One day， in the sick-chamber of Father Ephraim， whohad been forty years the presiding elder over the Shakersettlement at Goshen， there was an assemblage of severalof the chief men of the sect. Individuals had come fromthe rich establishment at Lebanon， from Canterbury，Harvard and Alfred， and from all the other localitieswhere this strange people have fertilized the rugged hillsof New England by their systematic industry. An elder waslikewise there who had made a pilgrimage of a thousandmiles from a village of the faithful in Kentucky to visit hisspiritual kindred the children of the sainted Mother Ann.
He had partaken of the homely abundance of their tables，had quaffed the far-famed Shaker cider， and had joinedin the sacred dance every step of which is believed toalienate the enthusiast from earth and bear him onward toheavenly purity and bliss. His brethren of the North hadnow courteously invited him to be present on an occasionwhen the concurrence of every eminent member of theircommunity was peculiarly desirable.
The venerable Father Ephraim sat in his easy-chair， notonly hoary-headed and infirm with age， but worn down bya lingering disease which it was evident would very soontransfer his patriarchal staff to other hands. At his footstoolstood a man and woman， both clad in the Shaker garb.
“My brethren，” said Father Ephraim to the surroundingelders， feebly exerting himself to utter these few words，“here are the son and daughter to whom I would committhe trust of which Providence is about to lighten my wearyshoulders. Read their faces， I pray you， and say whetherthe inward movement of the spirit hath guided my choicearight.”
Accordingly， each elder looked at the two candidateswith a most scrutinizing gaze. The man—whose name wasAdam Colburn—had a face sunburnt with labor in thefields， yet intelligent， thoughtful and traced with caresenough for a whole lifetime， though he had barely reachedmiddle age. There was something severe in his aspect anda rigidity throughout his person—characteristics thatcaused him generally to be taken for a schoolmaster； whichvocation， in fact， he had formerly exercised for severalyears. The woman， Martha Pierson， was somewhat abovethirty， thin and pale， as a Shaker sister almost invariablyis， and not entirely free from that corpse-like appearancewhich the garb of the sisterhood is so well calculated toimpart.
“This pair are still in the summer of their years，” observedthe elder from Harvard， a shrewd old man. “I would like betterto see the hoar-frost of autumn on their heads. Methinks，also， they will be exposed to peculiar temptations onaccount of the carnal desires which have heretoforesubsisted between them.”
“Nay， brother，” said the elder from Canterbury； “thehoar-frost and the black frost hath done its work onBrother Adam and Sister Martha， even as we sometimesdiscern its traces in our cornfields while they are yet green.
And why should we question the wisdom of our venerableFather’s purpose， although this pair in their early youthhave loved one another as the world’s people love？ Arethere not many brethren and sisters among us who havelived long together in wedlock， yet， adopting our faith，find their hearts purified from all but spiritual affection？”
Whether or no the early loves of Adam and Marthahad rendered it inexpedient that they should now presidetogether over a Shaker village， it was certainly mostsingular that such should be the final result of many warmand tender hopes. Children of neighboring families， theiraffection was older even than their school-days； it seemedan innate principle interfused among all their sentimentsand feelings， and not so much a distinct remembranceas connected with their whole volume of remembrances.
But just as they reached a proper age for their unionmisfortunes had fallen heavily on both and made itnecessary that they should resort to personal labor for abare subsistence. Even under these circumstances MarthaPierson would probably have consented to unite her fatewith Adam Colburn’s， and， secure of the bliss of mutuallove， would patiently have awaited the less importantgifts of Fortune. But Adam， being of a calm and cautiouscharacter， was loth to relinquish the advantages which asingle man possesses for raising himself in the world. Yearafter year， therefore， their marriage had been deferred.
Adam Colburn had followed many vocations， hadtravelled far and seen much of the world and of life.
Martha had earned her bread sometimes as a sempstress，sometimes as help to a farmer’s wife， sometimes asschoolmistress of the village children， sometimes as anurse or watcher of the sick， thus acquiring a variedexperience the ultimate use of which she little anticipated.
But nothing had gone prosperously with either of thelovers； at no subsequent moment would matrimony havebeen so prudent a measure as when they had first parted，in the opening bloom of life， to seek a better fortune. Still，they had held fast their mutual faith. Martha might havebeen the wife of a man who sat among the senators of hisnative State， and Adam could have won the hand， as hehad unintentionally won the heart， of a rich and comelywidow. But neither of them desired good-fortune save toshare it with the other.
At length that calm despair which occurs only in astrong and somewhat stubborn character and yields tono second spring of hope settled down on the spirit ofAdam Colburn. He sought an interview with Martha andproposed that they should join the Society of Shakers.