works would, of course, modify this conception of him, but such is the impression which we derive from the perusal of the volumes before us.

This correspondence, though it will not add to Mr. Webster's fame, will serve to make him better known. But, how far it is a perfectly faithful representation of him, we cannot tell. Friends and relatives are apt, in preparing memorials of a distinguished man, to reject and admit, according to their own preconceptions of his character, and not according to the actual truth. It is not often that they have the courage or the honesty to disclose the full particulars, nor is it desirable, in all cases, that they should. Yet, if they undertake to reveal him at all, they should reveal him just

as he was, with all his weaknesses as well as all his strength. The great use of biography is, not to gratify an idle curiosity, but, to assist us to a knowledge of human nature; to teach us, from the examples of the great, how their greatness was attained, and to show us, from the examples of the wicked, how their wickedness may be avoided; and, above all, to impress upon us, by a proper exhibition of the good and the bad, which is mingled in all men, the important truth, that human conditions are pretty equitably adjusted-that, if some are raised to wealth, honor, and distinction, they have, also, their secret miseries; and, if others are depressed into the vale of humility and suffering, they possess, also, sources of consolation, which others know not of.

DEACON GOODWIN and I were

sorting apples at the door of the back shed, one lovely October afternoon; Baldwins, russets, greenings, Swaars, pippins, lay heaped on the little bit of turf, in gay masses of red, gold, and brown; the clumsy cart-body, tilted on end, poured out a stream of ruddy fruit, that should have fallen from nothing less picturesque than the horn of Ceres; and, far away, over the fennel and cabbages in the garden, over the green sward of the orchard, the wooded hillsides stretched their bright length on and on, till they were purple in the distance, though, nearer at hand, scarlet and orange maples, imperial crimson oaks, deep yellow birches, and purple dogwood boughs, mixed with dark spires of hemlock and pine, shone jewel-like, even through the smoky air of that hot autumn day. Sorting apples is not bad work, if only you have somebody to talk to; at least, that is my experience, though I was but a temporary farmer, and, it may be, more fond of a " crack" than I should have been had I always earned my bread under the fullest force of the curse. But Deacon Goodwin was a silent man, except at conference-meeting, where he harangued away with a power and glory that used up all his words for a week to come; moreover, his soul just now was vexed within him by "them boys,' who had tilted all the apples into one heap, and how he was to discern, always and surely, between Baldwins and Spitzenbergs, Roxbury-russets and russet-sweets, puzzled his eyes and thoughts to the last degree; so that I, who had the easier task of putting the fair apples, from one heap at a time, into one of a row of clean barrels that stood, like the oil-jars in the Forty Thieves, ranged against a wall, and throwing the rejected fruit into a huge basket-I, who had time to talk, could not even extract a gruff "yes" or "no" from the deacon. I was glad enough to hear Aunt Huldah's ponderous step coming through the shed, and her hearty voice behind me:

Father, I want them apples you a'n't a goin' to use, so's I can make sass to-day; 'ta'n't a goin' to do to put it off any longer, and Kate can't be pestered with it in the middle of her ironin,'

so I guess I'll have the apples, and buckle to at it myself. Where be they?"

"Well," replied the deacon," Thomas has got 'em in the corn-basket. But I don't see jest how he's goin' to let you hev the basket to pare out on in there, when he's a usin' of it out here!"

"That's easy fixed," said aunty, never at a loss. "Thomas, you jest bring my old rocker out of the kitchen, and fetch along the pigs' pail, so I can give 'em their share, and I'll set right down here and do all my chores to once, while you're doin' yours."

"That's right, exactly, aunty!" said I, flinging a greening right into the barrel of Peck's Pleasants, in my relief at the prospect of some society. I firmly believe it is not good for man to be alone, in more senses than one!

"Well, I'd as lieves you should, Miss Good'in," chimed in her "old man." "That feller's a master hand to talk, and he's figgered away a good spell at it, all alone, till I guess he's about tuckered out, for I can't talk none; them pesky boys have mixed these apples till there a'n't no two alike in the hull heap!"

"Why, husband! do tell!" laughed aunty; and I went off for the chair and the pail according to orders. And while I go, let me take the opportunity to praise Aunt Huldah Goodwin, for she is one of a thousand-if, indeed, there be a thousand of her class left in these days of hyper-civilization, education, agitation, and the angels know what not of progress and the like stuff. Such a real, genial, healthy, hearty woman; such a simple, tender, expansive heart; such sturdy sense, such practical judgment; all with a vein of most unsuspected poetry running through it, that tempered her shrewd insight into men with the loveliest sunshine of charity, and kept her eyes as open to beauty of every nature as her heart was to kindliness in all its forms. Not of her lifeful and mirthful kind come the array of moody and melancholy farmers' wives, who, year by year, swell the lists of insanity; no monotony of work pressed upon her steady brain till the fine fibres gave way; she would have her laugh as well as her labor, and the health that rounded her ample fig

ure and tinged her somewhat wrinkled cheek with wintry red, helped both labor and laughter to endure the long strain of life. She was "Aunt Huldy" to the whole village, and I loved her as well as if she had a better right to the title, and I a better knowledge of her goodness than the brief experience of a summer's rustication under her roof afforded. However, here are the rocker and the pigs' pail.

Set it right down there, Thomas, alongside of the steps, so's I can put my feet up and hold the pan even, and put the pail side of me; now, that's handy."

Hardly was Aunt Huldah settled in her chair and at work, before she called to her husband in a half-whisper: 66 Deacon! Deacon Good'in! a'n't that Mr. Masters coming down the lane? I declare if 'ta'n't!" added she, in a louder tone; and, pushing away pail and pan, she went forward to meet a tall, pale man, who came creeping along past the pickets by the aid of a cane, till suddenly arrested by that cheery voice-

"I want to know, Mr. Masters, if you've got out so far? come in, and set down."

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No, thank you, Mrs. Goodwin," said a somewhat querulous tone; "I must go to Miss Peabody's, to see about the singers for Thanksgiving, and Harriet's waiting there for me I expect; so I must crawl along."

"Well, I wish you would stop!" said Aunt Huldah.

"I wish I could, but I can't. Goodday," answered Mr. Masters; and as he turned away I could see he was blind. Aunt Huldah came back to her seat with a great sigh.

"Poor cretur! how he does miss Love," said she. I looked up at her rather inquiringly.

"Why, we all do that, don't we, aunty?"

"I declare if you didn't think I meant love with a little 1! Law, child, I was thinkin' about his wife, she that was Love Brainerd; though it a'n't much odds, for if ever anybody was called pretty correct accordin' to their natur' she was; there was about as much love to her as there was in her name. She beat all that ever I see for livin' other people's lives, and doin' their work, and bearin' their pains. I don't know as she know'd herself

whether she was most Achsah Root, or Jim Whitman, or 'Lonzo Masters, or Love Brainerd. I guess she was least of the last!"

"Did she live here always? did you know her?" said I, eager to betray Aunt Huldah into telling a story, and privately rejoicing over the success of my scheme, as I saw her settle down more comfortably into her chair, and draw up the pan of apples further into

her lap.

"Yes! she was born here; she 'n her mother, the widder Brainerd, lived a piece up the Portland road quite a long spell when Love was small. I expect it was real lonesome over there nights, though the woods is pretty lively in daytime, what with one wild cretur' or 'nother; and there was Tumbling Brook come into the valley close by their house, and Rattlesnake Mountain riz up right behind 'em. it was a good ways off from folks and meetin', and Miss Brainerd wasn't a very high-couraged woman. I guess she had some scary times there, though she staid because she owned the farm, and it was a good strip of medder-land after you got down the hillside where their house was, and the brook kept it wet in the dryest of times.

But

"So Love grew up there: she didn't have no children to be mates for her; she kept tight to her mother's apronstring, and if she played in the woods Miss Brainerd went along, 'cause the child was afraid. Fact is, I guess they both got pretty trembly while old Brainerd lived, for he did have the tremens like anything before he died, and acted more like fury. Well, Love she used to get a little schoolin', and more play; for she wa'n't a very stubbéd child: her cheeks was white, and her wide forehead was most too unnatural lookin'; but she did have a pair of clever eyes, that's a fact. I used to tell her she'd catched 'em of the squirrels, they was so kinder shy and soft: she didn't smile very often, to be sure, but when she did it was real sunshiny; and, take her all in all, she was a pretty personable child, only she was too scary. They lived up there till Love was twelve year old, and then Miss Brainerd she sold the farm and moved into the village jest as 'twas growin' up here; for you see there wa'n't any village here in old times, only two or three housesthis one where my grandfather used to

live, and one at each end of Sykes's bridge-and they called it South Taunton, 'cause it belonged to the town of Taunton. But nigh about thirty year ago, 'Squire Smith bought out Sykes's mill-privilege and set up a cotton-factory, and built houses for his hands, and a brick house for his own, and he wanted to call it Smithville; but Miss Smith she stuck out for an Ingin name; she wanted it called Pontoosuc, after the river so they battled it a spell, and it wa'n't like to be any better than 'twas before, when home comes Malviny Smith from York. She always ruled to home, and she would have it called Cranberry, so Cranberry 'twas. So, as I was tellin', Miss Brainerd moved up here to take boarders, and be more sociable like, and send Love to the academy. My! what apples these be! jest as pithy as punkins, and tasted like pigweed. Father, what do you call these apples?"

"Them!" said the deacon, noway surprised at the interlude, and meditatively regarding the fruit in question. "Well, them's Good'in apples."

"I declare! it's the poorest thing of the name that ever I see," laughed Aunt Huldah.

"Well, aunty-about Love ?" said I, half-impatient and half afraid of losing the story.

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Oh, yes! I guess you're a masterhand for stories, a'n't you? What was I a tellin' on? Oh, I rec'lect. So Miss Brainerd she took a house back of Squire Smith's, and Love she went to the 'cademy. There she worked like a beaver; but somehow, from havin' lived always alone, and being naturally fearful and shy, she couldn't seem to fellowship with any of her mates; she'd only just study and sing; for she did sing the most like a brown-thrasher of anything I know that a'n't a bird. However, after she'd been two years there, and was goin' on fifteen, Achsah Root come from Taunton to board at Miss Brainerd's and go to school; for Shubael Sykes, that taught the 'cademy, had a great name for learnin', and Achsah's people were well-to-do, and they meant she should have the best of learnin'. Well, she was real handsome; her eyes, and her hair, and her teeth, was as bright as a new pin, and she had a neat little nose, and color like my pink hollyhock; but she wa'n't a real pretty girl for all that. She was as proud as a king-bird, and, though

she was real smart when she had a mind to be, it was as plain as a pikestaff that she thought first about Achsah Root, and after that, other folks could take their chance. Besides, she was pretty mighty, and I've always noticed that when folks set up their Ebenezer as if 'twa'n't never goin' to come down for anybody, it don't very often get so much as joggled. The children of this world are wise in their generation, the Scripter says, and I guess she was one of 'em; so it come about that Love, who hadn't ever had anybody very near to her but her mother, now come right under Achsah's thumb, and why it was, nobody could tell, for never was two people so different.

"But such things come, like rain, on the just and the unjust, and the Lord orders it. Love followed Achsah, for all the world like a spaniel dog; she seemed as if she would breathe for her, she wasn't never tired if Achsah liked to walk; she always had time to do little jobs of sewing for her when she got tired or lazy; she walked her feet nigh about off, to get her flowers, or books, or anything she wanted; and if Achsah was sick there wa'n't no end to the things Love would do for her; she'd set up nights and wait on her days: I've known her bend over the bed-head to brush Achsah's hair till her own lips was as white as a sheet with pain; for she wasn't very sturdy, and it's hard work to stand bent over that way; and I've known her cold nights to be on her knees by the hour, rubbin' Achsah's feet cause she was so dreadful nervous she couldn't get sleep. Well! you might think Love would ha' got paid in her own coin, for it don't seem reasonable to b'lieve that one cretur' could do so much for another and not get some on't back again; but it a'n't so ordered in this world. Folks is obliged to love without help, pretty much as the angels do, and they that gets the most gives the least: it a'n't that the Scripter means when it says, 'Give and it shall be given unto you.' I don't doubt but what Achsah liked Love pretty well, but it wasn't in her to love anybody such a sight better 'n herself. She liked to be waited on and cosseted, and jest so long as Love was workin' over her, and doin' for her, Achsah paid her off with pretty looks and words, so't the color would flush up into Love's

pale face, and her eyes would shine, and her soft little lips would tremble and pucker, and then Achsah 'd laugh, and tell her she was a dear little goose," but she never spared her none, for all that. Lovin' some folks is jest like pickin' chestnuts out of the burryou keep a prickin' your fingers all the time, and the more you try and keep on, the more it pricks: some will stick to it till they get the chestnut, and then ten to one it's wormy-them that sticks to the burr is apt to be.

"However, loving Achsah so, seemed to kind of unlock Love's feelin's for other people; 'twas jest like openin' the race to a mill-dam; it seemed as if she couldn't help lovin' everybody, 'specially sick people and children. I've seen her settin' on her mother's steps with half a dozen children all over her, lettin' down her hair, kissin' her eyes, and cheeks, and mouth, ticklin' her throat, and all in such a gale, and all bawlin' after her when she had to go away. Then, when anybody took sick in the village, Love was always on hand, readin' to 'em, or sendin' flowers, or makin' porridge; and all with such pretty, kindly ways, it did folks more good to hear her speak than it did to have Miss Smith or Malviny send wine-jelly or soup; there's so much in ways. And I don't know but what that verse of Scripter, I was speakin' of along back, did come to pass, after all, in a certain kind of a way; for everybody did love Love, only jest them she cared the most for. However, that's gettin' ahead of the story.

"Why, Thomas! there's a real fair apple; a Swaar, too! I guess you're gettin' too much talk. I'd better stop a spell; it's considerable of a chore to work and hear an old woman chatter too."

"Oh, don't stop, Aunt Huldah, don't! I shall be as careful- but I do want the story. I wish I had ever seen Love Brainerd."

"Well, if you want to see her, there's a d'queer'type of her down to Harri'k Case's, where she boarded, but it don't favor her much; it's like most all of them picturs, dreadful black lookin.' To be sure, it's her eyes, and her nose, and her mouth, and her handkerchiefpin, and a square collar I giv' her myself when she was married-but for all that, 'ta'n't Love; it hasn't got her real, livin' sweet look. I suppose it's like

her, for they say the sun don't lie; but I shouldn't never know it. So, about two years after Achsah Root come to Cranberry, her father died, and they found he'd giv' the farm, out an' out, to her step-mother, and left Achsah only a thousand dollars in the bank and a home forever and always in the old house; but that's a queer way to leave a home to anybody; for how are you goin' to tell what it means? If Love had it left to her to give anybody, it would have meant house, and board, and fire, and lights, and waitin' on jest like a real home; but Miss Root made it out different. She calkulated it meant only Achsah's bed-room, and was goin' to charge for board and all that; so Achsah knew she meant to have her pull up stakes and go, for nobody could pay that out of the interest-money from a thousand dollars. We was all sorry for the child, but she didn't pine none--she was too proud. Miss Brainerd got her a place in the factory, and she come to Cranberry for good, boardin' where she always had; so Love was pretty nigh set up. Well, things went on much as they used to for a while, only the next winter Love experienced religion and joined the church. It didn't appear as if it made so much change in her as 'twould in most folks; but I expect it was more like a growth to the best part of her natur', and a leavin' off whatever there was in it contrary to grace-for it can't be denied she had naturally a high sperit; but now she grew more and more meek, and didn't never fret when her work was the hardest, but she appeared more and more sot upon Achsah, and oneasy enough about her speritual state, for she hadn't got no more religion than a poppy-head, as she showed plain enough by-and-by. Long about the spring-time, there come a young man from Colebrook-James Whitman by name-a second cousin of my husband's sister-in-law, to set up for an overseer in the factory. He boarded at our house, and appeared to be a likely feller enough-good lookin' and smart, and with real insinuatin' ways, but he wa'n't very reliable. Well, Achsah was gone back to Taunton for a spell, her own aunt was weakly, and she'd sent for her to come and stay there with her for company, while her husband was gone out West. So one night I was goin' to Miss Brainerd's of an errand,