The venerable Father Ephraim sat in his easy chair, not onlyhoary headed and infirm with age, but worn down by a lingeringdisease, which, it was evident, would very soon transfer hispatriarchal staff to other hands. At his footstool stood a manand woman, both clad in the Shaker garb.
"My brethren," said Father Ephraim to the surrounding elders,feebly exerting himself to utter these few words, "here are theson and daughter to whom I would commit the trust of whichProvidence is about to lighten my weary shoulders. Read theirfaces, I pray you, and say whether the inward movement of thespirit hath guided my choice aright."
Accordingly, each elder looked at the two candidates with a mostscrutinizing gaze. The man, whose name was Adam Colburn, had aface sunburnt with labor in the fields, yet intelligent,thoughtful, and traced with cares enough for a whole lifetime,though he had barely reached middle age. There was somethingsevere in his aspect, and a rigidity throughout his person,characteristics that caused him generally to be taken for aschool-master, which vocation, in fact, he had formerly exercisedfor several years. The woman, Martha Pierson, was somewhat abovethirty, thin and pale, as a Shaker sister almost invariably is,and not entirely free from that corpse-like appearance which thegarb of the sisterhood is so well calculated to impart.
"This pair are still in the summer of their years," observed theelder from Harvard, a shrewd old man. "I would like better to seethe hoar-frost of autumn on their heads. Methinks, also, theywill be exposed to peculiar temptations, on account of the carnaldesires which have heretofore subsisted between them."
"Nay, brother," said the elder from Canterbury, "the hoar-frostand the black-frost hath done its work on Brother Adam and SisterMartha, even as we sometimes discern its traces in ourcornfields, while they are yet green. And why should we questionthe wisdom of our venerable Father's purpose although this pair,in their early youth, have loved one another as the world'speople love? Are there not many brethren and sisters among us,who have lived long together in wedlock, yet, adopting our faith,find their hearts purified from all but spiritual affection?"
Whether or no the early loves of Adam and Martha had rendered itinexpedient that they should now preside together over a Shakervillage, it was certainly most singular that such should be thefinal result of many warm and tender hopes. Children ofneighboring families, their affection was older even than theirschool-days; it seemed an innate principle, interfused among alltheir sentiments and feelings, and not so much a distinctremembrance, as connected with their whole volume ofremembrances. But, just as they reached a proper age for theirunion, misfortunes had fallen heavily on both, and made itnecessary that they should resort to personal labor for a baresubsistence. Even under these circumstances, Martha Pierson wouldprobably have consented to unite her fate with Adam Colburn's,and, secure of the bliss of mutual love, would patiently haveawaited the less important gifts of fortune. But Adam, being of acalm and cautious character, was loath to relinquish theadvantages which a single man possesses for raising himself inthe world. Year after year, therefore, their marriage had beendeferred. Adam Colburn had followed many vocations, had travelledfar, and seen much of the world and of life. Martha had earnedher bread sometimes as a seamstress, sometimes as help to afarmer's wife, sometimes as school-mistress of the villagechildren, sometimes as a nurse or watcher of the sick, thusacquiring a varied experience, the ultimate use of which shelittle anticipated. But nothing had gone prosperously with eitherof the lovers; at no subsequent moment would matrimony have beenso prudent a measure as when they had first parted, in theopening bloom of life, to seek a better fortune. Still they hadheld fast their mutual faith. Martha might have been the wife ofa man who sat among the senators of his native state, and Adamcould have won the hand, as he had unintentionally won the heart,of a rich and comely widow. But neither of them desired goodfortune save to share it with the other.
At length that calm despair which occurs only in a strong andsomewhat stubborn character, and yields to no second spring ofhope, settled down on the spirit of Adam Colburn. He sought aninterview with Martha, and proposed that they should join theSociety of Shakers. The converts of this sect are oftener drivenwithin its hospitable gates by worldly misfortune than drawnthither by fanaticism and are received without inquisition as totheir motives. Martha, faithful still, had placed her hand inthat of her lover, and accompanied him to the Shaker village.Here the natural capacity of each, cultivated and strengthened bythe difficulties of their previous lives, had soon gained them animportant rank in the Society, whose members are generally belowthe ordinary standard of intelligence. Their faith and feelingshad, in some degree, become assimilated to those of theirfellow-worshippers. Adam Colburn gradually acquired reputation,not only in the management of the temporal affairs of theSociety, but as a clear and efficient preacher of theirdoctrines. Martha was not less distinguished in the duties properto her sex. Finally, when the infirmities of Father Ephraim hadadmonished him to seek a successor in his patriarchal office, hethought of Adam and Martha, and proposed to renew, in theirpersons, the primitive form of Shaker government, as establishedby Mother Ann. They were to be the Father and Mother of thevillage. The simple ceremony, which would constitute them such,was now to be performed.
"Son Adam, and daughter Martha," said the venerable FatherEphraim, fixing his aged eyes piercingly upon them, "if ye canconscientiously undertake this charge, speak, that the brethrenmay not doubt of your fitness."
"Father," replied Adam, speaking with the calmness of hischaracter, "I came to your village a disappointed man, weary ofthe world, worn out with continual trouble, seeking only asecurity against evil fortune, as I had no hope of good. Even mywishes of worldly success were almost dead within me. I camehither as a man might come to a tomb, willing to lie down in itsgloom and coldness, for the sake of its peace and quiet. Therewas but one earthly affection in my breast, and it had growncalmer since my youth; so that I was satisfied to bring Martha tobe my sister, in our new abode. We are brother and sister; norwould I have it otherwise. And in this peaceful village I havefound all that I hoped for,--all that I desire. I will strive,with my best strength, for the spiritual and temporal good of ourcommunity. My conscience is not doubtful in this matter. I amready to receive the trust."
"Thou hast spoken well, son Adam," said the Father. "God willbless thee in the office which I am about to resign."
"But our sister!" observed the elder from Harvard, "hath she notlikewise a gift to declare her sentiments?"
Martha started, and moved her lips, as if she would have made aformal reply to this appeal. But, had she attempted it, perhapsthe old recollections, the long-repressed feelings of childhood,youth, and womanhood, might have gushed from her heart, in wordsthat it would have been profanation to utter there.
"Adam has spoken," said she hurriedly; "his sentiments arelikewise mine."
But while speaking these few words, Martha grew so pale that shelooked fitter to be laid in her coffin than to stand in thepresence of Father Ephraim and the elders; she shuddered, also,as if there were something awful or horrible in her situation anddestiny. It required, indeed, a more than feminine strength ofnerve, to sustain the fixed observance of men so exalted andfamous throughout the sect as these were. They had overcome theirnatural sympathy with human frailties and affections. One, whenhe joined the Society, had brought with him his wife andchildren, but never, from that hour, had spoken a fond word tothe former, or taken his best-loved child upon his knee. Another,whose family refused to follow him, had been enabled--such washis gift of holy fortitude--to leave them to the mercy of theworld. The youngest of the elders, a man of about fifty, had beenbred from infancy in a Shaker village, and was said never to haveclasped a woman's hand in his own, and to have no conception of acloser tie than the cold fraternal one of the sect. Old FatherEphraim was the most awful character of all. In his youth he hadbeen a dissolute libertine, but was converted by Mother Annherself, and had partaken of the wild fanaticism of the earlyShakers. Tradition whispered, at the firesides of the village,that Mother Ann had been compelled to sear his heart of fleshwith a red-hot iron before it could be purified from earthlypassions.
However that might be, poor Martha had a woman's heart, and atender one, and it quailed within her, as she looked round atthose strange old men, and from them to the calm features of AdamColburn. But perceiving that the elders eyed her doubtfully, shegasped for breath, and again spoke.
"With what strength is left me by my many troubles," said she, "Iam ready to undertake this charge, and to do my best in it."
"My children, join your hands," said Father Ephraim.
They did so. The elders stood up around, and the Father feeblyraised himself to a more erect position, but continued sitting inhis great chair.
"I have bidden you to join your hands," said he, "not in earthlyaffection, for ye have cast off its chains forever; but asbrother and sister in spiritual love, and helpers of one anotherin your allotted task. Teach unto others the faith which ye havereceived. Open wide your gates,--I deliver you the keysthereof,--open them wide to all who will give up the iniquitiesof the world, and come hither to lead lives of purity and peace.Receive the weary ones, who have known the vanity ofearth,--receive the little children, that they may never learnthat miserable lesson. And a blessing be upon your labors; sothat the time may hasten on, when the mission of Mother Ann shallhave wrought its full effect,--when children shall no more beborn and die, and the last survivor of mortal race, some old andweary man like me, shall see the sun go down, nevermore to riseon a world of sin and sorrow!"
The aged Father sank back exhausted, and the surrounding eldersdeemed, with good reason, that the hour was come when the newheads of the village must enter on their patriarchal duties. Intheir attention to Father Ephraim, their eyes were turned fromMartha Pierson, who grew paler and paler, unnoticed even by AdamColburn. He, indeed, had withdrawn his hand from hers, and foldedhis arms with a sense of satisfied ambition. But paler and palergrew Martha by his side, till, like a corpse in its burialclothes, she sank down at the feet of her early lover; for, aftermany trials firmly borne, her heart could endure the weight ofits desolate agony no longer.
zpostcode
Recruit
weather
mreligion
Yellowpages
sport
constellation
shopping
name
game
directory
literature
Word
tour
furnish
Lottery
tftnews
lyrics
News
digital
car
dir
Edu
Finance
