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VOL. VIII.
.
nit • P.tOPLE'S saußisre.t.
• ,
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Publisher.
THE NEW HAMPSHIRE
GIPSY.
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER
Hark! a rap at my door. Welcome
any body, j ust now. One gains noth
ing by attempting to shut out the
sprites of the weather. They come
in at the key-hole; they peer through
the dripping panes; they insinuate
themselves through the crevices of the
casement or plump dawn chimney as
tride of the rain-drops.
I-rise and throw open the door. A
tall, shambling, loose-jointed figure;
a pinched, shrewd face, sun-browned
and wind-dried; small, quick-winking,
black eyes. There he stands, the wa
ter dripping from his pulpy hat and
ragged elbows.
I speak to him, but he returns no
answer. With a dumb show' of mis
ery, quite touching, he hands me a
soiled piece of parchment, whereon I
read what purports to be a melan
choly account of shipwreck and disaster
to the particular detriment, loss and
damnification of one Pietro Frugoni,
who is, in coniequence - , sorely in want
of the alms of all charitable Christian
persons, and who is, in short, the bear
er of this veracious document, duly
certified and endorsed by an Italian
consul in one of our Atlantic cities, of
! a high sounding, but, to Yankee or
gans, unpronounceable name.
Hero commences a struggle. Every
man, the Mahometans tell us, has two
attendant angels. the good one on his I
right shoulder, the bad on his left.—
"Give," says Benevolence, as with
some difficulty I fish up a small coin
from the depths of my pocket. "Not
a cent," says selfish . Prudence, and 1
drop it from my fingers. "Think,"
says the good angel, "of the poor
stranger in a strange land, just es
caped from the terrors of the sea-storm
in which his little property hits -per
ished, thrown half naked and helpless
on our shores, ignorant of our langu
age, and unable to find employment
suited to his capacity." "A vile im
poster!" replies the left hand sentinel.
"His paper. purchased from one of
those ready writers in New York, who
manufactute beggar credentials at the
low price of one dollar per copy, with
earthquakes, fires or shipwrecks, to
suit customers."
Amicht this confusion of tongues, I
take another survey of my visitant.—
Ha! a light dawns upon me. That '
shrewd; old faco with its shall), wink
ing eyes, is no stranger to rne. Pietro
Frugoni, I have seen thee before!. Si,
Senor, that face of thine has looked at
me over a dirty white neckcloth, with
the corners of that cunning mouth
drawn downwards, and those small
eyes tut ned up in sanctimonious grav
ity, while thou toast offuling to a
crowd of hail- 6 -- rows boys an extem
porabeous. exhortation, in tl,u capaci
ty of a traveling preacher. , Have I
nut seen it peering out' from under a
blanket, as that of a pour Penobscot
Indian, who bad lost the use of his
hands while trapping on the Mada
waska I Is it not the face of the forlorn
fatheref six small children, whom the .
"marcury docwts" bad "pisened" and
crippled,' Did it not hotting to that.
down-east unfortunate. who had been
out to the "Genesee country'," and got
the "fever-nager," and whose hand
shook so pitifully when held kit io
DEVOTED TO THE PRiNCIPLES OF DEMOCRACY; AND THE . DISSEMINATION. OF MORALITY, LITERATUEE; AND , NEWS.,
receive my poor gift 1 • The same; 'Un: ,
der all disguises—Stephen Leathers of
Barrington—him and none other! Let
me conjure , him into.his own likeness.
"Well, Stephen wins news from old
Barrhigtont"
"0, well, I thought I knew ye," he
answers, not the least disconcerted.
" How do you do, and how's your
folks? All well, I hope. I took this
'ere paper, you see, to help a poor
furriner, who couldn't make' himself
understood anymore than a wild goose.
I thought I'd just start him for'ard a,
little. It seemed a mercy to do it."
Well and shiftily answered, thou
tagged Pruteus. One cannot be angry
with such a fellow. I will just in
quire into the present state of his
gospel mission, and about the con
dition of his tribe on the Penobscot;
and it may not be amiss to congratu
late him on the success of the steam
doctors in sweating the "pizen"_of the
regular faculty out of him. But he
evidently nas nu wish "to enter into idle
conversation. Intent upon his benev
olent errand, he is already clattering
down stairs. Involuntarily I glance
out of the window, just in season .to
catch a single glimpse of him ere he is
swallowed up in the mist.
He has gone ; and knave as he is, I
can hardly help exclaiming. "Luck go
with him!" He has broken in upon
the sombre train of my thoughts,. and
called up before me pleasant and grate-
ful recullecliuns. The old farm house
nestling in its valley; hills stretching
off to the south, and green meadows
to the east; the small stream, which
came noisily down its ravine, washing
the old garden wall, and softly lap
ping on fallen stones and mussy routs
of beeches and hemlocks; the tall men-
tine' poplars a: the gateway; the oak
forest, sweeping unbroken to the
northern honion ; the grass-grown
carriage path, with its rude and crazy .
bridge; the dear old landscape of my
boyhood lies outstretched before me
like a daguerreotype from that picture
within, which I have borne with me
in all my wanderings. Lam a boy
again; once more conscious of the
feeling, half terror, half exultation,
with which [ used to. announce the
approach of this very vagabond, and
his " kindred after the flesh."
The advent of wandering beggars,
or "old straggles," as we were wont
to call them, was au event of no or di
nary interest in the generally mono
tonous quietude of our farm-life. Many
of them were well known; they had
their periodical revolutions and tran
sits; we could calculate them like
eclipses or new moons. Some were
sturdy knaves, fat aud saucy; and, when
. ever they ascertained that the "men
folks" were absent, would order pro
visions and cider like men who ex
pected to pay for it, seating themselves
at the hearth or table with the air of
Falstati—"Shall I not take mine ease
in my own inn!" Others poor, pale,
patient, like Sterile's monk, came
I creeping up to the door, hat in hand,
standing there in their gray wretched
ness with a look of heart-break and
furlurnuess, which was never without
its effect on our juvenile sensibilities.
At times. however, we experienced a ,
plight revulsion of feeling, wean even
these humblest children of sorrow
soniewhat petulantly rejected out prof
fered bread and cheese, and demand
ed instead a. glass of cider. What
ever the temperance society might in
such cases have duce, it was nut in
our beans to refuse the poor creatures
a draught of their favorite beverage;
and wasu't it a satislaction to see their
tad, inelaucb.uly faces light up as we
handed them tne full pitcher, and, on
receiving it back . empty from their
blown wrinkled hands, to hear them
half breathless from their long, deli
cious_ draught, thanking us fur the fevur
as "- dear good children!" Not entre
' quently these wandering tests of our
benevolence made their appearance
iu interesting groups of man,' Woman
and child, picturesque in their squalid
ness & manifesting a maudlin affection,
which would have dona honor to the
revellers at POesie-Nansiis,--:im . mOtP-
COUDERSPORt. POTTER - COUNTY, PA., APRIL . 24, 1856.
mil in the; cantata of Burns. I re-
member some who were - evidently the
vietitns of monomania, haunted and
, .
hunted - by some dark thOught,
possessed by a fixed idea. One, a
black-eyed, wild-haired woman with
a whole tragedy , of sin, shame, and
suffering written in her countenance,
used often to visit us, warm herself by
our winter fire, and supply herself
with a stock of cakes' and cold meat,
but was never known to answer a
question or to ask one. Sho never
smiled; the cold, stony look of her eye
never changed; a silent, impassive face
frozen rigid by some great wrong or
sin. We used to look with awe upon
the "still woman," and think of the
demoniac o f Scripture, who had -a
"dumb spirit."
One—(l think I see him now, grim,
gaunt, and ghostly, working his slow
- way up to our door)—used to gather
herbs by the wayside, and call him-
self Doctor. He was bearded Elm a
he-goat, and he used to counterfeit
lameness; yet when he supposed him-
self alone would travel on lustily as
walking for a wager. At length, as if
in punishment of his deceit, he met
with an accident in his rambles, and
became lame in earnest, hobbling
ever after with difficulty on his gnarl-
ed crutches.
Another used to go stooping, like
Bunyan's pilgrim, under a pack made
of an old bed-sacking, stuffed out into
most plethoric , dimensions, tottering
on a pair of small meagre legs, and
peeling out with his wild, hairy face.
from under his burden like a big
bodied spider. That " Man with the
pack" always inspired me with awe
and reverence. Huge, almost sublime
in its tense rotundity—the father of all
packs—never laid aside and never
opened. what might. not be within it ?
With what flesh-creeping curiosity I
used to walk round about it at a safe
distance, half expecting to see its snip
ed covering stirred by the motion of a
mysterious life, or that some evil mon
ster would leap out ofit, like robbers
from Ali Baba's jars, or armed. men
from the Trojan horse. •
Often, in the gray of the morning,
we used to see one or more of these
" gaberlunzie men," pack on shoulder
and staff in hand, emerging from the
barn or other outbuilding, where they
had passed the night. • I was once
sent to the barn to fodder the cattle
late in the evening, and climbing into
the mow to pitch down hay fur that
pUrpose, I was startled by the sudden
apparition of a man rising up before
me, just discernible in the dim moon
light streaming through the seams of
the boards. I made a•rapid retreat
down the ladder; and was only reas
sured by hearing the object of nay ter
ror calling after me, and recognizing
his voice as that of a harmless old pil
grim whom I had heard before. Our
farm-house, was situated in a lonely
valley, half surrounded with woods,
with no neighbors insight. One dark
cloudy night, when our parents chanc
ed to be absent, we were sitting with
our grandmother in the fading light of
the kitchen fire, working ourselves in
to a very satisfactory state of excite
ment and terror, by recouutiug to each
other all the dismal stories we could
remember of ghosts, witches, haunted
houses and robbers, when we were
suddenly startled by a loud rap at the
door. A stripling of fourteen, 1 was
very naturally regarded as the head of
the household;. and with many mis
givings I advanced to the door, which
I. slowly opened, holding the candle
tremulously above my. head, and peer
ing out iuto the darkness. Thefeeble
glimmer played upoti the apparition - of
a gigautic - horseman, mounted on a
steed of a size worthy of such a - rider
—colossal, like images cut out of the
solid night. . The strange Visitant gruff
ly saluted see ; arid, after rnakitig
several ineffectual attempts to urge his
horse in at the door, dismounted,' and
followed me into the room, evidently
enjo - yin); the - terror which his hnge
"presencis cliched. Announcing hilt
s& Dr. Draft, the greatindian
'doctor," he drow himself - up before
the fire, stretched 'his arms, clenched
his fists, struck his broad chest, and
invited our attention to whit he called'
his "mortal frame." 'He demanded.
in "succession all kinds •of intoxicating
liquors ; and, on ." being auuredthat
We had nothing to give him, he grew
angry, threatened to swallow my
younger brother alive, and seizing me'
by the hair of my head, as the angel
did the prophet at Babylon, he led me
about from room to room. After an
ineffectual search, in the course of
which - he mistook a jug of oil for one
of brandy, and, contrary to my expla
nations and remonstrances, insisted
upon swallowing a portion of its con
tents, he released me, fell to crying
and sobbing, and confessed that he was
so dtnnk already that his horse was
ashamed of him. After bemoaning and
pitying himself to his satisfaction, he
wiped his eyes, and sat down by the
side of my grandmother, giving her . to
understand' that he was very much
pleased with her appeatance ; adding,
t hat, if agreeable to her, he should like
th e visite ge of paying his addresses to her. While vainly endeavoring to
make ti e excellent old lady compre
hend his very flattering proposition,
he was interrupted by the return of
my father, who, at once understanding
the matter, turned him out of doors
withcut ceremony.
On one occession, a few years ago,
on my return from the field at even
ing, I was told that a foreigner had .
asked for lodgings during the night ;
but that, influenced by his dark repul
sive appearance, my mother had very.
reluctantly refused his request. • I
found her by no means satisfied with
her decision. "What if a sorrof mine
was in a strange laud 2" she inquired,
self-reproachfully. Greatly to her re
lief, I volunteered to go iu pursuit of
the wanderer, and taking a cross path
over the fields soon overtook him. He
had just been rejected at the house of
our" nearestneighbor, and was stand
ing in a state of dubious perplexity in
the street. His looks quite justified
my mother's suspicions. He was an
olive-complexioned, black-- bearded
Italian, witn an eye like a live coal—.
such a face as perchance looks out on
the traveller in the passes of the Ab
luzzo—one of thoie
_bandit visages
white Salvator has painted. With
some difficulty i. I
gave him to under
stand my errand, when he•overwhelm
ed me with thanks, and joyfully fol
lowed me back. He took his seat
with us at the supperiable ; and wheh
vie were all seated round themlearth,
that cold autumnal evening, he told us,
partly by words and partly by ges
tures,. the story of his life and misfor-,
tunes, amused us with descriptions of
grape gatherings and festivals of his
sunny clime, edified my mother with
a recipe fur making bread of chest
nuts; and in the morning, when, after_
breakfast, his dark, sullen face lighted
up, and fierce eye moistened with
grateful emotion, as in his own silvery .
Tuscan 'accent he po tired out his thanks - ,
we marveled at the fears which had
so nearly closed our door against him ;
and, as he departed, we all felt that
he had left with us the blessing of the
poor.
It was not often that; as in the above
instance, my mother's prudence got
the better of her charity. The regu
lar •' tad stragglers" regarded heras
en unfailing friend ; and the sight of
her plain cap was to them an assurance
of forthcoming creature comforts.-.--
There was indeed a tribe of lazy
strollers, having their place of rendez
vous is the town of Barrington, N. H.,
whose low vices had placed them even
beyond the pale of her benevolence.,
They were not unconscious of their
evil reputation, and experience had ,
taught them, the necessity of conceal
iug, under Well contrived disguises,
their true 'character. -They came to
us in alt shapes, and with all appear--
tames mire the' true one, with most
miserable stories Of - mishap and . sick
ness, andall the ills which ilestila
heir. to." It was ptutieularly rota
.tous to disabirei, whoa tcia late, that
our sympathies and charities had been I
expended upon such graceless vaga
bonds as the " Barrington beggars."
An old withered hag, known by the
appellation of "Hipping Pat,"—the
wise woman of her tribe—was in the
habit of visiting us,. with . her bopeful
grandson, who had.a "gift for preach-
ing," as well as many other things not
exactly compatible' with holy orders.
He sometimes brought with him a tame
crow, a shrewd, knavish looking bird,
who, when in the humor. for it, could
talk like Burnaby Rudge's raven. He
used to say he could " do nothin' at
exhortin' without a wtite hankercher
on his neck and money in his pocket ;"
a fact going far to confirm the opinions
of the Bishop of Exeter and the Pusey-
ites generally, that there can be no
priest without tithes and surplice.
These people have for several gene-.
rations lived distinct from the great
mass of the community, like the gyp
sies ofEurope, whom in many respects
they closely resemble. They lasp.
ti 4 Same settled aversion to labor add
the same disposition to avail theinrlves
of the fruits of the industry of others.
They love a wild, out-of-door life, sing
sows, tell fortunes, and - have - an in;
stinctive hatred 'of " 'missionaries' and
cold water." •
"The proper study of mankind is
man ;" and, according to my view, no
phase of our common humanity is al
together unworthy of investigation.
Acting upon this belief two or three
summers ago when making, in com
pany with my sister, a little excursion
into the hill country of New Hamp
shire, I turned my horse's head to-
wards Barrington, 'for the purpose of
seeing these semi-civilized strollers in
their own home, and returning, once
fur all, their numerous visits. Taking
leave of Our hospitable cousins in Old .
Lee, with about as much selemnity as
we may suppose Major Laing parted
with his friends, when he set out in
search of the desert-girdled Timbuc
too, we drove several miles over a
rough road, passed the Devil's Den"
unmolested, crossed a fearful little
streamlet, noisily making its way into
a valley, where it turned a lonely,
half-ruinouemill, and elinibing a steep
hill beyond, saw before us 'a wide,
sandy level, skirted orf - ilie west and
north by low, scraggy hills, and dot
ted here and there with dwarf pitch
pines. ' In .the center of this desolate
region - were some twenty or thirty
small dwellings grouped together as
irregularly as a Hottentot kr ael. Un
fenced, and unguarded, open to 'all,
comers and goers, stood that city - of the
beggars—no wail or paling between .
the ragged cabins to remind one of
the jealous distinctions of property.
The great idea of its founders seemed
visible in its unappropriated freedom.
Was not the whole world their own,
and - should they haggle about boun
darieii and title-deeds I For them, nn'
distautplains, ripeued golden harvests;
for them, iu far-off work-shops, busy
hands were toiling; - for them if they
had but the grace to note it, the broad
earth put on her garniture of beauty.
and over them hung the silent mystery.
of heaven and its stars. That comfort
able p - titlesophy which modern Trail , .
ceudentalisne has but feebly shadowed
forth—that poetic Agrarianism, which
gives all to each, and each to all ie
the real life otthie - city - of Unwork.
To each of its dingy - thvellers might
_ • _ _
not be ivaptly applied the lauuguage
of one, who,'-1 trust, will paratm.me
for quoting her 'beautiful poem in this
contiectioar—
"Other hands may map the field or forest,
Proud froprigtors in pomp - May ailing ;
Tnoa art ivitinhiar—:ill ate '; ! vu rid is thine
But, look 1 the clouds are breaking.
Fair weather comethput of the north."
The winds had blown away the mist;
on the gilded:spire of John 'street
glimmers - a beam 'of 'sunshine. Aud
there in' the - sky igaiii,,.r b lue, an d
had,
.
cold in its eternal. purit,y, not .a whit
the worse for the storm.. In the beau
tiful' Present, the Past is no longer
needed. Reverently' and gratefully
let its volume, be laid snide; and when
7 -1 1f;
ri
again the shadows of the outward.:
world fall upon the' spirit, may I ace'
lack a good angel to remind ate of it.t
solace—even if he comes in the okapi
of a Barrington beggar.
IHOILAf luvufo .
While this distinguished stately's!' ,
and patriot was Vice President of
United States, it was customary for-the
individual holding the said high offico
to attend to business more in persou )
than the refinements of more moderiu
times will allow. It happened on ono
occasion that some important snigger
required his attention in Philadelphia.
and some other places distant from -
the. capital. In these days a journey
to Philadelphia was not to be per
formedin a few hours—it was two or
three - days travel, andnot of the matt
pleasant sort either. - On his return
stepped in Baltimore. It was four or
five irithe afternoon when the Vic.s
President reds up, suideu and unat
tended, to the tavern. A scotclunia
by the name of Boyden kept the
tel, oflate so much improved and now .
so ' handsomely. sustained by our
worthy townsinau Belizhociver. Trio
bucks of the town were assembled i s
the large hall, smoking, stutteriud. , _
cracking jokes, and other wisierigag,...t
in the - et 'cetera" of the day. Boyue'd •
was at the bar examining the bow..,
and doubtleas making calculations re-.
specting his future prospects. ..jeftsi-' ,
son had delivered his horse into twe'
hands of the ostler, and . walked in: o
the tavern in order to make arms...
ments in regard to his fare. Soto.,
one touched,Boyden upon the elbo •.
`sod directed his attention to the atr..i.• •
ger, whoutood with his s whip in b 4
hand,. striking it occasionally upon
muddy leggin!, Boydentnrued arouws
and surveyed him front head to
and concluding him to be au old fai
er from the country, whose comps. ;
would add no credit to his house. tie
said abruptly:
" We have. no room for you sir."
Jefferson did net hear the remari..
'and asked if he could be accommeda.
'ted with - a room. His voice win,..
•was commanding and attractive, ocea-,
sioned another survey of his parts..
by the honest proprietor of the house.
whose only care MIA for its reput.:
'doll. lie could
- not fula4 however.
`his plain dress pretty well covets,...
with mud, anything indicating chile;
. •
wealth or. distinction and in his asu,t
rough style he said:
"A roerul"
Jefferson replied, "Yes sir, I should
haves room to myself, if I at.
go id" • •
"A room all to yourself ... l. - No, po—
w. have no room-there's not a spars .
room in the, house—all full—all
pied—can'taccommo`date you." .
The Vico President turned. uir.a
his heel, called for his horse, whiciLui
this time was snug inthe stable, 131.)%4
ted gild rode off. I.n a few minulJs
one of the most wealthy and di.ts
guished*meaofthe town came iu 0.1 I.
asked for the gentleman who rode ur
to the door a ieW minutes before.
"Geatiemaul" said .
has been `no gentlemin here on hur..e•
bi;ek this afternoon, and uo straug..-
at all; but one co:nylon looking- coll..;
ry follow, came in and asked it L.
could here a whole room; but I. ALA,. t
hiris out that mighty - 4U - 104 I..teu
yOu. 1 him I hisl uu room tut' •
such - chap's as latrai"
"No roUiiin'tor such chapeau kiaril"
" No, bi . the pipers, nu -* rue=
anybodi that don't took respectahlu,i',
said the landlord.
" Why, what are_yea talking•-
man 3 Ile's* the * Vito Yresidont - ut
- •
the U. State's." •
" Vice President if din Unitedly
States I" exciainietl",*plein;
bica:tilless With altnnisinient.
" WkaY, pqa sir. Thr*s " -Jeits'i t l4 ;
the Vice I ) resiaMit: of the
Stites, end the gretitait Mau aline.'*
greacc.... to,
" Murder; whit lutiel dorii f Ciiad
Boyden. - .4 Hers 'l'ota; Jim;
Dinh, .whereitie jou, ill
ay, you TilLnins.:•4ly tell dais
En
El i
NO.' 49;