are to be trained. Hence, they are reviewed much oftener and more carefully. Owing to this, they are not so wild. "This life would not be without its perils were not the vaquero so tough. He is riding at full gallop, and his horse puts his foot into a deep hole covered with grass. He comes to the ground as from a rail-car. He picks up his guasca, and, if his cow has not got clear, off he starts again in the chase. His girth breaks when he has a bull tied to the pommel of his saddle. He manages to escape unharmed. I have known but one serious accident, the dislocation of a shoulder-joint. "Both horse and rider enjoy the sport highly. It is severe sport for the horse, who will injure himself before showing any sign of flagging. "A curious scene closes the rodeo. A vaquero catches a wild colt which he is to break. He manages, amid his struggles, to exchange the guasca for a halter, and binds the infuriate youngster securely to the tail of his horse, who goes homeward from the corral with the meek resignation of a deacon who has a dissipated son. "I have not seen the process of breaking. The young reprobate, unlike his biped prototype, grows more and more tractable, and at length leads submissively. He is then led in the same way when mounted, and feeling that his head is not his own, he does not try to defend his right to his back. The horse with which the colt is placed in such intimate relations is called his godfather padrino. Beating and brutality are no part of the system." In such labors, more than half sport to the active vaquero, his life is passed; that is to say, his business life. If he were an Englishman or Yankee, he would have no other life. Being a Spaniard, he needs relaxation, and takes it in the shape of balls, fandangoes, festivals, and processions; at all which, Mr. Holton informs us, the priest of the parish takes a foremost part, claiming the prettiest Donna for the dance, and, where he is not too lazy, carrying off the prize in many of the sports of the festive day. The climate is mild, the necessities of the man are few, and his ignorance great; his indolence in direct proportion to his ignorance, and consequently his place in the scale of civilization low. It is a glorious country, Mr. Holton remarks—but, alas! the plantain grows every-where, and supplies half the needs of the half-civilized portion of the community. The plantain seems likely, indeed, to be found, from its easiness of culture and large and sure yield, one of the chief obstacles to the advancement of agricultural and mechanical pursuits, in the intertropical regions of America. Altogether we should judge that grazier life, even in New Granada, is not either the pleasantest or most improving mode of living; and that the vaquero is very little better than the Indian whom he has driven out. LITERARY WOMEN OF AMERICA. BY ALICE CARY. EMILY C. JUDSON. AMILY CHUBBUCK, afterward the wife of of New York, on the 22d of August, 1817. Her parentage and connections were of highly respectable character-poor in this world's goods, as is indicated by the early exertions of Emily to maintain herself. This course on her part, however, may have been, in some sort, at least, the suggestion of ambition, and the strong desire to make her own way in life, the maturer manifestations of which made her name, subsequently, familiar and beloved in so many of the households of her country. The religious character, which led her afterward to sacrifice all earthly hopes for Christ's sake, became first quickened and developed in 1825, when she was yet a child-an experience illustrative of the poet's theory, that "Heaven lies about us in our infancy." In the April of 1828, when she was about eleven years old, her father removed with his family from Eaton to Pratt's Hollow-a small village where there was a woolen factory, in which she was employed during the residence of her family in the place. It is to be hoped that her labors there were not so arduous as to make the subjoined lines, which we can not help being reminded of, characteristic of what she felt and thought: "Turns the sky in the high window, blank and reeling Turns the long light that droppeth down the wall- O ye wheels-breaking out in a mad moaning— Ah, be silent! let us hear each other breathing Let us touch each other's hands in a fresh wreathing Let us feel that this cold, metallic motion Is not all the life God fashions or reveals. As if fate in each were stark; And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward, Spin on blindly in the dark !" From Pratt's Hollow her father removed to a farm in the neighhorhood of Morrisville, in the autumn of 1829, and for a couple of years, so far as we are able to learn, the time of our heroine was taken up with domestic and rural occupations. An academy was at length opened in the house in which the family resided, and one of its earliest pupils was Emily Chubbuck. She had previously, it appears, been instructed in the more rudimental branches of education by an elder sister, and she now availed herself of the larger opportunities afforded her with an application and diligence which proved her sincere appreciation of them. Nor was she idle out of school. Before the hours of study began, and after they were over, she worked for a dress-maker of the village in order to earn the money which her tuition required. At this period she seldom slept till after midnight, and so much was her mind absorbed with her occupations that her dreams were mingled, not with the stars, as Wordsworth has it, but with thread and needlos, French declensions, and mathematical problems. But, however it may have been with her child-certificate of abilities and recommendation of hood, she will not, thank Heaven! spin on blindly character were placed in her hands by the prinin the dark through all her life, but come out of cipal, and, having concealed these precious diploall the shadows into the full sunshine of perfect mas, she sought and obtained permission to visit love, and the enjoyment of that great peace which a friend in a neighboring town; her object being only the really pious can estimate. to present herself, with her credentials, to the School Committee, who were in want of a teacher, as an applicant. She was very young, scarcely more than fifteen, and her person so fragile and manner so diffident, as to leave small hope of success with an austere and exacting School Committee. There were, however, not only courage and confidence, but much actual ability and worth accompanying the shyness and youth, and showing through them, and above them; and notwithstanding some doubts on the part of the committee as to her accomplishments, and a little distrust as to whether she would be able to govern pupils, some of whom were older and larger than herself, she was finally accepted, and returned home to tell the good news, and make preparations for her installment, with as much exultation, perhaps, as though she had taken a city. And it was no small triumph, indeed, considering the disadvantages under which she presented herself, and the deeply-cherished projects of ambition it was calculated to further. If it is true that coming events cast their shadows before, it is true also that realities are preceded by dreams, brighter sometimes than the experiences they herald; and such, doubtless, went before her like a beautiful light at this period of her life. With such stimulus she could hardly fail of success, nor did she. She seems, indeed, to have been eminently qualified for the situation which necessity thus threw in her way, and for eight or ten years subsequently to this engagement, continued to teach in various schools and academies. Meanwhile she herself, in the discharge of her duties was receiving an excellent discipline, besides which she took private lessons in Greek, mathematics, and all the higher departments in which she could find masters. Her constitution was not naturally very robust, and sleepless nights and laborious days began, before long, to make visible inroads upon it. The fears of her mother were aroused, a physician consulted, who advised the abandonment of books and study altogether. About this time one of the village milliners happening to need an apprentice, offered her the situation, and the suggestion of the desirableness of her acceptance of the offer, was made to her. Her own health made requisite some active employment, and underlying this were family exigencies demanding the immediate transformation of her time to profitable account; but the adoption of the suggested proposal would render impracticable schemes for her future which had secretly taken shape in her mind. These darling hopes she resolved not to give up without having first devoted all her energies to their support. Her plan was soon formed, as secretly as the hopes it was designed to cherish. She resolved to propose herself as a schoolmistress, and having disclosed her intention confidentially to the principal of the academy in which she had been a pupil, she received such substantial aid and comfort as proved the stepping-stone of success. Her plan was approved, and the most cordial assistance toward its fulfillment proffered. A "Through these laborious and painful years," says her biographer, "in which she was continually an invalid, besides defraying her own expenses, she contributed much for the support of her family, who were subject to frequent misfortunes, and seemed to be without any of the tact necessary to success in the world." In the June of 1829 she sustained an irreparable loss in the death of her elder sister, Lavinia, and from this period may be dated her deep and growing interest in missionary operations. One affliction often seems to make room for another, and in 1831 the December snow was broken to make a grave for her sister Harriet. The removal of these earthly hopes did not, however, darken her spiritual understanding-whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, she knew right well, and only clung the faster to the hand that led her through dark places. As soon as might be she reopened school, but with health so enfeebled as to be scarcely fit for its duties. She went through them, however, for a few months, but in October her health was so broken and declining as to oblige her to close school altogether. After a few months' respite, her wasted energy recovering itself, and her health somewhat reviving, she was induced, by a very liberal offer, to take charge of a school in Pratt's Hollow, but gradually and steadily-de In the July of 1834 she was baptized by the Rev. William Deem, and united with the Church at Morrisville. In the September following she returned home, and took her place in the narrowed circle. With cheerful resignation and firm adherence to duty she engaged in teaching a se-clining health obliged her to discontinue its duties lect school, giving the hours not thus employed to household cares, and all the time resigning her soul to peace. The discipline of sorrow through which she was now carried was more and more teaching her to lay up her treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not corrupt, and where thieves do not break through and steal. in a few months and return home, which she did in a most debilitated condition that continued with little improvement throughout the following summer. The cooler airs of October once more invigorated her system, and revived the old hope and courage which had borne her through so many discouragements and trials; and desirous The experiment of the select school appears of fitting herself for still wider usefulness in the not to have succeeded, and in the December fol- world, she turned a new leaf in the book of life, lowing its opening it was abandoned, and she be- laid aside her vocation of teacher, and entered came a private teacher in the family of Mr. Wil- as a pupil the Utica Female Seminary. There liam Moore, of Nelson. From this situation she her talents and virtues soon won for her the lovwas compelled to retire by declining health, ining and admiring respect of all who came within the succeeding February, and, her health not im- the circle of her influence. So entirely did she proving, she remained in comparative idleness through the following summer. The spring of the next year was saddened to her by the emigration to Wisconsin of her brother Walker. This event was followed by her own removal to Brookfield, where she engaged in teaching, and was eminently useful and successful, having at one time under her charge about one hundred pupils. The same year another inroad was made upon the domestic circle by the marriage of her brother Benjamin. In the October following, by what circumstances influenced does not appear, she opened a school in Syracuse, and about this time her father's family removed to Hamilton, where they were overtaken by a series of misfortunes involving heavy lossos, of a pecuniary sort. In the April of 1838 she returned to Morrisville, and thence proceeded to Hamilton to teach, at the same time taking lessons in Greek under the instructions of Mr. Prentiss. The October succeeding she commenced teaching in the Morrisville academy, devoting the mornings and evenings to the study of mathematics, under the direction of the Rev. William Reed. In the spring of 1839 she was called on to encounter new and greater family troubles than ever, among them the illness of her mother, who, after dangerous prostration with brain fever, was attacked with inflammation of the lungs, which induced Emily to suspend school, and return home for a season. gain the esteem and confidence of Miss Sheldon, the excellent and judicious head of the Seminary, that she offered her, very soon, the superintendence of the department of compositions, with a salary of one hundred and fifty dollars a year, besides her board. For the first time in her life she now found herself sufficiently at leisure to devote some portion of the time to literary pursuits, for which she had long had a predilection, and in which she was destined to such distinguished honor and consideration. In the July of 1841 she published her first book in the city of New York. It was entitled, Charles Linn; or, How to Observe the Golden Rule. The first edition was disposed of in eleven weeks, at the end of which she received fifty-one dollars of copy-money. This work was followed by The Great Secret, Effie Maurice, John Frick, Allen Lucas, and, I believe, one or two other books for youth. Her filial piety and generous disposition are shown in the disposal she made of the money thus acquired. She purchased a house and garden for her parents in the town of Hamilton, giving a mortgage for that portion of the payment which must be deferred, and experiencing, doubtless, a happiness more profound than she could have derived from any selfish appropriation of her earnings. She did good because her nature was pure, and she loved goodness for its own sake. Love and all charitableness were as naturally the growth of her being as flowers are of the rose-tree, or grapes of the vine. No narrow egotism and no dark suspicion could ever have found room in her liberal and sunshiny soul. She was one of that excellent sisterhood of women who seem to come into the world endowed with every Christian virtue and grace, having nothing to prune away-nothing to ingraft; but simply to grow and expand, and by the light of their own beauty impart something of beauty to whatsoever comes in contact with them. Would there were more of such as she! The world has need of them. But it is some comfort to know that such a one has lived and died, or rather passed from death into life, leaving the works she has done to praise her, and not only so, but to stand, blessed landmarks along the wastes of time, guiding, who shall say how many that are to come after her, into the straight and narrow way. How happy she must have been when she sat down at her mother's knee beneath the roof which her books had spread out, and beside the fire which her genius had kindled! She had never seen her parents before in so comfortable a home, and nothing could have bought for her the enjoyment which her gift to them reflected back upon her. But, alas! the rainbow shines only in the cloud, and "There is no flock, however watched and tended, But has one vacant chair;" and the happiness with which she sat down at the fireside was subdued by a great sorrow. Some of those for whose sake she had still been strong to work and contented to wait, had turned aside from her, creating new homes and interests, and forgetting almost in their new occupations and new loves, to rejoice with her in the fruition of her long and carefully cherished dreams. Others had "met that shadow feared by men," and gone down to that silence out of which no comforting voice ever comes back. O, we have all of us need of the deep faith and holy trust that were hers, to be able to meet, and not utterly faint and fail before them, the many enemies of our peace that, at every turning of our life, rise up before us and proclaim its nothingness and hollowness, its vanity and vexation. Having thus made comfortable provision for her parents, she resolved to give her younger sister an education; but in this hope she was disappointed. She entered the Seminary of which Emily was one of the teachers, but within a few months of the date of admission was forced to return home on account of the illness of her mother. Under all her accumulated afflictions and discouragements, Emily persevered, and the year which followed that of the purchase of the house, she was able to make some valuable additions and improvements, and also to purchase a small piece of land adjoining the garden. In 1843 her literary labors were for a short period suspended in consequence of the severe illness of the Principal of the Utica Female Seminary, which threw upon her hands new and unexpected duties; but in the performance of these she acquitted herself nobly, as she always did. On the resumption of her literary labors she contributed her first article to the Columbian, a magazine published in New York, and for which she was soon afterward engaged to write on very encouraging terms. In the spring of 1844 she visited New York in company with some friends, and spent several weeks there-a visit pregnant with incident destined to quicken actualities thereafter. Perhaps as an experiment-perhaps to while away an idle hour, she threw off some sparkling trifle during that visit to the city of New York, which she sent, without much concern as to its fate, to the New York Mirror, then recently established by General Morris and Mr. N. P. Willis. Nothing, however, so full of promise and beauty was likely to escape the instinctivelykeen perceptions of Mr. Willis, whose warm appreciation and generous approval have often kept encouraging time to the dipping of the oars of so many young authors in the great, perilous sea of literature. This perception and praise of her cleverness struck upon a higher cord of ambition in her nature than had been previously touched, and she was induced to enter upon ground of literary exertion hitherto unbroken by her. What she had written previously had been chiefly unambitious and homely-designed for the younger and less cultivated class of readers. She now essayed her powers in a richer and deeper soil, and sought to embody her thought in a more elegant and elaborate class of productions. Her first paper, under the pretty and prepos sessing signature of "Fanny Forester," was published in the New York Mirror on the 29th of June, 1844, and was rapidly followed by that popular and attractive series of sketches, essays, and poems which, two years afterward, when she was on the eve of sailing for India, were reprinted under the title of Alderbrook. From the time of her introduction to the public as Fanny Forester, in 1844, to that of her marriage with Dr. Judson in 1846, there was, perhaps, no female writer among us so generally read and so cordially admired. Even her own sisterhood of authors, who are apt to sit uneasily under the praises bestowed not upon themselves, rose quite above envies and jealousies, and praised with a cordial heartiness, worthy alike of themselves and of her. [CONCLUSION IN OUR NEXT.] QUARTERLY MEETING ON THE HEAD OF HOLLY. BUT BY REV. JAMES L. CLARK. UT few of your readers have ever been to quarterly meeting at the head of Holly. And where is that? Why, somewhere near where the jumping-off place would have been, if the good Lord had not united both ends of the world together. And now, if they will follow me, I will initiate them into some of its mysteries. On Wednesday morning, at six o'clock, we will be in the saddle, and set our faces up E-k river. Sometimes skirting the edge of this beautiful stream, sometimes crossing the spurs of the hills that border on the river, and at other times leaving the river, we take up some of the larger creeks, trace them out to their head, cross the dividing ridge, take a stream running in the opposite direction, and thus save the distance that would be required to follow the river round its bend. After riding twenty-five miles, we pull up at brother R.'s, and find a Christian family, and a hearty welcome. After feeding our horses and refreshing ourselves, we remount and push on till near dark, and put up for the night at brother G.'s. After supper and prayers, we retire to rest, and sleep soundly. Just before day we are awakened by a rumbling sound like distant thunder. What is that? Why, it is brother G., grinding wheat on a handmill to make bread for breakfast. You will find it any thing else but superfine white family flour. But such as it is, it comes free. A handmill is composed of two hard stones, about as large as a common grindstone. The surface of the stones that come together are grooved like the ordinary millstones. The lower one is bedded in a block of wood; the upper one is put on it, and kept to its place by a hoop. In the upper stone, there is a hole drilled in the center, in which there is a pole fixed, having its upper end passed through a large auger-hole, and inclining about ten or twelve inches from a perpendicular. To grind, they take hold of the pole with one hand, and pull, and push alternately, in order to give the stone the rotary motion, and at the same time, with the other hand, drop a few grains at a time through the hole in the upper stone, repeating it as often as necessary, to keep the mill grinding. Now, let us get under way again. At the middle of the day we stop at Mr. M.'s to feed, and get dinner, and all he will charge us for it will be to call again. About five miles from Mr. M.'s we leave the direct road, and take a circuitous route in order to preach on Laurel, and baptize some children; for their preacher is not ordained. The traveling now is not so good; and the clouds begin to weep occasionally, with a disposition to increase their tears toward night. Just as night sets in we arrive at brother F.'s, on Birch, and find brother R., the circuit preacher, waiting our arrival. At brother F.'s we find a kind and an intelligent family to give us a hearty welcome. Supper is just ready, and we repair to a table well filled with provision, and served up with skill and good taste. After refreshing the outer man, we go out and look around. We gaze at the high mountains which surround their habitation on nearly every side; and the inquiry starts up in the mind, Where did they come from? How did so much intelligence and refinement get here? Why, they were raised here. Sister F. is an intelligent and pious lady, and, in conjunction with brother F., labored to train up her family in the right way; and her children now rise up and call her blessed. Another reason for this refinement is, that they take the Repository; and the difference between this and other families is very striking. In this family circle we find another exemplification of the truth of those beautiful lines: "Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; And waste its sweetness on the desert air." Well, thank God for green spots in the desert! By four o'clock in the morning we are again in the saddle, and the rain coming down in oldfashion style once more. At six o'clock we halt at brother B.'s for breakfast, and at seven are again under way, with the rain coming down in torrents. At half-past ten we are at brother G.'s, and preach to a small congregation on the love of God to a ruined race, and baptize some children. Thank God, the promise is to us and our children. Here we learned that the pilot promised to conduct us through the wilderness, and over the mountains, till we strike the direct track again, could not be had. In consequence of the dangerous illness of a neighbor he was sent in the night for a physician, and had not yet returned. And so it goes: |