BOSTON, 135 WASHINGTON STBEBT,
TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW'S WRITINGS.
THE GOLDEN LEGEND. A Poem. Just Published.
POETICAL WORKS. This edition contains the six Vol-
umes mentioned below, and is the only complete collection in the market.
In two volumes, IGmo, $2.00.
In separate Volumes, each 75 cents.
VOICES OF THE NIGHT.
BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS.
SPANISH STUDENT ; A PLAY IN THREE ACTS.
BELFRY OF BRUGES, AND OTHER-uPoEJUs.
EVANGELINE ; A TALE OF AcADIE.
THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE.
THE WAIF. A Collection of Poems. Edited by Longfellow.
THE ESTRAY. A Collection of Poems. Edited by Longfellow.
MR. LONGFELLOW'S PROSE WORKS.
HYPERION. A ROMANCE. Price $1.00.
OUTRE-MER. A PIL&RIMAGE. Price $1.00.
KAVANAGH. A TALE. Price 75 cents.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE'S WRITINGS.
TWICE-TOLD TALES. Two Volumes. Price $1.50.
THE SCARLET LETTER. Price 75 cents.
THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Price $1.00.
THE SNOW IMAGE, AND OTHER TWICE-TOLD
TALES. Price 75 cents.
TRUE STORIES FROM HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY.
With four fine Engravings. Price 75 cents.
A WONDER BOOK FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. With seven
fine Engravings. Price 75 cents.
2 A LIST OF BOOKS RECENTLY PUBLISHED
JOHN G. WHITTIER'S WRITINGS.
OLD PORTRAITS AND MODERN SKETCHES. Price
MARGARET SMITH'S JOURNAL. Price 75 cents.
SONGS OF LABOR, AND OTHER POEMS. Price 50 cts.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES'S WRITINGS.
POETICAL WORKS. With fine Portrait. Price 81.00.
ASTRJEA. Price 25 cents.
ALFRED TENNYSON'S WRITINGS.
POETICAL WORKS. With Portrait. 2 vols. Price $1.50.
THE PRINCESS. Price 50 cents.
IN MEMORIAM. Price 75 cents.
THOMAS DE QUINCEY'S WRITINGS.
CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER, AND
8USPIRIA DE PliOFUNUlS. Price 75 cents.
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. Price 75 cents.
MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. Price 75 cents.
THE CJESARS. Price 75 cents.
LIFE AND MANNERS. Price 75 cents.
LITERARY REMINISCENCES. 2 Vols. Price $1.50.
GRACE GREENWOOD'S WRITINGS.
GREENWOOD LEAVES. 1st & 2d Series. Price $1.25
POETICAL WORKS. With fine Portrait. Price 75 cents.
HISTORY OF MY PETS. With six fine Engravings.
Price 50 cents.
RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDHOOD. Wilh six fine
Engravings. Price 50 cents.
BY TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS.
EDWIN P. WHIPPLE'S WRITINGS.
ESSAYS AND REVIEWS. 2 Vols. Price $2.00.
LECTURES ON SUBJECTS CONNECTED WITH LIT-
ERATURE AND LIFE. Pi ice 63 cents.
WASHINGTON AND THE REVOLUTION. Price 20 cts.
HENRY GILES'S WRITINGS.
LECTURES, ESSAYS, AND MISCELLANEOUS WRI-
T1MGS. a Vols. Price 1.50.
CHRISTIAN THOUGHT ON LIFE. Price 75 cents.
WILLIAM MOTHERWELL'S WRITINGS.
POEMS, NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. Price 75 cents.
POSTHUMOUS POEMS. Price 50 cents.
MINSTRELSY, ANCIENT AND MODERN. 2 Vols. $1.50.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL'S WRITINGS.
COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. Revised, with Additions.
In two volumes, Ib'mo. Price $1.50.
SIR LAUNFAL. New Edition. Price 25 cents.
WILLIAM MOUNTFORD. THORPE: A QUIET ENGLISH
Tows, A.ND HUMAN LIFE TUEUEIN. 16ino. Price $1.00.
JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. ELEVEN WEEKS IN EUROPE
AXD 1VHAT MAT BE SEEN IX THAT TIME. 16tnO. Price 75 CCnti.
CAPT. MAYNE REID. THE DESERT HOME, OR THE ADVEN-
TDRFSIIK A LOST FAMILY IN THE WiLDEBMjss. 12 Engravings. 16mo
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH'S BIOGRAPHY. By Dr. C.
WORDSWORTH. 2 VuU. Price $2.50.
ROBERT BROWNING. POETICAL WORKS. 2 Vols. $2.00.
BARRY CORNWALL ENGLISH SONGS AND OTHER SMAUU
POEMS. Enlarged Edition. $1.00.
RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES. POEMS OF MANY YEAES.
Price 75 cents.
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS.
PHILIP JAMES BAILEY. THE ANGEL WORLD AND OTHER
POEMS. Price 50 cents.
GOETHE'S WILHELM MEISTER. Translated by CAII-
LYLB. 2 Vols. Price $2.50.
GOETHE'S FAUST. Price 75 cents.
CHARLES SPR AGUE. POETICAL AND PROSE WRITINGS. With
fine Portrait. Price 75 cents.
CHARLES SUMNER. ORATIONS AND SPEECHES. 2 Vols.
GEORGE S. HILLARD. THE DANGERS AND DUTIES OF THE
MERCANTILE PROFESSION. Price 25 cents.
HORACE MANN. A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A YOUNG MAN.
Price 25 cents.
F. W. P. GREENWOOD. SERMONS OF CONSOLATION. 81.00.
HENRY T. TUCKERMAN. POEMS. Price 75 cents.
BAYARD TAYLOR. POEMS. Price 63 cents.
R. H. STODDARD. POEMS. Price 63 cents.
JOHN G. SAXE. POEMS. Price 50 cents.
REJECTED ADDRESSES. By HORACE and JAMES SMITH.
Price 50 cents.
WARRENIANA. By the Authors of Rejected Addresses.
Prico 3 cent*.
MEMORY AND HOPE. A BOOK OF POEMS, REFERRING TO
CHILDHOOD. Price 2.00.
ALDERBROOK. By FANNY FORESTER. 2 Vols. Price $1.75.
HEROINES OF THE MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. 75 cts.
MEMOIR OF THE BUCKMINSTERS, FATHER AND SON.
15 y Mrs. LEE. $1.25.
THE SOLITARY OF JUAN FERNANDEZ. By the Author
of Picciola. Price 50 cents.
THE BOSTON BOOK. Price $1.25.
ANGEL-VOICES. Price 38 cents.
FLORENCE, AND OTHER TALES. By Mrs. LEE. 50 cts.
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. Price 75 cents.
BACH OP THB ABOVE POBMS AND PROSE WRITINGS, MAY BE HAB IN
VARIOUS STYLES OF HANDSOME BINDING.
HUMAN LIFE THEREIN.
TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS.
M DCCC LII.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
CAMBRIDGE: METCALF AND COMPANY.
QUIET, ancient, and thriving is the look of
Thorpe. It is a small place, and almost con-
sists of one long street ; at one end of which is a
large square, with a market-cross in the middle
of it, and with St. John's Church on one of its
sides. At the other end of the long street is the
Presbyterian Chapel, embowered in trees. There
is a large graveyard round it. And on one side
of the graveyard, in a garden, stands the Parson-
age. In the long street, about the middle, are the
almshouses for the widows of decayed trades-
men and farmers. They form three sides of a
square, and are only one story in height. Agree-
ably to the will of the founder, and in accordance
with what was the fashion three hundred years
ago, the almswomen wear gowns of black cloth,
and scarlet hats of a yard high, and a conical
shape. And now and then one of them may be
seen crossing the square, or coming out of the
gate into the street, in her fantastic dress. In
the long street there is many a half-timber house,
with its high gable. And of the brick houses,
a great number have their fronts all overgrown
The surrounding country is a highly cultivated
district; and all over it stand farm-houses, each
one of them strong and cheerful. To nearly
every house there is an open porch, with benches
inside. In the yard, close by, stands a dove-
cot; and a little apart, by themselves, are ranged
the ricks of corn or hay, two, five, ten, or even
On a fine evening in August, at Thorpe, two
persons seated themselves on the steps of the mar-
ket-cross. The one was about twenty-eight years
of age, of a dark complexion, and bright, quick
eyes. He was dressed in black, and looked lan-
guid. The other was a native of the village, but
not a resident. And this one said, " Martin May,
you are tired; so let us sit here a few minutes."
" What is the history of this town ? " Martin
"It is very probable that of this place the be-
ginning was this cross ; and that the town grew
up about it. Properly, Thorpe is an out-town-
ship of the last place we came through yester-
day, before arriving at the Dell. And I sup-
pose, in a gazetteer, you would hardly find this
place mentioned under its own name. Nor would
it be easy to decide what its name really is.
For, like some other towns, it has several names,
one of local and another of legal origin, and
another perhaps derived from some forgotten cir-
cumstance. Now this place is called indifferently
Thorpe, King's Thorpe, Thorpe Regis, and Cro-
thorpe ; which, no doubt, is a corruption of Cross
" A number of appellations ! That is more cu-
rious than useful, I should think."
" But, May, about the character of the people
there is no such dubiousness. You may believe
what they tell you. And customs are none the
less practices, and people are none the less trust-
worthy persons, for being in a town which calls
itself Thorpe, but which the gazetteers and law-
yers call by another name."
" And now tell me, West, as regards the in-
habitants, what kind of a place is this?"
" O, that is for you to find out, now that I
have settled you at the Dell, with my father, and
shown you up and down the lanes, and seated
you on the market-cross. O, my uncle Welby
is coming this way. I will ask him your ques-
tion. Uncle, what do you call this town as a
place to live in ? "
" Why, John, a sweet, beautiful spot ! I have
lived here fifty years and more ; and it has always
been the same ; and it always will be as long
as we deserve to have it so. It is we that ought
to be better, not the place. Love, and union,
and charity, let us have that among us mas-
ters. Though, as it is, we are a good people
here, a good, neighborly people. For there is
not a man among us that means harm any way
to any body, I think. And if there is, then I
say see the country. See how the fields all lie
laughing up at the sky ; and how the lark soars
up to sing under the sun ; and how beautiful the
little woods, the copses, are to look at, and how
solemn to walk in ! O, a sweet, beautiful country
When Farmer Welby had left, John West said,
" That is just like my uncle. But see ! yonder
goes Miss Pinkey, with her nose up in the air.
And she is of opinion that this is a dull town,
an insufferable place : because there is not a the-
atre here, nor a fashionable church, nor any body,
A TALE. /
nor a monthly exhibition of the fashions. But
here comes Abel Pratt. He is a laborer, with a
large family and small means. Good evening,
Abel. I am glad to see you looking so well.
The times have been rather hard lately. Yet,
on the whole, you think this town to live in is
what one would wish ? "
" It is a good, healthy place. As being God's
it is very good, but not quite so good as being
man's. That, I suppose, is the exact truth.
Though some of the gentry are very well inclined
to the poor at times, such as Christmas, or when
there is the cholera. Yes, it is a very good place
to live in, though rather hard for some of us
sometimes. Now and then, towards the end of
the week, I am very tired; and then the place
does not seem to me so happy. But then di-
rectly there comes the Sabbath, and the minis-
ter's sermon. And so on Monday I am strong
again for another week, and contented and happy.
Good evening, gentlemen."
" Good evening, Abel."
" Who is this minister ? " inquired Martin May.
" He is the Reverend Richard Baxter Lingard.
And he will have to be your minister. For I
suppose that on a Sunday your American Pu-
ritanism would scarcely be comfortable out of a
" But what is the meeting-house, the church ? "
" It is called the Presbyterian Chapel. And
it is my own place of worship."
" Your minister, then, is a Presbyterian. Is he
very strict in his opinions?"
" For one opinion you would call him a Cath-
olic, and for another a Unitarian ; for one an
Arminian, and for another a Quaker. But in
reality he is a Christian; and it is all he wishes
to be called. Though he says, if he must have
a sectarian name, he would rather be called Pres-
byterian than any thing else, because it means
nothing. Myself, I should call him an educated
George Fox ; and then, again, for some other rea-
sons, I should not. For his doctrine he is an-
swerable to no man, or synod, or bishop ; not
even to his congregation ; but only to Jesus Christ
and God. And this direct responsibility to the
Head of the Church is our Presbyterian pecu-
liarity. And for the maintenance of it, my an-
cestors were sufferers for many a year. And,
indeed, one of them died in a prison^ to which
he had' been sentenced by the bishop of this
diocese, for refusing to attend service in that
church opposite. I wish this evening Mr. Lin-
gard would come this way, so that you might
hear him talk. Ah, what does this village look
A TALE. y
like in his eyes, that are the eyes of the Spirit!
That is what I should like to hear him say."
" What a rate that carriage drives at ! It is
a fine pair of horses. But what an odd livery
the coachman wears ! "
" It is Mr. Burleigh's. The Justice he is called
here. And he now, he thinks it is well there
should be a place like this to send to for gro-
ceries or a surgeon. But otherwise he is of
opinion that this town is a nuisance, as all towns
are, except the county town and. London, mere
harbors for insolence, and poachers, and radicals!
Ah, here are two other witnesses coming towards
us. One of them, the man in gray, is from the
poor-house. And I suppose the other is some-
body in his charge. So, Thomas, you are out
of the house on leave this evening. How is this
place now to live in?"
" Well enough, if it were not for the Master,
who is so strict, and the Guardians, who want
us to die faster than we do. So Scowley says.
Though they *have not said any thing to me
about it yet. And Scowley does not always tell
the truth. However, I think myself, that, if we
have to go to church on Good Friday, we ought
to have tea and sugar allowed us, the same as
on Christmas day. But we have not."
" Well, that is not fair. Who is this with you ?
O, you say his name is Potts. Well, Mr. Potts,
what kind of a place do you find this town ? "
" Ay, ah ! A place, sir, is it ? Ay, it is a place,
I believe. So I have been told. A place!"
"There, that is all. Good evening! Poor fel-
ilows ! O, there out at his gate comes Dr.
Scoresby. But he is not coming this way. How-
ever, I know what is his opinion of the town.
He thinks that this is a very respectable place;
but that the people in it neither marry nor die,
nor want children baptized, as frequently as they
do in other parishes. You will soon get to know
him. He is a kind man and rather wealthy.
O, here is Nurse Privet. Well, Nurse, how do
you do? And just now how do you find this
place to live in?"
" Indeed, sir, it is a very hard place to live
in, for a woman like me, who has got to get
her living "
" By other people's dying."
" No, master John, I do not live that way, at
least not altogether. For I nurse ladies as well
" And babies too."
" Well, so I do. But would you believe it ?
Just now there is not any body in all the parish
A TALE. 11
that is likely to want me. Every body is so
well ; unless it may be this gentleman here. Ah,
I know by his cheek. I know the signs. Please,
sir, if you should want "
" Stop, you harpy. You will frighten him, and
have him drop. Hands off! Not a word! He
is not going to die. He is not going to be ill.
He is going to eat bacon and beef and be well.
It is what he is coma % here for. And, Nurse, if
you will go down to the Dell to-morrow, I think
there will be something waiting for you. Good
night! And now here is Captain Jex. A fine
" It might be, Mr. West, if it were not so cold
" I never come here, Captain, but I like this
place more and more. It is so quiet and happy.
Do not you think so?"
" It is well enough, considering that there are
more women here than men, and considering that
now the rector Breaches twice a Sunday, instead
" But, Captain, it is a good place to live in."
" For Christians, that want to work out their
promotion ; because Scoresby says, the more temp-
tations we overcome, the higher up in heaven
we shall go. Abundant temptations here! And
some of them in Scoresby's cellar. But there
will nobody ever be hurt with them."
" Well, what are the other temptations ? "
" Everywhere for every body, to covetousness,
and matrimony, and drunkenness."
" Captain, I know you never have thought much
of this place. But you are a man of taste and
observation ; so, now, among the towns and vil-
lages you have seen, wh^t place is there that
you like best of all ? "
" Well, then, Mr. West, there is one place that
I know, and that I call decent. It is in Spain,
close by Saragossa, on the Ebro. Ah, if I had
stayed there I should have been made Alcalde
of the town. I should have been a member of
the Cortes. I am sure I should have been. They
are a fine, sensible people there. I should like
to tell you some time what I did at that village,
when I was stationed there during the war, under
Wellington. I will tell you the next time I see
you. But I must go now. This wretched weather
does not suit me. Good night ! "
" And now, Martin May, if you think that any
night of his wishing can be good you are mis-
taken. A surly, conceited man ! A sword always
of bad metal, and now gone rusty ! Does not
he seem to draw the dark after him as he walks
away ? "
A TALE. 13
"Who, what? The old sword? But, West,
why do you call these steps the Cross?"
" Because on the top here the pillar is part of
what was a cross. The arms of the cross were
broken off, I suppose, at the Reformation. It was
erected here, some five or six hundred years ago,
to commemorate some event, something of
struggle that ended in victory or resignation, when
Edward the First was king."
While these young men were talking on the
steps of the cross, the sun had set. And over
all things it was twilight, deepening and deepen-
ing every minute, and reaching in through every
window, and into every recess, as well as wide
over the fields and into the woods. And like the
twilight in an evening is Divine Providence. The
Godhead spreads itself through human life, a
silent influence on the souls of men, to inspire
them with thought, or restrain them in power, or
soothe them with peace ; and it penetrates all ac-
tions, and makes them, each one, turn to what is
divine, either in reward or punishment. And even
as the deepening twilight reaches higher and higher
up the skies, till at last the stars shine down it,
so it is with the belief in Providence. And the
more intensely it is seen to pervade the present
with its power, the more certainly it is felt to
connect us with the future by its purposes. Like
the stars, they are visible only from afar, yet
through Christ they are so distinctly plain, the
purposes of God toward us. And these, how
they enlighten, and draw, and sanctify us men,
amid bewildered thoughts, in which we might be
lost so easily, and amid temptations, for which
of themselves our own hearts would be too weak,
and amid that darkness of the grave, which
sometimes clings about those who have wept for
the dead too despondent tears.
ONE evening there was a young girl called on
Mrs. Satterthwaite, the housekeeper at the Par-
sonage, and sat with her in the kitchen. It was
truly an English kitchen, large, clean, comforta-
ble, and queer. By the fireplace, and over it, there
were old things of brass, copper, and steel, which
never had been, and never would be, used. Mrs.
Satterthwaite had polished them many years, and
so had her mother before her. And her grand-
mother, who had first owned them, had always
thought them much too good and new for use in
her time. And now it had become doubtful for
what purpose some of the articles had ever been
meant. Against the wall stood a great, square
piece of furniture, of black oak, full of drawers, and
called a dresser. Over the dresser were a set of
shelves, on which rested a few books, and three
dozen pewter plates and dishes. The pewter was
more than eighty years old ; yet none of it had
ever been used. The plates stood on their edges,
and shone on the upper shelves. And on the low-
er shelves the books were laid. Among which
were Pilgrim's Progress, George Herbert's Poems,
Fuller's Holy War, Baxter's Saint's Rest, Fox's
Book of Martyrs, Tusser's Hundred Points of
Good Husbandry, and Quarles's Emblems.
" Well, Sarah," said Mrs. Satterthwaite, " I am
sorry you are going, because I shall miss you in an
evening some time; and I shall not see you at your
mother's. But it will be all for your good, I am
sure. I am glad of the good place you are going to.
It will feel hard at first, going from home. But
do not think so, and then you will not find it so.
To go to service is for a girl like going to college.
It is the way to learn. And I have heard the
minister say that in old times even lords used to
be glad if other great lords would have their sons
" I want to see and learn more than I can
at home, Mrs. Satterthwaite."
" Right, Sarah, and now is your time, as I have
told you before. And girl, you will never com-
mand, if you do not first learn to serve. And
you will never learn, without you have your bet-
ters to teach you. With a good mistress, in a
A TALE. 17
year you will get good habits for life. It will
be your making for ever, a place at a good
house. I do not mean at a large house, with
fashionable people : but I mean at a house where
there are good ways from morning to night,
where the mistress knows what good work is,.
and how to have it done, and knows how to speak
to a servant and advise her and cheer her, and
where the master is a right-minded man, whom
it is a pleasure to serve. For, Sarah, it is both
pleasanter and easier to serve some strict mas-
ters, than it is some slovenly men, who are satis*
fied, perhaps, with any thing. The lightest work
is not always the best service, nor the easiest;
mind that. Hard work goes easier in one house
than no work at all does in another. But see
here. I have got something for you. It is a
present from the minister."
"O, how obliged to him I am! Such a beau-
tiful box ! And it is full of things, scissors,
bodkins, pins, needles. And, O, what a curi-
ous thing this is! O, how very much obliged
I am ! I am sure, I do not know how to thank
the minister as I ought."
" Well, well, Sarah, I will tell him how you feel.
Mind and make a good use of the box. And
always, when you look at it, remember this,
a stitch in time saves nine. Perhaps a less box
would have been handier for you. But that did
not occur to the minister, I dare say. For,
as the proverb says, the greatest clerks are not
always the wisest men, not in every thing, at
least. As how should they be? You will write
soon, Sarah, and let us know how you are."
" O, yes, ma'am ! I shall write the very day
after I get to London. And very often I shall
write. For I shall want to say so much of the
new things I shall see, the fresh ways and people.
It is said, there are such sights to see. Such
shops and churches, and such crowds in the
streets ! But I shall often want to be out of it
all and be at home."
" And as long as you want that, it will be all
right with you. But perhaps you will not always
feel as though home were the only thing you
wanted. You will see bonnets and gowns, and
shawls and ribbons and rings, that you will like,
and you will see places you may like to go to,
and companions you may like to go with, and new
ways you may like to take to. But have a care.
Things will all be so strange to you, that you will
think and feel nothing right, at first. And so for
a while beware of doing any thing at all but your
plain duty. Believe yourself foolish for the first
A TALE. 19
six months, and you will easily be wise after-
Here Mrs. Satterthwaite paused, and then, look-
ing intently before her, she continued, " Many go
out for wool that come home shorn themselves.
The road is well enough kept, that is rid of bad
company. A wicked companion is an invitation
to hell. Pride will have a fall. Buy one fine
thing, and you must buy ten to look all of a
piece. Better go to heaven in rags than to hell
with ornaments. Out of debt, out of danger. All
is fine that is fit. Now, Sarah, you will re-
" Yes, ma'am."
" And do not be afraid of work. Feather by
feather the goose is picked. Every thing has
got to be done by somebody. I mistress, and
you miss, who is to sweep the house? Think
how well you can do your work, and not how
easily. She that will thrive must rise at five;
remember that ; she that hath thriven may lie
till seven. On with your work early, so that
your mistress may come down and begin hers
without waiting. What, keep a dog and bark my-