The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 96, October 1865

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"Let me not need now disobey you, mother,
But give me leave to knock at Death's pale gate,
Whereat indeed I must, by duty drawn,
By Nature shown the sacred way to yield.
Behold, the coasting cloud obeys the breeze;
The slanting smoke, the invisible sweet air;
the towering tree its leafy limbs resigns
To the embraces of the wilful wind:
Shall I, then, wrong, resist the hand of Heaven!
Take me, my father! take, accept me, Heaven!
Slay me or save me, even as you will!"

"Light, light, I leave thee!--yet am I a lamp,
Extinguished now, to be relit forever.
Life dies: but in its stead death lives."

In "Jephthah's Daughter," we think, Mr. Heavysege has found that form of
poetic utterance for which his genius is naturally qualified. It is
difficult to guess the future of a literary life so exceptional
hitherto,--difficult to affirm, without a more intimate knowledge of the
man's nature, whether he is capable of achieving that rhythmical
perfection (in the higher sense wherein sound becomes the symmetrical
garment of thought) which, in poets, marks the line between imperfect
and complete success. What he most needs, of _external_ culture, we have
already indicated: if we might be allowed any further suggestion, he
supplies it himself, in one of his fragmentary poems:--

"Open, my heart, thy ruddy valves,--
It is thy master calls:
Let me go down, and, curious, trace
Thy labyrinthine halls.
Open, O heart! and let me view
The secrets of thy den:
Myself unto myself now show
With introspective ken.
Expose thyself, thou covered nest
Of passions, and be seen:
Stir up thy brood, that in unrest
Are ever piping keen:--
Ah! what a motley multitude,
Magnanimous and mean!"

FOOTNOTES:

[A] _Saul._ A Drama, in Three Parts. Montreal: John Lovell. 1850.

_Count Fillippo; or The Unequal Marriage._ By the Author of "Saul."
Montreal: Printed for the Author. 1860.

_Jephthah's Daughter._ By Charles Heavysege, Author of "Saul." Montreal:
Dawson Brothers. 1865.

NEEDLE AND GARDEN.

THE STORY OF A SEAMSTRESS WHO LAID DOWN HER NEEDLE AND BECAME A
STRAWBERRY-GIRL.

WRITTEN BY HERSELF.

CHAPTER X.

CONCLUSION.

Although two thirds of our little patrimony had thus been devoted to the
cultivation of fruit, yet the other third was far from being suffered to
remain unproductive. We thoroughly understood the art of raising all the
household vegetables, as we had been brought up to assist our father at
intervals throughout the season. Then none of us were indifferent to
flowers. There were little clumps and borders of them in numerous
places. Nowhere did the crocus come gayly up into the soft atmosphere of
early spring in advance of ours. The violets perfumed the air for us
with the same rich profusion as in the carefully tended parterre of the
wealthiest citizen. There were rows of flowering almonds, which were
sought after by the bees as diligently as if holding up their delicate
heads in the most patrician garden; and they flashed as gorgeously in
the sun. The myrtle displayed its blue flowers in abundance, and the
lilacs unfolded their paler clusters in a dozen places. Over a huge
cedar in the fence-corner there clambered up a magnificent wistaria,
whose great blue flowers, covering the entire tree, became a monument of
floral beauty so striking, that the stranger, passing by the spot, would
pause to wonder and admire. In the care of these flowers all of us
united with a common fondness for the beautiful as well as the useful.
It secured to us, from the advent of the earliest crocus to the
departure of the last lingering rose that dropped its reluctant flowers
only when the premonitory blasts of autumn swept across the garden, all
that innocent enjoyment which comes of admiration for these bright
creations of the Divine hand.

These little incidental recompenses of the most perfect domestic harmony
were realized in everything we undertook. That harmony was the animating
as well as sustaining power of my horticultural enterprise. Had there
been wrangling, opposition, or ridicule, it is probable that I should
never have ventured on the planting of a single strawberry. Success,
situated as I was, was dependent on united effort, the cooeperation of
all. This cooeperation of the entire family must be still more necessary
in agricultural undertakings on a large scale. A wife, taken reluctantly
from the city to a farm, with no taste for rural life, no love of
flowers, no fondness for the garden, no appreciation of the mysteries of
seed-time and harvest, no sensibility to fields of clover, to green
meadows, to the grateful silence of the woods, or to the voices of
birds, and who pines for the unforgotten charms of city life, may mar
the otherwise assured happiness of the household. One refractory inmate
in ours would have been especially calamitous.

The floral world is pervaded with miraculous sympathies. Another spring
had opened on our garden, and flower after flower came out into gorgeous
bloom. My strawberries, as if conscious of the display around them, and
ambitious to increase it, opened their white blossoms toward the close
of April. Those set the preceding autumn gave promise of an abundant
yield, but not equal to that presented by the runners which crowded
around the parent plants on the original half-acre. The winter had been
unfriendly, sending no heavy covering of snow to shelter them; while
the frost, in making its first escape from the earth, had loosened many
plants, bringing some of them half-way out of the ground, while a few
had been thrown entirely upon the surface, where they quickly perished.

I had read that accidents of this kind would sometimes happen, and that,
when plants were thus partially dislodged by frost, the roller must be
passed over them to crowd back the roots into their proper places. I had
discovered this derangement immediately on the frost escaping, but we
had neither roller nor substitute. As pressure alone was needed, I set
Fred to walking over the entire acre, and with his heavy winter boots to
trample down each plant in its old place. The operation was every way as
beneficial as if the ground had been well rolled. When performed before
the roots have been many days exposed to the air, it not only does no
injury, but effectually repairs all damage committed by the frost.

Everything, this second season, was on a larger scale than before,
requiring greater care and labor, but at the same time brightening my
hopes and doubling my anticipations. I was compelled to hire a gardener
occasionally to assist in keeping the ground clean and mellow, although
among us we contrived to perform a large portion of the work ourselves.
I found that constant watchfulness secured an immense economy of labor.
It was far easier to cut off a weed when only an inch high than when
grown up to the stature of a young tree. It was the same with the white
clover or a grass-root. These two seem native to the soil, and will come
in and take possession, smothering and routing out the strawberries,
unless cut up as fast as they appear. When attacked early, before their
rambling, but deeply penetrating roots obtain a strong hold, they are
easily destroyed. I consider, therefore, that watchfulness may be made
an effective substitute for labor, really preventing all necessity for
hard work. This watchfulness we could generally exercise, though
physically unable to perform much labor. Hence, when ladies undertake
the management of an established strawberry-bed, a daily attention to
it, with a light hoe, will be found as useful as a laborious clearing up
by an able-bodied man, with the additional advantage of occasioning no
injurious disturbance to the roots in removing great quantities of
full-grown weeds.

The blossoms fell to the ground, the berries set in thick clusters,
turning downward as they increased in size, and changing, as they
enlarged, from a pale green to a delicate white, then becoming suffused
with a slight blush, which gradually deepened into an intense red. It
was a joyful time, when, with my mother and sister, I made the first
picking. All of us were struck with the improved appearance of the fruit
on the first half-acre. This was natural, as well as what is commonly
observed. The plants had acquired strength with age. They had had
another season in which to send out new and longer roots; and these,
rambling into wider and deeper fountains of nourishment, had drawn from
them supplies so copious, that the berries were not only much more
numerous than the year before, but they were every way larger and finer.
The contrast between the fruit on these and the new plants was very
decided. Hence we had a generous gathering to begin with. It was all
carefully assorted, as before; but the quantity was so large that
additional baskets were required, and Fred was obliged to employ an
assistant to carry it to market.

While engaged in making our second picking, carefully turning aside the
luxuriant foliage to reach the berries which had ripened in concealment,
with capacious sun-bonnets that shut out from observation all objects
but those immediately before us, it was no wonder that a stranger could
come directly up without being noticed. Thus intently occupied one
afternoon, we were surprised at hearing a subdued and timid voice
asking,--

"May I sell some strawberries for you?"

I looked round,--for the voice came from behind us,--and beheld a girl
of some ten years old, having in her hand a basket, which she had
probably found on the common, as, in place of the original bottom, a
pasteboard substitute had been fitted into it. It was filled with little
pasteboard boxes, stitched at the corners, but strong enough to hold
fruit. I noticed, that, old as it was, it had been scoured up into
absolute cleanness. The child's attire was in keeping with her basket.
Though she had no shoes, and the merest apology for a bonnet, with a
dress that was worn and faded, as well as frayed out into a ragged
fringe about her feet, yet it was all scrupulously clean. Her features
struck me as even beautiful, and her soft hazel eyes would command
sympathy from all who might look into them. Her manner and appearance
prepossessed me in her favor.

"But did you ever sell strawberries?" I inquired.

"No, Ma'am, but I can try," she answered.

"But it will never do to trust her," interrupted my mother. "We do not
know who she is, and may never see her again."

"Oh, Ma'am, I will bring the money back to you. Dear lady, let me have
some to sell," she entreated, with childish earnestness, her voice
trembling and her eyes moistening with apprehension of refusal.

"Mother," said I, "this child is a beginner. Is it right for us to
refuse so trifling an encouragement? Who knows to what useful ends it
may lead? You remember how difficult it was for me to procure the
plants, and how keenly you felt my trouble. Will you inflict a keener
one on this child, whose heart seems bent on doing something for
herself, and on whom disappointment will fall even more painfully than
it did on me? Are we not all bound to do something for those who are
more destitute than ourselves? and even if we lose what we let her have,
it will never be missed."

The poor girl looked up imploringly into my face as I pleaded for her,
her eyes brightened with returning hopefulness, and again she besought
us,--

"Dear lady, let me have a few; my mother knows you."

"Tell me your name," I replied.

"Lucy Varick,--mother says she knows you," was the answer.

"Varick!" replied my mother, quickly, surprised as well as evidently
pleased. "You shall have all you can sell."

She was the daughter of the miserable man whose terrible deathbed we had
both witnessed, and my mother had no difficulty in trusting to her
honesty. Her basket would contain but a few quarts, and these we had
already gathered. I filled her little pasteboard boxes immediately, with
the fruit just as picked from the vines. The poor child fairly capered
with joy as she witnessed the operation. She saw her fortune in a few
quarts of strawberries! I think that as she tripped nimbly through the
gate, my gratification at seeing how cheerfully she thus began her life
of toil was equal to all that she could have experienced herself.

Before the afternoon was half gone, Lucy surprised us by returning with
an empty basket. She had found customers wherever she went, and wanted a
fresh supply of fruit. This was promptly given to her, for she had
obtained even better prices than the widow was getting for us in the
market. That afternoon she made the first half-dollar she ever earned,
and during the entire season she continued to find plenty of the best of
customers at their own doors.

I had long since made up my mind that our pastor was entitled to some
recognition of the substantial kindnesses he had extended to us at the
time of our deep affliction. We had seen him regularly at the Sunday
school, but he knew nothing of my conversion into a strawberry-girl.
What else could we do, in remembrance of his friendship, but to make him
a present of our choicest fruit? Never were strawberries more carefully
selected than those with which I filled a new basket of ample size, as a
gift for him. On my way to the factory the next morning, I delivered
the basket at his door, with a little note expressive of our continued
gratitude, and begging him to accept its contents as being fruit which I
had myself raised. I knew it was but a trifle, but what else than
trifles had I to offer even to the kindest friend we had ever known?

That very afternoon, while my mother and I were at our usual occupation
of picking, I heard the gate open at the other end of the garden, and,
looking up, saw two gentlemen approaching us. They advanced slowly
around the strawberry-beds, apparently examining the plants and fruit,
frequently stooping to turn over the great clusters on a portion of the
ground which we had not yet picked. I saw that one of them was our
pastor, but the other was a stranger. As they drew nearer, we rose to
receive them. No words can describe the confusion which overcame me as I
recognized in the stranger the same gentleman whom I had encountered,
the preceding summer, as the first customer for my strawberries, at the
widow's stand in the market-house. I had never forgotten his face. Mr.
Seeley introduced him as his friend Mr. Logan. Somehow I felt certain
that he also recognized me. I was confused enough at being thus taken by
surprise. It is true that my sun-bonnet, though of prodigious size, was
neatly cut and handsomely fashioned, even becoming, as I supposed, and
that I was fortunately habited in a plain, but entirely new dress, that
was more than nice enough for the work I was performing. But the hot
sun, in spite of my bonnet, had already turned my face brown. My hands,
exposed to its fiercest rays, were even more tanned, while the stain of
fruit was visible on my fingers. I was in no condition to receive
company of this unexpected description.

But the gentlemen were affable, and I soon became at ease with them. Mr.
Seeley had received my basket, and had come to thank me for it. Mr.
Logan had been dining with him, and was enthusiastic over the quality of
my strawberries. He had never seen them equalled, though devoting all
his leisure to horticulture; and learning that they were raised by a
lady, insisted on coming down, not only to look into her mode of
culture, but to see the lady herself. It was pleasant thus to meet our
friend the pastor, and I did my utmost to render the visit agreeable to
him and his companion. My mother gave up the care of their entertainment
to me; so, dropping my basket in the unfinished strawberry-row, I left
her to continue the afternoon picking alone.

The gentlemen seemed in no haste to leave us. I was surprised that they
could find so much to interest them in a spot which I had supposed could
be interesting only to ourselves. Mr. Seeley was pleased with all that
he saw, but Mr. Logan was polite enough to be much more demonstrative in
his admiration. I think the visit of the former would have been much
briefer but for the presence of the latter, who seemed in no hurry to
depart. He was generous in praise of my flowers, and was inquisitive
about my strawberries. He had many of the most celebrated varieties, and
was kind enough to offer me such as I might desire. He thought that I
could teach him lessons in horticulture more valuable than any he had
yet picked up, either in books or in his own garden, and asked
permission to come down often during the fruit season, to see and learn.
I was surprised that he should think it possible for a young
strawberry-girl like myself to teach anything to one who was evidently
so much better informed. Then I told him that what he saw was the result
of an endeavor to determine whether there was not some better dependence
for a woman than the needle, that I had accomplished all this by my own
zeal and perseverance, and that this season promised complete success.

"I cannot give you too much praise," he observed. "Your tastes harmonize
admirably with my own. I have long believed that women are confined to
too small a circle of useful occupations. They too seldom teach
themselves, and are too little taught by others whose duty it is to
enlarge their sphere of action. All my sisters have learned what you may
call trades,--that is, to support themselves, if ever required to do so,
by employments particularly adapted to their talents. You have chosen
the garden, and you seem in a fair way to succeed. I must know how much
your strawberry-crop will yield you."

On thus discovering the object I had in view, and that this was my own
experiment, his interest in all that he saw appeared to increase. The
very tones of his voice became softer and kinder. There was nothing
patronizing in his manner; it was deferential, and so sympathetic as to
impress me very strongly. I felt that he understood the train of thought
that had been running through my mind, and that he heartily entered into
and approved of my plans.

My first false shame at being known as a strawberry-girl now gave place
to a feeling of pride and emulation. Here was one who could appreciate
as well as encourage. Hence my explanations were as full as it was
proper to set before a stranger. Our pastor listened to them with
surprise, as most of them were new even to him, nor did he fail to unite
with his companion in encouragement and congratulation. Long
acquaintance gave him the privilege to be familiar and inquisitive. It
is possible that in place of being abashed and humble, I may now have
been confident and boastful.

Our visitors left us with promises to repeat their call; and with a
lighter heart than ever, I went again to assist in picking.

The fruit continued to turn out well, and our widow in the market-house
proved true to the promises she had made,--there was no difficulty in
finding a sale for it, and somehow it yielded even better prices than
the year before. She said that others were complaining of a drought, and
that the fruit in consequence was generally inferior in size, so that
those who, like myself, had been lucky enough, or painstaking enough, to
secure a full crop, were doing better than ever. Then our little
strawberry-peddler, Lucy Varick, was doing a thriving business. She
established a list of customers among the great ladies in the city, who
bought large daily supplies from her, paying her the highest prices. Her
young heart seemed overflowing with joyfulness at her unexpected
success. It enabled her to take home many a dollar to her mother. Alas!
she seemed to think--if, indeed, she thought at all upon the
subject--that the strawberry season would be a perpetual harvest.

We throve so satisfactorily that my mother seemed to have given up her
cherished longing for a strawberry-garden. Now that we had a new class
of visitors who were likely to be frequent in their calls, I think she
felt a kind of pride in abandoning the project. There was a sort of
dignity in the production of fruit, but something humiliating in the
idea of keeping an eating-house. She even went so far as to decline all
applications from transient callers who had mistaken our premises for
those of our neighbors, thus leaving the latter in undisturbed
possession of their long trains of customers. They were not slow in
discovering that we had ceased to be rivals in this branch of their
business; and finding themselves mistaken in supposing that my
strawberry-crop would come into ruinous competition with theirs, they
seemed disposed to be a little friendly toward us. Indeed, on one or two
occasions, Mrs. Tetchy herself came to us for a large basketful of
fruit, declaring that their own supply was not equal to the demand. She
was unusually pleasant on those occasions, but at the same time insisted
on having the fruit at less than we were getting for it. My mother could
not contend with such a woman, and so submitted to her exactions. I feel
satisfied, however, that her visits were to be attributed quite as much
to a desire to gratify her curiosity as to any want of strawberries; for
I noticed that she never came on these errands without impudently
walking all over our garden, scrutinizing whatever we were doing, how
the beds were arranged, and particularly inspecting and even handling
the fruit. Of course we had nothing to be ashamed of; but though
everything about the garden was much neater than hers, she never dropped
a word of commendation.

Only a day or two after the gentlemen had been down to see us, we found
it necessary to resume the task of weeding between the rows. The drought
at the beginning of the season had been succeeded by copious rains, with
warm southerly winds, under which the weeds were making an alarming
growth, notwithstanding the trampling which they received from the
pickers. I confess that our heavy hoes made this so laborious an
operation that I rather dreaded its necessity; but a hot sun was now
shining, which would be sure to kill the weeds, if we cut them off, so
all hands were turned in to accomplish the work. While thus busily
occupied, whom should I see coming into the gate but Mr. Logan?

"Capital exercise, Miss, and a fine day for it!" he exclaimed, as he
came up to me. "No successful gardening where the weeds are permitted to
grow! I have the same pests to contend against, but I apply the same
remedy. There is nothing like a sharp hoe."

"Nothing indeed, if one only knew how to make it so," I replied.

As he spoke, his eye glanced at the uncouth implement I was using, and
reaching forth his hand he took it from me. Examining it carefully, a
smile came over his handsome face, and he shook his head, as if thinking
that would never do. It was one of the old tools my father had used,
heavy and tiresome for a woman's hand, with a blade absurdly large for
working among strawberries, and so dull as to hack off instead of
cutting up a weed at one stroke. Fred had undertaken to keep our hoes
sharp for us, but this season he had somehow neglected to put them in
order.

"This will never do, Miss," he observed. "Your hoe is heavy enough to
break you down. This is not exercise such as a lady should take, but
downright hard work. I must get you such as my sisters use; and now I
mean to do your day's work for you."

Then, taking my place, he proceeded during the entire morning to act as
my substitute. We were surprised at his affability, as well as at his
industry. It was evident that grubbing up weeds was no greater novelty
to him than to us. All the time he had something pleasant to say, and
thus conversation and work went on together: for, not thinking it polite
to leave him to labor alone, I procured a rake, and contrived to keep
him company in turning up the weeds to the sun, the more effectually to
kill them.

Now I had never been able to learn the botanical names of any of these
pests of the garden, nor whether any of them were useful to man, nor how
it was that the earth was so crowded with them. Neither did I know the
annuals from the perennials, nor why one variety was invariably found
flourishing in moist ground, while another preferred a drier situation.
If I had had a desire to learn these interesting particulars of things
that were my daily acquaintances, I had neither books to consult nor
time to devote to them.

But it was evident from Mr. Logan's conversation that he was not only a
horticulturist, but an accomplished botanist. Both my mother and myself
were surprised at the new light which he threw upon the subject. I was
tugging with my fingers at a great dandelion which had come up directly
between two strawberry-plants, trying to pull it up, when its brittle
leaves broke off in my hand, leaving the root in the ground. Mr. Logan,
seeing the operation, observed,--

"No use in cutting it off; the root must come out, or it will grow
thicker and stronger, and plague you every season"; and plying the
corner of his hoe all round the neck of the dandelion, so as to loosen
the earth a considerable depth, he thrust his fingers down, seized the
root, and drew forth a thick white fibre at least a foot long.

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