120 Old Time Gardens 



dragging way for half an hour, when the minister 

 became conscious of an intense coldness which 

 seemed to benumb him in every limb ; and he 

 tried to walk to the fireplace. Suddenly all in the 

 room became aware that he was very ill, and one 

 called out, " He's got a stroke." Luckily the town 

 doctor was also a deacon, and was therefore present ; 

 and he promptly said, " He's poisoned," and hot 

 water from the teakettle, whites of eggs, mustard, 

 and other domestic antidotes were administered with 

 promptitude and effect. It is useless to detail the 

 days of agony to the wretched girl, during which the 

 sick man wavered between life and death, nor her 

 devoted care of him. Soon after his recovery he 

 solemnly proposed marriage to her, and was refused. 

 But he never wavered in his love for her; and every 

 year he renewed his offer and told his wishes, to be 

 met ever with a cold refusal, until ten years had 

 passed ; when into his brain there entered a percep- 

 tion that her refusal had some extraordinary element 

 in it. Then, with a warmth of determination worthy 

 a younger man, he demanded an explanation, and 

 received a confession of the poisonous love philter. 

 I suppose time had softened the memory of his suf- 

 fering, at any rate they were married — so the promise 

 of the love charm came true, after all. 



Amos Bronson Alcott was another author of 

 Concord, a sweet philosopher whom I shall ever 

 remember with deepest gratitude as the only person 

 who in my early youth ever imagined any literary 

 capacity in me (and in that he was sadly mistaken, 

 for he fancied I would be a poet). I have read 



