No More Learning

'
"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
-
-


## 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.
when she'd made it 'fore ever seein' one. An' she was dreffle
tanned an' freckled an' weather-beat like, but oh, my! my! wa'n't
she a Knapp all over, from head to foot! Every featur' favored
some o' the fam'ly. There was Uncle Zadock's long nose, an'
gran'mer's square chin, an' Aunt Hopey's thick eyebrows, an'
dear pa's pacin' walk, an' over an' above all there was
me all
over her, 's if I was a-lookin' 't myself in a lookin'-glass. I d'
know what I done for a minute. I cried an' I choked an'
I blowed my nose, an' I couldn't say one blessed word till I
swallered hard an' set my teeth, an' then I bust out, 'O Coretty
Knapp, I'm glad to see ye! how's your health? ' I'd forgot for
a minute 'bout her not talkin'; but I own I was beat when she
jest says, 's good 's I could say it myself, says she, 'Thank ye,
sister Loretty: how's yourn? ' An' we shook hands an' kissed
each other; -I'd been so 'fraid she'd rub noses or hit her forrid
on the ground,- s'lammin', 's the books o' travels says; - an' then
she took one cheer an' I took another, an' we both took a good
look 't each other, for you know we hadn't met anywheres for the
longest spell. An' I forgot all about 'Lias Mall'ry till he says;


## p. 13501 (#315) ##########################################

ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
13501
'You see, Miss Knapp, she speaks pretty good, don't she? Them
Scotch an' Portergeese an' so on couldn't get a word out on
her; but 's soon 's she heerd good Connet'cut spoke, she picked 't
right up 's slick 's anything. ' 'O' course I did, Mr. Mall'ry,' says
Coretty. 'I never could abide them furr'ners. United States
talk 's good enough for me,' says she. 'Knapp all over,' says
I;-'an' now do take off your things an' jest make yourself to
hum, an' le's have a good old-fashioned talk, for I 'a'n't seen none
o' my folks for so long. '
"But when she took off her bunnit an' I see how the poor
thing 'd ben an' gone an' twisted up her hair behind in the same
tight, knobby, Knappy way all the Knappses-the female part o'
our branch, I mean- had fixed theirn for gen'rations, furzino, I
'most cried ag'in. 'Course she hadn't no hairpins nor shoestring
to fasten 't with; but she'd tied it tight 's tight with some kind
o' barky stuff, an' stuck a big thorn in to keep it there.
"Well, you won't care 'bout our talk: it was all folksy an'
Knappy an' 'bout fam'ly matters, for we had lots to talk about.
She'd lost all run o' the fam'ly an' neighbors, never hearin' a
word for more 'n thirty year. In fac', she'd forgot all about pa
an' ma an' me, 's was nat'ral, with not a livin' soul to talk to;
for she owned right up she'd never seed a human bein', or heerd
a word o' speech, or seen a paper, sence I see her last in that
dreffle spell o' weather out to sea. So I'll jest jump over to
where the 'xperiment was tried an' how it come out. I'd kep'
my prommus an' never said one word about religion, or pol'tics,
or church gov'ment, or anything o' that kind, though I did ache
to know her views.
"An' they all come in, the evenin' arter she arriv,-the c'mit-
tee, I mean,-to have it out with her. Coretty did'nt s'mise
'twas an 'xperiment,—she thought 'twas a sorter visitin' time; an'
she was dreffle fond o' comp'ny, an' never 'd had much chance
for 't. So there she set a-knittin' (she took to that right off, an'
'fore I'd done castin' on for her she ketched it outer my hands
an' says, "Twill be stronger with double thread, Loretty,' an' she
raveled it out an' done it over double). She set there knittin',
's I said afore, an' I set close by her; an' the c'mittee they set
round, an' they'd 'greed 'mong theirselves how they'd do it, an'
who'd have the fust chance; an' arter a few p'lite r'marks
about the weather an' her health, an' sech, Mr. Williams, the
'Piscople min'ster, begun, an' he says:-'Miss Knapp, I s'pose


## p. 13502 (#316) ##########################################

13502
ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
there wa'n't no Church in your place o' res'dence, seein' 't there
was so few 'nhabitants. But even 'f there'd a-ben more 'f a par-
ish,' says he, 'there couldn't 'a ben no reel Church (he spoke
it with a cap'tle C, 's all 'Piscoples does), "'s there wa'n't no
prop'ly fixed-up priest, nor no bishop to put his hands on one,'
he says. (Mebbe I don't give jest the very words, but I git the
meanin' straight. ) 'No, sir,' says sister, 'there wa'n't a meetin'-
house on the hull island, nor any means o' grace o' that kind;
for there wa'n't no folks but me, an' you can't have a prosp'rous
religious s'ciety without folks. But 'f there had ben,' she says,
ribbin' away at her stockin' top, two an' one, two an' one, says
she, 'we'd 'a' listened to a few can'dates, an' s'lected a suit'ble
party, had a s'ciety meetin', an' called him. For myself,' says she,
'I don't set much by this applestollic succesh'n. '
"Well, I was beat agin, spite o' knowin' the strong feelin' o'
the fam❜ly on that very p'int; for how on airth 'd she picked up
sech sound an' good idees 'way off in that rural deestrick? I tell
ye, ye can't 'xplain it on ary other ground than ways; 'twas Knapp
ways. Mr. Williams he looked a mite riled, but he was a dreffle
pleasant man, an' he kep' on, though the others they sorter
smiled. I can't rec'lect all he said, but 'twas 'bout the orders
in the Church, the deacons an' presbyter'ans an' bishops; an' he
talked 'bout the creed an' other art'cles an' collicks an' lit'nies,
an' all them litigical things. He did talk beautiful, I own it my-
self, an' my mouth was all in my heart for a spell, for Coretty
kep' so still, an' seemed 's if she was a-listenin' an med'tatin'.
But in a minute I see she was jest countin' her stitches to set
her seam, an' I was r'lieved. An' when he got through talkin
he handed her a prayer-book-jest a common one, he called it
-an' a little cat'chism. Coretty took 'em, perlite 's ye please, an'
she looked 't the covers, an' she says very p'lite, 'Much obleeged
to ye, sir; but they don't seem ter int'rest me, someway.
I can
make up prayers for myself, 'f it's all the same to you,' she says,
still dreffle p'lite; 'an' this cat'chism don't seem to go t' the right
spot, 's fur as I'm consarned,' says she, not openin' it 't all: 'but
I'm jest 's much obleeged to ye;'-an' she went on knittin'.
“Then Elder Day he opened the subjeck o' Baptistry.
Fust,
sister Coretty listened p'litely 's she had afore: but he hadn't.
hardly got to his sec'ndly afore she pricked up her ears an'
jumped 's if suthin' 'd hit her, an' she lay down her stockin' an'
stiffened up, an' she looked him right in the eye; an' 'fore he


## p. 13503 (#317) ##########################################

ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
13503
was half-way to the thirdly she broke out, an' she says: 'Elder
Day, I don't want to be imp'lite to comp'ny in my sister's house,
an' me jest arriv; but there's suthin' in me that reely can't stand
them doctrines o' yourn another minute, they rile me so.
No, I
won't stand it! ' she says, with her face all red, an' her eyes
snappin'; an' she b'gun to gether up her things, an' git up outer
her cheer for a run. But I went up ter her, an' whispered to
her, an' sorter smoothed her down; for I see what 'twas, an'
't the old Knapp feelin' 'gainst Baptists that'd ben growin' up
an' 'ncreasin' for cent'ries was all comin' inside on her t' wunst.
an' tearin' her up: but Elder Day he jest said, 's pleasant 's pie-
crust, he says, 'Let her 'lone, Miss Knapp, an' I'll read her a
soothin' varse or two,' an' he up with a little leather-covered
book, an' he read out:
"A few drops o' water dropped from a man's han',-
They call it baptissum, an' think it will stan'
On the head of a child that is under the cuss;
But that has no warrant in Scriptur' for us. '
"He was goin' on; but Coretty she jest jumped up, makin
her cheer fall over with a bang, an' she slat her work down an'
run outer the room, her knittin' bobbin' a'ter her,- for the
ball o' yarn was in her pocket. I went a'ter her to coax her
back, but she kep' a-sayin', 'O Loretty, what's the matter o' me!
I'm jest bilin' an' bubblin' an' swellin' up inside, an' I feel 's if
nothin' could help me but burnin' up a few Baptists,' she says.
An' I says, 'Keep 's quiet 's you can, sister: it's dreffle tryin', I
know, an' it's all come on you t' wunst,- the strong Knapp feelin'
ag'in 'em, but come back to the keepin'-room an' we'll change
the subjeck. ' An' she come. An' then Priest O'Conner, the
Cath'lic, he begun at her; an' he was jest 's smooth 's silk, an'
he talked reel fluent 'bout the saints, an' purg't'ry, an' Fridays,
an' the bach'lor state for min'sters, an' penances, an' I d' know
what-all. An' Coretty she was hard at work at her knittin'; an'
when he stopped to take breath, an' pull out some beads an'
medals an' jingly trinkets o' that sort, she kinder started 's if
she'd jest waked up, an' she says, "Xcuse me, Mr. O'Conner, I
lost the thread o' what you was sayin' for a minute, but I won't
trouble ye to go over 't ag'in: I don't seem ter take to Cath'lics,
an' I never wear beads. ' An' she went on knittin'.
―


## p. 13504 (#318) ##########################################

13504
ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
"An' so 'twas with 'em all,-'Piscople, Baptist, Meth'dist: every
livin' soul on 'em, they done their best, an' never p'duced any
impression 't all. But bimeby P'fessor Phelps o' the Congr'a-
tion'l Sem'nary, he got his turn an' b'gun. Oh, how she did jest
drink it in! She dropped her knittin' an' set up an' leaned for-
rud, an' she smiled, an' nodded her head, an' beat her hands up
an' down, an' tapped her foot, 's if she was hearin' the takin'est
music; she 'most purred, she seemed so comf't'ble an' sat'sfied.
Wunst in a while she'd up an' say suthin' herself 'fore he could
say it.
F'rinstance, when he come to foreord'nation an' says,
'My good woman, I hope soon ter 'xplain to you 'bout the won'
ful decrees o' God, an' how they are his etarnal purpose, an”—
'Don't put yourself out to do that, p'fessor,' she says. 'O'
course I know 't accordin' to the couns' of his own will he 'th
foreordained whats'ever cometh to pass; but I'd jest like to hear
you preach on that subjeck. ' An' when he alluded to some hav-
in' ben 'lected to everlastin' life, she says, kinder low, to herself
like, 'Out of his mere good pleasure from all etarnity, I s'pose. '
The very words o' the cat'chism, ye see; an' she never goin'
to weekly cat'chism or monthly r'view! An' when he stopped a
minute she says, all 'xcited like, 'Now I call that talk, an' it's
the very fust I've heerd to-night. ' Then he took a book out of
his pocket. 'Twas a copy of the old New England Primer, with
whity-blue covers outside an' the cat'chism inside, an' he says,
'Miss Knapp, p'raps you ain't f'miliar with this little book, but—'
She ketched it right outer his hand, an' the tears they come
right up inter her eyes, an' she says in a shaky voice, 'I don't
think I ever see 't afore, p'fessor, but it 'pears to be the West-
minster Shorter. ' Then she jest give way an' cried all over it
till 'twas soppin'. An' she did jest hang on ter his words when
he come to the prob'ble futur' o' most folks, an' how the cat'-
chism says they're 'under His wrath an' cuss, an' so made li'ble
to all the mis'ries o' this life, to death itself, an' the pains o'
hell f'rever. ' She jest kep' time to them words with her head
an' her hands an' her feet, 's if 'twas an old toon she'd knowed
all her born days.
"An' so 'twas, right straight through: they tried her on every-
thing, an' 'twas allus the same come-out; she picked an' kep' all
the Knappses had allus stood to, an' throwed away what the
Knappses 'd disliked. She 'most pitched her knittin', ball an'
all, at the Dem'cratic newspaper man; an' when the Connet'cut


## p. 13505 (#319) ##########################################

ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
13505
Cour'nt ed❜tor laid down the Whig platform, she called out loud:
'I'm on that; that's my pol'cy. Who's our can'date? ' Poor
Mr. Gallagher, he didn't make out to c'mmunicate with her 's he
'xpected. He tried her on a Bible story in signs, but a'ter look-
in' at him a minute she turned away an' says: 'Poor creatur',
can't he talk any? He must 'a' ben cast away some time, I
guess, an' 'tis sorter dumb'in' to the speech, as I orter know. But
he'll pick it up agin. ' An' the doctor from the crazies, an' the
p'fessor from Wash'n't'n College, they tried all kinds o' brainy
tricks on her; but her head was 's sound as their own, and made
on the good old Knapp patt'n. An'-oh, I wish you could 'a'
seen how foolish Dr. Barnes looked when she says to him, a'ter
he'd opened out his infiddle b'liefs or unb'liefs, says she: 'Now
you jest hush up. I sh'd think you'd be ashamed, a'ter livin'
here in a Christian land 'mong Congr'ation'lists all your days, an'
not know who made you, an' what your chief eend is, an' what
the Scriptur's princ'p'ly teach. Even I knowed that,' she says,
'an' me in a heath'n land o' graven im'ges. '
"I'm spinnin' out my story in reel Knappy way,-they're a
long-winded lot, but I'll try to bind off now. But fust I must
tell ye 'bout the time I showed Coretty my garden. She'd ben
anxious to see 't; said she lotted on flowers, an' had dreffle pretty
ones on th' island, kinder tropicky an' queer, but she wanted ter
see some hum ones. So I took her out an' showed her my beds.
'Twas July, an' my garden was like a rainbow or a patchwork
comf'ter,— all colors. She walked round an' looked at the roses
an' pinks an' all, and smelt at 'em, an' seemed pleased.
"But somehow I'm kinder dis'p'inted too,' she says: 'I d'
know why, but there's suthin' lackin'. ' I jest kep' still, an'
kinder led her 'long down the walk to the corner 'hind the row
o' box, an' fust she knowed she was standin' by the bed o' but-
terneggs. She stood stock-still a minute; then she held up both
hands an' cried out, 'Oh, C'rinthians! '
'Twas the fust time she'd ever used the 'xpression; there
never 'd ben any 'casion for 't, for she'd had sech a quiet sorter
life. A'ter that she was allus hangin' round that bed like a cat
round a valerium patch, 'tendin' them posies, weedin' 'em, wat'r
in', tyin' 'em up, pickin' 'em, wearin' 'em, an' keepin' 'em in her
room. 'Twas a dreffle comfort to have her with me; but 'twa'n't
to last; I see that 'most 's soon 's she got settled down with
She b'gun to droop an' wilt down, an' to look pindlin' an'
XXIII-845
me.
________


## p. 13506 (#320) ##########################################

13506
ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
lean-like, an' bleached out. I tried not to see it, an' talked 's if
'twas change o' air, an' givin' up her r'tired life, an' 's if she'd
soon pick up an' grow to a good old Knapp age. But when she
b'gun to c'mplain o' feelin' creepy an' goose-fleshy an' shiv'ry, to
say her head was het up an' her feet 'most froze, I couldn't shet
my eyes to 't no longer; I knowed the sympt'ms too well: it
was the old Knapp enemy, dumb ager.
She was awful young
for that; not forty yit, an' the Knappses mostly lived to eighty or
ninety. But I'll tell you how I reasoned 't out to myself. The
fam'ly the rest on 'em- was all their lives takin' in gradjal-
-
like — stronger an' stronger 's they could bear 'em-the Knapp
b'liefs. One a'ter t'other they got 'em, like teeth, an' so they
could stand it. But jest think on 't a minnit: that poor dear
gal took in all them b'liefs-an' strong ones they was, too,
the strongest goin'-in jest a few days' time. Foreord'nation,
'lection, etarnal punishment, the Whig platform, Congr'ation'l s'ci-
ety gov'ment, United States language, white-oak cheese, butter-
neggs, in short, the hull set o' Knapp ways, she took 'em all,
's you might say, 't one big swaller. No wonder they disagreed
with her, an' left her nothin' for 't but to take the only one left
't she hadn't took a'ready, the Knapp shakes!
"I didn't say nothin' 'bout it to her; I never spoke o' the
fam❜ly trouble 't all, an' I knowed she'd never heerd on 't in her
life. She kep' up an' 'bout for a spell; but one day she come to
see mc, an' she says, very quiet an' carm, 'Loretty, 'f ye'll give
me the sarcepan I'll jest set some cam'mile an' hardhack to
steep, an' put a strip o' red flannel round my neck an' go to
bed. ' My heart sunk 'way down 's I heerd her; but I see 't
she'd left out some o' the receipt, so I hoped 'twa'n't so bad 's I
feared. But jest 's she was goin' inter her bedroom she turned
round an' says, 'An' mebbe a peppergrass poult'ce on the bottoms
o' my feet would be a good an' drawin' thing,' she says. There
was a lump in my throat, but I thinks to myself, 'Never mind,
'f she don't 'lude to the piller. ' An' I was pickin' the pepper-
grass an' wond'rin' if 'twas the smell o' that 't made my eyes so
wet an' smarty, when she calls me softly, an' she says, 'Sister,
I'm dreffle sorry to trouble ye, but 'f you could give me another
piller,—a hard, thin one,—I'd be 'bleeged. ' Then I knowed
'twas all over, an' I never had a grain o' hope agin.
"You'll 'xcuse me, ladies, from talkin' much more 'bout that
time. I think on 't 'nough, dear knows; I dream on 't, an' wake
-
-


## p. 13507 (#321) ##########################################

ANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON
13507
with my piller all wet: but 'tain't good for me to say too much
'bout it. She wa'n't sick long: her dumb ager wa'n't very
chronic, 's the doctors says, but sharp an' quick. An' jest three
weeks from the day she come home to me she'd added one more
to the long list o' things she'd had to larn in such a lim'ted
per'od, poor gal, an' took in the Knapp way o' dyin'.
"An' 'twas a quiet way; peace'ble, still-like, not makin' no
great fuss 'bout it, but ready an' willin'. She didn't want much
waitin' on, only fresh posies-butterneggs o' course-in the
wineglass on the stand by her bed; an' ye may be sure she allus
had 'em there. An' I picked all I had, an' stuck 'em in pitchers
an' mugs an' bowls, an' stood 'em on the mantel-shelf, an' on the
chest o' drawers, an' any place 't would hold 'em, an' the room
was all lit up with 'em-an' with her hope an' faith an' patient
ways too; an' so she seemed to pass right through a shinin'
yeller path, till we lost sight on her where it ended, I 'a'n't the
leastest doubt, in the golden streets o' heaven.
"But I 'xpect to see her agin 'fore very long. There's more
o' the fam'ly t'other side than there is here now, an' when I
think o' all the tribe o' Knappses in that land 'cross the river,
why, I think I'd be kinder glad to go there myself: 'twould be
'most like goin' to Thanksgivin' 't the old homestid. An' I was
sayin' to Marthy Hustid yist'day—she looks a'ter me now, ye
know't I had a kinder creepy, goose-fleshy, shiv'ry feelin' some-
times, 't my head was all het up an' my feet 'most froze, an' I
guessed she better be lookin' at the yarb bags up garr't, an'
layin' in a little red flann'l, in case o' any sickness in the fam'ly.
'An' Marthy,' I says, 'I s'pose there's a harder piller in the
house 'n the one I'm usin',- a thin one, you know. ' An' I am
glad the butterneggs is comin' in season. "
As we
came away from the little brown house and drove
along towards Greenwich, we were silent for a little. Then I
exclaimed: "Jane Benedict, how much truth is there in that wild
tale? Was her sister shipwrecked, and did she appear after many
days? For pity's sake enlighten me, for my head is 'all het up,'
as Aunt Loretty would say! "
"She was
an only child," answered Jane calmly, as she
touched Billy lightly with the whip. "I believe her father was
a sailor, and was lost at sea. She herself lived as housekeeper
for many years with Dr. Lounsbury of Stamford, who wrote that
queer book on heredity,-'Heirship,' I think he called it. Per-
haps she imbibed some of his ideas. "


## p. 13508 (#322) ##########################################

13508
JULIUS SLOWACKI
(1809-1849)
HE poetic genius of Poland put forth its fairest flower in the
trefoil of Mickiewicz, Krasinski, and Slowacki. Strongly con-
trasted in individuality, the three were united by their love
of country; in their lives as in their works the controlling motive is
an ardent patriotism. All were exiles from the land they loved; and
their works, which constitute the glory of Polish literature, were writ-
ten on an alien soil. They all strove to keep alive the pride of their
countrymen in Poland's ancient greatness; but in Slowacki a certain
temperamental pessimism, in sharp contrast
to the national optimism of his brother
poets, held his patriotic hopes restrained.
An intense love of freedom, and a hatred of
the régime of the Czar, glow in his impas-
sioned verse. He was a patriot of the
people. Krasinski, allied with the highest
families, and Mickiewicz, the favorite of the
great, were patriots of a more aristocratic
mold. Upon them all fell the mighty
shadow of Byron; and in none was the
Byronic spirit more perfectly reincarnated
than in Slowacki. He surpassed his master;
and although he outgrew this influence, and
drew loftier inspiration from Shakespeare
JULIUS SLOWACKI
and Calderon, he retained to the end the traces of "Satanic" pessi-
mism. In a rough classification of the members of this brilliant triad,
Mickiewicz, the master of the epic and lyric, may be called the poet
of the present; Krasinski, the prophet and seer, the poet through
whom the future spoke; while Slowacki, the dramatist, was the pan-
egyrist of the past.

Julius Slowacki was born at Krzemieniec on August 23d, 1809.
His father was a professor of some note at the University of Vilna,
where the lad received his education. His mother idolized and
spoiled him, sowing the seeds of that supreme self-love which became
in him a moral malady. From the first he had the conscious resolve
to become a great poet. Upon leaving the university in 1828 he
entered the uncongenial service of the State. Two years later he


## p. 13509 (#323) ##########################################

JULIUS SLOWACKI
13509
abandoned his post; and left Poland to be thenceforth a homeless
wanderer. During the period of his official bondage in Warsaw he
produced his early Byronic tales in verse: 'Hugo,' a romance of
the Crusades, 'Mnich' (The Monk), 'Jan Bielecki,' 'The Arab,' etc.
They are distinguished by boldness of fancy and great beauty of
diction; but their gloomy pessimistic tone ran counter to the prevail-
ing taste of that still hopeful time, and the day of their popularity
was deferred until renewed misfortunes had chastened the public
heart. Two dramas belong to the same period,-'Mindowe and
'Mary Stuart. › The scene of the former is laid in the ancient days
before Christianity had been established in Lithuania; the latter chal-
lenges comparison with Schiller's play, and surpasses it in dramatic
vigor. It is still a favorite in the repertoire of the Polish theatres.
Slowacki delighted in powerful overmastering natures: it was the
demonic in man that most appealed to him; and that element in
his own nature during the turbulent days of 1830 and 1831 burst
forth into revolutionary song. His fine 'Ode to Freedom,' the fer-
vid Hymn to the Mother of God,' and the ringing martial spirit of
his 'Song of the Lithuanian Legion,' stirred all hearts, and raised
Slowacki at once to the front rank among the poetic exponents of
the Polish national idea.
When in 1832 Slowacki settled in Geneva, a new period in his
literary career began: he emerged from the shadow of Byron, and
his treatment of life became more robust and earnest. Unconsciously
his Kordjan came to resemble Conrad in the third part of Mickie-
wicz's 'Dziady' (In Honor of our Ancestors). The first two acts of
this powerful drama are still somewhat in the Byronic manner, but
the last three acts are among the finest in the whole range of
Polish dramatic literature. The theme is patriotic: the hero plunges
into a conspiracy at Warsaw to overthrow the Czar; but at the criti-
cal moment the man is found wanting, and because he puts forth
no adequate effort he miserably fails. This dramatically impressive
but morally impotent conclusion reveals the ineradicable pessimism
of the poet's mind. Kordjan is of that irresolute Slavic type which
Sienkiewicz has so mercilessly analyzed in 'Without Dogma. ' To
this same period of Slowacki's greatest productivity belong the two
splendid tragedies Mazepa' and 'Balladyna. ' In 'Mazepa is all
the fresh vigor of the wind-swept plains; it has a dramatic quality
that reminds of Calderon, and maintains itself with unabated popu-
larity upon the Polish stage. 'Balladyna' is the most original of all
the poet's creations. Shakespeare superseded Byron; but the master
now inspired and no longer dominated. Lilla Weneda,' of later
date, was the second part of an unfinished trilogy, of which Balla-
dyna' was the first: the design of the whole was to recreate the


## p. 13510 (#324) ##########################################

13510
JULIUS SLOWACKI
mythical traditions of Poland. On this ancient background is por-
trayed the conflict of two peoples; and it is characteristic of the poet
that he allows the nobler race to succumb to the ruder.
It was during Slowacki's Swiss sojourn also that he wrote one
of the finest lyric gems of Polish poetry, 'In Switzerland. ' In it he
immortalized the Polish maiden who for too short a time ruled his
wayward nature in a brief but beautiful dream of love. In Rome
in 1836 he met Krasinski, to whose lofty inspiration his own soul
responded. During a trip in the Orient he wrote his deeply pathetic
poem Ojciec Zadzumionych' (The Father of the Plague-Stricken).
Upon this doomed man, as upon Job, is heaped misfortune on mis-
fortune until human capacity for suffering is exhausted, and the man
becomes a stony monument of misery. There is an overwhelming
directness of presentation in this poem that suggests the agony of the
marble Laocoön. It surpasses Byron at his best.
In 1837 Slowacki rejoined Krasinski in Florence, and under his in-
fluence wrote in Biblical style the allegory of 'Anhelli. ' It is a song
of sorrow for the sufferings of Poland and her exiled patriots; but it
loses itself at last in the marsh of mystic Messianism into which the
masterful but vulgar Towianski lured many of the nobler spirits of
Poland, including Mickiewicz. Krasinski resisted, and the two friends
were separated. Slowacki and his greater rival were stranded on the
shoal of Towianism. The works which he had written in Switzer-
land he began to publish in Paris in 1838; but 'Beniowski' was the
only work of art that he wrote after that time. This is a lyric-epic
of self-criticism. His works thenceforth were water-logged with
mysticism, and do not belong to the domain of art. In 'Król Duch'
(King Mind) this madness reaches its height. Embittered and out of
touch with the world, he died in Paris on April 3d, 1849.
Slowacki surpassed all his contemporaries in the magnificent
flights of his imagination, and in the glowing richness of his language
and imagery. His dramas are among the chief ornaments of Polish
literature; and his beautiful letters to his mother should be men-
tioned as perfect gems of epistolary style. His contempt for details
of form and composition seems sometimes like a conscious defiance
of the recognized requirements of art; but the splendid exuberance of
his thought and fancy ranks him among the great poets of the nine-
teenth century. He was keenly alive to the faults and failings of
his countrymen, as is shown in his 'Incorrigibles'; but in the temple
of Polish fame his place is secure at the left of Mickiewicz, at whose
right stands Krasinski with the 'Psalm of Sorrow' in his hand.


## p. 13511 (#325) ##########################################

JULIUS SLOWACKI
13511
FROM MINDOWE'
In 'Poets and Poetry of Poland. ' Copyright 1881, by Paul Soboleski
[Mindowe, king of Litwania, having embraced the Christian religion, his
blind mother Ronelva and his nephew Troinace conspire to effect his death.
Mindowe has banished Lawski, the prince of Nalzhaski, and essayed to win
the affections of his wife. Lawski, not having been heard of for some time,
is supposed to be dead. The scene opens just after the baptismal rites of the
monarch. ]
Scene: The royal presence chamber. Enter Casimir and Basil, from dif-
ferent sides
Casimir
Basil
Casimir
――――――
Troinace
Ronelva
Beneath a-
Basil [interrupting him] — Hold! knowest thou not
B
Ronelva
ASIL
Saw you the rites to-day, my Casimir?
Casimir
I saw what may I never see again,-
The altars of our ancient faith torn down,
Our king a base apostate, groveling
-
-
-
The ancient saw that "Palace walls have ears"?
The priests throng round us like intruding flies,
And latitude of speech is fatal.
True
I should speak cautiously. But hast seen
The prince?
Who? Troinace?
―――――
The same.
Ha! here he comes, and with the queen-mother;
It is not safe to parley in their presence.
Along with me: I've secrets for thine ear.
Hence
Ronelva enters, leaning upon the arm of Troinace, and engaged with
him in conversation.
Thou hast a son, Ronelva, crowned a king!
Is he alive? with sight my memory fails.
Once I beheld the world, but now 'tis dark-
My soul is locked in sleep-O God! O God!
My son hast seen my royal son- the King,
Thy uncle, Troinace? How is he arrayed?
Troinace In regal robes, and with a jeweled cross
Sparkling upon his breast.
[Exit Casimir and Basil.
A cross! -what cross?
'Tis not a symbol of his sovereignty-


## p. 13512 (#326) ##########################################

13512
JULIUS SLOWACKI
Troinace
Ronelva
A pause. Then enter Mindowe, crowned, and arrayed in purple, with a
diamond cross upon his breast, and accompanied by Heidenric, the Pope's
legate. Herman precedes them bearing a golden cross. Lawski, dis-
guised as a Teutonic Knight, with a rose upon his helmet, and his visor
down, bearing a casket. Lutuver attending the King. Lawski stands
apart.
Mindowe -
It is a gift made by his new ally,
The Pope.
Ronelva I feel that kindred blood is near, Mindowe!
Thy mother speaks! approach!
The Pope! - The Pope! I know none such!