. Like two tints in a picture, these sisters I view, Though the shades are distinct, yet they blend in the hue ; For the color of virtue, as lasting as bright, Is spread o'er the whole, and makes each part unite.
