Mind Amongst the Spindles — The First Wedding in Salmagundi; "Bless, and curse not"; Ancient Poetry

THE FIRST WEDDING IN SALMAGUNDI.

I have often heard this remark, "If their friends can give them nothing else, they will surely give them a wedding."

As I have nothing else to present at this time, I hope my friends will not complain if I give them an account of the first wedding in our town.

The ceremony of marriage being performed by his Excellency the Governor, it would not be amiss to introduce him first of all.

Let me then introduce John Wentworth (the last governor of New Hampshire while the colonies were subject to the crown of Great Britain), whose country seat was in Salmagundi.

The wedding which I am about to describe was celebrated on a romantic spot, by the side of Lake Winnipiseogee.

All the neighbors within ten miles were invited, and it was understood that all who came were expected to bring with them some implements of husbandry, such as ploughs, harrows, yokes, bows, wheelbarrows, hods, scythe-snaths, rakes, goads, hay-hooks, bar-pins, &c. These articles were for a fair, the product of which was to defray the expenses of the wedding, and also to fit out the bride with some household furniture.

All these implements, and a thousand and one besides, being wanted on the farm of Wentworth, he was to employ persons to buy them for his own especial use.

Johnny O'Lara, an old man, who used to chop wood at my father's door, related the particulars of the wedding one evening, while I sat on a block in the chimney-corner (the usual place for the greatest rogue in the family), plying my knitting-needles, and every now and then, when the eyes of my step-mother were turned another way, playing slyly with the cat.

And once, when we yonkers went upon a whortleberry excursion, with O'Lara for our pilot, he showed us the spot where the wedding took place, and described it as it was at the time.

On the right was a grove of birches; on the left a grove of bushy pines, with recesses for the cows and sheep to retire from the noon-day sun.

The background was a forest of tall pines and hemlocks, and in front were the limpid waters of the "Smile of the Great Spirit."

These encircled about three acres of level grass-land, with here and there a scattering oak.

"Under yonder oak," said O'Lara, "the ceremony was performed; and here, on this flat rock, was the rude oven constructed, where the good wives baked the lamb; and there is the place where crotched stakes were driven to support a pole, upon which hung two huge iron kettles, in which they boiled their peas.

And on this very ground," said O'Lara, "in days of yore, the elfs and fairies used to meet, and, far from mortal ken, have their midnight gambols."

The wedding was on a fine evening in the latter part of the month of July, at a time when the moon was above the horizon for the whole night.

The company were all assembled, with the exception of the Governor and his retinue.

To while away the time, just as the sun was sinking behind the opposite mountains, they commenced singing an ode to sunset.

They had sung, "The sunset is calm on the face of the deep, And bright is the last look of Sol in the west;

And broad do the beams of his parting glance sweep, Like the path that conducts to the land of the blest," when the blowing of a horn announced the approach of the Governor, whose barge was soon seen turning a point of land.

The company gave a salute of nineteen guns, which was returned from the barge, gun for gun.

The Governor and retinue soon landed, and the fair was quickly over.

The company being seated on rude benches prepared for the occasion, the blowing of a horn announced that it was time for the ceremony to commence; and, being answered by a whistle, all eyes were turned toward the right, and issuing from the birchen grove were seen three musicians, with a bagpipe, fife, and a Scotch fiddle, upon which they were playing with more good nature than skill.

They were followed by the bridegroom and grooms-man, and in the rear were a number of young men in their holiday clothes.

These having taken their places, soft music was heard from the left; and from a recess in the pines, three maidens in white, with baskets of wild flowers on the left arm, came forth, strewing the flowers on the ground, and singing a song, of which I remember only the chorus: "Lead the bride to Hymen's bowers, Strew her path with choicest flowers."

The bride and bridesmaid followed, and after them came several lasses in gala dresses.

These having taken their places, the father of the bride arose, and taking his daughter's hand and placing it in that of Clifford, gave them his blessing.

The Governor soon united them in the bonds of holy matrimony, and as he ended the ceremony with saying, "What God hath joined let no man put asunder," he heartily saluted the bride.

Clifford followed his example, and after him she was saluted by every gentleman in the company.

As a compensation for this "rifling of sweets," Clifford had the privilege of kissing every lady present, and beginning with Madame Wentworth, he saluted them all, from the gray-headed matron, to the infant in its mother's arms.

The cake and wine were then passed round.

Being a present from Madame Wentworth, they were no doubt excellent.

After this refreshment, and while the good matrons were cooking their peas, and making other preparations, the young folks spent the time in playing "blind-man's-buff," and "hide and go seek," and in singing "Jemmy and Nancy," "Barbara Allen," "The Friar with Orders Grey," "The Lass of Richmond Hill," "Gilderoy," and other songs which they thought were appropriate to the occasion.

At length the ringing of a bell announced that dinner was ready.

"What, dinner at that time of night?"

perhaps some will say.

But let me tell you, good friends (in Johnny O'Lara's words), that "the best time for a wedding dinner, is when it is well cooked, and the guests are ready to eat it."

The company were soon arranged around the rude tables, which were rough boards, laid across poles that were supported by crotched stakes driven into the ground.

But it matters not what the tables were, as they were covered with cloth white as the driven snow, and well loaded with plum puddings, baked lamb, and green peas, with all necessary accompaniments for a well ordered dinner, which the guests complimented in the best possible manner, that is, by making a hearty meal.

Dinner being ended, while the matrons were putting all things to rights, the young people made preparation for dancing; and a joyous time they had.

The music and amusement continued until the "blushing morn" reminded the good people that it was time to separate.

The rising sun had gilded the sides of the opposite mountains, which were sending up their exhalations, before the company were all on their way to their respective homes.

Long did they remember the first wedding in our town.

Even after the frost of seventy winters had whitened the heads of those who were then boys, they delighted to dwell on the merry scenes of that joyful night; and from that time to the present, weddings have been fashionable in Salmagundi, although they are not always celebrated in quite so romantic a manner.

TABITHA.

"BLESS, AND CURSE NOT."

The Athenians were proud of their glory.

Their boasted city claimed pre-eminence in the arts and sciences; even the savage bowed before the eloquence of their soul-stirring orators; and the bards of every nation sang of the glory of Athens.

But pre-eminent as they were, they had not learned to be merciful.

The pure precepts of kindness and love were not taught by their sages; and their noble orators forgot to inculcate the humble precepts of forgiveness, and the "charity which hopeth all things."

They told of patriotism, of freedom, and of that courage which chastises wrong or injury with physical suffering; but they told not of that nobler spirit which "renders good for evil," and "blesses, but curses not."

Alcibiades, one of their own countrymen, offended against their laws, and was condemned to expiate the offence with his life.

The civil authorities ordered his goods to be confiscated, that their value might swell the riches of the public treasury; and everything that pertained to him, in the way of citizenship, was obliterated from the public records.

To render his doom more dreary and miserable,--to add weight to the fearful fulness of his sentence,--the priests and priestesses were commanded to pronounce upon him their curse.

One of them, however, a being gentle and good as the principles of mercy which dwelt within her heart--timid as the sweet songsters of her own myrrh and orange groves, and as fair as the acacia-blossom of her own bower--rendered courageous by the all-stimulating and powerful influence of kindness, dared alone to assert the divinity of her office, by refusing to curse her unfortunate fellow-being--asserting that she was "PRIESTESS TO BLESS, AND NOT TO CURSE."

LISETTA.

[Illustration: Decoration] ANCIENT POETRY.

I love old poetry, with its obscure expressions, its obsolete words, its quaint measure, and rough rhyme.

I love it with all these, perhaps _for_ these.

It is because it is different from modern poetry, and not that I think it better, that it at times affords me pleasure.

But when one has been indulging in the perusal of the smooth and elegant productions of later poets, there is at least the charm of variety in turning to those of ancient bards.

This is pleasant to those who love to exercise the imagination--for if we would understand our author, we must go back into olden times; we must look upon the countenances and enter into the feelings of a long-buried generation; we must remember that much of what we know was then unknown, and that thoughts and sentiments which may have become common to us, glowed upon these pages in all their primal beauty.

Much of which our writer may speak has now been wholly lost; and difficult, if not impossible, to be understood are many of his expressions and allusions.

But these difficulties present a "delightful task" to those who would rather push on through a tangled labyrinth, than to walk with ease in a smooth-rolled path.

Their self-esteem is gratified by being able to discover beauty where other eyes behold but deformity: and a brilliant thought or glowing image is rendered to them still more beautiful, because it shines through a veil impenetrable to other eyes.

They are proud of their ability to perceive this beauty, or understand that oddity, and they care not for the mental labor which they have been obliged to perform.

When I turn from modern poetry to that of other days, it is like leaving bright flowery fields to enter a dark tangled forest.

The air is cooler, but damp and heavy.

A sombre gloom reigns throughout, occasionally broken by flitting sunbeams, which force their way through the thick branches which meet above me, and dance and glitter upon the dark underwood below.

They are strongly contrasted with the deep shade around, and my eye rests upon them with more pleasure than it did upon the broad flood of sunshine which bathes the fields without.

My searching eye at times discovers some lonely flower, half hidden by decayed leaves and withered moss, yet blooming there in undecaying beauty.

There are briers and thistles and creeping vines around, but I heedlessly press on, for I must enjoy the fragrance and examine the structure of these unobtrusive plants.

I enjoy all this for a while, but at length I grow chilled and weary, and am glad to leave the forest for a less fatiguing resort.

But there is one kind of old poetry to which these remarks may not apply--I mean the POETRY OF THE BIBLE.

--And how much is there of this!

There are songs of joy and praise, and those of woe and lamentation;

there are odes and elegies; there are prophecies and histories; there are descriptions of nature and narratives of persons, and all written with a fervency of feeling which embodies itself in lofty and glowing imagery.

And what is this but poetry?

yet not that which can be compared to some dark, mazy forest, but rather like a sacred grove, such as "were God's first temples."

There is no gloom around, neither is there bright sunshine; but a calm and holy light pervades the place.

The tall trees meet not above me, but through their lofty boughs I can look up and see the blue heavens bending their perfect dome above the hallowed spot, while now and then some fleecy cloud sails slowly on, as though it loved to shadow the still loneliness beneath.

There are soft winds murmuring through the high tree-tops, and their gentle sound is like a voice from the spirit-land.

There are delicate white flowers waving upon their slight stems, and their sweet fragrance is like the breath of heaven.

I

feel that I am in God's temple.

The Spirit above waits for the sacrifice.

I can now erect an altar, and every selfish worldly thought should be laid thereon, a free-will offering.

But when the rite is over, and I leave this consecrated spot for the busy path of life, I should strive to bear into the world a heart baptized in the love of beauty, holiness, and truth.

I have spoken figuratively--perhaps too much so to please the pure and simple tastes of some--but He who made my soul and placed it in the body which it animates, implanted within it a love of the beautiful in literature, and this love was first awakened and then cherished by the words of Holy Writ.

I have, when a child, read my Bible, from its earliest book to its latest.

I have gone in imagination to the plains of Uz, and have there beheld the pastoral prince in all his pride and glory.

I have marked him; too, when in the depth of his sorrow he sat speechless upon the ground for seven days and seven nights; but when he opened his mouth and spake, I listened with eagerness to the heart-stirring words and startling imagery which poured forth from his burning lips!

But my heart has thrilled with a delightful awe when "the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind," and I listened to words of more simplicity than uninspired man may ever conceive.

I have gone, too, with the beloved disciple into that lonely isle where he beheld those things of which he was commanded to write.

My imagination dared not conceive of the glorious throne, and of Him who sat upon it; but I have looked with a throbbing delight upon the New Jerusalem coming down from heaven in her clear crystal light, "as a bride adorned for her husband."

I have gazed upon the golden city, flashing like "transparent glass," and have marked its pearly gates and walls of every precious stone.

In imagination have I looked upon all this, till my young spirit longed to leave its earthly tenement and soar upward to that brighter world, where there is no need of sun or moon, for "the Lamb is the light thereof."

I have since read my Bible for better purposes than the indulgence of taste.

There must I go to learn my duty to God and my neighbor.

There should I look for precepts to direct the life that now is, and for the promise of that which is to come; yet seldom do I close that sacred volume without a feeling of thankfulness, that the truths of our holy religion have been so often presented in forms which not only reason and conscience will approve, but also which the fancy can admire and the heart must love.

ELLA.

[Illustration: Decoration]