Autumnal leaves: tales and sketches in prose and rhymeChild, Lydia Maria
General
Autumnal leaves: tales and sketches in prose and rhyme
Child, Lydia Maria
American essays -- 19th century; American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
“Kate is hopeful by temperament,” said William; “but I think she is
hardly more brave than you are. You are both afraid of a snake and a
gun.”
“I was thinking more of the long journey, the parting from friends, and
living among strangers, than I was of snakes and guns,” replied Alice.
“Then everybody says there are so many discomforts and hardships in a
new country. And the Indians, William! Only think of going within sound
of the Indian war-whoop!”
“The Indians are in a very different state now,” he replied, “from what
they were when the Puritan women followed their husbands into the
wilderness of this new world. They are few in numbers now. Their spirit
has been tamed by accumulated wrongs, and they are too well aware of the
power of the United States’ government, to make any aggressions upon
those who are under its protection. Besides, you know it is my opinion
that the Indians never would have made unprovoked aggressions. Who can
read Catlin’s account, without being struck with the nobility of
character often manifested by their much-injured race? I am fully
persuaded that it is easy to make firm friends of the Indians, by
treating them with justice and kindness, and with that personal respect,
which they so well know how to appreciate.” He pressed her arm to his
side, and took her hand within his, as he added, “You seemed greatly to
admire that young Puritan bride, who cheerfully left home and friends
behind her, and crossed the tempestuous ocean, to brave cold and hunger
by her husband’s side, in a wilderness where wolves and savages were
howling.”
Her hand trembled within his; for something in the earnestness of his
look, and the tender modulation of his tones, suddenly revealed to her
what was passing in his mind. She knew he was not thinking of cousin
John’s wife, while he spoke thus of the pilgrim’s bride. It was the
first time that such a possibility had been suggested to her mind; and
it made the blood run cold in her veins. After a painful pause, she
said, with a forced calmness of voice, “We often admire virtues we are
not strong enough to imitate.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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