Mind Amongst the Spindles — The Indian Pledge; The First Dish of Tea

THE INDIAN PLEDGE.

On the door-steps of a cottage in the land of "steady habits," some ninety or an hundred years since, might, on a soft evening in June, have been seen a sturdy young farmer, preparing his scythes for the coming hay-making season.

So intent was he upon his work that he heeded not the approach of a tall Indian, accoutred for a hunting expedition, until, "Will you give an unfortunate hunter some supper and lodging for the night?"

in a tone of supplication, caught his ear.

The farmer raised his eyes from his work, and darting fury from beneath a pair of shaggy eyebrows, he exclaimed, "Heathen, Indian dog, begone!

you shall have nothing here."

"But I am very hungry," said the Indian; "give only a crust of bread and a bone to strengthen me on my journey."

"Get you gone, you heathen dog," said the farmer; "I have nothing for you."

"Give me but a cup of cold water," said the Indian, "for I am very faint."

This appeal was not more successful than the others.

--Reiterated abuse, and to be told to drink when he came to a river, was all he could obtain from one who bore the name of Christian!

But the supplicating appeal fell not unheeded on the ear of one of finer mould and more sensibility.

The farmer's youthful bride heard the whole, as she sat hushing her infant to rest; and from the open casement she watched the poor Indian until she saw his dusky form sink, apparently exhausted, on the ground at no great distance from her dwelling.

Ascertaining that her husband was too busied with his work to notice her, she was soon at the Indian's side, with a pitcher of milk and a napkin filled with bread and cheese.

"Will my red brother slake his thirst with some milk?"

said this angel of mercy; and as he essayed to comply with her invitation, she untied the napkin, and bade him eat and be refreshed.

"Cantantowwit protect the white dove from the pounces of the eagle," said the Indian; "for _her_ sake the unfledged young shall be safe in their nest, and her red brother will not seek to be revenged."

He then drew a bunch of feathers from his bosom, and plucking one of the longest, gave it to her, and said, "When the white dove's mate flies over the Indians' hunting grounds, bid him wear this on his head."

* * * * The summer had passed away.

Harvest-time had come and gone, and preparations had been made for a hunting excursion by the neighbors.

Our young farmer was to be one of the party; but on the eve of their departure he had strange misgivings relative to his safety.

No doubt his imagination was haunted by the form of the Indian, whom, in the preceding summer he had treated so harshly.

The morning that witnessed the departure of the hunters was one of surpassing beauty.

Not a cloud was to be seen, save one that gathered on the brow of Ichabod (our young farmer), as he attempted to tear a feather from his hunting-cap, which was sewed fast to it.

His wife arrested his hand, while she whispered in his ear, and a slight quiver agitated his lips as he said, "Well, Mary, if you think this feather will protect me from the arrows of the red-skins, I'll e'en let it remain."

Ichabod donned his cap, shouldered his rifle, and the hunters were soon on their way in quest of game.

The day wore away as was usual with people on a like excursion; and at nightfall they took shelter in the den of a bear, whose flesh served for supper, and whose skin spread on bruin's bed of leaves, pillowed their heads through a long November night.

With the first dawn of morning, the hunters left their rude shelter and resumed their chase.

Ichabod, by some mishap, soon separated from his companions, and in trying to join them got bewildered.

He wandered all day in the forest, and just as the sun was receding from sight, and he was about sinking down in despair, he espied an Indian hut.

With mingled emotions of hope and fear, he bent his steps towards it; and meeting an Indian at the door, he asked him to direct him to the nearest white settlement.

"If the weary hunter will rest till morning, the eagle will show him the way to the nest of his white dove," said the Indian, as he took Ichabod by the hand and led him within his hut.

The Indian gave him a supper of parched corn and venison, and spread the skins of animals, which he had taken in hunting, for his bed.

The light had hardly began to streak the east, when the Indian awoke Ichabod, and after a slight repast, the twain started for the settlement of the whites.

Late in the afternoon, as they emerged from a thick wood, Ichabod with joy espied his home.

A heartfelt ejaculation had scarce escaped his lips, when the Indian stepped before him, and turning around, stared him full in the face, and inquired if he had any recollection of a previous acquaintance with his red brother.

Upon being answered in the negative, the Indian said, "Five moons ago, when I was faint and weary, you called me an Indian dog, and drove me from your door.

I might now be revenged; but Cantantowwit bids me tell you to go home; and hereafter, when you see a red man in need of kindness, do to him as you have been done by.

Farewell."

The Indian having said this, turned upon his heel, and was soon out of sight.

Ichabod was abashed.

He went home purified in heart, having learned a lesson of Christianity from an untutored savage.

TABITHA.

THE FIRST DISH OF TEA.

Tea holds a conspicuous place in the history of our country; but it is no part of my business to offer comments, or to make any remarks upon the spirit of olden time, which prompted those patriotic defenders of their country's rights to destroy so much tea, to express their indignation at the oppression of their fellow citizens.

I only intend to inform the readers of the "Lowell Offering" that the first dish of tea which was ever made in Portsmouth, N. H.

, was made by Abigail Van Dame, my great-great-grandmother.

Abigail was early in life left an orphan, and the care of her tender years devolved upon her aunt Townsend, to whose store fate had never added any of the smiling blessings of Providence; and as a thing in course, Abigail became not only the adopted, but also the well-beloved, child of her uncle and aunt Townsend.

They gave her every advantage for an education which the town of Portsmouth afforded; and at the age of seventeen she was acknowledged to be the most accomplished young lady in Portsmouth.

Many were the worshippers who bowed at the shrine of beauty and learning at the domicile of Alphonzo Townsend; but his lovely niece was unmoved by their petitions, much to the perplexity of her aunt, who often charged Abigail with carrying an obdurate heart in her bosom.

In vain did Mrs. Townsend urge her niece to accept the offers of a young student of law; and equally vain were her efforts to gain a clue to the cause of the refusal, until, by the return of an East India Merchantman, Mr. Townsend received a small package for his niece, and a letter from Captain Lowd, asking his consent to their union, which he wished might take place the following year, when he should return to Portsmouth.

Abigail's package contained a Chinese silk hat, the crown of which was full of Bohea tea.

A letter informed her that the contents of the hat was the ingredient, which, boiled in water, made what was called the "Chinese soup."

Abigail, anxious to ascertain the flavor of a beverage, of which she had heard much, put the brass skillet over the coals, poured in two quarts of water, and added thereto a pint bason full of tea, and a gill of molasses, and let it simmer an hour.

She then strained it through a linen cloth, and in some pewter basins set it around the supper table, in lieu of bean-porridge, which was the favorite supper of the epicures of the olden time.

Uncle, aunt, and Abigail, seated themselves around the little table, and after crumbling some brown bread into their basins, commenced eating the Chinese soup.

The first spoonful set their faces awry, but the second was past endurance; and Mrs. Townsend screamed with fright, for she imagined that she had tasted poison.

The doctor was sent for, who administered a powerful emetic; and the careful aunt persuaded her niece to consign her hat and its contents to the vault of an outbuilding.

When Capt. Lowd returned to Portsmouth, he brought with him a chest of tea, a China tea-set, and a copper teakettle, and instructed Abigail in the art of tea-making and tea drinking, to the great annoyance of her aunt Townsend, who could never believe that Chinese soup was half so good as bean-porridge.

The _first dish of tea_ afforded a fund of amusement for Capt. Lowd and lady, and I hope the narrative will be acceptable to modern tea-drinkers.

TABITHA.

LEISURE HOURS OF THE MILL GIRLS.