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13476
JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
beauties of chivalry; and that it has preserved, amidst all the
vices of the age, a respect for honor and a love of high feeling.
This delicacy of sentiment among the Troubadours, and this
mysticism of love, have a more intimate connection with the
poetry of the Arabians and the manners of the East than we
should suspect when we remember the ferocious jealousy of
the Mussulmans, and the cruel consequences of their system of
polygamy. Amongst the Mussulmans, woman is a divinity as
well as a slave, and the seraglio is at the same time a temple
and a prison. The passion of love displays itself amongst the
people of the South with a more lively ardor and a greater im-
petuosity than in the nations of Europe. The Mussulman does
not suffer any of the cares or the pains or the sufferings of life
to approach his wife. He bears these alone His harem is con-
secrated to luxury, to art, and to pleasure. Flowers and incense,
music and dancing, perpetually surround his idol, who is debarred
from every laborious employment. The songs in which he cele-
brates his love breathe the same spirit of adoration and of wor-
ship which we find in the poets of chivalry; and the most beautiful
of the Persian ghazeles, and the Arabian cassides, seem to be
translations of the verses or songs of the Provençals.
We must not judge of the manners of the Mussulmans by
those of the Turks of our day. Of all the people who have fol-
lowed the law of the Koran, the latter are the most gloomy
and jealous. The Arabians, while they passionately loved their
mistresses, suffered them to enjoy more liberty; and of all the
countries under the Arabian yoke, Spain was that in which their
manners partook most largely of the gallantry and chivalry of the
Europeans. It was this country also which produced the most
powerful effects on the cultivation of the intellect, in the south
of Christian Europe.
ITALY IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY
From A History of the Italian Republics'
WH
HILE the power of the kings of Naples, of the emperors, and
of the popes, was as it were suspended in Italy, innu-
merable small States, which had risen to almost absolute
independence, experienced frequent revolutions, for the most part


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JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
13477
proceeding from internal and independent causes. We can at
most only indicate shortly those of the republics which were the
most distinguished and the most influential in Italy; but before
thus entering within the walls of the principal cities, it is right
to give a sketch of the general aspect of the country,— particu-
larly as the violent commotions which it experienced might give a
false idea of its real state. This aspect was one of a prodigious
prosperity, which contrasted so much the more with the rest
of Europe, that nothing but poverty and barbarism were to be
found elsewhere. The open country (designated by the name of
contado) appertaining to each city was cultivated by an active
and industrious race of peasants, enriched by their labor, and not
fearing to display their wealth in their dress, their cattle, and
their instruments of husbandry. The proprietors, inhabitants
of towns, advanced them capital, shared the harvests, and alone
paid the land-tax; they undertook the immense labor which has
given so much fertility to the Italian soil,- that of making dikes
to preserve the plains from the inundation of the rivers, and of
deriving from those rivers innumerable canals of irrigation. The
naviglio grande of Milan, which spreads the clear waters of the
Ticino over the finest part of Lombardy, was begun in 1179,
resumed in 1257, and terminated a few years afterwards.
Men
who meditated, and who applied to the arts the fruits of their
study, practiced already that scientific agriculture of Lombardy
and Tuscany which became a model to other nations; and at this
day, after five centuries, the districts formerly free, and always
cultivated with intelligence, are easily distinguished from those
half-wild districts which had remained subject to the feudal
lords.
The cities, surrounded with thick walls, terraced, and guarded
by towers, were for the most part paved with broad flagstones;
while the inhabitants of Paris could not stir out of their houses
without plunging into the mud. Stone bridges of an elegant and
bold architecture were thrown over rivers; aqueducts carried pure
water to the fountains. The palace of the podestas and signorie
united strength with majesty. The most admirable of those of
Florence, the Palazzo-Vecchio, was built in 1298. The Loggia
in the same city, the church of Santa Croce, and that of Santa
Mariadel Fiore with its dome so admired by Michael Angelo,
were begun by the architect Arnolfo, scholar of Nicolas di Pisa,
between the years 1284 and 1300. The prodigies of this first-born


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13478
JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
of the fine arts multiplied in Italy: a pure taste, boldness, and
grandeur struck the eye in all the public monuments, and finally
reached even private dwellings; while the princes of France,
England, and Germany, in building their castles, seemed to think
only of shelter and defense. Sculpture in marble and bronze
soon followed the progress of architecture: in 1300, Andrea di
Pisa, son of the architect Nicolas, cast the admirable bronze gates
of the Baptistery at Florence; about the same time, Cimabue
and Giotto revived the art of painting, Casella that of music, and
Dante gave to Italy his divine poem unequaled in succeeding
generations. History was written honestly, with scrupulous re-
search and with a graceful simplicity, by Giovanni Villani and
his school; the study of morals and philosophy began; and Italy,
ennobled by freedom, enlightened nations till then sunk in dark-
ness.
The arts of necessity and of luxury had been cultivated with
not less success than the fine arts: in every street, warehouses
and shops displayed the wealth that Italy and Flanders only knew
how to produce. It excited the astonishment and cupidity of the
French or German adventurer who came to find employment in
Italy, and who had no other exchange to make than his blood
against the rich stuffs and brilliant arms which he coveted. The
Tuscan and Lombard merchants, however, trafficked in the bar-
barous regions of the west, to carry there the produce of their
industry. Attracted by the franchises of the fairs of Champagne
and of Lyons, they went thither as well to barter their goods
as to lend their capital at interest to the nobles, habitually loaded
with debt; though at the risk of finding themselves suddenly
arrested, their wealth confiscated by order of the King of France,
and their lives too sometimes endangered by sanctioned robbers,
under the pretext of repressing usury. Industry, the employment
of a superabundant capital, the application of mechanism and sci-
ence to the production of wealth, secured the Italians a sort of
monopoly through Europe; they alone offered for sale what all
the rich desired to buy: and notwithstanding the various oppres-
sions of the barbarian kings, notwithstanding the losses occasioned
by their own oft-repeated revolutions, their wealth was rapidly
renewed. The wages of workmen, the interest of capital, and the
profit of trade rose simultaneously, while every one gained much
and spent little; manners were still simple, luxury was unknown,
and the future was not forestalled by accumulated debt.


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JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
13479
A FIFTEENTH-CENTURY SOLDIER: FRANCESCO CARMAGNOLA
From A History of the Italian Republics'
Α
N ILLUSTRIOUS fugitive, Francesco Carmagnola, who arrived.
about this time [1425-26] at Venice, accomplished what
Florence had nearly failed in, by discovering to the Vene-
tians the project of the Duke of Milan to subjugate them. Fran-
cesco Carmagnola had, by the victories he had gained, the glory
he had acquired, and the influence he obtained over the soldiers,
excited the jealousy, instead of the gratitude, of Filippo Maria;
who disgraced him and deprived him of his employment, without
assigning any reason. Carmagnola returned to court, but could
not even obtain an interview with his master. He retired to his
native country, Piedmont; his wife and children were arrested,
and his goods confiscated. He arrived at last, by way of Ger-
many, at Venice; soon afterward some emissaries of the Duke
of Milan were arrested for an attempt to poison him. The doge,
Francesco Foscari, wishing to give lustre to his reign by con-
quest, persuaded the Senate of Venice to oppose the increasing
ambition of the Duke of Milan. A league formed between Flor-
ence and Venice was successively joined by the Marquis of Fer-
rara, the lord of Mantua, the Siennese, Duke Amadeus VIII. of
Savoy, and King Alphonso of Naples, who jointly declared
war against Filippo Maria Visconti on the 27th of January, 1426.
Carmagnola was charged to raise an army of 16,000 cuirassiers
and 8,000 infantry in the States of Mantua.
The good fortune of Carmagnola in war still attended him in
the campaign of 1426. He was as successful against the Duke of
Milan as he had been for him: he took from him the city and
the whole province of Brescia. The duke ceded this conquest to
the Venetians by treaty on the 30th of December; but he em-
ployed the winter in assembling his forces, and in the beginning
of spring renewed the war. He equipped a considerable fleet on
the Po, in order to take possession of the States of Mantua and
Ferrara, the allies of the two republics. This fleet was attacked
by the Venetians, and after an obstinate battle, burnt near Cre-
mona on the 21st of May, 1427. The Duke of Milan had given.
the command of his army to Nicolo Piccinino, the pupil of Brac-
cio, who had brought with him the flower of the Bracceschi
army. Nicolo attacked Carmagnola on the 12th of July, at Casal-
secco; but the heat was so intense, and the dust rose in such


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13480
JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
clouds from under the horses' feet, that the two armies, envel-
oped in nearly the darkness of night, could no longer distinguish
each other, or discern the signals: they separated without claim-
ing advantage on either side. A third battle took place on the
11th of October, 1427, in a marsh near Macalo; Carmagnola here
completely defeated the Milanese army, commanded by Carlo
Malatesta, and comprising Francesco Sforza, Nicolo Piccinino, and
all the most illustrious captains of Italy. By an imprudent gen-
erosity, Carmagnola released these important prisoners; and thus
provoked the resentment of the procurators of St. Mark, who
accompanied him. A new peace, signed on the 18th of April,
1428, again suspended hostilities without reconciling the parties,
or inspiring the belligerents with any mutual confidence. The
Florentines took advantage of this interval of repose to attack
Paulo Guinigi, lord of Lucca, whose alliance with the Duke of
Milan had irritated them, although he had afterwards been aban-
doned by Filippo Maria. The Lucchese, profiting by this last
circumstance, revolted against their lord in September, deposed
him, and sent him prisoner to Milan. The Florentines were
afterwards driven out of the States of Lucca by Nicolo Piccinino,
who defeated them on the borders of the Serchio on the 2d of
December, 1430; and the general war recommenced.
In this last campaign, fortune abandoned Carmagnola. On the
17th of May, 1431, he suffered himself to be surprised at Soncino,
which he had reached with his advanced guard, by Francesco
Sforza, who took prisoners 1600 of his cavalry; he, however,
escaped and rejoined his still brilliant army. On the 23d of May
he approached the Po, to second the Venetian fleet in an attack.
on Cremona; but the fleet, pushed by that of the Milanese on
the opposite shore, was destroyed in his presence, without the
possibility of his rendering it any aid. However great his desire
to repair these checks, he could not meet the enemy again dur-
ing the remainder of the summer. A deadly distemper broke out
among the horses throughout Italy; his troops were dismounted:
and as the fate of battle depended almost entirely on the cavalry,
this calamity reduced him to complete inaction.
The Senate of Venice, which made it a rule never to defend
the republic but by foreign arms, never to enlist its citizens
under its banners either as generals or soldiers,- further observed
that of governing with extreme rigor those foreign adventurers
of whom its armies were composed, and of never believing in the


## p. 13481 (#295) ##########################################

JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
13481
The Venetians-
virtue of men who trafficked in their own blood.
distrusted them; they supposed them ever disposed to treachery:
and if they were unfortunate, though only from imprudence, they
rendered them responsible. The condottieri were made fully
to understand that they were not to lose the armies of the repub-
lic without answering for the event with their lives. The Senate-
joined to this rigor the perfidy and mystery which characterize
an aristocracy. Having decided on punishing Carmagnola for the
late disasters, it began by deceiving him. He was loaded with
marks of deference and confidence; he was invited to come to
Venice in the month of April, 1432, to fix with the signoria the
plan of the ensuing campaign. The most distinguished senators.
went to meet him, and conduct him in pomp to the palace of
the doge. Carmagnola, introduced into the Senate, was placed in
the chair of honor; he was pressed to speak; his discourse was
applauded. The day began to close; lights were not yet called
for, but the general could no longer distinguish the faces of
those who surrounded him: when suddenly the sbirri, or soldiers.
of police, threw themselves on him, loaded him with chains, and
dragged him to the prison of the palace. He was next day
put to the torture,― rendered still more painful by the wounds.
which he had received in the service of this ungrateful repub-
lic. Both the accusations made against him, and his answers to
the questions, are buried in the profound secrecy with which the
Venetian Senate covered all its acts. On the 5th of May, 1432,
Francesco Carmagnola, twenty days after his arrest, was led out,
-his mouth gagged to prevent any protestation of innocence,—
and placed between the two columns on the square of St. Mark:
he was there beheaded, amidst a trembling people, whom the
Senate of Venice was resolved to govern only by terror.
THE RUIN OF FLORENCE AND ITS REPUBLIC: 1530
From 'A History of the Italian Republics'
PERIOD of three centuries of weakness, humiliation, and suf-
in Italy began in the year 1530: from that time she
was always oppressed by foreigners, and enervated and
corrupted by her masters. These last reproached her with the
vices of which they were themselves the authors. After having


## p. 13482 (#296) ##########################################

13482
JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
reduced her to the impossibility of resisting, they accused her of
cowardice when she submitted, and of rebellion when she made
efforts to vindicate herself. The Italians, during this long period
of slavery, were agitated with the desire of becoming once more
a nation: as, however, they had lost the direction of their own
affairs, they ceased to have any history which could be called
theirs; their misfortunes have become but episodes in the histories.
of other nations. We should not, however, look upon the task
we have imposed on ourselves as concluded, if we did not dis-
tinguish amidst this general subjugation, the particular calamities
which closed the existence of the republics which still remained
independent after the coronation of Charles V.
The Florentines, who from 1512 had been victims of all the
faults of Leo X. and Clement VII. ,- who had been drawn into
all the oscillations of their policy, and called upon to make pro-
digious sacrifices of money for projects with which they had not
even been made acquainted,-were taught under these popes to
detest the yoke of the Medici. When the Constable of Bour-
bon approached their walls in his march to Rome, on the 26th
of April, 1527, they were on the point of recovering their lib-
erty: the Cardinal de Cortona, who commanded for the Pope at
Florence, had distributed arms among the citizens for their
defense, and they determined to employ them for their libera-
tion; but the terror which this army of brigands inspired did the
cardinal the service of repressing insurrection. When, however,
they heard soon after of the taking of Rome, and of the cap-
tivity of the Pope, all the most notable citizens presented them-
selves in their civic dress to the Cardinal de Cortona; declared
firmly, but with calmness, that they were henceforth free; and
compelled him, with the two bastard Medici whom he brought
up, to quit the city. It was on the 17th of May, 1527, that
the lieutenant of Clement obeyed; and the constitution, such as
it existed in 1512, with its grand council, was restored without
change, except that the office of gonfalonier was declared annual.
The first person invested with this charge was Nicolo Capponi, a
man enthusiastic in religion and moderate in politics: he was the
son of Pietro Capponi, who had braved Charles VIII. In 1529
he was succeeded by Baldassare Carducci, whose character was
more energetic and opinions more democratic. Carducci was suc-
ceeded in 1530 by Raffaele Girolami, who witnessed the end of the
republic.


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JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
13483
Florence, during the whole period of its glory and power,
had neglected the arts of war: it reckoned for its defense on
the adventurers whom its wealth could summon from all parts
to its service; and set but little value on a courage which men
without any other virtue were so eager to sell to the highest
bidder. Since the transalpine nations had begun to subdue Italy
to their tyranny, these hireling arms sufficed no longer for the
public safety. Statesmen began to see the necessity of giving
the republic a protection within itself. Machiavelli, who died
on the 22d of June, 1527, six weeks after the restoration of the
popular government, had been long engaged in persuadir his
fellow-citizens of the necessity of awakening a military spirit in
the people: it was he who caused the country militia, named
l'ordinanza, to be formed into regiments. A body of mercena-
ries, organized by Giovanni de' Medici, a distant kinsman of the
Pope's, served at the time as a military school for the Tuscans,
among whom alone the corps had been raised: it acquired a
high reputation under the name of bande nere. No infantry
equaled it in courage and intelligence. Five thousand of these
warriors served under Lautrec in the kingdom of Naples, where
they almost all perished. When, towards the end of the year
1528, the Florentines perceived that their situation became more
and more critical, they formed among those who enjoyed the
greatest privileges in their country two bodies of militia, which
displayed the utmost valor for its defense. The first, consisting
of three hundred young men of noble families, undertook the
guard of the palace, and the support of the constitution; the
ond, of four thousand soldiers drawn only from among families
having a right to sit in the council-general, were called the civic
militia: both soon found opportunities of proving that generosity
and patriotism suffice to create, in a very short period, the best
soldiers. The illustrious Michael Angelo was charged to super-
intend the fortifications of Florence: they were completed in the
month of April 1529. Lastly, the ten commissioners of war
chose for the command of the city Malatesta Baglioni of Perugia,
who was recommended to them as much for his hatred of the
Medici, who had unjustly put his father to death, as for his repu-
tation for valor and military talent.
Clement VII. sent against Forence, his native country, that
very Prince of Orange, the successor of Bourbon, who had made
him prisoner at Rome; and with him that very army of robbers


## p. 13484 (#298) ##########################################

13484
JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
which had overwhelmed the Holy See and its subjects with mis-
ery and every outrage. This army entered Tuscany in the month
of September 1529, and took possession of Cortona, Arezzo, and
all the upper Val d'Arno. On the 14th of October the Prince
of Orange encamped in the plain of Ripoli, at the foot of the
walls of Florence; and towards the end of December, Ferdinand
de Gonzaga led on the right bank of the Arno another imperial
army, composed of 20,000 Spaniards and Germans, which occu-
pied without resistance Pistoia and Prato. Notwithstanding the
immense superiority of their forces, the imperialists did not at-
tempt to make a breach in the walls of Florence: they resolved
to make themselves masters of the city by blockade. The Flor-
entines, on the contrary, animated by preachers who inherited
the zeal of Savonarola, and who united liberty with religion as
an object of their worship, were eager for battle: they made fre-
quent attacks on the whole line of their enemies, led in turns
by Malatesta Baglioni and Stefano Colonna. They made nightly
sallies, covered with white shirts to distinguish each other in the
dark, and successively surprised the posts of the imperialists; but
the slight advantages thus obtained could not disguise the grow-
ing danger of the republic. France had abandoned them to their
enemies; there remained not one ally either in Italy or the rest
of Europe; while the army of the Pope and Emperor compre-
hended all the survivors of those soldiers who had so long been
the terror of Italy by their courage and ferocity, and whose war-
like ardor was now redoubled by the hope of the approaching
pillage of the richest city in the West.
The Florentines had one solitary chance of deliverance. Fran-
cesco Ferrucci, one of their citizens, who had learned the art of
war in the bande nere, and joined to a mind full of resources an
unconquerable intrepidity and an ardent patriotism, was not shut
up within the walls of Florence: he had been named commissary
general, with unlimited power over all that remained without the
capital. Ferrucci was at first engaged in conveying provisions
from Empoli to Florence; he afterwards took Volterra from the
imperialists: and having formed a small army, proposed to the
signoria to seduce all the adventurers and brigands from the im-
perial army, by promising them another pillage of the pontifical
court; and succeeding in that, to march at their head on Rome,
frighten Clement, and force him to grant peace to their country.
The signoria rejected this. plan as too daring. Ferrucci then


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JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
13485
formed a second, which was little less bold. He departed from
Volterra; made the tour of Tuscany, which the imperial troops
traversed in every direction; collected at Leghorn, Pisa, the Val
di Nievole, and in the mountains of Pistoia, every soldier, every
man of courage, still devoted to the republic; and after hav-
ing thus increased his army, he intended to fall on the imperial
camp before Florence, and force the Prince of Orange, who began
to feel the want of money, to raise the siege. Ferrucci, with an
intrepidity equal to his skill, led his little troop from the 14th
of July to the 2d of August, 1530, through numerous bodies of
imperialists, who preceded, followed, and surrounded him on all
sides, as far as Gavinana, four miles from San Marcello, in the
mountains of Pistoia. He entered that village about midday
on the 2d of August, with 3,000 infantry and 500 cavalry. The
Prince of Orange at the same time entered by another gate, with
a part of the army which besieged Florence. The different corps
which had on every side harassed Ferrucci in his march poured
in upon him from all quarters: the battle instantly began, and
was fought with relentless fury within the walls of Gavinana.
Philibert de Challon, Prince of Orange, in whom that house
became extinct, was killed by a double shot, and his corps put
to flight; but other bands of imperialists successively arrived, and
continually renewed the attack on a small force exhausted with
fatigue: 2,000 Florentines were already stretched on the field of
battle, when Ferrucci, pierced with several mortal wounds, was
borne bleeding to the presence of his personal enemy, Fabrizio
Maramaldi, a Calabrese, who commanded the light cavalry of the
Emperor. The Calabrese stabbed him several times in his rage,
while Ferrucci calmly said, "Thou wouldst kill a dead man! "
The republic perished with him.
When news of the disaster at Gavinana reached Florence, the
consternation was extreme. Baglioni, who for some days had
been in treaty with the Prince of Orange, and who was accused
of having given him notice of the project of Ferrucci, declared
that a longer resistance was impossible; and that he was deter-
mined to save an imprudent city, which seemed bent upon its
own ruin. On the 8th of August he opened the bastion, in
which he was stationed, to an imperial captain, and planted his.
artillery so as to command the town. The citizens, in consterna-
tion, abandoned the defense of the walls, to employ themselves
in concealing their valuable effects in the churches; and the


## p. 13486 (#300) ##########################################

13486
JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
signoria acquainted Ferdinand de Gonzaga, who had succeeded
the Prince of Orange in the command of the army, that they were
ready to capitulate. The terms granted (on the 12th of August,
1530) were less rigorous than the Florentines might have appre-
hended. They were to pay a gratuity of 80,000 florins to the
army which besieged them, and to recall the Medici. In return,
a complete amnesty was to be granted to all who had acted
against that family, the Pope, or the Emperor. But Clement
had no intention of observing any of the engagements contracted
in his name. On the 20th of August he caused the parliament,
in the name of the sovereign people, to create a balia, which
was to execute the vengeance of which he would not himself
take the responsibility: he subjected to the torture, and after-
wards punished with exile or death, by means of this balia, all
the patriots who had signalized themselves by their zeal for lib-
erty. In the first month one hundred and fifty illustrious citizens
were banished; before the end of the year there were more
than one thousand sufferers: every Florentine family, even among
those most devoted to the Medici, had some one member among
the proscribed.


## p. 13487 (#301) ##########################################

13487
ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
(18-)
NNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON - who was born in Stonington, Con-
necticut, of the Trumbull family learned in politics, war,
science, and bibliography, and who married in 1867 Edward
Slosson of New York-made friends with the public in a charming
little book entitled 'The China-Hunter's Club,' published in New
York in 1878, and still dear to the pottery-loving heart.
In 1888 Fishin' Jimmy' appeared in the New Princeton Review.
He was at once recognized in this country, preached about, quoted,
and "conveyed" to transatlantic admirers, who held him up as a
model, perfect in his way, as he is. Other of her stories, written on
the same lines, have been published in that and other magazines
since, not very numerously; and in 1891 seven of them were gathered
into a volume called 'The Seven Dreamers. ' A longer one, 'Aunt
Liefy,' was published in book form.
Mrs. Slosson was fortunate in selecting the short story as her
mode of expression, and in her choice of subjects and place; for
she is the apostle - the defender, rather- of the eccentric mystic;
and were her characters and her scenes placed in any other part
of the white world than New England, it is doubtful whether, even
with her skill in creating illusion, she would be able to convince the
readers that these strange dreams are true.
But he who has solved the mystery of its stern ice-bound win-
ters, its sweet chill springs, its prodigal summers: and has learned to
know its rural people, whose daily food is work, to whom responsi-
bility comes early and stays late; whose manners are as country
manners must be, and whose speech is plain; whose conscience is a
scourge; whose hearts are often as tender and as pure as their own
arbutus blooming under snow,—to such a reader, nothing she has to
say of this strange, bitter-sweet country is impossible.
He who has gotten at the secret of New England can believe that
Mrs. Slosson has seized upon a perfectly recognizable element of its
life when she draws its men and women as shrewd, witty, wise, and
"off" on some point. Her characters for the most part tell their
own story: or they tell them to the writer, who instinctively shows
herself to be of a different mold, perhaps a different creed, but whose
intercourse with her homely friends has no superciliousness in it, or
the hardness of the mere exploiter of literary "copy"; she treats
them rather with a fine reverence and tender charity, which at the


## p. 13488 (#302) ##########################################

13488
ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
-same time recognizes the sharp passages in the drama of life. This
dramatic power is perhaps a hint that she would be a weaver of pure
romance; but the subtle instinct of the artist tells her that to make
such characters as hers other than they are, she must throw them
upon a perfectly naturalistic background.
Therefore she paints a scene, minute in detail, recognizable by
every visitor to the chosen regions where her story is laid.
It may
be the old "Indian burying-ground," so called, in the pine forest along
the banks of Gale River; or the margin of Pond Brook in Franconia,
the peaceful little village among the northern hills; or in a street
in quiet Sudbury. Or Hartford is the chosen spot; and Hartford
names, and faces as stable as New England principles, are introduced
to give an air of reality to such a whimsical conception as Butter-
neggs. '
Mrs. Slosson is a trained botanist and entomologist, and to the
skill of the literary artist is added a store of experience gleaned from
the meadows and the woods. All the lovely wild flowers of the
northern spring and summer are gathered in heaps of soft greenness
and bits of bright color in her backgrounds; and all the songs of
the thicket, the swamp, and the wood, make music there. But there
are lonely farm-houses, where solitary souls have thought and pon-
dered in the long winter nights, till they have mused too long; and
to recompense them for the companionship, the beauty, the poetry,
which they have missed, like Peter Ibbetson in Du Maurier's lovely
story they have "learned how to dream. " Cap'n Burdick's dream
is of the millennium. Uncle Enoch Stark's is of his sister Lucilla,
who died before he was born, but to him lives vaguely somewhere in
the dim West. Aunt Randy dreams that Jacob, a worm, "favors »
her dead boy; and when he becomes a butterfly, she is convinced of
the resurrection. Wrestlin' Billy earned his name because he shared
with the patriarch the honor of a struggle with an angel. "Faith
Came and Went" in the vision of a plain, shy Sudbury woman.
Speakin' Ghost comforted and illumined a Kittery exile imprisoned
as caretaker in a New York city house.
A
"They have different names for sech folks," continues Aunt
Charry. "They say they're 'cracked,' they've got a screw loose,'
they're 'a little off,' they ain't all there,' and so on. But nothin'
accounts for their notions so well to my mind as to say they're all
jest dreamin'. .
And what's more, I believe when they look
back on those soothin', sleepy, comfortin' idees o' theirn, that some-
how helped 'em along through all the pesterin' worry and frettin'
trouble o' this world,-I believe, I say, that they're glad too. "
All this is impossible? Who shall say that these dreams are but
the expansion of idiosyncrasies? For, science to the contrary, they
are chapters in the history of the soul.


## p. 13489 (#303) ##########################################

ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
13489
From too tense a strain on the emotions Mrs. Slosson is delivered
by a whimsical and acute sense of humor,- -a distinctly feminine'
humor, which happily comes to relieve the overcharged heart.
Without it the reader would be unduly oppressed; but who can resist
a Speakin' Ghost who is not dim nor fair nor cold, but "about four-
teen or fifteen, I should think, and noway pretty to look at: real
freckled, but that warn't no great drawback to me, an' he had a kind
of light reddish-yaller hair, not very slick, but mussy and rough-
like. I knowed he was from the country as soon's I seed him. Any
one could tell that. His hands were red an' rough an' scratched, an'
he had warts. "
And who could help comforting with promises of "what she would
be let to do in heaven," poor Colossy the little paralytic, who
dreamed about cooking, and made a pudding with "a teacupful of
anise and cumin," cooked in a "yaller" baking-dish, in "a pint of
milk and honey"?
―
The humor of 'Butterneggs' is pure fun. Loretty Knapp, Coscob
Knapp, a spinster of seventy, brisk, keen, and controversial, is pos-
sessed with the truth of heredity; and to trace its effects, dreams
of a sister, who inherited all the family traits. For Coretty Knapp,
born at sea, and lost for thirty years, when she appeared in Hartford
"wrapped in furry an' skinny garm'nts," was a Knapp all over. The
ministers' meeting called to find out the original religion, politics, and
social instincts of this modern Caspar Hauser failed indeed in its
object, but firmly settled the theory of inheritance. 'Butterneggs'
is the most "knowing," bewildering story,—the fun almost bubbling
over, but never quite.
Mrs. Slosson's lovely spirit teaches her to preserve the dignity of
New England life through all the whimsicalities of her characters.
Her religion is the kindly one of a belief in the final reward of good
living; and that "up yonder," as Mrs.
Peevy in Dumb Foxglove'
put it, "they make allowances fast enough. " Her most eccentric and
highly intensified characters are never repulsive, but claim the sym-
pathy with which she would surround all those who in a kindlier
tongue than ours are called God's Fools.
XXIII-844


## p. 13490 (#304) ##########################################

13490
ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
[From 'Seven Dreamers. Copyright 1890, by Harper & Brothers. ]
BUTTERNEGGS
"I had a sister
Whom the blind waves and surges have devoured. "
-TWELFTH NIGHT. '
-
SHE
He was a woman of nearly seventy, I should think; tall, thin,
and angular, with strongly marked features and eyes of very
pale blue.
Her hair, still dark, though streaked with gray,
was drawn back from her temples and twisted into a little hard
knot behind, and she wore no cap. We had scarcely exchanged
greetings before her eyes fell upon my modest bouquet.
"Butterneggs, I declare for 't! " she exclaimed with lively
interest; "fust I've seed this season; mine don't show a speck o'
blowth yet, an' mine's gen'lly fust. Where 'd it grow, ma'am, 'f I
may ask? »
I told her of the spot near Buttermilk Falls where we had
found it; but did not think it necessary to inform her that we
had gone there in search of the plant at Jane's suggestion, that
the sight of it might prompt the old woman to tell a certain tale.
I begged her at once to accept the flowers, which she did with
evident pleasure, placing the homely little nosegay carefully in
water. For a
vase she used a curious old wineglass, tall and
quaint; far more desirable in my eyes than a garden full of the
common yellow flowers it held, and I bent forward eagerly to
examine it. Aunt Loretty seemed to regard my interest as wholly
botanical in its nature, and centred upon her beloved Linaria
vulgaris; and I at once rose in her estimation.
"It's a sightly posy, ain't it, ma'am? " she said; "jest about
the likeliest there is, I guess. But then it's heredit'ry in our
fam'ly, so o' course I like it. "
"Hereditary! " I exclaimed, forgetting for a moment my
promise to take things quietly, showing no surprise or incredulity.
"Butter-and-eggs hereditary in your family! ".
"Yes, ma'am, 'tis; leastways the settin' by 't is. All the
Knappses set everything by butterneggs. Ye can't be a Knapp-
course I mean our branch o' the fam'ly-ye can't be one o' our
Knappses an' not have that plant, with its yeller blooms an' little
narrer whity-green leaves, for yer fav'rite. The Knappses allers


## p. 13491 (#305) ##########################################

ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
13491
held it so,
an' they allers will hold it so, or they won't be
Knappses. Didn't I never tell ye," she asked, turning to my
companion, 'bout my sister, an' losin' her, an' the way I come
to find her? "
«<
I do not remember just how Jane evaded this direct question;
but her reply served the desired purpose, and Aunt Loretty was
soon started upon her wonderful story.
"My father was Cap'n Zenas Knapp, born right here in Cos-
cob. He follered the sea; an 's there warn't much sea 'round here
to foller, he moved down Stonin'ton way, an' took ter whalin'.
An' bimeby he married a gal down there, S'liny Ann Beebe, an'
he lost sight an' run o' Coscob an' the Knappses for a long spell.
But pa was a Knapp clear through 'f there ever was one; the
very Knappiest Knapp, sot'speak, o' the hull tribe, an' that's
puttin' it strong 'nough. All their ways, all their doin's, their
likin's an' dislikin's, their take-tos an' their don't-take-tos, their
goods an' their bads- he had 'em all hard. An' they had ways,
the Knappses had, an' they've got 'em still, what's left o' the
fam'ly - the waysiest ways! Some folks ain't that kind, ye know:
they're jest like other folks. If ye met 'em 'way from hum ye
wouldn't know where they come from or whose relations they
was: they might be Peckses o' Horseneck, or Noyeses o' West'ly,
or Simsb'ry Phelpses, or agin they might be Smithses o' ary
place, for all the fam'ly ways they'd got. But our folks, the hull
tribe on 'em, was tarred with the same stick, 's ye might say;
ye'd 'a knowed 'em for Knappses wherever they was-in Coscob,
Stonin❜ton, or Chiny. F'rinstance, for one thing, they was all
Congr'ation'l in religion; they allers had ben from the creation o'
the airth. Some folks might say to that, that there wa'n't no
Congr'ation'l meetin's 's fur back 's that. Well, I won't be too
sot,- mebbe there wa'n't: but 'f that's so, then there wa'n't no
Knappses; there couldn't be Knappses an' no Congr'ation'lists.
An' they all b'lieved in foreord'nation an' 'lection. They was
made so.
Ye didn't have ter larn it to 'em: they got it jest 's
they got teeth when 'twas time, they took it jest 's they took
hoopin'-cough an' mumps when they was 'round. They didn't,
ary one on 'em, need the cat'chism to larn 'em 'bout 'Whereby
for 's own glory he hath foreordained whats'ever comes to pass,'
nor to tell 'em 't 'He out o' his mere good pleasure from all
etarnity 'lected some to everlastin' life'; they knowed it their-
selves, the Knappses did. An' they stuck to their b'liefs, an'


## p. 13492 (#306) ##########################################

13492
ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
would 'a' stood up on the Saybrook platform an' ben burnt up
for 'em, like John Rogers in the cat'chism, sayin',—
'What though this carcass smart a while,
What though this life decay. '
"An' they was all Whigs in pol'tics. There wa'n't never a
Knapp our branch-who voted the Dem'cratic ticket. They
took that too: no need for their pa's to tell 'em; jest 's soon 's
a boy got to be twenty-one, an' 'lection day come round, up he
went an' voted the Whig ticket, sayin' nothin' to nobody. An'
so 'twas in everything. They had ways o' their own.
It come
in even down to readin' the Scriptur's; for every Knapp 't ever
I see p'ferred the Book o' Rev'lations to ary other part o' the
Bible. They liked it all, o' course, for they was a pious breed,
an' knowed 't all Scriptur 's give by insp'ration, an' 's prof't'ble,
an' so forth; but for stiddy, every-day readin' give 'em Rev'la-
tions. An' there was lots o' other little ways they had, too; sech
as strong opp'sition to Baptists, an' dreffle dislikin' to furr'ners,
an' the greatest app'tite for old-fashioned, hum-made, white-oak
cheese.
-
"Then they was all 'posed to swearin', an' didn't never use
perfane language, none o' the Knappses; but there was jest one
sayin' they had when 'xcited or s'prised or anything, an' that
was, 'C'rinthians! ' They would say that, all on 'em, 'fore they
died, one time or 'nother. An' when a Knapp said it, it did
sound like the awf'lest kind o' perfan'ty; but o' course it wa'n't.
An' 'fore an' over all, every born soul on 'em took ter flowers an'
gardens. They would have 'em wherever they was.
An' every-
thing they touched growed an' thriv: drouth didn't dry 'em, wet
didn't mold 'em, bugs didn't eat 'em; they come up an' leafed
out an' budded an' blowed for the poorest, needin'est Knapp 't
lived, with only the teentiest bit of a back yard for 'em to grow
in, or broken teapots an' cracked pitchers to hold 'em. But they
might have all the finest posies in the land, roses an' heelyer-
tropes an' verbeny an' horseshoe g'raniums, an' they'd swop 'em
all off, ary Knapp would,—our branch,—for one single plant o'
that blessed flower ye fetched me to-day, butterneggs. How 't
come about 's more 'n I can say, or how long it's ben goin' on,
from the very fust start o' things, fortino; but tennerate, every
single Knapp I ever see or heerd on held butterneggs to be the
beautif'lest posy God ever made.


## p. 13493 (#307) ##########################################

ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
13493
"I can't go myself in my rec'lection back o' my great-gran'-
mother; but I r'member her, though I was a speck of a gal when
she died. She was a Bissell o' Nor'field, this State, but she
married a Knapp, an' seemed to grow right inter Knapp ways;
an' she an' gran'f'ther-great-gran'f'ther I mean, Shearjashub
Knapp- they used to have a big bed o' butterneggs in front o'
the side door, an' it made the hull yard look sunshiny even when
the day was dark an' drizzly. There ain't nothin' shinin'er an'
goldier than them flowers with the different kinds o' yeller in
'em; they'll most freckle ye, they're so much like the sun shinin'.
Then the next gen'ration come Gran'pa Knapp,- his given name
was Ezry, an' he was bed-rid for more 'n six year. An' he had
butterneggs planted in boxes an' stood all 'round his bed, an' he
did take sech comf't in 'em. The hull room was yeller with 'em,
an' they give him a sort o' biliousy, jandersy look; but he did
set so by 'em; an' the very last growin' thing the good old man.
ever set eyes on here b'low, afore he see the green fields beyond
the swellin' flood, was them bright an' shinin' butterneggs. An'
his sister Hopey, she 't married Enoch Ambler o' Green's Farms,
I never shall forgit her butterneggs border 't run all 'round her
garden; the pea-green leaves an' yeller an' saffrony blooms looked
for all the world like biled sparrergrass with chopped-egg sarce.
"Well, you'll wonder what on airth I'm at with all this rig-
majig 'bout the Knappses an' their ways; but you'll see bimeby
that it's all got suthin' to do with the story I begun on 'bout my
sister, an' the way I come to lose her an' find her ag'in. There's
jest one thing more I must put in, an' that's how the Knappses
gen'lly died. 'Twas e'enamost allers o' dumb ager. That's what
they called it them days: I s'pose 'twould be malairy now,-
but that wa'n't invented then, an' we had to git along 's well 's
we could without sech lux'ries. The Knappses was long-lived,-
called threescore 'n ten bein' cut off in the midst o' your days;
but when they did come ter die 'twas most gen'lly of dumb
ager. But even 'bout that they had their own ways; an' when
a Knapp our branch I would say got dumb ager, why, 'twas
dumber an' agerer 'n other folkses dumb ager, an' so 't got the
name o' the Knapp shakes. An' they all seemed to use the
same rem'dies an' physics for the c'mplaint. They wa'n't much
for doctors, but they all b'lieved in yarbs an' hum-made steeps
an' teas. An' 'thout any 'dvice or doctor's receipts or anything,
's soon's they felt the creepy, goose-fleshy, shiv'ry feelin' that
――――


## p. 13494 (#308) ##########################################

13494
ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
meant dumb ager, with their heads het up an' their feet 'most
froze, they'd jest put some cam'mile an' hardhack to steep, an'
sew a strip o' red flann'l round their neck, an' put a peppergrass
poultice to the soles o' their feet, an' go to bed; an' there they'd
lay, drinkin' their cam'mile an' hardhack, strong an' hot, an´
allers with their head on a hard thin piller, till all was over, an'
they was in a land where there's no dumb ager nor any kind o'
sickness 't all. Gran'f'ther died o' dumb ager; great-gran'f'ther
died on it had it six year; Aunt Hopey Ambler, great-aunt
Cynthy, an' second cousin Shadrach, all went off that way.
pa-well, he didn't die so; but that's part o' my sister's story.
An'
"Ma, she was a Beebe, 's I said afore; but she might 'a' ben
'most anything else, for there wa'n't any strong Beebe ways to
her. Her mother was a Palmer,-'most everybody's mother is,
down Stonin❜ton way, ye know,- an' ma was 's much Palmer 's
Beebe, an' she was more Thayer than ary one on 'em (her gran'-
mother was a Thayer). So 't stands to reason that when we
child'n come 'long we was more Knapp than Beebe. There was
two on us, twins an' gals, me an' my sister; an' they named us
arter pa's twin sisters 't died years afore, Coretty an' Loretty,-
an' I'm Loretty.
――――
"Well, by the time we was four year old pa he'd riz to be
cap'n. He was honest an' stiddy, 's all the Knappses be, an'
that's the sort they want for whalin'. So when the Tiger was
to be fitted up for a three-year v'y'ge, why, there was nothin' for
't but pa he must go cap'n. But ma she took on so 'bout it,
for he hadn't ben off much sence she married him,- that jest
for peace, if nothin' else, he fin'lly consented to take her an' the
twins along too; an' so we went. Well, I can't tell ye much
about that v'y'ge, o' course. I was only a baby, an' all I know
about it's what ma told me long a'terward. But the v'y'ge 'a'n't
got much to do with my story. They done pretty fair: took a
good many sperm whales, got one big lump o' ambergrease, an'
pa he was in great sperrits; when all on a suddent there come a
dreffle storm, an' they lost their reck'nin', an' they got on some
rocks, an' the poor old Tiger went all to pieces. I never can
rightly remember how any soul on us was saved; but we was,
some way or other, ma an' me an' some o' the crew,- but poor
pa an' Coretty was lost. As nigh's I can rec'lect the story, we
was tied to suthin'' nuther that 'd float, ma an' me, an' a ship
picked us up an' fetched us home. Tennerate we got here,- to
-


## p. 13495 (#309) ##########################################

ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
13495
Stonin❜ton I mean; but poor ma was a heart-broken widder, an'
I was half an orph'n an' only half a pair o' twins. For my good
pa an' that dear little Coretty was both left far behind in the
dreadful seas. An' that's why pa didn't die o' the Knapp shakes.
"I won't take up your time tellin' all that come arter that, for
it's another part you want to hear. So I'll skip over to the time
when I was a woman growed, ma dead an' gone, an' me livin'
all by myself-a single woman, goin' on thirty-seven year old,
or p'r'aps suthin' older-in Har'ford, this State.
I'd had my
ups an' my downs, more downs than ups; I'd worked hard an'
lived poor: but I was a Knapp, an' never gin up, an' so at last
there I was in a little bit of a house, all my own, on Morg'n
Street, Har'ford. An' there I lived, quite well-to-do, an' no dis-
grace to any Knapp 't ever lived, be she who she be. I had
plenty to do, though I hadn't any reg'lar trade. I wa'n't a tail'r-
ess exactly, but I could make over their pas' pant'loons for
boys, an' cut out jackets by a pattern for 'em; an' I wa'n't a real
mill'ner, but I could trim up a bunnet kind o' tasty, an' bleach
over a Leghorn or a fancy braid as well as a perfession'l; I
never larnt the dressmakin' trade, but I knew how to cut little
gals' frocks an' make their black-silk ap'ons; an' I'd rip up an'
press an' clean ladies' dresses, an' do over their crape an' love
veils, an' steam up their velvet ribb'ns over the tea-kettle to
raise the pile. An' I sewed over carpets, an' stitched wristban's,
an' I don't know what I didn't do them days: for I had what
ary Knapp I ever see- I mean our branch- had all their born
days; an' that was, 's I 'spose you know, o' course-fac❜lty.
"An' the best fam'lies in Har'ford employed me, an' set by
me; an' knowin' what I was an' what my an'stors had ben, they
treated me 's if I was one of their own sort. An' ag'in an' ag'in
I've set to the same table with sech folks 's the Wadsworthses
an' Ellsworthses an' Terrys an' Wellses an' Huntin'tons. An'
I made a good deal outer my gard'nin'. I had all the Knapp
hank'rin' for that; an' from the time I was a mite of a gal I
was allers diggin' an' scratchin' in the dirt like a hen, stickin'
in seeds an' slips, an' pullin' up weeds, snippin' an' prunin' an'
trainin' an' wat'rin'. An' I had the beautif'lest gard'n in Har'-
ford, an' made a pretty penny outer it too. I sold slips an' cut-
tin's, an' saved seeds o' my best posies, puttin' 'em up in little
paper cases pasted over at the edges; an' there was plenty o'
cust'mers for 'em, I can tell ye. For my sunflowers was 's big
--
-


## p. 13496 (#310) ##########################################

13496
ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
as pie plates, my hollyhawks jest dazzlin' to look at, my cant'
b'ry-bells big an' blue, my dailyers 's quilly 's quills-all colors;
I had four kinds o' pinks; I had bach'lor's-buttons, feather-fews,
noneserpretties, sweet-williams, chiny-asters, flowerdelooses, tu-
lups, daffies, larkspurs, prince's-feathers, cock's-combs, red-balm,
mournin'-bride, merrygools- Oh, I'm all outer breath, an' I
'a'n't told ye half the blooms I had in that Har'ford garden.
But I could tell ye! If 'twas all drawed out there on that floor
an' painted to life, I couldn't see it any plainer 'n I see 't this
minnit, eyes shet or op'n. An' how I did set by them beds!
Dr. Hawes-I went to the Centre to meetin'- Dr. Hawes he
says, one time when he come to make a past'ral call, says he in
his way, he was kinder ongraceful, ye know,-p'intin' his long
finger at me an' shakin' it up an' down, he says: Loretty,
Loretty,' very loud an' solemn, ye know, 'don't you set your
'fections on them fadin' flowers o' earth an' forgit the never-
with'rin' flowers o' heaven,' he says. Ye see he'd ben prayin'
with me, an' right in the midst an' 'mongst o' his prayer he
ketched sight o' me reachin' out to pull up a weed in the box
o' young balsams I was startin' in the house. So 'tain't no
wonder he was riled; for he was dreffle good, an' was one of
them folks who, 's the hymn says,-
-
'Knows the wuth o' prayer,
An' wishes often to be there. '
-
"Well, 'twas 'bout that time, 's I was sayin', an' I was a sin-
gle woman o' thirty-seven, or p'r'aps a leetle more,- not wuth
countin' on a single woman's age,-when there come upon me
the biggest, awf'lest, scariest s'prise 't ever come upon any one
afore, let 'lone a Knapp- our branch. A letter come to me
one day from Cap'n Akus Chadwick, form'ly o' Stonin'ton, an' a
friend o' pa's, but now an old man in New Lon'on, an' this 's
what he says: Seems 't a ship 'd come into New Bedford, a
whalin' ship, with a r'mark'ble story. They'd had rough weather
an' big gales, an' got outer their course, an' they'd sighted land,
an' when they come to 't-I don't know how or why they did
come to 't, whether they meant ter or had ter- they see on the
shore a woman, an' when they landed there wa'n't ary other
folks on the hull island: nothin' but four-footed critters-wild
- an' birds an' monkeys, an' all kinder outlandish bein's; not
a blessed man or woman, not even a heath'n or a idle, 's fur 's
ones
―


## p. 13497 (#311) ##########################################

ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
13497
they could tell, in the hull deestrick, but only jest this one poor
woman. An' she couldn't talk no more 'n Juley Brace to the 'sy-
lum; an she was queer-lookin', an' her clo'es was all outer fash'n,
kinder furry an' skinny garm'nts, an' she had a lonesome, scaret
kinder look, 's if she hadn't ben much in comp'ny. An' yit with
't all there was a sorter r'spectable 'pearance, an' O ladies, I'm
all stuffed up, an' can't swaller good. I'm livin' over 'n my mind
the fust time I read them words, an' was struck all 'n a heap by
'em. Jest hand me them posies a minute, an' I'll be all right in
a jiffy. — There, now I can go on. With it all, he says, there
rong Knapp look about this unfort'nate isl'nder; in fac',
she favored 'em so strong 't the fust mate, a Myctic man, who'd
often heerd the story o' pa's shipwreck an' Coretty's drownin',
thought he'd orter 'nquire inter the matter. The cap'n o' the
ship was a Scotchman, an' the sailors was mostly Portergeese, an'
Sandwidgers, an' Kannakers; an' she wouldn't take no notice o'
ary on 'em, an' tried to run away. But when 'Lias Mall'ry, the
mate, went up to her, she stopped an' looked 't him, an' kinder
gabbled a leetle bit, in a jibbery sorter way, an' when he ast her
to come aboard she follered like a lamb. An' they fetched her
along, an' the more they see on her I mean 'Lias, who was the
only one 't knowed the Knappses, our branch-the more 't seemed
sure an' sartin 't this was reely an' truly, strange as 't might be,
Coretty Knapp, who'd ben lost more'n thirty year afore. There's
no use my tryin' to tell you how I felt, or what I done jest at
fust: when I read that letter I couldn't seem to sense it one
mite; an' yit in half an hour 't seemed 's if I'd a-knowed it a
year, an' I never misdoubted that 'twas true 's gospil, an' that
my poor dear little twin sister Coretty 'd ben found an' was
comin' home to me.
―――
――
“I gin up pa t' wunst; he'd 'a' ben too old now, even for a
Knapp, an' I see plain enough 't he must be deader 'n dead: but
oh, what 'twas to realize 't I had a reel flesh-an'-blood sister,
queer an' oncivilized 's she must be a'ter livin' in the backwoods
so long! The letter went on to say that 'Lias Mall'ry was on his
way to Har'ford this very minute, 'bringin' Miss Knapp to her
only livin' relation' — that was me. An''t said they was goin' to
bring her jest 's she was when they ketched her, so 's I could see
her in her nat'ral state: an' who had a better right? But land's
sake! ' I says to myself 's I lay that letter down, 'how she'll
look a-comin' through Har'ford streets all skinny an' furry an'
(


## p. 13498 (#312) ##########################################

13498
ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
jabbery 's they d'scribe her! I do hope she'll take a carr'ge. '
Well, I couldn't stand all this alone, an' I put on my bunnit
an' shawl an' went up to Dr. Hawes's an' to Deacon Colton's an'
over to Sister Pitkin's, an' I told 'em all this amazin' hist'ry, won-
derf'ler than 'Rob'nson Crusoe' or 'Riley's Narr'tive. ' An' sech
a stir 's it made in quiet old Har'ford you'd never bleeve. Afore
I'd fairly got hum an' took off my things, folks begun to call.
Ev'ry one wanted to know 'f 'twas reely an' truly so, an' 'f I had
a reel live heath'n sister comin' home from them far-away coun-
tries where ev'ry prospeck pleases an' only man is vile. But this
part on't I wouldn't hear to for a minute. 'Whatever she is,' I
says, 'she ain't a heath'n. She's a Knapp, born 'f not bred, an'
there never was a heath'n 'mong the Knappses sence Knappses
was fust made. Mebbe she ain't a perfesser,' I says, 'prob'ly
ain't, for she 'a'n't had no settled min'ster or sech priv'leges; but
she don't have nothin' to do with idles an' sech foolishness,' I
says. But I could see 't they was countin' on suthin' outer this
for monthly concert, an' that stirred me up a leetle; but I jest
waited. An' bimeby-what do you think o' this? — there was a
c'mittee waited on me. An' sech a time!
"There was P'fessor Phelps o' the Congr'ational Sem'nary,
an' P'fessor Spencer o' Wash'n't'n College, an' Elder Day the
Baptist min'ster; an' there was one o' the Dem'cratic ed'tors o'
the Har'ford Times, an' some one from the Connet'cut Cour'nt;
an' Dr. Barnes o' Weth'sfield, a infiddle, who'd writ a sorter
Tom-Painey book that was put inter the stove by every Christian
't got hold on it. An' there was Mr. Gallagher from the deaf-
an'-dumb 'sylum, an' Dr. Cook from the crazy 'sylum, an' Mr.
Williams the 'Piscople min'ster, an' Priest O'Conner the Cath'lic,
an' Parson Loomis the Meth'dist. That's 'bout all, I b'lieve, but
there may 'a' ben some I disremember arter all these years. An'
what do you think
'Twas
what do you think they wanted?
some time afore I could see through their talk myself; for they
was all big scholars, an' you know them's the hardest sort to
compr'end. But bimeby I made out 't they was all dreffle 'xcited
about this story o' my sister; for it gin 'em a chance they'd
never 'xpected to git, of a bran'-new human bein' growed up
without precept or 'xample,' 's they say, or ary idee o' religion
or politics or church gov'ment, or doctrines o' any sort. An'
they'd all got together an' 'greed, 'f I was willin', they'd jest
'xper'ment on Coretty Knapp. Well, 't fust I didn't take t' the
-
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## p. 13499 (#313) ##########################################

ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
13499
idee one speck. It seemed kinder onnat'ral an' onhuman to go to
work pullin' to pieces an' patchin' up an' fittin' in scraps to this
poor, onfort'nate, empty sorter soul, 't had strayed 'way off from
its hum in a Christian land o' deestrick schools an' meetin's, an'
all sech privileges, instead o' takin' her right inter our hearts an'
'fections, an' larnin' her all 't she orter know. 'T seemed 's if
we orter let 'xper'ments alone, an' go to coddlin' an' coss'tin' up
this poor lost sheep, which was wuth far more 'n ninety an' nine
which goes not astray.
-
"But howsomepro-as Elder Cheeseman used to say — they
was all, 's I said afore, larned men, an' most on 'em good men
too; an' 's they was all 'greed, an' I was only one, and a woman
too, I gin up. An' afore they left, 'twas all settled 't they all
should have a try at poor sister Coretty, an' all persent their
own views on religion, pol'tics, an' so forth. An' me nor nobody
was to make nor meddle aforehand, or try to prej'dice her one
way or t'other; an' so they 'xpected to find out what the nat'ral
mind would take ter, or whether there was anything 't all in
heredit'ry ways. I could 'a' telled 'em that last afore they b'gun,
but I thought I'd let 'em find 't out their own way.
"You might think, mebbe, I'd ben scaret 'bout the r'sult.
For what a dreffle thing 'f poor Coretty 'd ben talked over by
Elder Day,-a dreffle glib talker, 's all Baptists be, an' a reel
good man, 's most on 'em is, though I say 't 's shouldn't, bein' a
Knapp myself, with all the Knappses' dislike to their doctrines,
—what 'f she'd ben talked over to 'mersion an' close c'mmun-
ion views, an' ben dipped 'stead o' sprinkled? Or ag'in, 'f she'd
b'lieved all the Cath'lic priest let on, an' swallered his can'les
an' beads an' fish an' sech popish things. Or wuss still, s'pose
she'd backslid hully, an' put her trust in Dr. Barnes's talk,-
becomin' an infiddle, like unter the fool that said in his heart.
But some way or 'nother I wa'n't a mite 'fraid. I fell right back
on my faith in
a overrulin' Prov'dence, an' p'r'aps more on
Knapp ways, an' felt all the time Coretty 'd come out right at
the eend.
"But you see she hadn't come yit; an' the thing was ter know
whether you could make her un'erstan' anything till she'd larnt
to talk. 'F she could only gabble, how was any on us to know
whether she gabbled Baptistry or 'Piscopality or what-all; an' we'd
got to wait an' see. An' Mr. Gallagher o' the 'sylum, he wanted
to try her on signs fust, an' see 'f he couldn't c'mmunicate with


## p. 13500 (#314) ##########################################

ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
13500
her right off by snappin' his fingers an' screwin' up his featur's
an' p'intin' at her in that dumb way they do up t' the 'sylum.
He said 'twas more nat'ral to do that way than to talk; but
then he didn't know much about the Knappses an' their powers
o' speech. An' Dr. Cook, the crazy doctor, he said he was int-
'rested in the brains part o' the subjick, an' he'd jest like ter
get at 'em; he wanted to see what 'fect on her head an' 'djacent
parts this queer sorter retired life 'd had. An' so they went on
till they went off.
"Well, might''s well come to the p'int o' my story, an' the
blessed minute I fust see my twin sister,-my t'other half, you
might say; for 'twas reely her, a-comin' in at the gate. 'Twa'n't
so bad 's I 'xpected. I'd kinder got my head sot on picters o'
the Eskimoses in my jography, with buff'lo robes tied round
'em; an' I was r'lieved when I see her get outer the carr'ge with
'Lias Mall'ry, lookin' quite respect'ble an' Knappy. To be sure
she had skins on; but she'd gone an' made 'em inter a reel fair
likeness o' my plainest every-day dresses, cut gorin' an' sorter
fittin' in at the waist, an' with the skirt pretty long, 'bout to the
tops o' her gaiters. An' she had quite a nice-lookin' bunnit on,
braided o' some kinder furrin grass or straw; hum-made o' course,
an' not jest in the latest fash'n,- but that wa'n't to be 'xpected.