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-23/7
/)3
LETTERS AND WRITINGS
OF
JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
fi5
LETTEB8 AND WKITINGS
OF
JAMES GREENLEAF QROSWELL
LATB If ASrtB or TH> BSSAUXT HBOOL
BOSTON AXD NSW TOBS
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
mt Mbn^fti pott t.t,wiMbgt
1917
COPY1UOHT, I917» BT LSTITIA BRACK CROSWSLL
ALL RIGHTS RK8KRYKD
Publith^d May tqrf
• ' r
■
TO THE READER
Jabies Croswell left no mass of writings
which is at all adequate to express what he was.
His work was done with the living voice, not
with the pen. The chief value of the letters
and scraps of letters, and other writings of his»
that are here gathered, is that there is in them
the sound of his voice. In them he speaks, and
people who loved to listen to him can listen
once more. To catch the echo of his voice and
the passing inflections of his mind is all that
has been attempted in this memorial volume.
To such writings of his own as his wife has
been able to collect, have been added a few rec-
ords of the impression he made on some men
and women who knew him best.
Edward S. Martin.
BIOGRAPHICAL
James Greenlbaf Cbobwell was bora in
Brunswick, Maine, August 29, 1852. His
father, the Reverend Andrew Croswell, was
rector of St. Paul's Church in Brunswick, and
remained there until Easter, 185S. Then, or
later, the family moved to Cambridge to be
near Mrs. Croswell's parents. Judge and Mrs.
Simon Greenleaf .
The boyhood friends of James Croswell were
LeBaron Briggs and Theodore and William
Russell, the latter afterwards Governor of
Massachusetts.
Croswell prepared for college in the Cam-
bridge Latin School, entered Harvard, and
graduated in 187S. The year after graduation
he taught at St. Mark's School, Southborougfa.
The year following that he became instructor
in Greek at Harvard and remained in that em-
ployment until he went to Germany in 1878.
There he pdSssed three years as a student at
Leipsic and Bonn.
From Germany he returned to Harvard and
was Assistant Professor of Greek from 1882
vui BIOGRAPHICAL
until, in the spring of ISST, he came to the
Brearley School.
He married (May 10, 1888) Letitia Brace,
daughter of Charles Loring Brace, of Dobbs
Perry.
He died on March 14, 1015.
In response to the enquiry of the secretary of
his Harvard class as to his proceedings during
the first twenty years after graduation he made
this reply: —
27 WaTBBLT PliA.CE»
New Yobk Cmr.
After graduation I tau^t school one year at
St. Mark's at Southborough. Upon leaving St.
Mark's I returned to Harvard, where I was em-
ployed by the college as a tutor in Greek for
three years. I escaped soon from the awkward
results of my incapacity by receiving, through
the tireless bounty of our Alma Mater, a " Parker
Pellowship," which permitted me three years
of travel in Europe. I returned to the college
as assistant professor in 1882 to repay this debt
by instructing again in Greek and Latin. In
1887, on the death of my collq^ friend, Sam-
uel Brearley, of the class of 1871, I inherited
the head-mastership of a school founded by
him in New Yorlc Ever since that time I have
BIOGRAPHICAL ix
been at work here, under varjring conditions,
chiefly occupied in preparing for college the
female descendants of Harvard, Yale, and
Princeton graduates. These New York girls
compose not the least interesting part of the
population of that interesting and heterogene-
ous city. Some of my pupils have become
teachers; some are mothers of American citizens ;
and some the wives of foreign nobles; two are
trained nurses; one is an officer of the Salva-
tion Army. These are. my short and simple an-
nals, if the Secretary thinks my classmates may
wish to hear them. I will not detail my literary
works, at his wicked suggestion. They are all
school-books, and may be found in the regular
educational catalogues. They enjoy a forced
circulation in some quarters.
ILLUSTRATIONS
Jamis Gbxsnleaf Cbobwell. . FronHspiece
From a portrait 6y W. Sargeani Kendall^ 191S
'Frra Yeabs Old 4
At Twenty-One 16
Facsimile of a Letter to a Child .... 128
Mr. Cbobwell's Hqube at Deer Isle, Maine . 882
JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
LETTERS
JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
LETTERS
In his thirteenth year
Jaffret, Auffutt 21, 1865.
Dear A : — Tuesday we went up the
mountain and I am going to tell you about it.
We crowded into the big mountain wagon of
Mr. Cutter's and rode a pretty long way till we
came to the Halfway House, there got out and
climbed along with our poles to a pretty little
place by a nice spring where we ate our dinner.
Then we set off to go to the top. We boys,
Charlie,* Willie Famsworth, Si, and I, all went
off together, and we lost the path; the conse-
quence was we had a dreadful, hard, tough
scramble over rocks and stones. One remarka-
ble thing was we got down in half the time we
came up. There are five bulls on the mountain,
two of which we saw, and they nearly scared
the young women to death. Good-bye.
^ Charles Pomeroy Paricer, obiit 1917.
4 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
P.S. Yesterday we made a picnic to a little
brook near the park and we had a very nice
time. When it began to rain we went into a
bam.
Your affectionate Jim.
To Mrs, James Greenleaf, sister of H. W. Longfellow^
the poet
Cambridge, /tiZj^ 20 [1868].
Pear Aunt Mary: — I have so much to
tell you that I don't know where to begin; so
I will go back to last May, when you left
here.
I went back to school and studied pretty
hard all June and came out first in my exami-
nations, and then came our grand exhibition.
Our class (namely the Second College) were
ushers at the exercises, which were composi-
tions, declamations, and an original English
dialogue, and we had the special honor of being
mentioned, as a body, for good scholarship,
which is very seldom done. Then there was a
ball in the evening, at which they danced the
most unheard-of fancy dances, and then the
Class of "1868" had graduated and given way
to " 1869,'^ which is mine.
Our Principal has sailed for Europe to pass
FIVE VEAItS ULD
LETTERS 5
the Long Vacation, so if you happen to see
Mr. William J. Rolfe, A.M., in England; he's
the man.
It 's very xx>nvenient to have such a famous
man as Professor Longfellow in your party, for
we have your movements telegraphed to the
Boston papers quite frequently. I look out on
the map your movements as well as I can,
though some places I can't find. I wish you
could go to Rugby and write me about it, as
that is the one place in England that I feel
curious about. I was very much pleased with
the little pictures you sent us, though the lake
did not seem "^all my fancy painted it," but I
suppose that an engraving could n't do it jus-
tice as regards the colors.
We were very much tickled by the story of the
two young men who shook hands with Unde
Sam for the poet, and I don't think they made
such a bad shot after all. I wish you would tell
Uncle Sam that I went to the Boylston Prize
Speaking on Phi Beta Kappa Day, and that
Greener, the colored man, of the Junior Class,
and Grodfrey Morse, of the same dass, took
the first prizes. I also heard William Everett's
poem delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa
Society.
6 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
On next Friday the Harvard Boat Club (long
may it wave) will race at Worcester with the
Yales. On Thursday we are going to race with
the famous Ward brothers at Worcester be-
sides various single races before. Last Fourth,
Harvard raced the Wards and got beaten; but
perhaps they will do better this time. Harvard
played the Lowells last Fourth on Jarvis, and
owing to Bob Shaw's absence got beaten by
three tallies. Last Friday the Harvards went
to Boston and played the Lowells, and beat
them by 39 to 26, but because the Lowells had
one or two men absent, the Harvards kindly
refused to call it a match game, and they will
play two more games. See the diflference be-
tween the Harvards' gentlemanly conduct and
i;he Lowells' I dont-know-what. Give my love
to Aunt Anne, and believe me
Your affectionate nephew,
J. G. Croswell.
P.S. Harvard played Lowell on Jarvis, and
beat them by one tally on yesterday.
LETTERS 7
Qzr BOABD SCH. BfSBBDITH,
Off Ragged Island, [Cabco Bat],
Augutt 2S, 1868.
Dear Aunt Mabt: — I am writing this on
the trunk of the old schooner, looking out over
the blue Atlantic and watching the sea-gulls
circling round above my head, and screaming
at us. Right abreast of us is a large flock of
coots, swimming in the water, and the white
breakers are dashing grandly up against the
little black ledges all around us.
''The billows are roaring.
Are rolling and roaring."
We are on our way from the New Meadows
River to Portland. Si and I have enjoyed
ourselves very much indeed (for three weeks on
the Meredith is not to be despised) in boating,
swimming, and fishing, and now we are trying
to beat up to Highfield against a wind dead
ahead. I am particular in describing all this
because I know you know all the Bay so. well
and will like to hear from it, even under the
shade of the Swiss mountains. Old Mr. Bibber
was telling me the other day (just as we were
passing through it) about Unde James's nam-
ing the Herring Gut, Herring Gutter, because
it is so narrow, and to this day Mr. Bibber al-
8 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
ways calls it "the Gutter." Perhaps you re-
member it is the passage between Jaquish and
Bailey's Island.
IVe been reading a delicious book of sea-
songs called "Thalatta," containing the pret-
tiest gems of the poets and all of them about
the sea. Perhaps my favorites are "Thalatta,"
from the German of Heine, and "Hampton
Beach/* by Whittier, which I can say almost
by heart IVe read it so often.
IVe had a lovely vacation so far» and as I
expect to go to Nahant on the Slst of August
to stay a fortnight with Charlie Pitts, I intend
to have a lovely vacation the rest of it. I have
seen the Alice two or three times this year, and
she looked very attractive. I declare I almost
think that I should prefer to own a yacht like
her, rather than to go to Europe five times over.
Just now the salt breeze is so delicious that I
don't want to go ashore at all.
Our High School Committee have been cut-
ting up such dreadful shines with the school,
dismissing the Principal and altering the stud-
ies, that I don't quite know what I Ve got to do
next year, beyond the fact that by that blessed
day when you get home I shall be ready for
college, probably. I suppose that you, pos-
LETTERS
sessing the Chronicle, are well posted up in these
matters. I very much enjoyed Aunt Anne's let*
ter to Bess about the Channel passage and so
has everybody who has read it. Seasickness is
the one difficulty in sailing on the briny: but
everjrthing has its drawbacks in this world.
When you write, tell me about the beautiful
Rhine, and Ehrenbreitstein, and Rolandseck;
and did you go to the Cathedral at Cologne?
I think I am more familiar with the Rhine than
any other part of Europe, not even England
excepted, and at any rate would rather see it.
By the time this letter gets to you I shall prob-
ably be in my seventeenth year. Think how
venerable I ami And still we go marching
along. Aunt Mary, and the time gets nearer
when you '11 return to
Your affectionate nephew,
J. G. Crosweui.
Simon and I send our best love to Aunt Anne.
I hope some day to get a letter written to her.
Please accept our best thanks for those cun-
ning little knives.
CAMBBmoB, October 81, 1868.
My dear Aunt: — I wrote you one letter
on or about the 1st of this month, and I thought
10 JAMES OREENLEAF CBOSWELL
I mentioned in it that we were back at school
again; but my thoughts were so full of the Sat*
urday session (of which I wrote you) that per-
haps I omitted it. Anyhow, we are not only at
school now, but even half through the fall
term. Mr. Rolfe was reinstated by a vote of
six to five in the School Board, and immedi-
ately resigned; and now Mr. Bradbury, an
under-teacher, is Acting Master; but we have
no Principal. I *m right sorry about Mr. Rolfe
and I despise that School Committee. We have
to go to school Satiu*days for three mortal
hours, and when there to let off a stupid de-
clamation.
Ma and the St. James's Sewing Circle are in
the full tide of preparation for a fair, and they
meet once a week to get ready. It may come
off on the 1st of December, but the time is not
fixed.
We got your letter, from Paris, of the 16th,
to-day. Ma is unable to write now from stress
of business, but sends love to you and will write
soon. Only think of your writing to us that you
sit in the famous Louvre. I tell you if I was
there I'd sit there most all the time. Though
I have n't the first idea of drawing myself, yet
I enjoy nothing so much as a picture; but I
LETTERS 11
have to take it out in Childs and Jenks, and
Illustrated Newsea. Speaking of that, I ^^run
over to Aunt Mary's" quite often to look at
Audubon or Iconography and to prowl about
the library, and it seems as if you might be
upstairs or in the kitchen; for though I've
learnt to imagine you gazing at Mont Blanc,
etc., while I'm not actually in the house, yet
when I am there I can't think you are so far
off as that.
Winter is coming here on the double-quick
and we have had a snowstorm already, but it
melted right off. However, it is not snow I
want, but ice to skate on, and if that little
puddle opposite the Craigie House is only as
large and as smooth and slippery as it was on
Washington's Birthday last winter, I shall be
happy. Oh I what fim it is to go cut, cut, cut^
slide, tumble, on perfect ^ass such as that
puddle was that morning I
Baseball is getting out of season slowly,
though we had a Harvard vs. Lowell game on
the 17th of this month, and a Harvard vs.
Tri-Mountain last Saturday. Harvard goes
out of the season triumphant, having beaten
both Lowells and Tri-Mounts badly. These
two clubs are the only rivab of any account
lie JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
they have. We had a great Grant and Colfax
turn-out in Boston on Wednesday night. There
was a torchlight procession three miles long in
Boston^consisting of dubs from all the country
round and three hundred Harvard students
marched in it. I believe papa sends you the
Transcript with the accoimt of it, so I will not
particularize. Washy's nephew is getting to be
a great boy now, and he thinks everything of
him. Much love to all, and tell Aimt A. L. P.
I'm going to write to her when I get a chance
and somewhat to say.
Au revoir.
J. G. C.
P.S. Manmia says that her fair is to be post-
poned till Easter.
Ahotd 1869.
Dbab Mother : — Your Simday night letter
got here at nine o'clock Monday, and as this
is the burden of the day, I can't stop long to
write. AJl's well, I guess; but we do have too
much milk. Puss has got so's not to touch it,
and blanc-mange is a drug. I never want to
eat any bread-and-milk again.
I got my watch mended — fifty cents — and
two oranges — eight cents. We have eaten
LETTERS IS
some little of your strawberry preserve, and
shall eat some more. Saturday night and Sun*
day morning we got our own meals. Our leg of
mutton is nearly eternal. We have eaten two
herrings and half a shad.
Tell pa I want those balmorals of his in the
worst way; I*m going to play croquet Wednes-
day afternoon and my shoes are b^inning to
crack. Miss Daniell wants me to be usher at
her wedding, but I can't, I think — I must cut
to go, anyhow. Miss Russell left a card at our
house, and her wedding cards are out this morn-
ing.
Tell pa that I hope by next year to look well
enough not to be mistaken for a Yale student
even by a stranger.
J. G. Croswell.
To Mr. Samud Longfellow^ brother of the poet
Saturday, August 12» 1871.
Dear Uncle Sam: — Islesboro is still
lively and much as you left it. We are quite
well, all of us, including your little Walter, and
are doing every day precisely what we have
done while you were here. Dick and Walter
and Willie are very much together, in the boats
around the wharf or on the hotel piazza; the
14 JAMES 6REENLEAF CBOSWELL
same croquet party still plays croquet; the
same backgammon party still sits in the parlor;
the waves still wash on White Rock beach when
I go down to swim alone, — just as they did
when we went together. So, since one day is so
much like another, it is hard to write much
news to you who know all about the place and
the people.
The first thing I thought of to tell you is that
last night the crop of mushrooms did very well
and they are very nice this morning. Don't you
wish you had some? We had some that night
we left you at Castine, on board the vessel for
dinner. H. had his pears also, and was much
gratified by the attention. He still proves a
great aid to our evening.
We had a very pleasant voyage home from
Castine, hardly to be called a sail, for there was
no wind and Wad and I rowed more than half-
way. I hope you were as lucky in your voyage
as regards smoothness of water. The fireworks
were quite successful that evening, which was
pretty quiet otherwise, for we were all tired.
Yesterday Minnie and Bess and I walked down
to that pretty Crow Cove where S. and I met
your boat party that afternoon and whence you
and I walked home. The girls are very good
LETTERS 15
walkers when they want to be; quite as good as
we boys, I think. In the afternoon Bessie and
I went aboard the vessel to write chords; but
she went to sleep and I went to row instead.
We made it up by going to the stile to see the
beautiful sunset last night, and this morning
we are going to the Post-Office, which reminds
me to end my letter.
Very truly yours,
J. G. Croswell.
Written on the eve of darting for Souihboro^ where he
had engaged to be a teacher at St. MarVa School
CAMBBmoB, August 81, 1878.
My deab Mothsb: — For the last time
I date from Cambridge. The long-expected
epoch has come, and with hope and cheerfid*
ness and faith, not in myself, but in the Power
on whose side I pray to try to be always found
fighting, I leave my home and all that I know
and love. I have had a pretty solemn time to-
day. I feel not a bit melancholy nor unhappy;
but a good deal of awe and a little mistrust.
So many responsibilities; such great interests
at stake; my own life thrown into my own keep-
ing as it really never has been; and with it a
certain amount of influence on other lives. And
16 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
I have with the best intentions such an india-
rubber backbone. I hope I shall not be weighed
and found wanting. Oh, for a little real ob-
stinacy and a little manly courage, to keep me
from quailing in the hour of trial I I pray I may
not be one of the children of Ephraim, but am
dreadfully afraid I am.
To Mr. Samuel Longfellow
SouTHBOBO, October 14, 1873.
My dear Uncle Sam: — I believe you are a
man who likes boys enough to enjoy a letter
about them. So I shall venture to write you the
history of my life for the past six weeks, which
really has been little but constant care and
attention to thirty-six small boys. The small-
est ones, of course, are the most interesting.
They are boy, pure and simple, the genuine
article. The first day I came, one of these little
fellows quite won my heart by his oddities of
appearance, his politeness, and his thorough
boyishness. His name is Master L. His native
town is Providence; his father is a wealthy
gentleman of that city, and, as the son tells me
with pride, a colonel in the late war.
This little chap looks exactly and wonderfully
like a monkey. His hair is cut short and bristly ;
:?^",
« •
LETTERS 17
his face is all over freckles, or rather all one
freckle; he has no forehead at all, and his eye-
brows meet in a sage frown which rarely leaves
his face. To all this add a very bright, restless
pair of eyes and a more restless pair of hands.
Perhaps you don't see why he should win a
tutor's admiration, and are waiting to hear that
he distinguishes himself by his recitations. On
the contrary, he is one of the poorest scholars.
In American history class he undertook, with
the gravest face possible, to recite about the
Whiskey "Resurrection," and in spelling he is
something like Josh Billings. iVeeei^^ he always
spells neaMey and the words to, too, two^ are al-
together beyond his powers. His whole soul is
devoted, like many other little fellows' here, to
trapping rabbits, and his lessons are merely
side issues, wapipya, to this pursuit. But in
general information he is strong, and is a very
entertaining talker at the table. He sits next to
me on one side. On the other side sits a thor-
ough contrast to him — T. T., a light blond,
whose skin is so delicately fair that the veins on
his forehead show bright blue. He has a very
sweet temper and a good deal of talent for
study — and yet, like L., he is a perfectly
noisy, jolly boy and more of a trapper if pos-
18 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
sible than he even. These two were so polite
to me in my greenness, and are so happy and
bright and funny at the table, that I cannot
help, as I said to begin with, a good deal of af-
fection for them, though I cannot precisely tell
why. Is there not something wonderfully
attractive in any opening bud, — fascinating
by the promise of what may come, and of itself
beautiful and pleasant?
Another class of boys here may fairly be
represented by Henry Chapin. He is older,
wiser, quieter, is beginning to think about be-
ing a monitor some day, and is rather on his
good behavior; therefore, the pleasure I take
in him is rather of a more reasonable kind, and
it 's more for what he promises to be than what
he is. Good-natured, steady, brave, bright;
some day he wUl be a splendid man.
The monitors and the "sixth " are, of coujrse,
the cream of the school. Our captain, or dux^
or whatever you would call him is a young man
called H. He is "one of a thousand." The
tutors meet and treat him on terms of perfect
equality except a little bit of etiquette once in
a while. He is, like all the monitors, indeed, a
very efficient ally in the school to us. And in
personal character he reminds me most of H. S.
LETTERS 19
White, \^Iiich is saying a great deal for him, is
it not? I have not written much history have
I? The fact is my life is made up of boys, and in
writing of them I do write of myself. Many
thanks for that very entertaining ^'Old and
New." Yours affectionately,
J. G, C.
SouTHBOBO, February 14, 1874.
My deab Uncle Sam: — Your letter came
safely and by the next mail the pamphlet also,
for both of which I am much obliged. I too have
not forgotten our talk together. I wish it had
been longer, for I asked and said but a small
fragment of what was in my mind to ask and
say. Such topics are intensely interesting to talk
and think of, and you know how boundless is
the field of investigation.
As to the line of thought in which our con-
versation ran, and which your sermon carries
out, it is a favorite one of mine. Mr. Arnold
(^ns it up a little, or rather it is the starting-
point of his theology, though he does not de-
velop it in such detail as you do.
That God is a Spirit, and that our concep-
tions of him grow unconsciously material and
earthly and need careful watching, I know or
80 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
I feel to be most surely true. Anything, either
sermon or poem or ritual, even noble act or
noble word, which may vivify and strengthen
this spiritual consciousness in us of His Spirit,
is most precious and welcome. And any dam-
age or weakening of this God-consciousness
certainly seems to be the worst calamity that
can befall one, just as, having this, no calamity
can be very great or painful.
So I need not say any more of your pam-
phlet than that it seemed to help me to that
for which I am daily struggling, and earns my
best gratitude.
I think the fight will be a very long and hard
one before I reach the perfect communion of
thought and feeling and life between myself
and Himself which I must find or die. People
have said that it is not found in this world. I
mean to try to get as near as I can, but am yet
a long way ofif and seem to get on but slowly.
I hope you are having a good winter. It is
almost over now, so perhaps I will say instead
I hope you will have a pleasant spring. I look
back with more regret on the Cambridge spring
than any other season.
Au revoir, from
Yours truly, J. G. C.
LETTERS 21
CASTiNSt Mainb, Auffuti 18» 1874.
My deab Uncle Sam: — I am gratified to
discern signs in your letter of a longing for
Castine. I should like to take you to our old
cove where the birch tree waves and the clear
transparent tide invites to the bath.
''Es lllchelt der Strom
Er ladet zum Bade/'
After which very probably our intellects would
be clear and cool, and I should find it possible
to tell the opinions and ask the questions I have
saved for this summer.
I agree to what you said of Matthew [Ar-
nold] : but still he did convey to me that very
notion of God which may not have been in the
Jehovah of Israel, but he has found somewhere
and throws into the Bible words. I had a dif-
ferent notion of God and the Bible when I fin-
ished his book, and a truer one. This is to me
the merit of the book. I am not theologian
enough to decide whether he has given the God
of Israel truly or colored the representation
by some notion of his own, not derived from
the Old Testament.
To me the part treating of Christ and his
work was more interesting. I have read "^Ecce
22 JAMES OREENLEAF CB08WELL
Homo " down here and should like to talk that
over with you also.
You have probably heard of the change in
my life. I am coming back to Cambridge and
the living world next winter. What a relief this
change is to me I did not know until it was fairly
made and I could sit down and think it over.
To go back to all my friends, to my college, and
the society of thoughtful men and women, to
books and study again will be indeed delight-
ful.
Please come down and see us here and bring
Aunt Mary.
Yours affectionately,
J. G. C.
Before returning to Cambridge
Castene, August 27, 1874.
My dear Mother: — This is an extra letter,
written because there is a boat to you to-day
and because I hope to win a birthday letter
thereby. Next Saturday you will perhaps rec-
ollect, makes me two and twenty. What an
age for me to have attained! I ought to begin
to show if I can amount to anything I am sure.
"Wasting no tears or vain regrets'* over that
which is gone, still I do feel as if I might have
LETTERS S3
done more, and hope to rise higher in my char-
acter and works next year and in all successive
years. I would not have you afraid to write
your honest feelings to me. What's the use
of me, if you can't tell me all you know? Some-
times I like to tell you all my troubles just for
the sake of "' dragging the pond " to see if there
is or is not anything really there to be troubled
about. If there is a bunch of anxieties worry-
ing youy write them to me and never mind
about the color of the letter.
I have written you about the manifold vari-
ety in uniformity of our days' occupations. The
fun of all our Castine days is about the same
at the bottom, the merriment of a dozen^are-
less, light-hearted people living to enjoy them-
selves. I am growing rather weary of it at
times. But there is yet left enough sparkle in
us to carry us through the week, I guess. And
there will be sobriety enough next winter.
Lettebs fbom Germany
Leipzio, Saxont, July 28, 1878.
Mt dear Mother: — I went yesterday to
hear the German service in the Thomas-kirche.
They hold one on Saturday noon, and have
94 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
there a famous boy choir. Bach led it once
himself » and it is traditionally a very fine one.
They sang two motettes, without any organ.
It is far beyond my power to tell you what a
wonderful performance it was. The church is
old, squalid, dusty, and dirty. The congr^a-
tion, packed in, was equally dirty — mostly
men that day — workmen apparently, shop-
keepers, students, etc., stopping in to hear the
music in their limch hour, and listening with
the most rapt attention. And there away up in
the gallery were grouped the bunch of boys
around the conductor and next to the organ.
And the sounds they uttered! For smoothness
and sweetness and finish and perfection of
shading and of time! I have heard a good deal
of the orchestral music and of the band music
already and do not think it so very far ahead of
our best orchestral work. But the church music
I have heard is perfectly enchanting. When
their congregations all sing a choral or a chant,
it is splendid. At the Pauliner-kirche this
morning I stopped in on my way to our Eng-
lish church. I stayed through the sermon and
heard them sing a splendid Deus misereatur
after the sermon. I understood most of the ser-
mon. It was on the' text about being buried
LETTERS £5
with Christ in baptism. The Lutheran service
seems rather more ornate than our Congrega-
tional form and there is much more music.
Grermany seems to be like other countries in
having people who don't go to church and peo-
ple who do. The Sunday does not differ so very
much from Sunday as it now appears in Bos-
ton. Of course the restaurants being all open
gives some streets a livelier appearance, as they
are quite numerous. But unless you himt after
these places, your Sunday is quiet enough.
The street where I live is very still and there
are many i>eople who go out to church. Whether
the majority do or not I don't know. I suppose
not. The concert rooms are all opened Sunday
and they give their usual programmes I be-
lieve. Your affectionate son,
J. G. Cboswell.
To Mrs. Oreenleaf
Leipzig, August 99, 1878.
My dear Aunt : — I received your letter on
Tuesday and the Cambridge Press therewith.
I am glad to learn of the wedding and thought
John Owens wrote a very pretty poem. You
have, allow me to say, perfectly acquired the
art of writing a foreign letter; just exactly what
26 JAMES 6REENLEAF CROSWELL
I iwant to hear 9 and have no way of hearing —
where people are, what they are doing, who is
with you, and so on. Please write just as often
as you can, and just as lovingly. There is "no
one to love me" over here and I have to de-
pend on my letters. My mother has done
nobly, as a mother would. Where I should have
been without her I don't know. But next to hers,
I think most of yours — that is, if you will
keep on like your last.
I have moved my dwelling-place since I
wrote. I have now a much cheaper and much
better place and have no fears that I shall not
save money enough for my necessary journeys.
I only pay now thirty-five dollars a month for
all my expenses, lodging, food, light, heat, serv-
ice, and washing. Possibly I may have to pay
a little more when the University opens. I am
rather sorry I was entrapped into that other
boarding-house last month. It was far from
comfortable and cost me much more; for I
really had to go out and get something to sup-
port life beside their meals. However, one must
pay for his ignorances, I suppose.
You will see that this is my birthday to-day
— my six and twentieth, quite an age, is it not?
The next two or three years I suppose the most
LETTERS 87
valuable and critical I shall ever pass; I have
my fortune almost made; and have only to
work right on hard to secure it.
In talking with the students here, I find that
our University (Harvard, I mean) has facili-
ties even surpassing Leipzig for the study of
Natural Science; I think it might be made the
same in Greek and I should like to try my little
best to do it. America is so much better a
country than this in so many ways that I am
envious of the German reputation of learning
and would like very much to see our country
excel. So with the noble ambition of robbing
Leipzig of all the learning in the place I am
going into the winter term of the Leipzig Uni-
versity. I feel more disposed to study just now
than to travel. I do want to get en rapporf with
this German at once. I have been doing what
you recommended, talking freely and badly»
and find myself going ahead quite well. Soon
I hope to understand things in general conver-
sation. Just at present I understand about two
thirds or three quarters of every sentence. The
idioms make me much trouble, of course.
As to my New England character, believe me,
I hug it to my breast most fondly. There are
fifty things I do every day which I prize most
28 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
dearly just because they are our ways. I react
very strongly from Germany, and don't feel
in the least like becoming a German. I am an
Israelite in Egypt, ajid am merely here to spoil
the Egyptians of their jewels and to leave for
America just as soon as my object is gained.
You need not have one single suspicion of any
Germanizing on my part. I am too old a dog,
anyway, to learn new tricks now. Think of the
twenty-six years !
It strikes me that I ought to write you some
description of my surroundings, but when I sit
down and think of home, why, home ideas run
down the end of my pen, and I forget Leipzig.
Have you not been here? It is a pretty city.
The dwelling-houses and outer streets look to
me as the new streets in Boston might after
an hundred years of soft-coal smoke. The old,
inner town is quite antique. The buildings have
steep red roofs with several stories of little win-
dows in them, and the streets are exceedingly
narrow. Then one must notice the martial way
in which the soldier policemen, firemen, and
postmen do their various business. The streets
are full of uniforms. Even the little boys going
to school carry knapsacks and wear red and
blue caps. It is a perpetual Fourth of July here.
LETTERS 80
One notices also the women, pulling carts and
carrying enormous baskets, and the dogs har-
nessed in to help them. The market-places,
with their booths filled with v^etables, fruit,
fish, butter, and so on, are very picturesque
and foreign. So are the chimney-sweeps —
and the porters and the wagons and the liv-
eried servants and the carriages. But you
can imagine much, as an old traveller your-
self.
If you are near Aunt Anne, give her my best
love, and take it yourself. From
Your affectionate nephew,
J. G. C.
Leipzio, September 8, 1878.
Mt dear Mother: — I went again to the
Lutheran service to-day to hear one of the
great German preachers — I find they use
quite a ritual, differing slightly in different
churches, but retaining quite oddly many very
Popish practices; e.g., lighted candles and cru-
cifixes. They have intoned versicles, repeated
prayers, two lessons from the Bible (he read
a chapter from Proverbs and one from St.
Matthew, during which the congregation stood),
and three or four chorals sung, from the hymn
80 JAMES GREENLEAF CBOSWELL
book, by the whole congregation led by a boy
choir perched up in the organ loft, and by four
trumpets. I cannot describe the magnificence
of these chorals — waves and rollers of sound,
sweeping one off his feet up into the air, as the
breakers on a beach carry off irresistibly the
chips and weeds. " The soimd of many waters "
— that is it — it is described for me. And we
had such a noble sermon — an hour long. The
text was taken from the Venite — "O come, let
us sing." He read down to ^^In his hands are
all the comers of the earth."
He began by saying that we had just done
celebrating the festival of our national inde-
pendence and went on to describe the rejoicing
going on everywhere; then touched on the loss
of those who had sacrificed their relatives or
friends in the good cause, and then said how
God and he alone had ordered all this great
national movement, which made Germany one
again, and put the crown on the Kaiser's brow.
So for that the Germans owed to the King of
Kings their thanks. Then he drew out the
story: how for all joy and peace and plenty for
all sorrow and pain even, we had Him only to
thank and praise — how true gratitude must
express itself outwardly, as the water gushes
LETTERS 81
out of the ground irresistibly into brooks and
rivers, clothing and making fair the earth; but
how it must be first in the heart of hearts —
how God's kingdom was within us, but must
make itself felt without; and if I could only
have understood more I believe it was one of
the finest, most spirit-stirring sermons I ever
heard.
Then he said the Lord's Prayer, which is
very beautiful in Grerman — "Denn Dein ist
das Reich, und die Kraft, und die Herrlichkeit
in Ewigkeit. Amen/'
And then the trumpets pealed and the organ
rolled and the whole congregation broke out
with "Nun danket alle Gott," which you can
find and read in the Hynmal, No. SOS.
I believe there are some noble souls in Ger-
many fighting a good fight. I believe that the
Empire itself is with all its faults an attempt at
a praiseworthy object — to rescue the German-
speaking people from its divisions and to make
it as united and Christian and free as we in
America would be. I believe that there is a
deal of courage and patient endeavor among
their statesmen, and not a little true piety and
nobility of spirit among their ministers, and
that the infidelity and carelessness of the many
82 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
and the noisy may be more superficial and
transient than we generally think. "God with
us " is on all their coins and I think on many
hearts. Certainly the churches are filled on
Sundays with large and apparently devout
congregations, although probably they don't
represent the majority of the inhabitants — I
read that in Berlin, only one person in seven
goes to church. Still, all the nation does not
go after Baal; and the strength of it must be in
the pious few. The old Kaiser himself is a care-
ful church-goer — and Bismarck is also a be-
liever.
Our dear soldier-boys have just returned
from their autumn camp, and brought back
their beautiful bands, which I have missed ex-
ceedingly. I went last night and took my sup-
per again in the Bonorand — for the first time
for a fortnight or more — and heard "William
Tell," and "Tell's Serenade," and a Strauss
WalzeTy and some Wagner. You can't imagine
how well these men play — how sweet the tone
of their instruments and how nicely balanced,
and how perfect the time and tune. I shall be
utterly spoiled for American music — hence-
forth and forever.
But I have not yet heard much of the great
LETTERS SS
music. I heard the Conservatory orchestra do
the Egmont music once, and also some Wagner
and a bit of Rossini. But I am waiting quite im-
patiently for next month when one can hear
the big things done. My other artistic recrea-
tion is in the shape of a season ticket to Del
Vecchio's Art Exhibition, — a sort of Leip-
zig Williams and Everett's, — where I enjoy
myself exceedingly. I find it very pleasant to
^^drop up'' there after dinner and sit awhile.
Tell father his pictures are undoubtedly by
Poussin, and are rather better than the aver-
age old master — in my opinion. This season
ticket for the year 1878 cost me fifty cents.
Leipzig is the most delightfully soothing,
drowsy place — I 'm almost afraid too lazy a
place for me. I sleep from ten till seven every
night, and often nap after dinner also, and don't
like to work one bit. I ought to study my Ger-
man harder, but having got where I can vaguely
understand my neighbors and can, after a
clumsy and ungrammatical fashion, make my-
self intelligible, I am disposed to let things
slide. However, I mean to pluck up this week
and be good.
Afternoons we have lovely rows on the river.
Si JAMES CSEESI£AF CaOSfTELL
beagDoddealG(BKHKT]]it^<stx. I
I ksiT seen hndsomer people
HieihTris usodhrfiDfid ^vidi xidiraloos fisli-
c iiiiai MT& big P9» in their xd<mb11i&.
I Jon going to drartli now umI most end i^u
I win wxite agUA on Wednesday.
Your loTing and dotifxd
J. G- C
Mt dehb ArxT: — I thank toq very mncii
for yoiir aoooant of the wedding* which was told
me Tery pleassntty also by AUred thitmi^ my
mother* I will repeat also my thanks for the
newspapers whidi yoo have sent me several
times. Tliey aie v^oy welcome indeed. Iwoold
letom the complinKnt, if I thought enough of
the Gennan artide, but the German PH>crs
LETTERS 85
are very inferior to ours in every point, and
are extr^nely crabbed Grerman to read as
well.
My occupations now are quite as humdrum
as ever they were at home. So, although my
friends b^ for interesting letters, and you also
furnish me with a model epistle of your own, I
don't find it easy to write them. The small
things of which life mostly consists go on as
usual. I breakfast in my own room. This is a
light meal here, so we students all lunch also
at eleven off sandwich or bread and sausage.
At one I dine in a restaurant with some
friends I have made here. At this meal one
gets his main subsistence. It consists regularly
of soup. These soups are much more thinned
with water and various v^etables than our
home mhiage. Next we have some cut, off a
joint, either roasted, which is rarely to be found,
or what they call "cooked" {gekocht)^ which
iqspears to be an operation combining roasting
and boiling and to be very thorough. With this
they give potato. Next comes a smaller piece
of different meat, with which goes "compot"
always. Lastly, pudding and cheese. This
dinner, which I have described so at length,
the model on which all dinners that
S6 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
I have seen are based. They vary merely in
quality of food and cooking.
What I do between meals is nearly as regular
as my menu. I have regular lectures to hear
at the University and I am very much inter-
ested and helped by them. I learn more in a
day here than in any ten I have ever studied at
home. It is not merely in the things the pro-
fessors say, but also in their way of saying
them, and m the sources of information which
are disclosed to us. I also try to walk a good
deal, and am in very good physical trim there-
from. My German makes haste slowly, and it
is only by taking a long look backward that I
can see progress.
The church here has been going through the
only too common performance of getting rid
of the minister. At the request of everybody
he has resigned. I liked his ministrations well
enough; but he was accused of various things
beside dulness; which I presume were all un-
true. Just now we are "supplied." The gen-
tleman who did so last Sunday took occasion
to remark that he hoped we would be kind
enough to pay merely for his tickets from
England here, but that the collections were
too small to do so at present. They are rather
LETTERS 37
slender; average about five dollars a Sunday
with congregations of fifty, seventy-five, or a
hundred. I account for it by the force of habit
making Americans put the silver ten groschen
piece into the plate, because it looks like a ten-
cent piece. It is really worth, however, only
about three cents.
The American Chapel — what the English
people hare amuse me by calling ""the Dis-
senters'* — has a social side as well as its serv-
ice. It gives a little party Monday evening,
where I have gone once or twice to hear the
Yankee tongue spoken in its original purity.
I find many Scotch people there, however, who
are extremely pleasant, I think **kenny" and
"canny**; are these the right words?
I triumph greatly here over the defeat of
Butler. It was much talked about both in Eng-
land and Germany, and would have been a
hard thing to accoimt for if he had won the
governorship. But I feel that the United States
have done very creditably in these relations
and that we can look across the water with a
good face upon our elder sisters in England,
Scotland, and Germany still.
Politics here consist in the main of '* England
and Afghanistan.** The '"Social-Democrats,"
S8 JAMES 6REENLEAF CR08WELL
''Austria and Bosnia,** "the fate of Turkey, **
and ''Italia irredenta! ** It is all very interesting
— a very critical period in the fate of all na-
tions, and every one feels it here. At home you
get such bits of telegrams that one can't realize
how important and great things are impending
and must occur before the close of the century
— in modification of territory, of social struc-
ture, and perhaps of religion, or at least of re-
ligious arrangements among the nations. I am
only too glad to feel that we in America are
safe out of harm's way, except what we do to
ourselves.
I do hope my friends at home will be half as
glad to see :qQie again as I shall be to tread once
more that land of promise. You must assure
them all of my grateful remembrances, and
write to me about them. As for yourself I
need n't and can't say how ferociously loving
I feel — you dear, kind aimt. There's nothing
half as strong as family ties, as I wrote to
mother one day — and I have discovered that
myself by being so far so much alone. All other
affections are quite slight affairs beside these.
So I mean a good deal when I write myself.
Your affectionate nephew,
J. G. C*
LETTERS 88
Lbpsio, December 99, 1878.
Mt dsab Fathxb: — This is the last Sunday
of the year. We had a good service and an ex-
cellent sermon by our new minister. I took up
the collection to-day without skipping any one
— no small task in these irregular aisles and
benches.
Yesterday we had another rainstorm, con-
sequently the skating is over and done. I
picked up such an amusing acquaintance last
night. He sat at the table in a restaurant with
me, and proved to be a German-American who,
bom in Leipzig, had served in our war, had then
gone to Australia for gold, had then gone to
Cape of Good Hope for diamonds, and now was
doing nothing for a change in Leipzig. He was
more American than I, though evidently Ger-
man, speaking very good English with the Ger-
man idioms in it, and a very simple creature,
as the Germans are — easily amused, honest, in-
dustrious, and stupid I should say they all were.
Dr. Morgan thinks that the Reformation
has hurt Germany, whatever its general bene-
fit to mankind. I might agree that the Germans
are not very keen spiritually. I find their
preaching is quite fine, but few go or care much
about the other world — it seems to me.
40 JAMES 6REENLEAF CROSWELL
One of my professors, the great Curtius, is a
"church- warden" in the Kttle Peters-kirche,
and Professor Overbeck is also an officer of a
church. My landlady asked me yesterday what
your profession was. I told her you were a
"Prediger/* on which she said — Oho! then
you are of the " Geistlichen Stand " — and she
seemed much excited over her discovery, and
wants to get me to go to her church, some sort
of "Pietists," I think.
The "Irvingites" have a great church here
with a wonderful equipment of officials on ranks
and orders; from what I hear they outdo even
the Catholics in ritual.
I suppose you read in the papers of the polit-
ical movements of this country. They are in-
teresting to me on the ground and because the
whole business of government differs from any-
thing I know. The strain of all forces of the
body politic is much more intense here. It is
nearly impossible to feel the same careless
security that we generally have at home. Three
days* riding west would take me into the heart
of France, and four east into that boiling mass
of forces, Russia. Two days south, or perhaps
a little more, gets you into Italy; and England
really casts a shadow into Germany. Fancy
LETTERS 41
what it 18 to have such contrary winds con-
tracted into the little space of Europe.
Just this winter all other questions seem to
be subordinate to the money questions. The
German Empire is awfully behindhand in its
expenses this year, and Prussia itself is worse
off than Germany. Russia has had her at-
tempts to borrow everywhere rejected. No
Russian loan at any price, say the bankers.
England, though in the bulk wealthy, seems to
be having a hard time in certain districts. The
articles in the Times are doleful enough. The
manufacturers are all going to die, etc., etc.
So all the papers are filled with money articles,
and Bismarck, our paternal curator here, has
got up a tax on tobacco. It was indignantly re-
jected by the Prussian Parliament. Now he is
trying to run over his adversaries as usual, but
the pipe is dear to the German heart.
I fed very much puzzled to see what my
duties are about next year. It appears to me
that they are now measured entirely by the
question, "'What settlement in life can you
get? ** If, then, I can really better my money
value by staying another year and getting a
degree, what would you do? If you don't ob-
ject, I am thinking of applying again for the f el-
42 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
lowship, and then if, when I come home in July,
I don't want to go back, giving it up and getting
a job of work with you. Only, perhaps if I ask
now for a place in Cambridge next fall I might
surely get it, while if I wait till July, Eliot might
have made other arrangements. But I feel as
if I were fizzling out rather to come back for
good yet, and as if I might be of far higher
value to you and my home by undergoing a
very little more self-denial.
I should n't have proposed it if I thought
that it would add to your burdens without
deducting more from them in the end. For I
really have not one wish of my own, worldly or
otherwise, except to be as strong a stay to you
and my sisters as possible. If that can better
be done by coming home now, — if you have
not the power, financial or otherwise, to spare
me a year, or rather to nm the risk of my pro-
posing to go abroad again when I come home
in June, — why, I don't care a bit and would
personally much rather come home and stay.
Your affectionate son,
J« G. C.
LETTERS 48
To Mrs. OreenleaS
Bonn, March 9, 1879.
DsAB Aunt Mart: — I am in excellent
health and in the full tide of work. This year
has been very different from last year as re-
gards work. I have been better able to work,
and have in Bonn a much more profitable field
for labor. The subjects specially studied here
are exactly mine. The professors here are very
kind to me — as kind as the Cambridge pro-
fessors used to be.
I send you a list of the members of the Phil-
ological Society of which I have been elected
a member, an honor which brings after it labor
also> as I have to write an essay on the Fif-
teenth Idyll of Theocritus in the German
tongue — and the audience is likely to be a
very knowing one.
I have been engaged for the past two months
in examining some Greek vases also, and it came
across me the other day that you have in your
library the rare, and in the German eye very
desirable, Museo Bourbonico — I shall have
great pleasure in looking over it with you when
we get home again, all of us.
Nights on the Rhine are "perfectly lovely."
You will remember that from Bonn the Lever
44 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
MountamSy the Drachenfels, and the Tower of
Roland are all in plain sight and easy distance
to walk. With the warm spring and our present
moonlit nights one can enjoy many beautiful
views. I wish you were here to imderstand the
full meaning of these words. I'm afraid our
dear old Cambridge is not yet very far into
spring.
Anna and Mary write me pleasant letters in
which I perceive they have much to thank
Aunt Mary for, as well as I. I wish I could find
good words to tell you how much we feel your
tender care for us all. I am sure you must know
what my heart is about it all — without my
saying — r- and I shall try to do a great deal with
myself and my opportimities, for I know that
will please you more than anything else. There
— if that soimds like a little boy, I am, toward
you, still and always quite a little boy, and it
is just that which is the particular tie between
us, and that which, as far as I am concerned,
has no other likeness any more on this earth.
You are the only person now to whom I am able
to speak that way. I like to do it, — for I al-
most suspect one is happiest in childhood, —
and if I am twenty-seven or thirty or fifty, I
like to feel myself somebody's "boy" with a
LETTERS 45
boy's weaknesses and a boy's affections too.
As to the rest of the world, however, I am get-
ting grown up, no doubt. I can't realize some-
times that it is I who am actually doing things
at a German University which I have looked up
to other people for doing, but which seem ordi-
nary enough to me now. I have no doubt it
wiU end in my taking the degree here, and that
when that is done I shall still think it is all very
ordinary, and sigh for fresh fields to conquer.
Par exemplef I made a long speech in Ger-
man at a business meeting the other evening.
When I used to sit on your sofa (I don't know
but it was on your lap!) and hear you repeat
*'Kennst du das Land?" I can't say I ever ex-
pected to make a speech to Germans in Ger-
many. Did you expect it?
I can't write yet in detail of when and where
I shall sail for home. I have yet to hear from
Eliot. I thought if he distinctly advised an-
other year, perhaps I had better not hurt my-
self in his eyes by coming home this summer
against his wish and advice. But I rather hope
things may turn out so as to bring me home
next f alL
There is one thing which may bring me
home — something I am very sorry for. I
46 JAMES 6REENLEAF CROSWELL
think it not at all improbable that there may be
a war between France and Russia and Germany
and Austria, very soon. We have war-scares
nearly every week, and the feeling about one is
very heated and anxious. It all seems practically
to depend on Bismarck, and he is acting very
queerly, and making what are felt to be threat-
ening preparations. The German army is to
be greatly increased this year, the French army
is already half as big again as the German, and
the Russian is (numerically) twice as big. The
students here seem to take wars as necessary
evils, which, if Bismarck chooses to invoke,
they can do nothing to prevent, and are con-
sidering where they shall have to serve and
when. It is all to the American mind horridly
useless and cruel. I am very glad we have no
neighbors in America with monstrous armies
to torment us.
Well, I must stop here — with my best love.
I hope you will give my regards to inquiring
friends — I have not forgotten any of my re-
lations or friends, not even those to whom I
never write. I can't write. I have, every hour
in the day occupied.
Your affectionate nephew,
J. G. C.
LETTERS 47
P. S. Thanks for the Tribunes. It is like see-
ing a Cambridge horse-car in Bonn to read one
of them.
Letters written avter becgiono Head
Master of the Brearlbt School
To the mother of a pupil
The Brearlet School,
S East FoRTT-nrrH Street, 1889.
Mt dear Mrs. B. : — I write merely to say
that the questions of your daughter's studies
are still a matter of consideration to me.
It is very unusual for a teacher to be obliged
to complain of the readiness of his pupil's work.
I have never seen a more attractive field for
culture than your daughter's mind and she feels
it half consciously herself. Her feeling for that
which is intellectually good is so prompt, her
desire to be right and not wrong is so genuine,
and her instincts so true and so like what I have
been accustomed always to respect most in my
own intellectual leaders and companions, that
I should astonish you, and her, and any third
person if I said just precisely what I thought,
and have come to believe about her.
But these very feelings and instincts may
betray her into overwork. I am afraid of in-
48 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
definite self-sacrifice on her part for the sake of
her intellectual life. It is a maxim with me to
keep back the sudden burst of youth into adult
lif e, but to try to open the mind as fast as it will
come open gradually.
I will write you very soon what my own
practical conclusion is.
Very truly yours,
J. G. Croswbll.
From a letter to a Brearley graduate
One thing I do believe. The existence of nice
good people, fine people, wonderful God-bom
people. And they all give out and care nought
for getting. They give without stint and with-
out reward.
To a Brearley gradtuxte
19 Ash Street, Cambbtoge, 1893.
Dear M. : — The chief difficulty in my proc-
ess of education for the girls springs up from a
conviction of mine that the main object of cul-
ture is not to be reached by any process of the
scholastic type at all.
Reflect with me, dear and sympathetic
friend, upon the universe once more. How
LETTERS 4»
marvellous is the cosmos; but thrice marvellous
is this fact in it» that it produces such varying
effects upon the soul of man contemplating
it. For instance, to some souls beauty of color
and beauty of form bring no stimulus to speak
of. Others suffer a blind and a mute sensation,
rather agreeable, perhaps; nothing but a very
dull, formless and lukewarm stirring of the
nerves. But others react so greatly as to make
it right to say that what they feel and what
they do is more beautiful and greater than that
outer nature itself, which has set them in mo-
tion. Few of these there are; but there are some.
There are some people who really get from na-
ture so powerful and so enchanting a stimulus,
and who react so strongly and so strangely upon
nature, as to give me the feeling that they are
greater in degree than nature herself • Such are
the great artists. They are of the same source
as nature, only greater children of the same
genealogy.
Now, culture seems to emancipate, but never
to produce such souls. This kind of greatness
is not to be made. Poeta nasciiur. Now, you
will laugh at me when I say that I cannot help
loving the idea of making it. Ever yours,
J. G. C
50 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
September 8, 1893.
Deab M.: — Apropos of "downward ca-
reers " I will tell you a secret. All careers are
downward — from the point of view of the
careerer. But some people do accomplish a
great deal in their "downward " path, of which
they are not the best judges. You are most cer-
tainly going to be one of the most eflfective.
Nothing can prevent you. You will be to many
what you are to me, for instance — a stimulus,
an example, and a continual pleasure.
But will you not enjoy life too? The joy of
life is worth all its pain. It is victorious over
its pain. Again and again I have seen people
triuimph over the shortness, the incomplete-
ness, the uncertainty, and the failures of their
lives. And you can do it too. You are that kind
of a person. Victory is in your accent and your
looks. ...
The joy of life! Do you know that since we
have seen each other I have had the worst vi-
sion of the pain of this world that I ever saw. • • •
I don't know why I speak of it to you ex-
cept that I feel somehow you are sacred with
the same consecration of high-mindedness and
self-devotion that these good women have,
whom I see again and again and again in my
LETTERS 51
life. Why have I seen so many? Do all men
see such things as I do? It is not possible.
Now, I b^ you to believe that the joy of life
can vanquish its pain, and to trust in the small
and large joys. Don't be scared by the vision
of failure and sorrow. It is nothing.
I don't know why I lecture you so» except
because I am so fond of you. I truly am that.
Yours affectionately,
J. G. Cboswell.
March 29, 1901.
Mt dbab M. : — I have been at the Exhibi-
tion to-night; and before I go to bed I want to
have the great pleasure of telling you how we
enjoyed it.
But your husband has done the most won-
derful thing. I am completely overwhelmed.
It is in a class by itself. Such pictures are not
painted once in ten years or twenty years
either. I really look with awe for the next one.
If he goes on like that, Heaven only knows
what he will do for us.
Curiously, too, it seemed to carry back to his
earlier work. It explains somehow what that
work intended. He is getting freer expression
of his own qualities.
52 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
I cursed the light, and I condemned the glass.
I shall spend my pennies to see it by day. It is
worth going miles for. Where will it go?
Well, I fed better; but I can't tell you what
a joyous tumult of spirit that beautiful, beauti-
ful thing smites me with. And it certainly does
point onward to the next. Do take care of that
man. Yours rei^pectf ully,
J. 6. Croswell.
East Gloucesteb, June 22, 1894.
Dear M: — Leta and I have been drifting
along the North Shore, like a couple of ships
that pass in the night, from one house to an-
other. We have brought up at last in a hostelry
at Gloucester. — The house is a small boarding-
house — there are (say) fifteen people at table.
After our visits with old friends we are now with
new (and very raw) acquaintances. The new-
ness of these new acquaintances is somewhat
tempered by the extreme age of the stories they
tell each other. Which would you rather have,
an old friend with a new story, or a new friend
with an old story? They are all of the female,
non-voting population except me and another.
For this reason they do not take any papers
here, so that I have not seen a New York paper
LETTERS £8
for two weeks. I imagine all sorts of wonder-
ful events; and I rather like the irresponsible
inactivity of this unfranchised world.
Affectionately yours,
J. G. Croswbll.
Life is death. Death is life. What a maze of
perplexities we live in.
You have found a clue — you try to make
others see it. No one can see your clue; but it
may cheer up others to hear you talk, and they
may see each his own, better for hearing you.
I see my own better, because I have had little
pupils who have grown up, before my eyes, into
high-hearted women.
The world which makes them and makes me
to love them cannot be meaningless, in the end.
The God who made you and your husband and
your children cannot be a cheat. That would
be too silly even for a madhouse.
Your affectionate teacher,
J. G. C.
August SI, 1894.
Dear M.: — For one thing you want to
know how it feeb to be a man. Well, you know
54 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
I have always said that men and women were
far more alike than they like to believe. Some-
how our differences interest us so much that it
amuses and excites us to exaggerate them. It
always pains me a little to see the fanciful pic-
tures women and men inf atuatedly draw of each
other, and especially see women speak of men
as if they were something greater by divine
right than themselves. It can't be right to
imagine an ideal man and bow down to him.
Some of your sex do; while at the same time
they play with their idols in a half -humorous
and superior fashion. Our sex does the same
to yours. Can't we look forward (we of the
twentieth century) to a little more comrade-
ship and a good deal less of this idolizing busi-
ness?
With this preface, I will tell you how a man
feels. Just imagine the muscle, the digestive
organs, the bones and the sinews, which you
have, to be increased in bulk and power about
one third, while the nervous and sensitive part
of you is a little diminished in quantity, though
not in quality. You would then be steadier and
quieter, less impressionable, less aware of the
universe in general, more stupid, more inclined
to work at one thing at a time, and less in-
LETTERS 55
terested in your surroimdings from moment to
moment.
You would have fewer possible moods of
mindy and be fonder of eating and drinking and
deeping. Your eager and questioning spirit
would be deadened somewhat — all your feel-
ings would be deadened, by a sort of damper on
the wires like a piano. What you did feel would
probably take the form of action ; but you would
not, perhaps, do better than you do now, in this
way, for you have a great deal of creative force
already. But I think your creative force might
gain in momentum by having more ''beef " of
the masculine sort under it. It is rather nerv-
ous, and comes and goes. Men live on a dead
level of nerves.
As to the spiritual aspect of life which an-
swers to these physical differences, I think a
man does not feel his manhood much. Certainly
he doesn't bother about his sovereignty of
creation. Certainly men have no idea at all that
they "represent the ultimate." A few Roman
emperors thought so, and promptly went crazy
— perhaps in the asylums you may find such
men.
Above sane men lie the blessed things they
serve — their work, their country, the happi-
56 JAMES GREENLEAF CBOSWELL
ness of their wives and children, science, art,
religion. One would be puzzled to enumerate
all the things above every man. Let us call it
**the ideal'* and let us rejoice that every man
can find things so much better than his ^^ ac-
tual '* to devote himself to.
I am touched to the core by women's peti-
tion to men to be the high priests of the imi-
verse, to show them something or rather some-
body to believe in and work for. But why must
it be so? Is n't it just the same mistake as the
old blimder of anthropomorphism in religion —
must a man be the deity of this infinite uni-
verse?
First in childhood we need authority above
us — then in youth we need affection, worship
— hero-worship if you will — to stimulate us
to live happily for some person's sake, or the
sake of some group of persons. But in adult life
we come to love persons only for what they rep-
resent in the world. We old people are so full of
shortcomings that we can't play hero, or believe
much in other heroes.
Dear M., you certainly have the rights of
youth. You shall have all the heroes you can
find — God forbid that I should deprive you of
one, even if it were the figure of myself drawn
LETTERS 57
by a too affectionate artist. (How well you do
draw — and how clever you are in dozens of
ways.) But time will surely, surely rob you of
every illusion that rests on any man's qualities.
Why may I not try to rest your happiness on
your own power to stand alone and look up to
the things above us all which no man fully rep-
resents or exhausts? You feel that you are
weak; you want to rest on strength greater
than your own; I want you to know now that
each of these stronger persons is also weak;
and that the proper support to your weakness
is the same support which helps them, the feel-
ing that you have done what you could do un-
der the common doom of us all to individual
failure. Cheerful resignation can defy this
doom. If you have not yet got it, the only rea-
son is that you are too full of turbulent youth
as yet to feel the true answer to your great
problem — resignation and calm.
Well, if you are young, that is very nice. If
you want to be "forced" into the right way,
that is very nice too. It would be very nice to
force you. You appeal to every drop of school-
master's blood in me. You are luring me into
I know not what lecture, by taking that docile
attitude.
58 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
Only, you see, the very first thing I want to
tell you is that you must n't act to win any-
body's approval, not even mine. You must n't
have so much passion to stand as anybody
else's thoughts approve. Your pretence of will-
ingness to go back to girlhood in order to escape
the growing-pains of womanhood is just sheer
naughtiness. You can't be yoimger than you
are — and I won't ask you to be older than you
are. Who am I to be helping you? "A miser-
able sinner," says my church — "There is no
health in us."
Shall I try to tell you what men's diflEiculties
are? They are to keep out of jail, to pay their
debts, not to make asses of themselves (an-
ointed jackasses) in their professions, to avoid
bores, to tell the truth, to get ahead of their
rivals, to understand the continual riddle of life
enough to avoid getting eaten by the Sphinx —
and I suppose at last to die, like men, if possi-
ble. Blessed are those who are young enough to
be unhappy about themselves without cause.
Here is just a comer to end with my love
and hopes that I may be something to help you,
both now and always.
Yours ever,
J. G. Croswell.
LETTERS £9
Lake Placid,
EasEZ CouNTT, Nbw Yobk,
September 22, 1894.
Dear M.: — My r^lution for myself is
taken : (A) To dismiss the consideration of sex
almost absolutely in planning for the Brearley
work, and to leave such considerations as may
be necessary in dealing with the girlish mind,
to the teachers who share my tasks with me;
(B) to plan and work for a more extensive
co-partnership in "the world's work" between
men and women; but (C) never to force the
issue of sex in discussing the world's work —
and lastly, (D) never to discuss the female sex
again — with any one whose good opinion I
value at all — man or woman.
These are pious resolutions — shall I keep
them? It depends on you — who have scared
me into them — and on my own sense, which
all along has felt that I was floundering horri-
bly. And it is so dreadful to say untrue things
about women.
But I swear again I never meant to accuse
you of making men "high priests" — I was
only trying to prevent you from hero-worship
of men, or women either — quite a diflferent
idea, but easily coalescing with the other. But
60 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
I am so afraid of hero-worship — it runs so
easily into calamitous partisanship, or heart-
break, over one's idols, at last when they are
foimd out.
• ••••••••
I love your letters — and I love them be-
cause they always bring to my mind that most
delightful proposition: ^*I am I and you are
you/' I can't analyze this statement into any-
thing more worthy of oflfering on friendship's
altar. It is, however, to my deepest mind one of
the most delightful facts in the universe. Long
may it be true I It seems a pretty solid fact, and
to grow more solid as the years go on to make
you more and more yourself. Of course I don't
always have the pleasure of remembering it
consciously. The cares of the world, and the
weakness and insufficiency of myself to meet
these cares, the "row-de-dow" of my thinker,
which keeps ticking away in my head, like one
of those horrid telegraph instruments in a rail-
road station, all sorts of everyday rubbish, and
the ebb and flow of the tides of life and feeling
that slip gently in and out of my **ego" all the
year roimd, are all-confusing and thwarting to
any view of anything however solid and sure.
But it is funny, is n't it? that when I guess what
LETTERS 81
will be the thing which, on the whole, will make
up for all this tunnofl, care, and distraction, to
my mind there always rises the simple propo-
sition — "I was I and they were they/' This
joy does n't seem to me a sentiment or even a
feeling of affection — though I call it so some-
times. It is an experience — the experience of
all others.
I see no objection, however, to adding that
I do feel inner affection to you in addition, and
I am Yours truly,
J. G. Croswell.
17 West Fobtt-pourth Street.
Deab M. : — I think my letters are " cheap*'
— I don't call it cynicism; I call it just cheap
talk. Hence I tear them up, a good deal. But
sometimes I send one through to a friend, sim-
ply to preserve the acquaintance, — to keep
the line open, — just as they send all sorts of
stuff through the ^* stock-tickers" in the brok-
ers' offices merely to "test" the wire. Once in
a while it is important to have a "quotation."
Then it is very important. How do you like
this parable? Please consider my last letter, or
any letter that you don't like, as just words, and
wait for a better one.
9St JAMES GREENLEAF CBOSWELL
About myself, I should think this fact one of
the very most characteristic traits. Somehow
I have developed the speech-motor centres in
my head so that I talk all the time, sleeping and
waking, instead of seeing, smelling, tasting,
feeling, or imagining. I cannot ** visualize''
anything or remember anything. I am always
either in a dialogue or a monologue, for often
the other person, the Non-Ego, fades away
from my mind, in all my waking moments.
To state a thing in words does duty in my as-
piration for feeling it or writing it or believing
it or seeing it. I am a talker from birth; and
I have dealt with words — reading at four, and
writing at six, and never caring for any other
activity.
Why do I not talk better? I can't guess. But
I fancy that the quality of one's mental activ-
ity in any kind depends on the tough fibres of
your brain somehow; though the kind itself de-
pends on the accidents of heredity and develop-
ment. At any rate, my talk is cheap enough; I
have many words, but not very good ones —
I mean they don't mean much even to me. It
is like some one whittling shavings all the time,
rather than carving wood.
Hence, you see, I don't respect my talk
LETTERS 88
enough to write much of it in good faith. For
example, you and I used to exchange pleasant
letters (and I hope we always shall) carrying
no matters of deeper import than our little
dialogues about your girlish education and girl-
ish philosophies. Such things are nice» but not
too heavy for my powers. But when I feel how
much further along you are now, I have not
the vocabulary to deal with these matters of
weight. I can only talk of surface things in your
present life; in good faith — I can't talk of your
experiences; I can only guess them; and my
tongue hesitates or gallops away.
Of myself this thing is more true. When I
first came to New York I had a huge hoard of
unspeakable things in my heart. The simniest
part of my life was the S. • . • house, where I
talked fast enough, I dare say, but never of
these heavy things, which grown-up people
think of. The little boys and the little girl, too,
were just what children always are — innocent
of all things which heat or chill one's speech. I
told you once your house was like springtime.
It is still, for that matter, to me. I know your
people have just such weights to carry on their
backs and hearts as I do. But I have never
talked of these things even to your mother
64 JAMES GREENLEAF CBOSWELL
when I wanted to help her because I do de-
spise my own talk in the face of "realities/*
Hence all this paradox that I write you less
and I see you less and in a way I love you all
more than I did then. But you understand
that yourself.
Perhaps in our old age which you seem to
think has dawned already (can old age dawn?)
the events of our lives will grow trivial enough
to be expressed by my senile garrulity again.
The main thing, however, is — please don't
ever be oflfended with the imperfection or in-
adequacy of my talking activities. I cannot
express, even to myself, the extent of my per-
sonal sympathy and interest in you and your
race and tribe.
Your affectionate teacher,
J. G. Croswell.
Magnolia, Massachusetts,
May 14, 1895.
Dear Mother-in-law: — Please believe
that there is no dearer name than this; and do
not think it savors of official relations. The fact
that I am your son-in-law is the dearest of my
possessions. I take my pen in hand to inform
you that I am well and I hope this will find you
LETTERS 65
the same. I believe in my last letter to you,
I accepted your kind invitation of May 1,
1887, to visit you at Chesknoll. Since then I
have married your younger daughter, and we
have lived happily ever after. We never were
happier than we are this summer, never! We
have both been more benefited than usual by
our seashore visit.
Well, it is funny to think of Europe, so near
as it seems with you and Emma in it. I thought
I had said good-bye to that hemisphere. But
now I believe we had better go over once in a
while all our lives. You shame us with your
successful voyages, and I can't pretend I am
too old to go yet.
We suppose you must be in San Moritz soon
if not now.^ I think of you much; I hope you
will not be tried beyond your strength there.
You have been so good that it would be just
impertinent in me to say anything more to you
than to tell you not to forget the living love
which is going to be yours forever and forever,
in which all your children bear a part. I hope
almost that you will stay but a short time at
^ Mrs. CT08wdl*8 Cather, Mr. Charies Loring Bnioe» died and
was buried in 1S90 at St. Moritz and Mrs. Brace returned to
visit the grave in 1895.
66 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
these sad places where you must suffer so much
in memory. Please for our sakes do the best for
your own health. It is not good to linger over
the tomb of the body.
I don't know why I say these things. For-
give me if they are not right.
Yours very affectionately,
James Croswell-Brace.
Letters to Mildred Minium ScoU ^
*'The soutli winds are quick-witted.
The schools are sad and slow.
The masters quite omitted
The lore we ought to know." (EioatsoN.)
March 1, 1896.
Dear Mildred: — I am greatly interested
in the problem of your degree; and also in the
wider problems opening out beyond that de-
gree. The degree question itself looks to me
simple enough. Of course you will try to take
it now. You will enjoy the process, on the
whole, in spite of the examinations. Then, too,
I think the degree will,' on the whole, be of
value to you in performing one of your mis-
sions in the world.
We shall want your advice and opinion very
^ .One of ten Brearley girls who entered Bryn Mawr in 1898.
LETTERS 67
soon in directing the education of children who
are coming along after you. Your opinion will
have weighty especially if unfavorable to any
of the educational processes of the present day,
because you have yourself experienced what
you speak of, and have yourself the voucher
of the Bryn Mawr degree, that you have sat-
isfied the requisitions of the modem college
in fuU, both for good and for evil.
I do not think the Latin matter insuperable.
Even if I did in your case ''omit the lore you
ought to know'' in Latin, it will not be a great
matter to make it up. If I am of any service
in choosing books, correcting exercises, or
setting examinations, please employ me.
But there is also impending a wider problem
(I don't know if it is in your thoughts or not) ;
what the relation of knowledge and degrees
is to one's living? People sometimes speak as
if men never had reason to doubt the utility
of study for their lives, whereas women are
supposed to doubt it all the time; or rather to
be perfectly certain that study has no meaning
at all in a woman's life. A studious woman is
supposed to be an eccentric woman, to be can-
did, a somewhat unamiable woman.
Now, I assure you men have the same prob-
68 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
lems as women. There is a real danger to men
in the student's life, both from within and
from without. From without, the dangers fol-
lowing on a withdrawal from the normal occu-
pation of man, which is, I suppose, the en-
deavor to work over the world, in the sweat
of the brow to produce and to exchange, —
yes, and to consume joyously and vigorously.
There are many external dangers. But if one
withdraws from these things and devotes one's
self to science, and to knowledge, danger comes
from without and also from within, either in
the atrophy of a part of the human spirit and
force, or in violent reaction against study,
such as Faust depicts, and such as Emerson
warns agamst.
Dear Mildred, I don't want you to be a
specialized, scientific woman, not even a
school-teacher. I know what you can do; you
can do something better than either. You can
bring a freight of joy to the "sad and slow"
schools, and not lose any of the south wind
out of your sails either.
This is rather oracular, is it not? Well,
whenever you want to ask, I will tell you what
I think there is for you to do, in plainer Eng-
lish. All I want to say now is that I don't
LETTERS 69
think you ought to look to further college
residence or to graduate work; and even if
you were prevented from taking the degree,
I should not be much disturbed in the light of
the wider landscape I see prophetically before
your feet.
I wish we might some day have a short talk.
With love to you and to all the girls.
Yours faithfully,
J. G. Cboswell.
January 11, 1897.
Dbab Mildred: — I don't know that it is
at all true that you are likely to overdo physi-
caUy this winter and spring; but the last bit
of college life is apt to be stirring to one's
nerves, and force a dangerous pace on one's
powers, at least for men.
You will forgive me if I beg you, now, to
take all your college ambitions easily. I hope
I may stand to represent those who are go-
ing to be in your society in the future, and I
assure you that there is no caU on our part
for violent attacks on college prizes on yours.
Even the loss of an A.B. would not be noticed
in your other manifest equipments for the
world's work. But ill-health will be noticeable.
70 JAMES GREENLEAF CBOSWELL
Don't give yourself the jim-jams, dear lady
(if you will pardon your anxious schoolmaster
such an unprofessional expression), in compet-
ing with anybody for anything, in these last
days.
You sign yourself my pupil still — so I ven-
ture this piece of advice. You are my pupil —
the pupil of an eye could not be more anxiously
guarded — and I will not endure to see you
overworked, getting European fellowships, or
anything else. To what end would you do it?
Please think lightly of the college I The next
ten years will be far more important, and
we want you for that, as fresh as you can be.
Don't get tired.
I have so much pleasure in the kind and af-
fectionate tone of your notes. The thought of
you happy, and the knowledge of your coming
into our world again, has been a cheerful re-
flection this Christmas and New York's sea-
son, darkened by a great sorrow at home in
Boston. Indeed, I really value all your happi-
ness, for my own sake; and I do not wish to see
it diminished.
Faithfully yours,
J. G. Cboswell.
LETTERS 71
June, 1896 (England).
Dear Mildred: — In Oxford last week, as
I was walking about with one of the Balliol
tutors, he stopped me before a cross and an old
well. "Here/' said he, "was Saint Mildred V
I have not the legend of that Saint; perhaps
you know it better than I do. I imagine she
took a First-Class in Political Economy, and
was martyred by the Saxon Populists, who were
doubtless numerous in the barbarian centur-
ies preceding the foundation of Lady Mar-
garet Hall, Somerville College, and the other
centres of light at which I have been gaping.
Would n't you, her namesake, like to retire
from the frontier settlements like New York
and Philadelphia (where even now I hear the
barbarians preparing, not to massacre, but to
outvote and outtalk your faith 1) and study
under Saint Mildred's guardianship in that
peaceful and clever town? How you would
enjoy the nice Oxford people and how they
would enjoy youl America won't be fit to live
in, for three or four years to come, till this silly
outburst is over.
But the disadvantage of writing over so
many miles is that I don't know to whom I am
writing I You may be full of other interests.
72 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
I don't know what your interests are at all.
Perhaps you are quite out of conceit with study
under any auspices. The English schools and
colleges full of big girls are very interesting to
me. I am always making comparisons; gen-
erally rather to the advantage of the English
arrangements, though never to the disad-
vantage of the American girls. It will not be
a surprise to you that I estimate the American
product highly. I think them the flower of
creation. This paragraph is making me too
sentimental. I feel the mcd du pays attacking
me. I want to be back in the Brearley School
again. Pray allow me to change the subject at
Once.
When you gave me your benediction last
May I recollect you were good enough to wish
us a good time in England. Well, we have had
a very good time, indeed. I think they do some
things mighty well in England, don't you? But
they have n't got any girls who are the flower
(here the writer breaks down).
Ever affectionately yours,
J. G. Croswell.
P.S. Won't you write me a note to say you
are well and not studying too hard?
LETTERS 7S
Sunset, Mains, Ju^ 17, 1898.
Dear Mildred : — Your last page shall have
the first acknowledgment; then I will proceed
backward answering you in detail.
You know very well whether I do or do not
remember my little scholar. I certainly did love
her most devotedly. The remembrance of the
years of your early girlhood, halfway back to
my own youth, will be always wonderful. It
would take your Pater to describe the curious
beauty of that quaint experience of mine. I
have never been able to do any justice to it
myself. I cannot but hope, however, that our
early relation must always remain a strong in-
terest for both of us, much more than a delight-
ful reminiscence. Such ties are rarely made in
later life and deserve cherishing. May ours in-
crease forever.
But I am sure you are hardly justified, in one
sense, in attributing to me as an individual the
*'help and defence'' which may perhaps be
found for you in my friendship and neighbor-
hood. Let me be plain about this. I think what
help you get comes more from something I
represent, which is much bigger than anything
I can say. Because I love you, I represent the
call of the human race, which loves you and
74 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
wants you for its various needs. I am going to
speak especially for the young, younger than
you, but I could tell you how much that is also
true of the old. We all want you, I speak for
the young, I feel for them very much; but I feel
for the old, who like your society always and
need you also.
Is n't this loving call the real source of the
help I may give? Such a call, the feeling of
being wanted and needed, has to me a very
tonic effect; it feels like a "rock and shield."
Only let one be wanted and needed enough
and one can go up against anything, even
Spanish guns.
Please let my behavior, even more than my
words, bring you some small idea of how much
you are wanted everywhere. You won't need
any other shield in time of trouble than that
faith. There is no ** defence " equal to a courage
to attack for those who need you. Specijfically
the young need you. Come on and fight for
them. For your own race and nation and so-
cial order 1 They need you even more than
other heathen do. Whether you actually qual-
ify among the regulars, and enlist in the ranks
of professional workers for the young, or
whether you take the harder task of those who
LETTERS 75
quietly plan, meditate, design, and criticise for
the young, the young need you. The best you
can do is not too good.
Now, I intend, by offering you work in the
Brearley School, simply to bring you, for a
short time perhaps, in contact with one side
of the life of the young. I want you to see that
school again, with the eyes of a college gradu-
ate, that school which you have seen as a pu-
pil. I had not imagined that you could enlist
as a permanent teacher. I did not depend much
upon your work, quantitatively considered.
Next year I thought I should simply ask you to
take the college preparatory girls in English,
both Literature and Composition and Rhetoric.
They are not many.
I want chiefly to bring your mind to bear
upon unsettled problems in this new school
subject. How perplexing the problem is, you
can guess if I tell you that your own mind is
probably not more uncertain than everybody
else's is. — Here I must stop for the moment I
I will write again in a day or two.
Ever your affectionate
J. G. Cboswell.
76 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
July 23, 1898.
Dear Mildred : — This letter must be full
of abstract propositions. I don't know that
abstract propositions are of much value to any
one but the proposer; but in order to free my
mindy so that I may be able to work it easily
for your benefit, I must get off it, sometime, a
certain amount, rather weight, of philosophi-
cal reflection about this task of teaching Eng-
lish, Then I will write a more practical letter
or two about you and your work.
Here is my Credo^ in the abstract, about
"English." I believe that no man ever means
the same thing in two consecutive sentences of
educational discussion by the word "English";
and that no two people ever mean the same
thing, at one moment, by that term "Eng-
lish." It is a most elusive word. But I believe
that the most usual reference of this word is
to "English Composition," conceived as a me-
chanical art, which may be learned like plain
sewing, brick-laying, handwriting, or such mat-
ters. In most people's usage "English" con-
notes a variety of intellectual and ethical
virtues also. He who can write "English" of
the above type, well-spelled, rightly punctu-
ated, "clear" and "good" "EngUsh," ranks
LETTERS 77
with good citizens. Some fools do think that
if they had only been taught ** correct English '*
in school, they would have been as wise as their
neighbors in all things in after life. We all
think we have much to say, if we could find
words. Also, / believe that another common
usage of this word in educational discussions
refers to a totally different matter; that half-
taught people often group their emotional and
aesthetic experiences, which have been stirred
in them, by the magic of ^^ literature," as well
as by other arts, or by life itself, and vaguely
define them as '^English"; expecting and hop-
ing to deepen by ^^ English'' the shallows in
their own souls and the souls of their progeny,
not by a patient waiting upon time and the
hour, but by a hurried ^'Course in English lit-
erature" or ** French Literature" or what not.
Of such are the ** Lenten Lecture " — audiences.
They err by the conmion American error, of
haste, confusing the outside surfaces of mortal
experience with the inside; that outer garment
of phraseology, with which we clothe our life,
with the inner reality of life itself. Hence the
wild idea that "culture" may be purchased of
private tutors in "Art and Literature" as you
buy gowns of dressmakers before you ** come
78 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
out/' and put them on as if they grew there
for your first ball.
I need not expatiate on these things. You
know New York. But it will interest you to no-
tice how much this community underestimates
the time and effort required to learn ^'English
Composition '' or to do any possible portion of
"English Literature" in any real way.
And it will interest you also to note the in-
cessant confusion on these two different defi-
nitions of "English'' as a study in schools in
all educational talk.
Now, I believey lastly, that the colleges, not
intentionally, are playing into the hands of the
Philistines. I want you to note this carefully.
You seem to me to be on the track in your re-
mark about Miss — ; . Conceive that Miss
has a real hold upon the subject, is a
student by nature and training, has a high ideal
of the work possible and results attainable in
studying our great massive English literary
inheritance. She cannot set other than a
high standard of work for herself and others.
Whether she asks for much or little, the point
of view she takes must be that of a scholar.
God forbid she should do otherwise. Now,
let us suppose that she sets this standard for
LETTERS 79
work to girls who have had no emotional life
to speak of » and little of even the scholar's ex-
perience. What can happen but that they will
do her work in a false fashion. Hypocrisy,
affectation, imitative and formal writing, and
delusive smartness must result.
I fed very eloquent on this subject. Do,
dear Mildred, think about it too. What do you
think must happen to a girl of eighteen who is
asked to ''state Burke's idea of conciliatory
concession''? She has never ** conceded" any-
thing or ''conciliated" anybody, herself 1 In
her own natural reading, Burke would be put
aside for other days.
Or why ask a child to analyze the "Sources
of Interest" in the Merchant of Venice. It
would be an abnormal child, who was given to
translating the sentiments into the form of ab-
stract propositions.
It is a vicious habit; I have it myself; but it
is not good for me. The affectation of it would
be worse. To tell the truth, I think it likely to
do more harm than good, to ask children in
secondary schools to study English Literature
formally at all; that is, in any form worthy
of a college test at entrance. Ask your Miss
Donolly if she has no such dread, as I have, of
80 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
making a rather priggish girl in the process
of teaching. More anon I Forgive this poor
weak eflfort.
Your anxious colleague,
J. G. Croswell.
Sunset, Maine, Augtud 7, 1898.
Dear Mildred : — While you are still con-
sidering, please let me send you the third letter
I intended to write before I offered you any-
thing in the teaching line. 'T is the last! I
wanted to write a third letter explaining what
I personally did expect, if you felt that you
could afford to teach English in the Brearley
School.
You will have gathered that I expect and
desire that you should teach a definite thing
which we will at present call "Rhetoric." This
ought to cover grammar, spelling, punctuation,
and certain obvious topics of discussion and
"rules, '* about the structure of sentences and
paragraphs, which are almost as much conven-
tionalities, and consequently almost as teach-
able, as table-manners are in the nursery. You
have only to try your girls a little to find plenty
of room for this kind of teaching in the Brearley
School.
LETTERS 81
But I do hope for more, in having you in con-
tact with the school again. You will have gath-
ered, if you have read my letters, that I feel
that ''English Literature'' should not be made
a subject for study in school. But my objec-
tion applies only to conscious and formal study
of classic authors. I see no objection; I see great
advantages, in a suitable course of reading, with
you to lead it, provided that it be not overdone.
By ^'overdone" I mean, if the authors read are
too difficult; and if there is too much under-
taken in the way of critical analysis, or too much
biographical and historical matter added to the
reading; in short, if it be not too ^^collogiate"
and academic.
I would have you help the Brearley toward
the college standard; but I would have you help
the colleges toward a just conception of the
schools, and to an improved standard for them.
Lastly, I hope for certain unofficial relations
between you and the children, or rather, some
of the children. There will be girls in the school
that you can do little for, except the most
formal and official task-work. There will be
others who will catch sight of good things, once
in a while, through you. These will be the ma-
jority. Some of them wUl perchance be girls
82 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
of the same type as yourself. They may have
your vivacious sensibility, and beginnings of
delicate taste. As far as your own momentum
carries you toward the good» the beautiful, and
the true, you will carry them after you. And
this is an exceedingly great thing to do.
I have said very little about the question of
teaching, from your side of the problem. I have
not the right to discuss that. I represent simply
an invitation to you to go to work, regardless
of your own best interests, perhaps. I shall have
to leave you to settle personal questions. But I
should perhaps add to what I wrote in my last
letter that, although the beginning, next year
offered to you, is rather small in hours and
salary ($2 X 5 X 80 - $300), yet it is very possi-
ble that, if you began that way, you might rise
as far as you cared to devote yourself. But you
are yet young, and I cannot wholly believe
that your special work in life is to be school-
teaching!
Your affectionate friend,
J. G. Croswell.
Sunset, Maine, August 24, 1898.
Dear Mildred : — It strikes me that I have
said to you a very large number of farewells in
LETTERS 8S
the years since 180S when you went off to col-
lege I A friendship composed exdusively of
*' Good-byes" is a very remarkable kind of
friendship. It may be esteemed, perhaps, a
unique friendship. But then, you and I are
not commonplace people at alll Are we? And
one of us is unique. The fact is that I am get-
ting so inured to this relation with you that
this one *' Good-bye" I can bear also. In fact,
this one happens to be full of cheerful aspects.
What luck for youl Also what luck for Mr.
and Mrs. Scrymser, and the Mikado alsol
Do you know your Buddha? The first prin-
ciple of Buddhism is, I believe, the metaphys-
ical "Identity of the Self with the World-AU."
So do not forget, dear, thrice-dear American,
when you see that "so charming and beauti-
ful, fairy country," that, in the words of Asoka
the King to his pupils, that art thou, as good
as any Japan that ever existed.
I protest I have said "Good-bye" often
enough to you. 'T is too forlorn a word. You
can't make a friendship out of farewells any
more than one can make sjonphonies go on
church-bells. And if "Good-bye" is supposed
to mean separation, nothing could be more
untrue for us. You will not be really separated
84 JAMES 6REENLEAF CROSWELL
from us, your friends, countrymen, and lovers,
not if you do cast half the longitude of the globe
between us. So I wish you, in the name espe-
cially of Mr., Mrs., and Master J. G. Croswell,
a happy journey, and a good time, and a safe
return to port. But I shall not say " Good-bye "
for such a trifle as this, from any of us.
You will not fail to notice that I wrote my
last letter, and mailed it, two hours before I
got your telegram. But I have nothing to alter
in it. I shall merely postpone the matter, for a
year's reflection, about "English** and "Lit-
erature.**
Will you pardon one more venturesome word,
however? As I think of what I said to you, I
believe I said one must not "settle** before
thirty. There is one godlike experience which
knows no date. Do not ever let me appear to
include that in my homilies about life to young
ladies.
Ever your loving
J. G. Cboswell.
LETTERS 85
To Mrs. Oreenleaf
Bbown's, Thbes Tunb Hotel,
DxTBHAM, Augtut 4, 1896.^
Dear Aunt Mary : — The recollections of
our days in Durham are so vivid, as I go about
here now, that I ought to write you something
from this spot. Leta and I went to church in
the cathedral to a beautifully sung service and
litany this Wednesday morning at 10 o'clock.
I took her over the choir and eastern chapel and
the *' Galilee" chapel after service, and then
we strolled along the river-bank, looking up at
the great church through the trees.
This is the only cathedral we have visited.
All of our time in England in July was spent
in the country. We visited in Surrey and in
Somerset and Devon, in Nottingham and in
Oxford. At the latter place we were staying
with the Dyers. We had a fine time in Oxford.
The old and the new are both seen there, to
great perfection in the old buildings and the
very young students. Louis Dyer and I re-
vived our ancient friendships, as we stalked
about the colleges together. I think him in
great luck there. He has a delightful house,
' In 1896 Mr. and Mn. CrosweD made a sommer visit to
England and Ireland.
86 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
and much congenial society among the pro-
fessors.
Of our country visits I think we liked Som-
ersetshire the best; though our visit at a great
mansion in Sherwood Forest among the oaks
was very entrancing. I think these huge Nor-
man piers and columns of Durham Cathedral
are like oaks. Don't you remember them?
How I did go about with you that sunmier; and
what a lot of cathedrals we got into.
Well, Durham is just where it was, and where
it will be for nin^ hundred years more, I dare
say, and it is, I think, in its rocky majesty the
most awful of church-buildings. It certamly
appeals to Americans very deeply. Perhaps we
are just about where the Normans were in our
cultivation.
To-night we are going to Bamborough, a
seaside village on the borders ,of Scotland.
We expect to linger in this part of the world,
journeying home through Scotland to Glasgow
and so to New York.
I hope you are all well this summer. Leta
and I send our good wishes to the party at the
Foreside.
Your affectionate nephew,
J. G. Croswell.
LETTERS 87
To a young friend
Dbeb Jblm, Jvly 26» 1901.
Our summer here has been blissful as usual.
The weather is divine. Day after day simple
perfection. We hear of heat and moisture;
we don't half believe. We lie like the Gods of
Epicurus, on our clouds reclined^ and careless
of mankind, especially of New Yorkers.
J. G. C.
Nxw YoBX» SepUmber 19, 1901.
Dbab Leta : — This is four o'clock Thursday.
It is a strange day. It is like Sunday; nothing
going on in the city, which is covered with
emblems of mourning. I walked up Broadway
this morning, to see the curious and historic
sight. But the most obvious sign of mourn-
ing was the complete stoppage of life in the
street. Idle and still men and women, and few
or no wagons. It all culminated at half-past
three, when all the cars stopped, and every-
body stood still, many taking off their hats.
All sounds ceased. It was an awful silence
broken only by — what do you think? Chil-
dren's voices. Out of all that sudden silence of
all other noise the chatter of children came like
a baby talking in church. I have never been so
88 JAMES 6REENLEAF CROSWELL
moved by anything in sublime music as by that
sudden silence. It gave me creeps. You don't
know what New York is like when all noise
stops. What a great tribute to take to the
silent land with you, McKinley has received.
I went to Percy Grant's church this morn-
ing and we heard a very sweet and dignified
sermon from him and much sweet music.
I really am almost glad you are not here. It
is too sad a day for you. I'm sure you could
not have heard the singing without crying
hard. Many people were crying to the great,
rolling sound of the McKinley Hymn as it has
become our National Hymn to-day.
Last night the armory band played hymns
all the evening, ending with the drums and
fifes and bugles playing "Taps" — the signal
for the camp to go to sleep. — I wonder if you
know that weird music.
Chopin's, Beethoven's, Mendelssohn's Fun-
eral Marches one hears all the time.
But there was nothing like that silence after
all. The bottom fell out of this world. It was
the Dies Itcb.
LETTERS 89
To kis n8ter4nrlaw
May 80, 1902.
My deab Emma: — As to the birthday and
its rites.
Fifty years is soon over. That's all I feel
myself. Other people feel various other things
(as they say) about me. I 'm sure you are also
very good. I smile and bow, apologetically.
Whether you have any right to call your
brother a "landmark** or a "star/* I don*t
know. If I am a landmark-in-Iaw, I'm rather
sorry for my family. A "star** would also be
rather awkward in the house.
Won*t somebody call me something which
sounds more like? The Greeks would have
thought it very unlucky to get so many flatter-
ing epithets. But I hope the obvious inap-
plicability of most of my compliments will
divert ruin for us in time.
Thanks again for your book. Many thanks
to you and Mammie for all your love and
toleration.
Yours ever, J. G. C.
Dear Emma : — There are three hallucina-
tions in this world (at least 8) : —
. (1) " That somewhere some one is living a life
90 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
that escapes the trivial, the banal, the senseless
fretting that the rest of us call living."
(2) "The lovely desert island/'
(3) '"The delightful distinguished brother-
in-law."
Of course, if it is necessary to your existence
to believe that there is a pot of gold at the foot
of the rainbow, go on and believe it.
But don't say I never told you. I feel too
fond of you to keep still about these dangerous
illusions, especially the third.
Yours sincerely, J. G. C.
To a young friend
New Yobk, December, 19(M^.
Dear Ethel: — It is very hard for men to
convey their affection even when they feel it.
It is very hard for us to tell each other any-
thing about feelings. There is a man I love
and admire. He is a writer. I read every word
he writes. I love to see his face and his eyes.
I would do anything for him. And I can't say
one word to him. He sent me a book of his the
other day. I wrote him a note. Then I' saw
him at the Club. He thanked me for it. I
said, "Not at all." He said, "Don't mention
it." By that time we felt as if we had lost each
other forever. We were quite savage.
LETTERS 91
No sooner had I sent you that last letter, the
next day almost, the armory burned up next
door to us, in the middle of the night. Do you
remember the armory ? Our house took fire and
we all had to scamper half-dressed across the
street. There was a severe snow-storm going
on at the time; a blessing in disguise, for it
saved our house. This has not been the only
disaster, but it may stand for the rest. Day
before yesterday, for example, the timnd
caved in, through which our new '^ Rapid
Transit" cars are going to run under all the
principal streets in New York.
I was going by just in time to avoid a whole
house which fell on the sidewalk where I passed.
I turned back and saw a cloud of dust and
brickbats. L. and I are really a pair of luck-
children ; but " I knock on wood " when I say it.
New York is full of traps for her children. I do
not know how long we shall escape.
And now Denbigh Hall is burned up this
week. The insurance is sufficient to rebuild.
But no one can recover the theses which were
burned. One very valuable thesis was rescued
by two faculty members at peril of their lives.
One thing strikes me in all these tragedies, —
how very inexpressive our American habits of
92 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
speech are; or even habits of feeling. We do not
feel or think or speak adequately; except in
moments of dull routine. Let but a very little
greater situation arise, and we are so timid or
so dumb as to suggest idiocy.
What shall become of the higher life if
America cannot live it? But I don't see any
help. We never drill for great emergencies
except a drill in keeping cool and repressing
emotion. What should you say to the reverse?
Suppose I drill the Brearley School how to feel
and speak in the higher levels. Will they do it?
As thus: —
9.10-9.80 A.M. Fire drill : how to express warm
feelings. Hatred as felt by Italians and Irish.
9.30-10 A.M. How to say good-bye in Ho-
boken. Farewell gestures. Laughter as an ex-
pression of sorrow in America. The handker-
chief as an eiqpression of emotion.
Sunset, Mainb, AuguH 23, 1903.
Dear Ethel: — Is n't it curious that litera-
ture nowhere contains the fabric of a girl's
dreams. Every other sort of human experience
pretty much is in the books.
Old gentlemen, like Horace, young warriors
and sailors like Homer, have their dreams pre-
LETTERS 93
senred. But the young girl, as she comes into
literature, comes in only as the heroine of some
man's love-tale, and is treated conventionally
enough at that. None have written of her, in
her more self-possessed stages, with truth. No
one has drawn a girl's soul, poised like a strong-
winged bird amid the cross-breezes of youth,
soaring as in sleep over this various, busy world.
There is a sacredness about youth. As I
listen to the faint, distant music of my own
youth, as I listen gratefully to yours, I don't
see how any one could print and ^^ publish" it.
Listening to that, I don't want even to hear
about literature.
Yours affectionately,
J. G. Croswell.
Apnl 24, 1904.
Dear Ethel: — I should have written you
at least once this month, but I had German
measles: to the great delight of New York! I
don't see the joke myself, but every one else
does, so I suppose it is funny.
As to the intellectual life, I am thinking of
writing a paper on ^^Institutional Teaching of
the Intellectual Life." Every philosopher, from
Plato down, has always dreamed of institutions
94 JAMES 6REENLEAF CBOSWELL
to embody on earth the ideals of the upper air.
Plato proposes, as you remember, perhaps, a
great reorganization of human society, wherein
"philosophers" are to govern in the interest
of the intellect and rearrange the life of man
from the cradle to the grave. And Plato's
" Republic " is one of many schemes f or a " City
of God" on earth. Even the "Church" is,
strictly speaking, another attempt to embody
some abstractions of the mind in human living.
Nowadays we are all planning, not republics
or churches, but schools, colleges, imiversities,
to embody in tabular views and curriculums,
in classes, in laboratories and dormitories
(dormitories more than laboratories), the ex*
periences of the intellectual life. We are all
inventing institutions to contain the best ex-
periences of hiunanity and to exclude the in-
ferior intellects. Doubtless it is true that such
institutions must be. Consider the public in-
stitution of marriage, for example. Where
would the human race be without that great
fortress of the soul to protect some of our best
possessions? Consider the Church especially
of the Middle Ages. Consider the States of
modem Europe. Consider our own Republic.
All are outward embodiments of Ideas.
LETTERS 05
Deab Ethel: — I consider "Culture and
Anarchy ** the most entertaining book in Eng-
lish. The smooth style, with the neat malice, and
the delectable arrogance of threatening the
whole population of the British Isles with ep-
ithets, as if they were all books to be reviewed
by Matthew Arnold, always charmed me. There
is something to it all, of course. But the best
thing Arnold taught me, in this and other books,
seems to me, after all, not to be this critical
attitude, this devotion to standards of perfec-
tion, in books and men, so much as the endur-
ing recollection that I must take all people for
what they are worth, each in his own degree.
This cured my youthful severity. Boys are
so severe. I learned, therefore, to take even
Matthew Arnold only for what he is worth,
with a gentler affection rather than with an
exacting hero-worship — or critical hostility.
You express the idea yourself in your stric-
tures upon Matthew A. I plead for him by
saying that he includes your doctrine of human
sympathy in his doctrine that everybody has a
fatal weakness somewhere.
No poet, no hero, no saint ever knew his own
meaning. No artist ever gets a view of himself.
How funny artists and poets are. Sometimes
96 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
they behave like idiots even when they are
great. The conscious self, trained to conscious
thought, is, I am told, still but a parvenu in the
universe, uneasy, arrogant, ill-mannered, and
exacting, as all parvenus are. It is only a few
million years since there has been any conscious
soul on earth at all. It is a novelty.
But the unconscious self is as old as eternity,
and as well-poised and sure of its ^^ meaning''
as an old nobleman of the most ancien regime.
Now all "education," "culture," "literary
work," and much of our philosophizing belongs
to the conscious self.
December 25» 1908.
Dear Ethel: — ^Your gift arrived Christ-
mas Day while I was at church. I have a
superstition about Communion — Christmas.
You know the " Sursum Corda " : " lift up your
hearts." That is the oldest thing in any church
service anywhere. Do you remember Pater's
"Marius the Epicurean"? Do you remember
the Christians therein? When we reach that
place, I always lift up my heart in annual
thanksgiving to my Maker, not for making me,
but for making those I love. A beautiful troop
they have been — enough to reconcile one to
LETTERS Vt
any hardships of life. Some are alive and some
are not; but I see them all there, svb specie
aternUaiiSy in the light of Eternity.
This is a secret of mine, but I suppose it hap-
pens to many other people.
Meanwhile, I send you my love, as mortab
may; and many happy New Years before
Eternity begins, to you and yours.
Your affectionate friend,
J. 6. Cboswell.
To Margaret Hobart
Deeb Isle, Maine, June SO, 1906.
Dear Margabet: — I want to write you a
word of special praise for your record at Bryn
Mawr. Of course such things are not the only
thing one works for. But such recognition of
one's work is very pleasant too.
The school is much obliged for the laurels
you have won us.
Your affectionate teacher,
J. G. Croswell.
Deeb Isle, Maine, June 22, 1907.
Dear Margaret: — I have your marks and
I congratulate you very much. Let me give
you a farewell word of approval for your good
98 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
work in the school. I hope you will enjoy the
oolite and will profit from all that happens to
you there. I still think, though there is a good
deal too much said about the greatness of col-
lege, there is no other experience so profitable
to the higher life of men and women at your age.
So I give you my blessing and I put you in
my prayers. Your affectionate teacher,
J. G. Croswell.
Deer Isle, Maine, September S, 1907.
Dear Margaret: — I don't think I ever
told you how much obliged I was for that long
letter about your work. It was capital and it
will help me very much. I think it goes to show
that the preparation for college is somewhat too
onerous. The "margin of safety" is too small
as they say of bridges.
I blush to be certifying the moral character
of any Brearley girl. The idea of Miss Thomas's
asking and me professing to vouch for you, we
whose characters need redemption ourselves.
I feel like Dean Colet when he looked at the
boys of his St. Paul's School, "lift up your
little hands for me, O Brearley girls."
Your affectionate teacher,
J. G. Croswell.
LETTERS 99
WriUm after the deaUi of Rosanumd Hobart^ on
July 16, 1908
July 19, 1906.
Mt dear, dear Margaret: — My heart
is deeply grieved — not for Rosamond, who is
safe, but for you. O may God help you all. It
is not for me to touch the hem of her garment.
I hardly dare to speak of the deep and sweet
thing that has happened to her. But you judge
well when you say I loved her. That she should
suffer pain, and be taken away in this sudden
darkness from our eyes, b to me, as it is to you,
a lifelong sorrow. How deep is this sorrow!
! May she rest in peace, and be as she has been,
a token of God's love in our lives. Perhaps that
will help you to bear your sorrow. I have had
all kinds of losses in this life. My life has been
full of horrible grief . The thing that has helped
me to live most of all was the love of children
— my love for them and the hope of their love
for me. So I can share with you in the sense of
loss when this dear child is no longer here. None
of all my flock were sweeter and dearer than
she. I looked forward to the nearer intimacy
with her I expected next year. It will make
a great difference to us all — a great differ-
ence.
100 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
God bless and strengthen you, dear Mar-
garet. I can send no message to your mother
and father. But you will be good to them and
help each other. Thank you, dear, for writing
to me. Your affectionate teacher,
J. 6. Cboswell.
Deer IsiiB, Maine, August 7, 1908.
Dear Mabgaret: — Our private grief will
not yield. Beautiful is her life, and beautiful
is her death, with the rays of morning on her I
But indeed, dear, I know how little that all
helps the sense of loss. That sense of loss!
It will not go. It seems incurable and intol-
erable. I can only tell you that all human be-
ings have it to bear. We all know cM these
feelings. Some of us will share even this sense
of loss, not so heavily as you, but as surely,
when we look for her in vain.
Think of your mother and father and your
brother. Think, as you are thinking most
justly, of the swift passage of life which will
bring restoration of even this loss. Think of
work and duty. Think of love triumphant over
all things, before whom even Death cowers.
I do not have to tell you of the mystical
channels of strength which you have foimd
LETTERS 101
before this. They are more real than this
apparent loss. Bear it and rejoice with her.
Her and your affectionate and grieving
teacher, J. 6. Croswell.
To Miss Rhoades
17 West Fobtt-fourth Strbbt^
Augusi 13, 1909.
Dear Katherine: — It is dear of you, the
artist, to write to me, in the midst of the
business. Please ask Marion to let me see her
handwriting also sometime.
I think your remarks about Biddef ord most
just, and it delights my soul to have Maine so
understood. You ought to see the eastward
Maine also. Casco Bay, the Kennebec and
Sheepscot Rivers, and the Penobscot coimtry,
with Bar Harbor and Mount Desert, would
make a nice country to paint. If it is i>ossible
for you to go East this summer, let us know and
we will steer you, and if you condescend we
will delightfully entertain you while here in the
Penobscot.
I shall be so glad to see your ^'results'' in
New York — and so will Leta. There is great
charm for me in your work; I trust it is an
'^educative taste " of mine, that the whole world
102 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
will share soon. But the slopes of Parnassus
are long and steep; and may be you will have
to paint unrecognized for many months yet.
Some day the Biddeford people will i>oint
you out as you go by, "There she goes I** Per-
haps the papers will put you into the Simday
Edition, among the Brearley CoimtessesI
With much love, your admiring
"Mb. Croswell."
September 7, 1909.
Dear Katherine: — Here is the answer to
your charming note. I would n't lecture to the
whole world on Psychology: not on my life.
But if you and Marion, or Marion and you, or
you without Marion, or Marion without you,
or Marion and you, or you and Marion, with
any other two or three Brearley girls you hap-
pened to know, would invite me to talk in-
formaUy^ to superintend your study, or to do
anything spontaneous about Psychology next
winter, I'd love to do that. By spontaneoiiSy
I mean without any sort of schedule or adver-
tising or promise to any one else.
My first remark would be that Psychology,
if it means anything, merely means to take a
scientific gaze at the inner spiritual world. But
LETTERS 108
I don't care to do that with all comers. For
though science is open to all corners^ yet I am
not scientific; and though the world of the
spirit is doubtless open to all Spirits (or
Psyches) 9 yet it also doses, as violently as the
gates of Paradise, to unworthy steps, even if
they be scientific. Now my only claim to step
into that world, much less to discuss its ge-
ography, seems to me to be my personal rela-
tions to you two and such as you.
Your affectionate teacher,
J. 6. Cboswell.
To a young friend: not a Brearley girl
FAfuary 6» 1910.
Deab Ethel: — As to your own gay occu-
pations, pray do not forget that there is a brief
time in all lives which seems to be devoted by
Heaven simply to embroidering and conferring
on spectators the brightness of what is called
"good times."
How sad a world it would be without the
good times of such as have good times. Figure
it. No dawn to days, no spring to years, no
buds to flowers, no brooks to rivers, no morning
glory to anything. It were wicked of you to
say anything disrespectful of your happy girl's
104 JAMES GREENLEAF CBOSWELL
winter. I am so pleased with your tone. You
must not even say it is a "self-centred" life.
The very first condition of the pleasure any
spectator takes, in any work of art, is that it
should be a self-centred whole, inaccessible to
outside interruption and leading to nothing
" higher.'* Hence the frame to pictures, and the
footlights to operas, and the bars to music, and
the gates to temples.
Don't think that your friends, relatives, ac-
quaintances, and all the rest, are not affec-
tionately devoted, because for a few years now
you are left to be "self-centred" and a little
alone. We are spectators of one of the most
beautiful spectacles on earth. I am, dear Miss
, for myself and all mine, an admiring
spectator. Faithfully yours,
J. G. Cbosweuli.
To a Brearley girl
The Brearley Schooi^
17 West Forty-fourth Street,
April 21, 1910.
Dear E. : — I enclose an official note from
the Directors trying to tell you of their feelings
of regret and gratitude. As to my own feelings
I will not try. like a father, I have always
LETTERS 105
thought you a most remarkable child I I have
gained in watching your growth and your de-
pendence on me just what fathers gain of their
children, courage and strength to go on with
life. That is what children give their elders.
That I certainly owed you again and again.
What else you have given, though it is much,
does not equal that. And that I can never lose.
It is part of my life's unalterable good.
You don't know this; and you need not.
What people do of good in this world is so
woven with their own natures that they seldom
can see it in any detached and contemplative
fashion. So perhaps I had best leave all this
unsaid because my thought borders on the im-
speakable things that cannot pass from one
generation to another. Certainly I should be
very sorry to give you the feeling that I was
''making a speech" on the occasion of your
resignation. One position you can never resign.
I decline to state what that position is; but it
enables me to sign myself
Your affectionate teacher,
J. G. Croswell.
106 JAMES GREENLEAF CBOSWELL
To Miss Rhoades
DsEB Isle, Maine, Attgust 8, 1010.
Dear Kathebine: — Your two pleasant let-
ters are here, and I am very grateful, though
you may not think it of me. It is one of the
pleasantest thoughts I have, the recollections of
Katherine. Anybody would like to get a letter
of hers, I am sure. Then I loved Venice greatly
in my time too. I like to hear of it. I can't
speak of Wiesbaden, not having reached as yet
the Wiesbaden chapters of my life. Perhaps
next simimer.
I shall approve of your stay in Europe, as I
suppose all of us must approve if we have to.
Certainly I do wish you to go forward with your
painting, even at the cost of your absence.
French also is handy to have in the house;
you can't have too much. And I think talking
and writing French is good for one's English.
Wriie me a French post-^ard. I, too, have al-
wajrs wanted to talk French. Did n't I ever
tell you my three secret wishes? (1) To write
one good sonnet. (2) To talk, one houvy French
with a perfect style and accent. (3) To be an
Opera Tenor, right in the limelight, for one
evening only. I could n't stand more than one
of each. But I should like to try one, by way of
LETTERS 107
vacation from the artless and clumsy. '* Don't
you think it is a splendid idea?"
Is Italy the land of everything tremendous
still? It used to be, but I am told that in fifty
years more the Italians will all be over here, in
search of an American livelihood. Wouldn't
it be a joke if Italy were always full of Ameri-
cans on vacations, all supported there by the
labor of Italians in America?
Indeed, you are not "dumb** or "jwwer-
less," young lady. I don't think many of us
make any more effect, in a room full of hu-
mans, or in a quiet comer, either.. What would
you have?
You girls are intricate enough for any pur-
I>ose; and yet simple enough to make the larger
effects which are, after all, what count most.
Why do you want to get ink on your fingers?
I would n't have you a "writer."
Speaking of effects, why do our countrymen
like small, spotty variety and variegation in
art, so much? Is this taste for variety connected
with our love of speedy motion? It is not good
taste. Not even the Star Spangledest Yankee
could prove that. The greatest lesson I got
from Europe was the other experience of mass
and simplicity and repose and composition.
108 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
which old and mediseval Europe had. Perhaps
modem Europe is losing it now.
I hope your foot is well; and your head and
heart are in good order, as usual, too. I do not
speak of your cunning artist's hand again,
though that has my prayers, even more, for its
welfare.
Maine and Mrs. Croswell never were better.
We are all well and happy.
I thank you again for your nice letters.
Please give Mrs. Rhoades my kindest remem-
brances. Yours affectionately,
J. G. Cboswell.
To his sister-in-lawy Mrs. Donaldson
September 6, 1910.
DeabEmma: — No joy lever had on my
birthday made me so happy as this! It is
most sisterly; also brotherly, to think of it. I
never dreamed of possessing a Max. and Min.
Copper Thermometer all my own I Alas I If I
could only live fifty years longer I
Tell Harry from me that this thermometer
is living a double life, however, at present, giv-
ing a different report at each end of it of the
state of the weather. Is this a gentle satire on
human opinions? The Optimist reports maxi-
LETTERS 109
mum; the Pessimist minimum temperature.
Even so — but why pursue the personality?
I will tell you something you know already.
Harry is alone worth all the rest of us put to-
gether — all your family and mine! I am sure
of this. It is a calm, scientific statement, based
upon careful observations, checked off by maxi-
mum and minimum temperature reports.
Your affectionate brother,
J. 6. C.
To Judge Robert OrarU
The Bbearlet School,
17 West Fobtt-foubth Street,
May 9, 1911.
Deab Robert: — I hope I told you how
much pleasure and profit I derived from your
kindness; and I trust I did not bore you too
much with my own affairs.
It always is a singular joy I derive from your
conversation; and it is not too much to say
that you mean a great deal more to me than
most men, in memory, in imagination, and in
a fond, delusive hope that I too may do some-
thing for you some day.
I 'm sure you would tell me if I could.
Boston is full of nice people. I appreciate
110 JAMES GREmiEAF CB08WELL
all they are, deeply. Perhaps I do all the more
because I am so thoroughly exiled and trans-
planted now.
If you ever come> please let me know when
you are in New York.
Your affectionate classmate,
J. 6. Cboswell.
17 West Fortt-fourth Street,
May 30, 1911.
Deab Katherine: — This is just a word to
tell you: —
(1) That I got your French letter with ex-
treme joy. " Quel bonheur igstrame pour moy,"
as James Yellowplush, Esq., remarks. But I
think I had best not correspond with any
Parisienne in that language for fear of conse-
quences.
(2) That I thank you deeply also for your
nice letter of April 27, Which I have kept on
my desk to look at and now to answer.
As to the flights which the Brearley may take,
nobody can guess what she may not do. But
we will all try to love the new Brearley. How
New York does love novelty I Everybody keeps
congratulating me as if it was a piece of ex-
quisite good fortune to be obliged to move out
LETTERS 111
of our house. Is it? Do you know I really be-
lieve, if a comet appeared in the sky bearing
a sign, ** This Universe is to he under New Man-
agementl** that the New York people would all
be delighted, and proceed to get front seats
at the new show. We are all moving, all the
time, churches, schools, banks, theatres, hotels,
houses, everybody.
How are all my Parisian Brearley? Is Marion
getting on? I hear of her now and then. I wish
I could see your ** chiefs of work." Have you
done a lot? I admire your work.
Come back some time to Mr. Croswell and
the Brearley.
Your affectionate teacher,
J. 6. CrosweIiL.
To John Jay Chapman
Deer Islb, Maike, September 6, 1011.
Mt deab Chapman: — You set the music
going in me always, though I am no more than
a Victor phonograph, which merely returns the
melody photographed upon it beforehand. I
think you are my favorite author nowadays;
I can't criticise you I
D ^n C.I It makes me mad to have you
praise him. He is n't in the class with you at
112 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
all. Anybody can do that! You play the real
lyre few can touch.
Your grateful listener,
J. G. Croswell.
December 31, 1911.
Dear Dr. Slattbry: — This is from two
parishioners to wish you a Happy New Year.
We love Grace Chiu-ch: we loved Dr. Hunting-
ton: we have been ready to love him who so
gallantly picks up the work and goes on with
it and with us.
But to-day we have more to say. You
walked into the heart of the congregation to-
day yourself with your straight talk about the
ministry. We all heard a man*s voice, and we
shall not forget.
I am a school-teacher, as I dare say you
know; so I know something of the diflBculty of
supporting the inner life with outward means.
A school is an attempt to give culture, an inner
experience of the soul, the help of institutional
support in the outer world. But if that job is
hard, what a great task is yours!
Please let us say we thank you for com-
ing to Grace Church, and we thank you for
telling us and showing us what a ^^minister''
LETTERS 113
is, which you translate so effectively deed for
word.
Your friends and parishioners,
James Cboswell and Leta^ Cboswell.
Gracb Chubch Rbctobt,
804 Broadway, New York,
January 1, 1012.
Dear Dr. and Mrs. Croswell: — Your
letter was a beautiful New Year's greeting, and
I thank you for it more than I can tell you.
I was afraid the sermon might have been too
personal, and your words are a great comfort.
You can hardly know what a help you have
both been to me. As I have looked towards
your pew each Simday I have felt the security
of your imderstanding and sympathy. That is
the sort of help which makes the ministry the
glad thing it is.
Besides, I have known you years and years
before you ever heard of me. It was one of my
college regrets that you had gone from Har-
vard when I reached Cambridge. Then one
summer I began to know Mrs. Brace. And al-
ways I seem to have heard glowing accoimts
from your pupils. So when I came to New York
and found you to be part of Grace Church, I
114 JAMES 6REENLEAF CR08WELL
was very glad. And ever since, in various ways
which you little suspect, yoiur kindness has
stayed me.
And now comes this crowning act of your
goodness — this generous letter. I should
value it in itself, but its chief value is that it
comes from both of you. I shall keep it by me,
and read it over time and again, — and bless
you every time I
I long ago gave you my affection; that I now
have yours is a very solid happiness to me.
I do thank you; and I am
Your grateful friend and parson,
Chables Lewis Slattebt.
The Brearlet School,
17 West Forty-fourth Street,
May 9, 191S.
Deab Chapman: — My piece satisfied me
very little. I felt as if I were patronizing my
betters all the time. And the misprints, due
to my bad handwriting and hasty work, make
pretty queer English of it. Some day I may
send you a correct version? It was better before
it got printed.
But all's well that ends well; so if you un-
derstand a little better what sort of a creature
LETTERS 115
you really are, I am glad to be able to tell you,
and such other people as will listen, as well as
I can, the truth about you.
I am never mistaken! When I feel in my
bones certain feelings, I am as good as the Del-
phic Oracle. And I do feel in my bones that
you are going to receive a great gift from the
Muses before you finish your career. May I
be there to see it!
Yours faithfully,
J. 6. Croswell.
Thb Bbeablet School*
17 West Fobtt-foubth Street,
WhUsunday, May 26, 10112.
Deab Chapman: — I sent back to Barry-
town, May 17th, all the manuscripts you let me
have to read.
Well! There are those of us who love your
way of saying things. I'm not sure that you
are not absolutely my ''favorite author'' at
present.
But there is much more I could say than that.
The drift of your thinking along in the twilight
of political and other philosophies of our time,
so anxious to us all, excites me. You seem to me
to be sailing where the deep tides run; fishing
116 JAMES GREENLEAF CBOSWELL
in the deepest water. Sometimes you get a
fish; sometimes he gets off again; but they are
great fish always, even if you only get them up
to the top, and not quite into the boat. I feel
like a disciple on shore watching Peter making
miraculous draughts. The Lord be with you I
I wish I could talk with you about that Phi
Beta thing. It's very good, though I don't be-
lieve much in the oppression of the Classics
by the Modernists. I think the Classics have
been sold out by their own possessors and pro-
fessors. Ever yours gratefully,
J. G. Croswell.
To Mr. Chapman
Thb Breablet School,
eO East Sixtt-fibst Street,
November 27, 1912.
Dear Monitor: — Not even if you are a
child of light yourself, do you yet guess the
truth about my children of the Brearley illumi-
nation. Come up in the morning and see them.
You will see not only the instruments then> but
also the tortures — and you will see that the
children tread securely on the lion and the
adder, and suffer none at all of the things you
would suffer in their place.
LETTERS 117
Don't you know that a young virgin can
tame the fiercest beasts — even a school-
teacherl We fawn upon them.
Yours always,
J. 6. Cboswell.
Ths Brearlet School,
60 East Sixtt-fibst Sthebt,
OnrcE OF THE Head Master,
December 22, 1912.
Dear Chapbian: — The Eliot piece is great.
It is too big to launch in any shallow water.
Make it a " Dreadnaught '' and keep it building
a while.
I wept as I read the Dyer part. That alone is
a precious jewel. Don*t lose it I
I must say again, you are truly my favorite
author, of all men alive. I watch you, like
a boy with his mouth open watching a ship-
builder. Golly! How the chips do fly! I fed
a warm and happy glow, as I lay down the man-
uscript to return to Martin, the joy of seeing a
master-workman working. It's glorious.
Yours ever,
J. 6. Cbosweui.
118 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
Thb BREABiiinr School,
dO East Sixtt-fibst Stbeet»
AprU 28, 1913.
Dear Chapbian : — Your criticism of Eng-
lish (British) translation work is very just.
Translation is a cursed treachery to original
work, always. I hate translations; they are all
alike, except King Jameses Bible. I have always
ieltW^eymimg&Historyqf English Translation
from Greeky tracing for example Plutarch*s
various adventures in English from Thomas
North to Professor Goodwin.
The British do use phrases from King James's
Bible to give a British meaning to Plato — to
get some ^"life" into it. It is a sin, I know. But
is this a worse sin than their use of cold, pallid,
eighteenth-century English prose, full of the
Sam Johnson dassicality, like the English of
the American Pulpit, to translate Plato? AU of
Bohn's Translations are just like plaster casts;
not marble at all. I prefer the other error if we
must choose. It is awfully funny to compare
Plato and Jowett. Yoiurs,
J. G. C.
Deer Isle, Maine, August 26, 1913.
Deab Chapman: — Yes, I received your
Garrison (to my mind, your high-water mark.
LETTERS 119
80 far) ; ako your Greek animadversions. Now
your friendly note comes to reproach me! All
this makes me ashamed of my silence. But
it is the silence of appreciation and respect for
yoiur work. I don't like to break it, such a
silence, with mere laudations of your work, but
I should like to have a chattering hour with
you to talk of your doings and feelings about
Greek. We mean to come over, but it is just
too far to be easy. We have had already two
drownings while visiting you. A third seems
dangerous. Perhaps you have a more powerful
car than ours to skim the waves with. I'm sure
Poseidon would lend you one 1 1 I seem to see
you in full swing: —
B^ S^ikdav ifjl kv/uit^
draXke Be K'qre vrr* airrov
Not only the porpoises and jelly fish would
exult beneath you, but also the Croswells'
wharf and dock and kelps, if you came. In-
deed I rejoice at yoiur doings with Greek. I
don't care how many translations you read.
You are always right on the scent of the Greek
original. I feel sure that Aristophanes would
have loved you (and put you into a play, prob-
ably); I feel sure that he would have laughed
120 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
at you and loved you. But he would not have
laughed at me and others. He would n't have
thought about us at all by name. He would
have described us in the Parabasis of a play
called "The Fishes"; "How they go in
schools"; or some such thing. He, too, dis-
liked the long, windy misery of Euripides as
you do; the "feeble side of Greek culture" he
called it. The speeches and the talkee-talkee he
disliked. But I always used to wonder why he
did n't enjoy the good part of Euripides. I sup-
pose, being a Greek of Athens, he felt the deadly
error of Euripides* rhetorical self-indulgences,
as an artist does (as you do), but with more
sorrow and alarm. So Aristophanes could n't
stop to talk about Euripides' virtues, he was
always shouting, **Fire — Athens is on fire.**
Bad taste was worse than fire in Athens. It
finally destroyed her. Aristophanes believed
it. But though Aristophanes might call Eu-
ripides "bad poet," I never felt that 7 could.
Euripides is so big in this great part; so true
to his Art; so prophetic of later drama, that
you and I may well be awe-stricken and "shut
up," as you say, all criticism. There is (of
course) no one like Aristophanes. Where do
these people come from? What divine voice
LETTERS 121
is there somewhere to explain such echoes as
these? — of Euripides and Aristophanes? Aris-
tophanes is the bigger Poet. He is n't half ap-
preciated. The trouble is plainly that he canH
be Tpvt into "" English Translations.'' So there
you are. Euripides can be translated pretty
well.
I had a good laugh over your Theseus, danm-
ing the fool-son. Let me tell you Channing's
immortal remark, **The thing which makes the
world move forward, is the fact that fathers
cannot make their sons do what they want
them to."
But dear me! How lovely that Greek danm-
ing is, how gracious and how cutting I Do send
me your essay — I am not at all opposed to
yoiur idea. An English translation is, perhaps,
never anything better than a"Conmientary"
on the Greek text. But one can use them. You
know what a conmientary is. Alas I We need
lots of comment books in the dead tongues. I
use translations all the time. I'm not at all
above them. God forbid I should say such a
thing. The Greek books are like Merlin's
Magic Book.
'None can read the text, not even I,
And none can read the comment but myself.'
128 JAMES GREENLEAF CR08WELL
They need a wizard to manage them. I don't
know if this is a wise or a foolish note. It is
meant for grateful acknowledgment of your
trusting your ideas to me.
Yours always,
J. G. Cboswell.
The Bbeabust School,
eO East Sixtt-fibst Strset,
October 4, 1913.
Dear Chapbian: — "Good English" is a
vague and indefinite term, I think. As we gen-
erally use it, we really mean the sum total of a
man's ctdture. If I say, " I admire his English,"
I mean I admire the sum total of a man's fac-
ulty, his reason, his imagination, his experi-
ence, his acquaintance with the Cosmos as it
has been seen in English. Therefore^ no book
of Rhetoric can teach "Good English." One
must live it. But — of course there is always
a qualification to any general maxims of edu-
cation — but there are such things as conven-
tionalities or table maimers, even at the ban-
quet of the gods on Olympus. And these must
be taught, albeit no "Book on Manners" will
make a gentleman. Theref cnre I decline to admit
that no rhetoric or grammar work is valuable.
LETTERS lis
Doubtless manners are best learned uncon-
sciously and from people, not from books of
Etiquette. The transfer of life from the living
to the living, a sacramental office, that is edu-
cation. Yet the printed word is miraculous
even in a granmiarl
Yours ever,
J. 6. Croswell.
Deeb Isle, MAms, August 25, 1012.
Dear Cornelia : — I have your nice letter.
Indeed I value it very much. It is a pile of
wisdom; and wise questions; and also full of
humor and fancy. Of course, college is a bridge.
Bridges, of course, are meant to lead some-
where. A bridge which is simply a jumping-off
place, on which th^e is no traffic, is not much \
of a bridge. Even if the view is pretty and the
air is fresh out there, it would not get a great
many passengers. Of course, one might say,
"I want to go up there and enjoy the view and
the other girls.'' But I can imagine that the
family would say, *^Be sure and don't go too
far; and be sure and come back on our side
again." So the question really is, ^' Where does
that bridge lead?"
I think that collie does lead somewhere.
124 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
Just now, it does n't seem well for me to argue.
I will only say that I do not accept the proposi-
tion that college is of no use to teachers, or to
writers. But, of course, you can go to college
any time in the next two or three years. Get
yoiur records carefully made up and wait for
light. I won't argue now.
It is never wrong for a girl of eighteen to live in
and toUh her family . I agree with you that yoiu*
family is mighty nice. We can all talk over
your distant futiure. I shall always be very
much interested to do so.
Thank you very much for your letter. I had
to laugh; you meant I should but I respect it
too.
Your affectionate ex-teacher,
J. G. CrosweiiL.
To a Brearley girl
1912.
Deab LittiiE Friend: — I write to say that
I am not unmindful of the day which brings
you a recollection of grief. I shall think of you
to-morrow. Words say very little; letters say
very little; but I do not suppose you need to
be told very much. But it cannot be wrong to
write you at least a word to say that you have
LETTERS 125
in your old teacher a loving friend who is sorry
for your losses and who is glad for all your
memories of happiness and fatherly love, now
safe from all loss forever. May I say that?
You have a family still, and very unusual
experiences of family affection. You have
many loving friends. And you have the sup-
port of knowing that you are eagerly anxious,
even if we poor mortals do make blimders, al-
ways to do right. That is the best of all. I,
too, know all these things and I know they all
coimt, especially the last. It is the only thing
that nothing can take away.
Well, we all make many blimders in going
through life. But, if in your heart there is that
consciousness of loyal service to duty, that is
the best of all consolers from the beginning to
the end. Ever your affectionate
J. 6. Cboswell.
To E. S. Martin
Deeb Isus, Maine, July 10, 1018.
Deab Mabtin : — It pleases me that you are
really going to Europe for a while. You will
profit thereby; and so will she who takes you
there. It is time. It is time for me to go too.
12d JAMES 6REENLEAF CBOSWELL
I begin to count pennies and hours to see how
soon I can get there. Bon voyage I Thank you
for 's Encomium Nortoni. Golly 1 I'm
sure I couldn't have &)und Athens on that
road! The piece sounds to me like a piece writ-
ten by the last literary Roman gent just before
the vandals burnt his farm. They are not sOy
these things he says, about cultiu^ and about
Athens and about Norton and about himself.
It is all a piece of confectionery, and might have
been written by Reginald Bunthome. I should
like *s languid praise much less than
Jack Chapman's hearty contempt, if I have to
be eulogized. I think Norton himself might
prefer Chapman to , as an In Memo-
riam, after all is said. That's a bully letter of
Chapman's. I return it with thanks.
I miss you. Do you know how? I don't like
the human race as much in summer as in win-
ter. One reason is that I don't see you. If you
understand this, you will see this is not a light
phrase I make to please myself. It is biography.
Another reason is that I don't see my girls.
Give my love to Lois. What an industrious
soul she is. She will be somebody, I bet a
year's pay. Bless yourself for your children!
My vegetables are all choked with weeds.
LETTERS 187
I got here too late this year. Moreover, this
year there is an insect pest destroying all the
spruce trees. But I rejoice in these idle hours
and this heavenly climate, and in the thouj^ts
of my friends.
Your affectionate
J. G. Croswell.
To Betty Brace, hie niece
Dkeb Isle, 1918.
August 8 a picnic to Great Spruce Head.
Very calm going out. Fog settled on us at
lunch. Eleanor and I made the course, how-
ever, and sailed home in a fresh breeze (south
by east). We did n't see land for three quarters
of an hour, and toe hit exactly on her mooring
so that we only had to get in the jib and luff.
Auntie Leta was tickled to death with that
trip. So was I. We did it fine. Steering by
Eleanor. All oiur sailing is done by Eleanor.
Eleanor is a dandy. I would go anywhere with
her steering. She is very wise and very clever
with the boat; and brings out all the boat's
good qualities — and mine too. Tell yoiur
mother so. My nieces are certainly fine. They
ought to have better uncles and aunts. How
is my Brearley niece? Are you having a nice
128 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
rest? Are you sleeping like a top? Are you
eating a lot? Are you thinking of nothing at
all? That's a good Brearley girl. Are you get-
ting fat ? I want you to be very corpulent when
I see you next. Fat protects one against
teachers and college preparation, just as little
bears get fat in the sununer so as to go through
the winter. Auntie Leta sends her love to you
all. She and Eleanor sleep out in tents. They
never get up in the mommg. Eleanor comes
silently brushing in about 9, like a great moth
caught by daylight.
To the same
Deeb Isle, August, 1918.
This token I send you is said to be ^^Hand-
painted.'* Please remember in Europe to in-
quire at the Louvre and the Uffizi Gallery if the
pictures are "hand-painted" or not I One can't
be too careful of swindlers in Europe. This well-
known scene has a Spanish motto which is from
Don Quixote. Did you ever hear of Don Quixote f
It is a great favorite of mine. These are the last
words of the Eoiight. The sentence means, "In
the nests of other years there are no birds this
year."
. The Knight's words are meant, I think, to
Vs.
Ok.y
El
SoyyiOYSt^lr.
C CvVvo V";
Wfl4
e-r
bl
, wivi c^v ''v<rw ro II s
cvwct Tf^o 1 1 & avvt^ vo 1 1 s Ucti4HU/vi
£r^
X 1 1^ W^fej^
5 E^I-CjCLiuy
"XVxA v»v<wU«.^ Vwivx f^cdL b-^iA.^ — (.
drivvk VvoH'er. Sov»>jt cAri^wi^^
0»vvl<l«, toXk foo yux^cA^. k
a.
OY vvwc»k. 'P«>oV BvKk(«-.
X* I H"l«c boys 'Tlwwv s h c k s aJ~ fie
C? ivo»-t.k ! Qti^^ck ( Croc
c/] tkc&-4, oWcks . Aivwl- CrcsvvcU
|f~.^^ytT X'MisL Lkox/C «$ovv*. c-lo/wxjuo -'
So cAu€o <^ rC«A-<X. WvC^ ^
Eve/ V««V c^p(«/Wow^^ ^TNKLE
LETTERS 129
amuse and encourage us with the thought of
life. I want you to remember always to look
forward to your happy days. There will be al-
ways new nests for your birds. Poor old Don
Quixote was a lonely, romantic soul who clung
to the past too much. His adventures show the
comic result of trying to translate the present
into the beloved past. But simrise is lovelier
than sunset. Youth is going forward always
to new delight. So there will be for B. always
new and beautiful things, each better than the
last.
Speaking of sunrise, can you see the dawn
where you are? I was up at foiur this morning
and I think I never saw such a beautiful sky.
That morning star! That half -moon in Orion.
That flood of clear, cool daylight, colorless and
clean, slowly, slowly turning rose and red I It
was lovely! I made this verse: —
The Dawn Goddesi
The quickening color flies before her presence
Like music heard afar;
And on her pathway shines in splendor crescent
The bright and morning star!
Hark! from the forest swept by sea-winged breeases
Comes what sweet sudden stir;
The smallest minstrel of the dullest thicket
Must sing, for Her!
130 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
It's rather pretty — but I don't think one
ought to make verses about the Dawn God-
dess, Aurora, the silent one. Do you?
To the same
Deeb Isle, August 19.
I think you are a good deal of a dreamer.
Aren't you? Well, you have a right to be.
Those lovely years, sixteen to twenty-six, which
you live in now, are full of dreams. Go ahead,
and have a lot of dreams. I will keep as still
as a mouse; and keep everybody else still, if I
can.
I dream myself sometimes, and I know how
nice it is for little girls to dream.
To the same
New Yobk, December, 1913.
One reason why I don't write more is that I
don't yet believe any of my letters get to you.
It is not encouraging to write at great length
when I may be writing, not to you, but to the
Chief of Police or the Pope or whoever reads the
lost letters in Italy. Or perhaps the American
Express will read them.
I am coming to Rome to see antiquities: as
follows : —
LETTERS ISl
(1) The (xeese who saved the Capitol; or any
other geese.
(2) The hole which Curtius jumped into and
pulled after him.
(S) The False Teeth of Curius Dentatus.
(I always wanted to see them.)
(4) The Place and Scene where Catiline
**Exceededy evaded, and erupted,** after abusing
our patience how long? (What a moving pic-
ture that would make I)
(5) The Seven Different Places where Caesar
was assassinated all at once, exclaiming, '"Et
tu, Brute/' which is of course the Latin for
"Here is another one, Brutus."
To Miss Dodge
Thb Bbbablet School,
60 East SxxTr-nBST Stbbkf,
November ftSt, 1918.
Dear Elizabeth: — I cannot have your
enterprise go on without being in itj^yselfl
I have just written an article on Private
Schools, for which I am promised $50.00. This
seems to me just the thing to give now to the
Y.W.C.A. As soon as I get paid, you vnil
have it; at any rate, at the dates specified.
Good luck and God bless you.
18« JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
I believe in your origins and destiny even
more than in the origin and destiny of the
Y. W.C.A. I wish I was a richer man and had
fewer calls on me.
Your affectionate
J. G. Croswell.
To MidB Hand
Breablet School,
60 East Sixtt-fibst Street*
February 19, 1914.
Dear Serena: — I have been so sorry for
your illness, but you will be all the better when
it is over. You will have a nice rest and grow
well and young and quite hig before I see you
again. I am going off to Europe next Tuesday,
over to Naples in the Franconia. I send you
lots of love. Don't think about lessons or worry
about your place in school. We will take care of
you and excuse everything and put you back
in your class next year all right when I come
back. Your loving teacher,
J. G. Croswell.
B.M.S. Franconia, MarcKl^ 1914.
Dear Miss Dunn: — This is written in the
afternoon as we go floating along the coast of
Algeria. It is a warm, blue day, like July, but
LETTERS ISS
a gentle haze lies over the sea, which is just
the color of this paper. The shore is all red hills,
networked with ravines and waterfalls most
beautifully.
Presently I expect to see a little ship with a
sail on a yard like this [sketch]; and I shall hail it
in Greek, for I know this is the country of the
Lotus-eaters; and Odysseus cannot be far away.
Yesterday we spent in Algeciras; to-morrow
in Algiers. But I am asleep and dreaming, I
know. I have lost all reckoning of place and
time. I should not be at all surprised to be told
I was not alive at all in the twentieth century
and that this was 800 B.C.
But I shall not believe that I have really
eaten the Lotus, for I have not "forgotten my
native country " like the Lotus-eaters. On the
contrary. I can say "Brearley School" quite
plainly still, and, like Odysseus, I am longing
for the days of my return to Ithaca, New York.
Will you thank the dear girls of the School
for their letters; and tell them though I saw
the Straits of Gibraltar and the Moors yester-
day, I was more pleased with their letters than
with anything I have seen or shall see in
Europe? Yours gratefully,
J. G. Cboswell.
154 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
Os BOABD THX ClTNABD R.M.S. FrANCONIA*
Man^ 7, 1914.
Deab Miss Dunn: — I expect that a letter
from Algiers will get to you faster than from
Gibraltar. So I have waited till to-day to
thank you for yoiur note and kind farewell.
Your medicine was most eflfective and your
thought so kind.
We have had on the whole a smooth pas-
sage. One storm only. I have not missed any
meals at the table. But I never do. Seasick-
ness seems very queer and unreasonable to me»
especially on these big boats. The approach to
Gibraltar was very beautiful; we arrived Fri-
day morning last before breakfast. We had a
very amusing day ashore. Also at Algeciras.
To-morrow we expect to spend a day at Algiers,
to which I look forward much. I have always
wanted to see the Moors and the Arabs alive.
I think daily of the School. You must be
having lots of problems. But when there are
so many people at the wheel, perhaps the Cap-
tain can stay ashore a while I You people have
spoiled me a good deal, Mrs. Croswell thinks.
I shall come back wiser, better, and very grate-
ful. Yours faithfully,
J. G. Cboswelii.
LETTERS 135
To his niece in Rome
Sunday, March 15, 1914.
Dear Dorothy : — Your post-card of wel-
come to Europe was the first we had after our
long voyage. I suppose Aunt Leta wrote you
her thanks or will write them; but I want to
thank you too.
We spent yesterday in Pompeii and to-day,
in a heavy fog and rain, are in Capri.
If Tiberius, in a Roman toga sitting on a
marble chair, had such weather as this, I don't
wonder he got cross and executed a few slaves.
I'd like to.
We are all well and having a high old time.
We think the Italians are a pretty bad lot!
Miss Caldwell keeps ahead of them. So does
Aunt Leta. Her plan is simply to denounce
everybody and refuse to pay anything. She
scares them blue. But I am away behind. I
pay double for everything and tip everybody
in sight. Yesterday I gave a man, who was
singing in a restaurant at Pompeii, two soldi
and (by mistake) my return ticket to Naples
by way of a macaroni tip. Aunt had a fit. It
cost her 1 Fr. 60c. II
I need at least, three keepers to go with
me everywhere.^ Don't you want the job?
136 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
Can you talk back to a crowd of baggage
thieves?
We sent all our baggage to Rome yesterday
totheH6teldltaKe. Will it ever get there? Do
grab it if you see it and hold on to it till we
come. I want some shirts I
We are going back to the mainland to-mor-
row to Sorrento, next day to Amalfi. But I
have had enough travelling. I want to get to
Rome, I do.
Do you suppose we shall ever see New York
again? Please give my love to your family, as
many as are with you.
Yoiur grateful uncle,
J. G. C.
To Betty Brace
Sorrento, March, 1914.
Perhaps the weirdest thing we did in Naples
was this. Leta and I went to dinner together
with the A.'s, and tried to get home at mid-
night. Our favorite tram did not come along,
so we walked and got lost. Then a cab ap-
peared and besought us to get in. I heard him
say "half a lire,'* so Leta let us get in. We drove
about one hundred miles in the darkest streets.
Then he stopped; and turned around : and made
LETTERS 137
one of the most eloquent Italian speeches I
ever heard — of which I understood not one
syllable. I expected to be miudered for a half
franc. But Leta, who knows no fear, calmly
said in English, ^ Drive to the steps and we will
walk up"; whereupon he made a longer speech.
Leta responded in English. So, for about six
speeches. Finally he gave up and drove on.
Leta, quite calm; I, scared blue. At last we
seemed to be passing a street we knew. So I
stopped him. Leta and I got out. Leta gravely
tendered 60 centimes. He took them and said,
"Good-night" in Italian. Now, what do you
think of that!
To-day Leta made me go down a street with
her and make a call on a family whose sister
married her green-grocer on Third Avenue.
Mr. V. We had the greatest fun. The family
were making cheeses, Maman about seventy
years old, P. iJ., his wife, the bambino, and a
whole detachment of neighbors* children, con-
stantly increasing as we talked. P. was a beau-
tiful young man; and his manners most de-
Kghtful.
No one understood a word of English, but we
made out to inquire all round and to give each
other the news. We walked out into the orange
138 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
garden and picked oranges. He gave us flowers.
He gave us a photograph of the family to take
to Mr. V. in America. Leta is simply indescrib-
able in Italy. No one except Grandma Brace
could equal her in sang-froid. I have always
admired my wife, but never more than on this
journey.
You see, when people or situations are pre-
posterous she masters them by being more pre-
posterous herself, and puzzling everybody who
is trying to deal with us.
Miss Caldwell knows some Italian, and
knows enough not to be cheated without know-
ing it. Now, Leta does n't know any. But
she has a firm conviction that everybody is
cheating. So she stands by, while Miss Cald-
well is defending herself in Italian, and con-
tributes general negatives, "No! No! We don't
want any! We don't want to ride! We are not
going to Amalfi! We don't want any rooms.
We will carry our baggage ourselves!" Yes-
terday she got the idea that one of the
"Johnny Darms," as I call the gendarmerie,
was trying to make L. stand in the sun. He
wasn't. He was explaining something about
the place where the cab would take us in on
the sidewalk. So Leta harangued. "No! We
LETTERS 189
don't want to stand there in the sun. We want
to stand ^id' in the shade. We will stand
here."
The two of them, Miss Caldwell and Leta»
are just like two dogs. When one of them gets
barking the other joins right in without know-
ing what it is about. But they are great travel-
lers. We are perfectly well. We have had all
we wanted to eat and drink. We have seen
Naples, Pompeii, Capri, and Sorrento. We
have been comfortably lodged. We have had
a glorious, roaring good time — all the time.
And we have only spent $5 a day apiece: just
half what people allow, and about one quarter
of what I said we should have to pay to be
happy while travelling.
There is nothing equal to the Irish. Don't
you feel the Irish in your veins sometimes?
Even you like a fight; and even you have the
Irish ardor about Uving.
How can I write about all we see. It is
entrancing, heavenly! Everything is funny.
Naples was f imnier than a flock of goats. Capri
was beyond its reputation. The simny morn-
ing yesterday gave us a glimpse of heaven and
the sea took on the blue which belongs to it.
140 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
But up to that day, Sunday, March IS, we
have had no real fair weather except on Friday
at Pompeii. Pompeii gave me great pleasure.
I know the place well from my studies. And
yet everything m it was full of surprises. And
so many questions answer themselves at once
when you really see things, not in a flat book,
but in the round of nature. How the hills
watch! How they have watched over the grave
of the town! How they watched it in its little
life ! The town is much more graceful and win-
ning than I thought. Those idiotic wall pic-
tures are too much talked about, — I got a
false impression/ And np one can guess at the
distinction and beauty of the site, from any
pictiwe I have ever seen. It is a very beautiful
town, even now. But it is a town of devils. The
bronzes in the Museum, the statues, the wall
pictures are all uncanny. The lovely "Narcis-
sus" is n't all right. He is just going to move!
He's a wicked one. I can see it, can't you.^
They are all wicked little things like snakes ; the
town is a town of snakes. I crept about care-
fully, and I'm glad I leave them behind, for-
ever. As to Capri, I don't feel that way there.
Though I suppose "Timberio" (lovely name)
was a devil, too. But the utter beauty of the
LETTERS 141
island disarmed me a good deal. And I have
always felt a sneaking respect for Tiberius's
contempt for the human race and for the
^^ social uplift" of his time. He got hard
measiure.
I have horrible pangs of homesickness for the
School. What in Pompeii am I doing here!
I saw a pitcher of pottery in Capri marked
**Bevi Zio.^* I wish I could! Is there any water
to drink in Rome? — or milk?
Your happy, thirsty
Uncle.
A postal to Betty
Naflbb» March, 1914.
Took letters of introduction to the fish in the
Aquarium from A. Sculpin and P. Haddock of
Maine. Pleasant visit.
J. 6. C.
BoHB, April 4, 1914.
Dear Miss Dean: — Yesterday I spent in
a Montessori school with E. T. These Montes-
sori students are crazy about their "method,"
but I admire the school almost without reserva-
tion. I have n*t yet made out how the children
are selected; or how they "discipline" them:
142 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
e.g., when a child turns out unequal to the task,
whether that child is dropped from the school
or what.
Please tell my Primary School that Mr. Cros-
well went to see the Italian school, and tell
them about "Otello" as follows: —
Otello is a fat Italian boy about four years
old. The room of his school was empty when I
came in, except that there were sixteen little
chairs and tables like our least little chairs,
only not so pretty. There were sixty ladies sit-
ting round the edge of the room to watch the
sixteen children.
If sixty ladies are needed to watch sixteen
children, ask Miss I. to tell the School how
many visitors would be needed to watch the
Brearley School.
When I came in I heard a great chattering
of children outside the door; and I thought of
prayers at the Brearley. But when I asked my
guide if they were saying their prayers she said,
"No; they were blacking their boots." They
do this every morning. Some of them were
bemg measured and weighed also, and some
being washed. Presently the door opened and
in walked Otello, all alone. He just reached to
my pockets. But he stared calmly at me and
LETTERS 143
then reached out his hand and gravely shook
mme. After a few more handshakes, he went
gravely to the piano, climbed on a stool, and
performed a few original scales.
The other fifteen children following Otello
strolled in like grown people into a tea-party.
They were mostly girb.
The youngest was an American girl of about
three years old. I observed that she was very
popular with the Italian children. In fact too
popular. The only rule I heard the teacher
give out to the school was that, ** Dorothy must
not be kissedJ*
One little Italian girl, who sat near her friend
Dorothy, forgot and kissed her. Whereupon
Dorothy gave her a fearful frown and slapped
her, a little American slap.
The only other disorderly thing I saw was
this: A little Italian boy, about five, and a very
pretty boy, left his chair and table to change
his work and tools. While he was gone, a little
girl took possession. So when he came back
there was an argument.
First they both tried to sit in one chair. The
girl beat him at this game. Then another girl
came and helped him. Then the teacher came.
Then they all whispered together. Then the
144 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
little boy got up and went away and got him-
self another chair and table. Then the little girl
went back to her own table! I Now, what do you
think of that! ! ! But these children kept very
nice school. They were very orderly and busy
for two hours. Otello was always walking
around; but he did a great deal of work too,
with the exact expression of an opera tenor on the
stage. First, as I told you, he shook hands all
round. Then he played some scales. Then he
got a little tool and measured some sticks. Then
he gravely got some colored blocks, red, grey,
and blue, and green, of many different shades,
and matched them so that the shades followed
each other exactly. Then a great idea struck
Otello. "Why not build a tower with these
blocks," using the different colors in order? So
he proceeded to build himself a tower like the
Emperor Hadrian. But this tower-building was
apparently illegal in school (like kissing Doro-
thy). At any rate, the teacher stopped it, and
Otello had to do something else.
I was wondering how Montessori taught the
children to keep still. But the teacher whis-
pered and Otello went to the little blackboard
and wrote: —
••SILENZIO"
LETTERS 145
— just like that. Just think of a little boy less
than five wriiing words on the blackboard!
Just as soon as the children saw it, they all
stopped talking and stopped working — dead
still. Stiller and stiller grew the room. Some of
them put their little fat hands over their eyes.
Stiller and stiller and stiller, you could hear the
trolley cars all over Rome, roaring, as they do
all day. I never saw children so still. You could
hear the sixty visitors breathing!
Then the teacher began to whisper Christian
names across the room — "Maria," "Otello,"
etc., etc. And as each name was whispered,
the owner got up and ran over to the teacher
like chickens to their mother.
Finally they were all gathered together.
Then they began to run on tiptoe in a line
roundabout through the chairs and tables,
not making any noise at all! Not a bit!! Then
they sat down again.
Then Otello went off and got himself about
a bushel of pieces of letter-paper from a closet,
folded about half the size of this page. I took
up one and I saw that each one had an Italian
word written on it. Otello was having his read-
ing. He gravely opened each and read the word
and dropped the papers in a heap on his desk.
146 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
Finally he had trouble. One word was strange
and queer ! So he went over to the teacher with
it. She did n't tell him, he had to think it out.
Soon he got it and proudly returned it to his
heap of papers. The most interesting thing
about these little children is that they are
so busy. Work and play are the same. They
work when they play; they play when they
work. They are as busy as bees. All you have
to make sure is that the work is within their
power: especially that it has a plenty of seeing,
hearing, touching, smelling, tasting, and mov-
ing about, and any children wifl work harder
than ants at it. But these little Romans are
workers. I wish we grown-ups were half as
eager as little Otello.
I said, "Good-bye, Otello. You will be a
great man some day." He looked gravely at
me, but he could n*t imagine what my queer
short English words meant. The children in
Italy all seem to have sweet voices. A whole
row of little girls met me, when I got out of the
train at Tivoli; calling out, **Tivoli^ Tivol%
Tivoliy^ like little birds, like the wild canary
birds I saw at Madeira: like little thrushes or
robins at home.
I have been so sorry to hear of all the snow
LETTERS 147
and rain in New York. Probably you don't
think so much of March as I told you to, in the
Brearley, do you? Well, when you get this
little letter it will be April. April half gone
and school nearly over, and I am getting my
passage home already. And if God will let
me stay in the Brearley School, I do not
think I shall ever leave it again, in term time
at least.
My love to School and teachers, and espe-
cially to the Primary Class upstairs.
Yours faithfully,
J. G. Cboswell.
H^TBL D*ItAUE,
Boms, March 24, 1914.
Dbab Miss Pfeiffeb: — Your kind note of
March S is here in Rome. I need not say it is
welcome. Sometimes it seems as if I could not
bear to be away from the Brearley another
day. I go and look over the lists of sailings from
Europe and pine to return. But away with such
craven thoughts.
I am filled with joyous thoughts too. Yes-
terday I saw St. Peter's for the first time. It
was a lovely day and the scene was wholly in-
describable from the cupola where we were.
148 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
My head is full of Latin and my soul is Roman.
It is a great experience.
I cannot help thinking I shall be improved
by it. I am learning Italian for one thing. And
I am realizing more and more how the girls
and teachers of the School and the graduates
and directors have spoiled me. I am siu'e I
shall improve in this regard, if I ever get home.
We have seen and loved: —
Madeira (most of all)
Algiers (queerest of all)
Gibraltar for the English' sake
Monaco for a glass of milk
Naples for the Famese Hera
Capri for the blue water
Psestum for the dead glory
Sorrento for the oranges
Rome for the end of the journey.
We are both half dead with travel. The
self -filling fountain pen is busted. Pray excuse
writing.
Leta is better, I think. She greatly enjoys
the travel, and she has no pangs of conscience,
as I have, to keep her awake nights. If she gets
better, then I shall think I did right to go.
Do write me once a week. We shall be at
LETTERS 149
this hotel till May 1. Write to me here until
April 20. After that to Brown, Shipley & Co.
I beg you to give my best love to all my
friends and teachers.
Yours gratefully,
J. G. Cboswell.
H6tel d*Itali]!»
Boms, April 8, 1914.
Dbab Embia.: — We are very well, and full
to the brim of Italy. I hardly like to begin an
account of our doings.
Yesterday we all went to the Colosseum and
after climbing up to the top we scrambled down
and all went to the Baths of Caracalla. . . .
Loring and Eleanor lectured on the ruins. Lor-
ing knows about everything there is to know in
Rome now. But what gigantic buildings these
heathens did put together! The things I see
here, though I knew them all by name, are so
much bigger and heavier than I expected that
I feel as if I had known nothing about Romans
hitherto. Their resolute courage in conceiving,
and their power and patience in building, are
far beyond my expectation. But I don't yet
admire a city whose best buildings are baths
and circuses. Do you?
150 JAMES OBEENLEAF CBOSWELL
Then we walked out five miles to the Ap-
pian Way. We picnicked under Cecilia Me-
tella's tomb, and walked on beyond it. It was
lovely, sunny spring all the way. The sky-
larks sang in dozens above us. I felt more
friendly to the Romans. But not to the nobles,
yet, who "drove in fast and furious guise along
the Appian Way." Judging by the pavement
they must have jounced hard over the stones if
they rode, as Matthew Arnold says, " in char-
iots." Never mind — I like the Alban Hills and
the friendly Campagna well enough to forgive
the nobles; especially since they are dead and
entombed there. But I do rejoice that they
are dead; and I hear little voices around, from
the skylarks, perhaps, singing, "lift up your
hearts: We lift them up unto the Lord, Let us
give thanks. It is meet and right so to do."
With many thanks to you and love to all of
the f amily» Yours gratefully,
J. G. Croswell.
Easter Day, 1914 [April 12].
Dear Miss Ppeifper: — Buona Pasquel
No! I have n't been to the Protestant Ceme-
tery, though I have been here since March 22.
But Betty and I are going to-morrow. The
LETTERS 151
trouble is that I am too many kinds of a man.
Rome brings out that fact painfully. I have, of
course, my Roman origins to look up. Then
one must also pay his respects to our ancestral
Christianity. Then I have to get drunk with
spring — a most intoxicating draught in Italy,
a very pagan joy indeed — in the Campagna.
Then I have a great deal of social occupation.
This is strange in a foreign land; but we are
beset with invitations from Americans. Then
I have to do a deal of mere "rubbering" with-
out purpose or end — one always does in a
foreign land. And Eccol Eccot seems to be the
principal Italian expression even in their own
land. There is certainly good cause for it in
Rome. There is literally no end to the things
to stare at, from Cardinal Merry del Val (can
you say it right? "Merrrrrry del Val!") on his
throne to the b^gar on the steps. As to beg-
gars in Italy. They are just like fishes and ducks
in the pond in the Villa Borghese. They say,
"Soldi, Soldi," and the ducks say, "Quack,
Quack," and they both mean no harm. I never
have any soldi or any bread to give them, and
so they swim away and everybody is happy.
Is n't it nice?
Listen ! Saturday, April 4, 1 lunched with an
152 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
Italian lady of the nobility in a palace. The
cooking transcended my whole lifers experi-
ence. The artichoke was beyond description.
"They ate the honey-sweet fruit of the arti-
choke and forgot their native land." No, I
didn't; although there were three American
princesses at the table who had forgotten their
days of school. One said to me, "I came here
to stay three weeks — I have stayed thirty
years." I was introduced to a small boy called
"Principe Guglielmo R ." He is half
American and half Italian. I heard him speak
the language of his native land. He first spoke
in Italian, asking who was ringing the tele-
phone; then, not being answered by the butler,
he said, "Who is that guy ringing the bell?"
The Italians are very interesting; a strong
race both in Naples and in Rome as well as in
New York. Dramatic to the last degree; and
therefore still acting the part of "Modem
Italy." I wonder what their real function in
the Modem World will prove to be. I do not
feel as if their present clothes, the clothes that
Cavour cut on the English pattern so very well,
really fitted them. They may take to togas
again.
Palm Sunday we spent at St. Peter's among
LETTERS 153
the processions and blessed palms. That day
ended, however, by going to "guard-mount-
ing" at the Quirinal. Neither crowd seemed
very enthusiastic to me. I wonder!
Speaking of politics, Leta and I are a good
deal interested in Belfast, where our cousins
are all drilling to resist the English Army. We
don't think Ulster is worth wrecking the Eng-
lish Constitution for. Do you? Ulster isn't
so awful much! What ails the Conservatives!
Monday we picnicked on the Appian Way
under the shadow of the tomb of Cecilia Me-
tella. It was a lovely day and the skylarks al-
most shouted at us. I hope they will last to
Assisi. "lift up your hearts*' they sing quite
plainly. I want to hear them in Assisi singing
to St. Francis like my girls in Class V.
Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday we kept
going to church. At High Mass at St. John
Lateran on Saturday I had my pocket picked
right in front of the Altar as I was kneeling and
praying in Latin. Can you beat that? Would
you have thought it? I went to Santa Frasside
for Holy Thursday. A darling church — much
bewitched in my expectation by Browning's
Bishop. It is not at all suggestive to my mind
of any such person, however. It is a simple
154 JAMES OREENLEAF CR08WELL
little church of the early time when you and
I were Catholics too. I loved it. Also Santa
Maria in Cosmedin. Also Quattro Coronata.
Good Friday evening we spent in the Colos-
seum. The flood of moonlight was enchanting
and the ruin looked its best. But so great is the
power of art that our party talked of Daisy
Miller, not of Vestal Virgins or Christians. The
place was crowded with tourists. N.B. There
are three kinds of Americans who come abroad:
(1) Rubber necks.
(2) People not wanted at home.
(3) Students and artists.
All other kinds are so few as to be lost in the
swarm. Perhaps I should add "bridal couples."
But they are generally Germans. A German
bride in the Sistine Chapel gave me a phrase
which I now use on all occasions when I am
called upon for admiration. "Ach! Wie wun-
derschoen mit dem Baumen ! " "Ah, how won-
drous fair with the Trees." She applied it to
Raphael's tapestry, but it applies to nearly
every picture I see and defies critics. I do not
care for Roman pictures much. "Just wait, my
soul," I say, "till we get to Venice." We shall
be there in June.
LETTERS 155
I wish I could thank my School, teachers
and girls, for going along without my official
presence. My other, my astral presence, you
have. " My body is in Italy, my soul is in New
York." But I have to thank you for giving me
this splendid holiday of body and mind. I am
going to live ten years longer for it.
I wish you would give my love to every one.
It would sound like a litany if I rehearsed it all.
''Miss Arnold, Miss Fowler, Miss Dunn, Miss
Allington, All The Samts; Class Vm, Class
Vn, AU the little lambs."
Tell Miss Allington I am living just oppo-
site the Scotch College and I see the good red
heads emerging from their Roman cassocks as
they walk abroad daily. I went in and said a
Pater Noster in their church of St. Andrea de
Scozzesi on Thursday. I felt as if I were one of
Mary Stuart's men. Is n't that a lovely name
for a church? Always your grateful
J. G. Cboswell.
To Betty
RoME» April, 1914.
We did go to Ostia Monday. Never did
Uncle and Aimt get such a jogging. ''Rattle
his bones over the stones, he is only a pauper
156 JAMES GREENLEAF CBOSWELL
whom nobody owns." And the dust in clouds.
Then the cramps. Also many Germans in the
vehicle to oppress Miss Caldwell. I never had
such a ride before.
But the Tevere ran side by side, — and it is
a lovely river, — out of the city, a gentle wind-
ing river, in grassy meadows and sandy banks.
Ostia is a very interesting sight. There are
paved streets and large, grassy squares not
yet explored. There are tombs full of vases
of ashes of the old dead. There are beautiful
statues, one of Victory with wings, very lofty
and very beautiful. (Whose victory over what?)
There is a fine forum. Also barracks of soldiers
round a big palaestra place full of inscriptions,
generally about emperors. It is impossible to
escape from Septimus Severus. That eminent
nigger follows us everywhere.
There is a lovely, high-set temple. I climbed
up to the platform of it and enjoyed a long look
at the Alban Hills and Monte Cavo. There is
a cellar full of earthen casks made for wine.
There are many streets roimd it full of little
houses. There is a beautiful little theatre just
like Pompeii. Ostia must have been lovely with
the river and sea washing it.
n you were here I should take you to see
LETTERS 157
the Pinturicchio Frescoes in the Borgia Apart-
ments in the Vatican.
Auntie took me there this morning and I was
in raptures. Did you get to them? If not, just
keep your eyeaopen for Pinturicchio hereafter.
I never heard of him until to-day and he is now
my favorite painter. Mr. Storer took me yes-
terday to see an abbot who is also a professor.
He is revising the Latin Bible and he lives in a
cloister next to Santa Maria in Trastevere. We
got on very well together; and I am almost of
the opinion I shall join his order.
But — I learned that no women are allowed
in his study. That wouldn't do for the
Brearley School^ and I shall never desert the
Brearley. So like Siegfried in the opera, when
invited to go to Walhalla, I said, *^ Gruas mir,
WaUtaU''; ''Goodrbye, Abbott
X * • • • • • • • •
Last Sunday I spent in the Accademia Gal-
lery. What lovely pictures! Those Bellini
Madonnas I They beat the Florentine Ma-
donnas out of sight.
What do you think! — there I met Miss
Du Bois, Brearley teacher, who had sailed
from New York the day after school closed.
She told me all about the girls and their Last
158 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
Day. I had also a letter from Miss Dean. She is
a perfect darling, she will be to you, as she is
to Uncle, one of the best friends, the highest
minded counsellors, the most valuable teachers
you ever had or ever will have. Love from us
all. Your affectionate imcle,
J. G. C.
HdTEL d'Itaub,
Rome, April 19, 1914.
Dear Miss Pfeiffer: — Since I wrote you,
April 4, we have lived a Roman life. Sun-
day we went to the Blessing of Palms at St.
Peter's, a celebrated service and procession
of bishops and cardinals and clergy. I stood
quite near St. Peter's statue and watched the
kissing of his toe. Little boys shinned up the
pedestal like boys at home shinning up apple
trees; little girls boosted up other little girls
and baby sisters; of course the kneeling nuns
looked most definitely religious, but every-
body kissed it, and everybody liked it. We
were much impressed by the Chief Priest,
Cardinal del Val. He looked magnificent, in-
deed; dark and sombre and regal. Is he what
he looks? I hear unending gossip in the hotels
from American ladies who profess, to say.
LETTERS 159
''Cardinal del Val said to me, 'Rest assured/
etc., etc." How people do go on in this town!
Everybody knows everything here; and they
tell such lies about the Vatican.
Betty and I like the guard-mounting at the
King's palace, every evening, when the band
plays. We see only Italians in that crowd; and
such lovely soldier men as any little girl may
like to see. The regiment marches away at
full speed and she and I run after them all the
way home.
Betty and I walk on the Pindan Hill also;
and we feed the ducks in the Borghese ponds;
and we walk in the Medici gardens. We are
greatly taken with Italian gardening; and we
have not attended so faithfully either on the
church services or the antiquities as we have
on the villas, the hills, and the Campagna.
Good Friday night we all went to the Co-
losseum by moonlight. It was very bright, and
the walls looked very ghostly and romantic.
But there were about forty thousand tourists
of all nations under heaven roosting in arches
and chattering like jackdaws.
The unexpected always happens. The "an-
tiquities" are always crowded; all full of mod-
em people. The Forum, the Palatine, and the
160 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
Colosseum sound and resound with English
instead of Latin voices.
So again the church services. They seem
not half so churchlike as the Pennsylvania
Station does. In fact» I had my pocket picked
right in front of the High Altar of St. John
Lateran in the midst of High Mass — which
never happened to me in the Pennsylvania
Station at all — it seemed so secular.
We have seen something of Roman society
at dinner and lunch: I mean the Italians them-
selveSy with the great names. But the ladies
are generally very modem and are very often
Americans. And some are Brearley girls.
I don't think I have any of the affection for
Rome which Betty has. She hates to leave
to-morrow. But I love the North of Italy;
and I love Switzerland; and I love France; and
I am absolutely at home in Germany; so I shall
be ready enough to start April 30, for Florence,
and Assisi and Perugia, and turn my back on
Rome.
Give my love to every one. I know you
people have had lots of troubles. Why don't
you tell me them?
Yours faithfully,
J. G. Cboswell.
LETTERS 161
To Edward 8. Martin
SiKSA, May 9, 1914.
Dear Martin : — My conscience would prick
me that I left you without a letter except that
I have had neither calm nor indeed sufficient
materials for writing hitherto. To-day I have
some.
I got your benediction from Sherry and we
drank your health every morning in good stout
coffee.
We had a fine voyage; no bad weather and
pleasant people. It was a Church party. Three
archbishops^ one bishop, and many priests kept
us interested. We had also Hon. Bellamy and
Maria Storer. I have not yet joined their
churchy but I found them all agreeable people,
in the boat and in Rome.
At Naples, Sorrento, Capri, Amalfi, Salerno,
the weather was perfect and the landscape
operatic.
I got rid of my rags of Massachusetts tastes
and habits, and gave myself up to the Italian
language and to South Italian feelings. Per-
haps the two things I remember most deeply
are the lemon trees on the hillsides, mixed with
olives and oranges, and the Naples Museum.
There is a lady in that museum — the Famese
162 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
Hera they call her — who can tell you all
about the Olympian calm, the arapa^ia of the
gods, if you will sit down or kneel down» as
you like, for an hour before her and say noth-
ing.
It is a very unearthly museum. The pres-
ence of the bronzes, little devils from Hercu-
laneiun, with a distinctly supernatural but
not a virtuous nature, makes me feel now as
if I had been with the Irish fairies or perhaps
with Tannhfiuser for the hours I was in that
museum. The only safe person to associate
with, among the ten thousand creatures in that
gallery, is the good young Roman Balbus,
sitting like a moimted policeman on a noble
horse and watching the crew of rake-hells
around him. Still, I got away. Then we spent
six weeks in Rome. Just think of me teaching
Latin ever since 1874 and never having seen
Rome face to face. That cannot happen ever
again, for modem Latin teachers all go abroad
to Italy, not to Germany alone, as I did.
I thought of you again and again, and when
I went to Horace's Farm, which locality is
vouched for by the School of Archaeology and
by my own careful study, with Horace him-
self in my pocket as a Baedeker, I picked three
LETTERS 168
little sprigs of fern for you from the fons Ban*
dutiw splendidior vitro. Here are two still sur-
viving. Stick them in your Horace. Can I
tell you otherwise how I felt that day?
The valley rang with nightingales, the clouds
ran by, the sunlight came and went over the
hills; and the little brooks filled with new
showers ran down the hills to water the olive
roots and the grassy meadows below; and I
sat all day imder the trees and read my Horace
again, for the first time for thirty years, I guess.
Then we had bread and wine from the hills;
and we wandered over the little villa, identify-
ing the rooms, the garden, the fish-pond, the
portico, and the ^^ field which gives me back to
myself" of Horace.
But this is all a recollecticm now. I have not
been in Rome for a month. Now we are in
Siena, quite a different air.
I have spent two weeks in Assisi, Perugia,
Orvieto, and Siena, and other smaller places
in Umbria. My worship is now devoted to
Italian Primitives, to twelfth- and thirteenth-
and fourteenth-century Saints and altars. Do
you know about that eminent Suffragette
Catherine of Siena? Read her letters.
' I hear faintly the radket of 1914 in America
164 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
from the Italian papers which are very refresh-
ing because the little they do say about the
U.S.A.9 being couched in choice Italian, seems
to have happened long ago.
The story of "Rockefella il Juniore," as I
read it this morning, seemed to have happened
among the Republics of Guelph and Ghibel-
line times. It does n't move me at all.
I read your pretty inece for the Youth's Com-
panion in the Church of St. Francis in Assisi,
and I thought it read very well there. So
thought Francis himself. All the good men
who have looked around on this funny planet
we are roosting on for a few years or days have
thought the same.
I think the same; at least the best part of
me thinks as you do in this piece.
You always say what the best part of me
thinks — except about that suffrage question !
Give my love to your family, Lois included,
and especially mentioned.
Your affectionate
J. G. Cboswell.
Siena, May 7, 1914.
Dear Miss Ppeipper: — I have seen since
I wrote you Rome, Assisi, Perugia, Orvieto, and
LETTERS 165
Siena. As each of these places woiild drive me
plumb-crazy alone, what do you suppose the
total effect is? I can't write about it; but I
shall talk everlastingly next winter.
If you want to make me happy, send me one
ot the little paper letter files I like, made of
brown paper with pockets lettered; they are
about as big as a large envelope. The thing
would go by Parcel Post and make me much
happier than you can imagine. Send it to
Venice. I keep losing all my letters all the
time for want of a file.
I got away from Rome without being con-
verted, though there is a Cardinal I loved, he
was such a scholar and gentle person. He is
an Englishman and a great man.
I saw Merry del Val, the great Cardinal.
But Rome is so full of Americans I didn't
really care for that I lay low and avoided the
social whirl as well as the ecclesiastical.
Please give Miss Frances Arnold a special
message. I want to show her Orvieto Cathe-
dral and the frescoes of the Last Judgment in
particular. That is my church! ! And if the
Judgment Day is going to be as pretty as that,
it really beats the Last Day at the Brearley.
There is one angel that has just her expression
166 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
on the last day of School. Sheathing his sword
— "Good job done."
My love to you all.
J. G. C.
Siena, May 7, 1914.
Deab Miss Chapin: — Will you accept this
token of remembrance from Horace* a Sabine
Farm? I picked it myself.
The locality of the "field that returns me to
myself" really seems to be discovered at last.
The new excavations are proceeding and every
moment makes it more certain that we have
got it, the villa» the garden, and all. I always
thought you resembled Horace in his Curiosa
Felicitas.
May you have more and more felicity and
less and less care.
Yours most faithfully,
J. G. Cboswell.
StmA, May 10, 1914.
Dear Mother-in-law: — As this is my
wedding-day, twenty-six years ago, I take the
opportunity to write to thank you for all your
kind affection to me for all my happy mar-
ried life.
LETTERS 167
Certainly I never expected to find myself
keeping this holy day in Siena. Oddly enough
it is a festival here» in honor of their great Saint
Catherine. We were wakened by all the church
bells ringing together, and the gay costumes
and lively streets and music have seemed
quite apiNTopriate. I call it Saint Leta's day.
Leta and I have greatly enjoyed our tour,
and have been very well. We have seen many
pretty places and much beautiful art. But
you know Italy so well you can guess what we
have seen. I myself feel most at home in three
places. Can you guess what? (1) The Naples
Museiun; (2) the country about Rome; (S)
the Northern cities like Siena, Florence, and
Perugia. I cannot feel at home in Rome itself;
and the Southern Italian landscape seems
operatic and alien to my origins. But I loved
the Alban Hills and the Apennines and I adore
the Italian thirteenth- and fourteenth-century
history and art, in this part of Italy.
I am trying to see whether Modem Italy has
any meaning to other nations in the future.
Maybe it will contribute as much again as it
once did. Much love to you all.
Your affectionate son,
J. G. Cboswell.
168 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
Florence, May 11, 1914.
Dear Frances: — Please give my special
good-bye for the Vacation to the girls in your
room, and to yourself — my earliest pupil. I
re-lived the farewells I got from them when I
sailed: and I look forward specially to seeing
them next fall again. Please give this message,
if the letter arrives, as I hope it will, before
they leave school for the summer, and you go
to your Sabine Farm.
I have travelled like a drummer or a one-
night-stand actor ever since I parted with you.
My education has greatly advanced especially
in "Italian Primitives" and other select com-
pany. I can't stand a picture now that is later
than Pietro di Lorenzetti or Lorenzo di Pie-
tro. No. But really these fourteenth-century
church pictures do have a queer, wild flavor
like a wild strawberry, which makes the six-
teenth-century swells seem, if I may say it,
like the same fruit when cultivated to market,
too fine and too big and using too much sugar
and cream. There is one picture of Pintu-
ricchio's perhaps you know. Not a church
picture. It is in the Borgia Apartments in
Rome. It is said to represent "Saint Cath-
erine disputing with the Doctors"; but it is
LETTERS 169
the very best picture of a coU^e girl passing
an oral examination I ever saw. They say no
less a lady than Lucrezia Borgia sat for it. It
is perfectly charming; her struggle and her
triumph, and the examiners' expression of
malaUe, as she answers all their questions
right, is done to the life. I 'm going to bring it
home for my study if I can.
Please give my remembrances to Miss
Bender. I do hope she is well now. I have
used her Italian book all the time. Won't she
come over here?
Your affectionate
J. G. Croswell.
Florence, May 17, 1914.
Dbab Miss Ppeiffeb: — We are settled in
Florence until June 2. Leta has a heavy cold,
but we are very well in general.
I feel that our sight-seeing will end in Venice.
It is well. We are full-up and are ready to rest.
My own tastes lean to North Italy rather
than to Rome and Naples. Strange, is n't it?
But there are three things in Rome which
bother me: (1) The Modem Pope; (2) the
tourists; (3) the cemetery-effect of so many
ruins. One seems to be in a graveyard; one
170 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
smells corpses in the Colosseum and Forum,
even if there is so much grandeur and beauty
about you. But in the hills about, in Umbria
and Tuscany, in Siena, Perugia, and Florence,
there is a different sentiment. At any rate, I
love these things up here more than anything
in Italy.
I do not really know when we shall leave
Florence: say June 2. I do not really know
when we shall leave Venice: say June 15.
Address there, Thomas Cook & Son. I do not
really know when we shall leave Cortina: say
July 8 or July 15. Then we go to Bride near
Geneva for Miss Caldwell's wonderful baths
and " cure." Pray for me.
J. G. C.
To Betty Brace
Florence, May, 1914.
Here Auntie and Uncle are in Florence. My
Florence. I have been walking round and
round the Santa Maria del Fiori to-day. It
is all there just as it was when I was here in
1882 when I was thirty years old. It is more
beautiful than I rememb^ed. The great bril-
liant exterior, all lovely shape and lovelier
color, with that unmistakable campanile like
LETTERS 171
the stamen of the iris, shooting up out of the
heart of the flower, fills me with joy. I feel
like a sinner forgiven, or whatever else will
describe a perfectly happy mood of mind, when
I see it again. I keep going back to it. But I
do other things too with Eleanor and Dorothy.
This morning we went together to the Palazzo
Davanzati. Is n't that great?
J. G. C.
To the same
Florence, May 20, 1914.
I am sorry you are lonely. Everybody has
to learn to be alone sometimes. But nobody
ought to be alone too much. '* Alone" means
away from your "best" people. Still one does
have to depend on one's self a good deal. Even
the little birds fly alone from twig to twig. I
feel as if you were a fledgling tipped out of the
nest and trying her new feathers in her flight.
Never mind. It will soon be time for your
mother to come back. Then you can fly with
her back to the American forests. Peep I Peep!
About Florence. It is full of lovely pictures;
of Renaissance sculpture of the first order; and
the views from the hills are almost unequalled.
Moreover, it is full of Italian history especially
172 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.
And, as you have discovered, I lived here
when I was thirty years old, when my mind
was still opening. At thirty I was about as
old as you are now. Boys are always slower
than girls to grow up. I feel as if my two
visits to Florence were like two brackets in
1882 1914
algebra =1" ] and between them lies a
man's life.
A man's life is like algebra, it contains
Known Quantities and Unknown Quantities.
And I can see the whole of my life at once, as
I stand on the Palazzo Vecchio, between two
brackets; these two visits — include it all.
That's what makes Florence especially thrill-
ing to me; beside the art and the history. It
is so queer to see myself this way and from
this point of view.
J. G. C.
To the same
Venice, Jtme, 1914.
To-day Auntie Leta and I went through
the Doge's Palace. You can imagine us, if you
please, standing out on the balcony and sur-
veying the pigeons. There are some fine speci-
mens of Doge on the walls of that building I
LETTERS 17S
So we sat and looked at them and I gave Auntie
lectures on Venetian History. She fell asleep.
She says she did n't, but she did I I I
Yesterday we did the Academy pictures.
That is a splendid conservatory of Venetian
blossoms. I find I love the Venetian color
masters as much as ever. How rich they are I
How they crowd their canvases with persons
and events, without being tawdry or affected I
That is the way to do.
If I were a painter I should like to be either
a Bellini or a Basaiti or a Veronese. What is
the use of painting if you can't pile on colors
and people the canvas!
We have been in about twenty churches and
we sit evenings in the Square and listen to
music and eat ice-cream.
J. G. C.
To the same
Venice, June^ 1914. .
To-day I have been gazing at the big Tin-
toretto Crucifixion in "San Rocco" and the
halls of the Guild-brothers of San Rocco who
saved men from the plague. Nowadays we
know a better way of escaping from the plague.
We ought to have pictures of Dr. Flexner and
176 JAMES OREENLEAF CBOSWELL
in the middle of July. Of course I expected
you to come over here, so I meant to skip
August letters. You were on holiday, you
ought not to hear of business or of the firm in
August. Now I begin again.
We had a delightful time, mountain-seeing
in Cortina and the Dolomites. Not until we
were clear of the Tyrol did trouble begin.
The day we reached Botzen, July 23, Austria
declared war. I wanted to make for home then;
but the ladies who ran my tour laughed at me
for "cowardice'* and "pessimism." I do not
understand optimism at all, but I bow to it,
always. So we went along "optimistically**
on our regular route to St. Moritz. There we
collided with Destiny, on the warpath, at
last.
On August 1, the banks refused to honor
our letter of credit. The Swiss mobilized and
our landlord went to the war. Everybody left
our hotel, which his wife kept "open,** for us,
without much food, however, and no servants.
About August 9, I found an old friend in
another hotel in another village. To this we
moved. It was very nice; and we were well
fed and trusted for our board, although we
had n*t paid our last hotel bill, not even our
LETTERS 177
washerwoman, who kept calling on us for her
dues 1 1 So we paid her with our last francs and
I gave up smoking, and Leta took to washing
in our bedroom, like a warrior as she is; and
so we drifted along about a week till the money
from Merrill came and we paid up everybody
and sent out our wash again. But I still can't
afford tobacco!
Then we had to wait for money for the
nieces. At last we got some; and we have now
drifted down to Lake Como to wait for a good
cheap boat from Genoa. If Italy goes to war,
a thing possible but not probable, and if our
boat is stopped from sailing, we shall wait till
we get a chance from France or England. We
still have a stateroom engaged on the Min-
neapolis for October 3, though I doubt if we
could use it. But we shall do well enough some-
how. If I have to wait till October 15 before
sailing, I know you will all help the School till
I return. I am coming I
What would n't I give to hear of the School I
We have not had one letter of any kind from
America since August 3. That is to say, no
news from any friend or any relative since
July 23. We had the money from the Union
Trust Company August 16. We had a telegram
178 JAMES OREENLEAF CBOSWELL
from Dorothy Bull (with answer prepaid^
but with no date to it), which we got and an-
swered about August 14. We had a cabled
request from Mr. Jay for news, which we an-
swered August 25. That is all, till yesterday,
wh^i we got a letter from Mr. ,
writtai August 13.
But I don't know if there is any Brearley
School for next year. I shall not know, I sup-
pose, till I get to New York. I don't really
know if you sailed to Eiu-ope August 1. Per-
haps you did. Perhaps you are imprisoned
near us here. God forbid! I need you at 60
East Sixty-first StreeL Never mind writing
now.
As to the Brearley teachers, I can only hope
they too are not in Europe. Miss
wrote me from Florence last July, but I can't
find her now, though I have tried. Give them
all my love. Ahl How fond of them I amt
Here the great nightmare overshadows us
always. The greatest sorrow I have is that I
feel Germany must have, somehow, betrayed
her trust I I Of course the Grermans will never
think so; but I do, and I fear the world will, at
last say, "Germany made the war." The Em-
peror's proclamation of war to his people made
LETTERS 17»
me think of my poor lost friend. My friend,
too, like the Great Germany of my youth, had
a strong mind, a high spirit, a fair and hon-
orable career. But he fell a victim, just as
Germany has fallen, to the heavy weight of
his work. His tired nerves b^an to see ^^ene-
mies'' in every direction. He felt them around
him. Hallucinations followed. Perfectly inno-
cent people were enemies, dangerous enemies.
He became a dangerous man himself, arming
and looking for trouble. We have to confine
him. He too has ** declared war" with God on
his side, and, all the rest of it, just like Ger-
many, against the world.
Do you believe a nation can have delusions
like a man? I think so, and I wish somebody
could have put the Kaiser into a sanitarium,
tiU he felt better, last month. Or was it the
Crown Prince?
Germany is the greatest nation in the world,
with a terribly hard job to do; though it has
the stnmgest kind of intellect, Germany has
not calm nerves. I love Germany; I am very,
very sad over its fate. Will she save herself
at last?
Yesterday I read in the paper of the death
of a dear Grerman friend at Namur, ^^killed
180 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
by a shell." Yes. And he was himself firing
guns at the time. He was a sweet, quiet, lovely
nature, of whom I like to think. But he al-
ways had that "fear'* about the necessary war
which had to come. Now he is a victim to the
hallucination.
It did n't have to come. It was not a neces-
sary war. Germany's own dreams brought it on
the world. This is the tragedy. Well — Here
I give you my best remembrances. Leta adds
hers. Au revoir.
J. G. Croswell.
The BreabiiEy School^
October 23, 1914.
Pear Chapman: — You have a way of
saying what I think, "only always better than
I can. Your only danger is in saying things
too well to be true.
In general, I greatly approve and assent,
except that I do not like the unreserved accusa-
tion of yours that the "German Government"
has "niu"sed hatred" as a "policy." The state-
ment spoils your pretty case. It is not put
right. Germany is nowadays like a clever man
with an excitable nervous system, whose job
for thirty years has been too hard for him.
LETTERS 181
Grermany is showing the eflfects of overwork.
His nerves have given way. He is overdone.
You say it all excellently. 'Way back in 1880
my colleagues at Bonn, the boys in college,
used to tell me in secret about the dreadful
dangers from Russia and France, about the
** Three Frontiers," and in secret about "Eng-
land's rottenness" and decadence. ** England
is like Holland, she has grown old. Touch her
with our army! She will collapse." But these
things did not come from the Government;
they came from the professors of history and
the philosophers among the students and the
newspaper people. The Government exploited
these feelings now and then, always to help
the army and navy taxes. They are wide-
spread feelings, however. But Germany could
not stand this kind of nervous strain. More-
over, the army and the universal service in the
army made the nation nervous and belligerent
in her nervousness. At last they collapsed.
The assassination of Franz Ferdinand broke
them up finally; and Russia finished the job.
Hence the "holy" war, and the pious upris-
ing of the nation! ! Delusions of persecution
attack whole crowds; and this nervousness
is quite characteristic of intellectual people.
182 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
Hence the professors' talk scared Grermany
into fits. But the Government is only partly
to blame. I often see hallucinations of perse-
cutions among groups of girls during the ex-
citable age. The Germans are like adolescents
in their nerves. They play no games to get it
oflf their nerves. Germans are not phlegmatic;
they are very excitable. Since the time of the
Migrations, when the Goths appeared begging
and fighting for refuge from the Huns, the Ger-
mans have never been phlegmatic, or wholly
at ease in the Roman Empire. Look at the
Crusades, the Holy Roman Empire, the Ref-
ormation, the Thirty Years' War!! Now they
have another!!
You say all this awfully well. But there
is much less "policy" in the matter than you
describe. The military crowd, of course, has
used these feelings in its business. That is an-
other matter. There is no national "policy"
and no statecraft involved, however.
To answer your note — I like the intro-
ducticm; its plan and purpose; and I admire
as I always do the wonderful phrases which
come to you. Yes, do publish it. It is fine.
But you do tend to personify and invent
mythical people like "German writers," etc..
LETTERS 183
etc., ** German pcditidans/' and ** German
professors'' that nobody believes in. Do take
out these phrases and say it all as said so well
on the first pages. In the genesis of their
madness, while no one denies that the '* mili-
tary party" has existed and does deliberately
preach terror to get a stronger army voted by
Parliament, yet I think you overstate the do-
cility of the people and power of the clique.
The people hdieve in war^ private and public.
And they have a q)lendid army. Now their
nerves are gone and they are using the army
as a crazy man uses his gun to protect him-
self against his *' enemies." This is *'not psy-
chology." Do you read Tarde?
Yours admiringly,
J. G. Cboswell.
To Miss Dunn
December 22, 1914.
This is to thank you. I wish I had dared to
thank you publicly as I wanted to do this
morning, but I thought perhaps I ought to
obey your orders strictly.
I tried to obey you by going to the rear, but
when I got there I found I was too far away
to help when called. But I did see the charm-
184 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
ing little group in the crhche^ very well, and
the tableaux of the village too, as you asked.
The whole thing was so exactly right. That's
the way!! It was A-1 .
Again I recognize the kinship of Italy of the
Quattrocento and the f oiui;een-year-old Brear-
ley . Yes ! so looks the Blessed One, and so sing
the Angels of Lorenzetti and Boccati. I listen,
and I sit by, like a King, with awful eye.
To-night I got two Christmas cards from
Class V girls with Latin texts: Qui dUigii ex
Deo natus est. That finishes me. I am in a
condition I cannot describe of rapture and
repentance.
I feel like one of the little pictures of donors
smuggled into the comer of an altar-piece by
the painter. You are the painter of this. I
am in the corner. That's why I wanted to
stand by the piano this morning. I would
have knelt there, had I dared, and prayed,
"Little children, ye are of God and have over-
come, because greater is he that is in you than
he that is in the world." Does n't that sound
like the Italian Primitive? Does n't it soimd
like Plato? It is St. John, of course.
LETTERS 185
To Mrs. Scott
February 15, 1915.
Dbar Mildbed : — I hate to be outside and
indifferent in appearance when you are over-
taken by calamity. You know that nothing
which happens to you is indifferent to me. Leta
and I grieve for you, truly and deeply, and fain
would help you if we could. It is not for me to
console you. You know more than I do about
life and death, too. But I have found in sorrow,
even in the great, gigantic, unspeakable, and
unbearable sorrows of life, some drops of water
to cool my tongue in the mere surface expres-
sion of affection from my dear pupils. These
are mysteries. At any rate, if my expression of
affection seems superficial, you know the affec-
tion itself that I bear for you is not superficial.
So let me say, first, I am sorry, so sorry for the
loss of your brother; I grieve with you and with
your family. I beg you to take consolation in
the widespread sympathy and sorrow of his
friends, and especially of your own friends and
of all who love you and your family of old. We
all grieve truly at the ending of that promising
life on earth.
Your affectionate teacher,
J. G. Croswell.
186 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
The Bbearley School,
February 17, 1915.
Dbab Chapman: — K you want my opinion
now, I think this is all as unripe as a green
apple, but yet a fine fruit, and a very distinct
addition to your ** works," and to the history
of Harvard in the 80's. I am a very poor
"adviser" about your stuff. Its grace and
artistry distract me from the various polit-
ical questions anent its publication. But I
think Norton himself would have greatly en-
joyed this, even as it is, and I think many of
his good friends will enjoy it too.
Yours always,
J. G. Croswell.
The Bbeaslet School,
March 6, 1915.
Dbar Ka^therinb: — Mrs. Croswell and I
paid our respects to the exhibition. We found
much pleasure in it; although, as with Words-
worth's poetry, we find that the public loves it
rather in spite of the gospel than because of the
gospel preached by it. We find much beauty
and grace in your work; and we congratulate
you in the height you have readied; but we
expect you to do something else later; and to
reach much higher, both of you.
LETTERS 187
Please give my love to Marion and say
she certainly is a "'formidable person/' a real
genius.
Your affectionate teacher,
J. G. Cboswell.
P.S. Your work makes me feel like a hen
clucking to a pair of swans. I can't enthuse,
only duck.
WRITINGS
SOCRATES AS A TEACHER
An Address to the ScHoouiASTEBS* Association
It seems not unfitting for an association
of school-teachers, once a year at least, to
commemorate their patron saint. The great
Athenian teacher and educational reformer
should be remembered often even at the risk
of saying or hearing no new thing after all.
There is edification in repeating to ourselves
ancient truths about education, such truths
at least as are associated with this life and this
name.
Socrates is especially a tempting subject,
in that, though the name is so well known, the
man's character and activity still remain some-
thing of a riddle. Many have described him.
He challenges curiosity still. About him ever
old stories possess always spmething of the
piquancy of novelty and youth.
As is well known, two of the greatest liter-
ary talents the world has ever seen have been
employed carefully and lovingly upon the
Socratic biography. In the whole field of
192 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
authorship it would be hard to select two more
divining and descriptive pens than those of
the two Athenians whose names are associated
especially with Socrates and his life. Xenophon
and Plato, his near friends and his devout wor-
shippers, wrote of their master, and in writing
of their master, they have made themselves
inmiortal.
But Xenophon, though he wrote ade-
quately of ten thousand Greeks, with all his
effort and all his pious care, could not write
adequately of this one. At the end of his book
we still feel that sense of baffled curiosity of
which I speak. He can tell us, and does tell us,
of some determining influences which issued
from the life of Socrates upon his own life;
he lets us see plainly that Socrates seemed to
Xenophon to have made him what he was; he
struggles to explain the process; he thinks too
of Socrates' good advice and bright example.
But at the end of the story, how much more
of Xenophon than Socrates we find we have
learned.
"And of all that knew Socrates, those who
long for excellence miss him most until this
day, for we feel that he was the most power-
ful influence we ever knew making for cultiure
WRITINOS 193
in all excellence. He was, as I have described
him, so pious as to undertake nothing with-
out the knowledge of the gods, so just as to
injure no man in the smallest degree, nay,
rather he aided all who sought him most gen-
erously, so much the master of himself as
never to choose that which was pleasant be-
fore that which was good, so discreet as never
to mistake in distinguishing good from bad,
able to argue and able to define, able to judge
others and confute sinners, able to urge one
toward ideal perfection; such he seemed to
be as ought to be the best and most heavenly
minded of men.
"'If this suffices not any one, let him com-
pare the character of others with that of Soc-
rates and so judge/'
An interesting and beautiful picture; hardly
characteristic or convincing; it lacks definite-
ness. In fact, the picture seems somewhat too
much like Xenophon himself. The descrip-
tion catches something, to be sure, of the
activity of Socrates; it gives some idea of his
effect on the personality of a young Athenian;
but what Xenophon attributes here to Soc-
rates, surely belongs even more to himself.
The turn for moralizing and longing for per-
194 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
fection, the discreet common sense, the ability
to argue, the ability to distinguish good from
bad; self -mastering; the eag^ search for hu-
man perfectness, — all that is a picture of
Xenophon himself. It is a product of Soc-
rates' influence, perhaps, but we find its com-
pletion in reading of the ^^ Retreat of the Ten
Thousand*' and in the "Cyropedia."
In this pictiu^ of Socrates* virtues it is be-
yond doubt that Xenophon is drawing him-
self as he grew under the master's hand, and
is attributing his own best characteristics and
ideas to the influence of Socrates. Socrates
has told us something about this great func-
tion of the teacher, the bringing out of the
originality of a young man, in that ironical
picture of his art which he gives in the "These-
tetus."
"I am barren enough myself. The reproach
which is often made against me, that I ask
questions of others and have not the wit to
answer them myself, is very just. I am not
myself at all wise, nor have I anything which
is the invention or art of my own soul; but
those who converse with me profit. Some of
them appear dull enough at first, but after-
wards, as our acquaintance ripens, if the god
WRITIN08 195
is gradous to them, they all make astonishing
progress. No one can imagine that they have
learned anything of me; but they have ac-
quired many noble things of themselves/'
"I can assure you, Socrates," says Theeete-
tus, "'I have tried very often to answer when
I heard the questions which came from you;
but I can neither persuade myself that I
have any answer to give nor hear of any one
who answers as you would have me answer;
and yet I cannot get rid of the desire to an-
swer."
This is what Socrates* teaching did for
Xenophon; but Xenophon, trying to describe
his general method, has obscured it somewhat
by attributing his own wisdom back to Soc-
rates. He is filled with gratitude; all that he
can conceive of good in himself or in the
world, he attributes to his master. But as a
direct consequence of his master's method he
cannot even think of Socrates without a de-
sire to deliver himself of doctrines and ideas
that are strictly speaking of his own concep-
tion. So the Socrates of the "Memorabilia"
is, properly speaking, a sort of Socratic Xeno-
phon rather than a Xenophontic Socrates.
It is not otherwise with the far greater
196 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
Socrates described by Plato. Xenophon speaks
halting prose, while Plato's thought has the
wing and speed of poetry. Plato is one of the
world's great imaginative artists. His mind
also was awakened by Socrates. No doubt we
have far more of the real Socrates as a teacher
in the picture of Plato than in the print of
Xenophon.
And yet here also we suspect, we feel, we
have too much of Plato himself in the por-
trait. Artists are prone to draw themselves
imknowingly in their own work. Certainly this
artist has done so. He has felt the witchery
of this great magician — all he has and all he
knows, he owes to Socrates, and his gratitude
took the same form as that of Xenophon.
Plato attributes his own discovery and his
own philosophy and many of his own convic-
tions to the master. Twenty-seven "Papers
on Socrates as a Teacher" you can read in the
dialogues of Plato. There we shall find Soc-
rates teaching many doctrines just as Plato's
own mind went on to develop. We shall find
this Socrates inconsistent with himself; we
shall find the dialogues inconsistent with each
other, so that students can group them by their
stages of development; we shall hardly find
WRITINGS 197
any clear picture of the mind of Socrates on
any subject of discussion. We shall find in-
stead many disclaimers on the part of Soc-
rates that he has any mind on any subject.
These two men were gifted historians and
imaginative writers. They were also intimate
friends of the subject of their biography. It
may well be guessed that if they fail, as they
do fail, to reveal finally the true Socrates,
later biographers could hardly succeed better.
Such is indeed the case from that day to
ours; every one who sets out to write about
Socrates ends as Xenophon ends, by writing
about himself. From the Socratic school there
sprang forth numberless shoots, differing in
every conceivable way, agreeing only in trac-
ing to the master the origin of all they pro-
duce. From the historians who write of Soc-
rates and from the philosophers who preach of
Socrates, we inevitably get their own views on
life in society; but Socrates is credited with
teaching all that each man holds most dear.
He always talks the language of the writer.
Hear Socrates talk in German: '*To win a
veritable world of objective thought, and ab-
solute import, to set in the place of empirical
subjectivity absolute or ideal subjectivity.
198 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
objective with rational thought, this now was
the task Socrates undertook and achieved." ^
I know what Socrates would have said to
this: **li you want to see this gentleman and
me run in the same race, you must ask him
kindly to slacken his speed to mine, for I can-
not run quickly and he can run slowly. If
you want to hear Protagoras and me discuss,
ask him to shorten his words and keep to the
point, for discussion is one thing and making
an oration is another." It is wise for us to
criticise carefully every account of the pur-
poses and intentions attributed to Socrates by
any student. We all put in too much of our-
selves. But some certainly may be reached.
It is a commonplace observation enough, in
all studies upon Socrates, to say that when
Socrates is represented, even by Plato, as an
authoritative teacher, he is misrepresented.
He should not be conceived as a professional
teacher at all. He who moulded his genera-
tion more than any one member of it, he who
affected the whole course of education after
his lifetime, never was a "teacher" at all; he
delighted to say that he was no "teacher."
"There is no foundation for the report that I
1 SAingfer'a HiHorv cf Pkiloiophjf.
WRITINGS 199
am a teacher, though if a man were really able
to instruct mankind it would be an honorable
trade." So he said on trial for his life: "Not
guilty, to the charge of school-teaching/*
What shall we make of this paradox — the
great teacher who said he was no teacher?
The truth is that Socrates lived and moved
in a new world of educational activity, half
realized by himself. The Delphic God did not
reveal to him the whole meaning of his own
life; Apollo left him struggling with his in-
spiration. It was the inspiration to become a
teacher, of so new a type, that he could not
identify himself with anything existing.
Speaking of Socrates as a teacher perhaps
the best single proposition to make about him
is this: he was the pioneer of a new conscious-
ness in human thinking, a consciousness of
analytical processes of human thinking. In
him the human race awoke to the knowledge
of systematic analysis and definition. In this
awakening Socrates knew that he had expe-
rience of unique value. To him it appeared
a divine inspiration. The novelty of this dis-
covery at that time is hard for us to realize;
the greatness of it, I propose to dwell uppn.
Every word Plato tells us of the awe-stricken
200 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
reverence with which Socrates spoke of his
peculiar call from God to be wise may be more
than justified by studying the peculiar nature
of his thought. It was a call from God, from
the God who has shaped the course of human
thought, and has revealed Himself more and
more fully to human reason in these latter days
than ever before. The Socratic method of
thought is the first dawning upon this planet
of conscious, logical study based upon psy-
chological verity.
Can we wonder if the characteristics of Soc-
rates as a teacher were obscured to the Athe-
nian mind by the one characteristic of novelty
in his method? He brought a stirring of the
air, an imintelligible, exciting touch upon the
souls of men. They could hardly guess the
meaning of their own feelings, and Socrates'
own account of the nature of his mission was
no great help to their understanding. It came
and went before their eyes, like an exhibition
of some new X-rays to the human eyes, as yet
half developed.
I do not know anything more curiously in-
teresting than to study from the point of view
oi a modem teacher the intercourse of Socrates
with his excited personalfriends. The great-
WRITINGS 201
ness of their vision, the high intention of the
processes of Socrates, is so insufficiently regis-
tered in the actual conclusions reached I Even
in the "Phsedo/* we hardly know which is the
most wonderful; the greatness of the ideal of
reasoning set up, or the clumsiness of the de-
velopment, or the wildness of the conclusion.
The dignity of the group of truth-seekers, in the
face of the master's death, chasing the logical
processes through mists of misapprehension,
crossed by half-serious play of intellectual light-
ning, on to the dramatic end, is a miraculous
exhibition of high-minded devotion to intel-
lectual duty. A cloud of unconvincing argu-
ments, and odd phraseology, receives the mas-
ter out of our sight; nothing is proved about
the soul, but the virtue of argument is proved.
Perhaps modem teachers are in a somewhat
better position to understand the greatness of
Socrates than either Plato, or Xenophon, or
himself. I propose to apply to the story of the
master some words drawn from our own vocab-
ulary. For the world has thought out many of
the propositions which the Athenians were only
beginning to figure upon; the work has been
done which Socrates only foresaw, foreshad-
owed ; Aristotle and Bacon have lived ; the whole
202 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
world has been, trained in the intellectual
processes of greater minds. Any private soldier
knows the modem art of war of which Socrates
sketched only the first campaign. But we can
see now more clearly what a campaign that
was. And perhaps we can describe it in the
vocabulary of modem warfare. I should like
to concentrate my attention, however, on a
single point. If I am to speak of Socrates as a
teacher, I should like to suggest how much he
foresaw of the need of modem psychology, as
the commanding position from which to wage
the battle of education. "Know thyself" is the
watchword of his activity. "Know thyself**
means, of course, to him two things : it suggests
ethics, but it also suggests psychology. Practi-
cal interests always enlisted his attention and
directed his reasoning. Xenophon must be
right about that. He was first of all ethical
students and an interested politician. But his
"know thyself" meant really more than that.
It meant also a study of the mind in the psy-
chological sense.
"I do nothing but go about persuading you
all not to care for your persons or your prop-
erties, but first and chiefly to care about the
greatest improvement of the mind.
9f
WRITINGS 203
The mind was an object of interest to him
of which we do wrong to overestimate the
practical application. Psychology, as well as
ethics, certainly is within the meaning of his
motto.
And this interest is the greater interest of
Socrates to us, as I talk to you. It is the half-
understood anticipation of psychology which
can justify to us of this scientific generation
his curious avoidance of physical science as an
interest. Having in his hand the very tool of
modem science, inductive logic, he laid it down
and turned away to the study of man and
politics.
"Socrates used to ask whether it was be-
cause they thought they knew all about the
constitution of man already, that they passed
on to consider the universe and the causes
which produced the things in the heavens, or
whether they cared not for man's interest, and
thought they were acting more judiciously in
considering all those wondrous things."
His inspiration seems at fault here. Science
has acted more judiciously; and yet to believe
that logical scientific knowledge of the mind
ought to precede the use of that mind, was for
Socrates not so great an error.
204 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
Astronomy, which Socrates despises, for ex-
ample, outgrew and suppressed for centuries
the scientific psychology which Socrates seems
to dream of in a vision. Logically, the order
should have been reversed. But the history of
man's development has never gone on in logi-
cal steps. Though Socrates longed for a scien-
tific study of the process of the mind, yet he
failed to realize in detail what that ideal proc-
ess should be. Logic outran the study of psy-
chology which he only foresaw. Both logic and
psychology, however, belong to Socrates by
right of discovery.
As we talk of Socrates, then let us not to-day
obscure his interest as a psychologist with talk
about his civic virtues, like Xenophon, or his
metaphysical conclusions, like Plato. Let us
briefly sketch his work as illustrating the psy-
chology of the reasoning faculty.
I would choose a sentence or two from Dr.
James's books to illustrate the Socratic Psy-
chology: "Li reason we pick out essential quali-
ties; essential to some purpose." "The chief of
these purposes is predication, a theoretic func-
tion.*' "We pick out of the unanalyzed pre-
sented mass something we need for a practical
end or an aesthetic end, or an intellectual end.
WRITINGS 205
always an end in view/' U it is not mere
revery, we are voluntarily seeking along a line
of thought. There is a train of suggestion : A to
B, B to C, C to D, D to E; the links between
these steps are general characters articularly
denoted and expressed, analyzed out. ""A and
B need never have been associated habitually
before. They need not be similar to each other.
They may have been unknown in this connec-
tion with each other or in any connection what-
ever in our past experience.*' Reasoning is thus
produced. *^It puts things together," makes a
new conclusion, as two and two put together
make four. Reasoning thus contains analysis
and abstraction. ^'The empirical thinker
stares at his facts in their entirety. They sug-
gest nothing, there is no train of thought, but
the reasoner breaks up his facts and holds on
to one of the pieces. This special attribute he
takes as the part of the whole fact essential to
his end, but this special attribute has attri-
butes not hitherto perceived. Therefore the
original whole has the same attributes." I need
not carry on Dr. James's ingenious account
of the reasoning process, psychologically con-
sidered.
Biologically described, the logical process
206 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
corresponds in an interesting way to what is
called variation from type. Mr. Henry Rutgers
Marshall has drawn out this thought in his
remarkable book *^ Reason and Instinct.'' Ex-
pressed in terms of neural activity, the reason
seems to him to correspond to a sort of special
power in some nervous centre or group of cen-
tres to keep on acting by themselves, to con-
tinue attention till other activities die out. Just
as some cells, biologically speaking, *' learn" to
group together into an eye and in thousands of
years to see, so other cells "learn" to think.
Reason differs from instinct in being more con-
scious of its end; like the act of will, it feels
personal.
These descriptions of the reason will be found
interesting if interpreted in terms of the activ-
ity of Socrates.
The process of Socrates as a teacher was es-
sentially one of question and answer. This is
meant to excite the "centres " of the pupil. The
question is pointed, definite, and practical, ex-
citing the vivacity of the part of the mind
needed in the pursuit of the end in view. The
train of thought is carefully directed. "Let
X equal the unknown quantity" — Socrates
would have delighted to possess that phrase.
WBITINQS 9Xn
in analysis is encouraged; let us
grasp the matter on the side which will lead on
to the point. Examples may be chosen and
almost at random from any dialogue of Plato.
The description of Socrates' argument at the
opening of the ** Protagoras/' where he dis*
cusses with the young man analytically why it
is desirable to seek the company of sophists,
persuading the youth by question and answer
to analyze out the true meaning of his loosely
held opinions, is a good case in point. Sagacity,
the power to discover attributes essential to
the end in view in the subject under discussion,
is the one lesson which Socrates attempts to
inculcate. The power to observe according to
Socrates is the power to observe sagaciously.
To quote Mill: "The observer is not merely
one who sees the things before his eyes but one
who sees the parts that the thing is composed
of. To do this well is a rare talent; one person
from inattention or attending in the wrong
place, overlooks the essential part of what he
sees and the other sets down more than he
sees, making it of what he imagines."
How does sagacity grow? Our perceptions of
all things are at first vague. The thing we per-
ceive has no parbi or subdivisions or limita-
208 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
tions. But some practical aesthetic or instinct
interest sets us attending to the parts; associa-
tion and dis-association begin their work and
analysis sets in. Some minds reflect on the proc-
ess itself; some people have noticed them-
selves reasoning; they notice the method of
their own working. This reflective analysis is
the mother of science.
Socrates' greatness seems to me to be in-
dicated most clearly by his discovery of these
psychological phenomena. This is the kernel
of the Socratic Elenchus. He noticed that the
poet and the artist cannot reflect on the steps
of their own processes. "I went to the poets,"
he says. " Will you believe me that I might say
there is hardly a person present who cannot
talk better about poetry than the poets them-
selves? Then I knew without going farther,
that not by wisdom do poets write, but by
inspiration."
"The abrupt transitions," says Dr. James,
"in Shakespeare's thought astonish the reader
no less by their unexpectedness than they de-
light him by their fitness. Why does the death
of Othello so stir the spectator's blood? Shake-
speare could not say why; his invention, though
rational, was not ratiodnative. That speech
WRITINGS 209
about the Turbaned Turk flashed upon him as
to the right end. Shakespeare, whose mind sup-
plied the means, could not have told why they
were effective/*
But science knows where she is going and
has reflected on the steps thither. She needs
and she can train her own special sagacities.
Conscious analysis has taken the place of in-
tuitive analysis.
This step, Socrates noticed; he noticed the
nature of analysis; he noticed the inattention
of all thinkers of his time, specially of practical
and ready actors in the human drama, to the
stages of the process of reasoning. The Athe-
nians lack specially ^^ sagacity"; strict analysis
of general ideas, the identification of individuals
under the general classification are wanting in
their thought. " People do not know what they
think they know." He desires to educate the
young, at least, in the scientific process of
thought, especially in this sense.
It is curious to observe how men undervalue
this side of education to this day. Even under
the light of modem science how incessantly we
crave information; how we overvalue memory;
how short-winded we are in pursuing lines of
reasoning; how dull we are in detecting the
£10 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
essential and valuable qualities, attributes,
parts, of any matter which will tdl on our ends
in view. First of all, we are dull in conceiving
and holding any purposed end practical or
theoretic. Ho w hard it is to order any problem
rightly. How rarely we readi any practical
result or even any theoretic predication by the
reas(»iing process. We live always by general
processes which have come to us by authority;
even then we do not see their contents; we can-
not analyze. Professor Lebon says: "The mem-
orable events of history are the visible effects
of the invisible changes of human thoughts.
The reason these great events are so rare is
that there is nothing so stable in a race as the
inherited groundwork of its thought."
Socrates is for all times the bright exanq>le
of the rarer type, the critical and sagacious
type of man. So eager is he, at least as Plato
exhibits him, to show the processes of reason-
ing to his hearers that this becomes his only
end in view. He cares very little apparently
about the manufactured product of his process.
He will cheerfully leave an analysis defective.
His actual conclusions are often negative or
purposely absurd. It would be a very interest-
ing and a very long study to criticise the want
WRITINGS 211
of logic, the blunders and absurdities of the
Socratic reasoning in terms of modem psy-
chology. But one thing would certainly ap-
pear: Socrates does mean to uphold the logical
process and his logical process is founded upon
correct psychology. He desires to lead the
world to think for themselves in every exigency;
he desires to develop sagacity. Those who do
not reascm at all, those who reason badly,
those who reason well, are to be his pupils. His
process is all compacted of one effort to set and
make attractive as an educational ideal, a pur-
suit of knowledge by analytical selection. On
that he is ready to fall or stand; for that gospel
he was willing to quarrel with the whole city.
There should be to him no other element in
education except the stirring up of the ana-
lytical faculty; no other product of education
than a mind which can select for itself the
essential attribute to the processes. Now, if
modem psychology tells us anything it is that
this selective action of the mind is the essen-
tial attribute of mental activity, that the mind
that is quick to select and insinuate itself into
and grasp the essential part of presented fact
is the educated mind. Compared with this
originality, whether trained or untrained, no
212 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
other human activity has a right to be called
intellectual. Socrates, once for all, founded the
teaching of reasoning processes. And yet how
slow we are to believe it — our inherited basis
of thought, our maxims, our sentiments, the
rules and the ways of doing things that we have
received from our ancestors — how we love to
hand them along. How little we care to analyze.
How parents love us to teach their children
"what everybody ought to know." How they
long to have their children's education market-
able in the world they have known. How slight
the instinct for discovery of unattractive and
immarketable truth.
I have always wished to know if there had
been any school-teachers on the jury that tried
Socrates. I imagine there must have been two
types in Athens. One of them, I think, was that
of the sophist who gave brilliant lectures on the
current philosophy; perhaps he read "Homer**
aloud, or exhibited the wonders of science. He
built a garden of rootless flowers in the mind of
the Athenian boy, but he did n't teach analysis.
Perhaps Socrates had met his pupils; perhaps
he had shown some of them that none of all
this was an intellectual activity, that "what the
boy thought he knew, he did not know"; that
WBITINOS ai3
he misunderstood the first element of intel-
lectual process. That type of man voted for
condemnation. They were many, too many
alas I as always, on all juries. Perhaps another
juryman may have been a teacher who had
held his boys up to the painful duty of thought
— never a highly appreciated duty especially
by parents of children. The thinking of his
pupils was of course clumsy; there were little
or no direct "results." Only these boys learned
to think. Parents do not always appreciate the
part the teacher plays or the school plays in
such a process. The boy may become a thinker;
but the parent imagines he was bom so, and
the processes of his school appear to them
unpractical, useless. The boy has learned to
think; but nothing else. *'Why has he not
learned Persian? he might become ambassador
or get a position at Sardis. " Such teachers are
not popular. Such an Athenian teacher might
get on the jury, but he would have voted for
acquittal.
In this sense the trial of Socrates and his
process is still going on; you and I are tried to-
day. The great educational questions of the
time turn on this quarrel. Athenian history is
in this point, as in so many others, almost like
814 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
a dress rehearsal of human life ever since. For
us the story of Socrates has a personal color.
It was a brave fight and a good death that
Socrates made. Grod trusted him, we feel, with
a mission, and to that mission he was faithful.
But I have tried to suggest that the description
of that mission of Socrates might be restated in
an interesting way in the terms of modem psy-
chology. To me that fact seems to make his
mission even more impressive than ever, es-
pecially to school-teachers to-day.
I do not know if Socrates is aware in the
Elysian fields of this curious resurrection at the
end of modem scientific investigation of his old
interest. I do not know if his happy spirit has
found the occupation he desired in the other
world, whether he has been searching as he
promised ever since his death into the true and
false knowledge over Jordan, and finding out
who is wise and who is not. "K, indeed, when
the pilgrim arrives in the world below, he is
delivered from the professors of justice in this
world and finds the true judges there the saints
of God which are righteous in their own lives
here, then that pilgrimage will be worth mak-
ing. What infinite delight would there be in
conversing with these people and asking them
WRITINGS 815
questions. In another world they do not put
a man to death for asking questions, but beside
being hi^pier in that world than this, we shall
all be immortal there, if what they say is true."
Certainly his questionings put him to death;
more certainly they have made him inmiortal.
JOHN TETLOW (1843-1911)^
Head Master of the QirW High School in Boston,
1886-1907
Your teacher was a great man, how great I
do not know that I can say, but as I have lis-
tened here to-night I have perceived that that
has happened abeady to him which is the
teacher's high reward, — that the light which
in his profession he cast forward on the steps
of the young entrusted to his charge is already
reflected back on his own figure, illustrating
and glorifying his memory. Not that such an
ambition could ever enter into the heart of
John Tetlow. Self-illustration, it seems to me,
as I remember him, was the most aUen thing
one can conceive of him. But it is not possible
that — at the head of this great school, at the
head of his profession — the light should not
illuminate hun as we remember hun.
I cannot speak of his achievements. They
have been spoken of in particular to-night, but
there is another light which does illuminate a
^ Address by Mr. CrosweU at the memorial service held in
Ariington Street Church, Boston, on April 8, 1912.
WRITINGS 817
character, — not the light that comes from
what he did, beautiful as that is, but the light
that comes from what he wished to do, not his
achievements, but his ideals, his hopes, his
loves. Any picture of any man is imperfect
without that. It seems to me that of all men
the school-teacher works by his ideals even
more than by his achievements; that what
John Tetlow did for us was in some way to
convey the inspiration of his thought, — that
this was even more than what he did by the
efficient and great work of his life.
I represent to-night as I can, as Dr. Gal-
lagher has said, the Head Masters' Associa-
tion. The Head Masters' Association is a body
of friends who meet together once a year in the
holiday season to exchange their ideals — to
tell each other what they would like to do, not
what they have done. It has no achievements,
it has never "acted"; the membership is com-
posed very variously; there are in it, or have
been in it, men whose names are known all over
the profession; there are men whose work is
small. There is there, however, a spirit of fra-
ternity, of love, of personal intercourse, which
make it to those who know it one of the most
powerful, one of the most useful, one of the
218 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
most inspiring of our experiences; and this so-
ciety was the creation of Dr. Tetlow. He was
one of the first, he was one of the last. His name
stood on our programme at Christmas time,
and when that time came for him, he was not.
He held all the offices, — I think, every one, —
almost all from the lowest to the highest. It
was there that I met him. As a man among his
friends and as a member of the Association, I
should like to speak, if you will permit me f (nt
a few minutes, of what I learned of that good
man's ideals in that way. The first impression
that he made upon me was one I am sure you
all know. In the first fifteen minutes of my ac-
quaintance with him I said, "This man loves
work." The next I am sure you know. In the
next fifteen minutes of my acquaintance I said,
"This man would love me to work." In the
third fifteen minutes, and from that time on,
my feeling of him was, "I should love to work
with him." He had that natural leadership.
He conveyed that ideal almost irresistibly,
relentlessly. He was a worker and he spoke of
work. He loved accuracy. He loved efficiency.
He loved good work. It is no siuprise to me to
hear, as I have heard Professor Moore bear
witness, that his pupils loved it too. He loved
WRITIN08 810
reason. It seemed to me that he was himself
reason. In our professional outlook there are
not many people who reason or who love it.
Those who do are valuable beyond price. Rea-
soned truth, truths that can be stated, con-
clusions that can be drawn, — these were dear
to him, I had almost said this was his main in-
terest in life.
Then he loved people. Many people love
wisdom, but the first impression and the last
impression I drew from his society was that he
loved people, the human race, yes, that he loved
me. Is there anything more inspiring? Is there
anything that children need more than the love
of their teacher? Is there anything that means
more in our profession than that love and the
conveying of that love from the older to the
younger? I had the impression also that he
loved the Past; that the things that the himian
race had already attained were precious to him;
that he did not care to throw things away for
the sake of something better and later, profes-
sionally. We need the progressive spirit, but
the Future will not come by a stampede of the
Present. If there is any truth in the evolution
theory, the Future can only emerge out of what
is strong in the Past. I speak without, perhaps,
220 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
authority enough, but it seems to me that
that was Dr. Tetlow's belief. As we saw him
in the hours of social interchange we relied
upon himforconservatism, for o-ca^poowi;. There
too he will be missed in the profession of the
educator. This, as the master passion of his
life, the love of the Past, he certainly conveyed
to us. Where is the place where love of hu-
manity, love of work, love of wisdom, love of
reason, all are at home? In the Greek and
Latin classics. In the pursuit of these classics,
in the attainment of the vision of antiquity
which he in such large measure knew, it is no
wonder that a man of his power, his thought,
his history, was distinguished not only as an
accurate and careful scholar but as a lover of
those works.
Last, as I have heard to-night again, he was
a lover of freedom. " Captain of the company "
certainly persisted to the end. He was a good
soldier in the war of the liberation of humanity.
I like to think that whatever heaven is or is not
to be, on the evidence of two great men we arc
told it is a place of freedom. "Jerusalem which
is above is free — the mother of us all." Dante,
also, at the end of his vision, turns to his guide
who has carried him up through the circles and
WRITINGS 221
says, '*Thou hast guided me from servitude to
freedom/' It is the joy of his spirit to have
stood in that struggle for individual freedom
which made him the champion of the school-
teacher against oppressors from above, which
made him fight for freedom of thought, which
made him our champion as well as our genial
opponent. Whatever the other joys of heaven
may be, that freedom I like to think he enjoys
now.
I came here to-night chiefly for the privilege
of saying the farewell in the name of his pro-
fession and his associates, that farewell of
which fate cheated us in the circumstances of
his death. In what words shall we give it?
Latin words rise to my lips, words which would
have been to him reminiscent of delightful
study, —
Accipe fratemo multum manantia fletu
Atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale.^
They are perhaps too cold. They are too
much like an inscription. Fragments of a still
older funeral hymn come back to me, only
fragments, written when Rome itself was still
in the cradle, written "before all time," frag-
ments of a great hymn. In the funeral by the
1 Catullus 10
222 JAMES , OREENLEAF CRO SWELL
banks of the Ganges there gathered not the
members of the Brahmin caste, for caste was
still midevelopedy but the heads of families
stood roundabout. Is it forcing the analogy to
think of the members of the Head Masters'
Association, the families in which he was so
illustrious, using those words as a last greeting:
"Depart thou by the ancient paths where the
fathers have departed. Shake off thy imper-
fections. Go to thy home. Let him depart to
those who are mighty in battle, to the heroes
who have given their lives for others. Bear him
and carry him to the world of the righteous.
Let the new-bom soul, crossing the gloom,
gaze in wonder and go up to the high heaven
once more." These are good words to speak
now, in two ways. Do they not show us that
the fire that was lighted so Ipng ago has been
passed on, the same fire lit at the distant fu-
neral pyre in India? These are our ideals and
his. The fiire flamed on from the East, touching
in Jerusalem, touching in Athens, touching in
Rome, passed like a torch from the hands, now
of the great man, now of the dwarf, through
various obstacles to us, and from us on forever.
It seems to me one may say — a friend may
say — no stronger hand, no purer heart has
WRITINGS iiS
ever held it than his. And then in the other
way too. Is it not good for us to remember
that this plain, straightforward, honest man
that we knew, is truly a good soldier in the
sealed warfare of humanity, one of "the heroes
who have given their lives for others''?
THE ONE THING NEEDFUL ^
Thb task of the teacher, be it in school or
in college, is not an easy one. There are a set
of unpleasantnesses peculiar to our profession,
of which the most unpleasant is that, as a
profession, we are subjected to more criticism,
just and unjust, than any other trade or pro-
fession has to endure. We school-teachers are
criticised by our pupils, by their parents, by
the citizens of our Republic, by all the news-
papers, indeed by all those who think they
can see a gap between their ideals of what we
ought to do and our performance of our tasks,
like the ministers of the Gospel, we are always
under &e from those we would serve, and in
some sense perhaps we always deserve it.
But, like no other profession, school and
college teachers are also exposed continually
to shots from the rear. Our profession suffers
more from self-criticism than any other; more
than in any other profession, except perhaps
^ Address by Mr. Croswell, as President of the Association of
Colleges and Preparatoiy Schools of the Middle States and Maiy-
]and» delivered at Lancaster, Penn^lvania, in 1908.
WRITINGS «a>
that of the artist» the humblest workers
behold the glory of the ideal. We all see the
hilltops of our aspiration and we observe
distinctly one another's distance therefrom.
Teachers collected in convention suffer from
special forms of depression, in addition to our
chronic despondency. We exhibit a "conven-
tional melancholy." It is brought on or much
increased by such heart-searching exercises as
we have had this afternoon.
The best of us, perhaps the best more than
the worst of us, are prone to utter on these
occasions somewhat despairing statements
over the condition of the teaching world as it
exists to-day. Just at present there seems to
be an unusual abundance of such pessimistic
views before the public. In Professor Barrett
Wendell's last book, for example, entitled "The
Privileged Classes of America," I find this im-
pressive sentence: "There are few colleges of
America in which we are not often confronted
with bachelors of arts who are virtually un-
educated." Or this: "All over the world the
traditional methods of education have been
tried and found wanting." And here, again:
"From my point of view, the younger genera-
tion seems hardly educated at all."
226 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
In the presidential address of last year
President Woodrow Wilson made some state-
ments of the same sort, viewing the matter
from another angle. *'I have had the e:q>eri-
ence (which I am sure is conmion to modem
teachers) of feeling that I was bending all
my efforts to do a thing which was not sus-
ceptible of being done, and that the teaching
that I professed to do was as if done in a vac-
uum, as if done without a transmitting me-
dium, as if done without an atmosphere m which
the forces might be transmitted." Or this: "I
wish to state these things, if need be, in an
extravagant form, in order to have you realize
that we are upon the eve of a period of recon-
struction. I never attend any gathering of this
kind (that is, a teachers' convention) that I
do not hear the frankest admission that we
are in search of the fundamental principles
of the thing we are trying to do."
This view prevails with Mr. Abraham Flex-
ner in his recent book on the American college.
He speaks as follows: "Our college. students
are just as lacking in spontaneous and dis-
interested intellectual activity as in more
strictly instrumental power and efficiency.**
Or this: "Our college students are and for the
WRITINGS 227
most part emerge flighty, superficial and im-
mature, lacking, as a class, concentration,
seriousness and thoroughness." The drift of
his arguments, he thinks, establishes the
proposition that the very qualities which seem
to secure the degree B.A. would secure a man's
dismissal from any other business whatever.
It is small wonder that, bearing the burden
and heat of the day and getting so bad a har-
vest, school-teachers should sometimes grow
faint and weary. The prospect does at times
look dark. I myself received a letter recently
from a school-teacher in New York, a teacher
who had been successful in every way, having
done, perhaps, the best work in the city and
received much reward in the good-will and
affection of her scholars. She was writing on
business, but her pen, straying to the general
discussion of the teacher's work and its re-
ward, summed up her experiences as follows:
"Sometimes, in the last few years, I have been
made to feel, considering the tortures that
are applied to me, that school-teaching might
be characterized as General Sherman de-
scribed war."
I am here to-night to deny the validity of
all such statements and all such criticisms,
228 JAMES OREENLEAF CBOSWELL
long and short, if considered as serious at-
tempts to assess the total value of American
educational work of to-day, though I am will-
ing to accept them as suggestive propositions
to open up our discussion of a topic I desire
to introduce.
I do not believe we are going to destruction.
I do believe, however, that **porro unum est
necessarium" With us, as with the yoimg
man in the Bible, there is something necessary
to perfection which we do not now notably
possess in the American school life. With all
our endeavors and success there is something
missing. I propose, as well as I can, to offer
suggestions which may at once account for
these animadversions of our critics and do
something, on the other side, toward de-
scribing the better state of things I desire to
In the first place, there is a misunderstand-
ing or two to clear up. School-teaching is not
heaven, either to the teacher or learner. We
should not try to make our schools too bliss-
ful. The unsuccessful effort to make heavenly
schools will account for a good deal of the mel-
ancholy and despair which at times settle
over us. The simple fact, hard to remember
WRITINGS 229
as it seems, is this, that the world in which
teachers live and scholars work is a curious
world of itself, full of odd geography, but it is
neither hell nor heaven. It is true, many of
our experiences as teachers give a certain plaus-
ibility to my friend's saying that school-teach-
ing had some resemblance to the adventures
of the Inferno, or at least we will confess
that it suggests the classical Hades. I have
often thought as I read the sixth book of the
^neid, that Virgil must have foreseen school-
teaching. I know the wheel of Ldon; it sug-
gests to me the routine in which I have spun
round, Tuesday following Monday, Wednes-
day Tuesday, and so on for twenty years. Cat-
iline has abused our patience longer than
he did that of Cicero; Homer has, as the
Greek epigram says, supported more lives
than ever the Iliad made the prey of dogs and
birds. I know the stone of Sisyphus, rolled
everlastingly up hill and everlastingly bound-
ing down again. Has it ever happened to you
to hear a pupil, after two years of algebra,
inquire in a startled voice, "What is an * un-
known quantity'?" As for the banquets of
Tantalus, we teachers have educational luxu-
ries set forth by publishers of schoolbooks and
830 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
makers of committee reports which evade our
touch as we grasp after them in vain.
School is not heaven, but school differs pro-
foimdly from any circle of any inferno. The
world of school is, beyond all worlds, the
place of hope. However crude and imperfect
our present arrangements, however crude out
processes, however unsatisfactory our results,
however deeply condemned may be the young
men who take our degrees and diplomas, there
is no sense in speaking in despair of the worst
school that ever was known; there is always
a possibility, nay, even a probability, of im-
provement. Hope is the great commodity of
all schools. Anything may happen in a school;
even the imps of the pit may in one hoiu* be-
come angels of light; not only become so, but
remain so. A boy may turn into anything,
even into a man. The worst, yes, the worst
possible system of education turned in the
worst possible way, by the worst possible
hands, has on occasion transformed itself,
slowly or suddenly, into a thing of greater and
greater beauty.
But if school is not heaven or hell, neither
IS it earth. The common blunder in judging
the world of school and college is to presume
WRITINGS 831
to judge this fluctuating, adolescing mass by
the fixed standards of the adult world. Such
is the blunder of the critics above quoted.
Men judge schools, schoolboys, and even
schoolgirls, by the standards of adult males.
They do not recollect that our profession dif-
fers from all others in that its business is not
transacted upon their earth at all. Our world
may not be in heaven, but neither is it on terra
firma. We live and work in the borderland,
the "never, never land," the limbo of the inno*
cents. There lies the *^ bonny road that winds
across the ferny brae " of youth. The school
world is full of hope, but it is not a land of at-
tainment. School is a place of still imrealized
ideals, of loyalties to the causes that cannot
be described as lost, because they have never
been won. Why should we judge these half-
defined cloudlands by the standards of any
old man in this old world?
Such an answer I should make to most crit-
ics such as I have quoted. Such are the feel-
ings with which the American, the school-
teacher or the schoolboy himself, is apt to
answer all critics of his shortcomings. Even
parents, in one of their two moods, are indul-
gent to these arguments. As Professor Briggs
232 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
very keenly says : " Many parents r^ard school
and collie as far less serious in its demands
than business; a place of delightful irrespon*
sibility, where a youth may disport himself
before he is condenmed to hard labor."
Possibly, however, we Americans tolerate
childishness too long and too much in school
and collie. We may let our children remain
too long immature, under the influence of
these feeEngs which I have described. Our
critics may be right in this r^ard. American
teachers are not awake to the actual danger
of the situation. Let us consider the matter
again more carefully.
After all, more does go to the making of
man than quick senses or volatile attention or
the hopefulness and charm of childhood. If
we have no more than that in our schools we
are not contributing our proper share to the
maturing of the nation. To remind us of a
better ideal, let me read to you President
Wilson's description of the educated man as
he gave it at Haverford this month: "The
nation needs not only men in the vague and
popular sense of that word, that is, men who
have been taken from the narrow surround-
ings of somewhat simple homes and who have
WRITINGS 2SS
gone through the process of a sort of miniature
world (what I have just called of the unreal
world) such as the large college often is; it
needs trained and disciplined men, men who
know and who can think; men who can per-
ceive and interpret, whose minds are accus-
tomed to difficult tasks and questions, which
cannot be threaded except by minds used to
processes and definite endeavor; men whose
faculties are instruments of precision and
whose judgments are steady by knowledge.
Such men it is not getting by the present proc-
esses of college life, and cannot get them until
that life is organized in a different spirit and
for a different purpose." These are beautiful
words, and as we read them we cannot but
appreciate more deeply the complexity of
what we ought to do for education. One may
doubt and despair if one turns his eyes too
earnestly on this dazzling standard. When
we contrast the elaborate finish of this ideal
product with the intellectual crudity of the
early stages of a boy's life, as we have them,
few of us would venture to promise, by any
process of our present schooling, to produce
such beings as these. Very few such men get
bom, though such men do appear in the col-
234 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
lege world of tener than President "^Ison will
admit. He is such a man himself. He has,
therefore, no right to say that such men are
not produced at all by our educational proc-
esses. What we have to do, we will admit,
is to consider more carefully the process of
maturing and to improve it if we can. We
must find better ways of helping the process of
growth in making less the stupidities of youth.
We now multiply the children's experiences of
life, but we must also deepen them.
We must think with patience of this process
and with hope of the result. We produce some
good men now; we must produce more of
them. Especially we must try to produce
more mature men. It is our duty to advance
the maturity of young Americans. Yet, on
the other hand, in the interests of this matu-
rity, I should say to our critics and to my col-
leagues, we must stay our haste and make
delays. This part of the teacher's duty, to
diminish the pace of life for young people, is
least understood by American parents, and
the American community is, therefore, im-
patient with us. Much of the school criticism
arises simply from undue impatience. Delay
in ripening is a very vital part of the ripening
WRITINGS aS5
process. '^Before the beginning of years there
Came to the making of man time, with the gift
of tears." And yet we talk to parents, and
college presidents talk to us, as if some teach-
ers' association, some day, would invent a
process to eliminate patience and time; as if
children could be matured, if we only knew
how, in no time at all, as in Paradise.
I recollect hearing once of a process for
maturing wine "while you wait." The inven-
tor had figured that contact with the air was
the chemical cause of the ripening of wine. As
contact could only occur at the surface, con-
sequently, if any way could be found for mul-
tiplying the points of contact between the
air and the surface of the liquid, the process
must be shortened by that factor. His patent
or device was to take the wine to the top of a
shot tower and spray it downward through the
air four hundred feet, whereby raw, new port
must become fine old wine in the space of about
five minutes. Some of our schemes and sys-
tems for the economical ripening of youth
seem to have the defects of this device, physi-
cally and psychologically.
All American life, American ideals, Ameri-
can practices need the slow ripening of time.
2S6 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
We must therefore ripen our educational proc-
esses, maturing the culture of those who con-
trol and plan them. We need a patient at-
tendance, too, on the natural growth of our
children.
Moreover, our critics need patience in their
estimation of our results. A very good friend
of mine, who sent me into the teaching pro-
fession thirty years ago, gave me that watch-
word as the result of his own successful expe-
rience. **You will need patience every day,"
said he; "you will need courage once a month."
I have needed more patience and less courage
than that. We all of us have courage enough,
especially in challenging the difficulties of our
educational task; probably we none of us
have patience enough with ourselves and our
institutions.
But the imrest of our generation of which
I speak is, as a sign of the times, not to be
dismissed with a mere recommendation of
patience. What does it mean, that for a gen-
eration, as Woodrow Wilson said to us last
year, "We have been passing through a period
when everything seems in the process of dis-
solution"? When there is such a imiversal
dispersion of every ancient aspect and concep-
WRITINGS 237
tion of our world we must examine ourselves.
There must be a cause for it. K the new re-
naissance is due, and perhaps overdue, pa-
tience alone will not produce it.
We need something yet to satisfy the long-
ings alike of the hopeful and the despairing
who study the educational field. There must
be something more looked for to save us. And
this one thing needful seems to me to be a
better attitude of mind toward work. K one
looks more carefully into the mass of criticism
of our processes of which I am speaking one
feels that they generally reduce to mistrust
of the attitude of mind toward work prevail-
ing among teachers or students, or both. As
President Wilson said, we are in search of
fundamental principles of the thing we are
trying to do, and we must be on the eve of a
period of reconstruction. Now, there is noth-
ing more fundamental than the attitude of
mind with which scholars and teachers attack
their common task. It is probably our atti-
tude toward our work as scholars and teachers
which we should reconstruct. A search for the
best method of doing this ought to reward us,
even before we capture any more fundamental
principle.
24^ JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
opinion prevails in America about the teach-
ing profession we cannot rely on a great nuin-
ber of superior personalities joining us in our
forlorn hope, certainly not enough to bring
about a "New Renaissance," to get a new
attitude of mind in the place of the old one
by their inspiration. K we are to have among
us teachers that produce scholars and lame
ducks, the attitude of mind of pupils, teachers,
and parents to work will never improve.
But I am prepared to say that even if by
some miracle a large number of authoritative
personalities were to appear in the next gen-
eration of school-teachers there would still be
need of further help to produce the change of
heart for which I am looking. There is some-
thing further needful than great ideals em-
bodied by great teachers. The saying that
Mark Hopkins at one end of the log and a
student at the other makes a university is
only in one sense true. There must be an at-
mosphere, an intention, an ambition on both
sides of the log, which would hardly be cre-
ated simply by a dominating personality. We
want better reactions on the part of our stu-
dents themselves, not a reaction excited merely
by their interest in attractive people.
WRITINGS MS
While we gladly welcome, therefore, the
mystical transfer of life by the living to the
living, which Thwing described as the true
definition of the teacher's activity, there lies
even beyond this a more matiuing experience
still, which every boy and girl must have deep
rooted in their lives if they are to be true men
and women. Our students must know work.
The hunger for work which comes to every
man when he first faces the life struggle, that
lonely, competitive personal struggle which we
must all know, I shall once for all describe
as working for the market. That is the one
thing needful to make our schools alive again.
Our boys and girls, our yoimg men and women
must leam to work by working for the market.
This market may be man's market, where
one earns one's living, or God's market, where
one earns one's salvation. It is this sacramen-
tal touch of the spirit of work upon our spirits
which we ought to yearn for in the lives of our
youth in our secondary schools and colleges.
This touch is now, it seems to me, very much
wanting. Our boys and girls do not believe
they are working for any market at all. If
we could persuade the boys and girls in our
schools and colleges that they were truly
244 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
earning their living at school by their work in
school we should soon find that our American
youth would rise near^ to the measure of their
duty in the high schools and colleges. If it
could be seen by pupils that the processes and
occupations in the high schools and colleges
were in any way concerned with their own
marketable value as men we should soon see a
renaissance begin. Nothing short of this atti-
tude of mind will really save our schools.
I dislike the words "cultural" and "voca-
tional,'' but in this connection I feel much
tempted to use them. And if I use them I
should say that if we wish a new renaissance
we must assess the value of our educational
institutions in terms of vocation. All pursuits
in school should be thought of by the students
as vocational pursuits. This will renew our
lives. The day one feels that his work is worth
more than he is, that day the boy becomes a
man. I do not say that one must earn dollars
or quarters of dollars, necessarily, to acquire
that new feeling. When the storm of the Civil
War swept over this country a most marvellous
change was wrought in many an idle boy. The
heroes whose names are inscribed on the walls
of our institutions of learning are the names
WRITINGS US
of boys, often chiefly distinguished in college
by their apathy in all matters of scholastic
regimen. Why did they drill in the army who
never would drill in college? It was because
they saw that their output was marketable
in one case and not in the other. It was cul-
tural versus vocational activity. Many are the
markets of the universe. They were earning
their living who fell at Gettysburg; home they
went, and took their wages.
I urge, then, greater consideration and
greater esteem for the vocational ideal in school.
I think this will work a great change of mind
and a greater change of practice. Vocation
alone can stimulate Americans to duty. We
cannot, of course, deny the value of self -cul-
ture as a good in itself, nor can we tell our
children that anything they do at the age of
the secondary school life will be marketable
in any very definite vocation. Nothing that
our pupils put out, whether it be the solution
of a mathematical problem or the acquisition
of French or Latin, is as marketable as they
are themselves. But though this be the master
fact of the adolescent situation, it is not in
the least wholesome for such an idea to domi-
nate their imaginations. Cardinal Newman, I
246 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
believe, laid down the ingenious paradox of
ethics, as follows: *'Be virtuous and you will
be happy. But they that seek happiness have
not the virtue." Let me alter it! "Be indus-
trious in school and you will be cultivated.
But they that work for culture never have
the right kind of industry. It is only those
who work for the product's sake who truly
work."
I propose, then, that we should cease to
emphasize the cultiu*al ideal of work, as we
have done in the past in school and collie,
and should emphasize the vocational. Cid-
ture is not a wholesome ideal for youth. It is
in no way a natural ideal for youth; least of
all is it so in our generation. Any boy or any
girl in our time must work for some social
market; the nearer the market the better. It
is, for example, because the playing of a foot-
ball game seems to boys a true vocation that
athletics have flourished so largely in the
midst of the cultural vacuum, into which
Woodrow Wilson describes our teaching as
having passed. Can any one conceive, for
example, of the hosts which assemble to be-
hold our boys following their "vocation" as
athletes assembled to watch cultural exer-
WRITINGS 247
cises in gymnastics? It is the market of com-
petition which enlivens the work of the mus-
cles. Why not of the mind?
Let me repeat. I think that the cultural
ideals of the past are not deeply rooted enough
in the social life of the present and future
to serve the turn of enlisting the best work
of American youth. The educational ideal of
Athens, for example, on which our ideals of
culture generally rest, contemplated an aris-
tocracy whose perfections, mental and bodily,
rested upon slave labor and a social ideal of
life now outworn. It fails to interest the mod-
em world; our boys misunderstand it. Per-
fection of the Oxford culture, defined as Pro-
fessor Jowett described it, teaching "the
English gentleman to be an English gentle-
man," this, too, fails to meet the demand of
our time in our country. "A gentleman's mark
is *C,' " was the inmiortal statement of an in-
genuous college youth at Harvard. Why not?
But no boy would ever believe that a **C**
alegbra, offered in any market, was worth
more than "Al" algebra.
In what way can we bring the more whole-
some market ideal more closely before the
eyes of growing boys and growing girls? In
248 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
what way can we make the new technical
studies serve the test of humanistic ideals,
the ideals of work? For this is far more
necessary than the reverse. In two ways, it
seems to me.
The true market of adult life can be sug-
gested in the work of the earlier years by in-
creasing the number of vocational studies and
vocational schools in oiu* community. Let us
have trades taught imiversally. Let us, even
in childhood, learn things which we know
even in childhood can be taken to market.
Open the trade schools, if we are to have them,
to all comers. From them will spread pre-
cisely that seriousness about the process, that
value in the product, which I desire to see in-
crease in the life of American school boys. This
will uplift our cultural ideals. Taking the
market as it is, even with all its narrowness,
let us see that our children get into it earlier
than they now do. Let them learn to work with
their hands, even though it were hunting and
fishing. All the yachting and canoeing and
boat-sailing, all the gardening and farming,
into which hungry children throw themselves
with such avidity, will increase and multiply
the centres by which this vivacious ideal of
WRITINGS 249
the meaning of work, the true, new attitude of
mind, may spread.
A second way in which this same end may
be reached seems to me important for us
American school-teachers to consider. Should
we not multiply trainings for new vocations
in our schools? Why must we narrow our voca-
tional schools to the teaching of trades already
at work in the market? Because they see
no direct connection between school work and
any definitely established trade or profession,
parents forget that their sons may be called
upon to be pioneers in new vocations. We
forget that America has to establish new
trades and new professions as well as pursue
the old ones, and that trade schools alone will
not train a man even for the life of trade and
conmierce. In this connection I should be
glad to tell you a story told me by Frederick
Law Olmsted of his own beginning and his
own experience. He it was who designed and
mapped out Central Park, in New York. He
told me that when this undertaking first be-
gan to be realized he was forced to spend
nearly the whole of his days in persuading citi-
zens and oflScials of New York that they needed
a park there. His nights he gave to the pro-
860 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
fessional work involved in maJdng it. So in
our work we must cultivate the demand for
ourselves as a condition preceding our efforts
to satisfy it.
Another thing we can do, if we wish to
produce a more inspired industry in our sec-
ondary schools, is a thing which is dose at
hand. We might try to give more of their
proper vocational values to such studies as
actually exist in the present high-school cur-
riculum. We treat all our studies in the high
school and college too often with no regard to
their vocational possibilities. We treat them
as cultural subjects exclusively and they droop.
But all the cultural subjects in our curricu-
lum began originally as vocations. Vocations
are older than cultures. Any culture study has
more to gain from being true as a vocational
study than it has to lose. For instance, it was
not until Latin ceased to be of marketable
value as a language that it posed as pure cul-
ture. But by treating it merely as a culture
we are killing it off. Let us now treat it again
as vocation. Mr. Wendell suggested that he
studied Latin simply as a nauseous means
of cultivating the voluntary attention. But
why not learn Latin? Why not pursue it as a
WRITINGS £51
thing of vocational meaning? It can be done;
it ought to be done. It is a language, after all.
Or why not learn some French in our schools?
The new method of teaching modem languages
has just the vocational meaning. Under the
cultural methods of treating the subject one
is supposed to value the intellectual culture
involved in studying French grammar, rhet-
oric, and literature more than he values the
incidental French he acquires. Suppose one
postpones all this to the acquisition of a work-
ing knowledge of French or German as lan-
guages. Would not the attitude of mind in our
modem language classes improve? Are they
not languages, after all?
Or consider mathematics. Why make that
very practical subject so essentially into a
setting-up drill of the intellect? Is it neces-
sary to have three years of arithmetical cul-
tiu-e, two years of algebraic culture, one year
of geometric culture, all separated by logical
classification from each other? Is there any
good argument for this arrangement? Is there
any vocation known in which geometry exists
simply as an exercise in logic, independently
of arithmetic or algebra?
Or consider the problem of instruction in
252 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
English. Where would the cultural ideal con-
duct us finally if we pursued it in the study of
English to the exclusion of vocational English
entirely? Shall we be able to speak English?
We have not made or we have lost too far the
vocational connections in our school work.
When I plead for the vocational ideal as
a new means of inspiration in our American
schools, I am not speaking, of course, solely
of the money value of acquisitions or talents.
Money values may easily be overestimated,
though money value is a pretty faithful index
of market value. A boy or girl who receives
wages for work feels most vigorously, most
strongly, that he is at last enlisted with the
colors. It is a great experience, one that I
should like every boy and every girl in our
country to have, to work for money, as regu-
larly as all European boys serve in the army,
if only for two or three years.
But it need not be money values that we
propose to consider when we speak of voca-
tional work in school. Much social service is
done, and always will be done, which cannot
be paid for in money. It is sufficient that a
boy*s work is recognized by the worker and
his comrades as service. It may be service to
WRITINGS 258
the school, the college, the family, or the com-
munity. Work done in the sight of the host
has its uplifting inspiration. Why not idealize
the word ** vocation" and make it appeal in
more general ways to our scholars?
If our schools create this vocational atmos-
phere even in culture studies, great improve-
ments must follow. Two of our gr^test prob-
lems would probably be solved at once. Under
no vocational ideal of school instruction could
the absurd proposition maintain itself that
every child, in every public school, must study
every subject. This superstition sprang out of
the old ideal of a rounded culture to the end
of school work. This is already a hopeless
ideal; it never had any vocational meaning.
Moreover, the other enemy of good work
might vanish. If it were understood that the
value of the product was to be considered,
which each child can present to the world at
the dose of his school life, we should hear less
of overcrowded high schools and overburdened
taxpayers. Pupils who could not " make good "
from the vocational point of view in pursuing
their college and high school subjects, who
could not produce any marketable commodity
in any subject of learning, necessarily would
254 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
receive no consideration from the taxpayers.
Our democratic indulgence to incompetency
in our public schools would be cut at the
root.
These random suggestions seem to me to
point out the road on which we may march;
they do not pretend to be a developed scheme
for immediate realization.
We need a new attitude of mind. I think
we must search for the new attitude of mind
by making our school and college work appeal
more and more to the constructive ambition
of American youth. James Russell Lowell
was fond of saying that school and college
should be the place where "nothing useful
was studied." He put it somewhere in another
way, that we should respect and provide for
the growing of roses, not less than cabbages,
in our academic field. No one will deny the
deep meaning of these poetic imaginations.
Our new attitude of mind cannot controvert
them; but both roses and cabbages, after all,
grow best when grown for the market. I con-
fess, for one, that I think there is more danger
in idly contemplating our cabbage field than
in attempting to make roses useful. We must
interest our boys more in the market values
WRITINGS 255
of their intellectual product. This is good
modem pragmatism.
We must judge the schools with more se-
verity from the standpoint of public market.
Things are tolerated good-natm^dly in Ameri-
can schools which would not be tolerated in
Europe, where market values are more con-
sidered. We are too gentle, for example, with
bad English if produced in school by a nice
boy. The one thing needful is a new and
severer attitude of mind, which would arrive
automatically among both pupils and teachers
if vocational ideals should be more considered,
even at the expense of the cultural atmosphere.
As this convention is now housed in a church,
I hope it will be permitted me to remind my
audience of the New Testament story from
which we have derived our phrase, "The one
thing needful." The rich young man asked
the Master what he must do to be saved. He
rehearsed his great possessions and detailed
his culture. But the answer was, "Sell all
that thou hast." Does this not mean to take
all that we have to market? This application
of the parable is not fanciful, I think; it is good
Christianity. Here shortly follows another
parable which proves this. At the Day of
256 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
Judgment, we are told, one set of mankind
will appear before the bar of heaven, appeal-
ing to their cultural experiences. "Lord, we
have eaten and drunk in thy presence, and
Thou hast taught in our streets." They have
been in the presence of great things and great
men; they have seen them idly; they have
passed by. We are also told that they will be
judged by a vocational test: have they done
anything for "the least of these my brethren"?
and those who have only eaten and drunk in
the presence of the Lord, who have never
brought their talents to the market test, will
be invited to depart with the other children
of selfish culture to the place where there is
weeping and gnashing of teeth.
Vocation is a word to conjure with in mod-
em America. I want to use it, with its asso-
ciations, to cover the whole ground of a boy's
experience in his school life. I want it to bring
about a new attitude in work. Do not mis-
take me. I have no desire to make radical
substitutions, say of laimdry work for Latin.
I do not wish the higher experiences of the
soul to give way to the lower. But high or low
are dangerous words to use of human educa-
tion. Let the rose follow the vocation of the
WRITINGS 257
rose, and the cabbage of the cabbage; they are
both in honor. Good laundry work well done
is higher than bad Latin. Even for the cul-
tural studies one may desire to win the con-
notations of the word vocational. There is no
telling by what lowly door the Lord of Life
may enter in.
Let us persuade our students to take their
talents and their cultiure always in the spirit of
service. Let us so teach them how to work and
why to work and what work is, from the mar-
ket point of view. That is the one thing need-
ful, I think, to fill again the idle sails of Ameri-
can schools and colleges.
THE MERCHANDISE OP ALLAH
By the Word of Allah, all creatures are — the
jewel after his kind, and the dark coal after
his kind. In a moment His Word makes and
unmakes all things; and His Word is spoken
by His Prophet and by His children alike.
Long years since, a merchant dwelt in Bag-
dad. His traffic was with princes, and his
gains, the spoils of kings; for in the secret places
of his house lay jewels of great price, such as
monarchs in their splendor wear. Par and near
he sought for them, the rubies of Asia, the
diamonds of Africa, the pearls of the seas that
lie between. In their quest he endured hunger
and fatigue; in their winning he had trod both
dark and dangerous ways. Por this man would
possess the most secret and most lordly jewels
of the world, such as lie hid in the cabinets of
emperors, or blaze on the diadems and sword-
hilts of conquerors and kings.
Many a great prize had he won, and his soul
exalted itself when he gazed upon his match-
WRITINGS 259
less treasures. But his heart grew hard; so that
he left the kindly intercourse of man with man;
yea, he sinned the sin of the lonely and the
proud. He thought only upon his treasure ; men
died to add to it; yea, for it, this man sold all he
had of manhood, and of all life's good. And
the treasure heaped itself, in sullen glory, in his
house.
Then, in an hour, his dream vanished. For,
by the wisdom of Allah, an evil enchanter
passed over his house, and he cast a spell upon
it. And lo, the spirits of air and fire, which
abide in all jewels, were, by that spell, cast out
from those stones, so that their glory departed
from them and died. And when the master
arose to look upon them, the jewels of his
treasure-house were no longer jeweb, but dark
and gleaming coals.
Then his soul died within him, for he thought
not upon Allah, who by a word makes and un-
makes all things. So he said in his heart, ''Lo,
my jewels were not jewels! I am the sport of
the spirits of Evil, and the chief of fools! These
were but gleaming coals, for which I have given
my life. Verily, I am wasted, even as water is
poured in the dust.''
In his misery, he found no comforter. And
i860 JAMES OREENLEAF CR08WELL
he cried aloud. But the Clement and Merciful
One, looking down upon the sons of men, be-
held his sorrow. Therefore He, in whose coun-
sels lie the coming and the going of men, made
to pass that way a wise and holy man, who,
hearing the lamentation of the despairing one,
entered the house; and, inquiring of his trou-
ble, said: "Peace be to thee, my son! Why
wailest thou so?'*
And the merchant answered and said: "Be-
hold my life and the hours of my youth are
wasted; I have labored and fasted and these
are the treasures of my labor and the reward
for my denial of joy. I took these stones for
jewels, and they are but coals! Surely I have
been the plaything of the Spirits who are
mightier than men. My hours are wasted as
water is poured in the dust."
Then answered the sage: "What is wasted
and what is saved, Allah alone knoweth; and
His judgments shall determine. He maketh the
diamond, coal; and in His time, the coal, dia-
mond. And from the same earth as the diamond
and the coal, He hath made thee and me."
Then said the merchant: "Yet these were my
labors and this is the wage of my labor. I have
labored for jewels, and I have received coals.
9»
WRITINGS 261
Then said the sage: ** Allah hath given to
Man labor and wages. Praise Him for both.
But take now the coals, which thou hast re-
ceived from Him, down to the market-place;
and do with them as is fitting. But if it be pos-
sible, give of them to the needy wayfarers. So
shall even these coals be a blessing, yea, be-
yond the sullen glory of the jewels which thou
hast, it shall come to thee. And in the bless-
ing of the poor shall the message of Allah be
heard."
So the merchant made his coals into sackfuls
and bagfuls. And he took them to the market-
place. And he sat down to sell. Then as he
sat, there came by many. Some saw him not;
and others mocked him, saying: ""Once thou
didst deal with kings for jewels; but now thou
art glad to traffic with slaves for coal.'' And
his heart was heavy within him, for he heard no
message from Allah; and the day waned.
Then at last came gently the footsteps of a
child. And she paused and gazed at his sacks
of coal and at him, as the man sat at his mer-
chandise. And when he saw the child, straight-
way he forgot his lost jewels. For in the eyes of
a child lingers the light of that heaven whence
children come; and there is neither diamond
262 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
nor pearl which shines with their ineffable
light. So the man looked, and the child gazed
at his sacks and at him. And lo, the spell of
the enchanter was broken, and the sin of the
merchant's covetous heart melted away. And
there arose in him a longing, not for the jewels
of earth, but for the service and the care of the
children who are the jewels of God. So he said
to the child: ** Little one! I am but a merchant
of coal, but take of me what I have to give.
My coals may warm thee in the days of storm
and cold; they may feed thee, when thou and
thine shall hunger. Take them and bless thy
Father and mine."
And the child laughed and answered: ''Coal
merchant, why dost thou sell diamonds and
pearls for coal?**
And lo, as she spoke, he beheld the splendor
of the jewels returned to them; and the sacks
of coal were filled again with rubies, with
emeralds, with jacinths, with diamonds, far
beyond the glory of the lost jewels.
Then understood the man that the message
of Allah had come to him, and that in the
market-place, among humble men and chil-
dren, the merchandise of Allah is lost and
won.
WRITINGS 863
Praise be to Allah, the Clement and Merdf ul»
who maketh of one earth the coal and the dia-
mond; and of one soul, Hope and Despair.
Out of the mouth of babes has He ordained His
praise, to still the Enemy and the Avenger.
Praise Him, all ye jewels and coals; O ye chil-
dren of Men, praise Him and magnify Him
forever.
ADAM AND EVE
On a hill at sunrise stood Adam and Eve.
like children who f ear, not knowing what they
fear, they ding together, watching their new
and dreadful world. After the night of wrath
and tempest which had overhung their banish-
ment from Eden, the sun was rising again in
peace. Natiu^, after her wild alarms, was re-
turning, as is her wont, to her friendly calm; and
the evil shadows of the dreadful midnight were
now melting into the dawn of hope.
But even in the peace of the dawn, yes, be-
cause of the sweetness, the empty sweetness,
of the scene, there was a pang more poignant
than the terror of the Flaming Sword.
They were alone. Henceforth alone. Hence-
forth aUens in their own house. All happiness
is to be bounded by this grief; all satisfactions
edged by this despair.
So brooded the lost pair, taking up the new
burden of the fate of mankind to come.
Then in their lonely sorrow they became
aware that they were not alone. For there
WRITINGS 285
stood at their side a Being, strange among the
angelic faces they knew in Paradise, yet seem-
ing no stranger as he smiled and presently
spoke: —
"Your tears are no longer due to your
destiny, children of earth! Cease to lament.
Dread not. Trust wholly to this new earth.
There is that here which Paradise itself did not
contain. Ye shall know here the comfortable
joy of human life. Behold me! I am to be the
companion of your future life and its solace*
"My name is Delight. like yourselves I am
made of the Dust of the Earth. I will open
your eyes to the pleasant things of this worl^.
Sounds shall be sweet, sights shall be pleasant,
odors shall spring for you from the flowers of
life. Look not at the majesty of the sky; live
comfortably below it, where the Sun doth shine
on the evil and on the good. Stare not upon
the mountain tops; trust the friendly valleys.
"Delight yourselves in the little world. Let
fade the memory of Paradise; the thunder-
scarred gates are shut. Yes, cast away the
biu*densome knowledge of good and evil, which
has cost you a world. By small delights, by
pleasant senses, by comforting habit of experi-
ence, so shall the sons of Earth hereafter live.
266 JAMES OREENLEAF JDBOSWELL
This shall be your home; with sudi companion-
ship as mine, even the curse of Adam may be
borne; and the Doom of Eve shall bring after it
a train of happy delight in hearth and home."
Then said Adam: —
"Spirit! Thou hast not touched my sorrow.
Not labor's burden, nor the travail of body
and soul to come to motherhood, crushes the
life of our souls. In the craft of my hand, in
the sweat of my brow shall come a triumph,
like to God's. Even the birth and bearing of
the Child to come is full of hope and glory,
shining through the danger and despair. Not
these are the ciu*se of Man. Not these visions
affright my heart.
"Delight? I do delight in this new, strange,
glorious world. I do believe that, for its sor-
rows, its joys are potent consolation enough.
The new sun warms us; the blue sky covers
us lovingly. I well believe that earthly life is
filled with comfort. I and my children shall
possess the earth and learn, by the strong tie
of living, to love it.
"But the Agony of Man's Spirit is not this.
It cannot yield to spells like thine. For I
brought with me from Paradise a Longing,
eternal, unearthly. Can the Delight of Earth
WRITINGS «67
satisfy the Soul's hunger for that which is not
earth? The hunger of the Soul is eternal and
insatiate; can the hunger of the Body torture
like this? The Nakedness of the soul, blown
upon by the cutting winds that move through
the Void, what earthly shelter can cover?
What earthly friendliness can warm?
^'What shall thou and thy charm profit us,
O Spirit? Who can comfort with the sweet-
ness of Earth, for loss of Heaven? Shall Death
yield to thy spell? Shall the Darkness of Eter-
nity be Ht from earthly fires?''
Then grew pale the color which played
about the wings and head of the beautiful
Spirit. Yet he lingered about the pair, telling
them again and again of the sweet comfort
earthly kindness may bring, of earthly hun-
gers that earthly joy may satisfy, of earthly
hopes that earthly labors may fulfil. But as
the twain sat silent, behold, in the eyes of
Eve, which were looking afar, there kindled
a great light. For she beheld approaching an
Angel of the Heavenly Host.
His face was shadowed; and in the shadows
lay deeper shadows still. His coimtenance was
sad; his statiu*e terrible; and he was armed as
a Man of War.
268 JAMES OREENLEAF CBOSWELL
Yet over his forehead shone the light of
interstellar spaces. His eyes were glorious
within. And on the brightness of the sunrise
he descended; and at last he spoke.
"Children of earth," he said, "who are also
children of the Highest Heaven, I bring you
rescue from Death."
And as he spoke, they heard; and their in-
most hearts knew that this was true; and they
worshipped God. And the angel said: —
"Behold I am come from the home beyond
Death of your longing souls. Not Paradise
could contain me; not Earth could name me;
not Death can tame me. I am Love Himself
the Unconquered.
"No comfortable delight do I bring you;
I bring but longing for that which is not. No
easy satisfaction do I give my servants; only
despair, desire and hope for their portions.
For I come from afar oflf. In the longing for
something greater than that which is, in de-
votion to it, in unflinching loyalty shall be
felt my power over Man. So in my name,
Man shall love, and ruin himself, and save the
World. Parent shall give himself to Child;
Friend shall serve Friend; Lover shall die for
Lover; and all shall find Heaven. I bring not
WRITINGS 269
happiness; but cast ye yourselves in the waves
of my power, which roll through the universe,
and find the Bliss from which I came.
^^By my great Drama, this little Earth shall
be ennobled among the stars. For though I
enact my life on earth, I am from the court of
the King beyond the World.
^^ Yet, to the end. Earth shall not understand
me. For I have no earthly reality. I tell of
that which is not. My home is not that planet
which God made in six days; for that is ruined.
I am of other source and striving. I am the
Unknowable forever.
^'Like Man himself I am here a stranger;
He and I alone in this world are not of this
world. We are of God. Therefore my chil-
dren, love to end of time and to the uttermost
hope. Ask not life for delight of earth; follow
me to Heaven. For I am Heaven."
Then fell a silence on the world, and the crea-
tures of life stood still. And Eve whispered,
"Bringest thou not delight nor comfort?*'
And he said, "Delight beyond all delight;
and pain beyond all pain.**
And Adam said: "" Mighty Angel, shall weak
souls of men follow in thy train without per-
ishing?**
270 JAMES OREENLEAF CBOSWELL
Then said the Archangel: "It is thy fate,
to follow me, oh mystery of earth, creature of
dust, inhabitant and child of Eternity."
Then said the Man: "" Shall I not blench and
fall back, again a traitor to my Destiny?"
Then said the Archangel: "Look me in the
face; follow me to the end. For Love alone
can give power to see Love and live."
And as they looked they saw the Vision of
the Beatified World. And thus faded the
lonely sorrow of the morning; and they re-
joiced. For even Paradise had no such song
as the song of Human Love, eternal, trium-
phant, victorious; and even Paradise had no
such light as shone about the head of the Angel
of the Vision.
A TRANSLATION
Professor N. S. Shaler, of Harvard Uni-
versity, says in an article on "Volcanoes" in
Scribner*s Magazine" of February, 1888: —
This translation I owe to my friend Pro-
fessor J. G. Croswell, who has given a better
and more lively rendering of the text than can
be found in any of the previous versions/'
(Pliny's Letters. Book 6, 16.)
Gains Plinius sends to his friend Tacitus
greeting.
You ask me to write you an account of
my uncle's death, that posterity may possess
an accurate version of the event in your his-
tory. • . •
He was at Misenum, and was in command
of the fleet there. It was at one o'clock in the
afternoon of the 24th of August that my mo-
ther called his attention to a cloud of unusual
appearance and size. He had been enjoying
the sun, and after a bath had just taken his
lunch and was lying down to read; but he
272 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
immediately called for his sandals and went
out to an eminence from which this phenom-
enon could be observed. A doud was rising
from one of the hills (it was not then clear
which one, as the observers were looking from
a distance, but it proved to be Vesuvius), which
took the likeness of a stone-pine very nearly.
It imitated the lofty trunk and the spreading
branches, for, as I suppose, the smoke had
been swept rapidly upward by a recent breeze
and was then left hanging unsupported, or
else it spread out laterally by its own weight,
and grew thinner. It changed color, sometimes
looking white and sometimes, when it carried
up earth or ashes, dirty and streaked. The
thing seemed of importance, and worthy of
nearer investigation to the philosopher. He
ordered a light boat to be got ready and asked
me to accompany him if I wished; but I an-
swered that I would rather work over my
books. In fact, he had himself given me some-
thing to write.
He was going out himself, however, when
he received a note from Rectina, wife of Csesius
Bassus, living in a villa on the other side of the
bay, who was in deadly terror about the ap-
proaching danger and begged him to rescue
WRITIN08 278
her, as she had no means of flight but by ships.
This converted his plan of observation into a
more serious purpose. He got his men-of-war
under way, and embarked to help Rectina,
as well as other endangered persons, who were
many, for the shore was a favorite resort on
account of its beauty. He steered directly
for the dangerous spot whence others were
flying, watching it so fearlessly as to be able
to dictate a description and take notes of all
the movements and appearances of this catas-
trophe as he observed them.
Ashes began to fall on his ships, thicker and
hotter as they approached land. Cinders and
pumice, and also black fragments of rock
cracked by heat, fell around them. The sea
suddenly shoaled, and the shores were ob-
structed by masses from the moimtain. He
hesitated a while and thought of going back
again; but finally gave the word to the reluc-
tant helmsman to go on, saying, *' Fortune
favors the brave. Let us find Pomponianus.**
Pomponianus was at Stabiae, separated by
the intervening bay (the sea comes in here
gradually in a long inlet with curving shores),
and although the peril was hot near, yet as it
was in full view, and, as the eruption increased.
274 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
seemed to be approaching, he had packed up
his things and gone aboard his ships ready
for flight, which was prevented, however, by
a contrary wind.
My unde, for whom the wind was most
favorable, arrived, and did his best to remove
their terrors. He embraced the frightened
Pomponianus and encouraged him. To keep
up their spirits by a show of imconcem, he
had a bath; and afterwards dined, with real,
or what was perhaps as heroic, with assumed
cheerfulness. But, meanwhile, there began
to break out from Vesuvius, in many spots,
high and wide-shooting flames, whose bril-
liancy was heightened by the darkness of ap-
proaching night. My uncle reassured them
by asserting that these were burning farm-
houses which had caught fire after being de-
serted by the peasants. Then he turned in
to sleep, and slept indeed the most genuine
slumbers; for his breathing, which was always
heavy and noisy, from the full habit of his
body, was heard by all who passed his cham-
ber. But before long the floor of the court on
which his chamber opened became so covered
with ashes and pumice that if he had lingered
in the room he could not have got out at all.
WRITIN08 975
So the servants woke him, and he came out
and joined Pomponianus and others who were
watching. They consulted together as to what
they should do next. Should they stay in
the house or go out of doors. The house was
tottering with frequent and heavy shocks of
earthquake, and seemed to go to and fro as it
moved from its foundations. But in the open
air there were dangers of falling pumice-stones,
though, to be sure, they were light and porous.
On the whole, to go out seemed the least of
two evils. With my unde it was a compari-
son of arguments that decided; with the others
it was a choice of terrors. So they tied pillows
on their heads by way of defence against fall-
ing bodies and sallied out.
It was dawn elsewhere; but with them it
was a blacker and denser night than they had
ever seen, although torches and various lights
made it less dreadful. They decided to take
to the shore and see if the sea would allow them
to embark; but it appeared as wild and appall-
ing as ever. My imde lay down on a rug. He
asked twice for water and drank it. Then as
a flame with a forerunning sulphurous vapor
drove off the others, the servants roused him
up^ Leaning on two slaves he rose to his feet.
276 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
but immediately fell bade, as I miderstand,
choked by the thick vapors» and this the
more easily that his chest was naturally weak,
narrow, and generally inflamed. When day
came (I mean the third alter the last he ever
saw) they found his body perfect and unin-
jiu'ed, and covered just as he had been over-
taken. He seemed by his attitude to be rather
asleep than dead.
In the mean time my mother and I at Mise-
nimi — but this has nothing to do with my
story. You ask for nothing but the account of
his death. • . •
(Book 6, 20.)
Gains Plinius sends to his friend Tacitus
greeting.
You say that you are induced by the letter
I wrote to you, when you asked about my
uncle's death, to desire to know how I, who
was left at Misenum, bore the terrors and dis-
asters of that night, for I had just entered on
that subject and broke it ofif. "Although my
soul shudders at the memory, I will begin."
My imcle started ofif and I devoted myself
to my literary task, for which I had remained
behind. Then followed my bath, dinner, and
WBITINOa 877
sleep, though this was short and disturbed*
There had been aheady for many days a tremor
of the earth, less appalling, however, in that
this is usual in Campania. But that night it
was so strong that things seemed not merely
to be shaken, but positively upset. My mother
rushed into my bedroom. I was just getting
up to wake her if she were asleep. We sat
down in the little yard, which was between our
house and the sea. I do not know whether to
call it courage or foolhardiness (I was only
seventeen); but I sent for a volume of livy
and quite at my ease read it and even made
extracts, as I had already begun to do. And
now a friend of my uncle's, recently arrived
from Spam, appeared, who, finding us sitting
there and me reading, scolded us, my mother
for her patience and me for my carelessness
of danger. None the less industriously I read
; my book.
It was now seven o'clock, but the light
was still faint and doubtful. The siuroimding
buildings had been badly shaken and though
we were in an open spot, the space was so
small that the danger of a catastrophe from
falling walls was great and certain. Not till
then did we make up our minds to go from
878 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
the town. A frightened crowd went away
with us, and as in all panics everybody thinks
his neighbors' ideas mcnre prudent than his
own» so we were pushed and squeezed in our
departure by a great mob oi imitat<»rs.
"When we were free of the buildings we
stopped. There we saw many wonders and
endured many terrors. The vehicles we had
ordered to be brought out kept running back-
ward and forward, though on level groimd;
and even when scotched with stones they
would not keep still. Besides this, we saw the
sea sucked down and, as it were, driven back
by the earthquake. There can be no doubt
that the shore had advanced on the sea and
many marine animals were left high and dry.
On the other side was a dark and dreadful
doud, which was broken by zigzag and rap-
idly vibrating flashes of fire, and yawnmg
showed long shapes of flame. These were like
lightnings, only of greater extent. Then our
friend from Spain attacked us more vigorously
and earnestly. "If yoiur brother, your unde,"
said he, "is alive, he wishes you to be safe;
if not, he certainly would wish you to survive
him. Why, then, do you dday your flight?'*
We said we could not bring ourselves to think
WRITINGS 279
of our own safety while doubtful of his. So,
without more delay, the Spaniard rushed o£F,
taking himself out of harm's way as fast as
his legs could carry him.
Pretty soon the cloud began to descend over
the earth and cover the sea. It enfolded Ca*
presd and hid also the promontory of Mise-
num. Then my mother b^an to b^ and be-
seech me to fly as I could. I was young, she
said, and she was old, and was too heavy to
run, and would not mind dying if she was not
the cause of my death. I said, however, I
would not be saved without her; I clasped her
hand and forced her to go, step by st^, with
me. She slowly obeyed. Reproaching herself
bitterly for delaying me.
Ashes now fell, yet still in small amount.
I looked back. A thick mist was close at our
heels, which followed us, spreading out over
the country, like an inundation. ^^Let us turn
out of the road," said I, "while we can see,
and not get trodden down in the darkness by
the crowds who are following, if we fall in
their path.'* Hardly had we sat down when
night was over us — not such a night as when
there is no moon and clouds cover the sky,
but such darkness as one finds in dose-shut
280 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
rooms. One heard the screams of women, the
fretting cries of babes, the shouts of men.
Some called their parents, and some their
children, and some their spouses, seeking to
recognize them by their voices. Some la-
mented their own fate. Others the fate of their
friends. Some were praying for death, simply
for fear of death. Many a man raised his hands
in prayer to the gods; but more imagined that
the last eternal night of creation had come
and there were now no gods more. There
were some who increased our real dangers
by fictitious terrors. Some said that part of
Miseniun had sunk, and that another part was
on fire. They lied; but they found believers.
Little by little it grew light again. We did
not think it the light of day, but a proof that
the fire was coming nearer. It was indeed fire,
but it stopped afar off; and then there was
darkness again, and again a rain of ashes,
abundant and heavy, and again we rose and
shook them off, else we had been covered and
even crushed by the weight. I might boast
of the fact that not a groan or a cowardly
word fell from me in all the dreadful peril, if
I had not believed that the world and I were
coming to an end together. This belief was
WRITINGS 281
a wretched and yet a mighty comfort in this
mortal struggle. At last the murky vapor
rolled away, in disappearing smoke or fog.
Soon the real daylight appeared; the siin
shone out, of a lurid hue to be sure, as in
an eclipse. The whole world which met our
frightened eyes was transformed. It was cov-
ered with ashes white as snow.
We went back to Misenum and refreshed
our weary bodies, and passed a night between
hope and fear; but fear had the upper hand.
The trembling of the earth continued, and
many, crazed by their anxiety, made ludi-
crously exaggerated predictions of disaster to
themselves and others. Yet even then, though
we had been through such peril and were still
surrounded by it, we had no thought of going
away till we had news of my uncle. . . .
POEMS
THE WHITE BULL
A SULLEN guardian o'er the bay
Of gentle islets full.
Fronting the Ocean's outer verge,
Standeth the wild, white Bull.
Behind him range his brown-backed herd.
He faces full to sea.
His weatherbeat and storm-scarred head
Lowered to the billows free.
Above his back plays down the sun.
The strayed sea-swallow rests;
The slim winged gulls glance in the air.
Watching their lonely nests.
The straying rockweed strokes his side
And lulls his summer sleep;
He mutters hoarse, half angry still.
To the slow-heaving deep.
He dreams the whirl of volleying storm.
The rush of seething waves;
WRITINGS 283
His strong head tosses high the surf;
That hoarse throat roars and raves.
Come, leave him in his lonely grove,
Firm set to the attacking sea. —
Full many a fairer form, old friend.
Is not so fair to me.
Casoo Bat.
THE UNSEEN STARS
I READ how in the outer space
Beyond our farthest ken.
There roll majestic starry shapes
In paths unseen of men.
The heavenly glory of their light.
The melodies they chime.
Come scarcely through long years of years
To reach the sons of time.
And all the w(»'lds we know; our own —
The motions of our earth —
Bend in their course obediently
To power that there has birth.
I know not how; but so awhile
My heart is swayed away
284 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
To some compelling hope beyond
The orbit of my day.
Holding my path, I feel a life
That woos me to its side.
Compelling, yearning, charming mine.
As moons draw up the tide.
I feel in all the noisy war
Of battling forces* strife.
Through all the shifting drcumstanoe
That makes and mars my life,
A nobler, stronger, sweeter soul,
A star of clearer shine.
Higher in heaven and fairer set,
Yet strenuous, seeking mine.
'T is but a happy dream; and yet
Some sudden moment's course.
Flashing with light of that fair world
May show the hidden force.
Where high among the powers that rule
The spaces of our sky.
Shall dawn at last that orb divine,
Whose satellite am I,
WRITINGS 285
Then, like the searchers of the sky,
By that long-hidden light,
The riddles of its wavering world
My soul shall read aright.
April, 1880.
THE SHEEB MIRACLE
Oh, desert isle, not desert where thou art.
Small nest from earth withdrawn, where dwell
thy dreams,
Thither I bring my galleys also; all that seems
For this dull world too dear, joys of the heart.
Thoughts beyond speech, visicms above all
Art,—
This is the freight they carry down the streams
Of drifting fancy, lit with heavenly gleams
From long-remembered days where thou hadst
part.
WUtthounothold them, dear? They are for thee.
My treasures, for the sovereign of the isle.
And though the work-day world shall never see
My galleys hasting to the sunset land.
Yet I may call thee, with thy happy smUe,
To lean against thy tree, and understand?
January 1, 1909.
286 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
"IT IS NOT PAINFUL, PAETUS"
**Non dolet^ Paete.** Hark, the mortal cry,
Echoing in great halls of Roman fame!
The Stoic, laurel twines about her name;
That wife, who taught a Roman how to die !
Still unforgot, 'neath our barbarian sky.
Great Spirit, whom an empire could not tame
Thou beckonest us who weary of this frame,
" Death were not painful, in a world awry."
Then, to rebuke, rise up the visions of lives
Not less than hers; hearts of another tone;
Patient of living, cheerful, res<dute wives.
Bearing the harder part, whatever betide.
Not Roman death, but Yankee life, their
crown
And life itself pains not, while they abide.
B&EARLET School,
October 21, 1903.
WRITTEN IN A GUEST BOOK IN DUBLIN,
NEW HAMPSHIRB
Here we set our name and hand.
Vassals of this House and Land.
High the Field, but not more high
Than our Love and Loyalty.
By the enchantments of the Lake,
Where the visions form and break.
WRITINGS 287
By the Vigfl of the HiU,
Hidden, faithful, patient, still.
By the Light of Heaven that falls
Gently on these lovely walls.
By the burning Stars that go
Night by night in friendly row.
By the Welcome, heavenly sweet.
Waiting here for weary feet.
By the love of friend for friend
Here begun to know no end, —
Here assembled. Youth and Age,
Here on this endiuing Page,
Write our Oath of Fealty
To the sovereign Ladies Three;
All our Prayers to all the Powers
Who shall bring them Happy Hours,
Blessings full, in bounteous store,
Forevermore, forevermore.
ALCMENA'S LULLABY
(From Theocritus, Idyl 24.)
Sleep, my babies, sweet and light.
Sleep, my soul, unharmed this night;
Safely my little brothers two.
Till the dawn awaken you.
Blessed, sleep the livelong night.
Blessed, come to morning light!
RECOLLECTIONS AND
APPRECL^TIONS
To the Editor of ike Evening Post: —
Sir: Last Tuesday the funeral of James
Greenleaf Croswell was held in Grace Church.
Old men were there who had watched and
encouraged his work, very little children,
pupils, graduates, and teachers — and no one
was there who did not love the head master
of the Brearley School. At such a time as
this, it is appropriate for us who have served
under him to express our deep affection.
Of what Mr. Croswell was in his private
life, of the part he played in the educational
life of this coimtry, it is not yet time to speak;
but between the two was the Mr. Croswell
whom his teachers knew. It is, perhaps, too
soon to measure what he was to us. Yet our
sense of his wisdom, his flashing insight, and
his tenderness has not needed death to bring
it to consciousness. Most of us have taught
under him for many years; but these years
seem few and a great opportunity slighted.
What was it that this head master did? He
rarely visited classrooms: he found it a rather
painful and embarrassing task; detailed dis-
cussions of work bored and wearied him. Hours
292 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
we spent in his study were seldom given en-
tirely to school reports. His mind was a cru-
cible: a few words gave all that he needed;
his decisions seemed always creative. Routine
over, the rest of an appointment might be
given to Herodotus or Italy, or, more rarely,
he gave us some glimpse of himself, of the
child who, in a frugal. New England home,
caught his love of Latin from his mother; of
the shy, awkward boy, who made his first
connection between poetry and life as he read
"The Clouds" — "I looked out of the win-
dow and there were the same clouds that
Aristophanes was talking about"; and of the
last revelation of himself, that he had foimd
in the Siennese Primitives, who expressed, he
said, all that he had felt during a long life. It
was so he taught us. In his hands the art of
indirection became genius. "He sits in his
office with the door closed and fills the whole
school," said an aliunna. It was true. At
teachers' meetings he often buried his head in
a book; reports seemed unheard, until a quick
question was asked here, or a conunent made
there. A month later, a year later, he could
crystallize a child's personality and capacity,
summarizing the many reports of that past
APPRECIATIONS 293
afternoon, and through that mterpretation,
making the whole true and vital. His mind
omitted partial products : the child who took
some question to his oflBce was probably con-
scious that the tall, kindly man took great
pains to meet her demand, but before she left
the room, the little girl had herself written
some pertinent and worthy record m Mr.
Croswell*s mind. His charm with children
was great. K the interview happened to be
of a piuritive nature, we had every reason to
think that the culprit withdrew believing that
the head master had committed the crime.
During the past winter he gave, every Friday,
readings from the Greek : Homer, Plato, The-
ocritus, the Epigrammatists, and Aristophanes.
They are not to be forgotten, those hours,
when he half read, half acted "The Clouds."
New York has never seen before a hundred
little girls, laughing like a himdred little Athe-
nians, over a wit that flashed through the
keen, colloquial, running-translation: poetry
and philosophy are not generally so taught in
secondary schools.
His criticisms to his teachers had to be
caught in glancing asides: "Of course, you
may have sounded a little ironic"; "It is just
2M JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
possible that the chfld thought your dis-
pleasure was personal/' for tenderness toward
failure was a marked characteristic: he a&vr
weakness, but ignored it when he might; he
brushed aside the fault to emphasize the vir-
tue. One of his own masters had said: *^He is
most my friend who demands my best, and
will give me no rest until he gets it/' "I am
a survival," he said this year; **Kant and
Emerson had said it all before me." Other
lessons he taught us: lessons of suspended
judgment, of amused tolerance. Hb wisdom
was the harvest of much silence, touched with
the light that comes from high places. Hardly
more than a month ago he said: *'The time
has come now when I am getting experience
together to leave as a bequest to my school.
These sunset hours are the loveliest of the day."
That bequest to us is his spirit that stripped
convention and sophistry from formula, and
revealed truth and wisdom and love. To teach
imder Mr. Croswell meant to live in touch
with a man of vision. K we can carry out
the marching orders his life gave, we need no
other decoration.
One of his Tbachebs.
New York, March 19.
APPRECIATIONS S95
BY LEBABON BU8SELL BBIGGS
James Cboswell, or *^Jim'' as his friends
called him, was a member of the First Class
at the Cambridge High School in 1868-60.
Classes recited in rooms where other classes
were studying; and, as I remember it, the boys
in the First, Second, and Third Classes who
were ^^fitting for College," occupied the same
room. However that may be, the First College
Class recited in Vergil at the front of the room
while the Third College Class tried to study
at the back. Thus I as I sat at my desk first
saw and admired the boy who became my life-
long friend.
He was tall and loose-jointed, with the same
whimsical, sensitive, and altogether fascinat-
ing individu^ty which in later life marked
him always and everywhere. Naturally it
had not the deepened sweetness, the seasoned
strength, that came to it from the intense ex-
periences of maturity; but even then it made
us younger boys feel his personal distinction.
** W. is the first scholar,*' we said, "but Cros-
well is the best [by which we meant * ablest']
in the dass.''
Few of us thought seriously of Vergil as a
296 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
poet: we had to read him and to know the
principal parts of his verbs. If we had heard
of culture we regarded it, no doubt» as an
advanced stage of affectation; but somehoi;^
we grasped the fact that Jim Croswell got
more out of his Vergil than other boys and
that his getting it proved his intellectual su-
periority. It now seems strange that this man,
whose presence was like the Uving presence of
the finest literature, wrote so little. Some men
express literature in their writings; others in
their lives.
His appreciation of literature did not pre-
vent him from being a normal boy who would
play baseball, or "scrub," or "knock-up"
every afternoon. Day after day we played
with happy unskilfulness, he and his brother,
I and mine. Simon Croswell, my own class-
mate, was an unusually clever and lovable
boy, with a quick, dear mind and a wit that
was quite his own. The breaking down of
Simon was one of the keen and abiding sor-
rows of Jim's life, a sorrow which he accepted
with endless self-sacrifice and with unembit-
tered patience.
At College I saw little of Jim; but the friend-
ship was steadfast then and always. When
APPRECIATIONS 297
he was a young teacher at Harvard and I was
a still younger one I saw more of him. He
would lean back in his chair and with eyes half
closed talk as no man has talked before or since.
I believe there was never a more charming
impromptu talker, whimsical, witty always
with an underlying seriousness, adventurous
always; yet never foolish or cynical or unre-
fined, never anything but his natural, spon-
taneous self. Such profound observations as
** Appreciation of beauty may be catching;
but you can't vaccinate with it," fell from his
lips as easily as platitudes fall from the lips
of others. In those days he was retiring and
in danger of becoming imsocial except to his
intimate friends; there was something exclu-
sive in knowing him well: but he had to meet
his classes, and he could not meet them with-
out revealing himself and thus winning their
affection. When his work in New York forced
him to conquer his shyness, new persons dis-
covered him every day and with new and pecul-
iar delight. The mere thought of him did much.
*^He sits in his office with the door shut," said
one teacher, *^and fills the whole school."
Such adoration as he received is dangerous
to man or woman. He took it as he took his
298 JAMES OBEENLEAF CBOSWELL
sorrows. His was a nature too fine for the
world to coarsen, too sweet for grief to em-
bitter, too large for discipleship to spoil.
Let me end with part of a sketch read soon
after his death to the Tavern Club of Boston,
of which he was a non-resident member.
As a teacher of Greek James Croswell drew
students to the study of Greek because he
taught it. He was wholly without that push-
ing quality whereby a man advances himself
and extends the limits of scholastic knowledge,
or at least of scholastic controversy; one can-
not imagine him warring with a German about
text criticism; but he let the most fascinating
mind we have known here play over ev^ry
subject that came before it, casting on each
subject new lights of fancy and of wisdom.
Here lay his intellectual charm. Our colleges
are still so misguided as not to reckon such
a man among their productive scholars. If it
be productive scholarship to leaven every life
with which you come into contact, to approach
every question with the fine scholarly appre-
ciation of a mind sensitive, penetrating, and
fertile, to reveal new truth in what men have
blindly passed by, James Croswell was a pro-
ductive scholar of a kind sorely needed among
APPRECIATIONS 299
the teachers of to-day. Few men have achieved
larger results in the minds and hearts of those
about them.
The heart as well as the mind, for his own
heart was true, simple, and strong. Naturally
retiring and subject to depression, he schooled
himself to meet every social demand and to
bear with steadily increasing sweetness and
courage burdens that would have crushed
many a man who b^an life with a tempera-
ment more cheerful than his. His wit, though
brilliant, was kindly; his speech was at once
light and deep. He was unlike any man we
have known or shall know; and there were
few finer privileges than to be his friend.
BY MILDRED MINTUBN SCOTT
I REMEMBER Very vividly my first sight of
Mr. Croswell. We were having our geography
lesson, the lowest class of little Brearley girls,
in our stmny back schoolroom, upstairs, in the
brown-stone house where the school had its
beginnings. Mr. Brearley's death had not
greatly affected us, and I do not remember
wondering who would replace him, or imagin-
ing that our visitor that morning might be
his successor. Still, I must have looked at
300 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
him with especial interest, for the picture of
him, as he appeared then, to be so clearly fixed
in my mind after all these years.
We were, as I said, deep in geography, when
the door opened and one of the older teachers
came in with a tall yoimg man who looked
keenly at us and then settled down on the
opposite side of the room to listen and watch.
He was a very tall and very thin, not to say
lanky, man, with rather untidy brown hair,
eyes with a tilt to them, which were already
surroimded by delicate wrinkles, and a large,
sensitive, and very expressive mouth, from
whose finely cut lips a whimsical smile was
never long absent. He was a very awkward
young man, whose clothes hung limply on
him. He didn't seem to know what to do
with his legs, so he twisted them roimd each
other as he sat on a desk and listened to our
class and watched us with his kindly, humor-
ous eyes. I remember thinking it odd of him
to sit so casually on a desk, and odder still
when I was told afterwards that our visitor
would probably be the new head master.
I have no recollection of my first talk with
him. My next memories are of him estab-
lished in the rather dark central room that was
APPRECIATIONS 801
his first study, and my going to see him dur-
ing my free time. It began, I think, in my
complaining about a stuffy schooboom; I ex-
pressed my ideas firmly, and he must have
been amused, for he encouraged me to talk;
and I seem to remember going fairly often
to see him there in the years that followed.
No matter what the ostensible cause for my
visit, it always ended in a conversation about
things in general, a conversation in which we
seemed by some miracle of sympathy to be
exchanging ideas as equals; and yet I was even
then dimly aware that he was guiding me by
a thousand delicate touches and hints and in-
ferences to a comprehension of his own su-
premely humane and sanely poised view of life.
He never openly criticised or checked one's
opinions. I could come down as flat-footed
as I would, his affectionately quizzical smile
was usually the only sign that he was not alto-
gether in agreement. I was never in awe of
him. He treated me with respectful cour-
tesy tinged with a humor that never hurt,
as grown-up people's humor often does hurt
children. I think his manner with children
was a quite perfect interpreter of his real
feeling about them, the profound respect he
SOS JAMES OREENLEAF CBOSWELL
had far the sanctity of diildhood and for eadi
mdividual difld's personality.
I remember another talk in his study in the
new school, or rather I suppose I should call
it the ^^ middle school/' though it seemed won-
derfully new and bright and grand to us when
we moved there from the house in Forty-fifth
Street* What business we had been talking
about first I do not know, but he suddenly
said: **Tell me, Mildred, do you think there
is any meaning at all in Mathematics as we
teach it?" That was the delicious quality of
Mr. Croswell's mind. It was so wholly un-
expected, it kept its almost childlike flexibil-
ity and openness after years of teaching, so
that it was ready at any moment to reconsider
elementary things and humorously envisage
'^scrapping" all the accepted dogmas.
I did not have the joy of being regularly
taught by him until my last year at school,
for it had been decided that I was not to take
the college examinations, and therefore not to
do classics. But he used occasionally to burst
in on our regular routine. I remember one
day when Miss Winsor announced that we
were not to have our English lesson, as Mr.
Croswell wanted to talk to us. He came in.
APPRECIATIONS SOS
stood by the blackboard, wrote the word
Lyric on it and asked the class to define it*
No one could* Ode followed; then Idyli; and
when he found how ignorant we were he began
to talk about poetry, and finally produced a
little volume of Greek verse, from which he
translated to us. There was some Theocritus,
and I think Sappho. It was the first Greek
poetry I had ever heard. I can see him now
with the little book in his hand, trying to con-
vey to us — a class of young and raw New
York school-girls — the golden beauty of the
verse he loved so well.
During my last year at school I read Virgil
and Cicero with him. With his help and en-
couragement I had prevailed on my mother
to let me try the Harvard examinations. It
meant eighteen months of cram, for I knew
no Latin. Mr. Croswell gave me the best
coach in the school for private lessons and
used to follow my hare-brained race with
amused and somewhat horrified sympathy.
He never quite reconciled to his conscience
having allowed me to scamp the foundations
of classical learning as I did; but it enter-
tained him to watch me floimder ahead, and
he let me come into his advanced class when
804 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
«
I was still struggling with the elements. I have
always been grateful for that. After the regu-
lar lesson and our halting translations he used
to give himself and us the pleasure of hearing
how the thing might be done; and the gracious
verses will always be associated in my mind
with his vivid and human rendering. He went
at a good pace, we following the text and
not bothering about grammar or construction.
Without those readings my brief excursion into
the classics would have been indeed arid; but
he showed us what it was all about.
I have said that his moral teaching was all
done indirectly. In my case, however, there
was one exception to the rule. Frances Arnold
and I had been behaving foolishly for some
time. We were grown-up girls and ought to
have known better than to break rules for
the mere fun of the thing. After a peculiarly
childish escapade, Mr. Croswell sent for me,
and to this day I have not forgotten my one
direct preachment from him. It was severe
and searching. It showed that in spite of his
indulgent manner he had observed and fol-
lowed my special failings with acute insight*
and when the moment came he could speak with
unsparing New England directness.
APPRECIATIONS 306
The examination week came and passed. I
remember the little note he wrote me telling
the result. It began: —
Dear Mildred, —
Hmrah! Here are your marks: —
• ••..•*••
Your affectionate teacher,
J. G. C.
School-days were over and college-days be-
gan, but I think we hardly felt the leaving
school as much as would have seemed natural
in girls whose whole childhood and youth had
been spent in surroundings so perfectly har-
monious and happy. For we went together,
ten of us, and there was no break in the affec-
tionate interest our teachers felt for us. In-
deed, I think my friendship with Mr. Cros-
well grew in depth and richness from the time
of my leaving his immediate care. Rewrote
to me charming little letters, hardly more
than notes, but I knew that everything that
happened to me interested him. I always went
to see him when I was in New York and he
came sometimes to Bryn Mawr. His fostering
care was always there in the background of
S06 JAMES GREEN LEAF CBOSWELL
one's life, a thing assumed and accepted, with-
out at first conscious gratitude, as a mother's
care is assumed and accepted.
He was pleased with our little successes, but
life and human relations always meant move
to him than scholarship, though. he was him-
self so fine a scholar. That was why some
people doubted whether he was a whcde-
hearted supporter of the higher education of
women. He distrusted mere bookishness, and
he saw how empty and absurd examination
standards and tests were. For his girls he
wanted nothing less than the best life could
give, and when he felt us in danger of being
absorbed by the petty preoccupations of our
small academic world, he would make some
smiling comment that made us wonder whether
after all he valued as he ought that wonderful
thing, "A college education."
I remember the note I got from him the
day after the European Fellowship had been
announced, an event as important in our
world as the publication of the Senior Wran-
gler's name at Cambridge.
I knew I had not deserved it myself, but I
was feeling a little sore still, when an envelope
in his f amiUar writing was handed to me. He
APPRECIATIONS 307
had pasted on a sheet of paper the newspaper
cutting giving the name of the successful candi-r
date, and underneath it he had written, *' Con-
gratulations, dear Mildred, that it was not
you."
The golden thread of his friendship and
tenderness was woven into the pattern of all
the years that f ollowed, with an ever-increasing
realization on my part of the exquisite beauty
of his personality and gratitude for it as an
element in my life. He was different from
other people. His was a world of real values,
the clear golden world of Greek thought
warmed by Christian feeling; and to people
whose lives were for the most part spent in
dusty ways he brought an indescribable sense
of relief and moral liberation. He always, in
spite of his human sympathy and whimsical
humor, seemed just a little remote. It was
the remoteness of the eternal, imperishable
beauty of the world in which he lived.
BT liARGARET STICKNinT EENDAU^
Mrs. Cboswell has asked that I should
write *'of the effect which Mr. Crosw^ell had
upon my intellectual life."
308 JAMES OREENLEAF CR08WELL
When I attempt to do so, I find that I can-
not think of intellectual life apart from him.
He came to New York and to the Brearley
when I was just fifteen; and from that time he
showed me what I felt to be a perfect intellec-
tual attitude. The things he knew were part
of him, and there seemed to be no ei^d to what
he knew. Information flowed from him deli-
ciously on every subject, freshening even the
most arid ground. His point of view com-
bined all the maturity of cultivation with an
unfailing freshness of approach, binding the
new life always to the beauty that had lived
before it. What he said seemed to me related
to the wisdom of the ages, as deep as it was
broad. I can recall no instance of a disappoint-
ment in his treatment of the endless problems
which for so many years I always took to him
— problems of my own actual life, as well as
those presented by every subject that engaged
my thought and feeling.
I left the school soon after he took charge
of it, and for three years I had the privilege
of reading Greek with him. Two or three after-
noons a week He gave me, sometimes only
fifteen minutes, sometimes three hours at a
time. I think I may say truly that my work
APPRECIATIONS 309
with him was the most whoUy satisfying thing
that life has brought me. It was dear joy, the
joy of being perfectly directed by one whom
I could trust entirely, in a way of study of
which I never had to doubt the value. He
taught, it seemed to me, by virtue of his love
of what he talked of. I cannot tell how far
the inspiration of his teaching lay in the love
which he himself inspired in his pupils. A
Harvard boy who had been in his Greek class
told me that if you did not know the lesson
you could start him by a question, and tiun
the recitation period into a lecture. By girls
who worshipped him, this amiable weakness
was not abused, as their chance of pleasing him
lay in the excellence of their own work.
Through those three years I only listened
spellbound, and studied with the whole of
my intelligence to win his approbation. It
was only when I went abroad and left him
that I began to know his quality in friend-
ship.
I found one morning in my mail a whoUy
unexpected letter from him, very long and
entirely delightful — the beginning of a cor-
respondence which ended only with his death.
I had never, till that time, imagined he had
810 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
any interest in me apart from my capacity
for learning Greek; and I had not dared speak
to him of my own ambitions and ideas. His
letter set me free to talk to him — and from
that time we talked, either in letters or in
meeting one another, of everything there was
to talk about. To get a letter was almost as
good as seeing him — better in one way, f <Kr
I had it to read over. I could not wait with
patience, for opportunity to answer, in my
eagerness for the discussion he invited — for
although I always felt and trusted the wisdom
of the things he said, we almost never thought
alike on any subject. I am even perplexed
to-day to imderstand why, since I never could
agree with him, it should have been, to me,
essential, always to submit to him any idea
the worth of which I wished to test. But I
knew that anything he disapproved could not
be right.
"The effect he had upon my intellectual
life"? Surely it is not often given to man or
woman to possess, from childhood unto middle
age, a perfect friend — one in whom confi*
dence may be reposed on every subject, who
knows all of one*s past and yet will trust one's
future. As I look back, it seems to me that I
APPRECIATIONS 811
have known an ideal human being, and have
known him well.
How, with that knowledge, is it possible
ever to doubt of good or consciously to side
with evil? Such influence as he exerted cannot
end until the world shall end, and any life it
touches must be, to some e3d;ent, transmuted
to a higher value.
BT JOHN JAT GHAPBiAN
James Gbeenleaf Cboswbll was a tall,
lank New Englander with a very gentle voice,
whose broad shoulders had a stoop in them.
His quietude and his smile were full of inward
amusement. His habit of standing and look-
ing down, his long straight nose, the gleam
in his eyes, which still had a little of the be-
nevolent Mephistopheles in them, always re-
minded me of some imaginary old actor, law-
yer, or diplomat, who knew everything and
had seen everything, — the man-of-the-world,
the civilized being, the wise citizen, — Gar-
rick retired, or Rossini in the foyer of La Scala.
A man-of-the-world he undoubtedly was,
for he was head master of a fashionable girls'
school, and his daily life was taken up with
problems of organization, personal equations,
812 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
social expediencies, moral tensions, educa*
tional plans. No one, however, who fell into
conversation with him would be apt to guess
his profession. His leisurely finesse suggested
something Academic to be sure. It suggested
the garden of a scholar, or the old rampart
of a small city where philosophers might meet
to exchange thoughts. You could not surprise
him with a paradox. He would cap it out of
Aristophanes or illustrate it with an anecdote
from the classics. For he was a good Greek
scholar and had mused himself into a close
acquaintance with Greek literature. The
strange thing was that he had never known
leisure or foreign travel, had never been any-
thing except a hard-working schoolmaster who
earned his bread by the sweat of his brow
and plucked his ideas from the brambles that
lay along the hard path of experience.
Croswell belonged to a distinguished Cam-
bridge family. When I was in college he had
got as far as being an instructor in Harvard.
He was, at that time, a starved, sensitive, per-
pendicular, smiling, saintly Yankee youth —
and looked like the poor tutor who had never
had a square meal or a robust compliment in
his life. Nevertheless, his general cultivation
APPRECIATIONS 813
was well known even then, and his distinction
of character could be seen for a quarter of a
mile.
Harvard at this period was not a kind nurse
to those who loved the humanities. Croswell
was one of those bui^geons of personal talent —
the little new leaves of a fresh learning — that
were rubbed off the vine at Harvard by acci-
dents of the world. He was more effectively
needed elsewhere. I remember his disappear^
ance. A vague wave of regret passed over the
undergraduate mind, and we knew that we
had lost a friend.
Croswell became Head Master at the Brear-
ley School, where he taught for twenty years
during which he blossomed into the very re-
markable being whom we all knew. I suppose
you would classify him as a Humanist, but
Humanism would never account for his influ-
ence. This was of a personal kind, and seems
to have gone out to all sorts of people —
pupils, parents, teachers, men of the world,
writers, educators. At the time of his death
the air was filled with testimonies, many sorts
of people appeared and proclaimed their debts
to him. Nothing was more remarkable than
his funeral* The church was banked with
814 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
flowers, and was» of course, filled to over-
flowing with women of all ages, most of them
in tears. The service was more than a symbol,
it was an outpouring of love and gratitude
by people whose great friend had been taken
from them. It was the last meeting of that
mystical society which had sprung, up through
love of the man. His coffin became an altar
and the hymns were pseans. No one except a
schoolmaster can have this kind of a funeral,
for the pupils drag with them the hearts of
their parents and of their children. A school
is a great family and a schoolmaster becomes,
in time, a priest and a patriarch.
Croswell had the gift of intellectual sym-
pathy. He had it in a greater degree than I
have known in any other, and in a more spe-
cific form. His mind ran before yours on the
search for truth as a pointer runs before, the
sportsman. He found the bird, he gave the
word needed, he flashed the illumination, and
yet they were your own bird, your own word
and illumination. He would look into a mind as
a clock-maker examines a clock, adjust it and
give it back to the owner in better running
order. There was an element of genius in his
power, because the nature of the power was
APPRECIATIONS 815
undisooverable. His extreme impersonality
and detachment of f eeling, his perfect micon-
sdousness of what he was doing, made him
walk invisible, — for he always imagined that
he was merely thinking about various truths
for their own sake and had no idea that he
was using any skeleton keys in unlocking other
people's thought.
Toward the end of his life I saw a good deal
of him, wrote to him often, and often asked
his aid in literary ventures. I thus became, in
a sense, one of his scholars; and it is this that
gives me the impulse to speak of him. I wrote
many papers and verses for his eye, and in
so doing I became anxious to please him. So
deep was the experience that I have written
nothing since without writing it largely for
Croswell. Shortly before his death I enlisted
his interest in an article which I was bent on
writing about Greece and the Greeks — a sub-
ject with which I was quite unfitted to deal,
because I knew very little Greek. Yet I had
ideas and convictions, and I knew that Cros-
well would prevent me from making a fool of
myself. I knew I should get aid, but I could
not have believed that his mind would enter
so far into mine as it did. He unravelled and
816 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
essayed: he rearranged and suggested; and he
did these things without seeming to do them.
He was there in your thought, but you oouJd
not touch him because he had, for the time^
become a part of your own mind.
I have no doubt that in dealing with his
school-girls Croswell made use of the same sort
of impersonal magic that he did with me. His
devotion to them stopped little short of adora-
tion; I think it was this adoration of the young
that gave him his quality. People who live
with the young move in a heaven of their own.
The schoolmaster is more apt to retain the
plasticity of his feelings than the Collie pro-
fessor, because his material is plastic. The
souls of children are inchoate and live in limbo.
They cry for help with voices which are in-
audible save to the saints. And in the end
they endow their teachers with second sight.
To his pupils Croswell perhaps owed as much
as he gave them. The spirit of a growing girl
is as complex and vaporous a spirit as exists;
and perhaps it was Croswell's contact with
growing girls that gave him his lightness of
touch. Indeed, the thing was done with no
touch at all; but, as it were, with vision merely.
> The power to enter into the souls of others
APPRECIATIONS 317
is the gift that makes teaching divine. Other
ambitions must be laid down at this gate, for
to gain an entry, the teacher must be merely
an angelic messenger. Those who can do these
miracles need to do them; they find their own
fulfilment in the mystical assistance which
they bring to other men. They may walk
voiceless to their graves; but they have filled
the air with choirs that sound behind them.
H. D. SEDGWICK, IN THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY
James Greenleaf Croswell was by birth
and descent a New Englander. He was the
grandson of old Simon Greenleaf, a professor of
law, who taught in the Harvard Law School
some seventy or eighty years ago. Professor
Greenleaf wrote a book on the law of evidence,
which at once took rank as a classic, and stands
on every lawyer's bookshelf next to Kent and
Blackstone. Greenleaf is to the law of evidence
what Cicero is to oratory, or Moli^re to comedy ;
his name is known wherever the English race
has carried the Common Law. There is a tra-
dition, piously handed down at the Harvard
Law School, that old Greenleaf was endowed
with many social gifts, — entertaining, hu-
morous, witty and delightful, when out of the
818 JAMES OREENLEAF CBOSWELL
lecture room. He is entitled to be kindly re-
membered, for he put all his dryness into his
book, and bequeathed the graces of his mind
to his grandson.
The part of the schoolmaster is anomalous.
It belongs to a cat^ory of its own. Nature
creates the relation between child and parent,
brother and sister, niece and spinster aunt, and
feels her responsibility; she strengthens the
bond by instinct on the one side, by depend-
ence on the other. The ties between friend and
friend are wrought by mutual attraction and
voluntary choice; they need no tending, no cor-
roborant artifice. The relation between school-
master and pupil is of a third sort, created
neither by Nature, nor by voluntary choice. It
is rarely enriched by affection, or made capable
of enduring beyond graduation day. The rela-
tion is difficult because it is anomalous; and at
best seldom attains to the fine perfection of
which it might be capable. The reason for this
maladjustment is, that the business of a school-
master is neither a trade nor a craft; it is an art
which requires a delicate sensitiveness, a half-
divine intuition, and a self -consecration, hard to
find among men and women. Now and again
there is a favorable juncture of the stars, and a
APPRECIATIONS 319
schoolmaster is bom. That is a rare event and
should be celebrated with rejoicings.
Is there a scene in one of Plato's dialogues
— or does a misty memory of undergraduate
Greek lead me astray — in which Socrates and
his friends discourse upon the one person nec-
essary to the welfare of a state? One speaker
declares that the priest, who performs the sacred
ceremonies and hands down the sacred tradi-
tionsyis the one necessary man. A second main-
tains that it is the general who defends the
State from its enemies; a third, that it is the
poet whose verses shall glorify the City to after-
times. But Socrates says that the one man
needful is the schoolmaster, since he combines
the functions of the other three : he defends the
State better than the general, because he forms
that which is the real strength of the State —
the character of its people; he prepares for the
future glory of the City quite as well as the poet,
for he instils decorum and breeding into the
parents of future citizens; he exercises the func-
tions of a priest, for day by day he ministers to
the souls of his pupils. And (if I am right)
Socrates goes on to say that the teacher must
be rich in insight and wisdom, firm of character,
kindly in disposition, gentle in manner, quick
320 JAMES OREENLEAF CEOSWELL
to praise every excellence, slow to blame any
faulty a lover of innocencey beauty, and unself-
ishness; indeed a man who loves these qualities
so much that, like a bee hunting for honey in
a hollyhock, he comes out covered with their
golden pollen.
Such a schoolmaster was James Greenleaf
Croswell. How did it come about? How did
Nature so happily divine the needs of hundreds
of unborn girls, and bestow upon a youth, long
before their birth, the qualities that should
make him their spiritual guide, their worldly
philosopher, their tender friend? How much did
he owe to old Simon Greenleaf and his Puritan
progenitors? How much to the New England
atmosphere? How much to Harvard Collie
and familiar intercourse with the Classics?
His education — if the tree may be judged by
its fruit — was admirable. He was bred on
Homer, Plato, and Aristophanes; he was on
terms with the Bible, that to a modem youth
would seem of fanatical familiarity; and upon
this cultivation, like jewels enhanced by their
setting, sparkled his native humor, irony, and
genial human sympathies.
The habit of his mind did not seem like that
of a native New Englander. One would have
APPRECIATIONS 821
thought he had been bom in Ephesus and had
paced the Ionian shore with Heraclitus, watch-
ing the dark purple outline of Samos against
the golden glory of the setting sun, and dis-
coursing on the universal flux of things. Or, he
might have been a pupil of Plato, meditating
upon thoughts of the master in company with
seekers after truth from Argos and Thebes, or
serenely holding the balance while they dis-
puted with southern heat upon the nature of the
soul. Socrates would have rejoiced in him. One
can see in the mind's eye that ugly, awkward,
inspired old man, just back from a hot walk to
the Piraeus, pausing on the threshold of a dis-
ciple's house to survey the assembled guests
with an eager eye, hoping to discover Croswell
among them. Must we not believe that Py-
thagoras was right? Did not Croswell once sit
in that immortal company, bandying wit, ex-
changing playful or daring hypotheses, and
unravelling the high concerns of the spirit?
Croswell was an admirable schoolmaster
because he was an admirable friend; he was
serious and inspiring in the weightier concerns
of friendship, and nimble as Quicksilver in per-
forming its lighter obligations. His company
metamorphosed a walk in the city, so that on
9H JAMES GREENLEAF CBOSWELL
coming home you vagudy felt that you had been
strolling down a oountiy lane; it would have
made a dentist's parlor a place of agreeable
expectancy; at a teetotal dinner, if talk, imag-
ination, and hilarity are evidence, it tnined
water into time-honored Falemiaa. Hewaasa-
premely indifferent to the vulgar prizes of life; he
probably did not know whether you possessed
them or not; he was taken up with the knowl-
edge that you and he were companioiis in the
marvdlous experience of life, and that you were
in need of stimulus, appredation, encourage-
ment. He gave prodigaUy of his best; and dis-
played a lowly and surprised gratitude for any
sympathy returned. He imparted wisdom, as
fire its heat, by mere proximity. In his friend-
ship and daily behavior, thare was no trace of
his profession; nevertheless he taught every-
body who knew hun one great lesson, — a les-
son emphasized by that sad, interesting, noble
face which recalled the effigies of Lorenzo de*
Medici, — that pain, heroically borne, is the
greatest of teachers, and that without its les-
sons the education of the soul remains incom-
plete.
Our civilization lays stress on things quite
different from those on which Socrates and
APPRECIA TIONS 323 '
Plato laid stress; it seldom recognizes school-
masters as the most important men in the State;
it does not care overmuch for simplicity, mod-
esty, or indifference to notoriety and applause;
it pays little heed to the sower who quietly
sows the seed of vrhsA men live upon; it values
other things more congenial to it. So Croswell
departed from us quietly, modestly, as he lived;
leaving hundreds of girls and yoimg women
with richer lives because he lived, and many
men wondering at their good fortune to have
had such a friend, and rejoicing in a wealth of
happy memories.
BY WILSON FARRAKD
Of all the relations in which we knew Mr.
Croswell there is none that stands out so
clearly in the minds of those of us who were
privileged to share it as that of the Head
Masters' Association. The reason for this is
to be found in the character of the Associa-
tion. Limited in its membership, and bound
together by the ties of common interest and
a conunon purpose, it forms a particularly
dose and intimate group. When one recalls
the names of Bancroft, Keep, Tetlow» Coy,
Robinson, Bradbiury , — to mention only a
S£4 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
few of those who were active m fonner days
and who have aheady gone, — any school-
master will realize that here was no ordinary
gathering of teachers. The intimacy and free-
dom of the annual meetings, when we all live
together in the same hotel, have been espe-
cially aided by two rules, one written the other
unwritten, but equally binding by the force
of common consent and tradition. The un-
written rule is that no resolution expressing
the opinion of the Association on any edu-
cational matter will ever be passed. The
written rule is that no report of the meetings
or of anything that is said at them can be
given to the newspapers. Only the bare pro-
granmie can be published.
The result of these rules has been a free-
dom and intimacy of discussion that have
been most unusual, and altogether delight-
ful. Men can speak even their half-developed
thoughts, can tell their most personal experi-
ences, without the fear that they will later be
confronted with them in cold type, or that
their words will be interpreted to mean sup-
port of some scheme in regard to which they
are only seeking light.
In this atmosphere of freedom and inti-
APPRECIATIONS 325
inacy» among men whom he loved and admired,
and who admired and loved him, the flower
of Croswell's wit and personality flourished ex-
ceedingly. It is hard to say, as we recall him
year after year at those meetings, whether
we cherish most warmly his part in our more
formal discussions, — if indeed they could ever
be called formal, — his talk as we sat at break-
fast or luncheon together, or gathered in
groups in the intervals between sessions, or
those inimitable speeches at the dose of the
dinner that always bring to an end the meet-
ings of the Association. I presimie that it was
seeing him in all three aspects so nearly at the
same time that made us feel that we knew him
better in the Head Masters than anywhere else.
In the regular discussions of set topics he
was not one of the active debaters. He never
engaged in a controversy, and he seldom acted
as if he were trying to make one side or the
other prevail. As the debate grew warm his
interest would increase. Once in a while he
would interject a few words — a keen com-
ment, or, more often, a pregnant question.
Finally, when he thought the subject was
threshed out, he would rise, and in his in-
imitable way would close the discussion. He
32(1 JAMES OREENLEAF CBOSWELL
iseldom argued, but simply set before us what
was passing through his mind. ^When lie
spoke at the meetings of the Head Masters.**
writes one of the veterans of the oi^ganiza-
tion, '"the members always settled back for a
treat while he played with a subject or showed
its absurdity — once I recall that he did not
even debate it — just showed how impossible
it was/' When he sat down, the disciissi<«»
by common consent, was ended. No one
cared to speak after him, and he usually left
the subject as it was well to leave it. Once, I
remember, I spoke aftar him, in order to call
attention to some overlooked point, and apolo-
gized for doing so, saying that I realized that
for any one to speak after Croswell was an
anti-climax. That evening at the dinner he
''came back'' at me, and when he was called
on to speak poured forth his grief and indig-
nation that one of his best friends had called
him a ''climax," something that he had never
been called before! But that chance word
proved a most fruitful text for one of those
witty, suggestive dinner speeches that will be
a tradition in the Head Masters as long as any
who heard them remain to tell the tales of the
past.
APPRECIATIONS 327
The same man whose remark has ak^ady
been quoted also wrote of him: —
'* There was a freshness, at times a quaint-
ness and felicity of expression that would have
charmed had his treatment been conventional,
but he loved to present his views by contrasts,
pictures, analogies — anything that would ar-
rest attention and make the dull follow him.
His mind was keenly analytical; he dissected
with the intelligence and precision of a master
in surgery. He loved to startle by iconoclastic
remarks, for he knew that nothing heretical
could harm such conservatives as schoolmas-
ters, and he might possibly make them think.
"How wonderful he could be! I recall this
occasion. The Head Masters had discussed
a painful subject and then dropped it. Some
member evidently (or apparently) had a mor-
bid liking for it and reopened the subject.
Croswell sprang to his feet, eyes flashing, and
said words to this effect, *I thought that we had
dumped that stuff and disinfected the room.'
The effect was magical; the man slit down and
the subject was never again discussed.'*
Of Mr. Croswell's charm in conversation
this is perhaps not the place to speak. His
talk in the corridors at the Head Masters'
S28 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
meetings had no more distinctive charm than
in the lounging-room of the Century, or in-
deed wherever one met him, but still one can-
not think of those meetings without recalling
the little groups of which he was always the
centre. What was his charm? He certainly
never talked for effect. No one ever heard
him deliver a monologue. In fact, he did not
even talk much. I am not sure but that often
the rest of us did most of the talking. But
always he was the centre, and always it was
what he said that stuck in our minds.
I do not think that the secret of his charm
was that he was a good listener, although he
certainly was that. Rather it was the sug*
gestiveness of his comment, the pregnancy of
his response. Often he would suggest a topic
or a line of thought. While we talked he would
be thinking as well as listening, and when we
paused he would simply reveal what was pass*
ing through his own mind. I suppose that we
had a child-like pleasure in seeing the quaint
fancies and the far-reaching ideas to which'
our words apparently gave rise. And over it
all was the charm of that genial kindliness,
and that humorous, whimsical idealism that
was so characteristic of the man.
APPRECIATIONS 829
But above all it was in his after dinner
speeches that he shone, and for which he will
be longest remembered. That he should al-
ways be one of the speakers at the dinner be-
came a tradition of the Association. Prob-
ably every President of the Head Masters
for the last ten years received more than one
note requesting that Croswell be asked to
speak at the dinner. He often demurred, but
he always consented, for no President would
take No for an answer from him. And never
once did he fail to make good !
By tradition he was always the last speaker
at the dinner. The first speaker was usually
a guest, frequently a distinguished college
president. Woodrow Wilson, Taft, Garfield,
Hibben are among those that come to mind.
Then would come two or three short speeches
by members of the Association, and last Cros-
well would be called on. There was always a
burst of spontaneous applause, and every eye
would brighten in anticipation. The task
assigned to him was to sum up the impres-
sions of the meeting, to bring to a focus the
discussions, and to formulate the dominant
ideas. He made no formal analysis, no cut-
and-dried sununary, but with unerring skill
880 JAMES OREENLEAF CR08WELL
went straight to the heart of the matter,
seized the elusive idea for which we were all
groping, and set it clearly before us, expressed
in those incisive phrases, and illumined with
that suggestive wit, that made the hearing a
delight, and the memory a lasting joy.
Who of us that heard it can ever forget
that speech in which he told his dream of hav-
ing died and gone to heaven, and recounted
the various occupations in which he found us
engaged? The man who was always hammer-
ing at the unreasonableness of college require-
ments, was going around complaining that
it was growing harder and harder to get into
heaven, while eternity was no longer than it
had always been! The opponent of the old
traditional subjects of education was trying
to introduce new occupations among the an-
gelic hosts; the advocate of the certificate
method of admission to college was trying to
persuade Saint Peter that a man should be
admitted on his own signed statement of fit-
ness, and so on through the list.
My memory is not clear as to whether it
was at a dinner of the Head Masters or of the
New York Schoolmasters' Association that
he made his famous speech on the Penguins.
APPRECIATIONS SSI
He told how he had been interested in reading
in Captain Scott's travels the accounts of the
behavior of the Antarctic penguins, how great
flocks of them, without any apparent reason,
would suddenly fly oflF in one direction; later,
would as suddenly reappear, and shoot off
toward an entirely different point of the com-
pass. Then he said that what we in America,
and particularly in New York, were suffering
from was "Penguinity/* With one accord
and at one time we were all rushing to see the
Sorolla pictures, to save Saint John's Chapel,
to try to understand Herbart, or to follow
whatever happened to be the particular fad
of the moment. It was in the same speech,
I think, that he said that thinking was the
hardest work that a man could do. He made
it a matter of religious duty to think ten min-
utes a day, and if by any stretch of his will
power he could force himself to think twenty
minutes a day, he was sure that inside of a
month he would have New York at his feet.
While it has no connection with the Head
Masters, I cannot help recalling a dinner of the
New England Society of Orange in celebration
of Forefathers' Day, at which I had persuaded
him to speak. The subject assigned him was
SS2 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
'"The Puritan Maidens/' and the quotatiaii
under his name on the programme was, ** YHiy
don't you speak for yourself, John? *'
It was on a Saturday night. Croswell was
the last speaker on the list. The dinner was
slow in serving, the earlier speakers were in-
terminable, and it was ahnost midnight when
the President called on him to speak. The
audience, to most of whom he was unknown,
settled back in resignation. Croswell rose de-
liberately, drew out his watch, looked at it, and
then solemnly remarked that it had always
seemed to him that when Prisdlla finally
lost her patience, and burst out with that
immortal question which had been given him
for a text, it must have been on a Saturday
night, about ten minutes before the beginning
«
of the Puritan Sabbath. With that he sat
down, and the audience literally rose at him.
That was his first dinner speech in Orange,
but it was not his last. The first is still quoted
as a classic.
As I have been writing this little sketch, I
have realized with steadily growing deamess
how impossible it is to reproduce in cold type
even a faint suggestion of the charm of his
talk and of the unequalled wit and wisdom
APPRECIATIONS 3SS
of his speech. A well-known writer said to me
the other day: "I always liked to talk over
my work with Croswell. He seemed to mider-
stand what I was trying to get at, and to know
what I really thought better than I did my-
self." No one who did not know him can
adequately appreciate him, but to those who
knew him their memory of him may serve to
interpret these random recollections, and per-
haps in the light of that memory they may
explain what one of our number meant when
he said, "The Head Masters have lost their
Master, and the charm of the gathering is
broken."
E. S. MARTIN, IN THE HARVARD BULLETIN
James Greenleaf Croswell, '73, Head
Master of the Brearley School, in New York,
died unexpectedly on March 14. After gradu-
ating at Harvard he studied at Leipsic and
Bonn, taught for a year at St. Mark's School,
Southboro, and was Assistant Professor of
Greek and Latin at Harvard from 1883 to
1887, He was highly acceptable as a teacher
of the classics at Harvard, and would naturally
have gone on there, but Samuel Brearley, after
starting a school for girls in New York, had
SS4 JAMES GREEN LEAF CROSWELL
died on the threshold of his work, and there
was a sudden call for a man to take up his task.
To that duty President Eliot sent James Cros-
well, thereby taking away a remarkable teadier
from young men at Harvard and bestowmg
him upon girls in New York.
For the rest of his life, twenty-eight yeais»
James Croswell taught girls in the Brearl^
School. There were those who thought he
should have been teaching men, but he did not
feel so. That half of life which is girls seemed
to him at least as well worth what he had to
give it as the other. He was recognized and ap-
preciated as a notable schoolmaster, and served
his turn as president of the Schoolmasters'
Association, and other like organizations, and
he spoke and wrote often on matters relating
to his profession. But the most of his mind he
gave to his girls, making each year acquaintance
with a new band of them who came to him at
nine or ten, and stayed with him from five to
eight years. While the girls studied under his
guidance what was thought to make for educa-
tion or what the colleges expected, he studied
the girls, and studied in their interest the rap-*
idly changing life that was passing, and their
changing relation to it.
APPRECIATIONS 885
relation with the Brearley girls was a
wonderful thing, not to be contemplated with-
out emotion. Many of them never let go of his
good hand. In school and after, still they took
counsel with him» and in due time many of
them brought him their girl children to learn
from him what they had learned.
Here was a great fatherly spirit, refined and
endowed by an unusual scholarship, full of
talent, full of perception, full of humor, dis-
ciplined by some sore misfortunes and the
stronger and sweeter for that discipline, work-
ing steadily for twenty-eight years to contrib-
ute what he could of civilization to the bar-
baric development of New York.
Happily there was that in New York that
well appreciated what it had got. Croswell was
greatly beloved and honored. Among men (as
was said in a notice of him) he was a favorite
depositary of the thoughts of thinkers and
philosophers, who loved him because he could
understand them, and found a profit in him
because their own came back to them from
him with something added that was new to
themselves.
SS6 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
HENRT OSBORN TAYLOR TO THE CENTUBT
ASSOCIATION
A RARE soul severed temporal relationships
with many friends on earth when Jaicbs
Greenleaf Croswell died. A descendant of
preachers and teachers, he came to New York
in 1887 to take the headmastership of the
Brearley School for girls. Hundreds of the
best young women in the city will testify to
the sensible discipline, the sanity of life, the
enlarging suggestion, which came to them from
one whose understanding of girlhood was unique
and delightful. It is for us to speak of what he
was to men.
Croswell was an intellect; not a creative one
in the way of bookmaking, but one rejoicing in
things intellectual and the entertaining subtie-
ties of human temperament. He was a lovely
scholar; not a tremendous or repelling one. His
mind, disciplined and furnished with classi-
cal standards, ranged unvitiated throughout
the ill-regulated world of literature. So well
equipped with knowledge, gifted with sensitive
and friendly sympathy, Croswell was one from
whom his friends were sure of an appreciation
which might be overkindly, and yet was always
APPRECIATIONS 887
on the right point. Frequently he saw more
than the other man had been conscious of in-
tending. His criticisms were suggestions. And
praise from Croswell never shamed the giver or
receiver. His mind played caressingly about
the productions and personalities of his friends;
it was busy with its sympathies and apprecia-
tions, never with itself. Most of us know what
egotism is, and have to recognize ourselves as
filled with it. One would look far to find an
intellectual man as devoid of egotism as Cros-
well. And how beautifully did his sweet amenity
suggest to his friends that they should try to
understand each other more sympathetically,
and so more prof oundly, with that kind of un-
derstanding which is an aid alike to him who
understands and him who is understood. Those
with whom Croswell was intimate will feel their
lives narrowed and the significance of their
work diminished through his death.
BY CHABIiES LEWIS SLATTEBY, D.D.
(At the Brearley School)
I AM most grateful for the opportimity to
be here to-day and to say a word of apprecia-
tion of your friend and leader. He was also
my friend, and I with you looked up to him.
338 JAMES OREENLEAF CB08WELL
One thing which Mr. Crogwell would like
to have said among the words spoken to-<lay
is that his life was lost in the life of the School.
He would like us to believe, not that the
School was part of his life, but that his life
was part of the on-going life of the School.
It is astonishing in how short a time a Schodi
like this can acquire permanent traditions, —
traditions which shall always distinguish it.
A strong and earnest man can give to an in-
stitution permanent qualities. I have there-
fore been thinking of the diaracteristics of
our dear friend, which through him I am sure
have already become characteristics of the
School which he has loved and served.
In the first place, Mr. Croswell was a scholar.
Scholars are rare in any institution, especially
in institutions outside the rank of universi-
ties. You recognized Mr. Croswell's scholar-
ship because, when you asked him a ques-
tion, he either said that he did not know, or
gave you such exact information that you
knew that you could rely upon its accuracy.
Most people are content with general infor-
mation, which they think sufficiently exact
for ordinary purposes. A scholar has not only
respect for accuracy but reverence for truth.
APPRECIATIONS 839
That you through Mr. Croswell, and that all
who henceforth catch the spirit of the Brearley
School, shall hold before you the ideals of
scholarship, is a matter of high importance
in the cause of American education.
A second quality in Mr. Croswell upon
which I should like to dwell was his marvel-
lous enthusiasm. Whfsn he described a book
which he admired, you instantly wished to
read it. When, on the other hand, he uttered
his contempt for a book or a play, you felt
that you must not read the book or see the
play. It is said that many a pupil of Dr.
Arnold, long after his days at Rugby, held his
hand back from an unworthy deed because it
came over him how Dr. Arnold would look
if he could see his old pupil at that moment.
So I can imagine that many of you, in the
days to come, will go through some hard and
brave duty, seeming to see the smile of Mr.
Croswell flashing to you from the unseen.
Or you will withhold yoiu'self from some un-
worthy act because you will see again his flash
of scorn. An enthusiasm for the right and the
beautiful is a significant mark of any school.
Only one other characteristic may I men-
tion, and that was his joy in life. It was not
840 JAMES OREENLEAF CBOSWELL
many years ago that devout people apologized
for their sense of humor. We now know that
humor is one of the supreme qualities of the
saints. No one can be sanely and normally
serious without it. Mr. Croswell found all
through experience mirth and gladness. And
how we loved to investigate with him the
foibles of people in life and in books! Never
with bitterness, always with kindness, he was
a man of laughter and joy. Mr. Jay has al-
ready spoken of Mr. Croswell's description
of himself when, returning to you last fall, he
called himself a perfectly happy man. To be
happy naturally and simply through all the
vicissitudes of life, is not only a gift from
heaven, but a gift through man to the world.
So Brearley School must carry on through its
history these qualities of its great Head Master,
— reverence for scholarship, enthusiasm for the
best, and a joy in life which cannot be daunted.
THE ALXTMN^ OF THE BREARLEIT SCHOOI«
(7*0 Mrs. CrosweU)
At this first meeting of the Brearley League
since the loss of our beloved Head Master, our
hearts turn with deep sympathy to you whose
loss is so much greater than our own.
\i
APPRECIATIONS 841
We axe met to-day to honor his memory and
to mourn his loss, but we lift up oiu* hearts in
thanksgiving that it was our lot to know him
and to be children in the school that he so
dearly loved.
By grace of the precious inheritance he has
left us, we pledge ourselves to the Brearley
of the futiu'e with the prayer that countless
unborn children may receive that heritage of
truth and honor and gentleness that is so dear
to us.
MINUTE ADOPTED BY THE DIBECTORS OP THE
BREARLET SCHOOL, MARCH 30, 1915
James Greenleaf Croswell, for twenty-
eight years Head Master of the Brearley School,
was bom in 1852 in Brunswick, Maine, son of
the Reverend Andrew Croswell and Caroline
Greenleaf Croswell. A graduate of Harvard
in the Class of 1873, he afterwards studied at
Bonn, taught for a time at St. Mark's School,
and from 1883 to 1887 was Assistant Professor
of Greek and Latin at Harvard. When Samuel
Brearley died, in the third year of the School
which he had founded, Mr. Croswell was called
from Cambridge to New York to take up the
work which his friend had so notably begun.
S42 JAMES OREENLEAF CBOSWELL
Since 1887 the Brearley Sdiool and 'Mr. Cros-
well have seemed inseparable and identical.
His service to the School has been of inesti-
mable value. Himself a classical sdiolar of rare
attainments, he has kept the Brearl^ free from
the vices of superficiality and sham knowledge,
and has given it a standard of real and sound
scholarship. Rare and excellent in his humanity
as in his learning, he has also saved the Brear-
ley from ever becoming a mere educational
machine. He had only limited faith in any
given apparatus or process of education. He
knew that by devious ways the human mind
and spirit may come to their own, and he was
willing to have all possible ways open. With
a sympathetic and personal knowledge of every
pupil, he made the Brearley a place where the
individuality of each could grow and be en-
riched and develop into the fulness of life. To
him the School owes its position in the conunu-
nity during the last quarter of a century. To
the inspiration of his personality was due the
successful move from the old building and the
recreation of the Brearley, on the new site, as
a permanent institution which will stand as
his living monument.
His service to the teachers of the School has
APPRECIATIONS S4S
been a precious one. As a f riend» a sympathetic
critic, a leader under whom it was an inspiration
to work, he taught them insight, tolerance, and
kindliness; he stripped convention and sophis-
try from formula and revealed to them the way
to truth and wisdom and love. To teach un-
der him meant to live in touch with a man of
vision.
His relation with his pupils was one of pe-
culiar beauty. He had for the little girls of the
Primary affectionate and humorous tender-
ness, for the older students sympathetic under-
standing and guidance, and for his graduates
friendly counsel during many later years and
even after they had sent their own daughters
to learn from his wisdom. Eager to convey to
each mind the inspiration of sound scholar-
ship and broad human interest, he wanted each
woman to develop to the best of which she
was capable. No shadow of condescension ever
marred his attitude towards his girls. Nor did
he need to think of discipline. His personality
permeated and unified the School; its wisdom,
its quaint himior, its shrewd wit, its kindly
tolerance, its peculiar common sense, its ex-
quisite friendliness, constituted the spirit of
the Brearley.
S44 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
Not only by his work at his Sdiocd, but also
by his speeches, his writings, and his wide-
spread personal influence, Mr. Croswell aided
greatly in raising the education of New York
girls to a higher standard of thoroughness
and sanity. To the whole teaching profession,
moreover, his character added distinction and
dignity. For these great services the City of
New York owes him gratitude.
The Directors of the Brearley Sdiool here
record their deep sense of the grievous loss
caused by his death, and of the great and per-
manent contribution to the School made by
the twenty-eight years of noble service during
which he instilled into the Brearley a spirit of
truth and of wisdom, of kindness and of breadth
of vision, that will last as long as the School
shall endure.
HEAD mistresses' ASSOCIATION
At the death of Dr. James Greenleaf Cros-
well the City of New York paused to pay lov-
ing tribute to a life spent ungrudgingly in the
service of its children. Among many others, the
Head Mistresses' Association affirms and re-
cords its gratitude for fellowship with him and
expresses its deep sense of loss in his death. .
APPRECIATIONS S45
A rare scholar and a humble student, a great
teacher and a generous and faithful critic,
Mr. Croswell consistently upheld the beauty of
simplicity and the value of the aim at perfec-
tion. The flash of his humor was brilliant and
keen, but never destructive; it illuminated the
truth and left the vision of it clearer in the soul.
His reverence for each personality led him
to shield the young lives he touched from un-
due pressure and interference, and he never
exalted methods and results above growth and
development. The breadth of his sympathy
and the sanity of his judgment gave him re-
markably quick and true insight into the na-
tures of those under his care.
Marvellously free himself from confusion of
ideals, he left as his legacy to other teachers the
inspiration of his life, an inspiration so to carry
on his work that the children he guided, pro-
tected, and loved may not too greatly miss his
earthly presence.
HEAD Blasters' association
It is always difficult for one teacher to ap-
praise adequately another teacher's character
and service. In the case of James G. Croswell
it is quite impossible for the reason that his
SM JAMES GREESLEAF CROSWELL
qualities of mind were unique and because he,
more than any other schoolman that I have
known, successfully withstood the oonditicms
and resisted the forces that nairow the think-
ing and blight the imagination of the man that
spends his life in the schocd.
In breadth of visicm this w<Hider-warking
man, as I think, had no peer among the head
masters. He could see things in the laijpe — in
their due proportions and right rdations. He
thought of education in terms of life rather
than in the terms of subjects of 8tu4y. Na-
poleon once said that men of imaginaticm rule
the world. To my mind this same piicdess
power was Mr. CroswelFs dominatin^f charac-
teristic. It was the key to his character. Be-
cause of it, in all of our deliberations he engaged
in no controversies. Because iA it, no cme at-
tacked his theses or questioned the truth of
his vision. Because of it, he was an illuminat-
ing speaker* taking us to the mountain tops
where the >H[sion is broad and dear. Hus gift
of the seer gave him preeminence and leado^
ship among schoolmen and made him the great
teacher that he was. It may be said that inimi-
table humor and ready wit chiefly diaracterized
his thought and speech; but no man l«Ai«g in
APPRECIATIONS 847
imagination can command through the years,
as Mr. Croswell did, the rapt attention and
ready assent of critical hearers.
Mr. CroswelFs imique and pervasive influ-
ence among his colleagues and over his stu-
dents was also due in no small degree to the
fact that by mheritance and training his chief
interests in life were scholastic and intellec-
tual. From the point of view of the teacher he
studied the social and political life of his time,
and all the more eagerly and effectively because
of the illumination derived from his extensive
study and knowledge of classical literature and
Greek philosophy.
This man, whose absence from our midst
to-day is so keenly felt, undoubtedly inherited
much of the intellectual and moral power that
distinguished his life and service. His father
was an Episcopal clergyman in a little village
in the State of Maine. His mother was the
daughter of Judge Greenleaf , Professor of Law
at Harvard, whose book, "Greenleaf on Evi-
dence," has been studied by generations of law-
yers. The formative influences and intellec-
tual stimulus of such a home are forces beyond
the reckoning, when we come to measure the
lives and achievements of men who devote
848 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
themselves, as Mr. Croswell did, to the noble
work of human betterment.
Richly endowed by nature, he was equally
favored in his nurture. Prepared for collie in
the Cambridge Latin School under the incom-
parable Head Master Bradbury, graduated from
Harvard College in 1873, he taught a year in
St. Mark's School and then served as instruc-
tor of Latin and Greek at Harvard until 1878,
when he went to Europe for further study.
Returning in 1881, he was appointed Assistant
Professor of Greek at Harvard where he re-
mained until 1887, when he was smnmoned to
New York to establish the Brearley School for
Girls. In this position he continued until the
day of his death — a period of twenty-eight
years.
This, gentlemen, is the bare outline of the
life of a scholarly, cultured, and high-minded
man who with generous purpose and unflagging
industry consecrated his life to the education
of the young — an undertaking than which no
task is more subtle, more baffling, or more
necessary to the welfare of man.
This man, with whom intellectual contact
was so stimulating, and social intercourse so de-
lightful — this man whom we all revered and
APPRECIATIONS S49
loved, met, as it seems to me, all the require-
ments of President Eliot's definition of a cul-
tivated man.
''He had a liberal mind and generous heart,
he had comprehensive interests and sympathies,
he had a wide range of vision, and he found the
great satisfactions of his life in pursuing truth
and rendering service."
CHILDREN'S COMPOSITIONS
WRITTEN BT GIRLS OF THE BREARIiBT
SCHOOL, ABOUT FIFTEEN TEARS OIjD
Mr. Croswell was a person who whenever
you met him you invariably knew that the
kindly eyes that beamed upon you had an
unmistakable twinkle in them. I think that
the school meant to him not only a great body
of girls, but when he thought of it, he thought
of it as composed of all of us and he took a
deep interest in each girl. Last year when I
was sick he wrote me such a nice understand-
ing letter. He made you feel (at least he did
me) that lessons weren't the all-important
object of school life. I associated him with
my Sundays as well as with my school days
for he always used to sit in front of us in
churchy and from the time when I was a tiny
girl and he was pointed out to me as my fu-
ture head master I have always had a feeling
of ownership for him. I remember quite well
when I swallowed a marble in church, amidst
a series of loud, gasping chokes, wondering
with shame what he must have thought of
APPRECIATIONS 351 '
me. I am so glad and proud that I have been
able to be under the influence of so great a
scholar and man» and I hope that my memory
of him will never grow dim^ and I know that
my affection for him can never lessen as the
years go on.
Serena Hand, V.
The last time that I saw Mr. Croswell he
impressed me as being more splendid than I
had ever seen him before. It was before school,
and I had gone into Miss Pfeiffer's room to
speak to her. Mr. Croswell was in there, and
when I had delivered my message I looked
at him for a second. He seemed very tall,
much taller than usual, and very noble. He
smiled at me and said, ^^Good morning," and
I went out. He always seemed to know me,
and he called me by my name as if I was a
very good friend of his, and it pleased me.
He always saw the fim in things, even in
racing downstairs in the middle of a period
to get a sweater. I did that once, and I met
him on the stairs; he got out of my way (I
was going awfully fast) and smiled at me as
I raced past, as if he would like to do it too,
but could n't.
S52 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
I was having an exam, once when he came
into the room. I looked up, but was thinlring
of a terrible example that I could n't do. He
looked at me as if he understood how honid
it was. He must have hated exams, when he
had them; anyway, I hope he did, they are so
horrid.
He was very human, and very different
from what I expected a head master to be like.
I thought he would be a horrid person with
glasses and a beard, who was always scolding,
but I found him to be a very sweet, f atheriy
sort of man who remembered his girls' names,
and did not forget how horrid exams, were,
and how nice it was to race downstairs.
He didn't forget, and I admired him and
was proud of him because he did n't.
Dorothy Stewart, V.
What it was in Mr. Croswell that fasci-
nated and made me admire him, and love him,
and trust him, is hard to define. I did not
meet him often about the school and rarely
spoke with him, and only now do I begin to
realize to a full extent how wonderful a man
he was. Yet it is certainly the proof of ex-
traordinary personality that from the slightest
APPRECIATIONS 853
contact with sudb a person one should per-
ceive how mudb greater is his scope of power
and influence than what is shown you at the
moment. And that Mr. Croswell possessed
this personality, who can doubt? Or who can
estimate how much his work and unbounded
interest has meant to the school?
Of the many things Mr. Croswell did for
the school the two that gave me the most
pleasure were the remarks whidb he often
made in the mornings at prayers, and his
Friday lectures. The former were on many
and varied subjects. One year he asked for
contributions from all the classes and arranged
a School Calendar with an event for as many
days in the year as possible. On these anni-
versaries he talked of the historical happen-
ings that had taken place, or the life of a
great man whose birthday it was, or some-
thing of the kind. Sometimes he read us an
interesting passage or told of some amusing
incident; or he woidd explain and discuss some
thought or problem in which the school might
be interested, as for instance, loyalty. I re-
member he devoted several mornings to this
subject, and what he said was always thought-
ful, valuable and true.
854 JAMES OREENLEAF CBOSWELL
The Friday talks were lectures on ancient
Greece whose aim, as Mr. Croswell said, was
to make the lives of the ancient Greeks appear
more real and vivid than history alone could
paint them. But they were not lectures in
the ordinary sense of the word. Mr. Croswell
did not discuss archaeological theories, or
merely describe the country, as it is or as it
was, or quote some modem author. It was
through the literature of the Greeks them-
selves — their own expressions of their own
thoughts — that Mr. Croswell sought to give us
a glimpse of Hellas two thousand years ago,
— of its spirit and its people. He read us
selections from the ** Frogs'' and the whole
of the '' Clouds " of Aristophanes. This last he
acted enough to illustrate how it was origi-
nally performed, putting in little touches of
his own to explain the scenery and characters,
modernizing ancient jokes and Athenian slang,
greatly to the amusement of the schooL Sev-
eral of the lectures were given to short extracts
from biographical authors, containing amus-
ing anecdotes, epitaphs on household pets,
sketches of daily Greek life, and a few others
were about Socrates. In all of these Mr. Cros-
well carefully pointed out any similar charao-
APPRECIATIONS 355
teristics and sympathies between the people
of to-day and the people of that distant past.
And we cannot be too grateful to him for
these lectures in which he established a link
between our advanced present and those
far-off times which have come down in history
as among the most wonderful the world has
ever known.
Jean Flexner, VI.
One of the highest tributes paid to Mr.
Croswell was each girl's personal r^ard for
him. Every one who knew Mr. Croswell had
the deepest affection for him. I know that
each girl in the school regarded him as Aer
Mr. CroswelU because she loved him so much,
and was unhappier over his death because of
this love.
Although Mr. Croswell's great spirit filled
the school, and made the school, and was the
school, yet there was a distinctly personal
atmosphere about him that was one of his
greatest characteristics. It gave me a won-
derful hot feeling to pass him on the stairs and
have him speak to me by name. Having once
connected a name and a face, he never forgot
them. This also gave a sense of particular
S56 JAMES OREENLEAF CROSWELL
friendship to those to whom he spoke in jiaas-
ing.
So all through our life, we shall ranember
Mr. Croswell as one of our dearest and wisest
friends, and the memory of his loving woids
and kind face makes us and will make us better
and stronger people.
Clabinda Gabbison, VI.
Mr. Croswell was a man who commanded
great respect from his giris. He, unconscioualy ,
both to the girls and himself, exerted his in-
fluence over every one in the school. His smile
was for everybody alike, and one alwajys felt
better after seeing it.
The picture whidh remains in my mind
most clearly was on the day which the school
opened in the new building, and when the
small primary children came for the first time.
After prayers, a tiny child carrying a great
pile of books and pencils in her arms, stood in
the middle of the aisle, very much frightened
and uncertain what to do. It was then that
Mr. Croswell, looking very tall beside the
little children, came down the aisle to where
this little girl stood. He looked at her and
smiled, but the little one was so thoroughly
APPRECIATIONS 357
frightened that books and pencils dropped
with a bang. Then Mr. Croswell, tall as he
was, stooped down and carefully picked up
every book and pencil, put them in her hands,
and courteously bowed to her as he would
to any lady. Most head masters would have
felt it beneath their dignity to have performed
this service for a small child, and would have
passed on with a smile, leaving the child to
pick up the books herself.
I think that that little girl will always re-
member the kind man who picked up her
books, and I am sure that every older girl who
saw this incident will remember it, and the
lesson in courtesy so unconsciously given.
Helen N. Smith, VI.
We were all very much excited as we filed
slowly down into Miss Eaton's room. It was
our first commencement. The room was filled
with people and flowers, as we took our places
in the front row of seats. Suddenly there was
a whispering down the line, and the girl next
to me said, **Mr. Croswell wants you to sit
beside him, 'cause you're president."
I never shall forget how excited and par*
ticularly scared I was as I stumbled up to my
S58 JAMES GREENLEAF CROSWELL
seat beside the '* great Head Master.'' Great
in every way was exactly how he seemed to
me, of course. I was pretty small and awfully
scared until he suddenly looked down at me»
smiled, and said in the kindest tone possible,
*' Don't you think Commencement is lots of
fun? Pretty soon our great class eight will
come, and then we must all stand up when the
flag comes in." Every bit of scaredness left
me, and my heart went out to this big, kind
man who had such a nice voice and smile, and
in a few minutes we were chatting away just
as if he was my age — or perhaps rather I felt
as if I was his.
Then class eight came down and the exer-
cises started. All through I watched Mr. Cros-
well hard, laughed when he laughed, and real-
ized dimly that though the graduating class
sat up on the platform and did most of the
talking, somehow the Head Master seemed
to be the centre of everything.
Then came the eight's class song and my
most vivid remembrance of Mr. Croswell,
perhaps because it was my first, and some
striking impressions, received when a child,
always stand out and never seem to lose any
of their reality. The song ended with a salute.