Year: 1873

here were chiefly social and local


and more or less favored with Per-


kins. We got back as far as the
Revolutionary epoch-or rather her


impressions of that epoch when it


was still fresh in the public mind.
And here l came upon an incident
purely personal and local, but with
al so novel, wicrd and uncanny, that
for a while, l fear, quite displaced
G. w. III my mind and tinged the
autumnal fields beyond with red
that was not of the sumach. / do
not remember to have read of it in
the books. l do not know that it is
entirely authentic 1t was attest ed
to me by mother and daughter as
an uncontradicted tradition.


In the little field beyond, where
the plow still turns up musket balls
and cartridge boxes, took place one
Of those irregular skirmishcs be-
tween the militiamen and Knyphau-
sens stragglers that made the re-
treat historical. A Hessian soldier,
wounded in both legs and utterly
helpless, dragged himself to the
cover of n halle copse, and laid
there hidden for two days. On the
third day, maddened by thirst, he
managed to creep to the rail fence
of an adjoining farm house, but
found himself unable to mount it or
pass through. There was no one in
the house but little girl of six or
seven years. He called-to her and
in faint voice asked for water.
She turned to the house, as if to
comply with his requst, but mount
ing "A chair took from the
chimney heavy loaded "Queen
Anne" musket, and going to the
door, took deliberate aim at the
helpless intruder and fired. The
man fell back dead without a groan.
She replaced the musket, and
covered the body with boughs
and leaves until it was hidden. Two
or three days after she related the
occurrence in a careless casual
way, and leading the way to the
fence, with a piece Of bread and
butter IN her guileless little fingers,
pointed out the result of her simple
unsophisticated effort. The He's
sian was decently buried, but 1.
could not find out what became of
the little girl. Nobody seemed to
remember. l trust that in after
years she was happily married.
that no Jersey Lovelace attempted
to trifle with q heart whose impul-
ses were so prompt, and whose pur-
poses were so sincere. They did
not seem to know if she had mar.
ried or not. Yet it does not seem
probable that such simplicity of
conception, frankness of expression,
and deftncss Of execution were lost
to posterity, or that they failed in
their season to give flavor to the do
mestic felicity Of the period. Be.
yond this, the story perhaps has
little value-except as an offset to
the usual anecdotes of Hesslan afro
city.


They had their financial panics
even in Jersey in those
days. She remembered when DR..
White married your cousin Mary,
or was it Susan?-yes it was Susan;
she remembers that your Uucle
Harry brought in an armtul of bank
notes-paper money, you know
and threw them into q corner, say
ing they were no good to anybody.
She remembered playing with them,
and giving them to your aunt Anna;
no, child, it was your own mother,
bless your heart. Some of them
was marked IS high as hundred
dollars. Everybody kept gold and
silver in a stocking, or in "cha-
ney" vase like that. You never
used money to buy anything. When
Josiah went to Springfield to buy
anything he took a cart load OF
things with him to exchange That
yallar picture frame was paid for in
greenings. But then people knew
just what they had; and they didn't
fritter their substance away in un-
christian trifles like your father,
Eliza Jane, who doesn't know that
there is a God who will smite him
hip and thigh-for vengeance is
mine and those that believe in me-
but here, singularly enough, the
inferior maxillaries gave out, and
her jaw dropped. q noticed that
her giddy daughter of IS was sit
ting near her, but do not pretend
to connect this fact with the ar
rested flow Of personal disclosure
Howbeit when she recovered her
speech again it appeared that she
was complaining Of tie weather.


The seasons had changed very
much since your father went to sea.
The winters used to be terrible in
those days. When she went over
to Springfield in June she saw the
snow still on Watson's ridge.
There was whole days when you
couldn't get over to William Hen
ry's--their next neighbor, a quarter
of a mile away. 1t was that dreffal
winter that the Spanish sailor was
was found-you don't remember the
Spanish sailor, Eliza Jane, it was
before your time. There was a lit
tie personal skirmishing here, which
/ feared, at first, might end in q to-
tai suspension Of maxillary func-
tions and the loss of the story, but
here it is. All me, it is q pure
white winter idyl, how shall I sing
it this bright, gay Autumnal dayp


It was terrible night, that Win