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A LIBEART
OF
AMERICAN LITERATURE
i
Vol. YII.
A LIBRARY OF
AMERICAN LITERATURE
FROM THE EARLIEST SETTLEMENT
TO THE PRESENT TIME
ELLEN MACKAY HUTCH INSON
IN TEN VOLUMES
VOL. VII
NEW-YORK
CHARLES L. WEBSTER & COMPANY
1889
s/-
COPYRIGHT, 1889,
CHARLES L. WEBSTER & COMPANY.
(All rights reserved.)
CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII.
Hitetature of tije i&eputlic. ^art $H. OTcmttntielr.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. PAGE
Old Ironsides ...... .....
La Grisette ....... ..... .
The Last Leaf ............ ....
Iris ....... . . ......
On Lending a Punch-Bowl . ............
The Sprowle Party .............. 13
The Chambered Nautilus ............ 29
The Living Temple ....... ........ 30
Dorothy Q ..............
New England's Gentle Iconoclast, ........... 33
The Strong Heroic Line ........... ... 86
JAMES HENRY HAMMOND.
The Patriarchal System vs. White Slavery . . . . . . ... 38
ALBERT TAYLOR BLEDSOE.
Predicting the Consequences of Abolition ......... 41
ELIHU BURRITT.
A Learned Blacksmith ............ .44
MARY LOWELL PUTNAM.
African Preachers ...... .. ...... 46
JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE.
The Belief in God .............. 48
WILLIAM HENRY CHANNINO.
Margaret Fuller ........ .... . . 51
CASSIUS MARCELLUS CLAY.
Abraham Lincoln ...... . ....... 53
ROBERT TAYLOR CONRAD.
The Death of Jack Cade ............ . 54
ROBERT HINCKLEY MESSINGER.
A Winter Wish . ........ .... 58
T [ CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII.
WENDELL PHILLIPS. PAGE
The Wisdom of Ancient Days 60
Under the Flag 64
A Hero of the Black Race 66
CHARLES SUMNEK.
The Crime Against Kansas 68
The Effect of Slave Ownership 74
Equal Rights the Sole Basis of Union ........ .77
A Victor's Magnanimity 77
HORACE GREELEY.
The Tribune 78
Dependent Journalism 80
Non-Conformity 80
" The Prayer of Twenty Millions " 81
The Appeal for Emancipation Renewed ......... 82
Relative to the Bailing of Jefferson Davis 84
Tlie Farmer's Future . . ' 89
Social Reform 91
Marriage and Divorce 93
Literal ure as a Vocation 94
FRANCES MIRIAM WHITCHER.
Hezekiah Bedott's Opinion 96
GEORGE WASHINGTON GREENE.
With Cole, the Painter, at Rome 98
HENRY JAMES.
Our Existing Civilization , . 100
NOAH PORTER.
Religious Books 101
The New and the Old Commandment . 102
The Christian College 105
WILLIAM INGRAHAM KIP.
Our Venerable Liturgy 107
Personal Appearance of Our Lord 109
ANDREW PRESTON PEABODY.
Fair Harvard Sixty Years Ago 112
ALFRED BILLINGS STREET.
The Loon " 116
DELIA BACON.
Her Initiation of the Shakespeare- Bacon Controversy .....;. 117
JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER.
The Organization of Public Intellect 121
The American Democracy 126
FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD.
A Dancing Girl 130
Calumny 130
Song 131
He May Go If He Can 131
" Bois Ton Sang, Beaumanoir ! " 131
Her Last Verses 132
CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII. v il
HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHEK STOWE. PAGE
Eliza's Flight , .... 132
The Other World 144
The Minister's Housekeeper 145
STEPHEN PEARL ANDREWS.
A Science of the Universe 155-
THOMAS GOLD APPLETON.
The Colossi 157
Table-Talk .157
GEORGE TICKNOR CURTIS.
Man's Two Existences 158
HENRY WILSON.
Secretary Stanton 160
ALEXANDER HAMILTON STEPHENS.
The Corner-Stone of the Confederacy . 162
WILLIAM STARBUCK MAYO.
A Struggle in the Forest 164
WILLIAM HENRY BURLEIGH.
Tlie Harvest-Call 170
SARAH ROBERTS.
The Voice of the Grass 171
SAMUEL OSGOOD.
Hours of Sleep and Hours of Study 172
WILLIAM TAPPAN THOMPSON.
A Proposal of Marriage 174
SAMUEL IREN/EUS PRIME.
Explaining Away the Gospel 178
ABRAHAM COLES.
The " Dies Irae " 180
Dies Irae 182
BENSON JOHN LOSSING.
Old-Time Life in Albany 184
JOHN CHARLES FREMONT.
The First Exploration of the Great Salt Lake 186
On Recrossing the Rocky Mountains in Winter after Many Years .... 18&
NOTED SAYINGS.
From "The Creole Village." A Vow, in "The Liberator," Vol. I., No. 1. 1831.
Vae Victis! U. S. Senate, January, 1832. The Upper Ten. From a Speech in
the U. S. Senate, 26 January, 1830. Paraphrase on Webster. Anti Slavery
Convention, Boston, 1850. From a Letter to the (Worcester) Whig Conven
tion, 1 October, 1855. Motto of a Compromise Ticket. A Definition. From a,
Letter to the Maine Whig Committee. 1856. A Famous Book-Title. A South
ern Utterance. U. S. Senate, March, 1858. On Slaves and Mudsills. From the
Same Speech. A Jest from Bohemia. The "Autocrat's" Credo. 1858. An
Offic-ial Teles-ram. 29 January, 1861. "Contrabands," at Fortress Monroe, Va.>
24 May, 1861. At the Battle of Manassas (Bull Run), 21 July, 1861. At the
Battle of Seven Pines, 31 May, 1862. From an Address on Boston Common in
1862. General and Statesman. Jurist and Financier 190
CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII.
SAMUEL WARD. PAGB
A Proem 194
Mazurka ./ 195
ANN SOPHIA STEPHENS.
Queen Esther's Rock 196
STEPHEN ARNOLD DOUGLAS.
His Country First 198
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
The Battle Set in Array 201
Defence of the North 203
On the Death of Lincoln 205
Sounding the Timbrel 206
Visions 207
" The Sparks of Nature " 209
Concerning Future Punishment 213
Belief in God a Matter of Intuition 214
The " Sacredness " of the Bible 215
Evolution and Immortality 216
JONES VERY.
Yourself 217
The Dead 218
The Silent 218
CYRUS AUGUSTUS BARTOL.
Father Taylor : A Man of Genius 219
CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH.
Stanzas 221
The Bobolinks 222
If Death be Final 224
HENRY THEODORE TUCKERMAN.
The First American Novelist 224
Newspaper Reading Its Use and Abuse
JOEL TYLER HEADLEY.
Cheney's Adventures 228
EPES SARGENT.
A Life on the Ocean Wave 232
To David Frieclrich Strauss f ...... 232
JOHN SULLIVAN DWIGIIT.
A Definition of Music ....... 233
SYLVESTER JUDD.
A Child's Sunday a Hundred Years Ago . . . . 235
CHARLES TIMOTHY BROOKS.
The Voice of the Pine 247
HENRY WHITNEY BELLOWS.
Mistake of the Religious Classes in their Treatment of the Stage . 248
Channing as a Preacher 250
FRANCIS ALEXANDER DURIVAGE.
Chez Brebante .
252
CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII. i x
JOHN LOTIIKOP MOTLEY. PAGE
His Project for a Great History 253
Portraits of Charles and Philip . . . . 255
The Fall of Antwerp .256
\VilliamtheSilent . . 261
HENRY NORMAN HUDSON.
The Vision of a Great Poet ............ 269
BENJAMIN PENHALLOW SHILLABER.
Some of Mrs. Partington's Opinions 270
RICHARD HENRY DANA, JR.
A Flogging at Sea 272
Cracking on for Home . , , 276
ELIZABETH HUSSEY WHITTIKR.
The Wedding Veil ... . , V . . . 281
CHARLES EDWARDS LESTER.
John Thorogood, Dissenter . . . . . . . . . . . - 282
RUFUS WILMOT GRISWOLD.
The Genius and Character of Poe . . ,... 285
THOMAS BANGS THORPE.
The Bee-Hunter . . . . , > - ^ .288
JOHNSON J. HOOPER.
Taking the Census . . 290
ANDREW JACKSON DOWNING.
Distinctive Features of the Beautiful and the Picturesque 292
PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE.
Florence Vane 294
ABEL STEVENS.
A Light of Methodism .. 295
OHARLES GAM AGE EASTMAN.
A Picture 297
Dirge 298
LEWIS WILLIAM MANSFIELD.
Singing " China " 299
Elegy 302
RICHARD BURLEIGH KIMBALL.
Sturm und Drang 303
A Surprise for the Rector 305
JAMES THOMAS FIELDS.
Common Sense . . . 309
Glances at Thackeray 309
ROBEKT TRAILL SPENCE LOWELL.
The Brave Old Ship, the Orient 311
PARKE GODWIN.
The Dramatic Art 315
EVERT AUGUSTUS DUYCKINCK.
Washington Irving 318
x CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII.
ELIZABETH CADY STANTON. PAGE
A Plea for Woman Suffrage . . . . 319
JOHN GODFREY SAXE.
The Way of the World 321
The Briefless Barrister 322
HENRY DAVID THOREAU.
Spring Beside Walden 323
The Fisher's Boy 327
Mist 328
The Wellfleet Oysterman 328
JOHN JAY.
Happy Results from a Policy of Justice 336
JOHN Ross BROWNE.
The History of My Horse, Saladin . 337
JOHN BIGELOW.
The Third-Term Question 343
Defence of the Character of Franklin . 345
On the Return to Power of the Democratic Party 346
HORACE BINNEY WALLACE.
Why Sculpture Reached Perfection with the Greeks 348
CORNELIUS MATHEWS.
The Fate of Behemoth 350
The Poet 353
ROSWELL D WIGHT HlTCHCOCK.
His View of Communism ............ 354
EMILY CHUBBUCK JUDSON.
Watching . 355
My Bird 357
FREDERICK DOUGLASS.
The Bitterest Dregs 358
SUSAN WARNER.
How Fleda's Little Bible Returned to Her 360
HENRY DRISLER.
A Famous Classical Teacher . 364
ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE.
The Old Abbeys . . 366
The Chimes of England 367
The Heart's Song . . . 368
VlNCENZO BOTTA
Cavour the Statesman 369
THOMAS HILL.
The Bobolink .... 370
JOHN WEISS.
Humor 372
CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII. x i
WILLIAM ELLEIIY CHANNING. PAGE
From " A Poet's Hope "
Sonnet . . 375
To-Morrow
Tlioreau
Edith 377
HENRY PETERSON.
Lyou 378
JAMES JACKSON JARVES.
The Advantages of Art in America 380
FREDERICK SWARTWOUT COZZENS.
Mr. Sparrowgrass's Country Pleasures . . . . . .
A Leaf from Life . . .... . .384
HENRY WHEELER SHAW.
Josh Billings's Advertisement ........' 385
WILLIAM MAXWELL EVARTS.
The Presiding Chief-Justice at the Trial of President Johnson 386
THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS.
The Last Gentian
Guido's Aurora .
On a Bust of Dante
Dirge
390
Iri Saint Joseph's ..... . . . . ...
Paradisi Gloria ....... . ' . . ... ,393
EDWIN PERCY WHIFFLE.
The Shakespearian World . . . . ..... . .
The Judicious Hooker . . ... .......
Theodore Parker ....... ......
Webster as a Master of English Style ........ , . 397
WILLIAM Ross WALLACE.
Of Thine Own Country Sing . . .......... ^
WILLIAM WILBEUFORCE LORD.
On the Defeat of a Great Man ........... 402
ISAAC MAYER WISE.
An Hebraic View of Genius
THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.
The Ballad of the Colors ............ 405
PHILIP SCHAFF.
The American Idea of Religious Freedom ......... 4R
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
Hebe ................ 411
To the Dandelion ..............
The Birch-Tree ...............
Slie Came and Went .............
From " The Vision of Sir Launfal " . ........ 415
What Mr. Robinson Thinks . . ....... .
The Pious Editor's Creed ............ 4W
The Courtin' ............. h
x jj CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII.
PAGE
Mr. Hosea Biglow to the Editor of the Atlantic Monthly 422
Dryden 424
Shakespeare and his Style 427
On a Certain Condescension in Foreigners 430
The First Snow-Fall 434
For an Autograph . 435
After the Burial ; . 436
In the Twilight . 437
Abraham Lincoln 439
Wordsworth 440
Milton 442
In Defence of the Study of Greek 443
The Argument for a Reform Party 445
In a Copy of Omar Khayyam 447
With a Pair of Gloves Lost in a Wager 448
Sixty-Eighth Birthday 448
CHARLES ANDERSON DANA.
Greeley as a Journalist 448
Via Sacra 451
Roscoe Conkling . ' . 452
WILLIAM WETMORE STORY.
Cleopatra 455
The Roman Campagna 458
Praxiteles and Phryne 462
HARRIET WINSLOW SEWALL.
Why Thus Longing ? 463
HERMAN MELVILLE.
The Bell-Tower 464
The Stone Fleet ' . 47(5
Sheridan at Cedar Creek 477
In the Prison Pen 478
JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND.
Interludes from " Bitter-Sweet " ... 479
Self-Help " 481
Daniel Gray 483
The Rev. Peter Mullens 484
A Christmas Carol 489
JULIA WARD HOWE.
Our Orders 489
Buttle-Hymn of the Republic 490
The Telegrams 491
Amanda's Inventory 492
SAMUEL LONGFELLOW.
The Church Universal . . . .... , . . . . . 493
GEORGE W. DEWEY.
Blind Louise ...". . . . . . 494
HENRY AUGUSTUS WISE.
The Mouse in the Pirate's Cage 495
ROBERT CARTER.
A Roland for an Oliver 498
CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII.
WALT WHITMAN. PAOB
Inscriptions .. . . ' * . . ... . . 501
Starting from Paumanok . . . . . , .... . . . . 502
Leaves of Grass . . ' . . . . . 502
In All, Myself * . . . . . 503
The Large Hearts of Heroes , . , . . . 504
And Still I Mount and Mount . 505
Youth, Day, Old Age and Night 506
From " Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking " . ' . . . . .506
To the Man-of-War Bird . . . . 509
Ethiopia Saluting the Colors 510
O Captain ! My Captain ! . 510
Old Ireland . .' .' . . . . . . . . . . ,' . 511
Behold a Woman ! > . . . .511
Spirit that Formed this Scene . . . .- . . . . 512
O Vast Rondure . . . . ..".', .512
Whispers of Heavenly Death . . . . . , 513
Joy, Shipmate, Joy! . . . . . . 513
HENKY JARVIS RAYMOND.
Motives and Objects of the Disunion Movement , . _.^_ ., . . . . 514
ELISHA KENT KANE.
Lost in the Ice . . . . ... - . . . . . . . 517
ANNE CHAULOTTK LYNCH BOTTA.
Largess . . ... . . . . . . . . . ... 523
CHRISTIAN NESTELZ, BOVEE.
Some Thoughts Worth Thinking . . . . . . . . . 523
ANSON DAVIES FITZ RANDOLPH.
Hopefully Waiting . . . .... 525
SUSAN BROWNELL ANTHONY.
The Negro but not Woman . . . . . . . , . . . 526
ALICE GARY.
The Gray Swan .....*... 528
Easter Bridal Song . . . . 52'J
At Uncle Christopher's 530
ANNE WHITNEY.
Bertha 539
ALBERT MATH raws.
Honor 540
WILLIAM GREENOUGH THAYER SHEDD.
The Foundation of Literary Style 541
CHARLES ASTOR BRISTED.
A Cambridge Boat-Race 543
AUGUSTUS RODNEY MACDONOUGH.
A Magdalen of the Dresden Gallery 547
THEODORE O'HARA.
The Bivouac of the Dead ............. 548
WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN.
Beginning the March to the Sea 550
At the Front 554
x j v CONTENTS OF VOLUME VII.
HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL. PAGE-
Down ! ....'.' 555
Let Us Alone . 556
The Sphinx 557
EPHRAIM GEORGE SQUIER.
The Chase on the Lagoon 559
MARIA WHITE LOWELL.
The Morning-Glory 562
AMELIA B. WELBY.
Twilight at Sea 563
RICHARD SALTER STORRS.
The Scholar's Courage 564
JAMES HADLEY.
English Orthography 566
CHARLES TABER CONGDON.
Alice 568
Twelve Little Dirty Questions 569
JAMES HAMMOND TRUMBDLL.
The Origin of M'Fingal ~ ~ 571
ULYSSES S. GRANT.
At Vicksburg 573
The End at Appomattox 576
SAMUEL WILKESON.
An Hour and Forty Minutes , 581
PORTRAITS IN VOLUME VII.
portraits; in tf)te Volume.
ON STEEL.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL . . . . . , . . FRONTISPIECE.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES . . . . . . . . . Page 30
MISCELLANEOUS.
HORACE GREELEY . . . . . . 78
NOAH PORTER 102
FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD 130
HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER STOWE . 144
HENRY WARD BEECHER ...... , 202
SYLVESTER JUDD 230
JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY 260
HENRY DAVID THOREAU , 828
THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS 388
EDWIN PERCY WHIPPLE 398
HERMAN MELVILLE 464
JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND 480
JULIA WARD HOWE .'.......... 490
WALT WHITMAN . . 510
LITEKATUKE
OF THE REPUBLIC
PART III CONTINUED
1835-1860
NOT clinging to some ancient saw ;
Not mastered by some modern term ;
Not swift nor slow to change, but firm.
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. A. D. 1832.
A thousand tokens in everything from which we can prognosticate make it manifest that
a spirit, indigenous and self-vital, inhabits our country ; a spirit of power, ipsa suis pollens
apibus. If all this be so, there is an end of the question about a national literature ; for this
creative vigor, breathing and burning in the bosom of the nation, must find an issue in art as
well as in action.
HORACE BINNET WALLACE. A. D. 1847.
Remember this : there will be one wild shriek of freedom to startle all mankind if that
American Republic should be overthrown. ... I have another and a far brighter vision
before my gaze. It may be but a vision, but I will cherish it. I see one vast confederation
stretching from the frozen North in unbroken line to the glowing South, and from the wild
oiJlows of the Atlantic westward to the calmer waters of the Pacific main and I see one
people, and one language, and one law, and One faith, and, over all that wide continent, the
home of freedom, and a refuge for the oppressed of every race and of every clime.
JOHN BRIGHT. A. D. 1862.
"Hs always morning somewhere in the world,
And Eos rises, circling constantly
The varied regions of mankind. No pause
Of renovation and of freshening rays
She knows, but evermore her love breathes forth
On field and forest, as on human hope,
Health, beauty, power, thought, action, and advance.
RICHARD HENGIST HORNE. A. D 1843.
LITERATURE
OF THE REPUBLIC.
PART III. CONTINUED.
18351860.
BOKN in Cambridge, Mass., 1809.
OLD IRONSIDES.
[Poetical Works. Household Edition. 1887.]
A Y, tear her tattered ensign clown!
"*-jL Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar;
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more!
Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee-,
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea !
O better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
4
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale !
1836.
LA GRISETTE.
AH Clenience ! when I saw thee last
Trip down the Rue de Seine,
And turning, when thy form had past,
I said, " "We meet again,"
I dreamed not in that idle glance
Thy latest image came,
And only left to memory's trance
A shadow and a name.
The few strange words my lips had taught
Thy timid voice to speak,
Their gentler signs, which often brought
Fresh roses to thy cheek,
The trailing of thy long loose hair
Bent o'er my couch of pain,
All, all returned, more sweet, more fair;
had we met again!
I walked where saint and virgin keep
The vigil lights of Heaven,
I knew that thou hadst woes to weep,
And sins to be forgiven ;
I watched where Genevieve was laid,
1 knelt by Mary's shrine,
Beside me low, soft voices prayed ;
Alas ! but where was thine ?
And when the morning sun was bright,
When wind and wave were calm,
And flamed, in thousand-tinted light,
The rose of Notre Dame,
I wandered through the haunts of men,
From Boulevard to Quai,
Till, frowning o'er Saint Etienne,
The Pantheon's shadow lay.
In vain, in vain; we meet no more,
Nor dream what fates befall ;
And long upon the stranger's shore
My voice on thee may call,
1835-601 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
When years have clothed the line in moss
That tells thy name and days,
And withered, on thy simple cross,
The wreaths of Pere-la-Chaise 1
THE LAST LEAF.
I
SAW him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.
They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.
But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone."
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.
My grandmamma has said
Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow.
But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.
g OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here ;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!
And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling.
IRIS.
[The Professor at the Breakfast-Table. 1859. Revised Edition. 1882.]
YOU remember, perhaps, in some papers published a while ago, an
odd poem written by an old Latin tutor ? He brought up at the
verb awo, I love, as all of us do, and by and by Nature opened her great
living dictionary for him at the word filia, a daughter. The poor man
was greatly perplexed in choosing a name for her. Lucretia and Vir
ginia were the first that he thought of ; but then came up those pictured
stories of Titus Livius, which he could never read without crying,
though he had read them a hundred times.
Lucretia sending for her husband and her father, each to bring
one friend with him, and awaiting them in her chamber. To them her
wrongs briefly. Let them see to the wretch, she will take care of her
self. Then the hidden knife flashes out and sinks into her heart. She
slides from her seat, and falls dying. " Her husband and her father cry
aloud." No, not Lucretia.
Yirginius, a brown old soldier, father of a nice girl. She engaged
to a very promising young man. Decemvir Appius takes a violent
fancy to her, must have her at any rate. Hires a lawyer to present the
arguments in favor of the view that she was another v man's daughter.
There used to be lawyers in Eome that would do such things. All right
There are two sides to everything. Audi alteram partem. The legal
gentleman has no opinion, he only states the evidence. A doubtful
case. Let the young lady be under the protection of the Honorable
Decemvir until it can be looked up thoroughly. Father thinks it best,
on the whole, to give in. Will explain the matter, if the young lady and
her maid will step this way. That is the explanation, a stab with a
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. f
butcher's knife, snatched from a stall, meant for other lambs than this-
poor bleeding Virginia !
The old man thought over the story. Then he must have one look at
the original. So he took down the first volume and read it over. When
he came to that part where it tells how the young gentleman she was
engaged to and a friend of his took up the poor girl's bloodless shape
and carried it through the street, and how all the women followed, wail
ing, and asking if that was what their daughters were coming to, if that
was what they were to get for being good girls, he melted down into
his accustomed tears of pity and grief, and, through them all, of delight
at the charming Latin of the narrative. But it was impossible to call
his child Virginia. He could never look at her without thinking she
had a knife sticking in her bosom.
Dido would be a good name, and a fresh one. She was a queen, and
the founder of a great city. Her story had been immortalized by the
greatest of poets, for the old Latin tutor clove to " Virgilius Maro," as
he called him, as closely as ever Dante did in his memorable journey.
So he took down his Virgil, it was the smooth-leafed, open-lettered
quarto of Baskerville, and began reading the loves and mishaps of
Dido. It wouldn't do. A lady who had not learned discretion by ex
perience, and came to an evil end. He shook his head, as he sadly
repeated,
lisera ante diem, suMtoque accensa furore ;"
but when he came to the lines,
"Ergo Iris croeeis per ccelum roscida pennis
Mille trahens varios adverse Sole colores,"
he jumped up with a great exclamation, which the particular recording
angel who heard it pretended not to understand, or it might have gone
hard with the Latin tutor some time or other.
" Iris shall be her name ! " he said. So her name was Iris.
The mother of little Iris was not called Electra, like hers of the
old story, neither was her grandfather Oceanus. Her blood-name, which
she gave away with her heart to the Latin tutor, was a plain old Eng
lish one, and her water-name was Hannah, beautiful as recalling the
mother of Samuel, and admirable as reading equally well from the initial
letter forwards and from the terminal letter backwards. The poor lady,
seated with her companion at the chess-board of matrimony, had but
just pushed forward her one little white pawn upon an empty square,
when the Black Knight, that cares nothing for castles or kings or
queens, swooped down upon her and swept her from the larger board of
life.
8
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835^60
The old Latin tutor put a modest blue stone at the head of his late
companion, with her name and age and Eheu! upon it, a smaller one
at her feet, with initials ; and left her by herself, to be rained and snowed
on> which is a hard thing to do for those whom we have cherished ten
derly.
About the time that the lichens, falling on the stone, like drops of
water, had spread into fair, round rosettes, the tutor had starved into a
slight cough. Then he began to draw the buckle of his black pantaloons
a little tighter, and took in another reef in his never-ample waistcoat.
His temples got a little hollow, and the contrasts of color in his cheeks
more vivid than of old. After a while his walks fatigued him, and he
was tired, and breathed hard after going up a flight or two of stairs.
Then came on other marks of inward trouble and general waste, which
he spoke of to his physician as peculiar, and doubtless owing to acciden
tal causes ; to all which the doctor listened with deference, as if it had
not been the old story that one in five or six of mankind in temperate
climates tells, or has told for him, as if it were something new. As the
doctor went out, he said to himself, " On the rail at last. Accommo
dation train. A good many stops, but will get to the station by and
by." So the doctor wrote a recipe with the astrological sign of Jupiter
before it (just as your own physician does, inestimable reader, as you
will see, if you look at his next prescription), and departed, saying he
would look in occasionally. After this, the Latin tutor began the usual
course of " getting better," until he got so much better that his face was
very sharp, and when he smiled, three crescent lines showed at each side
of his lips, and when he spoke, it was in a muffled whisper, and the
white of his eye glistened as pearly as the purest porcelain, so much
better, that he hoped by spring he might be able to attend
to his class again. But he was recommended not to expose him
self, and so kept his chamber, and occasionally, not having anything to
do, his bed. The unmarried sister with whom he lived took care of
him ; and the child, now old enough to be manageable, and even useful
in trifling offices, sat in the chamber, or played about.
Things could not go on so forever, of course. One morning his face
was sunken and his hands were very, very cold. He was " better," he
whispered, but sadly and faintly. After a while he grew restless and
seemed a little wandering. His mind ran on his classics, and fell back
on the Latin grammar.
" Iris ! " he said, "filiola meal " The child knew this meant my dear
little daughter as well as if it had been English. "Eainbow!" for he
would translate her name at times, "come to me, veni" and his lips
went on automatically, and murmured, "vel venito!" The child came
and sat by his bedside and took his hand, which she could not warm
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 9
but which shot its rays of cold all through her slender frame. But there
she sat, looking steadily at him. Presently he opened his lips feebly,
and whispered, "Moribundus" She did not know what that meant, but
she saw that there was something new and sad. So she began to cry ;
but presently remembering an old book that seemed to comfort him at
times, got up and brought a Bible in the Latin version, called the Vul
gate. " Open it," he said, " I will read, segnius irritant, don't put the
light out, ah ! hoeret lateri, I am going, vale, vale, vale, good-bye, good
bye, the Lord take care of my child ! Domine, audi vel audito 1 "
His face whitened suddenly, and he lay still, with open eyes and mouth.
He had taken his last degree.
Little Miss Iris could not be said to begin life with a very bril
liant rainbow over her, in a worldly point of view. A limited wardrobe
of man's attire, such as poor tutors wear, a few good books, principally
classics, a print or two, and a plaster model of the Pantheon, with some
pieces of furniture which had seen service, these, and a child's heart
full of tearful recollections and strange doubts and questions, alternating
with the cheap pleasures which are the anodynes of childish grief ; such
were the treasures she inherited. No, I forgot. With that kindly
sentiment which all of us feel for old men's first children, frost flowers
of the early winter season, the old tutor's students had remembered
aim at a time when he was laughing and crying with his new parental
emotions, and running to the side of the plain crib in which his alter ego,
as he used to say, was swinging, to hang over the little heap of stirring
clothes, from which looked the minute, red, downy, still, round face,
with unfixed eyes and working lips in that unearthly gravity which has
never yet been broken by a smile, and which gives to the earliest moon-
year or two of an infant's life the character of a first old age, to counter
poise that second childhood which there is one chance in a dozen it may
reach by and by. The boys had remembered the old man and young
father at that tender period of his hard, dry life. There came to him a
fair, silver goblet, embossed with classical figures, and bearing on a
shield the graven words, Ex dono pupillorum. The handle on its side
showed what use the boys had meant it for ; and a kind letter in it, writ
ten with the best of feeling, in the worst of Latin, pointed delicately to
its destination. Out of this silver vessel, after a long, desperate, strang
ling cry, which marked her first great lesson in the realities of life, the
child took the blue milk, such as poor tutors and their children get, tem
pered with water, and sweetened a little, so as to bring it nearer the
standard established by the touching indulgence and partiality of Nature,
who has mingled an extra allowance of sugar in the blameless food of
the child at its mother's breast, as compared with that of its infant
brothers and sisters of the bovine race.
10
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
But a willow will grow in baked sand wet with rain-water. An air-
plant will grow by feeding on the winds. Nay, those huge forests that
overspread great continents have built themselves up mainly from the
air-currents with which they are always battling. The oak is but a foli
ated atmospheric crystal deposited from the aerial ocean that holds the
future vegetable world in solution. The storm that tears its leaves has
paid tribute to its strength, and it breasts the tornado clad in the spoils
of a hundred hurricanes.
Poor little Iris ! What had she in common with the great oak in the
shadow of which we are losing sight of her ? She lived and grew like
that, this was all. The blue milk ran into her veins and filled thenr
with thin, pure blood. Her skin was fair, with a faint tinge, such a&
the white rosebud shows before it opens. The doctor who had attended
her father was afraid her aunt would hardly be able to " raise " her,
" delicate child," hoped she was not consumptive, thought there was-
a fair chance she would take after her father.
A very forlorn-looking person, dressed in black, with a white neck
cloth, sent her a memoir of a child who died at the age of two years and
eleven months, after having fully indorsed all the doctrines of the par
ticular persuasion to which he not only belonged himself, but thought it
very shameful that everybody else did not belong. What with fore
boding looks and dreary death-bed stories it was a wonder the child
made out to live through it. It saddened her early years, of course, it
distressed her tender soul with thoughts which, as they cannot be fully
taken in, should be sparingly used as instruments of torture to break
down the natural cheerfulness of a healthy child, or, what is infinitely
worse, to cheat a dying one out of the kind illusions with which the
Father of All has strewed its downward path.
The child would have died, no doubt, and, if properly managed, might
have added another to the long catalogue of wasting children who have
been as cruelly played upon by spiritual physiologists, often with the
best intentions, as ever the subject of a rare disease by the curious stu
dents of science.
Fortunately for her, however, a wise instinct had guided the late Latin
tutor in the selection of the partner of his life, and the future mother of
his child. The deceased tutoress was a tranquil, smooth woman, easily
nourished, as such people are, a quality which is inestimable in a
tutor's wife, and so it happened that the daughter inherited enough
vitality from the mother to live through childhood and infancy and fight
her way towards womanhood, in spite of the tendencies she derived from
her other parent.
Two and two do not always make four, in this matter of heredi
tary descent of qualities. Sometimes they make three, and sometimes
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. \\
five. It seems as if the parental traits at one time showed separate, at
another blended, that occasionally the force of two natures is repre
sented in the derivative one by a diagonal of greater value than either
original line of living movement, that sometimes there is a loss of vital-
O o '
ity hardly to be accounted for, and again a forward impulse of variable
intensity in some new and unforeseen direction.
So it was with this child. She had glanced off from her parental
probabilities at an unexpected angle. Instead of taking to classical
learning like her father, or sliding quietly into household duties like
her mother, she broke out early in efforts that pointed in the direction
of Art. As soon as she could hold a pencil she began to sketch outlines
of objects round her with a certain air and spirit. Yery extraordinary
horses, but their legs looked as if they could move. Birds unknown to
Audubon, yet flying, as it were, with a rush. Men with impossible legs,
which did yet seem to have a vital connection with their most improba
ble bodies. By-and-by the doctor, on his beast, an old man with a face
looking as if Time had kneaded it like dough with his knuckles, with a
rhubarb tint and flavor pervading himself and his sorrel horse and all
their appurtenances. A dreadful old man ! Be sure she did not forget
those saddle-bags that held the detestable bottles out of which he used
to shake those loathsome powders which, to virgin childish palates that
find heaven in strawberries and peaches, are Well, I suppose I had
better stop. Only she wished she was dead sometimes when she heard
him coming. On the next leaf would figure the gentleman with the
black coat and white cravat, as he looked when he came and entertained
* her with stories concerning the death of various little children about her
age, to encourage her, as that wicked Mr. Arouet said about shooting
Admiral Byng. Then she would take her pencil, and with a few
scratches there would be the outline of a child, in which you might
notice how one sudden sweep gave the chubby cheek, and two dots
darted at the paper looked like real eyes.
By-and-by she went to school, and caricatured the schoolmaster on the
leaves of her grammars and geographies, and drew the faces of her com
panions, and, from time to time, heads and figures from her fancy, with
large eyes, far apart, like those of Kaffaelle's mothers and children, some
times with wild floating hair, and then with wings and heads thrown
back in ecstasy. This was at about twelve years old, as the dates of
these drawings show, and, therefore, three or four years before she came
amono 1 us. Soon after this time, the ideal figures began to take the
place of portraits and caricatures, and a new feature appeared in her
drawing-books in the form of fragments of verse and short poems.
It was dull work, of course, for such a young girl to live with an old
spinster and go to a village school. Her books bore testimony to this'
jo OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
for there was a look of sadness in the faces she drew, and a sense of
weariness and longing for some imaginary conditions of blessedness or
other, which began to be painful.
ON LENDING A PUNCH-BOWL.
rpHIS ancient silver bowl of mine, it tells of good old times,
J- Of joyous days, and jolly nights, and merry Christmas chimes;
They were a free and jovial race, but honest, brave, and true,
That dipped their ladle in the punch when this old bowl was new.
A Spanish galleon brought the bar ; so runs the ancient tale ;
'Twas hammered by an Antwerp smith, whose arm was like a flail ;
And now and then between the strokes, for fear his strength should fail,
He wiped his brow, and quaffed a cup of good old Flemish ale.
'Twas purchased by an English squire to please his loving dame,
Who saw the cherubs, and conceived a longing for the same;
And oft as on the ancient stock another twig was found,
'Twas filled with caudle spiced and hot, and handed smoking round.
But, changing hands, it reached at length a Puritan divine, ,
Who used to follow Timothy, and take a little wine,
But hated punch and prelacy ; and so it was, perhaps,
He went to Leyden, where he found conventicles and schnaps.
And then, of course, you know what's next, it left the Dutchman's shore
With those that in the Mayflower came, a hundred souls and more,
Along with all the furniture, to fill their new abodes,
To judge by what is still on hand, at least a hundred loads.
'Twas on a dreary winter's eve, the night was closing dim,
When brave Miles Standish took the bowl, and filled it to the brim ;
The little Captain stood and stirred the posset with his sword,
And all his sturdy men-at-arms were ranged about the board.
He poured the fiery Hollands in, the man that never feared,
He took a long and solemn draught, and wiped his yellow beard ;
And one by one the musketeers the men that fought and prayed
All drank as 'twere their mother's milk, and not a man afraid.
That night, affrighted from his nest, the screaming eagle flew,
He heard the Pequot's ringing whoop, the soldier's wild halloo ;
And there the sachem learned the rule he taught to kith and kin,
" Run from the white man when you find he smells of Hollands gin! r
A hundred years, and fifty more, had spread their leaves and snows,
A thousand rubs had flattened down each little cherub's nose,
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 13
When once again the bowl was filled, but not in mirth or joy,
'Twas mingled by a mother's hand to cheer her parting boy.
Drink, John, she said, 'twill do you good, poor child, you'll never bear
This working in the dismal trench, out in the midnight air;
And if God bless me! you were hurt, 'twould keep away the chill;
So John did drink, and well he wrought that night at Bunker's Hill!
I tell you, there was generous warmth in good old English cheer;
I tell you, 'twas a pleasant thought to bring its symbol here;
'Tis but the fool that loves excess; hast thou a drunken soul ?
Thy bane is in thy shallow skull, not in my silver bowl!
I love the memory of the past, its pressed yet fragrant flowers,
The moss that clothes its broken walls, the ivy on its towers;
Nay, this poor bawble it bequeathed, my eyes grow moist and dim,
To think of all the vanished joys that danced around its brim.
Then fill a fair and honest cup, and bear it straight to me ;
The goblet hallows all it holds, whate'er the liquid be;
And may the cherubs on its face protect me from the sin,
That dooms one to those dreadful words, "My dear, where 'Tiave you
been ? "
THE SPROWLE PARTY.
[Elsie Venner. A Romance, of Destiny. 1861.]
"~|V T~R and Mrs. Colonel Sprowle's compliments to Mr. Langdon and
-iXL requests the pleasure of his company at a social entertainment
on "Wednesday evening next
" Elm St. Monday."
On paper of a pinkish color and musky smell, with a large > at the
top, and an embossed border. Envelope adherent, not sealed. Addressed,
Langdon, Esq.
Present.
Brought by H. Frederic Sprowle, youngest son of the Colonel, the
H. of course standing for the paternal Hezekiah, put in to please the
father, and reduced to its initial to please the mother, she having a
marked preference for Frederic. Boy directed to wait for an answer.
" Mr. Langdon has the pleasure of accepting Mr. and Mrs. Colonel
Sprowle's polite invitation for Wednesday evening."
On plain paper, sealed with an initial.
14 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1885-60
In walking along the main street, Mr. Bernard had noticed a large
house of some pretensions to architectural display, namely, unneces
sarily projecting eaves, giving it a mushroomy aspect, wooden mould
ings at various available points, and a grandiose arched portico. It
looked a little swaggering by the side of one or two of the mansion-
houses that were not far from it, was painted too bright for Mr. Ber
nard's taste, had rather too fanciful a fence before it, and had some fruit-
trees planted in the front yard, which to this fastidious young gentleman
implied a defective sense of the fitness of things, not promising in people
who lived in so large a house, with a mushroom roof and a triumphal
arch for its entrance.
This place was known as "Colonel Sprowle's villa" (genteel friends),
as " the elegant residence of our distinguished fellow-citizen, Colonel
Sprowle" (Eockland Weekly Universe), as " the neew haouse " (old set
tlers), as " Spraowle's Folly " (disaffected and possibly envious neigh
bors), and in common discourse, as " the Colonel's."
Hezekiah Sprowle, Esquire, Colonel Sprowle of the Commonwealth's
Militia, was a retired " merchant." An India merchant he might, per
haps, have been properly called; for he used to deal in West India
goods, such as coffee, sugar, and molasses, not to speak of rum, also in
tea, salt fish, butter and cheese, oil and candles, dried fruit, agricultural
" p'doose " generally, industrial products, such as boots and shoes, and
various kinds of iron and wooden ware, and at one end of the establish
ment in calicoes and other stuffs, to say nothing of miscellaneous objects
of the most varied nature, from sticks of candy, which tempted in the
smaller youth with coppers in their fists, up to ornamental articles of
apparel, pocket-books, breast-pins, gilt-edged Bibles, stationery, in short,
everything which was like to prove seductive to the rural population.
The Colonel had made money in trade, and also by matrimony. He had
married Sarah, daughter and heiress of the late Tekel Jordan, Esq., an
old miser, who gave the town-clock, which carries his name to posterity
in large gilt letters as a generous benefactor of his native place. In due
time the Colonel reaped the reward of well-placed affections. When his
wife's inheritance fell in, he thought he had money enough to give up
trade, and therefore sold out his " store," called in some dialects of the
English language shop, and his business.
Life became pretty hard work to him, of course, as soon as he had
nothing particular to do. Country people with money enough not to
have to work are in much more danger than city people'in the same con
dition. They get a specific look and character, which are the same in
all the villages where one studies them. They very commonly fall into
a routine, the basis of which is going to some lounging-place or other, a
bar-room, a reading-room, or something of the kind. They grow slovenly
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 15
in dress, and wear the same hat forever. They have a feeble curiosity
for news, perhaps, which they take daily as a man takes his bitters, and
then fall silent and think they are thinking. But the mind goes out
under this regimen, like a fire without a draught ; and it is not very
strange if the instinct of mental self-preservation drives them to brandy-
and-water, which makes the hoarse whisper of memory musical for a few
brief moments, and puts a weak leer of promise on the features of the
hollow-eyed future. The Colonel was kept pretty well in hand as yet by
his wife, and though it had happened to him once or twice to come home
rather late at night with a curious tendency to say the same thing twice
and even three times over, it had always been in very cold weather, and
everybody knows that no one is safe to drink a couple of glasses of wine
in a warm room and go suddenly out into the cold air.
Miss Matilda Sprowle, sole daughter of the house, had reached the age
at which young ladies are supposed in technical language to have come
out, and thereafter are considered to be in company.
"There's one piece o' goods," said the Colonel to his wife, "that we
ha'n't disposed of, nor got a customer for yet. That's Matildy. I don't
mean to set her up at vaandoo. I guess she can have her pick of a
dozen."
" She's never seen anybody yet," said Mrs. Sprowle, who had had a cer
tain project for some time, but had kept quiet about it. " Let's have a
party, and give her a chance to show herself and see some of the young
folks."
The Colonel was not very clear-headed, and he thought, naturally
enough, that the party was his own suggestion, because his remark led to
the first starting of the idea. He entered into the plan, therefore, with a
feeling of pride as well as pleasure, and the great project was resolved
upon in a family council without a dissentient voice. This was the
party, then, to which Mr. Bernard was going. The town had been full
of it for a week. "Everybody was asked." So everybody said that was
invited. But how in respect of those who were not asked? If it had
been one of the old mansion-houses that was giving a party, the boun
dary between the favored and the slighted families would have been
known pretty well beforehand, and there would have been no great
amount of grumbling. But the Colonel, for all his title, had a forest of
poor relations and a brushwood swamp of shabby friends, for he had
scrambled up to fortune, and now the tirnfc was come when he must
define his new social position.
This is always an awkward business in town or country. An exclu
sive alliance between two powers is often the same thing as a declaration
of war against a third. Eockland was soon split into a triumphant mi
nority, invited to Mrs. Sprowle's party, and a great majority, uninvited,
16
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
of which the fraction just on the border line between recognized "gen
tility " and the level of the ungloved masses was in an active state of
excitement and indignation.
" Who is she, I should like to know? " said Mrs. Saymore, the tailor's
wife. " There was plenty of folks in Eockland as good as ever Sally
Jordan was, if she had managed to pick up a merchant. Other folks
could have married merchants, if their families wasn't as wealthy as them
olct skinflints that willed her their money," etc., etc. Mrs. Saymore ex
pressed the feeling of many besides herself. She had, however, a special
right to be proud of the name she bore. Her husband was own cousin
to the Saymores of Freestone Avenue (who write the name Seymour, and
claim to be of the Duke of Somerset's family, showing a clear descent
from the Protector to Edward Seymour (1630), then a jump that would
break a herald's neck to one Seth Saymore (1783), from whom to the
head of the present family the line is clear again). Mrs. Saymore, the
tailor's wife, was not invited, because her husband mended clothes. If
he had confined himself strictly to making them, it would have put a
different face upon the matter.
The landlord of the Mountain House and his lady were invited to Mrs.
Sprowle's party. Not so the landlord of Pollard's Tahvern and his lady.
Whereupon the latter vowed that they would have a party at their
house too, and made arrangements for a dance of twenty or thirty
couples, to be followed by an entertainment. Tickets to this " Social
Ball " were soon circulated, and, being accessible to all at a moderate
price, admission to the '' Elegant Supper " included, this second festival
promised to be as merry, if not as select, as the great party.
Wednesday came. Such doings had never been heard of in Kockland
as went on that day at the " villa," The carpet had been taken up in
the long room so that the young folks might have a dance. Miss
Matilda's piano had been moved in, and two fiddlers and a clarinet-
player engaged to make music. All kinds of lamps had been put in
requisition, and even colored wax-candles figured on the mantel -pieces.
The costumes of the family had been tried on the day before : the Col
onel's black suit fitted exceedingly well; his lady's velvet dress dis
played her contours to advantage; Miss Matilda's flowered silk was
considered superb ; the eldest son of the family, Mr. T. Jordan Sprowle,
called affectionately and elegantly " Geordie," voted himself " stunnin' " ;
and even the small youth who had borne Mr. Bernard's invitation was
effective in a new jacket and trousers, buttony in front, and baggy in the
reverse aspect, as is wont to be the case with the home-made garments of
inland youngsters.
Great preparations had been made for the refection which was to be
part of the entertainment. There was much clinking of borrowed spoons,
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. ]*j
which were to be carefully counted, and much clicking of borrowed
china, which was to be tenderly handled, for nobody in the country
keeps those vast closets full of such things which one may see in rich
city houses. Not a great deal could be done in the way of flowers, for
there were no green-houses, and few plants were out as yet; but there
were paper ornaments for the candlesticks, and colored mats for the
lamps, and all the tassels of the curtains and bells were taken out of
those brown linen bags in which, for reasons hitherto undiscovered, they
are habitually concealed in some households. In the remoter apartments
every imaginable operation was going on at once, roasting, boiling,
baking, beating, rolling, pounding in mortars, frying, freezing ; for there
was to be ice-cream to-night of domestic manufacture ; and in the midst
of all these labors, Mrs. Sprowle and Miss Matilda were moving about,
directing and helping as they best might, all day long. When the even
ing came, it might be feared they would not be in just the state of mind
and body to entertain company. . . . "~*
The Colonel himself had been pressed into the service. He had
pounded something in the great mortar. He had agitated a quantity of
sweetened and thickened milk in what was called a cream-freezer. At
eleven o'clock, A. M., he retired for a space. On returning, his color was
noted to be somewhat heightened, and he showed a disposition to be joc
ular with the female help, which tendency, displaying itself in livelier
demonstrations than were approved at headquarters, led to his being
detailed to out-of-door duties, such as raking gravel, arranging places for
horses to be hitched to, and assisting in the construction of an arch of
winter-green at the porch of the mansion.
A whiff from Mr. Geordie's cigar refreshed the toiling females from
time to time : for the windows had to be opened occasionally, while all
these operations were going on, and the youth amused himself with
inspecting the interior, encouraging the operatives now and then in the
phrases commonl} 7 " employed by genteel young men, for he had perused
an odd volume of "Verdant Green," and was acquainted with a Sopho
more from one of the fresh-water colleges. u Go it on the feed ! " ex
claimed this spirited young man. " Nothin' like a good spread. Grub
enough and good liquor, that's the ticket. Guv'nor'll do the heavy
polite, and let me alone for polishin' off the young charmers." And Mr.
Geordie looked expressively at a handmaid who was rolling ginger
bread, as if he were rehearsing for "Don Giovanni."
Evening came at last, and the ladies were forced to leave the scene of
their labors to array themselves for the coming festivities. The tables
had been set in a back room, the meats were ready, the pickles were dis
played, the cake was baked, the blanc-mange had stiffened, and the ice
cream had frozen.
jg OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
At half past seven o'clock, the Colonel, in costume, came into the front
parlor, and proceeded to light the lamps. Some were good-humored
enough and took the hint of a lighted match at once. Others were as
vicious as they could be, would not light on any terms, any more than
if they were filled with water, or lighted and smoked one side of the
chimney, or sputtered a few sparks and sulked themselves out, or kept
up a faint show of burning, so that their ground glasses looked as feebly
phosphorescent as so many invalid fireflies. With much coaxing and
screwing and pricking, a tolerable illumination was at last achieved. At
eight there was a grand rustling of silks, and Mrs. and Miss Sprowle
descended from their respective bowers or boudoirs. Of course they
were pretty well tired by this time, and very glad to sit down, hav
ing the prospect before them of being obliged to stand for hours. The
Colonel walked about the parlor, inspecting his regiment of lamps. By-
and-by Mr. Greordie entered.
" Mph ! mph ! " he sniffed, as he came in. " You smell of lamp-smoke
here."
That always galls people, to have a newcomer accuse them of smoke
or close air, which they have got used to and do not perceive. The
Colonel raged at the thought of his lamps' smoking, and tongued a few
anathemas inside of his shut teeth, but turned down two or three wicks
that burned higher than the rest
Master H. Frederic next made his appearance, with questionable
marks upon his fingers and countenance. Had been tampering with
something brown and sticky. His elder brother grew playful, and caught
him by the baggy reverse of his more essential garment.
" Hush ! " said Mrs. Sprowle," there's the bell ! "
Everybody took position at once, and began to look very smiling and
altogether at ease. False alarm. Only a parcel of spoons, " loaned,"
as the inland folks say when they mean lent, by a neighbor.
"Better late than never!" said the Colonel, "let me heft them
spoons."
Mrs. Sprowle came down into her chair again as if all her bones had
foeen bewitched out of her.
" I'm pretty nigh beat out a'ready," said she, " before any of the folks
lias come."
They sat silent awhile, waiting for the first arrival. How nervous
they got ! and how their senses were sharpened !
4i Hark ! " said Miss Matilda," what's that rumblin' ? "
It was a cart going over a bridge more than a mile off, which at any
other time they would not have heard. After this there was a lull, and
poor Mrs. Sprowle's head nodded once or twice. Presently a crackling
and grinding of gravel ; how much that means, when we are waiting for
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. |g
those whom we long or dread to see ! Then a change in the tone of the
gravel-crackling.
" Yes, they have turned in at our gate. They're comin' ! Mother !
mother ! "
Everybody in position, smiling and at ease. Bell rings. Enter the
first set of visitors. The Event of the Season has begun.
" Law ! it's nothin' but the Cranes' folks ! I do believe Mahala's come
in that old green delaine she wore at the Surprise Party ! "
Miss Matilda had peeped through a crack of the door and made this
observation and the remark founded thereon Continuing her attitude
of attention, she overheard Mrs. Crane and her two daughters conversing
in the attiring-room, up one flight.
" How fine everything is in the great house ! " said Mrs. Crane, " jest
look at the picters ! "
" Matildy Sprowle's drawins," said Ada Azuba, the eldest daughter.
"I should think so," said Mahala Crane, her younger sister, a wide
awake girl, who hadn't been to school for nothing, and performed a little
on the lead pencil herself. " I should like to know whether that's a hay
cock or a mountain ! "
Miss Matilda winced ; for this must refer to her favorite monochrome,
executed by laying on heavy shadows and stumping them down into
mellow harmony, the style of drawing which is taught in six lessons,
and the kind of specimen which is executed in something less than one
hour. Parents and other very near relatives are sometimes gratified with
these productions, and cause them to be framed and hung up, as in the
present instance.
" I guess we won't go down jest yet," said Mrs. Crane, " as folks don't
seem to have come."
So she began a systematic inspection of the dressing-room and its con*
veniences.
"Mahogany four-poster, come from the Jordans', I cal'late. Mar
seilles quilt. Euffles all round the piller. Chintz curtings, jest put
up, o' purpose for the party I'll lay ye a dollar. What a nice wash
bowl!" (Taps it with a white knuckle belonging to a red finger.)
" Stone chaney. Here's a bran'-new brush and comb, and here's a
scent-bottle. Come here, girls, and fix yourselves in the glass, and scent
your pocket-handkerchers."
And Mrs. Crane bedewed her own kerchief with some of the eau de
Cologne of native manufacture, said on its label to be much superior to
the German article.
It was a relief to Mrs. and the Miss Cranes when the bell rang and the
next guests were admitted. Deacon and Mrs. Soper, Deacon Soper of
the Eev. Mr. Fairweather's church, and his lady. Mrs. Deacon Soper
2Q OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
was directed, of course, to the ladies' dressing-room, and her husband to
the other apartment, where gentlemen were to leave their outside coats
and hats. Then came Mr. and Mrs. Briggs, and then the three Miss
Spinneys, then Silas Peckham, Head of the Apollinean Institute, and
Mrs. Peckham, and more after them, until at last the ladies' dressing-
room got so full that one might have thought it was a trap none of them
could get out of. In truth, they all felt a little awkwardly. Nobody
wanted to be first to venture down-stairs. At last Mr. Silas Peckham
thought it was time to make a move for the parlor, and for this purpose
presented himself at the door of the ladies' dressing-room.
" Lorindy, my dear ! " he exclaimed to Mrs. Peckham, "I think there
can be no impropriety in our joining the family down-stairs."
Mrs. Peckham laid her large, flaccid arm in the sharp angle made by
the black sleeve which held the bony limb her husband offered, and the
two took the stair and struck out for the parlor. The ice was broken,
and the dressing-room began to empty itself into the spacious, lighted
apartments below.
Mr. Silas Peckham slid into the room with Mrs. Peckham alongside,
like a shad convoying a jelly-fish.
"Good evenin', Mrs. Sprowle! I hope I see you well this evenin'.
How's your haalth, Colonel Sprowle ? "
" Very well, much obleeged to you. Hope you and your good lady
are well. Much pleased to see you. Hope you'll enjoy yourselves.
We've laid out to have everything in good shape,- spared no trouble
nor ex "-
" pense," said Silas Peckham.
Mrs. Colonel Sprowle, who, you remember, was a Jordan, had nipped
the Colonel's statement in the middle of the word Mr. Peckham finished,
with a look that jerked him like one of those sharp twitches women keep
giving a horse when they get a chance to drive one. . .
The guests were now arriving in the drawing-room pretty fast, and the
Colonel's hand began to burn a good deal with the sharp squeezes which
many of the visitors gave it. Conversation, which had begun like a
summer shower, in scattering drops, was fast becoming continuous, and
occasionally rising into gusty swells, with now and then a broad-chested
laugh from some Captain or Major or other military personage, for it
may be noted that all large and loud men in the uupaved districts bear
military titles.
Deacon Soper came up presently, and entered into conversation with
Colonel Sprowle.
" I hope to see our pastor present this evenin'," said the Deacon.
" I don't feel quite sure," the Colonel answered. " His dyspensy has
been bad on him lately. He wrote to say, that, Providence permittin', it
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 21
would be agreeable to him to take a part in the exercises of the evenin' ;
but I mistrusted he didn't mean to come. To tell the truth, Deacon
Soper, I rather guess he don't like the idee of dancin', and some of the
other little arrangements."
" Well," said the Deacon, " I know there's some condemns dancin'.
I've heerd a good deal of talk about it among the folks round. Some
have it that it never brings a blessin' on a house to have dancin' in it
Judge Tileston died, you remember, within a month after he had his
great ball, twelve year ago, and some thought it was in the natur' of a
judgment. I don't believe in any of them notions. If a man happened
to be struck dead the night after he'd been givin' a ball " (the Colonel
loosened his black stock a little, and winked and swallowed two or three
times), " I shouldn't call it a judgment, I should call it a coincidence.
But I'm a little afraid our pastor won't come. Somethin' or other's the
matter with Mr. Fairweather. I should sooner expect to see the old
Doctor come over out of the Orthodox parsonage-house."
" I've asked him," said the Colonel.
" Well ? " said' Deacon Soper.
" He said he should like to come, but he didn't know what his people
would say. For his part, he loved to see young folks havin' their
sports together, and very often felt as if he should like to be one of 'em
himself. ' But,' says I, ' Doctor, I don't say there won't be a little
dancin'.' 'Don't!' says he, 'for I want Letty to go '(she's his grand
daughter that's been stayin' with him), ' and Letty's mighty fond of
dancin'. You know,' says the Doctor, ' it isn't my business to settle
whether other people's children should dance or not.' And the Doctor
looked as if he should like to rigadoon and sashy across as well as the
young one he was talkin' about. He's got blood in him, the old Doctor
has. I wish our little man and him would swop pulpits."
Deacon Soper started and looked up into the Colonel's face, as if to
see whether he was in earnest.
Mr. Silas Peckham and his lady joined the group.
" Is this to be a Temperance Celebration, Mrs. Sprowle ? " asked Mr.
Silas Peckham.
Mrs. Sprowle replied, " that there would be lemonade and srub for
those that preferred such drinks, but that the Colonel had given folks to
understand that he didn't mean to set in judgment on the marriage in
Canaan, and that those that didn't like srub and such things would find
somethin' that would suit them better."
Deacon Soper's countenance assumed a certain air of restrained cheer
fulness. The conversation rose into one of its gusty paroxysms just
then. Master H. Frederic got behind a door and began performing the
experiment of stopping and unstopping his ears in rapid alternation,
22 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
greatly rejoicing in the singular effect of mixed conversation chopped
very small, like the contents of a mince-pie, or meat pie, as it is more
forcibly called in the deep-rutted villages lying along the unsalted
streams
The " great folks," meaning the mansion-house gentry, were just be
ginning to come ; Dudley Yenner and his daughter had been the first of
them. Judge Thornton, white-headed, fresh-faced, as good at sixty as
he was at forty, with a youngish second wife, and one noble daughter,
Arabella, who, they said, knew as much law as her father, a stately,
Portia-like girl, fit for a premier's wife, not like to find her match even
in the great cities she sometimes visited ; the Trecothicks, the family of
a merchant (in the larger sense), who, having made himself rich enough
by the time he had reached middle life, threw down his ledger as Sylla
did his dagger, and retired to make a little paradise around him in
one of the stateliest residences of the town, a family inheritance; the
Vaughans, an old Kockland race, descended from its first settlers, Tory-
ish in tendency in Revolutionary times, and barely escaping confiscation
or worse; the Dunhams, a new family, dating its gentility only as far
back as the Honorable Washington Dunham, M. C., but turning out a
clever boy or two that went to college, and some showy girls with white
necks and fat arms who had picked up professional husbands: these
were the principal mansion-house people. All of them had made it a
point to come ; and as each of them entered, it seemed to Colonel and
Mrs. Sprowle that the lamps burned up with a more cheerful light, and
that the fiddles which sounded from the uncarpeted room were all half a
tone higher and half a beat quicker. ....
The dancing went on briskly. Some of the old folks looked on, others
conversed in groups and pairs, and so the evening wore along, until a
little after ten o'clock. About this time there was noticed an increased
bustle in the passages, with a considerable opening and shutting of doors.
Presently it began to be whispered about that they were going to have
supper. Many, who had never been to any large party before, held
their breath for a moment at this announcement. It was rather with a
tremulous interest than with open hilarity that the rumor was generally
received.
One point the Colonel had entirely forgotten to settle. It was a point
involving not merely propriety, but perhaps principle also, or at least
the good report of the house, and he had never thought to arrange it.
He took Judge Thornton aside and whispered the important question to
him, in his distress of mind, mistaking pockets and taking out his
bandanna instead of his white handkerchief to wipe his forehead.
" Judge," he said, " do you think, that, before we commence refresh
ing ourselves at the tables, it would be the proper thing to crave a
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 23
to request Deacon Soper or some other elderly person to ask a bless
ing?"
The Judge looked as grave as if he were about giving the opinion of
the Court in the great India-rubber case.
" On the whole," he answered, after a pause, " I should think it might,
perhaps, be dispensed with on this occasion. Young folks are noisy,
and it is awkward to have talking and laughing going on while a bless
ing is being asked. Unless a clergyman is present and makes a point
of it, I think it will hardly be expected."
The Colonel was infinitely relieved. " Judge, will you take Mrs.
Sprowle in to supper ? " And the Colonel returned the compliment by
offering his arm to Mrs. Judge Thornton.
The door of the supper-room was now open, and the company, follow
ing the lead of the host and hostess, began to stream into it, until it was
pretty well filled.
There was an awful kind of pause. Many were beginning to drop
their heads and shut their eyes, in anticipation of the usual petition
before a meal ; some expected the music to strike up, others, that an
oration would now be delivered by the Colonel.
" Make yourselves at home, ladies and gentlemen," said the Colonel ;
" good things were made to eat, and you're welcome to all you see be
fore you."
So saying, he attacked a huge turkey which stood at the head of the
table; and his example being followed first by the bold, then by the
doubtful, and lastly by the timid, the clatter soon made the circuit of the
tables. Some were shocked, however, as the Colonel had feared they
would be, at the want of the customary invocation. Widow Leech, a
kind of relation, who had to be invited, and who came with her old,
back-country-looking string of gold beads round her neck, seemed to feel
very serious about it.
" If she'd ha' known that folks would begrutch cravin' a blessin' over
sech a heap o' provisions, she'd rather ha' staid t' home. It was a bad
sign, when folks wasn't grateful for the baounties of Providence."
The elder Miss Spinney, to whom she made this remark, assented to
it, at the same time ogling a piece of frosted cake, which she presently
appropriated with great refinement of manner, taking it between her
thumb and forefinger, keeping the others well spread and the little finger
in extreme divergence, with a graceful undulation of the neck, and a
queer little sound in her throat, as of an ra that wanted to get out and
perished in the attempt.
The tables now presented an animated spectacle. Young fellows of
the more dashing sort, with high stand-up collars and voluminous bows
to their neckerchiefs, distinguished themselves by cutting up fowls and
24
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-6U
offering portions thereof to the buxom girls these knowing ones had
commonly selected.
" A bit of the wing, Roxy, or of the under limb? "
The first laugh broke out at this, but it was premature, a sporadic
laugh, as Dr. Kittredge would have said, which did not become epidemic.
People were very solemn as yet, many of them being new to such splen
did scenes, and crushed, as it were, in the presence of so much crockery
and so many silver spoons, and such a variety of unusual viands and
beverages. When the laugh rose around Roxy and her saucy beau,
several looked in that direction with an anxious expression, as if some
thing had happened, a lady fainted, for instance, or a couple of lively
fellows come to high words.
" Young folks will be young folks," said Deacon Soper. " No harm
done. Least said soonest mended."
" Have some of these shell-oysters ? " said the Colonel to Mrs. Treco-
thick.
A delicate emphasis on the word shell implied that the Colonel knew
what was what. To the New England inland native, beyond the reach
of the east winds, the oyster unconditioned, the oyster absolute, without
a qualifying adjective, is the pickled oyster. Mrs. Trecothick, who knew
very well that an oyster long out of his shell (as is apt to be the case
with the rural bivalve) gets homesick and loses his sprightliness, replied,
with the pleasantest smile in the world, that the chicken she had been
helped to was too delicate to be given up even for the greater rarity.
But the word " shell-oysters " had been overheard ; and there was a per
ceptible crowding movement towards their newly discovered habitat, a
large soup tureen.
Silas Peckham had meantime fallen upon another locality of these
recent mollusks. He said nothing, but helped himself freely, and made
a sign to Mrs. Peckham.
" Lorindy," he whispered, " shell-oysters ! "
And ladled them out to her largely, without betraying any emotion,
just as if they had been the natural inland or pickled article.
After the more solid portion of the banquet had been duly honored,
the cakes and sweet preparations of various kinds began to get their
share of attention. There were great cakes and little cakes, cakes with
raisins in them, cakes with currants, and cakes without either; there
were brown cakes and yellow cakes, frosted cakes, glazed cakes, hearts
and rounds, and jumbles, which playful youth slip over the forefinger
before spoiling their annular outline. There were moulds of Uo'monje, of
the arrowroot variety, that being undistinguishable from such as is
made with Russia isinglass. There were jellies, which had been shaking,
all the time the young folks were dancing in the next room, as if they
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 25
were balancing to partners. There were built-up fabrics, called Otiarlottes,
caky externally, pulpy within; there were also marangs, and likewise
custards, some of the indolent-fluid sort, others firm, in which every
stroke of the teaspoon left a smooth, conchoidal surface like the fracture
of chalcedony, with here and there a little eye like what one sees in
cheeses. Nor was that most wonderful object of domestic art called trifle
wanting, with its charming confusion of cream and cake and almonds
and jam and jelly and wine and cinnamon and froth ; nor yet the mar
vellous floating-island, name suggestive of all that is romantic in the
imaginations of youthful palates.
" It must have cost you a sight of work, to say nothin' of money, -to
get all this beautiful confectionery made for the party," said Mrs. Crane
to Mrs. Sprowle.
" Well, it cost some consid'able labor, no doubt," said Mrs. Sprowle.
" Matilda and our girls and I made 'most all the cake with our own
hands, and we all feel some tired ; but if folks get what suits 'em, we
don't begrudge the time nor the work. But I do feel thirsty," said the
poor lady, " and I think a glass of srub would do my throat good ; it's
dreadful dry. Mr. Peckham, would you be so polite as to pass me a
glass of srub ? "
Silas Peckham bowed with great alacrity, and took from the table a
small glass cup, containing a fluid reddish in hue and subacid in taste.
This was srub, a beverage in local repute, of questionable nature, but
suspected of owing its tint and sharpness to some kind of syrup derived
from the maroon-colored fruit of the sumac. There were similar small
cups on the table filled with lemonade, and here and there a decanter of
Madeira wine, of the Marsala kind, which some prefer to, and many more*
cannot distinguish from, that which comes from the Atlantic island.
" Take a glass of wine, Judge," said the Colonel ; " here is an article
that I rather think '11 suit you."
The Judge knew something of wines, and could tell all the famous old
Madeiras from each other, "Eclipse," "Juno," the almost fabulously
scarce and precious " White-top," and the rest. He struck the nativity
of the Mediterranean Madeira before it had fairly moistened his lip.
" A sound wine, Colonel, and I should think of a genuine vintage.
Your very good health."
" Deacon Soper," said the Colonel, " here is some Madary Judge Thorn
ton recommends. Let me fill you a glass of it."
The Deacon's eyes glistened. He was one of those consistent Chris
tians who stick firmly by the first miracle and Paul's advice to Tim
othy.
" A little good wine won't hurt anybody," said the Deacon. " Plenty,
plenty, plenty. There!" He had not withdrawn his glass, while
26 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
the Colonel was pouring, for fear it should spill, and now it was running
over.
It is very odd how all a man's philosophy and theology are at the
mercy of a few drops of a fluid which the chemists say consists of noth
ing but CtOsHe. The Deacon's theology fell off several* points towards
latitudinarianism in the course of the next ten minutes. He had a deep
inward sense that everything was as it should be, human nature included.
The little accidents of humanity, known collectively to moralists as sin,
looked very venial to his growing sense of universal brotherhood and
benevolence.
" It will all come right," the Deacon said to himself, " I feel a joyful
conviction that everything is for the best. I am favored with a blessed
peace of mind, and a very precious season of good feelin' toward my
fellow-creturs."
A lusty young fellow happened to make a quick step backward just
at that instant, and put his heel, with his weight on top of it, upon the
Deacon's toes.
" Aigh ! What the d' d' didos are y' abaout with them great huffs o'
yourn?" said the Deacon, with an expression upon his features not
exactly that of peace and good-will to men. The lusty young fellow
apologized; but the Deacon's face did not come right, and his theology
backed round several points in the direction of total depravity.
Some of the dashing young men in stand-up collars and extensive
neckties, encouraged by Mr. Geordie, made quite free with the " Ma-
dary," and even induced some of the more stylish girls not of the
mansion-house set, but of the tip-top two-story families to taste a little.
Most of these young ladies made faces at it, and declared it was " per
fectly horrid," with that aspect of veracity peculiar to their age and sex.
About this time a movement was made on the part of some of the
mansion-house people to leave the supper-table. Miss Jane Trecothick
had quietly hinted to her mother that she had had enough of it. Miss
Arabella Thornton had whispered to her father that he had better
adjourn this court to the next room. There were signs of migration, a
loosening of people in their places, a looking about for arms to hitch
on to.
" Stop ! " said the Colonel. " There's something coming yet Ice-
Cream!"
The great folks saw that the play was not over yet, and that it was
only polite to stay and see it out. The word " Ice-Cream " was no sooner
whispered than it passed from one to another all down the tables. The
effect was what might have been anticipated. Many of the guests had
never seen this celebrated product of human skill, and to all the two-story
population of Rocklaud it was the last expression of the art of pleasing
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 27
and astonishing the human palate. Its appearance had been deferred for
several reasons ; first, because everybody would have attacked it, if it
had come in with the other luxuries ; secondly, because undue appre
hensions were entertained (owing to want of experience) of its tendency
to deliquesce and resolve itself with alarming rapidity into puddles of
creamy fluid ; and, thirdly, because the surprise would make a grand
climax to finish off the banquet.
There is something so audacious in the conception of ice-cream, that it
is not strange that a population undebauched by the luxury of great
cities looks upon it with a kind of awe and speaks of it with a certain
emotion. This defiance of the seasons, forcing Nature to do her work of
congelation in the face of her sultriest noon, might well inspire a timid
mind with fear lest human art were revolting against the Higher Powers,
and raise the same scruples which resisted the use of ether and chloro
form in certain contingencies. Whatever may be the cause, it is well
known that the announcement at any private rural entertainment that
there is to be ice-cream produces an immediate and profound impression.
It may be remarked, as aiding this impression, that exaggerated ideas
are entertained as to the dangerous effects this congealed food may pro
duce on persons not in the irfost robust health.
There was silence as the pyramids of ice were placed on the table,
everybody looking on in admiration. The Colonel took a knife and
assailed the one at the head of the table. When he tried to cut off a
slice, it didn't seern to understand it, however, and only tipped, as if it
wanted to upset. The Colonel attacked it on the other side and it tipped
just as badly the other way. It was awkward for the Colonel. " Per
mit me," said the Judge, and he took the knife and struck a sharp
slanting stroke which sliced off a piece just of the right size, and offered
it to Mrs. Sprowle. This act of dexterity was much admired by the
company.
The tables were all alive again.
" Lorindy, here's a plate of ice-cream," said Silas Peckham.
" Come, Mahaly," said a fresh-looking young fellow with a saucerf ul
in each hand, " here's your ice-cream ; let's go in the corner and have
a celebration, us two." And the old green delaine, with the young
curves under it to make it sit well, moved off as pleased apparently as if
it had been silk velvet with thousand-dollar laces over it.
" Oh, now, Miss Green ! do you think it's safe to put that cold stuff
into your stomick ? " said the Widow Leech to a young married lady,
who, finding the air rather warm, thought a little ice would cool her
down very nicely. " It's jest like eatin' snowballs. You don't look very
rugged ; and I should be dreadful afeard, if I was you "-
" Carrie," said old Dr. Kittredge, who had overheard this, " how well
28
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
you're looking this evening ! But you must be tired and heated; sit
down here, and let me give you a good slice of ice-cream. How you
young folks do grow up, to be sure ! I don't feel quite certain whether
it's vou or your older sister, but I know it's somebody I call Carrie, and
that I've known ever since "-
A sound something between a howl and an oath startled the company
and broke off the Doctor's sentence. Everybody's eyes turned in the
direction from which it came. A group instantly gathered round the
person who had uttered it, who was no other than Deacon Soper.
" He's chokin' I he's chokin' ! " was the first exclamation, " slap him
on the back ! "
Several heavy fists beat such a tattoo on his spine that the Deacon
felt as if at least one of his vertebrae would come up.
" He's black in the face," said Widow Leech, " he's swallered some-
thin' the wrong way. Where's the Doctor ? let the Doctor get to him,
can't ye?"
" If you will move, my good lady, perhaps I can," said Dr. Kit-
tredge, in a calm tone of voice. " He's not choking, my friends," the
Doctor added immediately, when he got sight of him.
" It's apoplexy, I told you so, don't ^ou see how red he is in the
face ? " said old Mrs. Peake, a famous woman for " nussin " sick folks
determined to be a little ahead of the Doctor.
" It's not apoplexy," said Dr. Kittredge.
" What is it, Doctor ? what is it ? Will he die ? Is he dead ? Here's
his poor wife, the Widow Soper that is to be, if she a'n't a'ready "-
" Do be quiet, my good woman," said Dr. Kittredge. " Nothing
serious, I think, Mrs. Soper. Deacon ! "
The sudden attack of Deacon Soper had begun witk the extraordinary
sound mentioned above. His features had immediately assumed an
expression of intense pain, his eyes staring wildly, and, clapping his
hands to his face, he had rocked his head backward and forward in
speechless agony.
At the Doctor's sharp appeal the Deacon lifted his head.
" It's all right," said the Doctor, as soon as he saw his face. " The
Deacon had a smart attack of neuralgic pain. That's all. Yery severe,
but not at all dangerous."
The Doctor kept his countenance, but his diaphragm was shaking the
change in his waistcoat-pockets with subterranean laughter. He had
looked through his spectacles and seen at once what had happened.
The Deacon, not being in the habit of taking his nourishment in the
congealed state, had treated the ice-cream as a pudding of a rare species,
and, to make sure of doing himself justice in its distribution, had taken
a large mouthful of it without the least precaution. The consequence
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 29
was a sensation as if a dentist were killing the nerves of twenty-five
teeth at once with hot irons, or cold ones, which would hurt rather worse.
The Deacon swallowed something with a spasmodic effort, and recov
ered pretty soon and received the congratulations of his friends. There
were different versions of the expressions he had used at the onset of his
complaint, some of the reported exclamations involving a breach of
propriety, to say the least, but it was agreed that a man in an attack of
neuralgy wasn't to be judged of by the rules that applied to other folks.
THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.
is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
* Sails the unshadowed main,
The venturous bark that flings
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,
And coral reefs lie bare,
Where the. cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ;
Wrecked is the ship of pearl !
And every chambered cell,
Where its dim dream ing life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,
Before thee lies revealed,
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed !
Year after year beheld the silent toil
That spread his lustrous coil;
Still, as the spiral grew,
He left the past year's dwelling for the new,
Stole with soft step its shining archway through,
Built up its idle door,
Stretched in his last-found horne, and knew the old no more.
Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,
Child of the wandering sea,
Cast from her lap, forlorn!
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn !
While on mine ear it rings,
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:
Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll!
Leave thy low-vaulted past !
30
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea !
THE LIVING TEMPLE.
NOT in the world of light alone, .
Where God has built his blazing throne,
Nor yet alone in earth below,
With belted seas that come and go,
And endless isles of sunlit green,
Is all thy Maker's glory seen :
Look in upon thy wondrous frame,
Eternal wisdom still the same !
The smooth, soft air with pulse-like waves
Flows murmuring through its hidden caves,
Whose streams of brightening purple rush,
Fired with a new and livelier blush,
While all their burden of decay
The ebbing current steals away,
And red with Nature's flame they start
From the warm fountains of the heart.
No rest that throbbing slave may ask,
Forever quivering o'er his task,
While far and wide a crimson jet
Leaps forth to fill the woven net
Which in unnumbered crossing tides
The flood of burning life divides,
Then, kindling each decaying part,
Creeps back to find the throbbing heart.
But warmed with that unchanging flame
Behold the outward moving frame,
Its living marbles jointed strong
With glistening baud and silvery thong,
And linked to reason's guiding reins
By myriad rings in trembling chains,
Each graven with the threaded zone
Which claims it as the master's own.
See how yon beam of seeming white
Is braided out of seven-hued light,
Yet in those lucid globes no ray
By any chance shall break astray.
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 31
Hark how the rolling surge of sound,
Arches and spirals circling round,
Wakes the hushed spirit through thine ear
With music it is heaven to hear.
Then mark the cloven sphere that holds
All thought in its mysterious folds,
That feels sensation's faintest thrill,
And flashes forth the sovereign will;
Think on the stormy world that dwells
Locked in its dim and clustering cells!
The lightning gleams of power it sheds
Along its hollow glassy threads!
O Father ! grant thy love divine
To make tliese mystic temples thine!
When wasting age and wearying strife
* Have sapped the leaning walls of life,
When darkness gathers over all,
And the last tottering pillars fall,
Take the poor dust thy mercy warms,
And mould it into heavenly forms!
DOROTHY Q.
A FAMILY PORTRAIT.
RANDMOTHER'S mother: her age, I guess,
Thirteen summers, or something less ;
Girlish bust, but womanly air;
Smooth, square forehead with uprolled hair,
Lips that lover 1ms never kissed ;
Taper fingers and slender wrist;
Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade;
So they painted the little maid.
On her hand a parrot green
Sits unmoving and broods serene.
Hold up the canvas full in view,
Look ! there's a rent the light shines through,
Dark with a century's fringe of dust,
That was a Red-Coat's rapier-thrust!
Such is the tale the lady old,
Dorothy's daughter's daughter, told.
Who the painter was none may tell,
One whose best was not over well;
Hard and dry, it must be confessed,
Flat as a rose that has long been pressed;
32 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
Yet in her cheek the hues are bright,
Dainty colors of red and white,
And in her slender shape are seen
Hint and promise of stately mien.
Look not on her with eyes of scorn,
Dorothy Q. was a lady born !
Ay ! since the galloping Normans came,
England's annals have known her name;
And still to the three-hilled rebel town
Dear is that ancient name's renown,
For many a civic wreath they won,
The youthful sire and the gray-haired son.
O Damsel Dorothy ! Dorothy Q. !
Strange is the gift that I owe to you;
Such a gift as never a king ^
Save to daughter or son might bring,
All my tenure of heart and hand,
All my title to house and land ;
Mother and sister and child and wife
And joy and sorrow and death and life!
What if a hundred years ago
Those close-shut lips had answered No,
When.forth the tremulous question came
That cost the maiden her Norman name,
And under the folds that look so still
The bodice swelled with the bosom's thrill ?
Should I be I, or would it be
One tenth another, to nine tenths me ?
Soft is the breath of a maiden's YES:
Not the light gossamer stirs with less;
But never a cable that holds so fast
Through all the battles of wave and blast,
And never an echo of speech or song
That lives in the babbling air so long!
There were tones in the voice that whispered then
You may hear to-day in a hundred men.
lady and lover, how faint and far
Your images hover, and here we are,
Solid and stirring in flesh and bone,
Edward's and Dorothy's all their own,
A goodly record for Time to show
Of a syllable spoken so long ago!
Shall I bless you, Dorothy, or forgive
For the tender whisper that bade me live ?
It shall be a blessing, my little maid!
1 will heal the stab of the Red-Coat's blade,
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 33
And freshen the gold of the tarnished frame,
And gild with a rhyme your household name;
So you shall smile on us brave and bright
As first you greeted the morning's light,
And live untroubled by woes and fears
Through a second youth of a hundred years.
1871.
NEW ENGLAND'S GENTLE ICONOCLAST.
[Tribute to Emerson. Before the Mass. Historical Society, 11 May, 1882.]
TJ^MEESON'S was an Asiatic mind, drawing its sustenance partly
-*-^ from the hard soil of our New England, partly, too, from the air
that has known Himalaya and the Granges. So impressed with this
character of his mind was Mr. Burlingame, as I saw him, after his return
from his mission, that he said to me, in a freshet of hyperbole, which
was the overflow of a channel with a thread of truth running in it,
"There are twenty thousand Ralph "Waldo Emersons in China."
What could we do with this unexpected, unprovided for, unclassified,
half unwelcome new-comer, who had been for a while potted, as it were,
in our Unitarian cold green-house, but had taken to growing so fast that
he was lifting off its glass roof and letting in the hailstorms ? Here was
a protest that outflanked the extreme left of liberalism, yet so calm and
serene that its radicalism had the accents of the gospel of peace. Here
was an iconoclast without a hammer, who took down our idols from
their pedestals so tenderly that it seemed like an act of worship.
The scribes and pharisees made light of his oracular sayings. The
lawyers could not find the witnesses to subpoena and the documents to
refer to when his case came before them, and turned him over to their
wives and daughters. The ministers denounced his heresies, and
handled his writings as if they were packages of dynamite, and the
grandmothers were as much afraid of his new teachings as old Mrs.
Piozzi was of geology. We had had revolutionary orators, reformers,
martyrs ; it was but a few years since Abner Kneeland had been sent to
jail for expressing an opinion about the great First Cause ; but we had
had nothing like this man, with his seraphic voice and countenance, his
choice vocabulary, his refined utterance, his gentle courage, which, with
a different manner, might have been called audacity, his temperate state
ment of opinions which threatened to shake the existing order of thought
like an earthquake.
His peculiarities of style and of thinking became fertile parents of
mannerisms, which were fair game for ridicule as they appeared in his
VOL. VII. 3
34 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
imitators. For one who talks like Emerson or like Carlyle soon finds
himself surrounded by a crowd of walking phonographs, who mechani
cally reproduce his mental and vocal accents. Emerson was before long
talking in the midst of a babbling Simonetta of echoes, and not unnatu
rally was now and then himself a mark for the small-shot of criticism.
He had soon reached that height in the "cold thin atmosphere" of
thought where
" Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark his distant flight to do him wrong."
I shall add a few words, of necessity almost epigrammatic, upon his
work and character. He dealt with life, and life with him was not mere
ly this particular air-breathing phase of being, but the spiritual existence
which included it like a parenthesis between the two infinities. He
wanted his daily draughts of oxygen like his neighbors, and was as
thoroughly human as the plain people he mentions who had successively
owned or thought they owned the house-lot on which he planted his
hearthstone. But he was at home no less in the interstellar spaces out
side of all the atmospheres. The semi -materialistic idealism of Milton
was a gross and clumsy medium compared to the imponderable ether of
" The Oversoul" and the unimaginable vacuum of " Brahma." He fol
lowed in the shining and daring track of the Grains homo of Lucretius :
" Vivida vis animi pervicit, et extra
Processit longe flammantia moenia mundi."
It always seemed to me as if he looked at this earth very much as a vis
itor from another planet would look upon it. He was interested, and to
some extent curious about it, but it was not the first spheroid he had
been acquainted with, by any means. I have amused myself with com
paring his descriptions of natural objects with those of the Angel Eaphael
in the seventh book of Paradise Lost. Emerson talks of his titmouse
as Eaphael talks of his emmet. Angels and poets never deal with nature
after the manner of those whom we call naturalists.
To judge of him as a thinker, Emerson should have been heard as a
lecturer, for his manner was an illustration of his way of thinking. He
would lose his place just as his mind would drop its thought and pick
up another, twentieth cousin or no relation at all to it. This went so far
at times that one could hardly tell whether he was putting together a
mosaic of colored fragments, or only turning a kaleidoscope where the
pieces tumbled about as they best might. It was as if he had been look
ing in at a cosmic peep-show, and turning from it at brief intervals to tell
us what he saw. But what fragments these colored sentences were, and
what pictures they often placed before us, as if we too saw them ! Never
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 35
Has this city known such audiences as he gathered ; never was such an
Olympian entertainment as that which he gave them.
It is very hard to speak of Mr. Emerson's poetry ; not to do it injus
tice, still more to do it justice. It seerns to me like the robe of a monarch
patched by a New England housewife. The royal tint and stuff are un
mistakable, but here and there the gray worsted from the darning-needle
crosses and ekes out the Tyrian purple. Few poets who have written so
little in verse have dropped so many of those " jewels five words long "
which fall from their setting only to be more choicely treasured. E
pluribus unum is hardly more familiar to our ears than " He builded
better than he knew," and Keats's " thing of beauty " is little better
known than Emerson's " beauty is its own excuse for being." One may
not like to read Emerson's poetry because it is sometimes careless, almost
as if carefully so, though never undignified even when slipshod ; spotted
with quaint archaisms and strange expressions that sound like the affec
tation of negligence, or with plain, homely phrases such as the self-made
scholar is always afraid of. But if one likes Emerson's poetry he will be
sure to love it ; if he loves it, its phrases will cling to him as hardly any
others do. It may not be for the multitude, but it finds its place like
pollen-dust and penetrates to the consciousness it is to fertilize and bring
to flower and fruit.
I have known something of Emerson as a talker, not nearly so much
as many others who can speak and write of him. It is unsafe to tell
how a great thinker talks, for perhaps, like a city dealer with a village
customer, he has not shown his best goods to the innocent reporter of
his sayings. However that may be in this case, let me contrast in a sin
gle glance the momentary effect in conversation of the two neighbors,
Hawthorne and Emerson. Speech seemed like a kind of travail to
Hawthorne. One must harpoon him like a cetacean with questions to
make him talk at all. Then the words came from him at last, with
bashful manifestations, like those of a young girl, almost, words that
gasped .themselves forth, seeming to leave a great deal more behind
them than they told, and died out discontented with themselves, like the
monologue of thunder in the sky, which always goes off mumbling and
grumbling as if it had not said half it wanted to, and ought to say.
Emerson was sparing of words, but used them with great precision
and nicety. If he had been followed about by a shorthand-writing
Boswell, every sentence he ever uttered might have been preserved. To
hear him talk was like watching one crossing a brook on stepping-stones.
His noun had to wait for its verb or its adjective until he was ready ;
then his speech would come down upon the word he wanted, and not
Worcester and Webster could better it from all the wealth of their huge
vocabularies.
36 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. [1835-60
These are only slender rays of side-light on a personality which is in
teresting in every aspect and will be fully illustrated by those who knew
him best. One glimpse of him as a listener may be worth recalling. He
was always courteous and bland to a remarkable degree; his smile was
the well-remembered line of Terence written out in living features. But
when anything said specially interested him he would lean toward the
speaker with a look never to be forgotten, his head stretched forward, his
shoulders raised like the wings of an eagle, and his eye watching the
flight of the thought which had attracted his attention, as if it were his
prey, to be seized in mid-air and carried up to his eyry.
To sum up briefly what would, as it seems to me. be the text to be
unfolded in his biography, he was a man of excellent common sense,
with a genius so uncommon that he seemed like an exotic transplanted
from some angelic nursery. His character was so blameless, so beauti
ful, that it was rather a standard to judge others by than to find a place
for on the scale of comparison. Looking at life with the profoundest
sense of its infinite significance, he was yet a cheerful optimist, almost too
hopeful, peeping into every cradle to see if it did not hold a babe with
the halo of a new Messiah about it. He enriched the treasure-house of
literature, but, what was far more, he enlarged the boundaries of thought
for the few that followed him, and the many who never knew, and do
not know to-day, what hand it was which took down their prison walls.
He was a preacher who taught that the religion of humanity included
both those of Palestine, nor those alone, and taught it with such conse
crated lips that the narrowest bigot was ashamed to pray for him, as
from a footstool nearer to the throne. "Hitch your wagon to a star";
this was his version of the divine lesson taught by that holy George
Herbert whose words he loved. Give him whatever place belongs to
him in our literature, in the literature of our language, of the world, but
remember this : the end and aim of his being was to make truth lovely
and manhood valorous, and to bring our daily life nearer and nearer to
the eternal, immortal, invisible.
THE STRONG HEROIC LINE.
[From the Poem delivered at a Dinner given to Dr. Holmes by the Medical Profession
of New York City, 12 April, 1883.]
Tj^RIENDS of the Muse, to you of right belong
-*- The first staid footsteps of my square-toed song;
Full well I know the strong heroic line
Has lost its fashion since I made it mine;
1835-60] OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 37
But there are tricks old singers will not learn,
And this grave measure still must serve my turn.
So the old bird resumes the self -same note
His first young summer wakened in his throat:
The self-same tune the old canary sings,
And all unchanged the bobolink's carol rings ;
When the tired songsters of the day are still
The thrush repeats his long- remembered trill;
Age alters not the crow's persistent caw,
The Yankee's " Haow," the stammering Briton's "Haw";
And so the hand that takes the lyre for you
Plays the old tune on strings that once were new.
Nor let the rhymester of the hour deride
The straight-backed measure with its stately stride :
It gave the mighty voice of Dryden scope;
It sheathed the steel-bright epigrams of Pope;
In Goldsmith's verse it learned a sweeter strain;
Byron and Campbell wore its clanking chain;
I smile to listen while the critic's scorn
Flouts the proud purple kings have nobly worn ;
Bid each new rhymer try his dainty skill
And mould his frozen phrases as he will;
We thank the artist for his neat device;
The shape is pleasing, though the stuff is ice.
Fashions will change the new costume allures,
Unfading still the better type endures;
While the slashed doublet of the cavalier
Gave the old knight the pomp of chanticleer,
Our last-hatched dandy with his glass and stick
Recalls the semblance of a new-born chick;
(To match the model he is aiming at
He ought to wear an egg-shell for a hat) ;
Which of these objects would a painter choose,
And which Velasquez or Van Dyke refuse ?
38 JAMES HENRY HAMMOND. [1835-60
3|ameg
BOBN in Newberry, 8. C., 1807. DIED at Beech Island, Aiken Co., S. C., 1864.
THE PATRIARCHAL SYSTEM VS. WHITE SLAVERY.
[Slavery in the Light of Political Science. From " Cotton is King" ~by David Christy,
and Pro-Slavery Arguments. Third and Revised Edition, edited by E. N. Elliott.
I860.]
YOU next complain that our slaves are kept in bondage by the " law
of force." In what country or condition of mankind do you see
human affairs regulated merely by the law of love? Unless I am greatly
mistaken, you will, if you look over the world, find nearly all certain
and permanent rights, civil, social, and I may even add religious, resting
on and ultimately secured by the " law of force." The power of majori
ties of aristocracies of kings nay of priests, for the most part, and of
property, resolves itself at last into "force," and could not otherwise be
long maintained. Thus, in every turn of your argument against our
system of slavery, you advance, whether conscious of it or not, radical
and revolutionary doctrines calculated to change the whole face of the
world, to overthrow all government, disorganize society, and reduce man
to a state of nature red with blood, and shrouded once more in barbaric
ignorance. But you greatly err, if you suppose, because we rely on
force in the last resort to maintain our supremacy over our slaves, that
ours is a stern and unfeeling domination, at all to be compared in hard
hearted severity to that exercised, not over the mere laborer only, but by
the higher over each lower order, wherever the British sway is acknowl
edged. You say, that if those you address were "to spend one day in
the South, they would return home with impressions against slavery
never to be erased." But the fact is universally the reverse. I have
known numerous instances, and I never knew a single one, where there
was no other cause of offence, and no object to promote by falsehood,
that individuals from the non-slaveholding States did not, after residing
among us long enough to understand the subject, "return home" to de
fend our slavery. It is matter of regret that you have never tried the ex
periment yourself. I do not doubt you would have been converted, for
I give you credit for an honest though perverted mind. You would
have seen how weak and futile is all abstract reasoning about this matter,
and that, as a building may not be less elegant in its proportions, or
tasteful in its ornaments, or virtuous in its uses, for being based upon
granite, so a system of human government, though founded on force,
may develop and cultivate the tenderest and purest sentiments of the
1835-60] JAMES HENRY HAMMOND. 39
human heart. And our patriarchal scheme of domestic servitude is in
deed welt calculated to awaken the higher and finer feelings of our nature.
It is not wanting in its enthusiasm and its poetry. The relations of the
most beloved and honored chief, and the most faithful and admiring sub
jects, which, from the time of Homer, have been the theme of song, are
frigid and unfelt compared with those existing between the master and
his slaves who served his father, and rocked his cradle, or have been born
in his household, and look forward to serve his children who have been
through life the props of his fortune, and the objects of his care who
have partaken of his griefs, and looked to him for comfort in their own
whose sickness he has so frequently watched over and relieved whose
holidays he has so often made joyous by his bounties and his presence;
for whose welfare, when absent, his anxious solicitude never ceases, and
whose hearty and affectionate greetings never fail to welcome him home.
In this cold, calculating, ambitious world of ours, there are few ties more
heartfelt, or of more benignant influence, than those which mutually
bind the master and the slave, under our ancient system, handed down
from the father of Israel. The unholy purpose of the abolitionists is, to
destroy by defiling it; to infuse into it the gall and bitterness which
rankle in their own envenomed bosoms ; to poison the minds of the mas
ter and servant ; turn love to hatred, array " force " against force and
hurl all
" With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition."
You think it a great "crime" that we do not pay our slaves "wages,"
and on this account pronounce us "robbers." In my former letter, I
showed that the labor of our slaves was not without great cost to us, and
that in fact they themselves receive more in return for it than your hire
lings do for theirs. For what purpose do men labor, but to support
themselves and their families in what comfort they are able? The
efforts of mere physical labor seldom suffice to provide more than. a liveli
hood. And it is a well known and shocking fact that while a few opera
tives in Great Britain succeed in securing a comfortable living, the
greater part drag out a miserable existence, and sink at last under abso
lute want. Of what avail is it that you go through the form of paying
them a pittance of what you call " wages," when you do not, in return for
their services, allow them what alone they ask and have a just right to
demand enough to feed, clothe, and lodge them, in health and sickness,
with reasonable comfort? Though we do not give "wages " in money,
we do this for our slaves, and they are therefore better rewarded than
yours. It is the prevailing vice and error of the age, and one from
which the abolitionists, with all their saintly pretensions, are far from
40 JAMES HENRY HAMMOND. [1835-60
being free, to bring everything to the standard of money. You make
gold and silver the great test of happiness. The American slave must
be wretched indeed, because he is not compensated for his services in
cash. It is altogether praiseworthy to pay the laborer a shilling a day,
and let him starve on it. To supply all his wants abundantly, and at
all times, yet withhold from him money, is among " the most repro
bated crimes." The fact cannot be denied, that the mere laborer is now,
and always has been, everywhere that barbarism has ceased, enslaved.
Among the innovations of modern times, following " the decay of villein
age," has been the creation of a new system of slavery. The primitive
and patriarchal, which may also be called the sacred and natural system,
in which the laborer is under the personal control of a fellow-being
endowed with the sentiments and sympathies of humanity, exists among
us. It has been almost everywhere else superseded by the modern arti
ficial money-power system, in which man his thews and sinews, his hopes
and affections, his very being, are all subjected to the dominion of Capi
tal a monster without a heart cold, stern, arithmetical sticking to
the bond taking ever the "pound of flesh," working up human life
with engines, and retailing it out by weight and measure. His name of
old was " Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell from heaven." And
it is to extend his empire that you and your deluded coadjutors dedicate
your lives. You are stirring up mankind to overthrow our heaven-
ordained system of servitude, surrounded by innumerable checks, de
signed and planted deep in the human heart by God and nature, to sub
stitute the absolute rule of this " spirit reprobate," whose proper place
was hell.
You charge us with looking on our slaves " as chattels or brutes," and
enter into a somewhat elaborate argument to prove that they have " hu
man forms," " talk," and even " think." Now, the fact is, that however
you may indulge in this strain for effect, it is the abolitionists, and not
the slaveholders, who, practically, and in the most important point of
view, regard our slaves as "chattels or brutes." In your calculations of
the consequences of emancipation, you pass over entirely those which
must prove most serious, and which arise from the fact of their being
persons.
You appe'ar to think that we might abstain from the use of them as
readily as if they were machines to be laid aside, or cattle that might be
turned out to find pasturage for themselves. I have heretofore glanced
at some of the results that would follow from breaking the bonds of so
many human beings, now peacefully and happily linked into our social
system. The tragic horrors, the decay and ruin that would for years,
perhaps for ages, brood over our land, if it could be accomplished, I will
not attempt to portray. But do you fancy the blight would, in such an
1835-60] ALBERT TAYLOR BLEDSOE. 41
event, come to us alone? The diminution of the sugar crop of the West
Indies affected Great Britain only, and there chiefly the poor. It was a
matter of no moment to capital, that labor should have one comfort less.
Yet it has forced a reduction of the British duty on sugar. Who can
estimate the consequences that must follow the annihilation of the cotton
crop of the slaveholding States ? I do not undervalue the importance of
other articles of commerce, but no calamity could befall the world at all
comparable to the sudden loss of two millions of bales of cotton annually.
From the deserts of Africa to the Siberian wilds from Greenland to the
Chinese wall there is not a spot of earth but would feel the sensation.
The factories of Europe would fall with a concussion that would shake
down castles, palaces, and even thrones; while the "purse-proud, elbow
ing insolence " of our Northern monopolist would soon disappear forever
under the smooth speech of the pedler, scourging our frontiers for a
livelihood, or the bluff vulgarity of the South Sea whaler, following the
harpoon amid storms and shoals. Doubtless the abolitionists think we
could grow cotton without slaves, or that at worst the reduction of the
crop would be moderate and temporary. Such gross delusions show
how profoundly ignorant they are of our condition here.
BOHN in Frankfort, Ky., 1809. DIED at Alexandria, Va., 1877.
PREDICTING THE CONSEQUENCES OF ABOLITION.
[Liberty and Slavery. From " Cotton is King," by David Christy, and Pro-Slavery
Arguments. Third and Revised Edition, edited by E. N. Elliott. I860.]
"VTOR do we- wish to see the experiment, which has brought down
*-^ such widespread ruin on all the great interests of St. Domingo and
the British colonies, tried in this prosperous and now beautiful land of
ours. It requires no prophet to foresee the awful consequences of such
an experiment on the lives, the liberties, the fortunes, and the morals of
the people of the Southern States. Let us briefly notice some of these
consequences.
Consider, in the first place, the vast amount of property which would
be destroyed by the madness of such an experiment. According to the
estimate of Mr.' Clay, " the total value of the slave property in the
United States is twelve hundred millions of dollars," all of which the
people of the South are expected to sacrifice on the altar of abolitionism.
42 ALBERT TAYLOR BLEDSOE. [1835-60
It only moves the indignation of the abolitionist that we should for one
moment hesitate. ''I see," he exclaims, "in the irnmenseness of the
value of the slaves, the enormous 'amount of robbery committed on them.
E see ' twelve hundred millions of dollars ' seized, extorted by unrighteous
force." But, unfortunately, his passions are so furious that his mind no
sooner comes into contact with any branch of the subject of slavery than
instantly, as if by a flash of lightning, his opinion is formed, and he
begins to declaim and denounce as if reason should have nothing to do
with the question. He does not even allow himself time for a single
moment's serious reflection. Nay, resenting the opinion of the most
sagacious of our statesmen as an insult to his understanding, he deems it
beneath his dignity even to make an attempt to look beneath the surface
of the great problem on which he condescends to pour the illumination
of his genius. Ere we accept his oracles as inspired, we beg leave to
think a little, and consider their intrinsic value.
Twelve hundred millions of dollars extorted by unrighteous force 1
What enormous robbery ! Now, let it be borne in mind that this is the
language of a man who, as we have seen, has in one of his lucid inter
vals admitted that it is right to apply force to compel those to work who
will not labor from rational motives. Such is precisely the application
of the force which now moves his righteous indignation.
This force, so justly applied, has created this enormous value of twelve
hundred millions of dollars. It has neither seized nor extorted this vast
amount from others ; it has simply created it out of that which, but for
such force, would have been utterly valueless. And if experience teaches
anything, then, no sooner shall this force be withdrawn than the great
value in question will disappear. It will not be restored ; it will be
annihilated. The slaves now worth so many hundred millions of dol
lars would become worthless to themselves and nuisances to society.
No free State in the Union would be willing to receive them or a con
siderable portion of them into her dominions. They would be regarded
as pests, and, if possible, everywhere expelled from the empires of free
men.
Our lands, like those of the British West Indies, would become almost
valueless for the want of laborers to cultivate them. The most beautiful
garden-spots of the sunny South would, in the course of a few years, be
turned into a jungle, with only here and there a forlorn plantation.
Poverty and distress, bankruptcy and ruin, would everywhere be seen.
In one word, the condition of the Southern States would, in all material
respects, be like that of the once flourishing British colonies in which
the fatal experiment of emancipation has been tried.
Such are some of the fearful consequences of emancipation. But
these are not all. The ties that would be severed, and the sympathies
1835-601 ALBERT TAYLOR BLEDSOE, 43
crushed, by emancipation, are not at all understood by abolitionists.
They are, indeed, utter strangers to the moral power which these ties
and sympathies now exert for the good of the inferior race.
Let the slaves be emancipated, then, and, in one or two generations, the
white people of the South would care as little for the freed blacks among
us as the same class of persons are now cared for by the white people of
the North. The prejudice of race would be restored with unmitigated
violence. The blacks are contented in servitude, so long as they find
themselves excluded from none of the privileges of the condition to
which they belong ; but let them be delivered from the authority of their
masters, and they will feel their rigid exclusion from the society of the
whites and all participation in their government. They would become
clamorous for "their inalienable rights." Three millions of freed blacks,
thus circumstanced, would furnish the elements of the most horrible
civil war the world has ever witnessed.
These elements would soon burst in fury on the land. There was no
civil war in Jamaica, it is true, after the slaves were emancipated ; but
this was because the power of Great Britain was over the two parties,
and held them in subjection. It would be far otherwise here. For here
there would be no power to check while there would be infernal agen
cies at work to promote civil discord and strife. As Robespierre caused
it to be proclaimed to the free blacks of St. Domingo that they were
naturally entitled to all the rights and privileges of citizens ; as Mr.
Seward proclaimed the same doctrine to the free blacks of New York ;
so there would be kind benefactors enough to propagate the same senti
ments among our colored population. They would be instigated, in
every possible way, to claim their natural equality with the whites ; and,
by every diabolical art, their bad passions would be inflamed. If the
object of such agitators were merely to stir up scenes of strife and blood,
it might be easily attained ; but if it were to force the blacks into a
social and political equality with the whites, it would most certainly and
forever fail. For the government of these Southern States was, by our
fathers, founded on the virtue and intelligence of the people, and there
we intend it shall stand. The African has neither part nor lot in the
matter.
We cannot suppose, for a moment, that abolitionists would be in the
slightest degree moved by the awful consequences of emancipation.
Poverty, ruin, death, are very small items with these sublime philan
thropists. They scarcely enter into their calculations. The dangers of
a civil war though the most fearful the world has ever seen lie quite
beneath the range of their humanity.
Indeed, we should expect our argument from the consequences of
emancipation to be met by a thoroughgoing abolitionist with the words,
44
ELIHU BURRITT. [1835-60
" Perish the Southern States rather than sacrifice one iota of our prin
ciples ! " We ask them not to sacrifice their principles to us ; nor do we
intend that they shall sacrifice us to their principles. For if perish we
must, it shall be as a sacrifice to our own principles, and not to theirs.
BOKN in New Britain, Conn., 1810. DIED there, 1879.
A LEARNED BLACKSMITH.
[Elihu Burritt ; A Memorial Volume. Edited by CJias. Northend. 1879.]
I WAS the youngest of many brethren, and my parents were poor.
My means of education were limited to the advantages of a dis
trict school; and those, again, were circumscribed by my father's death,
which deprived me, at the age of fifteen, of those scanty opportunities
which I had previously enjoyed. A few months after his decease, I
apprenticed myself to a blacksmith in my native village. Thither I
carried an indomitable taste for reading, which I had previously acquired
through the medium of the social library, all the historical works in
O tf
which I had at that time perused. At the expiration of a little more
than half of my apprenticeship, I suddenly conceived the idea of study
ing Latin. Through the assistance of an elder brother, who had himself
obtained a collegiate education by his own exertions, I completed my
Virgil during the evenings of one winter. After some time devoted to
Cicero, and a few other Latin authors, I commenced the Greek. At this
time it was necessary that I should devote every hour of daylight, and a
part of the evening, to the duties of my apprenticeship. Still I carried
my Greek grammar in my hat, and often found a moment, when I was
heating some large iron, when I could place my book onen before me,
against the chimney of my forge, and go through with tupto, tupteis,
tuptei, unperceived by my fellow-apprentices, and, to my confusion of
face, sometimes with a detrimental effect to far charge in my nre At
evening I sat down, unassisted and alone, cu the Iliad of Homer, twenty
books of which measured my progress in that language during the even
ings of another winter.
I next turned to the modern languages, and was much gratified to
learn that my knowledge of Latin furnished me with a key to the litera
ture of most of the languages of Europe. This circumstance gave a new
impulse to the desire of acquainting myself with the philosophy, deriva-
1835-60] ELIHU BURRITT. 45
tion, and affinity of the different European tongues. I could not be
reconciled to limit myself, in these investigations, to a few hours, after
the arduous labors of the day. I therefore laid down my hammer and
went to New Haven, where I recited to native teachers, in French,
Spanish, German, and Italian. At the expiration of two years I re
turned to the forge, bringing with me such books in those languages as
I could procure. When I had read these books through, I commenced
the Hebrew, with an awakened desire for examining another field ; and,
by assiduous application, I was enabled, in a few weeks, to read this lan
guage with such facility that I allotted it to myself, as a task, to read
two chapters in the Hebrew Bible, before breakfast, each morning; this
and an hour at noon being all the time that I could devote to myself
during the day.
After becoming somewhat familiar with the Hebrew, I looked around
me for the means of initiating myself into the fields of Oriental litera
ture, and to my deep regret and concern, I found my progress in this
direction hedged up by the want of requisite books. I immediately
began to devise means of obviating this obstacle ; and, after many plans,
I concluded to seek a place as a sailor, on board some ship bound to
Europe, thinking in this way to have opportunities for collecting, at
different ports, such works in the modern and Oriental languages as I
found necessary for my object. I left the forge and my native place, to
carry this plan into execution. I travelled on foot to Boston, a distance
of more than a hundred miles, to find some vessel bound to Europe. In
this I was disappointed; and while revolving in my mind what step
next to take, I accidentally heard of the American Antiquarian Society,
in Worcester. I immediately bent my steps towards this place. I
visited the hall of the Antiquarian Society, and found there, to my in
finite gratification, such a collection of ancient, modern, and Oriental
languages as I never before conceived to be collected in one place; and,
sir, you may imagine with what sentiments of gratitude I was affected,
when, upon evincing a desire to examine some of these rich and rare
works, I was kindly invited to an unlimited participation in all the bene
fits of this noble institution. Availing myself of the kindness of the
directors, I spent about three hours, daily, at the hall, which, with an
hour at noon, and about three in the evening, make up the portion of
the day which I appropriate to my studies, the rest being occupied in
arduous manual labor. Through the facilities afforded by this institu
tion, I have been able to add so much to my previous acquaintance with
the ancient, modern, and Oriental languages as to be able to read up
wards of fifty of them with more or less facility.
40 MART LOWELL PUTNAM. [1835-60
Lotoell
BORN in Boston, Mass., 1810.
AFRICAN PREACHERS.
[Record of an Obscure Man. 1861.]
HAYE heard much," I said, after a few moments' pause, "of the
eloquence of African preachers, but I have not yet had the good
fortune to meet with one who justified their reputation."
" It is possible you may not have it It has more than once been my
chance to observe a remarkable phenomenon. I have been standing en
tranced, like the rest of his hearers, before one of these rude prophets,
when suddenly the electric current has been broken. The spell by which
he held his audience is dissolved. The seer has vanished. An ordi
nary man is before you, dealing out commonplaces in language trite or
turgid. I have looked for the explanation, nor long. A part} r of
white persons had entered, fashionable women, perhaps, and men con
descending or supercilious, brought by curiosity to hear a specimen of
negro eloquence."
" The poor slave even in his moments of exaltation he is quelled by
the lordly eye of his superior."
"I believe," replied Edward, "that, in general, it is not awe that works
the change, but the sudden introduction of an unsympathizing element."
"I have seen the same failure in an illiterate white preacher of real
eloquence, when called to speak before a cultivated audience. I confess,
in his case, I thought the desire of being equal to his reputation had
something to do with his falling so far below it. He abandoned his
usual simple, nervous language for a studied diction, and made a little
display of scholarship quite uncalled for. I afterwards heard him in his
own Bethel, and formed a very different estimate of his powers."
" Among the weaker sort," Edward answered, " vanity has, no doubt,
a share in this sudden destitution of apostolic gifts. I have seen among
the black preachers men of real ability, sincere men, too, make them
selves absurd, when called upon to speak before an audience composed
of white persons. This is.especially apt to be the case when the occasion
has been foreseen and prepared for. But, in general, this temporary sus
pension or inthralment of the powers, of which we have been speaking,
is due neither to servility nor self-love, but to an influence of which all
men are more or less susceptible. No faculty is more under the control
of exhilarating or depressing influences than that of language. Sym
pathy is the breath of life to the poet. I have known men strong enough
1835-60] MARY LOWELL PUTNAM. 47
to hold themselves independent of it, yet few. These have been men
severely schooled by suffering, and whose whole being was possessed by
an earnest purpose. The slave does not commonly want the needed dis
cipline ; and when he is great enough to be formed, not crushed by it,
no man is more likely to devote himself to a single and unselfish object.
The adoration of the Deity, and the awakening of other souls to his love
and worship, often make the voluntary life of the man whose material
existence has no office for his will or his hope."
" I can understand the power of these men over their fellows, but not
that they should have any over you. Yet it is true that those who are
in continual attendance on their masters wear off all coarseness, and
have nothing in their manner which offends."
" The ablest and most eloquent among them," said Edward, smiling,
*' are not usually those who are in constant communication with the
master race, nor, indeed, those who have received most instruction.
They are more commonly found among the followers of mechanic arts
which employ the hands without engrossing the thoughts. These men
enjoy greater independence than the others. They are necessarily more
trusted to themselves. They are forced to use their own faculties.
They do not commonly work under the eye of a taskmaster. They are
not obliged to be always ready at call. Wood-cutting, cattle-tending,
boating of produce, any occupation which implies a certain independence
and gives opportunity for silent meditation, is more favorable than
household service. Agriculture on a small plantation, where few hands
are employed, does not so much impede the expansion of the intellect.
But the obsequiousness, the alertness, required of a domestic servant,
accord very ill with the grand, tranquil flow of religious inspiration. And
the wretch one of a gang as abject as himself who has toiled all day
under the lash of a driver, what has he strength for but perhaps a dumb,
imploring prayer to a Protection divined, but not yet made manifest? "
" But from what source do the men you speak of draw their ideas,
their language? "
"They owe, indeed," Edward answered, "little.to schools. And that
great garden of modern literature in which we wander at will, passing
from one flower or fruit to another so carelessly that we hardly know
well the perfume or flavor of any, is shut to them. But they have, per
haps, their compensation. If they are confined to one volume, it is a
Tolume which is in itself a library. Let us not forget that they have
been trained by that great teacher through whose influence England
learned to speak with one tongue and to feel with one heart, the same
that gave to Germany a classic language, and that infused into the
springing literature of these countries those elements of elevation and
energy that have distinguished the productions of English and German
48 JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. [1835-60
mind from those of any other modern people. Shall we call that man
uncultivated whose mind is imbued with the deep wisdom, the sublime
devotion, the grand imagery of the Book of Books? And where shall
we find a better school of language, a deeper well of English undefiled,
than in our common version of the Old and New Testaments ? "
" Do all these preachers know how to read ? "
" Many of them. Those who do not, when they are men of strong in
tellect, lose less by the deprivation than we are apt to suppose. For
every aid that civilization gives us, we sacrifice something of our self-re
liance, and, with this, something of our power. The force of memory
possessed by some of these men, who cannot store learning up in libra
ries and find it ready to their hand, but must trust to their own brain
for the preservation of whatever mental treasures they collect, would
astonish many a German scholar. Only the Druids, perhaps, may have
surpassed them. Their wealth, too, is gathered slowly ; each new acces
sion is pondered and scrutinized."
" I have had few opportunities of listening to negro eloquence. I
once, indeed, heard a black man relate to an audience of his own race a
mournful incident in simple and touching language. I was moved with
the rest. But when he heightened the pathos of his narrative by noting
the fineness of the handkerchief with which his heroine dried her tears,
my sympathies received a sudden shock. He passed from the grief of
the bereaved to the procession of carriages to the grave, and described
with unction the splendor and profusion of the funeral-feast. I have
always found my interest thus cut short. It is true, I have heard no
black preacher of eminence. I have seen reports of negro discourses in
which I'have found originality certainly, and rude power; but the gro
tesque and vulgar images, which no doubt were well enough adapted to
those they were meant for, would, I am afraid, have made me laugh in
spite of myself, if I had been of the audience."
31ameg freeman Clarfee,
BORN in Hanover, N. H., 1810. DIED at Jamaica Plain, Mass., 1888.
THE BELIEF IN GOD.
[Ten Great Religions. 1883.]
TTTHENCE was this belief in God, which we find so universal, de-
W rived? We have seen that all men believe in and adore unseen
1835-60] JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. 49
powers, higher than themselves. This worship begins in one great
faith, universal and the same, the belief in the presence and power of
invisible spirits. It passes up through various phases of belief, and then
at last becomes once more the same faith ; namely, belief in one Supreme
Spiritual Being. It is one in its lowest form as Animism ; one, finally,
in its highest form, as Monotheism.
The only source from which man's belief in spirits could have been
derived is the consciousness that he is himself a soul, a soul with a body
for its present organ, but capable of existing without this organism.
Apart from this consciousness, it is difficult to see how his belief in dis
embodied spirits could have come.
The second step is taken by means of another universal and necessary
law of thought belief in causation. All things around are in perpetual
change ; but a law of 'the mind compels us to believe that every event
must have a cause ; that for every change there must exist a motive force.
This notion of cause is deeply rooted in every human mind. It is a
universal idea, for all men have it. It is a necessary idea, for we cannot
help having it, even if we deny its existence. It probably arises first in
the mind on the occasion of our making an effort and seeing some result
follow. Cause is an idea connected intimately with personal action,
effort, choice, the exercise of an intelligent will. Childlike races, look
ing out on the phenomena of nature, the coming of dawn, day and night,
storm and sunshine, spring-time and harvest, flowers and fruits, and,
seeing that these were caused by the sun, the atmosphere, the spring
rains and summer heats, personified these causes as the Sun-god and
Rain-god, as Agin, God of fire, and Indra, God of Storms. Thus the
second step in religious belief was taken.
The next idea associated with the gods is that of creation. This
belief in a God, who has created the heavens and the earth, we have also
found to be very widely disseminated among races in every degree of
civilization.
What was the origin of this belief ? It seems to have risen in the
mind by adding to the idea of causation that of finality or design. There
is a universal law of thought, by which from the perception of adapta
tion we infer design. I do not here undertake to decide if this be an
original intuition or not, but at present it is a law of thought which
works like an instinct. Nearly the whole life of man is spent in adapt
ing means to foreseen and intended ends. Prom the hunter setting his
trap to catch game, up to Shakespeare designing the play of " Hamlet,"
or the Apostle Paul planning the conversion of Europe, through all
human industries, arts, amusements, man is adapting means to ends
during all his life. When the Pilgrim Fathers landed on Cape Cod,
before they knew whether the region was inhabited they " came to a tree
VOL. VII. 4
50 JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. [1835-60
where a young sprit was bowed down, and some acorns strewed under
it. As we were looking at it William Bradford came up, and as he went
about, it gave a sudden jerk up, and he was caught by the leg. Stephen
Hopkins said, ' It was made to catch some deer.' It is a very pretty
device." No one thought it a freak of nature. Adaptation proved de
sign. In a stratum of sand belonging to a geological epoch where the
presence of man had not then been suspected, there were found stones
rudely shaped into some kind of tools. Their adaptation to cutting and
grinding was at once regarded as a sufficient proof of design, therefore as
evidence that men had existed on the earth at that remote period. No
one can contemplate the myriad adaptations of means to ends in nature
without being impressed with the sense of intelligent purpose. We do
not stop now to consider the modern metaphysical objections to finality
in nature. Such objections certainly never disturbed the primitive rea
son of mankind. To the common sense of the childlike races, no less
than to the penetrating thought of Socrates, it was enough .to look at the
immense order of the universe, its infinite variety and majestic unity, its
thousandfold adaptations to life, growth, and the progress of the creat
ure, to lead to the conclusion that it was the work of some divine archi
tect, some celestial Demiurg.
One more step was to be taken. . If there are supernatural beings above
man, yet caring for man, and if among these there is a Supreme Being
maintaining the order of the universe, it needs only to proceed a little
farther in this process of thought to reach the pure Monotheism of the
Greek philosophy and the Egyptian mysteries. A contemplation of the
world without shows universal law, fixed and invariable order, the per
manence of being; and on this permanence of existing law our whole
mind and heart repose securely. The invariable order of things is
the only guarantee of our sanity, and to maintain this order we need
infinite power, infinite wisdom, and infinite goodness. This conception
of Infinite Being, existing in boundless space and eternal duration, is
given us hy another law of thought behind which we cannot go. Given
the finite, there is a necessity to believe in the infinite. This is a con
ception so lofty as to seem above the capacity of a created mind, and yet
it. is one of the primal truths from which no human reason can escape.
It is one of those" of which Epictetus says: "He who denies self-evident
truths cannot be reasoned with."
1835-60] WILLIAM HENRY CHANNING.
Canning*
BORN in Boston, Mass., 1810. DIED in London, England, 1884.
MARGARET FULLER.
f Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli. 1852.]
AS, leaning on one arm, she poured out her stream of thought, turn
ing now and then her eyes full upon me, to see whether I caught
her meaning, there was leisure to study her thoroughly. Her tempera
ment was predominantly what the physiologists would call nervous san
guine; and the gray eye, rich brown hair, and light complexion, with the
muscular and well-developed frame, bespoke delicacy balanced by vigor.
Here was a sensitive yet powerful being, fit at once for rapture or sus
tained effort, intensely active, prompt for adventure, firm for trial. She
certainly had not beauty, yet the high arched dome of the head, the
changeful expressiveness of every feature, and her whole air of mingled
dignity and impulse, gave her a commanding charm. Especially char
acteristic were two physical traits. The first was a contraction of the
eyelids almost to a point, a trick caught from near-sightedness, and
then a sudden dilation, till the iris seemed to emit flashes ; an effect, no
doubt, dependent on her highly magnetized condition. The second was
a singular pliancy of the vertebras and muscles of the neck, enabling her
by a mere movement to denote each varying emotion ; in moments of
tenderness, or pensive feeling, its curves were swan-like in grace, but
when she was scornful or indignant it contracted, and made swift turns
like that of a bird of prey; Finally, in the animation, yet abandon, of
Margaret's attitude and look, were rarely blended the fiery force of
northern, and the soft languor of southern races.
Meantime, as I was thus, through her physiognomy, tracing the out
lines of her spiritual form, she was narrating chapters from the book of
experience. How superficially, heretofore, had I known her. We had
met chiefly as scholars. But now I saw before me one whose whole
life had been a poem, of boundless aspiration and hope almost wild in
its daring, of indomitable effort amidst poignant disappointment, of
widest range, yet persistent unity. Yes, here- was a poet indeed, a true
worshipper of Apollo, who had steadfastly striven to brighten and make
glad existence, to harmonize all jarring and discordant strings, to fuse
most hard conditions and cast them in a symmetric mould, to piece
fragmentary fortunes into a mosaic symbol of heavenly order. Here was
one, fond as a child of joy, eager as a native of the tropics for swift tran
sition from luxurious rest to passionate excitement, prodigal to pour her
52 WILLIAM HENRY CHAINING. [1835-60
'
mingled force of will, thought, sentiment, into the life of the moment, all
radiant with imagination, longing for communion with artists of every
age in their inspired hours, fitted bj genius and culture to mingle as an
equal in the most refined circles of Europe, and yet her youth and
early womanhood had passed away amid the very decent, yet drudging,
descendants of the prim Puritans. Trained among those who could have
discerned her peculiar power, and early fed with the fruits of beauty
for which her spirit pined, she would have developed into one of the
finest lyrists, romancers, and critics, that the modern literary world has
seen. This she knew ; and this tantalization of her fate she keenly felt.
But the tragedy of Margaret's history was deeper yet. Behind the
poet was the woman, the fond and relying, the heroic and disinterested
woman. The very glow of her poetic enthusiasm was but an outflush of
trustful affection ; the very restlessness of her intellect was the confession
that her heart had found no home. A " bookworm," " a dilettante," " a
pedant," I had heard her sneeringly called; but now it was evident that
her seeming insensibility was virgin pride, and her absorption in study
the natural vent of emotions, which had met no object worthy of life
long attachment. At once, many of her peculiarities became intelligible.
Fitfulness, unlooked-for changes of mood, misconceptions of words and
actions, substitution of fancy for fact, which had annoyed me during
the previous season, as inconsistent in a person of such capacious judg
ment and sustained self-government, were now referred to the morbid
influence of affections pent up to prey upon themselves. And, what was
still more interesting, the clue was given to a singular credulousness, by
which, in spite of her unusual penetration, Margaret might be led away
blindfold. As this revelation of her ardent nature burst upon me, and
as, rapidly recalling the past, I saw how faithful she had kept to her high
purposes, how patient, gentle, and thoughtful for others, how active in
self -improvement and usefulness, how wisely dignified she had been, I
could not but bow to her in reverence.
We walked back to the house amid a rosy sunset, and it was with no
surprise that I heard her complain of an agonizing nervous headache,
which compelled her at once to retire and call for assistance. As for
myself, while going homeward, I reflected with astonishment on the un
flagging spiritual energy with which, for hour after hour, she had swept
over lands and seas of thought, and, as my own excitement cooled, I
became conscious of exhaustion, as if a week's life had been concentrated
in a day.
The interview, thus hastily sketched, may serve as a fair type of our
usual intercourse. Always I found her open-eyed to beauty, fresh for
wonder, with wings poised for flight, and fanning the coming breeze of
inspiration. Always she seemed to see before her
1835-60] CASSIUS MARCELLUS CLAY. 53
" A shape all light, which with one hand did fling
Dew on the earth, as if she were the dawn,
And the invisible rain did ever sing
A silver music on the mossy lawn."
Yet more and more distinctly did I catch a plaintive tone of sorrow in
her thought and speech, like the wail of an ^Eolian harp heard at inter
vals from some upper window. She had never met one who could love
her as she could love; and in the orange-grove of her affections the
white, perfumed blossoms and golden fruit wasted away unclaimed.
Through the mask of slight personal defects and ungraceful manners, of
superficial hauteur and egotism, and occasional extravagance of senti
ment, no equal had recognized the rare beauty of her spirit She was
yet alone.
Clay*
BORN in Madison Co., Ky., 1810.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
[Memoirs, Writings, and Speeches. 1886.]
WE all know Mr. Lincoln was not learned in books; bui he had a
higher education in actual life than most of his compeers. I
have always placed him first of all the men of the times in common
sense. He was not a great projector not a great pioneer hence not in
the first rank of thinkers among men ; but, as an observer of men and
measures, he was patient, conservative, and of sure conclusions. I do
not say that more heroic surgery might not have put down the Rebel
lion ; but it is plain that Lincoln was a man fitted for the leadership at a
time when men differed so much about the ends as well as the methods
of the war. The anti-slavery element in these States was never, and is
not now, great. The Americans, like the English, are ever much in
favor of their own liberty. Only when the slave-power projected uni
versal dominion was the North aroused ; and only when it was the death
of Slavery, or the death of the Union, did the great mass of Americans
assent to its destruction. So Lincoln was not indifferent to slavery, as
some of his superficial critics assert ; but he was a type of the majority
of Americans who, whilst conscious of the evils of slavery, were not yet
so enthusiastic as to desire to grapple with its difficulties. But Lincoln
was not only wise, but ' good. He was not only good, but eminently
patriotic. He was the most honest man that I ever knew. Religiously,
54 ROBERT TAYLOR CONRAD. [1835-60
lie was an agnostic ; but practically, as the responsibilities of his posi
tion increased, his devotion to duty increased. So, like the great lead
ers of all times, he became more conscious of the weakness of Man and
the power of God.
These sentiments are variously characterized, with Cyrus it was the
gods ; with Caesar and Napoleon it was individuality and destiny ; and
with Lincoln it grew more and more into a lively belief in the personal
government of God. This I inferred not so much from his words as his
acts, and that sad submission to events and close observance of duty
which seemed to rise above all human power over events. I think,
therefore, that morality and religion gain nothing by a perversion of
facts ; and the noblest heroism of all the ages has followed close on to
Theism. For then are the highest faculties of the mind, and the noblest
aspirations of the soul, moving in the same direction to the grandest re
sults of human achievements. Lincoln's death only added to the gran
deur of his figure ; and in all our history no man will ascend higher on
the steep where
" Fame's proud temple shines afar."
Robert Caylor conrafc,
BORN in Philadelphia, Penn., 1810. DIED there, 1858.
THE DEATH OF JACK CADE.
[Aylmere, or, The Bondman of Kent. A Tragedy. Written for Edwin Forrest, and
first produced by him at the Park Theatre, New York, 24 May, 1841. Aylmere . . .
and Other Poems. 1852.]
SCENE : The Guildhall in London. AYLMERE seated at a table. Enter MOWBRAY,
WORTHY, and others, with BUCKINGHAM and ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.
"DUCK. In the King's name, Lord Mortimer, we come,
U To ask why thus you fright his peaceful realm
With wild rebellion ?
AYL. Why! You mock us, lords!
Are ye so deaf that England's shrieks ye hear not ?
So blind, ye see not her wan brow sweat blood ?
BUCK. My lord, if you seek power in this, remember,
The greatness which is born in anarchy,
And thrown aloft in tumult, cannot last.
It mounts, like rocks hurled skywards by volcanoes,
Flashes a guilty moment, and falls back
In the red earthquake's bosom.
1835-60] ROBERT TAYLOR CONRAD. 55
AYL. Sagely said !
Go back unto the court, and preach it, where
Fraud laughs at faith, and force at right, and where
Success is sainted if it come from hell !
I leave your royal toys to idiot kings;
And seek the right the right!
BUCK. Disband your force ;
We promise mercy.
AYL. Now 'fore Heaven, you're kind,
You've scourged, and chained, and mocked us; made God's earth
A dungeon, and a living grave ; and now,
When we are free, our swords' in our right hands,
Our tyrants shivering at our feet ye prate
Of promised mercy. Hark ye! if you yield not,
The wolf shall howl in your spoiled palaces !
Better were England made a wild, than be
The home of bondmen!
BUCK. What do you demand ?
We would have peace, if not too dearly bought.
AYL. We're deaf. Say lives! Till he be rendered up,
We know no word like peace !
BUCK. He is in ward,
And, to appease the commons, shall be tried.
AYL. Pah ! He is tried and sentenced by a nation !
Give him, or we will take him! We can do it;
And, gentle sirs, ye know it!
BUCK. Be it so ;
[To attendant.] Bring from the tower Lord Say!
ARCHBISHOP, [aside.] Can we not save him ?
BUCK, [aside.] 'Tis now too late.
AYL. [aside.] It is no dream no dream!
The hour has come !
BUCK. We yield thee Say: what further ?
AYL. That the king grant this charter to his people.
[Unrolling and exhibiting the scroll.]
BUCK. What doth it covenant ?
AYL. Freedom for the bond !
BUCK. For all ?
AYL. For all ; all who breathe England's air,
Henceforward shall be free !
[BUCKINGHAM and ARCHBISHOP confer.]
BUCK. This too, we grant.
AYL. Now can I die in peace ! It frees, moreover,
The people from all tyrannous exactions,
Taxes, and aids, to feed a rotten court.
BUCK. All this, conditioned you withdraw your host.
AYL. A pen, a pen! I will, my lord I will.
Your name, my Lord Archbishop.
[ARCHBISHOP signs.]
Yours, my lord.
[BUCKINGHAM signs.]
56 ROBERT TATLQR CONRAD. [1835-60
BUCK. Art now content ?
AYL. Not till the realm's broad seal
Make the chart sacred.
BUCK. Nay
AYL. [impatiently. ] The seal the seal!
BUCK. As you will. [To officer.] Bear this to the tower, and bid
My secretary stamp this charter with
The great seal of the realm.
AYL. And, Mowbray, thou
With Mm and haste! That hope! that hope! And when
'Tis done, shout the glad tidings to our host ;
And bid their hearts and voices tell the heavens,
That they are slaves no more !
[Exit MOWBRAY.]
Enter officer with SAY.
Ha! ha! ha! ha!
Now do I almost love thee, for this hour!
Why bridegroom ne'er met bride witli such a joy
As I meet thee !
STRAW, [rushing forward.] I'll strike him down!
AYL. Hold, knave!
I cannot spare a hair of that proud head
A drop of that foul heart. All, all is mine!
SAY. Thou fierce and savage man!
AYL. Fierce ! I am gentle ;
Gentle and joyous. Fierce ! You see I laugh !
[Sternly] Thou hadst a bondman once his name was Cade,
A white-haired man ?
SAY. I had.
AYL. And for some toy,
That harmless man was flayed. And thou stoodst by,
And saw the red whip pierce his quivering flesh,
Until it fell, piecemeal, into the blood
That gathered at his feet! You murdered him!
SAY. The villain was my bond.
AYL. Your bond! His child,
A pale boy, struck you down, and spurned you spurned you.
And he, too, was your bond!
SAY. The carle escaped.
AYL. Ay, but forgot you not, though years and troubles
Passed darkly o'er him! But thy victim's widow
Ha! doth her name appall thee ? Thine the arm
Coward ! that smote her ! Thou it was that gave
Her wasted form to the fierce flames! thou! thou!
Thought'st thou not of her boy ? The poor Jack Cade
Is now the avenger! Mortimer no more
Behold me Cade the bondman !
SAY. Thou! Heaven shield me!
AYL. Even I! Ha! ha! The grace of noble birth!
Poor Cade, the bondman, worshipped as a prince!
Poor Cade, the bondman, giving laws to princes !
1835-60] ROBERT TAYLOR CONRAD. 57
But no! Cade is no bondman! England's sun
Sees not a slave; and her glad breeze floats by,
And bears no groans save those of her oppressors.
Now for thy doom. The scourge that slew my father
Shall, from thy shrinking flesh, lap up. the blood
That gushes at its greeting, till thy frame
Is ragged from the lash. Then to the stake!
My father's torture and my mother's death !
SAY. [aside,] No, never by the torture will I die
Nor die alone! I have a weapon still.
[ Tauntingly.] How fareth Mariamne ?
AYL. Wretch ! But he
Shall move me not.
SAY. Clifford was a rough wooer.
AYL. And wooed his death.
SAY. The murderess sank a maniac ;
And dainty warders had she in the castle.
Her mingled shrieks and laughter liked me not.
I sent her to the dungeon.
AYL. To the dungeon !
SAY. And, as she raved, we bound her.
AYL. Bound ! Just Heaven !
SAY. To the damp wall, unlit and cold, we bound her.
On you she called, in mingled shrieks and prayers.
To calm her, we withheld both food and drink,
Till nature sank within her.
AYL. God of heaven !
SAY. 'Tis said the scourge will tame the wildest maniac,
And
AYL. And what ?
SAY. I bade the steward bring
The hangman's whip.
AYL. The whip ! I'll hear no more !
Die, dog, and rot!
[AYLMERE stabs SAY. They grapple. SAY strikes AYLMERE with his dagger. Attend
ants interpose. SAY falls.]
LACY, [to AYLMERE. ] You bleed !
SAY. He bleeds ? Why then I triumph still!
My steel was venomed and its point is fate.
[SAY is withdrawn.']
AYL. Take down to hell my curse, thou blackest fiend
That e'er its gates let forth! Oh, Mariamne!
Enter MARIAMNE.
MAR. Have I been dreaming ? or have I been mad ?
The smoke that palled my brain
Flies from life's deadening embers now away,
And leaves me but the ashes. Ha! my Aylinere!
[She totters to his arms.]
AYL. Thou knowest me ? Dost thou not ? Now blessings on thee!
MAR. Nearer, my Aylrnere, nearer! I do lose thee!
58 ROBERT HINCELEY MESSINGER. [1835-60
Is not this death ? Our boy, they tore me from him:
Buried they him ?
AYL. Alas, I know not. [She faints. ] Faint not !
'Tis I 'tis Aylmere holds thee, Mariamne !
MAK. I see thee not, nor hear thee. Bless thee! Bless thee!
[Dies.]
AYL. Look up, love ! Wife ! My Mariamue ! Cold !
Dead ! dead ! [ Weeps.]
[He rises sinks again is caught and supported.]
Why should I weep ? Go I not with her ?
Is Atlas' burthen on me ? Say struck home ! ,
The charter is it come ?
LACY. Not yet.
AYL. All slain !
Say hath slain all ! I come, my Mariamne !
[He sinks upon her body. A distant shout. Another and nearer. AYLMERE partly
rises.]
AYL. That shout ?
LACY. Mowbray proclaims the charter.
AYL. Doth he ?
[Another shout.]
Again !
["A cry without, " The charter ! the charter ! " MOWBRAY rushes in, bearing the charter,
unrolled, and exhibiting the seal.]
Mow. The charter! seal and all!
[AYLMERE starts up with a mid burst of exultation, rushes to him, catches the charter,
kisses it, and clasps it to his bosom.]
AYL. Free! free!
The bondman is avenged, and England free!
[Totters towards MARIAMNE and sinks.]
JKobett
BORN in Boston, Mass., 1811. DIED at Stamford, Conn., 1874.
A WINTER WISH.
*
[First printed in the "New York American," 26 April, 1838.]
Old wine to drink, old wood to burn, old books to read, and old friends to converse
with. Alfonso of Castile.
t /~\LD wine to drink!
^-' Ay, give the slippery juice
That drippeth from the grape thrown loose
t Within the tun ;
Plucked from beneath the cliff
Of sunny-sided Teneriffe,
1835-60] ROBERT H1NCKLET MESSINGER. 59
And ripened 'neath the blink
Of India's sun!
Peat whiskey hot,
Tempered with well-boiled water !
These make the long night shorter,
Forgetting not
Good stout old English porter.
Old wood to burn!
Ay, bring the hill-side beech
From where the owlets meet and screech,
And ravens croak ; ^
The crackling pine, and cedar sweet;
Bring too a clump of fragrant peat,
Dug 'neath the fern ;
The knotted oak,
A fagot too, perhap,
Whose bright flame, dancing, winking,
Shall light us at our drinking;
While the oozing sap
Shall make sweet music to our thinking.
Old books to read !
Ay, bring those nodes of wit,
The brazen-clasped, the velhim writ,
Time-honored tomes!
The same my sire scanned before,
The same my graudsire thumbed o'er,
The same his sire from college bore,
The well-earned meed
Of Oxford's domes:
Old Homer blind,
Old Horace, rake Anacreon, by
Old Tully, Plautus, Terence lie ;
Mort Arthur's olden minstrelsie,
Quaint Burton, quainter Spenser, ay!
And Gervase Markham's venerie
Nor leave behind
The holye Book by which we live and die.
Old friends to talk!
Ay, bring those chosen few,
The wise, the courtly, and the true,
So rarely found ;
Him for my wine, him for my stud,
Him for my easel, distich, bud
In mountain walk !
Bring Walter good,
With soulful Fred, and learned Will,
And thee, my alter ego (dearer still
For every mood).
WENDELL PHILLIPS. [1835-60
These add a bouquet to my wine !
These add a sparkle to my pine !
If these I tine,
Can books, or fire, or wine be good ?
BORN in Boston, Mass., 1811. DIED there, 1884.
THE WISDOM OF ANCIENT DAYS.
[From his Lecture on "The Lost Arts." First delivered in 1838-39. The Lost Arts. 1884.]
the whole range of imaginative literature, and we are all whole-
-*- sale borrowers. In every matter that relates to invention, to use,
or beauty, or form, we are borrowers.
You may glance around the furniture of the palaces in Europe, and
you may gather all these utensils of art or use ; and, when you have
fixed the shape and forms in your mind, I will take you into the mu
seum of Naples, which gathers all remains of the domestic life of the
Romans, and you shall not find a single one of these modern forms of
art or beauty .or use that was not anticipated there. We have hardly
added one single line or sweep of beauty to the antique.
Take the stories of Shakespeare, who has, perhaps, written his forty-
odd plays. 'Some are historical. The rest, two-thirds of them, he did
not stop to invent, but he found them. These he clutched, ready made
to his hand, from the Italian novelists, who had taken them before from
the East. Cinderella and her slipper is older than all history, like half
a dozen other baby legends. The annals of the world do not go back far
enough to tell us from where they first came.
All the boys' plays, like everything that amuses the child in the open
air, are Asiatic. Rawlinson will show you that they came somewhere
from the banks of the Ganges or the suburbs of Damascus. Bulwer
borrowed the incidents of his Roman stories from legends of a thousand
years before. Indeed, Dunlop, who has grouped the history of the
novels of all Europe into one essay, says that in the nations of modern
Europe there have been two hundred and fifty or three hundred distinct
stories. He says at least two hundred of these may be traced, before
Christianity, to the other side of the Black Sea. . If this were my topic,
which it is not, I might tell you that even our newspaper jokes are
enjoying a very respectable old age. Take Maria Edgeworth's essay on
Irish bulls and the laughable mistakes of the Irish. Even the tale which
1835-60] WENDELL PHILLIPS. Q^
either Maria Edgeworth or her father thought the best is that famous
story of a man writing a letter as follows : " My dear friend, I would
write you in detail, more minutely, if there was not an impudent fellow
looking over my shoulder, reading every word." ("No, you lie: I've
not read a word you have written ! ") This is an Irish bull, still it is a
very old one. It is only two hundred and fifty years older than the New
Testament. Horace Walpole dissented from Richard Lovell Edgeworth
and thought the other Irish bull was the best, of the man who said,
" I would have been a very handsome man, but they changed me in the
cradle." That comes from Don Quixote, and is Spanish ; but Cervantes
borrowed it from the Greek in the fourth century, and the Greek stole it
from the Egyptian hundreds of years back.
There is one story which it is said Washington has related, of a man
who went into an inn, and asked for a glass of drink from the landlord,
who pushed forward a wineglass about half the usual size ; the tea-cups
also in that day were not more than half the present size. The landlord
said, " That glass out of which you are drinking is forty years old."-
"Well," said the thirsty traveller, contemplating its diminutive propor
tions, " I think it is the smallest thing of its age I ever saw." That
story as told is given as a story of Athens three hundred and seventy-
five years before Christ was born. Why ! all these Irish bulls are Greek,
every one of them. Take the Irishman who carried around a brick as
a specimen of the house he had to sell ; take the Irishman who shut his
eyes, and looked into the glass to see how he would look when he was
dead ; take the Irishman that bought a crow, alleging that crows Were
reported to live two hundred years, and he meant to set out and try it ;
take the Irishman who met a friend who said to him, " Why, sir, I heard
you were dead." " Well," says the man, " I suppose you see I'm not"-
" Oh, no! " says he, " I would believe the man who told me a good deal ,
quicker than I would you." Well, those are all Greek. A score or
more of them, of the parallel character, come from Athens.
Our old Boston patriots felt that tarring and feathering a Tory was a
genuine patent Yankee -fire-brand, Yankeeism. They little imagined
that when Kichard Coeur de Lion set out on one of his crusades, among
the orders he issued to his camp of soldiers was, that any one who
robbed a hen-roost should be tarred and feathered. Many a man who
lived in Connecticut has repeated the story of taking children to the
limits of the town, and giving them a sound thrashing to enforce their
memory of the spot. But the Burgundians in France, in a law now
eleven hundred years old, attributed valor to the East of France because
it had a law that the children should be taken to the limits of the dis
trict, and there soundly whipped, in order that they might forever remem
ber where the limits came.
Q2 WENDELL PHILLIPS. [1835-60
In Boston, lately, we have moved the Pelham Hotel, weighing fifty
thousand tons, fourteen feet, and are very proud of it ; and since then we
have moved a whole block of houses twenty -three feet, and I have ho doubt
we will write a book about it : but there is a book telling how Domenico
Fontana of the sixteenth century set up the Egyptian obelisk at Eome
on end, in the Papacy of Sixtus V. Wonderful ! Yet the Egyptians
quarried that .stone, and carried it a hundred and fifty miles, and the
Eomans brought it seven hundred and fifty miles, and never said a word
about it. Mr. Batterson of Hartford, walking with Brunei, the architect
of the Thames tunnel, in Egypt, asked him what he thought of the
mechanical power of the Egyptians ; and he said, " There is Pompey's
Pillar: it is a hundred feet high, and the capital weighs two thousand
pounds. It is something of a feat to hang two thousand pounds at that
height in the air, and the few men that can do it would better discuss
Egyptian mechanics."
Take canals. The Suez Canal absorbs half its receipts in cleaning out
the sand which fills it continually, and it is not yet known whether it is
a pecuniary success. The ancients built a canal at right angles to ours ;
because they knew it would not fill up if built in that direction, and they
knew such an one as ours would. There were magnificent canals in the
land of the Jews, with perfectly arranged gates and sluices. We have
only just begun to understand ventilation properly for our houses ; yet
late experiments at the Pyramids in Egypt show that those Egyptian
tombs were ventilated in the most perfect and scientific manner.
Again : cement is modern,, for the ancients dressed and joined their
stones so closely, that, in buildings thousands of years old, the thin blade
of a penknife cannot be forced between them. The railroad dates back
to Egypt. Arago has claimed that they had a knowledge of steam. A
1 painting has been discovered of a ship full of machinery, and a French
engineer said that the arrangement of this machinery could only be
accounted for by supposing the motive power to have been steam.
Bramah acknowledges that he took the idea of his celebrated lock
from an ancient Egyptian pattern. De Tocqueville says there was no
social question that was not discussed to rags in Egypt.
" Well," say you, " Franklin invented the lightning-rod." I have no
doubt he did; but years before his invention, and before muskets were
invented, the old soldiers on guard on the towers used Franklin's inven
tion to keep guard with ; and if a spark passed between them and the
spear-head, they ran and bore the warning of the state and condition of
affairs. After that you will admit that Benjamin Franklin was not the
only one that knew of the presence of electricity, and the advantages
derived from its use. Solomon's Temple, you will find, was situated on
an exposed point of the hill : the temple was so lofty that it was often
WENDELL PHILLIPS. 63
in peril, and was guarded by a system exactly like that of Benjamin
Franklin.
Well, I may tell you a little of ancient manufactures. The Duchess
of Burgundy took a necklace from the neck of a mummy, and wore it to
a ball given at the Tuileries; and everybody said they thought it was
the newest thing there. A Hindoo princess came into court ; and her
father, seeing her, said, " Go home, you are not decently covered, go
home"; and she said, "Father, I have seven suits on"; but the suits
were of muslin, so thin that the king could see through them. A Roman
poet says, " The girl was in the poetic dress of the country." I fancy
the French would be rather astonished at this. Four hundred and fifty
years ago, the first spinning-machine was introduced into Europe. I
have evidence to show that it made its appearance two thousand years
before.
Well, T tell you this fact to show that perhaps we don't invent just
everything. Why did 1 think to grope in the ashes for this? Because
all Egypt knew the secret, which was not the knowledge of the professor,
the king, and the priest. Their knowledge won an historic privilege
which separated them from and brought down the masses ; and this
chain was broken when Cambyses came down from Persia, and by his
genius and intellect opened the gates of knowledge, thundering across
Egypt, drawing out civilization from royalty and priesthood.
Such was the system which was established in Egypt of old. It was
four thousand years before humanity took that subject to a proper con
sideration ; and, when this consideration was made, civilization changed
her character. Learning no longer hid in a convent, or slumbered in the
palace. No ! she came out, joining hands with the people, ministering
and dealing with them.
We have not an astrology in the stars, serving only the kings and
priests ; we have an astrology serving all those around us. We have
not a chemistry hidden in underground cells, striyiug for wealth, striving
to change everything into gold. No : we have a chemistry laboring with
the farmer, and digging gold out of the earth with the miner. Ah ! this
is the nineteenth century; and, of the hundred of things we know, I can
show you ninety-nine of them which have been anticipated. It is the
liberty of intellect, and a diffusion of knowledge, that has caused this
anticipation.
When Gibbon finished his History of Rome, he said, " The hand will
never go back upon the dial of time, when everything was hidden in
fear in the dark ages." He made that boast as he stood at night in the
ruins of the Corsani Palace, looking out upon the places where the
monks were chanting. That vision disappeared, and there -arose in its
stead the Temple of Jupiter. Could he look back upon the past, he
64 WENDELL PHILLIPS. [1835-60
would see nations that went up in their strength, and down to graves
with fire in one hand, and iron in the other hand, before Eome was
peopled, which, in their strength, were crashed in subduing civilization.
But it is a very different principle that governs this land; it is one
which should govern every land ; it is one which this nation needs to
practise this day. It is the human property : it is the divine will that
any man has the right to know anything which he knows will be ser
viceable to himself and to his fellow-man, and that will make art im
mortal if God means that it shall last.
UNDER THE FLAG.
[From a Discourse delivered in Music Hall, Boston, 21 April, 1861. Speeches, Lectures,
t and Letters. 1863.]
MANY times this winter, here and elsewhere, I have counselled
peace, urged, as well as I knew how, the expediency of acknowl
edging a Southern Confederacy, and the peaceful separation of these
thirty -four States. One of the journals announces to you that I come
here this morning to retract those opinions. No, not one of them!
I need them all, every word I have spoken this winter, every act of
twenty-five years of my life, to make the welcome I give this war hearty
and hot. Civil war is a momentous evil. It needs the soundest, most
solemn justification. I rejoice before God to-day for every word that
I have spoken counselling peace; but I rejoice also with an especially
profound gratitude, that now, the first time in my anti-slavery life, I
speak under the stars and stripes, and welcome the tread of Massachu
setts men marshalled for war. No matter what the past has been or
said ; to-day the slave asks God for a sight of this banner, and counts it
the pledge of his redemption. Hitherto it may have meant what you
thought, or what I did; to-day it represents sovereignty and justice.
The only mistake that I have made was in supposing Massachusetts
wholly choked with cotton-dust and cankered with gold. The South
thought her patience and generous willingness for peace were cowardice;
to-day shows the mistake. She has been sleeping on her arms since '83,
and the first cannon-shot brings her to her feet with the war-cry of the
Eevolution on her lips. Any man who loves either liberty or manhood
must rejoice at such an hour. ....
Every public meeting in Athens was opened wifth a curse on any one
who should not speak what he really thought. " I have never defiled
my conscience from fear or favor to my superiors," was part of the oath
1835-60] WENDELL PHILLIPS. 55
every Egyptian soul was supposed to utter in the Judgment Hall of
Osiris, before admission to heaven. Let us show to-day a Christian
spirit as sincere and fearless. No mobs in this hour of victory, to silence
those whom events have not converted. We are strong enough to tole
rate dissent. That flag which floats over press or mansion at the bidding
of a mob disgraces both victor and victim.
All winter long, I have acted with that party which cried for peace.
The antislavery enterprise to which I belong started with peace written.
on its banner. We imagined that the age of bullets was over ; that the
age of ideas had come ; that thirty millions of people were able to take a
great question, and decide it by the conflict of opinions ; that, without
letting the ship of state founder, we could lift four millions of men into
Liberty and Justice. We thought that if your statesmen would throw
away personal ambition and party watchwords, and devote themselves
to the great issue, this might be accomplished. To a certain extent it
has been. The North has answered to the call. Year after year, event
by event, has indicated the rising education of the people, the readiness
for a higher moral life, the calm, self-poised confidence in our own con
victions that patiently waits like master for a pupil for a neighbor's
conversion. The North has responded to the call of that peaceful, moral,
intellectual agitation which the anti-slavey idea has initiated. Our mis
take, if any, has been that we counted too much on the intelligence of
the masses, on the honesty and wisdom of statesmen as a class. Per
haps we did not give weight enough to the fact we saw, that this nation
is made up of different ages ; not homogeneous, but a mixed mass of
different centuries. The North thinks, can appreciate argument, is
the nineteenth century, hardly any struggle left in it but that between
the working class and the money-kings. The South dreams, it is the
thirteenth and fourteenth century, baron and serf, noble and slave.
Jack Cade and Wat Tyler loom over its horizon, and the serf, rising,
calls for another Thierry to record his struggle. There the fagot still
burns which the Doctors of the Sorbonne called, ages ago, a the best
light to guide the erring." There men are tortured for opinions, the
only punishment the Jesuits were willing their pupils should look on.
This is, perhaps, too flattering a picture of the South. Better call her,
as Sumner does, "the Barbarous States." Our struggle, therefore, is.
between barbarism and civilization. Such can only be settled by arms.
The government has waited until its best friends almost suspected its
courage or its integrity ; but the cannon shot against Fort Sumter has
opened the only door out of this hour. There were but two. One was
compromise ; the other was battle. The integrity of the North closed
the first ; the generous forbearance of nineteen States closed the other.
The South opened this with cannon-shot, and Lincoln shows himself at
VOL. VII. 5
gg WENDELL PHILLIPS. [1835-60
the door. The war, then, is not aggressive, but in self-defence, and Wash
ington has become the Thermopylae of Liberty and Justice. Eather
than surrender that Capital, cover every square foot of it with a living
body ; crowd it with a million of men, and empty every bank vault at the
North to pay the cost. Teach the world once for all, that North Amer
ica belongs to the Stars and Stripes, and under them no man shall wear a
chain. In the whole of this conflict, I have looked only at Liberty, only
at the slave. Perry entered the battle of the Lakes with " DON'T GIVE
UP THE SHIP ! " floating from the masthead of the Lawrence. When
with his fighting flag he left her crippled, heading north, and, mount
ing the deck of the Niagara, turned her bows due west, he did all for
one and the same purpose, to rake the decks of the foe. Steer north
or west, acknowledge secession or cannonade it, I care not which ; but
"Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants
thereof."
A HERO OF THE BLACK RACE.
[Lecture delivered in New York and Boston. December, 1861. From the Same.']
SOME doubt the courage of the negro. Go to Hayti, and stand on
those fifty thousand graves of the best soldiers France ever had, and
ask them what they think of the negro's sword. And if that does not
satisfy you, go to France, to the splendid mausoleum of the Counts of
Kochambeau, and to the eight thousand graves of Frenchmen who
skulked home under the English flag, and ask them. And if that does
not satisfy you, come home, and if it had been October, 1859, you might
have come by way of quaking Virginia, and asked her what she thought
of negro courage.
You may also remember this, that we Saxons were slaves about four
hundred years, sold with the land, and our fathers never raised a finger
to end that slavery. They waited till Christianity and civilization, till
commerce and the discovery of America, melted away their chains.
Spartacus in Italy led the slaves of Rome against the Empress of the
world. She murdered him, and crucified them. There never was a
slave rebellion successful but once, and that was in St. Domingo. Every
race has been, some time or other, in chains. But there never was a
race that, weakened and degraded by such chattel slavery, unaided, tore
off its own fetters, forged them into swords, and won its liberty on the
battle-field, but one, and that was the black race of St. Domingo. God
grant that the wise vigor of our government may avert that necessity
from our land, may raise into peaceful liberty the four million com-
1835-60] WENDELL PHILLIPS. gf
mitted to our care, and show under democratic institutions a statesman
ship as far-sighted as that of England, as brave as the negro of Hayti !
So much for the courage of the negro. Now look at his endurance.
In 1805 he said to the white men, " This island is ours ; not a white foot
shall touch it." Side by side with him stood the South American re
publics, planted by the best blood of the countrymen of Lope de Vega
and Cervantes. They topple over so often that you could no more
daguerreotype their crumbling fragments than you could the waves of the
ocean. And yet, at their side, the negro has kept his island sacredly to
himself. It is said that at first, with rare patriotism, the Haytien gov
ernment ordered the destruction of all the sugar plantations remaining,
and discouraged its culture, deeming that the temptation which lured
the French back again to attempt their enslavement. Burn over New
York to-night, fill up her canals, sink every ship, destroy her railroads,
blot out every remnant of education from her sons, let her be ignorant
and penniless, with nothing but her hands to begin the world again,
how much could she do in sixty years? And Europe, too, would lend
you money, but she will not lend Hayti a dollar. Hayti, from the ruins
of her colonial dependence, is become a civilized state, the seventh nation
in the catalogue of commerce with this country, inferior in morals and
education to none of the West Indian isles. Foreign merchants trust her
courts as willingly as they do our own. Thus far, she has foiled the
ambition of Spain, the greed of England, and the malicious statesman
ship of Calhoun. Toussaint made her what she is. In this work there
was grouped around him a score of men, mostly of pure negro blood,
who ably seconded his efforts. They were able in war and skilful in
civil affairs, but not, like him, remarkable for that rare mingling of high
qualities which alone makes true greatness, and insures a man leadership
among those otherwise almost his equals. Toussaint was indisputably
their chief. Courage, purpose, endurance, these are the tests. He did
plant a state so deep that all the world has not been able to root it up.
I would call him Napoleon, but Napoleon made his way to empire
over broken oaths and through a sea of blood. This man never broke
his word. "No EETALIATION " was his great motto and the rule of his
life; and the last words uttered to his son in France were these: "My
boy, you will one day go back to St. Domingo ; forget that France mur
dered your father." I would call him Cromwell, but Cromwell was only
a soldier, and the state he founded went down with him into his grave.
I would call him Washington, but the great Virginian held slaves. This
man risked his empire rather than permit the slave-trade in the humblest
village of his dominions.
You think me a fanatic to-night, for you read history, not with your
eyes, but with your prejudices. But fifty years hence, when Truth gets
gg CHARLES SUMNER. [1835-60
a hearing, the Muse of History will put Phocion for the Greek, and
Brutus for the Koman, Hampden for England, Fayette for France, choose
Washington as the bright, consummate flower of our earlier civilization,
and John Brown the ripe fruit of our noon-day ; then, dipping her pen
in the sunlight, will write in the clear blue, above them all, the name of
the soldier, the statesman, the martyr, TOUSSAINT L'OuvERTURE.
BORN in Boston, Mass., 1811. DIED in Washington, D. C., 1874.
THE CRIME AGAINST KANSAS.
[Speech on the Admission of Kansas, U. S. Senate, 19-20 May, 1856. Works of Charles
Sumner. 1875-83.]
SIR, the people of Kansas, bone of your bone and flesh of your flesh,
with the education of freemen and the rights of American citizens,
now stand at your door. Will you send them away, or bid them enter?
Will you push them back to renew their struggle with a deadly foe, or
will you preserve them in security and peace? Will you cast them
again into the den of Tyranny, or will you help their despairing efforts
to escape? These questions I put with no common solicitude, for I feel
that on their just determination depend all the most precious interests of
the Republic ; and I perceive too clearly the prejudices in the way, and
the accumulating bitterness against this distant people, now claiming a
simple birthright, while I am bowed with mortification, as I recognize
the President of the United States, who should have been a staff to the
weak and a shield to the innocent, at the head of this strange oppression.
At every stage the similitude between the wrongs of Kansas and those
other wrongs against which our fathers rose becomes more apparent.
Read the Declaration of Independence, and there is hardly an accusation
against the British Monarch which may not now be hurled with increased
force against the American President. The parallel has fearful particu
larity. Our fathers complained that the King had " sent hither swarms
of officers to harass our people and eat out their substance," that he
had " combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our
Constitution, giving his assent to their acts of pretended legislation" that he
had " abdicated government here, by declaring us out of his protection,
and waging war against us" that he had " excited domestic insurrec
tions amongst us, and endeavored to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers
1835-60] CHARLES SUMNER. gg
the merciless . savages ," that "our repeated petitions have been answered
only by repeated injury." And this arraignment was aptly followed by
the damning words, that "a Prince whose character is thus marked by
every act which may define a tyrant is unfit to be the ruler of a free peo
ple." And surely the President who does all these things cannot be less
unfit than a Prince. At every stage the responsibility is brought directly
to him. His offence is of commission and omission. He has done that
which he ought not to have done, and has left undone that which he ought
to have done. By his activity the Prohibition of Slavery was over
turned. By his failure to act the honest emigrants in Kansas are left
a prey to wrong of all kinds. His activity and inactivity are alike fatal.
And now he stands forth the most conspicuous enemy of that unhappy
Territory.
As the tyranny of the British King is all renewed in the President,
so are renewed on this floor the old indignities which embittered and
fomented the troubles of our fathers. The early petition of the Ameri
can Congress to Parliament, long before any suggestion of Independence,
was opposed like the petitions of Kansas because tha ; t body "was
assembled without any requisition on the part of the Supreme Power."
Another petition from New York, presented by Edmund Burke, was
flatly rejected, as claiming rights derogatory to Parliament. And still
another petition, from Massachusetts Bay, was dismissed as " vexatious
and scandalous," while the patriot philosopher who bore it was ex
posed to peculiar contumely. Throughout the debates our fathers were
made the butt of sorry jest and supercilious assumption. And now
these scenes, with these precise objections, are renewed in the American
Senate.
With regret I come again upon the Senator from South Carolina [Mr.
Butler], who, omnipresent in this debate, overflows with rage at the sim
ple suggestion that Kansas has applied for admission as a State, and,
with incoherent phrase, discharges the loose expectoration of his speech,
now upon her representative, and then upon her people. There was no
extravagance of the ancient parliamentary debate which he did not re
peat ; nor was there any possible deviation from truth which he did not
make, with so much of passion, I gladly add, as to save him from the
suspicion of intentional aberration. But the Senator touches nothing
which he does not disfigure with error, sometimes of principle, some
times of fact. He shows an incapacity of accuracy, whether in stating
the Constitution or in stating the law, whether in details of statistics or
diversions of scholarship. He cannot ope his mouth, but out there flies
a blunder. Surely he ought to be familiar with the life of Franklin ;
and yet he referred to this household character, while acting as agent of
our fathers in England, as above suspicion: and this was done that he
70 CHARLES SUMNER. [1835-60
might give point to a false contrast with the agent of Kansas, not
knowing that, however the two may differ in genius and fame, they are
absolutely alike in this experience: that Franklin, when entrusted with
the petition of Massachusetts Bay, was assaulted by a foul-mouthed
speaker where he could not be heard in defence, and denounced as
"thief," even as the agent of Kansas is assaulted on this floor, and de
nounced as " forger." And let not the vanity of the Senator be inspired
by parallel with the British statesmen of that day ; for it is only in hos
tility to Freedom that any parallel can be found.
But it is against the people of Kansas that the sensibilities of the
Senator are particularly aroused. Coming, as he announces, "from a
State," ay, sir, from South Carolina, he turns with lordly disgust from
this newly-formed community, which he will not recognize even as " a
member of the body politic." Pray, sir, by what title does he indulge in
this egotism? Has he read the history of the "State" which he repre
sents? He cannot, surely, forget its shameful imbecility from Slavery,
confessed throughout the Eevolution, followed by its more shameful as
sumptions for Slavery since. He cannot forget its wretched persistence
in the slave-trade, as the very apple of its eye, and the condition of its
participation in the Union. He cannot forget its Constitution, which
is republican only in name, confirming power in the hands of the few,
and founding the qualifications of its legislators on " a settled freehold
estate of five 'hundred acres of land and ten negroes." And yet the
Senator to whom this " State " has in part committed the guardianship
of its good name, instead of moving with backward-treading steps to
cover its nakedness, rushes forward, in the very ecstasy of madness, to
expose it, by provoking comparison with Kansas. South Carolina is
old ; Kansas is young. South Carolina counts by centuries, where Kansas
counts by years. But a beneficent example may be born in a day ; and
I venture to declare, that against the two centuries of the older "State"
may be set already the two years of trial, evolving corresponding virtue,
in the younger community. In the one is the long wail of Slavery;
in the other, the hymn of Freedom. And if we glance at special achieve
ment, it will be difficult to find anything in the history of South Carolina
which presents so much of heroic spirit in an heroic cause as shines in
that repulse of the Missouri invaders by the beleaguered town of Law
rence, where even the women gave their effective efforts to Freedom.
The matrons of Eome who poured their jewels into the treasury for the
public defence, the wives of Prussia who with delicate fingers clothed
their defenders against French invasion, the mothers of our own Eevo
lution who sent forth their sons covered over with prayers and blessings
to combat for Human Eights, did nothing of self-sacrifice truer than did
these women on this occasion. Were the whole history of South Carolina
1835-60] CHARLES 8UMNER. ^
blotted out of existence, from its very beginning down to the day of the
last election of the Senator to his present seat on this floor, civilization
might lose I do not say how little, but surely less than it has already
gained by the example of Kansas, in that valiant struggle against oppres
sion, and in the development of a new science of emigration. Already
in Lawrence alone are newspapers and schools, including a High School,
and throughout this infant Territory there is more of educated talent,
in proportion to its inhabitants, than in his vaunted " State." Ah, sir,
I tell the Senator, that Kansas, welcomed as a Free State, " a ministering
angel shall be " to the Republic, when South Carolina, in the cloak of
darkness which she hugs, "lies howling."
The Senator from Illinois [Mr. Douglas] naturally joins the Senator
from South Carolina, and gives to this warfare the superior intensity of
his nature. He thinks that the National Government has not completely
proved its power, as it has never hanged a traitor, but, if occasion re
quires, he hopes there will be no hesitation ; and this threat is directed
at Kansas, and even at the friends of Kansas throughout the country.
Again occurs a parallel with the struggles of our fathers ; and I borrow
the language of Patrick Henry, when, to the cry from the Senator of
" Treason ! treason ! " I reply, " If this be treason, make the most of it."
Sir, it is easy to call names ; but I beg to tell the Senator, that, if the
word "traitor" is in any way applicable to those who reject a tyrannical
Usurpation, whether in Kansas or elsewhere, then must some new word,
of deeper color, be invented to designate those mad spirits who would
endanger and degrade the Republic, while they betray all the cherished
sentiments of the Fathers and the spirit of the Constitution, that Slavery
may have new spread. Let the Senator proceed. Not the first time in
history will a scaffold become the pedestal of honor. Out of death comes
life, and the " traitor " whom he blindly executes will live immortal in
the cause.
" For Humanity sweeps onward: where to-day the martyr stands,
On the morrow crouches Judas, with the silver in his hands;
Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn,
While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return
To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden urn."
Among these hostile Senators is yet another, with all the prejudices of
the Senator from South Carolina, but without his generous impulses,
who, from his character before the country, and the rancor of his oppo
sition, deserves to be named : I mean the Senator from Virginia [Mr.
Mason], who, as author of the Fugitive Slave Bill, has associated himself
with a special act of inhumanity and tyranny. Of him I shall say little,
for he has said little in this debate, though within that little was com
pressed the bitterness of a life absorbed in support of Slavery. He holds
Y2 CHARLES SUMNER. [1835-60
the commission of Virginia ; but he does not represent that early Vir
ginia, so dear to our hearts, which gave to us the pen of Jefferson, by
which the equality of men was declared, and the sword of Washington,
by which Independence was secured : he represents that other Virginia,
from which Washington and Jefferson avert their faces, where human
beings are bred as cattle for the shambles, and a dungeon rewards the
pious matron who teaches little children to relieve their bondage by
reading the Book of Life. It is proper that such a Senator, representing
such a State, should rail against Free Kansas.
Such as these are natural enemies of Kansas, and I introduce them
with reluctance, simply that the country may understand the character
of the hostility to be overcome. Arrayed with them are all who unite,
under any pretext or apology, in propagandism of Human Slavery. To
such, indeed, time-honored safeguards of popular rights can be a name
and nothing more. What are trial by jury, Habeas Corpus, ballot-box,
right of petition, liberty in Kansas, your liberty, sir, or mine, to one who
lends himself, not merely to the support at home, but to propagandism
abroad, of that preposterous wrong which denies even the right of a man
to himself? Such a cause can be maintained only by the practical sub
version of all rights. It is, therefore, merely according to reason that
its partisans should uphold the Usurpation in Kansas.
To overthrow this Usurpation is now the special, importunate duty
of Congress, admitting of no hesitation or postponement. To this end
must it ascend from the cabals of candidates, the machinations of party,
and the low level of vulgar strife. Especially must it turn from that
Slave Oligarchy now controlling the Republic, and refuse to be its tool.
Let its power be stretched forth into this distant Territory, not to bind,
but to release, not for oppression of the weak, but for subversion of the
tyrannical, not for prop and maintenance of revolting Usurpation, but
for confirmation of Liberty.
" These are imperial arts, and worthy thee! "
Let it now take stand between the living and dead, and cause this plague
to be stayed. All this it can do ; and if the interests of Slavery were
not hostile, all this it would do at once, in reverent regard for justice,
law, and order, driving far away all alarms of war ; nor would it dare to
brave the shame and punishment of this "Great Refusal." But the
Slave Power dares anything; and it can be conquered only by the
united masses of the People. From Congress to the People I appeal.
Already Public Opinion gathers unwonted forces to scourge the aggres
sors. In the press, in daily conversation, wherever two or three are
gathered together, there the indignant utterance finds vent. And trade,
by unerring indications, attests the growing energy. Public credit in
1835-60] CHARLES SUMNER. 73
Missouri droops. The six per cents of that State, which at par should
be 102, have sunk to 84. thus at once completing the evidence of Crime,
and attesting its punishment Business is now turning from the Assas
sins and Thugs that infest the Missouri River, to seek some safer avenue.
And this, though not unimportant in itself, is typical of greater change.
The political credit of the men who uphold the Usurpation droops even
more than the stocks ; and the People are turning from all those through
whom the Assassins and Thugs derive their disgraceful immunity.
It was said of old, " Cursed be he that removeth his neighbor's Land
mark. And all the people shall say, Amen" u Cursed," it is said, "in the
city and in the field ; cursed in basket and store ; cursed when thou
comest in, and cursed when thou goest out." These are terrible impre
cations ; but if ever any Landmark were sacred, it was that by which an
immense territory was guard ed forever against Slavery; and if ever such
imprecations could justly descend upon any one, they must descend now
upon all who, not content with the removal of this sacred Landmark,
have since, with criminal complicity, fostered the incursions of the great
Wrong against which it was intended to guard. But I utter no impre
cations. These are not my words ; nor is it my part to add to or sub
tract from them. But, thanks be to God ! they find response in the
hearts of an aroused People, making them turn from every man, whether
President or Senator or Representative, engaged in this Crime, espe
cially from t*hose who, cradled in free institutions, are without the apology
of education or social prejudice until upon all such those other words
of the Prophet shall be fulfilled : " I will set my face against that man,
and will make him a sign and a proverb, and I will cut him off from the
midst of my people." Turning thus from the authors of this Crime, the
People will unite once more with the Fathers of the Republic in just
condemnation of Slavery, determined especially that it shall find no
home in the National territories, while the Slave Power, in which the
Crime had its beginning, and by which it is now sustained, will be swept
into the charnel-house of defunct Tyrannies.
In this contest Kansas bravely stands forth, the stripling leader, clad
in the panoply of American Institutions. Calmly meeting and adopting
a frame of government, her people with intuitive promptitude perform
the duties of freemen; and when I consider the difficulties by which she
is beset, I find dignity in her attitude. Offering herself for admission into
the Union as a FREE STATE, she presents a single issue for the people to
decide. And since the Slave Power now stakes on this issue all its ill-
gotten supremacy, the People, while vindicating Kansas, will at the same
time overthrow this Tyranny. Thus the contest which she begins in
volves Liberty not only for herself, but for the whole country. God be
praised that Kansas does not bend ignobly beneath the yoke. Far away
74 CHARLES 8UMNER. [1835-60
on the prairies, she is now battling for the Liberty of all, against the
President, who misrepresents all. Everywhere among those not insensi
ble to Eight, the generous struggle meets a generous response. . . .
In all this sympathy there is strength. But in the cause itself there is
angelic power. Unseen of men, the great spirits of History combat by
the side of the people of Kansas, breathing divine courage. Above all
towers the majestic form of Washington, once more, as on the bloody
field, bidding them remember those rights of Human Nature for which
the War of Independence was waged. Such a cause, thus sustained, is
invincible.
The contest, which, beginning in Kansas, reaches us, will be trans
ferred soon from Congress to that broader stage, where every citizen is
not only spectator, but actor ; and to their judgment I confidently turn.
To the People, about to exercise the electoral franchise, in choosing a
Chief Magistrate of the Republic, I appeal, to vindicate the electoral
franchise in Kansas. Let the ballot-box of the Union, with multitudi
nous might, protect the ballot-box in that Territory. Let the voters
everywhere, while rejoicing in their own rights, help guard the equal
rights of distant fellow-citizens, that the shrines of popular institutions,
now desecrated, may be sanctified anew, that the ballot-box, now plun
dered, may be restored, and that the cry, " I am an American citizen,"
shall no longer be impotent against outrage. In just regard for free
labor, which you would blast by deadly contact with slave labor, in
Christian sympathy with the slave, whom you would task and sell, in
stern condemnation of the Crime consummated on that beautiful soil,
in rescue of fellow-citizens, now subjugated to Tyrannical Usurpation,
in dutiful respect for the early Fathers, whose aspirations are ignobly
thwarted, in the name of the Constitution outraged, of the Laws tram
pled down, of Justice banished, of Humanity degraded, of Peace de
stroyed, of Freedom crushed to earth, and in the name of the Heavenly
Father, whose service is perfect Freedom, I make this last appeal.
THE EFFECT OF SLAVE OWNERSHIP.
[Speech on the Admission of Kansas. U. 8. Senate, 4 June, 1860. From the Same.]
ONE of the choicest passages of the master Italian poet, Dante, is
where we are permitted to behold a passage of transcendent virtue
sculptured in " visible speech " on the long gallery leading to the Heav
enly Gate. The poet felt the inspiration of the scene, and placed it on
1835-60J CHARLES SUMNER. 75
the wayside, where it could charm and encourage. This was natural.
Nobody can look upon virtue and justice, if only in images and pictures,
without feeling a kindred sentiment. Nobody can be surrounded by
vice and wrong, by violence and brutality, if only in images and pictures,
without coming under their degrading influence. Nobody can live with
the one without advantage; nobody can live with the other without loss.
Who could pass life in the secret chamber where are gathered the im
pure relics of Pompeii, without becoming indifferent to loathsome things?
But if these loathsome things are not merely sculptured and painted,
if they exist in living reality, if they enact their hideous, open inde
cencies, as in the criminal pretensions of Slavery, while the lash plays
and the blood spurts, while women are whipped and children are sold,
while marriage is polluted and annulled, while the parental tie is
rudely torn, while honest gains are filched or robbed, while the soul
itself is shut down in all the darkness of ignorance, and (rod himself is
defied in the pretension that man can have property in his fellow-man,
if all these things are " visible," not merely in images and pictures, but
in reality, the influence on character must be incalculably deplorable.
According to irresistible law, men are fashioned by what is about
them, whether climate, scenery, life, or institutions. Like produces like,
and this ancient proverb is verified always. Look at the miner, delving
low down in darkness, and the mountaineer, ranging on airy heights,
and you will see a contrast in character, and even in personal form. The
difference between a coward and a hero may be traced in the atmosphere
which each has breathed, and how much more in the institutions under
which each is reared. If institutions generous and just ripen souls also
generous and just, then other institutions must exhibit their influence
also. Violence, brutality, injustice, barbarism, must be reproduced in
the lives of all living within their fatal sphere. The meat eaten by man
enters into and becomes part of his body ; the madder eaten by the dog
changes his bones to red ; and the Slavery on which men live, in all its
fivefold foulness, must become part of themselves, discoloring the very
soul, blotting the character, and breaking forth in moral leprosy. This
language is strong, but the evidence is even stronger. Some there may
be of happy natures like honorable Senators who can thus feed and
not be harmed. Mithridates fed on poison, and lived. It may be that
there is a moral Mithridates, who can swallow without bane the poison
of Slavery.
Instead of " ennobling " the master, nothing is clearer than that the
slave drags his master down ; and this process, beginning in childhood,
is continued through life. Living much in association with his slave,
the master finds nothing to remind him of his own deficiencies, to
prompt his ambition or excite his shame. He is only a little better than
76 CHARLES SUMNER. [1835-60
his predecessor in ancient Germany, as described by Tacitus, who was
distinguishable from his slave by none of the charms of education, while
the two burrowed among the same flocks and in the same ground.
Without provocation to virtue, or elevating example, he naturally shares
the Barbarism of the society he keeps. Thus the very inferiority which
the Slave-Master attributes to the African explains the melancholy con
dition of the communities in which his degradation is declared by law.
A single false principle or vicious thought may debase a character
otherwise blameless; and this is practically true of the Slave-Master.
Accustomed to regard men as property, the sensibilities are blunted and
the moral sense is obscured. He consents to acts from which Civil
ization recoils. The early Church sacrificed its property, and even its
sacred vessels, for the redemption of captives. On a memorable occasion
this was done by St. Ambrose, and successive canons confirmed the ex
ample. But in the Slave States all is reversed. Slaves there are hawked
as property of the Church ; and an instance is related of a slave sold in
South Carolina to buy plate for the communion-table. Who can esti
mate the effect of such an example?
Surrounded by pernicious influences of all kinds, positive and nega
tive, the first making him do that which he ought not to do, and the
second making him leave undone that which he ought to have done,
through childhood, youth, and manhood, even unto age, unable, while
at home, to escape these influences, overshadowed constantly by the
portentous Barbarism about him, the Slave-Master naturally adopts the
bludgeon, the revolver, and the bowie-knife. Through these he governs
his plantation, and secretly armed with these enters the world. These are
his congenial companions. To wear these is his pride ; to use them be
comes a passion, almost a necessity. Nothing contributes to violence so
much as wearing the instruments of violence, thus having them always
at hand to obey a lawless instinct. A barbarous standard is established ;
the duel is not dishonorable; a contest peculiar to our Slave-Masters,
known as a "street-fight," is not shameful; and modern imitators of
Cain have a mark set upon them, not for reproach and condemnation,
but for compliment and approval. In kindred spirit, the Count of
Eisenberg, presenting to Erasmus a handsome dagger, called it '" the pen
with which he used to combat saucy fellows." How weak that dagger
against the pen of Erasmus. I wish to keep within bounds ; but unan
swerable facts, accumulating in fearful quantities, attest that the social
system so much vaunted by honorable Senators, which we are now asked
to sanction and extend, takes its character from this spirit, and, with pro
fessions of Christianity on the lips, becomes Cain-like. And this is aggra
vated by the prevailing ignorance in the Slave States, where one in five
of the adult white population of native birth is unable to read and write.
1835-60] CHARLES SUMNER. 77
" The boldest they who least partake the light,
As game-cocks in the dark are trained to fight. "
There are exceptions, which we all gladly recognize ; but it is this spirit
which predominates and gives the social law. Again we see the lordlings
of France, as pictured by Canaille Desmoulins, ''ordinarily very feeble in
arguments, since from the cradle they are, accustomed to use their will as
right hand and their reason as left hand." Violence ensues. And here
mark an important difference. Elsewhere violence shows itself in spite
of law, whether social or statute ; in the Slave States it is because of law,
both social and statute. Elsewhere it is pursued and condemned ; in the
Slave States it is adopted and honored. Elsewhere it is hunted as a
crime ; in the Slave States it takes its place among the honorable graces
of society.
EQUAL RIGHTS THE SOLE BASIS OF UNION.
[Speech on the Readmission of Southern States to Representation in Congress. V. S.
Senate, 10 June, 1868. From the Same.]
~l TIGH above States, as high above men, are those commanding prin-
-* L ciples which cannot be denied with impunity. They will be found
in the Declaration of Independence expressed so clearly that all can read
them. Though few, they are mighty. There is no humility in bend
ing to their behests. As man rises in the scale of being while walking
in obedience to the Divine will, so is a State elevated by obedience to
these everlasting truths. Nor can we look for harmony in our country
until these principles bear unquestioned sway, without any interdict
from the States. That unity for which the Nation longs, with peace and
reconciliation in its train, can be assured only through the Equal Rights
of All, proclaimed by the Nation everywhere within its limits, and main
tained by the national arm. Then will the Constitution be rilled and
inspired by the Declaration of Independence, so that the two shall be
one, with a common life, a common authority, and a common glory.
A VICTOR'S MAGNANIMITY.
[Speech prepared for Delivery at Faneuil Hall, 3 September, 1872. From the Same.}
~T)ECONSTRUCTION is now complete. Every State is represented
-*- *> in the Senate, and every District is represented in the House of
yg HORACE QREELEY. [1835-60
Kepresentatives. Every Senator and every Eepresentative is in his
place. There are no vacant seats in either Chamber ; and among the
members are fellow- citizens of the African race. And amnesty, nearly
universal, has been adopted. In this condition of things I find new
reason for change. The present incumbent knows little of our frame of
government. By military education and military genius he represents
the idea of Force ; nor is he any exception to the rule of his profession,
which appreciates only slightly a government that is not arbitrary. The
time for the soldier has passed, especially when his renewed power would
once more remind fellow-citizens of their defeat. Victory over fellow-
citizens should be known only in the rights it assures ; nor should it be
flaunted in the face of the vanquished. It should not be inscribed on
regimental colors or portrayed in pictures at the National Capital. But
the present incumbent is a regimental color with the forbidden inscrip
tion ; he is a picture at the National Capital recalling victories over
fellow-citizens. It is doubtful if such a presence can promote true recon
ciliation. Friendship does not grow where former differences are thrust
into sight. There are wounds of the mind as of the body ; these, too,
must be healed. Instead of irritation and pressure, let there be gentleness
and generosity. Men in this world get only what they give, prejudice
for prejudice, animosity for animosity, hate for hate. Likewise con
fidence is returned for confidence, good-will for good-will, friendship for
friendship. On this rule, which is the same for the nation as for the
individual, I would now act. So will the Eepublic be elevated to new
heights of moral grandeur, and our people will manifest that virtue,
"greatest of all," which is found in charity. Above the conquest of
others will be the conquest of ourselves. Nor will any fellow-citizen
surfer in rights, but all will find new safeguard in the comprehensive
fellowship.
BORN in Amherst, N. H., 1811. DIED at Pleasantville, Westchester Co., N. T., 1873.
THE TRIBUNE.
[Recollections of a Busy Life. 1868.]
Tribune, as it first appeared, was but the germ of what I
sought to make it. No journal sold for a cent could ever be much
more than a dry summary of the most important or the most interesting
occurrences of the day ; and such is not a newspaper, in the higher sense
1835-60] HORACE GREELET. 79
of the term. We need to know, not only what is done, but what is pro
posed and said, by those who sway the destinies of states and realms ;
and, to this end, the prompt perusal of the manifestoes of monarchs,
presidents, ministers, legislators, etc., is indispensable. No man is even
tolerably informed in our day who does not regularly " keep the run"
of events and opinions, through the daily perusal of at least one good
journal ; and the ready cavil that '' no one can read " all that a great
modern journal contains, only proves the ignorance or thoughtlessness
of the caviller. No one person is expected to take such an interest in the
rise and fall of stocks, the markets for cotton, cattle, grain, and goods, the
proceedings of Congress, Legislatures, and Courts, the politics of Europe,
and the ever-shifting phases of Spanish-American anarchy, etc., etc., as
would incite him to a daily perusal of the entire contents of a metropoli
tan city journal of the first rank. The idea is rather to embody in a
single sheet the information daily required by all those who aim to keep
" posted " on every important occurrence ; so that the lawyer, the mer
chant, the banker, the forwarder, the economist, the author, the politi
cian, etc., may find here whatever he needs to see, and be spared the
trouble of looking elsewhere. A copy of a great morning journal now
contains more matter than an average twelvemo volume, and its pro
duction costs far more, while it is sold for a fortieth or fiftieth part of the
volume's price. There is no other miracle of cheapness which at all
approaches it. The Electric Telegraph has precluded the multiplication
of journals in the great cities, by enormously increasing the cost of pub
lishing each of them. The Tribune, for example, now pays more than
one hundred thousand dollars per annum for intellectual labor (report
ing included) in and about its office, and one hundred thousand dollars
more for correspondence and telegraphing, in other words, for collect
ing and transmitting news. And, while its income has been largely in
creased from year to year, its expenses have inevitably been swelled even
more rapidly ; so that, at the close of 1866, in which its receipts had
been over nine hundred thousand dollars, its expenses had been very
nearly equal in amount, leaving no profit beyond a fair rent for the
premises it owned and occupied. And yet its stockholders were satisfied
that they had done a good business, that the increase in the patronage
and value of the establishment amounted to a fair interest on their in
vestment, and might well be accepted in lieu, of a dividend. In the good
time coming, with cheaper paper and less exorbitant charges for ''cable
despatches " from the Old World, they will doubtless reap where they
have now faithfully sown. Yet they realize and accept the fact, that a
journal radically hostile to the gainful arts whereby the cunning and
powerful few live sumptuously without useful labor, and often amass
wealth, by pandering to lawless sensuality and popular vice, can never
80 HORACE GREELEY. [1835-60
hope to enrich its publishers so rapidly nor so vastly as though it had a
soft side for the Liquor Traffic, and for all kindred allurements to carnal
appetite and sensual indulgence.
Fame is a vapor ; popularity an accident ; riches take wings ; the only
earthly certainty is oblivion ; no man can foresee what a day may bring
forth ; while those who cheer to-day will often curse to-morrow : and yet
I cherish the hope that the journal I projected and established will live
and flourish long after I shall have mouldered into forgotten dust, being
guided by a larger wisdom, a more unerring sagacity to discern the right,
though not by a more unfaltering readiness to embrace and defend it at
whatever personal cost ; and that the stone which covers my ashes may
bear to future eyes the still intelligible inscription, " Founder of The
New York Tribune."
DEPENDENT JOURNALISM.
[Letter to Senator John W. Forney, 25 January, 1868.]
YOU know my inveterate conviction that a journal that cannot sup
port itself can support nothing else that is good ; that all journals
that need bolstering ought to die, and so strengthen those that have in
herent vitality ; that Washington City is the great mistake of our coun
try, and in good part because it seems to require a press essentially
parasitical, or dependent on some sort of government or partisan subsidy.
If every journal that does not pay from its legitimate income were an
nihilated to-morrow, I feel sure that it would be a blessed thing for the
country, as it would restore to live journals patronage that they are now
unfairly deprived of. These are very old conclusions. I cannot change
them ; but I will endeavor not to bring them to bear invidiously on you.
Yours,
HORACE GREELEY
NON-CONFOEMITY.
[Hints Toward Reforms. 1850.]
T PLEAD not for eccentricity, for roughness of manner I am no
- stranger to the bland amenities and suavities of life. I acknowledge
a fitness to time, and duty, and circumstance, in dress and in incidents of
even lighter moment I accept the common sense of mankind as the
arbiter between what is real and natural and what is assumed and fantas-
1835-60] HORACE GREELET, gj
tic. The banker, the capitalist, the merchant, who should ape the dress
of the carman, the hod-carrier, would be justly the ridicule of every
healthy mind, and of none more than the carman himself. No man
enjoys more keenly the stage-shown absurdities of the footman bedecked
with his master's delegated authority, the valet personating the prince r
than do footmen and valets. This is but the' error condemned in an
other shape the pendulum at the other extremity of its range. I would
have no man do this or refrain from that in contradiction from the world,
any more than in consistency with it. Nay, more: I admit and counsel
acquiescence with the ordinary, the prescribed, the established, in all
matters essentially indifferent or trifling. I loathe perverseness it is at
war with harmony and the supreme good. Convince me that the Quaker
remains stubbornly covered in the presence of his equals, his seniors,
from mere mulishness or whim, and I abandon him to your rebukes ; I
will second them with my own. But let me realize that that rude non-
compliance stands to him for a vital fact that it symbolizes to him a
great principle, to wit, the stern uprising of a true manhood against ser
vility and fawning adulation, and I will defend him to the last gasp I
will do him such reverence as befits a manly self-respect, for his stout
fidelity to a conviction.
"THE PRAYER OF TWENTY MILLIONS."
[From the Letter to President Lincoln, urging Emancipation. New- York Tribune,
19 August, 1862.]
ON the face of this wide earth, Mr. President, there is not one disin
terested, determined, intelligent champion of the Union cause who
does not feel that all attempts to put down the Rebellion, and at the
same time uphold its inciting cause, are preposterous and futile that the
Rebellion, if crushed out to-morrow, would be renewed within a year
if Slavery were left in full vigor that army officers, who remain to
this day devoted to Slavery, can at best be "but half-way loyal to the
Union and that every hour of deference to Slavery is an hour of added
and deepened peril to the Union. I appeal to the testimony of your
Ambassadors in Europe. It is freely at your service, not mine. Ask
them to tell you candidly whether the seeming subserviency of your
policy to the slaveholding, Slavery-upholding interest, is not the per
plexity, the despair, of statesmen of all parties ; and be admonished by
the general answer !
I close as I began, with the statements that what an immense majority
of the loyal millions of your countrymen require of you is a frank, de-
VOL. VII. 6
g2 HORACE GREELET. [1835-60
dared, unqualified, ungrudging execution of the laws of the land, more
especially of the Confiscation Act That act gives freedom to the slaves
of Eebels coming within our lines, or whom those lines may at any time
inclose we ask you to render it due obedience by publicly requiring all
your subordinates to recognize and obey it. The Eebels are everywhere
using the late anti-negro riots in the North as they have long used
your officers' treatment of negroes in the South to convince the slaves
that they have nothing to hope from a Union success that we mean in
that case to sell them into a bitter bondage to defray the cost of the war.
Let them impress this as a truth on the great mass of their ignorant and
credulous bondmen, and the Union will never be restored never. We
cannot conquer ten million of people united in solid phalanx against us,
powerfully aided by Northern sympathizers and European allies. We
must have scouts, guides, spies, cooks, teamsters, diggers, and choppers,
from the Blacks of the South whether we allow them to fight for us or
not or we shall be baffled and repelled. As one of the millions who
would gladly have avoided this struggle at any sacrifice but that of
principle and honor, but who now feel that the triumph of the Union is
indispensable not only to the existence of our country, but to the well-
being of mankind, I entreat you to render a hearty and unequivocal
obedience to the law of the land. Yours,
HORACE GREELEY.
T
THE APPEAL FOR EMANCIPATION RENEWED.
[New-York Tribune, 24 August, 1862.]
THE PRESIDENT :
DEAR SIR: Although I did not anticipate nor seek any reply to
my former letter unless through your official acts, I thank you for having
accorded one, since it enables me to say explicitly that nothing was
further from my thought than to impeach in any manner the sincerity or
the intensity of your devotion to the saving of the Union. I never
doubted, and have no friend who doubts, that you desire, before and
above all else, to reestablish the now derided authority, and vindicate the
territorial integrity, of the Republic. I intended to raise only this ques
tion, Do you propose to do this by recognizing, obeying, and enforcing
the laws, or by ignoring, disregarding, and in effect defying them ?
I stand upon the law of the land. The humblest has a clear right to
invoke its protection and support against even the highest. That law
in strict accordance with the law of nations, of Nature, and of God de
clares that every traitor now engaged in the infernal work of destroying
1835-60] HORACE GREELEY. 3
our country has forfeited thereby all claim or color of right lawfully to
hold human beings in slavery. I ask of you a clear and public recogni
tion that this law is to be obeyed wherever the national authority is re
spected. I cite you to instances wherein men fleeing from bondage to
traitors to the protection of our flag have been assaulted, wounded, and
murdered by soldiers of the Union, unpunished and unrebuked by your
General Commanding, to prove that it is your duty to take action in
the premises, action that will cause the law to be proclaimed and
obeyed wherever your authority or that of the Union is recognized as
paramount. The Rebellion is strengthened, the national cause is im
perilled, by every hour's delay to strike Treason this staggering blow.
When Fremont proclaimed freedom to the slaves of rebels, you con
strained him to modify his proclamation into rigid accordance with the
terms of the existing law. It was your clear right to do so. I now ask
of you conformity to the principle so sternly enforced upon him. I ask
you to instruct your generals and commodores, that no loyal person
certainly none willing to render service to the national cause is hence
forth to be regarded as the slave of any traitor. While no rightful gov-
e/nment was ever before assailed by so wanton and wicked a rebellion
as that of the slaveholders against our national life, I am sure none ever
before hesitated at so simple and primary an act of self-defence, as to re
lieve those who would serve and save it from chattel servitude to those
who are wading through seas of blood to subvert it. Future generations
will with difficulty realize that there could have been hesitation on this
point. Sixty years of general and boundless subserviency to the slave
power do not adequately explain it.
Mr. President, I beseech you to open your eyes to the fact that the
devotees of slavery everywhere just as much in Maryland as in Missis
sippi, in Washington as in Richmond are to-day your enemies, and the
implacable foes of every effort to reestablish the national authority by
the discomfiture of its assailants. Their President is not Abraham Lin
coln, but Jefferson Davis. You may draft them to serve in the war ;
but they will only fight under the Rebel flag. There is not in New
York to-day a man who really believes in slavery, loves it, and desires its
perpetuation, who heartily desires the crushing out of the Rebellion. He
would much rather save the Republic by buying up and pensioning off
its assailants. His " Union as it was " is a Union of which you were not
President, and no one who truly wished freedom to all ever could be.
. If these are truths, Mr. President, they are surely of the gravest im
portance. You cannot safely approach the great and good end you so
intently meditate by shutting your eyes to them. Your deadly foe is
not blinded by any mist in which your eyes may be enveloped. He
walks straight to his goal, knowing well his weak point, and most un-
g4 HORACE GREELET. [1835-60
willingly betraying his fear that you too may see and take advantage of
it. God grant that his apprehension may prove prophetic !
That you may not unseasonably perceive these vital truths as they
will shine forth on the pages of history, that they may be read by our
children irradiated by the glory of our national salvation, not rendered
lurid by the blood-red glow of national conflagration and ruin, that you
may promptly and practically realize that slavery is to be vanquished
only by liberty, is the fervent and anxious prayer of
Yours, truly,
HORACE GREELET.
NEW YORK, 24 August, 1862.
EELATIVE TO THE BAILING OF JEFFERSON DAVIS.
[Letter to Certain Members of the N. Y. Union League Club. The Life of Horace
Oreeley. By James Parton. 1868.]
BY THESE PRESENTS, GREETING !
Messrs. George W. Blunt, John A. Kennedy, John 0. Stone,
Stephen Hyatt, and thirty others, members of the Union League
Club:
GENTLEMEN : I was favored, on the 16th instant, by an official note
from our ever-courteous President, John Jay, notifying me that a requisi
tion had been presented to him for " a special meeting of the Club at an
early day, for the purpose of taking into consideration the conduct of
Horace Greeley, a member of the club, who has become a bondsman for
Jefferson Davis, late chief officer of the Rebel government." Mr. Jay
continues :
" As I have reason to believe that the signers, or some of them, dis
approve of the conduct which they propose the Club shall consider, it is
clearly due, both to the Club and to yourself, that you should have the
opportunity of being heard on the subject ; I beg, therefore, to ask on
what evening it will be convenient for you that I call the meeting," etc.,
etc.
In my prompt reply I requested the President to give you reasonable
time for reflection, but assured him that /wanted none; since I should
not attend the meeting, nor ask any friend to do so, and should make no
defence, nor offer aught in the way of self- vindication. I am sure my
friends in the Club will not construe this as implying disrespect; but it
is not my habit to take part in any discussions which may arise among
other gentlemen as to my fitness to enjoy their society. That is their
affair altogether, and to them I leave it.
1835-60] HORACE GREELET. 85
The single point whereon I have any occasion or wish to address you
is your virtual implication that there is something novel, unexpected,
astounding, in my conduct in the matter suggested by you as the basis
of your action. I choose not to rest under this assumption, but to prove
that you, being persons of ordinary intelligence, must know better. On
this point I cite you to a scrutiny of the record:
The surrender of General Lee was made known in this City at 11 P. M.
of Sunday, April 9, 1865, and fitly announced in the Tribune of next
morning, April 10th. On that very day I wrote, and next morning
printed in these columns, a leader entitled " Magnanimity in Triumph,"
wherein I said :
" We hear men say : ' Yes, forgive the great mass of those who have
been misled into rebellion, but punish the leaders as they deserve.' But
who can accurately draw the line between leaders and followers in the
premises? By what test shall they be discriminated? . . . Where
is your touchstone of leadership? We know of none.
" Nor can we agree with those who would punish the original plotters
of secession, yet spare their ultimate and scarcely willing converts. On
the contrary, while we would revive or inflame resentment against none
of them, we feel far less antipathy to the original upholders of ' the reso
lutions of '98,' to the disciples of Calhoun and McDume, to the milli
ners of 1832, and the ' State Eights ' men of 1850, than to the John
Bells, Humphrey Marshalls, and Alexander H. H. Stuarts, who were
schooled in the national faith, and who, in becoming disunionists and
Rebels, trampled on the professions of a lifetime, and spurned the logic
wherewith they had so often unanswerably demonstrated that secession
was treason. . . . We consider Jefferson Davis this day a less culpa
ble traitor than John Bell.
" But we cannot believe it wise or well to take the life of any man who
shall have submitted to the national authority. The execution of even
one such would be felt as a personal stigma by every one who had ever
aided the Rebel cause. Each would say to himself, ' I am as culpable as
he; we differ only in that I am deemed of comparatively little conse
quence.' A single Confederate led out to execution would be evermore
enshrined in a million hearts as a conspicuous hero and martyr. We
cannot realize that it would be wholesome or safe we are sure it would
not be magnanimous to give the overpowered disloyalty of the South
such a shrine. Would the throne of the house of Hanover stand more
firmly had Charles Edward been caught and executed after Culloden ?
Is Austrian domination in Hungary more stable to-day for the hang
ing of Nagy Sandor and his twelve compatriots after the surrender of
Yilagos ?
" We plead against passions certain to be at this moment fierce and
intolerant; but on our side are the ages and the voice of history. We
plead for a restoration of the Union, against a policy which would afford
a momentary gratification at the cost of years of perilous hate and bitter
ness.
86
HORACE GREELEY. [1835-60
" Those who invoke military execution for the vanquished, or even for
their leaders, we suspect will not generally be found among the few who
have long been exposed to unjust odium as haters of the South, because
they abhorred slavery. And, as to the long-oppressed and degraded
blacks, so lately the slaves, destined still to be the neighbors, and (we
trust) at no distant day the fellow-citizens of the Southern whites, we
are sure that their voice, could it be authentically uttered, would ring
out decidedly, sonorously, on the side of clemency, of humanity."
On the next day I had some more in this spirit, and on the 13th, an
elaborate leader, entitled "Peace Punishment," in the course of which
I said :
"The New York Times, doing injustice to its own sagacity in a char
acteristic attempt to sail between wind and water, says: 'Let us hang
Jefferson Davis and spare the rest.' . . . We do not concur in the
advice. Davis did not devise nor instigate the Rebellion ; on the con
trary, he was one of the latest and most reluctant of the notables of the
Cotton States to renounce definitely the Union. His prominence is
purely official and representative. The only reason for hanging him is
that you therein condemn and stigmatize more persons than in hanging
any one else. There is not an ex-Rebel in the world no matter how
penitent who will not have unpleasant sensations about the neck on
the day when the Confederate President is to be hung. And to what
good end?
"We insist that this matter must not be regarded in any narrow
aspect We are most anxious to secure the assent of the South to eman
cipation ; not that assent which the condemned gives to being hung when
he shakes hands with his jailer and thanks him for past acts of kind
ness ; but that hearty assent which can only be won by magnanimity.
Perhaps the Rebels, as a body, would have given, even one year ago, as
large and as hearty a vote for hanging the writer of this article as any
other man living; hence, it more especially seems to him important to
prove that the civilization based on free labor is of a higher and humaner
type than that based on slavery. We cannot realize that the gratifica
tion to enure to our friends from the hanging of any one man, or fifty
men, should be allowed to outweigh this consideration."
On the following day I wrote again :
" We entreat the President promptly to do and dare in the cause of
magnanimity. The Southern mind is now open to kindness, and may
be magnetically affected by generosity. Let assurance at once be given
that there is to be a general amnesty and no general confiscation. This
is none the less the dictate of wisdom, because it is also the dictate of
mercy. What we ask is, that the President say in effect, ' Slavery hav
ing, through rebellion, committed suicide, let the North and the 'South
unite to bury the carcass, and then clasp hands across the grave.'"
The evening of that day witnessed that most appalling calamity, the
1835-60] HORACE GREELET. gf
murder of President Lincoln, which seemed in an instant to curdle all
the milk of human kindness in twenty millions of American breasts.
At once insidious efforts were set on foot to turn the fury thus engen
dered against me, because of my pertinacious advocacy of mercy to the
vanquished. Chancing to enter the Club-House the next (Saturday)
evening, I received a full broadside of your scowls, ere we listened to a,
clerical harangue intended to prove that Mr. Lincoln had been providen
tially removed because of his notorious leanings toward clemency, in
order to make way for a successor who would give the Eebels a full
measure of stern justice. I was soon made to comprehend that I had no
sympathizers or none who dared seem such in your crowded assem
blage. And some maladroit admirer having, a few days afterward, made
the Club a present of my portrait, its bare reception was resisted in a
speech from the chair by your then President, a speech whose vigorous
invective was justified solely by my pleadings for lenity to the Eebels.
At once a concerted howl of denunciation and rage was sent up from
every side against me by the little creatures whom God, for some inscru
table purpose, permits to edit a majority of our minor journals, echoed
by a yell of "Stop my paper!" from thousands of imperfectly instructed
readers of the Tribune. One impudent puppy wrote me to answer cate
gorically whether I was or was not in favor of hanging Jefferson Davis,
adding that I must stop his paper if I were not ! Scores volunteered
assurances that I was defying public opinion ; that most of my readers
were against me ; as if I could be induced to write what they wished
said rather than what they needed to be told. I never before realized so
vividly the baseness of the editorial vocation, according to the vulgar
conception of it. The din raised about iny ears now is nothing to that
I then endured and despised. I am humiliated by the reflection that it
is (or was) in the power of such insects to annoy me, even by pretend
ing to discover with surprise something that I have for years been pub
licly, emphatically, proclaiming.
I must hurry over much that deserves a paragraph, to call your atten
tion distinctly to occurrences in November last. Upon the Republicans
having, by desperate efforts, handsomely carried our State against a
formidable-looking combination of recent and venomous apostates with
our natural adversaries, a cry arose from several quarters that I ought
to be chosen United States Senator. At once, kind, discreet friends
swarmed about me, whispering, " Only keep still about universal amnesty,
and your election is certain. Just be quiet a few weeks, and you can
say what you please thereafter. You have no occasion to speak now."
I slept on the well-meant suggestion, and deliberately concluded that I
could not, in justice to myself, defer to it. I could not purchase office
by even passive, negative dissimulation. No man should be enabled to
oo HORACE GREELEY. [18:55-60
oo
say to me, in truth, " If I had supposed you would persist in your re
jected, condemned amnesty hobby, I would not have given you my
vote." So I wrote and published, on the 27th of that month, my mani
festo, entitled " The True Basis of Reconstruction," wherein, repelling the
idea that I proposed a dicker with the ex-Rebels, I explicitly said :
" I am for universal amnesty, so far as immunity from fear of punish
ment or confiscation is concerned, even though impartial suffrage should,
for the present, be defeated. I did think it desirable that Jefferson Davis
should be arraigned and tried for treason ; and it still seems to rne that
this might properly have been done many months ago. But it was not
done then ; and now I believe it would result in far more evil than good.
It would rekindle passions that have nearly burned out or been hushed
to sleep ; it would fearfully convulse and agitate the South ; it would
arrest the progress of reconciliation and kindly feeling there; it would
cost a large sum directly, and a far larger indirectly ; and, unless the
jury were scandalously packed, it would result in a non-agreement or no
verdict. I can imagine no good end to be subserved by such a trial ;
and, holding Davis neither better or worse than several others, would
have him treated as they are."
Is it conceivable that men who can read, and who are made aware of
this declaration, for most of you were present and shouted approval of
Mr. Fessenden's condemnation of my views at the Club, two or three
evenings thereafter, can now pretend that my aiding to have Davis
bailed is something novel and unexpected ?
Gentlemen, I shall not attend your meeting this evening. I have an
engagement out of town, and shall keep it. I do not recognize you as
capable of judging, or even fully apprehending me. You evidently re
gard me as a weak sentimentalist, misled by a maudlin philosophy. I
arraign you as narrow-minded blockheads, who would like to be useful
to a great and good cause, but don't know how. Your attempt to base
a great, enduring party on the hate and wrath necessarily engendered by
a bloody civil war, is as though you should plant a colony on an iceberg
which had somehow drifted into a tropical ocean. I tell you here, that,
out of a life earnestly devoted to the good of human kind, your children
will select my going to Richmond and signing that bail-bond as the
wisest act, and will feel that it did more for freedom and humanity than
all of you were competent to do, though you had lived to the age of
Methuselah.
I ask nothing of you, then, but that you proceed to your end by a
direct, frank, manly way. Don't sidle off into a mild resolution of cen
sure, but move the expulsion which you purposed, and which I deserve,
if I deserve any reproach whatever. All I care for is, that you make
this a square, stand-up fight, and record your judgment by yeas and
nays. I care not how few vote with me, nor how many vote against me ;
1835-60] HORACE GREELEY. gg
for I know that the latter will repent it in dust and ashes before three
years have passed. Understand, once for all, that 1 dare you and defy
you, and that I propose to fight it out on the line that I have held from
the day of Lee's surrender. So long as any man was seeking to over
throw our government, he was my enemy ; from the hour in which he
laid down his arms, he was my formerly erring countryman. So long
as any is at heart opposed to the national unity, the Federal authority,
or to that assertion of the equal rights of all men which has become
practically identified with loyalty and nationality, I shall do my best to
deprive him of power ; but, whenever he ceases to be thus, I demand his
restoration to all the privileges of American citizenship. I give you
fair notice, that I shall urge the ree'nf ranch isement of those now pro
scribed for rebellion so soon as I shall feel confident that this course is
consistent with the freedom of the blacks and the unity of the Republic,
and that I shall demand a recall of all now in exile only for participating
in the Rebellion, whenever the country shall have been so thoroughly
pacified that its safety will not thereby be endangered. And so, gentle
men, hoping that you will henceforth comprehend me somewhat better
than you have done, I remain, Yours,
HORACE GREELEY.
NEW YORK, 23 May, 1867.
THE FARMER'S FUTURE.
[Address at the Fayette Co., Ind., Fair, 8 September, 1858.1
I PL ACE at the head of all, the need of an adequate conception by
farmers of the nature and the worth of their vocation. In taking this
position, I put aside as impertinent, or trivial, or chaffy, all mere windy
talk of the dignity, honor, and happiness of the farmer's calling. When
T hear any one dilate in this vein, I want to look him square in the eye
and ask, " Sir, do you know a farmer who acts and lives as though he
believed one word of this ? Do you know one who chooses the brightest,
ablest, best instructed among his four or five sons, and says to him, ' Let
the rest do as they please, I want you to succeed me in the old home
stead, and be the best farmer in the country ' ? " Do you know one who
really believes that his son who is to be a farmer requires as liberal and
as thorough an education as bis brothers who are to be respectively
lawyer, doctor, and divine ? Do you know one who is to-day personally
tilling the soil, who, if he were enabled to choose for his only and dar
ling son just what career he preferred above all others, would make him
a farmer? If you do know such a farmer and I confess / do not
9Q HOE ACE 9REELET. [1835-60
then I say you know one who will not be offended at anything I shall
say implying that agriculture is not now the liberal and liberalizing
vocation it should and yet must be. Whenever the great mass of our
farmers shall have come fully to realize that there is scope and reward in
their own pursuit for all the knowledge and all the wisdom with which
their sons can be imbued rare geniuses as we know many of them are
then we shall have achieved the first great step toward making agri
culture that first of vocations which it rightfully should be. But to-day
it is the current though unavowed belief of the majority^ and of farm
ers even more than of others that any education is good enough for a
husbandman, and that any blockhead who knows enough to come in
when it rains is qualified to manage a farm.
The need of our agriculture next in order is a correction of the com
mon error, that farming is an affair of muscle only ; and that the best
farmer is he who delves and grubs from daylight to dark, and from the
first of January to the last of December. You will not, I am sure, inter
pret me as undervaluing industry, diligence, force; certainly, you will
not believe me to commend that style of farming which leaves time for
loitering away sunny hours in bar-rooms, and for attending every
auction, horse-race, shooting-match, or monkey show that may infest the
township. I know right well that he who would succeed in any pur
suit must carefully husband his time, making every hour count. What
I maintain is, that, while every hour has its duties, they are not all mus
cular ; and that the farmer who would wisely and surely thrive must
have time for mental improvement as well as for physical exertion. I
know there are farmers who decline to take regularly any newspaper,
even one devoted to agriculture, because they say they can't afford it, or
have no time to read it. I say no farmer can afford to do without one.
To attempt it is a blunder and a loss; if he has children growing up
around him, it is moreover a grievous wrong. If every hard-working
farmer, who says he cannot read in summer, because it is a hurrying
season, were to set apart two hours of each day for reading and reflec
tion, he would i not only be a wiser and happier man than if he gave
every hour to mere labor, he would live in greater comfort and acquire
more property. To dig is easily learned ; but to learn how, where, and
when to dig most effectively is the achievement of a lifetime. There is
no greater and yet no more common mistake than that which confounds
incessant, exhausting muscular effort with the highest efficiency in farm
ing. I know men who have toiled early and late, summer and winter,
with resolute energy and ample strength, through their forty years of
manhood, yet failed to secure a competence, not because they have been
specially unfortunate, as they are apt to suppose, but because they lacked
the knowledge and skill, the wisdom and science, that would have
1835-60J HORACE QREELEY. g^
enabled them to make their exertions tell most effectively. They have
been life-long workers ; but they have not known how to work to the
greatest advantage. Each of them has planted and sowed enough to
shield him from want for the remainder of his days ; but when the time
came for reaping and gathering into barns, his crops were deficient. One
year, too much rain ; the next year, too little ; now an untimely frost,
and then the ravage of insects, have baffled his exertions and blasted his
hopes, and left him in the down-hill of life still toiling for a hand-to-
mouth subsistence. I think the observation of almost any of you will
have furnished parallels in this respect for my own.
SOCIAL REFORM.
[Reforms and Reformers. Recollections of a Busy Life. 1868.]
THE great, the all-embracing Reform of our age is, therefore, the
SOCIAL Reform, that which seeks to lift the Laboring Class, as
such not out of labor, by any means but out of ignorance, ineffi
ciency, dependence, and want, and place them in a position of partner
ship and recognized mutual helpfulness with the suppliers of the capital
which they render fruitful and efficient. It is easily said that this is the
case now ; but, practically, the fact is otherwise. The man who has
only labor to barter for wages or bread looks up to the buyer of his
sole commodity as a benefactor ; the master and journeyman, farmer and
hired man, lender and borrower, mistress and servant, do not stand on a
recognized footing of reciprocal benefaction. True, self-interest is the
acknowledged impulse of either party ; the lender, the employer, parts
with his money only to increase it, and so, it would seem, is entitled to
prompt payment or faithful service, not, specially, to gratitude. He
who pays a bushel of fair wheat for a day's work at sowing for next
year's harvest has simply exchanged a modicum of his property for other
property, to him of greater value ; and so has no sort of claim to an un
reciprocated obeisance from the other party to the bargain. But so long
as there shall be ten who would gladly borrow to one disposed and able
to lend, and many more anxious to be hired than others able and willing
to employ them, there always will be a natural eagerness of competition
for loans, advances, employment, and a resulting deference of borrower
to lender, employed to employer. He who may hire or not, as to him
shall seem profitable, is independent; while he who must be hired or
starve exists at others' mercy. Not till Society shall be so adjusted, so
organized, that whoever is willing to work shall assuredly have work,
2 HORACE GREELET. [1835-60
and fair recompense for doing it, as readily as he who has gold may ex
change it for more portable notes, will the laborer be placed on a foot
ing of justice and rightful independence. He who is able and willing to
give work for bread is not essentially a pauper ; he does not desire to
abstract without recompense from the aggregate of the world's goods
and chattels ; he is not rightfully a beggar. Wishing only to convert
his own muscular energy into bread, it is not merely his, but every man's
interest that the opportunity should be afforded him, nay, it is the clear
duty of Society to render such exchange at all times practicable and con
venient.
A community or little world wherein all freely serve and all are amply
served, wherein each works according to his tastes or needs, and is paid
for all he does or brings to pass, wherein education is free and common
as air and sunshine, wherein drones and sensualists cannot abide the
social atmosphere, but are expelled by a quiet, wholesome fermentation,
wherein humbugs and charlatans necessarily find their level, and naught
but actual service, tested by the severest ordeals, can secure approbation,
and none but sterling qualities win esteem, such is the ideal world of
the Socialist. Grant that it is but a dream, and such, as yet, it for the
most part has been, it by no means follows that it has no practical
value. On the contrary, an ideal, an illusion, if a noble one, has often
been the inspirer of grand and beneficent efforts. Moses was fated never
to enter the Land of Promise he so longingly viewed afar ; and Columbus
never found who can now wish that he had? that unimpeded sea-
route westward to India that he sought so wisely and so daringly. Yet
still the world moves on, and by mysterious and unexpected ways the
great, brave soul is permitted to subserve the benignant purposes of God
contemplating the elevation and blessing of Man. And so, I cannot
doubt, the unselfish efforts in our day for the melioration of social hard
ships, though their methods may be rejected as mistaken or defective,
will yet signally conduce to their contemplated ends. Fail not, then,
humble hoper for "the Good Time Coming," to lend your feeble sigh, to
swell the sails of whatever bark is freighted with earnest efforts for the
mitigation of human woes, nor doubt that the Divine breath shall waft
it at last to its prayed-for haven !
1835-60] HORACE GREELEY. 93
MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE.
[Letter to the Hon. Robert Dale Owen, 5 March, 1860. From the Same.}
I AM perfectly willing to see all social experiments tried that any
earnest, rational being deems calculated to promote the well-being of
the human family ; but I insist that this matter of marriage and divorce
has passed beyond the reasonable scope of experiment. The ground has
all been travelled over and over, from indissoluble monogamic mar
riage down through polygamy, concubinage, easy divorce, to absolute
free love, mankind have tried every possible modification and shade of
relation between man and woman. If these multiform, protracted, diver
sified, infinitely repeated experiments have not established the superior
ity of the union of one man to one woman for life,- in short, marriage,
to all other forms of sexual relation, then history is a deluding mist, and
man has hitherto lived in vain.
But you assert that the people of Indiana are emphatically moral and
chaste in their domestic relations. That may be : at all events, / have
not yet called it in question. Indiana is yet a young State, not so old
as either you or I, and most of her adult population were born, and I
think most of them were reared and married, in States which teach and
maintain the indissolubility of marriage. That population is yet sparse,
the greater part of it in moderate circumstances, engaged in rural indus
try, and but slightly exposed to the temptations born of crowds, luxury,
and idleness. In such circumstances, continence would probably be gen
eral, even were marriage unknown. But let time and change do their
work, and then see ! Given the population of Italy in the days of the
Caesars, with easy divorce, and I believe the result would be like that
experienced by the Roman Republic, which, under the stvay of easy
divorce, rotted away and perished, blasted by the mildew of unchaste
mothers and dissolute homes.
If experiments are to be tried in the direction you favor, I insist that
they shall be tried fairly, not under cover of false promises and baseless
pretences. Let those who will take each other on trial ; but let such
unions have a distinct name, as in Paris or Hayti, and let us know just
who are married (old style), and who have formed unions to be main
tained or terminated as circumstances shall dictate. Those who choose
the latter will of course consummate it without benefit of clergy ; but I
do not see how they need even so much ceremony as that of jumping the
broomstick. " I'll love you so long as I'm able, and swear for no longer
than this," what need is there of any solemnity to hallow such a union?
What libertine would hesitate to promise that much, even if fully re
solved to decamp next morning? If man and woman are to be true to
94 no RACE GREELEY. [1835-60
each other only so long as they shall each find constancy the dictate of
their several inclinations, there can be no such crime as adultery, and
mankind have too long been defrauded of innocent enjoyment by priestly
anathemas and ghostly maledictions. Let us each do what for the moment
shall give us pleasurable sensations, and let all such fantasies as God,
duty, conscience, retribution, eternity, be banished to the moles and the
bats, with other forgotten rubbish of bygone ages of darkness and unreal
terrors.
But if as I firmly believe marriage is a matter which concerns, not
only the men and women who contract it, but the state, the community,
mankind, if its object be not merely the mutual gratification and
advantage of the husband and wife, but the due sustenance, nurture,
and education of their children, if, in other words, those who volun
tarily incur the obligations of parentage can only discharge those obli
gations personally and conjointly, and to that end are bound to live
together in love at least until their youngest child shall have attained
perfect physical and intellectual maturity, then I deny that a marriage
can be dissolved save by death or that crime which alone renders its
continuance impossible. I look beyond the special case to the general
law, and to the reason which underlies that law ; and I say, no couple
can innocently take upon themselves the obligations of marriage until
they KNOW that they are one in spirit, and so must remain forever. If
they rashly lay profane hands on the ark, theirs alone is the blame ; be
theirs alone the penalty! They have no right to cast it on that public
which admonished and entreated them to forbear, but admonished and
entreated in vain.
LITERATURE AS A VOCATION.
[From the Same.]
ITEEATUEE is a noble calling, but only when the call obeyed by
L^ the aspirant issues from a world to be enlightened and blessed, not
from a void stomach clamoring to be gratified and filled. Authorship
is a royal priesthood ; but woe to him who rashly lays unhallowed hands
on the ark or the altar, professing a zeal for the welfare of the Eace only
that he may secure the confidence and sympathies of others, and use
them for his own selfish ends ! If a man have no heroism in his soul,
no animating purpose beyond living easily and faring sumptuously, I
can imagine no greater mistake on his part than that of resorting to
authorship as a vocation. That such a one may achieve what he regards
as success, I do not deny ; but, if so, he does it at greater risk and by
1835-60J HORACE OREELET, 95
greater exertion than would have been required to win it in any other
pursuit No : It cannot be wise in a selfish, or sordid, or sensual man
to devote himself to Literature ; the fearful self-exposure incident to this
way of life, the dire necessity which constrains the author to stamp
his own essential portrait on every volume of his works, no matter how
carefull} 7 he may fancy he has erased, or how artfully he may suppose
he has concealed it, this should repel from the vestibule of the temple
of Fame the foot of every profane or mocking worshipper. But if you
are sure that your impulse is not personal nor sinister, but a desire to
serve and ennoble your Race, rather than to dazzle and be served by it ;
that you are ready joyfully to " shun delights, and live laborious days,"
so that thereby the well-being of mankind may be promoted, then I
pray you not to believe that the world is too wise to need further en
lightenment, nor that it would be impossible for one so humble as your
self to say aught whereby error may be dispelled or good be diffused.
Sell not your integrity ; barter not your independence ; beg of no man
the privilege of earning a livelihood by Authorship; since that is to
degrade your faculty, and very probably to corrupt it; but seeing
through your own clear eyes, and uttering the impulses of your own
honest heart, speak or write as truth and love shall dictate, asking no
material recompense, but living by the labor of your hands, until recom
pense shall be voluntarily tendered to secure your service, and you may
frankly accept it without a compromise of your integrity or a peril to
your freedom. Soldier in the long warfare for Man's rescue from Dark
ness and Evil, choose not your place on the battle-field, but joyfully
accept that assigned you ; asking not whether there be higher or lower,
but only whether it is here that you can most surely do your proper
work, and meet your full share of the responsibility and the danger.
Believe not that the Heroic Age is no more ; since to that age is only re
quisite the heroic purpose and the heroic soul. So long as ignorance and
evil shall exist, so long there will be work for the devoted, and so long
will there be room in the ranks of those who, defying obloquy, misap
prehension, bigotry, and interested craft, struggle and dare for the re
demption of the world. "Of making many books there is no end,"
though there is happily a speedy end of most books after they are made;
but he who by voice or pen strikes his best blow at the impostures and
vices whereby our race is debased and paralyzed may close his eyes in
death, consoled and cheered by the reflection that he has done what he
could for the emancipation and elevation of his kind.
FRANCES MIRIAM WHITCHER. [1835-60
franccg
BORN in Whitesboro, N. Y., 1811, DIED there, 1852.
HEZEKIAH BEDOTT'S OPINION.
[The Widow Bedott Papers. 1856.]
HE was a wonderful hand to moralize, husband was, 'specially after
he begun to enjoy poor health. He made an observation once
when he was in one of his poor turns, that I never shall forget the long
est day I live. He says to me one winter evenin' as we was a settin' by
the fire, I was a knittin' (I was always a wonderful great knitter) and he
was a smokin 1 (he was a master hand to smoke, though the doctor used
to tell him he'd be better off to let tobacker alone ; when he was well he
used to take his pipe and smoke a spell after he'd got the chores done
up, and when he wa'n't well, used to smoke the biggest part of the time).
Well, he took his pipe out of his mouth and turned toward me, and I
knowed something was comin', for he had a pertikkeler way of lookin'
round when he was gwine to say anything oncommon. Well, he says to
me, says he, il Silly" (my name was Prissilly naterally, but he ginerally
called me " Silly," cause 'twas handier, you know). Well, he says to me,
says he, " Silly," and he looked pretty sollem, I tell you he had a sollem
countenance naterally and after he got to be deacon 'twas more so, but
since he'd lost his health he looked sollemer than ever, and certingly you
wouldent wonder at it if you knowed how much he underwent. He
was troubled with a wonderful pain in his chest, and amazin' weakness
in the spine of his back, besides the pleurissy in the side, and having the
ager a considerable part of the time, and bein' broke of his rest o' nights
'cause he was so put to 't for breath when he laid down. Why it's an
onaccountable fact that when that man died he hadent seen a well day in
fifteen year, though when he was married and for five or six year after
I shouldent desire to see a ruggeder man than he was. But the time
I'm speakin' of he'd been out o' health nigh upon ten year, and O dear
sakes ! how he had altered since the first time I ever see him ! That was
to a quiltin' to Squire Smith's a spell afore Sally was married. I'd no
idee then that Sal Smith was a gwine to be married to Sam Pendergrass.
She'd ben keepin' company with Mose Hewlitt, for better'n a year, and
everybody said that was a settled thing, and lo and behold ! all of a sud-
ding she up and took Sam Pendergrass. Well, that was the first time I
ever see my husband, and if anybody'd a told me then that I should ever
marry him, I should a said but lawful sakes ! I most forgot, I was
gwine to tell you what he said to me that evenin', and when a body
1835-60] FRANCES MIRIAM WHITCHER. 97
begins to tell a thing I believe in finishin' on't some time or other. Some
folks have a way of talkin' round and round and round forevermore,
and never comin' to the pint. Now there's Miss Jinkins, she that was-
Poll Bingham aMre she was married, she is the tejusest individooal to
tell a story that ever I see in all my born days. But I was a gwine to
tell you what husband said. He says to me, says he, " Silly " ; says I r
"What?" I dident say, " What, Hezekier?" for I dident like his
name. The first time I ever heard it I near killed myself a laffin,
"Hezekier Bedott," says I, "well, I would give up if I had sich a
name," but then you know I had no more idee o' marryin' the feller than
you have this minnit o' marryin' the governor. I s'pose you think it's
curus we should a named our oldest son Hezekiah. Well, we done it to
please father and mother Bedott; it's father Bedott's name, and he and
mother Bedott both used to think that names had ought to go down
from gineration to gineration. But we always called him Kier, you
know. Speakin' o' Kier, he is a blessin', ain't he? and I ain't the only
one that thinks so, I guess. Now don't you never tell nobody that I
said so, but between you and me I rather guess that if Kezier Winkle
thinks she is a gwine to ketch Kier Bedott she is a leetle out of her reck-
onin'. But I was going to tell what husband said. He says to me, says
he, "Silly"; I says, says I, "What?" If I dident say "what" when
he said " Silly " he'd a kept on saying " Silly," from time to eternity.
He always did, because you know, he wanted me to pay pertikkeler
attention, and I ginerally did ; no woman was ever more attentive to her
husband than what I was. Well, he says to me. says he, " Silly." Says
I, " What? " though I'd no idee what he was gwine to say, dident know
but what 'twas something about his sufferings, though he wa'n't apt to
complain, but he frequently used to remark that he wouldent wish his
worst enemy to suffer one minnit as he did all the time ; but that can't
be called grumblin' think it can ? Why I've seen him in sitivations
when you'd a thought no mortal could a helped grumblin' ; but he dident.
He and me went once in the dead of winter in a one-hoss shay out to
Boonville to see a sister o' hisen. You know the snow is amazin' deep
in that section o' the ken try. Well, the hoss got stuck in one o' them
are flambergasted snow-banks, and there we sot, onable to stir, and to-
cap all, while we was a sittin' there, husband was took with a dretful
crik in his back. Now that was what I call a perdickerment, don't you?
Most men would a swore, but husband dident. He only said, says he,,
" Consarn it." How did we get out, did you ask? Why we might a,
been sittin' there to this day fur as / know, if there hadent a happened
to come along a mess o' men in a double team, and they hysted us out.
But I was gwine to tell you that observation of hisen. Says he to me r
says he, " Silly " (I could see by the light o' the fire, there dident hap*
VOL. VII. 7
gg GEORGE WASHINGTON GREENE. [1835-60
pen to be no candle burnin', if I don't disremember, though my memory
is sometimes ruther forgitful, but I know we wa'n't apt to burn candles
exceptin' when we had company) I could see by the light of the fire that
his mind was oncommon solemnized. Says he to me, says he, " Silly."
I says to him, says I, "What? " He says to me, says he, " We're all
poor critters 1 "
OTajetyington
BORN in East Greenwich, R. I., 1811. DIED there, 1883.
WITH COLE, THE PAINTER, AT ROME.
[Biographical Studies. 1860.J
WE sat and watched the lingering day. We saw the shadows slowly
stealing up from the valley, and the last sunbeams meekly fading
into twilight. We saw that second glow which bursts forth when the
sun is gone ; the last look of expiring day at the scenes which it had
gladdened by its smile, swathing the mountain-sides in golden floods,
and playing along their rugged crests like lightning on the edges of a
cloud. Then this, too, passed away, and through the mountain gap
above Tivoli rose a soft and silvery gleam, gradually extending over the
horizon, and growing purer anil brighter, till the full moon came forth
unveiled, and shed her beams so gently on all that magic scene, that the
rough mountain-side seemed to smile at their touch, and the dank vapors,
that floated cloud-like far and wide over the Campagna, looked like
islands of liquid light.
We spoke of the past; of the thousands who had come from distant
places to look upon that scene; of the mysterious decree which had
crowded so large a portion of the world's destinies within that narrow
circle. We summoned the plebeians of old to people once more the de
serted hill on which they had called into life the second element of
Eoman greatness. We pitched the tent of the Carthaginian on the banks
of the Anio, and watched the beams that fell on the gray mounds that
once were the Tusculum of Cicero. And as we asked ourselves why all
this had been, and why it had been so, and not otherwise, Cole's thoughts
went back to his " Course of Empire," and the conception from which it
had sprung, and how he had hoped to make landscape speak to the heart
by the pencil, as it was speaking to us, there, of the great questions of
life. He talked, too, of the works which he had planned, in which
nature was to tell a story of vaster import than the rise and fall of
1835-60] GEORGE WASHINGTON GREENE. 99
human power the triumph of religion. And as he spoke, his heart
seemed to glow with the conception, and his imagination called up won
derful forms, and his words flowed fast and with burning eloquence, for
it was a thought which had long been dear to him. He had clung to it
through disappointment and depression. When compelled to force him
self down to little tasks for his daily bread, it had still been with him a
burning aspiration and a strengthening hope; and a few years later,
when he laid down his pencil for the last time, the third picture of the
first of that wonderful series stood yet unfinished on his easel.
When we returned home, he asked for a copy of Bryant, and read the
"Thanatopsis," and the "Hymn to the North Star"; and as his mind
grew calmer under the influence of the poet he loved most, his thoughts
turned homewards to gentler and familiar scenes, and he went on with
the "Rivulet," and "Green River," and others of those exquisite pieces,
which reflect the sweet aspect of nature so truthfully that their melody
steals into the heart with the balmy freshness of nature's own sooth-
ings.
Cole remained in Eome till April. The "Voyage of Life " had always
been one of his favorite compositions, and he felt a peculiar pleasure in
painting it over again in Rome.
When the first three pictures were finished and the fourth nearly so,
Terry lent him his studio in the Orto di Napoli to exhibit them in, and
he became anxious to have Thorwaldsen see them. As I had frequent
opportunities of meeting him, I undertook to arrange an interview be
tween the two artists. Thorwaldsen accepted the invitation at once, and
fixed upon the next morning for his visit. Crawford, who neglected no
opportunity of conversing with his great master, offered to show him the
way, and I went before to see that all was ready.
The moment that he entered the room, I could see by the lighting up
of his clear, blue eye, that he felt himself at home ; and before Cole could
do anything more than name the subject of the series, he took up the
interpretation himself, and read the story off from the canvas, with a
readiness that made Cole's eyes moisten with delight. When he came
to the last, he paused and gazed ; then returned to the first, passed slowly
before them all ; and coming back to the last again, stood before it for a
long while without uttering a word. It seemed to me as if he felt that
he, too, had reached that silent sea, and was comparing the recollections
of his own eventful career with the story of the old man and his shat
tered bark. And to this day I can never look upon that picture with
out fancying that I still see Thorwaldsen standing before it, with his
gray locks falling over his shoulders, like those of the hero of the pic
ture, and his serene features composed to deep and solemn meditation.
It was the old man, in Young, walking
HENRY JAMES. [1835-60
"Thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore
Of that vast ocean, he must sail full soon."
When, at last, lie spoke, it was in the strongest terms of gratification :
and often as we used to meet during those last two years of his life in
Eome, he never forgot to inquire after Cole; always ending with
" Great artist, great artist"
31ame&
BORN in Albany, N. Y., 1811. DIED at Cambridge, Mass., 1883.
OUR EXISTING CIVILIZATION.
[Is Marriage Holy ?The Atlantic Monthly. 1870.]
SOCIETY is getting to mean, now, something very different from what
it has ever before meant. It has all along meant an instituted or
conventional order among men, and this order was to be maintained at
whatever cost to the individual man ; if need be, at the cost of his utmost
physical and moral degradation. People no longer put this extravagant
estimate upon our civic organization. Our existing civilization seems
now very dear at that costly price. Society, in short, is beginning to
claim interests essentially repugnant to those of any established order.
It utterly refuses to be identified with any mere institutions, however
conventionally sacred, and claims to be a plenary divine righteousness
in our very nature. The critical moment of destiny seems to be ap
proaching, the day of justice and judgment for which the world has been
so long agonizing in prayer, a day big with wrath against every interest
of man which is organized upon the principle of his inequality with his
brother, and full of peace to every interest established upon their essential
fellowship. Every day an increasing number of persons reject our cruel
civilization as a finality of God's providence upon earth. Every day
burns the conviction deeper in men's bosoms, that there is no life of man
on earth so poor and abject, whose purification and sanctification are not
an infinitely nearer and dearer object to the heart of God than the wel
fare of any Paris, any London, any New York extant. And this rising
preponderance of the human sentiment in consciousness over the per
sonal one is precisely what accounts for the growing disrespect into
which our legal administration is falling, and precisely what it must try
to mould itself upon, if it would recover again the lost ground to which
its fidelity to the old ideas is constantly subjecting it.
1835-60] NOAH PORTER.
potter*
BORN in Farmington, Conn., 1811.
RELIGIOUS BOOKS.
[Books and Heading. 1870.]
ELIGIOUS books may be divided into four classes : good books, i. e.,
books which are very good goodish books books which are good
for nothing books which are worse than nothing.
Good books are such as are positive and conspicuous for one or all of
three merits merits of thought, feeling, and diction. Every good book
can show a raison d'etre. There is some occasion for its being produced
and read. Good books invariably bear marks of having originated in a
gifted mind in a mind set apart by nature or called of God to speak to
one's fellow-men by reason of the gift of genius or of earnestness. They
show the signs of this calling and these gifts, and awaken a response in the
ear and the hearts of the truly earnest or the truly cultured of those who
hear them, and thus prove there was an occasion for their being written.
Goodish books are books of second-hand goodness books that are con
sciously or unconsciously imitated from good books books that repeat
old thoughts, by stupid and servile copying, or with such original vari
ations as despoil them of their freshness and life books which seek to
express simple and familiar emotions without just or real feeling books
which strain out affected conceits, or extravagant imagery, with some
empty ambition of originality books whose authors are willing to gain
the admiration of the uncultured and the half-cultured by any extrava
gance of thought or diction. Above all, they are books which utter the
words of religious feeling when the writer does not really possess it, or
possessing it describes the objects of his excited emotion in borrowed or
stereotyped phraseology. Such books are deformed by more or less of
cant in the strict and proper acceptation of that term, as characterizing
an unsuccessful attempt to sing what another sings heartily and sings
well. Goodish "books may have more or less positive merit, with all
their strained and factitious untruth they may be eminently useful to
readers who do not observe their defects or are not offended by them,
who do not require anything better, or who may have a taste so per
verted as to prefer them to good books, even though good books would
be far better for them. There is unhappily, in the religious world, a
very large class of books of whom the remark of a shrewd observer will
hold, " Men who are simply and earnestly good, I like exceedingly, but
goodish men or those who put on airs of goodness, not at all."
1Q2 NOAH PORTER. [1835-60
Eeligious books which are good for nothing are such as are stupid in
thought, feeble in emotion, false in imagery, vulgar in illustration, or un
couth and illiterate in diction, and which are so deficient in all these par
ticulars as to be incapable of doing good to any one which might not
be done far more efficiently by books that are better or those less open
to objection. Books of this description are very numerous. They are
produced by the ton. They thrust themselves in your face in every
bookseller's shop. They are obtruded upon your notice by weak but
well-meaning people at every corner. That they serve some useful pur
pose to very many people does not disprove that they are good for
nothing, provided we can show that a good or a goodish book would
have answered the same purpose better or equally well.
Religious books that are worse than nothing are such as are posi
tively offensive from defects -so gross as to be obvious to people of very
moderate cultivation. All books belong to this class which are false in
sentiment, fraudulent by over-statement or by suppression, wooden or
scholastic in phraseology arid conception, dishonest in the caricature or
misrepresentation of opponents whether infidel or fellow-Christian, un
sound in reasoning, hysterical in emotion, doggerel in verse, or sensa
tional and extravagant in prose. These all dishonor true religion either
by conspicuous errors, a bad spirit, bad taste, bad manners, or bad Eng
lish. Whatever partial or occasional good they may seem to effect among
people who are not aware of their falsehood, or are not offended by their
extravagance, would be done more effectually by other books, while the
positive evil they occasion to the bigoted, the undevout, and the scoffer,
is fearful to think of.
THE NEW AND THE OLD COMMANDMENT.
[Fifteen Years in the Chapel of Yale College. 1888.]
/"CHRISTIANITY, both as a law and force, has the capacity and prom-
^ ise of a progressive renewal in the future. It has the capacity for
constant development and progress. It can never be outgrown, because
its principles are capable of being applied to every exigency of human
speculation and action. It can never be dispensed with, because man
can never be independent of God, the living God ; and in the fierce trials
which are yet before him. he may find greater need than ever of God as
revealed in Christ. That such trials are to come, we do not doubt. We
cannot predict what new strains are to be brought upon our individual
or social life. There are signs that the bonds of faith and reverence, of
order and decency, of kindliness and affection, which have so long held
1835-60] NOAH POUTER.
men together, are to be weakened, perhaps withered, by the dry-rot of
confident and conceited speculation, or consumed by the fire of human
passion. It is not impossible that society may be convulsed by the
heaving earthquake from beneath, or the whirling tornado from the air.
We cannot tell to what new forms of questioning the received truths of
faith may be subjected, or how far speculation and history and criti
cism may lead to new interpretations of nature and Christ and human
duty. But this much we do know, that every change through which
Christianity has been conducted in the past has served to bring out in
bolder relief and brighter radiance the great verities that from the first
have been esteemed as the essentials of Christian truth and duty. Old
formulas of doctrine have indeed been more or less modified, or have
received new interpretations. History and criticism have thrown a glare
of new light upon the Scriptures, which has been sometimes so bright
as to expose strange and unexpected shadows. Science has penetrated
the constitution of nature, and unrolled the mysterious pages of its
history, and started many as yet unanswered questions in respect to
the mutual relations of matter and spirit, of nature and of God. But
man remains the same in his nature, his needs, and his duties, in his
weakness and strength, in his hopes and his fears, and therefore the old
religion stands.
The old commandment has been continually renewing its life by new
developments and new interpretations, by new illustrations and new appli
cations, and yet it is the same old commandment still. The newest science,
the newest criticism, the newest forms of practical ethics, the newest
political wisdom, in one way or other reaffirm the law originally written
on the human heart, the law reaffirmed by Moses, the grace and truth
that came by Jesus Christ. We believe that in the future, whether our
progress is to be in sunshine or in storm, whether it is to be by discus
sion in the closet and the forum, or by strife on the battle-field of civil
or social war, whether the new lessons are to be gently distilled as the
dew, or revealed by lightning and tempest, men are continually to renew
their convictions in the great truths which God upholds by his power,
and Christ was revealed to enforce, the personal responsibility and
freedom of man, the sacredness of human duty, the nearness of man to
God, the certainty and awfulness, the reasonableness and equity, of future
retribution, the excellence of the life that Christ has exemplified, and
the assured triumphs of the kingdom of light.
But we also believe, that as men shall be more and more assured of
these common truths, and be more concerned with their application to
the lives of their fellow-men ; as they are more entranced with a deepen
ing and glowing love for the living and the loving Christ; as they
become more generous, tolerant, and loving, they will enlarge their
NOAH PORTER. [1885-60
knowledge of the manifold applications of Christian truth and duty.
While these, the old foundations, will remain unchanged, new structures
of beauty and of state will rise, such as the world has never dreamed of, in
the philosophy, the literature, the art, the manners, the politics, the trade,
which Christianity shall transfigure by its enlightened and loving spirit,
and employ in nobler uses, and electrify with resistless energy.
These truths are not unfamiliar to your thoughts. The questions
which I have endeavored to answer spring into the minds of all think
ing men at the present time. They force themselves upon the attention
of all who are conversant with the course of speculation now abroad in
the world. Development and progress are the watchwords of the hour.
In science and letters, in every field of research and of culture, the
demand is for something new, and the supply as constantly meets the
demand. So many new and startling speculations have of late been
accepted, and so many old and venerable theories displaced in the most
solid minds, while history and criticism have as frequently defended
such surprising conclusions, that it is not unnatural that the student who
is introduced suddenly to this imposing array of novel speculations, and
confronted with the confident asseverations of brilliant theorists, should
ask in earnest and sad misgiving, Is everything old to go which men
have trusted? Must theism be abandoned because it is antiquated, and
Christ be denied because the time-spirit can no longer find occasion for
him? Is human personality dissolved by the last analysis? Has the
conscience which makes cowards of us all been itself frightened away at
the last word of the comparative physiologist? Is morality only a senti
ment, and this the changing product of habit and environment ? Are
worship and prayer and natural piety to dry up or die out of the soul
under the keen and searching eyes of science and criticism ? On the
other hand, if we believe, must we accept a formulated tradition, or a
stiff and scholastic dogma, or an unnatural morality ? Did the living
God speak from Sinai thousands of years ago,, and has nothing new been
commanded, or can nothing new be inferred as to his will ? Did Christ
exhaust the limits of the code of practical morality in the exact words
which He uttered, leaving nothing to be inferred in respect to special
duties in the broad light of the rich and manifold experiences of modern
life, and the complicated structures of modern society ?
To these and all questions like them, I have endeavored on this occa
sion to furnish a comprehensive answer. God is not the God of the
dead, but of the living. This is as pertinent to living truths as to living
souls. Christ declares of himself, u I make all things new. I am Alpha
and Omega, the beginning and the ending. The darkness is past, and
the true light now shineth."
Go forth into life, carrying with you the firm conviction that faith in
1835-60] NOAH PORTER.
God and duty, in Christ and his cause, is not only justified, but required
by the most liberal and the profoundest philosophy. Suspect of haste and
charlatanism all those conclusions which are at war with the old human
ities and the venerable faiths on which Christendom has stood so solidly
for centuries, and through which men have prayed and worshipped and
done heroic service for these several generations. Be assured also that
these faiths are not dead traditions, but living germs which are capable
of growth and expansion, and of varied adaptation to every demand of
liuman experience.
THE CHRISTIAN COLLEGE.
[From the Same.]
IT may still be argued, that in the present divided state of Christendom
a college which is positively Christian must, in fact, be controlled by
some religious denomination, and this must necessarily narrow and be
little its intellectual and emotional life. We reply, a college need not
be administered in the interests of any religious sect, even if it be con
trolled by it. We have contended, at length, that science and culture
tend to liberalize sectarian narrowness. We know that Christian phi
losophy, history, and literature are eminently catholic and liberal. No
class of men so profoundly regret the divisions of Christendom as do
Christian scholars; and, we add, their liberality is often in proportion to
their fervor. While a college may be, and sometimes is, a nursery of
petty prejudices, and a hiding-place for sectarian bigotry, it is untrue to
all the lessons of Christian thoughtfulness if it fails to honor its own
nobler charity, and will sooner or later outgrow its narrowness.
It may be still further urged, that a Christian college must limit itself
in the selection of instructors to men of positive Christian belief, and
may thus deprive itself of the ablest instruction. We reply, no positive
inferences of this sort can be drawn from the nature or duties of a Chris
tian college. The details of administration are always controlled by
wise discretion. A seeker after God, if he has not found rest in faith,
may be even more devout and believing in his influence than a fiery
dogmatist or an uncompromising polemic. And yet it may be true, that
a teacher who is careless of misleading confiding youth, and who is fer
tile in suggestions of unbelief, may, for this reason and this only, be dis
qualified from being a safe and useful instructor in any college, whether
Christian or secular. Personal characteristics very properly enter very
largely into a just estimate of the requisites for an ennobling and suc
cessful instructor ; and among personal qualities, those which we call
NO A H PORTER. [1835-60
Christian are esteemed the most ennobling, except by those who are
ashamed of the Christian name.
Last of all, it may be urged that a Christian college may become the
nursery of pietistic sentimental ism or fanatical fervor. This is true;
but there are other sentimental jsms than those which are inspired by
Christian truth and the Christian history, and there are other fanaticisms
than such as flame in the Christian Church. The best security against
all excesses of this sort is to be found in that soundness of mind which
earnest Christian devotion is fitted to inspire, when instructed by solid
learning, and enlightened by science ; when refined by imaginative litera
ture, and made graceful by consummate art.
We conclude as we began, that a Christian college, to be worthy of
its name, must be the home of enlarged knowledge and varied culture.
It must abound in all the appliances of research and instruction; its
libraries and collections must be rich to affluence ; its corps of instruc
tors must be well trained and enthusiastic in the work of teaching. For
all this, money is needed ; and it should be gathered into great centres
not wasted in scanty fountains, nor subdivided into insignificant rills.
Into such a temple of science the Christian spirit should enter as the
shekinah of old, purifying and consecrating all to itself. In such a
college the piety should inspire the science, and the culture should
elevate and refine the piety, and the two should lift each the other up
ward toward God, and speed each other outward and onward in errands
of blessing to man.
Whether a Christian college shall surpass one that is purely or chiefly
secular in its scientific training and literary culture, must be tested by
time; but, in order that the test should be fair, the advantages must be
equal. The endowments, the appliances, the libraries, the museums, and
all else that wealth can furnish, must be similar in attractiveness and
solidity. The friends of each must give to each an enthusiastic and un
wavering support. We do not contend that religious zeal can be a sub
stitute for scientific ardor, but we do argue that it may and will furnish
the highest aspiration when directed to scientific studies. We are not
so simple as to hold that the culture of the religious feelings is a substi
tute for the training of the imagination ; but we do contend that the
imagination, when fired by Christian faith and fervor, rises to its loftiest
achievements. In a word, we believe that the Christian faith is the per
fection of the human reason, as truly as a necessity to the human heart,
and is, therefore, essential'to the highest forms of human culture.
We conclude that no institution of higher education can attain the
highest ideal excellence in which the Christian faith is not exalted as
supreme; in which its truth is not asserted with a constant fidelity, de
fended with unremitting ardor, and enforced with a fervent and devoted
1835-60] WILLIAM INGEAHAM KIP. 107
zeal ; in which Christ is not honored as the inspirer of man's best affec
tions, the model of man's highest excellence, and the master of all human
duties. Let two instructions be placed side by side, with equal advan
tages in other particulars ; let the one be positively Christian, and the
other consistently secular, and the Christian will assuredly surpass the
secular in the contributions which it will make to science and culture,
and in the men which it will train for the service of their kind.
Militant
BORN in New York, N. Y., 1811.
OUR VENERABLE LITURGY.
[The Double Witness of the Church. 1849.]
QU ALLY important is the influence of a Liturgy upon a Church
I ^ collectively. It preserves its orthodoxy unimpaired. Without a
prescribed form of prayer, each individual teacher is left to inculcate
such doctrines as best suit his own private views. He may preach error,
and then pray in accordance with it. There is no standard to which his
people can at all times direct their attention, and judge of his doctrines.
He may become a disbeliever in one of the cardinal articles of the Chris
tian faith, but if he omit all mention of it, both in his sermons and pray
ers, it may not be brought before the attention of his people for years,
and thus insensibly, yet gradually, they fall into his errors.
Such, however, can never be the case where there is a Liturgy like
that of our Church. Let one who ministers at our altars become hereti
cal, and he cannot lead his people with him. He may for a time preach
his views, but each prayer he reads in the service will contradict him,
and proclaim most unequivocally that he is faithless to the Church.
Thus he will be placed in a false position, until at last he is compelled
to go out from us, showing that he is not of us.
Now see how this has always been exemplified. What religious
society without a Liturgy has ever subsisted for any length of time, and
yet not wandered from its early faith? Look at those on the continent
of Europe, which, after the Eeformation, while they abandoned the
Apostolical ministry, gave up the ancient Liturgy also. To what result
have those in Germany been led ? Why, we see them wandering in all
the mazes of rationalism, each year tending downward to a darker, more
hopeless infidelity. What is the faith which now prevails at Geneva,
WILLIAM INGRAHAM KIP. [1835-60
where once John Calvin inculcated his stern and rigid creed? There
all is changed, and in place of the strictness of his views, we have the
latitude and coldness of those who scoff at the Divinity of our Lord. We
are compelled, then, to regard the reformation on the continent as a thing
that has passed away
So it is, too, among the dissenters in England, and the same pulpits
in which, during the last century, their ablest divines preached, are now
held by Socinians. And is not this the case in our own land, where
even the descendants of the New England Puritans have abandoned
their faith, and substituted in its place the most fearful heresies, " deny
ing the Lord that bought them ! " There is reason, therefore, for that
exclamation, uttered by Buchanan, the apostle of the East "Woe to
the declining Church which hath not a Gospel Liturgy ! "
But where could this melancholy history be written of any who ad
hered faithfully to a prescribed form in their public devotions? Take
our own Church, for example. Investigate the doctrines which are em
bodied in her formularies, and you will find that they are now what they
were eighteen centuries ago. Faithless and unworthy men have indeed
at times been the teachers of the Church, but their errors passed away
with them, and the great body of her members, by looking to the Lit
urgy for instruction, still hold to their steadfastness. Its holy language,
bearing the impress, and breathing forth the spirit of the purest days, is
stamped upon the memory of each one of her true children, and wrought
into the very texture of his mind. Her beautiful services, adapted to
every change and circumstance of life, from the cradle to the grave,
speak to his heart with a power which no extemporaneous prayer can
have. In these words his fathers have worshipped. These prayers, per
haps, have trembled upon the lips of some whom he has loved, but who
long since have passed away to their reward. By the chain of associa
tion they unite him to the departed. They recall them to his memory,
and thus, by means of these petitions, he lives again in scenes which
have long since gone. Oh, solemnly and sweetly do these words and
these services come home to the Churchman's heart ! He would not
part with them so rich in hallowed recollections for all the eloquence
that modern wisdom could devise. He clings to them through life, and
trusts that the last sound which shall fall upon his dying ear will be
that solemn prayer by which the Church commends the departing spirit
to the mercy of its (rod.
Thus it is, that a thousand remembrances gather around our time-
honored Ritual and commend it to our affection. We have seen, that in
this manner the followers of our Master worshipped, even in the Apos
tolic age. When, therefore, we. are called to abandon it, and adopt in
its place the extemporaneous effusions of man in our public worship,
1835-60] WILLIAM INGRAHAM KIP.
may we not reply in the words of Scripture " We have no such cus
tom, neither the Churches of God"? We will not fear to walk in our
Lord's footsteps and to follow those ancient confessors and martyrs, who,
in the earliest, purest days of our faith, amidst sufferings and trials won
their way to Heaven. Did they lack spirituality, or find their devotion
cramped and narrowed down by the words of a Liturgy ? Has the whole
Christian Church been in a grievous error on this subject, until within
the last three hundred years? No, brethren : and the best we can do in
our feebleness is, to tread in the old paths, and " hold fast to the form of
sound words " which was used " in our fathers' days, and in the old time
before them." Our venerable Liturgy speaks to us in the language of
God's own word. Let us strive to imbibe its holy spirit, and we shall
need no better preparation for death.
PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF OUR LORD.
[The Unnoticed Things of Scripture. 1868.]
TT is strange, how many of our religious notions, unconsciously to our-
-*- selves, are derived from other sources than the Bible. For instance,
how many views of the fall and the atonement which persons entertain,
if scrutinized, would be found to have their origin in Milton's " Paradise
Lost." They come to us in the flowing dignity of his verse, and insensi
bly we adopt, as a part of our theological creed, his picture of the revolt
in heaven and the crushing of the fallen angels.
So it is with the personal appearance of our Lord. When we think of
Him, there rises to our view the portrait of the oval face, soft in expres
sion, yet grave and even melancholy, the sad eyes, the brown wavy
beard, and the hair parted on the forehead and falling in long masses on
the shoulders. This is the invariable picture we summon up, when we
imagine the scenes in our Lord's life.
Whence do we derive this? It is a portrait to which we have always
been accustomed we have never imagined any other and yet, we
scarcely think that, if we were to analyze the impression in our own
minds, we should find it was from Scripture. There is not a wojd to
warrant it in the New Testament, nor can \ve find a solitary sentence in
the four Evangelists on which to found any description of our Lord's
personal appearance.
Does not this seem strange? The disciples give us the fullest por
trait of their Master's moral lineaments. ....
We believe the only reference with regard to His outward manner is
WILLIAM INGRAHAM KIP. [1835-60
that given by St. John " These words spake Jesus, and lifted up his eyes
to heaven." But why not have told us of His appearance, His features,
His voice or actions ! How would it have gratified the longings of all
future ages ! There is not a scene in our Lord's life but has been seized
on by the painter and sculptor as a subject for their art, yet not one of
the Evangelists has given a single idea which could be embodied in mar
ble or transferred to the canvas. The laborers in the field of " Sacred
Art " were obliged to draw entirely upon the imagination. The features
which are so familiar to us were the conception of the Eastern Church
and from it received and adopted by the Church of the West.
It is a case unparalleled in history. Wherever there have existed
those who were the leaders of the human race, if their lives are written,
we are furnished with the most minute descriptions of their appearance.
We turn to the pages of Plato, and as he writes of his great master
Socrates, we feel as if he stood before us, distinct in every lineament, not
only of his intellectual, but of his physical form. His pupil has por
trayed his conversations, his sayings and arguments, and also his face
and features. We behold his bald head, his flat nose r his thick lips and
prominent eyes, his round and robust figure, his homely dress and bare
feet. From the minuteness of these details it is easy for art to construct
his portrait, as, twenty -four centuries ago, he disputed in the Agora or
walked the streets of Athens.
But it is not so with the four Evangelists. On all these points they
are entirely silent. And yet they were men, and we see not how, hu
manly speaking, they could have abstained from these descriptions.
Their object was to set Him forth so that all coming generations should
know and love Him. Why, then, do they confine themselves only to
the moral and spiritual traits of his character ?
Perhaps one reason was, the overpowering awe with which they looked
back to Him. To them, the divinity absorbed all thoughts of the hu
manity. They could not worthily describe the ideal in their minds,
and therefore shrank from the attempt Human language, they realized,
could give no idea of the outward form, when the God-like and the
human were mingled in one, and therefore they gave nothing which
could appeal to the senses. They felt, perhaps, as did one of the most
celebrated sculptors of our day. When Thorwaldsen had executed what
the world now looks upon as an exquisite statue of our Lord, he thus
sorrowfully commented on it to a friend: "My genius is decaying."
" What do you mean ? " said his friend " Here," said the sculptor, " is
my statue of Christ. It is the first of my works with which I have ever
felt satisfied. Until now, my idea has always been beyond what I could
execute. It is no longer so. I shall never have a great idea again."
Perhaps there was a deeper meaning in their silence. They were sur-
1835-60] WILLIAM INGRAHAM KIP.
rounded by nations who could not conceive of a religion where the Deity
was not pictured before their eyes. The whole Jewish dispensation had
been one long protest, for two thousand years, against this spirit. There
must be no u graven image " of Him whom they worshipped. Particu
larly with the Greeks, with whom the early Christians were brought so
much in contact, the favorite subjects for the chisel were the gods of
their radiant mythology. To these subjects the artistic genius of the
people was specially devoted. We must conclude, then, that the sacred
writers observed this marked silence because they were " moved thereto
by the Holy Ghost." It was to prevent, what later ages actually saw,
the rise of a sensuous religion whose spirituality vanished amid the gor-
geousness of its outward appearance. Looking at the past, they saw that
the shekinah, the visible manifestation of the Divinity, was concealed
behind the veil of the temple, and they felt not authorized to withdraw
the covering. ....
The oldest extant painting of our Lord is one found in the catacombs
of St. Calistus at Eome, while there is another similar to it in the ceme
tery of St. Peter. The earlier Christian sarcophagi, which are supposed
to date in the time of Julian, have also representations of His counte
nance. All these give what is to us the familiar t} T pe of face and ex
pression.
At length this awed silence was broken, and the Fathers of the Church
began their open speculations on our Lord's appearance. Yet at first it
only furnished a topic of discussion and dispute. While some contended
for the physical beauty of our Lord, others took the ground that His
"bodily presence was weak." . . . .
Thus, for two centuries, the Fathers were divided on this subject,
which was necessarily only one of speculation. Justin Martyr and
Clement of Alexandria speak of His " want of form and comeliness,"
while Tertullian, in his usual impulsive stfle, declares, " the person of
Christ wanted not merely divine majesty, but even human beauty." So,
too, wrote Origen ; and when, in his argument with Celsus, the latter
denied " that the Deity could dwell in a mean form," Origen found him
self obliged to soften the literal interpretation of Isaiah, and declared
that " it referred not to the lowliness of stature or meant more than the
absence of noble form or preeminent beauty." And then he refers tri
umphantly to a verse of the forty-fifth Psalm (in the rendering of the
Septuagint) " Ride on in thy loveliness and in thy beauty."
But the progress of time swept away all these inglorious ideas, and
insensibly there was awakened in the Christian mind those conceptions
of grace and beauty to which so many had been accustomed in the crea
tions of Grecian art. . . ,
And so this image of symmetry and beauty was permanently em-
112
ANDREW PRESTON PEABODT. [1835-60
bodied in Christian art, and became the one unvarying type of our
Lord's appearance with which we are all familiar, recognizing it alike in
the miserable engraving which ornaments the cottage of the poor, and
in the glorious conception of Baphael's Transfiguration, on the walls of
the Vatican.
We accede to it and willingly adopt it as it is. We cannot imagine
our Lord otherwise than as the highest efforts of art have represented
Him the old Eastern idea, where the artist has striven to embody the
type of superhuman beauty the Divinity irradiating a form where gen
tleness and majesty are mingled together. Yet we cannot but realize
that for none of this are we indebted to the words of Scripture.
BORN in Beverly, Mass., 1811.
FAIR HARVARD SIXTY YEARS AGO.
[Harvard Reminiscences. 1888.]
r MHE last sixty years can hardly have wrought greater changes,
-*- whether superficial or radical, anywhere else than in Harvard Col
lege. In my time a student's room was remarkable chiefly for what it
did not have, for the absence of all appliances of elegance and comfort,
I might almost say, of all tokens of civilization. The feather-bed mat
tresses not having come into general use was regarded as a valuable
chattel ; but ten dollars would have been a fair auction-price for all the
other contents of an average room, which were a pine bedstead, wash-
stand, table, and desk, a cheap rocking-chair, and from two to four other
chairs of the plainest fashion, the bed furnishing seats when more were
needed. I doubt whether any fellow-student of mine owned a carpet.
A second-hand-furniture dealer had a few defaced and threadbare car
pets, which he leased at an extravagant price to certain Southern mem
bers of the senior class; but even Southerners, though reputed to be
fabulously rich, did not aspire to this luxury till the senior year. Coal
was just coming into use, and had hardly found its way into college.
The students' rooms several of the recitation-rooms as well were
heated by open wood-fires. Almost every room had, too, among its
transmittenda, a cannon-ball supposed to have been derived from the arse
nal, which on very cold days was heated to a red heat, and placed as
a calorific radiant on a skillet, or on some extemporized metallic stand ;
1835-60] ANDREW PRESTON PEABODT.
while at other seasons it was often utilized by being rolled down-stairs
at such time as might most nearly bisect a proctor's night-sleep. Fric
tion-matches according to Faraday the most useful invention of our
age were not yet. Coals were carefully buried in ashes over night to
start the morning fire ; while in summer, as I have elsewhere said, the
evening lamp could be lighted only by the awkward, and often baffling,
process of " striking fire " with flint, steel, and tinder-box.
The student's life was hard. Morning prayers were in summer at six;
in winter, about half an hour before sunrise, in a bitterly cold chapeL
Thence half of each class passed into the several recitation-rooms in the
same building (University Hall), and three-quarters of an hour later the
bell rang for a second set of recitations, including the remaining half of
the students. Then came breakfast, which in the college commons con
sisted solely of coffee, hot rolls, and butter, except when the members of
a mess had succeeded in pinning to the nether surface of the table, by a
two-pronged fork, some slices of meat from the previous day's dinner.
Between ten and twelve every student attended another recitation or a
lecture. Dinner was at half-past twelve, a meal not deficient in quan
tity, but by no means appetizing to those who had come from neat
homes and well-ordered tables. There was another recitation in the
afternoon, except on Saturday ; then evening prayers at six, or in winter
at early twilight; then the evening meal, plain as the breakfast, with tea
instead of coffee, and cold bread, of the consistency of wool, for the hot
rolls. After tea the dormitories rang with song and merriment till the
study-bell, at eight in winter, at nine in summer, sounded the curfew for
fun and frolic, proclaiming dead silence throughout the college premises,
under penalty of a domiciliary visit from the officer of the entry, and, in
case of a serious offence, of private or public admonition.
This was the life for five days of the week. On Sundays all the stu
dents were required to be in residence here, not excepting even those
whose homes were in Boston ; and all were required to attend worship
twice each day at the college chapel. On Saturday alone was there per
mission to leave Cambridge, absence from town at any other time being-
a punishable offence. This weekly liberty was taken by almost every
member of college, Boston being the universal resort; though seldom
otherwise than on foot, the only public conveyance then being a two-
horse stage-coach, which ran twice a day. But the holiday could not be
indefinitely prolonged. The students who were not present at evening
prayers were obliged by law to register their names with the regent be
fore nine o'clock, under a heavy penalty, which was seldom or never in
curred ; for the regent's book was kept by his freshman, who could gen
erally be coaxed or bribed to "take no note of time."
The price of board in commons was a dollar and three-quarters^ or, as
VOL. VII. 8
ANDREW PRESTON PEABODT. [1835-60
was then the uniform expression, " ten and sixpence." The dining-
rooms were on the first floor of University Hall. College officers and
graduates had a table on an elevated platform at the head of each room,
and the students occupied the main floor in messes of from eight to ten.
The round windows opening into the halls, and the shelves set in them,
still remaining in some of these rooms, were designed for the conven
ience of waiters in bringing dishes from the kitchen in the basement.
That kitchen, cooking for about two hundred persons, was the largest
culinary establishment of which the New-England mind then had knowl
edge or conception, and it attracted curious visitors from the whole sur
rounding country ; while the students felt in large part remunerated for
coarse fare and rude service by their connection with a feeding-place that
possessed what seemed to them world-wide celebrity. They were not
the only dependents upon the college kitchen, but shared its viands with
a half-score or more of swine, whose sties were close in the rear of the
building, and with rats of abnormal size that had free quarters with the
pigs. Board of a somewhat better quality was to be had at private
houses for a slight advance on the college price ; while two or three of
the professors received select boarders at the then enormous charge of
three dollars a week. This last arrangement except when known to be
peremptorily insisted on by some anxious parent, exposed a student to
suspicion and unpopularity ; and, if one of a professor's boarders re
ceived any college honor, it was uniformly ascribed to undue influence
catered for on the one side, and exerted on the other, in consequence of
this domestic arrangement.
From what has just been said, it may be inferred that the relations
between the faculty and the students were regarded, as has been already
intimated, on one side at least, as those of mutual hostility. The stu
dents certainly considered the faculty as their natural enemies. There
existed between the two parties very little of kindly intercourse, and
that little generally secret. If a student went unsummoned to a teacher's
room, it was almost always by night. It was regarded as a high crime
by his class for a student to enter a recitation-room before the ringing of
the bell, or to remain to ask a question of the instructor ; and even one
who was uniformly first in the class-room would have had his way to
Coventry made easy. The professors, as well as the parietal officers,
performed police duty as occasion seemed to demand; and in case of a
general disturbance, which was not infrequent, the entire faculty were
on the chase for offenders, a chase seldom successful; while their un
skilled manoeuvres in this uncongenial service were wont to elicit, not
so much silent admiration, as shouts of laughter and applause, which
they strove in vain to trace to their source.
The recitations were mere hearings of lessons, without comment or
1835-60] ANDREW PRESTON PEABODT.
collateral instruction. They were generally heard in quarter-sections of
a class, the entire class containing from fifty to sixty members. The
custom was to call on every student in the section at every recitation.
Each teacher was supposed to have some system, according to which he
arranged the order of his daily calls. Some, like Dr. Popkin, openly
adopted the direct, some the inverse, alphabetical order, some the two
alternately. As for the key to the order adopted by the others respec
tively, there were, generally, conflicting theories, the maintenance of
which brought into play a keenness of calculation and a skilful manipu
lation of data fully adequate to the solving of deeply involved algebraic
equations. Of course, the endeavor not always unsuccessful was to
determine what part of a lesson it was necessary for each individual
student to prepare.
The leading feature of the college at that time was the rich provision
made for courses of lectures. It may be doubted whether so many lec
turers of an exceptionally high order have ever, at any one time, been
brought together in the service of an American college.
As regards the amount of study and of actual attainment, it was, I
think, much greater with the best scholars of each class, much less with
those of a lower grade, than now. I doubt whether such students as
used to constitute the fourth quarter of a class could now reach the
sophomore year. A youth who was regular in his habits, and who
made some sort of an answer, however wide of the mark, at half of his
recitations, commonly obtained his degree, though his college-life might
have been interpolated by an annual three-months' suspension for negli
gence. But the really good scholar gave himself wholly to his work.
He had no distractions, no outside society, no newspapers, no legal possi
bility of an evening in Boston, no probable inducement to spend an hour
elsewhere than within college-walls, and not even easy access to the col
lege library. Consequently, there remained for him nothing but hard
study ; and there were some in every class whose hours of study were
not less than sixty a week.
The range of study was much less extensive than now. Natural his
tory did not then even profess to be a science, and received very little
attention. Chemistry, under auspices which one does not like to recall,
occupied, and utterly wasted, a small portion of the senior year. French
and Spanish were voluntary studies, or rather recreations ; for the recita
tion-room of the kind-hearted septuagenarian, who had these languages
in charge, was frequented more for amusement than for anything that
was taught or learned. Italian and German were studied in good ear
nest by a very few volunteers. There was a great deal of efficient work
in the department of philosophy ; and the writing of English could not
have been cared for more faithfully, judiciously, and fruitfully, than by
ALFRED BILLINGS STREET. [1835-60
Professor Charming. But the chief labor and the crowning honor of suc
cessful scholarship were in mathematics and the classics. The mathe
matical course extended through the entire four years ; embracing the
differential calculus, the mathematical treatment of all departments of
physical science then studied, and a thoroughly mathematical treatise on
astronomy. In Greek and Latin, the aim, as has been already stated,
was not so much to determine grammatical inflections and construction,
as to reach the actual meaning of the author in hand, and to render his
thought into perspicuous and elegant English. This aim was attained,
I think, to a high degree in Latin ; and with the faithful and searching
study of the Latin text, there grew up inevitably the sort of instinctive
knowledge of Latin grammar, which one conversant with the best Eng
lish writers acquires of English grammar, without formal study. Such
grammatical tact and skill were acquired by a respectable number of
Latin scholars in every class ; and the number was by no means small of
those who then formed a life-long taste for Latin literature, and the capa
city of reading it with all desirable ease and fluency. Greek, for reasons
given in my sketch of Dr. Popkin, was studied with much greater diffi
culty, and, when with similar, with much less satisfactory and valuable,
results. The best scholars were often discouraged in the pursuit of
knowledge under hindrances so grave, and had resort to contraband
methods of preparation, which required little labor, and were of no per
manent benefit.
Alfred
BOBN in Poughkeepsie, N. T., 1811. DIED at Albany, N. Y., 1881.
THE LOON.
[Forest Pictures in the Adirondacks. 1865.]
rpAMELESS in his stately pride, along the lake of islands,
Tireless speeds the lonely loon upon his diving track;
Emerald and gold emblazon, satin-like, his shoulder,
Ebony and pearl inlay, mosaic-like, his back.
Sailing, thus sailing, thus sails the brindled loon,
When the wave rolls black with storm, or sleeps in summer noon.
Sailing through the islands, oft he lifts his loud bravura ;
Clarion-clear it rings, and round ethereal trumpets swell;
Upward looks the feeding deer, he sees the aiming hunter,
Up and then away, the loon has warned his comrade well.
1835-60] DELIA BACON.
Sailing, thus sailing, thus sails the brindled loon,
Pealing on the solitude his sounding bugle-tune.
Sacred is the loon with eye of wild and flashing crimson ;
Eye that saw the Spirit Hah-weu-ue-yo through the air
Falling, faint a star a shaft of light a shape of splendor
Falling on the deep that closed that shining shape to bear.
Sailing, thus sailing, thus sailed the brindled loon
With the grand shape falling all a-glitter from the moon.
Long before the eagle furls his pinion on the pine-top,
Long before the blue-bird gleams in sapphire through the glen;
Long before the lily blots the shoal with golden apples,
Leaves the loon his southern sun to sail the lake again.
Sailing, then sailing, then sails the brindled loon,
Leading with his shouting call the Spring's awakening croon.
Long after bitter chills have pierced the windy water,
Long after Autumn dies, all dolphin-like away;
Long after coat of russet dons the deer for winter,
Plies the solitary loon his cold and curdled bay.
Sailing, there sailing, there sails the brindled loon,
Till in chains no more to him the lake yields watery boon.
BORN in Tallmadge, Ohio, 1811. DIED at Hartford, Conn., 1859.
HER INITIATION OF THE SHAKESPEARE-BACON CONTROVERSY.
[William Shakespeare and his Plays; an Inquiry concerning them. Contributed to
"Putnam's Monthly Magazine," January, 1856.]
npHERB was one moment in which all the elements of the national
-L genius that are now separated and incorporated in 'institutions as
wide apart, at least, as earth and heaven, were held together, and that in
their first vigor, pressed from without into their old Greek conjunction.
That moment there was ; it is chronicled; we have one word for it ; we
call it Shakespeare.
Has the time come at last, or has it not yet come, in which this mes
sage of the new time can be laid open to us ? This message from the
lips of one endowed so wondrously with skill to utter it ; endowed, not
with the speaker's melodious tones and subduing harmonies only, but
with the teacher's divinely glowing heart, with the ambition that seeks
its own in all, with the love that is sweeter than the tongues of men and
DELIA BACON. [1835-60
angels. Are we, or are we not, his legatees? Surely this new summing
up of all the real questions of our common life, from such an elevation
in it, this new philosophy of all men's business and desires, cannot be
without its perpetual vital uses. For, in all the points on which the
demonstration rests, these diagrams from the dissolving views of the
past are still included in the problems of the present.
And if, in this new and more earnest research into the true ends and
meanings of this greatest of our teachers, the poor player who was will
ing enough to assume the responsibility of these works, while they were
still plays theatrical exhibitions only, and quite in his line for the time ;
who might, indeed, be glad enough to do it for the sake of the princely
patronage that henceforth encompassed his fortunes, even to the granting
of a thousand pounds at a time, if that were needed to complete his pur
chase if this good man, sufficiently perplexed already with the develop
ments which the modern criticism has by degrees already laid at his
door, does here positively refuse to go any further with us on this road,
why e'en let us shake hands with him and part, he as his business and
desire shall point him, "for every man hath business and desire, such as
it is," and not without a grateful recollection of the good service he has
rendered us.
The publisher of these plays let his name go down still and to all pos
terity on the cover of it. They were his plays. He brought them out,
he and his firm. They took the scholar's text, that dull black and white,
that mere ink and paper, and made of it a living, speaking, many-colored,
glittering reality, which even the groundlings of that time could appre
ciate, in some sort. What was Hamlet to them, without his " inky
cloak " and his " forest of feathers " and his " razed shoes " and u the
roses " on them ? And they came out of this man's bag he was the
owner of the " wardrobe " and of the other " stage properties." He was
the owner of the manuscripts ; and if he came honestly by them, whose
business was it to enquire any further, then ? If there was no one who
chose, just then, to claim the authorship of them, whose else should they
be? Was not the actor himself a poet, and a very facetious one, too?
Witness the remains of him, the incontestable poetical remains of him,
which have come down to us. What if his ill-natured contemporaries,
whose poetic glories he was eclipsing forever with those new plays of
his, did assail him on his weak points, and call him, in the face of his
time, " a Johannes Factotum" and held up to public ridicule his particu
lar style of acting, plainly intimating that it was chargeable with that
very fault which the prince of Denmark directs his tragedians to omit
did not the blundering editor of that piece of offensive criticism get a
decisive hint from some quarter, that he might better have withheld it ;
and was it not humbly retracted and hushed up directly? Some of the
1835-60] DELIA BACON.
earlier anonymous plays, which were included in the collection pub
lished, after this player's decease, as the plays of William Shakespeare,
are, indeed, known to have been produced anonymously at other thea
tres, and by companies with which this actor had never any connection ;
but the poet's company and the player's were, as it seems, two different
thing's; and that is a fact which the criticism and history of these plays,.
as it stands at present, already exhibits. Several of the plays which
form the nucleus of the Shakespeare drama had already been brought
out, before the Stratford actor was yet in a position to assume that rela
tion to it which proved so advantageous to his fortunes. Such a nucleus
of the Shakespeare drama there was already, when the name which this
actor bore, with such orthographical variations as the purpose required r
began to be assumed as the name and device of that new sovereignty of
genius which was then first rising and kindling behind its cloud, and
dimming and overflowing with its greater glory all the less, and gilding
all it shone on. The machinery of these theatrical establishments
offered, indeed, the most natural and effective, as well as, at that time,
on other accounts, the most convenient mode of exhibition for that par
ticular class of subjects which the genius of this particular poet natu
rally inclined him to meddle with. He had the most profoundly philo
sophical reasons for preferring that mode of exhibiting his poems, as will
be seen hereafter.
And, when we have once learned to recognize the actor's true rela
tions to the works which have given to his name its anomalous signifi
cance, we shall be prepared, perhaps, to accept, at last, this great offer of
aid in our readings of these works, which has been lying here now two
hundred and thirty years, unnoticed ; then, and not till then, we shall be
able to avail ourselves, at last, of the aid of those "friends of his," to
whom, two hundred and thirty years ago, " knowing that his wit could
no more lie hid than it could be lost," the editors of the first printed col
lection of these works venture to refer us ; " those other friends of his,
whom, IF WE NEED, can be our guides; and, IF WE NEED THEM NOT, we
are able to lead ourselves and others, and such readers they wish him."
If we had accepted either of these two conditions if we had found
ourselves with those who need this offered guidance, or with those who
need it not if we had but gone far enough in our readings of these
works to feel the want of that aid, from exterior sources, which is here
proffered us there would not have been presented to the world, at this
hour, the spectacle the stupendous spectacle of a nation referring the
origin of its drama a drama more noble, and learned, and subtle than
the Greek to the invention the accidental, unconscious invention of
a stupid, ignorant, illiterate, third-rate play-actor.
If we had, indeed, but applied to these works the commonest rules of
DELIA BACON. [1835-60
historical investigation and criticism, we might, ere this, have been led
to enquire, on our own account, whether " this player here," who brought
them out, might not possibly, in an age like that, like the player in
Hamlet, have had some friend, or " friends," who could, " an' if they
would," or " an' if they might," explain his miracles to us, and the secret
of his "poor cell."
If we had accepted this suggestion, the true Shakespeare would not
have been now to seek. In the circle of that patronage with which this
player's fortunes brought him in contact, in that illustrious company of
wits and poets, we need not have been at a loss to find the philosopher
who writes, in his prose as well, and over his own name also,
" In Nature's infinite book of secrecy,
A little I can read "
we should have found one, at least, furnished for that last and ripest
proof of learning which the drama, in the unmiraculous order of the
human development, must constitute ; that proof of it in which philoso
phy returns from history., from its noblest fields, and from her last analy
sis, with the secret and material of the creative synthesis with the
secret and material of art. With this direction, we should have been
able to identify, ere this, the Philosopher who is only the Poet in dis
guise the Philosopher who calls himself the New Magician the Poet
who was toiling and plotting to fill the globe with his Arts, and to make
our common, every-day human life poetical who would have all our
life, and not a part of it, learned, artistic, beautiful, religious.
We should have found, ere this, ONE, with learning broad enough, and
deep enough, and subtle enough, and comprehensive enough, one with
nobility of aim and philosophic and poetic genius enough, to be able to
claim his own, his own immortal progeny undwarfed, unblinded, unde-
prived of one ray or dimple of that all-pervading reason that informs
them ; one who is able to reclaim them, even now, " cured and perfect in
their limbs, and absolute in their numbers, as he conceived them."
.
1835-60] JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER.
otttlliam
BORN at St. Helen's, near Liverpool, England, 1811. DIED at Hastings-on-Hudson, N. Y., 1882.
THE ORGANIZATION OP PUBLIC INTELLECT.
[History of the Intellectual Development of Europe. Revised Edition. 1876.]
"VTATIONS, like individuals, are born, pass through a predestined
-*-^ growth, and die. One comes to its end at an early period and in
an untimely way ; another, not until it has gained maturity. One is cut
off by feebleness in its infancy, another is destroyed by civil disease, an
other commits political suicide, another lingers in old age. But for every
one there is an orderly way of progress to its final term, whatever that
term may be.
Now, when we look at the successive phases of individual life, what is
it that we find to be their chief characteristic? Intellectual advance
ment. And we consider that maturity is reached when intellect is at its
maximum. The earlier stages are preparatory ; they are wholly sub
ordinate to this.
If the anatomist be asked how the human form advances to its highest
perfection, he at once disregards all the inferior organs of which it is
composed, and answers that it is through provisions in its nervous struc
ture for intellectual improvement ; that in succession it passes througli
stages analogous to those observed in other animals in the ascending
scale, but in the end it leaves them far behind, reaching a point to which
they never attain. The rise in organic development measures intellec
tual dignity.
In like manner, the physiologist, considering the vast series of animals
now inhabiting the earth with us, ranks them in the order of their in
telligence. He shows that their nervous mechanism unfolds itself upon
the same plan as that of man, and that, as its advancement in this uni
form and predetermined direction is greater, so is the position attained
to higher.
The geologist declares that these conclusions hold good in the history
of the earth, and that there has been an orderly improvement in intel
lectual power of the beings that have inhabited it successively. It is
manifested by their nervous systems. He affirms that the cycle of trans
formation through which every man must pass is a miniature representa
tion of the progress of life on the planet. The intention in both cases is
the same.
The sciences, therefore, join with history in affirming that the great
aim of nature is intellectual improvement. They proclaim that the sue-
T 22 JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER. [1835-60
cessive stages of every individual, from its earliest rudiment to maturity
the numberless organic beings now living contemporaneously with us,
and constituting the animal seriesthe orderly appearance of that grand
succession which, in the slow lapse of time, has emerged all these three
great lines of the manifestation of life furnish not only evidences, but
also proofs, of the dominion of law. In all the general principle is to
differentiate instinct from automatism, and then to differentiate intelli
gence from instinct. In man himself the three distinct modes of life
occur in an epochal order through childhood to the most perfect state.
.And this holding good for the individual, since it is physiologically im
possible to separate him from the race, what holds good for the one must
also hold good for the other. Hence man is truly the archetype of
society. His development is the model of social progress.
What, then, is the conclusion inculcated by these doctrines as regards
the social progress of great communities? It is that all political institu
tions imperceptibly or visibly, spontaneously or purposely should
tend to the improvement and organization of national intellect.
The expectation of life in a community, as in an individual, increases
in proportion as the artificial condition or laws under which it is living
agree with the natural tendency. Existence may be maintained under
very adverse circumstances for a season ; but, for stability and duration,
and prosperity, there must be a correspondence between the artificial
conditions and the natural tendency.
Europe is now entering on its mature phase of life. Each of its.
nations will attempt its own intellectual organization, and will accom
plish it more or less perfectly, as certainly as that bees build combs and
fill them with honey. The excellence of the result will altogether turn
on the suitability and perfection of the means.
There are historical illustrations which throw light upon the working
of these principles. Thus, centuries ago, China entered on her Age of
Reason, and instinctively commenced the operation of mental organiza
tion. What is it that has given to her her wonderful longevity ? What
is it that insures the well-being, the prosperity of a population of three
hundred and sixty millions more than one-fourth of the human race
on a surface not by any means as large as Europe? Not geographical
position ; for, though the country may in former ages have been safe on
the East by reason of the sea, it has been invaded and conquered from
the West. Not a docility, want of spirit, or submissiveness of the peo
ple, for there have been bloody insurrections. The Chinese empire ex
tends through twenty degrees of latitude ; the mean annual temperature
of its northern provinces differs from that of the southern by twenty-five
Fahrenheit degrees. Hence, with a wonderful variety in its vegetation,
there must be great differences in the types of men inhabiting it. But
1835-60] JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER. 123
the principle that lies at the basis of its political system has confronted
successfully all these human varieties, and has outlived all revolu
tions.
The organization of the national intellect is that principle. A broad
foundation is laid in universal education. It is intended that every
Chinese shall know how to read and write. The special plan then
adopted is that of competitive examinations. The way to public ad
vancement is open to all. Merit, real or supposed, is the only passport
to office. Its degree determines exclusively social rank. The govern
ment is organized on mental qualifications. The imperial constitution
is imitated in those of the provinces. Once in three years public exami
nations are held in each district or county, with a view of ascertaining
those who are fit for office. The bachelors, or those who are successful,
are triennially sent for renewed examination in the provincial capital
before two examiners deputed from the general board of public educa
tion. The licentiates thus sifted out now offer themselves for final ex
amination before the imperial board at Pekin. Suitable candidates for
vacant posts are thus selected. There is no one who is not liable to such
an inquisition. When vacancies occur they are filled from the list of
approved men, who are gradually elevated to the highest honors.
It is not because the talented, who, when disappointed, constitute in
other countries the most dangerous of all classes, are here provided for,
that stability of institutions has been attained, but because the political
system approaches to an agreement with that physiological condition
which guides all social development. The intention is to give a dominat
ing control to intellect.
The method through which that result is aimed at is imperfect, and,
consequently, an absolute coincidence between the system and the ten
dency is not attained, but the stability secured by their approximation
is very striking. The method itself is the issue of political forms through
which the nation for ages has been passing. Their insufficiency and im
perfections are incorporated with and reappear in it.
To the practical eye of Europe a political system thus founded on a
literary basis appears to be an absurdity. But we must look with re
spect on anything that one-fourth of mankind have concluded it best to
do, especially since they have consistently adhered to their determination
for several thousand years. Forgetting that herein they satisfy an in
stinct of humanity which every nation, if it lives long enough, must feel,
Europe often asserts that it is the competitive system which has brought
the Chinese to their present state, and made them a people without any
sense of patriotism or honor, without any faith or vigor. These are the
results, not of their system, but of old age. There are octogenarians
among us as morose, selfish, and conceited as China.
124
JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER. [1835-60
The want of a clear understanding of our relative position vitiates all
our dealings with that ancient empire. The Chinese has heard of our
discordant opinions, of our intolerance toward those who differ in ideas
from us, of our worship of wealth, and the honor we pay to birth ; he
has heard that we sometimes commit political power to men who are so
little above the animals that they can neither read nor write ; that we
hold military success in esteem, and regard the profession of arms as the
only suitable occupation for a gentleman. It is so long since his ances
tors thought and acted in that manner that he justifies himself in regard
ing us as having scarcely yet emerged from the barbarian stage. On
our side, we cherish the delusion that we shall, by precept or by force,
convert him to our modes of thought, religious or political, and that we
can infuse into his stagnating veins a portion of our enterprise.
A trustworthy account of the present condition of China would be a
valuable gift to philosophy, and also to statesmanship. On a former
page I have remarked . . . that it demands the highest policy to
govern populations living in great differences of latitude. Yet China
has not only controlled her climatic strands of people; she has even
made them, if not homogeneous, yet so fitted to each other that they
all think and labor alike. Europe is inevitably hastening to become
what China is. In her we may see what we shall be like when we are
old.
A great community, aiming to govern itself by intellect rather than
by coercion, is a spectacle worthy of admiration, even though the mode
by which it endeavors to accomplish its object is plainly inadequate.
Brute force holds communities together as an iron nail binds pieces of
wood by the compression it makes a compression depending on the
force with which it has been hammered in. It also holds more tena
ciously if a little rusted with age. But intelligence binds like a screw.
The things it has to unite must be carefully adjusted to its thread. It
must be gently turned, not driven, and so it retains the consenting parts
firmly together.
Notwithstanding the imperfections of a system founded on such a
faulty basis, that great community has accomplished what many consider
to be the object of statesmanship. They think that it should be perma
nence in Institutions. But permanence is only, in an apparent sense, the
object of good statesmanship ; progression, in accordance with the natural
tendency, is the real one. The successive steps of such a progression
follow one another so imperceptibly that there is a delusive appearance
of permanence. Man is so constituted that he is never aware of continu
ous motion. Abrupt variations alone impress his attention.
Forms of government, therefore, are of moment, though not in the
manner commonly supposed. Their value increases in proportion as
1835-60] JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER.
they permit or encourage the natural tendency for development to be
satisfied.
While Asia has thus furnished an example of the effects of a national
organization of intellect, Europe, on a smaller scale, has presented an
illustration of the same kind. The papal system opened, in its special
circumstances, a way for talent. It maintained an intellectual organiza
tion for those who were within its pale, irrespective of wealth or birth.
It was no objection that the greatest churchman frequently came from
the lowest walks of life. And that organization sustained it in spite of
the opposition of external circumstances for several centuries after its
supernatural and ostensible basis had completely decayed away.
Whatever may be the facts under which, in the different countries of
Europe, such an organization takes place, or the political forms guiding
it, the basis it must rest upon is universal, and, if necessary, compulsory
education. In the more enlightened places the movement has already
nearly reached that point. Already it is an accepted doctrine that the
state, as well as the parent, has rights in a child, and that it may insist
on education; conversely, also, that every child has a claim upon the
government for good instruction. After providing in the most liberal
manner for that, free countries have but one thing more to do for the
accomplishment of the rest.
That one thing is to secure intellectual freedom as completely as the
rights of property and personal liberty have been already secured. Phi
losophical opinions and scientific discoveries are entitled to be judged
of by their truth, not by their relation to existing interests. The motion
of the earth round the sun, the antiquity of the globe, the origin of
species, are doctrines which have had to force their way in the manner
described in this book, not against philosophical opposition, but opposi
tion of a totally different nature. And yet the interests which resisted
them so strenuously have received no damage from their establishment
beyond that consequent on the discredit of having so resisted them.
There is no literary crime greater than that of exciting a social, and
especially a theological, odium against ideas that are purely scientific,
none against which the disapproval of every educated man ought to be
more strongly expressed. The republic of letters owes it to its own
dignity to tolerate no longer offences of that kind.
To such an organization of their national intellect, and to giving it a
political control, the countries of Europe are thus rapidly advancing.
They are hastening to satisfy their instinctive tendency. The special
form in which they will embody their intentions must, of course, depend
to a great degree on the political forms under which they have passed
their lives, modified by that approach to homogeneousness which arises
from increased intercommunication. The canal system, so wonderfully
126
JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER. [1835-60
developed in China, exerted no little influence in that respect an in
fluence, however, not to be compared with that which must be the result
of the railway system of Europe.
In an all-important particular the prospect of Europe is bright. China
is passing through the last stage of civil life in the cheerlessness of
Buddhism ; Europe approaches it through Christianity. Universal be
nevolence cannot fail to yield a better fruit than unsocial pride. There
is a fairer hope for nations animated by a sincere religious sentiment,
who, whatever their political history may have been, have always agreed
in this, that they were devout, than for a people who dedicate themselves
to a selfish pursuit of material advantages, who have lost all belief in a
future, and are living without any God.
THE AMERICAN DEMOCRACY.
[Thoughts on the Future Civil Policy of America. 1865.]
ONE of the greatest of the Greek philosophers, Plato, held that in a
political sense men are to be considered, not as men, but as ele
ments of the state ; thus carrying to its extreme consequence the idea of
that public relation just referred to. In America, the principle of in
dividual independence being thoroughly admitted, that independence
can only be secured by political organization ; and hence, the Platonic
idea being accepted, individuals must be considered as existing for the
state. To it they owe whatever they have, even life.
The fabric of the Eepublic arose from the spontaneous coalescence
of such elements. The first immigrants necessarily maintained purely
democratic relations, with only such subordination as their existing
needs required. When, in the course of time, colony began to establish
connections with colony, the principle of equality was never for a
moment forgotten. From the union of individuals towns arose ; from
the union of towns, states ; from the union of states, the Eepublic. This
coalescence of individuals was and is still greatly facilitated by a certain
sameness of habits among all classes, arising from their issuing from a
common origin. Temporary differences of wealth are of little moment :
the poor of to-day may be the rich of to-morrow.
The modes of life of various classes being more similar than in Europe,
individuals fall more readily into place, and more easily assume a fitting
association with one another. From this arises that sentiment of equal
ity which curbs and checks the sentiment of individual independence.
The Republic may therefore be regarded as a restrained association of
1835-60] JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER. |27
free individuals, voluntarily surrendering a part of their personal inde
pendence for the common good, yet all the time conscious and jealous of
that surrender. They have bartered a portion of their liberty for security.
Labor is its essential basis. In America, every one, even though he may
be rich, must have some ostensible occupation. A healthy public senti
ment makes it disreputable to be idle.
Liberty, therefore, is always, if such a paradox may be excused, lib
erty under restraint. It appertains not to the position an individual
occupies ; it is inherent in humanity.
Elsewhere nations are governed too much; here no restraint is ad
missible beyond that necessary for the well-being and life of the body
politic. But in that maxim much is embraced. Coercion, more ener
getic and more formidable than that ever felt in the most absolute mon
archies, becomes justifiable, if necessary to preserve the national life.
The individual must not for an instant stand in the way of the public
good.
There are singular advantages arising from a personal acknowledg
ment of this force of public authority, and of the inevitable direction its
action will take. In foreign countries there is no definitely visible path
in which it is clear that the nation will advance; here every one sees
plainly what the course of progress must inevitably be. The popular
phrase, "manifest destiny," marks out this recognition. There hence
arises a concert of action, which adds prodigiously to the public power.
The momentum of the whole population is felt in a definite direction.
Placed in such circumstances, a democracy will exhibit an instinct of
cohesion in all its parts. Herein is the explanation of the remark so
often made by observing statesmen respecting the essential difference
between democracies in Europe and America that the former are de
structive, the latter constructive.
This constructiveness is strikingly seen in new-settled American states.
Where, but a short time before, there was an untrodden wilderness,
population began to converge a village formed. In an incredibly short
time, organization of the infant community might be observed ; its out
ward signs, the school-house, the town hall, the church, the newspaper.
These differentiations from the growing body spontaneously issued from
the people ; they required no stimulus from above. The village rapidly
grew into a town. All round it, in precisely like manner, other towns
were emerging. The instinct of cohesion I have referred to combined
them together; an organized territory, a state, is the result. Construc
tive affinity still continues to be manifested, and the new state merges
into and becomes an acknowledged part of the Eepublic. It loses for
ever, if indeed it ever possessed, the attribute of independent sover
eignty.
JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER. [1835-60
Throughout this process of events self-government is perpetually mani
fest. Each individual bears a conscious share in each of the stages of
procedure and in the final result. Hence arises a property of such a
democracy unfortunately not understood in Europe. In monarchical
countries war and peace are easily made. The people are rarely pene
trated by a just appreciation of the points in dispute. The conflicting
authorities, sovereigns or royal houses, compose their quarrel ; the com
munity acquiesces.
Not so in a self-conscious democracy. A public injury, perpetrated
by a foreign power, is at once accepted by each individual as his per
sonal affair. When the English government conceded belligerent rights
to the insurgent states, there was not an American who did not person
ally appropriate the offence. Such a sensitiveness is often imputed, by
those who have not considered the peculiarities of democratic life, to the
youth of the nation or to other transitory causes. It arises, however,
from a very different, and, it may be added, a far more dangerous con
dition. A course that might be pursued with impunity by one royal
house toward another, cannot wisely be pursued toward a self-conscious
democracy ; for it has a retentive memory, and is, in virtue of its very
constitution, unforgiving.
The instinct of self-government, so characteristic of the American
democracy, thus leads to the formation of villages, towns, counties, terri
tories, states nay, even to the expansion of the Republic itself. So far
from centralization and self-government standing in opposition to each
other, as some authors have supposed, the former necessarily issues out
of the latter. Self-government, instead of conveying the idea of absolute
freedom, conveys, in reality, the idea of restraint restraint spontane
ously imposed. If, as must be the case in self-conscious communities,
that restraint is organized by those who are intending to submit to its
rule, centralization is the necessary result.
Moreover, the instinct of self-government implies an instinct for en
lightenment an insatiable thirst for information. This is recognized in
all directions in America. It satisfies itself by the creation of great
educational establishments, and descends even to amusing details. The
Yankee converses in questions.
Every one is penetrated with the conviction that for social advance
ment to pursue the right direction, and to be pressed forward at the
highest speed, it must be controlled by intelligence. Hence the public
prosperity is considered to depend on education. There can be no doubt
that this is a very high and noble conception. It establishes an intrinsic
difference between the people of Europe and the people of America.
In Europe the attempt has been made to govern communities through
their morals alone. The present state of that continent, at the close of
1835-60] JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER. 129
so many centuries, shows how great the failure has been. In America,
on the contrary, the attempt is to govern through intelligence. It will
succeed.
From the American principle, it follows that whoever seeks the im
provement of his fellow-men, the ennobling of the community among
whom he lives, or the true glory of the nation, can best accomplish his-
purpose by spreading forth the light of knowledge, and strengthening
and developing the public understanding.
For more than a thousand years the moral system has been tried in
Europe. Its agent, the ecclesiastic, was animated by intentions that were
good, by perseverance unwearied, by a vigorous energy. The failure is
attributable, not to shortcomings in him, but to intrinsic defects in his
method ; though on that continent, in a very imperfect manner, in later
times the other method has spontaneously and with much resistance made
itself felt ; a wonderful result is beginning to be apparent. The appre
hension entertained by many good men in former times, that if the mind
be instructed the morals may be injured, has proved to be unfounded.
Men are better in proportion as they are wiser. In whatever direction
we look, we see the improvement. The physical man is more powerful,
the intellectual man more perfect, the moral man more pure. For the
poor, in the midst of all this social activity, this business energy, charity
is none the less overflowing ; for him who wishes to improve his life
there is certain to be encouragement.
Whoever in America desires to better his fellow-men must act by in
fluencing their intellect. If he wishes to see no idle man and no poor
man in the land, he must take care that there shall be no ignorant man.
Ignorance is not, as in the old times they used to say, the mother of
devotion ; she is the mother of superstition and misery.
If we wish to know how we may best clear from this continent the
superabundant forests that encumber it how we may best lay the iron
rail and put the locomotive upon it how we may most profitably dig
the abounding metals from their veins how we may instantaneously
communicate with our most distant towns how we may cover the
ocean with our ships how we may produce a sober, industrious,
healthy, moral population, we shall find our answer in providing univer
sal instruction. That spontaneously provides occupation. The moral
ity of a nation is the aggregate of the morality of individuals. A lazy
man is necessarily a bad man; an idle is necessarily a demoralized
population.
VOL. VII. 9
13Q FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD. [1885-60
tfranceg
BOKN in Boston, Mass., 1811. DIED in Hingham, Mass., 1850.
A DANCING GIRL.
[Poems. Illustrated Edition. 1850.]
SHE comes the spirit of the dance!
And but for those large, eloquent eyes,
Where passion speaks in every glance,
She'd seem a wanderer from the skies.
So light that, gazing breathless there,
Lest the celestial dream should go,
You'd think the music in the air
Waved the fair vision to and fro !
Or that the melody's sweet flow
Within the radiant creature played,
And those soft wreathing arms of snow
And white sylph feet the music made.
Now gliding slow with dreamy grace,
Her eyes beneath their lashes lost,
Now motionless, with lifted face,
And small hands on her bosom crossed.
And now with flashing eyes she springs
Her whole bright figure raised in air,
As if her soul had spread its wings
And poised her one wild instant there!
She spoke not ; but, so richly fraught
With language are her glance and smile,
That, when the curtain fell, I thought
She had been talking all the while.
CALUMNY.
A WHISPER woke the air,
--*- A soft, light tone, and low,
Yet barbed with shame and woe.
Ah ! might it only perish there,
Nor farther go !
1835-60] FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD.
But no! a quick and eager ear
Caught up the little, meaning sound ;
Another voice has breathed it clear;
And so it wandered round
From ear to lip, from lip to ear,
Until it reached a gentle heart
That throbbed from all the world apart,
And that it broke !
SONG.
YOUR heart is a music-box, dearest!
With exquisite tunes at command,
Of melody sweetest and clearest,
If tried by a delicate hand ;
But its workmanship, love, is so fine,
At a single rude touch it would break ;
Then, oh ! be the magic key mine,
Its fairy-like whispers to wake.
And there's one little tune it can play,
That I fancy all others above
You learned it of Cupid one day
It begins with and ends with u I love ! " "I love I "
My heart echoes to it "I love! "
HE MAY GO IF HE CAN.
T ET me see him once more for a moment or two,
J^ Let him tell me himself of his purpose, dear, do ;
Let him gaze in these eyes while he lays out his plan
To escape me, and then he may go if he can !
Let me see him once more, let me give him one smile,
Let me breathe but one word of endearment the while;
I ask but that moment my life on the man!
Does he think to forget me ? He may if he can!
"BOIS TON SANG, BEAUMANOIR!"
raged the combat the foeman pressed nigh,
When from young Beaumanoir rose the wild cry,
Beaumanoir, mid them all, bravest and first,
"Give me to drink, for I perish of thirst ! "
132 HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER STOWE. [1835-60
Hark ! at his side, in the deep tones of ire,
"Bois ton sang, Beaumanoir! " shouted his sire.
Deep had it pierced him, the foeman's swift sword;
Deeper his soul felt the wound of that word !
Back to the battle, with forehead all flushed,
Stung to wild fury, the noble youth rushed !
Scorn in his dark eyes his spirit on fire-
Deeds were his answer that day to his sire !
Still where triumphant the young hero came,
Glory's bright garland encircled his name ;
But in her bower, to beauty a slave,
Dearer the guerdon his lady-love gave,
While on his shield that no shame had defaced,
"Bois ton sang, Beaumanoir! " proudly she traced!
HER LAST VERSES.
YOU'VE woven roses round my way,
And gladdened all my being;
How much I thank you, none can say,
Save only the All-seeing.
May He who gave this lovely gift,
This love of lovely doings,
Be with you, wheresoe'er you go,
In every hope's pursuings.
I'm going through the eternal gates,
Ere June's sweet roses blow !
Death's lovely angel leads me there,
And it is sweet to go.
1850.
Harriet
BORN in Litchfield, Conn., 1812.
ELIZA'S FLIGHT.
[Uncle Tom's Cabin. 1851. New Edition. 1879.]
IT is impossible to conceive of a human creature more wholly desolate
and forlorn than Eliza, when she turned her footsteps from Uncle
Tom's cabin.
1835-60] HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER 8TOWE. ^33
Her husband's suffering and dangers, and the danger of her child, all
blended in her mind, with a confused and stunning sense of the risk she
was running, in leaving the only home she had ever known, and cutting
loose from the protection of a friend whom she loved and revered. Then
there was the parting from every familiar object, the place where she
had grown up, the trees under which she had played, the groves where
she had walked many an evening in happier days, by the side of her
young husband, everything, as it lay in the clear, frosty starlight,
seemed to speak reproachfully to her, and ask her whither she could go
from a home like that? *
But stronger than all was maternal love, wrought into a paroxysm of
frenzy by the near approach of a fearful danger. Her boy was old
enough to have walked by her side, and, in an indifferent case, she would
only have led him by the hand ; but now the bare thought of putting
him out of her arms made her shudder, and she strained him to her
bosom with a convulsive grasp, as she went rapidly forward.
The frosty ground creaked beneath her feet, and she trembled at the
sound; every quaking leaf and fluttering shadow sent the blood back
ward to her heart, and quickened her footsteps. She wondered within
herself at the strength that seemed to be come upon Her ; for she felt the
weight of her boy as if it had been a feather, and every flutter of fear
seemed to increase the supernatural power that bore her on, while from
her pale lips burst forth, in frequent ejaculations, the prayer to a Friend
above, '' Lord, help ! Lord, save me ! "
If it were your Harry, mother, or your Willie, that were going to be
torn from you by a brutal trader, to-morrow morning, if you had seen
the man, and heard that the papers were signed and delivered, and you
had only from twelve o'clock till morning to make good your escape,
how fast could you walk ? How many miles could you make in those
few brief hours, with the darling at your bosom, the little sleepy head on
your shoulder, the small, soft arms trustingly holding on to your neck ?
For the child slept. At first, the novelty and alarm kept him waking ;
but his mother so hurriedly repressed every breath or sound, and so as
sured him that if he were only still she would certainly save him, that
he clung quietly round her neck, only asking, as he found himself sink
ing to sleep,
" Mother, I don't need to keep awake, do I? "
" No, my darling ; sleep, if you want to."
" But, mother, if I do get asleep, you won't let him get me? "
" No ! so may God help me ! " said his mother, with a paler cheek and
a, brighter light in her large, dark eyes.
"You're sure, an't you, mother? "
"Yes, sure!" said the mother, in a voice that startled herself; for it
HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER 8TOWE. [1835-60
seemed to her to come from a spirit within, that was no part of her ; and
the boy dropped his little weary head on her shoulder and was soon
asleep. How the touch of those warm arms, and gentle breathings that
came in her neck, seemed to add fire and spirit to her movements. It
seemed to her as if strength poured into her in electric streams, from
every gentle touch and movement of the sleeping, confiding child. Sub
lime is the dominion of the mind over the body, that, for a time, can
make flesh and nerve impregnable, and string the sinews like steel, so-
that the weak become so mighty.
The boundaries of the farm, the grove, the wood-lot, passed by her
dizzily, as she walked on ; and still she went, leaving one familiar object
after another, slacking not, pausing not, till reddening daylight found
her many a long mile from all traces of any familiar objects upon the
open highway.
She had often been, with her mistress, to visit some connections, in the
little village of T , not far from the Ohio River, and knew the road
well To go thither, to escape across the Ohio River, were the first
hurried outlines of her plan of escape ; beyond that, she could only hope
in God.
When horses and vehicles began to move along the highway, with
that alert perception peculiar to a state of excitement, and which seems
to be a sort of inspiration, she became aware that her headlong pace and
distracted air might bring on her remark and suspicion. She therefore
put the boy on the ground, and, adjusting her dress and bonnet, she
walked on at as rapid a pace as she thought consistent with the preserva
tion of appearances. In her little bundle she had provided a store of
cakes and apples, which she used as expedients for quickening the speed
of the child, rolling the apple some yards before them, when the boy
would run with all his might after it; and this ruse, often repeated,
carried them over many a half-mile.
After a while, they came to a thick patch of woodland, through which
murmured a clear brook. As the child complained of hunger and thirst,
she climbed over the fence with him ; and, sitting down behind a large
rock which concealed them from the road, she gave him a breakfast out
of her little package. The boy wondered and grieved that she could not
eat ; and when, putting his arms round her neck, he tried to wedge some
of his cake into her mouth, it seemed to her that the rising in her throat
would choke her.
" No, no, Harry darling ! mother can't eat till you are safe ! We must
go on, on, till we come to the river!" And she hurried again into
the road, and again constrained herself to walk regularly and composedly
forward.
She was many miles past any neighborhood where she was personally
1835-60] HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER STOWE.
known. If she should chance to meet any who knew her, she reflected
that the well-known kindness of the family would be of itself a blind to
suspicion, as making it an unlikely supposition that she could be a fugi
tive. As she was also so white as not to be known as of colored lineage,
without a critical survey, and her child was white also, it was much
easier for her to pass on unsuspected.
On this presumption, she stopped at noon at a neat farm-house, to rest
herself, and buy some dinner for her child and self ; for, as the danger
decreased with the distance, the supernatural tension of the nervous-
system lessened, and she found herself both weary and hungry.
The good woman, kindly and gossiping, seemed rather pleased than
otherwise with having somebody come in to talk with ; and accepted,
without examination, Eliza's statement, that she " was going on a little
piece, to spend a week with her friends," all which she hoped in her
heart might prove strictly true.
An hour before sunset, she entered the village of T , by the Ohio
Kiver, weary and footsore, but still strong in heart Her first glance
was at the river, which lay, like Jordan, between her and the Canaan of
liberty on the other side.
It was now early spring, and the river was swollen and turbulent;
great cakes of floating ice were swinging heavily to and fro in the turbid
waters. Owing to the peculiar form of the shore on the Kentucky side,
the land bending far out into the water, the ice had been lodged and de
tained in great quantities, and the narrow channel which swept round
the bend was full of ice, piled one cake over another, thus forming a
temporary barrier to the descending ice, which lodged, and formed a
great, undulating raft, filling up the whole river, and extending almost
to the Kentucky shore.
Eliza stood, for a moment, contemplating this unfavorable aspect of
things, which she saw at once must prevent the usual ferry-boat from
running, and then turned into a small public house on the bank, to
make a few inquiries.
The hostess, who was busy in various fizzing and stewing operations
over the fire, preparatory to the evening meal, stopped, with a fork in
her hand, as Eliza's sweet and plaintive voice arrested her.
"What is it?" she said.
"Is n't there any ferry or boat, that takes people over to B , now ? "
she said.
" No, indeed ! " said the woman ; " the boats has stopped running."
Eliza's look of dismay and disappointment struck the woman, and she
said, inquiringly,
"May be you're wanting to get over? anybody sick? Ye seem
mighty anxious ? "
HARRIET ELIZABETH BE EC HER 8TOWE. [1835-60
" I've got a child that's very dangerous," said Eliza. " I never heard
of it till last night, and I've walked quite a piece to-day, in hopes to get
to the ferry."
"Well, now, that's onlucky," said the woman, whose motherly sympa
thies were much aroused ; " I'm re'lly consarned for ye. Solomon ! " she
called, from the window, towards a small back building. A man, in
leather apron and very dirty hands, appeared at the door.
" I say, Sol," said the woman, " is that ar man going to tote them
bar'ls over to-night? "
" He said he should try, if 'twas any way prudent," said the man.
"There's a man a piece down here, that's going over with some truck
this evening, if he durs' to ; he'll be in here to supper to-night, so you'd
better set down and wait. That's a sweet little fellow," added the
woman, offering him afcake.
But the child, wholly exhausted, cried with weariness.
" Poor fellow ! he isn't used to walking, and I've hurried him on so,"
said Eliza.
" Well, take him into this room," said the woman, opening into a
small bedroom, where stood a comfortable bed. Eliza laid the weary
boy upon it, and held his hands in hers till he was fast asleep. For her
there was no rest. As a fire in her bones, the thought of the pursuer
urged her on ; and she gazed with longing eyes on the sullen, surging
waters that lay between her and liberty.
Here we must take our leave of her for the present, to follow the
course of her pursuers.
Though Mrs. Shelby had promised that the dinner should be hurried
on table, yet it was soon seen, as the thing has often been seen before,
that it required more than one to make a bargain. So, although the
order was fairly given out in Haley's hearing, and carried to Aunt
Chloe by at least half a dozen juvenile messengers, that dignitary only
gave certain very gruff snorts, and tosses of her head, and went on with
every operation in an unusually leisurely and circumstantial manner.
For some singular reason, an impression seemed to reign among the
servants generally that Missis would not be particularly disobliged by
delay ; and it was wonderful what a number of counter accidents occurred
constantly, to retard the course of things. One luckless wight contrived
to upset the gravy ; and then gravy had to be got up de novo, with due
care and formality, Aunt Chloe watching and stirring with dogged preci
sion, answering shortly, to all suggestions of haste, that she " warn't a
going to have raw gravy on the table, to help nobody's catchings." One
tumbled down with the water, and had to go to the spring for more ;
1835-60] HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER 8TOWE.
and another precipitated the butter into the path of events ; and there
was from time to time giggling news brought into the kitchen that
" Mas'r Haley was mighty oneasy, and that he couldn't sit in his cheer
no ways, but was walkin' and stalkin' to the winders and through the
porch."
" Sarves him right ! " said Aunt Chloe, indignantly. " He'll get wus
nor oneasy, one of these days, if he don't mend his ways. His master '11
be sending for him, and then see how he'll look ! "
' He'll go to torment, and no mistake," said little Jake.
" He desarves it ! " said Aunt Chloe, grimly ; " he's broke a many,
many, many hearts, I tell ye all ! " she said, stopping, with a fork up
lifted in her hands; "it's like what Mas'r George reads in Ravelations,
souls a callin' under the altar! and a callin' on the Lord for vengeance
on sich ! and by and by the Lord he'll hear 'em, so he will ! "
Aunt Chloe, who was much revered in the kitchen, was listened to
with open mouth ; and, the dinner being now fairly sent in, the whole
kitchen was at leisure to gossip with her and to listen to her remarks.
" Sich '11 be burnt up forever, and no mistake ; won't ther ? " said
Andy.
" I'd be glad to see it, I'll be boun'," said little Jake.
" Chil'en ! " said a voice, that made them all start. It was Uncle Tom,
who had come in, and stood listening to the conversation at the door.
"Chil'en!" he said, "I'm afeard you don't know what ye're sayin'.
Forever is a dregful word, chil'en ; it's awful to think on't. You ought-
enter wish that ar to any human crittur."
" We wouldn't to anybody but the soul-drivers," said Andy ; " nobody
can help wishing it to them, they's so awful wicked."
"Don't natur herself kinder cry out on 'em? "said Aunt Chloe.
" Don't dey tear der suckin' baby right off his mother's breast, and sell
him, and der little children as is crying and holding on by her clothes,
don't dey pull 'em off and sells 'em ? Don't dey tear wife and husband
apart?" said Aunt Chloe, beginning to cry, "when it's jest takin' the
very life on 'em ? and all the while does they feel one bit, don't dey
drink and smoke, and take it oncommon easy ? Lor', if the devil don't
get them, what's he good for? " And Aunt Chloe covered her face with
her checked apron, and began to sob in good earnest.
" Pray for them that 'spitefully use you, the good book says," says
Tom.
" Pray for 'em ! " said Aunt Chloe ; " Lor, it's too tough ! I can't pray
for 'em."
"It's natur, Chloe, and natur's strong," said Tom, "but the Lord's
grace is stronger ; besides, you oughter think what an awful state a poor
crittur's soul's in that '11 do them ar things, you oughter thank God that
i 38 HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER 8TOWE. [1835-60
you an't like him, Chloe. I'm sure I'd rather be sold, ten thousand times
over, than to have all that ar poor crittur's got to answer for."
" So 'd I, a heap," said Jake. " Lor, shouldn't we cotch it, Andy ? "
Andy shrugged his shoulders, and gave an acquiescent whistle.
"I'm glad Mas'r didn't go off this morning, as he looked to," said
Tom ; " that ar hurt me more than sellin', it did. Mebbe it might have
been natural for him, but 't would have come desp't hard on me, as has
known him from a baby; but I've seen Mas'r, and I begin ter feel sort
o' reconciled to the Lord's will now. Mas'r couldn't help hisself; he
did right, but I'm feared things will be kinder goin' to rack, when I'm.
gone. Mas'r can't be spected to be a pryin' round everywhar, as I've
done, a keepin up all the ends. The boys all means well, but they's
powerful car'less. That ar troubles me."
The bell here rang, and Tom was summoned to the parlor.
" Tom," said his master, kindly, " I want you to notice that I give this
gentleman bonds to forfeit a thousand dollars if you are not on the spot
when he wants you ; he's going to-day to look after his other business,
and you can have the day to yourself. Go anywhere you like, boy."
" Thank you, Mas'r," said Tom.
" And mind yerself," said the trader, " and don't come it over your
master with any o' yer nigger tricks ; for I'll take every cent out of him,
if you an't thar. If he 'd hear to me he wouldn't trust any on ye,
slippery as eels ! "
" Mas'r," said Tom, and he stood very straight, " I was jist eight
years old when ole Missis put you into my arms, and you wasn't a year
old. ' Thar,' says she, ' Tom, that's to be your young Mas'r ; take good
care on him,' says she. And now I jist ask you, Mas'r, have I ever
broke word to you, or gone contrary to you, 'specially since I was a
Christian ? "
Mr. Shelby was fairly overcome, and the tears rose to his eyes.
"My good boy," said he, " the Lord knows you say but the truth ;
and if I was able to help it, all the world shouldn't buy you."
" And sure as I am a Christian woman," said Mrs. Shelby, " you shall
be redeemed as soon as I can any way bring together means. Sir," she
said to Haley, " take good account of whom you sell him to, and let me
know."
" Lor, yes, for that matter," said the trader, " I may bring him up in a
year, not much the wuss for wear, and trade him back."
" I'll trade with you then, and make it for your advantage," said Mrs.
Shelby.
" Of course," said the trader, " all 's equal with me ; li'ves trade 'em
up as down, so I does a good business. All I want is a livin', you
know, ma'am ; that's all any on us wants, T s'pose."
1835-60] HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER STOWE.
Mr. and Mrs. Shelby both felt annoyed and degraded by the familiar
impudence of the trader, and yet both saw the absolute necessity of
putting a constraint on their feelings. The more hopelessly sordid and
insensible he appeared, the greater became Mrs. Shelby's dread of his
succeeding in recapturing Eliza and her child, and of course the greater
her motive for detaining him by every female artifice. She therefore
graciously smiled, assented, chatted familiarly, and did all she could to
make time pass imperceptibly.
At two o'clock Sam and Andy brought the horses up to the posts, ap
parently greatly refreshed and invigorated by the scamper of the morn
ing.
Sam was there new oiled from dinner, with an abundance of zealous
and ready officiousness. As Haley approached, he was boasting, in
flourishing style, to Andy, of the evident and eminent success of the
operation, now that he had " farly come to it."
" Your master, I s'pose, don't keep no dogs," said Haley, thoughtfully,
as he prepared to mount.
"Heaps on 'em," said Sam, triumphantly; "thar's Bruno, he's a
roarer! and, besides that, 'bout every nigger of us keeps a pup of some
natur or uther."
" Poh ! " said Haley, and he said something else, too, with regard to
the said dogs, at which Sam muttered,
"I don't see no use cussin' on 'em, no way."
" But your master don't keep no dogs (I pretty much know he don't)
for trackin' out niggers."
Sam knew exactly what he meant, but he kept on a look of earnest
and desperate simplicity.
"Our dogs all smells round consid'able sharp. I spect they 's the
kind, though they han't never had no practice. They's^ar dogs, though,
at most anything, if you'd get 'em started. Here, Bruno," he called,
whistling to the lumbering Newfoundland, who came pitching tumultu-
ously toward them.
" You go hang ! " said Haley, getting up. " Come, tumble up now."
Sam tumbled up accordingly, dexterously contriving to tickle Andy
as he did so, which occasioned Andy to split out into a laugh, greatly to
Haley's indignation, who made a cut at him with his riding-whip.
"I 's 'stonished at yer, Andy," said Sam, with awful gravity. "This
yer 's a seris bisness, Andy. Yer mustn't be a makin' game. This yer
an't no way to help Mas'r."
"I shall take the straight road to the river," said Haley, decidedly,
after they had come to the boundaries of the estate. " I know the way
of all of 'em, they makes tracks for the underground."
" Sartin," said Sam, " dat's de idee. Mas'r Haley hits de thing right
HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER 8TOWE. [1835-60
in de middle. Now, der 's two roads to de river, de dirt road and der
pike, which Mas'r mean to take ? "
Andy looked up innocently at Sam, surprised at hearing this new
geographical fact, but instantly confirmed what he said by a vehement
reiteration.
" 'Cause," said Sam, " I 'd rather be 'clined to 'magine that Lizy 'd take
de dirt road, bein' it's the least travelled."
Haley, notwithstanding that he was a very old bird, and naturally in
clined to be suspicious of chaff, was rather brought up by this view of
the case.
" If yer warn't both on yer such cussed liars, now ! " he said, contem
platively, as he pondered a moment.
The pensive, reflective tone in which this was spoken appeared to
amuse Andy prodigiously, and he drew a little behind, and shook so as
apparently to run a great risk of falling off his horse, while Sam's face
was immovably composed into the most doleful gravity.
" Course," said Sam, " Mas'r can do as he 'd ruther ; go de straight
road, if Mas'r thinks best, it's all one to us. Now, when I study 'pon
it, I think the straight road de best, deridedly"
"She would naturally go a lonesome way," said Haley, thinking
aloud, and not minding Sam's remark.
"Dar an't no sayin'," said Sam; "gals is pecular; they never does
nothin' ye thinks they will ; mose gen'lly the contrar. Gals is nat'lly
made contrary ; and so, if you thinks they've gone one road, it is sartin
you'd better go t'other, and then you'll be sure to find 'em. Now, my
private 'pinion is, Lizy took der dirt road ; so I think we'd better take
de straight one."
This profound generic view of the female sex did not seem to dispose
Haley particularly to the straight road ; and he announced decidedly
that he should go the other, and asked Sam when they should come
to it.
" A little piece ahead," said Sam, giving a wink to Andy with the eye
which was on Andy's side of the head ; and he added, gravely, " but I've
studded on de matter, and I'm quite clar we ought not to go dat ar way.
I nebber been over it no way. It's despit lonesome, and we might lose
our way, whar we'd come to, de Lord only knows."
" Nevertheless," said Haley, " I shall go that way."
" Now I think on 't, I think I hearn 'em tell that dat ar road was all
fenced up and down by der creek, and thar, an't it, Andy ? "
Andy wasn't certain ; he'd only " hearn tell " about that road, but
never been over it. In short, he was strictly non-committal.
Haley, accustomed to strike the balance of probabilities between lies
of greater or lesser magnitude, thought that it lay in favor of the dirt
1835-60] HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER 8TOWE.
road aforesaid. The mention of the thing he thought he perceived was
involuntary on Sam's part at first, and his confused attempts to dissuade
him he set down to a desperate lying on second thoughts, as being un
willing to implicate Eliza.
When, therefore, Sam indicated the road, Haley plunged briskly into
it, followed by Sam and Andy.
Now, the road, in fact, was an old one, that had formerly been a thor
oughfare to the river, but abandoned for many years after the laying of
the new pike. It was open for about an hour's ride, and after that it
was cut across by various farms and fences. Sam knew this fact per
fectly well, indeed, the road had been so long closed up that Andy had
never heard of it. He therefore rode along with an air of dutiful sub
mission, only groaning and vociferating occasionally that 'twas " desp't
rough, and bad for Jerry's foot."
" Now, I jest give yer warning," said Haley, " I know yer ; yer won't
get me to turn off this. yer road, with all yer fussin', so you shet up ! "
" Mas'r will go his own way ! " said Sam, with rueful submission, at
the same time winking most portentously to Andy, whose delight was
now very near the explosive point.
Sam was in wonderful spirits, professed to keep a very brisk look
out, at one time exclaiming that he saw " a gal's bonnet " on the top of
some distant eminence, or calling to Andy " if that thar wasn't ' Lizy '
down in the hollow " ; always making these exclamations in some rough
or craggy part of the road, where the sudden quickening of speed was a
special inconvenience to all parties concerned, and thus keeping Haley
in a state of constant commotion.
After riding about an hour in this way, the whole party made a pre
cipitate and tumultuous descent into a barnyard belonging to a large
farming establishment. Not a soul was in sight, all the hands being em
ployed in the fields ; but, as the barn stood conspicuously and plainly
square across the road, it was evident that their journey in that direction
had reached a decided finale.
" Warn't dat ar what I telled Mas'r ? " said Sam, with an air of in
jured innocence. "How does strange gentleman spect to know more
about a country dan de natives born and raised ? "
" You rascal ! " said Haley, " you knew all about this."
"Didn't I tell yer I know^d, and yer wouldn't believe me? I telled
Mas'r 't was all shet up, and fenced up, and I didn't spect we could get
through, Andy heard me."
It was all too true to be disputed, and the unlucky man had to pocket
his wrath with the best grace he was able, and all three faced to the right
about, and took up their line of march for the highway.
In consequence of all the various delays, it was about three quarters
HARRIET ELIZABETH BE EC HER STOWE. [1835-60
of an hour after Eliza had laid her child to sleep in the village tavern
that the party came riding into the same place. Eliza was standing by
the window, looking out in another direction, when Sam's quick eye
caught a glimpse of her. Haley and Andy were two yards behind. At
this crisis, Sam contrived to have his hat blown off, and uttered a loud
and characteristic ejaculation, which startled her at once; she drew sud-
denlv back ; the whole train swept by the window, round to the front
door.
A thousand lives seemed to be concentrated in that one moment to
Eliza. Her room opened by a side door to the river. She caught her
child, and sprang down the steps towards it. The trader caught a full
glimpse of her, just as she was disappearing down the bank ; and throw
ing himself from his horse, and calling loudly on Sam and Andy, he was
after her like a hound after a deer. In that dizzy moment her feet to
her scarce seemed to touch the ground, and a moment brought her to
the water's edge. Right on behind they came ; and, nerved with strength
such as God gives only to the desperate, with one wild cry and flying
leap, she vaulted sheer over the turbid current by the shore, onto the raft
of ice beyond. It was a desperate leap, impossible to anything but
madness and despair; and Haley, Sam, and Andy instinctively cried
out, and lifted up their hands, as she did it.
The huge green fragment of ice on which she alighted pitched and
creaked as her weight came on it, but she stayed there not a moment.
With wild cries and desperate energy she leaped to another and still an
other cake ; stumbling, leaping, slipping, springing upwards again !
Her shoes are gone, her stockings cut from her feet, while blood
marked every step ; but she saw nothing, felt nothing, till dimly, as in a
dream, she saw the Ohio side, and a man helping her up the bank.
"Yer a brave gal, now, whoever ye ar! " said the man, with an oath.
Eliza recognized the voice and face of a man who owned a farm not
far from her old home.
" Oh, Mr. Symmes ! save me, do save me, do hide me ! " said
Eliza.
" Why, what's this ? " said the man. " Why, if 't an't Shelby's gal ! "
" My child ! this boy ! he'd sold him ! There is his Mas'r," said
she, pointing to the Kentucky shore. " Oh, Mr. Symmes, you've got a
little boy ! "
u So I have," said the man, as he roughly, but kindly, drew her up
the steep bank. " Besides, you're a right brave gal. I like grit, wher
ever I see it"
When they had gained the top of the bank, the man paused. " I'd
be glad to do something for ye," said he ; " but then there 's nowhar I
could take ye. The best I can do is to tell ye to go ihar" said he, point-
1835-60] HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER STOWE.
ing to a large white house which stood by itself, off the main street of
the village. " Go thar ; they're kind folks. Thar's no kind o' danger
but they'll help you, they're up to all that sort o' thing."
"The Lord bless you !" said Eliza earnestly.
" No 'casion, no 'casion in the world," said the man. " What I've
done 's of no 'count."
" And oh, surely, sir, you won't tell any one ! "
" Go to thunder, gal ! What do you take a feller for ? In course
not," said the man. " Come, now, go along like a likely, sensible gal, as
you are. You've arnt your liberty, and you shall have it, for all me."
The woman folded her child to her bosom, and walked firmly and
swiftly away. The man stood and looked after her.
" Shelby, now, mebbe won't think this yer the most neighborly thing
in the world ; but what 's a feller to do ? If he catches one of my gals
in the same fix, he 's welcome to pay back. Somehow I never could see
no kind o' crittur a strivin' and pantin', and trying to clar theirselves,
with the dogs arter 'em, and go agin 'em. Besides, I don't see no kind
of 'casion for me to be hunter and catcher for other folks, neither."
So spoke this poor heathenish Kentuckian, who had not been in
structed in his constitutional relations, and consequently was betrayed
into acting in a sort of Christianized manner, which, if he had been
better situated and more enlightened, he would not have been left to do.
Haley had stood a perfectly amazed spectator of the scene, till Eliza
had disappeared up the bank, when he turned a blank, inquiring look
on Sam and Andy.
" That ar was a tolable fair stroke of business," said Sam.
" The gal 's got seven devils in her, I believe ! " said Haley. " How
like a wild cat she jumped ! "
" Wai, now," said Sam, scratching his head, " I hope Mas'r '11 scuse us
tryin' dat ar road. Don't think I feel spry enough for dat ar, no way ! "
and Sam gave a hoarse chuckla
" You laugh ! " said the trader, with a growl.
"Lord bless you, Mas'r, I couldn't help it, now," said Sam, giving
way to the long pent-up delight of his soul. " She looked so curi's a
leapin' and springin' ice a crackin' and only to hear her, plump!
ker chunk ! ker splash ! Spring ! Lord ! how she goes it ! " and Sam
and Andy laughed till the tears rolled down their cheeks.
" I'll make yer laugh t' other side yer mouths ! " said the trader, lay
ing about their heads with his riding-whip.
Both ducked, and ran shouting up the bank, and were on their horses
before he was up.
" Good evening, Mas'r ! " said Sam, with much gravity. " I berry
much spect Missis be anxious 'bout Jerry. Mas'r Haley won't want us
HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER 8TOWE. [1835-60
no longer. Missis wouldn't hear of our ridin' the critters over Lizy's
bridge to-night " ; and with a facetious poke into Andy's ribs, he started
off, followed by the latter, at full speed their shouts of laughter coming
faintly on the wind.
THE OTHER WORLD.
riies around us like a cloud,
The world we do not see ;
Yet the sweet closing of an eye
May bring us there to be.
Its gentle breezes fan our cheek
Amid our worldly cares;
Its gentle voices whisper love,
And mingle with our prayers.
Sweet hearts around us throb and beat,
Sweet helping hands are stirred,
And palpitates the veil between,
With breathings almost heard.
The silence, awful, sweet, and calm,
They have no power to break ;
For mortal words are not for them
To utter or partake.
So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide,
So near to press they seem,
They lull us gently to our rest,
They melt into our dream.
And, in the hush of rest they bring,
'Tis easy now to see,
How lovely and how sweet a pass
The hour of death may be ;
To close the eye and close the ear,
Wrapped in a trance of bliss,
And, gently drawn in loving arms,
To swoon from that to this :
Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep,
Scarce asking where we are,
To feel all evil sink away,
All sorrow and all care!
1835-60] HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER STOWE.
Sweet souls around us watch us still,
Press nearer to our side ;
Into our thoughts, into our prayers,
With gentle helping glide.
Let death between us be as naught,
A dried and vanished stream ;
Your joy be the reality,
Our suffering life the dream.
THE MINISTER'S HOUSEKEEPER.
[Sam Lawson's Oldtown Fireside Stories. 1871.]
SCENR The shady side of a blueberry-pasture. Sam Lawson with the boys picking
blueberries. Sam, log.
"TTTAL, you see, boys, 'twas just here, Parson Carry 1's wife, she died
V V along in the forepart o' March : my cousin Huldy, she undertook
to keep house for him. The way on't was, that HuJdy, she went to take
care o' Mis' Carryl in the fust on't, when she fust took sick. Huldy was
a tailoress by trade ; but then she was one o' these 'ere facultized persons
that has a gift for most anything, and that was how Mis' Carryl come to
set sech store by her, that, when she was sick, nothin' would do for her
but she must have Huldy round all the time : and the minister, he said
he'd make it good to her all the same, and she shouldn't lose nothin' by
it. And so Huldy, she staid with Mis' Carryl full three months afore
she died, and got to seein' to everything pretty much round the place.
" Wai, arter Mis' Carryl died, Parson Carryl, he'd got so kind o' used
to hevin' on her 'round, takin' care o' things, that he wanted her to stay
along a spell ; and so Huldy, she staid along a spell, and poured out his
tea, and mended his close, and made pies and cakes, and cooked and
washed and ironed, and kep' everything as neat as a pin. Huldy was a
drefful chipper sort o' gal ; and work sort o' rolled off from her like
water off a duck's back. There warn't no gal in Sherburne that could
put sich a sight o' work through as Huldy ; and yet, Sunday mornin',
she always come out in the singers' seat like one o' these 'ere June roses,
lookin' so fresh and smilin', and her voice was jest as clear and sweet as
a meadow lark's Lordy massy ! I 'member how she used to sing some
o' them 'are places where the treble and counter used to go together : her
voice kind o' trembled a little, and it sort o' went thro' and thro' a feller !
tuck him right where he lived ! "
Here Sam leaned contemplatively back with his head in a clump of
VOL. VII. 10
i 46 HARRIET ELIZAS El H BEECHER STOWE. [1835-60
sweet fern, and refreshed himself with a chew of young wintergreen.
" This 'ere young wintergreen, boys, is jest like a feller's thoughts o'
things that happened when he was young : it comes up jest so fresh and
tender every year, the longest time you hev to live ; and you can't heip
chawin' on't tho' 'tis sort o' stingin'. I don't never get over likin' young
wintergreen."
" But about Huldah, Sam ? "
" Oh, yes ! about Huldy. Lordy massy ! when a feller is Indianin'
round, these 'ere pleasant summer days, a feller's thoughts gits like a
flock o' young partridges : they's up and down and everywhere ; 'cause
one place is jest about as good as another, when they's all so kind o'
comfortable and nice. Wai, about Huldy, as I was a sayin'. She was
jest as handsome a gal to look at as a feller could have ; and I think a
nice, well-behaved young gal in the singers' seat of a Sunday is a means
o' grace: it's sort o' drawin' to the unregenerate, you know. Why, boys,
in them days, I've walked ten miles over to Sherburne of a Sunday
morn in', jest to play the bass-viol in the same singers' seat with Huldy.
She was very much respected, Huldy was ; and, when she went out to
tailorin', she was allers bespoke six months ahead, and sent for in wag-
gins up and down for ten miles round ; for the young fellers was allers
'mazin' anxious to be sent after Huldy, and was quite free to offer to go
for her. Wai, after Mis' Carryl died, Huldy got to be sort o' house
keeper at the minister's, and saw to everything, and did everything : so
that there warn't a pin out o' the way.
" But you know how 'tis in parishes : there allers is women that thinks
the minister's affairs belongs to them, and they ought to have the rulin'
and guidin' of 'em ; and, if a minister's wife dies, there's folks that allers
has their eyes open on providences, lookin' out who's to be the next
one.
" Now, there was Mis' Amaziah Pipperidge, a widder with snappin'
black eyes, and a hook nose, kind o' like a hawk ; and she was one o'
them up-and-down commandin' sort o' women, that feel that they have a
call to be seein' to everything that goes on in the parish, and 'specially
to the minister.
" Folks did say that Mis' Pipperidge sort o' sot her eye on the parson
for herself : wal, now that 'are might a been, or it might not. Some
folks thought it was a very suitable connection. You see she hed a
good property of her own, right nigh to the minister's lot, and was allers
kind o' active and busy ; so, takin' one thing with another, I shouldn't
wonder if Mis' Pipperidge should a thought that Providence p'inted that
way. At any rate, she went up to Deakin Blodgett's wife, and they two
sort o' put their heads together a mournin' and condolin' about the way
things was likely to go on at the minister's now Mis' Carryl was dead.
1835-60] HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER 8TOWE.
Ye see, the parson's wife, she was one of them women who hed their
eyes everywhere and on everything. She was a little thin woman, but
tough as Inger rubber, and smart as a steel trap ; and there warn't a hen
laid an egg, or cackled, but Mis' Carryl was right there to see about it ;
and she hed the garden made in the spring, and the medders mowed in
summer, and the cider made, and the corn husked, and the apples got in
the fall ; and the doctor, he hedn't nothin' to do but jest sit stock still a
meditatin' on Jerusalem and Jericho and them things that ministers
think about. But Lordy massy ! he didn't know nothin' about where
anything he eat or drunk or wore come from or 1 went to: his wife jest
led him 'round in temporal things and took care on him like a baby.
" Wai, to be sure, Mis' Carryl looked up to him in spirituals, and
thought all the world on him ; for there warn't a smarter minister no
where 'round. Why, when he preached on decrees and election, they
used to come clear over from South Parish, and West Sherburne, and
Old Town, to hear him ; and there was sich a row o' waggins tied along
by the meetin'-house that the stables was all full, and all the hitchin'-
posts was full clean up to the tavern, so that folks said the doctor made
the town look like a gineral trainin'-day a Sunday.
" He was gret on texts, the doctor was. When he hed a p'int to prove,
he'd jest go thro' the Bible, and tlrive all the texts ahead o' him like a
flock o' sheep ; and then, if there was a text that seemed agin him, why,
he'd come out with his Greek and Hebrew, and kind o' chase it 'round a
spell, jest as ye see a feliar chase a contrary bell-wether, and make him
jump the fence arter the rest. I tell you, there wa'n't no text in the
Bible that could stand agin the doctor when his blood was up. The
year arter the doctor was app'inted to preach the 'lection sermon in Bos
ton, he made such a figger that the Brattlestreet Church sent a commit
tee right down to see if they couldn't get him to Boston ; and then the %
Sherburne folks, they up and raised his salary ; ye see, there ain't nothin'
wakes folks up like somebody else's wantin' what you've got. Wai, that
fall they made him a Doctor o' Divinity at Cambridge College, and so
they sot more by him than ever. Wai, you see, the doctor, of course
he felt kind o' lonesome and afflicted when Mis' Carryl was gone ; but
railly and truly, Huldy was so up to everything about house, that the
doctor didn't miss nothin' in a temporal way. His shirt-bosoms was
pleated finer than they ever was, and them ruffles 'round his wrists was
kep' like the driven snow ; and there warn't a brack in his silk stockin's,
and his shoe buckles was kep' polished up, and his coats brushed ; and
then there warn't no bread and biscuits like Huldy's ; and her butter
was like solid lumps o' gold; and there wern't no pies to equal hers;
and so the doctor never felt the loss o' Mis' Carryl at table. Then there
was Huldy allers oppisite to him, with her blue eyes and her cheeks like
148 HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHES 8TOWE. [1835-60
two fresh peaches. She was kind o' pleasant to look at ; and the more the
doctor looked at her the better he liked her ; and so things seemed to be
goin' on quite quiet and comfortable ef it hadn't been that Mis' Pipper-
idge and Mis' Deakin Blodgett and Mis' Sawin got their heads together
a talkin' about things.
" ' Poor man,' says Mis' Pipperidge, '^what can that child that he's got
there do towards takin' the care of all that place ? It takes a mature
woman,' she says, 'to tread in Mis' Garryl's shoes.'
'"That it does,' said Mis' Blodgett; 'and, when things once get to
runnin' down hill, there ain't no stoppin' on 'em,' says she.
" Then Mis' Sawin she' took it up. (Ye see, Mis' Sawin used to go
out to dress-makin', and was sort o' jealous, 'cause folks sot more by
Huldy than they did by her.) ' Well,' says she, ' Huldy Peters is well
enough at her trade. I never denied that, though I do say I never did
believe in her way o' makin' button-holes ; and I must say, if 'twas the
dearest friend I hed, that I thought Huldy tryin' to fit Mis' Kittridge's
plumb-colored silk was a clear piece o' presumption ; the silk was jist
spiled, so 'twarn't fit to come into the meetin'-house. I must say, Huldy's
a gal that's always too ventersome about takin' 'sponsibilities she don't
know nothin' about.'
" ' Of course she don't,' said Mis' Deakin Blodgett.' ' What does she
know about all the lookin' and seein' to that there ought to be in guidin'
the minister's house? Huldy's well meanin', and she's good at her work,
and good in the singers' seat; but Lordy massy ! she hain't got no ex
perience. Parson Carryl ought to have an experienced woman to keep
house for him. There's the spring house-cleanin' and the fall house-
cleanin' to be seen to, and the things to be put away from the moths ;
and then the gettin' ready for the association and all the ministers'
meetin's ; and the makin' the soap and the candles, and settin' the hens
and turkeys, watchin' the calves, and seein' after the hired men and the
garden ; and there that 'are blessed man jist sets there at home as serene,
and has nobody 'round but that 'are gal, and don't even know how
things must be a runnin' to waste-! '
" Wai, the upshot on't was, they fussed and fuzzled and wuzzled till
they'd drinked up all the tea in the tea-pot ; and then they went down
and called on the parson, and wuzzled him all up talkin' about this, that,
and t'other that wanted lookin' to, and that it was no way to leave every
thing to a young chit like Huldy, and that he ought to be lookin' about
for an experienced woman. The parson he thanked 'em kindly, and
said he believed their motives was good, but he didn't go no further. He
didn't ask Mis' Pipperidge to come and stay there and help him, nor
nothin' o' that kind ; but he said he'd attend to matters himself. The
fact was, the parson had got such a likin' for havin' Huldy 'round, that
1835-60] HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER STOWK 149
he couldn't think o' such a thing as swappin' her off for the Widder
Pipperidge.
" But he thought to himself, ' Huldy is a good girl ; but I oughtn't to
be a leavin' everything to her, it's too hard on her. I ought to be
instructin' and guidin' and helpin' of her; 'cause 'tain't everybody could
be expected to know and do what Mis' Carryl did' ; and so at it he went ;
and Lordy massy ! didn't Huldy hev a time on't when the minister
began to come out of his study, and want to tew 'round and see to
things? Huldy, you see, 'thought all the world of the minister, and she
was 'most afraid to laugh ; but she told me she couldn't, for the life of
her, help it when his back was turned, for he wuzzled things up in the
most singular way. But Huldy she'd jest say, ' Yes, sir,' and get him
off into his study, and go on her own way.
" ' Huldy,' says the minister one day, ' you ain't experienced out
doors ; and, when you want to know anything, you must come to me.'
" ' Yes, sir,' says Huldy.
" ( Now, Huldy,' says the parson, ' you must be sure to save the turkey-
eggs, so that we can have a lot of turkeys for Thanksgiving.'
" ' Yes, sir,' says Huldy ; and she opened the pantry-door, and showed
him a nice dishful she'd been a savin' up. Wai, the very next day the
parson's hen-turkey was found killed up to old Jim Scroggs's barn.
Folks said Scroggs killed it ; though Scroggs, he stood to it he didn't: at
any rate, the Scroggses, they made a meal on't ; and Huldy, she felt bad
about it 'cause she'd set her heart on raisin' the turkeys ; and says she,
' Oh, dear ! I don't know what I shall do. I was jest ready to set her.'
" ' Do, Huldy ? ' says the parson :' ' why, there's the other turkey, out
there by the door; and a fine bird, too, he is.'
" Sure enough, there was the old torn-turkey a struttin' and a sidlin'
and a quitterin', and a floutin' his tail-feathers in the sun, like a lively
young widower, all ready to begin life over agin.
" ' But,' says Huldy, ' you know he can't set on eggs.'
'"He can't? I'd like to know why,' says the parson. 'He shall set
on eggs, and hatch 'em too.'
" ' O doctor ! ' says Huldy, all in a tremble ; 'cause, you know, she
didn't want to contradict the minister, and she was afraid she should
laugh, ' I never heard that a torn-turkey would set on eggs.'
" ' "Why, they ought to,' said the parson, getting quite 'arnest : ' what
else be they good for? you just bring out the eggs, now, and put 'em in
the nest, and I'll make him set on 'em.'
" So Huldy she thought there wern't no way to convince him but to
let him try : so she took the eggs out, and fixed 'em all nice in the nest ;
and then, she come back and found old Tom a skirmishin' with the par
son pretty lively, I tell ye. Ye see, old Tom he didn't take the idee at
150 HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER 8TOWE. [1835-60
all ; and lie flopped and gobbled, and fit the parson ; and the parson's
wig got 'round so that his cue stuck straight out over his ear, but he'd
got his blood up. Ye see, the old doctor was used to carryin' his p'ints
o' doctrine ; and he hadn't fit the Arminians and Socinians to be beat by
a torn-turkey ; so finally he made a dive, and ketched him by the neck
in spite o' his floppin', and stroked him down, and put Huldy's apron
'round him.
" ' There, Huldy,' he says, quite red in the face, ' we've got him now ' ;
and he travelled off to the barn with him as lively as a cricket.
" Huldy came behind jist chokin' with laugh, and afraid the minister
would look 'round and see her.
" ' Now. Huldy, we'll crook his legs, and set him down,' says the par
son, when they got him to the nest : ' you see he is getting quiet, and
he'll set there all right.'
" And the parson, he sot him down ; and old Tom he sot there solemn
enough, and held his head down all droopin', lookin' like a rail pious old
cock, as long as the parson sot by him.
" ' There : you see how still he sets,' says the parson to Huldy.
" Huldy was 'most dyin' for fear she should laugh. ' I'm afraid he'll
get up,' says she, ' when you do.'
" ' Oh, no, he won't!' says the parson, quite confident. ' There, there,'
says he, layin' his hands on him, as if pronouncin' a blessin'. But when
the parson riz up, old Tom he riz up too, and began to march over the
eggs.
" ' Stop, now ! ' says the parson. ' I'll make him get down agin :
hand me that corn-basket ; we'll put that over him.'
" So he crooked old Tom's legs, and got him down agin ; and they
put the corn-basket over him, and then they both stood and waited.
" ' That'll do the thing, Huldy,' said the parson.
" ' I don't know about it,' says Huldy.
" ' Oh, yes. it will, child ! I understand,' says he.
" Just as he spoke, the basket riz right up and stood, and they could
see old Tom's long legs.
" I'll make him stay down, confound him,' says the parson ; for, ye
see, parsons is men, like the rest on us, and the doctor had got his spunk
up.
' You jist hold him a minute, and I'll get something that'll make him
sta J> I guess : ' and out he went to the fence, and brought in a long, thin,
flat stone, and laid it on old Tom's back.
" Old Tom he wilted down considerable under this, and looked railly
as if he was goin' to give in. He staid still there a good long spell, and
the minister and Huldy left him there and come up to the house ; but
they hadn't more than got in the door before they see old Tom a hippin'
1835-60] HARRIET ELIZABETH B EEC HER STOWE.
along, as high-steppin' as ever, sayin' ' Talk! talk ! and quitter ! quitter ! '
and struttin' and gobblin' as if he'd come through, the Ked Sea, 'and got
the victory. \
" ' Oh, my eggs ! ' says Huldy. ' I'm afraid he's smashed 'em ! '
" And sure enough, there they was, smashed flat enough under the
stone.
" ' I'll have him killed,' said the parson : ' we won't have such a critter
'round.'
" But the parson, he slep' on't, and then didn't do it : he only come
out next Sunday with a tip-top sermon on the ' 'Eiginal Cuss ' that was
pronounced on things in gineral, when Adam fell, and showed how
everything was allowed to go contrary ever since. There was pig
weed, and pusley, and Canady thistles, cut-worms, and bagiWorms, and
canker-worms, to say nothin' of rattlesnakes. The doctor made it very
impressive and sort o' improvin' ; but Huldy, she told me, goin' home,
that she hardly could keep from laughin' two or three times in the ser
mon when she thought of old Tom a standin' up with the corn-basket on
his back.
" Wai, next week Huldy she jist borrowed the minister's horse and
side-saddle, and rode over to South Parish to her Aunt Bascome's,
Widder Bascome's, you know, that lives there by the trout-brook, and
got a lot o' turkey-eggs o' her, and come back and set a hen on 'em, and
said nothin' ; and in good time there was as nice a lot o' turkey-chicks
as ever ye see.
" Huldy never said a word to the minister about his experiment, and
he never said a word to her ; but he sort o' kep' more to his books, and
didn't take it on him to advise so much.
" But not long arter he took it into his head that Huldy ought to have
a pig to be afattin' with the buttermilk. Mis' Pipperidge set him up to
it; and jist then old Tim Bigelow, out to Juniper Hill, told him if he'd
call over he'd give him a little pig.
'* So he sent for a man, and told him to build a pig-pen right out by
the well, and have it all ready when he came home with his pig.
" Huldy she said she wished he might put a curb round the well out
there, because in the dark, sometimes, a body might stumble into it ; and
the parson, he told him he might do that.
" Wai. old Aikin, the carpenter, he didn't come till most the middle
of the arternoon ; and then he sort o' idled, so that he didn't get up the
well-curb till sundown ; and then he went off and said he'd come and do
the pig-pen next day.
" Wai, arter dark, Parson Carryl he driv into the yard, full chizel r
with his pig. He'd tied up his mouth to keep him from squealin' ; and
he see what he thought was the pig-pen, he was rather near-sighted,
HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER STOWE. [1835-60
and so he ran and threw piggy over ; and down he dropped into the
water, and the minister put out his horse and pranced, off into the house
quite delighted.
" ' There, Huldy, I've got you a nice little pig.'
" ' Dear me ! ' says Huldy : ' where have you put him ? '
" ' Why, out there in the pig-pen, to be sure.'
" ' Oh, dear me ! ' says Huldy : ' that's the well-curb ; there ain't no pig
pen built,' says she.
" ' Lordy massy ! ' says the parson : ' then I've thrown the pig in the
well ! '
" Wai, Huldy she worked and worked, and finally she fished piggy
out in the bucket, but he was dead as a door-nail ; and she got him out
o' the way -quietly, and didn't say much ; and the parson, he took to a
great Hebrew book in his study ; and says he, ' Huldy, I ain't much in
temporals,' says he. Huldy says she kind o' felt her heart go out to
him, he was so sort o' meek and helpless and larned ; and says she, ' Wai,
Parson Carryl, don't trouble your head no morfc about it ; I'll see to
things ' ; and sure enough, a week arter there was a nice pen, all ship
shape, and two little white pigs that Huldy bought with the money for
the butter she sold at the store.
" ' Wai, Huldy,' said the parson, ' you are a most amazin' child : you
don't say nothin', but you do more than most folks.'
" Arter that the parson set sich store by Huldy that he come to her
and asked her about everything, and it was amazin' how evervthing she
put her hand to prospered. Huldy planted marigolds and larkspurs,
pinks and carnations, all up and down the path to the front door, and
trained up mornin' glories and scarlet-runners round the windows. And
she was always gettin' a root here, and a sprig there, and a seed from
somebody else: for Huldy was one o' them that has the gift, so that ef
you jist give 'em the leastest sprig of anything they make a great bush
out of it right away; so that in six months Huldy had roses and gera
niums and lilies, sich as it would a took a gardener to raise. The par
son, he took no notice at fust ; but when the yard was all ablaze with
flowers he used to come and stand in a kind o' maze at the front door,
and say, ' feeautiful, beautiful : why, Huldy, I never see anything like
it.' And then when her work was done arternoons, Huldy would sit
with her sewin' in the porch, and sing and trill away till she'd draw the
meadow larks and the bobolinks and the orioles to answer her, and the
great big elm-tree overhead would get perfectly rackety with the birds ;
and the parson, settin' there in his study, would git to kind o 1 dreamin'
about the angels, and golden harps, and the New Jerusalem; but he
wouldn't speak a word, 'cause Huldy she was jist like them wood-
thrushes, she never could sing so well when she thought folks was hear-
1835-60] HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER 8TOWE.
in'. Folks noticed, about this time, that the parson's sermons got to be
like Aaron's rod, that budded and blossomed : there was things in 'em
about flowers and birds, and more 'special about the music o' heaven.
.And Huldy she noticed, that ef there was 'a hymn run in her head while
she was 'round a workin' the minister was sure to give it out next Sun
day. You see, Huldy was jist like a bee : she always sung when she
was workin', and you could hear her trillin', now down in the corn-patch,
while she was pickin' the corn ; and now in the buttery, while she was
worjdn' the butter ; and now she'd go singin' down cellar, and then she'd
be singin' up overhead, so that she seemed to fill a house chock full o'
music.
" Huldy was so sort o' chipper arid fair spoken, that she got the hired
men all under her thumb : they come to her and took her orders jist as
meek as so many calves ; and she traded at the store, and kep' the
accounts, and she hed her eyes everywhere, and tied up all the ends so
tight that there warn't no gettin' 'round her. She wouldn't let nobody
put nothin' off on Parson Carryl, 'cause he was a minister. Huld} T was
allers up to anybody that wanted to make a hard bargain ; and, afore he
knew jist what he was about, she'd got the best end of it, and everybody
said that Huldy was the most capable gal that they'd ever traded with.
" Wai, come to the meetin' of the Association, Mis' Deakin Blodgett
and Mis' Pipperidge come callin' up to the parson's, all in a stew, and
offerin' their services to get the house ready ; but the doctor, he jist
thanked 1 em quite quiet, and turned 'em over to Huldy ; and Huldy she
told 'em that she'd got everything ready, and showed 'em her pantries, and
her cakes and her pies and her puddin's, and took 'em all over the house ;
and they went peekin' and pokin', openin' cupboard-doors, and lookin'
into drawers ; and they couldn't find so much as a thread out o' the way,
from garret to cellar, and so they went off quite discontented. Arter
that the women set a new trouble a brewin'. Then they begun to talk
that it was a year now since Mis' Carryl died ; and it rally wasn't proper
such a young gal to be stay in' there, who everybody could see was a
settin' her cap for the minister.
" Mis' Pipperidge said, that, sp long as she looked on Huldy as the
hired gal, she hadn't thought much about it ; but Huldy was railly
takin' on airs as an equal, and appearin' as mistress o' the house in a
way that would make talk if it went on. And Mis' Pipperidge she driv
'round up to Deakin Abner Snow's, and down to Mis' 'Lijah Perry's, and
asked them if they wasn't afraid that the way the parson and Huldy was
a goin' on might make talk. And they said they hadn't thought on't
before, but now. come to think on't, they was sure it would ; and they
all went and talked with somebody else, and asked them if they didn't
think it would make talk. So come Sunday, between meetin's there
154
HARRIET ELIZABETH BEECHER 8TOWE. [1835-60
warn't nothin' else talked about ; and Huldy saw folks a noddin' and a
winkin', and a lookin' arter her, and she begun to feel drefful sort o' dis
agreeable. Finally $fis' Sawin she says to her, ' My dear, didn't you
never think folk would talk about you and the minister ? '
" ' No : why should they ? ' says Huldy, quite innocent
" ' Wai, dear,' says she, ' I think it's a shame ; but they say you're
tryin' to catch him, and that it's so bold and improper for you to be
courtin' of him right in his own house, you know folks will talk,
I thought I'd tell you 'cause I think so much of you,' says she.
" Huldy was a gal of spirit, and she despised the talk, but it made her
drefful uncomfortable ; and when she got home at night she sat down in
the mornin'-glory porch, quite quiet, and didn't sing a word.
" The minister he had heard the same thing from one of his deakins
that day ; and, when he saw Huldy so kind o' silent, he says to her,
' Why don't you sing, my child? '
" He hed a pleasant sort o' way with him, the minister had, and Huldy
had got to likin' to be with him, and it all come over her that perhaps
she ought to go away ; and her throat kind o' filled up so she couldn't
hardly speak ; and, says she, ' I can't sing to-night.'
" Says he, ' You don't know how much good your singin' has done
me, nor how much good you have done me in all ways, Huldy. I wish
I knew how to show my gratitude.'
" ' O sir ! ' says Huldy, ' is it improper for me to be here? '
" ' No, dear,' says the minister, ' but ill-natured folks will talk ; but
there is one way we can stop it, Huldy if you will marry me. You'll
make me very happy, and I'll do all I can to make you happy. Will
you?'
" Wai, Huldy never told me jist what she said to the minister, gals
never does give you the particulars of them 'are things jist as you'd like
'em, only I know the upshot and the hull on't was, that Huldy she
did a consid'able lot o' clear starchin' and ironin' the next two days ; and
the Friday o' next week the minister and she rode over together to Dr.
Lothrop's in Old Town ; and the doctor, he jist made 'em man and wife,
' spite of envy of the Jews,' as the hymn says. Wai, you'd better believe
there was a starin' and a wonderin' next Sunday mornin' when the
second bell was a tollin', and the minister walked up the broad aisle
with Huldy, all in white, arm in arm with him, and he opened the min
ister's pew, and handed her in as if she was a princess ; for, you see,
Parson Carryl come of a good family, and was a born gentleman, and
had a sort o' grand way o' bein' polite to women-folks. Wai, I guess
there was a rus'lin' among the bunnets. Mis' Pipperidge gin a great
bounce, like corn poppin' on a shovel, and her eyes glared through her
glasses at Huldy as if they'd a sot her afire ;* and everybody in the
1835-60] STEPHEN PEARL ANDREWS.
meetin' house was a star-in', I tell yew. But they couldn't none of 'em
say nothin' agin Huldy's looks ; for there wa'n't a crimp nor a frill
about her that wa'n't jis' so; and her frock was white as the driven
snow, and she had her bunnet all trimmed up with white ribbins ; and
all the fellows said the old doctor had stole a march, and got the hand
somest gal in the parish.
" Wai, arter meetin' they all come 'round the parson and Huldy at the
door, shakin' hands and laughin' ; for by that time they was about
agreed that they'd got to let putty well alone.
" ' Why, Parson Carryl,' says Mis' Deakin Blodgett, ' how you've come
it over us.'
" ' Yes,' says the parson, with a kind o' twinkle in his eye. ' I
thought,' says he, ' as folks wanted to talk about Huldy and me, I'd
give 'em somethin' wuth talkin' about.' "
BORN in Templeton, Mass., 1812. DIED in New York, N. Y., 1886.
A SCIENCE OF THE UNIVERSE.
[The Basic Outline of Universology . . . witJi Notices of " Alwato," the newly dis
covered Scientific Universal Language, etc., etc. 1872.]
nnO affirm deliberately these Immense Contrarieties : That God is eter-
-*- nally, and reigns universally ; That God is not, and that Law is all
in all ; That the Universe was created in Time ; That the Universe is
itself Eternal and Uncreate ; That the Reason is the Supreme Governing
Authority ; That the Reason is blind and untrustworthy in the most
vital domains of being ; That Man is born to die ; That Man is born to
be immortal ; That Sin is always duly and severely punished ; That
there is no Blame and no Punishment, and consequently no Sin and so
on to the end of a huge catalogue of Doctrinal Differences ; to affirm
all of this, with the deliberate intention that each affirmation shall be
accepted as true, and as part of the larger complex Truth, is, seemingly,
to introduce a new order of mystery; but it is a mystery perfectly
solvable and comprehensible by the human intellect, by the aid of
analogy.
How tremendous are the contradictions which Science has already
taught the enlightened intelligence of mankind to accept, in the physical
world ! Could any belief have been more thoroughly radicated in the
STEPHEN PEARL ANDREWS. [1835-60
natural and primitive convictions of the race than that a single fixed
point in the sky over our heads is Up, and that another such point be
neath our feet is Down ; that the solid material earth, on which we live,
must have a still more solid and material foundation beneath it on which
to rest ? In three hundred years all this has been changed for the civi
lized nations, and we now accept and find the ready means of intellec
tual reconciliation with the contrary propositions: That every point in
the sky may be Up, and every point Down ; That from the centre of
the earth it is alike Up, to every other point in Space ; That the solid
earth is a globe swinging in the Mid-Heavens, with no material foun
dations' of support whatsoever ; and so on through an immense list of
the utter reversals of primitive beliefs, and of contradictory statements,
each of which is, nevertheless, intelligently and undoubtingly held to
be true.
All this results from the simple recognition of the Doctrine of Diversity-
of-Aspects-from-Different-Points-of-View, which the Intellect propounds,
but which the Simplistic Faith of childhood ignores and arrogantly re
pugns. The Adult Age means the Replacement of Primitive Simplisms
by cautiously defined Adjustments, the Product of Science or Systema
tized Observation and Thought.
It is this radically revolutionary reconsideration of every question of
Doctrine Moral, Sociological, and Theological to which the World is
now summoned by the positive discover}- of a proper Science of the Uni
verse. The power, in the new ideas, for ultimate conviction is simply
irresistible. The New Catholicity will rapidly prevail. Integralism
will replace Partialism. There remains no question but the question of
Time. If three hundred years have more than sufficed to reverse or
modify the whole current of opinion, with intelligent humanity, upon
the theory of the World's structure ; now, with the accelerated progress
of events, in the mental evolution of the race, three tens of years will
more than accomplish as much for all doctrinal opinion and beliefs.
Every grand aspect of thought will be scientifically defined, and the
sense in which it is tenable will be precisely illustrated in the Material
World. Harmony will grow out of dissension and discord ; clearness
and ineffable beauty out of mystical dogmas and doctrinal confusion.
The most stupendous composite variety will be substituted for a central
undeveloped Unity, as of the old Catholics on the one hand and, for the
divergent isolation of individual centres, like that of Protestantism, on
the other. Each will surrender the vicious Aspiration to be the whole, for
the better honor of being a Constituent Entity of the Infinite Republic
of Truth and Goodness, and organized and orderly operation, in all the
affairs of Mankind. The New Jerusalem, the Holy City, will have de
scended. The Day of Judgment will have virtually come. The Books
1835-60] THOMAS GOLD APPLETON. 157
will have been opened. The Judgment will have been executed. The
Final Eestitution of All Things will have been accomplished. The
Grand Eeconciliation will have been effected.
BORN in Boston, Mass., 1812. DIED in New.York, N. Y., 1884.
THE COLOSSI.
[A Nile Journal 1876.]
BENIGNANT, calm, majestically grave,
Earth's childhood smiling in their lifted eyes,
"While the hoar wisdom which the dead years gave
Upon each placid brow eugraven lies
Two on the plain and Four beside the wave
Keep watch and ward above the centuries.
As is the sand which flies, our little lives
Glitter and whirl a moment and are gone ;
A day it lives, then to Oblivion drives
The haughtiest empire and the loftiest throne :
Swiftly to all the appointed hour arrives,
Men nations pass, but they remain alone,
Mute in the azure silence of these skies,
Immortal childhood looking from their eyes.
TABLE-TALK.
Nahant? That's d-la-carte French for " Cold Koast Boston."
All good Bostonians, when they die, go to Paris.
The north-east corner of Boston Common, in February, is a good
place to tie a shorn lamb and test Sterne's assertion.
On a Club, ten years old, whose members sat for their portraits : " Ah,
I see! Boors, after Teniers."
Is life worth living ? I should say that it depended on the liver.
158
GEORGE TICKNOR CURTIS. [1835-60
Cicfmor Curtis*
BORN in Watertown, Mass., 1812.
MAN'S TWO EXISTENCES.
[Creation or Evolution ? A Philosophical Inquiry. 1887.]
I HAVE seen an ingenious hypothesis which it is well to refer to,
because it illustrates the efforts that are often made to reconcile the
doctrines of evolution with a belief in immortality. This hypothesis by
no means ignores the possibility of a spiritual existence, or the spiritual
as distinguished from the material world. But it assumes that man was
produced under the operation of physical laws; and that after he had
become a completed product the consummate and finished end of the
whole process of evolution he passed under the dominion and operation
of other and different laws, and is saved from annihilation by the inter
vention of a change from the physical to the spiritual laws of his Creator.
Put into a condensed form, this theory has been thus stated : Having
spent countless aBons in forming man, by the slow process of animal
evolution, God will not suffer him to fall back into elemental flames, and
be consumed by the further operation of physical laws, but will transfer
him into the dominion of the spiritual laws that are held in reserve for
his salvation.
One of the first questions to be asked, in reference to this hypothesis,
is, Who or what is it that God is supposed to have spent countless aeons
in creating by the slow process of animal evolution? If we contemplate
a single specimen of the human race, we find a bodily organism, endowed
with life like that of other animals, and acted upon by physical laws
throughout the whole period of its existence. We also find present in
the same individual a mental existence, which is certified to us by evi
dence entirely different from that by which we obtain a knowledge of
the physical organism. As the methods employed by the Creator in the
production of the physical organism, whatever we may suppose them to
have been, were physical laws operating upon matter, so the methods
employed by him in the production of a spiritual existence must have
operated in a domain that was wholly aside from the physical world.
Each of these distinct realms is equally under the government of an
Omnipotent Being; and while we may suppose that in the one he
employed a very slow process, such as the evolution of animal organisms
out of one another is imagined to have been, there is no conceivable
reason why he should not, in the other and very different realm, have
resorted to the direct creation of a spiritual existence, which cannot, in
1835-60J GEORGE TICKNOR CURTIS.
the nature of things, have required to be produced by the action of phys
ical laws. When, at the birth of each individual of the human race,
the two existences become united, when, in consequence of the operation
of that sexual union of the parents which has been ordained for the pro
duction of a new individual, the physical and the spiritual existence
become incorporated in the one being, the fact that they remain for a cer
tain time mutually dependent and mutually useful, cooperating in the
purposes of their temporary connection, does not change their essential
nature. The one may be destructible because the operation of physical
laws may dissolve the ligaments that hold it together ; the other may be
indestructible, because the operation of spiritual laws will hold together
the spiritual organism that is in its nature independent of the laws of
matter.
I can therefore see no necessary connection between the methods em
ployed by the Almighty in the production of an animal and the methods
employed by him in the production of a soul. That in the birth of the
individual the two come into existence simultaneously, and are tempor
arily united in one and the same being, only proves that the two exist
ences are contemporaneous in their joint inception. It does not prove
that they are of the same nature, or the same substance, or that the
physical organism is the only ego, or that the psychical existence is
nothing but certain states of the material structure, to whose aggregate
manifestations certain philosophers give the name of mind, while deny
ing to them personal individuality and the consciousness of a distinct
being. . . .
I will only add that the great want of this age is the prosecution of
inquiry into the nature of the human mind as an organic structure,
regarded as such. It seems to me that the whole mission of Science is
now perverted by a wrong aim, which is to find out the external to the
neglect of the internal to make all exploration terminate in the laws of
the physical universe, and go aside from the examination of the spiritual
world.
If we know the mind, we must reach the conviction that there is a
mind : and this conviction can be reached only by penetrating through
all the externals, through the physical organism, through the diversities
of race, through the environment of matter, until we have found the
soul. If history, like zoolog3 r , has found its anatomy, mental science
must, in like manner, be prosecuted as an anatomical study. So long
as we allow the anatomy of zoology to be the predominant and only
explanation, the beginning and the end of the mental manifestations, so
long we shall fail to comprehend the nature of man, and to see the reason
for his immortality.
HENRY WILSON. [1835-60
$tmy flUiigoh*
BORN in Farmington, N. H., 1812. DIED in Washington, D. C., 1875.
SECRETARY STANTON.
[From an Article in "The Atlantic Monthly" 1870.]
WHEN in the winter of 1863 the faithless Legislature of Indiana
was dissolved, no appropriations had been made to carry on the
State government or aid in putting soldiers in the field ; and Governor
Morton was obliged, without the authority of law, to raise more than a
million and a quarter of dollars. In his need he looked to Washington
for assistance. President Lincoln wished to aid him, but saw no way to
do it, as no money could be taken from the treasury without appropria
tion. He was referred to Mr. Stanton. The Secretary saw at a glance
the critical condition in which the patriotic governor, who had shown
such vigor in raising and organizing troops, had been placed. A quarter
of a million of dollars were needed, and Mr. Stanton took upon himself
the responsibility, and drew his warrant upon the treasury for that
amount, to be paid from an unexpended appropriation made, nearly two
years before, for raising troops in States in insurrection. As he placed
this warrant in Governor Morton's hands, the latter remarked : " If the
cause fails, you and. I will be covered with prosecutions, and probably
imprisoned or driven from the country." Mr. Stanton replied : " If the
cause fails, I do not wish to live." The money thus advanced to the
governor of Indiana was accounted for by that State in its final settle
ment with the government.
The remark just cited illustrates another prominent trait of Mr. Stan-
ton's character, his intense and abounding patriotism. It was this
which emboldened him in his early struggle with treason in Mr. Buchan
an's cabinet, upheld him in his superhuman labors through the weary
years of war, and kept him in Mr. Johnson's cabinet when not only was
the President seeking his removalj but the tortures of disease were ad
monishing him that every day's continuance was imperilling his life. It
was this patriotism which invested the Rebellion, in his view, with its
transcendent enormity, and made him regard its guilty leaders and their
sympathizers and apologists at the North with such intense abhorrence.
It also made him fear the success of a party of which he was once a
member, and which now embraces so many who participated in the
Rebellion or were in sympathy with it ; and he was loath to remove the
disabilities of unrepentant Rebels, or to allow them a voice in shaping
the policy of States lately in insurrection. This feeling he retained till
1835-60] HENRY WILSON.
the close of his life. On the Saturday before his death, he expressed to
me the opinion that it was more important that the freedmen and the
Union men of the South should be protected in their rights, than that
those who were still disloyal should be relieved of their disabilities and
clothed with power.
This patriotism, conjoined with his energy, industry, and high sense
of public duty, made him exacting, severe, and often rough in his treat
ment of those, in the military or civil service, who seemed to be more
intent on personal ease, promotion, and emolument than upon the faith
ful discharge of public duty. It led him, also, warmly to appreciate
and applaud fidelity and devotion, wherever and however manifested.
Honest himself, he, of course, abhorred everything like dishonesty in
others ; but his patriotism intensified that feeling of detestation in cases
of peculation or fraud upon the government. He laid a strong hand
upon offenders, and no doubt saved millions of dollars to the nation, by
thus restraining, through fear, those who would otherwise have enriched
themselves at their country's expense. This spirit of patriotic devotion
indeed often inspired measures which brought upon him great and unde
served censure. The people were anxious for war news. The press
were anxious to provide it. Mr. Stanton knew that the enemy largely
profited by the premature publication of such intelligence, and he was
anxious to prevent this. Consequently he made regulations which were
often embarrassing to newspaper correspondents, and sometimes he
roughly and rudely repelled those seeking information or favors.
Towards the close of the war his intense application began to tell on
even his robust constitution, developing a tendency to asthma, which
was exceedingly distressing to him and alarming to his friends. Con
sequently he looked forward to the cessation of hostilities, anxious not
only that his country might be saved from the further horrors and dan
gers of civil war, but that he might be released from the burdensome
cares of office. After the election of Mr. Lincoln and a Republican Con
gress, in 1864, which he justly regarded as fatal to the Rebellion, he
often avowed his purpose to resign at the moment hostilities should
cease. When, therefore, the news of Lee's surrender reached Washing
ton, he at once placed his resignation in the President's hands, on the
ground that the work which bad induced him to take office was done.
But his great chief, whom he had so faithfully and efficiently served,
and who, in the trials they had experienced together, had learned to ap
preciate, honor, and love him, threw his arms around his neck, and ten
derly and tearfully said : " Stanton, you have been a good friend and a
faithful public servant ; and it is not for you to say when you will no
longer be needed here." Bowing to the will of the President so affec
tionately expressed, he remained at his post Little did he then imagine
VOL. VII. 11
162
ALEXANDER HAMILTON STEPHENS. [1835-60
that within a few hours his chief would fall by the assassin's hand, and
the Secretary of State lie maimed and helpless, and that the country, in
that perilous hour, would instinctively turn to him as its main reliance
and hope.
Hamilton
BORN in Taliaferro Co., Ga., 1812. DIED in Atlanta, Ga., 1883.
THE CORNER-STONE OP THE CONFEDERACY.
{From the Address delivered in Savannah, Ga., 21 March, 1861.]
THE new constitution has put at rest forever all the agitating ques
tions relating to our peculiar institution, African slavery as it exists
amongst us, the proper status of the negro in our form of civilization.
This was the immediate cause of the late rupture and present revolution.
Jefferson, in his forecast, had anticipated this as the " rock upon which
the old Union would split." He was right. What was conjecture with
him is now a realized fact But whether he fully comprehended the
great truth upon which that rock stood and stands may be doubted.
The prevailing ideas entertained by him and most of the leading states
men at the time of the formation of the old Constitution were that the
enslavement of the African was in violation of the laws of nature ; that
it was wrong in principle, socially, morally, and politically. It was an
evil they knew not well how to deal with. ; but the general opinion of
the men of that day was that, somehow or other, in the order of Provi
dence, the institution would be evanescent and pass away. This idea,
though not incorporated in the Constitution, was the prevailing idea at
that time. The Constitution, it is true, secured every essential guaran
tee to the institution while it should last, and hence no argument can be
justly urged against the constitutional guaranties thus secured, because
of the common sentiment of the day. Those ideas, however, were funda
mentally wrong. They rested upon the assumption of the equality of
races. This was an error. It was a sandy foundation, and the govern
ment built upon it fell when " the storm came and the wind blew."
Our new government is founded upon exactly the opposite idea ; its
foundations are laid, its corner-stone rests, upon the great truth that the
negro is not equal to the white man, that slavery subordination to the
superior race is his natural and normal condition.
This, our new government, is the first in the history of the world
based upon this great physical, philosophical, and moral truth. This
1835-60] ALEXANDER HAMILTON STEPHENS.
truth has been slow in the process of its development, like all other
truths in the various departments of science. It has been so even
amongst us. Many who hear me, perhaps, can recollect well that this
truth was not generally admitted, even within their dav- The errors of
the past generation still clung to many as late as twenty years ago.
Those at the North who still cling to these errors, with a zeal above
knowledge, we justly denominate fanatics. All fanaticism springs from
an aberration of the mind, from a defect in reasoning. It is a species of
insanity. One of the most striking characteristics of insanity, in many
instances, is forming correct conclusions from fancied or erroneous
premises. So with the antislavery fanatics ; their conclusions are right,
if their premises were. They assume that the negro is equal, and hence
conclude that he is entitled to equal rights and privileges with the white
man. If their premises were correct, their conclusions would be logi
cal and just; but, their premise being wrong, their whole argument
fails.
In the conflict, thus far, success has been on our side, complete
throughout the length and breadth of the Confederate States. It is upon
this, as I have stated, our social fabric is firmly planted ; and I cannot
permit myself to doubt the ultimate success of a full recognition of this
principle throughout the civilized and enlightened world.
As I have stated, the truth of this principle may be slow in develop
ment, as all truths are and ever have been, in the various branches of
science. It was so with the principles announced by Galileo. It was so
with Adam Smith and his principles of political economy. It was so
with Harvey and his theory of the circulation of the blood ; it is stated
that not a single one of the medical profession, living at the time of the
announcement of the truths made by him, admitted them. Now they
are universally acknowledged. May we not, therefore, look with con
fidence to the ultimate universal acknowledgment of the truths upon
which our system rests ? It is the first government ever instituted upon
the principles in strict conformity to nature and the ordination of Provi
dence in furnishing the materials of human society. Many governments
have been founded upon the principle of the subordination and serfdom
of certain classes of the same race ; such were and are in violation of the
laws of nature. Our system commits no such violation of nature's laws.
With us, all the white race, however high or low, rich or poor, are equal
in the eye of the law. Not so with the negro; subordination is his
place. He, by nature or by the curse against Canaan, is fitted for that
condition which he occupies in our system. The architect, in the con
struction of buildings, lays the foundation with the proper material the
granite; then comes the brick or the rnarbla The substratum of our
society is made of the material fitted by nature for it ; and by experi-
164
WILLIAM STARBUCK NATO. [1835-60
ence we know that it is best not only for the superior race, but for the
inferior race, that it should be so. It is, indeed, in conformity with the
ordinance of the Creator. It is not for us to inquire into the wisdom of
His ordinances, or to question them. For His own purposes He has
made one race to differ from another, as He has made " one star to differ
from another star in glory." The great objects of humanity are best
attained when there is conformity to His laws and decrees, in the forma
tion of governments as well as in all things else. Our Confederacy is
founded upon principles in strict conformity with these views. This
stone, which was rejected by the first builders, " is become the chief of
the corner," the real " corner-stone " in our new edifice.
OOilltam
BORN in Ogdensburg, N. Y., 1812.
A STRUGGLE IN THE FOREST.
\Kaloolah. 1849. Revised Edition. 1887.]
TT was early on the morning of the sixth, that, accompanied by
-L Kaloolah, and the lively Clefenha, I ascended the bank for a final
reconnoissance of the country on the other bank of the river. It was not
my intention to wander far, but allured by the beauty of the scene, and
the promise of a still better view from a higher crag, we moved along the
edge of the bank until we had got nearly two miles from our camp. At
this point the line of the bank curved towards the river so as to make
a beetling promontory of a hundred feet perpendicular descent. The
gigantic trees grew on the very brink, many of them throwing their long
arms far over the shore below. The trees generally grew wide apart, and
there was little or no underwood, but many of the trunks were wreathed
with the verdure df parasites and creepers so that the forest vistas were
often shut off by immense columns of green leaves and flowers. The
stems of some of these creepers were truly wonderful : one, from which
depended large bunches of scarlet berries, had, not unfrequently, stems
as large as a man's body. In some cases one huge plant of this kind,
ascending with an incalculable prodigality of lignin, by innumerable
convolutions, would stretch itself out, and, embracing several trees in its
folds, mat them together in one dense mass of vegetation.
Suddenly we noticed that the usual sounds of the forest had almost
ceased around us. Deep in the wood we could still hear the chattering
1835-60] WILLIAM STARBUCK MAYO. 165
of monkeys and the screeching of parrots. Never before had our pres
ence created any alarm among the denizens of the tree-tops ; or, if it had,
it had merely excited to fresh clamor, without putting them to flight.
We looked around for the cause of this sudden retreat
" Perhaps," I replied to Kaloolah's inquiry, " there is a storm gather
ing, and they are gone to seek a shelter deeper in the wood."
We advanced close to the edge of the bank, and looked out into
the broad daylight that poured down from above on flood and field.
There was the same bright smile on the distant fields and hills ; the same
clear sheen in the deep water ; the same lustrous stillness in the perfumed
air ; not a single prognostic of any commotion among the elements.
I placed my gun against a tree, and took a seat upon an exposed
portion of one of its roots. Countless herds of animals, composed of
quaggas, zebras, gnus, antelopes, hart beasts, roeboks, springboks, buffalos,
wild boars, and a dozen other kinds, for which my recollection of African
travels furnished no names, were roaming over the fields on the other
side of the river, or quietly reposing in the shade of the scattered
mimosas, or beneath the groups of lofty palms. A herd of thirty or forty
tall ungainly figures came in sight, and took their way, with awkward
but rapid pace, across the plain. I knew them at once to be giraffes,
although they were the first that we had seen. I was straining my eyes
to discover the animal that pursued them, when Kaloolah called to me to
come to her. She was about fifty yards farther down the stream than
where I was sitting. With an unaccountable degree of carelessness, I
arose and went towards her, leaving my gun leaning against the tree. As
I advanced, she ran out to the extreme point of the little promontory I
have mentioned, where her maid was standing, and pointed to something
over the edge of the cliff.
"Oh, Jon'than!" she exclaimed, "what a curious and beautiful
flower ! Come, and try if you can get it for me ! "
Advancing to the crest of the cliff, we stood looking down its precipi
tous sides to a point some twenty feet below, where grew a bunch of wild
honeysuckles. Suddenly a startling noise, like the roar of thunder, or
like the boom of a thirty-two pounder, rolled through the wood, fairly
shaking the sturdy trees, and literally making the ground quiver beneath
our feet. Again it came, that appalling and indescribably awful sound!
and so close as to completely stun us. Roar upon roar, in quick succes
sion, now announced the coming of the king of beasts. " The lion ! the
lion ! Oh, God of mercy ! where is my gun ? " I started forward, but it
was too late. Alighting, with a magnificent bound, into the open space
in front of us, the monster stopped, as if somewhat taken aback by the
novel appearance of his quarry, and crouching his huge carcass close to
the ground, uttered a few deep snuffling sounds, not unlike the prelim-
WILLIAM STARBUCK MAYO. [1835-60
inary crankings and growlings of a heavy steam-engine, when it first
feels the pressure of the steam.
He was, indeed, a monster ! fully twice as large as the largest speci
men of his kind that was ever condemned, by gaping curiosity, to the
confinement of the cage. His body was hardly less in size than that of a
dray-horse ; his paw as large as the foot of an elephant ; while his head !
what can be said of such a head ? Concentrate the fury, the power,
the capacity, and the disposition for evil of a dozen thunder-storms into
a round globe, about two feet in diameter, and orie would then be able
to get an idea of the terrible expression of that head and face, enveloped
and set off as it was by the dark frame- work of bristling mane.
The lower jaw rested upon the ground ; the mouth was slightly open,
showing the rows of white teeth and the blood-red gums, from which the
lips were retracted in a majestic and right kingly grin. The brows and
the skin around the eyes were corrugated into a splendid glory of radiant
wrinkles, in the centre of which glowed two small globes, like opals, but
with a dusky lustrousness that no opal ever yet attained.
For a few moments he remained motionless, and then, as if satisfied
with the result of his close scrutiny, he began to slide along the ground
towards us ; slowly one monstrous paw was protruded after the other ;
slowly the huge tufted tail waved to and fro, sometimes striking his
hollow flanks, and occasionally coming down upon the ground with a
sound like the falling of heavy clods upon a coffin. There could be no
doubt of his intention to charge us, when near enough for a spring.
And was there no hope ? Not the slightest, at least for myself. It
was barely possible that one victim would satisfy him, or that, in the con
test that was about to take place, I might, if he did not kill me at the
first blow, so wound him as to indispose him for any further exercise of
his power, and that thus Kaloolah would escape. As for me, I felt that
my time had come. With no weapon but my long knife, what chance
was there against such a monster? I cast one look at the gun that was
leaning so carelessly against the tree beyond him, and thought how easy
it would be to send a bullet through one of those glowing eyes, into the
depths of that savage brain. Never was there a fairer mark ! But, alas !
it was impossible to reach the gun! Truly, "there was a lion in the
path."
I turned to Kaloolah, who was a little behind me. Her face expressed
a variety of emotions ; she could not speak or move, but she stretched
out her hand, as if to pull me back. Behind her crouched the black,
whose features were contracted into the awful grin of intense terror ; she
was too much frightened to scream, but in her face a thousand yells of
agony and fear were incarnated.
I remember not precisely what I said, but, in the fewest words, I inti-
1835-60] WILLIAM STARBUCK MA 70. 167
mated to Kaloolah that the lion would, probably, be satisfied with attack
ing me; that she must run by us as soon as he sprang upon me, and,
returning to the camp, waste no time, but set out at once under the
charge of Hugh and Jack. She made no reply, and I waited for none,
but facing the monster, advanced slowly towards him the knife was
firmly grasped in my right hand, my left side a little turned towards
him, and my left arm raised, to guard as much as possible against the
first crushing blow of his paw. Further than this I had formed no plan
of battle. In such a contest the mi^d has but little to do all depends
upon the instinct of the muscles , and well for a man if good training
has developed that instinct to the highest. I felt that I could trust mine,
and that my brain need not bother itself as to the manner my muscles
were going to act.
Within thirty feet of my huge foe I stopped cool, calm as a statue ;
not an emotion agitated me. No hope, no fear : death was too certain to
permit either passion. There is something in the conviction of the
immediate inevitableness of death that represses fear ; we are then com
pelled to take a better look at the king of terrors, and we find that he is
not so formidable as we imagined. Look at him with averted glances
and half-closed eyes, and he has a most imposing, overawing presence ;
but face him, eye to eye; grasp his proffered hand manfully, and he
sinks, from a right royal personage, into a contemptible old gate-keeper
on the turnpike of life.
I had time to think of many things, although it must not be supposed,
from the leisurely way in which I here tell the story, that the whole affair
occupied much time. Like lightning flashing from link to link along a
chain-conductor did memory illuminate, almost simultaneously, the chain
of incidents that measured my path in life, and that connected the present
with the past. I could see the whole of my back track " blazed," as
clearly as ever was a forest path by a woodman's axe; and ahead! ah,
there was not much to see ahead ! 'Twas but a short view ; death hedged
in the scene. In a few minutes my eyes would be opened to the pleasant
sights beyond ; but, for the present, death commanded all attention.
And such a death ! But why such a death ? What better death, except
on the battle-field, in defence of one's country? To be killed by a lion !
Surely, there is a spice of dignity about it, rnaugre the being eaten after
wards. Suddenly the monster stopped, and erected his tail, stiff and
motionless, in the air. Strange as it may seem, the conceit occurred to
me that the motion of his tail had acted as a safety-valve to the pent-up
muscular energy within : " He has shut the steam off from the 'scape-
pipe, and now he turns it on to his locomotive machinery. God have
mercy upon me ! He comes ! "
But he did not come! At the instant, the light figure of Kaloolah
WILLIAM STARBUCK MAYO. [1835-60
rushed past me: "Fly, fly, Jon'than!" she wildly exclaimed, as she
dashed forward directly towards the lion. Quick as thought, I divined
her purpose, and sprang after her, grasping her dress, and pulling her
forcibly back, almost from within those formidable jaws. The astonished
animal gave several jumps sideways and backwards, and stopped, crouch
ing to the ground and growling and lashing his sides with renewed fury.
He was clearly taken aback by our unexpected charge upon him, but it
was evident that he was not to be frightened into abandoning his prey.
His mouth was made up for us, and there could be no doubt, if his
motions were a little slow, that he considered us as good as gorged.
" Fly, fly, Jon'than ! " exclaimed Kaloolah, as she struggled to break
from my grasp. " Leave me ! Leave me to die alone, but oh ! save
yourself, quick ! along the bank. You can escape- fly ! "
"Never, Kaloolah," I replied, fairly forcing her with quite an exertion
of strength behind me. " Back, back ! Free my arm ! Quick, quick !
He comes ! " It was no time for gentleness. Roughly shaking her re
laxing grasp from my arm, she sunk powerless, yet not insensible, to the
ground, while I had just time to face the monster and plant one foot
forward to receive him.
He was in the very act of springing! His huge carcass was even
rising under the impulsion of his contracting muscles, when his action
was arrested in a way so unexpected, so wonderful, and so startling that
my senses were for the moment thrown into perfect confusion. Could
I trust my sight, or was the whole affair the illusion of a horrid dream ?
It seemed as if one of the gigantic creepers I have mentioned had sud
denly quitted the canopy above, and, endowed with life -and a huge pair
of widely distended jaws, had darted with the rapidity of lightning upon
the crouching beast. There was a tremendous shaking of the tree*-tops,
and a confused wrestling, and jumping, and whirling over and about,
amid a cloud of upturned roots, and earth, and leaves accompanied with
the most terrific roars and groans. As I looked again, vision grew more
distinct. An immense body, gleaming with purple, green, and gold ap
peared convoluted around the majestic branches overhead, and stretching
down, was turned two or three times around the struggling lion, whose
head and neck were almost concealed from sight within the cavity of a
pair of jaws still more capacious than his own.
Thus, then, was revealed the cause of the sudden silence throughout
the woods. It was the presence of the boa that had frightened the
monkey and feathered tribes into silence. How opportunely was his
presence manifested to us ! A moment more, and it would have been
too late.
Gallantly did the lion struggle in the folds of his terrible enemy,
whose grasp each instant grew more firm and secure, and most astound-
1835-60] WILLIAM STARBUCK MAYO,
ing were those frightful yells of rage and fear. The huge body of the
snake, fully two feet in diameter, where it depended from the trees, pre
sented the most curious appearances, and in such quick succession that
the eye could scarcely follow them. At one moment smooth and flexile,
at the next rough and stiffened, or contracted into great knots at one
moment overspread with a thousand tints of reflected color, the next dis
tended so as to transmit through the skin the golden gleams of the
animal lightning that coursed up and down within.
Over and over rolled the struggling beast : but in vain all his strength,
in vain all his efforts to free himself. Gradually his muscles relaxed in
their exertions; his roar subsided to a groan; his tongue protruded
from his mouth, and his fetid breath, mingled with a strong sickly odor
from the serpent, diffused itself through the air, producing a sense of
oppression, and a feeling of weakness like that from breathing some
deleterious gas.
I looked around me. Kaloolah was on her knees, and the negress
insensible upon the ground a few paces behind her. A sensation of
giddiness warned me that it was time to retreat. Without a word I
raised Kaloolah in my arms, ran towards the now almost motionless
animals, and, turning along the bank, reached the tree against which my
gun was leaning.
Darting back, I seized the prostrate negress and bore her off in the
same way. By this time both females had recovered their voices,
Clefenha exercising hers in a succession of shrieks that compelled me to
shake her somewhat rudely, while Kaloolah eagerly besought me to
hurry back to the camp. There was now, however, no occasion for
hurry. The recovery of my gun altered the state of the case, and my
curiosity was excited to witness the progress of deglutition on a large
scale, which the boa was probably about to exhibit. It was impossible,
however, to resist Kaloolah's entreaties, and after stepping up closer to
the animals for one good look, I reluctantly consented to turn back.
The lion was quite dead, and, with a slow motion, the snake was
uncoiling himself from his prey and from the tree above. As well as I
could judge, without seeing him straightened out, he was between ninety
and one hundred feet in length n6t quite so long as the serpent with
which the army of Eegulus had its famous battle, or as many of the same
animals that I have since seen ; but, as the reader will allow, a very
respectable sized snake. .
WILLIAM HENRT BURLEIGH. [1835-60
BORN In Woodstock, Conn., 1812. DIED in Brooklyn, N. T., 1871.
THE HARVEST-CALL.
[Poems. 1871.]
A BIDE not in the land of dreams,
-^- O man, however fair it seems,
Where drowsy airs thy powers repress
In languors of sweet idleness.
Nor linger in the misty past,
Entranced in visions vague and vast;
But with clear eye the present scan,
And hear the call of God and man.
That call, though many-voiced, is one,
With mighty meanings in each tone ;
Through sob and laughter, shriek and prayer,
Its summons meet thee everywhere.
Think not in sleep to fold thy hands,
Forgetful of thy Lord's commands;
From duty's claims no life is free,
Behold, to-day hath need of thee.
Look up! the wide extended plain
Is billowy with its ripened grain,
And on the summer winds are rolled
Its waves of emerald and gold.
Thrust in thy sickle, nor delay
The work that calls for thee to-day;
To-morrow, if it come, will bear
Its own demands of toil and care.
The present hour allots thy task :
For present strength and patience ask,
And trust His love whose sure supplies
Meet all thy needs as they arise.
Lo! the broad fields, with harvests white,
Thy hands to strenuous toil invite;
And he who labors and believes
Shall reap reward of ample sheaves.
Up! for the time is short; and soon
The morning sun will climb to noon.
1835-60] SARAH ROBERTS.
Up! ere the herds, with trampling feet
Outrunning thine, shall spoil the wheat.
While the day lingers, do thy best !
Full soon the night will bring its rest;
And, duty done, that rest shall be
Full of beatitudes to thee.
BORN in Portsmouth, N. H., 1812. DIED in New York, N. Y., 1869.
THE VOICE OF THE GRASS.
TTEKE I come creeping, creeping everywhere ;
- * By the dusty roadside,
On the sunny hill-side,
Close by the noisy brook,
In every shady nook,
I come creeping, creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere;
All around the open door,
Where sit the aged poor;
Here where the children play,
In the bright and merry May,
I come creeping, creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
In the noisy city street
My pleasant face you'll meet,
Cheering the sick at heart
Toiling his busy part
Silently creeping, creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
You cannot see me coining,
Nor hear my low sweet humming;
For in the starry night.
And the glad morning light,
I come quietly creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ;
More welcome than the flowers
In summer's pleasant hours:
The gentle cow is glad,
And the merry bird not sad,
To see me creeping, creeping everywhere.
SAMUEL OSGOOD. [1835-60
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ;
When you're numbered with the dead
In your still and narrow bed,
In the happy Spring I'll come
And deck your silent home
Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.
Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
My humble song of praise
Most joyfully I raise
To Him at whose command
I beautify the land,
Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.
BORN in Charlestown, Mass., 1812. DIED in New York, N. Y., 1880.
HOURS OF SLEEP AND HOURS OP STUDY.
[Student Life. 1861.]
THE most obvious polar diversity is that which contrasts our sleep
ing with our waking hours, and almost repeats the images of death
and life. How long we ought to sleep I do not undertake to say with
positive certainty, so widely do different persons vary, and so much do
many people err from the truth by counting as sleep only their hours of
being in bed, whilst they never seem to be fully awake even at noon-day,
and others who lounge half the time in bed are rarely found asleep. If I
were to try to state the true rule for sleep, according to the best experience
and observation, it would be eight hours, and surely never less than seven.
A student needs, probably, more sleep than a laboring man, alike because
his brain is more used (and the brain suffers more than the muscles from
over-action), and because, moreover, the student is so apt to carry the
thoughtfulness of study to his pillow as to find it hard to drop into slum
ber at once, as the tired workman generally does. I advise you to be
very careful to secure regular and sufficient sleep ; and in most cases
when you are tempted by peculiar anxiety to sit up very late, and win
study at the cost of an excited brain, it is better to think more of keep
ing the instrument sound than of forcing the work. I have* suffered
sometimes by continual late study, and have kept at my pen till morn
ing. Now I prefer a healthy brain to an elaborate manuscript, and am
surer of success in such emergencies by speaking extempore from a clear
1835-60] SAMUEL OSOOOD. ^73
and cool head, than by reading a discourse that has been written by the
midnight lamp. I do not believe in the midnight lamp at all, and advise
you to be on your pillow always at least an hour before that witching
time. In summer it is well for a student to go to bed at ten and rise at
six, or half an hour before, and in winter he may retire and rise an hoar
later. As to any considerable study before breakfast, I do not recom
mend it, and am inclined to think as poorly of morning candle-light as
of the midnight lamp. I tried once to steal time for translating a work
from the German by early morning study, and the symptoms of a nervous
fever that appeared in the course of a few weeks led me never to repeat
the experiment.
As to hours of study, they should never exceed those now made the
limit of manual labor ten hours and I believe that six hours of close
application will in the long run accomplish more good work than twelve
hours. If a youth actually studies six hours, and adds to this the time
spent in going to and from recitation and in waiting for others to recite,
he will find very little of the working part of the day left. If we add to
six hours of actual work over books the time usually given by an earnest
student to thought, and reading, and instructive conversation, it will be
found that twelve out of the twenty-four hours are generally given to
the culture of the mind. Stating my views in another way, I can say
that there is wisdom in dividing the day into three parts of eight hours
each one part for sleep ; one for such exertion of the mind as may be
called study, whether learning lessons or tasking the thoughts by solid
reading or careful meditation ; one part for recreation, or for all that re
freshes soul and body by food, exercise, society, and all such intellectual
occupations as belong more to the play rather than to the work of the
mind. I do not, of course, mean to say that these three parts should be
separated by a rigid line, and that recreation and study should occupy
each eight consecutive hours. It is best for one not to give more than
two consecutive hours to one object ; and he is wise who goes from one
study to another, or intersperses study with exercise or conversation, so
as to secure constant freshness and life. The Jesuits, who are marvel
lously shrewd in their way, forbid their pupils from studying more than
two hours without intermission ; and Voltaire, who so hated the Jesuits,
copied their sagacity by keeping sometimes four desks in his library,
with an unfinished work on each, and going, as he was moved, from one
to the other, as poetry, history, criticism, or philosophy invited him.
You will do well to study a judicious alternation in the division of your-
time and studies, being especially careful to sweeten hard and repulsive
branches by such as are more pleasant, and in every way to change the
posture of your mind, so as to refresh and relieve the more weary facul
ties.
WILLIAM TAPPAN THOMPSON. [1835-60
Cappan
BOKN in Ravenna, Ohio, 1812. DIED in Savannah, Ga., 1882.
A PROPOSAL OP MARRIAGE.
[Major Jones's Courtship. 1844. Enlarged Edition. 1872.]
PINEVILLE, December 27, 1842.
TO ME. THOMPSON : Dear Sir Crisraus is over, and the thing is
done did ! You know I told you in my last letter I was gwine to
bring Miss Mary up to the chalk on Crismus. Well, I done it, slick
as a whistle, though it come mighty nigh bein a serious bisness. But
I'll tell you all about the whole circumstance.
The fact is, I's made my mind up more 'n twenty times to jest go and
come right out with the whole bisness ; but whenever I got whar she
was, and whenever she looked at me with her witchin eyes, and kind o'
blushed at me, I always felt sort o' skeered and fainty, and all what I
made up to tell her was forgot, so I couldn't think of it to save me. But
you's a married man, Mr. Thompson, so I couldn't tell you nothin about
popin the question, as they call it. It's a mighty grate favor to ax of a
pretty gall ; and to people what ain't used to it, it goes monstrous hard,
don't it ? They say widders don't mind it no more 'n nothin. But I'm
makin a transgression, as the preacher ses.
Crismus eve I put on my new suit, and shaved my face as slick as a
smoothin iron, and after tea went over to old Miss Stallinses. As soon
as I went into the parler whar they was all settin round the fire, Miss
Carline and Miss Kesiah both laughed right out.
"There! there!" ses they, "I told you so! I know'd it would be
Joseph."
" What's I done, Miss Carline ? " ses I.
" You come under little sister's chicken bone, and I do believe she
know'd you was comin when she put it over the dore."
"No, I didn't, I didn't no such thing, now," ses Miss Mary, and her
face blushed red all over.
"Oh, you needn't deny it," ses Miss Kesiah; "you belong to Joseph
now, jest as sure as ther's any charm in chicken bones."
I know'd that was a first-rate chance to say somethin, but the dear
little creeter looked so sorry and kep blushin so, I couldn't say nothin
zactly to the pint ! So I tuck a chair, and reached up and tuck down
the bone and put it in my pocket
" What are you gwine to do with that old chicken bone now, Majer?"
ses Miss Mary.
1835-60] WILLIAM TAPPAN THOMPSON. 175
"I'm gwine to keep it as long as I live," ses I, " as a Crisnms present
from the handsomest gall in Georgia."
When I sed that, she blushed worse and worse.
" Ain't you shamed, Majer ? " ses she.
" Now you ought to give her a Crismus gift, Joseph, to keep all Tier
life," sed Miss Carline.
" Ah," ses old Miss Stallins, " when I was a gall we used to hang up
our stockins "
" Why, mother ! " ses all of 'em, " to say stockins right before
Then I felt a little streaked, too, cause they was all blush*in as hard
as they could.
" Highty-tity ! " ses the old lady "what monstrous 'finement, to be
shore ! I'd like to know what harm ther is in stockins. People nowa
days is gittin so mealy-mouthed they can't call nothin by its right
name, and I don't see as they's any better than the old-time people was.
When I was a gall like you, child, I use to hang up my stockins and git
1 em full of presents."
The galls kep laughin and blushin.
" Never mind," ses Miss Mary, " Majer's got to give me a Crismus gift,
won't you, Majer ? "
"Oh, yes," ses I; "you know I promised you one."
"But I didn't mean that" ses she.
" I've got one for you, what I want you to keep all your life, but it
would take a two-bushel bag to hold it," ses I.
" Oh, that's the kind," ses she.
" But will you promise to keep it as long as you live? " ses I.
"Certainly I will, Majer."
" Monstrous 'finement nowadays, old people don't know nothin
about perliteness," said old Miss Stallins, jest gwine to sleep with her
nittin in her lap.
"Now you hear that, Miss Carlme," ses I. "She ses she'll keep it all
her life."
" Yes, I will," ses Miss Mary ; " but what is it? "
"Never mind," ses I; "you hang up a bag big enough to hold it, and
you'll find out what it is, when you see it in the mornin."
Miss Carline winked at Miss Kesiah, and then whispered to her; then
they both laughed and looked at me as mischievous as they could. They
'spicioned something.
" You'll be shore to give it to me now, if I hang up a bag? " ses Miss
Mary.
. " And promise to keep it," ses I.
" Well, I will, cause I know that you wouldn't give me nothin that
wasn't worth keepin."
1>JQ WILLIAM TAPPAN THOMPSON. [1835-60
They all agreed they would hang up a bag for me to put Miss Mary's
Crismus present in, on the back porch ; and about ten o'clock I told 'em
good evenin and went home.
I sot up till midnight, and when they was all gone to bed I went
softly into the back gate, and went up to the porch, and thar, shore
enough, was a great big meal-bag hangin to the jice. It was monstrous
unhandy to git to it, but I was termined not to back out. So I sot some
chairs on top of a bench, and got hold of the rope, and let myself down
into the bag ; but jest as I was gittin in, it swung agin the chairs, and
down they went with a terrible racket ; but nobody didn't wake up but
Miss Stallinses old cur dog, and here he come rippin and tearin through
the yard like rath, and round and round he went, tryin to find what was
the matter. I scrooch'd down in the bag and didn't breathe louder nor
a kitten, for fear he'd find me out, and after a while he quit barkin.
The wind begun to blow bominable cold, and the old bag kep turnin
round and swingin so it made me seasick as the mischief. I was afraid
to move for fear the rope would break and let me fall, and thar I sot
with my teeth rattlin like I had a ager. It seemed like it would never
come daylight, and I do believe if I didn't love Miss Mary so powerful
I would froze to death ; for my heart was the only spot that felt warm,
and it didn't beat more 'n two licks a minit, only when I thought how
she would be supprised in the mornin, and then it went in a canter.
Bimeby the cussed old dog come up on the porch and begun to smell
about the bag, and then he barked like he thought he'd treed somethin.
" Bow ! wow ! wow ! " ses he. Then he'd smell agin, and try to git up
to the bag. " Git out ! " ses I, very low, for fear the galls mought hear
me. " Bow ! wow ! " ses he. " Be gone ! you bominable fool ! " ses I,
and I felt all over in spots, for I spected every minit he'd nip me, and
what made it worse, I didn't know wharabouts he'd take hold. u Bow I
wow ! wow ! " Then I tried coaxin " Come here, good feller," ses I,
and whistled a little to him, but it wasn't no use. Thar he stood and
kep up his everlastin whinin and barkin, all night. I couldn't tell when
daylight was breakin, only by the chickens crowin, and I was monstrous
glad to hear 'em, for if I'd had to stay thar one hour more, I don't believe
I'd ever got out of that bag alive.
Old Miss Stall ins come out fust, and as soon as she seed the bag, ses
she :
" What upon yeath has Joseph went and put in that bag for Mary ?
I'll lay it's a yearlin or some live animal, or Bruin wouldn't bark at it
so."
She went in to call the galls, and I sot thar, shiverin all over ?o I
couldn't hardly speak if I tried to, but I didn't say nothin. Bimeby
they all come runnin out on the porch.
1835-60] WILLIAM TAPPAN THOMPSON. 177
" My goodness ! what is it? " ses Miss Mary.
"Oh, it's alive ! " ses Miss Kesiah! "I seed it move."
"Call Cato, and make him cut the rope," ses Miss Carline, "and let's
see what it is. Come here, Cato, and git this bag down."
"Don't hurt it for the world." ses Miss Mary.
Cato untied the rope that was round the jice, and let the bag down
easy on the floor, and I tumbled out, all covered with corn-meal from
head to foot.
"Goodness gracious!" ses Miss Mary, "if it ain't the Majer him
self!"
" Yes," ses I, " and you know you promised to keep my Crismus pres
ent as long as you lived."
The galls laughed themselves almost to death, and went to brushin off
the meal as fast as they could, say in they was gwine to hang that bag up
every Crismus till they got husbands too. Miss Mary bless her bright
eyes ! she blushed as beautiful as a mornin-glory, and sed she'd stick
to her word. She was right out of bed, and her hair wasn't komed, and
her dress wasn't fix'd at all, but the way she looked pretty was real dis-
tractin. I do believe if I was froze stiff, one look at her sweet face, as
she stood thar lookin down to the floor with her roguish eyes, and her
bright curls fallin all over her snowy neck, would have fetched me too.
I tell you what, it was worth hangin in a meal bag from one Crismus to
another to feel as happy as I have ever sense.
I went home after we had the laugh out, and sot by the fire till I got
thawed. In the forenoon all the Stallinses come over to our house, and
we had one of the greatest Crismus dinners that ever was seed in Georgia,
and I don't believe a happier company ever sot down to the same table.
Old Miss Stallins and mother settled the match, and talked over every
thing that ever happened in ther families, and laughed at me and Mary,
and cried about ther dead husbands, cause they wasn't alive to see ther
children married.
It's all settled now, 'cept we hain't sot the weddin day. /I'd like to
have it all over at once, but young galls always like to be engaged a
while, you know, so I spose I must wait a month or so. Mary (she ses
I mustn't call her Miss Mary now) has been a gqfd deal of trouble and
botheration to me; but if you could see her you wouldn't think I ought
to grudge a little sufferin to git sich a sweet little wife.
You must come to the weddin if you possibly kin. I'll let you know
when. No more from Your friend* till death,
Jos. JONES.
VOL. VII. 12
SAMUEL IRENJSUS PRIME. [1835-60
BOBK in Ballston, N. Y., 1812. DIED at Manchester, Vt., 1885.
EXPLAINING AWAY THE GOSPEL.
[Irenceus Letters. Second Series. 1883.]
MRS. PARTINGTON being asked where she went to church, re
plied, "To any church where the gospel is dispensed with."
The late Eev. Dr. Cox, of wonderful memory, was remarkable as an
expounder of the Scriptures. In his Owego congregation and speak
ing of Owego reminds me of the speech he made in the Synod of New
York when he took leave of it to go to his new charge ; he said, " Owego
must not be confounded with Oswego or Otsego or any other of the
many names having O initial and terminal."
His facility for using large words was remarkable. It was attributed
to a slight impediment in his speech, which led him to take a word that
he could utter without difficulty in preference to a smaller one on which
lie was inclined to stumble. But that was not the reason: in writing he
had the same habit, and if possible he made use of longer words than he
did in public speech. Nor was there any affectation or pedantry in his
style. He was as natural as he was brilliant. And he was the most
brilliant clergyman of his generation. As flashes of lightning vanish in
an instant, so the coruscations of his splendid genius were transient,
beautiful, magnificent for the moment, but gone as suddenly as they
came. There is melancholy in the thought that the best and brightest
things he ever said are not on record, and with his contemporaries will
pass forever from the memory of man. They passed from his own
memory, most of them, as soon as they were spoken.
An instance of this occurs to me. He was opening the General
Assembly with prayer when he was Moderator, and he introduced ascrip
tions of praise in three Latin phrases, familiar quotations. I was
reporting the meeting, and jotted down those words just as he used them.
But when he came to> see them in print many years after they were
uttered, he had forgotten that he ever made use of them, and thought
they were the fruit of the reporter's too lively imagination. Yet Dr.
Duffield, who was present, wrote down the words from the Doctor's lips,
and Dr. Hatfield, a year or two before he joined Dr. Cox in the General
Assembly above, assured me that he heard the words, which were as just
and true as they were extraordinary in a public prayer.
He was always ready, or, as he would say, semper paratus, and was
never taken at a disadvantage. The best illustration of his readiness is
1835-60] SAMUEL IREN^US PRIME.
his famous address before the Bible Society in London, which I will not
repeat, it is so familiar. But it is hardly probable that a more splendid
example of brilliant extempore rhetoric can be found in the whole range
of English literature. In the later years of his life, when his powers
were not at their best and brightest, he went into St. Paul's Metho
dist Church in this city to worship there as a stranger. He was recog
nized by a gentleman, who went to the pulpit and informed the preacher
that Dr. Cox was in the congregation. He was invited to preach, and
taking a text, which he gave in two or three languages, he preached two
hours with such variety of learning, copiousness of illustration, and
felicity of diction as to entertain, delight, instruct, and move the assem
bly. This habit of preaching long sermons grew upon him, and he
became tedious in his old age. Many others do likewise. It is the last
infirmity of great preachers. Especially is it true of those who, like Dr.
Cox, are fond of preaching expository sermons. There is no convenient
stopping-place for a man who takes a chapter and attempts a little
sermon on each clause or word. Dr. Cox rarely approved of the trans
lation in the Bible before him. His Greek Testament was always at
hand, and after a severe, sometimes a fierce denunciation of the text in
the received version, he would give his own rendering, and enforce that
with the ardor of genius and the power of Christian eloquence. As
long ago as when he was pastor in Laight Street one of his parishioners,
a prominent and wealthy merchant, tired of hearing his sermons, went
over to Brooklyn to spend the Sabbath with a friend. They attended
church, and lo ! Dr. Cox had exchanged pulpits with the pastor, and
now the parishioner was compelled to hear the preacher from whom he
was running away. I have been told that the gentleman was converted
by this discourse which he heard against his will, and he lived to be one
of the most useful and distinguished among the merchant-princes of
New York. But I am wandering.
I began this letter with the intent of telling you another Mrs. Parting-
ton remark which the Rev. Dr. S. H. Hall mentioned to me this summer
when I met him in the Catskill Mountains. Dr. Hall was pastor of the
church in Owego after Dr. Cox whether his immediate successor or not,
I am unable to say. In his congregation was a venerable lady who was
never tired of sounding the praises of her former pastor, whose explana
tory preaching had been her spiritual food for many years. " Oh," said
she to Dr. Hall, "you should have heard him explain away the gospel!"
This was just what Dr. Cox did not. It was his forte to get the gist
of the true meaning of the word, the mind of the Spirit, to explain the
gospel ; and the modern Mrs. Partington, like the more ancient dame,
had the ill-luck to twist her own words so as to make them convey a
sense quite the reverse of what she meant. But it is very certain that
ABRAHAM COLES. [1835-60
the remarks of the two ladies have a very decided application to the
preaching in which some of our modern teachers indulge, to the con
fusion of their hearers. The Bible is a much simpler book than many
preachers would have the people believe. There are some things in it
hard to be understood, undoubtedly. But these are not the things they
attempt to explain or explain away. They find the words of the inspired
penman in the way of their views, and they go at the words, tooth and
nail, hammer and tongs, and manage to give an interpretation to them
which will bolster or at least not oppose their favorite theories. The
Bible is the simplest book in the world, and there is no work of its size
treating so great a variety of subjects which is more intelligible to the
common mind. Errors, heresies and corruptions in doctrine and practice
do not arise from the misconceptions which the "common people" get
from reading the Bible, with the Spirit of Grod alone to guide them. The
fundamental truths which all evangelical Christians love to believe are
on the surface as well as in the depths of holy scripture. He who runs
may read. The Bible is a revelation. The author did not employ lan
guage to conceal his thoughts. The entrance of his words gives light.
They make wise the simple. And that preacher is the best who is the
most scriptural, bringing the truth as therein revealed directly to the con
science and the heart.
BORN in Scotch Plains, N. J., 1813.
THE "DIES
[Dies Tree, in Thirteen Original Versions. 1859. Fifth Edition. 1868. Latin Hymns,
with Original Translations. 1868.]
TT would be difficult to find, in the whole range of literature, a produc-
- tion to which a profounder interest attaches than to that magnificent
canticle of the Middle Ages, the DIES IR^E. Fastening on that which is
indestructible in man, and giving fitter expression than can elsewhere be
found, to experiences and emotions which can never cease to agitate him,
it has lost after the lapse of six centuries none of its original freshness
and transcendent power to affect the heart It has commanded alike the
admiration of men of piety and men of taste. . . . Among gems it
is the diamond. It is solitary in its excellence. Of Latin hymns, it is
the best known and the acknowledged masterpiece. There are others
which possess much sweetness and beauty, but this stands unrivalled.
1835-60] ABRAHAM COLES.
It has superior beauties, with none of their defects. For the most part
they are more or less Eomish, but this is Catholic, and not Romish at
all. It is universal as humanity. It is the cry of the human. It bears
indubitable marks of being a personal experience.
The author is supposed to have been a monk : an incredible supposi
tion truly did we not know that a monk is also a man. One thing is
certain, that the monk does not appear, and that it is the man only that
speaks. He no longer dreams and drivels. He is effectually awake.
The veil is lifted. He sees Christ coming to Judgment. All the tumult
and the terror of the Last Day are present to him. The final pause an'd
syncope of Nature; the shuddering of a horror-struck Universe; the
downrushing and. wreck of all things all are present. But these
material circumstances of horror and amazement, he feels are as nothing
compared with "the infinite terror of being found guilty before tlie Just
Judge." This single consideration swallows up every other. The inter
ests of an eternity are crowded into a moment.
One great secret of the power and enduring popularity of this Hymn
is, undoubtedly, its genuineness. A vital sincerity breathes throughout.
It is a cry de profundis ; and the cry becomes sometimes so intense are
the terror and solicitude almost a shriek. It is in the highest degree
pathetic. The Muse is " Mater Lachrymarum, Our Lady of Tears."
Every line weeps. Underneath every word and syllable a living heart
throbs and pulsates. The very rhythm, or that alternate elevation and
depression of the voice, which prosodists call the arsis and the thesis, one
might almost fancy were synchronous with the contraction and the dila
tation of the heart. It is more than dramatic. The horror and the
dread are real: are actual, not acted. A human heart is laid bare, quiv
ering with life, and we see and hear its tumultuous throbbings. We
sympathize nay, before we are aware, we have changed places. We,
too, tremble and quail and cry aloud.
All true lyric poetry is subjective. The Dies Tree is, as we have seen,
remarkable for its intense subjectivity ; and whoever duly appreciates
this characteristic will have little difficulty in understanding its superior
effectiveness over everything else that has been written on the same
theme. The life of the writer has passed into it and informs it, so that
it is itself alive. It has vital forces and emanations. Its life mingles
with our life. It enters into our veins and circulates in our blood. A
virtue goes out from it. It is electrically charged, and contact is in
stantly followed by a shock and shuddering.
Springing from its subjectivity, if not identical with it, we would
further notice the intensifying effect of what may be called its personal-
ism ; in other words, its egoism. It is I and not We. Substitute the
plural pronoun for the singular, and it would lose half its pungency.
ABRAHAM COLES. [1835-60
We have had occasion to observe the weakening effect of this in trans
lation. The truth is, the feeling is of a kind too concentrated and too
exacting to allow itself to be dissipated in the vagueness of any group
ing generality. The heart knoweth its own bitterness. There is a grief
that cannot be shared, neither can it be joined on to another's. It is not
social nor common. It is mine and not yours. It is exclusive, not
because it is selfish, but because it has depths beyond the soundings of
ordinary sympathy.
The Hymn is not only lyrical in its essence, but also in its form. It
is instinct with music. It sings itself. The grandeur of its rhythm, and
the assonance and chime of its fit and powerful words, are, even in the
ears of those unacquainted with the Latin language, suggestive of the
richest and mightiest harmonies. The verse is ternary ; and the ternary
number, having been esteemed anciently a symbol of perfection and held
in great veneration, may possibly have had something to do with the
choice of the strophe. Be this as it may, its metrical structure, as all
agree, constitutes by no means the least of its extraordinary merits.
Trench, in his Selections from Latin Poetry, speaks of the metre as
being grandly devised, and fitted to bring out some of the noblest powers
of the Latin language ; and as being, moreover, unique, forming the only
example of the kind that he remembers. He notices the solemn effect
of the triple rhyme, comparable to blow following blow of the hammer
on the anvil. Knapp, in his Liederschatz, likens the original to a blast
from the trunro of resurrection, and declares its power inimitable in any
translation.
DIES
AY of wrath, that day of burning,
Seer and Sibyl speak concerning,
All the world to ashes turning.
T^v
-"-^
Oh, what fear shall it engender,
When the Judge shall come in splendor,
Strict to mark and just to render'
Trumpet, scattering sounds of wonder,
Rending sepulchres asunder,
Shall resistless summons thunder.
All aghast then Death shall shiver,
And great Nature's frame shall quiver,
When the graves their dead deliver.
1835-60] ABRAHAM COLES.
Volume, from which nothing's blotted,
Evil done nor evil plotted,
Shall be brought and dooms allotted.
When shall sit the Judge unerring,
He'll unfold all here occurring,
Vengeance then no more deferring.
What shall /say, that time pending?
Ask what advocate's befriending,
When the just man needs defending ?
Dreadful King, all power possessing,
Saving freely those confessing,
Save thou me, O Fount of Blessing!
Think, O Jesus, for what reason
Thou didst bear earth's spite and treason,
Nor me lose in that dread season!
Seeking me Thy worn feet hasted,
On the cross Thy soul death tasted :
Let such travail not be wasted!
Righteous Judge of retribution!
Make me gift of absolution
Ere that day of execution !
Culprit-like, I plead, heart-broken,
On my cheek shame's crimson token:
Let the pardoning word be spoken !
Thou, who Mary gav'st remission,
Heard'st the dying Thief's petition,
Cheer'st with hope my lost condition.
Though my prayers be void of merit,
What is needful, Thou confer it,
Lest I endless fire inherit.
Be there, Lord, my place decided
With Thy sheep, from goats divided,
Kindly to Thy right hand guided!
When th' accursed away are driven,
To eternal burnings given,
Call me with the blessed to heaven!
I beseech Thee, prostrate lying,
Heart as ashes, contrite, sighing,
Care for me when I am dying!
184
BENSON JOHN LOSSING. [1835-60
Day of tears and late repentance,
Man shall rise to hear his sentence:
Him, the child of guilt and error,
Spare, Lord, iu that hour of terror!
91o^n Logging,
BORN in Beekman, Dutchess Co., N. Y., 1813.
OLD-TIME LIFE IN ALBANY.
[The Life and Times of Philip Schuyler. Revised Edition. 1872.]
ATTOTWITHSTANDLNG there was great equality in Albany society,
-*-^l there was a peculiar custom prevalent until near the time of the
kindling of the Eevolution, which appeared somewhat exclusive in its
character. The young people were arranged in congenial companies,
composed of an equal number of both sexes. Children from five to
eight years of age were admitted into these companies and the associa
tion continued until maturity. Each company was generally under a
sort of control by authority lodged in the hands of a bov and girl, who
happened to possess some natural preeminence in size or ability. They
met frequently, enjoyed amusements together, grew up to maturity with
a perfect knowledge of each other, and the results, in general, were happy
and suitable marriages. In the season of -early flowers, they all went out
together to gather the gaudy blossoms of the May-apple ; and in August
they went together to the forests on the neighboring hills to gather
whortleberries, or, later still, to pluck the rich clusters of the wild grape,
each being furnished with a light basket made by the expert Indian
women.
Each member of a company was permitted to entertain all the rest on
his or her birthday, on which occasion the elders of the family were
bound to be absent, leaving only a faithful servant to have a general
supervision of affairs, and to prepare the entertainment. This gave the
young people entire freedom, and they enjoyed it to the fullest extent.
They generally met at four o'clock in the afternoon, and separated at
nine or ten in the evening. On these occasions there would be ample
provisions of tea, chocolate, fresh and preserved fruits, nuts, cakes, cider,
and syllabub.
These early and exclusive intimacies naturally ripened into pure and
lasting friendships and affectionate attachments, and happy marriages
1835-60] BENSON JOHN LOS8ING.
resulted. So universal was the practiee of forming unions for life
among the members of these circles, that it came to be considered a kind
of apostacy to marry out of one's ''company." Love, thus born in the
atmosphere of innocence and candor, and nourished by similarity of edu
cation, tastes, and aspirations, seldom lost any of its vitality; and incon
stancy and indifference among married couples were so rare as to be
almost unheard of exceptions to the general rule. They usually married
early, were blessed with high physical and mental health, and the
extreme love which they bore for their offspring made those parents
ever dear to each other under the discipline of every possible vicissitude.
The children were reared in great simplicity ; and except being taught
to love and adore the great Author of their being and their blessings,
they were permitted to follow the dictates of their nature, ranging at full
liberty in the open air, covered in summer with a light and cheap gar
ment, which protected them from the sun, and in winter with warm
clothing, made according to the dictates of convenience, comfort, and
health.
The summer amusements of the young were simple, healthful, and joy
ous. Their principal pleasure consisted in what we now call pic-nics,
enjoyed either upon the beautiful islands in the river near Albany,
which were then covered with grass and shrubbery, tall trees and clus
tering vines, or in the forests on the hills. When the warm days of
spring and early summer appeared, a company of young men and
maidens would set out at sunrise in a canoe for the islands, or in light
wagons for "the bush," where they would frequently meet a similar
party on the same delightful errand. Each maiden, taught from early
childhood to be industrious, would take her work-basket with her, and a
supply of tea, sugar, coffee, and other materials for a frugal breakfast,
while the young men carried some rum and dried fruit to make a light
cool punch for a mid-day beverage. But no previous preparations were
made for dinner except bread and cold pastry, it being expected that the
young men would bring an ample supply of game and fish from the
woods and waters, provisions having been made by the girls of apparatus
for cooking, the use of which was familiar to them all. After dinner the
company would pair off in couples, according to attachments and affini
ties, sometimes brothers and sisters together, and sometimes warm friends
or ardent lovers, and stroll in all directions, gathering wild strawberries
or other fruit in summer, and plucking the abundant flowers, to be
arranged into bouquets to adorn their little parlors and give pleasure to
their parents. Sometimes they would remain abroad until sunset, and
take tea in the open air ; or they would call upon some friend on their
way home and partake of a light evening meal. In all this there
appeared no conventional restraints upon the innocent inclinations of
JOHN CHARLES FREMONT. [1835-60
nature. The day was always remembered as one of pure enjoyment,
without the passage of a single cloud of regret.
The winter amusements in Albany were few and simple, but, like
those of summer, pure, healthful, and invigorating. On fine winter days
the icy bosom of the Hudson would be alive with skaters of both sexes,
and vocal with their merry laugh and joyous songs and ringing shouts ;
and down the broad and winding road from the verge of Pinkster Hill,
whereon the State capitoi now reposes, scores of sleighs might be seen
every brilliant moonlight evening, coursing with ruddy voyagers boys
and girls, young men and maidens who swept past the Dutch Church
at the foot, and halted only on the banks of the river. It was a most
animating scene, and many a fair spectator would sit or stand on the
margin of the slope until ten or eleven o'clock, wrapped in furs, to enjoy
the spectacle.
Evening parties, the company seldom numbering over a dozen, were
quite frequent. These were often the sequels of quilting parties ; and
princktums, games, simple dances, and other amusements were indulged
in, but never continued very late. The young men sometimes spent an
evening in conviviality at one of the two taverns in the town, and some
times their boisterous mirth would disturb the quiet city at a late hour.
Habitual drunkenness, however, was extremely rare, and these outbreaks
were winked at as comparatively harmless.
C^arleg f temont
BORN in Savannah, Ga., 1813.
THE FIRST EXPLORATION OF THE GREAT SALT LAKE.
[Memoirs of My Life. 1887.]
channel in a short distance became so shallow that our naviga-
-*- tion was at an end, being merely a sheet of soft mud, with a few
inches of water, and sometimes none at all, forming the low-water shore
of the lake. All this place was absolutely covered with flocks of scream
ing plover. We took off our clothes, and, getting overboard, commenced
dragging the boat making, by this operation, a very curious trail, and
a very disagreeable smell in stirring up the mud, as we sank above the
knees at every step. The water here was still fresh, with only an insipid
and disagreeable taste, probably derived from the bed of fetid mud.
After proceeding in this way about a mile, we came to a small black
1835-60] JOHN CHARLES FREMONT.
ridge on the bottom, beyond which the water became suddenly salt,
beginning gradually to deepen, and the bottom was sandy and firm. It
was a remarkable division, separating the fresh water of the rivers from
the briny water of the lake, which was entirely saturated with common
salt. Pushing our little vessel across the narrow boundary, we sprang
on board, and at length were afloat on the waters of the unknown sea.
We did not steer for the mountainous islands, but directed our course
toward a lower one which it had been decided we should first visit, the
summit of which was formed like the crater at the upper end of Bear
River Valley. So long as we could touch the bottom with our paddles,
we were very gay ; but gradually, as the water deepened, we became
more still in our frail bateau of gum-cloth distended with air, and with
pasted seams. Although the day was very calm, there was a considera
ble swell on the lake ; and there were white patches of foam on the sur
face, which were slowly moving to the southward, indicating the set of a
current in that direction and recalling the recollection of the whirlpool
stories. The water continued to deepen as- we advanced; the lake
becoming almost transparently clear, of an extremely beautiful bright-
green color ; and the spray, which was thrown into the boat and over
our clothes, was directly converted into a crust of common salt, which
covered also our hands and arms.
"Captain," said Carson, who for some time had been looking suspi
ciously at some whitening appearances outside the nearest islands, " what
are those yonder ? won't you just take a look with the glass ? " We
ceased paddling for a moment, and found them to be the caps of the waves
that were beginning to break under the force of a strong breeze that was
coming up the lake. The form of the boat seemed to be an admirable
one, and it rode on the waves like a water-bird ; but, at the same time, it
was extremely slow in its progress. When we were a little more than
half-way across the reach, two of the divisions between the cylinders
gave way, and it required the constant use of the bellows to keep in a
sufficient quantity of air. For a long time we scarcely seemed to
approach our island, but gradually we worked across the rougher sea of
the open channel into the smoother water under the lee of the island,
and began to discover that what we took for a long row of pelicans
ranged on the beach were only low cliffs whitened with salt by the spray
of the waves ; and about noon we reached the shore, the transparency of
the water enabling us to see the bottom at a considerable depth.
It was a handsome broad beach where we landed, behind which the
hill, into which the island was gathered, rose somewhat abruptly ; and
a point of rock at one end enclosed it in a sheltering way ; and as there
was an abundance of drift-wood along the shore, it offered us a pleasant
encampment. We did not suffer our fragile boat to touch the sharp
lg g JOHN CHARLES FREMONT. [Ib35-60
rocks; but, getting overboard, discharged the baggage, and, lifting it
gently out of the water, carried it to the upper part of the beach, which
was composed of very small fragments of rock.
Mr. Walker was associated with Captain Bonneville in his expedition
to the Rocky Mountains; and had since that time remained in the
country, generally residing in some one of the Snake villages, when not
engaged in one of his numerous trapping expeditions, in which he is cel
ebrated as one of the best and bravest leaders who have ever been in the
country.
The cliffs and masses of rock along the shore were whitened by an
incrustation of salt where the waves dashed up against them ; and the
evaporating water which had been left in holes and hollows on the sur
face of the rocks was covered with a crust of salt about one eighth of an
inch in thickness. It appeared strange that, in the midst of this grand
reservoir, one of our greatest wants lately had been salt. Exposed to be
more perfectly dried in the sun, this became very white and fine, having
the usual flavor of very excellent common salt, without any foreign
taste ; but only a little was collected for present use, as there was in it a
number of small black insects.
Carrying with us the barometer and other instruments, in the after
noon we ascended to the highest point of the island a bare rocky peak,
eight hundred feet above the lake. Standing on the summit we enjoyed
an extended view of the lake, enclosed in a basin of rugged mountains,
which sometimes left marshy flats and extensive bottoms between them
and the shore, and in other places came directly down into the water
with bold and precipitous bluffs. Following with our glasses the irregu
lar shores, we searched for some indications of a communication with
other bodies of water, or the entrance of other rivers ; but the distance
was so great that we could make out nothing with certainty. To the
southward several peninsular mountains, three thousand or four thou
sand feet high, entered the lake, appearing, so far as the distance and
our position enabled us to determine, to be connected, by flats and low
ridges, with the mountains in the rear.
At the season of high waters in the spring, it is probable that all the
marshes and low grounds are overflowed, and the surface of the lake con
siderably greater. In several places the view was of unlimited extent
here and there a rocky island appearing above the water at a great dis
tance ; and beyond, everything was vague and undefined. As we looked
over the vast expanse of water spread out beneath us, and strained our
eyes along the silent shores over which hang so much doubt and uncer
tainty, and which were so full of interest to us, I could hardly repress
the almost irresistible desire to continue our exploration; but the
lengthening snow on the mountains was a plain indication of the ad vane-
1835-60] JOHN CHARLES FREMONT.
ing season, and our frail linen boat appeared so insecure that I was
unwilling to trust our lives to the uncertainties of the lake. I therefore
unwillingly resolved to terminate our survey here, and remain satisfied
for the present with what we had been able to add to the unknown geog
raphy of the region. We felt pleasure also in remembering that we
were the first who, in the traditionary annals of the country, had visited
the islands, and broken, with the cheerful sound of human voices, the
long solitude of the place.
ON RECROSSING TEE ROCKY MOUNTAINS IN WINTER AFTER MANY
YEARS.
LONG years ago I wandered here,
In the midsummer of the year,
Life's summer too;
A score of horsemen here we rode,
The mountain world its glories showed,
All fair to view.
^These scenes, in glowing colors drest,
Mirrored the life within my breast,
Its world of hopes;
The whispering woods and fragrant breeze
That stirred the grass in verdant seas
Ou billowy slopes,
And glistening crag in sunlit sky,
'Mid snowy clouds piled mountains high,
Were joys to me ;
My path was o'er the prairie wide,
Or here on grander mountain side,
To choose, all free.
The rose that waved in morning air,
And spread its dewy fragrance there,
In careless bloom,
Gave to my heart its ruddiest hue,
O'er my glad life its color threw
And sweet perfume.
Now changed the scene and changed the eyes,
That here once looked on glowing skies,
Where summer smiled ;
These riven trees, this wind-swept plain,
Now show the winter's dread domain,
Its fury wild.
NOTED SAYINGS. [1835-60
The rocks rise black from storm-packed snow,
All checked the river's pleasant flow,
Vanished the bloom ;
These dreary wastes of frozen plain
Reflect my bosom's life again,
Now lonesome gloom.
The buoyant hopes and busy life
Have ended all in hateful strife,
And thwarted aim.
The world's rude contact killed the rose ;
No more its radiant color shows
False roads to fame.
Backward, amidst the twilight glow,
Some lingering spots yet brightly show
On hard roads won,
"Where still some grand peaks mark the way
Touched by the light of parting day
And memory's sun.
But here thick clouds the mountains hide,
The dim horizon, bleak and wide,
No pathway shows,
And rising gusts, and darkening sky,
Tell of the night that cometh nigh,
The brief day's close.
ISoteD
[Continued from Volume IV., page 490.]
FROM "THE CREOLE VILLAGE/
The Almighty Dollar, that great object of universal devotion through
out our land.
WASHINGTON IRVING. 1783-1859.
A vow, rsr "THE LIBERATOR/' VOL. i., NO. 1. 1831.
I will be as harsh as truth, and as uncompromising as justice.
WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON. 1805-79.
1835-60] NOTED SATING 8.
V2E VICTIS ! U. S. SENATE, JANUARY, 1832.
To the victors belong the spoils of the enemy.
WILLIAM LEARNED MARCY. 1786-1857.
THE UPPER TEN.
The upper ten thousand of the city.
NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS. 1806-67.
FROM A SPEECH IN THE U. S. SENATE, 26 JANUARY, 1830.
The people's government, made for the people, made by the people,
and answerable to the people.
DANIEL WEBSTER. 1782-1852.
PARAPHRASE ON WEBSTER. ANTI-SLAVERY CONVENTION, BOSTON, 1850.
The American idea, ... a democracy, that is, a government of
all the people, by all the people, for all the people.
THEODORE PARKER. 1810-60.
FROM A LETTER TO THE (WORCESTER) WHIG CONVENTION, 1 OCTOBER,
1855.
We join ourselves to no party that does not carry the flag and keep
step to the music of the Union.
KUFUS CHOATE. 1799-1859.
MOTTO OF A COMPROMISE TICKET.
Peace at any price ; peace and union.
THE FILLMORE RALLYING CRY. 1856.
A DEFINITION.
An Old-Line Whig is one who takes his whiskey regularly, and votes
the Democratic ticket occasionally.
EDWARD BATES. 1793-1869.
NOTED SAYINGS. [1835-60
FROM A LETTER TO THE MAINE WHIG COMMITTEE. 1856.
The glittering and sounding generalities of natural right, which make
up the Declaration of Independence.
RUFUS CHOATE. 1799-1859.
A FAMOUS BOOK-TITLE.
Cotton is King ; or, Slavery in the Light of Political Economy. 1855.
DAVID CHRISTY. 1802-
A SOUTHERN UTTERANCE. U. S. SENATE, MARCH, 1858.
No, sir, you dare not make war on cotton. No power on earth dares
make war upon it. Cotton is king. Until lately the Bank of England
was king, but she tried to put her screws as usual, the fall before last,
upon the cotton-crop, and was utterly vanquished. The last power has
been conquered.
ON SLAVES AND MUDSILLS. FROM THE SAME SPEECH.
In all social systems there must be a class to do the mean duties, to
perform the drudgery of life ; that is, a class requiring but a low order
of intellect and but little skill. Its requisites are vigor, docility, fidelity.
Such a class you must have, or you would not have that other class
which leads progress, refinement, and civilization. It constitutes the
very mudsills of society and of political government; and you might as
well attempt to build a house in the air as to build either the one or the
other except on the mudsills. Fortunately for the South, she found a
race adapted to that purpose to her hand a race inferior to herself, but
eminently qualified in temper, in vigor, in docility, in capacity to stand
the climate, to answer all her purposes. We use them for the purpose
and call them slaves. We are old-fashioned at the South yet; it is a
word discarded now by ears polite ; but I will not characterize that class
at the North with that term ; but you have it ; it is there ; it is every
where ; it is eternal.
JAMES HENRY HAMMOND. 1807-64.
A JEST FROM BOHEMIA.
A self-made man? Yes, and worships his creator.
HENRY CLAPP. 1810-75.
1835-60] NOTED SAYINGS. 193
THE "AUTOCRAT'S" CREDO. 1858.
Boston State-House is tbe hub of the Solar System.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 1809-
AN OFFICIAL TELEGRAM. 29 JANUARY, 1861.
If any one attempts to haul down the American flag, shoot him on the
spot.
JOHN ADAMS Dix. 1798-1879.
" CONTRABANDS," AT FORTRESS MONROE, VA., 24 MAY, 1861.
To the Confederate Major Gary, who claimed the rendition of three
fugitive slaves :
I retain these negroes as contraband of war, and have set them to work
inside the fortress.
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN BUTLER. 1818-:
AT THE BATTLE OF MANASSAS (BULL RUN), 21 JULY, 1861.
See, there is Jackson, standing like a stone wall!
BERNARD E. BEE. 1823-61.
AT THE BATTLE OF SEVEN PINES, 31 MAY, 1862.
Go in anywhere, Colonel ! You'll find lovely fighting along the whole
line.
PHILIP KEARNY. 1815-62.
FROM AN ADDRESS ON BOSTON COMMON IN 1862.
A star for every State, and a State for every star.
ROBERT CHARLES WINTHROP. 1809-
GENERAL AND STATESMAN.
To Gen S. B. Buckner, Fort Donelson, 16 February, 1862.
No other terms than unconditional and immediate surrender can be
accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works.
VOL. vn. 13
SAMUEL WARD. [1835-60
Despatch to Washington. Before Spottsyhania Court-House, 11 May, 1864.
I propose to fight it out on this line, if it takes all summer.
Accepting a nomination for the Presidency, 29 May, 1868.
Let us have peace.
From the Inaugural Address, 4 March, 1869.
I know no method to secure the repeal of bad or obnoxious laws so
effectual as their strict construction.
ULYSSES S. GRANT. 1822-85.
JURIST AND FINANCIER.
From the decision in Texas v. White, 7 Wallace, 725.
The Constitution, in all its provisions, looks to an indestructible
Union composed of indestructible States.
Letter to Horace Greeley, 17 May, 1866.
The way to resumption is to resume.
SALMON PORTLAND CHASE. 1808-73.
ACCEPTING THE LIBERAL REPUBLICAN NOMINATION, 20 MAY, 1872.
I accept your nomination in the confident trust that the masses of our
countrymen, North and South, are eager to clasp hands across the bloody
chasm which has so long divided them.
HORACE GREELEY. 1811-72.
BORN in New York, N. Y., 1813. DIED at Pegli, Italy, 1884.
A PROEM.
[Lyrical Recreations. 1871.]
WHEN in my walks I meet some ruddy lad
Or swarthy man with tray-beladen head,
"Whose smile entreats me, or his visage sad,
To buy the images he moulds for bread,
I think that, though his poor Greek Slave in chains,
His Venus and her Boy with plaster dart,
1835-60] SAMUEL WARD. 195
Be, like the* Organ-Grinder's quavering strains,
But farthings in the currency of art,
Such coins a kingly effigy still wear,
Let metals base or. precious in them mix :
The painted vellum hallows not the Prayer,
Nor ivory nor gold the Crucifix.
MAZURKA.
STAND aside while Schamiloff,
In the hall of Peterhof,
Drags the Queen of Beauty off,
Duchess Olga Romanoff,
Stemming the dance's tide
With the Mazurka stride
Which she,' so lately
Grand Duchess stately,
Follows sedately.
Now, with a victor's pride,
Clasps he her slender waist,
Twin-like they onward glide,
As though by foemen chased ;
Now casts her loose, but holds,
Vice-like, her captive hand ;
While, like a tempest, rolls
Louder the frantic band.
He tramps with fiercer swing,
She his pace following
Lightly as bird on wing,
Follows without demur
His clashing heel and spur;
He proud as Lucifer,
She, as an angel calm
Trusting his iron arm
Through the wild dance's swarm,
Till the orchestral storm
Melts into melodies
Soft as a summer breeze.
Now other steps they choose,
He in his turn pursues
And her forgiveness woos,
With a beseeching joy,
Woos her retreating coy,
When, like a thunder-clap,
Halt! bids the leader's rap,
And Duchess Olga sees
Schamiloff on his* knees.
ANN SOPHIA STEPHENS. [1835-60
BORN in Derby, Conn., 1813. DIED in Newport, R. I., 1886.
QUEEN ESTHER'S ROCK.
[Mary Derwent. 185-.]
A CLOUD of white rose upon the water as they swept downward,
sending back cries and shrieks of anguish. It sunk and rose
again, this time nearer the shore. Then some human being, Indian or
white, dashed through the brushwood, leaped into the stream, striking
out for that mass of floating white. A plunge, a long, desperate pull,
and the man was struggling up the bank, carrying Mary in his arms.
It was the missionary. He held her close to his heart * he warmed
her cold face against his own, searching for life upon her lips, and thank
ing God with a burst of gratitude when he found it
Mary stirred in his embrace. The beat of her arms on the waters had
forced them to deal tenderly with her ; and the breath had not yet left her
bosom. For a moment she thought herself in heaven, and smiled pleas
antly to know that he was with her. But a prolonged yell from the
plain, followed by a slow and appalling death-chant, brought her to con
sciousness with a shock. She started up, swept back her hair, and
looked off towards the sound. There she met a sight that drove all
thoughts of heaven from her brain. A huge fragment of stone lay in
the centre of a ring, from which the brushwood had been cut away, as
an executioner shreds the tresses of a victim, in order to secure a clear
blow. Around this rock sixteen prisoners were ranged, and behind
them a ring of savages each holding a victim pressed to the earth. And
thus the doomed men sat face to face, waiting for death.
As she gazed, Queen Esther^ the terrible priestess of that night, came
from her work on Monockonok Island, followed by a train of Indians,
savage as herself, and swelled the horrid scene. With her son's toma
hawk gleaming in her hand, she struck into a dance, which had a horrid
grace in it. "With every third step, the tomahawk fell, and a head
rolled at her feet. The whole scene was lighted up by a huge fire, built
from the brushwood cleared from the circle, and against this red light
her figure rose awfully distinct The folds of her long hair had broken
loose and floated behind her, gleaming white and terrible; while the
hard profile of her face cut sharply against the flames, like that of a
fiend born of the conflagration.
Mary turned her eyes from this scene to the missionary : he under
stood the appeal.
1835-60] ANN SOPHIA STEPHENS,
" I w 
