Lewie by Cousin Cicely

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[Illustration: BROOK FARM (Frontispiece)]

LEWIE;

OR,

THE BENDED TWIG.

BY COUSIN CICELY, AUTHOR OF THE "SILVER LAKE STORIES," ETC. ETC.

"Train up this child for me, and I will give thee thy wages."

"Mother! thy gentle hand hath mighty power,
For thou alone may'st train, and guide, and mould,
Plants that shall blossom with an odor sweet,
Or like the cursed fig-tree, wither and become
Vile cumberers of the ground."

AUBURN AND ROCHESTER: ALDEN & BEARDSLEY. 1856.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by ALDEN
BEARDSLEY & CO. In the Clerk's Office for the Northern District of New
York.

Preface.

It seems to be thought that a preface or introduction of some sort is
absolutely necessary to a book; why, I do not know, unless it be that it
looks rather abrupt to begin one's story without a word as to the why or
wherefore of its being written. This in the present case can be said
very shortly.

The principal events in the following story, the loved and petted child
being, as it seemed, given back to life in answer to the mother's
importunate cry; the indulgence under which he grew up, and the fatal
consequences of that indulgence upon a temper such as his; are taken
from real life, and may be used as sad warnings to those who shrink from
the present trouble and pain, of rightly training the little ones God
has given them.

The story of the Governess is a true one in every particular; names only
being altered; I believe there are none remaining now whose feelings
will be pained by this sad history being made public, so far as this
little book may make it so, but there are one or two I know, and perhaps
more, now living, who will smile if the chapter entitled "Ruth Glenn"
meets their eyes, when they remember the disturbed nights years ago at a
certain city boarding school. If she to whom I have given this name
should ever see these pages, I hope she will forgive me for thus
"telling tales out of school," in consideration of the high station to
which by my single voice I have raised her, and the pleasant memory she
leaves behind.

Many other little scenes and incidents interwoven in, the story, are
from life.

And now I can only close my preface as I have closed the book, in the
earnest hope that it may have the effect of leading some mothers to
train rightly the little shoots springing up around the parent tree,
restraining their wandering inclinations, and teaching them ever to look
and grow towards Heaven.

THE AUTHOR.

Contents.

CHAPTER I.

LITTLE AGNES.

Page
The cross baby brother--The patient sister--The novel-reading mamma--The
broken work-box--Undeserved punishment--The lock of papa's
hair--Old Mammy--The cold north room--"Never alone"--Aunt
Wharton--Lewie sick--A pleasant change for the little prisoner 11

CHAPTER II.

BROOK FARM.

Bridget's rage--Mammy's story--The runaway match--The dead father--The
cheerful home at Brook Farm--Cousin Emily--The ice palace--Christmas
secrets--The mother's agony--Life from the dead 28

CHAPTER III.

CHRISTMAS TIME.

Preparations for Christmas--The needle-book--Santa Claus himself expected
-Old Cousin Betty--Loads of presents--Christmas Eve--Appearance
of Santa Claus--"Who can he be?"--Cousin Tom--Poor Emily's
grief 58

CHAPTER IV.

COUSIN BETTY.

Cousin Betty--Absence of mind and body--A habit of dying--The shadow on
the wall--Cousin Betty's ride on Prancer--Training day--Cousin Betty a
captain of militia--Cousin Betty's stories 67

CHAPTER V.

HOME AGAIN.

Agnes and Mr. Wharton on their way to the Hemlocks--The novel-reading
mamma again--Lewie better--Agnes must stay--A lay sermon to Mrs.
Elwyn--The needle-case--The bitter disappointment 77

CHAPTER VI.

THE TABLEAUX.

Lewie roving the woods and fields again--Capricious and fretful
still--The birth-day party at Mr. Wharton's--Preparations for
tableaux--Another disappointment for Agnes--The sweetest tableaux of all
89

CHAPTER VII.

THE GOVERNESS.

The lady who came for wool--The home in New-England--Midnight
studies--Miss Edwards engaged as governess--A universal genius--A letter
from the long-lost brother--The journey--The old Virginia church--The
ghost no ghost at all--The old log-house--Horrible murder!--of _pigs_
98

CHAPTER VIII.

BITTER DISAPPOINTMENTS.

No news from Miss Edwards--The letter from the strange physician--The
manuscript--The brother found, and where--The engagement--Desertion--The
country house--The "crazy room"--The Eastern Asylum--Rest at last in the
quiet nook 127

CHAPTER IX.

EMILY'S TRIALS.

Lewie's education--Mr. Malcolm tutor at the Hemlocks--Frequent calls at
Brook Farm--Emily's sufferings--The disclosure--Strength for time of
trial 140

CHAPTER X.

THE TUTOR AND THE PUPIL.

Lewie's insubordination--Passion and tears--The mother's anxiety--Mr.
Malcolm's firmness--No dinner for Lewie--Sulking--Brought to terms at
last--The tutor dismissed 159

CHAPTER XI.

RUTH GLENN.

Leaving for boarding-school--Mrs. Arlington and her daughters--The third
story room--The new strange girl--Nocturnal disturbances--Ruth Glenn's
expostulations--Imminent danger--The physician consulted--Morning
walks--Sad partings 173

CHAPTER XII.

LEWIE AT SCHOOL.

The dictator in the play-ground--Strife and contention--The
tormentor--Lewie's mortification--The sore spot--The attack upon
Colton--The removal from school--Mrs. Elwyn's failing health--Agnes
summoned--A death bed--Changes proposed to Agnes--Her departure for
Wilston 196

CHAPTER XIII.

NEW SCENES FOR AGNES.

The two Miss Fairlands--The step-mother--Arrival at Wilston--Unpromising
pupils--Poor Tiney--Dreadful scene at the tea-table--Tiney's
suffering--The effect of music 212

CHAPTER XIV.

THE SCHOOL IN THE WEST WING.

A hard task--The children's toilettes--Bible teachings--Practical
applications--Sunday at Mr. Fairland's--The children's singing--The
father's tears--A visit to Brook Farm--A visit from Lewie 223

CHAPTER XV.

THE STRANGERS IN THE ROOKERY.

An arrival--The Rookery--Mrs. Danby and Bella--A sudden accident--The
rescue--The strangers--An old friend--A row on the lake--Music on the
water--Shrieking in the house--A new method of laying spirits--Mortifying
disclosures by Frank 250

CHAPTER XVI.

DEATH AND THE FUGITIVE.

Music on the lawn--The midnight interview--The horrid truth
disclosed--Lewie a fugitive from justice--Jealousy of Calista and
Evelina--Poor Tiney's death bed--The search--The arrest 269

CHAPTER XVII.

THE JAIL.

Return to Brook Farm--The visit to the jail--The involuntary and the
voluntary prisoner--A talk about the future--Mr. Malcolm's visits--The
lawyer--The evening before the trial 284

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE TRIAL.

The Court-room--Mr. W.--The testimony--Speeches--Mr. G.'s
agitation--Charge to the jury 298

CHAPTER XIX.

THE SEALED PAPER.

A night of fearful suspense--The
verdict--Insensibility--Delirium--Meeting between the brother and
sister--Lewie's illness--Longings for freedom--A journey to the
capital--Ruth Glenn again--The governor--A sister's pleadings--Her
reward 310

CHAPTER XX.

TWICE FREE.

Freedom for the captive--Removal to Brook Farm--Decline--Changes of
temper and heart--A final release--The quiet nook--Resignation
--Cheerfulness--The unexpected visitor 328

CHAPTER XXI.

THE WINDING UP.

Repairs at the Rookery--Calista and Evelina on the _qui vive_--Mr.
Harrington and his bride--Another Christmas gathering--Farewell, and
kind wishes 331

I.

Little Agnes.

"And she, not seven years old,
A slighted child."--WORDSWORTH.

"What _is_ it Lewie wants? Does he want sister's pretty book?"

"No!" roared the cross baby boy, pointing with his finger to the
side-board.

"Well, see here, Lewie! here is a pretty ball; shall we roll it? There!
now roll it back to sister."

"No-o-o!" still screamed Master Lewie, the little finger still stretched
out towards something on the side-board which he seemed much to desire.

"Here is my lovely dolly, Lewie. If you will be very careful, I will let
you take her. See her beautiful eyes! Will Lewie make her open and shut
her eyes?"

"No-o-o-o!" again shouted the fretful child, and this time so loud as
effectually to arouse his youthful mamma, who was deep in an arm-chair,
and deeper still in the last fashionable novel.

"Agnes!" she exclaimed sharply, "cannot you let that child alone? I told
you to amuse him; and instead of doing so, you seem to delight in
teazing him and making him scream."

Again the little girl tried in various ways to amuse the wayward child.
He really was not well, and felt cross and irritable, and nothing that
his little sister could do to please him would succeed. With the utmost
patience and gentleness she labored to bring a smile to her little
brother's cheek, or at least so to win his attention as to keep him from
disturbing her mother. But the handkerchief rabbits, and the paper men
and women she could cut so beautifully, and which at times gave little
Lewie so much pleasure, were now all dashed impatiently aside. One by
one her little playthings were brought out, and placed before him, but
with no better success. Lewie had once seen the contents of a beautiful
work-box of his sister's, which stood in the centre of the side-board:
at this he pointed, and for this he screamed. Nothing else would please
him; at nothing else would he condescend to look.

"Oh, Lewie! darling Lewie! play with something else! Don't you know Aunt
Ellen gave sister that pretty work-box? and she said I must be so
careful of it, and Lewie would break all sister's pretty things."

Again Master Lewie had recourse to the strength of his lungs, which he
knew, by past experience, to be all-powerful in gaining whatever his
fancy might desire, and sent forth a roar so loud as once more to arouse
the attention of the novel-reading mamma; who, with a stamp of the foot,
and a threatening shake of the finger, gave the little girl to
understand that she must expect instant and severe punishment, if Lewie
was heard to scream again.

Still Lewie demanded the work-box, and nothing that the patient little
Agnes could do would divert his attention from it for a moment. The
little angry brow was contracted, and the mouth wide open for another
shriek, when little Agnes, with a sigh of despair, went to the
side-board, and, mounting on a chair, lifted down her much-valued and
carefully-preserved treasure, saying to herself:

"If Aunt Ellen only _knew_, I think she would not blame me!"

And now with a shout of delight the spoiled child seized on the pretty
work-box; and in another moment, winders, spools, scissors, thimble,
were scattered in sad confusion over the carpet. In vain did little
Agnes try, as she picked up one after the other of her pretty things, to
conceal them from the baby's sight; if one was gone, he knew it in a
moment, and worried till it was restored to him.

Finally, laying open the cover of the box, he began to pound with a
little hammer, which was lying near him, upon the looking-glass inside
of it; and, pleased with the noise it made, he struck harder and still
harder blows.

"No, no, Lewie! please don't! You will break sister's pretty
looking-glass. No! Lewie must not!" And Agnes held his little hand. At
this the passionate child threw himself back violently on the floor, and
screamed and shrieked in a paroxysm of rage; in the midst of which, the
threatened punishment came upon poor little Agnes, in the shape of a
sharp blow upon her cheek, from the soft, white hand of her mother, who
exclaimed:

"There! didn't I tell you so? It seems to be your greatest pleasure to
teaze and torment that poor baby; and you know he is sick, too. Now,
miss, the next time he screams, I shall take you to the north room, and
lock you up, and keep you there on bread and water all day!"

Agnes retreated to a corner, and wept silently, but very bitterly, not
so much from the pain of the blow, as from a sense of injustice and
harsh treatment at the hands of one who should have loved her; and the
mother returned to her novel, in which she was soon as deep as ever. At
the same moment, the looking-glass in the cover of the work-box flew
into fifty pieces, under the renewed blows of the hammer in Master
Lewie's hand.

The little conqueror now had free range among his sister's hitherto
carefully-guarded treasures; her bits of work, and little trinkets,
tokens of affection from her kind aunt and her young cousins at Brook
Farm, were ruthlessly torn in pieces, or broken and strewed over the
floor. Agnes sat in mute despair. She knew that as long as her mother
was absorbed in the novel, no sound would disturb her less powerful than
Lewie's screams, and that all else that might be going on in the room
would pass unnoticed by her. So, wiping her eyes, she sat still in the
corner, watching Lewie with silent anguish, as he revelled among her
precious things, as "happy as a king" in the work of destruction, and
only hoping that he might not discover one secret little spot in the
corner of the box where her dearest treasure was concealed.

But at length she started, and, with an exclamation of horror, and a
cry like that of pain, she sprang towards her little brother, and
violently wrenched something from his hand. And now the piercing shrieks
of the angry and astonished child filled the house, and brought even Old
Mammy to the room, to see what was the matter with the baby. Mammy
opened the door just in time to witness the severe punishment inflicted
upon little Agnes, and to receive an order to take that naughty girl to
the north room, and lock her in, and leave her there till farther
orders.

Agnes had not spoken before, when rebuked by her mother; but now,
raising her mild blue eyes, all dimmed by tears, to her mother's face,
she said:

"Oh, mamma! it was papa's hair!--it was that soft curl I cut from his
forehead, as he lay in his coffin, Lewie was going to tear the paper!"
But even this touching appeal, which should have found its way to the
young widow's heart, was unheeded by her--perhaps, in the storm of
passion, it was unheard; and Agnes was led away by Mammy to a cold,
unfurnished room, where she had been doomed to spend many an hour, when
_Lewie was cross_; while the fretful and half-sick child, now tired of
his last play-thing, was taken in his mother's arms, and rocked till he
fell into a slumber, undisturbed for perhaps an hour, except by a start,
when the tears from his mother's cheek fell on his--tears caused by the
_well-imagined_ sufferings of the heroine of her romance.

All the time Mammy was leading little Agnes through the wide hall, and
up the broad stairs and--along the upper hall to the door of the "North
Room," the good old woman was wiping her eyes with her apron, and trying
to choke down something in her throat which prevented her speaking the
words of comfort she wished to say to the sobbing child. When they
reached the door of the room in which little Agnes was to be a prisoner,
Mammy sat down, and taking the child in her lap she took off her own
warm shawl and pinned it carefully around her, and as she stooped to
kiss her, Agnes saw the tears upon her cheek.

"Why do you cry, Mammy?" she asked, "mamma has not scolded you to-day,
has she?"

"No, love."

"Are you crying then because you are so sorry for me?"

"That's it, my darling, I cannot bear to lock you up here alone for the
day and leave you so sorrowful, you that ought to be as blithe as the
birds in spring."

"Mammy, do you think I deserve this punishment?"

"No, sweet, if I must say the truth, I do not think you ever deserve any
punishment at all. But I must not say anything that's wrong to you,
about what your mamma chooses to do."

"Then, Mammy, don't you think I ought to be happier than if I had really
been naughty and was punished for it. Don't you remember Mammy the verse
you taught me from the Bible the last time Lewie was so fretful and
mamma sent you to lock me up here. I learned it afterwards from my
Bible: hear me say it:--"

'For what glory is it if when ye be buffeted for your faults ye take
it patiently; but if when ye do well and suffer for it, ye take it
patiently, this is acceptable with God.'

"Now, Mammy, I did try to be patient with Lewie, and I gave him
everything I had, but I could not let him destroy that lock of papa's
hair. I am afraid I was rough then, I hope I did not hurt his little
hand. Mammy, do you think mamma loves me _any_."

"How could anybody help loving you, my darling!"

"But, oh! Mammy, if I thought she would ever love me as she does Lewie!
She never kisses me, she never speaks kind to me. No, Mammy, I do not
think she loves me; but how strange it is for a mother not to love her
own little girl."

"Well, darling, we will talk no more of that, or we shall be saying
something naughty; we will both try and do our duty, and then God will
bless us, and whatever our troubles and trials may be, let us go to Him
with them all. Now, darling, I must leave you."

"Mammy, will you please bring me my Bible; and my little hymn-book? I
want to learn the"

'I am never alone.'

"God is always by my side, isn't he Mammy?"

"Yes, love, and he says, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'"

When little Agnes was left alone in the great cold room, she walked up
and down the floor repeating to herself verses from her Bible and
hymn-book. Sometimes she stopped at the window and looked across the
country, towards a wooded hill, where just above the tops of the trees
she could see the chimneys of her uncle's house; and she thought how
happy her young cousins were in the love of their father and mother, and
she remembered how her own dear papa had loved her, and she thought of
the difference now; and the tears flowed afresh. Then she walked the
room again, repeating in a low voice to herself the words:

"Never alone; though through deserts I roam
Where footstep of man has ne'er printed the sand.
Never alone; though the ocean's wild foam
Rage between me and the loved ones on land.
Though hearts that have cherished are laid 'neath the sod,
Though hearts which should cherish are colder than stone,
I still have thy love and thy friendship my God,
Thou always art near me; I'm never alone."

Soon she grew tired of walking, and seating herself at the table, she
laid her head upon her crossed arms and was soon in a sweet slumber, and
far away in her dreams from the cold desolate north room, at "the
Hemlocks."

At the end of an hour the youthful widow was disturbed by the sound of
merry sleigh-bells, and she had only time to throw her novel hastily
aside, when the door opened and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Wharton,
entered, accompanied by two of her little girls, their bright faces
glowing with health and happiness.

"And how are the children?" Mrs. Wharton asked, after the first
salutations were over.

"Why, Lewie does not seem well, he has been complaining for a day or
two."

"And where is Agnes? We rode over to see if you let her go over and
pass the holidays with us."

"Why, to tell the truth, Agnes has been very naughty, and I have been
obliged to shut her up."

"Again!" exclaimed Mrs. Wharton, while glances of indignation shot from
the eyes of her two little girls. "Agnes naughty, and shut up again!
Why, Harriet, do you know she appears to me so perfectly gentle and
lovely, that I can hardly imagine her as doing anything wrong. Mr.
Wharton and I often speak of her as the most faultless child we have
ever met with."

"She is not so bad in other ways, but she does delight to tease Lewie,
and keep him screaming. Now, it has been one incessant scream from the
child all this morning, and Agnes _can_ amuse him very well when she
chooses."

"Judging from all her own pretty things scattered about the floor here,
I should think she had been doing her best to amuse him," said Mrs.
Wharton; "she has even taken down her beautiful work-box, of which she
has always been so careful. You may be sure it was a case of extremity,
which compelled her to do that."

"Why, what a sad litter they have made to be sure; I did not observe it
before. The fact is, Ellen, I have been exceedingly occupied this
morning, and did not know what the children were about, only that Agnes
kept Lewie screaming, and, at last, with the utmost rudeness, for that I
saw myself, she snatched something from his hand, and for that, I
punished her."

"Ah, yes, I see, Harriet," said Mrs. Wharton, glancing at the
yellow-covered publication on the table; "I see how it is, now; you have
been wholly absorbed in one of those wretched novels, and left little
Agnes to take care of a sick, cross baby. That child is very sick,
Harriet; do you see what a burning fever he has?"

"Ellen, do you think so?" said the mother hastily and in great
agitation. "Oh, Ellen, what shall I do; oh, what _shall_ I do! perhaps
my baby, my darling, is going to be very ill."

"Do not agitate yourself so, Harriet, I will send Matthew directly over
to the village for the doctor; but first, may I have Agnes?"

"Oh, do what you please with Agnes, only send the doctor to my baby;
call Mammy, she will bring Agnes, and do go, quick!"

The bell was rung, and Mammy was despatched to bring the little prisoner
down; she found her as we left her, sleeping with her head upon her
arms.

"Precious lamb!" said Mammy, "she has cried herself to sleep." Then,
kissing her, and rousing her gently, she told her that her aunt and
cousins had come to take her to Brook Farm.

Agnes was at first very happy at the idea of once more enjoying the
sunshine of her aunt's cheerful home, but, when she heard that Lewie was
sick, a cloud came over her face.

"Aunty," she whispered, "I think I had better not go, perhaps I can do
something for Lewie. I can _almost_ always amuse him."

"Lewie is too sick to be amused now, my dear, and you can do no good
here; besides, I want to get you away as quickly as possible, for I
think it may be the scarlet fever that Lewie has. Come, darling, we will
go."

Agnes drew her hand quietly from that of her aunt, and running back, she
stooped over her little brother as he lay in his mother's arms, and
kissed him; and then, standing a moment before her mother, she raised
her eyes to her face. But her mother's eyes, with a gaze of almost
despair, were fixed on her darling boy, and she did not seem to be aware
even of the presence of her little daughter.

A look of disappointment passed over the face of Agnes, as, without
intruding upon her mother by even a word of farewell, she turned, and
put her hand once more in that of her aunt. And now, as, comfortably
wrapped in buffalo skins, Mrs. Wharton and the little girls are flying
over the country roads, to the sound of the merry sleigh-bells, we will
relate a conversation which took place between Mammy and Bridget; and
by so doing, will give a little insight into the history of the young
widow, whom we have introduced to the reader.

II.

Brook Farm.

"By the gathering round the winter hearth,
When twilight called unto household mirth;
By the fairy tale, or the legend old,
In that ring of happy faces told;
By the quiet hours when hearts unite
In the parting prayer and the kind "good night",
By the smiling eye and the loving tone,
Over thy life has the spell been thrown."--SPELLS OF HOME.

When Mammy left little Agnes in the north room, and descended to the
kitchen, she found Bridget, who had already been made acquainted with,
passing events by Anne, the chambermaid, in a state of great wrath and
indignation. The china must have been strong that stood so bravely the
rough treatment it received that morning, and the tins kept up a
continued shriek of anguish as they were dashed against each other in
the sink; while every time Bridget set down her foot as she stamped
about the kitchen, it was done with an emphasis that made itself felt
throughout the whole house.

"And so ye've been locking up that swate crathur again, have ye, Mrs.
McCrae?" were the words with which, in no gentle tones, she assailed
Mammy as she entered the kitchen.

"I did as I was bid, Bridget," said Mammy, with a sigh.

"And indade it wouldn't be me would do as I was bid, if I was bid to do
the like o' that. I'd rather coot off my right hand than use it to turn
the kay on the darlint."

"I always mind my mistress, Bridget," said Mammy, "though it's often I'm
forced to pray for patience wi' her."

"And indade I don't ask for patience wid her at all, anny how," stormed
Bridget. "To think of sending the swate child, that never has anny but a
kind an' a pleasant word for _iverybody_, away to the cold room, just
because the brat she doats on chooses to _yowl_ in the fashion he did
the morn. I don't know, indade, what's the matther with the woman! I
think it's a quare thing, and an _on nattheral_ thing, _anny how_!"

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