By Mrs. Mary Lockwood.

The days were dark and hopeless, the hearts of our forefathers were heavy and cast down. Deep, dark despondency had settled upon them. Defeat after defeat had followed our army until it was demoralized, and despair had taken possession of them. Lord Cornwallis, after his victory at Fort Lee, had marched his army to Elizabethtown, New Jersey, and there encamped. This was in that memorable December, 1776. The Howe brothers had already issued their celebrated proclamation, that offered protection to all that would seek refuge under the British flag within sixty days and declare themselves British subjects, and take an oath binding themselves to not take up arms against the mother country or induce others to do so.

In one of the many spacious homes of the town, there had assembled a goodly number of the foremost men of the time to discuss the feasibility of accepting the proffered proclamation. We are much inclined to the belief that enthusiasm, bravery, indomitable courage and patriotism were attributes that took possession of our forefathers and held on to them until they became canonized beatitudes, upon which the sires alone had a corner, but we find on close scrutiny that there were times when manly hearts wavered, and to courage was added a prefix, and this was one of them.

For hours the council went on, the arguments were sincere, grave but faltering. Some thought that the time had fully come to accept the clemency offered—others shook their heads, but the talk went on until every soul in the room had become of one mind, courage, bravery, patriotism, hope, honor, all were swept away by the flood-tide of disaster.

There was one listener from whom the council had not heard. In an adjoining room sat Hannah Arnett, the wife of the host. She had listened to the debate, and when the final vote was reached she could no longer constrain herself. She sprang to her feet and, throwing open the parlor door, in her majesty confronted that group of counsels.

Picture a large room with a low ceiling, furnished with the heavily-carved furniture of those days, dimly lighted by wax candles, and a fire in the huge fire-place. Around a table sat a group of anxious disheartened-looking men. Before them stood the fair dame in the antique costume of the day. Imagination will picture her stately bearing as she entered into their august presence. The indignant scorn upon her lips, the flash of her blue eyes, her commanding figure and dignified presence brought every man to his feet.

Consternation and amazement for the moment ruled supreme. The husband advanced toward her, shocked and chagrined that his wife had so forgotten herself; that she should come into the midst of a meeting where politics and the questions of the hour were being discussed. He would shield her now. The reproof he would give later on, and so he was quickly at her side, and whispering, said to her:

"Hannah! Hannah! this is no place for you. We do not want you here just now."

He would have led her from the room.

She was a mild, amiable woman, and was never known to do aught against her husband's wishes, but if she saw him now she made no sign, but turned upon the astonished group:

"Have you made your decision, gentlemen?" she asked. "I stand before you to know; have you chosen the part of men or traitors?"

It was a direct question, but the answer was full of sophistry, explanation, and excuse.

"The case was hopeless, the army was starving, half clothed and undisciplined, repulses everywhere. We are ruined and can stand out no longer against England and her unlimited resources."

Mrs. Arnett, in dignified silence, listened until they had finished, and then she asked: "But what if we should live after all?"

"Hannah! Hannah!" said her husband in distress. "Do you not see that these are no questions for you? We are doing what is best for you—for all. Women have no share in these topics. Go to your spinning-wheel and leave us to settle affairs. My good little wife, you are making yourself ridiculous. Do not expose yourself in this way before our friends."

Every word he uttered was to her as naught. Not a word had she heard; not a quiver of the lip or tremor of an eyelash. But in the same strangely sweet voice she asked: "Can you tell me if, after all, God does not let the right perish, if America should win in the conflict, after you had thrown yourself on British clemency, where will you be then?"

"Then," said one, "we should have to leave the country. But that is too absurd to think of in the condition our country and our army are."

"Brother," said Mrs. Arnett, "you have forgotten one thing which England has not, and which we have—one thing which outweighs all England's treasures, and that is the right. God is on our side, and every volly of our muskets is an echo of His voice. We are poor, and weak, and few, but God is fighting for us; we entered into this struggle with pure hearts and prayerful lips; we had counted the cost and were willing to pay the price, were it in our own heart's blood. And now because for a time the day is going against us, you would give up all, and sneak back like cravens to kiss the feet that have trampled upon us. And you call yourselves men—the sons of those who gave up home and fortune and fatherland to make for themselves and for dear liberty a resting place in the wilderness? Oh, shame upon you cowards!"

"Gentlemen," said Arnett, with an anxious look on his face. "I beg you to excuse this most unseemly interruption to our council. My wife is beside herself, I think. You all know her, and know it is not her wont to meddle in politics, or to bawl and bluster. Tomorrow she will see her folly, but now I pray your patience."

Her words had already begun to leaven the little manhood remaining in their bosoms, but not a word was spoken. She had turned the light of her soul upon them, and in the reflection they saw photographed their own littleness of purpose or want of manly resolve.

She still talked on: "Take your protection if you will; proclaim yourselves traitors and cowards, false to your God! but horrible will be the judgment you will bring upon your heads and the heads of those that love you. I tell you that England will never conquer. I know it, and feel it in every fibre of my heart. Has God led us so far to desert now? Will He who led our fathers across the stormy, wintry sea forsake their children, who have put their trust in Him? For me, I stay with my country, and my hand shall never touch the hand nor my heart cleave to the heart of him who shames her."

While these words were falling from her lips she stood before them like a tower of strength, and, turning toward her husband, she gave him a withering look that sent a shock through every fibre of his body. Continuing, she said: "Isaac, we have lived together for twenty years, and through all of them I have been to you a true and loving wife; but I am the child of God and my country, and if you do this shameful thing I will never own you again as my husband."

"My dear wife!" answered Isaac, excitedly, "you do not know what you are saying. Leave me for such a thing as this!"

"For such a thing as this?"

"What greater cause could there be?" answered the injured wife. "I married a good man and true, a faithful friend, and it needs no divorce to sever me from a traitor and a coward. If you take your protection you lose your wife, and I—I lose my husband and my home."

The scornful words, uttered in such earnestness; the pathetic tones in which these last words were spoken; the tears that dimmed her sad blue eyes, appealed to the heart of every man before her. They were not cowards all through, but the panic sweeping over the land had caught them also.

The leaven of courage, manliness and resolution had begun its work. Before these men left the home of Hannah Arnett that night every man had resolved to spurn the offered amnesty, and had taken a solemn oath to stand by their country through good days and bad, until freedom was written over the face of this fair land.

There are names of men who fought for their country and won distinction afterward, who were in this secret council, but the name of Hannah Arnett figures on no roll of honor.

Where will the "Sons and Daughters of the Revolution" place Hannah Arnett?—American Monthly Magazine.