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TOBY TYLER;

OR, TEN WEEKS WITH A CIRCUS.

BY JAMES OTIS.

TOBY'S FRIENDS PRESENT HIM WITH A COSTUME.

During this time Toby's funds had accumulated rather slower than on the first few days he was in the business, but he had saved eleven dollars, and Mr. Lord had paid him five dollars of his salary, so that he had the to him enormous sum of sixteen dollars, and he had about made up his mind to make one effort for liberty, when the news came that he was to ride in public.

He had, in fact, been ready to run away any time within the past week; but, as if they had divined his intentions, both Mr. Castle and Mr. Lord had kept a very strict watch over him, one or the other keeping him in sight from the time he got through with his labors at night until they saw him on the cart with old Ben.

"I was just gettin' ready to run away," said Toby to Ella, on the day Mr. Castle gave his decision as to their taking part in the performance, and while they were walking out of the tent, "an' I shouldn't wonder now if I got away to-night."

"Oh, Toby!" exclaimed the girl, as she looked reproachfully at him, "after all the work we've had to get ready, you won't go off and leave me before we've had a chance to see what the folks will say when they see us together."

It was impossible for Toby to feel any delight at the idea of riding in public, and he would have been willing to have taken one of Mr. Lord's most severe whippings if he could have escaped from it; but he and Ella had become such firm friends, and he had conceived such a boyish admiration for her, that he felt as if he were willing to bear almost anything for the sake of giving her pleasure. Therefore he said, after a few moments' reflection: "Well, I won't go to-night, anyway, even if I have the best chance that ever was. I'll stay one day more, anyhow, an' perhaps I'll have to stay a good many."

"That's a nice boy," said Ella, positively, as Toby thus gave his decision, "and I'll kiss you for it."

Before Toby fully realized what she was about, almost before he had understood what she said, she had put her arms around his neck, and given him a good sound kiss right on his freckled face.

Toby was surprised, astonished, and just a little bit ashamed. He had never been kissed by a girl before, very seldom by any one, save the fat lady, and he hardly knew what to do or say. He blushed until his face was almost as red as his hair, and this color had the effect of making his freckles stand out with startling distinctness. Then he looked carefully around to see if any one had seen them.

"I never had a girl kiss me before," said Toby, hesitatingly, "an' you see it made me feel kinder queer to have you do it out here where everybody could see."

"Well, I kissed you because I like you very much, and because you are going to stay and ride with me to-morrow," she said, positively; and then she added, slyly, "I may kiss you again if you don't get a chance to run away very soon."

"I wish it wasn't for Uncle Dan'l, an' the rest of the folks at home, an' there wasn't any such men as Mr. Lord an' Mr. Castle, an' then I don't know but I might want to stay with the circus, 'cause I like you awful much."

And as he spoke Toby's heart grew very tender toward the only girl friend he had ever known.

"I don't believe I can go," said Toby, doubtfully, as he glanced toward the booth, where Mr. Lord was busy in attending to customers, and evidently waiting for Toby to relieve him, so that he could go to his dinner; "I don't believe Mr. Lord will let me."

"Go and ask him," said Ella, eagerly. "We won't be gone but a minute."

Toby approached his employer with fear and trembling. He had never before asked leave to be away from his work, even for a moment, and he had no doubt but that his request would be refused with blows.

"Mr. Treat wants me to come in his tent for a minute; can I go?" he asked, in a timid voice, and in such a low tone as to render it almost inaudible.

Mr. Lord looked at him for an instant, and Toby was sure that he was making up his mind whether to kick him, or catch him by the collar and use the rubber cane on him. But he had no such intention, evidently, for he said, in a voice unusually mild, "Yes, an' you needn't come to work again until it's time to go into the tent."

Toby was almost alarmed at this unusual kindness, and it puzzled him so much that he would have forgotten he had permission to go away if Ella had not pulled him gently by the coat.

If he had heard a conversation between Mr. Lord and Mr. Castle that very morning, he would have understood why it was that Mr. Lord had so suddenly become kind. Mr. Castle had told Job that the boy had really shown himself to be a good rider, and that in order to make him more contented with his lot, and to keep him from running away, he must be used more kindly, and perhaps be taken from the candy business altogether, which latter advice Mr. Lord did not look upon with favor, because of the large sales which the boy made.

When they reached the skeleton's tent, they found to their surprise that no exhibition was being given at that hour, and Ella said, with some concern, "How queer it is that the doors are not open. I do hope that they are not sick."

Toby felt a queer sinking at his heart as the possibility suggested itself that one or both of his kind friends might be ill; for they had both been so kind and attentive to him that he had learned to love them very dearly.

But the fears of both the children were dispelled when they tried to get in at the door, and were met by the smiling skeleton himself, who said, as he threw the canvas aside as far as if he were admitting his own enormous Lilly:

"Come in, my friends, come in. I have had the exhibition closed for one hour, in order that I might show my appreciation of my friend Mr. Tyler."

Toby looked around in some alarm, fearing that Mr. Treat's friendship was about to be displayed in one of his state dinners, which he had learned to fear rather than enjoy. But as he saw no preparations for dinner, he breathed more freely, and wondered what all this ceremony could possibly mean.

Neither he nor Ella was long left in doubt, for as soon as they had entered, Mrs. Treat waddled from behind the screen which served them as a dressing-room, with a bundle in her arms, which she handed to her husbansel.

His schoolmates relate that he was a good boy, and that he was generally liked. In his youth he was much troubled by an impediment in his speech, and he early resolved to remedy it as much as possible. He was the only one of scholars or teachers in the boarding-school who was accustomed to speak in the Friends' meeting. He had already begun to speak at home, and, notwithstanding the trial which it was to him as a young man, he stood up among the boys and forced his voice to say what was in his heart. Few who heard him on those occasions are alive now, but these few remember how it impressed them to see one who played with them on the campus and sat with them in classes speak so earnestly before them and all the rows of solemn Friends. They respected his message, for his life was pure.

He had a dread of the nursery, and resolved to keep out of it, but he was taken with typhoid fever, and after vainly fighting it off at last succumbed to be doctored in the vigorous way of those times. He had a long, hard siege of it, and lost a number of weeks from his brief term; but this short break from his usual life and the intercourse with cultivated teachers and scholars could not fail to leave its impress. It lifted his aspirations and widened somewhat the course of his thoughts, giving an impulse to his future life more valuable than mere knowledge. While it is to be regretted that so short a time was given him for satisfying his longings for a higher education, we rejoice that he knew so well how to school himself and to be a teacher to himself. He was a good mathematician, and his copy-books show that he was no tyro at figures; but he affirms that his drill in the old spelling-book was of far greater worth to him than his higher mathematics.

When he reached home from Providence, he found a young brother twenty-one years younger than himself. This was Edwin, the youngest of the family of eleven, and to him fell the homestead and the care of the father, mother, and sister Peace.

There is still standing a little red building, about one mile from South China, called the Chadwick Schoolhouse, in which many a man has laid his ABC foundation. Its external and internal appearance would not lead one to suppose that this was a "temple of learning" or any other kind of a temple, but not a few successful men look back to it with a feeling of reverence, and the near presence of a yard where many others of its day tenants of earlier time lie under toppling stones, just carved enough to tell the names and some of the virtues of those beneath, gives somewhat of a sacredness to the little building. It was in this house that Eli first opened his mouth to speak in the assemblies of the people. He was quite young, less than fourteen, when he arose in a meeting in that house and said, "Behold the Bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him." On their way home his grandfather asked who had spoken in the "body of the meeting," but the grandmother checked her husband with a slight nudge and answered the question by a motion of her finger. A few years ago a very aged man came up to Eli Jones and said, "I remember the first time you ever spoke in meeting, and I know what you said." From this time on he was often heard briefly in religious assemblies, and he was encouraged by older Friends to be faithful in delivering his message when impressed.

After his return from Providence School, Eli Jones began to be a definite worker for the bettering of the world, and the seeds he then planted have brought forth the blade and the ear, and now the full corn is in the ear. He and a few others organized a temperance society of which he was the secretary; and many meetings were held in China and the adjoining town. Essays were written and speeches were delivered against the use of intoxicating drinks. This organization was made two years before the Washingtonian movement was started, and its influence in the State was great, aiding undoubtedly the enactment of the "Maine Law" which has made itself felt in all our States and in many of the other countries.

The same winter he was one of a small company which met to start a public library. They formed a successful library association. Books soon began to come in, and from that day Eli Jones has not wanted for reading matter. With few exceptions, when absent doing higher work, he has attended the meetings of this association and aided it by his zeal and counsel.

It is a matter of interest to notice a young man who had just barely become a full-fledged citizen turning his mind so strongly toward enlightening those near him, and that, too, in a community where he did not have the example of any predecessor to arouse him and spur him on. He was travelling a new road, and building as he went. The secret of it all was that there was something in him which forbade rest and inaction. In early years he saw fully that the part of man which ate and slept was not the important part, but that there was something within him which could span space and time, and which was spoken to by the whisperings of the Spirit of the eternal Ruler.

At the present time biographies are within the reach of all boys, and they can see how great men and good men have made their lives complete--how they shaped their course, what goal they set before them, and what lifted them to the mark. In his youth, Eli Jones had almost no possibility of knowing from the record of other lives how best to build in youth. His father was a righteous man, whose actions were living epistles, and his mother was a living, teaching Christian. From both he inherited much and learned much; but "there is a divinity that shapes our ends," and, once in the hands of the great Potter, there is a marvellous shaping of the clay. Biographies, all good books, and directions in the right way are helps, but submission to be trained and then used by the Master Builder, is infinitely more of a help in the making of a right man.

Great men of all ages have recognized a power, a daimon, an ecstasy--or, better, a Spirit--inspiring them, urging them to seek truth and beauty, to live lives of truth and beauty and goodness, and to shun as their greatest enemy everything that distorts and ties weights to their flying feet. Everything teaches the man who is to be wise; but most of all the Spirit teaches those who give ear unto Him; and if any one thing has made the life of Eli Jones a success, it is that he listened actively to the voice which said, "Give me thine heart."

"I see in the world the intellect of man, That sword, the energy his subtle spear, The knowledge which defends him like a shield-- Everywhere; but they make not up, I think, The marvel of a soul like thine."

BROWNING.

In 1833, Eli Jones was married to Sybil Jones, the daughter of Ephraim and Susannah Jones.

Susannah was the daughter of Micajah Dudley, son of Samuel Dudley, a great-grandson of Samuel Dudley of Exeter, N. H., the eldest son of Gov. Thomas Dudley, the pilgrim of Plymouth, said to have been descended from the lineage of the earls of Leicester. Both Sybil Jones's parents and grandparents were Friends, and her grandfather and great-grandfather Dudley were preachers of fine talents and high character.

Ephraim Jones was a "noble man" and a strong character. He was often deeply lost in thought, to such an extent that many anecdotes are related of his absent-mindedness which are very amusing. He did not want in vigor of mind, and he was one of the marked men of the town. Some are still alive who remember him as he stood up at quarterly meeting and took his text, "If thou hast run with the footmen, and they have wearied thee, then how canst thou contend with horses? and if in the land of peace, wherein thou trustedst, they wearied thee, then how wilt thou do in the swelling of Jordan?" He was a man who left a remembrance behind him, and the strength of his life has not been lost. His wife Susannah lived to the good old age of ninety-four, and was loved by all who saw her. "Grandmother Jewel" was her name in her old age. Eli's mother, who was nearly as old, was also named Susannah, and it was a memorable day for the grandchildren when these two grandmothers talked together of the olden time. "Grandmother Jewel" was very deaf, but otherwise she was a vigorous woman as long as she lived, and, ripe with years and blessed with the fruit of those years, she passed from this world a few months before her daughter.

It is told that when Eli Jones visited Sybil Jones with the purpose of asking her to become his life-companion, the latter, not suspecting the weight of his mission, took down the Bible to read a chapter, as was always customary in those days before visitors returned home. On this occasion Sybil Jones opened to the twentieth Psalm, beginning, "The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble; the name of the God of Jacob defend thee, send thee help from the sanctuary and strengthen thee out of Zion; remember all thy offerings and accept all thy burnt-sacrifices; grant thee according to thine own heart, and fulfil all thy counsel." The mission was accomplished successfully, and for forty years the lives of Eli and Sybil Jones were linked together by the bonds of deep and pure love, while their aims, longings, and desires were merged into the one purpose of showing to the world that there is a love which transcends all earthly affection, and that God's love is an unbroken canopy which shelters the races of the round globe. Herein was their love continually made more perfect. I may quote as applicable to them the beautiful words of Izaak Walton, written to express the regard between the saintly George Herbert and his wife: "For the eternal Lover of mankind made them happy in each other's mutual and equal affections and compliance; indeed, so happy that there never was any opposition betwixt them, unless it were a contest which should most incline to a compliance with the other's desires. And though this begot, and continued in them, such a mutual love and joy and content as was no way defective, yet this mutual content and love and joy did receive a daily augumentation by such daily obligingness to each other as still added such new affluences to the former fulness of these divine souls as was only improvable in heaven."

Sybil Jones was born at Brunswick, Me., in 1808. Her birthplace was very near the early home of Abel Jones. Only her youngest years were spent here, but she always had a love for her first home, and one of her early poems, written at about the age of twenty-one, speaks of it with fondness.

A good Methodist minister at Augusta spoke kindly to Sybil Jones of her highest welfare, and she was very much helped and instructed by him in the way of life. She came to realize that she must be born again, and she accepted Christ, by whom alone she could become a child of God. Her love for the Methodists became very strong, and it was a most humiliating cross to her to obey her father's will that she should show her Quakerism by wearing a Friend's plain bonnet. There is a true anecdote which may properly be told, since it shows what her will was by nature, as we shall see later what power she had when it was in harmony with God's will. She was to attend China monthly meeting with her father, and he insisted that she should wear the "plain" bonnet. His request conflicted very much with her determination, but it was not possible to move him from his purpose. There was no course which could be taken to avoid wearing it, but she put it on bottom side up, and rode with it so from Augusta to China. But she fortunately saw and felt the simplicity and sincerity of Friends, as well as the spirituality of their faith, and she became firmly fixed in the belief that to be a true Quaker was to be a genuine Christian, a faithful follower of Jesus as he and his apostles marked out the road; and I must believe that if we all looked to the same source for light and guidance, and if we strove as earnestly to walk closely in His footsteps as she did, we should have little need of apologies and defences for our simple faith.

In 1824-25 she attended the Friends' School at Providence, and for the next eight years she was engaged in teaching. She felt a deep interest in all that concerned her pupils, and it was the beginning of her efforts to open to the eyes of the young a new world of knowledge, beauty, and truth. One who has taught with a heart in the work will never cease to look upon children with loving eyes; and they were always the especial objects of her regard irrespective of their race or color.

While still a teacher her father took her one day to attend Sidney monthly meeting, across the Kennebec River, about twelve miles from China. Lindley M. Hoag, then a young man, was at the meeting. He felt called to deliver a message to some one in the women's meeting, and an opportunity was given him to accomplish his purpose. He went to the women's side of the house and powerfully and clearly set forth the state of mind of some one present, and with prophetic words he pointed out the future course of this young Friend if she should be fully faithful to her inward promptings. Sybil Jones knew that he was laying open her heart, and she was much moved. When her gift as a minister was acknowledged, and she went out to hold meetings, she found Lindley Hoag present at the first one she attended, and for some time it seemed to her that she could not speak before him; but she overcame the feeling and was well favored to speak. This guidance from ministers who were moved to speak to her case, and the power given to her to declare the condition of others, were strikingly illustrated during her whole life.

During these years of teaching she was much given to writing, and she not only copied many of the poems of her favorite authors, but she composed numerous poems on various subjects, and wrote short maxims for the rule of her conduct and life. It is very striking and touching to see how she regarded the brevity of life, for almost all that is left of her compositions is tinged with thoughts of death and the grave. One poem is written "To Consumption," and she seems to have been impressed with the feeling that her days were to be few, but she hails with joy the beginning of another life and the freedom from the cares and troubles of this present world. After saying how soon "life's sickly dream" will be over she writes--

"Oh may my future hours be given To peace, to virtue, and to Heaven, My hopes retain immortal birth, My joys ascend above the earth, My steps retrace the path they trod, My heart be fixed alone on God!"

While still young she burned most of her prose and poetic compositions, partly because she was so often forced to read them aloud to company, and very little from those years remains.

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