Gems for you: from New Hampshire authors. online

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i^flanrljcstcr, K. 52?.




^ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year ]850, by


? !:i the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of New [
J Hampshire.

BOSTON S T i; 11 1". O T Y r i; F O r N D R Y .





The appearance of the present volume will
occasion no surprise. It was thought ivell
enottgh to attempt something of a readable and
presentable kind, better suited to the popular
tastes than any previous collection in this
quarter. To this end our efforts have been
mainly directed, and we hope, too, not without
a degree of success.

The materials employed have been such as
came readily to hand, and no attempt has been
made to embody a full selection from New
Hampshire literature. A less imposing, less
\ presumptuous task was ours. But while angling
I in " our waters," it may seem invidious, almost,
i that we have not drawn more variously from
I our New Hampshire writers ; yet, in this re-





spect, we were not unlike the fisherman wlio
threw away his rod, not when he had drained
the stream, but when he had obtained his
" string-full."

Of the character and quality of the work,
they will speak for themselves, and need no
elucidation. The writers are all believed to
partake of New Hampshire growth or origin ;
and as such, arc presented to each other, and
to their friends in the Granite State.
Apkil, 1850.



The Greeting, Myron, 11

By-past Hours William B. Tappan, . . 12

The Merrimac, William M. Richardson, 13

The Tomb of Stark H. W. Horrick, .... 16

Sunset, Harriet Farley, .... 17

The White Mountains, E. Jane Gate, .... 19

The I.yre, Milton Ward, .... 25

The Granite Hills, Arthur B. Childs, . . . 28

Our Mountain Homes, Mrs. S. E. A. Barnes, . . 29

The Old Woods, David Gilchrist, .... 31

Sabbath Evening, Caroline Orne, .... 33

The Sultry Noon, Carlos Wilcox, .... 34

The Light of Home Sarah J. Hale, .... 35

Life in the Woods, Ina, 37

Thoughts alone, George Moore, .... 40

I won her Heart in Autumn, . . . J. Q. A. Wood, . . .42

The Soul of Song, Effio May, 44

Casual Counsel, Horace Greeley, .... 46

Original Thinking, Caroline Orno, .... 48

Lines, Oliver W. B. Peabody, . 51

To the Merrimac River, .... Theodore Russell, . . .52

About Names, . . Ina, 57

Bridal Wishes, . Harriet Farley, .... 62

i, Woman's Love, Joanna, 63




The Stranger Maiden's Death, 65

Altonock, David Gilchrist 68

Stanzas, L. L., 71

Can I forget thee ? Carolus, 72

I live to love, Effie May, 73

I love to live, EtTie May, 74

5 The Beautiful Ideal, " Lue," 75

I Too Early Lost, O. W. B. Peabody, ... 78

< Passing away, M. A. Dodge, 81

< Press on, L., ........ 82

' Kindness, Kate Clarence, .... 64

I May Day on Rock Raymond, . . . S., 88

I Farewell to New England, .... Mrs. S. K. A. Barnes, . . 90

( Speak kindly, Josephine L. Baker, . . 91

I Stanzas, "lone," 92

/ Aristocracy, N. P. Rogers, 93

j My Spirit Home, N. Wright, 97

The Valley I love, Hannah M. Br)ant, . 99

A Flower, " H." 100

The Reverie, Olfe, 102

The Ideal of a True Life, .... Horace Greeley, . . .104

', The Spirit of Poesy, . ..... Clara 110

^ The Indian Summer, M. J. H., HI

Old Man of the .Mountain, . . . Mrs. Mury M. Glover, . 112

Orilla, Harriet Farley, . . . .114

Fnctory Life, E. B. M., IIC

Farewell to i^iicnmer, Ell:i May, 120

The Autumn Rose, Mary S. Patlersun, . . 122

Last Wishes of a Child, .... James 'i'. Fields, ... 123

To a Sister, : J. M. Fletcher, . . . .124

Woman's Influence, Miss L. A. Parker, . . 125

Stanzas, IlclfU, 129

Man Is not \\ lial li(« wills, .... Leonard Swain, . . .131


The Three Visions " lone," 134

The Angel's Wliisper, Martha A. Clough, . . 136

The Wife to her Husband, . . . Mrs. C. S. Goodale, . . 139

A Dream of Love, N. Wriglit, 141

The same old Girl, B. B. French, .... 143

[ love a Laugh, "EffieMay," . . . . 144

Orator>', Samuel G. Brown, . . 145

Autumn, . . . , N. A. Haven, 150

Friendship, Mrs. D. W. Holt, . . .151

Beauty, > • • Caroline, 152

Books, A. B. Fuller, .... 154

They tell me. Love, Horatio Hale, .... 160

The Phantom Fisherman, . . . . E., 161

The Scholar's Death J. H. Warland, .... 163

Literature, N. P. Rogers, .... 164

The Two Maidens, Sarah J. Halo, .... 167

Stanzas, " lone," 168

To a Bride, Hannali M. Brj-ant, . . 1C9

Beauty of Liglit, Harriet Farley, . . .171

Eventide, J. W. P., 173

Now England, J. M. Fletcher, .... 175

The Valley Cemetery, Mrs. Mary M. Glover, . 176

Mystery, Reason, Faith, .... Ephraim Peabody, . . 177

Stanzas, : . . . H. N. L., 179

The Lovely Dead, J. R. Dodge 181

Dream of the Indian Prophet, . . J. Q. A. Wood, . . .182

The Uses of Sorrow, Henry Steele Clarke, . 184

My Childhood's Home, Julia A. A. Sargeant, . 188

The White Mountains, William B. Tanpan, . .190

Monadnock, William B. O. Peabody, 191

A Dream of Ambition, Kate Clarence, , . . 193

The Young Bride, J. T. Fields, .... 196

The Heart's Guest, Mrs. Orne, . . .- . .197


Mudngs, A. M. H., 199

The Bachelor's Song, F. A. A., 201

On a I^ad} '.s rortruit, Horace Greeley, ... 203

Ladies' Dresses, Hosca Ballou, .... 304

Novel-Heading, Elizabotli, 205

Reminiscences of Childhood, . . Leighton, 208

Brighter Moments, W., 210

The Novice, • Samuel T. Hildrcth, . . 211

1 am Dreaming, M. H. A., 213

The Green Mountain Maid, . . . Joseph C. Neal, . . . 214

To an Irish Boy, A. A. J., 217

The Sunbeam, Lucy, 219

Character, Charles B. Hadduck, . 220

Song of tlic Factory Girl, .... J. II. Warland, . . . 223

The Loved and Lost, O. \V. Whittier, . . .225

Higher, J. P. Chase, 226

Lines, Olive, 22S

^ The Man I like, Clara 229

Legislation, N. T. Rogers, .... 231

I sing to liini, i^arali J. Hale, .... 234

I can tell of a Home, C. F. C, 235

The Brotherhood of Man B. M. Tillotson, ... 237

To a Bachelor, 240

The New Ilami)shiro Girls, . . J. T. Fields 212

My First Love, .Vn Old Bachelor, . .213

We'll meet again Snnuiel T. HiUlreth, . .247

Conquest is ours, H. N. L., 248

Hampton Beach, J. O. Adams, .... 249

Stanzas, O. \V. 1!. IValmdy, . . 2.'a

('oming i>( Winter, - .1. li. A. Wood, . .

Jmnioitality T. O. Lincoln, . . .

Tlie Volunteer's Farewell, . . . Mrs. S. U. A. Barnes,

Our Factory Girls, Nancy P. Healey,. .


Tlie Old Granite State, George Kent, .... 267

A Sketch, Moses A. Cartland, . . 269

Stanzas, M., 274

Ultraism, Joseph Kidder, .... 275

The Doomed Race, Mrs. Case, 280

The Restless Heart, M. G. Sleeper, . . . .281

To the Young, B. M. Tillotson, ... 287 I

The Pilgrim of the World, .... Sarah J. Hale, .... 294

New Hampshire, J. CI. A. Wood, . . .295

Free Thought, F. A. M., 298

The Daughter of the Isles, . . . W. B. Tappan, .... 302

The Loved and Lost, J. H. Warland, .... 306

Living and Means, Horace Greeley, . . . 310




Sisters, we come from each rocky dale,
Each woodland home, and each fertile vale, —
From the mountain side, the city's hum,
The shores of each mimic lake, we come.
Your approraig smile we m.eekly wait —
Accept the wreath from the Granite State.
For you we have come, with the laugh and song.
To each and to all our tributes belong.

As the lover twines a garland fail-.

To deck the loved one's clustermg hau%

What varied hues in the chaplet beam.

And each from contrast the lovlier seem ;

Thus noAv, from among our granite-bound realms,

A chaplet we'll wreathe, bright-sparkling with Gems -

A bouquet culled from its gardens anew —

And twining with care, inscribe it " For You."




Go, di-eain of by-past hours ;

In retrospect, once more,
Pluck fancy's gayest flowers,

And revel in thy store.
Go, seek thy native cot,

Scene of affection fi-ce,
Where pleasure cheered thy lot,

A\'Tierc love -was all to thee.

Do this, but never teU

The heartless world thy dream ;
Its scorn would hope dispel,

Would crush the fairy theme.
Do this, but in thy breast

Let each fond AvLsh expire :
For sorrows unreprcssed

Are his who loves the lyre.

miliam B. Tappan.





Sweet Merrimac ! thy gentle stream

Is fit for better poet's theme ;

For rich thy -waves, and gentle too,

As liomc's proud Tiber ever knew ;

And thy fair current's placid swell

Would flow ill classic song as well.

Yet on thy banks, so green, so sweet.

Where wood nymphs dance and naiads meet.

E'en since creation's earliest dawn,

No son of song was ever bom ;

No muse's fairy feet e'er trod

Thy modest margin's verdant sod ;

And 'mid Time's silent, feathery flight.

Like some coy maiden, pure as light.

Sequestered in some blest retreat,

Far from the city and the great,

Thy virgin waves the vales among

Have flowed neglected and unsung.

Yet as the sailor, raptured, hails

His native shores, his native vales, —

Returning home from many a day

Of tedious absence, far away

From her whose charms alone control


The -vs-arni affections of his soul, —
Thus, from life's stormj', troubled sea,
My heart returns to ■v'isit thee.

Sweet Nymph, -whose fairy footsteps press,
And viewless lingers gaily dress.
By moonlight, or by Ilesper's beam.
The verdant banks of this sweet stream, —
VTho oft, by twilight's doubtful ray.
With wood-nymphs and with naiad gay,
Lead'st up the dance in merry mood.
To the soft murmurs of the flood, —
All hail once more ! 'Tis many a year
Since last I came to meet thee here ;
And much it glads my heart once more
To meet thee on this pleasant shore ;
For here in youth, when hope was high,
My breast a stranger to a sigh.
And my blood danced through every vein,
Amid the jolly, sportive train
Of youths and maids, who, gathering round.
Danced to the flute's entrancing sound,
I felt thy powerful influence
The l)liss our bosoms felt dispense,
Delight on all our bosoms pour,
And make our hearts with joy brim o'er; —
Thy fingers on each virgin's chock
Impressed the witching " dimple sleek,"



Bade masic smiles and blushes meet J

In mixture ravisliingly sweet, i

And many a face a charm possess, >

Which then I felt, but can't express.

Blest days ! — alas, forever past I
Sunk in the ocean deep and vast
Of years, "whose dread profundity
Is pierced by none but Fancy's eye, —
Your joA^s, like gems of pearly light.
There hallowed shine in Fancy's sight.
What though, beside this gentle flood,
Bedewed with tears and wet with blood,
Profusely shed by iron ^Mars
In wild ambition's cruel wars.
No evergreen of glory waves
Among the fallen Avarriors' graves ?
What though the battle's bloody rage,
"Where mad, contending chiefs engage,
The njinphs that rule these banks so green.
And naiads soft, have never seen ?
What though ne'er tinged this crystal wave
The rich blood of the fallen brave ?
No deathless deed by hero done,
No battle lost, no "S'ictory won.
Here ever waked, with praise or blame,
The loud uplifted trump of fame ?
Here bounteoiis spring profusely showers
A wildemess of sweets and flowers, —


The stately oak of royal line,

The spreading chn and towermg pine,

Here cast a purer, happier shade

Than blood-stained laurels ever made.

No wailing ghosts of warriors slain

Along those peaceful shores complain ;

No maniac virgin, crazed -with care.

The moiu-nful victim of despair,

While pangs unutterable swell

Her heai-t to -view the spot where fell

The j'outh who all her soul possessed.

Here tears her hair or beats her breast.

Ne'er victor lords, nor conquered slaves,

Disgraced these banks, disgraced these waves ;

But freedom, peace, and plenty here

Perpetual bless tho passing year.

fVtUiam M. Richardsou.


No trappings of state, their bright honors unfolding.
No gorgeous display, mark the place of thy rest ;
i But the granite points out whore thy body lies moiU-
And where tho wild rose sheds its sweets o'er thy


SUNSET. 17 >

The zephyr of evening shall sport with the willow,
And play through the grass where the flowerets creep,

While the thoughts of the brave, as he bends o'er thy I
Shall hallow the spot of the hero's last sleep.

As, from glory and honor, to death thou descendedst, ^
'Twas meet thou shouldst lie by the Merrimac's
wave ;
It was well thou shouldst sleep 'mongst the hills thou
And take thy last rest in so simple a grave.

There forever thou'lt sleep, — and though ages roU o'er

And crumble the stone o'er thy ashes to earth ;
The sons of the free shall with reverence adore thee,

The pride of the mountains which gave thee thy


H. TV. Herriclu


Come with me, brother, forth ; and view the sun,
How he goes down in glory. Brilliant light
Is in the air : and brilliance on the waves.
Each slight, thin cloud is now irradiate.
And, 'neath our feet, we tread the only shade.

2 *


Thou wast not here last eve ; and sawest not

His other glorious valedictory suit.

DoA^•n^vard he came — down, from the chaos thick

Of a wild storm, which like a troubled deep

Left the dark sky, and sailed into a smooth

And golden sea, which shimmered in the west.

Then downward still, behind the riven cloud,

"Which, like a massive, broken wall, was there

Upon the horizon low ; and, even like

The glowing parapets of Heaven, was rich

In ruby and in amethystine hues.

Like the hot glow of living fire was light

Behmd that bastion cloud ; and then the sun

Went down below the earth, while far away.

Gleaming through every rift and broken space,

Spread the rich mantling blush ; and, upwai'd there,

Inverted billows of the deep above

Caught on their hanging heads a crimson cap.

And hovered like a gay and liveried host.

O'er his farewell descent. He grows not old,

Like temples wliich their ruins strew around

Us here ; but fresh, unworn, and strong, as in

That day when set in firmament above.

Brother, he now has bade us all adieu,

And left the world to moonlight and to dreams.

Harriet Farley.


19 I


" Cool enough up there : plenty cool enough.
Showers every day, green as emerald all about ! De-
licious, I do assure you, going from these hot, parched

This is M-hat people say when they come back to us
from the mountains. And to us who have lately seen
all and felt all, what dreams of freshness, and comfort,
and wonder do their rhapsodies beget ! Of the moun-
tains themselves, swelling and towering up to the
very heavens, rocks as large as houses, torn and
frightful, waiting only until we come along the accom-
plishment of their "dire intent" of crushing some-
body ; the sunshine and the beautiful blue mists, the
darkness, nowhere else so intense, the vapors and the
storms, nowhere else so headlong, sudden and tumul-
tuous as among the mountains. These, ah ! and the
moonlight, and the mountain streams leaping clear
and bright as crystal down their rocky way. And
here, par parenthese, lot mo ask it of my readers who
have been at the mountains, if, in any other place they
ever saw such intensely green foliage, ever felt such
invigorating airs, or treasured memories which ^^ill
have such power to cool and refresh them, in all the


hot, -wearisome days of their earthly life, as along
these same mountain streams, at the Basin, the Flume,
and the "Wliirlpool.

Aprojws to the sudden showers and storms. "\Vc
start out to ride a few miles for air and exercise, for a
search after mosses, minerals, and flowers, to see how
people live off there, to make our way into some log
cabin we passed in coming to the Mountain House,
ostensibly to get some water, but really to see if it is
not " as dark as pitch within," and as dismal and com-
fortless as can be. The sun is shining, and there is
only one cloud to be seen. Wc observe it particu-
larly, on account of having had already several cxtem-
\ porancous drenchings. There is but one cloud, and
that is no larger than a man's coat, — with its skirts
and sleeves well spread, dear reader, — and it lies
away off at the north-western horizon. \Ve venture
out, therefore, in a light open buggy, with our para-
sols for the sunshine of the cleared districts, and our
cashmeres for the cool, damp shade of the woods.
Away wc go. Our horse, it appears to us, absolutely
flies over the road to "the music of the spheres" —
for this it seems to us to be, the deep, strange silence
of the place, frona which yet there comes such deep,
strange melody, when we bend our car and thought,
and listen as we go. "Wc know that birds have a part
in the concert, or wo presume they have ; for we look
upward, and a giant hawk






" poised on Iiigli,
Flaps his broad wing, yet moves not."

We turn to either side of the way, and birds are on
the wing. Sprays, which they have just left, are
quivering, and those on which they have just settled,
are swaying to and fro. Before us, also, are they trot-
ting along, ever and anon turning half around, with a
hope to look at us, while from the tree tops, birds of
heavier mould and gayer colors sail gracefully out,
make their short circuit of supervision, and again settle
in their leafy coverts to eye us as we pass. "VVe know
that all these, and thousands which we do not see, are
<' poua-ing their little throats ; " but it is not this — we
hear something beyond all this when we listen and are
still. We feel in those moments that the great temple
in which we are has an inner sanctuary, that as yet we
have never entered, of infinite beauty, infinite purity,
and infinite joy. Its "beautiful gates" are only occa-
sionally opened to us ; and it is then that we hear
those low, dreamy sounds, as it were "the melting
songs of other worlds ; " then that those breezes fan
us and supply our breath, which make us " drunk
with beauty." We do not know, it may be, that this
is not all illusion. Since heaven is all around us, it
may be that sometimes we are so far spiritualized as to
enter upon the borders of the beautiful land, and to
enjoy for a few moments, and in a poor degree, some of
its delights. But it is not long ; for it troubles us.



We are torn between a yearning to be away, to enter >.
at once the sanctuary of beauty and holiness, and the I
gross materialism which still fastens us to the earth. (
This we cannot bear long, and therefore we are not /
long silent. "Wc begin talking fast to the birds, to our i
companions, and to our good steed. AVe wield our I
sledge among the rocks along the way, or hunt the |
pale flowers, and arrange neatly every petal, every
stamen, amongst the leaves of an old singing book
taken along for this very purpose ; or — but what was
that ? — a patter on a leaf near — what was it ? "What
is this on our nose ? Not rain ; not rain, our compan-
ions declare, for the sun — pooh ! where is the sim ?
We would like to have you show us the sun. There
is not an inch of the sky to be seen, and that was cer-
tainly a great rain drop on that leaf, and on our nose.
It was perfectly natural that it should alight on our
nose of all the rest, for our nose is a long nose, pro-
truding itself far enough beyond the perimeter of our
little bonnet.

It was rain ; no doubt of that now, for it is already
falling fivst and thick. And here we are, five mUes
from the ^lountain House ! and hands full of moss,
and flowers, and rocks ! No umbrella, no top nor
boot to our carriage — notliing but our little bonnets,
our little sunshades, and our cashmeres. Well, our
minerals, flowers, and moss, must be dropped right
? here, — that is certain ; wc shall Ixavc enough to do to


take good care of ourselves. It is pleasant now — is it
not ? — that we have a kind driver, who says good na-
turedly, " Come, girls ; " who looks up to the clouds,
and whistles — whistles as he thoughtfully gathers the
reins and whip, and who does not once on our way
back say, " I thought — ah, wc should have saved all
this, sis ; we shouldn't have had this bath, coz, if you
had not been there so long musing and flower gather-
ing." Yes ; pleasant that we have not a driver who
will say this to us. We are sorry enough as it is —
malgre we go laughing all the Avay — to wet our bon-
nets. We would have no patience with one, were he
brother, cousin, lover, husband, or friend, who, in such
a case, would once say, " I thought," or " I told you,"
when, the truth known, he didn't any more than we

But snap ! crack ! whew ! how our horse skims along
the way, and how happy we are in defiance of the rain !
happier, I do believe, on this rain's very account.
And here we are in sight of Crawford's : truly, it goes
to our hearts lilie the sight of home. Thrum-um-na
go those ever-rolling balls. A gentleman is crossing
the street to the alley with prodigious leaps, all made
on tiptoe ; and yonder, just disappearing in the Notch,
is the " Mountain Ranger." We do not know what
accessions to our company it has left at the Mountain
House, or what number of acquaintances, formed there,
it is carrying forever from our sight. We — But here



comes Mr. Crawford. Ah ! we like him as a brother.
I In the twinkling of an eye he lifts us from our car-
S riage into the piazza, and hurries along -with us through
^ the hall, brushing the big rain drops from our veils and
I shawls as we go. "What, Mr. Crawford, " Diimcr all
\ ready? Been kept waiting for us /i>e wuVjwies/ " Five
minutes ! Only think, brother ! Only think, cousin !
I Five minutes — and in a boarding-house in America
I too ! and up among the mountains, where people arc so
J voraciously hungry. Wliat, Mr. Crawford, "Trout
J from the stream direct," did you say ? Ah ! " And
blackberries and cream, and blueberry dumplings, and
— and — " Yes, we shall sec. We will dress in just
three minutes. Then such a dinner as we will make
after this drive, and on such fare too ! And after din-
ner we will sit on the parlor sofas, and rest, and listen
to the contented buzz going on in all the rooms, and
I buzz ourselves occasionally, and turn over the leaves in
I «< Jackson's Kcport," without reading, seeing, or think-
I ing, and perliaps we will, noletis volens, get the least bit
I of a siesta somewhere along ; and if we do, then we
/ are rested ! Then we are ready for any thing — for the
^ heartiest laugh we ever had yet over the odd conceits
i and really witty things of the albums ; for finding
I Uncle John and giving him torment sonic way, (luiz-
zing the little city dandy, wlio fancies us aU in love
with him ; for a good and sensible chat with the good
and sensible Mrs. Kcllcy ; for a quarrel with Professor



Lane about things in general ; or, better than any of
these — since it ■would help us most effectually to rid
ourselves of this superabundance of electricity — for a
game at tenpins, now that the shower is over. Come,
cousin ; come, brother ; come, Professor Lane, and uncle
John, — yes, do ccme, uncle John, and we will go on
our knees, and not laugh once while we ask your par-
don for throwing that water on you. ^Irs. Kelley,
please — thank you — yes v.e will all go now to the
bowling-room. Your arm, uncle John ; only, don't
let me fall if I slip in the mud, as you did purposely
the other day.

F.. Jane Cdte, (Franklin.)


There was a lyre, 'tis said, that hung

High waving in the summer ak ;
An angel hand its chords had strung,

And left to breathe its music there.
Each wandering breeze, that o'er it flew,

Awoke a wilder, sweeter strain.
Than ever shell of mermaid blew

In coral grottos of the main.
"When, springing from the rose's bell,

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