Chapter II: Part 2

"When Brother Wilson first come, the Presbyterian church was in the old graveyard in the lower part o' town. Maybe you ricollect seem' it the day we went to town. Mighty dismal-lookin' place, all grown up in weeds and underbrush. And he took a look at it and saw jest how things was, and says he, 'You've got your church in the right place. A dead church,' says he, 'ought to be in a graveyard. But,' says he, 'when the spirit of the Lord breathes over this valley of dry bones, I expect to see the dead arise, and we'll build a house of the Lord amongst the habitations of the living.' And bless your life, he went to work and got up a revival that lasted three months, and spread to all the churches--the Babtist and the Methodist and the Christian--till every sinner in town was either converted or at the mourners' bench. And before it was over in town, it started in the country churches and kept up till Sam Amos said it looked to him like the preachers would have to go out o' business for a while or move to some other place, for there wasn't any material in the county for 'em to work on. Mother used to say it was pretty near equal to the big revival they had 'way back yonder in 1830. She said every seat in a church then was a mourners' bench, and such shoutin' and singin' and prayin' never was heard before or since. Some o' the converts would fall in trances, and you couldn't tell whether they was dead or alive. Uncle Jim Matthews's father, Job Matthews, stayed in a trance for two days and nights, and mother said he never seemed like the same man after that. He never could tell what he'd seen when he was in the trance, and when folks'd question him about it, a sort of a wild look'd come into the old man's eyes and he'd say, 'I've seen things of which it is not lawful for me to speak.' He didn't take any more interest in his farmin' or the family affairs, and when his wife'd try to stir him up and persuade him to work like he'd been used to workin', he'd say: 'The things of this world are temporal, but the things of the other world are eternal. The soul of man is eternal, and this world can never content it. I've seen the abiding-place o' the soul,' he'd say, 'and I'm like a homesick child.' Mother said nobody appeared to understand the old man, and his wife'd be so fretted and outdone with him that she'd say that if a person went into a trance, they might as well stay in it, for Job hadn't been any use to the world since he come out of his.

"Well, when the revival was over, and all the converts had been received into the church, Brother Wilson called a meetin' o' the session and says he, 'There's two things to be done now. We've got to come up out of that old graveyard, and build a church in town that'll stand as a monument to this generation of Presbyterians long after their bodies have gone back to the old graveyard and moldered into dust; and while we're doing that,' says he, 'we must bring this congregation up to the standards the church has set for its members.' And he got the session to pass resolutions sayin' that all sinful and worldly pleasures like cyard-playin' and horse-racin' and dancin' was forbidden to church-members, and that the Sabbath day must be kept holy and no member of the church could ride or walk or take a journey on the Sabbath unless it was to do some work of necessity or mercy. Says he, 'This flock has been without a shepherd so long that the Good Shepherd himself could hardly tell which are the sheep and which are the goats. But,' says he, 'the time has come when every man has got to take his stand on the right hand or on the left, so the world can know what he is.'

"Well, of course these strict rulin's went mighty hard with some o' the church people, for, havin' been without a preacher so long, they'd got clean out of their religious ways. I ricollect they elected old Mr. Joe Bigsby superintendent of the Sunday-school, and the very first Sunday he was examinin' the children to see if their parents had taught 'em the things they ought to know, and he called on Johnny West to say the Lord's Prayer, and John was talkin' to the boy next to him and didn't hear. The old man was mighty quick-tempered, and he hollered out: 'John West! You John! Confound you, sir! Stand up and say the Lord's Prayer.' And then he ricollected himself, and he turned around to Brother Wilson, and says he, 'Now, I know that ain't any way for a Sunday-school superintendent to talk, but,' says he, 'jest give me a little time, and I'll git the hang o' this superintendent business.' Says he, 'When a Presbyterian's been without a church of his own for three years and been driftin' around loose amongst the Methodists and the Babtists, you've got to make some allowance for him.'

"Well, after he'd got the Sunday-school and the weekly prayer-meetin' started, and all the church-members comin' regular to preachin', and everything runnin' smooth, Brother Wilson set about havin' the church built.

"The way they build churches now, child, is mighty different from the way they used to build 'em. Now nobody gives anything but money. It's money, money, money, every which way you turn. But in the olden time the way they built a church was like the way the Israelites built the tabernacle. You ricollect the Bible says, 'Every one whose heart stirred him up, and every one whom his spirit made willing, brought an offering to the Lord.' The rich men brought gold and silver, and the rulers brought onyx stones and oil and incense, and the poor men brought wood for the tabernacle and goats' skins and rams' skins, and the women they spun and wove and made purple and scyarlet cloth and fine linen. There wasn't anybody so poor that he couldn't give somethin' if his heart and his spirit was willin'. And that's the way it was when that Presbyterian church was built in the old time.

"The folks that was called rich then would be called poor nowadays, and a man's riches wasn't always money. But if one man had a sand-bank, he'd give sand for the mortar, and if another had good clay for makin' bricks, he'd give the clay, and somebody else that owned slaves'd give the labor--so many days' work--and there'd be the bricks for the walls; and if a church-member was a cyarpenter, he'd give so much of his time and his work, jest like the 'wise-hearted men' that worked on the tabernacle and made the curtains and the cherubims and the sockets of silver and brass and all the rest of the things that Moses commanded 'em to make.

"I reckon that old subscription paper'd look mighty strange nowadays. I ricollect one of the members said he'd give fifty dollars in cotton yarn at the price it was sellin' at in the stores; another said he'd give a hundred acres o' land in Monroe County; and another one give a hundred acres o' land 'way up in Illinois. One o' the elders said he'd give twenty-five dollars in shingles, and when he'd gethered his corn the next fall, he promised to give twenty-five barrels o' corn; another elder paid fifteen dollars in pork, and one o' the deacons who had a two-horse wagon paid sixty dollars in haulin'; and the saddlers and the tailors paid their part in saddlery and tailorin'. It's many a day, honey, since they laid the corner-stone o' that church, and there ain't a crack in the walls yet. The only good work is the work that love does, and in them days folks loved their churches jest as they loved their homes, and the work that went into that church was good work. I ricollect the Sunday they dedicated it the first hymn was,

"'I love thy kingdom, Lord,
The house of thine abode,
The church our blest Redeemer saved
With his own precious blood.'

"Me and Abram was there, for the country churches and the town churches was friendlier then than they are now. If the Goshen church was without a preacher Brother Wilson'd come out every third Sunday and preach for us, and if the weather and the travelin' was good, the Goshen folks'd go to town to preachin'.

"Now here I am tellin' about the dedicatin' of the church before I git through with the buildin'.

"Well, when the church was about half done, things begun to go wrong amongst the congregation. Somebody give a dancin'-party at the tavern, and two o' Judge Grace's daughters was there, and the old judge himself dropped in and looked at the dancin' a while; and before folks'd got through talkin' about that, here come the news that Squire Schuyler had taken a journey on the Sabbath day, and, besides that, he'd been heard usin' profane language. Of course it all come to Brother Wilson's ears, and as soon as he heard it he didn't lose any time callin' a meetin' of the session, and they summoned the old judge and the squire to appear before 'em and answer to the charges that was brought against 'em.

"The session was in the habit o' meetin' in old Doctor Brigham's office, and when they come together Judge Grace was on hand, and he explained how he'd gone to the tavern to bring his daughters home, and the gyirls wasn't quite ready to go home, and he had to stay and wait for 'em; and says he, 'I acknowledge that I did go into the hall where the young folks was dancin', and I stood and looked at 'em a while. And,' says he, 'I might 'a' patted my foot, keepin' time to the music, for they was dancin' a Virginia reel, and it's mighty hard for me to keep my feet still when there's a Virginia reel goin' on. But,' says he, 'that was the head and front of my offendin'.'

"Then Brother Wilson asked him if his daughters danced at the party, and the old judge he looked over at one o' the elders and winked, and then he says, as solemn as you please, 'Not while I was there.' Says he, 'I forbid my children to dance, and if I had known the nature of that party I would 'a' forbidden 'em to go to it. But,' says he, 'I can't say that my forbiddin' 'em would 'a' kept 'em from goin', but not bein' church-members,' says he, 'my daughters can't be disciplined for dancin', and if you're going to discipline the parents for what the children do,' says he, 'there's some ministers that'll have to be summoned to appear before the session.'

"And with that everybody laughed, and Brother Wilson he j'ined in as hearty as anybody, for he liked a joke, even when it was on himself. And says he, 'Well, that's one case settled.' And then he looks around, and says he, 'It seems that Squire Schuyler has not received the message from the session. Let the clerk of the session send him another summons, and to make sure of its reaching him, let one of the session hand it to him next Monday; that's county-court day, and he's certain to be in town.' So they fixed up another summons, and Judge Grace was to hand it to him.

"Well, when Monday mornin' come, the old judge took his stand on the corner o' the street in front o' the church and watched for the squire, and pretty soon here he come on horseback, gallopin' as hard as he could, and five or six hounds lopin' at the horse's heels.

"Squire Schuyler, honey, was a man different from any you see nowadays. As I look back on it now, it appears to me that he was the kind o' man that believed in gittin' all the pleasure he could out o' life. Nowadays everybody's tryin' so hard to make money, that they don't have time to enjoy life, and some of 'em wouldn't know how to enjoy it if they had the time. But Squire Schuyler was the kind that knows how to make the most out of everything that comes their way. The Schuyler family was a big family in Virginia 'way back in the time o' the first settlements. They had grants of land and lived high, and the two brothers that come to Kentucky had the same way of livin' and takin' things easy and makin' pleasure out o' life as they went along. Plenty o' money, plenty o' land, plenty o' slaves, fine horses, fine cattle, and a pack o' hounds--that's the way things was with the Schuylers, Meredith and Hamilton both. I can see Squire Meredith Schuyler now, the way he looked in that long overcoat made out o' dark green broadcloth with big brass buttons on it, ruffled shirt-bosom, high boots comin' 'way up to his knees, a broad-brimmed hat set back on his head and a ridin'-whip in his hand, and long leather gloves, and the hounds skulkin' along behind him.

"That's the way he looked when Judge Grace walked up to him and handed him the second summons. And he opened the paper and read it, and then he tore it in two and threw it on the ground. And says he, 'Does the Rev. Samuel Wilson think that he's the Pope of Rome?' Says he, 'You go to him and tell him for me that this is a free country and I'm a free member of the Presbyterian church, and the journeys I take and the language I use are a matter between me and my conscience and my God.' And with that he walked off and left Judge Grace standin' there. And the judge he picked up the pieces o' paper and went right straight to Brother Wilson's house and told him what had happened. And Brother Wilson he listened to it all, and he looked mighty stern and says he, 'Call the session together at three o'clock this evening.' Says he, 'This is something that concerns the honor of the church, and we can't let the sun go down on it.'

"Well, the session, they all got together at the app'inted time, and Brother Wilson says, says he, 'Brethren, there's a serious question to be settled, and before we begin let us ask for light and wisdom from on high.' And then he prayed a prayer askin' the Lord to guide them in all they said and did, and when that was over, he called on Judge Grace to tell the session jest how Squire Schuyler had acted and talked when he handed him the summons. And the judge told it all jest so. 'And now,' says Brother Wilson, 'I want you gentlemen to understand that what Squire Schuyler said and did is not an insult to me.' Says he, 'I am not summoning him to come before this session.' Says he, 'The Squire has broken the rules of the church, and when he refuses to appear before the session, he's resisting the authority of the church, and when a man does that, why, there's nothing,' says he, 'for the church to do but to cut him off from its membership.'

"Well, the session, they looked at each other, and they hemmed and hawed, and finally Doctor Brigham says, says he, 'Brother Wilson, I believe you are right about this thing; but,' says he, 'it looks like this might be a case that calls for a little of the wisdom of the serpent.' Says he, 'You know there's good Scriptural authority for bein' "wise as serpents."' Says he, 'I know the Lord is no respecter of persons; but,' says he, 'there's times when common sense tells us to stop and consider a man's standin' and influence. Here we are,' says he, 'in the midst of buildin' a church. There's none too much money comin' to us, and Squire Schuyler's subscription is two or three times as big as anybody's, and, besides, it's all in hard money, and if we turn him out o' the church, we'll run short o' funds and have to stop buildin'.' Says he, 'If it was any time but now, I'd say, "Go ahead, and we'll all stand by you," but as we're buildin' a church, why, it looks to me like the wrong time to turn people out o' the church.'

"And Brother Wilson jumped up and says he, 'That's exactly the point I'm aiming at. We're building a church, and that is the reason why I want Squire Schuyler, and all members like him, deprived of church privileges.' Says he, 'What is a church, anyway? Is it that pile of brick and mortar you're putting up out yonder?' Says he, 'That's the church building, but the church itself,' says he, 'no eye but the eye of God has ever seen it, for it is builded of the hearts and consciences of men and women that have known the power of the spirit. That's the real church,' says he, 'and if you've got that, it matters not whether you've got the house of brick and stone or not.' Says he, 'When the Pilgrim Fathers set foot on Plymouth Rock and sang a hymn and knelt down and prayed under the open sky, _there_ was a living church of the living God, and not a hypocrite or a mammon-worshiper or a time-server in it.' Says he, 'You men are mighty particular about the house for the church to worship in. You are looking for the best stone, and the best brick, and the best mortar; but when it comes to the building of the church itself, you're ready to put in hay, straw, and stubble for the sake of a little filthy lucre.'

"And all the time Brother Wilson was talkin', he was poundin' the table with his fist till the pens and the papers that was on it jest danced around, and Judge Grace said afterwards that he believed Brother Wilson'd rather have hit some o' the session than that table.

"Well, he sort o' stopped to take his breath, and Doctor Brigham says, says he, 'I agree with you, Brother Wilson, with all my heart. But there's another thing to be thought of before we do anything rash,' says he. 'Squire Schuyler ain't only a big contributor to the buildin' of the church, but he's the mainstay of the church when it comes to raisin' the preacher's salary. You've got a family dependin' on you.' says he, 'and do you think you'd be doin' justice to them to take a step that would cut your salary down?'

"I reckon the old doctor thought he'd pacify Brother Wilson and bring him to his senses, but instead o' pacifyin' him, it made him madder. He doubled up his fist and brought it down on the table again, and says he, 'If a minister of the gospel has to neglect his duty in order to earn his salary and support his family, then it's time for honest men to get out of the pulpit and make room for scoundrels that'll sell their principles and their self-respect for a matter of a few dollars and cents.' Says he, 'No matter how poor I am, I've never been so poor that I couldn't afford to do right. I left the army for the church, and I can go from the church back to the army; for,' says he, 'I'd rather be a ragged, barefooted soldier in the ranks, living on half rations and fighting in a good cause, than a cowardly, skulking preacher dressed in broadcloth and sitting down on his conscience every time he opened his mouth.' And with that he took up his hat and went out o' the office, slammin' the door after him.

"And Judge Grace says to Doctor Brigham, 'Where do you reckon that preacher of ours got his notions of what's right and what's wrong?' And Doctor Brigham shook his head and says he, 'I reckon he got 'em from the Bible, for,' says he, 'such notions and such conduct might do in the days when preachers was fed by the ravens, but they don't fit into this day and generation when a preacher has to preach for his livin'.'

"Well, town news can travel to the country as fast as country news can travel to town, and of course Squire Schuyler wasn't long hearin' about the meetin' of the session, and as soon as he heard it he got on his horse and rode to town, and went right straight to Doctor Brigham's office--the doctor was the treasurer of the church--and says he, 'I understand that you gentlemen of the session are considering the question of turning me out of the church, and some of you think my subscription won't be paid if that's done. I want you to understand,' says he, 'that my word is better than any man's bond. I promised to give a thousand dollars toward the church buildin'; here's a check for fifteen hundred. Now turn me out if you want to. You've got nothing to lose by turning me out and nothing to gain by keeping me in.'

"That ain't exactly what Meredith Schuyler said, honey," remarked Aunt Jane, pausing in her story to make an explanatory note. "Jest exactly what he said it wouldn't be right for me or any Christian woman to tell, for Meredith Schuyler never opened his mouth, unless it was to eat his meals, that he didn't take the name o' the Lord in vain. But that was the sum and substance of it.

"Well, Doctor Brigham he went straight to Brother Wilson's house and showed him the check, and told him about meetin' the squire and all that had passed between 'em, and Brother Wilson he slapped his knee, and says he, 'Now we'll have a meeting of the session to-morrow and settle the matter right away.' So they all met again in the doctor's office, and Brother Wilson called the meetin' to order and says he, 'I have been asking the Lord to turn the hearts and minds of my session that they might see certain matters as I see them. I cannot tell whether my prayer has been answered,' says he, 'but, the thing that kept some of you from doing your duty last week has been providentially removed, and the way is clear before our feet. Squire Schuyler,' says he, 'has not only paid his subscription, but he has paid five hundred dollars more than his subscription. I move that Judge Grace be a committee of one to write the squire a letter accepting his gift, and thanking him for his liberality.'

"Well, they seconded the motion, and Judge Grace said he'd be glad to write the letter, and then Brother Wilson says, 'The payment of that money shows that Squire Schuyler is an open-hearted, open-handed gentleman. I wish I could say Christian gentleman,' says he, 'but the charges of profanity and Sabbath-breaking are still standing against him, and we must now do our duty and deprive him of the rights and privileges of church-membership.'

"Well, they said Doctor Brigham and Judge Grace both threw up their hands and begun talkin' at once, and says they, 'You don't mean to say you're goin' to turn the squire out now!' And Brother Wilson says, says he, 'Why not? Here are the charges against him: breaking the Sabbath, taking the name of the Lord in vain, and refusing to appear before the officers of the church when he's summoned.' And Doctor Brigham says, 'But he's paid his subscription.' And Brother Wilson says, 'That's no more than an honest man ought to do.' And Judge Grace says, 'But he's paid five hundred dollars besides.' And Brother Wilson says, 'A letter of thanks is all we owe him for that.' Says he, 'Here's a matter of church discipline, and here's a matter of money, and one has nothing whatever to do with the other. Can't you see that?' says he. And they all shook their heads and said they couldn't. And Judge Grace says: 'It looks to me like it's not treatin' a man exactly square to take his money to build the church, and then to turn him out o' the church. It looks like if a man's money's good enough to go into the church walls, the man's name's good enough to stay on the church rolls.' And the rest of the session, they agreed with the old judge. But Brother Wilson, he jumped up and says he, 'A man that sees things that way has a conscience that needs enlightening.' Says he, 'Money itself is neither good nor evil. Whether it's clean or unclean,' says he, 'depends on the way it's given and the way it's taken. The money that's given in fulfilment of a promise,' says he, 'is clean money: let it go into the walls of the church. Coming from Meredith Schuyler's hands the way it does,' says he, 'it's pure gold. He's not offering it as a bribe to us to keep him in the church, but if we take it as a bribe,' says he, 'the minute it gets into our hands it turns to base coin, and it's a dishonor to us who take it and an insult to him who gave it.'

"Well, the session set there and studied a while, and shook their heads, and said they couldn't see things that way. And Brother Wilson looked at 'em a minute or two, and then he jumped up and says he, 'Let us pray.' And then he offered up a prayer that God would send his spirit into the hearts and consciences of his servants, that they might see things in the right light, so that all they did might be for the glory of God and of his kingdom on earth. Then they all set down and waited a while, and Brother Wilson says, 'Brethren, are you still of the same mind?' And they all nodded their heads, and says he, 'Well, when the session thinks one way and the minister another, it's time for them to separate.' Says he, 'Here's my resignation by word of mouth, and as soon as I go home, I'll put it in writing.' And off he went, leavin' the session sittin' there.

"Well, of course the men went home and told their wives all about it, and before the next day everybody was talkin' about Brother Wilson resignin', and the church-members lined up, some on the squire's side and some on the preacher's side, jest like they did in Goshen church the time we got the new organ. There was the church walls goin' up, and both sides had put money into 'em, and neither side had money enough to buy the other side out, and neither side wanted to be bought out. And the squire's side, they'd say, 'We've got the money, and you can't have a church without money.' And the preacher's side, they'd say, 'But we've got the members and the preacher, and you can't have a church without church-members and a preacher.' And they had it up and down and back and forth, and the Methodists and Babtists, they took sides, and such quarrelin' and disputin' you never heard. Some o' the outsiders went to Brother Wilson, and says they, 'You Christian people are settin' a mighty bad example to us outsiders. Can't somethin' be done,' says they, 'to stop this wranglin' amongst the churches?'

"And Brother Wilson, he laughed at 'em, and says he, 'Open your Bibles and find out who it was said, "I came not to send peace, but a sword."' Says he, 'The word of the Lord is a two-edged sword, and all this disturbance means that the Lord is visiting his church and his spirit is striving with the spirit of man.'

"Well, matters was standin' in this loose, unj'inted way when all at once Squire Schuyler's weddin' invitations come out. Everybody knew he was waitin' on Miss Drusilla Elrod, but nobody expected the weddin' that soon, and folks begun speculatin' about who he'd have say the weddin' ceremony, and Judge Grace says: 'Now see what a man makes by havin' such curious ideas and bein' so rash in his speech. Here's a big weddin' fee that ought to go into a Presbyterian pocket, and instead o' that, it'll fall to some Babtist or Methodist preacher.'

"But--bless your life!--the day before the weddin', Squire Schuyler's carriage drove up to the parsonage, and the coachman got out and knocked at the door and handed in a letter with a big red seal, and it was from the squire, askin' Brother Wilson to say the weddin' ceremony over him, and promisin' to send his carriage to bring him and Mis' Wilson to the weddin'.

"Well, that weddin' was the talk o' the town and the country for many a day before and after it happened. They had cyarpet spread from the gate to the front door, and they burned over a hundred wax candles before the evenin' was over, and folks said it looked like they had ransacked the heavens above and the earth beneath and the waters under the earth for somethin' to put on that supper-table. Brother Wilson said a mighty nice ceremony over 'em, and when they went out to supper the preacher and his wife set on the right hand of the bride and groom.

"Well, when Brother Wilson got ready to leave, he went up to Squire Schuyler to shake hands and say good night, and the squire pulled a long paper out o' the breast pocket of his coat, and he bowed, and says he, 'Will you do me the honor, sir, to accept this?' Squire Schuyler had a mighty grand way of talkin', honey, and you don't see any such manners nowadays as the Schuylers and the Elrods used to have. And says he, 'Don't open it till you get home.' And Brother Wilson, he says, 'I'm not the man to look a gift horse in the mouth, but,' says he, 'I must see the gift horse before I accept it.' With that he opened the paper, and what do you reckon it was, honey? It was a deed to that house I p'inted out to you the day we went to town--Schuyler Hall, they call it--and I don't know how many acres of land along with it.

"Brother Wilson he looked at it and looked at it, and it seemed as if he couldn't take it in. And says he, 'There must be some mistake about this. You surely do not mean to deed me a house and land?'

"And the squire he bows again, and says he, 'There's no mistake. The house and the land are yours to have and to hold while you live and to will as you please when you die.'

"And Brother Wilson held out the paper and says he, 'Sir, it's a princely gift, but I can't take it. It's no suitable fee for a poor preacher like myself.'

"And the squire he folded his arms and stepped back to keep Brother Wilson from puttin' the deed into his hands, and says he, 'It takes a princely gift to suit an occasion like this.' Says he, 'I want the wedding fee to match the worth of my bride and the worth of my minister, but, not being a prince, this is the best I can do.' And all the time he was talkin', Brother Wilson was shakin' his head and tryin' to make him take back the paper, and sayin', 'I can't take it, I can't take it.'

"And the squire says: 'Sir, you'll have to take it. The deed has passed from my hands to yours, and a Schuyler never takes back a gift.' And Brother Wilson, he says, 'But the gift will be of no use to me. I've handed in my resignation,' says he, 'and the presbytery will shortly send me to another field of usefulness.'

"And the squire he ripped out a terrible oath, and says he, 'I beg your pardon, sir, for swearing in your presence. I've heard,' says he, 'of the doings of that session; but,' says he, 'if I have influence enough to keep myself in the church, I have influence enough to keep you in, too; and if I can't do that,' says he, 'I'll build you a church and pay you a salary for life.' Says he, 'There's nothing too good for a man that refuses to bow down and worship the golden calf.'

"Honey," said Aunt Jane, lowering her voice, "considerin' it was his weddin' night and him talkin' to a preacher, the language Squire Schuyler used was far from fittin'. What he said was all right, but the way he said it was all wrong.

"Well, they argued back and forth, and it ended by Brother Wilson goin' home with the deed in his pocket. And the next Saturday Squire Schuyler come before the session and acknowledged the error of his ways. 'And,' says he, 'I promise in future to keep the Sabbath day holy, but as to the profane language,' says he, 'it comes as natural to me to swear and fight as it does to the Rev. Mr. Wilson to pray and fight, and all I can promise about that,' says he, 'is that hereafter I'll try to do the most of my swearing in private, so my example won't hurt the church I'm a member of.'

"And Sunday mornin', child, here come Squire Schuyler and his bride, as fine as a fiddle, walkin' down the church aisle arm in arm, and the squire j'ined in the hymns, and when the contribution plate was passed around he dropped a gold piece on it as unconcerned as if it was a copper cent. And Brother Wilson, he moved out to the house the squire had give him, and there never was anybody as happy as he appeared to be. He'd walk around under the trees and look at his gyarden on one side and his clover-fields on the other side, and he'd say: '"Delight thyself in the Lord, and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart." I've always wanted a home in the country, and the Lord has given me one of the desires of my heart.'

"But he didn't live to enjoy it very long, poor man. He died before his prime, and his tombstone's standin' now in the old graveyard yonder in town. They had a Bible text cyarved on it, 'For he was a good man, and full of the Holy Ghost and of God, and much people was added unto the Lord.'

"And now, child, put on your hat. I see Johnny Amos comin' with the buggy, and we'll go over and see the old house."

Suppose a child should read the story of Beauty and the Beast, and straightway a fairy godmother should appear, saying, "Now, let us go to the palace of the Beast." If you can fancy that child's feelings, you will know how I felt when I stepped into the old buggy to go to Schuyler Hall.

It was a gray September afternoon. The air was warm and still, and the earth lay weary, thirsty, and patient under a three-weeks drouth. Dust was thick over the grass, flowers, and trees along the roadside, and on the weed-grown fields that had brought forth their harvest for the sons of men and now, sun-scorched and desolate, seemed to say, "Is this the end, the end of all?"

Over the horizon there was a soft haze like smoke from the smoldering embers of summer's dying fires, and in the west gloomed a cloud from which the thunder and the lightning would be loosed before the midnight hour; and after the rain would come a season of gentle suns, cool dews, and frosts scarce colder than the dew--not spring, but a memory of spring--when the earth, looking back to her May, would send a ripple of green over the autumn fields, and, like thoughts of youth in the heart of age, the clover and the dandelion would spring into untimely bloom.

"Things look sort o' down-hearted and discouraged, don't they?" said Aunt Jane, echoing my thought. "But jest wait till the Lord sends us the latter rain, and things'll freshen up mightily. There's plenty o' pretty weather to come betwixt now and winter-time. Now, child, you jump out and open the gate, like I used to do in the days when I was young and spry."

Old Nelly crept lazily up the long avenue, and my eyes were fixed on the house of legend that lay at its end.

"Houses and lands are jest like pieces o' money," observed Aunt Jane. "They pass from one hand to another, and this old place has had many an owner since Brother Wilson's day. The man that owns it now is a great-nephew of old Peter Cyartwright, and him and his wife's mighty proud of the place."

"Do they object to strangers coming to see it?" I asked as we neared the giant cypress-tree in front of the porch.

"La, child," laughed Aunt Jane. "Ain't this Kentucky? Who ever heard of a Kentuckian objectin' to folks goin' through his house! We'll jest walk in at the front door and out at the back door and see all that's to be seen, up-stairs and down."

As she spoke we heard the voice of the hostess bidding us welcome to Schuyler Hall, and, fresh from the fairy-land of Aunt Jane's memories, I walked into one of the scenes of the story, the house that was a wedding fee.

There was a hint of baronial grandeur in the lofty ceilings, the heavy walnut wainscoting and oaken floors, the huge fireplaces with their tall mantels; and underneath the evident remodeling and repairing one saw the home and the taste of a vanished generation, the same that had witnessed the building of Monticello, for the hand that wrote the Declaration of Independence had drawn the plans for the house that was a wedding fee.

From room to room I went, pleasing myself with fancies of the man who had never bowed the knee to Mammon. My feet were on the floors that he had trod. By this worn hearthstone he had knelt, night and morn, to the God who had given him the desire of his heart. From this doorway he had looked upon the broad acres that were his by grace of a generous adversary, the tribute of one noble nature to another. In the long, low-ceiled bedchamber above the stately lower rooms he had slept the sleep of one whose conscience is void of offense toward God and his fellow man, and through the dormer-window that looked toward the rising of the sun his soul had passed out in its flight to the stars.

Dusty and flowerless, the garden paths wandered to right and left, but not one did I miss in my pilgrimage; for who could know what shrines of remembrance might lie hidden in that drift of leaves, withered and fallen before their time? Perhaps the minister's hand had planted the clump of tansy and the bed of sage, and well I knew that here in the night hours he had met his Maker, and his garden had been to him as that paradise where Adam walked with God.

Near the house was a spring to whose waters came the Indian and the deer before the foot of the pioneer had touched Kentucky soil. Rising from sources too deep to be affected by the weather of earth, no drouth ever checks its flow, no flood increases it, and here I knelt and drank to the memory of a day that is not dead nor can ever die.

Again on the threshold of the old house I paused and looked back into the shadowy hall. Ah, if the other world would for a moment give up its own that I might see them "in their habit as they lived," the Cavalier squire, the Puritan minister, the bride whose womanly worth was but faintly shadowed forth in the princely gift of a house and land! But no presence crossed the dim perspective within, and the only whisper I heard was the wind in the cypress-tree. The past had buried its dead, and soon their habitation, like themselves, would be but a memory and a name.

In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted hospitality;
His great fires up the chimney roared,
The stranger feasted at his board.

Fair and stately are the dwellings that shelter this latest generation, and by their side such mansions as Schuyler Hall seem only moldering, ghost-haunted reminders of the past. But those who dwelt in them are immortal, and though walls of flesh and walls of stone alike crumble to dust, there shall never lack a heart to treasure and a pen to record the virtues of the men and women of those early times, who, in reverence and in honor, founded and built the "old Kentucky home."

III

THE COURTSHIP OF MISS AMARYLLIS

III

THE COURTSHIP OF MISS AMARYLLIS

"It's curious," said Aunt Jane meditatively, "how, when old people go to lookin' back on the way things was when they was young, it appears like everything was better then than it is now. Strawberries was sweeter, times was easier, men was taller, and women prettier. I ain't say in' a word against your looks, child; you're as good-lookin' as the best of 'em nowadays, but I reckon there ain't any harm in me sayin' that you don't quite come up to Miss Penelope and Miss Amaryllis. I git to thinkin' about them two, and I wish I could see 'em by the side o' the women that folks call pretty nowadays so I could tell whether they really was prettier or whether it's jest an old woman's notion."

"Who was Miss Amaryllis?" I asked. "If she matched her name she must have been a beauty."

Aunt Jane smiled delightedly and gave an assenting nod. "Miss Amaryllis was Miss Penelope's sister," she said. "They was first cousins to Dick Elrod, that married Annie Crawford, and their father was Judge Elrod, Squire Elrod's brother. The old judge was a mighty learned sort of a man. He spent most of his time readin' and writin', and he had a room in his house with nothin' in it but books, clear from the floor to the ceilin', and some of 'em he never allowed anybody but himself to touch, he thought so much of 'em. And next to his books it was his two daughters. Folks used to say that the judge's wife was right jealous of his books and of Miss Penelope and Miss Amaryllis.

"Maybe you know, child, where the old judge got the names for his daughters. The only names I'm used to are the good old family names that come out o' the Bible, and some people said Penelope and Amaryllis couldn't be called Christian names, because they sounded so heathenish, and the judge's wife she objected to 'em because, she said, they was too long for folks to say. But the old judge wouldn't hear to anybody's shortenin' the children's names. Says he, 'If you give a child a plain name it'll be likely to turn out a plain man or a plain woman. But,' says he, 'I've given my children fine names, and I expect them to grow up into women that'll become their names.' And I reckon they did, for two prettier women you never saw, and their names seemed to suit 'em exactly. And as for their bein' too long, I always liked to say 'em and hear people say 'em. Penelope and Amaryllis--why, they're jest as easy to say as Mary and Marthy, and I always thought they sounded like fallin' water or the singin' of a bird, Amaryllis especially."

Aunt Jane paused here and laid down her work. She had reached a difficult point in the story, and there must be time for thought.

"Now, how in the world am I goin' to tell you how Miss Amaryllis looked?" she said, with an accent of gentle despair. "Why, it's as hard as tryin' to tell about that yeller rose that grew in old lady Elrod's gyarden. There never was such a rose as that, and there never was such a gyirl as Miss Amaryllis, or Miss Penelope either, for that matter. The judge was always havin' their pictures painted, and there was one, no bigger around than that, set in gold. If I jest had it to show you! But I reckon that picture o' Miss Amaryllis is lyin' in a grave somewhere on the other side o' the ocean. Mighty near every woman has somethin' pretty about her; one'll have pretty eyes and another'll have a pretty color, but Miss Amaryllis was pretty every way. I ricollect once I was passin' along Main Street, one County Court day, and the old judge's carriage was standin' in front o' Tom Barker's dry-goods store, and Miss Amaryllis was leanin' back against the cushions, and her hand was layin' on the carriage door, and she had a ring on one of her fingers with a yeller stone in it; the sun was shinin' on it and, I declare to goodness, from that day to this I never see a white lily with the yeller heart and the dust like grains o' gold inside of it that I don't think o' Miss Amaryllis's hand and Miss Amaryllis's ring.

"They both had golden hair, Miss Penelope and Miss Amaryllis, but Miss Penelope had gray eyes like a dove's, and Miss Amaryllis had brown ones with dark lashes. I reckon it was Miss Amaryllis's eyes and hair that made her what she was. You can find plenty o' women with brown eyes and brown hair, but when you find one with brown eyes and golden hair, why, it's somethin' to ricollect. And then, there was her voice. You've heard me tell many a time about Miss Penelope's voice, and Miss Amaryllis had one that was jest as sweet, but hers was low and deep where Miss Penelope's was clear and high. Miss Amaryllis played on the guitar, and summer nights they'd sit out on the portico and sing together, and the old judge used to say that when his gyirls sung the very mockin'-birds stopped to listen.

"Many a woman has hard work to find one man to love her, and many a woman can't find even one, but Miss Amaryllis had more beaus on her string, and more strings to her bow, than any fiddler, in the state; and she danced with 'em and sung to 'em and played with 'em like a cat plays with mice, and then, when she got ready, she'd send 'em on their way, and she'd go on hers. And as fast as one went another'd come. The judge's wife used to shake her head and say, 'My daughter, there's such a thing as a woman sayin' "No" once too often.' And Miss Amaryllis she'd say, 'Yes, and there's such a thing as a woman sayin' "Yes" a little too soon;' and the old judge he'd laugh and say, 'Let her alone; one of these days she'll find her master.' And sure enough she did. They said it was love at first sight on both sides when Miss Amaryllis and Hamilton Schuyler met each other at a big party at Squire Elrod's, and before long the weddin' day was set, and everybody was sayin' that Miss Amaryllis had found her match at last.

"Hamilton Schuyler was as handsome as Miss Amaryllis was pretty, and when it come to family he had as much to brag of as she had. He was a first cousin to Squire Meredith Schuyler, and all the Schuylers had fine houses and plenty o' land. Rich folks in that day had a way of namin' their places jest as rich folks do now. The Elrod place was called The Cedars, and Hamilton Schuyler had a big house on the same 'pike, and that was Schuyler Court. The Schuylers was mighty proud o' their blood, and I used to hear folks talk about the coat of arms that the squire had hangin' in his front hall. Abram was there once to see about some land the squire was havin' cleared, and he said he took particular notice of the coat of arms, but to save his life he couldn't see why they called it that, for there wasn't any coat or any arms on it that he could see, jest a curious colored thing, red and blue and black, and on top of it some kind of a beast standin' on its hind legs.

"The Elrods come of plain people at the start, but they could hold up their heads with the best, for they had plenty o' money and plenty o' learnin', too, and the judge's wife was as blue-blooded as any Schuyler and twice as proud of her blood, in the bargain. She had pictures, and silver things, and dishes that'd been in the family for generations, and her great-great-grandfather was a Fairfax.

"There's some people, child, that'll tell you that one person's as good as another, and all blood's alike, and all of it red. And maybe they are right. And when it comes to kindness and right principles and all that, why, Squire Schuyler and the judge's wife wasn't a bit better'n Abram and me. But when it come to their manners and their language, they had somethin' we didn't have. Abram was jest as polite a man as Squire Schuyler, but he couldn't take off his hat to a lady the way the squire could, and I couldn't bow and smile like the judge's wife, and I reckon that's where the blue blood comes in.

"I ricollect talkin' to Parson Page once about this very thing, and he says, 'The Lord hath made of one blood all the nations of the earth, and in His sight there is neither high nor low according to blood.' Says he, 'The Lord looks at the life and the conscience of a man to tell whether he's high or low; and,' says he, 'in His sight there's little difference between the good man who is born in the high places of the earth and the good man who walks in lowly paths. Both are pure gold, but one's been shaped and stamped by goin' through the mint, and the other's rough in the nugget.'

"Now, what was I startin' out to tell you, child, before I got to talkin' about blue blood? Oh, yes, I ricollect now.

"Well, everybody was lookin' for Miss Amaryllis's weddin' cyards, when, all at once, her and Hamilton had a quarrel, and the match was broke off then and there. It was a long time before anybody knew what had happened betwixt the two, but at last it come out that they'd quarreled about where they'd live after they married. Of course he expected to take his bride to his own house, and of course any right-minded woman would 'a' been willin' to go with her husband; but when he happened to say somethin' about the time when she'd be livin' at Schuyler Court, she give him to understand that she couldn't leave The Cedars, and that whoever married her would have to live at her father's house.

"Now it's my belief, honey, that Miss Amaryllis hadn't any idea of makin' Hamilton Schuyler leave Schuyler Court and come and live at The Cedars. She was jest foolin' when she said that. She'd been used to twistin' the men round her little finger all her life, and she wanted to see if Hamilton was like all the rest. But Hamilton took it all in earnest, and he said whoever heard of a man givin' up his own home and goin' to live with his father-in-law, and did she want him to be the laughin'-stock of the whole country? And she said that if he cared more for his house than he cared for her he could stay at Schuyler Court and she'd stay at The Cedars. And he said it wasn't Schuyler Court he cared for; he'd leave Schuyler Court and build her another house anywhere she wanted to live, but if she wouldn't leave her father's house, then he'd have to believe that she cared more for The Cedars than she cared for him. And they had it up and down and back and forth, and at last she give him back his ring and sent him away jest like she'd sent the others.