Adèle Dubois | Page 7

outward life.
It happened that a stranger came to pass a night at his, house. During
the conversation of a long winter evening, his curiosity became greatly
excited, in an account, given by his guest, of the Miramichi region. He
was astonished at the moral darkness reigning there. The place was
distant, and, at that time, almost inaccessible to any, save the strong and
hardy. But the light of life ought to be thrown into that darkness. Who
should go as a torch-bearer? The inquiry had scarcely risen in his breast,
before he thought he heard the words spoken almost audibly, Thou
must go.
Here, a peculiarity of the good blacksmith must be explained.

Possessed of great practical wisdom and sagacity, he was yet easily
affected by preternatural influences. He was subject to very strong
"impressions of mind", as he called them, by which he was urged to
pursue one course of conduct instead of another; to follow out one plan
of business in preference to another, even when there seemed to be no
apparent reason, why the one course was better than its alternative. He
had sometimes obeyed these impressions, sometimes had not. But he
thought he had found, in the end, that he should have invariably
followed them.
A particular instance confirmed him in this belief. One day, being in
New York, he was extremely anxious to complete his business in order
to take passage home in a sloop, announced to leave port at a certain
hour in the afternoon. Resolving to be on board the vessel at the time
appointed, he hurried from place to place, from street to street, in the
accomplishment of his plan. But he was strangely hindered in his
arrangements and haunted by an impression of trouble connected with
the vessel. Having, however, left his wife ill at home, and being still
determined to go, he pressed on. It happened that he arrived at the
wharf just as the sloop had got beyond the possibility of reaching her,
and he turned away bitterly disappointed. The night that followed was
one of darkness and horror; the sloop caught fire and all on board
perished.
He had now received an impression that it was his duty to go, as an
ambassador of Christ, to Miramichi.
Having for sometime previous, "exercised his gift" with acceptance at
various social religious meetings, he applied to the authorities of his
religious denomination for license to preach.
After passing a creditable examination on points deemed essential in
the case, he obtained a commission and a cordial God speed from his
brethren. They augured well for his success.
To be sure, the deficiencies of his early education sometimes made
themselves manifest, notwithstanding the diligent efforts he had put
forth, of late years, to remedy the lack. But on the other hand, he had

knowledge of human nature, sagacity in adapting means to ends, a wide
tolerance of those unfortunate ones, involved by whatever ways in guilt,
deep and earnest piety, and a remarkable natural eloquence, both
winning and forcible.
So he had started on his long journey through the wilderness, and here,
at last, he is found, on the banks of the Miramichi, cheerful and active,
engaged in his great work.
The reader was informed, at the close of the last chapter, that after the
perplexing visions of the night, by the use of charms of which he well
knew the power, Mr. Norton had cleared his brain of the unpleasant
phantoms that had invaded it during his slumbers. Being quick and
forgetive in his mental operations, even while completing his toilet, he
had formed a plan for an attack upon the kingdom of darkness lying
around him.
As he entered the room, the scene of his last night's adventure, his face
beaming with cheerfulness and courage, Adèle, who was just then
laying the table, thought his appearance there like another sunrise.
After the morning salutations were over, he looked around the
apartment, observing it, in its daylight aspect, with a somewhat puzzled
air. In some respects, it was entirely unlike what he had seen before.
The broad stone hearth, with its large blazing fire, the Dutch oven, the
air of neatness and thrift, were like those of a New England kitchen, but
here the resemblance ceased.
A paper-hanging, whose originally rich hues had become in a measure
dimmed, covered the walls; and curious old pictures hung around; the
chairs and tables were of heavy dark wood, elaborately and grotesquely
carved, as was also the ebony clock in the corner, whose wonderful
mechanism had so astonished him on the previous evening. A low
lounge, covered with a crimson material, occupied a remote corner of
the room, with a Turkish mat spread on the floor before it. At the head
of the couch was