what a train of conflicting ideas do those two words oftentimes awaken, bringing up visions of log cabins, ladder stairs, wooden latches, fried hominy and maple sugar, to say nothing of the hobgoblins in the shape of bears, rattlesnakes, wolves, and “folks who don’t know anything;” the latter being universally considered the “staple production” of every place bearing the name of “out west.” even western new york, with her hundreds of large and flourishing villages, her well cultivated farms, her numerous schools, her educated, intelligent people, and her vast wealth, is looked upon with distrust by some of her eastern neighbors, because, forsooth, her boundaries lie farther towards the setting sun, and because she once bore the title of “way out west in the genesees.”
of course i speak only from observation and personal experience; for at meadow brook, ten years ago, many fears were expressed lest anna should miss the society to which she had been accustomed; and when after the sale of the homestead, she wrote, asking me to come and live with her, i hesitated, for to me it seemed much like burying myself from the world, particularly as she chanced to mention that the schoolhouse was a log one, and that there were in the neighborhood several buildings of the same 180material. never having seen anything of the kind, i could not then understand that there is often in a log house far more comfort and genuine happiness than in the stateliest mansion which graces fifth avenue or beacon street; and that the owners of said dwellings are frequently worth their thousands, and only wait for a convenient opportunity to build a more commodious and imposing residence.
at last, after many consultations with my parents, i concluded to go, and about the middle of november i again bade adieu to meadow brook; and in company with a friend of my father, who was going west, i started for rockland, n. y., which is in the western part of ontario county, and about fourteen miles from canandaigua, at which place herbert was to meet me. i had never before been west of springfield, and when about sunset i looked out upon the delightful prospect around albany, i felt a thrill of delight mingled with a feeling of pain, for i began to have a vague impression that possibly massachusetts, with all her boasted privileges, could not outrival the empire state. it was dark, and the night lamps were already lighted when we entered the cars at albany; for we were to ride all night. in front of us was an unoccupied seat, which i turned towards me for the better accommodation of my band-box, which contained my new bonnet; and i was about settling myself for a nap, when a gentleman and lady came in, the latter of whom stopping near us, said, “here, richard, is a vacant seat. these folks can’t of course expect to monopolize two;” at the same time she commenced turning the seat back, to the great peril of my bonnet, which, as it was made in boston, i confidently expected would be the envy and fashion of all rockland!
i was sitting with my hand over my eyes, but at the 181sound of that voice i started, and, looking up, saw before me ada montrose, and with her the “dark gentleman” who had so much interested me at the theatre. instantly throwing my veil over my face, for i had no wish to be recognized, i watched him with a feeling akin to jealousy, while he attended to the comfort of his companion, who demeaned herself towards him much as she had done towards herbert langley. all thoughts of sleep had left me, and throughout the entire night i was awake, speculating upon the probable relation in which he stood to her: and once when it suddenly occurred to me that possibly they were married, the tears actually started to my eyes.
as the hours sped on, he said to her a few low spoken words, whereupon she laid her head upon his shoulder, as if that were its natural resting-place, while he threw his arm around her, bidding her “sleep if she could.” of course she was his wife, i said, and with much of bitterness at my heart, i turned away and watched the slowly-moving lights of the canal-boats, discernible on the opposite side of the mohawk, along whose banks we were passing. whether ada liked her pillow or not, she clung to it pertinaciously until it seemed to me that her neck must snap asunder, while with a martyr’s patience he supported her, dozing occasionally himself, and bending his head so low that his glossy black hair occasionally touched the white brow of the sleeping girl.
“bride and groom,” i heard a rough-looking man mutter, as he passed them in quest of a seat, and as this confirmed my fears, i again turned towards the window, which i opened, so that the night-air might cool my burning cheeks.
that night i made up my mind to be an “old maid.” nobody would ever want me i knew, i was so homely; 182and with calm resignation i thought how much good i would do in the world, and how i would honor the sisterhood! very slowly the morning light came struggling in through the dirty windows, rousing the weary passengers, who, rubbing their red-rimmed eyes, looked around to see who their companions were. it was nearly noon when we reached canandaigua, and so carefully had i kept my face hidden from view that ada had no suspicion whatever of my presence. at canandaigua i took leave of my companion, and stepping out upon the platform in front of the dépôt, looked anxiously around for herbert, but he was not there. thinking he would soon be there, i found my way to the public parlor, which for few moments i occupied alone. i had just removed my dusty bonnet, and was brushing my tangled hair, when the door opened, and i stood face to face with ada montrose, who started back, and for a moment evidently debated the propriety of recognizing me. thinking she might do just as she pleased, i simply nodded, as i would to any stranger, and went on with my toilet, while throwing herself upon the sofa, she exclaimed, “dear me, how tired i am! do you live here?”
“of course not,” i answered; “i am on my way to visit my sister anna, whom you perhaps remember.”
she turned very red, and replied by asking if i were in the train which had just passed.
“yes,” i answered; “i occupied the seat directly behind you and—your husband—is it not?”
i felt that i must know the truth, and hence the rather impertinent question, which, however, did not seem to displease her in the least. affecting to be a little embarrassed, she said, “not my husband—yet. he came on to boston to accompany me home, and wishing to see a friend of his, who lives here, we have stopped over one train.”
183i know not why it was, but her words gave me comfort; while at the same time the state of single-blessedness appeared to me far less attractive than it had a few hours before! i was on the point of asking her about my aunt, when the door again opened and there stood before us a slovenly-looking man, attired in a slouched hat, muddy pantaloons, grey coat, and huge cow-hide boots. so complete was the metamorphosis that neither of us recognized him, until he had exclaimed, as his eye fell upon ada, “good heavens, ade! how came you here?” then we knew it was herbert langley!
so astonished was i that it was some time ere i found voice to return his rather noisy greeting. try as he would, he could not conceal the fact that he was rather disconcerted at being seen by ada in such a plight, and after a little he stammered out an apology, saying he was a farmer now, and lived in the country, and of course could not be expected to dress as he used in the city. this, i knew, was no excuse, and i trembled lest he might be changed in more points than one.
“how is your wife, mrs. langley?” asked ada, in a mocking, deferential tone.
instantly the whole expression of herbert’s face was changed, and there was a look of tenderness and pride in his eyes as he advanced towards ada, and whispered in her ear something which i did not understand. whatever it was, it made her blush, as she replied rather sneeringly, “of course i congratulate you.”
it has always been my misfortune to be rather stupid in some matters, and i had not the least idea what either of them meant, or why herbert was to be congratulated. possibly i might have asked an explanation, but just then the town clock struck the hour of one, and turning towards 184me, he said, it was time we were on our way, for the fall rains had made the roads almost impassable, and he was afraid we should not reach home before dark. “so put on your things quick,” he added. “the carriage is all ready.”
this last he said laughingly, for the carriage proved to be a long lumber wagon, such as is seldom found in massachusetts, or at least, i had never seen one like it before, and it became a serious question in my mind as to how i was expected to enter it, there being no possible way of doing so, save by climbing over the wheels, which were reeking with mud. herbert seemed to enjoy my embarrassment, for he asked me if “i didn’t think i could step from the ground into the box,” a distance of several feet? i was soon relieved from my difficulty by the porter, who placed before me some wooden steps, on which i mounted safely, and seated myself in the large arm-chair, which, with its warm buffalo-robes, was really more comfortable than the old-fashioned one-horse wagons of new england, though i did not think so then; and when the spirited horses, at a crack from herbert’s whip, sprang forward, while i, losing my balance, pitched over backward, i began to cry, wishing in my heart that i was back in meadow brook.
it was a cold, raw, autumnal day. the roads, as herbert had said, were horrible; and as we ploughed through the thick mud, which, in some places was up to the wheel hubs, i took, i believe, my first lesson in genuine home-sickness, which, in my opinion, is about as hard to bear as love-sickness! indeed, i think they feel much alike—the latter being, perhaps, a very little the worse of the two! it was in vain that herbert pointed out to me the many handsome farmhouses which we passed, expatiating upon the richness and fertility of the soil, and telling me how greatly superior in everything new york was to new england. i scarcely 185heard him, for even though in all massachusetts there was naught save the rocky hills, and sterile plains, it was my home, and from that spot the heart cannot easily be weaned.
rockland is a large, wealthy town, embracing within its limits more than the prescribed rule of six miles square, while scattered through it are two or three little villages, each bearing a distinct name, by which they are known abroad. first, there was laurel hill, famed as the residence of certain families who were styled proud and aristocratic—to say nothing of their being episcopalians, which last fact was by some regarded as the main cause of their haughtiness. next came the “centre,” with its group of red houses, and its single spire, so tall, so straight, and so square, that it scarce needed the lettering over the entrance to tell to the stranger that presbyterians worshiped there. lastly came flattville, by far the largest village in rockland, and the home of all the isms in the known world. to the south of flattville is a small lake, renowned for its quiet beauty, and the picturesque wildness of its shores. bounded on three sides by high hills, its waters sleep calmly in the sunlight of summer, or dash angrily upon the sandy beach, when moved by the chill breath of winter.
on the brow of one of the high hills which overlook the honeoye, and so near to it that the sweep of the waves can be distinctly heard in a clear, still night, stood the home of my sister. it was a huge, wooden building, containing rooms innumerable, while even the basement was large enough to accommodate one or more families. being the first frame house erected in the town, it was of course looked upon with considerable interest, and as if to make it still more notorious, it bore the reputation of being haunted, 186and by some of the neighbors was called the “haunted castle.”
years before, when the country was new, it was a sort of public-house, and a young girl was said to have been murdered there, and buried in the cellar, from whence she was afterwards removed and thrown into the lake. for the truth of this story there was no proof, save the fact, that in the dark cellar there was a slight excavation, supposed to have been the grave of the ill-fated lady. all this herbert very kindly told me, as we rode leisurely along, saying, when i asked if he believed it, “believe it! no! of course not. to be sure, it’s the squeakiest old rattle-trap of a house that i ever saw; and were i at all superstitious, i could readily believe it haunted, particularly when the wind blows hard. but you are not frightened; are you?” he asked, looking in my face, which was very pale.
i hold that there is in every human breast a dread of the supernatural, and though i do not by any means believe in ghosts, i would certainly prefer not to live in a house where they are supposed to dwell. still, i dared not tell herbert so, and, consequently, i only laughed at the idea of a haunted house, saying, it was very romantic. it was after sunset when we at last turned into the long avenue, shaded on either side by forest maples, which the first proprietor of the place had suffered to remain; and as my eye fell upon the large, dark building, which herbert said was his house, i involuntarily shuddered, for to me it seemed the very spot of all others which goblins would choose for their nightly revels. the wind was blowing from the west, and as i followed herbert up to the door, my ear caught a dull, moaning sound, which caused me to quicken my footsteps, while i asked, in some trepidation, what it was.
“that? oh, that’s the roar of the lake. don’t you see 187how near it is to us, directly at the foot of the hill?” and he pointed out to me the broad sheet of water, just discernible in the gathering darkness.
a sudden gust of wind swept past me, and again i caught the low murmur. there was something human in the tone, and though for three years i almost daily heard that sound, i could never fully rid myself of the impression that it was the spirit of the murdered maiden which thus, to the swelling waves, complained of the crime long unpunished.
“come this way, rose,” said herbert, as i entered the narrow “entry” so common in old-fashioned houses; and following him, i was soon ushered into a large square room, where a bright wood fire was blazing, casting a somewhat cheerful aspect over the sombre, wainscoted walls of ancient make.
in one corner of the room was a bed, and on it lay anna, who, the moment she saw me, uttered a cry of joy.
“have you told her?” she asked of herbert, when the first pleasure of our meeting was over.
he replied in the negative, whereupon she brought up from under a pile of pillows, coverlets, blankets and sheets, a little tiny, red-faced, wrinkled thing, to which she said i was aunt! i knew, then, why ada congratulated herbert, and mentally chiding myself for my stupidity, i took the bundle of cambric and flannel in my arms, while anna said, “we call him jamie lee, and we think he looks like you. isn’t he a beauty?”
he did look like me, and knowing that, i wondered at anna’s question; but where is the young mother who thinks her first born baby homely?—though his nose be flat—his forehead low—and his mouth extend from ear to ear! not anna, most certainly. he was her baby and herbert’s, and to her partial eyes he was beautiful, even though he did resemble 188me, whom but one person had ever called pretty. as for myself, i hardly knew whether to be pleased with my new relative or not. babies, particularly little tiny ones, had never been my special delight, but on this occasion, feeling that some demonstration was expected from me, i kissed my little nephew, who returned my greeting with a wry face, and an outcry so loud that anna, in great alarm lest he was “going into a fit,” summoned from the kitchen, where she was enjoying a quiet smoke, aunty matson, who boasted of having washed and dressed two hundred and fifty babies, and who confidently expected to do the same service for two hundred and fifty more ere her life’s sun was set.
wearied with my ride, i asked permission to retire early; whereupon dame matson volunteered to show me the way to my room. up the narrow stairs, which creaked at every step, and on through one gloomy room after another, she led me until, at last, we came to a chamber, lighter and more airy, which, she said, my sister had papered, painted, and fitted up for me; adding, as she set the candle upon the table and closed the window, “you ain’t afraid of spooks nor nothin’?”
“spooks” was to me a new word, and in some surprise i asked what she meant.
“now, du tell,” she replied, seating herself upon the foot of the bed. “now, du tell a body where you was brought up, that you don’t know what a spook is! why, it’s a sperrit—a ghost—and this house, they say, is full on ’em. but i don’t b’lieve a word on’t. s’posin’ a gal was murdered near forty years ago, ’tain’t likely she haunts the place yet, and then, too, she warn’t none of the best of girls, i guess, from what i’ve heard my mother say.”
the wind was blowing hard, and as dame matson uttered these last words, the door, which she had left ajar, came together 189with a bang, while from the lake i heard again the wailing cry, which, this time, had in it an angry tone, as if the maiden were indignant at the wrong done her by the old dame, whose eyes seemed to expand and grow blacker at the sound. overcome as i was with fatigue, i could not sleep; and for hours i lay awake, listening to the rain as it fell upon the roof, and to the howling wind, which, indeed, produced the most unearthly noises i had ever heard. at last, however, nature could no longer endure, and i fell into a deep slumber, from which i did not awake until the sun was high up in the heavens, and preparations were going forward in the kitchen for dinner, which was served exactly at twelve. greatly refreshed, i was ready to laugh at my fears of the night previous; and with childish joy, i explored every nook and corner of the old castle; finding many a rathole, which threw some light on the sounds over my head, which i had likened to the trampling of horses.
it took but a few days for me to discover that herbert was exceedingly popular at breeze hill, as the neighborhood in which he lived was called. his free, social manners had won for him many friends, and made him almost too much of a favorite. at least, i used to think so, during the long winter evenings, when anna sat with her baby upon her lap, listening for the footsteps of her husband, who, at some neighbor’s fireside, was cracking the merry joke, and quaffing the sparkling cider; which, at breeze hill, was considered essential to hospitality. gradually, too, as the winter wore on, my sister’s eye took the anxious expression i had so often seen in my aunt charlotte; and sometimes, when he stayed from her longer than usual, she would steal down to the foot of the long avenue, and there, alone, would wait and listen for her husband’s coming; while the spirit from the lake would whisper sadly in her ear of the darkness 190and desolation hovering near. and all this time herbert professed to be strictly temperate; and when, about the middle of march, a travelling lecturer held forth in the old log schoolhouse, thundering his anathemas against the use of all spirituous liquors, herbert was the most zealous of all his listeners, and at the close of the lecture, arose himself and addressed the assembly, pouring out such a tide of eloquence as astonished the audience, who rent the air with shouts of “langley forever!”
knowing this, i was greatly surprised, after our return home, to see the young orator go up to the sideboard and drink off, at one draught, a goblet of the porter which had been ordered for anna! she saw it, too, and for an instant her face was pressed against that of her sleeping boy; and when next the lamp-light fell upon it, i saw there traces of tears, while a faint smile played around her mouth, as she said, “i am afraid, herbert, your audience would hardly think your theory and practice agree, could they see you now.”
the words were ill-timed; for they awoke the young man’s resentment, and with a flushed brow he retorted angrily, that “if porter were good for her, it was for him; he saw no difference between a drinking woman and a drinking man; except, indeed, that the former was the most despicable.”
the next morning, the bottles of porter were gone from the sideboard; but out in the orchard, where the grass of an early spring was just starting into life, they lay shattered in a hundred pieces. would, oh, would that she, the wife of little more than a year, could thus easily have broken the habits of him she loved better than her life. but it could not be; and all through the bright spring days she drooped, and faded, and struggled hard to keep from me the fatal 191truth; and when the warm breath of summer was over all the land; when the robins’ song was heard in the maple trees; and the roses blossomed by the open door, they brought no gladness to her heart; no love-light to her eye, save when she looked upon her baby; now a playful, handsome child, the pet and idol of the house.
at last, aunt charlotte wrote to me, asking to be assured of her son’s safety; and then poor anna begged me not to tell that the wine-cup was his companion at morn; his solace at noon, and his comfort at night. yielding to her entreaties, i answered evasively; and thus the shock, when it came to that mother’s heart, was harder far to bear, from the perfect security she had felt. at meadow brook, too, they little dreamed how their absent daughter wept and prayed over her fallen husband, who, day after day, made rapid strides down the road to death; for, on her bended knees, anna implored me to keep her shame a secret yet a little longer; and with this request i also complied, doing whatever i could to smooth the thorny pathway she was treading.
