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FALVEY MEMORIAL LIBRARY
FALVEY MEMORIAL LIBRARY
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Dime Novel and Popular Literature
The Portland Transcript
Dime Novel and Popular Literature
The Portland Transcript
The Portland transcript, v. XVII, no. 18, August 13, 1853.
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The Portland transcript, v. XVII, no. 18, August 13, 1853.
Edwards, C. M., Mrs.
22 July 2019
Portland [Me.] : Gould & Elwell
Dime Novels and Popular Literature
Margaret Hastings : a tale of country life / by Mrs. C. M. Edwards.
Disclaimer of Liability
Disclaimer of Endorsement
YGOITLD & ELWE :sI’oqui lal. - 1 ." ' ’ Ionic. 80 Iiddla, nest Corner of Exchange It. AN INIIDEIPIEHIDENL“ IPAHHIIL'I‘I JIDIUIBI‘IAIL 0T EEUEIBA’IIUIRIB. NEWS. NIL, .. I -P0llTL.lND,liiilNll, 'F0ll ’fllll WEEK-ENDING SlllUllDlY."rlllflUSl"13, 1853...: :suo en nu. : .5 ml 0n Dollar for light Heaths, in advance. ' ’lfUllBEll 18. f.0rigiiml qujjgattlm. . , Wmlcwforthe TmMaiyt. TO A FRIEND. > u as"... a . m warn ”midst the gay I Inst: That gentle smile of thine; ., . 2 Though still on are it rrnts so ”root, ‘ I scams can call It Inins . out when to Ins alone. ' . . Your secret mu you show; , on, then I callthose um my own, , sud claim them while they saw. Than still with bright lookl bless the cold, this free . Give smiles to thou. who lova you less, ’ utkeep' your tears for me. I Piusjizlrl, N. H. 5‘: ”' Elli Griginzilw Siting; . Writtenforlhc Imam-pr. i llillflllllll Iiilllis. '1 .1 Talc or ('nlulry Lire. u l L BY MRS. C. M. EDl‘ARDS. lMargaret Hastings was a genuine Yankee None of your pining, languishing, novel-reading daughters of fashion and idle- ness, but u bI'lght-eyed, rosyrcheekad, bounc- lag lass. was well proportioned. ’ motions were easy and graceful. description of our heroino is not’suflicient, we will add that she had a bright, clear cour plexlun, none the less pretty that the pure winds of heaven often breathed upon it, and the glorious summer sun in its earliest ris- ‘lugs shone upon her, as she sat upon her milking stool.‘ Margaret had a calm, blue‘ eye, a serene forehead, surlnounted by a luxurinat mass of brown hair, 'which was always neatly and even tastefully disposed. In fact she was what old deacon Giles du- noIninatI-d to his son Robert, by way of com- mL-ndation, as I! “good, wholesome looking I -. . i . . , With this description or the 'personnl charms of our heroine, gentle reader, you must ho content, and whiu I tell you shr- s'as reared on one of our New England ‘farlns, was the eldest often children, and e solo nurse of her invalid mother, and the only female luboreriu that large,old fai In houm, you have some faint idea of her situation in life But In order to have anyjust cont-options of her not fullness, and the extent of her' In dustlloua habits. you should have visited former Hastings, and seen the fruits of her tail. Thu drawers and cupboards filled with snowy linens nicely polished and folded, and mdolont of fragrant herbs gonna the“ ill: chests ol' flannel stockings and mittens, all carefully preserved for the Coming winter Mother Giles said they looked good enough to eat. May be they did, but then therrI was no need of eating them, for Maggy n pantry and dairy was as well stored with notables as her chambers were with weani- bles Such golden butter and cheese, such pots of honey, such pickles and preserves, ’ pies and doughnuts, that mother Giles, who It must bu confessed had rather an odd as. mediation of ideas, said it was a sight for “sore eye -s" to look upon . And Margaret had a lover-just such an we as we should have scloctcd from a thou- sand for her. Sam Hardy was,firstly, an honest man, and that you know has been said to he the noblest work of God, and then for industry, common sense, enterprise , and good management, Sam was without doors uhat Margaret was within. The two had grown up together At church, at school, and at all their merry maklngs, they had associated. And now In they stood In ‘It took a full yard of ribbon to make her Sunday bcltp-and yet Margaret if er feet were large enough to support her body, and her shoes large enough to hold her feet, so that her If this the village choir on the calm, holy Sabbath, Margaret pouring forth the clearest treble. and Sam the deepest bass, the sweet mel- ody of their voices seemed a prelude to the harmony of their future wedded life. The farms of Mr. Hardy and Mr. Has< tings were contiguous, and when they togeth- er had built the line fence, Mnrgery’s little brother, (a waggish boy‘of thirteen,).sug- , .gested the propriety of leaving a little gap for a gate, “also we should become stran- gers," said Tommy, “with this high wall be- tween us." Hardy did not notice the rognish twinkle of that dark rye for he was a“mntter-of-fact” body, and seldom joked himself-but he acted on the suggestion and builta neat gate. Tommy put on a bright coating of red-ochre, “that people might not miss it," he laid; and the well-troddcn path through this same red gate, became the pleasantest walk of the authored lovers.- Margaret would harp b an content that this state of thinus should exist for years, so that she could still have ministered to the wants of' her pale, gentle mother, and dif fused comfort throughout the home of her childhood. But Hardy was grtting- impuv tient ; his new house began to look gloomy, closed up as it had been for more than a year, and he fancied that the cows, and sheep, and oxen, looked lonely when he turned to leave them, as though they missed the one being essential to his happiness Theyoung people too, of the neighborhood, were count- ing on that wedfa’ng that seemed so long' In coining, wellhnowing by the huskings and poring becs they had hpld at farmer Has- tings, that a wedding there, and especially Miargaret’s wedding, must be a splendid af- At last farmer Hastings began to commis- erate the would be-benedict, and communi- cated his sympathy to his better-half. “I say, wife," he began, as he sat in her little room, taking a neoning, “why dont you tell Maggy she ain't obliged to stay here waiting on us all her days." . “I can't, husband, ” said the feeble woman, in a quivering voice, “you must tell her yourself, but it will be a sad day for all of us when the door girl leares,“ “Oh, I dout know," said be, drawing his rough hand over his eyes, “we shall get along some how; there are a plenty of girls. To be sure it would take nscore of thrmt fill ‘IIaggy a plucI', but the child has done her duty by us, and we must give her up.‘ So saying,’tht- good man laid up his pipe, and hustled out of the room, that he might not see the tears that he knew his wife was shedding.‘ That evening the kind old Iunn followed bin daughter into the bleach- ing-ground, (whether she had gone to turn llerlssf: web of linen,) and in homely bilt genuine, because heart-felt eloquenco,un- burthened his hour! (If the little weight that oppressed it. He then hurried a roll of bills into her trembling hand, and walked quickly away to look at the pigs and poultry, as though they had anything to do uith that choking sensation in his throat! Silly old man! Tommy, who, by the way, was a hit of a IcnfinIentalist. had often told Maggy that she and Hardy were not true lovers because they were so qlllrt in their love, ‘ “The fel- low speaks of you, sis, as he would of his grandmother, and as for a blush you can as soon get one from old Grimes and his wife as froln either of you." Could the observing boy have seen his sister now as she bent over the snowy linen, nith face, neck and arms in one deep blush of crimson, andthen seen the scolding tears as they rolled over her burning checks. he would have discovered that one of the par- ties at least. had as warm a heart as ever throbbod beneath a quiet cxtrrior.‘ ‘Bnt what silod‘ hiargnrctf Was she unhappy in herlovel By no means. It was only a struggle between her love for Hardy and her love for the dear houaohold hnnd she ran out leave behind. She feared that in becoming 'b a wife the should be less a daughter It was therefore she wept, and walked from the bleaching yard, drooping and pale as though she too had been there whitening Never had Msrgaret' s heart been so full as on this evening, and never had she felt that retire ment and solitude would be so great aluxu- ry. But there was no time for that i her evening dutias'mus‘t be“ performed, and she alone would do them. ' There was the milk to be strained, and the children waiting to say their prayers to sister Maggy, and the babe waiting to be undressed, beside all the little managements to promote quiet and sleep for her weak, nervous mother “ll. he will do all this when I am gone 1" thought the faithful girl. “I am sure they must all suffer. I have a great mind to tell Samuel he must wait till these little ones get grown up, or else he must look for some No, I can’t. say that. " ‘ “Well, sis, said To omniy, “if you have dono everything else. Ill thank you to pick a splinter from my finger." Now Tommy‘s wcrejust the pair of eyes she most wished to avoid, nevertheless, she commenced the surgical operation, the little fellow holding the candle for her. At length be glanced into her face. “‘Yhy, Maggy.” said be, “what is the matter 7 Is Hardy dead I" ‘ No, I guess not, ” was the meek reply. I’ll shoot him." his sister’s face, he became'alarmed, and asked if she Iras sick. Margaret confessed ate boy she told him he might retire. her usual serenity, and now that theice was broken, it was comparatively easy to Innke arrangements in reference to her own affairs. A smart, active girl was hired forthe hitch. en. and Margaret undertook to effect a mu- tual understanding between herself and the children. Her plans succeeded so well that she gathered courage one evening as she and Hardy were standing by tho red gate, with the bright harvest moon shining full "P“.n them to promise to become his bride at thanksgiving. The unfuigned joy nInIIi- festod by the quiet young farmer, gave a thrill of pleasure to Margaret, even though she had never doubted his affection. “Ho, a wedding! a wedding !" shoulcd our friend Tolnnly, as halcaule rushing in from an errand he had been sent on to the village. He had them made the wonderful discovery that the bonus were actually pub- lished between his sister and Mr. Hardy, and in his 'Ilre had romehnlfthe way, he said, on his head. Margaret was at the whorl spinning some superfine stocking- yarn, and only responded by a quiet smile, to the noisy outbursts of her roguish broth- er. "Yes, a wedding," motioned he, “and won't I stuff the werldingrcnke, that's all I care about it. I don't believe there is any trIloloveia it, ’tis too smooth and quiet like. " (Tommy had never read Shakspeare, hilt he had his own ideas, and some of them were extravagant enough to have claimed kindred with the great dramatist) “ltis just like that thread you are Ipinning," said be, “new Ishall have no faith in it, unless you get into some such snarl as this," and Tommy put the stick he was twirling into her wors- tcd, and In a moment several yards were in aperfeet knot. Margaret seized the stick and playfully drove her brother from the room, and then resumed herlabor, and the sunny train of thought he had broken. “'as there a spirit of prophecy in the re: marks of the rogulsh bnyf Or was it nec- csruryto convince the wayward child that truo lova existed in the quiet. bosom of Hardy and Margaret. before another week, a cloud had fallen on the spirit of our heroine, and she and her Certain it is, that lover were in quite as lunch of a snarl as er a Tomm would 'dosire. At evening Margaret set out the great table and loaded . “Has he givcn youths mitten, if he has 'But seeing no‘ smileoa sir-nus I little ill, and kissing the atfectionr a night of quiet repose restored Margaret to it from her well-blind pantry, and then sat down with her knitting to wait for her fa- her: He. had that morning loaded his wagon with his finest wheat, and gone to the nearest seaport town to exchange it for lux- uries III-herewith to garnish the bridal feast. Just as the liltle ones were getting clamor- ous for their supper, the good farmer drove up to the door, and all hands were called to fetch in the bundles.i Yourg Hardy was with the old gentleman, and as he brought in a box of raixius‘andlosfof sugar,he amiv lingly deposited them in Mspgy's lap. Mrs. Hastings came out of her room with her shawl on, and smiled upon the busy group, and Margaret run and biongbt her arm chair and eat it at tie table, that she might take supper with them. "VI ell, well," said the husband, “this looks Iolllfortable, wife, to see you here, and‘l have some news for you‘ That wild harulu scnrum fellow that In rI led my poor sister Dora, is dead, and their daughter Is coming to live with us. - Lct' a see, the child Is now as much as six- teen; nobody knows how ‘she has been brought up, for her mother died. about the time that she w as born‘ -hut we must take her of course,’ and Mrs: Hastings andMar- garet respoudcd“of c‘uirse " To oblige the farmer, as well as to beguile his own time that seemed forever In passing, young Har- dy offered to go tor the nrpbun stranger. - His offer was received as a great kindness now when they and, all so much to do.‘ Even Tommy, who had no particular liking for his future brother Iu law, said It Wuskind In him, and then he went off to picking stones, and was all day thinking and wondering what kind of n girl that same cousin Dora was. .And now Dara was with them, the little orphnn' Dora, the little rniry Dora, the be- reaved Dorm-in her mourning frock, dt< ting so closely to her tiny form, looking a very infant with her sunny curls, and timid blue eyes. out of which the pretty tears had come so natural when her aunt kissed her. that every one felt that she wanfhe loveliest creature that ever crossed their threshold. TouIIlIy had not yet seen his pretty little cousin, though ho had been watching for them for two hours. But when they come he had gone up stairs and looked froln the uppobwinduw to see them alight. “I won- der it she is a baby," IIIutt-Ired he, as Har- dy lifted her in his arms, and without allow- ing her to put her foot on His sun grass, he stepped forward and stood her fairly in the entry, ,“I guess he thinks she is," contin- ued the pI-rverss‘boy, “or n sugar loaf. I should like to see him lift Maggy in his arms! She is as good as any of the city girls." Tommy forgot in his jealousy that his sister weighed a hundred and sixty. He, sat and thought over her wrongs for some time, but when he heard the evening fire roaring in, the great kitchen chimney, and the cheerful voices, among which was that of Margaret, “wondering where Tommy was, be we “Yo"ur cousin, Miss W2, " said Hardy to the little boy In a pntronlslug tone Tommy back in the shadowy part of the room and gnzed at herfhe whole evening. By acri- Ilent she had sat down in her father' s arm chair, and he couldn t help laughing tou see how littlo of it she filled. “To hes said he, "she Is a darling little Pussygand we ought to love her,‘ and so from a sheer sense of duty the consriclltiollslxny began to lore his cousin. In afew days the I‘ussy became quite tame and domesticated, and ’ the whole family loved her dearly, she was sci active and handy and could do so hiany things for each of them, that she seemed more than ever like some good fairy, except that instead of coming in the form of an ugly old woman, she was lovely little Dora Never had suuty s‘ caps hnd Inch tasteful trimmings, never had baby had such skillful tending, or the children been told surh prct ty stories ,-aIId then the lamp mats, and cricket covers, the had begun to grace coul- made a stiff bow to Miss “C, and then went I in Margaret 3 new parlor, and she hard puzzles she had t. 'IuphtTommy, and what be valued more than all the rest. the happy hour she gained every day to romp and play out door with him , But for: this pleasure' the jealous boy had every evening to do am- ple penance. I dialiketo say anything about it‘but the truth is, Hardy had attached himself-strongly to the orphan stranger.4-' Perhaps it was from principle, as Tom Inmy loved her I don t know, but certain it is every evening he was by her side, and when I‘ there, he had neither eyes nor ears for any; one but Dora. All at oncehe became pun, eiouately fond of allkind ‘pf light singing, though he had often declared he had no taste for anything but sacred music. in pretty school songs thatDoru sung were perfectly, enchanting to the noaearof Hardy, and he was able to get up a bass to each of them,: besides rolling out thevdcepest aceompani-I merit to her birdzlike waltzes. Once, or twice had Tommy felt the hot blood mount tohis forehead, as he had seen theI hard hn- piers of Hardy twining in Doras rorls as they hung over the chair. Those dainty curls! that be had never dared to touch-t But we will do Tommy thejustioa to‘ Iay.it. was for his sister he was jealous.- Some. times Hardy would bring up his new wagon, and ask Dora to ride. et waabnsy, but when did she ever refuse , to take a little ride or walk with him? "But now it was many days since he had scarcely. spoken to her. True, his cheerful “good' evening," was more cheerfulthan ever, (for ‘ Hardy‘s manner was strangely altered.) but‘ then it didn't seem addressed to her, and' , though the lifted her head and smiled, as‘ she always did, when she heard his voice, it' was to see him scat himself by Dora. ‘Vu lllargaretjealous f and did she blame him. or her cousin? Xo. she did neither. Her‘ affection was too pure, and unselfish for her. to doubt his. Beside, she had too little . knowledge of the workings of the human = passions, to fear that another could eomo' between them. Margaret only missed her i lover, and her heart was lonely. She misc-i ed those little interviews in which they were ‘ wont to talk owr their future plans. De-' lieious moments they were, nonetheless so, I other. And now when he seemed so eh. tranged from her, she was resdv to vindi- rste him to her complaining hedrt. "‘It is considerate," she would say to herself, "for - him to be so kind to my little cousin. I dare I say she would be homesick, if it was not for him." “'hen her active labor! for the eve“ ning were done, she would take her sewing and sit with her mother, a thing she had never done before when is was present.‘ ' The family began to stars; poor Mrs. III.- tings grew nervous and anxious, and the I farmer fretful and peevish. Tommy bi) came desperate, and was downright rods to Hardy and shy to his cousin. 'Dora began to be less potted by all the family but Mar- garet. She did not abate one particle of' her tenderness to. her, for ahejudged right- ynf her Innocence and artleesness. Yes, Dora was innocent,gentle reader,fhongh you may have shared Tommy’ s indignation. It never occurred to the thoughtless child tha’ she was wronglng her cousin Margaret. - E She liked Mr. Hardy very much :-for when she stood on that crowded deck of stran- gcrtl, with but out: shilling in her pocket, faint and dizzy from sea-sickness, how raculously he had found her out, and placed her In his carriage,-how tenderly he w rap- ped her shawl about her,when she trem- bled from the mingled effect of cold and e:- hausfion. When she asked him if be won uncle Ilasting 3 son, how socially he no- knowledged that be we as to be,” In a few‘ asked hinI' In the most timid' manner, if he" thought she would be welcome toherunr l e To be sure Margsrv ‘ r that they had nothing new to as) to eachi ’ weeks, having been long eugsged to he. ‘ cousin Margaret, the most wonderful girl i in the world. For this contidence Dorahad ’