The Kanzas news., 1857-10-24
From Putnam's Magazine for September.
UNCLE JOSH.
A NEW ENGLAND sroRY.


a farmer on Plainfeld Hill and specimen.
If some strange phrases were grated on his
New England vernacuiar, it was because for
fifteen years of his youth he had followed
the sea, to return the compliment, thereafter
followed him.
His father, old Josh Crane, kept the San
bury grist-mill, and was drunken, shiftless
old creature, who ended his days in a tum-
ble-down red house a mile below Plainfeld
Center, being took with the tremens,' as
black Peter said when he came for the doc
tor-all too late, for the 'tremens' had, in
deed, taken him off.
Mrs. Crane, our Josh's mother was one
of those calm, meek, patient creatures, by
some inscrutable mystery always linked to
such men; martyrs by the pang without
the palm,' of whom a noble army shall yet
rise out of New England's desolate valleys
and melancholy hills, to take their honor
from the masters hand. For years this
woman lived alone with her child in the shat
tered red house, spinning, knitting, wash
ing, sewing, scrubbing, to earn bread and
water, sometimes charity-fed; but never
falling at morning and night, with one red
and knotted hand upon her boy white hair,
and the other on her worn out Bible, to
pray, with an intensity that boy never for
got, for his well-being forever and ever; for
herself she never prayed, aloud.
Then came the country's pestiience, con-
sumption, and after long struggles, relapses,
rallies, all received in the same calm patience,
Hetty Crane died in summers night, her
little boy asleep beside her, and a whippoor-
will on the apple-tree by the door sounding
on her Pickering sense the last minor note
of life
When Josh woke up and knew his moth
er was dead, he did not behave in the least
ike good little boys in books, but dressed
himself without tear or sob, and ran for
the nearest neighbor.
'Sakes alive!' said Miss Ranney, 4 never
did see sech cretufas that are boy In all
my daysi he never said nothin' to me when
he came to our folks only jest-'Miss Ran
ney, / guess you'd better come cross lots to
see mother; she don't seem to be alive
Dew tell!' sez I, an so [ slipt on my Sha-
ker bunnet iist as 9uick's | could, but he
was off spry's a cricket, an when / got
there he was settin' the room to rights;
he'd spunked up fire, and hung on the
kittle; so sed nothin', but slept along in
,
and gin screech, / was so beat, for sure
enough Hetty Crane was dead an cold-
Josh he heerd me, for he was clos't onto me,
and he never spoke, but he come up to the
bed and he put his head down and laid his
cheek right along hers, and 'twant no red
der'n her'n and staid so bout a minnit;
then he cleared out and never see him no
more all day, but Miss Good'in she come in,
and she said he'd stopped there and sent her
over.
Well, we laid out Hetty, and fixed up
the house and put up curtain to her win
der, and Miss Good'in she'n l calkerlated
to set up all night, and we was Jest putin
a mess of tea to draw, SOS to keep lively,
when in come Josh, drippin' wet, for dews
was dreadful heavy them August nights and
he said nothin' morn Jest to answer when
he was spoke to, and Miss Good'in was a
real feelin' woman, she guessed he'd better
be let alone; so he drink't cup of tea, and
then he started off into the bedroom, and
when she went in there, long towards mid
night, there he was, fast asleep on the bed
beside of the corpse, as straight as apin hol-
din on to one of its hands. Miss Good in
come back cryin', and I thought should
" OuI, DGt l.
gled it down, and we set to work to figger
out what was going to be done with the
poor little chap: that house of their'n that
old Josh had bought of Mr.. Ranney, hadn't t
never been paid for; only the interest money
whenever Mrs. Crane could scrape it up, soft
that would go right back into husbands s
hands, an they hadn't got no cow, nor no
pig, and we agreed the s'lelectmen would
hev to take him and bind him out.
Il alters mistrusted that he'd walked up,
and heerd what we said, for next mornin'
when we went to call him he was gone, and
his shirts an go-to-meetin's too, and he
never come back to the funeral, nor a good
spell after.
4 know after Hetty was buried, and we'd
resolved to sell what things she had, to get
her head stone, for Mr.. Ranney wouldn't
never put in for the rest of his interest mon
ey, took home her old Bible and KEEP it for
Josh, and the next time l see hinAwas five
and twenty years after, when he come back
IRON a-farin' an settled down farmin' ont
and he sot by that Bible dredful sight, I
expect, for he GIN our Sal the brightest
red an yeller bandanner you ever see; she
used to keep it TO take TO meetin'
Miss Ranney was certainly right in her
guess Josh had heard in that miserable
midnight the discussion of bis future, and
having well-founded dread of the select
mems tender mercies, had given last ca
ress to his dead mother and run away to
Boston, where he shipped for a whaling
voyage, was cast away on the Newfound-
land shore after ten years of sea life, and
being at that time stout youth of twenty,
sick of his seaman-ship, he had hired him
self to work In q stone-yard, and by the
time he was thirty-fve had laid up enough
money to return a thrifty bachelor, and,
buying little farm on Plainfeld Hill, set
tie down TO his ideal of life, and become
The amusement of part of the village, and
The oracle of the rest
We BOYS adored Uncle Josh. for he was