Mind Amongst the Spindles. A Miscellany, Wholly Composed by the Factory Girls
General
Mind Amongst the Spindles. A Miscellany, Wholly Composed by the Factory Girls
American literature -- Massachusetts -- Lowell; American literature -- Women authors; Working class women -- Literary collections
We had then no bell; and when the hour approached for the commencement
of religious services, each nook and dale sent forth its worshippers in
silence. But precisely half an hour before the rest of our neighbors
started, the old man and woman, who lived upon Pine Hill, could be seen
wending their way to the meeting-house. They walked side by side, with a
slow even step, such as was befitting the errand which had brought them
forth. Their appearance was always the signal for me to lay aside my
book, and prepare to follow them to the house of God. And it was because
they were so unvarying in their early attendance, because I was never
disappointed in the forms which first emerged from the pine trees upon
the hill, that I gave them the name of "the first bells."
Why they went thus regularly early I know not, but think it probable
they wished for time to rest after their long walk, and then to prepare
their hearts to join in exercises which were evidently more valued by
them than by most of those around them. Yet it must have been a deep
interest which brought so large a congregation from the scattered
houses, and many far-off dwellings of our thinly peopled country town.
And every face was then familiar to me. I knew each white-headed
patriarch who took his seat by the door of his pew, and every aged woman
who seated herself in the low chair in the middle of it; and the
countenances of the middle-aged and the young were rendered familiar by
the exchange of Sabbath glances, as we met year after year in that
humble temple.
But upon none did I look with more interest than upon "the first bells."
There they always were when I took my accustomed seat at the right hand
of the pulpit. Their heads were always bowed in meditation till they
arose to join in the morning prayer; and when the choir sent forth their
strain of praise they drew nearer to each other, and looked upon the
same book, as they silently sent forth the spirit's song to their Father
in heaven. There was an expression of meekness, of calm and perfect
faith, and of subdued sorrow upon the countenances of both, which won my
reverence, and excited my curiosity to know more of them.
They were poor. I knew it by the coarse and much-worn garments which
they always wore; but I could not conjecture why they avoided the
society and sympathy of all around them. They always waited for our
pastor's greeting when he descended from the pulpit, and meekly bowed to
all around, but farther than this, their intercourse with others
extended not. It appeared to me that some heavy trial, which had knit
their own hearts more closely together, and endeared to them their faith
and its religious observances, had also rendered them unusually
sensitive to the careless remarks and curious inquiries of a country
neighborhood.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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