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NEW
“What makes New Generation Korean 1 outstanding is that it will serve
“Appropriate for the first and second semester of Elementary Korean as a Foreign Language (KFL)
GENERATION
classes in the North American college setting, this user-friendly book is a timely and welcome
addition to the field of KFL education.”
Andrew Sangpil Byon, University at Albany, SUNY
KOREAN
“The world of Korean language learning for anglophones has always been dominated by authors and
content from Korea and/or the United States, so teachers and learners in Canada (where Korean is
increasingly popular) will be delighted by this colourful and engaging new textbook, its Canadian
orientation, and its streamlined presentation.”
Ross King, University of British Columbia
New Generation Korean is an immersive and visually appealing resource specifically designed
for secondary and post-secondary Korean language learners, as well as independent self-study SECOND EDITION
enthusiasts. Meticulously crafted by experienced instructors with a deep understanding of the Korean
language, this revised second edition presents targeted learning objectives and best-practice lessons
across eight comprehensive chapters.
With a focus on practicality and effectiveness, New Generation Korean guides students on a path
toward attaining Korean language proficiency while fostering a genuine appreciation for Korean
culture. To further enhance the learning experience, audio files are included, complementing the
content with authentic auditory material. Convenient QR codes are provided throughout,
facilitating quick access to audio clips, and promoting effective listening practice.
MIHYON JEON is an associate professor in the Department of Languages, Literatures,
Beginner Level
and Linguistics at York University.
KYOUNGROK KO is an associate professor in the Department of East Asian Studies at the
University of Toronto.
DAEHEE KIM is a professor in the Department of Korean Language Education at Mihyon Jeon
Wonkwang University.
YUJEONG CHOI is an assistant professor in the Department of East Asian Studies at the
Kyoungrok Ko
University of Toronto. Daehee Kim
W SECOND EDITION
AHRONG LEE is an assistant professor in the Department of Languages, Yujeong Choi
Literatures, and Linguistics at York University.
E
Ahrong Lee
O N
N EA
I
N E RA
T
N
ISBN 978-1-4875-5707-2
G E
O R
K
9 781487 557072
NEW
Beginner Level
GENERATION
KOREAN
SECOND EDITION
Mihyon Jeon
Kyoungrok Ko
Daehee Kim
Yujeong Choi
Ahrong Lee
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording,
or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without prior written consent of the
publisher – or in the case of photocopying, a licence from Access Copyright, the
Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency – is an infringement of the copyright law.
This work was supported by Core University Program for Korean Studies through
the Ministry of Education of the Republic of Korea and Korean Studies Promotion
Service of the Academy of Korean Studies (AKS-2018-OLU-2250001).
대화1 45 Appendices
대화2 51 Vocabulary List 1: by lesson 136
Lesson 4 비빔밥 먹으러 가요. 57 Vocabulary List 2:
in alphabetical order 150
대화1 59
Answer Key 164
대화2 65
Listening Script 169
Lesson 5 전화번호가 뭐예요? 73 English Translation 175
대화1 75 Conjugation Table 182
대화2 81
Preface
7
Components
Introduction
Conversation 1
Grammar Points
Listening and Speaking 1
Reading and Writing 1
Conversation 2
Grammar Points
Listening and Speaking 2
Reading and Writing 2
Korean Culture
Just for Fun
• Grammar Points Each lesson covers five to six grammar points divided into
two sections. Each grammar point includes concise explanations followed by
• Listening and Speaking Each lesson contains two sets of listening and
speaking sections. Each section presents one to three listening passages
followed by comprehension questions. The subsequent speaking section offers
learners an opportunity to apply their listening and speaking skills to a variety
of communicative settings.
• Reading and Writing Each lesson contains two sets of reading and writing
sections. Each section has a reading passage through which learners develop
skills to comprehend the passage and discover how the new vocabulary,
expression and grammar points previously learned are used in the context.
Each reading text is accompanied by comprehension questions. This section
also includes a task to help learners develop writing skills.
• Korean Culture At the end of each lesson, students are provided with the
opportunity to learn about Korean culture and to make a comparison to their
own culture. Topics are relevant to each lesson so that learners can expand
their cultural knowledge in relation to what they learn during class.
• Just for Fun introduces fun activities related to Korean language and culture.
New words are introduced on each page when they first appear. Circled letters are
attached to indicate irregular verbs and adjectives (e.g., 두껍다 ㉥). The vocabulary
lists in the appendices indicate irregular verbs and adjects by presenting
conjugated forms in the parentheses as in the example of 두껍다 (두꺼워요).
9
Characters
•R
eading Korean vowels and
•K
orean vowel sounds and letters
consonants accurately
Korean •K
orean consonant sounds and letters Essential
1 한글 •B
uilding Korean syllables in
alphabet •S
yllable block building expressions
accurate order
•B
asic pronunciation rules
•R
eading Korean words
11
1
Lesson
한글
Have you ever learned other languages before? Why do
you want to learn Korean? Discuss what you know about
들어가기
the Korean language.
Learning Objectives
Reading Korean vowels and consonants
Building Korean syllables in the correct order
Reading Korean words
Similar Sound
Sound* Hangǔl Letter With silent ㅇ
in English
ɑ arm ㅏ 아
ŏ saw ㅓ 어
o mow ㅗ 오
u moon ㅜ 우
ǔ put ㅡ 으
i bee ㅣ 이
ɑe apple ㅐ 애
e every ㅔ 에
Lesson 1 한글 15
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either riding or walking. A good deal of skill, as well as a good deal
of awkwardness, may be displayed in putting on and tying on a pair
of leggins; and when a man displays unusual facility and skill in this
matter in his travels through the Brush, he is at once taken to be
either an itinerant preacher—or a horse-thief. In long horseback
journeys these leggins are invaluable as a protection against mud,
rain, and cold. I have traveled over the muddiest roads, many days
and weeks, when, on arriving at the house of some hospitable
friend, I was so completely bespattered and covered with mud that I
looked very much like the roads through which I had been traveling;
but, on taking off my leggins and overcoat, I laid aside the most of
the mud with them, and so presented a very respectable
appearance.
But the saddle-bags were indispensable. In them I carried all the
changes in my wardrobe, and all such articles for my personal
comfort as one can have whose home is on horseback; together
with such reports, documents, and papers, as were indispensable to
me in the prosecution of my labors. With a large blanket-shawl rolled
compactly together, and strapped with my umbrella behind my
saddle upon a pad attached to it for this purpose, I was prepared to
travel without any regard to rain or weather.
Behold me, then, with my new and complete outfit, mounted and
starting for the Brush, in a broad-brimmed white hat, snuff-colored
overcoat, butternut-dyed pantaloons, leggins, heavy boots, and
spurs. My saddle-bags were thrown across the saddle, and my
blanket-shawl and umbrella strapped behind it. As I rode out of the
city into the country, I met a countryman on his way to town, who
greeted me with a pleasant "How d'y, sir?" and, as he scanned with
a pleasant face my outfit, he added, "Traveling, sir?" A countryman,
and to the "manner born," that was his quick recognition and
approval of the perfection and completeness of my outfit for the
Brush. Two negroes, who were felling a huge tree in the dense
forest at the roadside, paused in their labor, and manifested their
approval with a broad African grin, and "Mighty nice hoss, dat,
massa!"
In my next chapter I shall make good these comments.
CHAPTER III.
THE ITINERANT PIONEER PREACHER'S FAITHFUL HORSE.
I think a good horse is worthy of a niche in the temple of fame. I
know that many men have been immortalized in song and
eloquence, and had magnificent monuments erected to their
memory, who have never done one half as much for the good of the
world as the faithful animal I rode so many years, through the wilds
of the Southwest, in the service of the American Bible Society. But
very few men have done as much to promote the circulation of the
Word of God, "without note or comment," as she did in those years
of faithful labor.
If there be a paradise where there are purling streams, grateful
shade, and fat pastures for horses that have been faithful and true, I
am sure that she has a high rank in "the noble army" of horses that
in sunshine and in storm, with unflagging devotion, have borne
itinerant pioneer preachers through mud and rain, and sleet and
snow, as with glowing, burning zeal they have prosecuted their
heroic Christian labors. All honor to the itinerant's faithful horse—my
own among the number! My very pen seems to catch new
inspiration, and dance with delight, as I attempt her eulogy.
In fact, she shrank from no toil in the prosecution of this good work.
She never kept me from fulfilling an appointment by refusing to ford
a river. She never hesitated to enter any canebrake it was necessary
for me to cross, and, though the canes were ever so thick and
tangled, and resisted her progress like so many ropes or cords
around her breast, yet she pressed carefully and firmly against them,
until they yielded to her power, and we emerged safely from the
thicket. She never flinched from climbing the steepest mountain-
paths, where I had to hold on to her mane with both hands to keep
from sliding off behind her; and then she would as kindly perform
the more difficult feat of descending such paths, stepping carefully
and firmly so as not to stumble or fall, while I kept my position in
the saddle by holding on to the crupper with one hand and guiding
her with the other. In a word, she never failed or disappointed me at
any time, in any place, or in any particular.
She was of medium size, light-sorrel color, white face, and in all
respects of admirable form and mold. She had been broken for the
saddle to either pace, trot, or gallop, and each gait was about as
easy and perfect as possible. In long journeys of weeks, and
sometimes of months, her movements were always free and fleet,
and by alternating from one gait to another she bore me about as
easily and gently as one could well wish to be carried on horseback.
But her kind, affectionate disposition was her crowning excellence. I
never hitched her and went into a house for a long or short stay,
that she did not greet me as soon as I opened the door on my
return with her affectionate whinny. She would recognize me among
the congregation, as I came out of any church where I had
preached, or wherever she could see me in the largest gatherings of
people, and always with the same warm salutation. Whenever I
went to her stable in the morning, or wherever I approached her
after a brief separation, her demonstrations of affection were as
strong as they could well be without human powers.
On one occasion I rode up to the bank of a small river, very near its
mouth, and hailed the ferryman on the opposite side. While waiting
for him to cross, I led her down upon the planks which extended a
short distance into the river, that she might drink. Wading into the
water, she stepped beyond the planks and instantly sank to her
breast in the mud. It was the sediment that had been deposited
there by numerous freshets. As she went down the entire depth of
her fore-legs in an instant, she made one desperate effort to
extricate herself, but in vain. She seemed to comprehend her
condition perfectly, turned to me with a beseeching look and groan,
and did not make another struggle. I told her to lie still, and started
on a run to get some teamsters, whom I had met with their large
six-horse teams as I rode up to the river-bank, to help me in getting
her out. They kindly came to my aid, and by putting my saddle-girth
under her breast, and tying ropes to each end of it, they lifted her
out of the mud by main strength. When she was fairly on her feet,
her demonstrations of gratitude were most remarkable. She thanked
me over and over again as plainly and strongly as horse-language
would possibly admit of, danced around me with delight, persisted in
rubbing her nose against me in the most affectionate manner, and
showed a joy that seemed wellnigh human. It was warm summer
weather, and on reaching the hotel on the opposite shore I had her
legs and her entire body from the tips of her ears to the end of her
tail thoroughly washed and rubbed dry. After dinner I resumed my
journey, and she was as well as ever.
Everywhere, during all the years that I traveled in the Brush, my
Jenny—for that was the name I gave her—made friends for herself
and me. If I rode up to a house upon a plantation, hailed it
according to the custom of the country, and was welcomed to its
hospitalities by the owner, he would call a negro servant:
"Ho! boy, carry this horse to the stable and take good care of her.
D'ye hear?"
When I dismounted, she understood that her long day's journey was
ended, and knew where she was going as well as the servant did.
When mounted, she would start with a fleet pace that was almost as
gentle in its movements as the rocking of a cradle; which would
make the rider roll the white of his eyes with the supremest African
delight. Very often I have seen them turn their faces, beaming with
satisfaction, and cast back furtive glances upon groups of young
Africans that were gazing after them with an admiration that was
only equaled by their envy of the rider's happy lot. Before reaching
the stable a friendship, if not affection, was established that insured
the most liberal allowance of "fodder" and corn, and the most
thorough currying, brushing, and care. I have no doubt that on
many such occasions they promised themselves a pleasant stolen
night-ride, to visit friends on some near or remote plantation, and
that they did not forget or fail to make good their promises. When I
sometimes had occasion to protract my stay for several days, it was
amusing to listen to the frequent applications from young Africa to
ride her to the brook and water her. They were intensely solicitous
that she should not fail to get water—or themselves rides! At all
places, whether on cultivated plantations or deep in the Brush,
whether she was cared for by black or white, she received the same
kind attention. Hence she was always in the best order and condition
—always able and ready to take me the longest journeys, through
any amount of mud and mire, and over the roughest roads,
wherever it was necessary for me to go. I am sure that the people
were the more glad to see me on her account. My honored
instructor, the venerable President Nott, of Union College, in his
lectures on the "Beautiful," used to say:
"Young gentlemen, undoubtedly the two most beautiful objects in
nature are a beautiful horse and a beautiful lady. I hope you will not
think me ungallant in putting the horse before the lady." I gratified
the love of the beautiful in a fine horse, and so won their esteem
and love. But I was often as much surprised and gratified at her
behavior in her travels with me upon Western steamboats as upon
land. On one occasion I took her on board a large New Orleans
steamer with a deck-load of mules, horses, sheep, etc., and rode
some two hundred miles. I reached the place of my destination
about midnight, and was obliged to land at that hour. She was
standing immediately back of the wheel-house, and on the side of
the boat toward the shore. But the boat was so loaded that I was
obliged to lead her a long distance around by the stern, past the
heels of braying mules and bellowing cattle, to the point opposite
the place from which I had started; then forward, crossing the boat
immediately in front of the roaring wood-fires, which were on the
same deck, and on to the bow, where I led her down the plank on to
a large wharf-boat. I then led her the entire length of this boat, and
down a long plank-way to the shore. And all this through the
indescribable din and confusion made by mates and deck-hands in
landing freight, passengers, and baggage, and the deafening
screech of the whistle in blowing off steam. When I took her by the
bits and said, "Come, Jenny," she placed her head against my
shoulder and followed me all this long, crooked, noisy route, with
the confidence of a child. I had led her on and off a great many
noisy steamers, but that was the most notable instance of all.
But my Jenny had some other qualities which I should never have
discovered had they not been made known to me by others.
Elsewhere in this volume I have spoken at length of my visit to a
celebrated watering-place, and of the numerous gamblers and other
strange characters that I met there. It was in the midst of a very
wild region. When I had arrived within a few hours' ride of the
springs, I stopped to dine at a house of private entertainment. A
large four-horse stage, loaded with passengers bound for the
springs, soon drove up and stopped at the same house, which was
the regular place of dining for the passengers. After dinner I rode on
to the springs, keeping along the most of the way in company with
the stage. My Jenny attracted very marked attention from the driver
and passengers. The driver especially was profuse in his expressions
of admiration. As I rode up to the hotel, the listless, lounging
visitors, who were so deep in the Brush that they had very little to
attract or interest them, regarded her gait and movements with
general attention and delight. When I dismounted, a black boy was
soon in my saddle, and my Jenny moved off to the stable with her
usual fleetness and grace. I entered the hotel and registered my
name, without any prefix or suffix to indicate my employment or
profession. The weather was very hot, the roads very dusty, and
after the fashion of the country I was at once furnished with water
to wash. As I stood wiping myself, the stage-driver rushed into the
room and up to me in great excitement and said:
"Mr. Pierson, will you allow your horse to run? The money is up and
we'll have a race if you'll only allow her to run"—at the same time
holding up and shaking in my face a mass of bills that were drawn
through his fingers, after the fashion of gamblers in those parts. I
was startled to hear my name pronounced in a strange place, and by
a stranger, but in a moment bethought me that he had learned it by
looking on the hotel-register. I was more startled by the strangeness
of the proposition. As the servant stood with my saddle-bags on his
arm, waiting to show me to my room, I answered perhaps a little too
abruptly, "No, sir," and followed him to my room, to prepare for
supper. When the supper-bell rang, and I stepped out of my room
upon the piazza, a portly man of gentlemanly bearing, who had
evidently taken his position there to wait for me, approached me
pleasantly and said:
"I hope, sir, you will reconsider your decision and allow your mare to
run. As soon as you rode up I offered to bet two hundred and fifty
dollars that she would outrun anything here, and the money is up.
Allow me to say that I am an old Virginian, and a judge of horses,
and if you will let her run I am sure to win."
By this time I had entirely recovered my self-possession, and,
bowing politely, I looked directly into his eyes and said:
"Do you think, sir, it will do for a Presbyterian clergyman to
commence horse-racing so soon after reaching the Springs?"
He was as much startled as I had been—in fact, so startled that he
could not say a word, and I left him without any reply, and went in
to supper. When I returned from the dining-room I found him at the
door, and he approached me in the most subdued and respectful
manner and said:
"Allow me to speak to you again, sir. I wish to apologize, sir; I beg
your pardon, sir; I assure you, sir, that nothing would induce me
knowingly to insult a clergyman."
I responded, very pleasantly:
"I am certain, sir, that no insult was intended, and therefore there is
no pardon to be granted."
He thanked me very warmly for my kind construction of his motives,
and left me with a lighter step and brighter face. His companions
were all greatly pleased with my treatment of the matter; and, as I
have elsewhere said, there was a general turnout of all the gamblers
—of whom he was one of the most prominent—to hear me preach in
the ballroom the next Sabbath. But I need not say, to any one at all
familiar with life in the Southwest, that he had to "stand treat" all
around among his companions, for being thus, in the vernacular of
the country, "picked up" by the preacher.
In passing through another part of this county the following winter, I
rode up to a blacksmith-shop to get a shoe tightened. As soon as
the blacksmith came out he said:
"Wasn't you at the Springs last summer with this mare?"
I replied in the affirmative, and, on looking at him, recognized the
man that kept a little shop there, and had shod her in the summer.
"Well," said he, leaning upon her neck, patting her affectionately,
and looking into vacancy with a pleased expression, as if living over
some pleasant scene in the past, "they got her out, preacher, and
run her, any way." And then, as if to make the matter all right with
me, he looked up into my face and said, with the most satisfied
smile and emphatic nod: "And, preacher, she beat, she did. He won
his money!"
During my vacation-trips to the East, for several summers, I left my
horse with some kind, warm friends upon a plantation, for the ladies
and children to ride as they might wish. At first it was difficult for me
to make satisfactory arrangements to leave her for several weeks. I
could not trust her at a livery-stable. There I felt sure she would get
a great many stolen rides. I found also that the temptation was too
great for the virtue of some professed friends with whom I left her,
for on my return I found she had been overridden, and looked worn
rather than rested from the vacation I had intended for her as well
as myself. But in my travels I found a lady from my native State,
New York, who had gone South as a teacher, and married a planter.
There was a slight disparity in their ages. I would not take oath as to
the exact difference, but I heard a good many times that, when
married, she was nineteen and he forty-nine. If that was so, the
marriage furnished confirmation of the popular talk and notions
concerning "an old man's darling." He was certainly as kind and
indulgent as a husband could well be. She was a Presbyterian and
he a Baptist. He was kind and genial, and full of vivacity and life,
and loved to entertain me as his "wife's preacher," and for her sake,
as well as to gratify his own warm social instincts. Here, at each
return for years, I ever found the warmest welcome and the kindest
home. To her my visits were like those of an old friend, for, when far
away from the companions and scenes of early life, the ties that
unite those from the same State become strong and endearing. But
far stronger than this is the bond that unites members of different
churches to their own clergymen, and especially when they but
rarely enjoy their ministrations. Gifted, intelligent, and full of energy,
and also sympathizing deeply with the object of my Christian toils
and labors, she spared no pains to make her house what it ever was
to me, a delightful resting-place and home. A large, fine chamber
always awaited me, to which they gave my name, and here I spent
many delightful hours. I brought to them many tales of my
adventures in the Brush, for which my host had the keenest
appreciation, and I heard from him many accounts of preachers and
preaching he had known and heard that are hard to be surpassed,
which I intend to give my readers in another chapter. It was with
these friends that for years I left my horse during all my vacation-
journeys. Here she became a family pet. Here I was sure she would
never be overridden, and always receive the kindest care. Here she
came to be regarded with an attachment, if possible, greater than
my own; for, when I returned for her, the children would have a
hearty cry as I rode her away. When at length I closed my labors in
the Southwest and left the region, my kind Baptist friend was more
than glad to procure her for his Presbyterian wife, and I left her
where I was sure she would have the kindest treatment while
serviceable, and enjoy a comfortable and honored old age.
CHAPTER IV.
OLD-TIME HOSPITALITY IN THE SOUTHWEST.
The hospitality extended to ministers of the gospel by the people
who lived in the Brush was generous and large-hearted to a degree
that I have never known among any other class of people. They
obeyed the Scripture injunction, "Use hospitality without grudging."
They were "not forgetful to entertain strangers." I found their tables,
their beds, their stables, and indeed all the comforts of their rude
homes, always open for the rest and refreshment of myself and my
indispensable horse. We were as welcome to all these as to the
water that bubbled from their springs and "ran among the hills."
At the commencement of my itinerant life, on leaving the families
where I had spent a night or taken a meal, I used to propose to pay
them, and ask for my bill; but I found this gave offense. Many
seemed to regard it as a reflection on their generosity for me to
intimate or suppose that they would take pay for entertaining a
preacher. I therefore adopted a formula that saved me from all
danger of wounding their feelings, and relieved my character from
all suspicion of a disposition to avoid the payment of my bills. It was
as follows: When about to leave a family, I said to them, "I am
indebted to you for a night's entertainment," to which the general
response was: "Not at all, sir. Come and stay with us again,
whenever you pass this way."
It was a very rare occurrence that I was permitted to cancel my
indebtedness by paying for what I had received.
In thanking them for their hospitality, as of course I always did on
leaving them, they made me feel that I had conferred a favor rather
than incurred an obligation by staying with them.
For years it was my custom to apply for entertainment at any house
wherever night overtook me, and I invariably received a cordial
welcome. This application for entertainment was always made
according to the custom of the people, and in their own vernacular,
which I will illustrate by an example.
In my horseback-journeyings I had reached the tall, dense, heavy
forests of the bottom-lands of the Mississippi River, about a dozen
miles from the Father of Waters. As the sun was about setting, I
came upon a large "dead'ning," where the underbrush had been cut
out and burned off, the large trees had been girdled and had died,
and a crop of corn had been raised among the dead forest-trees,
before the new-comer in this wilderness had been able to completely
clear a field around his newly-erected log-cabin. Turning off from the
corduroy-road upon which I had been traveling, I took a footpath,
and, following that, was soon as near the cabin as a high rail-fence
would allow me to approach on horseback. A short distance from
this log-cabin was a still smaller one occupied by a colored aunty
and her family, and used for a kitchen; and not far off still another
log-building, used for a barn and stable.
The most of my readers in the older sections of the country will
suppose that I had now only to dismount, hitch my horse, climb the
fence, rap at the door, and so gain admittance to my resting-place
for the night. Far otherwise. Only the most untraveled and
inexperienced in the Brush would undertake so rash an experiment.
Sitting upon my horse, I called out in a loud voice, "Hello there!"
That call was for the same purpose that the city pastor mounts the
stone steps and rings the bell at the door of his parishioner. It was
rather more effective.
A large pack of hounds and various other kinds of dogs responded
with a barking chorus, a group of black pickaninnies rushed from the
adjacent kitchen, followed to the door by their sable mother, with
arms a-kimbo and hands fresh from mixing the pone or corn-dodger
for the family supper; all, with distended eyes and mouth, and
shining ivory, staring at the stranger with excited and pleased
curiosity. At almost the same instant, the mistress of the incipient
plantation approached the door of her cabin, stockingless and
shoeless, with a dress of woolsey woven in her own loom by her
own hands, and cut and made by her own skill, with face not less
pleased and excited than the others, and her cordial greeting of
"How d'y, stranger—how d'y, sir? 'Light, sir! [alight]—'light, sir!"
Remaining upon my horse, I replied: "I am a stranger in these parts,
madam. I have ridden about fifty miles since morning and am very
tired. Can I get to stay with you to-night, madam?"
"Oh, yes," she replied, promptly, "if you can put up with our rough
fare. We never turn anybody away."
I told her I should be very glad to stay with her, and dismounted.
The dogs, who would otherwise have resisted my approach to the
door by a combined attack, obeyed their instructions not to harm
me, and granted me a safe entrance as a recognized friend.
Such was the universal training of the dogs, and such the uniform
method of approaching and gaining admittance to the houses of the
people in the Brush. My hostess informed me that her husband was
at work in the "dead'ning," but that he would soon be at home and
take care of my horse.
I told her that I could do that myself, and she sent her little son
along with me to the stable, where I bestowed that kind and, I may
say, affectionate care that one who journeys for years on horseback
learns to bestow upon his faithful horse. I then entered the cabin,
and received that warm welcome that awaits the traveler in our
Western wilds.
Shall I describe my home for the night? It was a new log-house, less
than twenty feet square, and advanced to a state of completeness
beyond many in which I had lodged, inasmuch as the large openings
between the logs had been filled with "chink and daubing." The
chimney, built upon the outside of the house, was made of split
sticks, laid up in the proper form, and thoroughly "daubed" with
mud, so as to prevent them from taking fire. A large opening cut
through the logs communicated with this chimney, and formed the
ample fireplace. The roof was made of "shakes"—pieces of timber
rived out very much in the form of staves, but not shaved at all.
These were laid upon the roof like shingles, except that they were
not nailed on, but "weighted on"—kept in their places by small
timbers laid across each row of "shakes" over the entire roof. These
timbers were kept in their places by shorter ones placed between
them, transversely, up and down the roof. In this manner the
pioneer constructs a roof for his cabin, by his own labor, without the
expenditure of a dime for nails. With wooden hinges and a wooden
latch for his door, he needs to purchase little but glass for his
windows, to provide a comfortable home for his family. His latch-
string, made of hemp or flax that he has raised, or from the skin of
the deer which he has pursued and slain in the chase, which, as the
old song has it—
"Hangs outside the door,"
symbolizes the cordial welcome and abounding hospitality to be
found within.
At the end of the room opposite the fireplace there was a bed in
each corner, under one of which there was a "trundle-bed" for the
children. There was no chamber-floor or chamber above to obstruct
the view of the roof. There was no division into apartments, not
even by hanging up blankets, a device I have seen resorted to in
less primitive regions. From floor to roof, from wall to wall, all was a
single "family" room, which was evidently to be occupied by the
family and myself in common. A rough board table, some plain
chairs, and a very few other articles completed the inventory of
household furniture of the pioneer's home to which I had been
welcomed.
Such a home was the birthplace of Lincoln, and many other of the
greatest, wisest, and best men that have ever blessed our country.
Such homes have been crowned with abundance, and have been the
scenes of as much real comfort and joy as any others in our land.
I have found that curiosity is a trait that is not monopolized by any
one section of country or class of people. It belongs to all localities,
and to all grades and kinds of people. I therefore, in accordance with
what a pretty wide experience had taught me was the best course to
pursue, proceeded at once to gratify the curiosity of my hostess as
to who her guest was, and what business had brought him to this
wild region. I told her my name, and that I was a Presbyterian
preacher, and an agent of the American Bible Society. This not only
satisfied her curiosity, but was very gratifying information to her, and
I received a renewed and cordial welcome to her home as a minister
of the gospel.
In the course of the ordinary conversation and questions that attend
such a meeting of strangers in the Brush, I learned that she and her
husband had emigrated from a county some hundreds of miles east,
which I had several times visited in the prosecution of my mission,
and I was able to give her a great deal of information in regard to
her old neighbors and friends. We were in the midst of an earnest
conversation in regard to these people, when her husband came in
from his labors. On being introduced to me, and informed in regard
to my mission, he repeated the welcome his wife had already given
me to the hospitality of their cabin.
Our supper was such as is almost universally spread in the wilds of
the Southwest. It consisted of an abundance of hot corn-bread, fried
bacon, potatoes, and coffee. A hard day's labor and a long day's ride
prepared us to do it equal justice.
The evening wore rapidly away in conversation. Such pioneers are
not dull, stupid men. Their peculiar life gives activity to mind as well
as body. My host was anxious and glad to hear from the great
outside active world, with which I had more recently mingled, and
had questions to ask and views to give as to what was going on in
the political and religious world.
At length our wearied bodies made a plea for rest that could not be
refused, and I was invited to conduct their family worship. This
invitation was extended in the language and manner peculiar to the
Southern and Southwestern sections of the country. This is
universally as follows:
The Bible and hymn-book are brought forward by the host, and laid
upon the table or stand, when he turns to the preacher and says,
"Will you take the books, sir?"
That is the invitation to lead the devotions of the family in singing
and prayer. It has been my happy lot to receive and respond to that
invitation—as I did that night—in many hundreds of families and in
some of the wildest portions of our land.
The method of extending an invitation to "ask a blessing" before a
meal is quite as peculiar. Being seated at the table, the host, turning
to the preacher, says, "Will you make a beginning, sir?"—all at table
reverently bowing their heads as he extends the invitation, and while
the blessing is being asked.
So, too, I have "made a beginning" at many a hospitable board in
many different States. I did not that night make the mistake that is
reported of an inexperienced home-missionary explorer, in similar
circumstances, who, laboring under the impression that "to retire"
and "to go to bed" were synonymous terms, said, "Madam, I will
retire, if you please."
"Retire!" she rejoined; "we never retires, stranger. We just goes to
bed."
Sitting with the family before the large fireplace, I said, "Madam, I
have ridden a long distance to-day, and am very tired."
"You can go to bed at any time you wish, sir," said she. "Just take
the left-hand bed."
I withdrew behind their backs to "lay my garments by," took the left-
hand bed, turned my face to the left-hand wall, and slept soundly for
the night.
When I awoke in the morning, husband and wife had arisen and left
the room, he to feed his team, and she to attend to her household
duties in the kitchen. After an early breakfast, and again leading
their family devotions, I bade them good-by, with many thanks for
their kindness, and with repeated invitations on their part to be sure
to spend the night with them should I ever come that way again.
But I have never seen them since.
I have very often recalled a hospitable reception in the Brush, of a
very different character, the recollection of which has always been
exceedingly pleasant to me. Wishing to visit a rough, wild, remote
region, at a season of the year when the roads were almost
impassable on account of the spring rains and the mud, I concluded
to go the greater part of the distance by steamboats, down one river
and up another, and then ride about fifty miles in a stage or mail-
wagon. The roads would scarcely be called roads at all in most parts
of the country, and I shall not be able to give to many of my readers
any true idea of the exceeding roughness of that ride. A
considerable part of the way was through the bottom-lands of one of
the smaller Southwestern rivers that swell the volume of the
Mississippi. A recent freshet had left the high-water mark upon the
trees several feet higher than the backs of our horses; and as we
jolted over the small stumps and great roots of the trees, from which
the earth had been washed away by the freshet, I was wearied,
exceedingly wearied, by the rough road and comfortless vehicle in
which I traveled.
At length we came upon a very pleasant plantation, with a
comfortable house and surroundings, where the driver, a boy about
fifteen years old, told me he would feed his team, and we would get
our dinner. It was not an hotel. Mail-contractors in this region often
make such arrangements to procure feed for their horses and meals
for the few passengers that they carry, at private houses. As I
entered the house I was greeted with one of those calm, mild, sweet
faces that one never forgets. I should think that my hostess was
between thirty-five and forty years old. I was too weary to engage in
much conversation, and she was quiet, and said very little to me. As
I observed her movements about the room in preparing the dinner, I
thought I had never seen a face that presented a more perfect
picture of contentment and peace. I felt perfectly sure that she was
a Christian—that her face bespoke "the peace of God that passeth all
understanding." When she invited the driver and myself to take
seats at the table, I said, "Shall I ask a blessing, madam?"
With a smile she bowed assent, and, as I concluded and looked up,
her face was all radiant with joy, and she said excitedly, "You are a
preacher, sir!"
I replied, "Yes, madam."
"Well," she responded, "I am glad to see you. I love to see
preachers. I love to cook for them, and take care of them. I love to
have them in my house."
I told her who I was, explained the character of my mission, and
expressed, I trust with becoming warmth, my gratification at the
cordiality of her welcome.
"Oh," said she, "if I was a man, I know what I would do. I would do
nothing but preach. I'd go, and go, and go; and preach, and preach,
and preach. I wouldn't have anything to pester me. I wouldn't marry
nary woman in the world. I'd go, and go, and go—and preach, and
preach, and preach, until I could preach no longer; and then I'd lie
down—close my eyes—and—go on."
Was there ever a more graphic and truthful description of an
earnest, apostolic life? Was there ever a more simple, beautiful
description of a peaceful Christian death? They recall the statement
of Paul, "This one thing I do"; and the story of Stephen, "And when
he had said this, he fell asleep."
The people who have spent their lives deep in the Brush, as this
good woman had, have no other idea of a preacher of the gospel
but one whose duty and mission it is to "go" and "preach." They
have been accustomed to hearing but one message, or at most a
few messages, from their lips, and then hear their farewell words,
listen to their farewell songs, shake hands with them, and see them
take their departure to "go" and "preach" to others who, like them,
dwell in lone and solitary wilds. Meetings and partings like these
have originated and given their peculiar power to such refrains as—
"Say, brothers, will you meet us—
Say, brothers, will you meet us—
Say, brothers, will you meet us
On Canaan's happy shore?