And the stream beside which we toiled added to its own inspirations human suggestions drawn from our acquaintance with each other.It blended itself with the flow of our lives.Almost the first of my poemlets in the "Lowell Offering"was entitled "The River."These are some lines of it:--"Gently flowed a river bright On its path of liquid light,Gleaming now soft banks between,Winding now through valleys green,Cheering with its presence mild Cultured fields and woodlands wild.
"Is not such a pure one's life?
Ever shunning pride and strife,Noiselessly along she goes,Known by gentle deeds she does;Often wandering far,to bless,And do others kindnesses.
"Thus,by her own virtues shaded,While pure thoughts,like starbeams,lie Mirrored in her heart and eye,She,content to be unknown,All serenely moveth on,Till,released from Time's commotion,Self is lost in Love's wide ocean."There was many a young girl near me whose life was like the beautiful course of the river in my ideal of her.The Merrimack has blent its music with the onward song of many a lovely soul that,clad in plain working-clothes,moved heavenward beside its waters.
One of the loveliest persons I ever knew was a young girl who worked opposite to me in the spinning-room.Our eyes made us friends long before we spoke to each other.She was an orphan,well-bred and well-educated,about twenty years old,and she had brought with her to her place of toil the orphan child of her sister,left to her as a death-bed legacy.They boarded with a relative.The factory boarding-houses were often managed by families of genuine refinement,as in this case,and the one comfort of Caroline's life was her beautiful little niece,to whom she could go home when the day's work was over.
Her bereavements had given an appealing sadness to her whole expression;but she had accepted them and her changed circumstances with the submission of profound faith which everybody about her felt in everything she said and did.I think I first knew,through her,how character can teach,without words.To see her and her little niece together was almost like looking at a picture of the Madonna.Caroline afterwards became an inmate of my mother's family,and we were warm friends until her death a few years ago.
Some of the girls could not believe that the Bible was meant to be counted among forbidden books.We all thought that the Scriptures had a right to go wherever we went,and that if we needed them anywhere,it was at our work.I evaded the law by carrying some leaves from a torn Testament in my pocket.
The overseer,caring more for law than gospel,confiscated all he found.He had his desk full of Bibles.It sounded oddly to hear him say to the most religious girl in the room,when he took hers away,"I did think you had more conscience than to bring that book here."But we had some close ethical questions to settle in those days.It was a rigid code of morality under which we lived.
Nobody complained of it,however,and we were doubtless better off for its strictness,in the end.
The last window in the row behind me was filled with flourishing house-plants--fragrant leaved geraniums,the overseer's pets.
They gave that corner a bowery look;the perfume and freshness tempted me there often.Standing before that window,I could look across the room and see girls moving backwards and forwards among the spinning-frames,sometimes stooping,sometimes reaching up their arms,as their work required,with easy and not ungraceful movements.On the whole,it was far from being a disagreeable place to stay in.The girls were bright-looking and neat,and everything was kept clean and shining.The effect of the whole was rather attractive to strangers.
