PEBBLEBROOK

AND THE

HARDING FAMILY.

CHAPTER I.

THE PRESCRIPTION, ET C.

I HAD fallen into a moping way, and had many ailments of that bad kind to which physicians can give no name. The medical man who attended me, had given tonics, and, for aught I know, bread pills. Life had become a burden to me and the world almost joyless. I could do nothing, even the commonest thing, without an effort: every-day conversation with intimate friends was a weariness. In truth I had no object in life.

One day my patient and long suffering physician, after the usual inquiries, took a slip of paper from his pocket, wrote on it, handed it to my housekeeper and departed. "I don't believe the apothecary keeps it," said she endeavouring to read. "Get a horse"-I took it from her it ran thus: "Get a good horse, get upon his back,

ride to Pebblebrook and visit your friends: see what is before you, listen to whatever speaks, speak to every thing that can hear look not always downward; look upward toward the sky." I was angry; rose hastily and walked to the open window. The doctor was upon his horse: he bowed, smiled benevolently, waved his hand, and rode away. It was a beautiful spring morning: a bird sang sweetly in a tree near the house. I looked at the tree, then at the paved street and brick buildings: 1 listened to the song of the bird, and then to the rattling of carriages and trucks. He may be right, I said thoughtfully- one may as well die on horseback as in an armchair. I gave directions to forward my trunk to Pebblebrook by the stage coach, and rode that afternoon ten miles on my way. In the parlor of the little inn, where 1 stopped to pass the night, a man of middle age was writing at a small table. He looked up when I entered, remarked that the evening was pleasant, and continued to write. I was about to leave the room when he, looking up again, said: "you don't disturb me at all, sir: indeed 1 have done." He folded his letter, superscribed it, and calling the landlord asked him to send it to the post office. "There," said he turning to me, "that will make some half dozen human beings happy." I was struck and pleased with the man's frank bearing, and said, smiling: "How do you know that?" "How do I know it?" returned he in yankee fashion, Why, I believe it, and in belief there is much that makes itself true. When my wife gets that letter there'll be a noisy time. Bob and Will and Kate will shout: a letter from father! a letter from father! Then there'll be a few minutes silence while she reads aloud, and noise enough after

it: the rascals, the villains!"

"Are they so bad?" I as soon as they could

asked. "Yes, they began to lie talk and even before. They do not lie so much now, nor do they tell so many truths: in fact I am afraid my oldest boy is in a bad way; he is somewhat too circumspect; he is beginning to think too much about himself; the commandment, 'Thou shalt not steal,' begins to have a state's prison meaning to him. Have you any children?" "Not yet," said I, laughing," but I hope to have one day."

"That's right, that's right, don't read Malthus on population many a rich man in old England, whose income would support thousands, has read that book and almost wept to think how many creatures are coming into a world where there is no place for them. There are few things more ridiculous than the theories of moralists and politicians. One can fancy the awful feelings of some the-orizing man sitting by a cheerful wood-fire some centuries ago, and computing the millions of human beings that must freeze to death when all the forests should be cut down; forgetting that earth has bowels as well as hair on its skin: in short, as I said before, faith is a good thing; it saves one a world of useless trouble and anxie. ty."-There was a pause, until I, calling to mind my medical friend's prescription, said, " you spoke just now of your family I have read much about married life and the means of happiness in that state: you seem to have had some experience; what do you think are the best means?"

Faith, Hope, and Charity; or, in one word Love. The means in this case, as in many others, are in the end; but," said he, suddenly rising, "I must be off. I must ride into the city to-night, and it is already quite dark;

good evening." He mounted his horse and rode away. I inquired of the landlord, but could learn nothing of this stranger. Soon I retired to bed, and had pleasanter dreams than usual.

The next morning was rainy, and I remained at the little inn almost regretting that I had left home. After noon, however, the sun stepped forth and spread his bow on the rain-drops of the eastward-sailing cloud. I rode joyously on my way. One broad smile spread itself over nature's newly washed face. Clouds, I said to myself, are, as I can now plainly perceive, only unsubstantial, transient, near things: they come never from the sun above, but always from the earth below. In their beginning they are invisible; we cannot see them till they are formed and look black. Then comes the thunder and lightning, awful to ear and eye of mortal man. But soon the cloud has broken, it has altogether rained down, and lo, earth is made glad and fruitful. I had some thoughts about the "origin and uses of Evil," which may be omitted here. Toward night I stopped at the house of an old friend of my mother's. She met me at the door with a cheerful greeting, and expressed her pleasure at seeing me abroad again. She introduced me to a young lady, her niece, who was in the room, and we were chatting cheerfully together, when the husband of my hostess entered. I had never seen him before, and thought that his cold look indicated little warmth of heart. He said, very solemnly, when his wife introduced me: "you are the sick Mr. Harding of whom I have often heard." He inquired so particularly about my ailments that I felt embarrassed, and answered briefly as I could: a sly smile, which I noticed on the young woman's face, had little of encouragement for me. "Sometimes," said he, speaking

as to himself in the way of recapitulation," sometimes you have pains in your head, sometimes little appetite, and often a sense of fatigue: you do not sleep well at night, and find it difficult to rise in the morning: let me feel your pulse." His wife looked out of the window. "Sarah," said he,” “perhaps Mr. Harding would like to lie down." I said hastily, that I felt better than usual and had no present need of repose. To turn the conversation another way, I asked the young woman what was going on in the town. "Nothing specially interesting I believe, — O, yes, there is an exhibition of wax figures, this evening, at the tavern: see" continued she pointing toward a building, "the room is already lighted." I proposed going there, and all assented. Elizabeth (the young woman) walked with me, and on our arrival at the hall we found it nearly filled with people. The wax figures stood around against the walls, and a rope was drawn across in front to keep the spectators at a proper distance. There were Queen Caroline and the bewhiskered Bergami, Commodores Hull and Decatur, some three or four Indian chiefs, a sleeping infant, and other figures large as life; all, save the sleeping infant, with open staring eyes. The proprietor or exhibitor, beginning at one end of the row, walked round, stopping a minute before each figure, and, in an automatic way, told its name and deeds. The story of Queen Caroline and Bergami was not of the kind called edifying.

"What" said I "can bring so many people to such an exhibition as this?" “What,” replied my companion "brings you and I hither?" She stooped to pick up a glove she had dropped: a young man, looking the while very intently at Queen Caroline, stepped as she rose upon the skirt of her robe: it tore across the back so that a